tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128842142024-03-07T02:02:34.219-06:00for a breath i tarry"From far, from eve and morning and yon twelve-winded sky, the stuff of life to knit me blew hither: here am I. ...Now -- for a breath I tarry nor yet disperse apart -- take my hand quick and tell me, what have you in your heart."ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-49934860815927080022008-05-06T15:49:00.003-05:002008-05-06T15:53:13.074-05:00from postsecret<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqgBI4MY8TbfrAW5OSdU9b1CV-XPu2WwKERDCAj5RFIZUuRKkUg0TXLVtvdsCGr5nxbGkJEpPn87WLspHpVgeiGd-ha3VGBRqmB7ukn3z0k4bltjN73AH5qpeFTLTn22gk53kZ/s1600-h/fear.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqgBI4MY8TbfrAW5OSdU9b1CV-XPu2WwKERDCAj5RFIZUuRKkUg0TXLVtvdsCGr5nxbGkJEpPn87WLspHpVgeiGd-ha3VGBRqmB7ukn3z0k4bltjN73AH5qpeFTLTn22gk53kZ/s320/fear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197370159899574834" border="0" /></a>----Email Message-----<br />Sent: Monday, May 05, 2008 2:19 AM<br />Subject: intellectual woman<br /><br />As an intellectual (and heterosexual) man, I'm more and more afraid I'll have to give up finding you- speak up! I'm looking and looking as best as I can, but I'm not seeing you right off....ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1156006963402825782006-08-19T11:54:00.000-05:002006-08-19T12:02:43.490-05:00Scarevella: the final chapter<span style="font-family: lucida grande;">Thanks to all who were concerned for their well wishes; I'm feeling much better. Last night I talked with the Ideal, and then slept soundly. This morning, after a breakfast with a couple friends, I set to work on finishing the Chapter. [Oh, and Uncle RSM, I <span style="font-style: italic;">did </span>say within 36 hours... that did give some indication on WHEN it would be done. Guess this means you can't rely on me to housesit, huh? ; ) ]<br /><br />Anyway, <a href="http://justdotchristina.mu.nu/">Christina </a>began this story with <a href="http://feistyrepartee.mu.nu/archives/187095.php">Resurrection</a>. <a href="http://lovelyredrose.blogspot.com/">Lolly </a>continued it with <a href="http://lovelyredrose.blogspot.com/2006/07/scarevella-chapter-ii.html">Death Tolls</a>. <a href="http://villainsvanquished.blogspot.com/">Phoenix </a>carried it along with <a href="http://villainsvanquished.blogspot.com/2006/08/scarevella-chapter-3.html">Unnatural</a>. <a href="http://beerbrains.mu.nu/">That1Guy </a>had the latest addition to the story, with <a href="http://beerbrains.mu.nu/archives/192193.php">Old Man</a>.<br /><br />Here's mine; I hope it's enjoyable:<br /><br /></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";">The Eye<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>Pascal slowly turned to face the old man, a malicious grin spreading across his face like wildfire. Bastien held his gaze, standing his ground as gusts of putrid wind rushed past the boy, untouched, and pelted him with stinging drops of rain. Corrine let out a bloodcurdling scream as the droplets changed to fire. Bastien waved the women off to the side, Corrine dragging and shielding Lady Niette from her horrifying son. His skin singed as the fire pelted against his slight frame.<br /><br /><span style=""> </span>Steeling his strength against the onslaught, Bastien blocked the spirits Pascal had sent careening after his mother. He called upon the appropriate god to spare the woman her fate. It was too bad about the boy. If only Pascal’d been shown how to use his powers appropriately... but ‘twas too late now. The work of every devil was within him, captivating his very soul and the souls of all he touched. Pascal must be stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>“Come now, old man!<span style=""> </span>You know I cannot be stopped, just as this storm cannot be controlled,” sneered the small child.<span style=""> </span>And the storm waged on its war against every object, living, dead, or otherwise.<span style=""> </span>Bastien glanced up at the swirling vortex that just this afternoon had been a calm, clear sky.<span style=""> </span>The lad was cocky, though hopefully wrong.<span style=""> </span>Sighing, the old man launched a full assault on the boy.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>“Not Pascal, please, dear Lord!”<span style=""> </span>Lacy pleaded with her God, her chest heaving as she weeped with terror and sorrow.<span style=""> </span>She and Corrine huddled behind a small wooden shack on the edge of the LaFleur property.<span style=""> </span>Harsh winds whipped across their quaking bodies, tearing at them and chilling them to the center of their souls.<span style=""> </span>Lacy could not watch the battle ensuing, for the display of such evil power would have killed her.<span style=""> </span>Corrine whimpered as the spirits soared closer, wailing and screeching as they went.<span style=""> </span>The two women clung to each other, utterly terrified.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>Corrine glanced up at Lacy. With a shriek, she started back from her and cried, “My Lady, your – your hair!”<span style=""> </span>Lacy’s magnificent locks had turned a stark white where dark tendrils had extended toward her head… <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>Jeffrey woke up with a start.<span style=""> </span>His older son lay, curled in a tattered quilt, at his feet.<span style=""> </span>For all the covers over him, the boy was shivering, his whole body quaking with fear of his brother.<span style=""> </span>Jeffrey quietly arose, heading straight for the window.<span style=""> </span>The storm was more powerful than any he had seen.<span style=""> </span>The trees flailed this way and that, and the entire house shuddered, creaking back and forth.<span style=""> </span>Branches snapped off, sounding so like gunshots.<span style=""> </span>A flash of lightning etched an ugly scar across the sky.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>In the black sky, Jeffrey could see an opening toward the center of the storm.<span style=""> </span>It was not the calm for which he had hoped; the tear was dark and ominous.<span style=""> </span>From it poured forth shadows of creatures too terrible to imagine.<span style=""> </span>He could hear their wailing over the noise of the storm.<span style=""> </span>Abruptly, he realized it was because they were closer than he’d thought.<span style=""> </span>He backed away from the window slowly, stumbling over the fitfully sleeping Emile. <span style=""> </span>Dark, swooping figures were heading straight for the house…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>Pascal sent another wave of demons at Bastien, blasting him also with torrents from the ever-growing storm.<span style=""> </span>Bastien could feel his power wavering as another bout attacked.<span style=""> </span>He wavered in his stance.<span style=""> </span>The winds pulled at his skin, stripping away at his life.<span style=""> </span>This child was strong – stronger than he should have been made, but those were, again, the devils inside him.<span style=""> </span>His eyes glowed red as he called more spirits against his frail mother.<span style=""> </span>Her life was draining from her terrified eyes, opened wide to the horrors these demons held.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>Bastien was failing, and he knew it.<span style=""> </span>He denied the impulse to break free of this mess and end it easily.<span style=""> </span>He must try to save Lady Niette.<span style=""> </span>She alone had had some small amount of control over this boy.<span style=""> </span>Without her, there was no hope for any of them.<span style=""> </span>He looked over at the affected mother.<span style=""> </span>She was losing her soul at an alarming rate.<span style=""> </span>The boy was harsh with her.<span style=""> </span>Swiftly, he called again upon the appropriate gods for her sake.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>Yet as Bastien glanced again at Lacy, Pascal attacked full force.<span style=""> </span>The old man was broadsided by the worst of the demon spirits; his life swept away by the malicious forces of the storm.<span style=""> </span>As the spirits shrieked, his slight, worn body crumpled to the ground.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>Lady Niette screamed as she tried to scramble away.<span style=""> </span>The full array of spirits was now turning their attention toward her.<span style=""> </span>Corrine held her strongly in place.<span style=""> </span>Desperately, Lacy looked at her companion’s face.<span style=""> </span>She paled, her eyes locked in a gaze shared by blood-red pupils.<span style=""> </span>These eyes shared with her the complete extent of her sins, and all the horrors of all the hells.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>“Good-bye, <i style="">Ma m</i></span><i style="">è</i><i style=""><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";">re</span></i><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";">,” Pascal’s voice sounded from close by, a cruel smile twisted across his lips.<span style=""> </span>Lacy’s eyes wrenched away from Corrine’s demonic stare, and she looked upon her son for one last time.<span style=""> </span>Her body went limp, her soul consumed by the demons swelling about them.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>“Come, my servant,” he beckoned to the remaining woman, and they disappeared into the darkness of the storm.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>~~~<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>Jeffrey relaxed his grip on young Emile as the spirits drew back, their wailing subsiding.<span style=""> </span>The storm must be near an end, calming.<span style=""> </span>He breathed a sigh of relief.<span style=""> </span>“<i style="">Papa</i>?<span style=""> </span>Is it over?”<span style=""> </span>He heard the trembling voice ask hesitantly.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";"><span style=""> </span>“Oh, no, <i style="">mon fr</i></span><i style="">è</i><i style=""><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";">re</span></i><span style="font-family: "lucida grande";">, it’s just the eye, the eye of the storm,” a corrupted voice intoned.