Fear, Cliffs and Precipices

I’ve been scared of heights my entire life.

Mostly cliffs and steep stairways, steep hills, things like that.  It makes my knees go all watery when I look at pictures of that city in China, the one that’s all built on a cliffside and is nothing but dizzying views of the valley floor, far, far below.

It even makes me nervous to look at rock climbers when they are dangling from some difficult rock face.

At a writer’s retreat, I wrote the following passage:

What is it like, not to be afraid? I’ve never known. Among the planar ferns, carpeted with dew- bedazzled moss and roofed with maple clerestory, I’m fine. Or, watching mist-silvered ripples run cross mossy swells of granite. Or ranging mile on mile through fir and cedar pillars, hot pitch perfume rising to my nose. It’s easy to forget when things are comfortable.

But venturing along a cliffside trail, or threading a narrow planken bridge, I’m liable to turn… and there it is, a grinning vista. My blood runs icy as a spring when I contemplate infinity. Far peaks turn into fangs to bite me, friendly lake a vat to drown me, lovely trees just claws to catch.

“How lovely,” I hear from far away. “How picturesque!” For my best appreciation, it should stay in the picture. Caught between cliff and hill it’s all too easy to feel the footing fail, the world tilt askew and the mountain come tumbling on my bare head. Here, imagination turns from friend to foe. A stout stick and a will of unworked sponge-iron are my only defenses. Step by halting step I head for home.

I’d like to be able to stand atop a cliff or mountain, and not know what that fear meant. Not feel my heart slam against cage of ribs, not have my legs turn to egg noodle paste, not taste imminent death on the wind.

Until then, isn’t this fungus under the emerald-blanketed log a thing of beauty? And do you mind if I stay on my knees?

 

Anyone with a phobia can probably relate.   There’s a way through that terror.  The way is to remember that fear is a paper tiger.  If you realize that it can’t truly control you, and you face it and move through it, fear dissolves.  I have not been entirely successful yet.  However, whenever I truly practice this, I beat back fear.

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Precipice

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Finally, summer’s here! Have some Switchel.

You may be wanting to know exactly what switchel is.   Basically, it’s a mix of water, ginger, vinegar, and sugar.  Sometimes fruit juice is added.

When I first encountered this beverage, I thought it tasted strange. However, the more I drank it, the better I liked it. I learned that it was a common hot weather beverage in Early America, and that intrigued me. I’ll write more about its history later but first, here’s how to make it.

Switchel is simple to make. You start with cold water and add apple cider vinegar, sweetener of some kind, and fresh ginger. It’s refreshing, replenishes your potassium, and helps your digestion. It’s a great recovery drink for after a work out. Though the spicy, sweet and sour flavor may be a bit odd at first, it’s certainly well worth getting used to!

Here’s a good recipe to start with.

1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar, two tablespoons brown sugar, 10 ounces cold water, and minced fresh ginger to taste.  

Variations:

Make ginger tea and add the vinegar and sugar.

Use honey.

Use maple syrup.

Add a splash of fruit juice, such as blueberry or cherry.

Sometimes I will make a strong ginger tea and chill that to make my base with. Other times I’ll simply add chopped ginger to my vinegar-sugar-water mix. Or, as mentioned in the recipe, I might add some fruit juice for variety. I’ve even drunk it warm! Your choice of sweeteners affects the taste. So far I like pure maple syrup or plain white sugar the best. You could also use honey, molasses, or stevia. You may want to limit your sweetener, though I wouldn’t recommend eliminating it at first. Personally, I plan to keep a big jug of it in the fridge this summer, especially during the hot, sticky monsoon months.

Personal experiences:

I have found it to have an energizing effect, somewhat like a mild energy drink. I usually digest things better after I’ve had some, too. I have some digestive issues and the ginger helps the muscles in my stomach and gut move a bit more slowly (link) so I digest things more thoroughly. Plain ginger tea does the same, particularly when I eat the chopped ginger as well as drinking the liquid. My body seems to crave the vitamins that are found in the apple cider vinegar. I tend to like {this brand}, though you can buy it at your local grocery store. If possible, buy it organic with the “mother” still included, though I’ve had great results even with the purified, pasteurized variety.

The history of Swtichel:

As mentioned before, this was a farmer’s drink in early America, but many people liked it. It was believed that the ginger had a warming effect that would lessen the shocking effect of cold water on the stomach, while the sugar and vinegar were there for flavor. It was basically an early sports drink.

Since it’s so easy to make, why not try some today?

If something more traditional is more to your liking, here is how to make a simple ginger beer.

First, start with ginger tea. That’s easy to make – steep chopped ginger in hot water for five minutes or so. Make it nice and strong.

