The Quest for Canada

I have a yearning; I want to go north where the air is cold and crisp, and in the summer is humid but not hot. I want to go to a place where sight will replace mystery, for mystery is all it ever seems to be. I want to see the wild as if I were the only person left to roam on earth, I want to sway to the music beating through me. The vast wilderness ahead of me, as I scan city lights. A large tower before me, and the people saying "EH!" around me. Gorgeous men with hockey sticks and furry countenances. A taste of Europe but still on the same continent. Speak textbook french with people that I do not understand (and I doubt they understand me), get caught up in Indian names, for rivers, for peaks, for landscapes, for lakes, for towns. Open my mind up for adventure, and leave all else behind. Be serenaded by the owls at night, and hear the percussion of water as it falls into the misty unknown. Swim in the Great Lakes, soar over mountains like an eagle, and only right over the border, between here and there. I will be gone but not too far away. I want to go north where the ice melts halfway in May, and returns again in September. I want to feel cold like no other, and never feel it again. I want to build a fire, and watch the auroras dance in the sky, while the wolf howls and the snow softly falls. Behind me is the United States of America, set in her ways, before me, is nothing, pure and true. And I want to go there before I die.

Updates on Life, Goals, Future, Everything

Well as many of you know I will be going to UNCG next semester, and getting my college education out the of way before I start my long and (hopefully) interesting life. I have no earthly idea what I will do after I graduate, but I really want to travel for a while, or do something completely spontaneous. Perhaps I will do something with the Peace Corps, like my good friend Katie, perhaps I will get a writing internship somewhere, or I will move to Wilmington and start life fresh and get some job doing kayak tours on the intercoastal waterway. Who knows? I can't be worried about what course my life will take after school because there's a million and one possibilities, and if I even pretend to have a clue what I will be doing, I'll be misleading myself. I must keep an open mind about everything.

Right now, however, I have found myself in a rut. I'm not making enough money at my current job to afford to live on my own, so I am still at my aunt's house, which is nice for the time being, but I am going to need to figure out something soon. I'm 20 and I need to be on my own so I know what it is really like being an adult. I asked my manager today if she would consider promoting me, and she said, "it won't be right away, but maybe in three or four months" even though we are losing two shift supervisors in the next couple of months. So I don't know what's going to happen. I really need to get another job if I can't get promoted. But I cannot just work anywhere, it has to be a place that would fit well within my school schedule.

Overall, I'm just getting fed up with the types of personalities I have to deal with on a day to day basis, both at work and at home, and pretty much everywhere I go. At Starbucks we have the absolute worse customers ever. Many of them are ignorant, impatient, and downright mean, although we do have some nice ones that show up every now and then. Working with the public really blows though, and it affects us employees too. While most of us that work together are awesome friends outside of work, when we're at work, things can get a little hectic at times. Mostly I am just tired of people gossiping behind each others' backs and always having ulterior motives against others. Not everyone, but some. And our manager really is oblivious to a lot of the stuff that goes on. She fails to reprimand anyone.

And I'm tired of having to deal with my family's issues and quarrels. My mother has caused quite an uproar amongst my aunts and cousins, and I'm really ashamed to say she's my mother sometimes. She's a prescription drug addict, first of all, so she hasn't been right in her mind for a while, and she's just so ignorant. But I really stopped caring about her a long time ago, when she stopped caring about her children. It's always been about her. So my family is urging me to have her committed, but I do not think its my responsibility. The woman will only change when she wants to change.

On a good note, I'm learning to play to banjo, and have already learned to pick the song "Red River Valley." I play it clawhammer style, because the bluegrass styles are entirely too difficult! Jeremiah's banjo is really cool, and I will have to ask him how much he got it for, and where I could get one just like it. I think I could learn to really do this. It seems simple enough. You pick the notes for the song, and use a pattern to make it have a melody. I guess the same goes for guitar, but I haven't practiced much picking notes on guitar yet. Perhaps banjo will help me become better on guitar?

I have also brough my violin out again, and tuned it. It may be a little flat, but I have been playing a little and so far so good! I also wrote a few songs, and put them to guitar and recorded them on Jeremiah's tape recorder. Hopefully we can work on adding some other instruments to the mix (including banjo?) so that maybe I will have my first ep album?? We will have to see!

I've also registered for fall classes. I am taking Non-Western Religions, American Authors Colonial-Romantic, History of Rock Music, Cultural Anthropology, and Biological Psychology. Sure hope they are good classes!

Well I am really sad that Katie Caldwell is leaving for Africa on June 2, but at the same time I'm so happy for her, and I know it will change her life, and she will really make a difference in someone else's life! I haven't known Katie that long, but it doesn't matter, she's an awesome friend and she's going to be missed dearly!

Well I will just have to keep telling myself that this summer I am going to have a good time, despite any worries that I still harbor in my mind. I'm going to learn the banjo, jam with Turtle Paw, go to White Lake, camp out on the beach, hang with friends and just thoroughly enjoy myself!

Bayou d'Etienne

Bayou d'Etienne: A Short Story

My 14th birthday present from Aunt Pauline came by way of my cousin Henry St. Clair who lived in the next parish near Bayou d'Etienne. Aunt Pauline often sent someone else along - anybody she could find, in this case Henry St. Clair, her nephew - to pass along news and letters and presents, since she rarely left her home. I hadn't seen her in a few months myself.