<span style=""> </span>Father and son looked up to see the small boy standing in the doorway.<span style=""> </span>The storm raged about him, and the demons issued a bloodcurdling shriek as they rushed forth to devour the souls of Pascal’s remaining family.<span style=""> </span>That-which-was-Corrine joined the force to consume, and Pascal’s maniacal laugh resounded throughout the bayou…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><br /></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1153087754231994952006-07-16T16:58:00.000-05:002006-07-16T17:11:10.363-05:00if i dreamed..<span style="font-family:lucida grande;">[In case you're curious, <a href="http://justbreathe.blogs.com/">Silk</a>, this has nothing to do with our recent discussion; I wrote this before any of that.]<br /><br /> It was a late-spring evening, and the sun was slowly setting on the empty, still park. Trees, majestic and tall, swayed in a wind which carried the lingering fragrance of sweet blossoms. Two figures came over the hill, their footsteps crunching on the gravel path. They were a long way out, these two friends. The pair were enjoying discussions as they transversed the park -- so much so, that they did not noticed the fast-approaching storm clouds.<br /><br /> Just as they neared the middle fountain, a commanding Neptune in focus, a downpour burst from the sky. They raced to the old oak tree, attempting in vain to avoid being soaked. At first, they huddled near the base, laughing over their drenched circumstance. Soon, they were standing beneath the canopy, and together they watched the rain. Both had affinities with storms, and they were content in their plight. Occasional conversation ensued, with comfortable lapses into silence. It was during one of these that he noticed just how cold she was, for she was without a jacket, and her teeth were chattering quietly.<br /><br /> Gallantly, he removed his coat and draped it across her shoulders, refusing her initial protests -- he was a gentleman, and would 'tough it out.' She glanced at him gratefully as she snuggled into the already warm material. Showers continued, and the breeze picked up. She observed how chilled he was, as well, and, ever-practical, she implemented a plan.<br /><br /> With a little smile on her face, she slipped his coat from her shoulders, handing it back to him as she explained herself. He pulled it back on, leaving it unzipped, and the distance between them melted. She wove her arms around his waist, inside the coat, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, closely.<br /> They continued talking, though they no longer noticed the rain. The mood between them had changed; their voices grew softer and they lapsed into more and more silence, enjoying the closeness. The storm had been the catalyst needed to bring them along the path they both had been leaning toward. The sun had nearly set as the rain continued coming down.<br /><br /> He shifted and began humming some low, gentle tune. She nestled her head against his chest as they started to sway. He lightly kissed her hair, then rested his head upon hers. They slowly danced under the canopy of the old oak tree, to their own unending song. Neither noticed that the rain had stopped...<br /> <br /></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1152846151401648572006-07-13T22:00:00.000-05:002006-07-13T22:02:31.433-05:00a view of amelie<span style="font-family:lucida grande;">from vacation at the lake..<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/1600/DSCF2885.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/320/DSCF2885.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1151731761560883992006-07-01T00:18:00.000-05:002006-07-01T00:29:21.633-05:00With Apologies for the Delay<span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I've just finished typing up my contribution to the Psychevella, a concept started by the lovely Lady Christina, who just celebrated her 39th birthday. Happy birthday, dear, with love. <br /><br />This Psychevella began with chapters by Bob [with <a href="http://feistyrepartee.mu.nu/archives/180679.php">Bitter Herbs</a>], Christina herself [with <a href="http://feistyrepartee.mu.nu/archives/181429.php">Heads Up</a>], and Leslie [with <a href="http://getonthe.blogspot.com/2006/06/book-your-ticket_24.html">Shrink This</a>]. I have chapter four. <a href="http://caltechgirlsworld.mu.nu/">Caltechgirl </a>will follow me, God bless her, and <a href="http://baboonpirates.blogspot.com/">El Capitan</a> will wrap it all up!<br /><br />I hope you continue to enjoy the Psychevella. Without further ado, my contribution:<br /><br /></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">The Old Neighbourhood<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><span style=""> </span>Hanging up the phone, Cahill furrowed his brow as the team swept through every inch of the old McFarland house.<span style=""> </span>Something did not seem quite right about the place – something besides the distinct lack of Johnny’s mother’s decorum. <span style=""> </span><i style="">I wonder what ancient childhood trinkets of Johnny’s and mine they’ll find</i>, he wondered.<span style=""> </span>The building had probably never been so thoroughly inspected as it was now.<span style=""> </span>And yet, the main floor, which by the dusty stairs to second seemed to be the most often used area, was completely devoid of prints, blood, anything.<span style=""> </span>Almost cleaner than a clean room.<o:p><br /> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><span style=""> </span>Sighing, Cahill watched the team carry away the assemblage of appendages found in fridge and freezer alike.<span style=""> </span>A complete set for a body, but there was no way he would let old Mrs. McCuddahey identify George in person; the shock might send her over the edge, and one death was all he could stand around here right now.<span style=""> </span>Carefully, he’d had the team put the body together in rough form, and they’d thrown a sheet over most of the corpse out of respect.<span style=""> </span>Digital print-out in hand, he made his way to the familiar brownstone next door, where an anxious Mrs. McCuddahey was waiting in his mother’s sitting room.<span style=""> </span>She’d have a lot to go through these next few days, poor soul.<o:p><br /> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><span style=""> </span>Cahill trudged up the familiar, care-worn steps, rang the bell once, and waked in.<span style=""> </span>His mother was making tea to soothe her neighbour’s weak nerves, as well as to supply herself with a cuppa.<span style=""> </span>Fortunately, the ever-practical Mrs. Romano was a Godsend; she handed him a brewed cup of coffee just as he walked in the door.<span style=""> </span>She noted at once his appearance, especially the grim countenance displayed upon his face.<span style=""> </span>Wordlessly, he passed the kitchen by, and entered the sitting room.<span style=""> </span><i style="">Such a frail, tiny woman!</i><span style=""> </span>He hoped, once again, that her heart was stronger than she looked.<span style=""> </span>He sat down in his late father’s favourite chair.<span style=""> </span>He cleared his throat, dreading this moment as always he did, and started in. “Mrs. McCuddahey, I’m afraid I’ve brought some bad news...”<o:p><br /> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><span style=""> </span>“Is George in trouble?<span style=""> </span>Is it that <i style="">girl</i>!?<span style=""> </span>I hope he hasn’t been being” – her voice dropped to a whisper – “<i style="">worldly</i>.”<span style=""> </span><o:p><br /> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><span style=""> </span>“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s much worse.<span style=""> </span>I regret to inform you that George, your son, has been… murdered.<span style=""> </span>You have my deepest sympathies,” he consoled as he passed her the print-out.<span style=""> </span>Cahill watched her suck in a long, deep breath.<span style=""> </span>Her eyes had widened, and her hand shook more than usual – or so he thought – when she reached for the print-out.<span style=""> </span>Her breath caught as she gazed down at it through her half-moon spectacles.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><o:p> </o:p><br /><span style=""> </span>“Yes.<span style=""> </span>Yes, that’s my George.<span style=""> </span>My son… my only son!”<span style=""> </span>And she sobbed silently, crumpling herself into his mother’s capable arms.<span style=""> </span>The print-out fell to the floor, showing all in the room the disrespect that had occurred. Mrs. Romano picked it up gingerly, and jerked her head toward the kitchen.<span style=""> </span>Cahill nodded.<span style=""> </span>He followed her there to let one old soul help another in her grief.<span style=""> </span>He could hear his mother softly soothing, “Martha, honey, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” and her voice trailed off as he walked out of earshot and into the kitchen.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Romano, of course, was all business, leaning against the counter, arms folded.<span style=""> </span>“How long ago, William?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><o:p> </o:p><br /><span style=""> </span>That name again.<span style=""> </span>He tried not to let it either irk or amuse him.<span style=""> </span>“Two days ago, we think.<span style=""> </span>Won’t know for sure until the pathologist gets a look at him.<span style=""> </span>I hope to God it didn’t last days.”<span style=""> </span>Cahill handed her his cup, looking for a refill.<span style=""> </span>She complied, but with a confused look upon her face.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><o:p> </o:p><br /><span style=""> </span>“How could a blow to his head have lasted for days?”<span style=""> </span>She hands the brimming coffee back to him as he remembered, gratefully, what his team had done.