• About PeterSIronwood

petersironwood

~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

petersironwood

Category Archives: politics

Life is a Dance

13 Monday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 73 Comments

Tags

America, cheating, courage, cowardice, Democracy, fascism, globalism, poem, poetry, science, truth, USA

woman raising her hands

Photo by Marlon Schmeiski on Pexels.com

All life is a dance

On a thin razor’s edge

‘Tween rigid and chance.

silhouette people on beach at sunset

Photo by Dana Tentis on Pexels.com

There are two ways to die

To fall off that ledge:

Honor the Truth — or Live out the Lie.

blur close up focus ground

Photo by Gelgas on Pexels.com

You might fight for the right

And still end up dead. 

You could turn from the luminous light

You can slink and surrender instead. 

gray industrial machine during golden hour

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

You can wrap a leash around your neck

And hand the lead to a feckless wreck.

Say, “Here you go; I’m your slave now.

Train me how to bow and kowtow.” 

IMG_8483

He’ll wink and nod and blink, the old sod. 

“I want you to do me a favor though.

You see those people; they look so odd.

I want you to shoot them row by row.”

094B8A3E-B81C-4362-B83E-89FA50F9646B

Having leashed your soul to the Worst of the Worst, 

You’ll kill more lives in an endless shift-show.

You’ll lie to yourself; be an elf on the shelf. 

Bow to the will of the First of the Cursed. 

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

You’ll force a false-faced smarmy smile, 

As you shout out your shoddy sickening “Heil!” 

Millions may die but you care not a jot.

You’re already dead so you let the lot rot.  

89B1D15E-A1F6-4BC9-B704-6F78DFE2AD48

Life is a dance

On a thin razor’s edge

Of rigid and chance.

people dancing on dance floor

Photo by Prime Cinematics on Pexels.com

There are two ways to die

To fall off the ledge: 

Honor the Truth — or, Live out the Lie.

time lapse photography of waterfalls during sunset

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

You may fashion a last and desperate try

To derail the Failure that many see wrapped

In the “Finest of Finery” — armored with Lie,

Unable to move — in his own web trapped. 

IMG_3277

Think and link in a world-wide win.

Throw off the shackles of such shadowy sin.

Refuse to play for the Clown at the Helm 

Or his shadowy puppets all over the realm.

IMG_9198

They’ll stumble and fall and all turn to ash.

Their only bonds are their hatred and cash. 

You’ll join with others across this vast land;

You’ll sing together your fairness demand. 

7194539D-C488-4A68-A467-B27456B7A37D

Those who shrugged and laughed at need?

Protections fall from those slaves of greed.

Even the cruelest of the cruel can bleed.

Fertile fields will fill with thorn and weed.

606141EF-A185-4D60-A8ED-FEBE898DEBA2

If no-one will drive, none will survive. 

If no-one will pick — none left alive.

If no-one will cure, bake or douse fire?

Those cruelest are building their own Karma pyre. 

orange flame

Photo by Francesco Paggiaro on Pexels.com

Life is a dance

On that thin razor’s edge

‘Tween rigid and chance.

pile of stones

Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on Pexels.com

There are two ways to die

To fall off that ledge: 

Honor the Truth or Live out the Lie.

84700569-5EEE-4028-A4C8-AD1D62D20320

The dealers of death want to close all the blinds

Shutter out light; squelch questioning minds. 

So, poke a small hole — let the light shine through!

The future of freedom? It’s all up to you. 

4F969AEC-A579-4A8B-9B35-F773A44B3E8B

And me. 

And you.

And you. 

And you.


Author Page on Amazon

Ripples: How Actions Today Determine Our Future

You Know: Do you Feed the Good Wolf or the Bad Wolf?

Rejecting Adulthood. It’s Easy to Pass on Responsibility 

The Truth Train: What went so Wrong? 

Citizen Soldiers (1)

Citizen Soldiers (2)

Citizen Soldiers (3)

SHRUGS: Super-Hyper Really Ultra Greedy Swindlers 

Impossible

A Tale of Karma

Winning by Cheating is Losing 

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

  

 

 

Happy Easter!

12 Sunday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

cooperation, Easter, forgiveness, love, pandemic, poem, poetry, psychology, teamwork

Hi. Happy Easter.

sakura tree

Photo by Oleg Magni on Pexels.com

A message of hope is always a good thing. It doesn’t mean you don’t plan. It’s just that a hopeful attitude will be more likely to bring good results than a defeatists attitude AND you’ll feel better right up to the moment of success or failure. It’s true that you might be slightly more disappointed if you’ve been hopeful than if you’ve been despairing, but — so what? Hope takes some courage, but it’s much better than the only alternative.

And, to me, there is also another important message in the Easter story. Forgive your enemies. That doesn’t mean you don’t work to put appropriate people in appropriate places based on their actions. But don’t dwell too much on how bad they are; instead, model and rejoice in good behavior and there is — right now — a huge amount of that right now! It is just incredible! We see skill. We see courage. We see discipline. We see leadership. We see all the things on full display that make this nation and this world a wonderful place to live in. Yes, there is an undercurrent of evil, but celebrate and support the good things and the good people and the good leaders. Support the good. Throw your weight and your skill behind them. The forces of light always win over the forces of dark in the end. So, in that spirit, I’ll post this poem from 23 years ago.

7551D277-6606-4C1B-9E06-5E4E44C81A64

The Forgotten Leaf

(Featured poem in Soul to Soul e-zine, Sept., 1997)

Blinding brave and gutful breaking rage made hate!
Gigantic boulders heaped on enemies’ brainless heads!
Burly muscles slashed and brawny bones bursted;
Horses trample; raw flesh burn; crush the being’s being!

Spiteful, I curse and ravishing prate —
And see the forgotten leaf I laid on my desk.
Shaking hands gingerly hold the withered brown.
I’m calm. My hate was only half-seeing’s seeing.

snow capped mountain

Photo by Life of Wu on Pexels.com

Donnie Visits Granny!! 

10 Friday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, health, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

Conman, crime, death, fiction, greed, inheritance, life, psychopathy, sociopath, story

13047B93-E670-4387-A6E3-F4229AB0BAA0_1_201_a

Donnie looked from one gray green wall to another. Nothing to break the monotony but outlets, weird machines, some stupid hangers for charts. Also, it smelled bad.

Worse, Donnie was bored. There was nothing interesting in this entire room. Who the hell designed this? Certainly, nothing worth stealing. Well, not necessarily stealing, he thought to himself. Getting someone in trouble though? It didn’t really matter what the thing was worth; what’s most important is to make it bad for the other person but have no possible blame on me. Good Lord, I’m smart. But there’s nobody here to blame except Daddy and if he found out, he’d make me play “good dog/bad dog” for a week. If only Maryanne were here or, better, Fred Junior. He was supposed to come visit too. 

Granny was asleep and snoring. Dad, folded up his newspaper; arose and walked out, seeming to forget that his young son was there too. Donnie stood up; took one step; stopped; took another step. “Sir?” He enquired. 

Dad turned in surprise. Oh, of course, he thought. The dumb one. “Hey, Donnie, come on. Granny’s asleep. Let’s go grab a bite.” 

Soon, they were sitting at a small round table on uncomfortable chairs and eating off a chipped and badly cleaned red formica top — eating hospital hamburgers, cold greasy fries, and sipping ersatz coke. But Donnie didn’t care. This was more fun that sitting quietly in a room with the old lady. Daddy seemed to be in a good mood, so he chanced a question. 

tables and chairs outside an irish pub

Photo by ready made on Pexels.com

“Daddy, why do we come visit Granny? Don’t you — I mean — do you find it boring?” 

“Boring? Of Course, she’s boring. She’s a bag of bones. Not much mind there to begin with, but now? Just goes on and on or says nothing at all.”

“So why did we have to come visit?” 

“You think just because she’s useless that she doesn’t have value? Don’t be stupid. Don’t you know why we’re here? Can you really be that stupid?”

“Value? What do you mean? She doesn’t have any value that I can see.”

“Donnie, Donnie, Donnie! She’s worth a fortune! As soon as she dies, we’ll be rich. Richer. That’s why we’re here?”

“But Daddy. How much?”

pile of gold round coins

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“That’s just it, Donnie. I don’t know. She may be useless, but one thing she can do is change her will. And cut us out. She won’t say what’s in it now. So, we have to pretend to be nice to her. When he gets so senile she cannot remember what’s happening, we’ll have her committed and we’ll take charge. I have the lawyers all lined up. But first, you know, we have to play nice. So don’t complain when you come see her. Wait till her will’s read. That’s when you find out how much she really values you.”

