Mystery of Unknown – Page 4 – Hot Dog Cool Cats

If Only You Believe

You know, I love thinking there are Angels and Fairies that make our world a better place…oh and sometimes, I may be naughty because of those little red devils with pointy ears, long tails and pitch forks that lead me astray, a bit. Now there are no devils in Momma’s front garden (well, that I have actually seen) but one time we had a swarm of insects, straight out of the book of Exodus. However, Angels and Fairies…we have them in plain sight, or hiding under flowers, even peeking out from behind the rocks that bleed rivers of silver, in the sunlight.

Surrounded by Garden Angels, I ponder Momma's dreams and Heaven. Look at the Angel of Beauty on the left, holding a Baby Angel blowing bubbles. At the bottom see another Little Angel, fast asleep. See all the other pensive Angels. I believe I fit nicely in to this picture. — I believe I fit nicely in to this picture.

I know what you are thinking. Those Angels and Fairies… are man-made not heaven divined. You would be correct, of course. That is why, I was so stoked the day Momma told me that one night at midnight, we would watch the Circle of the Angels and Fairies Dance, sitting right on our front step because 1) it was summer, 2) the moon was full and 3) the Angels and Fairies had auditioned, practised and were ready to give a performance of a life time…..if only you… ‘Believe.’ I believe Momma…Yeah, I’m a Believer (not so much Belieber …but he’s okay).

Round about midnight, when the moon was high in the sky, the Believer Team consisting of Bad Boy Andy, Diva Calico Gen, myself (Jakita) and Momma walked out to the front step to get a first row seat. Out of the shadows came Call of the Wild Clem to join us, not really sure why we were there, but willing to give it a try.

So we waited, and waited, then waited some more. The cats were ready to leave, I was bored and Momma kept cajoling us to just have patience. We waited some more…I am so ashamed to tell you but like the disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane, I found myself drifting off to Never Never Land.

Clem hears the call of the wild. — **Clem** hears the **Call of the Wild.**

NOTE TO SUPER BOY: Andy: The Self Appointed Boss Friendly, Non aggressive but sometimes swats to keep other pets in line, usually inside most of the day – outside @ night Gen: The Diva Calico - Sister to Andy - Most Likely: To Clone because of looks, temperament and playability at 11 years old. Loves Wonder Boy's bed at night , my bed in the day but usually goes Out with Andy @ night — **Andy** and **Gen**

Wait, what’s up? Momma is saying, ‘Look, Jakita, Kitties, do you see them?’ I strained to make out anything in the inky darkness but wow, what was that? An unseen orchestra played a lilting, whirling, twirling melody…..and like a Aurora Borealis light show, I am blinded by a circle of little tiny Angels and Fairies, on pointed toes in adorned ballet slippers, their diaphanous wings and tutus, the subtle hues of the miniature roses and impatiens from pale shades of yellow, pink, purple to vibrant reds and dazzling whites. I could not blink nor breath, for fear the spectacular scene would disappear as quickly as it had materialized.

Look at these tiny little Garden Fairies, relaxing before the Circle of the Fairy Dance has them twirling on their toes, to music only they can hear. — Garden Angels and Fairies

I sensed, rather than saw the Cool Cats, as captivated as I was, none of us moving a muscle, caught in space and time as we stared in wonder and bewilderment. Through the fog of mystery and reality, I heard Momma calling my name and in that instance, the bright lights receded, the music faded away, leaving only the beams of faint illumination from the full moon.

‘Momma, Momma, what happened? Did you see that? When can we do this again?’ We were so disappointed when Momma said it is a once in a lifetime occurrence to have been blessed with a vision of the Circle of the Angel and Fairy Dance…but scientists would scoff at us, tell us it was just a thousand fireflies, lighting up the night. Best we keep this citing a secret…but we know, truth is definitely overrated because……

This says it all - the description and image of a Fairy Ring, the windmills and the Maple Leaf Forever, protecting the little benched angels and fairies who are resting until the moon comes out again..... — The **Angels** **and Fairies**

If only you Believe, on a Moonlight Night, the Angels and Fairies will reveal themselves, If only you Believe…

We’re Together Again…. Dream

It was a normal day. The sun came up, the sun went down. I was walked by Momma, the cats were let in, then let out, by Momma. And somewhere as the night settled in, the Sandman came, sprinkling that magic sand, setting a family scene so heart warming, yet bending and distorting time, as only dreams can.

