Friday Fantasy Part 2 Darfrain’s Confrontation

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Image by Epona Schweer

via Flickr

This  fantasy fiction is one that has been plaguing my thoughts with continued ideas and visions for weeks, soon to be months.  It is a story inspired by my niece, Pony, who is an exceptional artist.  I found her drawings on Flickr, and she has graciously allowed me the use of them to help illustrate this story.  I am deeply indebted to her,  for her amazing artistry that spurred my dormant imagination into action. 

The story deals with Elves, Druids, Dwarves, Man, and who knows what other creatures will be developed within my imagination.  Some I already have figured out, simply because I have seen the drawings, and just have to create a character to match  the art. The drawing to the left is  Tirashar minus her thieves cloak. If you read the first part, tell me did I do her justice.

You can catch up by reading the first chapter posted on my first ever Friday Fantasy here.  I hope to make it a weekly series.  Please feel free to comment and critique.

 

The strangers rode quickly from the village, just recently met, yet not one knew the other nor anything about them.  A silent competent trust had been felt from the moment of acquaintance.  Tirashar could not understand why she trusted this Elf, she didn’t even know his name.  She had no idea why he had helped her.  This was a time when people minded their own business, and avoided getting involved in another's troubles.  Tirashar for that mater could not understand what had come over her.  She should not have gotten involved with the troubles between Tabitha and that pig of a pub keeper.  She decided that it must have been her destiny pushing her along from the depths of her subconscious mind.   She could not stand men who mistreated women as that foolish, greedy, pig had. 

 

As they rounded a curve in the cart path, the Elf raced up beside Tirashar on his large white stallion.  “I saw them all running out of the pub.  There will be a pursuit, it’s just a mater of time.  There’s a clearing ahead, I’m going to drop into the trees there, and set a few traps for our pursuers.  Keep going past the clearing to the next curve in the road.  Just after it, you will find a faint trail to the right.  Take it, and I will catch up as as quickly as I can.  If I don’t, keep riding that trail, my village is two days ride, high on the mountain.  When you get there, tell them Darfrain sent you to talk with Cloemillia, one of the elders.”  Darfrain then turned his mount, and rode into the trees.

 

Tirashar urged her mare on a little faster.  What in the name of the Gods am I doing, why do I trust him, I don’t even know him.  She thought to herself, trying to reason through her options and decide what to do.  Before she knew it, she was through the clearing and rounding the next curve in the road.  Her eyes traced along the side of the road, spotting the trail almost immediately.  That trail is nearly invisible, how is it possible I saw it so easily.  Her thoughts were a jumble, thing were simply happening too fast.  Without thinking, she turned the mare down the hidden trail.  Stopping, she jumped off and went back to the edge of the road.  Using a branch from an evergreen tree, she swept away all trace of her passing.  She arranged the rocks and branches of bushes at the trail entrance to help obscure it from the casual observer. 

 

Tabitha was sitting on the back of the mare when she returned, hunched over, arms wrapped around herself, shivering, trying to find warmth from within.  Tirashar finally realizing Tabitha had no cloak or shoes, reached into her pack behind the saddle, withdrew another cloak and a pair of moccasin style boots.  “Tabitha, put these on, it’s all I have but they should keep you warm for a while until we can get something else.”  Tabitha gratefully took the cloak and wrapped it around herself, then put on the boots, taking the time to tie them properly before closing and tying  the cloak then pulling the hood over her head.  “I wish you would have said something before, we could have taken something from the pub to help keep you warm.”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to leave me behind.” Tabitha said, a look of shame mixed with fear crossed her face, showing what a timid person she had become.

 

“It’s all right Tabitha, I just didn’t know you had no cloak or even shoes.  No wonder you had never left before this.”  Tirashar said with compassion.  Mounting once again, Tirashar headed up the trail into the unknown.

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Before the edge of the clearing, Darfrain stayed back in the trees busying himself with the surprises he was preparing for their pursuers.  From his pack he took a light weight, very strong rope.  It was very thin, and had a silver color to it when rolled up.  Stretched out though it was nearly invisible, a special rope given to him by Cloemillia.  It was made of a special fiber from a spiders web, woven carefully by the Elves.  The rope had a strength equal to a normal hemp line five times it’s size, yet was nearly impossible to see.  Darfrain tied it to a tree, and stretched it across the trail being sure it was high enough a horse could walk underneath, but a rider would be caught by it.   Moving a little farther along, he set a few snares with the same kind of rope.  They would slow down the pursuers, but should not hurt anyone, just make them cautious. 

 

Moving up the road a little, he found a group of rocks that provided some cover and concealment.  Picketing his horse back in the trees out of site, Darfrain settled down amongst the boulders, laying out four arrows.  Notching another in his bow, readying it for action.  Removing his cloak so as not to hamper his movements, he sat back watching and waiting. 

 

Darfrain didn’t have to wait long.  There was a series of shouts and curses and three horses came running into the clearing rider less.   A short time later, he heard more curses and exclamations from the men on foot that were caught by the snares.  Before long, five men came into the clearing, two were walking beside their mounts, looking at the ground in front of them, moving slowly and cautiously.   One was the mercenary from the pub, one was the pub keeper, Faroje, and three other men, Darfrain had not seen before.  He wondered if this was all, waiting a little longer, letting them close the distance just a little bit. 

 

Aiming for the ground in front of the horses, Darfrain leg go one, then another arrow, spooking the horses, causing them to rear up and pull free of their masters.  The horses ran off,  joining the other three in the clearing.  Darfrain notched another arrow, and shot the pack of one of the newcomers.  Notching concept_2003yet another arrow, Darfrain stood, “You can turn around and return to your little pub and treacherous lives, or you can advance and perish one by one.”

 

The men on the trail saw a tall muscular looking Elf wearing an armored suit unlike anything they had ever seen.  It had a serpentine appearance, complete with scales, and conjured up subconscious fears of dragons and other creatures.  The armor served more purpose than protection, it was designed to instill fear.  It’s design was working to it’s secondary purpose.  Two of the unknown men backed up and started moving toward the road, away from Darfrain.

 

“You can’t get us all.” The mercenary said with confidence.

 

“I can take three of you before you get to me… and you will be the first.  Besides look behind you, you’re already losing your support.” Darfrain said in a spiteful voice.

 

“Faroje, is she really worth this trouble, I think not.” Said the mercenary as he turned to Faroje.

 

“Who are you and why do you care about this lone woman?” Faroje asked.

 

“My name if Darfrain, and I only just met your woman, or is it slave, and her companion.  I care only that they are treated well, and free of your tyrannous grip.”

