Barnes&Noble

So here I sit. Connected. To the Internet that is. This is a rarity for me I can assure you! We always, or at least I have, assumed that today in 2019 anyone could have Internet these days that wanted it and most do! And wireless at that BUT, that's not the case. Nope. Where I am currently staying is one of those exceptions. No Comcast, no Time Warner. Not one company runs any lines to our house.We have satellite television. Yes, satellite Internet technology has grown leaps and bounds since I first called one of the main companies a few years ago. I think I had such a traumatic shock when the salesperson started quoting me prices that I just flat out refuse to call or answer any of those mailers we get occasionally offering some kind of super deal. I just loaded up on data gigs and use my beloved Pixel XL (1 gen btw) as a hotspot and its all good. Right? Wrong. Where I am I'm lucky to get a signal on the darn cell phone! No, I'm not with any of those pay by month use any tower nearby plans. Although maybe I should be! I won't say WHO it is I'm with but I'll give you a hint. The name of the company starts with a V and they are generally the most expensive of all cell phone carriers. Getting online at my house is almost as chancy as when I was a kid and we had three good channels we could get through Dads rigged up antenna outside that he had mounted on top of a salvaged telephone pole. I can remember also, it the weather conditions were 'just right' which, ironically enough, occurred right after a severe summer thunderstorm and the wind was blowing from the east (maybe it was the west?) we could get some extra channels. Stuff blowing in from the cities. I remember one was from D.C. But mainly, we just had local CBS,PBS and later on the new local network that came on channel 47 out of Salisbury, MD that still exists today. Hey I just realized if I googled when they started I could get a good gauge on how old I was when that happened. Second thought, I'll pass. Might depress me. Anyway, I'm rambling. Which is something I tend to do. Just ask anyone that knows me. They will tell you the same. One co-worker of mine just recently tried to hurl a verbal assault at me the other day and I thought it was the greatest compliment anyone could have paid me! I was trying to explain something to him and he just rips off how if he's ever trapped in a burning building with a limited supply of oxygen left and he saw me coming in to save him he knew he would be toast cause I'd talk up the remaining air before he got out. Brilliant! I remind him about that every now and again and always thank him, one more time! Going off on another direction here, as I said, I'm connected to that glorious thing we have here in 2019 called WiFi at my local Barnes&Noble. But here in this very nice comfortable chair that I'm sitting here typing this I can tell you I myself am not connected. I've packed this laptop up more times then I can remember and left rural land and drove here to the big city which really isn't that big but there's a Walmart, Home Depot, and this B&N I'm currently in. Most people here have internet lets just put it that way. I promise. I'm coming back soon. I've been through some things. If your reading this and you know me you know I have. But you know what? I'm ready to start talking about it, Writing about it. If your reading and you don't know me then I'll let you in. In March 2016, my son Lorenzo passed away. He is forever 21. I don't say he was 21. I promised myself after he passed that I would always refer to him as is. Never was.  Three years and three months into this nightmare I continue to say, Lorenzo is. I haven't added anything to this blog since obviously the last post on here. That particular post, Family Quips, I wrote the night before i got the call that changed my life forever. I woke up early the next day and typed it in. I was attended a rally in Orlando that day with a bunch of friends and co-workers. That was the last day of normalcy of my life. I got that call about Lorenzo about 3:15 in the afternoon. Every parents worse nightmare. A call I never dreamt I might get one day. My two kids are my life! I can't even imagine the thought of losing one! I would lay down my life for either one of them and defend them to the death. Yet, it happened. Something so terrible I wouldn't have even begin to give thought to anything so horrific. But, it happened. I'm ready to share my feelings though. Maybe something I write resonates with someone who has or is going through the same thing. I've been in the deepest and darkest valleys one could be in. But don't that scare you off. I'm still that same guy that will try to make you laugh and loves to write. About a lot of different things. So don't expect all doom and gloom. Outside I'm laughing. Insides a mess. I'll let you see inside every now and then but it will be in doses. Just to survive this has been my first goal. I'm still here. That's HUGE in itself. Its time to get writing and tell some tall tales.

Family quips

         My family, especially myself, loves to talk. Anything really that gets our lips a flapping and our tongues wagging will do. We have never been the silent, brooding types. We debate, we argue ( lovingly of course ), we eat slow because our talk/chew ratio is so unbalanced favoring talk. After the meal we will sit at the table continuing the conversation for another hour, sometimes two. We usually stuff ourselves and then talk our appetites back until we are ready for dessert. Some of the spouses have acclimated to become big talkers too. Some haven't or didn't but that's okay. Pro talking isn't for everyone. Some people are people of few words, instead choosing their words diligently and slowly. Go in town to the grocery story with my mother or anywhere for that matter and you will understand what I mean. Stopping to the store for "a couple things" turns into a hour and a half mini reunion of family/friends/old neighbors/new acquaintances/former school mates/the cashier/the bag boy/friends/the lady she just met last week at that very store and so on and so on. My father was the same way. We could be halfway across the country and stop to eat at a place we had never heard of in a town we had never heard of and before we left my Dad would have befriended the waitress and half if not all of the patrons inside the place. He was the Patriarch of the family and he was a top talker. My mother is the queen of quips and she could definitely hang in there right with him. I guess that explains why us five young'uns love to talk too. And speaking of quips, we like to throw them in the talk mix every now and then. We aren't braggarts or boasters but we seem to have to add to the description of whatever we are talking about right at that moment. For example, most novice talkers would describe a abnormal temperature occurring around them by simply saying I'm hot. Or I'm cold. Not us. That's to boring. We have to embellish a simple statement like that and spice it up a little.  Hence, a basic statement of "I'm hot", becomes "I'm hot as fire AND sweating buckets". For us, throwing two quips in the same sentence like that means we are EXTREMELY warm. Being hot, but to a lesser degree, would warrant a sentence using only one quip so we would just say "I'm burning up" or, "I'm suffocating". Make sense?  And there are plenty more believe me. If we are hot like that then we are probably thirsty so we become as dry as a popcorn fart. Or dry as a poke ( whatever a poke is ). We might be dying of thirst. Speaking of dying, that one was always used to describe things as the most extreme. Sleepy? We were dead tired. If we really, really meant something we were dead serious. We see or have a ugly article of clothing and we wouldn't be seen dead in it. Someone we know passes away and they are dead as a doornail. Is there really such a nail as a doornail? I don't know but people can be as dead as one. And what would someone be if they weren't as dead as one? Slightly dead? Just a little dead? I don't know that either but it sure sounds final. Animals play a big part in helping my family describe things. I guess growing up on the farm helped shape some of these adjectives. If someone didn't have or wouldn't get a job then they were lazy as a dog. Another shot at the canine world was we were sick as a dog. Felines kind of got a shot. After a hard days work we would be mangy as a polecat (another thing I'm not sure exists). We always had pigs on the farm. From a few to a few thousand over the years. Feeding them was a never ending daily task. Anybody overweight was fat as a hog. We would go to English's restaurant and pig out on all you can eat fried chicken. We would eat like a hog. Something of no value was worthless as tits on a boar hog. Someone with no money was poor as a snake. If you weren't a big eater then you didn't eat enough to keep a bird alive. If you had to do it your way and you wouldn't heed advice you were stubborn as a mule. Had extraordinary strength? Then you were strong as a ox. Anyone drinking was drunk as a skunk. But...if drugs were suspected then they were high as a kite. When us kids were young we would run around like chickens with our heads cut off. If momma told us to calm down and we didn't she would probably beat the tarnation out of us. Insects were included. After a heavy meal we would be full as a tick. Lose our cool and we would be mad as a hornet. It was possible that a person could be so ugly a fly wouldn't pitch on them. Anyone that ugly would be ugly as sin, ugly as mud, ugly as the day is long.  Someone opposite of that was cute as a button of course. The reason we didn't trust a particular group of people was because they were thick as thieves. If we woke up sore we were stiff as a board. Anything that wouldn't loosen or open was tighter then a jug. That neighbor or person that kept getting fired or quitting their job wouldn't work in a pie shop. If we came across another long talker that outtalked us then they talked our head off. These are but just a few of the funny things me and my family would use to describe things but that's all for now. I'm starving and my house looks like a pig sty. Gotta work my tail off and clean like my life depended on it.

DOT physical Do's and Don't

          Disney has recently changed facilities where we as licensed drivers have to go to have our annual federal physicals done. We have transitioned from a outside company that Disney used for many years to the "in house" medical center where the doctors and nurses work for Disney. The former place they used tended to be a little more relaxed and overlooking of some things. Disney decided their Docs could do a better job then the ones not employed by them. This change has resulted in much stricter exams and every possible ailment we might have or could have in the near future being scrutinized very carefully. I put together a list of things that I think might help all of us get through this new process. The first thing we will look at is things NOT to do.                        