Jakita & Momma - seems Lovie inherited Momma's wild hair. — **Jakita & Momma** – seems Lovie inherited Momma’s wild hair.

On to the stage stepped RIP Lovie who had been a decade older than RIP Braveheart in reality (or as we knew it). However tonight RIP Lovie was a wee damsel of four or five years, her long, curly blonde hair flowing down her back and RIP Braveheart was a handsome young gent of about twenty-five, resplendent in his kilt and dagger. Funny stuff, those dreams.

Momma claims it was like an Arabian night, where the full moon was high and the stars hung low, twinkling, beckoning all takers to reach out a hand and pluck them from the sky.

At center stage was Momma’s niece, RIP Lovie and nephew, RIP Braveheart and to the side was a beaming RIP Daddy, proud that he had time travelled them, so nothing else mattered…WE were together again.

Plaid Rainbow dance apparel. Can you see the kilt, the silver / gold flapper, the soft pink colors. — **Plaid Rainbow** dance apparel. Can you see the kilt, the silver / gold flapper, the **soft pink colors**.

It seemed RIP Daddy’s task was to line up the music because RIP Lovie, in her long, gold flapper dress, with tassels of entwined silver and RIP Braveheart, in his blazing kilt and black topcoat were ready to dance a jig, even jump over a sword, so happy they were to be together again… And Momma, of ‘come dancing’ fame, dressed in the lightest pink dress with layer upon layer of tulle, joined in, whirling and twirling in wild abandonmentt.

Grandmama & Grandpapa, their yout restored. — **Grandmama** & **Grandpapa**, their youth restored.

Now, Momma’s not sure, but still just for a few seconds she swore, when she squinted her eyes and opened her ears, she saw a young RIP Grandmama and RIP Grandpapa standing in the shadows, smiling with joy, clapping as the music filled the night air, pregnant with the promise of tomorrow.

Bad Boy Andy Wants Out — **Bad Boy Andy** Wants Out NOW.

And all it took was Bad Boy Andy, padding in to Momma’s room, emitting a dangerous 90 decibel meow to make the music halt, the RIP Party fade in to the star-studded night as the dream crashed like a meteorite, separating the known from the unknown, our world without end. Amen.

But nothing else matters. They were together again, briefly, but still, together again.

Next time take me, okay Momma?

Dream, Dream, Dream

You know how it is, always was and ever shall be….Everyone and I mean everyone wants uplifting dreams that forecast a perfect future, no obstacles…like the psychics deliver….sometimes.

Honest Engine...True. — Honest Engine…True.

Now Momma seems to know her fair share of dead folk, very close family members, who drift in and out of her dreams regularly…. Like Grandmama and Grandpapa, who show up, sit beside her, chat away amicably, no drama, no hidden agendas. These are most peaceful dreams. Why, heck, even Grandpapa’s second wife (after Grandmama went to her greater reward), the Heart-of-Stone-Lady dropped in one night. In the dream she called Momma in a panic because she was being held captive at the Valhalla Inn (on the airport strip, no less) and Momma was to pay her ransom. Oh, this was too rich. Momma and her siblings chortled away, like they would rescue the Heart-of-Stone-Lady from anywhere….they just wished she was in a hotter place, if you know what I mean.

But RIP Daddy, he mostly drops in with a message that has to be deciphered…Even dream books do not seem to theorize on what takes place in these vignettes, designed to baffle and discombobulate poor Momma. Take a for instance……

So Momma and RIP Daddy are just arriving home in the car with their two tailless? (no idea why) mice…one was Momma’s, the other belonged to RIP Daddy. Oh, and did I mention…each mouse had a little metal studded collar, attached to a little leather leash…how bizarre, how bizarre. Now Momma loves the four-footed but not so much the mice and rats….she is not that person who holds a little mouse in the palm of her hand and let it run down her arm, across her shoulders, down her other arm….not so much. This is one of the reasons Momma needs help trying to make sense of the meaning.

