tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71659716716800204132024-03-13T22:04:38.753-07:00Susan Joy ClarkThoughts about books, movies, life, my writing and my creative projects.Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-70172153389804117712018-01-01T18:27:00.000-08:002018-01-01T18:27:17.518-08:00Action Men with Duct Tape, Serial, Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fdR6P7AqM7g/WkrqGzmmr3I/AAAAAAAAB-Y/WkU29nPwUwIDsSdcJdY6fv5XwO0m-ofvgCLcBGAs/s1600/Action%2BMenwithDuct%2BTape.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fdR6P7AqM7g/WkrqGzmmr3I/AAAAAAAAB-Y/WkU29nPwUwIDsSdcJdY6fv5XwO0m-ofvgCLcBGAs/s400/Action%2BMenwithDuct%2BTape.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
This is a Jack Donegal Mystery, in the same series with <i>Action Men with Silly Putty</i> and <i>Action Men</i> <i>and the Great Zarelda</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Part 1</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So,
what do you think, Uncle Andy?” Bronwyn Byrne, my “niece” only by
my close brotherly association with her actual Uncle Jack, stepped
out of the dressing room, held her arms out and twirled around.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
sighed, expressing relief. “Ah. It's fine.” I'd seen plenty of
“Nos” on this shopping trip – the skintight leggings, the
too-short skirts, some darkly themed band T-shirts of questionable
taste. The outfit she was wearing with the pink shirt bedecked with
cupcakes and sprinkles was something to which I could say “Yes.”
This was how little girls should look, all pink with cotton candy and
unicorns and glitter.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's
fine? Just fine?” She drooped her arms down to her sides.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Somehow,
the girl had translated “fine” as “barely passable.” “Yeah
… right. I mean it's … cute.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's
cute?” She groaned. “In other words, I look like I'm seven.” </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nah.
Nah. You look your age. You look like a cute ...” I was not good at
this. I've never been a dad, and here I was acting in the role of
one. I was out of my element, standing here with my arms loaded with
pastel-colored shopping bags, not to mention Bronwyn's little purse, covered in emojis, dangling from my elbow … not exactly the manliest
of accessories.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Where's
Uncle Jack?”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
was a very good question. Why couldn't Jack be here to handle these
delicate girly issues with his own niece? “He got an important
phone call on his cell about the event tomorrow, so he went to look
for a quiet place to talk.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
turned myself around, Bronwyn's little purse swinging like a flag in
tribute to my manliness. I spotted a boy, around 12, skulking in a
corner behind a clothes rack with his Nintendo DS, probably the
unfortunate brother of a shopper in this girly store. “Hey kid,”
I said. “Come here.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
looked up and lifted an eyebrow.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
need a man's opinion.” This seemed to get his attention. I hoped
Bronwyn would appreciate the opinion of a boy her age. She was
already starting to notice members of the opposite sex.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
the kid approached, I put my hands on his shoulders and pointed him
in Bronwyn's direction. “See there? That's my niece. Her outfit
shows good taste, right? It's cool, hip, da bomb … Is da bomb still
a phrase?”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Uh
… That would be a no,” said the kid. I noticed he refrained from
rolling his eyes at me … unlike Bronwyn.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Well,”
I said. “The outfit. She needs some affirmation. She looks good,
right?”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
kid was now giving me a nervous side eye. “Uh … yes?” The boy
either had a young person's habit of ending every phrase as a
question or he was terrified of disagreeing with me. He shrugged a
single shoulder. “Sure. Whatevs. It's cool … for <i>her.</i>”
He said this as if he wanted me to be sure he wouldn't wear it
himself.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
little while later, I met Bronwyn in her regular clothes, the trial
outfit draped over her arm. She spoke to me through her teeth. “Can
you get any more embarrassing?”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Uh
… do you really want to know the answer to that question?”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Probably
not.” Her comment was accompanied by another eye roll.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So,
you're not taking it?” I asked, pointing to the pile on her arm.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No,
I'm taking it,” she said. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Moments
later, we were hitting the halls of the mall, and I was relieved of
half of the baggage. Walking along the halls and the crowd, a thought
came to me. Maybe the thought came to me out of boredom from shopping
at Girly Outfitters and Forever 13 or maybe my blood sugar was
dropping and addled my brain. My nose was picking up aromas of
Cinnabon and freshly baked cookies, but, up to this moment, I had
refrained from indulging. I decided this was a good time to hone her
self defense skills. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
steered Bronwyn away from the main mall traffic. “Hey,” I said.
“Check out the mannequins.” I directed her towards a side
entryway, sandwiched between Old Navy and another tween girl's
paradise. The mannequins in the window display were set up like a
step by step dance tutorial. I was beginning to think like Jack,
imagining photos from the line-up, left to right, put together into
an action flipbook. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bronwyn
stood mesmerized, and then came the sneak attack. I slinked up behind
her and seized her around the middle, pinning her arms. “Now,
suppose I'm a bad guy,” I said, “what do you do now?” We'd gone
through this exercise a few times back at our apartment. This was the
first time I'd attempted it in public. Looking to my left and spying
a mall cop giving me the stare down, I surmised it was probably my
last time doing this in public.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mr.
Mall Cop Guy was glaring at me as if I were Ted Bundy. “I'm her
uncle,” I said, loosening my grip on Bronwyn's waist. Biologically
speaking, this wasn't the strict truth, but, emotionally speaking, it
was. “I was impersonating a bad guy and – apparently – doing
too good a job of it.” </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mr.
Mall Cop Guy looked from me to Bronwyn and back again, perhaps
looking for a sign that she was okay or that I was telling the truth.
I pointed to him. “You, Sir, are doing an excellent job of
protecting young girls from creeps like me … well, no, not
literally creeps like me … creeps like the bad guy I was
impersonating. I, for one, salute you.” </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
put out my arm for a fist bump, and he took a couple of steps back. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Aw,
c'mon. I didn't swing at you. If I wanted to swing at you, I'd do a
better job than that.” This was my day to stick my foot in my mouth
over and over again. I was going to have to head over to Starbucks
for one of those frappuccino things to wash out the taste of foot.
“Not that I'm in the habit of taking a swing at fine upstanding
security personnel.” </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bronwyn
reached over and gave me a squeeze around the middle. “Uncle Andy
is completely harmless,” she told Mr. Mall Cop Guy. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
am not completely harmless ...” Just like Bronwyn had understood
“cute” as babyish, I understood “harmless” as milquetoast.
Then, I looked at Mr. Mall Cop Guy and thought I'd better change my
phraseology. “Except to kids. I'm harmless to kids.” I gave
Bronwyn a firm pat between the shoulder blades and rubbed my knuckles
into her scalp. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mr.
Mall Cop Guy shrugged and shook his head in a way that made me think
he was still assured that I was a weirdo but just of the “harmless”
variety. </span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To Be Continued ... </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
© 2018 Susan Joy Clark<br />
<br />Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-67619685500888576952017-09-20T12:03:00.001-07:002017-09-20T12:03:20.094-07:00Susan Joy and Friends: Love Your Weird Neighbor <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BMjP2ty9KIE/WbtRAnUL4pI/AAAAAAAAB68/MavezkbxfQk4b9VIEdmp3ONK1MqDIPcKwCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/GBCBirdandFlowerPuppets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BMjP2ty9KIE/WbtRAnUL4pI/AAAAAAAAB68/MavezkbxfQk4b9VIEdmp3ONK1MqDIPcKwCPcBGAYYCw/s400/GBCBirdandFlowerPuppets.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
I uploaded my first sound file to Soundcloud today, the audio for a little skit with me and my Bird puppet, pictured above. I may do this again from time to time. This skit is part of what I'm planning for a potentially longer program with various characters on a kindness and love theme. I noticed a while back that schools were open to "anti-bullying" presentations, only put in more positive terms than "anti-bullying." This is where my thoughts and imagination took me when I thought on that theme.<br />
<br />
<br /><iframe width="100%" height="300" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/343261420&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true"></iframe>Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-429717808373747322017-09-17T21:26:00.001-07:002017-09-17T21:26:18.440-07:00Slice of Life: More Absentmindedness, Frozen Yogurt, Funny Dreams, Creativity and Insomnia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g0KSlG5S5SI/Wb7ReSCHbxI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/NQMmvR6Ki6o55f-DtZsF0JrQqNWgtQ5GACLcBGAs/s1600/PhotoFunia-1505677550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g0KSlG5S5SI/Wb7ReSCHbxI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/NQMmvR6Ki6o55f-DtZsF0JrQqNWgtQ5GACLcBGAs/s400/PhotoFunia-1505677550.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
September 17, 2017<br />
<br />
Lately, I've been feeling very energized to pursue various creative goals, puppetry-related things in part but also some other projects. All of this creative energy is having an interesting effect on me, including more absentmindedness ... which was previously mentioned in a recent post of mine.<br />
<br />
In one recent incident, Dad and I were headed to church for our second choir rehearsal of the year. Dad has joined as a baritone who might shift between bass and tenor, and I'm in the soprano section. As Dad is driving us, I began to share with him some of the crazy puppetry ideas buzzing around in my head. I am not the only absent-minded one in the family, and I ended up distracting him. Dad drove past one of our usual turns, and the driving mistake probably added about 10 minutes to our trip. We turned up late, not for choir rehearsal, but for the prayer meeting that precedes it.<br />
<br />
Then, just last night, Dad and I went out together again to pick up some yummy cold stuff from a frozen dessert place near us. (I guess they call themselves a frozen dessert place, since they sell soft serve ice cream and frozen yogurt, gelato, sorbet, etc.) This place is part of a little strip mall, and, most always, when we go to this strip mall, we are headed to the grocery store. I was in mental writing mode, and my feet, once out of the car, were programmed by automatic pilot to go to the grocery store entrance. Dad said something to me before I actually went through the door, and then I turned around and saw some pumpkins on display just outside the entrance. I started patting the pumpkins affectionately, because they reminded me of my A. Morris Pumpkin puppet character. Then, I followed Dad to get our frozen yogurt, and I don't think I ever explained to him why I was patting the pumpkins with such affection.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0R8VDpYfp9Q/Wb9HMmqUfTI/AAAAAAAAB8s/qmzEMf6SQekwdWxwzcyKp_vr4bqi8kF7wCLcBGAs/s1600/MorrisPumpkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="652" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0R8VDpYfp9Q/Wb9HMmqUfTI/AAAAAAAAB8s/qmzEMf6SQekwdWxwzcyKp_vr4bqi8kF7wCLcBGAs/s400/MorrisPumpkin.jpg" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with A. Morris Pumpkin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Mom didn't accompany us but put in an order for "something vanilla or something citrus-y and fruity." So, I fixed her up a Creamsicle bowl with vanilla ice cream and orange sorbet, then topped it with some little fruity candies called mango stars and strawberry boba, raspberries and blueberries. I like Creamsicle too, but I chose different flavors for myself, Nutella gelato and caramel macchiato frozen yogurt. With all of that chocolatey and mocha stuff, I did give myself some fruit too, some Bing cherries and blackberries.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://s3-media2.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/h8tnwTd9e2DLFcmg4UHWCQ/ls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="250" height="400" src="https://s3-media2.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/h8tnwTd9e2DLFcmg4UHWCQ/ls.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
These recent absent-minded incidents are not as embarrassing as something that happened one or two years ago. When I was working for the newspaper, I would walk down from my office to the 7Eleven for my lunch and pick up a sandwich and some fruit and a drink. I was such a frequent customer there that I had a pretty friendly relationship with one of the workers, and he bought my first mystery book, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Action-Men-Silly-Putty-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B00Y49AUXU/" target="_blank">Action Men with Silly Putty</a></i>, for Kindle. Still, it wasn't the only business in the area I frequented. There were one or two other businesses nearby where I might go for lunch.<br />
<br />
One day, I was in full blast mental creative writing mode during my lunch break, and I walked down to the 7Eleven on automatic pilot. I had really intended to go some place else. As soon as I walked in the door, I paused and thought, "Why am I here?" My friend there saw me pausing and probably looking confused, so then, I made my situation worse, and, after making eye contact with him, told him that I didn't mean to come here! This, I thought afterwards, was bordering on rudeness. How can you tell a business, especially one where you're on good relations, that you didn't mean to come there or buy anything? So then, of course, I felt obliged to buy my lunch there.<br />
<br />
When I went to the counter to pay for it, he asked, laughing a little bit, "So, you didn't mean to come here?" I tried to explain, and, with his next words, he made me feel much, much better. "You," he said, "are an artist. Your mind can be in two places at the same time."<br />
<br />
The other effect this recent burst of creative energy has had on me is getting my brain wired up late at night. I've been trying to get enough sleep, but it's a struggle. Ideas want to come to mind after I'm already in bed and trying to sleep, even when I know I'm exhausted. It doesn't feel like an entirely negative thing. I like myself like this rather than the me who is too overwhelmed with other concerns in life to be creative. I hope I can get a balance between working hard at my creative goals and also sleeping well at night.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I suppose I'm not alone. I mentioned in a recent post that I've read Jim Henson's biography. As I was reading it, I kept feeling like this man was a lot like me. It's not just the puppetry connection that I felt, and it wasn't thinking that our creative ideas or particular gifts were all that similar. It was the description of his basic temperament and personality that sounded a lot like me. He was described as quiet, calm, not easily ruffled, all words or phrases that friends and family use to describe me. There was even an interesting scenario in the book where he was in a position where he needed to fire someone from <i>The Muppet Show</i>, but when the person was sent to his office, Henson just couldn't do it and ended up giving him a bear hug. I thought, "Yeah, I can see myself doing something similar." I would have a hard time firing someone too. Another thing that I learned from the book is that his creative drive sometimes robbed him of sleep too.<br />
<br />
By the way, at the time that I was reading the book, I kept thinking Henson must be, according to the Myers Brigg system, an INFP like I am, and later found a personality site that agreed with my assessment. Rather than explaining the significance of the four letters for those who might not know the system, I'll just include this little summary of the type from <i>Manual: A Guide to the Development and Use of the Myers-Brigg Type</i> by Myers & McCaulley.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Full
of enthusiasms and loyalties, but seldom talk of these until they
know you well. Care about learning, ideas, language, and independent
projects of their own. Tend to undertake too much, then somehow get
it done. Friendly, but often too absorbed in what they are doing to
be sociable. Little concerned with possessions or physical
surroundings.</span></div>
</blockquote>
I have some insomniac tendencies. I've been listening to the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-WBL4CKV-w&t=14532s" target="_blank">Book of Psalms on audio</a> via YouTube to help me sleep, and last night, the last Psalm I remember hearing was 39, so, obviously, I didn't just pop right off to sleep. On Saturday, I know I napped, which is good, and I was dreaming of Cavalier King Charles spaniels. I think I know what inspired it. I had been watching a movie recently where a dog of that breed made an appearance, and I was admiring how pretty it was. It amazes me, and also strikes me funny, how often I dream of animals. It makes me think I'm more of an animal enthusiast than I claim to be. I even had a "celebrity" animal visit me in my dreams recently. I follow a clever, trained bunny called Bini on YouTube. In one of my recent dreams, I met Bini the Bunny, and I was so happy.<br />
<br />
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I suppose I should tell you about my weird Ambien experience. I find it funny now. In fact, as early as the following day, it became a source of laughs. Some years back, I went with some friends to a camp called Camp of the Woods. We did some work projects there such as boarding up cabins for the winter season, or, as I remember one year, folding up a lot of fitted sheets, and, in return, we got to use the camp facilities in our down time.<br />
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I was taking Ambien for sleep at the time and was stupid enough to think that I could sit up casually drinking my chamomile tea in the lounge with my friends after taking my pill. I would go to bed after I drank my tea. I started to get double vision and announced, just as casually, that everyone had two heads and that it was probably due to the Ambien. I got up to go to bed, and my roommate for the weekend and one of our other friends got worried about me and led me back to my room. I had another weird visual phenomenon, where the pattern on the hallway carpet seemed to be floating at my waist level. They told me not to look at it, but that seemed hard to avoid. The next day, one of my friends was teasing me that the moose head in the lounge must have been talking to me that night, and I told all my friends that they all looked much, much better that morning.<br />
