Frank's Bad Day Part VII

The bus drove on through miles and miles of the same dreary town, block after block, street after street, the colors, shades and shapes repeated many times over. Frank finally decided to see if Charon would chat.

"So, why is this vehicle a bus and not a ferry boat? Why is there a grey town and no underworld of sulfur and brimstone?"

"Oh, that`s actually easier to explain than you would think. It`s not because anything was updated and modernized. It’s because of the change in human thought, perception and beliefs. What you think you see is based on your own archetypes, desires and values. Only few fragments of the original mythos remain in you. That’s why you still see my oar, and why the coin still resonates. Even though you were trained religiously as a child, you never spent much time considering the afterlife seriously, you probably just hoped you believed right and would not go to Hell, am I right?”

Frank nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah, thought so. That’s why what you see reflected around you is more about your own belief about a world of incredible boredom and quiet, grasping desperation than any traditional ideas about Hell and the Afterlife. In some ways that’s good because your destination is ‘non-traditional’ and you will be able to deal with it easier. “

"Are you saying I can only see what I am familiar with? That I am unable to see things as they truly are?"

"That`s over simplifying it. There is more to it than that. First of all, when adult humans are confronted with multiple things that do not correspond to their worldview, they actually filter their perceptions to see a more familiar world as they become more accustomed to things around them. It’s a mental filter to keep you from thinking you have lost your mind. It’s also because you don`t always have the mental vocabulary, the symbols, to be able to deal with what you are experiencing. If you remember in the book of Ezekiel in the Bible, you can see how the prophet had problems describing the heavenly beings and his descriptions didn`t make sense, because he was dealing with something outside his preconceived notions of existence"

"I guess that makes some sense, but you also said my desires and values had something to do with what I see and experience. Why is that?"

Charon smiled a slightly crooked grin and then proceeded slowly, "For millennia humans have told stories about the afterlife, most of them were just that, stories. The truth is that everyone`s experience in the afterlife varies based on who they are. Their Hell is their own personal torments; their Purgatory is based on cleansing their unique sins and failings. Their Heaven is those things that make them the happiest. Sure, there are some similarities, darkness, fire and demons exist in Hell and angels and streets of gold in Heaven, but after that the experience can vary a great deal depending on the person. Much of that is because of the power of the human imagination and how it rules the development of faith and fear. "

“Ok…So…have you always been the ferryman?”

Charon looked up at Frank in the rear view mirror, “Enough applied theology for one day, eh Frank? Yeah, it’s a lot to take in..."

He paused for about 10 seconds staring straight ahead and then answered the question, "Actually, there have been about 20,000 different ferrymen throughout the ages. We all take the name Charon. We were mortals who take the job as part of the reclamation of our souls, you know, it’s our purgatory. Some of us do the job for many years, others for a few months. I’ve been Charon for 8 years now. It’s a good gig for the most part. I was a bus driver in Newark for 30 years on earth, and I hated it. Hated working, hated people, hated my life. From the time I got back from being a soldier in Korea, there was this big black cloud over my head. I died before I was 50 and the only bright spot in my life was the love of my wife and my family. I still believed in God, but couldn’t get through the hate for some reason. Now, I’ve come to the point where I almost enjoy the work, and I feel like I’m helping people. They say the reclamation of your soul is something that occurs when you don’t expect it, when you aren’t looking for it but are busy being useful to others. You may notice, I still have some rough edges, but I’ve got nothing but time now, and I know I’m gonna see my wife Jackie and my kids…and my Lord soon. ”

Frank looked around nervously. He wasn’t used to people speaking about God like that. He wasn’t used to Charon’s type of brutal honesty, just laying out your life in front of people like meat on a grill for everyone to see. Frank had spent his life much of his adult life with very little beyond shallow conversations. His relationships had been mostly acquaintances, his romances short-lived. Real intimacy with others made him uncomfortable.

Frank's fears were allayed as he realized Charon was slowing down to pick up a group of people at the next bus stop.

