I think I forgot

To keep posting on this Dag-gone "Blog" business. In recent months rebecca and I have been a little busy. A number of transitions have occurred in our lives and at work. 1: Rebecca is no longer working inpatient Psych. (all hours of the night and day). Now she is doing outpatient psych (a set schedule and weekends off HOORAY). 2: I am now the acting secretary at the dept. of socialwork at Womack (the hospital), boo. I end up doing all kinds of boring repetative tasks that seem to have little to no impact on anything. However, for some mystery reason they must be done. Ugh, this was supposed to last a couple of weeks and we are about to start month number three. 3: we painted a little in our house, not a big change but WHATEVER I NEVER ASKED YOUR STUPID OPINION MAYBE YOU NEED TO CHILL OUT!

so there you have it. I don't have much else to say right now, but maybe I will update this tiny piece of internet faux-estate that I have. PEACE OUT DOODS AND DOODETTES.

I was...but it happ...I...okay

Being raised in a religious family is rather difficult. Not because there are problems with the family itself. Quite the opposite really. If I was to put my families relative okay-ness on a scale of one to ten I would have to say we are pretty okay. The problem is that as a part of this family being religious and having a personal/public/private relationship with God is common. The real issue becomes when it gets difficult. My sister in her own (WE)blog today (or someday) said that as young adults we get comfortable with the church doing things for us and we get lazy. The same is true with family. In the family having that connection is easy and comfortable, everybody seems to do it. However outside of the family in our daily lives it is harder because other people are not helping us and making it easy and comfortable. Well that is how it seems to me at least. My wife and I don't see each other on weekends much. Before when we did have a Sunday off we made sure to go to church together but as time has gone by it has become much easier to just not. We don't know very many religious people out here and I, at least, have become comfortable doing my own thing. I still pray and talk with God but there is definitely

something that is astray. I say it is because I am far from a church and that my spouse and I don't have the time to blah blah blah... but that is a me making excuses to feel better. In reality if it was a real priority then I would make time for it. I make more time for things I like doing, but less for God... pretty silly really. Oh well there you have it.

In other news: I got a new computer the other day. The PX (post exchange(army walmart)) had a sony Vaio for sale there. Which is what I had. They had a computer I was looking at i 2 models. VGN270 and VGN170. Both were the same price both, on the display had the same specs. I randomly picked one and they were out. So I said I'll take the other (they look the same too). As it turns out it was the better of the two. It had twice the RAM and hard-drive in addition to a better processor...and magically this better computer was (as it turned out) $100 LESS than the worse computer they were out of. No one knows why. There you go. Laptop 1 gig memory 100GB hard drive, 1.83 GHZ processor 14.4" screen for about $1000. The military has its advantages.

In addition

as an adendum to the previous post my wife and I have taken the time to fortify our house. This includes a number of intricate and deadly traps that will be set off upon entering the home and are activated upon leaving. We have also let our dogs loose while we are gone, hoping that they will kill the second wave that survives the initial onslaught we have set up. There are a number of advantages and disadvantages to this system. Most importantly our house is impenatrable, the key problem is that we have not been inside our house in days. By now our dogs may be starving and we are to scared by the death trap that is our home to go inside. All of our worldy belongings are safe, and we are permenantly camped out in our driveway, praying for someone to break in so we can follow behind. If we're lucky our dogs will recognize us and let us feed them before we are torn limb from limb, or that they will be so weak from hunger that they will not be able to put up a fight. All our hope lies in the foolish mistakes that dangerous criminals may make...

Something, something, and something

I was on leave not long ago. As I have a habit of explaining military terms in mind-numbing minutae I will explain leave... even though everyone already knows what it is. We in the "Army" get thirty days of paid vacation. this is leave. <--- that was not technically a sentence. (Ir)regardless- I hate it when people say irregardless. Do they realize it means nothing? I hope so if you say regardless it means you are not giving regard to something if you irregard then you have chosen to ignore a fact, but if you chose to ignore something that you are not giving regard to then what does that mean... are you paying attention to it? are you ignoring the fact that it means nothing and therefor paying lots of attention to it? I don't get it.
Regardless... When we got back from leave some one broke into my house and stole my laptop computer. As a result of this I am updating this blog via smoke signals and morse code. It's a little complicated but I figured it was worth it for the two people that look at this thing on a monthly basis. If things go well I should be able to buy a new computer here in a little bit. I don't know what to get though!!!11!1!! I was too excited to continously hold down on the shift key. Well there you have it, peace out donny.

Shoes, Running, and Being Fat

I said yesterday that I was going to be doing a APFT today (refer to yesterdays posting if you have memory problems). For the most part it went pretty well. As it turns out I maxed the Pushups (I did 78) I got a 70-ish on the situps (57) and I got a 65-ish on the run (15:50). The interesting thing is the weigh-in. The Army wants people to not be fat, understandably. It turns out that since last month I have lost three pounds, shrunk more than an inch and gained 3.7% body fat, also my neck is 1/2 an inch smaller. To say that the system of measuring health and fitness is flawed is similar to saying that my NCOIC has the occasional alcoholic beverage or that Jesus accidentally got stuck in some wood. You see somethings aren't just a little bit (for those of you who are currious Jesus really did get on the cross on purpose, so don't panic you can reference the Lord in analogies and still be a nice person... and my NCOIC is a drunk).

No one cares about what I have to say about the military though, sorry for boring you (no one is reading this and I know it) with needless details and rambling similies. On the other side of things my wifes parents dropped by the other day. I thought we were a little out of the way, but they got caught up in traffic on the way home from Kansas to Kansas and decided to go 20 hours out of there way to avoid the frustration of deer migrating at night. Everything has been going pretty well. We have found a new shoe store too. The Shoe Carnival. I feel weird going to a store that has the word Carnival in the title. for whatever reason Carny's have never been people that have inspired a lot of trust in me. So to go to a store that models itself as a Carnival is somewhat out of my comfort zone. On the bright side those Malasian kids do a heck of a job with their stitching. Well I think thats probably enough for today, prett soon I'm going to start offending people.

Fortune, Fitness, and Chinese Buffet's

The other day my wife and I went to a Chinese buffet. The food was okay… it was after all a buffet (I don’t like buffets very much). What really got me was the fortune cookie. Everyone has their own particular brand of funny when it comes to fortune cookies “After...hehe…after you read it you should say ‘in bed’ heh. Get it? Then it’s funny because it’s a fortune, hehehe, in bed!” right well that stopped being funny years ago, but keep on doing it if you find it so terribly amusing. My fortune cookie was quite possibly the most eerie thing I have ever seen. It said “Pick another fortune cookie”. How often do you see a cookie refer to itself in the first person? Or at all?! Most of the time they seem to be pretty content being a carrier for a message, as opposed to being part of the message itself. I refused to get another, I will not have dough control my life.

On an unrelated note I have an APFT tomorrow. The APFT is the Army Physical Fitness Test. It makes sure I’m not too slow, too weak, and not too fat. So far I have not failed. I have to run 2 miles in under 16 minutes, do more than 45 push-ups in 2 minutes and more than 50 sit-ups in two minutes. I can do the allotted push-ups and sit-ups in under a minute. The run however is where I tend to suck. Oh and the better you do the more “points” it is worth. Just passing is 180 points (each event is worth up to 100, but a minimum of 60 is required). I usually score somewhere in the mid 200 range. I come close to maxing the push-ups do okay on the sit-ups and pass my run panting and wheezing and just barely eking by. I can’t seem to bring myself to care all that much, so there you go! Well have a nice day on the internet.

