THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT

Chapter 2 Part 4
If you have not already done so, please read the beginning parts of this book before reading this part.
SHADOWS
The man looks into the bushes and sees a rabbit. Slowly, so as not to startle it, he reaches for the throwing stick tucked into his loincloth. With a snap of his arm and wrist he throws. His aim is true and he steps over and picks up - - - a stone.
His sister looks into a pnd and deep within it sees a fish. She eases her hand slowly into the water, fingers widely spread. Quick as she can she grasps and lifts from the water - - - a leaf.
They return home and around the hearth that night they tell of the magic rabbit that turned to stone and the fish that became a leaf.
The people touch the stone and lift the leaf and murmur in wonder.
But the stone was always a stone and the leaf was blown into the pond by the wind.
The eyes saw truly and only in the mind did the stone become a rabbit and the leaf a fish. The eyes look and see a piece of wood, sinew and a bundle of reeds. The mind looks through the eyes and says,"Ah. A bow and a bundle of fine bird arrows."
But the bow IS wood. Is it really a bow or part of a tree? Is the sinew really a bowstring or part of a deers leg? Are the reeds arrows or the stems of water plants?
And IS the tree really just a tree? Is it not part of the earth on which it stands? Is the Earth part of the sky through which it moves? Is the sky part of - WHAT?
So the eyes of the soul see and perceive truly, but the mind makes what they see into something else. As the hunter wished to see a rabbit and his sister a fish, so the mind wishes to see what can be touched by the hands.
But the hands can touch only the tree. They cannot touch the soul of the tree, and so the mind pretends that it is not there - and yet it is.
The eyes of your soul perceive the soul of the tree and know it as a part of itself since the beginning of time.
It is good to look outward and see the physical world, but it is sometimes good to look inward and see with the eyes of the soul.
I tell you now. Unless you sometimes turn your eyes within you will see stones as rabbits and leaves as fish.
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As children, we were constantly told to stop daydreaming and see things as they really are. If we take this advice however, we will find ourselves seeing only a small part, the physical part, of things. Since the physical is only temporary and the spiritual eternal, I leave it to you to judge what is real.`
The tendency to translate spiritual truths into physical terms is an all too human failing. We must learn that even as our ohysical eyes have spiritual counterparts, so does our mind, operating through the brain, have a spiritual counterpart operating through the soul. Few of us have much experience in its use, but perhaps it is time we learned.
Logic will serve you well in the everyday world and I certainly am not telling you to abandon it. You will find however, that if you try to use it in matters of the soul, it will lead you so far astra that you will, as did those in the tale, see stones as rabbits and leaves as fish.
Try phrasing spiritual questions very strongly. Direct the question inward with all the emotion you can muster, then dismiss it from your mind. In the midst of your everyday activity, you will suddenly KNOW. If you are alert to it, this sort of direct knowledge will often come to you, even when you are not consciously aware that you had sought it.
Trust such knowledge. It may have an immediate application in physical life, then again it may be ,"wishta hei", cloud like knowledge. Wishta hei knowledge will, when you try to translate it with the part of your mind devoted to every day activity, change shape. Twisting and turning, constantly showing different faces wisps of it drifting here and there. It will be as difficult to translate as it would be to grasp a cloud. Play with it if you wish. Our spiritual activity needs playfulness in it. Don't fret. Our spiritual mind sees it clearly and knows well what to do with it. It will, insofar as possibel, translate those parts of it that are useful to the physical mind.
Please allow me a personal observation here. Whenever someone presents an idea to me about which I am doubtful, I apply my own test. Make a joke about it. If it puffs up like a toad and appears pompous and indignant, stick a pin in it and cast it aside. The deflated idea is useless at best and harful at the worst. I am firmly convinced that the Creator loves a joke. His being grows in our joy and laughter.
Be forever alert however, not to use humor as a weapon to hurt others. Punch someones nose and it will heal. Harm someones sense of worth or pride in self and you may well warp their lives.
The Nanina always took care, especially in the case of children, not to harm anothers pride. The next tale will illustrate this.
TO BE CONTINUED.

THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT Chapter 2- part 3

The following tale is perhaps my favorite of all Story Tellers tales and, as with all of them, it is deceptively simple, carrying a lot of wisdom in only a few words. If you haven't already read the first parts of this book, please scroll down and do so before reading this

AWARENESS

The foot walks. It knows itself but it does not know why it walks or where it walks. It knows the earth on which it walks, but only the part where it presently stands. It knows that it sometimes steps high but it does not know why. It is unaware of the branch lying on the ground which it steps over. It turns this way or that but knows nothing of the rocks and brush it walks around. It bears a burden but does not know that this burden is the body, of which it is a part. It is good to walk, and that is enough. It walks to the hearthstone.
The hand reaches out for the food lying on the hearth. It knows nothing of food and does not know how it came to the hearthstone or why it reaches out.. It is good to reach out and pick up. That is enough.
The mouth tastes the food with its tongue and chews it with its teeth. It knows nothing of the foot which brought it here, or the hand which places the food within it. It does not know where the food came from or where it goes when it is swallowed. It is good to taste and chew. That is enough.
The eye sees all these things but does not know how it sees, or what the things it sees mean. It sees the branch and rocks but cannot direct the foot around them. It sees the food, but cannot direct the hand to pick it up and place it in the mouth. It is good to see. That is enough.
The mind feels the earth beneath the foot and sees the obstacles before it. It directs the foot to step over and walk around. It sees the food and knows what it is. It tells the hand to reach out. It tastes the food with the tongue and chews it with the teeth. It knows where the food goes and why it eats that food. It knows all these thing but - somehow - it is not enough.
For when the foot rests and the tongue lies softly in the bed of the mouth; when the hand rests gently on the thigh of your beloved and all the body lies on the soft fragrant grass of your bed, the mind does not rest. It looks this way and that, seeking something more.
Like a coyote on the trail of a rabbit, it twists and turns this way and that, in and out of the bushes of its thoughts; and as it seeks, the very object of its search walks behind it, whispering softly, " I am here. I am here".
I tell you now; Turn the eyes of your mind away from the branch and the hearth. See not the foot, or the hand, or the mouth. Turn and look within. Look into the eyes of your soul, for there you will find You.

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The words of these tales are the words I remember at the hearthstone of Story Teller. They are not my words - or are they? How can I remember when I was not there - or was I? Like Story Teller I leave spaces between the lines of my thoughts. Fill them in as you will.
One word however is my own and that is the title, for Story Tellers tales have no titles of their own. If you do not approve of my choices, feel free to substitute your own.
Remember that these tales are oral because the Nanina had no written language. Tribal history and genealogy were carried in the head of the Story Teller. "Story Teller" served as both name and title and there was a new one each generation.
Being oral, the tales are meant for the ear. Read them aloud. Try getting a few friends or family member together and take turns reading them. I think you will enjoy them more that way. Use your own gestures and vocal effects. Story Teller will approve. They were meant to be passed on in that way.
The previous tale pointed out some of the problems of physical perceptions. The following tale warns of the interpretation of those perceptions in the mind.

TO BE CONTNUED.

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THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT - Chapter 2 - part 2

Know your Soul - part 2
As promised, here are my comments on the foregoing tale as given in my book. If you haven't already read the first parts of the book, please scroll down and do so now.

Before commenting, let me set up the "ground rules". It would be tedious indeed to preface every remark with "The Nanina believe" or " I think", therefore I will state each thing as though it were a fact. Whether you accept it as such or only as something to think about is up to you. Let me however as you not to think it to death. Just sort of try it on for size. See if it feels right. Learn to know what you know without knowing how you know.
Your soul is not only immortal in the future, as many already believe, but in both directions. You not only always will be but always were. Your soul exists within the Creator and always has. Your soul, and thus you, are a very real part of the Creators being. We are immortal indeed!
Then what do we (in the sense the word is usually used) represent? We are the eyes and ears of the Creator in the physical world. Our task is to create in flesh and matter, thereby adding to the being of the Creator, for he becomes greater and will never cease growing. (Note. The Creator is neither male nor female but a perfect balance of both. Seperation of the sexes was adopted as one of the laws of physical reality and does not exist in the spiritual realm. I find, however, that the English language has no personal pronoun to express this other that it, which I find completely inappropriate. Reluctantly I follow tradition and use the masculine he)
We need have no fear of being destroyed by the Creator at some hypotheticl end of the world or swallowed up, thereby losing our individuality, for we always were and always will be, even after the end of time.
Time itself (at least as we know it) was a creation in order to make physical existence easier to handle. Imagine trying to juggle past, present and future, with all the meriad choices, actions, joys and sorrows in some eternal "now" and you will see the necessity of "our" time.
The physical earth was not created out of thin air like some cellestial magic trick but constructed through us, out of our collective souls; which, don't forget, are part of the Creators very being. It seems somehow fitting that the eath, which was to be our home, was constructed of our very substance. The earth, thus made physical, in turn gave birth to the bodies which we wear, so that we may directly experience physical reality rather than being merely observers. If we are to create in flesh and matter it follows that we must be flesh and matter during our time here.
Everything that we see is essentially a part of our souls made physical and therefore sentient and aware of itself and of its source - us. The idea that the earth itself is alive has been adopted by many people, not a few of whom are scientists.
How are we to determine the truth or falsity of these ideas? We already do know. We have only to remember by temporarily removing our attention from our physical surroundings and returning to the knowledge of our souls. I do not refer to faith but to knowing because we remember.
Story Tellers next tale may help you understand. It will be posted next week.

