Entrer le idiot...(Enter the Fool)...fictional writings

The Fool is the spirit in search of experience. He represents the mystical cleverness bereft of reason within us, the childlike ability to tune into the inner workings of the world. The sun shining behind him represents the divine nature of the Fool's wisdom and exuberance, holy madness or crazy wisdom. On his back are all the possessions he might need. In his hand there is a flower, showing his appreciation of beauty. He is frequently accompanied by a dog, sometimes seen as his animal desires, sometimes as the call of the "real world", nipping at his heels and distracting him. He is seemingly unconcerned that he is standing on a precipice, apparently about to step off.

Never by choice do we become fools, it is a sentence that fate and life in general hands down to those who seek things in life that can never be ours. Searching for all eternity for the missing link to our souls, we become fools.

The guardian of the Fool is the fool. He owns his heart and all else that he has, he carries with him at all times. He understands that, life will once again deal him the hand that he has played so many times before and he must fold and walk away. He sheds no tears for his ill-gotten folly, why should he? This time is no different than the thousands of times before and sadly, many more times to come.
Although he knows the obvious outcome of each and every endeavor, he heads off on that lonely road once again searching for the thing that has earned him the name, "Le Idiot, The Fool". A name he did not choose for himself but fate thrust it into his face.


The inner workings of the fool are sacred, secret and fortified with layers upon layers of his remaining emotions. Dare not to voice the way he feels for certain, it will be used to taunt him, to mock him to torture the thin remnants of his soul. Why? Why does he continue on his quest? Knowing that only despair awaits him and with this in mind, why does he not simply drop the costume he has worn for ages? He is the fool and this is what he must continue to do. As written by Alexander Pope..."Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; For fools rush in where angels fear to tread." He, the only one, who dares to do what others fear.

The Fool has been depicted as always having his dog following after him on his journey, biting at his heels constantly. The dog is not his for he owns no such creature that would ever be able to show any type of love or compassion. This animal represents desire, passion and the life that others have that he can never own. Biting at his heels as a constant reminder of the pain his heart feels each moment of the fools life. Does he ever glance back into the past? Second guessing his past decisions, wondering if he would return to one of those times long past? A second chance would be given him, a second chance to discard his appearance as the fool and embrace the life he wanted all along? No! For that life can never be relived. He could never endure the past tortures again.

Does he dare to dream? Once he did, maybe twice but now no more. Sadly, only a fool hope's in dreams, all the while deep with-in his heart he knows that dreams are merely foolish hope's.

And then, when it seems that all has failed, something comes his way. And for a small time, he discards his worn costume for a new one. One that makes him take the appearance of those whom he has come to call "normal". For a time, a brief time, he is a "Man", feeling as men do, loving as men do, caring as men do. For a brief time the fool has become prideful and walks in shoes that his feet are not accustomed to. For a brief time the fool feels as others do and is allowed to share his feelings with others. For a brief time he is someone and someone who cares. This limited time allows him to feel things his soul has longed for but not use to. He feels as if he is part of something and prays this never ends.....For a brief time.

Then, one day, he learns that the "man" was only the fool in a different costume. For he never was important. He was nothing more than a brief court jester in someone else court. Amused as they were at how well the fool could act, laughing at each display of emotion that he allowed to surface. He was the court jester and filled their lives with such comedic representation of life. They were amused. But to the fool, he was not acting. He was playing the role he wanted from his heart. No acting was required, he allowed his emotions to pour forth, flow from the deepest fountain of his soul. He was "a man", at least in his own heart.

Slow to realize, he rejected the notion that he had just a limited engagement in a court he could never call his own. His yearning to just simply "belong" aches deep with-in his soul. The purpose in life that each of us have, he can never seem to find, other than the amusement and plaything of others. The few personal belongings he owns are once again packed into the little bundle and thrown carelessly on his back. Sadly, painfully he sets out on the road he has traveled his entire life. Once again in search for those things others call normal, knowing they can never be his. Once again, with the dog nipping at his heels, laughing at his foolishness, driving him further down that lonely road.

Perhaps, as he wonders along that path, he once again stands at the edge of another precipice. Once again looking down at the endless void and knowing in his heart what it represents. Perhaps for a moment, a moment, he knows the easy way to Camelot. One step, only one step and all would forever be behind him. No more to play the part of the fool. No more will laughter be heard. No more will his heart and spirit be destroyed just for the amusement of others. No more! Just this once he will be taken serious and this once maybe, just maybe will those who laughed regret the fools departure from their courts. Doubtfully.

But on the horizon he eye's a structure. It appears to be another kingdom. Could this be Camelot? Could this be the place his soul has searched for? Perhaps this will be the final leg of his journey and after all these years and all the roads he has traveled, he may finally find peace and a purpose. He knows what they will expect of him as he enters through the gates. He knows what he must do but also knows what will happen once they have grown tired of him. But once more he walks in with pride and dignity. Once more he hears his name called, loudly, touching the core of his heart. Filling his life with purpose and gladness that he is yet once again, needed, wanted. Yes it is the announcement of his name that sets all of this in motion. Just the mention of his name giving him the determination to try once more...."Madam et monsieur...Entrer le idiot, Ladies and gentlemen...Enter the Fool".

• It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us,.... Charles Dickens (1812 - 1870) in 'A Tale of Two Cities'

A Different Breed.............

