The Song of Hiawatha by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

(a snippet for my photo taken at Minnehaha Falls, Minnesota)

From the sky the sun benignant
Looked upon them through the branches,
Saying to them, "O my children,
Love is sunshine, hate is shadow,
Life is checkered shade and sunshine,
Rule by love, O Hiawatha!"

     From the sky the moon looked at them,
Filled the lodge with mystic splendors,
Whispered to them, "O my children,
Day is restless, night is quiet,
Man imperious, woman feeble;
Half is mine, although I follow;
Rule by patience, Laughing Water!"

     Thus it was they journeyed homeward;
Thus it was that Hiawatha
To the lodge of old Nokomis
Brought the moonlight, starlight, firelight,
Brought the sunshine of his people,
Minnehaha, Laughing Water,
Handsomest of all the women
In the land of the Dacotahs,
In the land of handsome women.

Simple Joys

Life never ceases to amaze me, a tap on the shoulder to remind how wonderful it is to be alive.

This afternoon, while I was cleaning up around the kitchen sink, chatting with a friend on my cell phone, I happened to glance out the window and saw a bird in the tree beside my Library window.  At first, because of the bird's size, I took it to be one of the morning doves, but then noticed the length of its long beak. No, this can't be a dove!

Thank goodness phones are so portable, as I chattered excitedly that I had to get a picture of this bird, and went to grab my camera.

I carefully opened the curtains, only to discover that the windows were none too clean, but I could make out the bird in the dense foliage. Woodpecker?
My friend, on the other end of the ether, told me to call her back, but I kept her tucked between my shoulder and ear.
Raising my camera, just beginning to take careful aim, the sun reflects off the lens and startles the bird into flight. Damn, missed my shot! AND, I still don't know what kind of bird it was.

I waited for a while by the window, but the bird did not make a reappearance.

I ended my call and decided to make good use of my time, to be better prepared for the next photo opportunity. Grabbing paper towels and Windex, I spent a little time and elbow grease cleaning window panes, inside and out.

Evening approaches and once again finds me in front of the kitchen sink and gazing out at the tree.  I've always thought it was a nectarine tree, planted in a most inappropriate place for a fruit tree. At some point, it will need to be removed before I can build a covered back porch.
Since I've lived here these past six years, it has never born fruit. Or I should say, until this year. This year is different, I fertilized and watered the tree.  I like nectarines. 
Imagine my dismay to discover that, although the fruit looks like a nectarine, it is not. It smells a little like an apple, has a pit like an apricot, but not the delicious taste I was looking forward to.
On the other hand, my dogs have grown fat from consuming the ripened red fruit that has dropped to the ground or the ones they can reach by standing on hind legs.
The birds, also, seem to think these are delicasies and have eaten their fair share.  Between the bird feeder I keep filled and this tree, I'm surprised my fine feathered friends can actually take wing. They all seem to have bulging breastplates this year.

But I digress.

The kitchen window -- looking out at the tree, I see a dark shape moving amongst the leaves. Is it the bird? 

Moving quickly, I grab my camera, glad I took the time to clean the windows, and head to the library aka "My Cave".
Oh so very slowly, slide the curtains aside, focus, click.

Just to assure you that, although you may think I'm bat-shit crazy,  I'm not blind -- yet.  This is definitely NOT the bird I saw earlier today.

What's A Life Worth?

Do you ever wonder what your life is worth? What value you have as a human being on Planet Earth?

Today I went with a friend to the $2 movie theater to see "The Lucky One".  Maybe the movie is what triggered this path of thought, maybe not.
I can't say I've been the lucky one when it came to finding that kind of love, the kind that they write love songs about. No, that part of my life is more like a bad country song, but I'm not asking for sympathy or pity, for I have experienced love. The love of family, the love of friendship, the love of a child.
There are other kinds of love, too. For me, it's the love of a great novel, music that sings to my heart, standing in the middle of a grove of ancient sequoias, a painting, laughing till tears spring from my eyes, the smell of fresh baked cinammon buns like my mom used to make. Oh yes, my love list is long and I hope it will continue to grow the longer I exist.

I decided to walk around my house and take a few pictures of the inanimate objects that I call my treasures. These treasures have minimal value to very few, if any, people besides myself.  Doesn't matter, I'm going to share them anyway since this is my blog. [grins]

This is the house that ate all my money, but I love it anyway. It's still a work in progress and I may never finish it to my satifaction, but what is....is.

