Perhaps

I have to go make lunch.

John. What ever happened to that lunch you were supposed to make for *me*?

(I know...random post....I'm just trying to get back in the grove....cuz that's how I roll....)

Merry Christmas

Technically the Christmas season lasts until February 1st--therefore this post isn't late.

John, I saw your comment. ::laughs:: It's good to hear from you again. How's Ireland treating you?


::sigh:: Ooh, my little, dead blog. You need some interesting news to spice up your life. Well, I'm working on it. Perhaps I'll be able to uncover some before too long!

It's Funny...

Life, I mean.

When I was around eight years old I thought that I would be married by now. (So much for being Rosie Tracer.) When I was eighteen years old I thought I would be a nun by now. When I was 21 I figured out there's no way to know what tomorrow is going to bring--let alone next week or month or year.

The end of this month is going to bring about yet another move for me. I'll be moving back OKC. That should be interesting. After three years of not really having a *one* place to consider as home, I'll have my own place.

hm.

Maybe next year I'll be moving somewhere else. ::laughs:: Contrary to popular belief, it's going to be hard for me to find a place more interesting than Clear Creek. I may just have to move back up here next year....

That's all.

Finally

I'm tired of looking at my blog and seeing feet.

I need a different picture...photo...whatever...to put up.

Does anyone ever read this thing anymore?

Happy birthday, Warrick!! (It isn't until tomorrow, but I probably won't be posting again for a while, so...there ya have it.) Warrick is turning six. Aw. So cute. Gotta love the kid.

Oh, good news, Dan and I are actually working on TLM again. It shouldn't be too long until it's all posted. Woo hoo!!! Who's excited???!!?!?!!

Michaela, I looked at your blog!!! Oh my goodness, your piece is SO cool!!! I am so impressed. Guys, go check it out... www.echoesofcreation.blogspot.com

Robinson Feet

Guess who feet these are...

Kya Nicole Coulter

Congratulations to first-time mommy and daddy, Ashley and Chad.

Their beautiful daughter--Kya Nicole--was born yesterday evening around 8:00.

It was ten years ago that I first started looking forward to Ashley (my cousin, and one of my best friends) having a baby. It made me cry when I walked in her room last night and saw her holding her daughter, with Chad standing next to her bed, smiling like the proudest father ever.

They are a beautiful family, and I hope they will be blessed always.

A Post

...with a bucket on it.

*That's* how you know which is our driveway up here.

"...then you'll come to three fence posts, one of them has a bucket upside down on it, that's our drive...."

The directions given to the man who was coming to shoe our horses.

::giggles:: Gotta love the country.


I had an awesome 4th! Thanks to my uncle Mark and aunt Theresa for once again hosting the 4th of July party. It's always lots of fun, and it just wouldn't be the same if it wasn't at your house!

Mason, I wouldn't have missed it for anything! I even missed a great party up here to go to your house! I hope you had as good of a time as I did.

Okay, well, the horses are all shod now, so I think I'll go ride the new one....Oddball.

Happy 4th of July!!

It's *finally* the 4th of July!!!

YAY!!!!!!

Happy Independence Day, y'all! Celebrate safely, and have lots of fun! I know I will!!!

I am in Clear Creek right now, but I'll be leaving in a couple of hours to head down to OKC for the annual Best Party In The World (aka the 4th of July Party at Uncle Mark's). But I'll be missing the party here...which is kind of annoying...because Drew is really funny...and it would've been hilarious to watch him set off fireworks--the silly Californian--but oh well.

MARCY!!!!! It's the 4th of JULY!!!!!!!!!

The Village of Truth's End, Part I

Once upon a time in a land called Far Away...

There was a village by the name of Truth's End. In the village was a man who had been harmed by a deceitful woman, and wishing to begin a new way of life, so named the village in the hopes that Truth would find a home there.

The man did indeed find peace and solace in the village, and Truth did with him abide; he died years later surrounded by Love and Charity.

But this is not his story.

Many years after his death, the village slowly became infiltrated by men and women who considered lying to be a part of life. Sadly, the man's realized dream of "Truth's End" symbolizing the dwelling place of Truth vanished, and the village began instead to symbolize the death of Truth.

Until the day she arrived.

Is My Blog Dead Again?

Aaaw, maaan. It *is*!

Somebody wake it up!

::sigh:: One would *think* that I would be able to think up posts to post. But noooo.

Well, let's see...

Texas was awesome! Marcy and I had a great time with Kk. Her mom was really nice, and her dad made us laugh alot. Her fiance, David, was really cool, and I know for sure now that I don't have a problem with her marrying him. David's brother Daniel was awesome. So was his sister Christina. EXCEPT FOR when I told them I saw *Sting Rays* in the water and they wouldn't believe me! Oh my goodness. They were swimming right in front of me--the sting rays, I mean--I saw them! There were three. Daniel was walking like four feet away from me and didn't see them, so he wouldn't believe that *I* had. ::ch:: Guys.

Later on I saw a jellyfish. It was swimming right in front of me. I didn't want to be a scaredy-cat, so I stayed in the water for a while longer, but THEN I got out. Okay, so, when I got out, I saw a dead fish lying on the beach. I don't know *why* I looked at it, but I did.

And it was a baby-shark.

I was like, "Okay, you guys! You told me there were no jellyfish and no sharks!! What is up with this?" Christina said that she'd been going to that beach all of her life and had never seen sharks or jellyfish. Yeah, well...what about sting rays, Christina?? "Whatever, Tracy, you didn't see sting rays."

::rolls eyes:: I think there's this sign above my head I can't see which reads: "PLEASE TEASE ME 'CAUSE IT'S REALLY FUNNY"

So, yes, Houston was wonderful. To Marcy, Kiersten, Christina, David and Daniel: Add more!

Texas and Pilgrims

YAY!

Marcy and I are leaving for Houston tomorrow morning.

We are going to visit my friend Kiersten. (YAY!)

And Monday night we are meeting the Mary, Lizzie and Ginny at the airport in Dallas, and Mary is riding home with us.

YAY! We are so excited to have the Chartres Pilgrims coming home!

Clear Creek Pilgrims

Okay, John, Christa and Mason!

What's up, guys? Actually...Christa is in Nebraska, so nevermind about saying 'hi' to her. ::winks::

Okay, I have been meaning to start blogging more often, but this weekend I have been too busy to do so.

Why?

Oh. Because. When I got home Thursday night my mom said that a group of people here in Clear Creek were going to be meeting at our house on Saturday afternoon to walk to the monastery. (It is 4 miles from the front door of our house to the door of the chapel.) So 14 of us walked to the monastery and offered it for the Chartres Pilgrims.

It was actually Drew's idea. (He's a great guy that lives here.) He told Lizzie he would walk to the monastery every day that she walked the Pilgrimage if she would pray for an intention he had. Then the idea just kinda caught on.

Today we walked from Drew's house to the monastery and back two times, which came to 4 miles. And we're going to do it again tomorrow.

Walking takes up a lot of time. Especially when you have little three and seven year olds....

The Chartres Pilrims are supposed to be arriving in Chartres around 8:00am our time tomorrow. Remember to pray for them! ::smiles::

Chartres Pilgrims

Well, they're off.

Almost, anyway.

Mary, Beth, Kevin and Ginny are in leaving in a little bit for Dallas. Their flight leaves from there tomorrow morning, and they will--eventually--end up in Paris on Thursday morning around 9:00am. Dan is already over there...somewhere. He'll meet them in Paris.

Make sure y'all keep them in your prayers. The Chartres Pilgrimage is incredibly, amazingly awesome, but it's also extremely difficult.

They will be walking the Pilgrimage this coming Saturday, Sunday and Monday, so be sure to pray on those days.

After the Walk, they'll be hanging out in Ireland; celebrating Ginny's birthday (the 6th) then Dan's birthday (the 10th), and they'll be meeting up with our dear John Briody at some point. John, do let us know how that goes. ::grins::

Mary, Beth, Dan, Kevin and Ginny;

My prayers are with you guys. I hope the Walk impacts your life as much as it did mine.

See you in ten years. ::winks::

Life

"Here's a red M&M for you. Now be happy."

Yeah, whatever. Try giving me the *real* one. ::rolls eyes::

~Heather's graduation is tomorrow.
~My parents flew to NY to be there for it.
~Heather didn't know until they walked into her apartment.
~Congratulations, Heather!!!!
~My niece, Nikola Jo, was born last night. Congratulations, Marc and Crystal!
~Ryan Michael now shares a birthday with his little sister Nikola--Happy Birthday, Ryan!
~Two very funny priests came to dinner the other night. I hope they come again soon.
~An Irishman joined the monastery the other day.
~My cousin Jessica graduated from OU last week. Congratulations, Jess!
~My cute little friend Kiersten is engaged. (YAAAY!)
~And a million other things.
~But that's it for now.

I Have a Question

Who killed my blog?

Because it is definitely dead.

Does anyone know Blog CPR?

Used to be Such a Little Tadpole...

If a frog is...oh...ten human years, how old is that in Froggy years?

hmmm.......

::laughs::

Though I am about an hour early, I want to be the first to tell Froggy 'Happy Birthday', and may his day be wonderfully blessed!

...at least I *hope* I'm first..... ::giggles::

Ladies and Gentlemen

A couple of announcements, y'all:

First, my new little niece was born Friday, April 28th, at about 2:30CST. She was about 4 weeks early, and only weighs 5lbs, 2oz. She has been having difficulty breathing, and is in NICU, but I heard this morning that she is doing better, and my sister was allowed to hold her. YAAAY!
So, CONGRATULATIONS to Heather and Tom on their new baby daughter, Amy Rose.

Second, believe it or not, 'The London Murders' is still in the making. Only, Restless Native and I have decided to wait until July to finish it up. For now, I am (officially) announcing the name of our new blog--'The London Murders'--which (for those of you who are *not* Blog Moles, and haven't already found it) has all of the previous posts of 'TLM', and, as of last night, has a new chapter.

So please visit your favorite authors, Restless Native and Femme Fascinante, at:
www.londonmurders.blogspot.com

A Post

Last night I spent a couple of hours running away from tornadoes which, in reality, were nowhere near me, and I wish I had just stayed at Panera Bread to watch the storm.

