All This and More: Break and Entry

"Oh, no!" Tina shivered. She spotted someone peering through the curtain on her door. "Not again! Please, God."

Tina glanced at the dead bolt and saw that the door was locked with the chain was in place. She ducked out of sight.

"This has to stop! What can I do?" The police had recently advised her that they were too busy to park outside to catch a petty thief. "I have a surprise for you, this time. You will not get away with this!" 

Tina's groceries had been disappearing and whoever was stealing kept returning for more. Other items had vanished too, including some things that females might steal. "Who am I feeding?" 

Tina tiptoed down the stairway and turned on her digital camera.

"Breathe. Stay calm." She removed the chain and unlocked the door. "This might be dumb!"  

She took a deep breath and listened carefully.

"Those are women's voices, not children. I don't recognize them either. Here goes!"

Tina opened the door, very quickly.

"Hey!" she said, with a smile.

A woman backed away, immediately.

"Another break and entry?"  she thought, spotting a second woman standing in the driveway. "There’s a child too, in a red stroller. It must be them, but I wonder why? They have to be desperate!"

The older woman quickly turned, walking away without one word. She paused beside the other woman and child.

"Too late, I got you, this time," Tina said, quickly snapping a picture.

"Mother, daughter and grand-child?" 

The older woman glanced back and whispered something. The young woman did not turn or look up, her head down with her attention appearing to be on the child.

"Embarrassed too, I see; caught, red-handed!"

Tina remained silent, as they disappeared around the corner moments later.

"I doubt you'll be back," Tina said aloud.

"It is definitely two women, older and younger, with a small child in a red stroller. One is wearing a long, light-colored, trench coat, the other a short, tan-colored jacket, both with long, blonde hair. One tall, one shorter; both are thin. All this and more; not good photography, but it will suffice."           

Because of Her: Buckworth Castle and Its Saga

History records that because of one little girl, Buckworth Castle is still standing today.

When the son of Chester Everett Buckingham married the daughter of Penelope Jane Worthington, everyone dubbed their new home on the outskirts of town, Buckworth Castle. It wasn't as if they were well-to-do to anyone's knowledge. It did look like a castle, as it was huge, had a turret, sunken gardens and a moat with a gate. The place was almost in ruins, but it was home to the newlyweds.

The son, Gregory Jeremiah did not want contemporary renovations and his wife, Alyssa Mariana did not want Victorian. As they shopped for new furniture, their vociferous disputes reverberated around the town.   

"Why not just split the house in two?" a struggling, young artist painting a picture outside the furniture store, suggested.

"One of you could live upstairs and the other downstairs," a very, upset, sales lady, said emphatically. She was relieved when they left, as after three hours of constant bickering, the couple had not purchased anything.

"Just tear that old place down!" said the furious, cab driver, who had been driving them around for most of the day. He was tired of waiting for them and fed up with their arguing.

"Why not get a divorce?" a fat, elderly lady, wearing a floral hat, said with disgust. She finally gave up, after almost throwing her handbag at them.

In the restaurant, a pretty, little girl with long, blonde ringlets, was sitting at a nearby table. She got up and walked over to the couple, who were screaming at each other.

"You should have a baby," she said, innocently. "My mommy and daddy had me and now they are happy."   

Buckworth Castle was never the same again. In fact, Chester Everett, the second, was soon playing with Penelope Jane, named after her mother. Then, came identical twins, Theodore Timothy and Thomas Trevor. Genevieve Margaret was born next. Muriel Marietta was the baby for a few years, until Sydney Francis came along. (Birth control was unheard of, in those days.) Oops, Henry Egbert, the eighth, arrived a few years later.

Gradually, Buckworth Castle was restored but, neither as contemporary, nor Victorian. That no longer seemed important.

Do you want to know why? It was because of her, that little girl.

Because of Him: Discourse on Travel

An old man was sitting on a park bench when a younger man, carrying a suitcase, sat down beside him.

"I love to travel. What about you?"

The old man sat there silently for a moment. He rubbed his chin as if deep in thought, then sat up straighter and brushed off his jacket.

"So, young man, you love to travel? What is so unique about loving to travel? Everyone loves to travel; they always have and always will. There are millions of people, who have traveled at some time, all going somewhere, in some way.”

