Nights at the Pump - Chapter 7 Conclusion

Chapter 7

All the worrying I did about having to go to church was a waste of time. I had forgotten there was no service tonight. That solved one problem. The other problem was weather. It looked very rainy.

About three thirty that afternoon I went over to Harold’s house. He and his brother were playing basketball with a couple of friends from school. I joined the game and we played until Harold’s brother, Art had to leave. Harold and I played with Art, he always won.

When everyone else left, I told Harold about the wire. We thought maybe it was a burglar alarm and had something to do with the blue light. There were too many people around the neighborhood who were outside for us to go and take a look. Pretty soon the girls came over and we played a few rounds of twenty questions.

I told the girls about the wire. Barbara said it sounded like the kind of wire her dad used for his ham radio antenna. None of us knew what a ham radio was. She explained that it was a short wave radio used to connect with people all over the world. She said her dad was a ham radio operator.

She went on to say it was his hobby. He talked with other operators all over the world. She said he’d been a radio operator during World War II. He used the radio to stay in touch with friends from his time in the army. She also said he talked to someone who lived around here but she didn’t know who.

We began talking about how and who would try to get a look at the congregation tonight. We were pretty sure the service started around seven o’clock. It was still light then so we’d have to wait a little while before we made our move.

We were going to need a ladder. All of the windows were pretty high off the ground. There was no way we could see inside without a ladder or something to stand on. I knew we had an old wooden ladder that was kind of shaky. That just might have to do.

Ginger said they had an aluminum ladder but it was an extension ladder and each section was twelve feet. That would be too clumsy to carry and Ginger lived farthest away from the house except for Barbara. But Barbara didn't have a ladder anyway.  

It started to rain.

We all went and sat on Margaret’s porch. We had barely gotten seated when Margaret’s mother came out and said she had to go inside. I was getting hungry too so we split up and promised to meet at six thirty if the rain stopped. I said I’d get the ladder.

By six the rain had stopped. It had cooled off quite a bit. I put on a dark shirt and sweater with blue jeans and went to the garage. I got the ladder and put it by the side of the house. Harold was just crossing over to my house. We went to the pump without the ladder.

When the street light came on we started to get ready. At seven fifteen Harold and I took the ladder across the street and hid the ladder in the lilac bushes by the big blue house. The girls made a lot of noise playing and screeching, like girls do, to distract any attention from Harold and me.

We could hear the music inside so we got the ladder out and very carefully placed it under a window. We wiggled it into the ground so it had a solid footing and then it was time to see what was going on inside the Church of Spiritual Holiness and Mystic Missions.

I stepped on the first rung of the ladder and shifted my weight back and forth to test the security of the footing. Solid! Carefully, slowly, I made the next step keeping my head to one side to avoid showing the top of my head before I could see what was inside. I looked down at Harold. He was as tense as me. I took the last step.

There were curtains on the windows that looked very old, the kind that have lace and sheer panels. They were yellowed with age and were dusty. But I could see the inside of the church well enough to see something I never expected.

Orman Krasner was there and the only light was several tall white candles flickering and making the room look ghosty.  I felt a chill as I watched him. It looked like he was reading something from a very old book. It was then I noticed the pictures. All around the room there were pictures of men and women in uniform. But, there were no people inside except Orman Krasner.

The loud screech from the radio was almost enough to throw me off the ladder. I hadn't seen it when I had my first look inside but now it was reporting in a level solemn voice. And Orman Krasner was speaking into the microphone in response as the candles flickered on the faces of those faces in the picture frames.

Epilogue

It would be weeks before the mystery was solved. But years later we learned that Orman Krasner was a retired Chaplain in the United States Army. He had served during World War II and was greatly loved by those he served and served with. His devotion to his congregation never stopped.

The Church of Spiritual Holiness and Mystic Missions had originally been the property of his grandfather, who left it to him as his only surviving relative. It was far too large for Mr. Krasner to use and maintain so he turned it into a church to serve the soldiers who had perished in the service of their country.

