Carl didn't sleep much on the long flight back to New York from Middle Earth. From Ladrone, to Honolulu until Houston he was wedged bewteen a very large man from Montana and the plane window. A pleasant enough man, but much too big for his seat. His right often side slipped over the arm rest onto Carl's side. Recorded reminders of airline safety, staying buckled and adjusting to current time zones were constant. The Houston flight was turbulant and late. Oola was there to great him at Newark Liberty, Carl was grateful, he was so sleep deprived from the 20 hour flight that he would have rode the airport monorail in circles. He gave her a few gifts, a clock shaped like a plumeria and neclace made from ratsnake bones. "Unusual" she said. The sun rose twice as the plane crossed the international date line. Carl would "gain" a day back, it was now Friday, February 24... again. Although Carl adjusted his watch from Middle Earth Standard Time to Eastern Standard Time, recovering from jet lag will be an endevered adjument in these next coming days.
Community Service: Saturday. Feb. 25
It was Community Service Saturday. Carl caught his train to East New York. It was 28 degrees that morning, a complete shock after sweating in hot tropical Ladronean weather. Oola was a little peeved at Carl, she said he pushed her out of bed... TWICE. (Again, sorry sorry sorry) Carl rememered dreaming about making flour tortillas, swimming with sharks, and riding a mantaray... but not the movie "Fight Club". When he got to the Broadyway Junction station the blue van was at capacity, he rode with H-----, one of new the guys that drove to East New York that morning. The probation motorcade of four cars tail-gated the blue van in and out of the traffic until they reached their destination in lower Manhattan. H-----'s driving made Carl think he was in the "Scared Straight" program. H----- is from West Texas.
Through a jet lagged fog a deep voice called out. "Hey Mr. Chen. Mr. Chen! Yo, you're steeping on the paint roller!" It was Mr. B----- and he was talking to Carl. Carl motioned a demonstrative hand to his chest "Me? It's Carl, my name is Carl. I left you a message two weeks ago when my father passed away." "Alright Mr. Chen, I got you logged down for that." Carl Wondered if Mr. B----- gave some other guy named Chen some time off. Depending on the degree of his tan, Carl has been mistaken for Thai, Loatian, or Central American.
I was so sleepy that I must have primed the same corners at least twice. A friend later asked if I should have gone to Community Service at all. I replied that I don't need to be conscious to provide the quality of work that CS needs. Despite my careful trim work, a guy with a roller just plowed over the sockets and switches. After going through most of Kings County court buildings, I now know why they are so badly painted. Mr B----- told me to slow down and leave some work for the next crew. Go figure.
When I got home I went through my luggage and sorted laundry, I made a few calls. I unpacked some of my father's personal affects and looked them over more closely. My father's traditional formal shirts are made from piña fiber. The spider lace is very detailed, hand stitched with delicate rice, leaf and palm patterns on the sleeves and chest. They have to be handwashed and lightly starched. Some of them need a little repair. When I soaked them in cold soapy water, it was as if my father walked in the room. I could smell his cologne over the mothballs and tapioca starch. It would take a few more soakings to remove dirt and fragrance. It made me sad. I plan to save these for my nephews, they don't fit me really.
I unpacked his table lighter, my mother gave it to me the morning I left. My father was a smoker before my parents married. It was made by Ronson Crown Company in Newark, NJ... ah, the golden age of smoking paraphernalia. It is tarnished but I remember it looked so important on the side table on majong night. But back then Newark, NJ seemed mysterious and exotic too.
It was now 4:00 am. When sleep was caught up with me, I put on my fathers ring and went to bed.
Anger Management: Monday, February 27
I left a message on Sunday with the Anger Management counselor, Mr. L----, t oremind him who I was and that I was back in town. Otherwise I might be addressed as some other ethnicky guy. Oi vey.
While Carl was away, the group had gone to a Nets game. Carl is not a sports fan. There will be more group events ahead. An angry feild trip perhaps?
Monday was a lecture night with pizza, a man known as Malcom spoke about his travails of the system. He's been to every jail from Woodburn to Sing Sing and back. He has a total of 19 counts of felony. If this were a TV movie the description would read "One man's tale of survival in US Federal Prisons." I could see that most of he men in the group related to his story. He demonstrated how he got a job with the MTA when everyone told him to give up. I have to admit he was very inspiring. He gave solid advise on getting gettings jobs, taking tests, resources. He let them know that they have to manage their records and rap sheets closely. My feelings are little mixed that some of these men might one day be operating my train, but more power to them.
Although I'm required, I had nothing to contribute to a group discussion. Its become obvious that I've never been to jail. Mr. L---- announced that I was away becuase I recently lost my father, they group relayed their condolences. The guy with the do-rag gave me the homie salute, he pounded on his chest and made a fist. Was I in? Do I want in?
This night was a double session since Mr. L---- would be out of town second week of March. That meant that we are ahead of schedule, we are now at week 7 of 12.
Epilogue
The jet lag and the funeral have taken their toll. I have to write everything down just so I can remember what I'm doing next. I drift in and out of days and nights on a 14 hour time difference. Although I try to get to bed at a logical time, my body wants lunch at 4:00 am. I've actually seen the sun rise twice this week, which isn't bad unless it meant you haven't slept and you've watched the sky change color from your window. I've seen the Lunesta commercial so many times that I hum that sad-clown jingle in the shower. Now here's a drug company that really does its research.
So where do I buy tapioca starch for my father's shirts?
Scores on the board:
6 - 3 = 3 IC sessions
12 - 7 = 5 AM sessions
70 - 32 = 38 Community Service hours, Note: not sure about this, inquire
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Saturday, February 18, 2006
The End My Friend
Wednesday afternoon was the scheduled private family viewing at the funeral home. These two hours seemed longer than Carl's flight from NY. His sisters didn't want to see the body, they broke down crying. Tara said that he didn't look the same, she held on to the bench as her husband caught her. The boys weren't any better, Carl included. But Carl went up and looked long and hard. Although the make up was good, the embalming process made his father appear a bit puffy, his hollow cheeks and wrinkles had filled out. He was now an old man with young skin. The funeral director Joyce said that this particular process is for hot, humid climates. He would be burried with his toupe, his mother said otherwise people wouldn't recognize him. Carl blew his hose and said "True." She fussed with her husband's hair.
Hkorei cried the most, losing his grandfahter so suddenly was too overwhelming. At dinner he broke down crying at the table, which made the girls cry again. Carl carried him out of the restaurant and they sat among the Japanese tourists and plumeria trees while he cried himself out. Carl's mother didn't cry once. They all wondered if this was a dislpay of incredible strength or if was she that overwhelmed.
Thursday, February 16
Thursday morning arrived quickly, time just seemed to go back and forth like a baskeball game with a tied score. It felt as if there were no borders bewteen days. As they left the burial ground Vess said to her sons "You should quit smoking." Carl responed that it was a bad time to quit and took a slow long drag. All the boys smoke except for Victor. The car drove out of the cemetery avoiding a stray dog that wandered into the road.
Everyone was exhausted after the funeral, it started at 7:00 AM with a pall bearer procession, and ended at 4:00 PM with burial. Throughout the day a steady stream of people, familiar and unfamiliar, paid their respects and condolences. A few freind's asked Carl if he wanted to step out for a drink afterwards, he said it felt a bit inappropriate. One very stylish woman in her 70's introduced herself as the woman who groomed his father's hairpiece. An older family friend in her 90's approached my mother and asked who died, "hayi bihu giya enao ata'ut?". Carl replied in an ancient tongue, "Hungan Fe, fanmatai si tatan-mame. Si Leonidas hallom gi ata'ut." Her daughter quickly returned her back to her seat. It's not a pretty language, but very precise.
Then there were the priests that presided over the funeral, some of them Carl knew from when he studied as a young Cleric. They looked so noble, they were no longer the shabby boys that played late night pranks, such as hiding toads in one's bed, or smashing geckos in another's prayer books.They greeted him with his former title, "che'lu", and acknowleged Carl with a short nod as if they were still members of some secrect society. The day went long and there was just so much more to do concerning the post-mortem realities of finances, taxes, bills etc. Those don't go away after one dies.
Tuesday, February 21
We visted my father's grave. It was less difficult than I thought. Flowers from the funeral we're piled high on his freshly covered grave. The arrangement from Brooklyn was the largest. Other plots had plastic flowers. His grave looked like an exhibit bed at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, except this would be labed, "Funeral Flora". I'm sure he would have been happy that we followed burial tradition: nine days of prayer and then the burial. My brothers, family friends and I were pall bearers, my nephews tagged along in tandem.
