Ha! Tricked you into reading...
Although I know you might enjoy it, I am not going to write a tell-all about the very minor episode that unfolded over the past week. And yes, my attitude towards it is that it was very minor... very very very minor. It was brought on by someone else's drama, not mine. And it would just give more power to the other person.
In fact, I am only going to reiterate "Thanks to those who congratulated me. Many hugs. And thanks to all who posted kind words about the whole craziness."
I would like to say one thing. I was mad. Pushed to the limit and sent over the edge. Not the kind of mad where you're upset that you didn't get any of Joan's famous cheese ball at work or mad at Rover for chewing up your favorite shoes. I'm talking about mad. I wanted to punch something. Like take a whack at Ouiser Boudreaux. I might have been able to uproot a mighty sequoia given the chance or at least flip over a Mercedes.
Me getting angry is so infrequent that I'm surprised that the National Weather Service didn't picked it up as a sudden 90 degree heat wave across Central Indiana in mid-December. It just doesn't happen.
My father was the type to fly off the handle and the whole episode was over in flash. My mother, on the other hand, had that type of anger you should fear the most. You know that "look." The one that mother's give. The one that says "no need to worry about what your father's going to say." It's more like "you need to worry about right now and what I'm going to do to you." That look that has made grown men cry.
I have my mother's kind of anger. Once you're there, and it takes a lot to get there, you had better get the hell out of my way. But not before I let it ferment and fester. Or if you like, let it simmer and put it in the fridge over night, allowing the flavors to blossom, then reheat it and see how they dance across your palate. Which is exactly what I would do... Push you down and clog my way across your face.
But for the most part, I chose not to get angry anymore. There's no need. I always stop and ask myself "Will this matter in five years?" If so, then I might throw a temper tantrum, but even then I don't feel like dropping to the floor and banging my fists on the carpet. It's just not good for my back.
I prefer to think that I am like a fine Chardonnay or Pinot Noir. The more I age, the better I get. Pop open my cork and see what you get. Tasty. Bubbly. Flamboyant. Velvety. Yes, those are all words used to describe fine wines. Don't believe me, just Goggle it. Look up "words to describe fine wines." Go ahead... Search... Go on...
HEY! I said "Search..." Or else!
CSM
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Monday, December 19, 2016
The Year 2016 in Review... Or Thank God This Year's Over
Well, the year 2016 is almost over and once again, I failed to accomplish the following...
Lose 50 pounds
Win the Hoosier lottery
Find a boyfriend and build a long-lasting relationship
Make a New York style cheesecake
Go to Disneyland
Take a long weekend to New York City
Finish writing another book
Make out with or at least kiss Darren Criss
Meet Julie Andrews
Make an Academy Award winning movie
Fly to San Francisco
Win an Academy Award
Win a Pulitzer Prize
Win an all-expense paid trip to Paris for two
Play strip Candyland or strip Monopoly
Learn to fly a Sopwith camel
Buy a giraffe
Travel about the countryside in yellow-painted gypsy cart with a horse named Cyril
Read Vanna White's biography
Write a love letter to the boyfriend that I didn't find
Do the jig-saw puzzle of Florida sitting on the shelf in the bedroom closet
Find a lost stash of gold coins
Travel to Mars
Meet Joanne Worley of Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In
Punch anyone in the face
Try Absinthe
Get anything stuck in the vacuum cleaner hose
Establish contact with the Great Beyond
Memorize Edgar Allen Poe's poem The Raven
Dig up a dead body and put a normal brain in it and bring it to life in my castle laboratory
Learn to play the imaginary piano that I only bought in my head
Get snowed in at an all-male adult film convention
Discover the long lost city of Atlantis
Get stalked, as far as I know I didn't
Throw up after seeing a vagina... maybe gagged a little
Make promises that I didn't intend to keep
That's just a few of the things I didn't get done... But I did get a lot of other things done... And made some great strides... And I laughed and cried and hoped and prayed... Maybe I'll get some of these done in 2017.
CSM
Lose 50 pounds
Win the Hoosier lottery
Find a boyfriend and build a long-lasting relationship
Make a New York style cheesecake
Go to Disneyland
Take a long weekend to New York City
Finish writing another book
Make out with or at least kiss Darren Criss
Meet Julie Andrews
Make an Academy Award winning movie
Fly to San Francisco
Win an Academy Award
Win a Pulitzer Prize
Win an all-expense paid trip to Paris for two
Play strip Candyland or strip Monopoly
Learn to fly a Sopwith camel
Buy a giraffe
Travel about the countryside in yellow-painted gypsy cart with a horse named Cyril
Read Vanna White's biography
Write a love letter to the boyfriend that I didn't find
Do the jig-saw puzzle of Florida sitting on the shelf in the bedroom closet
Find a lost stash of gold coins
Travel to Mars
Meet Joanne Worley of Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In
Punch anyone in the face
Try Absinthe
Get anything stuck in the vacuum cleaner hose
Establish contact with the Great Beyond
Memorize Edgar Allen Poe's poem The Raven
Dig up a dead body and put a normal brain in it and bring it to life in my castle laboratory
Learn to play the imaginary piano that I only bought in my head
Get snowed in at an all-male adult film convention
Discover the long lost city of Atlantis
Get stalked, as far as I know I didn't
Throw up after seeing a vagina... maybe gagged a little
Make promises that I didn't intend to keep
That's just a few of the things I didn't get done... But I did get a lot of other things done... And made some great strides... And I laughed and cried and hoped and prayed... Maybe I'll get some of these done in 2017.
CSM
A View of the Town, Episode 10: The Strange Tale of Amaryllis Stemm
Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in a small coastal town in Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we turn now to Dr. Fletcher and Amaryllis Stemm's Arrival in Misty Cove.
This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by corn. Dent, flint, pod and pop, flour, and sweet. It's a-maizing. Corn.
And now on with The Strange Tale of Amaryllis Stemm.
From previous episodes, I've told you about a "witch" named Amaryllis Stemm who came to Misty Cove back in 1882. When I first arrived, one of the first stories I heard about was Stemm and her disappearance into the woods north of town. There's been a lot of mystery around the woods over the years. People seeing lights, hearing chanting, and even a couple of the town's children disappearing for days. I am going to recount for you one story from one of the town's old citizens -- Amos Wolf.
Amos recalled the day she walked into town and camped near the north edge of town. She was strange and mysterious just like a gypsy fortune teller. After a few days, she hired some townsmen to fell trees and build a cabin deep in the woods. They chopped the trees downs, but never built the cabin. It simply appeared over night. Folks could barely see it, nestled between the fir trees. Smoke curled up from the top of the squat smokestack. Sometimes the cabin was hard to see, like it wasn't there at all. At night, folks could see lights, floating balls of light really, moving about, weaving in and out of the trees.
But back to Amos, it was a Sunday morning, right before church, and Amos was out walking to the small Lutheran church he attended regularly, not far from the her camp. As he passed, Stemm watched him, standing next to her tent. She was in the middle of packing up.
"Good morning," said Amos, trying to be friendly.
As he recalled, her voice was sweet and silky. "Good morning."
"Are you leaving Misty Cove?" Amos slowed down.
"I'm moving. Into my cabin. There in the woods."
"I see the chimney peek." Amos picked up speed again and turned away, but he decided to stop and ask her if she would be coming into town and maybe she would like to come to church. When he turned, she and the camp was gone. Completely vanished.
"Hello? Where are you?" He yelled towards the cabin. "You were very quick to take down your camp." But there was no reply.
Amos turned to walk on, but stopped again. This time to listen. From somewhere in the woods, maybe near the cabin, maybe from the sea, or maybe from the earth. There was chanting. He could hear it all around him. He couldn't quite make out the words, but he swore it sounds like Latin. Latin phrases that seems to swirl all around. Then the faded and... BOOM! There was a flash of light from near the chimney of the witch's cabin. The leaves in the trees rustled. Birds flew in all directions. And a ball of turquoise light popped for just a moment and faded just as quick as it came.
Amos didn't wait. He ran to the church, and in moments, the whole congregation stood at the edge of the woods. No one could see the cabin now. It was gone. Searchers scavenged for a few days but found nothing. No logs, no stones, not even a foundation on which could have stood. Amaryllis Stemm and her cabin simply disappeared.
It wasn't until later someone thought they spotted it. That was just a few weeks before Halloween when one of the town's children vanished, only to appear a few hours later. Otis Major later disappeared for a few days.
Many people have seen the cabin appear and disappear. I know I have, never believing at first.
And that's the strange tale of Amaryllis Stemm.
Join us again next time, when Dr. Fletcher tells us another tale from Misty Cove.
This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by corn. Roast it, grill it, boil it, pop it, eat it on the cob. Corn. Savor its sweetness.
Join us again soon for another episode of A View of the Town.
CSM
This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by corn. Dent, flint, pod and pop, flour, and sweet. It's a-maizing. Corn.
