He walked briskly across the snow covered parking lot, trying to keep his head turned away from the wind. The small, icy, snowflakes stung has they pelted his face. He hurried into the store and used the facilities, making sure none of the cashiers saw him. He didn’t want to take a chance on having his bathroom privileges curtailed.
Once out of the store, Charles hurried to the leeward side of the building, looking for a relief from the relentless wind. As he leaned against the building, he heard voices from around the corner, near the back of the store.
"You need to get this truck unloaded as soon as possible. I don’t care if it is cold and snowy, just get it done, now!" the husky voice bellowed.
Charles walked to the rear of the store and stuck his head around the corner to see a small, black man standing inside a semi trailer, struggling with trying to lift heavy boxes onto a conveyor belt. The wheels whirred as the boxes flew down the conveyor belt. The small man would grunt each time he struggled to lift one of the heavy boxes. Charles watched for a few minutes, then made a decision. He walked up to the back of the trailer and hollered in.
"Could you use some help?"
The man looked up, sweat dripping from his face despite the bitter cold. "Yeah, sure," he replied.
Charles climbed up into the trailer and started sending the boxes down the belt. The boxes didn’t seem that heavy to Charles, but then he was a big man, well built and considerably stronger than the small man struggling with the boxes.
They didn’t speak much as they worked to empty the trailer, just working, each alone in his thoughts. Charles was surprised that he was actually enjoying the chance to work again, even if he wasn’t getting paid. He found a rhythm that wasn’t too fast or too slow but was getting a lot of the boxes off the truck. He was loading three or four to the small man’s one box. Before long, they had the truck emptied.
"Thanks, man," the small man said, pulling off his well worn gloves.
"Sure, no problem, man," Charles answered. He started to jump down off the truck when the manager, who had been yelling earlier at the small man, came out of the back door of the store.
"You get it done?" he asked, looking at the small man. The manager glanced at Charles, but didn’t say anything to him.
"Yes sir, it’s all done.....all empty," the small man answered.
"Who are you?" the manager asked, looking at Charles.
"Nobody," Charles answered. "Just hangin’ around."
"Did you help?" the manager asked Charles.
"Yeah, I helped," Charles answered, almost with an air of contempt for the manager. He wanted to add, ‘what’s it to you’, but decided against it.
"I suppose you want to get paid for it?" the manager asked.
"Nah, just helpin’ out." Charles answered, throwing on his coat. "I’ll be going."
"Hold on a minute," the manager said, as Charles started to walk off. "Haven’t I seen you around the store a lot?"
Charles turned and faced the manager. "Maybe" he said. "Could be."
"Are you a friend of his," he asked, tossing his head in the direction of the small man.
"Nah, like I said, just helpin’ out." Charles replied.
"You lookin’ for a job?"
"A job?" Charles hadn’t been asked that very often and was surprised by the question.
"He can have mine," the small man said, stepping up between the two men. "I quit this stinkin’ work!" He walked past Charles and into the store. Charles watched as the door closed behind the man, then he turned toward the manger. The manager had stuck his hands into his coat pockets in a vain attempt to keep them warm.
" It looks like we have two openings now. What do you say?"
Charles thought for a moment, kicking at the snow that was piling up around the two men. He didn’t answer.
"It pays ten bucks an hour. It’s five days a week, Saturdays and Sundays off. You get a two weeks paid vacation after the first year. Interested?"
Charles looked at the man’s eyes. He seemed like a hard man, but there seemed to be a fairness to him and Charles figured he could use the money. "Uh......, I don’t know......maybe."
Charles was reluctant to take the work since having money always represented difficult decisions for him. Whenever he had money, his demons reared their ugly heads and tempted him beyond his capacity to resist. At least, that was the pattern in the past. Charles had been somewhat successful the last time he had worked and had a bit of money, only using his ‘helpers’ as he called them, for a short time and then using the rest of the money for useful items instead of fun juice for his veins. Yet, he realized he couldn’t avoid life forever, that at some point, he would have to step back in to it, with all its cruel temptations, and demonstrate that he could resist the siren call of illicit drugs. Overcoming his need for the feelings the drugs brought to him, had been Charles’s downfall in the past, but, he was determined to overcome this nasty habit and get off the streets. The only question in Charles’s head was if he was up to the challenge. If the past was any indication, he wasn’t. But people change, he thought, and maybe he could as well.
"Well, if you decide you want the work, come in to the store tomorrow at eight and ask for me, I’m Rusty Barnes."
Charles nodded, turned and started walking toward the corner of the store. Just as he was about to turn the corner, the manager called to him.
"Hey, what’s your name?"
Charles turned and yelled against the wind. "Charles Hocksworth."
"All right, Charles, I’ll see you tomorrow at eight."
"I guess," Charles muttered under his breath.
The next morning, about 9:30, Charles lay on his cot, staring at the snowy ceiling and watched the candle light dance around the ice crystals. The candle had started to take the edge off the cold, but Charles wasn’t too keen on getting out of his sleeping bag and facing the cold. His belly was complaining about the lack of food and his bladder was about to convince him he had to get up, even if he didn’t want to. He made a mental note to dig a small bathroom off the main room so that he didn’t have to walk all the way to the Walmart bathroom. The notion of going to work was far from his mind by this time. He had thought about it for a bit, but decided that unloading trucks wasn’t what he wanted to do then. Maybe later...much later, after the fear subsided.
As he crawled out of the entrance, the wind whipped ice and snow down his collar. He pulled his hood over his ball cap, stuck his hands into the coat pockets, and walked over to use the bathroom. He had slept too long to make it to the soup kitchen for breakfast, so he would have to wait for lunch to satisfy his stomach. After using the Walmart facilities, he returned to the pile to dig his bathroom.
He grabbed the small shovel, and started digging off the back of the main room. He had decided to make the bathroom just big enough that he could crawl into for those night emergencies or when the weather was to inclement in the mornings. He would dig some snow out, then push it out the front entrance, return and repeat until he had the new room almost completed. He was near finishing when he spotted a small, black handle sticking out of the snow. He pushed the snow away from it so that he could examine it. It appeared to be a handle like that on a brief case or small suit case. He dug around it with his shovel until he could pull it out from under the snow.
He sat down on his cot, placed the brief case on his lap and looked it over. It was black leather, very expensive looking, and locked. He worked on the locks with no success. Finally, in exasperation, he sat it on the ground and, using the blade of his shovel, levered it open. It fell open, scattering its contents all over the tarp in front of Charles. He sat and stared at the hundred dollar bills littering the ground in front of him. The case held hundreds more. He gathered up the loose money, stuck it back in the brief case and closed it on his lap. He sat there on his cot, the brief case on his lap, thinking. The only people he knew that carried money like that were drug dealers, and he didn’t think they would just let it be lost. Judging from where he found the case, at the bottom of the pile, it must have been lost for a few weeks, or even months. Never the less, those guys, whoever they were, wouldn’t just give up trying to find it. But, they don’t usually just lose money like that. Something must have happened to make them leave it after they lost it.
Another scenario that flew through his head is that someone could have stolen the money from the bad guys and then ditched it when they got too close. Whatever the reason for the money being there on his lap, he knew he would have to do something fast if he was going to .......to what? He didn’t have a plan. Call the police? Not even, he thought! But, if word got out that he had the money, he’d be dead meat within a few days. He grabbed the money and stuffed it in his back pack, an idea forming as he moved. He was about to crawl out, when he stopped. He pulled out eight of the bills and buried them in the snow above the candle. They would be revealed from the heat of the candle, after about an hour or so. He returned the case where he had found it, pushed some loose snow around it to cover it, then crawled out of the entrance.