On April 5, 2010 around 3:00 pm eastern standard time, an odd vibration swept through the mountains of West Virginia. But sadly, this was not an unfamiliar vibration. It may have registered on the Richter Scale, if a seismograph had been in use, but it wasn't an earthquake.
Again, these old mountains have felt many of these vibrations over the years and likely will experience many more to come.

Montcoal, Raleigh County West Virginia was the site of the most recent coal mine explosion killing, as of this posting, 24 West Virginia coal miners. Once again, fathers, sons, husbands, uncles or grandfathers, who sought to earn a living mining coal lost their lives to the mountains.

West Virginia, Raleigh County as well as others, are no stranger to the anguished cries of family members who have just heard their loved ones will not be coming home. Since the state of West Virginia began mining coal in the late 1870's, over 600,000 of her residents have lost their lives mining the mineral. These courageous men only add to that figure.



I am glued to the television when I hear of such an accident. Why? Because I am a miner, as was my father and my brother. We are all coal miners and this is one occupation that I think lies deep with-in ones DNA. It takes a rare different breed of person to go day after day, underground to mine coal, or any other mineral for that matter.

I spent nearly 23 years as a coal miner and many times I have started my day underground only to feel some sort of pressure on me, then wake up hours later in the hospital. I cheated death once again. I was glued to the television back when the Quecreek Mine flood happened, patiently waiting for news of the miners survivors. We are a rare breed, we are survivors, we cheat death daily and one more time we will cheat it and come out alive, ready to do it all over again. I was glued to the television when the Sago Mine disaster happened, but this time something in my gut told me, there would be no happy ending. Miners know. They always know.

I remember when I first began working underground as a "red hat" or trainee. An old miner took me aside and looked me straight in the eye and said, "Pay attention to mother mountain, she'll talk to you and ya best be listen'n." I thought the old man was on drugs, but day after day, year after year, I began to understand what he meant. Those old mountains WILL speak to you, you just have to learn their language. They will let you know when it's safe to work. They will also let you know when you best be running in the opposite direction. And there are a few mountains who love to just keep silent. Those are the ones that will take your life in an instant!

Far too many times to recall, I have personally cheated death. I remember stupid section boss who told us to mine far to close to an active natural gas well. Knowing that one false move with a mining machine would cut the well casing, releasing the gas, one spark and it's all over for good. Many times we would mine near an older, abandoned mine that was full of water, in an instant we all could have drown. But we cheated death one more time. Horrible mining conditions, again, far too numerous to count, remembering times I had tears in my eyes wanting to quit and walk out, fearing for my life. But I had bills to pay and a family to support. Again, I cheated death.



The job I currently have, no mining involved now, takes me all over the state. I know the Montcoal, Whitesville areas and was very familiar with the Upper Big Branch mine or rather it's location. I even took photos of the over road conveyor belt that leads into the mine for my Legacy books, when it was first installed. I never knew I would ever see fire department and rescue workers sitting underneath it one day.

Today, April 7th, my job took me to Whitesville. As I neared the Montcoal area, it appeared that every place you looked, one could find signs reflecting the disaster. "Pray for our miners and their families." Sad, very sad. Huge electronic road signs flashing, "Emergency Ahead, local traffic only", were situated all up and down the road to Whitesville.

As I neared the preparation plant that cleaned the coal mined by Upper Big Branch Mine, the roadsides began to be cluttered with numerous vehicles. License plates on cars from as far away as Canada and as far east as Iowa. Camera crews from every major network sat patiently by the roadside awaiting news of the remaining 4 coal miners that have yet to be rescued or recovered form the mine.

Below the preparation plant sits Marshfork Middle School, surrounded by news vans, satelite trucks and hundreds of automobiles. The football field became the landing pad for three helicopters, I have no ideal who they were. Marshfork Middle School was the gathering place for the media. I understand that the world needs to know, as do I, but also understand the need to keep family members of the victims out of the media spotlight.

I slowly drove through the area, taking a glance up in the hollow where the mine was located, fully understanding what had happened. I felt a lump in my throat and a tear well up in my eye. Why? Because I am a coal miner. It's in my DNA, my blood. I share their pain, never fully knowing how they feel and praying I never do, but understanding what has taken place. I am a coal miner, and my brothers have perished, as many more before them have.


During the Sago Mine disaster, I remember one news reporter asking one family member a question. Now I understand, if you aren't familiar with coal mining, questions such as this, I assume, fill your mind. But he ask, concerning the explosion, "Is this (the explosion) something that is always on your minds? Do you always worry about this happening?" The family member answered, "No!" Coal miners never worry about such things. We know that such things can and do happen, but it is not a continuous worry. Certain mining conditions, such as bad roof conditions, keep us on our toes and lets us know that an accident can happen. Many people die daily in car accidents. And I ask, do you set off the the mall or Wal-Mart or even to work worrying that, today you are going to die in a car crash? No. But you know in your mind that people do get killed in car accidents and it is a possibility. The same with coal miners. We know it happens, roof collapse, rib rolls, machine related deaths and even mine gas explosions. It happens and we know it, but to us it is a part of life.

Why do we do it? Why do you get up every morning and head to work? Whether a professional in an office building or law enforcement officer or even head to work in fast food. To earn a living and often times, miners have no other choice but to work underground. Possibly a family heritage, yea its in our DNA I suppose.

