Wednesday, November 21, 2007

New Dell One-piece computer

OK, it's not a MAC, but it is cool. Other cool stuff include the Kindle from Amazon. Yes, it is expensive, but I think they are on to something. Give them a few months or a year and they will make improvements and open the platform up. Technology is just getting so integrated into our lives that we literally do not know how to live without it.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Men Are Just Happier People

  • Your last name stays put.
  • The garage is all yours.
  • Wedding plans take care of themselves.
  • Chocolate is just another snack.
  • You can be President.
  • You can never be pregnant.
  • You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park.
  • You can wear NO shirt to a water park.
  • Car mechanics tell you the truth.
  • The world is your urinal.
  • You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky.
  • You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt.
  • Same work, more pay.
  • Wrinkles add character.
  • Graying hair adds attraction.
  • Wedding dress ~$5000, tux rental ~$100.
  • People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them.
  • The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected.
  • New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet.
  • One mood all the time.
  • Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.
  • You know stuff about tanks.
  • A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.
  • You can open all your own jars.
  • You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.
  • If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend.
  • Your underwear is $10.95 for a three-pack.
  • Three pairs of shoes are m ore than enough.
  • You almost never have strap problems in public.
  • You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.
  • Everything on your face stays its original color.
  • The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades.
  • You only have to shave your face and neck.
  • You can play with toys all your life.
  • Your belly usually hides your big hips.
  • One wallet and one pair of shoes in one color for all seasons.
  • You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look.
  • You can 'do' your nails with a pocket knife.
  • You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache.
  • You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives in 25 minutes, on December 24.

Now you know the truth.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Some things are just plain true

Size does matter, just ask Texas:

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Paris Who?

Maybe the media has come to its senses. At least part of them have. Mika Brzezinski has drawn the line on reporting on Paris Hilton. The attention given the part time porn queen full time narcissist is disgusting and unworthy of real journalists. Hooray for Mika! I hope more journalist start doing this kind of thing. If I want to hear that crap I can watch E! Maybe this is a start of something new in journalism, but I will not hold my breath.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Virginia Tech, Collumbine, etc.

Ted Nugent is one of the people in the popular culture who makes no apologies for who he is, what he believes and says. In his latest op-ed piece I found on CNN he puts forth the case for people to be armed in order to protect themselves and their loved ones. For every horrifying act like Virginia Tech there are many incidents where legally armed civilians are able to protect themselves or others because they are armed or aware or both. I believe the 2nd Amendment is there for this and to protect us from those who would oppress us. Countries where the guns are taken from law abiding citizens had no protection from these dangers. Yes, there are wack-jobs like the killer at Virginia Tech and other places, but they are the exception, not the rule and if it were not a gun obtained legally they would get one illegally.
Read the op-ed piece and decide for yourself.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Another reason not to wait until the last minute

We have become more and more dependent on filing taxes online. Well, Intuit was not prepared for the overwhelming response to its offerings. I filed taxes for three people electronically this year and will offer it to more of my small tax client base next year. It is convenient, fast and provides less chance of audit. I remember doing taxed by hand, yes, by hand, with a pencil and big eraser back in the early 80's after I got my accounting degree. I still have most of those returns in my storage boxes and cringe with I look at them.
I have been using Turbo Tax for a long time and really like the program and its abilities. It has not messed me up yet.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Pretentious Literary Pretentions

Ok, I see myself as an author, or at least a writer. Anyone can write or at least string words together in some sort of order and pass them off as writing. Some so it better than others and some do it very well. Since starting my writing class I have developed a new appreciation for the art and craft of writing. I think I have learned a lot, but need to continue to write in order to maintain my progress.
This last week has not been a good week for stringing words on a cord the putting them on paper as I finally got moved into my den and got back into building models and have been watching House, MD. Work has been stressful in a strange sort of way and I am also looking around at new employment opportunities. The current one would involve moving, something I am not sure I am ready for. This unsettled feeling makes if hard for me to concentrate, let alone write.
Friday I ran into a friend, who put me onto Tin House, a literary journal (that sounds so pretentious) that is published in Oregon. It is good to read these short stories and poems and compare them to what I may or may not want to write. Some of the stories really struck a cord; especially the one about the teenage girl who had just given birth.
My problem is, do I really need another magazine to read? I already get several and usually do not have time to give them justice. Heavy Metal, Wired, BlackPowder Shooting, Military Modeling and The Economist are all good. OK... that is an eclectic reading list, but at least I gave up Playboy. Tin House would probably be a good addition to my list, don't you think?

Saturday, April 7, 2007

TV is Dead... I love TV

I have been watching TV online or via the web. I do not watch any of the normal network TV, or very little of it. I am currently watching House MD on video and have a couple of episodes of TV saved on ITunes. Wired has addressed this in an article.

This is an interesting phenomenon. TV has changed, is changing, will change. We may stop calling it TV in the long run. What will it be called? Vid? I don't know.

TV on demand changes the way we watch in many ways. An example is the ability to watch all of a TV series at one time, like immersion into the series itself. When you watch a series once a week you do not get this immersion. Series could be made differently as well; I am not sure how.

Thursday, April 5, 2007

What IS this guy talking about?

Sometimes I just log on to Blogger and start hitting the Next Blog button. Many times what I find are foreign blogs that I cannot read a word of. Other times I find gems, like this one by a Canadian English instructor doing some sort of stint in China. Carol seems like an intelligent and interesting young lady who does a good job of explaining what is going on and even takes some pretty good pictures.

Then I found this guy, Donald James Simpson/unbalanced

Ack... I have no idea what this guy is about, but some of the stuff is funny, some disturbing and others just plain silly. Why do people write blogs like that? Do they tell their friends about them? How about their bosses?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy these.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

Could this guy be partially right?

The Luddite likes cities, and so do I, but why?

OK, I grew up in small (and I do mean small) towns. These were towns with the Welcome and Leaving signs on the same sign post of the highway that ran through the outskirts of the town. Pine Bluffs, Wyoming is an example. Not much there. We lived right on the border with Nebraska. To do anything you had to drive to Cheyenne or Laramie; it is probably worse now. I don't think there was an interstate then, just a two lane road.

I love cities. San Francisco, Munich, Seattle, Portland, Amsterdam and others that I have visited or lived in all provide something small towns do not. Small towns are one neighborhood with one identity. You may live on the "south side" of the tracks. In Park River it was the east side of the tracks where the trailer courts were, but you were all from Park River.