Every Sunday he had an appointment with other ham radio operators who had served in that Company. He would give a short sermon on the radio and they would name each deceased member who gave the greatest gift of all in the service of freedom and the American way of life. Over the years a large number of relatives and friends would join the service from all over the world.

What about Arianne? She married the Chaplain’s grandson.

The End

Herb Ratliff, October 31, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Nights at the Pump - Chapter 6 Evidence

Chapter 6

Early Sunday morning I got out of bed and went downstairs as quietly as I could. My dad worked late on Saturday. Sunday mornings were his time to sleep in. Everyone knew that disturbing dad on a Sunday morning could ruin their day.

The sun was still below the horizon but there wasn’t much time before daylight.  I had no time to waste. I went to the back door and outside. There was a chill in the air and I only had on a tee shirt. I had goose bumps before I even started. I took the alley between the houses to the side road. I looked over the whole neighborhood to be sure there was no movement or activity around the big blue house.

I had to cross the street which put me in the open briefly, and then I stayed near the edge of the houses until I got to the church. I could see where the power company, at least I thought it was, had been from the trampled grass. There were also insulation clippings from wire that littered the ground. Why the new wire? Then I saw some new very fine wire had been installed on the outside of the house but it wasn’t electrical wire. It was for an antenna.

I followed the antenna wire around the house and saw it attached on the back side. It ran all the way up to the roof. I know it hadn’t been there before. That must be what was being done last night, but why? A noise like a chair being slid out from under a table on a wood floor broke the morning silence. Was someone in the church?

I looked around the yard again and moved closer to the house by the lilac bushes. I heard a crackling sound like a radio searching for a clear station signal. What was going on here?

The house went suddenly quiet. Then I heard a door slam. I hunched closer to the house and stood very still. I was shaking. I don’t know if it was from the cold or just being afraid of being seen, maybe both. Then, I saw him. He was still wearing a black suit, shoes and hat. He was still six feet, four inches tall and he was still peering around looking to see who was watching.

But, he didn’t see me.

As soon as he was out of sight I made a bee line for home.

When I walked in the back door mother was making pancakes and sausage. It sure smelled good. I could have eaten a horse. She asked me where I had been. I told her just walking and went back to my room.

It was Sunday morning. Church would be the first order of business, then, we would come back home and have our Sunday dinner. It was my favorite day of the week and the only one we all ate together. But, I still had the problem of skipping church tonight so we could look inside to see the congregation.

That would have to wait. Right now I was ready for some sausage and pancakes. What a day! It was only 7:00AM and I had already begun the adventure.

Herb Ratliff. October 30, 2012, All Rights Reserved 

Nights at the Pump - Chapter 5 Inside the Church

 Chapter 5

Harold and I were frozen in place on the stairs. The yellow eyes did not blink. They just stared at us like the bulbs from a scanner, memorizing every detail of our faces. We waited for the form next to the cat to speak. But, when a car went by with its lights on we could see nothing but the cat. The black cat quickly turned and ran through the door. We both breathed loudly and at the same time.

We both wanted to run up the stairs and out the door but we just looked at each other for a moment. Neither of us wanted to be the one who ran. We picked up our gear and continued into the basement.

It was a typical Michigan basement, damp, musky and covered with spider webs. They were in our faces as soon as our feet hit the basement floor. The little fluorescent spots on the spiders showed in the light of the flashlight like tiny Christmas lights strung across the room. They looked like eyes watching us as we moved across the room.

I don’t know if I felt the shiver or the hand first but, I felt the hand on my shoulder… and Harold was in front of me. I wanted to scream but nothing would come out. The only sound was breath sucking through my open mouth and faint noises that were more air than sound. I was petrified. I stood there trying to make my body move, then, I heard her voice.

It was Arianne, “I just had to see what was in here.”

I could have screamed but I would rather have beaned her.

“What are you doing here?” I said in a scream whisper.

“I wanted to see inside too.”

“Arghh, OK, be quiet and watch where you are going.”

The basement held no secrets. The rooms were much the same as all those found in Michigan. There was a coal bin, storage of cardboard boxes damp and soft with moisture. There were enough spiders to cover the earth and enough mice to attract a new pied piper. It would have been unpleasant enough to discover mice if it had been just Harold and I but Arianne must have been the model upon which the attitude of girls around mice was built.