Mix the tea with sugar to taste. Perhaps a cup of sugar for a gallon of ginger beer.

Once it’s cooled to body temperature, add a half teaspoon of yeast. Simple baking yeast is fine.

Evenly divide the mixture into two clean 2 liter soda bottles. Put a slice or two of ginger in each one to strengthen the flavor. Fill the rest of the way with plain water. Leave an inch or so of space at the top of the bottle for “head room.” Cap the bottles tightly.

Leave the ginger beer in the fridge overnight, or until the bottles feel hard. The yeast will carbonate the sweet ginger tea and make it into a simple ginger ale, without building up enough to form alcohol. This makes a great cold drink for a hot day!

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Final

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Temporary Profit – an open letter to department stores

Many of you are rightfully concerned by online competition. Retailers such as Amazon have taken a lot of your market share. So I have a suggestion to increase your profitability in a way that will endure.

Instead of doing more of what you already do, or engaging in progressively more intrusive and annoying advertising, how about capitalizing on your strengths? The strength of a local store is responsiveness. Workers at a store can answer questions, find things for customers, and set up orders for things not in stock. Knowledgeable, personable employees are the difference between a successful business and a faceless set of walls and aisles.

Central planning is the bane of many shoppers’ existence. How many shoppers have gone into a store to buy something and discovered that it wasn’t available in the style they liked because Corporate didn’t carry it? Usually, that just sends shoppers online because comment cards and suggestion boxes do nothing to put the goods they want in the store.

As a business, why not put the human touch back into the department store and be truly responsive to customers? Then they will have a reason not to send all their money to online retailers.  Engage your workers, encourage them to become experts about what they sell, and encourage them to order what customers actually ask for.   The result may be a slightly lower, but more enduring profit, and more importantly, customer loyalty.

Customer loyalty can be all too temporary when they aren’t getting what they need.  Move with the times and with customer demand, and your future will be secure.

 

via Daily Prompt: Temporary

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/temporary/

Two Weeks to Resignation – and a new Lifestyle

Some say your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die. I don’t know if that’s true, but as my time of resigning draws nearer, little memories of this job keep coming up. That time my coworkers did something sweet, or something funny a team lead said. Little things. How hopeful I was when I was hired, how happy I was to have a job. My frustrations with upper management. Things I’ve learned, both large and small. My ecstasy when I saw a friend come back who nearly died twice, my overflowing joy as I hugged him back into the fold.

This hasn’t been an easy decision. I’ve weighed so many different factors. Distance from home, atmosphere, opportunities for advancement, pay, friendships. I’ve been thinking about it for months. When I finally was offered a good position, I thought it might vanish away like smoke. I even dreamed about it. Yet, it was real, and now only two weeks away. I find myself clearing up loose ends, planning my end. I clean up my work station, decide what saved information I’ll bequeath to my friends, decide where my locker loot will go. It’s like a death. I think I’ll bake something for my friends, including bringing something for the diabetics, to show them how much they’ve meant to me. I’ve spent a lot of time here, after all, and sometimes they feel like a second family.

As I tell people of my decision, they are happy for me but sad to see me go. I feel the same. I will miss so many people. Even though I feel anger at injustice from on high, still I’ve had so many intangible gifts. I tell each person with warmth and regret. I wish management could have improved things, if they had, I would have stayed. But their goals are my goals and mine are mine, and it’s time to go. I intend to make these last days good ones, working hard to serve my callers and train those who will follow me.

I know that someday my memories of this place will fade, I’ll learn new halls and doorways, and new faces will start looking like my family. I’ll be over the rocky ridge and back again in familiar country, but it’s going to take a bit of walking across barren ground, looking for landmarks. For me, nearly seven and a half years is a long time, the longest time I’ve worked in one place.

On my last day I’ll leave with head held high, wishing well to all I leave behind. Right now, I am trying to leave a legacy of helpfulness and good will. And there are two weeks to go.

 

Postscript:

There was another, somewhat unexpected fruit to that job – inspiration for my book, How to P!ss Off the Customers, which will be made into a second edition soon.  It’s a lighthearted look at the perils of working Customer Service, and available for sale on my Books page. 

 

via Daily Prompt: Lifestyle

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/lifestyle/

None will be spared from safety features

I love my car. It’s battered, it has 163,000 miles on it, and it was built in 2006. It’s put up with minimal maintenance, a paper route, a drive across the country while carrying heavy loads, and done it all with minimal breakdowns. It’s a Hyundai Elantra with a standard transmission. Even as old as it is, it can still go from zero to sixty in six or seven seconds.