The old man continued, not waiting for a response.

“Throughout the course of history, man has loved to travel in time and space. But, it is not just a question of time and space. The majority of people who travel from one place to another, alone or with others, find travelling exciting, even exhilarating. To travel anywhere, presents a new challenge and offers the potential traveler, delight.”

He paused for a moment and took a deep breath.

“Why do we love to travel? No one really knows. Is it curiosity that leads us onward and upward, in time and space? Perhaps it is more than a desire to see new faces and places. Maybe traveling is something that's simply fun; everyone loves fun. Maybe we've been bitten by the travel bug?”

The younger man was very attentive. 

“Nowadays, medicalization of everything is the current trend. Perhaps there's a pill we can take to cure this or that disease. Maybe someone will invent a cure for whatever ails us and makes us need, or want to travel. Does it have to do with the travel gene inherent within us? Maybe we should all get our DNA tested. If we have acquired that gene, it might be linked to the happy gene, as travelling makes people happy.”

The old man was silent for a moment.

“So you love to travel, son. That's a good thing. Enjoy it while you can, even if it means travelling in your mind's eye, now and then, like I do."

With that, the old man got up and left.

"Was I lectured by an old, retired philosopher?” the young man wondered. "Sure seemed that way. Because of him, I will never think about travel in the same way again. Perhaps he is right!"

The Lonely Road: Prairie Miles

"These highways are not really lonely; though they are long and isolated. It is the people on them that get lonely." Felicity talked to herself, as she drove through the prairies. "Prairie miles just seem to fly by."

Suddenly, in the rear view mirror, she saw a huge, dark cloud forming to the of the highway. It was growing larger, very quickly.

"Should I stop?" she wondered, turning on the car radio hoping for a weather report. The reception was poor. "That is mostly static."

It began to drizzle.

"This is not good," Felicity said, wondering what she would do if the weather got worse. She watched the sky carefully, as the clouds became even more foreboding. "I am miles from the next town. It may be a long distance from the highway too." 

She could hear thunder rumbling, and through the rear view mirror could see intermittent streaks of lightning in the distance, behind the car. "I still have a really, long drive. Maybe I should stop for a moment, take a sip of coffee and snap a picture." 

She quickly pulled off the road. The huge, black clouds seemed to be perched on top of a small hill beside the highway. She snapped a photograph with her smart phone. 

"Gorgeous picture, but almost frightening. Ominous, is more like it."

Felicity grabbed her thermos and took a quick sip of coffee. She looked to the left, and realized that she could see for miles in that direction. The weather seemed to be exactly the opposite there, but now, it was definitely raining.

"Out-run the storm? Then, I don't have any time to waste."

Meanwhile, transport trucks and other vehicles whizzed on by. No was slowing down, much less stopping. Nor did they pull into the gas station Felicity passed, moments later.

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do," the old adage came to mind.

Several hours later, after out-distancing the storm front, she arrived in Medicine Hat. In the motel, she quickly turned on the television. A weather advisory reported earlier tornado activity in the area through which she had driven. 

"Thank God I got out of there when I did'" Felicity said. "I was far too busy out-running that storm to get lonely. The road that is lonely. No one stops on those prairie highways."    

Teachers: The Music Teacher

"I give up," Melody, a young, undergraduate music student, told Professor Stringheart, her elderly, violin teacher. "You always ask the impossible of me! I cannot write a symphony in time to graduate. Do I really have to do that?"

"Yes, you do, Melody. It is compulsory and one of the prerequisites for graduation. You know the basics and I know that you can write music. It is not that difficult, but perhaps you are lacking inspiration or motivation? Let's talk about this, for a moment. Sit down, please.”

Melody took a seat in the huge, lounge chair facing her professor's desk.

"Have you ever heard of the symphony of love?" 

Melody shook her head.

"Think about this then. One might ask, if the entire and complete symphony of love has ever been written by anyone, anywhere, since the beginning of time. Of course, this may be more than one piece of music or a compilation of many, different works composed over time, and accorded that title. Or, it may be one symphony that has been written already, and played many times, throughout the world.”

He continued with a smile on his face..