Anyway, RIP Daddy flung open his car door, did not pause to close it and bolted up the steps, flew open the door and disappeared in the house, his little pet mouse at his heals. Meanwhile, watching in horror, Momma lost sight of her mouse and feared it too had run outside and would be battered to death by the family cats, who then triumphantly would lay them, intact at her feet, as a trophy. It is a far bridge between liking mice and liking to see them terrorized. So Momma got on her hands and knees, peering under the seats, no little mouse with a collar and a leash.

Momma went tearing in the house, letting RIP Daddy know her mouse was MIA (Missing in Action) and where was his? Nonchalently RIP Daddy says last he saw of him, his little mouse was under the bed. Momma asked what part of ‘our cats will pulverize it’ do you not understand? RIP Daddy was a what….ever…..Closing scene both RIP Daddy and Momma are unsuccessfully looking under the bed for a little mouse with a studded collar on a leash.

So Momma is calling all Angels. Please give her some guidance. What…ever…. is RIP Daddy trying to communicate to her? If you know, let her know, because this one has my poor Momma just a scratching her head….so if there is a Joseph out there, for the Love of God and King Pharaoh, spill, please.

Beam Me Up, Scottie

Truth be told and pass the biscuits, it is a true blessing to be born in the country, Momma says, because you get up close and personal with characters, shysters, saints, oh, and the Holy Rollers. Do they actually roll or are you pulling my tail, Momma…..again?

And then there was the Who-Knew-the-Truth Family that just seemed to have appeared on the doorstep one day, set up camp and then just disappeared, like thieves in the night. There was a Mr. & Mrs. Who-Knew-the-Truth and supposedly three children, straight off the boat from England, they said, they did, but the eldest sibling, Ms. Cagey looked the age of the Mrs. and dressed decidedly provocatively for small town living, where bosoms were kept covered in loose, not tight-fitting Hollywood Marilyn Munroe attire. Although no birth certificate or passport could be produced, she was enrolled in the local high school where the male teachers, as if hypnotized, drawn like moths to the flame, gazed at what filled her endless low-cut, tight sweaters. The good news was that the younger brother and sister acted age appropriate and slipped in to the community seamlessly, making friends easily.

No, Momma, said, it was Mr. & Mrs. Who-Knew-the-Truth & Ms. Cagey who got the tongues a wagging because if you asked them where they were from (it wasn’t considered offensive in those days), each one told a different story….they were right from England, they were living in Montreal but got wary of city life, they had been living in the islands. One thing true, they sounded like they were straight from England, Do not Pass GO, do not collect $200.00.

The next question in everyone’s mind was how come the little sister and brother looked like Ms. Cagey (all brown eyes, black hair) but none of these three children resembled Mr. & Mrs. Who-Knew-the-Truth, who both who had blue eyes and blonde hair. Some hanky-panky going on or maybe aliens spying on us, getting the lay of the land, so to speak, thinking country folk not sharp enough to notice and question every detail, ad nauseum.

The old schoolhouse: Perfect for hotel, bar restaurant.

Still, give them props, they were a hardworking, enterprising lot who approached school board about a school that was vacant…so many rooms, perfect to make a hotel, add a bar and a restaurant and you are in business. No kidding, the hardest working was Ms. Cagey, changing beds, serving in the dining rooms and the bar (huh, I thought there was a law against 15-year-old kids serving drinks, am I right Momma? Well, just don’t get caught. You know we lived in the land of the local law enforcement sentiment of see no evil, hear no evil, so it was all good.

But one day, cross my heart and hope to die, the country folk woke up and Mr. & Mrs. Who-Knew-the-Truth, Ms. Cagey plus Lil Bro and Sis were just… gone…just gone, no explanation. The hotel doors were open, everything left neat and tidy, like a major housekeeping had just been completed. The lights were on…but they weren’t home.

