Seattle '09

So, I'm kind of not at home right now. You all know how I was going camping over the weekend and supposedly I was going to get home on Sunday. Turns out, I went in the totally opposite direction instead! I am now visiting awesome friends in Seattle, Washington, USA, and, of course, I came ill prepared. My gear is all at home. Thus, posting will be erratic and mostly off topic. I will try and have posts up on time, but, basically, I cannot guarantee anything. I am sorry that it has to be this way, but it has to be this way. 

In the meantime, here are a list of websites that I love. Check 'em out and maybe they will edify you.

www.futureomega.blogspot.com (bet you didn't see that one coming)

jwow.insane-gamerz.com (World of Warcraft private server with instructions on how to work that out if you're cheap like me)

www.butserancientarm.co.uk (this is where I get a lot of information on the round houses featured in the UFP. Honestly, I really want to go see this place in person. I also want to build my own round house...)

http://druidnetwork.org (Wacked, but kinda fun in its ways. Just interesting, basically...)

www.questionablecontent.net (Its a webcomic, so it is in no way bad.)

I'll just leave you with that for now. 

Okay, so...

So, I have to hurriedly finish a paper today in order to be able to go camping. And never doubt that I am going camping! Therefore, I have to finish my paper right now and you guys will be deprived of my literary genius. I am sorry for you. Very sorry. But if you would like to see the muck that is keeping you from enjoyment, here you go. This is the paper. Keep in mind that I did not pick the assignment, that it was forced on me, and whether or not I agree with the assignment's agenda, I think it was lousy. And, yeah, that unfinished part at the end is what I'm trying to finish.


Third Quarter
Roe V. Wade Thesis Essay

In 2003, the United States celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of one of the most hotly contested and debated Supreme Court decisions of the century: Roe versus Wade. This milestone decision gave women the right to abort an unborn fetus applicable under the right to privacy found in the Constitution, a decision given this enumeration in the case document: “State criminal abortion laws, like those involved here, that except from criminality only a life-saving procedure on the mother’s behalf without regard to the stage of her pregnancy and other interests involved violate the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment, which protects against a state action the right to privacy, including a woman’s qualified right to terminate her pregnancy.”# This Supreme Court decision in Roe v. Wade was incorrect legally and constitutionally.

The criminal abortion laws referred to in the judgment were Texas statutes making it a crime to “procure an abortion” or “to attempt one, except with respect to ‘an abortion procured or attempted by medical advice for the purpose of saving the life of the mother’” (2). The first thing the Supreme Court decided was that these statutes “violate the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment, which protects against a state action the right to privacy” (77). In the majority opinion, delivered by Justice Blackmun, it is stated that “the principal thrust of appellant’s attack on the Texas statutes is that they improperly invade a right, said to be possessed by the pregnant woman, to choose to terminate her pregnancy. Appellant would discover this right [to privacy] in the concept of personal ‘liberty’ embodied in the Fourteenth Amendment’s Due Process Clause” (83).

On examining the actual amendment, however, there is no mention made of a “right to privacy.” The Fourteenth Amendment states: “No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.”# It is asserted by the court that the “right to privacy” is found in this amendment’s “concept of personal liberty and restrictions upon state action” (92). Nowhere is the word privacy used and neither is that “concept” of liberty enumerated to include it. Even Justice Blackmun in his majority opinion cannot give constitutional evidence for a “right to privacy,” stating that “the Constitution does not explicitly mention any right of privacy” (92). Instead, Justice Blackmun goes on to give a list of court decisions in which a “right of privacy” has been recognized. This list, however, is not constitutional evidence.

In fact, none of the evidence given by Justice Blackmun is based on the Constitution. This insufficiency is further highlighted by the Justice’s use of the phrase “as we feel it is” (92) later on when he asserts that a woman’s right to abortion is contained in the Fourteenth Amendment. “This right of privacy, whether it be founded in the Fourteenth Amendment’s concept of personal liberty and restrictions upon state action, as we feel it is, or, as the District court determined, in the Ninth Amendment’s reservation of rights to the people, is broad enough to encompass a woman’s decision whether or not to terminate her pregnancy” (92-93, emphasis added). Even the Ninth Amendment, also appealed to here by Justice Blackmun, does not contain any reference, explicit or otherwise, to a “right to privacy.” It says that “the enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.”# It would seem, therefore, that the right of privacy is based on the opinion of judges and not any evidence stemming from the Constitution where that right is said to be enumerated. Clearly, this is not a good defense for there being a “right to privacy” in the Constitution.

The conclusion, then, is that there is no constitutional evidence for a “right to privacy.” The Court does not attempt to give any, but clearly states that there is none. Furthermore all investigations made of the Constitution itself confirm this fact. For this reason, the Supreme Court’s decision is unconstitutional.

After asserting a false right of privacy and putting under that heading an equally false right to an abortion, the Court goes on to deny that a fetus is a person. This denial, by the Court’s admission, is necessary for their ruling to be considered correct. If this suggestion of personhood is established, the appellant’s case, of course, collapses, for the fetus’ right to life would then be guaranteed specifically by the Amendment [14] (94). Thus, it is on the decision for this issue that the entire ruling of the court rests. If the fetus can be proven to be a person, then his or her right to life, which is guaranteed protection by the Due Process Clause in the Constitution, would have to be protected and a woman’s supposed right to an abortion would be null.

First, the Court looked for a legal precedent in which a fetus was held to be a person. “The appellee conceded on reargument that no case could be cited that holds that a fetus is a person within the meaning of the Fourteenth Amendment” (94). Actually, there was such a case which the Court apparently ignored. “It holds as follows: Rights [referring to the right of privacy], the provision of which is only implied or deduced , must inevitably fall [when] in conflict with the express provisions of the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments that no person shall be deprived of life without due process of law. Here [the case] there is an embryo or fetus incapable of protecting itself.”# This case definitely gave personhood and its subsequent right to life to an unborn fetus. Thus, the Court ignored a legal precedent which would have changed their judgment.

The Court goes on with its reasons for not judging a fetus as a person. “The Constitution does not define “person” in so many words” (94). Since it is not strictly defined, they feel comfortable in not including a fetus under that heading. Looking back at the Court’s defense for their being a right to privacy, however, this reason seems to intimate a double standard on the part of the Court. A right to privacy was not explicitly defined in the Constitution, yet because the Court “felt” it was there, it was judged to be there. Here, on the overarching issue of personhood, because personhood is not defined within the Constitution it is held not to encompass the unborn. This fact only adds to the impression that the Court is acting arbitrarily.

Finally, the Court states that “all this, together with our observation, supra, that throughout the major portion of the 19th century prevailing legal abortion practices were far freer than they are today, persuades us that the word “person,” as used in the Fourteenth Amendment, does not include the unborn” (95). Stephen M. Krason and William B. Hollberg in their exploration of abortion’s history, came to the opposite conclusion. They cite federal legislation from 1873 which enacted “An Act for the Suppression of trade in, and Circulation of …Articles of Immoral Use. The 1873 statute was an expression of a direct Congressional condemnation of abortion.”# With evidence like this, it is impossible to understand how the Court came to their persuasion afore mentioned.

The state criminal abortion law in question, that of Texas, did not violate the Due Process Clause or the historical use of due process since its inception. The right to privacy, cited in the judgment of the court and in the majority opinion given by Justice Blackmun, is not a constitutional right and it is found nowhere in the Constitution. Furthermore, the decision violates the fetus’ Constitutional right to life protected by the same Due Process Clause found in the Fourteenth Amendment. For these reasons, the Court’s decision on Roe v. Wade was incorrect.

On the other hand, the dissenting opinion in the case, delivered by Justice Rehnquist, was the correct decision. The dissenting opinion upheld the Constitution by denying that abortion falls under the heading of a “right to privacy” and that the “right to privacy” is even Constitutional as used in the Court’s decision. “A transaction resulting in an operation such as this is not ‘private’ in the ordinary usage of that word. Nor is the ‘privacy’ that the Court finds here even a distant relative of the freedom from searches and seizures protected by the Fourth Amendment to the Constitution, which the Court has referred to as embodying a right to privacy” (100). Furthermore, the dissenting opinion came to the opposite conclusion

SCHEDULE CHANGE FOR THIS WEEK

+SCHEDULING ALERT+

There will be no Friday post because I will again be out of town without access to the internet. Funny how lacking a tiny little signal can put so many things on hold, isn't it? That is why, dear friends, I take vacations. This is a short one, though, as it is just for the weekend. Instead of a Friday post, I will post on Wednesday. I am still having trouble with my editor, but hopefully all difficulties can be overcome in time for us to continue with the UFP. Hopefully...

