MICKEY GEEST AND AP HOMES

By Debbie Bulloch



In my early SL days I worked selling homes for a company called ABC Homes. Back in those days my supervisor was a Belgian boy named Mickey Geest I needed to make Lindens (well, I still do) and the two “traditional” way for a girl to make money in SL just held no appeal for me. So when Mickey offered me a job selling homes, I accepted his offer before he had time to change his mind.

Like most SL residents, Mickey has an interesting story. He was born in SL on December 1, 2006. He was fortunate enough to meet a nice lady from the USA, Marty McKenna. Marty taught Mickey the essential skills to surviving in SL. Like most newbies, Mickey made money by camping. But camping had one more benefit: it allowed the sociably-adept Mickey to meet and make many friends.



Mickey’s personality is perfectly suited for sales and very soon he was in working for Home Sweet Home, which was in those days one of the leading home selling companies in SL. His team manager, Chrysantha Lafleur taught Mickey a great deal about selling houses; she also taught him a great deal about building issues-solving.

Mickey fluently speaks five languages: Dutch/Flemish, French, German, English and Spanish. (I am fluent in English and Spanish and except for minor glitches, such as calling something “cheap” when he meant “inexpensive,” Mickey’s English and Spanish are very good indeed.) Mickey’s language skills, and his natural ability to connect with people, were real assets in his new SL sales career.

After almost eight months selling for Home Sweet Home, Mickey spoke to the owner of the place where he begun camping when he joined SL. The owner, Ami Lang was looking to enlarge her business presence in SL. Ami asked Mickey if he was interested in becoming the sales manager for her new ABC Home Sales company. Mickey was charged with creating a sales staff for ABC Homes. So, in addition to selling homes, Mickey set out to recruit and train new sales reps for ABC Home sales. Mickey is very passionate about meeting, and helping new people so in a very short time he had assembled a highly trained sales staff (myself included.)

NOTE: BH’s very own talented and prolific builder, yucca Gemini, built some of the best homes sold by ABC Homes. See yucca’s story at ABC Homes here: yucca.



Unfortunately, however, in SL as in RL sooner or later all good things must come to an end. Eventually Mickey spoke to Ami about his desire to start his own home sales company. Ami agreed and soon AP Homes was born!

The company’s full name, AP Homes = A Perfect Home for you, was suggested by Skye Joubert, another well-known SL business woman. Soon, Mickey assembled a staff of creative and talented builders. In addition to yucca Gemini, AP Homes was joined by builders Aarushi Sakai and Lollypop Schumann.

Together with his talented builders and help from a group of good friends such as Barbie Cannned, Meisha Verstandig and Skye Joubert Mickey was soon able to build AP Homes into a major presence in the ever-changing SL home sales business.

Now Mickey, his German-born wife, Lysa Chaffe, and their daughter, MilyChaffeGeest Vaher enjoy the rewards that come to a person who treats each customer as an individual and is dedicated to by providing superb customer service.



As I mentioned at the beginning of this article, I began my selling career at ABC Homes. Over time, however, Mickey and I became great friends. I met Mickey’s wife, Lysa, at ABC and soon she and I also became great friends – I was the maid of honor at their wedding and now I am the proud godmother of their daughter, Mily.

It gives me great pleasure to be a witness to Mickey’s and Lysa’s growing success. AP Homes is proof that with the right combination of builders and sales staff plus an enduring commitment to customer service, a business will proper and grow – even in these tough economic times.

And now, a pictorial tour of AP Homes.









If you want to know more about AP Homes send Mickey an IM, he will be happy to answer all your questions.

FRIDAY NIGHT MUSIC AND POETRY CORNER

By Debbie Bulloch


Good music, like good poetry, tells a story within the tight framework of the song’s lyrics. Good songwriters, like good poets, craft words to create images that will move and inspire the listener/reader. Among contemporary songwriters, Bob Dylan’s words consistently deliver powerful images that grab the listener and fire the imagination.






