The Art of Forgiveness

Have you ever set about to learn the true art of forgiveness? Forgiveness comes hard for me. Yep, I admit it. I tend to long remember things. Things I’d be so better off just to forget.

I can and do forgive, but the forgetting part? I have trouble with that. So, have I really forgiven if I still remember?

I’m not even going to attempt to answer that question, but I will give you some good excerpts from those who are much smarter than me and have, perhaps, a better insight into the art of forgiveness. I truly believe it is an art.

Ok, let start this trail and see where it leads. Webster says, “Forgiveness is the act of forgiving someone or something. The attitude of someone who is willing to forgive other people.

Well, that’s all well and good, but leaves a lot toward the interpretation. I want a better answer.

I think I like what Wikipedia says better. It says,Forgiveness is the intentional and voluntary process by which a victim undergoes a change in feelings and attitude regarding and offense, (and I add, whether real or imagined) and lets go of negative emotions such as vengefulness with an increased ability to wish the offender well, (boy that leaves me struggling) Forgiveness is different from condoning, excusing, forgetting, pardoning and reconciliation.

I must add, in my humble opinion, I have forgiven people in the past I should have slapped the sh—out of. Oh, wait did I actually say that? Well It looks like I did, so I must get back to the task at hand and that is learning ‘The Art of Forgiveness.’

My parents set good examples, (well sort of) about the ‘Art of Forgiveness.’ My daddy would fight a circle saw. Anywhere, anytime, at the drop of a hat. He asked no quarter and he gave none, but if someone asked him for forgiveness he would shake their hand and go on about his business as though nothing had ever happened. That was a good thing, right?

On the other hand, my mother had a wonderful attitude. She always looked at the glass being half full, not half empty. She loved to laugh and loved most folks, but——– if she ever got it in for you she’d never, ever, from now through eternity, forgive you. (Well at least not for a very long, long, long time.) Then even after she might have forgiven she’d watch you with a very, very, close eye. She was very slow to anger, but once it came, oh, goodness, it was potent.

So, now I have revealed my genetics background. You know what they say about genetics, you might rearrange but you can’t change, what you’re born with.

You can cover up, pretend, act out, but never change genetics. I learned that in the Cattle Artificial Insemination class. I always got exactly what I expected when I knew the genetics of the bull and the cow. On occasion the markings might look different, but the heart of the animal was always those of the line of genealogy that preceded it. I guess the sum of that total would be we might have a fight, but I’ll forgive you in 20-30 years

Also, I was a deputy Sheriff at one point in my life, and that doesn’t give you just a real good outlook when you’re dealing with a bunch of crooks on a daily basis. I learned very quickly not to believe everything your told.

I guess then, I have to conclude that I may learn, ‘The art of Forgiveness,’ and attempt to follow it, but I will always keep my eyes wide open.

After all, you all know the saying, “Keep you friends close and your enemies, closer.”

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What Does Soulbound Mean?

What Does it Mean to be Soulbound

Is ‘soulbound,’ anything like ‘spellbound’? Webster says ‘spellbound’ is; “giving one’s full attention to something or someone”. So, in that case ‘soulbound,’ could be a cousin to spellbound.

When you have a bonding of one’s soul to another, you have met that person on a level of innermost being that cannot be broken, you are bound to them. It’s as though there is an invisible rope that ties two souls together.

To understand ‘soulbound,’ better, we must break it down further. Some definitions of soul say that it is; “an unseen force that lives in every human being. It gives us direction and gives substance to our life”. It further states that “a soul lives on for eternity”. Some say they consider the soul to be their conscience.

The definition of ‘bound,’ is; “destined to happen or tied or secured physically or emotionally.”

‘Soulmate,’ means we are on the same level as another person and we hold them in high esteem. When one finds their ‘soulmate,’ they have found another human that holds the same values, likes and dislikes and a love that is only shared by the two. Often, we hear the term, ‘I have found my ‘soulmate.’ Immediately we recognize that to mean, ‘I have found someone that understands me completely.’

To find a ‘soulmate’ is to experience ‘soulbound,’ in next to its highest form.

To experience being ‘soulbound,’ we have to find another soul that meets our soul on a level that communication can exist without words. To feel their pain, we feel their joy, we care about their wellbeing as much as we do our own. We can do all that without speaking a word.
In this life, being ‘soulbound,’ to someone is often not understood.

Have you ever met someone that you loved immediately? You didn’t know why you just knew the two of you clicked?

In my humble opinion, that’s when you understand the phrase, “I’ll always have you close to me, for I have met your heart.” I pinned those words in describing the love that exists between two people. When you meet your ‘soulmate’ and become ‘soulbound,’ to them, your heart knows it and responds with an everlasting love.

‘Soulbound,’ is finding a love that never fades or grows dim, but shines bright, leading the way as two people travel life’s road together.

Does such a love as this exist?

I believe it does. If you haven’t found it yet keep looking.

