Month: February 2019

A story inspired by Castello di Brolio – Episode 1

Another story inspired from a visit to an old castle in Italy.  It was, of course, written while traveling on a plane, though I’m not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver.

But, there’s more to come.  Those were long flights…

 

“You have got the guards set up on the back wall,” I asked Jackerby, the officer in charge of the rearguards.

“Can you see them?” he said in a tone that dripped sarcasm.

 

I didn’t like Jackerby, he seemed far too sure of himself and his men, and so far, we hadn’t had to rely on them.

But that time was coming, and sooner than any of us wanted to believe.

“No.”

“Then no one else will either.  Trust me, no one will be coming over the back wall.  I’ll be in the command post, and it has a clear view of anything coming.”

“Excellent,” I said, trying to sound more confident that I felt.

 

Jackerby was Johannson’s man.  He had recruited him, in circumstances that seemed a little too coincidental for my liking.  Johannson was too easy going for me, and although he had not made a mistake, yet, I felt sure one was going to happen on my watch.

I think that’s why I’d been sent to keep an eye on operations.

There’d already been one attempt at an incursion, and we’d been saved by a dog, one I found on the roadside, injured by the same roadside bomb that had nearly killed me as well, and brought him with me.  The thought of doing so, at the time, had been on the end of a single idea, a dog could not betray me, men and women could.

And the fact its name was Jack seemed to me to be rather poetic, if not somewhat ironic in the circumstances.

There was a coded communication in my pocket, one I’d received earlier in the afternoon, uncoded from the signal room.  My special code.  A warning of a second incursion.

Tonight.

 

Jack and I were in the guard tower at the south-western corner of the castle.  It overlooked the valley and gave a clear view of anyone or anything coming from that quadrant. 

Of course, if it came by air, you’d expect to hear it.

I didn’t, but Jack did.  He suddenly stood and made a small moaning noise, as if he knew quiet communication was needed.  The stiffness in his body told me it was danger.

I heard it, before I saw it, a glider, and following the swooping sound, the land of men on the gravel walkways just down from the tower.  A precision flight and precision landing of a dozen stormtroopers.

And Jackerby’s guards were nowhere to be seen.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Will this heat ever let up?

Just think, a month ago we were driving around in sub-zero temperatures.

But, it could have been worse…

When we were in New York it was a range between 4 degrees and minus six degrees Fahrenheit.

A week later, after we left, those temperatures dropped to minus fifty, not necessarily in New York but in other places quite near, like Chicago.

Wow, did we get out of dodge at the right time?

Now, having been back for a month, what was a welcome relief from the freezing cold has become a monotonous heat wave, where to venture out in the endless heat and, worse, humidity is more than a chore.

Dare I say it but the air conditioning is going night and day, and the only saving grace is the fact we have solar power, and that endless sunshine works for us.

In a manner of speaking.

But..

I’m now on a quest for a place that is more temperate to visit, you know, not too hot, not too cold, but does such a place exist?

Have we managed through global warming to destroy anything that could be described as paradise?

Is there such a thing as global warming?

Have we been on this planet long enough, with the science to prove it, that what’s apparently happening now, hasn’t happened before at one time or another?

I have no doubt paradise exists somewhere, but why would you tell anyone about it?  Once everyone does, it ceases to be paradise.

So much for that quest.

Perhaps I should be grateful we have air conditioning.

And next year try to find somewhere less cold to visit.

Conversations with my cat – 11

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This is Chester.  It has been a long, hard day.

Don’t be fooled into thinking he’s asleep.

He isn’t.

It’s late afternoon, and he’s done his rounds, sitting at the back door, the side door, and the front door.

We’re having a continual discussion about food, which, at the moment, he is being very fussy about.

I’ve sent him to bed without dinner.  I can see this is going to be another test of wills.

 

It’s Friday afternoon … again

And…

Now the school year has started again, its back to my usual Friday afternoon job, picking up grandchildren from school.

Only this year there is a change in that one still goes to primary school and the other secondary school, both schools miles apart, so I can only be in one place.

So, my job is to get the youngest granddaughter from primary school, and my wife has to get the other which, coincidentally, is more or less on the way home from work

The Friday afternoon routine of having both over for the afternoon and then dinner before we take them home is maintained.

Of course, who knows how long this will remain in place as children’s ideas about post-school activities might not eventually include spending time with grandparents.

At some point, the idea of hanging out with old people like us becomes a chore rather than a treat, though I’m guessing the open pantry and being spoilt might sway them for a little bit longer.

We are, I’m guessing, somewhat less restrictive than their parents, and we do not insist they do their homework which is probably what they should be doing.

But…

For the time being, it is a time to discover what makes children tick in this modern world, which to me seems to be very different to when I was their age.  We did not give television, computers, mobile phones or social media.

If you wanted to talk to your friends out of school, a parent had to take you, otherwise, it could wait.  There was no calling them up on the phone, sending an email or a text.  Not like these days where both have mobile phones

And, where we had to do homework or play outside using our imagination or hanging out with other street kids, these days both seem glued either to their computers or phones, playing games on the computer, texting friends, or watching TV.

