Treasure Box – part 2

Posted on January 31, 2019 by hdh

 Treasure Box – Part 2

Finding the park was no problem. I’d been there many times as a child. Where to find the missing shoe was a bigger problem. I looked around for anything unusual. I checked the phone wires overhead. My friends and I used to have fun tying our sneakers together to see which one of us could get a pair caught on the overhead wires. One was rarely successful and when we were, the grounding we received from our parents usually convinced us never to try it again. Anyway, there were no shoes hanging from a wire, which made sense, since you need two shoelaces to be successful.

After looking in bushes, under benches, and in garbage cans, I came to a new piece of equipment I had never seen at this park. It was a bouncy house. There were a number of kids inside it and I noticed that none of the kids were wearing shoes. One of the Bouncy House rules was that you couldn’t go in it with your shoes on. I checked around the perimeter of the house until I found the entrance. Just outside the entrance, on the ground, were a dozen or so different sneakers and shoes of all sizes. A quick examination of the different pairs led me to one shoe that was missing its mate. Not only that, it was also missing a lace.

I picked up the shoe, walked some distance from the bounce house, where I wouldn’t be seen, and checked out the shoe. The bottom of the shoe was coated with a thick, gooey substance. It looked and felt a little like Silly Putty. I took out the pocket knife and scraped off the gunk as best I could. Attached to the shoe was a very small flash drive and the words “safe me”. I had no idea what that meant. I thought someone had just misspelled the words, “save me,” so I pocketed the drive and went off to find a liquor store. It was getting late and I hoped I could find one that was open.
 Continue reading →

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The Treasure Box

Posted on January 26, 2019 by hdh

Today’s prompt 1/21/19:

You’re a construction worker, and while in the middle of a dig to build a new building, you stumble upon a box with contents in it. There are five very specific items in it, along with a note: “When you find this, call me. This is only phase one.” There is a phone number, so you call it. What happens next?

————————————-

The Treasure Box

It’s very boring being just the gofer at the construction site. “Go for this.” “Go for that.” “Clear away this mess.” “Move that pile of debris.” All I do all day is take orders and clean up the disaster of a site that is created by the higher paid workers. Little did I realize that that was soon going to change.

It was a typical Friday morning. Got to work, swept up the offices, waiting to be told what menial task I was to do when my boss sent me to a new construction site. I was told that my job was just to clear away some debris from a recently excavated plot so that the real workers could start laying the foundation.

I got to the site and was surprised to find no one there. The mess I had to dig through and clean up certainly was present. I went down into the hole and started carting up the debris. I’d been working about 45 minutes when I happened upon a small box. It looked very old. There was a lock hooked through a hasp, supposedly to keep the box shut and secure. Though the lock was closed, the hasp had been eroded enough away that it was no longer attached to the box, meaning I could open the box. So I did.

Inside the box were 5 items, a key, a shoelace, a swiss army pocket knife, an empty water bottle, a hundred dollar bill, and a note. The note said, “When you find this, call me. This is only phase one.”  The note included a phone number to call.

Since no one was around, instead of putting the box in the dumpster, I put it in my car, after pocketing the hundred dollar bill, and then continued to finish the job I was sent to do. With a weekend coming up, I figured I had time to figure out what this mystery was. I got home at my usual time, took out the box, examined it again, reread the note, then made the call.

A raspy voice answered on the other end. “It’s about time you called.”

“What do you mean?” I replied. “Who am I talking to?”

What shocked me was his answer. “It’s not necessary for you to know, Robby. Just suffice it to say, I expected this call much earlier. You now only have 18 hours to complete phase one.”

“How do you know my name? I only just found this box. Do I know you? What do you mean only 18 hours left?”

The ragged voice on the other side of the line retorted quickly, “Just continue to ask stupid questions and you will never have time enough to complete your task. You either do what I say and possibly gain something that will make your life a whole lot better, or don’t, just hang up and you’ll never know what you missed, and then there is, of course, the consequences of your inaction!”

