who will go the distance / Bel 6

The Long Run / The Eagles










Kate shot the officer who had lead her to Denton Suthers a glare. The officer, unaffected, looked to Denton who nodded that the door should be closed. Kate started speaking the second she heard the catch.



“My brother is a lot of things, but he is not a murderer. He is not guilty. He needs a lawyer. I will be arranging for one right away and I would appreciate if you could have the information on this case ready when they arrive. Meanwhile, I think it might be advisable to have my brother on suicide watch, it’s not like him, but this is all so unusual and he’s not behaving like him self.”


Denton said nothing, merely looking at her, trying hard to keep his face neutral. He merely sat, leaning back in his chair and watch. Not having anything else to say, Kate paused.


“I agree.”


The words hung in the air and Kate wasn’t sure she had heard them correctly.


“Excuse me?” She finally said when it was clear Denton was not going to go on.


“I said, I agree.” Denton answered calmly, not shifting from his seemingly relaxed position. “Wanna sit?” He gestured to a chair strategically placed across the desk from him, which was now strategically placed between Kate and himself.


“No.” She snapped. He shrugged and she sat.


“I don’t believe your brother IS guilty.” He began in a measured voice. “But the circumstantial evidence is strong and he is stubbornly refusing to help in any way. I’m hoping that you can help persuade him otherwise.” He leaned closer then, his elbows resting on the desk. “I’m also hoping you can tell me why you slunk off this morning. Not that I didn’t appreciate the note, but…”


Kate blushed and looked away. Denton sighed.


“Okay, let’s try this again. Denton Suthers, Chief of Police Tampa.” He held out his hand over the desk. She looked at him and rolled her eyes. He sighed.


“Okay… what do you want?”


She looked back at him, meeting his eyes now, and raised one eye brow. He held her stare until finally she spoke.


“I want you to clear my brother.”


“I’ll do my best. I’ll need your help.”


“I’ll do whatever it takes.” She said abruptly and stood. “I need to find a lawyer, he or she will be in touch with you when I do, Chief Suthers.”


“Delta…” He said softly and noted she hesitated. The hesitation was enough. “I had a hell of a time, finding Kate Ross today. And I never did find Arabella Rosanari. But as they turned out to be one and the same and arrived on my door step, I’m thinking that maybe luck is with me. And maybe, being lucky, you might actually, I don’t know, talk to me? Where are you staying?” His voice was soft, concerned.


“I’ll be in touch.” She answered and left.

Used to Love her

Lies / Guns n' Roses








I've a definate love/hate relationship with this music... which is very possibly it's intent.

“That’s a very good question…” The speaker smiled at the young woman sitting midway through the audience, and began a long involved answer. It wasn’t a good question though. It was trite and predictable. Expected. Easily anticipated and the answer just as predictable. The speaker had smiled though, and droned on.



Later, after the presentation the young woman had dawdled a bit and the speaker took the opportunity to ask her if she had a moment. For a famous author of course she did. When the crowd started to die, he chatted with her, about his book, her own work and interest. “Fascinating…” he’d commented.


The event finally ended and everyone went home to their beds safe and sound. Except the author of course, he went to his hotel room, chatted with the desk clerk and up to his room.


The next morning he chatted with a new desk clerk as he checked out and got to his car. He called on his cell phone to his assistant. She was waiting at the next venue and had her check in. He would be arriving later that evening.


Then he waited. First in a coffee shop. Then in a book store. His purchases only in cash. He sat in his car for long time, reading and finally watched the young woman as she left her menial job. Her mind was else where, it was easy to follow her home, drive off to another secluded spot and continue reading.


When the sun finally set he ambled his way back to her neighborhood, parking in front of a few houses down. No one noticed as he got out of his car nor when he ducked into the bushes between her house. Peering into the window, he noted she was alone as he knew she would be.


Brazenly he approached her front door, ringing the doorbell with his gloved hand. She was a bit surprised when he answered, but he was so charming. He apologized for bothering her, explained how he had looked her up ‘online’ by her name given so freely the night before. He’d been thinking about her all day. True. He hoped they could get to know each other better. Also true. There was no hesitation when she invited him in, thrilled and honored by his presence.


The house showed no sign of struggle. The police concluded she had known her attacker and began to question her friends and relatives.

If nearly 1/3 of the women killed in the U.S. die at the hands of someone they know, that means 2/3's do not.

Wildflowers / Bel 5

Wildflowers / Tom Petty









The silence was deafening as the guards left the siblings alone. In the now empty room, it was Jake who sat. Tossing himself into the chair a if relaxed, and tilting it back looked at his sister expectantly. Kate blushed.



“Well.” Jake finally said with a huff.


“It’s not what you think.” She answered defensively, because it was, exactly what he thought. “And this is not about me. What happened Jake?”


“I’ll tell you, if you tell me.” Jake grinned, a shadow of his former self, but at least that for the first time since she’d laid eyes on him. Kate still glared. “I don’t know.” Jake finally answered after the long silence that followed. Only then did Kate uncross her arms and sit in the chair across from him.


“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’? You are being accused of murder!”


“I mean, I don’t know. I don’t remember. Maybe … I don’t know.”


“You need a lawyer.”


“What’s the point, Bel. They have me… It looks bad…”


“You can’t just give up, Jake” Exasperated her arms folded again.


“Yeah, I can. Trust me, it’s easier. Bel…just go home. Please?” His voice was almost pleading.