Soon the remainder of the miners will either be rescued or recovered. The last victim will be buried and the investigation into what caused the explosion will reviel what actually happened. Then the roadway in Montcoal will show no signs of the news media or worried family and friends waiting for news. The company will go back into coal production and all will be forgotten by the world. All but those of us who live here, those of us who mine coal for a living. All of those who were directly affected by the death of a loved one, they will never forget.

We are coal miners and this is what we do. Many more will journey underneath these mountains to earn a living. Yes we are careful and yes we pray that, at shifts end, we can once again head towards home, safe and secure. I pray this never happens again but, because I am a miner, I know that it is always a strong possibility that it will.

For you see, these old West Virginia mountains are accustomed to hearing the cries of wives and children. They are use to men tunneling into them to mine their precious coal. Use to such explosions and so are the people who live and work inside them. We are coal miners and we know.

My heart and prayers go out to all of them. To all who have risk their lives in an unstable mine to rescue or recover those men. To bring some type of hope to their families.

With each blog I post, I have tried to find some type of background music to accompany the blog, to add emotional feeling as you read it. But this blog needs no such music. Words speak on their own. I ask, please feel free to pass this one blog posting around so that others can share this and remember those who have perished in the Upper Big Branch Mine. Help me to keep the memory of these brave men alive for as long as we can. Say a prayer, light a candle. They are just like each of you, all they wanted was a decent way of life full of hopes and dreams for their families. Let's keep their memory alive long after the news media has left Raleigh County. We are coal miners, and we will endure! We are akin to these old West Virginia mountains, as much a part of them as they are us. We are coal miners and coal mining families...A rare and Different Breed of people.

Sailing

Christopher Cross once had a fantastic song out entitled "Sailing". The premise of the song was simple...dreaming.

We all dream each time we lay our heads down at night and I am no different. Sadly, we all dream during the day when we are rather fully awake and I am no different. I mean sadly because some of us do it while driving. And I am no different.

What we dream of depends upon our state of mind when we lie down. I think that our brains are like computers. Rather sophisticated computers that no one can copy to this day. Forget Artificial Intelligence this ole thing is far superior to anything man will ever be able to create. Once our eyes close and we enter sleep, we must download all information we gathered that day and process it. We do it when we sleep simply because the brain must not be preoccupied with daily going- ons when it does this. Ever open way to many windows up on an old version of Windows? Yep same thing, but we don't have System Restore to save us if it messes up.

Today I ventured back up the little hollow where I grew up. December being the last time I had visited that part of the country. Today was the first time I had seen my parents old place since it was torn down. Odd, very odd! I continued on up to my next customer to perform my job and each and every place I came to brought back so many fond memories. Memories of playing as a child and familiar areas where much happiness was found.

Christopher Cross said that, "It's not far to Never Neverland, no reason to pretend and if the wind is right you can find the joy of innocence again." I heard that song today on the radio and ventured down to innocence once again. Is there such a place? Age that I am, I find that, my dreams really do not seem to matter anymore.

"Fantasy, it get's the best of me, when I'm sailing..." Fantasy and dreaming are so close kindred that it gets sort of scary at times. Again, like dreams, my fantasies are few these days as well. Like Peter Pan in the movie "Hook", I grew up and stopped believing.

As I look back on my life, I can't seem to find very much that I am proud of. Not many, well if any, memorable things I have done. No differences I have ever made. So many choices I have made over these past 40 some odd years that I wish I could change most of them. Yes I know that our mistakes shape us and mold us to become better and stronger, if not wiser people and I partly believe that.

I have now gotten to the point in my aged life that, I want to dream again. I want to fantasize again. Dream of how my life would be if I had turned left on those days that I turned right. Please do not misunderstand me. I like my life and who I am but the direction I have taken is not what I dreamed it would have been. My "Sailing" ship went astray on it's course and I long since forgot how to correct it. Let's face it..there aren't as many days ahead of me as they are behind me.

Have you ever wanted to change the course that you were traveling and go with the wind, in another direction? Forgetting everything as you now know it and just up and change course? Come on now. Be honest, at least with yourself. Have you ever looked at your life. Looked at the mistakes that you have made and the faults that we find ourselves full of and just say, "Hey, I am sick and tired of this and I want to change." Are we so completely happy with the chaos that we call normality enough to stay the way we are? Not me. Once again, I want to be Sailing.

Have you ever found a dream in your awaken state of mind? Ever realize that something you have dreamed of and longed for is now staring you in the face? I wonder if we would have what it took to take the chance and step out in the deep and simply sail away? I bet many of us wouldn't. I bet many of us would fall for it just long enough to realize that it was no more than a simple dream. Then what? What if we did step out in the deep and begin to sail away, I wonder if we would not instinctively begin to steer back onto the old course. Hungering for the old familiar ways and familiar surroundings, forever losing our only, perhaps, chance we will ever have to DREAM.

As I drove up the little hollow today, I longed for those days of old when life was much simpler. I realized that I had forgotten my dreams and promises I made to myself to be totally happy and have the very best life I could. Don't get me wrong, my life is good, but so many of my dreams and desires have long since been forgotten. Is it wrong for me to want them back, to begin dreaming again? Throw caution into the wind. Hoist sails, weigh anchor and head off into the horizon.

Perhaps I have grown tired of normality. Perhaps I have grown sick of never knowing what the other course would have revieled to me. Tired of never knowing what adventures lie in store for me around the bend. And what if I would be wrong? What if I make a choice and the dream I think I have found turns out to be an even worse mistake or worse choice than others I have made in life? Well, isn't that the way we learn? Orville and Wilbur would have never went to Kitty Hawk unless someone dreamed. Never took that first brief flight for mankind and aviation if they had been afraid to fail. And according to history, they did indeed fail many times before and a few times after. But look how far and fast we now can travel, simply because someone dreamed. Someone decided to sail away. So why not me?