The present was wrapped in shiny purple paper, reminiscent of the Mardi Gras season, and was further concealed in a tiny chestnut box that I found quite appealing. Inside was a small silver brooch and in the inset of this brooch was a white silhouette of a young woman on a black background. It was a nice and rather unexpected gift from Aunt Pauline, and I am sure I had never received anything like that from her before. I placed it upon my chest of drawers, and it looked quite elegant there propped up on the chestnut box in which it had come.

I retrieved a thank-you note; I had a box of them, all framed by gold filigree and printed on heavy parchment paper. I hoped to send the note back to my aunt's house with Henry St. Clair, who was lingering outside talking with my older brother Jerome, no doubt about the upcoming summer vacation. It was only April, but it was sweltering hot and we felt like we should already be out of school and down at the river cooling off. I wiped perspiration from my forehead as I penned a simple note to my Aunt Pauline.

I slipped the note into its proper envelope, licked the edges and sealed it, and then went to hand it off to my cousin. When I got out to the porch, Henry had gone, and Jerome was in the yard playing fetch with the dog.

"Henry go home?" I asked him, despite the obvious.
"Yeah."
"I wanted him to take this to Pauline."
"Well he's gone, Noelle, can't you see?"
"Well, I guess I will go down there today and thank her in person."
"Why?" Jerome asked, giving me a puzzled look.
"Because she sent me a really nice gift and you're supposed to thank people when they give you things."
"You're not going all the way down there," Jerome said.
"Yes I am, and you're comin' with me."
"No I ain't," he spat.
"Yes you are. Come on. We won't stay long."

Jerome was hesitant but I knew as soon as he saw how serious I was about going he'd come along too. He wasn't going to let me roam around town by myself.
We got our bikes out of Daddy's shed and started down the road that went all the way to Bayou d'Etienne, about three or four miles south.

Like my brother, I particularly did not want to go, but Southern girls always thanked people for gifts or acts of kindness or otherwise. I could have simply mailed her the card, but that seemed rather pointless since the card would be postmarked Bayou d'Etienne and sent to her address within the same town. Also, our mother had been hounding Jerome and I for months to go down and see our eldest aunt, so it seemed like an appropriate time.

My mother went down there about once or twice a week to visit with her half-sister, although Pauline never made the effort to visit our home. She was twelve years older than Mama, but if you stood the two sisters next to each other, they appeared thirty years apart. After all, Mama had always looked so young, as if she routinely bathed in the Fountain of Youth, and Pauline; well, Pauline was certainly not haggard looking (she always seemed to keep up appearances in public) but she had never been particularly attractive either, and her hair had been turning rapidly gray in recent years.

She kept to herself mostly but did attend church every Sunday and sometimes on Wednesday nights. She was either a born-again Baptist or Evangelist, I could never be sure which, and most of her conversations with others were about the fires of Hell, and how the devil himself lurked everywhere, especially down in Bayou d'Etienne, where there were several bars and what she called "hoochie coochies," frequented mostly, or so she claimed, by Catholics. We were Catholic however - my family and I - so when we went to see her we were often offended at her claim that we were subscribing to the "wrong religion." Sometimes when we were walking out of mass at St. Bernadette's we'd see her roll by in her father's banana-colored Cadillac, and she'd honk her horn and tell us she was going to the Promised Land, and we'd better hop in quick to save our souls.

She often said terrible things about our Parish priest Father Devereux, naming his shameful antics outside of the church doors that she herself had witnessed. There was never any proof or justification for anything she ever said. "And to think you tell that man your sins every week in a box!" She'd often say hatefully. Mama told us she said these things because she was getting more spiteful with age. It was Mama's best attempt at excusing her sister's shortcomings.

She lived at the very edge of Bayou d'Etienne town limits in a big old house that was starting to sink in with age. The outside looked downright terrible, but she kept the inside decent enough, despite the mounds of junk she stowed away, making some rooms inaccessible. We dropped our bikes next to the porch overgrown with weeds. "Let's make this quick," Jerome said.

Aunt Pauline met us at the door. She unlatched the storm door that had been locked from the inside and opened it just wide enough so that we could slide in.
"Come on in," she said with a sigh as if we were selfishly taking up her time.

Inside we found a horrifically cluttered hallway. There were paintings propped up along the walls, dust clouding their images. There were hats and coats and other clothes resting on the stairs, and a large grandfather clock stood ticking furiously, but displaying the wrong time. Whatever pictures or mirrors she had hanging on the wall had been removed, leaving behind their ghostly impressions on the stained wallpaper. The floor creaked loudly, and was probably starting to rot under her runners and carpets. There was a strong odor of cat urine, and as I took a quick peek into the kitchen I spotted black ants crawling all over the the countertops and the stove.

We were afraid to touch anything as we mechanically followed Pauline into her parlor. She told us to sit down, and we looked around for a place to sit where we wouldn't be on top of old clothes or sleeping cats.

