WORDS

by Phil Ruby

Fairly recently I've been caught up in the Words with Friends game. I had heard of it, but did not realize until talking to someone that it's basically Scrabble in digital form. When I learned that! Well! Scrabble was my mother's favorite game. It was a go-to on our family game night, along with Monopoly, when we felt we had hours  with nothing else to do.
My mother had an extensive vocabulary from reading, mostly the newspaper, doing crossword puzzles, etc. She loved word games of all kinds, which is interesting since she neither fully understood the meanings of, nor the correct pronunciations of many of the words she had learned. She just knew how they were spelled, and that's all that was needed for her to become an excellent Scrabble player. I learned a lot about words from my mother, and developed a love for words and the English language. That love was fed by one of my favorite school teachers, a high school English teacher named Ruth Oliver.
Perhaps those two are mostly responsible for my desire to write. I started writing stories and poems for myself, mostly, with pencil and paper as early as sixth grade. I have always had a vivid imagination, which developed thoughts I felt I needed to put on paper, even if no one ever read them.
Words, phrasing, humor, sarcasm, double-meanings, profundity in language, have always held a deep fascination for me.
Once, in junior high school, I wrote a poem for an English class assignment. I did some research on my own, reading poetry from a book my father had. I got some ideas, and wrote an original poem patterned after some of the works I had read. I got an "F" on that paper because the teacher did not believe I could have written it. She said it was too good for an eighth grader to write, even though she did not even try to find any evidence of plagiarism. Oh, well. Looking back, I can't say I blame her because my imagination sometimes caused me to have problems separating it from reality back then. Some of my imaginings seemed so real to me that I would occasionally tell them as truth. Because of that, I suppose I would have made an excellent politician! A little later in life, reality beat me over the head enough times to break me of that habit.
My father also played a role in developing my interest in words and language. He read everything he could get his hands on. I imagine if he had been and raised in the information age, as I have been, he would have burned up the Internet, and the midnight oil reading things he could never have had access to in our local book stores and libraries.
He read documentaries, fiction, science articles, and often information about other countries and cultures. His time in the Navy, traveling a good portion of the world, gave him an interest in diversity. He often talked about the people he met in other countries, and read about them when he could.
Words - they have been a huge part of my life. More than just communicating what I'm having for lunch or telling a joke.
My favorite author was Samuel "Mark Twain" Clemens when I was young. He did not simply tell a story. He made me live it. Later, J. R. R. Tolkien became one of my favorites. He not only had a command of language, but even invented one! I hope to be able to write in such a way as to draw people into my words, so they are not just reading combinations of letters, but are becoming surrounded and engulfed by the images and feelings they convey.

This is one of my attempts at writing romance:

Lighthouse

By Phil Ruby

Dee Summers was driving. She had not route planned. She just knew she needed to go somewhere to get away from the upside down world that had become her life. Dee was in her mid-forties, had a husband who left her, children who blamed her, friends who had forsaken her, and no one who believed her side of the story. It all had her at her wits end. She had packed a few bags of clothing and personal items that meant something to her, got in the car and never intended to go back. Where would she end up? It did not seem to matter to Dee as long as it was far away. She was going northeast, from her hometown of Plano, Texas in the fall of the year. In the back of her mind she was thinking to go somewhere as different from Texas as she could find. Massachusetts pretty much filled that bill.

Days later Dee found herself near the Northern coast of Massachusetts, on a road that seemed to lead nowhere. It was getting near dusk and she was looking for a motel, or any place to park and sleep a while in her car if she had to. She saw nothing for miles. As the sun set and light grew dim, Dee caught a glimpse of a light through the trees. She drove toward that light and turned down a gravel road toward the coastline. Coming nearer she realized the light was from an old lighthouse. As she drew nearer, she saw a little cottage beside the light tower that she assumed was the light keeper’s residence.

Dee decided she would knock on the door of the cottage and ask where she might find a room for the night. Getting out of her car she felt a strong wind. It nearly took off her coat. She pulled the coat around her tightly and started toward the door. She knocked and waited a minute or two. No answer. She knocked louder. In another few seconds someone opened the door. It was a man who appeared to be in his fifties with greying beard and a few wrinkles on his face. Just as he was opening the door a lightning bolt flashed nearby followed quickly by a loud clap of thunder. Without thinking, Dee jumped forward, startled. She landed right in the man’s arms.

“Well!” the man said, “I wasn’t expecting company at all, let alone a pretty young lady to jump right into my arms like that!”

“I’m sorry…” Dee began

“No!” the man interrupted, “Don’t be sorry at all! Are you lost? No one comes out here unless they’ve lost their way. Never have any visitors!”

“Well, you might say that. I don’t have a destination. Just going,” Dee said hanging her head a little.

“Come inside,” the man said moving aside and motioning toward a big comfortable looking chair by a stone fireplace with a roaring fire in it, “There’s a bad nor’easter comin’ in, and it’s about to be met smack dab over us by another front out of the west. I guess you haven’t been listenin’ to the weather. They’re calling for a nasty blow. From that lightning strike I’d say she’s arrived. When you first knocked I thought it was the wind blowin’ somthin’ around. Wind’s getting’ fierce! So you’re runnin’ away from somethin’ huh? Or maybe someone?”

Dee lowered herself into the chair and answered, “Everything and everyone. It’s a long story.”

“Yeah, most people’s stories are long,” the man said, “but we’re not goin’ anywhere for a while. Let me make us some tea and you can begin wherever you like. My name’s Paul Dunfee, by the way. Yours?”

“Dee…Dee Summers.”

Paul went to the kitchen and put on some water. He opened the jar where he kept his tea bags and then poked his head around the door facing, “Do you like green tea? That’s all I have at the moment,” he said, but looking at her he realized she had already fallen sound asleep in the chair. He moved an ottoman close to her chair, gently raised her feet up onto it, and found a quilt to cover her with. She unconsciously pulled it around her close and fell deeper into her sleep. “Must be exhausted,” Paul said to himself.

Paul finished making his tea and sat in a chair opposite the one Dee was in, where he would eventually fall asleep watching the fire dance and crackle, and listening to the wind and rain, thunder and lightning. He didn’t care much for sleeping in a bed. He had been sleeping in the chair for a few years.

Next Morning

The rain and wind had battered the old lighthouse and cottage all night. Paul had gotten up several times to check for damages, but there was little to be found. The place had weathered storms for decades. The power was out, but Paul had lit some oil lamps and kept the fire stoked. A backup generator kept the beacon in the tower shining brightly.  Looking outside though Paul did discover one very inconvenient occurrence. There was a small bridge just before the main lot of the lighthouse and it had been completely washed away. If storm damage was widespread, it would take perhaps weeks to get to the little lighthouse to make any repairs. Paul was up preparing a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and hotcakes when Dee finally stirred awake. It took her a few minutes to remember where she was and how she got there. Paul came into the room with more of that hot tea and placed a cup by Dee on a small table.

“I don’t have any lemon or sugar,” he said with a smile, “I’ve got some raw honey that I use sometimes if you like.”