1930, Part 2

The first thing LeeAnn and I had to do was find somewhere to live. The rail yard was completely deserted once the Sheriff and his searchers left it alone. They figured that I had hopped a train and gone somewhere safer. I let them think that. Together with The Girl (I always thought of her as The Girl at that time), I found a forsaken railcar house. There were no cars in it now, which was unfortunate, but there was plenty of lumber around and what had at one time been a loft of sorts. I made sure it was sound and began work. Over time, that loft would become home for her and I. Most of my sweetest memories are there.
With her help, I strengthened the rafters so they would hold our weight and the weight of our things. She would hold up the end of the beam while I secured it. Then we did the other end. I remember doing this about five times. After that, she would hand the planks up to me so I could build the floor. In all, the loft covered the back of the building, twenty feet wide, thirty feet long, and room enough to stand up in. There were stairs against the wall so we could get up there easily. I was never more thankful for my father’s lessons and tools as I was when we looked at the loft complete.
I had a lot of time to think about my father. The work was long and hard. The Girl was too tired at night to talk much, so I let her sleep and brooded on my fate. Pop was dead. It hurt every time that thought crossed my mind. I had been used to him being around for so many years. He was always there. He was always stronger than I was. He always knew what to do and things were done right with him around. I had depended on that more than I had known. Now it was too late to truly appreciate it. So, what was I going to do now that I was alone? Well, not completely alone. There was LeeAnn who, despite the fact that she was young and scrawny, was good help with the work. She did not complain, she did not slow me down. She had proven herself clever with some things, like food. I don’t know where she got it. All I knew was she would disappear for about an hour and return with carrots and bread and sometimes even potatoes. Sometimes I wished she would stay gone, yet she always came back. I had learned the hard way to appreciate what I had, so I was thankful for her, but I increasingly found myself wondering what had possessed me to take her in in the first place. Maybe I had just been afraid to be alone. The thought terrified me even now. Perhaps it had been what my father had taught me about being kind to the less fortunate. He had always told me to “Do Unto Others.” Had I, in a moment of distress, simply adhered to the lessons I had learned as a child? Did Pop have that much control over me even now that he was gone? I took a good long look at LeeAnn one night as she was sleeping, thinking that same thought. It had been Pop. He had taught me good things and good things would happen because of that. If I kept living my life like how Pop had wanted me to, I was sure that everything would be all right. And the right thing was to stick with LeeAnn.
And I needed her. I needed her more than I would ever have admitted to myself back then. I was stubborn because of her. I would keep working every day and breathing every day because I worked and breathed for her. Her needing me made me keep on living. I lived for her. But at first I did not know that.
When the loft was finished, we moved our few things up there where they would be safe. LeeAnn grinned real wide at the top of the stairs as I brought my tools up. She looked so proud of it all. I could not help grinning myself. We celebrated that night. LeeAnn found some beer and we drank it all till we were laughing idiots. That was our first good memory.
I learned everything there was to know about LeeAnn that night. It was a short history. She was one of a lot of children. She could not count then, but she knew it was a lot. She was not the oldest either, so she was ignored quite a bit. She did not know her last name because a lot of men could have been her father. The kids were leaving one by one until it was just the babies left. LeeAnn had left herself, crawling into the boxcar at one point for some sleep. That was how she ended up in Hacktown. Bums in the car had told her about being beaten, which is why she hid herself when the train stopped. Then she had met me.
I remember she looked at me like I was some sort of angel that night. She kept saying how I had rescued her from certain death. It was all very silly since we were so drunk, but it was not too far from the truth. LeeAnn always maintained that she would not have survived very long except for me. Maybe it was true. She seemed adept enough at finding food. The truth was we needed each other. That was how it would be. That was how it was.
There was a lot of work to be done, now that we had a place to live. I had no idea where to begin. I simply started rummaging through the building, trying to find anything useful. There were odds and ends all over the place. Nails, bolts, the odd hammer or wrench, and one time I found an oil lamp with extra oil next to it. That lamp would become our most prized possession. There was wood everywhere and I gathered it up. Soon I had too much for it to remain in a disorganized pile. I made a shed for it in one corner by the large door they had used to bring the cars into the building. I was proud of that shed. Pop would have liked it, I thought. He had always liked things to be organized.
After that, the work fell into place. I cleaned out the building in stages, making each cleared place into a new space. Near the large door I set up a workshop where I would build anything we might need. I had my bench, my drawers, and my tools lined the wall behind it. I once unearthed a stove under a pile of old oil rags. It was in working order after I cleared the soot out of the stovepipe and we set up the kitchen right there. That was LeeAnn’s domain. I could not cook to save my life. She always said that I could burn water and I do believe she was not too far off the mark with that statement. She would work in the kitchen on one side of the building while I worked in the workshop on the other side. If I stepped even a toe over the middle, she shooed me away with whatever instrument she happened to have in her hand. I soon learned my place.
One day I was clearing away and exceptionally large pile of timber and I found a handcar sitting on the tracks. The tracks came straight through the middle of the large door and had their buffer stop at just about the same place where I had put the end of the loft. I had never thought to find a railcar left abandoned. They were valuable pieces of machinery. But this had been left and with a little oil, then a lot more oil, it seemed in perfect working condition. What a find it was. Before it could be put to any use, however, I had to make sure it was safe to use it.
I had seen neither hide nor tail of anyone in the rail yard since the Sheriff and his gang of searchers had left a few weeks before. But I was not about to be careless, especially since if I was taken in, they would probably hang me without trial. Where would that leave LeeAnn? No, I was going to be very careful. Armed with a hammer and a knife I had found and cleaned, I scouted out every inch of the yard. Every building was deserted except for the colonies of rats. We were far enough from the rail line that we did not have to worry about being found out that way. This only left the edge of town to make sure of. I crept about slowly and as quietly as I could, praying harder than I had ever prayed before that I would not be seen. I was not. From what I could see of Hacktown it was only getting emptier as time went on. I did not see one child playing in the street and only a few women with shawls wrapped around their shoulders walking quickly to their destinations. The way they glanced about, I could tell they were frightened. A few seconds after one woman passed, I saw why. A gang of six men walked straight down the middle of the street, armed to the teeth. The laughed boisterously, hefting their clubs and axes to make sure everyone knew what they were about. I recognized one of them as being one of the boys I had fought off the day Pop had died. From the looks of his face, he was the one whose nose I had broke. But no one spared a look for the abandoned rail yard, so I deemed it was safe to start moving around more. Besides, all the tracks were far enough back that I could use the railcar safely.
When I got back to the loft, a look of obvious worry disappeared from LeeAnn’s face. She was standing at the side of the door when I walked up and a smile immediately broke over her face. She wanted to know everything I had seen and where I had gone. I told her about everything over dinner.
“Lee,” I always called her Lee, “where do you go to get the food? Do you go into Hacktown at all?”
“Of course,” she answered guilelessly. “There’s nowhere else to get it.”
“When you do, I want you to keep an eye and an ear out for anything about a gang. I saw a gang of men going around like they owned the place. They seemed to have everybody pretty buffaloed. I want to know everything you know.”
“Okay, William.” She always called me by my full name. “I’ll be careful.”
“I don’t want you to be careful,” I snapped. “I want you to be as invisible to them as possible. Do you understand me?” She nodded her head, not even looking abashed by my gruffness. She was a trooper, always. LeeAnn was very strong in every way.
After I had found the railcar, I started going around to the other buildings. LeeAnn went along with me sometimes, since she needed things I often did not think of. She found the bed. She could always find things that turned out to be worth their weight in gold. She was lucky. Shithouse lucky.
We were at one of the buildings farthest away from our loft. I was inside, seeing what there was that could be useful. I found a box of odds and ends that seemed to hold promise. LeeAnn was scouting around back when I heard her call to me. Not too loud, so as not to alert anyone to where we were, but loud enough to get my attention. I came round to where she was and stared. There she was, standing triumphantly next to a metal bed frame, one hand resting on a bed post. She smiled so brightly at me that I was almost more taken aback by the look on her face. Not thirty feet behind her lay the mattress. Who had tossed them there or why, I could never guess. But we, actually I hauled them home. It took an act of God to get them both up in the loft, but we got it eventually. We both stood next to each other, just staring, still disbelieving of our own good fortune. Let me assure you that we slept very well from then on.
One of our most practical finds was an old water barrel. It was perfect for catching rainwater, which was the only thing we could not beg, borrow or steal. Luckily, We had survived the summer and autumn was setting in. It made its first appearance in a seven-day stint that kept us indoors most of the time. That was a rough time. Unable to venture outside like we were used to, both of us became a bit stir crazy. Of course, then the roof began to leak and I had to slither my way up through a hole to fix another hole, which led to another hole, which kept LeeAnn in spasms of worry down below. It was very slippery up there, but I managed to make the roof waterproof without killing myself. Thankfully, we discovered the leak towards the start of the rain, which left plenty of time for other chores to get done inside.
I have always had a streak for homesteading in me. I like my home to be proper and ordered and compact. I had always lived that way with Pop and despite the rough conditions, I was determined to remain that way. While other people were sinking lower into incivility, I was struggling to maintain a semi-civilized way of life. LeeAnn, who had rarely experienced such a mode of living, followed me as though I were a religious leader. She learned to keep a house to my specifications and eventually surpassed me in most tasks. She was pickier than I was in many ways. We found some cans of whitewash that had been used on the boxcars at some point. She took those cans and a brush and whitewashed much of the inside of our building, especially around the kitchen and the loft. It made the place look clean and bright. Once she got over her fear of the rats, she began killing every one that came into her sight. Eventually, the rats began avoiding us as much as possible, which greatly improved the cleanliness of our habitation.
I meanwhile, was working in my workshop most of the time. There had been some excellent lumber lying around the rail yard and I had salvaged most of it. Using my father’s tools, I began to furnish our dwelling. The first thing LeeAnn asked for was a table we could eat at. So, I made her a table. It was large enough for six people, though there was only the two of us to use it. I then made chairs for us. They were rough chairs, but I intended to make better ones at some point. I never did. As long as we lived there, we used the two original chairs that wobbled and were uncomfortable. I suppose we just became set in our ways. LeeAnn wanted bins so she could store food. I protested this, saying that there was not enough food to go around, let alone store. But she insisted. Later on, I was glad she did. I made her three bins - two feet long, one foot wide, and one foot deep. They were made to stack on top of each other with enough room at the front to reach a hand in and grab what was needed. I shook my head when she set them together in their place. I was sure we would never have enough food to fill even one of them. After that it was a wood box for the stove. Just as I thought we had everything we needed, the rain stopped and we went back to our regular routine.