DO NOT have a accident and hit a car while parking in the parking lot upon arrival of your exam. 
             
If you have a handicap parking pass DO NOT use it. It could be a trap.

While waiting in the lobby DO NOT fall asleep while you wait.

If you want to enjoy one of the complimentary magazines while waiting to try to stay awake make sure the print is large enough to easily read without having to hold it close to see it. Could indicate poor vision to the staff.

If your running behind and you haven't had lunch you know if you suffer from high blood sugar this can cause your sugar to spike. If you decide to go through a drive through and take it in with you to eat while you wait to be called back avoid the mega meals all the fast food chains offer. Examples would be the McDonalds double quarter pounder with cheese, super sized. Or the Burger King triple whopper. At Wendys DO NOT order the triple cheese with bacon. Could indicate a cholesterol problem.

DO NOT decide to "pop a few drinks back" on the way there to help with nervousness or anxiety about having to do the exam.

DO NOT get frustrated by the poor cell phone reception in the building when your text messages do not go through and then shout THE RECEPTION ON THE BUS IS SOOOO MUCH BETTER!

When your name is called to come back be careful when getting out of your chair and DO NOT trip and fall flat on your face. Could indicate disorientation. If you do trip and fall, as you get up DO NOT start cursing your bad leg/knee/hip/foot etc, etc.

Finally your back to see the doctor. When he/she comes in and introduces themselves return their hospitality but only introduce yourself. DO NOT introduce any other people that might live in your head or the names of any split personalities. Could indicate insanity or another serious mental condition.

DO NOT decide you don't want to be there and announce in the middle of the exam that you have to ROS due to the fact that your getting one of your splitting migraines and you have approximately fifteen minutes to get home before you pass out.

   If you follow these few tips you should be okay. I also listed a few tips to help ace the exam as well.

Purposely arrive for your appointment ten minutes early. Check in and let the receptionist tell you to have a seat and the doctor will be right with you. Ask if its okay if you do your full catastatic workout while you wait because you weren't able to that morning. Receptionist will tell you sure, no problem.
Proceed to do 100 jumping jacks, 50 pushups and finish up with 10 minutes of jogging in place. Will indicate you exercise and are pretty healthy.

While in the exam room with the doctor have a friend call you pretending to be your primary physician. Tell the examiner that your sorry but this is a very important call and you must take it. Make sure speaker is on and have your friend tell you that they just got all your test results from your full physical back and if you don't at least get a cold every now and then then you just might live forever.

If you suffer from obesity, stop at wardrobe the day before and get a costume that's at least two sizes to big. This will create a slimming illusion.

If your elderly, dye your hair the night before. No gray will give a more youthful appearance.

Worried about a urine test? Before going in duct tape one of those mini bottles of water up into the bottom check parts of the buttocks. Use this when you go in the bathroom to fill the urine sample container to the right level. Drink the rest. Then crush bottle and put back. With it empty it will be more comfortable. ( Side note on this tip. Make sure its spring water and not distilled. Distilled is made with a electrical process and unnatural atoms and ions will show up in a urine test and suggest that you are not human or a robot of some kind ).

Worried about high blood pressure? Try this little trick. On the night before your exam try severing a artery. Just be aware of a large lost of blood and its best to do this in the bathtub or outdoors where cleanup wont be a problem. The femoral artery in the leg works best since you will have to apply a tourniquet right before passing out to stop the bleeding and one on the leg works best as it can be covered with a pair of loose fitting pants. Added bonus if your using the two size larger costume for obesity trick. This will greatly reduce blood pressure.

One more trick that is only for our male drivers. About a week before your exam go online a request one of the free Cialis trial packs. On the night before the exam take the Cialis. Ignore the directions that state take one per day. Take all six. When you go to your exam the next day you can walk in with male confidence that your healthy and ready for anything. A added bonus to this tip is a severe drop in blood pressure if you are fearful of the artery tip or you are a female and obviously would not benefit from the Cialis tip.

     With these helpful list of Do's and Do not's we all should pass our new, stricter DOT physical exams. Good luck and here's to many years of happy driving at the Walt Disney Resort!










                                                                                                                      

My New Timeline for 2014

                                                                    1952

Ren is first mentioned while his father, Lorenzo Byrd Whaley Jr, was courting his mother Joan Ellen Short. One day on top of a building looking out over the city Byrd says "Joan, wouldn't it be pretty far out if we got married some day and had lots of kids. Then we could name our third son Lorenzo the 3rd. Get it?" What Byrd almost got was a sharp slap across the face for his brazen and suggestive talk but Joan just couldn't bring herself to hurt that boyish face.

                                                                                  

                                                                     1966  

Ren is conceived in May of 66 at the Kutztown Festival in Pennsylvania. The state was suffering one of its worst early heat waves in decades and many believe that lead to Ren's immunity to humidity and high temperatures. It would not be known till much later on in Ren's life that the Kozy Kutztown motel where his conception took place was built upon a ancient Amish burial ground.

                                                                   1967

Ren is born in February. Instead of being a Valentines baby he was born one day early and arrived on Friday the 13th. Ren was born at home as the state was suffering it's worse blizzard in centuries and the whole state was pretty much shut down. Outside temperatures hovered around 40 below for days and many think that incredible cold contributed to Ren's non sensitivity to cold. As Ren grew his parents worried about his preoccupation with hockey masks and sharp objects.

                                                                    1971

 Ren and his family head to Florida to visit newly opened Walt Disney World in Orlando Florida . Carried away with all the sights and sounds Ren makes a secret vow to himself to return one day and work at this magical place.

                                                                               

                                                                       1981                                                                                                         

After refusing haircuts since third grade Ren is ready to step out and be the new cool kid of Laurel High School.

                                                                     2000

Ren realizes his dream when he packs up the family and heads to Florida for that dream job. Is glad that his genetically tuned body is immune to the effects of heat and high humidity.

                                                                      2009  

   Joined Facebook.

                                                                      2011

Visits family up north and they all venture out to visit Lancaster, Pa to visit the Amish community and dine at one of their restaurants. Wonders what's in store for them as they pass through the towns on Intercourse, Blue Ball and Bird in Hand. After arriving Ren feels a special bond with the townspeople and feels something stirring inside of him. He feels home almost. The feeling nagged at him but it was soon forgotten as they all feasted at the all you can eat place they had chosen for dinner.

Two months later Ren is shocked to read online that the Kozy Kutztown motel had been bulldozed because it was discovered that it had been built on a Amish burial plot.  Suddenly Ren knew the special bond he had been feeling towards the Amish. He didn't get hot, he couldn't get cold and why not believe he had a little bit of Amish in him? Thus, his alter ego Sheb Duffusstolz was born.
                                                                                   

Smokin' Jim's

I like to eat. I also like a good adventure. I love combining the two where I take a adventure to find a good place to eat. A place that's off the beaten path. A place known and loved by the locals that live around it. I get that from my father. When my sister Kimberly and I were young we did a lot of traveling with dad and mom to visit  those out of the way places. Dad's advice was always check out the parking lot. If there are cars there then it's a good place. If the lot is empty then keep on driving. I've discovered that there's a lot of truth to that. I've been driving through unfamiliar areas and have come across some interesting looking places and even though the lot was near empty I still stopped. 9 times out of 10 I soon knew why the lot was empty. Anyway, I'm blessed that a friend of mine is the same way I am. She loves the same adventure of loading up in the car and heading out in search of the next great discovery. Our most recent find was a place that really knocked the ball out of the ballpark! We've been four times now and we love it. The first time we ate there I felt the same way one of those food critics must feel like when they find that hidden gem. I used to love to read Scott Josephs restaurant reviews that he used to write for the Orlando Sentinel. Each week he would secretly travel to some restaurant to dine as a regular guest and then write his review of his experience. I always thought that would be the ultimate job!! Getting paid to eat! Sadly, he hung up his fork and knife a few years ago and retired. Recently me and my friend set out on one of our adventures in search of a place I had remembered reading a article about a few years back. It was so dang delicious it brought out the writer in me to want to write about just how good it was! Soooo, here's my attempt to write a food review and do it as well as any of the "Real" critics would be able to do it. Enjoy it.                                    