“No thank you,” Dee said lifting the cup to her lips, “This will be just fine. I’m sorry to have imposed on you last night. I’ll be on my way as soon as I collect myself a little. If you’ll just let me use the bathroom…”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re not goin’ anywhere for a while…maybe a long while,” Paul said, “Bridge is washed out.”

“I didn’t even notice a bridge coming in last night,” Dee said surprised.

“It wasn’t very obvious,” Paul explained, “No side rails of any kind and it had been graveled over. It didn’t really look like a bridge, but it spanned a small stream that grew out of bounds last night in the storm. As you can tell the power is out. I’ve got a gas stove for cookin’ and plenty of firewood. I just hope there’s enough fuel for the generator. I don’t use it for the house to save the fuel for the beacon.”

“How long before the bridge is replaced?” Dee asked knowing the answer would not be a matter of days, but probably weeks or more.

They’ll get to us eventually, after every other mud puddle is cleaned up in the state. Could be a month,” Paul said, “But don’t worry. If we really need to get somewhere there’s a high swingin’ bridge for foot traffic only upstream a little ways. Your car will be locked in for a while though. Might as well plan on stayin’ here. No lodgin’ for miles. And I don’t mind the company. I’ve got breakfast started. Just getting’ ready to put the bacon in the pan! I’ll go finish that up. Hungry?”

“Famished!” Dee said, “I can’t really remember the last time I ate. Things have been a blur since I left. I’ll be happy to pay you for my meals while I’m stuck here.”

“Nonsense,” Paul insisted, “Like I said before, I’m glad to have the company.”

Eating breakfast Paul remembered that Dee had a story that he was hoping she would tell him. “So who are you runnin’ from again?” he asked.

Dee sighed, “Everyone and everything, like I said last night. It all started when my husband got a promotion at work. He began working longer hours, sometimes till late at night. He usually left early in the morning without even waking me to say goodbye. After a month or so I began to beg him to slow down and stay home more. He got very angry when I even mentioned it. He told our children I was a “bitch”, if you’ll excuse the language. He said he worked so much to get away from me. They are grown and have families of their own so they couldn’t see what things were really like for us. They believed their dad, and stopped coming to see me. They would ask their dad over for dinner sometimes and not invite me. My husband even told all our friends that he couldn’t bear being around me anymore, blaming me for being “difficult”. I swear I was as kind to him as I ever was.

The last straw was when I asked him if he was seeing someone else. He hit the roof saying how dare I accuse him of such a thing when he was working his butt off to support me. He packed up and left. I have no idea where he went. I never see the kids, my friends don’t care if I live or die. They all believe him, and think I’m the worst wife since Delilah cut Samson’s hair!”

“What a horrible thing to happen to you!” Paul said.

“I had enough. I had to get out of there. I just packed some things and got in my car and drove.” Dee said, “I didn’t have a clue where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stay there. Thankfully I have money of my own, not a lot, but enough to go somewhere and start a new life till I get a job.”

“Well, you can stay here as long as you like,” Paul offered, “Or maybe longer than you like, depending on how long it takes to get things back in order around here.”

“The least I can do is clean up the breakfast dishes,” Dee said, “Thank you so much! I was starving!” She started clearing the dishes away while Paul fiddled with the battery operated radio to try and hear some news about the storm damage.

Paul finally found a station with a report which said the governor had declared a state of emergency for the entire state of Massachusetts. Power was out everywhere, trees were across roads, flooding had destroyed many roadways, and lightning had burned some houses. It was going to be a long time before Dee was able to leave. Paul didn’t really mind that, and she didn’t seem to have anywhere in particular that she was headed to.

Paul couldn’t help but keep glancing at Dee as she washed the dishes. Her tight jeans and the sweater she was wearing were very flattering to her hourglass figure, especially from behind. It had been a few years since he had had a woman in the house, and Dee was an attractive lady with brown hair and big, beautiful brown eyes to match. She had a classic beauty and a soft, warm smile, full lips and perfect proportions.

Dee had noticed Paul as well. He was a bit taller than her, broad shoulders and strong arms. He was a little over fighting weight, but just enough to be a bit like a teddy bear. He was ruggedly dressed, hadn’t had a haircut in months, she figured, and had about a week’s worth of beard growth. But he had a nice smile with dark eyes that looked like they were smiling all the time. He had a soft but manly voice, and a gentle manner to him. Dee was attracted, to a degree, but her life was so up in the air at the moment she couldn’t allow herself to think about it much. Not much.

“I’m goin’ out to take a better look around now that the storm’s passed,” Paul said from the bedroom. He was getting a jacket. The storms had left behind some very cold air.

“Be careful!” Dee shouted. Then she smiled to herself, but it was a quickly fading smile. She had said those words to her family many times – people she had cared for and whom she had once trusted. How could they have all turned against her? Her husband had become cold and calloused in his heart, but still managed to seem sweet and persuasive enough to destroy her life with his lies. Suddenly she heard Paul’s footsteps, which stopped at the kitchen door. She turned and he was leaning with an arm propped against the door facing, a grin on his face.

“I haven’t heard anyone say that to me in years!” Paul said, and then chuckled a little. “You sayin’ ‘Be careful’ brought back memories…very distant ones.” Then he kind of shook his head and walked toward the front door. “Kinda nice!” he added on his way out.

After finishing cleaning up from breakfast, Dee decided to turn on the radio for some distraction from her thoughts. It was blasting about another storm warning, very similar to the one they had just experienced. It was expected to hit that night.

“…but the storm surge ahead of this new nor’easter will be very high due to the high winds. People along the coast line should consider evacuating, if they can find a safe place to go. Last night’s storm didn’t leave many options for them, though.”

Dee went to the door and yelled out to Paul, who was removing some debris from around the house.

“There’s another storm coming tonight!” she yelled through the still blustery winds.

“I know!” Paul shouted back, “I heard about it earlier, but didn’t want to make you worry.

“Kindness,” Dee thought to herself, turning back into the house. She hadn’t felt kindness from anyone for at least a year. “If only dad were alive,” she thought, “He was always kind, loving and understanding, no matter what.” Then Dee realized that Paul reminded her a lot of her father. She hadn’t realized it before. That would explain why she jumped into his arms when the lighting struck, and why she felt so comfortable walking right into a stranger’s house and falling asleep in front of his fireplace. She felt safe with him immediately.

Paul walked back in and threw his jacket on the floor beside the door, which Dee walked to and picked up to hang on the coat hook out of habit. “Yeah, that next storm could take out some of our bank. It’s already loose from last night’s rains, and that bluff erodes a little each year. Eventually the lighthouse will be in danger,” he said.

“What will they do then?” Dee asked.

“It’s been on the ‘endangered’ list for about ten years anyway. The shippin’ lanes have changed, and nobody sails near these rocks around here, so they might just let it go. The only reason it’s still here now, and I’m tendin’ it, is because of a historical society in the state fightin’ to keep it. But it’s not a tourist attraction. Too many others around that are bigger, fancier, and closer to restaurants, motels, and souvenir shops. Our lighthouse loses a lot of money every year, and the society takes in less revenue every year. They won’t be able to keep ‘er around much longer…or me.”

A loud sound came from outside just then, like a big diesel engine not far away.