Didn't get my writing done because those darn American Cancer Society Volunteers kept coming up and talking to me.... NO--I'M NOT GOING TO GIVE YOU A DOLLAR FOR A PIECE OF PAPER JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE MY COUSIN!!! Now leave me alone.

No.

I'm kidding.

I did pay the dollar.

And I was very proud of my cousins (Ashley, Melissa, April, Marcy, Anthony and Mason, and my cousins-in-law, Chris and Suzi) for the volunteer work they were doing last night at the Panera in Edmond.

The girls sang, Anthony played the guitar and banjo, and Mason and Chris got people to buy pieces of paper for a dollar! ;)

But that was all cut a bit short because the scary looking clouds decided they wanted to start dropping tornadoes, so I left to find my grandparents and sister.

I hope we have more storms before I go back to CC. I love tornado-chasing, but my mom would never let me go, and since she's not here, there's not one to stop me!!!

WOO HOO!!! Bring on the storms, baby!!!

Oh, Look!! I Found Your Favorite Song!

"The other night dear, as I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken
So I hung my head and I cried.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away

I'll always love you and make you happy,
If you will only say the same.
But if you leave me and love another,
You'll regret it all some day:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away

You told me once, dear, you really loved me
And no one else could come between.
But not you've left me and love another;
You have shattered all of my dreams:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away

In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me
When I awake my poor heart pains.
So when you come back and make me happy
I'll forgive you dear, I'll take all the blame.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away"

::laughs until it hurts::
You know...it's the refrain that I find particularly appropriate.
::sticks out tongue::
Now find a pair of sunglasses.
::winks::

YAY, Matt!!

Congratulations to Matt for winning his fight!!!

YAY!!!

(Even though I don't think he ever came and read his story!)

I am on my way to Bennigan's to hear the details of the fight, so I'm off.

...It had something to do with the UFC, though. *That* I know.

Okay, going to find out more! Bye!

Easter Evening with a Monsignor

::bursts out laughing::

I AM SO HAPPY!!!!!!!!!!

::doubles over in laughter::

Oh, oh! I can't breathe! I can't breathe!!

I was in the middle of typing a different post, but I just got what it was that Msgr. Conley said to me last night!!!!

Just before sitting down to dinner at the Costello's cabin in Clear Creek, Monsignor turned to me and said, "Are you a Benedictine, also?"

"No! I'm not a NUN!" I wanted to respond (rather emphatically), but I simply shook my head and said, "No, I live about four miles from here."

"Oh, I see," he said, and went on with something else.

ALL DAY LONG I have been thinking he thought I was somehow connected with the Clear Creek Benedictines!! ::still laughing:: I could *NOT* figure out *how* he could've thought I was a nun when I was wearing a jean-skirt, a blue scoop-neck shirt, jewlery AND make-up. I mean, yeah, sure, that would be believable in most places today, but in *Clear Creek*?

::cracks up again:: That wasn't what he meant!! I can't believe it took me so long to figure out that he thought I was one of the students from Benedictine College!

Oh! gosh....I have to call Anna Marie!

The Indian and the Scot

Scotland; 16th century; somewhere in the Scottish Highlands:

The night was humid, and only made worse by the dozens of bodies packed closely together in a circle--forming the boundaries of the fighting ring--and by the torches atop tall wooden stakes driven into the ground.

It was almost time, and the men could feel it. The impatient murmurings of the crowd were growing louder, while sporadic, strained laughter seemed to fade into the night as if it had never sounded. Suddenly, a horn was blown from somewhere out in the night. The circle of men was immediately silenced, and all heads turned to the south to peer into the night.

The Scot was coming.

Tall, brawny and terribly fierce, the Scot's real name hadn't been used in years. A member of the MacDonald Clan, his strength and skill in a fight had been unmatched since his eighteenth year. Now, ten years later, the Clan feared this man almost as much as the other clans to which the Scot's reputation had been spread.

The MacDonald Clan touted the strength of their giant when they came into contact with outsiders, but only their strong Scottish pride kept them from admitting to one another that something should be done to stop the Scot from his almost tyrranical presence within the Clan.

It had been three years since any man had dared to contest him. But the Scot was surely equally matched this night.

The Indian had come a few months earlier. How he had made his way to Scotland was never quite ascertained, and the MacDonald Clan knew almost nothing about the enormous man from the New Land, or the strange Irishmen who never seemed to leave his side, Jonas and Kyle. It was from these two that the Clan found the Indian's strange name of Heneha meant 'Heartless' in their own language.

A drum-beat was heard. All heads then turned to the west. The drum-beat continued, louder and louder, making an eerie accompaniment for the horn still sounding in the distance. A collective feeling of awe, mixed with a strange fear, went through the men as the huge Indian came into view--slowly coming into the light from the darkness. Many heads turned back to the Scot; he, too, was just entering the light.

The circle was broken at two different points in order that the Indian and the Scot could enter the ring. When it was closed again, the men stared at the two in the center in absolute silence. The Indian and the Scot seemed to be unaware of the others, as they slowly circled the ring, eyeing each other and looking for weakness...of any kind.

The fight began.

Twenty yards out from the torch-light and the now raised voices, a lone traveler stood. He knew of both the Scot and the Indian. He was surprised to see the fight taking place, for many times over the previous few months the Indian had been provoked by the Scot with no effect. He wondered what had happened to result in a fight held in secret.

The only person not of the MacDonald Clan to witness the private battle, he spread an unpredjudiced account of how the Scot was beaten.

It had taken two hours. How both men could be standing after the first hour was madness, said the traveler. The Scot was the first to strike a blow, but it was quickly returned by the Indian, whose agility shocked those around him--his size was not indicative if its presence.

The traveler swore that he--who had often heard of the Scottish giant--saw fear in the eyes of the MacDonald man after the first blow was received. Pride and anger flashed through them at intervals, but the fear never left.

When the last blow was struck, it was given by the Indian. The Scot fell to the ground. The Indian's chest rose and fell in quick succession as he stood above the Scot, looking down with a strangely calm expression in his eyes. He dropped to one knee and whispered into the ear of the fallen Scot. The traveler could not hear the words spoken, but the other men claimed he warned the Scot that the beating could be repeated, and would be indeed, if the members of his clan suffered any more at his hands.

With that, the Indian left the circle of men, followed by the Irishmen. The three of them passed just in front of the traveler.
"The Indian," the traveler said, stopping one of the Irishmen as they walked by, "why has he done this?"
Jonas looked at him in silence for a moment. "They called him Heartless back in the New World," he said, as if it were explanation enough. The men walked on.

The next day the Scot was no where to be found. He had been humiliated and could not show his face among his Clan again. They were left in peace, and some in mystification as to why he had left. Years later the Clan heard he had made his way to England, another report said he had gone to Ireland, and still another that he was in Germany.

Two months later the Indian, along with Jonas and Kyle, moved on as well. It was never known by those in Scotland, but they met up a couple of years later with the Scot, who was indeed in England. There they became hard and fast friends, together they all moved on to Ireland, to Germany, to France, and to Italy, traveling for years, never quite settling.

Over the centuries history has repeated itself time and time again. Sometimes the names are well known, such as that of Robin Hood, sometimes the names are forgotten, as in the case with the Indian and the Scot, but good men are always there. Always fighting. Always willing to put themselves on the line for the sake of justice.

The Indian was one such man.

The Scot came to see the honor in such a way of life.

The Irishmen understood, and did their part in bettering, where they could, the lives of their fellowmen.

But always in silence.

The Italian Man

The tall, dark and handsome Italian with eyes that would melt the hardest heart--as long as it was female--fell for the only woman who wouldn't fall for him.

It was a sad sight, but amusing at the same time.

I watched it, laughing and shuddering by turns, wondering what it was about the phrase, "My family is from Italy" which makes a man seem more mysterious and appealing.

I think he always knew his chances weren't that great. That the woman wasn't ever completely in his presence. It was obvious she was always thinking of someone else.

He took it gracefully. Tempted, tortured, and depressed though he was. He let her go, hoping one day she would return.

I think he's still waiting.

The poor Italian man.

How Truly Depressing

The 'Letters to a Love' were not meant to be left as they were.

It was *supposed* to have a positive ending--I just never wrote it.

Ah me, the poor man in India!

I think perhaps his heart was broken and he ran off to the Himalayas. Think about it...adventure *and* distraction from uncomfortable feelings. 'Tis perfect.

Anyway, just so y'all know, the man lived happily without that woman.

Because he found a better one.

Or, rather, she found him.

Men Should Be Aware of Conniving Women

So says Little Charite.

::giggles::

Ya gotta love it.

My Thoughts Exactly

Seriously....you've just got to love little kids--especially the ones that really like their pottery classes.

Caitlin: "Mom, I used to want to get married, but I don't want to anymore."
Cathy(Mom): "Oh, do you want to be a nun?"
C: "No."
M: "Well, what do you want to do, honey?"
C: "Pottery."
M and Tracy: ::trying to hold back laughter::
T: "You just want to be single and do pottery for the rest of your life?"
C: ::nods:: "Well, do pottery and hang out with my friends..." ::slighest hesitation:: "...with a guy."
M and T: ::no holding back the laughter::
M: "You could be a *nun* and do pottery."
C: "I don't *want* to be a nun."
M: ::mouthing to behind Caitlin's back:: "She'll be a nun!" ::slightly louder:: "It's always the ones that say they don't want to."
C: ::turning to look at Cathy:: "If I say that I *want* to be a nun, does that mean I don't have to?"
M and T: ::laugh for a good while, until Tracy finally says...:: "Caitlin, *that* was an awesome question!"

Why? ::laughs:: Because it was my thought exactly...Jake.

Happy Feast Day, Saint Joseph

Today the monks were getting ready for the celebration of Saint Joseph's feast day tomorrow.

Br. Middledorf is also having his procession tomorrow. He is the monk from Australia. His parents and little brother came all the way from Australia to be here for it. What is really cool is that he thought they wouldn't be coming, but they surprised him by just showing up yesterday.

