Wednesday Wibbles

Wibble: (UK, Internet slang) Meaningless or content-free chatter in a discussion; drivel, babble.

A lot of little stuff has been happening lately, none of which warrants their own posts…

Hey, DoubleRed might have moved out! Her computers and “stuff” is gone, just the furniture remains.

• • •

Mrs. Fetched opined last night that Snippet might be pregnant again. AAAAARRRRRRRRGH!!!!! But she asked The Boy this morning and he says she isn’t. whew On the other hand, other people say she is. AAAAARRRRRRRRGH!!!!! That would be worse than the elections last night. Both of them need to get fixed, pronto.

• • •

OK, click on this picture to get the full-sized version. Tell me that’s not a deep-fried scorpion embedded in this doughnut. Mrs. Fetched says it’s a blob of chocolate. She’s welcome to eat it if she’s that sure. (I used a +4 closeup filter on this.)

• • •

After downgrading from the iPhone, I dug the old iPod 5G out of the basket it was languishing in and put it back in service. One of the things I find I missed about it (without realizing) is just how good the battery life is on that thing. I had it playing pretty much all the way up to Michigan during that 13-hour drive in September, and it had plenty of juice in reserve. It wheezed at work on Monday, and it surprised me until I realized I hadn’t charged it in about a week. Fortunately, I still had the iPhone charger on my desk. I’m thinking about replacing the case with something that doesn’t obscure the screen and deaden the click wheel.

• • •

Looks like our first frost will be Saturday morning (forecast low of 30°F). I'll have to gather the volunteer tomatoes Friday evening and put them in the kitchen window; maybe they’ll ripen — and if not, I guess we’ll have fried green tomatoes. If I’m going to ride the motorcycle to work (and it will need to stop raining first), I might as well bite the bullet and put the second liner in my jacket. Not to mention the wiring for the gloves.

• • •

NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) started on Monday. I’d love to participate, but I’ve talked about why I can’t before. This year adds a new reason (besides Mason): I want to finish White Pickups this month, so that’s my informal NaNoWriMo goal for this year.

• • •

Hallowe’en was kind of a bust this year, despite the near-perfect weather — we only had one group of kids come by, so there’s a pretty good pile of candy left in the bucket. Mrs. Fetched took Mason and his parental units to the outlet maul, where the stores were dishing out candy to the kids. Mason had a vampire outfit, pictured here, but he didn’t like the collar and kept pulling it off. He also managed to lose a shoe, so maybe he should have gone in drag and been Cinderella instead. :-P

• • •

With all the people at the manor, the septic tank has once again filled up and needs to be pumped. I might go into the office tomorrow just so I can walk to a working bathroom.

• • •

And that’s all the news that is news at FAR Manor.

White Pickups, Episode 59

Contents

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Go-Big Bob had misgivings about Worleigh’s plan — mainly because he was the one who would get shot if anything went wrong — but he’d signed up, for better or worse, and he was more afraid of the certainty of looking like a coward than the possibility of death. Go big or go home, after all. But the clouds above reflected his mood: low, grey, and a little uncertain. It seemed like a miracle in itself that Worleigh knew of a liquor store that hadn’t been looted — in downtown Atlanta, no less! — although it looked as if someone had left abruptly; there were empty food containers strewn about and the back door was standing open. A street vendor’s food cart was another seeming miracle, and the two together made the bait. The cart made plenty of noise as he pushed it down the street toward the presumed gang-bangers, bottles clinking and wheels rumbling. The trucks parked along the curb whispered their invitations — Nothing to fear. Nothing to worry about — but they too were part of the plan.

At last, someone stepped out and saw Bob… or rather, the cart. “Hey!” Bob ducked, pushed, then darted between two parked trucks. The cart rumbled down the street a few more feet before slowing; Bob dodged onto the sidewalk as the gunfire started. “That’s right!” the sentry yelled, “You better run! Whooooooo!” He fired a couple times more into the air before Bob ducked around the first street corner he reached.

He stopped for a moment, felt himself over — no holes but the ones he’d been born with — and started jogging back to his companions. A moment later, he heard the sentry whoop and heard more voices, fading as he turned this way and that around each block to confound any pursuit. He nearly jogged right by the others before they called to him, making him jump.

“Shit!” he gasped. “That about scared me worse than the shooting!”

“Tame your tongue!” Worleigh snapped. “Have they taken our gift?”

“Sounds like they did. The first one sure sounded happy, and I heard more coming.”

“It is well, then. Let them drink their fill, then we shall smite them in their tents.”

“They don’t have — never mind.”


They edged closer as evening fell. As they drew within three blocks of where Bob had abandoned the cart, they could hear the revelry in full swing. While (and after) Bob was delivering their Trojan Booze-Cart, others scoured nearby shops for various items. They took turns dressing: black shirts and pants, moccasins or slippers, balaclavas. They painted random lines and spots across their exposed faces, and each took a long knife and a pistol. The night dragged on, and they took turns dozing inside.

At last, the party noises faded and died. “This is a night for cold steel, not hot lead,” Worleigh told them, laying aside his long chromed .410 revolver, “but keep the other at hand in case you need it. Do not scruple to spare any of them, for they are devoted to destruction — man, woman, and child — and do not defile yourself with the females or any treasures of this place. When you have finished your holy work, we shall purify those dwellings with fire.”

“What about their guns?” Frank asked.

Worleigh thought a moment. “Guns you have, but the Lord shall provide ammunition. Take only what you can carry easily, and do not spend time looking for such. Only take what you see as you do your work.”


Sleeping sentries were the first under the knives; few if any knew what happened before finding themselves in the afterlife. A stumbling drunken youth wearing gang colors was set upon and perforated before he had a chance to make much noise. On a cold night, few were out by choice. With the streets cleared of the living, they paired up and went through each building, knifing anyone they found. Dogs barked, but none of the victims woke or gave it any thought before it was too late; most of the dogs were small enough that they were simply set on and stomped or stabbed to death like their masters. Frank ended up shooting a larger mongrel, but by then there were few survivors; recreational gunfire was such a part of life here that once again none of the remaining living even awoke for it. At last, as the sky began to lighten with the coming dawn, the eight of them gathered bloody and panting around the now-empty cart.

“It is well,” said Worleigh, picking up the gas cans they had left at the corner. He lifted a finger into the air. “The wind is behind us. We can pour out half on the first building on each side, and the wind will carry it down the street. Save a little in each, that we may use it to start the fire.” He gave one can to Jared, who crossed the street and splashed the gas around the lobby, propping the front doors open. Ray-Ban did likewise on the other side.

“The holy fire shall purify this defiled place,” said Worleigh, pouring the rest of the gasoline into two water bottles. He twisted a strip of rag for each bottle and inserted it, then handed the bottles to Frank and Steve. “Now light these, and cast them in.”


Palmer’s voice crackled over the radio. “Smoke! Down toward Atlanta!” he said. “You can see it from the overpass.”

“Anyone else out there?”

“Just Tim and me.”


“What is it?” asked Cody, standing on the overpass and watching the plume of black smoke.

“Nothing good,” said Patterson.

“An ill omen,” Delphinia said. “Be watchful, lest the fire descend among us unaware.”

“What? You’re saying someone set it?” asked Palmer. “How could you know that?” Delphinia only shook her cowled head.

“She might just be jawbonin’,” Cleve said later, “but all the same, I think it’s smart to start taking precautions. Nobody rides alone, for one thing, and nobody rides unarmed. We need to start patrolling, just in case. And we need to be ready to defend our home.”

continued…

Night and Day

Or something like that. The Boy did a fine carving job, I must say.

Fall Colors of FAR Manor

Aha — Picasaweb does have a way to embed a slideshow!

This is what things look like around FAR Manor right now. If it wasn’t for all the crazy stuff going on, it would be my favorite time of year…



Sorry about the Flash trash, but you can click on the pic to see the full-size shots. Oh, and Tumblr has a nice slideshow, but no way to embed it.

White Pickups, Episode 58

Contents

From the diary of Ben Cho, winter 2011–2012, condensed:

The first post-Truckalypse winter was rough on all of us, and it was fairly mild weather-wise. There was plenty of food — Johnny was right, we had to eat a lot of venison just to keep our gardens from getting overrun by the deer — and that was one complaint, those who were predisposed to be vegetarians were SOL. There were dry spells and wet spells, but mostly we had enough water to go around.

The big problem was heat: even with a mild winter we couldn’t cut enough firewood to keep up. We found a few kerosene heaters and passed them around, but the kerosene was getting stale just like whatever gasoline we hadn’t treated. Rita had to treat several cases of carbon monoxide poisoning because people didn’t know (or think) to leave a window open, and after that, a lot of people decided they would rather be cold. Jason got the sewage digester working, but we use the gas for cooking rather than heating. We moved the cooking facilities into the clubhouse and let the waste heat warm up the Laurel Room, which helps some. Our outdoor kitchen won’t go to waste though, we covered it for the winter and we’ll use it when things warm up again.

Rita was busy through the winter, and not just with bad kerosene. The flu went around, and everyone got some kind of bug at least once. People scoured the houses, in and out of Laurel, for liquor…

Worst of all, some unfinished business came back to haunt us.

Part IV
Winterkill

January 1, 2012

“Happy New Year, Sondra… hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. Drank a little too much, maybe. I feel a bit queasy.”

“Tell me about it. I should’ve stuck with beer, that whiskey knocked me on my ass and smacked me over the head just to make sure.”

Sondra rolled out of bed and ducked into the bathroom — nearly everyone had converted their bathrooms to composting toilets, both for emergencies and to avoid that trip outdoors on especially cold nights — and stood eyeing the toilet, hugging her robe tight to her. “Hey… if I puke, is it gonna mess up the fertilizer?”

