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Dane Allred examines the "Abundance" of the universe in his list of "1001 Thanks"
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Friday Jul 23, 2010
Friday Jul 23, 2010
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ray aimed the gun at Simon, who was laid out flat on the ground face down. “Sorry you won’t be able to spend any of my money, old man,” Ray said as his finger wrapped around the trigger. Then Ray heard a familiar sound. The sirens were just over the hill.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, and ran for the truck, keys jangling in his one hand, the rifle held in the other. Simon raised the gun to shoot him in the back as he ran, but just wasn’t fast enough to get the gun up in time. He squeezed off a shot just as Ray had dashed around the corner.
The three farmers looked at each other. They were still sitting on the ground, and heard the sirens approaching. Joe dug in his pocket and pulled out the money Ray had used for bait to get his gun. He passed one bill to Simon, put one down in front of himself, and gave the other farmer one. When the money was divided, they put the bills in their pockets, and stood up to give assistance to the police if it was necessary. Without speaking a word, it was now Ray’s word about what happened to that money versus three old codgers who knew opportunity when they saw it.
Ray jumped in the truck, and sped around the front of the house, being careful to avoid the pile of three farmers. He had heard the shotgun go off again just behind him as he turned the corner, and Ray had no doubt that Simon would like to get off another shot, even if he was shooting at his own truck. The sirens were approaching from the north, so Ray punched the gas and turned the truck south. He would double back when he got to the lake exit, and then find a way to get to John Graham’s house and get the rest of his money.
Smitty wasn’t planning on a flight risk, so the sirens were wailing as a warning to the farmers to keep their hostage safe until the big boys arrived. But the best laid plans only proved to warn Ray, and when the three cop cars pulled up to the farm, the three farmers started pointing up the road. It was only seconds before Smitty realized what had happened. “James, stay here and get the story. I think we’ll speed ahead and see what kind of lead he has.”
The last car stayed and the other two kept the bubblegum machines spinning, while Officer James stood looking at Simon and friends. The conversation that ensued consisted mostly of silence and shrugged shoulders from the three.
Ray was only a minute ahead of the cop cars, and as he topped the hill, he could see the flashing lights just across the small valley. He would be over the top in just a moment, and if he remembered right, there was a fork in the road. One road led to the lake, and the other to the city. If he could get behind some brush or trees, he might be able to hide in the dark. Perhaps they would assume he had gone on to the city, and not the lake. He killed the lights.
Smitty saw the truck across the valley. Then the lights went out and the truck disappeared. He radioed ahead to the cars coming up north from the city. They were only about 5 miles out, and he quizzed them about the roads ahead.
“This is Smith,” he said. “How many roads between where we are and you are? Over.”
“Skinner here,” came the reply. “We have three turnoffs between us with the suspect in between. The lake road is over the hill to your right, farming road two miles farther and one switchback road to Ridgeway. Over.”
“Copy that.” Smitty thought quickly and made the assignments. “Stay at the switchback in case he goes straight back for the money. We’ll split off at the two roads and pursue. Over.”
“Copy. Waiting at the switchback.”
Now for the tough call. One car would go to the lake, one to the farm road turnoff. Smitty hated to chase wild gooses, idling in the car while the real action was radioed back for everyone else to hear. He sent the other car to the lake.
“We’ll see if he took the farm road, and radio back,” he said to the troops. Sometimes it was good to be the boss, because you got to do what you wanted. Smitty wanted to see Raymond Johnson’s face.
John Graham had just spent one of the best days of his life, and was determined to make it one of the best nights of his life, too. When he got home, he had no idea his best friend had been watching his house all day. He had no idea that Raymond Johnson was hell bent for leather to get to his house, ransack it at least, and kill everybody in the house if necessary. He was living so blissfully unaware he might as well have been on another planet.
His wife Reba didn’t mind the change. John had been irritable and distracted the last few days, and to hear him enter the house whistling was a nice change. She left her chores and went to the front door to greet him.
“Whistling, huh?” she said to him.
“Yeah,” John replied. “It was a good day at school. Let’s go out to dinner tonight, or maybe go see a show.”
“With what money?” she questioned him, with the same question that was always asked when either of them wanted to splurge. “Or do you have some money?”
John paused for a moment, and then realized that this was the same question she always asked, and she couldn’t possibly know about the bundle of money, unless he had been talking in his sleep again. His step-siblings used to have conversations with him when he was asleep, and they never really told him what the “talks” were about.
“Have I been talking about money in my sleep?” he probed.
“Yeah, you’ve been babbling about your billions,” she said as she poked him. “What kind of a question is that?”
“Just checking,” John said, and then he mentioned one of their favorite restaurants. She was only seconds getting her coat and turning down the crock-pot. “We can have this for lunch tomorrow,” she said.
“Look, Greg” said Paula. The red sedan was leaving the house again, but this time with two passengers. Greg sighed his relief.
“That’s good news,” he said, and then turned to Paula to explain. “I’d rather have them out of the house if this bad guy shows up here in town again.”
She nodded and then asked if they should stay at their post. Greg drew her near and didn’t bother to answer the question.
Ray had found a clump of low-lying scrub just as the road to the lake had turned east. He pulled behind it, got out the rifle and waited for the cops to top the hill. When two cars crested it, only one came toward the lake. So they hadn’t seen him turn, he reasoned, and now they were splitting up to search. So much for safety in numbers. Now Ray just had to decide if he wanted to let the approaching car slide by, or take it out as it drove up. It was a gamble he had to take, since the other car was still in sight, but now farther up the bend on the other road. He crouched down and held the gun, scoping in the driver.
They drove past and didn’t even slow up at the clump of bushes. The road didn’t go very far, if Ray remembered right, and they would soon be back going slowly and using their spotlight to check out the sides of the road.
Ray dashed quickly to the other side of the road and waited for them to return.
Smitty had a bad feeling about following the farm road. Though it had made the most sense to him at the time, his instincts said this was the wrong road. He called the car waiting at the switchback and checked on outlets from the farm road.