On down to San Antone...

So, for the past two weeks I was in San Antonio. The reason I was there was for Army training. To be specific I was learning some extra drug and alcohol training tips and tricks (on a side note I had the highest scores on both the written and oral tests). It was mostly something the enlisted folks go to, but some civilians are there too. During the day we would learn about the dangers of alcohol and in the evening almost everyone would get drunk. There were two exceptions myself (Justin) and a man named Stewart. Stewart is a Mormon Bishop and president of his ward in Hawaii, he was a pretty cool guy. Stewart and I were the designated drivers. What I would like to tell you about are the dangers of being a designated driver. I was sitting there minding my own business at this piano bar (here I will explain this concept- the idea is that there are two grand pianos on a stage and two guys playing on them taking requests from the audience and generally being silly, they were pretty good and knew lots of songs). All of a sudden all the drunk people decided to order Jaggier-bombs (a mix of Jaggiermeister and redbull) and one drunk man spilt his all over me (1). Later I was being shouted at by a drunk man to order a Shirley temple and a margarita was spilt on me (2) which caused someone’s vodka and something else to spill on me (3). Afterwards a full corona and a Shirley temple were spilt on me at the same time (4 and 5). At this point I decided (using my designated driver powers) that it was time to leave. I finally managed to round up everyone who came with me and eject them from the bar. It was about 1230 in the morning and then I got them back to the hotel, took a shower and went to sleep. The strangest thing was the next morning I woke up to find the strangest rash on my body were all the alcohol and been. Needless to say I was unhappy. There were two things that made it worthwhile 1) no one died in a car accident 2) everyone that was not me or Stewart had a terrible hangover which made my last day that much cheerier when I shouted good-bye to all the sleepy people after our last half-day of class. The lesson: don’t drink and drive and don’t be a designated driver just stay home and don’t drink (if you do go Shirley Temples are too sweet).

Bow-dit-dit-bu-dow-dow!

That’s the sound ‘The Shield’ (a television show on FX) makes when it starts. On a different note (both figuratively and literally) I was walking towards the Hospital I work at today and I noticed (this was around 1400-ish(2:00 PM-ish)) that there were some bagpipes playing Amazing Grace somewhere off in the distance. I found it a little surreal for some reason. After all, how often do you hear someone playing bagpipes (outside of the Renaissance Faire) and playing Amazing Grace at that, maybe at a funeral, if you happen to know a Scotch/Irish policeman or fireman? Outside of those rather limited times it seems to be something of a rarity. I’ve been over to people’s homes and have heard them strum a little on the guitar, or casually play the piano but it is uncommon in the extreme for someone to nonchalantly play the bagpipes in your normal everyday life. I think it has something to do with the fact that you CANNOT play a bagpipe nonchalantly. I believe that it requires a person to be fully chalant (ßthis is not a word) in order to pull out a set of bagpipes and start playing. I don’t think that bagpipes are really good background music for conversations either. It’s like trying to have throbbing club music as a background piece. “Did you hear that so and so was doing…” “WHAT?!” they would reply. So it is with bagpipes. On the other hand they do have a certain ethereal quality that makes you enjoy them. I don’t know what to tell you, bagpipes are loud, cannot be played casually, but people love them.

Beer in North Carolina

Rebecca and I have some friends who are really big beer fans. As a result of this they pay a lot of attention to what is going on in the world of Beer, believe me there is a whole world of it too. This next weekend there is a Beer Festival in Ralliegh NC that they are going too. Now, for Rebecca and I beer is not that big of a deal. Let me clear something up real quickk (for those who are currious) I have no problem with people drinking. In fact I occassionally have a drink. I do not believe there is some morae out there that tells people that to allow alcohol to enter your body is the essence of drinking in the devil. If that was the case then I could never have cough medecine. What I do believe is that excess is bad news. In anything, eating drinking, playing video games, or sleeping. all of these things when done in excess can take the place of God and that becomes an issue. The reason alcohol can be so dangerous is that it is easy for people to get pulled into its shadowy depths. So to recap real quick: 1) beer in NC, 2) drinking isn't that bad. Okay, so Rebecca and I are thinking that we might go, this is because we like these folks and we have been told it is a really friendly place (few alcoholics go becuase the beer glasses are too small) and they have good live music. For any more insights into the human psych, or about what drinks I like send me an e-mail at Dontemailme@shutup.com Thanks

Four miles...

About two weeks and a half weeks ago I was doing a 6-mile trail run with my Company. A Company, for those unfamiliar with the Military, is a type of unit. Here is a quick breakdown. The Army is made of several "Armies" a unit of size measurement. The Continental US has two armies, east and west. There is also a Europe army, and a pacific army. From army it goes to Divisions (the 82nd Airborne division is an example). A division will have several thousand soldiers. Divisions are made of Brigades (usually four). A brigade is made of Battalions (usually four or five). A battalion is made of comapanies (at least four possibly as many as 8). Companies are made of Platoons (about four, each platoon has about 50-75 soldiers). Platoons are made of squads (always four) and have around 15-20 soldiers. There is a quick lesson for you. anyway, we were doing this six mile run and I twisted my knee. so for the past couple weeks I havge had some trouble running and was given a profile (military lingo) saying I should not run. Yesterday I was running with a friend who just got back from Iraq and we went about four miles. My knee hurt around mile 3, but I kept on trucking. Basically this is a long way of saying I run more than I should and I hurt my knee. also, below this is chapter two of my book.

