Chunk, storms, and random thoughts…

Bad weather has rolled in this morning, and Chunk is beside himself with anxiety. He wants to go out, but then he wants to come in. The growl of thunder in the east sends fear into his cowardly heart. He sits on my couch, his black eyes darting around the room to ascertain a safe area to hide from the brashness of the storm. A soft rain hits the tin on my roof, the ding, ding, ding, is music to my ears. Thunder continues to growl, and I remember what my father told me as a young boy. “Thunder is God rearranging His furniture. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Chunk would disagree with my dad this morning.

Still, the thunder continues to shake my cabin. Chunk has decided he will shove his head under my camouflage blanket and one of the numerous pillows littering the couch. Even hidden, you can make out the soft ears standing behind the pillow. His alertness is to be admired. If something should make a noise, Chunk will be the first to know.

In this storm, Chunk wants the comfort of his buddy. A shoulder to lean on, a person to confide in, or just the acknowledgement that he isn’t alone in the storm. It is no different for us “human” animals. In our storms, we seek the comfort of a friend. I suppose Chunk is here to teach me to be more human. To be a friend, who will stand with those in storms. Or perhaps, he is to teach me to not allow fear to paralyze me from taking a risk. Either way, my little buddy is snoozing on the couch now, the storm is all but forgotten.

Until next time,

Freeman

18 February 2020

Elementary….

I am slowly working my way through Elementary. As a fan of the hero, Sherlock Holmes, I am entranced by Jonny Lee Miller’s portrayal of the famous sleuth. I have never seen any of the older takes on the famous duo of Sherlock and Watson. I was introduced to the show, Sherlock by a friend.  My friend and I watched the four seasons of Sherlock, and I found that I enjoyed the show, but it left me hungering for more complex mysteries.

Then, I was introduced to Elementary.

In Sherlock, Mr. Holmes is an established consultant with Scotland Yard. Throughout the four seasons, Holmes deals with the challenges and is an unshakeable force for good. Meanwhile, in Elementary, Sherlock is a recovering addict. Miller’s portrayal is animated and agitated, it could be stated his interpretation of the character resembles a high functioning autistic. Throughout the show, Holmes’s battle with addiction is a central aspect of the plot. The crux of the show is still solving mysteries, but the evolution of Holmes from an addict to his former prowess as a sleuth is amazing story writing.

I blew through the first 15 episodes. However, then his archenemy is introduced. I am a fan of Moriarty; the cruelness and devious nature of the man is legendary. Imagine my surprise when the character is introduced as a woman.  To be completely candid, when I first started watching the series, I was not a fan of Watson being recast as a woman. My dislike of the recasting of a character is simple. I am a purist; I want the characters to line up to the novels. However, Lucy Liu does a wonderful job as Watson, and I took great interest in seeing what would occur when Moriarty showed up.

I was not disappointed.

Far be it me to ruin the show for anyone who hasn’t seen it. If you like good mysteries, great characters and good storytelling, Elementary is a good way to get all three in one show. Don’t take my word for it, check it out!

16 February 2020

Rocking chairs….a small piece of fiction writing. *Unedited*

“Where is Marcus, boy?”

I look up from my novel and shift in my rocking chair. Seven men stand in the yard, drunker than Cooter Brown. “This is all I need. Seven drunks looking for trouble.”  They glare at me and I return their blank stare with one of my own. “That’ll show ‘em!”

“He ain’t here.” I go back to my reading my novel. The crunch of the men’s footsteps tell me they can’t take a hint. I peer over the top of my book and watch them approach the porch. To my right lies the pump action shotgun which is loaded with rock salt. “You boys need to head on home. I’ll let Marcus know you stopped by.” Instead of making things better, my statement is akin to pouring gasoline on a fire.

“Who do you think you are boy? How dare you talk to me in such a way! I’m Roy, Erik’s dad.” Roy is a giant of a man. Towering over six feet, hands the size of scoops on backhoes, he is not going to be easy to put down if trouble kicks off. I stand to my feet, my right hand clasps the shotgun, just out of sight of the seven men. “Oh yeah? Maybe you didn’t hear me, Erik’s dad. I said he ain’t here. I don’t suggest you keep coming this way. Go on home before there’s trouble.” My words of warning does nothing but stir the man’s anger soup.

“How about we throw you a beating old man, and then burn down Marcus’s house. How’s that grab ya?” I shake my head in disgust. “Look idiot, it’s obvious you ain’t gonna listen, so before we do this dance, let me explain what’s gonna happen. First, I’m a soldier. Well, a retired soldier. I am trained by the US Army to kill people like you. For the last time, go home before I spank you.” Cursing, Roy and the six men start toward me shouting about how they are going to tune me up.