“Um… I don’t think so. But if you gotta do it, you gotta do it.”

A pause. “I think it passed… thank God. Maybe some water will make me feel better… can you get me a glass?”

“Sure.”


The Bobs insisted on calling their group “The Magnificent Seven,” which annoyed Frank for no reason he could understand; their whistling the theme song all the way down I-75 was an annoyance he understood well enough. The survivors of that ill-fated gay-bashing weekend after the Devil’s Rapture — Frank, Jared, the Bobs, Ray-Ban, Steven, and Will — spent their New Year’s Eve in the smelly remains of a luxury hotel near one of the US41 exits, drinking the liquor they had looted and hoarded for this night and playing poker for huge amounts of worthless dollars. Frank paced his drinking, and was able to snuff the lanterns and find a soft bed after the others passed out at the poker table or in moldering lounge chairs.

Bleary, stiff, and hungover, Frank got them moving around mid-morning — “Happy New Year, assholes” — and marching down the I-75 breakdown lane once again. The pickups seemed to slow as they passed the men — one began to pull over ahead of them before seeming to think better of it and moving on — and all of them whispered their siren song as they went by: No more pain. No more weariness. Come to us. All were grateful for the clouds, keeping the sun from pounding their heads even more.

They spotted Worleigh, standing on the overpass, long before they reached him. He stood motionless, watching them approach, the gigantic Bible tucked under his left arm as before. He wore what appeared to be a genuine trenchcoat, buttoned against the biting New Year’s breeze.

“Well met,” he greeted them as they mounted the overpass. “Faithful to Gowd-a, faithful to the task He has set before you.”

“What task?” Frank said.

“The eradication of those who have spit in the face of Gowd-a by their abominations, and of those whom He hath marked of old as unworthy of His grace,” Worleigh replied. “If you would take up His sword and smite the evildoer this day, kneel now in prayer.”

They knelt — Frank and one of the Bobs a little more slowly than the others — and Worleigh began: “Our Father in Heaven, we present ourselves to you this day, a living sacrifice, pure and holy —”

Ray-Ban stifled a snicker, thinking Alcohol kills germs… I guess that makes us pure.

“— ready to stand as your army in these days of Tribulation. Strengthen our hand as we do Your will. Amen.”

Several others repeated the Amen, and Worleigh continued: “Now lift your faces to Heaven, and be anointed with oil. This day, you are to be marked and sealed to Gowd-a’s holy purpose.” They looked up, and Worleigh removed a small bottle from a pocket of his trenchcoat. He dipped a finger in the oil and flicked three hurried crosses onto each of their foreheads, repeating, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost-a,” for each of them.

“Arise, soldiers of Gowd-a,” Worleigh said, and they stood. “I charge you this day: do not waver in your purpose, do not turn back from the task set before you. For it is written: He who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is not fit for the Kingdom of Gowd-a. Seven years shall we labor, and do the work of Gowd-a, then shall we be taken up to sit at His mighty right hand in the Eternal Sabbath.”

“Sure,” Jared said. “But how do we find out who we’re going after? And how do we tell the good guys from the bad guys?”

“All of Gomorrah is dedicated to destruction,” Worleigh said. “As it was with Noah in the days of the Flood, and Lot in Sodom, Gowd-a has surely brought out His faithful few.”

“Yeah,” Ray-Ban said, “but how do we find ’em? This Gomorrah is an awful big place, and there ain’t that many people left in it.”

“Look,” Worleigh said, pointing south. “What do you see?”

“Lots of buildings,” Jared said.

“And… smoke,” said Frank. He grinned.

“Verily,” Worleigh smiled. “The smoke of the evildoers precedes their journey to Hell.”

continued…

A Snippet-y Kind of Week

Current music: Anberlin — Dark is the Way, Light is a Place (album)

Snippet hasn’t exactly had the best kind of week ever. When her manager got onto her about someone else doing something she was supposed to do (he volunteered), she went into one of her rages and slapped the manager. Needless to say, she wasn’t working for Wendy’s after that. So she came home, and you can see here how she decided to return the favor.

Later on, I had Mason outside. Turns out he’s a dog person — he has little or no interest in Sprite (the alien kitty from planet Lardassia), but oohs and aahs over the puppy (whose name is Mongo, thanks to The Boy) — and he was chattering at a hesitant Mongo in his pen. The Boy, Snippet, M.A.E., and Mrs. Fetched were all outside too. Snippet and Mrs. Fetched started arguing, because Snippet wanted to take Mason when her dad came to pick her up, and Mrs. Fetched didn’t want her to because she doesn’t know her dad (who was an absentee father pretty much all her life). After several “yes I am”/“no you’re not” exchanges, Snippet came very close to throwing the fatal SN01 error:

“Bitch.”

“Call me that again,” said Mrs. Fetched, “and your dad can just take you and keep you.”

“Bitch.”

Mrs. Fetched immediately turned and went into the house, grabbed some garbage bags, then went upstairs and cleaned out the dresser. Meanwhile, Snippet (and The Boy) followed her up, and they continued the quarrel as Mrs. Fetched loaded the bags. From what I gather, Snippet took a swing at Mrs. Fetched and fortunately (for Snippet) missed. As it was, had Daughter Dearest been there, there wouldn’t have been a second utterance and we would still be shoveling up what was left of the little idiot. Somewhere in there, she called her dad and told him not to come, which gave her a convenient excuse to not leave. I guess Mrs. Fetched didn’t try to order The Boy to take her to some designated dropzone, but I wouldn’t have minded a bit. As for The Boy, I think he agreed with Mrs. Fetched that Snippet was out of order at first, but decided to take Snippet’s side because he has to sleep with her. Difficult decision.

Losing her job had a second drawback that I doubt she even thought of: now that she’s not working until oh-dark-thirty, she has no excuse (note that I didn’t say “reason”) for not getting up in the mornings and taking care of Mason. Of course, that doesn’t stop her from trying.

To make matters even more fun, The Boy is no longer working the warehouse job. According to him, his boss kept forgetting to write down when he had to be at the courthouse for his probation stuff, and they expected him to be at work on Thursday when he had planned to not be. So they simply decided to end his probationary (no relation) period and axe him. Snippet referred to him as a “dumbass” over this. It makes me wonder: does she somehow think that calling people “bitch” or “dumbass” is going to magically turn them to her way of thinking? She tells me it’s none of my business — as if what goes on in the house I’m paying for, whether I want to or not, isn’t my business — but however you look at it, it doesn’t help.

On to a less unpleasant topic… Mason is proving himself to be a pretty clever baby. Jam found us this fireplace screen at a yard sale, and Mrs. Fetched thought it would be the perfect thing to keep Mason away from the firebox once we start using it. WRONG — he’s already figured out how to undo the latch and open the doors. Well, it might prevent burns from an accidental contact, anyway.

He’s also figured out that I often keep interesting (i.e. shiny) things in my shirt pocket, such as a pen or cellphone. When he goes for my pocket, I’ll clap a hand over it. He pulls it out of the way and lets go, and my hand claps right back over. So he holds my hand away and reaches in with his other hand. Another thing he does sometimes is try to climb the changing table when his diaper is in need of attention, or climb the playpen when he wants to get away from Moptop for a while. He can make himself understood, anyway.

Give it a few more weeks, and Mason will be more mature than either of his parents.

White Pickups, Episode 57

Contents

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Cody stopped waking up early on Christmas morning when he was twelve, but he was awake now. He never thought about it, but if pressed he might have said that he’d stopped believing in Santa even before then, and even if he did get up early the presents would have to wait for the parents to get up, eat breakfast, et cetera et cetera, and they loved to drag it out. The dark had an early-morning feel to it, though. As always, Sondra lay next to him, breathing softly. Contrary to what Jennifer (and those on either side) thought, they didn’t make love every night — but it did help to warm things up in the small bedroom, and they’d gotten used to sleeping naked under all the covers.

Sondra was a heavy sleeper, but he was careful reaching for the digital watch on the nightstand anyway. 6:12 a.m.? He grinned. He was excited about this Christmas alright, but this morning he was giving the present. But not just yet… let Sondra sleep a little more. He waited, even dozed a little. When he next checked the watch, it was 6:58. Good enough.

Good thing she usually sleeps on her back, Cody thought. He hadn’t given much thought to what he would have done if she wasn’t. Slowly, carefully, he eased himself under the covers until his head was at her waist. He bent over and began kissing her thighs and in between. Sondra’s breathing grew a little heavier, a little faster as he continued, and her legs eased apart a little. Cody climbed over her leg, now kneeling in between as he delivered his present.

“Codyyyyyyyy,” Sondra moaned, pushing herself into his face. He continued to work, one finger joining his tongue. “Mmmm,” she said. “Don’t stop… mmmm.” Her breathing quickly grew ragged, then she gasped, cried out, and grabbed Cody by the arms, dragging him on top of her and inside of her, yelping with pleasure until one of the neighbors started pounding on the wall as Cody came with her.

“What brought that on?” she said after a while, still under Cody.

He grinned. “I wanted to give you something special for Christmas.”

“You beat me then… I got you a wind-up watch for when the batteries die in your digital.”

“That’s okay.” The grin disappeared. “Oh… shit!”

“What?”

“I wasn’t wearing a condom!”

Sondra thought a moment. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I don’t think it’s the right time. Chances are, nothing will happen.” And even if it does, she thought, it’s just an early start.


One winter tradition that had already established itself was a community breakfast, especially on cold mornings like this one. Instead of firing thirty fireplaces, they used methane-fueled cooktops to make breakfast for everyone — usually pancakes and oatmeal, with “bacison” (smoked portions of venison cut into thin strips like bacon) when they had it. It helped to warm up the Laurel Room, along with a large kerosene heater they’d looted from the Lube Job garage across the road.

