Sayings: Irons in the fire

There is an expression you hear a lot, here, there, and everywhere when referring to someone who is very busy, ‘oh, he has a lot of irons in the fire’.

These days we use it as an analogy not to have too many things on the go at the same time, and, in the end, none of them will be finished properly, or finished at all.

There are two old-time literal meanings that can apply to this analogy, the first being that in laundries, they used to have their irons in the fire, warming so that clothes could be ironed. Having too many meant sometimes one would be left too long, and end up scorching the clothes being ironed.

Hopefully, that didn’t happen to a very expensive dress!

The second meaning came from a blacksmith’s foundry where he had iron bars in the fire, heating up so that they could be worked on. Having too many in the fire at once sometimes meant that one became overheated, and ruined.

Conversely, having too many pieces of iron in the fire might cause the fire to be too cool to heat any of the metal bars.

These days, a lot of people need to have a lot of projects on the go at once, in the hope that one or more might suddenly become a winner.

Sadly, that doesn’t happen very often.

And, no, buying a lot of lottery tickets hoping one will win, that is not very likely either.

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 57

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Nadia dropped me off outside the office of the newspaper, without any firm plan for our next meeting. I had told her I had to spend some time with Boggs’s in the light of this new information, and after some research at the newspaper.

I was hoping there would be back copies of the paper going back a long, long time.

But, a few years back there had been a fire with extensively damaged almost half of the building, and I couldn’t remember if it included the paper archive. Lenny, the recently appointed editor after his father passed on, had often extolled his plans for the paper, including recording the papers on film to preserve what he called a rich history of the area.

I went in to find Lenny sitting behind the main desk, feet up and reading a book, what looked to be a text on handguns.

He looked up when the door closed with a sharp bang.

“Sam Johnson, as I live and breathe. Thought you had equally grandiose plans of leaving town?”

“My father died, and it seemed a bad idea to leave my mother, being the only kid and all. You know how it is?”

Lenny had just gotten over a recent bereavement and had to move his mother to an old folk’s home because of worsening health. I’d seen him around town from time to time, but time had taken its toll, and he was never the healthiest of kids.

He was never interested in school, perhaps knowing he was always going to end up a newspaperman.

“Indeed I do? Need a job? I need a good reporter, and if I remember correctly, you were a hell of a reporter at school. How many scandals did you uncover?”

“One, and it was by chance.”

“Seemed like more than that.” He shrugged. “I’m sure, like five thousand others, you’re looking for work?”

“Was. I’m working down at the warehouse.”

“Benderby’s. Thought you hated them.”

Everyone hated them, and most of the people I knew because we were always on the end of his cruelty. His father’s pre-eminence and his own football prowess ensured he would always be better off than any of us, and able to get away with his ‘boyish pranks’.

“I did, and I do, but you know how it is. Pride has to be swallowed in these economic times. But, if you need help, maybe I could write a few articles, but without credit.”

“When can you start?”

“After a little research. I’ve come to look at the papers going back to the beginning of time. Please tell me they weren’t burnt in the fire?”

“They were. Sadly. But with did get them filmed so instead of the archive taking up half the building, it now occupies one small room. What’s the subject?”

“The Ormiston’s.”

“Ah, the treasure hunt that Boggs says he’s not on, and you’re the secret partner in crime.”

“Hardly.”

“It doesn’t exist, you know. All those maps, the legends, the lies, and then there’s the Cossatino’s. It’s an invention of theirs to drum up money from unsuspecting fools. Always has been. Oh, and was that Nadia I saw drop you off out the front. There’s a dangerous piece of work.”

“Maybe she’s changed.”

“A leopard doesn’t change its spots, you know that. She’s just trying to find out what you know, and probably feeding you false information. The girl’s a snake, always was and always will be.”

And, if I was to admit the truth, that was probably the case, another of the Cossatino’s having fun at someone else’s expense. She seemed sincere, but then I knew very well the wiles of the woman, and the troubles she had caused many a boy, and, later, many a man.

“It’s a two-way street, Lenny. You know the saying, keep friends close, and enemies closer.” It was a lame retort, but it made me feel better.

“Just don’t get caught playing on both sides of the fence. The files are that-a-way.” He pointed in the direction of a door off to the side, then went back to the book.

…

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 58

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

It was only an hours’ worth of skimming newspapers, for the dates I’d discovered at the cemetery, and the month around the time that Boggs’s father had disappeared, because the date of death for Friedrich Ormiston had a familiar ring to it.

