Need More Words

We need more words in English.

I heard a radio interview (Morning Edition on NPR, I believe) the other day with someone talking about the 10 Commandments, or the Decalogue in Jewish tradition. Among the many interesting things that were said was the troubling nature of the 10th "saying" and its less than capital nature.

So, how serious is coveting anyway?

For me, there are not clear descriptive terms that align themselves with emotional states. The lust I feel for my wife is not the same emotional state (or physical manifestation, either, boyo) that I feel for that piece of German chocolate cake. And it's not even close to what I feel when I look at a dual processor G5 PowerMac with 23" flat panel display (OK, that did making me a little hot).

And if we begin breaking it down, there's things that I can desire, in all of its various flavors, and not want, or intend to have. And there are things I can cooly appreciate, and neither want nor desire, covet, or lust after.

Then again, if our language was more precise, completely definitive, then we would have less need for the poet. Instead of saying, "yes, it's something like that", we would all simply shake our heads in perfect agreement, saying exactly what we experienced and meant.

Back to the old map and territory business.

Oh, and the book they were talking about in the above interview was the Jewish Study Bible. Might have to get one of those.

How's is hang'n podna?

There are some authors that have one story to tell and repeat it endlessly, book after book. One of my favorite authors, James Lee Burke may be one of them, but I'll gladly pay full admission every time he wants to tell it.

I just finished "Last Car to Elysian Fields". Once more, Dave Robicheaux gets tangled up in an mess that reaches back through the years. Once more, a strange and powerful murderer flits in and out of the story. Once more a rich and influential family may be deeply involved. Good sons gone bad, trying to be good. Wives and daughters caught in the corruption and the sins of the fathers. And once more, Clete Purcel is there to happily stir the mayhem.

Yah mon. Burke has got the gift, the skill. When I read his work I can smell it, feel it, taste it. I see every picture in full high definition. And the man knows we've been down this road before and uses it to add to the tension and anticipation. Bad things are going to happen. Rough, karmic justice will be handed out.

I have a shelf devoted to Mr. Burke's works - they are a marvel. It's been a while since I've been back through them - perhaps it's time to start over. But I'm not sure I can. Dave's been through some rough territory.

Ah. I don't know the world that Robicheaux does, don't want to be any closer than these books. I don't want to wrestle with his demons, carry his weight. But I tell you honestly, there are moments, points of time in which I do, for just a moment, wish I could unleash the chaos, go full tilt boogie, get the creeps in my sights in a free fire zone.

Admit it, so do you.

No? You're right, neither do I. I was just josh'n with ya.

"Don't be shooting at nothin' you cain't see the other side of, no."

Long Week In San Francisco

OK, too busy to actually finish and post this. Here's what I intended to post on Wednesday or Thursday, but got pulled off onto something else.

__________


Been at Macworld Expo all week. These long shows wear on one.

I'm good for a three-day show, but the adrenaline will only carry me so far. And with a three hour difference in time I find that after a few days, rather than acclimate, it just catches up with me.

But, on to the show!

The show floor this year is much smaller than previous years - I believe that it's just too expensive for many companies to exhibit any more. The attendance is good and the traffic has been strong, so no complaints in that.

On the other hand, I haven't seen anything really new and unexpected - no stunning new technology, devices, or software. Why is that? Because the internet is a 24X7, 365 trade show.

What have I seen? Lots of accessories. Lots of computer, iPod, and device bags. Lots of well made software, but for the most part, not seen for the first time (ours fits in that category).

Oh, and not enough free wireless bandwidth! The show provider charges a huge amount for internet to the booth and those that do pay for it have to keep it to themselves. There are a few places where I can get it, but it's a walk and there's not much time in between meetings and spending time at the booth. Luckily, someone near our hotel room set up an open wireless connection. Thanks, macTools guys!

Ah, busy to finish - more next week.

Alms For The Poor

My friend Penny has gotten me to be a regular reader of San Francisco Chronicle columnist Jon Carroll.

I'm normally right in step with him, but today's was truly a demonstration of his skill and art. Today's column JON CARROLL - Tuesday, December 23, 2003.