It’s not the sort of TV I would watch, all screaming and violence, and it’s no wonder a lot of small children are traumatized at such a young age.  Computer games are no better with extreme and very graphic violence.  What do we really expect feeding them this sort of material?

And talking them into outdoor activities might be possible if it was not for the possibility of them being snatched off the street.  It is indicative of the times, and whose to say it will not happen even if it hasn’t happened before in the neighborhood. Now it seems predators are everywhere.

Not in our time as children.  Back then you were more likely to be assaulted by a parent or a relative.  It was nothing to walk, as a seven or eight years old, for a mile or two alone on the street, to and from school, and not even think about being whisked away by a predator.

So, Friday afternoon, it’s not a time to dredge up the past.  It’s where it belongs in the past.  What I have to look forward to is another session with my youngest granddaughter playing a game that rewards you with carrots.

Oh, and having to be quite the horsewoman, fending off rivals, dodging bombs and dragons, in order to build up your carrots so that you can breed a better horse, and. of course, win more carrots.

I’m sure there’s a message there somewhere.

 

“Echoes From The Past”, buried, but not deep enough

What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

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newechocover5rs

 

The word ‘line’

The English language has some marvelous words that can be used so as to have any number of meanings

For instance,

Draw a line in the sand

We would all like to do this with our children, our job, our relationships, but for some reason, the idea sounds really good in our heads, but it never quite works out in reality. What does it mean, whatever it is, this I’d where it ends or changes because it can’t keep going the way it is.

Inevitably it leads to,

You’ve crossed the line

Which at some point in our lives, and particularly when children, we all do a few times until, if we’re lucky we learn where that line is. It’s usually considered 8n tandem with pushing boundaries.

Of course, there is

A line you should never cross

And I like to think we all know where that is. Unfortunately, some do not and often find their seemingly idyllic life totally shattered beyond repair. An affair from either side of a marriage or relationship can do that.

You couldn’t walk a straight line if you tried

While we might debate what straight might mean in this context, for this adaptation it means staying on the right side of legality. Some people find a life of crime more appealing than doing honest days work.

This goes hand in hand with,

You’re spinning me a line

Which means you are being somewhat loose with the truth, perhaps in explaining where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. I think sometimes liars forget they need to have good memories.

Then there are the more practical uses of the word, such as

I have a new line of products

Is that a new fishing line?

Those I think most of us get, but it’s the more ambiguous that we have trouble with. Still, ambiguity is a writer’s best friend and we can make up a lot of stuff from just using one word.

What could be called an ‘alternative’ night out

It’s not for the faint-hearted, so that’s why we took the grandchildren skating.

Unless you are a skater of the roller variety there is little for the guardians to except sit back relax and listen to the head banging music that is luckily for us, of our era.

ACDC, ‘Thunderstruck’, over the loudspeaker system is just like being at a rock concert.

Little by little the floor starts to fill with skaters of all types of skill level from the side wall huggers to the almost falling over, and of course, the experts who glide effortlessly in and out of the novices.

The first game of the night for anyone who can actually skate, collect little red witches hats, those that get one stay in, those that don’t, well, you know how this works

Fewer and fewer witches hats each time leads to an eventual winner, a youthful skater of considerable skill.

Now we have Queen.  Not exactly headbanging but a classic, ‘We Are The Champions’.  This cuts to a track by The Vapors.  How do I know this?  We have a video screen.  I’m just surprised some of these songs had a video made of them.

Well, there is always Shazam.

The second game of the night; I think only the organizers know what it is about.  I try to get the gist and instead wished music would come back.

Ok, those that couldn’t skate still can’t, and after an hour there is attrition.  More room for those who can.

But wait there’s more, the doors are still open and more people are arriving.

And thankfully we’re back to ACDC.

I have three grandchildren out on the floor each with a varying grade of skill.  They don’t do this very often so each session begins a little rusty and by the time they go home, it’s too soon to go.  At least they can stay on their feet and not, as some do, crash into the walls, thinking that is the best way to stop.

Bring on the music!  Next is the Divinyls.

Forget that, we now have Men At Work. ‘I Live in a Land Downunder’.  I’m missing the full effect of the stadium sound because one of my charges had decided to practice in the baby pen, a small area set aside for beginner skaters to get their bearings, or practice before they go out on the main floor.

I suspect this is a ploy for her to get me to buy a slushy without the other two.  Sadly that will not work.  We’ll have to wait and see till after the session.  Only an hour to go.

The sad pleading eyes are meant to weaken my resolve.

An exhibition of speed skating in different directions give our charges a chance to rest, relax, and have their slushies. A timely break before the last session.

But what the heck, we’ve got ‘you got nothing I want you’ve got nothing I need’.  Good old head banging music.   Then I’m in seventh heaven, with Michael Jackson blasting through the stadium.  It’s not hard to imagine his ensemble dancing on the floor, ‘don’t stop till you get enough’.

Bring on the kaleidoscope lighting.

No, forget that just bring back ACDc.  Oh, they just have.  ‘Highway to hell’!