“Okay, Daddy, but can’t we just come see her right before she goes senile?” 

“Yes, but no-one can tell. She could have a stroke today. She could even conk off right now in her sleep. We won’t be that lucky though. She could stay ‘competent’, as they call it, for ten more years. Crap! I hope not. Or, she could fall and break her hip. Then, you know, half of ‘em die within a month.” 

“Hello, Father. Squirt.” It was Junior. 

Donnie hated being called ‘Squirt’ — it wasn’t his fault he’s been born later. But he had learned that saying: “Don’t call me that!” just made Fred more, not less likely to say it again. No, there were other ways. Other ways to get back.

462C8C26-5000-4E05-8687-CF39C8A0D3CA_1_201_a 

Junior said, “I just saw Granny. She wondered what became of you two.” 

Soon all three of them were crowded into her tiny semi-private cubby. Granny looked a them and shook her head. “What a sorry lot. Son, go somewhere else for awhile. I want to talk with my grandsons privately.” 

Fred grumbled but arose and headed back toward the cafeteria. It had already occurred to him on multiple occasions that it might be worth being her Angel of Death. But even the idiot cops knew where to look. If he slipped her something in her IV, they’d know he had means, opportunity, and motive. Screw it. He could deal with seeing her once a week. He had his newspaper, an endless source of items that say loud and clear: Hey here’s a possible sucker! This one’s husband just died, left her some dough, and she knows nothing about finance. Or, how about this one — this old lady dies, her husband has no cash, and she has to sell her house fast. That means cheap. Yeah, thank God for the newspaper. Lots of stupid people to screw over. 

Granny smiled and spoke in confidential tones to her grandsons. “Your Dad is a pain in my butt. He always was. Even as a kid. You boys seem pretty decent though. As it stands, I must tell you. I’m leaving it to you. And, if it were just a matter of how I feel, I would keep it that way. But your Dad is so thin-skinned. I realize it might actually kill him. I don’t want that. So how about if I do you each a third? How does that sound?”

Junior shrugged. “Anything’s fine, Granny.” 

Donnie thought that was a rather pathetic answer. “Granny, we love you and you’re going to be around for a very long many years! Don’t talk about giving stuff away. You are the one who should enjoy it!.” 

“Thanks, Donnie. Please don’t tell your dad. I want to keep him guessing for awhile. Now, how about you two help me get in my walker. I’m getting stronger every day. That damned flu about did me in though. Every day, I go a few more times around these halls. We can pass the time. I can tell you stories about when your dad was little.”

Junior shook his head slightly. Donnie thought that might be even more boring than sitting in her bare room and listening to her breathe. 

They got her on her feet. As a reward, Granny kept her promise and started droning on about how Fred was when he was only five and stole something or other and was so clever something or other and he got so scared something or ever and peed his pants and then something or other. Donnie felt he would actually die of boredom. Then, something echoed in his head: ‘peed his pants’ — hold on. Hold on! There could be use in that story after all. He could store that away and use it against Daddy if need be. 

“Granny! That was a good story! Tell me again!” 

red school blur factory

Photo by Gratisography on Pexels.com

Donnie took a new interest in Granny’s stories, now that he realized she knew things that might prove useful later. Round and round they went. Junior hardly said anything, but Donnie asked a few questions here and there. He could see that Granny was getting very tired. In fact, Donnie himself was tired. But if he kept encouraging, and kept asking questions, it just might work.  Round and round they went. Round and round. It wasn’t working! Donnie was growing impatient. Why wouldn’t she have a heart attack? Damned old bag of bones. Suddenly, something that Daddy had said echoed in his brain. He glanced over to Junior. He had to bite is lip — hard — to keep from laughing. A nurse and Daddy were talking at the entrance to Granny’s room. They were looking straight at each other and not paying any attention to the threesome down the hall. Now or never. Donnie shout: “No Fred, not so fast! NO! You’re hurting her. Here! Let me… FRED!! NO!!” 

Donnie’s heart was pounding. He hated to take this kind of risk, but it seemed to be working perfectly. Granny was tired and losing her balance after the first twist. Now, she only needed the slightest of nudges. Donnie did it with his hip. Over she went. The nurse was already half running in her tight white skirt and clacking workshoes toward the old bag of bones, but she would hit the ground long before anyone could reach her. “GRANNY! Here! I’ll get you! Junior! Junior! I can’t hold her!” 

Of course, Donnie wasn’t really trying to hold her. He was adding a push to her fall.

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

After the medical team came and took care of Granny’s newly broken hip, and she was well-sedated, the trio got into the car and drove back home. Donny plunged ahead with his plan. It was good to strike first. 

He’d have to appear genuinely upset. He bit his tongue and stabbed his teeny fingers into his palms, not enough to bleed, but enough to help him into the pain zone. “Daddy, I’m so sorry. I tried to catch her but I wasn’t strong enough. I thought Junior… never mind.” 

Dad was hooked and asked, “‘Never mind’ — what?” 

Donnie said, “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to say anything. Tattling is wrong.”

Dad had not only bitten on the hook. He had swallowed it as well. “Donnie. Tell me what the hell is going on. Or, I’ll beat it out of you!”

Donnie put a pained look on his face and glanced at Junior. “I’m sorry brother. So sorry.” 

Donnie had developed his skill of laughing at other people’s idiocy while he appeared the whole time to be crying, wracked with pain or guilt. “Daddy, I don’t think Junior meant to have her fall. He was just … playing … right Junior. You didn’t mean to hurt her, right?”

Later that night, after Fred Senior finished beating Junior, he went into the kitchen and poured himself four fingers of Scotch. He liked that first buzz. He poured himself another one and downed that one as well. Suddenly, he recalled his casual comment earlier in the evening. He had mentioned that if his mom broke her hip, she might die. Could his dumb son be smart enough to have broken her hip to speed up his inheritance? Fred chuckled. No, he thought. That’s crazy. There’s no possible way. It was Junior…or was it? He poured himself another four fingers, downed it and staggered up to bed where he fell into a deep stupor. In the morning, the insightful clarity of the previous night had dissolved into the fog of a hangover. There was a remnant of dislike for both his sons; a sour aftertaste. He didn’t know why. Nor, did he care. 

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

———————————

 Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man!  

Donnie Plays Doctor Man!

Donnie Learns Golf!

Donnie Plays Soldier Man!

Author Page on Amazon

Tall Trees; High Vines

08 Wednesday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in health, politics, story, Uncategorized, Veritas

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

disease, empathy, ethics, fables, leadership, legends, myths, pandemic, tracking, Veritas

—————————————-

A6BD76D2-FF05-4896-93AD-E2C5988B5C86

It only made sense for Eagle Eyes to go first. Still, it made Shadow Walker uneasy in some way he couldn’t — or wouldn’t — define. It was true enough that Eagle Eyes could spot a trail from farther away than — than anyone Shadow Walker could think of. But this trail…! It was just as easy to follow as the first one laid down by The People Who Steal Children. Shadow Walker, and the rest of the party had excused the obviousness of the first trail as being due to the difficulty of trying to hide horse tracks, but this time, the foursome they were tracking were all on foot. 

Shadow Walker had been worried about waiting a day before beginning their tracking, but he was grateful that he had had that last day — and night — with Many Paths. He began to cast his mind back to those delicious moments…

Ahead of him, Shadow Walker saw Eagle Eyes put up her hand and crouch down. Shadow Walker dropped to his hands and knees and silently crawled up behind her. Then, she stood up and turned around. 

“Look at these tracks, Shadow.” 

Shadow Walker felt annoyed. First, she acted like there was danger. Now, she’s just talking out loud. But mainly, he realized, he was annoyed because she broke his pleasant revelry. He followed her pointing figure though.

“What is going on, Eagle Eyes?” 

Eagle Eyes shook her head. “I’m not sure. The only thing … it reminds me of … one time, Stone Chipper smoked some Jimsonweed and … after awhile, he staggered about talking nonsense. I haven’t seen any Jimsonweed along this path. Did you happen to notice any?” 

6F961F27-9CBB-4ECC-8A4D-DC409726F4C1

“No, but … that’s a handprint. What…?” They followed the tracks down a steep hill. At the bottom, they found one of the Z-Lotz who had visited them lying face down on the ground, motionless. Shadow Walker knelt down and felt the neck. Cool, but not stone cold. Pulseless. He flipped the body over. Eagle Eyes and Shadow Walker both stared. The face was covered with red sores. 

