Regel

Women are evil! Nakid women are very evil!

So will it be sudden or slow,

Will I see it coming,

Will I even know?

Tell me how it ends.

It's been a ride

of ups and downs

Will they smile or make a frown?

Tell me how it ends.

When the end comes

will I tremble and shake

Or will I shiver and quake?

Tell me how it ends

I can't say I want to go

but I really need to know

Will I be afraid and alone?

Tell me how it ends.

I've a feeling that in the end

I'll go out the way I came in

Alone and in the dark

Tell me is that how it ends?

The Uniform

It is very much a part of the hospitals culture for various departments to wear their own distinct uniform. That way they could segregate people more easily into clichés. In the hospital hierarchy the porter uniform was as low a status as there was. Hospital Administrators, Doctors, Nurses, House Keeping, Maintence, Supervisors, Dietitians, Chefs, Bakers, and Candy Stripers alike sat with each other. No one dared to cross the color line between departments in the cafeteria. Knowing your station was very important unless you wanted to start an international incident like I did when arriving late to a crowded cafeteria I asked if I could join a table of electricians and was quickly rebuffed. I never even bothered to ask the table full Lab technicians in lab coats (even though my degree was in Nature Science) the microbes that I would be carrying would have been too much for them. My cap, the collar of my white shirt, and my baggy pants were all a drab green. Almost military in appearance it was often soiled from the nature of the work I did. Social order was (and probably still is) just the norm of this work place.

Being a porter in the main kitchen was one of those jobs that you could send your body to work and check your brain at the door. In fact having an agile mind was not an asset but more of a determent if you worked here long term. The perfect case in point was my fellow porter Dave. Dave was a strapping young man in his early thirties or late twenties about six foot tall and near two hundred pounds. He wore black horned rimmed glasses and kept his light brown hair closely cropped. He was not a bad person but best described as simple, or uncomplicated, ah hell he was stupid as a bag of hammers. No use candy coating it the man was dumb. He would arrive every morning to work with a cheerful countenance on his face every week except for his two week cycle as pot washer. Two weeks delivering carts, two weeks mopping floors and returning pots and pans to the stainless steel sinks and then two weeks of soggy shoes, rubber aprons, rubber gloves and muttering under his breath. When Dave was delivering food carts he was in his glory. The trouble with Dave was for some reason when you were on pot washing duty he was always smiling. He would come by shortly after 8:30 am and say “Good morning Joe, how are you?” I would lie and tell him I was fine and he would be on his way. An hour later at 9:30 am he would greet me again, almost as if the first encounter had not happened. Again I would respond in a similar fashion. Thirty minutes later yet another “Good morning Joe, how are you?” would come out of his grinning face. I would sigh and hear him talk to himself as he walked away saying “Joe’s in a bad mood, must not like washing pots.” and then chuckle. Dave was like this with everyone and most everyone supervisors and co-workers alike tolerated Dave. Everyone that is but Ali a small olive skinned Lebanese fellow with dark wavy hair and a permanent five o’clock shadow. Ali was usually a good natured hard worker and at five feet six inches he barely came up to Dave’s shoulder. I was on pot washing duty when the two had their incident. Dave greeted Ali for the third time that morning and Ali had cautioned Dave that he had greeted him that way for the third time and if he did not stop that he would take a heavy fry pan and part his hair with it. Dave walked away with a quizzical look on his face almost to say “What the heck is he talking about?” Although I knew Ali was a serious man I had thought the threat was a hollow one. It wasn’t. Dave greeted Ali for the fourth time while I was on break. I came back to find a dazed and confused Dave sitting against the tiled wall with a trickle of blood coming down his forehead. The goose egg was rising quickly and I screamed out for some assistance. I helped Dave to his feet got him cleaned up. Dave was sent home and Ali was fired on the spot. I finished my shift and after having had enough time to digest what had transpired I broke up laughing all by myself on the drive home.

Laughin' Boy, guitar Johnny's playing the blues so low

Laughin' Boy, don't it make you want to cry

you know, I can't imagine you were the magic boy so long ago

your life and dreams are broken, you hate the world but you can't

live alone

Ain't that fine?

I'm your friend that knows you and I'd like to tell you

that I think your laugh's a lie

Laughin' Boy, that's you layin' in the meadow

Laughin' Boy, memories ought to make you cry

Don't let your mind surrender, 'cause I can't imagine days without

you no one wants to be without you

you'll find a way to help you play on

You won't pass the time alone

I'm your friend that knows you and I'd like to tell you

that I think your laugh's a lie

At twenty one several of Hall and Oats songs from their Abandoned Luncheonette album had a certain resonance in me. The music but more importantly the lyrics spoke to me and my life. Certainly there have been others that have hidden their heart and their true feelings behind a smile or a laugh.