Godzilla Versus the Velvet Underground.

Louzilla from Django's Ghost on Vimeo.

2 of my favorite things...Cheesy Godzilla movies and hot rock and roll. Oh yeah.

So I`m listening to Sade this morning and I think to myself, "In a steel cage death match between Seal and Sade I`d bet good money Sade could kick Seal`s butt with some kind of Xena Warrior Princess Roundhouse move.", I`m just sayin...

Frank's Bad Day Part VI

"Frank, you ready to go?" Charon asked.

"I-I guess so."

"Great, put the coin in the box and we`ll be on our way."

The driver had sat down in the driver`s seat and was pointing to the slot in the tall box next to the gearshift. What was different on this coin box was that there were 3 indicator lights under the slot: a green light with the letters SMI, a yellow light with the letters PUR, and lastly a red light with the letters INF.

"Well, where does this bus go? I`ve only got the one coin, so I have to be careful where I go."

"Frank, things are different here. You have only 2 choices: go wherever the bus takes you, or stay here. Look at your coin, you`ll understand."
Frank turned the coin over in his palm. On one side was a picture of a small boat crossing a river of fire with the word STYX under the picture, then on the other side was Frank`s name, date of birth, and today as the date of death. Frank slumped onto the bench at the bus stop and looked around slowly. He looked at the coin again.

"I don`t suppose this is a special commemorative coin from a STYX Reunion Tour?"

"Come on Frank! Whadda ya think this, a personalized concert medallion with your name, birth date and today`s date-your expiration date? Don't be a smart-ass. I don't have time for this. You know what that coin is! You know who I am. You`re worm food now, ok? ", Charon grumbled and shook his head, then finally looked at Frank again and spoke a little softer.

"The thing is this, the fear and dread of where this bus is going is a thousand times worse than anywhere I can take you. You also remember the little creature that you fought 5 minutes ago? He's not the worst thing that you could run into if you hang around here. The rules are this: no coin, no ride for 100 years. I understand It`s a big change, but you still exist, and you need to either man up and put your coin in the slot to face your destiny, or get off the bus and wander the streets of this grey town until you grow a pair. "

Frank didn`t say a word. He stood up, boarded the bus and put the coin in the slot. The three lights flashed on and off repeatedly, cycling through each one for several seconds. Finally it stopped on SMI. Franked looked up at Charon, quizzically,"Where is SMI?"

Charon looked up happily, "Hey, good for you. You don't have to pack your burn cream! Cheer up Bubula, things are looking up! I can't tell you more than that. You'll know soon enough, just know that its probably the best you could do down here. ", Charon closed the door with that happy "swoosh" noise and put the bus in gear.

Frank didn't say anything and took a seat behind Charon. Charon began to whistle a happy tune, then he began to sing in a lovely tenor voice,

"Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.
So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath. "*

Frank groaned and rolled his eyes…then began to whistle along. It was the happiest he had felt all day.

("Always Look On the Bright Side of Life"-Eric Idle)

Frank's Bad Day Part V

The creature spoke slowly since the boat oar was crushing its neck, "Charon...just a... misunderstanding. Trying to help...it thought I was stealing...attacked me first...". "You know, if you were a better liar, you might get a better duty assignment than harrassing the new arrivals. Frank, pick up your coin and wait at the bus stop. As for you, this is your last chance. If you interfere with me picking up my fares again, I will throw you in the river and that will be the end of you for good, are we clear?" The busdriver punctuated the question by twisting the oar to cause the maximum amount of discomfort and then suddenly releasing his grip. The creature rubbed his neck, made a hissing noise and then bolted to the storm sewer grate.                    

 

Frank walked back to the bus stop and waited for the driver. The bus driver was about five foot, eight inches tall. He was slightly overweight, but it was obvious that there was some hard muscle under the soft coating of fat. He wore a brown uniform with a light zip khaki jacket. He walked briskly, with a hint of a swagger. He had a face that though it appeared a little stern, it gave you the impression that he was a friendly soul. He carried himself with the bearing of a gentleman, kind to women and children, straight dealing with men of his own caliber, but no patience for fools or mean-hearted people. Frank did not know why, but he instinctively liked him immediately.