In Seattle you are from Magnolia, Capital Hill or West Seattle, you have neighborhood shops, bars, restaurants and architecture that sets you apart from the rest, or a view and character, like Ballard an its Nordic roots. As a result you can live in the city and experience and do many things without leaving the city and traveling a long way. Want to go to China? Go to Chinatown. Want to experience open air markets, go to Pike Street Market (OK, it is covered, but what do expect in Seattle?).

Actually, the guy wants the suburbanite wannabes to leave his city alone, taking our laptops and elitist, commercial attitudes with us. Well, San Fransisco is not like most American cities, having its own chic and reason to exist it would seem. Large cities also have another characteristic: they change. I first visited the Bay area back in the late 80's an early 90's and it was a different city than today, with the Embarcadero and redevelopment of the downtown area. He is much like the people in the small town I live in today, Ketchikan, Alaska. The small blue roofed building in the center of the satellite image is KJ's, the bar my friends and I gather at on Friday night to loosen up, solve the problems of the world and generally make asses of ourselves among friends. Laptops are allowed, but usually become the center of social interaction as we all (all somewhat geeks) look at the latest video or crazy story. The more it changes the better it was before the changes happened, but Ketchikan is a small, century old city on the edge of the Pacific, on an island with the unpronounceable name of Revillagigedo. Try saying that fast five times. It must adapt or die and it is continually adapting.

San Francisco or not, you can still make your own place there, live there and even go to Manila there. Is the Luddite right? I don't know about San Francisco, but in Ketchikan, he is wrong.

Saturday, March 31, 2007

Why it is good to be a big fish in a small pond

In my job I am one deep. There is only one business manager. There are very few people locally who can do what I do or want to for that matter. Too bad for employees at Circuit City. They just laid off everyone making over a certain wage. Now, that just sucks.

Retail, especially regular stores and those dealing with technology in particular, are facing special pressure. In technology it is not only difficult to keep up with all of the changes, it is hard to hire good employees at any rate of pay. These people were making too much money, as little as $11.50 per hour and up in come cases, hardly enough to pay bills, yet it was too much to pay.

When I go in to look at technology I expect people in the store know the difference between different brands, technology solutions, etc. For $10 an hour you will not get the brightest bulbs in the box, nor will you keep them. No mention was made of the amount of benefits paid to these employees.

Just another sign of how things are changing. Oh, and most sources say it costs about one year's wages every time you change an employee. It really is hard to see how this will pay off.

Monday, March 26, 2007

Technology and Wives

My wife has passed a milestone. While out of town she had the dubious honor of hooking up her parents' new computer to the Internet. Now, they are on dial-up, to it is not just a matter of plugging it into a cable modem or router. She had to find the modem, plug the cord in the correct slot, then find the ubiquitous AOL software on the new computer (I think it must be a law that new consumer computers have AOL software pre-installed on them), run the routine, get the account information from her mother and get them set up. And, yes, she managed to do it. I was very proud of her. She also had a printer issue: no printer port. What was good about this was that she realized that there was no printer port on this new machine. Without a USB cable no one could have fixed that.
I was quite impressed at her ability to work through the issues. Yes, she had to call me, but it was to confirm her own diagnosis of the issues and to suggest a couple of resolutions, not because she was lost.
It is good to see her progressing in this way. I'm not sure when she crossed the line from techno-lost to technology enabled, but she has. I think she retains much of what I teach her because she understands it at a new level and can then use that new knowledge and understanding to learn herself.
"Dial-up sure is slow," was her comment on her return. I guess she likes how I provide for her.

Friday, March 23, 2007

We all own TV, or at least we can.

I am watching the Black Donnellys on my computer courtesy of NBC. I watched a couple of episodes of Andy Barker, PI, the sitcom about the CPA turned private investigator. It is pretty funny. The premise is sort of hokey, but it actually works, and it is funny. One line I liked the most is "You know the feeling I get when I hit the equal sign and it matches the number on the worksheet? Well, that's how it felt." OK, it does utilize some of the stereotypes of CPA's but in sort of a light, funny way.
What do I mean we own TV? Well, we can watch what we want when we want to. True, not everything is like this yet, but it will me. First, there are commercials with this, but we put up with those on regular TV and have to watch it on their schedule. Well, here I am, typing my blog and watching TV at the same time. I could be doing lots of things online while watching TV. OK, the screen is kind of small, but I like it anyway.
The Black Donnellys looks like a pretty good show, sort of like an Irish Sopranos.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Tired... very tired



Well, I have been working on my den project now for a week, at least. I got the walls up last weekend, then got the joists up Sunday and more done the other night. Next we got the plywood on top.

These pictures are pre-plywood.

So, I have not been up to a lot of writing, as when I come in my shoulder is hurting so bad I can't stand it, so I take a hot bath and put some Thermagena on it. Well, tonight I did the same. Word of warning, do not put that stuff on right after a bath because your pores are open!! Yikes, did that burn, but my shoulder does feel better.

After a little research I am sure the pain in my shoulder is caused by a rotator cuff injury of some sort. I just hope it will just be outpatient surgery.

My wife is delayed in Seattle, due to a mechanical issue with the plane. They had to change planes, so they will not be here until after 10 PM. I am glad I am taking the morning off, as we will be home rather late.

Monday, March 19, 2007

No-Writing Weekend

Other than a few emails and discussion group posts, I did no writing or computer stuff due to my concentration on the building of my den in the garage. Basically, I am building a den a the back, read that the end away from the door, of our large garage. It is a box, eight feet wide by eight feet tall and about 24 feet wide, or the width of the garage. The walls are what used to close off the garage door when the entire thing was a computer/TV/recreation room for me and my son. After removing it I came to the realization, with the help of a friend, that the entire two pieces are exactly the same size as the wall I intended to build for my den.

Keeping the two walls(basically 8 x 8 foot squares made of read cedar 2x4's and exterior siding) intact (mostly), I made room for them, including cutting a swath out of the workbench on one side for it to slide into. Well, Calvin came over yesterday and we got the one wall in, then attached the other. The next task was to frame in the main door opening. That done, we needed to put the 2x6 plates on the wall, then attach the hardware and put the joists for the roof in place.

Of course, this is not all go as planned, as it turned out the door to the garage, which is a 3x8 foot monster metal door, is too high, so I will have to make some modifications to that part of the roof. That is as far as we got, since I need some hardware to made the part near the door work. Besides that my shoulder was killing me, so I took off and did what I had to do, then soaked in the tub. My shoulder was throbbing with pain... I really need to see a doctor about this.

I will try to take some pictures of the work tonight and post them.