Initially, I shook my head and thought, "no way - the wrong thing to do." But after a moment and thinking about what he'd said, he brought me around.

We're all experts in how other people should get their lives together. There are the worthy homeless and the unworthy homeless. You may concentrate on the adjective, or you may concentrate on the noun. I'm a noun guy.

From my perspective, charity isn't about the people you're giving to, it's about YOU. Yes, there are effective organizations that help with all sorts of problems. There are scams and crooks. But charity, giving, is a form of mindfulness. As Mr. Carroll says, it has to be enough to hurt, even just a little, so you'll notice. An alm, a physical demonstration of one's awareness of others.

Happy holiday's, all.

Does Anyone Think This Is Fun?

I admit, there's a lot of things I just don't understand, but this is going right at the top of my list:BlogShares - Fantasy Blog Share Market

How exactly is this any fun? Set us a fantasy stock market to predict the popularity of blogs?

Although I must admit that I was flattered to learn that I had 2 stock holders!

Of course, if it's anything like the real stock market just because they own stock doesn't mean that they, or anyone else for that matter, actually read this stuff.

Tomorrow: the meaning of life revealed and many sexy complications.

The Annual Xmas Letter

Every year Diane asks me to write a Christmas letter for the few cards we send out - this year you get to read it to!

December 2003

Greetings! We hope this season finds you well and happy! We’ve had a busy year, but here at the holidays we’re ready for a couple of weeks of being close to home and fewer rushed activities.

Here’s the breakdown for all of us:

Jennifer just turned 11. She’s doing a terrific job on the piano and is now starting drawing lessons, the cello and even trying some children’s theater. She’s even had her first picture on exhibit. Her picture was titled “Silent Turtle Water” (you’ll have to ask her). We’ll have her do a custom Christmas card next year. Both she and Kathleen continue to ice skate competitively – the gold medals are piling up (but I don’t think you’ll see them at the Olympics anytime soon). It’s hard to believe that Jennifer will start middle school next year.

Kathleen, now a sophomore, is in demand on the string bass and already getting paying gigs, but not making enough to cover what I charge to drive her around. She’s been selected for the All-State Jazz band and plays with the Columbus Youth Symphony Orchestra. She’ll start driver’s ed in a couple of months and is picking out cars (although she knows she’s driving the old minivan until further notice).

Diane and I completed a huge project in April with the grand opening of “Cinema Murray”, our basement-remodeling project. If you’re ever in the area stop in for a movie – but call ahead, seating is limited! I’ve been accused of obsessing about this new hobby, but I swear it’s not time for a mid-life crisis. You can check it out online at http://homepage.mac.com/cptnrandy/CinemaMurray.htm

Both of us remain working in the high pressure, high tech field, but we’re not complaining – we know too many people that are out of work. Diane runs a large technical department for the state and I’ve taken on all of the marketing and public relations for Now Software (let me know if you need any calendar software!). I’m doing a little more traveling (NYC, San Francisco, Vegas, etc.) just enough to be fun, but those redeye flights back are rough. On the health front I had my gall bladder out in February and am finally attacking my long-term back pain – a mix of kidney stones and arthritis – but hopefully controllable with exercise and medication.

We have been keeping up with our yearly vacation to Cape Hatteras and, this year, we are also planning a family trip to Boston. And by this time next year we’ll be looking at colleges for Kathleen!

Don’t forget to write (regular mail or email to cptnrandy@mac.com). And if you can, come for a visit!

All the best this holiday season.

Randy, Diane, Kathleen, and Jennifer

Good With The Bad

This Yin and Yang thing is a bitch.

First, something I got a kick out of - a little thing, perhaps, but I regard it as a milestone.

Friday morning when I got in the office I had a phone message from a headhunter - I do get them from time to time. But this time it was different - this was the call, the big show, as they say in baseball.

I've spent my entire career in the software industry and from the start I've been a Mac fan. I've done good work and had more than a few chances to do some very cool things. For the last few years I've been working in a Mac software company (OK, cross platform, but we're all Mac fans here).