Eagle Eyes pointed to a dry creek bed at the bottom of the hill. Shadow Walker nodded and they each took one leg and pulled the body to the bottom of the hill. In silence, they looked at each other. At last, Shadow Walker said, “What happened to his face?” 

Eagle Eyes answered, “I have no idea. But it isn’t just his face. Look at his ankles and hands.” 

Shadow Walker put down the two large rocks he had brought and he knelt down and explored the body more carefully. “You’re right Eagle Eyes. These red spots are everywhere. Is that what killed him? Was he poisoned?” 

Eagle Eyes shook her head slowly. “I don’t have any idea.” After a pause she added, “I can’t think of anything even in a story that’s like this. Should we go back and tell the others?” 

1A559AF5-59A6-4D1E-929D-B09054B43A89

Shadow Walker imagined that. They could make it back by nightfall, but then, the three they were still trailing would be two more days ahead. It was important information but… “Eagle  Eyes, I think it takes too much time. And, we don’t really know anything. Not for sure. We don’t know what happened to him. What is there to tell that is a known truth?” 

Eagle Eyes stared down at the body of a man she didn’t know, but still — the body of a man who was alive two days ago, now motionless. “Maybe we should search him for other clues as to what caused his death.” 

“Like what? What are we looking for, Eagle Eyes?” 

She slowly began to take the clothes off the man. “Come to think of it, these clothes might come in handy. We look like Veritas. Hopefully, we won’t be seen, but if we are seen, people will tend to ignore us if we look like Z-Lotz.” 

“Right. If only we could sound like them.” Eagle Eyes chuckled. “These will do for you. I will stay unseen.” 

After they had been piling rocks on the naked body for long enough that their arms began to tire, Eagle Eyes said, “I wonder whether they would have done the same if they came upon one of us dead upon the trail.” 

“I don’t really know. I don’t really know any Z-Lotz. The closest to it is NUT-PI and he may well be the worst. It seems as though the Z-Lotz, just like the Cupiditas choose the worst among them as leader.” 

Eagle Eyes mused, “It’s hard to imagine how they can be very effective at anything.” 

“And yet, you described a very large — many large buildings — and they have the killing sticks. So… and those things with the marks. And, they trained horses.”

Eagle Eyes thought about that for awhile. As they put the finishing touches on the burial cairn, she mused, “We learned how to train horses too. And I think the training was at the ROI. Why didn’t these visitors come on horses? Why would they have horses and yet not travel a fair distance on foot instead?” 

They finished respecting the dead man. Even if they seemed to be enemies and even if these four lied about several things during the gift exchange, neither Eagle Eyes nor Shadow Walker felt it right to dishonor the dead. They thanked the animals and plants they used for food, or must needs kill. Could they do less for a human cousin? After, they walked on in silence for a time along a broad path through the tall grass. 

Eagle Eyes pointed to some woods off to their right. Shadow Walker stared off in that direction but he couldn’t see what she was pointing to until they had gone many more paces. Along the topmost branches of a stand of tulip trees, there grew a vine with many trumpet-shaped flowers glowing with pink and gold. 

F58DD331-EA9A-4D54-9230-44316F5CC333

Shadow Walker smiled, “You really earn your name. Those are beautiful.” 

“Those flowers are really high up, Shadow Walker.”

Shadow Walker nodded. “Yes. So they are.” 

Eagle Eyes grew more excited as they walked. “It occurs to my mind that they did not get that high on their own.”

Shadow Walker said, “What do you mean?” 

“Those colorful flowers grow on vines. They vines do not have the strength to grow more than a few inches. Yet we see them so high in the air. They are using the tulip tree. That’s how they get so high.” 

Shadow Walker nodded. “I never thought about it before, but I think you’re right.” 

On they walked. Shadow Walker stopped suddenly. “Are you saying — are you saying that’s what you think is going on with the Z-Lotz? They are using some — some other — the fruits of some other peoples — in order to have all these things. Maybe they didn’t really develop these killing sticks but stole them from someone else. That would explain how they could — “

Eagle Eyes stopped and stared at Shadow Walker, “No, that’s not what I was saying, but it does make sense. I think you may be right. As Many Paths would say, ‘it’s one possibility.’” 

nature forest trees fog

Photo by Jaymantri on Pexels.com

Shadow Walker laughed, “That’s exactly what she’d say. And if that tall tulip tree were to be hit by lightning or die of disease…”

Eagle Eyes nodded, “The vine would fall too. It’s only showing its flowers so high right now because of using the height of the tree. Shh!!” Eagle Eyes dropped down and Shadow Walker did the same. He came up close behind her and whispered in her ear. 

“What do you see, Eagle Eyes?” The warm breath felt nice on her neck. Eagle Eyes turned back and whispered into the ears of Shadow Walker.

“Not what I see. What I hear!. Don’t you hear it?” 

Shadow Walker put his hands up behind his ears and turned his head until he heard humans talking … or singing … or … what were they saying? He nodded to Eagle Eyes. 

They crawled on their bellies very slowly toward the sound, being careful to move only when the wind moved the tall grass. As they drew closer, it became clear that what they were listening to was neither song nor reasoned dialogue. Two people were … talking at the same time but not reacting to each other. They came to the edge of a clearing. Within it, two men — the ones who had recently visited the Center Place of the Veritas — were thrashing about uselessly on the ground. 

Shadow Walker and Eagle Eyes looked at each other. They wanted to help, but where was the fourth of their late visitors? They drew very close and hastily made a plan. He would try to help the men and Eagle Eyes would stay hidden in case the fourth Z-Lotz emissary returned in a bad mood. 

Shadow Walker reached the nearest man who was barely moving. He also seemed covered in red dots. He tried to communicate using sign language, but the man’s eyes were rolling around in his head and he seemed completely unaware of Shadow Walker’s presence. He said aloud “He is burning with fever.” He said it loudly but seemingly to himself. The other man was in a similar state. He went back into the grass and crawled back to Eagle Eyes. 

IMG_2031

Still concerned that there was an unaccounted-for Z-Lotz somewhere, he whispered to Eagle Eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with them. They are very hot. And they seem not to have their minds with them. I don’t know of a medicine for them. Should we take them to a creek to cool them off? And they are both covered with those red spots.” 

“I have been searching my memories but I haven’t heard of anything like this either. There’s no sign of the last Z-Lotz. Let’s see whether we can find his trail.” 

Eagle Eyes stood cautiously and scanned the immediate surroundings. “Let’s at least move them out of the sun and under the shade of that oak.” The two sick men made no real protest as they were dragged to sit up against the shady side of the tree. Eagle Eyes pointed to a thick branch. “Give me a boost. I’ll climb the tree while you check the periphery of the clearing.” 

worms eyeview of green trees

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Pexels.com

Shadow Walker stood with his back against the tree and knelt down while Eagle Eyes slid her pack and outer layer of clothing off. She put her left foot in his interlocked hands. She put her hands on his shoulders, feeling the corded muscles beneath the odd Z-Lotz tunic. Working as a team, she shifted her weight upwards so that she now towered over him. She reached her hands up farther onto the tree trunk and stepped up onto his shoulders. From there, she could touch the lowest branch, but not reach around it. Shadow Walker looked up and noticed many things, among them that he would have to boost her still farther. He put both hands next to the right side of his neck and instructed her to step on. She put her foot on his two hands and he pushed her up. At last, she hooked her arms over the tree branch and pulled herself up. He nodded, and noticed that he was breathing heavily. He watched Eagle Eyes continue climbing the tree. 

Shadow Walker sighed and stepped to the edge of the clearing and soon found evidence that all three Z-Lotz had entered the clearing; two of them had been staggering. At last, he found the trail of the remaining Z-Lotz. He stared up at the distant figure of Eagle Eyes. She had climbed up near the crown of the tree and was shading her eyes. He tried to catch her eye, but her attention was elsewhere. They had known each other all their lives and he genuinely liked her as a friend. He had never been so struck by her beauty as he was now. His face reddened slightly and he looked down at the Ring of Empathy and wondered how things were going with Many Paths and She Who Saves Many Lives and Tu-Swift.

He followed the trail of the missing Z-Lotz until he came upon a creek. He could see that the one they tracked had stopped here for a drink but then continued onward back toward the camp — or — what had Cat Eyes called it? A city. Toward the city of the Z-Lotz. Perhaps as Eagle Eyes had suggested, it wasn’t really their city but one that they had found or won over with fighting. Perhaps they would learn more when they arrived at that city. 