And now on with The Strange Tale of Amaryllis Stemm.
From previous episodes, I've told you about a "witch" named Amaryllis Stemm who came to Misty Cove back in 1882. When I first arrived, one of the first stories I heard about was Stemm and her disappearance into the woods north of town. There's been a lot of mystery around the woods over the years. People seeing lights, hearing chanting, and even a couple of the town's children disappearing for days. I am going to recount for you one story from one of the town's old citizens -- Amos Wolf.
Amos recalled the day she walked into town and camped near the north edge of town. She was strange and mysterious just like a gypsy fortune teller. After a few days, she hired some townsmen to fell trees and build a cabin deep in the woods. They chopped the trees downs, but never built the cabin. It simply appeared over night. Folks could barely see it, nestled between the fir trees. Smoke curled up from the top of the squat smokestack. Sometimes the cabin was hard to see, like it wasn't there at all. At night, folks could see lights, floating balls of light really, moving about, weaving in and out of the trees.
But back to Amos, it was a Sunday morning, right before church, and Amos was out walking to the small Lutheran church he attended regularly, not far from the her camp. As he passed, Stemm watched him, standing next to her tent. She was in the middle of packing up.
"Good morning," said Amos, trying to be friendly.
As he recalled, her voice was sweet and silky. "Good morning."
"Are you leaving Misty Cove?" Amos slowed down.
"I'm moving. Into my cabin. There in the woods."
"I see the chimney peek." Amos picked up speed again and turned away, but he decided to stop and ask her if she would be coming into town and maybe she would like to come to church. When he turned, she and the camp was gone. Completely vanished.
"Hello? Where are you?" He yelled towards the cabin. "You were very quick to take down your camp." But there was no reply.
Amos turned to walk on, but stopped again. This time to listen. From somewhere in the woods, maybe near the cabin, maybe from the sea, or maybe from the earth. There was chanting. He could hear it all around him. He couldn't quite make out the words, but he swore it sounds like Latin. Latin phrases that seems to swirl all around. Then the faded and... BOOM! There was a flash of light from near the chimney of the witch's cabin. The leaves in the trees rustled. Birds flew in all directions. And a ball of turquoise light popped for just a moment and faded just as quick as it came.
Amos didn't wait. He ran to the church, and in moments, the whole congregation stood at the edge of the woods. No one could see the cabin now. It was gone. Searchers scavenged for a few days but found nothing. No logs, no stones, not even a foundation on which could have stood. Amaryllis Stemm and her cabin simply disappeared.
It wasn't until later someone thought they spotted it. That was just a few weeks before Halloween when one of the town's children vanished, only to appear a few hours later. Otis Major later disappeared for a few days.
Many people have seen the cabin appear and disappear. I know I have, never believing at first.
And that's the strange tale of Amaryllis Stemm.
Join us again next time, when Dr. Fletcher tells us another tale from Misty Cove.
This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by corn. Roast it, grill it, boil it, pop it, eat it on the cob. Corn. Savor its sweetness.
Join us again soon for another episode of A View of the Town.
CSM
Friday, December 2, 2016
Change, Please! Or... Could I Get Four Quarters for the Meter?
I'm going through the change again. I've longed for it. It is in my reach. Very soon, I will make a major change. Moving from one job to another. I cannot tell you how long I have waited. Sometimes I thought it would never come. And here it is. But I'm not here to talk about my career move. The real change that I want to write about is the change in my attitude towards everything else.
A few months ago, I made a decision to focus on three goals. If it didn't pertain to those three goals, it would be swept off to the side. (Except for housework. I insist on cleanliness.) Those three goals have set the tone for the adjustment of my attitude towards life. And it has changed me. I am not the same person I was at the beginning of the year. Once I set those three goals in place, focused my attention on them, all else became irrelevant.
I focused on only them. That was the first key.
I have to stop and point something out. These are long term goals. You know like losing weight. I set out to lose fifty pounds. Which I did... over and over, but once I crunched the numbers it was well over fifty pounds. Somehow the scales don't seem to care and remind me I still weigh the same.
Back to the keys of this change. Next, I pushed away the negative. That was the second key. I pushed away consistently annoying people. I packed up unwanted stuff in my apartment and got rid of it. Stuff can bring about negativity. Think about moving it all. The packing, hauling, unpacking, dust, bugs, the money you'll find that you thought you lost, but fell between the stacks and got covered up. I also got rid of negative thoughts. Don't get mad, be glad. I was glad that I found that $50 that I stashed away... and then hid elsewhere and now I can't find it. That is a little negative, but then I think about how I'll feel when I find it again. And voila, I'm happy.
And the next key was I downed a couple of bottles of Sangria. That was just for the hell of it.
And the final key, I committed to my three goals. If I truly want to meet these goals, I would find ways to make it happen. (Sometimes through trial and error.) Make sure, however, that they are what you really want. This is where your spiritual journeys, meditations, vision boards, peyote-induced hallucinations, Tarot card reading, dream interpretations, self-explorations using yam-based lubes and whatever else come into play.
You HAVE to know what your heart truly desires and not be lured by false dreams, tainted hopes, and overblown expectations. Know the difference between love and lust. And be prepared to change when you realize they are not the goals you really want.
Find your connections by getting lost. Not literally lost... like in the woods or in some abandoned amusement park where a serial killer lives. Think along the lines of... say... going to a nudist camp. Buck-ass naked with a bunch of other naked people. Questioning whether you can do it. Letting it all hang out. Flapping in the breeze. Worrying that really was poison ivy. Are you saying as you read this "Hell no! I'm not letting it all hang out." Well, think again.
The point isn't to get physically naked (unless that is something you want to try); it's to do something that you've never done before. Break away from the rut. Yes, it's hard to get out of that rut. Yes, you're used to it. And damn, that was poison ivy and you want to itch that spot but don't because it will spread further...
Aha! To spread further. Once you've got the confidence and you do it, you may never view yourself the same way again. And you confidence spreads further and you begin to see yourself as someone different. Does that mean you have to keep going to that nudist camp. No. You simply set out to challenge yourself and found that it didn't change you. Other than your new found fear of poison ivy in places you can't see.
And please, believe me, I know. I was there and I challenged myself to do things I have never done before. Some I have done again. Some I will never, ever ever, do again. But I tried. And have some left over calamine lotion in case there's more poison ivy.
The three keys to my success intersected perfectly, because I wanted them to. What is that they call it when everything intersects and it aligns beautifully?
Oh yes, The Bermuda Triangle.
CSM
A few months ago, I made a decision to focus on three goals. If it didn't pertain to those three goals, it would be swept off to the side. (Except for housework. I insist on cleanliness.) Those three goals have set the tone for the adjustment of my attitude towards life. And it has changed me. I am not the same person I was at the beginning of the year. Once I set those three goals in place, focused my attention on them, all else became irrelevant.
I focused on only them. That was the first key.
I have to stop and point something out. These are long term goals. You know like losing weight. I set out to lose fifty pounds. Which I did... over and over, but once I crunched the numbers it was well over fifty pounds. Somehow the scales don't seem to care and remind me I still weigh the same.
Back to the keys of this change. Next, I pushed away the negative. That was the second key. I pushed away consistently annoying people. I packed up unwanted stuff in my apartment and got rid of it. Stuff can bring about negativity. Think about moving it all. The packing, hauling, unpacking, dust, bugs, the money you'll find that you thought you lost, but fell between the stacks and got covered up. I also got rid of negative thoughts. Don't get mad, be glad. I was glad that I found that $50 that I stashed away... and then hid elsewhere and now I can't find it. That is a little negative, but then I think about how I'll feel when I find it again. And voila, I'm happy.
And the next key was I downed a couple of bottles of Sangria. That was just for the hell of it.
And the final key, I committed to my three goals. If I truly want to meet these goals, I would find ways to make it happen. (Sometimes through trial and error.) Make sure, however, that they are what you really want. This is where your spiritual journeys, meditations, vision boards, peyote-induced hallucinations, Tarot card reading, dream interpretations, self-explorations using yam-based lubes and whatever else come into play.
You HAVE to know what your heart truly desires and not be lured by false dreams, tainted hopes, and overblown expectations. Know the difference between love and lust. And be prepared to change when you realize they are not the goals you really want.
Find your connections by getting lost. Not literally lost... like in the woods or in some abandoned amusement park where a serial killer lives. Think along the lines of... say... going to a nudist camp. Buck-ass naked with a bunch of other naked people. Questioning whether you can do it. Letting it all hang out. Flapping in the breeze. Worrying that really was poison ivy. Are you saying as you read this "Hell no! I'm not letting it all hang out." Well, think again.
The point isn't to get physically naked (unless that is something you want to try); it's to do something that you've never done before. Break away from the rut. Yes, it's hard to get out of that rut. Yes, you're used to it. And damn, that was poison ivy and you want to itch that spot but don't because it will spread further...