Driving around in my responsive little car, the windows open to the world, I notice big differences between my car and others around me. I see the newer cars, with their higher stances, their taller doors, their smaller windows, their wide doorposts. My car is fairly low to the ground with big windows. It makes situational awareness easy. There is no navigation system, just a radio/cd player, and that leads to far less distraction.

I drove a rental a couple years ago. It was some kind of compact Chevy. Driving it, I felt so insulated from the road. It was harder to see my blind spots, and the thick door posts were also difficult to see around. The high doors, caused by the side impact airbags, further reduced visibility. The suspension system made the road hard to feel. I felt insulated – which is good, if you aren’t hurtling down the road at forty five miles an hour in heavy traffic.

Ironically, “safety features” cause most of these problems. In fancier cars, there are also lane warning systems, backup alarms, camera systems, GPS of course, and many other distractions. There are also automatic braking systems. As much as I love technology, I don’t trust a computer to know when to brake better than I do, or know when I should or shouldn’t change lanes. Do I need an alarm beeping at me, when I’m already in a crisis? No, I don’t.

The more control a vehicle takes from you, the more dulled your skills become. The harder it is to see and hear the world around you, the less situationally aware you are. I’ve seen enough traffic accidents to know that improved situational awareness would save many lives every year. For example, knowing that I have somewhat bad eyesight, I purposely avoid distraction when driving – not using the phone or texting – to give me more brainpower to devote to looking around me. I have avoided so many accidents that way!

The key to being a good driver is improving your ability, not relying on a bunch of safety features that may or may not work. Modern cars often give up real safety in exchange for increasing the driver’s perception of safety. So if a government ever tries to force me into a modern vehicle with all the bells and whistles, then I’ll develop a sudden interest in historical pieces, or build my own!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/none/

via Daily Prompt: None

Ownership versus Right to Use

I remember what it was like when everyone was used to owning things. Increasingly, the trend is to pay for the use of something, but it’s not really yours. We rent houses and apartments, lease cars, and buy computers that lock us out from changing anything.

I remember a time when you could do what you wanted with what you bought. You controlled what you paid your hard earned money for. You could modify it, upgrade it, get rid of it, or fix it over and over. No warranty stickers to dissuade you, no secret wiring diagrams not available to the general public, and it was all put together so it could be taken apart again.

If you bought a computer, for example, you could get into the BIOS and change basic settings. You could upgrade or downgrade the operating system as you chose. And when you bought a piece of software, you bought it. You could use it for as long as you wanted. Ownership IS control.

Now, increasingly there are Windows chipsets that try to lock you in to one operating system. They stop working if you change it. Certain operating systems won’t even let you revert to earlier versions unless you want to completely wipe your hard drive. If you own something that doesn’t let you change it or alter it, can you really say you own it? Control is taken away from you, the buyer.

Software is also becoming a pay for use type service. You pay a yearly fee to use your software, even after buying it in the first place!  Then, companies reserve the right to mine your information if you’re connected to the internet, just like certain modern OS’s like Windows 10. Once again, you don’t truly own it, you just pay to use it, and the people who own the software get most of the benefit.

If you lease a car, you don’t really own it either.  Even if you own one, many modern cars aren’t serviceable by the owner, so if something goes wrong you have to bring it to a dealership or an expensive certified mechanic. You are forced to pay for services. Your vehicle becomes just another way for manufacturers to siphon money from you, and keep on siphoning it from you in the future.

That’s why I won’t buy a brand new car. That’s also why I won’t use Windows 10. I’ll use Windows 7, or Linux, but I demand the ability to adjust or fix what I own. I am interested in creating and producing, not being a cash cow for someone else. That’s also why I use ad blockers – so I won’t be data-mined so easily. I’m tired of giving up control. I won’t use subscription software, except for one program which is the best spyware and virus blocker I’ve yet found, and only costs $15 a year. I use open source software like LibreOffice and GIMP. I don’t use Mac products.

I vote with my dollars.

I hope others will too.

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/control/

via Daily Prompt: Control

Book excerpt “Rageth”

I have a new book out, a novel about a call center worker who encounters a vengeful spirit on her phone line.  It’s what I might call light horror, with almost no gore.  More of a ghost story, really.  Also, nobody does anything stupid in it like opening doors they shouldn’t.  I figured I’d offer everyone an excerpt!  It’s a chapter from the middle of the book.

The main character is a person named Daphne, who is an artist who makes a living at a call center.  Her large Siamese, Dagoba, is her constant off-work companion.  Daphne lives in Tucson and enjoys heavy metal.  If you like it, it’s available on Pronoun in a variety of formats, just click the cover below.