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THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT Chapter 2 Part 1

This part of the book contains the first actual communication I received from Story Teller. I am always struck by the poetic nature of his stories. Several of the Nanina beliefs about how the world was created do not fit any mold I know of yet they fit in so well with modern Quantum Physics which states that nothing exists without a perception of it, that it is startling. In my book, my comments follow immediately after the tale but I believe I will hold them off till the following post so that the reader may form their own oppinions before hearing mine. Remember, I welcome questions and comments and will post any that seem appropriate.
IF YOU HAVE NOT ALREADY READ THE FIRST PARTS OF THIS BOOK, PLEASE DO SO NOW.


The Way of the Spirit - Chapter 2 Know Your Soul part 1
These are the tales told at the hearthstone of Story Teller. How do I know? I know because I remember. I remember as you would remember something that happened when you were very young.
When I feel the memories stirring I put pen to paper and write them as I remember tham, never knowing where the stories will end and often not even what the next word will be.
His stories mean whatever they mean to you. In the Nanina manner he leaves room between the lines for you to fill in; but to har them prperly you must learn, as I did, to know what you know without knowing how you know.
CREATION
You are eternal. Before time was, you were, and when time ends you still shall be. You were with the Creator at the beginning of time, dancing with joy and clapping your hands in delight as the shiny new toy came into being. Our mother the earth HIYEI HYASU, mother of all. Your spiritual hands helped the Creator to draw up the hills and mountains just so and placed the grass and trees to clothe and beautify her body.
Your spiritual fingers poked into the earth here and there and traced the lines that ran between the hills, and water filled them and flowed. You scooped out great depresions and water flowed into them and became the sea.
Then the Creator taught you to draw water from the sea and put it into the air as clouds, and to make the air move as wind to move the clouds about so that the water would fall on the grass and trees and flow into the rivers, ponds and lakes, and they would run forever and the earth and her children would have food and drink.
All of these things came out of your soul and knew themselves and knew their source; and HIYEI HYASU, mother of all, was alive and bore children. Fish swam in the water and birds flew in the air. Animals walked the surface of the earth and even deep within the Earth was life, and it knew itself and found joy in its being.
And you, engrossed in your new plaything, drew closer and closer untill a part of your soul became physical; and the earth, which you helped to create, gave you birth.
The larger part of your soul remained with and in the Creator and now looks out through your physical eyes as you walk and create in flesh and matter.
As a child playing in the sand forgets itself in the patterns it is creating with shells and shiny pebbles, so do you forget yourselves in the patterns of your physical existence.
But the child will soon enough remember. Then it will abandon its playthings and turn homeward till tomorrows play brings new patterns and new delights.
I tell you now. REMEMBER. Return to your soul for it is who you are.

THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT - First contact, part 3

If any of my readers care to comment on this book from this point on I will post selected comments to be read here. I reserve the right to choose which to publish in order to keep the discusion on track. I also reserve the right to shorten them if necessay but I will not change any words. If you haven't already read the first two parts of this book please do so now.



THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT - First Contact part 2
The harsh dry wind had turned gentle, carrying the fragrance of lush growth. I was standing in waist high grass, some sort of wild grain. All around me the hills were covered in vegetation, waving in the breeze like a verdant sea. Brooks bubbled in the tiny valleys between the hills, marked by bands of trees along their banks. The parched depresions had become ponds and small lakes, flashing and sparkling in the sun.
Scattered about these ponds in groups of three to half a dozen were rounded huts made of willow hoops and thatched with grass. The nearest group was at the foot of the hill on which I stood. Each hut had its own firepit with a neatly swept stone hearth next to it. Some were in use and wisps of smoke rose from these as women dressed only in leather skirts knelt beside them cooking. Men and women squatted here and there talking and laughing, and around and between them in splendid confusion ran laughing children and barking dogs.
Never had I seen skin the tone of theirs; not the coppery brown of the American Indian, nor the lighter brown of the Oriental and certainly not the color of the deeply tanned Caucasian. These people had skin that could only be called golden. I thought, incongruously, that this was what the rich "beautiful people" tried so hard for but never quite achieved. The hair of these golden people ranged from dark brown to almost blond.
As I stood there in wonder and bewilderment, my eyes were drawn to one man in particular. Medium in height, he wore only a loincloth and leather headband to keep his shoulder length hair under control. All in all, he appeared no different from any of the others.
Storyteller (how did I know his name?) kept the oral history of his tribe in his head and at night entertained any who cared to come to his hearth with stories both traditional and made up on the spot. How did I know that?
As I looked, he turned toward me, palm uplifted in greeting. With a shock I realized that even as I looked at him with my eyes I was somehow seeing myself through his.
The I was again standing, grasping the gouged picnic table top and staring at a salt pan full of alkali. - the bare bones of what had moments before been a lake.
Most of the rest of that day I sat there, my thoughts buzzing like gnats - never quite lighting, ,just going around in aimless circles. I remember thinkig ruefully that whatever the store put in that coffee it could bring a fortune in certain circles.
Eventually I pushed the experience to the back of my mind, as we will with things we can't understand, and in time it became a sort of secret treasure to be taken out and examined from time to time and then packed carefully away again.
When the sun sank low I resumed my journey to Oklahoma to visit my sister. Soon after I arrived I found myself looking at land for sale, something I had not considered before (at least consciously)
Well, I thought, it would be a pleasant place to live once a house was up. My son was grown and happily married with a life of his own, and I had a small income from my Navy retirement. I supposed I had as much right to be a middle aged crazy as the next man. So I became the proud owner of 40 acres on Goats Bluff in the beautiful green hills of Eastern Oklahoma.
My conscious plan was to grow as much as possible of my own food on some cleared land and become one of the growing number of self sufficient homesteaders, but it soon becme apparent that more was going on here than I had bargained for.
The first year was given to clearing brush and stumps and building a small, house that I changed e few years later for a log cabin.
Half way down the North slope of my ridge is a sandstone outcropping, and I found myself drawn there often to sit and daydream. I know now the importance the Nanina place on dreaming, but at the time it just seemed a good place to relax. Often I thought of my experience in New Mexico and wondered what it meant. There is a natural seat on the stone and it seems to have the peculiar property of easing aches and pains with what I presumed was the stored heat from the sun. As I sat there one day, easing a back aching from pulling stumps, my thoughts turned to Storyteller and that peculiar double vision. Almost immediately I felt a jolt where my back rested against the stone as though I had touched a bare electric wire but there is no electricity anywhere near my North slope.
In the same instant a voice spoke loudly. I am certain that the voice was in my ears and not in my mind. The words were strange and had no meaning for me at the time
"Nanina ishtahei". I had heard my first words in the language of the Nanina - a language that had not been heard on Earth in three thousand years, though I did not know it then.
Now I had two experiences to worry over and I chewed at them like a dog with a bone.
Weeks went by with no further happenings. On the one hand I was relieved, but on the other I felt as though I were in quicksand and the only way out was to go farther in, hoping to feel solid ground under my feet.
Then one day as I was working in my new field, I heard the voice again, this time less dramatically for I knew that it came from somewhere in the deep recesses of my own mind. It was Storytellers voice, this time in strangely accented English. "The people are like stone". I knew this was a translation of "Nanina ishtahei" and I also knew, don't ask how, that it signified, "The people are one".
This knowing without knowing how I know was strange to me at the time. It became more frequent, though never commonplace, as time went on.
One more word the voice spoke, "REMEMBER", and now it is my task to remember so that you may remember. REMEMBER the Nanina.
TO BE CONTINUED

THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT - continued

My original title for this book was, The Way of the Nanina but my editor insisted on the present title, even though there were already several books by that name. I wish now I had stuck to my guns but I had never been published and felt it was important to get this book into circulation. My publisher ran off a large batch of copies and promptly went bankrupt. I like to think it wasn't my fault ;-) so I never collected a penny in royalties but that doesn't bother me. Those who are supposed to read it will find a copy somehow.


THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT -First Contact part 1
Some years ago I found myself driving across New Mexico on my way from San Diego to Oklahoma.
As I neared the high plains, I felt the urge to turn off onto a small road. Checking the road atlas I saw that a series of small country roads would lead me in the right direction. I told myself I was bored with the easy but monotonous interstate highway I had been travelling. Ah how we twist and stretch to make the promptings of our soul fit the practical, no-nonsense attitude of modern humanity. Now I need no such excuses. This much at least the Nanina have taught me.
After over 50 miles of travel with no sign of a town, or even sight of a house, and with my gas gauge too close to empty for comfort, I came into a small settlement consisting of one gas station, a dusty store, and perhaps a dozen houses. Gratefully I filled my tank. I bought a loaf of bread, some lunch meat and filled my thermos with coffee. There was a three stool counter where I could have had a bowl of that wonderfully spicy New Mexico chile, but something prompted me to stop somehere at the side of the road to eat. Had I ignored those promptings, my life would never have taken the turn it has.
A few miles from town I found a picnic table, seemingly set up in the middle of nowhere.
As I turned off the engine the silence struck me with a shock. No birds sang or flew in the sky. No horses or cattle cropped the sparse buffalo grass. The sigh of the ever present high plains wind accentuated rather than broke the silence.
A strange prickling sensation made the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand up, but I reassured myself that it was only the unaccustomed desolation.
As I sat there eating, I read the inevitable graffiti scratched and carved into the table top - Paco 78 - Harry and Alice were here - the common persons one shot at immortality.
Sipping the last of my coffee I looked about me. As far as the eye could see were low, rolling hills; bare brown earth with here and there a dusting of buffalo grass. In the small valleys between the hills deep gullies had been gouged by the infrequent but violent rains. Many of them terminated in shallow depresions crusted with the salt and alkali left behind when the thirsty winds sucked out the water.
I twisted the top onto my thermos and got to my feet. Suddenly dizzy, I grasped the edge of the table for support. I heard the thermos thud to the ground. Everything seemed dim and hazy, as though the sun was slowly going out. I seemed unable to focus on anything. I remember thinking,"Oh great. I'm about to pass out and there hasn't been a car along since I got here".
Children laughing? Dogs barking? Was I hallucinating? Then as my vision cleared I thought I had lost my mind.
TO BE CONTINUED If you haven't read the first part of this book please do so before reading this part.

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THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT - introduction

Those who have read some of my wacky humor and (I hope) enjoyed it may find this book quite a departure. I take no credit for the wisdom it contains as you will see if you continue to read it. It was a given book. Somehow a connection was made which enabled it to be passed on from a Story Teller of a tribe that lived on the North American continent three thousand years ago. I was merely the scribe. I truly believe you will find comfort in reading and discussing it.


THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT - Billy Whiskers
Copyright 1990
I am Nan. A word which means a person apart. The very concept of a loner was bewildering to the people I remember; the gentle Nanina. It was to them as though a foot were to live and walk about without being part of a body.
Yet, strangely, I must be Nan in order to properly remember them, for a memory 3,000 years old can stand few distractions.
They were a beautiful, wise and gentle people with a natural grace that the world hungers for today. I see their dust blow past in the wind and know that their legacy is a memory in one mind alone. This must not be!
So now I give their memory into your keeping. Do with it as you will, but remember the Nanina.
I weep as I write these words but not for the Nanina, for their lives were full and their days were joyful. The were ishtahei (like a stone) and complete in a way the world has forgotten. Their lives poured from their very souls and the words of their souls were uttered by their mortal mouths.
TO BE CONTINUED

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Alzheimer Gal still hanging in there

They never did pin down the cause of her seizure but she's in rehab at a fascility in Lemon Grove. It remains to be seen how much of her they can bring back but they did a great job last time this happened. I hope you will forgive me if I abandon this story for now and substitute parts from my one and only published book "The Way of the Spirit" ISBN 0935127100 . It's been out of print for some time but you can find it if you google it. I'll try to get the introduction in tomorrow; Hoody

Apologies

I hope my readers will forgive me. The Alzheimer Gal is back in the hospital. This time she had a seizure and I had to call the ambulance crew to come get her. There was no way she could make it to the car.
I'll try to get back to the story but I have no idea when.
Hoody

OLD FOLKS AT HOME - Part 3

I must apologize for being so late continuing this story but the Alzheimer Gal has been having some lung trouble and had to spend a few days in the hospital. I was also at a sort of crossroads in the story and couldn't decide where I was going. I usually create the characters and then let them create the story but it seems Maybell was asleep. At any rate, here is the continuation. I hope you find it enjoyable.
If you haven't already done so please read the first parts of this story before reading this.
Old Folks at Home - Part 3


OLD FOLKS AT HOME - Part 3
The day room is buzzing with groups sitting in every corner trying to figure out what The Pole meant. I asked him once if he knew what they meant himself or if the words just came to him but he just smiled that sad smile of his. I've often wondered about that.
I don't join any of the groups. I like to sort of wander around and listen in. It leaves me a lot more options. Over by the French doors one group thinks it has something to do with a game. Someone suggests solitaire but that's just silly. If he had said,"Red on black", it might have worked but who ever saw a deck of cards with the suits in red and green? Miss Thompkins, who we call The Flower Child (she never married, poor thing) suggests Monopoly but she's a little vague at times. Alzheimers, you know.
They don't seem to be getting anywhere so I wander over to the group near the coffee and cookies table. Old Annie is sure he was talking about a traffic light which at least makes sense but I hardly think Sergeant Cho was here to discuss a traffic accident.
I notice The Artist is sitting by herself furiously scribbling on her sketch pad. Oh, didn't I tell you about her? Well she wears these black leotards with a paint spattered smock over them, which is rather peculiar since I've never seen her painting. She carries her sketch pad and charcoal sticks everywhere she goes and her hands are always soiled. She is - well - a bit on the chubby side, to be charitable. She has this stringy black hair (dyed I'm sure) that looks as though it had never seen a hair brush or been washed. On top of it there is a black beret that has seen better days. There is no offensive odor about her so I suspect she bathes in secret and then works hard to appear unbathed. She is supposed to be very tallented but she drew my portrait once (she draws everyone) and it didn't look like me at all. Would you believe she made me appear old with a crepey neck? Mister Truman agreed it didn't do me justice.
I look over her shoulder and see that she is furiously sketching a very hard looking man. I quickly step away and supress a girlish giggle when I recognize him. I hardly think John Dillinger has anything to do with the case in hand.
The Major has his own usual followers and they are seated in a group below the TV set. Perfectly alligned of course. No circles for the Major. Everything must be in straight lines. He has his own chalkboard which he drags out at times like this and it is filled with words and phrases all connected by arrows pointing every which way. He is standing in front of it with his silly pointer lecturing on how it all fits together but he doesn't really seem to be coming to any conclusions.
I sense Mister Truman looking at me and fold my fan to indicate that he has my attention. For a Yankee, well sort of a Yankee (he is from Kansas) he is quite well versed in the language of the fan. He has come to invite me for a stroll in the garden. As we step outside the French doors I shift my fan to my left hand to indicate that he may take my hand if he wishes.
It really isn't much of a garden by Atlanta standards. Just some geraniums and annuals like marigolds and petunias transplanted out of flats, but one must make do at times.
It should have been quite peacefull and perhaps romantic but unfortunately The Highlander is there playing his bagpipes. I don't really mind the pipes. They are quite stirring at times but they are hardly the proper instrument for playing, "Roll Out the Barrell" which he is industriously, if somewhat wheezily, pumping out at present. As usual he is dressed in kilts. He tries very hard for a Scots burr in his speech but there is a bit too much Brooklyn in it for it to sound authentic.
To be continued

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WEEKLY SPECIAL

The special this week is a cute little made in Hawaii dress for the ladies. $5 for the next ten days. If this one doesn't fit, there are plenty others in my store. Click on the picture to see it in my store.

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OLD FOLKS AT HOME - Part 2

I'm trying my hand at something new (for me at least). Usually my humor is more the zany type but I am aiming for a gentler humor this time. It's less polluting and chock full of nutrition. If you think I'm missing the mark please let me know. Time now to return to The Home and see what's going on.
If you haven't read part 1 yet please do so before reading this episode.

