Oh NO CoCo, I would NEVER tell you.
Glad you are well! Do rent it, I got it from Netflix, and watch the extras.
I will check out your thread here. I'm not on JWS.
How talented you are!
xoxoxox
Dag
YOUR DAILY JOURNAL
by compound complex 1320 Replies latest jw friends
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compound complex
One of Franklin City's constables, Barney Orlov, was given watch over me at night. I sure wasn't going anywhere. But, of course, when a guy's gotta go, human decency says let him go. The pillory, set up as some overdone affair in the town square, they say is a symbol of the city government's authority over the criminal element. Inspires fear. Like the gallows. Well, after a few personal "accidents" when Barney snoozed off and all my yelling didn't waken him, he made it a point from then on to get me to the park restroom when I called. You see, even the worst of criminals - me, in their opinion - has a built-in authority that prevails - the call of nature. Even the town fathers conceded that one.
Back at my post, so to speak, after a handcuffed excursion to the john, Barney got me settled in for the night. Another endless night. But I learned to catch some winks in spite of the pain in my body and soul. Barney, not a mean man but no pussycat either, was gentle when he removed the cuffs and trussed me up in my wood-frame home. Constable Orlov was an unlikely companion, but he was a companion of sorts. A man of few words.
A few hours into the night, I awoke with a start as the wind swooshed by and stirred up a pile of nearby leaves. The moon was still shining brightly but hadn't keep me from dropping off to sleep earlier. Normally I would've looked around me in a sort of stupor, a dumb look on my face, Dottie used to say. Somehow, though, my senses were keener than usual. I felt something in the air. I don't mean the wind. That had already died down. There was an eerie silence. A dead calm. I glanced about me best I could - no real field of vision. A shiver went down my spine as a man walked out of the shadows of the park's giant oak. Unfamiliar, sure. Yet familiar. Well, no one's usually roaming the park this hour of the night. All kinds of thoughts ran through my head, my heart started pounding away like a sledge hammer ...
My brain froze. My heart stopped beating. It was the fellow I gave directions to so long ago. You remember, the guy who was hoofing it over to the bus depot. There he was, standing square in front of me.
"Who ... are you? Why ... why are you ... here?" I stammered, though the first question I knew the answer to.
"You know who I am, Riley. You just don't know me by name. I told you that night as we said our hasty good-byes that I'd see you around," the stranger calmly replied.
"But ... but how do you know my name? And why aren't you back home, wherever that is?"
"Let's say I'm here on business - your business. You have a lot to learn, Mr. Weaver. It will be painful but your town is depending on you."
"What the ..."
Before I could spit it out, the stranger put his finger to his lips, like for silence, and - too weird - I went mute. He turned from me and then stared long and hard at the pillory. I felt an easing up of the grip holding me so tight. Then ... in a matter of moments ... I was released from my prison! The stranger came from behind and gently helped me out of my bonds. Once out and creaking around to look him in the face, I could only stare and sputter. You should've seen his face ...
"Come with me. We haven't much time," the stranger urged, grabbing me by the hand.
Barney was sleeping like a baby.
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compound complex
THE LADY OF SILENCE
The deepest and cruelest of Melancholia has me by the nape of the neck. Her sweet name is a deceptive model of euphony that lies as if in wait beneath the innocent aspect of a disappointed madonna. She is a wily mistress ... a mistress whose hold is an iron grip. She makes me see what I do not wish to see.
In complete control of all that my eyes now behold, she pulls me backward into times past. Times that were gone and forgotten - nearly forgotten but for a brief remembrance triggered, in strange and bitter irony, by that smallest recollection of a fleeting joy. The Sorrowing One wishes me to know the innate and all-pervading anguish of her Existence. Of her Essence.
She has stolen my present. She has sabotaged my future ...
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compound complex
What's happening in your world today?
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compound complex
I don't give out free advice. I'm cautious. Not to say I'd charge you for any advice I dish out. I'm not a shrink ... What I'm meaning to say is I won't give you unsolicited advice. Couldn't cough up the right word. Unsolicited advice. Now, if you asked for advice I'd still have to think really hard. First of all, I would give a lot of thought to what's the best possible solution to your problem, a solution that's as plain as the nose on your face to me. You just can't see it for yourself. Not yet anyway. Second, I'd mull over that so-called perfect solution. That would require some extra time. I'm not about to blurt out a simple-minded answer to a problem that's really troubling you. Like I said, I'm cautious.
Before the "lock-up," friends and family seemed to like getting my point of view on matters. They told me I really listened to them, not like the church elders who always quickly responded with a pat answer, an answer that seemed like a one-size-fits-all solution. Seemed they were in a rush to give an answer without actually listening to you closely. Anyway, I had slacked off on going to church for personal reasons. Nothing against the church's teachings, no gripes with the elders. Just a bit of a backslider, you could say if so inclined. Before I tell you where this talk about people coming to me for help is all about, I have to go back in time ...