Frank's Bad Day Part IV

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw something to his right reflect
in the dim light. There, out in the street, was large dull metal coin
lying where he had woken up. It must have fallen out of his pocket
when he got up. Frank began to hurry towards the coin. Meanwhile, a
small black creature, the size of a small monkey crawled out of the
storm sewers. It was about sixteen inches tall and was covered with
greasy fur that went in every direction. It was hunched over and
rested its knuckles on the ground as it watched Frank hurry to pick up
the coin. The creature then started jumping up and down and screaming.
It was a noise that was a mixture of a rabbit dying, and hyena
laughing. An amazing volume of sound came out of this small creature.
Finally, it bolted towards the coin. It was closer to the coin, and
was running at full sprint now. Frank calculated he might not make it
time and prepared to jump so he could tackle the creature to get the
coin. He could hear the bus getting closer in the distance. The
creature got there first and snatched the coin up and continued
running full out. It began chattering something that sounded like a
high-pitched laughing taunt.
Frank leapt into the air and came down hard on the asphalt, only
managing to grasp the creature's tail. The air brakes on the bus let
out a hiss as the bus stopped next to the bench. Frank heard the door
"whoosh" open. The creature shrieked and turned around to attack Frank
with a fury that caused him to forget it was only 16 inches tall. It
was a blur of claws and teeth and the worst smell Frank had ever
encountered emanating from every pore of the creature's skin. Because
of its small size and speed he could not keep grasp it properly
without being scratched or bitten. Frank finally slammed the creature
to the ground and had decided the coin wasn't worth it. At the almost
the same moment it hit the ground a weather-beaten wooden oar pinned
the creature to the ground at its neck. The creature was gasping for
air.
A loud booming voice that seemed attached to the oar spoke slowly,
"You know you aren't allowed here.. let go of the coin and I'll let
you go back to the sewers. Otherwise, I'll split you in half…What's it
gonna be?". The creature let the coin fall to the ground and finally
spoke.

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**Visit John Homan's weblog @ http://casadejuanito.blogspot.com  ***

Frank's Bad Day - Part III

Frank sat down on a bench by the bus stop. He was confused and tired and not sure what to do next. At 2:59 pm this afternoon he had stopped at his favorite coffee shop to get an iced coffee on his break from the call center. The attractive hippy-chick barista was there and he had lingered five minutes trying to make some points so he could finally ask her out. As he ran to make it back to the office, he stepped off the curb and directly into the mosquito splattered grill of a city bus. He then proceded to bounce off a Little Debbie delivery van. After that it had went all black for God knows how long until he woke up here... "Wherever here is." he thought.

"I don`t think it`s Heaven, and though its drab and depressing, it doesn`t seem like it`s bad enough to be Hell. It`s nothing like anything I learned in Catechism, or from Sister Mary Margaret at Theology class at St. Jude's High School. Maybe I'm lying in a bed in the ICU at Cook County and am having a Morphine-induced hallucination...still, I've got a pretty good imagination, you'd think I could do better than this. I mean seriously, it looks a civil engineering project between a very drab neighborhood association president and someone from the IRS. Whatever it is, I want out...or at least find somewhere a little less mind-numbingly boring to hang out until this ends. I wonder when the bus shows up around here?"

Frank looked at the bus stop sign for some kind of schedule and found this:

NEW-ARTS Bus Schedule

7:30 am

8:30 am

Noon

1:00 pm

4:00 pm

5:00 pm

7:00 pm

9:00 pm

All times are local-please change your watch upon arrival.

Please have your NEWAR token or SMI pass-NO EXCEPTIONS

It was 3:50 pm according to the nearest clock on the street. Frank felt in his pockets, and he had nothing-no wallet, no phone, no change-absolutely nothing. He squinted to the west and could see something moving on the road. The bus was early...