Old Folks at Home - Part 2


"Good morning Mr. Truman. Be sure to try some waffles. They're very nice today with the blueberry syrup".
" Thank you Maybell. I believe I shall. My aren't you looking fresh as a flower this morning".
Out of the corner of my eye I see The Actress coming down the hall. I hardly think she qualifies for the name with only a few bit parts but that's what everyone calls her. What is she doing coming from the mans end of the wing? Right behind Mr. Truman too. Brazen hussy. Always flinging herself about so her skirt swings showing those awful lace garters. Short skirts at her age. They barely cover her knees. HUMPH! Well, what can you expect from a New Yorker? We Atlanta girls would never act like that.
"I believe you've changed your hair this morning Maybell".
"How kind of you to notice Mr. Truman. Yes I've swept it more to the right and upward. Do you like it"? Such an observant man. It's time to act a bit flustered now; perhaps flutter my fan a bit. I'll show The Actress a thing or two. I don't have to climb on a chair and pretend to adjust the TV so the men can peek up my skirt the way she does. I far prefer a mans' respect to his animal instincts.
Oh my! Someone is coming from the entrance corridor. So early for a visitor. Why it's that nice Chinese Detective, Sergeant Cho. I'll bet he's come to talk to The Pole. I must see the newspaper. Something unusual is happening or he wouldn't be here. He never comes to see The Pole unless an important investigation is at a dead end. He's always the one they send. The Pole sometimes talks to him but he never talks to the other detectives. That ruffian Officer Hennesy came to see him once but he just sat there talking for an hour and The Pole never said a word. He kept getting louder and louder and finally started pounding on the table. That's when The Staff asked him to leave. They told him he was disturbing us but actually we were enjoying every minute of it. He was so red faced I thought he was going to have an apoplexy attack by the time he stomped off. It was the best show we'd seen in a long time.
A newswoman got wind of it once but Sergeant Cho wouldn't comment and the rest of us pretended we didn't know what she was talking about. We B Wingers stick together. She tried to interview The Pole but he just sat there for the longest time like he didn't hear her. She was so flustered when she left that she walked right into the plate glass next to the door and fell flat on her pert little fanny. The Pole nodded once like he was expecting it.
Yes. I knew it was important. Sergeant Cho brought two cups of espresso from that Italian Deli down the street and they are in porcelain cups. If it was something minor he would have brought stonewear cups. He bows to The Pole and puts his cup on the table in front of him. Yes. The Pole picks it up and sips from it. That means he is going to say something. He doesn't always but Sergeant Cho still gives him that respectful bow when he leaves. The Chinese are such polite people. I ease myself in that direction. I'm not prying. I just feel the need to sit down at the table and rest a minute. Mr. Truman gallantly escorts me. Everyone else in the day room suddenly feels the need to sit down. We all wait expectantly. The Pole pauses till we are all settled. He's very considerate that way.
He sips from his cup till it is empty, then hands it back to Sergeant Cho. "Green on red.", he says. The Sergeant stands and bows to him again and walks out. The Pole scratches his head as the Sergeant leaves. I've never seen him do that before.
Now we shall all speculate on what he said and what it means. As usual we shall all be wrong.

To be continued if the muse supports.

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WORK IN PROGRESS (man on a tightrope)

Like most writers (even amateurs like me) I hate to have someone see my stories till I feel they are done. I'm going to try something this time though and I may be sorry I did. Not all of the stories I start ever get finished. I'm going to start writing a story right before your eyes. It will be kind of like watching a clown dancing on a tightrope. You really hope he won't fall but it will be something to see if he does. You may find that if you read an episode and then go back later to reread it something (maybe almost eveything) will have changed. Even the title is a working title and subject to change. That being said, here we go. Cross your fingers. As most of you know I have always used Billy Whiskers as a pen name for my humorous stories. Numerous aliases help keep the sheriff at bay.

OLD FOLKS AT HOME - by Billy Whiskers

I have never seen anyone eat a head of cabbage before. Not like Old Annie. She sits there holding an intact head of cabbage in both hands and nibbling on it like a rabbit as she watches the soaps in the day room. If you want my personal opinion, I think she's just showing off because she still has her front teeth.
Come to think of it why do we call her Old Annie? I'm older than she is and no one calls me Old Maybell. They better not if they know what's good for them. Like any tribe (that's really what we've turned into) we have developed our own rituals here in The Home and descriptive names are one of them. She just LOOKS old.
Over in the corner is The Pole staring at the TV with that thousand yard stare of his. He never looks at something. He always looks beyond it. He isn't Polish (at least I don't think so). We call him The Pole because that's what he looks like. He stands well over six feet and even I could almost put my hands around his waist; not that I'd ever be caught dead doing such a thing. It's rare to see him sitting. Usually he is stalking the corridors night and day. The night staff long ago gave up on trying to keep him in bed after lights out. Have you ever seen one of those long legged birds wading? They don't walk along. They seem to think about every step, lifting one foot and standing there for a moment before they put it down. That's the way The Pole walks and it always amazes me to see how much ground he can cover in a short time with that deliberate slow gait. We all keep an eye on The Pole. He has a way of being there when something happens. Last week he stood there for almost an hour staring at the ceiling in the corner of the corridor. Then he kind of nodded and turned away just as an old water pipe burst. If he hadn't turned away just then he would have been soaked. We stopped wondering how he does it a long time ago. He's just The Pole and that's what he does.
The Pole seldom speaks and when he does he's like the Oracle. You never know what he means till it happens. Once he looked at me while we were eating Dinner and said, "Look under your pillow." As soon as I got back to my room I looked but there wasn't anything there. Three days later I misplaced my upper plate. I'd never be seen in public without my teeth in and I frantically searched every place in the room I could thing of. I was about to call someone to help me look when I remembered what he said. There they were, safe and sound under my pillow.
The Major, on the other hand, never stalks. He marches to wherever he is going. Whenever I see him I hear John Philip Sousa in my head. Usually the Washington Post March. He has a picture in his room of his old Marine days and he's only a lance corporal in it but he marches like a drum major so that's what we call him. Sometimes he turns around and marches backwards like he's watching other Marines marching behind. I think he may have been a drill sergeant once. He likes to take charge of things. He's a pain in the butt. (Excuse my unladylike language but that's the only way to say it)
We are the B Wing tribe. We don't associate with the other tribes. The A Wingers are a gang of ruffians and the C Wingers are effete snobs. The other wings are too distant to be worth our attention. I'm not even sure how many there are. The Home is a huge place.
Oh my! Here comes Mister Truman. Doesn't he look handsome in that blue suit with the polka dot bow tie? He fancies that he looks like that other Mister Truman but he doesn't. Much too chubby. The other B Wingers call him Mr. President but I always call him Mr. Truman. He is always after me to call him Robert or Bob but I wasn't brought up that way. I wouldn't call a man by his given name unless we were engaged.
Is my hair all right? Oh Dear! I do hope my lipstick isn't smudged again.

To be continued (I hope)
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Fun with Alzheimers

As those of you who have read my profile on the left already know. I am taking care of an ex with Alzheimers. It can be tiring but there are a lot of funny things that happen also. I thought I'd compile a list of them :
THINGS I LEARNED FROM THE ALZHEIMER GAL
1. Von's grocery bags make a good substitute for Chucks. They only come up to your knees when you put a leg through each handle and make you walk funny but they look a lot alike.
2. There are only two proper places to keep flatware. One is under the couch cushions and the other is in the linen closet. Pots should always be hidden behind the couch. That way she can keep an eye on them since that's where she spends most of her time.
3. Frying pans come in handy for killing flies, especially when they are on a glass top table where you can see them good.
4. Valuables like watches and rings should always be buried in the trash to keep burglars from finding them. We lost a watch and several rings before I learned to sort the trash, but she's right. No one has stolen any.
5. All television programs are about what happened to her when she was younger. She keeps calling me in to see her on TV but I'm too slow. She's never on when I get there. She tells me to sit down and wait. She'll be on again in a minute.
6. Meeting new people every day is good. She meets me for the first time every morning and it takes most of the day before she is convinced we are married.
7. All telephone calls are from her sister. You should see her when some phone marketer calls and I hand the phone to her. She drives them nuts chatting away.
8. Her sister also has Alzheimers and when she does manage to remember how to call they can spend hours on the phone repeating the same 3 minute conversation over and over.

I can laugh or cry but laughing is a lot more fun.

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A FEW THOUGHTS ABOUT WORK AND WORKING

I remember taking walks with my grandfather as a young boy. It seemed to me that old boy could do anything. He'd point to some building and say, "See that fancy brick work around those windows?" Then he'd hold out those big scarred hands to me and say, "These two hands did that". He could point to a bridge and tell me how he helped string the cables that held it up.
In material terms he never owned much but he'd worked on farms, in factories and a few times in small businesses of his own. He could build a house, milk a cow, pick apples or stand on an assembly line from sunup to sundown and do his part in making anything you could imagine. He could lay up a brick wall as straight and true as anyone. He once had a horse and wagon and hauled ice all over Jersey City to fill the ice boxes of the housewives. If an old Ford Model A rattled by he knew it might be powered by an engine he helped build or it might be riding on wheels he put on. A mighty battleship might be tethered to the pier with ropes made from hemp that he helped harvest. He didn't like doing the same thing all the time so he went from job to job but he was always working at something. I remember him telling me that once when jobs were scarce he asked for a job as a ditch digger. He was getting along at that time and the foreman asked if he thought he could do as much work as the young men he already had. "I probably can't do as much as they CAN", he said,"but I can do as much as they WILL" The foreman just handed him a shovel.
He wore patched britches and tattered shirts but he stood straight and wore them with pride. He knew his value and what he had done to keep the country prosperous. He never shared too much in that prosperity but that didn't bother him, and it didn't bother my grandmother either. She was as adaptable as he was. She could cook a great meal out of anything and if there was nothing she knew how to get it. She knew what wild greens were edible and when and where to find them. Bring in anything and she'd turn it into a feast. I ate many a dish of woodchuck at their table. As a kid I once caught a big snapping turtle and dragged it in. She kind of scratched her head over that one but we had some great stew that night.
She used to say,"I got clothes on my back, food in my belly and a tight roof over my head. That makes me rich". She knew that anything beyond that is just toys.
Seems to me that we've lost that pride. There is no place left for a man like my grandfather. Our factories are closed and rotting away. Our farming is done by machinery and not by men. If there is hand work to be done on the farms we bring in someone from a poorer country to do it.
Working in a cubicle and punching a computer may be work but it's work that is never finished. There never comes a time when the worker can point to something with pride and say,"I did that".
I may seem like an old man reminiscing about the "Good old days" but I really think we exported a lot of our pride when we exported our jobs.