He hurried to the soup kitchen, hoping to be in time for lunch. As he walked in, the room was mostly clear, except for a few men. He looked around, finally finding what he was looking for. He walked across the room and stood in front of the small, Hispanic man.
"Hey, Victor, what’s up?" he said, an unusual smile on his face.
"Hey, Charles, whatcha doin’, buddy?" Victor replied.
"I"m getting out of this miserable state," Charles stated.
"No way!" Victor said, standing. "Where you goin’?"
"Just away....I don’t really know, .....just outta here."
"Cool." Victor nodded, not knowing what else to say.
"Do you remember that place I mentioned to you the other day?" Charles asked. "You know, my own place?"
"Oh, yeah, man, what ya got goin’" Victor asked.
"I don’t need it no more, so I’m givin’ it to you. You want it?"
"Uh....yeah, sure, where is it?"
Charles thought for a moment. How could he explain that it was a pile of snow in the Walmart parking lot. Suddenly, after his windfall, that pile didn’t seem so cool. But, maybe Victor would. "It is in the parking lot of Walmart,"
"Where?" Victor asked, scrunching up his face. "You joking me, Charles?"
"There is a pile of snow on the Northeast corner of the Walmart parking lot. I made a snow cave in it and stuck a cot and sleeping bag in it. There’s a candle for light, a shovel to dig it bigger if you want. Go around to the back side of it, by the berm with the trees on it and, if you dig in the snow pile a little, you’ll find a blue tarp covering the entrance. It is warm ,out of the wind and it is safe. It is yours if you want it....doesn’t matter to me either way," Charles explained.
"A snow pile? Hey,...ya know, cool, I’ll check it out," Victor said, a note of hesitancy in his voice.
"Run the candle a lot, it helps to keep it warm," Charles added, with a smile.
"Yeah, ok," Victor said, not sure of the, so called, gift he’d been given. " Uh....thanks, man."
Charles shouldered his back pack and walked out of the soup kitchen. He pulled his hood up over his ball cap and leaned into the wind. That was the last time anyone ever saw him.
The End
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Charles Mellon Hocksworth
Charles Mellon Hocksworth
Charles first struck upon the idea of living in the snow pile on the Northeast corner of the Walmart parking lot on a cold, windy night just after he had been asked to leave the men’s shelter because of an altercation he started and finished with a rum soaked, foul smelling resident there. The fight wasn’t his fault, really, the man known as ‘Junk’ had taken Charles’ pillow and refused to give it back. Charles convinced him in the only way he knew how - a ferocious right hook. The powerful blow knocked out Junk and probably broke his toothless jaw, but Charles didn’t really care, not even a little. Junk had been stealing things from him ever since Charles had landed in the men’s shelter, and the pillow was just the last item that Charles was going to let him get away with. Charles had tried the, ‘turn the other cheek’ routine, but his patience had run out and he explained to Junk in a manner Junk would understand. But, that action made life for Charles suddenly far more unpleasant.
Ron, the night manager at the shelter escorted Charles to the front door, handed him his belongings, meager but adequate, and slightly pushed Charles out the door, carefully watching him in the off chance Charles wanted to take a swing at him.
"Sorry, Charles, but the rules are rules and we can’t have any fighting here at the shelter," Ron explained, in an, almost, apologetic tone.
Charles didn’t say anything, knowing that any attempt to ask for mercy would be in vain. He pulled his hood up over his ball cap against the wind that was blowing small pellets of snow, and walked down the street, not sure of where he would go. He had a sleeping bag tied to his back pack, a vestige of his working days, and was prepared to sleep outside if it came to that. His parka would keep him warm for awhile, but the temperature was dropping and would probably be down near zero before the night was over. His boots, old and worn, weren’t up to the task of keeping his feet warm unless he kept walking. The thought of walking all night in the pending blizzard didn’t strike Charles as one of the more brilliant ideas he’s had. There wasn’t another shelter within ten miles and he didn’t feel like trying to make it there during a snow storm, especially with the wind kicking up like it was, probably blowing in a blizzard. He had seen too many homeless men found dead after just such a storm and he didn’t plan on being a statistic just yet.
He knew there would probably be a fire in a fifty five gallon drum down near the tracks under the bridge that crossed the river, but he wasn’t up to walking that far tonight, plus, the idea of sharing the fire with a bunch of drunks, junkies and crazies didn’t get Charles too excited. He walked a few blocks trying to get his thoughts clear. He turned a corner and saw the lights of the Walmart parking lot and just naturally walked toward the light, like a moth looking for it’s bearings. Plus, he knew he could wander Walmart for awhile, warming up, before they sent him back into the cold.
Charles approached the parking lot from the South, just to the right of the large pile of plowed snow. It must have been twenty five feet high, piled up by huge front loaders. He stopped and stared at the pile, a germ of an idea budding in his cold brain. He looked the pile over, walking around it as he surveyed the immensity of it, enlarging his small idea as he walked. A brief smile crossed his cracked lips as he scratched his whisker covered chin with a bare hand.
He made a quick decision, turned and walked across the parking lot and entered the store. He still had a few dollars left from his last job, washing dishes at a café north of town until the owner’s grand son returned from school.
The owner, Jim, had tried to explain why he had to let Charles go, but couldn’t look Charles in the eye as he attempted some justification for firing him.
Charles walked to the sporting goods section and found the items he needed - a small backpack shovel, a candle lantern, a pack of small, flat candles for the lantern, a plastic tarp, and a small, folding cot.
After checking out, he pushed his cart filled with his new furnishings and headed for the snow pile. He parked his cart on the side of the pile opposite the store. A large berm covered in spruce trees and topped by a six foot fence were at his back as he began digging into the snow pile. He tried to pace himself so that he didn’t work up a sweat, knowing that any moisture that dampened his clothing would lower his core temperature when he stopped working. He dug a small opening, in the South side of the pile, just big enough for him to crawl into, that connected to an entrance hall about four feet in length with a slight turn in it to keep any wind down to a minimum. From there, he began to dig a larger room, one about four feet high and approximately six feet across in all directions. He wanted to keep it as small as possible so that he didn’t have to use much energy to heat it.
Once the hole was dug to his satisfaction, he pulled in his new furnishings to arrange them in his new home. He cut the tarp in half and fashioned a make-shift door from one half and used the remaining half as a rug. He set up his cot, dug a small ledge for the candle lantern and lit the candle. He now had light and heat. With no wind, the heat from the candle was enough to take the edge off the cold. In fact, his new home was becoming quite comfortable. He rolled out his sleeping bag, pulled off his boots and slid into bed. The snow, in addition to stopping the wind and acting as insulation, was also blocking all sound from the outside world. For once, in a long time, Charles could enjoy silence. It sounded good. He extinguished the candle, and fell asleep almost instantly.
He awoke the next morning having one of the best nights sleep he could remember. Not since he had found himself out on the streets had he had such a great night’s sleep. Sleeping in shelters, he had to keep one eye open most of the night to keep track of his things. In the ‘Pile’ as he had come to call it, he was alone, unmolested, safe and secure from the outside world.
He poked his head out to find a new, two inch, layer of fresh snow. He grabbed his backpack and stepped out of the opening, pushing some snow over the tarp to conceal it from anyone who might be prying around the pile. After making sure his new home wouldn’t be disturbed, he headed off to the soup kitchen to see if he could get something to eat.