<span style=""> </span><i style="">Of course Mrs. Romano doesn’t know about the dismemberment</i>, he reminded himself.<span style=""> </span>“Never you mind, Mrs. Romano.<span style=""> </span>Could you go back in there and see if Mrs. McCuddahey is up for a few questions right now?<span style=""> </span>I know it’s late, but …”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><span style=""> </span>“Sure, William, I’ll check on Martha right now,” and with that, she marched from the room, leaving Cahill to collect his thoughts.<span style=""> </span><i style="">What ‘</i>girl<i style="">’ had she been referring to?<span style=""> </span>Did she know anything about Lenny Markowitz?<span style=""> </span>Would this all lead back to Dr. Schoedel?</i><span style=""> </span>He had his suspicions about Dr. Schoedel, beginning with George’s personal notes on his sessions with the “Shiksa Psychiatrist” and leading into the number of messages / scheduled meetings George had relating to her.<span style=""> </span><i style="">She had seemed unhelpful and uncomfortable on the phone just now… would she actually try to “find” George?<span style=""> </span>Or did she know…</i><span style=""> </span>Cahill brushed his thoughts aside, and headed back into the sitting room.<o:p><br /> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><span style=""> </span>A more composed Martha McCuddahey sat waiting for him, her hands folding primly on her lap.<span style=""> </span>Without further ado, he asked question upon question.<span style=""> </span>Each was answered directly by Mrs. McCuddahey, with supplementary information from Mrs. Romano; if anyone would know around here, she would know.<span style=""> </span>Cahill actually found this line of questioning useful, but only because he was so used to multiple women talking at once – especially if one of them was Mrs. Romano.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><o:p> </o:p><br /><span style=""> </span>He started with general questions:<o:p></o:p><br />“Do you know of anyone who would want to harm George?”<o:p></o:p><br /><span style=""> </span>“No, he was a perfect angel.”<o:p></o:p><br />“He was always very quiet, kept mostly to himself, and was polite whenever and wherever.”<o:p><br /> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><span style=""> </span>And soon progressed to more personal questions, which conveniently addressed his curiosity about George’s decorations:<o:p></o:p><br />“What religious beliefs did George profess?”<o:p></o:p><br />“Well, naturally, Roman Catholic. We’re devout.<span style=""> </span>He almost became a priest.”<o:p></o:p><br />“I heard tell he dabbled in all sorts of devilry, but I never wanted to upset Martha with it…”<o:p></o:p><br />Cahill made a mental note to ask Mrs. Romano more about that later.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"><o:p> </o:p><br /><span style=""> </span>Finally, he reached the question he’d been wanting to ask.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p><br />“When I first entered, you mentioned ‘that girl’.<span style=""> </span><i style="">Who is ‘that girl’? </i>”<o:p></o:p></span></p>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1148694188929170622006-05-26T20:30:00.000-05:002006-05-26T21:09:49.540-05:00with apologies to aunt sadie...[updated]<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">A recent msn conversation:<br /><br />amelie: i've never touched a gun<br />the ideal: oh that's unfortunate<br />amelie: maybe someday i'll learn how to handle one<br />the ideal: i haven't succeeded in getting a deer for 5 years, but someone usually makes up for it so i can have my fill of animal flesh :)<br />amelie: don't know that i've ever tasted of it<br />the ideal: deer, or meat in general?<br />amelie: deer<br />the ideal: good, i was afraid i had met another vegetarian there for a minute<br />[almost simultaneously with the previous line] amelie: vegetarian is soo not worth it<br />[then, in response to his, because i could <span style="font-style: italic;">hear </span>him saying it] amelie: lol<br />the ideal: so true<br />the ideal: except, what do you gain by being a vegetarian?<br />amelie: less protein?<br />amelie: more angst?<br />the ideal: lol<br />amelie: c'mon, you know i'm right :)<br />the ideal: certainly less angus<br /><br /><br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1147634079756103432006-05-14T14:06:00.000-05:002006-05-14T14:14:39.783-05:00speaking of calendars..<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">To the woman:<br />who responded to my scarce comments with utmost kindness last spring,<br />who took an interest in my life,<br />who encouraged me to begin blogging -- and even help me set up my blog and profile, who gave me family,<br />who taught me to appreciate myself more [we're still working on that one],<br />who inspired me with her own written words to write myself,<br />who started projects that brought us all together,<br />who juggled work and family time with her wonderful husband and two lovely daughters,<br />who encourages me to aspire to great things,<br />who believed and believes I'll get there,<br />who shines more brightly than any other writer I know,<br />who has touched each of us -- it has been said, and I agree, that she is the one who has, more than any other, united the blogosphere neighbourhood we have into a family,<br />who has done more for me than I can put into words [if I but had the eloquence to say them],<br /><br />thank you, and happy mother's day, <a href="http://justdotchristina.mu.nu/">Christina</a>.</span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1146873172433613052006-05-05T17:58:00.000-05:002006-05-05T18:52:52.473-05:00because Audrey asked ...<span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">for <a href="http://empressmusings.blogspot.com/2006/05/what-i-am.html">Audrey</a>, since she wanted to know:<br />a meme.<br />I AM:<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> often thought to be lonely, when i'm just alone, and thought to be just alone, when i'm lonely; young, and old, at the same time, rather patient understanding and rational [i think].</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I WANT: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">to be able to make it in whatever i end up trying to become, to keep my faith, to find happiness with a wonderful man and be blessed with children.</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I WISH: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">to be recognized for being me, not academia. i recognize that that's a large part of me, but i keep telling myself there is more to me than that. that i could have met J.R.R. Tolkien; that those i love weren't so spread out; also, for happiness, good health, and the like for all whom i know and love.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I HATE: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">hypocrites, most fruits, being forgotten / left behind, credit card offers.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I MISS: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">my closest of close friends, Wisconsin, the lake, my dad, and my brother.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I FEAR: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">failure, losing those i love dearly, falling from faith</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I HEAR: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">doors opening, stairs being climbed past me, random mumblings of a dorm, typing, Issy van Randwyck singing "I'll Build a Stairway to Paradise" from the </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Glory of Gershwin</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> CD.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I WONDER: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">what path i'll end up following, if i'll find someone / be found, how i'm going to do on finals this next week, which friends will keep in touch with me as our lives keep taking us farther away from each other, how to do Problem #4 on the Putnam, where home is now</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I REGRET: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">spending so much time second guessing myself and my friends -- convincing myself i didn't have almost any friends -- such that i missed out on a lot of good for years; and still having such a lack of self-confidence -- "how do you fix that?" would probably go into the wondering category.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I AM NOT: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">desperate, suicidal, and, currently, unhappy; as intelligent as everyone gives me credit for being.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I DANCE: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">very little, awkwardly, not as well as Princess, the guy's part in a waltz.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I SING: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">a lot of the time, in harmony [sometimes unwritten or before the singers of whatever is on], NOT at the dinner table [dad's rules sunk in], NOT when some completely different music is on [also a dad rule that stuck]</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I CRY: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">at funerals, sometimes when i remember my paternal grandfather, sometimes when i think of how i never had the chance to really know my maternal grandfather, sometimes when i remember watching my maternal grandmother die; none of these are often.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I AM NOT ALWAYS: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">as kind as i should be, as happy as i appear [sorry, Audrey; they were the perfect answers for me]</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I MAKE: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">promises [and keep them], good fudge and good cookies, a lot more mistakes than most people are willing to believe, music with my fingers, people freeze in their tracks / be quiet with a single quelling look, secrets stay secret.