Aha! To spread further. Once you've got the confidence and you do it, you may never view yourself the same way again. And you confidence spreads further and you begin to see yourself as someone different. Does that mean you have to keep going to that nudist camp. No. You simply set out to challenge yourself and found that it didn't change you. Other than your new found fear of poison ivy in places you can't see.
And please, believe me, I know. I was there and I challenged myself to do things I have never done before. Some I have done again. Some I will never, ever ever, do again. But I tried. And have some left over calamine lotion in case there's more poison ivy.
The three keys to my success intersected perfectly, because I wanted them to. What is that they call it when everything intersects and it aligns beautifully?
Oh yes, The Bermuda Triangle.
CSM
Who is the real Christopher Marshall? Or... How the Hell Should I Know?
I was asked about my recent post titled "Dating... Or How to Spot a Jerk 10 Feet Away." It's the previous post, just scroll down, you'll see it. The reader wanted to know if it was all true and did all that really happen to me. (This person knows me too well.) And then they went on to say "You need to show us the real you." Well, okay. Since one person asked, everybody gets to read.
First... yes, I'm going to digress... Erma Bombeck once said that while Jane Goodall was studying gorillas in the wild and working on her tan, she (Erma) was studying the lives of four homo sapiens in Ohio. A husband, a daughter, and two sons.
Now that's good humor (or at least I think so). I am an Erma Bombeck fan. She studied people, with a focus on her family, in the most humorous way possible. I want to write blog posts like Erma and sometimes I forget that. And so I am trying to return to that.
So was the "Dating" post all true? Yes, but I would say that 75% was made up of other people's crazy stories and weird experiences. I just can't help but see the humor in the world around me. There is so much craziness and it's so fricking funny!
I will say that the last part of the post was me. The part about not settling for anything less. The last couple of paragraphs came straight from my heart. And I truly mean it. (Hmmm... Sounds like a topic for another post.)
And now onto who is the real Christopher Marshall?
Well, he is a kind-hearted, loving, caring guy who gets hurt a lot because he cares too deeply to the point it's painful. He can't help but feel empathy and sympathy for others, especially friends he cares about. And he has lots of them nearby and across the country.
He watches movies and watches his favorites over and over. He spends an incredible amount of money on Legos. That company has him hooked... Hook, line, and sinker! And they're not the only one. He would live in the Magic Kingdom, given the opportunity. Those folks at Disney... He just loves you... And he just knows you love his money.
Fiction writing has become a major love and he gets highly frustrated when he feels like the imagination well has run dry, but then freaks when it's overflowing. He is currently working on a new book idea with his favorite characters that he created. He wants you to know... He writes fiction... most of the time. Except for this post.
He strives for the heavens and gives it the best shot he can. He loves life. He loves liberty. And he loves the pursuit of happiness. He misses his parents. He has regrets. And most of all, he loves, wants to be loved, and never gives up. Well, that's not true... He knows when to give up and walk away. And he has done it. Several times. But only in certain circumstances. Maybe. Okay, so he can't stop when he really should. He really sometimes just needs to stop. Just stop.
OMG! Just stop writing about how he never gives up when he sometimes does...
Okay. Done.
CSM
First... yes, I'm going to digress... Erma Bombeck once said that while Jane Goodall was studying gorillas in the wild and working on her tan, she (Erma) was studying the lives of four homo sapiens in Ohio. A husband, a daughter, and two sons.
Now that's good humor (or at least I think so). I am an Erma Bombeck fan. She studied people, with a focus on her family, in the most humorous way possible. I want to write blog posts like Erma and sometimes I forget that. And so I am trying to return to that.
So was the "Dating" post all true? Yes, but I would say that 75% was made up of other people's crazy stories and weird experiences. I just can't help but see the humor in the world around me. There is so much craziness and it's so fricking funny!
I will say that the last part of the post was me. The part about not settling for anything less. The last couple of paragraphs came straight from my heart. And I truly mean it. (Hmmm... Sounds like a topic for another post.)
And now onto who is the real Christopher Marshall?
Well, he is a kind-hearted, loving, caring guy who gets hurt a lot because he cares too deeply to the point it's painful. He can't help but feel empathy and sympathy for others, especially friends he cares about. And he has lots of them nearby and across the country.
He watches movies and watches his favorites over and over. He spends an incredible amount of money on Legos. That company has him hooked... Hook, line, and sinker! And they're not the only one. He would live in the Magic Kingdom, given the opportunity. Those folks at Disney... He just loves you... And he just knows you love his money.
Fiction writing has become a major love and he gets highly frustrated when he feels like the imagination well has run dry, but then freaks when it's overflowing. He is currently working on a new book idea with his favorite characters that he created. He wants you to know... He writes fiction... most of the time. Except for this post.
He strives for the heavens and gives it the best shot he can. He loves life. He loves liberty. And he loves the pursuit of happiness. He misses his parents. He has regrets. And most of all, he loves, wants to be loved, and never gives up. Well, that's not true... He knows when to give up and walk away. And he has done it. Several times. But only in certain circumstances. Maybe. Okay, so he can't stop when he really should. He really sometimes just needs to stop. Just stop.
OMG! Just stop writing about how he never gives up when he sometimes does...
Okay. Done.
CSM
Thursday, December 1, 2016
Dating... Or How to Spot a Jerk 10 Feet Away
The other night, I was pondering my dating/love life. The whole ponder lasted all of about... thirty seconds. Very sad, isn't it? That the pondering would only last that long.
In recent years, I have dated a number of guys. Some have made it to second and third dates. And yes, a couple of times they shouldn't have made it to the second or third dates. It wasn't that I was desperate; I just wanted the night out. I mean look at it this way... He might have taken me to a nice restaurant where I might have meet a guy who would be the love of my life. You've got to keep those options open. But I digress...
The reason I was pondering was because of a recent Facebook post... It was basically a "tell us 26 things about yourself." One of the questions was something along the lines "what is the question you get asked the most?" My answer: "Why are you still single?" And yes, I do get that question on a regular basis, but I've never really thought about it. Really pondered it.
Why am I still single? And since I know you are all dying to know, I am going to answer it now... (Feel free to wash dishes or laundry or take the dog for a walk... I won't mind.)
I am still single because I chose to be single. First, I had a career to develop. (Done.) Then I had dying parents to tend to. (Both gone.) Then came the estate. (The most weirdest year of my life. It's odd seeing your name on court papers even though it has little to do with you personally.)
And most of all... OMG! Doesn't anyone know how to date? I guess this is the payback I get for believing that dating is like what I see in the movies. We see each other. We plan to meet on top of the Empire State Building. I get hit by a car and don't show up. And six months later, Cary Grant shows up on my doorstep and all is well. How lucky was that Deborah Kerr...
I've met guys in various ways. Like placing an personals ad in the local rag, then onto Yahoo dating, then to free websites, and now the cellphone apps era... Where every one can hide, lie, cheat, and play games. My favorite is the opening conversation game.
"Hey"
"Hey"
"How r u?"
"Good. You?"
"Hornie"
"I appreciate your honesty but dislike your inability to spell."
That single conversation lasted over twenty-five minutes. In person, it could have lasted one minute. And he could have hid is inability to spell.
I've found the ones I've meet in person are the best and the most promising. I see him. He sees me. (We can't hide that extra 10 pounds like we can in an app picture.) I evaluate his facial expressions, listen for key words, see if he... "leans in." I touch him, smell him... (It's important. Does he have that soapy smell that means he took a shower?) I feel his presence. Does he make me feel good? Does he know how to articulate a sentence? Does he have all his teeth? (Don't ask about that last one.)
Dating is hard and finding someone who is honest with from the get go seems to be even harder. And the ultimate reason to date is to find that one person who will become your best friend, your confidant, and your co--builder of a life full of memories and adventures.
I will never settle for anyone less. He must like me for who I am and just as important he has to like who he is. And more importantly, we must have connections. Be it travel, Legos, Disney, movies, books, writing, cooking... A seed that will grow into something more.
I'm reading the newest book about Julia Child and I can't help but think about how she and Paul became American icons... And it all started over French cooking.
So, this is Christopher Marshall. Bonne Recontre! (Which means Good Dating! in French)
CSM
In recent years, I have dated a number of guys. Some have made it to second and third dates. And yes, a couple of times they shouldn't have made it to the second or third dates. It wasn't that I was desperate; I just wanted the night out. I mean look at it this way... He might have taken me to a nice restaurant where I might have meet a guy who would be the love of my life. You've got to keep those options open. But I digress...
The reason I was pondering was because of a recent Facebook post... It was basically a "tell us 26 things about yourself." One of the questions was something along the lines "what is the question you get asked the most?" My answer: "Why are you still single?" And yes, I do get that question on a regular basis, but I've never really thought about it. Really pondered it.
Why am I still single? And since I know you are all dying to know, I am going to answer it now... (Feel free to wash dishes or laundry or take the dog for a walk... I won't mind.)