The call was from one of the big players - they knew who I was, what'd I'd done, and were interested in me. It was extremely flattering.

But I had no trouble saying, "thanks for thinking of me, but I'm not interested". It would have been a very interesting job, but there's no way I could uproot the family and move to California. But just like a proposition to a married man from a beautiful woman - sometimes it's just nice to be asked.

Just so the universe stays in balance, I learned yesterday that my ongoing back pain is not kidney stones, but arthritis. That's just damn depressing. So new drugs, physical therapy, and lots of X-rays, MRIs, CTs and paper hospital gowns. Trust me, it could have been worse news, but I reserve the right to be depressed for a little while. I hope that in a few months I'll feel better and be in better shape. I certainly hope so - my back's been killing me for days now. And knowing what's causing it makes me feel too damn old.

I Love A True Obsession

I recently got an early Xmas present: an expresso machine. I've barely learned to operate the thing, but in search of answers, I've found these fine fellows:

CoffeeGeek - Information, Opinion, Reviews, and More

For real fun, check out the long article on milk frothing.

Chafferers with Laptops

I'm in one of those inexplicable reading droughts again, and for once, it may be a good thing. I've been reading Barbara Tuchman's "Stilwell and the American Experience in China, 1911-45", which is an amazing book, but not at this moment compelling me to gobble it down in one gulp.

So, last night when I took the girls to a late Sunday evening skating session, I took my nifty 12" Powerbook.

And here's what happened:


Post Modem


Chapter 1

“So, Mr. Nash. How quickly can you help us fill this position?”

I really don’t like taking on new customers, but the economy of the last few years had finally caught up with me. My base of customers wasn’t half what it had been before the turn of the century and the ones that remained weren’t hiring much. But I was far from destitute and when times are bad, companies have to be sure and hire the right people the first time around. So they need me, but they don’t like it. They’re more likely to argue with my fee structure and try and bargain with me. I rarely bargain and I certainly wasn’t in the mood for it today.

“I’m sure I can find the right person for you pretty quickly. Just how quickly do you need someone?”

Mr. Bemidji managed a weak smile. “Today, tomorrow, any time this week.” He made a strange strangled laugh. “Really Mr. Nash. We need someone immediately. We wouldn’t be speaking to you if we didn’t need to find a replacement, er, well immediately.”

I took a moment and scratched behind my right ear and looked again at his desktop. Some people have clean desks, but very few have completely empty ones. The office was clearly his, but he had arranged it in such a manner that after every task he could return it to a complete null state. When I had been escorted in he was using a slim sliver laptop, but he closed it and slid it into a desk drawer before rising to shake my hand and offer me a seat. I waited, scratching and thinking until he looked close to tears.

“Perhaps you’re talking to the wrong man. It will probably take a few weeks for me to discover what you need and several more to find the right person. I’m not sitting on a stable of blank slates I can shoe horn into any opening.”

“Mr. Nash …”

“Let me tell you how I work, Mr. Bemidji. You’ve spoken to three of my customers already. That’s why I agreed to this meeting. The way I work and my fees are not negotiable. But if you let me do my job, I will find the right person for you.”

Time to wait again, but it wasn’t long.

“Mr. Nash, I was told you were the best executive recruiter in the area.”

“Headhunter. I’m a headhunter, Mr. Bemidji. I don’t dignify it with fancy titles. And I’m not here to find just someone to fill a job, am I? You need someone very specific, and I’m here to find that person for you.”

Bemidji shifted, but only slightly, in his chair. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes, Mr. Nash. We need someone very specific.”

“And I’d be happy to help you.” I took a single sheet of paper from my portfolio and laid it in front of him. “If you’ll sign here we can begin.”

He stared at the contract in front of him. He’d seen it earlier when I emailed him a copy and instructed him we would be signing it, unaltered, before we began. He spoke without taking his eyes off the contract. “This is a very unusual way of doing business, Mr. Nash.”

“It is, isn’t it? But it’s the way I work and the only way I work. Sign it and we begin or don’t and I’ll leave.”

