Musculus Rex

   Below in the dungeons of a great and majestic castle, lived a mouse withered and ancient. Round blue eyes gazed, but did not see, blinded by old age. A crown of tinfoil, perched precariously atop his grey head. Threadbare, purple robes encircled careworn shoulders. An age had come and passed, still here he sat, upon a spool throne; his weary head resting upon his paw.

  A mouse with a feathered cap and tufts of hair sticking out of his ears ran into the throne room. Excitedly stumbling and tumbling over his feet, skidding to halt in front of the throne, the feather in his cap bobbing madly. “Musculus Rex! Musculus Rex!” He squeaked exuberantly, the sound echoing off the chamber walls.

 Slowly raising his head, Musculus squinted. He jammed a gnarled finger into his ear, and in a slow wizened voice said “Who’s there?”

 “Pusillus sir,” said the small mouse “The tournament is about to begin,” he said rubbing his paws anxiously.

  “What’s that?” Musculus asked gruffly.

  “Oh, oh, the tournament sir, the tournament!” Pusillus exclaimed.

  Musculus hummed and hawed “Yes, yes, quite right,” and he paused. When nothing occurred, he waved his paw and boomed “Well then get on with it!”

 “Yes sir!” piped Pusillus and he gestured to two mice standing nearby to pick up the throne, which they hurriedly did.

  Then the troupe speedily left the throne room, led by Pusillius, running up and down corridors at a dizzy pace. They did not stop was courtiers bowed to Musculus Rex as he passed by. Huffing and puffing, finally they arrived at their destination. Before them lay an enormous wooden arena. The crowd was cheering and the smell of fried cheese filled the air.

  In one corner of the arena, cats paced angrily in their cages, taking the occasional swipe at any mouse that got too close. Puscillius helped Musculus to his seat. The crowd suddenly stood up and roared. Entering the ring were two large feral cats, eying the crowd venomously. Astride both of the cats, sat a mouse. Each mouse  wore a thimble helmet, shiny tin armor, and carried toothpicks.


 The “Rut tut tut”, of a horn sounded and the crowd quieted. Each of the knights took their places at either end of the pitch. Lowering their visors they waited. Then with a great big yowl from one of the cats, the joust began.

 

 

 

 

(This is a project that I am going to be working on. Also it is my Christmas gift to a very special little boy who goes where even angels fear to tread. Toccoa this one is for you!)

It's A Zombie World After All

    The year was 2050, and the world was returning to a more civilized state. Christmas was approaching fast, there was frost in the air, Christmas lights covered every available surface. December 12, 2012 would mark the anniversary of the Zombie Apocalypse.  For thirty-eight years, carnage reigned supreme.  Humans tried hard to fight of the zombie hoards, in return zombies feasted on human flesh. You could be eating lunch with your friend one day, and the next day he would be trying to eat you, it was tuff business. Governments all around the world, hired scientist to attempt to try and find a cure for the mounting epidemic.

    Finally, there was partial success. Doctors in Sweden were able to cultivate a vaccine that stopped decomposition in its tracks, returning brain function to the afflicted individual. There was one problem; they could not curtail the craving for human flesh. Five years later, scientist in China found a way to mass produce body parts. Soon grocery store shelves were stocked with human limbs. It was not uncommon to pass by someone eating a human leg. Slowly, life began to improve.

    My name is Phoenix Ayers; I am a reporter for the Daily Dread. I relay the stories of the day, what it is like to live as a New Yorker in a  post zombie apocalyptic world. Let me tell you, it’s not all it is cracked up to be, it can be quite tuff. The government has gotten quite good at sweeping zombie outbreaks under the rug. Out of sight, out of mind. Fortunately for me, I have friends in high places.

   A great friend of mine is a bounty hunter for ZEF (Zombie Elimination Force). He has been kind enough to pass on files, that the rest of the public, are not meant to see. Just before my friend, placed the files in my outstretched hand, he grinned, “You will want to see this.” I made a mad grab for the files, my interest was piqued “Just one second,” he said wiping any trace of humor from his face, “You did not get these from me, do you understand? This cannot come back on me. After you are done reading these, he continued shaking the files in my face, “ They must be destroyed.” That is precisely what I was doing a week ago, going over files not meant for my eyes, before shit hit the fan. Because the information I was reading was classified, I didn’t want to get caught.