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I don't mean to discourage anyone from taking Ambien temporarily if it's needed. I think it did me more good than harm, and I could have avoided the visual effects if I had gone to bed promptly after taking it. Ah well. Fiction writers wonder about strange medical "what if" situations, and I have been known to ask my doctor and nurse friends bizarre questions about what would happen to somebody in different medical situations, including "What would happen if someone was shot with a tranquilizer dart?" In part, this experience of mine gave me some inspiration for that scenario in the first <i>Action Men</i>.<br />
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What about you? Are you a creative type? Do ideas keep you awake at night sometimes?<br />
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Wouldn't it be nice if we could work out our ideas during sleep in our dreams and had the technology to note it all down without the need of waking up?<br />
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<br />Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-45889062833081731772017-09-14T21:32:00.003-07:002017-09-14T22:47:10.771-07:00Church Picnic and Puppet Show<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with Professor Votshisname and his guitar<br />
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Sunday, September 10, was a fun and eventful day for me. The entire weekend, in fact, was a flurry of activity.<br />
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I've been attending a new church, Grace Bible Church in North Haledon, New Jersey, for only about three months. I had recently emailed the pastor there that I had puppets and some background in puppetry and might be able to use it in the church. I didn't hear back from him immediately, but I figured the pastor has a lot of other things to think about besides me and my puppets. Three days before Promotion Sunday, September 10th, when the children would be promoted up to new Sunday school classes, I get a call from the Sunday school superintendent, whom I had already befriended. "Would I be able to do a puppet show during the Sunday school hour?" I was so excited at the opportunity that I could not refuse.<br />
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She thought I might have some old skits in my repertoire that I could use. It's true that I had files of material -- I write my own -- but it was not entirely true that I had one particular thing that seemed to me ideal for the situation. I asked her about themes, and she said there was none other than Sunday school and studying the Bible. That night was my first night of choir rehearsal at the new church, and there was about a half hour drive there. Somehow, during the drive from home to the church, I had mentally put together my program. It's sometimes difficult to explain my creative process, but I started with some songs I had, and from there, picked a theme, and then recycled some running jokes with some characters I've used in "solo shows," adding in some new material and putting in some ideas I had meant to use in the past but hadn't yet. It was probably the speediest script writing I had ever done. In fact, it was almost memorized mentally before it ended up on paper. Maybe, we creative types need deadlines to kick ourselves into high gear!<br />
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I gave Dad, who has often served as my assistant prop maker, the job of making a guitar for my Professor Votshisname character. I had a guitar song in mind, "Standing on the Promises" from Mark Bradford's <i>Happenin' Hymns</i> album, but the guitar I had was designed for my smaller half body puppets. I thought at first we could get one of those cheap inflatable sort from a party supply store, but I was able to check online and saw that there were none in stock at my local Party City. I could order one, but the rush shipping I'd have to use to get it on time would be much more costly than the one or two dollar item. Still, honestly, when I gave Dad his prop-making task, I was imagining something much simpler than what he did, a foamboard thing that was colorful and whimsical like the inflatable sort that first came to mind. I should know by now that Dad is a perfectionist.<br />
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This guitar is foamboard, but the design is from a photo he enlarged and printed over several sheets. There are two foamboard layers which he glued together and cut out the shape with a jigsaw. (We'd always used Xacto knives previously.) Even the guitar strap is more realistic than I imagined with all sorts of wire gizmo fasteners he crafted himself from some coils of wire he had in his shop. It turns out this more realistic guitar strap may also be practical in being easier to put on and remove.<br />
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While Dad was busy "guitar building" on Saturday, Mom was busy making a Nutella mocha poke cake for the picnic that would follow the service, and I was busy in a cloud of puppet preparations.<br />
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I did get some last minute performance nerves! Even having as much experience under my belt as I do, I still get performance nerves. These were mostly related to my efforts to memorize my 20 minute or so spiel. I found my Sunday school superintendent friend, Isabel, in the foyer who hugged me and prayed for me.<br />
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Every so often, I come across YouTube video clips of <i>America's Got Talent</i> contestants who have some serious performance nerves. When I read the comments on the video, I find there are quite a few people with very little understanding of it. The assumption seems to be that a talented person who is aware of his talent would not have stage fright, and that if the person does express any stage nerves, they must be faking it or the whole scenario is staged for the drama of the show. First of all, as counter-intuitive as it may seem, a lot of introverts and shy people are artistic in nature and attracted to performance arts, myself included. Secondly, these same people hold themselves to high standards of excellence. Thirdly, a contest on the scale of <i>America's Got Talent</i> is different than a performance for one's friends and fans, and you can never tell how stiff the competition might be. Anyway, in my case, prayers helped me.<br />
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Professor Votshisname and I talked about our favorite Bible characters and verses. Then, he asked for his guitar, and a lady named Jane brought it to him, helping me to fasten it on him -- one arm was occupied! -- chatting to him all the while. After complaining about the arthritis in his hand and the arthritis in his knees, the professor was able to perform an energetic rendition of "Standing on the Promises" before having a fit of narcolepsy and promptly falling asleep. Again, Jane came to my assistance and took Professor Votshisname out of sight for his "nap."<br />
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By the way, I do not use proper ventriloquism techniques, but I've been told sometimes that I've fooled people that I do. Jim Henson was no ventriloquist either. I read his biography a few years ago. He said something along this line, perhaps not verbatim, "When the frog is speaking, nobody is paying any attention to me."<br />
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After the professor went down for his nap, I brought out my Bird and Flora characters and did a lesson on worrying and Matthew 6:28 - 34 with some humor worked into the script.<br />
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Bird has an identity crisis and doesn't know what kind of bird he is, but he likes to go down to the New Jersey shore and pretend he's a seagull. Although he seemed like an uncooperative object lesson, he became an example of how God provides for "the birds of the air" who "neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns," ... sometimes with French fries and bits of corn dog.<br />
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I asked Flora, "Do you ever have to worry about clothes?"<br />
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She said, "No, it just grows on me."<br />
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I answered, "Well, that's good, because someone gave me an ugly Christmas sweater one year, and someone said it would grow on me ... but it didn't."<br />
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After the service, we had more fun. (I don't mean to suggest that the service itself wasn't also pleasant.) We had a picnic there at the church right afterwards with all sorts of activity throughout the afternoon. A bouncy house and carnival games were set up on the church lawn, and we also had machines for popcorn and frozen custard.<br />
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Apparently, there was a game called "Human Foosball" set up in the gym which makes me incredibly curious, but I never did investigate it. I got involved with a much more sedate game of bingo indoors in the church basement and saw brother Tim win two prizes, a bag of Red Hots candy and a teriyaki pork jerky snack. I felt glad about that though, because at the last picnic in July, I won a box of Hot Tamales candy which made Tim mildly jealous as those are his favorite. Red Hots are almost equivalent. Dad also won one round and picked out a can of Pringles from the prize basket.</div>
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Some of our lunch table buddies, Linda and John, ran a "photo booth" and took photos of congregants in one of the Sunday school rooms that had a lighthouse scene mural and against another wall where there hung a beach boardwalk mural. Tim and I posed. (I'll insert those photos when I get them.)</div>
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The whole event was closed up with some singing and a short devotional by the pastor. All in all, it was a very good day.</div>
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Also, I was so very excited about puppets and so energized after the show that I bought a new character ... Katie. I figured I needed a kid character "with legs."</div>
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<br />Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-60466285609718760722017-09-05T17:42:00.005-07:002017-10-17T14:17:58.697-07:00Slice of Life: Personality Quirks, Strengths and Weaknesses, Collecting Old Bottles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Labor Day, Monday, September 4, 2017,<br />
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Mom made a creamy turkey rice soup for our lunch, and I didn't do as much sous-chef-ing, or as Dad would put it, Sue-chefing, as sometimes, but I did help fetch and carry ingredients. Mom sent me to the downstairs pantry and fridge for some white wine, chicken broth and kosher salt. I came up with these, and she noticed we had a lot of baking ingredients to be stowed back in the pantry. "I should have sent you down with these first," she said. Mom likes to double up on tasks.<br />
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I did store away the baking ingredients, but I tried to explain to Mom that telling myself to go downstairs with one thing and come back upstairs with another thing, most likely, would not work. It sounds simple enough, but as many times as I've tried this before, nearly always, I manage to do the first thing and forget the other. It's when I get to the top of the stairs that I remember, "Oh, right, I was going to get such and such," and then head back downstairs. It's not selective stupidity, although it certainly sounds like it. I know it's just a personality quirk, that, as a writer and a creative type, my mind is always filled with more things than the practical thing that's right at hand. I won't go into details about Myers Brigg personality types, but if you are an INFP, and you know it, you can probably understand. (The same goes for INTP and some other types.)<br />
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Absent-mindedness doesn't really mean the mind isn't working. The mind is actually working very hard ... on more than one thing. I comfort myself that I have something in common with a lot of brilliant people who gained reputations as being absent-minded -- great inventors, great writers ... There's a reason why there is such an expression as the "absent-minded professor."<br />
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Even so, "absent-minded" seems like a negative trait, while creativity is considered a positive one. I've been thinking that a person's strengths and weaknesses are often very closely related. In fact, sometimes the same trait can be described in both negative and positive terms. For example, a person could be called stubborn, but the positive counterpart to "stubborn" is determined or persistent.<br />
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Well, I've described my character Jack Donegal, of <i>Jack Donegal Mysteries</i>, as absent-minded, and now you know I do not have to look far for inspiration.<br />
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In the afternoon, as I was putting away Saturday's picnic things, my lunch box and FreezPak, and so forth, I decided to save my pretty Blossom Water bottle. I am sometimes tempted to save pretty bottles, thinking they can be recycled as vases. This one, I think, with some flowers in it, would make a nice centerpiece for a girls' tea party.<br />
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I put it on my shelf of knick knacks where I already have a couple of other bottles saved, an Arizona green tea bottle and a unique bottle for some Japanese strawberry soda.<br />
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The strawberry soda bottle is a unique one. It holds a glass marble that drops down from the top when you open the soda and gets trapped in a narrow section of the bottle's neck. It can roll back and forth in a narrow little space but can not drop down any further. I don't think it serves any purpose other than to be novel. I bought it at a little Asian specialty store that sold bubble teas and Japanese snack foods. I suppose it's pretty useless as a vase, but it is interesting. Perhaps, I won't save it forever, but it's on my shelf for now.<br />
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I've saved bottles off and on, but, at one point, I felt I had a few too many of these and tossed a bunch. I did have some "limited edition" old-fashioned Coke bottles, and I think these may be among the ones that got discarded. I wish I had saved them now. For years, I held on to a bottle for China Cola, supposedly made from Chinese herbs, from a pizza place near my college. I eventually tossed it. I haven't come across the beverage since, but I did find an image online.</div>
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A few years ago, my parents and I stopped at a Cracker Barrel while on vacation, and we picked up some "retro" sodas at the shop there. I persuaded them to keep the bottles and put them on display in the den where we already had some antique bottles my cousin Kevin had given them.<br />
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I've been raised by a woman who is not a saver and has more of a <i>Clean Sweep</i> philosophy. Collections can get out of hand. Thank God for Pinterest where you can virtually collect all sorts of things without creating clutter.<br />
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Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-83913238913308361902017-09-04T08:00:00.001-07:002017-09-04T10:34:29.897-07:00Slice of Life: Book Discussion, Dad Puns, Funny Word Origins, Silly Songs, "Cool" Ukulele Players<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is an excerpt from my journal a few days back, but the lunch discussion was so interesting, I thought I would add it.<br />
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August 28, 2017<br />
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We had a simple hot dog lunch and some interesting discussion. I talked to Mom and Dad about <i>Can You Forgive Her?</i>, and I said it wouldn't suit every reader's tastes as the writer used quite a few lines to describe the green drawing room.
“It wouldn't be everyone's tastes in movies either,” said Mom.
It reminded me of my brother Bruce who can't appreciate some of the historical period movies I like. “All the scenes take place in one room!” he's said.
I guess I still had “drawing room” on the brain, so I said, “With some of the period movies I like, they think everyone just sits in the drawing room.”<br />
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Dad couldn't resist punning. “Yes,” he said, “and they don't even do any drawing!”<br />
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I got into a silly mood as I took a hot dog from the platter and said, “Come along, little dogie.” We then had a discussion as to why cowboys said “Come along, little dogie” to cattle. From the sound of the word, it seems more appropriate for dogs. Mom thought it might have been influenced by a Spanish word.
I looked it up later and had difficulty finding the information I wanted. I finally found a definition of dogie with a possible word origin. The Spanish influence was one theory, that it was taken from the Spanish word for lariat, dogal. Dogies, apparently, are orphaned calves. Ramon F. Adams, a writer on western Americana, had one explanation for it, that orphaned calves, weaned too soon, got swollen bellies and were called “dough-guts” which then became “dogies.”<br />
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“Come along, little dogies,” was not the end of my silliness. For some reason, I began to sing, “Tiptoe Through the Tulips.” I tell people sometimes that my brain is a random jukebox. When I'm in a happy mood, my random jukebox can make some odd selections of very silly and stupid songs. This is one example. When I was a kid, my oldest brother Tim had an album of K-Tel novelty songs from the '60s and '70s called <i>Looney Tunes</i>. Tiny Tim's “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcSlcNfThUA" target="_blank">Tiptoe Through the Tulips</a>” was on it. My brother's record seemed like a kiddie album to me, and I played it plenty of times, but why this particular song popped into my head at lunch time, when I hadn't heard it recently, I can not explain.<br />
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This brought up Tiny Tim and his falsetto voice in discussion, and we talked about what an odd character he was. The discussion then shifted to ukulele players, and I made the case that ukulele players are not considered as nerdy as they may have been at one time. I listed several “cool” modern ukulele players: Youtuber <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHl7XPhc82s" target="_blank">Dodie Clark</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNxO9MpQ2vA" target="_blank">Grace Vanderwaal</a> who won <i>America's Got Talent</i> and Iz Kamakowiwo'ole who had a hit with his version of “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1bFr2SWP1I" target="_blank">Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World.</a>” This then made me think of Disney's <i>Moana</i>, and in Saturday's quick walk-through of the Disney store, the “Lava Song” (which has a ukulele accompaniment) had been playing. Somehow, magically, and not unhappily, the “Lava Song” replaced “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” as the song stuck in my head.