“I’m getting you a lawyer.” She stood. “And you will talk to him and work with him.” She glared at her brother. “I’ll be in touch.” She started for the door, angry and determined.






With a tap, the door opened and one guard entered for Jake, the other gave a curt nod and began to lead Kate in the opposite direction. In the few minutes it had been, word had spread through the staff. The woman the chief had been desperate to find had arrived, but she was not who anyone thought and this was true in every sense.


Denton Suthers sat in his office beside himself. He had no idea what to say to this woman, even where to begin. He knew that all too soon, she would be standing before him and he knew all too well that given how she’d left him, she had not intended to be found. Running into each other this was, he was certain was even worse than had he found her.


He was pondering this and the best way to handle the situation when there was a knock on the door.

Free fallin / Bel 4

Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers Greatest Hits










Brother and sister blinked at each other. Neither understood why the chief would want to speak to them. Katherine was the first to move. Crossing the room and taking a seat at the rectangular table. It wasn’t so much she wanted to sit as she wanted to take some kind of action. She needed to DO something.



Reluctantly Jake sat across from her. No doubt for the same reasons. Though as soon as Jake sat, Katherine stood and began to pace. Jake sighed.


“Well folks…” Denton began as he rounded the corner entering the room and stopped short his eyes landing on Katherine. This was not what he expected.


Katherine glanced up at the voice and stopped short as well, her already pale complexion graying.


“Well, hello Delta. Didn’t expect to see you here.” Denton’s face held the barest hint of smile. He was in fact thrilled to see the woman, but he was expecting Jake Rosanari’s sister Arabella. The question now became was Katherine Ross the same woman? “Or should I call you Katherine?”


“Hi.” Katherine’s voice betrayed her, despite the limited number of syllables. “I prefer Kate.” She was trying to sound controlled though she was anything but. Didn’t just figure? It had to be him?


For the first time since her arrival, Jake straightened. His eyes traveled between Police Chief and his sister. A small smirk coming to his lips.


“You two know each other?” Jake asked, trying hard to see both of them at once.


“No.” Answered Denton, in unison as Kate said “Yes.”


A second later they had each changed their answer, in unison.






“Son-of-b…” Jake chuckled and started to shake his head.


“This is my brother. He’s innocent.” Kate started, interrupting and on the defensive, both for herself and her sibling. “I want to know exactly what is going on here. What is your evidence? Where is his lawyer? You don’t say anything unless your lawyer is present.” She snapped at Jake, who had stopped speaking, but still smirked.


“You’re Arabella Rosanari?” Denton asked with an eyebrow raised.


“Yes.” Kate snapped.


“And your Katherine Ross.”


“Yes.” Kate sounded more annoyed. “Arabella Katherine Rosanari, changed to Ross.”


“I think we need to talk, Delta.” Denton’s voice held amusement, which only served to clearly anger the woman more. “My office.” He barked and started to head toward the door.


“Can I have a word in private with my sister?” Jake asked, the first real words he’d spoken.


Denton looked to the guards, nodded and holding Kate’s eyes for a second, left.

Sam and Samantha

Stunt / Barenaked ladies











Sam was sprawled across a chair watching the television. Her namesake was on. Samantha Stevens had kidnapped a cow thinking it was Aunt Clara. Sam shook her head. She like her namesake, but sometimes the witch annoyed her.



Sam checked the clock, then her eyes went to her phone. Willing it to ring was having no effect. She sighed dejectedly and tried to focus on the how the cow problem was going to unfold. Of course, on the television everything ended fine. Except… the witch had left her daughter unattended to return the cow. Where was child services?


Not to mention that the whole plot had unfolded because what’s-her-name, the bosses wife had witnessed the cow while babysitting. Annoyed, Sam rolled out of the chair to get a snack.

Knights

A Knight's Tale











Okay, it's kind of campy, and silly and has anachronisms, but I love this movie. I’ve seen it a trillion times. I’m not exactly sure why I like it so much. I mean, yes, I like the idea of knights and tournaments and all that, but not that much. And I actually think the lead female (Joycelyn) is kind of…snotty. And all the other women prettier, and still I love this movie.



So today I worked, again, despite it’s a Saturday And yet, again, I am brain dead and have nothing to say. I almost didn’t write. I mean, which is worse? To write with nothing to say or to not write anything? Clearly I came up with a decision.


And yes, this is another decision based more on compulsiveness than rationality. As I decided I didn’t want to skip a day. It didn’t matter that I am rambling. So… I sit, watching A Knight’s Tale and thought hey…. And I do have the album. Because I thought the album would have the music from the movie. It doesn’t exactly, but that’s another issue.

So today I'd rather be a silly girl with a flower than a silly boy with a horse and a stick.  Which actually is odd, because usually, I'd rather be a silly boy with a horse and a stick....

Large screen tvs

Pure 80's










Okay, I admit it. I love 80’s music. I choose this album today because it has on it the Animotion song, Obsession. This is not one of my specific favorites as 80’s songs go, but it was appropriate for what I was thinking about in a round about way.



Two houses down from mine the owners (we don’t know them) have a large screen tv. How large is it? It’s large enough that I can look out my window across the lot next door and into our next neighbor’s house and see what’s on tv. I can actually identify shows, ads, actors. The screen is …HUGE!


I don’t get it. I’m two houses away and I can watch their tv.