Last game of the night, just when the three girls are just about out of steam.  Red Rover.  They sit this one out, and as the skaters get fewer and fewer, the speed and evasiveness of those left is breathtaking, and end up with a few collisions with the floor.

What do they say, no pain no gain?

That’s why I’m the chauffeur.

To round out the night, INXS and Midnight Oil.

A great night out?  Hell yeah!

On the other end of medical mumbo jumbo

Who could imagine that one visit to the local hospital could fuel a medical nightmare?

Aside from the original suspicion I was having heart problems, doctors started lining up appointments for an endoscopy and colonoscopy, though I suspect these were for a different malady, and the main event, an angiogram.

I didn’t have heart problems though it was possible I had angina, the reason for the angiogram, but I did have acute kidney failure which was interesting, to say the least, and possibly attributed to ipBrufen, though it was impossible to say if the medication for psoriatic arthritis, a venomous little pill called methotrexate, was or was not a contributing factor.

But is was great to learn that my psioratic arthritis could lead to heart attack, and lung issues, a few problems my original arthritis consultant conveniently forgot to tell me about.

No sooner than I was released from the hospital after this first set of maladies, I was back three or four days later with hospital-acquired pneumonia, a devil of a problem that requires some very invasive searches for the type of bug so it could be treated properly.

It led to five days of antibiotics, a considerable inability to breathe without help from an oxygen mask, and several CT scans with and without dye to get a better look at the problem.

If only that was all that was wrong with me.

The CT scan showed up a lump or lesion on my right thyroid which led to further investigation, an ultrasound, a biopsy, and a visit to the surgeon to be told it had to come out.

But that’s not all.  No, I didn’t get a set of steak knives for being one the first ten this week to be diagnosed with anything, I was told my PSA reading was twice the average for my age, a clear indication I might have prostate cancer.

Wow.  Just to sort of news you need to hear before the weekend.  Worse perhaps than a rainstorm when camping in a floorless tent.  I had to now wait for the results of a new blood test.

Ok.  I get it that things are bound to go wrong when you get older, but what I object to is everything going wrong at once.

Perhaps when we stop the aging process a lot of these issues will go away, but I fear not.  The human body is surprisingly robust for quite a long time despite our attempts to test it to the limits of endurance.

It is advice too late for me to make sure my misspent youth is not wasted on being stupid or believing I’m indestructible.  The plain truth is, we are not, and I didn’t get the memo.

Now, I guess, it is time to actually do everything, or as much as I can, before I start to deteriorating further and not be able to do anything.  I have a few good years before arthritis sets in and makes life more difficult than it already is.

I’m not going to waste them.

What happens after the action packed start – Part 8

It’s now turning into a battle of wits, now our hero realizes he’s in a spot of bother.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because the enemy if it is the enemy, doesn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

 

I think I won the battle of wits, or whatever it was.

A few moments later he sat on the other side, pushing the chair back from the table, and me, as a deliberate act.

Distancing.

Besides adopting the speak when spoken to route, I was also adopting that age-old modus operandi of not volunteering anything.  If they knew anything they would have to tell me what they knew.

So, to begin with, another round of silence.

Then, after a few more minutes, s thin knowing smile, as if he knew everything I’d do before I did. 

 Perhaps he was a psychology professor.

“What we you doing in a no-fly zone?”

Well, that answered at least two questions right there.  We were where we were not supposed to be, and, as a stab in the dark, knowing how good the pilot was, we had deliberately strayed there.

On orders, or curiosity.  No, orders.

The reason, suspected enemy or other activity in a designated area being used as cover.  Had the Commander known about this and ordered a discreet incursion.

It felt more like a routine operation.

“I was not the pilot.  You’d have to ask him, although that might be difficult now he’s dead.”

“The nature of you pre-op briefing, then?”

“There wasn’t one, or if there was, I wasn’t included.”

“That would be a violation of regulations would it not?”

“You’d have to ask the military lawyers.  I just make up the numbers, and do as I’m told.”  I could add more but don’t volunteer information.  Let them dig for it.

“Then why were you on board?”

He asked that question as if it was a surprise to him or someone else.

I think at that moment I realized there might be bigger fish that might get fried from this interview.  

There was an arrangement in place that if the pilot wanted to go up for extra hours, he had to take someone like me along, for situations like that which had happened.

This had been sanctioned by the Commander, but I don’t think it included heading out to hot spots.  If this man was from our side, he might be on a witch hunt.

I looked at him in a new light.

This man was trouble of a different sort.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Conversations with my cat – 10

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This is Chester.  He’s got his ‘I want to go outside now’ face.

We’ve had this discussion many times in the past.

The answer is ‘No!’

Why?

Several of his predecessors thought it would be a great idea to go outside, chase some birds, frolic in the grass, chase some cars.

Yes, cars.

And finished up road kill.

After the second such fatality, we decided the next cat, Chester, was going to be an indoors cat.

He goes outside, when we hold him.

He knows the rules.

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Any, yes, he’s still waiting, just in case I change my mind.