The kids bolted their breakfast, then Ashley hopped onto the dais next to the big TV. “Excuse me, everyone,” she said. “We’ve been working on a Christmas play, and we’d like to, um, perform it for you now.” There were many approving mutters and even a little applause at this. “Um, thank you. Go ahead and finish eating, and we’ll get ready.”

After a few minutes of hurrying props into place, Ben and Lily came out, dressed in robes. Lily had stuffed her robe to make herself look pregnant, and even waddled a little.

“Are you alright, Mary?” said Ben. “We’ve been walking a long way.”

“I’ll be fine, Joseph. We’re almost there, right?”

A large cardboard cutout of a pickup truck, painted white of course, approached. “You can ride to Bethlehem!” Caitlin’s voice came from behind the cutout. “And everywhere else, too!” Some of the adults laughed. Others scowled.

“We’re fine walking!” Lily said. “Now go away!” The “pickup” backed out, and Sheldon stepped on stage.

“I’m sorry,” said Sheldon. “We have no room in the inn.” His delivery was a little wooden.

“But my wife is about to have a baby!” Ben said. “What can we do?”

“I guess you can sleep in the stable,” said Sheldon. “At least it will be warm and you can sleep in the hay.” He turned and walked off. “Mary and Joseph” crossed to a cradle stuffed with straw; Lily reached under her robe and withdrew a baby doll, which made some of the audience chuckle, and laid it in the cradle. Ashley, dressed as an angel, swooped onto the stage and sang “Gloria” off-key, arms extended as if flying. Off to the side, Delphinia smiled and hummed softly, somehow pulling Ashley into tune.

The three of them exited; Sheldon entered wearing a toy crown. “Who are these people who ask where the king is?” he asked the audience — in contrast to his innkeeper, he nearly chewed the scenery as Herod. “I’m the king! I’ll go to Bethlehem and take care of this!” He turned and exited, as Ben and Lily entered from the other side, Lily carrying the doll.

“Well, now that the baby’s born, I guess I’ll find a job here in Bethlehem,” Ben said.

Ashley, still in the angel costume, swooped in. “Arise, Joseph, take your family and flee to Egypt! Herod wants to kill the baby!”

“Oh no!” Mary said. “Let’s go!” They turned and exited, as Herod stormed on stage again.

“Fled to Egypt, did they? I’ll catch them!” he yelled.

The cardboard pickup entered behind him. “You’ll catch ’em faster if you ride,” it said.

“Good idea!” Herod ran behind the pickup and it crossed the stage, passing Mary and Joseph who watched as it went by. After a moment, the audience began laughing and applauding.

“There goes Herod,” Lily said. “I guess the angel will tell us when it’s safe to go back home.”

The other three walked back out. “The end!” Ashley said, and everyone applauded. “Lily wrote most of the play, but we all helped. Miss Elly and Miss Delphinia helped us with the costumes.” Elinaeya nudged Cleve and pointed as the audience applauded; Cleve smiled as the actors bowed and shucked the robes right there on stage. Of course, “Herod Drives Off” became an instant Christmas tradition.

continued…

Call the Volunteers! Autumn Edition

Same thing happens every year, at least since we routed the kitchen/laundry drains to the back yard: tomato seeds get washed down the drain, they find their way into the yard, they sprout. This year’s a little different: they got started early enough that we might actually get some tomatoes off them this year. I don’t see any frost in the extended forecast — these days, first frost ends up being in November often as not — so that helps too.

As you can see, I’ve put some cages up for support. What you don’t see is the few shovels of compost I’ve thrown around the roots. Funny how the directions with potted tomatoes say “bury ’em deep!” when they have no trouble at all putting down roots from the surface.

I guess I really need to put a bed out here for next year, and see what happens when drain water gets to work with a planned garden bed for a change.

Grrrrrrr!

With M.A.E. and Moptop being at the manor for a while, and Daughter Dearest at college, Mrs. Fetched thought it would be OK to let them stay in DD's room. Now DD is home on break and livid about the state of her room. She's growling about the disarray, including "trying on my clothes and shoes without being asked." Maybe it's better that M.A.E. is elsewhere this evening.

Me? I got sent up on the roof to nail down a few shingles, which turned out to be loose flashing under said shingles. There's a couple shingles that have come off, but not leaking. Yet. I knew the roof was going to be a trouble spot the first time I looked at the place. Naturally, Mrs. Fetched ignored me.

White Pickups, Episode 56

Contents

Friday, December 16, 2011

Rita grinned at Sara, holding up a blue-tipped stick. “These test kits don’t do too many false positives.”

Sara swung herself off the exam table and danced a little jig around it, not caring that her pants were still on the floor. “We did it! We did it! I can’t wait to tell Tim!” She suddenly stopped and hopped back onto the table, looking a little embarrassed. “How long, do you think?”

“Since you conceived? Three weeks? It’s kind of hard to tell, and it’s not really all that important. But I’d guess you conceived on — or pretty close to — your wedding night. So call it… oh, September first of next year for a due date. And congratulations, Sara. I know you wanted this. How will Tim take it?”

“He knows I wanted this, and I think he did too. At worst, it might take him a little while to get used to the idea, but he’ll be happy. I guess we won’t know if it’s a boy or a girl for a while.”

“Maybe not until it’s born. Even if we had an ultrasound here, and power to run it, I never operated one myself. Only assisted.”

“Oh. What kind of nursing work did you do before?”

“I was working at a clinic in Chamblee when the trucks came. But before that, I did some ER work at Grady. That’s the experience I keep thinking we’ll need most — but I hope I never do. Oh, you can get dressed. I think we’re done with the exam for now.”

“You’ve done a little emergency work already, I guess.”

“I had to put seven stitches in Graham’s forehead when his axe handle broke that time, and there’s been a few flu cases. Setting Stefan’s broken leg was the closest thing to a real trauma we’ve had so far. But all in all, I much prefer giving good news to expectant mothers.” Rita smiled. “This is the best part of my work. That, and teaching the children. One or more of them will have to take over from me some day.”

“I never thought of that.”

“I think about it all the time. It can be a burden, being the only one with such a necessary skill.”

“At least you can do something about it.” Sara pulled her pants on. “Maybe that’s what it was like for Cody at first. That boy was about the only one of us here who could deal with all this when it happened. Johnny and some of the others have stepped up, so he’s not having to carry it all anymore. But he was our anchor when it was just five of us.” She smiled. “Speaking of Johnny, how are you two doing?”

Rita returned the smile. “Well enough. Perhaps we’ll have our own news sooner or later.” They laughed together. “That day — when we met — I woke up thinking it would be the day I went to find my own place. Then came the dogs, and Johnny and you and the others rescued me — and so I did find my own place. Here, with all of you.” Her eyes grew bright for a moment. “Every day I pray to God, thanking Him for putting me in your path.”

“You know everyone here is grateful for you being here too,” Sara said, hugging the nurse. “I remember one day, we were all talking about things we needed, and one thing was medical expertise. And here you are!”

“I’m here, Rita — oh. Sorry, I didn’t know you were busy. Hi, Sara.” Ashley stood in the doorway, looking only a little uncertain.

“It’s okay, Ashley,” said Sara. “We’re pretty much done. Are you helping Rita today?”

“Yeah.” Ashley smiled. “It’s my turn today. The other kids got school. But I’ll have school Monday, and Sheldon will be here. It all works out, I guess.”

The women laughed. “Ashley, why don’t you double-check the schedule and see if we have any appointments? I think Stef is coming in to have his leg checked out after lunch. If anyone walks in, just tell them to have a seat and I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Ashley ducked back into the front office.

“Looks like you have your successor lined up already,” Sara grinned.

“Perhaps. Ashley is…”

“Not much bothers my foster girl, does it? She took to Tim right away, thank God. She’ll make a wonderful big sister.”

“And she could grow up to become a wonderful medic, if she wants. She isn’t squeamish about blood at all, and she was a big help when I had to stitch up Graham. You don’t find too many children like that. Or adults, for that matter.” Rita smiled. “But still, I try to teach the other children as much as they’re ready for — after all, it might be Ashley who needs help one day. Or me.”


Later that afternoon, Stefan boosted himself onto the exam table, propping his crutches on one side. “Six weeks…” he pointed at the crutches. “I hope it’s ready to walk on.”

“Maybe,” Rita said, poking at the cast. “Have you been staying off it?”

“Hardest damn’ thing I ever had to do… but yup. Okay, I forgot once or twice, but it reminded me quick!”

Rita nodded. “How’s it feeling? You taking pain pills for it?”

“Not even one a day.” Stefan looked proud of himself.

“Yeah,” Palmer said. “But what did you put Tim on? He’s walking around with such a goofy grin! You got any more of that stuff?”

“Sorry,” Rita laughed. “Can’t help you with that — Tim got a big dose of Impending Fatherhood this morning!”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Stefan said, and Palmer nodded. “A baby will be nice! Now if that Sondra upstairs would follow suit…” They laughed; Cody and Sondra could be noisy. Palmer and Stefan cheered them on some nights.

“Looks good, Stef,” Rita said. “You can start putting weight on it ‘as tolerated.’ That means if it hurts too much, stop. I don’t want you upping your pain meds, because I don’t want to have to deal with an addiction, okay? You also need to start doing some exercises to rebuild your leg muscles — you’re gonna hate it, but you’ll suck less when you get back on a bike.” Stefan gave her a sour look. “I’m sure you won’t like the next thing I have to say either: you’ll have a cast for six to eight more weeks.”

“That long?” Both Stefan and Palmer looked horrified.