Dreams / spider 2

Dreams Come True / Ball, Strehli & Barton










She was lost. Not physically. Georgina Costello knew very well she was sitting in her Crim class St Johns University in New York City. She had done the reading, she had spoken up in class, but none of that mattered. She may know where she was, but she didn’t know why she was there. It wasn’t straightforwardly that she didn’t care, she did, at least some. She just felt lost. Nothing was exactly wrong, it just wasn’t right. Worse, she couldn’t explain any of it.



One thing she did know, was that very, very soon she was going to have to declare her project. It would have to be good and she had no clue. It nagged at her, 24-7, but the more it nagged the less she could focus. It was the research equivalent of writer’s block.


After class she figured she’d go eat ice cream then wander the book store. Maybe that would offer something.

American Witch

Educated Horses / Rob Zombie











Okay, today is my work blog day too. Usually, if I can write one, I can write the other. But, no. Today is a day that when I look at the screen before me I go blank. Nothing. My mind is a void. I have one thought: I’m tired. Yes. Great.



So, for my other blog, I happened to learn that today in history 318 years ago the last witches were hung in Salem. This disturbing fact did not offer a whole lot to go on, but it did suffice for a work blog. The more interesting fact was that among those hung on this day was a the great, great, great and probably a lot more greats, grandmother of a man I used to work for.


He was interesting guy. He was well into retirement age when I met him. He ran a private school and I worked for him for 3 three years. In fact, he was neither a very nice or competent being, but he was charming. Charm is a funny thing. From the first time I met this man I liked him. I couldn’t really explain why, I just liked him.  He was horrible and yet, I liked him.


One day he told me that yes, he knew there were 14 year old young women, walking half a mile in the dark on a country road at 10 and 11 pm at night to wait at the train station. And yes, he knew there was a registered sex offender convicted of assault on young women living in the immediate area. But, no, he was not going to change anything about the situation. He said it in the same calm, nice way and though I was furious, he was still likeable. I didn’t want to, but there was just something charming.


When I found out his relative was hung for witchcraft, for the first time it gave me pause. Maybe… some of the people in Salem…were right? I had always dismissed this idea. And frankly, if the people were right and there were witches there, I don’t think they should have been hung or burned at the stake, but… what if…?


On further thought, I dismissed this on the grounds that if witches were charming, they would not have been hung.

RIP

MARTHA CORY of Salem Farmes

MARY ESTY of Topsfield

ALICE PARKER of Salem

MARY PARKER of Andover

ANN PUDEATOR of Salem

WILMOT REDD of Marblehead

MARGARET SCOTT of Rowley

SAMUEL WARDWELL of Andover

Hanged September 22, 1692

all my life is just dispare / Bel 4

The Quintessential Billie Holiday











She was pacing when the door open and Jake entered. He paused in the door way. She froze her movement. There eyes locked.



He looked sad, worn down and beaten. It was not a look she’d ever seen on her brother’s face, ever, and it sent a chill down her spine. After a moment, Jake smiled and shook his head. But it the smile never reached his eyes.


Katherine fought the urge to snort and fold her arms over her chest. That was what she always did, but this was not the same as always. The officer who had led him, left the room closing the door behind. The two stood in silence.


Jake spoke first. He could never stand silence.


“What are you doing here, sis?” Katherine swallowed. ‘sis’. Another oddity. Her brother had not called her that in more years than she could remember. “I didn’t call.”


“Pete called. He was worried.”


“Pete worries to much.” He scoffed. “I’m fine. See.” He held out his arms as much as the restraints would allow. “You can go home. I’ll be fine.”


“Murder one?” She couldn’t keep the hard edge from her voice, her arms folded. She was getting annoyed, though her anger was as much upset with the situation than true irritation at him.


“It’ll be fine, Bel. Just go home.” He turned, knocking on the door to get the officers attention.


“Pete said you were refusing a lawyer.” The sentence hung in the air as if physical.


“Pete talks too much.” Jake growled at the door opened and the officer gave a pleading glance at Katherine that she didn’t fully understand. “Take me back.” Jake growled.


“No! Wait. Jake?”


“I’ve nothing to talk about.”


“What happened?”


“Nothing.”


“Tell me.”


“Nothing.”


“You are a lot of things and right now a major pain in the ass, but you are not a murderer.” Katherine’s voice cracked and she looked away from her brother to note the officer had been following the volley. She glared at him.


“Just go Bella. Take me back.”


The officer sighed and gave an apologetic look to Katherine. He was about to led the defeated man away when another approached.


“Chief’s coming. Wants to talk to both of them.” The newly arrived officer shrugged his eyes too volleying between brother and sister.

Lost as a child's first thought

Seals & Crofts  Greatest Hits










The day they came to arrest her was not the worst day of Sam’s life, though it certainly wasn’t good. It was too stunning and confused to truly be that bad of a day. It had passed quickly in a blur and with the an element of surrealism that shielded her from reality.



The worse days came later. First there was the fighting between her parents and her, her and her brother, until eventually everyone just fought. Almost worse than the fighting was the quiet, the cold shoulders, the alienation and ostracism.


Then there was the day she left the first time. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t have a clue, she just knew she had to leave. And whatever was out there, had to be better than where she was at.


She’d stuffed some clothes into her backpack, put in some food and all the cash she could find and walked out. She figured she could do something. People lived, got jobs, sure she was young, but she could look older. She’d just turned 15, but she could look 18. She’d gone into the heart of Midtown. She wasn’t dumb, she figured the first thing she needed was a job. She started to look for luncheonettes that wanted waitresses.