It’s worth the wait.

It’s worth the journey.

It’s worth the effort.

I believe God gave all of us a soul and wants us to know and accept His son so that we will always be ‘soulbound,’ to a love that is never ending with Jesus Christ.

In saying that I also believe He wants everyone of us to have the experience of loving someone on this earthly plain as we live our life to its end. After all, He created Adam and Eve and wanted them to love each other and the earth He created. He wanted them to love Him, to be ‘soulbound,’ to Him and to each other.

They sort of upset His plan, as we often upset our chances of having it all. Still it’s nice to think about being in a relationship that binds our soul in such a loving way that we never want to let it go. We want the joy of having a ‘soulmate,’ forever.

Have you ever loved someone so much that even after they have died your soul is bound to them? I don’t mean that in a gruesome way, but in a beautiful way. You can still hear their laughter, you can still hear their voice. You remember with love their arms around you. You often see them in your children and once again get to experience that person in a physical form.

‘Soulbound,’ is to be tied forever to something that is so sweet you never want to escape. I believe that only the creator of the Universe can give us that. He loves us that much.

If you haven’t experienced it yet, keep looking. It’s out there. And when it comes, it will be freely given.

Prayerfully, it will be well received.

 

 

I Wish I’d Said That

There are many quotes that I love. One of my favorites is the following:

Time is free, but it’s priceless.

You can’t own it but, you can use it.

You can’t keep it, but you can spend it.

Once you have lost it, you can never get it back.

Harvey Mackay

This, to me, is one of the most profound things I’ve ever read. How I wish I’d said that. In these four brief lines, a model of how we should treasure every moment of every day of our lives, is spelled out for us. How often we forget, how precious and delicate is this simple thing we call time.

To the harried young mother with never enough time in the day to get it all done, she forgets, that this time with her babies is the most precious time she will ever have.

To the young father, trying to work his way up the proverbial ladder, he forgets that this time is well spent both in his learning how to be a father and how to balance his work with his family. Both of which demand his time and energy. However, all too soon this time will pass and he will be an old man looking back over his life and wondering what happened.

To a child, time is endless. It crawls from Christmas to Christmas, birthday to birthday, season to season. As time passes however, it gains speed and those people who are your parents, grow wiser each year that you live. And someday, you will look back and wonder how they tolerated your know-it-all attitude and managed to teach you a few things along the way.

To the preacher, as he looks out at his congregation, he wonders what some of them would do if they knew the things he knew about other members of the group. Would they be compassionate? Would they be angered? Would they remember to apply the golden rule? He goes on with his sermon and hopes at least a few things sink in that he tells them week to week, day to day. Then, he bows his head and prays for wisdom and understanding.

To the teacher, as she/he looks at the class and so wishes they could make the student understand just how important every day they have the chance to learn, really is. How education can literally change their lives, how she/he wishes they had the ability to teach the students just that one lesson.

To the old people, living day to day as they deal with aches and pains they never knew or understood when they were young. They all realize that there are a lot more days behind them than before them. They are aware that time is growing short for the brief span of that elusive time they are given. They wonder if they have spent their time well? Did they do all they could do to make this human race a better example of how life should be lived? Or did they squander the time given frivolously? How they wish they could make the young see and know, ‘once you have lost it, you can never get it back.’

You can ask any doctor standing over an operating table how quickly time can go. We all are one heartbeat away from eternity. We forget that and go on living our lives as though there will always be enough time left to do what we want. We live as there will always be a tomorrow.

We are told over and over to wear the expensive perfume today, use the good linens and dishes today, smile more, love more, be kind more, today. Tell those around you that they are doing a good job, tell them you appreciate them, tell them, “I love you”. Tell them they make your life so much better.

Listen to the bird’s song. Listen to the wind’s whispers. Listen to the small child’s questions, even if you’ve answered them a hundred times before.

Look at the new moon as it rises. Feel the sun’s warm rays on your skin. Listen to the thunder, see the lightning, hear the rain drops.

Know the joy of seeing a newborn calf, the smell of freshly mowed grass, feeling the kiss of a loved one on your cheek. Know the joy of just being alive.

Feel the now. Feel, today.

In writing this, I know that one of my fingers is pointing at you, the reader. But there are four other fingers pointing back at me. I must ask myself, as I ask you, do you remember to live everyday as though it were your last? Because, someday it will be.

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Good Morning Lord

Good morning Lord:

It’s me again, thanking you for another day of life. I saw my grandson off to school today, Lord. It’s his first day and I just want to ask you for a few special things. I know you’ve never been a grandfather, but take my word for it, it’s wonderful. Thank you, for granting me that. But, you see Lord, this little fella doesn’t know anything but love since he’s been in this world and I just sort of would like it stay that way, if you don’t mind. At least until he’s a little older.