Durn that Jody anyhow

You kids best get to your homework. Ain't Jody home yet? He done what!!? Throwed somethin at a skunk? Then what? The skunk throwed somethin back. Quick run lock the doors. Don't let him inta the house. I'll go strip him down and burn his clothes. Gimme that old ragged dog blanket there. He kin wrap up in that till your ma gits home from waitressin at the Feed 'N Fuel truck stop. One a you younguns call there and tell her to bring home a couple gallons of tomato juice. Tell her we'll be out in the barn. We got to scrub this boy down with it. I swear one of these days I'm agonna sell that boy off to the circus if they'd have him. He's a natural born calamity on two legs.
OH LORDY. Look what's comin up the path. Quick Jody. Head for the barn!!!

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EB 'N LAFE SAVE THE GALAXY - Conclusion

You younguns all washed up and ready for bed? Wal I know I promised I'd tell you how it all come out so climb up here. Jody hush up your bawlin. That iodine musta quit burnin by now. I tole you what would happen if you kept pesterin that tom cat.
If you haven't read the first parts of this story read them before you read the end.

Eb 'N Lafe Save the Galaxy - conclusion


PART 4
A few months later Eb 'N Lafe sat on Eb's sagging porch, whittling, spitting, passing the jug and generally having a fine old time.
"Wonder whut ever become of thet Tulliver feller?"mused Eb
"Prob'ly went back to Pinchback Mountain. Reckon he got to missin his kinfolk", replied Lafe.
"Likely so. Kinda miss the little feller. He shore loved his shine".
"And Laws could he chase after a hound? Never seed a feller could skitter cross a bog hole fast as he could. Why it warn't nothin to him".
"Reckon them web feet had somethin to do with thet".
"Mebbe he'll come back fer a visit one a these days".
Meanwhile Admiral Click-Clack had hastily assembled his armada for the invasion of Earth. 15 A class battle cruisers and 73 B class were in orbit ready to bounce to Earth. 150,000 hermit crab marines with fully armored shells were loaded aboard transports along with all of their weapons and he had been promised more once a succesful landing was made.
The Grand Council had been a bit dubious about his claims but the profits to be made from millions of slaves were too big to ignore. This mission would make or break the career of the Admiral and Viceroy.
The Admiral had his communicator order all ships to bounce simultaneously on his command. He wanted the skies of earth to be filled with warships so there could be no effective resistance.
He held up one pincer and said,"On my command. 3 - 2 - 1- EXECUTE. He expected the computers aboard each ship to read the life force of the Opossum which he thought had been fed into them, never realizing that the program carried the boog life force pattern.
Immediately every one of the ships and transports in the armada were bounced into the bottomless sumps of Boogovia, the forbidden planet.
Fortunately all aboard were either crustaceans or amphibians and were able to skitter across the surface to the bank where they watched the entire Federation fleet slowly sink out of sight into the soupy mud.
After a long trial the two were sentenced to 20 years of scraping algae from rocks and all of their fortunes, including what they had cheated Tu-Leever out of, was confiscated. The council decided it had all been a scam and there was no such place as Earth.
Tu-Leever was sitting on his custom grown giant lilly pad in his own private pond, telling the tadpoles about the legendary Eb 'N Lafe who had made him his fortune when they gave him a couple of ears of corn seed and showed him how to build a still. Every planet in the Federation was clamoring to get their share of the mysterious shine, the secrets of which were known only to the inhabitants of the Amphibian planet Bogsnfrogs. One of these days Tu-Leever would go back for a visit. He missed the fun of chasing after the old hound Revalation, stumbling along with a jug of shine and crossing bogs and streams, now and then colliding with trees in the dark. He missed them good ol' boys.

THE END

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EB 'N LAFE SAVE THE GALAXY Part 3

Jody where in tarnation did you git them bloomers you're wearing? They come clean up under yer armpits. Aunt Maybells old trunk in the attic? I thought they looked familiar. I reckon I could tell a few stories about THEM. Naw Jody, I ain't agonna. You ain't ready to hear them kind of stories yet. Jest crawl up here an let me tell you some more about Eb 'N Lafe. Crowd over so's the rest of the younguns can git up here. If you haven't already read the first two parts of this story do so before you read this.

Eb 'N Lafe Save The Galaxy Part 3


Viceroy Snip-Snap and Admiral Click-Clack were seated by the boog tank nibbling on tasty boogs as they talked.
"Telepaths you say?" asked the Viceroy. "How interesting. Do you have any idea how much a telepath slave brings on certain planets"?
"That's what the communication from Tu-Leever said. And according to our biologists there are countless millions of them there".
"Telepaths can be very tricky. It wouldn't do to alert them to our intentions. We have to capture the entire planet in a matter of hours, before they can organize".
"Yes. I'm recalling our scout immediately. We'll have to return to the Federation and come back with an entire armada. Once the Grand Council hears what we have found we'll be heroes; and I might add, very rich ones".
"You know", said the Viceroy,"You'll have to get rid of this illegal boog tank. Pity. They are so tasty".
"Oh I wouldn't come any where near a Federation planet with boogs on board. You remember what happened to the planet Damitall when boogs got loose there".
"I hear the entire planet had to be abandoned. The boogs ate everything in sight and the natives were starved out".
Just then the hatch opened and an Ensign stepped inside. "The scout Tu-Leever has returned, Admiral".
Tu-Leever entered carrying a tote sack tied tightly shut. His skin was pale and his eyes were fiery red. "Do you mind if I sit Admiral? I don't feel well".
"Not till after I hear your report. You haven't caught some native disease have you"?
The scout leaned against the boog tank to steady himself and the enitire thing tipped over. Boogs scuttled everywhere.
"You idiot!!!", shouted the Admiral. then to the Ensign. "Seal off this whole end of the ship quickly before the boogs get into the rest of the compartments".
When all the hatches had been slammed shut, the Admiral turned to the scout who stood slumped over, holding his head in his hands. "Now, your report. I was going to give you a generous 1% of the profits but after that you can just share with the rest of the crew". He didn't mention that he and the Viceroy would split 98% between them. "What's wrong with you anyway"?
"It all started yesterday when I told Eb and Lafe I was leaving. He invited me to a feast of sow belly, corn bread and greasy greens. His wife Becky is some sort of Priestess. Eb told me she was a very religious cook. He said everything she cooked was either a burnt offering or a sacrifice".
The frog belched, then held his head and groaned again.
"Will you stop that!!!",roared the Admiral. Tu- Leever cringed at the loud voice.
"Then Eb said we'd better go check something they called a still and Lafe said he thought that was a crackin' good idea. Apparently checking consists of swallowing large portions of something called shine." He smiled wanly, "It takes a little getting used to and after a while it makes you feel strange but very happy".
"And what is that thing you're carrying?", asked the Admiral, pointing at the tote sack.
"I was coming to that. After we drank sufficient shine Lafe said he felt like hunting and Eb insisted I join them. We started running through the trees and bushes in the dark chasing a strange animal that was chasing another animal and being very noisy about it. Eb and Lafe were as happy as I was and we kept running into trees and falling down and laughing a lot. Both of them kept hollering, 'Git 'im Revalation. Git 'im.' We finally caught an animal they call a possum and he's in this sack".

Tu-Leever reached into the sack and pulled out the possum by the tail. The animal just hung there with it's eyes closed and a silly grin on it's face.
"Is it dead?", asked the Admiral.
"No. It's a very peculiar animal. When something frightens it, it pretends to be dead. Watch this". He dropped the opussum to the deck with a thump. It continued to lay there, unmoving. No one noticed as several boogs jumped on and buried themselves in it's fur.
"This is all very interesting.", said the Viceroy, "but there is one thing that puzzles me".
"What's that"?
"Well I understand how the homing device works but how can we return with an armada if we don't know where we are"?
"AHA!! Fortunately I was able to pull in a few favors, not to mention a considerable bit of bribe money. Gentlemen, we have aboard a brand new tracking device. All we have to do is take a reading on any living organism, such as that er peesome"
"Possum", corrected the frog.
"Yes. Well whatever ridiculous name those two strange creatures -"
"Eb 'N Lafe", corrected Tu-Leever again, "I like them. They're good ol' boys"
Admiral Click-Clack drew himself to his full height and glared at the frog. "If you're done reminiscing, perhaps I can get on with my explanation - now then, as I was saying", he paused to see if the frog would interrupt again but Tu-Leever just stood there slumped, holding his head, which had begun throbbing again with his hangover.
"The tracker will record the readings of this organism and feed them into the computer. When we want to come back the computer will run a program that will pinpoint the exact origin of signals from others of it's kind and bounce us back here, with our war armada all set to invade".
The opossum was a bit more peculiar than anyone realized. An opossum does not play dead. It has a primitive nervous system. When it is overloaded with an emotion such as fear or confusion it is as though a breaker kicks out and all but it's basic functions shut down. After a period of time it resets and the animal goes about it's business - providing something hasn't eaten it. That is the state the opossum was in right now.
When it was placed on the scanner the device was unable to pick up any readings from it's nervous system so it did the next best thing. It took readings from the boogs.

