The two women had been friends for a very long time. Over 48 years in fact and even though they had been separated through the years and followed different paths, their friendship endured and overcame all obstacles and challenges. Now, this particular day, the one had come back and was with her old friend. They were together riding the roads they had grown up on and driving through the countryside as they had in time's past. Finally, they pulled into the small town they had both lived in. "You need to see this", said the one.
"Groan, it's the same old town", answered the other.
"Just wait. You will love this", chuckled the first. "Close your eyes".
The one who had returned closed her eyes, but inside she knew nothing would have changed.
"This way". Her friend led her down the sidewalk, which had been smoothed out and no longer caused anyone to trip. The one sighed and allowed herself to led.
Finally, they came to a halt. Her sense of smell had been bombarded with multiple scents; from cinnamon to onions to....wait, could it be? Curry? There had also been the scents of flowers, perfumes, and fresh air all intermingling with one another.
"We're here! Open your eyes"!
She opened them and then stared dumbfounded at all she saw. "What happened to this place"?
"Well, some new people moved in and started fixing up a few of the old buildings. When everyone saw how nice they looked, they began to do the same things. Now, look what we have"!
Her friend was right. Things could change, if people want them too. She couldn't believe her eyes, the old storefronts from the early 1900s had been restored and given rock stone sidings. The sidewalks had been raised and converted into wooden walkways with porches. Flower boxes adorned all the windows of the stores which had been turned into boutiques of clothing, perfumes, candy, candles, books, and antiques. At the end of the street, the old hotel stood proudly, not with clapboard siding, but elegant and refined with stones, brass lanterns shining on it's walkway, and a porch encircling it. It's doors burst open as people exited it and she was able to glimpse the inside which showcased a beautiful stone fireplace and a small chandeliers in a room of intimate dining.
She kept rubbing her eyes and mumbling, "I can't believe it. I can't believe it"
Her old friend smiled, "Believe it!"
A siren went off and both turned to see what was happening. The one turned to the other, only to notice that she seemed to be fading away.
The alarm on her phone was going at full volume. She rolled over, grabbed it and turned it off. For a moment, she couldn't figure out where she was, then recognition flooded back. "Just a dream. I have got to call her and tell her about it! She will love it! Plus, she will be at me about going back".
Friday, January 31, 2014
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Quiet Shadow
Quiet. It shouldn’t be so quiet, but it is. How can a city be so quiet? Deep in the recesses of the building a door shut. Subtle, but there. Finally. A few minutes later a man exited, turned right, and began walking north on 5th Ave. Bet he’s heading to the Library. The man moves quickly, not many people out on a night like this one. The Polar Vortex had brought the city to a stop. A few were venturing out into the sub-zero temperature, but most were inside. Taking shelter from the wind and cold. The man stops and fiddles with his coat. Nice, he gets a nice warm Calvin Klein Plaza Overcoat and I get a TALOS, thinks his shadow. He moves forward again, slipping slightly on the ice, but staying on his feet. His hands are buried deep in the coat’s pockets and a scarf covers his mouth. A black fedora tops his head. The shadow moves quietly and swiftly, flitting along the street like a wraith, constantly behind the man, watching his every move. He hits another patch of ice and slips barely catching his balance this time. Careful, it’s too soon to be out of the game. He stops again and checks the ground in front of him a little closer. Now what is he looking at? He moves along, but at a slower pace. The shadow follows after a moment, then kneels at where he had slipped. “I don’t see anything, a patch of ice...Ahh, well you are the smart one” . The shadow moves, this time not directly behind the man, but above. Love this equipment.
The man moves along 5th Avenue walking past the library. He turns left at 42nd and walks to Broadway. Where is he going? The shadow moves ahead of him and settles in the darkness provided by the Newsweek building at 42nd and Broadway. The man turns right onto Broadway heading north again. He glances at the windows of a building and stops in his tracks. He turns around and seems to be searching for someone or something. He moves his right hand deeper into the pocket of the coat as if gripping something, looks around again, then turning back to the north he begins moving faster along the sidewalk. He turns east on 43rd Street, crossing it and entering the Casablanca Hotel. He nods to the attendant on duty, crossing the floor to the elevator. Upon exiting the elevator, he walks down the hallway, stopping at a door, entering it, and closing the door behind him. He locks the door and removes the overcoat. In the right pocket he removes a Walther P99. In the left pocket, he removes a small package. The reason why he had been in that building. He smiles and walks to the bed, flipping on the lights and the tv. He glances out the window and seeing nothing unusual on the street below, he turns his back, smiles again and falls on the bed...
Time, A Linear Conception.
Yes, another day has dawned and is upon us. The State of the Union Address was last night and guess what? The world is still turning. The same old rhetoric from opposing sides has been flung and we the people have endured it as our Congressional leaders fill the air with insults and threats. That said, let us move on and start working toward a better present and an even better future.
So, another day and year are upon us and I wonder what will occur. Ever want to see into the future? Think of what you could do if you were able to. Oh yes, you could become rich. But then again, who would want that. Fame, riches, power. It could be yours for the keeping. However, if you did see into the future it might not be what you wanted. Look what happens in the movies when individuals can see or go into the future. They discover themselves in a world which they despair of and go back to the present making sure they never chose the path which led them to this horrendous future.
How about if you could go back into the past for just one day? Where would you go? To your past? To the distant past? What would happen if you were to go into the past? Just one interaction would change the present. Just one act and poof! Everything in the present could be gone. Just standing listening to Christ give the sermon on the Mount could change everything. Drinking a tankard of ale in England could bring a change in the colonization of America. Just one thing, one movement, one whisper could bring an end to our present. Time travel isn't only undesirable, it would be devastating!
What in the world brought this thought to my mind? Well, actually it was the SOTUA last night. No, I didn't watch it. I figured I would be overwhelmed with political rhetoric from Congress, people, and the media. Instead, I read the speech and was able to dissect it myself. Without prejudice and innuendos. The sad thing is, after I read it, I read the reactions. Now, to get on with this, the reason I was thinking of time travel is do to how some of the Congress legislators remind me so much of the legislators of the past. February 15, 1798 Roger Griswald of Connecticut charged after Matthew Lyon of Vermont with a hickory walking stick. Griswald hit Lyon repeatedly with the stick until Lyon was able to get to the fireplace where HE went after Griswald with metal tongs. Quite a battle ensued until the men were separated. Then no sooner did they try to get back to work that Lyon went back after Griswald. So, what caused this battle? Griswald called Lyon a coward and Lyon spit in Griswald's face. Big issue for this particular Congress.
May 22, 1856. Preston Brooks of South Carolina beat Charles Sumner of Massachusetts to unconsciousness with his cane, which had a gold head, until the cane broke. When other senators came to Sumner's aid, Laurence Keitt, also of South Carolina, pulled a pistol and held the senators in place so Brooks could continue his beating. The cause? A speech Sumner had given concerning slavery where he compared slavery to a harlot a mistress.
Now these are just 2 violent events which occurred in the Capital Building, there are several others, but here is my point. How can we discuss the important issues of our time if we allow our legislators to carry on as these of the past did? How will events of the past control the times of our present and challenge the future? Want the time machine? Nah! Time to face the challenges and get back into the middle. Time to let bygones be bygones and move into an era of co-operation and working together. Yeah, I know, I'm an idealist, but really, what good is all the bickering, hate, and division doing? Think about the past and the violence, then think of today and the future. Time for us to be the time machine and realize the impact we have today in the present on the future. Time to learn from the past and correct the present. Time to grow, learn, create, research, develop, and expand in our vision of this great country. Time to let the eagle fly again in freedom instead of chaining it to the events and beliefs of the past. Diversity is what has impacted this land from it's inception. Diversify, education, practicality, dreams, hopes, ideals have all brought the United States to its present. Don't stop it, let it grow for by learning we can achieve anything. Even a future free from hate and war. Time is a linear conception, let it move forward not backward.
So, another day and year are upon us and I wonder what will occur. Ever want to see into the future? Think of what you could do if you were able to. Oh yes, you could become rich. But then again, who would want that. Fame, riches, power. It could be yours for the keeping. However, if you did see into the future it might not be what you wanted. Look what happens in the movies when individuals can see or go into the future. They discover themselves in a world which they despair of and go back to the present making sure they never chose the path which led them to this horrendous future.
How about if you could go back into the past for just one day? Where would you go? To your past? To the distant past? What would happen if you were to go into the past? Just one interaction would change the present. Just one act and poof! Everything in the present could be gone. Just standing listening to Christ give the sermon on the Mount could change everything. Drinking a tankard of ale in England could bring a change in the colonization of America. Just one thing, one movement, one whisper could bring an end to our present. Time travel isn't only undesirable, it would be devastating!
