Views of the Neighborhood – Visit to Moon Valley Nurseries

July 21, 2019July 20, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 81 Comments

I know the Producer, and I seem to be fixated on nurseries. Last week we had to visit another in the quest for an olive tree and Artichoke Agave. Our landscaper was having a difficult time finding them, so we thought we would help in the search. I hope you enjoy the quest.

Here is the main sign.

Parking lot with big trees.

The entrance.

A sign warning about falling trees Also, check the price of the Italian Cyprus – $12,000.

The greeter. She has to be brushed every night.

Love Hibiscus.

Cute farmhouse-like building.

Pathway through the jungle.

Clearer path.

Trees to go.

High wind victim.

The nursery is on an old putt-putt golf course.

Some Italian Cyprus.

Small utility building.

Lovely roses and Lantana. Moon Valley did have olive trees and Artichoke Agave. We gave the landscaper the Nursery name and location. He knew of that firm and liked that we did the footwork.

Here is the olive.

And the Artichoke Agave

Stream of Consciousness Saturday – Prompt “frame.”

July 20, 2019July 19, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 44 Comments

It is Stream of Consciousness Saturday time again, and this weeks prompt is, “frame.” Here is how Lind Hill describes the assignment. “Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “frame.” Use it as a noun or a verb or any way you like. Have fun!” Notice how easy it is for her to say, “have fun.” If you would like to join in and have some fun, go to Linda’s blog and read how easy it is. Here is the link.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS July 20/19

“Doggone it.”

“What’s the problem?”

“This frame.”

“What about it?”

“It doesn’t go with the room.”

“The painting is fabulous.”

“Yeah, but the frame is gold.”

“So?”

“The room is nickel.”

“Change the frame?”

“Might be easier to change the room.”

“How could that be?”

“I hate this room.”

“You just finished it. I thought you loved it.”

“I did while I was doing it. Now I think I’ve changed my mind. In fact, let’s sell the house.”

“I say we put that picture and frame away for a while. Maybe come back to it later.”

“It won’t help.”

“You’ll be in a better frame of mind.”

“Who can I frame when they find you dead?”

“You’re talking crazy.”

“I need a margarita.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask for one.”

“I needed to frame the justification.”

“It’s okay. I’ll have one too.”

“Oh, good. Know what?”

“What?”

“That picture and frame look okay now.”

“Another problem solved by soothin’ syrup.”

Friday – JohnKu – AKA – TGIF

July 19, 2019August 1, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 49 Comments

“I call this living Little One.”
“Me too, Lucy. Me too.”

Friday is here at last. “Gee, I wish it was Monday,” said no one ever. Always lovely to see the weekend within sight.

If you checked out my post yesterday then you know the landscaping at our place is done. We are all so happy to have that item checked off. We were plagued with gumbo mud every time it rained, which was often. The dogs were forced to stay on a leash until the mess dried, which was about three days. Then we would get a day or two of no rain followed by rain and another three days of the leash. Well, those days are hopefully over.

My WIP is plugging along. I am at 28,000 plus words, which means my 1000 word a day goal is being met. The story is developing well, and it sounds like it might fit the speculative fiction genre. A lot of stuff happening that is not necessarily confined to one or more traditional genres. All I know is it is fun to write, and so I’ll just keep plugging.

Today’s JohnKu talks about fun and writing. I hope you have a very restful and fun weekend.

Fun and Writing by John W. Howell © 2109

To have to work hard,

At something that brings no joy . . .

Must be hell on Earth.

Thursday – A Little Personal – New Stuff

July 18, 2019July 17, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 85 Comments

“Let go, Lucy.”

“You let go, Little Potato. Wait, what is that noise?”

“Look, Lucy. Some green stuff.”

“It sure is Little one.”

“OMG, Twiggy. There is a guy with a load of green stuff.”

“Where, Lucy? I don’t see him.”

“You have to look out the door again.”

“Wow. Should I bark him back to St. Louis?”

“Go to the bedroom door and see if he’s still there.”

“Yes, he’s still there.”

“Hold off on the bark. I have a feeling this is a good thing.”

“Hold on, Twiggy. Here’s the Boss. Hey, Boss what’s going on?”