I am still single because I chose to be single. First, I had a career to develop. (Done.) Then I had dying parents to tend to. (Both gone.) Then came the estate. (The most weirdest year of my life. It's odd seeing your name on court papers even though it has little to do with you personally.)
And most of all... OMG! Doesn't anyone know how to date? I guess this is the payback I get for believing that dating is like what I see in the movies. We see each other. We plan to meet on top of the Empire State Building. I get hit by a car and don't show up. And six months later, Cary Grant shows up on my doorstep and all is well. How lucky was that Deborah Kerr...
I've met guys in various ways. Like placing an personals ad in the local rag, then onto Yahoo dating, then to free websites, and now the cellphone apps era... Where every one can hide, lie, cheat, and play games. My favorite is the opening conversation game.
"Hey"
"Hey"
"How r u?"
"Good. You?"
"Hornie"
"I appreciate your honesty but dislike your inability to spell."
That single conversation lasted over twenty-five minutes. In person, it could have lasted one minute. And he could have hid is inability to spell.
I've found the ones I've meet in person are the best and the most promising. I see him. He sees me. (We can't hide that extra 10 pounds like we can in an app picture.) I evaluate his facial expressions, listen for key words, see if he... "leans in." I touch him, smell him... (It's important. Does he have that soapy smell that means he took a shower?) I feel his presence. Does he make me feel good? Does he know how to articulate a sentence? Does he have all his teeth? (Don't ask about that last one.)
Dating is hard and finding someone who is honest with from the get go seems to be even harder. And the ultimate reason to date is to find that one person who will become your best friend, your confidant, and your co--builder of a life full of memories and adventures.
I will never settle for anyone less. He must like me for who I am and just as important he has to like who he is. And more importantly, we must have connections. Be it travel, Legos, Disney, movies, books, writing, cooking... A seed that will grow into something more.
I'm reading the newest book about Julia Child and I can't help but think about how she and Paul became American icons... And it all started over French cooking.
So, this is Christopher Marshall. Bonne Recontre! (Which means Good Dating! in French)
CSM
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
May the Peace be with you... Or What the Frick!
As Monty Python sings, you must "always look on the bright side of life"... And I can't help but think, at least right now, screw you and your bright side...
Cause right now, I am having trouble seeing it. I mean it's like where the hell is the bright side? Is that it over there? How about under the dining table? Behind the couch? Nope that's a dust bunny. O wait... How about the same place I hid that $50 that now I need, but can't remember where I hid it?
When I sing "always look on the bright side of life," I get the meaning. Find the humor in life, but even now, I just can't seem to find it. And it is at that moment... and I mean a very long drawn out moment, that I realize that what I really need is peace.
As a water sign, Cancer to be exact, I feel deeply. I emote and spew emotions like tasting raw squid or fish eyes. Or if you like a Danny Thomas spit take. Because of this emotional turbulence which could suck a person in and chew them up and spit them out in a split second, I find myself easily hurt over incidents and issues that anyone else may just shrug off.
Some days being this emotional is great. I cry a lot when I'm not only sad but happy. I'm a gushing fountain whenever someone mentions that Legos are on sale somewhere. I practically fall apart when Disney World sends me an email saying that they miss me and want me to come back and stay... and even worse off when I realize they only mean for a few days. Why can't it be a longer time at the same price... Maybe like six months.
Some days being emotional is awful. I can't wrangle them in. It cusses at me. It hisses like a tire losing air. I say things that I wish I could take back, but I still think trying to squeeze a size 10 into a size 4 is not a good look. I cry over the fact there was no mail. I lose it over spilled milk. Literally. I did it the other day and was sure that the world would end. And don't even get me going on the fact that Mrs. Brady... No I can't say it... It's too hurtful.
What I really need at this time, right here and now, is not only a little Christmas but also peace. You know. Peace and quiet. Peace of mind. Give peace a chance. Peace of blueberry pie. In other words, get lost in the my mind and think about my writing. Wander off to my memories New York City and marvel in its wonder. Take a ride on Peter Pan's Flight at the Magic Kingdom... A ride I have ridden so many times and can visualize with no problems right down to the funny shades of psychedelic colors.
So, yes, I must "always look on the bright side of life," but I've also got to find that peace in the moment to survive the emotional storm. It will calm, but I've got to ride the waves.
Just saying.
Thanks for reading...
CSM
Cause right now, I am having trouble seeing it. I mean it's like where the hell is the bright side? Is that it over there? How about under the dining table? Behind the couch? Nope that's a dust bunny. O wait... How about the same place I hid that $50 that now I need, but can't remember where I hid it?
When I sing "always look on the bright side of life," I get the meaning. Find the humor in life, but even now, I just can't seem to find it. And it is at that moment... and I mean a very long drawn out moment, that I realize that what I really need is peace.
As a water sign, Cancer to be exact, I feel deeply. I emote and spew emotions like tasting raw squid or fish eyes. Or if you like a Danny Thomas spit take. Because of this emotional turbulence which could suck a person in and chew them up and spit them out in a split second, I find myself easily hurt over incidents and issues that anyone else may just shrug off.
Some days being this emotional is great. I cry a lot when I'm not only sad but happy. I'm a gushing fountain whenever someone mentions that Legos are on sale somewhere. I practically fall apart when Disney World sends me an email saying that they miss me and want me to come back and stay... and even worse off when I realize they only mean for a few days. Why can't it be a longer time at the same price... Maybe like six months.
Some days being emotional is awful. I can't wrangle them in. It cusses at me. It hisses like a tire losing air. I say things that I wish I could take back, but I still think trying to squeeze a size 10 into a size 4 is not a good look. I cry over the fact there was no mail. I lose it over spilled milk. Literally. I did it the other day and was sure that the world would end. And don't even get me going on the fact that Mrs. Brady... No I can't say it... It's too hurtful.
What I really need at this time, right here and now, is not only a little Christmas but also peace. You know. Peace and quiet. Peace of mind. Give peace a chance. Peace of blueberry pie. In other words, get lost in the my mind and think about my writing. Wander off to my memories New York City and marvel in its wonder. Take a ride on Peter Pan's Flight at the Magic Kingdom... A ride I have ridden so many times and can visualize with no problems right down to the funny shades of psychedelic colors.
So, yes, I must "always look on the bright side of life," but I've also got to find that peace in the moment to survive the emotional storm. It will calm, but I've got to ride the waves.
Just saying.
Thanks for reading...
CSM
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
"Perfection" -- A New Short Story
Ladies and Gentlemen, my new short story is one of two that I worked on. Both are gay-themed, so consider yourself warned. I'm not going to say what I think about it, but only this... It seems and feels true. I think even though it is gay-themed, you might relate to it. So here it is...
Perfection
Perfection
Jordan was too tall.
Ryan was too geeky. Joe didn't
like to travel. Alex didn't like to
camp. Michael had dark hair. Not
one of them was perfect. I wanted only
perfect. I deserved it. Those guys and numerous others lacked qualities that I
wanted. Pure and simple.
I was thirty-seven years old and still single. I had decided many years ago never to just
settle, but to find my perfect match.
Why just chose someone with no similar interests than mine? And just when I thought I would never meet
the one. I did.
Just after work, I had decided to stop in Barry's for a
drink. It was one of those exclusive
membership clubs right off of Castro Street, just gay men. It wasn't a sex club. In fact, it was a select club to keep the fags out. Besides, if I wanted
sex I could hit any of the baths or find someone on one of the apps.
It was about nine o'clock and the usual crowd was there for their
Saturday night follies. As I perused the boys at the bar, some smiled,
others turned away. I had dated them
all. I sat down and ordered my Scotch and soda. I
sighed and fidgeted and twiddled my thumbs.
Only Robert spoke to me. He wasn't too bad. He had dogs that he would have given a kidney to, if it meant keeping it alive. I don't hate dogs; I don't want to be second.
"How are you?" Robert asked.
Only Robert spoke to me. He wasn't too bad. He had dogs that he would have given a kidney to, if it meant keeping it alive. I don't hate dogs; I don't want to be second.
"How are you?" Robert asked.
"Fine, thanks for asking," I said.
"Good to hear.
Still dating what's his name?"
"Do you mean Tom?"
"That's doesn't sound right."
"Maybe you're thinking of Ron. Or maybe Quinton. There was Chico. How about Guy?"
He shook his head. I
noticed he grimaced. "I've got to hit the bathroom." He left.
I proceeded to order another drink, when the crowd
parted. That's when I saw him. Sitting alone along the wall, he was a god. His hair was blond and curly. He looked fit. His clothes were perfect. And forty points right there.
He glanced my way and smiled. Add another five points. I picked up my fresh
Scotch and soda and walked over to him.
I didn't bother to ask. I just
sat down.
"Hi, my name's Craig Samuels." I said and put my hand out.
He said "I'm Russell Williamson" and shook my hand. It was a
strong masculine handshake. That was worth
ten points.