My dad painted this still life. It graces one of my dining room walls. Although, Dad is gone now, I have this and a few others to remember that he existed and lived a life.

A simple kitchen that I created. I can't seem to keep the clutter off the counter, but this room suits me.

The wood still needs to be stained, as does a lot of wood in my home,

but I like the view to the backyard and the golf course across the street

This house was completed in 1926.  It has more history than I do, but the walls refuse to talk. I hope to one day have a mantle and cabinetry built into the east wall that will do this old place proud.

The two stained glass windows are original and I promise that there are no horrors similar to Amityville

taking place, not even a hint of a ghost.

The next few pictures will prove my love of books.
It will also prove why I want floor to ceiling bookshelves built around the fireplace in my cave.

Until I get more shelving, I'm sticking to audiobooks. Amazing how many I can fit on my iphone! 

Sometimes I wonder if books like this won't exist anymore.  Everything has gone to electronic format these days.  Maybe even libraries will fade into history?  When I was young, I loved my trips to the library to choose a new book to read.  Those trips saved a lonely girl and allowed her to live vicariously through stories of adventure, love and loss, heroes and heroines.

Here are just a few of my smaller treasures. Gifts given to me by lost loves, old friends, and family.

Some things bought, some found, and some made by hand.

These Objet d'Art are priceless to me, because each has a story and memories of someone I love.

None of these things prove my value as a human being.

They are just pieces of what makes me an individual,

someone that existed for a few moments in time.



Waking in a Disney Movie

Last Saturday, I cracked open an eye long enough to hit the snooze on my alarm clock. Maybe another thirty minutes of shut-eye should do the trick, I mused, as I rolled back over and buried my face into the pillow.
That's when the birdsong began.
I ignored it, until a second warble began and then a third. Louder.
What the heck!
It sounded so close, as if the birds were in the room with me. Raising my head from the pillow, wiping the sleep from my eyes, I gazed at the small paned window where the music seemed to be the loudest.

What??? Was I seeing things?

There on the sill flitted 3, wait, make that 4.... then 2 more flew down to perch. Little birds, their small dark eyes peering in at me, heads bobbing up and down as if trying to get a better look, and all the time they kept up their serenade.

"How strange", I thought, wishing I had my camera because I knew no one was going to believe this story.
I watched them watching me and wondered, "What does this mean? What do they want from me?"

I listened to their music and this is what I heard

Water, please, will you bring?
in return,our song we sing.

Ok, it was simple, but I got the point.

A couple months back I had purchased a bird feeder. The variety of birds around my home is something to behold. I've seen Cardinals, Bluebirds, Blue Jays, Red-Headed Woodpeckers, Sparrows, Hawks and Blackbirds (Starlings?), just to name a few.  Why not feed them?

BUT, I had not thought about water.  There's a lake nearby and I was sure other water sources, but the last few weeks have been severely hot with little to no rainfall. Too hot for June and there's no end in sight. The whole first week of July will be 100+ degrees. How awful to be thirsty in this heat!

So, I changed my plans for the early morning. Rising from bed, I dressed quickly, stopping long enough to give my dogs each a morning treat, then headed to the local hardware store in search of a bird bath.








I found this one which suited my taste and purpose.

Then another bit of statuary caught my eye and I added it to my purchase.  Perfect for my "Friendship Door".

It was a hot morning and I was sweating profusely by the time I got the bird bath situated and filled with water.  After setting it in place to my satisfaction,  I decided to cool down and wait inside the door to see if I'd get any visitors.  Many of my feathered friends are quite shy, but I was able to capture a few with my camera.

This was my first guest.

Approaching with caution 

I couldn't get to close to these and my zoom lens is not powerful enough, but at least you can see some of the color that decorates my yard.

Sunday I learned that the lake has been declared off limits to swimmers due to contamination, so I was doubly glad that I provided a clean source of water for my little friends.

I haven't had time to shoot anymore, until tonight, but I would say that the bird bath is a success!

"Life Through The Pane"

Where is my kind of crazy love?

Match dot com men freak me out!


I decided that after 9 years of remaining single and learning to live with myself, alone with just 3 dogs for company, that I might want to put my toes in and test the waters, again.
Why? Good question and one I've pondered over, analyzed and re-analyzed. After the end of my 3rd marriage [gasps heard from the readers], I swore I would never try again. I've reasoned that my picker is broken and after 3 strikes, I'm OUT of the game!