This is sort of a long one, but I really like where it is heading. Let me know what you think. Not bad for a dream, eh?

Independence Day

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to wish you a very happy Independence Day! We owe so much to this great country of ours and even on its own holiday, America gives back to us. While we take three day weekends, it works 24/7. While we go to sleep at night trusting ourselves to God's care, it is always watchful of our safety. America is God's instrument for our well-being. We must remain ever proud and ever loyal to the United States of America.

Generally, you would expect to see a new part of the UFP (Untitled Fiction Piece) here in this spot, but the UFP is taking a day off. I'm having trouble with my editor. UFP will be back on Teusday, I promise. In the meantime, I shall be doing nothing in particular and suffering from the 75 degree byproduct of global warming. Be safe and have fun.

1930

Hacktown, U.S.A., was a terrible place to live. It did not have just one area you could call the slums and one area you could not. The whole town was the slums. The only people who lived there were working class and below. They were mostly laborers who could not afford to live anywhere else. Carpenters, mechanics, railway workers, the men who worked on the assembly lines in Ariville, these were the upstanding members of Hacktown’s community. My father was one of these and so was I.
My father was a great man in Hacktown. He was a handful of only a few men who were masters in more than one thing. He was a carpenter and a mechanic and a magician in both. There was nothing he could not build. There was no motor he could not fix. Because of this, he worked in the rail yard where the Hacktown trolley was laid to rest every night. My mother had died so long ago I could not remember what she looked like, so Pop and I lived alone in one of the tenements not very far from the rail yard because he was the man who worked on the trolley.
The Hacktown trolley was famous. It was how the assembly line workers got to work every day. In 1840, Hacktown had started using the trolley and became one of the foremost technological towns in the United States. The trolley had never been vandalized, never stopped working and was always on time. People in Hacktown were proud of their trolley. Men who worked on it, like my father, were respected because of their association with it. The trolley ran to the Ariville station about three miles away. Ariville was where the rich people lived and no one from Hacktown went there unless they worked there. Neither I nor my father had ever been there.
I grew up in the tenements. I can not say it was the best place to live. Before I was twelve, my best friend had already been killed in a knife fight. I had been in two myself- won one, lost the other. Some days it was a miracle I survived. After twelve, I began working with my father all the time. He had taught me how to work before, but now my training began in earnest. I became his apprentice. It only took a few years before I was his journeyman. The work was in my blood. I thought that eventually, I would take my father’s place or start out on my own somewhere else. I was young. I wanted to see the world and there had never been a place where a man with two skilled hands could not work. The Great Depression came in 1929 when I was fifteen. It killed many people’s dreams.
Later that year, the Hacktown trolley ceased to run. The people who owned came and carted it away. They carted it away using Clydesdale horses from some farm. The trolley had always run on its motor. It had never been so broke that horses were needed. Now, with its motor still in good order, it was taken away by a pair of nags who would be turned into glue in less than two years. Every man who worked in the rail yard, every man’s wife, every man’s child stood staring as the trolley, the backbone of Hacktown’s life, was taken away. Most people lost hope then.
It took less than a year for most of the people we had known for years to pack up and leave. The ones who were left only drifted away like dead leaves. More people came in from other parts of the country, but they never stayed long. Hacktown was as dead for them as it was for the people who had left. The population varied with the day, always hovering on a number less than half of what it had been. Food was scarce and expensive. Anything you could not produce yourself could not be bought either. My father and I lived a very lean lifestyle. I was younger and felt better most of the time, but Pop was getting old. I worried about him. I did not have long to worry.
One day, the wife of the owner of the assembly lines in Ariville came riding through Haktown. It was a foolish thing to do. Her name was Elizabeth Richardson. There she sat on her thoroughbred horse, with her fashionable clothes and the blood in her round cheeks. People stared. To them, she was a picture of wealth and privilege and a full belly. As she rode through the streets, crowds gathered around her. The people were angry. To their minds, all their hardship was her fault. Her husband had shut down the assembly line robbing them of their jobs, their wages and everything they needed. Here and there an angry shout came from the crowd from some unidentifiable mouth. She was scared.
Pop and I watched from the midst of the crowd. We had not had work in awhile, so we had started to wander around town offering encouragement to our friends. It was different for us. Pop and I were both men without families, so we could afford to have a more optimistic view of all the trouble. Most of our friends were not so lucky. A few of the husbands had disappeared, leaving wives and children behind. We would help them as best we could. Those husbands who stayed were depressed and angry. They were the ones who started the trouble.
Mrs. Richardson could feel the crowd’s animosity. Her horse was spooked as well, so with only the thought of going home in her mind, she turned around to leave. The crowd closed in, getting angrier by the minute. People were shouting. She kept spinning around, keeping them all at bay, but they would have her. They needed something to hate, something to blame for their misfortune, and she had become that for them.
Pop and I muscled our way to the front of the crowd, very close to her. We both tried to talk sense to our friends, to hold them back. They kept crowding in on us and we were weak from lack of nourishment. They beat us back, right into the side of her horse. I looked up at her as the crowd grew louder and more violent, starting to pick up stones from the ground. She looked straight into my eyes, her eyes wide with fear. “Help me!” she said desperately. Pop heard it, too. He used the last of his strength to hoist me onto the back of the horse and slapped it hard in the rump, making it rear up angrily. We shot away.
I had never been on the back of a horse before. It was very high up and felt very powerful between my knees. Luckily, Mrs. Richardson was an accomplished rider and she was able to bring the horse to a stop after we were out of reach of the crowd.
“Are you alright?” she asked. She asked me if I was alright.
“Fine,” I said, breathing heavily. I dropped off the back of the horse eagerly. “Sorry about that.”
She looked back the way we had come. “I didn’t believe the stories. I wanted to make sure for myself.” She turned a gentle eye on me. “Thank you for helping me.”
“I would have done it for anyone,” I said with a nod of the head. I was not expressly sure that I would have done it for anyone, but it seemed like a good thing to say. I was very young then.
“Please, let me repay you in some small way.” She held a silver dollar out to me, the only money that was really worth anything those days. “It doesn’t compare to what I owe you, but its all I have at the moment.” I hesitated. “Please take it.”
I took it. “You had better go,” I said. “Its not safe here.”
“Thank you.” She rode off with a friendly wave.
I went back home, sure that I would find Pop there. He was not. I went looking for him, thinking only that he had stopped to help someone else. As I walked down the stairs to the ground floor, the women in the doorways cast strange looks after me. I was friendly as I always was, but they closed their doors against me. It was no better out in the street. Growing less and less sure about where my father was, I went back to the street where the mob had been. He was lying in the road. I went to him, thinking maybe he had just fainted, but he was not breathing. The mob had killed my father.