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<br />© 2017 Susan Joy ClarkSusan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-16464843240893809002017-09-02T20:00:00.000-07:002017-09-02T20:00:59.460-07:00Slice of Life: Book Thoughts, Writer Gifts, Hiking with Friends, Wildflower Meadow, Picnic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">September
2, 2017</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mom
woke me up on the intercom this morning to tell me she was confused
with her Kindle. She came across a word she didn't know and
remembered about the dictionary feature on the Kindle, but when she
looked up her word, she then lost her place in her book. It took me a
while to crawl out of bed and then reach for the phone on the side of
the desk furthest from the bed. </span></span>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Where
were you?” she asked, when I picked up the phone.</span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
bed.”</span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Why'd
it take you so long?”</span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had to get up.” I'm not sure if my explanation made sense to her,
but it did to me. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mom and I both recently finished reading <i>Laddie </i>by Gene Stratton-Porter,
and now she is reading <i>Her Father's Daughter</i>
by the same author. She thought it might be the same book she'd read
as a girl, and now she's certain it is. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
dictionary feature on her older model of the Kindle is a little bit troublesome. On my newer model, I can look up words without leaving
the page I'm reading. </span></span>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
used the word bole for tree trunk,” Mom said of the author. “If
she meant tree trunk, why didn't she just say tree trunk? I think the
author's showing off her vocabulary.” Mom mentioned some of the plant vocabulary used. Gene Stratton-Porter is known for her "romantic outdoor stories" and knows a lot about botany and butterflies and birds, one of the things we like about her writing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif; font-size: medium;">"She likes to write about characters who share her interest in nature," I said, but Mom thought there was more to it than that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mom came across something even more objectionable later in <i>Her Father's Daughter</i>, and that is that the main character (and perhaps the author) has a strong prejudice against the Japanese, and the word "Jap" is used quite a few times. I didn't even know that term existed pre-World War II. That's disappointing, as I loved <i>A Girl of the Limberlost</i> and <i>Freckles</i> and now <i>Laddie</i>. I hope it's an attitude the character comes to change in the story, but we'll see. It's things like this that remind me not to idolize authors or singers or other people I might have some reason to admire. They're not perfect in every way. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later in the morning, I made myself ready for a hike at South Mountain Reservation with friends, Adrienne and Iris. We planned to have a picnic in the woods. My friend Debra had given me a cute insulated lunchbox which I had not yet initiated. The printed design features a vintage typewriter and the paper scrolling out of it reads "Get Carried Away." Now that I work from home, I don't have an every day need for a lunch box. I knew it would still be stowed away in the box she had mailed it in from Florida, and as I looked through the box, I made an interesting discovery. There was another small Christmas gift in there ... which I had not yet opened! It was a cute Victorian folding fan. I wanted to show it to Adrienne when she came, because she is a "fan" of the fan. At one point, she had tried to organize a girls' outing to an exhibit of fans, but it hadn't worked out.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I didn't want to carry the lunch bag loosely in my hand while hiking, so I found another bag I hadn't yet initiated, a Zumba cross-body bag that was given to me in my reporting days after covering a Zumba fundraising event. So, the combination of these two bags worked, one inside the other, but I had to find the proper footwear and the tread on my sneakers is wearing thin. I have two pairs of dance shoes that look like sneakers but aren't suited for hiking. The soles on these are made to slide on the dance floor. I dug around in my closet and found an old pair of Timberland boots I forgot I even owned and put those on my feet. As the fall weather hit when the calendar flipped to September, I thought I might need something more than a T-shirt, and the sweatshirt I selected has a writer's theme as much as the typewriter lunchbox does, a purple hoodie that reads "Weapons of Mass Creation" and displays a row of pens and pencils.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">I make myself sound semi-athletic with my mention of Zumba bags and two pairs of dancing shoes and Timberland boots, but I have had mysterious symptoms over several months and haven't had recreational exercise in just as long. Just as mysteriously, I've begun to feel better.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">I knew we had a tempting chunk of brie in the refrigerator, but, other than that and some other less French cheeses, not very much for the makings of a sandwich. I went out to the grocery store and bought some sliced ham and a wonderful whole grain croissant full of sesame and other seeds for my sandwich. Because I was feeling adventurous and there are so many interesting things in the store near me, I decided to try a drink I've never had before and a snack I've never had before. I decided on something called Blossom Water with pomegranate geranium essence and was probably partly intrigued by the beautiful fruit and floral designs on the bottle. I also bought Dang sticky rice chips in a coconut flavor which came in a snack bag big enough to share with friends. I made my sandwich on the croissant with brie, ham, Dijon mustard and mayonnaise.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">There was one more thing I had hoped to pack, and that was a book of poetry. In a <i>Grace Darby Mystery</i> in progress, my English professor sleuth goes hiking in the woods with a poetry book, and this part is somewhat autobiographical. In previous solo hikes, I've brought a book of poetry with me. I downloaded two free or cheap poetry books onto my Kindle, one of nonsense verses by Edward Lear and one of <i>100 Favorite Poems</i> by Dover Thrift Publishing. The nonsense poem collection wasn't my first idea, but silly ones seemed fun for sharing with friends. In the end, between running late and some other confusion, I skipped the "poetry in the woods" idea.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">At home, last night, I read the beginning of Lear's </span><i style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: -1.92px;">The Jumblies.</i><br />
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They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,</div>
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In a Sieve they went to sea:</div>
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In spite of all their friends could say,</div>
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On a winter’s morn, on a stormy day,</div>
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In a Sieve they went to sea!</div>
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And when the Sieve turned round and round,</div>
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And every one cried, ‘You’ll all be drowned!’</div>
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They called aloud, ‘Our Sieve ain’t big,</div>
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But we don’t care a button! we don’t care a fig!</div>
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In a Sieve we’ll go to sea!’</div>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">While I was at the store, things got a little crazy with our plan. Adrienne came to the door to pick me up, and Dad told her that I had gone out to buy a lunch, at least that's what I had told him to say. What Adrienne heard was that I had gone out for lunch, which must mean that I had gone out to meet them, and she left. After a bit of messaging back and forth and talking to Dad, he agreed to drive me over to the park and use the GPS feature on his new phone. It wasn't perfect in its navigation, and Dad wasn't always trusting it, so we took the scenic route and we passed a lot of the interesting recreational places in the area, the Turtle Back Zoo, the associated McCloone's Boathouse restaurant, mini golf and the zipline and ropes course. Finally, we met up with Adrienne and Iris. Dad rolled down his window and told them, "This GPS is good for two things, getting you lost and then getting you unlost."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">We met at the dog park there, and Dad, who had looked over the map, advised us to look through the Meadow Sculpture Garden nearby. This was not my first time at South Mountain Reservation, but I had not been in this section and didn't know about a dog park or a wildflower meadow or a sculpture garden before today. There were a few sculptures near where we stood, but we were not terribly impressed by them. They were very modern. One looked like a column of lobster crates, and another looked like a teetering stack of pots. </span><div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DSgVNc8ShMI/WatXNM2hPmI/AAAAAAAAB1o/WCcNlhj2fcM4Bj95bQ27-iXp0lkGMuCfgCLcBGAs/s1600/canoesculpture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="533" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DSgVNc8ShMI/WatXNM2hPmI/AAAAAAAAB1o/WCcNlhj2fcM4Bj95bQ27-iXp0lkGMuCfgCLcBGAs/s400/canoesculpture.jpg" width="221" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one had "canoe" in the title, I think. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">We entered the fenced off area -- fenced to keep the dogs out -- and saw clearly marked signs for the Wildflower Meadow and a trail called the Lavender Loop. We went into the meadow first, and the path there was barely the width of a person with tall wildflowers on either side, sometimes swinging into the path. I wish I could identify as many plants as Gene Stratton-Porter, but we saw goldenrod and purple thistles and some daisy-like flowers. Some flowers we spotted by the path might have been a butterfly bush, I thought, and I noticed some little orange flowers that were somewhat bell-shaped and hollow inside that I could not identify. One impressive plant had dangling clusters of bright berries, but not of a variety we recognized or trusted to eat. The stem of this plant was just as fuschia as the berries, and Adrienne commented that this was my color and that I should grow some in the backyard and accessorize myself with it. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TyFljpu5CE0/Watp767diDI/AAAAAAAAB2E/TDSIibyWtJYAiGykc0S_e7PVZgauX_njgCLcBGAs/s1600/IrisandMeSouthMountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="533" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TyFljpu5CE0/Watp767diDI/AAAAAAAAB2E/TDSIibyWtJYAiGykc0S_e7PVZgauX_njgCLcBGAs/s400/IrisandMeSouthMountain.jpg" width="221" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iris and Me</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jv7ixIOoUj4/WatqgYLdYAI/AAAAAAAAB2M/tGlm0lDh_EMreKCEwXYA6ztMtwzmMeXwQCLcBGAs/s1600/AdrienneinMeadow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="533" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jv7ixIOoUj4/WatqgYLdYAI/AAAAAAAAB2M/tGlm0lDh_EMreKCEwXYA6ztMtwzmMeXwQCLcBGAs/s400/AdrienneinMeadow.jpg" width="221" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adrienne at entrance to meadow</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">I really loved this area. Other things of interest were hidden away here and there among the flowers, a cozy little sculpted wooden bench, a birdhouse and a man-made station for pollinating insects. A central sculpture reminded me of a dress form. A second sculpture was called "Sunflowers." Adrienne called them "steel sunflowers," but we read "water bottles" among the materials in the identifying plaque, and then we saw the center of the sunflower was made up of clusters of water bottles. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">From here, we took the Lavender Loop and followed the lavender paint markings on the trees and occasional signs. Here and there were little informative signs on some plants or animals. One fun little part of the path was called a bog bridge, slightly raised planks that stretched on for quite a while. It all seems very dry at the moment, and one gulch we crossed is probably a creek at a wetter time of year. The bog bridge took us to the Aqua Loop, and here the trees were marked with an aqua green. Walking on the path, Iris shared one amusing incident in her life, the embarrassment of accidentally stumbling upon a nudist beach. Oh my!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">I don't remember where along the path we were when we stopped for our lunch, but we found a nice boulder to lean or sit on, and my water bottle fit quite nicely into a little crevice in the rock. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype", serif; font-size: medium; text-indent: -1.92px;">The girls and I (and this will include our friend Jin who is visiting her family in South Korea) hope to visit a couple of other parks in the near future, Verona Park for paddleboats and Anderson Park for an arts and crafts fair.</span></div>
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</div>© 2017 Susan Joy Clark
Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-62450615365534709812017-08-31T08:40:00.001-07:002017-08-31T14:24:52.610-07:00Slice of Life: Adventures with a Cricket, Friend Outing, In-House "Geek Squad," New Book<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">August
30, 2017</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
was in a happy mood this morning, cooking eggs while dancing around
the kitchen to music I was only hearing mentally. There was a noisy
little cricket chirping away at our tea and coffee station. I
couldn't quite locate him, but after Mom and Dad were up, I joked
that he sounded very close and I almost wondered if he was having a
spa bath in my coffee cup, although I can't imagine he'd be so
comfortable to keep singing in so hot a bath.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
listened to some YouTube music recommendations this morning, in an
album of retro easy listening from the '60s. Two notable discoveries
were “A Swingin' Safari” by Bert Kaempfert and “Murder She
Says” by Ron Goodwin, a theme song for an earlier Agatha Christie
<i>Miss Marple</i> show than the one I've been catching on Netflix. I
say that these were discoveries, even though they're old, because
they're new to me. The second piece has more of a danceable beat than
I would, at first, associate with Miss Marple, but it's classy and
even has some old-timey harpsichord sound in it. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
arranged to meet my friend Lisa today to go to lunch and on a drive
with her to an address in Secaucus as a practice run for a drive she
needs to make on Thursday. She spoke rather then typed her text
message into her phone, and Autocorrect made Secaucus into “C
Caucus.” </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
morning, I asked Dad to set up the Kindle for PC app on my laptop, so
that I could review my ebook file for <i>Action Men and the Great
Zarelda</i>. Dad, our resident “geek squad,” was dividing his
attention between helping Mom with her computer and helping me with
mine. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So,
I made myself pretty for my lunch date with Lisa in the mean time,
even polishing my nails with an OPI color called Princesses Rule, a
pale pink iridescent polish. Working at home, I ordinarily don't fuss
too much with my appearance. My friend Gretchen says that every day
is a party and that you must dress for it, and this seems like a nice
and perky outlook. Putting polish on encouraged me to accessorize a
little with a charm bracelet featuring charms in the form of a purse,
high heeled shoe, perfume bottle, hanger and other girly fashion
items. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dad
was successful in installing Kindle for PC on my laptop computer, and
I had to return the favor. Dad wears compression stockings now after
getting some treatment for a venous ulcer on his ankle which has now
healed. It's been my job now to help put them on him, and it is quite
an exercise as they are so tight and require a bit of tugging to get
them on right. Dad told me I now had to “install” his stockings …
“and configure them.” </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
met Lisa at her house at noon, got in her car and she drove to the
address in Secaucus. I learned that she has a new job as a visiting
nurse for children with medical issues. Her new assignment, Tristian,
lived at the address we were trying to locate. I learned she is a lot
like me and doesn't enjoy driving into cities or highway driving. It
was a little surprising since I would guess she is the bolder and
braver of the two of us. She expressed I would make a good companion
for her driving adventure, since I have such a calm personality.
Later, she told me that, although she noticed I would sometimes grip
the car door, at least, I refrained from making little gasps and
other panic noises. </span></span>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm
not going to like this,” Lisa told me, expressing her feelings on
her future commute on more than one occasion. “No,” I said. “I
wouldn't either.” I hope it will get easier for her. We did locate
the apartment community where her little boy lives, and it is a
fairly nice one with a central playground, and, apparently, indoor
lap pool. “What is the good of that?” said Lisa, on the “indoor”
part of that description which she picked up from a kind and helpful
doorman. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
stopped at a Smashburger for lunch at Lisa's suggestion, which was
ideal since I had a gift card here. Lisa ordered the basic burger and
fries and a chocolate shake. I tried the New Jersey burger and
Smashfries. The New Jersey burger has bacon, blue cheese, a
combination of haystack onions (frizzled onions) and sauteed onions,
lettuce and tomato on an onion roll. The Smashfries were flavored with rosemary,
garlic and olive oil. Lisa told me she likes basics and doesn't like
to “get too crazy” with food. I guess I like to get a little
crazy. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lisa
and I prayed over our meal. I prayed for her new commute and new job
assignment and for Tristian, and I thanked God for our friendship and
time together. A very polite and friendly Smashburger worker hung by
our table with a plate for one of us. “I saw you two praying and
took a step back. You don't interrupt praying!” she said. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
smiled and thanked her and gave her some appreciative comments. I
have a feeling the woman is a praying woman herself and was happy to
see two others of a similar mind.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lisa
and I mostly got caught up on each other's life events. I talked
mostly about my ghostwriting project, and Lisa gave me news about her
husband who is in the hospital. Several times, Lisa had to remind me
to eat, because I was doing more talking than eating.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
did a quick tour of Hobby Lobby after this, and Lisa found some
miniature Christmas stockings for her cats and some fall fabric
printed with scarecrows and pumpkins to cover her home desk. I didn't
do any shopping but was happy to look around and have the company.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once
at home, I was able to review my ebook file for <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075832461/" target="_blank">Action Men and theGreat Zarelda</a> and uploaded it to Amazon. As before, I was
told it might take 72 hours before it would go live on the Amazon
site. I made an announcement it was coming soon on Facebook and got a
few reactions from friends and fans, but before the evening was past,
I learned it did go live. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
tried opening my file called Paloma's Story, for my ghostwriting
project on Paloma Rambana, and it was in read-only format. I
struggled, under Dad's instruction, to get it out of that format and
into an editable one. I now have back-up files on the flash drive and
some files Staples saved from the old hard drive on the laptop, and
I'm guessing the latter are more up to date. I really didn't look it
over to see if the file was up to date as I was so distracted by
trying to change the format. I had to get Dad, the “geek squad,”
to look at it, and he struggled too. It seemed to have something to
do with the entire folder of files being in that read-only format and
it affecting all of the subfolders. Dad was partly distracted by some
other computer work, so we didn't get the issue resolved by the end
of the day.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paloma Rambana being awesome ... in spite of legal blindness.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
night, again, I heard the cricket in the area of our coffee and tea
station and Keurig coffee maker. I moved each box of tea, asking,
“Where are you, Cricket?” Dad added to this, saying, “We're
coming for you, Cricket!” and immediately the chirping stopped as
if the cricket was really intimidated by the sound of Dad's voice. It
didn't stop for too long though. A little while later, he was
chirping happily again. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
continued to move things around and when I moved a box filled with
our refillable K-cups for the Keurig and held it to my ear, I was
pretty certain the cricket was hiding in there. Dad came over,
listened to it and agreed with me. “Be nice to him,” I said.
