The Ghosts Of Stephens Branch

Writen by David Slone

I once lived, for a short time, in a haunted house. Many readers may be skeptical of this "story" but I assure you that it is true. I have been fascinated with ghosts and the unknown since I was a child. True, a clear explanation of just what ghosts are isn't easy to come up with, but the answer to whether or not ghosts are real can be found.

I was doing odd jobs for a retired couple. They had a house up for sale and needed some maintenance work done around the place. The couple made an offer to me to exchange some work for living in the house rent free. I was asked to tear down and remove an old barn, cut some trees, clear the weeds and keep the grass cut.

The house was a three story including the attic that had been converted into two bedrooms. The stairs ascended through all three floors. My wife and I wondered why the house had stood vacant for so long. We were told that no one had lived in the house for years. The owners of the house lived in a smaller place. Why didn't they live in the better one?

One night, shortly after we moved in, we were laying in bed when I heard some sounds coming from downstairs. It sounded like a party was going on. Music was playing. It was old fashioned Big Band type music and sounded as though it were from the 1940's. I could hear a lot of voices talking. Suddenly there were two voices that got louder. A man and a woman were arguing. Even though I could not make out the actual words that were being said somehow I knew that they were arguing.

I asked my wife is she could her anything. When she said "yes" it sent chills down my spine. I asked her to tell me what she was hearing. She described to me the very same thing that I myself had heard!

We got out of bed and I turned on the light. We could still hear the sounds from downstairs. As we went down the steps we turned the lights on as soon as we came to the switches. When we got to the second floor landing the sounds stopped.

We looked in all the rooms downstairs and were talking about what had happened when the sounds stated up once again. This time they seemed to be coming from upstairs. We decided to get our daughter from her room and all sleep downstairs for the night.

Several days later I was talking to an old man who had lived in the area for most of his life. I asked him if there were any strange stories to do with the house. I didn't tell him about my experience yet. He said that a long time ago there had been a murder in the house. He didn't remember the details of what had happened.

It wasn't long before the owners of the house asked us to move out. When I asked for an explanation they only said that they didn't think it was a good idea for anyone to live there. I think they heard about my conversation with the old man - they did know each other.

I may never know what happened in that house sometime long ago but I am convinced that there was a ghostly presence there. Both of us were wide awake and heard the very same things that night. Take it from me, Ghosts are Real!

About The Author: Copyright 2006 David Slone. Visit Ghosts and Hauntings for more true ghost stories. Free content articles you can use on your website, ezine or newsletter. You may republish this article on your website provided author information and active link(s) are left intact.

A Short History Of Printed Art

Writen by Michael Russell

The oldest and most well-known graphic art prints were first produced by woodcut printing. The Chinese were the first to make religious woodcut prints though they never became prominent print designers. The Japanese learned wood cutting and woodcarving techniques from the Chinese and Koreans and went on to produce some of the most prized prints today. The first of these prints were created in black and white and decades later, the Japanese began printing in three colors. At around 1700, they began to use eight to 11 blocks of colors to produce more sophisticated works. One of the big differences between Western and Oriental woodcut art is the way that changes of shade are achieved. For example, in the East, the watercolor is brushed on the surface of the wood block like in a painting, while in the West, shading is achieved by the increasing the degree of engraving and the depth of the designs carved in the wood block.

In Europe during the Middle Ages, woodcuts were primarily used to make fabric designs. Playing cards and religious pictures were also the first products of European printers. After the invention of movable type, history books and Bibles began to be filled with woodcut illustrations.

There are three main methods of making prints. The oldest one is the relief method where the print is carved on a raised surface. Woodcuts are the most popular form of relief painting. It could be tedious because the artist would first get a block of wood and cut away the background from this design. The design was then slowly inked and printed.

The second printing method is called "intaglio" and is the opposite of relief printing. In "intaglio", the print is made from the lines of areas which have been cut or burned away. After the drawing has been carved on a metal plate, the plate is covered with ink. Damp paper is placed on the top of the plate and when the paper and plates are run through the press, the paper he lifts the ink from the lines.

A third method is known as the planographic process. Lithography is the most common type of planographic printing. Slabs of limestone are the most commonly used materials, although lithographs can be made from metal sheets. Lithography was invented in 1796 and was primarily used as a cheap method to produce music sheets. The lithograph first won popularity in France because it was less complicated and cheaper to use than woodcuts and was better suited to mass production. Europeans started to use it as a means to print political propaganda, wall decorations and book illustrations.

The invention of photography ended the use of prints to produce paintings and reproductions. Silk screen also became one of the more popular ways to produce mass prints. Most 20th-century artists have attempted to make prints. Prints are so seldom used today because they are no longer are created for mass-produced publications. So today, a print, whether carved, etched, designed, or printed by the artist himself, is now acknowledged as a precious work of art. But unlike a painting of which there is only one "original", a print can yield up to 50 originals. For this reason, an artist's print can usually cost less than one of his original paintings. However, many great art collections and galleries have been started with the purchase of a single print.

Michael Russell Your Independent guide to Arts

Toys Playdoh

Writen by Michael Russell

2A can of...Well, nobody's really sure what Play-Doh is as its composition is a very closely guarded secret. As a matter of fact, Play-Doh was originally invented to be a wallpaper cleaner and even has a patent for this use. The patent number is U.S. Patent 3,167,440. It was granted to Noah McVicker and Joseph McVicker. Ultimately, these two men realized that they could make more money selling this stuff as a toy than as a wallpaper cleaner. So in 1956 they created Rainbow Crafts to sell their new product.

The thing that most people liked about Play-Doh was that it was non toxic. You could actually eat this stuff and not get sick. The salty taste may not be very appealing but it was certainly not going to kill you. And believe it or not, kids did try to eat this stuff. Drove their parents absolutely up a wall.

Play-Doh was one of the first toys to make its way into schools and daycare centers. It was a simple enough toy that kids could play with and not need a lot of supervision and was versatile enough that you were limited only by your imagination as to what you could actually do with the stuff, which basically came in can and in a variety of colors. Since all the colors were still made of the same substance, you could mix them together with no problem. Of course after doing this it was hard to get each color back into its own can.

The year 1960 was a very big year for Play-Doh because this was the year that the company came up with its first mascot, Play-Doh Pete. The original drawing of this cute little boy had him wearing a smock and a beret. Later on the beret was replaced by a backwards baseball cap. The mascot was put on every single can of Play-Doh that was sold and became as well known as the toy itself.

Also in 1960 the first Play-Doh accessory was created. This was the extremely popular Play-Doh Fun Factory. The Fun Factory was basically a device that you pushed the Play-Doh through to make all kinds of different shapes such as stars, circles and squares. You could chop up these shapes and serve them as food to the kid's dolls. But the Fun Factory wasn't the end of the Play-Doh accessories.

Play-Doh next came out with the Fuzzy Pumper Barber and Beauty Shop. After that they came out with Dr, Drill N Fill. These were all plastic molds. The barber shop was rather unique for its time. The Play-Doh was pushed through this plastic head that made it look like hair. You then took these plastic scissors to cut the hair and style it. Very clever stuff for the 60s.

Eventually, Play-Doh was taken over by Hasbro and they came out with a ton of food preparation machines as that was where things seemed to be going at the time. Everybody wanted to cook. Around this time you also saw things like Suzy Bake Oven and Creepy Crawlers food molds.

But with all the fancy accessories, most kids are just happy to take the stuff out of the can and run their hands through it.

Sometimes, simple is the best.

Michael Russell Your Independent guide to Toys

David Blaine Bringing People Together

Writen by Dion Semeniuk

David Blaine is one of a kind. He is a mysterious man that puts his mind and body through extreme conditions. His latest stunt that was televised live on national TV, called "Drowned Alive", drew thousands of people together to witness his attempt to hold his breath under water for 9 minutes.

David Blaine had become famous initially for his natural ability to shock people with his slight of hand card tricks, and also his mind blowing magic tricks that would send people screaming down the streets not wanting to believe what they just had witnessed. But now, Blaine has been becoming more of a man that will test the limits of his body. There is no smoke and mirrors. There are no cards involved. It is just Blaine himself, his body and his spirit performing some of the most interesting attempts of mind over matter.

His latest attempt was to live underwater for a week and then attempt to hold his breath for 9 minutes to break the world record of 8 minutes and 58 seconds. But of course he had to be chained up under water also to make it more challenging for him.

Well in the end, Blaine failed at achieving the world record as he fell short of the record by just under 2 minutes. Still, very impressive. But did Blaine really fail?

As David Blaine spoke after being rescued my divers to pull him out of the water, he was "humbled" as to all the support he had received from people all around the world. What David Blaine attempted to do was break a world record, but what really happened was to show how people come together and get behind something.

If you look back at all his other attempts of putting his body under great stress, there is one common theme that occurs. It's the gathering of people. David Blaine realized what he was doing was also bringing people of all walks of life together all rooting and cheering together. Everybody's differences and problems were set aside. Whether he fails to break a world record, or manages not to endure his latest attempt of stress on his body, it's about the magic that he brings to the people and the power he can demonstrate to other people that if you really want to achieve something in life, you can. Just use your mind and take action.

Dion Semeniuk is the owner of the popular online Magic Trick Store, This is Magic! To learn more about magic and receive free David Blaine Tricks, please visit http://www.thisismagic.com

Fabulous Crafts And Games For Your Princess Party

Writen by Annette Yen

You have invited the royal guests and have planned a menu that would make any queen proud. The guests will be arriving soon with great expectation of fun and all things pink! You're having a Princess Party!

Here are some easy and fun ideas for games and crafts to make your party the best one in the kingdom.

1. Make a tiara: These days at almost any craft store you can find precut fun foam princess tiaras and decorations for next to nothing. Purchase some glitter glue and a few extra sparkly gems and your princess and her guests will stay busy for quite some time. Make sure they all put their names inside the crowns so that after the glue and glitter glue dries, they'll know which is theirs. Don't forget to take a picture with everyone wearing the crowns.

2. Musical Princess Slipper: This is a fun and easy game that takes no prep work at all. Have the party guests and princess of honor stand in a circle. Using a nice dress shoe (or glass slipper if you happen to have one!) start with the birthday girl and have the girls pass the slipper around the circle while music plays in the background. When the music stops, the guest holding the slipper jumps out of the circle and becomes the girl in charge of the music. Continue on until only one girl is left and she's the princess winner.