On the day of the funeral I had to write a eulogy early in the morning. The most difficlut thing wasn't writing a eulogy at 5:00 AM, it was singing happy birthday. February 16 was also my father's birthday. This was painful. Even the funeral director, Joyce, cried. Then one lst tradition before we closed the coffin: breaking his prayer beads into three peices. Otherwise the dead will walk forever, not knowing their time had past. No one wanted to do this, but I reached in and took then from my father's hand. I was suprised how soft his skin was, cold but very soft. I held the beads up for Larry and Mara to grab, I pulled at it until it broke into three peices and then wrapped them back around my father's hand.
As I pack my bags for tomorrow's long flight I worry more for my mother. She's never done taxes. ven though Victor, Tara, their families and Ralph will still be there, the house will be emptier. We celebrated my mom's brithday early since Larry, Mara and I are leaving Ladrone before then. We've had two family meetings about all of our futures plans and family finances. I leave feeling good that those things are in some kind of order.
After one dies we're taught to look for signs that one has acknowleged their own demise, or in the native tongue, Fana'gue. It's a belief that the dead will have the last word. After the second family meeting my brother Victor, his wife Roxy, and I stood outside of their house agreeing that we'll all check up on mom. Just then a porch light that had not worked in three years turned on, grew brighter and the blew out. They took it as a sign, the light switch was in fact broken and the wires were exposed and rusted. I said that was good enough for me.
There wasn't much left to inherit from. Medical bills, loans and inhertiance tax took most of that. I took a few of my father's shirts, my mother gave me one of his rings. I also took a small link of his prayer beads that didn't make it into the coffin. I took some photos of him when he was a younger man, and handsome he was. I didn't take the pictures of my father's first wife that Larry found. Out of respect for my mother I didn't even ask. I heard she finally threw them out. My mother asked if I would be back for my father's anniversary next year. I said yes. I don't know how this works legally. I'll ask my PO, Mr. L---, when I see him next week. He seems to be a man of his word.
Eplilogue
One of the ironies of how this court system works is that it would have been more difficult to have seen my father alive than dead. To acomplish the former, I'd have to complete all court mandated programs before I could even consider making such plans. It makes me angry (should I share this in Anger Management?). But in the end it didn't matter much. At least I know those court tasks will be done in time for the death anniversary.
Hkorei cried the most, losing his grandfahter so suddenly was too overwhelming. At dinner he broke down crying at the table, which made the girls cry again. Carl carried him out of the restaurant and they sat among the Japanese tourists and plumeria trees while he cried himself out. Carl's mother didn't cry once. They all wondered if this was a dislpay of incredible strength or if was she that overwhelmed.
Thursday, February 16
Thursday morning arrived quickly, time just seemed to go back and forth like a baskeball game with a tied score. It felt as if there were no borders bewteen days. As they left the burial ground Vess said to her sons "You should quit smoking." Carl responed that it was a bad time to quit and took a slow long drag. All the boys smoke except for Victor. The car drove out of the cemetery avoiding a stray dog that wandered into the road.
Everyone was exhausted after the funeral, it started at 7:00 AM with a pall bearer procession, and ended at 4:00 PM with burial. Throughout the day a steady stream of people, familiar and unfamiliar, paid their respects and condolences. A few freind's asked Carl if he wanted to step out for a drink afterwards, he said it felt a bit inappropriate. One very stylish woman in her 70's introduced herself as the woman who groomed his father's hairpiece. An older family friend in her 90's approached my mother and asked who died, "hayi bihu giya enao ata'ut?". Carl replied in an ancient tongue, "Hungan Fe, fanmatai si tatan-mame. Si Leonidas hallom gi ata'ut." Her daughter quickly returned her back to her seat. It's not a pretty language, but very precise.
Then there were the priests that presided over the funeral, some of them Carl knew from when he studied as a young Cleric. They looked so noble, they were no longer the shabby boys that played late night pranks, such as hiding toads in one's bed, or smashing geckos in another's prayer books.They greeted him with his former title, "che'lu", and acknowleged Carl with a short nod as if they were still members of some secrect society. The day went long and there was just so much more to do concerning the post-mortem realities of finances, taxes, bills etc. Those don't go away after one dies.
Tuesday, February 21
We visted my father's grave. It was less difficult than I thought. Flowers from the funeral we're piled high on his freshly covered grave. The arrangement from Brooklyn was the largest. Other plots had plastic flowers. His grave looked like an exhibit bed at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, except this would be labed, "Funeral Flora". I'm sure he would have been happy that we followed burial tradition: nine days of prayer and then the burial. My brothers, family friends and I were pall bearers, my nephews tagged along in tandem.
On the day of the funeral I had to write a eulogy early in the morning. The most difficlut thing wasn't writing a eulogy at 5:00 AM, it was singing happy birthday. February 16 was also my father's birthday. This was painful. Even the funeral director, Joyce, cried. Then one lst tradition before we closed the coffin: breaking his prayer beads into three peices. Otherwise the dead will walk forever, not knowing their time had past. No one wanted to do this, but I reached in and took then from my father's hand. I was suprised how soft his skin was, cold but very soft. I held the beads up for Larry and Mara to grab, I pulled at it until it broke into three peices and then wrapped them back around my father's hand.
As I pack my bags for tomorrow's long flight I worry more for my mother. She's never done taxes. ven though Victor, Tara, their families and Ralph will still be there, the house will be emptier. We celebrated my mom's brithday early since Larry, Mara and I are leaving Ladrone before then. We've had two family meetings about all of our futures plans and family finances. I leave feeling good that those things are in some kind of order.
After one dies we're taught to look for signs that one has acknowleged their own demise, or in the native tongue, Fana'gue. It's a belief that the dead will have the last word. After the second family meeting my brother Victor, his wife Roxy, and I stood outside of their house agreeing that we'll all check up on mom. Just then a porch light that had not worked in three years turned on, grew brighter and the blew out. They took it as a sign, the light switch was in fact broken and the wires were exposed and rusted. I said that was good enough for me.
There wasn't much left to inherit from. Medical bills, loans and inhertiance tax took most of that. I took a few of my father's shirts, my mother gave me one of his rings. I also took a small link of his prayer beads that didn't make it into the coffin. I took some photos of him when he was a younger man, and handsome he was. I didn't take the pictures of my father's first wife that Larry found. Out of respect for my mother I didn't even ask. I heard she finally threw them out. My mother asked if I would be back for my father's anniversary next year. I said yes. I don't know how this works legally. I'll ask my PO, Mr. L---, when I see him next week. He seems to be a man of his word.
Eplilogue
One of the ironies of how this court system works is that it would have been more difficult to have seen my father alive than dead. To acomplish the former, I'd have to complete all court mandated programs before I could even consider making such plans. It makes me angry (should I share this in Anger Management?). But in the end it didn't matter much. At least I know those court tasks will be done in time for the death anniversary.
Home Town Tourist
On the morning news, a local enforcemnet official spoke of the many problems Middle Earth has with the "Jacuzis." If one wants to end the Japanese mafia crime wave, they must first learn to spell and then pronounce them correctly. The annual kite show eclipse all news, a car was being raffled. In other worldy news, New York and the East coast was pelted by a blizzard, the largest so far this season.
Hkai asked his uncle Carl about the weird book he found in his travel bag: the D and D players guide. He told Hkai that he was a Cleric in a secert society that battled with dragons, dangerous monsters and manlike creatures in search for treasure; this book was his survival guide. He showed Hkai his mace and helmet. Hkai nodded and left the room completely unimpressed. It's not that he didn't believe Carl, he'd heard all these stories from his grandfather. In the past Ladrone had been the battle ground for monsters, dragons, Ogres, Orcs, great warriors and the like. For centuries Ladrone was the battle ground for the Portugese, the Spanish, Japanese, the Germans and the United States.
It's hard to imagine centuries of constant battle on such a small island, but Ladrone is pocked with scars of war machines, ancient and new. The island was intact with ancient buildings until the great war, fifty years ago. The entire north of the island was destroyed, leaving only the burnt remains of streets and plazas. But from the ashes arose hotels, box stores, luxury stores (Channel, Louis Vitton), fast food joints, and tourists dressed like Rastas at the Polynesian villa.
Young military men (kids really) arrive monthly mistaking local women for "base wives". Tourists are still taught to fear the locals. Cars dodge stray dogs, drivers are unbuckled with cell phone in hand. It's a world I no longer understand.
But the occasional dragon attack reminds me that technology and tourism does not conquer all. As I drove through the south of Ladrone I was assured than some things are exactly the same. The south never changes. Southern villagers still live in stilted pala pala with children chasing chickens about. Old women sit under shaded trees chewing betel nut. People come to worship in missions that are centuries old. People are still interred in graves that face the ocean.