Crickets don't seem as creepy to me as some other insects, and I
actually like the sounds they make, even if I don't expect to hear
them in the house. Dad picked up the whole box and carried it
outside. I heard him tell the cricket, “We're giving you your
freedom.” He sat on our front steps and removed the K-cups from the
box one by one. When the cricket crawled up to the edge of the box,
Dad gave him a little flick and said, “Goodbye.” </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Later,
Mom said that the cricket would probably find his way back to our
garage and back into the house. “No,” I said. “He's going to
find a girlfriend.” After all, isn't that why he was making so much
noise, wooing a mate with his serenade? Somehow, I see a children's
story in there somewhere and might come up with one if I thought on
it.</span></span></div>
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Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-87063243189280564552017-05-18T08:23:00.000-07:002017-05-18T13:18:42.821-07:00German Americans in American Culture<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I recently had a post about British vs. American English terminology. It was sparked by a YouTube video I watched where Irish people were taste testing different American sandwiches. Since then, YouTube made a few other recommendations for me, on stereotypes different countries or cultures have of one another and so forth. Though perhaps not directly related, this all sparked a memory of when I was a teenager on vacation in Orlando, Florida.<br />
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I visited a lot of Orlando tourist sites at that time: Disney World and Epcot Center, Cypress Gardens and Sea World. My parents and I also ate at some novelty restaurants. One of them was a British fish and chips place. There are a couple of Irish pubs near me in New Jersey that serve excellent fish and chips. This place was different, with an indoor bright red double decker bus for seating and one of the famous London red phone booths for atmosphere. I wish I could remember the name of the place. I have a feeling it no longer exists. I tried Googling it but couldn't seem to find a restaurant of that description.<br />
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A British tourist sat alone at a table near us. While we were being adventurous and enjoying our French fries/"chips" with the traditional malt vinegar, the British tourist reached for the more American condiment on the table ... a bottle of ketchup. "Heinz?" he says as he grasps the ketchup bottle. "This isn't American! This is German!"<br />
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That moment has sparked quite a lot of thought since then, even some twenty some years later. If I had been bolder, I might have started a conversation with the tourist, and we could have had quite the discussion on German-Americans and their influence on American culture. My mother does remember telling him that Americans are made up of all sorts of people.<br />
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I have to wonder what the guy was thinking. Surely, he must know that America is a land of immigrants. He might make that observation by watching the people that surrounded him in Orlando, unless he assumed that half of them were foreign tourists just as he was. Orlando, and Disney World in particular, does attract a lot of foreign tourists as well as American ones. Maybe his British pride believed that the majority of us were of English heritage and have nice little English surnames or that an American ketchup company established as far back as 1869 surely must have an English sounding name. German-Americans have not been here as long as the English, who were, of course, our first settlers, but they have been here quite a while and have been influential on a lot of very American things, including ketchup.<br />
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My ketchup-eating friend might be surprised to learn that, these days, Americans of German heritage actually outnumber those of English heritage. According to a 2013 U.S. Census, there are more Americans of German roots, 46 million, than Irish, 33 million, or English, 25 million. Personally, I'm a good mixture of both, with more or less equal parts German and English coming from both parents. It turns out, after one of my brothers took a DNA test through ancestry.com, that my heritage is a bit more complicated than that. Still, this is true.<br />
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What can be more American than a hot dog? Not only was America's chief ketchup company started by a German-American, but the foods that commonly accompany ketchup can be traced to German-Americans as well.<br />
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There are a few different origin stories of the hamburger and hot dog, so it doesn't seem to be completely settled. Think of the alternate names for the hot dog: frankfurter or weiner, both names relating to European cities, either Frankfurt, Germany or Vienna (Wien,) Austria. Some stories claim that these sausages began in these European cities, predating America. They were later introduced to America by immigrants. It could also be that the American hot dog is slightly different than either of these.<br />
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American hot dogs were first called "little dachshund sausages." There's one claim that a German immigrant sold them with sauerkraut and milk rolls from a push cart in New York City's Bowery in the 1860s. Charles Feltman, a German baker, began selling dachshund sausages at Coney Island in 1871.<br />
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German-Americans are the reason we sometimes accompany the American hot dog with this odd food with the very German sounding name.<br />
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<b>Sauerkraut</b><br />
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The hamburger is another American food with a very German sounding name, hamburger as in from Hamburg. It likely started first as Hamburg steak, a steak made up of ground beef, a food familiar to German immigrants. It's not really clear who first had the idea to serve it in a roll as a sandwich.<br />
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The Hamburg America Line shipping company employed many German immigrants in the 1840s. Ships from Hamburg often came to New York City, and city restaurants began serving Hamburg steak to get business from the German sailors. The hamburger as a sandwich seems to come out of street vendors for major events such as amusement parks and fairs. There are a few different controversial ideas of who invented and/or popularized the sandwich.<br />
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Yes, Henry J. Heinz, the son of German immigrants, began his company in 1869, producing and bottling several food products, including ketchup. Heinz isn't the only German surname you will find in major American food companies (and other big companies besides.)<br />
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<b>Henry J. Heinz</b><br />
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How about Oscar Meyer, a producer of hot dogs, bologna and other meats?<br />
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<b>Oscar Mayer</b><br />
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How about Claussen pickles? Or many or our pretzel companies that have names like Utz, which sells Bachmann pretzels, Sturgis and Snyder of Hanover?<br />
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Just about every American beer brewer seems to be started by a German-American, with names like Anheuser-Busch (producer of Budweiser), Coors, Pabst and Schlitz. Although perhaps not as obvious, Wikipedia lists Frederick Miller, creator of Miller beer, as a German-American. Beer and pretzels. Should this be surprising?</div>
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As a nice little teetotaler personally, I'll just post a photo of these pretty Anheuser-Busch Clydesdales.</div>
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Also, Milton Hershey of Hershey Chocolate, was a German-American.<br />
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<b>Milton Hershey</b><br />
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There are other German-Americans who gave their names to big American businesses, unrelated to foods. What about Boeing aircraft? Or Pfizer and Merck pharmaceuticals? There are many others.<br />
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Here are some other German-Americans who made great contributions in the arts.<br />
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<b>Charles Schulz, the artist behind <i>Peanuts</i> and Snoopy.</b><br />
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<b>Dr. Theodore Seuss </b><b>Geisel</b><b>, (Dr. Seuss,) author of <i>The Cat in the Hat</i>, <i>Green Eggs and Ham</i> and many other beloved children's stories.</b><br />
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<b>L. Frank Baum, author of <i>The Wizard of Oz</i> and Oz series books.</b><br />
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German-Americans have made a lot of contributions to American culture.<br />
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Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-43301190958852795222017-05-15T22:38:00.002-07:002017-05-15T22:38:28.596-07:00I Remember: A Blog Post That Really Dates Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://kataphatic.files.wordpress.com/2010/05/gymclass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://kataphatic.files.wordpress.com/2010/05/gymclass.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I was never super-athletic, but, growing up, I did enjoy playing with scooters or the parachute in gym class or other activities that were free of pressure and competition.<br />
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I do. I actually do. This was something I remember doing in the first and second grades. I had more fun doing this than playing dodge ball or kickball.<br />
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We had a lot of simple ways of entertaining ourselves.<br />
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Or jumping through the sprinkler<br />
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Or sliding down the stairs.<br />
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I remember going down the stairs like this as a child, sliding down the carpeted steps and leading with my hands. I'd put out a couple of big floor pillows on the bottom of the steps. There was some sort of game I played on the stairs where the "lava men" might come and eat me or my friends if we touched the bottom or fell off the pillows. At this point, I can't remember how much of this came out of my own imagination or were inspired by my older brother Dan.<br />
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I remember this old Betty Crocker cookie recipe book from the '60s. This is the exact cookbook my mother still has, which contains a lot of traditional recipes she's baked over the years.<br />
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I remember '70s latch hook kits. This pattern above looks so familiar that I feel we must have had this one or else someone I knew did. This was one craft I could do well and found relaxing. Mom and I both worked on one of our own while on vacation in the Adirondacks. Mom made a butterfly design, and mine was a brown bunny. Even my oldest brother made his own latch hook rug for his bedroom door, drawing out his own pattern of Snoopy laying on top of his doghouse.<br />
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These Makit & Bakit suncatchers are another craft I remember from childhood. At one point, I had one hanging in each of my bedroom windows. One of them was a cute cartoonish hippo.<br />
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I remember when these braided ribbon barrettes were popular for girls, some time back in the '80s. I made a pair or two as a craft in my Pioneer Girls church group. It seems you can still buy some or the kits to make your own, and they are labelled as "retro."<br />
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Before I'd even heard of a friendship bracelet, there were friendship pins. We made different patterns, exchanged them with friends and wore them on our shoelaces in the '80s.<br />
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These are just a few of the many things I remember from childhood.Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-34830352363903035832017-05-10T11:17:00.002-07:002017-05-10T11:17:51.679-07:00Jelly, Jam and Jell-O, British and American Language Differences<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been watching quite a bit of Youtube lately, all sorts of videos on different topics that interest me, sometimes things that I think will inspire or inform me for some aspect of my fiction writing, and sometimes just interesting things without any such application. I usually read the comments. Lately, I've often felt I could add something to the discussion in the comment section but didn't. Instead, I think I will post the video and my commentary here for at least one of them.</div>
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I mostly want to add some commentary on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As you can see, many of the Irish taste testers made the point that the jelly is really "jam," and many Americans commented on the American definitions of these two terms. However, I'm not sure those Americans understood how both of those terms are defined in the UK.<br />
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I find these sorts of language differences interesting. I think I'm qualified to comment on this as an American. For one, I have an uncle, aunt and two cousins who lived in Australia for many years, and there are some similarities between Australian and British English, including how jam and jelly are defined. I also read a lot of books by British authors and watch a lot of BBC programs, so I am constantly learning new things about our language differences. Just when I think I know them all, I'll pick up on a new one. So, I'd like to share some thoughts and observations on language that may be interesting to people on both sides of the pond.<br />
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As some American commenters already pointed out, Americans differentiate between jam and jelly by whether it is made with only juice from the fruit or has bits of fruit in it. Jelly is made with fruit juice. Jam is made with bits of fruit and juice.<br />
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The most classic, common peanut butter and jelly sandwich is made with grape jelly, which is probably why the sandwich has that name. Really, any kind of jelly or jam could be used. I had plenty of sandwiches as a child that were made with peanut butter and strawberry jam. I probably didn't make a point of calling my sandwich "a peanut butter and jam sandwich" on those particular days, in spite of the fact that Americans have different terms for those two different kinds of fruit spreads. We just tend to call the sandwich "peanut butter and jelly" or pb&j in either case.<br />
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For Americans, if you look up the word jelly on dictionary.com, the third definition, prefaced by <i>chiefly British</i>, is a fruit-flavored gelatin. I assume this term difference is also used in Ireland where these taste testers in the video live. So, the term jelly in the UK would not be used for a fruit spread but for a fruit-flavored gelatin. So, here is another reason why using the term "jelly" for a fruit spread in the UK might be confusing.<br />
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For British, Irish or Australian readers, most Americans call a fruit-flavored gelatin Jell-O after the most popular American brand name for this product. There are some other competing brands, but most Americans will call any brand of gelatin Jell-O regardless. We'd hardly ever use the word gelatin in this context. It sounds too formal. A recipe, that's not a recipe from the Jell-O company, might use the phrase "fruit-flavored gelatin" in order to avoid specifying a particular brand, but that's not a common phrase most Americans use informally. Also, Americans would never use the word jelly in this context.<br />
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Here's a Jell-O jingle I remember from childhood.<br />
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<br />Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-46241949133327343272017-02-25T20:43:00.000-08:002017-02-25T20:43:00.854-08:00Life Update: Book Talk, Mystery Party, New Book Project, Oh My!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm in an exciting time of life right now. There have been a few different interesting happenings this month, and I ought to bring my friends and followers up to date.<br />
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Linda of <a href="https://bricesmicechristianbookreviews.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Brice's Mice Christian Book Reviews</a> once called me "creatively insane," and sometimes, I really think that phrase fits the ideas and activities in my life, particularly the insane part.<br />
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Earlier this month, I hosted a belated birthday party for myself. I should explain that my birthday is January 9th. My birthday comes so close on the heels of Christmas that it can be tricky to make birthday plans on the actual day of my birthday, especially one as elaborate as what has become a bit of a tradition for me.<br />
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Three or four years ago, I hosted my first murder mystery party to celebrate my birthday, not with a kit you can purchase, but with one I created myself. I essentially created the game itself, not just the mystery story. Not ever having used one of those kits, I'm pretty sure my game works differently than others available. For one thing, in others I've seen, the guests are both suspects and sleuths. In mine, my guests are detectives, and my cast of suspects, this time, was made up of family members and one close friend. This friend, Lisa, who played the head housekeeper in my 1920s English manor mystery, had to be a pretty good sport, because I gave her a funny name, Miss Ellie Shufflebottom. Yes, Shufflebottom is a real name. I found it on a list of "funny British surnames."<br />
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I'm sorry to say that this photo below is just about the only photo I have of that night.<br />
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Here I am on the right, sporting my attempt at Gatsby hair. We didn't get too carried away with costumes. I didn't want to put that pressure on my guests. Lisa, in the center, was wearing a cute white apron and cap for most of the night. To the left is our friend Laura.<br />
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I was too busy hosting, and my guests were too busy running around to different rooms in search of clues for any of us to take many photos. At times, it made me think of this scene from <i>Clue</i>.<br />
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Okay, maybe it wasn't that exaggerated, but it did seem that guests, which were divided into two teams of detectives were fairly often on the move, either to question a suspect in a certain room or uncover a clue.<br />
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I had two decks of identical cards, one for each team. The decks were shuffled, so the cards weren't necessarily in identical order. Each turn, the team would draw a card which would either instruct them to ask a particular question of a particular suspect or go into a particular room to find a clue. All questions and answers were scripted. Scripted answers from the different suspects were also on cards and were collected by the teams for their evidence folders. Clue objects, which were marked with yellow Post-Its and numbers, were also accompanied by cards and information for the evidence folder. Sometimes, a clue information card gave instructions to search for a second clue. Does it sound complicated? It was, a bit, (but more complicated to create than to play.)<br />
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With this one, the third game of its kind, I was inspired by P.G. Wodehouse, the creator of <i>Jeeves and Wooster</i>, as well as Agatha Christie and other Golden Age mystery writers. There was quite a bit of humor worked into the script and story. I had my family cast members saying Britishisms like "jolly good" and "barmy" and even "what, what?" My brother Bruce had a different challenge. He played the French Chef Antoine. He struggled with the French accent but really got into the role and had a kind of Peter Sellers/Inspector Clousseau sort of French accent. He even ad libbed between his scripted lines. I caught him in the kitchen with the mortar and pestle talking about grinding up the gunpowder very fine.<br />
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I do have one other image related to my mystery game night. I created this cover art with the hope of making my game available in PDF format for sale from my website. What do you think of this idea?<br />
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On Valentine's Day, I gave a book talk at my home church to the ladies' group on my action comedy novel, <i>Action Men with Silly Putty,</i> which was just released to print this past December.<br />
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As the date for the talk fell on Valentine's Day, I decided to share excerpts from my book relating to the friendships and what one book reviewer called "a whisper of romance." I projected forty-three images throughout the presentation, some of which depicted an inspiration behind some aspect of my story.<br />
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Here is my opening slide.<br />
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Yes, it was a bit comical to talk about "bromance" to a ladies' group, especially one consisting of mostly senior ladies. Honestly, "bromance" isn't a word I use commonly in my own vocabulary, but I do pay attention to new and trendy words and it does seem to fit the friendship between Jack Donegal and Andy Westin.<br />
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I also showed them some slides of some fairly manly things like sports cars and robots, so I'm pretty sure I don't fit the profile of their usual speaker. (The ladies were lovely to me, really.)<br />
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But there was also some gentle romance and love advice from Jack Donegal such as ...<br />
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What else is new? Well, I have a new mystery short story coming to Kindle soon, "The Lit Club Mystery," starring my English professor sleuth, Grace Darby. Here is the cover art for that one.</div>
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I've been ghostwriting a biography for an amazing 11-year-old girl, Paloma Rambana. Paloma is legally blind and successfully lobbied the Florida legislature for $1.25 million for visually impaired children. You can follow her on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/palomasdream/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> or check out her <a href="http://www.palomasdream.org/" target="_blank">personal website</a>. Can I just take a moment to brag on this kid? Paloma was recently awarded the Hasbro Community Action Award in New York City.<br />
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Here she is in Times Square with her image on an eight story billboard!<br />
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I have recently launched a page on <a href="https://www.patreon.com/SusanJoyClark" target="_blank">Patreon</a>, a kind of crowdfunding site for creative types. As I'm trying to transition from newspaper reporter to full-time freelance writer with some other creative initiatives, a sort of multi-faceted creative business, I thought this might give me a boost and help me fund some of my expenses to get started.<br />
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You don't need to feel pressured to donate, especially if you can't afford it. Many of my friends and followers are also writers and artists themselves. Please, do check out the page in any case. The page will mention just a few more creative plans not mentioned in this post. If you are able and do donate, I will try and make it worth your while, providing special content to patrons.<br />
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Thank you for reading as I tried to give you a whirlwind tour of this month so far. :)<br />
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Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-12702910024263679682017-02-23T19:42:00.000-08:002017-02-23T19:42:23.911-08:00Action Men and the Great Zarelda (Part 11) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Continued from <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/07/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">Parts 1</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">2</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial_10.html" target="_blank">3</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-4.html" target="_blank">4</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-5.html" target="_blank">5,</a> <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-6.html" target="_blank">6</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-7.html" target="_blank">7</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/09/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-7.html" target="_blank">8</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/10/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-9.html" target="_blank">9</a> and <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2017-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&updated-max=2018-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&max-results=2" target="_blank">10</a> ...</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Recap from previous episodes ...</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Andy thought he could act as Zarelda's magician's assistant and investigate into her side activities at the same time. Just as he discovers something possibly incriminating, he goes through with their first show. At the finale of the show, just after the vanishing trick, he remembers smells something chemical before losing consciousness. Andy wakes up locked in Zarelda the magician's sword trick box in the theater's storage room.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b>Part 11</b> </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
don't know if I was under the spell of Stockholm Syndrome or not, but
I felt almost relieved when Zarelda came into view. I could hear her
shoes clicking against the floor as she approached. She sat down on
something – whether on a box or a chair, I'm not sure – and
situated herself near my face. She hovered her face over mine so that
she could look me in the eye. Her hair draped down and tickled my
neck. “Hello darling.” She slid her hand down my cheek and jaw in
a way that was surprisingly tender, considering the fact that I was
her prisoner. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
wish I could say that I was totally unaffected by her manipulative
ways, but my mind, or maybe my body, was doing strange things to me.
It's true that I didn't have the same feelings for her that I had
when I first spotted her, a beautiful woman on a plane. The fact that
she had kidnapped me and might possibly kill me had put a damper on
things. Even so, my hormones had a mind of their own. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So,”
I said, trying to keep my voice from squeaking. “I suppose this is
just practice for one of your tricks?”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tricks?
You know all about tricks, don't you, darling? I thought I could
trust you, but you're full of tricks, aren't you?” </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her
hand still rested on my cheek, and her fingertips caressed me. What a
way to confuse a guy. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
found your phone,” she said. “I know you know my secret. I know
you've been telling your friend, Jack, about my little … side
business.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Was
Jack in trouble now?, I wondered. “It's okay,” I told her. “You
don't need to worry. I won't get you in trouble. I'll be a good boy.
I'll do anything you like. I'd do anything for you. I'll travel with
you to Brazil and hide a whole pandemonium of parrots in my gaucho
pants …” I paused. A gaucho was a Latin cowboy, I knew, but now
that I'd blurted out that statement, I wasn't one hundred percent
certain that gaucho pants were menswear. “... I mean in my chaps.
We could be the Bonnie and Clyde of animal smuggling.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
smiled at me in a peculiar way, perhaps derisively. “No, darling.
You are a good boy. I know you, Andrew.” She slid her fingers
through my hair. “You are someone who likes to obey the rules. I
like to break them.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
stood up suddenly and walked away. When she returned, she hovered an
object over my face, a sword, the kind I supposed were used with the
sword box in which I was trapped. “Beautiful bit of workmanship,
isn't it?” she asked. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yes,”
I answered, trying to keep my voice steady. The grip of the sword was
a spiral twist of reddish cherry wood. The pommel at the end was a
rose worked in gold. The guard similarly was a rose worked in gold
with a gold leaf protruding from either side. I took all this in,
while wondering what this unpredictable woman planned to do with this
dangerous item.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
touched my face again, her hands on either cheek, and her hands felt
cold and wet. It took me a moment to realize that she was applying
shaving cream to my face, which she then proceeded to work into a
lather. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What?
What are you doing?” I asked. “Do you always give your victims a
nice shave before you … before you kill them?”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Zarelda
didn't directly answer my question. She continued to massage my face
with lather. This had to be, by far, my most bizarre experience “This
sword was a gift, as were the others, from my father, when I first
began my career as a magician.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
held my head and face, pulling my skin taut, with her left hand,
while she touched the sword edge to my face with the right hand. She
was shaving me with the rose-hilted sword. “You see. It gives a
nice close shave,” she said. “This is the real McCoy. You, my
friend, might be in the toy business, but this is not a toy. It's not
merely a prop either. People often wonder if I use real swords in my
act.” She slid the sword's edge along my cheek, my jaw and throat.
I didn't answer her. I was afraid to even twitch. At any moment, I
wasn't sure if she was going to groom me or slit my nicely available
throat. I suddenly realized I was bracing my hands against the top of
the box.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just
as suddenly, she was done, and to my great relief, she set the sword
down somewhere beyond my line of vision. I started to breathe a
little harder, feeling my chest rise and fall, as if I'd forgotten to
breathe in the past minute or two. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Zarelda
leaned over me once again and, inexplicably and confusingly, put her
lips to mine and gave me a rather long kiss. A sensation that was
part thrill, part chill traveled down my body. It didn't feel so
terrible … stupid hormones … traitors! “Listen carefully,
Andrew,” she said. “I will do anything, anything to avoid going
to jail. Do you understand me?”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yes,”
I said. My voice came out weak and breathy. Under my current
circumstances, I felt practically emasculated. I suppose she knew it
and liked it that way.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Good.”