Shadow Walker went back to the clearing intending to offer to help Eagle Eyes down, but when he arrived, she was already on the ground. He gestured toward the nearby creek. “He went to the creek and got a drink, but didn’t bring any back for his sick companions. I did though. I didn’t bring any for you, but I think we will need to pass by the creek to follow the trail. And you?” 

landscape photography of green and brown mountain

Photo by Aleksey Kuprikov on Pexels.com

Eagle Eyes said, “I saw an indentation path in the grass beyond the creek. I don’t think we are far behind him. They must have been slowed down by the illness. I saw something very strange though. In that direction, there is a broad area with no bushes, grass, or trees. It is like a desert. But… not sandy really. I am not sure, but it looks shiny and dead and … disordered … and … evil. I am glad we don’t have to go in that direction.” 

As Shadow Walker listened, he managed to get one of the sick men to sip a little water. He went to give water to the other and discovered that he was dead though his body was still hot. 

“This one is dead, Eagle Eyes. What shall we do with the other one? We can hardly take him with us. He can’t really care for himself. But I don’t want to stay here and try to heal him because — for one thing, I have no idea how to do that. Or, even what is wrong with him. There is something else. It’s odd but I feel … dirty. I don’t know. It’s weird.” 

“No, I don’t think it’s odd. I feel as though … somehow I want to get away from them both. Maybe we should both wash while we are down at the creek. I don’t think we can help this man. We could stay and comfort him and that may be help in a way.” 

Shadow Walker nodded. “I’m not sure he really knows that we’re even here. I cannot get him to focus on my sign language and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t understand my speech. Yet, can we really just leave him here to die on his own?” 

Eagle Eyes walked over to the man. She squatted before him and tapped her chest. “Eagle Eyes. I am Eagle Eyes. We are Veritas. You visited.” He said nothing, his eyes were still glazed over. For a moment, he reached his hand toward her and moved his mouth, but no sound emerged. He tilted his head slightly, then he slid sideways as thought to sleep upon the ground. She leaned forward a bit more and put his hand on his neck. She glanced up at Shadow Walker and shook her head. 

Eagle Eyes stood and gathered her outer clothes and pack together. “Can we drag these two down by the creek and cover them with nearby stones? Then, I have a feeling, though I cannot explain why, that we should bathe. I’m not sure I want to wear his clothes either. I think you should go back to your own clothes as well.” 

“Why not disguise ourselves?” 

Eagle Eyes frowned. “I’m not sure. But what came to mind. You know, if your garden starts to have those little white bugs that eat the leaves, it spreads to all of the plants if you don’t wash them off. And, it is the same with the black mold. And that disease that curls the leaves. And, when ALT-R — he — corrupted — POND MUD and then the two of them together seemed to corrupt KAVA-NUT. I don’t want to have those red spots all over me. It feels wrong to wear their clothes. It makes my skin feel itchy.” 

Shadow Walker considered. He nodded. “I agree. I already feel — I don’t feel good in these clothes. Let us go bury them in their burial cairns, bathe, and then be on our way. We’ll just have to stay hidden when we get to the village.” 

Eagle Eyes nodded, and began walking toward the nearest Z-Lotz. Shadow Walker watched her and found himself looking forward to the prospect of shedding these Z-Lotz clothes and then bathing thoroughly in the creek. Watching Eagle Eyes would not be unpleasant either.

cascade creek environment fern

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

—————————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

 

 

The Lost Child Who Brings Light

07 Tuesday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, psychology, Uncategorized, Veritas

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

acceptance, dark, education, fiction, ignorance, leadership, light, psychology, story, Veritas

29F8267B-8CC2-4FD4-85EA-B9E842DF9CD8

“Who goes there?!” Two well-armed guards stood on either side of a broad path. Several of the villagers were cautiously walking up the path toward the guards, curious about the strangers. 

Trunk of Tree cleared his throat, but he hadn’t thought about what to say. 

Fleet of Foot began to answer, “We are Veritas. From the Center Place of the Veritas. Near the once-forgotten Field of Flowers. I am called “Fleet of Foot” and this man is called “Trunk of Tree” — you can probably see why. This woman is named Cat Eyes. She was born here, but stolen at a young age. Now, she returns to see her family.”

The guards both frowned. It was a lot to take in. Behind the guards, the crowd began murmuring and passing along the information. 

One of the guards began, “We are Veritas. I am Throws Far and this is Tree Climber. Our ancestors lived near the once-forgotten Field of Flowers. We have tried many times to send a party back to the Center Place but no-one has ever gotten through. Come and meet our leader.  Follow me. Wait. Why do you have horses?” 

Trunk of Tree began to answer, “We — I don’t really like horses anyway. They are too big.” 

462C8C26-5000-4E05-8687-CF39C8A0D3CA_1_201_a

Fleet of Foot added, “We have very little experience with horses. They just came into our possession recently. It is a long tale, but we will tell all your people. Cat Eyes wishes…”

Cat Eyes put her hand on her chest. “I am Cat Eyes. I smell spicebush tea.” Tears ran down her cheeks though she reined in her breathing so that she could continue speaking. “I thought I would never find my way back here. Do you know my parents, Gathers Acorns and Of the Night?”

The guards exchanged looks. Throws Far said, “Your parents? I know them. I knew them. They left to find you. We have not heard from them. We assume…we think…it’s likely that the fell into the hidden holes in the Ice Mountain. But how did you get here without going over Ice Mountain?”

A beautiful lanky youth with long ebony hair pushed her way through the growing crowd. “Cat Eyes? Is that really you?” She walked right up and looked into the teary eyes. “Oh! Cat Eyes! It is you! I am your cousin, Blackberry Patch!” Blackberry Patch gently took the hand of Cat Eyes into her own and led her along the path to the Fire Circle. Cat Eyes stared around. The Fire Circle looked familiar though vastly smaller than she remembered. There was a cliff of brown stone which she remembered but there were many … rooms … in the cliff which she did not remember at all. “It’s nice to meet you, Blackberry. I don’t. But I’m sorry I don’t remember you.” 

 “I remember you! You were quite a … you were always…do you remember playing ‘Hide and Find’ with me?” 

Cat Eyes kept casting her eyes about to try to find things that looked familiar. She looked back at Blackberry and then over to the brown cliff. She pointed, “I think we played there … in the …  tunnels. But it looks all different.” 

Blackberry Patch nodded. “Oh, yes! We have been excavating. We’ve found out —- there used to be — we’ve found many things of the ancients! But never mind that. Let me introduce you to the others. We never thought you would be found. After your parents … we’ve never made it out of these mountains. The mountain of ice is now very unsafe. Much of it is mud and where there is ice, there are hidden cliffs. We stopped trying. But some people think that there might be a tunnel in the ancient places in the cliff. Here.” 

IMG_5416

Although Blackberry Patch spoke directly to Cat Eyes, everyone who could get close enough was listening. The rumor had now spread throughout the village that strange visitors had come and that one of their own had returned. Nearly everyone in the village had heard the story of Cat Eyes and most of the adults in the village remembered her specifically because of her oddly shaped pupils. They all had to wriggle themselves close enough so that they could verify that this was indeed the one who had disappeared. The people stopped their normal activities and crowded around. Many questions were asked but confusion reigned until the man who was obviously their leader came solemnly among them. His voice boomed low and loud, cutting through the din. 

“WELCOME! WELCOME! Oh, long lost of the Veritas! And Welcome, Oh, Welcome to the daughter of Gathers Acorns and Of the Night, whom we all well regard and remember. Oh, daughter of our tribe, Welcome, She with the Eyes of the Cat! Please, take this seat of honor and introduce us to your friends!” Gentle Talons, their leader, gestured grandly toward a beautifully made blanket. Cat Eyes nodded and began to walk over to her place. 

Trunk of Tree, who had remained silent during their walk into the village now seemed to find his voice. “I am Trunk of Tree and the leader of our small group.” He began to walk toward the place where Cat Eyes was about to sit. Fleet of Foot, put a strong hand on the shoulder of Trunk of Tree and said, “Not now. It will be more powerful if she introduces you.” After noting the hesitation in Trunk of Tree, he added, “Just as their leader was not the first but the last to arrive. See?”

Trunk of Tree relented. Cat Eyes, sat down gracefully and gestured to her companions. How on earth should she — could she — tell this tale? Everyone was looking at her and I don’t know what to say. The image of Many Paths flashed into her mind and she decided she would pretend to be Many Paths — or her own version of Many Paths. “Come friends, and sit near me. We have many tales to tell each other. But I will begin with the basics. First, I am overwhelmed with happiness to be here and I am overwhelmed with grief to hear that Mom and Dad disappeared. I remember much about this place, but the brown cliffs have changed much, I see. Let me introduce my friends and traveling companions. I have not known any of them very long, but we have become good friends and I can vouch for them all. 