“That’s the minimum,” Rita said, “but I don’t expect it to be much longer since you were in such good shape when you broke it. We’ll figure out how to do an X-ray at the end of January to see what’s going on in there, but I think you’ll be okay for light riding just in time for things to start warming up. If everything’s good after a couple weeks, we’ll try a walking cast and you can start using the exercise cycles, with resistance as tolerated. You let me know if you have any trouble, right? Palmer, you’ve been a big help with his recovery, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“No, thank you. If more people cared about their life partners as much as you two do, I wouldn’t have had so many health issues to deal with back before the trucks came. Which reminds me: why did you guys never ask the reverend to marry you?”

Palmer laughed. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Back before, we were advocating for equality and we’d have done it to make a statement. But now? Any couple — at least the ones here — are all equal. We don’t need a ceremony to prove it anymore.”

continued…

Knock Me Over…

I came home from choir practice yesterday evening to find the downstairs… rather quiet. The Boy and Snippet were nowhere to be found; my iPad and MacBook both lay idle. I took a peek in the crib, and Mason wasn’t snoozing.

No way, I thought, and slipped upstairs and tapped on The Boy’s door. “You guys have Mason up here?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said The Boy.

“No problem, just curious,” I said and headed back down. “They must WANT something,” I thought, more than a little surprised. I can’t remember a time they’ve tended to their own kid through the evening, at least while at the manor. Granted, Snippet didn’t have to work last night, but evenings off have never stopped them from ignoring their offspring before.

The weirdness wasn’t over yet. They came downstairs, and Mason suddenly got cranky like he was ready to go to sleep — he didn’t even want a bedtime bowl of oatmeal. I took him while Snippet got a bottle ready, then took him from me (!) and gave him the bottle… and he went to sleep. And then, as I was doing a little work on some upcoming White Pickups episodes, came the top of the whole-a topper. From my desk in the bedroom, I can look straight down the hall and see the kitchen door; it was closed but there was light coming underneath and I could hear a strange clinking noise. I had to go check this, again thinking no way… but there they were, cleaning the kitchen! At this point, I was ready to pack my bags and stand outside, because the apocalypse had to be imminent.

I suppose it goes to show: you might have known someone all his life, even watched him being born, raised him, watch him go his own way… and he still has the capacity to surprise you, even if he does exactly what you expect 99% of the time.

Oh, and this morning, he was streaming a classic blues station on his new phone. Yeah, my son the metalhead likes classic blues. Shock upon shock.

White Pickups, Episode 55b

Contents

“I guess so,” said Caitlin, still a little wary.

“Are you okay?” Ashley looked at him.

He scratched his head a moment. “I ain’t been okay for a long time. But right now… I kinda feel okay. So what’cher names? I’m Stevie. Stevie Bolighter.” He let the girls introduce themselves, then said, “Pleased to meet’cha. I’m a little messed up in the head, so if I say stuff I shouldn’t, I’m sorry. But I think I’ll be good for a while.”

“What happened to you?” Lily asked.

“A lot of stuff. But you could boil it down to one thing: Vietnam.” He pronounced it to rhyme with ma’am. “You know what that is?”

“A war,” Caitlin said. “My great-uncle had to go there, but he didn’t talk about it much.”

“He probably didn’t want to scare you. It was a scary place. You never knew just who was your friend and who wasn’t. Then the things you see…” he closed his eyes for a moment. “Stuff little kids should never have to know about. But the kids there had to live in it. Or not…” He wiped away tears. “Sorry. It’s tough.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Lily said. “If it makes you sad.”

“I dunno. If I’d talked about it when I got home, maybe I wouldn’t be so messed up now. The preacher there says stuff like that, if you keep it bottled up… Anyway. It’s the old story. Couldn’t keep a job, couldn’t stay married, couldn’t run away from the memories. I started doin’ drugs in ’Nam, and kept doin’ ’em when I got home, until I couldn’t afford ’em. Then I took to drinkin’.”

“So how did you stay away from the trucks?”

“Yeah, the trucks. I started seein’ ’em before most people did, I think. I guess they talk to everyone — they talked to me for sure, but it was just one more voice in my head. They said I could forget all the things I’d seen, but the drugs were supposed to do that for me and they didn’t… so I guess I didn’t trust ’em.

“Somewhere in there, I met the preacher-man. He already had this crew with him, and he said he could help me get one more chance to get my life straight. I hope so — if the world’s already ended, I guess we’re… nah.”

“What?” Lily prompted, but Patterson stepped over. “Hey Stevie,” he said. “Can I borrow the kids for a minute?”

“Sure,” Stevie said, waving a hand. “C’mon back in a few, girlies… there were some good times too. I’ll tell ya about them, okay?”

“Sure,” Ashley replied; Patterson ushered them into the kitchen where Delphinia and a black woman stood at the counters.

“Hey kids!” the black woman greeted them a little louder than was strictly necessary, especially in the kitchen. “I’m Elinaeya Gowans, y’all can call me Elly if you want. So y’all ready to help us make some Christmas cookies?”

“Yeah!” Caitlin grinned, stepping up to the counter. “What do we gotta do?”

“Well —” Delphinia suddenly departed with a smile for the girls. “One or two of ya can take over for Butterfly Lady there. She just keeps flitterin’ in and out, in and out, like she can’t stand still for a minute, it’s about drivin’ me crazy! And that’s a short trip!”

“We can do her stuff,” Ashley said, “I guess. What was she doing?”

Elinaeya laughed. “Confident, ain’cha? But you’re right. She was rollin’ the cookies in the powdered sugar. You two can manage that, right?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Me and this little redhead are gonna make you some more while while you’re working on those.”

“Where do they go in the oven?” Caitlin asked.

“They don’t. It’s some kind of no-bake recipe that Butterfly Lady found in a cookbook. She got me to help, and now she left us to do the work. Yeah, it’s a little strange, but when the oven ain’t working you gotta do what’cha gotta do, right?”

“What are they for?”

“Supper tonight, of course! Some of these guys —” she jerked a head toward the two men playing checkers — “have a sweet tooth like you wouldn’t believe. They sure won’t last until Christmas!” She laughed her loud laugh and opened a drawer, handing Caitlin a spoon. “We just scoop out a spoonful and roll ’em, then put ’em on this here plate. When your friends are ready you can carry the plate over to them and bring back the empty one.”

Caitlin nodded and they got to work. It was easy, and her mind started wandering. Had the strange lady touched the side of Stevie’s grey head as she floated by? It happened so quick, Caitlin wasn’t sure if she’d seen that or not. I think she’s a witch… she looked over her shoulder at the others, as Lily giggled at something Ashley said. Was Ashley right?

“Hey,” Elinaeya gave Caitlin a gentle poke. “You awake?”

“Sorry. Just thinking.”

“’Bout what? You gotta boyfriend?”

Caitlin blushed as Lily giggled across the kitchen, “She wishes she did!”

“Hey, redhead. Nothin’ wrong with that,” Elinaeya patted her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I can relate. You just lookin’, or you got your eye on one on particular?”

“Yeah. But he’s married.” Caitlin rolled another cookie, smashing it a little.

“Oooo. Yeah, that’s somethin’ you don’t want to get in the middle of. At least the man I’m lookin’ at ain’t attached.”

“Who is it?” She looked at her flat cookie, rounded it up and scooped another.

“That fine cop who busted me back before all this truck voodoo came down.” She laughed. “Hey, at least he treated me well enough after he busted me. Didn’t rough me up or talk nasty or nothin’. Y’know, I wouldn’t mind just movin’ right out of this house and right in with him!”

For the first time, Caitlin smiled. “Well, why don’t you ask him?”

“Ha! It ain’t that easy. If it was, you and me, we’d already have our catches. I’m sure when he looks at me, he sees a dirty smelly homeless woman. I ain’t exactly a prize.”

“So? Everybody’s dirty now. There’s no water for the showers, and it would be freezing cold even if there was, so everybody’s a little smelly. You’re not that different from anyone else, anymore. You talk a little loud, but my mom said I talk too much too.”

Elinaeya laughed loud and long. “You know what? You’re right! Maybe I could do somethin’ with this hair, put a leash on my loud mouth, and catch me a man!”

Caitlin giggled. “Your hair isn’t so bad. It sticks up some, but you should see Miss Jennifer’s hair in the morning sometimes!” She turned. “Hey, you guys want to help me fix Miss Elly’s hair when we’re done with the cookies?”

continued…

White Pickups, Episode 55a

Yup, another double-issue episode!

Contents

Thursday, December 8, 2011

“Did you guys know the ramp fell down last night?” Lily asked wide-eyed, standing with the other girls at the big window in the Laurel Room. The rest of the breakfast crowd was either filing out or still eating. “I was going to the bathroom when it happened. I heard it!”

“I heard some of them talking about it when I was eating breakfast,” said Caitlin. “I guess some of the grownups are gonna pull it off the street —”

“There they go,” said Ashley, watching the boys cross the parking lot and walk toward the house where the preacher and his formerly homeless friends had set up.

“What is wrong with them?” Lily said, shaking her head. “When we don’t have school or gardening or stuff, they’re following that crazy lady everywhere!”

“Yeah,” Caitlin said. “I mean, I don’t go following Cody everywhere —”

“Only with your eyes,” Lily giggled.

“Do not! And you better not tell anyone I said that!”

“Good thing,” Ashley said. “His wife’s got a gun!” She and Lily laughed.

“At least they’re nicer now,” said Caitlin, trying to find a less embarrassing subject. “Sheldon especially. He used to be a real creep-o, and Ben would go along with it.”

“It’s still stupid,” said Lily. “Do they think she’s gonna marry both of them or something? She’ll be real old when they grow up.”

Ashley shook her head. “I think she’s a witch.”

Caitlin gave her a curious look. “She doesn’t look like a witch.”