Friday, March 16, 2007

300 by Frank Miller

Being a fan of Sin City by Frank I was very excited to purchase the last copy of 3oo by him at the local Walden Books. The new movie by the same name has come out and is a great hit. No, it is not precisely historically accurate, but it is also, as with others of his work, a study in a way of the human condition. He always puts his spin on things, taking his own viewpoint without regard to for common social values. Sin City has a collection of the most ugly, beautiful, virtuous and evil characters on modern literature. The heroes are flawed in deadly, unlikable ways with little or no common humanity in them.

300 is about warriors and their commitment to an ideal, not the battle so long ago. That is the stage on which these man fight and die. Miller takes them to a new level, a new place, one that we can only hope to achieve in this day and age. Bloody, violent, but beautiful in its own way, the story will probably never lose currency.

If you want to purchase the original graphic novel it is on Amazon, with a link to your left.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Art from maps

This morning I started reading my morning Technology email from the Washington Post and came across t his article about a guy using maps to make art. His name is Nikolas Schiller and he seems to be quite the digital artist. He does not like Google, so you may have to go to the Washington post article above to get to his site. The art is just plain impressive. I am not so sure about his politics, but we all have a right to opinions. .

He has done a lot of maps, including most of the state capitals, even Bismarck, North Dakota!

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Half Swede

Yeah, I am half Swedish. I was messing around on Blogger and found this blog: The Emigrant. He is from Sweden and had a link to information about Swedish Americans, on Wikipedia, of course. Well, it turns out that North Dakota has the second highest percentage of Swedes of any state, 5%, but does not make the top ten numbers-wise. Why? Because hardly anyone lives in North Dakota, I guess.
Swedes are a hardy bunch and yeah, they were Vikings back in the bad old days, but most of the really bad-asses moved to the islands now called Great Britain after killing most of the men and marrying the women left, or something like that. That left the nice guys and farmers who made a really good country, make good furniture and pancakes. OK, they are known for more than that, but you can read Wikipedia for more information.
This is sort of tongue in cheek, as I have never been in touch with my Swedish half, preferring the kinder, gentler German-Russian half. Yeah, there actually is such an ethnic group, sort of. Kinds of gets confusing, but a lot of them moved to North Dakota as well in the late 1800's and early 1900's. They were a tough bunch of people and survived those cold winters just fine and in fact thrived there.
As for myself, I am drawn, psychically to rainy, windy, rocky places with lots of cold water and dark winters. I guess that is the Swede in me. I could have been Norwegian as well, but I will leave that to my friend Jarle (we call him Jerry because Jarle just does not sound right).
I hope this leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy or something, but that is not the point, is it?

New cat in the house

Just as my wife and I have sort of started to adjust to being alone in the house we brought in a new face, a little female cat. She is only 7 months old but is a pretty good sized kitty all the same. Actuall, her tail is just about as big as the rest of her. No, no picture yet, as she has not stayed in one place long enough to take a picture of her. She is very friendly and wants to be near us when we are in the house, at least most of the time.
She is very active and I have yet to see her sleep, which is strange, since all of the other cats we have had are older and sleeping is their favorite past time. Her name is Muffin. No, we did not give her that name.
So far she had knocked over one little wooden figure from Germany and he fell apart, but can be glued back together. The high window sill in the living room is her favorite place, but she has to climb up on the piano, then the china cabinet and then up to the window. Kittens are definitely more interesting to have around than adult cats. Spazz, the male we have had for about 5 years, is not her favorite cat, if the spitting and growling she did last night is any indication. He went back outside for the night.
They are both fixed, but he is a male and strange (most males are strange if you ask my wife) so she is not very friendly with him.
I will post a picture when I get her to sit still long enough.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Choices made, Part 5

This is the continuing story of Major Teri Johnson of the Army Space Command and her personal and professional challenges. She has just decided to go on a year-long fellowship to Oxford in the fall, while being involved at the same time in a super-secret weapons project, a crumbling marriage and a fling with a married man. The choices we make...




She woke early as usual and dressed in running clothes. Putting her uniform and boots into her bag she went downstairs. It was quiet, the coffee already made and no Jason. She looked out the window and Sport was in his kennel. She smiled as he saw her and his ears went. Well, not this morning, she thought. He sometimes left early so she poured coffee into her travel mug and grabbed an apple on the way out the door. She drove to a popular running path near work and ran three miles before finishing her drive to the office. The ASC, as they called it, was surrounded by a pair of high fences with barbed wire at the top, patrolled constantly and under surveillance at all times via closed circuit cameras. The guards at the gate were civilian Army employees, mostly retired enlisted men. Inside security was run by uniformed soldiers.

The guards watched as she approached and swiped her card through the gate lock, activating it. She pulled in and they checked her ID and scanned her car. Only then did the second gate open, allowing her into the facility. It was still another hundred yards to the parking lot, covered at all times by security cameras and sensors. There were signs telling drivers not to stop until they reached their designated parking section. She had never tried it and was not in the mood to do so today. Visitors, the few that there were, came in another entrance on the other side, parking in a special parking lot set aside for them and were escorted, then driven to the underground garage in a van where they were met by an escort who would take them upstairs to the security station.

She could remember her first visit here and how impressed and at the same time miffed at the level of security. She was a captain then, had a top secret clearance and was being interviewed by the commander. She took it all in stride, though and was accepted. Later she discovered that the other officer who had been selected to be interviewed had made a stink about the level of scrutiny he had undergone, acing himself out of the job along the way. General Haverman took security very seriously and expected his staff to do the same.

Using her card again to enter the tunnel into the underground parking, she drove down the ramp, into the cool darkness. There were no names or even titles on the parking spots, only numbers; hers was A45. Parking she carried her laptop and gym bag upstairs to the locker room and showered and changed. They were having brass visit today and she wore her new Class-A uniform. New uniforms always made her nervous. She was proud, though, of her decorations, including a bronze star with a V for her actions during the latest altercation in the Middle East. Teri grimaced a little, though, thinking of the friends that had not come home.

Leaving her workout clothes in the locker she took the elevator to the floor she worked on, where she had to use a cipher code to enter. It was early, just before 7:30 and none of the civilian workers were in, but Sergeant Major Vouchly and Colonel Lerner were already in the briefing room, going over the slides for the brass that were visiting that day. The looked up and waved as she passed and she returned it. She took the envelope out of her portfolio and put it, with appropriate postage into the outgoing mail box, then unlocked and entered her office. The building had originally been built as an office building for a major construction company. The Army had purchased it and secured it, but the offices were pretty much the same, spacious and well lit. The windows had been covered with special shielding to prevent any electronic eaves dropping, but the offices were large and well appointed. As the second in command of the Combat Systems Branch she was given a large office, a secretary (a young male E-4 who could type like a demon) and good furniture.