As he walked to the soup kitchen, he had a new bounce to his step. He was a home owner now. Sure, it wasn’t really a conventional home, but it was close, and it performed as one. Besides, he thought, he didn’t have to mow the lawn or shovel the walk, some major pluses when you consider home ownership. He would have to find a way to get a radio so that he could listen to some tunes while he lounged around his new home.
He had just finished eating when Victor, a small, Hispanic man with silver hair and a ready smile, sat down next to him.
"Hey, Charles, I heard about the fight last night you had with Junk. Way to go, man!"
Charles nodded at Victor. "He stole my pillow," Charles explained.
"They had to haul his butt to the ER after you left. He had a broken jaw. They wired it shut so now he’s eating out of a straw," Victor said, lauging.
"He had it coming"
"Yeah, he probably did. I never liked him too much, ya know?" Victor said.
"Me too," Charles added.
"Hey, Charles, where are you staying now? Victor asked.
"I got my own place," Charles said, smiling slightly
"Your own place? How did you do that?"
Charles realized he’d said too much already and didn’t want to add to the mistake by saying more. He just shrugged his shoulders and moved the toast crumbs on his tray around with his fingers.
"Come on, Charles, what you got goin’?
"Nothin’"
"Nah, you got somethin’ goin’ on." Victor bent his head down to look Charles in the eyes. "You’re not gonna tell an old buddy?
Charles stood up. "Nope. There’s just room for one, and that’s me." He headed for the garbage can to dump his food. "Sorry, Vic. I’ll see ya around."
Charles realized he’d have to be more careful so that no one would find out where he was staying and steal all his belongings. He didn’t look back to see how Victor was taking the news. He just didn’t care if Victor liked it or not. It was a matter of survival and having people like you didn’t contribute to survival on the streets. Being smart and tough mattered and that was all. Charles was both tough and smart, and he was sometimes brutally honest when it came to dealing with his fellow man, especially the other homeless men he encountered on the streets. He didn’t see any reason to beat around the bush and try to spare anyone hurt feelings. If they couldn’t get over it, then to hell with them. He didn’t expect any thing different in return.
Charles had been on the streets for the last six years, ever since he was discharged from the Army in 1973. After two tours in Vietnam, a Distinguished Service Medal and a Purple Heart, all the Army could do for Charles was some money for school and occasional free medical care. They really didn’t have an answer to the nasty little habit he’d picked up in the jungles and back streets of ‘Nam. He, as well as many of his fellow soldiers, had found their escape from the brutality and senseless killing in various and assorted drugs. That was the good news, the bad news was that the habit followed them home. Some of the lucky ones rid themselves of it and the unlucky ones, like Charles, suffered the consequences regularly.
Six years of being on the streets, still fighting many of the battles he wished he’d left in country. But, Charles knew the responsibility for his condition lay at his door and none else, and he accepted that. He, somehow, knew he’d find a solution out of the darkness that had engulfed him and get his act together. He had to. He had seen too many of his fellow ex-soldiers die on the streets to want to spend all of his life homeless and hopeless. But, the puzzle was how one went about getting off the streets. As of that cold, sunless morning, Charles had not found that piece of the puzzle. He wondered if he ever would find it. Maybe he’d just walk the streets until they found him huddled under a bridge some day, frozen stiff like Speed, the meth freak who was found just a week before, frozen harder than the concrete he was laying on.
Charles shuddered at the thought of Speed laying on the concrete, just a lump of frozen flesh.
"Aw, crap," Charles muttered under his breath as he dismissed the thought of Speed out of his mind.
Charles walked back to the Pile and, after making sure no one was watching, slipped into the entrance and lay down on the cot. He didn’t light the candle, letting the ambient light leaking in from around the tarp across the opening light the small room.
It was after noon when he awoke. He hadn’t planned taking a long nap, in fact, he hadn’t planned a nap at all, but the comfort of his happy home had overtaken him and he slipped off. He crawled out of the entrance and , after covering up the tarp, walked over to Walmart to use the bathroom. The wind was picking up forcing Charles to pull his hood up over his head. It looked like another storm was blowing in.
To be continued.....
Charles first struck upon the idea of living in the snow pile on the Northeast corner of the Walmart parking lot on a cold, windy night just after he had been asked to leave the men’s shelter because of an altercation he started and finished with a rum soaked, foul smelling resident there. The fight wasn’t his fault, really, the man known as ‘Junk’ had taken Charles’ pillow and refused to give it back. Charles convinced him in the only way he knew how - a ferocious right hook. The powerful blow knocked out Junk and probably broke his toothless jaw, but Charles didn’t really care, not even a little. Junk had been stealing things from him ever since Charles had landed in the men’s shelter, and the pillow was just the last item that Charles was going to let him get away with. Charles had tried the, ‘turn the other cheek’ routine, but his patience had run out and he explained to Junk in a manner Junk would understand. But, that action made life for Charles suddenly far more unpleasant.
Ron, the night manager at the shelter escorted Charles to the front door, handed him his belongings, meager but adequate, and slightly pushed Charles out the door, carefully watching him in the off chance Charles wanted to take a swing at him.
"Sorry, Charles, but the rules are rules and we can’t have any fighting here at the shelter," Ron explained, in an, almost, apologetic tone.
Charles didn’t say anything, knowing that any attempt to ask for mercy would be in vain. He pulled his hood up over his ball cap against the wind that was blowing small pellets of snow, and walked down the street, not sure of where he would go. He had a sleeping bag tied to his back pack, a vestige of his working days, and was prepared to sleep outside if it came to that. His parka would keep him warm for awhile, but the temperature was dropping and would probably be down near zero before the night was over. His boots, old and worn, weren’t up to the task of keeping his feet warm unless he kept walking. The thought of walking all night in the pending blizzard didn’t strike Charles as one of the more brilliant ideas he’s had. There wasn’t another shelter within ten miles and he didn’t feel like trying to make it there during a snow storm, especially with the wind kicking up like it was, probably blowing in a blizzard. He had seen too many homeless men found dead after just such a storm and he didn’t plan on being a statistic just yet.
He knew there would probably be a fire in a fifty five gallon drum down near the tracks under the bridge that crossed the river, but he wasn’t up to walking that far tonight, plus, the idea of sharing the fire with a bunch of drunks, junkies and crazies didn’t get Charles too excited. He walked a few blocks trying to get his thoughts clear. He turned a corner and saw the lights of the Walmart parking lot and just naturally walked toward the light, like a moth looking for it’s bearings. Plus, he knew he could wander Walmart for awhile, warming up, before they sent him back into the cold.
Charles approached the parking lot from the South, just to the right of the large pile of plowed snow. It must have been twenty five feet high, piled up by huge front loaders. He stopped and stared at the pile, a germ of an idea budding in his cold brain. He looked the pile over, walking around it as he surveyed the immensity of it, enlarging his small idea as he walked. A brief smile crossed his cracked lips as he scratched his whisker covered chin with a bare hand.
He made a quick decision, turned and walked across the parking lot and entered the store. He still had a few dollars left from his last job, washing dishes at a café north of town until the owner’s grand son returned from school.
The owner, Jim, had tried to explain why he had to let Charles go, but couldn’t look Charles in the eye as he attempted some justification for firing him.
Charles walked to the sporting goods section and found the items he needed - a small backpack shovel, a candle lantern, a pack of small, flat candles for the lantern, a plastic tarp, and a small, folding cot.
