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9/11 - remember and honor

  • Sep. 11th, 2023 at 11:04 AM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

In every generation there is *that day*. A day which will remain in our memories until we die.

For my grand parents it was Sunday Dec. 7th. 1941. The day American was shaken out of her complacency and dragged into WWII when the Empire of Japan bombed Pearl Harbor.

America changed that day. We recovered and grew stronger.

For my parents it was Friday Nov. 22nd 1963 when President John F Kennedy was assassinated.

America mourned. Security around the President changed.

Tuesday Sept 11th, 2001 is *that day* for my generation when four planes were hijacked. Two were flowed into the World Trade Center, one into the Pentagon. The fourth was brought down by the passengers - real heroes.

America changed that day. Not always for the better in my opinion. We lost our innocence when we watched those planes hit. We also lost some of our freedom. We were use to moving about as we pleased, now we had to have ID to do everything. DSH watches everything and everyone.

Today as I sit here looking at my social media feed I see the memorials, but I notice that they all come from certain sources. Others have gone silent, wishing we would "move on". I will not move on. I will not forget. Even if I wanted to, I can't. Like my grand parents in 1941, my parents in 1963, I can tell you where I was and what I was doing when *IT* happened.

A new generation has grown up. To them, 9/11 is as much history as JFK's Assassination and Pearl Harbor was to my generation.

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OF TWISTED WORDS => REPRODUCTIVE

  • Aug. 6th, 2022 at 12:29 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

Copied from a friend's WordPress posting. (OF TWISTED WORDS => REPRODUCTIVE — CITIZEN TOM) 

Nothing twists the meaning of a word more than using it to tell a lie. The term “reproductive” provides a good example. Consider how so-called pro-choice advocates use the term “reproductive.”


  • The expression “reproductive health” is designed to convince us that abortion, killing an unborn child, is needed to protect the life of women.

  • The expression “reproductive right” is about equating abortion, killing an unborn child, with rights like the right to life, liberty, and private property.

  • Pro-choice advocates use the expression “reproductive justice” to argue that abortion, killing an unborn child, is necessary to provide women justice.

  • The expression “reproductive choice,” however, is the most outrageous example here. Pro-choice advocates would have us believe two things: the choice to have sex does not matter and that the right of an unborn child to life does not matter. Supposedly, even up until the moment of birth (and then some indeterminate additional time), an unborn child is simply of bit of flesh, not a living, breathing human being.

Now consider the definition of reproduction.

1: the act or process of reproducing specifically: the process by which plants and animals give rise to offspring and which fundamentally consists of the segregation of a portion of the parental body by a sexual or an asexual process and its subsequent growth and differentiation into a new individual

2: something reproduced: copy

3: young seedling trees in a forest

HTTPS://WWW.MERRIAM-WEBSTER.COM/DICTIONARY/REPRODUCTION

Abortion is clearly not a reproductive process.


  • Women do not go to abortion clinics to improve their reproductive health. Because they believe their unborn child’s birth would be inconvenient, women go to abortion clinics to kill their unborn child.

  • Abortion is not a reproductive right. Abortion terminates reproduction. Abortionists ignore the right of the baby to live.

  • An abortion is not an act of reproductive justice. Abortion is injustice to an unborn child.

  • Abortion is not a reproductive choice. The choice to reproduce has already occurred. Abortion is the termination of a pregnancy, that is, the life of an unborn child.

An abortion terminates a pregnancy by killing a baby. Sticking the term “reproductive” in front of the terms “health,” “right,” “justice,” or “choice” does not legitimize abortion as necessary for good health, give abortionists the right kill, justify ignoring the right of the unborn to live, or make the choice to abort any less hideous.

When we don’t want to deal with reality, we use euphemisms. The expressions “reproductive health,”
“reproductive rights,” “reproductive justice,” and “reproductive choice” are euphemisms designed to allow us to overlook a critical issue: is an unborn child a human being? Is it murder to abort the birth of a baby? Pro-choice advocates would rather we ignore that issue.

Unfortunately, the Democratic Party has now made abortion that most important issue in its campaign for public office. Why? Why would any political party make the choice to kill an unborn baby the most important reason to vote for its candidates? We can only speculate, but the problem seems to be ideological. In recent years members of the Democratic Party have made it more and more obvious that they believe in Socialism and that many of them are Marxists. That is probably why the Democrat politicians in Washington DC have nothing to point to that they have done right. Socialism does not work and Marxists are self-destructive and a danger to the people around them.

Hince, we have a preposterous situation. Democrats have nothing to point to that they can run on except promoting the right to kill the unborn. That raises this question.

Even if someone is actually ignorant enough to believe that the unrestricted “right” to abort an unborn child is a good idea, what is the point in voting for political candidates whose sole merit is that they also believe that the unrestricted “right” to abort an unborn child is a good idea?

Odd Prompts 2021 – Week 3

  • Jan. 25th, 2021 at 9:31 PM
Bobcat kitten
Imagekeross

This week’s prompt at MOTE put me in mind of an old TV show.

“The man in the skull mask slowly held up his gun, and his other hand, empty. Then he dropped the gun.”

Sergeant Bill Preston of the North-West Mounted Police shifted slightly in his saddle and looked around, letting Rex pick his way down the trail.  The great horse wasn’t as surefooted as a mule, but he knew the trail well enough that Preston knew he could trust his mount.  Nevertheless, he kept one eye on the trail for anything that might endanger Rex, and the other eye for any surprises.  They were on their way to Keno Hills from Dawson City on a routine visit.  Preston was hoping to make the mining town before dusk.  Once the sun went behind the mountains the temperature would drop and he wanted to get Rex in a warm stable before that happened.

Rex flicked an ear as if hearing his rider’s thoughts and picked up his pace a bit.

Preston laughed and patted the broad neck.  “Looking forward to a good night’s rest, eh boy?”

Ahead of them on the trail, Preston’s lead dog King paused.  Head up, ears and tail erect, King focused his attention on a side trail.  He looked back at the horse and rider, took a couple of steps towards the smaller tail, and then looked back again, as if saying “this way, boss.”

“Whoa, Rex.”  Preston eased his mount to a stop.  “What’ve you got King?”

Once he was sure that he had Preston’s attention, King trotted down the trail, hardly looking back.

Knowing that King would not take him off the trail without a reason, Preston urged Rex to the side trail.  “Well, looks like that warm stall is going to have to wait, boy.  King’s found something.”

Rex snorted and slowly turned to follow his canine partner.

A short way down the trail, in a shadowed gully, Preston found a man and woman clutching each other and staring at King.  King wagged his tail to show that he was friendly and sat down when Rex stopped.

Preston looked around before dismounting.  A small cabin with a lean-to shed for the animals, a small fire pit and small stack wood nearby.  Cheechakos, he thought as he finally dismounted.  “Hello, I’m Sergeant Preston.  This is my dog, King,” he reached out and patted the dog’s head.  “Is something wrong?”

“I’m Ruben Banks.  This here’s my wife Sierra.”

“Our son, Jimmy, is missing.”  Sierra cried out.  “He was here in the yard earlier but when I went to call him for chores he didn’t answer.  I found this note saying we could have our son back if we left the deed to our claim by the mine opening.”

“I came down from the claim when I heard the ruckus.”  Ruben nodded up the gully.  “We been looking for neigh on a hour.  I reckon your dog heard us calling.”

Preston looked around, taking note of the sun’s position.  They had a little over an hour of good light left.

“They couldn’t have gone too far.  King and I will help search.  Do you have something of Jimmy’s?”

The couple looked at each other in confusion.  “I have his bed shirt,” the woman told him.

“Perfect.”  Preston smiled to give them confidence.  “King can get his scent from that and follow him.”

“Oh.”  She turned and ran into the small cabin, reappearing seconds later with the garment in hand.

“Perfect!”  Preston took the shirt and held it out to King.  “Find him, King.  Find.”

King sniffed at the shirt, raised his head for a moment and sniffed the air, then sniffed the shirt again.  Finally he turned and started for a deer trail.

Preston watched King for a moment and decided that Rex might have troubling following through the narrow underbrush.  He led the horse to the lean-to and turned to follow his dog.  “You folks stay here in case they try to make contact again.”

Yukon King followed the trail left by Jimmy up the deer trail and through the underbrush for several yards.  Near a small clearing uphill from the family’s cabin the scent trail seemed to stop.  A second scent trail mingled with it, this one had over tones of metal.  King walked back and forth a few times trying to find Jimmy’s trail, but it remained mixed with the second scent.  He followed the comingled scents for a few yards.  Just on the other side of the clearing Jimmy’s trail faded but the second scent continued.  King stopped and looked around.  The scent he’d been following stopped at the edge of the clearing and joined a second scent.  The first scent faded here but the second scent kept going.

Preston stepped out into the clearing and looked to see King standing a few yards away.  The dog was looking around.  “What’s the matter King?”  King barked and started into the brush.  “Telling me to hurry up, eh?”  Preston trotted across the clearing as King wove his way around a fallen tree.

King continued to follow the trail as it led up the side of the mountain into more rugged terrain.  Near an old mine opening the faint hint of Jimmy became stronger while the second scent went back down the mountain.  He paused, looking between the two trails.  One was lost and in need of help, the other was possibly dangerous.  Which should he follow?  Down the trail behind him, King heard a shout.

Sergeant Preston was following his dog, King, up the mountain trial when he was attacked by a man wearing a skull mask.  He rolled with the blow and flipped the man.  They both rolled to their feet, Preston laying a hand on his gun. “Stop in the name of the Crown.”

“You don’t have anything on me.”  The masked man jeered.

“I can arrest you for assaulting an officer of the law.”

“Only if you can catch and identify me.”  He pulled a gun from jacket and pointed it at the Mountie.  He fired off a shot, striking a nearby tree, and forcing Preston to duck.  The sound of something crashing through the brush pulled his attention away from the officer, giving Preston a chance to pull his gun.

King rushed down the trail and stopped a few feet away.  When he saw the stranger’s gun he lowered his head and barked, letting the man get a good view of his teeth.

The man in the skull mask slowly held up his gun, and his other hand, empty. Then he dropped the gun to the ground.  “Okay, I’ll come peaceable like.  But you don’t really have anything on me.  I was just startled, I thought you were a robber come to take my claim.”

“What’s with the mask?”  Preston asked.  “A bit early for Halloween, don’t you think.”

“I use it to spook the natives.  They see it and think I’m a spirit.

The keenly intelligent canine looked between them, as though following the conversation for a minute.  He suddenly turned and rushed back through the brush to the old opening.

“King?”  Preston called after him.  When the dog did not stop Preston motioned for the masked man to follow the dog.

King flew through the brush back to the mine, dodging any obstacle in his path.  He reached the mine and headed straight for the small opening.  He paused just inside and sniffed the air.  Detecting the boy’s scent he let out a powerful bark.  Before the echo died away a faint voice came from the mine tunnel.