Chapter 2

The Monks at Antar
Garret clutched the soft pillow and turned fitfully in his warm, downy bed. The sound of birds could be heard through the window and a gentle, warm breeze caressed his cheek. Garret turned once more in his bed and then slowly, groggily came to his senses. He sat up wearily and wiped his sleep blurred eyes and took in what was around him.
At first he was very confused. He could not understand what had happened, he remembered helping his mother with some chores, and picking berries. Now, however, he was in a strange foreign room, sleeping on a soft bed that was not his, and wearing a clean, white, cotton shirt that was softly hung from his narrow shoulders.
Then he remembered what had happened. His parents were dead, and he was alone. With that realization he felt fat, wet tears welling up in his eyes. He rubbed his eyes vigorously and felt determined to be finished crying for now. At least until he knew where he was and what was going on, mostly he was unsure what to feel. He knew he was safe, but the loss of his parents so fresh that he could hardly bear to think about it.
With a ragged, tearful, breath he got out of bed and for the first time began to take in the details of where he was. The walls and ceiling were made from the same dull grey stone. The floors, however, where made from a tough blonde wood. As we walked about the room he could tell that this was an older building, the floors were weathered and the stones had been worn smooth by time. A small wooden chest sat at the foot of the bed. The walls, for the most part, were bare and it was clear that someone had taken great care to keep this place clean.
He walked over towards the window and caught his breath as he looked out. He had never seen anything like this. As he looked he could now see he was on the second floor of, what could best be described as, a castle of sorts. Not the fancy castles that fine lords and ladies live in, but the rough kinds that were used in war. He knew there was a better word for it, but he could not recall it now for the life of him. Stretched out below him was a flat green field that ran all the way over to the far walls. These walls must have been at least thirty feet tall, and were topped with battlements and ramparts. He leaned a little forward and he could feel himself tingling with anxiety as he saw how high up he was.
To his left he could see a well and another building. It was dotted with windows and must have been a kind of boarding house. To his right he could see a fenced in field where several horses and some cattle stood grazing. Several men could be seen below moving about. He could see now that something did not quite seem to make sense. None of these men looked like any soldier he had ever heard of. In fact the looked more like the monks he had seen when he went with his father into town to sell grain. Actually the more he thought about it the more he realized the looked exactly like the monks from the Antar Monastery. For some reason that made Garret feel a little more at ease. These men were known for their kindness and gentle dispositions.
Garret jumped a little as he heard the door creak open behind him. He quickly turned about and saw the door slowly crack open and a shaven head peek through and look over at the bed. When it was clear to whoever was looking that no one was in the bed, Garret spoke up.
“Hello?” Garret asked towards the errant head. Then it was the bald mans turn to jump at the sound of Garrets voice. He turned to see the young man standing by the window. Now that Garret had a chance to look at him more closely he could see that it was Brother Micah, the monk that had found him at the farm house. “Micah? Where am I? What happened at my house? What’s going on?” All these questions fired off in rapid succession as Garret hurried across the room to the smiling face of the monk. He could not explain it, but Garret felt a strange affinity for this man, who he thought of as his rescuer.
“Slow down, child, slow down!” Micah smiled reassuringly at the young boy as Garret rushed to greet him. “You have asked several questions, but I am afraid I can only faithfully answer some of them. But first I imagine you will want to change into some day clothes, and have some breakfast. And I’m afraid that you have me at something of a disadvantage my son, for we have not had the chance to hear your name.” Garret paused a moment to consider, and realized that they wouldn’t know because he had been resting since they had first picked him up.
“My name is Garret,” he said in a rather proud voice, it was all he had left. He had been named for his grandfather, a man he knew to have been a kind, honest, and brave man before he had passed away a few years ago. “And I would very much like something to eat, and some clothes to wear about, thank you sir.” As he said the last he bowed slightly, in what he hoped was a very polite manner.
“No need to bow, Garret, I am just a novice monk. And you called me Micah before so I see no harm in continuing that trend.” He grinned slightly as he talked and placed a loving hand on Garrets shoulder. He was finding the young man in front of him rather amusing. “There will be some fresh clothes over here; some of the people in town donated a few things that they thought would fit.” He showed Garret to the small wooden chest that lay at the foot of the bed Garret had been sleeping in. As Micah opened it Garret noticed a strange emblem on the front of it. The symbol looked to be golden cross, though broken down the middle, on a black field with a silver crescent moon behind it. He considered asking about it, but decided to wait until his other questions had been answered first.
Once the chest was open Garret removed a dark grey shirt and a simple tan pair of linen pants. A thin woven belt lay in the chest as well, so he used it to cinch the slightly too large pants around his waist. Once he was fully dressed Micah took him by the hand and showed to the way to the kitchen.
The rest of the building was much the same as the room he had slept in. The same light colored wood served a floor, and for the most part the walls were left bare except for the occasional wall sconce or worn tapestry. Some of the tapestries bore the same symbol that he had seen on the chest in his room. Garret was led down a long, winding staircase and led through a large hall. It may have once served as a gathering for court, but now looked as though it was for religious purposes.
“This Keep had belonged to the Templars, before the Great Wall was built. They abandoned it during the Goblin Wars, almost 60 years ago.” Micah said quietly as they walked through the huge room. “This room used to be great hall, where the Knight-Marshall of this Fort held council. Since we have moved in we decided it would better serve as a chapel, Sol willing.” As Micah invoked the name of the deity, Sol, he bowed his head in reverence. Garret stared with wide eyes, this used to be a Templar Fortress! What an amazing thought. Those great, powerful knights were well known all across Sacrimore, even as far north as Garret lived. His heart raced a little at the thought of those heroic men fighting back the hordes of monsters in this very place. He had imagined himself performing those same deeds in the clearing by the stream only a few days ago.
“You may have noticed their crest here in the main keep. It’s the same symbol that’s on the chest in your room.” Micah said as they left the great hall and turned down a long corridor. “The kitchen is right down here, it’s really much larger than we need, but we occasionally use all of it on holidays, for feeding the poor. Ah there’s that crest.” Micah said as he pointed out a large tapestry that carried the symbol Garret had been so curious about before. Garret began smiled again at the thought of the Templar’s being in this same place, decades before, but then a strange fit of melancholy came over him and he stared at his feet holding back tears.
“Here we are,” Micah said as he opened a large, heavy, dark wooden door. As the door opened Garret’s nose was filled immediately with the smell of hearty spices and the smoky scent of meat and eggs gently sizzling on the stove-tops. Inside was a huge kitchen. Copper pots hung shining from the ceiling and large pans lay on top of one of the ovens. Down the middle of the room ran a long tall counter, clearly it would have been used for some kind of food preparation. At the other side of the room several monks were busy at work putting together a large breakfast.
Garret could feel his mouth watering as he looked at the busy monks at the end of the room, his sudden depression vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. “Right over here, Garret.” Micah showed him through a door to another room. This room had a tall cathedral ceiling and was easily 30 meters in length. A long dark wooden table ran the length of the room. On each side there was an equally long bench that ran parallel to the table made of the same dark, rich wood. A hundred people could have easily fit on either side of the massive table. “Have a seat, Garret, This is where we take all of our meals.”
“Thank you.” Garret said in a hushed voice. He could feel his stomach churning with a sense of hunger as the food continued to be made ready. “How soon can I eat?” Garret asked, realizing after the words had left his mouth that he probably sounded very rude, though he was not sure if he cared at this point.
Micah chuckled and nodded. “Yes I imagine you would be very hungry. The rest of the Brothers will be here very shortly. Monks we may be, but I rarely see any of my brothers miss a meal.” Micah sat down and patted the wood on the bench next to him. “Have a seat, my child, they will be here soon and then we will eat.”