“This strong man has been the leader of our expedition. You may easily guess why he has that name.” She smiled. She looked at the people. Everyone could see that she spoke the truth from her own heart. “This man on the other side is known as ‘Fleet of Foot’ and, as you might expect, he is a very fast runner. But he is also a fast thinker, and quite diplomatic. She smiled at him and then at the crowd. “That man Jaccim is our expert on horses. The Veritas have adopted him. He saved my life at least twice and possibly more. He is still learning our language. He knows of, and led us here via, a tunnel passage that does not require crossing the treacherous ice mountain. 

close up photo of lion

Photo by Gareth Davies on Pexels.com

“The man next to him is visiting the Veritas. They call him Lion Slayer because, indeed, he actually did slay a lion single-handedly. He, and his wife, Salah Hudah, are from the Great Tribe of Southern Nomads. They aided us in a great war which, I have no doubt, you will be interested to learn more about at another time. Lastly, there is me. I was born here. And, I lived here for a time. I was stolen away and taken somewhere that I now know to be a village of the Z-Lotz. And, my name is Cat Eyes.” She paused, winked and added, “Though I have no idea why I bear that odd name.” 

The crowd chuckled appreciatively. When that died down, Cat Eyes continued. 

“There are many fine stories to share and we hope to do just that. We brought, Trunk of Tree, tell to our brothers beyond the twin peaks what we have brought.”

Trunk of Tree shook his head. He frowned for a moment and then remembered that they had brought gifts. “Yes. Yes! We have brought you some … gifts. They are …” In a panic, he suddenly realized that he didn’t know, but Fleet of Foot had been carrying the bag of gifts and handed the cinnamon to Trunk of Tree. “Cinnamon. This smells very nice in cooking. And, we brought … “ Trunk of Tree took the next gift. He studied it for a moment and then stared at Fleet of Foot. “Fleet of Foot, can you tell what these pretty stones are?”

Fleet of Foot took one of the slices of mica and turned it this way and that so that people in the crowd could judge its shininess. “This is mica and we are still learning about it. But if you take a very thin slice you can see right through this rock and yet it is still rock. It keeps out the wind and the bugs from one side to the other. It is sharp but not much use for a weapon. Although…” Fleet of Foot paused for just a split second, unsure whether to let people in on the unique weapons they were preparing. “Who knows? It might be useful to make a bridge that looks strong but would break when stepped on, for instance.” 

Someone asked, “How did you discover mica?” 

woman standing inside cave

Photo by Josh Hild on Pexels.com

Trunk of Tree looked panicked for a moment. He had no idea. But Cat Eyes, spoke up instead. “That is an excellent question. And, when everyone tells our story, you will find that answered. We must hear the story from end to end. And there are more gifts, but I must tell you some critical things first.” 

“The first one, and perhaps obvious is that there is another path. You are no longer confined to these mountainsides. It might be that a few of you would venture back to meet your cousins near the forgotten field of flowers.” She paused, waiting for the murmuring to subside. 

“Second, the Z-Lotz have things that we never dreamed of. They have devised a ‘Killing Stick’ which kills a person without touching them. They point the ‘Killing Stick” at their victim and there is a loud noise and a bright flash and the victim begins to bleed profusely.”

This time the murmuring did not die down until Gentle Talon’s booming voice echoed off the walls. “Let her finish!” 

Cat Eyes sighed. She took a deep breath. “And last, perhaps most importantly of all, the Z-Lotz have a way to … they think something and say it. But when they say it, or perhaps only think it, they make a mark on a piece of thin beech bark. Then, later, someone else can come and look at that mark and imagine what was said. They can hear it softly whispered even though no mouth is nearby.” 

This time, the crowd did not react with murmuring. There was dead silence. She reached into the bag of gifts and pulled out the small bit of bark with odd marks and thrust it in the air. “This is what it looks like. The marks are from sign language. But they are only the first sound of that word. I know it’s difficult to understand, but … “

Another voice rang out. “I told you! I told you! “ 

Now, the murmuring began and swelled as people who understood this concept of the written word and began to successfully explain it to their friends. 

The voice of Gentle Talons boomed out again. “As foretold! She is the one! She brings light to the tunnel of ignorance! Welcome home, O lost child!” 

6D58577A-D98C-4100-8325-EA90BE444CE0_1_201_a

Cat Eyes shook her head. What are they talking about, she wondered. There was a children’s story about a lost child who came back to lead her … people … through a long tunnel into the light. Great Bear in the Sky!! That’s just a legend. Do they think I am a prophesy? A leader? A Goddess?

Cat Eyes tried to make her voice heard above the din. “Wait! Wait! I am not a leader or a prophesy. I am just me. I am just … one of you who was stolen but was lucky enough to return.” 

Gentle Talons bellowed, “Did you not come through a tunnel of darkness into the light to arrive here?” 

Cat Eyes said, “Yes. But so did they.” She gestured to remind people of her companions. 

Gentle Talons continued, “But you are the only one who left and then returned!”

Cat Eyes nodded. “True. But I have no idea what ignorance you are talking about.” 

Gentle Talons looked lovingly at Cat Eyes and said gently, yet loud enough for everyone to hear, “Is it not obvious, my child? You have brought us the light of knowledge! Once we began excavating the cliffs, we found many tunnels of darkness lined with row after row of strange boxes filled with such leaves as you’ve shown us. All are marked with these same strange markings. But until now, we have never had the light to enable us to understand a single mark. And now we do. You have brought us that light of understanding! Welcome, oh, child of light! Welcome home!” 

84700569-5EEE-4028-A4C8-AD1D62D20320

Cat Eyes took a deep breath to try to calm herself. She felt so many conflicting emotions that she felt for a moment that she would be overwhelmed, not knowing which was her true feeling. And, suddenly, it occurred to her that her feelings were all real. It was not a contest or a race. It was a rainbow to embrace. Her grief about her parents not being here in no way meant she couldn’t feel nervous about what was expected of her or her pride of having spoken well. Nor did the red of the rainbow mean that the green did not exist. In fact, each color made the other colors that much more beautiful. Sometimes I glance at the red and sometimes I glance at the blue or the green. Sometimes the earth sleeps beneath a blanket of snow. And, sometimes it bakes in the hot summer sun. My own feelings change, more slowly than my eyes can dart from color to color, but much more quickly than the seasons turn. And, that is just natural; that is just nature. 

Of course, Cat Eyes saw all this in a more visual way; images superimposing themselves upon each other until a balance was reached — an acceptance of a balance between being in control of and responsible for one’s actions — while at the same time feeling the ever-changing flow of one’s heart and just accepting that all of it is nature. All of it is just natural. It was okay for her to feel that she wanted nothing so much as to go back to the Veritas she knew and spend the rest of her days there and also to feel that she never wanted to leave this place ever again. It was even more beautiful than she had remembered it. And, she did know enough about decoding the marks that she could lead them to understand what those many boxes of marks meant. It is okay to feel these things. But in the end, my body can only be in one place at a time. It had better be where I want the heart of my hearts to be.

8F508A66-D0F0-41B6-99F8-6BD6AC70B483

Cat Eyes smiled and asked gently, “Do you suppose I could share some of your spicebush tea? You might like to try it with some cinnamon.” Cat Eyes felt something shift inside her. She was home and being home and knowing it was all real somehow healed something deep inside her. She was alive. She had survived so much. She realized that she would now be — and always had been — home no matter where her body stood. Someone thrust a warm mug of spicebush tea into her hands. She inhaled both the fragrant spicebush from her childhood and the exotic and novel cinnamon as well. She was home. Home. And — better — she realized that she always would be.

———————————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

 

 

Imagine all the People…

05 Sunday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 86 Comments

Tags

America, collaboration, cooperation, COVID-19, leadership, life, pandemic, plague, poem, poetry, survival, teamwork

7551D277-6606-4C1B-9E06-5E4E44C81A64

Beyond the cloud, 

The sun still shines, 

It isn’t loud. 

It never whines. 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Beyond the cold, 

The summer comes. 

When spring is old, 

The drummer drums.

brown wooden percussion instruments

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The rhythm’s wrong. 

The tune is halt –

Ing, he says: “I’m strong. 

It’s not my fault!”

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

When virus kills,

Says: “No-one knew.

All our illness; all our ills:

The blame belongs on all of you.”

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

Putin’s plan for planet earth: 

“Kill it dead ‘cause I must die.

I don’t like a spring rebirth. 