Frank's Bad Day - Part II

Oblivion is not easily described. Asking someone to describe oblivion
as anything beyond a great void of nothingness seems like a creative
writing assignment given by a sadistic, overly tenured English
professor to wide-eyed freshman. "In 10,000 words or more, thoroughly explore the concept of oblivion, using at least 4 classic sources and 3 contemporary sources, comparing various religious, nihilist and existentialist philosophies. This assignment is due by next Wednesday. It is worth 30% of the grade for this course."

Frank was in oblivion. Besides the utter lack of stimuli, there was no ability to ponder his condition, only a numb sensation that he still existed and nothing more. He couldn`t ponder the passage of time, neither any dimensions of the space that he existed in. It was like he was a baby again and the entire universe was playing a really long game of Peek-a-Boo. Whatever amount of time passed, Frank finally felt a new sensation. He was cold. Not the crisp cold of winter that
energizes you to move, but the kind of cold you feel when someone takes your blanket when you were sleeping comfortably and you begin to wake up earlier than you would like. You lie there hoping you don't have to get up, but not really resting either. You are in a state that does not have the benefits of wakefulness or of sleeping, but simply don't care enough to change. This describes not only Frank's condition, but much of our own lives; between the sweet sleep of death and the wakefulness of a life well lived, we sleepily shiver in mediocrity, not caring, but not satisfied either.

Finally, with nothing else better to do, he awoke. Opening his eyes, Frank stared into a slate gray sky. It seemed like dusk, but without a colorful sunset, just a vague, almost unhappy light reflecting from an indistinct horizon. It was cold, as if it was the end of fall just before winter began in earnest.

Struggling to his feet, Frank tried to determine where he was. He was in the middle of a street, but it was silent, deserted and clean. It led so far into the distance that it looked like an exercise in perspective in an art class. The street was faced by non-descript storefronts painted in the most boring hues of grey, olive and brown. Even those stores with display windows showcased drab wares that only seemed to be available in the same insipid monochromatic hues as the
rest of this world. There were no street lights, no cars, just the odd bus stop with benches and trash cans in the same monotonous palette. The only thing that was close to being out of the ordinary was the large antique brass clocks mounted on dark metal stands on every third street corner. Wherever he was, it was nothing like Chicago, with its cluttered streets, noisy traffic and garish storefronts. It was an altogether depressing landscape that could have sucked the perkiness out of the leader of a high school cheerleader's booster club.

If the people at the Dyson company and Kenny G could join forces it would result in the most powerful force of suction the universe has ever known.

Frank's Bad Day Part I

Frank had never really contemplated the size of a city
bus.

Sure, he saw them as he walked the streets of Chicago,
but he normally drove everywhere, insulated in the
white noise of his XM radio and air conditioning in his
sensible mid-size sedan from the sweaty masses that
frequented public transportation.

However, today when Frank absentmindedly stepped off
the curb onto the busy street, he thought about busses
in a very concrete way as he was hit by bus 304 on the
Crosstown Express.

In the milleseconds that followed the impact, Frank
sailed through the air, entering the intersection of
Lakeshore and Michigan. During this time, Frank
pondered the mass, size and speed of the bus. If the
bus had been an animal it would have been as fearsome
as a T-Rex, but instead it was as domesticated as some
giant aluminum dachsand on wheels.

Before Frank could further ponder the anthropomorphic
aspects of the bus that hit him, his skull and spine
came into contact with the side of a Little Debbie
Cakes delivery truck and he crumbled to the asaphalt
like a rag doll. Frank had a secret love for Little
Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies. He would get one after
spinning class at the Y every Wednesday, so the irony
of this was not lost on him. Before his eyes rolled
back into his head and he blacked out, Frank looked
up at the side of the truck and thought,
"Well, I always knew they were bad for me."