They confirmed that there were no other roads that split from the farm road, and right at about that time, Smitty was reaching the end of the road. There had been no outcroppings, mounds, barns or other structures to hide a truck behind.
With no reports from the forward car at the switchback, it could only mean that the truck was back by the lake.
Smitty called the third car he had left at the farm.
“Skinner, you still at the farm?”
“Roger, that.”
“Suspect is probably up the road on the east lake road. Back-up car number two.”
“Copy. Backing up car two.”
The three farmers watched the police car roll away. After it had traveled a respectable distance, at least far enough for billfolds to be too small to see, the three took the money from their pockets and filled up their wallets. Without more than another 10 words, they parted ways happy men, and a little bit richer.
Ray trained the gun on the cop car, hoping against hope that the empty truck would get the cops out of their car and make for easy shooting. The car came around the bend in the road and slowed as the searchlight played over the hillsides.
The searchlight played across sagebrush, up and down the dusty hills. Suddenly a silhouette of Simon’s truck appeared behind a stand of scrub oak. The cops slowed and pulled over by the truck. The standard procedures would be followed, thought Ray.
They did call in the truck. It was verified as Simon’s, and one of the officers got out of the squad car to check it out. Ray was trying to be patient, because he knew it would be impossible to get to the truck again unless he had clear shots at both of them. As the other cop stayed in the car, Ray began to curse under his breath, wondering how long it would be before the first cop called the other over.
Smitty was on the speaker. “Car one, stay put until we get there. Do not engage. Repeat, do not engage.”
“Copy that,” came the response from the first car.
Ray had enough experience with the police to know that in exposed areas like this, one cop would stay in the car, especially if they knew Ray was armed. So, Ray decided, it was time to play his hand, and get both of them out to be shot.
Ray drew a bead on the first cop, who was shining his flashlight up and down the hill away from the truck. As the silhouette of the light turned away and framed the cop’s legs, Ray took his shot. The 30.06 shell was loud, and found its target. The first cop was down, rolling on the ground howling as he held his bleeding leg.
This produced the effect Ray wanted immediately. The second cop hopped out to help his partner, and Ray, thinking that these guys were so predictable, drew a bead as he dragged his partner behind the truck. This one was a chest shot. Now all he had to do was go down and finish off the other guy.
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Monday Jul 19, 2010
Monday Jul 19, 2010
An interview on "Abundance" for Big River Radio. This interview features co-producer James Arrington and Harry Bonner, who plays "Jim" in the production.
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Monday Jul 19, 2010
Monday Jul 19, 2010
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
John Graham sat enjoying the stir-fry at his favorite Chinese buffet. The large grill was operated by a guy guiding two sticks back and forth across the shrimp, vegetables and garlic sauces selected by the patron, and then was deftly slid sideways into a bowl, steaming hot and succulent. It was great to have all you could eat, and with so many different choices, they rarely went home less than stuffed. The only regret John had was that there would be no leftovers for later tonight.
Reba was looking at John with her head tilted sideways.
“What?” said John. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you, that’s all,” she said mysteriously, wondering what the cause for the good mood was.
“Can’t a guy just be in a good mood, for Pete’s sake? You’d think I was an axe murderer or something,” said John, carefully poking the mushrooms with his fork and rolling them in the garlic sauce. “Don’t you think it’s strange that shrimp start out grey and when you cook them, they turn pink?”
“Don’t change the subject, Mr. Graham. I’m not one of your students who can be entertained by switching to a tangent.”
“I’m not trying to change the subject,” John objected. “Can’t a guy wonder why steak turns from pink to brown, and shrimp turn from grey to pink? I could be onto the greatest gastronomic discovery in the history of the culinary arts.”
Reba just snorted. “You are so full of it, your eyes are brown,” she said wagging her head. “I guess you’ll tell me as soon as you are ready. But we better not be pregnant again, because the kids are all grown.”
Now it was John’s turn to be surprised, and he almost choked, but then remembered Reba had recently had a hysterectomy, so she wasn’t announcing anything. She was just trying to get him to play his hand. He wondered if he should do a little exploratory digging.
“Well,” John said, “all I’m thinking is that we may come into a little bit of money in the near future, and I’m hoping you aren’t staying with me because I may become independently wealthy.”
It was an inside joke of theirs that revolved around the salaries of public employees. They were both dedicated to their jobs, and they made a comfortable living now, but it had been hell raising two kids on the salaries of two school teachers.
Reba looked up at John. “Did your father die and leave you a treasure map?”
John chuckled. “No, and don’t get any ideas about killing me off for the insurance money, either, because they won’t pay if it looks like murder.”
“Or suicide.” Reba did a little searching of John’s eyes to see where he was going with this line of thought.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to kill myself. I just have a good feeling about a little investment I made a few days ago. And don’t worry, there’s no financial risk involved. I didn’t raid our savings.”
Reba smiled again. John was always involved with one hair-brained scheme after another. He liked to think of himself as a financial wizard, but the only thing that was magic was that they hadn’t had more money problems than they had experienced already. John was long on optimism, but short on experience.
“Investing in another start-up company specializing in underwater telescopes?” she teased.
“Take it easy, woman,” he cautioned. “I know I’ve been down this road before, but let’s just say I’m feeling really good about the track that I’m following.” His inside joke made him smile even wider.
“Okay,” said Reba, pushing back the plate as she got ready to go get some desserts. “I won’t challenge your business expertise, Mr. Rockefeller. Just make sure you consult with J. Paul Getty before you sign on the dotted line.”
It was another old joke of theirs, and had to do with spending time on the couch if this went belly up. John was confident he wouldn’t be spending time on the couch.
Ray jumped into the pickup and headed back to the main road. These dead cops had probably called the other cops, so company was on the way. He was trying to think about the road ahead, and if there was anywhere he could turn off. Better to stay on the main road in this area, though, he thought, since he wasn’t sure where any of them lead. He had to make sure he was headed out on a road which had an escape route at the end.
So just before he got to the fork, he had to make a decision. The other cars were probably south, so he should go north, back towards Simon’s house. If they had left someone behind, there would only be one car, and who knows how many were waiting the other direction. North it was.