Morbid maybe, but I want to be remembered when I pass. I want someone to look at me and say with-in their hearts, "My life was so much better when he was in it." I would love to know that I made a difference to someone. Filled the most special places in their hearts. Or to hear them say," I don't know what my life will be now that he is gone." Know that I brought happiness and joy to someone. Sadly, we never know this before we pass and certain to not be aware of it once we leave. I guess I just want to be important to someone. Don't we all?

"Well it's not far back to sanity, at least it's not for me. And if the wind is right you can sail away and find serenity. Oh the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see. Then you'll believe me. Sailing takes me away to where I've always heard it could be. Just a dream and wind to carry me....and soon I will be free."

But it's only the blog ramblings of a dreamer, right?

Guess It's just No Good.....

"Once more unto the breach dear friends", a very familiar saying by ole Bill Shakespeare from his play "Henry V, act III scene I. Or was it by the Klingon General Chang from Star Trek VI, The Undiscovered Country? Anywho, once again like clock work, a trip was made down to the Big Easy last week. No I am not talking about heading over in McDowell County to see Big Rhonda who apparently runs an end of the month special on,uh moral boosters. New Orleans, Louisiana yea, from Katrina fame and now home of the Super Bowl Champs, the New Orleans Saints.

Once more I took the 13 hour drive one way, yes I said one way just to catch beads thrown from floats. Special beads? Beads with a resale value on e-Bay? Beads made from Gold? Nope, nope and ut-uh, just regular plastic beaded necklaces. Why may you ask, go ahead and ask, did I do all of this for stuff I can order wholesale from the internet and save a ton of money and mileage on my truck? I haven't the foggiest frackin ideal. It's just no good!




Now, I am rather certain that, for the three days I was exhausted and worn out, floats being just a vague blur now, I gather, captured or collected nearly two and a half garbage bags full of the stuff. Yea I know, lot of stuff to haul another 13 hours and 800 miles back through snow covered country just to pile up some place here. It's just no good!

The other night I decided to take every bead I had collected over the last four years. Pile them all into a heap including my Mardi Gras mask and the real specialty beads I actually caught. Put on my latest jester hat that I purchased in Metarie and have one of those "real stupid moments" type picture taken for the blog. God I am worse than my blog Queen sister.

In other blog postings I have made, for those 3 individuals who actually read my ramblings, I told about an HO train layout I have in my Warehouse 13 room. (Another sci-fi show plug). It is a room in my house that I captured, planted my flag and shouted, "For King and Country and my own sanity", then filled it full of crap. It's just no good!

I am not a complicated person. I, like many others, just started collecting things I have always wanted but never could afford. Now the kids are grown and gone, I started e-Baying. I am a certified Sci-Fi nut and totally fascinated with Egyptian art and culture, ancient Egyptian that is. Photo below only a portion.



Now why have I collected so much? I honestly do not know. Now beaded necklaces were usually given away to friends and family. Yea like I am gonna miss a few from three garbage bags. But for some reason, the beads I have collected have remained mine. Unknown is the reason why I haven't given away any, well wait, I have given away a few of the buggers, but not much. A couple to Adam and a few to a niece or nephew, heck I even gave some to a few neighborhood kids once or twice,,It's just no good!

Now after my first return from Mardi Gras, I was reluctant to give away any of my plastic treasures. Understanding, there weren't that many that I caught that first year or even picked up off the ground. My reasoning was simple. My first Mardi Gras and I was certain I would never have the chance to return to New Orleans again. So I would want to keep my souvenirs to show off in my aging years,,"Yep, I went to Mardi Gras back before teleportation". It's just no good!

Now, my trains. Yea I got a room filled with them. I enjoy them and the hobby itself. But I started with just one small area in Warehouse 13 and "BLAMO" it exploded into addition after addition. Purchase after purchase, dollar after dollar the layout grew and grew. As with my Egyptian collection,,hmm did I mention that one? Oh, yea I did. It's just no good!

Now, chapter 3. Star Trek. I know, not everyone likes the show, but I grew up on it. I mean the old ones. Before Geritol was administered by Star Fleet Command after every transporter trip. Before every alien you met had a massive screw up with their face. I enjoy the show and the plots and such. Over the years I had collected the U.S.S. Enterprise models and the U.S.S. Reliant. Not just a glue together model, but I try to place lights inside of them and have them ready for display.

Shortly after the release of the new Star Trek movie, I pulled my box full of relics from the attic and attempted to re-glue them. Now take into consideration that these models, the oldest being purchased sometime in the late or mid 70's. These ships are antiquated and not really able to stick together even with Gorilla Glue. I managed to put the Reliant back together and place some detail paint on the model. It worked good, then I posted my previous blog entry entitled,"There she is.." It's just no good!

After I placed all of my Mardi Gras crappage in the floor for the "really totally stupid" picture, I had an epiphany, or either a temporary aneurysm. "My God Jim!!!, what have I become?" We recently got our parents packed up and moved into a newer home. Over 45 years of collecting by both mom and dad and moved, stored or thrown away massive collections of stuffage. Have I become my parents, or my mother? Have I walked this earth picking up everything that caught my fancy and found some nook or cranny to throw it in to forget it? It's just no good!