RAGETH Cover 1000

Maria

Friday came and went without too many issues. Daphne was happy to see it. When the weekend came, Daphne was lighthearted and ready for a rest. Grocery shopping, laundry and all the mundane chores went without a hitch. She spent her free time writing, finishing her wintry painting, and playing with Dagoba.

On Sunday, she went down by the river and took a three mile walk with some Iron Maiden to liven things up. The riverbed was all dry gravel and sand of course, the bushes growing in the middle had only a little green, but she knew it would be flowing soon with the monsoon rains. There had been no trace of storms since the last frightening night, and the apartment complex had already cut up the tree and hauled it away. She thought about seeing some friends but they were all busy. Next weekend, perhaps. In the meantime, Daphne was grateful for some peace.

The weekend went too quickly, as weekends always do. Daphne tried to relax and rest up but was still rather tired on Sunday night. Her eyes kept slipping closed, even when watching a few episodes of Zipang. Dagoba was on her lap as usual, purring, and that didn’t help matters either. When she dozed through an exciting missile launch, Daphne knew it was time to give up. I don’t usually fall asleep this early, she thought groggily. Guess I’d better go to bed. Her arms and legs felt heavy as she got up out of the chair. In a daze, she wandered into the bedroom, undressed, and flopped down on the bed without even brushing her teeth. She was out within seconds.

***

Daphne shivered as she walked through the old building, squinting to see through the shadowy corridors without the help of her glasses. Everything was blurry and indistinct. Her teeth chattered as her bare feet felt the clammy linoleum under them. She was wearing the same t-shirt she’d collapsed onto her bed in, and nothing else. Cold air blew up under the hem, freezing her backside and raising goosebumps over all her flesh.

She felt fragile and exposed, utterly unprepared for anything. Something flew past her face, it was impossible to tell what. Still straining to see, she almost screamed in surprise as a hard, cold metal framework impacted her ill-clad body. Daphne groped, blinked, and saw that it was a hospital gurney. What’s that doing here? she wondered. I’ve got to get out of here.

She pushed forward into the darkness, dreading what might be there, but there was no way to pause or turn back. The icy floor under her feet seemed to tilt slightly, one way, then the other, as she went.

The only light was coming in from cobwebby, befogged windows to her left. From the color of it she guessed it was moonlight. Still, the color was off – it was a bit too blue, a bit too bright, and the shadows had such sharp borders that they looked like holes in the floor. For a moment Daphne fancied that she could even see down into them, that there were eyeless faces and pale, grasping hands, down there waiting for her.

The narrow walls closed in, leaving nowhere to go but forward. Daring greatly, Daphne gingerly stepped on the shadowed floor, feeling for an edge. She found it cold but solid. She forced herself to walk in the blackness, her heart shivering in her chest, wanting nothing more than to be out of this cold, damp place that smelled of old disinfectant and still more ancient blood.

A shriek caught Daphne’s ear like a hook. She whipped her head around, trying vainly to see with her blurry vision. She yearned for the feel of her glasses, ached for their metal frames and smudgy lenses. To her right was a hallway and in spite of herself she looked down it. Dark, nebulous shapes jumped and danced at the edge of her vision and there was a faint, somehow scabrous, red glow at the very end. Distantly, she heard a faint beeping. She didn’t want to go down that hallway, not at all. At the end, she knew, there must be something horrible – she wasn’t sure what. Another flapping shape went past her vision, she wasn’t sure what. Adrenaline jolted her into a shaky run – past the hallway and farther down the hallway she’d originally been walking down.

Daphne was too frightened to think. She kept running, hoping she’d find her way out of this maze, even though she could barely see. Another gurney rolled toward her, squeaking and clanging as it went. She barely dodged it, feeling the cold metal brush past her skin. It felt oddly slimy. There was no time for thought, she just kept running, holding her hands out in front of her to avoid crashing into things.

Two red points of light appeared in the darkness before Daphne, and she skidded to a stop, panting. Adrenaline was coursing through her body. She squinted again, trying to see if they were eyes, or lights, or what… then they seemed to get larger, and she turned tail and ran. Something screamed right behind her. She whirled around, saw nothing but empty shadow-striped hallway. Then the floor opened up under her and she fell, flailing, into endless dark.

***

Daphne woke with a jerk, gasping. Though sweat drenched her, she shivered violently, her blankets tangled and thrown off the bed. Dagoba was nowhere to be found. Daphne lay as still as she could for a moment, waiting for her heartrate to slow and her breathing to ease. She was still terrified, but the fear was receding a bit as she looked around the familiar room. That… sucked extremely, she thought finally, as she gathered up the bedclothes and prepared to lie down again.

