Quid Pro Quo/Trick or Treat

Fresh cut mystery meat, where spiders crawl, so beware the dare of witches and Halloween. They only comes out tonight, and you may end up on the midnight menu. With evil murder on their minds, she knows who they shot and left for dead, a trick of revenge.
Creepy, crawly, squirming maggots wiggle their way to dinner, or they starve for a treat.
In the shadows stands Mayhem Manor. Thunder and lighting, high winds of the storm shake and rattle lofty windows. Dressed in black, she steps into the darkness of night. With lurking searching eyes, she stalks the killers, hungry for her own brand of justice.
It's a beautiful night in the neighborhood.

Back In Time

Believe it or not, the outer covering on these old birds is canvas. Sitting behind the loud roaring propeller, wind whistling through the wires, and me wearing my uncle's WWI helmet.
Remembering.
Aerobatics!
The scariest, most frighting maneuver is called, "The Hammer." Pull the stick back and climb until the engine stalls. Everything is quiet except the pounding of your heart, then the plane slides down like an arrow coming down, only tail first, back-ass-wards as my mother would say. This is where you have to keeeeep your wits, or...ya make a big hole in the ground. Rolling over like a pigeon having a fun, the plane is still out of control until you restart the engine. Throttle out, throttle, throttle...the engine kicks over...thank the lucky stars! Slowly pulling back on the joy stick so as not to kill the engine again, you make a wide looping recovery, and it's smooth sailing until you decide it's time for another act of insanity.
I regret never being up in a glider, but my experience of flying a biplane is a treasure to remember. I still have the Thunderbird patch my uncle gave me, it's pinned to the sun visor in the truck. The helmet, I gave to a friend who has a military museum.
Like ÃÝË would say, Good Times!

The Carolina Cousin Connection

"Margret honey, you know damn well daddy would have a hissy fit if he were to find out what you've been up-to."

"Papa is never gonna know unless you tell him. You say one word Leroy, and I swear, I will skin you myself and have your onerous hide tacked on that tree."

After waving a graceful arm over the porch railing towards General Breckenridge, an old historic front yard tree). Margret ripes off her gardening gloves and drops them on the white wicker table-- almost upsetting her Rosenthal porcelain coffee service. She kneels to retrieve a silver spoon that had bounced from the table to the porch's wide plank floor, her face red with pent up anger. When her eyes were level with her twenty-six-year-old younger brothers, who sat leaning forward in an antique rocker, Leroy Hastings smiled with a devilish grin.

"Temper, temper, dear sister, or I'll tell that old sawbones you seem to think so highly of, that you are not following his orders."

"Leroy, papa should have drowned you like a sack of kittens as soon as he found out you were not his son."

Leaning back in the wicker rocker, Leroy Hastings Clark laughed, his smile showing an expensive picket fence of peril whites. His pretty boy fresh from the shower clean looks and that smile usually got him what he wanted. Rocabar Hermes aftershave mingled in unseen ribbons of the cool October breeze, along with the smell of fresh coffee. Leroy closed his eyes to the breath taking eye candy of several blooming Amaryllis, as well as a half-dozen other flowering plants in hanging baskets that lined the estates rap-a-round porch. He had to admit, his sister's passion for flowers ran parallel with his own love of gardening.

"Maybe so dear sister." He said. "But you are the one in hot water, and I know how to save your sorry ass, so you better be nice to me."

"Leroy, I truly despise you!"

"I know you do darln'. Daddy always did like me best."

A look of seriousness fell over his handsome smile, as if it were a veil from an underpaid Arabian Nights exotic dancer. In a voice much older than his years, Leroy Hastings jerked a thumb for his older sister to sit.

"Now you listen to me, we haven't come all this way to loose what we have worked so hard for have we?"

"Work! Why you lazy good for nothing, chippy chasing, whisky drinking, worthless piece of white trash. You never lift a finger around here."

"Spitfire! That's the spirit. Old Hickory would be proud sister honey.

Gently picking up a fancy silver spoon, Leroy taps several times on a pretty rose pattern sugar bowl as if it were the bell to signal the end of round one in a boxing tournament.

Sidewalk Poets

Under an Autumn sycamore tree,

Three friends share time together.

Warm hearts of passion's fervor,

With laughter, smiles, and adventure.

Loving their poet's vigor,

Sisters, my wealth of treasure.

Cedar Planter and Driftwood

I was given a small round of cedar to split up as fire kindling, but it was to nice to burn, so I decided to make a potted plant stand instead. Cedar is wonderful wood to work with.
When I'm finished sanding the pieces, I'll apply tougue oil as a finish; it helps preserve the wood and brings out the colour.

Dancing To The Music

The Lady with the red sash is my friend Jill Marie. She lives in an enchanted forest and raises Navajo sheep. She is a powerful woman, a teacher that nurtures, and protects all within her world. I am truly blessed that she calls me friend.

Concord Grape Jelly

My friends Joann and Peter gave me a batch of Concord grapes from their arbor the other day. This morning I made grape jelly, or grape sauce for pancakes, depending however it turns out. Don't have any jars, so I just put the mixture in two stainless steel bowls, one for me and one for them, and that's not counting the spoonfulls I sampled. :)

It's mmm mmm GOOD!

The only drawback is my white kitchen wash cloth is now a beautiful colour purple. I like it too.

The Kettle River

The nights are cold now, yesterday I finally got the stovepipe put back together and started a toasty fire. Today I'll ware warm cloths, head up to the ranch for more firewood, and help my friend Johnna pick the last of this years apples.