Here are two examples of Dylan’s carefully crafted lyrics. In the first song, LAY LADY LAY, Dylan talks about two lovers who need a little encouragement to keep things going. The man in the song is one of the good guys, a working man, whose “clothes are dirty, but his hands are clean.” The woman is a little hesitant to commit to the man; she is searching for something, “why wait any longer for the one you love, when he is standing in front of you.” Will she stay with the man until the break of dawn?

The second song is about a dying man, a deputy, who now realizes that his life is coming to an end. He will never again fire his gun or use his shield (badge). The second song is as sad as the first one is hopeful. One is about the possible beginning of a love affair; the second is about the end of a life.

LAY LADY LAY

Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed
Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed
Whatever colors you have in your mind
I’ll show them to you and you’ll see them shine

Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed
Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile
Until the break of day, let me see you make him smile
His clothes are dirty but his hands are clean
And you’re the best thing that he’s ever seen

Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile
Why wait any longer for the world to begin
You can have your cake and eat it too
Why wait any longer for the one you love
When he’s standing in front of you

Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed
Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead
I long to see you in the morning light
I long to reach for you in the night
Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead

Trivia: "Lay Lady Lay" was written by Bob Dylan and originally released in 1969 on his album Nashville Skyline. Legend has it that Dylan was attended a concert by the Everly Brothers. At the end of the concert Dylan went up to the Everlys dressing room because he wanted them to record his song. Dylan picked up a guitar and sang the song. Dylan sang very softly and the Everlys could not clearly make out all the words. They both thought that they heard Dylan sing, “…lay lady lay, lay across my big breasts, babe." Thinking it was a song about lesbians, Don Everly said "thank you, it's a great song, but I don't think we could get away with that", and declined to record it. Dylan did not question them about it and went on to cut the track himself. The Everlys later recorded the song on their album, EB 84

And now for your listening pleasure….



KNOCKIN’ ON HEAVEN’S DOOR

Mama, take this badge off of me
I can’t use it anymore.
Its gettin dark, too dark for me to see
I feel like I’m knockin on heavens door.

Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door

Mama, put my guns in the ground
I can’t shoot them anymore.
That long black cloud is comin down
I feel like I’m knockin on heavens door.

Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door

"Knockin' on Heaven's Door" was written by Dylan for the 1973 Western "Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid". The song describes the feelings and impressions of a dying deputy, who notices that it is getting dark around him as he is knocking on heaven's door. He realizes that he will never use his badge or his guns anymore. The song reached #12 on the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart. In 2004, representatives of the music industry and the press voted it #190 in Rolling Stone magazine's 500 Greatest Songs of All Time issue.

FRIDAY POETRY CORNER - ROBERT FROST

By Debbie Bulloch







Today’s featured poet has been called “America’s Poet Laureate.” In an overcast morning in 20, January, 1961, Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) stood next to the newly elected President, John F. Kennedy and delivered the following lines:





The land was ours before we were the land's.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England's, Still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely; realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.

At the age of 86 years, when he read this poem at Kennedy’s Inauguration, Robert Frost was already well-established as a reknown poet and playwright; he is one of America’s brightest literary star.



Frost was born in San Francisco, California. Frost’s father was a journalist, William Prescott Frost, Jr. His mother, Isabelle Moodie, was of Scottish descent. After his father's death in May 5, 1885, Frost’s family moved across-country to Lawrence, Massachusetts. There, they lived under the patronage of Robert's grandfather, William Frost, Sr., who was an overseer at a New England mill. Frost graduated from Lawrence High School in 1892.

From the beginning, Frost’s work showed the unmistakable stamp of the great British literary tradition – Milton, Spenser, Keats, Shelley and Browning. Frost’s poetry harked back to an earlier time; he often remarked that he was content with “old ways to be new.”

