Great Lady Wholenote

You see Great Lady Wholenote Ztom the Physician. She appears to be a Dwarf.
She appears to be full grown. She has dark eyes and nut brown skin. She comes
equipped with a pair of polished steel spectacles. She has long, deep red hair worn in
elaborate braids. She has a long nose and rosy cheeks. She is in good shape, and fine
health. She is holding a flagon of blackdew grog in her right hand and a fresh
peach muffin in her left hand.

She is wearing a slate grey vultite helm, an ornate gold ring, and a crystal amulet,
And a rune-etched amethyst neckchain, She is clothed in a light green bodice, icy blue
leather pants, some pale ivory leathers, and some padded black brocade boots; and a
frosty white robe. Around her neck she wears a blackened glaes aventail. She has a dark
green woolen herb satchel slung over her shoulder, and a wears a heavy polished steel
stein attached to a thick mithril-clasped belt.

Attached to her cloak you see:
a small four-pointed azure star insignia inset with a golden drake, a crystal sword-shaped
pin, an invar ruby-inset toadstool, a tiny black swan pin, and a green toadstool pin.
A black diamond edged vultite falchion is sheathed in a large ivory-bound scabbard
and she has a pearly white shield slung over her other shoulder.

--thus is the description of my avatar. She live in a world called Elanthia, which is
populated by dwarves, elfs, halfings, half-krolvin, half-elfs, giantkin, burghal and forest
gnomes, and a few humans. Unfortunately, Elanthia, Wholenote and her friends only
exist as words, denizens of Gemstone IV, an online text based adventure I have been
playing of and on for about ten years.

Although Wholenote, is a work of fiction, playing Gemstone has introduced me to
some real-life characters. I have friends in England, Australia, and Canada; as well as all
over the US. The some of the other players know me, the player behind Wholenote.
They know I have a nephew in Iraq, and that I am currently unemployed, and that I
struggle with mental illness. When I was unable to pay the fee to play Gemstone two
months this fall, three people e-mailed me to see if I was okay. What a great feeling.
It is not cheap to play Gemstone at the level I am involved, it costs $30/month.
Some mental health providers in the past have suggested I am ‘Addicted’ to this game....
that it is not a good thing I should be doing. My current therapist, when I told her
about the game, looked at me and said, ‘I see that as a good outlet for you creativity!’ and
‘if someone says you’re addicted to Gemstone, you tell them you could do a lot worse,
(addiction wise).Where has she been all my life?

Several times a year local Gemstone players get together to socialize. Once every
year or two, there is a National Gemstone/Simutronics convention in St. Louis. Some
year I hope to attend.

early creative writing

(as I sort through boxes of 'stuff' I continue to run across creative writing efforts from my junior and senior high school years. Some of it isn't bad. I posted it here with out correcting spelling errors).

fallin fall leaves
along a country road
the trees are black
burned out shadows of
beautiful things once there.

the road ahead is hazy for
this part of the woods,
the smoke of an unforgetable past still lingers here.

the water bubbles past
(as though it's) trying to clear away
old memories
to make room for the new happiness
soon to be sought in this
small corner of the world.
June 30, 1975

You came and brought warmth,
When you left,
It turned cold.
January 10, 1976

i'm looking at it, now it shall never be the same,
i'll erase it, scribble on it,
scrawl over it,
reshape it,
make it something special to me.
July 9, 1975

the two of 'em sitting side by side
one could be a shadow of the other
shiny, is one, reflecting
the other, dull, with two rings 'round it and
darker streaks going down
one forward, the other back alittle,
almost shadows of each other.
July 9, 1975

(note: today I have no idea what it was I was describing...)

ENERGY politics

as stated on line, the presidental candidates policy on American Energy, according to Wordle
First Obama, taken for his policy on his website. The only change I made was to remove "Joe" and "Barack"




and now from McCain, again taken from the policy published on his website
the only change I made here was to add McCain 8 times, so his name would show up fairl large (with Wordle, the more times a word is repeated, the larger it will be)