My mind was spinning. So many questions. So many “What ifs?” He seemed to be threatening me that if I didn’t cooperate something bad would happen, but if I did do what he said good things would happen.  I was in mid-thought when again he spoke, “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. Better luck next time.”

“DON’T HANG UP! I’ll do it,” was my hastened response, not knowing at all what I just agreed to.

In my mind, I could see him smirking as he continued and told me what I had to do.

——————————

Step 1: Go to my local park and find the shoe that was missing the shoelace.

Step 2: Use the pocket knife to scrape out the gunk that was stuck to the bottom of the shoe. Somehow there was something I either had to find, use or read, which the gunk covered up.

Step 3: go to the liquor store of my choice, purchase a certain brand of champagne, using the $100.00 and pour enough of it into the empty water bottle, which I was told was in fact not completely empty and follow the instructions as to where to go.

Step 4: Look for another box which will not have a rusted hasp and use the key to open it and get my Phase 2 assignment.

I was, supposedly, not the only person looking for this box. And its contents were set to self-destruct at the end of the original 24 hour period, meaning I had less than 18 hours to go.

Before I could ask any questions. The line went dead.

continued at http://www.hdhstory.net/Storyblog/?p=1403

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I hear you knocking…

Posted on January 16, 2019 by hdh

This week’s writing prompt is: You’re traveling in a rental car when you hear the thumping of a flat tire. You pull over and discover the thumping is not coming from a flat, after all, but from the trunk. What or who is making the noise?

——————-

I Hear You Knocking…

Leave it to me to be late again. Why can’t I ever get to where I’m supposed to be on time. This time, it was not my fault. My car died. I was ready in plenty of time to drive to school to pick up my son, and the darn car wouldn’t’ start. I tried jumping it, pushing it, even kicked it a couple of times, but it wouldn’t start. But I didn’t panic. I still had time. I quickly got on the phone called Enterprise car rental, they came and picked me up, drove me back to Enterprise, I filled out a few forms and I was on my way to pick Charlie up in a less than stellar car.

Just as I was about to reach school, where Charlie was waiting, I heard a ‘Thump’, then another one, and then another one. Great! I made it to school but now I’ll have to deal with a flat tire. Just my luck.

I pulled up to the curb where Charlie was impatiently waiting. By the scowl on his face, I assumed that he was not only upset that I was late but also mad about me showing up in a junk car that had a flat tire, meaning that there would be more delay.

As I got out of the car, I noticed something very strange. All of the tires were intact and fully inflated.

I grabbed Charlie’s backpack and went to put it in the trunk, when I heard that Thump, Thump, Thump, again.  

Charlie sarcastically said, “Nice dump truck you got here. What’s the matter? Mom wouldn’t give you the keys to the car again?”  He added, “What’s in the trunk?”

Not wanting to find out, I decided to put Charlie’s backpack in the back seat and said, “Oh nothing of importance, let’s go.”

We hadn’t driven very far when all of sudden I began to hear what appeared to be crying and it wasn’t Charlie. It definitely was coming from the inside of the car, more specifically, the trunk. And then it stopped.

“Dad,” Charlie said, “There is definitely someone or something in the trunk that is alive. Care to explain?”

I decided that honesty was the best policy, “I just picked up the car and I have no clue what’s in there.”

“Then hadn’t we take a look?” was Charlie’s reply.

I hate it when he’s right all the time. I pulled over to the curb, we both got out and went to the back of the car, pretty much expecting the worst. My head was filled with pictures of tortured, kidnapped victims, mob hits, abandoned babies and dead or mortally wounded animals.

I unlocked the lid and slowly pulled it up. What greeted my eyes was not what I expected. It was a child, a boy, probably about 6 years old and he was fast asleep.

Both Charlie and I looked at each other and said simultaneously, “What the…” As we spoke the boy woke up, rubbed his eyes and said, “Can you take me back to my daddy’s work now?”