As I sat there crying over him, a gang of four boys my age came over to me to rough me up. They said I was a traitor, that Pop had deserved to die. They hit me and kicked me, till I was only a ball on the ground. It was a pair of women who saved me. They came forward with their brooms to bat the boys away. The beating stopped and that was all I needed to get on my feet and run away.
I ran toward the deserted rail yard, to my father’s workshop. I could hear the boys running behind me, shouting profanities and directions to each other. I knew the rail yard well, but they were faster than I was. They cornered me in one of the workshops. We fought. Grief and anger had taken me over and I fought with no thought to my own safety. I punched one in the nose, causing him to fall to the ground howling in pain. Two of them tried to grab me so the third could have an easy shot, but I kicked one in the balls, sending him down to the ground. The other two jumped me together, pushing me down against a workbench. I grabbed a wrench and swung. I hit something hard and felt one body slide down me to the ground. The last one ran away.
I watched him go, hefting the wrench menacingly. Two of them got up and ran after him, but the third just lay there. The blood was pooling around his head. I bent over him,, shaking him. He was dead. The blood was on the wrench, too. I dropped it as if it had been on fire.
They would be after me. The boys would go to the police and they would come after me. They would put in me in jail. They would hang me. Afraid now, I went to my father’s workshop and grabbed his tools. They were all I could think of that would be useful. I could not go home, so I tried to find a place where I could stay. Then it occurred to me that I would never be safe in Hacktown again. I decided to go the train depot and hop on a boxcar. I would leave this place forever.
It was twilight when I got there. There was only one train to choose from, so I walked along it, trying to find an open car. Unluckily, the conductor and the engineer saw me and chased me off. They were hot on me when I ducked into a cubby-hole below a squeeze chute for loading cattle. Much to my surprise, I sat down on a girl. Her cry of amazement nearly got us both caught, but I quickly covered her mouth with my hand. The conductor and the engineer passed us by. I let go of the girl’s mouth when I felt tears touch my hand. I told her it would be alright and popped my head out to look. There was no one in sight.
I stepped out all the way and dragged her out with me. We could not stay there. I took her hand and went back into the abandoned workshops of the rail yard. There was one that had not been in use since before the Depression and I chose that one. It had an upper story where lumber had once been stored. We climbed up there and sat on a cluster of two-by-fours in the dark. The girl sat next to me.
She was not much younger than I was and very thin. I had never seen her before, so she could not have been one of the kids from the tenements. I knew every one of them. Her hair was dirty, but it looked blonde. Her face was streaked by tears. All in all she was a pitiful sight.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“LeeAnn,” she sniffed. “You have blood on your shirt.
I looked down. I did indeed have blood on me. It had to have been from my father. I remembered I had held him in my arms. I also had blood on my hands, but that was not his. That was from the boy. I started taking off my shirt, wiping my hands on it. “Are you alright?” I asked
“I didn’t want them to find me.”
“Who?”
“The engineer. I fell asleep on a boxcar and I woke up here. If they find you, they beat you. I’ve been told that. I didn’t want to be beaten.” She was starting to cry again.
I tried to calm her. I handed her my handkerchief. “You safe now. I won’t let them get you.”
“Where am I?”
“You’re in Hacktown. This is the rail yard. You’ll be fine here.”
“What is your name?”
“I’m William.” I was always called Will. I can not figure out even now why I told her my full name. “I’ll take care of you.”
“Really?” she asked, wiping her face with her sleeve.
I nodded earnestly. “We’re both alone. All we have is each other.”
She moved over next to me. I put my arms around her. That was how it would have to be from then on. Pop was dead. I was hunted by the police. I was alone in the world. So was she. We needed each other. We would be there for each other.

Occasionally, ladies and gentlemen, I dream some great dreams and those dreams find there way onto the paper. This is one of those times. Last night, I dreamed this dream and, because I feel guilty that my last post was late, I decided to put it up for you. Enjoy!

COOLEST WEEK EVER 2009

Yes, last week was the highlight of every single one of my years: St. David's Youth Retreat 2009! This is the week where I get to see all my friends, work out like I have never worked out before, and growing in my Faith. Alas, it ends too soon, but the joy it gives may never end.

To include you guys in said Joy, this post is going to be about camp with regularly scheduled programming to return on Friday. I am sorry that you did not get this post on time. That was due to an especially annoying Accounting test, which I will probably blog about later since it was especially odious. Anyway, I give you an insider's look at Youth Retreat 2009!!!

This is the view I woke up to every morning. Yes, we sleep in bunk beds. I wish I could say that they were exceptionally comfortable, but I cannot lie. They are slightly padded, much to their credit, but it does not do much for pampered bodies such as mine. Next year, I'm considering throwing a hammock up between two trees. Its just a thought...

But what is this! Much to my surprise, there seems to be a gift waiting just above my head. As a curious person, I do actually remove the gift from its hiding place and take a gander at its contents. I was just getting interested when AHHHHH!!

Oops, sorry. I accidentally fell out of bed. It is early in the morning after all. They wake us up early at camp. There are showers to take, which, of course is quite an ordeal with eight girls to one cabin. After that, at about eight of the clock are the devotions for the day, consisting of Morning Prayer and Holy Communion from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer. It is quite beautiful in the early morning air with the combined voices of about twenty youth raised in song.

Anyway, back to the message. I right myself in the bed again as Megan, my neighbor to the right peers at me from under her covers. I guess I made quite a din falling out of bed because most of the other girls are also rousing themselves from peaceful slumbers. All except for Emily. She seems to be able to sleep through anything, Lord love her. I ignore the noises of waking and unfold the gift. It seems to be a postcard of Donner Summit, of all things. Keep in mind that Donner Summit is 75 miles away from the camp. So how did our lonely little postcard end up here?

Thinking that perhaps the other side of the card might tell its story, I quickly turned it over, anticipating some great revelation! I was severely disappointed, however, for its message gave no clues. "The trail has gone cold, Scooby-Doo!"

It was a hard note to decipher, let me tell you. This coming from a girl who has worse handwriting than most. As best as I could make out, the note said: "Hi Erik! You're bark [I suppose that has to be "back"] at CGC, you lucky guy! I'll bet this camp experience will be better than the last. Your church family books [looks] forward to hearing all about this special week in your life. See you soon! (smily face)" For the life of me, I can't read the signature.

Upon reading the greeting, my first thought was, Erik the Red attended Church Camp? *gasp* No, no, that could not be right. Of course, Erik the Red had been dead for thousands of years, unfortunately. He would have been an excellent addition to any camp. I hear he was a most excellent clog-dancer-dude (No, I did not make this up.). What other Erik could it have been? Of course, we have our own Eric, but he spells his name with a C, E-R-I-C. So it couldn't be him. And our Eric bears no resemblance to Erik the Red. Which of course made me wonder if Eric could dance in clogs. This is a theory that has yet to be tested.