To be continued

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EB 'N LAFE SAVE THE GALAXY Part 2

Wal yer ma is off to wait tables at the Feed'N Fuel Truck Stop. You younguns best get ready for school. What you mean no school today? Teachers sick? Wal I never heard of stoppin school for that. Ain't they got a substitute? Substitutes sick too? You younguns ain't tryin to pull a fast one are you? Jody quit yer bawlin. I done tole you you was gonna fall down the steps if you tried to wear my brogans. I know you ain't hurt. You lit on your head. Wal jest crawl up here and quit snifflin and I'll tell you what happened to ol Eb 'N Lafe next.
If you haven't already read the first part scroll down and read it before you read this.

EB 'N LAFE SAVE THE GALAXY

Part 2
Tu Leever had chosen the cautious approach. If they decided to enslave the planet they wanted it to come as a complete surprise.
Tu-Leever had landed at the lower end of Horrible Hollow. It was a spot where the branch flowing through the hollow ended up in a rather large bog. He now sat up to his neck in mud and swamp water. He was throwing mud into the air so it landed on top of his head and ran down over him. "What a great planet", he thought. "I wish the wife and tadpoles were here to see this. I wonder if I can get the Federation to give me this bog for a Summer home"?
At the edge of the hollow, Eb 'n Lafe stood behind a clump of brush and watched.
"Who in tarnation is thet"?,asked Lafe. "Never seed him around before. Queer lookin feller ain't he"?
"Dang if he ain't. Looky them bug eyes an green hide. An they ain't a hair on him nowheres".
"Iffen he's tryin to take a bath he got strange notions how to do it".
They had been tracking a razorback hog all morning and thought he might be here in the hollow. Now they had forgotten all about the hog. This was more interesting.
Just then Tu Leever stood up and walked onto the bank.
"Say now", said Eb, "Betcha I know who thet is. Not in particular mind but sorta in general. Ye recollect thet bunch up on Pinchbone Mountain? Whut they call them? Thet bunch thet never come out".
"Ye mean the Tullivers? I ain't never laid eyes on them"
"Seed one onct. I were huntin ginseng. They been inbreedin so long they all looks a mite pecoolyar. One I seed had webbed toes, an bug eyes Jest like thet feller".
"Reckon we best go down an be sociable. This yere is kinda our neck of the woods".
Tu-Leever froze when he saw them. They walked up and Eb said, "Howdy. Reckon yer name'd be Tulliver".
Tu-Leever's jaw dropped open when his earpiece translated. "By the great Horny Toad", he thought, "Telepaths. How else could they know my name"?
"Have ye a snort", said Lafe, proferring the ever present jug.
Tu-Leever thought it best to act friendly till he figured things out. He tipped up the jug and took a big swallow.
"Wal dang!", exclaimed Eb, "Looky ol' Tulliver dance. He could work on thet singin' a mite though".
Tu Leever was jumping and stomping around in a circle, making, "WOOF WOOF", noises as he tried to get his breath.
Lafe got out his harmonica and started playing, "Skunk A'crossin the Road"
"YEEE HAW", cried Eb, throwing a few fancy clog steps of his own.

To be continued - - -

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EB N' LAFE SAVE THE GALAXY

What you younguns doing down here? It's way past your bed time. Jody you got yer drawers wrongways out agin. You got the flap openin' to the inside and that jest ain't gonna work in a emergency. Wal I know I promised you a tale but it's way late. Wal alright climb up here next to yer old Uncle Hoody an let's get it over with. Now this tale - whuts in my glass? Jest ahhh tea. Yep that's whut it is tea. No you can't taste it Jody. It's purty strong tea. It's the same kinda tea ol' Eb N' Lafe was drinkin when they told me this tale but them ol'boys wouldn't lie would they?


EB 'N LAFE SAVE THE GALAXY
by Billy Whiskers
Viceroy Snip-Snap groaned as he peeled himself off the deck. "Oh my aching carapace. I think my shell is cracked. What happened"?
Admiral Click-Clack snapped his pincers. He was so agitated he was blowing bubbles. "We had to hit the emergency bounce button". He reared back on his four hind legs and roared loudly, "TU-LEEVER !!!!! To the bridge on the double" He looked around and saw a skinny green leg sticking out from under the console. Grabbing it with a pincer he held the green frog upside down and stared balefully at him. "Trying to hide again? Can't you at least find a new place"?
"But, but. I didn't - I wouldn't - I couldn't"
" Will you listen to this idiot? I ask the Grand Council for a scout and what do they send me? An AMPHIBIAN. They said all their crustacean scouts were tied up".
"Why did you bounce"?
" Because this blithering idiot", he shook Tu- Leever till his pink tongue was hanging out. "tried to pet the Fugozian ambassador".
"PET the FUGOZIAN AMBASSADOR"?
"But-but, he was so cute and cuddly".
"Cute and cuddly and the fiercest, most war like species in the known space-time continuum." He dropped the frog on his head. "there was an entire war armada on our tail. In a few seconds they would have been in range so I had to hit the emergency bounce button to get us out of there fast".
"Where are we"?
"Well that's the problem. In a controlled bounce we always know where we are, but the whole point of an emergency bounce is that it's entirely random. That's why the Fugozians couldn't follow us. We could be anywhere in a literally infinite space-time continuum".
His navigator turned from the console. "Shall I activate the homing bounce sir? We could be back in the Federation in no time".
"Oh sure, back home in disgrace with nothing to show for our expedition. We'd all be scraping algae off rocks for the rest of our lives".
Behind his back a small blue light lit up. There was a soft beep, then another beep. This was followed by beeps that grew louder and closer together till it sounded like a hundred pound canary. His biological officer came running onto the bridge.
He looked at a screen, punched a few buttons and the beeps stopped. On the screen was a series of numbers that grew bigger by the minute. He scuttled back and forth in agitation. "My claws and flippers. I never saw anything like this before. There are thousands of different life forms on just one planet".
"Well, well", said the Admiral," Gentlemen, we might have gotten lucky after all. Which one? Where"?
"That little one, way across the galaxy there. Let me get it on the screen".
A pinpoint of light grew bigger as they sensors zoomed in on it, till a picture of the Earth appeared. "That's the one".

To be continued if you can stand the excitement (not to mention the idiocy)

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TEE OF THE WEEK

TEE OF THE WEEK

Here's a great tee shirt that will suit either the racing or chocolate enthusiast. NASCAR 36, the M&Ms car.

Sorry I've been a little slow with the next tale. I've been busy stocking the shelves of both my clothing and bead stores. Drop by and visit. The links are in my cool links section.
I'll get the first part of my next tale in later today.

The GREAT BOOK SAFARI Conclusion

You younguns sure you want to hear this last part? It's kinda sad partly but it has a good endin. Y'all sure you washed up and brushed your teeth? Naw I don't have to brush mine Jody. I jest take em out now and again an wipe them on the seat a my britches, then set them in a cup of water next to my bed. Okay crawl up here next to me an here we go. If you haven't read the other parts of this story do so now before you read the ending.

DAY 9
Home again, Home again (jiggety jig). I trundled my red wagon full of books into the house. My dog immediately went back under the bed with a clothespin on her nose.
I sat contemplating the books and wondering what to do. On the one hand I can't think of any PBS member who has, "No books smelling of rotten shrimp", on their conditions but the post office might consider them hazardous material and refuse them.
Finally, in desperation, I put them in the washing machine taking the precautions of setting it to the gentle cycle and using Woolite. An hour later I was forced to admit the experiment had been a failure. The books came out fused together into one lump of pulp. I should have remembered that most of them were pulp fiction to start with.
They were buried in a mass grave in the petunia patch. After playing taps on my kazoo and firing a twenty gun salute with my trusty Red Ryder BB gun I erected a simple stone monument with a genuine Reynolds Wrap plaque reading, "Here lie those brave books who gave their all that Free Swapping might survive". I wiped a tear from my eye and went back into the house to drown my troubles in root beer.
Day 10
My spirits were at a low ebb (as opposed to a high ebb) I had no idea how many root beers I had drank. My trash can was overflowing with empties. I considered calling RBA (Root beer anonymous) But I can quit any time I want to. I know I can. I can so. Don't argue with me. OH NO!!!. I was hearing voices.
Suddenly I realized the voice was coming from my book shelf. I KNOW THAT VOICE!! Swiftly I ran to my book shelves and began tearing off the set of 1962 Encyclopedia Britannica I had been trying to convince Goodwill to take off my hands.
In my haste I had neglected to put on the steel toed shoes I usually wore when working with my book shelf. Several heavy volumes fell onto my foot. Fortunately I had shared my camp behind the dumbster in the Canyons with a holy man (Muscatel Sam by name) who had taught me a mystical exercise to dispel pain. It consists of hopping on one foot while chanting the sacred phrase OWWWW OWWWW OWWW. My dog joined in with her own form of canine Yoga which consists of rolling on the floor and laughing.
When the pain had subsided somewhat I hobbled over to the bookshelf and there , peeping shyly out behind AZ - BL was my prodigal book. I danced wildly about the room, holding it to my breast. Now we shall have a great feast. We shall invite all the cats who had followed me from the canyons. I was not sure about the buzzards who lined the porch rail. We shall feast on baloney sandwiches with Kraft cheese and slathered with mustard. We shall drink great tankards full of ginger ale. We shall spare no expense. MY BOOK IS BACK.
I held the wayward book at arms length and read the title, "Breed To Come" Wait a minute. That book is about an intelligent race of cats who inhabit the Earth when men leave. CATS??? That explains everything. There had been no need for all of the searching. Everyone knows that no matter how cats may roam, they always come back.
END OF THE GREAT ADVENTURE