Frost is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech. His work frequently employed themes from the early 1900s rural life in New England, using the setting to examine complex social and philosophical themes. A popular and often-quoted poet, Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime, receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry.

Perhaps Frost’s best known poem is "The Road Not Taken.” This is the one poem that nearly all high school students memorize line by line. It is easy to see the appeal of this poem, especially to young people who see in the poem’s title and last line, an appeal to the rugged individualist.

Most readers often read the poem literally, as an expression of individualism. Literary critics, however, typically view the poem as ironic. According to Katherine Kearns, a Frost critic, “The Road Not Taken” is the most famous example of Frost's own claims to conscious irony and “the best example in all of American poetry of a wolf in sheep's clothing." Frost himself warned "You have to be careful of that one; it's a tricky poem – very tricky."

The poem's last lines, where the narrator declares that taking the road "less traveled by" has "made all the difference," can be seen as a declaration of the importance of independence and personal freedom.

The ironic interpretation is that the poem is about regret and rationalizing our decisions.

In this interpretation, the final two lines of the poem…

I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

…are ironic – the choice made little or no difference at all, the speaker's protestations to the contrary. The speaker admits in the second and third stanzas that both paths may be equally worn and equally leaf-covered, and it is only in his future recollection that he will call one road "less traveled by.”

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.



Another of Frost’s poem, “Mending Wall,” is perhaps best known for its last line spoken by the neighbor: "Good fences make good neighbors." The poem's narrator displays a disdain for that expression and the walls erected between people - yet he also shows a grudging acceptance, perhaps sadly, of the line's truth in its application to human relationships.

MENDING WALL

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'



The last poem that I will discuss, “Acquainted with the Night,” is Frost’s most personally haunting poems. This poem is widely regarded as the poet’s admission of having experienced depression and a vivid description of what that experience feels like. In this poem, "the night" is a metaphor for depression itself, and the poet describes how he views the world around him in this state of mind. As he aimlessly roams the city streets, he brags about walking back and forth in the rain and of having "outwalked the furthest city light" to remain in darkness.

ACQUAINTED WITH THE NIGHT

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.



Thank you for joining me on this journey through the poetry of America’s Poet Laureate. I hope you enjoy his poetry as much as I do.

Have a wonderful weekend.

BOB DYLAN - IF YOU SEE HER

By Debbie Bulloch




At the request of Between Homes resident, Buccaneer Braveheart, here is Dylan's paean to lost love.



IF YOU SEE HER - SAY HELLO

If you see her say hello she might be in Tangier
She left here last early spring is living there I hear
Say for me that I'm all right though things get kind of slow
She might think that I've forgotten her don't tell her it isn't so.

We had a falling-out like lovers often will
And to think of how she left that night it still brings me a chill
And though our separation it pierced me to the heart
She still lives inside of me we've never been apart.

If you get close to her kiss her once for me
I always have respected her for doing what she did and getting free
Oh whatever makes her happy I won't stay in the way
Though the bitter taste still lingers on from the night I tried to make her stay

I see a lot of people as I make the rounds
And I hear her name here and there as I go from town to town
And I've never gotten used to it I've just learned to turn it off
Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm getting soft.

Sundown yellow moon I replay the past
I know every scene by heart they all went by so fast
If she's passing back this way I'm not that hard to find
Tell her she can look me up if she's got the time.



Enjoy!

THURSDAY'S PROSE CORNER

By Debbie Bulloch





By now you may be getting tired of seeing so much poetry on these pages. So a change of pace is in order. Here then, for your reading pleasure, I offer you Scenes From A Café – Three one-act plays.











Scene One – Why did you lie to me?

“Why did you lie to me?” the girlfriend asked.

“I didn’t mean to. It just happened,” the boyfriend answered.

“All those times you were telling me how much you loved me, you were seeing another.” Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t mean to. It just happened. I told you already.”

“And when you begged me never to leave, when you made me swear that I would always be at your side, you were holding on to another. Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t mean to. It just happened. Let it go, get over it.”