Short of dusting for fingerprints, I could make out nothing else about our mysterious postcard. It seemed to be on a mission, but what could that mission be? Encouragement? To fund the U. S. Postal Service with 44 cents? Boy, they really over paid on postage. To puzzle unsuspecting girls with big imaginations? To inform the world that more than one Erik, no matter what spelling attended church camp? *gasp* Or were they really Vikings come to conquer the CGC? I just could not stop thinking about it!
As for me, I have my own theories. But you will just have to wait to find out what they are.

Happy Father's Day- ABC's of My Dad

In honor of our greatly unappreciated dad's, let me share with you a personalized Father's Day poem. I am giving it to my dad tonight and then leaving for camp. He thinks that is the perfect Father's Day present.

A is for Awesome, and
Always care;
B is for best friend,
And hugs like a Bear;
C is for cheesy
(you knew that went here);
D is for dad,
And Dork, and Dear;
E is for easy -
To talk to, really;
F is for father
Who we love most dearly;
G is for group hug,
No, please,not really!
H is for hamburgers,
Grilled to perfection;
I is for Intellgent,
Insightful, Inspection;
J is for John (Oh, Lordy, oh),
K is for Kathy,
Who you love, we know
Cuz we’re here today;
L is for Lydia,
(And Marshall is somewhere in there, Okay?);
M is for money,
Which you give so freely,
Despite how unhelpful we are daily;
N is for nearly rid of us both,
LAK never looked so good,
We hope;
O is for open minded,
And ornery;
P is for perfect,
Not our opinion only;
Q is the one letter
I don’t have a rhyme for;
R is for responsible,
Always and forever;
S is for Super,
T is Today,
U had better Have a
Happy Father’s Day!
V is for this Very sentimental,
Webb Written greeting,
X is the spot where we hid your chocolate,
And Z is the end with one
Last Admonition,
Don’t ever forget that, of course,
WE LOVE YOU!


From John (left), me (center), to Dad (right).

And for the rest of the dads out there, The Future Omega and its author wishes you the happiest of Father's Days.

Officially... ahhhhhhhhh-ed

SEE YOU IN A WEEK!!

UFP and one small note...

The sun was beginning to set as he came into the yard. Cador could hear Bryhen and Lot in the house, speaking with muffled voices over the clamor of spoon against cauldron. That must mean it was stew for dinner. Luckily, Bryhen was an excellent cook. He dismounted silently and led his horse into the stable he had helped to build. It was an excellent building with four stalls, two on either side, and a hay loft at the back of it. One stall was always kept empty for his mount.
“Who’s down there?” called a voice from the hay loft.
“It is I,” said Cador, smiling at the familiar voice.
A blonde head smiled down at him over the edge. It was Raelyn. “Come up here.” He finished settling his horse and climbed up the ladder to the loft. There, in one corner, sat Raelyn tending a litter of baby kittens. He sat down beside her as she explained, “Pamplemousse had kittens two days ago. I’ve kept them hidden because Mother thinks they are a nuisance and would probably drown them. Aren’t they cute?”
Pamplemousse was a very ample cat with a gorgeous tortoise-shell coat which she was inordinately proud of. She left off licking the heads of her motley brood to give him a look that plainly said, Say otherwise and you will die a painful death at the end of my twenty claws. Cador patted her head and said, “Of course they are. When they’re old enough, I can take one home with me as a companion for Arthur’s old Harold. He’s such an old hound and I think the company would do him good. Besides, I think there are rats in my room.”
“Well, there won’t be any rats around here for a very long time,” said Raelyn confidently. “Both Pamplemousse and the tom are excellent mousers.” They took a few minutes to fondle the furry little heads who mewled so sweetly. Raelyn took a few moments to look at Cador. He looked tired and weary. “How did it go with Arthur?” she asked.
Cador shot her a look. “Well enough. I guess Lot filled you in on what happened.”
“You really shouldn’t provoke the priest like that,” she admonished. “Everything he does, he does for your benefit. Why can’t you just be friends with him?”
“You try being friends with a man who only talks to you when you do something wrong,” Cador countered. “He flat doesn’t like me and he is always ready to find fault with me. Besides, I wasn’t even gambling today.”
“So why didn’t you explain that to him?” she asked.
“I didn’t get much of a chance, did I? Its not an exaggeration to say that he was jumping up and down like a child having a tantrum. At least he got his exercise for the day,” he ended bitterly.
“Cador,” she said, soothingly, “I need you to be friends with him. We can’t get married unless he marries us and I fear, my love, that he never will if you continue to antagonize him. So, please, for me, try. Try to be nice to Father Paulus.”
She took his face in her hands and kissed him, somewhat mollifying the frustration that was bubbling below the surface. “Alright, fine,” he relented. “But only because you want it so.”
“Poor Cador. Its so hard for him to play nice with the other children.”
“Oho!” he cried grabbing her about the waist and tousling with her. “If that’s how you feel about it, why should I try at all?”
“Stop it! Stop it!” she cried. Raelyn was terrified that he would try to tickle her, which was torture for her. “Cador ap Gerren, I swear I will foreswear myself and not marry you if you touch me.”
He laughed and simply locked her in a tickle free hug. “You know I would do anything for you,” he assured her.
She looked into his eyes and replied, “I know. Let’s not make Mother keep dinner on our account,” she said, before he could kiss her. He smiled knowingly at her and helped her down the ladder to the ground.

Today, I just wanted to take a little time to leave you with an historical note. The great mouser, Pamplemousse, was mouser to the royal house in Britain at this time. Part of this story will explain how she became attached to it and, let me assure you, this is all historically accurate. Pamplemousse caught more than five hundred rats and mice in her day, earning her a commendation from King Arthur himself. Her descendants still roam every hall and every room of Windsor and the royal houses to this very day. Here is an artist's rendering of the famous Pamplemousse:

Working on that novel...

Yes, I'm going on vacation next week. And this is the conversation I had with my brother when he learned about it.

Just couldn't help myself...

You know, we must all take a timeout sometimes to pay homage to the furry friends who give us so much love and laughter every day. And since we are here endeavoring to write our version of King Arthur, I thought this was imminently appropriate. I give you... "Catalot!"


Marshall, the official cat of The Failed Attempt Blog, doth send his greetings to thee and asks you to leave comments on the site, because it doth dispose his hooman to give him tuna. Slainte!