What in the world brought this thought to my mind? Well, actually it was the SOTUA last night. No, I didn't watch it. I figured I would be overwhelmed with political rhetoric from Congress, people, and the media. Instead, I read the speech and was able to dissect it myself. Without prejudice and innuendos. The sad thing is, after I read it, I read the reactions. Now, to get on with this, the reason I was thinking of time travel is do to how some of the Congress legislators remind me so much of the legislators of the past. February 15, 1798 Roger Griswald of Connecticut charged after Matthew Lyon of Vermont with a hickory walking stick. Griswald hit Lyon repeatedly with the stick until Lyon was able to get to the fireplace where HE went after Griswald with metal tongs. Quite a battle ensued until the men were separated. Then no sooner did they try to get back to work that Lyon went back after Griswald. So, what caused this battle? Griswald called Lyon a coward and Lyon spit in Griswald's face. Big issue for this particular Congress.
May 22, 1856. Preston Brooks of South Carolina beat Charles Sumner of Massachusetts to unconsciousness with his cane, which had a gold head, until the cane broke. When other senators came to Sumner's aid, Laurence Keitt, also of South Carolina, pulled a pistol and held the senators in place so Brooks could continue his beating. The cause? A speech Sumner had given concerning slavery where he compared slavery to a harlot a mistress.
Now these are just 2 violent events which occurred in the Capital Building, there are several others, but here is my point. How can we discuss the important issues of our time if we allow our legislators to carry on as these of the past did? How will events of the past control the times of our present and challenge the future? Want the time machine? Nah! Time to face the challenges and get back into the middle. Time to let bygones be bygones and move into an era of co-operation and working together. Yeah, I know, I'm an idealist, but really, what good is all the bickering, hate, and division doing? Think about the past and the violence, then think of today and the future. Time for us to be the time machine and realize the impact we have today in the present on the future. Time to learn from the past and correct the present. Time to grow, learn, create, research, develop, and expand in our vision of this great country. Time to let the eagle fly again in freedom instead of chaining it to the events and beliefs of the past. Diversity is what has impacted this land from it's inception. Diversify, education, practicality, dreams, hopes, ideals have all brought the United States to its present. Don't stop it, let it grow for by learning we can achieve anything. Even a future free from hate and war. Time is a linear conception, let it move forward not backward.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Army of the Dead
Army of the Dead
A South Carolina Ghost Story
retold by
S. E. Schlosser
A laundress, newly moved to Charleston following the Civil War, found herself awakened at the stroke of twelve each night by the rumble of heavy wheels passing in the street. But she lived on a dead end street, and had no explanation for the noise. Her husband would not allow her to look out the window when she heard the sounds, telling her to leave well enough alone. Finally, she asked the woman who washed at the tub next to hers. The woman said: "What you are hearing is the Army of the Dead. They are Confederate soldiers who died in hospital without knowing that the war was over. Each night, they rise from their graves and go to reinforce Lee in Virginia to strengthen the weakened Southern forces."
The next night, the laundress slipped out of bed to watch the Army of the Dead pass. She stood spell-bound by the window as a gray fog rolled passed. Within the fog, she could see the shapes of horses, and could hear gruff human voices and the rumble of canons being dragged through the street, followed by the sound of marching feet. Foot soldiers, horsemen, ambulances, wagons and canons passed before her eyes, all shrouded in gray. After what seemed like hours, she heard a far off bugle blast, and then silence.
When the laundress came out of her daze, she found one of her arms was paralyzed. She has never done a full days washing since.
http://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2010/07/the_army_of_the_dead.html
Friday, January 24, 2014
Jedi Archaeologist, That's Me!
Well, I just took a test. You know the type, they're on Facebook and they tell you what character in a movie you are or what your mental age is. Let's face it, they're fun and we get a good laugh from them. The one I took tonight was called: "What kind of Archaeologist are you?" Right up my alley! I figured it would come back with Lara Croft or Indiana Jones. Instead, it said I was a Jedi Archaeologist. Have to admit that was different. Then I started thinking about when I first wanted to BE an archaeologist. Well, actually, I wanted to be a paleontologist. I loved dinosaurs! I was about 5 or 6 years old. I would look for fossils everywhere. From checking out the shale rocks and other rocks in and around a river bed, to digging little holes and searching for them there. I was a true student of the dinosaur.
By the time I turned 8, I had discovered my true love, archaeology! Yep! Back to the rocks and digging but this time with a new emphasis. I was searching for the relics of humanity. Arrow heads, musket balls, bones, whatever! I was looking for it. What is interesting about my little endeavors is how my thoughts and ideals changed through time. As I grew older and entered my teens, I found myself more interested in the buildings, foundations, and tools (so to speak) of the people who had lived in the area before me. I found the old railroad tracks that led from my town to neighboring communities to be fascinating. Men had worked hard clearing the the path, cutting down trees, sawing the wood into railroad ties, placing them and building the tracks. Yet, in just a short time, the rail service would be gone and the tracks were taken over by nature. Every so often though I would find a tie, look at it and wonder who had laid it. There was a sadness to it. A loss of progress which was swallowed up by the desire for private automobiles. Then one day I was reading my grandmother's (Cecile Peak's) diary from 1928 and she wrote of my grandfather (Ivan Peak) going up to the lumber camps and hauling wood to the mills and railroad ties to town. Can you even imagine my excitement of discovering this one little unobtrusive fact which brought those railroad ties, my grandfather, and myself together. It was a moment of joy, self-discovery, and love for those ties may have been handled by my grandfather whom I adored and miss deeply.
There were other times when I would walk into the woods or go on dirt roads and find stone fences. I would study their structure and follow them, all the while wondering who had built them and what had happened to them. Even today, I find myself going off the beaten path to look for places which have been forgotten or lost. Not for glory or fortune, but so the people who had lived and loved there, the fences, the ruins of a house, a mound of shells, or the railroad tie would come to life one more time and bring the role of humanity back into the space which had been lost. Yes, archaeology was what I wanted. Yet, I never went into the field. Stupid me listened to those who said you had to find a good job. Now, I say to all who ask me, "Follow your dream, for that is where you will be happiest. Don't listen to the naysayers, think for yourself and be yourself." I studied history, humanities, American studies as an older student. I love what I am working toward now. I've fulfilled two dreams and am working toward others. Follow the dream....archaeology, history, humanities, literature, music, whatever. There will be good and bad, but if you really want something go for it, it's your dream...Jedi Archaeologist....Hahahahaha... not too far off the track.
By the time I turned 8, I had discovered my true love, archaeology! Yep! Back to the rocks and digging but this time with a new emphasis. I was searching for the relics of humanity. Arrow heads, musket balls, bones, whatever! I was looking for it. What is interesting about my little endeavors is how my thoughts and ideals changed through time. As I grew older and entered my teens, I found myself more interested in the buildings, foundations, and tools (so to speak) of the people who had lived in the area before me. I found the old railroad tracks that led from my town to neighboring communities to be fascinating. Men had worked hard clearing the the path, cutting down trees, sawing the wood into railroad ties, placing them and building the tracks. Yet, in just a short time, the rail service would be gone and the tracks were taken over by nature. Every so often though I would find a tie, look at it and wonder who had laid it. There was a sadness to it. A loss of progress which was swallowed up by the desire for private automobiles. Then one day I was reading my grandmother's (Cecile Peak's) diary from 1928 and she wrote of my grandfather (Ivan Peak) going up to the lumber camps and hauling wood to the mills and railroad ties to town. Can you even imagine my excitement of discovering this one little unobtrusive fact which brought those railroad ties, my grandfather, and myself together. It was a moment of joy, self-discovery, and love for those ties may have been handled by my grandfather whom I adored and miss deeply.
There were other times when I would walk into the woods or go on dirt roads and find stone fences. I would study their structure and follow them, all the while wondering who had built them and what had happened to them. Even today, I find myself going off the beaten path to look for places which have been forgotten or lost. Not for glory or fortune, but so the people who had lived and loved there, the fences, the ruins of a house, a mound of shells, or the railroad tie would come to life one more time and bring the role of humanity back into the space which had been lost. Yes, archaeology was what I wanted. Yet, I never went into the field. Stupid me listened to those who said you had to find a good job. Now, I say to all who ask me, "Follow your dream, for that is where you will be happiest. Don't listen to the naysayers, think for yourself and be yourself." I studied history, humanities, American studies as an older student. I love what I am working toward now. I've fulfilled two dreams and am working toward others. Follow the dream....archaeology, history, humanities, literature, music, whatever. There will be good and bad, but if you really want something go for it, it's your dream...Jedi Archaeologist....Hahahahaha... not too far off the track.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Zombies! They're Everywhere! AAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!
Zombies! They're everywhere! Whichever way you turn, look, hear; zombies are there! They surround you and the only thing they want to do is eat you! And maybe turn you into a zombie as well. After all, have you ever seen just one zombie? NO! They hang out together in the hundreds! Maybe thousands! All sizes, shapes, and all stages of decay. They will even drag their torsos after you if that is all they have left; and their mouths are always and forever stuck in the open position ready to take a bite!