In the summer that I turned twenty one I was a young man with all promise and no direction. I had no steady girlfriend (couldn't really afford one) and I was in between my B.Sc. and about to begin my B.Ed. The summer job the year before in Victoria Hospital had turned into a full time job as I lived at home and waited for the money to accumulate to the point where I could afford to go on and become a teacher.

The year was a course on reality for me. My co-workers many of them older with no possibility of rising higher and others younger with no interest in making this a career. A porter in the main kitchen had many duties. Delivering food, cleaning up behind the cooks, basically the dirty grunt work that needs to be done in order for the kitchen to deliver its services.

My uniform was as I referred to it was standard issue for the Lebanese Army. I hated the job but loved the pay. I laughed out loud the first time I heard these lyrics from Abandoned Luncheonette:

"She was twenty when the diner was a baby

He was the dishwasher, busy in the back, his hands covered with

Gravy

Hair black and wavy

Brilliantine slick, a pot - cleaning dandy,

He was young and randy"

That was me alright I was a dishwasher invisible to all but the people at my station or my immediate supervisors. It annoyed me to think I was more educated than most of them but they treated me like I was some sort of a moron. I had actually worked there several summers leaving each time in September to go back to school and then University but after I graduated from Western the money was not there in my account. I could have asked my mom and dad but I decided to try and finance my own way through Teachers College. Windsor being a two hour drive from London I would also need accommodations food and some basic furnishing. All of that would cost money, money I didn't have and truth be told money my parents didn't have. So I would take the year off and work.

And the seasons they go round and round

And the painted ponies go up and down

We're captive on the carousel of time

We can't return we can only look

Behind from where we came

And go round and round and round

In the circle game

One of my favourite artists of all time, a young woman from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan wrote those lyrics in 1970. The full impact of those words struck home to me the other day. Yet another winter seems to be loosening its grip and another spring campaign truly begins. It seems like on any journey people take they want to be able to review and look back. They absolutely need to look back. They have and use certain landmarks that will help them recall specific details. Souvenirs perhaps are the physical manifestation of that need. Events of significance like a graduation require mementos. Diplomas and photos to mark the event, perhaps a ring or bracelet. These items often end up cluttering drawers and filling boxes that are under the bed for years, not unlike undated photos yet to be placed in a photo album. This Saturday morning it's just me and my cat Sassy having a lazy morning in front of the fireplace. Sassy curled up in a ball on the head cushions of the couch and me having a coffee laced with sugar and cinnamon recalling old Joni Mitchell songs.

Here is a birthday hugs just for you!

Regel found many ways to die in game.

Insufficient funds, self inflicted spells, gross incompetence, and handing out way too many counters where just a few.

In my characters style though if Regel was to be killed off it would be from falling off his soap box.

http://www.queendom.com/tests/access_page/...m?idRegTest=693

We have all taken standard IQ tests but what people could not figure out is why some brilliant people were not making out too well in life.

This was my resulting score, I was not surprised.

Overall results

75

Your Emotional IQ is good - higher than average in fact. This means that, in general, you are able to express your feelings clearly in appropriate situations. You are optimistic and positive, and adapt well to altering circumstances. You are comfortable with yourself, and you know and appreciate your talents and strong points as well as your weaknesses. You are able to motivate yourself, and find the energy and the strength necessary to complete what you need to do to reach your goals. You are one of the resilient people who bounce back after major drawbacks, survive hardship without bitterness, and still manage to empathize with others. These skills will certainly bring you long-term benefits such as stronger relationships, better health and personal happiness.

I feel like the character in an old song called "Rubberbandman".

Regel thought long and hard about what he could contribute. The only thing he knew about garden gnomes was that they are largely invisible at night, as his shins can attest, and then it came to him. Reaching into his satchel he found a pale lime green container of paint. "Perfect" he spoke out loud; it was a special type of luminescent paint that could be brush on to these statuaries that would not change their colours during the day but would make them light up like they were made in Chernobyl at night. For good measure Regel added an stick with animal hair attached to it, "I call it a paintbrush!"

What inspires me? It has often been something extraordinary about ordinary people. Sometimes its some revelation about one of god's creatures, cats, dogs, birds, squirrels, (turtles) ants, many different kinds of life.

Often when it comes to writing its a burden I can not carry alone. In this forum often it is the strange and wonderful people that populate the pen that inspire me. So the concise answer you might have expected from me has once again eluded me, but I think its a question that requires alot of thought to respond to truthly. That could be the reason the replies have been slow in coming.

Nice topic.

One of my all time favourites:

In God we trust, everyone else pays cash!