“They are laying the new sod, Lucy.”

“Can we go out and see it?”

“Gotta have leashes. Lots of water flowing.”

“This sure has changed. Where are the mud and burrs?”

“I don’t know, Little one but I like it.”

“Look over there, Lucy. green stuff.”

“The Boss said it was sod. Let’s go look.”

“Wait. This is familiar.”

“It’s grass, Little One. We have grass at last.”

“I don’t know. Walks funny.”

“Than’s cause it’s new. We can break it in.”

“Come on, Lucy. Time to go back. It is so hot.”

“Yeah one more sniff of this beautiful grass, Little one. One more sniff.”

Wednesday Story Day -AKA – Hump Day

July 17, 2019July 16, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 43 Comments

“Twiggy? You ready for Wednesday?
“Ask me on Friday.”

It is Wednesday Story Day again, and last week we witnessed Larry going off on a security manager at the Heavenly Ski Resort. The manager did not take kindly to his rudeness and told him to take a walk. If he needed more information, it would require a warrant. Larry and Andrew are not local investigators so an order probably won’t happen. Let’s join them at the California bar where Andrew took Larry to cool off.

“So, what do we do now, Larry?”

“Let’s get a drink, and then think about this for a moment.”

“Yes, gentlemen, can I help you?”

“You can. I think I’ll have whatever IPA you have on draft. How about you, Andrew?”

“I have a taste for a nice Bourbon. Do you have Willet Reserve?”

“We do sir. How would you like that?”

“Just neat is fine for me.”

“Very good sir. As far as the draft is concerned, we have a couple. There’s Hoppadillo which has a wonderful hop infusion, and there is Slam Your Face which carries a 10 percent load of Alcohol.”

“I’ll take the Hoppadillo. Not sure I can handle the other.”

“Yes, gentlemen. Coming right up.”

“Thank you. So, Andrew. We need to get information, and we don’t have a portfolio to force it.”

“And we have a hot head from Boston who gets us tossed out of the places we need to be in.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I do have an idea, though.”

“Love to hear it. Oh, here are the drinks.”

“Here, you are, gentlemen. If you would like to order food, I brought the menu.”

“Thank you so much. We have a drink and then see from there.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll keep an eye on you. Give me a wave if you need anything.”

“Thanks. So Andrew here’s to Rafferty.”

“Hear, hear.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Did you just say, Rafferty?”

“We did miss er..”

“Name’s Christine. Christine Bonner.”

“Pleased to meet you, Christine. My name is Larry, and this is Andrew. Does the name Rafferty mean anything to you?”

“Yeah, he used to come in here all the time. That was before his, …uh…accident. You friends of his?”

“Well, no. We are Police officers from Boston.”

“What does Rafferty have to do with Boston?”

“It sounds like you knew him pretty well.”

“You know, before I say more, I would like to know why you two are asking. I was very fond of Alexis and don’t want to denigrate his memory.”

“Oh no, we wouldn’t do that. We are investigating a murder that happened in Boston, and his name came up as someone who might know something.”

“He worked for one of the biggest cartel bosses. You know that, right?”

“Yes, we know that.”

“So, you don’t think his death was an accident?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t think you would be here if you thought it was an accident. Look I’m not comfortable talking in this place. I would like to help find those who killed Alexis and see justice done, but I have to protect myself. You boys don’t know how vicious that Cortez can be.”

“We have an idea. Is there a place we can talk?”

“Yes. I have a place in South Lake Tahoe. 21 Rancho Circle. It’s near the Bijou Community Park.”

“I think we can find it.”

“I get off at six. Why don’t you meet me there at about seven? That will give me time to get some dinner.”

“We would be happy to buy you dinner.”

“You don’t get it. I can’t be seen with you. In fact, pick up that menu and pretend to be asking me something. We have been talking way too long.”

“Okay. So is the fish sandwich good?”

“Yes, it is excellent.”

“We’ll take two with fries and see you tonight.”

“Excellent choice, sir. This will be right up. Do not tell anyone about our meeting.”

“You can count on us.”

“Larry?”

“What Andrew?”

“Would rather have had the hot pastrami.”

“It’s not about the fish, Andrew.”