“Hello?  Can you help me?”

King bolted down the tunnel, barking.  He could hear, and smell, the boy just ahead.  At the point where the last of the light from the entrance faded he found the young boy.  Dirty and tied up, but otherwise unharmed.

“Hello pooch.  Can you help me?”

King nuzzled him, licking at the dirt and tears.

Several minutes later King heard his master calling from outside the mine.  He stood up and started barking.  Preston and the stranger showed up a couple of minutes later.

The masked man looked for a way out while Preston untied the boy but stopped when he noticed the figure of the great Husky was facing him.  He realized that King was watching him and, remembering those teeth, decided that staying quiet was his best course of action.

Jimmy looked around when they had all climbed out of the mine.  “Thanks.  It was getting dark in there.”

“You’re welcome Jimmy.”  Preston smiled at the child.

“Hey, mister, are we done playing?”

“Playing?”  Preston eyed the stranger.

“Yeah, he said we were playing a game of hide and seek.  I was to hide in the mine and my mom and dad were supposed to find me.”

“I see.  Well, you mom and dad couldn’t find you so they asked me and King to help.”  Turning to the masked man, Preston frowned and took out a set of restraints.  “I’m placing you under arrest.”

They wound their way back down the mountain to the family’s cabin where Jimmy’s parents waited.

Sergeant Preston asked to borrow their horse so he could take the masked man into Keno Hills.  While Jimmy’s dad saddled their horse, Preston readied Rex.  Before mounting he knelt down and ruffled King’s coat.  “Well, King, looks like this case is closed.”

Misha Burnett got my prompt, which was borrowed from Whatdunits, edited by Mike Resnick. “Private Investigator is hired by a wealthy family to find their daughter, whose arranged marriage to a man of comparable wealth and position is pending. Is it kidnapping or did she runaway?”

There’s more fun stuff to read if you hop over to More Odds than Ends

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Odd Prompts 21: Week 2

  • Jan. 20th, 2021 at 10:37 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

This week’s prompt was fun, but not in the usual way.  Earlier in the week I’d been playing around with a throw-away scene, and had what I thought was a hilarious line.  Too late, I realized that I was late submitting my prompt for the week.  Luck favored me in that we got a few extra hours, so I decided to use a variation of that line as a prompt.  Cedar got that draw.  I got “I’m going to need the spider” From A.C. Young.  With a bit of thought I saw not only a way to continue the scene and work in the prompt.  Yay.

This is another excerpt from a 4 Winds/ Collegium book that may or may not be completed some day.  (an earlier excerpt was done in week 39)

Star and Robin are moving between dimensions in an effort to return an artifact to its home keep.  The latest world has a bit of a dragon problem.  Their solution to that problem is rather unusual.

Banish Dragon

The sound of wings beating the air and running feet drew Robin’s attention from the massive Gate before her.  A quick glance showed what she expected, Star and one of the male villagers headed for the Gate with a good sized dragon in pursuit. 

She looked at the saffron robed Nun standing some yards away and nodded.  With a slight nod the older woman drew her hands towards her, as if pulling something.  Robin closed her eyes and mentally pulled, feeling the energy in the Gate fluctuate as they tried to hold it just a little bit longer.  Star’s presence brushed up against her as the running feet approached and then went silent, followed shortly by the energy rippling as someone touched the Gate.  Just behind them a large foreign presence slammed against her shields as wind from the massive wings nearly knocked her over.  A few seconds more the presence vanished as the dragon flew through the Gate.  The energy splashed and rippled like a pond after someone dropped in a rock, crashing back towards the women holding it.

“Close it!”

Robin and the Nun quickly worked to bring the energies under control and get the portal closed before the beast could get turned around and come back.  Fighting against the desire to get it done quickly, they unwove their energy from each other and allowed each to reclaim that which was theirs.  Gradually the Gate shrank until it was one of normal size, and then vanished.

Keeping her eyes closed against the pain that was now crashing through her skull, Robin returned her sword to its scabbard and slid it inside her belt.

“It worked.” Star was suddenly at her side, supporting her.

“Is Berendina okay?”

“Marinus is with her.”

Robin slowly opened her eyes, ignoring the stabbing pain from the sunlight, and took a slow, faltering step.  “I’ve thrown daemons into the Realm before; this is the first time I’ve had it splash back like that.”

“We can talk about it later,” Star half smiled and steered her friend towards the cart that was approaching.  “For now, let’s get you guys back to the Abbey.”

On the third day after they banished the dragon, Robin was finally able to sit up and take stock of her aches.  Star was sitting on the stool a few feet away half dozing.

“Hey.”  Robin nudged her with a foot.

“Hun? Oh hi, yer ‘wake.  How ya feel?”

“Like my skull was ripped open from the inside, my brain scooped out with a melon-baller, mushed up like baby food and then squished back in random order.  Otherwise, okay.  You?”

Star stared at her for a long moment.  “That … is a surprisingly vivid description.”

“It seemed to fit.” Robin shrugged.  “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Ah, ‘bout that same.”  Star rubbed at the nape of her neck.

“So now that we’ve established that between us we have mush for brains, what’s next?”

“Eh, you think you’re up to going to the village?  We need to get supplies.”

Robin half grunted and made an attempt at standing up.  It took two tries but she finally was able to successfully stand upright without holding onto the bed or wall.

Star shifted her stool back in the narrow space between the bed and wall to give Robin a little more room.  “Okay, that’s a start.”

Robin gave a small nod and stood there for a moment.  “Let me go to the facilities and get a bath.  I’m more than a little rank.”  She wrinkled her nose.  “Maybe after that we can talk about getting supplies.”

Star arched one eyebrow.  “I think I’ll lay down for a little bit, grab a nap.  Come get me when you’re done, we’ll do a status check.”

Just under two hours later they were standing at the gate of the Abbey.  Both were wearing clothes that had been cast off from Initiates.  Robin borrowed one of the hats the Sisters wore when working in the garden to keep the sun out of her eyes.

“How’s Berendina?”

“She was back on her feet two days ago.  I believe she has returned to her students today.”  Star waved to the Novice on midday gate watch.

“The difference between a Journeyman and a Master,” Robin sighed as they started down the road towards the village.

“Not exactly.  More like the difference between someone dealing with backlash and a migraine triggered by said backlash.”  Star gave her a friendly shoulder bump.  “You guys took a hellva hit when that bastard went through.”  They stepped to the side of the road as the sound of a cart reached them.  “Oh, the Healer gave me a list of herbs that we could try.  Won’t really replace the preventatives we lost, but they could help during an attack.”

“Moin,” a young voice called out.

Star paused and looked back.  “Moin,” she called back as the cart lumbered up next to them.  One of the younger Nuns waved to them.

“Wo is’t?”

Star looked back at the Nun.  “We’re doing better, thanks.”

“You are going into town?” Birgitta signaled the oxen to stop.

“Yes, we need to get some things.”

Birgitta patted the seat next to her.  “Ride with me.”

Robin and Star looked at each other, shrugging.  “Beats walking.”  They spoke simultaneously.

They climbed up into the cart and squeezed themselves onto the seat.

Birgitta started chatting with Star as they rode in.  Robin closed her eyes trying to keep the light out of her eyes, and ignore the lingering symptoms of her migraine. 

“What was that you and Sister Berendina did?  I felt the energy all the way at the Abbey?”

“We opened a vortex, a portal, to another world and tricked the dragon into going through it.”

Birgitta stared at them in undisguised surprise.  “I did not know such things were possible.”

“It’s possible only for some.”

“Do you think it would be possible to teach me?”

“I don’t know.”

Robin open one eye and gave Star a sideways looked.  “Tell her to talk to Berendina.”

“Eh?”

“I caught vortex and Berendina.  I presume she is asking about opening a Gate.”

“Robin says to ask Berendina.  She knows your school of magic and would have a better idea what you need to learn.”

“Thank you.  I will do that.”  She smiled and turned her attention back to the ox.

“I was that eager once, I think,” Robin muttered.

“We all were, at that age.” Star confirmed.

The oxen weren’t faster than walking, but for two weary travelers, it was easier.  They arrived at the village just before mid-day.  Many of the shops in the market were picked over but some still had a good selection of wares.

The pair slowly worked their way around the market with Birgitta offering a bit of advice from time to time.  Gradually their bags, and Birgitta’s basket, started to fill with goods to replace their lost supplies and food for the Abbey.  They were almost done when Star and Robin abruptly stopped in mid-stride and turned to look across the market place.

“Did you …”

“Yeah,” Star frowned and turned.  “Someone’s afraid.”

“What is that?” Birgitta looked around.

“Untrained power, trying to block I think,” Robin spoke as if answering Birgitta.  She started headed in the direction of the power with Star not even half a step behind.  Birgitta trailed behind still unsure what was happening.

On the far side of the market they found the source of the wordless call.  A young girl in her early teens was sprawled on the ground, one hand half held up to ward off the blows raining on her from an older woman.  Around their feet were loaves of bread and a large basket.

“Stop!”  “Stop!” Star and Robin moved between the women.

“What’s going on here?” Star demanded.

“That worthless one dropped our bread.   I cannot sell it now.”

“I’m sure it was an accident.  Beating her will not bring you fresh bread.” Star took a breath and tried to calm the other woman.

“Please, don’t.” The young girl whispered. “It was my fault, I was clumsy”.

“What’s going on?” Robin asked, not taking her gaze off the teen.  Star quickly translated.  “Everyone makes mistakes, it shouldn’t warrant a beating.”

Star repeated what Robin has said, giving the child a soft smile.

“I should have been more careful.”

“She has cost us a day’s money.”

As Star slowly translated their comments Robin turned to fix a cold stare at the woman.  “Mesu buta.”

Robin glanced briefly at Birgitta.  “I’m going to need the spider.”  She mangled the pronunciation for the local money but since she pointed at the bag the Nun figured out what she wanted.

Birgitta removed the bag from her basket and handed it over, clearly puzzled.

Robin fished around inside the bag and pulled out several large coins and cast them at the woman’s feet.  “I hope they bring you warmth in your old age.”

Star carefully kept a straight face as she translated Robin’s words.

The older woman’s face flushed in anger and she started yelling.  Star declined to provide a translation.

As the woman started waving her hands around and made as if to advance on them, Birgitta stepped forwards and raised a hand.

“Mother, please.  These are the Travelers that helped banish the dragon.”

Star quietly translated as the woman looked between them and the Nun.  Robin continues to stare at the woman, daring her to try to move against the girl again.  Finally the older woman reached down and picked up the coins that Robin has strewn across the ground and scuttled away.

Once they were sure the old woman was gone, the women turned and knelt beside the girl.  The girl sat hunched over, refusing to look up until Star reached out and gently lifted her head and smiled at her.