Why are we so enthralled with zombies? They are worse than vampires and werewolves! Even vampires and werewolves run from zombies! Zombies are the big bad monsters of all time. Mummies can't compare with them. Or is a mummy a zombie? Hmm, will have to think about that. Anyway, zombies are in every part of society, no one is immune from the zombie curse! Or are they? What are zombies anyway? The walking and rather hungry dead. What do they want from us? Our bodies, our brains, our blood? Humans don't taste very good. Heck, we don't smell very good to other animals and sometimes to each other. So, what is it they want?
Someone must control them. That's it. They are controlled by someone bent on destroying the human race! We will be turned into brainless, non-compassionate, easily herded cattle and led down the path to the gates to our slaughter. Then we will continue to reanimate and follow this same unthinking avenue again and again, until the only thing left of us is nothing. That's right, nothing. We will have never mattered for we did nothing but follow and be controlled. Sounds like what one political party wants us to be right now...scary isn't it?
That's it! That's why there are zombies everywhere! People who are creative, artistic, musical, individual, independent, and many other positive aspects of humanity are showcasing zombies, not for our entertainment, but to show us how not to become one! When the zombie apocalypse comes, we will be prepared! Time to grab a book and read! Go to a museum and appraise the artwork! Watch a movie! See a documentary! Go running, walking, swimming, biking, kayaking! Move! Learn something new! Don't be a Zombie! Don't be caught and become brainless and uncaring! Get involved and participate in life, even if it is from a computer. you are still a part of something better by standing up against the flow!
Zombies! They're everywhere, but so are the Zombie hunters! Don't be a Zombie!
Why are we so enthralled with zombies? They are worse than vampires and werewolves! Even vampires and werewolves run from zombies! Zombies are the big bad monsters of all time. Mummies can't compare with them. Or is a mummy a zombie? Hmm, will have to think about that. Anyway, zombies are in every part of society, no one is immune from the zombie curse! Or are they? What are zombies anyway? The walking and rather hungry dead. What do they want from us? Our bodies, our brains, our blood? Humans don't taste very good. Heck, we don't smell very good to other animals and sometimes to each other. So, what is it they want?
Someone must control them. That's it. They are controlled by someone bent on destroying the human race! We will be turned into brainless, non-compassionate, easily herded cattle and led down the path to the gates to our slaughter. Then we will continue to reanimate and follow this same unthinking avenue again and again, until the only thing left of us is nothing. That's right, nothing. We will have never mattered for we did nothing but follow and be controlled. Sounds like what one political party wants us to be right now...scary isn't it?
That's it! That's why there are zombies everywhere! People who are creative, artistic, musical, individual, independent, and many other positive aspects of humanity are showcasing zombies, not for our entertainment, but to show us how not to become one! When the zombie apocalypse comes, we will be prepared! Time to grab a book and read! Go to a museum and appraise the artwork! Watch a movie! See a documentary! Go running, walking, swimming, biking, kayaking! Move! Learn something new! Don't be a Zombie! Don't be caught and become brainless and uncaring! Get involved and participate in life, even if it is from a computer. you are still a part of something better by standing up against the flow!
Zombies! They're everywhere, but so are the Zombie hunters! Don't be a Zombie!
Monday, January 20, 2014
The Eyes of a Murderer
Walking through the hallways of the building had a calming effect. The familiar scents, the clatter of typewriters and computer keyboards, murmurs of my fellow employees followed me as I turned the corner and headed toward the office.
"Deep breaths", I muttered to myself. "Nothing to be scared of. Just a client. Just a normal client".
Yeah, right. Just a client who had been arrested for murder and had just been released due to a technicality. "Remember, he wasn't proven guilty. He is innocent until proven guilty". I whispered.
I rounded another corner, put a smile on my face, and nodded to the receptionist.
"Mr. Smith?" I ask the man seated in reception.
He nods, stands, and I shake hands with him. "Nice to meet you", I say. "Please come this way".
I turn, smile at the receptionist, and lead my client into a nearby room. It is quiet. The noise of a busy office has been effectively silenced by the door. I offer him a seat and round the desk taking the chair there.
"What can I do for you today, sir"? I ask.
He tells me his concerns and we discuss the different avenues he can take. All the time, I make eye contact. He has the most beautiful blue eyes. They are the shade of blue you see on a bright clear winter's day. He talks to me about what he wants to do and I give him different scenarios. I can't take stop looking at his eyes. We finish up and I stand, shake his hand again, and say "Have a great day'. He turns and leaves the room, never looking back, always forward.
I sit back down and take a deep breath. Those damn eyes. Beautiful in color, but cold. No warmth, no smile, no life. Just cold. I look out the window and take in the beauty of the trees, plants, and landscape which surrounds the office building. He may not have murdered anyone, but the eyes tell another story. His eyes tell you of loss, of hate, of anger. Not rage, but coldness. No love, no life, no hope, no compassion. Icy blue, harsh, barren eyes. He knows what everyone thinks about him. He knows the specter of suspicion will always be upon him. He knows, I know. How must it feel to live with this apparition? I pick up the file, walk back out to the receptionist and return to my own desk. The eyes of a murderer have burned into me, and I will never forget it.
"Deep breaths", I muttered to myself. "Nothing to be scared of. Just a client. Just a normal client".
Yeah, right. Just a client who had been arrested for murder and had just been released due to a technicality. "Remember, he wasn't proven guilty. He is innocent until proven guilty". I whispered.
I rounded another corner, put a smile on my face, and nodded to the receptionist.
"Mr. Smith?" I ask the man seated in reception.
He nods, stands, and I shake hands with him. "Nice to meet you", I say. "Please come this way".
I turn, smile at the receptionist, and lead my client into a nearby room. It is quiet. The noise of a busy office has been effectively silenced by the door. I offer him a seat and round the desk taking the chair there.
"What can I do for you today, sir"? I ask.
He tells me his concerns and we discuss the different avenues he can take. All the time, I make eye contact. He has the most beautiful blue eyes. They are the shade of blue you see on a bright clear winter's day. He talks to me about what he wants to do and I give him different scenarios. I can't take stop looking at his eyes. We finish up and I stand, shake his hand again, and say "Have a great day'. He turns and leaves the room, never looking back, always forward.
I sit back down and take a deep breath. Those damn eyes. Beautiful in color, but cold. No warmth, no smile, no life. Just cold. I look out the window and take in the beauty of the trees, plants, and landscape which surrounds the office building. He may not have murdered anyone, but the eyes tell another story. His eyes tell you of loss, of hate, of anger. Not rage, but coldness. No love, no life, no hope, no compassion. Icy blue, harsh, barren eyes. He knows what everyone thinks about him. He knows the specter of suspicion will always be upon him. He knows, I know. How must it feel to live with this apparition? I pick up the file, walk back out to the receptionist and return to my own desk. The eyes of a murderer have burned into me, and I will never forget it.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Ghost Ship of Captain Sandovate
With Gasparilla beginning tomorrow, this just seems appropriate.
Ghost Ship of Captain Sandovate
A New Jersey Ghost Story
retold by
S. E. Schlosser
When Captain Don Sandovate voyaged from Spain to the New World in search of treasure, he found gold in abundance. But among his crew there were many sailors who did not wish to share the new-found wealth with the monarchs of Spain. On their journey up the Atlantic Coast, the sailors mutinied and imprisoned their captain, tying him to the main mast and refusing to give him food or drink. Day after day, the captain lay exposed to the hot sun of summer, his body drying up as the treacherous sailors worked around him. Finally, his pride broken, Don Sandovate begged: "Water. Please. Give me just one sip of water." The mutineers found this amusing, and started carrying water up to the main mast and holding it just out of reach of their former captain.
In the terrible heat of a dry summer, the captain did not survive long without water. A few days after the mutiny, the captain succumbed to heat and thirst. The new captain, a greedy Spaniard with no compassion in his soul, left Don Sandovate tied to the mast, his body withering away, while the ship turned pirate and plundered its way up the coast. But Providence was watching the ruthless men, and a terrible storm arose and drove the ship deep into the Atlantic, where it sank with all hands, the body of Don Sandovate still tied to the broken mast.
Shortly after the death of the mutineers-turned-pirate, an eerie ghost ship began appearing along the coast, usually in the calm just before a storm. It had the appearance of a Spanish treasure ship, but its mast was broken, its sails torn, and the corpse of a noble-looking Spaniard was tied to the mast. The ship was crewed by skeletons in ragged clothing. As it passed other ships or houses near the shore, the skeletons would stretch out bony hands and cry: "Water. Please. Give us just one sip of water." But none can help them, for they are eternally doomed to roam the Atlantic, suffering from thirst in payment for their terrible deeds against their captain and the good people living along the Atlantic coast.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Nature
O Nature! I do not aspire
To be the highest in thy choir, -
To be a meteor in thy sky,
Or comet that may range on high;
Only a zephyr that may blow
Among the reeds by the river low;
Give me thy most privy place
Where to run my airy race.
In some withdrawn, unpublic mead
Let me sigh upon a reed,
Or in the woods, with leafy din,
Whisper the still evening in:
Some still work give me to do, -
Only - be it near to you!