She stood up and lifted the sword once more in a way I didn't like,
hefting it high in the air, point down. She stepped away from my face
and moved further down the length of the box and of me. With sudden
force, she plunged the sword down through the top of the box and
between my open legs. I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even nicked, but the
sword came within what seemed like centimeters to a very sensitive
bit of my anatomy. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
my current perspective, I couldn't really tell how close the sword
was to touching me, but I sensed it, and it caused me to hold my body
in a kind of permanent flinch. After just a few seconds of this, I
felt searing pain through my sore back. My eyes teared up from the
pain, and I couldn't even wipe away the evidence of my weakness. My
agony was beginning to feel psychological in nature.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She
walked away then, leaving me alone, the sword still in its place. I
heard rattling, and I realized after a while that it was my body
trembling inside the box.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dangle
Schnot and Boogers,” I muttered under my breath, and then, quoting
Dorothy in </span></span><span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
Wizard</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>of</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Oz</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">,
“You wicked old witch.” After that, I might have said something
that rhymes with witch. Where was Dorothy with her bucket of water to
throw on this evil creature?</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
thought of </span></span><span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
Princess Bride</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">'s
Wesley in the pain machine, after his torturer calmly asks, “So,
tell me how do you feel, and remember, this is for posterity, so be
honest.” All Wesley could do at that moment was whine and cry, to
which his torturer replies with a deadpan, “Interesting.” Feeling
some sort of kinship with Wesley almost lightened my mood … almost
that is.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
told myself to calm down. This emotion wasn't helping my case at all.
Zarelda was out of sight. I could remove my shirt altogether – not
an easy task in this confined space – yes, pull off the
dangle-schnotted zipper pull, remove a button from the shirt cuff,
attach the zipper pull there with the remaining thread, poke the
sleeve out through a sword hole and pick the lock, with my fingers
reaching out through a sword hole below it. Yes, there was a
possibility that Zarelda would return to find me semi-naked, but
desperate times called for desperate measures. Anything was better
than passively waiting in my prison for whatever came next.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To be continued ... </span></span>
</div>
© 2017 Susan Joy ClarkSusan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-80129239131327452732017-02-18T15:30:00.001-08:002017-02-18T15:30:28.599-08:00Action Men and the Great Zarelda (Part 10)<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oKWJJlkp-IQ/V68rJWnEQhI/AAAAAAAABbA/THEtllu_0VAVvokE5lYkvhNG9-TwtDcMACPcB/s1600/Kinetic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oKWJJlkp-IQ/V68rJWnEQhI/AAAAAAAABbA/THEtllu_0VAVvokE5lYkvhNG9-TwtDcMACPcB/s320/Kinetic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I know it's been a while since I've posted an episode, so here's a little recap. If you're new to this, you may want to start at the beginning. Continued from Parts <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/07/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">1</a>,<a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">2</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial_10.html" target="_blank">3</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-4.html" target="_blank">4</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-5.html" target="_blank">5</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-6.html" target="_blank">6</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-7.html" target="_blank">7</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016_09_01_archive.html" target="_blank">8</a>, and <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016_10_01_archive.html" target="_blank">9</a>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>From the previous episode ...</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">There was nothing particularly menacing about Zarelda that night. She seemed charming, delightful, a flirt with the audience, and yet I couldn't push away a certain foreboding sense of premonition as the evening wore on. I looked out sometimes at the audience and wished I could discreetly signal Jack about my sense of unease. I could pull on my ear lobe like Carol Burnett, but what would that possibly accomplish? I could signal like baseball players, only we hadn't established any such system of communication, and my sense of self-dignity was too great to make myself quite that foolish looking, tapping and pulling at random parts of myself. I had read once about a hostage blinking SOS in Morse code on TV. Would Jack pick up that signal or would it simply look like I was having an episode of petit mal epilepsy? Really, the performance and my role in it took up so much of my concentration that I was unable to sufficiently come up with a plan that actually made sense, and I really had no idea what I was expecting anyway.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I successfully maneuvered my way out the escape hatch of the vanishing box for our final act. Zarelda joined me in this private space behind the contraption briefly before she would appear in my place. It wasn't until she reached her hand up to my shoulder and then my face almost tenderly that I caught a whiff of a chemical smell, and everything went black.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>To be continued ...</b></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-size: 15.4px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">I
woke up and, before even opening my eyes, reached my right hand out
as if to touch my nightstand and alarm clock. It didn't touch a
nightstand but, instead, a sort of wooden wall. I jerked, and my left
hand also sprung out, hitting a wall. As I jerked and moved, I was
surprised at how sore my back was and for no reason I could recall.
What had I done to myself? Had I finally allowed the guys to convince
me to go bungee jumping?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">I
opened my eyes. Overhead, instead of my bedroom light fixture, giant
papier-mâché
tragedy and comedy masks glared at me. I knew now where I was, in the
prop storage room at Zarelda's theater, and in one of her coffin-like
boxes. Happily, my head was not enclosed. Looking up – and I really
had not much of an alternative but to look up – I tried to decide
whether my current dilemma was more comic or tragic and if either of
those masks were mocking me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">I
felt along the inside of my prison with my fingers and felt
intermittent holes in the sides. I knew now that I was in the sword
box for the sword trick, a trick we had never performed together or
practiced. How did it work? There had to be a false bottom to the
box. I felt along the bottom, but I couldn't discern any secret
compartment. My hands were free, so that was to my advantage, but
when I jerked my feet, they were fastened fast.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">Looking
to the ceiling again, I saw an opened stage trapdoor. This, perhaps,
explained part of my present dilemma, how I had an abrupt exit from
the stage to my current creepy situation. I recalled the last moments
I could remember before blacking out, Zarelda's hand near my face and
a chemical smell. Had I been positioned directly over the trapdoor
while I was on the stage for our final trick? Did my subconscious
know in order to give me premonitions?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just
below the stage trapdoor, I could make out the beginnings of
something blue and red and plastic-looking. I imagined it was part of
one of those inflatable rentals, some sort of bouncy playground
inflatable. It might have been the start of a slide I was seeing. Had
this contraption cushioned my fall? My back was sore, but nothing
seemed to be broken. How thoughtful of Zarelda. She had drugged me
and locked me in her magical prop box, but she hadn't crippled or
maimed me. I wasn't sure this was entirely reassuring. I was still in
a coffin-like box, and I hadn't yet explored how secure my trap was
or wasn't. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">How
had she managed to get me from where I had landed into this box? I'd
have to be carried. John? Kumar? The two of them put together? Those
two thin as fettuccine guys? I supposed so, although they hardly
seemed capable of hefting my dead weight. They must be like worker
ants. I remembered seeing a troop of ants carrying a dead frog like a
procession of islanders with a roast pig. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Remembering
the chemical smell just before I lost all memory and, apparently
consciousness, I wondered how much chloroform or drugs were in my
system. I felt completely normal, not like that time after getting my
wisdom teeth removed, when I was singing “I'm Bringing Home a Baby
Bumble Bee” on the drive home and talking about living on the
planet Rupert and, apparently, quoting the entire parrot routine from
<i>Monty Python</i>. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
moved my hands, flexing my fingers in and out. I couldn't move my
feet, at least not much. They seemed to be in handcuffs or whatever
handcuffs are called when they are around your ankles. What's more,
they seemed to be chained to the foot end of the box. As I flexed my
insteps up and down, my heart started beating a little faster, and I
could feel my shoulder blades rattle against the bottom of my prison.
</span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
hands were free thankfully, although I was not sure what good they
would do me in freeing myself. I was an extremely amateur magician's
assistant, not an escape artist. I felt along the sides of the box.
There had to be a lock here. I hoped it was a combination lock, even
though I'm no Houdini or James Bond, either one. There still seemed
to be more potential in breaking open a combination lock than some
other sort of lock. </span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">I
found the lock on the side of the box to my right. It felt solid,
with no dials or moving parts with which to play. How would I break
myself free? With my bare hands? My fist? I imagined myself breaking
my knuckles. Where was my Swiss army knife?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
heart sped up with a surge of hope, but when I felt for my pocket, I
remembered what I was wearing or what I had been wearing before
passing out. I was still in the stupid glitzy tuxedo, sans the
jacket. I'm not sure if the jacket was removed for my comfort or
because Zarelda wanted to protect the costume in which she'd
invested. I didn't have any useful tool in my pocket – no Swiss
army knife, no cell phone, no car keys, no anything. Where was
McGyver when you needed him? </span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">“<span style="font-size: medium;">Dangle
Schnot!” <i>Dangle Schnot? What in the world? </i>Jack
was having such an influence on me that, even alone, I was coming up
with bizarre and kooky euphemisms for curse words. I hardly knew what
I was saying. I might as well be speaking in tongues.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
wished Jack were here. If he found himself in my position, he'd find
a way out. I was sure of it. He'd remove a button from his shirt,
attach it to a string or a strip of fabric, poke it out through one
of the sword holes and pick the lock open. Would that work? A shirt
button couldn't do much with the lock's keyhole. I needed something
longer and stronger … like maybe a zipper pull. I thought about
that. I didn't think I really wanted Zarelda to discover me sans
zipper. I felt humbled and vulnerable enough as it was. I started to
feel overheated and headachey, my heart pounding. I had to calm down.
</span>
</span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">A
new thought of a less than comforting nature intruded. What if I felt
the call of nature and had to, er, use the facilities, what then?
Would Zarelda be reasonable enough to let me out long enough to do my
business? I had been semi-kidnapped before and had gotten away from
my captor temporarily by this means. Somehow, I doubted Zarelda would
extend this mercy in my current predicament. She had the upper hand
now, and she knew it. She wouldn't put herself in a position for the
situation to potentially reverse. I just wouldn't think about it.
That's all.</span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
wouldn't think about vacationing at Niagara Falls or at Yellowstone
National Park watching Old Faithful. I wouldn't think about the
dishes at home at the condo that needed washing or giving George the
beagle his much-needed bath. I wouldn't think about water at all. </span>
</span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
spite of telling myself to remain calm, I was beginning to feel
agitated and stressed. My forehead was beading up with sweat, and I
couldn't even wipe it. I would go to my happy place. I imagined
myself at the beach somewhere beautiful, on the pink sands of the
Bahamas perhaps, underneath a giant old beach umbrella with a 30 SPF
sunscreen at my side … and the waves crashing to the shore. Maybe I
needed a new happy place. </span>
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">I
thought of our recent business trip to Texas and imagined myself the
hero of a Zane Grey or Louis L'Amour western, riding a galloping
horse, completely free, the wind whipping through my hair … What
was it with my subconscious and York Peppermint Patties?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">It
was at this point that I engaged in a strange activity for an
agnostic. I started to pray. I didn't speak my prayer aloud. Jack
would say that was unnecessary. I mentally composed my prayer. “Okay.
I don't normally do this. I don't know if You're real, and even
assuming that You are, whether or not you care. But if You can get me
out of this … I promise … I promise to go back to church with
Jack … at least one more time. Maybe I haven't thought about this
enough.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">Go
back to church one more time? Was this seriously the best I could do?
If someone saves your life, shouldn't you be prepared to offer them a
lifetime of service? I added a postscript. “I'm sorry if that's a
pathetic offer. I'm afraid to promise something I can't … or won't
keep. I'd like to stick a toe in the water before I take the plunge.”
I didn't even add an “Amen” at the end. I just hung up the line,
assuming there was a line.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">I
tried to let my mind gradually slip back to a happy place. Strangely,
sexy women sitting next to me on airplanes had nothing to do with my
happy place. I thought of George, that crazy beagle that could be
such a bother but knew to give you a cuddle when you were sick or sad
or out of sorts. I thought of Jack, my quirky, sometimes annoying
friend, who would lay down his life for me, who would come to me
rescue now if he knew I needed him. I thought about Jack's niece and
nephew, Bronwyn and Declan, who had adopted me as their Uncle Andy,
sitting with them in a homemade blanket fort, eating circus peanuts
and popcorn and watching animated movies, testing out all our
pre-production toys on them. I thought of Janie Duveau at the
Salvador Deli. When I got out of here, if I got out of here, I would
hug her and call her a ferret-nosed flibbertigibbet. She'd like that
one, and I would eagerly anticipate her comeback.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">To be continued ...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
© 2017 Susan Joy ClarkSusan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-12315796893153579942017-01-02T19:37:00.000-08:002017-01-02T19:37:03.328-08:00December in Facebook Posts, Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>December 22, 2016</b><br />
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I'm still doing Christmas baking. Yesterday, I made gingerbread boys. I got an idea just from a photo in a cookie recipe book I saw at the grocery store checkout but didn't buy. I put Teddy Graham crackers on some of the gingerbread boys and folded the arms over them, so that it looked like the boys were holding teddy bears. Today, I baked sugar cut-out cookies, holly leaves and bells. Mom and I decorated them together with some red and green royal icing. The holly leaves have red hot candies for holly berries, and the bells have silver nonpareils for clappers and decorative stripes of red hot candies.<br /><br /><b>December 24, 2016 </b><div>
<br />I'm watching "Meet Me in St. Louis" and waiting for my brother and family to arrive. Merry Christmas, my friends. </div>
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<b>December 25, 2016</b></div>
<br />It was a little different to begin this year's Christmas with a church service as it fell on a Sunday. I sang a solo, "Beautiful Star of Bethlehem." With all of the busyness of the season, I didn't practice it nearly as much I had hoped to do, but it turned out well and I wasn't overwhelmed with performance nerves. I enjoyed having practically the whole family with me this year for Christmas. Even my niece who was not able to travel to be with us this year talked to us and watched the present opening by Skype or Facetime. One of the funnier moments of the day happened when I tried on a new winter coat, my big gift from Mom and Dad this year. I should explain, for those who may not know, that I am the baby of the family and my three older brothers are eight, ten and twelve years older. I was sitting between brothers Tim and Bruce as I opened my gift. As I was trying on my coat, I began to struggle with the zipper which was asymmetrically offset to the left. Tim, on my left, began helping me with my zipper. Then I was puzzled by the coat's belt. The buckle had a piece to poke through a hole, but the belt itself had no holes. Bruce began arranging my belt the way he supposed it should go. The ridiculousness of the situation started to get to me, and I started laughing and said, "I need my brothers to dress me." Bruce then pats me on the head and says, "And we can pat you on the head and say that you are all ready for school." <br /><br /><b>December 26, 2016</b><div>
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Here is a funny conversation in our house this morning. We had seven family guests stay overnight. I came down this morning to find my two nephews, Bill, 29, and Joshua, 23, on airbeds in the living room. My brother Bruce, Bill's dad, was sitting nearby. I said, "Oh, is this a slumber party?" Bill says, "Yes, it's for the cool kids." Bruce tells me, "You weren't invited," and then, "You notice that I'm here." Some time after this came the admission that it was more like the nerdy kids. My brother Dan comes down, and he, Bruce and Bill begin talking about various sci-fi and space movies. Eventually, Bruce and Bill begin to mention a movie Dan has never seen and doesn't know. Bruce says to Dan, "You're not nerdy enough for us. Go over there by the cool kids." Dan says, in mock sadness, "I've been rejected by the nerds!"<div>
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<b>December 27, 2016</b><br /><div>
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I thought I found the perfect Christmas gift for my aging techie Dad this year: a T-shirt that says, "iTired, There's a nap for that." He's wearing it today. I just looked over at him and saw him stretched out on the loveseat, obeying the instruction on his shirt, and told him he was wearing the right shirt for the day. Brother Dan was also wearing the right shirt today. It says, "Coffee, the most important meal of the day." He came down to breakfast as the family was in a big discussion on Keurig coffee makers and K-cups. This was the Christmas of the K-cups. Mom and Dad just got themselves a new Keurig machine, and several (maybe all?) of us kids gave them various K-cups to use in it. It wasn't all coffee. Some of them were for cocoa or tea. We didn't have any repeat flavors or brands either. Our Korean honorary sister Jeannie gave them some Korean red ginseng tea, which is, apparently, good for their health and longevity.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 28, 2016</b></span></div>
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Brother Dan and family will be staying with us until Friday. This photo is the result of last night's activity, putting together a jigsaw puzzle my friend Debra gave me for Christmas last year. It's a collage related to Jane Austen literature with quotes from various books. My brother Tim (well, nephew Matthew) gave me a new jigsaw puzzle this year. That one has twice as many pieces and is a photomosaic of Van Gogh's "Starry Night." I thought I should warm up with this one. Dad and nephews Joshua and Micah had fun puzzling with me last night. We stayed up pretty late and got chatting too.</div>
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<b>December 28, 2016</b></div>
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My brother Dan posted the photo of me above on December 28th. I didn't post any words then, but I will now. This photo was taken at the 9/11 Memorial at Eagle Rock Reservation, West Orange, New Jersey. You can not see it from this perspective, but you can see the New York City skyline from this point. I was reading the names of victims, many of whom were New Jerseyans, on the monument.</div>
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<b>December 28, 2016</b></div>
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Another funny moment in our family. At dinner, we were discussing Gary Chapman's five love languages, which are, in no particular order, quality time, words of affirmation, physical touch, acts of service and giving. The family wondered what my love language was, and mom thought it might be physical touch. I was sitting between brother Dan and sister-in-law Dorothy who both immediately began to stroke and pet my back with both hands.Nephew Micah reached across the table and began to brush my arm with his fingertips. I said, "I feel so loved," and then, "I also feel like a golden retriever."<div>
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<b>January 2, 2016</b></div>
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(Okay, so this is technically not a December post, but it deals with a December event.)</div>
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I had an eventful weekend. This Saturday, I had the privilege of attending the wedding of two friends, Kathy and Steve, who had their first date twenty years ago! I enjoyed the ceremony at a little church where the former chaplain of our singles' group is the director of youth ministries. The reception, held at the church, was a combined winter wonderland and New Year's theme. I enjoyed seeing old friends I hadn't seen in a while and meeting some new ones, including the nine-year-old piano player from the ceremony who enjoys reading and writing stories. Afterwards, I met up with friends at the home of Todd and Jo Anne for a New Year's Eve party. I'm so happy and blessed to have a number of good friends.<div>
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Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-58240953276436177262016-12-20T21:50:00.000-08:002016-12-20T21:55:03.508-08:00December in Facebook Posts<b><br /></b>
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I have been thinking that the little snippets of life I post to Facebook are a diary of sorts, and compiling these bits together should give you an idea of my recent activities.<br />