I don’t want him to be afraid cause his family’s not around and I don’t want him to have his innocence taken away just yet by some bully in school. So, if you could Lord, just watch over him and see that doesn’t happen. Let his teacher be patient ‘cause she doesn’t know how we always say a prayer before we eat or how we get tickled for no reason. If she’ll be patient, he’ll learn the rules.

Lord, he’s mine and I love him and I thank you for giving him to me. I promise I’ll try and live the kind of life in front of him that you want me to. And if sometimes I slip and let language come out that shouldn’t be, please just forgive me for that and I’ll do better.

I ask you to watch over his safety and bring him home to his family every night a healthy, happy, little boy. Let him know he’s loved and always will be; whether it’s his first day of school or the last day of college. Stay in his life always Lord whether I’m around always asking that from you or not, ‘cause I’m making that clear right now, today, I want you to always be in his life.

Again, thank you Lord, for allowing me this honor and privilege that every Pawpaw doesn’t get to have. He kissed me goodbye with the assurance he’d see me later and Lord, I’m holding you to that.

I’ll sign off now and get on to work, but Lord, please, watch over my little man, today and every day for the rest of his life.

Thank you Lord,

A Grandfather signing off.

Through Corridors of Time

Come with me if you will and let us take a step back in time. Perhaps times were simpler then, or perhaps we didn’t expect quite so much. Perhaps, our education was more in books and not so much in self. Perhaps we were more easily entertained, not becoming bored and looking for something more, or perhaps we became entrapped in a time capsule that propelled us forward into a future we had never dreamed of.

My Mom, was a prime example of living in the now. I am sure some of the chores she endured, she hated, but she didn’t complain. One such chore was dragging me, protesting to the top of my lungs, down to the spring where abundant water was handy. There, my dad had so graciously brought the big black kettle pot they rendered lard in. If you don’t know what that means we will get into that story perhaps on another day. But, the story at hand is about the kettle’s chore for this day.

Wash day. No electric washer because we had no electricity. And we had no well water fit to wash clothes in because of the iron ore it contained. The well water would have stained everything with a rust color, so Mother opted for the spring natural water and the rain water it caught. And there we spent the day, washing clothes on a rub board after they were boiled in the big black kettle, for what seemed to me like hours. My job was to keep wood under the pot and the fire going; a terrible task if it was summer time.

For entertainment, we would often go visit our friends at night. We had no TV to watch then, so these visits were looked forward to with great anticipation. Upon our arrival our gracious hosts would make candy and offer other treats to us.

The kids, me, and my spoiled little brother, would crawl up in the middle of a big feather bed and go to sleep. Our visit ended promptly at ten o’clock and we would make our way to the car that had a round and a half of play in the steering wheel, which made it extremely hard to learn to drive, but that’s a story for another day as well. We made sure our friends had an invitation to come visit us as soon as they could.

Every evening at 6:30 I sat glued to the radio. The Lone Ranger was my favorite and for thirty minutes, I rode along with him and his side kick, Tonto.

The radio was battery operated and had a wire connected to an outside metal post in the ground. This post served as a grounding rod and it had to be watered on occasion to make the radio have more clarity. I was the waterer. This battery packed wonder was our outside connection to the world. Later in the evening we would sit around and listen to Mr. District Attorney or Fibber McGee and Molly or Amos and Andy. But of utmost importance for the day, how the US was doing in the fight against our enemies in World War II. Hitler, Mussolini, and Tojo, were household names.

Mother took this time to mend clothes or to crochet when she had thread to do so. Buying that thread was dependent on how many eggs she sold or how much butter she was able to have me, head butter maker, churn up.

On Saturday mornings, this same radio took me to the land of “Let’s Pretend,” where fairy tales and other stories, entertained for a while. If my memory serves, that came on the radio Saturday mornings at 10a.m. That was followed by a day of house cleaning, hair shampooing and that night a visit to the grocery store, a trip to the movies for me, and mother and dad visited with the friends they’d meet up with who had come to town for the same reasons.

That was long, long ago and far away, but on occasion when Saturday morning rolls around, my memory returns me to “Let’s Pretend,” and for a moment I hear, “Hi-Ho- Silver Away,” as the William Tell Overture plays in the background.

If you enjoyed this blog, please visit http://jrmartinauthor.com to see more of my writing.

Mirror, Mirror

Now we look into a mirror darkly, not nearly as bright and vivid as it once was long ago in our youth. Yet, it does reflect back many, many happy memories. The laugh lines, around our mouth, tell of all the times we laughed until our sides hurt at each other, at our family, mostly at our self.

The lines around the eyes tell of days we spent squinting out the bright sunlight in the warm meadow, full of green grass and dandelion flowers that when blooms left, we could make a wish and with a light whiff, send them scurrying into the crystal blue sky.

The furrows on the brow have to be from the millions of times, we looked for our love to return home to us, or stood with hand over top of eyes staring into the woods, whistling like a Loon for the children to come out from their secret hideout and return home.