"Are you new in town?"
"I am."
"Where are you from?"
"I moved here last week from San Diego. I started a new
job."
"Ah, what do you do?"
"I'm an investment counselor." Ten points.
"Interesting. I have some money that I need to invest. Maybe you can help?"
"Interesting. I have some money that I need to invest. Maybe you can help?"
He gave me his card. Russell Williamson and listed the
bank. I love his name. Russell. I asked if he was single. He was.
I told him I was. I couldn't help
but stare at him. He noticed.
"What do you do?"
"I work at home.
I have a travel business."
"Must be nice.
Not to have a boss or be bothered by anyone. You probably can set your own schedule."
I laughed. "I
do. I get lots of quiet time."
"Perfect." Ten points.
I chuckled. "Yes
you are." A little flirting I
thought might stimulate him more. He grinned.
Oh god, his smile was wonderful.
I wanted to run my fingers through that hair. He asked me about my favorite places to travel.
I said "I love Europe.
Germany and France are beautiful countries. The scenery is
gorgeous."
"Both my favorites.
I would travel back there.
Wouldn't it be great to camp there?" Twenty points
"I love camping. I have never camped in Europe. I would
love to sometime."
He kept smiling.
"Are there any great camping sites here?
"I often
go to some great camp grounds and just spend my time reading and
relaxing."
"So are you into any sports?"
"No, not really."
"Me neither. How
about music? Who's your favorite
bands?"
I listed out every type of music and musician I liked. He loved ninety-percent of what I liked. He kept getting more and more points. He had no problem getting to one hundred points and beyond.
"Excuse me, but I've have to... Powder my nose." I went to the lavatory. I was standing face to the wall when I heard the door open. Russell stood next to me. There were no privacy panels so I hoped that he didn't see that I was getting turned on.
"Looks like someone's excited," he said.
Oh god, that smile. I couldn't help but get even more turned on. I finished and washed my hand and went back to the table. I had a smile that wouldn't stop. Russell returned to the table.
Oh god, that smile. I couldn't help but get even more turned on. I finished and washed my hand and went back to the table. I had a smile that wouldn't stop. Russell returned to the table.
"I think we should go back to your place."
I didn't argue.
We were together the rest of the night, the next morning, and well into Sunday afternoon. He finally had to go home and get ready for the work week. I had business to take care of, not much since it was a slow time for travel.
We were together the rest of the night, the next morning, and well into Sunday afternoon. He finally had to go home and get ready for the work week. I had business to take care of, not much since it was a slow time for travel.
We saw each other every night that week. Friday night, we met for dinner.
"How about tomorrow we go pitch a tent and hang out for
the day? We'll come back Sunday."
"I love the idea."
"I'll pick you up in the morning. About ten?"
"Are you coming over tonight?" I already guessed the answer was no, but I
didn't mind. It was just one night.
"No, I can't. I
have to finish up one small project and I'll get my camping gear packed. How about you get the snacks? Whatever you want. Get your favorites."
The next morning,
Russell picked me up in his jeep. We drove out of the city and up into the
hills. I had never been this way and it
was a beautiful day and I could see the Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the smell the
ocean. He drove about an hour before he declared "We're here." We finally parked.
"Let's hike this way." Russell pointed up a path. We went right out to a cliff that overlooked the San Francisco Bay. I started to say "What an awesome
view", but before I could, Russell grabbed me and wrapped his arms around
me and kissed me. Oh god, he was
perfect. His kisses were
perfection. Everything about him was
perfect.
"Let's set up camp."
"We are really out here, aren't we?"
"I love it. I
can crawl out of the tent in the morning and don't have to worry about
clothes."
I giggled. "Ah, a nudist."
Russell didn't say anything. He only winked.
I said "This is going to be interesting."
I said "This is going to be interesting."
"Just think.
I'll be able to do you right here against this tree... and this tree...
and that tree... and that one over there... and no one will see us." He added "Hopefully" to be
cautious. Wow. The thought of having wild passionate sex in
the woods with the man of my dreams was unbelievably hot.
"Just think. You
can moan and groan and pant and scream all you want." Russell laughed. "No one's going to hear us doing it."
"Hot." That was all I could say. "Hot." He was mine.
All mine. I had found my perfect man. All my waiting and patience had paid
off. All those other guys who weren't
perfect were now in my past. I was in
love with the perfect man.
*****
Monday morning came around.
The door bell rang. Russell
answered it. On the front step stood a
man in a suit.
"Russell P. Williamson?"
"Yes."
"I'm Sergeant Conrad.
I have a warrant for your arrest."
Russell glanced at the policemen on the sidewalk then dashed
towards the kitchen to the back door where two policemen stood with guns
pointed at him. Russell put his hands
up. Sergeant Conrad and the other
policemen came into the kitchen.
"Russell P. Williamson, a.k.a. William P. Pearson,
a.k.a. Peter P. Bryant, and P. Lars Straus.
You're under the arrest for the murders of seven gay men in the past six
months."
"You can't pin any of them on me."
"Like hell we can't. We've been tracking you for the
past six months since the second murder. We have witnesses and a
lot of evidence. You've become known as
"The Gay Strangler" in the FBI office. Read him his rights. And by the way, we'd like to talk to Craig. Any idea where we can reach him? Since you
were seen with him the other night."
"I've never meet Craig
Samuels."
"Really. I don't
believe I mentioned his last name. Any
idea where we can find him?"
"No."
The policemen handcuffed him. Russell gritted his teeth.
The policemen handcuffed him. Russell gritted his teeth.
"By the way, what does the 'P' stand for?"
Russell grinned.
"Perfection. It's
Perfection. I am perfection."
Sargent Conrad chuckled. "Sir, there is no such thing as perfection."
CSM
Sargent Conrad chuckled. "Sir, there is no such thing as perfection."
CSM
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Wow! That Long!
Check out the date on that last post! June 9th! It's September 14th. I can't believe it's been that long since I last posted. Well, dear readers, it's not because I'm twiddling my thumbs. I've been working on a new book, two short stories, researching agents, and working on a certain part of my life.
Let me tell you about my new book. It has nothing to do with The Time Savers Club. It is not a children's book. It is about two people having an affair for the last thirty or so years.
Bea and Adam fell in love in college and parted ways and broke each other's hearts. Bea went her way and Adam his. A few years later, they met by accident and the flames re-ignite. Their story goes from there. Bea is married to "The Ass" (as she likes to call him) and has three children. Adam is a widow and has a daughter. I have based them on a variety of people I know (or have known) and loved... And yes, even hated. There's some hell and some heaven. It is a little autobiographical. Some parts are hard to write. But I can do it!
Anyway, we'll see how it goes. I've got several chapters written, some outlined, and, yep, there's a few blank ones. I have no idea what to to with those. I'm sure sometime in the middle of night... or in the shower which happens a lot... that they'll start talking to me and away we'll go.
As for the two short stories, they are both gay-focused. I really try not to throw my preferences out there, but these two short stories really reflect my thoughts and ideas about what it means to me. I have completed one; the other's on its way. It's longer and will take a while.
One last thing. Rejection. I am coming to terms with my overwhelming fear of rejection. I mean the BIG FEAR of rejection. In fact, it keeps me from going after what I want (or think that I want... well as least interested enough in to find out if it's what I really want... It's complicated.)
I have a list of agents for The Time Savers Club but have yet to email them. I've been going out more and I'll see someone I think is really cute or interesting or whatever, but do I say "Hey" or "How's it going?" Nope. I just stand there. Horribly tongue-tied. A big bundle of fear of rejection! I think "Why bother? It's just going to be... Well, yet another rejection." So, I just move on.
*Sigh* I'm working on it.
Thanks for reading. Hugs to all.
CSM
Let me tell you about my new book. It has nothing to do with The Time Savers Club. It is not a children's book. It is about two people having an affair for the last thirty or so years.
Bea and Adam fell in love in college and parted ways and broke each other's hearts. Bea went her way and Adam his. A few years later, they met by accident and the flames re-ignite. Their story goes from there. Bea is married to "The Ass" (as she likes to call him) and has three children. Adam is a widow and has a daughter. I have based them on a variety of people I know (or have known) and loved... And yes, even hated. There's some hell and some heaven. It is a little autobiographical. Some parts are hard to write. But I can do it!
Anyway, we'll see how it goes. I've got several chapters written, some outlined, and, yep, there's a few blank ones. I have no idea what to to with those. I'm sure sometime in the middle of night... or in the shower which happens a lot... that they'll start talking to me and away we'll go.
As for the two short stories, they are both gay-focused. I really try not to throw my preferences out there, but these two short stories really reflect my thoughts and ideas about what it means to me. I have completed one; the other's on its way. It's longer and will take a while.
One last thing. Rejection. I am coming to terms with my overwhelming fear of rejection. I mean the BIG FEAR of rejection. In fact, it keeps me from going after what I want (or think that I want... well as least interested enough in to find out if it's what I really want... It's complicated.)