My agreement is very simple. Once engaged, I research the company, the tasks, the history, everything down to the competition and market conditions. Then I bring back a single candidate. I name the salary and benefits package. There are no interviews, no committees, no HR vetting. The company receives a “dossier”, for lack of a better term, and they have 24 hours to decide. I do not offer a second candidate. My fee is equivalent to one year’s salary of this new hire.

“You can do this?” he asked.

“Yes. I can.”

He slid open the drawer to his left, selected a pen, and signed the contract without hesitation, then replaced the pen, closed the drawer and pushed the contract back across the desk to me. “Mr. Nash, last night the president of our company was murdered. We need you to find a replacement in no more than three weeks.”

Now it was my turn to sigh. I took out my pen and signed the contract, dated it and placed it in my portfolio.

“Then let’s get started.”

Why Fiction Is Important

The other day John mentioned that a friend of his didn't have a TV and wouldn't read fiction "because it isn't real".

I've been faced with this before, but it's clear to me that this attitude boxes one in on what can be known and experienced. How gray life would be without imagination. How unknowable would life and experience be if only cold analysis and reporting feeds me. Perspective is virtually unreachable without fiction's ability to say, "here's what it might have been like".

And there's power in fiction. A story, well told, can make the unthinkable real and in some cases, turn away the unthinkable by setting it out with "if we keep on this way . . ."

And I think this is one example: Fallout from 'The Day After'. I remember it well.

Abraham Lincoln is, by legend, reported as telling Harriet Beecher Stowe, ""So you're the little woman who wrote the book that started this Great War!" Is it possible that this nearly forgotten TV movie may have caused a war NOT to have been started?

Thank you, Mr. Meyers.

There And Back Again

So, on Monday I arrive at the airport before 7:30 A.M. to discover that my 9:10 A.M. flight will now leave at 12:38 P.M.. Too short a time to leave and return, but a long wait nonetheless.

We arrive in Las Vegas 4 hours late and miss our first 2 meetings. The 3rd I get to with minutes to spare. Then I rush to another hotel to do 3 solid hours of prattling about our wonderful software. When it's over and after midnight by my clock, we go to dinner with the President, Publisher, and Sales guy from PC World at the Top of The World. Wonderful view, very late for poor Randy.

But we're in Vegas, so we have to spend at least some time in the Casino. I'm not much of a gambler (risk taker, yes, gambler, no), but I'd received a complete tutorial of the game "Let It Ride" from a friend. After 2 hours, I actually got up having gained $37.

Total day from getting up to back to bed: 23 hours.

After a few spent sleeping, more meetings then a flight back. Home around 11:30 P.M.

Back at the office at 8 A.M. to discover 85 real, non-spam items to deal with in my email inbox.

Sometimes, it would be nice to be needed just a little less.

Memory From Your Milk Jug

Last summer on the beach, sitting looking at the stars, our conversation turned to the future. We pass through Kitty Hawk on our way to Buxton and vacation within sight of the famous Cape Hatteras lighthouse.

My daughters marveled at the technological progress of not just the last hundred years since that first flight, but on what's occurred since I left high school in 1978. They wondered what life might be for them in the next 20 or 30 years.

And I told them, without hesitation, that they ain't seen noth'n yet.

For instance, here's an article at newscientist.com: Plastic memory promises cheap, dense storage.

Sounds like pretty useful stuff. But I don't think one can imagine the impact of nanotech, bio-engineering, new materials.

Now I ask you, are our lives that very much different that those who have gone before over this last 10,000 years?

Hell yes.

A Glass Of Wine With You, Sir

Penny pointed me to the following article on Master & Comander

An interesting article, but unfortunately wrong. Way off. Sorry, Mr. Nevius, but you've missed the point.

I've been wondering for some time about two things. Would the movie be anything but "inspired" by the books I love so much. AND would the movie reviewers and critics bother to read the books. I'm less concerned about the first than the second.