Daphne felt around for her glasses, put them on. It was comforting to have the lines of the room look sharp again. Needing something to do, she continued fixing the rumpled bed. It’ll be a long time before I can get back to sleep, she thought. I wonder where Dagoba went off to? I was probably thrashing around and scared her. Despite these reasonable thoughts, she couldn’t help but imagine Dagoba, stiff and cold, something awful having gotten her. She looked around the room and finally spied a large furry lump beneath her bedside table. She reached under the tabletop, stretched tentatively, and felt a rush of relief as she contacted soft fur and felt that it was warm.

“Brrt,” said Dagoba.

“Good, the cat noise button still works,” said Daphne softly. “Come on out when you’re ready, kitty.”

Even in the dimness, Daphne saw that Dagoba made a slow-blink with her wise, blue eyes and she made the gesture in return. After a little while, Dagoba came out from under the table, her tail a bit bottlebrushed. She meowed plaintively.

Daphne sat down on the bed and accepted Dagoba into her lap, at first just holding her, then hugging her and crying into her fur. The dream’s filmy strands still brushed against her mind like rotted cobwebs, and with them came something very like despair. Dagoba waited patiently, kneading Daphne’s bare thigh with her paws, and purring to comfort the both of them.

Finally, Daphne was all cried out. She petted Dagoba, got up, went into the b

athroom to blow her nose profusely, then came back in again and lay down. Not looking forward to getting up in the morning, she burrowed under the blankets.

“Come here, Teddy Bear Cat,” she said. She was expecting Dagoba to run off rather than allow herself to be hugged again. As friendly as she was, the cat had her limits. Instead, she picked her way carefully across the bed. Not one to waste an opportunity, Daphne petted her, then held the Siamese close until she fell asleep. Surprisingly, she dropped off within minutes of her head hitting the pillow, lulled by Dagoba’s steady purring.

For the rest of the night, Daphne’s dreams were misty and indistinct. They were mostly about walking through grocery stores and not being able to find things, or showing up to work without pants. Though slightly disturbing, they weren’t nearly as bad as the dream she’d had earlier. She stayed asleep till the alarm woke her in the morning.

***

Daphne made her way to work, getting there on time despite the efforts of an out of season Snowbird in a little gray sedan that had the vanity plate of “RENAUDS.” Eventually Daphne was able to maneuver around the slow moving driver and got in five minutes before her shift started.

To her endless relief Monday turned out to be tiring but normal for most of her shift, even despite her troubled sleep. Daphne got through it with the help of some coffee from the break room machine. She didn’t have much of a chance to talk to Tom or anyone else, with call after call coming in. At times she started wondering if she was the only one in the world doing her job, with all the questions people had about what other agents had done.

Eventually evening came, and Daphne was about to go on her last break. The phones were a little calmer, so she had time for her mind to slow down and just think. Maybe now my life can go on the way it was, Daphne thought as she walked away from her station. She had been careful with her other idle time today, so she had fifteen whole minutes to herself. Still she walked quickly, so as not to waste it. I can just go to work, and earn a paycheck, and maybe earn bonus too. Then I can come home, and write and draw and paint, and just… be. I can dream, and plan, and take walks in the desert. As she thought about these things, she realized that she’d never really known how sweet normal life could be until something disrupted it. She saw Tom coming out of the bathroom, waved to him as she went in. After she was done, she decided to splurge on another fifty cent cup of coffee from the vending machine. As she watched it pour into the little paper cup, sending forth its hazelnut aroma, she smiled. Maybe everything will be okay for a while.

**

The last two hours of Daphne’s shift were similarly quiet, one of the benefits of having a closing shift. The only fly in the ointment was still having to sit over where Creepy Girl had been. But it wasn’t too bad, and she even got a few sketches done between calls. When the clock on her computer ticked over and finally let her go, she stretched luxuriously and gathered her things, making a mental note to head toward the restroom on her way out. The vending machine coffee had caught up with her.

As Daphne finished in the stall, she heard a whir. She cleaned herself up, rearranged her clothes. It sounded like the automatic paper towel dispenser. Oddly, she hadn’t heard footsteps come into the bathroom as she’d been offloading the used coffee. She stepped outside the stall and looked around. Sure enough, no-one was there. She shrugged and went to the sink to wash. Placing her hands under the automatic faucet, she looked into the mirror, checked her hair. When water didn’t come out of the faucet, she grumbled and moved over to the one that always worked.

“Ow!” she yelped, at first thinking she’d been burned. The water wasn’t hot though, it was cold, so cold it was forming a bit of frosty rime on the faucet. She shook her hands, cold droplets splashing everywhere. “What the hell?” Her voice echoed weirdly on the tile walls. The water was never cold here. Lukewarm was the usual, and even the local aquifer didn’t send up very cold water this time of year. She was about to grab a paper towel to dry her hands, but the green indicator light had turned red and the machine was making a strange grinding sound. Soon it began spitting paper shreds everywhere. She looked over at the mirror again, saw her own face, but this time it had a malevolent and self-satisfied leer. Daphne decided she’d had more than enough, and bolted for the door.