3. Pin the crown on the frog: Another great variation of a traditional birthday party game that kids have loved for ages. You'll need a large drawing of a frog on poster board and several construction paper crowns with double stick tape on the back. Each party guest gets a turn at being blindfolded and trying to stick the crown onto the top of the frog's head. Make it even harder by making each child spin around 3 times before heading toward the frog. No peeking. Other variations of this game (depending on your artwork) are: Pin the kiss on the frog, Pin the slipper on the princess, Pin the jewel on the crown, etc. Have fun!

4. Princess treasure chests: Purchase inexpensive paper mache boxes at your local craft store. Use stickers, jewels and beads with tacky glue and have the girls decorate their treasure chest. Include some candy or other trinkets to put inside.

5. Decorate princess crown cookies: Another favorite with young girls...decorating cookies. Purchase an inexpensive crown cookie cutter and make 2 cookies per girl (just in case they break). Allow to cool before decorating. Then put out pink frosting, candies and other fun edible items and let the girls frost and decorate. Then let them eat the cookies as part of their snack, or wrap them in plastic wrap to take home as part of the take home gift.

6. Princess silhouettes: This is a fun "craft" for girls that are a bit older. Using a blank wall as backdrop, tape a large piece of butcher paper to the wall. Have each princess sit on the throne and shine a very bright light so that it casts a shadow onto the wall and paper. But here's the fun part. Place a paper crown on her head so that it casts the obvious shadow as well. Then with a black marker, trace around her silhouette onto the butcher paper. Remove the butcher paper from the wall and either leave as is or have the girls decorate the crown for a different effect.

Create fun at your next princess party with these games and crafts. Make sure you have the camera handy for the whole event to keep the memories alive too. Enjoy and happy princess partying!

Annette Yen invites you to her website http://www.iloveprincessparties.com to find everything you need for the perfect princess party.

The Wild Man And Wild Woman Of Canadian First Nations Art

Writen by Clint Leung

Two of the more interesting characters from the Northwest coast Canadian First Nations art world include the Wild Man and the Wild Woman of the woods. These two are often portrayed in very dramatic looking masks carved by Northwest coast Canadian First Nations artists.

The Wild Man of the woods from Canadian First Nations art is called Bak'was and is a small human-like creature who lives in the forest. He has deep round eyes that are sunken into his sockets and brows that jut out forward. His cheeks are hollow, his mouth is often grimacing and his nose appears like a hooked beak. It is said that the Wild Man can sometimes be seen early in the morning on the beach collecting cockles which are a type of mollusk as his food. The Wild Man is also considered the chief of ghosts and spirits of people who drowned are often hovering near him. Humans must beware of the Wild Man tempting others to join him for a meal. If one eats some of the Wild Man's food, one will turn into a being just like him.

In contrast to the Wild Man, the Wild Woman of the woods or Dzunuk'wa as she is known, is a giant powerful and fearsome figure twice the size of humans. From Northwest coast Canadian First Nations art and legend, she is a dark and hairy ogress with supernatural powers. Her almost blind eyes are also large and sunken like those of the Wild Man but sometimes they have a red glow. She is usually portrayed making her wild call ("Uh, huu, uu, uu") with her open mouth and thick red puckered lips. It is said that if children foolishly wander into the forest, the Wild Woman will capture them and eat them. The Wild Woman carries a basket on her back which contains the children that she caught.

Fortunately, she is not considered very bright and usually the children are able to outsmart her in escaping. Interestingly enough, even though the Wild Woman represents the dark and dangerous side of the forests, she is also a bringer of wealth for some Northwest coast Canadian First Nations tribes. A Wild Woman mask can be considered somewhat of a status symbol that only some powerful and rich Northwest coast Canadian First Nations families have.

Clint Leung is owner of Free Spirit Gallery http://www.FreeSpiritGallery.ca, an online gallery specializing in Inuit Eskimo and Northwest Native American art including carvings, sculpture and prints. Free Spirit Gallery has numerous information resource articles with photos of authentic Inuit and Native Indian art as well as free eCards.

Mort Du Gilligan

Writen by Steve Sommers

For his time, William Shakespeare wasn't considered all that hot a writer. His plays were thought to pander to the vulgar masses being at the same time the modern day equivalent of either Soap Operas or Sit cons. Bob Denver's passing made me wonder if in three or four hundred years time Gilligan's Island won't be considered the pinnacle of the Dramatic Arts, much as the Bard's plays are considered now.

Think about it: In three or four hundred years time, no one will really understand twentieth century English, anymore than we understand Elizabethan English. We think Shakespeare is so great mostly because we don't know what the hell they're friggin' talking about, you know, all those 'Hither's' and ' thee's' and 'yon's". So, we all pretend we do and nod solemnly and praise the 'beautiful' language when we really don't want to look stupid. Centuries from now it will be the same with Gilligan's Island. Our descendents will be 'oohing' and 'ahhing' over the beautiful language of this show.

As envisioned by creator Sherwood Schwartz, Gilligan's Island was meant to be Social Commentary using the metaphor of cast-a-ways trapped on an island, each one of the cast-a-ways was iconic of an American segment of society. The interaction between the characters would be symbolic of the interaction in our cultures. Thus, you have Mr. Howell and his wife representing the American Upper classes, The Skipper representing the working classes, The professor representing the intelligentsia, Ginger the entertainment sector, Mary Ann the rural Midwest and Gilligan ... all of us. Gilligan was the American Everyman.

As with The Tempest, the island setting represented the deep psychological underpinnings of the story. Here you have a world unto itself separated from civilization, a Hobbesian state of nature where life is nasty, brutish and short. Thus it is human nature itself.

By the way, if you're a High School or College student looking for stuff to steal for a term paper ... go ahead and steal this. None of these ideas are mine, anyways. And it's not really plagiarism if it's already been copied from somewhere else in the first place, so feel free to use this all you want. What's that? Just a second .....

Oh. I just found out it is plagiarism. I'm sorry. My Bad.

There also is the Religious interpretation of Gilligan's Island. This interpretation has each of the cast-a-ways representing one of the seven deadly sins in a sort of morality play. The Howells represent Greed, of course. The Skipper represents Gluttony, that one's obvious, too. Gilligan is Sloth ... I think. Ginger is Vanity. The professor is pride, because he's so pround of how smart he is and Mary Ann .... she doesn't seem so sinful, but I know there was one that was supposed to represent her.

Bob Denver by all accounts was a very intelligent and talented actor. You'd have to think that it would take a genius to play the part of such a boob to perfection. Denver's career, I have to believe, must have been forever crippled by brilliance of his character portrayal, such that he was never offered another acting role of merit because he had forever captured that one role to perfection, and was condemned ever after to live in that twilight world of Conventions and Super Market openings.

Now, please remove your hats and sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip

Steve Sommers is the author of Breakfast with the Antichrist. Visit his Website at http://www.breakfastwiththeantichrist.com

Magic Tricks

Writen by Marcus Peterson

Hocus-pocus, abracadabra, are words all have heard as children when they were amazed by the tricks of the man in the black tuxedo. These words form part of simpler times in life, where before adulthood, fairytales are real and magicians can actually do the impossible.

Most people believe that tricks are all there is to magic. The reality of magic and witchcraft is not a question for them, but rather unquestionable fakery. Magic tricks are designed to please such a crowd, which inevitably forms a majority at most gatherings. Children especially, are popular audiences for magic tricks since they are the most avid believers. Adults may see the trickery of the trap doors and smoke screens, but children marvel at the magic. They have no need to question the tricks because they believe what they see is true and that is the real magic.

Magic tricks can be of many varieties, but they all involve hoodwinking audiences with the dexterity of the hand. Magicians performing card tricks take in to account the tendency of the individual to ignore their actions when picking the card. Elaborate tricks use many gimmicks to divert attention from the main-stage to complete tricks such as beautiful assistants and fireworks. Mirrors and partitions placed at strategic locations make disappearances and conjuring tricks work. The catch-a-bullet-in-the-mouth or the William Tell tricks are some of the most common, projecting to the public the bravado of the live targets. Most times however, the gun is never discharged, only fired to produce a bang and the bullet is found where it had always been in the 'fearless' magician's mouth. The arrows, though released are reeled back and a fake one simultaneously pops out over the targets head.

With the appearance of magicians such as David Blain, it has become harder for people to accept the televised magic as a simple amalgamation of tricks. After all, no one is supposed to fool all the people, all the time and so such magic must be real. The ability to control matter with the mind and perform magic without the use of trickery is rare. In fact its existence has never been documented or proved. But then again, it has not been disproved either.

Magic provides detailed information on Magic, Magic Tricks, Black Magic, Magic Spells and more. Magic is affiliated with Magic Card Tricks.

How To Look For Economical Paintings

Writen by Travis Jones

Don't we all love to buy a Virtruvian man by Da Vinci and hang it over the fireplace so our friends can come and ogle at the painting and say that what a fine master piece it is and that you have a definite eye and class for paintings of such high quality? Unfortunately such a painting not only costs millions but the real ones just hang in museums.

So what exactly is the solution to buying such quality art work at dirt cheap price? So every man could boast of owning a cryptically smiling Mona Lisa. The answer is simple and right in front of you. Just with a few click of the mouse you could be the owner of Whistlers mother staring at the wall in front of her. In all the divine glory of last supper displayed over you lobby is a reality.

Well how is it really possible that too at a price less than a hundred bucks? Believe me it is. There are hordes of talented artists who could replicate these high quality designs for you, make you the proud owner of stunning portraits and landscapes you could only dream of.

Now there are all sorts of sites advertising for such paintings, but most of them don't sell cheap. Far from it they are even priced at thousands of dollars. Now why would a sane person, would want to buy an art work which would punch a huge hole in their pocket? So next question is where is that place where you could get such a painting and that too at throw away price.

The answer is sites that owned by artist from countries where the dollar amounts to a lot more than that of the west. So the simple equation is, there are real high quality artists if not better but on par with the western artists. For whom the income in dollars if less still would amount to more than what they could bargain for. The result: amazing art work at awesome tags.