Those lines above the lips perhaps, reflect the sweetest wrinkles of all. Those are from all the puckering up to give kisses to those we loved, and love so dearly. Those are some of the sweetest memories of all.

All the wrinkles, all the grooves of time’s road map on our face, are well loved and appreciated for they prove we lived and moved and had our place in the world.

So now when we look into a mirror, we can say, ‘mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the most blessed one of all?’ And the mirror echos back through the corridors of time,

“You are, you are the most blessed one of all.”

If you would like to read more of my writings, please visit http://jrmartinauthor.com

If You Lie Down with Dogs

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The Trials and Tribulations of Bessie Buemiller – Chapter 31

“Sheriff, read my lips. I do not want any part of the K-9 unit.” Bessie was speaking.

“I know that, but I also know that you have to do this. Deputy Reed is going to be out of the office for a month with hip surgery. I need you to take over his patrol. Bessie, I wouldn’t be asking you, or rather telling you, if I didn’t need this to happen.” The sheriff said.

“Damn it, Sheriff, why do you always call on me for the shit details?” Bessie was mad. She didn’t want anything to do with the K-9 unit. She had never owned a dog, she didn’t want to fool with a dog and she certainly did not consider a dog to be her best friend.

“Bessie, I promise if you will do this I will see you get an extra week of vacation. I swear you will.” The Sheriff was desperate.

Bessie looked at him with a doubtful smirk on her face and said,

“You swear? Put it in writing. Right here on this notepad write the following: I, swear, Deputy Bessie Buemiller will get an extra week of vacation if she agrees to take over the K-9 unit while Deputy Reed is out sick. Write it down and sign it.” Bessie ordered.

Smiling the Sheriff did as Bessie instructed. Then he handed her the keys to Deputy Reed’s patrol car and said, “Come on I want you to meet your new partner.”

The Sheriff and Bessie walked out to the K-9 Units patrol car and the sheriff called on his radio, “Deputy Reed, bring Max out here to meet his new partner for the next month.”

Bessie was expecting a big German Shepard Dog, but to her surprise Officer Reed brought out a big black Standard Poodle. “Well, I’ll be switched.” Bessie said. “I had no idea we had a prissy dog in our K-9 Unit.”

“Don’t let his looks fool you, Deputy. This dog can be vivacious. They were bred as water retrievers. They are smart and make great guards.”

“Oh, ask me if I’m impressed.” Bessie said scowling. But, she walked over to Max and rubbed his head as she said, “Well, hello Max. Looks like you and I are stuck with each other. You’re probably no more impressed with me than I am with you.”

Max just looked at Bessie and wagged his tail. Bessie said, “If you’re going to use this poodle why don’t you have him groomed? He looks like a wooly bear with all that hair.”

“I don’t have him groomed ‘cause I don’t want the entire Sheriff’s Department to laugh at me and Max. If I had him groomed they all would make fun of us.” Deputy Reed explained.

“Well, I think he’d probably like have a little poof here and there.” Bessie laughed.

She took the dog from Deputy Reed and ask him what the dog ate, if he was house broke etc. etc. The deputy assured Bessie the dog was well trained, he said, “He understands his commands, which I will make you a list of and he will obey you and do as he’s told once he realizes you are now his master.”

“Oh, really? Well show me something.” Bessie said.

Deputy Reed turned to Max and said, “Max, on guard.”

The dog immediately went into a stance of complete stillness. He stood staring at the deputy, waiting for further orders.

“Now,” the deputy said, “if I was to tell him attack he would take the next person he saw down. I mean, down to the ground and stand over them until I told him, ‘ease off.’ He’s a wonderful partner, Deputy Buemiller. You and Max are going to become best friends.”

Bessie had her doubts about that, but she took the dog home with her along with the K-9 Unit patrol car and a list of commands she had to memorize. She made the dog a bed, put the water and feed bowl where he could find them easily, and then set about to learn more about dogs used in law enforcement.

The next day Bessie and Max set out on their patrol. The dog rode in the back and Bessie caught herself talking to him as though he was another officer. She laughed at herself, but she noticed every time she stopped the car Max waited for her to tell him what she wanted him to do. Maybe this was not going to be such a tough assignment after all. She kind of liked the dog.

The next day they were patrolling the streets when a call came in that a drunk driver was out on Interstate weaving in and out of traffic. Bessie 10-4 the call and headed to the Interstate. She had no more than pulled on the highway when she saw the car ahead of her weaving in an out of the traffic. This had to be the one she was after.

Bessie floored the patrol car and Max perked his ears up when she turned on the siren. When the car finally pulled over to the shoulder, Bessie pulled up right behind him, ran the tags through records and wanted and exited the car. She told Max to stay. The dog immediately set back on his haunches and watched.

When Bessie walked up to the car she could tell the driver was very drunk. She said, “Sir, could I see your driver’s license and proof of insurance?”

He fumbled around muttering under his breath and finally handed them to her.