She let out a blood curdling scream that would have made Alfred Hitchcock proud. It scared Harold and me so much we ran up the stairs and out the door with no regard for Arianne. Then, we just kept on running. We ran past Barbara, Ginger and Margaret. Harold went to his house and I went to mine.

That was all the excitement I could take for one night.

When I got to my room I began to consider the plans we had made for the next day. How could I get to stay home from church? The only chance we had to see the congregation that had so far been invisible to us was at the evening service.

I wanted to be there for that and if I was going to be there I would have to come up with an air tight plan or I would be warming the pews at church while the rest of my friends were peeking in the windows at The Church of Spiritual Holiness and Mystic Missions.

Something hit my window. There it was again. I looked out and there was Barbara motioning for me to come back out.

I went downstairs and through the house to the kitchen and then down the stairs to the landing and the back door. I opened it quietly and stepped outside. Barbara told me to follow her. We walked toward the street and there, across the street was a black panel truck with a Reddy Watt symbol.

That was our power company’s logo. It was in the driveway of the Church. Lights were flashing outside and inside. Something strange was happening. What a weird night this had been. But it was nothing to what would happen tomorrow.

To be continued…

Nights at the Pump - Chapter 4 The Congregation

Chapter 4

The Congregation

There are two factors that greatly influence the personality of a church. Everything else that identifies a church is derived from those two things.

The first is the Minister and at The Church of Spiritual Holiness and Mystic Missions the minister was Orman Krasner, the six foot four inch, angular man who peered at us from across the street. The second thing is the congregation. What made the congregation difficult to judge was that we had never seen them.

We thought it strange too. How can you have a church with no congregation?

We had heard them. At least there were noises from inside the church on Sunday night that sounded like they came from people. What else could the noise be coming from? It didn't sound like animals. Obviously, we had to do some reconnaissance. Tomorrow was Sunday. We would go and look inside the windows during the service.

If I was to be a part of the scouting party I’d have to be sick so I could stay home from my own church service. I’d better do some work on that if I am to convince my parents of that. In the meantime I wanted to get together with Harold about getting inside tonight, blue light or no blue light we were going in.

Saturday there were lots of chores to do around the house and the usual get together with the kids from school at the Daniel Theater. That would fill the day while I thought about what to do tonight. I went over to Harold’s house to see if he was home.

Harold and I went to his room and made a list of all the things we would need to enter and investigate the Big Blue House. First, a flashlight, no, two flashlights, some rope, maybe a little snack of some kind in case we get locked in the house we’ll need food. Harold had a Swiss Knife, which was good. I had an old Night Stick that I found in the basement of our house. The man who lived there before was a policeman. We could use that for protection. We’d need a couple of pencils and a note pad to write down anything we saw that was unusual. Camera, no, all we had were Kodak Brownies and even if we got pictures it would take a week to get them developed.

We finished our list and I went home to do my chores.

The rest of the day went like all Saturdays, chores, movies and gathering at the pump. Just at dark Harold and I went through the shadows and down the street to the Big Blue House. Our supplies were in our knapsacks and all our clothes were black. We worked our way around the block to a neighbor’s yard that was next to our target and entered the yard in the back. We moved quietly alongside the house and to the corner where we saw the blue light. Harold went to the door and tried it. It was open. He opened it and we both went inside.

It was pitch black. We didn't want to turn on the flashlights so close to the door so we waited until our eyes had adjusted to low light. Then we saw the three steps up and the long stairway down to the basement. We went up, another door. I tried it. It was locked.

We went down to the landing and then inched our way into the darkness of the basement. It seemed much colder there. The hair on the back of my neck was standing up. I could feel the fear rising in my stomach. My skin felt like it was on fire. We couldn't see a thing. It was time for the flashlights. But before we could turn them on the black cat came rushing up the stairs and knocked us both down. When we looked up we could see his yellow eyes at the top of the stairs. What was that shadow next to the cat?  

It looked like Orman Krasner.

To be continued......