So which country has such proficient artists to boast of? Look to the Far East, china even traditionally boasts of artists as early as early 16th century. Amazing art work with pigments, which last even today… Buddha who is portrayed in various art forms has been the hallmark of Oil paints from Far East. The art is not restricted the eastern form. The artist have adapted to the demand of the western world they can do any art ranging from abstract, cubism to even customized portraits.

Here is a list of tips to watch out for when on the look out for Quality Oil paintings:

1. Look for previous art work, a catalog perhaps.
2. See if the site provides what you are looking for, if not do they provide custom work.
3. Look for paintings that fall under a economy section.
4. Check to see if there is any quality compromise based on the reduction in cost.
Finally check to see if they provide a safe transaction (Discussed in the next article – How safe it is to buy art from an offshore internet shop?).

About the author Travis Jones recommends Canvaz (http://www.canvaz.com/) for genuine work of art in Oil paint and frames to go with it.

Advantages Of 360degree Vision Devices

Writen by Lance Winslow

Humans do not have 360-degree vision. Think about why we have evolved this way and what it means to the vision and what we will have to do to improve upon Mother Nature's excellent design. We have drawings of such 360-Degree Vision Device, which provides surround-a-vision in a head mounted night vision goggle unit. If we take this device and load it with the wearable type computers we can produce a VR state within the real world, which will allow us to do more tasks quicker and more efficient than ever before. An augmented reality if you will of the 360-degree 3D world that we live and interact with.

There would be fewer pilot error or human error type accidents in many dangerous professions, which require lots of skill and instantaneous response and lightning reflexes. Things such as fighting a war, racing motorcycles, flying aircraft or fighting a war, are obvious examples, but they might also be good for police officers, airport screeners, teachers in inner city schools, prison guards, life guards, ambulance technicians, first responders, fire fighters, etc. It could certainly liven up certain sporting events and even eliminate the need for so many rear view mirrors on cars and thus provide greater efficiency, less drag, fuel economy and safety. But these are only a few ideas really as entrepreneurs see such new technologies they will obviously create more uses for them as they find niches where people are willing to trade for such things. By freeing up the massive amounts of interpretation, which goes on in the visual part of the brain, we could move more agile, quicker, with cat like reflexes. The eyes could certainly work faster in delivery and the brain could use a hand in reducing the extra extraneous data, we might consider as depth, definition or detail while our mind interprets the data, asks for further scrutiny and receives that data and makes an assessment, all before we even lift a finger in response. Think about it.

Lance Winslow - Online Think Tank forum board. If you have innovative thoughts and unique perspectives, come think with Lance; www.WorldThinkTank.net/wttbbs/

Planet Of Gray Dawn A Saga Of Quotsiren The Greatquot Part Iii To The Planet Ssarg Chapters 11

Writen by Dennis Siluk

Chapter 11 "Hell Dogs!"

"Of my wanderings I will briefly will tell, it was not like SSARG, or other planets, I roamed the hillside along ways, often hungry—beasts, savage as were kept on any planet, saw me, yet kept their distance, I think I had the smell of the Saneyhs still on my body, and surely in my cloths.

"I slept in caves with a fire by my side, encircled it somewhat, so the beasts wouldn't creep up if I could not instinctively sense them. There were no high trees of any kind, just savage beasts outside my caves each and every night catching the warmth of the fire as it drifted outside my entrance. I slew a few for dinner, evil doges, hell doges I called them, fangs as big as a walruses. The meat was tough, and close to the bone, a wild taste I had not had before, like sucking on a leather belt. I was surviving though, and that was all, perhaps like the cavemen on earth, long ago: ancestors, primitive savages of earth, now I was one, I was one of them, I had only the leopard men's cloth to keep me warm, the cloths they had given me, in the middle of a savage universe. It was a battle for existence and that only.

" Each day I would wait for the sun, and during the two plus hours of sun, I would rest under its glorious rays sucking up all the vitamin D I needed to activate my chemicals in my body, to reproduce what it needed to rebuild my immune system, for it was dying, and then came in the gray mist, a pale dawn of sorts, and my system would break down again. Perhaps that is why I loved SSARG or Earth, but didn't care for Moiromma, it had little sun, not as little as this planet, but little in consideration of earth.

I knew if I died this time, there would be no resurrection onto another planet, thus, vigilance was necessary for longer life. But on the other hand, danger lurked at ever corner of this valley, and its central plateaus."

Chapter 12 Siren's Philosophies On the Pale Planet

"Not sure if I was fully alive on this planet, that phrase, has more depth to it than I can express. Most people on earth just walk through decades blurred, on the surface of life, not fully alive, (so Siren told herself as she wandered the mounds and valley by herself for several months). Everything on the planet was like a flicker of light, weakly lit, then came a brighter one for two hours a day. These weeks and months life hammered at my brain as if it was burned out of life's orbit; now it was occupied with gathering firewood, food and all the basic needs. As I faced big jawed inhabitants, tormented by hell dogs, the moon oozing in and out of the planets orbit like a yoyo, it never ceased, each day was very predictable, perhaps that was good for the village folk, but for me it was, deadly.

"When I wandered about, I did find one quality or asset, I never had much of before, to think, to produce philosophies of life I suppose, to soul search as they say on earth, to roam all the inner valleys of ones mind. Perhaps the great God of the Universe gives each creature of reason this period to prepare themselves for death, for something, because during youth, one is to wild, too busy, too carefree, or careless to do any such thing, lest they find themselves imprisoned."

Chapter 13 Hell Dogs and Bear Beasts

[Beast Lake] As Siren ventured into the surrounding area, perhaps within a five hundred miles radius, she saw several hideous hell-dogs, fighting with a bear beast; they had three heads on them. She had killed a few in the past by stoning them to death by surprise, but this was not going to happen now, there were too many of them.

Close by a lake, she called 'Beast Lake,' she encountered these dogs battling it out with a hung 20-foot mother bear trying to protect her five foot cub. The creek was full of water, indicating precious space fish available for whomever could secure the rights to that little section, she watched in amazement as the giant bear tossed the hell dogs about, so Siren had told me with a glaring voice.

Said Siren with a quivering voice, "She had previous experience with these deadly dogs, and I with those deadly rats on SSARG, in both cases they seem to have had a high intelligence for their kind, and the hell dogs had tricks to corner the bear. Now She has a blood spotted hide, I could see it from the bushes I stood behind…I expected the giant bear to fall to its death at any moment, but its mother instinct would not let it, while the cub was in danger, again as in my old days, I found myself wanting to rise to the rescue, as I jumped into the battle, it stirred the dogs from the bear to me. The dogs sprung up at me, and with my stone chiseled knife I ripped the guts open of three, cut the throat of the forth one, and he went down crawling on the ground like a worm. Then the giant bear got back into its murderous mode, and with its powerful arms and claws, it disemboweled the five other dogs, killed one at a time quicker than you could make a 360-degree turn."

Chapter 14 Bear Beast Battle

"All the hell-dogs stiffened convulsively and lay dead a small distance from the lake. The bear-beasts grabbed its cub, looked at me, troubled, confused, but felt no threat from me, nor I of her for some reason we were not rivals for the moment. The bear's claws had torn into the flesh of all five dogs, their fangs torn out of their heads, their bellies opened and their insides poured out onto the ground in a wide pool of blood.

"I built a fire as the cub and her mother ate the five dogs, and I was allowed to tare some of the meat off the bones as well, of course mine I cooked, and theirs well, they ate raw.

"I had no more stamina, I had to rest for three days thereafter that enduring battle, and the young mother stood by as if to insure no one harmed me, or her cub. She knew I was weakened, and perhaps knew who I was, and was surprised I was weakened. She was bulky, hairy and a giant taller than I, and more savage in appearance than the ones I've seen so many years ago.

"On the forth day, I saw twenty more hairy brut bears running towards our camp, as if they had gotten some radar signal from mother bear, whom was in trouble. With a great snarl, the bear-beasts coming at me, stood down, as they stood by their mate, checking her out, hissing over her and the cub. And they obeyed her every intention."

Chapter 15 The Kongardog Plains

"As I walked down the along side the side of the lake, and then the river that connected to it, Big bear and Junior Bear, as I got to calling them, I noticed in may places, the birds were of many colors, shapes, hues. They almost few silently, had it not been for the movement of the branch movements when they leaped. Some then world perch on large rocks, some gave out weird cries. All kept their distance form the bear and me. A few of the birds reached deep with their beaks to catch a space fish, almost skeletonized, as most are, but very nutritious.

"I walked for days and Mother Bear just followed me, then I shifted westward, and she still followed along, like a duck. There in the plains, I call the Kongardog Plains; I come upon a most curious animal, the pot-bellied dogs, otherwise known as the Kongardog.

"I had heard these animals were helpless to defend themselves (no claws or teeth; only paws and gums) and were great eating, but try to catch one of them, that is a feat in itself. Big Bear slapped one in the belly as it ran to get away from Big Bear, and jumped several feet in the air likened to a kangaroo, but when it fell from its leap, we had dinner, the slap was so powerful, it knocked the wind out of the dog, I do believe, and as it tried to catch its breath, Big Bear had already torn off its limps. I think I laughed so hard, Big Bear couldn't help but grin, and take notice, if not satisfaction."

Chapter 16 The Plains

"I felt a little safer on the plains—less meat-eaters to contend with. The nights were chilled, but the sun on the plains came out longer perhaps, all of four hours a day. Less greenness, and less water, yes, less everything, but meat eaters, as I said before, were less also, which was a blessing I felt, and search in vain one will for a good habitat.

"I noticed on the tenth-day I was with the Bear, she was eating the rocks, of which had a certain color and design to them, unknown on Planet Toso, Earth or even SSARG. They were all a bit orange looking. As I lay about, I watched the bear conspicuously, if not patiently, she picked out the smallest of the orange rocks, and when she went to chew them, a sap came out of them. A hot and soft sap; I then picked up one and put it into my mouth, and pushed down on it slowly, in which I felt safe doing since Big Bear did, then I chewed it, and it busted open, sweet as honey it was, thus, this was how the bears survived in crossing the plains, when they did."