Frank's Bad Day: An Introduction

Frank`s Bad Day started as a silly dark story about a guy who gets hit by a bus. Somehow I wasn`t content to let him lie in the street, and decided to send him on a trip through the afterlife. I felt it was necessary to express that this story bares no relation to my own theologic views. As an Evangelical Protestant, I do not believe in Purgatory, I think that faith in the sacrifice of Christ on the cross was enough to get us to heaven. That said, I was drawn to writing about a different version of Purgatory after I read the C.S. Lewis book, The Great Divorce, about people who could take a bus ride from Hell to Heaven and stay in Heaven if they wanted to. Lewis used the story to make some very good points about sin and human nature and essentially that people choose their eternal destinations, it's not thrust upon them. There was also a portion in The Christmas Carol that gave me an idea for this story. So I'm stealing from C.S. Lewis and Charles Dickens, which I'm sure you will agree are very good people to steal from. I really like writing fiction with dialogue because its like writing an essay but letting the thoughts develop through the story instead of just trying to convince someone by rhetoric. One of the interesting things about this story is that I write it on mainly on my new phone (it's got a qwerty keyboard-like a Blackberry) and then I email it to Blogger when I have a chapter done. I had heard about a lady in Japan who wrote a book this way and thought it was a good idea. Hope you like it, if not, I will certainly understand, but I may be tempted to think less of your literary taste... (not really). John

Click here to read part I

The cats seem to hasten to escape my my Celtic tribal drum music. Bagpipes and Digerridoo with four different types of tribal drums must not meet their cultural sensibilities I guess.

Big giant salad has agreed to be my friend.

I am considering copyrighting The phrase "I will be on that like hunky on Hasselhoff" .

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Stephen Perkins Hits Every Cymbal at Guitar Center

Frank's Bad Day Part 16

"Yoo hoo...Sleeping Beauty? I say, perhaps you could endeavor to join us for a moment?"
The voice entered the oblivion of sleep Frank had been enjoying for an unkown period of time. It was a British voice, thick with sarcasm and a lower middle class accent. Frank had spent a summer with his aunt Daisy in the south of Great Britain. She had always described herself as "dead common", but she loved to make a game of "playing posh" when they would go shopping or out for tea. She would act like an Earl's wife from Cornwall and introduce Frank as her nephew from Barcelona and he would speak what little Spanish he learned from his Mom and Grandma, and they would have a great time. They would laugh when they fooled people and laugh even harder when they were found out, generally by a sharp-eared Cockney that noticed that Aunt Daisy's "aitches" were not up to standard. After a summer with Aunt Daisy Frank could pick out the most common accents in the UK like an intern to Professor Henry Higgins.

"Do wake up now, please. We need to get started."
Frank had hoped the voice would go away, but after several minutes it returned. Most put-on accents start to show little cracks in their uniformity and this voice was no exception.

"Oy! Ah'm talkin' to you, mate! Wakie, wakie!"
The voice punctuated the last phrase by poking Frank's nose, not in a hard or painful way, but incredibly annoying nonetheless.

"I'll wake up if you stop poking me!", Frank groaned.