And yet, there are times when I miss having a man in my house; someone warm to snuggle up with on cold, winter nights; someone to walk beside me and hold my hand. I want to love someone with all my heart and soul, share my thoughts and share his, have mutual dreams and goals, enjoy a good movie or travel to somewhere exotic as a happy couple.

Ok, you get the picture!

I work in a town that is 62 miles away from where I live. I work 9+ hour days. It's a very good job and I just can't walk away because it pays my bills and allows me to lead a financially secure life. What it doesn't allow for is a lot of socializing after hours. Most of the men I come in contact with at work are married, let's call that 99% of them. The other 1% have various reasons for their single status. 
I've worked with enough good men to realize that there are good men/fathers/husbands out there, I just wasn't as lucky (broken picker and all).I attribute my bad choices of mate-selection from what I learned and experienced growing up with my parents. They were married for 18 years before my father was outed in an anonymous letter to my mom. Yes, my dad was gay.
Looking back, I can honestly say the Dad was a good man, a good provider, dancer, musician, actor, company executive (in the closet), but he just didn't know how to be a great dad or husband.  My parents are both gone now, but before my mom died, they had mended their past and became friends again.  My dad died fifteen years after my mom and although he had a partner, he still missed my mom's quiet ways and her kind heart, still grieved her loss.

My problem is that I didn't learn how a real relationship between a straight man and woman works. I wasn't Daddy's girl -- ever.  Ok, I can accept that I have limitations, but I can read books and I've watched how my good friends, that have been married for years, make it work.  I'm smart, I should be able to figure it out.

Since I haven't had time to socialize locally and the few friends I have in my town don't know any eligible bachelors that they think I would be suitable with, I turned to the online dating site, Match.com and bought a 6 month subscription. I was encouraged by a friend that had met her current husband on the site. She said to be patient and that I probably would have to date a lot of duds to find the right guy. She did and it paid off in dividends, she is extremely happy now.
So I joined.

Let the Dating begin....

It's been almost a month and I should have known this was going to be harder than anticipated.

The first night I joined, I got an instant message right away from a relatively nice-looking guy. The catch -- he lives several states away, with his 5 year old son, but said that he was willing to relocate to be with me. This after one chat session??? 
I swear I didn't post in my profile or talk about my salary, my job, or pictures of my vehicles or the "Money Pit", so what makes these kind of guys think I might be their "Sugar Mama"?
His follow up email raised some questions about answers he had given the night before, that is, somethings just did not add up.  He said he was an only child, both his parents died young, and he caught his wife cheating on him.
I really despise liars, but I let him down easy by telling him that I was not up to raising another child. I'm ready to look forward to retirement and goofing off the rest of my life having mass quantities of fun.

So far, the men that I have found interesting, and either winked at or emailed, have not responded.  The ones that have emailed me, look at least 20 years older than me or similar to my idea of a Serial Killer (no, not the Dexter-type, more like Charles Manson).
I realize that I'm no spring chicken, but I'm certainly not ready to be changing some guy's Depends.  Nor do I want to go out to dinner, only to find that I'm the main course.

Worse than those images are the emails...I'm relatively-well educated and extremely well-read (Mom was an English major in college), but these emails!!! GHASTLY!  Sentences that make absolutely no sense, strange spelling that I think must be a foreign language, and why, oh why, would someone that doesn't even know me think that we immediately have to be an "item" or "The One".  

One man IM'd me with video cam (local profile, but stationed in Afghanistan?) and asked some questions,  then told me that he was going to interrupt and tell me about himself. Only son, (I asked if he had sisters and he said, "I'm the only son!"), never been married, no children, and parents both deceased.  I'm thinking this guy is defintely NOT for me, but before I can sign off, he is telling me that we will be IMing every night from now on.  That he was going to make me, his.  WTF?!?!? Not only NO, but HELL NO!!!

Of course, there was the one scathing email accusing me of having no morals or ethics because I did not email him back. He wished that I would get as many responses to my emails as I sent back.  REALLY???  His first email to me was prior to my subscription, so email reading is not a possibility.  I should waited before getting my account, since I have been traveling on business and pleasure trips over the last month and did not have time to email anyone.  Even though the man was not someone I would be interested in, I wrote him back and explained why I had not emailed, then ended my reply with the fact his email opened my eyes to his personality and that I would never be interested in someone that would go on the attack like that without having all the facts.

Then there's the other problem I have, which is superficial.  Men my age seem to want women 20 years their junior and I want someone close to my own age that I find attractive.  If I know someone and have spent time with them, their terrific personality can make them more attractive, but online it doesn't seem to be working for me.