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I WRITE: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">all the stories in my head -- even though they don't all come to paper that well, letters to my g-ma each week, [sometimes i write] random quotations [both my own and others] to inspire those around me to thought or action, in several different handwritings, often without capitalization.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I CONFUSE: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">people who hate math, most people with whom i talk [they often admit they weren't really listening, too..]</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I NEED: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">God, love, music, learning, the friends i have, the good times i have with them.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I HAVE: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">you. thank you. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I LOVE: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">God, rain, storms, fog, mist, accents, my family, my friends, chocolate, playing piano, hearing my father play piano, traveling, visiting those i love, the beauty of places like Pennsylvania Ireland New Zealand etc. [even if i've never been], a lot more things that don't need to be posted -- to know me is to know these.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I SHOULD: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">work out more, worry less, stop overanalyzing / overthinking everything, have more fun.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I TAG: <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">my </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://justdotchristina.mu.nu/">blogmother</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">, my crazy </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://justbreathe.blogs.com/">blogaunt</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">, my </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://nuggets.mu.nu/">bloggodfaddah</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">, my </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://thundernroses.typepad.com/thunder_and_roses/">fa</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">, my </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://dboilingpoint.blogspot.com/">dashing brother,</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> and </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://paigevonliber.blogspot.com/">Paige</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">. </span></span><span style="font-family: lucida grande; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> if any of you would like to, have at it. if not, i won't be offended.</span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1145329898876587852006-04-17T21:40:00.002-05:002006-04-18T08:17:41.650-05:00Inquit and Backrubbery [updated]<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">In the previous post, I talked about how the Stud and I thought we saw each other Saturday last. Bizarre set of circumstances, but it led us to plan so far as hanging out sometime Friday or Saturday evening. Friday ended up, for me, being family Pinochle and watching an episode of House with the parentals [Mob Rules, from Season One]. I snagged a movie afterwards to watch up in bed whilst everyone else went to sleep.<br /><br />Saturday morning I -- *gasp* -- ended up going shopping after taking care of some banking. Actually ended up getting something, too, which is even more shocking. The afternoon included homework and seeing my "sister" Ishy, who updated us on her relationshippial difficulties. Pleasantly, she ended up staying for supper, where she met the brother's girlfriend. Dad made Chinese, which was absolutely incredible, and the conversation was enjoyable and unstrained. Towards the end of the meal, the phone rang yet again, and I got to it first. To my delight, it was the Stud.<br /><br />He once again broke his phone rule -- in my defence, I was going to call him 15ish minutes after that, when the meal and cleanup would be completely over. The Stud himself had been called by Drea, who was bored out of her mind and wanted to do something. To his credit, he informed her that whatever happened that evening would be involving me, as he wanted to hang out with me and had tentatively made the remotest of plans. Fast forward a few extra phone call updates, and Drea drops her mom off at church, picks the Stud up and brings him to my house. We grabbed Deluxe Scrabble and Fluxx and headed out the door.<br /><br />We played Scrabble in the middle of a park, on a picnic table next to a closed water fountain. [We stood in as the missing figurines first.] We had a great time all catching up, and hanging out, and playing the game. It was incredibly windy, and occasionally sprinkling, but neither weather condition detracted from the good time that was had by all. Drea kept calling us "Team," and thus she became "Coach." Coach kept trying to play words like "Inquit" and "Ly."<br /><br />After this, Drea was hungry, so off to McDonald's we went. Drea's explanation of how weird she is: "Okay, so I never used to eat McDonald's. Have you seen Supersize Me? Most people get deterred from ever eating McDonald's again after seeing that. I saw that, and then starting eat McDonald's, and found out I really liked it!" We used my ice cream cone with the fries for dipping [my grandma taught me to eat them like that], whilst we sat and caught up some more in the van, awaiting the "Come pick me up" call from Drea's mother, who is an awesome, spunky lady with whom I've had the privelege of attending Knowledge Bowl meets, and whom I have helped with last minute errands for plays, just because I got there early [I didn't go to their high school, and she entrusted me with the keys. Very cool].<br /><br />I relayed a story about how someone here at college who can't remember my name said she'd call me Speckles, and the Stud laid claim to use of that nickname for me. The mother called, and informed Drea and the Stud that they'd be singing at the 8 a.m. Easter service at their church. Thus, the decision was made to drop the Stud and myself at his house, whilst Drea and her mother headed home, out in the country, to make an early night of it.<br /><br />The Stud and I played Fluxx in his kitchen. He'd never played it before [it's a game where the rules constantly change], but we talked the whole way through it. There were times we ended up putting down the cards for an extended period of time and just talked. I've missed hanging out with him. He's just ridiculous sometimes. When I was explaining something, he suddenly goes, "Oh, I got ya," and I said, "Really? Cuz I feel like I could easily flee the room right now," and the words were barely out of my mouth before he clamped down on my arm. Later, after Fluxx, when we were still talking, and I was explaining something again, I was sitting farther back in the chair, and he suddenly lunges at the closest part of me -- my foot -- and grabs it before saying, smirk on his face, "I got ya."<br /><br />He also experienced his first Amelie backrub, which was right around the time he first said something about how he should be getting to bed. Twenty five minutes later, he says, "You can keep going if you want, and I don't really want you to stop, because it feels good, but I suppose I really should get to bed, so I suppose you really should stop..." And then he took me home, so I wouldn't have to walk in the rain with my games, around midnight. So thoughtful, eh? It was a wonderful evening.<br /><br />The Stud has a girlfriend. : )<br /><br /><br />...<br /><br /><br />Update:<br />Kudos to Edd for pointing this out; I thought I had finished it. The Stud has a girlfriend, and I'm nothing but happy for him, as he deserves all the happiness in the world, but she's not me. Sorry for any confusion!<br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1144718648264913292006-04-10T20:00:00.000-05:002006-04-10T20:24:08.336-05:00Eventful Weekend [includes Kidnapping #2]<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">This Saturday, at noon, the Nebraska suspects [from the Physics lads] kidnapped me for a second time. They told me they'd come for me at noon on Saturday, but that was all they'd tell me -- no location, no activity, no other people involved. What I wasn't expecting was to be :<br />taken to a kitchen,<br />told to shut up,<br />forced to sit in a chair,<br />tied to the chair,<br />have my wrists and ankles bound,<br />and left there.<br /><br />The stove was on already, so I burned the ropes off [burning my wrists in the process]. Since I figured this isn't a normal, cool thing, I decided to go for help. I was right by the stables [yes, we do have horses boarded here on campus], so I saddled up a horse, since I had no car keys and the car was not conveniently there anyway. The horse wasn't familiar with me, however, and balked, sending me falling down a ravine, where I hit my head, rendering me unconscious. Fortunately, I was rescued by three guys, and after I recovered, I made my [apparently] famous apple pie for them. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Oh, did I mention that one of my rescuers was the Lone Ranger? Or that the Nebraska suspects took me to the campus student dj-ed radio station, where we read a Lone Ranger transcript on air with the hosts of that hour? My name was Clarabelle Hornblow, complete with impromptu accent, thank you very much.<br /><br />Afterward, the hosts interviewed us about various things; my creepy memory came up during my interview, so that was interesting. I had a good time of it.<br /><br />Later that Saturday afternoon, I glanced out my window, and thought I saw, for the briefest of moments, the <a href="http://forabreath.blogspot.com/2005/06/peanuts-and-cracker-jack.html">Stud</a>. Some of you may remember the Stud from way back when in posts. He doesn't go to my college, but his does compete against mine in track, and he's out for track for the first time. Moreover, I thought I saw him walking with a young lady, Jackie, who went to his high school and goes to my college, who is also in track. The guy and girl I saw -- the girl had the same hair as Jackie, and a very similar build. The guy had the same build as the Stud, the same hair, and was wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt with maroon lettering -- the high school colours of Jackie and the Stud. Neither one was turned towards me, and I only saw them for a few seconds.