I have a list of agents for The Time Savers Club but have yet to email them. I've been going out more and I'll see someone I think is really cute or interesting or whatever, but do I say "Hey" or "How's it going?" Nope. I just stand there. Horribly tongue-tied. A big bundle of fear of rejection! I think "Why bother? It's just going to be... Well, yet another rejection." So, I just move on.
*Sigh* I'm working on it.
Thanks for reading. Hugs to all.
CSM
Thursday, June 9, 2016
A View of the Town, Episode 9: Rosco and Swanky Jane
Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in a small coastal town in Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we now return to Dr. Fletcher and the love story of Rosco and Swanky Jane.
This episode is brought to you by... Water. It runs but never wears shoes. It pools but never wears swim trunks. Water. It's wet.
And now on with the love story of Rosco and Swanky Jane...
As you may recall from previous episodes, I mentioned Louisville Sam, a spinner of tall tales who, by the way, lived in a two-room house just a little ways north of the docks. You could often see him sitting outside, drinking a strong brew of coffee black as night, and watching the fishing boats go out and come in with their catch of the day. Louisville Sam found odd jobs to do around town to pay the rent. And to anyone who would listen, he'd tell of many of his adventures which took him around the world.
Now one story I remember involved a sly gentleman named Rosco, a self-proclaimed gambler from Atlanta, and his gal Swanky Jane with the amaryllis tattoo who sang and entertained on the Jennie Beth, a riverboat that traveled down the Ohio from Cincinnati to Louisville.
As I recall the story, back around 1892, one evening while the river boat was docked, Louisville Sam and Rosco were playing a game of blackjack with a fellow from New York City. I'm not sure how this trio came about, but this New York City poker player was a true dandy. Dressed like one with his silk shirt and fancy red ascot. Smelled like one with his scent of bay rum. And he also had his shifty eye on Swanky Jane. And everyone knew her heart belonged to Rosco. And anyone who tried to tango with her knew better.
After Rosco had just triumphed at a hand of blackjack, Swanky Jane came over to visit after performing and savoring the applause. This unsuspecting (and uncaring) city slicker complimented her tattoo, asked what kind it was, and proceeded to woo her while rolling his smoldering cigar between his teeth. However, Swanky Jane didn't want anything to do with him. And Rosco wasn't too pleased with his level of advances either and let his jealous streak get the most of him.
Next thing they all knew, Rosco had punched that fellow from New York City, sending him flying across the floor. The city fellow didn't just lie there, he proceeded to take aim at Rosco, right into Rosco's fist that is. Only this time that New York Yankee fell into a table of four hands. From there, a full blow bar room brawl of two blossomed to full swing. That New York dandy got right back up, not knowing when to walk away.
Most in the room were familiar with Rosco's fighting style. Little did that New York gent know, but Rosco had studied a fighting technique know as judo, as a young man living in San Francisco, from a judo master. Rosco took several steps back, stood perfectly erect, gently bowed, and flew foot first square in that gent's chest. The fellow flew backwards and slid against the wall.
Swanky Jane never moved from where she perched on a nearby table. The cigar that fellow had been smoking rolled right to her foot. She picked it up, started to smoke it, and laughed. She winked her eye at Rosco who simply grinned. He knew that night she'd be paying him a visit. What a pair.
I've many other storied about that pair and from Louisville Sam, but I'll save some for later. That Louisville Sam was a walking book of wonderment and mystery.
Join us again next time, when Dr. Fletcher tells us about the night that Amaryllis Stemm payed Misty Cove a visit that they would never forget.
This episode was brought to you by... Water. It rolls in. It rolls out. But it never rolls up and never rolls down. Water. It just goes with the flow.
CSM
This episode is brought to you by... Water. It runs but never wears shoes. It pools but never wears swim trunks. Water. It's wet.
And now on with the love story of Rosco and Swanky Jane...
As you may recall from previous episodes, I mentioned Louisville Sam, a spinner of tall tales who, by the way, lived in a two-room house just a little ways north of the docks. You could often see him sitting outside, drinking a strong brew of coffee black as night, and watching the fishing boats go out and come in with their catch of the day. Louisville Sam found odd jobs to do around town to pay the rent. And to anyone who would listen, he'd tell of many of his adventures which took him around the world.
Now one story I remember involved a sly gentleman named Rosco, a self-proclaimed gambler from Atlanta, and his gal Swanky Jane with the amaryllis tattoo who sang and entertained on the Jennie Beth, a riverboat that traveled down the Ohio from Cincinnati to Louisville.
As I recall the story, back around 1892, one evening while the river boat was docked, Louisville Sam and Rosco were playing a game of blackjack with a fellow from New York City. I'm not sure how this trio came about, but this New York City poker player was a true dandy. Dressed like one with his silk shirt and fancy red ascot. Smelled like one with his scent of bay rum. And he also had his shifty eye on Swanky Jane. And everyone knew her heart belonged to Rosco. And anyone who tried to tango with her knew better.
After Rosco had just triumphed at a hand of blackjack, Swanky Jane came over to visit after performing and savoring the applause. This unsuspecting (and uncaring) city slicker complimented her tattoo, asked what kind it was, and proceeded to woo her while rolling his smoldering cigar between his teeth. However, Swanky Jane didn't want anything to do with him. And Rosco wasn't too pleased with his level of advances either and let his jealous streak get the most of him.
Next thing they all knew, Rosco had punched that fellow from New York City, sending him flying across the floor. The city fellow didn't just lie there, he proceeded to take aim at Rosco, right into Rosco's fist that is. Only this time that New York Yankee fell into a table of four hands. From there, a full blow bar room brawl of two blossomed to full swing. That New York dandy got right back up, not knowing when to walk away.
Most in the room were familiar with Rosco's fighting style. Little did that New York gent know, but Rosco had studied a fighting technique know as judo, as a young man living in San Francisco, from a judo master. Rosco took several steps back, stood perfectly erect, gently bowed, and flew foot first square in that gent's chest. The fellow flew backwards and slid against the wall.
Swanky Jane never moved from where she perched on a nearby table. The cigar that fellow had been smoking rolled right to her foot. She picked it up, started to smoke it, and laughed. She winked her eye at Rosco who simply grinned. He knew that night she'd be paying him a visit. What a pair.
I've many other storied about that pair and from Louisville Sam, but I'll save some for later. That Louisville Sam was a walking book of wonderment and mystery.
Join us again next time, when Dr. Fletcher tells us about the night that Amaryllis Stemm payed Misty Cove a visit that they would never forget.
This episode was brought to you by... Water. It rolls in. It rolls out. But it never rolls up and never rolls down. Water. It just goes with the flow.
CSM
Saturday, May 21, 2016
A View of the Town, Episode 8: Otis Major in the Witch's Woods
Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in a small coastal town in Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we now return to Dr. Fletcher and the continuation of his story about Otis Major.
This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by air. It's here. It's there. It's everywhere. It's even in your hair. Air.
And now on with A View of the Town...
Now last time, I told you about Louisville Sam, a spinner of tall tales. Before that I told you about the Witch's Woods north of town. I also told you about how Otis Major, a young lad of eight, took on a double-dare bet on Halloween from Hubert Stinct to venture off into the Witch's Woods. Well, let me combine them into one of the stranger stories I have.
Otis wondered off into the woods at dusk. Before long, a band of blue lights began to spin out of the underbrush and followed him. According to the boys who dared him, these blue lights knocked him down into the brush. Otis didn't respond to their yells. Just as the boys began to get nervous, Louisville Sam came strolling up from town. He had seen the lad head off alone and knew that trouble would be brewing. He knew that tale of Amaryllis Stemm, the stranger the whole town believed to be a witch and had also disappeared in the woods.
Louisville Sam asked what they had been up to. They nervously talked about Otis disappearing and the blue lights knocking him down. Without a care, Louisville Sam strolled in the direction where Otis disappeared. It was at this point that the boys said the oddest thing happened. Louisville Sam simply vanished right in front of their eyes. One boy said he was like a ghost fading away. When that happened, the boys ran in every direction, skedaddling out of there.
The whole town searched the woods, only in daylight mind you, and never found a trace of Otis or Louisville Sam. Men kept watch on the woods day and night. The police brought in hunting dogs who followed Otis' scent right to the place where the boys said he fell down. But nothing was ever found. Makes me think of that old Hoosier poet James Whitcomb Riley's poem about the goblins getting you if you don't watch out.
Now, all was not lost, because Otis showed up three days later as if he were in a trance. Walking down a side street. His clothes all muddy and leaves in his hair. Mrs. Jarvis, the local seamstress, saw him and immediately called his mother and the police. Otis Major muttered a fantastic story about meeting a young woman who matched Stemm's description and how Louisville Sam had introduced them. Otis said that they took him to a room in house where they kept him. They asked him to chant several words in Latin. After several days of this, they finally looked at him and said "Time for you to go home. You're not the one."
