No Ghosts tonight

Not feeling well. Sorry. No Ghosts tonight. Ghosts will return tomorrow night when Simon Simple meets with the Shining Ones and we learn more about what's actually happening in the Watts family home. At least, that's my plan. See you then.

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Ghosts, Part 8

You’re probably wondering about the box, aren’t you? What it is? Where it came from? Who sent it? What’s inside? Well, you’ll learn if you listen long enough. I will tell you this: Humanity has always had a strange relationship with boxes.

Remember Pandora? The myth shows up in many ancient cultures around the world. The details change, but there’s always a box. A box that shouldn’t be opened. Think about all those treasure chests that pirates supposedly hid and guarded with deadly man-traps. We have boxes everywhere. Coffers. Safety deposit boxes.

Coffins.

A few years back, a University of Oklahoma researcher did a test with boxes. He placed three boxes on a table. One box was round, one was a triangle, and one was rectangular. He sent people in and asked them to open the boxes. Everyone of them opened the rectangular box first.

Then he put a lock on the rectangular box and sent in new people. Even though they could see that box plainly couldn’t be opened, they all tried the lock first. He put the lock on the other boxes, and still his subjects choose the rectangular box. He didn’t draw any conclusions from that, and perhaps there aren’t any to draw, but I should mention all the boxes were black. You see, his subjects always chose the one that most looked like the Curious Box the Watts kids found in the woods.

One other thing about boxes. We can’t leave them alone. We always want to open them no matter the consequences. I lay you odds if one morning a black box appeared before any human -- and if he or she was told that opening the box would destroy the world -- the world would be aflame before lunch. You can count on it.

Copyright 2009 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

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Ghosts, Part 7

Terrance Mason watched from behind the bar as Ronald sauntered in, looked around, and walked over to Larry.

“How many you had, Larry?” Ronald asked. “Can you still walk?”

“Get stuffed,” Larry said with no real malice.

“Cotting wants us to gather up a search party,” Ronald said, picking up one of the empties on Larry’s table. Only three so far. “That Watts idiot took their boy and ran off into the woods. We gotta find him.”

Larry’s dead father attempted to get Larry’s attention, but his son studiously ignored the ghost.

“Come on,” Ronald said. “The chief knows you’re drinking. If you don’t show up, he’s gonna fire you.”

Larry apparently considered unemployment for a moment. Larry sighed and stood up. “We need to go by my house and let me get cleaned up,” Larry said. He looked over to Mason. “Put this on my tab.”

“Sure thing, Larry,” Mason said. Not that he really kept track. It didn’t matter how much Larry owed Mason just as long as Larry kept drinking. In fact, Mason had been the one to show up with a twelve-pack after Lisajean left. Mason had also been the one who had given the salesman Lisajean’s address when the man stopped by for a quick drink. He liked to think of himself as Larry’s personal demonic angel.

Mason watched Larry leave the bar. Larry seemed fairly steady, but that was normal for a drunk of Larry’s experience.

Mason pulled himself a draught of Black Dog Lager. He raised the glass in a mock salute to Rod Sr. who stared at the barman with frustrated hate.

Rod Sr. faded out. Mason looked around at the handful of men in the bar. Not as many as he might have hoped, but they would do. He reached beneath the bar and bought out a black box, much smaller than the Curious Box in the forest, but large enough for what Mason had in mind.

“Come over here, boys,” Mason said expansively. “I’ve got something to show you.”

Copyright 2009 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

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Ghosts, Part 6

The useless men at Clement mostly hung around at Mason's Bar and Grill, although the grill hadn't been lit in years. Mason stacked boxes of beer and liquor on it. On most nights, about 15 to 20 men would shuffle into the bar, play some pool, throw a round or two of darts, tell a few dirty jokes, and do their dead level best to drink themselves senseless with Mason's delighted help.

The bar opened in the early afternoon, but only the real serious drunks showed up that early. Like Teddy Aimes who came back from military service with memories he couldn't live with, Lonny Dewey who started drinking when he was 12 and wouldn't stop until he died when his liver finally gave out, and on the the day I'm talking about, Officer Larry Tweans who hadn't been right since his wife left him for a flooring salesman three years ago.

Larry had built his life about his lovely wife Lisajean. They had dated in high school, the football quarterback and the blond bouncy head cheerleader. A cliche couple, it seemed. When they married, Larry thought his life was set. He'd work at his father's furniture store until his father retired when he'd take over, Lisajean would raise two or three beautiful children but keep her looks, and they would live in a large house over on Oak Street where the kids and then the grandkids would play.

Larry, as it turned out, should have spent less time on the football field and more time talking to Lisajean. 'Cause Lisajean had no intention of settling for Clement when she could travel and do more exciting things than what Larry had envisioned for her. After a year of being married to dependable old Larry, she was ripe for the picking when that salesman showed up and told her his cousin Jack ran a TV station in Oklahoma City and he'd love to introduce Lisajean to Jack as well as introduce her to a better life than she had in Clement.

She left a note detailing Larry's failings. He kept it in his front pocket. He went on a three-day drunk. That was so much better than being sober he started planning his weekends around getting plastered. His father and mother tried to intervene, particularly after a terrible Monday morning when Larry showed up at their furniture store still drunk and threw up on a large three-piece microsuede sectional couch. Larry quit the next day. The Wednesday following, two men already on the run from the FBI robbed his parents' store and shot his father twice. His father died, the men were never caught, Larry's older brother Rod Jr. took over the store, and Larry decided to become a policeman.

He stayed sober for the year and half necessary for him to take a few law enforcement classes at the vo-tech at Sumark City. He applied for the part-time position at Clement to get a few months of actual work experience. His half-formed plan was to get a job with the Oklahoma City PD as a traffic cop, and soon after stop Lisajean's car for speeding. He was hazy on what would happen after that, but it either involved him discovering a few ounces of cocaine in the trunk of her car or her declaring her undying love upon seeing him.

Possibly his plan might have worked out for him. At least it might have moved him out of Clement. Might have let him discover something else in his life other than bitterness.

It might have happened as he planned, but one night, his dead father started appearing to him. First in his dreams and then when he was awake. His father haunted him all the time now. In fact, Larry's father Rod Sr. was sitting in the chair next to him and would be until Larry drank him away.

Larry knew -- in that way you know things in dreams -- that his father wanted to talk to him. So far Larry hadn't let him. Larry was afraid. Not so much of his father's ghost, but what his father wanted to tell him.

Larry knew like he knew gravity that his father's words would get him killed.

Copyright 2009 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

****** Sunday, October 25, 1:39 pm

Sorry this is so late. I wrote it last night, but was too tired to proof it last night. And trust me, I need proofing! I did today, and here it is. I wanted to end each section on a cliff-hanger, but have discovered that is impossible in this form without making the story way over the top.

