It’s been a while since I posted any fiction.  Here’s a very short story I wrote this morning…

The guards stepped in to restore order after the unspoken order had already been restored.  Hmongs and Laotians presided over cell block B and over prisoner 4287554.  Joey DiMarco had been inside long enough to know the unspoken operations.  The schedule was always the same in minimum security: breakfast, work, lunch, work, exercise, dinner and lockdown.  Minor uprisings screwed with the order of things.  A new inmate challenged the unspoken order; everyone was penalized.

“It’s always the Italians,” Joey said quietly to the block wall.  Prisoner 4287554 had taken a vow of semi-silence, speaking only when spoken to; his vow did not keep him from talking to himself.  During times of unrest, especially now, when the commotion was caused by a fellow-Italian, Joey worried in whispers.  118 days until

art credit: caroline levis www.levisart.com, click image to veiw portfolio

According to rabbinic tradition and Acts 7, Moses tended sheep in the wilderness for forty years.  His first forty years were spent in a king’s palace.  His final forty years were spent leading a liberated, yet still grumpy people toward the Promised Land.  It’s the middle forty, the desert years, that seem pointless.  He got married, had some kids, and inhaled the smoke of a burning paote bush that led him to believe I AM WHO I AM was telling him to lead his people out of Egypt.  Forty years is a long time to listen to  sheep.  It is a long time to believe the words of a flaming bush.

What’s more is that God tells him the job he is preparing him to do will fail.  Exodus 4 paraphrased says, “You’re going to do all these miraculous things, but I’m going to harden Pharaoh’s heart so that he won’t listen to you.  It’s not going to work.  It’s not you; it’s me.”  Encouragement like that probably made the octogenarian long to hear the bleating of sheep. 

Mantua, Ohio is not known for it’s peace marches; so when one comes to town, you take notice.  This morning 6 Burmese nationals made their way North on OH 44 on their way to completing a 900 mile journey from Fort Wayne, IN to NYC.  Their mission: to raise awareness for human rights violations in Burma.

Well over a year ago, a cyclone landed Burma in American news headlines.  Scrutiny followed, as the world learned its relief efforts had been held up by the Burmese government. 

Occasionally I point my readers to another blog for some info or humor.  My friend Hollywood Pastor, AKA: JR Mahon, wrote the most gripping story about his kids.  “Kids?” you ask.  Well, they’re not just any kids.  The Mahon’s adopted 3 kids a few years back.  One time we were eating at a Middle Eastern joint, and one of their kids walked into the kitchen and demanded, “Hey, I want some pancakes.”  As kids go; theirs are RAD.  He retells their family story.

“I rarely write about my kids. It’s not intentional, it’s just living with the joys and horrors that come with foster-care adoption can be overwhelmingly stifling. Day to day survival usually trumps the ability to look back and wonder aloud.

Today I wonder aloud.

It’s been 2 plus years since Diane and I blindly let three kids into our lives. Beyond the residual effects of multiple forms of abuse and Di and I having no idea what we’re gonna do with three little kids, it’s going well.

Adoption in any form forces relationship. It will cause you to lose your sense of self in lieu of letting others live. You don’t count on that… it’s just what happens.

Mia, Angel and Z had the crap kicked out of ‘em early and built a myriad of survival tactics that kept them relatively sane while protecting them from more abuse where ever possible.”

Please click here to read the rest of the whole post.

Remember the olden days, when your friend got that sweet dual cassette player that offered high-speed dubbing? That device meant you could grab all of your buddies’ music and copy it onto 90 minute blank cassettes with noise reduction technology.  You and your friends stole music like nobody’s business.  No one cared.

FFWD a couple years to a time when Napster became the dual-cassette deck of the world

Music Review – Dave Matthews Band – Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King

The first track, a haunting saxophone, notifies listeners that what follows will be a tribute to the late LeRoi Moore.  The twelve remaining tracks leave you feeling as if you’ve just attended a wake in New Orleans on Mardi Gras.  How does that feel?  Well, happy, reflective, sad and weird; throw in some disappointment and some raucous dancing and you have Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King.

The opinions of early reviewers have been scattered.  Some have mandated this album be added to the “Big 3.”  Others have thought it a continuation of DMB’s recording mediocrity

Tomorrow: Ream reviews the latest DMB album.

A political lesson from Arizona.  Listen up, Iran.  It’s easy.