Garret sat down next to him and waited, albeit impatiently. Steadily, but far too slowly for Garrets personal taste, the rest of the monks made there way in to the great dining room. Eventually Garret recognized another of the men that had rescued him, Father Caldren. He was very easy to pick out from the other monks, being one of the few that did not have a shaved head. He had a very serious look, and nodded at Micah as he came in. Another man, this one also had a full head of hair, and also very old, sat at the head of the table. He looked as though he was waiting for something.
Once it seemed that all the monks who possibly could come had made it into the room the older man at the head of the table stood up and began to speak. “I’m sure all of us are aware that we have a guest with us this morning. And while he will have plenty of time to meet all of us, I would like Brother Micah to take a moment and introduce us to this young man.” With that the older man sat down. Garret blushed a little at the attention, and dropped his head to keep from meeting anyone’s gaze.
Micah stood up and cleared his throat before talking, “Thank you Father Ammon, This young brother here is Garret. As many of you know we found him at a burnt farm off the main road to Antar.” When Micah said that Garret could feel those tears from before beginning to work their way back up, but again held them back determined to be strong, the way his father would have been. “He will be staying in the far eastern room and the second floor.” After Micah had finished he sat down and bowed his head. Garret looked around the room and saw that the other monks were doing the same thing, eyes closed, heads bowed. Unsure of what to do, Garret followed suit. He kept his eyes closed for what seemed like an eternity. His stomach continued to growl in protest that none of the food it smelled was making its way into his mouth. He was sure it was highly inappropriate to make those noises, but was unsure what to do about it.
Eventually he felt a soft jab from Micah’s elbow. He looked up and could see that several of the Monks had started to serve out food. Garret turned to Micah and began to speak, but was cut off sharply by the stony looks he received from around the room. He decided it was best to eat in silence, and again dropped his head, trying to avoid the upsetting memories he kept having. The food that made its way around the room seemed to be about the best food that Garret thought he had ever eaten, although some of that may have been hunger speaking.
In time the meal ended and Garret was left sitting alone at the table while the monks busily gathered up the dishes around the table. The sounds of clanking dishes and splashing water could be heard emanating from the kitchen. Garret wanted to help them but was unsure what to do, since everything seemed to be working just fine with him sitting there. Alone he again his thoughts began to drift and his sorrow once again threatened to over take the young boy. Soon they seemed to finish and Micah came back over to him.
“Well, follow me Garret, Father Ammon and Father Caldren want to have a word with you. They are waiting for us outside in the garden.” Micah helped Garret to his feet before continuing to walk. For the first time Garret noticed that his ankle was no longer sore, he would have expected it to ache for several weeks.
“Micah, my I twisted my ankle when I was in the woods, but its not hurting anymore, how is that?” They continued walking as Micah turned his head to respond.
“We monks have some gifts from Sol; one of them is the gift of helping wounds to heal. When we got you back here we noticed your ankle was swollen, and we healed it for you.” The idea of someone magically healing something was almost too much for Garret to handle, he had heard of magic, but had never seen it, and had certainly never had it performed on him.
They set off once more, past the large table and through a set of large double doors that had huge iron bands running across them horizontally to reinforce them. It must have been a left over from when the Templars still lived here. It was a formidable structure and would have taken some work to force entry, not that the monks were worried about forced entry.
As they left through the double doors they came into a lush well manicured garden. The green grass spread all about them, and warm pleasant odors washed over him as they walked down the rough stone path. It seemed that it was mostly filled with various herbs and wild plants, but spread throughout were several flowers of a wide variety of colors; these were most likely the source of the sweet, mild odor. In the middle of the garden the two older monks sat on a low wooden bench next to a clear, clean pool. From the pool water trickled out through long wooden half-pipes and gently sprinkled water out into the various planter boxes that the sun hit and sent a myriad of colors sparkling brilliantly off each green leaf. When the older monks saw the pair walking towards them they stood, Father Ammon smiled in a very kind manner, while Father Caldren had a very serious look on his face and simply nodded to both of them.
“Garret, Brother Micah, please have a seat.” Father Ammon gestured towards the bench opposite the one he had been sitting on only moments before. Once he and Micah sat the older monks sat down as well pulling their robes out a little to keep them from bunching underneath them. “Garret, it’s a pleasure to meet you child. My name is Father Ammon, and my more somber comrade here,” he gestured towards the man who had helped Garret into the wagon some time ago “is Father Caldren. We are the head monks at this Monastery.” Garret nodded his understanding. “You are free to stay here as long as you need, and we are more than happy to have you. If you have any questions of us we would be more than happy to answer them for you.”
“Where exactly am I, sir? How long have I been here? What happened to my family?” Garret had spewed forth all those question in rapid fire. Father Ammon and Father Caldren looked at each other briefly before answering.
“I will tell you what I know, son.” Father Caldren began. “You are at the Monastery at Antar, just outside of Antar proper, I am sure you have been there before.” Garret nodded that he had. “We found you two days ago. We often leave to take the Ceremonial wine that we make here to some of the parishes in the area. On the way back from our last delivery we saw smoke in the sky, thick dark smoke, not the white smoke we expect from the farms in that area. We found you there at the farm; I assume that was your home.” Again Garret nodded, this time he dropped his head little, to keep from meeting anyone eyes as finally the tears won over and began a gentle trickle down his face. He squinted his eyes hard trying to stop the flow, and eventually wiped his cheeks and sniffed as nonchalantly as he could. Father Ammon paused, giving Garret time to collect himself
“There is no shame in crying, Garret. Anyone who claims to be a man must accept his feeling, or they will claim him, never be afraid of feeling sad.” He paused again letting Garret take in a few halting, tearful breaths before continuing. “We know that something terrible had happened there, but the details, I am afraid, only you know for certain.”
Father Caldren paused at this, waiting for some kind of response. When nothing happened he drew in breath to begin speaking but was preemptively cut off by Father Ammon.
“There will be plenty of time for these matters later; I can see that you are still very tired.” Father Ammon leveled a gaze at Micah and smiled. “Brother Micah would you be so kind as to show our guest here around the Monastery, Father Caldren and I will be in the Library if you have need of us. Coming, Father?” The last was said to Caldren who grudgingly stood and straightened his robes before following Father Ammon as he left the garden and headed back into the keep.
Once they were gone Micah and Garret stood and headed out of the garden. “I will give you a brief tour of the Monastery, and introduce you to some of our Brothers.” They walked through a large opening in the wall of the garden and headed to a more open area. Outside he could see that the entry way to the Monastery was on his right, it was a huge portcullis, though he doubted that it had been lowered in decades. In front of him now was the stable that he had seen from his window. A corral stretched from the stable where all the animals were grazing. Inside the simply fenced in corral he could see one of the monks brushing down the grey horse who had pulled the wagon that was at his house.
“Brother Jerran!” Micah called to the monk. He turned and waved before he set own the brush and began to head towards them. “This is Brother Jerran, the stable master here. I believe he used to be a soldier before he joined us.” Indeed Jerran was a large, broad shouldered, man. He reminded Garret of his father, in several ways. He had a thick neck and a ready smile as he walked up to them. The smell of the horse and sweat were on him, another thing that reminded him of his father. He could see the sweat had built up on his face, as the day began to warm up once again.