                                                                                                                                                                                                                             The place is called Smokin' Jim's House of Barbecue. And what a house it is. My friend typed the address into her cell phone navigator before we left ( I prefer the old mapquest it and hope for the best method myself but that's another story). Soon Mrs. direction lady was commanding us to turn here and prepare to make a right a half a mile up ahead. It's hard for me to trust whoever is sitting beside me telling me where to go, let alone a cell phone. But she seemed to know where she was taking us and soon we were traveling on roads we had never driven on before. Smokin' Jim's in located in the town of Auburndale which borders the bigger city of Winter Haven. I had remembered seeing a add for the place a few years ago and thinking that it sounded like a good place to eat and had kind on stored it away in the back of my mind. One particular Friday evening while trying to decide on a new place to try Jim's add popped up from the dark recess's of my memory. So we looked it up online. I printed out the mapquest directions, friend put the address in her phone navigator ( see four or five sentences up ). Anyway, after a beautiful back country drive through citrus fields and farms and a few small towns in between, we finally arrived at Jim's. Pulling in the drive was the first thing you notice on the left is the huge smoker that covered with a equally large building and roof.

 There was a wood pile to the side that was big enough to keep a home up north warm for the entire winter. Across the driveway on the right was the restaurant. We drove in a ways and parked and knew we were going to be in for a treat. As we exited our vehicle the sweet, smokey smell of burning seasoned oak teased our senses. Immediately our stomachs sat up and took notice. We picked up our pace a little and hurried in. Though not a big place, Jim's pulled no punches. Inside the modest building were comfy picnic tables and regular tables lined up in neat rows. On the tables the staff at Jim's were already prepared by having rolls of paper towels on the tables on stand by. Joining the towels were containers of plastic forks and knifes.

The table was all ready, all that was left was order and bring on the food.  And let me tell you this. Smokin' Jim isn't to be confused with Jokin' Jim. This man knows his barbecue! If it's your first time visiting tell your waitress and they will bring you out a sample plate of all their different meats. But trying them all will only add to the agonizing choice of what to order. All of Jim's meat is smoked, if you want sauce then you have to use some that's on the table. Each item we sampled was simply delicious. There's a menu to look at and a big overhead board with that days specials and desserts listed. We really had to strain to read it. It, like the help who was working in there, seemed to have a southern accent as well. A added bonus is when my waitress refers to me as "hon". Just gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling. Finally, after a lot of reading and rereading I decided on my usual. Chicken. All you can eat. A steal at 7.95 for dark only, 8.95 for both white and dark. Now I come from a big family of chicken lovers and I can put some away. I secretly thought to myself ain't know way their gonna make any money on me tonight. That also included all you could eat side items as well and choosing them was as tough as the dinner choice. Luckily, you can order a different one each time you ask for more so you can try several different one's. My friend chose the chicken as well but only the standard light meal which was a half of chicken. Cole slaw and mac and cheese was her choice of sides. I decided to start of with collard greens and the mac and cheese. She chose garlic toast, I opted for cornbread. It didn't take long for our food to arrive and it was love at first sight! The chicken was black but not from being burnt but from the sweet oak smoke. After a quick Thank you Jesus for the food we were about to receive we dug in. I was hooked from the first bite. Jim has mastered the art of smoking chicken. The bird was darkened and seasoned to perfection and the meat was as moist as it could be.

That is a tough combination to get right and Jim's does. My four pieces went quick and I placed my next order. The collard greens taste like they had just been cut from the back of the restaurant and cooked when I ordered. Very flavorful and not cooked to death. The mac and cheese was very good as well. Our waitress accidentally brought friend a order of black eyed peas out with her food and they were passed to me to eat. The best I have ever eaten! Just when I was thinking it couldn't get any better I took a bite of my cornbread. It was cornbread good enough to make your momma rethink her family heirloom recipe. I almost started crying it was so good. While we were enjoying our food we had been reading the overhead board and looking at all their dessert choices. Several were listed but we were intrigued by the one called dig licker cake. Now picture this. My pal says to me "what do you think the dig licker cake is?" Imagine what that would sound like if someone with a accent was to ask you and you'll understand why I gasped so hard I almost choked on a big mouthful of collards! That certainly had our attention so we asked our waitress what kind of cake dig licker was. She laughed almost as hard as we hard and informed us it was PIG licker cake, not dig. See, I told ya that darn sign had a heavy accent! Well, after all that we had to try a piece. It lived up to the other wonderful food we had just packed away. It was 3.95 for a slice and the slice looked like it was close to a quarter of the cake. It was made up of several layers and had a cream frosting with pieces of pineapple in it. After that we were done. Literally. Jim's hits on all cylinders and if you like good cooking and great barbecue then this is your place. If your a steak lover (and really, who of us isn't) then stop in on Saturday night. Between 5 and 9 pm Jim will custom grill you a steak that's so good that if you placed it on top of your head your tongue will drill a hole through your skull to get to it. Some other food critic info I should add is Jim's accepts credit cards ( I know cause we used one), I don't know if they serve alcohol because I don't drink. He's closed on Sundays and Mondays and his hours are 11am-9pm Tues through Sat. Try him out and look for us. Good chance we'll be there.

Quiet

It's been awhile since I've added anything to my blog. Nothing since March of this year actually. I'm still here, it's just that my normally active roaming mind has been slowed somewhat here lately. As most people know that know me, I lost my brother in law Gary a few months ago. Gary had been married to my sister Joy for just about as long as I can remember, thirty six years to be exact. They married when Joy was fresh out of high school at the tender age of eighteen. I was a whopping ten years old at the time. I remember Gary being at all the family gatherings and events, he was truly a member of the family. I have many memories of him and I could write for days about them. On March the 15th of this year he succumbed to his illness. I have to say it has been tough for me to accept him being gone. The man I had known for most of my life, the man who rarely got sick, was gone. He's the second family member to past away. The wounds from my Dad's passing are still fresh. Now we have lost another one. It's all caused me to see just how fragile life really is. Tomorrow might not resemble today at all and each day God allows us is a gift. Time truly does keep moving on. Our kids grow up. Brothers and sisters get a little older. Older relatives and friends start passing away. Our life circumstances change. I guess all we can do is keep plugging away. If your a Christian, which Gary and my Dad were, then we have the promise that God will never abandon us and will be with us even until the end of the age's. That blessed promise sustains us with the knowledge that we will be reunited with family members and friends that go on before us. We have our memories of days gone by and that's something that no one can take away from us. I'm still here and maybe I'm just a little more serious about things then I was before. I'm learning to take nothing for granted and tell my family I love them every chance I get. Rest in peace Gary Hill and know that you've left me many wonderful memories. You were a good husband and a great dad. We all miss you and we are comforted by the fact that we will see you again. Love you brother.

Funeral of a Facebook friend.