Did they flee in the middle of the night?Were they kidnapped? Did the Mothership come down and whisk them away? Will we ever know? Every time you see distance light, think of Mr. & Mrs. Who-Knew-the-Truth, Ms. Cagey plus Lil Bro and Sis…There out there…maybe coming to a town near you….anytime…. soon.

Simple Kinda Life Never Did Me No Harm

3rd in a Series: Also read: Life in the Country is Kind Of Lay-Back Fiddle When I Can, Work When I Should

As it was and should be, forever and ever!

Oh, there are many tales come out of country living and I am just the one to tell you. I may seem sceptical but Momma wouldn’t lie to us, would she, Gen?

Some things, they have no beginning, no end. They just go

on and on and on, passed generation to generation, like your Christmas turkey on a platter. Such was the much ado about Molly Misfit’s Journal and the Secret Society for Scryers.

Like, on one hand, they might be a bunch of crack pots who knew nothing about nothing or worse case scenario, they might just know the secrets that everyone hoped and prayed would be taken to their grave, without ever seeing the light of day.

The very scary reality was, since the knowledge of its existence, it was soon realized, there were no social-economic boundaries for admission. You could barely read or write or be an a seasoned academic, a welfare bum or an elitist who would barely nod to recognize the existence of others. You just needed ‘the gift’ to be invited to join. Ah, it was an insidious cancer that had to rooted out once and for all, chased out of the county like a good for nothing bootlegger….but, on the other hand, ya know, one of your own kin might be involved…and blood is thicker, I’m just saying…..

Ripples in water can change your whole course in life for the better or the worse.

Now the locals knew you don’t let the police in their neck of the wood investigate what they thought was a victimless crime. It was rumored that even if they saw a criminal commit a crime, they would hedge their bets, say they couldn’t really say for sure….it looked like the bad guy robbed the bank but, you know, who could tell if that was money in the bag he carried as he fled the scene. Oh, the cops could give Mr.Slow-Poke tickets or throw a body in the drunk tank overnight, but no where in their Job Description did it indicate they were to beat the bushes for A Secret Society of Scryers (it was secret, duh???) and a mirror pool that conjured images of the past, present and future.

Odd shapes and colors that only Scryers can translate!

Maybe, just maybe the locals should hold a forum, get it all out on the table, piece by piece and make a gigantic jig saw puzzle, so that a picture formed visible to all. But where exactly could a meeting be held? The mayor declined the use of the town hall. At that time there were no arenas. What about one of the local churches? There were plenty to choose from – Born Again Brethren, Anything Goes United, New Fangled Pentecost and of course, even the Catholic Church had members who were reportedly scryers.

Well, the local priest was like a ‘see no evil, hear no evil, I wasn’t there it didn’t happen’ type. If a Catholic wanted to believe this heretical mumbo jumbo, it was on their souls. It wasn’t like the Protestants embraced the idea, but they were a curious bunch. That is why their own ancestors left the Holy Catholic Church so many years before. Then, being Protest-ants agreed to disagree and all set up their own doctrine. More things change, the more they stay the same! And that is where it got very tricky. Oh, those United would go to the Gospel Hall, the Pentecost Temple and / or extend a place to meet for all faiths and even the unfaithful. It seemed these left-wing thinkers did not understand that there were invisible lines in life you do not cross…and for a good reason.

Yes, the scryers had their secrets that Misfit Molly carefully penned down in her unknown journals until death-did-she part. No kidding, the locals had a pickle on their hands…maybe a whole bottle.

The spooky mirror pool.....There definitely is something going on in there! — The spooky mirror pool…..There definitely is something going on in there!

Although it seemed like a reasonable resolution to explore the Secret Society for Scryers, it just tore the locals asunder as they struggled with nailing jello to the wall. Could it be the non members were all jealous? Whatever! They solemnly swore that by golly, they would get to the bottom of it or die trying….all they needed was time, oh and a place to meet. What about our place Momma?

And The Dance Goes On

Jakita’s story….And she is sticking to it!!!