Checking her voice mail she walked down to the briefing room and watched the two men go through the slides. The Sergeant Major was a tall man, over 6 feet, with short cropped hair, a scar on his forehead from a helicopter crash and all the presence that comes with over 20 years in the Army. He also had an MBA and was working on a Masters in Systems. The rows of ribbons on his chest, including a purple heart, showed he had not always been a desk jockey. The Colonel would have been at home at the top of most large corporations in the country. He wore his hair much like the Sergeant Major was tall and well built and had a way of making people want to please him or he would tear them a new one. He and the Sergeant Major made a great team. He had come from Artillery and Air Defense, then through the War College and was on the short list for a star in the next few years. He had an MBA from Stanford and was ideal for the job of running a branch of two hundred sixty people scattered over 10,000 miles and encompassing over 100 skill types, including 20 or more Phd's and more than a few prickly personalities. Teri liked him a lot and would be very sorry to leave his command.

"Morning ma'am," the Sergeant Major said, getting up with his coffee cup. "Want some joe?"

"That would be nice," Sergeant Major, she said, smiling.

He nodded and left for the break room.

The colonel leaned back and looked at her.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?" she asked.

"You going to take it?"

She nodded.

"I thought so. I know it won't be easy leaving and all, but it will pay off."

She smiled.

"Thank you for your support," she said.

He snorted. "You did it all on your own, Teri, and you know it. Your old man would be proud of you."

Though he had not known her father he knew the story of her fathers' death.

She blushed a little and felt a tingle up her spine.

The mood was broken by the return of the Sergeant Major.

"Sir, let's have the Major here look at slide ten, I think she may have input there," he said, handing her a steaming cup.

The rest of life set aside, she helped them tweak the presentation, pointing out small items they may want to include or change. By the time the office was full they had it ready. She took a break to go to her office and check her emails and answer some calls. It was going to be a long day, she thought as she leaned back and closed her eyes. The program had been in existence before the much talked about Star-Wars program of Reagan, but it had also been very secretive. ASC had struggled for funding and survival through the years. Between Congress and the changing situation in the world it had been hard to get them to understand the need to invest several billion dollars a year in space weapons research. Well, the team had just hit a home run.

One of the things they had been working on for years was the ability to hit something in space with a laser and kill it. There had been tests and even some success, but the power demands had made the applications limited. A year before a team working with some new laser technology had found a way to concentrate a relatively low powered beam in a vacuum that made it not only possible to build such a weapon in quantity, but one that would be feasible for deployment within five years. The implications for warfare, not only in space but within the atmosphere were far reaching. As a result only the people in the Combat Branch, the commander of the ASC and one or two high level DOD people had been told about the development until full scale testing was completed.

Two weeks before she had watched the screen as a laser mounted on the back of a five ton truck with a conventional generator had fired a pulse of coherent light at a drone plane thirty thousand feet above and destroyed it. It fired again and hit the next plane five minutes later. Sweeping around, the laser hit an armored car moving at forty miles an hour three kilometers away and set it ablaze. If she had not known it was real she would have thought it a setup. Today a delegation of generals, congressmen and high ranking civilians from the DOD would attend a briefing and view the film. It was a very important day for the organization, the Army and the country and every member of the team was very nervous and excited about it.

Shadow Wolves sent after bin Laden

A US military unit, used to track drug traffickers in the Southwest has been recruited to help find bin Laden and his cronies in Afghanistan. The US Army has employed the skills of Native American scouts, trackers and guides for a couple of hundred years, so this is no real surprise. Someone on the ground that can read sign at ground level will certainly be more effective than high tech gadgets in space!

Wednesday, March 7, 2007

Where is my mojo?

I cannot seem to move ahead with my writing lately. It may be the stress of what is going on at work; it may be the need to write when I really do not have the drive to write. Well, maybe I will break the logjam tonight. I have to get my assignment posted for my creative writing class.

On the bright side, Google is taking over the Internet and I am being dragged along on its coat tails. Yes, I am glad the big G is taking over, because this means fewer places I have to remember passwords for. Currently I am using it as a home page, using the Docs and Spreadsheets, Blogger, Notepad, Gmail, Reader and Talk. If I travel I can log on and get all of this anywhere I can get on the Internet. As a result, I am more productive.

I just found this article about Google and of course more could be done, but they are doing a lot to help us all see the benefits of the Internet.

Microsoft, China and others are after Google because of its success; jealousy is a great motivator.

Sunday, March 4, 2007

Chicken Adobo Ketchikan Style

Background

I first ate Chicken Adobo at the Galley Restaurant in Ketchikan, Alaska a number of years ago and loved it. It is spicy, tasty and has lots of onions in it. Well, I have been searching for the secret to the unique flavor of this recipe for some time and finally think I found it, coconut milk. This recipe is modified from the original found at www.allrecipes.com, but not a lot. It lacked onions and had too much sauce when done. Another thing is they use apple cider vinegar. I got good Asian white vinegar and dark soy sauce at the local Asian grocery and have used that in my various Adobo attempts and used it in this one. I highly recommend these over the garden variety vinegar and soy sauce.

TO SEE THIS RECIPE SEE MY NEW FOOD BLOG!

Part Four, a Decision Made

Note: I have named the heroine in this story Teri. This is Part Four...

Teri heard him in their bedroom for a while, then several trips back and forth between the master suite and the guest bedroom at the end of the hall, carrying clothes and whatnot. She sighed and, taking her beer, went back to the den, where she found the envelope in her portfolio. Looking at the return address she took the letter out, unfolding it carefully and reading it for the third time.

We are pleased to offer you the fellowship you have applied for, to include the 2008-2009 term, with appropriate stipend and allowances. You need to read the following contract and agreement and sign where indicated and return this letter no later than thirty days from the date sent. Once we have received this further information will be forthcoming.

Was this what she really wanted? she wondered to herself. Of course it was, the chance to complete her doctorate, work with some world class minds and move one step closer to her dream of spaceflight. Her commanding officer had encouraged her, giving her glowing recommendations and her colleagues all agreed that she should take the Fellowship in Applied Astrophysics. One of the civilian staff, a rather dower man with little of no personality had become positive animated discussing the opportunity at lunch one day.

Taking out her pen she found the places to sign and completed the contract, keeping the second copy for herself. Looking at her signature on the papers she felt scared, happy and sad all at the same time. She loved where she lived, enjoyed her rides at the stable and the comradship with the rest of the Army Space Command, but if she was ever to be what she knew she could be she had to take some chanced and steps. As a Major she had to get education to advance in her field and this was considered a great opportunity. Better yet, the Army would pay her the entire time she was away.