“What, you think she’s gonna wear a pointy black hat and carry a broom?”

“I can see it,” Lily said. “It’s like she put a spell on them. But it’s probably just the boy-girl thing.”

“She is pretty,” Ashley said. “When she doesn’t try to look like a bag lady, anyway. But you’re pretty too, Lily, and they never acted that weird around you.”

“I’m not that — hey, look. They’re coming back.” Lily pointed. Sheldon and Little Ben slipped back inside, saw the girls, came their way.

“What do they want?” Caitlin looked disgusted. She crossed her arms and glared at the boys.

Ben and Sheldon stopped about eight feet away, looking uncertain. Sheldon had his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans; like all the kids’ clothes, they were a little baggy and he might have been holding them up (Lily stifled a giggle at the thought). Ben looked at his own hands, clasped together in front of him. “Hi,” he said at last.

“Hi guys,” said Ashley. “What’s up?”

“Um… can you come with us?”

“Why?” Caitlin gave them both a suspicious glare. Neither of the boys looked at her.

“To help out,” Sheldon said, staring at a spot near Ashley’s shoes. “Ah — the preacher said it will do them some good to meet some more people.”'

“But why us?” Lily said. “Why not some of the grownups?”

“She— they said they’re used to having us around, but not the grownups yet. So they want to see if more kids won’t upset them. If it works out, I guess she’ll ask Kelly and Cody next, and then the adults.” Sheldon glanced at Caitlin.

“Just Kelly and Cody? That’s weird,” said Ashley.

Ben shrugged. “She never talks about Sondra. She talks a lot about Cody, like he’s gonna be king or something. And she talks about Kelly some, and some of the grownups. I think she doesn’t like Sondra or something.”

Maybe the crazy lady isn’t so bad then, thought Caitlin. That’s not very nice… but I can’t help it. “Okay, I’ll come,” she said, stepping forward. “But if this is some kind of trick…”

Ashley and Lily looked at each other, then joined Caitlin. “We’ll come too,” said Ashley. “But Caitlin’s right. This better not be a trick.”

“It’s not,” said Ben. “Come on.” They turned and headed back to the “shelter,” the girls following and glancing at each other on the way.


They had no idea what to expect, once they arrived, and were a little surprised at how normal it seemed. Two men sat at the dining room table playing checkers, another read a book in a recliner in the living room near the window. The last man sat in an overstuffed chair, watching the room and rocking back and forth a little. A Christmas tree stood proud in the bay window; of course it had no lights but ornaments glittered in the morning sunlight. Patterson greeted the girls: “Welcome to this house.”

“Thanks,” said Ashley. “Um… what are we supposed to do here?”

“We’ll let you tell us,” the preacher laughed. “Maybe you should start by having a look around? Something might come to you.”

The girls shrugged and filed into the living room to check out the tree. There were no presents, but all the kids wondered how the presents part of Christmas was going to work this year, when anything anyone wanted was lying around for the taking.

“Hey, girlies,” one of the men said, leaning forward in the overstuffed chair. His eyes glittered in a way that worried Caitlin. “You —” Suddenly, Delphinia floated between them and was gone… but the man stopped and shook himself. When he turned to the girls again, the disturbing light in his eyes was gone. “You… come to help out too?” he finished.

continued…

Moan about Phones

Everyone welcome me back to the frustrating world of feature phones. Given the bills we have, Mrs. Fetched had been complaining for a long time about how much having iPhones cost us, and when my iPhone 3G started flaking out just as our contract was finished, it seemed like the time to downgrade.

Just to make things a little simpler, all three of us (the parental units plus Daughter Dearest) got Sony-Ericsson W518a “Walkman” phones. I usually steer clear of Sony products, since they seem to go out of their way to make them incompatible with Macs sometimes, but they offer software on their website to connect with iSync and iLife apps, so I thought I’d make an exception. Everything pretty much works as advertised. Because we’re on AT&T, and not Verizon, we can connect a USB cable (or use Bluetooth) and copy pictures to the computer, music and ringtones from the computer, and so forth.

Feature phones have made noticeable advancements in the last two years: they’re faster, have more megapixels in the camera of course, they play AAC as well as MP3 files, some have FM radios built in, and the default web browsers are a little better. But what hasn’t changed is the horrendous interface: a twisty maze of menus, all different. This led to an epiphany of sorts on my part: people are missing what the iPhone really did different. It isn’t the app store; I can press one button on my Sony to visit an app store. It isn't the touch screen; for some things buttons work better. What the iPhone did that’s radically different is twofold:

1) Everything (including the phone) is an application.
2) All apps can be accessed equally, or in a low hierarchy defined by the user.

Feature phones provide a lot of the same features that iPhones have, and several (including FM and even XM radio) that iPhones don’t have — or got after the 3G (camera controls, video recording, voice control) — if you can remember which cascade of menus to step through to find them. On an iPhone, or any related device (iPad, iPod touch), the menu is the main screen. That’s it. Yes, there are hierarchies, but they consist of a strip of icons at the bottom that appear on all pages, and a double-click of the Home button to return you to the first page. For most people, up to two flicks and a tap start any app on the iPhone.

I remember enjoying Platinum Sudoku on my old feature phone (a Samsung Sync), so I bought it for my new phone. To get to it, I have to: click the Menu button, press 9 (the “Entertainment” sub-menu), arrow-down twice to Games, select, then arrow-down four times to get past the demoware they stuff on all non-iPhones… then I can (pant, wheeze) select the Sudoku game. On an iPhone, I’d have already been filling in spaces by now.

Why can’t feature phones have a better user interface (besides the obvious, carriers and manufacturers are lazy and complacent)? Shoot, borrow a leaf from the iPhone. Display up to nine icons on the screen (optionally overlaid with numbers), use the 1–9 button grid to pick the app you want, left and right function keys move from page to page, arrow keys are programmable like they are now. You’ve got the buttons, make them work for you.

White Pickups, Episode 54

Thursday, November 24, 2011

“I’ll have to say, this is one of the more unique weddings I’ve ever performed,” said Patterson, standing on the steps above the pool. The two couples — Sondra and Cody, Tim and Sara — stood at the bottom, flanking the preacher. The wedding party consisted of Ashley and Lily as flower girls, Max and Cleve as best men, and Tina and Jennifer as bridesmaids. The brides wore white, or at least cream-colored, dresses they found in Laurel; Tim and Cody looked decidedly uncomfortable in their found suits, but the layers did keep the late November chill at bay. The rest of the community spread across the area between the stairs and the pool. “But it gives me hope as well. After all that has happened in a few short months, there are people ready to commit themselves on this Thanksgiving Day not only to each other, but to the defiance of doom. By joining themselves in holy matrimony, they signify to us — and to the world — that the human race isn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot.

“But all the same, this is still not a step to be taken lightly. These couples have committed themselves to each other as best they could, when there was no clergy, but today they make it official — not only in the eyes of the community here, but in the eyes of God. And so, without shame or reproach, if any of you is uncertain in any way about joining yourselves in holy matrimony, speak now.” Nobody spoke. “If there exists among those of you present, any reason these couples should not be joined, speak now or forever hold your peace.” Again, silence, except for a sigh from Caitlin (or perhaps Kelly).

The ceremony went on as ceremonies have forever, even with rings — Tina knew of a jewelry store near the mall; it had been looted but Cody and Tim found plenty of modest wedding rings. Finally, as the grooms continued to kiss their brides, Patterson grinned and said, “As our couples have agreed to join their surnames as well as themselves, I present to you: Tim and Sara Karsten-Petro, and Cody and Sondra Lucado-Sifko!” The others cheered.

“Reception’s inside!” Johnny bellowed; everyone cheered again and followed the wedding party up the stairs.

As people started filling their plates, and Sheldon and Ben debated the best way to filch a beer or two without getting caught, Delphinia floated through the crowd with that eerie grace. She walked to the big window overlooking the pool and removed her Braves cap; again that shimmering blonde hair flowed down to her shoulders as she spread her arms, silhouetted against the window. Few saw that, but when she began to sing, everyone stopped and turned:

Love and joy, life and light
Witness to God’s power and might!

Sorrow, gloom, turn away
Celebrate this glorious day:
Lift your heart, feel the joy
Man and woman, girl and boy

Empty house, empty halls
All be filled by children’s calls,
As we make the world new
With the help of God so true —

Love and joy, life and light
Witness to God’s power and might!

Winter comes, cold it be,
Then spring — rebirth — glory be!
Summer, fall, moon and sun
Seasons in their courses run.

As we learn what is real,
Earth shall in her slumber heal
Love and peace unto you
Until all is made anew!

Love and joy, life and light
Witness to God’s power and might!

So rejoice, children true
Love endures, and is your due!
On the day you must part
Hold this joy close to your heart —

Though your heart wants to break
Healing pours from heaven’s lake.
For all will be made new
In heaven we will find you!

For a long moment, no one spoke, no one moved. Some said later that they’d heard harmonies, as if she sang in multiple voices. Ben and Sheldon gaped, their attempt at minor delinquency forgotten. Delphinia herself broke the silence: “Let the feast begin!” and the brides and grooms resumed filling their plates.

“Excuse me,” a small voice reached Delphinia, smiling upon the party. She looked down; Sheldon and Ben looked wide-eyed back up at her, wringing their hands. “Is there anything we can do for you? Would you like a plate?”

She gave them a blissful smile. “Why, thank you. That would be very kind.” They scurried away to join the line.

Patterson sidled up to Delphinia. “Were they bothering you? Is everything okay?”

“On this day,” she said, turning the Braves cap in her hands and watching the line, “all is love. All is light. All is laughter. Those boys will grow to be fine young men, and loving husbands to their wives. We shall mold them.”

“We?”