What makes a guy, that looks like he could have starred in "Deliverance" and writes, "Sweet sweet lady how can l make you mine like.all.you emailed.like to.talk more think. You are sexy lady show me more photos", ever begin to think those kind of words would make me swoon and fall in love?

Or I left a simple comment, "Nice Fish" on a picture another guy posted of a really nice fish he caught. How do I end up with a response like this???  "I think you might just be that pretty i have long be seeking all my life to get to know more than a friend. Location will never be the barrier if your heart is willing to give a chance of a new beginning just like mine is ready right now. I want to believe that asking your hands in friendship will make you to be the happiest woman in this part of generation and who knows even in some generations to come."

What does that mean? I'm 55 years old and beyond producing next generations! Plus as to location, my profile states that I work in the same area he lives, so what barrier is he talking about?

You might not believe it, but I cut and pasted the above quotes from both emails. No editing.

Then I've gotten several winks and a couple emails from younger men, but they have failed to have create profiles I can read. They leave a yahoo email addresses and tell me to write, but I haven't got a clue what they are like.  I prefer to read profiles, their likes and dislikes, a marital status, whether they have children or not, I need DATA before I move forward!  So, why would they take this approach? 

I'll conclude for now -- I still have not been on a single date, and no prospects.  I'm more confused and freaked out than ever.

I pine for a time when men had the skills to write poetry or letters that would move my soul, rouse my interest or bring laughter to my lips.

Once more turn my head to the stars and ask, "Where is my kind of crazy love"?

Maybe I need to re-word my profile.....again.

Critique Time - Feel free to leave constructive criticism and does this make you want to read more?

Chapter 1

New Parents

 I am Ariana. 

My life begins in the midst of a technological revolution. Humans are finding ways to move faster and creating all manner of innovations meant to save time, freeing humanity from some of the more tedious chores necessitated for day-to-day living. The reality is that people seem to have less time for the simple pleasures in life and instead, race through their lives, hurry-scurry, like rats lost in a maze.

My birth heralds the beginning of the greatest changes to happen in the current civilization’s recorded history. Okay, maybe I’m stretching the truth a bit, as that statement has little to do with me, but it does apply primarily to the “Baby Boomers” born in the United States of America.  In the future, this time will be called “The End of the Age of Innocence”.

I arrive on a sunny Sunday morning in early October, in the romantic city of San Francisco, California. I will always think of this “City By The Bay” as one of the most beautiful on Planet Earth.

At that instant in time, my destiny intertwines with two young people, Jackie and Marianne, my unwitting, completely unprepared, and frequently reluctant, parents. Their first gift to me is my name, Ariana Lenore Warlach. 

The first time I can remember meeting them, I am unable to speak, wrapped up tightly in a blanket with even my arms snugged up against my sides and I’m lying inside a plastic box staring up at them. I listen carefully as they introduce themselves as Mama and Daddy. Mama follows the introduction by saying, “Ariana, we are your parents and will be taking you home with us in a few days”.

Inexplicably, her words fill me with happiness.

*******

Meet my parents or at least what I have gleaned over the years about their younger lives…. 

Mama’s name is Marianne Eleanor Dunne. She was born in San Francisco, as her mother and father were before her.

Marianne’s Granna Mary, her Uncle Buddy, and Aunt Eleanor came to California from Clifden, Connemara, along the western shores of Ireland. They arrived on Ellis Island, New York and made their way westward, never looking back. All their worldly possessions secured within a few worn leather cases. Granna Mary will tell anyone that would listen that she’d made the decision to leave the only home they’d known to escape certain poverty, which she attributed to the great “Potato” famine that had happened at least 30 years before she was born.

The Irsh have long memories, it seems.

Marianne is an attractive woman, with light reddish-brown hair that frames her heart-shaped face. Her large violet-blue eyes can’t hide a lie, not that she would dare, even if she thought she could get away with it. Her milky white skin is covered with small brown freckles and burns easily no matter how hard she tries to get a tan.  She’s proud of her 22 inch waist and fond of laughing in her soft way, remarking, “I’d be as brown as an Indian, if all my freckles would just grow together.” 

When I’m a little older I always giggle along with her, pretending my mama is the famous Shoshone woman, Sacagawea, who helped the Lewis and Clark expedition. 

Marianne is majoring in English at college and everyone just assumes she will become a school teacher when she graduates.  