 

The mercenary, calculating his chances, and not liking them one bit, turned and strode to the clearing. collecting his horse he headed back to the comfort and warmth of the pub.  There wasn’t enough profit in it for him, and far to high a potential cost.  Seeing this the last man left Faroje’s side, catching up his horse and headed back also.  “Cowards, he’s just one man, not even a man, an Elf.” Faroje said with impudence.

 

“Faroje is it? You seem to have lost all of your help.  Surely you don’t think you have a chance against me.  You have been too lazy for too long, and are sorely out of shape.  Think long and hard before you attempt to follow again, for this Elf will have your stinking filthy hide stretched over an ant hill before it’s over.” Darfrain said, his voice dripping with disdain.

 

“I'll find a way to get you, I’ll find a way.  You had better watch your back Darfrain, for when you expect it least, you’ll receive your due compensation.”  Faroje spat as he turned and headed back to his pub, grabbing his horse along the way.

 

Darfrain collected his arrows, and cloak, moving to his horse, he mounted and continued on.  At the curve in the road, he took the trail, and glanced appreciatively at the efforts of Tirashar to hide her passing.  This girl is smart and strong. he thought to himself.  He wanted to catch up with them quickly, hopefully before they stopped to make camp.

 

**To Be Continued – Part 3 Tabitha’s Story**

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Friday Fantasy - Tirashar's Story by Eric K. Schweer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at smalltownmountainboy.blogspot.com.
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Reminiscent Wednesday

A tree covered with Snow

Image via Wikipedia

The snow covered mountains, are a scene of unmatched beauty.  I especially loved waking  to a fresh snowfall, that seemed to blanket everything around in a clean  fresh covering of white.   The feeling of a fresh start, or perhaps a new beginning.  As if Mother Nature is giving all of her creations a chance to start anew.  The  billowy comfort of a natural blanket to protect and hide all.  Protection from the cold ravages of winters grip.

 

I treasure the memories of  mornings waking to find, fresh,  light, waist deep powder.  I loved these days more than any other.  I enjoyed going out and walking around making new trails through the snow, reveling in  the  silence.  The feeling of the the powder brushing around my pant legs as I walk along.  The texture of the soft powdery snow, so light, fragile, and wet.  The crisp, clean and clear air, always common after a fresh snowfall.  The simple pleasures and beauty of winters wonder.

 

Those days always brought back memories of the weekends spent at Indian Mountain, a private ski area in a Local subdivision.  My father designed and built it on a central hill, for the home owners association.  We ran it on weekends, each of us assigned a task or job.  Kel, the ski instructor, Tinaliegh ran the concession stand, Toad (we called him that all the time) and I, the lift shacks,  Dad ran the lift and handled all ski patrol duties. The primary lift was an old Poma lift, where you road a pole with a disk seat on the base, by placing it between your legs, and letting it pull you up the hill.  There were two lift shacks other than the main one at the base, midway and the upper shack.  My brother and I would trade off between the two shacks, watching for skiers who fell and got hung up, or just failed to let go.  If this happened we had a kill switch we could use to stop the lift.  At the midway spot you could turn your skis sideways, and create some resistance.  Then at just the right time, you straighten out and be launched over the midway offload platform.  Toad and I would have competitions to see who could get the most air.   If you were real courageous, you could ride it back down down, dangling  about 50 feet or so off the ground.  I can remember Dad just about having a fit, seeing me hanging up there skis dangling, grinning from ear to ear.  There was also a small rope tow for the kiddy hill, seldom used in my memory. 

 

We had plenty of opportunity to ski also.  Dad taught me to ski there,  when I was just three years old.  Holding me between his legs as he put his ski’s in a wedge to “snowplow” and show me how to turn and navigate the slopes.  By the time I was 10, I was skiing pretty darn good, and had been running a lift shack for about 3 years.  There were five primary runs, but I can’t remember the names of them.  I’m sure Kel will have them tucked away in her memory banks, she painted the map of the ski area on a four foot by four foot piece of plywood.  We had the run of the place, and knew every nook and cranny.  Toad and I had forts all over the mountain, and would spend hours playing Cowboys and Indians or war games. 

 

There was a lot of work too, but Dad always made it feel more like fun.  Many times, we would have to shovel snow out of the trees, and drag it on a sled out to the slopes to cover bare spots. Many a snowball fight was started during these times.  There were long nights packing the snow using snowmobiles, because the snow cat would uncover more dirt.  Dad would tie inner tubes behind the snowmobiles, and drag us around while he packed the snow.  He seemed to get a distinct pleasure out of running over small aspen trees and willows so they would slap up through the center of the tube, smacking us in the rear.   That ski area was his pride and joy, and took more hours of his time than we ever knew.

 

The ride out there was just as much fun as the rest of it.  All four of us crammed into the cab of Sheasta, dad driving.  Singing along to songs on the radio like Sneaky Snake, Guitarzan, Phantom 409, Teddy Bare, and so many others.  The never ending riddle of Sheasta, the intrepid faithful old yellow Chevy, “She has ta have gas, She has ta have water, She has ta have oil”.   Of course there was a litany of other completely ridiculous  things “She has ta have” created by our childish minds.  Dad sitting back with that devilish grin of his enjoying the silly thoughts of his kids.  That old truck plays such a prominent role in many of my  childhood memories.

 

The ski area is no longer there.  Houses have been built on the back bowls, and a Frisbee-golf course set up on the front slopes.  The lodge is still there,  used as a community center for meeting and gatherings now.  The old lifts are long gone, the only remnants being the huge concrete bases of the support towers.   The memories however are fresh, and will continue to thrive in my conscious.   I will forever remember the love and companionship of my father and siblings from those wonderful, snow filled, fun, days. 

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Monday’s Writers of the Web

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Image by harold.lloyd (yay! yay? YAY!) via Flickr

Monday once again…. Yawn, Stretch, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.  I awoke to the shock of realizing I was two hours late for work.  Ohh boy J.J. is gonna be pissed.  Lucky for me, we had nothing pressing to do today.  The last two days I have hit my down cycle.  Some of you know me, and are aware of my really strange sleep schedule.  Three hours a night for about three weeks, and the bam death to the conscious mind for two days.  Not a good way to start out the week.  Well, I guess I bring it on myself, and just have to deal with it.  So let me get on with Monday’s Writers of the Web.