Skinner had by this time left Simon’s place to back up the other car by the lake. Ray was hoping the cop car from the farm would be on its way up to the lake. Ray had walked this road earlier in the day, and was observant enough to notice there was a sharp dip in the road bordered by a small river just at the bottom of the hill. He was slowing a bit to see if he could coordinate the two cars he expected to be encountering soon.
Up ahead he could see Skinner’s car coming. Ray doused the lights on the truck again and waited just above the hill’s beginning, planning his “squeeze” play by the river. If he could time this right, he would have a good lead back to Ridgeway and the money. Or he could just forget the money, vanish and never be seen again. With three cops dead now, Ray doubted anyone would let him stay vanished for long. He needed to get to another country, and that took money. Which would take Ray back to Ridgeway.
Right on time, Smitty’s car crested the hill behind Ray. Ray gunned the truck without pulling on the headlights, but pulling the knob out enough for parking lights. Ray was trying to time this so they would all meet in the middle. And to the car behind him, it would look like his headlights were on, not just the taillights.
Smitty couldn’t be sure this was the right truck with the dust flying behind it, so he was content to go slow until there was a place to overtake and pull the truck over. Nevertheless, with the lights on the top of the sedan flashing, the truck should have pulled over even if it was the wrong one. Maybe the driver was just looking for a place, too, thought Smitty.
Then the truck ahead of him sped up. Smitty could see Skinner’s car ahead, and it seemed to be coming toward the hill fast. Perhaps Skinner hadn’t seen the truck yet. As the three vehicles reached the bottom of the hill, Ray pulled on the headlights and swerved sideways, crushing on his brakes. Skinner turned toward the river, as did Smitty, and the two cars met head on in the midst of the stream. The horn on one began to whine, and steam from both engines rose from the river.
Ray stopped to look for just long enough to make sure both cars were out of commission. “That was almost too easy,” he muttered to himself. “I guess there are advantages to walking every once in a while.” Ray didn’t think he would be stopping to thank Simon for the guided tour earlier in the day.
Smitty hopped out the squad car and tried to hurry to the bank of the river, but got caught in the mud, and by the time he was on the dirt road, the truck was vanishing into the darkness. “Skinner, get car three on the box. Looks like we’ll all need a ride back. And get Greg Jones in Ridgeway on the phone. Tell him to expect company.”
Simon was sitting on his porch, rocking back and forth enjoying the crisp night air. Smoking a pipe, he thought about what to do about his truck. Call the insurance company, probably, even though he didn’t have insurance to replace the truck, just to cover collision. “When a truck gets stolen,” Simon mused to himself,” that’s not collision, that’s a loss, and that’s what insurance is for. To cover your losses.”
He turned the words over in his head. He would say it just that way to the insurance guy tomorrow. There was a noise from an engine just up the road, and it only took a few moments for Simon to recognize his own truck. Not enough time to go get the gun, but just enough to get out of the rocker and step out off the porch.
Ray drove by like a bat out of hell, and made an inappropriate gesture at Simon as he passed the old man standing in front of his house. Simon gestured back, and then muttered under his breath, “Thanks for the money, idiot.” He went in the house and called up Joe.
State policeman Darrell Skinner made the call as requested by his superior officer, Harold Smith. Then he hit the steering wheel of his squad car again as the water began to rise inside the car. He had been so focused on getting this guy he had been stupid. He had seen lights up ahead, but because the truck headlights weren’t on, he sped up, thinking the truck was farther away than it was. Now both cars were in the river, and probably totaled.
Those weren’t the real reasons Darrell was angry. He had let his hate for the man they were chasing cloud his judgment. He wasn’t thinking clearly, and that was fatal to policemen like Darrell.
Or like his brother, Larry Skinner, who had been stabbed and killed by this lunatic just the night before. Smitty had hesitated before letting Darrell come along, but Darrell had been so insistent that there was no way to stop him. He would have shadowed them, risking dismissal, to get back at his brother’s executioner.
Now he sat in a muddy river, watching the water rise up to the door handles. Luckily, this was more of a stream than a raging river, or he would have had more to worry about. As it was, sloshing out of the wrecked car was humiliation enough. He wouldn’t let this guy get away again.
John and Reba were heading back home, which was just a few blocks from the restaurant, one of only three in town. Most of the local restaurant business was tourists passing through; since there was no way the local population could keep three establishments open. It was only a minute or two and they were home.
Greg and Paula were distracted at the moment. John and Reba pulled into their garage, and the two lookouts were none the wiser. They were writhing on the floor together, in the happy ecstasy of two people who were in love. Greg didn’t even hear the radio from the car calling for him to respond, and since Smitty had taken off, Greg had turned down the volume on his walkie-talkie. Some moments were not meant to be interrupted.
Ray felt in his pocket for the money. Then he remembered trading Joe’s gun for the wad of cash, and realized he had neglected to take any money back. Ray had been so glad just to have a gun, that in the heat of the moment he forgot the cash.
If that had been the only bad news, Ray would probably have not lost his temper. But Simon’s truck was nearly out of gas after touring the countryside, and in the next town he would have to stop and gas up. With no money.
Greg and Paula were now sitting up looking at John Graham’s house again. When they saw lights on in the house, Greg said, “They must be home. I can’t believe I didn’t see them come back.”
Paula looked towards Greg. “It’s was nice for a moment to be such a great distraction. Now you’re saying you’re not glad to be distracted?”
Greg smiled. “Sorry, don’t take it personally. I wouldn’t choose anyone else to distract me, but this is my professional duty. I’m supposed to be watching this house, where a friend of mine just happens to live, so he doesn’t end up dead.”
Paula looked back toward the house. “Looks to me like everyone is alive and well,” she said. “But I’ll try to be less of a distraction.”
“Impossible,” said Greg, correctly reading the moment, and pulling her toward him, kissed her long and hard. “I may never be able to concentrate again.”