"Your mama said y'all might come down," Pauline began, sitting down into an Edwardian style armchair, a once nice piece of furniture but was now torn up by cats' claws. Pauline was wearing a dress and shoes, as if she had just been ready to go out. But we knew she wouldn't be going anywhere today. It was not Sunday and it was a rare occasion that she went out into town except to get some things from the grocery store. She was as skinny as a rail. Her hair was long and curly, and steel colored strands were starting to conquer its original auburn hue.

"Are you both doin' alright in school?" she asked us.
"Yes ma'am," we both said.
"Well, good. You know, I wasn't lucky enough to stay in school. My father got sick and I had to help Mama take care of him. And I just never went back. But it was better. I couldn't stand Sister Mary Agnes..."
We stayed quiet and waited for her to go on, but she didn't, so Jerome said:
"It sure is musty in here, Aunt Pauline."
"You think so?" She replied, "I always thought it was quite airy myself."
I shifted in my seat. Her small talk was making me nervous.

"I remember," she continued, her voice slicing the still air like a knife. "I remember when Father Henry Canton came to give my daddy his last rites. Well, my Daddy was a Catholic after all," she said, a hint of disdain lingering in her voice. "And you know that priest said the same thing to me? 'It's quite musty in this living room' he had the nerve to tell me. As if my home was not good enough for him. The air was not quite good enough. It was too stale for his own Catholic taste. Stale like their wafers. Humph!"

Jerome glared at her. 'Don't say anything,' I said to him in my mind. He remained silent, as the old woman went on.
"At any rate, no one comes down here to see me anymore. I'm forgotten most days."

I cleared my throat awkwardly, and did not know how to respond to such a statement.
"Well I wouldn't visit me either," she said sadly, "Your mama comes down here at least once a week. To see if I'm still breathing I reckon. Though, I feel sorry for her."
"Why?" I asked.
"Oh...well," she paused, "No. I shouldn't talk about that sort of stuff around you two."
"Mama's happy," Jerome said abruptly, sounding more like a grown man than a 16 year old boy, "We're all very happy."
"Mais oui, I'm certain you are, but you do not know everything that goes on."
"Like what?" I asked.
Pauline shrugged and looked at us with a glint in her eye like she knew something that we did not.
"It's unfortunate that you two are now old enough to notice these things, and yet you turn a blind eye to it. You see what you wanna see. But the truth is what unbinds you."
"You're talkin' in riddles," Jerome said.
"You haven't wondered what's been bothering your mother lately, Noelle?"
"Mama is happy," Jerome said again. I looked from my brother to Pauline and back to my brother again. I realized that they both knew something I did not.
"You know that she is not, Jerome. How could anybody be happy after that?"
"You're talkin' nonsense again like you always do," Jerome said.
"What's going on?" I asked, my voice quavering. Pauline looked at me, her mouth open like she was about to say something, but held back.
"Nothing Noelle," Jerome said quickly, "C'mon, let's get back to the house."
"Your Daddy is a cheater, Noelle," Pauline said, "He's a lying cheater."
"Pauline, you stop that!" Jerome cried, his finger in her face as she sat there, her bony legs crossed, her wrinkled mouth pursed into a straight line.
"What?" I grasped onto my skirt, and struggled to comprehend what was quickly unfolding before me. I looked at Jerome. His face was flushed and his eyes glistened with stubborn tears. I tried to look for reassurance in him - Pauline was just talking foolishly, as she always did - but he glared at her as if she had betrayed him.
"I said c'mon," Jerome turned to me. He grabbed my elbow and began leading me towards the hall.
I refused to go and stood over Pauline, "How could you say any of that!? You're lying and I know it! Tell her Jerome! She's lying!"
"No, darling. You ask your brother. He caught him in the act."
Jerome's face was redder than a beet. "Goddamit, you always have to ruin everything!" He said viciously through clenched teeth.
"The girl deserves to know," Pauline leapt from her chair and stood erect. She was proud of what she had done.
Jerome wouldn't let go of my arm. I began to cry.
"I'll bet you've told God and everyone by now," he said. "You can't keep nothin' to yourself."
"I knew what he was up to," Pauline said, "I saw him down there. He was in them bars. Mon Dieu! What was I supposed to do? I told your Mama so that she'd know him for who he really was."
"You're lying," I heard myself saw again, "Why would you say that about my Daddy? All you do is lie and the devil hates liars."
"Your Daddy is the liar. Ton pere est le diable!" She said hatefully.

I jerked myself away from my brother's grasp and rushed quickly by her, shoving her out of my path with my elbow. Pauline went tumbling to the floor, and her head caught the edge of the coffee table.
"Jesus Noelle!" Jerome hollered as I got to the front door. I stood on the threshold, holding the storm door half open as I listened for sounds coming from my aunt. She was silent, and I turned slowly to see Jerome standing over her, and calling to her, imploring her to wake up.
"Jerome, is she alright?"
"I don't know, "Jerome bent down over her and listened for breathing.
"Jerome!" I cried, hot tears coming quickly to my eyes as I rushed back into the living room,
"Well, is she alright?"
"She ain't breathin'," he said. My eyes wandered all over the darkening room in desperation. The sun was setting and the shadows had begun to grow along the walls. I quietly prayed she wasn't dead.
"Cut on some lights in here," Jerome ordered and with shaking hands I managed to turn on a lamp next to the sofa. He bent over her and listened to her heart.
"Nothing," he said. He looked up at me with his sorrowful gray eyes, "I think she's dead."
"Oh God no!" I cried and collapsed onto the floor next to her. I heaved wretched sobs, nearly choking myself in grief and fear. I had killed my Aunt.
"It was an accident," Jerome said quietly. "It was just an accident."
I could not breathe. My stomach churned and my skin crawled.
"I'm gonna call an ambulance," Jerome said, his voice far away, "And I will tell them that she fell. And we found her this way."
"I killed her!" I cried frantically. I couldn't get a hold of myself, "I killed her and I will have to pay for it!"
Jerome came to me and began to shake me by the shoulders, "Shut up Noelle, shut up! It was an accident, you hear me?"