By dusk that night, she had no job and no place to stay. The reality of being homeless, dispossessed, indignant suddenly had taken on new meaning. Of course she’d seen “those people.” They were different. Suddenly the realization that she was “those people.” Hit hard. Sitting down on a bench in Central Park she started to cry. A soft cry at first, the tears welling in her eyes spilling down her cheeks though she was trying to ignore them. Soon that failed and she was sobbing.

Document / REM









I’m half way through the string of bad weekends. They began last Sunday. A very nice lady who comes into work invited me and my co-worker to a ‘ladies lunch.’ This is the second lunch invitation. The first was … interesting. She is a very, very nice lady… but we have nothing in common.



Well, actually, I suppose that’s not completely fair. We are both married and childless. Though different ages, relationships, views on the entire situation. We live in the same state, literally, not figuratively…. We both live in yellow houses. Yup that about covers it.


What I like most about this woman is she is bubbly and there is a certain amount of social censorship that she doesn’t have. So while she is up beat and kind of charming, she is saying things one really, probably shouldn’t be saying. She is not native to the U.S. so I’m not sure if there is a cultural thing that happens or a language thing? But I secretly found it hilarious the day she was talking to a three year old and his mother. She was asking the little boy things like, “do you like girls? Do you have a girl friend?”


The child was indignantly saying no, while his mother was looking embarrassed. Then this woman asks if the young man is going to get married someday, and “are you going to marry mummy?” Mom looked horrified. I’m sure the woman hadn’t meant it quite the way it sounded. The child answered with great disdain that of course not, it was his mother. Priceless.


Our other co worker finds these luncheons hilarious. She doesn’t get invited. She’s okay with that. Her notable moment for this woman is when the woman smiled down at a group of two – four year olds. “You are cute! You are cute” She started to say going through the group, until she hit one and without hesitation said, “You, you are not so cute, but you are cute and you are cute…”


So anyway, we went to lunch. The food was fine and I feel bad. I think this woman has no one else, but… I was bored out of my mind. It was painful. I was tired. It was a weekend. So not fair, it was MY weekend… But I got through.


This week, I worked Saturday. My sixth day in a row. Seven if you count the above luncheon. I worked with one of our new employees who means well. But…


She’s not fully trained. Worse, she has yet to learn things like: if you have a mom with two screaming kids, don’t try to be nice and go out of your way to help them and ask them questions and teach them: get them out!!! FAST! Worst, however, she doesn’t stop talking. Every thought that goes through her brain comes out her mouth.


I was so tired by the time I came home I was in tears. Today, my big day off and I go six more days in a row, again Sadly it’s all I can think about. I’m living for a week from today.

Travelogue / Blues Traveler Bel 3

Travelogue / Blues Traveler









The Tampa jail didn’t really look like a jail to Katherine. Though nothing in Florida ever looked quite like she thought it should. She’d grown used to New England, where buildings were old and prepared for winter. Florida was new, flat, buildings always seemed to her to be on the verge of being abandoned or unfinished.



She was thinking about what kind of an animal the building might be, if it were so, when she entered it. She was sure the thoughts had stemmed from years of their father talking about “the belly of the beast.” She frowned at the thought. She spent a great deal of time pushing away thoughts of her family, and yet they, like she, always found their way back together with them.


She knew the drill, who to ask, how to ask, where to sit and wait. Police stations, jail houses, court houses, on some level they were all the same. They were all familiar to her like highways were to truckers, she supposed.


It didn’t really take long before she was being led down a cinder block corridor to a cinder block room, in which she knew Jake would be waiting. She wasn’t completely sure what kind of greeting she’d get this time though. Usually it was Jake himself that called for her.

She took a deep breath before entered.

op13

Welcome to the Neighborhood / Meat Loaf











“So, what’s with the name?” Louisa asked as she stepped into the lab looking around.


Lead smiled at seeing her, his heart skipping a beat. Jack entered carrying a bag of dirt and glancing quickly between them, became very focused on putting the bag down and leaving quickly for another.


“It’s from the Gymnobelideus leadbeateri …”


“The possum?” Louisa interrupted, surprising Lead enough that he paused and physically stopped short. “Um..yeah. How…?”


“Zach did a paper on marsupials last term.” Louisa shrugged, seemingly oblivious to Lead’s amazement. “I get it, now.” She added seriously. “I thought you meant lead like in pipes.” She shrugged it off and walked to where the brothers were piling things. Lead’s smiled grew and he followed her.


“Zach’s your son? The one who didn’t really want to go to lunch with Tim?” Lead laughed.


“Yeah.” Louisa laughed. “One of them anyway. Zach’s thirteen. James, my other son, is ten. So what are you going to do here?”


“I’m going to build a wombat home.” Lead answered matter-of-factly, his hands on his hips surveying what he and Jack had just brought in. “My brother’s helping me bring some stuff in.”


“Wow.” Louisa nodded glancing at the wood, Plexiglas and bags of dirt and sand piled in the room.


“I’m sorry, I know this is cliché but you don’t look old enough to have kids 13 and 10.” Lead glanced sideways at Louisa, she looked to be between 28 and 32, which would mean she would have had to have had Zach at 19. Lead doubted she had become a foreign language teacher of two languages being a mother to two children so young.


“Oh, I’m 38.” Louisa shrugged off handedly, again giving Lead pause as she turned to survey the rest of the room. “You need to put some posters or something up in here. It’s kind of dull.”


“Yeah. I think you’re right.” Lead smiled stepping up next to her. She was certainly like no other woman he’d ever met before in his life: confident, direct, beautiful, and very intriguing.