I lost my best friend last week. Even though we had never met, or even spoken on the phone for that matter, Steve and I had been best Facebook buddies for the last four years. I remember we met when another friend "suggested" Steve to me as a friend. I sent him a friend request and he accepted. We hit it off immediately. We both liked the same pages. Every morning we raced to see who could poke who first. We were always the first to comment on each others statuses. We enjoyed chatting in the mornings before work while we drank our coffee's. Steve had gone through a rough patch in his life a couple years ago. His wife Julie had suddenly announced to him her rekindled love for her sixth grade crush Tommy Allen. They had recently reconnected on Facebook and started chatting and Tommy confessed he still had feelings for her and he was bored with his life and how it sucked. They secretly messaged each other back and forth and soon came up with a plan to leave their spouses and finally complete what they started when they were eleven. Julie quit her job, packed a suitcase and moved with Tommy to New Mexico, leaving my friend to fend for himself. Two months later he totaled his 1984 Chrysler K car when a drunk driver made a illegal U turn in front of him and forgot to turn. His insurance company actually wanted Steve to PAY THEM for the time it took the agent to go to his house to take a picture of the totaled car. After that he lost the house. His fourteen year old chihuahua paco, legally blind and deaf, escaped outside the front door as the people sent over from the bank were loading all his possessions in the Ryder truck. Paco didn't hear or see the chicken hawk swoop down from the sky and grab him. Before Steve could react the bird shot straight up into the sky and he never saw his little dog again. There wasn't a dry eye on his friend list when he posted his poem he wrote and dedicated to his beloved paco. I still remember some of the lines like "Oh paco, oh paco, why did you have to go". "Even though you couldn't hear me call, or see me down the hall, I always felt bad when you walked into the wall". And "On your last day you left me and soared through the air, even though you had hawk talons stuck in your fur and hair". Even after all the tragedy of that year Steve still inspired me and his other friends with all his shared inspirational posts. Post like "Don't let life get you down. Chose to be up and you will be." Or "Always be in your happy area and don't let mean people pull you out of it". I always shared those posts on my wall and was proud to call Steve my friend. We often private messaged each other and talked about getting together sometime to be able to finally meet but alias, fate had different plans. Last week there was a freak accident down at the Better Buy distribution warehouse where Steve worked. Witnesses reported seeing him texting on his smartphone while he was hauling a pallet of brand new fresh from China Taskinoglu Blu Ray DVD players backwards on his forklift. Somehow he veered of course and drove right out the open loading dock door. The back of the forklift hit the ground first and Steve was thrown onto the ground and the pallet of DVD players crashed down on him. First on the scene responders were shocked to see only his arm coming out from under the deadly pile of electronics. He still had his phone in his hand and the paramedics could only shake their heads when they discovered that he had been updating his facebook status. He had only got half of it typed and out of respect one of the paramedics hit send. Imagine my confusion when my phone vibrated at my job and I slipped it out to read what my best bud had said now. Of course, I didn't understand what had happened at that point. Steve's post merely read, "Bored out of my mind. I'm half tempted to just" and that was it. I commented first, like always. "To just what old buddy?" Soon others chimed in after Steve never answered, making a game out of posting something funny or crude. Todd said "To just confess I like guys LOL." Jake wrote "To go hunt Tommy Allen down in New Mexico and make him eat a shotgun sandwich?" Jenna Hopkins wrote "To call Jenna Hopkins and tell her I'm madly in love with her :) >>>3>>" We were all cracking up as each friend tried to out do the last one. Well we weren't laughing that night. Joe Hardin, one of Steve's coworkers, posted the news on Steve's wall that night. Joe had a uncanny ability to hack into peoples facebook accounts and post stupid comments while posing as them and he had had Steve's account info as well. Needless to say, we were all devastated. My best friend, whom I had never got to meet, was gone! Snuffed out by a pallet of Blu Rays. Soon all of Steve's friends were posting personal stories about the good times they had shared with him. Another friend of his created a page called In Remembrance of Steve. There we all reposted our favorite uploads and shares that Steve had posted over the years. Carl Collins, a old friend from his high school, created a event when the funeral was announced and sent out invites to everyone on Steve's friend list. I wanted to go real bad but with me being on the west coast and Steve living in Massachusetts it just wasn't possible to do so on such short notice. Still, I responded maybe just in case. Carl promised to take lots of pictures and even record the whole service with his iPhone and upload it all to his In Remembrance of Steve page. True to his word, he did. I watched the whole service that night. After the video I checked out Carls photo album he had put together. I met Steve's mom. His sister Karen. I finally saw a picture of his crazy uncle Phil. Uncle Phil didn't have a facebook page so no one really knew him. Some reps from Better Buy were there. Better Buy had picked up the whole tab for the funeral home and the service, probably more out of fear of a lawsuit then compassion for Steve, even though there were No Texting While Operating Forklift signs posted throughout the warehouse. They certainly spared no expense. The funeral home looked nice. A organist played soft music as the mourners filed in. They even payed for a luncheon immediately following the service that was catered by some group named Kathys Kountry Katering. Rest in peace my friend. I'm going to miss ya and I'm sorry we never got to meet.