"There's a good man! Can I get you a cuppa'?"
Frank raised himself to his elbows and paused while the pain subsided.
"A cuppa?...Oh, yes, tea...Sounds great, two sugars, no milk please" , Frank propped himself up in bed and took a cup and saucer from the grey haired man sitting next to his bed. The man had long unruly white hair, pulled back in a pigtail, but little wisps of hair had broken free and hung limply on the side of his head. His skin was very pale, as white as Frank had ever seen on a living person. He wore a three piece charcoal pinstripe suit. It was showing its age, but was well taken care of. Attached to his vest was a long, jangly chain, presumably for a watch, but the links were as thick as a chain you would use to secure an enthusiastic junkyard dog to steel stake buried in cement. The man had shiny black shoes with large brass buckles and a hint of white silk stockings.
"Right-o, sorry its not proper tea, just packets down here...probably won't matter that much to you, being an American."
"I've had proper tea before, but I prefer coffee. Mmmm, that's pretty good for packets."
"Thanks. Horrible stuff coffee, in my day it was only drank by nervous Frenchman and rich layabouts trying to seem more Continental than British."
"I don't know about that, but coffee gets ya goin' faster than tea... Maybe that's not always a good thing though. I spent my life rushing around. I don't have much to show for it. Maybe I should have had more tea and more chats, more friends and less earthly success."
"Yes, rather...Good thing that, giving thought to your ways. Shame we didn't do more of that while we were on earth, what, what? Might not have ended up here, eh? You got it right enough to end up here instead of the fiery furnace. Lack of real tea is the least of those poor bugger's problems...ah well, good chat, lets get to business then. I am Mr. M, or simply M for the overly casual Americans. I've given up some measure of decorum since so much of my work force is polluted", he grinned a slightly wicked smile and winked. Frank immediately liked his new boss.
"I'm Frank Hernandez, Mr. M. I'm glad to meet you." The two men shook hands firmly.
"I'm afraid I have no resume or application to hand you. You'll have to ask me any questions you may have about me."
"Mr. Hernandez, SMI is actually part of Purgatory, so we have access to their sources of heavenly information. I have already spent some time looking at your files. We have looked at your history, accomplishments, failures and have a fairly good idea of who you are and where you can fit into our organization."
"First off, if you know everything about me, please call me Frank. Of course, I will still call you Mr. M. Secondly, are you going to give me a summary of what you have discovered about me so I can understand why I'm here, and what I need to do to leave here?"
"Of course Frank, we'll start with that first off."

Rudolph Remixed

Word count for Saturday, November 27th

Well, I'm not up to the 20k I wanted to get to, but I'm still moving.

For the last two days my word count is 3982 words, bringing it to
15,763 words total.

“There are men too gentle to live among wolves”

I had read this poem several times and really liked it.
Thought I would share it with you.


“There are men too gentle to live among wolves”

A Poem by James Kavanaugh

There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who prey upon them with IBM eyes
And sell their hearts and guts for martinis at noon.
There are men too gentle for a savage world
Who dream instead of snow and children and Halloween
And wonder if the leaves will change their color soon.

There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who anoint them for burial with greedy claws
And murder then for a merchant's profit and gain.
There are men too gentle for a corporate world
Who dream instead of candied apples and ferris wheels
And pause to hear the distant whistle of a train.

There are men too gentle to live among wolves.
Who devour them with eager appetite and search
For other men to prey upon and suck their childhood dry.
There are men too gentle for an accountant's world
Who dream instead of Easter eggs and fragrant grass
And search for beauty in the mystery of the sky.

There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who toss them like a lost and wounded dove.
Such gentle men are lonely in a merchant's world.
Unless they have a gentle one to love.

Word Count for Sunday, November 21st

I know any of you who may be reading the blog wondered where was the word count lately were wondering if I had given up. Well, I had a tough week with some writer's block and a little motivation problem, but I'm back on the horse.

3149 words today bringing it to a grand total of 10,623 and 44 pages. This is the most words I have written in a day on this product. The 10k figure was like a wall. I think I can get to 20k now. Gonna shoot for this weekend since I'm not going to fight the black friday crowds this year.

Word count for Sunday, November 14

1213 words, total of 7474 words total.

Word Count for Saturday, November 13th

Chapter 4 is now up to 1815 words. Overall word cound is 6261 words.

Carol Burnett Show outtakes - Tim Conway's Elephant Story

Raving Roto-Toms!!!

Guest Post

Here's a guest post from my Mom, Artyce Homan. She's been in a writing class and is producing some very good stuff. Enjoy.


As I recall my childhood, I don't recall many times when our family went on vacation. We lived in Calif. and did take a few trips to see relatives in Oklahoma, but the one trip that I especially remember, was a trip to Yosemite National Park. My Father was a welder by trade, and my Mother was a person who was far ahead of her time... she was a jack of all trades, and master at many.