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Monday Jul 12, 2010
Monday Jul 12, 2010
An interview from July 11th, 2010 with Elizabeth Hansen, director of "Big River", the Huckleberry Finn musical.
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Saturday Jul 10, 2010
Saturday Jul 10, 2010
The Cost of Conformity
Honesty is an interesting concept. There must be more honest people in the world than dishonest people or we wouldn’t be able to function as a society. Some people feel the world is just getting worse each day, but in the long run. I think most people eventually figure out its easier to live honestly in the world than dishonestly. It does seem young people who commit crimes eventually get the message as they get older.
I think the most disturbing part about the whole concept of honesty is we really aren’t honest with ourselves. We are mostly conformists. There are things we do every day which we only do only because other do the same thing. It is a basis for society and for sociability, but it makes me wonder how much of what we do is just because others are already doing it. There is a scene in an old black and white movie called “Metropolis” made back in 1925 which reminds me of how many of us conform.
In this old classic, the workers live underground and march off to work in a big square, with everyone wearing the exact same hat, shirt and pants. It’s an eerie image, and when you seen the second shift walking home from work twice as slow, but still all looking exactly the same. It was an interesting prediction to make 85 years ago, but if you look around today at the number of people wearing baseball caps, levis and t-shirts, that kind of conformity has come to pass.
Are we honest because everyone else seems honest? Do you do things because other people do? If other people are speeding down the road, do you go the same speed even if you don’t want to?
Some of us attend church so we can make a good impression. Do we not shop on Sundays because others don’t? Or do we do what we want when we want because we want to do it?
Conformity is something that takes the individuality out of our lives and denies the world the unique contribution we might be here to make. When we really pay attention to our purpose, we may find a whole new life out there waiting for us. How do we find our purpose? Why would we want to find our purpose?
Finding a purpose can give meaning to what you do in life. It could guide and direct your actions, and give you clear directions for the big decisions you may face. It could break us out of our automatic conformity. It may motivate you to do different things than you have been doing, and help you survive failures. You’ll be able to face rejection if you are truly committed to your life purpose.
Unfortunately, there is no universal formula for finding a life purpose, especially since everyone will have to find their purpose in their own way. It takes time and should be thought of as a lifetime process. Our purpose may change as our lives change. But by identifying our strengths and our passions, and causes in which you believe, you will be on the right path to find something meaningful to do with the time and talents you’ve been given.
Find a way to do some work on those things that interest you. Using your strengths and passions, working on things you think you might enjoy will help you understand if you really are on a path which is right for you.
Real enjoyment happens when we lose ourselves in whatever it is we are doing. Time seems to fly, and when we realize hours have passed, this is a good indication we may be doing something true to our purpose. Some people call this “being in the moment”, and when you are completely present in the moment, everything else vanishes and you are not thinking, doing, but you are just being.
This is what happens when we are going something we truly enjoy. Many people experience this with their favorite recreation. Time doesn’t pass in the same way. My favorite way to make time disappear is gardening. When I am working in the yard, time stands still, but also seems to pass so quickly. I have projects on which I have been working for years, and while they may be done someday, then I will move on to another project which will be completed in its own time.
A real purpose in life can make the difference between a life fulfilled, and a life of misery. Today is the day to start that journey which puts you on the path which will make a difference for you, and for the world. You will never know unless you take the chance to find the reason you are here now.
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Friday Jul 09, 2010
Friday Jul 09, 2010
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Paula was also having a difficult time talking. Her mouth was moving over Greg’s in a passionate kiss that kept his attention. He was hoping this was what she had meant when she sent Smitty away. He was tired of looking at John’s house anyway. But to make sure, he stopped her, and gently holding her shoulders, he asked her, “Are you sure you want to do this, Paula? I mean, last night you seemed like you wanted to wait.”
Paula pulled him off the couch onto the floor. She kissed his lips once again, and then sat up to talk. Greg sat up on the floor across from her.
“You’re right, Greg, we should wait.” He seemed disappointed. “But we don’t have to; because last night was about what I thought you were thinking about me. I’m so forward sometimes; I must seem like a tramp.”
Greg started to protest, but she wanted to continue, so she held one finger on his lips.
“Let me get this out all at once, and then, I think you’ll understand what I’m talking about,” she said. He took her finger and kissed it lightly, then sat back to listen.
“This is complicated, but I think I can sum it up quickly.” She tossed her blonde hair back with the confidence he liked so much about her. She was trying to give herself enough confidence to talk.
“I’m not old, but I feel like I’ve been through way too many painful relationships. It started in high school when I thought the strong silent type meant a man that would listen to me and protect me. What happened is most of those guys were just quiet when they hit me.”
Greg frowned. This was going to be difficult for Paula to get through. He wanted to reach out and hold her while she spoke, but her body language was saying she wanted to do this on her own, and get it over. There was a possibility of happiness, she seemed to be saying, and Greg wanted her to be happy most of all.
“I thought I was smarter once I got out of college, even though the men I was attracted to only wanted me for display, to impress their friends. I tried a couple of other relationships, but they were all the same. I was sacrificing myself and my life for them, and they were happy to use me.”
She paused and bit her lip. “The last guy almost killed me. He was strangling me when I kicked him where it counts, and ran into the street. He probably would have dragged me back into the house and finished the job if the guy up the street hadn’t been walking his dog at just the right time.”
Greg moved one hand to her shoulder and she nuzzled it. Then she put it back down on his leg.
“Almost done, I promise,” she whispered. “It was three years of therapy and a longer trial before he wound up in jail. When I met you, I knew I could wait until you were ready. Now I might be rushing things, so I guess you get to talk now and tell me…”
Her lip was trembling.
Greg said, “I hope I was worth the wait.” She looked long and hard into his eyes and smiled the smile he remembered from the first time they had met. Why she had chosen him, he would never understand. But right now was not the time to think of that. She rose up on her knees facing him, and as he sat up facing her, they kissed tenderly at first, and then gave in to the passion that had been building for two years.