He went for the phone in the kitchen. I heard him wind the rotary for the operator. I sat still on the floor, my legs folded beneath me, my arms hugging my waist. I looked over Pauline who lied there motionless. Her head was turned away from me, and her bony body was twisted grotesquely in the opposite direction. I had never seen a dead person before but I had not imagined it would look like this. She appeared as though she were merely asleep, but I dared not touch her.

Jerome and I waited quietly on the front porch. I stood leaning on a chipped pillar, my eyes all swollen with tears.
"Now, when they get here, don't you say anything. I'll take care of it," he said.
I did not reply, but listened to the crickets' loud refrain and the bullfrogs bellowing and the poule d'eaus barking as they flew over the bayou. They were all witnesses to the truth, but could never speak of it. The truth was unbearable.
The idea that my father had cheated still weighed so heavily on my soul, despite what had happened to Pauline. I could not fathom it; my father, who was so loving towards us and who worked so hard to see us through all the good times and bad, who seemed to adore my mother, was a cheater. How could that be possible?
"Jerome," I said finally after what had seemed like an eternity, "Is it true?"
Jerome didn't answer at first, but he finally said, "Yes. It is true."
I began to sob again. Pauline had for once told the truth, and I had refused to believe her.

"Mama and I had noticed he didn't come home right after work some nights," Jerome said, steadily, "And then Pauline told Mama she saw Daddy down in Bayou d'Etienne one night as she was leaving church. You know nothing escaped that woman's eyes. So one night Mama made me go into town to try to find him, while you were asleep. That was the same night we told you he was down at Uncle Ben's helping him fix his truck."
"Did you find him?" I asked, already assuming what the answer would be.
"Yes. I looked all over and finally found his truck down near the river. And he was in it, with a woman. I did not confront him. I went home. Mama wouldn't leave me alone. She knew I had found him but I tried to pretend like I hadn't seen him. But she pried it out of me. And then she must have told Pauline. And...damn it, that woman couldn't keep her mouth shut! We wanted to keep it from you as long as we could. I know how much you adore Daddy."
"What's Mama gonna do?" I asked. I turned to see that my brother was sitting on the steps, looking out over the muddy front lawn overgrown with kudzu vines and weeds.
"Nothing. She ain't gonna do nothing, Noelle. What can she do? It's better if she never knew what he was doin in the first place."
"The truth is what unbinds you."
"So they say."

I sat down next to him and laid my head on his shoulder. I felt like crying, but knew that I couldn't. Everything had fallen apart right in front of me, in such a short time. My brother was the only person who I could trust, and now we were caught in over our heads. I was responsible for Pauline's death, and we were planning to lie to get away with it, and we could get away with it, but it didn't seem fair.
"We have to tell the truth, Jerome. It was an accident, but we must tell the truth."
"I know," he said quietly.

I latched onto his arm. We sat quietly as night enclosed around us, and the mosquitoes started to bite. The lightning bugs danced over the lawn and in the trees. The porch light flickered on, and moths and gnats began to gather. Out of the humid air came the sirens of an ambulance coming down Rue de Chapelle. As I heard them my heart threatened to leap out of my chest. I came to an awful realization.
"I never thanked her for my present," I whispered into the still night, but the animals of the world did not care to listen.




*Bayou d'Etienne is a fictional town...