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After Fridays Fantasy, I received a ton of very nice and helpful input.  You guys  are wonderful.   One of the people who left a comment was DragonBlogger, a talented poet and evidently pretty darn good at fantasy fiction.  We ended up, or maybe it was started out, Twittering back and forth.  He sent me a link to a Fantasy he wrote titled, The Rescue.  A great story, loaded with action and suspense, well worth a read.  It is an unfinished short story, but has the quality to stand on it’s own.  Maybe he’ll get the time between poems to finish the story and share it with us all.  He also has a great poetry site, Wonderer Thoughts.  It’s up for an award, and he would appreciate it if you could go by and cast a vote.  Voting does require a registration, but it’s quick and easy. 

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Another commenter, humm a trend is developing here, Wyatt at Pan Historia, dropped by to give me kudos.  He writes fiction, and maintains a couple of collaborative fiction sites.  A current story he’s working on, The Bitter Sky, is a sci-fi collaborative project. 

“Twenty years or so into the future and the world is radically different from the one we know. Yellow Stone, a mega volcano, destroyed the North America continent and began a nuclear winter that still covers the Earth in ash and cold. 75% of life on the planet has ceased to exist. On the small island nation of the United Kingdom there is some semblance of civilization left – as well as a return to barbarism.”

It’s an enticing storyline, and as I understand it , playing out in a collaborative forum.  I have signed up for the forum, but have not gotten too serious with it yet.   I’ll let you know what it’s all about as I get involved, in my spare time . Wyatt also has a WordPress site, called Wyatt’s Writing, where he showcases the result of his collaborative  and role play writing. 

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I found a really interesting blog.  It’s a fictional journal, written in the characters voice.  A fun and very unique read, Fate’s Acquittal, gives a new approach to fiction writing.  The site is laid out in a user friendly way, with navigable links to help a reader catch up, and get to know the characters.  It’s a fun read, and really creative, well worth the visit.

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Then we have 365 Tomorrows, a site that posts “Flash Fiction” from various writers. 

“365 tomorrows is a collaborative project designed to present readers with a new piece of short speculative ‘flash’ fiction each day. Using the broad palette of science fiction, our vision of the future creates a diverse pool of stories with something for everyone to enjoy.”

-from the about page of 365 Tomorrows.

I may have to get into some of this flash fiction, it feels like a style I could get into.  Short fun bursts of imagination and vision of future worlds, what fun.

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Friday Fantasy Part 1 Faroje’s Pub

Michelle_Char
Images by Epona Schweer via Flickr
The following is the start of a story that has been playing out in my head for the better part of a week now. Years past I loved to read fantasy, and still do from time to time. I have not decided on a title for the story, however a large portion of it has framed itself so clearly within my imagination it’s hard not to write it all out. I’m going to try to do chapters or chapter parts on Fridays Fantasy.

The story is about a young girl, of mixed decent, Elf and Druid, who is setting out on a search for her father, whom she does not know. I’m open for suggestions of a title.


The pub was dimly lit by candles, and the warm glow from the hearth fire. People were gathered at tables around the fire trying to gain a little warmth. It was a bitterly cold night, the winds howling out of the northern mountains. The pub keeper, Faroje, knew just about everything that went on in the small village, manipulating it to his advantage at every opportunity. Faroje was a heavyset man, greasy black hair matted across the top of his head. Dressed in an unkempt dirty set of clothes, complete with stained smock and pantaloons. He had one eye covered with a patch, and was missing most of his teeth, giving him a ghoulish look. He was known for being hard of hearing, just as he intended to be. Often acting as if he hadn’t heard a customers order, causing them to repeat their request just a little louder. Because of it, many a patron had spoken more loudly than they should have about their current endeavors, believing Faroje couldn’t hear them.

Tirashar, had stepped into the pub, and directly to the side of the doorway. Trying to stay in the shadows, she wanted to get a view of those present, and a feel for the activity of this gathering place. She watched closely as men milled around the fire, so inviting the flames were. She held herself still, striving for immobility. She had found many a time that just by being still, many people would never noticed her presence. She was cold and desperately wanted to close the distance to the fire simply for the warmth it promised. Fighting back the temptation, she pulled her cloak closer, and continued her visual reconnaissance of the pub. Past times had proven to her the value of being aware of everything and everyone in any particular place.
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Her cloak, she often thought of it as her thieves cloak, casting shadows over her smooth yet angular facial features. The errant strands of fine coral hair that frequently cascaded down around her face added to the shadows. The intelligent, penetrating eyes, blue green with a hint of grey that added a silvery sparkle, intently scanned the room. Tirashar was a slender, well shaped young lady of Elfin Nordic decent, sharing characteristics of each. The facial features and slightly pale, almost grayish shin tone were distinctly Elfin. While many of her body features, taller and more robust than any Elf, were discernibly of the Nordic traits. The long nearly floor length cloak hid all shape or form from its viewers, making it difficult to even determine what gender stood before them, just as Tirashar liked it.

Faroje had a steel trap of a mind, with a nearly perfect memory for faces and names. When he saw the person standing just inside the door to his pub, he was immediately curious as to the identity of this new arrival. He had never seen this one around before, and he/she was acting suspicious, as if trying to hide something. Patience my friend, he thought to himself, they all come to get some grog or ale eventually, you’ll have your chance to “interrogate”. Faroje had a method of questioning people, so subtle they seldom knew he was doing it. Information was his true bread and butter, although none of his patrons would ever know it.

Tirashar took mental note of each person she saw, evaluating what she thought their capability and profession. There was an older man with a woman at a table not far from the fire, eating; obviously a village resident. A lone man, tall and muscular, with wavy black hair, and a chain mail coat nearest the bar, most likely a soldier or mercenary. Two more men, obviously herders, sitting beside the fire, enjoying a mug of ale each. A lone Dwarf, loud and obnoxious telling stories of the mines. A woman who looked absolutely bored to death, listening to the Dwarf. Tirashar’s eyes settled on the filthy slob behind the bar, gauging him to be a slimy scoundrel, out for anything to line his pockets with gold.

Tirashar moved to the far end of the bar, where she had a good view of the door and the fire. Faroje stepped over, leaning across the bar. “Whatcha want ta drink?”

“I’ll take an amber ale if you have any. Do you serve food in this establishment, or just spirits?”

“We have venison, mutton, or beef, along with some potatoes and wild onions. Perhaps you would like a stew, it’s been a simmering most the afternoon. Of course that is if you have means to pay for it.”

“I can pay don’t worry, I’ll have the venison.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear ya. Whatcha say?”

Tirashar grinned, under the hood of her cloak, old fool, “The venison.” Just a tad louder, but not so loud anyone could hear, other than Faroje.