Southern Ladrone has survived even the worst of dragon attacks. A dragon named Pakka left Ladrone without power and water as it blew its way across the island. Shortly after a bigger dragon named Pun Sa Na destroyed 30 precent of the island leaving ladrone without power and water for six months, many people died. The buildings that stand the test to time read a history like broken rings on a tree stump. There's a Chinese restaurant that was live rock palace then an S&M club, then finally it just shut down after the roof caved in during an earthquake. There's a church that was a gas station and then a pizza place. But the constant presence of a military folk, Japanese tourist, ratsnakes and stray dogs assure me that things are somewhat the same.
Have we all landed on the wrong island or did I step out of a broken time machine? Maybe this all seems strange to me because I've become a tourist in my home town.
Hkai asked his uncle Carl about the weird book he found in his travel bag: the D and D players guide. He told Hkai that he was a Cleric in a secert society that battled with dragons, dangerous monsters and manlike creatures in search for treasure; this book was his survival guide. He showed Hkai his mace and helmet. Hkai nodded and left the room completely unimpressed. It's not that he didn't believe Carl, he'd heard all these stories from his grandfather. In the past Ladrone had been the battle ground for monsters, dragons, Ogres, Orcs, great warriors and the like. For centuries Ladrone was the battle ground for the Portugese, the Spanish, Japanese, the Germans and the United States.
It's hard to imagine centuries of constant battle on such a small island, but Ladrone is pocked with scars of war machines, ancient and new. The island was intact with ancient buildings until the great war, fifty years ago. The entire north of the island was destroyed, leaving only the burnt remains of streets and plazas. But from the ashes arose hotels, box stores, luxury stores (Channel, Louis Vitton), fast food joints, and tourists dressed like Rastas at the Polynesian villa.
Young military men (kids really) arrive monthly mistaking local women for "base wives". Tourists are still taught to fear the locals. Cars dodge stray dogs, drivers are unbuckled with cell phone in hand. It's a world I no longer understand.
But the occasional dragon attack reminds me that technology and tourism does not conquer all. As I drove through the south of Ladrone I was assured than some things are exactly the same. The south never changes. Southern villagers still live in stilted pala pala with children chasing chickens about. Old women sit under shaded trees chewing betel nut. People come to worship in missions that are centuries old. People are still interred in graves that face the ocean.
Southern Ladrone has survived even the worst of dragon attacks. A dragon named Pakka left Ladrone without power and water as it blew its way across the island. Shortly after a bigger dragon named Pun Sa Na destroyed 30 precent of the island leaving ladrone without power and water for six months, many people died. The buildings that stand the test to time read a history like broken rings on a tree stump. There's a Chinese restaurant that was live rock palace then an S&M club, then finally it just shut down after the roof caved in during an earthquake. There's a church that was a gas station and then a pizza place. But the constant presence of a military folk, Japanese tourist, ratsnakes and stray dogs assure me that things are somewhat the same.
Have we all landed on the wrong island or did I step out of a broken time machine? Maybe this all seems strange to me because I've become a tourist in my home town.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
20 Hours Later
Leaving NY was a harried blur. Carl made his arrangements, delivered projects, put jobs on hold, let some go by the way side. He wasn't sure where he would be staying, he just packed a lot of black clothes and hopped the next available flight to Middle Earth, Ladrone colony. The NY to Tokyo direct flight was a sleepeless journey, he was feeling ill. He didn't care much for the in-flight movies or the airline food. Instead Carl practiced his spells. He cast 'Hold Person' on the elderly Japanese woman sitting next to him as he popped one of Airborne(R) cold prevention tablets in his mouth. She told Carl her entire life story... in Japanese, then went fast asleep. Not realizing they were carbonated he started to foam at the mouth as he chewed. He tried to wake the sleeping Okasan to get to the bathroom as foam ran down his chin into his shirt. His magic was good, she would not awake until they landed in Japan.
The Narita Airport was a beehive of activity, Japanese people rushing around in paper breathing filters, Australians hedging their way to the bar by terminal D50, business men from the mainland bragging about their sexcapades in Thailand. Carl walked the entire airport and found the only western style toilet. The 0-benjo was not to his liking. After finally realizing that the airport phones only operated with yen and Japanese calling cards, he found his way to the smoking section and waited for his next flight. He read the People Magazine (Nick who? Why is he so important?) and ate the loaf of cranberry bread that Olla had packed for him.
He finally arrived on Ladrone, the island colony of Middle Earth where he would be reuntied with his family. Larry, Ralph, Hkai and Hkorei where there to great him. It was now 2:00 am on Sunday. His parents have lived there since after the great war. Ladrone itself had been a great battle ground among Orc, Ogre, Hobbit and the Japanese. The island used to bear the scars of war and dragon attacks. Now it has healed over with box stores, malls, mega super markets, hotel chains ands mid-day traffic. The 20 hour flight and 14 hour time difference took its toll on Carl. He didn't sleep through the entire flight.
Today is now Wednesday, I've spent evenings at nightly prayer vigils and days going over all my fathers paperwork with the brother Larry. Each night I'm greated by people I don't entirely remember and a few schoolmates. But mostly I see freinds of my parents who pinch my face as they offer condolences and tell me "Carl, you look the same". My father left this life a bit unprepared, we made organized folders from his many boxes and bags of papers. I still have to comb over the 'out' pile before we shred everything. We don't want to give our mother an assessment until after Friday, there's just so much going on right now. I've kept her distracted by working with her on my father's memorial booklet, its a bit like working with the worst managing editor you've ever met, she pinches me when I make a typo. She liked his photo that I retouched, she said he looked so alive. I am worried about her, she hasn't cried once, yet.
Today is final family service before the funeral. This is the first time that we will see my father before we bury him tomorrow. I know this will be shock to everyone, we've only been addressing my father as a tax ID number with insurance forms up until now. I have to write the euology for this evening.
The Narita Airport was a beehive of activity, Japanese people rushing around in paper breathing filters, Australians hedging their way to the bar by terminal D50, business men from the mainland bragging about their sexcapades in Thailand. Carl walked the entire airport and found the only western style toilet. The 0-benjo was not to his liking. After finally realizing that the airport phones only operated with yen and Japanese calling cards, he found his way to the smoking section and waited for his next flight. He read the People Magazine (Nick who? Why is he so important?) and ate the loaf of cranberry bread that Olla had packed for him.
He finally arrived on Ladrone, the island colony of Middle Earth where he would be reuntied with his family. Larry, Ralph, Hkai and Hkorei where there to great him. It was now 2:00 am on Sunday. His parents have lived there since after the great war. Ladrone itself had been a great battle ground among Orc, Ogre, Hobbit and the Japanese. The island used to bear the scars of war and dragon attacks. Now it has healed over with box stores, malls, mega super markets, hotel chains ands mid-day traffic. The 20 hour flight and 14 hour time difference took its toll on Carl. He didn't sleep through the entire flight.
Today is now Wednesday, I've spent evenings at nightly prayer vigils and days going over all my fathers paperwork with the brother Larry. Each night I'm greated by people I don't entirely remember and a few schoolmates. But mostly I see freinds of my parents who pinch my face as they offer condolences and tell me "Carl, you look the same". My father left this life a bit unprepared, we made organized folders from his many boxes and bags of papers. I still have to comb over the 'out' pile before we shred everything. We don't want to give our mother an assessment until after Friday, there's just so much going on right now. I've kept her distracted by working with her on my father's memorial booklet, its a bit like working with the worst managing editor you've ever met, she pinches me when I make a typo. She liked his photo that I retouched, she said he looked so alive. I am worried about her, she hasn't cried once, yet.
Today is final family service before the funeral. This is the first time that we will see my father before we bury him tomorrow. I know this will be shock to everyone, we've only been addressing my father as a tax ID number with insurance forms up until now. I have to write the euology for this evening.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
AM, I said... IC, I cried
Today is Wednesday, Feb 8. Amidst flight plans and work, I had a scheduled Anger Management meeting (Individual Counsel). Mr. L---- was 15 minutes late, he arrived at 9:15. I had waited and read all the reading material on AIDS, Hep-C and the evils of nicotine and smoking. If you arrange all the reading material properly you can say that smoking as a teen can lead to sex and drug use. Later on in life you might turn to meth or maybe ride the white horse (white, dark, which one is it?) and possbly get a fatal blood-born disease if you don't get pregnant first. All this can happen if you are trapped in a world of Domestic Violence. But there is hope: intervention and treatment.
I am Carl, third-level Cleric. My story has no real begining, but I'll try my best to explain where I am now. My phone rang again at 8:45 am on Tuesday. It was my brother Larry, he was very upset, I could hear him struggle with the words that were stuck in his throat. "Dad's finally gone, you gotta fly home as soon as you can." He sobbed uncontrollably. I was stunned. Neither of us had slept much from the day before. Maybe an hour or two here and there. We both spent most of yesterday e-mailing and calling family, taking care of business, making travel arrangements.