I intend on Ghosts being my next book. A friend asked why I was writing horror instead of mysteries. Here's my answer and with a few answers to questions he didn't ask:

1) Right now, Ghosts is more exciting to write than Murder by the Mile.

2) I don't really think this is horror as much as dark suspense. In fact that will its tag line: A Novel of Dark Suspense.

3) Yes, bad things happen to good people all the way through this book. No promises about any particular character surviving, although people who know me know that I usually root for the good guys.

4) I'm writing this on the blog for the comments. If I stop getting comments -- and readers -- then I'll stop posting it here.

5) I'm going to set up a different blog for Ghosts, which will have the story in order from the beginning, but the new parts will always be here first. I probably won't update the Ghosts blog more than once a week.

Anyway, that's where I'm at. I hope you're enjoying the story. Talk to you later.

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Ghosts, Part 5

If there are always heroes, there are also always villains. Now those people who choose evil for its sake alone are rare and easy to recognize. They do a lot of damage, and you put them down like a mad dog. You don’t torture them, no. You kill them as quickly and as merciful as you can, but you do kill them.

But most aren’t like that. Most people who do evil – sometimes terrible things -- they always have reasons, justifications, excuses. Police Chief Devene Cotting of our fair town of Clement, for instance, always found the law was a bit too confining. Law requires evidence, law requires work, and law requires you protect everyone, not just the skin color you like.

Clement was larger back then and could afford Cotting and two part-time deputies. Nowadays the county sheriff handles our town if we need him, but mostly we don’t. Too few of us left to do much stealing or carrying on or anything else. See, the life went out of our town forty years ago, and Clement never recovered. Sometimes I think a big fire would be the best thing. Finally put Clement out of its misery.

Anyway, back then, Cotting ran Clement like it was his private whore. A big brute of a man, he strutted around Clement and really thought he was God’s gift to the world when he wasn’t worth a good gob of spit.

Unfortunately, after Nate and Bettie finished telling their poison tale to Jacob and Mattie, and after Jacob and Mattie had searched desperately for Simon Simple and Davey, Cotting was who they called on that phone over there. See, the Watts couldn’t afford a phone, so Jacob ran the half-mile down here to call the police. Back then, old man Fisher owned the store.

Even then, Jacob didn’t tell Cotting the terrible things that Nate and Bettie had said Simon had done to Davey. Jacob still hoped they were wrong, but he was already losing faith in Simon. He was starting to fall. Not his fault. Every father wants their children protected. Every father suffers and blames themselves when their children are hurt. No, it wasn’t his fault at first. The best thing evil does is take good impulses and turn them inside out and upside down. The difference between a saint giving his life for others and a fanatic taking the life of others is razor thin.

Cotting hung up the phone at his two room police station. “Ronald, get your ass in here! That idiot up at the Watts place run away with their boy.” He spit a wad of chewing tobacco at the trash can and missed, the brown wad joining the pile on the floor. “God only knows what he’s doing to him. They should have put him away years ago.”

Officer Ronald Wellans wandered into the room. Cotting regarded him with contempt. Ronald was lazy and slow, but he didn’t give Cotting any lip.

“Where’s Larry?” Cotting asked.

“He called in sick,” Wellans said, leaning against the doorway.

“Drunk, you mean,” Cotting said. “You go over to his house and get him out of bed. Gather up some people and head up to the Watts place. That idiot doesn’t have the brains to go far.”

Wellans yawned.

“GO!” Cotting yelled, his round face getting red.

Wellans sighed and went.

Cotting circled around his desk and opened the gun case. He took down his deer rifle. He looked through the scope. If he got lucky, he might bag himself an idiot today. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he thought about it. He had only killed one other person in his life, and that had been his miserable brother. This promised to be even more fun. He headed toward his truck, whistling a little tune.

Copyright 2009 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

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Ghosts, Part 4

You're back. Well, it's your funeral. Heh heh. But remember this: there is always hope and there are always, always, always heroes.

You recall when I was telling you about the Watts family, I mentioned the father Jacob; the mother, Mattie; the three children: ten-year-old Nate, nine-year-old Bettie, seven-year-old Davey; and one other, Mattie’s brother Simon Simple.

Of course, that wasn’t his name. Well, Simon was his first name, but he got “Simple” because he was. He was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his throat. Lack of oxygen damaged his brain. He couldn’t talk and had trouble walking. The doctors would have put him in a home, but his parents took their baby boy home and raised him with as much love as they could manage among all those other children. Simon had one gift; the best gift, his mother used to say, and that was he could love better than anyone you’ve ever known. When one of his brothers or sisters got hurt, he’d wrap them in his clumsy embrace and coo to them. It was silly and makes no sense, but he made them feel better.

In the little country school he went to, the other kids made fun of him, and eventually he became Simon Simple. He didn’t care what they said; he just laughed along with them and eventually the name stuck. No one thought much of it, certainly not him. But if those kids or his parents or those doctors could have seen into his mind, they would have been shocked. Because since he was born, the Shining Ones had been his constant companions, and in the gentle paradise that he spent his life in, he was never alone. They patiently taught him secret songs and hidden languages, and with great regret, prepared him for the Trial to come. It didn’t matter what the outside world saw; in his inner world, Simon lived the life of a prince of the sky.

Older than Mattie by three years, he attached to her when she was born, and to the best of his ability, he tried to take care of her. When she married and moved away, he was sad to the point of not eating. When his mother came down ill, the family asked Mattie and Nate to take him. They willing did, and to their credit, even during their hard financial times, they never thought of sending him back. He was a good companion to the children – not so much that he took care of them, but because they tried to take care of him, they didn’t do dangerous things that children sometimes do.

On that hot summer morning, Simon had been attempting to weed the poor garden. Simon had grown up large and strong, still clumsy, but capable of more than anyone would expect. He was trying to figure out if a particular plant was a weed or an onion when a Shining One came to him, and in a voice full of love said, Simon, our love, it’s time.

For a moment he stood there, the outside world snapping into focus for the first time in his life. He looked at the Shining One and smiled, his face full of courage and willing obedience. Then he ran toward the woods, with every stride his clumsy steps becoming steady and straight. Behind him, the Shining One watched and wept as Simon Simple raced to his destiny.

In the woods, Bettie brought the box up to Davey and said, “Open it, Davey. There’s a surprise inside.”

Davey stretched out his little hand, but innocence has its own wisdom, and he paused. Once Nate had hid a frog in his hand and threw it at Davey. Davey liked frogs, but it had still been scary at first. He shook his head.

Nate’s hands tightened on his shoulders. Davey tried to shrug him off, but Nate’s grip became stronger.

“Open it, Davey,” Nate commanded harshly.

“No!” Davey said and began to struggle.

Bettie caught Davey’s hand and brought it to the box.

Davey began to cry. “No, Bettie, no!”

Bettie laughed. She pulled harder, and his hand touched the box.

Davey screamed. He could feel the Curious Box moving under his hand, like a surface made of oily snakes.