Insult to injury. I recently made two e-Bay purchases. Two new models. Enterprise and Reliant. My reasoning? I would take however long a time I need to patiently put them together and place led lights in them. Find a place in Warehouse 13 to display them. (Yea right, as if there was anywhere in that room for a church mouse) I would then, take a nerve pill, pray and gather up the courage to take all of my old busted models and trash them. (as if that would actually happen) Now I have no way of truly explaining how angry I got at myself for buying those bloody models. Too late after I done already paid for them..arggggg!!!!!! It's just no good!





What am I going to do with all this crap I have collected? Why do I continue to purchase and or collect this junk? So many times I have thought of taking it down, boxing it up and selling it. Now my train collection I am certain I can make my money back on e-Bay selling it to others who suffer from the same mental disease that I do. My Star Trek models and stuff,ah maybe not so good at getting rid of them as the others. My Egyptian collection can also be sold there and I know I can make my money back as well because, well have you ever looked at the stuff on e-Bay? It's expensive. So I can make a hefty profit. Hmm, perhaps,,oh well, it's just no good!

Sadly, one revelation occurred to me after I took all the Mardi Gras beads and placed them back in their boxes and bags and took them to the porch. One day I will take them on out to my shop for storage and never be opened again. The revelation was a simple one. Who would get all of this crap when they place me in the Final Frontier? I know it sounds morbid, but it's part of life and I am ok with the fact that one day I will croak. Already got affidavits from four people who promised to cry for me,(I had to provide the pepper spray though,lol). But what will become of my junk?

A man is the sum of all his memories, myself even more so. When we lose our memory, the essence of who we are and what we have become is no more. So perhaps a collection is also part of our essence. When we get rid of or remove our junk we have collected, have we, in part, lost some of our essence? Now there are some boundaries to how much a person should collect, I agree. No one wants a truck load of Mardi Gras beads. I am certain my sons will not want them. Neither are they interested in my Star Trek collection since neither of them like the show,
( must be their mothers DNA). And likewise for my Egyptian collection. I surely do not want it buried with me. Like what, gonna roll over and play with it? It's just no good!

Now my Mardi Gras things are a reminder of my trips to New Orleans. My Egyptian collection is a reminder of a once great and ingenious culture who's architecture, art and way of life can scarcely be duplicated to this day. My models, well they are just models. My trains, remind me of times gone by, the engineering marvel of metal wheel against metal rail moving massive amounts of goods down the track. So, if I lose my memory of these things, I doubt that seeing this collection will bring those thoughts back. So to keep all of this is, well, uh,,just no good.

One day, I will leave this place. What will become of the representation of ole Rob? Given away or sold in a yard sale for beach money? Maybe. So maybe I will just package it myself while I am still kicking, that way, I get to spend the profit,,lol. Least I will begin by being generous with my Mardi Gras collection. God knows it will just spend the remainder of it's excessive long life in my shop building, collecting dust and never being looked at. Hmm, as a matter of fact, everything in my extended collection is gathering dust and no one gets to admire it or appreciate it or the one who collected it..........IT"S JUST NO GOOD!!!!!

"There she is..."

In 1982 Trek fans were once again treated to another dose of their favorite sci-fi show, Star Trek II,The Wrath of Kahn. And like every other fan of the show, I had to "boldly go" to the theater to see how this one would fair. End result, I loved it. Where else could one see a spectacular battle between two federation starships.

The jist of the plot was simple. Captain Terrell and First Officer Pavel Chekov of the U.S.S. Reliant accidentally come across the exiled heretic Khan Noonien Singh. Khan, was exiled on Ceti Alpha V by Captain Kirk in the TV episode "Space Seed" and was soon forgotten. Now, of course, there was a legitimate reason why Kirk exiled Khan and his followers on this barren rock. He did, after all, attempt to take over the Enterprise. But ole Cap'n Kirk put a stop to his ill gotten plans. Surprised? Of course not.

But Terrell and Chekov must have gotten their space coordinates from Yahoo Maps, cause they didn't beam down to an uninhabited Ceti Alpha VI, seeing hows it blew up a couple years back. They just happened to park right above Ceti Alpha V. Guess who they all ran into, yeppers, ole demented Khan and the remnants of the S.S. Botany Bay.

Now you would reckon after a shows cancellation and many, many years of raising a group of genetically created mutant people, ole Khan would have learned to forgive and forget. Oh no!!! None the least. He still carried a grudge against Kirk. He was still as pee'd as he was back in 1967 or rather 2367, and more so after he learned that Kirk was now an Admiral. "Admiral Kirk?...Admiral?" Khan, by the way, was played both times by the most excellent actor, Richardo Montalban. Possibly one of his best performances in my opinion. I sure would have hated to have been the one who pee'd him off.

So, long story short, Khan puts weird looking worm/scorpion thingys in Terrell and Checkov's ears. This had the ability of, "making the victim susceptible to..uh..suggestion." He then had his homeys transported to the Reliant and the Reliant's crew were marooned on Ceti Alpha V. He than found out the true reason that the crew of the Reliant even wanted to visit Ceti Alpha V. They were looking for a suitable place to test the Genesis Device. A device for making dead planets into live ones but also could be used as a horrible doomsday weapon.




Hmmm, now we got us a ship and a reason. We need us a doomsday bomb and a way to scare the crap out of everyone. We gotz to get all our ducks sitting pretty in the same pond. Gotz our plan right and tidey, been brewing for eons and eons. Then we need to go make Captain Kirk pay for what he did. Sooooo, we're offff.