The boys said he was making it up and he had hid from them. Reverend Lord said that the devils had taken him. Luther Stamp of the Mystic Cove Gazette said Otis had visited Heaven. And Otis didn't care he was just glad to be back home. Whatever it was, nobody to this very day knows. But we do know this, a fence went up around the woods and was posted. Nobody to this day has every entered it.
Otis Major later became a writer and moved to some place in Washington State. His mother told me where, but I don't remember exactly. But none the less, he's out there. Writing away with a vivid imagination.
Join us again next time, when Dr. Fletcher tells us about Rosco, a gambler, and his girlfriend, Swanky Jane.
This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by air. Drifting. Floating. Swirling. All around you. It's always there. Air.
CSM
This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by air. It's here. It's there. It's everywhere. It's even in your hair. Air.
And now on with A View of the Town...
Now last time, I told you about Louisville Sam, a spinner of tall tales. Before that I told you about the Witch's Woods north of town. I also told you about how Otis Major, a young lad of eight, took on a double-dare bet on Halloween from Hubert Stinct to venture off into the Witch's Woods. Well, let me combine them into one of the stranger stories I have.
Otis wondered off into the woods at dusk. Before long, a band of blue lights began to spin out of the underbrush and followed him. According to the boys who dared him, these blue lights knocked him down into the brush. Otis didn't respond to their yells. Just as the boys began to get nervous, Louisville Sam came strolling up from town. He had seen the lad head off alone and knew that trouble would be brewing. He knew that tale of Amaryllis Stemm, the stranger the whole town believed to be a witch and had also disappeared in the woods.
Louisville Sam asked what they had been up to. They nervously talked about Otis disappearing and the blue lights knocking him down. Without a care, Louisville Sam strolled in the direction where Otis disappeared. It was at this point that the boys said the oddest thing happened. Louisville Sam simply vanished right in front of their eyes. One boy said he was like a ghost fading away. When that happened, the boys ran in every direction, skedaddling out of there.
The whole town searched the woods, only in daylight mind you, and never found a trace of Otis or Louisville Sam. Men kept watch on the woods day and night. The police brought in hunting dogs who followed Otis' scent right to the place where the boys said he fell down. But nothing was ever found. Makes me think of that old Hoosier poet James Whitcomb Riley's poem about the goblins getting you if you don't watch out.
Now, all was not lost, because Otis showed up three days later as if he were in a trance. Walking down a side street. His clothes all muddy and leaves in his hair. Mrs. Jarvis, the local seamstress, saw him and immediately called his mother and the police. Otis Major muttered a fantastic story about meeting a young woman who matched Stemm's description and how Louisville Sam had introduced them. Otis said that they took him to a room in house where they kept him. They asked him to chant several words in Latin. After several days of this, they finally looked at him and said "Time for you to go home. You're not the one."
The boys said he was making it up and he had hid from them. Reverend Lord said that the devils had taken him. Luther Stamp of the Mystic Cove Gazette said Otis had visited Heaven. And Otis didn't care he was just glad to be back home. Whatever it was, nobody to this very day knows. But we do know this, a fence went up around the woods and was posted. Nobody to this day has every entered it.
Otis Major later became a writer and moved to some place in Washington State. His mother told me where, but I don't remember exactly. But none the less, he's out there. Writing away with a vivid imagination.
Join us again next time, when Dr. Fletcher tells us about Rosco, a gambler, and his girlfriend, Swanky Jane.
This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by air. Drifting. Floating. Swirling. All around you. It's always there. Air.
CSM
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Losing Weight in the Kitchen: A Simple Solution
Are you feeling flabby and out of shape? Do you feel tired and worn down? Do you blame it on your weight and you want it to disappear? Then I have a weight loss solution for you... And it can be done right in your own kitchen by following what I did. It's easy... Here's my secret... Plan to give your kitchen a makeover!
It was time to give my kitchen a makeover. My landlady jump-stated the project by putting in a new counter top, a new sink and faucet, and lovely subway tile back-splash. Many thanks to her for doing the hard part. Of course, I couldn't just let it stop at that. I needed some new hardware, a new coat of paint, and a good cleaning. Sounds simple, right? How hard could it be to put on a new door handle? Well, just about as easy as a changing a flat tire... You know what I mean. It's never that simple.
My adventures started with moving everything out of the kitchen. Within moments, I began to question whether I needed all of these cookbooks (most of which I had that new book smell -- at some time I was just sure I would make my own pickles), gadgets (some of which I don't know why I had to begin with... Who really needs a banana slicer?), and over 25 drinking glasses. Over 25 drinking glasses -- What was I thinking! I couldn't fit 25 people in my apartment, let alone offer each of them a drink.
Next came removing cabinet doors. Step one: remove 32 layers of paint from the screws holding them on. Step two: try to pry out the layers of paint from the screw's head to get the screwdriver in. Step three: take a hammer to it and pray that you don't whack off a big chunk of cabinet. Most were so rusted that they popped right off which made me realize that the 32 layers of paint may have been only thing holding them on.
Giving the doors a new coat of paint was easy, but putting on the new handles and hinges... Let me start by saying "Not all screw holes are created equally. Nor are the screws that come with the new hinges and pulls." I've decide that manufacturers are using aluminum cans from the '90s to produce screws. One attempt with the electric drill and the screw head is stripped, never to be used again. And just hope that you don't have to unscrew it from where you just put it. Don't get me started about the screw heads that broke off... I went Queen of Hearts a few times.
Ah, the relaxing and soothing exercise known as "painting the walls and ceiling." I will admit that I love the new paint containers that make it easy to pour. My hats off to whoever came up with that idea. Paint rollers have yet to meet the same improvement. You've poured out the paint and now it's time. The moment to find out if you chose the right color has come. You've carefully put on a new spongy roller, slowly and steadily loaded it with paint, holding it as close to the wall as possible to keep from dripping. You've with a hair of the wall and... Paint drippings hit the floor! Too bad that wasn't your goal. Why is it that paint always waits until you are just ready to put it on the wall? Is it protesting? Is it suffering from anxiety? I know I am...
And last, there comes a point when it's time to put everything back together. That moment that you can say you're done. Shelves back up. Pot rack back on the wall. Cookbooks in order. Dishes stacked neatly. And an 8-page list of "small things" to do to finish the project. Caulk around the sink, the new back-splash, and around everything else. Fill the 50 holes that didn't work while hanging the shelves and pot rack. Cleaning the paint drippings from the floor. Scrubbing everything down. Packing up the stuff you decided to get rid of and then haul it away. You know just a few remaining minor details until your dream kitchen make-over is all done.
Hopefully in the process, you met your dream weight. Oh and by the way, plan on losing your mind and patience as well. Happy Makeover!
CSM
It was time to give my kitchen a makeover. My landlady jump-stated the project by putting in a new counter top, a new sink and faucet, and lovely subway tile back-splash. Many thanks to her for doing the hard part. Of course, I couldn't just let it stop at that. I needed some new hardware, a new coat of paint, and a good cleaning. Sounds simple, right? How hard could it be to put on a new door handle? Well, just about as easy as a changing a flat tire... You know what I mean. It's never that simple.
My adventures started with moving everything out of the kitchen. Within moments, I began to question whether I needed all of these cookbooks (most of which I had that new book smell -- at some time I was just sure I would make my own pickles), gadgets (some of which I don't know why I had to begin with... Who really needs a banana slicer?), and over 25 drinking glasses. Over 25 drinking glasses -- What was I thinking! I couldn't fit 25 people in my apartment, let alone offer each of them a drink.
Next came removing cabinet doors. Step one: remove 32 layers of paint from the screws holding them on. Step two: try to pry out the layers of paint from the screw's head to get the screwdriver in. Step three: take a hammer to it and pray that you don't whack off a big chunk of cabinet. Most were so rusted that they popped right off which made me realize that the 32 layers of paint may have been only thing holding them on.
Giving the doors a new coat of paint was easy, but putting on the new handles and hinges... Let me start by saying "Not all screw holes are created equally. Nor are the screws that come with the new hinges and pulls." I've decide that manufacturers are using aluminum cans from the '90s to produce screws. One attempt with the electric drill and the screw head is stripped, never to be used again. And just hope that you don't have to unscrew it from where you just put it. Don't get me started about the screw heads that broke off... I went Queen of Hearts a few times.
Ah, the relaxing and soothing exercise known as "painting the walls and ceiling." I will admit that I love the new paint containers that make it easy to pour. My hats off to whoever came up with that idea. Paint rollers have yet to meet the same improvement. You've poured out the paint and now it's time. The moment to find out if you chose the right color has come. You've carefully put on a new spongy roller, slowly and steadily loaded it with paint, holding it as close to the wall as possible to keep from dripping. You've with a hair of the wall and... Paint drippings hit the floor! Too bad that wasn't your goal. Why is it that paint always waits until you are just ready to put it on the wall? Is it protesting? Is it suffering from anxiety? I know I am...