“Open it!” Nate forced Davey to his knees.

Bettie shuddered as the creature in her drank in his delicious fear, sweeter than honey, and fiery like pepper.

Davey screamed again. He felt himself going numb, his mind trying to protect him, trying to close his eyes, trying to protect his little boy spirit from things that shatter the strongest adults.

The Curious Box started to open; inky blackness flowed toward Davey.

And then Simon Simple, running like an Olympian, swept Davey up into his big, strong arms and kept running, his passage scattering Bettie and Nate like chaff in a strong wind, the Curious Box closing with an angry snap and tumbling across the rocky ground.

Simon Simple disappeared in the woods before Nate and Bettie could recover.

“So he’s the one,” Bettie said as she picked up the Curious Box and carried it easily under her arm.

“He will be no trouble,” Nate said. “They chose badly.”

Bettie smiled widely at him. “No, no trouble. Particularly not after we tell her the naughty, naughty thing we caught the imbecile doing to our precious little brother.”

Nate laughed. He reached over and took her hand.

They walked toward the house, where Jacob slept and Mattie did the washing, and where worse things were to come.

You see, there are always heroes. Even simple ones.

That’s all for tonight. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe not. It’s up to you. Remember, too, that people always have choices. Always.

Copyright by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

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Ghosts, Part 3

Let me drag up a chair. Standing up all day is hard on my back. Not that I have all that many customers anymore. Not now that the town of Clement is mostly dead, and folks zoom right past on Highway 17 since it opened ten years back. But I stay busy one way or another. People can always find things to do if they don't give into idleness.

Like the Watts children on that hot summer day. They had been busy, having already played cowboys and Indians -- Nate playing the cowboy, of course, with Bettie taking the role of a fierce Indian warrior and little Davey being an Indian prince -- and knights and knaves with Nate as Knight Nate, Bettie as Knight Rose, and Davey as Prince Peter. Nate and Bettie argued fiercely about her knighthood, but Bettie had no intention of standing around and just being rescued when clearly the fun was in swinging a stick (standing in for a sword) and vanquishing evil.

As his two older siblings bickered, seven-year-old Davey wandered off. Quite content to splash in the tepid water and catch what bugs and frogs he could find, he followed the stream farther into the woods. He found a large puddle and started floating twigs, leaves, and just about anything else he could find.

Bettie ran up to him. "Davey, you're not supposed to wander off," she scolded.

"Yeah, Davey," Nate said. "Bears might get you."

"Ain't none," Davey said, dropping a large rock into the puddle.

"Are to!" Nate said.

"Are not!" Bettie said, always willing to argue with Nate. "Bears live in the woods."

"We're in the woods!" Nate said.

"Not here, dofus!" Bettie said scornfully. "Alaska and Canada and Norway. Places like that." She actually wasn't sure if Norway had bears, but she thought she remembered her teacher saying Norway was cold, and if it was cold, it should have furry things.

"Don't call me that!" Nate hollered and swung his stick at her.

"Dofus, dofus, dofus!" Bettie ran across the creek, dodging her brother's stick and hurrying to pick up hers.

Little Davey ignored them. He watched the large puddle and wondered why it started to bubble. He didn't know enough to be afraid. Who would?

Nate and Bettie battled it out. Nate had a longer reach, but Bettie had a longer stick so it was an even fight.

As Davey watched, a box floated up out of the puddle, the water parting and sliding off its black sides until it was fully exposed. Davey gave a little laugh of surprise.

"Davey, what you got?" Bettie asked. "Stop it, Nate! I'm not playing anymore." She walked over to her little brother.

"I wasn't playing," Nate said, continuing to swing at the dragon in his imagination.

"Where did you get that?" Bettie asked Davey.

"Puddle," Davey said, pointing.

"No, you didn't," Bettie said, looking doubtfully at the puddle. The box was clearly bigger than the puddle.

"Did," Davey said.

"What is it?" Bettie said.

"It's a box!" Nate said. "Even a dofus knows that."

"You would know," Bettie said, still staring at the box. Made out of a black wood that barely showed the grain, the box had no decoration. Just plain straight black sides that fitted together perfectly and a lid held shut by a black metal latch. She stretched out her hand and touched the box. She jerked her hand back. "It's cold!"

"Let me feel!" Nate demanded and pushed her aside. He put his hand on it. "It is not. You're dreamin' things again."

Bettie pushed him back. "Am not."

"Open it!" Nate said. "There might be money in it."

"No," Bettie said. "People don't keep money in black boxes. Don't you know anything?" She felt uneasy as she stared at the box. "This is curious." She was proud of having remembered that word. "It's a curious box."

"Yes, the Curious Box!" Nate said. "And it's ours."

"No, it's not," Bettie said.

"Finders, keepers," Nate said.

"Finders, keepers," Davey echoed.

"Where did it come from?" Bettie said, looking around the woods.

"Someone must have dropped it," Nate said. "Let me see." He tried to open the latch, but it wouldn't give. "It must be locked."

"It doesn't belong to us," Bettie said. "Leave it alone."

"I bet I could get it open," Nate said, looking for a rock.

"No!" Bettie said, having made her mind up. "We'll leave it here where we found it."

"I'm going to open it," Nate said.

"No!" Bettie pushed Nate. He pushed back harder. Bettie gritted her teeth and jumped on him. The two wrestled with Bettie giving as good as she got and then some.

Davey picked up the box. Despite its size, he lifted it easily. Carrying it carefully before him, he started back down the stream.

"Davey, where you going?" Nate broke free of his sister and hurried after Davey.

"Momma," Davey said. He had a little boy's faith in his mother. She'd know what to do with it.

"Let's open it!" Nate said, reaching out to take the box.

"No," Davey said. "Momma."

Nate tried to take the box, but Davey was determined to hold on to it. Bettie ran up and pushed Nate away.

"Leave him alone," Bettie told Nate. "Let's take it to Momma."

"I wasn't saying we shouldn't," Nate said. "I just want to open it first."

"Here, Davey, let me carry it," Bettie said. Davey readily handed it over and walked on. She grunted.

"It's heavy," Bettie said.

"Heavy for a girl," Nate said. "Davey was carrying it easy."

"Dofus," Bettie said.

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Nate yelled.

"Dofus, dofus, dofus!" Bettie said.

"I'm gonna hit you!" Nate said.

"Dofus is as dofus does!" Bettie said.

Nate shoved her hard. Bettie fell back to the ground with a shriek. The Curious Box fell, and as easy as that, it opened. Both Bettie and Nate saw inside.

For a moment, Bettie felt like she was in a nightmare, that one where something was crushing her and she tried to scream and wake up, but that only left her with nothing to breathe and she heard her ribs crack and blood gushed up her throat and down her lungs and blackness took her eyes.