This was not looking good. Another beat-up pick-up truck was coming down the road. “Looks like he invited the whole neighborhood,” said Ray to himself. If he was going to do anything, it would have to be soon. The old guy had probably called the cops, too. When Joe had gone into the house, he had borrowed what looked like a high-powered rifle with a scope. The guy pulling up had his own gun, which he took from the gun rack in the truck and joined the twosome leaning against Simon’s old truck.
But why did he wait so long to call them? Was this some kind of sadistic fun for the farmer? Maybe there was just not enough for these old guys to do around here, Ray mused. But then his mind started to clear, and he realized that this was about the money. The farmer had known Ray was wanted, so it made sense that he would know about the robbery. The old guy wanted some of the money! That’s why the cops hadn’t shown up.
Ray thought for a minute more, and made some decisions. If he was going to get out of here, it would have to be now.
Simon was surprised to see the crook coming out with his hands up. All three farmers raised their guns suspiciously, and they instinctively spread out around Ray. After about twenty steps Ray stopped with three guns pointing at him from various angles. He put his hands down.
Simon barked, “Put ‘em back up, Sonny. Lots of sharp stuff in the barn. Let’s see what’s in your pockets.” Ray almost smiled inside, expecting to be frisked, but then again, these guys weren’t cops. He pulled out his pants pockets to show they were empty. Except for a wad of bills.
“I figure this is what you’re after, since no cops have shown up.”
“Yet,” Simon added, not denying the money was a main interest.
“So, I figure, I give you what I have, and you’ll let me go get the rest.”
The three looked at each other with questions in their eyes, but they had learned the value of silence. Let the other guy talk, and he would often show you his whole hand while you hid yours.
Ray realized they didn’t understand and tried to explain. “Look, do you think I’d stick around here after I robbed a bank if I still had the money? Some jerk took the rest and left this as evidence with the police. I only have about $2500, but I figure if you three split it up…” Ray “accidentally” dropped the wad to the ground.
Joe went for the money since he was closest, and that was all Ray needed. As the tip of the gun dipped toward the dirt, he grabbed it and pushed Joe over. Running just enough to get both of the others in range, he spun and shouted.
“Throw the guns down or I shoot you now!!”
The other two lowered their weapons. “Now throw me your keys, old man,” Ray growled. Simon dug in his pockets and tossed them in the dirt in front of Ray. Picking them up, he scowled at Simon and said, “I should shoot you right now, after you made me crawl in the dirt, and look at the nice pattern you left on my forehead. But you may be worth more to me alive than dead, especially since you’ve probably already called the cops.”
Simon practiced being stone-faced. Ray wondered how long he had before they would have company. “Both of you lie down,” he said.
Simon broke the silence as then crawled to the ground. “The cops will be here any time, so if you’re going to go, now might be a good time.” It didn’t sound like cowardice, and it did make for some good advice. When Simon said it, it almost sounded calm and brave. He knew he had made the mistake of being greedy, and he was ready to pay with his life if it was needed. But Ray detected the note of urgency and interpreted that as confirmation that the police would be here soon.
But maybe he still had enough time to take care of the injuries that had been done to him.
Greg spoke first. He turned to Paula, and stroking her beautiful hair, asked her, “Why me?”
There was a puzzled look on her face. “Why not you? Is there something I should know?” she said smiling slightly.
“No, I have no deep dark secrets, except that I’m an idiot when it comes to romance,” he admitted freely. “I’m just surprised a great catch like you would be interested in small-fry like me.”
Now she was running her fingers through his hair. “That’s one of the most attractive things about you, Greg,” she said. She pulled him close for a long, tender kiss.
Then she pushed his chest back a bit with her hand and said, “You don’t get it, but men who brag about themselves aren’t very interesting. You’re the right kind of strong but silent type. You don’t know your own strengths, so that’s why you are silent about it.”
Greg was now looking puzzled.
“Sorry,” she said. “I guess that doesn’t make much sense to you. But here’s one way I can explain it. Do you remember about the old boyfriend you helped arrest?”
Greg nodded.
“Well, I also said it took me another year to finally start paying attention to what a great man you really are. Do you remember a year after the car chase?”
Greg was searching, and usually not being very good at memory games, was about to give up. “The Dobson kidnapping!”
“Right”, she said. “You were up visiting Smitty and we ran into each other at the press briefing.”
Greg said he remembered.
“Well, do you remember what you did later that weekend?”
Greg did remember it, very vividly.
Greg was riding around with Smitty as the negotiations with the kidnapper were slowing up. Smitty mentioned something about the strange noises coming across the phone during the last call, and said something about the whistle.
“What did it sound like?” asked Greg.
“It was really strange,” said Smitty, “kind of a shrieking noise, but repeated several times. Not even really a whistle, but I can’t place it.”
Greg thought for a moment, and then asked, “Could it be train brakes in the background?”
Smitty smiled, slowly at first, and then it became full-faced and excited. “It did sound like train brakes!” He swerved the car around and they arrived at the train station in moments. As they drove closer to the main station house, they looked for warehouses with lights still on. Most of the workers should have gone home by this time of night.
Smitty got on the radio for back-up as they pulled next to a warehouse with office lights on. He was hoping this wasn’t a wild goose chase, and as he was talking on the phone, the station informed him the kidnapper was on the phone again. Smitty asked to have a microphone stuck by the speaker so they could hear.
As the train behind them squealed, the same sound came across the speaker in the car, and Harold Smith radioed back that they were in the exact area of the phone call. Unfortunately, the scanners at the news stations also picked this up, and suddenly there were dozens of police cars and news wagons showing up.
As the crowd increased, the kidnapper came out holding the little girl in front of him. Waving his gun and warning everyone to get back, he made his way to Smitty’s car. Greg could see the little girl had been crying, and she was looking truly terrified with all of the cars, lights and people staring at her.
Greg had walked slowly up to the kidnapper and softly said, “Let her go. If you need a hostage, take me instead. But don’t make her suffer anymore.”
He saw the gun pointed directly at his head, and waited while his offer sank in. The man loosed his hold on the girl and grabbed Greg by the arm. Sharpshooters nearby took the opening and fired only twice.