©Herb Ratliff, October 26, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Nights at the Pump - Chapter 3 After the Rain

Chapter 3

It rained for a week and not just a little. There was lightening and thunder; torrents of rain and that gloomy, damp feeling that left you with nothing but the hope of getting outside again. It was a time for reading.

I read The Hardy Boys in hopes of sharpening my investigative skills but all I could think of was that door with the broken pane that was unlocked. Or was it? Maybe it had been left unlocked by mistake and now it was locked again. I was tempted to go over and see but I wasn't allowed to go out in the rain.

Sometimes I would just sit at the front of the house and look at the big blue house in hopes of seeing something mysterious. Once I thought I saw a light go on inside but it went off so fast I couldn't be sure. One thing I knew for sure was we would find out what was really going on in that strange place. On Saturday the rain stopped.

It was only a week until Halloween. At the pump we were talking about our costumes for the biggest candy gathering operation of the year. Harold wanted to be a policeman.

We all thought that was pretty tame with all the possibilities available. He thought that he could talk his parents into renting a good costume so he could wear it before Halloween. Then, he could enter the Church of Spiritual Holiness and Mystic Missions without causing any concern. If he were caught he would say he found the door open and wanted to make sure nothing was stolen.

Arianne wanted to be Peter Pan. We told her she couldn't be Peter Pan, he was a boy that never grew up, not a girl. She said it didn't matter and she could be Peter Pan if she wanted. Barbara and Ginger wanted to be pixies. I wasn't sure what I wanted to be. I was thinking of being a boa constrictor but I couldn't figure out how to make the costume.

It was getting dark and we were about to check the door again when a black car drove up to the Church. The windows were darkened so we could not see inside. A man in a black suit jumped out of the car and ran to the door with the broken pane. He did something to the door and then ran back to the car. As soon as he was in the car it slowly pulled away.

It was then that we noticed the blue blinking light over the doorway. Did they know what we had planned, were they waiting for us?  Our entry into the house just got more complicated. Now what could we do?

I needed to get back to the Hardy Boys for some help. We were not giving up just because of a little blue light.

To be continued....

©Herb Ratliff, October 26, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Nights at the Pump - Chapter 2 Beyond the Door

Chapter 2

The only time there was any activity around the Church of Spiritual Holiness and Mystic Mission was on Sunday nights. We had never seen a church that restricted its activities to one day. But it did allow for something we really wanted to do.

One night at the pump we determined that we needed to see inside the church. We talked about dressing up and going to a service but Margaret said she couldn't. Margaret was a Catholic, she was not allowed to go to other churches. So we agreed if we couldn't all go none of us would.

They had no social activities that were open to the public, so that was out. We never saw a wedding or a funeral there either. Maybe they never died, Harold offered. Aliens, they must be aliens. We decided we needed to be very careful or they might just find a way to stop our prying.

Then the perfect opportunity presented itself. One Saturday night we were playing kickball in the street and the ball rolled over by the door with the broken window. Harold went to retrieve it. He picked up the ball but then, he went to the door and peered inside. Then, he tested the door.

It was dark by now and the streetlight had come on. We all stood perfectly still waiting for Harold. He looked back at us. We urged him on.

The door opened.

At that very moment Harold's mother called him to come home. We all jumped a foot off the ground. Harold jumped the highest.

That put an end to that attempt at breaching the fort. We all knew it would only be moments before we all got the call from our parents. So we went back to the pump and waited. We knew there was a way to enter the house and we knew we would try again. But for now. We could only think of what was behind the door with a broken pane.

Then, we all thought we saw a black cat looking at us from the corner of the blue house.

To be continued....

©Herb Ratliff, October 24, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Nights at the Pump - Chapter 1 Orman Krasner

Chapter 1

He carried his six foot four inch frame with purpose. Yet, the furtive looks and close shouldered hunch gave him a peregrine air. He never arrived by car that we could see. He seemed to just be there suddenly, walking toward the side door of the house. The door that had the broken glass. And  no matter what we were doing we would stop and watch him until he entered the house. And he always paused just slightly, raised his head a bit and looked across the street at each of us. There was no hint of expression, just a lifeless peer that seemed to drop the temperature ten degrees.