Nate felt hot and heavy, like he had a huge meal. But what he ate was still alive and eating its way out of his stomach and his skin began to tear and lurch as the worms gnawed their way out and he opened his mouth to scream and the shiny black worms flowed out OF his mouth as he fell.

The lid of The Curious Box shut then. Nate and Bettie stared at each other. Their bodies were untouched, but what stared out of their eyes was something oh so different from the children they had been. They both turned as one.

"Davey," Bettie said happily. "Come here."

"Come here and see what's in the box," Nate said cheerfully. "It's really neat."

And little sweet innocent Davey -- who always looked up to his siblings and trusted them only the way a child could -- stopped and looked at them. He made his way back toward where they stood.

Bettie leaned down over the box. She smiled at Davey, but her eyes were empty.

Nate put his cold, cold, hands on Davey's shoulders.

I have to stop here. I'm sorry. I don't know ... I don't know if I can tell you ... Listen, you should go. Go away. Don't come back tomorrow. If you come back tomorrow ... if you come back ... there's more to tell. There's more. And God help ya, I'll tell you. I'll tell you.

Copyright 2009 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

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Ghosts, Part 2

So you came back? Want to hear more, do ya? Look, you seem like a nice person. This isn't a story for a nice person. Maybe you shouldn't learn any more 'bout it. It's up to you. I'm giving you the choice.

I'm not saying you're afraid, mind you. After all, stories like these are as common as dirt in the Ozarks. Always some ghosts wandering here and there and raising unholy hell. But this story is different. I'll tell you the difference in a bit.

Now, where were we? Oh, yes, I remember. Now before you can understand the story, you need to know the people. The Watts family. Let's start with Jacob. Folks thought of him as a nice man when they thought of him. Nothing remarkable. He had pale blue eyes, a straight back, and a body hard from work. His father Ezrah was a drunk who fell into a pond and drown one night, but not before he gave Jacob the hard side of his hand too many times. Jacob's mother Laura died from the flu when Jacob was five, so Jacob fended for himself from then until his father finally died when he was 15. The next year he met Mattie.

Mattie was the sixth girl in a family of eleven who could only feed five well if that. Despite how poor her family was, Mattie always had a ready smile, and her green eyes and long black hair outshone her hand-me-down clothes. She helped her mother as best she could and knew how to milk the cows and shuck the corn and snap the peas. She had to leave school in the eighth grade to help the family, and every time she entered her family's overcrowded house, she had to fight down desperation.

Mattie and Jacob met at the old Arbor Creek Holiness church during a hellfire and brimstone revival when they were only 16 and 15 respectively. They married the next year, Jacob in a gray suit borrowed from his brother Sam, and Mattie in a wedding dress her cousin Ailene gave her. Their clothes didn't quite fit, but Jacob beamed and Mattie had tiny white flowers in her hair, and they were a right good lookin' couple. Everyone remarked on that.

They moved into Jacob's house up there on the hill. They fixed it up real pretty. Jacob and Mattie were young and worked hard and pinched every penny until it squealed. Maybe things would have gone differently for them if the babies hadn't started coming so fast, but they did. First, Bettie, then Nate, and finally little Davey, one right after the other. On Davey, something tore inside Mattie, and she nearly died. She spent five months in the Baptist Hospital and recovered, but she could never have any more children. And the medical bills ate them alive.

Jacob ran a few cattle on his place, raised a handful of chickens, and planted just about anything that would grow on his thirteen acres. He sold what the family didn't eat, and it had been enough until those bills started arriving. Mattie and him talked a long time about it, but finally he took a night job over at Sumark City working in a chicken plant. He'd work all night, come home, and do chores until he couldn't, then collapse.

Mattie took to sending the kids outside to play for hours so Jacob could sleep. She told them to stay in the yard and near the house, but summer heat drove them into the woods behind their house.

On a hot day in July when the sun blazed mercilessly and no wind stirred the browning grass, the children would go farther into those dark deep woods and beside a trickle of water in a rocky creek, they found the Curious Box.

And that's how it began. The nightmare that followed all started with that.

I think that's enough for tonight. I feel tired. My head hurts. I'm sorry. Come back tomorrow afternoon, about this time, when I'm closing the store. I'll tell you more if you want, but I won't think less of you if you don't. In fact ... you shouldn't. But I'll be here if you do.

Oh, that difference in this story from the other stories? The difference is this: this story is true.

Copyright 2008 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

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Ghosts

You keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you. Doesn't matter what you've seen or heard on that old dirt road across from the old Watts place.

It's better, in fact, if you don't go up there. Don't drive up there. Go around the hill and take Highway 17 even though it takes you miles out of your way. That's safer. You'll sleep better at night.

I know, I know. It's just an old house. Two-story farmhouse with more holes than wood left in its walls and a roof that allows the rain easy access as well as the birds if any birds dared to enter and they don't. A broken wooden fence that marks off the old yard, the yard the Watts children once played in until they didn't. Weeds up to your waist. And always the buzzing of two or three green flies.

From the road, during the spring when the blackeyed susans and Indian paintbrush are blooming, foolish tourists stop sometimes to take pictures. It's scenic, they say, having seen the house from the highway. But the photos they take never turn out right, and most people find they don't like the pictures. Some people make the mistake of staring at the photos too long, and they see things in those black windows, horrible things that aren't there when they look again.

We old-timers know about that house. We know what happened forty years ago. We know why it was boarded up. And we're afraid we know what lingers there in the ruins of the Watts family home.

Come close. Even though we're a half mile away, it's better to talk softly. Don't attract its attention. No, I don't know what exactly might hear us, but I don't want to find out. You don't want to find out.

Forty years ago, you see, the whole Watts family was destroyed. Jacob Watts, his wife Mattie, Jacob's brother Simon Simple, and the children, Bettie, Nathan, and little Davey. They were destroyed. Not just killed. Killing would have been a kindness. No, they were destroyed. The adults reduced to raving creatures; the children vanished with no sign of them ever found. Only one of the family survived. Just one. And he's mad. Oh, completely mad, they say.

It's late now. Time for me to close the store, but I'll tell you more if you come back tomorrow. I'll tell you how it began. What the children found and what happened next. No one knows the end of it, but I'll tell what I know tomorrow.

Copyright 2009 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

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The Levelers

How do they become that way? Did life sour them early? Did their parents tear them down? Do they think they were appointed by God to the arbiter of mankind? Do they think all the pain they inflict with their criticisms is somehow good for you? Do they really think they’re helping you?

I’ve learned to shelter my ideas and dreams from certain members of my family and from certain people who supposedly are my friends. Ideas are fragile things, and these people take pleasure in picking them to pieces. Or they always have ways to better these ideas until the idea is a creaking, belching, lumbering monster that you can’t bear to work on.

I call those people The Levelers. They live tiny, self-satisfied, self-righteous lives. They can’t learn anything beyond what they know, and if you try to teach them, they will ruthlessly tear you down with no guilt. You will be told that you disappoint them, that you embarrass them, and that you are a failure in all the important things. The Levelers will pull you down to their level if you let them. They’ll push you into darkness if they can get away with it. They can’t look at the sky because they're too busy pushing people’s faces in the dirt.