After checking out, he pushed his cart filled with his new furnishings and headed for the snow pile. He parked his cart on the side of the pile opposite the store. A large berm covered in spruce trees and topped by a six foot fence were at his back as he began digging into the snow pile. He tried to pace himself so that he didn’t work up a sweat, knowing that any moisture that dampened his clothing would lower his core temperature when he stopped working. He dug a small opening, in the South side of the pile, just big enough for him to crawl into, that connected to an entrance hall about four feet in length with a slight turn in it to keep any wind down to a minimum. From there, he began to dig a larger room, one about four feet high and approximately six feet across in all directions. He wanted to keep it as small as possible so that he didn’t have to use much energy to heat it.
Once the hole was dug to his satisfaction, he pulled in his new furnishings to arrange them in his new home. He cut the tarp in half and fashioned a make-shift door from one half and used the remaining half as a rug. He set up his cot, dug a small ledge for the candle lantern and lit the candle. He now had light and heat. With no wind, the heat from the candle was enough to take the edge off the cold. In fact, his new home was becoming quite comfortable. He rolled out his sleeping bag, pulled off his boots and slid into bed. The snow, in addition to stopping the wind and acting as insulation, was also blocking all sound from the outside world. For once, in a long time, Charles could enjoy silence. It sounded good. He extinguished the candle, and fell asleep almost instantly.
He awoke the next morning having one of the best nights sleep he could remember. Not since he had found himself out on the streets had he had such a great night’s sleep. Sleeping in shelters, he had to keep one eye open most of the night to keep track of his things. In the ‘Pile’ as he had come to call it, he was alone, unmolested, safe and secure from the outside world.
He poked his head out to find a new, two inch, layer of fresh snow. He grabbed his backpack and stepped out of the opening, pushing some snow over the tarp to conceal it from anyone who might be prying around the pile. After making sure his new home wouldn’t be disturbed, he headed off to the soup kitchen to see if he could get something to eat.
As he walked to the soup kitchen, he had a new bounce to his step. He was a home owner now. Sure, it wasn’t really a conventional home, but it was close, and it performed as one. Besides, he thought, he didn’t have to mow the lawn or shovel the walk, some major pluses when you consider home ownership. He would have to find a way to get a radio so that he could listen to some tunes while he lounged around his new home.
He had just finished eating when Victor, a small, Hispanic man with silver hair and a ready smile, sat down next to him.
"Hey, Charles, I heard about the fight last night you had with Junk. Way to go, man!"
Charles nodded at Victor. "He stole my pillow," Charles explained.
"They had to haul his butt to the ER after you left. He had a broken jaw. They wired it shut so now he’s eating out of a straw," Victor said, lauging.
"He had it coming"
"Yeah, he probably did. I never liked him too much, ya know?" Victor said.
"Me too," Charles added.
"Hey, Charles, where are you staying now? Victor asked.
"I got my own place," Charles said, smiling slightly
"Your own place? How did you do that?"
Charles realized he’d said too much already and didn’t want to add to the mistake by saying more. He just shrugged his shoulders and moved the toast crumbs on his tray around with his fingers.
"Come on, Charles, what you got goin’?
"Nothin’"
"Nah, you got somethin’ goin’ on." Victor bent his head down to look Charles in the eyes. "You’re not gonna tell an old buddy?
Charles stood up. "Nope. There’s just room for one, and that’s me." He headed for the garbage can to dump his food. "Sorry, Vic. I’ll see ya around."
Charles realized he’d have to be more careful so that no one would find out where he was staying and steal all his belongings. He didn’t look back to see how Victor was taking the news. He just didn’t care if Victor liked it or not. It was a matter of survival and having people like you didn’t contribute to survival on the streets. Being smart and tough mattered and that was all. Charles was both tough and smart, and he was sometimes brutally honest when it came to dealing with his fellow man, especially the other homeless men he encountered on the streets. He didn’t see any reason to beat around the bush and try to spare anyone hurt feelings. If they couldn’t get over it, then to hell with them. He didn’t expect any thing different in return.
Charles had been on the streets for the last six years, ever since he was discharged from the Army in 1973. After two tours in Vietnam, a Distinguished Service Medal and a Purple Heart, all the Army could do for Charles was some money for school and occasional free medical care. They really didn’t have an answer to the nasty little habit he’d picked up in the jungles and back streets of ‘Nam. He, as well as many of his fellow soldiers, had found their escape from the brutality and senseless killing in various and assorted drugs. That was the good news, the bad news was that the habit followed them home. Some of the lucky ones rid themselves of it and the unlucky ones, like Charles, suffered the consequences regularly.
Six years of being on the streets, still fighting many of the battles he wished he’d left in country. But, Charles knew the responsibility for his condition lay at his door and none else, and he accepted that. He, somehow, knew he’d find a solution out of the darkness that had engulfed him and get his act together. He had to. He had seen too many of his fellow ex-soldiers die on the streets to want to spend all of his life homeless and hopeless. But, the puzzle was how one went about getting off the streets. As of that cold, sunless morning, Charles had not found that piece of the puzzle. He wondered if he ever would find it. Maybe he’d just walk the streets until they found him huddled under a bridge some day, frozen stiff like Speed, the meth freak who was found just a week before, frozen harder than the concrete he was laying on.
Charles shuddered at the thought of Speed laying on the concrete, just a lump of frozen flesh.
"Aw, crap," Charles muttered under his breath as he dismissed the thought of Speed out of his mind.
Charles walked back to the Pile and, after making sure no one was watching, slipped into the entrance and lay down on the cot. He didn’t light the candle, letting the ambient light leaking in from around the tarp across the opening light the small room.
It was after noon when he awoke. He hadn’t planned taking a long nap, in fact, he hadn’t planned a nap at all, but the comfort of his happy home had overtaken him and he slipped off. He crawled out of the entrance and , after covering up the tarp, walked over to Walmart to use the bathroom. The wind was picking up forcing Charles to pull his hood up over his head. It looked like another storm was blowing in.
To be continued.....
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Bank Robber- a cautionary tale
He stepped inside the second set of glass doors and took a furtive look around, hoping not to see an armed guard. A quick exhale of air signified his pleasure at not finding one. There was still the pesky cameras, but he felt his disguise was sufficient to render him unrecognizable to anyone that might know him, or try to identify him later. To his dismay, the bank was busy and there was a line of people waiting to get to the counter. He wasn’t ready to step up to the line, so he hurried over to a small ledge attached to the wall next to the door where a pen was attached with a chain and several small forms were stacked in their respective compartments, ready to be filled out by bank customers. He grabbed one of the forms, turned it over and wrote his robbery note on it. He waited, hoping that the crowd would thin and he would be able to do his dirty business without having to worry about some citizen trying to be a hero. But, his luck wasn’t holding and the people continued to wander in the door.
He folded his note, held it in his left hand, turned and stepped into line behind a young woman with a little girl in tow. The little girl kept staring at him, making him nervous. Two old women walked in the door and stood behind him as he stared back at the little girl hoping that would make her turn around and stop looking at him. Standing on one foot, she swayed back and forth hanging on to her mom’s arm and sticking the fingers of her other hand in her mouth. His ploy of staring back wasn’t working, in fact, it seemed to make it worse.
The two older women behind him were talking about the up coming bingo game at the living center and wondering if Gladys would try cheating again. Then, almost in mid sentence, they switched to hair coloring , pros and cons, and then off to the best laxative on the market. He was trying to think of a way to move the line faster so that he didn’t have to listen to the talk about hair color and laxatives and be stared at by, what he thought was, a disturbed little girl.