It’s hard on lethal spies

gray industrial machine during golden hour

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Like me — who don’t really care. 

Once I’m dead; no longer me,

It’s not really fair!

No-one should be allowed to be!”

close up photography of burning woods

Photo by Tim Erben on Pexels.com

Trump is fully on board, 

He thinks you should be too! 

“A suicide pact’s the proper chord. 

If I have to die — so should you!”

person holding string lights photo

Photo by David Cassolato on Pexels.com

Putin has plans for you and me. 

He still thinks like KGB.

But we don’t have to play his heartless game.

He doesn’t even know your own true name.

photo of man and woman having fun with their child

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Live and right your country’s wrong.

You can sing a different song.

Dance away to a different tune. 

Eschew the hate & picayune.

22FAC19F-5ABE-4C2B-8102-313BC7FAE5EA_1_105_c 

Dance instead to the stars above!

Dance instead in honor of love!

Handless holding each to each, 

A nation strong’s within our reach. 

woman raising her hands

Photo by Marlon Schmeiski on Pexels.com

Let nation’s rainbow colors show!

We will win and we will grow! 

A smile beneath a mask will show!

Vlad and ilk won’t ever know —

trees beside road

Photo by Mike Krejci on Pexels.com

That reaching down to raise another 

Makes us taller, Sister, Brother. 

This is how a forest stands! 

This, the key to freedom’s lands. 

earth space universe globe

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Our globe is round and for a reason, 

It’s love, it’s love that conquers treason. 

Take my touchless hand! Stand tall!

All for one. And one for all! 

silhouette people on beach at sunset

Photo by Dana Tentis on Pexels.com

The wind is strong but we are stronger, 

COVID lives long, but we live longer. 

Take my touchless hand! And stand as one!

One for all. And all is won! 

7551D277-6606-4C1B-9E06-5E4E44C81A64

———————————————-

 Author Page on Amazon  

 

Donnie Learns Golf! 

04 Saturday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, health, politics, psychology, sports

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

caddy, childhood, criminal, fiction, golf, insanity, liar, sociopath, sportsmanship, story

64AC5B76-C6C3-40D5-A26D-9CB06754678A_4_5005_c

“I think I like baseball better, Daddy. I can’t hit such a tiny ball with such a weird bat.” 

Fred Senior snorted. “Just hit the ball. I told you before. The course is where deals are made and suckers are suckered. You can’t do that on the baseball diamond! Just watch me. And watch Junior. Do what we do.” Fred Senior took a few waggles and smacked the ball a few hundred yards down the fairway. 

Junior said, “Don’t worry, Donnie. You’ll get the hang of it.” He stooped down; he stabbed the tee into the soft ground and placed the ball atop in one smooth motion. “Besides, once you do get the hang of it, you’ll hit the ball farther than Babe Ruth ever did!” THWACK! 

A8242F22-3312-4BC2-A9E2-B97FAD6FF000_1_105_c

Donnie shook his head. Months of lessons and he still couldn’t do that. But he would. He would be better than either of them. He’d show them, he thought. I’ll hit it farther. I’ll hit it harder. He took the tee into his teeny hands and pushed it into the ground. He pulled a golf ball out of his pocket and placed it on the tee. He took a deep breath. He walked up; turned sideways. What did they say? Oh, yeah. Right. Tension on the inside, balance. Easy hands. Watch the ball.

Fred Senior snapped his fingers at the caddy and threw his driver to him. “Are you ever going to hit the ball, or what, Donnie?” 

Donnie’s teeny hands began to sweat. He had to push fear away. Push it away. He swung hard. “Scheiss! That doesn’t count!” His face reddened. The Freds were already sitting in the cart. Damn. He had to hurry. He couldn’t hurry. There was so much to remember. 

“Come on Donnie. Pick up your ball. You can drop it where Junior is.”  

AB41C364-8B28-48A3-90E2-9F418C51FDCD

Junior had smacked the ball a good 250 yards into the middle of the fairway. Donnie’s face was red, but he grabbed onto the back of the cart. A few moments later, he walked out with Junior and dropped his ball a foot ahead of Junior’s. 

“Scheiss!” (This was lately one of Donnie’s favorite words. He wasn’t allowed to curse in front of Daddy. Not in English any way.) His ball had rolled into a divot. He walked over and kicked his ball ten yards father down the fairway. He ordered the caddy to hand him a five iron. He managed to whack the ball sideways into some deep brush underneath a gnarly oak tree about ten yards off the fairway. 

“Scheiss! Hey, Darkie — whatever your name is — come help me find my ball.” 

The caddy handed Fred Senior his seven iron and joined Donnie in the weeds. “Here you go.” He pointed down to a ball nestled in the weeds. Donnie walked over and took a look. “Scheiss! Put it somewhere I can hit it!” The caddy, whatever his name was — they all looked alike — tilted his head and then shook it ever so slightly. 

“Do you have a problem, Caddyman? Do we need a new caddy?” 

“No sir. I just thought you were still learning and … “

“We’re not paying you to think Caddyman. Step lively! Go fetch the ball and put it where I can hit it!” 

The large man nodded. “Strictly speaking, it’s your Dad who’s paying me. He wants you to … “

“Just do what I say, Caddyblack or I’ll get you fired!” 

two man standing beside golf carts

Photo by Jopwell on Pexels.com

The caddy put down one of the bags and leaned over and picked up the ball. He frowned again at Donnie’s choice of marks — a large black swastika. “Where you want this? Are you saying this is unplayable? That’s a two stroke penalty, you know.” 

“Scheiss,” Donnie muttered under his breath. He glanced across the fairway to see his Dad and Junior heading for the cart. They would soon be heading to the green. He looked back at the caddy, his anger and frustration still growing. 

“Sir, I have to go give them their putters. How about if I leave your bag here for you. You decide where you want to hit from.” 

“That was not my ball. Let’s look on the other side of that tree.”

clouds countryside daylight environment

Photo by Kaique Rocha on Pexels.com

“But, sir. Your brother and daddy need their putters.”

“Screw them! Come with me!” Donnie began to stomp through the weeds around to the far side of the tree. 

The caddy, actually named Adam, by the way, sighed. Fred Senior and his son had already parked on the edge of the green and were gesturing for their putters. Hopefully, this little adventure wouldn’t take long. He followed Donnie around the tree and saw him standing there expectantly. He didn’t seem to be looking for a ball. He frowned. 

Donnie put his teeny hands beside his mouth and screamed, “DADDY! DADDY! Help me! Caddyblack is showing me his thingie!” 

The caddy stood there dumbfounded. “What are you doing! Why you say that?”

Donnie hissed under his breath: “Because I hate you. You made me do it.” Then, he screamed again, “DADDY! Help!” 

The Freds were running toward the gnarly old oak. 

person holding brown card

Photo by Miguel Constantin Montes on Pexels.com

Donnie was so pleased with himself that he had to work very hard to wipe the smile off his face before his Dad arrived. He replaced it with what he hoped was a very scared look. He need not have bothered. His Dad barely glanced at him and went instead up to the caddy. 

“Get your filthy hands off my son! You should be ashamed of yourself! What the hell’s wrong with you? I’ll make sure you never work anywhere as a caddy again!”  

“But sir — I never —”

“SHUT UP! I don’t want to stand here and listen to your lies! Get your filthy hands off our bags. God-damned round of golf ruined on the first God-damned hole. You are going to see some of my buddies soon. You won’t recognize us, but we’ll sure as hell recognize you! Now GIT! GIT!!” 

Donnie put his face down in his hands to hide his laughter. It was difficult, but he managed to make it sound as though he was sobbing rather than laughing. He dug his fingers into the sides of his face till it hurt. Then he pressed even harder. He had to press really hard in order to make real tears flow, but it was worth it. Caddyblack wouldn’t be making him miss any more golf shots. 

Not today. 

Not ever! 

Fred Senior barked out to the boys that they were going back to the clubhouse and get this guy fired right now. As he hitched a ride on the back of the cart, Donnie thought to himself, this was the best round of golf — ever!  

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

 


Donny Plays Doctor Man!

Donny Plays Bull-Dazzle Man! 

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

. 

Donnie Plays Doctor Man!

03 Friday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, politics, psychology, story

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

childhood, Conman, crime, criminal, evil, family, fiction, sociopath, story

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

{Since this is written from a “God’s eye view” it might be obvious to you that it’s fiction. But in case it isn’t, this is fiction and any resemblance to actual characters is purely coincidental. Anyway, these stories take place on the third planet around a small, ordinary star at the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy}.

hotrod die cast model on board

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Donnie was bored, and had been ever since school let out and there were no little kids to bully. Junior refused to play Monopoly with him any more. What a cruddy older brother, thought Donnie. Just because I was smart enough to hide lots of $500 bills in my pants before the game started. He’s just jealous because he didn’t think of it first! 