When Marianne was younger, she harbored a secret dream of becoming a nun, donning the habit and spending a quiet life in a convent. The only one she shared her dream with was her best friend and younger sister, Polly.

The gregarious red-head, Polly, only a scant year younger than Marianne, tried to be understanding about her sister’s dream, but there was no way she wanted to be any part of that plan. Pretty clothes, boys, and dancing were just too much fun. She certainly didn’t want to give all that up to be a stuffy old nun, but if that was Marianne’s desire, far be it for her to stand in the way. 

Marianne’s desire to become a nun ended abruptly when she was in ninth grade.

A contest for the best science project was posted on the school bulletin board and the first place winner would receive a beautiful little statue of the Virgin Mary.

The minute Polly laid her hazel green eyes on the hand-painted porcelain figurine of the Blessed Madonna; she knew she had to have her. Even though she had never won anything competitively in her life, she enters the contest.

Marianne can tell by the gleam in Polly’s eyes how much her sister wants the statue and offers to help. Together they work diligently for several weeks, using their hard-earned allowance money to buy the necessary supplies to complete the project. Polly shows the finished project to all her school chums the day before it is due to be turned in. They all agree that the Madonna will certainly belong to Polly when all is said and done.

Everyone at Sacred Heart Cathedral school, nuns and schoolgirls alike, know that none of the other students has put as much effort into their projects as Polly has put into hers.

The day finally arrives for the projects to be judged. All the girls assemble on the bleachers of the school gymnasium to await the pronouncement.

Polly can think of nothing else except her desire to hold the little statue in her hands, and barely contains her excitement when they take their seats.

She sits sandwiched between Marianne and her friends, waiting with unbridled anticipation, thinking about how surprised and proud her Mama and Da are going to be.

A ripple of shock, like an electric current, followed by trepidation runs through the girls when Sister Francis approaches the podium. They had not known she would be the judge to announce the winner and it's common knowledge amongst the girls that Sister Francis is not fond of Polly.

The nun lifts the small statue, looks directly in Polly’s direction, a wicked little smile creasing her shrewish face, and with what appears to be malignant satisfaction, pronounces, “This year’s winner for the best science project goes to… [pauses to shuffle her papers on the podium] …Clara McNeely. Congratulations Clara!” Clara squeals with feigned astonishment and hurries to collect her prize, to a round of rather subdued applause. Clara is the wealthiest girl in school, a tall, willowy, blonde, 10^th grader, well-known to be Sister Francis’ classroom pet. She’s also known for her mean streak a mile wide when it comes to taunting the younger girls at school.

Marianne’s heart breaks for her sister. The look on Polly’s face is one of utter devastation and shame.  Marianne decides in that instant that she will never become a nun. She knows in her heart that she cannot possibly join a group of people that would include a vindictive woman like Sister Francis, all the time preaching to love one another as they love Jesus and yet allow such a blatant display of unfair cruelty…especially when it involved her beloved little sister. She sends up a little prayer to apologize to God and asks that just this time he will forgive her for her decision. 

*******

I tend to believe things happen for a reason and this incident had a significant impact on my future life. I’m really glad Mama didn’t become a nun! 

******* 

Marianne has just turned twenty when she meets Jackie. She is working part-time to help pay for her college tuition in the accounting department of a large paper manufacturer in downtown San Francisco.

Marianne and Polly like to dress up and go out with their girlfriends to the USO on Treasure Island. Every Friday night, unless one of them has a date, they drive out to the island to dance and flirt with the young sailors.

One balmy spring evening, Jackie is there with several of his buddies. They sit around a table drinking martinis, trying to act suave and sophisticated, while watching other couples dancing.  At an outburst of merry laughter, their attention is immediately drawn to the main entrance, where a bouquet of pretty young women has entered and stands busily surveying the room. Each young lady is dressed to the nines in her Friday night finery.

One girl spots an empty table, pointing excitedly towards it, and then all of them sashay around the dance floor to claim a chair.

Not one to be shy and wanting the opportunity to be first to claim one of the girls, Jackie struts right over, flashes his most winning smile and politely asks the young girl that has caught his eye to dance. Marianne, who loves to dance, smiles shyly up at the dashing stranger with the jet black hair and the eyes the color of robin’s eggs and says, “Sure!”