We drove back to Enterprise, to see police cars in the front questioning one of the employees. In fact, it was the guy who had picked me up to bring me the car. It turned out that he had brought his son to work today and through the hustle and bustle of work, didn’t notice his son climb into the trunk of the car he was inspecting before driving to pick me up. He certainly wasn’t paying attention when he shut the trunk lid.  When I had left to pick up Charlie, he noticed his son was missing. After a furtive search with no luck, he called the police.

His son, after climbing into to trunk to play hide and seek from his father, saw his father close the lid and assumed he was being taken for a special ride. It wasn’t until some time later that the boy realized he couldn’t get out of the car and started banging around. Having no luck, he cried for a while until he fell asleep. And that was when we found him.

All this was explained to the police when we arrived with his son. I got warned to check a rental car better before I take possession of it. The father was also told that he’d needed to watch his son better when he is at work, or else he would be reported to Child Protective Services. And that was the end of it.

Charlie and I finally made it home. It ended up costing me a fortune to get our car repaired. And Charlie, well, he has decided to take the school bus home from now on, it’s more efficient, with no crazy side trips.

 

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The End of the Road

Posted on January 13, 2019 by hdh

The End of the Road

This past Tuesday’s writer’s prompt had me thinking about a moment where I came to the end of the road with something important in my life. I was to write a scene wrapped around that moment. How I felt and how I closed the door on that chapter in my life.

As to roads that I’ve come to an end of, I don’t know as I have any. All the roads I tend to be on whether it be work and teaching, getting married, having a family, all are continuing sagas. Even the family part of having kids, yes, the actual event of having kids is over in my life, but having a family which includes my son and my wife continues – So some roads may seem like they are ending, but they still exist and as long as they exist I still might wander along the path to examine the steps I took or just go back on the path and explore a different section of it.

Life is too filled with experiences and events to just let them stop and be forgotten or filed away as an ending of being.

What’s the saying, “Those that don’t learn from history are destined to repeat it.” Why not “Those that choose to file away history as one and done will lose all of the richness and beauty of times past.” They won’t be able to enjoy what they had and reflect upon themselves and where they have been.

That is not saying that all things in the past are beauty and comfort and soothing to one’s soul to remember. There are and were hardships, mistakes made, sad events, losses and frustrations that all of us experience. But those events and feelings we had made up who we are and the people we’ve become.

It’s interesting to note some of the important events that were suggested in this writing prompt:

  • “a relationship with a lover” – No ending there yet, and don’t look forward to it happening. “
  • Moving out of my childhood home” – Yes I did that, but the connection remained, for as long as my parents lived.
  • “Graduation from school” – Yes physically I graduated from different institutions, but I never stopped learning and continue to school myself as I grow older.

So I can’t write about an end of a road. All my roads keep going. They branch off in different directions but are always firmly connect to the main trunk and weave all their paths so that they interact with each other.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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The Once and Future Me

Posted on January 5, 2019 by hdh

The Once and Future Me

There are many thoughts that run through my head as I plan for the upcoming year. I don’t want it to be like all of the year’s past. I wake up each day looking forward to accomplishing a lot. And then spend a large part of the day, watching all of the TV shows that I’ve recorded while eating meals, playing word games on my devices and thinking about all of the things that I should be doing but somehow never get a chance to do. I will occasionally get an opportunity to work, either as a substitute teacher or storyteller, which will break up the monotony of those days. None of these reflect weekends and time spent at home with Christina, which allow me to enjoy being and doing things together.

There are things that seem to have always been on my list of things to do: Write, both fiction and non-fiction. I want to become published.  Music, I have some skills at playing different instruments but am proficient with only some, so practice to become better. Storytelling, There are so many stories out there, including my own that I would love to perform, but not getting enough gigs to actually perform them, creates less motivation to learn and work on them. So, learn and become more proficient at my storytelling craft. Ideally, I would like to become proficient enough at fiddle and guitar, that I can actually tell stories while I’m playing, a feat that I have not been able to accomplish in all my years of training. I can do one or the other, but not simultaneously.