My father went quickly, the family decision was to relieve him from machine assistance at 8:20 pm Middle Earth Standard Time (MEST), and by 11:40 in the evening he was gone. He didn't suffer. My brother Ralph said he just faded into the Big Darkness with a smile. I was told that was actually due to rigor mortise and gas, but I'd like to think my father just felt better on his way out. He had been struggling with the ravages of cancer and all the collateral damage caused by non-chemo treatment and surgery. He dealt with a lot of bodily stress in these past few years, he would have been 187 this month. That's pretty damn good, one should be so lucky to live so long. Larry said his organs were already dying before he got to the Middle Earth ER. My father walked around with his cane on Super Bowl Sunday not knowing he was already dying. My sister-in-law, Roxy, said he argued with the medics that he didn't need to go despite his heavy, wet breathing. He collapsed upon arrival at the ER.
I wonder how much time I have on my own clock. We're all just long term renters.
I finally cashed in my flight miles to go home. It actually took me a few hours between credit card redemption and compassion fare to make formal flight plans. I leave Friday, Feb. 10 EST and arrive Feb. 12 MEST. I've never used my miles before this, in a wise yet morose way I've saved them all these years for this very instance. Home is just so far away. Larry, Mara and I are all going home. As we get older I hear this is referred to as a "family reunion": funerals. I have no idea where I will be staying when I arrive.
I am in a legal situation or as they say in Anger Mangement wolrd, "a sichu-ayshun". I made an appointment with my PO Mr. L---- yesterday at 4:00 pm to complete a report day and confirm that I can, in fact, leave New York for my father's funeral. It will take about a week to get formal court approval, but I will be attending my father's wake on Middle Earth by then. Doesn't that sound silly? Technically, I'm breakin' the law. Yesterday, PO L---, got on the phone with AM Councelor L---- for further clearance. I'll see PO L--- later today for a make-up home visit. Community Service Officer, Mr. B----- never returned my calls.
So what would happen if one person in the Criminal Court chain said "no" to my request? Well, Oola said she'd bake me a "file" cake. Oola sent me flowers on Friday because I lost another client to the sagging economy. Consolation: at least it wasn't my service or skill. I was graciously thanked for services renderred over lunch. The clay pot of Petite Jonquille make me happy. I put them in my window. I like yellow flowers. The flowers add a sweet fragrance to my apartment, which otherwise smells like cigarettes, coffee and peanut butter.
Epilogue
After the morning IC session with Councelor L----, I walked down the familiar Supreme Court plaza. I felt my knees get weak so I sat down. And then out of the blue, I started to cry. This was not a gentle "boo hoo", it was a mucus-laden, sloppy, ugly-face, "Alien 3", huge wet cry. Oddly, I wasn't sad, or regertful or drowning in self pity, etc... I think I just I reached that point of exhaustion that people talk about after making their first long distance run. I broke out my Yoko Ono size sun glasses and sat on a long bench as heavy tears ran down into my hands. I felt the puddle in my hand grow cold. It's was 22 degrees outside according to the bank clock. My scarf was soaked, but I didn't care if I looked like the crazy homeless guy sitting across from me. Though I'm not fond of public dispalys of emotion I felt a sense of satisfaction in crying.
Scores on the board:
6 - 2 = 4 IC sessions
12 - 3 = 9 AM sessions
70 - 24 = 46 Community Service hours
I've never told my family about getting arrested, getting dragged into a bar scuffle, having to take a misdemeanor plea, the whole bag of crap. I still believe that this news would have killed my father earlier if I had said any of the above. Instead he died of plain ole' death. Each of his organs quit talking to the other one. I promised my father that I would come home in the fall. I was happy that we made plans. But life has its own way of changing your dinner reservations.
I am Carl, third-level Cleric. My story has no real begining, but I'll try my best to explain where I am now. My phone rang again at 8:45 am on Tuesday. It was my brother Larry, he was very upset, I could hear him struggle with the words that were stuck in his throat. "Dad's finally gone, you gotta fly home as soon as you can." He sobbed uncontrollably. I was stunned. Neither of us had slept much from the day before. Maybe an hour or two here and there. We both spent most of yesterday e-mailing and calling family, taking care of business, making travel arrangements.
My father went quickly, the family decision was to relieve him from machine assistance at 8:20 pm Middle Earth Standard Time (MEST), and by 11:40 in the evening he was gone. He didn't suffer. My brother Ralph said he just faded into the Big Darkness with a smile. I was told that was actually due to rigor mortise and gas, but I'd like to think my father just felt better on his way out. He had been struggling with the ravages of cancer and all the collateral damage caused by non-chemo treatment and surgery. He dealt with a lot of bodily stress in these past few years, he would have been 187 this month. That's pretty damn good, one should be so lucky to live so long. Larry said his organs were already dying before he got to the Middle Earth ER. My father walked around with his cane on Super Bowl Sunday not knowing he was already dying. My sister-in-law, Roxy, said he argued with the medics that he didn't need to go despite his heavy, wet breathing. He collapsed upon arrival at the ER.
I wonder how much time I have on my own clock. We're all just long term renters.
I finally cashed in my flight miles to go home. It actually took me a few hours between credit card redemption and compassion fare to make formal flight plans. I leave Friday, Feb. 10 EST and arrive Feb. 12 MEST. I've never used my miles before this, in a wise yet morose way I've saved them all these years for this very instance. Home is just so far away. Larry, Mara and I are all going home. As we get older I hear this is referred to as a "family reunion": funerals. I have no idea where I will be staying when I arrive.
I am in a legal situation or as they say in Anger Mangement wolrd, "a sichu-ayshun". I made an appointment with my PO Mr. L---- yesterday at 4:00 pm to complete a report day and confirm that I can, in fact, leave New York for my father's funeral. It will take about a week to get formal court approval, but I will be attending my father's wake on Middle Earth by then. Doesn't that sound silly? Technically, I'm breakin' the law. Yesterday, PO L---, got on the phone with AM Councelor L---- for further clearance. I'll see PO L--- later today for a make-up home visit. Community Service Officer, Mr. B----- never returned my calls.
So what would happen if one person in the Criminal Court chain said "no" to my request? Well, Oola said she'd bake me a "file" cake. Oola sent me flowers on Friday because I lost another client to the sagging economy. Consolation: at least it wasn't my service or skill. I was graciously thanked for services renderred over lunch. The clay pot of Petite Jonquille make me happy. I put them in my window. I like yellow flowers. The flowers add a sweet fragrance to my apartment, which otherwise smells like cigarettes, coffee and peanut butter.
Epilogue
After the morning IC session with Councelor L----, I walked down the familiar Supreme Court plaza. I felt my knees get weak so I sat down. And then out of the blue, I started to cry. This was not a gentle "boo hoo", it was a mucus-laden, sloppy, ugly-face, "Alien 3", huge wet cry. Oddly, I wasn't sad, or regertful or drowning in self pity, etc... I think I just I reached that point of exhaustion that people talk about after making their first long distance run. I broke out my Yoko Ono size sun glasses and sat on a long bench as heavy tears ran down into my hands. I felt the puddle in my hand grow cold. It's was 22 degrees outside according to the bank clock. My scarf was soaked, but I didn't care if I looked like the crazy homeless guy sitting across from me. Though I'm not fond of public dispalys of emotion I felt a sense of satisfaction in crying.
Scores on the board:
6 - 2 = 4 IC sessions
12 - 3 = 9 AM sessions
70 - 24 = 46 Community Service hours
I've never told my family about getting arrested, getting dragged into a bar scuffle, having to take a misdemeanor plea, the whole bag of crap. I still believe that this news would have killed my father earlier if I had said any of the above. Instead he died of plain ole' death. Each of his organs quit talking to the other one. I promised my father that I would come home in the fall. I was happy that we made plans. But life has its own way of changing your dinner reservations.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
*Carl, with a "C"
Karl shook the large brass di in both hands, he held it high then swung it low. "Sixteen, roll again." the dragon instructed. Karl rolled 13, 16, 14 and then 15. the dragon observed. "Not bad, not enough to be a Ranger, but enough to be a third-level Cleric. Hmmmmm." he made notes and calculated Karl's scores "You will get four level-one spells and two level-two spells... total of six... one suit of plate armor... metal helmut... chain meil optional... a mace. Now all you need is a name." "How about Carl with a 'C'?" asked Karl with a 'K'.
"Really, that's very queer, not Chuck, Charles, Carlton... Caralito?" he shook his head, no. "Have you considered a name that starts with a vowel? Options, lad..." He shook his head no again and tried on his new helmet, smelling it first, placing it backwards first and then wearing it correctly. The dragon gave him a questionable thumbs up with a scaley spur.
"If you're serious... that is who you will be... Carl with a 'C'." He put his claws to each side of his mouth and annouced. "Carl, the third-level Cleric, will be leaving on flight#9 from Newark Liberty!"