Now I am just a dog. Still it is my sworn duty to report to anyone that will listen what I see, hear and feel….and this is a good one….I promise.

So it was the usual dog and pony show, Momma running around, dressed in a ratty black sweater that the cats like to suck on (makes you wonder, do they think it is their Baby Mamma?) and leggings that have become worn and torn from constant use. With the window cleaner in one hand, a cleaning cloth in the other, Momma was all set to find dirt to conquer. She stopped in front of RIP Daddy’s 22 by 18 inch framed picture and started to polish the glass. As she did so, I heard her talking to him, chiding him actually, about never dropping in anymore. She knew, she said, he was busy with ‘other worldly’ tasks but still, would it kill him to give her some of his time (sound familiar yet, guys?).

Gliding, dipping, staring in to each other's eyes. From Morguefile.com Babzy_P8110029.jpg By Babzy — Gliding, dipping, staring in to each other’s eyes.
From Morguefile.com
Babzy_P8110029.jpg By Babzy

As I sat there, I could tell the joke was on her because, RIP Daddy was standing behind her, his hand on her right shoulder. I can not say, if she saw him, heard him or sensed him, but to my surprise, she set the spray bottle and cleaning cloth down, put her arms out as if encircling his shoulders and then, there they were, waltzing around the room to the strains of the Blue Danube Waltz.

Momma had the most amazing dark blue ballroom gown, with a fitted bodice, and layers upon layers of a chiffon skirt while RIP Daddy looked dashing in his formal black and white. Their posture was erect and perfect as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

Glittering, twirling balls of light. Dancefloor_Balls_ From Morguefile.com 1504 (2).JPGBy Alvimann — Glittering, twirling balls of light.
Dancefloor_Balls_
From Morguefile.com
1504 (2).JPG By Alvimann

Right before me, I swear, our living room turned in to a vaulted ballroom with glittering chandeliers and huge dance floor balls that shed pools of light and shadow, as they whirled and dipped effortlessly. I was mesmerized, yet dizzy as I watched them encircle the highly polished hardwood floor.

All good things must come to an end though and it had to be Bad Boy Andy who would wreck the ambience. He came in to the room, whiskers and tail just a twitching and watched in a kind of fascinated but incomprehensible fashion. A meow that emanated from his very bowels pierced through the soul-feeding Blue Danube Waltz. Momma and the music stopped. Her Cinderella ball gown was replaced once more with her ratty black sweater and worn leggings. And to my sorrow, RIP Daddy seemed to evaporate in blink of an eye, the minute the music died.

And not one to miss a beat, Momma greeted Bad Boy Andy, asked him how he was and did he want to go outside? I was shuddering. There is no understanding my Momma. First she complains RIP Daddy never comes and when he does, she interrupts the process to let the cat in, let the cat out.

It is all too strange for me. Momma always said poor RIP Daddy danced like a Douglas Fir Tree, awkward and rooted in place. Looks like he has figured it out now. But RIP Daddy, he’ll be back. And the dance can go on.

To The Moon

Jakita dozing in the window, awaiting Momma's return from the hospital. — Jakita dozing in the window, awaiting Momma’s return from the hospital.

I am kind of peeved. My schedule has been thrown out the window because Baby Sister Itty Bitty is sick again….which means I don’t get fed on time, walked on time, cuddled on time. The list goes on and on and on.

Now I know, it sounds selfish (who, me?) but I have always been upfront about not wanting to share. I get it, I get it, Itty Bitty doesn’t choose her lot in life but still I want her to consider, how like a pebble, thrown in the lake, she creates tiny waves in the ocean of life that turn in to tsunamis, sweeping us all along like driftwood.

In any case, you know Momma. She is all about sharing, especially good stories and wherever she goes (quite often the wrong way down a one way street) she always sees, hears, feels stories to bring home to me that even I am sceptical if they ever happened. She tries to stick to the truth, especially since there is never a need to exaggerate Itty Bitty’s health but it is the fringe stories that leave me wondering.