So for personal goals and expectations, those are my thoughts. Then again they always have been and each year they are pretty much the same.

Outside of personal goals, there are also global, family goals. Build on the strong relationship I have with Christina. Do as much as I can to support my son and his wife, as they grow as a couple. Travel, which is one of my wife’s goals, which also will build on our relationship and give me a broader perspective of the world we live in. And help support all those, both family and friends, that need my support.

Again looking back on the past, these pretty much are not new things for me to wish for and look forward to. But as the years go on and I get older, hopefully at some point will be the passages I get to successfully write about.

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A Night Out

Posted on January 1, 2019 by hdh

My son got me the Writer’s Digest 2019 calendar for Christmas. It has prompts for each day of the year. Here’s one:

Writer’s prompt 1/1/19:

“You bolt awake… but you’re not immediately sure what awakened you. You blearily fumble for your cell phone to check the time, but as you reach for the bedside table, you gasp – your hand passes through the oak nightstand as if it were composed of nothing but mist. After a moment, you raise your hand up in front of your face to discover that it is not the nightstand that is no longer solid, but your disconcertingly translucent hand. what has happened?”

—————————

It was New Year’s Eve. Now for me, I prefer to stay at home, read a good book, binge watch some TV shows and go to sleep just after watching the Times Square ball ring in the new year. But this year my wife would have none of that lazing about the house. This New Year’s Eve would be different.

“We’re going out,” she declared in that voice I recognized meant that this was not open for discussion.

“Where would you like to go?” was my reply, knowing full well that she already had the evening planned.

“I have reservations at this new club on 59th street called, ‘Le Doigt Manquant’. It’s supposed to have exotic food and drink and is touted as a magical experience for all. I know that some of my friends plan on going this week and I want to experience it first. What better night to go than New Year’s Eve.”

I should have realized right from the start that this was a bad idea. Everytime my wife tries to scoop her friends, it never works out. Add to that, New Year’s Eve and all the crazies that are out at night, this did not bode well. So I answered, “Sure sounds great.”


 Our reservations were for 9:00. We got there on time and still had to wait about 45 minutes before we were seated. The inside of the club was poorly lit. You could barely see anything. If it weren’t for the noise of all the other people there, you would believe that you were alone. The servers came and went like whispers in the night, speaking in low voices that were hard to hear. It seemed that there was a fixed menu. Surprisingly we had to give our height and weight prior to being served. I was about to protest, when my wife put her hand on my arm, signaling, “Don’t you dare!” and acceded to their request.

Next thing I knew there was food and drink on our table. How it got there I have no clue. I will say this, the food was delicious, as was the drink, which had some flavor to it that I thought I recognized, but just couldn’t get a finger on.

After that I know there was music. We may or may not have danced. Things became sort of a blur. If I were a person who meditated, which I’m not, I would say I became one with the event. I could hear the crowds cheering outside celebrating the new year and that’s about it until I woke up this morning.

I looked to my side where my wife should have been, but only saw a glimmer of shape that could have been her.

It took a few hours before we both became solid again. Neither one of us spoke at all about the experience.

I’m fairly certain that given the opportunity next year, we will spend time at home, reading good books, binge-watching TV shows and going to sleep just after watching the Times Square ball ring in the new year. At least I hope so.

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How is everything?

Posted on December 19, 2018 by hdh

How is Everything?

We went out to eat with friends the other day at a local restaurant. As usual, the waitress came up to the table and asked us, “How is everything?” As in most cases, all it takes is for one person to respond, “Everything is good.” and the server goes away having received an answer.


    When did this pattern of behavior start? How is it that when one person replies, they are considered the spokesperson for the table? Is it possible that other people at the table have a different point of view about their food or service? In the instance of this meal, we had at our local restaurant, one of the dishes that one of us ate was undercooked. Clearly, the “spokesperson” for the table got it wrong.
    So how would you change this process? Here are some thoughts… all of which I would love to try, but probably never will, because it would be rude to do so.