“That’ll be the guys from the local volunteer fire department coming around to check on me,” Paul said, opening the door.

A big red pumper truck was sitting just on the other side of the washed out bridge. A man and woman got out dressed in their fire gear. It was Mac Macdonald and Maggie Brennan. Mac’s real first name was Sean, but there were so many Seans in the area that everyone just called him Mac.

“You doin’ all right over there, Paul?” Mac yelled across the stream.

“Yeah, yeah! Doin’ just fine! Not much damage this time, but that next one might take its toll!” Paul yelled back.

Then Maggie chimed in, seeing Dee a couple of steps behind Paul. “Who’s your girlfriend, Dunfee? I thought I was the woman of your dreams!”

“Oh! This is Dee…ummm…” Paul had forgotten her last name.

“Dee Summers!” Dee jumped in, “I was looking for directions last night and got trapped by the storm. Paul was kind enough to take me in till the repairs are made to the bridge!”

“What bridge?” Maggie said, looking at the stream where there was no longer any sign that one had been there. “Have to build a new one. With all the other roadway repairs around, it may be a while!”

“So I’ve heard,” Dee said hanging her head a little.

“Well we’re goin’, if your sure you don’t need anything,” Mac shouted.

“We’ll be fine for a while,” Paul answered, “Probably need some groceries soon though. I’ll have to tap into the lighthouse generator to keep my refrigerator and freezer foods from all goin’ bad.”

“We’re goin’ on over to the Waston’s place to check on the old man! I’ll get you some goods from the market up near there if they’ve got anything left. There’s still power on that branch of the grid..for now!” Mac looked at the still dark clouds overhead. Then they left.

“Girlfriend?” Dee asked looking at Paul.

“Ha! Nah!” Paul said in a gruff tone, “Maggie flirts with every man in the county! Not the loyal ‘girlfriend’ type. Any man who lets her get her hooks in him will always be lookin’ over his shoulder to see who the next fool in line is.”

Dee wondered why she felt just a little jealousy. She hadn’t known Paul nearly long enough to develop real feelings for him. Still, she felt something.

The day went by quickly, with Paul busy with the generator and running a cord to the refrigerator and freezer. Dee had brought her bags in from the car and was going through them. She had packed so quickly when she decided to leave that she wasn’t really certain what she had put in them. She pulled out a couple of smocks that she usually wore to the clinic where she had been working. Dee was a registered nurse, working at a small family health clinic until a couple of months ago when she quit her job out of depression. The one thing good about her husband’s promotion was that there was enough money to keep them well. Dee had been saving her own paychecks for over a year, thinking her income would go toward a new house. When she left, she emptied her bank account, which also had her husband’s name on it, so she could open a new one of her own somewhere. Her money was all in one of the bags, in cash.

“That really wasn’t smart, Dee,” she said aloud to herself. “But then, in an emergency situation such as this, cash might be the best option.”

Dee took out a pair of pants and then saw two dresses in the bottom of that bag. One was a nice evening dress, for which she had brought no shoes, purse, or any accessories, and the other was a print house dress that she liked to wear for comfort sometimes around the house. Her mother had always worn dresses, and Dee grew up keeping at least one around. She closed the door to the bedroom Paul had offered her, and slipped into the dress. She had one pair of house shoes and put them on, and decided to go back out into the living room. When she stepped through the door, she saw a man standing by the fireplace. At first she didn’t know who it was, then she realized that Paul had shaved and managed to awkwardly trim his hair. It was combed and he was smiling. He was also wearing a wrinkled, but nice shirt.

“Well! Look at you!” Paul said, his eyes taking her in from head to toe. “Pretty!”

“Thank you!” Dee said, whirling around so the skirt of her dress flared out. “You look quite handsome yourself!”

“Well, I haven’t had a lady in the house since…I just thought I could clean up a little so you wouldn’t think I was a total bum,” Paul explained.

Without the beard, Dee could see Paul’s strong jawline and his full lips, and how wide his grin was. She was even more attracted to him.

The evening was coming on and the light was fading. The dark, boiling clouds made it even darker as the new storm threat drew near.

“The report said these storms, the nor’easter, and another front out of the southwest, will be much like last night’s but they’re movin’ more slowly. The system is expected to stay over the coastline for maybe days,” Paul said, “Heavy rains, flash floodin’ and lots of erosion on the coast are expected. Might want to move your cah clos-a to the house so it doesn’t suff-a the same fate as the bridge!”

Dee laughed. She hadn’t noticed any accent before. Now Paul was sounding like a Bostonian.

“Oh! My accent,” Paul said, seeming embarrassed. “I’m not originally from around here. I’m from West Virginia. I worked a long time to get rid of that Appalachian accent, then I started picking up the local one. I try not to have any accent at all that you can place. Sometimes it slips when I’m not on my guard, or when I’m really tired. You may hear one or the other from time to time or both mixed together, like a New England hillbilly! Ha!”

They both laughed.

“I’ve tried my whole life not to develop that Texas drawl, so I know how you feel,” Dee admitted, “But if you hear a ‘y’all’ out of me now and then, I can’t help it.”

“You’re probably hungry!” Paul said, “I’m that way myself! I’ll go get some dinner ready. You like cod?”

“That sounds delicious!” Dee said, “…but why don’t you show me where everything is and I’ll make dinner? You’ve been working hard all day and I want to carry my share of the load.”

“That’s kind of you!” Paul said, “Really, I’m not used to cookin’ for others anyway. My methods may not be the best.”

While Dee was getting out the fish, some potatoes and a can of green beans she could hear the wind picking up outside. Loose cedar shingles on the house were rattling and the wind was whistling under the eaves. It was getting darker, so she lit a nearby oil lamp to finish preparing the meal. Paul was building a fire in the fireplace. When he got it going good he walked back to the door between the kitchen and the living room to stand and watch Dee. She turned to look at him.

“I figured if I watch you I might learn somethin’!” Paul said with a grin. There was a large window directly in front of Dee. He glanced out to see what the weather was doing.  Suddenly he ran toward Dee, shoved her to the floor and fell on top of her.

“What?!” Dee gasped. Before she could say another word there was a loud crash and glass shattered all over Paul’s back and the floor around them. A large piece of sheet metal had dislodged from the lighthouse tower in the wind. Paul saw it coming directly toward the windo and covered Dee’s body to protect her.

They lay there, Paul lying on top of Dee, her arms around him and his hand behind her head. They looked at each other for several moments. Her look of terror slowly turned soft. Paul’s look of fear for Dee’s life slowly turned to another expression. It was a look of longing. Dee wanted to kiss Paul, and was sure he wanted the same. Thinking quickly, she raised her head till her lips met his just briefly then lowered her head again and said, “That was for saving my life.”

Dee wanted more. She wanted to give Paul a long, lingering kiss, but her mind was spinning with many other thoughts. She was just coming out of a horrible relationship. She had only just met Paul. There was so much she didn’t know about him.