The Starship Reliant, a Miranda class research vessel, may not be as big or as glamorous as the Constitution Class starship, Enterprise, but she still has her beauty and elegance. Seriously fine lines and curves. Yep, for a starship, she is rather hot. And about to get hotter.

Khan is still pee'd, as I said earlier, at Kirk for what he did. Now one other thing he is still mad at Kirk for is his wife, who once was a crewman onboard the Enterprise, died early into their exile on the planet. Which he has always blamed Kirk for. Now being the typical male that Khan is, and a typical male who was so totally enamored of his wife, vengeance must be taken.

Ya'll Tired of all this yet? Hope not, there's more and a moral as well.


Khan intercepts the Enterprise and her crew somewhere in space. Not using the same Yahoo maps system that Terrell and Chekov did, he actually found the Enterprise and not the crew from Lost in Space. "This is peculiar." Said Kirk about the approach of the Reliant and her inability to make radio contact with another sister starship. "Of course, we are one big happy fleet." Khan said with a grin, knowing he was gonna surprise Jimmy and blow a whole in his ship. Thus totally messing up Jimmy's day, and everyone else on the Enterprise.


Meanwhile back on the bridge of the U.S.S. Reliant, Khan's slackey, Joachim takes a brief moment to try to get Khan to forget about the past and lets just get the frail out of Dodge.
"We're all with you, sir. But, consider this. We are free. We have a ship, and the means to go where we will. We have escaped permanent exile on Ceti Alpha V. You have defeated the plans of Admiral Kirk. You do not need to defeat him again."
This didn't sit well in Khan's belly. "He task me, he task me and I shall have him. I shall chase him round the moons of Nibia and round the Antarries Maelstrom and round Perdition's Flames before I give him up!" Sounds rather determined if ya ask me.

Again, long story short (appears I haven't shortened anything actually, good thing blogspot doesn't have commercials). Khan surprises Kirk and really shoots up the Enterprise. Ouch, bunch of folks get killed, sucked into space, burnt really really bad, knocked on the head, slapped on their rumps and such. Kirk surprises Khan while he gets him monologing using the Enterprise to drop the Reliants shields then,,blamo, blamo, now it's the crew of the Reliant who gets burned, beaten and sucked into space.




Both ships hobbled off to lick their wounds and make what repairs that they could. Khan tricked Kirk into going down to the planetoid Regula I and marooned him, thinking the enterprise had limped off to Starfleet Command. Kirk had another plan in mind and later on, the Enterprise picked em all up and off towards the Mutara Nebula they all went. Khan fussing all the way. Feeling cheated of his prey that he has hoped for for so long.

The reason behind heading to the nebula was simple, both ships would be crippled with their sensors and shields, mono e mono. Round and round they went, in and out of the nebula,,fuzzy view screens made it hard to find one another. Kirk would shoot at Khan and Khan would shoot at Kirk, both starships getting the crap blown out of them and making things worse as they went.



Eventually Kirk figured Khan out and sneaked in behind him, locking phasers and photon torpedoes on the Reliant and blamo!! The Reliant starts losing body parts. Eventually Khan decides to get the last lick in. Knowing that the Enterprise can't move real fast from her wounds, he activates the Genesis Device with intents to blow, both the Reliant and Enterprise into smithereens. End result, Khan and the Reliant get blown up. Spock dies, but comes back in the next movie and the Enterprise gets warp drive and escapes in the nick of time as usual.

The moral? Hmm, lets see. It appears that a fine, beautiful ship and many lives were lost simply to revenge a woman. Khan lost all that he had simply to seek revenge on Captain Kirk for the loss of Marla, his beloved wife. He had the doomsday weapon and a starship and could have went anywhere in the galaxy that he wished to go. Live on any planet that he wanted to live on and basically have any other woman he wanted. But he choose sacrifice. He sacrificed all that he had for the love of a woman. Poor waste of a perfectly good starship I suppose, but each to their own.

I guess that a person could look at this any way that they wanted to. I suppose that people or the love of a person is well worth sacrificing the thing that is sacrificed. Possibly not the life of another or the destruction of someone elses property but there are times and certain people, that a sacrifice is acceptable.

Did Khan come out in the end smiling? His lady's honor restored or better yet her life restored? No, he lost all, but felt that all was worth gambling. We each gamble and sacrifice daily. Gambling on our future, our love and our lives.(Ever see me drive?) I think, regardless of what people say or think, there are many times, the end does justify the means. Sometimes the sacrifice and the gamble is well worth taking and unlike Khan and the Reliant, things do turn out rosey and fine. Sometimes we gamble and loose. But many times, the risk is well worth taking if you feel certain that the outcome will be what you have dreamed it would be. My outlook on this fine sci-fi movie? Yea I guess. You decide.

Live long and prosper...

Time of the End

He stands there, just on the rim of time and space. Ancient and wise but yet foolish and unconcerned. Surrounded by so many who proclaim their love and allegiance but yet his hearts feel as if he is all alone.

He never allows himself to be captured, not physically but emotionally and guards the interiors of his domain with fierceness. Infinite wisdom gathered through the ages but never daring to call upon that wisdom. Never allowing that wisdom to guide his life as he uses it to help guide others.