“Pleasure to meet ya, son!” Jerran said as he gave a hearty slap to Garrets shoulder. Garret winced a little, his shoulder stinging a little. “Oh, sorry little brother, I forget my own strength sometimes. If there’s anything that you need jus’ let me know and I’ll do what I can.” Garret smiled at the man, he was a friendly sort and Garret could tell he was going to like him. “And if yer lookin’ for somethin’ to do, I can always use a hand around here.” He again reached over the low fence once more to give one more pat to Garrets shoulder, though this one was gentler. “Oh, well. Back to work for me, I’ll see you around!” With that the burly monk strolled back over to the now grazing horse, picked up the brush, rolled up his sleeves once more, and continued to bush it out.
“He’s about the nicest monk here, doesn’t talk much about his past though. I think he worked with a mercenary company out of Vale. He’s seen some rough things too, I don’t envy him for that.” Micah was saying this to Garret as they walked away from the stables.
As they continued walking down the simple dirt path that cut its way across the short, well tended grass Garret saw two monks a little ways off that seemed to be arguing with one another. “Who are those two?” Garret asked pointing at the pair as they moved past.
“Them?” Micah laughed a little as he saw them argue. “Those two are Brothers Eric and Tomlon. They are the wine experts here, or should I say they claim to be experts. I’m sure they know plenty, but …well I’ll just leave it at that. It’s not polite for me to speak about the other Brothers that way. Apparently there used to be a vine that grew wild along the coast, which by the way you can see from the eastern side of the north wall, your rooms view is blocked by that building. Anyway, when the monks moved here they began to cultivate the vine and made it for ceremonies. As time went on people heard about it and began to request it from us. So we make several batches now, which are what we sell in town. We trade our wine for some of the other things we need here. Those two are always arguing about something, one says it has too much acidity, the other says that it’s too sweet. I don’t know enough about wine to even care. But it’s a very big deal to both of them.” Micah shook his head as Tomlon and Eric made there way to the other large building next to the keep.
“What’s that building over there?” Garret nodded towards where the two monks had just gone.
“Oh, that building has several functions. The basement, where those two went I’m guessing, is where we keep the wine. The first floor we use to house any some of the monks who did not want to live in the keep or wanted to be over here. And the second floor is our library.” As he talked they continued walking towards the building.
“You have a library?” Garret asked a little awe in his voice. The only book he had ever seen up close was the one his father used to make tally marks for the bushels of grain that he brought to market.
“Oh yes, is there any book in specific you would like to see?” Micah asked as they got closer. ‘I know a lot of boys you’re age are interested in histories, and stories about war. We have several books chronicling the Goblin Wars, as well as the wars between the city-States…” He trailed off when he noticed that Garret was starting to trail behind him, looking at his feet. “Is something wrong?”
Garret shrugged as he spoke “I don’t know how to read. I guess I’m probably too old to learn now too, aren’t I?” His voice caught a little as he talked, if would probably seem silly to men like these that someone didn’t know how to read. Micah laughed after Garret spoke, then covered his mouth and pretended to cough. He could see that Garret’s face was growing a deep red color and that he was staring once more at his feet, thinking he was being made fun of.
“I’m not laughing at you, my dear boy, I’m laughing at myself! Of course what boy your age knows how to read? To old, to old my foot! I was twice your age when I first learned numbers, or letters.” Garret looked up at him hopefully, feeling much better about his situation. Micah could see a little bit of the young boy he must have been before his parents were killed.
“How, er…where could I learn?” Garret asked a little sheepishly.
“I will teach you. And if there is anything that the monks here do that you would like to learn about, just ask them. No one here will refuse to teach you something you have a desire to learn. As a matter of fact, I’m sure Jerran would be more than happy to teach you to ride in exchange for helping him groom those horses.” Micah could tell that Garret was feeling better already. And Garret could feel his small heart racing a little at the thought of learning to really ride a horse; his father had always been upset when he tried to ride their mule back home. He once more pushed back his tears. He knew he would have time to cry again later.
“What will I give you, Brother Micah, what do you do?” Garret asked, wanting to feel like he was useful to someone again.
“Well, I work at the library most days with Father Elwin. I can always use a little help sorting out the books, and distinguishing where they go. So, in order for you to help me I have to teach you to read. Once you can do that we can start putting you to work.” Garret was smiling now, the first real smile he’d had since he had seen his parents killed.
“Micah,” Garret said, now a little more somberly. “I’m still very sad that my parents are gone. When does it stop?” He could feel his tears welling up again, and wanting desperately for that hole in his chest to close up, so he could be normal again.
“It may never go away altogether Garret. When my mother was killed I was down for months, before I joined the monks here. Look to Sol, Garret. That is where you will find help. It’s what helped me, and if I can I will help you find him too.” Garret nodded, oddly feeling a little better knowing that someone else had gotten through something similar before, even though it still felt like his chest was caving in.
The rest of the day went without much incident, Micah telling Garret about the scriptures, and Garret asking many rather insightful questions. Eventually the questions turned to the keep, and after the evening meal, which was held again in silence, Garret asked about the Templars.
“The Templars… Well, let me see. The Templars are men who have dedicated their lives to protecting the weak, defeating evil, and serving Sol. Every year they take applicants, in spring. They will take people from every walk of life, every class, and from every education. You see, not everyone can become a Templar. They are gifted warriors and, or at least I am told, they gain great power over their minds, and over nature. One must be not only spiritually gifted, but emotionally sound.
“It’s an odd thing, we like the Templars, serve Sol. We however have taken a vow of pacifism; we do not believe that it is right to bring harm to another man for any purpose. As a result Sol gives us many gifts: the power to heal, the power to cure disease, and many other talents. To the Templars he gives strength to defend those who are otherwise alone and helpless. I believe it to be a noble calling, though many of the monks disagree with me.” He could tell by looking at him that Garret was excited by this idea. And for the first time the entire day his thoughts were focused entirely away from his loss.
“Maybe if there had been Templars near by, my parents would still be alive. I bet a Templar could have stopped them.” Garret said the last with a fierce determination that surprised Micah, in reality it surprised Garret too, but he could feel a strange thought growing up inside of him.
“That may be Garret, but it is a hard life and few are accepted.” Micah said watching closely for Garrets reaction. Garret furrowed his brow, as though thinking about something very deeply. At last he kind of nodded as though truly making a decision.
“Maybe more people should try to be Templars then. If more people tried and more people made it, then there would be more Templars in the world to help people.” Garret seemed to grow more determined the more he spoke about it. “When could I go? How old do you have to be to try?” Garret almost seemed to plead with Micah, it was obvious that Garret needed to hear this, and needed to know that good could be as strong as evil.
“You have to be at least fourteen; they won’t take anyone too young, and no older than sixteen.” Micah could see steeliness in the boys’ eyes that let him know that this was no idle fancy. Something had sparked inside this young man, and inside he was unwilling to let this idea go. Micah decided then, that whatever this boy needed, he would help him, the world owed him that at least, Sol owed him a chance to right this wrong.
“There is nothing simple about becoming a Knight of Templar, Garret. But if you decide that this is what you want to do then we will talk in the morning. The trials are hard, and you must not only be physically strong, but you must be knowledgeable, wise, patient, and understand Sol’s desires and wishes.”
Garret turned to meet Micah’s gaze. “I would like to talk to you about it in the morning then.” Garret turned to go towards his bedroom. Garret steeled himself, and knew that if there had been someone strong to help his family it may have been different. Garret pushed aside those sad thoughts for now and was determined to be that strong person for someone else. Maybe he could stop something like this in the future. He would certainly find the fair faced, dark haired, sinister man and stop him from his evil once and for all.
Micah smiled and for the first time in years, he felt like he had something really important to do. Micah turned and walked to his room, excited for the next day. This was going to be a challenge he was all too familiar with. Micah could not let Garret fail. Micah knew he had been too weak, but would give Garret all the chances he never had.