Island

Island, a short story by Theresa Mattiello
Clyde woke extra early on a Tuesday, and silently slipped on his work shirt and a pair of worn out jeans. Every morning before he left for his trip he opened the drawer and stared at the new pair of Wrangler’s his wife had given him last Christmas. But he always ended up wearing the same old pair that were fraying around the seams and were so faded they had turned the color of an October sky.
He noticed something about his outfit was missing. His name tag must have fallen off in the dryer. He retrieved the old banged up thing, and pinned it to his shirt. It was oval shaped, and in red cursive letters his name was spelled out, reminding him of a Coca-Cola label: Clyde.
He whistled as he went into the kitchen. He opened every cabinet, although he knew the cereal was in a small cupboard next to the stove. It was as if he was expecting a Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast to pop out of the cabinet, and he’d surely have the best breakfast ever.
But he made do with a bowl of Raisin Bran and a glass of cold milk. Although there was already milk in his cereal he always needed extra on the side to wash it all down. He took a seat in his easy chair. The old thing creaked beneath his weight. He watched the morning silently arrive through his living room window. A hummingbird danced around the nectar feeder Louise had put out. He was always amused that those little birds could always be so quick and productive.
A low grunt came from the corner of the living room. Charlie, the old Bassett Hound wobbled out of his hiding place and went up to meet Clyde. “Hello ol’ boy,” he said, petting the dog on the head and stroking his ears. He glanced at the clock. It was time to leave.
He packed up a few things to eat while on the road, but he knew for dinner he’d end up eating fast food. He would be back in only a few days, and Louise would cook something special on Thursday night in lieu of his arrival. She always did.
He headed out the door, not pausing to go to the bedroom to wake his wife and tell her goodbye. She had already had a rough night anyway. Five times, maybe more, she woke him up to tell him to quit snoring. He was surprised to find that she was still sleeping beside him when he woke up. She often tiptoed into Davy’s room – now the guest room – to get some uninterrupted sleep. Clyde tried everything, even those nose strips, but nothing seemed to work out just yet. Lord knows he couldn’t afford to see a doctor about it.
The drive to the truck yard was quiet. He left the radio off and put the window down so he could feel the cool spring breeze filter into the car. He hoped that when he got there everything would be ready to go and he wouldn’t have to wait around.
Upon arriving, he spotted his truck, a black rig with “Riley & Sons Trucking Inc.” painted in white sparkly paint on the doors. But there wasn’t a trailer attached as he had hoped. Looks like I’m gonna have to do all this today, he thought.
He pulled into the yard but couldn’t drive in. The gate was locked. He called out from his car: “Open the gate, Pete!”
Pete Riley’s head peaked around the corner inside the office, disappeared, then reappeared again. He came to the front door.
“Open the gate, Pete!” Clyde called again.
“You’re gonna have to come inside, Clyde.”
Clyde backed up and parked in the lot next to the office and went in. Something just wasn’t right, and he could feel it.
“Come on in, sit down,” Pete said in his slow drawl.
“What’s goin’ on Pete?”
Pete Riley looked at Clyde over his glasses and said, “Clyde, I was meaning to call you but I knew you’d get here early enough. I don’t – I don’t have anything for you today…”
Clyde was confused, and after a short pause said, “You let me drive all the way up here to tell me that?”
Pete furrowed his brow, “No, Clyde, what I mean to say is…I don’t have anything for you to haul – ever. I have to…let you go.”
Clyde felt Raisin Bran rise to the back of his throat. “Pete,” he croaked, “I need this job.”
“I know, Clyde, I know. Times are rough on everybody. We had to let someone go.”
“Did I do something wrong, Pete?” Clyde asked, his face all flushed as if someone had whacked him across the face with a hot iron. He was a one million miles safe driver. He attended all of the safety meetings. He was always the first to the yard in the morning, and the first to come in after a long haul. He took good care of his truck. He filled the logbooks out accurately. He always arrived at his destinations on time, and frequently with time to spare. Trucking was his life.
“Clyde, you didn’t do a damn thing wrong. The other guys got seniority on you. That’s all they got. You’re a great driver. And we’re gonna miss havin’ you on the crew. There’s other trucking companies – big companies – that are hiring in Durham, some in Greenville, not too far from here. I can get you a list…”
But Clyde was done listening.
He arrived home only an hour and a half after he had left. Louise was outside in her garden next to the house. He wondered how he would tell her and what she would say.
“You’re back early,” she said as he got out and slammed the door shut. He walked past her into the house.
“Clyde,” she went inside behind him, her tiny frame dominated by his massive size in their cramped hallway. He went straight to their bedroom, and sat on the bed, slowly removing his shoes.
Louise stood nervously in the doorway. She had already guessed without him needing to say anything.
“You got fired?”
Clyde nodded, “Caught me by surprise.”
She began to wring her hands.
“Well what are you gonna do?”
“Let me be depressed today Louise. Then I’ll wake up early tomorrow and drive to Durham.”
“What’s in Durham?”
“A list. Pete gave me a list. Somebody’s gotta hire me, right?”
Louise sighed heavily, “Lord, I pray someone does. My disability ain’t enough to cover both of us.”
Clyde stared at his face in the mirror, “You ever just…wish you lived on an island somewhere. And you always had food and shelter and never had to work for nothin’?”
“I dream that a lot,” Louise said, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to her husband of almost 35 years. “Only that island would be Topsail Island and I would spend all day looking for seashells.”
“I would spend all day fishing,” Clyde added.
“We’d walk on the beach every night,” said Louise.
“Eat oysters and crab legs at that one seafood place just off the bridge there. Remember that place?”
“Oh of course,” Louise replied.
Clyde pulled her to him. “My God what a time we’d have. Remember on our honey moon…”
“Yes I do, Clyde.”
They sat in silence in their bright bedroom and the minutes crawled by like hours. The cookoo bird left its roost to signal the passing of one hour to the next, and the loud churning of the clock’s gears broke the silence.
“Are you thinking about me getting a new job?” Clyde asked her.
“No,” she said, “I was thinking about that island.”