“Tabitha you scrawny worthless wench get out here and busy about the cooking.” Faroje yelled in the direction of the back room. “You should be a-waitin on people to make their requests, instead of expecting me to do it”

A slight young girl, in a clean neat dress, scurried out of the back room, tripping on a patrons extended foot as she came. The patron exclaimed loudly and spat some indistinguishable profanity at her.

“Wench, watch where your walking, and keep those dammed clumsy feet away from my customers. What I keep your useless arse around for I’ll never know.” Faroje bellowed at her.

Tabitha was skinny, and walked with her shoulders hunched forward in a self protective nature. Dark thick hair tied up on the back of her head, a few stray strands escaping to dangle wildly around the sides of her somber face. Her pallid brown eyes guarding a story of abuse and suffering. “What would you like?” Tabitha said in a timid, soft, yet soulful voice. Looking at Tirashar, she thought she saw a glint of silver from her hidden eyes and just the slightest smile.

“I’ll take the venison Tabtiha, take your time, I’m in no hurry to get back out into the cold.”

Tabitha shoved a large upside down metal pot, hung by chain from a swiveling stanchion, over the fire. Letting it stay there for a while, she busied herself with tenderizing the venison. Placing the venison on a large round block of wood, fairly abused from long use, and pounding it with a needled mallet. She then threw it in a pan of seasonings, mashing and turning it with her hands. After a few moments, she pulled the upside down pot from over the fire, and threw the slab of venison on its slight, convex surface. There was an immediate sizzle, and wisps of steam rose from the meat. The vicinity near the pot filled with a fragrant aroma, pleasing to the nose, and tempting to the palate. Tabitha let it sizzle for a few moments, searing the one side, then flipped it, and let the other side get its fair share of the sizzling.

“Leave it bleeding just a little Tabitha, it surely smells good.” Tirashar said with a gentle tone.

Tabitha spooned a generous helping of potatoes and onions from a pot near the fire onto a plate, and turned around to the grilling pot, and forked the venison steak onto the plate. Sliding the plate in front of Tirashar, Tabitha stepped back to watch as the first bite was sliced of and tested for taste. Tirashar nodded her head appreciatively, and reached inside the pouch on her belt. Withdrawing a small gem stone, she handed it to Tabitha, “The finest venison I’ve had in a long time”. Tabitha’s face glowed with appreciation of the compliment as she reached out for the gem.

Faroje, moving with surprising speed for his girth, came from around the bar, grabbing Tabitha’s wrist. He squeezed with excruciating pressure as he forced her to release the small gem into his hand. Shock, pain, and fear wrote its detestable story across Tabithas face, bringing tears to her eyes “Wench, any baubles you receive while here, belong to me, don’t ever forget it.”

Tirashar moved with lightning speed, astonishing all the patrons. In the blink of an eye she was behind Faroje, grasping his head and pulling it around to the side by his chin while holding it against her shoulders. The hood of her cloak falling back exposing her coral hair and fine intense features. A vicious glint of blue reflected from her narrowed glaring eyes. The firelight glinted off her razor sharp dagger, long thin and serpentine in shape, that had seeded to appear from nowhere, and run up along the back of his neck to the side where the head joined the neck. “Release her you old fool, before I drive this blade through the base of your fat filthy head and scramble your worthless, greedy brains.”

The mercenary stood, and moved toward Tirashar menacingly. “You’d be wise to release him woman. There is no way out of here that you don’t have to get past me.”

“There may not be, but you could have trouble dealing with her while pulling an arrow from the back of your own neck.” A stern melodic voice said from the doorway.

Turing, the mercenary saw a slender Elf, with blond, nearly white hair, and deep blue intimidating eyes. Bow drawn, arrow knocked and obviously ready to let fly. The mercenary sat back down, keeping an eye on the newcomer. Tirashar wondered where he had come from, but was thankful for the stranger’s presence.

Faroje released Tabitha’s wrist with a grumbled curse. “You’ll regret this woman, I’ll make you pay for the dishonor you have given me. Just you wait, and see. I’ll kill you one way or another, I swear it will be slow and painful, the most painful you could imagine.”

Tirashar maintained her hold on Faroje, applying the slightest pressure from the tip of her dagger, causing a trickle of blood to run down the back of Faroje’s neck. “Tabitha, you had better get your things together, you won’t be safe here any longer, not that you ever were I assume. I’ll take you with me, you can be my cook.”

A light came back to Tabitha’s eye’s as she spat in Faroje’s face, and turned to get her things from the back room. There wasn’t much, not even a cloak for warmth, nor any shoes. She didn’t care though, she was going to be free of this man finally, and she would gladly face the cold of the night. This was the chance she had been dreaming of. Tabitha strode out of the back with a purposeful proud posture, no longer the subdued subject of misery. “I’m ready.”

Tirashar manipulated Faroje around the room toward the door, keeping a safe distance from the mercenary, and watching all the other patrons. The Dwarf had an intelligent inquisitive, almost amused look on his face. He kept his seat, but watched with rapt attention and amusement as events unfolded. Somehow Tirashar knew he was amused at Faroje’s discomfort, not her actions. As she got close to the door, the Elf stood to the side for her, and she backed out slightly. Striking Faroje fiercely with the hilt of her dagger, knocking him unconscious, she turned to run for her horse. Surprised, she found her bay mare beside the door with a large white stallion.

The Elf released his arrow, striking the mercenaries leather cuff of the chain mail, effectively pinning him to the table. Turning he joined Tirashar, “We’d better get out of here, they’ll be after us quick enough”. They both mounted their horses, and Tirashar pulled Tabitha up behind her. As they raced from the village, Tirashar wondered who this Elf was, he wasn’t from her tribe.

**To Be Continued - Part 2 Darfrain's Confrontation**

Creative Commons License
Friday Fantasy - Tirashar's Story by Eric K. Schweer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at smalltownmountainboy.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://smalltownmountainboy.blogspot.com.

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Monday’s Writers of the Web

U.S.

Image via Wikipedia

As we start yet another week, anticipation of the year to come is buoyed by the events about to take place tomorrow in our nations capital.  It will be a day of historic value for any number of causes.  The celebrated cause I desire to stand out, Is the promise of a historic day of change.  A day that will become the hallmark of our country’s history because of changes undertaken by our government.   An adjustment of our governments attitude and application of  foreign policy.  A remodeling of the massive structure of our government agencies that cost so much to maintain.  A repeal of laws that have sought to remove many of our constitutional rights. Laws that were hurriedly passed under an obscuring fog of panic.  A day that America regains the respect lost due to mishandled situations and events on several fronts.  It’s entirely appropriate that today, the day before this  memorable day of American history, that has yet to materialize, is Martin Luther King Day…  for I have a dream.