   In a small nondescript coffee joint, off the main drag, I sat in a red leather booth. A gray sheet of rain separated me from the rest of New York, perfect. As I thumbed through the files, several complaints, had gotten mixed in, it was a lot of information to sort through.

   A zombie named Frank, was so very upset, that he filed a report. Apparently his best friend Steve (also a zombie) made a snack out of Frank’s hand. Frank had repeatedly insisted he told Steve to stop eating his hand. Steve in return, insisted that he was pretty sure that was the same hand, that he bought at the grocery store, that morning. An all-out brawl had ensued. During the fight, both Franks hand and liver went missing. Part of Steve’s lower intestine had been devoured by Frank. ZEF had been called in, to shut it down and hush it up.

I looked up, as my waitress hobbled over. She was an older lady, her ankle was mangled badly, the wounds looked quite recent. “What happened to your foot?” I asked leaning out of my booth for a better look. “You’ll never believe it!” She exclaimed throwing her hands in the air. “I come into work right, to open for the morning shift. It’s dark out, and I am trying to unlock the door, and this bum comes out of nowhere. I think he wants my purse right? No he starts chewing on my foot. So then I says to him, “’Look what you did you bastard, you better scat before I call ZEF! I’ll have to go have it looked at after I get done with my shift, more than likely they will have to vaccinate me again.’”

“What a shame,” I said shaking my head. “So what will it be?” the waitress asked, tapping her pencil against her tablet. “I’ll have an order of french fingers with syrup, a blood jelly donut, and a double whipped eye java,” I reciting my favorite breakfast off the top of my head. “You got it,” she said, and limped away.

I returned my attention back to my work. As I flipped to the next page, there was something interesting, highlighted in red, ‘Chinese may be flooding the market with more than genetically engineered body parts.’

Catacombe dei Cappuccini

     A large yellow moon hung, suspended over a dark murky Mediterranean Sea. The city of Palermo lay drowsy beneath the mountains, its inhabitants having retired many hours ago. A strong gust blew dry leaves down a cobbled alleyway.  Tom cats squalled and brawled, a dog mournfully howled into the night, then all was quiet again, except for a small monastery. The Capuchin Catacombs started to wake up and come alive. Each year, on Halloween, the spell death cast over each still form is lifted, when the veil between life and death does not exist.

    Capuchin monks slowly got out of their warm beds, pulling on coarse cloaks, for midnight prayers, all was as it should be above the catacombs, below was a different story. A mummified cardinal slowly stretched, yawning, shaking off the rigors of death, and then hopped down from his perch on the wall. He snapped his jaw into place, then reached up and grabbed a torch that hung on the wall. The Cardinal made his rounds of the catacombs, as he did so, more corpses began to spring to life. One night in the land of the living, they were going to make the most of it!

   The lawyers began to vigorously argue politics, hands waving and flying in the air. It didn’t matter that they had been dead for hundreds of years, they argued the politics of their day. A skeletal maiden passed below, and each of the lawyers in turn stopped what they were talking about, took of their hats and bowed, murmuring “Bella,” as she passed. When she had gone, they went back to their heated discussion.

   Moonlight shone through the bars covering the monastery windows. Mummies climbed off the wall joining the procession, which had begun behind the Cardinal. Long dead musicians joined the crowd, a trumpet sounded, the deceased swayed and danced to the music. The procession passed a group of corpses sitting around a table, playing cards and smoking cigars.

    In a small alcove an atrophied priest performed a long awaited wedding ceremony. The bride stood before the priest, in a moth eaten lace dress, a groom by her side dressed in a black frayed suit and bow tie, his faded hair slicked and parted down the middle of his skull. Death could not still the love that thrummed through their veins, and beat through their hearts. The groom tried to place a ring on the bride’s finger, since that finger was missing, he placed it on her pinky instead. Then they leaned in for a passionate kiss, which would last for an eternity on their lips.