Paul started to get up slowly. “Careful! You’ll want to close your eyes just in case some glass falls off my back into your face. As soon as she closed her eyes he leaned in again and kissed her. This time it was lingering. Dee responded. Then Paul raised back up and said, “That’s for the kiss you gave me.” Then he got up, took Dee by the hands and lifted her out of the glass. Then he took off his shirt and shook it over the floor to remove most of the glass shards. Dee stared at his body. He was in good shape except for a little belly flab. She thought he looked magnificent.

The two began to clean up the glass in the floor, on the counter and all over the food Dee was trying to prepare when the rain started and it was blowing into the kitchen.

“I’ve got to get that window boarded up. Be careful finishing here, Dee,” Paul said. Then he went out to a small outbuilding and retrieved a sheet of plywood, nails, and a hammer. He came back and nailed the plywood over the broken window. He came back in drenched. Dee ran to the bathroom and got a towel and began drying his back off.

“Well there’s still the matter of dinner, isn’t there?” Dee said, her stomach rumbling.

“I’m sure neither of us feels like cooking now,” Paul said, “but I’ve got some sandwich stuff in the fridge. Turkey or ham?”

“Turkey sounds good,” Dee answered.

They made their sandwiches and sat in the floor in front of the fireplace.

“Your man must have rocks in his head, if you don’t mind my sayin’,” Paul said, “You’re beautiful, intelligent, and from what I’ve seen here, pretty good company...not to mention a great kisser!” They both laughed.

“You’re not a bad kisser yourself, Mr. Dunfee!” Dee added.

They both got quiet and gazed at each other until it became a bit uncomfortable. Then Paul broke the silence. “That storm’s not at its peak just yet,” he said, “It’s going to get a whole lot worse, I feel.”

It did. The storm dumped ten inches of rain in two hours and then settled into a steady rain that didn’t show any signs of letting up. The huge waves were licking at the top of the bluff near the lighthouse, with each one taking a bit of soil, rocks, and sand with it. The stream on the other side was out of its banks and coming near the cottage. The wind was near hurricane force, whipping trees around like they were made of rubber. Paul had never seen it quite this bad. He feared the roof could come off the cottage. Cedar shingles were already peeling off one by one.

Three days later

Dee woke in her bed not remembering lying down in it. She was also in her nightgown, thought she did not remember undressing. She saw Paul’s shadow underneath her door.

“Paul!” She shouted.

Paul cracked the door a little, not looking in, and said, “Yes?”

“Did you…did I…How did I get in this gown and get into the bed. I don’t remember.”

“Ah! The wine. You don’t remember anythin’? Paul asked.

“Wine! Yes! We did open a bottle of wine. That explains the headache, too,” Dee said, pressing her fingers against her temples.

“Yes. We opened a bottle…then another…and another,” Paul explained, “Eventually you said you were going to bed, and started undressing right there in front of the fire.”

“Oh no,” Dee gasped, “Did anything else…”

“If you’re askin’ if I was a gentleman, yes I was!” Paul insisted.

“Well, I was more concerned about what I may have done, since I can’t remember anything after that first glass of wine,” Dee said, embarrassed.

“Like I said,” Paul continued, “I was a gentleman, hard as it was with you leanin’ all over me and pawin’ at me, kissin’ my cheeks and tellin’ me what a wonderful man I was. You went on and on about how I saved your life, then cried about what a miserable life it was, then laughed about gettin’ stuck here. You were a typical drunk. I didn’t stop you from drinkin’ because I figured you needed it. We all do sometimes.”

Dee just sat in the bed listening with her face buried in her hands, shaking her head.

“Oh!” Paul added, “I didn’t let you get undressed completely. I walked you in here, found your night gown in one of your bags there and handed it to you, walked out, and closed the door. Apparently you found your way into the gown, and into the bed. I’ll let you get up and get dressed. I’m going to start breakfast. The storm’s passed now.”

Paul walked away, closing the door behind him, then rolled his eyes as if to say, “I think she bought it.”

Dee started to take the gown off and noticed something different. It was buttoned all the way up to the top. Dee never, ever buttoned the top two buttons, no matter what state of inebriation she was in. She looked at the door and thought about him undressing her and getting her into the gown. She found it to be a stimulating thought. After a few moments she got up, gathered some things and went into the bathroom to shower and get dressed for the day. She climbed in the shower and pulled the translucent curtain and began to let the warm water soak her. What Dee was not aware of was that the bathroom door didn’t latch very well and it had come loose from the catch, slowly swinging outward to a fully open position…just as Paul was walking by. He glanced in and could not force his gaze away. Her form was lovely. Finally he made himself slip to the door and close it, putting a throw rug in front of the bottom so it couldn’t happen again.

While Dee was in the shower many thoughts and feelings raced through her. She had been at the cottage less than a full week and felt she belonged there – with Paul.

Outside, the morning sun coming up in a blue sky looked surreal after the terrible storms. Sea birds flew and called over the water, a few boats were visible out on the now calm sea. But looking down around them, Paul and Dee saw that the storms did actually occur. Many cedar shingles were missing from the cottage, mud was everywhere, debris lay all over the yard and on the roofs. The lighthouse had a window pane broken out, and Dee’s car was dented and scratched from flying debris during the high winds. The bridge was still out, of course, but now the stream bed was wider and trees were down in the driveway on the other side. While they were surveying the area, Mac and Maggie came back, but parked further out because of the trees. Mac was carrying a big box and Maggie was wielding a chainsaw upon the fallen timbers.

“You guys are right were you were when we left you before! You stand there all this time through the storms?” Mac was a joker.

“Yep,” Paul said pointing to the ground, “Been right here! Watched the whole thing from this spot!”

“Well I managed to scrape up some things you’ll probably need. A little food, some batteries for lights and radios and such, toilet paper, paper towels, and so forth.” Mac handed Paul the box.

“Thanks, Mac,” Paul said holding the box on one arm and reaching out to shake hands with the other, “I’ll give you guys some extra next time fire fees come due.”

“You always do anyway, my friend,” Mac smiled.

“Thank Maggie for me for clearin’ those trees, too. Look at those forearms! I’d hate to get into a fight with her!” Paul said, laughing. Then he turned to Dee, “Care package!” he said, “There’s some sweet cakes and cookies in here, too! Nice!”

Two weeks later

Paul had most of the repairs done on the cottage and the lighthouse, and Dee had been taking care of the house inside and doing the cooking and cleaning. She stepped out to help when there was something she could do for Paul. The power had been restored but nothing had been done about the bridge. Examining the bluff, Paul noted that the property had lost about six feet average along the bank to the storms and the sea. It was way more than he had expected, and the edge was getting dangerously close to the lighthouse. There were only about another six feet left before the foundation would be exposed on the ocean side. It was apparent that Paul had a job for no more than a couple more years at best.

“Can’t you get another lighthouse to tend to?” Dee asked rubbing Paul’s shoulder.

“Most of the lighthouses have been made fully automatic, controlled remotely from a central location,” Paul said sadly, “The only thing left will be the guides for the tourists. I don’t want to do that. No, I’ll just go back to doing what I did before.”

“What was that?” Dee asked.

“I was a doctor…a family practitioner,” Paul said gazing out over the ocean.

“You’re kidding!” Dee gasped, “Why would you leave that to tend a lighthouse?”

“Didn’t you tell me you were a nurse? And you left that,” Paul said.