“All those times that you were in bed with me, making love to me, you were also in her bed, making love to her. Why did you lie to me?’

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO. IT JUST HAPPENED,” the boyfriend replied in an exasperated manner.

“For god’s sake baby, how many times will I have to answer the same stupid question? What are you trying to do to me here? I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

I saw the girlfriend get up from the table. She seemed small and frail - vulnerable. I saw her reach inside her purse, fumbling around, looking for something – then she founded it and I panicked.

Out of her purse the girlfriend pulled out a small handgun. The sunlight filtering through the café’s large windows caught the gun’s barrel, making it glimmer in the late afternoon sun. The gun was so new and shiny that it almost looked like a toy. Then in an instant, before I or anyone else could do anything, a bright flash eclipsed the sun. The loud shot that followed after the flash momentarily drowned the incessant chattering.

“I guess you won’t have to answer anymore,” the girlfriend said, her voice totally devoid of emotion. She then returned to her seat at the table while two dozen cell phones simultaneously dialed 9-1-1.

Hours later, back at police headquarters, two burly cops stood over the girlfriend. In their presence, she looked tiny, like a little girl called to the Principal’s office to explain why her homework was not done.

“OK lady; let’s do this one more time. Don’t lie to us, or it will get worse; understand lady?”

In a barely audible voice the girlfriend responded, “Yes sir, I do.”

“Why did you shoot your boyfriend?”

She looked up, looked at one cop first and then looked at the other. After pausing she responded.

“I didn’t mean to. It just happened. How many more times do I have to repeat myself?”

Scene Two – Why didn’t you protect me?

“Why didn’t you protect me?” The young woman asked.

The question was asked in a loud enough voice that several of the café’s patrons, myself included, stopped what we were doing and looked in the direction of the speaker.

A young woman, wearing blue jeans, a pale pink top and grey sport shoes, was seated at the table by the corner. She was sitting at a slight angle away from me so it was hard to see her features and gauge her age. Her long hair was blonde and it was tied in a neat pony tail. From what I could see of her face, she had generous lips; her nose tilted slightly up at the tip giving her an almost playful look. She wore no make-up which only enhanced her natural beauty. In her hands, the young woman held a paper napkin that she was busily tearing up, strip by strip.

The young woman’s coffee companion was dressed in a short, dark blue dress which made her look older, but not by a lot, than her young companion. Her short blonde hair was neatly cut - her bangs were perfectly trimmed and in place. She wore a double-strand pearl necklace that stood in sharp contrast to the dark blue dress. She wore make-up, but not enough to look overdone. There were enough physical similarities between the two women that they could have passed for sisters - or mom and daughter.

“I did the best I could,” said the older of the two in an almost equally loud voice. “Things were not that easy for me either. You have no idea of what I was dealing with.”

“It doesn’t matter,” replied the younger woman, her voice dropping to an almost imperceptible level. “You are my mom, you were supposed to protect me mom. Instead you let him hurt me.”

By now most of the café’s patrons had lost interest in the two women and all had returned to their lattes and chatter. Only I continued to be fascinated by them. I took a sip from my cup and continued to listen to this private family drama being played out in such a public place.

“Mom, it is not just that you didn’t protect me,” continued the young woman, “but when I finally got enough courage to tell you, you called me a liar and even worse.”

“Honey, why can’t you let it go, it is all in the past now.” The tone of the mom’s voice was oddly cold and detached – there was no feeling or emotion behind the woman's words to her daughter. Given what the subject of their conversation was, I looked for some hint of emotion in the mother’s voice; I found none. Perhaps this was the mother’s defense mechanism to help her cope with the immensity of the crimes her daughter charged her with or perhaps she really was a cold, uncaring parent.

The mother spoke in an almost mechanical monotone, as if these were words that she had rehearsed so often that by now they had lost all feelings. As the mother spoke, her hands clutched the cup in front of her – she never raised her eyes, even while speaking directly to the daughter.