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<b>December 1st</b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I got a Christmas decorating injury. I must have sliced my finger on a cardboard box and -- sorry if this is disturbing to some of you -- actually sliced into my fingernail at the root end. Who knew that Christmas decorating was dangerous?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 3rd</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Some news. I got my new proofs this morning and approved them. "Action Men with Silly Putty" should be available in print in the next three or five days. I'll make a big announcement when it is.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 5th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Last week, I wrote up a draft for the first chapter in the Paloma book (a biography.) I still need to fill in some blanks for chapter one and got some new information from Paloma's mom. I helped Mom decorate the house and prepare a special Christmas luncheon for her Bible study ladies on Friday. I arranged the fruit salad plates and helped serve. Mom made a terrific seafood medley with crab, shrimp and scallops in an alfredo sauce over rice. Dad </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">put his origami skills to work with some fantastic napkin folding. (He folded trees with green napkins and pinwheels with red ones.) I finished off the week going to see Handel's "Messiah" by the Cathedral Choir at Hawthorne Gospel Church with friends Jeannie </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">and Iris</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">. Friend Stan </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">was part of the choir, and his son was the tenor soloist. It's been a wonderful Christmas season so far.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DxtyBOr0bKQ/WFoSblPU6LI/AAAAAAAABlQ/g_ovC191yvo9q3HHyEY7ZFey7g8Uv6MpACLcB/s1600/Messiah_Hawthorne-NJ-2015-And-suddenly-there-was-with-the-angels.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DxtyBOr0bKQ/WFoSblPU6LI/AAAAAAAABlQ/g_ovC191yvo9q3HHyEY7ZFey7g8Uv6MpACLcB/s400/Messiah_Hawthorne-NJ-2015-And-suddenly-there-was-with-the-angels.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soprano soloist Winnie Nieh</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 5th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I just got my copy of Maria Lynn Hurty</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">'s <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1539523314/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_api_0oCmybN2G8B99" target="_blank">"Christmas Crazy to Jesus Joy"</a> Advent devotional. I read her reference to the "greasy grimy gopher guts" song and thought, "That's my Maria." </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">She does make a spiritual point of it, I promise. I'm pretty sure she serenaded me with that song once upon a time. I know she taught me the "My Reindeer Flies Sideways" song to the tune of "Pomp and Circumstance." Really, it looks like a lovely book with some nice thoughts, beautiful photography and some Maria humor.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 5th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Well, here it is. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Action-Men-Silly-Putty-Donegal/dp/1539038394/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1482298455&sr=1-1&keywords=Action+Men+with+Silly+Putty" target="_blank">"Action Men with Silly Putty"</a> is now available in print. $</span><span class="_47e3 _5mfr" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;" title="smile emoticon"><span aria-hidden="1" class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;">:) </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">8.99 It would make a good Christmas present for someone or maybe just a gift to yourself.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 7th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I did some transcription today from one of my interviews with Miss Paloma. Earlier, I helped to rearrange the furniture to make room for the Christmas tree in the front room, and Dad assembled it. Decoration for the tree will happen tomorrow. Already, two packages arrived at the house with gifts I've ordered. I did all my shopping online. Tonight, I plan to watch the live "Hairspray" on NBC.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>December 10th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Mom and Dad got a new high-def TV on a Cyber Monday deal. When it was first set up, we didn't have the new cable box, so I enjoyed connecting it to my Youtube account to play my Youtube lists and recommendations on the big high-def screen. Some of the musicians I follow make very visually pleasing videos, often taken in nature scenes, so it was very enjoyable to see them in high-def. We watched Piano Guys, a cellist named Tina Guo and The Harp Twins, Camille and Kennerly, among others.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 10th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I'm putting more ornaments on the tree today. We have a number of bird ornaments, airplane ornaments, star and angel ornaments. For some reason, I tend to arrange these on levels towards the top of the tree, birds then planes, then stars, then angels. This is what I try to do anyway. Right now, unless I move him, I've got a little boy flying a kite that is somewhere in the airplane level and practically in the realm of the angels. (This thought was not in the original post, but I thought I would add it here. That kite has a lot of lift!) </span><br />
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<b style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">December 11th</b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">My family seems to know I like to cuddle up in blankets in cold weather. One year, for Christmas, I received a Snuggie. Another year, I received another brand's version, what my brother dubbed the "blue burrito." The blue blanket zips and snaps around you and transforms you into a kind of burrito. Well, it's blue burrito weather. In fact, I have that and an additional blanket.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 12th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I have to report for jury duty tomorrow. Do you think that if I tell them I'm a mystery fiction writer, I won't get assigned to a case?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">So, the day went by fine. I was in the jury pool for a criminal/murder case. I suppose it could have worked as a research opportunity as a couple of you pointed out. On the questionnaire, I did mention my mystery novel and named "Forensic Files" as a TV show I watch. Anyway, I wasn't selected, and I don't need to return tomorrow. I was able to do a lot of nice reading on my Kindle and finished the book I had started.</span><br />
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<b>December 15th</b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I made up a new word for the state of today's weather ... bbrriness.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 18th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I'm watching a movie starring two of my favorite classic actors, Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart, "The Philadelphia Story."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 18th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">We had a lovely Christmas cantata yesterday. The worship team proceeded down the aisle with electric candles. One of the little girls in church dressed as an angel and sat by the manger scene with a little lamb puppet. We sang with a a combination of CD accompaniment and live piano. We even had a small brass section, two trumpets and one saxophone, playing for the processional, recessional, Christmas carol singalong section of the program and in the foyer before and after the concert. Hot chocolate and cookies were served. It was all lovely. One friend commented (slightly paraphrased), "You know how you are watching a Christmas movie and everything is so cozy, and you wish you were there? I felt like I was in a Christmas movie. I was there."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 19th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I've been enjoying reading friends' posts about their Christmas baking. Yesterday, I baked <a href="https://www.hersheys.com/recipes/en_US/recipes/5191/kisses-peanut-butter-blossoms.html" target="_blank">peanut butter blossom cookies</a> with Hershey kisses. Today, I hope to make gingerbread men with a new Kitchen Aid mixer.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>December 20th</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I just made some gingersnaps for Christmas. I tried out a <a href="http://ohsodelicioso.com/soft-gingersnaps-gingerbread-men/" target="_blank">recipe from a food blogger</a> and adapted it slightly with some seasoning ideas from an <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/ginger-snaps-recipe.html" target="_blank">Alton Brown recipe</a>. These have a combination of fresh grated ginger and minced crystallized ginger instead of ground ginger. Mom, Dad and I all taste tested them and decided they are pretty good. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I added a half cup flour to one half of the dough for making gingerbread boys tomorrow.</span><br />
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Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-84110533496807548152016-12-06T13:31:00.001-08:002016-12-06T13:31:20.780-08:00Life Update:Transition, a New Project and Book News<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, I've been neglecting this blog and even Google + for a while now. I'm hoping that will change very soon once things start settling into a new pattern. My life has been going through some change, good change ultimately.<br />
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For the past ten years, I have worked for a local newspaper in northern New Jersey, part of the North Jersey Media Group. North Jersey was taken over by Gannett ("USA Today") and changes started happening. There were new meetings and there were interviews, and eventually there was a question of whether I would be staying on with the company in a new position or if I would be among those laid off. I was among the lay-offs, which, although it was not the outcome for which I was hoping, I began to see it as a new opportunity to do something different, to venture out with some freelance writing.<br />
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Some of the last month with the company was stressful. I covered four towns, and now that many New Jersey towns have Board of Ed elections on Election Day, I had a lot of candidates to interview between BOE and town council candidates for four towns. One town had 10 candidates for Board of Ed alone. I put in some overtime during Election Week.<br />
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Leaving my job was bittersweet. My small office had moved into a bigger office, set in a nice New Jersey community among a beautiful downtown. We were there for several months, and I made new friends. I enjoyed several social events with the new coworkers, ice cream socials and book club meetings, which culminated in a final farewell party at a local restaurant. At the same time, I was assured God had good things in His mind for me and my future.<br />
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I joined the Upwork site for freelancers and set up a profile before my final day at the office. Within a week of being out of work, I was contracted for a new project, ghostwriting the biography of a remarkable young woman, an 11-year-old Florida girl, Paloma Rambana, who is legally blind and successfully lobbied the legislature for funding for visually impaired children.<br />
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It's really a suitable project for me for several reasons.<br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">1) It combines my journalism and creative writing skills.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">2) I like kids.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">3) I especially like this age group. My first book had 11-year-old characters.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">4) I like feel-good uplifting stories.</span><br />
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Already, I have interviewed my girl twice by Skype, and it has been delightful getting to know her as she swung her phone or tablet around and gave me a virtual tour of her room and her artwork on the walls.<br />
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Paloma has been featured in the news quite a lot previously, often Florida news but also in <a href="http://people.com/human-interest/paloma-rambana-blind-florida-girl-raises-over-1-million-to-help-others/" target="_blank">"People"</a> magazine and "Huffington Post."<br />
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Here is a very short clip of my young subject with Senator Marco Rubio.<br />
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And here she is addressing the American Legion, telling them about some of her activist efforts.<br />
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So, I am grateful to have a new project and to be working from home.<br />
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In other news, just yesterday, my mystery comedy novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Action-Men-Silly-Putty-Donegal/dp/1539038394/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1481059225&sr=8-1&keywords=Action+Men+with+Silly+Putty" target="_blank">"Action Men with Silly Putty,"</a> came out in print format and is available on Amazon. This is big news. The process turned out to be slightly longer and more complex than I expected at first. I am happy to be able to make the announcement that it is finally available and in time for Christmas. I know many readers prefer traditional print books. The print version is $8.99.<br />
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Please, give it a try for yourself or as a Christmas gift. It's a mood lifter. One reader, who read the ebook version, said he released so many endorphins by laughing while reading that he may no longer have depression by the time he finished.<br />
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<br />Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-15847889503591713172016-10-03T22:25:00.000-07:002016-10-04T19:27:21.539-07:00Action Men and the Great Zarelda, Part 9<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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Continued from <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/07/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">Parts 1</a>,<a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">2</a>,<a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial_10.html" target="_blank">3</a>,<a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-4.html" target="_blank">4</a>,<a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-5.html" target="_blank">5</a>,<a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-6.html" target="_blank">6,</a><a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-7.html" target="_blank">7</a>, and <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/09/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-7.html" target="_blank">8</a>...<br />
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My opportunity to slyly rescue the
iPhone or any of the other items from the box prior to the
performance never came. Zarelda and Kumar kept at their station near
it until the last possible moment, and then there was hurried
instruction to prepare to go onstage.</div>
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The show went smoothly, and I think I
executed my part well. There were a few surprise elements. Zarelda
made several costume changes. They were so quick that I wondered if
she had a costumer's equivalent of a race car pit crew backstage.
One of these costumes, had she worn it on the plane in place of the
red dress, I would have been adequately satisfied that there was
nothing amiss with her legs. It was cut high on both sides with
plenty of leg exposed. Instead of looking like a suspiciously
potential smuggler of parrots, she looked like an exotic bird of
paradise herself. Iridescent crystals hung in tassels down her front
and, while the white gown was cut high on the sides, long
feathery extensions, like exotic plumage, dangled down the center of
her gown as a skirt in both the front and rear.</div>
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Midway through the show, she performed
a trick I had never seen in rehearsal. I knew about this only in
part, that at this point in the program, she would do a trick that
didn't require my involvement. She emerged in a flamenco dress like the one
in which I had first seen her, only this one was in cobalt blue. Her
near-hypnotic power I had felt on first seeing her now seemed to take
hold of the entire audience. She took graceful flamenco steps as she
twirled and stomped down center stage, her arms arcing and twisting
above her head. “You must help me with this one,” she told the
audience. “Dream of Brazil. Dream of the Amazon. Dream of Brazil.
Say it with me.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was a chant as she twirled and
stomped, and the audience joined in. It took on an almost creepy
tone, like a cult leader directing her flock. As she twirled, and the
audience chanted, she transmogrified. I saw, perhaps, some of the
special lighting effects that required Kumar's help. The cobalt skirt
rippled with her movement, and as she moved, a projection of a tall
waterfall was made onto her skirt, and it seemed to take on life. I
was mesmerized by her. She flicked her wrist in a dainty dance-like
movement, and a macaw, the very variety Jack had displayed on his
cell phone so many days ago, manifested itself suddenly, resting on
her hand. I noticed no secret pockets, no hidden compartments. It
happened in an instant. It was magic.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
From my half-hidden position at the
side of the stage, I looked out to the audience. Somewhere in the
midst of that crowd was Jack. What was he thinking now, a great big
“I told you so?” Zarelda flicked her opposite wrist, and a second
macaw roosted on her hand, and then, just as quickly again, they
vanished, but where? Her voluminous skirt? It was hard to tell. It
was magic, and, at that moment, I was a believer in magic like any
child.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There was nothing particularly menacing
about Zarelda that night. She seemed charming, delightful, a flirt
with the audience, and yet I couldn't push away a certain foreboding
sense of premonition as the evening wore on. I looked out sometimes
at the audience and wished I could discreetly signal Jack about my
sense of unease. I could pull on my ear lobe like Carol Burnett, but
what would that possibly accomplish? I could signal like baseball
players, only we hadn't established any such system of communication,
and my sense of self-dignity was too great to make myself quite that
foolish looking, tapping and pulling at random parts of myself. I had
read once about a hostage blinking SOS in Morse code on TV. Would
Jack pick up that signal or would it simply look like I was having an
episode of petit mal epilepsy? Really, the performance and my role in
it took up so much of my concentration that I was unable to
sufficiently come up with a plan that actually made sense, and I
really had no idea what I was expecting anyway.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I successfully maneuvered my way out
the escape hatch of the vanishing box for our final act. Zarelda
joined me in this private space behind the contraption briefly before
she would appear in my place. It wasn't until she reached her hand up
to my shoulder and then my face almost tenderly that I caught a whiff
of a chemical smell, and everything went black.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To be continued ... </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
&© 2016 Susan Joy Clark</div>
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<br /></div>
Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-18571499460239280992016-10-03T10:40:00.000-07:002016-10-03T10:41:28.794-07:00Woohoo! A Third Five Star Review from Readers' Favorite! <span class="gray-text-underline"></span><br />
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<br />
<span class="gray-text-underline"> I'm so happy to receive yet another terrific review from Readers' Favorite. I'm so delighted that readers enjoy my story. This model gracefully conveys what I'm feeling inside after reading this review. :) </span><br />
<br />
<span class="gray-text-underline">Reviewed By Jack Magnus for Readers’ Favorite</span><br />
<span class="gray-text-underline"></span><span class="gray-text-underline"><br />Action
Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery, Book 1 is an amateur
sleuth mystery novel written by Susan Joy Clark. Andy Westin and his
boss, Jack Donegal, were toy men. They lived, breathed and played their
occupation and had a great time doing it. It was during one of their
business trips to the San Francisco Toy Fair that they came upon an
auction where Jack was unable to resist the charms of a 1915 Steiff
teddy bear. That bear had been part of the estate of a California wine
heiress, Georgina Elwood, a recluse and collector. Immediately after
taking possession of his new teddy, strange things started happening to
Jack and Andy. First, Jack was assaulted by two armed men who thought he
was someone else and threatened him with an ornately carved knife. Then
his iPhone turned out to be missing. Not a problem for them as Andy had
the Find My Phone app, but their misadventures were just beginning, and
the two toy men were delighted to discover a mystery worthy of their
complete attention.<br />
<br />
Susan Joy Clark's private investigator mystery novel, Action Men with
Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery, Book 1, will delight readers who
enjoy a bit of humor mixed in with their sleuthing and pleasantly
surprise those readers such as myself who are usually unaware of - or
worse - unappreciative of comedic touches in their reading material. I
had a grand time following Andy and his iconic boss, Jack, as they
gallivanted around the Bay Area and Southern California and played at
being detectives. Andy is the consummate narrator who, while completely
authentic and original in his own right, agreeably reminded me at times
of Nero Wolf's able and wisecracking sidekick, Archie Goodwin. Clark's
story is breezy, fun and fast-paced, and her plot is inspired. Jack and
Andy are two of the most intriguing new private eyes I've come across in
quite some time, and I can't wait until their creator conjures up
another irresistible conundrum for them to play with. Action Men with
Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery, Book 1 is most highly recommended.</span>Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-80450158135114568062016-10-01T21:25:00.000-07:002016-10-01T21:26:42.103-07:00Two Great New Reviews from Readers' Favorite<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="gray-text-underline">Reviewed By Melissa Tanaka for Readers’ Favorite</span></div>
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<span class="gray-text-underline"><br /></span><span class="gray-text-underline">Action
Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery by Susan Joy Clark centers
on a man by the name of Jack Donegal, who is an eccentric toy inventor,
and his colleague, Andy Westin. Jack becomes a target when he is
mistaken for another man after purchasing an antique teddy bear at a toy
auction. From there, the two men take the situation into their own
hands and decide to investigate the mystery behind the teddy bear and
the secrets that it holds.</span></div>
<span class="gray-text-underline"> </span><br />
<span class="gray-text-underline"> The first person point of view makes
it very easy for readers to become engaged in the story, quickly
slipping into the mind of Andy as he helps his boss and best friend
untangle the web of mysteries that surrounds the bear and the criminals
pursuing it. Although Andy is much more relatable a character, Jack is
an enigma to witness, whether he is pulling random tidbits of
information from the depths of his brain or quickly splicing together
various contraptions in order to save the day. The witty banter between
the two men and their lack of experience in sleuthing endears them to
the reader, and by the end of the first chapter you cannot help but root
for them. They James Bond their way out of several different
situations, resulting in hilarity and various degrees of success.</span><br />
<span class="gray-text-underline"> </span><br />
<span class="gray-text-underline">
Action Men with Silly Putty is a dream come true for mystery fans,
mixing comedy and suspense along with classic gadgets such as hidden
cameras, recording devices, vibration sensors, and everything else a spy
could possibly need. I absolutely loved this book!</span><br />
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<span class="gray-text-underline">Reviewed By Cheryl E. Rodriguez for Readers’ Favorite<br /><br />Susan
Joy Clark’s Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal Mystery is a
hilarious mystery adventure. Jack Donegal and Andy Westin are business
partners and best friends. They are toy men, meaning that they are not
short, but in the toy business. Jack is a quirky and zany inventor – a
master of everything - a techno-geek! Andy is the grounded and sensible
marketing manager. This dynamic duo is in a league all of their own.