He whirls her around the floor with an expertise that makes her catch her breath. How her laughter rings with pleasure when he proves how good he can jitterbug! He tells her that she is the best dance partner he’s cut the rug with in a long time. They spend the rest of the evening together, dancing and talking, happy to discover a mutual interest in the theatre, music, and literature. Adding to their amazement and marveling at fate, they learn that they both work for the same paper company in the city. They are separated by several floors, but still surprised that they’ve never met. Jackie gives Marianne a wolfish grin than says, “I surely would remember someone as pretty as you if I’d seen you there!” This causes Mama to blush and laugh, but inside she is pleased as punch. He continues, “I work down in data processing, which is pretty isolated from the rest of the building. Honestly though, I’ve got my feelers out for a better job opportunity. I want an office with windows and a view.” He winks at her then. She begins to wonder if he’s the one, as he pulls her by the hand, whirling her back onto the dance floor.

Later, still reluctant to let her get away when the time comes for Marianne to leave with Polly and her friends, Jackie asks her to go out to dinner the next night and she accepts. 

*******

Mama is always saying, “Your Daddy ruined me for any other man, because he knows exactly how to show a girl a grand time on a date”.  

*******

Marianne is twenty-one when she marries Jackie, in Reno, Nevada.  He is five years older.  Thirteen months later, I will arrive to change their world forever.

******* 

I know less about my father’s early years. I know that his birth name is Garrick Thomas Warlach. His family nicknamed him Jackie when he was a toddler. Jackie is the name everyone calls him now, except me. To me, he’s just, Daddy.

Daddy was born in a small town in Pennsylvania. His ancestors migrated to America from Wales and picked the Keystone state to begin their new lives.

Daddy is a thin man, of medium height and a flair for fashion. His hair is the glossy black of a raven’s wing. He has high cheek bones, a strong chin and a hawk-like nose, while his eyes, a piercingly bright blue, are startling against his suntanned complexion and dark hair.

Daddy’s very artistic. He paints, plays the piano, sings, and is a schooled dancer.  He has the reputation for being the life of the party and is invited to all the soirées in San Francisco.

His life’s dream was to go to Hollywood and become an actor, but ended up living in the Bay area after his discharge from the military. He had been stationed at the Presidio Army Post towards the end of the Korean War.

He never achieved that dream of stardom and it continued to be a small thorn in his side for a large portion of his life.

Daddy has a secret though. No one knows about the anger Daddy hides deep inside himself. To the outside world, his real face is hidden beneath a handsome smiling mask, one that can charm everyone he meets and is so very deceptive.

I will learn Daddy’s secret, but not yet.

An excerpt from the novel I am writing....

Prologue

New Life

 An icy draft fingers its way down my body causing flesh to erupt in hundreds of tiny bumps like that on a plucked bird, while an equally cold shiver runs up my spine. Inexplicably exhausted, I have to force one grit-filled eye open only to have it temporarily blinded by an intense light blazing overhead. It takes a minute of blinking both eyes to adjust to the glare and when my vision clears I’m instantly overcome by shock. There, standing on either side of me, are several hulking figures. Each behemoth is garbed in a solid white uniform and an odd cloth helmet. Faces, behind masks of the same stark white as their clothing, expose eyes that appear filled with curiosity. All those eyes are fixated on me, but I don’t sense any hostility in them, just extreme curiosity.
         One of the larger giants extends a massive, glove-clad hand and grasps me by both ankles. I’m lifted as if weighing no more than an owl’s feather and hang there, unceremoniously, upside down. Before I have a chance to understand and prepare for what is coming, the beast gives my buttocks a sharp smack.
         Shocked by the sting of the slap, I cry out in protest, more at the giant’s audacity to strike me, than at any real pain.   

A new thought seizes my mind…I am unclothed! Where are my armor and smallclothes? By the Light, what is going on here?

          My thoughts scream in confusion, my mind befuddled by these odd beings and the unfamiliar surroundings.

Where, in the name of Lugh, am I?

             From this elevated vantage point, I twist my head from side to side, wriggling in an attempt to break free. I take note that the only color in this immaculate room is mine. Droplets of bright red blood splatter to the floor beneath me. I do not sense any physical injuries, other than the one that was just inflicted, and that was only an affront to my dignity rather than my flesh.
       There is movement. I am being carried and then placed into a container of warm water and several hands scrub vigorously removing all vestiges of the recent battle’s gore. Afterwards, they use a clean towel to pat me dry in a rough, but efficient manner, followed by wrapping my body tightly inside a blanket.  

Why are they binding me like a mummy when I am still alive? At least I am fairly certain I still live, thank Lugh’s Light!