<br /><br />I flew downstairs to do a casual walk-by toward the other wing. No dice. Not the Stud. I went on <a href="http://facebook.com/">facebook </a>and left him a message on his wall, saying I was thinking of him, and asking how he was doing. I did not, at this point, tell him I thought I had seen him Saturday afternoon. He responded with this:<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-size:85%;" ><br />'Nothing too exciting here....no kidnappings<br />anyway. Staying busy as always. Track is going<br />great...we've run against your college the past two<br />weekends (and I've gotten to see<br />Jackie...yay!). I saw someone that kind of looked<br />like you at the track meet yesterday. She was<br />wearing a shirt bearing the insignia of your college,<br />and she had a clipboard (must have been a statsperson).<br />Then I realized it wasn't you and that just wasn't cool.<br />But....if you are home over Easter break I could<br />avoid that realization and actually see you....?<br /><br />Ciao,<br /><br />the Stud'<br /><br />Needless to say, I found the coincidence very odd. Still, looking forward to hopefully seeing him this next weekend! Speaking of this next weekend, anyone willing to host the 25 Word Challenge?<br /><br /></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1143093731316502752006-03-22T23:32:00.000-06:002006-03-23T00:02:11.400-06:00Glorious Reminiscence<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">Moira dipped her fingers slowly into the sack of grain -- she loved the way it felt against her skin. She stood in the marketplace, taking in the bustling sights and succulent smells. She grinned to hear the baker quibble familiarly with his wife over the prices they charged and of which items more would be needed today. A group of churchwomen congregated together, clicking their tongues as they gossiped about everyone else. The menfolk made their way away from the hubbub to see the new machinery on display over at Ben Rooney's place. Children ran laughing through the street, darting behind this booth and that one, and around ol' blind Tom.<br /><br />He was standing there with Magnus, who dutifully waited, tail a-wagging, to lead Tom on to make the necessary purchases. His companion would not budge, however, for though he could not see, he knew he had the young ladies enthralled with his recollections of his adventures at sea. Magnus whimpered silently; the story had reached its end, and the other young women were lured away by the nearby rich fabrics in the general store. Tom started in on the same tale for a second time, and she gave Magnus a pat, encouraging them to continue with their day. <span style="font-style: italic;">It was good to hear his voice again</span>, Moira thought.<br /><br />She slowly meandered to her favourite garden stand. Its faded sign had been painted long ago by little Rebecca, the long-gone daughter of the old couple who ran it. There was Robert, a big man with a shock of white hair and crinkly, smiling eyes, and his wife Kathleen, a stately, tenderhearted woman with a love for children. Moira bought an apple, smiling to herself as she watched a very wee, trembling child change her expression from terror to delight as the big man looming overhead, taking up the sky, offered her a juicy apple. <span style="font-style: italic;">What good people they are</span>, she mused.<br /><br />As she strolled along the outskirts of town, the sea air caressed her rosy cheek. The wind carried to her the sounds of the Finnigan brothers, Andrew and Kyle, laughing heartily as they welcomed a new guest to enter their pub. Everyone became family here. She looked off the bluffs, watching the fishermen come into the shoals, dragging nets. Children bouncing out into the surf to greet them were so joyous for the day. <span style="font-style: italic;">How good to be here</span>, and happily Moira swayed with the wind, only to be caught in the strong arms of the young, handsome doctor.<br /><br />"Easy, Mrs. Sweeney," he murmured -- <span style="font-style: italic;">but who was Mrs. Sweeney? She herself was but 16</span> -- as he half-led, half-carried the wizened old woman with wispy, grey hair carefully back to her daybed, where she'd dream back once again...<br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1142213368170453932006-03-12T19:10:00.000-06:002006-03-12T19:29:28.243-06:00drawing corner<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/1600/aragorn.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/320/aragorn.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">just thought i'd pull out some drawings from a while back... mostly from freshman year of high school, actually. this is before i took art class, as you can probably tell by the quality.<br /><br />as you may be able to tell, i was on a Lord of the Rings kick...<br /><br />this first one i drew whilst sitting out during a Knowledge Bowl meet round -- this has got to be the calmest i'v</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/1600/candlegirl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/320/candlegirl.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">e ever been during a Knowledge Bowl meet [and i never was this </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">calm during them again]. not my</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> best work, clearly.<br /><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">this next one is from during one of my religion classes. this doesn't mean i wasn't paying attention, of course! i just needed something to do, and decided to draw. this one has nothing to do with Lord of the Rings, but i loved the flow of her dress, so i needed to add stairs and the candle to make it work...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/1600/arwen.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/320/arwen.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">also drawn during s</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">ome </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">classes was the beginning of the more central picture of arwen. i added the side picture a months later, as i had nothing else upo</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">n w</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">hich to draw at the time. again, n</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">ot one of my best, especially when it comes to shading [notably, the lack thereof on</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> the face...] but for before art classes, not horrible, per se...<br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/1600/legolas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/320/legolas.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br />finally, we have probably my best pre-art class effort for this collection. at least, it's the best as far as shading goes. it still doesn't quite look like him, which is irritating, but i can live with it. this was the product of a Saturday afternoon:<br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1141347599466396582006-03-02T18:31:00.000-06:002006-03-02T19:02:50.336-06:00requiem<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">11 years ago, to the day. It's even the same day of the week, actually.<br /><br />...<br /><br />It was a typical wintry day, although still dark out. Throughout the city, everyone was snuggled under the covers. The wind blew the top snow around a little every now and then. The icicles glistened as they slowly melted. Spring was on its way, though far off on the horizon. The world was quiet. At a time when all the children should be asleep in their beds, we were awakened by the shrill <span style="font-style: italic;">bring</span>-ing of the telephone.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"He stopped breathing!"</span><br /><br />It was 1 ante meridiem.<br /><br />...<br /><br />I was always his girl. He and I used to read together, go on walks together, do puzzles together, played the same types of games. People sometimes say I remind them of him. Maybe that's just the brain, for he was a very intelligent man. A pastor who served most often as a professor, just like my father now is, he had an incredible memory. He was fascinated with history, and enjoyed languages. Knowledge was his thing. He still knew how to be sneaky, although often that was just a sign of his affection.<br /><br />He was not a perfect man. He had idiotic quirks, just like everyone else. He never sang hymns at church -- I didn't know if he could -- because he was studying the text and its meaning. He once, famously, flew into a tirade at his Pinochle partner for her choice of play. He was pacing back and forth, fuming, when the scorekeeper informed him quietly, "Dad, you won." He stopped midsentence, whirled around, and said, "What?!" "You won." "Oh," and the matter was dropped. This is remembered fondly.<br /><br />He was a man of many names. The second [of four thus far] of a family name, he was nicknamed for his light hair initially. In later years, scores of students referred fondly to him as Mudslide -- for the way the skin around his cheeks and mouth sagged. Some students called him, years and years down the road, asking for some sort of assistance, and he always did what he could.<br /><br />He's the reason, I believe, that I've always been closer to guys than to girls. I'm just more comfortable there, and I believe that's all the time I spent with him when I was young. He was my best friend.<br /><br />...<br /><br />I remember his funeral. He, again, was the only one not singing the hymns. His funeral took place on his wife's birthday. [She still has a picture I drew of him when he was sick, those last few weeks. I coloured his skin yellow.] Had he made it to September, there would have been a 50 year wedding anniversary celebration. He died at age 77 years, of pancreatic cancer.