    Skeletal children ran back and forth, hooting with laughter and joy, it was hard not to play for one whole year. A harassed looking husband cowered against the wall, as his angry wife berated him, an argument that transcended death. All this went on below in the catacombs, as the monks prayed for the everlasting souls of the deceased below, on All Saints’ Day. When the rays of sunshine replaced the moon, the corpses slowly climbed back into their places, as death held them in its cold embrace for another year.

The Three Fates

      Adam of Bremen had traveled many miles, and was faint with thirst and hunger. His mouth was parched; he despaired that he should find any water soon. As he threw his plea up into the heavens, fate smiled down upon him, in the distance was a well. Adam hurried forth; landing on his knees, and drank from the well. As he scooped water desperately into his mouth, he was horrified to see at the bottom of the well, a great eye gazing up towards him. It was lidless never blinking at it watched; Adam could see the whole galaxy suspended in the milky white. This was Mimir’s Well, his father had warned him to never go near it, never to drink from it.

    “What could it hurt?” he thought to himself. Adam hurriedly scooped more water into his mouth to quench his thirst. Then he filled his canteen, to make sure he had enough water to finish his journey.  When Adam had gotten his fill, he continued on his way. Soon he came upon the Temple of Uppsala, and decided to rest. As he entered into the temple, he felt faint, stumbling forward, he passed out cold, lifeless.

     There was a bright flash before Adam’s eyes. He felt disoriented. What had happened? He stood shakily to his feet. Before him was a road like a beam of sunshine, it traveled for miles. On either side of the road was blackness, dotted with stars. Lighting flashed in the darkness; in the distance dark mountains were silhouetted. The air crackled with electricity. Adam followed the road, careful to stay away from the edge; he did not want to fall into the dark abyss below.

     At the end of the road stood three tall women on the cusp of a cliff. These were the Norn that his father had told him about as a child. They were draped in long silver cloaks. To the left stood Edda, she saw into the past, day’s bygone. In the middle stood Sigurd, she had the gift to look into the present and the immediate future. On the right stood Dvalin, she saw into the very distant future.

     “How did I get here?” Adam thought to himself confused. Reading his mind, Edda replied “You are here human, because you drank from the well of Mirmir, now you must hear what fate has in store for you. She proceeded to reach into the dark abyss, and pulled out three bright stars. In each star Adam could see scenes of his life being played out. Edda handed a star to each of her sisters.

     Edda suspended a star in front of her. Inside the stars luminous glow Adam saw a scene from the past. He was on the battlefield, at war. Adam has just killed for the first time in his life. “You have known violence,” Edda said, glancing up at Adam with piercing blue eyes “Taking another man’s life has left a mark on your soul, blood taints your hands, violence begets violence and blood begets blood,” she finished.

     In the star that was suspended before Sigurd, Adam saw his wife in the arms of another man, and then he saw a child. “Your wife has been unfaithful to you; she carries another man’s child,” Sigurd said simply, without feeling.

               
     Adam had the distinct feeling that Dvalin was watching him. She had no eyes in her head, only dark holes where they should be, and yet Adam felt her piercing glance strong as ever. The star suspended before her showed Adam as an old man. Alone, no family and no one to care for him in his old age. Children ran past, and threw stones at him as he lay hunched against a wall, freezing in a threadbare cloak. “You have turned away everyone you have ever loved, or anyone who was ever foolish enough to love you. You will die alone, and bitter,” said Dvalin watching Adam’s face closely.

Taking a deep breath, Adam asked “These are the things that will definitely come to pass in my life? I cannot change them?”

     “You cannot change the past,” Edda replied “Nor can you change the present, you have control of the future. If you do not change, the things Dvalin showed you will come to pass. Learn your lesson well human,” Edda said. Then she reached out and tapped Adam on the forehead, he felt a blinding searing pain. He stumbled backwards into the abyss.

      Adam awoke to someone shaking his shoulder. He was back in the Temple of Uppsala. He quickly got to his feet, shoving his way through the crowd that had gathered around him. Adam had to get home quickly; he knew what he had to do. Traveling at a quick pace, he made it home before nightfall. Adam searched for his wife, finally he found her, in bed with another man. In a rage Adam slaughtered her lover. He then turned and killed his wife.