 

I just had to say that… make my statement for the future.

 

Now back to the task at hand.  I have some nice sites to share with you.  Many of them are poetry sites, and very penetrative, intuitive, and sensitive.  I have enjoyed reading their prose, and reflecting on the substance.  Poetry is one of those art forms that can be enlightening, frustrating, and ever so meaningfully powerful.  It seems to me that each reader receives their own unique vision of a poem.    A poem can be vague and obtuse to one person while being clear and vibrant to another.  That is one of the reasons I enjoy reading poetry, and analyzing it’s substance in my own mind.  To the authors, I wish to apologies, for I seldom comment on a poem.  I have this underlying fear of sounding like a complete unrepentant idiot.   I have often wondered if the poets are disappointed when a person such as I, misunderstands their vision.

 

The first site I wish to share, is one I found through the Interview process at Softly Spoken.  While reading and interview there, I followed a link to the most interesting site.  Broken Mannequin, authored by a wonderful poet Charli, is insightful, sensitive, personal and powerful.  Even Charli’s profile says volumes with few words.

“I want to tell you my secrets. So I write this naked poetry and hide behind the fig leaf of a word. My poems are confessions, penance too. I've got closets full of creatures dying to get out.” 

This small portion of her profile struck my sensitive side, opened my heart and therefore my thoughts.  Charli crafts, shapes, and molds, poems  such as Inner Voice, about losing that guiding inner voice.  She speaks (feels like singing) about the struggle and torture of  being alone… with no guidance… even from yourself.  In so doing, she enlightens and endears her readers.  Perhaps you would like a love poem; or unreciprocated love… poem.  Try Heart Surgeon, a prose that question the cold, compassionless heart, yet seeks a cure by any means available.   Broken Mannequin is a site you’ll never regret visiting.

 

Next up is a site recently discovered.  Before I am Famous, authored by Jenifer M. Scott.  If you want to know anything about her, just visit her page and click on the About Me 101 Things.  She writes poetry, short stories, and a few sponsored posts.  Join her in Seeking Destiny, a poem about the questions of purpose, and the effort to make your own destiny.  Or you can go on a whim and a fairytale… with Belated Love.   How about some fun stories, read Mrs. Orzard’s Job, and forever question the radon comments by mysterious profiles on your blog.   Or perhaps your would enjoy the Weekly Shorts, a series of short stories.  You’ll find interesting fiction like, Dear Ana, a letter from an elderly man to his sister.  He’s “confessing his sins”, which is prophetic for the sins are not his but those of  the church.  Take the time to explore Before I was Famous and enjoy the writing she has to offer.

 

A short time ago, I told you about Denver Cereal.  It’s a daily serial with chapter parts posted each week.  I guess the best way for me to describe it,  is as a soap opera in written form.  You can explore the lives and intricate events of two primary families.  One working class, close knit, protective, and loving while the other is monied, distant and functioning dysfunctional.  Find out how the two families become intertwined through love and circumstance. 

 

The reason I’m mentioning them again is, Claudia Hall Christian, has gotten it published.  The book is available in paper back version from the The Denver Cereal Store on createspace.  If you enter coupon or discount code LTR2JGHK you can get it for close to 30 percent off.  The discount pretty much covers shipping costs so it’s like getting free shipping.  Or perhaps you would like it in PDF form.  You can download it for free here.   I have purchased the paperback version, mainly to help support Claudia, it’s only fair, she provides such enjoyment.    So all of you blog authors with dreams of publishing… IT CAN HAPEN.  (I hear you Lilly, even before you comment, LOL.)  I’m about 1/3 the way through the paperback, and have been enjoying the cast of characters.  The relationships and escapades are lively, mischievous, and lots of fun.

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Mountain Memories

Bristlecone Pine on 'The Table'.

Image via Wikipedia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ragged ridge lines

carving sharp, contrasting vivid shapes

discerning, configuring the horizon.

 

Ancient Bristlecone Pine

regal and proud, yet bent  by savage winds will

knurled, rugged, resilient.

 

Shale rock slides

above the tundra covered slopes

treacherous and beautiful.

 

Whistles of a Marmot

complaining for the intrusion sounding

lost, lonely, forlorn.

 

Barely visible trails

worn into the mountainside, long forgotten,

lay hidden yet visible.

 

Big Horn goat

sure footed, confident, climbs on high

clinging to mountainsides not possible.

 

Lost , lonely, frail

cabins from times past  prosperity

ghostly presence abound.

 

Treasures, tools,  remnants

from pioneer minors long since forgotten

strewn, haphazard, decaying.

 

babbling brooks flow

over rocks and shale, giving mystic music

for ears properly tuned.

 

Arastra, lonely, decrepit

remnant of times past purpose

carved into stream bed.

 

Fast setting sun

making way for luminous moon and star filed night

long awaited sunrises.

 

Cold crisp nights

covered by pure clean white snow

gives form to mystic shapes.

 

Standing on clouds

the mountains provide that vantage, vista

with a solid sure perch

 

Solitude, serenity, peace

mountain ranges majestically surround and provide

those feelings I miss so

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A Picture Says More

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A short time ago, I asked Mother to go through her pictures for one specific picture of Dad on Hoosier Pass holding a shovel above his head, and not touching the top of the snow bank.  I was hoping for any other photo’s of the mountain snow scenes.  I also asked her for some other pictures from around Christmas times in the old House in Fairplay. 

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I got my package of pictures yesterday in the mail.  Not a single picture of snow, but a whole lot of pictures of me.  Isn’t that just like a mother, send all the embarrassing pictures, and leave out the good ones (a good one is any picture that does not have me in it).  My birth picture above, suggests to me that I was none to happy about entering this life, LOL.    Well, I guess I’ll make Mother happy, and share some of those pictures with you.

My first birthday, I didn’t know I was ever that chubby.  Evidently I was having a great time.  And then there is one of me crawling around, I’m sure getting into everything I was not supposed to.

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I must have been a pretty happy baby.  Most of the baby pictures I’m smiling.  I’m sure I was a little angel, (I doubt it seriously) and never did anything wrong.

 

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Here’s one of my older brother and I standing outside our house.  I’m going to have to talk to Mother about those pants, they simply are not  my style.

 

 

 

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Now here’s a Christmas photo.  I wish I could remember that toy gun, It looks like it was awfully neat.  I’m sure I played with it a lot.

 

 

 

 

 

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Here we go, a little bit of nature with the family.  By the way, The one making the funny face, and being all dramatic is Kel.