They’d both apparently died in the same year, within months of each other.

Of course, there was a twist.

Neither of the two men’s bodies had been found, and both missing person’s cases had remained open for the specified period before being declared legally dead. I knew that to be the case for Boggs’s father, but I had not really known the details of the circumstances.

The paper had played up the disappearance of both men, pushing the Treasure hunt aspect knowing it would bring in readers, and perhaps get picked up by the big city papers. It had got a television crew down briefly, I remembered that much, and the fact Boggs had wanted nothing to do with it.

The story, though, was interesting, that everyone remembered that fateful night in the bar when he had been telling anyone who would listen that he had found ‘the’ clue to the treasure’s whereabouts, and the drunker he got, the more outlandish the story.

A number of people who were visiting the town because suspects simply because they were out of towners, and subsequently cleared in the ensuing investigation. What had turned up was the fact he owed a great deal of one to loan sharks, and one in particular, who was in town to collect on a prior loan for a fruitless search, and who was a prime suspect.

In the end, the price of his freedom was to forgo the collection of the debt.

Yet another was unmasked as a fellow treasure hunter with a dubious past, having been jailed for earlier transgressions of stealing other’s finds, but he claimed he was not a legitimate treasure hunter, and that he was in town at the request of Benderby, to oversee the dredging of a part of the bay for more coins. It had been a fruitless endeavor.

But despite his assertions, no one really believed Boggs’s father’s claims and had dismissed it as the usual ravings that had become his mantra for many years. Only his son believed him.

Boggs himself had made the newspaper, a photo of him by the grave where his father’s spirit rather than body had been buried, vowing to prove his father right.

What added to the legend was the disappearance and apparent death of Ormiston not long after. The story of his search for the treasure was long and fruitless, one of dissipating the family fortune in search of another.

His disappearance was attributed to the fact he had become erratic and forgetful, the town doctor at the time telling the coroner’s inquest that he had early onset dementia and was prone to wandering off. This time it had been his downfall.

A search had been mounted and all the cave systems were checked, known to be the places he frequented the most, and when a new rockslide was discovered in one of the caves, it was assumed he had ventured too far and been trapped. Several attempts were made to clear the way, but the fall had been far too extensive and had to be abandoned.

Every few years the paper revisited Boggs’s disappearance, but there was no new information, and after ten years nothing more was written. It seemed that Lenny had a continued interest in the Treasure hunt because he had filed a number of newspaper reports, making it easy for me to get the gist of the story.

Then, several months ago, he had written a new story, a small piece that I had missed, reporting on Boggs’s discovery of a new map of the coastline, one that suggested that the site of the ill-fated mall was, in fact, an entrance to the cave system where the treasure may have been placed. It referenced a survey that had been made before the second world war, one that hinted that the cave system was much larger than originally thought, and quite likely went all the way to the mountains, the origin of an ancient underground river.

The fact the mall site had been the victim of flooding made that seemed to make that assumption plausible, but apparently, no one else had seen that particular map, and Boggs had not been forthcoming in sharing it with the reporter.

But aside from those few paragraphs nothing more was said.

It explained what Boggs was doing when we went to the mall site.

All of that was condensed into a page of notes in my notepad, where it would have to stay for a day or so because I had to go home, change and go to work.

Perhaps tomorrow I would get to talk to Boggs about it.

As luck would have it, I ran into Boggs just up the street where he was coming out of the hardware store with a skein of rope slung over his shoulder.

“Just the person I’m looking for,” I said.

His look told me that I was the last person he wanted to see.

“I’m busy, Sam. Can we do this another time?”

“Planning a lynching?” My eyes went from him to the rope, and back.

“Climbing. I’m going away for a few days, get away from everything, and do something other than think about treasure.”

“Probably a good idea. I’m sorry I haven’t been much of help lately, with work and stuff.”

“How’s Nadia?”

It was a pointed question, and I knew he had seen me with her. I had thought it might be Alex.

“Being Nadia, leopards don’t change their spots, and I’m trying to keep the enemies close so I can track what they’re up to.”

“There’s close and then there’s too close, Sam.”

“True, but it’s not what you think.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore. Let’s just leave it at that, and I’ll call you when I get back.”

I knew the tone, and I could smell a burnt bridge. Maybe it was time to give him some space, and I could get on with a bit of research and bring it to him when he was in a more receptive frame of mind.