Without a word, I lift the shotgun and aim in the middle of the men. Half smiling, I pull the trigger and the shotgun bucks in my hands. Five of the seven men hit the ground screaming in pain, as the skin is torn from their upper torsos. A hammer lies at the edge of the porch, and I grab it as I leap to the ground. With a shout, Roy charges me. He seeks to annihilate me by swinging wildly, but I slip to the side and bust him in the jaw with the hammer. The remaining man stands watching the chaos, too rooted by fear to be any use to his fellow drunks. Spitting his broken teeth out, Roy leaps to his feet and comes at me again. Fueled by rage, he throws a hook with his left hand to punch me in the body. I slip to the side and his momentum carries him past me. I drive the hammer into his back, and he hits the ground gasping for air. “You don’t seem to understand Roy, you’re trespassing on private property. It’s in bad taste to burn a man’s home down. Stay down or this is gonna get ugly.” I turn and look at the man who is still holding down his spot in disbelief. “Oh my God, you killed ‘em!” he shouts. I sigh heavily and tap the drunk on his shoulder. “Hey dummy, call 911 and tell ‘em what happened.”

Time…

Time is a funny taskmaster, today is the day when time marks me one year older. I creep ever closer to the half-century milestone. I suppose, I should be proud of making it this far. Many folks predicted I would either be in jail or dead by 21, so here I am marking time until my next birthday.

I will write more later.

Freeman

15 February 2020

Travel urges….

As I am scrolling through my timeline on Facebook, I have come upon a photo of Switzerland. This small village is nestled in the valley, with high cliffs surrounding it. A waterfall plummets to the earth off one of the rock faces at the back of the village. To me, it is a beautiful area. A place where one can find tranquility from the problems of the world.

I wonder how long that feeling lasts.

It makes me want to travel. To put miles on this old body of mine and go places I have never been. Judging from this photo, the peace one may find here would be fleeting. After all it’s a village, which means neighbors, town councils, and government. Any tranquility would surely be taxed into oblivion.

Still, I want to go.

Perhaps, I should invest the rest of my life becoming the middle-aged Johnny Quest. My knees don’t work, I suffer from migraine headaches, and it takes forever to get going. However, when I get some momentum built up, watch out!

There is so much to see and do in this great big world of ours. I am waiting for the weather to warm up on a consistent basis before I call an end to my hibernation. While my winter nap is in effect, I want to invest in a camera. When spring arrives, I will go on an expedition in search of old bridges. Hopefully, it will be the first of many trips this year.

I was once told, “life is meant to be lived.” Well, it may have taken me some time to grasp the concept, but I have finally received the memo. It is time to throw caution to the wind and see where the road will take me (as soon as my power nap is over!)

Until next time,

Freeman

14 February 2020

Happy Valentines Day!

PSA: Today is Valentine’s Day.

Valentine’s Day is set aside as a holiday to express affection, love, or some other gooey emotion to our spouse or significant other. In some instances, it would be spouses or significant others. Either way, it is a day to buy flowers, candy, jewelry, or some other token to express the measure of love in our heart.

I will stick to writing, it’s cheaper.

Personally, I don’t have a problem with the holiday. If anything, I think we should have the same attitude the other 364 days of the year that we have on this day. “Love one another,” is a command given by Jesus.  Thus, our life should be spent showing love to one another; we should be lifting one another up, not putting them down.

Anyway, Happy Valentine’s Day to you all.

Until next time,

Freeman

14 February 2020

Chunk's antics….

Agitated, Chunk tugs and pulls at the maroon blanket. Pausing to listen to the aggressive manifold of the truck passing our house, he resumes smoothing the blanket to lie upon. The pelting of the rain causes him to cease his work and he burrows his head in response to the deluge. Ears erect like the Eiffel Tower, he cleans himself, as if the rain has reminded him to bathe.

My dog is skittish. Whether it be rain or gunfire, Chunk, at his heart, is a coward.

His black eyes look around the room, scanning every item as if to memorize their place. Then he lays his head upon the maroon blanket, resigned that the rain is not going to cease anytime soon. There is movement on the couch, and Chunk appears to the right of my seat. Front paws down, Chunk looks at me attentively, seeking some form of affection. Butt in the air, stub of a tail wagging furiously back and forth, Chunk is convinced it is time to play.

Sternly, I tell him no. I am busy writing, he must wait until I am done before we can snuggle. Like a petulant child, he wanders back to his blanket, and begins to snore. He reminds me of a friend who visits me sometimes. Both remind me of permanently exhausted pigeons. He is back, standing close to see if there is room on my lap for, he and the computer. There isn’t. He walks back to the blankets for the last time, and like a spoiled child, proceeds to snub me.

I can’t help but smile. Chunk is my faithful companion; he is Watson to my Sherlock. Regardless of how my day starts or ends, I know I am loved by Chunk. For now, that is all I need.

Until we meet again,

Freeman

12 February 2020