First, I need to take a short walk and collect some "river sage" and "fresh mint" as well as pick up several pieces of drift wood. I found so many interesting pieces on my last walk that I couldn't carry them all back to the cabin, so I set them on the high bank about where the tall tree is the right side of the of the photo.

On Friday I spent some time shaping, sanding, and linseed oiling one piece. My friend Peter who also works riverwood, gave me a bunch of much needed sandpaper when I showed him what I was working on.

I plan to take some photos of some of them... that is if some trigger happy hunter doesn't shoot me. I have a red sweater to wear, but no red, or orange coat...so it's, be cold and be safe, or say, "What the Hell" and wear my blue down jacket. It's a gray overcast morning, which is good because the cloud cover keeps the ground and air warmer.

I'll be glad when hunting season is over and all the hunters go home. I already miss watching the deer in the field in back of the cabin, they are staying in the forest, coming to the river at night to drink. Most hunters don't walk far from their cars and trucks, they had rather sit in a warn vehicle and shoot a buck in the alfalfa fields. One of my friends who has land on one of the creeks up towards Canada paints orange spots all over her wolfhound to keep him safe. I plan to leave Sarah home this morning, she is white with black spots, a Dalmatian that looks nothing like a deer. Still I'm not taking any chances even though she loves to walk with me along the river.

Wish me luck on this mornings walk!

Reel Spool Tables

The line of ideas roll off what is possible.

Rounding every corner something new.

Turning cables, spools spin, the real deal.

Table top sets the stage,

Saving for the future race,

That was give away as waste.

Holding on to growing in light,

In comes old recycle of wood dark.

Sharing ideas of the future,

Thus your spinning top made new.

Rubber Boa

Here are a few photos of the Rubber boa snake that I found in my cabin this Summer. Although I write stories that most people would call fiction, some things are based on facts.

http://www.rubberboas.com/content/about.html

Fossorial...can you digg it?

http://www.northwestherps.com/bottae.html

Crepuscular...active in the twilight.

In Another World

Slowly pulling out her boot knife, she slipped it down between the wall and closet drawers, easily lifting the sparkling bobble from where it was wedged, and began softly humming a tune she had learned from her sister Jill Marie.

“There is treasure waiting for me,

There is treasure most can’t see.

There is treasure all a round,

What was once lost, is now found.”

Lifting a silver chain with a blue gemstone carved in the shape of a griffin, Jasmyn almost smiled. “This is very odd. I wonder what it is? It feels, it feels as if…” Suddenly, the built-in wardrobe seemed to move; actually it was sliding towards her. Quickly stepping back, a whiff of cool fresh air came from the opening in the panel wall.
“What the Hell?” she whispered.
Shinning the lamp into the darkness, a spiral staircase led down, down, down.
Picking up the kitten, again she gently placed it in the duffle bag and pulled the drawstrings tight, put on the black leather jacket she had found, and swung the considerable hefty bag over her shoulder. “It's time to go exploring, little one.”

She listened carefully for any of the tapping she had heard earlier. All she heard was the sound of the wind in the stairwell shaft. Still holding the chain and gemstone, she leaned against the cold outer brick wall and tucked the treasure trinket deep into one her thick pants pockets. Her calico passenger seemed nonresistant to her duffel bag confinement. Taking a quick mental inventory and without reservation, she darted down the spiraling steps with the supple fluidity of an animal.

She passed no doors, nor did she see any windows, the shaft was void of any light except for the small solar lamp Jasmyn kept focused on her boots and the descending stairs. The smell of the fresh air lifted her spirit even higher. From somewhere far below she heard the tapping she had heard earlier.

Then, suddenly from behind her, came a soft voice.

“Do not go down any further. Many who wish to kill you and what you carry, await below at the street level.”
Heart pounding in fear, Jasmyn spun around, bringing the pistol from shoulder holster to point into the face of a child.
“Who are you? How come I didn’t hear you behind me?” she demanded.
Without any fear or malice in her voice, the child answered, “Your weapon can not hurt me. I am not from your world. They know you are in the building, and are hunting for you.”
Quickly returning the antique 45 automatic to the shoulder holster, Jasmyn said, “Yah, I know about the police.”
“Oh no, not the police, they left hours ago while you were sleeping. You were smart to hide where you did. Not even the zombies would have looked for you there.” Dressed in a velvet robe with dark shoulder length hair, the dark eyed child put her finger to her lips, motioning for Jasmyn not to speak. She leaned in close and whispered, “They do not know about this secret stairwell. Follow me, I know a place where you will be safe.”
“Why in the hell should I trust you? Who are you anyway?” Jasmyn whispered back.
“I am from a different place. A magic place that makes the difference in time, the difference that makes the difference. Understand?”

“No!” said Jasmyn “How old are you?”
“Older than you can imagine, younger than you know. Please, we must go now. The evil ones will be sending out demons, and they are very nasty to deal with.”
Putting her hand on the brick wall, the wall began to shimmer with a pulsating glow of rainbow colours. “You must hold my hand, it is the only way you can step into my world.”
“Why should I trust you?” Jasmyn almost sneered, her voice as sharp as her boot knife.
With the heart of innocence, the little girl smiled back. “Because, I have traveled from another world to help you.”

From down below the tapping resumed, now much louder and with a quicking tempo . The metal staircase began to pulse with vibration. The brick wall swirling wider and faster in liquid colours.

Before Jasmyn could draw a breath to resist, the child pulled her through the shimmering brick wall.