     As Adam lay on the ground next to his dead wife’s body, mournful he stroked her lifeless face. Blood smeared her pale cheek. Why had the fates not warned him? In a large voice that emanated around the room, Edda said “Violence begets violence, and blood begets blood.”

London Bridge Troll

    Since 1831, the two immovable stone towers of London Bridge, have ascended out of the Thames, and pierced the London skyline. A beautiful place to take a stroll during the day. Cars, trucks and buses, all moving with the ebb and flow of traffic. Tourist hurry about taking pictures. Naïve traveler beware, London Bridge holds more secrets than any could imagine. Once nightfall descends, the darker part of London comes out to play.

    The latest structure is just one in a long succession, which have stood on that very spot, since the Romans first conquered Britain. Many men and women have crossed, bringing with them their hopes, dreams, and vile, unsavory thoughts. Evil thoughts cannot be destroyed. For once they have taken root; they become a life of their own; living breathing creatures. This is what the darkness of the night is made of.

    A most monstrous creature has made the murky underside of London Bridge its home. Feeding off the very essence of human nature, as unwary pedestrians tread above. Only a person pure of heart and a clear conscience can pass at night without encountering The London Bridge Troll.

    Oh, you have never heard of the London Bridge Troll? Well then, count yourself amongst one of the lucky few, who have not encountered this creature from the depths of the Thames. For the many that have had the displeasure of seeing this creature, it is an experience they hope never to repeat. On nights when the moon is full, the creature has been spotted climbing the towers of London Bridge.

    It is a common occurrence, when someone has had too much drink, to fall of the side of the bridge into the dark watery depths below, or is it? Eyewitnesses say they have seen the beast, grab hold of unsuspecting victims ankles, and drag them below, to feed on. Officials will not make a public statement on the matter, however it has been leaked to the public, that the bones of the missing men, and women, have been found, jammed into the cracks of the bridge.  

   Others will tell you, that as they leaned over the side of the bridge, to have a look at the river below, only to see two large yellow eyes maliciously gazing back up at them. A horrible stench accompanies this creature. One could be feeling fine, however as the stench comes down wind, they can feel very sick to their stomachs.

    Travelers, beware,as night falls on London Bridge, you could be the next unsuspecting victim. You may never make it to the other side of the bridge, alive.

Banshee Who Helped Fight Crime

 

Harbingers of death, the Banshee is both feared and dreaded. Feared, because of the unknown, dreaded, because to hear one keening outside your window, means a loved one is doomed to die within the fortnight. However, have Banshees been given a bad rap? One woman, from the village of Carlingford believes so.

Ena O’Brien’s husband, Alphin had been bravely fighting prostate cancer for the last two years. After having just undergone his second round of chemotherapy, Alphin had been severely weakened, his health was deteriorating fast. Doctors warned Ena, that her husband’s time on this earth was short. It was decided then that Ena would stay home, and nurse her husband in his last days. Fifty years ago, when Ena stood before her family and God, she promised to love Alphin through sickness and in health, until death parted them. Those words were just as true today, as the day she had first spoken them.

Many nights, Ena and Alphin would sit beside each other in the living room, next to the fireplace. Sometimes they looked at old photo albums, remembering days past. Those photos always brought a bittersweet lump to Ena’s throat. They had been young and free; the whole world lay before them. Now the curtain was about to be drawn closed on this part of Ena’s life forever, she was deeply saddened. Tonight Alphin sat in his easy chair, while Ena read to him from his favorite book ‘Finnegan’s Wake’ by James Joyce.

It was hard for Ena, to see her once robust husband, reduced now to a shell of his former self. Alphin rested his eyes, taking slow shallow breaths. In some ways, Ena had begun to accept the inevitable. Alphin suffered day by day, as Ena watched on helpless. More than anything she wanted his pain to go away, for him to know peace once again. There came a wailing sound outside the window. It made the hair on the back of Ena’s neck stand up. That cry, went down into the very depths of her soul.

“Love, “said Alphin opening one eye, and peering at her “what’s the matter?”

“You didn’t hear that wailing noise just now?” Ena asked unnerved.

“No dear, ”Alphin replied snuggling down deeper into his easy chair “Can you continue reading, your voice relaxes me,” he said sleepily.