For I'd rather be thy child
And pupil, in the forest wild,
Than be the king of men elsewhere,
And most sovereign slave of care;
To have one moment of thy dawn,
Than share the city's year forlorn.
To be a meteor in thy sky,
Or comet that may range on high;
Only a zephyr that may blow
Among the reeds by the river low;
Give me thy most privy place
Where to run my airy race.
In some withdrawn, unpublic mead
Let me sigh upon a reed,
Or in the woods, with leafy din,
Whisper the still evening in:
Some still work give me to do, -
Only - be it near to you!
For I'd rather be thy child
And pupil, in the forest wild,
Than be the king of men elsewhere,
And most sovereign slave of care;
To have one moment of thy dawn,
Than share the city's year forlorn.
Henry David Thoreau
Why Are We So Damn Violent?
I know, I know. I'm very outspoken when it comes to politics and issues which are important to me. You see, I use to never say boo. Then I realized that by not standing up for what I believe in was the fastest way to lose my rights. That's correct. If you don't ever take a stand/position on issues, you're voice is silenced forever. Now, I realize my views/thoughts are not always going to popular; but that is the reason I started to become more active in this area. Ideologies shouldn't be about popularity. Not at all. They should correlate to your perceptions and beliefs; but, and here is a mighty but, not to the point where listening to another's view is completely denied. We must be willing to listen, understand, and compromise with one another in order to achieve the good for all. That is what this particular writing is about. Looking at current events and creating an avenue for discussion; thereby, seeking compromise and a solution.
First, the issue at hand is the gun violence which seems to be running rampant in this country. If I didn't know better, I would think I was back in the frontier past. Let's face it way to many people have been killed in the United States to shootings than in the entire war with Iraq. That is a ridiculous statistic for a country which prides itself as being a purveyor of peace. At one time the United States gave itself the nickname of being the Police for the world. Well, I kind of think maybe we better stop putting down other countries and take a really close look at ourselves. Yes, it's time to stop blaming other ethnic/racial/religious groups as being terrorists and realize that we too, contain terrorists and the terrorists are us. Every time a gun is used in this country, fear grips us and we fly to blame this, that, and everything.
Now, I am not going to put down the 2nd Amendment. The right to bear arms is guaranteed in our Constitution. As a matter of fact have you ever read it?
AMENDMENT II
A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.
Okay. There it is in black and white for all of you who see life in that distinction. So, you know that this amendment came into being due to the British taking away weapons from colonists. In this manner, the founding fathers wanted to guarantee that the people would be able to keep weapons due to the fact that a "well regulated militia, was necessary to the security of a free state" or to maintain democracy. Now there are two different theories which have evolved concerning the nature of the words. One is the "collective rights" and the other of course is the "individual rights" thought. However, just to throw you a curve, there is also the "incorporation doctrine" which incorporates the words of Amendment 14 into this as well. Yeah. No way am I going to go further into this except to say, if the founding fathers only knew....but they were mere men, humans who have flaws and who were beginning an government which would become the "Great Experiment".
Anyway, not to get sidetracked (I know, too late) more shootings have occurred, one very close to my location, and another at a school in New Mexico. Here's the thing, how many more people must die from someone pulling out a gun and shooting? This is a question which doesn't seem to be answered for the arguments between anti-gun and pro-gun get in the way. Like I said, I'm not going to argue either against or for. NO! For the idea that this is black and white is only for those who wallow in denial and absolutisms. There are shades of grey in every issue and this particular one is filled with grey. You see as long as we keep arguing about the results of gun violence, we will never discover the reasons or disease (if you wish) of these actions. To me, the real question isn't about gun control or legislation. The 2nd Amendment answers that with which ever doctrine/ideology you agree with. No, the real question for me is Why? Why are we so violent? Why do we resort to guns/violence in the first place? Why can we not seem to speak to one another with respect? Why do we blame the victims at times? Why do we not interfere and stop conflict before it escalates? Why are we so afraid?
Yeah, that's the question. Why are we so afraid that we carry guns to a movie theater? Why are we so afraid that we carry weapons to a grocery store? Why are we afraid? Can you answer me? Can you or will you look into yourself and answer? Why did a man carry a gun into the bank just to open an account? Why did a man carry a gun into a movie theater? Why did a man carry a gun when he was patrolling his neighborhood as part of a neighborhood watch group? Why? So many whys. Then there are the questions concerning mental illness. Why have so many who have weapons and caused so much death have mental illness? Now I have a question for you on that. If you know someone suffers from a mental illness, why the hell would you give them guns or why didn't you take the guns or tell someone who could get the weapons away from them? Why the hell are you afraid? Are you afraid of being involved? Or are you afraid of what others might think? Think about it. By being proactive and involved the life you save may be yours, your family, your friend. Stop being afraid! Stand up for what is right. Stop the insanity.
Thanks for reading....just one thing...be safe... I care.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Truth, History, and the American Way
I love American history! Full of adventure, perilous journeys, politics, battles, wars, speeches, and men making decisions for everyone! It's great! At least that is what we were taught in school. All so tidy of a history. Then if we go on to higher education or if we have a love for history which lets us devour books to learn more; we discover the truth. That's right the truth. Not the partial propaganda we are fed and grow up on, but the real look at the different perceptions which create history. Isn't that what truth is? An assimilation of comprehension toward the views of multiple individuals rather than the one-sided attributes of the victor. For that is what history has been seen as in the past; the crowing of the victors over those who had been conquered.
Yep, bring on the winners! And forget about the losers. They are quickly and quietly silenced, no longer a part of the world as they shrink and finally disappear from the memories of humanity. You see this is why I am a student of American Studies. It's an interdisciplinary field of research which looks into all aspects of America. I do mean all. Let me see, there's: History, Literature, gender studies, women studies, African-American studies, Latin American Studies, Asian-American studies, Native American studies, Pop Culture studies, film studies, music studies, humanity studies, and I could go on and on. Now my particular field is: well, history, literature, gender, and pop culture. To narrow it down further, I research in the way women and men are portrayed by the media and society in the United States. Believe me, there is a lot to look at there. As a matter of fact, there is so much, have to narrow it down even further to time periods.
So, why did I go into this field? Simple, there is a great deal of knowledge concerning America (including North, South, and Central America) which has been....hmmmm....shall we say misinterpreted. Or maybe twisted in order to create the politically correct attitudes of the time periods. In other words, we were lied to a lot. Really. And I, for one am sick of the lies. The truth might not be pleasant, but it's a lot better than being blindly led. That is how some people or groups are. They follow their leaders blindly, without question which leads to all sorts of corruption, atrocities, and hatefulness to spread out through the people. One of the most important ideals I did learn in high school was to never follow blindly. I wish I could say I followed it, but there have been many times that I haven't. I have fallen short, and in doing so condemned myself to foolish actions. Yet, we can stop this type of exploitation. All we have to do is ask, Why,What, Where, When Who, and How. Yep, simple questions which can stop anything if we are brave enough to ask.
That is what American Studies is all about. Asking questions. Searching for answers. Finding evidence from numerous avenues, including those you might not agree with, but by seeking their reasons you authenticate your perception and might even understand theirs. So, here is a question for you. It's one that all American Studies students have to answer. "When did the colonists stop being British subjects and became instead Americans"? Have fun...
Yep, bring on the winners! And forget about the losers. They are quickly and quietly silenced, no longer a part of the world as they shrink and finally disappear from the memories of humanity. You see this is why I am a student of American Studies. It's an interdisciplinary field of research which looks into all aspects of America. I do mean all. Let me see, there's: History, Literature, gender studies, women studies, African-American studies, Latin American Studies, Asian-American studies, Native American studies, Pop Culture studies, film studies, music studies, humanity studies, and I could go on and on. Now my particular field is: well, history, literature, gender, and pop culture. To narrow it down further, I research in the way women and men are portrayed by the media and society in the United States. Believe me, there is a lot to look at there. As a matter of fact, there is so much, have to narrow it down even further to time periods.
So, why did I go into this field? Simple, there is a great deal of knowledge concerning America (including North, South, and Central America) which has been....hmmmm....shall we say misinterpreted. Or maybe twisted in order to create the politically correct attitudes of the time periods. In other words, we were lied to a lot. Really. And I, for one am sick of the lies. The truth might not be pleasant, but it's a lot better than being blindly led. That is how some people or groups are. They follow their leaders blindly, without question which leads to all sorts of corruption, atrocities, and hatefulness to spread out through the people. One of the most important ideals I did learn in high school was to never follow blindly. I wish I could say I followed it, but there have been many times that I haven't. I have fallen short, and in doing so condemned myself to foolish actions. Yet, we can stop this type of exploitation. All we have to do is ask, Why,What, Where, When Who, and How. Yep, simple questions which can stop anything if we are brave enough to ask.
That is what American Studies is all about. Asking questions. Searching for answers. Finding evidence from numerous avenues, including those you might not agree with, but by seeking their reasons you authenticate your perception and might even understand theirs. So, here is a question for you. It's one that all American Studies students have to answer. "When did the colonists stop being British subjects and became instead Americans"? Have fun...