<br /><br />I remember him on this day, every year. The words echo in my ears -- <span style="font-style: italic;">"He stopped breathing!"</span> -- and my grandfather -- my father's father, the only grandfather I have the pleasure of remembering [but that's a story for another time] -- he was gone.<br /><br />I miss him.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1141110615334536722006-02-28T00:11:00.000-06:002006-02-28T01:10:15.450-06:00tardy<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I was late for an engagement this evening. <br /><br />An event was intended to start at 9.30. Earlier, I was asked to lend assistance in the physics department, so over to the library I headed, where I met up with the Nebraska possibles, and a couple others. We had a good time, what with chatting and working on problems, but then I realized it was 10.00, and so I started packing up my things. I kept apologizing, again and again, for not being very helpful this evening -- I just wasn't able to be of much assistance. They insisted I was wrong, that I had been of great help, and that "just having [me] there made it so much better." <br /><br />Not only that, though. These gentlemen felt bad that I was going to be late. <span style="font-style: italic;">They wrote me an excuse slip</span>. It reads, "Please excuse Amelie. She was very useful." All four signed. <br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1141082480844650852006-02-27T17:14:00.000-06:002006-02-27T17:21:20.916-06:00It's kinda nice<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">if not a little confusing when certain people catch your eye.<br /><br />or, you catch them looking at you.<br /><br />and they're smiling.<br /><br />and, when asked "what?" they keep smiling.<br /><br />and say it's nothing.<br /><br />and, when pressed as to why they keep looking at you like that, they explain:<br /><br />"i'm just happy to see you."<br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1140549495294548832006-02-21T12:16:00.000-06:002006-02-21T13:18:15.423-06:00No Worries...<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">So, Paige just asked if you should be worried, since I haven't posted in a while.... which amuses me for two reasons:<br /><br />1, I was in the process of writing this post,<br />and 2, I was kidnapped this past Friday night.<br /><br />It's okay, though, I was only kidnapped for about 1.5 hours... Perhaps I should explain?<br /><br />I received a phone call around 5 or so. It was Nebraska suspect #1. [Neglected to mention I had suspects...] He asked what I was doing that evening. The only thing I had planned on doing was going to the Improv Show [big fan] at 7.30. He then asked if he and Nebraska suspect #2 could come over around 6, and I assented.<br /><br />6 came and went, as I sat there, doing Sudoku and waiting for them. The phone rang 15 minutes later; they got confused as to where in the building my room was located. Needless to say, they had searched the bottom floor of the other tower thoroughly. As soon as the mistake was corrected, they arrived, and asked me to go for a stroll. I grabbed a coat [it was -12 without factoring in windchill...] and we headed out. Said stroll was apparently to take us to guy #2's car, into which we climbed, and drove -- the LONG way, to warm up -- into another part of town. <br /><br />Turns out they were taking me to the coffeehouse in town. I had never been there before, and had had almost nothing on the menu before. The local band was setting up, and we stood talking for a little before they informed me that they were treating me to whatever I wanted, as a Thank You for my assistance with physics.<br /><br />About a month ago, I received no less than 6 distress phone calls from 5 guys working together in the basement of the library in the conference room. They were trying to figure out physics, and yes, they were desperate enough to call 6 times! I helped them for about 3 hours [we all did very well on the assignment, by the way]. They were all being very, very nice, making sure no one offended me, as they anticipated needing my help in the future. [These are also very chivalrous guys; they've held the door for me multiple times, got me things I needed, etc.] I was even added to guy #1 and guy #2 's cell contact lists, #2 listing me with the name "Emergency," and #1 with a typical play on my name [those of you who know my name can probably figure it out]. <br /><br />Since then, I have helped them a number of different times. They also have me keep an eye on the mail they get, so that they'll know when things come. Now, because guy of #2, guy #1 gets a LOT of mail from the offices of various governors around the states -- which is one of a few reasons he's suspect #1. <br /><br />Anyway, we sat there in the coffeehouse, taking in the setting up of the band, talking together, drinking our strawberry smoothies [in the case of guy #1 and myself] and hot chocolate [guy #2]. We did talk about physics for a little bit -- we had a test that day -- but we also talked about other things, too. No talk of the pin, though! <br /><br />Suddenly, guy #1 asked me when Improv started. I reminded him, and he said, "...That was three minutes ago." I was shocked! They detained me from Improv! I asked if it was intentional, and they said no at first, but in trying to have me look at the positive side of things, said something about how they'd worked it so I could get in free now -- sounds pretty intentional to me! <br />We made it back to campus around 7.45 because guy #1 had an interview appointment -- yes, that's right, we made it back for <span style="font-style: italic;">their </span>obligations, but not <span style="font-style: italic;">mine</span>. I hurried over to Improv across campus, only to be informed upon arrival that it was Sold Out! Despite the enjoyable evening thus far, I was ever so slightly bummed -- especially when I was informed afterwards that guy #1 was able to get in during intermission and take the seat of a friend who had to leave! He got to see half the show, and I've been promoting Improv to him and guy #2 for weeks now! Fortunately, I had seen the Improv Club private show on Wednesday, and dress rehearsal on Thursday, and the last show on Saturday, so it's not like I completely missed out...<br /><br />And thus, I was kidnapped for the first time at college.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1139953646918980222006-02-14T15:29:00.000-06:002006-02-15T10:23:17.410-06:00Odd..<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">What guy in his right mind would send, in the on-campus mail, a little paper packet, to me, and in this little packet is a piece of an index card, which says "Did you hear about the nearsighted porcupine? He fell in love with a pincushion" and had a pin of Nebraska attached to it? Does it mean anything?<br /><br />Inquiring minds need to know.<br /><br />Update: Did I mention the Nebraska pin says "possibilities ... endless" on it?<br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1139524482280842572006-02-09T15:38:00.000-06:002006-02-09T16:34:42.413-06:00This is what happened..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/1600/recentish%20009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/320/recentish%20009.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">...when the amelie gave blood today. Unlike last semester, when the iron count was just barely too low, I made it this time. So they sent me over to actually donate blood, after the rigmarole of paperwork. <br /><br />My technician was really quite nice. She marked the vein right away, doublechecked it, and then asked me to look away. I did for a second as she brought the needle close, but then I watched the rest of the time. I don't have a problem watching; I find it fascinating. Before the mathematics major, I was leaning toward medical.<br /><br />Anyway, my technician stuck the needle in... and immediately couldn't find the carefully marked vein. She tried a few more times, without success, before calling over another worker, named Michael. He apparently takes the hard cases. Well, he tried three times, and couldn't get me. They kept worrying about if I was alright, and I was just fine -- I kept telling them I wasn't worried, and that I had no problem with any of this; that I wasn't in pain and this was kinda amusing. They called over one more lady to try a few times, ask me if I was alright four more times, and then they switched to my left arm. <br /><br />They set Michael to it right away, and this time he got it. We talked about the last time I gave blood [junior year of high school; I had a presentation that day, and they took it from my left arm -- the writing arm. I was the first one done, got up, drank some lemonade, and went back to class].<br /><br />Overall, it was a pleasant experience. I filled the bag in just a little over four minutes, let them fill the little extras, got up, drank a cup of water, and left. Now I've just got the battle scars, which will be gone soon enough.<br /><br />So, be nice to me. I gave blood today -- and got stuck twice for it.<br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1138830035286137392006-02-01T15:34:00.000-06:002006-02-01T15:41:43.100-06:00February<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">A dismal, dreary, two fortnights<br />In which embittered tears are shed<br />As secret trysts result in fights<br />And lovers leave cold, empty beds. <br /><br />One wanders in the clear, dark night<br />Past old abandoned, secret places<br />Where with another once clasped tight,<br />Apparent joy upon their faces.<br /><br />Yet not long since, one took to flight<br />And left the other's warm embraces.<br />The latter searched, but try as might,<br />The former found in no known places.<br /><br />A lover scorned, once clad in white,<br />Now wears the black inside the head.<br />The joy once felt, now out of sight,<br />Leaves lone lover, better off dead. <br /></span></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1138328090983122772006-01-26T19:53:00.001-06:002006-01-26T20:14:50.986-06:00How do I keep busy?