Ena tried to continue reading, it was tough, the wailing had started up again outside. She could take no more, Ena got up from the loveseat and pulled back the curtain to look outside. There was nothing, and still she had the pricking sensation of being watched. Ena went and sat back down, and tried to continue reading.

The sound of glass smashing in the dining room had Ena on her feet again. Her heart was racing as she peered around the corner, into the next room. A man in black was trying to climb through the window he had just smashed. Ena ran into the living room, and picked up the phone, calling the police as fast as she could. There came a yelp from the dining room and then silence.

“What’s going on?” Alphin asked, sitting up in his chair, alert.

Ena held her finger to her lips “I think we are being burgled,” she whispered.

The police showed up on the scene within minutes. They searched the premises, while Ena and Alphin sat in the living room sipping tea, trying to calm their nerves. A little while later, the police returned from their patrol of the area. An interesting turn of events, the police actually caught the men who had tried to break into the O’Brien’s house! One man had been found hiding in the bushes at the edge of the O’Brien’s property.

It was an odd statement he gave the police. He claimed that just as we was about to enter into the O’Brien’s house, something grabbed his shoulder. Thinking it was his partner; he turned to tell him to stop messing around, and keep watch for the police. It was not his partner he saw behind him.

There stood a tall woman; she wore a white flowing gown, her hair was wild and unkempt. Angry black eyes stared out at him; her mouth was open in an eternal wail. In her hand she carried a bag, which dripped a substance, blood. The would be thief backed slowly away from the house. Then the creature let out an unearthly cry, and charged. Running for dear life, the man jumped into the bushes, and waited there until the police found him. Needless to say, he was quite shaken.

Alphin died that Sunday. There were days that Ena hoped would never end and now would never be again. Through the pain of her loss however, she knew there was someone watching out or her. When it was her time to part this earth, Ena hoped to great death as a friend.

The Adventure of Two Would Be Photographers

    The day was beautiful, clear skies as far as the eye could see, not a cloud marred the perfect tranquil blue. I had gotten the idea in my head the night before, that I wanted to take pictures, and this was the perfect day for it. Shae called at nine, to see if our photography session was still the plan for the day. I was so excited, I sprang out of bed! Birds flew in through my window to dress me, and I hummed a lovely tune………WAIT! WAIT!…… hold on just a darn minute, that sounds like Cinderella. Oh yeah, that’s right. Ok, so then let’s rewind a bit. Shae called me at nine, and asked me if we were still going to be taking photos today. I was excited! However I didn’t spring out of bed, per say. It was more like I drug one leg at a time, out of bed, and then stumbled to Keurig, and inserted a coffee IV.

    After I was satisfactorily functional, I started to get ready. I don’t normally have too many places that I go, where I can get really dressed up, so it is quite a treat to be able to do this, and I relished it. I curled and primped my hair and blah, blah, blah, blah blah…….you guys really don’t want to hear all of that, do you? After I had gotten ready, I wandered over to Shae’s house, where she was outside killing bees. We each have our own way of getting our artistic juices flowing, and killing bees is the way she does it…ok? You got a problem with that?

   Shae’s little boy Toccoa went with us. I don’t know if I have said this before, and if you have heard me say it before, then I guess you will just have to hear me say it again. Toccoa, is the coolest little kid to walk the earth, no doubt, hands down. He was excited to be coming with. I would like to think, that it was because Toccoa was looking forward to an adventure of his own, really I think it was because he knew he was going to get to watch two apparently “grown up” women, goof around, taking pictures. Toccoa was down with the plan.

   We drove to a side road, not far from where we live. The road is not normally busy, today however, everyone and their brother were driving on this road. On our way to our destination, we passed an Umbrella Girl. Shae and I conspicuously looked ahead, not wanting to make eye contact. The whole time driving, I would ask:

“Do you think I’ve gone far enough? Should I pull over?”

Shae replied, “No go a bit further.”

Me, “How about now?”

Shae, “I don’t know.”

  Finally, I just pulled over, and we hopped out. We had a plan, we had a goal, we had the vision, nothing could stand in our way…..expect for the cars that kept speeding by us. We farted around, by the side of the road for about 20 minutes. Shae got a call from her husband. He suggested that we backtrack, and go down a less busy road. This sounded like a good enough idea to us, and so we were off once again. The whole thing started once more:

“Do you think I’ve gone far enough? Should I pull over?”