What would this mean to their marriage, she thought, looking for an envelope? What marriage, was the operating question. She knew it was a mistake to marry Jason a year into it. His reaction to her nine months away at training had been to take up with Sylvia, a coworker who seemed to want everything she did not, kids, a boring life, etc. Now, five years later, where were they? Sport was about all they had in common. He had his job, a normal, civilian job where he worried about things like profit margins and stuff like that, while she was off shooting guns, riding in helicopters and wearing combat boots, or so he seemed to think. Actually, she worked for the super-secret Army Space Defense Agency and spent most of her time assisting civilian scientists in researching all sorts of cutting edge technology. All she could tell him was that she worked in a large, windowless building on the nearby airbase and had to travel a lot, go to meetings and maybe, just maybe, go into space someday.

Her husband came in as she completed addressing the envelope to return it in the morning.

"I am moved," he said.

"What do you want to do with the house?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"Do you want it or do we sell?"

"I didn't say anything..."

"No, you didn't, I did," she said, putting the envelope in her portfolio.

"You took the fellowship."

She only nodded, looking at the floor.

"You said we would talk about it," he said, raising his voice a lttle.

"We talked, just now."

"I'll buy you out,"he said.

She nodded OK and turned to her laptop.

"I have work to do," she said.

He left without a word and she could hear the TV in the living room as she turned her computer on and logged into her work network. She could keep nothing on her hard drive that was classified, but their network allowed her, with proper encryption and a secure connection, to edit some reports from home. She almost locked herself out, entering the passwrod wrong twice before getting in. Distracted, she only worked about an hour before closing out and putting her computer away. The beer was stale, but she finished it and finally fell into a deep sleep, her mind on what it would be like to live in Oxford.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Coffee and Alaska

There are three or four neccesities for people settling a new frontier: sugar, salt, flour, bacon (or some kind of preserves animal protein) and coffee. OK, coffee is on the list because it is or was, always included in supplies for explorers, settlers, soldiers, sailors, etc., when they set out to conquer the unknown or the known, fight the elments or other men. Coffee is neccesary for the proper function of society, especially the success of the industrial revolution and the winning of wars.

Anchorage, Alaska, as it turns out, is the Coffee Drinking Capital of the US. Move over Seattle; you are not even close!

Here is an article about the affect of comodities on the state of the world, coffee being one of the more important ones. I donot share many of his sentiments, but his description of the development of the global economy around coffee and other comodities is pretty good.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Walk in the Rain

"…and it’s raining out," came the shout through the closing door as she walked out of the house in only her shirt and jeans in the persistent drizzle that typified October. It was raining, technically, but not really raining. After all, she had grown up in rainy Ketchikan and it never bothered her. Besides, going out without a coat in the got her mother upset, didn’t it?

She walked down the twenty-two steps to the street and turned left. Don’t look back, she thought. She smiled and walked faster; her old sneakers already starting to soak up the rain puddles that she stepped in on purpose. Headstrong was what her grandmother called her when neither she nor her mother thought she could hear. “But she's a little girl!” her mother would answer.

Little girl indeed, she was fifteen, almost sixteen and knew how to take care of herself. It took only about twenty minutes to walk to her friend Susan's house, so she wouldn’t be too wet when she got there. She had to step to the side of the narrow road a couple of times when cars came by and one of them splashed her jeans with water and mud. She yelled after the car, swearing just to hear herself swear. She walked faster, her arms crossed over her chest to keep herself warm as she went.

Finally she arrived at Susan's house, knocking at the door and waiting for a response. It seemed like forever, but finally Susan came to the door.

"Oh, I was waiting for you," she said. "My cousin and her baby are over and my mom said I can't have any company after my deficiency in math. Sorry."

She had walked all the way from home in the damn rain, and she couldn't go in?

"Oh, Ok, I'll just go home then,” she said, smiling a fake smile.

"You're getting wet you know," Susan said, looking at her meaningfully, her brows knit.

She only grimaced as the door closed; some friend, she thought as she turned away, see if I help her with homework again.

For a moment she stood under the cover of the porch, out of the increasing drizzle. She didn't want to go home and admit to her mother that she had made a mistake. Where could she go? Cassie lived another six blocks away. Cassie lived with her grandmother and they were always home in the evening. Dark was coming quickly and the wind was now picking up. If she was going to be going anywhere else she had better get going.

Arms still wrapped tightly about her she made her way down another street, then down some steep, slippery steps to the next street and down another three blocks to the old one story frame house Cassie shared with her grandmother. There were no lights and the old beat up Datsun that her grandmother drove was not in the driveway. She knocked hard and long, but no one was there. Trying the door she opened it a little.

The sound of the loud, angry dog was right there in her face and she barely closed the door before it got out. She thought she had screamed a little, too, but was not sure. Boomer was Cassie's father's dog and did not like strangers. It particularly did not like strangers who entered the house when the owner was not there. She had completely forgotten about the dog, which Cassie and her grandmother were taking care of. Her heart was beating hard now, pounding in her chest and she felt like crying. Where the heck was she, anyway, she wondered, looking up and down the darkening street for any sign of her. Now she was most of a mile away from home, and the rain had soaked her shirt completely through. Her pants were sopping wet half way to her knees and her shoes squished when she walked.

Home suddenly felt very good. But, could she just walk home like this? She had to, she decided, setting off up the hill, then turning onto the long set of steps. Halfway up was a dark patch of rain-soaked wood. In the dimming light she could not see very well at all and stepped on it wrong, twisting her ankle. As she tried to regain her balance she fell against the railing and it broke, sending her falling in the wet, prickly bushes, her knee hitting a rock under them as she landed. It was not a long fall, but it scared her, and her knee exploded in pain. She started to cry as she laid there, the rain now coming down harder. Her ankle was twisted, she would feel it. Painfully, still crying, she examined herself and decided nothing important had been broken. It hurt, though, to put weight on her ankle and she had a hard time climbing out of the wet, slippery weeds onto the walkway. She looked down at herself and found that she was covered with dirt and bits of vegetation. Tears now ran freely, mixing with the dirt and rain on her face.

Pulling herself together as well as she could she stumbled up the walkway toward the street she needed to reach, each step painful. She was not making the kind of time she had on the way down and now it was raining harder and the wind was whipping past her, driving the rain into her face. It seemed like forever before she made it to her street, her legs trembling and her body shaking from the cold and frustration of the last half an hour.

As she turned onto the street a large, over sized pickup drove by, going too fast, hitting the large mud puddle that had gathered there at the foot of the street where the drain always clogged, splashing her from head to toe with the muddy, dirty water. The truck did not even slow down as she wailed after it in the rain. She sat on the curb then and sobbed, wanting nothing more than her mother at that moment, the warm house and her room that she always said was too small.