 

 

 

 

 

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My older brother and I riding one of our horses.  We had five, but I think only two or three were saddle broke.

 

 

 

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Kel may kill me for this one, but that is her in the back right.  The one with the biggest smile.  I’m surprised Mother got her into a dress, for I can only remember Jeans and tee shirts for her.

 

 

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Here’s me with a pretty small fish.  I sure look pleased with myself though.

 

 

 

 

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There are quite a few with “tall” hats.  I can’t remember them, but I must have liked them.   Blue jean shirt and Levi's were my primary attire in those days, now its Wranglers, LOL.

 

 

 

 

 

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Here we are at my Aunts ranch in Arizona.  She bread horses, and evidently appreciated a little help while we were on vacation.

 

 

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Me at Mothers house in Arkansas, with my step fathers old flintlock.

 

 

 

 

 

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My Senior Prom, with no date of course.  Dam I was skinny, Oh I still am.  I actually had to gain weight to get into the Army.  I went back 5 times before I gained the required 7 pounds.  I guess I was pretty determined. In basic training and AIT, I put on 30 pounds, never lost. I now weigh another 15 pounds heavier.

 

 

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Me on leave prior to my shipment over to Germany.  I was a Spc4 at the time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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My Father and I just a year or so before his death. He made a whirl wind tour to see all of us kids.  I think he was down here all of two days.  And he brought the snow with him.  It snowed about 5 inches, and shut everything down.  Texas just has no idea what to do with snow.

 

Well Now that I have embarrassed myself thoroughly, I hope you enjoyed the pictures and laughs.

A Mountain Boy’s Interview

Description unavailable

Image by Brian Hathcock via Flickr

I have been seeing this Interview meme floating around the web.  I finally decided to have a go at it, and left a comment for Jessie over at Softly Spoken.  She emailed me  a list of questions that she developed just for me.   That’s one of the things I like about this interview meme, is each one is unique and individual to the blogger being interviewed. 

 

So without further beating around the bush, lets get right down to it.  Here are the questions, and my answers.

 

1.  Colorado is beautiful, which landscape and / or season best describes you and why?  (Not the "physical" you,but instead the individual under the armor.)   It’s interesting that Jessie used that term “Under the armor”, for that is just the way I feel some times.  Like I have to keep this coat of armor on to protect myself, and not show those feeble little weaknesses.  Well to answer the question, I’m going to chose season, for I think everyone would know I would choose the mountains if it were landscape.   I would say that winter best represents me.  The safe warm insulating cover of snow that protects all the beauty underneath it, yet letting just enough out to be seen.  It’s like it’s own coat of armor.  I would say that I keep that covering of snow most times, shoveling or clearing certain paths that are “safe to travel” and therefore open for everyone.  But I must say that since I started blogging, I think spring is coming, and has melted away much of that protective covering.


2.  It is said that dog owners are a lot like their dogs.  Do you find this to be true?   Are you more Basset Hound, Chihuahua, or Red Healer?  And how so?    That’s a good question, I have seen owners that resemble either physically or emotionally their dogs.  But I don’t think I do, well maybe just a little.  I would have to say I’m more suited to the Red Healer, a worker, herder, keeper of the pack.  I like to run and play, but seem to live to work.  It does not always mater what work I do, I just have to work.   I think it’s something in my genes.  I love and care for my other dogs, and cat, but Destiny is the one who I wish would ride with me, and enjoy my day at work.  Unfortunately she has to be the only Healer I have ever seen that absolutely hates to ride in vehicles.

 

3.  What are your "junk?" treasures, and how do they symbolize you individually?  Ohh, my treasures, Blinda calls them junk, are my 1975 Chevy Blazer, and my 1974 Ford 3/4 ton High Boy.   Neither one runs, but I can’t get rid of them.  They are so individual to their lines.  Both are unique in that the dies were changed at the end of those years.  The 75 Blazer is the last year they had the full top that was removable.  After that year you could only get a half top. The ford changed its frame that year and went to a wider set of frame rails, High Boys are fairly uncommon.  I like to think of myself as unique and individual for my line, LOL Sorry sis (both of you).   I am different from all my siblings, but then I suppose that is not all that uncommon.   Hopefully they changed the mold after me, for I wouldn’t wish my unique issues on anyone, LOL.


4.  What draws you into hunting as a sport?   I would have to say Nature in general.  Back home I was not that avid of a hunter, going when I could but not very often.  When I came down here, it provided me an opportunity to leave the fast paced city behind, and seemingly go back in time to a slower, more basic life.  I love getting out in the country, and seeing all the sights, hearing all the sounds, really just taking it all in.  I guess I don’t really “sport hunt”, I’m not after that perfect dream buck all the time.  If he walks out before I fill my tag , well that's a bonus for me, but that’s not what I’m after.  When I do take an animal, it’s for the meat, and for improvement of the deer in our area.  It’s more about relaxing in a place that is familiar and comfortable to me.


5.  Which sense would devastate you the most if you lost it?   That’s an easy one, sight.  I have already lost much of my sense of feeling in my hands due to the types of work I have done over the years.  Hearing, according to Blinda is well on its way too, again the many different types of work involving some pretty loud noise (with no hearing protection). I could easily stand to lose my sense of smell, except I would miss the fragrance and fine aromas of food while it’s cooking.   But sight, I love to read and write so much, and the absolute beauty and serenity of a perfect sunset, to lose that would truly be devastating for me.


As with all meme’s, there are rules that apply.  The nice thing about this one is that you don’t “tag” some poor unsuspecting blogger with the duty of completing a set meme.  Anyone who wants to take part can, all they have to do is ask.  If you wish for me to come up with  a set of interview questions for you, just leave me a comment saying “interview me”  I ask that you don’t leave your email address in the comment, for privacy reasons.  You can email me your request by clicking on the contact me button just under my feed number icon, upper mid right side of my blog.

The Rules
Leave me a comment saying: interview me.
Comments with e-mail addresses will not be published to preserve privacy.
I will e-mail you five questions. i get to pick the questions.
You can then answer the questions on your blog.   I would appreciate a link also.
You should also post these rules along with an offer to interview anyone else who e-mails you wanting to be interviewed.
Anyone who asks to be interviewed should be sent 5 questions to answer on their blog.
To keep this unique, it would be nice if the questions were individualized for each blogger.