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THE GREAT BOOK SAFARI - Part 6

Here now!!! You younguns been at that sorgum agin? So that's where all my biscuits went. Look at you. You got more on you than you got in you. The flies is stickin to you like flypaper. Jody what in tarnation is that in your pocket? Good Lord child. You don't sop a biscuit in sorgum then put it in your pocket. Best wash up fore you climb up here to hear some more of old Uncle Hoodys adventures. If you don't they'll have to split us up with a froe. Ready? We're gettin to the excitin part.
If you haven't already read the start of this story please do so before you read this part.

Day 8
The sun was just burning through the strange haze the canyon dwellers call smog when I arose stiff and sore from my night behind the dumbster. I shivered in the cold wind that was blowing down the canyon. My fire had gone out and there was nothing left to eat. From somewhere far down the canyon came a strange squeaking noise. Presently Pancho Villain and his pack of killers emerged from the smog pulling a red wagon with rusty wheels piled high with books. Surely my wayward book was in there somewhere.
Suddenly my nose was assailed by a strong odor of spoiled shrimp. I had thought it was just a figure of speech when he offered to get me some "Steenkin books". "Ees no my fault thrift shop shares dumbster with Chinese restaurant", he replied to my complaint.
He led me around the corner and to my amazement I beheld a strange temple. No doubt it was ancient but someone had been keeping this edifice in good repair. Even the soaring golden arches gleamed with the shine of fresh plastic. One of the priests capered in front of it in robes that strangely resembled a clown costume. He had bright red hair and was wearing a huge pair of shoes. On his chest was painted McD, the emblem of the god of fat and cholesterol.
Inside an acolyte stood behind the altar passing out ritual food to the worshipers in exchange for their offerings. He gladly handed me a bigmacdoublefries and then gave me the ritual blessing. "Jalika apllepie widdat"? I nodded and he added a token that seemed to consist of soggy dough wrapped around a gooey substance with a tiny bit of fruit embedded in it. I took that for my breakfast and went outside where I exchanged the bigmacdoublefries for the wagon load of books.
Quickly pawing through the books with one hand while holding my nose with the other I could see that my lost book was not among them. Sadly I turned homeward, towing the wagon behind me. Buzzards circled overhead and a pack of savage yowling cats followed along behind.

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TEES OF THE WEEK

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THE GREAT BOOK SAFARI - PART 5

Day 7
Chihuahuas and chalupas. The leader of the killer chihuhua pack was a fierce looking fellow fully four inches tall. He wore a red bandana. As I struggled to my feet and started to dust myself off he looked at me sternly and demanded. "OK mon drop de chalupa" I admitted fearfully that I had no chalupa and he seemed to wilt before my eyes.
"Si. Nobody have chalupa for Pancho Villain any more. Once I say drop de chalupa and chalupas fall like rain. Then I eat de chalupa an look at camera an say, 'Te quero Taco Bell'. Beeg mon come from back room an give me bag full of money"
Suddely I realized I was looking at the dregs of a once famous star. "What happened"?
"I don know mon. I have my own dressing room. Even gold plated fire hydrant jus for me. Was good. I have party pad in Malibu right nex to hiway. Good road kill to roll in anytime but you know, smoked peeg ears, squeaky toys, doggie bags from bes French restaurants, fancy girl poodles; pretty soon is all gone. I get high on road kill, can't remember my lines. But was good times eh amigos?" All the dogs in the pack agreed it was good times. " Now I am just Pancho Villain the terror of the canyons." His fierce look came back, "Hokay wat ju got"?
I searched through my pockets and came up with a chocolate chip cookie, covered with pocket lint and half a pack of Juicy Fruit gum. He accepted it glumly.
I explained what I was looking for and he brightened. " BOOKS? I get you lots of steenkin books. What you gonna give me"? We finally settled on a BIGMACDOUBLEFRIES. I had no idea where I could get one or even what it was but I was in no position to argue.
The pack disappeared as though by magic. My entire store of supplies had been stolen and I had no water. Glumly I built a small fire with Happy Meal tumbleweeds and settled behind a dumbster for the night. Perhaps tomorow Pancho Villian and his pack would return with my wayward book. Or perhaps they would attack me savagely and tear my socks to shreds. One never knows with these desperate bandidos.

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THE GREAT BOOK SAFARI - Part 4

Now I hope this next part don't give you young'uns nightmares. It's kind of skeery but this is what happened to your old Uncle Hoody. Quit that gigglin' you know your old uncle wouldn't lie to you.

The Great Book Safari - part 4

Day 6

Into the Canyons. - I strode boldly into the dreaded canyons. One must not show fear here. Striding isn't easy when wearing high heeled cowboy boots. Had planned to ride my trusty dog but coward refused to come out from under bed.
Sheer rock walls bear uncanny resemblance to cinderblock and brick. Once thriving civilization here. Mysteriously left. Cryptic messages sprayed on walls may explain if can be deciphered. Paco 13 in rather garish colors seems to be most frequent. Perhaps the last ruler of vanished tribe. Evidence of habitation still remains. Broken furniture, abandoned washers and dryers. Here and there ancient vehicles. All parts removed leaving only empty shells
Most numerous present inhabitants are square and green. They are known as dumbsters and hug the walls all along canyon. Like pack rats they collect all sorts of things. Once a week at 5 AM a strange beast comes roaring into canyon and turns dumbsters upside down to shake out their entire collection of treasures and steal them. They are ridden by members of the fierce Sanitation Workers Tribe. Rumored they bury treasure in lanfils.(whatever they are) Don't understand why dumbsters don't hide or flee. Beast can be heard roaring for long distance. Perhaps why they are called dumbsters. Tribe who lives on top of canyon walls stick heads out of windows and shout encouragement to the beast in unknown languages. Messages like "holitdown wudja ?" or "Trynasleephere". Hope book wasn't hiding in dumbster.
Oddly shaped tumbleweeds roll down canyon in wind. Have markings almost like printing. Some say Slurpie, others Happy Meal, some carry other strange words.
Was about to question dumbsters about book when I heard a sound that chilled me to the bone. The padding of numerous feet. I turned to flee but had forgotten to remove spurs and they tangled in a Slurpie tumbleweed. Flat on my back I stared fearfully upward at the faces of the most dreaded sight in the canyons. A pack of killer Chihuahuas!!

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THE GREAT BOOK SAFARI Part - 3

You young'uns set up straight and quit slurping your soda or I'll take away your straws. A brave man is risking his life to save a lost book.

The Great Book Safari - Part 3

Day 5
I am nearing the end of my strength. After wriggling free of Plumber's deadly trap I tried to inch forward but some strange power kept drawing me back. I finally realized that my elastic suspenders were caught on a nail. With a mighty wrench I tore loose only to have the snaps come flying back and strike me between the eyes. When I regained consciousness I was looking into the eyes of a small black creature with a white stripe down her back. "You almost fell on me", she shouted,"That really stinks". I started to make a remark but thought better of it. Must not get the natives angry when I am at their mercy.
Just then I became conscious of a strange rhythmic sound that I had been hearing for quite some time. It sounded like "99 - thump. 99 - thump. 99 - thump". It was drawing closer by the minute. I drew the only weapon I had brought with me, my trusty nail clippers, and prepared to defend myself but when it got to me I could see that it was only a centipede with a wooden leg.
As I watched the centipede pass my eyes fell on a calico cat that had been sitting watching me all this time. She was going through a strange ritual. First she would look at me and make a circular motion beside her ear with one paw. Then she would make a goofy face and stick out her tongue. I knew she was trying to tell me something so when she trotted off I followed.
LIGHT!! There was a light up ahead. The roof was getting lower and I was wiggling along on my stomach but finally I crawled forth into the fresh air. How wonderfull to feel the sun on my face and the wind blowing into the hole I had torn in the seat of my britches.
But I had failed in my quest. Once more the wily book had eluded me. There was only one place left to look and I shuddered when I thought of it. The canyons!!!!