Unfortunately, the line didn’t move and he was getting nervous. His fake beard was starting to scratch his skin and the sweat began to pour down his face from under his hat and wig. He had worn a down filled vest under his coat to make him seem heavier, aiding in the disguise, and the combination of vest, wig , hat and beard were causing him to become extremely hot and uncomfortable. He looked up ahead to see what was holding up the line. There were only two cashiers and one was helping an old man try to count the change he had brought in to deposit. They had to start over twice due to his forgetting where he was in the count. The second cashier was helping a young woman making a merchant deposit. She had checks, cash, coins and receipts scattered over the entire counter. It looked like he was in for a long wait.
The two women behind him began to argue about who had the most aches and pains. He wanted to turn around and tell them to shut up, but he didn’t want to bring any unwanted attention to himself so he just took a breath and tried to relax, which was becoming increasingly more difficult with each inane remark from the two old women.
Two men, dressed as if they might be construction workers stepped into line behind the old women. He was thinking perhaps his idea of robbing the bank wasn’t such a good one, when the line actually moved. The old man finally got his money counted and was hobbling out the door and the young woman and the little girl had moved to the counter, making him next in line.
His heart beat began to accelerate. He was next and it looked like the woman making a deposit was about to finish. She thanked the teller, stuffed her cash bag into her large purse and stepped toward the door. The teller looked at him and smiled. Well, here goes nothing, he thought.
"Hello, sir, how can I help you?" the teller asked, still smiling.
He said nothing, sliding his note across the counter toward her, his hand shaking as he pushed the note.
"What can I do for you?" she asked, taking the note in hand. She read it to herself. " I’m afraid I don’t understand," she added as she examined the note.
He pointed to the note and looked sternly into her eyes trying to will her to give him the money in her drawer.
"It says ‘give me all your money and act normal’. I don’t know what you mean by acting normal," she explained.
He couldn’t believe what she was saying. Could she actually be that dense? He pointed to the note one more time hoping it would sink in that he was trying to rob the bank. She looked at him with a blank stare.
"Did you want to make a withdrawal?" she asked.
He nodded, not wanting to talk, making identification even more difficult.
"Ok, what is your account number?"
He stared at her, not believing what he had heard. Again, he pointed to the note, this time with a thud as his finger forcefully struck the note.
"I have to have an account number in order to help you make a withdrawal," she explained trying to be helpful. "If you’ll give it to me, I can check your account." She waited for him to speak.
He decided to try to disguise his voice and get her to understand he was robbing the bank. "Put all your money in a bag and act normal," he said in a hushed, husky voice.
"I’m not sure what you mean by normal. This is normal. Wouldn’t you consider this normal?"
"Just put the money in a bag!" he said, becoming more agitated.
"Then I guess you consider this normal. Do you have an account here?" she asked again.
"No! Just do as I ask and no one will get hurt!" he exclaimed.
"Well, I would hope not," she added. "But, if I don’t have an account number, I won’t know which account to debit, now, will I?"
"Don’t you get it, just put the money in a bag ," he said, trying to be as quiet as possible and still be heard.
"I’m sorry, sir, but if you don’t have an account here, I can’t help you," she explained, looking past him. "Next"
"No!" he yelled, turning around and looking at the two old ladies. "Stay back. I’m not finished yet!"
"Well," one of the two huffed, "how rude."
He turned to the teller and pointed at the note. "Just put the money in a bag and continue as you normally would." He had given up on trying to disguise his voice.
"No, I’m sorry sir, but I can’t do that," she said, adamantly.
He stood and stared at her. He decided to play his ace. "I have a gun."
She looked at him, looked down at his side, then back into his eyes. "Next, she said, looking past him at the old ladies."
"Look, Mommy, the man is leaking," the little girl standing next to him at the counter said, pointing .
He was sweating profusely, it dripping off his nose and beard. The young girls mother shushed her and pulled her back next to her side.
"See, Mommy, look," the young girl insisted, pointing up at him.
One of the old ladies stood next to him. "We’re next," she said looking up at him with a furrowed brow.
"Just back off!" he shouted at the old lady. "I’m not finished yet."
One of the old ladies spoke. "She said you were." Indicating the teller with her gloved hand, a purse hanging from it.
"No sense being rude," the other old lady chimed in.
"Hey, what’s going on?" One of the construction workers asked.
He stepped aside. The first old lady stepped up to the counter in front of him. He stepped back another step.
"How can I help you ladies?" the teller asked.
He backed up a few steps, trying to get his head straight. Somewhere, the whole transaction had unraveled and he was no longer in control, if he ever was. He crumpled up the note, threw it down and almost ran out of the bank.
One of the old ladies watched him leave the bank. "What is his problem?"
"He wanted to rob the bank." the teller answered, smiling.
THE END
He folded his note, held it in his left hand, turned and stepped into line behind a young woman with a little girl in tow. The little girl kept staring at him, making him nervous. Two old women walked in the door and stood behind him as he stared back at the little girl hoping that would make her turn around and stop looking at him. Standing on one foot, she swayed back and forth hanging on to her mom’s arm and sticking the fingers of her other hand in her mouth. His ploy of staring back wasn’t working, in fact, it seemed to make it worse.
The two older women behind him were talking about the up coming bingo game at the living center and wondering if Gladys would try cheating again. Then, almost in mid sentence, they switched to hair coloring , pros and cons, and then off to the best laxative on the market. He was trying to think of a way to move the line faster so that he didn’t have to listen to the talk about hair color and laxatives and be stared at by, what he thought was, a disturbed little girl.
Unfortunately, the line didn’t move and he was getting nervous. His fake beard was starting to scratch his skin and the sweat began to pour down his face from under his hat and wig. He had worn a down filled vest under his coat to make him seem heavier, aiding in the disguise, and the combination of vest, wig , hat and beard were causing him to become extremely hot and uncomfortable. He looked up ahead to see what was holding up the line. There were only two cashiers and one was helping an old man try to count the change he had brought in to deposit. They had to start over twice due to his forgetting where he was in the count. The second cashier was helping a young woman making a merchant deposit. She had checks, cash, coins and receipts scattered over the entire counter. It looked like he was in for a long wait.
The two women behind him began to argue about who had the most aches and pains. He wanted to turn around and tell them to shut up, but he didn’t want to bring any unwanted attention to himself so he just took a breath and tried to relax, which was becoming increasingly more difficult with each inane remark from the two old women.
Two men, dressed as if they might be construction workers stepped into line behind the old women. He was thinking perhaps his idea of robbing the bank wasn’t such a good one, when the line actually moved. The old man finally got his money counted and was hobbling out the door and the young woman and the little girl had moved to the counter, making him next in line.
His heart beat began to accelerate. He was next and it looked like the woman making a deposit was about to finish. She thanked the teller, stuffed her cash bag into her large purse and stepped toward the door. The teller looked at him and smiled. Well, here goes nothing, he thought.
"Hello, sir, how can I help you?" the teller asked, still smiling.
He said nothing, sliding his note across the counter toward her, his hand shaking as he pushed the note.
"What can I do for you?" she asked, taking the note in hand. She read it to herself. " I’m afraid I don’t understand," she added as she examined the note.
He pointed to the note and looked sternly into her eyes trying to will her to give him the money in her drawer.
"It says ‘give me all your money and act normal’. I don’t know what you mean by acting normal," she explained.
He couldn’t believe what she was saying. Could she actually be that dense? He pointed to the note one more time hoping it would sink in that he was trying to rob the bank. She looked at him with a blank stare.