Casey's Ward - The First Paragraphs

Casey’s Ward

In town there was a scaffold and from the scaffold hung a rope, with a large loop that was fit over a man’s head and tightened around a man’s neck and they called it the law. Christian McIver eyed the scaffold each time he and his uncle, John Casey, rode into town on business and he knew what it meant. He had once faced the noose, when he was around 15 years old. His mother, John Casey’s sister, had died, and his father was gone. Casey rode all day and all night, a hard ride, to reach his nephew. He bargained with the law there in Buxton, where the boy was held, and brought him back to his ranch 90 miles northwest to start new. In Cerillos, no one knew Christian, but his Uncle had built up such a mighty reputation for him, that Christian was beginning to forget those long months of stealing for food, and hiding from the Deputy in folks’ barns.
But he saw the noose and saw it for what it was; a symbol of power over the misfortunate and the misdirected; the thieves and the murderers; the rapists and the lechers; and unfortunately, over people like him, who seemed to always be caught in the thick of it. He never saw himself as a bad man, he just did what was right by him – to survive. They had come and taken his father’s ranch and all the livestock. Every last penny was stripped from his name, and yet they had wanted to hang him for shooting a man in defense of it? Casey had to have bribed them a hefty sum to get them to let the boy go. That dead man was so beloved in Buxton.
And now Christian revered his uncle. He worshipped his every word and his every move. For no one Christian had ever known was as good of a man as John Casey.


*Just the first couple paragraphs...tell me what you think *

My Favorite Bearded Fellows

HONORING THE BEARD: A Tribute to Facial Hair's Finest Contributers

Okay, here's my belated beard blog!

I love beards. I love men who can sport a beard. Beards are not meant for everyone, but for those few that it actually compliments, there are women like us to appreciate them!

But, I feel it is necessary to pay homage to some fellows who I feel would be lost without their scruffy manes! So here we go, the top ten bearded fellows! (Well I know some GREAT beards in real life, but these are all famous or semi-famous guys!)

10. Emile Hirsch

While he hardly ever sports a beard in other movies or on the red carpet, I have to say, his beard in Into the Wild was very hot. Although he never allowed it to get too wild and shaggy, it still was a beard, and that's all that mattered. Actually, I don't care too much for Hirsch when he is beardless...I really think the beard adds to his appeal. But then again, I am not his girlfriend, and I cannot tell him what to do with his facial hair! So be it Emile, you land at number 10!

9. Ashton Kutcher

Again, here's another "pretty boy" who rarely pays homage to the beard. Although, he seems to sport one pretty believably. His beard reminds me of my boyfriend's beard...not a lot growing between the bottom lip and the chin, but still a thick and thriving mane around the frame of the face. I think Ashton would look good wearing this look more often - although he is quite handsome clean shaven as well, as seen in The Guardian.

8. Tony Dekker

Tony Dekker is the lead singer and guitar player for the Canadian band Great Lake Swimmers. His poetic lyrics and ethereal, almost melancoly voice is what first caught my attention. His beard is not too shabby either. When I think of Canadian men, I'm always expecting them to be proud wearers of beards, so Tony Dekker is no exception. Though, he does keep it awfully short, it has no effect whatsoever on his tremendous talent, and his love affair with music that almost transcends reality!

7. Robert Redford (as Jeremiah Johnson)

Well, although Robert Redford has aged tremendously (yes, I know he is old enough to be my grandfather), his protrayal of Jeremiah Jones in The Ballad of Jeremiah Jones called for him to wear a very becoming beard! There's something thrilling in witnessing a man denoucing society and wandering off into the wilderness, becoming "wild" in appearance as a result. Makes you wonder what all he has seen and done...what stories could he tell? Not only is his beard full and crazy but he has the 70's shag haircut to go along with it! It's simply awesome.

6. Ryan Malone

Ryan Malone used to play for the NHL Pittsburgh Penguins, and now plays for Tampa Bay. Although he always seems to have some kind of facial stubble going on, he can grow a nice thick (and red) beard! This is why I say playoff season is the best in time in NHL hockey..because of the playoff beards of course!! Players like poor old Sidney Crosby can only grow a thin moustache, but he's trying! But Ryan can sport the whole thing, and make it look good as hell! Too bad his team didn't win the Stanley Cup last year, though!

5. Gerard Butler

Gerard Butler is best known for his protrayal of King Leonidas in 300, in which he is also know for having that wicked awesome beard! But in real life, Gerard does like to sport the beard, and it looks very good on him, even if it is speckled with a few gray hairs here and there. But he's aging beautifully! The Scotsman is still a rising star in Hollywood, but don't think you've seen the last of him, and his sexy beard!

4. Ryan Reynolds

I can remember seeing only one Ryan Reynolds film, and that was National Lampoon's Van Wilder, which I thought was only mildly funny. However, this guy is an absolute hunk when it comes to sporting a beard! To be able to grow a beard like that, he must be Canadian. *Goes to check IMDB.com* Wow, I'm right! He's from Vancouver, British Columbia! What are the odds of that? Well I might have to check out the remake of the Amityville Horror, in which he protrays good ol George Lutz and a dark and sexy beard!

3. Brad Pitt

I don't really care too much about Brad, but I do like that beard he had back when he was married to Jen Aniston. Am I the only girl who likes that beard?

2. Ryan Gosling

What could I say about this Canadian hunk? What I will say is that he should be tied up and beaten if he ever truly thinks he looks better clean shaven! I mean, Rachel McAdams might think he's cuter with a smooth babyface, but I don't, and I'm sure most of his female fans don't either! Just want to say, in the Notebook, he was HOOOOTTT...and the way he was all hurt and pining inside...made it all the better!

1. AND....YOU CANNOT FORGET...

Grizzly Adams!