The movie must stand on its own - I'm hoping it will be fun and not too unconnected from the characters as laid out by Mr. O'Brian. But the books are not, I must insist, a simple collection of seafaring novels. The Napoleonic Wars were NOT a footnote in history. For the most part, the readers of these novels have no desire to actually experience life on one of these voyages. It was at best unpleasant and dangerous. The books are not arcane and filled with impenetrable jargon. OK, well, they are, but that's part of the humor - got to read it to get it.

You see, these books are adventures. They tell a great, thumping story of war and adversity overcome. There's sea battles, storms, spies, and intrigue. There's romance, deceit, treachery, and triumph over incredible odds.

But what makes these books interesting is the development of these characters. Over the course of 20 books, really one long novel, we get to know Jack Aubrey and Steven Maturin. We really get to know them. They are amazing men, but far from perfect. Brilliant in their own environments, foolish in others. Weak, impulsive, jealous, compassionate, but most important, competent. These men know their jobs and that is always fascinating.

I recently read these novels again, not to experience the adventure once more, but to spend some more time with my friends. In a recent New Yorker interview, Quentin Tarinteno talked about "hang out" movies. The type of movie where you love the characters so much you watch them from time to time just to hang out and not feel lonely. Aubrey, Maturin, Killick, Bonden and all the crew are my friends and I enjoy spending time with them.

Another writer recently called these novels "anachronistic". Read the fucking books before you write about them! No, these are not Hornblower novels grown up. No, they're not a anachronistic mess like "The Alienist". O'Brian's characters don't know things they shouldn't in the early 1800's. Some of the funniest scenes are with Steven as a brilliant surgeon for the time, but who thinks that the naval officers are too concerned with cleanliness.

If you have not read them, please do yourself a favor and start. Don't try to force the story into something you know or think you know. Let Mr. O'Brian tell you the story at your pace. Steven Maturin will be at your side, clueless as you, as you try to make sense of the jargon and operation of a ship of the line.

And sure, go see the movie. Just ignore the critics. They haven't read the books and they don't know what they're talking about.

Fictional Places, Real Environments

In seeing Penny's recent post on Nero Wolfe it made me recall a surprise I had a year or so ago.

I was walking back to my hotel from Javits Convention Center in NYC when I spied this plaque on an otherwise nondescript building.

Someday I'll have to make a trip to Florida to the Bahia Mar marina and look slip F-18.

It's Not What You Know

I had a strange experience the other day. It was really more of a
realization that has lead to a long chain of thoughts.

Last Saturday night, we invited one of Diane's coworkers, his girlfriend and her kids (I'm not sure the word "family" applies, but that's essentially what it is) over to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas.

We all enjoyed the movie and after he asked, "Do you know how Penny doing? I had read about her surgery on her blog and hadn't seen anything since."

I assured him she was doing fine (as you can see from recent updates), but in that moment an entire chain of thoughts erupted. I've only met Brian twice, but he knows LOTS of stuff about me. He works with Diane. They are good friends and talk daily. Brian met Penny some time back and they are friends. Penny and I are close friends and have been for years. Penny has a blog and in it links to this blog.

QED: Brian could potentially know more about me than virtually anyone
else. Not all, not by a long shot, but lots.

Weird.

Of course, I know some of the details of his life, the kind of things that you'd expect to learn about the friend of a spouse, but that's only one point of contact. Brian has three, which puts him far ahead of a general reader of this blog.

Frankly, it doesn't bother me. It is, essentially, the writer's burden. Do your work well and people you don't know will eventually learn a great deal about you and everything you know, everyone you know. I can't and don't worry about it.

The tough but essential part: one can't care what people think about you. You can't control it, so don't try.

Early on in my training as a playwright I learned, to my horror, that I couldn't control every part of production. Even worse, the playwright can't control ANY part of production. I had the good fortune of a main season production at a major university. It was thrilling, until it was time to go see it. It was a very good production, but I wasn't in control. It made me nuts for a while, but once I learned that I couldn't direct the play, act all the parts, sew the costumes, paint the scenery, run the lights, pop the popcorn and sell the tickets AND be the entire audience, I was fine.