It is indeed a pleasure to meet you. Judging from your number of posts I believe this forum will soon know you very well. As far as your writing skills they are already considerable. I can hardly wait to see where they take you. Welcome to the pen.

Waves crashing on liquid stone

Steam hisses and grottos moan

The cooling mass sharp and edgy

Dull, lifeless growing steady

An island on to itself

Forming on volcanic shelf

Forged from fire pure desire

A vision to inspire

Expanding ooze of brilliancy

Combine with saline majesty

Rage and calm collide today

As billowing clouds drift away

Greetings Whiskey,

For me this was a very interesting piece. I very much enjoyed the dichotomy of the two positions, like two sides of the same coin, the difference being perspective.

“Welcome little Baby

quickly now keep closed your eyes

do not look to a world to vain to

turn from the mirror of itself

to selfish to glance away and see others

at its feet begging and screaming”

The piece is totally without punctuation, no capitals to give the usual visual landmarks. There is nothing to regulate the pace. The reader could end up racing through it without the subtle nuances that would be created with normal pauses that come with periods and comas.

“Welcome little Baby.

Quickly now, keep your eyes closed.

Do not look to a world too vain to

turn from the mirror of itself.

Too selfish to glance away and see others

begging and screaming at its feet.”

These comments are simply suggestions that I hope would smooth out the read without stealing away the author's intent.

I shall try to be as obscure as possible in his description.

A collector of sorts, a man whose family is numbered in the hundreds. He has influence and is influenced. Principled and yet paradoxical he is almost always more than you see and in his own mind less than you think.

He walks a path that few could follow. Who is he?

P.S. His closest friends will find this too easy.

I, ________, take thee ______, to be my wife/husband, to have and to hold,

from this day forward, for better – for worse, for richer – for poorer,

in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part,

and thereto I pledge thee my faith.

How empty and hollow do these words sound unless you have witnessed them carried out to their literal end.

I witnessed this in the first person on January 18th. A loving married couple at the very end of a 53 year marriage. She had been unable to open her eyes for the last 36 hours of her life, but ten minutes before she passed she tilted her head to the side and opened her eyes wide. He was there holding her hand and kissing her face. The words he uttered to personal to repeat. His feelings and love for her self evident. Surrounded by her closest love ones, January 18th at approximately 10:45 am she passed. So hard she fought to stay with us, it hurt to watch. I did not look away, even though my eyes blurred. She had a beautiful life and how much we will miss her.

An enjoyable read Appy. It put a new spin on a famous quote for me. The quote is :

“Faith is not belief without proof, but trust without reservation."

Faith really is all about trust, being in a committed relationship feels just like that.

I enjoyed the book end comments "It was just a kiss"

It starts and ends the sentiment very well. In the middle the word choice seems very appropriate but if I might suggest one more to go with

and I am

 

lost

inlove

confused

happy

It would simply be "alive" Nice to see you writing again.

Breathe

(Waters, Gilmour, Wright)

Breathe, breathe in the air.

Don't be afraid to care.

Leave but don't leave me.

Look around and choose your own ground.

Long you live and high you fly

And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry

And all you touch and all you see

Is all your life will ever be.

Run, rabbit run.

Dig that hole, forget the sun,

And when at last the work is done

Don't sit down it's time to dig another one.

For long you live and high you fly

But only if you ride the tide

And balanced on the biggest wave

You race towards an early grave.

"Nanny's cancers back guys. Short of God producing a miracle there is nothing more the doctors can do that won't kill her faster. " I said with as calm a tone as I could muster. "Do you guys understand what is happening?" "Yes dad" they both chimed in. My two youngest sons and I chatted the balance of the hour long trip home. "Hows Poppa feel? Hmm... I mean what is he feeling?" asked my twenty year old. "Tired, sick, depressed.... lots of things Chris. The past eighteen months have been terrible for him." I replied. "He has to hire some help for Nanny they are taking her home on Monday. Not sure how long Nanny has but your going to have to give your mom a lot of support. Everybody is going to lose their mom eventually, she is going lose hers sooner." The rest of the drive was very quiet and the boys and I just listened to the cd alone with our own thoughts.

Breathe (reprise)

Home, home again.

I like to be here when I can.

When I come home cold and tired

It's good to warm my bones beside the fire.

Far away across the field

The tolling of the iron bell

Calls the faithful to their knees

To hear the softly spoken magic spells.

Words are not ever enough. If I could speak to the message and not to the art form here is what I would say.

There is a time for words but there is also a time to act. When words fail it is because everything that needed to be said has been said. My question that I often of late ask myself is " Have I done what needed to be done?"

I do not pretend to know your circumstances Phoenix but that is the message within the message I read.