The annual Valentines Dinner and Dance Gala

                                                          Happy Valentines Day                                                  

                                                                                                                                                                         February 14th. Valentines day, or evening as it actually was, and the annual dinner and dance ball was in full swing. Just like every year, the event hosted some of New York's finest. This was not a cheap event by any means. The per couple price tag to attend was more then most New Yorkers made in six, maybe even seven, months of employment. Most of the attendees had known extravagances like this their whole lives. Born into families that had made their fortunes long ago and tonight's guests had continued in those family businesses. There were wall street investors here. Men (and women) whose grandparents had formed companies that ran the gauntlet from oil and gas to railroads and real estate.  Thus making the party a very exclusive event. Those attending had been attending for many years and wouldn't dream of missing it. The setting each year was in the ballroom of the very posh New Yorker hotel on the upper side of Manhattan. Located on the 9th floor of the twenty four story hotel, the ballroom was the perfect venue for this party. The history of the place and the hotel was rich and far reaching. Built back in the 20's, the hotel had played host to several past presidents and celebrities over the years. Franklin D Roosevelt was the first president to visit. He had thrown a huge party here after defeating Hoover in 32. In fact, several of the idea's that made up his New Deal to help pull the county out of the great depression had been born that night in this very room with some of the movers and shakers of that time. Several other presidents had followed FDR's lead and they too had held their post election parties here at the New Yorker. Tonight's party certainly was living up to the hotels reputation. The guests had started arriving at 6 pm. As old friends mingled and got caught up, waiters in white tuxedos walked through the crowd serving flutes of perrier-jouet champagne. Over to the side on the slightly raised stage area Arnie Johnson and the Starry Night Orchestra quietly played along in the background. Their job now was to provide soft, soothing background music. Later after dinner the guests would have the chance be able to dance with their partners or just relax and enjoy the music. At 8:00 pm sharp dinner was served. The tables were covered with white linens and fine royal doulton china. Each table featured a vase centerpiece that was full of long stem red roses and dainty babies breath. After everyone had been seated Joseph Peterson, this years host and planner, raised his glass and offered a toast. To another year of health, good fortune and most of all, the reason they were all here. Love. May they enjoy this meal, each other and the one they brought with them tonight. The party goers dined on beef bourguignon, asparagus with cannellina bean sauce and grilled rosemary lamb chops. The wait staff kept busy attending to every need. Chairs were pulled out and pushed in for the ladies. Glasses were refilled as soon as they were empty. A little after 9 Arnie and the band gathered themselves back out on the stage. The four trumpet players blasted out a note and the rest of the musicians followed suit. Soon the band was belting out My Old Flame. Martha Kellerman was the first one up. She grabbed her husband John and with a laugh pulled him to his feet and started to tug him towards the dance floor. "If you all will excuse me," he said to his friends as they all laughed and raised their glasses. His wife was usually the first one on the floor every year and this was one was no exception. Soon others joined them. Karla and Steven Franz. Robert and Carol Steinman. By the time the band was finishing their song more then half of the couples were on the dance floor. When My Old Flame finished Arnie stepped up to the microphone as his audience applauded him. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. I trust you all are having a wonderful evening and I hope that it continues. Please allow us to play some of your favorite songs and if you have any special requests by all means come up and let us know. In the meantime feel free to dance along or just sit back and socialize. The night is young and we aren't going anywhere for awhile. Again, thank you and happy valentines day!" More applause and then Arnie started to croon out their rendition of Love Sends a Little Gift of Roses as his orchestra backed him up. Up at the bar the bartender tended to a group of men who were enjoying some after dinner drinks and getting caught up with each other. Their wives congregated around a couple of the tables and shared stories that only women could tell and would want to hear for that matter. Keith Owens finished his drink and sat it down on the polished mahogany wood. Right away Stan was there. "Can I fill your glass Mr. Owens?" "No Stan, not quite yet." answered Keith and excused himself. He had been keeping a eye on Martha and John out on the dance floor, mostly on Martha. He had always found her to be a beautiful woman and he always felt a tinge of jealousy towards her husband John. Keith reached over and pulled out one of the long stem roses from the centerpiece vase that sat on the first table he passed on the way up to the dance floor. Approaching Martha's husband from behind he tapped him on the shoulder. John turned to see Keith standing there with a rose in his hand. "May I have this dance with your lovely wife John," Keith asked the man. "Why of course Mr. Owens you may. I need a break anyway. This woman is wearing me out! Martha, excuse me. I'll be up at the bar." "For you Martha" as Keith handed her the long stem rose. "Mr Owens, my your quite the charmer aren't you?" she asked him coyly. "I only get that way when I behold beauty Madam. May I have this dance?" "You may. What shall I do with this lovely flower you brought me?" "Here, give it to me. I'll lay it over here on the floor and I'll retrieve it for you after you've honored me with a dance." Keith took the rose and walked over to the edge of the stage and laid the flower on the floor. Right up by the stage it would be safe from getting stepped on or kicked around. He whisked back over and extended his right hand and Martha grabbed it with hers. He pulled her into him with his left and soon they were moving in time to the music as Arnie continued singing in his soft deep voice. "I gotta tell you Martha, you look stunning. You don't look like you have aged a day since last year." "Mr. Owens, if I didn't know you too be such a upstanding gentleman and a pillar of the community I would think you were coming on to me." Keith laughed as he weaved to the left with Mrs. Kellerman pulled tight. Meanwhile, outside the closed ballroom doors and down the hallway, maintenance man Mike Brooks was coming out of room 916. He looked at his watch and saw it read 9:40. He mentally cursed at himself for taking so long repairing the leak under the sink in the bathroom. The guests that had checked out that day had brought it to the attention of the front desk and the work order was added to Mike's long list of repairs that had to be done that day. He would have been able to leave on time at 5:30 if his two coworkers hadn't called in sick and abandoned him for that day. Course he couldn't much blame them. It was valentines day and both of them were newly weds celebrating their first valentines day married. He and his wife Debbie were veterans he guessed. They had been together for twelve years now so postponing their celebration a day or two wouldn't hurt. He had called her to tell her that he had had to cancel their dinner reservations. He simply could not leave work until the emergency repairs were done. He promised her that he would make it up to her this weekend and she had laughed and told him that he better! "Get your work done and get home here," she had playfully told him. Mike smiled as he thought of that. He pulled the door behind him shut and turned left to head to the elevator. After two steps Mike stopped. He cocked his head slightly. Was that music he heard? Very faintly, he thought that he did. Briefly, his breathing stopped and he remained motionless as he concentrated on any sound his ears might hear. There was only one. And it was music. But where could it be coming from? There were sixteen rooms on this floor and only a few of them were occupied. He turned around and started walking back in the opposite direction. Every five or six steps he would stop and retrain his ears. Clearly as anything he continued to hear the music. And now not only music but it sounded like voices and laughter were mixed in with it as well. Suddenly he was aware that his increasing heartbeat was starting to compete with the music in his ears. Was it coming from the ballroom? Maybe it was possible that the hotel was having a party here tonight but if they were he wasn't aware of it. Besides, they hadn't used this place in the twelve years he had worked here. He knew the story. The place was once been THE meeting place in New York city and it had hosted hundreds of events. But as time went by the owners of the hotel realized they needed a much more bigger and more modern meeting place if they were to hang on to their reputation as one of the city's finest hotels. So, twenty years ago they had gutted the entire top floor and converted it into the hotels new convention room that could play host to anything. Matter of fact, they were using it tonight and hosting the twenty first annual valentines dinner and dance gala. As Mike approached the former ballroom he knew that he had found the source of the noise. There WAS music playing on the other side of the shut doors. He placed his ear against the door, instantly think how dumb of a thing to do. Did he need to hear it any clearer then he was hearing it just standing here? There was no mistaking it. Someone was having a party in the old ballroom. He reached out to try the door and that's when he noticed his hand was shaking. He mentally guided it to the door handle and grasped it weakly in his hand. The handle felt cold. Really cold. Cold to the point that it almost hurt to have to grip it tight enough to be able to turn it to open the door. With his heart now pounding inside his chest he tried the door. Locked. Now his mind was racing. What should he do? Should he call the front desk and ask them who's using the room? They might tell him that yes, someone is hosting a private affair in there tonight. Only problem with that is he had been working right down the hallway for the last two hours and hadn't heard anyone coming or going. If  they answered that no one was using it then what? Would they think he was joking with them? What would they say if he told them that it was locked, supposedly empty but he could hear music and voices on the other side of the shut, locked doors. He decided to just knock on the door and find out himself who was in there. With a hand that was still shaky he tapped on the massive wooden door. Tap, Tap, Tap. No answer. The music kept playing. The people continued to talk and laugh. Regaining a little of his courage Mike pounded on the door. Louder this time. After the third knock the music died and the chatter ceased. He put his ear back up to the door and listened while deciding it didn't matter how dumb he looked.. Complete silence. "Who's in there?" asked Mike with a voice that now had turned dry and raspy, devoid of any moisture. Again, silence. With hands that had gone from shaky to full out trembling, Mike reached down and removed his keys from his tool belt. He had a key to every door of the New Yorker on his key ring. He knew he had one to the old ballroom but which one was it? All the keys were numbered and he knew the ones he used the most but it had been years since he had been in here. Fumbling through the keys with hands that didn't want to cooperate, he stopped on one that stood out from the rest. It was older looking. The initials B.R were burnt on the side. This was it! Mike took several deep breathes and tried to will his heart and hands to slow down. Using both hands (one to hold, one to guide) he slid the key in the door knob and turned it. He felt the tumblers inside the handle turn and drop and he knew he had unlocked the door. After replacing his keys on his belt he grabbed the cold door handle again. This time it didn't resist and opened for him. Slowly he pushed open the door and as the first crack between the two doors appeared Mike saw total darkness. Still pushing ever so slowly he reached down on the other side of his belt and removed his flashlight. His heart returned to it's rapid beating but now it felt like it was in his head and throat. A wave of fear came over him that he had never felt before. Every hair on his head and body seemed to stand at attention. "Hello" he attempted to say but instead it came out like some kind of guttural groan. He squeezed through the opening in the doors and surprised himself by how quickly he reached the side of the door where the master light switch was. He turned on the light switch and heard a muffled popping sound and saw the faintest glow of light start in the chandeliers. He remembered that these lights were slow to fully come on and it took time for them to do so. He turned on his flashlight and lifted it up so the beam of light shone out in front of him. The ray of light showed tables covered with protective sheets and boxes stacked on them. As he moved the light to his right he could see the stage platform. More boxes were stacked on it. In the light given off by his flashlight the cardboard looked yellow and faded. As the light from the chandeliers started to grow stronger Mike could see that boxes were everywhere in this room. Apparently the old ballroom of the New Yorker had become a storage unit. Old signs leaned against the far left wall. The bar towards the back had long ago gone dry. The once dark and deeply rich mahogany bar now was faded, covered with dust. The mirror behind it was dirty and reflected only junk. His courage seemed to grow as the light from above did. He slipped inside the room and turned off his flashlight. Didn't need it anymore. As he holstered it back into his tool belt something caught his eye. There was something on the floor up by the old stage. It had color to it. Color in this old, musty smelling room where most of the colors had faded away a long time ago. Mike walked toward the object to investigate. As he approached it he stopped and bent down to pick it up. It was a single long stem red rose. He felt it to make sure it was real. It was. He smelled it and it offered fragrance over the staleness of the room. Whoever had dropped this flower in this room had been here recently. Very recently.  As he scratched his head and tried to make sense of all this he heard what sounded like a lady giggle behind him. Whipping around in a instant he shouted out "Who's there!" Another giggle and then Mike felt bodies all around him. He couldn't see them but he didn't have to. He sensed them. He felt them. Standing on what used to be the old dance floor he felt surrounded by them. The terror he had felt before came rushing back like a freight train. Mike dropped the rose and bolted towards the door. Getting out of this place was the only thing his mind could focus on. He raced across the room and bolted out of the door that he came in through. He hit the hallway at full stride and didn't even stop to take the elevator down. The stairs were straight ahead and they would do just fine. Meanwhile, back in the direction Mike had just come from, the light was starting to fade again inside the old ballroom. The light switch was now in the off position and just as it took several minutes for the lights to power up it also took them time to fully shut off. With the last bit of light fading, the door to the ballroom slammed shut. The lock tumblers could be heard falling in place. And then the music started again.

A few things I learned on my recent vacation

I recently took off a week to spend Thanksgiving with my family in Delaware. We took a few days to get up there and spent two coming back. Some of the things that I learned along the way,


Paula Deen's restaurant in Savanna has good fried chicken.


Do not walk the entire city of Savanna searching for the famous Bird Girl statue used in the book and movie titled Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. She is not there. Nor is she in the cemetery that is 15 minutes outside the city. She actually now resides in a museum. Ask before spending the entire day looking for her.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                In the south, it doesn't matter how lost you are or how far out in the middle of nowhere you are, there is always a decent barbecue place somewhere around.

South Carolina has cheap gas.


South of the border actually has pretty decent food. All these years I thought they only had cheap Pedro souvenir's.


I love the "Mutha"!!

Both the top AND the bottom of the earth are cold (thanks Greg for that lesson).


Speaking of cold, Delaware is cold towards the end of November.

 
I miss my Dad.


Jimmy Wharton still makes some darn good scrapple! 
                                                                                  
                                                                                                                                                                       
The traditional Thanksgiving foods are good but sitting down with family to share them is better. 

Bus Stop 6691

For Elizabeth Whaley, who said I should write a story about a bus stop.