“Well, I was too depressed to carry on and do my job efficiently,” Dee said, “I needed a break from everything.”

“Same here,” Paul said, “My wife died in my arms ten years ago. All my medical trainin’ and books and knowledge, all my skills were useless. I couldn’t save her. None of the specialists with all their knowledge and skills could save her. I just didn’t feel I was worth anythin’ as a doctor anymore. I could barely go into the office. I couldn’t look patients in the eye. I knew eventually I’d run into one I couldn’t help. I could not bear the thought. So I left West Virginia and headed east, not knowin’ what I was lookin’ for…kind of like you did. I found this job in the local newspaper and applied for it. Nobody else would even consider the job but it seemed to suit me fine. Solitary most of the time, a place to sleep, a little money coming in. I didn’t need or want much more.”

“You could go back now, though,” Dee said half making a statement and half asking.

“I think so,” Paul said, “on a limited basis, maybe a small town with a handful of regular patients. I’d really rather stay here though…with you.”

Dee walked over and put her arms around Paul. His eyes met hers, then their lips met. “I’d like that,” she said, “Let’s open some more of that wine you’re hoarding tonight. This time, don’t be such a gentleman.”

Paul smiled and said, “I couldn’t resist you again if I tried. I’m gonna build a fire and let’s get started on that wine.” He walked inside while Dee watched him disappear into the cottage.

Dee remembered something she hadn’t even thought about during the weeks she’d been at the cottage – her cellphone. She had tossed it into the passenger’s seat when she left Texas. It was turned off and she hadn’t touched it since. She opened the car door on the passenger’s side and began feeling through the papers from snacks, nuts, crackers, and coffee cups from the trip till she found the phone. She tried to turn it on. Dead battery, of course. She fumbled around for the charger. It had fallen down between the seat and the console. She took the phone and charger inside and plugged it into an outlet by her bed. She laid the phone on the pillow. She wondered if anyone back in Plano had even noticed she was gone, or even cared. She was curious who might have left her a message.

Paul and Dee ate an evening meal of mostly snack food and poured wine. They started out making small talk, then touching, holding hands, then kisses as they talked. Soon the kisses got more passionate and the talk less frequent.  Paul began exploring Dee’s body through her clothes with his big firm, but gentle hands. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom where the clothes began coming off. This time they would not be replaced by a nightgown, but by his arms and his body pressed against hers.

Dee lifted her arms above her head to let Paul do what he wished with her. Her arm hit the cellphone on the pillow beside her and pushed the button that turned it on. A few seconds later a barrage of beeps came from the device. There were apparently a lot of messages.

“Um…is that your self-destruct alarm going off?” Paul asked as he tried to focus on the task(s) at hand, “Are you going to explode?”

“God I hope so!” Dee said, turning the phone back off and tossing it to the floor.

The morning after

Paul woke to the smell of bacon and coffee and the sound of humming from the kitchen. He looked at the clock on the radio next to the bed – 9:11 am. He hadn’t slept this late in years. He slipped out from under the covers, put on his underwear and picked up his clothes from the day before. After going to the bathroom, and depositing his clothes in the hamper, he went into his own bedroom and put on a flannel robe and house shoes and made his way to the kitchen where he stood at the door just looking at Dee. After standing there for several moments, he spoke.

“That was amazin’,” he said.

Dee didn’t say anything, just smiled at him and walked over to give him a morning kiss, then went back to preparing breakfast. Then she continued humming.

“What’s that tune?” Paul asked.

“Umm…I’m not sure, really,” Dee said, “Just felt like humming. She smiled at Paul again.

At the breakfast table Paul asked about the phone messages.

“Did you check them out?” he asked.

“No,” Dee answered simply. There were several minutes of awkward silence.

“You know, sweetheart, you’re goin’ to have to deal with it eventually,” Paul said, “My experience says better sooner than later.”

“You’re right, of course,” Dee said, “but I want to enjoy being here with you just a while longer before I get back into that mess.”

Paul took another sip of coffee and got up, walked around behind Dee’s chair and put his arms around her. He leaned down to give her a kiss. “It’s your call,” he said, “You can stay here with me as long as you like. I’m not gonna run you off.”

Dee smiled. “I hope you’re finished with your breakfast,” she said, getting up and putting her arms around his neck, “because I’m not finished with you!” Then she took his hand and led him back to the bedroom.

**

The afternoon sun was bright, but not taking the chill off. There was even a possibility of snow flurries in the weather forecast. Paul had gone out to see about getting the bridge replaced and Dee was wrapped up in the blankets on the bed holding her cell phone in her hand. She looked at it for several minutes before deciding to turn it on. There were twenty-some voice-mails and so many text messages she couldn’t count them. She started at the first ones from right after she left Texas and worked her way forward in time.

“Mom! Where are you?It’s not like you to just run off without telling anyone!”

That one was from her daughter. “Why was she so concerned now, after the way she had treated me?” That was what Dee was thinking. She read messages and listened to voice-mails from former coworkers, her children, bill collectors, to the point she just started getting the gist of them and skipping to the next, until she recognized her husband’s voice. She stopped that one and backed up to the beginning.

“Dee, I don’t know where you’ve gone but you should know I’m filing for divorce.”

That was all he said. There was still no explanation for why he lost interest in her, why that lack of interest grew to bitterness and even hatred. There was no clue as to what happened in their marriage just that it was over. Dee knew it was over many months ago. Now it was official. Moving forward Dee found a voice-mail from an attorney’s office.

“This is the office of Madison and Madison, Attorneys at Law. If this is Dee Summers, please give our office a call at your earliest convenience. Brad Summers, your husband, is suing for divorce. We’ve made several attempts to contact you through letters. I just wanted to inform you that your daughter asked our office to try and locate you and offer you our services. We have reason to believe that your husband has been involved in some felonious activity, which would definitely put the ball in your court during divorce proceedings. Thank you.”

The next message was from Dee’s daughter, Jessica, a few days later:

“Mom, please! I’m sorry for all that’s happened! Dad lied to us all. He told us you had lost your mind as was being cruel to him! I know that’s not the case now! Mom! Please talk to me! I’m so sorry!” There was a long pause, then Jessica’s voice was heard again, this time softer. “Mom…I wanted you to find this out in person, and not through a voice-mail, but since you won’t answer…” another long pause. “Mom…dad is dead. He was involved in something to do with his company that was illegal. The company was raided by some federal agency. One of the high officials in the company pulled a gun out of a desk drawer and shots were fired. Dad was killed in the crossfire. Mom…please come home.”

Dee put down the phone. It was the last message, sent two days earlier. She heard something behind her and turned to look. Paul was standing in the doorway.

“You have to go,” Paul said, “I could go with you, but I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. Look…they’re bringin’ in a temporary bridge. It’s one they use in the military for missions where they have to cross a stream. We can get your car out.

A year later, Plano, Texas

Dee watered flowers, fed the cat, washed up the breakfast dishes and put on her smock. She picked up a small lighthouse souvenir that she had gotten from Massachusetts and held it for a moment. She drove to work, and parked in her usual spot. She sat there for a few minutes just looking at the sign over the door, thinking about all that had happened over the past few years and how it brought her to this point. She smiled. The sign:

Dunfee Family Practice Clinic

Paul Dunfee, MD.