“Damn it mom, I’ve had to live with the memories of what your husband did to me, not a day goes by that I don’t think about it. It may have been years ago for you, but in my head it is still happening today.”

“Well, maybe that is why you are so upset,” said the mother in an almost flippant tone. “Let it go, learn to forget, move on. You have to…”

Even before the mom finished speaking the daughter banged the table with closed fists, once again attracting the attention of the café goers. I looked over at the young woman. She had turned slightly and I could see all of her face. She had beautiful blue eyes that shone look like cool mountain lakes. On her face, I could see the outlines of the ancient, pent up anger bubbling to the surface. She leaned forward until she was directly face to face with her mother.

The daughter took the mom’s face and held it on her hands. For a moment I feared that the young woman would do something foolishly violent. I put down my cup of coffee, ready to leap at the first sign of trouble. Fortunately, the young woman seemed content with just holding her mom’s face.

“At least do me the courtesy of looking up while I talk to you mom.”

The mom did not reply.

“Let it go? You want me to let it go? You have no heart. It is so easy for you to tell me to ‘let it go.’ That is because it wasn’t you who was being made to do all those awful, vile thing. Could you even begin to understand the hell I went through?”

“I know how you must have felt.”

“Goddamn it mom, you will never know what I felt every time that your husband walked into my room, locked the door and got into my bed – the one place in the entire world where a kid is supposed to feel and be safe. Sure ‘forget about it’ that’s so easy for you to say.”

As the young woman’s fury spent itself out her words began to trail off. She was no longer leaning forward holding her mother’s face up. Instead, the young woman buried he face in her own hands and began to sob quietly.

“Please, people are staring. We really should finish this somewhere else.”

In the flash of a second, the anger returned – full blown and scary in the power of its fury.

The young woman spoke, in slow, measured tones as if engaged in a struggle with her emotions – trying hard to maintain her composure.

“I won’t keep it down. I won’t be polite. I won’t be proper. I won’t let you hide YOUR shame. I don’t care who hears me or who finds out. I can’t live another day carrying a cross that you should be carrying for me mom.”

“For God’s sake, he is dead and six feet underground. Come on, let’s go home and we can talk all you want.” The mother reached across the table and touched her daughter’s hand. The young woman stiffened up and jerked her hands away from her mom – she looked like she had just been bitten by a venomous snake.

“Damn you, don’t try to touch me. He may be dead and buried, but I still have the scars.”

“Come on, let’s just go home.”

“Home, mom? The same home where your husband molested me mom? The same home where your husband abused me mom? The same home where your husband made me do things children should never have to even imagine in their worst nightmares mom? You really want me to return to THAT home mom? Is that the home you want me to go back to so we can just ‘talk things out?’ Why did God even let you have me? You should have just aborted me, killed me in the womb; you would have done me a kindness mom - my pain would have been far more bearable.”

The daughter looked at her mom as the mom laid slumped over the café table; she looked as if some huge weight had been lifted off her shoulder. The daughter went on.

“I won’t go to that home until you can answer me this one question mom. Why didn’t you protect me?’”

The mother sad reply had not changed, “I did the best I could.”

As her mother spoke her empty words, the young woman stood up. I heard her say “Good bye mom,” and then she headed towards the exit, right in my direction.

When the young woman headed towards the exit she strode forward with purposeful steps. Out of consideration for her pain, I tried to look away. But she held my gaze almost taunting me to look at her – her defiant bravery held my attention. I noticed that her face looked different – somehow the daughter seemed younger, happier. As she walked past I could see that her eyes were clear and dry.

In another instant she stepped into the boulevard’s sidewalk and was gone forever – I never saw her again.

After a while, I looked back in the direction of her mom. She now got up from the table and headed for the exit. Her steps were slow and shuffling. She seemed to have aged considerably; she had wrinkles that I had not noticed when I first saw them. As the mother walked past me, she turned to face me. Her eyes were red and swollen from all the crying.