Paul Jenkins pulled hard on the cigarette. He had been wanting to quit for quite sometime now but tonight was not the night for that. His nerves raced and his stomach was in knots. He really thought that he had lost it. All out, goodbye forever mind, been nice knowing ya crazy. It was 11:45 pm, fifteen minutes away from midnight. That's when "it" was suppose to show up, if "it" really existed. Paul doubted it did. He nervously checked his wristwatch again. A second look confirmed it was really 11:45. He had gotten here just in time. Fifteen more minutes and he would know if there was any truth to what the old man had told him about this place. In the days that followed Paul's encounter with the old homeless guy he had researched this area. On this corner was a old abandoned bus stop, the long defunct 6691 bus stop. The 6691 stop sat on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Windsor Park where it had once served the east side of Chicago, back when people actually lived over on the east side of Chicago. The city closed it down twenty five years ago when the blue collared, middle class families began moving away, chased out by the gang members and the drug dealers. Most drivers had refused to take that particular route, especially after the shootings and robberies that fell on several of their friends and colleagues. Today, the bus stop was just just a empty, rusty shell. The Plexiglas that covered the old bolted down bench had a few cracks from the kids that finally had giving up trying to shatter it and knock it out. Most of it was clouded over, impossible to see through the thick dirty glaze covering it. Weeds came up from the cracks in the pavement, trying to cover over the structure. Many a homeless persons had spent a cold night sleeping on the old bench. Empty liquor bottles littered the ground and the smell of old, stale urine filled the air. Police sirens sang their nightly serenade off in the background. Just a typical night over on the east side of the big Windy City. Paul himself lived about a hour and so away, in a small, modest two bedroom/one bath outside of the more upscale area of Bedford Park. He once have lived in Bedford Park, back when he was a different person, living a different life. That was before the fire, back before the Paul of today. Exactly two hours and forty five minutes ago Paul had left his house heading for his destination. He doubled checked the two important things he had to have. The eight quarters for his fare and the piece of paper that he had wrote on earlier. He had taken the train across the city to the Jackson Park station. From there buses ran out in each direction but to get to the old 6691 stop Paul was on his own. He walked outside to where the long line of cab drivers sat, trying to stay awake by any means they could. Some gathered in small groups talking about sports and women and politics or whatever tonight's topic happened to be. Some talked on cell phones, some cat napped, waiting for a potential client. Paul stepped to the curb and raised his hand in the "I need a cab" position and immediately the front group snapped to it and tried to beat each other to their cars, each one desperate for a fare on this cold, late fall evening. Driving someone somewhere would give them reason to be in their cars with the heat running and getting warm instead of just letting the car idle and watching the fuel needle slowly fall. The winning cab driver jumped in his drivers seat and quickly started his engine, put his car in drive and raced up to where Paul was standing. He was a dark skinned man, Haitian probably, like so many of the other city cab drivers. Paul opened the back door and climbed in the cab. "Where to my friend" asked the cabbie. Yep Paul thought to himself, Haitian, I guessed it. "I want to go to the corner of Mawr and Windsor" answered Paul. The Haitians face immediately changed, like he had just heard some unsettling thing. He looked at Paul, like Paul was going to say no man, I'm kidding. But he didn't. He just stared back at the driver, waiting for his reply. "That's a dangerous area man. You have business there?" "Yes, you could say that" answered Paul. "Fares are double for that part of town my friend. Too risky, too dangerous" said the cabbie. Paul thought he noticed something in the mans voice. Fear maybe? Certainly hesitation. "I'll pay you whatever, just get me there," mumbled Paul. The cabbie gave Paul one finally look over, shrugged and turned around and put the car in gear. The cab drove off, disappearing into the night.


Four years before Paul Jenkins climbed into the back of that cab things had been different. Paul was married to Sarah back then, his soul mate and the love of his life. They had meet in collage. They didn't date long, they both knew they were meant for each other. After one year and four months of marriage came Timothy Steven Jenkins, Timmy for short. Timmy's middle name was a tribute to Sarah's Dad, who had passed away earlier that year. Those eight years of marriage had been good to the Jenkins family. Paul was a successful financial advisor for a fortune 500 company. They lived in a upscale home in the upscale neighborhood of Bedford Falls, a suburb of Chicago, over on the west side. They were living the American dream. They hosted lavish parties on the weekends. Timmy attended a very private school that most parents couldn't afford to send their kids to. But that was all before that night, that horrible night when everything that Paul held dear was taken away. It was a Saturday. That night they had had some friends over for dinner, then some drinks. Everyone was having a good time. Around 10 the friends started leaving, full and a little tipsy. After the last guests had left Paul helped Sarah clean up some of the plates and glasses. "I'm going to save the rest for tomorrow. Lets go to bed dear" Sarah said, half speaking, half yawning. "You go on up hon. I'm going to watch the news and then I'll be up" replied Paul as he pulled his wife close into him. They kissed and Paul thought about how much he loved this woman, how much she meant to him, how she was so much a part of him. "Okay you, but don't be long" said Sarah back to him with that voice and smile that he loved. "I'll check on Timmy and make sure he's wrapped up. Good night love" and with that she turned and walked up the stairs. Paul pulled off his shoes and grabbed the remote. He turned on the TV and layed back on his sofa. The news was still about 15 minutes away and some detective show was wrapping up and the culprits were being revealed and also their reasons why they did what they did. "These shows are a dime a dozen" he thought to himself. As he watched the police start to move in on the suspects his eyes got heavy. And heavier. Paul was asleep before the news even started.


The next thing that happened was something that he had run over and over in his mind ever since that night. Paul wasn't sure what exactly had awoken him first. The screams, the searing heat, the smoke. Maybe it was all three. He only knew that that was the moment when his world ended. He jumped up off the sofa, his mind cloudy and hazy, partly by the sleep, the other part by the alcohol. When he did gather his senses he stood frozen in disbelief. Flames were everywhere inside their home. The whole room seemed to be engulfed. The heat was unbearable, the air was thick with smoke. Then the screams, Sarah's screams. Screams for help, screams for Paul, screams for anyone. "I'm coming baby" shouted back her husband over the angry roar of the flames. And he really did try to get up the stairs, through the fire that had swallowed them and licked at the ceiling and the walls. The heat was unbearable but he knew he had to get to his wife and son. Nothing else mattered but that. The flames licked at his clothes and skin and the smoke threatened to completely choke him. Soon the next thing he knew was someone big behind him, pulling him away. Away from his wife , his son, his world. "No" screamed Paul. "I have to save them!" but he was no match for the lumbering firefighter who had grabbed him from behind and was pulling him to safety, away from the inferno. "We're trying to get to them but you have to get out!" shouted the fireman through his mask at Paul. But they didn't get to them. No one did. And that was the day Paul Jenkins life as he had known it ended.


It took him a long time before he was able to go back to work. Thankful, he worked at a family owned company and they had told him to take off as long as he needed before even thinking about coming back to work. Eight long torturous months before he went back. Everyday, reliving that night when his world was turned upside down. The nightmares, the what ifs, the second guessing himself. If only he had gone to bed when Sarah went, he would have maybe been able to drag her and Timmy to safety. The official cause of the fire simply listed faulty wiring as the cause of the fire. Which really meant there was no other obvious reason for the fire so we have to list something. Faulty wiring was always a good standby. Paul had thought about what could have caused it a thousand times. A bad electrical cord? A wire connection somewhere in the wall? And why didn't the smoke detectors go off and give them some warning. He had changed the batteries a couple times over the years they lived there. The chief fire investigator did seem to think that the fire started somewhere near the laundry utility room. Something about the wood framing of the house was charred the worst in that area. But really, none of that really mattered anymore. He had lost the two most important things in his life that night.Now, they were gone. And Paul was just a shell of a man. A mans body but someone with only a piece of soul. Most of it ripped apart and torn away. He had bought a small home away from where their old home had been. It was just to painful to remain in the same area. With the insurance money from the house and the life insurance policies Paul was well taken care of but he needed to work. He had to work. It was the only time when his mind was free of the thoughts and the images of his wife and son. And at night the dreams would come. Dreams that haunted him. So sweet and innocent at first but they always turned bad.Sometimes the dreams would be of him and Sarah in college. They were young, she was beautiful. They had their whole lives ahead of them. They would embrace and kiss and Paul could taste the lip gloss she always used and he could smell her perfume she always liked to wear. Sometimes the dreams would be when they were married and they had just gotten the baby asleep in his crib and they would quietly make their way into their bedroom and they would lay on the bed and Paul would take her and Sarah would have to be careful that her moans and groans didn't wake up their son. Sometimes the dreams would be of him and his son outside playing with that electric car they had given Timmy that one year for his birthday. Sometimes he would be in the floor tickling and playing with him. But even the nicest, sweetest dreams ended in horror. He and Sarah would be embracing and then her skin would start bubbling and she would start to scream at Paul. She would scream "Why, Paul?" "Why didn't you save me? You said you loved me!" Then her skin and flesh would start to melt and begin dripping off of her mouth and face, revealing the jawbone and soon the part of the skull that it was connected to. Or Timmy would stop laughing from the tickling and start crying instead. "Daddy, why didn't you come get me?" "I was waiting for you to come save me" he would ask as his clothes started to smoke. And every time Paul would wake up and HE would be the one screaming. Screaming out for Sarah. For Timmy. He had become a loner. His life was a routine. Work, come home, prepare something to eat, clean up, watch TV and then try to sleep. His co workers felt sorry for him and invited him out to different functions but he always politely declined. Being with other couples only sharpened the pain of his loss. So went Paul's life. He had become a loner. Alone with just his heartache and pain for companionship.