With an effort she stood and started up the street. One foot moved in front of another, water now running down her back and into her wet, sagging jeans, so wet they threatened to slide off her narrow hips from the weight. She tugged at them and continued. It was nearly full dark now and lights were coming on. There, fifty yards ahead, was the light of their living room, with the curtains open to reveal the light above her mother's chair. She stumbled and nearly fell as She started again, her dragging pants leg tripping her.

The steps seemed a hundred feet tall as she climbed them and finally reached the door and safety. She turned the knob and stopped. Locked; her mother had locked the door. That was it, the final straw in this terrible evening and she began to sob and pound listlessly on the door. It was no more than a moment, but seemed a century for the wet, soggy girl when it opened and her mother appeared, her face a picture of worry and then shock as she saw the state he daughter had returned in.

"Oh, my God! What has happened to you?"

"I.. I'm sorry mama.. I… I fell."

"Oh dear, come in here and get out of those clothes."

She was inside then and her mother had her undressed in seconds, wrapped in a blanket and into the bathroom where she drew a hot bath. Every scrape and bump had to be examined and treated; her hair washed and brushed by her mother. She sniffled and snuffled through it all, not saying a word, and for some reason her mother knew that she wanted to just be quiet for a while. Finally she was in her nightgown and a robe and ensconced on the couch with a cup of tea, a fire burning in the fireplace.

Her mother sat there, looking at her, worry and love in her eyes. She almost winced at the pain she saw their. It hurt her more than any scrape she had received.

"Can you tell me what happened?'

"I was stupid. I thought it would be better somewhere else. I walked to Susan's and she couldn't let me in… Cassie wasn't home and her dog scared me and I fell on the steps and then in the weeds and a truck almost hit me…" Her voice trailed off and she sniffled a little, frowning.

Her mother smiled a little at her grimace.

"You know, home isn’t so bad after all," she finally said, looking at her mother as though she had been gone a long time.

"Welcome home dear," her mother said, tears in her eyes, as the rain pattered against the window pane and the firelight flickered.

New Google Docs and Spreadsheets now available

If you need to be able to write on the go, collaborate with coworkers or friends, using Google docs and spreadsheets looks like a pretty good deal, considering that it is free. There is also a commercial version. I just used the Document application to write an assignment for my Creative Writing class and it worked like a charm. I tried to post it to this blog, but for some reason it will not work, but I can still cut and paste.
All you need to have to use this service is a Google ID. From your Google home page you click on More by the Search feature at the top and then Even More and you will get an entire list of Google services and applications. I have not had time to try more, but I can say that it is impressive. The functionality of the spreadsheet looks pretty impressive, too!

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Cats and Rain

Alice walked out of her condo and into the garden and stoppedin the center of the small lawn. It was mid-morning and the sun had just started to appear in the back yard, highlighting the white carnations that graced the west end of the yard. She smiled and looked around, surveying her handiwork. Petunias, roses, carnations, azaleas and other flowers grew around the borders of the tidy back yard, with a bird bath in the center, surrounded by its own small flower bed. A bench under a trellis was on the left, a shelter place when she wanted to read in the afternoon.

Right now there was work to do. She was nearing eighty, but was still capable of taking care of the small yard, even mowing the lawn when it was needed. Against the wall of her townhouse was a small garden shed, which she opened and pulled gloves, a hat and a weeding trowel and small shovel from. She wore old gray sweat pants, an old, paint stained shirt and short, rubber boots. Her eyes behind her thick glasses were still bright and clear, though her step had slowed and her back bent. At one time she had been considered tall but age had shrunk her frame considerably.

Today her project was the weeding of the small bed of petunias that surrounded the bird bath in the center of the yard. Picking up the knee pad from where it lay on the step she walked out and slowly prepared for work, putting the knee pad down and then her tools before getting down on all fours. She hummed as she worked, talking in a low, sing-song voice the small plants that produced the bright, multicolored blossoms. She worked her way around the perimeter of the bed until she was half way around without pausing.

Taking a break she sat back on her heals, looking around.

In the corner of the yard a large white cat jumped down from the fence between the yards and froze, looking at her.

"Shoo!" she called out, waving her arm at the cat. She did not mind cats, had had her share of them over the years, but this one seemed to think her garden was his private bathroom. She did not know how she knew it was male, but the arrogance with which it treated her an the world around it made her certain it was one.

"Go poop in your own yard, you big lug!" she yelled.

The cat did not move, only stared at her. Struggling, she rose to her feet as fast as she could and
advanced on the cat.

"Get out of here!" she yelled.

The cat finally seemed to make a decision and with a few quick bounds was over the fence and gone.

Alice was breathless as she stood there, hand on her chest.

"Stupid cat," she said.

A man's face appeared at the top of the fence at that moment.

"Why are you chasing my cat?" he asked.

"He was in my yard. He thinks it is his bathroom. It kills my plants!"

"Well, he means no harm."

"Let him kill you plants, then."

The man snorted.

"As if one little cat can do that much harm."

"I am sure that there are smaller lions in Africa," she said. "Just keep him at home, would you? Now, I have to get back to my weeding before it gets too hot out to work. Goodbye!"
With that she turned back to her work, not paying attention to whether the man's face disappeared or not.

John picked up Leo and stroked his soft, white fur. The cat purred and rubbed his head against his master's chin.

"Did that mean lady scare you?" he asked, scratching the cat behind his ears.

The cat meowed his in his small voice and looked up at him with his large golden eyes.

"Well, you will just have to leave her plants alone, mister, or she will chase you again."

He carried the cat into the house and began his weekend chores of washing clothes, paying bills and the rest, leaving the glass door open for air as he did. He would close it when the sun got too hot and turn on the air conditioner, but for now he liked the light breeze that blew in.

Alice worked on the flower bed until she was done, though she was tired and a little sweaty. She knew it was good for her. Many of the friends she had at the Senior Center were able to do little more than get out of a chair and make it to the bathroom without assistance. She was proud of her independence and strength. Rising, she put her tools and gloves away, only then noticing the dark clouds that were crowding the sun. It looked and smelt like rain.

Good thing I got all that done, she thought to herself as she brushed some dirt from her sleeve. She carefully put her tools and gloves away. Taking another look at her garden she smiled and walked into the condo, leaving her back door open for air.

The storm came suddenly, the lightning flashing and the thunder rattling the windows as it passed by. John and Alice both looked up, reacting to the sudden sound. John remembered he had not got the paper in and opened the door just as the lightning hit the tall tree in the back of the house with a loud crack.