You can run from them, but their words haunt you. The rotten thing is that we want the approval of our parents, siblings, friends, co-workers, and lovers. We want them to cherish us. We want them to think we’re smart, funny, bright, and attractive. We don’t need their careless cruelty, their unthinking remarks, and their unearned superior attitude. Not ever.

Eventually The Levelers will remake you or destroy you or … or you will find that your dreams and ideas have more strength than their words and actions. You’ll draw strength from being alone and being afraid. You might even hate your vicious critics at first, and anger will propel you on for a time, but then you’ll find the dream is enough. It’s a cold existence at times, but where you’re flying, the air is always cold and pure and you can see the stars and the unknown beyond.

When you set down on earth, resting your wings for a moment, you’ll see The Levelers for tiny creatures they are. You will probably feel contempt, but if your dreams have taken you far enough, you’ll pity them. You’ll pity them for their limited horizon, bounded forever by their spite and ignorance. You’ll pity them for choosing to live in a prison of their making. But pity isn't enough for you to choose the ground, no matter how much they need you.

The horizon will call, and then you will fly away.

I don’t know if you’ll look back. But I doubt it.

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Hosanna

A friend of mine shared this song with me. It's sang by Andrew Peterson.

I am tangled up in contradiction.
I am strangled by my own two hands.
I am hunted by the hounds of addiction.
Hosanna!
I have lied to everyone who trusts me.
I have tried to fall when I could stand.
I have only loved the ones who loves me.
Hosanna!

O Hosanna!
See the long awaited king come to set his people free.
We cry O Hosanna!
Come and tear the temple down. Raise it up on holy ground.
Hosanna!

I have struggled to remove this raiment,
tried to hide every shimmering strand.
I contend with these ghosts
and these hosts of bright angels.
Hosanna!
I have cursed the man that you have made me,
as I have nursed the beast that bays for my blood.
Oh, I have run from the one who would save me.
Save me, Hosanna!

O Hosanna! See the long awaited king, come to set his people free.
We cry O Hosanna!
Come and tear the temple down.
Raise it up on holy ground.
Hosanna!

You have crushed beneath your heel the vile serpent.
You have carried to the grave the black stain.
You have torn apart the temple’s holy curtain.
You have beaten Death at Death’s own game.
Hosanna!

O Hosanna! Hail the long awaited king, come to set his people free.
We cry O Hosanna! Won’t you tear this temple down,
raise it up on holy ground.
O Hosanna!
I will lift my voice and sing:
you have come and washed me clean.
Hosanna.

I tried to find it on YouTube you could listen to it, but had no luck there or anywhere else. It's worth downloading, though.

And now good night! Have a sweet sleep and great tomorrow.

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Still tired

Still worn out so I'm going to bed now, but let me direct you to Adam's current entry -- titled Jump -- on his blog at www.thisfluidlife.com. I think you will find worthwhile.

And now good night!

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Bone tired

A long grinding day and I didn't sleep much last night so I am dragging now. Not much to tell you about the day other than it was busy and I was tired throughout most of it.

I've been trying to get back into the habit of blogging daily again. I sure wish my blogging friends would, too, but it looks like Facebook has stolen them away. That's a shame. A blog records your life. Facebook doesn't do that.

And I think that will be all tonight. I hope you have a peaceful night and a great tomorrow. I'll talk to you then.

And before I go, I thought I'd share my current favorite quote:

"When you come to the end of all the light you know, and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly."
-Edward Teller

And good night!

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Weekend Roundup

I was sick Friday night and most of Saturday. Too much stress at work so my stomach -- being a vengeful organ -- decided to punish me. The joys of IBD. Whee.

Good news, though, Saturday as both OSU and OU won their football games. Football almost redeems the cold weather of fall.

An acquaintance of mine was talking about how much he liked cold, wet, overcast weather. He said he particularly liked it when the temp dropped below freezing. All I can say is a man who will lie about that will lie about other things.

It looks like I'm going to be selling PrePaid Legal memberships in the future. I dabbled in this many years ago, but never really pursued it because my insurance job kept me restricted. With the many changes down at my office, I think it's prudent to look at my opportunities. If you'd like to know what PrePaid Legal offers, you can visit their website here.

Speaking of prudent actions, I have been attempting to rebuild my emergency fund after its summer demise (due to medical bills). The fund wasn't large, but it did help. Dave Ramsey recommends haveing an emergency fund, and I think that's the most important thing I took away from his books.

I've also been clipping coupons again. I used to do that years ago, but got out of the habit. I can't say I've saved hundreds of dollars this way, but every dollar saved is a good thing. Today I went to Walgreens and saved $2.50 on items I was going to buy anyway. That's $2.50 that I can use for something else.

I think that will do it for this weekend. I hope you have a great night and a wonderful Monday. Talk to you then.

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Mostly Must See

This morning was foggy, damp, and cool. A bone-creeping chill was in the air. Have I mentioned lately how much I detest cold weather?

Apparently we're in for several days of this dismal weather. Whee. I can barely contain myself. At least there's something to watch on TV as the fall season has finally started. Admittedly not much to watch, but a few things.

Thursday night has become Mostly-Must-See-TV for me. I watch Bones at seven, Fringe at eight, and Leno at nine. I really enjoy Bones, Fringe is growing on me, and Leon is okay. I do enjoy his monologue most times, and I particularly like his Headlines and Craig's List segments.

Tonight we are experiencing a terrible storm. Lots of wind, lightning, rain, but fortunately the TV is still working!

Overall, it was a stressful day, but it's ended well. I hope your day ended well, too, and that you have a great night and wonderful Friday. Night!

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Wistfully

It would be so easy to make decisions if we knew the outcome. We can evaluate the pros and cons. We can ask advice and opinions. We can and should pray and meditate. We can even flip coins or consult our dubious horoscopes. But we can't be sure of the outcome, no matter how carefully we've considered the ramifications.

And we don't get do-overs. Several years back I drove a woman away from me. I can give you a thousand reasons why that was the right thing to do -- age difference, life difference, etc. -- but it doesn't change the fact I was wrong. Now I look back and see clearly that I was wrong, that I should have leaped instead of hesitating, that I should have taken the chance -- but it's too late now. That moment passed. I don't love her anymore, particularly because of what happened in the aftermath of my stupid decision -- we did our best to ruin each other -- and she certainly doesn't love me. But I do regret how things turned out and think wistfully how nice it would have been if on that terrible night I had said and done the right thing.

Or maybe not. Perhaps we would have torn each other apart. Certainly we had enough willpower between us to light New York City and Vegas if willpower could do that. So perhaps it's for the best. Who knows? I don't.