“Of course.” She donned her cap but left her hair and hood down, and turned to watch the sun break through the clouds and dazzle the puddles on the pool cover. Patterson watched her watch the water for a moment, then left to congratulate the newlyweds and greet the others.

“Um,” one of the boys said a little later, “we brought you your plate.” Each of them offered her a plate, heaped with food.

“Wonderful!” she said. “Let’s find a table, and ask the good reverend to join us. I believe you brought enough for us all!” She led them to an empty table, and waved Patterson over as he turned to look a question at her.

continued…

I’m Back!

Did’ja miss me?

While you count the turtles on the dock next door to Dad’s place, enjoying one of the last warm days this side of spring, I’ll ask an age-old question: what’s worse than dialup? Obviously: no Internet at all. Or perhaps Internet on a not-iPhone with a tiny screen. I actually picked up a wifi signal from a friend of Mom’s across the lake, but they wisely had it locked. I tried tethering to my new phone, but that didn’t work out either (still working on that for later needs). I was mostly able to keep up with Twitter, but that’s about it.

Anyway, we had a pretty good time visiting with Dad. We went golfing several times, until a tendon in Solar’s arm decided it had enough. I guess that’s the advantage of dealing with a baby; all the lifting kept me in good form (and I actually started getting off the tee fairly well once I slowed down my swing). We had a small party for his 80th birthday… for the things he complains about, I just hope I’m doing as well when I’m 80. We ate out (a LOT) and ate well when we ate in, too. I got more pictures, some of which will end up on Picasaweb and maybe here sooner or later.

I got home last night around 11:30 p.m. and Mason was asleep (whew!). Of course, we were getting rapidly re-acquainted at an earlier hour than I would have liked. Mrs. Fetched and M.A.E. said he called down the hall for me for a couple days after I left. He changed quite a bit in five days: his hair is a little longer and a lot thicker, and he’s gotten tall enough to reach the tabletops from the floor (eep!). He had his one-year checkup last week, and he’s still 20 lbs. — not much weight gain in the last four months, but the doc says it’s not a concern. He just runs off what he eats, and has minimal baby fat. He’s been trying to talk for a while, and hit on saying ahhhh for a drink before I left. Of course, he’s getting into anything he gets a chance to get into, often looking over his shoulder to make sure we him him doing it… then running away and laughing when he grabs something he shouldn’t.

But I digress. My first day home, I get a call from the sheriff’s office, asking me if I can pick up my car. What has The Boy done THIS time??? The dispatcher couldn’t get any info from the state trooper, who was making the bust almost right on her doorstep, but took my number and called me back when she got the info: speeding and suspended license. Turns out the second charge was bogus — he had paperwork showing he’d done what he had to do to avoid that, and the DMV agreed this afternoon — but 64 in a 45 zone is going to leave a mark… on his wallet. The Boy, of course, is in high dudgeon about it, and is ready to sue anyone he can find who’s attached to the situation. (I told him to look up “sovereign immunity” but, like Mrs. Fetched, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear so he dismissed it.)

Vacation in general was pretty nice. The week at the resort is almost like a distant memory, and don’t even ask about work (although I’ve peeked at email a few times). But today’s event was a reminder that I really need to start looking forward to my daily escape from the free-range insane asylum.

White Pickups, Episode 53b

Contents

They skirted around the ramp, still in place but beginning to show signs of wear. As always, with observers present, the trucks had paused in their mindless self-destruction. The newcomers gawked at the sight while Tim explained it to Patterson. “Glory to God,” Patterson said, “they can be destroyed. Though it be the work of generations, the land may yet be clear of this pestilence.”

Nearly everyone in Laurel turned out to catch a glimpse of the newcomers. A few even cheered, making some of them nervous. As Patterson explained later, “They’re not used to people watching them — in a friendly manner, anyway. Give them a little space, a little time, and they may yet adjust.”

At supper in the Laurel Room, the newcomers mostly kept to themselves, sitting together in one corner and watching the others. They exceptions were Patterson, working the room and introducing himself to everyone; and one of the woman, tall, pale, and thin, dressed in a worn grey cloak and baseball cap. She quietly walked around the room with an unexpected grace, stopping at each table and looking over the people, sometimes speaking a few words.

“You must be the original inhabitants,” Jeremiah said, sitting and offering his hand to Cody, Tina, Sara, Kelly, and Sondra. “Jeremiah Fortune Patterson is my name. That’s a mouthful, so you can call me anything you like.” Cody grinned.

The woman in the cloak approached the table. She gave Cody a long look, then glanced at the others before returning her scrutiny to Cody. He began to fidget; Sondra glared at her and slipped her left hand under the table. Kelly wasn’t sure if Sondra really had her gun with her, but despite the possibility of gunplay at close range, she found herself suppressing a laugh — Sondra was so dramatic —

“You got a problem?” Cody asked finally, crossing his arms and glaring at the woman. The preacher began to say something, but she spoke first.

“Thus says the Oracle,” she said, slipping back her hood and removing her cap. A cascade of striking blonde hair poured down and flowed over her shoulders. None of them had noticed just how blue her eyes were before. Kelly suddenly remembered a woman at a Celtic festival she and her mom had attended last year; she looked like this woman, and had danced while playing the fiddle… it seemed so incredible, and they both moved with a certain kind of grace. “Though you be brought low, be true to what is right. You will be raised up, and become the Abraham of the new age, a father of nations.” She fell quiet and continued to watch him.

Cody continued to stare a moment, then relaxed. “Father of nations?” He grinned and put an arm around Sondra. “That makes her the mother, right?”

The woman glanced at Sondra, then squeezed her eyes shut. Her face became a mask. “The Oracle saith not,” she said, and walked away.

Cody turned to Patterson. “What in the — the heck was that all about?”

“I don’t know. She’s always been a bit strange, even by the measure of homeless folk. She gives her name as Delphinia — just Delphinia, no last name. She’ll say things from time to time — I’ll tell you about it later — but I’ve never heard her say anything like that.”

“Spooky sh– stuff,” Cody said. “Hey. I’d like to talk to you after you get settled in.” He rubbed Sondra’s back, it felt wooden and he looked at her. She continued to watch Delphinia, the protective anger now mixed with worry. “Sondra? You okay?”

She slowly let herself relax under Cody’s gentle backrub. “Yeah,” she said. “Blondie just spooked the hell out of me is all. Don’t know why — she’s just a crazy woman, right?”

“Perhaps,” Patterson said, “but it’s impolite to refer to people that way.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“She might agree with you, though. Or more likely she would ignore you. But I think your friend here wanted to talk to me? Now is as good a time as any.”

“This concerns her too,” Cody said. “Let’s step outside.”

“Very well.” They rose and left.

Tina watched them go, and sniffed. “I smell… a wedding.” She smiled.

“Yeah,” Kelly said, her face a mask like Delphinia’s.

Tim and Sara looked at each other. “Wanna make it a double?” Tim grinned.

“Now you call that a proposal?” Sara laughed.

“Why not? It all comes to the same thing — you and me, forever.”

“Now you’re talkin’.” They rose and followed the others outside.

continued…

White Pickups, Episode 53a

Contents

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

“People!” Palmer yelled into the radio. “People hiking up the freeway!”

“Stand by,” Sara said. “And don’t yell.” She let go of the mike button and looked over the balcony, where most of the community was still at breakfast. “Cleve! Palmer says there’s people on the freeway!”

Sally’s voice cut through the answering hubbub from below: “Well, they invited them here, right?”

“No,” Sara shook her head, thinking Cleve woulda killed them.

“Not enough folks left to be choosy!” Sally snapped. “Tell ’em to bring ’em here!” Everyone started talking at once.

Cleve’s police whistle cut through the commotion. “Look: we’ve been expecting to find other people,” he said. “We’ve talked about it, what to do — now it’s time. Sara: tell ’em to come back. Tim can take me out there, we’ll have a chat with the newcomers, and if things check out we’ll bring ’em here. We can take care of things if they get hostile — right?”

Nobody objected. “Okay,” Cleve said, “get your acts together and we’ll see what happens.”


“Where’d they go?” Tim asked nobody, looking up and down the freeway from the overpass. The trucks, and the usual debris, were the only thing on the road on either side. “We weren’t gone long enough to lose ’em — even if they turned around, we should still be able to see ’em.”

Cleve looked around, then down. “They might be underneath us.”

“Ah!” Tim smacked his forehead. “Yeah, that could be. Let’s roll down the off-ramp and have a look.”

“Yeah,” Cleve said, and thumbed the mike button. “We think they might be underneath the overpass. We’re about to check it out.”

They coasted down the on-ramp, looking over their shoulders as they descended. They made room for a truck to pass them on the right, then cut across the apron to the shoulder — and braked quickly and dismounted as several people under the overpass stood to face them. They all looked wary, except for one who stepped out to greet them.

“I believe I know you two,” he said, a short bald man in a frayed overcoat. “You stood against a mob who would sacrifice your enemy.”

“Jeremiah Fortune Patterson!” Cleve laughed. “How could I forget a name like that!” Cleve and Tim holstered their pistols and stepped forward to shake the preacher’s hand. “How’ve you been? Who’s your friends?” He gestured toward the others, watching from the shadow of the overpass.

“Well enough, under the circumstances. As for my companions, they are my flock, those who have heeded the call to find a new dwelling place. As they are the homeless, they also might say one place is as good as another.”

“The call?” asked Tim.

“Indeed. Now I consider it disrespectful to open one’s Bible and and point to a random verse, as if one were consulting an oracle. But random phrases have been much on our minds lately, and when put together…”

“A prophecy?”

“Perhaps. Judge for yourself: ‘Behold, the city has been made desolate.’ ‘Come out of her.’ ‘I will bring you to a new place, where you may dwell in peace.’ There are others, but you get the idea: get outta Dodge.”