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA with Karen Ingalls @KIngallsAuthor

July 17, 2019July 16, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 29 Comments

As a member of Rave Reviews Book Club, I am proud to showcase several exceptional writers. All are members of the literary section of the club titled Rave Writers – International Society of Authors. RWISA.

Today I want to welcome Karen Ingalls with her story Nature Speaks.

NATURE SPEAKS

Why did my life spiral into darkness in a second? One minute I am married to my soulmate, a mother to a beautiful daughter, and owner of a successful bookstore. My friends asked me, “How do you have the perfect life? It is so easy for you.” They were right. I had the perfect life.

My husband was an engineer, and I opened a bookstore naming it Mile High Books offering old and new books, coffee or tea. Leather chairs and couches provided comfort to the patrons. Classical music played in the background. I loved going to my store enjoying the smell of books, coffee, and leather.

We had our first and only child, Lynn who also loved classical music and dreamed of being a ballet dancer.

One Saturday morning, my life changed forever. I had awakened with a migraine headache, which was intolerable. It was best if I stayed in a dark, quiet room until the medication relieved the blinding pain.

My husband, Miles volunteered to run the bookstore that fateful day. “Lynn and I can manage the bookstore today. You stay home and take care of the headache.” He leaned over and kissed me. “I love you,” were the last words I would hear him say.

I curled up, closed my eyes, and waited for the pain to go away.

A pounding on the front door and the continuous ringing of the bell awakened me. “This had better be important,” I muttered while staggering down the stairs. Two police officers with grim looks were standing on the porch. I collapsed when the words, fire, death, husband, daughter floated around my confused mind.

My once perfect life was unbearable with the memories of it everywhere. I sold everything, bought a second-hand Volkswagen Beetle, and drove west with just the clothes on my back and a photograph of Miles, Lynn and me. I didn’t know where I was going, but I didn’t care.

The small cabin in the foothills of Costa Mesa, California overlooking the Pacific Ocean was my new residence. It was not a home. It was a place to sleep, eat and try to escape from my past.

The land was arid with brush, oak trees, scattered thistle weeds, and clay soil. Every evening, I walked down a short path from the cabin to a flattened area where I sat under a large oak tree and watched the sun dip into the ocean. One day at dusk, I leaned against the tree, closed my eyes and dreamed that Miles arms were around me while we watched Lynn ballet dance on a large stage. I could hear the music of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake.

When I awoke there were two limbs embracing me, and leaves and acorns were swirling around creating Tchaikovsky’s music. “Am I still dreaming?” The bark of the trunk and the limbs was rough and uncomfortable. I squirmed and pulled at the limbs. “What is happening? This is crazy.” I yelled for someone to help me, but the only words I heard were not human.

Ginny, you are a strong woman. Use your strength to get through this storm in your life.

I pulled the limbs off, jumped up, and looked around expecting to see someone nearby. “Is anyone here?” I yelled again. Everything was quiet. A full moon radiated light around me.

Staring at the tree, I brushed my clothes, scratched my head, and said, “That was quite a dream, but how did those limbs wrap around me?” I shook my head trying to clear the confusion. “It was a beautiful dream of Miles and Lynn. I miss them so much.” With the sleeve of my sweater I wiped the tears. “I’ve got to get hold of myself. I’m losing my mind.”

The voice said. That was not a dream. I am here to help you.

“Oh, my God, I am going crazy. Trees don’t talk.”

Ginny, you are not going crazy. All trees talk, but humans do not listen. Do you remember your friend, Meredith who told you she talks to trees?

I nodded. “How do you…?”

I saw a friendly face of a kind, elderly man etched in the trunk. Every flora and fauna communes with humans, but they are too busy or unbelieving to listen and learn from us.

I fell to my knees, grabbed a handful of soil, and watched it slowly stream out of my clenched fist. “This was my life. Time was going by with no troubles.” I opened my fist and let the soil out in one burst. “Then everything changed. My life was never the same. It is now an empty hand.” I sobbed and my whole body shook.

You are strong. Your faith is like my roots: stretching wide and going deep.

The limbs stretched out, wrapped around my shoulders and leaned me against the trunk. Miles and Lynn are speaking to you through me.