The Special Assessment Zone, ready and waiting for the next casualty of life. From Morguefile.com pre-op_002.jpgBy click

Like Itty Bitty was assigned to SAZ – say what, she asked the nurse? Why, the Streamline Assessment Zone. Like what does that mean, Momma? If you weren’t in a car accident, a bar fight, did not get caught up in drive by shooting, did not have a fever, a heart attack but there was just something odd about you, suffering from hypothermia (but you had not been outside), can’t string words together, can remember what happened yesterday but today was a write off, apparently you need a zone, a streamlined assessment zone. Momma loved the nurse assigned to Itty Bitty, a true Florence Nightingale, (although knowing today’s youth, she probably wouldn’t know who that was, but Beyoncé, or Adele she’d know, guaranteed). Who cares? She was great.

Itty Bitty was seen by a legion of doctors, interns, doctors in training, and specialists, all crowded in to a small cubicle, anxious to see the results of a juvenile diabetic with low kidney function, who had been subjected to heart attacks, stents, open heart surgery, strokes. You name it, not one of her body parts function normally for a person of her age. So she needed blood tests, ECG, X-rays, CT Scans and of course, a MRI, the one that Momma waits at least six months for but not Itty Bitty, she always moves to the front of the line.

Once the results trickled in, Itty Bitty was moved to the Neurology Floor and literally, not to a room but to the floor. Her bed was positioned right in front of the nurse’s station. It is worth noting that at school the teachers positioned her right in front of their desks, to keep an eye on her – the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Momma claims she saw things she longs to forget – like the 50ish woman, who was wailing her son was dying and no one would help. No, they were too busy staring at her. She wore low rider tight jeans on her ample butt – only problem was, she had a mid drift sweater so the full moon was rising. No one knew if she even had a son….

One patient needed his own Security Guard….a young, handsome Incredible Hulk…he hugged the male attendants but loved the nurses (he said) and picked them up off their feet while the poor skinny Security guy begged him to let the nurses alone…Momma is guessing brain damage has changed this patient’s realities. Lucky, Momma, sitting in front of the Nurse’s station, had a front row view. Although she tried to avert her eyes, she couldn’t. She was as helpless as a rubber necker at the scene of tragic accident. Then all of a sudden, the party got too friendly. Three of the Hospital’s guards came running with the Head of Security, in hot pursuit, to put the fire out. Who know what even goes on in our own normal brain? All in day of the life of Momma…..

Joint the Frequent Flyers Program and take your Spaceship to the moon and back trip. From Morguefile.com 111624046838.jpgBy jak — Join the Frequent Flyers Program and take a Spaceship to the moon and back.
From Morguefile.com
111624046838.jpgBy jak

Momma claims she had a little talk with Itty Bitty, who has trouble stringing words but can nod her head. She asked did Itty Bitty think she was collecting Frequent Flyer points, the amount of times she has admitted in the hospital in the past year. If that was the case, Itty Bitty could stop anytime because she probably already had enough points to fly to the moon and back….but you know Itty Bitty, she is all about the points.

No Further Comments….At This Time

Yeah! Now that was a surprise. From Morguefile.com DSC_2502.JPGBy can131 — Yeah! Now that was a surprise. Fr Morguefile.com DSC_2502.JPGBy
can131

In this wide world of surprises…some good, some not so good, some downright nasty, it is always interesting to see what comes up in your comments.

A reoccurring comment that totally baffles Momma (anyone else get this?) is the one that says something like, how can I contact you, when it is obvious they are contacting you already. What is that all about?

I mean, if they were at all serious, the Commenter would leave a valid email address or some such cookie crumb trail so that poor Momma could actually find out what is on their mind….like do they want to give suggestions (aka criticism – probably) or extend a book deal (probably not). If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it is probably a duck or Spam, eh?

Then there are the comments that sound like gibberish, blended together by a computer who is not yet fluent in any language.

Now, it may be Morse’s Code but although Momma is old (enough), she wasn’t even born till the 1950’s so she does not speak, translate or even have a clue what the message is. Now, that new fangled state-of-the-art technology shown on the big screen or in TV programs, sometimes tries to befuddle you with what letter to keep, which to discard to get the hidden message but that is way above Momma’s pay grade…so we suspect more Spam, somehow sliding under the tried and trued anti-Spam security fences anchored in place, guaranteed to dispel this problem.