I told you at the start about Miss Sutro, the sweet old crazy lady.
She was once a real beauty - but not just looks with no brains and heart. She raised six children while running the family business - MacKenzie's Hardware-and-More Store - without much help from her deadbeat husband (I'd never drink to his health at Lucky Js if I'd been old enough). She brought the little enterprise to a peak of efficiency and modest prosperity. Because her husband and co-owner couldn't be counted on for much help at all, Elva Mae had to hire out. Church members were the obvious choice. Well, at first, they were enthused about getting a good job. Bob Jenkins worked up to manager and Grace Dobbins took care of inventory and accounting. Mind you, this was many years ago. I was just a kid myself. We kids would go in after school and buy candy and soft drinks. But Miss Sutro was so kind and generous, she'd let us pile all our booty on the counter top and then say "No charge today," or if she felt the need to instill some sense of responsibility into us rascals, she'd tell us to sweep the floor for her in exchange for the goodies. We happily complied.
You may be wondering why I keep calling Elva Mae "Miss" Sutro. You see, she was married to Lawrence MacKenzie, a good-looking bloke who was born into some money. He and Elva Mae were childhood sweethearts and got married soon after graduating from Franklin City Senior High School. He was allowed to take some money out of his trust and sink it into old Mr. Black's rundown and ailing hardware store. After lots of elbow grease and a little more money wheedled from the reluctant estate lawyers, Larry and Elva Mae got their baby up and running. From the get-go they made a nice living.
Things were swimming along beautifully for some years when Larry and Elva Mae started having domestic difficulties. Larry's roving eye seemed to get all the more on the move after he'd had a few drinks at Lucky Js. Then a few more. Naturally there'd be some concerned and helpful lady sitting alongside Larry who'd feel sorry for the loopy Larry. She'd offer to take him home and sober him up. You know the old line, "Why don't you come over to my place and I'll put on a pot of coffee." Well, I understand Larry went through many a pot of coffee before Elva Mae heard the gossip. She confronted her husband, he was sorry, she gave him another chance. And another chance....
More booze and lots of coffee later, Elva Mae had had it so she divorced Lawrence for adultery and, in settlement, kept the store and the MacKenzie business name. She, however, took back her maiden name, Sutro. Business continued to grow despite the upset to Miss Sutro and her children. But they managed. They were active in the church and Elva Mae was highly respected and loved because she was so kind and generous, especially toward the elderly widows and single mothers. She knew firsthand their plight. Her children resembled her in behavior and Lawrence in looks.
One Monday morning Miss Sutro came in especially early to the store. She had some major orders to put up for a new line of product customers had been pestering her about (so they wouldn't have to go out of town to buy what they needed). Elva Mae was happy to put her customers' wants first. She went into the safe and, after the usual turns of the dial, opened the safe door. Immediately she sensed that something was wrong. The safe's chamber was strangely less densely-packed than usual. Frantic, Elva Mae began rifling through what little remained inside and realized instantly that all the cash and the check books were missing. Anxious for the bank to open so she could report the missing checkbooks - no thought about calling the police dared cross her mind - she hurriedly called Grace Dobbins to ask her kindly to come in early as it was an emergency. After what seemed forever - ring - ring - ring - someone picked up. It was George Dobbins.
"Oh George, I'm so glad I got hold of you. This is Elva Mae. I need to talk to Grace, please," she pleaded.
"Sorry Elvy. She's not here. She's gone. Gone for good," George sniggered.
"I don't understand, George. Is she on her way to work early by some strange coincidence?" Elva Mae queried.
"Well, Elvy, I'm sorry to be the one to put you in the picture, but Grace has run off with Larry and all our money. They left late Friday night. I can't talk any more now. I gotta get the kids off to school. Sorry." click.
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WISHING ALL A GREAT DAY!
Love,
CoCo
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compound complex
The day began bright and full of promise.
The post arrived, a few minutes before noon. Mail in hand, Trenton shuffled through the disordered stack of envelopes and magazines and the usual junk consisting of too-good-to-be-true offers. Seconds later, his eye caught sight of an off-color and outsize envelope bearing his name and address written in precise and formal script. Upon closer inspection the young man realized that the residence number, street name and city were from another location - the town where he grew up. The postmark was September 13, 1975.
Trenton's fifth birthday ...
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A happy week to all!
CoCo
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compound complex
Please tell us how your day goes, went or has gone ...
Thanks.
CoCo
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Good morning all ...
CC