“So you’re the Moses of Atlanta,” Cleve chuckled. “Hey… you think any of those dreams from about a month ago had anything to do with it?”

“Ah… did we share a single dream that night? It must be true. A great Evil is loose in the world, and what is to be done…” He shrugged.

“Yeah. Where are y’all headed?”

Jeremiah gestured to his companions; they stepped forward: four men, two women. “In the words of the personal ad columns: ‘Street preacher and homeless flock seek to join non-judgmental community.’” He grinned. “It may take a while for them to get used to living in a community once again, but God will bring the healing as He sees fit.”

“Have you seen any other groups?”

Some of them shook their heads. “A few individuals,” the preacher said. “No organized groups.”

Cleve thought a second. “Well, there’s plenty of room where we’re at — we’ve taken over most of the townhouses in our subdivision. There’s a few left, but your flock might be more comfortable in a house. Maybe a halfway house of sorts. Once they get used to the rest of us, they can move into the townhouses if they want. I can’t speak for all of us, but we’ve been expecting to find other people and one of our older ladies asked why Tim didn’t invite you to our place right away.”

Tim nodded. “We’ll put it to a vote, but I don’t think anyone will object. Then you can get a meal and pick out your new places, right?”

“God’s blessings upon you and your community,” Jeremiah said. “Lead us to the promised land.” Cleve grinned and picked up the mike.


“Hey.” One of the “flock,” a black woman, called to Cleve. “You were a cop, weren’t ya?”

“I quit a year before the trucks,” Cleve said. “You can’t still smell bacon after all that time!” Cleve was playing it light, but Tim could tell by now when his friend’s defenses came up.

She half-laughed, half-cawed. “I thought I recognized you — you busted me!”

“What?”

“Yeah.” She broke from the others and moved to walk beside Cleve on the other side of his bike. “It’s you, awright. It was a year ago spring. I was out on the street, starvin’, and I needed money for food. I never turned no tricks before, but I figured one time would be okay and I could eat for a few days —”

“And you offered it up to a plainclothes cop,” Cleve shook his head. “Y’know, I kinda remember that now, but not what came of it.”

“Oh, I got eleven months at the county jail,” she said. “Which wasn’t so bad. I got to eat and I still didn’t have to turn no tricks. I got out and ran into Preacher Man back there, and he did what he could for me. Then them trucks came along…” she shuddered. “That’s some voodoo right there. I figured I’d rather starve than climb in one, y’know?

“Anyway. My name’s Elinaeya. You can call me Elly. And this time, I ain’t sellin’ nothin’.”

“Cleve Isaacs,” he grinned. “Good thing too, I’m the closest thing to a cop we got where we live. Don’t make me bust you again!”

She let that boisterous laugh loose once again. “How much longer?”

“Couple miles. It’s a short bike ride, but kind of a long walk.”

continued…

White Pickups, Episode 52

Contents

Saturday, November 19, 2011

“Hey cat,” said Cody, walking up the steps with Sondra in the evening gloom. Shady mewed at Sondra, then leaped off the top step and into Cody’s arms. He laughed and stroked the purring grey kitten.

“That’s Kelly’s kitten, right?” Sondra scratched Shady’s back, watching Cody.

“Yeah. He keeps slipping out in the evenings and waits for me here on the steps to take him home. It’s like a routine now.”

“Hm. He really likes you.”

“Yeah, me and cats have always gotten along,” said Cody. “I guess we’re both like, let us be who we are. We know each other that way.”

“Kindred spirits, I think that’s called.”

“Did he get out again?” Kelly asked, climbing the steps behind them. “I should have named him Houdini!”

Sondra looked toward the hallway, then at Kelly. “He just gets out?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s like he can be sleeping with Cheddar in the laundry in the afternoon — and the second me or Mom open the front door, he’s gone! Then he waits for Cody.” She took Shady, who looked resigned to the situation. “He really likes Cody. God knows why.” She grinned. “’Scuse me.” She slipped around them and down the hall.

“What is it?” asked Cody, watching Sondra watch Kelly depart.

“Nothing.”

Cody would admit he knew next to nothing about girls, but even he knew (from experience with his mom) when Sondra said Nothing like that, there was something. He also guessed she would be moody the rest of the evening, and maybe tell him what he’d done wrong after he’d forgotten it ever happened. He nudged her to get her moving, and they took the short walk to their door. Down the dark hallway, Kelly stepped into #202.

“You know, we ought to string some LED lights in these hallways,” said Cody, just to break the silence. “We usually have enough juice to run a few, at least long enough for everyone to get inside for the night.”

“Hm. What about those yard lights with the little solar panels, like we have marking the path to the johns?”

“Hey… good idea. As long as everyone remembers to bring ’em back out in the day.” They stepped inside. Sondra immediately veered to the love seat and cranked her windup flashlight with more vigor than usual. The grating whine of the little generator followed Cody into the kitchen, where their cooler sat. Groping in the near-darkness for one of his last cans of beer, his hand first found the wine bottle. He stopped and thought a moment.

Sondra glanced up from her book without really wanting to, as Cody came back. He had a mug and glass in either hand.

“Something to drink.” He put the wine glass on the end table where she could reach it, then sat in the lounge chair opposite with his mug. “You wanna talk?”

She sighed, put down her copy of Virgin of Small Plains, took up the wine glass. “It’s not you, Cody. Sorry.”

“What is it, then?”

“You really don’t know.” She was not asking.

“As Johnny would say, not a freekin’ clue. Well, I added the freekin’ part, but anyway.”

She crossed her arms, wine glass in hand alongside her face. “How long has her kitten been ‘getting loose’ and greeting you?”

“Uh… Shady? I don’t know… oh. You know what? I think he did it the first night we moved in here.”

“Uh-huh. A strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

“I dunno. You know how cats are. Sometimes they don’t accept that they’ve moved right away. Sometimes it takes a couple months.”

“It’s been a couple months.”

“What… you think Kelly’s been letting him out? Why would she do that?”

Sondra sighed and took a long drink. “I don’t know, Cody. But it just doesn’t add up for me.”

“Shoot. It’s not like Kelly’s interested in me or anything.” Sondra just looked at him, and Cody gaped. “Do you really think…? No way! Just no way!” He looked toward Kelly’s end of the townhouses and glowered, curling into a prickly ball.

“Back when it was just the three of us, and even after we brought Tim and Sara back with us, I thought she was nice looking, sure. A little preppy maybe, but I didn’t know if there was anyone else our age left. You know what she told her mom? Word got around.” Sondra shook her head. “She said she didn’t want to date me even if I am the last guy on earth! But even before, I knew. She looked at me like, like I was… what is it…” He waved his free hand for a moment. “Necessary evil. That’s the vibe I got from her, she thought they had to have me around but she didn’t want anything to do with me. And that’s fine, I’m used to that…” he flapped his arm. “No way.”

“What about now? How does she look at you now?”

“I dunno. I haven’t looked at her much since I met you.”

Sondra snorted, then laughed. She stood, crossed the three steps to Cody’s recliner, draped herself across his lap, and pulled the lever to lift the footrest. “You know: for someone who thinks he doesn’t know much about girls, you sure know the right thing to say.” She kissed his forehead.

“What, the truth?”

“Don’t ever change, Cody.”

“I won’t.” He grinned. “You either. We can be ourselves forever.”

After a thorough kiss, lasting several minutes, involving much tongue and more than a little groping, Sondra sat up gasping. “I wanna read a little while longer before we go to bed, okay? I’m getting into some of the good parts.”

“We were just getting into some of the good parts here.” Cody grinned and reached under her loosened sweater, stroking her breasts one more time. “What’s it about?”

“It’s a mystery. A girl turned up dead in Bumfuck, Kansas, and the townies all tried to hush it up. It’s like twenty years later before anyone gets around to figuring out what happened.”

“Sounds more interesting than what my mom used to read. Those trashy romance books with the steamy covers, you know?”

“Yeah. There were a bunch of those laying around my old place from before my mom took off.” She climbed off the chair. “This one’s pretty good. Maybe you’d like to read it when I’m done.”

Cody laughed. “My mom used to say the only books I ever picked up had a spaceship on the cover. That’s not completely true, but…” He shrugged. “Whatever. I guess I can run back and grab my PSP, it should be charged up enough for tonight.”

“What are you playing?”

“Zombie Hunter 3. I might finish it tonight, probably tomorrow. Unless you read a long time.”

“No… I won’t be reading too much longer. Maybe an hour.” She settled back into the love seat. “Hurry back, okay?”

“Sure. Hey… I love you.”

“Love you too.” Sondra grinned as he slipped out, then went back to her book. Pretty Little Kelly might be after Cody, but he refused to believe it and didn’t seem to care even if it was true. A certain tension, that she didn’t even know had been there all this time, seeped away.

continued…

Everything Happens at Once

We came home from the resort on Friday. No big deal.

Saturday, we had another birthday cake for Mason, this one so The Boy (who was still in jail on Monday) could participate. Go check out the pictures — the last nine are from Saturday. He fed his parents each a bite of cake and I got pictures!

I also got serious about the woodpile out back on Saturday. In the photos linked here, the second pile has been completely removed and the first has taken a big hit. The Boy and I split up what was left needing splitting this afternoon. There’s still plenty to pick up and stack… I’m just trying to figure out where to stack it. What we have now might be enough to get us through the winter, especially if it isn’t too cold. I should have it all finished up by tomorrow, then I can start to finish (heh) the shower room.

Speaking of the shower room… as I came out of it this morning, I was treated to this particular sight in the bathroom. Now Andi gets to see them outside, 15 feet up in the air. Me, I get them in my personal space. It saw a bright flash, then the Atomic Flyswatter blasted it oblivion.