 

1- “How is everything?” Response: “That’s a good question let me ask.” Then what you do is ask each person at your table for an answer and let the server just wait for all the answers. Of course, this does put some pressure on the people at your table. Would you be the only person at your table to say something is bad? Also, suppose most of the people think the food or service was not good. How would that impact how you are treated for the rest of the meal?

 

2- You are well aware that the server is going to come at some point and ask the question. So you prepare for it. You pre-poll your table using a rating system. you ask each person at your table to rate the food and/or service from I-5. Now you are ready. “How is everything?” Response: “On a scale of 1-5 we feel that the food is 3.8.” and/or “Our table feels the service was 4.1 out of 5.” This leaves you many options. You could respond with, “the consensus of our table is 2.8 for food and service” or if you want to generalize a response, “the consensus of our table is good, thank you.” In this way, no one in the group has to be put on the spot for having a bad review. Of course, this may force the server to clarify the rating by asking for more information. But chances are this will not happen, after all, the server wasn’t expecting a real answer to begin with, so probably won’t hear what you said anyway.

 

3. Pre-select a true person as a spokesperson for your table. “How is everything?” Response from the designated spokesperson, “As the spokesperson for the table, without objection, I would have to say that everything is fine.” Now in this scenario, someone could add to or refute a spokesperson’s statement if they wished.

 

4. Whoever answers, they should go into great detail about the meal. “How is everything?” Response: “Well the mashed potatoes were made to perfection, the string beans, however, were undercooked, the salad would have had a better dressing if it didn’t have so much salt. I think that I can speak for everyone and say the music was too loud since we couldn’t hear each other speak. Is it possible to turn up the heat, it’s pretty chilly in here? Some of us would like a refill on our drinks, will that cost extra?…” you get the idea.


5- And finally, answer with either complete nonsense or in a foreign language. “How is everything?” One response, “Absolutely Flutsoid.” Another response, “Es ist eine gute Mahlzeit, C’est bon! “

 

As tempting as these choices are, I’m not willing to actually do any of them, but boy, would I love to see a server’s reaction to any of these scenarios.

 

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The Word

Posted on December 8, 2018 by hdh

The Word

It’s on the tip of my tongue and I just can’t get it out. This is important. I’m a storyteller and can’t remember the words that I have to say to make this story work. This isn’t a problem if I’m just practicing in front of a mirror, but here I am in front of an audience of adults and I’m lost in my own story without the words I need to make it work. So what do I do? When I’m working with kids and doing a workshop, I always tell them to just go with what you remember of the story. If you leave out a part or make a mistake, unless the audience has heard the story before, no one will notice your omission.

So here I am right in the middle of a tale and I don’t know the words. I keep the tale moving as I know it should. I can even add more description and take the story into more elaborate places, but I’m going to reach that point soon and then what will I do?

Did you ever get a song stuck in your head and can hear every note of the song, but the lyrics and title just evade you? Your mind just keeps on obsessing over those words as the tune plays on and on in your head. It’s kind of like that. Only with tunes in my head, three days later the answer will pop up and I’ll shout it out like I’ve found gold. Of course, the people around me have no idea what’s wrong with me.

Remembering this word or phrase three days from now will not help this performance. The audience will be left without closure or understanding.

I guess this is called multi-tasking. Here I am telling a story at a public venue with one part of my being, at the same time another part is going through reams and reams of papers and books trying to find this one story and that one phrase that I need to make it complete and time is running out.

I’m almost there, the grand finale, the ultimate part, the do or die moment. I guess I’ll just make something up…pause…wait for it…

Me talking…”And as the prince gazed into the princess’s eyes for the last time, he said,”…In my head (“YES!”) … back out loud, “Never forget.”

The End

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Thanksgiving thoughts

Posted on November 22, 2018 by hdh

Thanksgiving thoughts

On this day of Thanksgiving, I chose to look up the meaning of both parts of the compound noun.  Here are some of the answers that I found.