Well Franklin and Elvis could be Francis and Elvis. Perhaps even Franklin and Elvina, but its obvious that courtship behaviour has begun. This strange face to face ritual where one turtle flutters his front claws in the others face can only be that. They have grown to trust me and get very excited whenever they see me approach. Gone are they days when they would dive to the bottom of the tank and try to burrow into the gravel. Strange how the two aquatic reptiles have adapted to the limited space. They are almost a year old and I have to decide on what to give them for their birthday. What do you give turtles for a treat? The floating platform I made out of wooden blocks could be vastly improved perhaps I will start there. A stable and dry platform for them to sun themselves would be it.

These two continue to grow in a steady perceivable march. Their diet has not varied much but I am surprised at just how big they are. I haven't measured them recently and in truth I don't believe I have handle either of them since the infamous escape. This summer perhaps I will start a small pond, just for my own amusement. I will need to locate it somewhere in the backyard that gets some sunlight but also some shade. They will soon be too big to be left in the one tank and seperation would not be acceptable.

I feel a bit smaller without the sun,

slightly smaller it seems today

Head spinning, anger stinging,

dark thoughts make me lose my way.

Head aches, calm lakes,

a rally point there in sight.

Long days, early starts,

then working hard and restless nights.

Set backs, cluster fucks

and suddenly I am no where.

Silence soars and sorrow roars

then pain too much to bare.

Austere:

1. severely simple; "a stark interior"

2.of a stern or strict bearing or demeanor; forbidding in aspect; "an austere expression"; "a stern face"

Maybe a short read will give you a new perspective.

Matthew 13:55-56 Is not this the carpenter's son? is not his mother called Mary? and his brethren, James, and Joseph, and Simon, and Judas?

The idea of Jesus having brothers has been discussed and alluded to in many passages of the bible.

Curious is it not?

I had just spent four hours visiting my my mother-in-law who was back in hospital and did my best to distract and keep the spirits up of both my wife's parents. I did my best to chat them up and keep the mood light. I said my good byes and informed them my wife would be down for the weekend. My father-in-law was beside himself and as he walked me out he said to me in a whisper "It's really bad this time Joe, really bad." I stopped shook his hand and told him "Do not dispair, we still have her." It was all the encouragement I could muster.

I took the elevator down from the fourth floor and started thinking about how I have been.

I've been dropping F-bombs lately like leaves falling in autumn. Frustration perhaps or maybe fatigue but it has been creeping into my comments and of late my temper is decidely short. It's a patterned response I developed when ever I feel overwhelmed or stuck in a bad place. Cursing never solves anything for me but releasing some of this venom inside me verbally and keeps me from breaking things. Rage or despair, which of these two evils to pick from? I can't say one is better than the other but I would rather rage than despair.

I can't remember when I watched this National Geograhic special but it certainly left a lasting impression on me.

The subject was the animals of the Serengeti. The photography was incredible and the insights into the everyday life and death struggles was amazing, but one particular part of the special effected me more than any other part. Until I saw this I never would have believed that hyenas actually hunted, but they do. The video was shot at night and the night vision gave the animals in the screen a strange reflection off their eyes. There eyes practically glowed. The hyenas had targeted a baby Black Rhino, an animal that is already endangered. The baby in the company of its mother had been harassed by the brutes all day. During the daylight hours the mother would trump any attacks and run off any hyena that approached. With night fall the poor sighted mother was virtually blind to these predators. Inspite of this she would not abandon her little one and continued to charge any hyena that approached. Once the mother was distracted the mob would move in and take nips at the baby Rhino. I remember thinking to myself "You assholes, get out your trucks get your F-ing guns and run these bastards off (the hyena pack). Don't just sit there and let this happen." They recorded this attack and the baby's cries would call back the mother Rhino and she would charge back to her infants side. As the mother tired her forays grew shorter and shorter. Her attempts to stay close were valient and at one point isolated and alone the baby rhino faces off against one of its attackers and actually charges the hyena. I cheered as the little guy dealt a punishing blow to the retreating hyena. The small victory was short lived and after what seemed far too long the baby Rhino was pulled down and killed. The mother called and called but her baby could no longer answer. She pranced and charged in frustration for a long while and eventually trotted off.

I remember thinking to myself that nature is cruel. The forces of nature devoid of any compassion. I had been moved to tears. As I walked back to my van in the hospital parking lot the image of that brave little creature fighting back came back. Cancer can be like that pack of hyenas and cast in the familiar role of the baby rhino is my dear sweet mother-in-law. She is a spunky woman, that never complains and never surrenders. Each time her Lymphoma rears its ugly head it is driven off. Armed with chemo and with radiation and poor vision we cast modern medicine in the role of mother Rhino. I refuse to believe that this will end only one way so excuse me while I rage. Fuck life can be cruel.