Creative Writing, September 29

Part I prompts: "buzz" and "shortly before sunrise"
Shortly before sunrise---
Why is it always shortly? Have you ever heard any one refer to a time frame of longly before sunrise? I recently read an article in a writers magazine about proofreading your work, being especially aware of the dreaded part of speech, I think it was adverbs (I never figured out how to diagram sentences, or why). To wit: if I write shortly before sunrise--I should rewrite a short time --or long time, before sunrise...
Any way, the buzz that started out by my feet cautiously approached the head of my bed. Quiet at first, them more insistant, it settled first behind my back (I sleep on one side or the other). It faded, then returned, this time settling down near my chest, increasing in tone so much that I can feel it as well as hear it.
I am, of course aware of what is causing this phenomena, and am doing my best to ignore... after a while the noise and vibration stop. Next I feel a light tentative tap, usually on an arm or shoulder. Frustrated by my lack of response and presumed inattentiveness, the next attempt is harder to resist- I quiet buzz restarts, on my pillow right next to my head. Her paw reaches out to touch my chin, and then I am nudged with the top of her head, and rub me--still I will ignore the prompting until...
The thing I cannot resist-she comes face to face with me-tickling my face with her whiskers...yet I know if I could just resist a bit longer...I jump all at once, and she will jump back a good 6 to 8 inches--
I make her live up to her name "Spooky"

For Better or For Worse

http://wordle.net


I have two comic strips bookmarked to follow on a daily basis: one is Frazz, about a janitor/triathlet/musician who works at the same grade school he went to as a kid. The other is For Better or For Worse (FBorFW). On Sunday, the author, Lynn Johnston announced that she is ending the progression of her characters lives. The strip will still be published, she will be using strips from 'the early years' when the strip was much easier to draw and write; along with some 'new-old' strips mixed in. It seems as the years past, her characters took on lives of their own--and possibly nearly took over hers as well....!! For me, the new-old strips will be just as fine, as I didn't really start to read the strip until the youngest child, April was born.

I plan to write a book...

A few years ago I purchased a book entitled What We Saw: the Events of September 11, 2001- In Words, Pictures a and Video, by CBS News. This book is a compilation of reports broadcast by CBS and its affiliates that day and in the months that followed. Other then to take the plastic shrink wrap off when it arrived, I never really looked at the book before this evening.

I have for several months been thinking about writing a book, a work of fiction which will outline a different national response to the events of 2/11/01, and what follows. I have been looking for information on what President Bush was doing in Florida that morning, and what his immediate response was. I have been looking for a clip or written text of the unilateral support of Congress that was broadcast later that day. Part of the reason I remember it because Senator Wellstone was in it. I don't remember what all the speech was about, but I vividly remember the joined group singing “God Bless America” afterwards.

This evening put the DVD in my computers CD/DVD player an watched it. Just under two hours in length. I watched it primarily to bring back to mind what people were saying in reaction to the events immediately after. It included several excerpts I had not seen previously, so I re watched several items. But can you imagine? When I turned it off Windows Media Player, the time on the computer screen read 9:11 (PM). I sat stunned for a moment, and I'm not ashamed to admit, it prayed. I feel as though the Holy Spirit rested on my shoulder and said 'write your book..'

As stated above, it will be like a 'parallel universe,' or maybe 'an alternate reality'. It will make suggestions that our response, instead of attacking/invading Afghanistan, and later, Iraq with out military might, we do so with real economic sanctions against Mideast countries suspected of harboring/supporting terrorist cells, in the form of not purchasing any petroleum from such countries. That is the first part of the book. What will follow is what happens to the people and society in that country-- set perhaps 50-100 years in the future...

The post below from yesterday, is a rough draft of a scene I envision taking place in a rural/farming community. For some reason it appears in my mind as being up around Collegeville/St. Joseph area... in the coming days, I hope to post more drafts of ideas involved in this very creative endeavor. Copyright 2008 by the Blogged Sink

reduce REUSE recycle

“you know, Jaimie, I remember a lecture I got from my Grandma when I was about your age.”
Jaimie rolls her eyes. “Really Gram? Gosh, I can't picture you being lectured about anything”
Clay grins and says,
“Jaimie be quiet. I wanna to hear what Gram has to say.” Jaimie glares at her cousin and mutters 'I bet-especially since she's singled me out this time...'
“Thank you, Clay!” Gram says.
“Now where was I? Oh yes. Our folks had gone out of town for something; I think it was a bowling tournament towards Duluth. "

"Anyway, Grandma had come to watch us kids while they were gone. One morning I washed my hands after finishing breakfast, took a fresh paper towel from the roll, wiped my hands and threw the crumpled towel in the trash can. Grandma grabbed my arm and shook me as I was going out the back door.”
“Then she went over, pulled the paper towel out of the trash can, unfolded it and said,”
As Gram continues Jaimie chimes in “I have never seen such a wasteful child!”