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Jose Gaspar! The Pirate of Tampa Bay!
Ar Mateys! If you found Eustace the Monk interesting, perhaps, Jose Gaspar, Tampa Bay, Florida's own pirate nemesis, will grab you as well. Who's Jose Gasper? Well, according to legend (which is what most of the details come from) Jose Gaspar was born in 1756 near Seville, Spain to an upper class family. As he grew to adulthood, his family cutoff his money supply due to his carousing and roguish activities. Since he ran out of funds, he decided to kidnap a young girl for ransom. His attempt at kidnapping didn't work and in order to escape the authorities he enlisted in the Spanish Navy to escape punishment.
Yes, another tale of a rogue who ran away rather than face responsibility. In Garpar's case it is a whopper of a story. While on board ship, the officers discovered Gaspar could read and write. Well, that put him in a midshipman's position for the distinction between officers and the low class sailors. Heaven forbid if a member of the aristocrat was found working among the people. That would not do, even on board a naval ship. Gaspar found himself with the officers who promoted him to the rank of lieutenant rather quickly. Then he has even more luck. King Charles III requested a liaison from the navy. Guess who was picked? Jose Gaspar!
He was in his element! Attached to the king and a part of court, Gaspar began his old way of life again. A lover of the ladies, he found himself short of money again. Alas, he needed funds to keep his style of life and found that having sticky fingers could help him secure the gold he required. Unfortunately, he played with too many women and put his fingers in places they shouldn't have been in the Spanish crown jewels. Now some say he was framed and others say he did it, but neither matters for upon hearing of his impending arrest, he raced to the port and absconded with the ship, Floridablanca making good his escape.
Gaspar swore an oath to avenge his treatment by the Spanish! He took on a new name, Gasparilla and became the fierce pirate who ravaged the west coast of Florida. For the next 38 years his ship roamed the waters off of Florida and Cuba looking for prey. He did not limit himself to exacting revenge on the Spanish. No! Gasparilla attacked with a ferocity on any defenseless ships. He fired upon all and killed all including passengers and crew with two exceptions. If the men would join his crew they would live and if any beautiful women were on board, the too lived. The women were taken to an island on the west coast of Florida where they were made available to him and his men. Such a delightful man! The name of this island (and yes, it is a real place) is Captiva Island.
Ahh, Gasperilla a terror of the Gulf of Mexico! At times he would join with Jean Laffite and pillage larger convoys. He was a pirate whose scruples were not to be tested for he would kill his foes in many ways including the age old, walking of the plank. Finally, in 1821 Gasparilla decided to retire and enjoy his old age in wealth and grandeur. After all, Florida was now a part of the United States and Spain had fallen in power. So, he and his crew set about dividing their loot which had been placed in many places along the western coast of Florida. Suddenly, in the distant horizon an English merchant ship was sighted! One last ship! One last time! Gasparilla and his crew set off after this paragon of riches and wealth.
Gasparilla ordered for the ship to fired upon and boarded. As the men readied themselveWorks for this, the merchant ship did something unforeseen. It lowered the British flag and ran up the flag of the United States! At the same time cannons were uncovered and brought to bear upon the Floridablanca and Gasparilla. Now, I am not making this up. I know I'm a Star Trek fan, but this is the truth. The USS Enterprise fired upon the pirate ship laying it to waste. It was a masterful battle and the USS Enterprise defeated the pirates and Gasparilla. The old pirate took a shot to his groin (in one account) and then put a muzzle to his mouth killing himself. In another tale, Gasparilla ties the chain of the anchor around him, yells: "Gasparilla dies by his own hand, not the enemy's" and jumps overboard with cutlass in hand. Other way, he winds up dead and so do all of his men. Too much greed. Too much avarice. Way to go USS Enterprise!
So long to Garparilla! Legend, pirate, tale. He didn't fall away into indifference. Instead, he was revived and is now celebrated in Tampa, Florida every January. It is a celebration and romancing of pirates and Gaspar. An enjoyable time of carousing and fun to be had by all. Just one sad thing...as this pirate is celebrated and has been recreated as a hero and romantic, I can not help but think of all the people he killed. According to some, Gasparrila sunk and captured as many as 400 ships. No, he wasn't a hero, he was a criminal whom we should actually be repulsed and disgusted by. However, history is fickle and those who were deemed criminals can be found to be revered in a different time period.
Enjoy the Gasparilla Festival, but please remember, this man was evil and a murderer who held to no compassion. A pirate of ill-respect and a coward as well. Thanks for reading and another pirate may be coming soon!
Yes, another tale of a rogue who ran away rather than face responsibility. In Garpar's case it is a whopper of a story. While on board ship, the officers discovered Gaspar could read and write. Well, that put him in a midshipman's position for the distinction between officers and the low class sailors. Heaven forbid if a member of the aristocrat was found working among the people. That would not do, even on board a naval ship. Gaspar found himself with the officers who promoted him to the rank of lieutenant rather quickly. Then he has even more luck. King Charles III requested a liaison from the navy. Guess who was picked? Jose Gaspar!
He was in his element! Attached to the king and a part of court, Gaspar began his old way of life again. A lover of the ladies, he found himself short of money again. Alas, he needed funds to keep his style of life and found that having sticky fingers could help him secure the gold he required. Unfortunately, he played with too many women and put his fingers in places they shouldn't have been in the Spanish crown jewels. Now some say he was framed and others say he did it, but neither matters for upon hearing of his impending arrest, he raced to the port and absconded with the ship, Floridablanca making good his escape.
Gaspar swore an oath to avenge his treatment by the Spanish! He took on a new name, Gasparilla and became the fierce pirate who ravaged the west coast of Florida. For the next 38 years his ship roamed the waters off of Florida and Cuba looking for prey. He did not limit himself to exacting revenge on the Spanish. No! Gasparilla attacked with a ferocity on any defenseless ships. He fired upon all and killed all including passengers and crew with two exceptions. If the men would join his crew they would live and if any beautiful women were on board, the too lived. The women were taken to an island on the west coast of Florida where they were made available to him and his men. Such a delightful man! The name of this island (and yes, it is a real place) is Captiva Island.
Ahh, Gasperilla a terror of the Gulf of Mexico! At times he would join with Jean Laffite and pillage larger convoys. He was a pirate whose scruples were not to be tested for he would kill his foes in many ways including the age old, walking of the plank. Finally, in 1821 Gasparilla decided to retire and enjoy his old age in wealth and grandeur. After all, Florida was now a part of the United States and Spain had fallen in power. So, he and his crew set about dividing their loot which had been placed in many places along the western coast of Florida. Suddenly, in the distant horizon an English merchant ship was sighted! One last ship! One last time! Gasparilla and his crew set off after this paragon of riches and wealth.
Gasparilla ordered for the ship to fired upon and boarded. As the men readied themselveWorks for this, the merchant ship did something unforeseen. It lowered the British flag and ran up the flag of the United States! At the same time cannons were uncovered and brought to bear upon the Floridablanca and Gasparilla. Now, I am not making this up. I know I'm a Star Trek fan, but this is the truth. The USS Enterprise fired upon the pirate ship laying it to waste. It was a masterful battle and the USS Enterprise defeated the pirates and Gasparilla. The old pirate took a shot to his groin (in one account) and then put a muzzle to his mouth killing himself. In another tale, Gasparilla ties the chain of the anchor around him, yells: "Gasparilla dies by his own hand, not the enemy's" and jumps overboard with cutlass in hand. Other way, he winds up dead and so do all of his men. Too much greed. Too much avarice. Way to go USS Enterprise!
So long to Garparilla! Legend, pirate, tale. He didn't fall away into indifference. Instead, he was revived and is now celebrated in Tampa, Florida every January. It is a celebration and romancing of pirates and Gaspar. An enjoyable time of carousing and fun to be had by all. Just one sad thing...as this pirate is celebrated and has been recreated as a hero and romantic, I can not help but think of all the people he killed. According to some, Gasparrila sunk and captured as many as 400 ships. No, he wasn't a hero, he was a criminal whom we should actually be repulsed and disgusted by. However, history is fickle and those who were deemed criminals can be found to be revered in a different time period.
Enjoy the Gasparilla Festival, but please remember, this man was evil and a murderer who held to no compassion. A pirate of ill-respect and a coward as well. Thanks for reading and another pirate may be coming soon!
Work Cited
Monday, January 6, 2014
Eustace the Monk: A Pirate of Medieval Portions
It's a bit on the chilly side today, so I have been enjoying a day of reading articles concerning archaeology, medieval and American history. One such article which caught my attention was from Medieval Warfare. It talked of an early pirate called Eustace the Monk. Okay. Stop right there. Eustace? The Monk? A pirate? Well, that grabbed my attention. How could it not? A monk named Eustace had been a bad pirate in the 13th century. Come on! That would catch anybody's eye! Monks are suppose to be pious, serving God, and religious. I had to read it. Now, I'm caught. Eustace, was the usual son of a low noble family in France. He trained to be a knight. He left France for Toledo, Spain and began dabbling in necromancy.