Leo, not one to take such things lightly, ran out of the house as John turned and looked, not seeing the white streak as he departed. Alice, who was just finishing a light lunch, was shaken and upset, walked out back to see the tree in her neighbor's yard smoking and split. The smell of ozone and burnt wood filled the air as the rain came down hard, hissing as it hit the hot spot on the tree, sending up steam. It had been a close one, she thought. Lucky no one was hurt. Shaking her head she turned and walked back into the condo, closing the sliding door now. She busied herself with folding some wash and tidying up the kitchen to keep her mind off the storm until it had passed.

John went out back and surveyed the damage, getting his camera to take a picture of it. He wondered if his insurance company would pay for the tree.

As the thunder receded Alice decided to get the paper and the mail. Putting on her sweatshirt and a hat she opened the door and walked down the short walk to the road, gathering the electric bill, a solicitation for funds for African orphans and the daily paper. Opening the door she was looking at the front page as Leo, confused and scared by the lightning and thunder, ran into her house.

John returned to the house, closing the sliding door and calling for Leo. Where was that cat?
He started looking, under the couch, the bed, the chair. No Leo.

Alice walked into the living room, putting the bill in the basket she used for such things and sat down at the table to sip on her cold coffee while she read the paper.

Half an hour later John was frantic looking for Leo. Where had he gone? He walked into the yard, looking around, calling for Leo. The cat almost always responded to his calls, but this time there was no Leo.

Alice got up and lay on the couch, putting the comforter over her, ready for her afternoon nap. She had just started to doze when a weight landed on her legs and she screamed, kicking at the thing that had landed on her. The large, white cat literally flew from the couch, landing in the middle of the room, eyes wide, tail fluffed up, ears back.

"You! How in the world did you get in here?" she asked the cat. Of course, it did not respond, instead moved carefully as far as it could from her, keeping its eyes on her, obviously scared and confused. Where had its master gone? What was this woman doing her?

Sighing, she got up and walked to the sliding door, opening it for the cat to run out of. The cat stared at her, not moving, unwilling to trust the woman.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," she said, hands on her hips. "I suppose I will have to talk to that man next door to get you out of here."

She found her sweatshirt and hat, then went to the front door, opening it. Now the cat moved, running out the door in a white streak and running across the road in front of the townhouses and into the bushes, narrowly avoiding a car. She jumped and almost fell over as the cat ran between her legs. Shaken, she stood there and looked after it, actually feeling a little sorry for it. The lightning strike had scared her, so why not the cat. Shrugging, she almost closed the door when it occurred to her to tell the man where his cat was.

She rang the bell and waited.

The door jerked open and there stood the man, towering over her.

"Oh, you. I'm busy," he said, starting to close the door.

"But your cat,,," she started.

"I'll keep him out of your yard," he said, "now I have to go."

"But, he..." she started, breathless.

John almost closed the door, then turned back to her.

"He what?"

"Ran across the road. He somehow got in my house and when I was coming to get you he ran out."

"Across the road?" he asked, his eyes going across the busy road.

"Yes."

He immediately reached to one side and grabbed a jacket an put it on as it was still raining.
Leaving the door open he started across the road.

"Be careful, a car will hit you and it won't do you or your cat any good at all!" she shouted.

"Oh, yeah, I guess so,"he said, stopping at the curb.

She walked down to where he stood at her best pace and looked left and right with him.

"You coming too?" he asked. looking at her.

"Yes, I feel some responsibility for letting him out. He was scared, by the lightning I would think."

"He hates thunder and lightning. I should have closed the door."

The traffic thinned and they crossed the four lanes, John taking her arm as they crossed. He started calling and she looked. It should not be that hard to find a white cat in all this green, she thought. There as a narrow green belt between the road and the parking lot and he went right while she went left. She had not gone far when she found the cat, huddled under a bush, staring at her.

"Ah, there you are, you rascal," she said in a quiet voice. "Here he is!" she called to John.

He walked quickly to her, almost running.

"Leo! You crazy cat," he said, walking slowly up to the cat and bending to stroke it, then pick it up.

Alice watched as the large, balding man took the cat tenderly into his arms and stroked its fur and head. The cat responded instantly, recognizing its owner, rubbing its head under the man's chin. There were tears in the man's eyes. Suddenly she realized how important this animal was to her neighbor and was very glad she had done what she had.

"Come on, Leo, let's go home," he said, smiling. "And, I can't thank you enough," he said to her.

"Only too happy to help."

"Lets get home."

The unlikely trio made their way across the road, John holding Leo carefully so he could not jump out of his arms, entering John's house and closing the door on the rain.

"Would you like some coffee?" he asked her, putting Leo down in the living room. The cat looked
around, walking in the intruder and rubbed against her legs.

"He never does that," he said. "He does not like strangers."

"Well, I guess I'm not a stranger any more."

"I guess not," he said, smiling at the old woman. Alice smiled back, thinking that Leo may not be all that bad for her plants after all if she make him his own little bed to use for his business. The cat purred and jumped on his master's lap, curling into a ball.

At home (Part 3)

“Have a nice walk?”

“Umhm…” she mumbled.

“Hungry?”

“Unhuh, ate some stew. There is more.”

He nodded and left. She could hear him in the kitchen and waited for a while before getting up and going out to the kitchen. She could hear the click of Sport’s claws on the kitchen table and his quiet admonition to the dog, who usually tried to see what was on the table.

Her slippers were by her chair in the den and she slipped into them before joining him in the kitchen. He was eating the last of the stew, drinking a beer and looking at the newspaper.

She got a beer out and opened it as he looked up.

“You have a good day?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It was ok.”

She sat down, petting Sport as he lay his head in her lap.

“Sport had a good day, didn’t you, old boy?”

His tail was wagging and hitting the counter.

“He likes the beach,” she said.

“Always did,” her husband said.

He noted a few of the issues in the paper, the death of a local businessman and terrorist strikes in the Middle East, trying to draw her into conversation. It didn’t work

“Sometimes I wonder if you don’t love that dog more than me,” he said.

She looked at him, then at the dog.

“How is Sylvia?”

He stiffened.

“This isn’t about her.”

“It isn’t? I think it is. At least it is if you want to me my husband, my real husband. The dog is loyal. He would die for me. He won’t run off with another bitch just because things aren’t perfect or my ass gets a little big.”

“I never said…”

“No, you never did, Loren, you never said anything. David never said anything, either, but he really doesn’t love me either.”

“I thought that was over,” he said, putting the paper down and looking at her. He took a long drink of his beer, as she thought.

“It is. It was, but he wanted to talk. Same bullshit as ever, all words and no action, as usual. Now, Sylvia, she took action, didn’t she?”

He was a little pale.

“You saw her didn’t you?”

“Just coffee. She came by the office.”