Actually, it's quite freeing. I write this stuff. You read it. We never meet.

Enjoy.

How To Overload A Book Shelf

If you don't know Gene Wolfe, you're missing one of the truly great living writers. This man is a master, someone who can tell you a story and with each step, each chapter, make you reconsider what you thought the story was about. Once you learn to listen, you'll learn amazing things.

And I see he has something new coming:
The Knight : Book One of The Wizard Knight.

If you have not read Wolfe, start with The Shadow of the Torturer. Let Mr. Wolfe tell you the story, don't try to force it into what you already think you know.

I have an entire bookshelf in my home office devoted, as I am, to Wolfe.

Here We Go, Into The Wild, Blue, Younder

Traveling for work this week, so posting is questionable (and yes, my posts are mostly questionable, but that's beside the point).

Talk about a mad trip. I leave from Columbus at 6 am Tuesday (which means I need to be to Port Columbus around 4:30 am). Thank god for Daylight Savings Time. I get to San Jose and rush to my first interview by Noon local time. Total of three all the hell over the place.

Three more appointments on Wednesday, then my return flight leaves around 10:30 p.m.. Puts me back into Columbus, if everything goes as planned, around 9:30 a.m. on Thursday.

Why do I do this? First, there's no good way to get back from the West Coast - just as well do the redeye. And Thursday night is "Beggars' Night", since having Trick or Treat actually on Halloween would be throwing our children to the devil or tempt them into delinquency.

So, long trip, short time. And next month I do the same thing to Vegas and back in less time!

Movies for Men

Penny and I have a long ranging discussion about movies and my assertion that there are some that speak specifically to men. I'm not talking about action movies, but movies that connect to men specifically and may leave women viewers uninterested and unappreciative.

One specific example is "Fight Club". Yes, there's explosions and punching, but that's not it. Penny disliked it strongly - I was surprised at how much I connected with it.

Another example is "The Unbearable Lightness of Being". No it's not about the nudity (very nice, though). There are moments when I really connect with the character that Daniel Day-Lewis portrays.

For both these movies and others like them, it's not that I want to be like these men, but I understand them.

Yesterday, Penny wrote:

Check out the latest J. Carroll column at sfgate.com.

Does this have anything to do with the fight Club discussion? i think we're probably not done with that yet, i can feel some more stuff trying to form itself at the back of my consciousness...

And after some thought, I replied.

Yep, Mr. Carroll is on it.

It may get down too a bunch of visceral emotions, which if expressed poorly, sound sexist and boorish.

Perhaps it's like this: at our core, men understand that women, females in general, are stronger and tougher than us. Able to endure more pain and stress and better suited to work out the details. Of course men and women are different, but what we also know is that they're better.

What we also suspect is that men, males, are also MORE emotional than women. Yes, women are better able to express emotions, but they also seem to tolerate them more. Emotions are frightening and are better mastered. At least that's what our instincts tell us. Don't get out of control. Don't get carried away. Find ways to yell and shout that don't end up in people getting killed.

Why do women long survive the death of their mates while men often quickly die? It's not that they can't fend for themselves, certainly not any more. But the pain and the loss overcome them.

It all boils down to this: I don't know what the hell I'm talking about.

In the company of men there is a comfort in belonging. There's a shared, instinctive pleasure at the demonstration of a mastered skill, regardless of it's useful value. We grope around for a way to express what we're feeling and it doesn't fully connect with the language parts. But when we see it, in a movie, in a novel, we connect.

Where's Mr. Pinker when you need him?

To which she replied:

Further thought -- oblique series of associations: in the movie Moonstruck, the character played by Olympia Dukakis asks several times throughout the films what makes men act the way they do? (She's in a particular situation). And she comes up several times with the answer: because they are afraid of death. She tells her husband of many years, finally, Cosmo, you're gonna die no matter what you do. Accept it.

and then:

I just went to your web site, realizing I hadn't read it yet today. This was AFTER I wrote the email about Moonstruck. And there you are, on the theme from a different side...

Amazing

Yes, we men are deeper than we appear.