"Did you want to make a withdrawal?" she asked.
He nodded, not wanting to talk, making identification even more difficult.
"Ok, what is your account number?"
He stared at her, not believing what he had heard. Again, he pointed to the note, this time with a thud as his finger forcefully struck the note.
"I have to have an account number in order to help you make a withdrawal," she explained trying to be helpful. "If you’ll give it to me, I can check your account." She waited for him to speak.
He decided to try to disguise his voice and get her to understand he was robbing the bank. "Put all your money in a bag and act normal," he said in a hushed, husky voice.
"I’m not sure what you mean by normal. This is normal. Wouldn’t you consider this normal?"
"Just put the money in a bag!" he said, becoming more agitated.
"Then I guess you consider this normal. Do you have an account here?" she asked again.
"No! Just do as I ask and no one will get hurt!" he exclaimed.
"Well, I would hope not," she added. "But, if I don’t have an account number, I won’t know which account to debit, now, will I?"
"Don’t you get it, just put the money in a bag ," he said, trying to be as quiet as possible and still be heard.
"I’m sorry, sir, but if you don’t have an account here, I can’t help you," she explained, looking past him. "Next"
"No!" he yelled, turning around and looking at the two old ladies. "Stay back. I’m not finished yet!"
"Well," one of the two huffed, "how rude."
He turned to the teller and pointed at the note. "Just put the money in a bag and continue as you normally would." He had given up on trying to disguise his voice.
"No, I’m sorry sir, but I can’t do that," she said, adamantly.
He stood and stared at her. He decided to play his ace. "I have a gun."
She looked at him, looked down at his side, then back into his eyes. "Next, she said, looking past him at the old ladies."
"Look, Mommy, the man is leaking," the little girl standing next to him at the counter said, pointing .
He was sweating profusely, it dripping off his nose and beard. The young girls mother shushed her and pulled her back next to her side.
"See, Mommy, look," the young girl insisted, pointing up at him.
One of the old ladies stood next to him. "We’re next," she said looking up at him with a furrowed brow.
"Just back off!" he shouted at the old lady. "I’m not finished yet."
One of the old ladies spoke. "She said you were." Indicating the teller with her gloved hand, a purse hanging from it.
"No sense being rude," the other old lady chimed in.
"Hey, what’s going on?" One of the construction workers asked.
He stepped aside. The first old lady stepped up to the counter in front of him. He stepped back another step.
"How can I help you ladies?" the teller asked.
He backed up a few steps, trying to get his head straight. Somewhere, the whole transaction had unraveled and he was no longer in control, if he ever was. He crumpled up the note, threw it down and almost ran out of the bank.
One of the old ladies watched him leave the bank. "What is his problem?"
"He wanted to rob the bank." the teller answered, smiling.
THE END
Monday, February 1, 2010
Let's get bummed!
Well, dear reader, there are several resolutions that I have already missed, one being that I would write something interesting at least once a week. In reality, I’ll be lucky to write something interesting once a year. But, at least you’d think I’d write something at least once a month, interesting or not. But nooooooooo! I can’t even manage that.
I could talk about the weather, but one of my unwritten resolutions long ago was to not swear, and I intend to keep that one , so I can’t talk about the weather. Even though, we are in the abyss of winter, the black hole of the year that sucks out every ounce of life from any unsuspecting person caught in the northern latitudes. But, I’m not going to talk about the weather! Because it is tooooooo depressing. Just having to think about the lack of color, the bone chilling cold, and the insufferable snow, that just keeps coming and coming and coming until one is moved to tears and wants nothing but to scream and fall into a snowbank sobbing. That’s why I don’t want to talk about it.
I don’t want to talk about how tired I am from lifting forty tons of frozen water that piles up on my driveway and sidewalk, and all the other sidewalks and driveways I am responsible for. And, there doesn’t seem to be an end to it. It is unrelenting. And, the lack of sunshine and the accompanying loss of vitamin D has created an unyielding depression that has caught me in its icy grasp and I am helpless.
And that is why I’m not going to talk about the weather. Not even a little bit, not even once! Nope, not this guy. No weather. And no politics, which is equally as depressing and useless to talk about because we can’t do anything about either. Well, how about religion? No thanks, I’ve got one. So, now, dear reader, you may have a sense of why I’m not posting in this blog every week.......I have nothing to say!
I suppose I could subscribe to the mindless drivel that runs rampant on Facebook, but, I can’t bring myself to sink to that level - yet. Maybe next month when the weather has cleared.
This is one of the good things about winter, a happy snowman. This is one that Katie and Jake made on our front yard. Their grandma lives across the street and she could see this guy out her front window.
I could talk about the weather, but one of my unwritten resolutions long ago was to not swear, and I intend to keep that one , so I can’t talk about the weather. Even though, we are in the abyss of winter, the black hole of the year that sucks out every ounce of life from any unsuspecting person caught in the northern latitudes. But, I’m not going to talk about the weather! Because it is tooooooo depressing. Just having to think about the lack of color, the bone chilling cold, and the insufferable snow, that just keeps coming and coming and coming until one is moved to tears and wants nothing but to scream and fall into a snowbank sobbing. That’s why I don’t want to talk about it.
I don’t want to talk about how tired I am from lifting forty tons of frozen water that piles up on my driveway and sidewalk, and all the other sidewalks and driveways I am responsible for. And, there doesn’t seem to be an end to it. It is unrelenting. And, the lack of sunshine and the accompanying loss of vitamin D has created an unyielding depression that has caught me in its icy grasp and I am helpless.
And that is why I’m not going to talk about the weather. Not even a little bit, not even once! Nope, not this guy. No weather. And no politics, which is equally as depressing and useless to talk about because we can’t do anything about either. Well, how about religion? No thanks, I’ve got one. So, now, dear reader, you may have a sense of why I’m not posting in this blog every week.......I have nothing to say!
I suppose I could subscribe to the mindless drivel that runs rampant on Facebook, but, I can’t bring myself to sink to that level - yet. Maybe next month when the weather has cleared.
This is one of the good things about winter, a happy snowman. This is one that Katie and Jake made on our front yard. Their grandma lives across the street and she could see this guy out her front window.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
New Year's Resolutions
1. Don’t eat yellow snow. (Why wasn’t I told this as a child?)
2. When a large, hairy guy says shut up and you think he said stand up, clarify before taking action. (I wish I'd made this one last year.)
3. No Detox in the year 2010. (See post of November 2009)
4. Become filthy rich. (I’m half way there!)
5. Write something interesting in this blog every week. (Messed up already. Drat!)
6. Try to get a novel published.
7. Try to write a novel.
8. Read a novel. (Much easier.)
9. Find out who Lady GaGa is and why Mr. and Mrs GaGa named their little girl, Lady.
10. Buy Cher’s greatest hit.
11. Find out what aftershave Tiger Woods uses.
12. Buy new aftershave.
Well, dear reader, there they are, the Dirty Dozen, my New Year’s resolutions. And, may I say, I am resolute in keeping these this year. Perhaps I’ll update my progress as the year goes on, but, since following through on resolutions wasn’t one of the twelve, perhaps not. I hope these will inspire all who read this to set there own resolutions. Good luck!
2. When a large, hairy guy says shut up and you think he said stand up, clarify before taking action. (I wish I'd made this one last year.)