Anyway, tomorrow is going to be a really cool day. It's even better 'cause we won't have to fast since we're celebrating Saint Joseph's feast day!

That's all for today. I am going to go sleep...or something that doesn't require much effort. My mother put a whole bunch of medicine in me, so I'm going to make it wear off now. ;)

Oh yeah! Ginny's blog is back up...only at a different address-- thebugprincess.blogspot.com

...gee...I wonder *who* could've given her the idea for *that* name...?

Say What?

"So happy, Mr. Bradley." ::does krav maga punch:: ha, ha! Take that!

::collapses on floor in fit of giggles::

Okay, now following up on that last post about quotes...I don't care if I *never* say THAT quote again!

In fact, I am going to *laugh* the next time I watch 'Roman Holiday'. BECAUSE--who came up with that story, anyway? I mean, like it would EVER *really* happen!

Audrey Hepburn's character would have *totally* krav maga kicked Eddie Albert's character when she saw the photos he had taken!

"Oh, gee! Let me smile and act like nothing's wrong..."...my foot.

::rolls eyes:: Some people and their darn imaginations.

Words Remembered

"Courage!" --- shouted across a field somewhere in France --- "Courage!"
~one word is sometimes all it takes.


"We are only God's instruments. All He asks of us is to do His will; the results are His."
~written on a note in small writing.


"God bless you."
~said in a low voice and with deep emotion.


It is amazing to me how simple words can change how a situation is viewed, and, in doing so, have the power to change the situation itself. ...How uttering a sentence, a phrase, a word, can give someone courage, strength and/or patience to deal with something they thought impossible to handle.

The three quotes above are all words I go back to time and time again. The people they came from probably have no idea what they said stayed with me, and probably never will.

It makes me wonder if I have ever said anything to encourage one time...only to have it stick with that person for even longer.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

I hope all of you Irish people have a great day!

Especially John, 'cause he's the most Irish of us all!

Is This What You're Looking For?

Restless once accused me of riddling my posts with hidden messages and inside jokes.

Well.

He was right.

But he also thought there were about fifteen people to whom I sent the secret messages.

That was wrong.

There are only about seven or eight.

If you don't get this story, don't worry--stick around. Sooner or later you'll get everything there is to be gotten!

Ciao!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Lucia Etture: An Italian Girl Who Lived a Few Hundred Years Ago

Lucia Etture looked down at her closed fist. She could feel the metal in her hand growing warm. She was tempted to switch the coin to her other hand, but fear of losing it kept her from it. He was coming soon, and she didn't want to chance not having it there for him.

Lucia continued to sit patiently upon the garden bench. A few moments later her patience was rewarded. She heard talking and laughter coming from behind the rose bushes, and soon two boys, just a little older than she, came into view.

"Hello!" One called out, while the other simply smiled.
"Hello, Mario," Lucia responded. "Hello Mungo."
"What are you doing out here?" Mungo asked curiously. He was the younger of the Matteo brothers, and he always wanted to know everything.

"I was waiting for you. I have something to give to Mario." Mario eyed Lucia suspiciously. He hadn't told Lucia he was coming. In fact, he hadn't even planned on coming. "What is it?" Mario's tone of voice matched the expression on his face.
"This," Lucia said simply. She held her fist out and opened her fingers.
"What is it??" Mungo began to reach for the coin, but Lucia held it back. "No, no," she said. "This is for Mario." She again held it out to him, but Mario did not reach for it. The suspicion was gone from his eyes, but something else had taken it's place.

"You still collect these coins, no?" Her voice was questioning, but she knew the answer.
"I collect them," he replied, not looking in her eyes.
"Then take it." Lucia did not know what emotion was playing about behind his eyes.
"I thought you lost this?" He looked at her. Ah. She saw it. It was pain.
"It was a gift. Why would you think I had lost it?"
"It's been years since I gave it to you. I haven't seen it since then." Lucia laughed at this.
"Did you expect to? Well," she said merrily. "There's not much to be done with a penny. No matter how dear it may be."

Mario looked longingly at the coin. He wanted it. Somehow--through a very strange and Divinely Orchestrated course of events--Mario had collected every coin made in Italy for the past 100 years...with one exception. The coin from '84 he had given her when they were both little children. But, as it had been a gift, and one he'd feared had been lost, he had never asked for it's return. He began to reach for it, but pulled his hand back. "Do you not want it anymore?"

Lucia had her own memories. Did she want it? The value of the coin--materially worth much, but not enough to tempt a pure soul like hers--was priceless to her.
"It means very much to me," she answered honestly. "But I know how much you want it." Mario took the coin from Lucia's hand. Distracted by the warmth of the coin, he didn't see the tear in her eye.

"I want to see it, I want to see it!" Mungo tried to take it from Mario, but he only caught a glimpse as Mario closed his fingers over it. He said no in the way Mungo had learned not to question.

Mungo cast a glance at Lucia. The normally talkative boy didn't say anything. The tear would've spoken for itself, but it wasn't seen by the correct ear. He looked at her with sympathy, but his expression turned quizzical when he saw the big smile suddenly covering her face. "Well, is she sad or is she happy?" Mungo was at a loss until he heard the other voice that had entered the garden.

"I must go now, Mario...Mungo. It was so nice to see you again!" And she started in the direction of the voice. "Mario!" She called out, just before disappearing from sight. He turned her way. "Your set...it's complete now?"
"It's complete," he called back.
"Then it was worth it," she said, but the boys didn't hear. She waved at them. "Ciao!" With that, she ran off in the direction of the voice, leaving two boys to wonder at the antics of silly girls.

Reply to a Love

My Darling Girl,

It has been months since I have been able to write. My research has been extensive, and my time much demanded. Why have you not written? You promised so faithfully you would. Perhaps I gave you the wrong address, or perhaps the mail service here is not taken so seriously as it is in the United States.
It appears, after all of this time, I will be able to get away--come home for a few weeks. I know you've been alone for so long, but you always were such a patient thing. There have been many times I've been tempted to think you wouldn't wait for me, but I never could forget the last thing you said to me--'I would wait for you forever if I had to.' I have to trust that those words are true, since they are what I have been working for. The training and experience I have received here have already opened up numerous teaching jobs back home...and money is no longer an issue. I wish I could write more, Heaven knows you deserve it, but I hear one of my men shouting for me. I can't take any more time--I have to get back to work.
I'll be home soon.

Faithfully,
******

Special Thanks to Jake

Because he is so kind and considerate and thoughtful and a million other things...

...and if he were within twenty feet of me I would kick him.

:p!

And where's John, anyway? Mr. Irishman, you should stop being boring and say something.

Letter to a Love

******:

Really. I cannot believe this. Not even to answer when I declare my intention to marry. Well. I waited for three weeks. I didn't hear a thing from you. Stephen wanted to wait, but we were married last Saturday. The red sari may be a wedding gift now instead of a birthday present.

Signed,
Stephen's

Silence Is Golden

Apparently.

Letter to a Love

Dear ******,

It's been months since I last heard from you. I have decided to end it. If you have so little regard for me that you would neglect to inform me of major changes in your life, then you haven't enough regard to keep up a respectable relationship. And to think...I thought you still in India! Had your old friend Stephen not told me, I would think you there still! ******. How could you? I look like a fool to all of my friends. And my father, ******! He will never let me forget. Even Mother cannot be convinced to quiet him on the subject of my...singleness. And, so, that being the case, I am marrying Stephen.
Goodbye, ******. I hope you are having a wonderful time in Bangladesh. Oh, and don't think I'm letting you off that easily...I am still expecting a *red* sari when you finally get up the courage to return home.

Sincerely,
Mine

Happy Days

To Mason!

Woo hoo!

Fifteen years old!!

Hope you're having a great day, Mason! I wish I could've been there for the party.

Also, a Happy Belated Birthday to my aunt Nancy! I didn't have access to a computer on her birthday--the 17th--so I'm tellin' her now!

Oh! AND congratulations to Rodney and Therese! They were married on the 18th. YAAAAY!!!!! :D

Little Lizzie and Femme Fascinante

Femme: "Well, hello, Little Lizzie!"
Lizzie: "Well, hello, Femme!"
Femme: "Fancy meetin' you here!"
Lizzie: "Oui, oui! Please! stop and have your picture taken with me!"
Femme: "Picture? I don't *do* pictures. But...perhaps...I *could* be talked into a photo!"
Lizzie: "Ah, well...if I must settle for that, I must. ...Come--strike a pose!"
Femme: "Alright...how's *THIS*?"
Lizzie: "WHAT?! No way! *That* is weird...how *does* your brain work??"
Femme: "Fine. Fine. ...How's THIS??"
Lizzie: "..."
Femme: "Oh, fine. If boring I must be, then boring I must be." ::poses with Lizzie as seen in present photo::
Femme and Lizzie: ::smile for the photo::
Femme: "...Bess..." ::whispers from side of mouth:: "Let's push the photographer over into the punch bowl after this is finished...!"
Lizzie: "Nah!" ::whispers back:: "There's a little Froggy who's been hanging out around it *all night*...and he might get hit!"
Femme: "Aw. Fine. Bess! Quit talking! You're going to ruin the photo!!"

Letter to a Love

My Darling,

My birthday has come and gone without any word from you. Did you not receive my last five letters? I am sure that you must have, for I have sent them all first-class. Father says that is the only way to go. I had many birthday greetings sent to me via first-class. Though none of them were from you. With every one I received, I hope yours would be the signature, but no. I'm sure you thought of me, though. And your friends Stephen, Luke and John remembered. Sweet boys. When are you going to write to me? Had I not perfect trust in your fidelity to me, I would be worried that I have not heard from you in so long. Though I am sure, with your work, you have not had time to meet many women, anyway. What with being in India and far away and surrounded by work.... I know how your work takes up your time, but don't you think you could spare a few moments to write a quick note? Do send it first-class. It's best sent that way. You didn't send it first-class last time, and Father says I should suggest it. I must go now. There is a dance down at the lighthouse tonight. Do take care of yourself, dearest. I hope your lack of correspondence has not been due to any kind of odd illness contracted over in that strange country. Please do write soon. I know you most miss me as much as I miss you, but it would be nice to hold the proof of it in my hand, and to be able to read it over and over again.