Chapter 17 Orion's Moon/Homeless

Siren had drifted for months on the plains, it was more peaceful and the two bears, the cub and Big Bear followed her, homeless they all seemed to be. At night they'd look up at Orion, as they called it, the only moon the planet had, darkness gloomed around it, it seemed, except for its occasional light, reflections from a star (or sun) perhaps in their solar system, or beyond. The moon on its surface was perhaps as mysterious on it as it looked, and it looked more like a big asteroid than a moon. But nonetheless, it gave light as if the sun hid behind it halfway, even during its best exposure.

It was going to be a long life, Siren figured, if she didn't come up with a plan for it, or perhaps a short one. She had built a city fortress on SSARG, but she didn't have the energy, help, or motivation to do that here. Her daughter was someplace in the universe, and her mother likewise, in some unknown spot. Planet SSARG's moon perhaps, she had friends there, and life supporting elements for a ghost of her kind. So she was alone, Tangor and Rognat, her one-time space companions, were both gone other places in the Universe equally.

End Chapter [part of #17]

Tangor's Report of Sirens Death

I talked to Siren before I had discovered her death, and as I was told, it happened like this (according to Tangor):

"A heavy chain was wrapped around her like a snake, it was by way of several Jawbone members, as Siren had called them. They had found her with her friend, Big Bear and her cub; they, the seven Jawbones, took huge blocks of stone and hurled them onto the three, killing the cub and knocking unconscious Big Bear. That is when they chained her, with those strange looped chains. When she awoke her head was throbbing of course, she had not been killed yet. A rock had grazed her head only, and her recuperative powers brought her back to full life.

The missile or rock, inflicted, caused a scalp would, but infected it was. As they carried her back to their village, hundreds of miles, she died on the way. So simply a death for such a hero, it is hard to digest. I would guess the long walk, the shackles, the wound, dehydration, the infection, and the cold, it all played a part in her death. And the Leopard men spoke with primitive resentment towards me, snarling, but my weapons froze them in their tracks, with fear, thus, when I killed three of them, simply by pulling the trigger, of my space gun, I evaporated them in front of there own kind, this provoked no more wishful thinking of overpowering me. And there is really no more to say, on the matter, I'm sorry.

Note: History of the story: originally started at the café, El Parquetito's in Lima, Peru, on 6/28/2006, done in chapter form, in the first and third persons, as it changes from chapter to chapter, or can, so it originally was constructed to do. Chapters 12 to through 14 written and constructed 7/3/2006; Chapter 15 and 16, written July 4, on America's Independence day, holiday, in Lima, Peru, as well as the end chapter, #17; October, 28,2006, chapter 14 through the end was typed from the written form on the back of the restaurant's napkins.

See Dennis' web site: dennissiluk.tripod.com

Art Gallery Website Develop Your Own Art Site Or Use A Service

Writen by Igor Rubinsky

Common Issues: Develop private web site by yourself or use a service from professionals.

1. In the present multinational and multicultural world all art galleries still can be grouped into three branches.

On the first place big national and regional or big municipal galleries and museums with many halls, exhibitions and many visitors. On the second place smaller gallery-like retail shops. On the third place we see galleries that exhibit artwork of a very limited number of artists.

If we follow numbers here, there are about 36000 different business' in US that associate themselves to art galleries of various types. Only 5-10 % of them own a website. Those who have a website are using it only as an information page or kind of brochure barely giving a small fraction of idea of what their gallery is about, not to say about what items people can see when visiting them. To be precise nearly all these websites have been developed by a friend or a somewhat skillful acquaintance who supports 5 to 20 of other websites, and pay him regularly for support and updates. In some cases a website is developed by a smart child of the gallery owners.

Online is beneficial. When you are looking for an artwork to make your walls look beautiful, you will definitely go to some neighboring art gallery. Yet in many cases you will have to be content with something they have, rather then with what you would like to have on your wall. The solution here can be in using some general use art catalog, which exists in print or in the Internet (in rare cases both). For expensive art these figures make the following ratio as of more then 99% are sold through physical galleries to less then 1% through art catalogs and Internet. For not expensive art the ratio is like 80% to 20%, and is steadily changing to favor the later. Expensive art is appearing in online catalogs faster but is sold primarily through physical galleries. This fact should not surprise anyone. At this point one should notice a tendency for the non expensive art to move online to be sold from just being exposed in physical galleries. The rate of none expensive art production is really enormous and already faces the problem of sales. There is no physical gallery that could allow itself exhibit all items it has in stock. Various catalogs could be the solution, and the best way of exposure could be developing and promoting a personal website on the Internet. It's far less expensive then renting several large halls for a few months run in order to allow a limited number of people who live nearby to see it. Rather, one should go online and let literarily everyone on the planet to visit it with no limitation in time.

2. The failure of many galleries has already been vivid due to a lack in either physical or online component. Those who successfully combine both parts are really lucky in their business.

3. What makes galleries go online?

a. Local advertising in newspapers, radio, cable-tv, hotels, restaurants becomes more sensible, because people can easily get the idea of a new exhibition and decide which hall or which items they would like to see on the first priority.

b. It's easier to keep in touch with visitors. Another side of accumulating constant visitors.

c. Online is not limited in space, one can exhibit everything he has not caring for space it occupies. Online is better for not expensive items, while physical exhibition is good for expensive art, when people have to see it live. Or even everything can be exhibited online, and visitors vote to see some items on physical gallery.

4. How galleries go online?

a. Some galleries develop their own website and face an issue of promoting it. The tricky point here is they can do it good only for local advertisement, and in order to advertise it worldwide one needs to add way too much effort to promote his own website and/or exhibit it through an already popular website (it helps to avoid double effort on information input). Like it was realized on http://www.gallery-worldwide.com/ and http://www.russian-gww.com/ the point in these 2 sites is that all artwork were uploaded only once, and are shared by both sites.

b. In order to sell art worldwide one needs to have a high ranked websites developed by professionals

c. Online gallery is an indispensable tool in bringing in new visitors to the physical gallery, so it's part of local advertisement techniques

d. The gallery manager will have to make a choice between making a new website from scratch and using a service from already established website produced and supported by the internet gurus

e. In case on takes his own way he must consider both the development and support of his own site

f. Development as a matter of fact costs 500-5000$. Buying a service is a lot cheaper. In case of same price service quality is better.

g. Supporting a website in average takes about 200$ per month and up to 500$ depending on a skill of a webmaster. Also in this case webmaster is limited by his own activities and sometimes supports upto 20 different websites at the same time. The later makes him very difficult to add changes to the website fast and sometimes would take about few weeks to complete necessary updates. Buying a service galleries pay less and get immediate changes.

h. It's always a matter of price and quality. Development of the website is only the first step. Support takes much longer time and larger effort.

Service price varies at the value 300$ per month. If you find it for 150$ then grab and run.

Internet technologies are developing too fast today. There is a number of sites providing the described services at different levels of quality. So one has to investigate the market and find the best fitting solution for himself.

Waste money to develop a wheel or learn it from someone who already did it?

Igor Rubinsky Copyright 2005 - All Rights Reserved http://www.gallery-worldwide.com/ http://www.russian-gww.com http://www.gallery-worldwide.com/adsExibitor.html

Free Ecards For Your Favorite Ehuman

Writen by Martin Hurley

What's great about sending free ecards to your friends?

Well, apart from everything, it's an easy thing to do. It's so easy it's just an email away. Your email will fly through space and your friend will develop the smile. First, it's the curiosity. Then, after they see, it's the smile...

Big smile or small smile... It's the thought that counts. You see, you matter. You are important, and what better and easier way to share your thoughts and feelings than with superb free ecards. As I was told once when I was exploring avenues into pursuing commercial photography, people don't hire folios, they hire people.

That made me realize that individuality does matter. Friendliness does matter, and so does attitude. We all have our own uniqueness. We're all wonderful in our own special way. Even the most bizarre artists amongst us (!) might agree it's important to make this moment matter, to make the now important. To celebrate what we have.

And a good way to do that is by continued, and regular, contact with your family or friends. If it's business, then even your most preferred clients or business associates hold potential for high quality, well considered, free ecards emailed to them. Like all good business association, you'll want to check that one thoroughly before taking action steps...

Personal electronic greetings R U:

Free ecards are really just personal electronic greetings... A simple hello, how are you note added to a lovely photograph of your choice. Regular contact will keep you in the flavor... It's always nice to tell family and friends that you really care about them... (And that you're in some amazing remote village that has a great internet cafe!)

But how? Well most of us are connected by email nowadays. It's never too far away. And what a cool way to explore the world of the net by sending free e-cards. Of course, free is a good thing. And secondly... look up Yann Arthus Bertrand's brilliant e-cards... That'll explain things better!

The beauty of this is that you can tell a little story with the image you send. The picture might better express, or further clarify what you mean. You have a whole wide worldly range of possibilities. See below for how the process works...

Sending and Receiving Free eCards:

You simply select a card, type your greeting and send it to your chosen recipient. You can choose to send the card immediately or at a selected future date. Your recipient will receive a ticket number by email, which will enable him or her to pick up the free ecard from this website.

You, the sender, will receive an email notification when the card has been picked up.

Simple eh?

Hey, make sure you send one to me too!

Copyright © Martin Hurley 2005-06 Martin Hurley is a motivational dude, artist, photographer and netrepreneur who enthuses creativity, marketing and life knowledge. Get your unique down to earth approach to life success by visiting: http://HurleyPix.com -> PS If you use my article... please make sure you make the above link 'hot' (ie make it a live link back to my site... thanks. You can delete this line too :-) <-

Hollywood

Writen by Rosana Hart

Hollywood! For so many years the very word has evoked romance, glamour, and a place where dreams can come wildly true... the American dream, anyone's dream.

Hollywood has had an ever-changing history. Ironically, it was named by a couple of conservative prohibitionists in the 1880s. Harvey Wilcox, from Kansas, was selling lots to Midwesterners with the idea that they could winter in California. His wife met a woman on a train who had a home called Hollywood, and Mrs. Wilcox liked the name so much that she and her husband decided to use it for their project. In 1903 the region incorporated as Hollywood and then in 1910, to take advantage of the plentiful water in Los Angeles, it became part of that city.

The next year the first film studio opened, and over time Hollywood blossomed into the dream-maker that it would remain. Movie stars, elegant restaurants, nightclubs, romance and its shadow of disillusionment, palatial homes for those who had struck it rich and acres of more modest housing for the many workers in the film industry... Hollywood had it all.