At the time we had no idea what part he played in the workings of the church. His dress supposed a cleric. The suit and shoes were black as was his wide brimmed hat. We often commented that he must have a cape because, while we never saw one, it seemed to be missing.

What was remarkable was Arianne's reaction. She would freeze. She was always first to see him and immediately would stop moving. She would not  move a muscle or say a word until he was in the building. Then, she would shudder.

Arianne was a red head. She had skin like alabaster and eyes that were as green as Hibernian spring. She had a fearless disposition and always sought to manage the events of the day and control all of the activities. So it seemed odd the way she behaved when the strange man came to the Church of Spiritual Holiness and Mystic Missions. Perhaps it was she who set the tone for this strange adventure but all of of were mesmerized when his advance on the church began.

But what was even more troubling was the congregation.

To be continued....

©Herb Ratliff, October 23, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Nights at the Pump - Preface

Preface

The Church of Spiritual Holiness and Mystic Missions was housed in the big house that sat kitty cornered from our gathering place at the neighborhood pump. Each night in the summer we would gather there to play, freeze, kick the can or just plot our next adventure.

If we made it on Sunday night, which was unusual for me, we would often consider what was going on in the big blue house across the way. The sounds that emanated from the building were not the sounds of organ or piano but guttural sounds like chanting and moaning. We were sure there was something going on in there that was not of this world and we were determined to find out what it was. What we didn't know was that they were as interested in us as we were in them and that what we would do would put us on a collision course with them that would change the neighborhood forever.

This week’s blog will recall those events and what happened to Arianne.

To be continued....

©Herb Ratliff, October 22, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Hold, Protect, Release

Thought for the Day

Ideas haven't been flowing with their usual freedom this week. No reason comes to mind. Life, oceans and ideas ebb and flow it seems. It's part of the rhythm of living. The natural world has enjoyed a resurgence in science. A budding branch is called bio-mimicry.  It has a nice ring. The idea being, to go to nature and see how it solves problems then see about applying those ideas to problems of our own. Shark skin was one of the early successes. It seems bacteria will not grow on shark skin. We already knew it was pretty effective as a property with a low coefficient of friction. That's where those body length swimming suits the Olympians use came from.

But one that I like is the rose. When you look at a rose, especially a newly opened bud, the thing I notice is the way each petal embraces those that are yet to come and then easily releases them as they are ready to emerge. It's a bit like being a parent. Your job is to hold and protect until it is time to move away and release your hold that they may bloom.

Just seemed like another lesson from the world we live in.

Herb Ratliff, October 19, 2012, All Rights Reserved

James Bond Henchmen

It was one of those days that went on forever. I had been in meetings in Portland, Oregon, San Francisco, and San Diego and ended with a late one in Los Angeles. I was sitting in LAX waiting for a flight that was a couple of hours away. It would take me back to Michigan, my own bed and the comforts of home. 

To say I was tired would be like saying Muhammad Ali had a strong self image. It was later than I usually traveled but I wanted to get home. Seems like it was near midnight and even LAX was fairly quiet. Most of the restaurants were closed and all of the kiosk stands with food were folded up and put away. There was nothing in the concourse my flight was departing from and I had no interest in walking to another.

The only thing open with seating was a bar and that's where I was sitting. Not even the bar tender was conversational. The place reminded me of an Edward Hopper painting. I scanned the bar and surroundings for food. Hunger had found its way to the surface. It came with the quiet and the resignation of a long night ahead. I asked the bartender if he had any food. He looked at me like I had just disembarked the lower deck of steerage. His tone, a combination of pity and disdain, matched the look of irritation on his face and he dribbled out, "chips and nuts".

That killed about all the appetite I had but I persisted. 

"Is there any place close by to get food?" 

"Check the news stand next door."

I got off the bar stool and walked to the door. There was a large news stand just next door with books, newspapers and many of the things you tend to forget when you take a trip. They are all priced like they are hand made of precious metal. They also have the mandatory candy counter with chips, nuts, crackers and fig Newton’s. I have never liked fig Newton’s, even in my hungriest states. But, they were not looking too bad. I settled on some cashews and peanut butter crackers.