So, if I were King of the forest, the first thing I would do is abdicate and hand things over for the women to run.

A Dream Of Dying

And now we turn in our hymnals once again to a song by brother Paul Simon

American Tune: "And I dreamed I was dying
And I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me
Smiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flying
And high up above my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty
Sailing away to sea
And I dreamed I was flying
"




Last night I went to sleep with a pain in my back, a kidney stone. Not enough to medicate myself into oblivion, though I probably should have. A strong drink may have helped as well. But I was determined to be stoic and quickly went to sleep.

But the pain was such that it trapped me in a dream, one that seemed to extend the whole night. It may have only been seconds, but the dream ran on and on.

In it I was dying. Confined too bed, weak, and the pain clear, in that same spot. Family, friends, strangers came to my bedside, on and on. The living and the dead visited me.

And such was the trap of that dream that I find it hard to escape now awake.

August 19, 1992

After Life

Aaron squinted as the spotlight swept over the crowd and he felt the approaching sensation of a wild sneeze. He continued to clap, then as the sensation grew, he pressed his forefinger to the spot under his nose and the urgency subsided. He sniffed, then stood, trying to clap in rhythm with the lead singer. He felt the twinge again and pressed the spot. Too late. He sneezed with surprising ferocity, and then jerked from the simultaneous burst of pain in his chest. It was stunning. So sharp and piercing, then gone.  He slumped back against his wife, then on to the isle between the seats. He could still see the elderly black man on his left. The man was still clapping. He looked down at Aaron and shook his head as Aaron’s vision blurred and dimmed.

“You sleepy, sugar?”

Aaron looked over at the old woman that sat close to him on the couch. He shuddered uncontrollably. The darkness and sudden silence of the room made his heart pump wildly in fear and surprise. He looked at the woman again and closed his eyes. When he opened them again nothing had changed.

“Grandma? What happened? I…” 

Aaron started to stand, but his grandmother put her arm around him. She looked frail, but she pulled him easily against her shoulder.

“You’re just tired sugar. You’ve had a big time and you’ll be all ready to rest soon. Let me read you this little story while you calm down.” 

She reached down to the side of the couch and pulled out a thin, old book. The colors on its tattered cover were fading and the corners were worn through, exposing the cardboard beneath.

Aaron threw his arms around his grandma and hugged her close, squeezing his eyes closed.

“Grandma! I didn’t think…” his breathing was fast and pained. Tears formed and ran down his cheeks, his throat tightened. 

He sobbed. “Grandma, I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”

“Shush.” She made soft noises and held him close. “I know. It was a big time, wasn’t it?”

Aaron raised his head and wiped the tears out of his eyes, still finding it hard to breath deeply. He looked around. Her living room was dark, but as he remembered it. The blinds were closed and curtains drawn. It was a room comfortably full of furniture. Books and magazines were in neat piles next to each chair or resting place. The black, Bakelite phone sat on the corner table, nearly buried beneath the … He looked up. Behind the couch where he sat was the huge mirror. Above it hung his grandfather’s flintlock rifle. The same rifle that now hung over Aaron’s mantle, in his own home. His throat tightened again.

He turned back and looked at her. His grandma smiled at him and pulled him close again. Aaron felt the pain slowly slide away and he breathed deeply and easily.

“Let me just read you a little and then you can rest.”

Aaron smiled up at her.

“I’m glad you’re here. It all happened so fast.”

“Shush, Aaron. Let’s not worry about that. I just want to ease your mind. You’ve been a good boy. Here.” She helped him climb up into her lab. She settled the book in front of him. Her arms enfolded him as she gently settled her chin on the top of his head.

Aaron looked down at the book. He ran his hand over the cover, smoothing a torn flap. His tears began again and he covered his eyes with his hands. Grandma pulled his head back on her shoulder and opened the little book.

“This is the story of Whatnot,” she told him. The picture was a pastel blur. He wiped his eyes again, but couldn’t clear them of the tears. She read slowly, but without effort.