Bessie read his name, Albert Finny and his address was in Hawkshaw County. She said, “Mr. Finny, would you get out of the car please.”

He did as she asked and stood by the door. “Sir, do you have any weapons on you or in the car?”

He answered he did not and then she said, “I stopped you sir, because you are weaving in and out of the traffic. I believe you are drunk and I’m going to ask you to do some things for me.”

He nodded his head an almost fell down. Bessie called for Max. The dog jumped out of the car window and came to her side. Bessie said to the dog.

“Guard.”

Max immediately was on duty. He stood by the man looking him in the eye, daring him to move. Bessie said, “Sir, I’m going to ask you to do a breathalyzer test for me. You stay right here until I get the equipment out of my patrol car.”

The man agreed and as Bessie walked back to the car the man decided he would open the door and set back down in the car. That wasn’t happening on Max’s watch. Immediately, the dog started growling and Bessie turned just in time to say, “Max, stay.” She chuckled because she knew had she not stopped him he would have knocked the man down and then stood over him until Bessie could get there.

She got the breathalyzer and told the man, “Sir, just breathe into this.”

The man complied and he blew a .19 which meant he was extremely drunk.

Bessie told him, “Sir, I’ve got to take you in for DWI. Please walk back to my patrol car.”

When he started to move, Max blocked him, Bessie said, “Easy.”

The dog backed off and let the man go back to the patrol car. Bessie opened the door and let him get seated and then she walked around to the other door and told Max to “Guard,” again.

Bessie knew she wouldn’t have to worry about the man trying anything, because Max was in the back seat with him. Bessie was starting to like her new partner.

When they got back to the jail, Bessie turned the man over to the jail guards and went inside to write out her report. Max was right on her heels. When they got inside the office the dog looked around and while Bessie was writing out the report he lay with his head on his paws not moving.

***

“Are you sure, Deputy?” The dog groomer was talking to Bessie.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m paying for this out of my pocket, so don’t worry about what the county is going to say.” Bessie said.

“I know Deputy, but this is a male dog. You want him groomed with puffs around his legs and a top knight that’s fluffy and then you want him to have ribbons in his hair, right?”

“Blue ribbons, he’s a male, so yes, blue ribbons and bathe him in that good smelling shampoo.”

“Very well, deputy. He should be ready by about four this afternoon.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you then. Should you get through earlier, give me a call. Here’s my card.”

“Yes, Ma’am I surely will.” The groomer answered.

Bessie went on about her patrol hoping she wouldn’t need her partner until after he was groomed. She had said nothing to the Sheriff or anyone about having Max groomed. Since they weren’t paying for it Bessie didn’t really think she needed to ask.

Fortunately, the afternoon was relatively quiet and when Bessie’s cell phone rang it was the Dog Groomer.

“Max is ready, Deputy Buemiller.”

“Thanks,” Bessie said as she turned the patrol car around and headed for the dog groomer’s.

When they brought Max out you could tell he was so proud of the way he looked. He pranced up to Bessie as if to say, ‘look at me.’

Bessie bragged and bragged on Max and told him how pretty he looked. He wagged his well-groomed tail, now with a pom pom at the end, and all but smiled at Bessie. She swore sometimes she just knew that he smiled at her. She was falling in love with this dog. Something she thought she’d never do.

The next afternoon, Bessie and Max were patrolling the south side of Hawkshaw County when a call came in that a bank robbery had occurred and they had the suspect cornered and they were engaged in a gun battle. They requested that Bessie get there with the dog.

Bessie whipped the patrol car around, flipped on the lights and sirens and headed for the location. When she pulled up she could see that the robber was inside the car and would fire his pistol every now and again randomly at the officers. She assessed the situation and walked up to the Sheriff.

“Do you want me to have Max get him?” She asked.

“Do you think he can take him down?”

“Without a doubt.” Bessie replied.

“Then, do it.” The Sheriff said.

Bessie walked back to the car and told Max, “I need you to take this man down, Max. Take him down.”

She opened the back door and a black streak was all that could be seen as the dog covered the ground between the patrol car and the suspect with a speed of lightning. He cleared the car door, went through the window and had the robber screaming for help within seconds.

When Bessie and the others walked up to the car, she had to tell Max to ‘hold,’ as his teeth were just above the suspect’s throat. Max was growling a low gurgling growl that meant, ‘I’m going to tear your throat out.’

The robber was visibly shaking and begging them to call the dog off.

Bessie walked up to the car and said, ‘easy, Max.’ The dog backed off until another officer got the cuffs on the man and then Max started wagging his tail.

“Good dog, Max. Good dog,” Bessie said.

After the suspect was in a patrol car and on his way to jail the other officers in the group started laughing out loud. Bessie turned to see what they were laughing at. The only thing she saw was Max standing beside her. Bessie looked at them and said, “What?”

The Sheriff had joined the others in laughing, he said, “Bessie, when did you have that dog groomed?”

“Yesterday. Why?”