Check Out My Sidebar, A Cool New Side-Blog

They said, you just walked by

Image by aftab. via Flickr

I’m always playing around with new things.  Today I came across the idea of making a side-blog for the site.  Blogger Buster had a tutorial on exactly how to do it, using posts on your regular blog.  I just could not get the code to work correctly, so I came up with a slightly different idea.  I created a new, very simple and plain blog.  I then published the feed through Feedburner, and created a Spring Widget using that feed.  After that, all I had to do was install that widget on my sidebar.  By the way, if your interested, you can grab a copy of it for yourself.  simply click on the get this widget on that neat looking little thing.

 

I am always running across new and interesting things on the web, and wanting to share the information.  It’s just generally not enough for a full post on this site, but too much for the 144 character limit on Twitter.  Now all I have to do is make a quick and easy post on RSTMB Sideblog and it shows up here where I want it.  Sometimes I can get a little carried away, but I think this time I came up with a good solution for me.

 

RSTMB Sideblog is a regular blog, complete with feeds and follow options.  So if you want to know what I’m doing a little more frequently than just at this site, go on over and grab a feed.  You can also comment on the posts just like any other blog.  Mostly though think of it as a quick check for deals and interesting items on the web.  For instance, if you check this post, you’ll find a link and discount code to get a deal on the brand new Denver Cereal Book!!!!

 

I simply want to do just a little more to help out my readers, and keep you all informed of stuff I find.  It will also allow me to keep this site more targeted toward my writing, and everyday life.   I hope you find it useful, and fun.

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Monday’s Writers of the Web; Returns

So Monday has returned once again to grace our presence with the uncertainty of yet one more week.   Many of us dislike Mondays for the obvious reasons that a return to the hustle and bustle of work life is eminent.  In the past I enjoyed Monday for the simple fact that I was able to share my blog finds with everyone.  Well I’m making a return to that tradition, now that the season is over and I find myself with more time to do what I enjoy online.

 

Normally I would share three to four sites, but this week I’m going to dedicate the whole post to one story.  A wonderful rich and full story written by an Aussie blogger who has been a dedicated visitor here.  June Saville authors two blogs, 70 Plus and Still Kicking, and Journeys in Creative Writing.  She also has one other, Short Stories on Tap, but has not made a post there as yet.  Over the past couple of months she has been introducing us to a fun, tenacious and  scrappy new character. 

 

Pip,  is a young lady dealing with the death of her mother.  She has learned of a secret her mother had kept for decades, and while trying to get to the bottom of it, she may even find out who her father is.  Pip, a tenacious and headstrong young freelance writer, talks her editor friend (or as the say down under mate) into letting her travel to a bush town for a human interest story.  Her real purpose though is to get to the bottom of this mystery of her mothers secret.  There are plenty of twists and turns along the way, and Pip’s tenacity will be tested to the limit. 

 

Pip has plenty of personality, and her city girl exploits in a small bush country town are interesting to say the least.  I can easily associate many people I have known with the character of Pip.  A young girl who may be small in stature, but larger than life.  A young lady who can easily stand on her own two feet and will take not an ounce of gruff from anyone. 

 

The story is full of Aussie talk and colloquialisms.  I have gained quite an appreciation for the main character, even if she is a Shelia (though she would say dame).   Really I do like a good strong female character, and Pip fits the bill quite well.   She faces up to a number of  blokes, some rough and tough, some not so, and seems to come out ahead each time.  Pip has her rough times, yet never seems to let go of the search, striving to find the answers to question that have plagued her.  

 

This story even captured the imagination of Vikki who painted the picture above.  A portrait of Pip as seen through her eyes.  The funny thing is, I feel like Vikki somehow looked into my mind to get the picture.  It is just exactly as I had envisioned her.  You can read Vikki’s post about it on her blog at The Red Chair Gallery, The Aussie.  You can see the intensity and determination in the eyes.  After all the eyes are the windows to the soul, are they not.

 

June has managed to capture my curiosity to the point that I went back and re-read all the chapters prior to writing this article.  I’ll list the chapters here, and each link will open a new tab or window, so you can just swing back to find the next chapter with ease.

Paternity - An Original Australian Novel – Part One

Paternity - An Original Australian Novel – Part Two

Paternity - An Original Australian Novel – Part Three

Paternity – An Original Australian Novel – Part Four

Paternity – An Original Australian Novel – Part Five

Paternity – An Original Australian Novel – Part Six

Paternity – An Original Australian Novel – Part Seven

Paternity – An Original Australian Novel – Part Eight

Paternity – An Original Australian Novel – Part Nine

Paternity – An Original Australian Novel – Part Ten

Paternity – An Original Australian Novel – Part Eleven

Paternity – An Original Australian Novel – Part Twelve

Paternity – An Original Australian Novel – Part Thirteen

And to June, I didn’t comment on any of your posts because I never comment on something I plan to write up in Monday’s Writers of the Web.  It’s just one of those quirks I have. I hope you’ll forgive me.

A Tragedy of Fire Has Befallen a Fellow Blogger

Fire: Disaster in the city

Image by millzero.com via Flickr

I can’t even imagine the feeling of loss involved in losing your home to a fire.  So much more than a simple house is at stake.  To think about the all the memorabilia, pictures, hand me downs, and family heirlooms that would be gone forever.  Luck for them the kids were not home, and Travis was able to get his wife and pets out of the house.  Travis who authors One Word, One Rung, One Day, is now trying to sort through the ashes, and rebuild his life one day at a time.  He is still managing to make posts to his blog, I don’t know if I could, and sharing what he has gone through.

 

A site has been set up for donations to help him out, Habitat for Travis, is taking donations through PayPal to help Travis rebuild.  At the site, you can purchase “brick’s” to help out, I went over and donated what I could, and will be doing so off an on as fiancĂ©s allow.  There is so much more that can’t be purchased though.  The boys, 6 and 8 are avid readers, and in need of some children's books.  The youngest is also struggling with the loss of his Hot Wheels collection.  I will be sending a package, for I have many a book they might enjoy, and maybe a little Venison Jerky to ease the evenings with. 

 

A few more things taken from his site.

Also if any of you live in the Orlando area or are visiting Disneyworld soon I'd love to replace t- shirts they boys picked out while we were there. My oldest is a size 10 or I think a child's large and he had a shirt with Mickey Mouse's body that said I'm the big cheese. His younger brother wears a 6 or a small and his ad a picture of Mickey and Goofy dressed as pirates along with a treasure map and it said How to Be a Pirate. It is very silly I know, but they spent a week agonizing over what shirt to pick and then they were gone before they ever got to wear them at home. I would gladly repay anyone who can find those shirts for them.