This time several young voices complain:
“Jaimie be quiet!”
“Shhh... Jaimie don't tease Gram”
“Really Jaimie”
“Alright, alright” Jaimie rolls her eyes again.
“Please Gram, continue your story.”
“Thank you Jaimie, I think I will.”
Gram winks and smiles at Jaimie.

“My Grandma showed me the paper towel I was so quick to through away and she said...” Gram stops and looks at Jaimie, who holds her hands out, palm towards Gram “what did she say Gram?”
“She asked me if I washed my hands.”
I looked at my Grandma, and said 'yes.' “Well then, if your hands are clean, did you dirty this paper towel?” I shook my head no.
Then my Grandma said “well, if the paper towel isn't dirty, then you should spread it out so it will dry, and someone else can use it again for something, like wiping up a spill."

“What do you think of my story Jai-my-mie?” Jaimie looks down at the floor for a moment. “Well, I can see her point...but really Gram, paper towels?” Some of the younger children giggle.
“You younglings may find it hard to believe, but yes there was such a thing as towels made from paper product. It came on on rolls that you could tear off in pieces about 12 x 12 inches. I had already learned the lesson of taking more than one towel to dry my hands on.” This time Gram rolled her eyes. All the children laugh at Gram.

Getting serious again, Gram asks Jaimie “wasn't it turn for your charges to have baths last eve?” “Yes Gram, and we all used the same towel...”
“I know that Jaimie, but when you were done with it, where did you put it? Witih a downcast look, Jaimie admits she put it in the dirty clothes hamper.
“I'll go take it out ...” It''s okay, Jai-my-mie, I hung it up after you went to sleep. Just try to remember in the future, okay?”

The children leave the table room to do their assigned chores. Clay pokes Jaimie on the way out. She slaps his hands and mutters “paper towels” Giggling, Clay asks, 'just how old is Gram anyhow?”
“Its anyway, and I don't know. Next thing she'll want us to save the butt cloths from day to day!”
''Yuck! that's gross Jaimie!”
“Jaimie?
“What?”
“What is 'bowling'?
Copyright 2008 by the Blogged Sink

Poems I wrote in 1975

While looking through a box of stuff last week I found a note book with some 'vintage poetry' from the summer of 1975, when I was headed into 11th grade. I attended a special sort of summer school called Twin Cities Institute for Talented Youth (TCITY). These two poems which were printed up in a booklet at the end of the session:

people
beware of
this lake.

it will
steal any
thing you happen
to be throwing
around.

our family
and friends
have
lost
two frisbees
one shoe
four tennis balls
three nerf footballs
and one volkswagen key.

people
beware of
this lake.

----------

memories of a lost tennis shoe

my tennis shoe
you were my favorite shoe
you never gave me a blister,
like my new shoes do.

You were okay
even if you were ragged and
unpadded.

i'm sorry
but i couldn't stop my brother
when he picked you up
and threw you out
so far in the lake,
where you floated for a while
and then sank
before i could reach you.
7/15/1975

B is for Bruce, part II

note: this post developed from Creative Writing. The prompt given was 'catalog', the thesaurus entry reads: (noun)

• a series of names or words, printed or written down;
• list, register, roll, roster, schedule. see also: remember
• (verb) to register in or as if in a book;

book, enroll, inscribe, list, set down. see remember:

• Remember:to renew an image or thought in the mind:
• bethink, mind, recall, recollect
• reminisce, retain, revive, think.
• IDIOM: to bring to mind.
• to care enough to keep in mind

My brother Bruce was seven years sober when he died last July. He was aided in his sobriety by many friends/co-addicts at the Twin Lakes Alano Society in Brooklyn Park, MN.

Bruce was on the governing board and very active. When he died, we actually held two memorials- one in the afternoon for family, friends and relatives; and one that evening at Twin Lakes- well attended by about 100-150 of Bruce's bowling and golfing team mates, former classmates and co-workers, a cousins that live out that way, and many, many friends from Twin Lakes and Minneapolis Inter-group. When the chaplin at Twin Lakes had asked earlier in the week if anyone would like to share their memories of Bruce. More than 15 people indicated they would like to do so.