Appalachian Independent Living

Appalachian Independent Living

By Phil Ruby

Gladys Mitchell was anxious about moving day. She really did not want to leave the home that her husband Charles had built for them with his own hands some sixty years ago, but at eighty-three and beginning to have problems with the stairs, forgetting to turn off the stove, and so forth, she knew it was time. Everything was packed days ago, yet Gladys kept stopping and looking back, sure that she had forgotten something.

“Come on, mom!” her daughter, Anna said with a slightly irritated tone, “I have to be at the school to pick up Josh and Megan in two hours, and you know it’s going to take a while to get you settled in!”

Anna helped her mother out onto the stoop and closed and locked the door. The two stepped down the five steps that had become a bit of a chore for Gladys, Anna holding her mother’s arm. At the bottom of the steps, Gladys gasped, “I remember!” Then she bolted back up the steps as if she had suddenly shed twenty years of age, aches and pains. “Throw me the keys!” she shouted down.

“What the….?” Anna tossed the keys to her mother and waited impatiently. After a few minutes, Gladys came back out with a little bag.

“My pills!” Gladys said out of breath, “I almost forgot my pills!”

Anna shook her head, “Mom! You know we talked about this! They have a Nurse Practitioner and their own pharmacy on the property. They’ll have your pills!”

“But these were prescribed by Dr. Conley, God rest his soul! I couldn’t just throw them away. He’s been our family doctor since before you were born. I can remember…” Gladys began to retell the story for the hundredth plus time.

“Mom! You’ve told me this many times,” Anna interrupted, “Let’s get in the car!”

An hour later:

Anna’s black Ford Explorer pulled up to the entrance of Appalachian Independent Living retirement home and came to an abrupt stop, eliciting Gladys’ protests at being shaken up a bit. Anna got out and trotted around to help her mother out.

“This thing is so high off the ground!” Gladys said, “I’m glad it’s got that little step, but I can’t see where to put my foot!”

“Running board, mom, and I’ll help you. We have to hurry,” Anna coaxed.

Inside three smiling faces greeted Gladys and her daughter. Margaret Bledsoe was the head of the facility. The other two were Janice Bowen, and Judy Wright. Margaret walked to the door as soon as she saw the two. They had already been there twice before – once to get a first look at the grounds and rooms, and the next to fill out paperwork and secure living quarters.

“I have all her belongings in boxes in the trunk, if…” Anna said in an anxious voice.

Margaret motioned to Janice, who used her walkie-talkie to contact Rodney Richardson to help with Gladys’ things. Within minutes the front door opened and Rodney had already retrieved the boxes from Anna’s open back gate using a dolly.

“Now we can get you settled in, Gladys,” Margaret said with a huge smile, “Everything has been made ready. All you need to do is unpack your things and relax.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to really relax here,” Gladys said in a low voice that she thought no one could hear.

“Mom, I wish I could help, but the kids…” Anna said, “I’ll be back as soon as Daniel gets home. I love you, mom. You’re going to love it here!” With that, Anna disappeared.

Two weeks passed, and Gladys had done little but eat, sleep, and sit in the rocking chair by her window and gaze out. She purposely had not ventured out much to make friends. She wasn’t sure she needed or wanted new friends. The ones she had were fine, and they had come to visit a few times already. Anna, Daniel and the grandchildren had been there four times, but Gladys knew that wouldn’t last for long. The visits would become less and less frequent and eventually rare. She had seen enough people grow older and go to retirement homes in her lifetime to know how that works. People’s lives get busier and busier, and time to visit the elderly slides lower and lower down the priority lists. So one evening when the sun was shining bright, just before sunset, Gladys decided to go for a walk, and accept her fate. She would die here, after who knows how many years, alone except for the people immediately around her, so she may as well get to know them.

As Gladys made her way through the commons area of the facility to go out the side door, she noticed a few people shuffling things around as though to hide them, and long stares. It seemed they were as leery of her as she was of them, but Gladys had always been a bit of a social person in her younger days, so she would find a way to melt the ice. She smiled as she remembered being the hit of the ballrooms when Charles and she would go dancing. She lit up a room with her looks and personality as well as the way she moved. She had been the woman all the other women wanted to be, and all the men secretly wanted to be with. When Charles passed with colon cancer ten years before, she lost her desire to be the life of the party, or even go to any more parties. She became a bit of a recluse until Anna coerced her into moving into the home. Each of the rooms was a suite, or sorts. There was no kitchen, but there was a bedroom, a small living room area, and a private bathroom. Tenants could come and go as they pleased with the exception of a couple of older residents whom all the staff watched closely. They would be moving to an assisted living facility soon because of beginning stages of Alzheimer’s disease.

As soon as Gladys exited the building and came into the sun, she heard footsteps toward her. She looked to her right and saw a short, silver-haired woman who appeared to be about her age, but was very quick on her feet. tap tap tap…

“Hi!” the woman said in a sort of squeaky voice, “I’m Dorothy, but every one calls me Dotty or Dot, but you can call me anything you want!” Then she giggled like a child as she put her hand out as far as she could reach as she walked. She seemed very eager to introduce herself.

Gladys, remembering her former socialite self, reciprocated with an outstretched hand and huge smile of her own. “I’m Gladys! I’m so glad to meet you!” she said in a sing-song manner.

The two new friends walked and talked until the sun had set and the cool air was getting a little uncomfortable to them. They talked about everything from their pasts to their current interests, their doctors, medicines they were on, and the other residents in AIL. Dot had self-assigned as a liaison among the residents. They were pretty secretive until Dot felt the newbies out and reported to them that they were a welcome addition to their community.

Gladys quickly made friends with everyone in the facility after that talk, and felt like her old self again. All the staff loved her, the other residents would wait for her to have dinner in the dining hall. She was always “fashionably late” because she loved the attention she got when she finally walked in, even though a few of the old men would jokingly jeer at her for making them wait to eat. She knew they would not take a bite until she appeared. The fact that her family and outside friends had become scarce didn’t even bother her anymore. Not much, at least.

Two weeks later:

Gladys was in her living room with the TV on low, but she had left the door open for any of her new friends who might want to stop by and chat. They often did. It was getting late – around 9:00 pm, when she decided no one was coming by, and got up to close and lock her door and get ready for bed. As she got near the door she could hear voices speaking just above a whisper. The sound was coming from the dining hall, even though dinner had been over for hours and the lights had been turned off except for a small one near the door. Gladys stepped into the hall and peeked into the dining hall, but did not want to let anyone know she was there. She didn’t want to disturb some sort of private conversation. As she slipped to where she could see, she noticed they had playing cards on a table, and there were things there also that they appeared to be using as poker chips – probably pieces of candy or nuts, but Gladys did not get close enough to see for sure. She grinned to herself and slipped back toward her room. “Poker game!” she thought to herself. “How cute! I may have to ask them if I can buy into the next game.”

Just then the voices got a little louder, and some of them seemed a little irritated.

“I tell you she’s all right!” That was Dot’s voice.