Of course, films have always been made in other places, but Hollywood has always been more than a place. It's a frame of mind. Everyone understands that it's different from anywhere else.

Naturally, it's been a tourist Mecca. Hollywood posters and postcards capture the essence of Hollywood, the vintage look reflecting the dreams of a bygone era.

Rosana Hart writes about many popular poster categories at her website http://www.infoandhelp.com/posters/ and a selection of Hollywood posters can be seen there.

Black Terror Journal Notes Of Buer The Demon 10 To The Quotcadaverous Planetsquot

Writen by Dennis Siluk

[Part two of two parts: From the story, Gusoyn, in the Prison House for Demon]

[Journal Notes of Buer] The lower cells in the Prison House for Demon, some several floors below Gusoyn's cell were that of an awful stench of burning air and demonic fiber. Had anyone told me before a demon smells when they burn, I would have looked the other way, but it is true as the day is long. So Gusoyn explained to me when he was released from prison, just before our assignment to the Galapagos. In consequence, together with the prisons foulness, making its way down the hallways of this underground prison and up on, and through its main upper floors, it seemed to be pasted on the walls like slim: akin to yellow salvia.

After Gusoyn explained this to me, he asked me to take an oath of silence, secrecy not to tell anyone: and of course I did, then—demon to demon—it is rather silly of him to ask me that, for we all know demons never keep their word. Rather it is a way to say:

'I'm telling you the truth;' no more, no less—in essence, it was a joke, to me at least.

Anyhow, besides the stench, and now Gusoyn standing by me as I'm finished up with my journal notes, he, not knowing what I'm doing, but he has always known me to be a journaling person: he, like always, is getting a speck restless.

"Buer, my old friend," he just said to me, "you could always smell and see a cloud of unvarnishable, sulfurous fire and vapor throughout the prison." I believe him without question, for what is a prison if not to punish a person; you don't send him to Camelot.

Gusoyn didn't pretend he was innocent of his downright insolent attitude toward the rules and conduct of demon, and that going to prison was unfair, for he knew he surely deserved it, he was just trying to share his ugly experience, and in a way bragging he went through the torments of such: black terror we call it, us demon you know: I say this to whom may read my memories in future time. If I was to analyze this, and I am not a psychologically educated demon by far, but I'd say he felt powerless, matter of fact, I'd even stretch it to say: he hated the powerlessness he felt. I must take a break from my Journaling, be back in a moment, Gusoyn keeps asking me what am I writing.

[Later on] Ok journal notes, I'm back. He was as always hyper and anxious and down right feeling: behooved. But that is Gusoyn for you, can't do a damn thing about it for him. But I will have to report, give these journal notes to Agaliarept, Satan's henchman in hell; I suppose they will be good enough for Agaliarept, he is the henchman for Lucifer, I repeat myself I know: and he is our boss. I do think the Black Terror did wonders for him; it mellowed his impulse to do things his way, or no way. Thus, it is at least fading slowly.

For those who read this entry in my journal: the abbot, the one Gusoyn had his fun with trying to pacify with a whore, and have him commit a sexual sin, has now passed on, or so I've heard he is coming in a boat across the gulf of Hades, to Hell's Gates, so Agaliarept will be amazed to welcome him, I guess Agaliarept had assigned another demonic being, named: The Mantic ore to him, to guide him; a great assignment to this sinful man of robes, he was to my understanding having a sexual relationship with another of the abbots—a homosexual one I think; that is to say, he didn't' want Gusoyn getting in the way; you see, ulterior motives for everything. Yes, Agaliarept is quite the practical genius. That is what I was telling Gusoyn about when I took a few minutes off from these notes a while ago. All in all, it's been a long, long week. When Gusoyn left the prison, he was assigned to me, and if he does not accomplish his future assignment well, he will taste the fury of the Black Terror again. That is all I have Journal, for you today, anyways.

Buer,

Demon-First Class

Dennis Siluk see his site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Too Young To Survive

Writen by LeAnn R. Ralph

Eight o'clock on a beautiful June morning in southern Wisconsin. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. And I was on my way to the stable where I boarded my two horses. Little did I know that in just a few minutes I would become a "momma kitty."

As I slid open the barn door I saw the calico cat. The previous evening she had been plump with kittens, but now she was suspiciously thin, so I knew she had given birth during the night.

"After I feed the horses, you'll have to show me where you hid your babies," I said to her, scooping dry cat food into the dish.

The calico settled down for a snack and I began measuring out grain. There were six horses pastured together with stalls in this barn. I was going to let my horses in, so I figured I might as well feed all of them.

As I walked to the other end of the barn so I could open the door, the calico sat on the floor near one of the stalls to watch the horses come in — just like she did most mornings.

One by one, the horses clip-clopped to their stalls. I followed behind, closing their doors. But before I could close one door, the horse inside lunged at another who was just passing by. The mare jumped sideways to avoid being bitten — and trampled the calico cat.

Almost before I could draw breath to scream, the calico cat was dead. I knelt beside her, stroking the soft fur. "Your kittens," I whispered. "What am I going to do about your kittens? I don't even know where they are."

I had grown up on a dairy farm in west central Wisconsin with many barn cats. I knew cats liked to keep their kittens hidden until they're old enough to move around. And I knew young kittens depended upon their mothers for survival until they were about eight weeks old.

I also knew the stable cats usually made nests for their kittens in the haymow above me. But because it was summer and new hay was being put in the mow every day, I didn't know where to begin to look for those kittens. The thought of orphaned kittens waiting for a mother who would never return brought tears to my eyes. How could I ever find them? Unless. . .

Every morning for the past week when I let the horses inside, I had seen the calico cat coming out of an unused dog kennel near the end of the barn. Was it possible she'd made a nest in the dog house?

I went out to the kennel, peered into the dog house — and sure enough, there were the kittens. A black, a gray and a tabby, curled up together for warmth.

I got hold of the kittens. All three fit in the palm of my hand.

After putting the kittens in a box, I went to the stable office so I could call my veterinarian for advice. The year before I had adopted four two-week old kittens who had been orphaned at this same stable (which leads me to believe stables are exceptionally dangerous places for mother cats). But two-week old kittens were very different from the kittens I had just settled into a box. I wasn't sure the newborns had even had a chance to nurse their mother. And they were so incredibly, impossibly tiny.

Because it was a weekend, my regular vet turned out not to be on call at the clinic. I really wanted to talk to him because he was so knowledgeable and helpful, but this was an emergency and I knew I couldn't wait until Monday morning. The on-call vet I reached, however, was not at all helpful. "Don't even bother," he said. "They'll never make it."

When I hung up the phone, I had a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. Don't bother? How could I not bother? I simply couldn't accept just sitting back and doing nothing. If I did everything I could and the kittens died, that would be one thing. But just leaving them to starve to death, their little bodies growing weak and cold — especially after I had witnessed their mother's death and felt, somehow, sort of responsible because I hadn't gotten that door shut quickly enough — no, I just couldn't do it. I knew if I didn't try, I would have trouble sleeping at night for weeks to come. So, I searched the yellow pages for another vet clinic.

The next veterinarian I called was much more optimistic about the situation. "Bring them into the office," he said. "We'll weigh them and I'll tell you what you need to do."

The kittens only weighed three ounces each and at first, they consumed a half an eyedropper of canned milk replacer three times a day. The vet told me their mother would normally feed them every two hours but that I shouldn't try feeding them that often. "They won't be really hungry, and then you'll get frustrated and they'll get frustrated. Feed them three times a day," he explained.

In a few days the kittens started to put on weight. At ten days old they opened their eyes. At four weeks old they began to use a litter box. Not a regular one, but an aluminum pie plate that was just their size. . .

All these years later (12 to be exact!), I'm happy to say the kittens grew up to be healthy, lively cats. Two of them, a 7-pound black female, Nightshade, and a 13-pound tabby male, Sebastian, became as much a part of the family as my other four cats. The gray kitten was adopted by a woman who desperately wanted another cat. Her faithful companion of many years had died recently and when she heard about the orphaned kittens I was raising, well — she just knew she had to adopt one of them. As far as I can tell, Nightshade and Sebastian are not suffering any problems from being orphaned as newborns. Except, perhaps, for the fact that Sebastian becomes uneasy when the kitty food dishes are empty. He'll come to find me, "talking," chirping and purring non-stop while running a few feet ahead to lead me to the dishes. All I have to do is put out a handful of dry food and he's satisfied. Most of the time he's not even hungry — just worried, I think, because the dishes are empty.

As for Nightshade, she has turned my six-foot-two-inch tall husband from a man who swore he didn't like cats into a person who holds her, cuddles her and tells her she has "itty-bitty kitty fitties (feet)" — which he will deny vehemently if anyone mentions it to him. "I do NOT," he says, drawing himself up to his full height, "talk to my cat that way."

Although I now live 250 miles from the veterinarian who told me "not to bother" I have been tempted to send him pictures of Nightshade and Sebastian. They are living proof of what can happen when you ignore the advice of experts and follow your heart, adding just a little bit of "bother" and a whole lot of love.

*****************

© LeAnn R. Ralph 2004

About The Author LeAnn R. Ralph is the author of the books: *Christmas in Dairyland (True Stories from a Wisconsin Farm)* (trade paperback) and *Preserve Your Family History (A Step-by-Step Guide for Writing Oral Histories)* (e-book; 66 pages). To read sample chapters and to sign up for the FREE! monthly newsletter, Rural Route 2 News & Updates, visit — http://ruralroute2.com bigpines@ruralroute2.com

Writing From The Country

Writen by Linda A. Rentschler

It was either spend my anniversary without my husband, or accompany him to Port Allegheny for one of his weekend farming trips. This year, to commemorate our seventeenth year of married life, we left the kids at home with my mother in-law and planned to stay in the small house on the property which had been vacant since the fall. My husband had already taken up a mattress and box-spring on his last trip to make it seem more inviting. He explained I could take my laptop along and write, and he could finish plowing. Farming the following weekend would be out of the question because of Mother's Day, and his leaving would break our tradition of meeting his mom and sister's family for a lunch midway between our state and theirs. Three upset mothers would be inevitably worse than dealing with one upset wife, and it wasn't like this was one of those big, round-numbered anniversaries that came with grand expectations.