Greg heard the shots ring out, and scooped the little girl up to protect her from the sight of the blood-spattered body. Carrying her over to Smitty’s car, he tried to comfort her. Asking her name, where she went to school, and telling her that her mom and dad were on the way seemed to calm her enough, but by then the cameras were rolling. They captured a caring officer doing his best to protect the innocent.
A special citation from the governor had followed. But Greg had forgotten that Paula was standing right next to the cameraman, and it was her “Paula Jones exclusive” which had helped give Greg the most publicity.
“Do you remember what you said to that little girl, Greg?”
Although it had been on tape, he hadn’t watched it in over two years. But Paula kept a special copy near her video player at home. She gently took his chin in her hand and said softly to him, “You said, ‘Everything is going to be all right. I won’t let any bad men hurt you any more.’ And then you kissed her on the forehead.”
There was an awkward moment of silence, but Paula spoke again.
“I’ve played that tape a hundred times, Greg, she said softly. “It always makes me feel safe. And it reminds me exactly why I love you so much.”
Greg now leaned in and kissed Paula softly. “Thanks for waiting for me,” he said, and then he kissed her forehead.
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Thursday Jul 08, 2010
Thursday Jul 08, 2010
I looked on the back of my debit card. It says, “If lost or stolen, please call 1-888-555-1212”. So let me think about that for a moment. If I lose my debit card, I’m supposed to have the number somewhere else so I can call and report it is missing? And if someone finds it, what are the chances they will call in and report they found it? Or would the normal everyday passerby be tempted to see if it worked?
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve used the card and entered the wrong pin, and then was told by the clerk to just run it as a credit. This means anyone else could do the same thing if they find my card. It doesn’t make me feel secure.
Some people feel like the world is a more dishonest place. I’ve had things stolen from me before, but usually it’s my fault. I remember how excited I was to get a class ring when I was in high school. It was really nice, and they are way too expensive, but what do we know when we are 17 years old? We just know we can’t live without it, so we sacrifice and get it or just have mom and dad buy it.
I was working one summer cutting pine poles, and stopped at a service station on the way to the stand of timber. I took off my ring to wash my hands in the bathroom and left my ring on the sink. I realized later in the day what I had done, and after a long day getting the chain saw to work, dodging falling trees, trimming limbs and hauling logs to the truck, I went back to the gas station later that night and surprise! no one had turned in a lost ring. Who would want a high school ring from another school? No one I went to high school with would have been even close to where I was. It wouldn’t be their school colors. But, nonetheless, the ring was gone and someone had a new trinket.
It wasn’t the last ring I had stolen, although technically, I lost my class ring before someone kept it. My wedding ring was stolen one night when I was in the middle of a performance. For those of you who know who Howard Ruff is, you may be surprised to know he like to sing opera. In fact, I got to help him put on a show called H.M.S. Pinafore by Gilbert and Sullivan. One of the scariest moments during rehearsals was when Howard had a kidney stone attack. I drove him home in his car and my wife followed me to his house. I knew he was in a lot of pain, but I didn’t know how much until I passed my first kidney stone about five years ago.
So when the performances were finally started, we were all singly mightily on stage while someone else was going through our stuff backstage. They waited until a scene where everyone was on stage. Howard lost a couple of hundred dollars, and they stole my wedding ring.
That’s right. A plain silver wedding ring. Well, really white gold, but I still can’t understand why anyone would want someone else’s old ring. I guess someone was supporting a drug habit and needed some cash. So think about this. Whoever stole my ring has to go to a pawn shop and claim they don’t want their wedding ring anymore. Or the person who usually buys their stolen goods knows better than to ask where the ring came from. Either way, it seems like way more work than getting a regular job.
But this may be where most of us actually are dishonest without really thinking about it. On our job, our employers trust us to give an honest day’s labor for our wage, and if we don’t like the pay we can always go get another job. But as a society, we tend to think our employers owe us more somehow, and taking time off work to do our personal errands seems acceptable. Employers complain about employee theft, but is it really a big deal? The National Retail Security Survey estimated retailers lost $15.9 billion in 2008, and they expected 2009 to see an increase in employee theft. You want abundance?
Listen to what super salesman and marketing guru Joseph Sugarman says about honesty. “Each time you are honest and conduct yourself with honesty, a success force will drive you toward greater success. Each time you lie, even with a little white lie, there are strong forces pushing you toward failure.” Honesty can make us more successful. Dealing with the consequences of being dishonest take a much bigger toll. It may make you fail.
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Thursday Jul 08, 2010
Thursday Jul 08, 2010
This is the complete episode of Abundance from June 27th.
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Thursday Jul 08, 2010
Thursday Jul 08, 2010
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Paula joined the stakeout, over Smitty’s objections. She had offered to bring some food and cook, and Greg had been persuasive. He even reasoned having an imbedded reporter might make both of them look more efficient. They would have nothing to hide. Smitty was used to the two-man stake out, and didn’t want someone around “arranging doilies”. They were all watching the house across the street, waiting patiently for someone who might never come, but who at that moment was wondering how to get out of a barn without getting shot.
Paula decided to get some food ready. Greg was impressed that she had even offered to bring food, since both of the men were used to bringing in fast food during surveillance. It looked like they were going to get a home-cooked meal.
“This won’t take me long,” she insisted, “and since it’s not dark we can get it cooked without lights. If we wait to eat, then I’ll have to cook in the dark.”
Neither man was going to put up a fuss, but Smitty cautioned, “Just make sure you stay in the house, and that no one can see you from across the street.”
“Not a problem,” said Paula. “I brought everything I’ll need in with me. I won’t need to go out the car, and the kitchen is in the back. Don’t worry about me. Just don’t you two get caught peeking out the window.”
Greg smiled at Smitty, and Smitty smiled, too. Maybe this would be all right to have some female company.
Ray had cut the ropes on a nearby saw in less than a minute. He had grabbed the pitchfork and waited by the door. Then waited some more. Soon he was looking out the knotholes in the barn towards the house.