I took my intended purchases to the counter of the deserted cash register. It was a strange arrangement. There was a column directly in front of the counter. I remember thinking something negative about Californians and their unique attitudes and styles. This however, was stupid. Why would you put a column right in the way of business transactions? It wasn't like you could go around it but that's what I attempted to do. It moved. I know, that's how I felt. I kind of jumped back. Earthquakes? It is LA. 

I looked up. It looked back down at me. It wasn't a column; it was a person, a very large person. I was freaked out. It was Lurch, Jaws, and the James Bond Henchman, remember?

He was so tall, so large I thought he was a column. Yes, it was late, I was tired and walking around in a bit of a haze but wow, that guy is big.

He just smiled and nodded his head. I waited more patiently than before and finally got my food. Airports, they are amazing any time but in the wee hours they are a bit like the movies.

©Herb Ratliff, October 15, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Let's Chase the Moon

Thought for the Day

Let's chase the moon,

it's not moving fast.

We are.

It will be gone

before we can touch it.

We can never touch the moon.

We can touch each other, 

forever.

Herb Ratliff, October 12, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Surviving Childhood

Thought for the Day

One of the truly amazing accomplishments in my life has been survival. It seems the things that attract me are insidiously dangerous. Combine that with a level of naïveté that is often not terribly subtle and voila, potential disaster.

I have written on these pages about my midnight wanderings about the city when I was eight. I traveled with Rusty, my dog. I can add to that an interest in recreating battlefield conditions when I was between seven and ten. I stumbled across a piece of chunky scrap metal that probably weighed four to six pounds. It looked like an object that could be associated with a detonated bomb and so I picked it up and took it home with me. I placed it in the back yard and saved it for future use.

The future use of the scrap became a prop for the impromptu staging of battles in imaginary theaters of war. The object would be thrown into the air with the warning, “bombs away”. It was the responsibility of each participant to avoid contact with the missile.  I would invariably loft the fragment into the air. No less than two playmates were taken to the emergency room for stitches following such activities.

I never was injured my self. It was not because I made any effort to make the toss away from me. To the contrary I rather hoped to be the injured party for the dramatic effect. I was too much a Lone Ranger, Straight Arrow type to attempt to injure others. I would rather be injured saving them from danger. The parade lauding my bravery and sacrifice would easily have been enough to allay any pain.

There are multiple examples of the Walter Mitty like behavior but what brought this behavior to mind occurred when we moved from Fayette Street to North Webster.

The new house was larger and in better condition. It also had a basement, a real treasure trove. The house was vacated without total removal of the previous owner’s possessions. That created a mining opportunity that kept me busy for weeks. The basement was not an attractive place. It was a Michigan basement with rock walls, poured concrete floor, coal bin and furnace, a work bench and the location of the washer and dryer. They were placed close to the steps so that wandering into the dank, dark recesses of the cavern were not required by the females in the house.

This suited me to a tee. I wandered all around the basement looking for treasure and at one point while exploring the dusty articles in a double locker found a headset. It looked to me like the equipment of a fighter pilot who had been responsible for shooting down the Red Baron.

Electronic equipment of that sort was not common in those days. If it had not been for Ed Herlighy's announcements about the war in theaters between features I would not even have known what they were. I did know they were used by pilots in airplanes but the plugs that were attached seemed unusable to me.

After a careful and lengthy examination of the headset I decided that what they needed was an equipment update. So, I cut off the banana plugs and attached a plug from an old lamp. It struck me that this seemed a strange method of communicating but I didn't know much about that sort of thing when I was nine.

I must say that after I created the monster it frightened me a bit but, I was determined to see, or should I say, hear what was available. There were a number of near trials that ended in aborted probations. Instinctively if not intellectually, I knew this was not a good idea. At last, I could wait no longer and with the same resolve as a boy swallowing a tablespoon of Mineral Oil I plugged them in the wall and put them on. Frankly, I do not know why I wasn't fried. But here I am, a bit red faced I don't mind saying and unscathed by Edison’s Workshop.  