“If we get caught…” a male voice said, probably Earl Casdorph, one of the men she had met.

“Don’t worry about that! She’s cool!” Dot said a little louder, “We really need to tell her! It could help her out a lot! She told me she barely has anything left. They take it all for this place, like most of the rest of us! She could use the money!”

“What’s she got?” asked another man, who sounded like the more low-key and unshakable John Turner.

“Too early to be thinking about that,” the voice had to be Emmeline “Emmy” Jefferdson. “We first need to decide whether to let her in. Let’s vote, but of course Mary always has the final say because we always seem to be split down the middle on everything, and she gets the deciding voice.”

Gladys listened attentively, trying not to make a sound. “Who are they talking about,” she thought to herself, “and what are they talking about? Could it be about me? I’m the only one of our circle of close friends who isn’t in the game…or meeting, whatever it is.”

The discussion in the dining hall continued.

“I vote no,” Earl jumped in.

“Yes!” Dotty insisted.

“No, not just yet,” said a hesitant John

“I suppose it’s going to be up to Mary again,” said Emmy, “Because I say ‘yes’.”

A moment or two of silence passed, and Mary spoke, “We tell her, but we tell her in small doses. Don’t say too much at once. If she begins to get it, and gets too uneasy, we’ll play it off and forget about it. So I guess mine is a yes, but cautiously.”

Not wanting to chance getting caught eaves dropping, Gladys quietly slipped on into her room and gently closed and locked the door. She went to bed, but had trouble falling to sleep because her curiosity was getting the best of her. She tossed and turned, thinking about what she had heard, and trying to gather clues as to what the group might be into. She remembered them occasionally hiding something when she came by. She remembered a few young visitors coming in to see Mary. Mary had claimed they were nephews, but they never stayed more than a couple of minutes, and there were no hugs, kisses, or any kind of affection shown. They always visited Mary outside away from the building, usually near the old oak tree or by the pond. Gladys remembered that when they came, they always had a small paper bag with them, both coming and going. Were they bringing her something? Were they taking something away? Then she decided she would use an old trick she used in her socialite circles when she wanted to find out a secret. She would pretend she already knew, and someone would fall for it and spill the beans. She smiled at this plan and fell asleep.

At the breakfast table the next morning:

Everyone was sitting waiting for Gladys, as usual, but she didn’t make them wait long at all on this particular morning. She came in with a smirk, took her seat with her circle of close friends and quietly made an announcement. Her plan was going into action.

“I know what you all are up to,” she spoke lowly and mumbled a bit so others wouldn’t hear.

John and Mary got a solemn expression, eyes wide, about to choke on their food, while Emmy, Dot, and Earl acted as if they didn’t hear. John and Mary got the attention of the others, and Mary looked straight at Gladys. “Whatever are you talking about? Did you find out about our little poker game? Don’t worry about that! The staff knows all about we just play in here after hours to cover their butts in case someone comes in!” Then she smiled widely and laughed as if someone had just told a joke.

Gladys smirked, “I know about the poker game,” she said smugly. “I also know about the other thing - the money thing.” She had heard them talking about money, so thought mentioning it would help her credibility.

Mary swallowed, “Can we talk about this later, outside, please?” she said.

Not another word was spoken at the breakfast table and no one ate much except for Gladys, satisfied she was going to hear the whole scoop. After breakfast the group wandered outside and down by the pond one at a time and taking different routes so not to raise suspicion. Gladys showed up last, as usual, but this time to give herself time to think how she would approach them. She decided to just keep her mouth shut and listen until it was absolutely necessary for her to speak. When they were all by the pond, they all looked out across the water pretending to be having casual conversation. Mary spoke first. She was apparently the leader in whatever game this was.

“How did you find out?” Mary asked Gladys. Gladys didn’t respond. She just smiled. “It doesn’t matter,” Mary continued. “Look. We’re all old. We all gave up most, if not all of our savings and any supplemental income we may have coming in to be here. We can’t even afford to go to the movies except maybe once or twice a year. We can’t live with no money whatsoever, so…we came up with this idea, We were going to tell you about it. We already decided. You are in the same boat we are. Obviously you are interested, or you would have told the staff instead of coming to us. Right?”

Gladys just smiled.

“I wanted to tell you a week ago, but these worry warts wouldn’t let me!” Dot chimed in, “It started out as a harmless gesture. I had some pain medicine that I didn’t use, and my grandson’s friend had hurt his leg and the doctor wouldn’t give him anything that would really help, so I offered to let him have my pills. The next thing I knew, my grandson was coming back with a couple of hundred dollars in his hand to give me. He said the boy was grateful and wanted to show his gratitude. When I told the others about the money and offered to take them out to a movie, John said he had some sedatives he wasn’t using and wondered if the kid needed those too!”

Gladys was trying to keep her smirky smile, but was struggling as she listened to this tale of drug dealing right in the home!

“I knew right away,” John said, “I knew right away the kid hadn’t hurt his leg. He was just hustling for our prescriptions to sell. That’s where all that money came from. Sure enough, as soon as Dot told her grandson about it, another ‘friend’ of his came and paid cash for my scripts - five-hundred bucks!”

Gladys’ smile had turned into a look of astonishment, which Mary noticed.

“I see,” Mary said, “You suckered us! You pretended to know what this was about to get us to spill our guts.”

“What now?” Gladys asked calmly, “Gonna throw me in this pond and pretend it was an accident so I won’t blow your cover?”

“No,” John said, “We’ll just have to stop everything and this conversation never happened. If you do tell anyone, it will be your word against all of ours. I guess our little party is over, people.”

“Wait,” Gladys said, “You’re right. I don’t have any money, and it sucks. I just have a couple of questions. Don’t you hate that you’re helping young people get hooked on drugs? Also, I may be interested, because I’m broke as hell, but I’m not sure I get any medications that anyone would want to buy!”

The others were visibly more relaxed. They could see that Gladys was not a narc.

“First of all,” Emmy said, “They’re already drug addicts. They would get them somewhere. We may as well get a few bucks out of it!”

“What do you have?” Earl asked.
I take Percocet sometimes, and the doctor gave me some Klonopin to help me get to sleep, and …” Gladys began.

The others grinned.

Three weeks later:

Anna was putting in a load of laundry when the phone rang. The call was coming from the County Courthouse. She answered, “Hello?”

No parent wants to get the call that their children are in trouble. And no child wants to get that call from their parents.

“Anna! Anna, would you come bail me out?” Gladys said in a shaking voice, “I’ve been busted!”