While attending an estate auction in San Francisco, Jack purchases an
antique teddy bear. Turns out, this is not your normal teddy bear. Jack
is mugged in a case of mistaken identity, which catapults the toy men
into an unbelievable adventure. Jack is determined is to out scam the
scammers and find the secret behind this mysterious bear. Together, Jack
and Andy put together the pieces this implausible puzzle, one “strange
piece at a time.” <br /> <br /> Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack Donegal
Mystery is fun, engaging, and delightfully entertaining, you won’t want
to put it down! Susan Joy Clark pens a mystery novel full of comedic
escapades. The bungling Mr. Magoo combines with the eccentricity of
Columbo in the main character of Jack Donegal. Clark’s narrative is
witty, comical and adventuresome. The writing style is artfully
imaginative, using amusing and uncanny descriptions. The story is
written from the point of view of the side-kick, which is rare, but
really works! The antics of the characters keep the action moving
quickly. <br /> <br /> The best description of this creative work is
silly-serious; it encompasses both abstract and concrete, humor and
mystery, famous artwork, secret societies, and dating advice. The
villains are bad guys, thugs with slightly dark motives and criminal
intentions, contrasting with the good guys who are out for justice, and
motivated to do what is right. Action Men with Silly Putty: A Jack
Donegal Mystery is a wild goose chase full of hare-brained ideas and
geeky technology. It is a fun and enjoyable read from beginning to end.</span><br />
<span class="gray-text-underline" data-mce-style="color: red;" style="color: red;"> </span></div>
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Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-73394224128858294712016-09-11T20:21:00.001-07:002016-09-11T20:21:26.930-07:00Action Men and the Great Zarelda, Part 8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--iIM9iZ5vlY/V9YcXJ3TZSI/AAAAAAAABgs/5s-DPX_y0IodyKhp9eIzbCEbh8-zWgHsACLcB/s1600/Kinetic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--iIM9iZ5vlY/V9YcXJ3TZSI/AAAAAAAABgs/5s-DPX_y0IodyKhp9eIzbCEbh8-zWgHsACLcB/s400/Kinetic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Continued from <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/07/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">Parts 1</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">2</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial_10.html" target="_blank">3</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-4.html" target="_blank">4</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-5.html" target="_blank">5</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-6.html" target="_blank">6</a> and <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-7.html" target="_blank">7</a></div>
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“Maybe the darkness will cue them to
sleep?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I was hoping it would, but it
doesn't seem to be working so far. They must have been sedated but
woke up sooner than expected. I could slip them some Tylenol PM in a
White Castle burger, but I don't like the idea of drugging them.” I
had no idea how much sedative it would take for them to sleep or how
much would be unsafe for them, and I didn't want to be responsible.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Neither do I,” said Jack. “Maybe
you should sing to them.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I've been singing to them. I don't
think they're impressed.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Or maybe they'll be like human
babies. The motion of the car will put them to sleep. Maybe you
should sing them to sleep while you're driving.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm not sure I can sing and drive at
the same time,” I said. Maybe that was just an excuse. I'd already
serenaded the tigers … twice. Now I was racking my brain, trying to
think up soothing-tiger-cubs-to-sleep songs, and was coming up with
zilch. Maybe I was also getting nervous about my wild predicament.
What was I going to do if I showed up at the theater with two
wakened, active, noisy little tigers … act like Zarelda's willing
accomplice?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I have an idea,” said Jack. “I'll
serenade the tigers while you drive.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You'll serenade them while I drive?
How are you going to do that?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We'll use the FaceTime app. You can
stick your phone in the box with the tigers. It will serve a dual
purpose. It will act as a night light. Maybe, they'll be more
content.”</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was a weird plan, one in a string of
weird plans that Jack came up with and I went along with, but there
was a little bit of sense to it. “Put the phone in the box with the
tigers, huh? On one condition ...”</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“On one condition? What's that?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That you'll replace my phone if the
tigers decide to use it as a chew toy.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There was a pause. “I guess that's a
risk I'm willing to take. For the sake of the business, you need a
phone upgrade anyway. Andy, somewhere in the back of a vehicle, is a
box of our Buddy Bears. Take one out and toss one in with the tigers.
I also have a polar fleece jacket in the back. Toss that in with the
tigers to get them ready for nap time.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I went hunting in the back of the
vehicle and found the box of bears. Using a Swiss Army knife in my
pocket to cut through the packing tape, I opened it up and pulled out
a bear. These weren't just ordinary stuffed bears. They said friendly
phrases like “Let's be friends,” “Do you need a hug?” and
thirteen other sayings when squeezed in the middle. I was really
hoping the tigers wouldn't be rough with it and pounce on its tummy.
That really wouldn't help our case. I tossed the bear into the box,
feeling just a little bit like I was tossing a gladiator to the
lions.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I found a navy blue polar fleece jacket
folded up in the back. “I found a polar fleece,” I said to Jack
on the phone. “It's hard to believe it's yours. It looks so
ordinary. Where are the cartoon ...” I unfolded it. “Oh, there
they are.” The whole troop of seven dwarfs sprawled out over the
back. “Are you sure you want to toss this in with the cubs? What if
they go number two on it? Or number one, for that matter. Either way,
they'll do a number on it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It's old,” said Jack. “I guess
that's also a risk I'm willing to take.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I tossed in the polar fleece. Suddenly,
I remembered a roll of duct tape we kept in the rear of the vehicle.
Jack wasn't the only one with a little bit of brain. I pulled off a
piece of tape, rolled it, and stuck it to the back of the phone. I
then taped the phone high up on the wall of the box interior. It
didn't precisely tiger-proof the phone, but maybe it, at least, made
it slightly less vulnerable.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As I drove off en route to Zarelda's
theater, I could hear Jack's glee club voice singing “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXQ03XUwe_s" target="_blank">Danny Boy</a>.”
“Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, from glen to glen
and down the mountainside...” I suppose as a freckled reddish-head
with Irish heritage, I should have as much Irish pride as anyone, but
leave it to Jack to know old Irish folk songs from memory. I had to
admit it was slow and soothing and, after a while, I felt like I
needed an espresso to keep myself awake. Somewhere between White
Castle and Zarelda's theater, I heard silence in the back, hearing
neither tigers or Jack's voice. Singing lullabies to tiger cubs via
the FaceTime app might be one of the zanier things Jack had done in
his life, but it seemed to be successful.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I delivered the box to Zarelda,
she acted very grateful. “Thank you very much, darling.” She
tucked a couple of folded bills into my hand. I didn't even unfold
them in her presence to see which president was on them. Now that I
knew the secret of the box, I didn't really want to accept them
either, except that I was playing Colonel Klink – <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34ag4nkSh7Q" target="_blank">“I know nothing!”</a> – so I tucked them away, acting like it was a generous
tip for going the extra mile. As I expected, Zarelda didn't fuss with
the box or open its compartments while I was in the room with her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I headed then to my dressing room to
transform myself into Andy the magician's assistant or Andy the
glitterized '70s variety show wannabe, however you wanted to look at
it. As I was fastening on my cummerbund, a sickening realization came
to me. My iPhone was still in the box. If Zarelda found it, she'd
realize I was in the know, and she might be able to access some other
information as well. The bear and the coat were in the box still too,
and any of those things could be traced to me, but I was especially
worried by the phone.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We had a half hour still to show time,
so I headed down to the prop room. Maybe I could retrieve it before
the show without disturbing the tigers and without Zarelda knowing
anything of it. When I came across the box, Zarelda was right there
by it and so, interestingly enough, was Kumar from the Houdini's
Magic Shop.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Kumar?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hi, yeah, I sometimes come and help
out with the lighting and special effects during the shows. She
didn't tell you?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We had special lighting and effects? We
hadn't rehearsed any while I was involved. I shook my head and then
just stood there stupidly, not knowing what my next step should be.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What are you doing down here,
darling?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh,” I said, “Just some pre-show
nerves. I just thought I'd walk around and, you know, get into
character.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Kumar's eyebrows raised up. “You have
to get into character?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I looked down at my pearlized and
glitterized costume. I certainly didn't feel like myself. “I have a
character. Yeah, I have a character.” Unsure what more to say, I
just walked away and began pacing, wandering around the room, not
sure how it helped me “get into character.” Zarelda and Kumar
remained at their station and yet didn't seem to be doing anything
more productive than I was doing. I had a feeling we were all three
watching one another on the sly.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To be continued ... </div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
© Susan Joy Clark 2016Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-77885007586721164182016-09-09T21:11:00.001-07:002016-09-09T21:11:03.177-07:00"Action Men with Silly Putty": The Soundtrack, Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b_fPifH-z80/V9OHurOocnI/AAAAAAAABf0/6f0_3l0cfEYXCgNmpPGF6vy7GMk1sAOSgCLcB/s1600/11111158_816521858415904_1119385493092401701_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b_fPifH-z80/V9OHurOocnI/AAAAAAAABf0/6f0_3l0cfEYXCgNmpPGF6vy7GMk1sAOSgCLcB/s400/11111158_816521858415904_1119385493092401701_o.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
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<br />
For some reason, this book ended up having a kind of soundtrack. In most of the fiction I have done, music has served some sort of inspirational purpose, but it was sometimes "behind the scenes," not something that came out in the actual writing. There might be songs that I would play over and over again during some stage of the creative process, because it inspired me to write about a particular character or scene, but the song itself was not part of the story. With "Action Men with Silly Putty," I found that quite a few song titles actually got mentioned within the context of the story and that this trend continued throughout. Thus, my book ended up with a soundtrack.<br />
<br />
I want to share that with you. In some places, I can share some lines of context and some places not in case it should prove to be a spoiler.<br />
<br />
It's also a fairly eclectic soundtrack with songs from jazz, rock, country, Broadway, even opera and classical.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In the beginning, we meet a suspect with two differently colored eyes, heterochromia iridum.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"I started to whistle 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.' It wasn’t my favorite
song in the world as I’m not too fond of getting looped up and seeing pink
elephants or walruses with egg men or whatever it is you’re supposed to see while
under the influence, but it was that line 'the girl with the kaleidoscope eyes.' It
seemed fitting." From this point on, this suspect comes to be known as Kaleidoscope Eyes.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Rubber Ball"</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Jack Donegal is a toy inventer and the owner of his own toy business, Out of the Box Toys. His buddy Andy Westin is his marketing manager. The "Rubber Ball" song comes out in the context of a musical ball in their toy line.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Are You Going To San Francisco?"</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
Although my sleuths, Jack Donegal and Andy Westin, are New Jersey natives, the opening scenes take place in California and San Francisco.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
At some point, Jack persuades Andy to don a disguise in the chapter "We Become Spies At the Expense of My Dignity." Jack picks out a loud rainbow tie-dye T-shirt -- a beaded one -- for Andy at a Salvation Army thrift store.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"'Are you sure this is men’s wear?' I asked. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I actually took the hanger from him and sniffed at the shirt cautiously,
expecting to detect traces of a five-leafed plant. I inspected the tag, but there was
nothing to indicate how gender neutral it was … or not.
“Don’t worry,” said Jack. “You’ll fit right in with the culture.”
I’d fit right in with the culture, all right, providing it was a subculture of
hippie Indian chiefs. I remembered that ‘60s song about the gentle people you’d
meet in San Francisco, you know, the ones with flowers in their hair. I would
have to draw a line at flowers in the hair. I eyed Jack with caution, almost as if he
could read my mind. I ran a hand through my summer crew cut, relieved that my
hair would not hold a flower even if I tried it." </div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/eHQzHb9DVmQ/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eHQzHb9DVmQ?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>"Mission Impossible Theme"</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The next few songs are mentioned in the context of a chapter titled "Music as Psychological Warfare and the Most Esoteric Security Code Imaginable"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Soul Bossa Nova"</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General"</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Bad Boys"</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
These two songs "Hit Me with Your Best Shot" and "One Way or Another" were actually listed separately but close together in this chapter. While I was writing though, I did a lot of listening to this <i>Glee</i> medley of both songs.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Hit Me with Your Best Shot/One Way or Another"</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
There's actually quite a few more, and it makes a long list, so I think I will leave some for a new installment. </div>
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<br /></div>
Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-58018435769635829432016-08-31T18:37:00.002-07:002016-09-07T21:54:26.123-07:00Action Men and the Great Zarelda, Part 7<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c2iBQfENqHY/V8eDXn9uPdI/AAAAAAAABdk/0M2cK0MxfQAK9J7LLSfbIrOcX_YmdQN6wCLcB/s1600/Kinetic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c2iBQfENqHY/V8eDXn9uPdI/AAAAAAAABdk/0M2cK0MxfQAK9J7LLSfbIrOcX_YmdQN6wCLcB/s400/Kinetic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Continued from <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/07/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">Parts 1</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">2</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial_10.html" target="_blank">3</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-4.html" target="_blank">4</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-5.html" target="_blank">5</a>, and <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-6.html" target="_blank">6 </a>...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A short while later, I saw a White
Castle to my left, and I swung into the parking lot. <i>White Castle.
At least, we're in the right territory for carnivores, but how many
White Castle burgers can a tiger cub eat? </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I walked into the restaurant and pulled
out my phone while I got into line. “Jack?”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I've got a situation.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What sort of situation?”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I looked at the heads and backs of the
people in front of me in line. Nobody seemed interested in me or what
I was saying, but I was still concerned about someone overhearing
about my unique predicament. "Well, the … the order I picked up
had a surprise in it.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Interesting.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, the box I picked up is huge.
It's the size of a person. I thought it was empty at first, but it
isn't.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“And so?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You remember watching 'Rocky III'
and seeing Rocky run the stairs of the Philadelphia Museum of Art?”
I started singing. “Bum BumBum Bum … Bum Bum Buuuuum,” making a
lame attempt at singing the opening notes of “Eye of the Tiger.”
For someone who didn't like to sing or dance publicly, I was doing a
lot of it lately.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sylvester Stallone was in the box?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Nooooo. Think, man.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You did say the box was the size of
a person.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I thought about the old Password game
show and the Taboo board game and tried to put my gaming skills to
use. What does tiger rhyme with? It rhymes with nothing, except for
liger, which wasn't entirely helpful. “Tony, Daniel … Eye …
What do these things have in common?” I had somehow switched the
game from Taboo to Tribond, dreaming up fictional tigers.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What do you have in common with Tony
and Daniel?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Not you … eye,” I said. I looked
ahead and saw there were still a couple of customers ahead of me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That's what I said, isn't it? I'm
talking about you, not myself.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This clearly wasn't working. In
frustration, I said,“Who's on first? What's on second? I don't
know's on third.” I paused. “Okay. Let's try this.” I tried to
think of another fictional tiger that had nothing to do with either
breakfast cereal or <i>Mister Roger's Neighborhood. </i>“Tony,
Daniel, Richard Parker ...” I added the last one, remembering the
odd name of the tiger in <i>The Life of Pi</i>. “What do these
things have in common?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Are they college friends of yours?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Noooo.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm at a loss.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I know. I'm in line at the White
Castle, because I have a couple of kids with me that I need to feed
-- cubs, minus the scouts, if you get my drift.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Eureka!” said Jack. “Cubs. Tony
the Tiger, Daniel Tiger … Who's Richard Parker?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Eureka? What modern guy says “Eureka?”