Shae, “There is nothing really here to take photos by.”

Me, “How about now?”

Shae, “I don’t know.”

Me, “Hey look there is a cool little farm with iron gates, let’s go there.”

Shae, “Ok.”

  Once again, we got out of the car. Ready to model and prance before the camera. We approached the gates, all was quiet. Until we were just inside the gates. Then we heard growling just feet from the gates. A large German Shepard, started to run towards us. I pretty sure what happened next went down like this:

Me, “Oh Fuck!”

Shae, “Oh Shit!”

Me, “Cheese it!”

Shae, “I’m getting the fuck out of here!”

  We took off fast, I could have sworn, that Shae was right behind me. Until I was halfway to the car. I turned and saw the stroller had gotten stuck on a rock. It was then we noticed, that the dog was on a chain. A deep sigh of relief. And Toccoa you ask? It didn’t even faze him, see what I mean? Coolest kid ever. By this time we had decided, we had enough of our artistic venture. Plans were discussed to take pictures the following week in Motta. So ends our story, of the two would be photographers. And they ate lunch happily ever after.

Mysteries Of The Liffey River

   Mythology, mystery, and magic deep, what riddles do they keep? These three words call into question what you know, what is reality. Let’s be honest, anyone who thinks they have experienced everything this world has to offer, is deceiving themselves, they are well and truly naive. One man alone cannot claim to have touched the deepest parts of the ocean floor, or visited the very top of the sky. Nor can they claim, to have traveled every square inch of the earth, and turned over every rock and stone, to see what lay beneath.

   It was 1901. Young Callum Lynch was excited; he skipped and let out a joyful “Whoop”. After weeks of persistently asking to be taken fishing, his father finally relented at last. Skies were calm and clear. The Liffey was as smooth as ice, not one ripple on the surface. Seagulls flew overhead, squawking. Street vendors peddled their goods. Horse’s hooves clopped gently on the cobbles, as they pulled wagons behind them. It was a fine day, filled with hustle and bustle.

   As father and son approached the banks of the Liffey, Callum ran ahead, picking up stones, attempting to skip them on the clear water. His father called, “Now Son, you don’t want to be doing that, you’ll chase off all the good fish. Come here then, and help me get these poles ready, there’s a good lad.”

  “Do you think we will catch anything big?” asked Callum excited, as he ran back to where his father stood, putting bait and tackle on the fishing poles. “I want to catch a shark,” he announced bravely, sticking out his chest.

  “Well now,” said his father, smiling down at him “That remains to be seen. A shark you say?” he asked Callum. “There are more things in heaven and earth,” he said winking.

   Callum’s father spent half an hour teaching him how to cast his line, and then reel it back in. A gentle breeze made its way up the Liffey, gently tossing Callum’s hair. “This is nice, “thought Callum. He greatly admired his Da; he was the bravest, strongest person he knew. Callum felt certain, that if his Da were to fight a lion, that his Da would win.

   There came a sharp tug on Callum’s line. “I got one, I got one!” he yelled jumping excitedly. Looking out at where his line was located, something large shifted, just below the water. “It’s a shark, it’s a shark,” Callum cried madly as he tried to yank his line in. His father reached out and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, in an attempt to quiet him down.

“Be still,” said his father in a low voice, pointing out at the water.

   What Callum saw, stayed with him until the day he died. It came out of the water slowly, they saw the top of the head first. It had a mop of stringy black hair, just below were two piercing grey blue eyes, as slash for where the mouth should’ve been. On the side of its head were gills. A webbed hand reached out of the water, grasping desperately, trying to loosen the hook that had gotten stuck in one of its gills. Its skin was covered in grey scales that shimmered in the light .

“Whoa,” shouted Callum.

  The creature looked up sharply. With a flash, it darted back under the surface. The fishing line pulled taught and Callum let out a yelp. He came mere inches from almost falling face first into the water. At the last moment, his father just was able to reach out and grab him by the suspenders. Callum turned to looked at his father. He was as white as a sheet.

“Da,” Callum asked timidly “What was that?