Twin Lakes is a small AA community, with a core group of about 30 people. They have their own building-a converted elementary school. Being such a small group, the frequently hold events to raise funds for repairs and to pay utilities. On Saturday May 17th, I attended one of these events, a garage/rummage sale. As soon as I was noticed, four of my brothers best friends (now they are also my friends) came up to me and gave me hugs and asked after myself and my father--especially about my Dad- they are concerned for his health, well-being, and sobriety--like them he is a 'recovering alcoholic' with more than 30 years sobriety.

It was good to see them, but very hard and emotional at the same time. I was repeatedly asked how I liked the Saturn, which is actually in my Dad's possession right now. It was a beautiful day, and I dutifully wandered amongst the clothing racks and tables before the area that always gets most of my attention at any sale: the books and other media! In the past they have always had a good selection of books and used music, and this time was no exception.... I found a couple of cassettes (car stereo) and a boxed set of Erma Bombeck humor paperbacks. I was almost done when I spotted it. And it immediately brought tears to my eyes.

"It" is a hardback copy of Listen to the Warm, by Rod McKuen. It is a collection (the second published) of Rod McKuen's poems/lyrics. When I was in Junior High, and Bruce was in the Navy, he sent me a copy of this book--which I have long since lost. That I found a copy at this time and this location still brings tears to my eyes. I don't know how that book got to the sale- who donated it or what. But I am sure Bruce had a hand in it being there for me to find!! Thank you again, Bruce, for this book!

(from page 56--titled Thirty-six)
grrr-someday I will figure out how to indent when using blogger the italic lines are indented in original form-grrr

I live alone.
It hasn’t always been that way.
It’s nice sometimes
to open up the heart a little
and let some hurt come in.
It proves you’re still alive.

I’m not sure what it means.
Why we cannot shake the old loves from our minds.
It must be that we build on memory
and make them more than what they were.
And is the manufacture
just a safe device for closing up the wall?

I do remember.
The only fuzzy circumstance
is sometimes where-and-how.
Why, I know.

It happens just because we need
to want and to be wanted too,
when love is here or gone
to lie down in the darkness
and listen to the warm.

History is an omelette

Creative Writing April 14, 2008

During Creative Writing class, the instructor announces two sets of prompts, one at the beginning and one after the break, to help anyone who doesn’t know what to write about to get started. Prior to class I had decided to write out my reactions to an awesome quote read over the weekend. As it happened, I was able to incorporate the prompts into my themed writing.

Quote from the weekend: History is an omelette. The eggs are already broken.
first set of prompts (from book titles): 1) Stirred, not shaken; 2) You belong to me, I believe?
The reading of a book is a stirring of my mind. The words and their meanings are put forth by a brain other than mine. Sometimes my mind will seize on a word or a phrase. Then it becomes mine to play around with. I think about it, relate to it, kick it around in my brain. Instead of being stirred, it sometimes becomes shaken as it rattles around in my head. Until I must truly look at the result and say, “you belong to me, I believe?”

Over the past weekend I read a book titled Empire: a disturbing look at a possible future. It is a work of science fiction. The author, Orson Scott Card, starts each chapter with an unattributed quote. I think I recognize a couple as being from the classic The Art of War, but I am not sure. One chapter starts with this quote: “History is an omelette. The eggs are already broken”. I have already claimed it. I keep turning it over and over in my mind:

Who is the chef? Who broke the eggs? What else is on the menu? Orange juice? is that stirred-as in (gag) Tang? or will it be shaken-so to mix the pulp back in?
What other ingredients are in the omelette? How many eggs? Three? Four? Six or more? Who will eat the omelette? Omelette: A dish made of beaten and cooked eggs that are folded often around a filling. Eggs that are beaten, not shaken or stirred….

second set of prompts given: (characters): 1) the cook, 2) the abductorIf I don’t like the other ingredients, can I abduct the cook and thereby change the recipe? If I don’t like an ingredient can I pick it out and set it on the side of my plate? Or better yet, drop it on the floor in hopes the cat will eat it?