“I’m Robin, this is Star.”  Robin pointed at herself and then Star.

“Anneliese,” the girl whispered.

“Why was she beating you, Anneliese?” Robin gently asked then waited for Star to translate.

“I cost them money.  I am a burden.”

“Who said you’re a burden, child?”

“Katla says I am useless.  I caused my brother’s death, so we no longer have him to sell our breads.  I’m too clumsy.”

Robin fought to keep the anger off her face as she listen to Star’s translation.

“Her brother was killed in one of the dragon attacks last year, trying to protect her.” Birgitta told them.  “He used to go to the other village for their market.  Without him they can only sell here.”

Robin shook her head and sighed as she listened to Star.  “Narrow minded provincials,” she muttered in Japanese.

“Their world, sister.”

Robin shook her head again and turned back to Anneliese, giving her a small smile.  “You’re far from useless.”  She closed her eyes for a moment and called for a bit of energy.  Cupping her hands she formed a small globe of light in her palms.  She held it for a moment, letting it grow and spin.

Anneliese looked from her to the globe, fascinated.  Around them some of the villagers muttered and whispered at the display of magic.

“Is this wise?” Star whispered.

“It’s more for show; you know it costs me very little.”

“As tired as you are …”

“I’m fine.”

Robin focused her attention on Anneliese.  “Hold your hands out.”  She nodded towards the girl.

Anneliese looked from Robin to Star and finally Birgitta before copying Robin’s position.

Robin gently tipped her hands and let the globe glide into Anneliese’s hands.  She held her hands around the girl’s for a few seconds.  Her smile widened as she watched the globe turn from a yellow with blue streaks to a orange with green flickers.  Slowly she pulled her hands away and sat back on her heels.   The villagers around them gasped as the globe dimmed for a moment then flared, the colors spinning wildly.

Robin looked at Star with an arched eyebrow, and then looked up at Birgitta.  The Nun nodded.

Anneliese started to hand the globe back to Robin, stopping when Birgitta began speaking.  Once her attention was off the globe it flickered, slowly dimmed and died out.

“You have a Gift, Little Sister.  If you wish, I will escort you to the Abbey.  We can teach you how to use your Gift.”  She held out a hand to Anneliese.

“Will I be able to banish dragons?”

“Perhaps, in time, you can.”

Anneliese took the Nun’s hand and rose to her feet.  “Then I wish to come.”

Star and Robin slowly rose and followed them out of the market place.

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Odd Prompts 21: Week 1

  • Jan. 20th, 2021 at 10:35 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

A new year, and a new round of prompts over at MOTE.

The first prompt of the year came from nother Mike: The annual unicorn drive ran right down the main road in town this year…

The first thought that popped into my mind was Pony Penning Day.  Like many girls of my generation I grew up reading Misty of Chincoteague so I thought, what if instead of ponies they were bringing in unicorns.

Penning Day

Paul nudged his gelding and swung around in the saddle to watch the herd as the turned onto Main Street.  After the rains and floods in the spring that had been concern that the bridge on Beebe might wash away and they may have to change to route to the pens this year, but it was sound and the herd came over safely.  They strolled down the road lined with cape cod and colonial style homes on one side and Chincoteague Bay on the other and people on both.

Residents of the island watched from their yards and windows.  They knew the routine, the herd would be walked down the main street, where everyone could see them, and herded into the pens.  Yearlings that had been too young to make the swim last year would be separated into one corral, mares with older foals went into the main corral, and Black Jack would be in his own pen.

Visitors, tourists eager for a glimpse of the famous horses, lined the sidewalks.  Older mares that had been through the roundup in the past kept to the middle of the road, watching their foals cautiously trotting beside them.  Younger mares lowered their heads and swung their dagger like horns at the humans, to protect their hornless foals.  In the middle of the herd, curving horn held high, was the current stallion Black Jack.

Paul patted Wave Dancer, remembering a few years ago when he’d spotted the gangly six month old trying to hide behind his mother after nearly drowning during the swim, and urged him after a yearling that was trying to go towards the bay a few yards away.  The same floods that had threatened the bridge also turned the ground between the road and bay into a muddy quagmire, not safe for human or equine.  But they came as they did ever year, because of a book that made their island famous, and a dream to own a piece of magic.

Twenty minutes later they were at the Carnival Grounds.  Another year’s roundup was done safely.  Tonight the unicorns rested.  Tomorrow the auction. On Friday Black Jack and those not purchased would be returned to their home across the channel.

Sadly, the annual swim did not take place in 2020, but there are some nice photos of prior years at the site, and a map of the parade route. https://www.chincoteague.com/pony_swim_guide.html

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11/11/20 Happy Veterans Day

  • Nov. 11th, 2020 at 7:20 AM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross
Image
Thank you to all who have, are currently, and who intent to wear the uniform and stand guard over this great nation.

Thank you to the families who also serve by standing watch while your service member is away.

God Bless and protect you all.

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A milestone in Geocaching today

  • Aug. 1st, 2020 at 12:23 AM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross
A milestone in Geocaching today for me and my sister.  Our 100th find. 

Considering that we are somewhat low-tech (we use a Garmin Nuvii (car gps) and Google/Bing maps) and we’ve had to pass on most rural hides 100 finds is noteworthy. (Fortunately our area is rich in urban hides.  J )   A new Garman eTrex20 has been ordered in hopes that it will allow us to move to less urban areas.

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How low have we gone?

  • Apr. 14th, 2020 at 12:35 PM
Angry Bobcat
Imagekeross

I was link hopping and ran across this article talking about the closing of beaches in Virginia and the difference of interpretation of the order. https://www.kerrydougherty.com/allposts/2020/4/12/no-more-sand-castles . (The author of the piece feels that the order is over reaching and that the local police are being too zealous.)

As I am sometimes wont to do, I read the comments. (yeah, yeah, rule # 3 – never read the comments)

That’s when I ran across this.

Eric An hour ago   · 0 Likes

Kerry, you're not taking human nature into account. I'm sure that you and a lot of others would practice social distancing while sitting on your beach towels. However, a lot of other people would take such permission as an indicator that COVID-19 isn't that bad and, therefore, it's business as usual. This epidemic is a worse enemy than Nazi Germany was in WW-2. During WW-2 we rationed everything. Perhaps we should be thankful that the beach is all we have to ration this time.

“This epidemic is a worse enemy than Nazi Germany”

I tried to respond. I do not know if it went through. The site wanted me to log in or post as guest.   When I click to post as guest it cycled back to the log-in.  The comment is not showing. The comment could be sitting in the spam filter or it could have been lost since I didn’t want to register for the site just to post one comment.

Here is my response.

“This epidemic is a worse enemy than Nazi Germany”

Please go back and re-read what you wrote. Do you honestly believe that an unthinking virus is worse than the deliberate attempted genocide of the Jewish people by Nazi Germany?

I’d think that rounding up people, forcing them on cattle cars to concentration camp, and the mass executions of those people to be far worse than a virus, especially one with over 95% survival rate.

I am saddened and very disturbed that anyone could say that a virus is worse than the Holocaust.

No, it is not worse than Nazi Germany. The virus does not care who or what you are, it attacks all. The Nazis were deliberately choosing their victims.

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Odd Prompts Week 8

  • Feb. 23rd, 2020 at 9:21 PM
Bobcat kitten
Imagekeross

This week’s prompt is from Cedar Sanderson: What if you really could have housecleaning done by magic Brownies? What would that really be like?

My brain is kinda like an attic, a jumble of memories that are of little use most of the time, but every once in a while someone goes up and pokes around.  This prompt knocked open a few lines from a filk song I first heard back in the 90’s.

“Where are the Brownies when you need them
How come the kitchen’s still a sight
Where are the Brownies when you need them
I hope they change their minds and come tonight”

Song can be heard here:   https://youtu.be/HeIIS1fnHk

But that didn’t quite fit what I wanted, so while it is a cute song, I let the prompt brew for a few days.

A few stray thoughts and some research later found me typing around coughing fits.  (No, nothing serious, just another round of bronchitis.  I swear I get a bout every year in early spring.  Use to be allergies that left me without much of a voice, now it is bronchitis followed by weeks of coughing.  I’d rather have the allergies back.)

Housekeepers

I’m a being of the night.

While most people are sleeping, I am awake and on the move.  No, I’m not a vampire or werewolf, although I believe I have seen them, I’m just what might be loosely termed a freak of nature; my circadian rhythm is reversed.  If I were to move to the other side of the world I’d most likely fit in.  Moving is very expensive especially when you’re young, so I took the next best option – I found companies that had night positions.   Security, factory work, it didn’t matter as long as I could sleep during the day.

Of course I had no social life.  Who wants to hang out at O-Dark hundred?  I also didn’t have a girl friend.  Women want normalcy, nocturnal people are not exactly normal.

So here I was forty-five, a confirmed bachelor and likely to remain so.  I was also in need of a new housekeeper.  Okay, apartment keeper.  Most housekeeping companies worked during the day and the last one kept waking me up.  Not that I didn’t keep the place picked up, it’s just that things get away from you at times.  Having someone come in once a week was a luxury I could just afford.

On a job site I found a listing for Donne’s Cleaning.  They usually did offices and such but did take on some private homes.  Their crews didn’t start working until after six p.m.  I decided to give them a call.

The woman who answered the phone had a Scottish accent so thick I could have cut it.  She asked me a series of questions, most were routine like what kind of service did I want, how often did I want the crew to come around, and was night work okay.  And then she asked me if I had cats or dogs. At first I thought she was joking, but she seemed quite serious so I told her that I didn’t even have a goldfish.

We agreed on a price and start date and that was that.  The new service started the next week.  I got home from work and found the apartment the cleanest I’d seen it since I had moved in twenty years ago.

That’s the way it went for the next several months.  Donne’s Cleaning would come in once a week, while I was at work, clear the apartment and be gone before I got home.  I sometimes found the odd thing moved from one place to another, but otherwise I was very happy with the service.

And then I got the flu.  I had it bad, all I could keep down was weak broth and sports drink.  I lay in bed with a fever, half sleeping, wishing I could just die.  I’d lost track of what day it was and forgot to call Donne’s and tell them not to come.   I heard movement in the front room, but couldn’t summon the energy to move.  The door to my room opened and I opened on eye to look.  Someone was standing in the door; someone very short and skinny.  I heard something that sounded like a squeak as I murmured an apology.   The door closed and I heard sounds of something, or something, scurrying around.  A few moments later everything was silent again and I drifted back to sleep.  When I was finally to crawl out of bed and went to find food a bit more solid I found the apartment spotless.

Figuring it had just been a fever dream I sent a message to Donne’s office thanking them for the great service and not disturbing me while I was sick.

Everything went back to normal, and I thought no more about it.