Hey, I know what you are thinking, but I swear, I'm not making this up! People really believed they could use magic to raise the dead, our first zombies, for all you zombie fanatics! And no, I'm not writing a plot twist for a Skyrim fan fiction. Really, Eustace (could I even name a character that?) went to Toledo (a den of dark magic of the time- maybe that's why they had the Inquisition in Spain) and tried his hand at necromancy. While there he learned how to be a sailor (hmmm, a good way to get rid of bodies) and traveled around the Mediterranean Sea. Suddenly, he decided to become a monk. Like Maria, in the Sound of Music who wasn't a very good nun, Eustace was not a very good monk. He was a terrible monk! Disobedience, gambling, black magic, and swearing were his choices of serving God. Alas, or thankfully he didn't last long as a monk. Poor Maria, all she did was sing and laugh in the abbey.
Anyway, to make a long story short, Eustace did all sorts of contradictory things. He sued a lord, then joined with him in combat. He left said lord, went to England, became friends with King John (another na'er be good). John gave him ships and sent him out to defeat the French. Eustace did so with glory. so much so that people on both sides of the channel were struck with fear when his name was mentioned. Eustace was not a nice guy. Don't bring hi home to meet the parents! Back to the 13th Century, Eustace did all he could, John gave him more ships and land. Not a bad business venture, but then again like all evil partners,
the friendship ended and back across to France Eustace went, taking control of a few channel islands and created a base of operations on said islands.
Oh, by the way, did I mention he got married and had children. Yeah, well, it seems when the English recaptured the islands; the wife, a daughter, and a whole lot of pirates were captured as well. The wife wound up in gaol, the daughter was well, burned, tortured, and killed, and the pirates....well what always happens to pirates? Yep! Dead! Where was Eustace? You got it! Alive and well in France, getting more ships to go destroy the English fleet this time! Gotta love double agents! Or is it triple agent now? Anyway, this was a pirate to admire if you wanted to be a pirate!
So, how does Eustace wind up? Well, King John dies, his 9 year-old heir is crowned king, the regent takes control of all of England's forces and goes after the French invaders, drives them back, they thrust forward again with Eustace's help in a naval battle, England strikes again sends the French back across the channel (again for the umpteenth time) and disposes Eustace in one hell of a naval fight. Imagine ships ramming one another, archers and crossbowmen firing a torrent of arrows and bolts at one another. The capture of Eustace's ship, hand to hand combat. French sailors and men leaping into the sea, preferring drowning over capture by the English.
Eustace was discovered, cowering in the hold of his ship (why is it these types of men are always in small holes- you know, Hitler in a bunker, Hussein in a hole) Going on, he was dragged back on deck pleading for his life (according to one narrative) and was given his choice of where to be killed. Nice, that was. He ended his career being beheaded and having his head placed on a stake to be carted all over Southern England to prove that this demon was indeed dead and could harm no one ever again. Thus, ends Eustace the Monk, but this line from an anonymous writer of his time period states the realities of the pirates life in The Romance of Eustace the Monk on page 78:
Hey, I know what you are thinking, but I swear, I'm not making this up! People really believed they could use magic to raise the dead, our first zombies, for all you zombie fanatics! And no, I'm not writing a plot twist for a Skyrim fan fiction. Really, Eustace (could I even name a character that?) went to Toledo (a den of dark magic of the time- maybe that's why they had the Inquisition in Spain) and tried his hand at necromancy. While there he learned how to be a sailor (hmmm, a good way to get rid of bodies) and traveled around the Mediterranean Sea. Suddenly, he decided to become a monk. Like Maria, in the Sound of Music who wasn't a very good nun, Eustace was not a very good monk. He was a terrible monk! Disobedience, gambling, black magic, and swearing were his choices of serving God. Alas, or thankfully he didn't last long as a monk. Poor Maria, all she did was sing and laugh in the abbey.
Anyway, to make a long story short, Eustace did all sorts of contradictory things. He sued a lord, then joined with him in combat. He left said lord, went to England, became friends with King John (another na'er be good). John gave him ships and sent him out to defeat the French. Eustace did so with glory. so much so that people on both sides of the channel were struck with fear when his name was mentioned. Eustace was not a nice guy. Don't bring hi home to meet the parents! Back to the 13th Century, Eustace did all he could, John gave him more ships and land. Not a bad business venture, but then again like all evil partners,
the friendship ended and back across to France Eustace went, taking control of a few channel islands and created a base of operations on said islands.
Oh, by the way, did I mention he got married and had children. Yeah, well, it seems when the English recaptured the islands; the wife, a daughter, and a whole lot of pirates were captured as well. The wife wound up in gaol, the daughter was well, burned, tortured, and killed, and the pirates....well what always happens to pirates? Yep! Dead! Where was Eustace? You got it! Alive and well in France, getting more ships to go destroy the English fleet this time! Gotta love double agents! Or is it triple agent now? Anyway, this was a pirate to admire if you wanted to be a pirate!
So, how does Eustace wind up? Well, King John dies, his 9 year-old heir is crowned king, the regent takes control of all of England's forces and goes after the French invaders, drives them back, they thrust forward again with Eustace's help in a naval battle, England strikes again sends the French back across the channel (again for the umpteenth time) and disposes Eustace in one hell of a naval fight. Imagine ships ramming one another, archers and crossbowmen firing a torrent of arrows and bolts at one another. The capture of Eustace's ship, hand to hand combat. French sailors and men leaping into the sea, preferring drowning over capture by the English.
Eustace was discovered, cowering in the hold of his ship (why is it these types of men are always in small holes- you know, Hitler in a bunker, Hussein in a hole) Going on, he was dragged back on deck pleading for his life (according to one narrative) and was given his choice of where to be killed. Nice, that was. He ended his career being beheaded and having his head placed on a stake to be carted all over Southern England to prove that this demon was indeed dead and could harm no one ever again. Thus, ends Eustace the Monk, but this line from an anonymous writer of his time period states the realities of the pirates life in The Romance of Eustace the Monk on page 78:
"NO one who is always intent on evil
Can live for a long time."
No, they really do not. Hope you enjoyed this enlightening tale of Eustace the Monk. A real man, a real life, a real evil.
Work Cited
McGlynn, Sean. "Eustace the Monk: Scourge of the Seas". Medieval Warfare. Vol. 2, Issue 6. Pg. 48.
The Romance of Eustace the Monk. 1284.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
The Sea of Our Journey
It's interesting to me.
who's life began in the hills,
that what calls now is the sea.
To calm stress which threatens to fill,
Every fiber within thee.
To hear the lapping of waves
As they rush upon the shore
Releasing the energy I crave
While spilling shells galore
Onto the sand of my nave.
Spiritual guidance in a world of hate,
The sea teaches of love and respect
Whilst the world delivers bait,
Fishing for those to inject
An earful of loathing to abominate.
The sea beckons forth
With gales and storms
Coming out of the north
And just as quickly returns to norm
Showing how quickly respect jumps forth.
Love too rises from the depths
Filling emotions which need rest.
And delivering a blow
To the shallowness of the world's jest
By covering the soul with devotion's flow.
"Come to me:, the sea whispers
"Lie down, be still, and dream
Let not the world stop you from being crisper
Take time to feel the son's beam
Look to love for it is more than a wisp"
In time the world regresses.
As fishermen set to sea
To fill oneself of progression
Now knowing one is free
From man's world of oppression.
For the water is life
The salt is preservation
The waves are movement
The shells are our old selves
The sea is our journey.
Yvonne C Parizo
Friday, January 3, 2014
07-07-78
07-07-78. Wow, that's a date to remember. At least for me it is. No, it's not a birthday, graduation date, or any other date like that. It's the day my life changed forever. Yep, a new journey taken by a diverse group began and I was a part of them. It was a day I will always remember. I was scared, nervous, excited, and anxious. I would be leaving everything I knew and plunging into a world of discipline, mental and physical exhaustion, and survival. It would be a path I would never forget, even when I wanted to; and it would be a part of me forever. 07-07-78, the day I left a small rural town and joined the US Army.
So, why would a young woman join the Army in 1978? Well, to understand that I have to go back a couple of years. Back to a Sunday before Memorial Day. You see, the Sunday before Memorial Day was always set aside in my family to go to the Taylor Memorial Day Dinner and volunteer at it. It was a day of serving people who came from all over to enjoy a meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, cole slaw, vegetables, rolls, and pies. All sorts of pies, my favorite being raspberry and blackberry pies. For some reason, I always had a slice of each set aside. Okay, so I hid them, otherwise they would be gone before I was able to sit and eat myself.