An omelette is more than just eggs. It take more than eggs to make an omelette. What kind of eggs? Chicken eggs? Ostrich eggs? Turkey eggs? Goose—no not ‘goose’ egg—that wouldn’t be anything… Reptilian eggs? Snake eggs, Dragon Eggs?

What happened to the egg? Why is it an egg? Why isn’t it a living, breathing creature? What came first-the chicken or the egg? Neither! The first and second generations were created at the same time…. Why did the chicken cross—oops, don’t go there! Oi! Bad, bad pun! Where was I…oh!

History. What is history? “A narrative of past events. an interesting past”. Hmmm, if the past wasn’t interesting, would it still be history? Who decided history was to be an omelette? Why can’t it just be scrambled eggs? If I don’t like the narration of history, can I abduct the author and cook up a different history? Can history be changed? Who cooks up history? What does he use to cook it in? What kind of pan-an omelette pan? What kind of grease is used? What is the heat source? Electric range? Gas stove? Open campfire? Or maybe they use a microwave?

An image pops into my head: an egg painted/decorated to resemble the earth, and cracked in halves. I make a note to Google for images: earth comma egg when I get home.

If God is the chef, did he write the menu long, long ago? Is the earth the egg? The cook has broken open the eggs and placed them in a container. Is the universe the container? Other planets are eggs too? Are people the other ingredients? Are people the cooks? Too many cooks spoil the broth. If you can’t stand the heat…get out of the kitchen…

E is for Elementary Education

For grades K-6, I attended Richards Gordon Elementary. I must admit I always thought the name was Richard Gordon Elementary, but having done some research at the St. Paul School District website I found out differently, as noted above. I also found out that the building, located at Dayton Ave, & Fry St, was built in 1911 and named for (duh) Richards Gordon-a prominent St. Paul clothier and hat maker at the time. The school closed in the mid-70s. The building is now an office building, pictures of it can be seen here: http://www.richardsgordon.com/index.html

"To write it out is to let it go." --Rod McKuen

When I was in junior high (what they now call 'middle school' locally) there was an commercial on television featuring those clear body Bic ball point pens. The ones they now call Bic Cristal. There were several variations on the same theme, but the one I remember most went something like this: There was big mechanical arm with a Bic pen clamped to it. The arm was poised above a huge writing tablet, on which it wrote in large swirls and circles with the pen-- like a giant Spirograph. In walks a scientist and his assistant. The scene shifts to show us a close up of the pen clamped in the machine--said pen is almost out of ink! Where upon the scientist breaks out in an exuberant dance and happily proclaims,
"At long last! My life long goal will be fulfilled! I will be the first ever to have retained a Bic pen from the first time it wrote until it ran out of ink!" Just then the doorbell rings and someone is delivering packages for which he needs a signature. They sign for it with the pen from the machine. You hear the sound of the truck driving off and the scientist turns back to his machine.... and of course the pen is gone! Oh no! he used the pen to sign for the package and the deliver man kept the prized pen! Ahhh!! He has to start all over...

The point (no pun intended) of the commercial was that Bic Pens lasted along time, were reliable, and were cheap to replace.

I, however; took the goal of that commercial to heart. My goal and purpose in life was to hang on to a Bic pen until it ran out of ink. I became obsessed with it. I quickly figured out that medium point pens go through ink a lot faster then their fine point counterparts. I also thought blue went faster then black ink, but that might have been an illusion. I shared this goal with several of my classmates who just laughed. One teacher heard about my goal and said, 'Why not? A goal of any sort is a good thing.'
Like the scientist, I found out it is difficult to hang on to those pens until they go dry. My quest continued into high school, by which time it seemed like I was the only one who remembered that commercial, and I got some strange looks from people insisting the had my 'special Bic pen' and they had to give it back!

I finally reached my goal during my senior year. And in time had not one, but several EMPTY Bic pens. I kept them like trophies in a drawer in my dresser. I don't know what ever happened to them. I suspect one day my Mom was looking for a pen and discovering that they no longer wrote, threw them out as trash.

So then, having achieved my life goal, I was goal-less. I was just thinking I haven't had that kind of goal in a long time--one that I put consistent energy into. Several people over the course of the years have told me I should 'do' creative writing. And I've made attempts to write and/or journal in the past. I did take Creative Writing and poetry seminars and classes in junior and senior high school. so I have decided to give it another try. This is the first effort.