Then I heard them say, We love you and will always be with you. Follow your heart.

The limbs were gentle and comforting. The rough bark was now smooth. My tears dried up, and I drifted into a deep and peaceful sleep.

The warm and bright rays of the morning sun radiated through the tree’s canopy bringing warmth to my body nestled against the oak tree. Standing up, I stretched and looked out at the blue waters of the Pacific marveling at its majesty and beauty. I smiled as the words follow your heart floated around. “Wow! That was quite a dream.”

I walked a few steps on the path back towards the cabin. I stopped and looked back at the oak tree. “It might have all been a dream, but thank you.”

A thistle plant with its purple flower in full bloom was further up the path. I stopped. “You are beautiful, but your spikes are sharp.”

The spikes turned inward. Do not let fear hold you back.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. “Now I hear a flower talking to me. I am going crazy.”

The thistle plant swayed back and forth though there was no breeze. It bent forward bringing its flower near my hands. Touch me and accept my gift of peace.

I placed my hand on the purple flower and a deep sense of serenity swept over me. For the first time since the deaths of my family I was at peace. I whispered “Thank you.”

A short distance from the cabin porch, I saw the white silken top of a trapdoor spider’s home. I did not remember seeing it before and bent down to get a closer look. The trapdoor opened and a dark spider poked his head out. I stumbled as I tried to jump back.

The spider was small and ugly with fine hairs covering its dark brown body. He was frightening to look at, but his kind words put me at ease. You have walked by many doors, but you didn’t open them.

“What is going on? I am hallucinating with all these voices in my head.”

You are not hallucinating. Your family is talking to you through the oak tree, the thistle and me. The spider moved back into his home and closed the trapdoor.

For days I paced around the cabin, reliving each moment and the words about strength, peace, and opportunities. I prayed and cried. I read about mysticism and nature.

One morning, I awoke and saw Miles and Lynn standing beside my bed. We will always be with you in your heart. Let nature continue to teach you.

The magnificent oak tree taught how to be strong of body, mind, and heart. Staying healthy and opening my arms to others became my ways of living.

I found beauty in my life and other people after removing my thorns of bitterness and self-pity.

My cabin was a trap shutting out people until I opened its doors and made it a home and retreat center. I added rooms for guests to stay and classrooms for teaching.

I called my new endeavor Nature Speaks, helping people to commune with and learn from all aspects of nature. When people open their hearts and minds to nature there are opportunities for a richer life.

∼∼∼

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs. Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent! Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Karen Ingalls RWISA Author Page

Tuesday Anything Possible – Finger Point Prompt – Preset

July 16, 2019July 15, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 46 Comments

I usually run a Keith Channing prompt on Tuesday. Keith is off in the UK living in a motor home while getting ready to close on a new house. Needless to say, he has no time for prompts. So here is a finger point prompt. The idea is to open a book to a random page and point at the text. The word closest to your finger is the prompt. I chose the book, Circumstances of Childhood by that world-famous (cough) author John W. Howell. I opened it to a page and pointed. Before I knew what the word was, I took a photo of the process. The word is “preset.” Not the best, but I’ll give it a go.

“About time, you woke up. I’ve been up for hours.”

“Why didn’t you just wake me?”

“I looked at your timer device, and it was preset for now.”

“Then why so upset?”

“I just want to make sure we are on course.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“It’s a hundred-year journey. Anything can happen.”

“I think you need to relax. Did you make coffee?”

“Yes. Here’s your vacuum cup.”

“Thank you. Now let me look at the position calculator. Hmmm. Seems to be okay.”

“So how long until we reach our destination?”

“The calculator puts us in the outer band of the planet’s solar system. Looks like we should be there by dinner time. By the way anything to eat? I have a hundred-year appetite.”

“Yes. I prepared a wholesome, wake-up meal. Here is your vacuum tube.”

“Umm, this is good. Tastes like chicken and waffle.”

“I know I thought the same thing. I think we are going to enjoy our visit. There is more where that came from. This planet is full of these animals. It is like a renewable resource.”

“Okay, let me focus on the preset landing sequence.”

“I can help?”

“Yes, you can. Look at the control panel and just let me know the setting as I read the sequence.”