We really do stumble around in the dark, you know. We hold such terrible power over the people we love, and we wield it so lightly, so irresponsibly. I think sometimes we get the life we deserve.

I also think we deserve better. Have a good night and a great Thursday.

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Once again

Once again I have been surprised by the sheer gall and appalling dishonesty of some people. How did our world produce such people?

Actually, I know the answer: They chose to be that way. We can blame our parents, we can blame society, we can blame the schools, our politicians, our churches, our friends, and on down the list of scapegoats, but the truth is we choose our morals. We control our behavior. It is our responsibility.

If I could speak to those people -- after I finishing beating on them -- I would tell them that they live miserable lives and will always until they choose something different.

They wouldn't listen to me ... but the beating would be fun.

Have a good night and a great Wednesday.

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Dinner & life

I made an excellent dinner tonight. I sauteed garlic, chives, onions, a yellow pepper, two cups of fresh baby spinach, a package of mushrooms, and a package of fajita chicken strips in extra virgin olive oil. I then added two cups of angel hair pasta and one cup of V8 vegetable juice. I let it all steam together in the skillet. It was excellent! And so very healthy.

I'm trying to reclaim my life. From illness, work, money problems, loneliness, grief, dispirit ... Don't know if I can. Don't know if it's beyond me. Interesting times ...

Have a good Tuesday and good night.

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Interesting times

There is an ancient Chinese curse that says, “May you live in interesting times.” I am, regrettably, living in interesting times. Here are my interesting times in no particular order.

1. My job remains stressful, but it was better this week. Most people have heard of my boss’s death now, so the questions and the retelling of the tragic event have lessened. I’m hoping next week will continue that thread.

2. The overall future of my job remains in doubt. However, it seems I will remain employed for a few more months or longer, depending on how things work out. It’s definitely not a time during which I can spend unnecessary money. I’m trying to rebuild an emergency fund after having it wiped out my medical bills and tests this summer.

3. My roomie got the flu and had been at home, sick as he can be. He finally went back to work today. I’m not sure if it wasn’t too soon, but like most of us, he has to work for a living. It’s all well and good for the health authorities to say you should stay home, but if you work hourly or have a job where there isn’t anyone to do your work while you’re gone, you have to go to work if remotely able. That’s life.

4. Dealing with my personal grief at my boss’s passing has been hard. He was part of my life for 20 years, and I had worked for him for 17 years. There is an empty space in my life where he fitted.

5. My health problems continue, and the doctors still have no idea what’s causing them. They throw medicine at me in hopes that some of it will stick. So far, I seem to be holding my own – even gaining ground – but I remain worried that my problem is some disease that is life-threatening and no one is correctly diagnosing it.

6. I can’t seem to get Murder by the Mile going. I can't get interested in the story, even though I was terribly excited by it a few months back. If that book isn't going to come yet, I need to get to work on another one. It's been too long since I've lost myself in writing. I need to do that again.

That's enough for tonight. I hope you're having a good life lately. And may you live in uninteresting times!

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Swimming in the shallows

I used to be deep. No, really. In high school, I read — on my own, not being forced to read them by a teacher — the novels of Ayn Rand, Ernest Hemingway, Balzac and others. I devoured these huge books by the dozens, and my razor-sharp mind understood them. Now I’m lucky if I can make it through an episode of Scooby-Doo without getting confused.

I don’t know how it happened. I was still deep in college. People would comment about it. When I started talking, they would invariably say, “It’s getting deep in here.” I found other deep people there, and it was nothing unusual for us to spend hours discussing socioeconomic issues of modern life and who was the Student Assistant was dating.

But after leaving college, I began swimming in the shallows, and my mind began to go. I don’t know where it went. I suspect it’s on a beach in Aruba.

For the most part, I haven’t missed my mind. It was inconvenient, always bringing up things that it shouldn’t, particularly during Presidential elections. Of course, I can’t do math, but I couldn’t do that when it was here so it doesn’t seem like I lost much.

In fact, I was content until last week when I chanced on “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” I knew what the show was, but I had never watched it. I was immediately hooked. In case you aren’t familiar, the host asks a contestant various questions, and with each correct answer, the contestant wins more money, up to a million dollars. Ah, $1,000,000. That’s such a pretty number. I could just stare at it all day. Wait, where was I? Yes, I recall. The evil codfish had attacked the fortress of the fruit bats … No, wait. The evil fruit bats had attacked the fortress of the codfish. It’s easy to get those two confused because they are so much alike, one being a flying mammal and the other being a fish. See?

Anyway, the first questions on the Millionaire show are easy:

Which of these is a fruit? A. Tomato B. Lettuce C. Spinach D. Rush Limbaugh. (The answer is tomato, but the impulse is to pick Rush is almost overwhelming.)

Who invented the telegraph? A. Isaac Newton B. Galileo C. Copernicus D. Samuel Morse. (The answer is Morse. Newton invented fig newtons; Galileo and Copernicus were rock singers.) Easy.

But as the questions progress, they get harder until the million dollar question, which is something like this:

What is the atomic weight of lead? A. 2 B. 207 C. 512 D. 141.

What excited me about this is that it happened to be something I knew. The atomic weight of lead is 207. So there I was, yelling the correct answer at the TV. And when he said, “D,” I groaned and did the frustration dance. While it was the most exercise I had done all week, something is wrong when you get that involved in a game show. I realized I had lost my depth.

Some people don’t mind being shallow. They revel in it and end up in a political office or on Jerry Springer. I, however, vowed to fight my mental decline. I immediately went to the library and checked out three of the heaviest books I could find. I had to have a strapping library aide carry them to the car for me, and even she had a bead of sweat on her forehead when she finished. I also decided to watch more Public Television, at least during Pledge Week when they show good shows to entice their viewers to give them money.

But other than Public Television, I cut back on my TV time which saved me at least 30 minutes a day, and I never liked the news, anyway. Except for the newsgirl who has a nice smile and lovely eyes but also has a wedding ring so I don’t like her.

And I will use the most potent wisdom I know for regaining your intelligence, a secret passed down by the ancients, a secret I will now share with you, something that will make you a super genius and allow you to balance your checkbook forever!

Oops, gotta go. The Millionaire show is on.

Excerpted from Floozy by Stephen B. Bagley. Copyright 2009 Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

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Nice and relaxing

Summer is over, so I switched the Harbor Street template back to our regular template. I tried to find a good fall template, but couldn't find anything that was attractive and readable. I'll keep looking.

Still fighting a cold. Sigh. But I've been drinking lots of fluid, getting lots of rest, trying to eat immune boosting foods, and so on. So far, I've been able to keep it from developing into anything really bad.

I'm attempting to finish the August family newsletter this week. I want to do the September one in the week following. And then I'll be caught up and only need to do the October one before the end of that month to stay caught up. Whew! I'm excited about being caught up.

Otherwise, not much to tell you. I did housework, watched football, ran some errands, napped, and so on this weekend. That's about it. It was a nice relaxing weekend. I hope you had the same.