Hello, Old Friend

Black Dog

"Hello, there, old friend. You've come to visit. How long will you be around? I hope you are not in a really bad mood. Oh...listen to me. It's all about mood, isn't it? Look. I know I can't make you totally go away. In fact, I have kind of come to enjoy your visits, which may be a real problem, but you'll have to stay out of my way. You can sit there, walk around if you want, or leave, but I won't let you destroy me. I know that is not your intention, but it's your nature. You take away my energy, and can take my hope and faith if I let you. It's just because you are all about you. You are a jealous, envious friend who does not like to see me happy with anyone or anything else. You want me to simply lie in bed, or cower in the floor with you, have a cry, or wish I could just disappear...with you. I cannot let you do that to me. You nearly destroyed me once with your obsessive, relentless nuzzling, putting your head on my lap and demanding all my attention.
You've cost me family, friends, wealth, many of my dreams, and much, much time out of my life. You made me a laughing stock at times, and an object of pity at others. People have told me you don't exist...to just walk away from you and you'll disappear forever, like an imaginary friend. I know you are real, I know where you came from, and I know you will be hiding in the shadows of my life for all my life. But in the shadows you must stay. I have things to do, and you will not stop me anymore. There are people I love, and you will not punish them anymore because of your relationship with me.
I know your little trick, too, of coming out of the shadows and acting like a normal, playful, energetic friend. It never lasts, and when I allow myself to spend time with the playful side of you, I sometimes get myself into trouble...make bad decisions. I may spend too much money on you, or throw away things I really should keep just because you get me in a good mood and I feel like nothing can go wrong...but things often do go wrong, because I'm not thinking clearly. So stay for as long as you must, but know that you are not in total control of me, because I understand you. Just be as quiet as you possibly can, and do not show your ugly side around my friends! No go lay down.
Good dog!"

Cooking: Time, Temperature, Method, and Seasoning

Potroast photo borrowed from http://butimhungry.com

Culinary Corner:
In cooking, nothing affects basic flavor of foods like time and temperature. High heat, low heat, quickly searing or slow cooking makes so much difference in flavor and texture of most foods. All foods are not the same when it comes to how they are best prepared. A choice ribeye steak, for instance, is amazing when flame-broiled over high heat, quickly searing the outside and sealing in juices. The inside can be anywhere from rare to well-done (yuck) depending on preference. On the other hand, a thick chuck roast or brisket is just made for slow cooking in liquid, with lower temperatures and several hours of cook time. It's how a tough meat becomes melt-in-your-mouth tender and flavorful. For slow cooking, meats taste better if browned on all sides first. I use olive oil in a medium-high skillet for this.
Microwave: Some foods are actually even better cooked in a microwave, believe it or not! Did you know that fish, such as salmon, perch, cod and other fresh or thawed fish fillets, covered and steam-cooked in the microwave oven, come out perfectly moist and tender? There's no dried out top from broiling, no fat from frying. I make poached and scrambled eggs in the microwave, too.
Grilling: Summertime means the grills come out! Some people, like me, occasionally grill all year long, but summer and grilling are soul mates.Don't confine your outdoor cooking to meats. Corn on the cob, potatoes, onions, bell peppers, tomato wedges and even big Portobello mushrooms are great from the grill, too! A grilling basket is one of my favorite ways to cook the veggies. Kabobs are great, too.
Seasoning: My rule of thumb with herbs, spices and seasonings of all kinds is - if the first thing I notice about the flavor is the seasoning, there's too much. I like to be taken by the aroma and flavor of the food I'm eating, lightly enhanced by the seasoning. I want my meats to taste like the meats they are, and the vegetables to taste like what they are, with a hint of added herbs, spices, salt, etc. I don't want to say, "Oh! That's great Italian (Mexican, etc.) seasoning! What's in it?"

Crab Bucket Syndrome

Something just became clear to me that I hadn't thought about in many years. I just heard the phrase, "crab bucket syndrome". I had never heard it before, at least to my recollection, but it describes a mentality of keeping everyone down to the level of a community or group. If someone tries to excel or better themselves, others in their community try to hold them back because of envy or jealousy.
The phrase comes from the way crabs actually act in a bucket or basket. When I was a child, my family occasionally visited North Carolina, where my mother was raised. Her mother, two brothers, and a sister resided in that state. On one particular trip we visited my uncle Johnny, who was an avid fisherman and hunter. His freezer was always full of wild game, fish, and seafood that he had caught or killed himself. On this trip, we went with him to the inland waterways of NC, got in his rowboat, and went out to the oyster bars and areas where crabs were plentiful. There are laws against harvesting these crustaceans in many locations now, but back then it was common practice for the locals. We had a couple of bushel baskets in the boat. One was for the oysters, and one for the crabs we would catch. It was fairly easy to catch the crabs. We would simply lower a line into the water where they lived that had something attached to it that the crabs could latch onto. It didn't really matter what that object was, as long as it would sink. A crab or two would grab onto the object, and we could pull it up to near the surface, where the crabs would drop off, but before they let go, we scooped them out of the water with a kind of net. Then my uncle or dad would carefully dislodge the crabs from the net and place them into the basket.
I remember asking, "Can't they climb out?"
My dad chuckled a little and said, "They'll keep each other in there."
I watched in fascination as one crab would begin to crawl up the side and two or three others would grab it and pull it back down.
Now I understand what my dad said, and where the phrase comes from - crab bucket syndrome.
After returning to my uncle's house, huge pots of water were placed on the stove to boil. The crabs were lowered into one pot, and the oysters were placed in a steamer basket in the other. I learned to love shellfish, which I still enjoy, but infrequently these days.

Answers to Life's Persistent Questions

I have a couple of theories about human behavior that I posed to a friend the other day, to answer a couple of perplexing questions.
1. Why do we keep doing the same things over and over, and expect different results? (Einstein's definition of insanity)
Not to suppose I'm brighter than Albert Einstein, but my theory is that it's not insanity. I think it's a phenomenon that happens when we are babies. We cry. We get what we want. We cry again, and get what we want. Later on, we cry, and we don't get what we want...but we continue to cry, and cry, and cry, expecting to get what we want. The idea is that "It worked before, so it's got to work again if I keep at it." I think we keep doing the same things expecting different results because at some time in the past and in some situation, it worked...and we just can't let go of the idea that the same thing can work again. We just have to keep trying, maybe changing some little aspect, or "doing it better next time."
2. Why don't diets work? Why do we keep looking for the perfect way to lose weight and get into good physical condition, yet keep failing?
Many hundreds of ads, articles, and books are written each year about how to lose weight and get into shape. Many hundreds of drugs, supplements, fitness machines, gym memberships, etc. are sold every year in a multi-billion dollar industry. But our problems remain. My theory is that we all know how to lose weight and/or get physically fit. We all know it well, up and down, inside and out, front and back. It's simple. To lose weight, take in less calories than you burn, or conversely, burn more calories than you take in. To get into good physical condition, the answer is equally simple. The calories we do eat need to be from wise choices, and we need to exercise. That's it!
Now, to answer the question: We don't lose weight and get into shape, and diets don't work because we're simply not ready to commit. As soon as we're ready to do it, we'll do it. If we don't decide it's a priority, we'll stay fat and out of shape. End of story.
So the answer to both of these questions really goes back to making a decision and sticking to it. When we decide that what we're doing isn't working, and choose a different path...one we already know is the right solution, our lives will improve. No book, no diet, no fancy equipment, no drugs, or anything else we can by will replace simply making wise choices and deciding to live by them. We may need some help and support, and that's okay. Go out and buy that book, or supplement, or gym membership if it really will help you...but you first have to commit to a specific goal and make it a priority or none of it will help.
After note: "We keep looking for complex solutions to simple problems because we really haven't decided to solve the problem."