“Whatnot woke one day and announced to his mother, ‘Mama, today I’m gonna go see what lives down in the tall grass.’”

Aaron heard the dry, brittle page turn. He blinked his eyes and could see a little better. A green and brown vista was painted across the open pages of the book. In the lower left corner was Whatnot, he guessed.

“Whatnot walked all morning through the forest till he came to the big field. It was wide and he couldn’t even see to the other side. He wasn’t sure if there was another side. Whatnot heard the tall grasses rustle softly in the breeze. He stood and looked out into the field a long time.”

Aaron lifted his head to see the book better. 

“Eventually, Whatnot summoned up his courage and walked out into the grass. At first it came up to his knees. It was cool and damp and tickled the backs of his legs.” She turned the page.

“Soon, the grass was up to his waist. He ran his hands across the tops of the wide blades has he walked.  Before long, the grass was up to his shoulders. Whatnot stopped and looked back at the forest. The trees stood high above the field. The trees seemed to go on forever. The forest was a good home, he thought.”

Aaron breathed deeply. He was tired. He hadn’t felt this way when he’d driven with Emily to the amphitheater. It was still early, but he felt like he could close his eyes and be gone in an instant. He struggled to pay attention, to keep his eyes open.

“…and wiggled its nose. Whatnot backed away and left the little rabbit alone. ‘So a rabbit lives in the tall grass.’”

Grandma looked down at him.

“You drifting away, sugar? I can stop here. It’s all right.”

Aaron smiled. 

“No, please, I want to hear it all.”

Grandma smiled.

“Just a bit more then.” She flipped through the remaining pages.

“All right, there isn’t much more to go.”

Aaron closed his eyes and listened to her read, pronouncing every word carefully, almost singing the dialogue softly. Aaron jerked, almost gone.

“… and I didn’t mean to bother you.’ He said. So he backed carefully away, then turned and ran as hard as he could. ‘Lion’s live in the tall grass too!,’ he said.”

Grandma paused.

“You’re not scared, are you sugar?”

“No, Grandma,” Aaron mumbled, “I’m not scared.” 

She squeezed him again. 

“Good. Then that’s enough. You were a good boy and you had a big time. I knew you would. I’m very proud of you.”

Aaron could no longer raise his eyelids, but he felt the warm spot of emotion in his chest. He tried to speak, but his grandma held him tight as he muttered in protest.

“Time to rest,” she said and he heard her switch off the light. In the dark he felt her close and reassuring. 

“The end,” she said, and closed the book.

An Ageless Project

Tripped across this one today: the ageless project.

Of course, I signed right up, shameless self promoter that I am. But I'm not sure how useful it is. I am pleased to see that all bloggers aren't 20 years old (or worse, 13 year old girls). And I once again confirmed that most blogs I find aren't terribly interesting.

You see, for me, age was important. Age and experience. When I left grad school at 25 with a "terminal" degree in playwrighting, I knew that I didn't really have anything to say. I wasn't mature enough, both as a person and a writer, to put down anything that wasn't all surface. I knew I needed time. At 25, when asked, I called myself a playwright. See? I have the paperwork to back it up and this nifty certificate. I just needed more time to make it true.

How long? Looks like about 20 years.

Now I'm feeling more in control of my "instrument". My picture of the universe is clearer and more verified. I've had enough time to make mistakes, get a few things right, and slowly fill in the gaps in my education and reading that 19 years of formal education left.

So, who is this guy, Randy Murray, at 43 years old? Ask me what I do and I can give you several answers. I'm an executive in the software industry with nearly 20 years experience in marketing and development. I'm a husband and father with 2 daughters who are bright, talented, and have phenomenal prospects.

But ask me what I am.

I am a writer. I don't think you'll see any plays out of me for a while, but I still think in those terms - it's excellent training. I write short fiction and will on occasion, publish a story or two here. I consider a novel from time to time, but haven't committed to finishing one. Yet.

And I write this journal. This is not a "throw-away" activity. It's not pencil sharpening or warming up. This activity is an important outlet, a publishing outlet, and perhaps a small audience for me as a writer. I value it.