She sat there, stroking the don’s head, her blood singing in her ears, but the dog’s warm love kept her together as she looked at nothing. Another lie, another promise broken, an agreement shattered, she thought, but she had done the same thing.

He finished the beer and took the dishes to the sink.

“OK, you can have her. I’m done,” she said.

“But…”

“No, I am finished with all the lies. David lied, you lie, I lie. Everyone but Sport lies, you know that? He is the only one I can really trust.” She did not look at him, but looked at the dog.

After a moment of silence he turned and opened the refrigerator and took out another beer.

“I’ll move my clothes into the back bedroom,” he said.

“You do that,” she said, a tear running down her cheek as he left the room. The dog looked after him, then to her, whining a little in the back of his throat as he looked at her.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Encounter on the Beach (Part Two)

He cleared his throat, looking around.

“You wanted to talk,” she said, her voice cracking a little.

“Uh, yeah, I did,” said, looking down at the sand.

“About?”

“Like you don’t know,”

She laughed at him, making the dog stop and look at her.

He grimaced and turned toward the water, taking several steps, turning his back to her, looking at the choppy, gray water for a moment.

“So talk,” she said, waving her arm as she said it, looking down at her feet, kicking a shell with the toe of her boot. He turned to her and began to talk.

She had heard it all before, how he loved and respected her, how she filled his life, what they had in common, how much he needed her. Men, she thought, all about them, how about what she got out of their “relationship” or didn’t? Would he leave his wife for her? Never, and she knew that. Then he brought up her trip to Florida the month before and how much it had hurt him that she had not invited him along.

“I told you why. You agreed it wasn’t a good idea.”

“Only because you said you needed your space. I didn’t know you would be with him…”

“Because I knew you would react like this. He’s my husband. And I don’t have to explain what I do with him to you, of all people.”

The man looked at her for a moment, then turned and walked quickly back to the car, his head down, his feet digging into the sand as he tried to walk faster than he could in his dress shoes, slipping. The dog ran up to him, a stick in his mouth, almost tripping him as he neared his car. He kicked at the dog, which avoided the kick and ran toward the woman, who was now looking out at the water again and had not witnessed the little scene by the car.

“Men are worse than nothing, you know that sport?” she asked the dog, who barked at her, looking at the stick and back to her.

She bent and grabbed it, throwing it into the distance as the dog raced after it, sand flying as he ran.

The other car started and departed with a squeal of tires.

The woman walked down the beach, the dog cavorting around her as she walked, her head down hands in her coat pockets, ignoring the ringing of the cell phone in her pocket. She found a large log in a sheltered cover and sat on the sane with her back against it. The dog took a break, flopping down beside her and chewing on the stick. Here out of the wind it was almost warm and they both dozed for a while, drowsed by the sound of the waves.

It was over an hour before the cell phone rang again. She dog’s head came up and he looked at her as she took it from her pocket and looked at it. She answered it.

“Hello there,” she said. The dog nuzzled her other hand and she stroked his proffered head as she listened to the caller.

“Taking Sport for a walk,” she said. “I heard it, just didn’t want to talk to anyone right then.”

“No, I did not know it was you.”

She listened.

“OK,” she said finally, closing the phone and sighing, petting the dog for a few moments before levering herself to her feet. The sand tired her out and the dog insisted on exploring and stopping several times to relieve itself and drink from pools of rain water above the high tide line. He did not like salt water at all, except for swimming. She knew she would have to wash him down when they got home. It was farther back than she remembered, the wind had picked up and the rain started by the time they got back to the safety of the car. The dog, as her husband had predicted, got in the back seat and promptly covered it with sand. She smiled at the happy look on the dog’s face and lolling tongue as she started the car and backed out. Her stomach growled as she pulled onto the highway.

It was about a half an hour drive to get her home and on the way she turned on the stereo, playing music she could sing to. The dog climbed over the seats and sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window at the passing scenery. He patted his head and he smiled at her

On arriving at home she left the dog in the fenced back yard to eat something and went inside, slipping out of her coat and rubbing her arms as she pulled leftovers out of the refrigerator and heated them, along with tea. She sat at the table, her boots in a pile by the door, her coat on a chair as she ate a hearty serving of beef stew, rolls and salad, more than she had eaten in some time.

She slipped out of her sweater an riding pants and into a pair of heavy sweats before going out and using the warm water from the utility tub in the garage to quickly wash down Sport, who seemed to like it. Using an old blanket she rubbed him dry and let him in the house, where he made a bee line for his comfortable dog bed and was asleep in a moment.

Leaving her things where they were she followed suit, throwing the afghan on the couch in the den over her legs she fell into a deep sleep. That was where she was when her husband closed the back door and she woke in the dark, the sun having gone down since she lay down. Turning on the light he found her looking up at him, her eyes half open and hair askew.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Encounter on the Beach (Part One)

The woman stepped over the parking barrier and onto the sand of the beach, watching as the dog ran into the surf. She could hear her husband warn her. If you let that damn dog out at the beach he will run all over and get wet and full of sand and track it into the car. Smiling, she looked out at the water, the front of her black rain coat open, her white sweater stark against its blackness, savoring the feeling of the wind on her face, smelling the sea. Her long legs were sheathed in riding togs and tall, black boots. Long, black hair flew in the wind as she stood there; erect and stiff-backed in the gusty spring wind.

Her eyes were hidden dark glasses, her lips, full and red, had set in a frown, set off by the pallor of her clear skin. The dog ran into the water and out, and then chased some seagulls around for a while before rolling on something he found at the high tide line some way down the beach.

Her cell phone rang. Once, twice, three times, then stopped. She ignored it.

Another car pulled into the parking lot, a black sport car with tinted windows, and pulled into a space several down from her white Mercedes. She did not turn to look, but continued to stare at the water. The dog stopped and looked at the car and the man who got out, then was distracted by a seagull, which he chased into the water, barking and snapping at the bird’s tail feathers. The car door closed and she turned and walked away, slowly, her long legs stiff as she walked slow, carefully placed and measured steps away.

The man walked toward her, wearing a raincoat not unlike hers, his short, sandy hair riffled by the breeze as he neared her. The coat was closed and tied, his white shirt and blue tie showing at the top, his pants a charcoal gray. He was tall, with the walk of an athlete, his mouth set in a grimace as sand slipped under his dress shoes and got into them. His blue eyes flashed as he watched the dog run in the water, and then turned back to the woman as she walked away.

She stopped as he neared and turned to face him, her legs spread shoulder width apart, and her shoulders squared, head up and attention on the man who now stopped short several yards away, uncertain whether to get closer to her.

“Hello,” he said.

She did not answer, her eyes meeting his, her expression unreadable.