Regularly Scheduled Programming

Cador was on his way to a small farm a mile away from the Wall. It belonged to Lot and his family, his mother Bryhen and his younger sister Raelyn. Lot’s father, Caedmon, had been a Briton warrior and Cador had known him slightly. He had died in battle, a glorious member of patriotic martyrs. Now, Bryhen ran the farm with her children and they had remained successful in what could only have been called trying times. As for Cador, sometimes he felt like a stray dog they had taken into their home. He was ever conscious of the debt he owed to them and the fact that he would never be able to repay them.
Having lived most of his life far above the Wall where there were wide open spaces and the4 familiar villages of friendly Britons, Cador had been very homesick his first few months in Luguvallium. He did not like living in Luguvallium. In fact, he hated it. It was too closed in, too like a prison with its gates and walls and guards and sentries, and much too Roman in every sense for his taste. There was nowhere he could go where he could not see what had always been a symbol of oppression. He felt claustrophobic, out of place, and lonely. On top of that, he was required to perform many new duties which had never been part of his life before. Cador was a prince, heir to a throne which was the hope of many people, and he had to act as such. Arthur met with noblemen from the South and Cador stood next to him. Noblemen from the North came to offer their allegiance to the new king of the Britons, and Cador was there. He had been used to being a battle leader, a commander of men who, when the battle was over, went back to their homes as they wanted to do. This politics was new to him and the greatest part of his anxiety. Guinevere with a wisdom born of many years told him to go out riding in order to escape the new duties that plagued him so sorely. It was on one of these rides that he stumbled upon Bryhen’s farm.
He had been watching the spot on the horizon for awhile before what he was seeing registered in his mind. It was a farm, a truly British farm, the kind he had been used to seeing and living in for so many years. Fields of grain covered the land around it. The homestead itself was surrounded by a steep ditch designed to keep stray animals away and a fence of wattle for extra protection. He couldn’t see very much over it, but he could see the peaks of a few round houses, and the sloped roofs of granaries. For a moment, Cador stopped his horse and just stared at the pleasant sight before him. There was nothing that had eased his home longing like this in a long time. He was reluctant to disturb the privacy of the inhabitants of the farm, but curiosity got the better of him and he rode boldly into the enclosure.
There was a large roundhouse on the right, which he rightly assumed to be the home of the farm holder. It was a tidy house, the thatch but newly applied and the walls whitewashed a bright white. The door was covered by what looked to be an old legionaries red cloak, very faded and patched in places. There was a cow byre just beyond it, large enough, he thought, to house five or six cows. That was an excellent sign of a thriving farm, as were the large granaries at the back of the compound. On his right were two smaller houses that would shelter the hired workers. There was also a large, square building that, from the presence of the wood-shavings in baskets by the door, was a woodworkers shop. Scattered amongst all of this were chicken houses and beehives, a pair of latrines tucked away in opposite corners, and the very important family garden just behind the main house.
Cador was drinking in the sight of it all, letting the familiarity of the scene wash over him like a soothing balm, when a not so soothing voice filled his ears. “What do you want?” Lot stepped out of the workshop, hands set confrontationally on his hips, a dark scowl on his face. It had been wonderfully typical of him.
Cador, aware that he was trespassing, replied politely in turn. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said, “but I couldn’t help myself. I have not seen a good farm like this in many months. To be honest, I have missed the sight of it.”
“Well, you’ve seen it, so be on your way,” growled Lot. He glared at the rider in the most unfriendly manner.
“Please, do you mind if I stay awhile? I‘m handy in all kinds of work and you don‘t have to pay me. I only ask the pleasure of being somewhere like home for an hour or two.”
Lot considered him critically for a moment, not missing the sword that hung from Cador’s belt. He shrugged and said, pointedly, “As long as I don’t have to pay you. You can start over there at the woodpile. Stock it high. I have no doubt that the cold days are coming soon.”
So began Cador’s happy days at the farm with cold words about cold days. Still, Lot’s unfriendly demeanor did not diminish his pleasure at being on a familiar feeling place. He worked for a few hours until he absolutely had to go back to Luguvallium and when he arrived home, his mother saw him looking the happiest he had been in months. Cador went back the very next day and asked to work again. This time, Bryhen was there as well.
“So you’re the odd young man Lot told me about,” she said, looking him up and down. “You don’t look like a farm boy. What‘s your name?”
He smiled, refreshed by her blunt manner. “Cador, and I’m not,” he said, removing the trappings of his station. “But I was raised to know what it was all about. I had to have something to do in between adventures.”
“Killing dragons, were you?” she chuckled. “Lot’s killed a few in his day, too. I call you both in for lunch.”
“More wood chopping, then?” asked Cador. Lot sent him to his task with a grunt.
It was at lunch that Bryhen attempted to get to know the strange nobleman who was doing all that work for free. She and Raelyn brought food out in the yard and they all sat together before the door of the house. Cador noticed Raelyn, of course, as any young man would do, but he had been too long held to the rigid standards of a leader for him to do anything more than notice. He paid her every courtesy as he would any other woman and did not think beyond that.
Bryhen began the conversation. “So, where are you from, dragon slayer?” she asked in an ironic way, with a friendly smile on her face. It would not take long for him to get used to he ironic ways of speaking.
“North,” he said, sipping his ale, “with the Votadini, my mother’s people.”
“You fought the Romans, then?”
“Only after they ran out of dragons,” he said with a laugh. “Yes, I fought the Romans. Not any more, though. We always envisioned peace coming in a different way, but now that its here, I don’t want it gone.”
“Aye, you speak good sense for one so young,” she said, nodding her head in a knowing way. “The Votadini are a great tribe. Merlyn is one of their number. I don’t suppose you know him, do you?”
“I do,” replied Cador. The ale was beginning to loosen his lips. “Merlyn was one of my guardians. He taught me almost everything I know, although, it wouldn’t be fair to my mother to say exactly everything.”
“Yes, indeed. Be sure to always give credit to your mother,” laughed Bryhen easily, but the position of her guest was beginning to dawn on her. She asked a leading question. “I suppose you’re one of the Votadini chieftain’s sons. It is an honor to have you with us.”
“The honor and the pleasure is all mine,” he said, bowing his head in acknowledgement of the compliment, “but I am not Votadini. I’m Dumnonii, far south, a fugitive for most of my days. Thank the gods that is all over.”
“Thanks, indeed,” she said, ignoring the alarmed look on her son’s face. “Your mother must be Guinevere, then.”
Cador realized that he had perhaps said too much. “Yes,” he admitted, slowly, glancing around in case he would need to fight his way out.
“Be at ease, Cador ap Gerren,” said Bryhen, handing him a loaf of bread, “you are among friends. While we here at the wall may not have been able to do our part of the fighting, it does not mean we aren’t loyal to Britain and the cause you fought for. My husband was one of many proud warriors who met his end at the point of the Roman gladius. In giving you our hospitality, we honor his memory.”
Cador bowed very low at this. “Your husband’s spirit is content in the house of heroes, along with many of my friends. I hope,” he said uncertainly, “that I will be allowed to continue coming here and working.”
“If you enjoy it, I won’t stop you,” Bryhen assured him. “I am curious as to why you would want to.”
“It just reminds me of home,” he said simply.
That sealed it. From then on he was welcome at the farm whenever he wanted. Over time, he was absorbed into the family like a cousin and the friendship that developed between he and Lot blossomed in the atmosphere of hospitality, love and loyalty.

Okay, so, as promised, here is the post. In the original conception of this and the previous section, there is no break. What I mean is, its meant to be read as a whole section. But, luckily, it makes sense without having its original format. I am now working on a post for tomorrow.
Just a little update about scheduling for next week: I am taking next week off. There will be no posts next week! Sorry... I will be attending the St. David Anglican Youth Retreat in the secluded woods of Foresthill, California, somewhere only a satellite can find me. For more information on this retreat go to www.anglicanyouth.com.

Duh, hurr hurr

So, sorry for those who have commented on posts. I did manage to reply to all of them that needed it. I kept wondering why I wasn't receiving notification emails. Turns out I had the wrong email address up for that. How embarrassing. Well, that's fixed now. Even bloody friggin' geniuses have idiot moments, just like this...

Revision

So, one of the problems with posting a story as you write it is that sometimes you revise what you've already posted. So, the last post that I put up now has a slightly different ending. I went back and revised that so that you can go back and read to semi-finalized version. Do go back and read it again or much of what is going to follow after will make no sense to you at all. What follows is actually part of a longer section, but it was much too long and ungainly to be put all at once. I will have the second part up tomorrow, hopefully. As always, you are quite welcome to leave feedback. In fact, I want you to, good or bad, complimentary or not. It all helps in some way. Now that that explanation is out of the way, let's keep moving forward in what I can only hope will turn out to be a grand adventure!