His father didn’t reply

“Da,” Callum said more insistently “What was that?”

“I don’t know son,” said his father weakly.

   That was the last and only time, Callum’s Da had discussed what had happened. That day was thrust into the annals of family lore, never to be spoken of again. It was as if they believed by avoiding the topic all together, they could make what they saw vanish from their memories.

Borp Chronicles

So, I am sure the first thing to run across your mind is: What the hell is a Borp. A Borp is my brother Jordan. This has been his nickname since he was very small. So what is a Borp? You can’t find it in the dictionary, because there is no definition. However I can explain, to the best of my ability, what a Borp, my brother Jordan, really is.

  Jordan is the closest sibling to me, in that he is just a year younger. Growing up, he was a mild, easy going child. The door to his bedroom, entered directly into mine. Saturday mornings were filled with him, coming into my room, in his white long johns, and saying  “Kaye, do you want to play Barbie’s?” I can’t say that I was always the nicest sister, and at times would be very irritable towards him, and yell at him to get out of my room, and he would scamper off, because his feelings had been hurt.

   We always joked, and said that Jordan had inherited “The Haggerty Dingy Gene.” Which now looking back, I am pretty certain that each one of us children inherited that gene; Jordan just got a double dose. Up until Jordan hit puberty, he had a very high voice, and when he would get upset he would say things in a very high pitched tone. This is funny, when you know that Jordan’s voice didn’t start to change, until he was well over six feet. Equally funny, was when Jordan’s voice started to get deeper, I had endless hours of amusement, imitating his voice.

   As a small child, Jordan loved to jam rocks, sticks, and cat food, up his nose, and ears. My Mom would only be able to tell, because he would have a trickle of blood coming out of his nose or ears. Mom would have to go and get the tweezers, and then have to physically catch Jordan, because when he knew what was coming, he took off running. She would have to restrain Jordan on her lap, while she did this, the whole time he flailed his arms and legs.

    Jordan loved to chase cats when he was little. He loved grabbing their tails. Cats however didn’t like Jordan as much, and would take off in different directions when he showed up on the scene. There was one time, my brother Joseph, was supposed to have been watching Jordan. Joseph turned his back for one second and Jordan was off chasing a cat. Not always being coordinated, Jordan was prone to many accidents, however, when he didn’t want to be caught; he could give you a run for your money. This was the case with Joseph, and he had to exert quite a bit of energy, into catching Jordan.

   One day my Mom got a call from the school. They told her that Jordan had been hurt and she needed to come at once. Mom got to the school, to find Jordan sitting in the nurse’s office, holding a tissue to his nose. My Mom wanted to know what happened. The hall monitor told my Mom, that he had found Jordan lying face down, in the hallway, crying. Jordan claimed that someone had pushed him. When they got home, Jordan confessed the real story. He had been walking in the hallway, when he had tripped over his shoe laces. Rather than get up, he just laid there crying until the hall monitor helped him up.

   Pork and Beans were the way to Jordan’s heart. If you wanted him to do anything, all you had to do was tell him you would give him Pork and Beans, and he would do whatever you wanted. I remember him sitting in his highchair, in an old sailor hat, grinning from ear to ear, covered in Pork and Beans.

   There was one time; my Mom was walking with Jordan and my little sister Amanda, to Little Grandpa’s. Jordan started to trip. Rather than drop his Pork and Beans, Jordan elected to fall face first.

  If you looked up the word gullible in the dictionary, you would see Jordan’s face. My sister Beth took advantage of this. Oranges were a huge treat for us growing up. Beth had convinced Jordan, that rather than eating the actual orange itself, that the peels, were the best. So, while Beth demolished off the orange in two bites, Jordan sat there chewing on orange peels, making a sour face.

   Summers were filled with vacations. One summer we visited my Aunt Molly in Albuquerque, New Mexico. My Aunt, Grandpa, Grandma, Jordan and myself had taken a trip to a nature trail. While the rest of the group took off, Jordan and I hung back. I started picking on Jordan. Getting annoyed Jordan decided to join the rest of the group, and took off running. He ran up behind Grandma yelling “Grandma, Grandma, Grandma,” in an attempt to get her attention. Just as he got right behind her, Grandma decided to pass gas. Jordan’s face went white, and he faintly said “Ughhhh Grandma.”