I don’t have a problem with spiders building their webs where I’m not going to run into them or open a cabinet door into their webs. When they get that close, it’s go time.


In the sigh department: The Boy came home last night… with Lobster. This might be construed as a TS03, but Lobster came to apologize to us for the stuff he’d done. OK, we’ll clear that alarm and move on. He got in with the Job Corps, got certified as a welder, and is hoping to find a welding job around here (sounds good, anyway). This evening, we had to run some stuff down to M.A.E., and decided to eat at the Steak & Shake where The Boy and M.A.E. used to work. The Boy met us there… with Lobster (so much for “move on”). Anyway, remember when M.A.E. and Moptop moved out? Well… her job started getting flaky soon after, with one decent manager and one Psycho Manager From Hell, and her hours got cut back. So she moved in with SPOW, her mom, at the end of the month. Mrs. Fetched predicted this would last about two weeks.

So while we’re eating, M.A.E. calls us: her mom’s having a psycho tantrum, can we come get her? Sure… why not? They got back, and I momentarily had to check my calendar to make sure it wasn’t 2005: The Boy, Lobster, and M.A.E. were all there once again, perhaps the first time since we unloaded them. The Boy took Lobster home, but M.A.E. and Moptop are here with us.

So we have The Boy/Snippet, DoubleRed, and M.A.E./Moptop. I told Mrs. Fetched I need to start hitting on the extra women, maybe they’ll move out.

Mason's Birthday [UPDATED]

A few shots from Mason's birthday party yesterday.



Click the picture to see a bunch more.

Update 9/11: we had another cake today, so The Boy could participate. I took more pix, and added nine of them to the gallery.

White Pickups, Episode 51

I can’t let this go without saying: Happy Birthday, Mason!!!!

Contents

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

The maul bounced with a hollow thunk. “Dammit!” Cody snarled, glaring at the marks in the wood.

“You wanna hear a trick?” Johnny gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I’m ready to try just about anything.”

“Okay.” Johnny touched the piece of tree trunk, about an inch from the edge, where the darker outer wood met the yellow center. “Hit it right about there. Work your way around the edge of these bigger pieces, hit ’em along the grain. Once it’s smaller, you can split it down the middle.”

Cody shrugged, took aim, swung. This time, a slab of wood about six inches wide and an inch thick split away with a satisfying tearing sound. “Ahhh,” he grinned at Johnny. “I should’ve thought of that myself.”

“I did a lot of splittin’ when I was your age. Before I was big enough to swing a go-devil, I was picking up what got split and stackin’ it. So I got to see how it was done up close before I ever had to do it myself.”

Cody turned the piece and split off another slab. “Where’d you grow up?”

“White County, outside of Cleveland. Cleveland Georgia, that is.”

“I figured. So how’d you end up down in Atlanta?”

“Long story.” Johnny wrestled a whole piece into place. He swung and hit it right in the middle: whack! it split most of the way apart.

Cody goggled. “How did you do that?”

He shrugged. “It had a big crack in the middle. If you hit it just right, sometimes they bust like that. It’s worth a try, anyway… if it don’t bust, you can always work around the edges. Anyway… I grew up around a bunch of narrow-minded people. Lots of times that happens, you grow up like them too, but it didn’t happen to me. Thank God.” Johnny finished breaking the wood apart then knocked off a piece from one of the halves. “And maybe it had to do with my granddad. He used to say, ‘It don’t matter if we don’t like how they are, it’s America and they got a right to be that way. And if you look at it from their side, they prob’ly don’t like how we are either.’ That stuck with me.” He turned the second half and broke it apart with two well-placed strokes. “Lots of people never get over the notion that anyone who’s not just like themselves ain’t normal, somehow.”

“Tribalism,” said Max, from the other side of Johnny.

“Yeah. So anyway, when I went to UGA, I found out just how different some people could be. It didn’t faze me, ’cause I remembered what Granddad said and I made some pretty good friends that I wouldn’t have wanted to take home to visit… for everybody’s sake. Matter of fact, I think Max there was finishing his last year when I started my first. Not that we ever met.

“Anyway, I majored in business. My folks really wanted me to learn a trade — you know, like an electrician — but I had a four-year scholarship. I compromised. I figured I could at least manage some kind of contractor business… the money would be better and I wouldn’t have to do real work for a living.” He laughed.

Cody hit his wood a little off-center and it split partway open. He pried it apart, using the maul to separate the slivers holding it together. “Yeah, I know what you mean. My dad probably would have gotten along with some of your neighbors. I decided a long time ago I wasn’t going to grow up to be like him. So I was kind of an outcast at school, and that described what friends I had too.” He split the remaining pieces. “But you ended up in Atlanta anyway. Roll me another one down here?”

“Yeah, I got into computers when I was in college. I saw that was the coming thing, and so I took some classes so I could at least understand the nuts and bolts of that business.” He looked around, then rolled a piece with a protruding branch off to one side. “That one’s for the hydraulic splitter. Those knots can be about impossible to break through by hand. Don’t tell Tina, but I was working for her number-one competitor. Here, try this one.”

“Hey, I had my eye on that one!” Max grinned.

“Me too!” Charles said from farther down. Kelly, who was helping her dad, walked down to Cody.

“What’s the big deal about that piece?” she asked, looking at the wood. It had a crack in the middle; Cody turned it to line it up with his swing.

“Maybe it’s gonna be an easy one,” he said. He hit the crack dead on; it split partway, snagging the maul.

“Ha! Some easy one!” Kelly grinned.

“No problem,” Cody said, pushing down on the axe handle. “It got started.” He worked the maul free and took another swing; this time, it split nearly all the way apart. “Ha! Me Ogg the Caveman! Oook oook!”

Kelly laughed. “Let me try that. Dad won’t give me a chance.” Cody shrugged and handed her the maul. “Wow… this thing’s heavy.”

“Let it do the work,” Johnny said. “Don’t try to power-drive it through the wood. It’ll do the job for you. Besides, you’ll have a better chance of hitting what you’re aiming at. And aim for the edge, about an inch in.”

Kelly nodded and raised the maul, let it drop, knocked off a chunk.

“Oook! You Klogg the Cavewoman!” Cody grunted. Kelly grinned and swung twice more, then leaned against the handle and panted.

“I think Klogg is out of shape,” she gasped. “This is a workout!” She pulled off her sweater and tied the sleeves around her neck; the tight t-shirt underneath showed a hand above and below a squashed basketball, with CAN’T DUNK THIS! printed over it.

“Yeah, why do you think I handed it over so quick?” Cody grinned, looking over the t-shirt.

“What’s going on?” Sondra said, walking up. Her voice was light, but Cody saw something flash in those dark eyes.

“Johnny and me were showing Kelly how to split firewood,” Cody said. “Um… you wanna try?”

“Sure.” Kelly passed the maul to Sondra and took several steps back. Cody thought Kelly looked both amused and a little wary at the same time… and why does Sondra look pissed?

Sondra looked at the big piece, hefting the maul. She raised it and brought it down hard with a yeaah! About a third of it tumbled away; the bigger piece fell over. The others goggled, even Johnny, then Kelly shrugged and rejoined her dad down the line. Sondra looked at Cody and laughed. “That felt kinda good,” she said. “Get some circulation in this stupid arm.” She stood the big piece back up and split it twice more, with less force. “Yeah.” She handed the maul back to Cody and picked up an armload of split wood. “Now me carry wood back to cave.”

Cody watched her go, admiring her backside for a moment before turning to Johnny. “You got any idea what that was about?”

Johnny gave Cody a wary look. “Not a clue.” But he thought: I think Sondra’s just a weeeee bit territorial.

continued…

Escape from FAR Manor?

Well… not right away.

Things have been a little slow at work, and I have all this vacation to burn, so I asked for the next three weeks off. And got it. This is going to be the longest stretch of not working I’ve had, if you don’t count the stretches where I was looking for another job. The stretch can be easily broken into three separate weeks:

Week 1: the resort, on and off. Technically, we should be there right now as I type this on Friday night, but Mrs. Fetched was tired (what a shock, I say) and we can go tomorrow. Mason’s first birthday is Monday… heehee, it was labor for Snippet anyway! And it’s labor trying to get Snippet to do much with him now. Actually, she’s been better the last couple of weeks, getting up at night with him some of the time and dealing with things in the mornings. The Evil Chickens go away Wed. night, so Mrs. Fetched will be back here at the manor. The Boy also gets out of jail on Wednesday… oh, I didn’t mention that, did I?

The Boy’s got his own week of vacation, at the Cinder Block Hilton. Seems that he came home drunk as a lord a couple weekends ago, around 4 a.m., and then he had to get screened at 6:30 a.m. (as in, 2.5 hours later). Since he’s not supposed to be drinking as a condition of probation, you can connect the dots. Well, you and I can — he had convinced himself that it wouldn’t show up.

Anyway, I also expect Week 1 to include a call or maybe two from work. I lined up the ducks as best I could, but I’m sure someone will freak out about something and get my boss involved.

Week 2: Mrs. Fetched doesn’t know about this yet. I’m going to stay around the manor and take care of unfinished business — like the woodpile that’s been patiently waiting for me since June, and finishing up the shower room. Maybe I’ll tackle the bathroom window replacement, too. Expect pictures.

Week 3: Off to North Carolina to visit Mom for her birthday. Yay, more September birthdays! (Yeah, January is a boring month otherwise, huh?) There may be a call or two from work, too, and I’ll probably start checking work email a little more carefully as I ease back into the life of a working stiff.

In between all the other stuff, I intend to get a good bit of writing done. God willing, I’ll finish White Pickups and then I can dedicate my writing time to Book II.