<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Aside from the homework, the film viewing, the voracious reading, writing, helping people, playing piano, and doing all things blog, email, and IM -- I also draw. [And some people think I only like Mathematics -- ha!] Sometimes, I draw completely from imagination, creating a character in unique clothing/pose, or doing a new hand drawing. These two drawings I did during class; the girl during Computer Science, and my right hand during my Literature class, when we discussed <span style="font-style: italic;">Things Fall Apart</span>, by Chinua Achebe:</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/1600/pinup%20wink.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/200/pinup%20wink.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/1600/fallapart.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/200/fallapart.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Other times, I do a drawing based on a picture from somewhere out there.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br />Since sometime in December, I've been working, off and on, on a picture <a href="http://scorpius-farscape.tv/master/images/chess.jpg">still </a>from the movie <a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0120903/">X-Men</a>. I finished it today. The most frustrating part initially was <a href="http://imdb.com/name/nm0005212/">Ian McKellen</a>'s face, as I thought he was the sole favourite actor of the person for whom I was drawing it. Then, I found out <a href="http://imdb.com/name/nm0001772/">Patrick Stewart</a> is his other favourite actor. Patrick Stewart's face, you may or may not agree, is very distinctive, even profile-wise. I'm not completely satisfied with the result, but here it is:<br /></span></span> <div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/1600/xmen1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7009/1111/320/xmen1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1137682905136005672006-01-19T08:57:00.000-06:002006-01-19T09:10:04.116-06:00Guilty, as charged<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">As a <a href="http://nuggets.mu.nu/?p=203">few</a> <a href="http://justbreathe.blogs.com/just_breathe/2006/01/multiples_of_lo.html">delightful</a>, <a href="http://thundernroses.typepad.com/thunder_and_roses/2006/01/for_a_breath_sh.html">delicious</a>, and de-<a href="http://justdotchristina.mu.nu/?p=203">lovely </a>people have already pointed it out, I guess I ought to acknowledge that today, I am golden.<br /><br />Thank you for the well wishes; I hope everyone has a nice day!<br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1137181788622070422006-01-13T13:41:00.000-06:002006-01-13T13:49:48.656-06:00Tidbits<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">Since last time, I've had the privilege to play Clue and Clue: The Great Museum Caper with Princess and the Stud. He was in rare form that night; it was good seeing him again.<br /><br />Also, my aunt's surgery went according to plan, and I returned home twelve hours after I left. As to whether the fistula actually works for dialysis... well, we won't know for at least two months, as the vein needs time to grow. <br /><br />Yesterday, I was [briefly] a Llama Butcher <a href="http://llamabutchers.mu.nu/archives/151214.php">hero</a>. <br /><br />This is my last weekend home, and I'm going to try to make the most of it. <br /><br />On Monday, after spending the morning at the Knowledge Bowl meet being hosted at my old high school, I'm headed back up to college. Classes start Tuesday. <br /><br />Also, this week is apparently National De-Lurking Week. So, how about it? 'Ullo out there??<br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1134772784883683962005-12-25T15:58:00.000-06:002005-12-19T13:41:12.596-06:001st Annual<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">[note: until after Christmas Day, this post will remain at the top.]<br /><br />Dear Friends,<br /><br />Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! [Insert your favourite seasonal greeting here]] <insert> It's hard to believe it's December already. Everyone has been so busy with various activities that 2005 has just flown by. Here, for your enjoyment, is a recap of this year's occurrences in my family:<br /><br />On 14 May, <a href="http://forabreath.blogspot.com/">I </a>was born to two proud [and rather elated, I think, but I'm biased] parents. Unfortunately, I can't say much more from before that. I know Mom helped me to grow, encouraging me to come into this big world, the blogosphere. Since then, I've survived prom, graduating high school, and starting college. Finals loom over my head, but I enjoyed the friends I've made, the reading and film viewing and writing that I do. But enough about me -- onto the family:<br /><br /><a href="http://justdotchristina.mu.nu/">Mom </a>remains as busy as ever. She left us for a short while, and came back with a new makeover. It's really nice, and requires less maintenance on her part -- she can be just Christina. We're glad she's still with us. She continues to preside over the Ones -- both Wee and Sweet -- whilst working with more boxes of rocks than I'd like to imagine. Fortunately, all were safe during hurricane weather, and she was able to go get her classy mother. Also this year, she initiated a delightful game of Fictional Friday, and allowed me to take over the 25 word challenge. She remains the "delight of our eyes."<br /><br /><a href="http://thundernroses.typepad.com/thunder_and_roses/">Fa </a>has had to deal with a lot of mockery from others this year, but dishes it back just as well. Work's been hectic for him as well, even if the coding is fun. He enjoys spending time with his cats, his mullet, his mother, and fellow bloggers at various meets. I rhink he was shocked when I appeared, but he seems to be used to having a daughter now. My fa is always good for a laugh -- a dose of Zonker is oft just what you need to brighten your day.<br /><br />Aunt <a href="http://fistfuloffortnights.net/">Sadie </a>is ever the wit. Just classic -- in her words and her web designs. That's right, she and my uncle <a href="http://phin.mu.nu/">Phin</a>, another wit in rare form and a father-to-be, opened a successful business together in August. Sadie and I oft commiserate over our homework and studying, or reminisce reading <a href="http://chaoticnotrandom.blogspot.com/">Kilgore</a>. Sometimes the lovely lady Sadie needs to get away from it all, and flies off to Majorca. But, thankfully, she hasn't yet been abducted, and always finds her way back to the family's loving arms. [The carrot cake helps.]<br /><br />And speaking of travelling aunts, sweet 'n' sassy <a href="http://justbreathe.blogs.com/">Silk </a>went to Africa earlier this year! She had a blast, and met a very cool monkey... in other meeting news, Aunt Silk met da Godfaddah <a href="http://nuggets.mu.nu/">Nugget</a>, an ever-classy gentleman many of us adore. Needless to say, she was starstruck, and I do believe the feeling was mutual. Quite delightful. In other news, Silk's been kept busy lately with a grand opening at work, and quite recent hosted Fictional Friday 2.0: the Picture Edition, whilst Nuggets been entertained by the antics of the little addition to his household -- quite the adorable cat.<br /><br />The <a href="http://villainsvanquished.blogspot.com/">Phoenix </a>Coz has been busy as well -- and will soon hold her treasured household addition in her arms. She became a champion of FF 2.0 with her SpySistah Chronicles, which left us just astounded. She also joined the ranks of Diva, and gives grand advice. I personally think she will make a great mother.<br /><br />The <a href="http://dboilingpoint.blogspot.com/">Dashing </a>Brother still has posts which won't allow me to stop laughing! More recently, he's been occupied by all sorts of work projects, and more especially, the joys of hunting. Hopefully he'll bring something good home to the dear wife and kids.<br /><br />Rather abruptly one day, a branch of relative I'd never before had the pleasure of meeting came to visit. I gained a <a href="http://straightwhiteguy.mu.nu/">granddaddy</a>, an <a href="http://aswiftkick.mu.nu/">aunt</a>, and an <a href="http://whenthesmokeclears.us/blog/">uncle</a>, and I always enjoy hearing from them and going to their places to listen to their great speeches.<br /><br />In other news, close friends who are practically family have, for example, visitied Taiwan and made plans for Australia in the case of <a href="http://witnit.blogspot.com/">Mark</a>, survived hurricanes [both weather and small boys] in the case of <a href="http://boudicca.mu.nu/">Bou</a>, travelled to Europe recently [with the little Puffy expected] and charmed us with music in the case of <a href="http://portal.projectbowl.net/weblog.php?w=1">Stiggy </a>and <a href="http://portal.projectbowl.net/weblog.php?w=2">Va-va</a>, and kept us up-to-date on flyfishing, sports, entertainment, and family in the case of the <a href="http://down4repairs.com/">Wiz</a>.<br /><br />Fortunately, all seemed to survive weather conditions, other complications, and life in general with only scrapes and bruises thus far. I hope and pray that this continues, and also that you and yours are well. From all of us,<br /><br />Merry Christmas!<br />Love, Amelie and family.<br /><br />[crossposted <a href="http://justdotchristina.mu.nu/">here</a>]<br />[[I apologize for the massive amounts of linkage.]]<br /></insert></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1134892597753323812005-12-18T01:54:00.000-06:002005-12-18T01:56:37.786-06:00Just because fa asked so nicely...<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">I'm posting this quotation which I shared with him:<br /><br />"Sometimes conversations are like dentistry, and I get sick of pulling teeth all the time."