I didn't have to go. He didn't have to stay. That much we made clear to each other from the get go. But the more I thought about how many times he'd sat through my plays, or proofed one of my four hundred page manuscripts in a twenty-four hour period, I thought I should at least be as good a sport. After all, he worked all week in New York City and generally took this six hour drive solo on Friday nights after work, occasionally even after my son's baseball games, arriving at the farm sometime between one and two a.m. I always knew he was a saint, which made me feel even worse doing my rain-dance once I had agreed to go. Often I agreed to challenges feeling certain God would surely get me out of them.

To my inexplicable shock, the weather forecast was good. I consoled myself knowing my husband didn't want to drive out on Friday night. Instead, we were leaving Friday morning so we could (thank you again, God) have an extra full day.

By six a.m. we each had a coffee and muffin. Cows came into view around seven-thirty. By nine a.m., we had a second coffee, and a Schmuffin Sandwich from Sheets, getting two more muffins to go. I had already eaten more than I usually eat before 3 p.m, more carbs than I eat in an entire week. This was roughing it for sure.

The ride was remarkably pleasant. It was amazing how relaxing driving seemed once we were out of our major metropolitan area and away from our teenage kids. We had the longest uninterrupted conversation since our honeymoon, discussing each of our three kids in no particular order, spouting philosophies that didn't work, comparing their upbringing to our own, and deciding we would do well to provide for ourselves until death, just to be safe.

I packed well, light on the clothes, heavy on the other supplies. I had my work covered with a laptop, printer, my manuscript, folding table, chairs, a notebook, pens, pencils, a coffee pot, and coffee. I had essentials like sheets, towels, a hand towel, shower curtain and hooks, paper towels, toilet cleaner, all purpose cleaner, trash bags, phone charger, and a novel, in case I hit a dry spot.

Finally, as the two lane highway merged into one, and the gravel gave way to dirt roads, the farm appeared. I was excited to see the red barn again, the trees, the house, horses, and pole barn, and some neighboring houses. I was undoubtedly out of my element here, and the more humans I was aware of, the more secure I felt.

The house hadn't been lived in for a while, so I expected a little bit of a musty odor. The dead bugs were another story. My husband noted the expression on my face, and quickly ran off to get a stick vacuum out of a shed. I was busily running the kitchen sink water when I realized I wasn't alone. A large wasp was crawling slowly up the door to the basement. I admit my first thought was to run, but I reminded myself I was after all in the wild, and the insect wasn't really flying. I cursed myself for not packing hair spray. I was honestly trying to get into the spirit of "roughing it" and couldn't imagine why I would need to keep my hair in one position. I forgot that hair spray was more important to me than a first aid kit, because one shot would render a bug's wings too stiff to fly, and I could then place an upside-down glass upon it, until my husband came in from the field and removed the stiffened body. Guess what, no glasses either—only a paper cup which would amplify the wicked buzz, and drive me out of my skin.

I watched from the kitchen focused only on that one spot, watching the bug walk up and down the trim as if patrolling. I was never a jumper and screamer. I preferred to feign paralysis, play dead if necessary, and tip toe very slowly toward the nearest exit. I tried to talk myself through my panic. The predator was walking slowly. Probably, it was wounded. Possibly, it came in the front door. My husband always said they followed you inside—not that I ever believed him. One sighting in my home and I phoned the Chem-tech guy, regardless of how random the event seemed, or how asphyxiating the solution.

I looked at my car thinking I could clearly make a run for it if I needed to, except, there was a cat sitting in front of my door. A big, dark, brown, hairy, fat, biker of a cat, and if there was one thing I felt less comfortable with than bees, it was cats, which in my nightmares become vampires and sucked my blood, not my breath. So I wondered if my husband was making the vacuum from scratch, because it seemed like forever since I'd last seen him, and just then I noticed the congregation of bees in the sink, which only made me look at the cellar doorway again, where I could confirm, yes, they were in addition to the original one that so obviously did not follow us in the door. Now I was thinking, cat versus bees, and there was no contest, because it was a numbers' game and thus far, I didn't possess the ability to out-fly them.

Outside, I dashed past the cat, not making eye contact. I treated it like the threats I'd encountered in the Port Authority. I waited politely while my husband finished his conversation with a neighbor, trying very hard not to let the word hotel spring forth from my lips. He caught my look of distress and excused himself, apologizing for his delay. We walked close together to the shed, and on the way I casually asked for bug spray, explaining that we had an infestation. I knew he wanted to roll his eyes about as much as I wanted to say hotel, so we were even. Then I told him about the cat, and he told me to just to walk past it. I agreed, but when I looked for it using my peripheral vision, I couldn't find it. It was now inside our car, walking on our yet unpacked belongings, probably looking to pick off a twenty out of my husband's wallet. So this next grand announcement from me did produce the eye roll and the word hotel nearly simultaneously. We'd always had good rhythm.

My husband chased the cat out of the car. I stood still, confused and wondering whether I should go into the house knowing he's going to war with the bees, or stay outside with the cat who was ticked because I ratted him out. This time I chose to go inside, because I had a competent defender holding two cans of poison. Plus, I needed to point out the bee that was still undoubtedly crawling up and down the doorway. He sprayed the sink easily enough, sprayed around the doorway, and then he asked if I noticed where they might be coming from. By now, I was talking non-stop in one of those Houston-we-have-a-problem tones, yes, there were a number on the window, some on the floor, hotel, hotel, hotel, kitchen counter—but God bless America, none in the bathroom where I was sure I would hide at the first sign of retaliation. As he sprayed and vacuumed the dead bodies, I pointed to the nest outside the right hand corner of the window, close to where I'd coincidentally placed my folding table and computer. He nodded, picked up the twenty-foot spray, and headed for the door, while I reminded him in my loudest Minnie Mouse voice of the can's advisory never to spray during the day! But of course, he was going to do exactly that--what country man wouldn't?

I couldn't watch. I was a mixture of panic, horror, and adrenaline. If they attacked him, where was the nearest hospital? Did 911 work everywhere? Did my cell have a signal? If he was attacked, do I spray him with the other can which at least was approved for indoor use with the doors and windows wide open? Where was the neighbor now? Oh my God, where was the cat? I had been in the country less than twenty minutes, and I was already having chest pains.

My husband returned looking victorious. When I realized he wasn't being tracked by an air brigade, I was ecstatic. I could hear my pinched voice telling him the infestation of Ladybugs I just found certainly meant good luck. I was actually flicking them off my workspace, making wishes. Before leaving me to begin his field work, he plugged in an XM portable satellite radio, so could I listen to the soothing voice of Jonathan Schwartz who I recalled from WNEW back when I was young and safe in New Jersey. It immediately calmed me down. I popped the top on my computer, and barely flinched as the ladybugs smashed themselves against the toxic window. Hours passed as I busily edited. I rose to make a pot of coffee, and as I looked at the cat rolling on his back at my doorstep, I comforted myself knowing at least my chances of encountering field mice indoors today were pretty slim.

L. A. Rentschler, author of the newly released novel Mother (amazon.com). Author of Jitters which was produced as a Lifetime Original Movie. Playwright, best known for Deathbed. IWWG. Dramatist Guild of America. http://www.larentschler.com Write to her: linda@larentschler.com

Dixie Chicks Fear No Critic

Writen by Christine Paluf

Though many may barely remember The Dixie Chicks comments about President Bush during a 2003 London concert, this year's "Accidents and Accusations" tour is still feeling the effects. Fourteen cancelled US dates, and push-backs of other shows have prompted some to believe the blame lies with the perceived lack of support in the southern states.

The choice to cancel a Houston, TX show but to continue plans for Austin and Dallas is confusing for some, but according to the show's promoter, AEG's Loius Messina, radio stations may have influenced public perception to a point of no return.

In an interview with the Houston Chronicle, Messina said that Houston-area stations refused advertising dollars, and still continue not to play the Chicks' songs.

Whether the radio station is creating public perception or reflecting it, the Chicks chose to cancel the concert before tickets ever went on sale.

"We had 40 dates … to promote, and ultimately we had to pick the 40 best markets," Messina told the Chronicle.

Apparently, the better markets lie outside US borders, as 16 of the 43 tour dates are scheduled for Canadian cities.

Nielsen SoundScan reports that 22,000 copies of "Taking the Long Way" sold in Houston, better than the 19,000 that sold in Austin, but less than 36,000 copies that sold in Dallas. Yet Dallas and Austin still remain on the tour list.

So it's not a lack of area fans, it just may be an issue of the difference between what people will listen to in private, and what they will support and admit to in public. When the political climate is less-than positive for the Dixie Chicks, keeping up appearances may take utmost importance.

Or, ticket prices may be to blame. Poor ticket sales were initially blamed for the 14 US cancellations, which is in stark contrast to how the album is doing nationally. Tickets are priced upwards of $50 a piece.

The Dixie Chicks newest album debuted in the number one spot on the Billboard 200 and the Billboard Country Albums charts. It secured the highest first week's sales, in the SoundScan era, of any album in Columbia Records history.

"This is a year where we weren't sure what to expect. We were prepared for a lot of things as we figure out this new phase of our career. What we weren't prepared for, however, was the overly passionate audience response at all of the stops on the tour so far," the band said on their Website.

"We are truly at a loss for words to explain what that has meant to us. We hope that our fans who were looking forward to a stop that is no longer on the tour will be able to join us at a nearby arena this fall, and we are sorry for any confusion or inconvenience these changes have caused."

Singer Natalie Maines said she was "ashamed" to share their home state of Texas with President Bush. She later apologized for "disrespecting the office of the President," but said in a recent Time Magazine interview that she no longer feels that way. "I don't feel he is owed any respect at all."

The band has publicly announced their intentions to move away from the country music charts, and their newest release reflects that goal. With more of a rock influence, the band may be making an effort to appeal to a more accepting and less conservative audience.

"I'd rather have a smaller following of really cool people who get it, … than people who have us in their 5-disc changer with Reba McEntire and Toby Keith," said Martie Maguire, fiddler for the group. "We don't want those kinds of fans. They limit what you can do."

And apparently, what you can say.

Christine Paluf is the Editor of TicketNews.com, a secondary ticket industry news and information site.

Learning To Appreciate Art Quilts

Writen by Katrina Sjoberg

Good Morning,

I have been mulling over the question of how one learns to appreciate art, fabric art in particular, and how to educate the public about art quilts.