As Cador rode leisurely along, he had to laugh at the memory of Father Paulus’ face on the plain. The hilarity of the situation may have escaped him earlier, but it did not do so now. If only poor Paulus knew how ridiculous the whole affair really was, he thought to himself. Perhaps he should have been let in on the joke. Of course, that knowledge would probably have only angered him further and added to the trouble Cador was already in. It was too bad that the priest did not have a better sense of humor. They might have got along better if he had.
Cador and Father Paulus were not enemies by a long stretch, but they were generally antagonistic to each other and the blunted war they waged had a long history by this time. When Cador had been brought into Arthur’s house as the king’s foster son and heir, he had been forced to put aside his pagan ways and embrace the new religion that called itself Christianity. That had been fine with him since he was not especially attached to one or the other. Most of the time he thought it the smallest of the sacrifices he had had to make during that change in station, the greatest being having to live in that stuffy Roman house Arthur kept as his primary residence. From the beginning of his life he had been accustomed to the smoke-filled, yet expansive homes of his people. A round-house was where he was most at ease, but it was more important to him to be close to his mother. However, he refused to dwell on this point and had become inured to an atrium and triclinium even he had not grown accustomed them.
On making this change to Arthur’s religion, he had been baptized in the church just outside of the fort and the care of his instruction in it and the Latin tongue had been given to Paulus, who became at that time the only resident clergy in Luguvallium. Paulus was a full-blooded Roman with a pedigree to boot, which had been Cador’s initial reason for disliking him. Eventually he discovered others, such as his lack of a warrior’s spirit and stamina, his condescending manner and his insipid conversation. Unless he was talking about some spiritual matter or lecturing one outright, Paulus lacked the capacity for talking beyond the weather and one’s health. This not only made him an extremely vexing person, but an excessively boring one as well. The one thing Paulus had succeeded in was teaching Cador to speak and write in tolerably good Latin. There had been no such success beyond that.
That was where their battling began. For instance, Paulus had once tried to explain to Cador the Christian doctrine of the Trinity. The Trinity was the concept of God being one Entity with three Persons within that Entity. He was Father, Son and Holy Spirit, but still only one God. As far as Cador was concerned, if God was God then He could do whatever He wished and if He wished to have three Persons to gallivant around in, then that was fine by him. Paulus tried to complicate this by saying that no man could possibly understand this doctrine. If no one could understand it, then why was Paulus belaboring the subject? Because it was an important Christian doctrine that he had to believe in. Okay, point made, shall we move on? Paulus did believe that his young charge did not fully grasp the fullness of this mystery. If it was a mystery how could he possibly hope to understand it? He could not, Paulus declared, because God did not wish him to. Why did not Cador go and contemplate this wondrous mystery in the church for an hour or two? Why should he go contemplate something God did not want him to know? Cador personally thought that the best thing he could do was respect God’s privacy. Today’s outburst had only the been the latest in a long succession of tactical maneuvers. That was behind him now and, except for the punishment he would have to undergo later that evening, he could look forward to an enjoyable close to the day.

UFP

The three of them had been talking nonchalantly about inconsequential things for a while now, waiting for Arthur to deem them far enough away to avoid be overheard by anyone. They were still within sight of the wall with the dark forest silently standing on their right and no one in sight. Arthur dismounted cuing Cador and Guinevere to do the same. They let their horses graze while they talked.
“Do you want to talk about the priest and that scene now?” asked Cador with a barely disguised grin on his face.
Arthur laughed. One of the things he liked about his foster son was how directly he faced problems. He was not one for letting the taboo subjects remain unspoken and neither was Arthur. “Yes, I do,” he said smilingly. “I suppose you’ve figured out that you’ve warranted more than a warning this time and I hope your rebellion has reached a satisfactory point before I shut you down.”
“If you want to just give me a warning again,” suggested Cador, “I’m sure that I can guarantee an end to it.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Well, I think I’ve pushed Paulus as far as I can without tossing him directly over the edge. I’ve antagonized him enough now. What do you say? Just this one last time?” Cador was throwing this argument in on the off chance that it might work out, but he did not really believe it would. He looked over at his mother and winked impishly.
“I’m afraid not, Cador,” sighed Arthur. “There is more to it than just keeping you from teasing Paulus. Right now it seems as though the only man in Luguvallium who can ignore me is you and that cannot be allowed to continue.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed complacently. “I suppose the punishment has to be somewhat public as well as inconvenient for me. What did you have in mind?”
Guinevere, who had not really intended to interfere with the negotiations between father and son, exclaimed disbelievingly, “You’re not even going to argue?” This was not like him at all.
“Of course not!” he said placidly. “Who am I to argue with the king, let alone my father. I knew that eventually my fun with the priest would have its consequences. But it was fun anyway. Did you see how he was jumping?” Cador laughed gleefully.
Arthur struggled to keep his own mirth under control. “I appreciate the understanding and ease with which you are accepting this,” he said. “You will stand out the night watch on the wall for a fortnight, starting tonight. I’ll make sure the captain of the guard is aware of it.”
“Very well, Arthur. I shall abide by your judgment.” He cast an eye at the sun, which was starting its decline.
“I also expect you to lay off Father Paulus,” added Arthur firmly. “I don’t want him coming to the house to complain about you again.”
“What? He is so very eloquent when he whines about me. Why would you want to miss that?” Arthur just gave him a warning look, prompting more laughter. “Alright, alright. I’ve finished with him anyway. If you will excuse me, I have to return my horse to its rightful owner.”
Guinevere walked with him to retrieve his grazing mount. “What do you have up your sleeve?” she asked knowingly.
“Now, why would you say that?”
“I know you better than that. Now, tell me what it is.”
“You’ll just have to wait and find out like everyone else, Mother,” he said, giving her a hug. “I can’t be seen to play favorites. Besides, you would tell someone and spoil the surprise.”
“I’ll have it out of you eventually,” she threatened as he mounted up.
“You can try,” he taunted, spurring his horse to a trot. He waved at them as he rode back to Luguvallium.
“He took that well,” commented Arthur.
“Too well. When was the last time you knew Cador to take any adverse incident so well? You can’t. Its Cador.”
“He was in the wrong and he knew it. He did try to argue a little bit.”
“Not enough. When he was younger, the more he argued, the more you knew you were right to punish him. That hasn’t changed recently.”
“Do you think we’re missing something?” asked Arthur, uncertainly. “It was pretty plain before that he was gambling.”
“You should know by now that with him things are never quite what they seem,” she said, alluding to his first meeting with Cador. “I’ll try and find out what’s going on with him.”
“That’s your prerogative as his mother,” he said, gathering up the reins to his bay. “I’m just glad we diverted a potential problem and that he handled it so well. I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Something to be thankful for, I suppose.” She grabbed him impetuously by the arm and kissed him soundly on the mouth. “Now, I have my own devious plans. I will have to leave you at the gate, I’m afraid, but I’ll see you tonight.”
“You had better,” he said with a grin, “or I will be forced to greet Madoc myself and that would be a tragedy.”
“It would, wouldn’t it? I think he might turn around immediately and go home.”
“Of course he would. I’m convinced you’re his favorite. I’m merely his nephew, you know.”
“And a right terrible nephew at that,” she said mischievously, “or so I hear. I do believe that Madoc’s wife still retains a fear of birds to this day because of you.”
“That was an entirely isolated incident and I would suggest you not listen to any of Luned’s tales. She can hold a grudge, that one.”
“I would, too, if you let a hawk loose on my head.” Guinevere laughed gaily at the look she received from her husband. She kissed him lightly on the cheek in a conciliatory way. “I’m only having a bit of fun at your expense, my love. I shall certainly be there when Madoc arrives. Now, come on. There is only so much light in a day. Let’s not waste any. Race you to the Wall!” she cried, spurring her horse onward, leading Arthur on a merry chase all the way back to Hadrian’s Wall.


I am quickly making up for my lack of posts last week. Enjoy and don't be afraid to leave feedback!

6/16/09
Revised with the new ending that occurred, unfortunately, after it had been posted. Its a risk you run, but probably worth it somehow.