This later gave rise to the feeling that I had been selected by the powers of reason and love to be a great leader in the world. I had been saved by providence to do a service to humanity. Guess not. It’s nice to be here anyway, lucky but nice.

©Herb Ratliff, October 11, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Careful What You Think

Thought for the Day

I have always been an active participant in sporting events. What I lacked in skill I made up for in enthusiasm. And one of the key things I have learned from sports is that it matters what you think. For example: If you are playing golf and have hit your ball into a sand trap, you must not allow thoughts of mishitting the ball enter your mind.

If you do, the chance of hitting it badly increases geometrically to the point of a near guarantee that you will do what you have thought. It has happened to me many times. When a negative thought creeps into my head I stop and consider the thought as a hostile takeover. I reset my thought process and consider the shot anew. I review the correct stance, wiggle my feet into a solid footing, and picture in my mind what the completed shot will do.  By that I mean what the flight of the ball will look like, where it will land and where it will end up.

Ideally, that thought will set so firmly as a picture in my head that the result will occur just as I have pictured it. Believe me, it works. Thoughts are things. What you conjure will happen. So when a friend began discussing what was happening as a result of aging I thought of those principles. Practicing positive thinking is very important where maturing is concerned.

A tiny suggestion my friend, if I may. As we come to accept the fact that years have gathered behind us and now show a remarkable accumulation in the stock room, remember this. How we acknowledge them matters. Make certain your acceptance doesn't signal defeat, only awareness to a sometimes inconvenient truth. And, if you must cling to something, cling to the beautiful part of you that laughs and loves and explores like a child but with the wisdom of a well seasoned connoisseur.

Forget the little bumps and stumbles that naturally occur to those of any age. If you forget, attribute it to your busy life. If you fail, learn enough to avoid doing it again. If it hurts, be grateful you can feel. And if you cry, celebrate the intensity of your love of  life and friends enough to touch your heart.

If you’ve fallen and can't get up, look up for a moment and think what joy to see. Then, consider how now your children may offer you jewelry of a sort to improve your chances of avoiding a terrible scene and a bad smell the next time they come to visit.

Life is about the art of the possible. If it is possible who’s to say it might not happen for you? So, the next time a minor infraction of protocol poses a bit of an inconvenience. Tilt your head and narrow your eyes - just a bit.  Curl your lips into a knowing, leerish smile then look directly at the camera filming your life and say…..whatever you choose.

©Herb Ratliff, October 10, 2012, All Rights Reserved

W. Edwards Deming

Thought for the Day

If you can't describe what you are doing as a process, you don't know what you are doing.

W. Edwards Deming, 1900 - 1993

Words I found on a scrap of paper in my pocket.

Thought for the Day

It had been in the pocket of an old suit I couldn’t wear anymore and had pretty much forgotten about it. You could tell with a quick glance it was not what was trending in men’s clothing today. It was a traditional style that would never be old to me. I tend to stay with clothing that doesn’t get caught in traffic. It is meant to be the standard by which everything new is measured.

 I had gone to a wedding. While sitting and waiting for the nuptials to begin I thought of how beautiful weddings are. How beautiful the brides and handsome the grooms are and how unprepared they are for what’s about to become a new life style for them. And then I thought about Boy Scouts. I loved scouting. I learned so much about life from scouting. And that takes me back to the paper in the pocket of that old suit.

The paper was obviously torn from another piece of paper as it had printing on one side and by my hand on the other were these words: A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. It was the Scout Law. I had memorized it in the sixth grade when I joined the scouts. No, the suit wasn’t that old.

I remember now why I wrote it down, The Scout Law. I wrote it down because I thought the only promise that needs to be kept in a marriage or any other relationship is to treat each other with the same respect that is promised in the Scout Law.

Confucius said, the essence of knowledge is having it, to apply it; not having it, to confess your ignorance.

©Herb Ratliff, October 5, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Get Ready

Thought for the Day

The colder air 

makes

 the colors murmur.

There’s sharpness

in the mockingbirds

scolding voice.

