Saturday, May 30, 2009

Season Two Episode Fifteen

It was a tire, suspended in the air by a well-worn yellow rope. This rope was long, over 7 feet, and was attatched to a big oak tree, which sat upon a bit of a cliff-side, 10 feet from the edge. The cliff was about 12 feet down and at the bottom was a lake. This lake put the tire swing at a prime location, for since the lake was well known, the tire swing was well known.

For years, many children have put on a brave face, if not the rest of their body, and would march right up to that tire swing to continue a tradition that had been unknowingly passed down from generation to generation. As long as lake has been here, that cliff has been here, and for most of that time the tree has been here. When the tree wasn't there, the children would run and jump off the cliff, just like lemmings. It wasn't until Mr. McBriddie came across the lake, on his way from one neighbor to another, that he spotted the tree.

The oak wasn't yet 20 feet, but Mr. McBriddie thought that was high enough for a rope to be tied on. You see, the tire hadn't made it's appearance until 7 years later when little Bethany McBriddie came along. She couldn't quite get a good grip, either with her hands or her feet, of the rope. And so it the idea of a tire swing came into Mr. McBriddie's head, so that little Bethany could join in the fun.

Since that day, both the rope and the tire have been replaced several times, either because someone was too hard on one or the other, or because either one was just too old. Never-the-less, many people have said that it was this tire swing that was the first act of charity performed by Bethany McBriddie, but this is not correct, for it was her father, Mr. McBriddie, who both came up with and constructed the tire swing. Be that as it may, Bethany had been accredited the idea for the tire swing for so long, that she began to believe it as fact. When in fact, Bethany was only 10 years old at the time and would not have possess the can-do or know-how to construct a tire swing. This leaves her first charitable act to have come 6 years later when she started The Volunteer Bakery Society For Young Women.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Season Two Episode Fourteen

He's a cowboy. The six gun at his side contains only one bullet, that is all that he needs. The open country lies before him; mountains built up at his right, prairie fields laid out to his left. His steed remains faithful and proving, helping him get out of a tight spot. The hat upon his head was handed down to him from his pa, saying it's been in the family for generations. That, and the rifle.

He's a cowboy. When he heads into town, his face can't help but wear a sneer, thinking about the kinds of folk that reside there. To his opinion, towns tend to muddle one's vision, conveniences aside. Besides, he would say a life based on conveniences makes one lazy and dulls the wits. A hushing wind precedes him as he enters the town's saloon. He's not looking for a fight, but he'll find one anyway. Ordering a water doesn't help either. The next round is on him, and then everybody sings.

He's a cowboy. Sleeping beneath the stars, a rock for his pillow, he can hear the coyote's cry. Leaving one eye open, he's ready for anything that might come his way. The fire's just enough to keep him warm and to have coals in the morning so the next fire, the one for breakfast, is quick to make up. Coffee and bacon, with some cheese and stale bread.

He's a cowboy. On all accounts he's an outlaw, which he takes pride in; a loner and a rambler, but he ain't the cheating kind. There's nothing up his sleeve. He'll lay down the law where it concerns him or when he comes upon a situation that he deems it necessary, otherwise he is the law. Riding his horse to his next destination, whichever direction that may be, in no particular hurry until he finds reason. Giddyup, giddyup hey!

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Season Two Episode Thirteen


Lightning flashed, lighting up the whole sky, lighting up the small room that served as a make-shift office. It was just typewriter, chair, desk, stack of paper, a lamp, and me, hunched over it all. I was going to need something to chew on or my brain would give out, and I couldn't let it do that when I was this close to getting the break through I needed. They say walnuts are good for the brain, maybe I'll get Ms. Torupkin to go out to the store and buy some walnuts. Maybe she could pick up a fish from the market too, those were good for the brain. Or maybe I could go out myself, get some fresh air in the ol' lungs.


There was more lightning, lasting a bit longer this time. Oh yes, it was raining. I couldn't very well ask Ms. Torupkin to go out in this terrible weather. Maybe there were walnuts in the pantry or cellar. And maybe there was still fish left in the cold room from... no, no that had been used up when I had the Henlink's over. Yes, that was good cod. I had caught it when my brother Gordon had come out from Kent, for one last chance to fish before returning to work (such a 'travail' as he would put it).

So then, what was I to do? The weather was terrible, which had made me get back to the typewriter in the first place, as this sort of weather is good for little else, for a man trapped in a small office in the corner of a small apartment in London. Ah yes, and what was London known for (besides rainy days)? Sardines! Sardine's were fish, and fish were good for the brain! Of course, I shall ring up Ms. Torupkin and she can bring me a plate of sardines.


After a short minute, Ms. Torupkin was at the door, knocking twice while opening the door at the same time. "You rang Mr. Stoate?"

"Yes, I did, thank you Ms. Torupkin. I hope I am not being a bother, I just have come upon a stump in my road, and need a bit of ..a lift over it. Something to invigorate my brain. I would have asked for some fresh air, but alas, this weather isn't giving up, is it?"

"No it doesn't look to be, does it sir?" remarked Ms. Torupkin. "It seems the first rains of winter are always as if the Almighty Himself opened up the clouds and poured all the water from his store houses right through 'em, right on top o'us."


Lightning reached across the sky, illuminating the whole of London and all that beyond it. "Yes, well the reason for my ringing," I continued. "Was to see if you would be a darling and see what there was for sardines in this apartment. I think they would help my thinking greatly. Hmm, and perhaps a finger or two of whisky, if you please. That would do nicely." Without another word Ms. Torupkin left the room, closing the door behind her, and set herself about filling out Mr. Stoate's request.