“You know, you should also get one of the kids to help you build that.” Louisa tossed her head at the pile of supplies. “It looks like it could be a lot of work. If you want, I’ll send Andrew you’re way. He helped me build the shelves up in my room. He’s a good kid. He’s been wanting to meet you too.”


“That’d be good.” Lead looked down at Louisa, wondering if he could just ask her out.


“If you want. I don’t mean to be pushy or anything. I just think you’re going to need more help with that.” Louisa looked sincerely concerned, causing Lead’s heart to race even faster. “And I know it’s hard when you’re new to some place.”


“No. You’re right. Help would be great.” Lead nodded feeling inept.


“Well, I should let you find where you’re brother went.” Louisa laughed. “I’ll send Andrew your way.” She smiled and took a few steps toward the door.


“Is there a Mr. Harris?” Lead blurted out, the bluntness of the question even surprising himself.


“There is one…” Louisa turned back to Lead, “but he’s not my husband anymore if that’s what you’re asking.” Louisa smiled at Lead, who blushed and smiled back.


“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” Lead took a step toward Louisa, his heart raced, he’d never been so direct about anything in life and if she said no… Louisa’s pause seemed an eternity.


“Drinks maybe or early dinner? Like four? I’ll have to pick up the boys at 5:30. Is that ok?” She stepped towards Lead, her head tilted to one side. She hadn’t expected such a question. She had presumed that a man like Lead surely had a wife, or at least a girlfriend, back home and that his interest in her was purely lingual. She had spent enough time in foreign locals to know it was always nice to find someone who spoke your language and it was always hard to be in a new place.


“Anything I can get.” He smiled at her with shrug of his shoulder, causing her heart to skip a beat.


“You don’t have a wife do you?” Louisa scowled at him. He had checked her own marital status before asking her out, but still he was a Latin American male, a long way from home.


“Never. No current girlfriend, either. And it’s my brother who’s the family flirt. He’s going to be very shocked and proud of me about this conversation.” Lead laughed.


Louisa nodded, blushing slightly as she laughed and registered the whole conversation, wondering a little about the wisdom of accepting his invitation. It was just dinner, after all, she thought as a bell rang in the distance.


“I need to go.” Louisa glanced at the hallway that was now starting to fill with students. “I’ll meet you at you here when I get done?”


Speechless Lead nodded and watched Louisa exit into the stream of plaid. Jack would be proud. Hell, he was proud. Lead glanced at his watch, and he only had approximately six hours before he saw Louisa again, he smiled to himself.

A pain in the neck

Murmur / REM










This is the 102nd post to this blog. I would have never thought it possible. Ironically for the last two days, ideas have flown out of me. Today, I am as blank as slate. I’m blaming it on two things. One another string of problems at work and two, what I am certain is related, a literally pain in my neck. I woke up with it. The irony of it was at first amusing, but as the day has worn on, it’s gotten very old. It’s now twingey and all I can think of is a hot pad.



So, skip this post today… better will come.

When are you going to land

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road / Elton John










“Are you crazy?” He asked me, looking like I had four heads and just suggested we start eating puppies.



“Probably.” I answered with a shrug, “but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”


“We can’t just walk in there and ask for money.”


“Why not?”


He paused for moment, clearly not having an answer to this, before he gave the ever useful retort. “Because we can’t.”


I tsked and shook my head. Without more hesitation I pulled on the heavy glass door. He could follow or not, at that point I didn’t care.






My request inside was met with the same kind of incredulous skepticism. I volleyed from person to person, repeating the same thing over and over until I was starting to get a headache.


“Look, just answer me.” I finally said, exasperated as I sat in a large office filled with what was supposed to appear as expensive dark wood furnishings. “I don’t care what the answer is, but your wasting my time. And I don’t have time to waste.”


The man behind the desk looked amused. He was somewhere in that nebulous age bracket of 30-something to 50-something. He was balding, but not quiet bald. Over weight, but not quiet fat. He could dress up to be quiet snappy or dressed down to be indigent. It was funny how malleable some people were in appearance.


At that moment, he looked rather neutral. He was a blank slate with black dress pants and white shirt, and a splash of color for his tie, but not too colorful. The tie was a deep blue. I liked the color, but not enough to stare at it for the afternoon.


“Well?” I asked.


“Okay.” He answered and the deal was done.

Some girls / bella 2

Some Girls / Rolling Stones









Rattled by her conversation with Pete, she did not head directly to the county jail as she had anticipated. Instead, she’d found her economy motel, checked in and stood in a cold shower until her external temperature was a chilled as she felt inside.



Pete knew nothing. He’d relayed what for the boys was a typical night. They’d had the night off from their menial kitchen jobs. They spent the early evening surfing in the dusk. By night fall, the tourist and beach combers had packed up and gone and the serious partiers had started to arrive. About a mile down the beach from their house, someone had built a bonfire. The guys, hoping to score free food, drugs or alcohol had wandered down that way, hoping for an invite.


The invite had been extended by a young woman. Pete had described her as “hot with dark hair.” They’d seen her around in the party circuit, but Pete had no idea of her name. She had clearly recognized Jake, though. Pete was introduced to the girl’s friend, a “hot blonde.” The party grew and a couple of times over the next few hours Pete noted Jake and the brunette still together and he figured they’d hook up. The blonde had taken Pete to a motel for the night and he’d arrived home the next morning to an empty house. None of this was new or out of the ordinary.


What was odd was around 1:00 the next afternoon, when the police arrived with a warrant to search the house. Pete had left the cops, to arrive at the station and learn Jake was arrested for murder one.