Thanks

Thanks – used when we are grateful for things that have been done for us or on our behalf.

Thanks – used to respond to feelings or thoughts that gave us an important sense of self.

Thanks – an expression of appreciation of services or favors given to us.

Thanks – an expected response when when someone helps us, or or shows concern for our well being.

Thanks – recognition of others’ tasks, thoughts, and things that were shared in helping us become better than who we were.

Thanks – something that comes from the heart in reaction to something positive that has been done to or for you.

Giving

Giving – To make a present of

Giving – To place in the hands of or to pass along

Giving – To convey by physical action

Giving – To confer or officially bestow

Giving – To entrust to another

Giving – To furnish or contribute

Giving – To offer in good faith; to pledge

Giving – To make a gift or a donation

Put that all together and you can build a upon the meaning of Thanksgiving.

To all my friends, family, acquaintances and anyone else connected with me.

May you all be thankful for being who you are and for those that treat you with respect, trust and honor.  May you all be thankful for those that you do not know that make it so you can live the life you wish to lead.

May you also be the giver of happiness, empathy, respect and trust that merits thanks whether you receive those thanks or not. May you in good faith, entrust and bestow upon all that which is meant to build character and not break it down.

Continue being the positive, uplifting people that you are. And have a Happy Thanksgiving

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Play ball!

Posted on November 17, 2018 by hdh

Play Ball!

I don’t consider myself a great athlete, in fact when I was young, my father shared that opinion of me. He would have told you that he was somewhat disappointed with me in any sport I tried. Little League baseball would have been an excellent example.

Too young to play yet

I was always short for my age. When my parents took me to my first little league meeting of the team I was assigned to, the coaches didn’t quite know where to place me, in the majors or in the minors.

The adults looked at all of the players that had been assigned to them and split them into two groups. One group was designated for the majors; those must have included kids who the coaches knew either from previous years or gave the impression that they were good athletes. The rest were designated for the minors and sent off to the opposite end of the field to practice with adults. You can guess based on my size which field I was sent to.

All the kids in the minors’ group were told to go out into the field and try and catch balls that were hit to them. While I was out in the field not many balls reached me so I had no opportunity to show what I could do.

As we were playing, one at a time, we were asked to come up to try our hand at batting. When it was my turn to bat I took a bat, stood firmly in the batter’s box, bat over my shoulder, and awaited a pitch. Unlike in the majors’ side of the field, we were not being pitched to by kids. We were being pitched to by adults.

Now when an adult has to throw a ball to someone that they believe can’t hit the broad side of a barn, yet wants them to feel good about themselves, they throw the ball very softly and try to aim for the sweet spot of the batter’s swing with hopes that the hitter will be able to make some sort of contact. For me, that meant I could hit every pitch I was thrown and hit it well. All the adults were very impressed with my hitting ability and assumed I could both catch and throw a ball equally as well. I was immediately sent across the field to the majors, where I played outfield for the rest of the season. My father would have been impressed, had he shown up to that first meeting.

The season did not quite go as expected. I ended the season with a .000 batting average, spending most of my bats, either striking out (kid pitchers really don’t want to make it easy for you to hit the ball), grounding or flying out, or walking (it does pay to be small). I do remember once being thrown out sliding into second base. When I questioned why I was called out (I thought I was safe), the umpire said that I should learn how to slide. Don’t you just love those supportive adults?

My team did make it to the World Series of that league and won. With all my family there to watch me play, I was the only person on the team that didn’t get into the game. My father would not have been surprised. I did get a plaque as did everyone else on the team.
 I felt bad not being able to play, but I did get a plaque saying we won the pennant. I was somewhat pleased that the award we all got for winning had the word pennant misspelled. They spelled it with only one  “n”. I guess even adults can’t always hit it right

.


 I never played little league baseball again. My next sport to try would be ice hockey and that didn’t happen for another 3 years. Back to the minors.

 

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