“Because he looks like a sissy with those blue ribbons in his hair and his pom pom tail. He looks like everything but a vicious dog.”

“Well, Sheriff, you know what they say about looks. It’s what’s on the inside that counts. And imagine what that robber is gonna have to tell his friends,

“Yeah, a big black dog with blue ribbons in his hair and smelling like French perfume, jumped through the car window and had me by the throat before I knew what was happening.”

“Don’t you just know he’s aching to tell that tale.” Bessie laughed.

They all rolled with laughter and Max just stood there, smiling.

If you enjoyed this glimpse of Bessie and Max, read more of their adventures in The Trials and Tribulations of Bessie Buemiller Volume 1

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075VHMHJ9

Dark Side of Tomorrow: Ivan Bennett of Scotland Yard

Chapter Four

Ivan and Walt drove back to headquarters without much conversation. Each Inspector was going over in his mind, what they had witnessed and what the forensic experts had told them.  

Finally Ivan broke the silence by saying, “Marsha Hart is one of the best forensic experts around. If she can’t decipher the clues as to the killer, I doubt we will be able to.”

Walt just nodded his agreement.

When they entered Scotland Yard, Ivan found a note on his desk. It read, “Grace Simmons wants you to call her.”

Picking up his phone he dialed the number.

“Hello?”

“Grace, this is Inspector Bennett, you wanted me to call?”

“Yes, Inspector, I was talking to a friend of mine today who lives on a farm about five miles out of town. He told me he had made a startling discovery.” Grace said.

“And what is this startling discovery?” Ivan enquired.

“I’d rather you ask him that question, Inspector.” Grace continued.

“Fine, give me his name and number.”

“It’s Simon Éclair. He lives off the county road of Madison, east of town, first house on the right.” Grace finished.

“Thank you Ms. Simmons, rest assured I will follow up on your tip.” Ivan said and hung up the phone.

“That was Grace Simmons, giving you a tip? I do not believe this.” Walt said, smiling.

“Yes, she says a friend of hers, who owns a farm, found something very disturbing.” Ivan answered.

“And she wouldn’t share what it was?” Walt asked.

“Nope, said she wanted me to drive out there and talk to him myself. So, come on, we are going to take a short drive in the country.” Ivan said as he walked out the door.

****

The countryside was beautiful as the two Inspectors made the drive to Grace Simmons, friend’s farm. The green trees and abundance of grass told London’s countryside had received adequate rain and the crops should be good this season. Ivan was thinking as he turned in the drive to the farm.

When Ivan stopped the car, an elderly man dressed in blue overalls came out of the farm house to meet them. Ivan and Walt got out of the car and extended their hands for a handshake as they introduced themselves.

“I’m Inspector Ivan Bennett and this is my partner, Inspector Walt Graham.”

“Glad to meet you, Inspectors, my name is Simon Éclair. I’m a friend to Grace Simmons.” The elderly man declared.

“She tells me you have made an unusual discovery, here on your farm?” Ivan asked.

“Only, if you consider finding a human skull unusual.” The farmer smiled.  

“A human skull, oh my, that certainly is unusual.” Ivan replied. “Where did you find it?”

“In the pig pen.” He answered.

Shocked, Walt blurted out, “In the pig pen, sir?”

“Yes, indeed. Come with me and I’ll show you the exact spot.” Simon said as he turned and started toward the barn.

The two Inspectors followed Simon Éclair with much anticipation. What in the world was a human skull doing in Mr. Éclair’s pig pen?

When they reached the barn, they walked around to the side and climbed up on the fence that housed the pigs inside. 

Pointing to the far corner, Mr. Éclair said, “Over there is where I found the skull.”

Following the farmers pointing finger, both Ivan and Walt gazed at the corner of the pig pen covered in pig mud. It smelled exactly like what it was. 

Ivan asked, “Did you find anymore bones, Mr. Éclair?”

“No, sir, nothing but the skull. Come on in the barn and I’ll show it to you.”

They climbed down off the fence and followed Simon into the barn. He opened one of the tack room doors and walked over to a shelf where he picked up a skull, still covered in pig mud. He handed it to the Inspectors.

Ivan accepted the skull and looked at it intently. Then he handed it over to Walt who reluctantly took it.

Staring down at the muddy skull Walt asked, “Do you think it’s one of those girls?

“Well, it’s certainly not one of the girls that we have found. They are all in the morgue. This must be one we didn’t know about.” Ivan said.

They thanked Mr. Éclair and assured him they would let him know the outcome of the evidence he had found. The two Inspectors left the farm with the skull wrapped up in a tow sack Mr. Éclair had furnished.

“What are you thinking, Ivan? I see your wheels turning.” Walt asked.

“I’m thinking the first thing I’m going to do is find out if Mr. Éclair has declared any of his family or friends missing.”

“Surely you don’t think that old man had anything to do with this?” Walt stammered.

“Walt, I examine everything. Whatever is left, is evidence.” Ivan said.