Near Misses and Air Conditioning

So this last wekk my wife, who shall remain nameless (unless you know her name, in which case it is Rebecca) had a car "incident" it was not an accident, no collision occured, but there almost was and she still got whip-lash. I will explain the circumstances. Imagine you are at an intersection where you are on a small road turning left on to a five lane road (two lanes one way to lanes another and a tunring lane). To your left there is a hill, about 75 yards (225 feet) away. You check and see that it is clear to turn and proceed into the dangerous road. As you turn a lady in a small red "car" (Rebecca says sporty, but she also thinks her Jeep is sporty, take that how you will) approached at excessive velocity. When said woman sees you she slams on the brakes leaving a 35 foot tire mark on the ground. Due to the fast deceleration she swerves to the left towards the vehicle you are in. To keep from collidiing with her now you slam on your brakes to avoid the empty headed soul that wishes to ram her vehicle into yours. Fortunately no one was hurt, then the woman gives you a dirty look, because you (not her of course) almost caused an accident.
I have driven on that road, admittedly faster than I should have and have never, ever had an issue stopping when I see someone coming out of the same spot. I hvae gone as fast as 55 (in a 45) and decelerated safely and did not jar myself. I can only imagine how fast this sweet young strumpet must have been going, but my guess is faster than 80 (in a 45).
In other news we just paid 900 dollars to replace the evaporator coil in our Jeep becuase the AC was not working. Now that its replaced the car is nice and not cold. why? they forgot to recharge the coolant. So we took it back and low-and-behold there is a pinhole leak somewhere that will cause the coolant to slowly leak out of the Jeep. This will cost 350 dollars to fix. I will probably punch someone in the throat because of this. Any way I will catch you later

The Gun Show

I went to a Gun show this past weekend. There were certainly a lot of guns that were there, also (to quote the ad) there was AMMO, AMMO, AMMO!! There are a number of reasons that I did not purchase 1) a gun and 2) AMMO, AMMo AMMO!!. One is that I do not have clearance with the county sheriff, who would have to make sure I'm not just bitter and want to shoot some (I may), the other is because they cost a lot of money. I mean serriously, why do I need to spend $650 on a .45? I get that they make big holes in things, and go BOOM very loudly...which I suppose is why I want one, but they also cost too many dollars. On a side note I got some money out of an ATM the other day and it charged me a $2 conveniance fee. I thought this was very odd as it was decidedly inconvenient for me to pay to get my own money. I kind of like this whole (we)blog thing I have going on here, I don't believe anyone actually reads it and it gives me something to do at work. and i dont have to worri about tiping, becuz no1 carz!! its a (we)blogg(G)!>!

wa-hey!

So, here I am, yet again. I think I mentioned before that I am writing a story. I think I will post the first 'lil bit of it here. Its not done (by a long shot) but its around 75-ish double spaced pages. I'm not going to put all of that up becuase there is too much of it for anyone to want to actually read. But If I put it in small installments people may think "oh, this is shorter than it could be." as I have no idea of how to "use the internet" (or how to capitolize, reference start of sentence) I will simply 'cut and paste' this wordy garbage here....unless I ever learn how computers work. This is the first chapter

-Chapter One-
The Old Farm House
Garret pulled the long rope that ran down into the well. The sun was hot overhead and his small frame struggled to pull up the bucket of water. His forehead was beaded with sweat as he finally pulled it over the top of the stacked up stones. He poured its content into the tall wooden pail next to he roughly constructed well and wrapped both of his small arms around the pail as he picked it up. He turned and slowly ambled back towards the small farmhouse he called home.
He was a young boy, only eight years old; though he would tell you he was closer to nine than eight by now. Looking at Garret would not have caused anyone to take a second glance at him. He wore peasant clothes, roughly sewn together and often patched; he was no taller than any other boy of his age, and certainly no cleaner than anyone of his age would want to be. He wore his sandy blonde hair like most of the other boys he knew, a little long and cut as rarely as he could manage, which often involved trying to distract his mother from such business. All in all, Garret was a very normal boy.
The sun was shining brightly today. The clear blue sky was spotted by the puffy white clouds that people see in paintings. In the distance Garret could see the green rolling hills meet up with the perfect azure sky. In front of Garret stood the farm house that he had known for so long as home. It had a thickly thatched roof, and the sides were of built up stone with rough mortar holding it together.
It was just him, his mother, and father. Some other families lived a few miles off, and the city was just ten miles off. There was only one room inside, but it was all he had ever known. Nicer, even, that some of the other families that lived in the area. Just behind the house was the small barn that they used to store grain and keep their old mule in. It was a two story building, all wood, that his father had made only this past year. On the other side of the barn stood the old woods that Garret had always played in, they stood beckoning him from his duties. Garret knew, however that leaving would be much worse for him later than doing his chores now.
He looked across the fields and could see his father whipping the mule to keep moving as it dragged the plow behind. It had gotten unexpectedly warm very early this year, and now Garret’s father had to work twice as hard to get the fields seeded. Garret continued to move slowly, so as not to lose any water, the last thing he wanted to do was to make an extra trip to the well, especially when he was almost done with his chores for the day.
As he came up to the house he stopped by the large clay pot that they kept their water in and began to dump the contents of his pail into it. Garret shook the pail to ensure that no stray drops of water escaped the pot in front of him. Gently he placed the lid back on the pot and nodded, knowing that he had filled it as much was possible. He deposited the wooden pail next to the pot and moved towards the doorway of their home.
“Not so fast son,” the voice of Garrets mother sounded behind him in a rather serious tone. He winced as he heard her and knew that another chore had just been added to the continuously growing list. He turned to look at her as she spoke.
“There’s something I need you to go and do for me right now.” She was a rather pretty woman, though in very plain clothes. Her skin was tan and the wrinkles she had were from smiling too much, rather than from frowning and scowling like so many other adults did. Her hair was the same dark blondish hair that Garret had, though she wore hers long and pulled back. Her eyes, like his, were hazel. She always seemed to have a smile ready; even now she looked very sweet as she smiled down at him.
She held a small basket in her hands, which she was now offering to Garret. “I need you to take this basket and go into the woods. Do you remember those berries we saw the other day? Well, they’ve ripened now, so I need you to go and pick as many as you can and come back here. I expect to see you here and washed up before dark.” She beamed at him as she handed him the basket.
Garret took the basket with a grin on his face; this was not one of his usual chores. Both he and his mother knew it wouldn’t take that long to pick those berries. The bushes were over by the stream and he could spend most of the afternoon finding rocks ideal for skipping and perfecting his technique. He couldn’t think of anything that was much better than trekking through the woods, picking berries-several of which would be eaten before the got into the basket- and playing by the stream. He had half a mind to grab his fishing pole, but knew that would be pressing his already good fortune, and decided it was best left here. With a wide smile on his face he tore off towards those same beckoning woods, very pleased with himself
“Be careful on those rocks Garret,” his mother called after him, “and make sure you’re back here before dark!” The last was said as he was sprinting off into the woods behind there barn.
He was running through the woods now, darting over the fallen timbers and ducking through the thistles and low branches. It was a little over a mile to the stream, and Garret had practically worn a path back and forth from his house. All he could think about now was the adventures that would have when he got to the clearing. As he got closer he could hear the water trickling over the rocks and sped up so he could see the bushes that grew on the other side of the bank. He burst from the woods and looked over the clearing.
Garret continued on his path and splashed noisily to the other side of the stream, getting as wet as possible on the journey. This part of the stream that was in the clearing, the low rolling hills lifted over either side of it placing it in a neat little valley. It was an ideal setting for someone with a little imagination and some time on their hands. Garret had fought dozens of battles here, been the admiral of fleets and had even been knighted on a few occasions. This was his favorite spot to go to, when he had the chance. And while he was here he knew he should make the most of it.
He began to inspect the bushes and could clearly see that the berries had grown bright and plump since the last time he had been here. It was a good thing that his mother had spotted these when she had or any number of things could have gotten there before him, either the animals that stopped to drink at the cool water here, or one of the other boys from near-by farms.
His first order of business was to collect as many berries as he could, that way he knew he would plenty of time for playing afterwards. He began pulling berries off of the bush popping one in his mouth for every two that made it into the basket. He told himself it was to ensure that they were fully ripe, because who would want over or under ripe berries? Once he had collected as many as the basket could hold he took the cloth that sat in the basket and tied it off at the top, then set the entire thing in the clear, cool water. His mother had shown him this trick before, this way they would stay fresh while he went about his business.
The day was moving on and Garret had managed to keep himself quite well amused. He had gotten himself quite a collection of skipping rocks and had eaten far more berries than he had really intended too. He could tell by the sun that he had several hours still before it was even close to being dark. If he went home, there would always be more work to do. So he decided to find a comfortable patch of grass under the tall tree that bent over this part of the stream and to laid down for a while. Very soon, Garret felt himself nodding of to sleep.