“Okay. I’m ready.”

“Preset destination?”

“On.”

“Preset speed?”

“Locked.”

Planet identification?”

“Third, from their sun.”

“Landing presets.”

“On.”

Okay, there is nothing we have to do for the next couple of hours but dream of getting out teeth into some of those tasty Earthlings.”

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA with Suzanne Burke @pursoot

July 16, 2019July 15, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 29 Comments

Today I want to welcome Suzanne Burke with her story. Thursday’s Child.

THURSDAY’S CHILD

Suzanne Burke.

She hadn’t really intended this to happen. Oh, sure, she’d thought about it often enough, but thinking about something didn’t make it a crime. A convergence of circumstances had prompted her choice. Regret was such an outmoded commodity.

She checked her latex gloves fitted well, and flicked her dark eyed gaze across to where Peter Cameron lay, still and silent. “You brought this on yourself, Peter. Did you think me a complete fool?”

Carol moved across to the edge of the bed and stood over him. She reached down and flicked the blonde hair back from his forehead, then gently rested her hand there.

“You’re cold. Shall I fetch you a blanket?” Her laughter soothed her.

The man’s eyes were now open, and Carol revelled in the fear she witnessed in their blue depths. “Ah, there you are. How do you feel?” She laughed again. “Oh, silly me. You can’t feel anything. Can you? Such a handy little drug, and no taste I believe, especially in your malt whiskey.”

Peter Cameron’s blue eyes registered the words and Carol watched on as he commanded his brain to activate his fingers, his arms. He had no control of his voicebox. His brain refused to obey. He remained still.

“Oh, don’t fret so, darling. You’re not going to die … yet. The paralysis will last just long enough for my needs. It’s all in the timing. You need to helplessly contemplate what I may have in store for your immediate future.”

Carol walked away from him, and headed for the bar, whistling happily in anticipation. She placed his used glass and the bottle of Glenfiddich into her handbag, then poured a stiff belt of burbon into a paper cup, and seated herself comfortably on the sofa in the large living room and admired afresh the warm ambience of her surroundings.

“The best that all my money could buy.” Her voice brought her comfort.

She drained the cup and refilled it. When empty she crumpled it and placed it alongside the other items now concealed in the bag.

The wall clock reaffirmed that she had an hour remaining before company arrived. She nodded in satisfaction and rested.

With twenty minutes remaining she stood and checked on her captive one more time. “Not long now.”

A low groan came from the bed.

Carol gently stroked his cheek. “Are you terrified, my darling? Your eyes tell me you are. Good. That’s as it should be.”

Carol smiled in satisfaction and left the room, content to wait this out for a few minutes. At exactly 11.02 p.m she heard the front door open and close again. A musical female voice called out, “Peter? Darling, where are you?”

Carol listened carefully from her dark space in the hallway. She held her breath as the woman came into view and she watched her enter the master-bedroom in search of her lover.

“Waiting in bed for me, darling? That’s different. I thought we were going to share a late supper.”

The woman sounded disappointed.

“He can be very disappointing. I agree.” Carol said from the doorway.

The woman jumped in fright and managed to say “Oh, my God. I’m not, that is, we aren’t, this isn’t.” She shut her mouth when her frightened eyes took note that her lover’s wife was standing in front of her wearing latex gloves and aiming a gun at her head.

“It isn’t what? An affair? Oh, please. Do you expect me to believe that you’ve come here to my home every second Thursday at 11.00p.m for 3 months to do something innocent? Go ahead, enlighten me. I’m a reasonable woman. Convince me I don’t have a reason to hate you.”

“Please! I’m so sorry. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, no, Thursday’s Girl. It means everything. The others meant nothing to him, therefore I ignored them. Ah, but you, you’re different. Turn around, let me take a closer look at you.”

Carol walked across to the shaking woman and prodded her with Peter’s handgun. “I said turn around.”

The younger woman nodded and hurriedly complied.

“He does love a tight ass. Long legs too. That’s always a bonus.”

“He doesn’t care about me. It’s a … a fling.”

“Nice try.”

“I’ll end it and never see him again. I promise. I’m sorry, please. Let me go.” The woman was sobbing now.

“Don’t you want to know how I know your special?”