Come on! Did you think I'd end this countdown without including him?! Grizzly Adams did have a beard!!

AND THE FINALE!

HERE IS THE HONORARY BEST BEARD IN THERESA'S ACTUAL REAL LIFE....

Jeremiah Paddock! Awesome beard dude!

I have a few more guys in Greensboro that I seriously could add, but alas I do not have their pictures and/or permission to use their names on here. But they should know who they are!

The End!

Where the Spice Is

In April of 2003 my Dad and I took a trip to New Mexico. By the time we had reached Albuquerque, we were absolutely starving. Being in the spirit of arriving in a new and unfamiliar place, we decided to venture down to the old part of town to find some authentic Southwestern food, said to be the best of all Latin cuisine, and by far the spiciest. Dad and I are the type of people who would bet each other to consume whole jalapeno or habanera peppers without seeking the refuge of a glass of water. So we were up for anything.
We found an interesting restaurant flanking the old square; its walls were made of mostly adobe and it was painted a light pink hue, like many of the buildings in town. We entered and were greeted by friendly waiters, who quickly had us seated.
We had only a brief moment to scan the dining room. It was under low light, and on the tables were blood hued glass candleholders, like those seen in a church. There were murals and paintings on the walls depicting Southwestern life, obviously influenced heavily by the Spanish.
I figured I couldn’t go wrong with quesadillas since I am a huge fan of them, and I assumed my lunch would represent Mexican food as we know it on this side of the border. I expected mild spiciness, however what I did receive was something more scorching hot than I could have imagined.
The dish was in fact not your typical Mexican plate, in which ingredients appear to be haphazardly thrown together in a careless fashion. The chefs had made art in how they situated the quesadilla halves, and the rice that came along with it. The smell was spicy and inviting, and as my stomach began to rumble even louder, I couldn’t wait to dig in.
First bite, I entered into a realm of bursting flavor. Every bit of the dish – the meat, the tortilla, the cheese, the onions – was perfectly seasoned and required no further “aid” from salt or pepper or hot sauce. And then, as I chewed, an intense fire began to grow in my mouth. I quickly reached for the glass of water waiting patiently before me.
With every bite, my sinuses began to open and my eyes watered and my tongue burned. I went through eight glasses of water at least! However, what might actually surprise you is that I absolutely enjoyed the food, and it was without a doubt some of the best cuisine I have ever tasted! So kudos to the Southwest for having eye-popping, hell-raising, ultimately delicious food! You can bet that we had a fantastic time in the Enchanted State!

Is this a Ghost?

Maybe? Maybe not?

A Century of Tyranny

This is a video Jordan and I made that highlights some of the darkest hours in 20th century history. From Nazism to the Kosovo crisis, Congolese turmoil to Communism in China, we've complied some pictures and set them to Linkin Park's "Crawling," which goes quite well with the subject matter. I hope we get to make more videos in the future!

Die Sonne Scheint Noch (The Sun Still Shines)

I went to see Valkyrie the other day, starring Tom Cruise, which is about the plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler, and became completely intrigued with the knowledge that there were many Germans, even those of elevated rank in the military and political spheres, who were completely against Hitler and his fascist ideals and harsh brutality. You never hear about these unsung heroes who went against their own country's leader, and risk their lives to stop Hitler from destroying Europe, and Germany in particular.

Germany is a beautiful country, rich in culture and heritage, steeped in centuries of history dating back to Germanic and Barbarian tribes who first inhabited the region. The people are proud and have been for a long time. There is no question that Germany was made vulnerable after World War I. Their pride was tarnished, their country devestated and their people poor and desperate for the power and pride they once owned. Hitler was able to manipulate the masses, and used their zest for pride to launch himself into the center of the politics in Berlin, and ultimately becoming their dictator. You cannot blame the German people for believing they found an answer in Hitler, but you can blame them for still supporting him (or at least pretending to support him) when neighbors of different races and ethnicities and religions were stripped of their homes, rights, and lives. But there were still few who dared to lift their voices up and be heard, or at least attempted to take action when action was most needed.

Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg

"Valkyrie" is centered around Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg, who should be (and is, especially in Germany) heralded as a hero today, and his attempt to assassinate Adolf Hitler by planting a bomb inside of a briefing room at the Wolf's Lair, Hitler's high security military compound. Stauffenberg wasn't alone in the conspiracy. He was a part of a resistance group that's goal was to initiate a coup that would overthrow the Nazi regime. While Stauffenberg and others like him were unsuccessful in their attempts, it is at least concerting to know that Germans were trying to make a difference. Many were against Hitler's extermination policies, while others saw him as essentially the enemy to none other than Germany herself. These Germans felt that Hitler had perverted the traditions and principles of the German race. Stauffenberg himself could not imagine his children growing up under the regime of Hitler. Today, we can not even begin to imagine what the world would be like had Hitler never been defeated.


Hans Scholl, Sophie Scholl, and Christoph Probst

A passive resistance group, the White Rose, was lead by four Munich students and their professor. One of the students was Sophie Scholl, who outwardly protested Hitler's regime. Her and her fellow members distributed leaflets imploring others to outwardly, but peacefully, protest the Nazis. The crew was caught distributing leaflets at the University of Munich and were executed by guillotine. Her last words were "Die Sonne scheint noch" (the sun still shines) - and her ending speech was: "How can we expect righteousness to prevail when there is hardly anyone willing to give himself up individually to a righteous cause? Such a fine, sunny day, and I have to go. But what does my death matter, if through us thousands of people are awakened and stirred to action?"