  My Aunt Marcie and my brother Jordan were two peas in a pod. Every family function, you could find the two of them hanging out in the basement, we fondly called them Cellar Dwellers, and Family Guy Disciples. They would hang out and play video games, or invent list of songs no one would ever listen to, or invent products that no one would ever buy. Marcie made it a ritual to call Jordan once a week, to which I dubbed the name ‘The Fireside Chats.’

  On January 23, 2008, that all changed forever. My Aunt Marcie was involved in a pedestrian automobile accident. Here is the link:
http://www.winonapost.com/stock/functions/VDG_Pub/detail.php?choice=22892&home_page=&archives=1

  Jordan lost his best friend that day, no his other half. My heart ached equally at the loss of Marcie as for Jordan. A part of him died that day. Many days I have wished I could go back in time and change what happened. My heart still aches for Jordan.

  I wanted to write this to let Jordan know how much I love him. I am happy to have him in my life. I am proud to call him my brother, I am proud to call him my friend.

Memories Of An Extraordinary Woman

    "Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body. But rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO HOO what a ride!"

    They say the best stories come from real life. The other night I had an idea. Thinking back on my 24 years, I remembered people who had made a marked difference in my life. Who helped to mold me into the person that I am today. After all without this person I would not exist. Allow me to share with you my memories of my Great-Grandma Mary B. Blahnik.

    I always felt very privileged to share the same birthday as my Great-Grandma (April 28). GG, had a way of making you feel special, which was saying a lot, at her passing, the number of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren was well over fifty. So yes, I come from a very large family.

    GG, lived in the rural countryside, near Spring Valley Minnesota. She owned a very large and very old farm. Going there was like taking a giant step back in time. The house in which she lived was big and white, surrounded by large red barns and deep woods. About a mile or so from her house was a limestone quarry, where we would walk and collect agates. When summer rolled around we would go to the A&W Root beer stand. If you brought your own jugs, they would fill them up from the tap. This was quite a treat.

    In the spring, GG's yard was smothered in Blue Bells (which my brother Jordan would always try to "transplant" somewhere else in GG's yard, as if she didn't have enough Blue Bells). Being the middle child, I had to continually be coming up with ways to entertain myself, and at GG's there was a plethora of things to do and get into. The woods that surrounded GG's house were thick with ferns. I remember taking them and weaving them and making "forts" which would always cave in on me.

    GG was as old as the hills, ever since I knew her. A very independent woman, even as she lost her eye sight. She always insisted on driving herself when she could, which understandably made my Grandma (whom raised me) nervous.

   There was one such incident that I remember. Grandma had mentioned that GG was going to come and visit, and looked worried because GG had decided to drive herself. We kept watch out for her. Sure enough sometime later, here came GG's big 1960's red and white beater creeping down the road, with GG peeking over the steering wheel. My Grandma was relieved and I at eight, was very impressed and in awe of GG making it all that way.

    I remember another time when GG had come to visit. She was helping my Grandma get dinner ready. In a corner of the kitchen she was peeling potatoes. My Grandma always listened to polkas when she was in the kitchen. I had gone in there dancing and prancing and shaking my butt to polkas, near GG's chair. All of a sudden she reach out and pinched my butt! I jumped and looked back and she was grinning.

   Well, this did not stand with me. So I waited until she got up and was washing her hands at the sink and then I pinched her butt. I'm pretty sure she did not swat me, simply because I had the nerve, and the cheek to return the pinch.

   GG passed away on July 17, 2005. There was not a dry eye in the church. She went out in a blaze of glory, living every day full, and treating each day as if it were her last, surrounded by friends and loved ones. At her funeral they played "The River" by Garth Brooks. That song embodies my GG in every way.

   About Two years ago my Great-Uncle Fred Blahnik, took all the stories that GG had written down about her life and put them together in a book called: "The Hardest Life I Could Ever Love." I know I am biased when I say this: It is a very good book and a read that I recommend.

  My love of writing is something that GG passed down to me. I owe so much to her. She had an everlasting effect on my life. Wherever she is, I hope that she can see me, and feel proud of the woman I have become.