UFP

The geography of Britain north of Hadrian’s Wall could not have been more suited to being the womb of rebellion. It was a wild place covered by dense forests, unfeeling rocks and covered in that inescapable fog which made it seem so unnatural. There was no other place on earth that lent itself so well to the idea that it was infused with magic. Nor had anyone tried harder to debunk that idea than Roman generals and their army of engineers. Every undertaking, building project and fifty mile forced march was aimed at taking the mystique out of their conquered land and for centuries they had been unable to do so. No instance was more piquant than that of the Antonine Wall which lay one hundred turbid miles north of that grand construction that bore emperor Hadrian’s name.
As the Roman legions began to beat back the Briton rebels who had taken refuge in the still free north, they began to believe that their primacy was more secure than it really was. In the name of Antoninus Pius, then the emperor of the Roman Empire, they began to construct a new wall in the area of the Damnonii, one of the many free tribes of Britain. It was to be as impressive of Roman power as the old wall and was built accordingly - thirty-nine miles across the land from the west coast to the east, thirteen feet high all of turf on stone, with forts every two miles along its massive line. Typically, it was a high, steep bank designed to force the enemy to traverse a large ditch and then scale the wall at a sheer angle which made it easier for the defenders to kill their attackers. It was indeed a tribute to the ingenuity of an Empire.
Yet the Antonine Wall was more a tribute to the unquenchable furiousness with which the Britons attacked their enemy. The Damnonii, the Votadini, the Novante, the Selgovae all went down against the tramping squares of legionaries. These fierce tribes of free men found that force nigh unstoppable, if not unbeatable, and they left their impression. But when it came to the Caledonii, there was an end to that unbearable sound of foot soldiers marching. They Caledonian people fought back so hard that they drove the legions back behind Hadrian’s Wall after a mere twenty years of occupation. That was certainly the shortest time any legion had spent in a new territory and it was a great victory for the Britons. The already conquered tribes could not shrug off their neighbors easily, so they became a marginally governed buffer between Roman Britain and the land that came to be called Caledonia after those fierce warriors who had accomplished the unthinkable.
That same “buffer,” however, became a breeding ground for unsatisfied Britons who soon became freedom fighters under a new leader: the enigmatic Merlyn. The truth of Merlyn’s origins were unknown, though legend had enough to say about it. One such said that he had been a powerful bard to a king of the Carvetii. After a battle, Merlyn went mad and fled to the forests in the north, the forests of Caledonia. More mystic legends claimed that he was the son of a king’s daughter who had been taken by a demon. He had been endowed with the gifts of prophecy by his father and he practiced dark magic in the forests. He was immortal and treacherous. The truth of even the most likely of these stories was questionable and as far as anyone knew, Merlyn himself did not speak of his history or parentage. He had come to the Britons at a time when they most needed a strong leader, that was enough for most. As for the Romans, they called him Merlinus Caledonensis, Merlin of the Caledonians, and they feared him with good reason.
Along with Merlyn, one of Caledonia’s native children was Guinevere herself. She was a daughter of a Votadini nobleman who lived very much as a Roman citizen would do. The Votadini, whose name meant “fort dwellers,” were a rich people with many resources of precious metals so prized by the Romans. Subsequently, there was a lot of trade between them and the Wall, which led to an ever increasing amount of Romanization of their lives. Guinevere, whose patriotism was fueled by the stories she heard about rebels such as Merlyn, had long since grown dissatisfied with her life as a quasi-Roman citizen. In her fourteenth year, construction began on a Roman fort where she lived with her father providing much of the needed gold to build it. Unable to bear it any longer, she left with a group of angry Briton countrymen and went to find Merlyn in the forests of Caledonia.
It was not long after she became part of Merlyn’s company that Guinevere became Cador’s mother. A woman stumbled into their camp one night and demanded to see Merlyn. This was not an uncommon occurrence in itself; many people wanted to see him for reasons of their own and most were denied for reasons Merlyn kept to himself. But this woman was not quite like those others. She bore the marks of having traveled far on foot with her tiny child in her arms. She shivered with an intense fever, her skin paler than the mist itself. Merlyn was informed of this unusual visitor and saw her straight away, speaking to her alone in a secluded area. The woman handed her child over to him and died only a few hours later. Of all the women who were loyal to the free Britain Merlyn promised, Guinevere could never understand why he chose her to be the infant’s foster mother. Thinking back on it in the present time, she seemed much to young and unwise to have been given such a large responsibility. Yet, somehow and not without a little help, she and the child had managed rather well, both growing to be the full flower of the free Briton peoples.
This story accounted for the lack of resemblance between mother and son. She considered it now as they rode together with Arthur on subtle paths through the beauty of the forest. She was tall and lithe, like a runner, with brown hair that looked red in the sun. Her skin was tanned brown from many days in the sun and her eyes were a bright shade of green. Many who had seen her described her as the daughter of Gobannos, one of the ancient gods who was reported to have had the most beautiful children of all. However, this was said more often than not in order to ignore her unfortunate relationship with her real father, who was viewed by everyone as a traitor to his people.
Cador was tall like the majority of his people and he bore the distinctively well muscled frame of a man whose main occupation was that of the warrior. His proportions were long and elegant, which balanced out the otherwise burly impression his broad chest and shoulders gave. His eyes and hair were black, or nearly so, which was uncommon so far north. It served as a reminder that he was not from there nor even the son of the woman he called his mother, but one of the Dumnonii from the south, one of the largest tribes in Britain. The Dumnonii were famed for being the tribe of many great heroes and leaders and when the Romans first came over from Gaul, they were looked to as the leaders of the war. Instead, they submitted without too much fighting, thus ending such hopes of leadership. Cador was one of the last members of the royal house of Rhiwallon, the king who had been reigning at the time of the invasion by Rome. When he was a child, this pedigree had led many, Merlyn and Guinevere included, to regard him as the future king of Britain who would eventually unite all under one banner and drive the Romans out at the point of his sword.
Obviously, Guinevere thought to herself, things had not happened quite like they imagined. Now she looked at her husband, Arthur, King of the Britons, and no man could have looked as though he deserved that title less. He was stocky, with the olive complexion of a Roman born. He did not have the long lines of a Briton, instead favoring the very compact frame of a man with a large amount of muscle. Still, he was not entirely Roman. His long flowing hair was the color of flax and very soft to the touch, just as his mother‘s had been. She had been a Briton herself and, luckily, left her son the legacy of her best feature. His face was clean shaven and open with a ready smile and brown eyes that bore the truth in their very pupils. She knew from experience that he was a terrible liar. More than that, however, his eyes looked as though they could see through anyone. Arthur’s powers of observation were considerable, making him an excellent judge of character, a talent which had served him well over the years. He made the most striking contrast next to Cador.

Well, if this feels like a lot to chew through, it is. I have my sources for most of the actual information given here strewn about me like the dying leaves of some researcher's tree. I could probably write a research paper on this subject by now. Whew! By the way, if any of the stuff in this post or any other of the UFP (Ubiquitous Fiction Piece) posts is unknown, foreign, or just plain weird, I encourage you to GOOGLE IT! I am using it to further my own fictitious ends, so don't take my word for a lot of it.
Oh, and sorry about the meltdown over the weekend. Thanks to my friend who saved my ass. She prefers to remain Anonymous.

... Why does it have to be me? ...

Hello? Is this thing on? *screeeeeech* Ow!

Hi. This is the author's friend, er one of them. The author is having a bit of a meltdown and won't be able to post anything either today or tomorrow. Anything that she would be able to put up would be completely unintelligible, so, I believe its all for the best. I'm going to have to tie her down in a while so she can sleep. It isn't a pretty sight.

She told me to put this pic up and say goodnight for her. So, goodnight.

Because this is the random stuff I do in the middle of the night...

Tada! A look into the mind of your blogger! The Failed Attempt is proud to present to you, its first video! The Writing Process.



Just for you, from a rummy me... See if you can find the pattern to all this...

Many Apologies

I am sorry, ladies and gentlemen, that our regularly scheduled post was not up today. To make a long story short, I was away from home all day and, therefore, unable to do any work. That will all be different this weekend since I will be home completely alone!! Thank God!

To make up for today, I will be posting more of our Ubiquitous Fiction Piece tomorrow as well as Sunday! How wonderfully exciting for us all... Now, will everyone kindly leave me the hell alone so I can get some work done? Okay? Okay.

Doggie Fun Day

Okay, so no real blogging is going to get done today, but I thought y'all might want to know how the Cavalier Fun Day went, since we are all dog lovers around here.

In short, it was long. What happens is that you get about fifty people gathered around in their lawn chairs waiting for the food to arrive, since, of course, the caterer is late. Along with the people are about 80-90 Cavaliers who jump around saying, "Pet me! Pet me!" or "Feed me! Feed me!" The dogs are the best company you have. Then there is a raffle in which the people prove to be much more ravenous than the dogs. All in all, it was fun.

Now, I have a book recommendation for you all, to make up for the lack of substance in this post and what better book to recommend in a post entitled "Doggie fun day" than a book for your cat. Go find a copy of How to Massage Your Cat by Alice M. Brock. This is an absolutely hilarious book about how to give your cat the best massage they've had in their lives. Learn the techniques in this book and your cat will look like this when its all over:

On a side note, Alice Brock is the Alice from Arlo Guthrie's song, "Alice's Restaurant." If you have never heard this song, seriously, listen to it here http://www.rhapsody.com/arlo-guthrie/alices-restaurant--2004 and find the lyrics. It is the funniest thing you will ever listen to.