Come Spring I took some vacation time.  Not caring to travel this year, I mainly just read and surfed the internet.  The “day” the cleaning crew came over I opted to go to the late show at the movies.  The movie ended long before I was ready to go home so I found a bar that was still open and hung out for a while.  I left at last call, having nursed a drink for over an hour, and went home.

I walked into my apartment and saw two figures: short, male, skinny creatures with brownish skin and long curly brown hair.  One of the looked up and squeaked.  I stared dumbfounded as my brain gibbered while it tried to make sense of what I was seeing.  They were holding cleaning equipment and the apartment was clean – this was my housekeeping crew.  The second one turned and gave a louder shriek.  I finally realized that I was still standing in the door.  Blurting an apology of some kind I stepped out of the way, letting them leave.

I watched them grab up their gear and run out the door, a faint whimpering following after them.  I just stared as they vanished down the hall.

A few minutes later I closed the door and walked over to chair.  I wasn’t drunk, I wasn’t seeing things.  The housekeeping crew were … well, not human.  What were they?

I got online and started doing some serious research.  An hour later I had part of an answer, they were a member of fae called Brownies.  A little more digging and I learned that they were from the British Isles and usually lived in hidden corners of a home and did odd chores in return for milk and sometimes food.  They are nocturnal creatures and did not like to be seen.  That explained the squeaks both times I had seen them.

Additional reading said that they could be easily offended and that offering payment greater than they expected was considered an insult.

What I could not find was how or why they came to America.  I could only speculate that they had gotten collected up in some household goods when a couple of families left the old home for the new land.  I also could not find out how to apologize for scaring them without giving offense.

I checked the office hours for Donne’s; perhaps I could call and explain the situation.

Promptly at eight, when I normally would have been sound asleep, I called the office.  The woman that answered sounded like the same one I had spoken to almost a year ago.  I explained to her that I had accidently came in before the crew left and had given them a bit of a fright.  I heard a soft grunt, as if she was trying to figure out whether to tell me I’d been seeing things,  the contract was over, or if she could send a different crew.  Before she could decide I pressed on saying that I wanted to leave a small token of my thanks for such great service and to say I was sorry, but I didn’t want to give too much as I didn’t want to offend anyone.  This was a gift, not payment.

After a long moment of silence, the woman told me to try leaving out some honey or fresh apples, which they had come to like since coming to America.

Before I left for work the next week I laid out a couple of fresh apples and a small bowl of locally produced honey.  I hoped that when I got home that morning I’d find the food gone and the apartment clean.

After I had got off from work early the next night due to an equipment malfunction, I made a point of taking my time getting home.  When I arrived, I made plenty of noise getting out my keys and rattling them as I whistled a tune.  When I turned on the lights, the apartment was spotless as usual.  I smiled and continued to hum as I got ready for bed.

A few of the sites that I found, and that our narrator probably found as well.

https://mythology.wikia.org/wiki/Brownie

The Different Types Of Mythological Brownies

Elements of Fantasy: Brownies

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A Tale of Two Stories

  • Feb. 7th, 2020 at 1:58 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

Last night I was scrolling through the feed of a certain well know social media platform.   I have friends, on-line and in real life, that cross soci-polictal lines – that means I get posts in my feed from both sides. When I run across a “political” post I will glace at the subject and make that split second decision to read or scroll past. Last night I ran across posts by two of my friends that caught my attention; these two friends are from opposite sides of the political line. Both these articles had “headlines” that were potentially inflammatory, bordering on being “Dog-Whistle”.*

I glanced at both articles. (the articles and contents thereof are, for purposes of this mini rant, irrelevant.)

The one from my somewhat liberal friend was, imo, flat out fake news – a dog whistle. I did a quick net search and the first three responses showed that the writer of that article should have been taken out behind a barn and horsewhipped for yellow-dog journalism. News reports dated *prior* to that so called article proved it bias and misleading. A fact checking site with a reported political bias reported the claim as “unproven”.

The one from my conservative friend was, to me, a little better written; while bias it did not appear to contain errors that could quickly be disproven. It was more of a propaganda piece than a dog-whistle.

Both articles could be questioned but only one had one of those “fact check” notes added to it – the one written by the conservatives.   To add insult that fact-checking site that attached their opinions is attached to the social media platform and is even more bias than the one I used to refute the liberal article.

What’s the point here? Social media sites are trying to censor what information is provided. Information, even bias information, should be open for all to read and decide for themselves what is real and what is fiction.   Social media is trying to sway the public’s view on social and political issues. So far, WordPress seems to still be free of open censorship. I know that LiveJournal is now owned by a Russian company and have said they would not certain content to be posted. I do not know enough about other blog sites to comment. An up and coming social media site called MeWe claims to support free speech. (the other site does as well, but we’ve seen the truth)

Don’t support censorship. I’m not necessarily saying to abandon those sites, just be aware of what is going on.

*What am I calling a dog-whistle? Dog-Whistle is a story/article that contains an inflammatory headline/subject line that plays into conditioning. It’s akin to going into a NeoNazi party and insulting jews and blacks. All it does is inflame those who already belief.

Why do I differentiate dog-whistle from propaganda? Propaganda is designed to elicit a desired emotional reaction.   Propaganda says things like Hitler is bad, and here’s why. Dog-Whistle says Hitler is bad, see what he did. Semantics? Perhaps, but that’s how my mind works.

Another issue I have; for the love of mercy and all that is good, fact check as best you can. I have run across dozens of stories that support beliefs I hold, I try to look into the ones that sniff of being a dog-whistle. If I find that they cannot be supported by other articles, I either don’t post them or I make note that I could not authenticate them. If I find them to be less then true, I do not post them. Or, if I do, I point out that it is not true.

“Hold on there, Feline, I’ve seen you post things that may not be true.” Yep, I’m guilty of not stopping to think at times. Hit certain buttons with me and I see red, I react without thinking (I respond to that dog-whistle). I said I try to fact check, I didn’t say I always did it (or got it right).   😉

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Odd Prompts Week 6

  • Feb. 5th, 2020 at 12:58 PM
Kaykay
Imagekeross

I’m still working on last week’s prompt, (Real life got in the way of real progress. I hope to have it up in a few days) but this week’s prompt practically fell into my lap and curled up to make itself comfortable.

The prompt in question came from Becky Jones: Standing at the top of the stairs going down to your basement, you flip on the light. A voice comes out of the now well-lit basement, “Hey! Turn that back off, I was reading!”

Put the book back when you’re done

My lowlight vision isn’t what it used to be. In my younger days I could move around the house without direct light and still see, now I find myself pausing to flip on the lights to avoid running into things.

There was still a load of laundry that needed to be tossed in the dryer and one that needed to be folded. I wanted to get that last load in the dryer before I went to bed since tomorrow was the Sabbath – the day of rest.  There was a bit of light coming from the laundry room, but the steps were dark so I flipped on the lights and started down the stairs.

I’d only gotten two steps when I head a low rumble from the base of the stairs. “Hey! Turn that back off, I was reading!”

I stopped and looked towards the voice and saw one of the cats had made a nest in the basket of clean laundry just outside the little room I called my library. In front of her was an open book. She looked up at me, blinking in the light, with an unhappy air about her.

“Sorry, baby.” I backed up the stairs, loath to disturb her, and flipped off the lights. I could finish the laundry in a bit. It was only after I had gone into the kitchen to take care of the dinner dishes that I remember that the cat had spoken in human English, and that particular cat had been dead for many years.

I almost sprinted back to the basement door to turn the light back on. I had several questions I wanted to ask.  I’d always joked about sprits of cats long gone lingering in the house, this was the first time I’d seen proof.  But when I looked the basket was empty; no sign of cat or book.

Figuring that I’d just imagined it, I went to finish the laundry. One of the current cats greeted me from the top of the dryer with a head-butt to the chest. I divided my time between putting clothes in the dryer and petting the cat until I was done and the dryer was turned on. She curled back up to enjoy the warmth and I headed back up stairs. There was still work to do.

As I bent to pick up the basket of clean laundry I noticed a cat sized hollow and a couple of red hairs in the middle of the sheets. I smiled and started up the steps. “Just remember to put the book back where it belongs when you’re done.” I swear I heard a soft purr in response.

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Odd Prompts Week 4

  • Jan. 25th, 2020 at 3:38 PM
Bobcat kitten
Imagekeross

Another round of story prompts at Odd Prompts.

It’s been a long week and my mood was a bit low, so I went a bit dark this time.

The story was not coming, the plot was a jumble and the character was being stubborn.  Deciding that I wanted a break, I flipped back to my blogs and social media.  I’d barely skimmed a few posts when I heard something at the window to my right.  Curious I turned to look.  There’s a bird-feeder hanging from a shepherd’s hook just outside and we feed the local squirrels, plus our cats like to sleep in the window sill and sometimes they try to get to the animals outside.  In short, noise or activity from that area is far from anything but uncommon.

Instead of the one of expected critters, I saw a large black bird perched on the window ledge.  He squawked at me and side hopped a step.

“Well, hello there.  What are you doing there?”  He just looked at me and side hopped again.  “No message for me?”  I laughed.  “I thought ravens brought messages.”  He shook his head and squawked at me.  “Okay, that’s better.  If you start speaking English, I’m getting out my camera and recording.”

He cocked his head and peered at me.

Starting to get a bit unnerved I stood up and leaned closer to the window.  There was something in his talons.  It was a handle of some kind.  I also notice a shadow in the dogwood tree, something that looked like another bird in the upper branches.  Torn between curiosity and being freaked out, I walked around to the front door and stepped out.

The raven on the window ledge hopped a couple of times on the ledge and came closer to the porch. He squawked at me again, a high pitched caw, not the deeper croak of a raven.  Once I got a good look at the narrow, slightly sharp, beak and tail feather of equal length, I realized that it wasn’t a raven after call, but a common crow.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to misidentify you.”  I laughed.  Both birds were common in the area so getting them mixed up was common.

I also got a better look at what he held, a knife stained dark red with partially dried blood.

He hopped another step closer and the one n the tree dropped down a few braches.  Both of them squawked at me.  Sounds from the townhomes around me pulled my attention up, I could see a dozen or so across the street sitting in trees or on roofs.  I walked down the walkway to the curb and looked down the street and looked up.  More lines the homes on either side of me.  Several of the birds held bits of steel, glass or sharp twigs.  A couple of them murmured, but otherwise it was silent.  In fact, I finally noticed, it was totally silent; no neighborhood dogs were barking, no kids laughing, not even cars on the roads.  I looked around at the birds, images of Alfred Hitchcock’s old movie “The Birds” flashed through my mind.

I turned to get back inside and saw the first crow standing on the porch, knife now in his beak.  The second crow was perched on the shepherd’s hook.  Both were staring at me intently.

They all started calling out, changing their positions.  It was only then that I remember; a group of crows is a Murder.