One of the things she was especially good at: building things with wood...Before we moved from OKlahoma, my father had built a frame for a house trailer to live in. I'm not sure how long it was, but I think it must have been around 20 feet long. My Mother built the rest of the trailer, and my family used it in different ways for a lot of years. Of course, it had no bathroom, but it had everything else needed. By the time, we had lived in California a few years, my Mother rebuilt the trailer to a model which would be similar now to pop up tent trailers.

That is what we took to Yosemite. My Mother always loved to build picnic boxes. The size would be about 4 X 4 feet. She had little spaces for everything you would need to cook out... places for plates, and silverware, salt & pepper and all the utensils and food and anything else she could think of. So,we took the little camping trailer, and the picnic box...and whatever else we needed and headed to Yosemite.

There were 6 of us: my Mom and Dad, my brother, Al and his new wife, Vi, plus their little pomeranian puppy,and my sister, Lois and I can't imagine how we all fit in that 33 Plymouth that my Dad loved so much. I do remember trying to get over the Tioga Pass. The historic pass was so steep, that we all had to get out of the car, and walk, so my dad could have enough power in the car, to pull the trailer over the hill...

Finally we got to Camp Curry, the place where everyone camped who went to Yosemite. While we were there, we went to see all the beautiful water falls, and huge rocks and so many other sights that are only to be seen there. One of the most awesome experiences for me as a child though was sitting in the amphitheater...waiting for it to get dark.Most everyone has seen pictures or heard about the big dome at Yosemite. I think its called El Capitan. The place where we all sat and waited was at the bottom of that huge rock...but far enough away to see the top of the huge mountain. As we waited, we saw the fire on the top of the mountain. Finally, we heard the man at the bottom of the mountain,say "Let the Fire Fall". Then the men at the top began to push the fire...I think they must have had a bulldozer because it seemed so huge...anyway, they pushed the fire over the huge rock down to the bottom...and it was a like a huge fire waterfall...what an awesome sight to see!. I will never forget it.

After the program was over, we went back to our campsite,had a snack and got ready for bed. I have often wondered where we all slept, but I know my Mom had that all worked out... As the camp settled down and people got quiet, we began to hear someone in the camp playing an accordion...I can still remember the awesome sound as it echoed in the mountains... We never knew which camper it was, as he played quietly those nights, but the song I do remember was the song that was popular in those days... it went like this:

"You can't be true, dear. Theres nothing more to say.
I trusted you dear, hoping we'd find a way.
Your kisses tell me that you and I are through.
But I'll keep loving you, although you can't be true."

Even though the words of the song are sad...the music was so beautiful.It was an awesome experience for such a small child and the memories will always be special to me.

I have never been back to Yosemite, but from what I understand, Yosemite is completely changed these days. I have heard that there are so many visitors now that to protect the park, no one is allowed to drive into some of those places anymore. People can only get there by taking a shuttle. I have also read that now,even the concession stands are contracted out to companies from Japan and other countries...

So, I will always remember that vacation, and be thankful that I had the
opportunity to be there in a simpler time.I never really appreciated all my parents' talents until I got older and they were gone...but I do have some great memories, and I am thankful.

Word Count for Wednesday, 11/10/10

Back on the horse again, after research and coming with -Gasp!- a plan for this chapter I got 862 words done, total count is now 5308.

There would have been more, but something as mundane as doing the dishes intervened. I guess someone isn't content to eat milk and cereal without her precious big spoons...the things that an artist has to put up with.

Word Count for Monday November 8th

Ok, my consistency is amazing-I have exactly the same as yesterday! Nothing!

But the thing is I spent 3 hours in research and have 10 pages of text to compare and summarize for my new chapter. Yikes! Can't I just make this stuff up and hope for the best? I wonder if anyone would notice-I could call it a fictional-memoiric-non-fiction-nouveau-genre...Yeah, that sounds good.

Fly Pup

Word count for Sunday Afternoon

Nothing-not a doggone thing. I went out for pancakes and then came home and took a nap. That's a proper Sunday afternoon-What? What?

Drill Seargeant Therapy