“As you wish. Be careful out there.”

…

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 56

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Our local area had six churches. We really only needed two, the catholic church, a big, imposing stone structure that was almost a mini cathedral, showing the wealth and influence of the church, commanding the best location.

The other, a protestant church, a very old, simple wooden structure that had been on its less salubrious site, once belonging to the missionaries who inhabited the land with the first settlers, before the Pope saw an opportunity, and moved in.

Nadia and her family were catholic. So were the Benderby’s.

My family was protestant, well, not really churchgoers at all, which was a contradictory standpoint because nearly everyone else in the area were devout worshippers. I remembered my father’s comments, when he was alive, watching all the sheep going to be fleeced every Sunday at the big church on the hill.

To me, the devoutness of the Benderby’s and Cossatino’s seemed at odds with their profession, as most of their activities were sins against God, and proving my father’s point. I never saw the point of it, but nevertheless, my mother dragged me to church, in my younger days, every other Sunday just in case my soul needed saving.

Now, standing in the graveyard beside the imposing but badly in need of repairs catholic citadel, I felt a shiver go through me. Mid-morning, there was a cool breeze at odds with the warmth of the sun beating down from a cloudless sky.

“You feel that?” I asked Nadia.

She was in a very summery dress and sun hat, looking at a group of gravestones belonging to the Archer family, going back over a hundred years.

“Ghosts, perhaps? I hadn’t realized Mrs. Archer had died.”

“You’ve been away. A lot has happened in the last year or so.”

“I liked her. She used to look after Vince and me when we were kids. He used to terrorize her.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise me. It was rumored Vince was given a gun when he was five years old and his father taught him how to use it. Once, he was caught bringing it to school. Now, given the number of school shootings, it hardly registered back then other than a rebuke from the headmaster.

A half-hour later, after surveying a graveyard that had a lot of the areas most prominent people buried there, I came across an almost disintegrated stone that marked the final resting place of Friedrich Ormiston, the son of Heinrich who died in 1976, the same year as Friedrich which was an odd coincidence.

A little further investigation showed there was another Heinrich who died in 1899, and another Friedrich, who died in 1924. It showed there had been Ormiston’s around these parts for over 150 years. A little further away there were two more gravestones, more recent, belonging to Wendy and Alan, both of whom died within a year of each other 5 years ago.

I took notes on each of the Ormiston’s, their birth dates and death dates, so I could possibly look them up in the parish records, and the local newspaper office, The Jefferson Leader, a publication that was still produced to this day, and it’s current editor, once an old friend from school who had expansive aspirations in the world of journalism and ended up back home tending to the paper his great, great grandfather started.

It seemed a lot of us from that generation couldn’t escape the clutches of our town or families.

“You’d think there’d be a mausoleum or something.” Nadia had come up from behind and startled me.

“Perhaps the treasure quests took all the money. Besides, after you’re dead, you don’t really care where you finish up.”

“You’ve seen the monument our family has. I’m not looking forward to finishing up there.”

I’d seen it, on the other side of the graveyard, along with a dozen others, all in a row, like a row of houses in the more affluent part of the town. The Cossatino’s were larger than life in death too.

“I hope the bed is comfortable, you’re going to be there a long time.”

She gave me one of her ‘if looks could kill’, the smiled, perhaps deciding it was my feeble attempt at humor.

“I take it we’re finished. I think I’m beginning to believe there really are ghosts here.”

I saw her shiver, and then I felt it, a cold rush of air, and what might have been a hand on my shoulder.

“I think it’s time to leave.” I shut the notebook, put it in my pocket.

She did not need to be asked twice. Curiously, as we made our way towards the gate, I thought I saw the priest looking at us from the front doorway of the church, but when I looked back there was no one there.

…

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 57

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

I was hoping there would be back copies of the paper going back a long, long time.

I went in to find Lenny sitting behind the main desk, feet up and reading a book, what looked to be a text on handguns.

He looked up when the door closed with a sharp bang.

“Sam Johnson, as I live and breathe. Thought you had equally grandiose plans of leaving town?”

“My father died, and it seemed a bad idea to leave my mother, being the only kid and all. You know how it is?”

He was never interested in school, perhaps knowing he was always going to end up a newspaperman.

“Indeed I do? Need a job? I need a good reporter, and if I remember correctly, you were a hell of a reporter at school. How many scandals did you uncover?”