He arrives just long enough to gather our attention, then without warning or provocation, he simply disappears without a trace, never to be heard from again. The length of time that he spends depends upon the moment that he is allocated, or rather has allocated to himself. Time and Space wait for no man and what he seems to be is not what he truly is. Many have tried through the ages to describe him, to understand him to hold him to one belief. But he is who he is and no one truly understands him, not even he himself.

Why oh why does he come into our lives only to leave us? Some say it's the thrill of adventure or possibly the interaction that he has with us fills a void deep with-in his soul if only for a brief period of time.

Time? How does one explain time? Is it just a measure of life or could it be the limited span that he will take with each of us? Time has allowed him to have many companions in his life, sharing moments and adventures with him, thinking we have the rest of our lives to spend this time with him. But then, one day, he is gone. Each and every companion never understanding why they are left behind and no longer needed or included in his life's adventures.

Could it be that he tires of us so easily? Could it be that he has studied us all he needs to and it is once again time to move on? No one knows for sure. All that is really known are the facts and truths and emotions that he hides deep with-in himself, never allowing anyone alien to see his true self. Never letting them inside, fearing the damage that they may do to him. Afraid of primitive emotions that they may awaken inside.

Doubtfully these are the answers or rather the explanations. He holds the key to his own future. Always making choices for his own direction through time that he, himself , is not even aware of the consequences. But to him, each choice unfolds a new adventure in his life and he feels the call for change.

The call for change! Unfortunately, creatures such as he must endure these changes and he alone will suffer if they turn out wrong. Will they? Does he know if they will? Possibly, after all he is suppose to be wise beyond time, age and experience should help him make the decisions that he alone must make. And make them wisely so no harm will ever come to himself, but fate at times, stirs him in wrong directions. "Just another adventure", he tells himself. A lie? He doesn't know.

He is a Timelord, in every sense of the word and meaning. He knows the feel and the pull of the future tugging at his soul and knows that the time is at hand. Time again, time tugging, pulling, knawling at his soul and essence. He can't avoid it, he has tried and failed so many times before. He knows that the future events are inevitible and there is nothing he can do to change them. He has tried and failed, carrying with him the regrets and consequences of the erroneous choices he has made. Why does he do this? Why does he not stop? He is a Timelord and this is all predestined,written in the fabric of time itself.

So when will he once again remove himself in the night from our lives? No one knows, not even the Timelord, until it is embedded in his soul and the urge to move is far to strong to avoid. Soon we suppose, closer than we think, lives will be shaken and hearts will be hurt. The man, the creature, the being that is the Timelord within will move. It cannot be stopped and he knows this. But because he care's, he reviel's none of this to the ones he has grown fond of known as his companions.

Will he regret this? Will he stand alone on his mountain, with the spring breeze blowing his garment as a cape hating the decision that he made? Possibly, but his is the mind that was created around regrets. Simply because he searches for those things humans take for granted. His soul searches for life, and the meaning of it. For beauty that simple poets have yet to experience and write about. A Timelords heart beating loudly in the voids of time and space, searching seemingly an eternity for those of his kind, but finding none. Longing for just a moment to spend with familiar souls, those who are akin to the fiber of his being.

This is why he stays for a moment. This is why he only holds onto us for a brief period of time. This is why we awake out of sleep only to find him gone from our lives. He can't control it, nor would he even know how. All he knows is...someone is out there, someone who can share. Someone who has a kindred spirit with his and he must continue to search for it, long for it, hunger for it. It is inevitability and can not be changed by no one, it has to happen. Events have already been set in motion, now the future will place its mark on time.

.......He is a Timelord, and he knows this.
.........hidden meaning? Only he knows.

Home For Christmas?

As a little boy I remember listening to the older men speak about "The Old Home Place". It seemed that each of the old folks that my Mom and Dad knew, at one time or another spoke about it. Whenever I was out hunting with the older folks and Dad, I would hear them speak of these mystical or imaginable places but knew of one thing for certain. These were places where families were once raised and where hard work was performed. Places where hardships and sadness were frequent.

But as I actually found where these places were and what old and forgotten family name owned them, nothing that resembled a home could be found. The best I could do was to find a hole in the ground that was once someones old root cellar. Perhaps a couple old and ancient fence poles were barely sticking up out of the ground. I still know of a few "old home places" that remnants of a stone chimney towers over the barely recognizable landscape that once was a home. Trees and shrubbery have over taken the ground that possibly once was manicured. I now understood what an "old home place" really was...a memory that will fade from modern existence.

As I write this, the deal has been finalized on my Mom and Dad's house. A place that they have called home and raised three children for over 43 years. As my sister the Blog Queen has written about in her earlier exquisite blogs, a gas company drilled a well on the mountain above their home. The road building and site preparation caused a massive mudslide to threaten their home and personal safety.

Last week, we all gathered and attempted to hurry mom with her packing and get what things were important out of the house long before the deadline was met. We soon realized, that, in an eleven room house with a 65 year old mother...everything she has collected over 48 years was important and nothing was to be left behind.

I watched the Blog Queen walk through the mud, slowly taking photos of the house that was our home for so many years. I could see in her eyes as her mind began to bring back memories of our childhood and possibly could hear the sound of we children arguing..and yes we did fight with each other most of the day.