She briefly stopped and said, to no one in particular. “I did the best I could. I really tried to protect her.”

Then she stepped into the sidewalk and was gone – I never saw her again either.

Scene Three – Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” The man asked.

The man asking the question appeared to be in his mi-thirties. He was handsome, but not in a pretty-boy manner. He wore a neatly pressed grey pin-stripped suit, a white shirt, a regimental tie and highly polished black shoes. The man’s short hair was neatly combed, with subtle patches of grey at the temples. Judging by his manner of dress and the measured tones of his voice, the man could have been any of the hundreds of lawyers, investment bankers or insurance executives who thronged the office buildings on either side of the boulevard. The man and the woman sat, facing each other, at a table near a corner of the café – away from the noisy crowd.

“I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t sure how you would take the news – I was afraid that you…” The man quickly interrupted, not giving the woman a chance to finish her answer.

The woman was equally well-dressed, but in a casual way. The woman’s simple A-line sunny, yellow sleeveless dress fitted her to a T. Although she was not slender in the manner of a starving-fashion manner, she was nevertheless in obvious good shape. Her skin had a deep, golden tan and her bare arms were firm without being over muscular. Her features were partly hidden by a shock of wavy, light brown hair that cascaded down to her bare shoulders. The woman was younger than the man, but not by a lot.

“My God this is wonderful news. What did you think my reaction would be?”

He reached for her, took her hands in his and kissed her finger tips. His gesture was quaint, even old-fashioned, like you would expect in a Cary Grant movie. She smiled at him, a big, bright smile that lit up the corner of the café where they both sat.
.
“But about your plans? This will affect them, even delay them” When the woman asked these questions the light suddenly went out of her smile. It was as if the cold, dusty moon had moved across the sun, eclipsing its light and diming its warmth.

“This will put everything on hold. We both know that things will change.” As she spoke, the woman pulled her hands away from the man and folded them over her lap.


“Look, I will find a way, we will find a way. This is the best news ever.” The man reached forward, held the woman by her shoulders pulled her unto him, across the table, and kissed her – the man held the kiss for a long time.

“So you are OK with this?” the woman asked after the man released the hold of his kiss enabling the woman to sit down again. “You are not angry? Or even a little upset?”

“Am I OK? Am I angry? Am I upset? What are you, crazy?” The man laughed. “Why do you even ask me these questions?”

“I don’t know. I guess I believed you all those times when you said that you didn’t want to this, that you didn’t want to be tied by anything or anyone. I was scared about what you would do.”

“I am sorry – I am very happy. We’ll make new plans, you will see.” As he spoke the man once again reached for the woman’s hands, which were again holding her cup of coffee.” The woman did not pull back.

“I love you,” the woman said in a whisper. “I want you to be happy with this; I want us to be happy.”

“We will be happy, I promise. Now let’s go and celebrate the good news.”

The man stood up, reached into his pocket and pulled a few bills which he then placed on the table. He took the woman’s hand and helped her out of her chair.

Together, holding hands they stepped outside the café. Her head rested on his shoulder, her long hair was draped over both of them, like a mantilla.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying as they walked out the door. But judging by their loving glances I was certain that what was going on between the two of them at that moment was good – very good indeed.

As the happy couple left the café, they walked past another couple headed in the opposite direction - a woman dressed in a dark blue dress and her younger companion, dressed in blue jeans and a pink top.

As they passed each other, the man paused for a moment. He momentarily let go of his companion and in a moment of unrestrained joy grabbed the woman in the blue dress and held her in a hug. If the woman in the blue dress was offended by the man’s hug, she said nothing about it. As the young woman in the blue jeans and a pink top looked on, the man exclaimed.

“I am having a baby…we are having a baby, my wife and I are having a baby. Please I am sorry that I hugged you…,” his words trailed off and I was not able to hear the rest of his explanation.