3. No Detox in the year 2010. (See post of November 2009)
4. Become filthy rich. (I’m half way there!)
5. Write something interesting in this blog every week. (Messed up already. Drat!)
6. Try to get a novel published.
7. Try to write a novel.
8. Read a novel. (Much easier.)
9. Find out who Lady GaGa is and why Mr. and Mrs GaGa named their little girl, Lady.
10. Buy Cher’s greatest hit.
11. Find out what aftershave Tiger Woods uses.
12. Buy new aftershave.
Well, dear reader, there they are, the Dirty Dozen, my New Year’s resolutions. And, may I say, I am resolute in keeping these this year. Perhaps I’ll update my progress as the year goes on, but, since following through on resolutions wasn’t one of the twelve, perhaps not. I hope these will inspire all who read this to set there own resolutions. Good luck!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Detox - A study in torture
Before I start, let me caution the parents that may be reading this. Send the children out of the room. What follows is so horrible, so scary that it is not for the faint of heart or for those under the age of twelve. I’ll wait until they are gone...............ok, we can continue.
The Martin family, or to be more accurate, Mikki, Katie and me - Jake is left out of the fun since he is playing football and needs his strength - have embarked on an epic odyssey, though that may be redundant. We have adopted a new diet that promises to bring health, happiness and prosperity to all those who would dare to attempt its rigor. Not wanting to back away from a challenge, we stepped to the plate, ready to take our swing at the fence.
The name of this program is "The Food Lovers Fat Loss Diet". It appears to be a very sensible, reasonable plan that incorporates real food and is based on the concepts of Nutrisystem, with a hint of Richard Simmons’ Deal a Meal utilizing real food we eat on a regular basis. It all sounded good until the first six day detox plan was explained to me. I was incredulous when I heard what was expected of me. At hearing the directions, I was immediately taken back to those days of pledging for a fraternity and the infamous "Hell Week" that every upperclassman looked forward to with sadistic glee. "I have to do what?" was my first reaction, my second being going to my room and brooding for several hours.
After coming out of my room, I reluctantly, and against all reason, acquiesced to the regimen and now find myself in the middle of the second ‘Hell Week’ of my life. What follows is the daily detox plan:
Upon waking, I am immediately, or at least ten minutes after waking, given a glass of water laced with Pysillium husks that has the equivalent fiber rating of a large ball of twine. After ingesting the fiber bomb, I am then administered a glass of water mixed with chlorophyl. For those of you who may not be familiar with chlorophyl and its many uses, let me elucidate. Chlorophyl is touted as an internal deodorant. I can now rest from my concerns that my insides may possibly stink. In addition to its deodorant characteristics, it is also extremely green. When I say extremely green, I am not exaggerating. It is so green that even the Irish refuse to use it. And might I add that everything it comes in contact with is instantly turned green. After the greening and deodorizing of my insides, I am then given a capsule of cascara sagrada that just adds to the truckload of fiber that I have already consumed.
Now for some real food? No! A blender of blue berries, protein powder, banana and apple juice, deceitfully labeled as breakfast, is then chocked down and I am out the door, armed with a field of green fiber and fruit, sitting like a ticking bomb in my gut. What could possibly go wrong with that?
At ten in the morning, I’m allowed a cup of apple juice and at lunch I get another shake with either blueberries or strawberries and protein powder. My afternoon snack consists of a choice of a soup mix of carrots and potatoes thrown into the blender so as to render them unrecognizable both in taste, texture and looks, or a cup of chicken bouillon. The evening meal is a repeat of the morning regimen of fiber, fruit and chlorophyl, and then all we have to look forward to is our evening snack of chicken bouillon or mystery soup. With these two, one has to choose between the needed calories of the mystery soup, or the welcome taste of chicken bouillon, which is devoid of any appreciable calories. So, death by starvation or wanting to die because of a dearth of taste.
As any reasonable, thinking human being would anticipate, the combination of a bushel basket of fiber mixed with fruit may have a significant impact on ones regularity. That thinking human would be more than right, in fact, he would be spot on. Now, those of you who are a bit squeamish or faint of heart, may want to turn away at this part, or at best, avert your eyes. To say there were frequent trips to the bathroom would be a gross understatement, and to add insult to injury, so to speak, the offerings at the porcelain throne were St Patrick’s Day approved. (You can reference the above description of the characteristics of chlorophyl). And to think I only have to endure this for SIX DAYS!!!!
As I write this, I am in the middle of ‘Hell Week’ and it would appear that, with any luck, I’ll survive this ordeal and will make it to the real food part of the program. This initial stage is, as I mentioned, the detox portion of the program and is designed to rid my body of all the toxins I accumulated over the years from the regular food I was eating. I’m not sure how the toxins got into my food, but at least I am now spewing them out of my body at an alarming rate and will, in three days, be toxin free. How many other men can say that?
I am sure this program was initiated by the CIA in or around the confines of Gitmo for the interrogation of terrorist and other miscreants that are housed there. However, all of my phone calls to Langley have not been returned, so we will never really be sure.
Rumor has it that this program was also rejected for use in training by the Navy SEALS as being too rigorous, onerous and just plain mean spirited.
In closing, may I, at this time, give my thanks to all those who have sent their condolences through cards and flowers in sympathy to my plight. They are deeply appreciated. Fiber on, dudes.
The Martin family, or to be more accurate, Mikki, Katie and me - Jake is left out of the fun since he is playing football and needs his strength - have embarked on an epic odyssey, though that may be redundant. We have adopted a new diet that promises to bring health, happiness and prosperity to all those who would dare to attempt its rigor. Not wanting to back away from a challenge, we stepped to the plate, ready to take our swing at the fence.
The name of this program is "The Food Lovers Fat Loss Diet". It appears to be a very sensible, reasonable plan that incorporates real food and is based on the concepts of Nutrisystem, with a hint of Richard Simmons’ Deal a Meal utilizing real food we eat on a regular basis. It all sounded good until the first six day detox plan was explained to me. I was incredulous when I heard what was expected of me. At hearing the directions, I was immediately taken back to those days of pledging for a fraternity and the infamous "Hell Week" that every upperclassman looked forward to with sadistic glee. "I have to do what?" was my first reaction, my second being going to my room and brooding for several hours.
After coming out of my room, I reluctantly, and against all reason, acquiesced to the regimen and now find myself in the middle of the second ‘Hell Week’ of my life. What follows is the daily detox plan:
Upon waking, I am immediately, or at least ten minutes after waking, given a glass of water laced with Pysillium husks that has the equivalent fiber rating of a large ball of twine. After ingesting the fiber bomb, I am then administered a glass of water mixed with chlorophyl. For those of you who may not be familiar with chlorophyl and its many uses, let me elucidate. Chlorophyl is touted as an internal deodorant. I can now rest from my concerns that my insides may possibly stink. In addition to its deodorant characteristics, it is also extremely green. When I say extremely green, I am not exaggerating. It is so green that even the Irish refuse to use it. And might I add that everything it comes in contact with is instantly turned green. After the greening and deodorizing of my insides, I am then given a capsule of cascara sagrada that just adds to the truckload of fiber that I have already consumed.
Now for some real food? No! A blender of blue berries, protein powder, banana and apple juice, deceitfully labeled as breakfast, is then chocked down and I am out the door, armed with a field of green fiber and fruit, sitting like a ticking bomb in my gut. What could possibly go wrong with that?
At ten in the morning, I’m allowed a cup of apple juice and at lunch I get another shake with either blueberries or strawberries and protein powder. My afternoon snack consists of a choice of a soup mix of carrots and potatoes thrown into the blender so as to render them unrecognizable both in taste, texture and looks, or a cup of chicken bouillon. The evening meal is a repeat of the morning regimen of fiber, fruit and chlorophyl, and then all we have to look forward to is our evening snack of chicken bouillon or mystery soup. With these two, one has to choose between the needed calories of the mystery soup, or the welcome taste of chicken bouillon, which is devoid of any appreciable calories. So, death by starvation or wanting to die because of a dearth of taste.