And last, there comes a point when it's time to put everything back together. That moment that you can say you're done. Shelves back up. Pot rack back on the wall. Cookbooks in order. Dishes stacked neatly. And an 8-page list of "small things" to do to finish the project. Caulk around the sink, the new back-splash, and around everything else. Fill the 50 holes that didn't work while hanging the shelves and pot rack. Cleaning the paint drippings from the floor. Scrubbing everything down. Packing up the stuff you decided to get rid of and then haul it away. You know just a few remaining minor details until your dream kitchen make-over is all done.
Hopefully in the process, you met your dream weight. Oh and by the way, plan on losing your mind and patience as well. Happy Makeover!
CSM
Saturday, March 5, 2016
I wonder what she's going right now?
Sometimes, I really miss my mother, but most of the time, I don't.
At first, that may sound like a harsh statement. Basically along the lines of Moms Mabley say "you should only speak good of the dead. She's dead. Good." But, it's not. It's a statement of faith. Why? Because, she comes around when I need her.
The other day, I was working at home, packing stuff up to send to auction. I'm downsizing and just need to let go of stuff. Stuff shoved in closets. Stuff shoved under the bed. Stuff shoved in a locker in the basement. I just need to lighten the load. While doing this, I was talking to my mother. Asking if it was okay to send this off. How about these? How about these old cards? Can I throw them away? And trust me, I heard her response. She was there. She stops by when I need her.
I don't spend a lot of time missing my mother. I spend more time wondering what's she's doing. My mother was an active person with lots of interests, so I'm sure she's not bored. I'm sure she's got a very active schedule, just like she did in life.
Maybe she's sitting at a old barn loom, weaving away on a blue and white coverlet. Maybe she's spinning some wool which she'll later put into a brass dye pot that has a vat of dried cochineal or maybe logwood. And wondering what shade of red or purple it will produce.
Maybe she's baking in a dutch oven and keeping an eye on the pot of stew hanging on the crane. The well-used hearth of brick in a home built in the 1820s. Maybe Helen H. or Peg H. or Warren will stop by for a visit and a cup of steaming tea.
Maybe she's reading a Frances Parkinson Keyes or a Danielle Steele novel. Or maybe she's knitting a new scarf from earlier dyed wool while watching one of her favorite shows like Murder, She Wrote or Perry Mason or Matlock. Or maybe she's just hanging out with my father at the trailer in the camp grounds.
Hmmm... I wonder. I sometimes wonder what is my mother doing right now?
CSM
At first, that may sound like a harsh statement. Basically along the lines of Moms Mabley say "you should only speak good of the dead. She's dead. Good." But, it's not. It's a statement of faith. Why? Because, she comes around when I need her.
The other day, I was working at home, packing stuff up to send to auction. I'm downsizing and just need to let go of stuff. Stuff shoved in closets. Stuff shoved under the bed. Stuff shoved in a locker in the basement. I just need to lighten the load. While doing this, I was talking to my mother. Asking if it was okay to send this off. How about these? How about these old cards? Can I throw them away? And trust me, I heard her response. She was there. She stops by when I need her.
I don't spend a lot of time missing my mother. I spend more time wondering what's she's doing. My mother was an active person with lots of interests, so I'm sure she's not bored. I'm sure she's got a very active schedule, just like she did in life.
Maybe she's sitting at a old barn loom, weaving away on a blue and white coverlet. Maybe she's spinning some wool which she'll later put into a brass dye pot that has a vat of dried cochineal or maybe logwood. And wondering what shade of red or purple it will produce.
Maybe she's baking in a dutch oven and keeping an eye on the pot of stew hanging on the crane. The well-used hearth of brick in a home built in the 1820s. Maybe Helen H. or Peg H. or Warren will stop by for a visit and a cup of steaming tea.
Maybe she's reading a Frances Parkinson Keyes or a Danielle Steele novel. Or maybe she's knitting a new scarf from earlier dyed wool while watching one of her favorite shows like Murder, She Wrote or Perry Mason or Matlock. Or maybe she's just hanging out with my father at the trailer in the camp grounds.
Hmmm... I wonder. I sometimes wonder what is my mother doing right now?
CSM
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Why Did I Save That?
As a child of parents who lived through the Great Depression and then the rationing years of World War Two, I have inherited a sickness. It's not quiet hording, but close. It's call "Saving-something-just-in-case-I-might-need-it-in-the-future." You know like twist ties and short pieces of string. Don't throw out that perfectly good glass jar. You might use it again to store those twist ties. And definitely don't throw any greeting cards of any sort. I can use them for origami.
But one day, I realized the future has arrived and I now have enough glass jars that I could start my own home canning business. And all of those pieces of strung if tied together would stretch from New York to San Francisco. Let's not even talk about the twist ties.
Stuff has taken over. My stuff. My parent's stuff. Stuff that people gave me. Stuff here. Stuff there. Stuff everywhere. I can't get the stuff I really need or use because of all the other stuff. And where does it stop? And here comes my sales pitch... It doesn't, unless you start a hefty round of my Anti-Keep-It Meds.
CSM
But one day, I realized the future has arrived and I now have enough glass jars that I could start my own home canning business. And all of those pieces of strung if tied together would stretch from New York to San Francisco. Let's not even talk about the twist ties.
I realized the other day that my sickness and my apartment have been together way too long and needed to part. In other words, it's time to clean out and clear out my saving habits. I should write it on the back of the post-it note I saved reminding me to save scraps of paper to reuse for the papier mache project I planned to work on three years ago.
Stuff has taken over. My stuff. My parent's stuff. Stuff that people gave me. Stuff here. Stuff there. Stuff everywhere. I can't get the stuff I really need or use because of all the other stuff. And where does it stop? And here comes my sales pitch... It doesn't, unless you start a hefty round of my Anti-Keep-It Meds.
With a study course of these habit-breaking doses, taken at least six times a day, seven days a week, and after about three weeks, you too can began to break down that keep-it-for-use-later habit. That's what happened to me.
First, you have to ask yourself... Why? Why am I saving 15 photographs of a bear at the St. Louis Zoo from a trip ages ago? And what good are three plastic baggies overstuffed with match books from various restaurants? How about a stack of coloring books from when I was five? There's still a few uncolored pages in that Mickey Mouse coloring book, so god forbid I send them to the recycle bin. (Don't worry, they went.)
Next, does it make me happy to see it again when I dig it out out from the back of the drawer? I don't know too many people who get excited over a few loose paper clips cowering in the back of the junk drawer. Set 'em free. Take 'em to work and put them to use.
And last, do you like it in general? I have my mother's hair dryer -- the kind that where you hooked a hose to the blower and it blew up like a balloon on your head. My sister had the chance to sell it. I just couldn't let her do it. And now, I think, why?! What was I thinking? Was keeping this hair dryer that important? Am I planning on sitting around with a blown-up bubble head? I don't have enough hair to make it worth my while.
First, you have to ask yourself... Why? Why am I saving 15 photographs of a bear at the St. Louis Zoo from a trip ages ago? And what good are three plastic baggies overstuffed with match books from various restaurants? How about a stack of coloring books from when I was five? There's still a few uncolored pages in that Mickey Mouse coloring book, so god forbid I send them to the recycle bin. (Don't worry, they went.)
Next, does it make me happy to see it again when I dig it out out from the back of the drawer? I don't know too many people who get excited over a few loose paper clips cowering in the back of the junk drawer. Set 'em free. Take 'em to work and put them to use.
And last, do you like it in general? I have my mother's hair dryer -- the kind that where you hooked a hose to the blower and it blew up like a balloon on your head. My sister had the chance to sell it. I just couldn't let her do it. And now, I think, why?! What was I thinking? Was keeping this hair dryer that important? Am I planning on sitting around with a blown-up bubble head? I don't have enough hair to make it worth my while.
I'm finding that letting go of stuff that's been around for so long has gotten easier. I just do it. My "six times a day, seven days a week, and after about three weeks" doses have worked. My apartment and, oddly enough, my waist have lost a few pounds.
And now, I have just over thirty-five boxes (and counting) of stuff ready to go to auction. I figure I might as well make some money from it. After all, it's lived in my place rent free for years, costing me money to move around, keeping it clean, and tending to, much like a college grad with a philosophy degree still living at home. Thank god it's not a real person. I'd be in really big trouble sending it to auction.
CSM
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A View of the Town: Episode 16 -- Mrs. Abigail Symons Simmons
Welcome to A View of the Town , the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in a small coastal town in Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and...
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Chapter 15 -- Group Discussion In the back parlor, Mrs. Steers and her guests came back to life. Stretching, yawning, and rubbing their ...
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Update -- I tweeked a few things. Changed a few words and some grammar. It's still not perfect, but I do tend to aim high. This is ...
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Welcome to A View of the Town , the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in a small coastal town in Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and...