He saw the old man sitting in a rocking chair, rocking in the dirt in back of the house. Resting on his lap was the shotgun, and he didn’t look like he was going anywhere anytime soon.
“Damn.” It was all that Ray could think to say.
Ray thought about sneaking away through the back door and across the fields. But when he looked, he realized the front door was the only door. “Figures,” he said to no one.
There was a small window with some glass panes, but if he broke the glass or made noise getting out the window, the old man would be there before he could run even halfway across the bare field. Ray thought about the old man’s comment about the wide pattern of the shotgun.
It would be dark soon, though. Ray could wait, and then, in the dark, he would make his escape.
John had just spent a nearly perfect day at school. The students seemed to be truly interested in the intricacies of stage design, and had completed their worksheets in an acceptable manner. John had finished his money wish list, and truly felt like his life was blessed.
It was because John was really starting to believe he would get the money. He would be able to spend it as he wanted, and the problems they had faced as a family would disappear. His bliss was so complete, he didn’t even recognize that he was the only one in town spending an entirely perfect day.
His best friend was staked out across the street from his home, waiting for a homicidal maniac to come to John’s house to retrieve the money. His family was in mortal danger, and if they all survived without major incident, it would be a miracle.
John had the ignorance of bliss, truly clueless about what was really happening. Like most people who are surprised when the expected suddenly turns to the unexpected, John was like a deer eating peacefully by the side of the road unaware that the distant roar was an oncoming car. With headlights on bright.
John was so pleased with himself that he decided to treat himself on this most exceptional of days. Stopping by the convenience store on the way home from school, he bought a chocolate covered devil’s food cake donut and a large drink. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day, where the universe was ordered and everything was fine. John would feel much different about his universe in the morning.
Paula came back with food that had been tantalizing them for the last half-hour. The smells coming from the kitchen were so good, they were both tempted to leave their posts at the windows and get the first piece of food for themselves.
The fried chicken was perfect. Not too crisp, not too greasy, and just hot enough to warm them all over. Greg knew something about Paula’s cooking, since she had been slowly preparing him for this fate. That had included several home-cooked meals. Greg was beginning to wonder if he really was a bad detective. He should have seen what she was up to long ago.
“Not bad, huh, Harold?” Greg motioned to the spread.
“Sure beats cold pizza,” Smitty said grudgingly. Greg gave him a dumbfounded look, and even Paula looked insulted at the slim praise.
“Okay,” Smitty said, giving in. “This fried chicken is the best I have ever had.”
Now the other two were smiling. “Better than your wife’s?” asked Greg.
“Much better,” Smitty grinned. “And if you ever tell her this, I will lie like a rug and deny I ever said it.”
“Look across the street.” said Paula. The darkness was falling on the town, and John Graham was pulling his car into his garage. “He’s home.”
“The pigeon has returned to the roost,” said Smitty cryptically. Then he took another bite of the bird in his hand.
The sun was setting in the west, and the hills scattered the light across the farm. Some parts were already in the dusky twilight, but where Simon was sitting, it was still bright. Simon knew Ray would have an advantage when darkness fell. Then this old man would have to go into the house and call the local authorities, instead of getting some of the cash for himself first like he had planned.
This crook didn’t need all that money, and by God he sure didn’t deserve it. But since God had put him into Simon’s hands, well, there must be a reason for it. The guy must have spent some of the $100,000 by now, and if Simon skimmed a little off the top before the crook went to jail, well, that was the reward for being smart and old enough to know what to do when opportunity presents itself. “You’ve got to strike while the iron is hot,” Simon thought to himself. While he had a few more moments to contemplate actually going into the house to call the police, Simon thought back to what that stupid saying actually meant. Probably something about blacksmithing, which Simon had done a bit of when he was younger.
“Stupid city slickers probably think ‘iron’ means like an ironing board, and that you should iron your clothes while the iron was hot,” thought Simon. “Idiots. Way too many people in those big cities never got the chance to see what life and death was all about like farm people got to see” he muttered to himself.
That made Simon stop and think that there might be just one more thing he could do to get some money out of this fellow before the cops spoiled his fun. He rose from the chair and went into the kitchen.
Ray thought that his chance had finally arrived. The old guy was going into the house, and it was getting dark enough to sneak out of his self-imposed trap. He was thinking about running around to the front, and just jumping in the truck, but the keys would probably not be there. Besides, after eating dirt from the road, Ray was ready for some payback.
He edged slowly to the door, hoping the moon wasn’t bright enough to light him from behind. He looked toward the back of the barn, and felt comfortable that the moon wouldn’t outline him in the door. As he slowly opened the door, he could see Simon on the phone in the kitchen. Simon was still looking out at the barn and he was talking to someone, but Ray couldn’t hear the words. Ray decided being tied to a phone which still had a cord hooked to the wall was as good as chance as any, and he pulled the door open slowly.
Apparently Simon could see him well enough to sight in his gun, because a shot roared from the kitchen. Ray jumped back as he saw, heard, and was hit in the forehead by tiny shot pellets. It felt like someone had poked him in the face with a porcupine. He jumped back into the barn and fell to the dirt floor. He ran his fingers across his forehead, and the blood covered his hand.
He swore and wiped the blood with his shirt. His hands were still around the pitchfork, and he was furious. Ray began to shake as he thought about this old man holding him hostage in an old barn. Ray vowed that when the time was right, the old man would pay.
Simon was chuckling to himself in the kitchen. He would have to replace the window pane in the kitchen, but he had replaced plenty of window panes in his life, and had never had the fun of shooting one out at close range. He was also amused to see Ray hop back in the barn, and as he loaded another shell, he reminded himself to get another box of these. They sure had a nice spread.
Then Simon picked up the phone again. Still watching the barn, he called his other neighbor to the south.
Smitty was talking into his radio. Signing off, he walked up to Greg and started packing up his briefcase. “We just got a call about Raymond Johnson. He’s stuck in a barn about 40 miles from here,” he explained. “Some old guy recognized him from the television report and walked him back to his house.”