Donnie liked pouting. Not so much as bullying though! Bullying was fun! 

Except that time when little Billy had punched him in the nose. He hadn’t been expecting — NO NO NO! Donnie screamed in his head: IT NEVER HAPPENED! IT NEVER HAPPENED!. 

But still Donnie wanted to get back at Billy. He would probably have to wait for school to re-open though. What do do now? What to do? Maryanne and Junior were playing with their own friends. Mommy was re-organizing the attic. Hmmm, thought Donnie. 

He very carefully tip-toed into his sister’s room. He looked around. What to do? If I had some ants, I could put them in the drawer to scare her, but spiders would be better. What about a snake? Too much trouble. Wait! I know! I know! A grasshopper! I’ll go get a grasshopper! 

nature animal insect grasshopper

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Donnie grew excited when he thought about his sister opening a drawer and peeing her pants when a grasshopper jumped out at her. Speaking of peeing her pants, Donnie could see her sister’s clothes hamper in her closet. The door squeaked, he knew, but he slid it open a bit further. He found some used underwear. This gave him another great idea. I am such a genius thought Donnie. I might — no, I am the smartest person ever. 

Luckily, there was a box of Kleenex on Maryanne’s desk. She won’t notice one missing tissue. He carefully took out a tissue and turned back toward the closet. Better use two, he thought. Don’t want to get her cooties! Maybe three is even better. 

He used the tissues to carefully pick up his sister’s white panties, hand-stitched with a little heart. Next, he stuck his head out in the hall. No sign of his siblings. He could hear mom puttering around upstairs. Good. He snuck into his brother’s room and put the panties in his brother’s desk in the upper right side drawer. He closed the drawer and thought. Hmm. How can I get mommy to look in there? I know! 

He rushed into his own room and took out the Silver Dollar he had kept there. It was the first dollar he had ever earned. He earned it by beating up one of the little kids who was showing it off to his friends. Of course, the story he had told his family was that he had “won it” by being really smart at playing cards. They had all seen it. They all knew it was one of his prized possessions because it was so shiny. He put it in the drawer right on top of his sister’s panties. He chuckled to himself a little as he closed the drawer. He snuck a look outside and listened carefully. No-one coming. 

He went back to his own room and took out a book on American History. Somebody somebody something some time something. Somebody else. It was a long book and it said nothing about him. But for some reason, his parents thought he should do extra reading in the summer. 

pile of books

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

How stupid! Why did books have so many words anyways? He carefully put the book on he bedside table so he could easily grab it if he needed it. Then, he went back to daydreaming. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he heard mommy descending from the attic. He grabbed the book and opened it to a random page. 

As his mom walked by, Donnie pretended not to notice she was there. Her voice rang out from the hall, “Oh, good, Donnie, I see you’re reading that history book. Who are you reading about now?” 

“What? Oh, hi, mom.” He glanced at the page, looking for something with capital letters. “Oh, I’m reading about Purchase!” 

“Purchase? Who’s Purchase? I don’t remember him. What did he do?”

“He — uh — he did lots of amazing stuff. Just wonderful things. So many things! You can’t believe all the things he did. It’s a shame — you know, nobody gives him enough credit. A lot of people don’t even know his name. Or, they forgot. Or, maybe certain people want to forget.”

“Well, Donnie, I’m glad to see you reading, but it’s supposed to rain later so you should get some sunshine now. The doctor says it helps protect against polio.” 

Donnie was annoyed. He could still get a grasshopper to annoy sis, he supposed. It seemed like a very lame prank compared with the panties. “Okay, Mommy. Great idea.” 

Once downstairs, he sauntered over to the weedy edge of the lawn. Almost immediately he saw a grasshopper. “This day is meant for me!” And as he said “me”, he slapped his cupped hands together trapping the grasshopper. He looked at it. Ugly, he thought. Look at those skinny legs. Stupid sideways mouth. It was different from him so he hated it. He hated almost everyone who wasn’t just like him. 

Anyway, it would terrify his sister and that was the point. But it was so ugly! I’ll bet it could still hop even if I took away its front leg. Or legs. I wonder if it will scream. Checking to ensure that he was still alone, he muttered, “Hey, little stupid ugly bug. I’m your doctor! Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. You just need a little operation.” He chuckled.

close up photo of grasshopper

Photo by cmonphotography on Pexels.com

He listened carefully every time he twisted off a leg to see whether the grasshopper would scream. He couldn’t hear anything, but it seemed clear that the grasshopper hated it, so at least there was that. Every time he twisted a leg off, the grasshopper tried more vigorously to wriggle or fly away. When he got done with the forelegs, he began to wonder whether it could hop with only one rear leg. So he twisted that off as well. But then, he thought. Now, it’s ruined. It won’t hop any more and it won’t scare her and how is that fun? It’s useless. He glanced around. No-one was near so he muttered allowed, “Hey, ugly little useless bug. How’s it feel to be so tiny and weak? Look at me, you bug. I’m going to twist your ugly little head off now and there’s nothing you can do about it. How does that make you feel? I’m your doctor, and believe me, it’s for your own good. You’re too ugly to survive.”

Donnie was so excited that he almost forgot to squash everything into the dirt. Hide the evidence and lie about it. It had become something of a mantra — so much so that he was not even aware he was saying it to himself. He considered getting another grasshopper but he saw himself doing pretty much the same thing to it. He decided he’d have to wait on the grasshopper prank till after he was bored pulling them apart. But there was still plenty of fun in store for the rest of the day, he reassured himself.

Mom called all the kids in for lunch, and they sat down to a delicious meal of baloney with mayo on Wonder Bread. Like many, all that baloney made them thirsty and so they drank lots of Kool-Aid. 

After the first pangs of hunger were gone, Donnie said, “Hey Junior! How about a game Monopoly? 

Junior said, “No! You cheat! You steal money —“ 

Mom said, “Play with your little brother, Junior.” 

Donny said, “ME steal! Where’s my Silver Dollar? Huh? Where’s my Silver Dollar?” 

Mom said, “Did you lose your Silver Dollar, Donnie?”

Donny began, “I didn’t lose it — well, I don’t know. Maybe. But I think Junior has it. He was threatening to steal it yesterday — and the day before — and the day before that. So. My guess is he did it.” 

Junior protested, “I never threatened to take your stupid silver dollar!”

Donny yelled, “Well, I say you did! You stole it and you hid it … where did you say you’d hide it? I forget. No, no. I know, you said, I’ll lock it in my desk! That’s what you said.”

Mommy looked quizzically at Junior. “Is that true?” 

Junior ground his teeth, “No! Why would I steal his stupid silver dollar? And why would I tell him where I was going to hide it? Is that hiding anything? And, by the way, I don’t lock my desk. There isn’t even a key. I don’t think there is, anyway.” 

Donny began to pretend to cry, “Mommy, I really like the Silver Dollar. You know. It’s the first one I ever earned. Can’t you please get it back from him?” Here, Donny pointed one of his teeny fingers toward his brother. 

Mommy stood up and sighed. “All right. Let’s get this straightened out right now. Come with me.” She looked back for a moment to make sure they were following. All of them followed her to Junior’s room. 

18D458A5-1E24-4A24-8FEE-5301844BB354_1_105_c

Mom walked over to Junior’s desk and frowned. If it were her desk, she would put important things in the upper right drawer. She opened it up and her head jerked back. She had been simply humoring Donnie. She never expected that Junior had really stolen the Silver Dollar. She turned back to her kids. “It’s here. I can’t believe you did this, Junior. Stay in your room till your dad gets home.”

Junior’s mouth hung open. “WHAT!? No. I didn’t steal it. I don’t even — “

“ENOUGH! You’re just making it worse on yourself! Not another word!” She turned, and began walking to the door, her fist clenched beside her. 

Donny said, in a carefully modulated gentle voice, “Mommy? Can I have my Silver Dollar?” 

“Oh, sorry. Sure honey. I got so upset I forgot.” She walked back to the still open drawer and put her fingers down around the plastic that encased the shiny Silver Dollar. She picked up that shiny Silver Dollar … along with a pair of her daughter’s panties.

Mom had no idea that she screamed aloud. She slowly sunk to her knees and began to sob. She barely heard the screaming of Maryanne and Junior behind her. She barely felt the soft, tiny hand. Donnie was patting her gently. 