The blue jay

screeches in return.

The orb web spiders

silk 

now glistens

more like tiny cable

in morning sun.

I saw red

in some scrub oak

and yellow in

the persimmon tree.

The ragweed shouts

its loudest now

and

the quiet pumpkin,

content in it own largesse,

peeks through

the browning afterlife

of the garden.

Get ready for goblins.

©Herb Ratliff, October 4, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Pescatorial Pleasures

Thought for the Day

The arc of the fly line is shaped like a c

but speaks with a lisp

and never repeats

exactly

but

always

echoes its intent

while slicing the air searching

for the perfect place to light upon the water.

©Herb Ratliff, October 3, 2012, All Rights Reserved

And there will be time...

Thought for the Day

Photo by Annie

He's standing just behind the column

white suit , vested, swag chain

reaching

for the watch his daddy gave him

when he graduated

from law school.

She's telling the maid

what must be done by the

time

they return 

and checking

her hat

one last time

before they get in the carriage.

When he looks at her he

knows

she is breathlessly beautiful

and he

the luckiest man alive.

Behind

the screen door

she admires

his handsome impatience

then hurries out 

the door.

©Herb Ratliff, October 2, 2012, All Rights Reserved

A Little Bit of Larceny

Thought for the Day

I know we are not all the same but there is a tendency amongst us humans to lean toward negative behavior once in a while. There’s a little larceny in all of us. I know most of you have never told a lie. I am sorry to say I have. I even shoplifted a box of candy once. Is that a story!

I was somewhere in the grammar school phase of my life, fifth or sixth grade. Funny part of this is I had always been scrupulously honest, but for some reason I felt the need to have a go at shoplifting. I was with some friends. We had taken the bus and gone downtown in Saginaw on a Saturday. After cruising through the downtown to see if any of our school friends were wasting their Saturday there too, we headed for Cunningham’s Drug Store.

Cunningham’s was a drug store in the traditional sense. It had a lunch counter, pharmacy, magazines, books, toys and so on. There was also a variety of candies on racks and racks of shelving. It came over me like a rush of cold air. I wanted to shoplift something. It wasn’t about getting something I couldn’t afford. It was about getting something without paying for it and getting away with it. That forest of candy trees in full bloom became my target.

My primary objective was getting away with the lift. That was so much the focus that after a quick scan of the target area, I moved into position and blindly reached out for the grab, stuffed it in my pocket and was set to move off when a voice over the public address system described me as a thief and sent security to strong arm me into submission.

You know that feeling you get after you do something wrong and stupid and get caught at it? Awful, isn’t it? There I was, caught red handed. The security officer told me to give it up. I reached in my pocket, quivering and handed him a small box of “Good and Plenty”.

For those of you who are not familiar with that brand of candy, it is made up of small pieces of licorice covered with a hard shell candy coating, colored white and pink. Each piece is about three quarters of an inch long and the circumference is not unlike a fat night crawler. I never bought that kind of candy and would give it away if I got it during the Halloween season. Now I was busted for stealing it.

I had not seen an open mezzanine area where a lookout could see everything going on at street level. After the humiliation of being collared in front of all those people I was taken to the store manager’s office. Then the confrontation began. I was convinced there would be jail time or a stay at the juvenile detention farm. I began to imagine ragged clothes, barking dogs, sledge hammers, railroad tracks and making a break for it. And this was even before “Cool Hand Luke” had even been thought of.

But, it was going to be worse than that. They called my parents. And, my parents were not going to be on my side. Now was when I needed to make a break for it.

You know what the worst part of this whole deal was, the stupid box of “Good and Plenty”. Not only did I get caught and grounded, I did it for something I didn’t even like. But, here is the good part. I have twelve grandchildren. They have done a variety of things that could be categorized as, well let’s just say, “poor choices”. And, I get it. I get doing things that are, on later examination, “poor choices”.  That does not define them as a person any more than stealing that box of Good and Plenty defines me.

I hope I have learned enough to know better than to steal peanut brittle with all of these bridges and crowns in my mouth.

©Herb Ratliff, October 1, 2012, All Rights Reserved