I wanted to say “You-geek-a” back to him, but I do have some
restraint. “Never mind. Now the light dawns. Excuse me a moment
...” I had moved to the front of the line now. To the cashier, I
said, “I'd like the Crave Case of 30. Thanks.” Would that be
enough? I might want to eat too. “Make that two Crave Cases.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The teen male cashier smiled at me.
“Having a party, huh?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You have no idea. They're animals,
these guys.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The teen nodded at me, still smiling.
“I got ya. I got ya. I have friends like that too.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I nodded back at him, but I seriously
doubted it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After I headed back to the SUV with two
bags o' burgers, I continued my conversation with Jack. “What do
you think I should do? Should we involve the police? Animal Control?”
Whose department was this anyway? “We look a little guilty at this
point, right? And we haven't firmly pegged any sort of crime on
Zarelda, although I should have a bunch of surveillance footage from
the store. I scanned a bunch of spread sheets on a desk at the back,
but I don't really know what I've got there.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We could contact our old friends Lt. Kelly and Officer Quinn?
Then again, they might be a little annoyed with us. By now, it looks
like we're making a habit of solving crimes, or trying to, without
police involvement.” After a pause, Jack said, “I think you
should just play it cool with Zarelda, act like you know nothing,
bring her the package with the tigers, go through your act tonight
and wait for her to incriminate herself further.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'll be Colonel Klink. Got it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I got off the phone with Jack and
turned my attention to the hungry babes. I lifted the doors over the
tigers' compartment, hoping the smell of meat wouldn't drive them too
wild.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Before doing anything further, I
snapped a photo of the tigers and sent this photo evidence to Jack,
with whom I'd just gotten off the phone, via text. I texted him.
“Zarelda's illegal cargo. Cute, aren't they? You'll appreciate the
placement of the mirror that tricked me into thinking the box was
empty.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I put the phone aside and held up one
of the burgers in its little white box. “Okay, Eb, Ive … let me
tell you something. This here is food.” I drew a line in the air
around the burger. I then wiggled the fingers of my empty right hand.
“This is not. Okay. I'm glad I had this little talk with you.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I didn't really expect them to eat the
buns or the pickles or the onions. I lifted off the top bun and used
it to scrape off everything that wasn't meat into the white carton
then took both bun halves and tucked them away into the carton like
the neatnik that I am. The little burger I pinched in my fingers and
flung like it was a miniature Frisbee into the compartment. It was
gone in an instant. This really was a magic box where things
magically disappeared. I repeated the process and flung more meat
Frisbees to the tigers. I sang, this time with only Eb and Ive as my
audience, “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJXzkUH72cY" target="_blank">Hold the pickles, hold the lettuce. Special orders don't upset us</a>,” remembering the retro Burger King jingle. I kept the
burger saucers flying. “I know. Wrong fast food chain … not that
you guys would know the difference.” Technically, there was no
lettuce, but I couldn't make onion rhyme with “upset us.” I went
through one bag's supply of burgers but decided to keep the second
bag in reserve. Then, though I hated to do it, I shut them up in
darkness again, and, again, they cried. “Give me a break, guys,”
I told them. “What options do I have?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Situating myself so I could drive
again, a new question came to mind. How would I get Eb and Ive over
to the theater and play innocent like Colonel Klink when the tigers
were awake and active and crying? I called Jack again. “We've got
to get these tigers to sleep again. I can't act like I'm innocent and
don't know what's going on when the tigers are obviously awake and
crying!”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To be continued ...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
© 2016 Susan Joy ClarkSusan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-82819166161193815512016-08-29T20:51:00.000-07:002016-08-29T20:51:47.905-07:00Liebster Award<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://curveballsandmedschool.files.wordpress.com/2014/08/liebsteraward_3lilapples1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="363" src="https://curveballsandmedschool.files.wordpress.com/2014/08/liebsteraward_3lilapples1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The lovely <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/103841837799674571672" target="_blank">Diane Lynn</a> of <a href="http://www.thegratitudeletters.com/the-letters/" target="_blank">The Gratitude Letters</a> nominated me for the Liebster Award.<br />
<br />
In keeping with the Liebster Award tradition, I’ve been asked to
follow the rules and keep the award going.<br />
<br />
The rules are as follows:<br />
<br />
1. Acknowledge the person who has nominated you for this award.<br />
2. Answer the 11 questions that the blogger gives you.<br />
3. Give 11 random facts about yourself.<br />
4. Nominate other deserving bloggers.<br />
5. Let them know you’ve nominated them.<br />
6. Give 11 questions for the nominees to answer.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Coffee or tea?</b><br />
<br />
Coffee. I drink coffee on most days, usually Dunkin' Donuts coffee, and have been drinking iced coffees in the summer weather. I also like tea and drink more of it when I'm sick or have a throat issue, but not exclusively only during those times. My favorite tea is Earl Grey. I like the romantic Victorian idea of a tea party and have visited several tea houses.<br />
<br />
<b>2. What was the last book you read?</b><br />
<br />
<i>Dream More </i>by Dolly Parton. I don't often read celebrity-written books, but after a visit to Dollywood this summer, I was intrigued. It's an expansion of her commencement address at the University of Tennessee. I'm currently reading <i>The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club</i>, part of the Lord Peter Wimsey series by Dorothy Sayers, and <i>Crossing Boarders</i> by Debra Sue Brice. <br />
<br />
<b>3. If you could only take one cd with you on a deserted island, what would it be? (Assume there is a cd player there.)</b><br />
<br />
This is a tough one, because I'm eclectic and like music in different categories. It's hard to compare favorites in different categories because it's like comparing apples to oranges. I sometimes say that my favorite piece is Gershwin's <i>Rhapsody in Blue</i>. Although I have other favorites in other categories, this one rates way up there, so I will say my desert island CD would be a Gershwin collection of his top hits that had both <i>Rhapsody in Blue</i> and selections from <i>An American in Paris</i>. Because the music is somewhat complex, I think I wouldn't tire of it as easily. <br />
<br />
<b>4. What is the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning?</b><br />
<br />
The first thing I do when I get up in the morning is go to the bathroom, which, I suppose, is not very interesting. Before this happens, I may pray a little bit and think of the day ahead. <br />
<br />
<b>5. If you could be anything in the world when you grow up, what would it be?</b><br />
<br />
This one is easy, an author who could actually live off her book sales. <br />
<br />
<b>6. If you won a million dollars, what is the first thing you would buy?</b><br />
<br />
I would buy a home, a house or condo. This would make sense since I don't have my own home right now. For some of the homes, even in my hometown, even a million dollars would not be enough for their purchase, but a million dollars ought to be sufficient to buy some decent home with money left to spare.<br />
<br />
<b>7. Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or 100 duck-sized horses?</b><br />
<br />
How did dear Diane come up with this one, I wonder. A Canadian goose, when it's being aggressive, can chase me away easily. A horse-sized duck, I imagine, would have a beak large enough to swallow my head. On the other hand, I'm attracted to what we call miniature horses that are still much bigger than duck-sized. Really miniature horses would be quite adorable, I think, even if they were fierce. I think I would scoop them up one by one and try to win them over with my cuddles and extremely amateurish horse-whispering skills ... whether they liked it or not. "Let me love you!" I imagine kicks from even miniscule horses could be painful. Keep in mind that I don't live in horse country. My mother, who is originally a Nebraska girl, had a different perspective. "Have you ever seen wild horses? Do you realize that they bite?" I hadn't considered the little horses biting before this, but I'm imagining Barbie doll horses come to life, and I think I could just close their snouts with a little pressure from my fingers, well, not all 100 of them at once. I still think I'd prefer to deal with tiny horses than a giant maddened duck. This is beginning to sound like a somewhat ridiculous fantasy story, "Susan the Giant Horse Whisperer Vs. An Attacking Army of Lilliputian Horses." <br />
<br />
<b>8. What is the last board game you played?</b><br />
<br />
I last played You've Been Sentenced, a great game for writers, where you have to construct sensible sentences with the cards you've been dealt, each card containing a sentence segment, perhaps with several options, such as different verb conjugations.<br />
<br />
<b>9. What is the last movie you saw?</b><br />
<br />
The last movie I saw in the theater was "Race" on Jesse Owens and the 1936 Olympics in Berlin.<br />
<br />
<b>10. How would you describe yourself in three words?</b><br />
<br />
introspective, creative, flexible<br />
<br />
<b>11. What is your favorite quote?</b><br />
<br />
"Creativity is intelligence having fun." -- Albert Einstein <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b> Eleven Random Facts </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
1. I'm the lastborn and have three older brothers who are 12, 10 and eight years older.</div>
2. Over two summers, I taught English as a foreign language in Hungary and Latvia.<br />
3. I've been in some sort of choir or singing group perpetually for 30 years.<br />
4. In the past few years, I've ventured into singing solos. I am thinking to add some singing videos to my Youtube channel but would like a collaborator who could play a musical accompaniment.<br />
5. I never learned true ventriloquism, but I've done puppet skits where I've unwittingly given viewers the illusion that I have.<br />
6. I like spices and spicy cuisine like Mexican and Cajun, but I'm refraining from spices on my doctor's recommendation because I have gastritis.<br />
7. I've studied French and Russian in school and have Rosetta Stone software for German.<br />
8. I'm a big fan of Charles Dickens.<br />
9. I find the Victorian period very interesting and like many of the designs inspired by this period.<br />
10. I like browsing in antique stores but don't own any antiques.<br />
11. I love old classic movies and especially enjoy Audrey Hepburn and Carey Grant.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>My Nominees</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My nominees are all bloggers whom I find interesting for different reasons. They are informative and inspirational.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://alekskshaw.com/the-author/" target="_blank">Aleks K. Shaw</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.tracisworld.com/" target="_blank">Traci Lawrence</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://raysoflight2.blogspot.com/2016/08/the-hike-18-upper-river-dove-to.html" target="_blank">Song Smith</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://olivia-savannah.blogspot.nl/2016/08/does-social-media-immortalise-us.html" target="_blank">Olivia's Catastrophe</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://bricesmicechristianbookreviews.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Brices Mice</a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>11 Questions for My Nominees </b></div>
<br />
1. Morning bird or night owl?<br />
2. If money were no object, where would you most like to travel and why?<br />
3. If your life were made into a movie, what actor or actress do you think should portray you?<br />
4. How do you like your eggs?<br />
5. Dog person or cat person?<br />
6. What was your favorite thing to do/play as a child?<br />
7. What is your best Christmas memory?<br />
8. What movie can you watch over and over again?<br />
9. What skill do you have that might surprise some people?<br />
10. Winter or summer?<br />
11. What are five of your favorite books? (Because I know I struggle to name just one.)<br />
<br />
I like this idea of questionnaires. I think we should do this again, with or without an award.<br />
<br />Susan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165971671680020413.post-10370477131433296282016-08-22T17:56:00.000-07:002016-08-24T08:57:45.668-07:00Action Men and the Great Zarelda, Part 6<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VIBBaILcbLQ/V7udCBIA5SI/AAAAAAAABb0/dKkpTaJP6TY1sMhRd3-nzDPsC12y1O0WwCLcB/s1600/Kinetic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VIBBaILcbLQ/V7udCBIA5SI/AAAAAAAABb0/dKkpTaJP6TY1sMhRd3-nzDPsC12y1O0WwCLcB/s400/Kinetic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
Continued from <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/07/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">Parts 1</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial.html" target="_blank">2</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-serial_10.html" target="_blank">3</a>, <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-4.html" target="_blank">4</a> and <a href="http://susanjoyclark.blogspot.com/2016/08/action-men-and-great-zarelda-part-5.html" target="_blank">5</a> ...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The two guys wheeled the box out on a
dolly through the back door while I, unable to squeeze through the
“pasta press,” went out the front door and met them in the
parking lot in the rear. Together we put the box into the SUV, an Out
of the Box Toys company vehicle.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Do I need to sign anything?” I
asked. “Do I get a receipt?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We've emailed the receipt to
Zarelda,” said John.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
With the box secured in the back, I got
in the driver's seat and started to drive towards Zarelda's theater.
I began flipping through the Sirius radio stations: '50s, '60s, '70s,
'80s … What decade did I want to listen to? Or did I want to listen
to all Neil Diamond all the time or all Elvis all the time? Well,
Elvis couldn't be so bad. He was the King after all.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was one of his gospel songs that
came on, a strange pick for me as an agnostic. “I don't know just
where I'd be <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cyk5s3v4Psg" target="_blank">if the Lord wasn't walking by my side</a> ...” It had a
fun rhythm, and I didn't change the channel. Was the Lord walking by
my side? Jack would say, not so much that He was, in my case, but
that He would be if I let Him. “When I was drifting (I was drifting
on a sea of despair,) and I was wondering (I was wondering if
Jehovah's up there ...)” Well, that was true enough. Maybe it
wasn't such a strange song pick for an agnostic.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I drove down Newark's Broadway, past a
lot of small storefronts, some with security steel curtains rolled
down, their business names spelled out on awnings.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“When Jesus found me …” <i>
Scratch. </i>“(When Jesus found me in my sinful life...)” <i>Scratch
Scratch. </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What was with the scratches? What sort
of old recording was used for this song? An old vinyl record full of
crackles and pops? Weren't there ways of reducing these kinds of
noises on old recordings?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I turned the radio off. <i>Scratch.
Scratch.</i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh great,” I said aloud. The noise
was coming from the car. What was it? My brakes? One of the tires?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I pulled the car over to the curb and
parked and turned the car off.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Scratch Scratch. </i>I was still
hearing these noises with the car parked and no longer running. And
then there were more noises, bigger noises, like thumping. It was all
very unnerving.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I got out of the car and walked over to
the sidewalk side, a little nervous to be walking about in this
neighborhood which was much more crime prone than my hometown.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Parrots! It's got to be parrots! But
that box was empty! </i>I resisted the urge to talk to myself aloud
and give passers-by the vibe that I belonged in Bellevue.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I opened the back of the SUV and looked
at the magic prop box. There were two swinging doors on the top side
of the box over the chamber that John and Kumar had shown me was
empty. I swung these open.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Woah!” I said as I bent over and
looked inside. “You guys are not parrots.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was looking down at two tiger cubs,
neither of which was your typical black and orange tiger. One was
albino, and the other was nearly all black. They were cubs, cute
little guys really, but already bigger than any house cat. They were
attached to oxygen – how thoughtful! – but the white cub seemed
to find this plastic attachment to his nose annoying and was swiping
his paw at the tubing and crying, sounding very much like a human
baby.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Somehow,” I told the tigers, “when
I imagined becoming a father, it played out differently in my mind.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wanted to help the little guy, but I
was afraid he'd mistake my hand for a steak. I could see now how this
compartment had appeared empty to me just a little bit earlier. The
tigers were behind an angled mirror. The mirror was positioned in
such a way to make the compartment from my earlier perspective look
empty.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I think I'll name you Ebony and
Ivory.” I had gotten carried away with myself. I had no right to
these tigers, never mind naming them. I thought of the '80s song by
Stevie Wonder and Sir Paul McCartney and started to sing, “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmALA8miQY8" target="_blank">Ebonyand ivory</a>, live together in perfect harmony, side by side on my piano
keyboard. Oh Lord, why can't we?” But since every song I sing comes
out like a monotone <br />
“one note samba,” I wasn't sure this was
the best strategy for persuading them not to eat me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was admiring this symbolic microcosm
of racial harmony when a man of the ebony sort, with bundled
dreadlocks hanging down his back, walked past me on the sidewalk. I
looked up, and he looked back over his shoulder at me, and we made
eye contact. “Hey brother, you can't sing,” he said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I know.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He smiled. “But I like your spirit.
That really touched me … right here.” He tapped the center of his
chest. He started to walk towards me, and I began to get nervous. <i>Oh
boy. Here it comes. He is going to hug me. </i>He was a hugger, not a
mugger. It was I who was the criminal, at least by appearances, with
a car full of hot tigers, for Pete's sake. I backed away from him
slightly, trying to position myself so that I shielded my illegal
cargo from his view. As smooth as I tried to be, I stumbled a bit
over the uneven sidewalk.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hey, relax man. I'm going to hug
you, not mug you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Almost my own exact words! </i>I
quickly shot an arm behind me and closed the top swinging doors of
the box. When Mr. Random Hugger approached, I was ready with open
arms. It was a beautiful moment, and I could enjoy it much better now
that I knew the box was closed.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“All right, brother. Peace out.” He
thumped himself in the chest twice more, gave the peace sign with his
fingers, and then Mr. Random Hugger walked off into the sunset.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I got back in the driver's seat. I had
hated to shut the tigers once more in darkness, but it seemed it
couldn't be helped. I couldn't very well let them wander freely
around the vehicle. Maybe they would take the cue and take a nap …
or maybe not. Soon, I could hear them both crying from the back.
Perhaps, they were hungry.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To be continued ...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
© 2016 Susan Joy ClarkSusan Joy Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15175162058220262157noreply@blogger.com7