First of all, art quilts as an art form is a relatively new concept in the art world. Textile art has existed a long time in the form of woven tapestries or sewn garments. Quilts have also existed a long time and have even been decorated with embroidery even as they were used as bedspreads on beds for warmth. Some garments were quilted and used under armor and other outerwear to keep people warm.

Traditional American quilts flourished in the 1800s and were mostly used for practical purposes although they were very artfully hand sewn and embroidered. A lot of women made quilts for their trousseaus and also telling family histories such as births, marriages and deaths. Still, they were mostly treasured as family heirlooms handed down for several generations. Today, museums and private collectors pay huge sums for antique bed quilts so in that sense, they are now art.

The modern art quilts (to be hung on the wall) evolved in the early 70s, through the 80s and the 90s. Many women were interested in their grandmother's quilts or quilts their mothers made for them and had learned sewing and hand embroidery since they were young, but wanted to find new ways of expressing their creativity using fabrics of all kinds. The notion came that maybe we could make quilts that would strictly be for decorative purposes to be displayed on the walls in homes, hotel lobbies, offices, restaurants and other public spaces.

There was a lot of experimentation taking place at this time using traditional cutting or sewing techniques and designs in new expanded ways where blocks were not all the same but different. Some artists even used blocks of different sizes to be sewn together in creative ways. Many started coloring, dyeing and printing their own fabrics which then were cut up in various ways and reassembled to form a new graphic image. Some used one piece of fabric and embellished it with more fabric sewn directly onto the top, either appliqued by hand or machine. Some added colorful hand stitching as part of the design.

Sewing techniques became innovative also because of new sewing machine technology where lots of machine stitching and embroidery became part of the overall design, not just used to quilt two layers of fabric and the batting together. This trend continues today with many fabric artists using free motion (random stitching) to highlight areas of design or even be an intricate part of the graphics.

Also as the interest grew in sewing and new fabrics came on the market, new kinds of threads emerged on the scene. Metallic threads in all colors meant that some very interesting effects could be achieved by machine quilting in specific areas. All kinds of threads came along with different kinds of qualities that could be used in creative ways.

The latest trend is the renewed interest in yarns of all kinds which many fabric artists like to incorporate onto the surface of their art quilts. Specialty yarns of all kinds and colors can add exciting textures to the designs. Additional embellishments used nowadays are beads, ribbons, trinkets and even new kinds of fibers. Some artists are even incorporating materials and techniques from other artforms.

So how are these wall quilts art? They are art because they're original visions manifested in various ways using fabrics much in the same way as an artist would use brushes. They are art because they express high levels of creativity of images never before seen. They are art because of the innovations in techniques they represent. And they bring tremendous amounts of beauty to our often denatured, sterile and concrete-filled asphalt jungle environment.

I remember a few years ago when I saw my first real art quilts displayed at a local center where I frequently went for meetings. It was a private display of three very large art quilts depicting various scenes inspired by the Holy Writings of the Baha'i Faith. I literally stopped in my tracks when I entered the room! The atmosphere and energy were totally changed just because of those beautiful works of art. I will never forget that moment and I am sure that is one of the reasons I decided that I wanted to create something similar.

So, how do you learn to appreciate this new art form? Go to quilt exhibits, local and national, as often as you can. Almost all traditional quilt exhibits now include some form of art quilts as a special category. Prizes are given and artists are given recognition. Many have written books about the techniques they've invented or perhaps they've come up with a variation of a cutting technique. Find quilting programs on your local TV network or cable, many now devote one or two programs per week to fabric art.

In general, read art books that you find in the local library. Go to museums and regular art exhibits. Take art classes and art appreciation classes to get a good basic background about art in general. Then you will begin to appreciate the work involved and the time it takes to create an art quilt.

Special Event Flowers

Writen by Tenley McDonald

When you are in charge of organizing a "Special Event", you want to make a good impression. Don't forget the flowers to make your event memorable. Your local florist offers a wide variety of floral décor for any event!

Flowers can add a special touch to many events including;

Conventions & Trade Shows

Corporate & Private Celebrations

Fundraisers

Graduations

Reunions

School Functions (including dances)

Open House (Corporate & Residential)

Banquets

Mitzvahs

Seasonal Home & Office

Anniversary Parties

Weddings & Receptions

Baby Showers

Bridal Showers

Birthday Parties

Church Functions

Some of the many floral designs used for special events include;

Centerpieces-

Your local florist can assist you with centerpieces with or without candles. Be sure to have an accurate table count. It will also help your florist customize your floral centerpieces if you know the size and shape of the table. Centerpieces can add beautiful color to your special event. At the end of your event you can even hold a drawing for the centerpieces or give them away as a memorable keepsake.

Structure Floral Design-(Swags, Garlands, Custom Designs)

~for banister railings, doorways, stages, fireplace, etc.~ Flowers can be designed to compliment any structure for your special event. If possible, your florist may like to visit your event venue to take measurements and make the appropriate recommendations for floral designs customized for structures.

High Style Floral Design-

These unique designs can be in vases, urns or other special containers. They are commonly used on Foyer Tables, Pedestals, Stages and Head Tables for dramatic effect. A high style floral arrangement is blooming modern art, impressive for any special event.

Another Creative idea is to have corsages and/or boutonnières made for your guests of honor, hosts and speakers. They will compliment the other flowers at your event, and double as a token of appreciation for your distinguished guests. Call your local florist today for details. The possibilities are endless!

Tenley McDonald- Former Florist- Now Co-Owner of http://www.flowerpowernetwork.com (Online Directory of Real Local Florists) Ms. McDonald has over 14 years experience in ~Consumer Relations/Marketing ~Customer Service Management ~Floral Design. Please email the Author directly for reprint permission of this article.

The Fruitcake Act Iv The Apartment Part One Of Two Parts

Writen by Dennis Siluk

Act IV

The Apartment

Rosario and Lee got married, they are now in their own small apartment, it is mid-afternoon [and by implication], the apartment is more similar to a studio-apartment, having one large room with a roll-a-way bed [otherwise known as a Murphy Bed], and an archway to the kitchen that is a little pronounced because of its huge ceilings; -- the bathroom is beyond the kitchen, that one can only see a door to.

This is a good time to let you in on the news, Oliver, our faithful, man of dry-wit, was the best man at the wedding, which took place six-months ago. I can assure you, he was a blast, but on the other hand, I can't really say much about the furniture in their new apartment, it is not a blast, at least to look at, it is rather simple at its finest, ordinary; I think Rosario is satisfied with this although, but Lee is a bit embarrassed. There is a radio and sofa chair by Lee, and a stand next to his right elbow; about several feet from his chair is a rocker for— [you got it] Rosario, with a tall floor lamp by her chair, woops, both Rosario and Lee have a floor lamp by their chairs. Lee is a firm believer in the old ways of life, man should have his own big chair, and lamp; --Lee is now looking at his first disability check he got from the Government, for he can no longer work because of his heart and possible future stroke along with something unknown that makes him weaker than one would expect; as time passes on, the doctors are checking him out, possible a neurological issue of sorts they say.

On the other hand, Rosario continues to work at the hospital and Oliver now their new best friend has retired, he worked in the fur trade, and then after that become obscure, and he worked at the Post Office. Rosario has walked over to Lee and he shows her the government check. As I am explaining this to you, she [Rosario] knows he cannot work anymore, and so she is thinking about going over to encourage him in his life long dream, which is to write music, and combine that with his poetry.

Rosario. Lee!

Lee. Yaw— [Rosario putting the check back into Lee's hands] what's up!

Rosario. Why don't you write some music, like you've always wanted to, you got the time, I support it, and who knows, it could be quite enlightening? [She walks into the kitchen; she has planted the seed, now it's 'food for thought,' time.]

There is no reply.

Lee! [Says Rosario.]

--Still no reply…

Lee! Are you out there?

Lee [with uncertainty]. Are you, you really serious?

Rosario [enthusiastically]. As serious as a heart attack— oops, I didn't mean that, the wrong word. It will keep you busy, and you're fond of music, and I adore your poetry.

Lee. Don't scream it out, it bothers me.

Rosario. Sorry—

Lee [walking into the kitchen]. I hear you baby, I like the idea—I'd be fond of it, I mean a whole, whole lot…do you think I'm good enough, I mean really, really, really good enough? I mean would you care to listen to my music if you were not married to me [pause]. Well, would you?

Rosario [absentmindedly]. Good enough for what?

Lee [increasingly annoyed]. Yaw, I'll turn down the radio…d o w nnn…

[A pause]

Lee. I can do it, I can do it [a knock at the door]

Rosario. Well, I know that, who's at the door? [She swiftly moves out of the kitchen to the door before Lee gets out of his sofa chair.]

She opens the door, it's Oliver—

He is standing in the doorway [he is a colorful dresser to say the least] with yellow stocking on up to the knees. He towers over Rosario at 6-foot three inches. He has a blue satin vest on, a little wild looking; thin in the face, and long hair. His coat I'd say he looks like it is in need of a good press job, an old relic from the last war, hidden in some attic, Rosario conjures in her mind; --reminiscent of the Civil war, at least. He has a white shirt on, with a red tie, maybe not coordinating colors, but bright; --a wide belt stretching across his over lapping stomach [Rosario is thinking, think she is thinking, 'could that belt stretch his belly button out of shape?]. He has that Oliver grin on his face, that says sarcasm may came at any moment, anytime, anywhere, anyplace, possible here, right now, the one that says here I am, for better or worse [he has a heartily kind of composure to himself].

Oliver [a big hearty smile on his face, a twinkle in his eye]. Just passing by thought I'd stop and see the two love birds [he hands her a big sack of potatoes, twenty-pounds]; my mother always said to bring a gift when you go visiting, and my dad always said, 'make it a surprise.' [He starts laughing.] Got to please you both,—you know.

Rosario [bright eyed]. You haven't been around for a month; Lee and I were wondering if you were ill. You were coming around once a week before. [not sure if this is a question or a statement, everyone is silent for a moment]

Oliver [answering Rosario, as Lee remained silent for a moment longer]. Don't want to ware out my welcome, sweetie!

Lee. Haw, that's my territory old man, only I say sweetie. [There was something in the tone of his voice for a moment, as he put his cigarette out in the ashtray next to him.]