<br /><br />--Amelie<br /></span></span>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12884214.post-1130550659345097162005-10-28T20:29:00.000-05:002005-10-30T09:36:24.836-06:00Finale<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">I am really going to miss these stories. All were delightful, and a wonderful perusing for the weekend. I eagerly anticipated Fridays for exactly that reason. Granted, I was not always able to contribute, though I would have liked to do so. I really wanted to get something up for the finale, so my afternoon consisted of walking, writing, meeting the Princess's boyfriend, and going to a friend's swim meet this early evening. When I got back, I wrote the last paragraph and trimmed to 1000 words.<br /><br />I'm not even sure if <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> like what I've written yet, so let me know, honestly, your feelings about it. That would be much appreciated.<br /><br />So, my end to the glorious brilliance began by one classy <a href="http://feistyrepartee.mu.nu/">lady </a>and ended by <a href="http://justbreathe.blogs.com/">another </a>[with a twist to the prompt]. Thank you, dears, for letting and getting the rest of us into this.<br /><br />And speaking of the rest of us, I encourage you to read the literary offerings of <a href="http://villainsvanquished.blogspot.com/2005/10/spysistah-chronicles-chapter-9.html#comments">Phoenix</a>, <a href="http://justbreathe.blogs.com/inkblot/2005/10/belonging.html">Silk</a>, <a href="http://nuggets.mu.nu/?p=158">Nugget</a>, <a href="http://sugarbowl.blog-city.com/shooting_star.htm">Rina</a>, and <a href="http://thefeatherquill.blogspot.com/2005/10/fiction-friday-finale.html">Dawn</a>. Each one is well worth the read. [UPDATE: <a href="http://agoldenworld.blogspot.com/2005/10/not-your-average-420.html">Jeff </a>has written to delight us as well.]<br /><br />Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you:<br /></span></span> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br />Daughters of Mnemosyne</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></span></div> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" > <span style="font-size:78%;">Head in hands, Rue couldn’t believe Thalia had gone.<span style=""> </span>Thal had been her friend when she was first struggling to survive out in the world alone.<span style=""> </span>That woman had comforted her, shaped her, and had always been there for her when she was struggling to find the right thing to say.<span style=""> </span><b>Poof!</b> Just like that, she had vanished without a trace.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Rue glanced around the room.<span style=""> </span>It was bleak, stark, pristine, so utterly unlived in.<span style=""> </span>To what place had her imagination disappeared?<span style=""> </span>She used to be able to fill such places with a warmth in which other people found delight, but now she just felt like an empty shell; the words were gone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >><<o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>A bus crossed the intersection, and in that disturbance of the bright neon lights, a woman appeared, silhouetted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Clio?<span style=""> </span>Is that you?”<span style=""> </span>The young man shifted uneasily on the street before her.<span style=""> </span>“I’m sorry I didn’t make enough time for you, doll.<span style=""> </span>I –“<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>But she cast a silence upon him with only a glance.<span style=""> </span>Johnson knew.<span style=""> </span>He knew that if he’d wanted, she could have given him the world.<span style=""> </span>But he’d been too wrapped up in the job to let her nurture his talents, too wrapped up in the now to record the history of his mind and soul. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>And now she was going off into the night.<span style=""> </span>He wished her could say something, anything, to try to explain to her why he had not pursued his dreams, why he had neglected her.<span style=""> </span>But the words wouldn’t come; they stayed choked up inside, jumbled in a mess, and fading along with her footsteps.<span style=""> </span>His eloquence was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >><<o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>An unkempt man sat on the park bench.<span style=""> </span>He looked at the stale bread crusts in his hands.<span style=""> </span>His stomach rumbled, but he broke one of the crusts into pieces for the pigeons nearby.<span style=""> </span>He placed the other in his lap, and was about to toss the napkin in which he had found them into the water, when an unusual feeling came upon him.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>He saw the world in a whole new light.<span style=""> </span>Descriptions tore across his soul, wrenching emotions from him.<span style=""> </span>He badly needed an outlet, but how, with what?<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Here.”<span style=""> </span>She handed him a ballpoint pen.<span style=""> </span>He scrambled to write, pouring stream after stream of words onto the napkin, when they suddenly stopped.<span style=""> </span>Exhausted, he dropped the pen.<span style=""> </span>On it were the faded letters “C-A-L-L-I.”<span style=""> </span>He glanced around for the woman, and noticed no one was there.<span style=""> </span>The mysterious woman had gone.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >><<o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Honey, you have to snap out of it!<span style=""> </span>You can still write – look at the bestsellers you’ve produced!<span style=""> </span>Why, they’re gems of society.<span style=""> </span>Everyone’s been delighted, just delighted, with your work.<span style=""> </span>You can’t stop now! Your contract says [blah blah ….],” the woman kept blathering on and on.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Head once again in her hands, Rue wished she could just go away.<span style=""> </span>Unfortunately, she was stuck in a mandatory meeting.<span style=""> </span>She’d missed deadline after deadline, and she couldn’t seem to do anything about it.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p><br /><span style=""><br /> </span>The door opened after a quick knock.<span style=""> </span>“Ah, there you are!<span style=""> </span>Rue, honey, I’d like you to meet your new secretary, Mel Pomene.<span style=""> </span>We’ve hired her for you,…” the woman kept talking, but Rue wasn’t listening.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>She stared at the girl, just briefly as she sat in the chair next to her.<span style=""> </span>As words poured back into her soul, she snatched a pen from her purse.<span style=""> </span>She immediately started writing – not the light humour of her previous work, but of a darkness, a sadness.<span style=""> </span><i style="">This is going to be good</i>, she thought as she scribbled away…<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >><<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Johnson, what is this?”<span style=""> </span>His boss handed him a sheet of paper.<span style=""> </span>On it was written a poem to the goddess of starlight.<span style=""> </span>He suppressed a grin, and said, “It appears to be a poem, sir.”<span style=""> </span>He thought of the lovely girls who had moved into the flat next door.<span style=""> </span>Rania and Poly were delightful to be with, and he felt as though his eloquence had returned to him in a new form.<span style=""> </span>He was abruptly awakened by the words, “Johnson, you’re fired.<span style=""> </span>I want you out of this office complex in an hour.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Yes, sir,” he muttered absentmindedly.<span style=""> </span>He left the office, and wandered around the city, taking in the scenes.<span style=""> </span>He was detached from the job, at long last, and on his way to better beginnings.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>As he walked down a lonely street, two figures emerged in the bright lights.<span style=""> </span>Rania and Poly linked their arms in his as he sang their praises.<span style=""> </span>They were more delightful, more sacred than the stars twinkling high up above.<span style=""> </span>His golden words warmed them as they snuggled closer, winking at each other.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >><<o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>The unkempt man trudged down the path.<span style=""> </span>He no longer found inspiration by the waters of the park, and needed a new place.<span style=""> </span>He found himself at a beach, lone but for two figures.<span style=""> </span>One young lady was dancing an interpretation according to the rhythms of the other, who was playing upon a ukulele.<span style=""> </span>He stood transfixed, taking in how perfectly they had captured the scene, the elements of the day, with their art.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>The one beckoned him to approach, and as he moved closer, he felt himself swaying.<span style=""> </span>He reached their spot by the water’s edge, and dropped to his knees in awe of their talent.<span style=""> </span>Slowly, he pulled out his old ballpoint to write words to match the music’s mood. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>He gazed at it fondly, remembering the frenzy of words he had written when he first received it, and suddenly dropped it as though it were on fire.<span style=""> </span>It no longer said, “C-A-L-L-I.”<span style=""> </span>The letters, bright and new, were stranger.<span style=""> </span>They read, “E-U-T-E-R-P-S-I-C-H-O-R.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>He picked it up gingerly, and began to write.<span style=""> </span>He wrote as the music faded away, along with the footsteps in the sand as the women left him.<span style=""> </span>Slowly he fell into a tranquil sleep.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >><<o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>A voluptuous lady sashayed down the aisle.<span style=""> </span>She’d make sure the groom spoke the best love poetry possible to his bride.<span style=""> </span>The lady's name? Erato.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>ameliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04490709508077740198noreply@blogger.com2