Jennie Posthumus sent the challenge: There’s a tapping on your window. You look out and find a raven sitting on the sill holding a bloody knife.

The prompt called for a raven, but after a bit of research I found that ravens are not that common in my area.  (The football team does not count)  So I had to switch it to a crow, but then most people can’t tell them apart.  *grin*

Here’s a good place to start if you want to know the differences.

Orignially posted (along with a fwe others) on https://undomesticatedfeline.wordpress.com/

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Short story

  • Jan. 13th, 2020 at 12:59 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross
I just realized that I have not been posting over much.  In part it is due to very little happening and in part due to me shifting my focus to WordPress, which has a cleaner editor (imo). 

I've been working on my writing a bit and recently started this piece.  I was in the middle of it when I learned of Level-Head's passing so I slipping in a small tribute to him. 

============

Apparition

Winnie got out of her car and looked around.  The sun was just coming over the horizon, casting long shadows as it hit the stones.  The rational part of her brain wondered why she was standing in the middle of a cemetery at sunrise.

It had started earlier in the week with a photo.

She walked into her apartment, dropped her bag on top of the butler chair and sat down to take off her heels.  Shoes tucked under the seat and jacket on the hanger, she went into the home office to turn on the computer.  One of the disadvantages to working in a secure facility is that no personal cell phones or use of company computers is permitted.  A person was effectively cut off from the world.

While the computer booted and personal email was downloaded, she changed clothes and made a bowl of soup.

Necessary things like bills and urgent e-mails taken care of, Winnie turned to catching up on social media.  One member of a chat board was mourning the passing of a friend while others were talking about books and writing.  Scrolling down the page, she found a post with a photo.  The picture was of a headstone with the sun just touching the top of the marker.  The conversation was about the yellow/gold sphere at the base: lens flare or orb.  What caught her attention, and had her going back for a second look, were the claims of seeing something else in the photo.  A couple of people said they saw a person in the picture.  That had turned into a debate about whether or not the photo had been edited, which spawned off a thread about the existence of ghosts.

The image had been compressed down so Winnie had to study the picture for a moment before she saw the form.  The woman was standing right behind the orb, looking at the photographer.  She had a small, but puzzled, smile on her face.  The clothes were modern so she probably wasn’t puzzled about the camera; she most likely was wondering why the photographer was in the cemetery at that hour.

A second post farther down the page had a slightly larger version of the image and more of the same debates.  Neither person had shared the original post, so there was nothing identifying the photographer or the location of the cemetery.

Winnie sighed and opened up a private browsing window.  While not a guarantee against tracking, it at least reduced the tracking.  Typing in an URL from memory, she opened a forum page.  If someone happened to stumble across the page and tried to log in but gave the wrong answer to the password they received a 418 error message.  Most people at that point assumed the page was a joke and moved on.  A correct answer took the person to a private room.

Bless 21st century technology, Winnie thought as she scanned the list of members log in.  Just a few decades ago a question like this would have to wait until a Collegium meeting or a Custodian met up with a fellow Custodian or Sentinel.  Now a person could log in and start a query through the forum.  Of course, major issues still had to be addressed at a meeting, and there was nothing saying that a query started here wouldn’t end up being on a meeting agenda later.

While a person had to be verified before they could join, it was always possible that a gifted hacker could worm their way in so even in this private, secure, room there were certain protocols to be followed – no real names, no direct mention of Gifts or supernatural, no mention of the Collegium, nothing that would do more than hint at anything beyond the Mundane world existed.    Conversations between user names like Free Flier and Urban Gorilla tended to be cryptic unless they were talking about the latest game.  Of course even that could have a second meaning.

Seeing the user name of someone who usually acted as a Librarian she hit the ‘chat request’ button.  A moment later a small box opened.

::Good evening, Willow.  How can I help?::

::Hi Level::  Winnie quickly typed back.  ::I have a project that requires a little research.  I need information on a photo.  Provence is unknown.::  She transferred the photo to the Sentinel.

::Do you have a due date for your project?::

::No, I just picked it up today.  But there does seem to be interest.::

::We’ll try to get back to you by tomorrow then.::

They ended the chat, each saying goodnight, and closing the chat window.

The next morning she overslept so Winnie didn’t have a chance to check her messages before work.  After eight hours of dealing with a glitchy network, a temperamental computer and a cranky boss who wanted the files done yesterday, Winnie wasn’t sure she wanted to get on-line.  She looked at her social media accounts more out of habit than interest and was about to shut down and go read when she saw that photo pop up an another friend’s page.   Once again the conversation ranged from fake, lens flare to actual ghost photo.

Seeing the post reminded her of her request the night before so she hopped over to that forum to check for results.  She found two messages waiting for her.  The first was from Kuaile_Long, one of the moderators of the forum, bluntly telling her to do proper follow-up on those messages.  In other words, find a way to persuade people that the photo was faked.  The second message was from Level saying that they had managed to find some information about the photo, like when it first showed up, but had not yet determined the physical location.  Level also said that Fluffer and Smokey had been notified and were on the case.  Relieved that clean up had already begun, she responded to Level saying thank you and adding that it had showed up again today.

Collegium business done and tired of dealing with people, she shut everything down and went to bed with a book.

Two days later the provenance came in.  The photo had been taken just a few months ago in local cemetery at dawn.  While the actual location was not in the metadata, the photographer had posted it giving the cemetery’s name.

The cemetery was just over twenty miles from her apartment.  There probably were Custodians closer but Winnie felt like she should see this through so the predawn light found her parking the car in the small cemetery.  Taking a copy of the photo, she started walking the grounds looking for familiar looking markers.

After wandering the grounds for a few minutes she found what she thought was the right location.  Looking around at nearby markers she located one from the early years of the previous decade bearing the name of Jessica Patterson.  The space to her left was still empty.

Winnie felt the presence before she saw her.  She turned slowly to look at the woman.  “Jessica?”

The woman’s expression changed from mild interest to one of surprise.  “You, you see me?”

Winnie smiled.  “Yes.  You are Jessica, right?”

Jessica nodded and looked past her to watch a woman jogging with her dog.  “You’re the first person that I’ve talked to in ages.”

“Why are you here, Jessica?”  Winnie moved over to sit on a nearby bench.

“Waiting.  I’m waiting.” Jessica paused and looked around.  The woman with the dog had crested the small hill and was almost out of sight.

“Waiting for?”

“Waiting for … Clyde.”

“Why are you waiting here?”  Winnie waved her hand around at the markers surrounding them.  “I mean most spirits don’t stay on this side, let alone wait in burial grounds.”  The only time she’d known spirits to become attached to burial grounds was if the place they had been tied to was gone.

“Clyde moved and the new family wasn’t nice.  It is quiet here.”

“You know you can wait on the other side, you don’t have to stay here.”  Jessica just looked at her.  “You’ve been waiting for over ten years now, aren’t you lonely?”

“Maybe … a little.”

“Time has no meaning on the other side.  You won’t be lonely and before you know it Clyde will be there.”

“The other side?  What is it like?”

Winnie smiled softly.  “I don’t know Hon.  No mortal person has ever seen it, but we’re told that it is a place beyond time and pain, where there is no sickness or hunger, only peace.  You have a cross on your marker; are you a Believer?”

Jessica paused for a moment.  “Yes, I was.”

“Then for you it should be the Christian Heaven.”

“Why didn’t I go then?  Did I fail something?  Was I not good enough?”

Winnie shook her head.  “Paul teaches us that it by Faith alone, not deeds, that we gain salvation.   I can only speculate why you remained here.  Maybe you were too busy looking for Clyde and missed the door.”

“Oh, I took my eyes off the goal.”

“Yes.”

The sun crept higher in the sky, turning indistinct forms into clear shapes.    The shadow from a tall monument to the east fell on the ground at Jessica’s feet.

Jessica glanced down at the cross for a long moment then looked off to the side, a puzzled frown on her face.  “That door you mentioned, does it look like that?”

Winnie followed her gaze and saw only a small gate to a family plot.  “If you see a door, it is for your eyes only.”

“Mom?  I see Mom and someone else, I know him but … from where?”

“Why don’t you go find out?”  Jessica turned and walked towards the gate and slowly faded in the morning sunlight.

Winnie rose and walked over to Jessica’s marker.  She laid the photo at the base of the marker and looked around.  “Clyde will be there when you turn around, until then rest in peace.”

========
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Originally posted at https://undomesticatedfeline.wordpress.com/2020/01/12/apparition/

Noooo.

  • Jan. 10th, 2020 at 12:33 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross


I just ran across this on a forum.

Re: Update on Level Head
Post by Mako » Tue Dec 10, 2019 4:12 pm

I deeply regret that I have to share the hard news that our dear friend and inspiration In life Keith Howington*, Level_Head, passed away last night.

Here is where I found the message. https://www.crosstimecafe.com/viewtopic.php?f=30&t=10156&start=580

I don't remember where I first met Keith beyond that it was on LJ. Over the years I found him to be a kind and intelligent man. His posts and discussions were always thought provoking. After the food poisoning that took his dear lady his health deteriorated. His presence on line became less and less. The last update to his blog (https://level-head.livejournal.com/ & http://www.dehavelle.com) was just over a year ago.

As a Nontheist he did not believe in God, but he was well versed in the Bible and had apparently read the Koran as he frequently would discuss religious matters. And he was never offended if you offered to say a prayer for him.

My faith teaches that he would not go to Heaven because he rejected God and Jesus. But I can hold a small hope that maybe there is more than one heaven.

Rest in Peace, my friend. Even though we never met in person, you will be missed. I will say a prayer for you.

*I knew his name as Keith DeHavelle, but on-line who really knows anyone's name.

Dec. 7, 1941

  • Dec. 7th, 2018 at 12:57 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

Image

A day which will live in infamy, or so our President told us.

But time dims memory.  And many of the people of that generation have passed.   It is left to those of us who came after, who were raised by parents who were growing up in the 40’s to keep that flame of memory alive.
While none of these men were in Pearl Harbor at the time, the events set forth on that day made it so that for the next few years they would be away from family and friends.

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My Brother in law’s father.  He was a POW in Germany.  He returned after the war and continued to serve for many more years.  (photo take by my sister)

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Great Uncle on my mother’s side.  Oldest son.  He had enlisted just before Pearl.  Spent most of the war in Italy and North Africa.  I never heard him speak of the war.  But the family said he wasn’t quite the same when he came back.

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Martin’s younger brother.  Due to the Sullivan act, he was kept stateside for most of the war.  He told me that he did most of his service at the Pentagon.  (photo found on Find-A-Grave)


These were good men serving their country in her hour of need.  God Bless all of them.

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Tags:

Of Angels, pins and research.

  • Apr. 24th, 2018 at 2:10 PM
Pluto and Charon
Imagekeross
I like research.  Saying this is rather like Deanna Trio saying she likes chocolate or a member of the Blue Angels saying they like to fly.