Lovingly,
Yours

I Love Children

I was talking to my little brother the other day who reminded me of something Kolbe said about a year ago, and it was really cute, so I had to post it. Besides, Cathy would think it was funny if I did, so I am.... ;)

Kolbe, Ian and I were in the kitchen. I think they were finishing up lunch, and I had started on the dishes. As is usual with those two boys, a very...surprising...conversation took place:

~Ian: ::being random--saying random things--doing random things::
~Kolbe: ::talking about something which I can't quite recall now::
~Ian: ::I think he said a word Cathy didn't want the kids using, which reminded Kolbe a few words *he* knew which were inappropriate::
~Kolbe: "Yeah, Mom also doesn't want us using the 'S' word."
~Tracy: ::not too worried--had a pretty good idea of what was coming:: "Oh, really?"
~Kolbe: "Yeah." ::lowers his voice to a whisper:: "Shutup."
~Tracy: "Yeah, Kolbe, your mom is right. That's not a very nice word."
~Kolbe: ::looks around the kitchen to make sure nobody is sneaking up on him:: "I also know abother one."
~Tracy: "Really?" ::continues with dishes, not too concerned.
~Kolbe: "Uh huh. It's the ::whispers very softly:: 'F" word."
~Tracy: ::dishes discontinued:: "...What?" ::looks at the six year old sitting at the table::
~Kolbe: "Yeah. The one that ends either with a 'C' or a 'K'...I'm not sure which."
~Tracy: ::completely shocked and ready to interrogate Ian as to what TV show he was watching with Kolbe:: "Uuuh...Kolbe. What is this word?"
~Kolbe: "Well...I don't want to say it. It's bad."
~Tracy: "Yes, I know, Kolbe. But I think you should tell me, okay?"
~Kolbe: "Well...ookay...it's...::puts hands up to mouth and breathes:: ...freak!"
~Tracy: "Oh. Oh. Um. Okay. ...Hey, Kolbe...will you go tell Caitlin to come clear her plate from lunch?" ::Kolbe runs off::
~Ian and Tracy (and I think maybe Andrea): ::almost die from laughter::

Letter to a Love

My Dearest Darling,

Months. Days. Minutes. All of these have flown by in quick succession...like the stampeding of a turtle clan. How I miss you. Like the leaves falling from the trees in Spring, I feel your nearness. The memory of our last meeting has not left my mind since--when was it?--last Autumn. How I miss you. I'll not rest until we meet again. Cost what it may, I will see you again. When shall it be, Darling? When will you return to see me? Do not delay answering, for I am so lonely without you. Your letters bring me such comfort. Emotionally. Physically it's a little hard. I tried to read your last letter in my "special place", and I fell and broke my arm. The doctor said my special place should be more suitable to a person of my age, so I have abandoned Our Tree Branch for lower ground. Which reminds me. I am so depressed without you. I think perhaps I shall die of a broken heart if you do not return soon from India. I would not even mind if you brought the wrong color sari back for me. I know I stressed 'red' to you before you left. I feel guilty now that I insisted on 'red' so strongly. After all, what matters if it is 'red' as long as you return with it? Or if you didn't return with it at all, although disappointed, I would forgive you! You could just pick it up on your next trip to the heathen land. How I miss you. My birthday is coming up. Write soon. Father says I'm getting too old to ignore all of the nice boys around town. I, of course, was insulted, and told Mother what he had said. She took care of it directly, so you needn't worry. I am still waiting for you. Mother is throwing me a special birthday party this year. All of your old friends are coming. How I miss you. I wish you could hear me sigh for you. Write to me soon.


Passionately,
Yours

Latin Mistranslation

'Bambi II' is a very funny movie. I don't know why, but it absolutely cracks me up. The first Bambi I *do* *not* like, but the second one... "It's got these *EYEES* and these *CLAAAWS!* and it walks around like this...*hie--hie--hie* and, well... *YA GOTTA SEE IT!!!*"

My siblings and I have been quoting it all weekend, and last night at dinner was no exception. Michelle, the six year old, started it. Then, somehow, she got off on the new Winnie-the-Pooh movie...

Eeyore: "Cuz, it's my birthday."
Pooh: "WHAT? I didn't know that!"
E: "Didn't you see the cake?"
P: "No!"
E: "Didn't you see the presents?"
P: "No!"
E: "Well.....neither did I."

It was so cute. She did Eeyore *perfectly*. She would be all bright and bubbly quoting Pooh, and when it came Eeyore's turn, she looked absolutely crestfallen, and sounded totally depressed. A joke among the older siblings came to my mind as I watched her. "Michelle," I said. "Did you know that 'Eeyore' is Latin for 'Dad'?"

Michelle erupted in giggles, and fell off of her chair and onto the floor.

This was the point when my mother came back into the room.

Just as my mother seated herself, Michelle's little head popped up from under the table.

"Does that mean 'Pooh' is Latin for 'Mom'??!!"

::laughs:: Oops.

"What?!" My mom said.

"Well," said Michelle brightly. "Pooh likes Eeyore! So if 'Eeyore' is Latin for 'Dad'...."

An American Tourist in Paris

12.22.99: ...After Notre Dame we went went shopping in a lot of the gift shops. One in which I was *forced* to get a hat because I was "special." I was like, "No. I'm not going to go around looking like a tourist." Everyone, including the salesman, insisted that I wouldn't. Marc said that he and Justin looked like tourists, but that Ashley, Crystal and I didn't. Especially not Ashley and I because we had dark hair--"like the French girls."

Ashley tried on the one they wanted me to get, and without thinking I turned around and said, "It doesn't look like *that* on *me*, does it??" That totally came out wrong. Ashley was like, "Well, thanks!" I didn't mean it looked bad. It *looked like a tourist hat!* But everyone kept saying we didn't look like tourists, and Marc pulled the big brother guilt-trip he likes to pull and told me that "everyone was doing it" and I should do it, too. (Pretty much he was saying not to be a stick-in-the-mud.) Finally I said, "No. I don't have the money to buy it." So *somebody* bought it and told me I *had* to wear it.

So all five of us walked around Paris looking like tourists all day.

2.13.2006: For some reason I don't have this part written in my journal, but I totally should because it was *so* funny. It was total vindication for me...

A few hours after the hat shop incident, we stopped for lunch in one of the sidewalk cafes. The waiter came up to us and my brother said, "Parlez vous Anglais?"
The waiter answered, "Oui. Et vous?"
To which Marc replied, "No."
::giggles:: Oooh. It still makes me laugh. Marc realized his mistake right away, but it was still embarrassing for him. :D

After we had been in the cafe for a little bit, I think when the waiter returned to get our lunch orders, he said, "Are you American?" (We were mistaken for English a couple of times.) Marc said yes. The waiter then said, "Ah, oui." Then he pointed to our heads. "The hats," he said.

Since I have no memory of having said it then, let me say it now....

I told y'all so! We. looked. like. TOURISTS.

What was really funny was Marc's response. Quick and witty, he just said, "That's right. Cowboy." ::rolls eyes:: Yeah. Right. Cowboy hats with fur and felt. And bought three streets down.

I took the hat off as soon as the waiter walked away. Then the guys tried to get me to eat snails.

It didn't happen.

A Fifteen Year Old in Paris

12.10.99: Tonight we're in Paris. Well. I'm not. I'm in the hotel. Yup. Just me and the stupid Italian, French and German speaking TV. Oh well...there isn't anything on anyway, so it really doesn't matter what language it speaks.
I would get sick. I can't believe this. I'm in Paris!!! But I'm sick. ::ch::

~Later~

I fell asleep for a little bit, and I think the maid came in. She had to've. There's a rose in the bathroom that wasn't there when I fell asleep.

Did y'all know that French people are weird? Their TV says it's 21:36. That's the time... that's a weird time. Is it like that minus 12 thing? Even if it is, who the heck would say "It's 21 o'clock"?

We're staying in this really nice hotel. The guy that came to open the door of the car for us asked if we were going to stay. I asked Marc why he said that, and he said he didn't think we looked rich enough to be staying here.

I decided that I hate trains.

But I love planes.

But I don't like 8 hour flights. Ugh. I don't want to do that again.


12.11.99: The guys told me that Ashley almost got arrested last night. They tried to sneak her onto the metro. They didn't have enough money to get her a ticket, so they sneaked her on instead. They said it was the first time the Police had stopped ever stopped them to ask for tickets. I wonder if they learned a lesson?

Can Ya Dig It?

I took Bryan into Talequah today to get his C02 canister filled--and it exploded in my car! Okay, fine, so C02 doesn't "explode"...but it...burst out of the canister. And it sounded like a rocket taking off.

And that was the excitement for the day.

I found my journal from my first trip to Europe. The one I went on when I was fifteen years old. Oh my gosh. It is so funny. I'm thinking I might have to post a couple of the entries.

I also found a bunch of old letters. Few years old. Like...four and five years. Funny the things you forget.

I'm going to go hiking tomorrow. At least I hope that I am. The boys are having a bunch of guys over to paintball, and I might not want to go hiking when they are running around in the valley playing at war with red paintballs.

Maybe I'll just go to the cave. We're calling it the "Can Ya Dig It?" cave--and when we've reached the end of it, we're going to hang another sign that reads: "Yes, We Can!" (My dad has said "Can ya dig it?" for as long as I can remember...it just fits.)

I must be running off to bed now. ::sighs:: Yet another day has past in which I have not been able to do any writing. I have more time to write while I'm down in OKC! ...how can that be?? Ah well. Perhaps tomorrow.

Goodnight.

And Another...

Well, would you look at the time?

It's Justin's birthday.

Justin, you've been waaay too quiet lately. I hope the stress of seminary hasn't killed you dead. If it has we'll all be very sad, but as I'm sure it hasn't (for we would've heard had it indeed), I have this to say:

Happy Birthday, Justin!