Katherine shuddered as she wrapped a towel around her and went to dress in appropriate clothing for the climate. Of the all the times she’d been called to jail houses for all the males in her family, this was the first time one was being held on murder. It was also the first time she had not been the first to be called. That Jake hadn’t even called her at all this time worried her. She was at a loss, but she knew for certain something was terribly wrong.

Behind Blue Eyes / spider 1

Who's next / The Who











Spider James never claimed to be a reporter, journalist or researcher. He was a writer. He happened to write true crime. It wasn’t even that he began with a specific interest, it was something that he happened to ‘fall into.’



It began just after he’d graduated from college with a degree in English and no job. He’d answered an ad for a ghost writer. He hadn’t expected it to go anywhere. In some ways it didn’t. He’d gotten the job, accepted the deal, started the process. He was going to writing an autobiography that was not his own. In fact, it was likely that he would never even receive credit for the words that would appear on the page.


Ironically, ‘the author’ died in a car crash. The project over before it had really begun.


But not for Spider. He started thinking, if he could write a book for someone else why not a book for himself, but he needed a topic. He had been sitting at the Starbucks trying to think of one, when the idea fell into his lap. Almost literally.


At the next table, a young woman had sat reading a newspaper. Finished, she rose, tossing it aside. She left without looking back, the paper sliding across the surface and threatening to fall, Spider had grabbed it. The headline announced that the Rocky River Murders was now solved, the case that had plagued law enforcement for years, over.


The idea was hatched and his career born. Now he had five true crime books under his belt. He knew what his editors and publisher wanted. He knew what people liked to read. It was surprisingly easy. If anything it was formulaic, serial killers as unoriginal as romance novelists. But it was easy and the money decent. It allowed him to travel, meet people, do the things he liked to do. And that was what it was all about, doing what he liked to do.

If I could turn back time / Bel 1

Heart of Stone / Cher










Katherine disembarked the plane to a wave of heat. Almost immediately she began peeling off layers and debated that perhaps her first stop should be her motel, not her brother’s. Would the hour really matter? Pete had said Jake was in trouble, but that was nothing new, was it? How many times had she dropped her life to go bail him out of some jail and why did she? If she’d had an answer to that, she wouldn’t have just arrived at the Tampa airport.



She had decided to go to the motel while she completed the paper work on the rental. But of course, by the time she was behind the wheel, her guilt would not allow it. She headed for the beach front cottage Jake and Pete had shared for the last several years.


Their road was more of a path, a sandy strip of old concrete that separated the Gulf from the gunshot cottages reserved for cheap tourist and Tampa’s almost indigent. While most beach front property was expensive, these cottages were too small, too run down and the whole area flooded too frequently to make them anything remotely near profitable. At that, she had still been shocked to hear the cost of rent, it had been more than her suburban Boston apartment and that was saying something.


She pulled her car into the shared driveway of cracked shells and sand and made her way to the door. Steeling herself, she knocked. She could already feel the sweat trickling down her body as she rolled up the sleeves of her oxford shirt, hoping for any kind of reprieve.


Pete had the door open before her arm lowered. He looked awful, even for him. His normal state of unkemptness would have looked polished and pressed compared to the haunt that greeted her. His wrinkled shirt was untucked and misbuttoned. His swim trunks looked stiff with salt, as did his messy dark hair. But it was the hollow sunken look in his eyes that really took Katherine aback.


“It’s bad Bel. Thanks for coming.” He spoke contritely, his eyes cast downward.


“Can I come in?” She asked, sure that whatever the problem was, risking tetanus in the house was better than having the conversation out on the front lawn such as it was.


“Oh? Ah. Yeah. Sorry about the mess.” Pete took a step back allowing Katherine to enter the squalor. There was as much sand on the floor inside the house as out. Salt stains ringed the cushion on a comfy chair that’s stuffing was showing throw the arms. The futon was covered in clothing, impossible to tell if it had been clean or worn and the remnants of god knew how many take out dinners were providing sustenance for the roaches along the kitchen counter and table. The cottage contained two rooms and a bath. Katherine had never seen either of the other two rooms, given the sights of the “living room” she had never wanted to.


“I’m sorry to call you Bella. I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know what else to do.” Pete shook his head and collapsed into the large chair. The fact that he had called her by the name Jake used for her was a bad sign. Worse was the catch in his voice. “Jake doesn’t know I called you. He told me not to, but I had to… it’s bad.”


Katherine sat on the edge of the sofa, trying to minimize the amount of her that touched any surface. After a shallow breath, breathing deeply in their house was never a good idea, she prompted.


“They arrested your brother for murder one” Pete now raised his eyes to hers. “I know he didn’t do it. You know Jake, he’s a lot of things, but not a murderer. But there’s something wrong, Bel. He won’t defend himself. Says he doesn’t want a lawyer, won’t tell anybody what happened, not even me. God Bel, they’ll fry him.”

A freight train

Howl / Black Rebel Motorcycle Club












So, I've had a wicked headache all day. My mind is still at work, since I awoke at 5 am something this morning. I've sat and stared at blank screen for ... well a long time. I'm tired and have nothing to say. Nothing.


But, I have committed to writing. So what is there to say? The one really good thing that happened to me today. I found a near-ish Greek restaurant. I have been hunting for one for a while. I’ve seen this place for a while and thought it was Italian. But searching today – as I was trying to write, I came across them and their menu.