Then the lights went out. The only things glowing in the empty echoing place were the two indicator lights, like two coals in the black. An unsettling, iron scent came through her nose – like rust or old blood. The two towel dispensers were still growling, and judging by the foaming hiss of four water faucets, and the hot feel coming from that direction, the water was now boiling hot. She whipped her head over to the mirror and saw another pair of red eyes looking at her as if from her own reflection in the dark.

Daphne, having had more than enough, groped for the familiar exit to the bathroom. At first she couldn’t find it, as if she’d gotten turned around – no, there it was. She felt her way to the bathroom door, pushed. It wouldn’t move. Behind her, the churning, chewing dispensers and the rush of the water started sounding like a guttural voice, but she couldn’t understand it… she gave a hard shove, desperate to get out.

And ran into Maria, the janitor, as she was just opening the door.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked.

“I, I,” said Daphne. She was incoherent.

Maria looked beyond her into the dark room. “Did I turn off the lights by accident?” she asked. “That’s odd, I haven’t done that in years. I’m sorry I scared you like that.” The older, rather round woman was a real comfort to see. She had friendly features, coal black hair, smile lines around her eyes and was well known to everyone in the center. Maria walked around her cleaning cart, reached into the janitorial closet and flicked a switch. “I must have bumped into it. I’m really sorry, mija.”

“It’s, okay,” panted Daphne. “There’s no way I’m driving home like this. I’ve got to calm down. Get some air.” She shook her head, trying to clear it. It was out of character for her, but she didn’t want to go out in the dark alone. “Hey, could you come with me for a little bit? I’m coming down from a panic attack.”

“Sure, no problem,” said Maria. “I’m overdue for my smoke break anyway. Let’s go out for while.” She touched Daphne on the shoulder. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay? You’re white as a ghost.”

“I’ll be… fine,” said Daphne. She shook herself, taking a few deep breaths, and followed Maria out to the central corridor. Maybe she’ll know something about this, she thought. She’s been here for years, after all. “Say,” she started hesitantly, “did you ever see anything… strange around here?”

Maria actually shuddered, glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, and gave Daphne a shaky smile. “If we’re going to talk about that, then it’s definitely time for a smoke break.”

Daphne followed Maria out of the building, grateful for the warm wind blowing outside. It was comforting. The palm trees swayed above their lighting fixtures, and the flag flapped gently. She walked over to the metal roofed smoking shelter, grateful for the company, and sat down on a cast concrete bench.

Maria licked her finger, held it up, then settled next to Daphne on the downwind side. She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then sighed. “You seemed kind of freaked out in there,” she said. “Want to talk about it?”

No, not really, I just want to catch my breath and have my heartrate to go back to normal, thought Daphne. I want to stop seeing faces in every shadow. I thought it was over. But this nightmare doesn’t seem to end. She shook herself, just a little. “I guess I do. It might seem like I was really afraid of the dark, right?”

“Yeah, a little,” said Maria with a smile.

“The thing is, I’m not. Not normally, anyway. But some really strange things have been happening lately and being stuck with the lights out, and the faucets going haywire, and the towel dispenser sounding like some kind of beast, it just made me want to scream, if I wasn’t so busy hyperventilating.”

“You’re awfully calm about it now, though,” offered Maria.

Daphne shook her head. “Inside, I’m still quaking and I just want a good cry. I hope you don’t think I’m crazy, but for a minute, it was like there was some kind of spirit, or demonic presence, or something in there with me.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” said Maria. “I just think you were really scared.” She looked off into the night, puffed once. “Are you religious at all?” she asked suddenly.

“No, never saw the point to it,” said Daphne.

“That means you wouldn’t be expecting to see demons,” said Maria. “It’s interesting, though. I’m kind of a lapsed Catholic, myself. I asked because I had something happen to me last Thursday, and it pretty well freaked me out.”

They paused their conversation, watching as a few workers walked by, chatting cheerily. It’s surreal, thought Daphne. They’re living in a different world than I am. Everything’s fine in their world. Their biggest worry is their cable bill or putting gas into their cars. “Okay, if you want to tell me, I’ll admit I’m curious what happened.”

Maria nodded, apparently gathering herself a bit. “I was cleaning late at night, after most folks had already left the building,” she began. “I think maybe four people were in the whole place. Usually it’s my favorite part of my shift, because I like the quiet.”

Daphne nodded, encouragingly.