Our prayers are with you. Every night when we say the intentions before we start the Rosary, Michelle says: "And for Justin! And for Justin! And *all* of the seminarians!" So, you're being good and prayed for as the Subdiaconate approaches. :)

(Did I spell that correctly? ::shrugs::)

For Melanie

Munich. 2003. It was hot. It was humid. But there was ice cream. And lots of beer. Not that we drank much of that, my friends and I. We were too busy with the ice cream, and with fighting off the men that desperately wanted a light for their cigarettes. "We don't smoke," we politely said, then turned our attention to other things...seemingly. The incident was to be gone back to and laughed over later that night. After the ice cream, and after running for our lives down the sidewalk. It was dark, around midnight I think, and a man had had a little too much to drink. And so a new past-time was born. The three little amigas ran through the streets of Munich with the man not far behind...at least we felt that he wasn't. Drunk men don't have the reputation for being able to keep with three scared girls running for their lives.

::laughs:: Good times, girl. ; D

Lost and Found

It had been a year and half since I had last seen her. I was so sad when I realized I had no way to find her. I kept putting it out of my mind, thinking surely she would show up. But I couldn't help being reminded on my birthday. I celebrated turning 21 without her. She couldn't have done much celebrating herself, but her presence had always been amusing to me. Not so much when I was little, but as I grew up and became a teenager, the fact that she was always and steadily there made me smile each time October 12th came around.

I realized she was gone--and I had no clue as to where I could find her--the year of my 20th birthday. I tried looking for her in the old house where she lived, but she wasn't there. I thought perhaps she had moved--but no--surely I would know if she had moved.

But...no...no memory of her taking part in a move. No way to know if I would every see her again, even though I asked everyone else that knew her. She had just seemed to disappear into thin air.

Until this past weekend at Clear Creek.

I got into Clear Creek around 9:30pm on Thursday. I was exhausted and had a good night's sleep before getting up the tackle to chore of unpacking...a project which took up most of my time over the weekend. As I unpacked each box, I remembered her. Had she moved, too? Where was she? It wasn't until Sunday that I got my answer.

I found her.

In a box.

Rolled in newspaper.

Stuffed at the bottom.

Her head, dented from the pressure of some books.

And her cute, little red nightgown was missing.

"My Corley!"

Ah, yes. A baby-doll given to me on my birthday 17 years ago. My Corley, mind you. Not just plain "Corley". A four year old with five siblings can't afford to take chances. You learn at a young age that you must stake your territory.

Strangely, although I remember packing everything else in that box, I have no memory of packing *her*. I do, however, remember threatening one of my cousins and my older brother (who helped move boxes and furniture from my room in the house) with certain death if "My Corley" was never found. I was positive they had done *something* insensitive with her.

(Oops.)

(Um.)

(Sorry.)

In another box I found My Corley's red nightgown. After washing and drying it, I put it back on, and placed her on my bed. I was very happy to realize that she is now 17 years old--but she doesn't look a day older.

Therese was there when I found My Corley. She fell in love with her. It was very hard for her to be patient while My Corley's clothes washed, but as soon as they were out, she asked for permission to sit quietly on my bed and hold her. Of course her request granted, with the strict understanding that she was not to leave the room.

Over the next few hours, and into the next day, I realized that I had begun calling her plain Corley. I guess it was because I no longer felt threatened by older siblings who might snatch her from me for torments sake.

The next day--Tuesday--after my trip back into the city, I got a phone call from Clear Creek. It was Becky saying that Therese had a question:

"May I hold Corley? I promise I'll sit on the bed and be careful."

Suddenly I realized it was time to reinstate the rule.

"*My* Corley, Therese. It's My Corley. And, yes...you may."

A Post I Won't Explain

Dear ******,

~Once we didn't turn away
Twice we thought we just might stay
Thrice it was we were brought back
And there it ended.

Once you came to say goodbye
Twice you listened as I cried
Thrice you stood as you thought back
And then it ended.

Once I asked that you not go
Twice it was you told me no
Thrice my pride was sought, then back
Then I did end it.~


ha. ha.--Yes, I really did write it! You thought I wouldn't, didn't you? ::laughs:: Let this be a lesson to you--I really will follow through on a threat.

Too bad I know you read this blog. Otherwise I mightn't have done it. ::winks:: You know you love me. :P

::laughs merrily and looks up with a daring grin:: Top that!...if you can....

~FLCN


PS- To my other readers: Sorry, but I won't answer any questions about this post. Normally I wouldn't have done such an annoying thing, but I was tempted beyond all power of resistance.

I'm Home

And I have a *ton* to unpack. My cute room which was quite empty is now becoming quite full. Woo hoo. Now I must go make sense of the chaos. I hope y'all miss me! ;)

"We Danced Anyway"

The summer air was heavy and sweet
You and I on a crowded street; there was music everywhere.
In a happy little foreign town
Where the stars hung upside down, a half a world away--far, far away.

I remember you were laughing. We were so in love, we were so in love.
And the band played songs that we had never heard, but we danced anyway.
We never understood the words, we just say oh la la la la la la la.
And we danced anyway.

They say you can't go back, well, baby, I don't believe that--come along with me. Come on and dance with me.
Maybe if I hold you close, baby we could just let go of these things that tie us down.
We'll come back around.
Do you remember? We were laughing. We were so in love, we were so in love.
And the band played songs that we had never heard, but we danced anyway. We never understood the words, we just sang, oh--la la la la la la la la la, oh...and we danced anyway.

These are the lyrics to one of my favorite songs. It's been going through my head for the past half hour.

I just finished packing, and all of my things are sitting in my car patiently waiting for transfer to Clear Creek--which will happen tomorrow evening. I can hardly believe this is finally happening.

I lived here with my aunt Nancy for a year and half. I did a lot of growing here. Learned new dances to tunes I'd never heard before. Now those tunes are familiar, and Clear Creek as all the new ones.

Well. I like dancing, so I think I'll learn them quickly.

And They Just Keep Coming

Happy birthday, Cuppy and Jen!!

Aaaw--Veronica is a whole year old now. Aaaw. She's so cute!

And Jennifer is a whole...year older. ::winks:: Happy birthday, girls!!

Happy Birthday, Beth and Jessica!

Woo hoo, woo hoo, woo hoo!!!

Little Lizzie is 17 years old!!!

Woo hoo, woo hoo, woo hoo!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LITTLE LIZZIE!!!

Wow...I can't believe my little sister-who-tumbled-down-the-hill-and-banged-her-head-and-bled-everywhere-and-scared-us-half-to-death is 17 years old! Beeeth. You're growing up! Aaaaw. I remember when I was 17. ::thinks back four years ago:: Woooow. ::giggles::

And my cousin Jessica is 22. Happy Birthday, Jessica!! ;D

Beth, I hope you had a great day! I'll see you on Thursday, and we will go party together on Saturday!

Love ya!

The London Murders: Jack the Ripperger

Three days later, they discovered the identity of Jack the Ripperger.

Or, more accurately, Rosie discovered it. This irritated Jace quite immensely.

Not that it surprised him, really- in fact he almost wondered what took her so long. What irritated him was the idea that he had come all the way overseas only to prove his inferiority to a female. Even if she was psychic.

As Davis Nolder drove him to the S4 office, Jace tried to avoid letting it get to him. He did not succeed.

His coolness on the surface belied a volcanic eruption underneath. This was both his strength and his weakness. On the one hand, perception was reality, and getting everyone to buy off on the fact that he was cold, cool, and in control contributed greatly to his success. The other contributions came from willpower, raw talent, and burning emotion. But unless you could read minds, you would never know it.

Rosie knew it. And that was the other hand.

*****

As Jace walked into the S4 offices, he almost ran headfirst into Niles. He wasn’t happy about it. “Hey Jace, how about that Rosie Tracer, eh? Spot on!”

“Yeah, spot on Niles. Get out of my way.”

“You don’t have to be all angry about it! It’s a good thing! We’ve discovered the murderer! Niles glared at him. Jace glared back.

“Ahem.”

Niles moved aside and Jace continued down the hall. He heard Niles muttering behind him. “Too much whiskey last night, I’ll wager. What a grot!”

So what if Niles was right? Jace thought. That was only half the story anyway.

******

Rosie didn’t look up as Jace entered. She sat in a chair facing the wall, as she had done so often in the past.

“I was waiting for you.” was all she said.

Jace moved to the only table in the room, where a coffee pot sat still steaming. He knew it would be good. He poured himself a cup and waited for Rosie to say something else, knowing full well she was waiting for him. It was a game they used to play. However, this time, he wasn’t in the mood to wait for up to 12 hours as it sometimes took. He cleared his throat.

“Well, congratulations. So are you going to tell me how you did it?”

“No.”

Jace sipped his coffee.
Black.
Strong.
He looked out the window and was irritated.

“I’m not going to tell you Jace, because you already know how I did it. You’re irritated because I cracked the code first.” She turned her chair and looked at Jace for the first time. It was true. She didn't need her psychic powers to figure that out.

His answer confirmed her statement.
“I suspected it was an anagram the minute I saw it… I just couldn’t put it together.”

An anagram, Jace thought. A word or phrase which, upon re-arranging the letters, spelled something else- supposedly something with significance.
Jace had once sat down and determined that the letters of his name could spell "Cajun Beetly" or "Jane bet Lucy" - among other things. He didn't know what kind of significance that held. He chuckled silently and remembered two anagrams of Rosie's name - "Secret I Roar" and "A Rector's Ire".

“Pere P.G. Jarreck, H.T.I.” Rosie said, bringing Jace out of his introspection.

Jace was silent. The name sounded vaguely familiar... but he didn't know why.

"Father Pierre Gabriel Jarreck, Honneur le Triese Innocentes." Rosie spoke again.
Jace was silent again. He knew French when he heard it - but that didn't mean he knew French. Rosie continued.

“Father Jarreck is the Catholic Bishop of Liverpool, very well-known and respected, and not just by Catholics. The initials at the end of his name are French for 'Honor of the Innocent Three' meaning of course, the Blessed Trinity."
Jace remembered now that Rosie had explained it.

"It is immediately obvious that this is the only explanation for the message 'Jack the Ripperger'. It is also apparent that he is not the killer.”