Anyway, there I was, serving the people, took my own lunch, and then a break from the hustle. I did what I always did, I walked to the cemetery to visit my brother's grave. Yeah, it was my time to go to my brother's grave and just, well, commune if you know what I mean. I think most of us do that from time to time. It's a way of, I don't know, thinking maybe. It was beautiful that Sunday, I remember that. The sun shining, a bright blue sky with few white puffy clouds. The chirping of birds and the lowing of cows nearby created a serene setting. A few other people were in the cemetery, going to their loved ones graves, setting flowers, and sharing memories.
I was lost in my own memories, when I became aware of three people behind me. My reminisce came to an end abruptly, instead of the peace I wanted anger filled my every fiber. These people weren't sharing memories of their sleeping loved ones; they were talking and gossiping about me, my brother, my parents' divorce, my family! I don't know if anyone can imagine the anger which spread through me. Literally talking behind my back, yet, making sure I heard every word. All the pain of my brother's death, my parents' divorce came flooding back from where I had hidden it in my mind. The door was opened and the continued knowledge of how we had been gossiped about came rushing forth in a torrential rain. I had had enough! Somehow, I got myself walking. Away from them, away from the torment of wagging tongues. I found myself at my grandparents' house, sitting on the front porch, curled up in my favorite rocking chair, crying.
A small town can be wonderful. Everyone knows one another and will help out when need arises. You know who your friends are and you know who you are. On the other hand, those same reasons are why a small town can be a den of gossip and a dead end. Expanding your horizon's can seem uppity. You find yourself the subject of rumours and untruths which you are unable to stop. Now don't get me wrong, the small town I grew up in was my backbone. It taught me so many different things, gave me my knowledge of who I am and where I was from. That day, it helped me make a decision: I was going to leave. Somehow, someway, I was going go and see the world outside.
So, I worked even harder in school. Pulled my gpa up and began looking at colleges. I really wanted o go to Mansfield State in Pennsylvania, that college was music! I checked out Hunter College. I had the offer the go to CUNY Queens College. My pride and arrogance got in the way. Yeah, my stupid pride and arrogance. I was a real ass at times. Senior year was almost over with. I auditioned for the Army band, really messed that up. Then, I talked further with the recruiter. Oh yeah, I could leave just a week or two after graduation. I signed. It was pretty good. Basic in South Carolina, AIT in Virginia, base in Georgia.
Now, 07-06-78 my friends had a surprise going away party for me. I don't know if any of them knew how much that meant to me. It made me realize just how much I loved my home, my friends, my town. It was a difficult night, for early the next morning everything would be changed.
07-07-78. 6 am. A car with government plates pulls into the driveway. I grab my suitcase, step out the door. I turn back and look. Wave goodbye to my family. The recruiter puts my case in the trunk and I hop into the backseat, full of excitement and loss. A new day, a new life, a new world was beginning. We arrive in Syracuse, sign the last papers. Then more and more recruits join me. We are herded into a large room. The flag is prominent as is the seal of the US Army. We stand straight and tall, raise our right hand and say:
I, (NAME), do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.
That's right. I swore to support and defend the Constitution of the United States. Which I still uphold to today. It meant and means that much to me. On that day, it put the whole reasoning for my joining the Army into a new purpose. That oath changed my perception and my thoughts. It was no longer about leaving a small town and the pains behind. No, it was about pride in country and wanting to serve my country. It was about service to help people and find my own path in the world around me. The oath was taken and impacted us all in that room. Then names began to be called. Recruits were sent to all of the different training bases. Finally mine was called. I joined a small group of 4 young men. We were all headed to Fort Jackson. We grabbed our bags, climbed into a van, and left for Syracuse's airport. We disembarked, were led to our flight. We talked, each one of us telling why we were going in. We were placed together in the back of the plane. Yeah, military wasn't to highly thought of then. The plane taxied and we were gone. Leaving behind everything and everyone we knew.
The plane landed in Washington DC. Mechanical errors, we were stuck in the DC terminal for 6 hours. The airline called the Army for us. A vehicle would be waiting when we would finally arrive. At long last, we took to the air again and reached our destination. Yeah, a vehicle was waiting for us alright. A cattle truck. In we went with other arriving recruits. After what seemed like hours we made it to Jackson's reception area. Off the truck, "Line Up!, Women to the right! Men to the left! Fall In!" Welcome to the Army!
We women marched to our nice air conditioned reception barracks. Make your bed!. I hit the sack fast. 5 am 07-08-78 Damn trumpet playing Reveille! I got 3 hours of sleep. Fall in! Attention! Forward march! In a single line for breakfast! Stand at rest in the line, go to attention, then move forward! No leaning! No Talking! Finally you can grab a tray, get breakfast, take a quick look behind to see the line snaking through the building behind you. 10 minutes to eat! Hurry up! Move it! Fastest breakfast I ever ate, it would soon become the norm to me, even to today!
Finish breakfast, fall in! March back to the barrack. get your suitcases, line up! Forward, March! Stand in line, hand over suitcase you won't be needing it, stand in line, wait, forward, stand in line, wait, shots! Damn, I had so many innoculations it wasn't funny. Both arms! Stand in line, wait, forward, what size clothes? fatigues! Dress uniforms, dress shoes! Hats! Stand over here! put this on! Photo time! Take it off! Fall in! March! Lunch, dinner, Taps! Three days of this. Eye Exam. You need glasses! Ugly black glasses.... I didn't wear them much. Hair cut, Cut it short! Dressed in Army green fatigues now. No combat boots, they didn't have my size, I got to wear Addidas running shoes! Too many women. They weren't expecting us to join like we did. New territory for women to be in the military like this. A new dawning of equality and I was a part of it! Grab your uniforms, don't leave a building without your hat on! Salute all officers! New world! New rules! New people! Get in the cattle truck with all your gear! Crowded in with all these different women. No concept of modesty any more.
Truck stops in front of these old barracks from WWII. You have got to be kidding. Men and women unloading. Line up! Names called. I hear mine and run to where I need to go. Fall in! Attention! Name! I am DRILL SERGEANT So and So! You are a member of ECHO Company 2nd PLATOON! SAY IT! We say it. I CAN'T HEAR YOU! We yell it! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! We bellow it. GOOD! YOU ARE A PART OF A NEW EXPERIMENT! MEN AND WOMEN TRAINING TOGETHER! MEN, YOUR BARRACK'S ARE OVER THERE! MOVE IT! WOMEN, YOU HAVE THIS LUXURIOUS BUILDING! MOVE IT!
We move it! I grab a bunk! Lower Bunk at that! YES! Kathy from Tennessee grabs the upper bunk, Sue from Seattle grabs the next lower bunk, the three of us would become best friends. I look around at my new home. Yeah, it's different, it's new, it's awesome! I am surrounded by women from all walks of life, from every state, every ethnic group, every race, every religion. I have an African-American friend, never had one before, it is fantastic! Two girls are of Asian descent from Hawaii, a Mormon flautist who's joining the National Guard and Army Band. City and Country. Married and Single. 30 year olds and others like me who are 18. We were now a unit. We would become a family, a team, a support group. We became the US ARMY!
07-07-78, A day I will always remember. A new beginning, a new challenge, a new oath, a new life. SALUTE!
So, why would a young woman join the Army in 1978? Well, to understand that I have to go back a couple of years. Back to a Sunday before Memorial Day. You see, the Sunday before Memorial Day was always set aside in my family to go to the Taylor Memorial Day Dinner and volunteer at it. It was a day of serving people who came from all over to enjoy a meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, cole slaw, vegetables, rolls, and pies. All sorts of pies, my favorite being raspberry and blackberry pies. For some reason, I always had a slice of each set aside. Okay, so I hid them, otherwise they would be gone before I was able to sit and eat myself.
Anyway, there I was, serving the people, took my own lunch, and then a break from the hustle. I did what I always did, I walked to the cemetery to visit my brother's grave. Yeah, it was my time to go to my brother's grave and just, well, commune if you know what I mean. I think most of us do that from time to time. It's a way of, I don't know, thinking maybe. It was beautiful that Sunday, I remember that. The sun shining, a bright blue sky with few white puffy clouds. The chirping of birds and the lowing of cows nearby created a serene setting. A few other people were in the cemetery, going to their loved ones graves, setting flowers, and sharing memories.
I was lost in my own memories, when I became aware of three people behind me. My reminisce came to an end abruptly, instead of the peace I wanted anger filled my every fiber. These people weren't sharing memories of their sleeping loved ones; they were talking and gossiping about me, my brother, my parents' divorce, my family! I don't know if anyone can imagine the anger which spread through me. Literally talking behind my back, yet, making sure I heard every word. All the pain of my brother's death, my parents' divorce came flooding back from where I had hidden it in my mind. The door was opened and the continued knowledge of how we had been gossiped about came rushing forth in a torrential rain. I had had enough! Somehow, I got myself walking. Away from them, away from the torment of wagging tongues. I found myself at my grandparents' house, sitting on the front porch, curled up in my favorite rocking chair, crying.