“I was busy vacuuming the call floor over in the area where you work. About half the lights were turned off so it was kind of dim. I remember having trouble with my headphones, the music kept cutting out. I shut off the vacuum and was fiddling with the wires, trying to get the music to work again, when I saw this really odd glow coming from one of the stations. And there was the oddest sound, like a gravely voice, but too low to understand what it was saying.” She took a last, long drag from her cigarette and crushed it out.

“I was afraid there was a fire, because it was a kind of reddish glow, and I thought I smelled something funny. As I walked closer to the desk I heard the voice get louder – though I never could understand it, no matter how hard I tried. It made my brain twist up though. Sure enough, when I came around so I could see the cubicle, the whole thing was glowing with this nasty, pulsating red. It was almost – bruise like, and that’s the best way I can explain it. I didn’t want to get nearer but I knew I had to, in case something was on fire. I mean, maybe a computer was overheating – it could take the whole building down! So I went closer. Then I thought I heard a scream, or a wail, from far away. I listened hard but it didn’t repeat. I looked at the work station. There wasn’t anything wrong with the computer, not that I could see anyway, but the phone was turned on, and the headset was plugged in. It sounded like there was a call going on. That voice was coming out of the headset, the growly, gravelly one I couldn’t understand. And there was this horrid thing behind the phone…” she almost choked, then fell silent. Shakily, she lit another cigarette.

“What was it?” asked Daphne.

“It was a crumpled piece of paper,” said Maria in a small voice. “It sounds funny, saying it like that, but that’s all it was. Even so, it was somehow – disgusting, like it should have been covered with slime. It reminded me of some of the things the nasty girls leave in the bathroom, but this was worse. I felt like someone was watching me, like it wanted to hurt me for just being there.”

“What did you do then?” Daphne’s heart was pounding.

“I prayed as hard as I could and I got out of there, and I didn’t come in until I couldn’t see any more nasty red glow. That’s what I did. And I hope that’s what you’d do, too.”

“Did you see anything on the paper?” asked Daphne.

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t really want to,” said Maria, “but yes, I saw something like writing on it. It was evil, whatever it was. I could tell you that just the way a baby chicken knows what a hawk is when it’s one day out of the egg.”

There was a long silence between them as they calmed a bit. A bat fluttered past the nearby light pole and Daphne smiled up at it. It was nice to see something normal in the middle of all this.

“I’ve seen that paper,” said Daphne, “and I think I killed it.”

“Killed it?” Maria had raised a Spockian eyebrow.

“Got rid of it, I mean. Burned it. I found it in my house and I burned it, then I washed the ashes down the drain.” Right about time she says she saw it here, she thought.

“You brought that awful thing into your house, girl?” Maria’s voice trembled.

“I didn’t think I did,” said Daphne. “I found the paper at my desk one day, crumpled up behind my computer, and I looked at it. It was covered with scrawly writing, all backwards, and it said “Rageth,” whatever that means, and it also had strange drawings on it.”

“It sounds like a thing of the Devil,” said Maria, “though I never thought I’d catch myself saying that.”

“I don’t know about a devil,” said Daphne, “but I agree with you, it was really creepy. I thought about throwing it away but I just got distracted. I’ll tell you one thing though, I don’t remember bringing it home. In fact, I quite clearly remember NOT bringing it home.”

“So it followed you,” said Maria. “But you say it’s gone?”

“Should be,” said Daphne. “Unless it can reassemble itself from ash.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been working at that very station! Well, burning a thing like that seems like about the best thing you could do,” said Maria. “Tell you what you do. You go home, and you take a good shower. Just wash all that stuff off you. Then have a nice cup of chamomile, and forget about your worries. Then you get a good night’s sleep. Have some good breakfast. Come back tomorrow, do good work. And I’ll be sure not to turn the lights off by mistake again.”

“I’ll do that,” said Daphne. “Thanks for talking to me, ‘Ria.”

“You’re welcome, hon. Well, I’d better get back in there. You take care of yourself tonight.”

“I will,” said Daphne, and got up. She felt a little better, a little lighter since talking to Maria. “You know what? Tomorrow I’ll see if my old station is available again, and go sit back there.”

“That sounds like a really good idea,” said Maria, and patted Daphne on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow. Go home, and have a good night.”

Daphne nodded, smiled, and walked across the dark parking lot to her car. Some of the lights were out again, but the moon and other city lights were bright enough to see by. She looked at the eucalyptus trees, caught their faint scent. No rain tonight, but the air smelled fine. She’d go home, just as Maria had said, and take a long hot shower. Next morning, things would look brighter.

Blogging from the blanket – feline telepathy

Mom changed her password again but I figured it out.