Jace frowned.
Rosie looked at him quizzically. "Do you disagree?" she asked.

The American Detective didn't change his expression.
"No. But it just doesn't make sense." He lowered his coffee cup onto the table and folded his arms across his chest.
Rosie clasped her hands in her lap and tilted her head.

"I mean, why would the killer leave a message pointing to someone who is obviously not the killer? Murderers who leave clues typically do it for one of two reasons: to deliberately mislead the authorities by implicating an innocent, albeit possible, suspect; or to leave factual hints about their identity, as a sort of sick game. In this case, neither possibility fits! What's the point?"

Jace was now pacing across the room. He wasn't really asking any questions, he was just talking to himself.
Rosie interrupted while she had the chance.
"Well, somehow Bishop Jarreck must be connected, or at least have some information that the killer thinks is relevant. We need to talk to him."
Jace gave a short laugh.
"That's going to go over real well. Implicating the Bishop in a serial murder case is like accusing the Queen of Treason."

"I didn't say it would be easy, Jace."

He turned and looked at her. She met his gaze steadily, intently. He looked away.

"So the killer has something against Catholics" Jace said, changing the subject. "He kills Catholic girls, and implicates a Catholic Bishop." He paused thoughtfully. "Must be a Lutheran."

Rosie cleared her throat, and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"Oh, relax Rosie!" said Jace. "I was just kidding."

Scotland's best detective spoke cautiously. "It’s not that, Jace...”

“Well then, what is it?”

Rosie looked directly at Jace. There was no uncertainty in her voice.

“The killer is a female."

Jace raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Rosie, we've been through this already..."

Rosie Tracer sighed heavily. "No Jace, we haven't. I mentioned it briefly the day after the last two murders, and you immediately dismissed it."

"Well it's obvious!" said Jace, gesturing his arms in exasperation. "There is absolutely no way that one female could overpower two others- especially those Germans!" Jace alluded to physique of the first two murder victims, and that Scotland Yard had established only one killer was present at each of the crime scenes. "Rosie, the victims were overcome swiftly and with brutal force. It's rare to find even a man with that kind of power! If there was a female anywhere in this city capable of such actions, we would have found her already!"

"I know Jace, I know" said Rosie "But you've overlooked one critical error."

"Well what's that, Rosie?"

"Jace, the handwriting never changes. It's the same every time."

Jace Buntley opened his mouth, and then closed it. He blinked.
Rosie blinked back.

There was a terrific silence.

"Well then" Jace said slowly "Maybe we should just start arresting every female that weighs over 90 stones."
He knew better than to question Rosie's authority on graphology.

Rosie Tracer smiled, and looked down…

Jace took another sip from his coffee cup, no longer hot.

"In that case we’ve got the dissection note figured out.” He was referring to the paper they had found at the crime scene that detailed the method of dismemberment.

"If the killer was male, as we first suspected, then the dissection note was his, and he forced the victims to write his sick little message on the wall for him. That would explain the terror behind it.”

Jace paused, and looked into his mug.

“But, if we have correctly determined that the killer is a female, then someone else – a man – wrote the note for her. That means we have an accomplice. That also means we need to explain why the killer would be terrified while writing her own message.”

He looked at Rosie.

Her head was still down.

The room was silence.
Jace sighed and rubbed his temples. There was so much that just didn't make sense! They solved one mystery only to uncover three more.

But they were making progress- together. Just like old times.

Jace looked over at Rosie, still sitting silently in her chair. One hand was laid carelessly in her lap, and the other was on her chin. She was softly, absent-mindedly, biting her index finger. Her cheeks were flushed. Lost in thought.
So quiet.
So demure.
So lovely…

Jace remembered when he had last been in England- in Scotland. He remembered the energy he felt when working with her- the power.
Even the toughest cases seemed almost easy. Time flew- nothing was impossible when they were together.

He smiled from pure admiration. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time surfaced.
“Rose…” Jace began

Rosie wasn’t listening.

********

"Well then, maybe we should just start arresting every female that weighs over 90 stones."

Rosie played these words over in her head.

She smiled when she first heard them- purely, and genuinely- and not because of the joke.
She smiled because Jace accepted her theory without question, without argument, and without pride. His ability to put his ego aside for the sake of reason had always amazed her, and she respected him immensely for it.

What also amazed her was the complete trust he placed in her abilities. Jace knew the power of her psychic abilities, and the passion with which she pursued her work. She would never make a statement as bold as she had without intense feeling behind it- and Jace knew it.
He knew her.
That’s why he didn’t question her.
And that’s why Rosie Tracer was completely defenseless.

Her cheeks grew hot, her heart pounded in her chest.
She touched her face and looked down.

She remembered that feeling from so many years before, when they had been partners together at the S4 academy. She remembered the time they had spent together, the feelings they shared…

And she remembered that those feelings were gone.
They were cold.
They were black.

They were dark shadows in the memory of her heart, behind closed doors and blood-stained walls.

The raging inferno that once engulfed her heart was reduced to embers by one night in Paris.

Time had extinguished even that.

.
.
.

Deep in the corners of Rosie’s heart, a fire was rekindled.

**************

“Rose…”

Rosie Tracer looked up suddenly.

Jace was smiling like she hadn’t seen in years. Like the day she knew he loved her for the first time.

And he had called her Rose. No one else ever called her that.

For one split second, they met each other’s gaze.

For one split second, Jace Buntley and Rosie Tracer shared a feeling neither had known in over five years.

Rosie’s eyes shone with liquid excitement.

But something was wrong.

Buntely’s face became a mask of pain.

*******

There was a terrible crash as a half-empty mug of cold coffee was thrown against the wall.

A hollow door slammed shut.

Rosie Tracer sobbed in an empty room. Empty footsteps sounded down the hall.


Black liquid dripped from the wall.

.
.
.

That night in Paris.

Yes, I'

I don't really know how that happened. ...It's kind of like that day the post "Eat a Bug" just happened to pop up on the screen. I'm not quite sure I know how that happened, either.

I think there's a ghost-poster.

Anyway, what that post was originally supposed to be is no longer of interest to me.

::laughs:: Or something like that.

Excuse me. I have other things to do. The blog isn't very high on my priority list of late. Packing and hanging out with the friends I won't be able to hang out with in a couple of weeks has taken over my life for the time-being. Perhaps once I move to Clear Creek I will again have the time and inclination to post more *interesting* posts....Kevin.

So, see ya later.

John. Quit being so boring and say something.

Ride the Wind

~Ride the wind, Cowboy. The calm won't take you far.~

I found this quote online, and I've decided that I like it very much.

For Andrea

~Cloves
~Catharsis
~Costellos
~Happy Cows
~LH3
~Gerard Butler
~SS
~Jake
~Lagaan

Good luck, Ang. I'll miss you.

A Good Army and a Bad Army

A long, long time ago there was a battle. This is a battle of medieval time. There were spearmen, swordsmen, horsemen that had spears, daggermen, and men that cut the ropes to let the catapults launch.

They were having battles for a long time. They had an extremely large army for lots of battles.

They fighted in the spring, in the summer, in the fall, and even in the winter.

They were battling because the evil army was trying to murder and kill and burn up all of the land, so they had to defend it.

Jackston was the general of the Good Army. Sigo was the general of the Bad Army.

One day they had a battle at the castle, not in the fields, but at the castle. Arrows flying in the sky, killing men. The Bad Army almost won. But then Jackston came up with a great plan.

They had ladders inside of the castle, and they put it at the back of the castle. They had a sneak attack to keep the Bad Army out. They had a signal at the bottom to make the catapults launch to attack the Bad Army.

The Good Army won that battle. But there were many more to come.

Krav Maga at Level 3

Congratulations, Andrea!!

Ang was *awesome* tonight!

She passed, of course, and she got in some *great* hits.

But--oooh my goodness--it was intense. I don't think anyone who hadn't been there before could understand what she was going through. I had to leave the room a couple of times because I remembered what it was like to be going through that--and I wasn't even anywhere *NEAR* Andrea's level. But she did an amazing job.

::giggles:: Jake sure took a beating, though. Woooow. ::shakes head at the thought:: They definitely make a great team.

Ang did let her left down a few times, but she managed to hit her Mark....I mean mark. ::giggles::

Great job, Ang!! I'm so glad I was there for it. And I wouldn't have missed the celebrating for anything. ;)

As a side note, I said goodbye to Jake tonight. There won't be anymore rock-climbing for me. It was weird saying goodbye. It's been so much fun knowing him--and he's really taught me a lot. Being there tonight reminded me of when I took Krav from him last year, and it made me want to get back into it. ::smiles:: Maybe it's a good thing I'll be moving in a few days.

W.O.A.

Waiting on Andrea.

She's in the garage.

Punching a bag.

Or something.

I don't really know what, but it's making odd noises. The kind that would scare me if I were in the house all alone at night.

We'll be leaving in a minute for her test. ::shudders:: I *so* do not envy her this testing. Jake will not show mercy. This is level 3. The highest you can go--unless you're in the military or training as a bodyguard.

She isn't moving tomorrow after all. She is going on Saturday. Father Rick told her that he felt badly about her having to rush so quickly, and to go ahead and come in a couple of weeks, but she (being Ang) wants to get to work, and so is leaving in three days. ::sigh::

Anyway--y'all say a prayer that her testing goes well. I'll let you know how it goes!

:D

Once, Twice, Thrice

And it makes me laugh every single time.

Kind of like this commercial for a movie with Julia Roberts. I had never seen the movie, and I probably never will, but in this commercial she is all dressed up, and Richard Gere is holding a jewlery box out to her. She starts to reach for the necklace inside, and at the last second he clicks the box shut, scaring her and causing her to laugh.

I don't know what it was about her reaction, but it made *me* laugh *every* single time.

Okay, so, moving on....

The blogs have been so quiet lately. What's going on? ::shrugs:: I haven't felt much like posting. I have so much going on. Someone should tell "Davin" to post another chapter to his story. It's so mean to leave everybody hanging like this. Speaking of which...'The London Murders' *IS* still in the works. Dan just...well. The longer we wait, the better the chapter will be. That's all.