* * * * *
Garret woke with a start. There was something very strange was in the air. Immediately he began to panic. It was well past when he should have left to go home, as it was already fairly dark, and he was not even ready to move. He hopped up from under the tree and picked up the basket that was still in the river. As he lifted it he began to cross the stream. He stared down at the water, and could barely see the rocks through the dark water; he normally was very deft at crossing them but now was left uncertain.
He knew any waiting was just going to make him more late and hurried to make it to the other side. The last thing he wanted were his parents mad after giving him the afternoon off. He had nearly crossed when his foot caught on one of the looser rocks and caused him to lose his balance. As he fell the basket slipped from his fingers and spilled half its contents into the dark cold stream. Once again Garret was soaked, but this time it was very different. Being wet in the middle of a hot day is a very different thing than finding oneself wet, alone, cold, and in the dark with half a basket of berries.
He swore under his breath some words his parents were probably unaware he even knew. He glanced back at the bush and shook his head. There was no time now to go back and pick more of them, he was already late, but he would rather show up with half a basket than to try and cross the stream twice more and risk losing everything. He got back to his feet and felt a sharp burning pain course up his leg. He knew right away that the fall had done more than simply gotten him wet. He took another step but his left ankle was feeling very sore and that same fiery burn surged up his leg when he put pressure on it.
This night was going from bad to worse, he thought to himself as he trudged along towards the woods, limping, wet, and shivering. Once he was in the woods he understood why his mother had always wanted him back earlier. It was much darker than it was out in the clearing, and growing darker by the second. He had never been aware quite how frightening these woods were at night, and now everything seemed to reach out and snag him as he moved past. As he plodded along he could tell it was going to take even longer than he had wanted to get back. Now he had to take his time and search out where the logs, branches, and thistles were in the path. During the day he knew were each one lay and had no trouble, it was very different in the dark. His heart was racing now; thinking not only of the fear of the unknown in these woods, but of what he knew was waiting for him back home.
As he meandered his way back to the farm house he began to notice again that something very strange was hanging in the air. It was thick, like smoke but different than any smoke that he had ever experienced. It had a dark oily smell to it that made his nose wrinkle up as it blew past, and there was something else, something nauseating that made his stomach churn as he got closer and closer to his home.
He was now very close to the farmhouse and the smell hung in his nose thick and putrid, his nose was burning from the thick odor. Garret was coughing, his hand drawn close to his mouth the other groping for support from near-by trees as he moved closer towards the edge of the woods. He looked over to where his house was and saw orange and yellow light dancing against the trees. His eyes strained to adjust to the new light in front of him and he squinted to see what was going on. Slowly, and as quietly as he could manage he was sneaking his way closer to the house. The smell in the flames was making him feel as though he would retch, but held it in as he limped closer.
He peered out at the farmhouse from behind a tree to see what happening. It was very plain now what was occurring; his house was a blazing effigy in the night sky. The shock of this realization caused Garret to stop breathing, and he stood stock still staring at what was in front of him now. Figures moved about the farm, in the fire he could barely make out a silhouette, but he knew that something sinister was going on. He looked across the field and could see that their small barn had been set ablaze too.
Then in the middle of the clearing he saw something, a figure whose features were lit up brilliantly. He had a pale face, and cold hard features, his black hair billowing in the wind behind him. Some might say that he was beautiful, but he was too evil for Garret to think of him as anything other than horrible. Something about that face froze Garret’s being to its very core. The figures whose features he could not make out seemed to shamble over to the lone man; it looked like they were carrying something.
The figures dropped the thing at the mans feet. As they shambled back away Garret struggled to see what was in front of him. The evil figure reached down to pick up this dark tangled mass, and as he lifted it Garret could now plainly make out what he was holding. His mother’s neck was being held tight in the evil man’s vice-like grip, her finger clawed at him trying to pry his hand off of her. Garret wanted to scream, to rush over and help her, to do something but his feet would not move and his mouth wouldn’t make any noise. The man smiled at her as she vainly struggled to get away. She turned her head briefly and in that second they caught each others eyes. She looked at him pleadingly hoping he would stay put. That moment seemed to stretch on for hours, every detail of her soot stained face and clear hazel eyes were burned into his brain. Then, only a moment later, their gaze broke.
It looked as though he was saying something to her, but Garret couldn’t hear anything over the crackling of the fire. The Man’s face turned into an ugly sneer and with a flick of his wrist he snapped her neck. He dumped her body on the ground, leaving her crumpled lifelessly on a patch of grass, not far from the field. Garret’s breathing came in hiccupping gasps as he stared at the scene that was unfolding in front of him.
Then, desperately his eyes searched for any sign of his father, where was he? Why hadn’t he done something to help his mom? It was then he saw those things again, a group of them was huddled together, and it looked as though they were tearing into something. He could hear the crack of bone and the sickening sound of flesh being rent by teeth. He turned his head before his eyes could fully adjust to what he had seen. He lurched his way back into the woods and began to vomit. Once, then twice, eventually he was finished but his body kept trying to push out of his system whatever it was that was making him see this.
Garret curled up on the ground and began to cry. This had to be a dream. He shook his head as if to rid himself of what he had seen. He knew that he was really just still under the shade tree by the stream and that when he woke up he would pick up his basket and head home and everything would be fine. He pinched himself to wake up, but he was still there. He pulled his knees up to his chest and began to sob as he rocked back and forth. His parents had never done anything to deserve this. Why had they come here? Why couldn’t they just leave his family alone?
Time passed and Garret could not manage to make himself move from his spot on the ground. He knew that if he moved they would find him, and he would suffer the same horrible fate his parents had. Eventually the fires died down and the night faded into pre-dawn light, and crept over the ruins that had once been Garrets home. He lay in the dark woods, no longer scared of what they held, nothing would compare to what he had just seen, and nothing as simple as the woods would scare him again. It grew lighter and the woods were once again brightening. Although the usual sounds that went with dawn were not there, there were no birds chirping and no small animals rushing about as was normal.
After some time there was the sound of voices. Then some footsteps as they came closer. Garret lay right where he had been all morning long, hoping not to be found, but daring not to move. He could hear something come to a stop and men began to move about.
“What happened here?” A somber voice said in the distance. The sounds of more movement could be heard now. The foot steps came ever closer, the sound of burned and brittle grass crunching under foot. Then Garret heard a gasp from behind him, and he knew that who ever it was saw the mangled remains that had once been his family, and he began to sob once more, but his face was dry, he had run out of tears during the night.
“What’s that noise?” A different voice spoke this time, more sorrowful than the last, “Do you hear that, I think someone is crying!” after he spoke footsteps could be heard all around. Whoever had stumbled onto the burnt out remains of an old farmhouse began to search about for the location of those soft, practically whispered, cries.
A figure in a long brown robe came into Garret’s view now, he was a small man, his head shaved and he wore sandals on his feet. He stooped down low to take a closer look at Garret. He had a gentle face, like his mothers had been, and worry was evident on his face. Garret could not tolerate the thought of his parents right now. He could feel his heart race as the robed man was looking at him, his eyes screwed up tight so that he wouldn’t have to look at the man, part of him hoping that he would be killed and they would send him on with the rest of his family.
Softly, and very gently, Garret was picked up and cradled in the arms of the robed man. “I’ve found him!” He called to the other men who cast about looking for where the sounds were coming from. “It’s alright lad, don’t worry we won’t hurt you. My name is Micah; we’ll get you on to safety.” When Micah picked him up the smell of oily smoke clung about the boys clothing and soot covered him from head to foot. As Micah held him, Garret began to softly whimper.
Now was the first time that Garret had a chance to fully see what had happened to his home. The blackened remains of his house stood about in a crumbled fashion. Nothing remained of the roof, it had been thatched and dried out and then packed tightly to keep out the weather. But if a flame took to it, it would certainly have lit up like tinder. The stone walls now were bent over as though they had grown lazy. He could see that the mortar had been burnt out of the walls, and only the stones remained loosely stacked up on each other.
Micah carried Garret over to a small wagon on the far side of the farmhouse. A lone grey horse pawed at the ground impatiently, the smell of smoke and death making it nervous. Garret could see now that the other men standing around him were dressed in the same fashion as Micah. All of them in long, rough, brown robes, their heads shaven save one, and with rope sandals on their feet. All of them wore worried looks on their faces as Micah came near them. Thoughtfully they looked over Garret, softly speaking to each other as they reached the wagon.
One of the men, the only one with hair, pulled a pack from the horse and removed a drab brown blanket, and placed it neatly in the back of the empty wagon. “Set him down over here,” the man said. He was older than any of the others, with wrinkles creasing his forehead and his once dark hair was now grey. Crows feet lining his eyes become more evident as he inspected him, while he reached out to take the boy from Micah.
“Do you have him Father Caldren?” Micah asked concern thick in his voice. Father Caldren nodded as he took the boy into his arms and placed him very gently on the blanket. The older man wrapped him up in the blanket before he closed the tail gate of the wagon gently, to not disturb the young man.
“He’ll be fine, Brother.” Caldren said as he latched the gate shut firmly. “Now don’t worry son,” he said brushing the soot stains left from tears out of Garrets eyes. “We’ll keep you safe son. Now go to sleep, you’ve had a rough night.” With that the older man turned and walked towards the horse, tapping it lightly with a stick to get it to move.
The wagon began to lurch forward, every bump in the ground clearly felt in the back. The swaying movement began to take effect on Garret. And though he willed himself to keep his eyes open, he was starting to feel safer. He did not know who these men were, but they had been kind. The reassurance the older man had given him and being given permission to sleep began to take its toll. His breathing became deep and slowly his eyes shut.
The wagon continued to sway and tumble down the rough dirt road. The half dozen men there were walking slowly with it. Garret did not know where he would be when he woke up, but he could only pray to Sol that it would be better than where he had come from. He woke up every now and again due to the occasional bump, but for the most part he slept the entire journey. Though his sleep was rife with nightmares, a few times he saw his mother’s smiling face and he felt happy.. This is the first chapter, though there is a prologue.