Talk to you tomorrow! Have a great night.

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Both ways

We hold onto our lives as hard as we can. Isn't it strange how we say we seek adventure, travel, and new experiences, but will do everything we can to preserve the status quo? Weird creatures we are, as Yoda would put it.

Sometimes our world gets shaken. Sometimes we are forced to confront the unknown. I'd like to think I'd face such a change with my eyes wide open, my body straining against the new wind. But too many times, I've tried to retreat. Tried to preserve what couldn't be preserved. Done it too many times with too many relationships and life situations. I know me too well.

When I was younger and quicker and harsher with my judgments, I used to think it was cowardly to not embrace change. But now that I'm older with too many sins of my own to presume to judge the sins of others and now that I've seen so many changes that definitely weren't for the better, I know that both ways take courage, stubbornness, and hope.

Talk to you later.

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We need a laugh or two

These announcements are supposed to be from actual church bulletins. Don't know if they are, but they're still funny.

The 1991 Spring Council retreat will be hell May 10 & 11.

The senior choir invites any member of the congregation who enjoys sinning to join the choir.

Thursday night-Potluck Supper. Prayer and medication to follow.

The rosebud on the altar this morning is to announce the birth of David Alan Belzer, the sin of Rev. and Mrs. Julius Belzer.

The associate minister unveiled the church's new tithing campaign slogan last Sunday: "I Upped My Pledge - Now Up Yours."

At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be "What is Hell?" Come early and listen to our choir practice.

Eight new choir robes are currently needed, due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.

Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles, and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.

Irving Beltson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.

Attend and you will hear an excellent speaker and heave a healthy lunch.

The Rev. Adams spoke briefly, much to the delight of his audience.

A new loudspeaker system has been installed in the church. It was given by one of our members in honor of his wife.

The Pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday morning.

Low Self-Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 to 8:30 p.m. Please use back door.

Ushers will eat latecomers.

Next Sunday Mrs. Vinson will be soloist for the morning service. The pastor will then speak on "It's a Terrible Experience."

For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.


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Surprisingly similar

Despite the huge change regarding work, the work day was surprisingly similar to previous days. It was high stress in the morning and calmer in the afternoon. Of course, we had a lot of rain in the afternoon, and that always cuts down on the number of customers who come by.

Things remain unclear, but I'll know more as the week progresses. At least, I think I will. Who knows? I still feel amazingly calm about it. Well, calm for me, which I've been told is somewhat less than calm for other people, but since it's the only calm I know, I stick with amazingly calm.

Tomorrow falls begins, and we're supposed to have a cold front move through. Sigh. Goodbye summer. I'll miss you muchly. I'm already looking forward to your return.

And now I'm going to call it a night. I'm very tired. You have a good night and a great day tomorrow. I'll talk to you then.

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Tomorrow things change

Tomorrow I will get up and eat breakfast. Like I've done a thousand and more times before.

Tomorrow I will shower, shave, and dress. Like I've done a thousand and more times before.

Tomorrow I will drive to work and open the doors and answer the phones and take care of customers as best as I can. Like I've done a thousand and more times before.

But tomorrow will be different. My work world has changed. It will not change back. The situation has changed, and I must adapt -- or not -- as I choose, but the situation is different no matter what my response.

My friends and family keep asking me about the future of my job. I have no answers. I won't be making any of the decisions concerning it. I don't think anyone knows. The decisions will come or be forced upon us all as we deal with how things have changed.

Strangely enough, I feel quite peaceful about it. Maybe I just haven't realized the gravity of the situation. I know I might still be in shock. It takes a while to recover from a hard jolt to our system. But overall, I'm doing okay.

Yes, okay. Not perfect. Not untroubled. But okay. I feel like I'm going to survive this and be okay no matter how this works out. That doesn't mean I don't need your prayers. I do. And that doesn't mean I know any answers. I don't. But I still believe I'll be okay.

Talk to you tomorrow, my friends. I hope you have a good night and great tomorrow. Good night.

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Office announcement

My office will be open again on Monday. We will continue for the time being as the family adjusts to these terrible events. That's all I know right now.

Please have the Ensey family in your prayers tomorrow as they make it through the funeral.

Good night.

Obituary

John Nelson Ensey of Pauls Valley, Oklahoma, was born to John Cebran and Mildred Imogene (Nelson) Ensey on March 27, 1949 in Wynnewood, Oklahoma, and passed from this life on September 13, 2009, in Norman, Oklahoma, at the age of 60 years.

John grew up and attended school in Wynnewood, Oklahoma, graduating in 1967. He then attended East Central State College in Ada, Oklahoma, and Oklahoma State University where he obtained his Bachelors of Science in Accounting in December of 1971.

Due to a blind date, John began dating Lucille Little at the age of 15. Six years later they were married on August 22, 1971, in Pauls Valley and joined the family to create the LBE Ranch.

After twenty years of farming, John opened his own insurance agency with Allstate in Ada. In 2002, he found a way to fulfill his desire to help others by forming Ensey Bail Bonds.

Because he never got the dirt from under his fingernails, John added a third job, which was his true passion, and began farming and ranching again.

In his spare time he enjoyed the lake and boating and any opportunity to spend time with his family.

Mr. Ensey is survived by his wife: Lucille Little Ensey of the home; two sons: Corey Ensey and his wife Telise of Duncan, Oklahoma, and Craig Ensey and his wife Crystal of Pauls Valley, Oklahoma; his mother: Mildred Ensey of Wynnewood, Oklahoma; two sisters: Jere Hanchak and her husband John of Bradenton, Florida, and Luanne Howk and her husband Andy of Norman, Oklahoma; five grandchildren: Chase, Cade, Faith, Tag, and Jack; and a host of other family and friends. Mr. Ensey was preceded in death by his father: J. C. Ensey.

Funeral services for Mr. Ensey are scheduled for Thursday, September 17, 2009 at 4:30 p.m. in the Pauls Valley High School Auditorium with Rev. Tom Buzbee officiating. The family will receive friends following the service at the Bosa Center. You may send a condolence to the family at www.woosterfuneralhomes.com. In lieu of flowers, the family would prefer that friends send donations to Regional Food Bank , Food 4 Kids Program/Garvin County, P. O. Box 272153, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma 73127-2153

Visitations:
9:00AM to 7:00PM on Tuesday, September 15th, 2009 at Wooster Funeral Home and Cremation Services, 1601 South Chickasaw, Pauls Valley, Oklahoma.

9:00AM to 7:00PM on Wednesday, September 16th, 2009 at Wooster Funeral Home and Cremation Services, 1601 South Chickasaw, Pauls Valley, Oklahoma.

Funeral

Funeral services for John Ensey will be at 4:30PM at Pauls Valley High School Auditorium on Thursday, September 17th, 2009. Contact Wooster Funeral Home in Pauls Valley for more information at www.woosterfuneralhomes.com.