       I am picked up again, but this time more gently and find myself in the arms of a smaller, silver-haired titan. I realize that this being must be female, by the soft curves of her cheek and chin. I can sense a kindness in her, as well as the curiosity. That draws me to conclude that the other one, the one that slapped me, must be a male in this biped species. 

The giantess carries me across the room to a supine form and says, “You have a baby girl, Marianne. Have you chosen a name for her?”

Baby girl? What? No, they cannot possibly be talking about me! Can they?

The one called Marianne is lying on a narrow bed, a white blanket draped over her body. She responds, her voice soft and tranquil, “Ariana, she is to be called Ariana”.

Ariana? Is that my name? Why can I not remember?

I am placed into Marianne’s outstretched arms and the warmth of her body surrounds me. I breathe in and her essence fills my nose with the scent of the gardenias that grow at home, yet I can’t remember where home is. As I search her face, hoping for a sign of recognition, I fall under her spell, ensorcelled by her creamy radiance. Staring up into her lovely violet eyes, I am overcome by a sudden, inexplicable, yet intense love for this gargantuan being called Marianne.

How very odd!

It becomes immediately evident that my appearance does not cast the same magic upon Marianne. 

Marianne gazes down at the swaddled bundle, this new me that’s now nestled into her arms, and her eyes widen in a look of confused horror, while her head begins to shake back and forth in denial. She gasps, “No…No…NO! This can’t be happening!” 

Frantically, she shoves me back into the arms of the other female and begins to weep. 

I, instantly overcome by the grief of separation, match her sobs with a heart-rending wail of my own. I plead with my eyes for her to take me back, but to no avail. Marianne squeezes her own eyes shut as if to block out her view of me, and then turns her head away. I can no longer see her face. I am bereft and am unable to fathom the reason why.

With a concerted effort, I force my own gaze away from Marianne and look up at the giantess that is now holding me securely. I detect pity radiating from those liquid brown eyes under the stiff white cap. The dress is the same shade of bright white as the cap and I have to marvel at these beings penchant for white. I am carefully placed into a clear container set on wheels and rolled out of the colorless room into a much larger area. 

In this new room, I begin to hear strange noises emanating from several containers similar to the one I am lying in. They must be from foreign lands, because I cannot make sense out of any of the words being spoken. 

What other life forms have these giants captured? 

The silver-haired female seems to have selected a spot to situate my plasticized prison as we are no longer moving. She looks down at me and runs one very large finger across my cheek, more gently that I would think possible for someone so large. I hear her make a little throaty sound and notice that her eyes appear to be glistening and wonder at this. She turns abruptly away and strides out the door without looking back.

I am alone…isolated. Before I allow fear to swallow reason, I begin a visual reconnaissance of my surroundings. There are windows spanning the length of one wall, the smell is clean, yet there emanates an odor of medicines, and I decide I have been moved to an observation room in some kind of healing facility. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I detect movement and turn my head in that direction. My attention is captured by an extraordinarily beautiful and distinctly male entity. He is standing a short distance away from where I have been left. His manner of dress is quite different from the giants in the smaller room, but a sudden flutter of excitement runs through me. I know I have seen clothing like this before!

Then, before I can put a name to his attire, or remember where or when I have seen a uniform such as his, the memory is lost. For reasons I cannot explain and for the second time in a brief span of moments, I feel a sense of tremendous loss.

But….He is looking directly at me.

I gaze back into his large intense eyes, drawn in by their feline-tilt and luminous aquamarine color. His dark hair is worn long and held neatly back with a beaded leather strap and at each end of the strap is a multi-hued feather. The color in the center of each feather matches his eyes perfectly.

As he continues to stare intently into my eyes, his body begins to glow with a pale red aura that surrounds him, radiating outward. His lips part to reveal radiant white teeth, while the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. He approaches more closely until he is right beside my container and looks directly down at me, his smile widening.

Inside my head, words I do understand are spoken, “Welcome to Earth, Ariana. I am Trâethan. I have been assigned to monitor your life case.”

I do not recognize Trâethan, have no clue what a life case might be, or how he would know who I am. I attempt to speak to him, but what flows incoherently from my mouth is a mewling cacophony.

Oh no, it is the same kind of sounds that I hear coming from the other plastic boxes!

Trâethan smiles knowingly, as if he has read my thoughts and says, “Get some rest now, Tiny One. You will be fine; you just have to be patient. May your Lùxsin burn bright and the Light always guide your path!”