And it doesn’t stop there. There are lots of so called comments hitting the site that are actually trying to sell you just about anything in the world from shoes, to clothes, to insurance….and SEO’s (Search Engine Optimization) tools.

It is all good! From Morguefile.com AlyaYasamaya — It is all good!
From Morguefile.com
AlyaYasamaya

Why you could spend a fortune getting more visitors who would probably try to sell you something you have no use for. It seems the World of SEO’s is very keen on Momma’s blog going viral and are absolutely sure if she would just open her purse, her blog would be an overnight success…even though, it is heavy in words and light in images…not a good thing for today’s world where visual stimulation comes from pictures, videos, anything but the written word. You can’t fool Momma…besides she tried a free (of course) SEO and ended up deactivating / deleting it because it seemed to slow down rather than increase traffic. Anyone else have that experience?

Still, never despair, we tell you because Momma has a system (true Virgo that she is):

Momma’s Comment System

Deletes Comments 1 Step only: From everyone who wants to put a hand in her pocket and sell her anything. There are too many hands in there already spending her money….and it is getting crowded….

Approves Comments

Step 1 -Sounds like a rational comment- no sales pitch (yeah) Step 2 -Looks up IP address Step 3 -Makes sure no Spam associated with IP Address Step 4 -Discusses w/Jakita (true story) / Responds / Approves

All this being equal, Momma can use her discretion, follow none of the above four steps and approve your comment if she jolly well feels like it. It is not really a democracy I live in.

Truly, Momma wants you to know she totally values your feedback and is tinkled pink to hear from you. It makes her day to know someone, somewhere out there is on the same wave length….that she is not in a vacuum….

Once you hit that publish button, you never know what forces will suck up or catapult your heartfelt renderings….

And may God (and the Hackers) have Mercy on our forever faithful Blogging Souls.

All I Have To Do Is Dream, Dream, Dream

So Momma and I, we have lots in common but in some areas we are stone cold different – like, a big one, her pursuit of the unknown, seeking answers, like she is doing a scientific study that is going to end up winning a Nobel Peace Prize. Get over it Momma. Roll with the punches.

You can see a lot of strange things sleeping with 1 eye open.

For instance, I will be sitting in the living room, catching forty winks and RIP Daddy comes sauntering in and kindly, but firmly tells me to get out of his chair. I mean, I love you, RIP Daddy, but the rules have changed. Momma and I share that chair now. I do a low growl to protest, Momma comes running to make sure I am not manhandling the tattle tale, Diva Calico Gen, but there is no one or thing Momma can see so she asks me what’s the problem?

Oh yeah, Momma does not share that X-ray eye vision so can not see RIP Daddy in Real Time. What’s with that? I mean RIP Daddy hangs around a lot, in the sun porch, out in the backyard and he is often in his bedroom, watching TV, switching from CNN to Fox to MSNBC and just like when he was with us, he is lulled in to dream land by the opinionated talking heads. Sometime when I see him there, I whimper for Momma to put me on the bed beside him and I take a nap alongside him.

Hooded ghost angels. From Morguefile.com IMG_0796_xe.JPGBy ardelfin — Hooded ghost angels.
From Morguefile.com
IMG_0796_xe.JPGBy ardelfin

And it is not only me. The cats see RIP Daddy too. The Two Footed feel his presence, but that is where it ends. Momma says the organist from her church told her that as soon as he heard RIP Daddy died, he got a prompt from sources unknown, that there was a certain hymn that had to be played to make the funeral official. The amazing part was that the organist and RIP Daddy had never talked to each other before in their life. Their relationship was based on seeing each other at church dinners since RIP Daddy was not much of a church-going type. Go figure.