At times I think I can stop breathing before I can stop doing research.  Of course not all of my research has a point, sometimes it is just weird things that catch my attention, and it doesn’t always follow a logical path – side trails distract me.  Like today.

Today is Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day.  I looked at the blub with a degree of curiosity (always the first step in my random research trails) and learned a bit of history.   (https://www.checkiday.com/52397c8473c023e60897c152eb0ab234/armenian-genocide-remembrance-day)  I’d never heard of this.  From here I started looking at this genocide: the who and when.   Why was this group separated out?  From there I found out that the Armenians claim an ancient form of Christianity.    Well, that kinda makes sense looking at where they lived.  A phrase popped out at me: Non-Chalcedonian Church.  Oh, what is this?  (Quit following the rabbit and go after the squirrel.)

I then proceeded to give myself a headache, while having fun trying to understand the difference between Chalcedonian & Non-Chalcedonian Churches, which led me to Christology.

I’m not done reading, perhaps by the time I have finished I’ll understand, but right now I am thinking that debating this is akin to debating how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.

He was / is the Son of God, born of mortal woman.  He lived, He healed, He taught us, He died for us and the rose from the dead.  Does it matter what nature his form took:  Human or Divine or Two-in-one?  We poor mortals have as much chance understanding His true nature as a Neutron does of understanding the atom, let alone the molecule. 

Today (4/17) is Bat Appreciation Day

  • Apr. 17th, 2018 at 12:33 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

https://www.checkiday.com/341ba56e63668d28cae9e4d61057f693/bat-appreciation-day

Bats – The mere word brings up images of vampires and horror movies, plague beasts.  The truth could not be farther from that image.  Bats are one of the most maligned creatures on the planet, right next to the wolf and the hyena.

While my knowledge is only a fraction of my sister, (hopefully she’ll poke her head in) here are a few things I do “know”.

The most common bat in North America is the brown bat. There are two brown bat species: Big Brown and Little Brown.  The brown bat can eat up to 3 times it weight in insects a night.   Per night! They are the best mosquito control you can get, and they are free.

The Free Tail bat colony at Carlsbad Caverns is large enough to show up on the weather radar when they fly out at dusk. There are groups that will gather near CC to watch the nightly fly out.

The bats most commonly used in horror movies as vampires are not vampire bats, they are fruit bats: Flying Foxes to be precise, the largest bat known today.  They are not dangerous to humans.

Vampire bats do not bite their prey on the neck and suck blood. They cut a shallow wound and lap the blood.  They are more of the threat to cattle and other livestock than to humans.  Vampire bats live in South America.

There are no mega-bats / flying foxes native to North America. Our bats are Micro-bats and 99% are insectivores.   The other 1% are nectar bats.

While bats can contract, and spread, rabies, the average bat is no more likely to have rabies than any wild animal.

The average micro-bat is no larger than your hand. They really are not dangerous to humans unless said human is messing with them.

They do not want to get into your hair.

North American bats that commonly hibernate during the winter are under threat from White Nose Syndrome.  Migratory species seem to be at less risk of contracting the disease.

Bats are cute!

Bats are not blind. They are primarily nocturnal, so they are sensitive to light, but they can see just fine.  They navigate and hunt using echolocation – just like a sonar on a submarine.

If you like margaritas or any drink that has tequila, thank a bat. The Mexican long-nosed bat pollenates the agave plant which is used to make tequila.

Bats are not pets. Please do not try to raise one unless you are trained in their care.  They are wild animals and deserve to be left in the wild.  If you see one on the side of a building make sure it is not at risk of harm (from pets and/or people) and watch it for a while.  It may be resting or trying to find a place safe from predators for the day.   If you find one on the ground, keep pets and people away – see if you can tell if it is injured or just resting.  Watch it for a little while.  If you think it is at risk, try to see if you can get it into a cardboard box and move it to some place safe.  Don’t try to handle any wild bat with your bare hands.  They can and will bite.  If you find one that is injured, contact a wildlife rehabber in your area.  (Not one of the numerous pest control companies)

Here are some sites where you can learn more about bats:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/shaenamontanari/2017/04/17/five-awesome-facts-for-bat-appreciation-day/#159c6f747112

http://www.umich.edu/~esupdate/library/96.04-05/bogan.html

http://www.batcon.org/   (BCI is one of the largest Bat Conservation groups in the world)

http://www.landscope.org/article/TX/endangered_bat/Endangered-Bat-Tequila-Connection/



Please don’t be afraid of me.

Machi trimmed
I won’t hurt you. I just want your insects.
(North American Big Brown Bat)



(originally posted at https://undomesticatedfeline.wordpress.com/)

“On December 7th, 1941, a Day which Will Live in Infamy” — Cat Rotator’s Quarterly

  • Dec. 7th, 2017 at 1:12 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

Image

What is the lesson of Pearl Harbor, other than not to park all your ships and planes so close together that a few bombing and strafing runs can take all of them out? I don’t know. I have a few ideas, but I’ll leave that to the dedicated naval historians and military historians, who can […]

via “On December 7th, 1941, a Day which Will Live in Infamy” — Cat Rotator’s Quarterly

It has been 76 years since these events took place.  Most of the generation that saw it first hand, that heard that famous speech, are gone.  Today too few seem to remember, or care.

Two of my great uncles were in the Army during WWII.

Martin, the oldest, was already in when the Empire of Japan attacked.  If I read the papers correctly, he was just starting basic.  He would go on to England and later to North Africa.  He never spoke of the war in my presence.

I don’t know when younger brother William joined.  All I know is one small bit of information he told me; he spent most of the war in DC.

I didn’t know in my youth how special these men were.  Today it is too late to tell them.

To Martin and William Simpson, Alexander Alvarado (my brother-in-law’s father) and the thousands of other young men who fought in that war:  Your spirits are honored.


(regrettably, I do not have a picture of Uncle Bill's headstone.)

May we never forget!


Tags:

What is evil?

  • Nov. 28th, 2017 at 1:26 PM
Old Galaxy
Imagekeross
One of my friends has a fascinating post today. (It’s time to think) I was just going to share it but it got me to thinking. But I’m not sure I went down the rabbit hole Cookie intended.


What is evil? It’s easy to say, and we usually can point at something, or someone, and say that’s evil.  But what do we mean?  What do you think of when you say it’s evil?  Do you think of the cartoon image of Satan or the demons that Disney used in Night on Bald Mountain?  I think of Hitler and Stalin.  But that is too easy.

What is it?

Webster says it is:

a : morally reprehensible : sinful, wicked ·an evil impulse

b : arising from actual or imputed bad character or conduct ·a person of evil reputation

or

a : causing harm : pernicious ·the evil institution of slavery

b : marked by misfortune : unlucky

New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia says: Evil, in a large sense, may be described as the sum of the opposition, which experience shows to exist in the universe, to the desires and needs of individuals;

New World Encyclopedia says: Evil is a term used to describe something that brings about harmful, painful, and unpleasant effects.

So, based on these, evil is causing harm to another; Sin is evil.

Stealing is wrong, it is a sin, you are depriving someone of their money or property – it causes harm. But is it evil?  What if you steal a loaf of bread to feed a child?  It is still a sin, but is it evil?  At what point does stealing become evil?

A friend says that she does not think that Evil exists. She points out that what we call evil are acts of man.  Rational animals seem to be incapable of committing evil.  She asks is evil exists outside of humans or is it a human construct.  A good question for a philosophical debate, but my answer is “yes” it exists.  Animals did not taste of the fruit that Eve and Adam did, they do not know right from wrong.  They can act in what might seem evil ways, but we do not ascribe evil intents to those actions.  I have seen footage of animals attacking each other for no logical reason.  In a human we would say that person was evil, so why not the animal?

Most of us think that there is wrong and then there is evil: Stealing is wrong.  Hitler, Stalin, Manson were evil.   But I submit that it is too easy to say “I know evil when I see it” because maybe we don’t.  Maybe it can be as simple as persuading others to do wrong, to turn away from God.  After all, isn’t that what Lucifer does?  That person/voice isn’t doing the harm, they are just “egging you on”, double daring you.  But isn’t not evil?

I believe that evil does exist. I also believe that I know evil when I see it (casting a wary eye towards DC) but I’m thinking that maybe I don’t always see it. Evil isn’t always ugly; it doesn’t always cause immediate harm.  Sometimes it just whispers in your ear:  “Do it, no one will get hurt”.

I am but a simple person wrestling with complex questions. I’m afraid that I can offer no answers.   What do you think?  How do you define evil?

(thanks for sending me down the rabbit hole, Cookie. It is good to ponder things such as this from time to time.)



Tags:

My Brother

  • Jul. 2nd, 2017 at 7:55 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

Russell Allen Ross was born August 19, 1962 in Knoxville Tennessee to a young Air Force Officer and his wife both of whom had been born and raised in Knoxville.   Mom and Dad might have guessed that he was going to be an adventurous kid when he decided that he didn’t want to be born the standard way; he was apparently trying to see the world before he got here and presented his forehead instead of the top of his head.  No amount of guidance from the doctor could get him to change his mind, so Mom had a cesarean.  According to all reports, Rusty had reddish hair and resembled a baby orangutan.  Fortunately, he grew out of that.

I joined the family 27 month later.  Rusty’s response to being to that he had a new baby sister was, allegedly to ask, “where’s my pony”.  Like all 2 – 3 year olds he wanted a pony more than a younger sibling.  He never got the pony.

My earliest memory of Rusty is from a day at the beach in North Carolina. I think I was around 3 or 4 at the time. Dad was stationed at Siemore Johnson AFB at the time.  I was on the beach looking out at the water where my dad and brother were swimming.  I remember that I couldn’t see them and was scared that a fish or something had eaten them.  Apparently, I had recently heard the story of Jonah and the Whale.  I vaguely remember a presence, but I have no clear images of him from that age.

The next real memory is from a few years later when we were at Minot AFB.  Rusty was in the 3rd grade, I had just started Kindergarten.  I remember him telling me about the snakes around the school and how he had caught one.  I wanted to catch one too, but never saw any.  His best friend at the time was a boy who lived on the same street.  Matt had lazy eye and wore a patch on one eye for a while.  That didn’t matter to Rusty, he liked Matt and they played together all the time.  One of their favorite things to do was build a long Hot Wheels track, take it to the top of the 6-foot privacy fence, and run the cars down.  I think half of them fell off or were launched.  They ended up testing the aerodynamic property of Hot Wheels cars a bit before Mattel came out with the planes.  I remember that he would push me on the swing set in the back yard.  Mom once told a story about one of the neighbor kids who had come over and wanted to use our swing.  I was in the swing at the time so he tried to push me out.  Rusty took after him and beat him up.  It was okay, in his mind, for him to push me around and roughhouse with me, but not some other kid.

We moved to Merced California in 1971 when Dad was transferred to Castle AFB.  For the first time in my memory we had a house off base.  And what a house we had.  This was a large, single story ranch style with a small front yard, a massive reverse “h” shaped driveway, and trees.  But the prize was in the back yard: a swimming pool.  This pool would be the gem and the bane of our lives for the next 7 years.  We learned to swim in that pool.  Rusty was a pretty good swimmer, me not so much.  I learned enough to get by.  When we were both in scouts, that pool was where our troops earned their swimming and water safety badges.  The pool didn’t have a diving board since it was only 8 foot deep at the deep end.  Dad got one of those portable diving boards for us.  Rusty took to diving like a fish to water.  He learned to do some of the basic dives off that board into our pool.  He was good enough to consider joining the HS dive team, once he was old enough.  I recall that he decided not to join because diving was fun, he didn’t want it to become a task.

As a young child Rusty was anbisinister.  While he was left dominate, he could use either hand to write, draw, or do pretty much anything.  Mom and Dad never tried to make him do things right handed, they let him chose.   It was only in the 4th grade that he became predominantly left handed after his broke his right arm in the school yard.  Because he was naturally left-handed, I ended up picking up some ambidextrous skills.  I inherited his old baseball glove.  At that age, neither of us knew that gloves were specific to right and left hands.  By the time I knew, I had already learned to throw left handed and could bat from either side of the plate.

Rusty was very intelligent, but he sometimes had problems understanding what he was reading.  It was in the 5th grade that Mom and Dad finally found out why.  Their son was dyslexic.  Once they understood that, and accommodations could be made, Rusty’s grades came back up.  He had a very good teach that year, a man who cared about his students and made an effort to get to know each one of them.  That was also the year that a love of reading was instilled in him.  A love that would stay with him for the rest of his life.  This love of reading was passed on to me.  I didn’t read in the first grade, which was Rusty’s 4th grade year.  I could read, I just didn’t like it.  Rusty’s 5th grade teacher, Mr. Anderson, always took the first half hour after lunch to read to the class.  It was his way of getting the class to calm down after lunch.  It also got many of his students interested in reading on their own.  In fact he had his own class room library.

One of Rusty’s first loves was Edgar Rice Burrows most famous characters: Tarzan.  He would watch or read anything Tarzan related.  He learned to mimic the famous Tarzan yell from the movies.  When he got tired of his pesky kid sister following him around, he would grab one of the Tarzan books, hold it in his teeth, and scramble up the Chinese Elm tree in our side yard.  In that tree was a branch that was just perfect for a 10- 12-year-old boy to lounge.  I could not climb trees, so up there he was safe.  Eventually I wanted to know what was so fascinating about books and started to read myself.  In time I even read some of his beloved Tarzan books.

At that age I wanted to do everything my brother did.  There were no kids my age on the street, so he was only real playmate.  So we watched TV, tossed ball, played basketball, played cops-and-robbers/cowboys, and swam together.  When we had our annual vacation to Knoxville to see the grandparents, we would sit on top of the tool shed, hike in the near-by woods, and shoot BB rifle at soup cans.

Russ liked science, and at a young age wanted to be a Vet.  When he was in 6th grade he was taking Zoology class, instead of biology.  He loved it.

He played clarinet in band.  By the time he was in 8th grade he had moved to Bass Clarinet in the Jr. High School band.

He joined the Boy Scouts in the 6th or 7th grade and made it up to Life Scout before we left Merced.  He was within a year, some badges and a project of making Eagle.

Like all siblings we argued, even fought a few times, but we always made up.

Dad was transferred to Wright Patterson AFB in 1977.  We spent a week in the back-seat of a Chrysler Imperial, with a travel trailer hitched to the back, as we traveled across country.  We were both teenagers, or soon to be in my case, and were starting to go our own ways.   Russ settled into Dayton better than I did.  He found new friends much faster than I.  Our paths started drifting apart.

The new school had been less accommodating to his learning disability and he lost a good part of his love of science.  But he found a new love in art.  That made Mom very proud since she was an artist herself.  Now he drew Tarzan instead of just reading and watching.

A diving accident the summer between his sophomore and junior year broke a tooth and made it impossible for him to properly hold the mouth piece of a clarinet so he dropped out of band his junior year.

He never found a scout troop that he was comfortable with in Dayton, so he never got his Eagle.

He found that he was a fair hand with cars, so he started helping Dad work on our cars in the garage.  It was logical; our grandfather was a mechanic and Dad was a decent shade tree mechanic.

Russ graduated High School in 1980.  He took a year of college at our local community college then drifted away.

Everyone has a rebellious stage.  Russ’ started around 18.  It lasted, off and on, for 20 years.

In the mid 80’s Russ joined the U.S. Marines and did a short stint, ending up in San Diego and then Arizona.  For the next several years he moved around, barely a blip in my life.  We’d hear from him, talk on the phone for a bit, then he’d move somewhere else.  Sometimes in the Dayton area, other times in Tennessee or some other state.

Russ got married in the early 90’s and we all thought he would finally settle down.  But she wasn’t a good fit and they separated in 99.

Mom’s death in 1999 hit Russ very hard.  Even though he hadn’t been home in years, he was still close to her emotionally.  He was living in Tennessee at the time and was angry with himself that he had not come back to Dayton when she had had her surgery.  When Dad decided to sell the house in Dayton, he had Russ come up to help do the painting and lay new tile.  Russ and I took the time to reconnect.

At the time, I owned a Ford Crown Victoria that had developed a habit of stalling while I was driving.  It only happened in the heat of the summer.  I’d taken it to the local shop twice and they had not been able to find the source.  I was lamenting to Russ how much I had spent and that it was still stalling.  He walked out to my car, had me start it and looked at the engine.  A few moments later, he asked me to get him a spray bottle or something to hold water and then proceeded to wet down the engine.  When I tried to start the car, it wouldn’t go.  The film on the initial module had melted exposing the wires to heat and humidity.  We ran to the parts store and got a replacement ignition module and within an hour, my car was running fine.  Like that, he’d found the problem using only his eyes and ears.

We got the house on the market and Russ went back to Tennessee.  We tried to stay in touch by phone, but life kept getting in the way.  He still bounced around, but now he was staying in Tennessee.

In 2002, I lost my job in Dayton and moved to Virginia.  A dear lady of Cherokee blood had adopted me as a grand-daughter and her biological daughter took me as a sister.  I’d never had a sister before.  This new sister and her family opened their home to me and accepted me as family.  Russ never blinked an eye at the idea of a new sister.  He’d always felt the call of Native American ways, even though we could never prove the blood, so adult adoption was not a new idea.

When Russ told us a few years ago that he had found someone, I could not have been happier.  He said she was a good woman, a God loving woman, who had two children.  He was already fond of the children, so it sounded like a great match.

After they were married, Russ and Misty settled in western Tennessee.  We kept in touch by phone and on-line now.  By all reports, they had a good life.  Their first Christmas I play a bit of a prank on Russ.  I bought Misty a stuffed Orangutan.  We were on the phone when she opened it.  I told her that she now knew what Russ looked like as a baby.  Once she stopped laughing, I told her to hold the Orangutan up, facing Russ, and to tell him “Left Turn, Clyde”.  I could hear Russ’ howls of laughter.  He’d forgotten about a movie he’d loved in the 80’s, “Every Which Way by Loose”, which had had an Orangutan as one of the stars.

We started calling and texting each other during Tennessee football games, sometimes during a Lady Vols game and at the start of NASCAR season.  During Football season, it was common for Russ to start the conversation with the phrase all Vol fans know: “It’s Football Time in Tennessee”.  All the dark days that had passed between us during those 20 years were gone and forgotten.  I had my big brother back in my life, even if 800 miles away.

In March of 2015, Russ went to the doctor in extreme pain and showing blood in his urine.  The diagnoses came back as Stage IV Metastic Bladder Cancer.

My brother did not take the news lying down.  He was a Marine at heart and he was determined to fight.  Fight he did.  He had a good team of doctors and the love and support of a good woman.  She stood by him through chemo, and whatever else they did, helped him through the nausea and pain.  They tried some very aggressive chemo and the cancer shrank.  It looked like Russ was going to be in the 18% who beat the odds.  They switched him to a less aggressive form of chemo, one that was kinder to his body.

Through all of it, the calls and texts continued.  When Pat Summit, head coach of the Tennessee Lady Vols, passed away in 2016, Russ called.  He knew that Pat was one of my idols and wanted to offer his condolences.

I tried to remain positive from the day we first got the news in 15.  I found some old Bill Cosby albums and made copies for him.  Laughter is good medicine, right.  In 2016 I learned that season 1 of “Tarzan: Lord of the Jungle” was coming out.  I preordered two copies.  When they arrived, I threw a disk on and called him.  When he answered, I turned on the disk and held the phone to the TV speaker.  I could hear him reciting the opening dialog, remembering it just like he had heard only yesterday.  When it came time for the yell at the end, he joined in loud and strong.  The second copy was sent down a few days later.  A week after that, I got a phone call and a “wait a minute” followed by the sound of the opening dialogue.  He had gotten the set and was already watching it again for a second time.  For one brief moment he was 12 years old again watching his favorite show.  I tracked down a copy of Bill Cosby’s “For Adults Only” and made him a copy.  From what I heard later, he had laughter until he hurt.  Good, I had succeeded.

In December of 2106, just before Christmas, they got the news that Russ’ cancer was back, and it had spread.  I think Russ knew that time was running out, but he still kept fighting.  He went back on the aggressive chemo.  He asked if I wanted his beloved Tarzan books.  We both hoped it would be a long time before I got them.

He called me during the Daytona 500 when he saw that the son of my all time favorite driver was leading.  Yeah, he was that kind of person.  He was excited that my driver was leading.

On Friday, June 23, 2017, Russ lost consciousness and was rushed to the hospital.  His hemoglobin count had dropped and he was having problems breathing.  He was taken by helicopter to the hospital in Nashville where he was placed on a ventilator in ICU.  Dad drove back and forth from Sevier County to Nashville several times to help Misty.  For a brief period of time it looked like Russ would get better, but God had other plans.  On Wednesday, Misty and Dad made the very hard decision to remove Russ’ ventilator.

If you listen to the full Marine Corps Hymn, it says that if the Army and the Navy ever look on Heaven’s Shores, they will find the gates are guarded by the United States Marines.  Apparently, they needed a good mechanic who knows how to use his eyes and ears, and not just a computer.  So, with orders in hand, he answered that call.

At 05:15, EDT, on June 30, 2017 Russell Allen Ross walked into the arms of Jesus.  He leave behind a beloved wife, two step children, his father, one biological sister and one adopted sister.

My Big Brother is home with God and the family that has gone before us.  For me, Tennessee football will never be the same.

Russ and Bojangles

Rest in Peace Russ.  ❤


Tags:

Cops: Schizophrenic Jack of all trades

  • Jun. 23rd, 2017 at 8:35 PM
Old Galaxy
Imagekeross
(I thought I had cross-posted this the other day, but it looks like I didn't.)

Word of another police related shooting hit my box this morning. I read over the post from my friend and my heart went out to the cop.  I looked at some of the comments and part of me weeps at all the ‘over reacted’, ‘more training’, etc remarks.  It is so easy to say when you haven’t been there.

Long ago, in a different place and time, I went through that training. Let me tell you something, cops have to be a jack-of-all trades.

They need to be able to deal with victims of crime and auto accidents, lost children, and angry citizens with equal grace.

They need to understand enough psychology to talk down someone who is bordering on violence, to stop the fight before it happens.

They need enough sociology to know how and when things could go sideways – and hopefully cut it off.

They need to know enough criminology to know where to look to prevent a crime.

At the same time they need to know where to look for the threat. They have to be ever vigilant against unseen dangers.

They have to be brave enough to run towards the burning car and compassionate enough to support a citizen who just lost a loved one.

They should know enough first aid to render assistance until the paramedics arrive, even when then know it is pointless.

They have to be calm enough to not respond to verbal abuse at a traffic stop, a protest or a domestic.

They have to know how and when to shoot.

And so much more.

They have to face a world that hates them for what they do – enforce the law – yet looks to them for help and protection.  The world will call for their blood at the first sign of a mistake, while ignoring the years of good.

A traffic stop is one of the most dangerous things a cop can do. We were told time and again, there is no such thing as a Routine Traffic stop.  Treat all stops as if your life was in danger because you do not know what that driver is going to do.  Consider the next time you walk alongside a car: do you look in?  Can you see everything in the car?  Is there a potential threat?  These are just a few of the things cops have to think about when approaching a stopped vehicle.

Was the officer right or wrong to shoot? I do not know.  I really don’t have enough information.   What I do know is that two lives have ended:  the driver is dead and the life that the officer had before is shattered.

He was at a traffic stop.  The driver told him that he was carrying a weapon.  Allegedly the driver made a move to take something from inside a jacket – something that the officer thought looked too big to be a wallet.  I know that if I had been in his place, I would have been in fear for my life.  The officer made a split-second judgment call that will stay with him until he goes to his final judgment.

What I do know is that cops have to almost be Schizophrenic to do their jobs – balancing kindness and compassion with caution and vigilance. No wonder so many burn out.


[originally posted on https://undomesticatedfeline.wordpress.com  Comments can be left here or there.]


Choose This Day

  • Jun. 16th, 2017 at 9:55 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

I ran across this the other day written by a dear lady that I’ve had the privilege of meeting earlier this year.

When I was young, I was a crusading, socialist Liberal. As I grew older, became a Libertarian. Then, as I have recounted elsewhere on this blog, I hit a point when I withdrew from politics worked hard to understand each side.

I became a person who chose to “see with eyes unclouded by hate.”

Standing thus, this is what I have seen:

The Left Has Left Me Behind
There are a number of strong beliefs that I still hold that I held in my youth. Back then, they were Liberal beliefs. Now, the same exact believe is considered Right-Leaning. The leading edge of the Left has plunged by me and rushed off to entirely new places from what they used to believe.

Sadly, many of the new positions of the Left are in direct conflict to what they used to stand for.

This is not the first time I have seen such comments, but it is perhaps one of the most poignant.

But Where To Go?

A very good question, not just for my friend, but for our county and the world.  Where do we go.

I want to support morality, Christianity, virtue, self-reliance, tolerance towards those who believe otherwise, and charity.

So, hence forth, I shall stand with the Last Crusade (Christ, Constitution, Civilization.)

Reject the labels and make a stand for what you believe.

Read the whole post here. It is well worth your time.


Disney’s Zootopia

  • Jun. 16th, 2017 at 9:33 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

I was watching Zootopia last weekend.  A cute, feel-good, movie; typical Disney fare.

I have a love-hate relationship with Disney.  They have put out some fantastic shows over the decades but they also have a reputation for changing stories to fit their image.  Generations of fans have grown up with the Disney version of Bambi and have never learned how depressing the real story actually is.  That’s right depressing.  Bambi doesn’t have that happy life we see in the movie.  Disney radically changed the endings of The Little Mermaid and The Hunchback of Notre Dame.  *sigh*  But then there is the Aristocats and their adaptation of Hamlet.  (Please tell me I was not the only person to recognize the famous Shakespearean story past the talking lions.)

One the surface Zootopia looks like another small-town character goes to big city, overcomes misunderstandings and stacked odds, and saves the day.  Power to the little guy and all that.  Small town rabbit dreams of going to the big city and becoming a cop.  She goes to the city, struggles against prejudices to become the first rabbit cop.  After graduation, she quickly becomes involved in a mystery surrounding predator types reverting.  She joins forces with a misunderstood fox and together they save the day.  It is your typically warm and fuzzy Disney story.  It is also chocked full of messages about not judging people based on what you think you see.

The plot is simple since it is intended for kids.  There is even the “I was wrong, I don’t belong here – oops, I was wrong I really do belong” scene.  The characters are somewhat stereotypical.  There is very little depth to most of them.  The most developed is the fox who was supposed to have been the main character in the original draft.  The voice acting is spot on and the Disney animators do a great job matching the voice actors’ facial expression and movements.  They do an equally great job with the movements of some of the characters who have reverted to primitive forms.

A few things bothered me though.

The first is a scene from the academy training of the main character.  We see her working alone the whole time.  At no point do we see her try to reach out to another classmate.  In fact, in the finals for the physical exam we see her use her classmates to get what she wants.  Is this really the message we want to send to kids?  That it is okay to use people as long as we get what we want?

We’re told that she is the first rabbit to become a cop.  It is implied that she is first “small” animal to join the force.  Why?  She came from a small town that seemed to have a strong bunny community and what we saw was all small animals.  What kind of law enforcement do they have there?  Inside the city of Zootopia there are sub-communities of small animals, like rodents, do they not have cops there?  Or are we supposed to believe that a wolf or bear patrols those areas?

Then there is the “you can be anything you want to be” message.  This one really irked me.  I understand that, on the surface, it is one of those lines we give to kids to avoid discouraging them.  We want them to think that race and gender are not a deterrent to life’s goals.  But, it is also not true.  There are these not so small thing call aptitudes.  Some of those aptitudes are genetic.  Mind-over-matter does not trump genetics.  I wanted to go to space when I was a child.  Great, nothing stopping me right?  Except that, I lack a mathematical aptitude.  I could not get past algebra.  You need math to understand science and currently the only people going into space are people who understand science.  So, no I could not be an astronaut no matter how much I wanted to be one.  I would have loved to have played forward for the Tennessee Lady Vols.  Except I am well under 5’10” and I have the athletic ability of a paper sack. You need heights and skill to play the game.  I can’t dead lift 300lbs, most women can’t, so I can’t go into a position that requires great upper body strength.   So here we have examples of aptitude and genetics being against me “being anything you want to be”.

“you can be anything you want to be” is not really true.  There are limitations.  We really should be telling kids that their race or gender is not a determent, but if they really want to be something, they have to be ready to work for it, to overcome obstacles and that in reality they may not have what it takes.  Because putting the wrong person in a job can potentially be dangerous.  Disney made it look cute when the rabbit had to use other people to pass the test, but in the real world, her lack of ability could have cost someone their life.

We should be giving kids the real message, not some fluffy feel good lie.


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Vignette

  • May. 30th, 2017 at 9:11 PM
Old Galaxy
Imagekeross

This week’s prompt from Sarah Hoyt’s page:

“Your writing prompt this week is:   “

At first I thought, what do you do with blank?  Then I thought what can’t you do with blank.

***

You pick up the newest Chose Your Own Adventure book.  The advertisements for this one said it contained never before seen space battles.  You flip past the standard How-To section, you’re an old hand at this game, barely glancing at a new line: you cannot turn back.

Happily, you settle down and start battling your foes.  You battle Boskone, working through their ranks faster than any Lensman.  You dodge Daleks as you push the Borg out of known space.  The Cylons Baseship bears down on you as you race to hand off the plans to the Death Star.  You narrowly avoid death by jumping in Hyperspace before trying to outrun the Shadow Raider.  Finally, you land on a bleak, dead world, ready to face the ultimate evil.  A shadowy form approaches and you turn the page … to find it blank.  Did you live or die?  You turn back to the previous page and find it blank.  Every page you turn to is blank.  Vaguely you remember that line – you cannot turn back.


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You get what you prioritize, breed, and pay for in dogs and cats

  • May. 30th, 2017 at 1:06 PM
Mistrunner
Imagekeross

I ran across this on my blog feed. (thank you Peter for the link)

“OK Rep. Palmer (R-AL), You Want to Talk Dogs? Let’s Talk Dogs”

…

“As all they are concerned with is superficial conformity to an artificial standard created by people with no care for what the dogs actually are designed to do, nothing else matters. Hips, EIC, cancer, allergies, intelligence, drive, instinct – non of these things matter to the Bench people in the USA – and increasingly elsewhere as our bad habits spread.”

There’s more here.

I agree wholeheartedly. While my personal experience is with cats, not dogs, I have seen similar in the cat show rings.

Remember the Disney movie “The Aristocats”? Dutchess was, iirc, a Persian Cat.  Take a good look at the Persian cat winning today.  That cat looks nothing like Dutchess.  The nose break on the modern Persian leads to respiratory issues.

The cat of Siam was purported to be a temple guard cat. This was a proud, stout, breed with very dense musculature.  What is winning in the show ring is rail thin and has a narrow, triangular, head.   I look at that cat and think “there is no way this cat could guard anything”.  Fortunately, there are breeders that have maintained the old “apple head” lines.

Even my beloved Manx cat is not spared. I look at photos of cats living on the Isle of Mann and I look at the Manx that sleeps on me.  She was bred to be round.  Her island cousins are more cobby than round.

Show Breeders breed for what wins. If what is winning is extreme, then breeders seeking ribbons will start to breed extreme animals.  The more extreme the animal gets, the more its health is compromised. That is why I cringed when I heard the Blue tick hound and the Redbone coonhound had been accepted into AKC.   I fear for their future.  Adding to the problem is when a breed becomes “popular”.  Puppy/Kitten mills, those breeders whose animals you see on the SPCA commercials, will mass produce a certain breed just to make a buck.  They do not care about the health or quality of their animals and they destroy the look, and reputation, of the breed.

“You get what you prioritize, breed, and pay for – and in America we screwed up our priorities when it comes to dogs, especially working dogs.”

This is a problem that is not limited to dogs or cats or even nations. I’ve been told that puppy mill breeders are destroying some Australian breeds.


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