A small town can be wonderful. Everyone knows one another and will help out when need arises. You know who your friends are and you know who you are. On the other hand, those same reasons are why a small town can be a den of gossip and a dead end. Expanding your horizon's can seem uppity. You find yourself the subject of rumours and untruths which you are unable to stop. Now don't get me wrong, the small town I grew up in was my backbone. It taught me so many different things, gave me my knowledge of who I am and where I was from. That day, it helped me make a decision: I was going to leave. Somehow, someway, I was going go and see the world outside.
So, I worked even harder in school. Pulled my gpa up and began looking at colleges. I really wanted o go to Mansfield State in Pennsylvania, that college was music! I checked out Hunter College. I had the offer the go to CUNY Queens College. My pride and arrogance got in the way. Yeah, my stupid pride and arrogance. I was a real ass at times. Senior year was almost over with. I auditioned for the Army band, really messed that up. Then, I talked further with the recruiter. Oh yeah, I could leave just a week or two after graduation. I signed. It was pretty good. Basic in South Carolina, AIT in Virginia, base in Georgia.
Now, 07-06-78 my friends had a surprise going away party for me. I don't know if any of them knew how much that meant to me. It made me realize just how much I loved my home, my friends, my town. It was a difficult night, for early the next morning everything would be changed.
07-07-78. 6 am. A car with government plates pulls into the driveway. I grab my suitcase, step out the door. I turn back and look. Wave goodbye to my family. The recruiter puts my case in the trunk and I hop into the backseat, full of excitement and loss. A new day, a new life, a new world was beginning. We arrive in Syracuse, sign the last papers. Then more and more recruits join me. We are herded into a large room. The flag is prominent as is the seal of the US Army. We stand straight and tall, raise our right hand and say:
I, (NAME), do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.
That's right. I swore to support and defend the Constitution of the United States. Which I still uphold to today. It meant and means that much to me. On that day, it put the whole reasoning for my joining the Army into a new purpose. That oath changed my perception and my thoughts. It was no longer about leaving a small town and the pains behind. No, it was about pride in country and wanting to serve my country. It was about service to help people and find my own path in the world around me. The oath was taken and impacted us all in that room. Then names began to be called. Recruits were sent to all of the different training bases. Finally mine was called. I joined a small group of 4 young men. We were all headed to Fort Jackson. We grabbed our bags, climbed into a van, and left for Syracuse's airport. We disembarked, were led to our flight. We talked, each one of us telling why we were going in. We were placed together in the back of the plane. Yeah, military wasn't to highly thought of then. The plane taxied and we were gone. Leaving behind everything and everyone we knew.
The plane landed in Washington DC. Mechanical errors, we were stuck in the DC terminal for 6 hours. The airline called the Army for us. A vehicle would be waiting when we would finally arrive. At long last, we took to the air again and reached our destination. Yeah, a vehicle was waiting for us alright. A cattle truck. In we went with other arriving recruits. After what seemed like hours we made it to Jackson's reception area. Off the truck, "Line Up!, Women to the right! Men to the left! Fall In!" Welcome to the Army!
We women marched to our nice air conditioned reception barracks. Make your bed!. I hit the sack fast. 5 am 07-08-78 Damn trumpet playing Reveille! I got 3 hours of sleep. Fall in! Attention! Forward march! In a single line for breakfast! Stand at rest in the line, go to attention, then move forward! No leaning! No Talking! Finally you can grab a tray, get breakfast, take a quick look behind to see the line snaking through the building behind you. 10 minutes to eat! Hurry up! Move it! Fastest breakfast I ever ate, it would soon become the norm to me, even to today!
Finish breakfast, fall in! March back to the barrack. get your suitcases, line up! Forward, March! Stand in line, hand over suitcase you won't be needing it, stand in line, wait, forward, stand in line, wait, shots! Damn, I had so many innoculations it wasn't funny. Both arms! Stand in line, wait, forward, what size clothes? fatigues! Dress uniforms, dress shoes! Hats! Stand over here! put this on! Photo time! Take it off! Fall in! March! Lunch, dinner, Taps! Three days of this. Eye Exam. You need glasses! Ugly black glasses.... I didn't wear them much. Hair cut, Cut it short! Dressed in Army green fatigues now. No combat boots, they didn't have my size, I got to wear Addidas running shoes! Too many women. They weren't expecting us to join like we did. New territory for women to be in the military like this. A new dawning of equality and I was a part of it! Grab your uniforms, don't leave a building without your hat on! Salute all officers! New world! New rules! New people! Get in the cattle truck with all your gear! Crowded in with all these different women. No concept of modesty any more.
Truck stops in front of these old barracks from WWII. You have got to be kidding. Men and women unloading. Line up! Names called. I hear mine and run to where I need to go. Fall in! Attention! Name! I am DRILL SERGEANT So and So! You are a member of ECHO Company 2nd PLATOON! SAY IT! We say it. I CAN'T HEAR YOU! We yell it! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! We bellow it. GOOD! YOU ARE A PART OF A NEW EXPERIMENT! MEN AND WOMEN TRAINING TOGETHER! MEN, YOUR BARRACK'S ARE OVER THERE! MOVE IT! WOMEN, YOU HAVE THIS LUXURIOUS BUILDING! MOVE IT!
We move it! I grab a bunk! Lower Bunk at that! YES! Kathy from Tennessee grabs the upper bunk, Sue from Seattle grabs the next lower bunk, the three of us would become best friends. I look around at my new home. Yeah, it's different, it's new, it's awesome! I am surrounded by women from all walks of life, from every state, every ethnic group, every race, every religion. I have an African-American friend, never had one before, it is fantastic! Two girls are of Asian descent from Hawaii, a Mormon flautist who's joining the National Guard and Army Band. City and Country. Married and Single. 30 year olds and others like me who are 18. We were now a unit. We would become a family, a team, a support group. We became the US ARMY!
07-07-78, A day I will always remember. A new beginning, a new challenge, a new oath, a new life. SALUTE!
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
A House Divided
A House Divided
by Kyle Dargan
On a railroad car in your Am
erica,
I made the acquaintance of a man
who sang a life-song with these lyrics:
"Do whatever you can/ to avoid
becoming a roofing man."
I think maybe you'd deem his tenor
elitist, or you'd hear him as falling
off working-class key. He sang
not from his heart but his pulsing
imagination, where every roof is
sloped like a spire and Sequoia tall.
Who would wish for themselves, another,
such a treacherous climb? In your America,
a clay-colored colt stomps, its hooves
cursing the barn's chronic lean.
In your America, blood pulses
within the fields, slow-poaching a mill saw's
buried flesh. In my America, my father
awakens again thankful that my face
is not the face returning his glare
from above eleven o'clock news
murder headlines. In his imagination,
the odds are just as convincing
that I would be posted on a corner
pushing powder instead of poems—
no reflection of him as a father nor me
as a son. We were merely born
in a city where the rues beyond our doors
were the streets that shanghaied souls.
To you, my America appears
distant, if even real at all. While you are
barely visible to me. Yet we continue
stealing glances at each other
from across the tattered hallways
of this overgrown house we call
a nation—every minute
a new wall erected, a bedroom added
beneath its leaking canopy of dreams.
We hear the dripping, we feel drafts
wrap cold fingers about our necks,
but neither you or I trust each other
to hold the ladder or to ascend.
I made the acquaintance of a man
who sang a life-song with these lyrics:
"Do whatever you can/ to avoid
becoming a roofing man."
I think maybe you'd deem his tenor
elitist, or you'd hear him as falling
off working-class key. He sang
not from his heart but his pulsing
imagination, where every roof is
sloped like a spire and Sequoia tall.
Who would wish for themselves, another,
such a treacherous climb? In your America,
a clay-colored colt stomps, its hooves
cursing the barn's chronic lean.
In your America, blood pulses
within the fields, slow-poaching a mill saw's
buried flesh. In my America, my father
awakens again thankful that my face
is not the face returning his glare
from above eleven o'clock news
murder headlines. In his imagination,
the odds are just as convincing
that I would be posted on a corner
pushing powder instead of poems—
no reflection of him as a father nor me
as a son. We were merely born
in a city where the rues beyond our doors
were the streets that shanghaied souls.
To you, my America appears
distant, if even real at all. While you are
barely visible to me. Yet we continue
stealing glances at each other
from across the tattered hallways
of this overgrown house we call
a nation—every minute
a new wall erected, a bedroom added
beneath its leaking canopy of dreams.
We hear the dripping, we feel drafts
wrap cold fingers about our necks,
but neither you or I trust each other
to hold the ladder or to ascend.
| About this poem: "I took Amtrak from Washington, D.C. to Atlanta for my brother's wedding. I'd never travelled that far south by train. I saw a familiar but antiquated ruralness—another iteration of America. On the return, I grabbed a seat next to a group of Alabamians on their way to Jon Stewart's Rally to Restore Sanity. It seemed that, in the moment, there were so many different “Americas” colliding in the coach. While conversing about work over a dining car breakfast, one of the men, Mike Laus, offered a line about roofing someone had passed on to him. It struck me, and provided an entry point for musing on how little we see of, or believe in, each other's Americas." Kyle Dargan |
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