He seemed to her wise beyond his years; she felt sure that he was consoling her for the bad luck of having mothered a truly evil child. 

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

—————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Donnie Plays Bull-dazzle Man!

01 Wednesday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, politics, psychology, story

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

allegory, America, childhood, criminal, Democracy, fiction, games, satire, sociopath, story, USA

orange excavator on brown hill

Photo by Anamul Rezwan on Pexels.com

Donnie looked outside and saw a bulldozer moving a large pile of dirt. 

“Mommy! Mommy! I want one! Get me one!” 

Donnie’s mommy sighed. The noon radio programs weren’t even on yet and this was the fourth impossible request Donnie had already made today. 

“I told you yesterday, Donnie, you can’t play in the dirt. You’ll get your hands dirty.” 

“But I want a big orange thingy! What is that thingy?” He pointed his teeny fingers at the bulldozer.

“That’s called a bulldozer, Donnie. And only big people can have one.”

“Daddy said I could have one! He said I could have a bull-dazzle! He said I could have two bull-dazzles!” 

bulldozer engine equipment heavy

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“I’ve no time for your nonsense, Donnie. You can’t have a — they’re called “bulldozers” — and you can’t have one till you’re a lot older. Look at that man. See? He’s much older than you. And, I still have laundry to fold.” 

Donnie said, “Yes, mommy.” But secretly, he was thinking about various ways to get revenge on stupid mommy. 

It was a sunny spring day, but not really warm. Snow still sprinkled the yard, so Donnie grabbed one of his sister’s jackets. That will annoy her, he thought and smiled. Outside, he couldn’t see much to do. Junior and Maryanne were up in the treehouse playing cards. They had tried teaching him a couple times, but they kept making up rules that didn’t make him win every time which was stupid. So, he threw all the cards on the ground. They hadn’t invited him a third time. 

brown wooden tree house on snow covered ground

Photo by Street Donkey on Pexels.com

He walked over to where the clothes were hanging. A gentle breeze billowed the shirts and sheets. Junior and Maryanne didn’t even notice him. It seemed they never did. 

He tugged at one of the sheets. Nothing happened. He grabbed with both hands and yanked down on one corner. He threw his legs out just like he did when he had a temper tantrum. His teeny hands slipped off and he fell on his butt. 

He ground his teeth, and walked over to a nightshirt he could reach. This time, when he pulled one of the clothespins snapped off. He got the other one off too! Success! He looked up at the treehouse, but his siblings were still ignoring him. Good, he thought. He tried several more items of laundry and managed to get another nightshirt and even one of the sheets off. Time to tattle. 

white textile

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

He walked back into the living room where mommy was already relaxing and listening to Abbot and Costello with her eyes closed. He wondered whether she had noticed him go out. He went to the dining room window and stared out. From there, he could see the treehouse, but his siblings were hidden by the plywood paneling. Perfect, he thought. When a commercial came on, Donnie said casually, “Mommy. Is Junior supposed to be showing his thingy to Maryanne?” 

“WHAT!?” She sprang up from her chair and came to the window. She could see the treehouse but no children. “Where are they?”

“They’re right up in the treehouse, mommy. I think they are hiding so Freddy can show his thingie.” 

Mommy went to the back door and flung it open hard enough to loosen one of the screws that held the hinge. The door flapped against the siding and sprang back violently, scratching her hand. She screamed, “JUNIOR! MARYANNE! Get in here this instant!” 

She walked out onto the back stoop and began skipping down the stairs. That’s when she noticed some of her laundry dragging on the dirty ground. 

86A389C7-4CD7-42E3-ABFA-A555A5BB24CB

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU KIDS DO TO MY LAUNDRY! GET DOWN HERE!! NOW!!” 

The puzzled faces of two kids peeked out of the shadowed treehouse. 

Maryanne spoke first, “How come, mom? We’re playing…”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’RE PLAYING! Get down here! Now” 

She went over and snatched up one of the nightshirts and tried to brush the dirt from it. Her brushing only ground the dirt in more deeply. Crap, she thought, I’ll have to wash this again. 

“What the hell is wrong with you two!? I worked all morning on this laundry!” 

In the corner of his eye, Fred Junior could see the smiling grinning face of his younger brother staring out at the scene from the dining room window. 

“LOOK AT ME when I’m talking to you! Why did you pull my laundry down! Never mind! Get inside! Both of you. I need to talk with you privately, Mister. No. Go to your rooms. I’ll have Fred talk to you when he gets home. That new belt of his will talk to you!” 

When she had redone the laundry and stopped cursing under her breath, Donnie thought she had cooled down enough. His enemies were still confined to their rooms, Donny said, “You know what, Mommy. You’re right. I’m too young to have a real bull-dazzler. But maybe Santa will bring me a pretend one for Christmas?” 

“What? Oh, sure. Sure. Maybe.” Her mind was swirling. Should she tell her husband about the … well, she hadn’t actually seen it. But the laundry was for sure. Junior would get a beating for that. Would he really have shown … surely, he’s too young for that. Fred would go crazy though. Maybe best not to say anything. She’d just watch Junior a lot more carefully from now on, watching for signs. 

Donny stared out the window. He felt pretty proud of himself. Someday, he thought to himself, I will have a whole bunch of bull-dazzlers working for me. What fun! I like bull-dazzlers!

D22A0D07-1251-4482-BACF-71E8558F5CFF

———————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Keys that Open; Keys that Close

31 Tuesday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, politics

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

America, COVID19, crisis, Democracy, USA

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

His whispers seemed so warm and seductive, breathing into her ear: “Come on, it will be nice.  I can protect you.  Give me the keys.”

Lady Liberty, scared, but determined, shook her mighty head, “No.”

The warm breath of the seducer blew on the ear of Lady Justice.  “I need more power.  Then we’ll all be safe.”

architecture art clouds landmark

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Lady Justice might be blind, but she knew this voice well.  She had heard similar voices in ancient Egypt, in Imperial Rome, in all ages and places.  The languages changed but the message was the same.  “Hand me your freedom.  Just a little.  And I can make you safe.”  Inevitably, of course, there were invasions, plagues, earthquakes and hurricanes and people were not safe.  The voice said, “Yes, that was too bad.  But, you see, you didn’t give me quite enough of your freedom.  Give me just a little more and I can keep you safe.” Lady Justice and Lady Liberty had learned to see these lies for what they were.

woman in black dress holding balance scale

Photo by JJ Jordan on Pexels.com

The Bill of Rights, the Separation of Powers — these are some of the master keys to America (though many citizens think the master keys are baseball and fireworks and grilled hamburgers so that giving up freedom wouldn’t mean all that much).  The Ladies though; they have been around the block a few times.  Thank God. 

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

Listen to the Ladies. Listen to them well.


 

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

← Older posts
Newer posts →

Subscribe

  • Entries (RSS)
  • Comments (RSS)

Archives

  • April 2026
  • March 2026
  • February 2026
  • January 2026
  • December 2025
  • November 2025
  • October 2025
  • September 2025
  • August 2025
  • July 2025
  • June 2025
  • May 2025
  • April 2025
  • March 2025
  • February 2025
  • January 2025
  • December 2024
  • November 2024
  • October 2024
  • September 2024
  • July 2024
  • April 2024
  • March 2024
  • February 2024
  • January 2024
  • December 2023
  • August 2023
  • July 2023
  • May 2023
  • April 2023
  • March 2023
  • February 2023
  • January 2023
  • December 2022
  • November 2022
  • October 2022
  • September 2022
  • August 2022
  • July 2022
  • June 2022
  • May 2022
  • April 2022
  • March 2022
  • February 2022
  • January 2022
  • December 2021
  • November 2021
  • October 2021
  • September 2021
  • August 2021
  • July 2021
  • June 2021
  • May 2021
  • April 2021
  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • May 2015
  • January 2015
  • July 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013

Categories

  • AI
  • America
  • apocalypse
  • cats
  • COVID-19
  • creativity
  • design rationale
  • dogs
  • driverless cars
  • essay
  • family
  • fantasy
  • fiction
  • HCI
  • health
  • management
  • nature
  • pets
  • poetry
  • politics
  • psychology
  • Sadie
  • satire
  • science
  • sports
  • story
  • The Singularity
  • Travel
  • Uncategorized
  • user experience
  • Veritas
  • Walkabout Diaries

Meta

  • Create account
  • Log in

Blog at WordPress.com.

  • Subscribe Subscribed
    • petersironwood
    • Join 662 other subscribers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • petersironwood
    • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...