Paul lit another cigarette and checked the time. His watch now showed 11:50. Ten minutes and he would know if there was anything to the story the old homeless guy on the street corner had told him that day. Common sense had told him there was no truth to it but the man that had told him seemed like he knew what he was talking about and listening to him, one could almost believe the rambling tale. It had been a extremely cold morning that day and Paul was on his way to his favorite corner shop for a coffee and bagel before work. To the left of the door was where the homeless guy was. There was nothing that stood out about the guy. He looked like every other homeless person that populated the city. But this guy had a look on his face like he was waiting for someone. Then he turned and they made eye contact and Paul knew that HE was the one the guy had been waiting for. How he knew he had no idea but he knew. He could see it on the old bums haggardly, weather worn face. Paul normally avoided the homeless but something about this guy made him stop, stop dead in his tracks. "Spare a couple dollars for a cold, hungry man?" the guy asked. All Paul had on his was the ten dollar bill in his front pocket that he planned to use for his coffee and breakfast but suddenly it seemed important to give it to this guy. He reached in his pocket and took out the bill and offered it to the man. Smiling and showing teeth that been neglected for quite some time the old man looked down at the ten dollars now in his hand and his grin broadened. When he looked up he looked different. Paul couldn't put his finger on what looked different but something did. There was a gleam in the mans eye that wasn't there before. Before his eyes were dull and cold and almost lifeless but now there was a light of some sort. A glint that hadn't been there before. While Paul stood frozen looking at the man and trying to figure out what kind of trick his mind was trying to play on him the homeless guy suddenly reached out and grabbed Paul's arm with his free hand. Paul wanted to snatch it away and run. Run away quickly from this guy who was now setting off every internal alarm in his body. But he couldn't. He just stood there looking (he was sure) stupid at the guy. Mouth opened, wanting to tell the man to let go of him, but not able to produce any words. The old man pulled Paul close to him and he could smell every kind of filth one could imagine on the old man. The stench was nauseating, like nothing he had ever smelled before and prayed he never would again. "Your generosity is greatly appreciated Paul Jenkins" the old man said in a hoarse, raspy voice. "Dear Lord he knows my name. How is this possible" thought Paul to himself. "I know lots of things young man" the bum answered, as if Paul had spoke the words instead of thought them. "I also know what keeps you up every night and haunts your dreams when you do sleep. I know what happened to your family and I also know about a place you can go if you want to go back and fix what happened" the old man said to Paul. "Who are you and how do you know me or anything about me" he asked the man. "Lets just say I can see things and I see your hurt and pain. There's a place on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Windsor Park where you can catch a ride. Not any old ride but a special ride. A ride back to your past if there's something that needs to be fixed". "Your crazy, get your hands off of me now!" Paul said, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "Am I?" the old man asked. "If you want to go back and change things so you can be with your wife and son again then listen to what I tell you." And now Paul did listen. He didn't know how this guy knew these things but nevertheless he knew. Was this possible? No. Was it happening? Yes. "Tell me what to do" he asked. "That's better my friend. You've helped a cold, hungry man, now I want to help you" replied back the dirty, filthy smelling man. "There's a old bus stop on that corner. It's not been used in years. You go and be there before midnight and you wait. And go alone or he won't come. The fare is two dollars. It must be eight quarters. You write down the address of where you want to go and the date you want to go there on a slip of paper. You believe with all your heart that he's coming and he will show up. When he does you get on that old bus and then you put your fare and the slip of paper in the box and he will take you there. You'll have 12 hours there after he drops you off and you do what you must. But be warned of this Paul Jenkins, whatever you do on that day affects today. Be careful of the changes you make. Whats done then is still done today. Oh, and one more thing. You MUST be back at where he drops you off at exactly 12 hours later to the minute to come back here or your stuck there forever. Understand? There is no second chance. If you get off at 4 pm then you be back there the next day at 4 am. Not 4:01. Do I make myself clear on that?" Paul just nodded his head. At this point he was unable to do anything else. None of it made sense or was even believable for that matter. But the old man spoke with a certainty in his voice like he was explaining directions to the other side of town or some other everyday thing. "Good, enjoy your ride Paul Jenkins and may you have success with whatever you need to fix." Then the old man just simply turned and walked away. And Paul just stood there, unable to get his thoughts together or understand what had just happened. That was two months ago. He had replayed that encounter in his mind everyday since. It couldn't be possible. It was simply impossible. The man was suggesting time travel. A hundred movies had been made about it and books had been written about it and now here he was waiting to participate in it. Was he crazy? Yes, he was sure he had slipped off the deep end, into the waters of insanity. Why else would he be out here on this cold, dark night. He had looked at every angle he could think of since the chance encounter with the man. Maybe his co-workers had given the man all that information about him and had him appear to him as a joke? Maybe the old guy had read about the fire in the paper and it was his idea of some kind of sick prank? Still, there had been something very convincing about the man and his story. Paul had simply decided to see if there was any truth to the tale at all. Finally, to just go to the place the man had told him about and see for himself. So here he was. Waiting at what he had discovered used to be called bus stop 6691.


At 12:01 Paul had decided he was a idiot. He had come out here tonight half expecting to see something and midnight passed and here he stood. Alone, cold and feeling pretty stupid. A wasted night. A lot of money paid to a cab driver and now he had to call and try to find another willing to come get him and probably charge him another small fortune. As he reached into is pocket to pull out his cell phone he turned and looked down Windsor Park Street and his blood went cold. Down the street about a quarter of a mile was a wall of white stuff. Stuff because Paul could not think of anything else to describe it. It was fog, a heavy mist or clouds, maybe a combination of all three. Whatever it was it seemed to be alive. The white swirl rolled around and into itself. The top fell to the bottom and the bottom rose to the top. The outside rolled inward while the inside rushed out to replace it. And it glowed. Glowed with some kind of internal light. It illuminated the darkness around it. And it was moving, coming towards him. Paul stood there looking at the stuff much like he had looked at the old man when he told him about his dead wife and son and the story of this place. Mouth open like he wanted to speak but the words frozen in his throat. Words that wouldn't have made any sense anyway. As the stuff rolled lazily towards him it covered and devoured the street signs in its path. The swirling stuff went up as high as the street lamps and even the ones whose bulbs weren't burnt out disappeared into the thick haze. As it got closer Paul thought he could make out two bright lights in the front low to the road that looked just like eyes. Just then a rip in the stuff rolled down and under the eye lights and Paul burst out laughing. Whatever this thing was, it had a face and it was smiling at him. Paul laughed and slapped his leg (I'm losing it) because the only other thing he could do was scream and he knew if he started doing that then he probably would never stop. So he laughed. And he laughed some more. Soon the swirling mass of stuff was right in front of him and the smile was gone. The two "eyes" were still there and now he realized that they weren't eyes but headlights. He also noticed that the smile was actually a bent, twisted fender that somehow was able to reflect some of the headlights glare even though the thing was mostly covered in rust. Paul felt a fear sweep over him like he had never felt before but at the same time he was glad to be standing next to this whatever it might be. He took a step back as the rolling mass went past him a few feet and then stopped. Now his blood went from cold to ice. Paul wanted to turn around and run. Run and run and not look back. Run until his legs couldn't run any more. But he was frozen to the spot he was standing on. Every nerve in his body tingled with fear and apprehension. His eyes widened as two doors appeared in the fog, then loudly protested with a metal screeching scream as they slowly opened. They appeared to be doors like you would see on a bus. And when they opened fully then Paul Jenkins discovered what REAL fear was. It WAS a bus behind those doors and a ghostly, hooded figure sat in the drivers seat. The driver/thing was wearing a dark, mangy hooded robe and it just st there motionless, looking straight ahead. "Who are you" Paul managed to ask with a trembling voice that also sounded incredibly dry. Sounded like that because it was dry. Paul realized that the moisture in his mouth had dried up about the same time he had first seen the stuff. "Where are you going" was his second question. The thing just sat there, staring at some invisible road ahead. But this time the thing did move, ever so slightly at first. As if it was a struggle, the thing started to raise its right arm and slowly move it towards the center of the front of the bus. It pointed a finger, no, finger was not the right word, it pointed what USED to be a finger, now just a yellowish, dry looking bone towards the fare box that was mounted on the dash of the vehicle or whatever this thing was. "Okay, I get it" he muttered to himself more then to the thing/driver. "Your going to the address that I have wrote on this slip of paper in my pocket right?" Ever so slowly Paul saw the thing nod. "Okay then, lets see how all this plays out. If I'm crazy then I'm already at the place of no return" he thought to himself. While his legs felt like they were suddenly made of lead he lifted the right one first and stepped onto the step of the bus. He almost had to put his hands on his left leg and pull up on it to get it to follow his right one. Never had walking been such a chore. Two more struggling steps and he was on the bus, standing right next to the thing who was going to drive him to 1800 Darington Avenue. The thing behind the wheel continued to point at the fare box and Paul slipped the piece of paper into the box. Quickly reaching into his pocket he grabbed the pieces of loose change and pulled them out. He dropped the quarters in the box and the doors slowly shut behind him in that same moaning protest as before. As Paul stared down at the space on the ground that he had been occupying just a few minutes ago the stuff quickly swirled in and consumed it up. The swirling stuff surrounded the bus. Every window he looked out of the stuff was there. Rolling, banking, coming, going. Paul took a seat a couple rows back and the thing released the brake and the bus began to move. Move towards 1800 Darington Avenue. Normally a one hour ride from this part of town, give or take a few but this one might take longer. This one was going back in time. Four years back to be exact.