Horrible news

My friend and boss John Ensey passed away early this Sunday morning after an auto accident Friday morning. Please pray for his wife Lucille and their family and friends that God will give them comfort and strength during this terrible time.

Happy Labor Day

I had a very good Labor Day. We kept Mikey this weekend, and today, my roomie's son and daughter-in-law and their three precious childen came to visit. We talked and cooked out. The kids swam and watched cartoons and played. It was a great time, and although I'm exhausted, I enjoyed it. I hope your Labor Day was as good.

And now I'm going to bed to read a bit. Night!

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Nada

I don’t have anything to say.

Which is obviously incorrect. Because by saying “I don’t have anything else to say,” I’ve said something. It would be more correct to say “I don’t have anything else to say.”

But then someone will ask, “About what? You can’t say you don’t have anything else to say unless you’ve said something about some subject to begin with.”

So … I should really say this: “I don’t have anything else to say about any subject other than this sentence.”

And then I should be quiet so that the sentence is true.

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Breaking the toe

Did I mention I broke my toe Monday night? I broke my toe Monday night. I dropped a book on my foot. It hurt a lot, but I thought it would be okay. The next morning it was swelled and started to develop some impressive bruising. Not anything they can do for a broken toe besides a little foam splint. It just has to heal. The bruising is spectacular, though. Blue, black, green. Lovely.

I have a new healthcare proposal: Send all your money to me. I will use it to get me the finest healthcare available today. Now there's a plan!

By the way, I love it when I have super speed on World of Warcraft. Wish I had it in real life. That would be so cool to zip along that speed.

You may notice the fish went away. (Yes, you may. I'm giving you permission.) Apparently after the latest rounds of upgrades, Internet Explorer 6 & 7 were having trouble opening my page due to the coding of the fish. Bye, bye, fish. Thanks to Gloria Williams for letting me know about this problem. I knew I was having trouble -- except not with Google Chrome -- but I didn't know other people were. A lot of my readers use Chrome or Firefox or IE 8. So far, no trouble reported on any of those browsesr. Let me know if any crop up.

The June family newsletter will be mailed out tomorrow. I had hoped to have the July one out by this time, but couldn't quite make it. I intend -- God willing -- to put the July one out next week. Then I'll just need the August and September one to catch up. The newsletter is a lot of work, but I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the actual designing of each issue.

And that's all the news I have now. How are you? I hope things are going well. Good night!

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Mondo Monday

Missed work today because I was sick. No, that's not right. I didn't miss work; I was absent from work because I was sick ... if you catch my meaning. However, being home sick definitely makes work more attractive.

The antibiotic is doing its best to put me down for the count. I'm not sure if it's working since I'm still coughing blood, but I'm only half-way through and the doctor said it might take a while. After all, I've coughed blood for a year now. Yes, that's got really old. About the only time I haven't coughed blood was right after the lung scope -- which was supposed to make me cough blood. Contrary to the extreme, I am.

I've been attempting to get writing on Murder by the Mile. The story is refusing to come. Quite annoying. I don't have the story straight in my head yet. Have to keep thinking about it.

Going to call it a night now. I hope you had a good Monday. Talk to you tomorrow.

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We Fall Down

Today I got up sick after having spent the night sick. I started reading Hope for Each Day by Billy Graham. I wanted to share part of what I read:

In the midst of his suffering, Job said, "Man is born to trouble as surely as sparks fly upward." (Job 5:7, NIV). It is true. I have never met a person who did not have troubles of some kind. Fear and sickness rob us of happiness; broken relationships and shattered dreams destroy our peace.

But one of God's greatest promises is that all of these will be forgotten in Heaven, where "there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away." (Rev. 21:4)

This is the supreme reality of Heaven. Throughout eternity there will be an intimate relationship between Christ and His Church. He will be the Lamb who is in the midst of the throne, and He shall lead them to the fountains of living waters.

I found comfort in those words. I hope you will, too. Have a blessed and peaceful week.




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Ananias

Didn't mean to leave the health care post up so long, particularly since the public option is apparently going to be sacrificed for political expediency. A good rule of thumb is that anytime a politician gives up on a program because of political pressure, the program was probably going to hurt wealthy people and corporations who have the money to oppose it -- and program would have helped people who don't have the wealth to lobby government.

This is a country of haves and have-nots. The ruling class likes it that way. They intend to keep it that way. Frankly, I've given up. There isn't any hope of ever having a government by the people for the people, not while the Republicans and Democrats exist. A bit bleak, but that's how I feel lately.

I think there's going to be a reckoning some day. I keep thinking about Russia before their Red Revolution. The czar and their nobles partied in their palaces, never realizing that the their downtrodden people would eventually rise and be willing to die to sweep them away. Sadly enough, their people only exchanged one tyranny for another. I wonder what will happen here and if I'll be around to see. Let's change the subject.

It's been hard week emotionally and physically. The OKC doctor started me on a ten-run of a particularly nasty antibiotic. They found two different bugs in my lung, one of which could be lethal so we're trying to wipe it out. The antibiotic has made me incredibly sick. And I'm exhausted. I can't sleep for more than a couple of hours without having to get up. Not fun, but this is my fourth day. Halfway there.

It's late, and I'm tired. We'll close now. Tomorrow will be better. It's Sunday, and I always feel better on Sundays. Something about putting my eyes on God. Anyway, good night and good morrow.

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Taking sides

I want you to know that I support a public option for health care, even one as flawed as the current one on the table. Yes, get ready your "socialized medicine" and "one world government" comments. I'll load up my "selfish" and "short-sighted" ones. We can have at each other in a moment.

I thought this post by Roger Ebert expressed exactly what I feel about the current health plan debate. Read the comments, too, as they are insightful.

Let me acknowledge my bias in this: I do not have health insurance and cannot not purchase it due to preexisting conditions (diabetes and respiratory problems). I have been turned down by several companies, including ones that said they make allowances for preexisting conditions. As a result, the bills from my recent medical problems have pushed me to the edge of bankruptcy. My budget is razor-thin. One more medical test or a car breakdown or a roof leak or another unexpected bill and I'm toast. I want health insurance. I'm willing to pay for health insurance. But I cannot get it.

And don't mention the Oklahoma's Department of Human Services to me. I make too much money at my present job to qualify for any assistance with health care costs. I have tried several times, but there is no aid for people in the middle.

I mention all this not to get any sympathy, but for you to realize that I'm the face of the uninsured in America. Me. Stephen. Think about that the next time you casually dismiss any chance for a public option on health insurance. What you're saying is that it's okay for me to be uninsured, that it's okay for me to be beat down by my bills. Think about that.

And one more thing: I don't forgive you for saying that. Because you're not truly sorry. There's no apology to be accepted. And even if you offered it, I won't accept. Whether we like it or not, health care is war, and I've picked my side. Now it's up to you to pick yours.

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