Oliver. Well who told you to marry her, haw…haw?

Rosario. Oh-ooooooo Oliver, Lee didn't tell me about that, so he needed some coaching, did he [Rosario looking at Lee and Oliver both humorously]

Lee [serious as usually, he is trying to change the subject]. Why—why the potatoes, I've never seen anyone bring potatoes over before; unbelievable.

Rosario turns around to shut the door, Lee is looking at Oliver, takes his hands and waves them—as if to say, 'hush up' about his coaching, and reminiscent of a zipper, he pretends to zip his lips shut. Oliver says in a whisper, "You asked for it."

Oliver [he exclaimed laughing]. What was that? [He heard him—a pause.] Why not?

♪ The Music ♫

Lee [suspiciously, with a funny grin on his face]. I guess she's right [a mutual glare from both of them appear].

Oliver [with quiet laughter]. Glad you didn't end up with that humming bird, or maybe I should call her a chatter-box. Oh she was nice looking, healthy with the body parts, but talk, talk, talk, and never stop. Oh, yes, she was a talker; surely from a genetic trait way back yonder some place. Just think Lee, had you married her, you would never be able to talk; she'd be doing all the talking. What would you be doing? I'll tell you right now what you'd be doing, standing at the courthouse getting a divorce. She would have driven you to a hotel, just to get away from her, probably divorce you quicker than making a pan-cake, and drive you to drink. Fickle, that's what most of the women are today, unpredictable, fickle-d, and pickled; don't know what they want these new modern women, and when they got it, are happy for a season, and then—find out it was just a joy ride they were after…

Well, you know.

Lee [scornfully]. I wish you wouldn't bring her up, you always seem to, and it's just not nice. She had her issues, and I married Rosario, thank God. And that is that.

Oliver. You can say that again!

Lee. What did I say…?

Oliver [with a hiss]. Issues! Yaw, that…'sssssss what they all say; issues my as...S-sssssss. [Pause.] She had an encyclopedia of issues then. Everything was an issue. I don't know what she had, but I know what she needed, and that was a kick in the ass-sssssssss. Yes, brother, a good old kick in the ass. And that should have been done 50-years ago. Nowadays, the kids run the show, the social workers, and the parent is are on trial, and then the government says, 'You got to watch those kids, listen to them, hug them, give them love.' Horse shit, a good kick in the ass is love enough, and then get on with business, that's what I say, that's what they need. We pay these social workers to be social, and that's far from their mentality. A parent that is too lazy to kick his kid in the ass is too lazy to raise them.

Lee. Oliver, calm down.

Oliver. I do get carried away, don't I? I'm glad you got Rosario, at any rate; if I don't calm down I'll end up back in that damn hospital, listening to everyone bellyache, and those damn kids screaming and yelling, a bunch of rug-rats; I raised mine, and they are as thankless, and useless except for one, as the day is long.

Lee. Yaw, I know you do, --get carried way that is… [Both smiling at one another, Oliver's head is down a little, akin to a boy who has been scolded, yet knows he does what he does because he loves you, not to hurt you.]

Oliver [staring at papers on the side of Lee's chair]. What's all that stuff, looks like music?

Rosario [proudly]. My husband is a composer of music, he writes poetry also.

Oliver [looking a bit impressed]. Say Rosario, can this guy really write that kind of stuff-♪♫ or is this 'bull- sh…t'?

Rosario. Yes, yes, he can. His poems are his music; his lyric's that is—music added to poems.

Oliver. People don't talk like that, poems-music,--music-poems. Talk English to me.

Lee [critically]. Oliver, let me explain, if I can. Poetry, barring the Yale type taught crowd, who would present criticism at any turn at the good ripe age of two-days old [sarcasms, reeking from his face], music is poetry in motion. In contrast, it is a story Oliver, yup, that is what it is, and if one was to go beyond that, a novel if you will. After I'm dead and buried, listen to it a few times for about six months and then do a comparison, or analyze it [he hands Oliver a copy of his music with the lyrics] I have a few copies, as I was trying to say, don't judge it as the Yale critic would, in one day, it has to ferment similar to wine…

Oliver [quite impressed]. Wine haw, you are definitely right there, Lee, I mean you got what it takes. You should have been doing this years ago [Rosario looks at Lee and Oliver, and nodes her head, pointing her finger at her forehead as if to say Lee has some unused smarts].

Oliver rocking in the chair, Rosario standing by the archway into the kitchen in the main room of the Studio Apartment; the sun is shining through the windows, as the shades on the windows are half up, and the curtains drawn back and wrapped with ropes. The floor is made of shinning polished and waxed wood, as are the doors, and the cabinet work in the main room as well as the kitchen.

Oliver [critical]. If you write about me in those lyric's I hope you do me justice. I am not… [He starts to read one of the music sheets, the lyrics] I was saying, I am not, or do not, I should say, reveal me as one of those ordinary people, you know as so many authors do. You read one novel, and then another and the characters are all the same, nothing new. No different shapes to them. If you didn't know their names, you'd never know who they were. Our character tells a person who we are, not our names, not after the day you are born anyways.

Lee. I didn't know you were a philosopher of sorts; yes, a profound thinker I'd say. You are well read my friend. Most people would say my mother was ordinary, as ordinary goes; but what is ordinary, maybe to some people like me it is a blessing to be ordinary, and to other people it is common to be ordinary, and still for others they hate being ordinary. What ever it is my mother's ordinary character taught me to stand tall, be honest, work hard, and don't let everything bother you: she believed in me. There was what I call an ordinary priority in her life: god, me and my brother and her, and beyond that, we go into second gear. Maybe she really wasn't ordinary, maybe it is simple me that is, or wanted to be.

Oliver [with a smirk]. No, I'm not a philosopher; not really, I just know garbage from true fiction; or maybe better put garbage from historical fiction. God made everyone different, yet we put names on everyone, and that is how we are known. How about using a few good impressions to describe us with, me, in particular if you ever use me? Or let's say, just as you described your mother being ordinary. It really wasn't a description of an ordinary person, but rather the impression I get is, she got around, new what she wanted, had direction, took from life, life and lived it. What more can we do. Possibly she was a realist, and partly dreamer, like you.

Lee. How should I shape you, should I try?

Oliver. Hm…mm! You trying to [pause] — I want to read this stuff, but back to your question. I should be characterized different, that is from a different angle, like your mother, 'simple, but multifaceted.' Similar to your songs also; are they not all different, but complex in their own way…have their own personality [?] One is on "Death," another on "Love," something we all thing about; another on finding and searching for some one, something we all have experienced, all these things mold us, make and adjust our priorities, as it did for your mother and you, as it does for you and your wife, as it is doing with you and as…as I look at these music sheets, the words, notes and all, I can't quite anticipate them, as you can not anticipate me, and whoever reads about me, that is somewhat how it should start. When I read a book, I first try to read half of the book and if I can it tell me it might be a good book; if I can't, it is just old music being played over, I just stop playing it, or in my case reading it, if I already know the ending, why read it: a good book should not be able to let you know what the ending is going to be before you get there. The only difference being, it's a new day. Some of these writers in Paris, Hollywood, New York, think they are writing something new. I call it 'The Original Old Foolish Stuff…' if I could think of a longer name for it I would. I want to be something new in your book, on each sentence, or stanza in your song, or poem, a spark that never was—that's me. Does that make sense? Like your mother, she is someone to you that will never be again. No body will take her imprint off you. God gave you her as a gift, it was his gift…not a perfect gift, just like you, not perfect, but a gift that will open your whole being up every time you think of her.

Lee. You want me to make you into a 'Best Seller,' well Oliver, you are to me or us, my wife and I that is: you already are a Best Seller. I'm not any big music writer or anything like that, but if I do write about you I will give it a good try and make you unique; you will be a hero, like my mother. I do not have many heroes, but she is one. I'm not sure what makes a hero, but I know what doesn't make one, and that is all these foolish actors on TV that play parts and live contrary to what they'd have you believe. They no more believe in the parts they play than in the people they meet, it is all money, power and glory, they think they are something more special than other people, simply because they get an applause, how foolish can a brain be. Some play parts in wars and never were even a soldier, or for that matter Boy Scout, like a writer to be a real writer, you got to live it; like a bullfighter, or a bull watcher, you are one or the other, and of course the bullfighter can tell you the truth, and the watcher tells what he only sees, which is a half truth, but for the 'buck,' they'll pretend anything, and get drunk later--and then expect the public to think of them as heroes, how about over paid whores—or puppies. When you perform in doing something you do not believe in, it is what you are, you sell yourself cheap. My wife is a hero of sorts, and so are you, a little hero to me.

Oliver [now puts a little more thought into his writing as he looks onto the music sheets]. Strange to say but I must, you're a little inefficient, are you not old chap or should I say young man. I only see one fly in the soup…

Lee. And what is that?

Oliver [hesitantly]. You and your wife are settled, content, almost placid at times, and still quite attracted to one another, writing all this music takes time, effort, and stress—lots of stress for such a short time in writing them. You got to take it easy my friend. [Lee smiled at Oliver, his wife watching him]. Your writing is fine, it is the process …

Oliver. Now let me read out loud these lyrics:

As Love goes by

C— — ♫ It was-n't in Pa- ris, ♪ it was- n't in Rome…. ♫ It wasn't at the tash- ma-----hal ♪♫ I met her in Bei- jing, standing by the Em-pe-ror's wall…♫ Her eyes were full of sky… here voice full of soul…. Her shape was like a god-dess, of mar-ble and of…. Gold…. Her in- sides like a blos-somed rose…. A blos- somed rose…. We shared our glor-ry, we shared our hearts…. ♫♪ AS LOVE GOES….. ♫ BY….. ♪  [long pause, musical] We shared our glo- ry, we shared our hearts… ♪ We nev-er missed a cue. …… ♫♪ Our love was touched by Beijing…mist… …. Our faith was crys-tal new….   Fare- well, fare- well!! We sang our song, as lovers of-ten do…. Then with a kiss… a touch and a sigh, We left the world…. We knew…. We left the world, we left the world…. Re-newed…. Then with a touch and a sigh, we left the world we knew….♫.. As love Goes by… As Love goes by, Love goes by… G E7 G F D7 G G7 Ami G  

♫

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