As any reasonable, thinking human being would anticipate, the combination of a bushel basket of fiber mixed with fruit may have a significant impact on ones regularity. That thinking human would be more than right, in fact, he would be spot on. Now, those of you who are a bit squeamish or faint of heart, may want to turn away at this part, or at best, avert your eyes. To say there were frequent trips to the bathroom would be a gross understatement, and to add insult to injury, so to speak, the offerings at the porcelain throne were St Patrick’s Day approved. (You can reference the above description of the characteristics of chlorophyl). And to think I only have to endure this for SIX DAYS!!!!
As I write this, I am in the middle of ‘Hell Week’ and it would appear that, with any luck, I’ll survive this ordeal and will make it to the real food part of the program. This initial stage is, as I mentioned, the detox portion of the program and is designed to rid my body of all the toxins I accumulated over the years from the regular food I was eating. I’m not sure how the toxins got into my food, but at least I am now spewing them out of my body at an alarming rate and will, in three days, be toxin free. How many other men can say that?
I am sure this program was initiated by the CIA in or around the confines of Gitmo for the interrogation of terrorist and other miscreants that are housed there. However, all of my phone calls to Langley have not been returned, so we will never really be sure.
Rumor has it that this program was also rejected for use in training by the Navy SEALS as being too rigorous, onerous and just plain mean spirited.
In closing, may I, at this time, give my thanks to all those who have sent their condolences through cards and flowers in sympathy to my plight. They are deeply appreciated. Fiber on, dudes.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Fifty items of gratitude
"And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things." D&C 59:7,21
I have listed fifty items I am grateful for so that if the event I should ever feel as if life is picking on me or dealing me a bad hand, I can look at my list and realize that regardless of my current circumstance, I have been bountifully blessed. Even if one or several of the items on my list have been altered or removed, I still have all the others to be thankful for.
I have to admit that I am a bit chagrined that it took some thought to reach fifty. I had assumed it would be easier than it turned out to be, but a great exercise in having to really think about what I have been given. I have included some brief explanations and some commentary as well. Believe me, it is in no way complete or extensive - each item could be an essay in and of itself - I just wanted to give a brief commentary. I also need to mention that these are not necessarily listed in order of importance.
I would like to offer a challenge to all that read this - compile your own list of fifty items. You will probably use some of the same as I did, which is great, but you will, no doubt, have many that are original to you. Good luck!
The List
1. A loving Heavenly Father
I am blessed to understand the love He has for me and how involved in my life he is.
2. My Savior, Jesus Christ.
Without His atoning sacrifice, I would not be able to return to my Heavenly Father. Jesus is an example I can use in every aspect of my life.
3. Mikki, my wife.
She is my best friend, without whom I would be lost. She is everything to me. My coat from the cold (she’ll understand that reference.)
4. Tyler
5. Zach
6. Katie
7. Jake
(I listed my children separately because they are each, in their own way, a blessing to my life.)
8. My Mother
She brought me into the world, sacrificed continually for me as I was growing up, and continues to love me.
9. The promise of an Eternal family
I can be with my family forever. What a blessing that is!
10. Freedom.
Freedom allows me to enjoy all the rest of what I have.
11. Life
Just the blessing of being alive. That is, indeed, a great gift.
12. Love
13. Prayer
14. Sight
To see the beauty around me.
15. Hearing
16. Intellect
I have a mind that enables me to understand the world, to earn a living and to interact with others.
17. Speech
18. Smell
I smell good? :)
19. Mobility
I can walk, run, use stairs, etc.
20. Extended Family
21. Health
22. The Plan of Salvation
The plan that Father in Heaven gave me to allow me to return to Him someday with my family.
23. Friends.
24. A home
A place of safety from the world, a refuge from the storm.
25. Scriptures
26. Church
27. Modern Revelation
28. The United States Constitution
29. Beauty in all forms.
30. Music
31. A sense of humor
32. My talents
(Yes, it is plural)
33. Nature
34. Food and water
35. Memories
These seem to be fewer as I age.
36. Art
37. Knowledge
38. Heroes (Military, Police, Firemen, etc
39. Upbringing of values
40. Time
41. Modern Medicine
42. Science
43. Leaders
44. Employment
45. Safety
46. Technology
47. Business opportunities
48. Great books
49. Recreation
50. Transportation
So, there it is, my list of fifty things that I am grateful for. Let me know what you think of it and some of the things you would have had on your list.
I have listed fifty items I am grateful for so that if the event I should ever feel as if life is picking on me or dealing me a bad hand, I can look at my list and realize that regardless of my current circumstance, I have been bountifully blessed. Even if one or several of the items on my list have been altered or removed, I still have all the others to be thankful for.
I have to admit that I am a bit chagrined that it took some thought to reach fifty. I had assumed it would be easier than it turned out to be, but a great exercise in having to really think about what I have been given. I have included some brief explanations and some commentary as well. Believe me, it is in no way complete or extensive - each item could be an essay in and of itself - I just wanted to give a brief commentary. I also need to mention that these are not necessarily listed in order of importance.
I would like to offer a challenge to all that read this - compile your own list of fifty items. You will probably use some of the same as I did, which is great, but you will, no doubt, have many that are original to you. Good luck!
The List
1. A loving Heavenly Father
I am blessed to understand the love He has for me and how involved in my life he is.
2. My Savior, Jesus Christ.
Without His atoning sacrifice, I would not be able to return to my Heavenly Father. Jesus is an example I can use in every aspect of my life.
3. Mikki, my wife.
She is my best friend, without whom I would be lost. She is everything to me. My coat from the cold (she’ll understand that reference.)
4. Tyler
5. Zach
6. Katie
7. Jake
(I listed my children separately because they are each, in their own way, a blessing to my life.)
8. My Mother
She brought me into the world, sacrificed continually for me as I was growing up, and continues to love me.
9. The promise of an Eternal family
I can be with my family forever. What a blessing that is!
10. Freedom.
Freedom allows me to enjoy all the rest of what I have.
11. Life
Just the blessing of being alive. That is, indeed, a great gift.
12. Love
13. Prayer
14. Sight
To see the beauty around me.
15. Hearing
16. Intellect
I have a mind that enables me to understand the world, to earn a living and to interact with others.
17. Speech
18. Smell
I smell good? :)
19. Mobility
I can walk, run, use stairs, etc.
20. Extended Family
21. Health
22. The Plan of Salvation
The plan that Father in Heaven gave me to allow me to return to Him someday with my family.
23. Friends.
24. A home
A place of safety from the world, a refuge from the storm.
25. Scriptures
26. Church
27. Modern Revelation
28. The United States Constitution
29. Beauty in all forms.
30. Music
31. A sense of humor
32. My talents
(Yes, it is plural)
33. Nature
34. Food and water
35. Memories
These seem to be fewer as I age.
36. Art
37. Knowledge
38. Heroes (Military, Police, Firemen, etc
39. Upbringing of values
40. Time
41. Modern Medicine
42. Science
43. Leaders
44. Employment
45. Safety
46. Technology
47. Business opportunities
48. Great books
49. Recreation
50. Transportation
So, there it is, my list of fifty things that I am grateful for. Let me know what you think of it and some of the things you would have had on your list.
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