I'm going to Kelly's apartment in a little while. She is having a phone-line put in, so I'm going to hang out with her while the telephone guys are there. Then I'm going to go watch Andrea test at level 3 for Krav Maga. *That* should be interesting.

Andrea is moving tomorrow.

And I'm not talking about it right now. I'm still in denial.

...Unlike Mary.

::smirks::

Grandpa Gordon's Army Coat

'Tis quite odd the things you find when you move.

Saturday morning John and I went to get my dresser from the barn and...::re-reads that and is suddenly struck with the complete back-woods-y sound of it, and laughs accordingly::...and while we were out there, John picked up an old, green coat. "Look," he said. "This was Grandpa's."

Yup. Sure enough. There was the Screaming Eagles emblem, and the stripes with a big 'T' underneath (my dad says it stands for Tech-5...::shrugs::), and....it was history. And it was weird.

Grandpa Gordon was a paratrooper during WWII. And I was holding the coat he wore during that time.

My dad says Grandpa never talked about the war. He and his war buddies would get together sometimes, but the war never came up. I guess they were too deeply effected by it. I don't know.

I wish my grandpa were still alive. I'd like to know what it was like back then. And Grandma, too. I don't even know if they knew each other while he was off fighting. I think it's the writer in me that makes me think all these things. ::laughs softly:: But maybe it's a good thing I can't ask Grandpa Gordon about it. Maybe he wouldn't like it. ...Maybe he would think I was over-analytical.

Anyway--::laughs and knows that some things can be pushed too far...but can't find it in her heart to care because it's funny::--I tried that old, dirty coat on. And that was *weird*. I was wearing Grandpa's uniform! It fit me. That was weird too. Later on my dad told me that Grandpa was only 5'8 (an inch taller than me). It surprised me because my dad and uncle John are tall--5'11 or 6'. I always pictured Grandpa as being tall, too.

"Hey, Dad...how about I store that coat in my closet? So it's not in the barn anymore...I noticed there were some holes in it."
"Sure. Sure. Go ahead."
"...Do you think that taking it to the dry-cleaners would make it fall apart?"
"I don't know. But you can ask them."
"Okay. I'll do that."
"...Tell ya what...if you get it cleaned and mended, you can have it."

Cooool.

Hey--y'all...I get my grandfather's WWII army coat.

::is in writer's heaven::

Long Day in Clear Creek

Test run of the new game "Cigarettes and a Lighter" showed it's not much fun. I don't suggest playing it. ::winks and grins::

My dad is doing well. He is on his way home from the hospital right now. The heart-cath showed that the stent he had put in a few years ago is blocked, but they said it wasn't enough of a worry for them to unblock it. (When it was put in it was done in the hope that it would lessen the undetermined chest pain he was having--not necessarily because it was a danger to his life.)

He did have a heart-attack at some point which effected a small part of the lower heart, but no major damage was done. I think I pin-pointed when it might have been--but what do I know? My dad isn't sure when it was. It's so common for his chest to hurt.

The doctor told him he needed to get off of the cigarettes "at some point." ::laughs:: Yeeeeah.
...My two big brothers had the same message for my dad--via *ME*. Marc and James both said, "Tell Dad he can't have anymore cigarettes." I was like, "Um...okay...no *way*." They both laughed--I talked to them at separate times, by the way--then said, "If he doesn't like it, tell him to call me."

I had to laugh. First of all, they both said the same thing, but also because that's an easy thing to say from 150 miles away. ::giggles:: Thanks for the support, guys.

Dad just walked in the door. I have to go.

'Cigarettes and a Lighter'

It's a new game. My dad and I just made it up.

I'm going to take him a lighter, and he has to try to find a cigarette to use it on...from his hospital bed. In ICU. While wearing oxygen. Woo hoo!!! Fun times!

Of course, this is the slightly modified version of the game. *My* version, actually. *His* version was too boring. He simply wanted me to bring him a lighter and a cigarette when I get into Talequah tonight.

So I told him I would bring the lighter, and the fun part of the game would be his trying to find someone *else* to bring him a cigarette.

Kind of reminds me of the game Heather and Kelly and I made up when we were little--'How Well Do You Know Your Room in the Dark?' We would turn all of the lights off in our bedroom, then we would hide. If you were "It", you had to try to find the hiders by feeling around. Of course this didn't really work when there was a full moon out. After a minute or two you could see everything perfectly. Especially if one of the girls was standing on the desk....

Maybe I'll take him a candle instead.

Okay, so, if you want an update on my dad, go read the comments under the last post. Beth commented. I would, but...well...Beth already did for one thing, but I also just don't have the time. I am in a hurry to get to Clear Creek.

Keep up the prayers, though.

Thanks.

Pax.

I Can't Sleep, So...

...I'm going to post the rest of my Poor Girl story. I was going to wait until tomorrow to do it, but... ::shrugs:: Now is just as good as time as any.


~*~*~A Cynical Fairy Tale part II~*~*~

The following day Prince Charming appeared right on time with Beautiful Steed's reins in his hand. And, as was fully expected, he fell to one knee and begged for Poor Girl's hand in marriage. Poor Girl laughed and told him what a silly fellow he was--and that he should get up off his knee--the ground was wet! Of course she would marry him! He hesitated. There was one condition, he said. His mother wanted to taste her cooking--she could cook, couldn't she? Not that she would ever have to, but it was a thing with his mother.

Of course she could cook! And she was very willing to prove it to his mother. Prince Charming, who was very relieved, raised himself from the wet grass and went happily along his way--but only after having made a promise to bring his mother to dinner the next night.

As soon as he was out of sight Poor Girl took off running as Poor Girl's never should. But--after all--she did have reason.

She had only a little over 27 hours to learn to cook.

Somewhere in the garden there was a rake left by a forgetful gardener--or perhaps it was Fate--one never knows with such things. Unfortunately, Poor Girl did not see the rake. But she found it. Or rather her foot found it--but her face was a close second. Luckily Poor Girl was able to jump up after only a couple of hours, and she continued running for the kitchen and the girl inside cooking--Lassie.

The next night a delicious dinner was served. Everything was beautifully prepared. This was due largely, and in fact wholly, to Lassie who had prepared the meal. She had also come up with the idea, after Poor Girl's many failed attempts at simply cracking eggs, to tell Prince Charming's Mother that Poor Girl was feeling so poorly after her brush with death that Lassie had prepared the dinner for Her Majesty. Before this could be done, however, after only the first bite, Prince Charming's Mother ordered him to marry the girl who had prepared the meal. When it was pointed out that Lassie had cooked the dinner and not Poor Girl, due to her unfortunate accident, Prince Charming's Mother would not relent. "I could not possibly have a girl as clumsy as that for a daughter. Besides, she looks ghastly with that welt on her head!"

Imagine Poor Girl's dismay when she heard Prince Charming say; "You are quite right, Mother. We could not possibly have a clumsy girl in this family. And she does look terribly ghastly with that welt."

"Look at her trying to hide it behind her hair!" His Mother was a bit too honest for dinner conversation, but it couldn't be helped just then. "Ridiculously foolish of her!" Her son answered back.

The very next night Poor Girl watched as Prince Charming walked down the isle with Lassie. At first Poor Girl thought she might have a broken heart, but she had to change her mind when she saw the back of the wedding program. It read:

CONGRATULATIONS TO PRINCE AND LASSIE

Poor Girl laughed to herself as she walked away.

They were obviously meant for each other.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The moral of this story?
I was once told that men are like parking spaces. All the good ones are taken. Or they're dead. (I know, I know--a parking space can't die. But my aunt thinks they can, so let's not argue.)
Seriously, though--I guess a good moral would be that people and situations are rarely what they seem. Keep looking. Sooner or later--you'll see.

"Don't believe everything you hear, and only *half* of what you see."

~*~Tracy Marie Therese Robinson~*~
*~March 29th, 2003

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

::winks:: I hope y'all enjoyed it.

Um--no news on my dad yet. Things are the same now as they were when I last posted. Thanks for the prayers.

My Dad

::shakes head:: I hate doing stuff like this. It's like, no matter how you word it, it tends to sound borderline melodramatic....

Okay, so, in an *un*melodramatic way, my dad was having chest pains today so my mom took him to the hospital. Every once in a while my dad gets terrible chest pain, and since heart trouble runs in the family, we're always afraid it's a heart attack. It never has been before--but they've also never been quite sure of what it actually was.

It's been a few months since my dad has had one of those chest attacks, but he had one earlier today. They said his EKG came back "grossly abnormal"...whatever that means...but that it didn't appear there was any "ongoing damage". Meaning? ::shrugs:: These are the times I wish I were a nurse. I think my mom said they didn't think he was having a heart attack, but that the results should he could have at some point, and he didn't know about it.

They are keeping my dad overnight, and a cardiologist is going to see him tomorrow. They are checking to see if his stent--which he had put in a few years ago--is clogged, or if there are any other narrowings. But he's stable now. ...I'm not really sure what we're dealing with here.

Please say some prayers for him. And the rest of my family.

I'll let you guys know when I hear anything new.

Pax.

A Cynical Fairy Tale

A long time ago someone sent me a short, cynical fairy tale that I found very amusing.

But this post isn't about that fairy tale.

It's about the fairy tale I sent in reply.

For some odd reason the short email sparked my imagination, and I soon met up with Poor Girl, Lassie, Prince Charming, and Beautiful Steed.

I've never really given it a name. I just call it "A Cynical Fairy Tale" or "My Poor Girl Story". If y'all can think up any good names, I'm open to suggestions. ;) ...though perhaps those names are most appropriate.

Over the years I have changed bits and pieces throughout the story, and the copies of these changes are strewn from here to Clear Creek, so I'm never really sure which is the final copy. The one I have in front of me right now may not be the one I actually want set forth as My Poor Girl Story, but oh well.

So--since Dan is diligently working on making the next chapter of TLM just *so*, I will post my fairy tale while we are waiting for Det. Jace Buntley to reappear...*alive*

(This may have to be posted in two or three posts--it's a bit on the longish side.)