The woman shook her head. “I’m not ….”

“Shut your stupid mouth and listen!” Carol barely controlled her anger and shoved the muzzle of the Glock into her rival’s chest.

She drew a deep calming breath and lowered the gun slightly. “I know,because he’s been happy. Happier than he’s been for many years. The only thing that’s different in his life since the advent of his peculiar behaviour is you!”

Carol fished inside the pocket of the coat she was wearing and drew out a small velvet box. “He brought you this little diamond trinket from Caliago. His jeweller of choice. It’s an engagement ring for you, Thursday’s Girl. The ring size is smaller than mine, and besides I only wear emeralds. My contact at the jewellers tells me it’s worth upwards of one million dollars. I do hope it’s insured. Give me your hand. Let’s try it on for size.”

The hand the woman held out was shaking. Carol nursed the gun, and held out the jewellery box. “Now place it on your finger. Don’t be stupid enough to flex your hand. Slide it on.”

The diamonds glistened as the ring slid into place perfectly.

“And lastly, should you think me presumptive, then don’t. You see our darling Peter visited our attorney to get the ball rolling for divorce proceedings. I can only wonder that he made such a stupid mistake. Our attorney was the one I recommended twenty-years ago. He earns every cent of the additional fees I pay him every month.”

Peter groaned again from the bed and his lover stood there watching on, too afraid to move.

Carol smiled. “How tragic love is. How very sad that you came here to end your relationship. Peter Cameron had never been denied anything in his life. He couldn’t take the rejection. He apparently decided that if he couldn’t have you, then nobody would.

The woman began to scream, and Carol laughed with pleasure. “Oh, yes, scream. Go right ahead! We do love living out here. There’s a righteous freedom in having no near neighbors.”

The woman was still sobbing as Carol sat next to Peter on the bed and shot her three times in the chest. She calmly watched as the body was flung backward by the impact and dropped to the floor.

Carol gazed down on her for long enough to see the faint hold on life vacate her eyes.

Carol checked the spandex gloves, satisfied that they’d worked as they should. She placed the weapon down for a moment as she removed the other things that she’d need from the bureau.

Peter’s arm felt like a dead weight as she wrapped the tourniquet around his upper bicep. The veins responded beautifully, and Carol inserted the syringe and watched in fascination as her husband’s body jerked several times. She watched him begin to foam at the mouth. She watched him die. “Heroin is so deadly, if you don’t get the dosage just right. I believe it’s referred to as a ‘hot shot’.

She placed the Glock in his right hand and checked to ensure the trajectory married up with the bullet’s impact on his dead companion. Carol squeezed his fingers closed around the weapon with his finger on the trigger, then let his arm drop and the gun lay loosely in the dead hand.

Carol stood back and admired her handiwork. Content now she hurried outside.

She ran to her car secreted behind a tall stand of trees and drove it into her driveway, behind the visitors Porche. She let the car idle and punched in 911 on her iPhone.

“911. What is the nature of your emergency?”

“Please! Help me. I need help! Please!” The voice was frantic.

“I’ll help you, Ma’am, but I need you to calm down. Please tell me what is happening.”

“I heard a woman screaming! Then I think there were gunshots! Now I can’t hear anything. Please! Please, I beg you, please hurry, I think my husband is inside. Should I go in? I have to help him!”

“Please give me your address.”

Carol gave it.

“Do NOT enter the dwelling. Police and Paramedics are on the way. Stay on the line with me. Are you close to the house?”

“I’m outside in the driveway.”

“Please move away from the property. Stay away from the windows. They’re on their way.”

***

CNN breaking news.

“In breaking news! The body of United States Senator Peter Cameron has been found at his home. A crime scene now exists. Early indications from our sources indicate that another body has been found at the scene. Murder/Suicide has not been ruled out.”

“Tragically it was the senator’s wife who made the grim discovery. She is reported to be resting under sedation. In deep shock as these events unfold. Police at this stage don’t believe that a third party was involved in the tragedy.”

Carol listened to the excited broadcaster and smiled.

Then she settled down in her pristine hospital bed and drifted off to a contented sleep.