“True Sherlock Holmes reasoning.” Walt smiled.

Ivan didn’t answer as he headed straight to the morgue and his friend, Marsha Hart.


This has been a look inside Dark Side of Tomorrow: Ivan Bennett of Scotland Yard. To read the rest of the mystery, get your copy now on Kindle for Amazon

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Bessie Attends a Funeral

Bessie’s good friend, Viola Godspeed, passed away.  Bessie was very upset over Viola’s death.  They had been friends for a long, long time.  How long, Bessie wouldn’t say and she was very disappointed the funeral home had given Viola’s date of birth. That would mean folks could figure out pretty quick how old Bessie was. Well, those that knew Bessie and Viola, knew that they had started school together.

The biggest comfort in that, was not many were old enough to even know, much less remember it.  But, a lot of folks had nosey grandmothers and great grandmothers with memories like an elephant. Bessie theorized that if she wore enough make up people would not even bother to compare Viola and her.

She walked into the funeral home. It was the night of visitation for Viola. Sort of like a wake. The room was extremely crowded. Bessie made her way up to the front where the casket rested, surrounded by beautiful flowers.

Bessie thought, I wonder who sent all these flowers. My word, I never saw so many. I had no idea Viola had this many friends. Wonder what she was into that I didn’t know about. Look at that beautiful spray of red roses. I wonder who sent that.

Quietly and discreetly, so as not to draw attention, Bessie made her way to the spray of red roses and turned her head sideways so she could read the card. It said, ‘With love. James Spiller.’

What? James Spiller. How in tarnation did Viola manage to get close enough to James Spiller to have him send such a beautiful memorial as these lovely red roses? I bet she was running with him and never told me for fear I would take him away from her.

Viola, you sneaky devil. Bessie thought.

Bessie returned to the casket and stared down at Viola’s face. Oh, Viola, my dear friend, I’m going to miss you.  I wish they had put a little more rouge on your pale cheeks.  Geez, Viola, your hair doesn’t look quite right either…to flat on top for your little pointed head. Oh, my, look at those wrinkles, just need a little smoothing out.  I wonder if they would allow me to just ‘touch you up a bit?’

Bessie looked around the room for the undertaker, not seeing him anywhere she just carefully pulled Violas hair up a little, just a smidge to cover the wrinkles on her forehead.  Then she patted Viola’s hand and whispered under her breath where only Viola could hear, “Oh, Viola, you poor thing. You just look so dead.”

As she walked away from the casket, she spied James Spiller talking to the pastor of her church.  That was a perfect excuse to talk to James.  She walked up and extended her hand as she said, “So good of you, James, to come out to Viola’s wake, I wasn’t aware that the two of you were so close.”

James nervously cleared his throat and Bessie’s pastor looked extremely uncomfortable as Bessie continued to stare at them. Finally, the pastor said, “If you will excuse us, Bessie, we need to talk to the undertaker.”

Oh, I just bet you do.  Bessie thought but she didn’t say that, instead she returned to the head of Viola’s casket where she stood as the many visitors passed by.

As music played softly in the back ground, Bessie stood like a sentinel at the casket. When Vera Carp walked passed Bessie thought, Oh, look Viola, your old nemesis has come out to see you.  She’s most likely glad you’re gone.  Now she can win the Christmas Pageant’s, ‘most beautiful yard.’  It was hilarious how you beat her out year after year.

Oh, here comes Hortense Huff.  I can’t believe she would even show her face in public.  Everyone in town knows she ran off with that newspaper reporter.  Do what Viola?  Oh, yes, that’s right, he wasn’t a reporter, he just delivered newspapers.  Well, she certainly made the headlines when he dumped her in Biloxi and she had to have money wired to her to get home.

Oh, and there’s Gladis’ Johnson. Poor Gladis.  Her fiancé, Horace Greely, ran off with the town secretary and left Gladis waiting in the church where they were supposed to get married.  Now that’s sorry, Viola.  Oh, I know you didn’t care of Gladis but no one deserves that. Do what?  Oh, Viola, she’s not the wicked witch of the west.

Look, there’s Spencer Knight.  He’s such a handsome man.  I always wanted to date him but Yvonne Miller kept getting in the way.  The slut, I have never understood what Spencer saw in her.

Here comes Hortense Powers. Oh, Viola, you remember Hortense.  In grade school she took your boyfriend, Clarence away from you.  Oh yes, she did, Viola, no need to deny it, she flat stole him away from you.  Do what? No, you didn’t Viola, you cried for days, I remember.

The night wore on and Bessie continued to watch over her friend Viola and to share her opinion about all those that came to pay their respect to her dearly departed friend.

Bessie’s continued to act as sentinel through the next day’s funeral service. She stood at the foot of the casket as they waited at the cemetery for the pastor’s final departing words for Viola.

When the pastor finished his prayers, the procession of mourners, went down the line shaking hands with Viola’s family members. When they all were through, the crowd started to leave so the undertaker could finish his job.