He bends down and I feel his lips brush against my forehead as he places a gentle kiss there. The sensation causes a warm tingling to run all the way through my body, which immediately prompts a smile to stretch across my face.

He steps back from me slowly, rising back up to his considerable height, and all the while his bemused eyes never leave mine. With a shake of his head, as if to clear his own thoughts, he turns his back to me

…..and soundlessly vanishes.

NO! Please come back!

I am alone, except for the murmurings and sighs coming from the other creatures that I can’t see.

I lie there, encased within a plastic box, left to contemplate my circumstances. I can’t divine a single rational explanation and conclude that I have suffered a head injury, caused during the last battle, and am now, completely delusional.

What battle?

I cannot seem to remember anything prior to the moment I first opened my eyes in the sterile white room. 

What has happened to me? This has to be some kind of nightmare and I shall wake soon.

As the minutes tick by, a dense fog creeps in, clouding my vision. I succumb to debilitative fatigue, slipping blindly into the mists of oblivion...

A Diabolical Plot

1:00 p.m. - Driving in my car gives me plenty of time to think. One thought that keeps returning, like a bad penny, is my suspicion that the Whippets have concocted an insidious plot to drive me insane. A plan that once crazy as a loon, I won't be able to handle my job and will have to stay home with them, forever.

Further proof of their conspiracy:
4:00 p.m. - Arrive home after drs. appt. - I am met by 3 dogs, ecstatic to see me. No proof of their deception evident.

5:00 p.m. - Walk down to basement to feed the dogs, see the large dog blanket has been dragged to the door where it lies in a wad, sopping up all the rain that fell earlier today and has been oozing in. Yuck! Hang blanket to dry out.

5:10 p.m. - Discover the brand new $50 flap on the dog door has been chewed, though not destroyed , which only drives me to rant a few decibles louder than normal, but probably elevates my blood pressure again. This only hours after the doc telling me that the pills worked and bp = normal!

I do see a method to their madness...why not be comfortable on a blankie while we sample the tasty doggy door?!? mmm-hmmmm.
I spend time rearranging the dog room hoping to prevent further mastication of the plastic egress.

Meanwhile, the perps stand quietly by watching my futile attempt to outwit them.





7:00 p.m. - I call my dog friend, Chris, to garner some sympathy, explaining my recent woe. I just happen to glance out the kitchen window towards the north fence and notice something out of the ordinary.  Hanging up quickly, I'm out the back door and there before my unbelieving eyes, a gap in the middle of the fence, large enough that a dog could stroll casually through.  A panel piece has been knocked out and is laying in my neighbor's yard. My pounding heart threatens to attack.

Running up behind me arrive the 2 culprits and Fyre, all three flash gleaming, toothsome grins that seem a little more than sinister, but my heart does return to a more docile state.
I ask them, "How did this happen? How did that piece get knocked out?!?!?!" All three remain standing motionless, attempting to look innocent, but their lips are sealed.

I attempt every which way to force the white vinyl piece back into place, to no avail.  I finally wedge it partially in and put two large rocks in front of that section, making a mental note to call the fence co. first thing in the morning.







7:30 p.m. - Worried about the fence section, I once again look out a window and to my utter dismay, my heart dog, the "do no wrong" Aussie, Fyre, is lying next to "that" section of fence gazing up intently into the Mulberry tree that grows beside it. My heart sinks with the realization that he must be in cahoots and has joined forces with the Whippets and their evil plot.

7:35 p.m. - While I stand in the Library gazing out at my companion of 9 years, the icy sting of betrayal needles its way through my veins towards a still beating heart.
I sigh and continue to watch as Socks rushes over to Fyre and then she too, is gazing up at the tree. That is when I notice another familiar sight, Mr. Squirrel. A light flips on in my brain. Of course, he's got to be the Mastermind behind the whole ploy to bring me to my knees!
He must've chittered terms of endearment at his buddy, Fyre, encouraging him to use his massive SuperDog strength to hit the fence hard enough to knock out that section of fence.

It's diabolic and bigger than I imagined! Betrayal is replaced by dread. What horrible event will I face next??? Am I strong enough to withstand the mental strain?

8:00 p.m. - I decide on a temporary plan to foil another attempt by the 4 Fur Friends of the "Diabolical Scheme".
Tomorrow, I will make the dogs spend the day locked up in their room while I toil at my job, trying not to let my imagination run rampant worrying about what I will find when I arrive home.

Now I must rest, only sleep can restore my strength and unfray my tattered nerves.