Suzanne Burke RWISA Author Page

Top Ten Things not to do Storming the Bastille in 1789

July 15, 2019July 21, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 69 Comments

Since yesterday was the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille in 1789 I thought it would be a good idea to lay out some things not to do should you have the ability to go there and join in the fun. As you know, the Bastille was a prison that the government of the time used to incarcerate and torture political prisoners. The day is called “Bastille Day.” in English (la Fête Nationale in French) and is widely recognized as the beginning of the French revolution. If you are going, take this list. Who knows it might just save your head.

Top Ten Things Not to Do while Storming the Bastille in 1789

10 If you are storming the Bastille, do not continue to carry your Vive Le Roy banner. If you do, at best someone will take it from you. At worst, you will be associated with royalty and may become a guest of the third estate at the next guillotine party. (why on Earth didn’t you know this was a demonstration against Louis XVI, Ike. Too many Vin rouges, eh?

9 If you are storming the Bastille, do not get in front of Tiny the WWF champ. If you do, at best, you’ll fall down, and Tiny will run over you. At worst, Tiny just left the rally where the beer was free and is anxious to grab the royal flag. (The sad thing is Tiny is focused on getting through the locked door and is now using you like a battering ram. It should be over in a few minutes, Iggy one way or another.)

8 If you are storming the Bastille, do not count on trading stories with the Marquis de Sade a prisoner there. If you do, at best you’ll accept that he left ten days before. At worst, you’ll try to organize a group to storm the insane asylum where he was transferred. (You have to admit not many want to help you, Ilias. Maybe that should give you a clue.)

7 If you are storming the Bastille, do not insist on a foie gras lunch. If you do, at best, you’ll be ignored. At worst, the average person has no idea what a foie gras is and will think you a royalist. (Now we are back to the original invitation to the head loss party after the storming is done, Inigo. I would think you could learn something in all this.)

6 If you are storming the Bastille, do not get caught with your “Go Camera recording the whole thing. If you do, at best you can tell them it’s a new kind of bomb, and they’ll believe you. At worst, your explanation will fall on deaf ears. (So now you are in line for the dunking chair which is designed to get the truth out of witches. Just tell them you are a witch, Isaak. Maybe they’ll go easy on you.)

5 If you are storming the Bastille, do not say to the mob that red, white, and blue are not your colors. If you do, at best you’ll get a sympathetic colorist. At worst, you be confessing to a bloodthirsty peasant your disdain for the tri-color, the symbol of the revolution. (Yes, his eyes are red, Isah. No, I don’t think he has allergies I believe he is mad at you. Yeah, running may not be the answer.)

4 If you are storming the Bastille, do not stop for a cafe au lait and croissant. If you do, at best you won’t be late for the storming. At worst, you’ll arrive after the storming is over and be accused of dereliction of duty. (I’ll bet you can guess what the punishment is for dereliction of duty, Iman. You got it. The big falling blade and close haircut.)

3 If you are storming the Bastille, do not try to yell Liberté, égalité, fraternité in French. If you do, at best the noise will be too loud, and no one will hear you. At worst, you will be heard, and your American accent will give you away. (You wonder why everyone is so angry, Iain? They want their revolution to themselves without interference from Americans. If you continue to try and help you will. only be dispised later)

2 If you are storming the Bastille, do not suggest that it would make a beautiful condo after the storming. If you do, at best folks will think you are shell shocked. At worst, Maximilien Robespierre will overhear your idea. (You may wonder why ole Max gave you a card with the number one printed on it, Idi. You have been honored to be the first to give up your head for the revolution. There’s the guillotine line right over there. You just march right to the front. It’s your right.)

1 If you are storming the Bastille, do not throw away that stale baguette. If you do, at best you will still have a sword. At worst, that baguette would have made an excellent weapon, and now you are defenseless. (Everyone knows that a day old baguette can be used to drive nails, Ignace. Think of what a beautiful club it would have made.)

Views of the neighborhood – Visit to Natural Gardener Part II

July 14, 2019July 13, 2019 ~ John W. Howell ~ 52 Comments

Here we are at the Natural Gardener again. If you recall I did part one and then took a Fourth of July parade break. There are a lot of photos but few words. (Thank you, John) I hope you enjoy the stroll.