“Perhaps the one true symphony of love was started long before the beginning of time and is still being written today. Maybe there are bits and pieces of it scattered everywhere, throughout the years. Maybe this symphony has many different faces on the full gamut of joy and sorrow. The symphony of love, as the entire continuum of the  perfect and best musical expressions ever written, may be partially or totally fragmented. Perhaps the real task of musicians in every generation is to continue to collect, compile and complete the symphony of love. Maybe you are called to compose just one piece of music for this majestic masterpiece. Perhaps this is your one, true calling in life. Now do you think that you could write a symphony?"

"Wow," said Melody, with tears welling up in her eyes. "I have never heard of anything so amazing. I never thought about writing music in that way, either. Yes, I will do my part. You are the best music teacher ever! Thank you, Professor Stringheart.”

His Imagination: Reader and Writer, Beware

"Reader and writer, beware! Know that where there are trolls, there are trollops," the first line of the article read. "Beware of trolls and trollops!" was the headline that had initially caught the reader's attention.

"This cannot have been written in our day and age; it must be his imagination running wild." The reader looked to see who the author was. "Not anyone I know." 

"Please do not feed the trolls and trollops," the article continued.

The reader was stunned at what he was reading.

"Are trolls and trollops really a part of today's world, or have they more appropriately been designated to the world of fantasy, fiction and folklore? Yes, trolls and trollops are still around today, now appearing internationally, as malicious and cruel, gossip mongers, busy at work on the internet. Yes, trolls and trollops are very real. The troll is not necessarily an ancient, mythological creature, previously depicted as a Scandinavian monster hiding under the bridge.Can you recall that old children's story about Billy Goat Gruff?"

The reader read on.

"In our era, the male troll is associated with unsolicited internet postings, ones that frequently portray a high degree of nastiness, meanness and cruel deception. The female trollop displays lewd and inappropriate behavior. Trolls and trollops are terribly unclean and known to live unhealthy lifestyles. They often take up residence under big bridges.”

The article continued.

“The expression on the faces of the trolls and trollops gives them away. There is always a distinct nastiness visible on their faces. Their voices and laughter are a high-pitched, screeching sound. Sometimes, it is more of a cackle. Their clothing is outdated, soiled, torn and ragged. They may be barefoot and have dirty feet. Sometimes, they trudge around town in worn out boots with holes. Their hair is unkempt, long and straggly and their beards always need trimming.”

The reader was appalled.

"There has to be a name for this kind of writing. Maybe it is media-hype, fanaticism or exaggeration?”

"And if you believe this, then I will sell you the Brooklyn Bridge," the last line read.

"Humor!" the reader roared with laughter. "You got me on that one!”

Snow Day: Blizzard

"Oh, no, not a blizzard!" said Randy, a snowplow operator, as he got out of bed and peered out the bedroom window. "I've got to get to work. No one in this town is going anywhere, if I don't."

There were only two snowplow operators in the small town. Randy operated one of them and his young friend, Jack, was the other, heavy equipment operator. Randy had trained him just recently. He tried to call Jack, but the phone line was dead.

"Well, maybe he left already. Hopefully, he is not stranded somewhere in the snow! Don't know about these young guys."

Randy grabbed his snow shovel and headed outside. Everything was inundated with snow. The majestic, maple trees in his yard looked gorgeous with their heavy branches weighed right down, almost touching the ground.

"Definitely a snow day and so beautiful to behold! I should really take a picture," he thought. "But, I may not even be able to get out of my driveway."  

Randy had not anticipated snow this early in the year. In fact, everyone was enjoying the prolonged autumn weather. Overnight, the blizzard had hit the area, but without any warning.

"So, we are going to get another foot of snow today, too. That's what the weather report said. Am I ready for this? Is Jack? Is anyone?"

Rover, Randy's golden lab retriever, bounced around in the heavy, wet snow, as Randy cleaned off his car.

"I can't take you with me today, girl," he said. "We're going to be way too busy." 

Suddenly, much to his amazement, he saw Jack pulling up at the end of his driveway in his snowplow. He stopped, got out and hollered at Randy.

"Hey, Randy, let's go! We have a lot of work to do today!"

"Thanks for picking me up," Randy said, as he climbed up into in the snowplow beside Jack. "I didn't know if I was going to be able to get in to work today."

"You wouldn't have gotten there," replied Jack, with a grin. “Every single road in town is closed; except to emergency vehicles."