"You're allowed one hand-carry item, here's your itinerary, collect your Clerical accoutrements on your way out. You can trade that mace in later, at the next level." he handed Carl a leather sac and the updated Players Guide. "Keep these things together. I want you to spend mooooore time with the new spells, this time study them well. You can't 'turn' a giant ant 'undead'."
The dragon took Carl by the shoulders and turned him around examining the new Cleric's dress and disposition. He tucked Carl's collar back into his plate armor."You could stand to change your look a bit, but that's up to you." He pushed Karl's hair away from his face with wet lick. "Did you know that pomade tastes like Lemon-mint Ricola and cigarettes? Such a sweet face for a Cleric. Try scowling once in a while."
"Shouldn't I study this stuff before I go?" asked Carl "Cleric... the whole point of rolling is to take you to your next adventure, which does not take place here in the Big Darkness. Adventures only take place in the Other Life. You will learn everything you need as yougo." The dragon took a wiff, he could smell Carl's hesitation. "I should run through teh spells while I'm here, it should only take a few days. I'm not ready." protested Carl. The dragon poked a peep hole in the darkness and a little light leaked in. He jestured for Carl to peak into the hole, Carl obliged. "Take a peak at the Other Life, that's where you came from. Go ahead...What do you see?" asked the dragon, "Nnnnnnnn, nothing." said Carl.
"Look closer... squint... yes, yesss, how about now?" The dragon picked up it's large hind leg and cocked it back. He aimed his boney foot carefully at Carl's rear. "Still nothing" said Carl as he squinted with one eye. His new plate armor clincked and he adjsuted his helmet forward. "Keep looking... OK, now hold it!" The dragon gave him a kick so hard that Carl ripped right through the Big Dakness. Carl screamed as he flew through the deep blue space with his arms flapping about like a shiney moth. "Ahhhhhhhhh! Whyyyyy!" "It's for your own good Carl, now fly! Fly your way home Cleric, you know how! Flyyyyyy!" Voices faded as the hole in the Big Darkness closed over. Carl shot through the deep blue space like a plate covered bullet, then ripped right through the copper sunset making a loud boom, birds scaterred, then and finally he drifted into the midday squirrel grey sky of Kings County.
Carl was kicked so hard that he was flying backwards in time past yesterday. He could see all of Brooklyn below, he passed Monday's Anger Mangement session (AM#3 of 12): flying over 'the con' past 'the denial' and right onto the route to 'Domestic Violence'. He went farther, flying passed Super Bowl Sunday just stopping short of Saturday's Community Service crew, they were cleaning a church. Suddenly he he lost altitude and started to descend quickly spinnng down towards his apartment. Carl flailed his arms about and shut his eyes. Impact! With his back, he hit the dull red rug on the living room floor. Dust flew upwards and settled around him, books fell. The neighbors thumped at their ceiling with a broomstick. A dog barked throug the wall. Carl left the Big Darkness with a bang and returned to Other Life with a relatively benign thud. It was 2:20 am, Tuesday, February 7. The phone rang.
"Really, that's very queer, not Chuck, Charles, Carlton... Caralito?" he shook his head, no. "Have you considered a name that starts with a vowel? Options, lad..." He shook his head no again and tried on his new helmet, smelling it first, placing it backwards first and then wearing it correctly. The dragon gave him a questionable thumbs up with a scaley spur.
"If you're serious... that is who you will be... Carl with a 'C'." He put his claws to each side of his mouth and annouced. "Carl, the third-level Cleric, will be leaving on flight#9 from Newark Liberty!"
"You're allowed one hand-carry item, here's your itinerary, collect your Clerical accoutrements on your way out. You can trade that mace in later, at the next level." he handed Carl a leather sac and the updated Players Guide. "Keep these things together. I want you to spend mooooore time with the new spells, this time study them well. You can't 'turn' a giant ant 'undead'."
The dragon took Carl by the shoulders and turned him around examining the new Cleric's dress and disposition. He tucked Carl's collar back into his plate armor."You could stand to change your look a bit, but that's up to you." He pushed Karl's hair away from his face with wet lick. "Did you know that pomade tastes like Lemon-mint Ricola and cigarettes? Such a sweet face for a Cleric. Try scowling once in a while."
"Shouldn't I study this stuff before I go?" asked Carl "Cleric... the whole point of rolling is to take you to your next adventure, which does not take place here in the Big Darkness. Adventures only take place in the Other Life. You will learn everything you need as yougo." The dragon took a wiff, he could smell Carl's hesitation. "I should run through teh spells while I'm here, it should only take a few days. I'm not ready." protested Carl. The dragon poked a peep hole in the darkness and a little light leaked in. He jestured for Carl to peak into the hole, Carl obliged. "Take a peak at the Other Life, that's where you came from. Go ahead...What do you see?" asked the dragon, "Nnnnnnnn, nothing." said Carl.
"Look closer... squint... yes, yesss, how about now?" The dragon picked up it's large hind leg and cocked it back. He aimed his boney foot carefully at Carl's rear. "Still nothing" said Carl as he squinted with one eye. His new plate armor clincked and he adjsuted his helmet forward. "Keep looking... OK, now hold it!" The dragon gave him a kick so hard that Carl ripped right through the Big Dakness. Carl screamed as he flew through the deep blue space with his arms flapping about like a shiney moth. "Ahhhhhhhhh! Whyyyyy!" "It's for your own good Carl, now fly! Fly your way home Cleric, you know how! Flyyyyyy!" Voices faded as the hole in the Big Darkness closed over. Carl shot through the deep blue space like a plate covered bullet, then ripped right through the copper sunset making a loud boom, birds scaterred, then and finally he drifted into the midday squirrel grey sky of Kings County.
Carl was kicked so hard that he was flying backwards in time past yesterday. He could see all of Brooklyn below, he passed Monday's Anger Mangement session (AM#3 of 12): flying over 'the con' past 'the denial' and right onto the route to 'Domestic Violence'. He went farther, flying passed Super Bowl Sunday just stopping short of Saturday's Community Service crew, they were cleaning a church. Suddenly he he lost altitude and started to descend quickly spinnng down towards his apartment. Carl flailed his arms about and shut his eyes. Impact! With his back, he hit the dull red rug on the living room floor. Dust flew upwards and settled around him, books fell. The neighbors thumped at their ceiling with a broomstick. A dog barked throug the wall. Carl left the Big Darkness with a bang and returned to Other Life with a relatively benign thud. It was 2:20 am, Tuesday, February 7. The phone rang.
In the Other Life
Before the 20-sided di would be cast, before a decision of character would be made, something else was happening in the Other Life. Leonidas A. Carlton had fallen very ill quite suddenly on Super Bowl Sunday evening. After much stubborn protesting and arguing, he allowed himself to be taken by the medics. Shortly after that, he lay in an induced coma in the Middle Earth ER, the ICU was at capacity. His children, Victor, Tara and Ralph kept vigil through the night, along with his wife of 145 years, Vess. She complained about how cold the waiting room was and asked Ralph to go home and get her a sweater and a prayer book. It was now midnight, Middle Earth Standard Time (MEST). Leonidas had made many a valiant come-back from cancer and other great battles. Soon he would swap his clumsy wheel chair for a smooth chariot ride into the Big Darkness.
His lungs had aspirated and filled with infected liquid. As Leonidas lay there with tubes inserted in every part of his body, his organs were rapidly dying. One by one his heart, lungs, and kidneys played out of synch as if they were a drunken band in the Mummer's Parade, accordions and string instruments playing out of time in the wrong key. Then the music stopped, section by section. The only thing that was keeping him alive was his breathing tube.
At 8:20 pm MEST, the ER doctors called the family in, children, grand children, and wives. They were told that, Leonidas did not have long in this world. They had to decide to let him expire with or without assistance. They chose to take him off the machines. The grand children took it the hardest, it was very difficult to explain what they all had areed upon.
At 11:30 pm, Vess put her prayer book down, stood up from her chair, she cleared her throat and stood over her husband. She shook him by his shoulder and said "If you feel you must go, please go now." Then she kissed him. She used to say that to everyone before long road trips, but that was used in the context of going to the bathroom. She was asking her husband to move on. By 11:45 pm he was pronounced dead.
The last thing Leonidas said to his grandson Hkai was "Don't forget your lunch money, it's on the counter!" Hkai wished his grandfather had better words. His brother Hkorei creid himself to sleep. Their cousin Nkhei, said she missed Papa and refused to eat. Events in the Other Life had turned like a wicked Noreaster. Only Karl didn't know it yet.
His lungs had aspirated and filled with infected liquid. As Leonidas lay there with tubes inserted in every part of his body, his organs were rapidly dying. One by one his heart, lungs, and kidneys played out of synch as if they were a drunken band in the Mummer's Parade, accordions and string instruments playing out of time in the wrong key. Then the music stopped, section by section. The only thing that was keeping him alive was his breathing tube.
At 8:20 pm MEST, the ER doctors called the family in, children, grand children, and wives. They were told that, Leonidas did not have long in this world. They had to decide to let him expire with or without assistance. They chose to take him off the machines. The grand children took it the hardest, it was very difficult to explain what they all had areed upon.
At 11:30 pm, Vess put her prayer book down, stood up from her chair, she cleared her throat and stood over her husband. She shook him by his shoulder and said "If you feel you must go, please go now." Then she kissed him. She used to say that to everyone before long road trips, but that was used in the context of going to the bathroom. She was asking her husband to move on. By 11:45 pm he was pronounced dead.
The last thing Leonidas said to his grandson Hkai was "Don't forget your lunch money, it's on the counter!" Hkai wished his grandfather had better words. His brother Hkorei creid himself to sleep. Their cousin Nkhei, said she missed Papa and refused to eat. Events in the Other Life had turned like a wicked Noreaster. Only Karl didn't know it yet.
Monday, February 06, 2006
*The Big Darkness
"The Rangers? I'm not a Hockey fan" said Karl. "What I meant by a 'Ranger' is a fighter or warrior character, not a puck wielding sports team. Are you interested? You'll get better armor class and some very sharp weapons. Do you like boots?" the dragon smiled at karl. "I don't know... what if I don't roll at all. Waht happens then" Karl querried as he paced about in the Big Darkness with the brass di in his hand. The dragon gave pause "Well! then you'll simply turn into nothing, you won't even have a name. You'll become a flavorless, scentless gas knows as whats-is-face, the former druid. You'll fade into the air. You can't afford that, you have business to mind in the Other Life. I want you to roll and move on." "Business, like what?" Karl stopped pacing and stood under the dragon's scaely chin.
The dragon cleared his throat and lowered his massive boney head down at Karl. "While you were out adventuring your father fell ill... verrrrrry ill. Leonidas is in the hospital right now in a coma. Take a look, do you see your sister, Tara?" As the dragon poked a hole in the darkenss with his spiney digit, light poured from it like a spout of bright blue water. The hole grew larger, Karl could see a familiar face, "Look, she's in the waiting room, eager for news on your father's condition. Awww, look at Ralph, he's playing with some hand held device thingy. Tsk tsk tsk. Your father is in the in Middle Earth ER unit, he looks terrible, doesn't he. So wrinkly, old and tired. He will be 187 this month... or maybe he won't be, hmm. Look at all those tubes running in and out of every part of his body, as if he were an Italian expresso machine. Tssst. Tssst. Tssst." Karl stood dumbfounded. "But I just talked with him last month... what happenned to him?" he said in disbelief.
"While you were out exploring with your friends, a lot had changed. You father has a weak heart, you knew that. He fell ill during Super Bowl Sunday. He was drowning in his own fluids. His lungs are being drained as we speak. At least he doesn't need that nasty wheel chair right now. Oh how he hates that thing! I suggest you roll now, you will stand a better chance of going home to Middle Earth, you might even get a cheap flight. There's nothing you can do for him here in the Big Darkness. You have to roll to leave here, Karl."
"Will he be alright when I get there? I have to clear everything with the court and my PO before I can go. That might take a week!" Karl asked.
The dragon cocked his head and shook it about in disbelief. "Next week?! Karl, you might be attending a funeral by then, do you have anything black to wear? A suit maybe, a smock? The time is nigh, its precious. Do you know that gathering lost time is like stuffing a quilt in the wind? Minutes run in every direction, seconds blow about in the air, days dissolve into nothing. You'll flail around trying to catch everything but only end up with a handful of feathers... Oh! what time do you have by the way?"
"I could go to jail if I leave New York without court clearance. I don't know if I can do this!" Karl declared.
Pointing his scaley finger at him, the dragon lectured at Karl harshly "There's man-made crap and there's real crap. Your father's condition is verrrrrry real! Going to jail because some idiot made you lie in court, bla bla bla, yaddy, yaddy, yaddy... now that's just SUR-real!"
With his large tail, he turned and knocked Karl over. He shook a tightly gripped fist. "I recall from your court records that the complainant's absentee witness called you a racist? You, of all people? The Druid who adventures with Clerics and Theives? Ohhh! I'm getting horse from yelling at you! And speaking of horse, didn't that horse-face complainant say you picked up a 45 pound stool and hurled it across the room at her? And then she said you lungded at her like a hungry seal, tearing off her arms?! Oh, pullllleeeeese Karl! If you at all go to jail it's for your father's sake, not for the sake of two horrible cowardly people that have learned to bend the law in their favor. Leonidas' condition is very real. That fabricated court room disaster is sssssimply sssssscience ffffffiction!" He picked Karl up from the ground and dusted him off, catching his breath from his rant he calmed down. He let out a smokey puff "You have no place in Big Darkness. Take a chance Karl, roll the di and go."
To be continued
The dragon cleared his throat and lowered his massive boney head down at Karl. "While you were out adventuring your father fell ill... verrrrrry ill. Leonidas is in the hospital right now in a coma. Take a look, do you see your sister, Tara?" As the dragon poked a hole in the darkenss with his spiney digit, light poured from it like a spout of bright blue water. The hole grew larger, Karl could see a familiar face, "Look, she's in the waiting room, eager for news on your father's condition. Awww, look at Ralph, he's playing with some hand held device thingy. Tsk tsk tsk. Your father is in the in Middle Earth ER unit, he looks terrible, doesn't he. So wrinkly, old and tired. He will be 187 this month... or maybe he won't be, hmm. Look at all those tubes running in and out of every part of his body, as if he were an Italian expresso machine. Tssst. Tssst. Tssst." Karl stood dumbfounded. "But I just talked with him last month... what happenned to him?" he said in disbelief.
"While you were out exploring with your friends, a lot had changed. You father has a weak heart, you knew that. He fell ill during Super Bowl Sunday. He was drowning in his own fluids. His lungs are being drained as we speak. At least he doesn't need that nasty wheel chair right now. Oh how he hates that thing! I suggest you roll now, you will stand a better chance of going home to Middle Earth, you might even get a cheap flight. There's nothing you can do for him here in the Big Darkness. You have to roll to leave here, Karl."
"Will he be alright when I get there? I have to clear everything with the court and my PO before I can go. That might take a week!" Karl asked.
The dragon cocked his head and shook it about in disbelief. "Next week?! Karl, you might be attending a funeral by then, do you have anything black to wear? A suit maybe, a smock? The time is nigh, its precious. Do you know that gathering lost time is like stuffing a quilt in the wind? Minutes run in every direction, seconds blow about in the air, days dissolve into nothing. You'll flail around trying to catch everything but only end up with a handful of feathers... Oh! what time do you have by the way?"
"I could go to jail if I leave New York without court clearance. I don't know if I can do this!" Karl declared.
Pointing his scaley finger at him, the dragon lectured at Karl harshly "There's man-made crap and there's real crap. Your father's condition is verrrrrry real! Going to jail because some idiot made you lie in court, bla bla bla, yaddy, yaddy, yaddy... now that's just SUR-real!"
With his large tail, he turned and knocked Karl over. He shook a tightly gripped fist. "I recall from your court records that the complainant's absentee witness called you a racist? You, of all people? The Druid who adventures with Clerics and Theives? Ohhh! I'm getting horse from yelling at you! And speaking of horse, didn't that horse-face complainant say you picked up a 45 pound stool and hurled it across the room at her? And then she said you lungded at her like a hungry seal, tearing off her arms?! Oh, pullllleeeeese Karl! If you at all go to jail it's for your father's sake, not for the sake of two horrible cowardly people that have learned to bend the law in their favor. Leonidas' condition is very real. That fabricated court room disaster is sssssimply sssssscience ffffffiction!" He picked Karl up from the ground and dusted him off, catching his breath from his rant he calmed down. He let out a smokey puff "You have no place in Big Darkness. Take a chance Karl, roll the di and go."
To be continued
Sunday, February 05, 2006
*Roasting Karl
I could see that my comrads had gathered around a low bed of green branches and leaves, there my body lay. They assembled a stack of dry wooden logs at my feet, carefully arranged by size into a pyramid. They were preparing to cremate my mortal remains, a proper ceremony for Middle Earthers. I was layed out with my head resting on my broken sheild, my arms crossing chest over my spear. The rising sun cast warm gold over my body. Otherwise my grey waxy face seemed to blend into my salt-and-pepper beard. Have I gone that grey?
I called out to Ver Klempt but he couldn't hear me. He was carving something onto a plank. "Here Lies Karl, We Shall Miss Thee" it read. He lit the wooden pire and spoke. "This fine morning we pay our last respects and tip our flagons in honor of our fallen Druid, Karl."
He continued, facing the troup. "Karl, you entangled King Orcs with the best of them and with your magic, you tried to "turn into undead" every creature we encounterred... although you never really had that power and some of these creatures were actually alive. Oh Karl, If only you had read the Player Guide more thoroughly. Instead you touted that D and D for Dummies book... perhaps it was your half-Elfish nature."
"Here! Here!" they all called out.
Ah Ro Ghant spoke next. "And most importantly you were different. You defied the most bleeding-heart Druidic stereotypes by ignoring the shrill death-screams of helpless animals everywhere. Especially Louise, your mule, who died in the jaws of a two headed Elon when you sent her ahead as a "scout". For shame Karl! Your nature wasn't Elfish... you were plain SELFISH!"
"Selfish? What? Me? You ungreatful rat bastards!" I cried out in protest, but no one heared me, I was dead in that world.
Gobarth turned to the others. "Hey guys, how many Druids does it take to change a light bulb? Thirteen, one to hold the bulb, and twelve to drink enough to make the room spin.
"Karl wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box, but he sure could hold his liquor! Ever try taking his mead away when he was passed out? The grip on that Druid, sheeesh! It's like you needed the Jaws of Life to rip it from his greedy hands!" Natzzo could always beat a joke into the ground.
Klem Matoh, cleared his throat "How many Druids does it take to change another Druid's mind? Two, one to change it and one not to change it. His true neutral alignment was killing me! At least he made up his mind to die! let's roast him good boys!"
Vickers walked out with a tray of skewered meat "Gobarth, I'm starved! Get these on the fire and don't over-cook 'em like the way Karl used to do. That druid could burn water! Never hire a vegertian as the cook! Let's be done with this roast and bury him before he starts to smell."
Bury me? No! I couldn't believe what they were doing, they weren't burning my Middle-Earthly remains to be sprinkled beneath a holly bush. They were throwing me a celebrity-style "roast"! Oh, why can't these guys do anything right?!
"Mercy, Lord! "No! No! No! No!" I protested with my arms waving about. That's when I noticed something odd. My arms appeared solid but everything else was becoming more transparent. I could see Klem Matoh picking his nose right through Ms. Vickers plate armor. I looked down and I could see the tree roots and crawling worms through the rocks and soil. The morning sky was getting darker. It was as if everything else was fading but me. Soon I would be the only solid thing left.
Verklempt broke out his clip baord and read from his minutes. "Ah Ro Ghant has band practice on Sundays, Ms. Vickers and Natzzo teach on Tuesdays. Karl.. well... he had Anger Mangement on Monday evenings, but that's neither here nor there. Mondays are not good for me, I have finals. Let's explore alternative dates for future meetings, and as I mentioned last night, perhaps we can meet on Friday nights instead... anyone up for next Friday, Feb. 10? How about you Gobarth?"
Their muttering voices faded into silence. I was left alone in darkness looking down and my hands. I heard a low echoey voice saying "Life goes on, you need to keep on 'Keeping On!' " That's when I turned around and saw you there, standing behind me.
Karl turned to the Dragon. It raised it's claw under its chin in pensive observation. The dragon opened Karl's case file and took a slow long drag from its cigarette. With a raised eyebrow it blew out a few rings from one nostril.
"Wellllll, yessssss. There seems to have been a mistake with your case. We've had to re-submit your case number, seems like a few of your papers didn't get processed correctly. So, unfortunately you'll have to roll again and pick a new character. But you'll get credit though, I assure you of that. You'll start over at level three. Are you a Ranger fan?" The Dragon handed Karl a large brass 20-sided di.
To be continued
I called out to Ver Klempt but he couldn't hear me. He was carving something onto a plank. "Here Lies Karl, We Shall Miss Thee" it read. He lit the wooden pire and spoke. "This fine morning we pay our last respects and tip our flagons in honor of our fallen Druid, Karl."
He continued, facing the troup. "Karl, you entangled King Orcs with the best of them and with your magic, you tried to "turn into undead" every creature we encounterred... although you never really had that power and some of these creatures were actually alive. Oh Karl, If only you had read the Player Guide more thoroughly. Instead you touted that D and D for Dummies book... perhaps it was your half-Elfish nature."
"Here! Here!" they all called out.
Ah Ro Ghant spoke next. "And most importantly you were different. You defied the most bleeding-heart Druidic stereotypes by ignoring the shrill death-screams of helpless animals everywhere. Especially Louise, your mule, who died in the jaws of a two headed Elon when you sent her ahead as a "scout". For shame Karl! Your nature wasn't Elfish... you were plain SELFISH!"
"Selfish? What? Me? You ungreatful rat bastards!" I cried out in protest, but no one heared me, I was dead in that world.
Gobarth turned to the others. "Hey guys, how many Druids does it take to change a light bulb? Thirteen, one to hold the bulb, and twelve to drink enough to make the room spin.
"Karl wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box, but he sure could hold his liquor! Ever try taking his mead away when he was passed out? The grip on that Druid, sheeesh! It's like you needed the Jaws of Life to rip it from his greedy hands!" Natzzo could always beat a joke into the ground.
Klem Matoh, cleared his throat "How many Druids does it take to change another Druid's mind? Two, one to change it and one not to change it. His true neutral alignment was killing me! At least he made up his mind to die! let's roast him good boys!"
Vickers walked out with a tray of skewered meat "Gobarth, I'm starved! Get these on the fire and don't over-cook 'em like the way Karl used to do. That druid could burn water! Never hire a vegertian as the cook! Let's be done with this roast and bury him before he starts to smell."
Bury me? No! I couldn't believe what they were doing, they weren't burning my Middle-Earthly remains to be sprinkled beneath a holly bush. They were throwing me a celebrity-style "roast"! Oh, why can't these guys do anything right?!
"Mercy, Lord! "No! No! No! No!" I protested with my arms waving about. That's when I noticed something odd. My arms appeared solid but everything else was becoming more transparent. I could see Klem Matoh picking his nose right through Ms. Vickers plate armor. I looked down and I could see the tree roots and crawling worms through the rocks and soil. The morning sky was getting darker. It was as if everything else was fading but me. Soon I would be the only solid thing left.
Verklempt broke out his clip baord and read from his minutes. "Ah Ro Ghant has band practice on Sundays, Ms. Vickers and Natzzo teach on Tuesdays. Karl.. well... he had Anger Mangement on Monday evenings, but that's neither here nor there. Mondays are not good for me, I have finals. Let's explore alternative dates for future meetings, and as I mentioned last night, perhaps we can meet on Friday nights instead... anyone up for next Friday, Feb. 10? How about you Gobarth?"
Their muttering voices faded into silence. I was left alone in darkness looking down and my hands. I heard a low echoey voice saying "Life goes on, you need to keep on 'Keeping On!' " That's when I turned around and saw you there, standing behind me.
Karl turned to the Dragon. It raised it's claw under its chin in pensive observation. The dragon opened Karl's case file and took a slow long drag from its cigarette. With a raised eyebrow it blew out a few rings from one nostril.
"Wellllll, yessssss. There seems to have been a mistake with your case. We've had to re-submit your case number, seems like a few of your papers didn't get processed correctly. So, unfortunately you'll have to roll again and pick a new character. But you'll get credit though, I assure you of that. You'll start over at level three. Are you a Ranger fan?" The Dragon handed Karl a large brass 20-sided di.
To be continued
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
*The Night the Druid Died
Ms. Vickers protested at first, but she was outvoted. The men all agreed that spending the night in a nearby cave was a wise choice. The Werebard might return with an legion of lycanthropic lyricists to avenge the severed tail. Nothing is scarier than a rogue poetry group. So they packed their gear and walked up the hill towards the cave that Klem Matoh scouted out earlier. But before leaving they kept the fire going as a decoy. They also set up a Tiger Trap with carefully placed journals as bait. It is well known that Werebards often reappropriate unpublished material.
The cave entrance was narrow and long, as they went deeper into the cave the torch revealed a dog leg tunnel. They slowly moved forward, Ah Ro Ghant pushed ahead of the troup, Ms. Vickers just shrugged her shoulders and said "Keep going." Gobarth and Klem Matoh followed, and then Natzzo and Karl. The ceiling was low, it was covered with a powdery network of fungi and cobwebs. As they moved deeper, a warm breeze rush by and blew out the torches. Klem Matoh turned on his cell phone. In the low light he saw dime size reflections blink back at him. Then they were gone.
"You guys see that?" Ver Klempt asked. He turned on his Blackberry, bathing the walls with a bluish luminescence. Up ahead they heard dry rattling and a few clicking sounds. Ah Ro Ghant finally got the torch lit and held it high.They saw nothing. Then Ms. Vickers screamed "Ahhhh! something just bit my leg!" something scurried away beneath her, she was bleeding. Then all at once they emerged from the darkenss, two Ant Men and their giant drones. The troup had unwittingly invaded a nesting chamber.
The Ant Men stood on two legs, nearly 8 feet tall. Their chitin-armored bodies were black and shiney, their arms were covered with stiff wirey hair. "Interlopers! SEIZE THEM!" one cried. The pig-sized drones charged with their pinchers wide open grabbing at anything, even themselves. One grabbed onto Ms. Vickers sheild, she gave it a solid kick. Ver Klempt guzzled a vile of purple liquid and turned into a gas just as a drone reached for his neck. More drones poured out from the darkenss ahead. Ah Ro Ghant swung about frantically with his Sword of Sharpness cutting some of the drones in two. Klem Matoh created mirror images of himself, fooling the drones, giving just enough time for Gobarth to pull a drone off of Natzzo's back.
This was truely mahem! Long and short range weapons abounded as they defended themselves fiercely. Three drones surrounded Karl one by the arm the other by the leg. The third drone ran up the low ceiling and jumped on him, the only thing separatng him from eminent danger was his wooden sheild. He stabbed blindly with his +1 spear. More drones came from the other side of the tunnel, one grabbed Natzzo by his leg. Gobarth swung at it with his mace and tore its head from its body.
Klem Matoh shot an arrow at one of the Ant Men peircing its boney hide. It clutched its chest and fell over and Ah Ro Ghant leapt forward and cut off its head spilling hot sulfury juice from it neck. Suddenly some of the drones froze to a dead stop as if they were unplugged!
"Its the Ant Men! They control the drones' every movement!" Ms. Vickers jumped through the air and with her sword in hand sliced into the other Ant Man's back. Without further struggle it fell to the ground, Vickers deliverred another blow to the thorax, cutting it in half. The bottom half hobbled into a wall. The top half writhed in pain. Flipping itself over, it tried to pull itself back into the darkenss. Gobarth delivered the final blow with his mace, splattering the its head like a ripened plum. Sallow smelling blood bubbled on the cave floor making a hissing sound. All the drones were now frozen in various attack positions.
Everyone examined their injuries, Natzzo's side was bleeding badly, he needed the Staff of Healing. Ver Klemp materialized from his gaseous form and called out "Karl, get over here! We need your Staff!" Karl didn't reply. To the far corner of the tunnel lay a trail of wood and leather. It was Karl's wooden shield splintered into kindling. Ah Ro Ghant spotted the tip of a spear beneath a large pile of drones. He plowed through them and there below he found Karl, his body still in the pinchers of a drone. Gobarth cast his spell of "Heal Light Wounds" while Ver Klempt pried Karl's limp body from the drone's grip. Ah Ro Ghant grabbed him by his collar and slapped him across the face a few times. "Come on! Get up!" He stopped and picked the chunk of dirt that was resting on the white of Karl's left eye. Was it too late?
They stood sullenly around Karl. Natzzo sat on a toppled drone with his hand over his mouth and heaved a heavy sighed. "Wow, he just made it to fifth level, man." Ver Klempt held Karl's wrist and felt for a pulse. "Nothing... I heard a Druid can live over 200 years if he get's past sixth level. A tortoise can live for 177, you know. Karl was no boney-shelled slacker." he said with abandon. They stood silently, looking away from each other. Karl the Druid was dead.
Ms. Vickers cleared her throat "Ahhhhem. He was already low on hit points from the last adventure. You all knew that... Well, there's nothing more we can do now. Come on boys, let's divide his gear." a single tear rolled down her cheek and splashed on her boot. She handed Gobarth the Staff of Healing. "Goodbye, Druid." she said as she knelt and closed his lids over his clay-colored eyes. "Let's not waste any more time."
Epilgoue
What Crap! Is life so fragile that one's fate rests solely on the roll of a 20-sided di? Was the dragon dream a horrible harbinger of bad news? Will Karl make the evening news? Who will be at the wake? Will it be catered? Will some of Karl's gear appear on Ebay with procedes going towards Druid Disaster Relief? Who will maintain this blog?!! Log on as the adventure continues.
The cave entrance was narrow and long, as they went deeper into the cave the torch revealed a dog leg tunnel. They slowly moved forward, Ah Ro Ghant pushed ahead of the troup, Ms. Vickers just shrugged her shoulders and said "Keep going." Gobarth and Klem Matoh followed, and then Natzzo and Karl. The ceiling was low, it was covered with a powdery network of fungi and cobwebs. As they moved deeper, a warm breeze rush by and blew out the torches. Klem Matoh turned on his cell phone. In the low light he saw dime size reflections blink back at him. Then they were gone.
"You guys see that?" Ver Klempt asked. He turned on his Blackberry, bathing the walls with a bluish luminescence. Up ahead they heard dry rattling and a few clicking sounds. Ah Ro Ghant finally got the torch lit and held it high.They saw nothing. Then Ms. Vickers screamed "Ahhhh! something just bit my leg!" something scurried away beneath her, she was bleeding. Then all at once they emerged from the darkenss, two Ant Men and their giant drones. The troup had unwittingly invaded a nesting chamber.
The Ant Men stood on two legs, nearly 8 feet tall. Their chitin-armored bodies were black and shiney, their arms were covered with stiff wirey hair. "Interlopers! SEIZE THEM!" one cried. The pig-sized drones charged with their pinchers wide open grabbing at anything, even themselves. One grabbed onto Ms. Vickers sheild, she gave it a solid kick. Ver Klempt guzzled a vile of purple liquid and turned into a gas just as a drone reached for his neck. More drones poured out from the darkenss ahead. Ah Ro Ghant swung about frantically with his Sword of Sharpness cutting some of the drones in two. Klem Matoh created mirror images of himself, fooling the drones, giving just enough time for Gobarth to pull a drone off of Natzzo's back.
This was truely mahem! Long and short range weapons abounded as they defended themselves fiercely. Three drones surrounded Karl one by the arm the other by the leg. The third drone ran up the low ceiling and jumped on him, the only thing separatng him from eminent danger was his wooden sheild. He stabbed blindly with his +1 spear. More drones came from the other side of the tunnel, one grabbed Natzzo by his leg. Gobarth swung at it with his mace and tore its head from its body.
Klem Matoh shot an arrow at one of the Ant Men peircing its boney hide. It clutched its chest and fell over and Ah Ro Ghant leapt forward and cut off its head spilling hot sulfury juice from it neck. Suddenly some of the drones froze to a dead stop as if they were unplugged!
"Its the Ant Men! They control the drones' every movement!" Ms. Vickers jumped through the air and with her sword in hand sliced into the other Ant Man's back. Without further struggle it fell to the ground, Vickers deliverred another blow to the thorax, cutting it in half. The bottom half hobbled into a wall. The top half writhed in pain. Flipping itself over, it tried to pull itself back into the darkenss. Gobarth delivered the final blow with his mace, splattering the its head like a ripened plum. Sallow smelling blood bubbled on the cave floor making a hissing sound. All the drones were now frozen in various attack positions.
Everyone examined their injuries, Natzzo's side was bleeding badly, he needed the Staff of Healing. Ver Klemp materialized from his gaseous form and called out "Karl, get over here! We need your Staff!" Karl didn't reply. To the far corner of the tunnel lay a trail of wood and leather. It was Karl's wooden shield splintered into kindling. Ah Ro Ghant spotted the tip of a spear beneath a large pile of drones. He plowed through them and there below he found Karl, his body still in the pinchers of a drone. Gobarth cast his spell of "Heal Light Wounds" while Ver Klempt pried Karl's limp body from the drone's grip. Ah Ro Ghant grabbed him by his collar and slapped him across the face a few times. "Come on! Get up!" He stopped and picked the chunk of dirt that was resting on the white of Karl's left eye. Was it too late?
They stood sullenly around Karl. Natzzo sat on a toppled drone with his hand over his mouth and heaved a heavy sighed. "Wow, he just made it to fifth level, man." Ver Klempt held Karl's wrist and felt for a pulse. "Nothing... I heard a Druid can live over 200 years if he get's past sixth level. A tortoise can live for 177, you know. Karl was no boney-shelled slacker." he said with abandon. They stood silently, looking away from each other. Karl the Druid was dead.
Ms. Vickers cleared her throat "Ahhhhem. He was already low on hit points from the last adventure. You all knew that... Well, there's nothing more we can do now. Come on boys, let's divide his gear." a single tear rolled down her cheek and splashed on her boot. She handed Gobarth the Staff of Healing. "Goodbye, Druid." she said as she knelt and closed his lids over his clay-colored eyes. "Let's not waste any more time."
Epilgoue
What Crap! Is life so fragile that one's fate rests solely on the roll of a 20-sided di? Was the dragon dream a horrible harbinger of bad news? Will Karl make the evening news? Who will be at the wake? Will it be catered? Will some of Karl's gear appear on Ebay with procedes going towards Druid Disaster Relief? Who will maintain this blog?!! Log on as the adventure continues.
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