But not Momma. Oh, she tries. She talks to him as she works. He remains silent and distant, like an iceberg on a distant shore. No, for Momma, RIP Daddy only comes alive in her dreams. The funny thing is, Momma will drift off one night and meet up with a twenty-some RIP Daddy….and you guessed…she is that age group, as well. They will talk about things, long ago forgotten leaving Momma waking up, believing that the here and now is really the days long gone.

The dreams Momma like the most is RIP Daddy stepping in to today’s reality, discussing what the heck is happening in the Middle East, isn’t the neighbor’s baby a doll and how many did you say were coming for Christmas dinner? Momma says there is an ebb and flow to those conversations that you can step in and out with ease. Those were the days, oh yes, those were the days.

Still, Momma, being a woman and all, never satisfied with what she’s got, wants the threshold that I have, being able to see RIP Daddy in physical form, while she is in a conscious state. I don’t see it happening any time soon.

When you don scientific spectacles, you can miss the ethereal reality that there just some things that are inexplicable. I know one sure thing. If I get to Heaven before Momma, I am not going to willingly let another doggy share RIP Daddy’s chair with her. I got a plan. Just wait till you hear it.

Fiddle When I Can, Work When I Should

To quote, Charles Dickens, (and who doesn’t ☺), ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’ There were plenty of people in the small community who lived in fear, after realizing Misfit Molly’s Journals and Ledgers outlasted her. Did she, could she, have something about…. them? After all, truth be known, everyone has secrets that they do not want to see the light of day. This place was a hotbed of the inappropriate and unfortunate.

Follow the path, turn to your right, walk 100 feet, take a sharp left...in to the unknown. — Follow the path, turn to your right, walk 100 feet, take a sharp left…in to the unknown.

Remember all those years ago Miss-I-Never-Did-Anything-Wrong-In-My-Life left town in a hurry? You know there were rumors….like she left pudgy and came back thin. Now, she was all legitimate, married to Mr. Investment Banker. Suppose he knew about it? Suppose it was foreseen and recorded accordingly in Misfit Molly’s journal? Shame. Shame. Double Shame!

And did you hear about the time, years ago, when the flag was removed from the local high school, then lit on fire? Boyhood hi-jinx or treason, do you think? The police were perplexed. No charges were laid. Still, the talk was it was the captain of the team, who now happens to be….. our sanctimonious, law-abiding Mayor. Do you suppose the Secret Scryers Society had been able to solve that mystery, even if the local police couldn’t?

What about the Fancy-Pants-Family, whose kids were too good to go to the local schools? Nah, they were sent to private schools where they lived on campus. Where did the parents get all their flashy money? Were they part of an organized crime family? Or maybe they were part of Witness Protection Services, buried so deep in the woods, even the bad guys would not find them? … Betcha the Secret Scryers Society could tell us the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

A distorted reflection of what we were, what we are and what we will be. From Morguefile.com p_mirr14_01a.jpgBy pschubert — A distorted reflection of what we were, what we are and what we will be, so help us God.
From Morguefile.com
p_mirr14_01a.jpgBy pschubert

Ah, but the locals knew. Without a doubt that magic pond, with its smooth surface, shaded by the century old fir trees held secrets that only could be revealed to those with The Gift. And how delightfully rich it was to find out that Misfit Molly had found her road to infamy and was able to get the attention in death, never bestowed upon her in life.

It was time to read those ledgers….but there is always someone taking the very joy out of your living. It seemed the Secret Scryers Society was taking the town to court, trying to get an injunction in place to deny the town folk the right to read the Journals….something about a person’s right to privacy in life, in death, in death after life. But never Kid a Kidder. Everyone knew that the Secret Scryers Society did not give a fiddle about Misfit Molly. No, they were all about the cause. A lot of folks started to realize, it would be a long, protracted, bitter battle, with lots of scrying along the way, before the proof was in the pudding.

All we can do is....Look at the past, dwell in the present and hope for a future — Look to the past, live in the present and hope for a future.

But, hey, biding their time is a specialty in a one horse town. Sooner or later, Pandora’s Box would open. The good and the bad would hover over them to free the innocent and to smother the guilty. It was worth the wait, even if it took till Kingdom come!

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: