Scribbles and Scrambles - Pat - It's a Bird, It's a Plane - No, I'ts a Knee.

Let me remind you who Pat is. He is my sweet, big-hearted, gruff and grumbly Dad.
I visit him at work on occasion. The first question I ask his new co-workers is, “Has he made you cry yet?” This would be the gruff and grumbly part of his personality.

They usually look at me with the tilted head, confused puppy look. Then the next time I see them, they laugh and say, without me having to ask again. “Yep! Or Not yet!”

Pat has a special noise machine he and his male co-workers use to release tension. I’ll say no more about that. And he’s prone to practical joke-ism.

One of Pat’s very special tricks needs no accessories. He possesses a flying knee.

Mom and I have decided there is no purpose for the knee. It seems to be some sort of warning device like the white tail on a fleeing deer.

Here’s how it works: someone trips, or stumbles or teeters, crashes, falls or careens into something – and this somehow triggers the knee to an airborne position. Whether standing or sitting, Pat flies the knee. No one is certain if it’s a panicked warning of impending danger, or if it’s some lame attempt to protect. Even Pat is unsure.

Just like a mom will fling her arm out straight across the passenger seat at a sudden stop, is the reactive knee. And just as amusing as a mom “protecting” an empty passenger seat, or a bag of groceries, is the flying appendage.

Sometimes the knee is an outward, upward thrust, others a sideways swipe. Never backward and never have I seen Pat actually connect or protect anyone or thing from a tumble.

But sometimes the grasshopper-like hop he does is a nice diversion.

Pat maybe really does have super knees. I’ve seen him drive with them. Yep. He steers with them.
So maybe his hip-hop, jump, shimmy knee fling is some sort of directing move. Like a sheep dog guides the sheep with a growl or a nip, Pat wields a knobby hairy leg.

Serials and Scenarios - Kathryn Mackel - How'd She Come Up With This....

Happy Wednesday.

Minterview - Mini Interview with Kathryn Mackel (feel free to use my clever word melding)

Kathy writes suspense/thrillers/sci-fi/fantasy. Her newest is The Hidden.

She played along and finished a story starter - see below.

My instructions were to build on the red italicized line with a couple of lines of her own.

She suggested I might be crazy, limiting a novelist to a few lines. Told me I was lucky I didn't get 40,000 words. The bold blue are all hers.

Hmmm. She also mentioned recovering from surgery. I suggested that the pain relievers might be hallucinogenic. Thanks for playing Kathy.

Check out The Hidden which I haven't read - yet. http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/asin/1595540377

But my review for the first book in her Outriders series is here.
http://novelreviews.blogspot.com/2006/02/kathy-mackels-outridersreviewed.html


Lauren stared at the clock. Eleven forty-five, if only it read ten forty-five. Everyone should be allowed one do-over hour in life.

“Do you really believe that?”

“Huh?” Lauren’s attention jerked to the tinny voice snaking up from her feet.

“You heard me.” A tiny man in top hat and black tie stared up at her from the bottom of the wastebasket.

Lauren resisted the impulse to jam a phonebook into her trash, and thus obliterate what had to be the corniest hallucination in history. “Who’re you?”

“Wrong question.”

She couldn’t even get her own phantasms right. “What’s the right question?”

The tiny man buffed his fingernails with a file the size of a pin. Someone so miniscule had no right to play hard-to-get. He took off his top hat, bowing with a strange grace. “In regard to the do-over?”

Maybe Lauren should just go to the ladies room and try flushing the last hour away.

Instead she leaned closer, swallowing back the notion that she was about to pull an Alice and plunge down a rabbit hole. With her luck, it’d be filled with snakes, spiders, and sad-eyed clowns.

“What about it?” she said, not displeased by her snappish tone.

“The correct question is—were you able to have a do-over…” The tiny man grinned, showing oversized eyeteeth imbedded with diamonds.

Lauren reached for the phonebook. She killed houseflies for less.

The tiny man straightened his lapels with a loud sniff. “The correct question in regard to the do-over is: what would it cost me?”

Lauren leaned back in her chair, trying to mask the pounding of her heart by bouncing on her fanny. “If I were interested in a re-do…and I’m not saying I am…but if I were.” She tried to stop her question but her throat was too clenched to swallow it back.

“What would it cost me?” Lauren winced at her own pathetic eagerness.

Suddenly he was in her face, still tiny yet impossibly overwhelming. Poised for this heroic moment of decision and destiny, in which he whispered.,..

“Only that which you have no use for anyway.”

Scribbles and Scrambles - Conclusion - Swing Batter Swing – Fish Story

It was a long walk back to the car. Especially since Grandma hooted and snickered in a ladylike manner. My rotten friend and Grandma had bonded nicely on the way out to retrieve me, and their happy conversation buzzed around me like an annoying cloud of ravenous mosquitoes.

I’ve blocked out the discussion I had with the doctor. No doubt he asked me how I had managed to crack my collarbone. I believe if I strain really hard I remember my mother laughing, and the doctor attempting to swallow his amusement.

I got to wear a contraption around my shoulder for awhile. The details of this have been buried deeply with another personality, also. Suffice it to say it scratched and annoyed and made the usual steamy June even more unpleasant.

The high point of my convalescence came with an invitation to go camping with my said friend and her mother -- in a motor home. What a treat that was going to be. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to swim in the lake we were visiting, but that was okay.

We rumbled down the road in the RV and found a breezy tree-lined spot. This was going to be great. “Friend” did a lot of swimming. I passed the time with her mom or dangled my toes in the cool water, working on my positive attitude skills.

Finally, friend developed a great idea involving Styrofoam surfboards -- I don’t know the usual purpose of a Styrofoam surfboard, and why they would sell them in the Midwest – but the plan was to use one and just keep my torso out of the water. It was a great idea in theory. Did I mention that I lack coordination skills?

I paddled out with my good arm, and paddled, and paddled and rested. It was a little exhausting to keep one shoulder lifted away from splashes and yet manage to get where I wanted to go. A group of kids my friend had amassed came over to meet me. They’d heard all about me, obvious from the smirks on their faces.

One very kind young man even brought me a welcoming gift. A dead fish he’d found floating near the shore. The fish and I got very intimate as I tried to hang onto the surfboard with my good hand while removing the fish without getting my shoulder wet. A fun day was had by all.

Ah yes, the joys of growing up.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Swing, Batter, Swing! Part 3

I believe Common Sense missed a beat in the on-going battle. She must have gotten distracted, because she really should have suggested something along the lines of, “hey stupid, if you’re going to do this, at least slide halfway down so you’re less likely to break your neck.”

But she didn’t. So at the very top of the slide I grasped the sides, fueled by the “fun” I was going to have, and the burst of adrenaline that surged through my veins. I curled into the somersault, my right shoulder landing safe and sound on the sun warmed slide, my left shoulder and legs catching air.

The next few seconds blur together. There was a sensation of flying and falling – I suppose because I was. A fairly solid landing and a whole lot of pain followed.

A shocked friend face bent over and peered into mine. I was sitting at the time.

I suppose I executed a triple or something equally impressive. Or maybe I just landed on the most solid part of my anatomy.

My whole body hurt, especially my neck and shoulders. I managed to groan, “Go get my grandma.”

“I don’t know her very well!”

I did not embellish the above statement, nor was it a hallucination.

I used the rest of my stamina to argue, plead and beg.

Two kids sauntered past, stopped and stared. One asked, “What happened to her?”

“Oh, she fell off the slide.” The kids moved on. The breeze carried silence except for the distant sound of little league. As the innocent passers-by reached a respectful distance loud guffaws reached my ears. I can’t blame them, I laugh now.

My friend finally scurried off and returned a long time later with my grandma, who was laughing.

Is it any wonder I’m twisted? No hope for normalcy. None. Nada.

To be continued – one more time in - Swing Batter Swing – Fish Story.

This Monday I’m planning to skip – so see you on Tuesday. Have a great long weekend!

Scribbles and Scrambles - Swing, Batter, Swing! Part 2

So there I stood faced with a dilemma. Kind of like the angel/devil shoulder depictions we’ve all seen. I had a very persuasive friend on one side of me and simple common sense on the other.

The friend’s volume intensified with each chant of, “Come on. Do it. It’s fun!”

Common Sense whispered. “Remember dear, you just finished gymnastics in Physical Education class, and you haven’t mastered any of the skills. Your somersaults are crooked. Don’t even think about doing this crazy stunt.” Her voice sounded a lot like a mix between my mom, grandma, and all my female Sunday school teachers past and present. Had I looked over at the bleachers all the women would have sensed my dilemma and stood in a pre-popular wave like formation and gravely moved their heads from side to side. But I didn’t look.

Nor did I listen.

The slide had grown while I debated my fate. It was at least two stories high now. I began to climb. Clang. Clang. For whom does the death bell toll? It tolls for me…. Clang. Clang. I paused at the top. From there my cousin and grandparents were tiny, colorful ants. I sat, and the sun heated metal melded to my body.

My “friend” shielded her eyes and squinted up at me. “Go on. It’s really cool.”

I shook my head. “I do crooked somersaults. I’m going to kill myself.”

Well, maybe I had listened to Common Sense.

Another squint from the devil down below and, “just hold on to the sides. It’s going to be really fun.”

The grass looked pretty soft, actually. And if I held on, I’d be fine. I took a deep breath and prepared to have a blast.

To Be Continued …. Again…..If you are really concerned take peace in the fact that I am telling the story so I obviously survived…….