As he turned towards the back of the bus he moved back four or five rows before settling down on one of the seats. He wanted to, had to, put some distance between himself and the thing behind the wheel of this "bus". Still, he didn't want to be to far back. He wanted to be able to see that thing, to be ready to act if he had to. It was hard to see inside here. Any light inside was coming from the faint illumination that was coming from inside the fog. Confident that there was enough distance between him and the driver Paul settled down on one of the seats. Sitting wouldn't be the right word. He was to on edge to sit. Instead, he eased down onto one of the seats and leaned back. He tried to get his bearings inside this rusty, dirty hull of metal and glass. Was this thing moving? It felt like it but with the fog and mist swirling outside the windows it was hard to tell. His mind was just to overwhelmed by this whole experience. Where was he? Was he really home in bed, having yet another nightmare? Maybe his mind had grown tired of replaying the same old movie every night that starred his (former) wife Susan and (also former) son Timmy. Then he realized this wasn't a dream when the bus hit what had to be more then a pothole in the road, it was more like a sinkhole that had suddenly opened up and took a good section of road down into it. The bus slammed down in the hole and bounced back up and Paul flew up off his seat and bit his tongue so hard that he was amazed he didn't sever it right in half! He had no time to wonder what it was and then there was another one, then another. What ever road this thing was on now was no longer a road he had ever traveled on. He thought crazily for a second that this is what our good old boys over fighting in those third world sand lots must feel like when their driving through one of those places that's been decimated by land mines and bombs and every other imaginable device designed to create destruction. He desperately reached out and grabbed the old, rusty handrail beside his seat with his right hand and lashed out with his left one to grab whatever it came in contact with first, which happened to be the arm rest that divided the seat he was on with the seat to his left. And there was noise. And light. As the road got rougher and Paul had to hold on to keep from being bounced around like a kid bounces in one of those birthday party bounce houses, the light outside in the fog got a little brighter and the weird humming noise started. Soon the light was pouring in through the windows and illuminating the old metal hull. It looked old and run down. He briefly wondered about the other ones that had taken a ride in this magical express. Where were they heading? What was their thing that needed fixing? Had they suffered as he had? The thought was chased out of his head though by the deafening roar that was drilling into his head. It seemed to be coming from somewhere out in the fog as well. He would have slapped his hands over his ears to try to muffle it but letting go of the rail and armrest would probably send him on another unintended ride besides this one. There was absolutely no doubt now that they were moving. They were three levels beyond just moving. Every sense of Paul's body recognized the fact that they were traveling at hyper speed. The light was now blinding inside the bus. He shut his eyes. The noise threatened to shatter his eardrums. He just had to cover then up. As he released his grips he slapped his hands to the sides of his head to keep his head from exploding. He also dropped down to the floor and attempted to wedge himself between the seats. And then he screamed. Screamed for his eyes that were being blinded by this intense, white light. He screamed also for his poor ears, he was pretty sure his eardrums where soon going to implode and he would never be able to hear again. And screamed for the fact that if this ride didn't end soon then it probably wasn't going to matter. He would die blind and deaf but that would be okay because there was nothing to see or hear anyway. And then as fast as it had started, it stopped. He had fallen to the floor from his self made wedge and all he could do was just lie there. He opened his eyes. There were those bright speckles of light swirling and dancing around in front of them like everyone gets from time to time and they wonder if it is a early onset of blindness creeping up on them or if there could be some other kind of problem that they should discuss with a doctor but then it goes away and you forget about it until the next time it happens. And he had a loud ringing in his ears, like he had had front row tickets to some loud, talentless rock band who disguised their lack of talent with loudness. But, by golly, he was alive. He reached up to try to pull himself up from the floor of the bus and grabbed the handrail he had been holding only moments ago but snatched his hand away so quickly that he fell back to the floor. The handrail was cold to the touch and it was SHINY. Not old and rusted as before but new looking. New looking because it was new. It was shined and buffed so that you could see your reflection in it, although distorted of course. By now the northern constellation of lights that had been dancing before his eyes were beginning to fade and Paul was able to take in his surroundings. The floor that he lay on was clean. The back of the seat looking up at his left looked new. The bottom of the one to his right was the same. He grabbed that new rail and this time didn't snatch away but instead pulled himself up, up onto his wobbly legs. And then fell back down on the new, clean, fake leather but a good imitation of it seat. He tried to take it all in. The thing he had boarding was old, dirty, beat up. This thing he sat in now was new. Brand spanking new. There wasn't a spot of dirt anywhere. The windows sparkled. The floor was swept and clean. ALL the handrails were shiny and polished. It was just to much to take in. "Here we are my friend," and Paul jumped back from his stupor. He turned his head toward the voice and the thing/driver that had brought him here was gone. In his place sat a little man. "Hey pal, you okay?" the driver asked in a shrill, annoying voice. It was one of those voices that made you want to tell the person to shut up or they risked getting decked if they continued to talk. 'Yes", he answered back. He looked at the man that now sat behind the wheel of the bus. He was in full uniform. A darkish blue one at that. On his head he worn a heavy looking hat with a short brim. He had a jacket and wore a dress shirt under that with a matching tie. He had a pudgy neck though. Paul thought it looked like the collar was maybe to tight and the guy probably was dying to loosen the tie and unbutton a few buttons. That pudgy neck and the head above it was red, like it wasn't getting a good supply of oxygen nor blood. And his eyes. Something about them set his internal alarm off. They were dark, too dark. And lifeless. Maybe this was the same driver that had picked him up. He had just got a quick makeover, like the bus had done. What was once old is now new he thought to himself. "Where are we" he asked the driver. And the driver answered him back in that same high pitched voice that made Paul cringe. "Why, we are at your stop you requested. Where else would we be? 1800 Darington Avenue, exactly where you asked to go when you got on friend. You sure your feeling okay?" "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks," "Okay then, here you go" and the driver twisted the lever that made the front doors open with a big whisssing sound. "And thanks for traveling with your friends at C.T.A and always remember, if you wanna go there then we can get you there. Have a good day," and he gave Paul the biggest crap eating grin he had seen in quite sometime. "Okay buddy, thanks" muttered Paul as he took the first of three steps down into a world that he wasn't sure of what world it was. I guess I'm about to find out he thought to himself. The second step down was when the man called out to him and it scared him because this wasn't a voice he had heard yet. This was a deep voice that made people stop and take notice when they told them too. "Look at the place where you get off this bus Paul Jenkins and you look good. You have exactly 12 hours to do whatever you have to do and be back at this very spot. Bring no one else, only yourself. It's now 3:20 pm. I'll be back here at 3:20 am to pick you up. If your here at 3:21 you will miss the bus and there won't be another one. You'll be here for good. Do I make myself clear?" "Yeah, I got it. See you tomorrow morning at 3:20" "Good Paul Jenkins!" and that shrill voice was suddenly back. Cheerful but yet TO cheerful. Almost seemingly mocking cheerful. Paul turned back around and took that final step down. He took a couple steps away and again heard that whisssing sound as the bus doors shut behind him. He turned around and watched as the big bus started to drive away and he watched it until it was almost out of sight. Then he turned around to survey the scene at 1800 Darington Avenue. And to go home. Finally, after all this time.