So, not wanting my tuna casserole for the 4th time, we tried it. Now don’t get me wrong. I actually really LIKE tuna casserole and it is one of the few things I cook – and I mean from scratch. None of that can of cream of mushroom soup for me – I do a rue and the whole bit. It works too, but… it does not compete with real Greek food. And at least one good thing in a day is better than nothing. Just like three paragraphs of not much is better than no post?

King of the Hill

My Way The best of Frank / Frank Sinatra









Let me just say, it was a bad day.  On top of a bad week.  Many of you heard about this bad day and bad week in other venues.  I've decided NOT to rant about it here for two reasons:  1.  I've been trying NOT to swear like a sailor on this blog.  2. There were enough things that I also don't want to open myself up for a law suit.

That being said, I am going to share the one really cool thing that happened today.  It was brief, but still.  Today, I'll take what I can get.

I was driving to dinner tonight.  I had yahoo-ed my directions and was traveling over hill and dale, over the river and through the woods.  I rounded a corner and there at the bottom of the hill was a huge field dotted with white.   As I got closer I identified sheep!  Then noticed some of them were little goats!  Some of you know, I kind of have a fondness for little goats.

There were at least 100 of them.  All grazing happily and as I got closer and the road ran around by the field, I noticed one thing.  Not a sheep, but a big huge sheep dog guarding the fort.  It was very cool.

My hopes are so high

A mark * A mission * A brand * A scar / Dashbaord Confessional








One of my most memorable job interviews was my first academic and “real” job interview. I was in Connecticut. The job was in Oregon.



For some reason, though I think I am a reasonably intelligent person, who usually sees the big picture, there are realities that while I know them, don’t actually “sink in” right away. I knew that Oregon was a long way from Connecticut. I liked the idea of moving so far. However, it wasn’t until I was sitting at the airport, getting ready to fly across country that the distance of the trip really sunk in. Perhaps it was because I was going to be flying so far alone, arriving somewhere where I knew nothing and no one, to be picked up by a stranger who would take me to a bed and breakfast where I was to spend two days “looking around” and “interviewing.”


Academic interviews are almost always at least a full day long. They start you with breakfast, you meet with a series of people, often you teach a class and do a presentation as part of your day and conclude with a dinner. You are then either shipped home or put up for the night to be shipped home in the morning. When candidates are traveling far, an extra day is sometimes added so that the person can get a feel for the area.


I didn’t care for a feel of the area. I didn’t like the idea of a bed and breakfast. And this was my first ever interview: I was nervous.


As it happened, American Airlines overbooked the flight and so when they wanted to send people on a different flight, a later flight – I jumped at the chance. One night away from home was better than two! My potential employer did not particularly agree, but as I was missing the City Tour and it was “not my fault” it was accepted.


I flew from CT to Dallas to Oregon. A nice man with a sign met me and I felt very worldly. That feeling was lost arriving at the B&B. I had never stayed in one before that trip, but it was all that I imagined I wouldn’t like. It felt intrusive, arriving in someone’s house. It was a shared bath, not only did that make me uncomfortable, but I was afraid of disturbing people. I was told to arrive downstairs any time after 6:30 for breakfast.


My room, while gorgeous was like any home’s guest room: sparse. There was no tv to distract me. No phone to call home and bemoan my situation. I was left in a strange place, with my nerves and the knowledge that other strangers were in the next room, who were going to be upset with me for tieing up the bath.


I was up at five the next morning, into the shower so as to not need to worry about being late or holding any one up and downstairs for breakfast at the appointed time. I’m sure the people were trying to be friendly. I’m sure they did not think about what it was like for me in this situation. But my hostess, an older woman criticized my breakfast choice. Apparently, just having tea and toast was not acceptable. The other guest, arriving for breakfast shortly after me, commented upon why he didn’t understand why I had taken a shower so early. Why hadn’t I done it the night before he joked? A private person, nervous beyond belief, fairly sure that at least my hostess would be questioned about me. I smiled, though I saw no humor in the situation and made the mental note NEVER to go to a B&B again.


The day ran me thru typical paces, but was long. On a couple of occasions I had what I thought were some very odd conversations. A female faculty member from a different department than would be my own, told me it was “good that I was interviewing for X Department” because “Joe” was the department chair and he would “protect me.” From what, I wondered, but at that point was to naïve to ask or to know. Another asked, “Why would you want to come here?” But it was not the standard fishing question that really was asking : did you do your home work, what do you know about us? Before I answered this questioner had gone on to say, “I sure wouldn’t want to be here if I were you.”


But the most amazing part of the day for me came at dinner that night. I was nervous about catching my flight home, though as it turned out I had plenty of time. In these situations you are in effect captive. You are being driven, you typically don’t know where you are, timing is not shared, etc.


So, I am sitting at a very nice restaurant with who will be two of my co-workers in my department. One, a woman, was shorter than I, thus she was less than 5 feet tall. She was one of those round, bubbly, butterball women. Her hair was short and a mass of blonde curls. The other guest was a male, very tall, athletic, GQ handsome. I was trying very hard to seem nonchalant, relaxed, friendly, charming, not an idiot, despite the fact that I was horribly overwhelmed, worried about missing the plane, had no idea who had or where my luggage was and had a red eye flight that was going to  change planes in O’Hare to arrive me home at 6:00 am.


My colleagues were pouring down wine and as is typically the case at these dinners ordering the most expensive thing on the menu because the university is paying the tab. They were thankfully, ignoring me and yammering about their day. This was interesting to me, as I was not yet one of the fold.  I was clearly starting to see what the woman earlier meant by “protection.”