Bessie kept standing, staring at the foot of Viola’s casket.  Finally, the undertaker said, “Ms. Buemiller, I understand the love for your good friend Viola Godspeed, but I’ve got to finish my job now.  Can I call someone to come and help you to your car?”

“No, you cannot.  But, what you can do is explain how you managed to bury Viola in a casket made in China.” Bessie said as she moved the flowers over so the tag on the end of the casket could be read.

“She had a prepaid funeral plan, Ms. Buemiller.”

“I know that, but no way would she have selected, ‘Made in China,’ to be on her casket. A final farewell to a red blooded American?  No way Jose, Viola didn’t know that, and I’m telling everyone I know to check out where their prepaid funeral casket is made.  And I’m telling you right now, you do that to me, and I promise I will come back and personally, kick your ‘Made in China,’ undertaking ass.” 


To enjoy more of Bessie’s adventures, download The Trials and Tribulations of Bessie Buemiller Volume I, now available for Kindle on Amazon

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Fruit Inspector

I just want to stand back and say, ‘what in the world is going on?’ I am so sick of drunken, dope infested, PLOM (Poor Little Old Me)  ridden individuals, I could throw up.  They take advantage of our government handouts which should be stopped.  When we bring them back from the brink of death by using Narcan, which runs about $1500.00 a shot, or whatever other very expensive drug it takes to save them, and then they turn around and do it again and sometimes again and again and again.

There are cities in our United States that have safe places dopers can go and if they OD there, they can use this drug Narcan to bring them back.   I’m for letting them die, when people whose children have to have Epi-pens to survive can’t afford them due to the cost, yet we are going to give these dopers a place to safely get high and then bring them back if they OD, how can this be right?

This opioid epidemic has been ongoing for hundreds of years.  History tells us that the Opium addicts were with us in the Opium dens long ago. This is not new. Now I realize I’m gonna get a lot of hate mail over that remark but I really don’t care.  God has given us life and free will and a beautiful world to enjoy, to live in, to be happy in and some are so bored with first of all themselves and second of all life,  they try to take it daily to avoid living life sober, so they chose drugs or anything that alters the mind.  Toughen up buttercup; you’re no better or worse than the rest of us.

Some say well, alcohol is the door way to drugs. Oh really?  Then is sex the door way to becoming a whore?  Same difference.  You are who you chose to be, whether good, bad or indifferent.  I’m not talking about those folks with cancer or other life taking illnesses.  They have to fight to get drugs to help them with the pain because these dope ridden losers have ruined that for them.  I’m talking about the normal human who is so bored with life they decide they will experiment with the life altering effects of drugs, alcohol, dope etc. Addictions are habits, habits that are hard to break.  How do you avoid getting a habit?  You don’t ever start them to begin with.  Then you have nothing to change, nothing to overcome.

If your situation in life is so miserable that you have to take drugs to endure it, then change your situation.  Get rid of what’s causing you to have to escape the reality of life. I am clean and sober only by the grace of God almighty.  That’s what’s lacking in the addicts life.  God all mighty.  Satan the liar will tell you that you’re justified in your PLOM thinking, but Lucifer, old Luci is nothing but a liar.  Why would you listen to someone you know lies with every breath?

Why anyone in their right mind starts doing something that effects their small innocent children who they brought into this world, why would they?  Because, they think more of themselves than they do the children.  Some say, no, they aren’t themselves when they are on drugs.  Oh, really, well apparently at some point they weren’t on drugs, so why did they start? If you choose to take drugs for goodness sake go get yourself sterilized so you don’t bring innocents into this world to have to live with YOUR ADDICTIONS AND YOUR SINS.

Here’s the truth about most of the drug addictions…truth is telling someone something they don’t want to hear so I’m going to say this. All you have to do is follow the money.  If drugs, alcohol etc. are sicknesses then the insurance companies will pay for them and big pharma can make money off them.  But, if those things are sins, self-induced, freely taken, doing what I want to do, then the insurance won’t pay and big pharma loses money. Humm that’s pretty clear isn’t it?

As it true with most things in life, just follow the money.

Now you’re going to say, ‘you’ve no right to judge me.’  You’re right I don’t, but I do have the right to be a fruit inspector and the fruits drug addicts and alcoholics bare,  are rotten.

People who have been hooked on drugs because of an illness or injury they received,  or God help us,  a wounded veteran, whether mental or physical,  are the ones who need help. Those that have had to go to pain doctors who gave them medicine, then the pain doctors kicked them out of treatment because now they were addicts, those people need our help. The doctors need to be forced to continue their treatment after they are addicted to the meds, that they, the pain doctors,  gave to them that got them hooked. This needs to be looked into as well as many other things that aren’t just right.

But, this does not apply to those self-willed drug takers or alcoholics. They chose to become what they are.

Again I say, follow the money and see where it takes you.