“One, and it was by chance.”

“Seemed like more than that.” He shrugged. “I’m sure, like five thousand others, you’re looking for work?”

“Was. I’m working down at the warehouse.”

“Benderby’s. Thought you hated them.”

“I did, and I do, but you know how it is. Pride has to be swallowed in these economic times. But, if you need help, maybe I could write a few articles, but without credit.”

“When can you start?”

“After a little research. I’ve come to look at the papers going back to the beginning of time. Please tell me they weren’t burnt in the fire?”

“They were. Sadly. But with did get them filmed so instead of the archive taking up half the building, it now occupies one small room. What’s the subject?”

“The Ormiston’s.”

“Ah, the treasure hunt that Boggs says he’s not on, and you’re the secret partner in crime.”

“Hardly.”

“Maybe she’s changed.”

“It’s a two-way street, Lenny. You know the saying, keep friends close, and enemies closer.” It was a lame retort, but it made me feel better.

“Just don’t get caught playing on both sides of the fence. The files are that-a-way.” He pointed in the direction of a door off to the side, then went back to the book.

…

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 55

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

After a night with Nadia

…

Was it a revelation to discover there was a side to Nadia that I would never have suspected? All those years of being terrified of her, and her brother, had hidden it, from me and probably a lot of others.

Perhaps she hadn’t known any better, and that time away from her parents and family had opened her eyes to another world, one where you didn’t have to be the scariest person in the room.

I was going to wait until she went to sleep, but she asked me to join her on the top of the bed and then snuggled into my back. At first, I was terrified, of what, I was not sure, but after a while, realizing I was not going to get away at a reasonable hour, I relaxed, and overcome with tiredness, fell asleep.

When I woke, she was on the other side of the bed, changed out of her clothes and into demure pajamas. Had she been waiting for me to wake?

“You have a contented look about you when you’re asleep,” she said. She was facing me, awake but a certain weariness had come over her.

“My father used to call it the sleep of the just. I never quite knew what that meant. I try not to have dreams or nightmares. Please tell me you haven’t lain there watching me. That would be far too creepy.”

“Just for a bit. I’m not used to being with a man, even if there’s nothing happening. Which is good, by the way. I want us to remain friends, and soon as something else starts, that’s where it all ends..”

Obviously, she had been thinking about stuff, like all girls seem to do, making a simple friendship into something a lot more complicated, and the last thing I needed was complicated. Or Vince knocking on my door.

“I’ve got a few hours before I have to go to work, and I was going to visit a few churches.”

“Why?”

“It might help to track down the Ormiston relations and see what they’ve got to say about the treasure.”

She sat up, a more serious expression taking over. “You think there’s more to the story.”

“What story?”

“Well, it’s obvious you know about Boggs’s grandfather and old man Ormiston, the chap who owned all the land from the mountains to the sea, at one point in time. It’s where we bought our property at Patterson’s Reach. It’s a dump of a place that smells because of oil shale and gas leaks. There’s a fault line through the middle of it and makes all the land near it unsellable. The people who negotiated the deal with Ormiston were cheated, or so it goes, so there’s no love lost between the families.”

Interesting, and probably why Patterson’s Reach was an undeveloped backwater. No residential or commercial zoning.

“Good to know, and definitely a reason to stay away.”

“You want coffee?” She asked, changing the subject. “I had some sent up earlier.”

Which sent an alarm bell off in my head. What if the room service person saw me in her room? It wouldn’t take much for him to tell her father, or worse, Vince.

“He didn’t see you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

My mother said I had an expressive face.

“We have to keep this thing, whatever we have, under wraps, otherwise Bogg’s might get upset, and at the moment he’s not very happy with me.”

“Because of me?”

“Partly, but more because I have to work, and I’m no longer at his beck and call.”

“Then you’d better get up so we can trawl the churches. I could do with a religious refresher. We’re Roman Catholic by the way, and my father doesn’t believe in mixed marriages.”

“I’m not converting, nor are we getting married.”

“Pity. I reckon I’d make a good wife.” And then she laughed. “You should see your face.”

Right. Sometimes it was hard to know when she was joking. But just the same, it would never work.

I shrugged. “You could do a little better than a warehouse clerk.”

“Sometimes it’s not what you are, but how you make a person feel, and right now, I feel happy. But, as you say, I could do a lot better.”

Oddly, after hearing that, I felt a little disappointed.