In the movie Valkyrie, General Trescow says to Colonel Stauffenberg: "God promised Abraham that he would not destroy Sodom if he could find ten righteous men... I have a feeling that for Germany it may come down to one." Someone, even the smallest person, had to stand up to Hitler even if it meant defeat. This should be a warning to us today to not allow another Hitler to take over through means of manipulation and fear. We should all be willing to stand united against another potential catastrophe to ever occur again.

It could have happened anywhere, and has already and still does today. When I think of Germany I do not want images of swastikas and concentration camps to fill my mind, but they always will. Hitler destroyed his country's image forever. No one will ever see Germany any different ever again, which is very sad in my opinion. Germany's dark past will follow it into oblivion, like an individual's shadow. Hitler did not love Germany. Hitler destroyed Germany, and that is exactly why the resistance sought to end his rule long before Europe (and especially Germany) had been ravaged by war.

We have to be on our guards. We must learn from the past. Another Hitler could rise amongst us, and can manipulate us to think that things will improve when in reality things will just fall apart. This can even happen in America. How do you know it is not already happening? If it does, what will you do to stop it?

The Truth About Nature

I live in a house that sits back off the road just outside the city limits. The property used to be a working farm. We still grow things like corn, tomatoes, okra, green beans, and squash, among other vegetables, but the soil is so infertile in places that most of the terrain is useless. However, the woods behind us still grow and the wildlife within those woods is ever present. I feel much more in tune with nature here than I ever had while growing up in a middle-class suburbian neighborhood in the backyard of Washington, D.C. But there is still something that separates me from the wild here. Well, for one, it could be this wall that sits just behind me and the window that is shut to the cold rainy night. I don't venture into those woods very often during the colder seasons. I mostly like to traverse back towards our creek in the middle of summer in search for turtles and frogs, and perhaps even wade into the water that's only knee-high deep. As much as I enjoy hiking and camping I never once stayed a night in a tent in those once-quiet woods. Now, I do not even enjoy walking down into the woods on trails that members of my family have blazed through towards the creek, because a few of our neighbors seem to think its fun to shoot guns all day at God knows what.

I've heard the scream of a bobcat from my bedroom which faces the woods and it terrified me to the core. And once I saw a flock of wild turkeys emerging from the woods and rounding our pond to reach their next destination. We have wild heron fly across our front yard and stop at our pond to search for fish to eat. Deer leap across our yard in the dark of night, and very rarely in the early morning (and we also see them dead on the side of the road). And of course, its the season for Canadian Geese to also stop by, and torment our dogs, of whom they have no qualms about chasing off with their rude beaks. We call them "Canadian Tourists" because they act just like tourists coming down from Ontario and Quebec, who lay out in bikinis and swimming trunks at Wrightsville or Carolina Beach in the middle of winter, while the rest of us walk by, bundled up and puzzled at their indifference to the biting wind coming off the sea. The geese have no problems lounging around on our pond when it is below freezing and the pond is partially frozen. I love where I live, and I love how quiet it is at nighttime. Sometimes when I am here alone I can become a little uneasy. The woods are peaceful, yet daunting at the same time. What beauty does it hold but also what danger hides within? Nature is something I am inherently facinated with. Nature knows no boundaries. These woods would one day overtake us if we didn't work hard to keep it in its place. We have to labor intensively to make sure our vegetables grow in the summer. The bugs come, and the early rot comes, and the weeds threaten to snuff the life out of everything we work so hard to grow. My aunt had a terrible run-in with summer storms this past year. Her corn had grown high and she was excited about the harvest, but a strong storm with a tumultous downdraft blew her stocks over. She and my boyfriend had to labor for hours to get some of them to stand back up, and some they had to tie to stakes just to give them a chance.


Nature knows no boundaries. Nature does not play by any rules.


I want to be in Nature and experience it every day of my life, but I worry. Nature is something that you cannot trust. You can never expect Nature to give you the answer, and Nature does not always provide. Nature is also unpredictable.


Thank goodness Nature also has a pattern. We know that when the wind begins to blow harder and the sky turns black, it is going to storm. Therefore, we also know that it would be wise to take shelter. People have studied Nature long enough to see the signs of a coming drought, and we've harnessed technology to predict the weather. We can tell when a hurricane is coming a week or so in advance.


But there are some things about Nature we will never be able to predict or control. There are things that can destroy everything we know. I am sheltered from nature by these walls and that window as I sit and type this, but when it comes to Nature, am I ever really safe? A tornado could overtake this house and destroy everything, and there would be nothing any of us could do to stop it.


I am not suggesting that humans be disdainful of Nature, because Nature is what governs this entire planet. We should have a love for Nature and the fruits of Nature. We should also be respectful of Nature as well. Nature won't always reciprocate our appreciation, but at least we could come away with a different perspective.


We should fear Nature when it demands to be feared. We should love Nature when it longs to be loved.

Merry Christmas

Tomorrow: My Favorite Bearded Fellows