If you read all of this you need a new hobby.

They say that in the Army the chow is mighty fine...

I've been in the Army now working on two years. for the most part I can't really find space to complain. I know that my wife has had solme issues that she has had to deal with and that it has caused a little difficulty for her, but for the most part its not too terrible. A friend of mine, same job as me, different unit, just back from Iraq the day before yesterday. He seems to be doing pretty well. No problems (after all he IS a Mental Health Super-Star (thats what they told us when we were in training (I didn't believe them then either))). I cannot bring myself to have any desire to stay in the military after my enlistment is up. When you break it down to dollars and cents I make pretty close to 25,000 a year...hmmm.... and I'm getting a Masters in Business Administration so it's possible, though hard to imagine (read as sarcasm (if you missed it the first time just read it again)), that I could make more money outside of the military.

In tha Army we have this stuff called "Cadence". Thats the stuff we march to in the movies. You that whole "Left right, left right, left...left..." and so forth. The idea is to get everyone moving at the same time and speed together. Well just left right left gets boring. so at some point people came up with little ditty's to get people "motivated". Motivation is the corner stone of the military. One of these is "they say that in the Army the buscuits are mighty fine, well one rolled off a table and killed a friend of mine....o lord I wanna go, but they won't let me go, ho-o-o-home".
My Favorite is "My girls a vegetable, she lives in a hospital, I would do anything to keep her alove, to keep her in smiles..." I like it because its stupid. The cadence goes on to tell about her terribel breath, bear-like hair, and that occassionally he jokes around with her by pulling the chord on life supprt. Anyway, the military is a unique organization to be part of. While I do not want to make a career out of it, I am glad I had this experience. Peace out Profiles

-as a side note a profile is something the military gives out to soldiers who are hurt or injured so they have an excuse to not do PT (physical Training). "Peace out Profiles" is a term from my training days that was said to the profiles, who could not march and run with us, as we left.

Here we go

I don't know exactly what to say. I guess I accidentally started this because I was going to post on my sisters blog and I thought I had to make one of these things. As it turns out I'm not very bright and so now I have this page that I don't exactly know what to do with. You see in this hospital I work at we have what is known as a Code: Silver- which tells people who are in the know that there is Violence going on in the workplace. On the back of our ID badges they have a clever little code identification system. Code Silver was the first one to catch my eye, so that is what I named this black hole of reason that I call a "blog(g)". I am, and most always have been, rather cynical of the whole computer culture phenomenom. What I mean is that I hate things like wikipedia, myspace, and quite possibly blog(g)s. Mostly because they are new and popular, as if I of all people like poular things. However, I find myself hard-pressed not to do somehting with this mistake that is a web-page. So I may one day update this a second time. Lord only knows if I will ever do anything else with it. Who knows maybe I will use it as a format for "posting" (another term I hate, as I am sticking some kind of adhesive paper to the internet) this story/book I've been attempting to write. At any rate I've already typed more than anyone will read. I guess if you got this far you should probably get back to work, slacker.