~*~*~A Cynical Fairy Tale ~*~*~

Once upon a time there was a witty, understanding, thoughtful, intelligent, polite, handsome, tall, blue-eyed prince named Prince Charming. Prince Charming was the last of the Charming Royalty, and therefore had a beautiful castle in Scotland. Now this meant three things; first, he had *the* coolest accent. Second, he was rich. Third, he was Catholic. (<--In my Fairy Tale, anything goes.)

Somehow Prince Charming had managed to make it all the way to 22 years of age without marrying. This did not go unnoticed. In fact, it was quite noticed. One girl in particular noticed and decided to act upon these noticings. (<--I don't think that's a real word, but it works for my Fairy Tale.) That would account for why one day a not-so-bad-looking-girl happened, very purposely by accident, to run into the young prince. In fact, she ran into him with such force that a good-sized welt appeared on her forehead just seconds after their meeting.

Now, Prince Charming being Prince Charming, he *just happened* to have a small bag of ice for the unsightly bump on Poor Girl's head, and, to go along with it, a compliment for Poor Girl's wounded pride. The world stopped when precious Prince Charming said; "Dear girl, if you let your hair fall in such a way, the slight reddening of your pretty head is entirely covered. Of course, I see no reason for you to do such a thing, but I must confess I find your beautiful tresses quite appealing."

Poor Girl's pride was saved. Prince Charming was a hero. Beautiful Steed was enthralled by the whole scene. Beautiful Steed was the horse upon which Prince Charming rode. (Disclaimer: It is physically impossible for an acronym to exist in my Fairy Tale. Therefore, if--in the hopes of making the story shorter--you acronym anything, the results are the result of your own twisted thinking.)

From that beautiful spring day forward Poor Girl rarely thought of anything but Prince Charming and his Beautiful Steed. She was especially reminded of them when she looked in her mirror and saw the three-inch scar which ran across her right temple. (Please do not bother protesting that welts cannot scar. In my Fairy Tale welts can do anything.) Poor Girl often would run her left ring-finger along her unsightly scar while sighing softly. She especially liked to do this at the dinner table--when Prince Charming was present--just after her father, who was watching them from the head of the table, asked the servant to fetch the firearm that needed cleaning.

The servant, being Scottish, was name Lassie. Some sadistic person named her. Someone who knew she was to be a servant. I suppose they thought there were being funny. 'Til the day she died, Lasie was asked to "fetch" everything from a firearm to her master's slippers. Poor Girl's father thought he was almost as funny as the person who named her. Oh well. No one ever said that life is fair. Oh--wait--yes they did. But they're dead now. Lassie shot them with a firearm her master had just finished cleaning.

Anyway, one night after a particulary loud sigh from Poor Girl, Prince Charming took her aside and said that he would be coming to see her again the following afternoon, and that she should be waiting for him in the garden. Poor Girl happily agreed to this and bid the handsome prince goodnight. But not before Prince Charming kissed her softly and told her she was the sweetest of all womanhood. He also confessed his confusion as to what he had done to deserve her. (In Poor Girl's opinion it had been precious little, but she decided to let it slide.)

~*~*~*~*~*~coming soon~*~*~*~*~*~*~A Cynical Fairy Tale part II~*~*~*~*~

TLM: The End of Jace Buntley

Jace Buntley walked slowly back to his hotel room. That incident at the murder scene, and then later with Rosie, had done it. He decided that, however this murder mystery ended up, he was going to make amends. The time had come. Life was just too short, too unpredictable.

He was a murder dectective, and yet hardly ever thought about death. His own, at least.
But now, he did think about it. One day, he would die. What would happen to him then?
He had been Catholic, once... and that was enough to tell him the answer.

As he ascended the staircase to his 3rd floor room, he also reflected on his past life, and how awful it had been. He would find a priest, make reconciliation, and live his life anew. He was going to become a new man. And he wanted it to be with Rosie...


*******


Jace's Guardian Angel: Sir, sir, we have a situation below!

St. Peter: For my sake, what is it, Angel #36,576,001?

JGA: Jace Buntley's repented! He's experienced perfect contrition! I don't know how long this situation will last, but we have to act NOW!!!

St. Pete: What? Jace BUNTLEY? That crappy APOSTATE? Why, I can't count the number of times he took my name in vain, much less the Big Man! Are you sure it's PERFECT?

JGA: Pure as the driven snow, sir! I'd bet my wings on it! We've got to do something!

St. Pete: Angel #36,576,001, you're right! Activate Code Golden Harp 4!

JGA: Code GH4? Now we're TALKING! I'll get an Angel of Death on it right away!

******

As Jace approached his hotel room door, his senses picked up. He could tell something was amiss, but he wasn't quite sure. He paused in the hallway, uncertain.

*******

JGA: Oh, come ON, dude! Just open the door! Listen, this is your Guardian Angel talking! You know, I'm on your shoulder, whispering in your ear, listen to me, something like that? OPEN THE DOOR!

Open the door...

open the door....

open the door...

*******

Jace suddenly felt a feeling of peace and serenity, and smiled as he once more began walking towards his hotel room door. As his hand grasped the doorknob, he wondered at how warm and inviting it felt. He turned and pushed.... and.... the darkness of his room greeted him.

Hmmmm, what was that funny smell? Once again, his senses warned him...

******

JGA: Go to sleeeep, go to sleeeep, go to sleeee-eeeep dear Jacie! Light the match, light the match....

******

Jace smiled, paused, listened to a cute little birdie singing to the morning dawn out the window, smiled again, and struck a match.


KABLOOOIEEE!!!!!!


***********

Rosie cried when she heard the news.

Dr. Welch frowned and muttered.

Kevson and Niles scratched their heads and shrugged.

Davis Nolder got drunk.

Jace's Guardian angel gave Nolder's Guardian angel a high-five, and reminded him that miracles really do happen.

*******

So Scotland Yard, without the help of Jace Buntley, finally found the murderer, although perhaps not quite as quickly. The murderer's identity wasn't really that important. Several more young, beautiful, foriegn, Catholic girls got murdered, which to the world's eyes was very tragic, but in the eyes of their guardian angels was quite miraculous. They were mostly brazen hussies, Catholic in name only, and their baptism of quite a lot of blood was enough to purge their multifarious sins. They made it into purgatory.

Rosie decided to quit the detective work and became a professed single. She was too weird to join a convent.

Kevson and Niles lived okay lives, and seconds before their deaths realized the error of being Anglican. They made it to heaven, but spent a ton of time in purgatory for being careless about the Faith.

Davis Nolder, poor sap, drank himself dead and only made purgatory because of the prayers of his wife Lanney, and his dear mother. Long story.

Little Charity went to the glue factory after Nolder died. She was a horse, so she went straight to creature heaven. There is such a thing!

And finally, having experienced perfect contrition, Jace avoided hell. Due to the prayers of Rosie Tracer, and the good work he actually did perform in helping to solve brutal murders, he didn't spend too much time in purgatory. But he sure felt it when he was there.

To Kevin

::lllightening bolt!::

::lllightening bolt!!!::

::Kevin disappears in a puff of smoke::

That's what you get, Kevin.

I hope you remember saying rude stuff about my blog when I'm living in Clear Creek and you miss me and you're sad I'm not around to say rude things to!!!

::throws one more lllightening bolt for good measure::

"Cooool!"

Oh, look! There's Beth in the background!

Hi Beth!!!

Aaaw, look! There's Michelle's head in the corner!

Hi Michelle!

Okay, so the point of this picture is actually Hunter's face.

I had just told him what Tom and Heather had given the family for a Christmas gift.

He really liked the thought of a five-day cruise down Mexico way.

Why am I posting this photo now instead of closer to when it was first taken? ::shrugs:: I dunno. I just found it a couple of days ago, and I realized I had forgotten to post about the awesome gift from my sister and brother-in-law.

And I just wanted to post something.

Life of Riley and a Pet Peeve

John, David, Derrick and Kevin.

Life of Riley.

Y'all did a great job tonight. It was a lot of fun hearing you guys play...somewhere other than in Abby's garage. ;)

Okay. That's all I have to say. I would say more, but my thoughts have all gone to sleep. My body should follow suit. ::eyes last sentence and wonders if that's the way 'suit' is spelled when used in that context:: I don't think there's any other way to spell it. ::shrugs:: Oh well.

Hey, Marcy--your shoes are still in my car....

Hey, Mary--my shoes are still on your feet.

Tomorrow I am going to begin packing for the move to Clear Creek. Still haven't decided on an exact date. If my family weren't going on a cruise at the end of January, setting a date would be a lot simpler. There's no way I am staying in CC by myself when they are all on a cruise to Mexico. It might turn me into...I dunno...a big ball of emotion or something. ::wonders if being a small ball of emotion is better...::

That wouldn't be good. ::laughs:: They might wish I hadn't moved up there. ::thinks about it:: Naaah. My family isn't allowed to wish things like that. And even if they did, they would just have to deal with it because I've been wanting to move there for...oh...*three years* and being told I wasn't wanted would...well. hm....

Uh oh. Uh ooooh. I did it again. I got online late at night when I should've gone to bed instead!

What should you do when someone asks a question you do not want to answer? *But* you're in a situation where you *have* to answer, or you're going to look like you're intentionally being rude?

::raises hand:: I know, I know!

Answer it half way.

Yes. Half way. Although that can leave much room for assumptions. But you know--it's funny the things people hear in silence. And it's even funnier letting their assumptions go unchecked. ::laughs to self::

Wow. I can't believe it, but that last bit of rambling could apply to three different conversations I have had in the past week or so.

Well, goodnight. It's going to be a long day tomorrow, so I'd better get my rest. Somehow I have more to move out than I had to move in...a year and a half ago.

Pax.

Rebecca Jo

Okay, everybody, it's Becky's turn in the spotlight.

This is my fourth little sister.

I think she's probably the sweetest girl in the whole world.

When she was younger she looked just like a little leprechaun.

Actually...she still does. ;)

Somehow she ended up with more Irish in her than the rest of us did...with the exception of John. He's got the red hair too. And the temper. And...::laughs::...what is it they say, Mr. Briody? Something about blarney?? ;)

Hi Becky!