 

Travis managed to save very little prior to the fire departments arrival.  One of the things he was unable to save was his wife’s scrapbooking things.   I know that Blinda would be heartbroken at losing her scrapbooking stuff, so I think I’ll try to talk her into letting go of some of hers.  I am sure there is much more that he would be in need of, but you’ll have to go over and read his posts to find out. You can get his address here.

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Kaboom To Be a Book?

Tarnished Galahad

Image by jacQuie.k via Flickr

One of My favorite Milblogs, Kaboom; A Soldier’s War Journal, shut down by the authors command structure not too long ago, is rumored to have a book deal in progress.  The author, Matt Gallagher AKA Lt. G. or Capt G. ( he was promoted shortly after his blog was shut down) is in negotiations with William Clark Associates for a book.  I for one can’t wait to read his book.  He has a unique style, and was capable of taking his audience along for the ride.  At it’s peak, Kaboom had an RSS feed that boasted over 4000 subscribers.  I was one of those subscribers, and looked forward to his posts two or three times a week.

 

He was ordered to shut down his blog after he made this post  The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage , without having it approved by superiors.  I’m sure that  painting his superior officers in a not so favorable light didn’t help.  When he was shut down, it caused repercussions throughout the milblog community and elsewhere.  There was a considerable amount of press coverage including an article in the Washington Post entitled, Silent Posting .  On Lt. G’s final post simply titled A Tactical Pause, there were 178 comments voicing outrage at the decision. 

 

Lt. G. told stories about the war as he saw it with a collage of words that created, what one reader thought of as “wordgasms”.  The young man has unbelievable talent, and regularly shared stories such as The Happiest Dog in Iraq, or The Night of Gun-Toting Barrel-Blazing Ghost Panda’s.  There was a post about the unbearable heat, Triple Digits where you get a very good feel for the temperatures  his platoon was dealing with.  He shared his vacations with us, including when he proposed to his fiancĂ©, and she accepted. I have sorely missed his humor and outlook. 

 

Kaboom; A Soldier’s War Journal, even has it’s own Wikipedia entry.  And soon, I hope, will be on the best sellers list, so I can pick up a copy to savor for myself.

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A Comic Look at a Serious Issue

r0ck'n r0ll

Image by oxy63n via Flickr

I am being forced into a healthier lifestyle, whether I need it or not.  Last weekend, Blinda had a sinus infection, and ended up paying a visit to the doctor.  Low and behold, it was determined that she now has high blood pressure.  The doctor set her up on some medications for blood pressure, and told her that she needed to start getting some exercise, and stop using salt, along with a few other dietary requirements.

 

Naturally, she took her doctors suggestions to heart, and has started the effort of changing those little things that will make all the difference.  She has found a treadmill on Craig’s List, and we went to purchase it this evening.   I know your all saying “treadmill?”.   She and I are very different in many ways, She is NOT and outdoorsy type of person.  So we jumped in the truck, and went to look at the treadmill.  We ended up purchasing it of course. 

 

So far the exercise has been quite rigorous, for me at least.  I managed to manhandle the dam thing around to the back the truck, and get it loaded up with out losing my breath.  Getting it out of the truck and then into the  house was quite another thing.  I struggled to get it up the steps of  the front porch, pausing to ask if she was sure she didn’t want to leave it there so she could have the feeling of walking around the neighborhood.  With the glare I received, I quickly determined that was a resounding NO.  So I dragged, hoisted, and shoved it through the front door.  Then around the computer desk, and finagled it through the extremely narrow door to her craft room.  Once I got it all set up, I told her that all of her exercise was wearing me out.

 

Lets move on to diet, and my favorite companion for just about any food, salt.  I can already see that I will be forced to forgo come of those more pleasant of the comfort foods.   I guess its good for me also, for my system has been revolting against my culinary delights for some time now.  The largest problem for me though will be hiding the salt shaker from Blinda, and not letting her see me liberally dose my food.   I will for her sake, but you know my blood pressure is still 120 over 75, as it has been for most of my life.  How do I know, why I sat down in that little chair at Wal Mart while we were getting her prescriptions filled and let it squeeze the crap out of my arm. 

 

I suppose I will have to go to the doctor sometime  and get my vitals checked properly.  The last time was a few years back when I almost passed out at work due to a serious case of walking pneumonia.  I’m one of those people who refuses to go to the doctor unless I am dying, lost an extremity, or Blinda tells me to.

 

All in all, lowering her blood pressure so far has been  good for me also, I guess.

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Time To Be A Little More Lifeactive & Blogactive

Sunrise shown in time lapse.  The motions of S...

Image via Wikipedia

So the season is over, the freezer is well stocked, and time is on my hands.  What to do, what to do?   Guess I’ll just have to break down and work on the darn old Honey Do list that seems to get larger every day.  I have been somewhat remiss in keeping one very important person happy, but she is used to it this time of year.  I will just have to get busy on the weekends, and try to make a meaningful dent in that long established wish list of my sweet little wife. 

 

I will also have more time for the good old blogosphere, and intend to get entirely caught up on every ones blogs.   You have to know that I keep tabs on quite a few blogs.  I currently have 136 listed on my sidebar, but so many in my Yahoo reader, and Google reader that it boggles my mind.  I’m going to have to do some house cleaning there, for my google reader, as of the other day, had over 2000, and god only knows how many my Yahoo reader has.   I can say that I generally follow around 350 to 400 blogs, regularly.  Luckily for me many of them do not post daily as does LouCeel.  That man is a wonder, he has just completed 365 days of making at least 1 blog post  a day.  I don’t think I have the stamina for that, but I will try to be a little more blogactive.

 

I will also resurrect the Monday’s Writers of the Web series.  I have found some really good blogs lately, and I like to share as you all know.  This coming Monday will be dedicated to one special person, who has been a frequent and dedicated visitor here.  I’m not going to spoil it, and tell you who it is yet, you’ll just have to wait for Monday. 

 

I really have to get to work on a few stories.  My thoughts have been overflowing with ideas, now I just have to get them down on paper.  That at times is the hard part.  I have a few posts to do for another special blogger, and really need to get that done.   I am a little ashamed of myself for putting her off.

 

I also have many a book that are desperately calling my name.  They need their fair amount of attention also.  They provide so much in the way of relaxation and enjoyment, I just can’t neglect them.  Reading is such a passion of mine, and the best way for me to learn things.  I can, as my sister says, gobble books, reading sometimes two in a night.

 

I will have to settle for some city sunrises for a little while, and forego the frequent trips to the wilds.  I will try to go at least once a month though just for my sanities sake.  You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy, LOL.

 

I’ll be visiting all of you as soon as possible, and trying to leave a few more comments.  Until then, I hope you have a great time.

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