Greg and Paula looked at each other. “So you’re going to pick him up?”
“Well,” said Harold Smith, snapping the strap over his revolver which hung from his shoulder, “if it were only that easy. Seems he’s pinned down in the barn because he ran from the old guy. This Simon Green is waiting outside the barn with his shotgun.”
“But it’s getting dark,” Paula said. “He’ll probably just wait until it’s too dark to see him and sneak back here.”
“He’ll probably try to do that, so why don’t you two stay here while I go out to the farm with some reinforcements” said Smitty, as he walked out the door. “You don’t even have to stay here if you don’t want to, and I can call you if there is any trouble.”
Paula spoke up before Greg could agree to go. “Well, you’ve rented the place for the night, haven’t you? No sense just packing up now and leaving,” she said, looking at Greg in a way that made him not want to protest. “We’ll just wait here for your call and when you have him safely in custody, we’ll come find you.”
Greg coughed. This was a bit uncomfortable for him, but he was an adult, and he really did want to stay with Paula. Technically, he could go with Smitty, but given the choice, he spoke up. “Yeah, we don’t want to endanger John by deserting our post. You never know what can happen with one man trapped in a barn surrounded by a dozen state police.” He grinned.
Smitty laughed and waved his hand back at them. He didn’t need the help. But apparently, Paula needed this time alone with Greg. It really wasn’t necessary to say anything, so he just left.
Simon’s friends began showing up just as Ray was planning to come out of the barn again. It was fully dark now, and Ray doubted even Simon could find him fast enough in the dark to get off a shot. But when he saw a tractor pull up, he knew this was not going to be as easy as he thought.
Simon motioned for Joe to pull around the back. But Joe had got the plan on the phone, and pulled around the back perfectly, parking a respectable 15 feet from the barn door. The bright lights of the tractor shone through the cracks, and Ray had to crouch down. Simon got up from the rocking chair and walked toward Joe. He handed him the shotgun and said, “Shoot him if he comes out. I’ll go pull my truck around from the front.”
Joe took the gun and took aim at the barn. Ray crouched down further, and swore into the dust. He was still holding the pitchfork, and wanted nothing more than to stab those two old guys like bales of hay.
Simon’s truck appeared and his headlights were trained on the door to the barn. He got out of the truck and walked over to take the gun back.. He then walked over and leaned against the front of the truck. Joe walked over and whispered something in Simon’s ear. Simon motioned to the house with his thumb.
“Now what?” was all Ray could say.
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Thursday Jul 08, 2010
Thursday Jul 08, 2010
Change a Man
There’s an old joke about not trying to change a man, unless he is in diapers. Reforming ourselves may be just as difficult. Especially if the change involves food.
I complained last week about not getting my au jus with my French Dip sandwich, and I guess it has been bothering me so much I got another one today. But before I pulled out of the Arby’s parking lot, I checked to see if I had my hot, meaty au jus. It was there, and the sandwich was delicious. So eating habits can be hard to change, and I have found the fewer things I am actually allowed to eat the more weight I gain. I was okay with cutting out broccoli and spinach, but it has to be replaced by something, and today that was curly fries. At least they are in the vegetable group. The fried vegetable group, but at least at one point they were vegetables.
I had the same problem with soda. As a dedicated Coca-cola drinker for the first 21 years of my life, I had a problem when we moved to California. The water at the Coke bottling plant was nasty, and I could taste it in the drink. I switched to Pepsi, and have never gone back. I’ve now been drinking Pepsi longer than I drank Coke, by about 10 years. I’ve teased my mother about weaning me with “Num-num”, one of my first words for the nectar of the Gods we call cola. But there always was a bottle around, and I got used to having caffeine whenever I wanted it.
For those of you who are caffeine purists, I do have to state for the record that caffeine is my drug of choice. I even like it when it comes to my pain medication, and probably so do you. No, you scoff? Well, contemplate this little detail. If you like Excedrin as your drug of choice to get rid of headaches, pains and other life complaints, you may be one of my caffeinated friends. Each tablet contains 65 milligrams of caffeine along with the other ingredients. That’s the same amount of caffeine in four 12 ounce Cokes, or three 12 ounce Pepsis. No wonder I like Pepsi better. More caffeine per cup.
Thinking about the relative ease of my access to caffeine in my youth makes me wonder what restrictions on goodies does to us. I know my wife has a great sweet tooth, and her parents worked on the principal of the equally divided candy bar. Since she was in a larger family, they didn’t buy each kid a candy bar, but split up the delicious treat equally, so each kid would get about a fifth each.
When we married, I was used to eating a whole candy bar, and she wasn’t. When I told her to pick her own candy bar, she kept insisting on having part of mine, and I don’t like to share all that much. She told me recently, after more than 30 years of marriage, that she thought I was incredibly wasteful and greedy to want to eat a whole candy bar myself, instead of sharing one. She’s over it now, and doesn’t hesitate to get whatever she wants, but I bet it still makes her feel guilty.
Here’s one food reform which has worked for me. Since I’m basically a lazy person, I have found a couple of foods I like to eat for breakfast and lunch. I keep them both at work, and use the microwave I brought from home to prepare these incredibly bland, boring and mostly tasteless meals. I cook oatmeal for a couple of minutes each morning and dump a bit of real maple syrup on it. Then I start cooking some brown rice for lunch, and I’ve only burned the rice four or five times of the hundreds of times I’ve prepared it. That’s right. I eat rice for lunch every day and oatmeal for breakfast every day.
It’s probably more healthy than the stuff I used to eat, which was mostly pre-packaged. It is bland, and it is boring, and people ask me how I can stand to eat the same thing every day. I’m not sure how to answer. I like to drink Pepsi every day, and no one asks why I drink the same drink all the time. They know I’m addicted and they know better than to ask. But can you get addicted to oatmeal, maple syrup, rice and sugar? Probably.
At least my body knows what it is going to get most days. I guess the process of reformation starts with the recognition change is needed, and then the willingness to change.
Tomorrow maybe I’ll have rice for breakfast and oatmeal for lunch.
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