She and I walked into the basement and stood looking around the chaos that was once Mom's Christmas decoration stockpile. For some reason, that basement looked so much smaller than it once did. We spoke of times that we remembered and eventually, jointly, brought to remembrance the night that Dad came home from work and took a shower in that basement. Apparently, Dad was a wee bit into "ye ole Christmas spirit" and was tipsy somewhat. At that time, we had an old Buckeye wood burning stove in the basement to heat the house by. Dad was a bit careless when bending over to dry his legs after his shower and ended up with "Buckeye" heat transferred onto his naked backside.

The Blog Queen mentioned how she would love to have a slab of flooring from the original house, which our grandfather had constructed and have her husband to engrave the word "Home" onto it. I thought that it would be a great ideal as well and I shall do my very best to be there when the house is destroyed and find her the nicest slab I can and keep it for her. I can not begin to know how Mom and Dad truly feels about the end of their home. I have lived in many houses through-out my adult life, but none have been my home. This one has been home to us all including the grand children.

I know that none of us had any of this in mind last Christmas when we gathered together as we have always done. I can't even begin to count how many Christmases I have spent in that house. All I really know is, I can count the years that I didn't spend Christmas there on one hand.


I remember the way we grew up all of those years ago. We never had everything that we wanted for Christmas but we always got what we needed and many times, we got one special gift, usually a big item that we really, really wanted. But every year, all of us would be home for Christmas. Little did we know that 2008 would be the last time any type of Christmas cheer would be heard in the old house. Missing this year are the massive amounts of exterior Christmas lights adorning the outside of the place. Empty is the yard of inflatable decorations and plastic illuminated Nativity Scene. No lights of any kind can be seen there tonight and none will ever be turned back on.

I can remember, many years ago, how we were taken to a relatives home on Christmas Eve. Possibly the first and maybe the last time it ever happened but the reason behind doing this was simple, "Just so Santa Claus would come". Now I know what really happened, Dad and another guy had returned to the house and placed our gifts around the tree. Added magic was when we found that our cookies that we placed on the table for Santa had been taken. Not sure if my brother and sister knew it at that time, but I knew it was Daddy.

Hundreds of Christmas memories I have in the old house and by God's blessings I will always remember. Once or twice I was not able to travel to my parent's home for Christmas and I remember sitting home alone thinking about the great things that were going on at that particular time at the old home. Knowing that I was missing new memories and dear family.

The old home was a Christmas shelter not only for all of us, five in all, but occasionally we shared it with other family members. Everyone knows who I am talking about. They are the particular family members that you really couldn't wait for them to arrive and hoped for their departure 15 minutes after they got there. The season was also shared by my Mom's mother and it was every Christmas that she was there. Just didn't seem like it was Christmas when Maw was not around. Then she passed in the mid 70's and things were not the same. A void was there and it would be years before my parents took up the mantle as grand parents themselves.

We grew up in the old house seeing Christmases that were made from prayers and hope, doubtful that 100 dollars were spent for gifts for all of us. We seen them that were made from far better times when nicer, more expensive gifts were given. We seen some years that our tree look like an old Dollar Store tree, skinny to the bone and if it were real, the birds wouldn't roost in it if it was the only bush in the woods. Then watch Mom fight and wool with the newer, bigger tree that she would take hours to set up, decorate to perfection and count each and every light she placed on it.



Years that we would wait for anticipation for the Holiday. Times we had no ideal what we were getting. It really didn't matter what was under the tree, all we knew was that we were having a good Christmas. Regardless of what we got or how many gifts each we received, they were awesome. Years that the decorations would be actual rough pine boughs which were cut by Dad in the woods and placed around doors and windows laced with large strings of multicolored lights. Man I can still smell the pine to this day. So many memories.



I know I can call myself blessed by the old house, my granddaughter spent her first Christmas in it as well thinking to myself that she would spend many more there as I and her Daddy did. Little did I know she would not get to know Christmas there as I do.

Christmas will have a new meaning this year, my parents have a new home in a new location. Mom set up her tree and placed a few decorations here and there, still worn out from the move and traumatized still from losing their home. But I find myself feeling sad realizing the old house will soon, possibly before Christmas, be bulldozed to the ground. If walls could talk, oh the stories those old walls could share, volumes and volumes of books with never the same story, but no more. Just a feeling of loneliness and abandonment by the family it took great care of for over 43 years.

I know in my heart that one day I shall take a ride over to the place where once sat the house. Looking for the two story gray structure that holds so many memories for me. Looking for Mom and Dad's vehicles in the drive and the flowers planted in the yard with loving care by Mom. Only to find that the manicured lawn is now full of old growth trees where my bedroom once stood. Bushes and large underbrush now spring forth where the smell of bread and fried potatoes once emanated from the kitchen.


The old basement where Dad got his "Buckeye" heat tattoo after a shower one night, is now filled with dirt and rock with no apparent sign that it ever existed. Emptied lot now covered and reclaimed by nature, showing no signs that the Walker's ever had raised a small family there. No mere hint of Dad attempting to play his banjo or we kids out in the yard having fun, our imaginations taking us to so many wonderful places.

Our home is no more. It has ceased being our home and now shall hold a new title as ..."The Old Home Place". But so much of what and who we are we owe to it and will remain grateful. We wish we could have helped the old home place but have failed in doing so. Hold no ill against us dear house, for we all love you and will miss you dearly holding memories of you fondly in our hearts and sharing them with all we meet. You have sheltered us and kept us warm most of our lives, awaited patiently for us to return and cherished our children as you did us but sadly ole gray house...we will not be home for Christmas this year or any other year to come. But shall forever visit you in our memories with the Ghost of Christmas Past.