How did I figure it out? I can read her mind. Today I’m going to share a great feline secret. Cats, you see, are telepathic. There aren’t always a lot of thoughts to read in the average two legged, usually boring stuff like buying food and going to work and when the mail is coming, and hardly ever anything about mice or birds, but we can read them all the same. That’s how we know it’s time for bed, or time to get up, or time to go to work, or come home, or when our two-legged isn’t feeling well.

Mom is somewhat smart sometimes. The other day I was worried about my friend Thomas. He wasn’t in his usual spot in the window and every time I tried to talk to him I just got hurt-sick feelings. And then he went to The Vet. He even stayed away overnight! Feeling what he was going through made me feel pretty bad myself. But Mom figured out why I was sad, and she came to talk to me. She petted me and she told me Thomas would be okay.

Sure enough, a couple of days later, Thomas was there again, looking out his window at me. Our front windows are kitty-corner from each other, so we can see each other to talk. He gave me the slow blink to let me know he was okay. I purred and purred. Mom saw me looking and purred too, in her own way. Even Thomas’s Mom and Grandma were happy! I heard Mom tell Other Mom about it.

Mom did such a good job worrying about Thomas and understanding me that I figured I’d give her a break and write a blog entry for her.

nezumi-keyboard-2

Cat-Mom’s Note:

Our girl Nezumi really did act sad when Thomas was sick.  Was it a smell?  A half-heard conversation?  Simply his absence in the window, that really is kitty-corner from us?  I’m not sure.  I do know that she was moping for a while, and really did perk up when I told her Thomas was being cared for and would be okay.  He needed a night in the hospital but he’s back to his old self again.

On another occasion, I had a very old dog.  She was mostly blind, mostly deaf, and was at that sleeping-most-of-the-time stage.  We loved her dearly but she was nearly at her end.  One night, she woke up from a sound sleep, barking with all her old fervor and running to the back of the house.  All the doors were closed.  I went out, because it seemed she was barking in the direction of the chicken coop.  I opened the back door, ran the fifty yards or so to the coop, and found raccoons attacking the hens.  How had the old dog known?  Closed doors, closed windows, senses nearly gone.  Yet, she knew.

I could go on with stories of how my cat Orion used to wait for me, looking to the east, when I was away to an eastern part of the state, several hundred miles away.  Or how he always knew when I’d be home, and was there to greet me, even if I was early or late.  Keen senses?  Perhaps.  Who knows?

via Daily Prompt: Blanket

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Be remembered – Make your Mark

Life is interesting. We each only have one at a time, and yet we all know people who waste theirs waiting for it to begin.  I certainly have!

When I was growing up, the formula seemed pretty simple. You grow up, learn about life in school, along with things you need to know like math and writing and social studies and history and all that. You go to college because going to college means you get a degree, and nobody gets a good job without a degree. You might get married. You might have kids. You get a succession of better jobs until you are doing more of the things you want to, then finally you start doing what you were really meant to, and when you retire you can relax all day doing the things you always wanted to do but never had time for.

Not only is that model untrue for quite a few people these days, but it’s also a great waste of time! None of us know how long we’ll have. None of us know how successful we’ll be. Isn’t the main point of life making some kind of mark so we’ll be remembered?

Some people make their mark by having kids. Others do it by starting a charity. Others do it by defending their country. Others do it by having a business. Others do it by writing books, or making art, or writing wildly successful blogs. Others teach. Some people do a bit of all of these. Some do none of it but come up with some other interesting thing. Some wait, because life hasn’t really started.

Life started when we took our first breath.

Every day is a chance to live our dream, make our mark, follow our purpose. The key is making small steps. One day, I realized I was writing a bit every day and could put that effort into a book. I wrote a novel and published it several months later. I learned a lot about writing and publishing. The point isn’t that I wrote a novel, the point is that I did it in bits, by consistent effort. I”d thought previously “someday I’ll be a writer.” Since someday never came, I decided to become one.

We don’t have to wait till we “have it all together” to make our mark.

Since I have no idea how long I’ll live, and neither does anyone else, doesn’t it make sense to start shaping our lives how we want them? There’s always some small thing to do, even if we don’t have time, even if we don’t have money. Mindset is the truest key – if you are determined, you will make opportunities for yourself. Focus will allow you to see the little places where you can make your life a bit more like your ideal image of your life.

In the mean time, I’ll keep working on my blog. If I can touch even one or two people, inspire someone, help someone, or make someone think, then I’ll have made a mark.

Wondering where “Gray” features in this?  Well, in writing about this subject, I thought also of another poem all about making one’s mark – this snippet of Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s Ulysses:

Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

 

via Daily Prompt: Gray

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