By the main course, Blondie had gone on at length about her new Kia, which she hated, but was the only car on the market she could afford. Mental note: salaries not good here, increases not forthcoming. GQ has talked about his new state of the art computer, that he doesn’t know how to run.  Mental note: not techies.  Then Blondie asks G if he has Robert Z. in class. He says yes, he knows the student and they discuss the student’s GPA and work habits for a few minutes. I’m not impressed. I was still new enough to think these things were confidential and not to be bantered about with names in a public restaurant.


Then Blondie announces that she was really “p.o.” at him that afternoon and had seriously considered … kicking a certain part of his named anatomy to China. I’m sure my eyes widened as I tried not to drop my fork. G was unfazed. “Oh?” He asked, “What did he do now?” G never paused from his meal, not even as Blondie went on.


“We were coming out of class in the Red building, and he patted my head and told me I was a ‘good girl.’”


“And what did you say?” G. laughed.


“I told him not to do it again unless he was f****** me.”


I choked.


It didn’t matter, they didn’t notice. I didn’t get the job. I didn’t mind.

What box do you live in?

Are a Drag / Me First and the Gimme Gimmes



Note:  The Me First and the Gimme Gimmes is a punk cover band.  They cover country, folk and this is their cover album of soundtracks: Over the Rainbow, Science Fiction Double Feature, What I did For Love... and the list goes on.


Okay, I’m ranting again. An article appeared in the news media last week about Walmart. A Walmart in the Midwest had opted to shelve their books by race, or rather specifically by Black subjects and by default White subjects. I’ve not doubt that this was prompted by a line of fiction written by Black authors, with Black characters and dealing with what might be considered cultural issues. However, this particular store also shelved non-fiction and various topics this way. Thus, books about the president were in the “Black section.” Two books on sports figures – the one about the Black athlete was not in the same section as the White athlete.



Now, personally, I think this was just stupidity on the retailer’s part. I think they had figured out that there was this line of mass market fiction and that it sold and they were thinking of marketing and ease and nothing else. I tend to think big business is pretty, well, dumb.


This story prompted a flood of twitter in the librarian circuit. People have come at this from all directions. One such person said they thought this was perfectly fine, as it was just a matter of a kind of genre shelved by skin color. This galls me.


Now, okay, I can kind of understand where the person was coming from on the notion of genre. S/he was, I’m sure, thinking of the Black fiction I mention above. It’s surfaced around the same time and I’d put it in the same category as “Chick lit” and Christian Fiction. But would we say it’s okay to shelve books by gender? By religion? Skin color?!?


So, tan people should have a section of good beach reads? Who knows where gay writers or transgendered authors should go. What if a Black, Jewish woman wrote a book about Asian gay men? There are days I just think I should not have any contact with the public. Any of them. Ever.

Which exit? Which interview?

Cars Greatest Hits













I was traveling on vacation with my husband several years ago. We were at a rest stop in Jersey, making the “which exit?” joke, as its location was familiar to both of us. The joke reminded me of an earlier pit stop while traveling for a job interview. Since I was, again, engaged in a job search, my mind fixated on this, as it was prone to do.



I had certainly had had some “interesting” job interviews in my life and silently to myself I started ticking them off, musing I probably had 101 of them… though NOT a 101 job offers. I should write a book. By the time my husband returned from the rest room, the plan was formed and I announced my project.


“I’m going to write a book, 99 Interviews.” I announced as we walked back to our car.


“Ok.” He answered neutrally, “Why 99?”


“Well, I originally was thinking 101, but then wasn’t sure I really had THAT many.” I knew fully that he knew my mind was focused on employment. I had a job that I loved, in a place that was truly making me ill. So much so, in fact, that our trip home was so that I could face Endoscopy the following day.


“I see…” he smirked. “You DO realize that’s only 2 less?”


No. I hadn’t much thought of that. I had at rough count, ticked off a list of 45 or so off the top of my head and knew there were more. However, I had read his lack of comment as doubt.


“You don’t think I’ve had that many? … You think it’s a silly idea?”


“No.” He answered seriously as we got into the car. “I think you’ve might have had more than that… what’s your list so far?”






Every job I have every applied for was one I sincerely wanted when I applied. Many I was thankful I didn’t get. Very few, did I get.


My first job interviews were random. Job ads answered from newspapers for possibilities that required no or little skill, but sounded interesting to me. Later as an academic, the market was tough. As students we were told of single jobs receiving 200 and more applicants. One’s best bet was to beat the odds: apply to every thing and hope to get lucky. As a result, my professional experience encouraged me to send out hundreds of applications, hoping that lucky one would work. This was simply what I and my peers did. When I changed careers, the strategy seemed sound and the habit was certainly in place. So I continued. My interview “response rate” in statistical terms is great! I generally have been offered interviews for 25% of the applications I submit.


I don’t know why I am such a successful applicant, but have no such luck with employment. I don’t drool. I don’t talk to myself or am rude in the interview process. And yet…. Only once did I have the opportunity to “choose between” reasonable offers and never have I had immediate success with a job search.  it always has taken months, sometimes years. In jobs, my employers have generally seemed to like me, but as I have found many of them difficult places to work, I am well aware of all the questions begged.


Over the years as I have been slowly cataloging these interview experiences I’ve talked more and observed more. Much to my relief I’ve learned much of what I have deemed my lack of success is not unique. It seems most people just don't like to talk of it.  Wonder why? Humph.  Some of the adventures however, have been..