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THE GREAT BOOK SAFARI - Part 2

My mind slowly continues to deteriorate and so I add this next part of my exciting Safari . This is me in my explorer outfit:
If you haven't read part one please do so before reading this.

The Great Book Safari - Part 2

DAY 4
Into the depths of the earth. I suspect the book has gone underground. Gathered all of my spelunking gear together; miners lamp, ropes and pitons for climbing sheer rock walls. climbing shoes, oxygen in case I encounter bad air, numerous smaller items. It made quite a pile but I found I couldn't get it all into the foundation access hole. Most of it had to be abandoned right at the start.
On entering this dark forbidding space I immediately encountered several natives with rattles tied to their tails. Probably something to do with their religion. They shook their rattles at me in what I took as a friendly greeting ritual. When asked if they had seen the wayward book they opened their mouths and said SSSSSS which I took for a yes. Very encouraging. Pressing onward I met a termite who remarked that he had found the book rather dry. Two silverfish agreed saying they hadn't been able to get into it. An ant had a different opinion saying that the book was quite tastefull, especially the glue on the binding.
I then entered a strange region where several round long objects hung from overhead and decended into the earth. I was informed by the natives that they had been left by an explorer who had been ahead of me. A mysterious man they knew only as Plumber.
Exhausted. Must rest now. Will continue onward tomorrow if I have the strength.

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THE GREAT BOOK SAFARI by Billy Whiskers

And now (cue the Wild Native music) here is a strange and twisted tale from a strange and twisted mind. Read no farther if you value your sanity. All right, you asked for it.

THE GREAT BOOK SAFARI by Billy Whiskers Part 1

Having spent the better part of a day hunting my shelves and boxes for a book requested by a fellow member of the Paperback Swap (PBS) Club and having recently read some excerpts from Sir Richard Burton's notes on his explorations in search of the source of the Nile River, I decided to keep a journal of my adventures in search of my lost book. I take full resposibility for the travesty that follows.

Day 2
Still hunting the legendary lost book. Crawled under all beds and stuck my head under couches. Very close call when I came face to face with a fierce mouse and my head got stuck. Must remember brush next time. Very difficult to remove dust bunnies from beard. Must go on. Civilization as we know it hangs in the balance. At least as we know it on PBS. Planning a bold foray into darkest attic crawl space. (Hire native guide? )

Day 3
Attic crawl space. Hired native guide. Small hairy creature who offered to work for a DAY-O for an autographed picture of Harry Belafonte and a beautiful-bunch-a- ripe- banana. Strange fellow. Eight legs and numerous eyes.
Several widows with red hour glasses tatooed on stomachs invited me into their parlor. Tempted but must not let myself be distracted from the search.
Saw several tracks. Book has been here but gone now. Native bearers have deserted. The sound of drums is driving me crazy. Last peanut butter sandwich eaten hours ago. Out of water. Flashlight batteries running low. Will put this message in safe place in case I don't get out alive. Tell my dog I love her.

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NEIGHBORLY TENDENCIES Conclusion

If you like cats and you like stories have I got a blog for you. DIARY OF A GINGER CAT Caution. It's adicting. You'll also find it in my cool links.
Now on to the exciting conclusion of our latest Eb n' Lafe tale. If you haven't read the first two parts please do so before you read this.

NEIGHBORLY TENDENCIES by Billy Whiskers - Conclusion


Lafe shone his lantern onto the edge of the branch. There in the mud was the track he knew so well; a right hind foot with two toes missing. Old Trap-toes for sure.
That had been hours before and the old coon was still running Revalation a good race. He managed to get him to false tree twice and lost the old hound several times with his tricks but Revalation was still on him. Lafe had been back and forth across the branch so many times his brogans were soaked and once his foot had slipped on a rock and he sat down hard in a pool. Bit his tongue a good one too when he hit bottom. He leaned against a tree as he tried to catch his breath. He was scratched head to toe from greenbriars and his shirt was tore. Becky was gonna let him know about that. Lafe was having the time of his life. You just couldn't beat ol Trap-toes for a good run.
They had gotten so far out this time Lafe could barely hear them but now the hounds voice was slowly getting louder as Trap-toes circled back to his home territory. Lafe knew the old coon had to be getting tired by now. Pretty soon he'd have to tree. There it was!!
"Treed by dang!!" Lafe shouted out loud. By now he was all turned around. He knew the directions from the moon but danged if he knew where he was. He couldn't spot any familiar trees or rocks.
He stumbled toward the sound of the excited hound barking treed for all the world to hear, managing to get himself into a bramble patch this time.
"Whar in Tarnation am I?", Lafe muttered. At least he was getting closer. The baying was durn loud now. He took one more step and was hit in the face with something that pricked and stung at the same time. Cautiously he reached out and his hand closed on something that felt like a pin cushion full of needles.
"Careless weed by dang !". Now he knew where he was. This had to be the edge of Eb's corn field. Nobody else let the careless weed get this tall. He chuckled as he thought of Eb and Becky trying to sleep through all this ruction.
He stepped into an open patch and there they were. Revalation was bouncing up and down against a big dead tree and baying loud enough to wake the dead.
Lafe lit the carbide miners lamp he wore on his forehead and shined the light up and down the snag. There was a hollow almost at the top and he caught the shine of a pair of eyes just as the coon ducked out of sight. Lafe knew this old coon well so he just kept the light on the opening. Sure enough a bandit face slowly raised back up.
"Allus gotta take a secont look don't ye?" said Lafe as he raised his rifle and took aim right between the eyes. He held his bead for several seconds then slowly lowered the rifle to his side.
"Now ye listen yere." shouted Lafe, "By rights I oughta kick thet rotten mess over an shoot ye as ye crawl out. I know ye been in Edna's hen house an hits gotta stop. Now we been friends fer a lotta years an we allus had lots of fun together but unless you start showin some neighborly tendencies I'm agonna have to do somethin' we'll both regret".
Lafe called Revalation off and they started for home.
"CREEEEAK", the outhouse door slowly opened and Eb looked out cautiously. Once he was sure that Lafe wasn't laying for him he hitched up his britches and went into the cabin. Becky watched from the bed as he sat down in the old rocker. He rocked for a bit, then reached down and picked up the jug that he always kept next to it. He pulled the corn cob stopper and raised in on the edge of his arm. Becky heard it gurgle as he took a healthy swallow. He took one more, replaced the stopper and turned to her.
"B'lieve I'll take some shine down to Rufus at the Gen'l Store an trade me fer a nice ham. We'd ought to invite Lafe 'n Edna over fer dinner this Sund'y. Time ye started showin a few Neighborly Tendencies".
THE END

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Neighborly Tendencies - Part 2

I ran across an interesting blog today. She's just starting it but what a great start it is for those who love minerals and gems. WIRE AND CRYSTALS is the name and if you forget look in my Cool Links.
Now younguns, time to get back to our story. Lafe wasn't having an easy time of it either. He - here now, quit that squirmin and settle down. Here's what happened.
If you haven't read the first part of this story scroll down and read it before this one.

NEIGHBORLY TENDENCIES - PART 2


"Lafe!!! Ye agonna lay abed all day? Sun's nigh over the ridge".
"Aw Edna. You know me n Revalation didn't git home till nigh sunup. We brung you a nice fat possum fer dinner."
" An whilst you an thet ol' houn dog was roustin around the woods, somethin got inta the hen house agin. Two a my best layin hens is gone".
"We'll circle round thar tonight. See kin we pick up a trail. Some kinda varmint likely".
"An we both know what kinda varmint it is too. I wanna see him shot an his hide nailed onto the shed fore the night's out"
Eb poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. "Whuts fer breakfast"?
"Ye know the only way we gits things from the store is tradin my eggs. No eggs, no coffee, ner flour fer bisquits ner gravy ner bacon to go with them there eggs yere gonna be gobblin up an' if all them hens disappears won't be no more nuthin." She set each item on the table as she named it, slamming them down so hard Lafe expected to see the old plates break.
"Now Edna ye know ol' Trap-toes don't take a hen less he's really hongry. We'll roust him good tonight an he'll leave us be fer quite a spell"
"Ye're bad as yer pappy with them crazy names. Trap-toes HUMPH an whilst we're at it whut kinda name is Revalation fer a hound dog"?
"Pap almost caught thet ol coon in a trap one time but he got out of it an left two toes behind. Slowed him down jest a mite so's he has to use all his tricks to git away. Mighty handy critter to train a hound on. An I call thet ol dog Revalation cause any time a critter tries to trick him he sets down till he has a revalation an away he goes on the trail agin".
"Ye got any egg credit down to the Gen'l store? I need me some more 22 shells. I mus be agittin' old. It took me two shots to knock thet ol' possum outa the tree, even with the moon behint him"

Stay tuned as Lafe an Revalation has a run with ol' trap toes and somebody else gets a revalation too.

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