After the man released the woman from the hug, he went back to his companion.

The man in the grey suit and the woman in the yellow dress happily walked down the boulevard.

The woman in the dark blue dress and her companion in jeans and a pink top walked inside the café and sat at a corner table.

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON - SOME MORE JACKSON BROWNE

I must admit that over the past few weeks I have been in a deep, blue deep funk. I don’t know why, I don’t know exactly when it started and I certainly have no idea when it will end - and end it must, as all past “funks” have.

When I feel this way there are only a few things that make me feel better (yes eating chocolate is one of them, and so is going for a long bike ride). But what really soothes me, however, is listening to music and writing poetry.

Lately, it has been Jackson Browne to the rescue. His lyrics read like free verse poetry; his melodious rhythms and excellent guitar and piano playing make him a perfect companion when the blue funk strikes. So here, and without further ado, are two of Browne’s most soulful songs. Enjoy!

Sky Blue and Black (lyrics)

In the calling out to one another
Of the lovers up and down the strand
In the sound of the waves and the cries
Of the seagulls circling the sand
In the fragments of the songs
Carried down the wind from some radio
In the murmuring of the city in the distance
Ominous and low

I hear the sound of the world where we played
And the far too simple beauty
Of the promises we made

If you ever need holding
Call my name, Ill be there
If you ever need holding
And no holding back, Ill see you through
Sky blue and black

Where the touch of the lover ends
And the soul of the friend begins
Theres a need to be separate and a need to be one
And a struggle neither wins
Where you gave me the world I was in
And a place I could make a stand
I could never see how you doubted me
When Id let go of your hand

Yeah, and I was much younger then
And I must have thought that I would know
If things were going to end

And the heavens were rolling
Like a wheel on a track
And our sky was unfolding
And itll never fold back
Sky blue and black

And Id have fought the world for you
If I thought that you wanted me to
Or put aside what was true or untrue
If Id known thats what you needed
What you needed me to do

But the moment has passed by me now
To have put away my pride
And just come through for you somehow

If you ever need holding
Call my name, Ill be there
If you ever need holding
And no holding back, Ill see you through

Youre the color of the sky
Reflected in each store-front window pane
Youre the whispering and the sighing
Of my tires in the rain
Youre the hidden cost and the thing thats lost
In everything I do
Yeah and Ill never stop looking for you
In the sunlight and the shadows
And the faces on the avenue
Thats the way love is
Thats the way love is
Thats the way love is
Sky blue and black

Sky Blue and Black (video)



In the Shape of a Heart (lyrics)

It was a ruby that she wore
On a chain around her neck
In the shape of a heart
In the shape of a heart
It was a time I wont forget
For the sorrow and regret
And the shape of a heart
And the shape of a heart
I guess I never knew
What she was talking about
I guess I never knew
What she was living without

People speak of love dont know what theyre thinking of
Wait around for the one who fits just like a glove
Speak in terms of belief and belonging
Try to fit some name to their longing
People speak of love

There was a hole left in the wall
From some ancient fight
About the size of a fist
Or something thrown that had missed
And there were other holes as well
In the house where our nights fell
Far too many to repair
In the time that we were there

People speak of love dont know what theyre thinking of
Reach out to each other though the push and shove
Speak in terms of a life and the learning
Try to think of a word for the burning

You keep it up
You try so hard
To keep a life from coming apart
And never know
What breaches and faults are concealed
In the shape of a heart

It was the ruby that she wore
On a stand beside the bed
In the hour before dawn
When I knew she was gone
And I held it in my hand
For a little while
And dropped it into the wall
Let it go, heard it fall

I guess I never knew
What she was talking about
I guess I never knew
What she was living without
People speak of love dont know what theyre thinking of
Wait around for the one who fits just like a glove
Speak in terms of a life and the living
Try to find the word for forgiving

You keep it up
You try so hard
To keep a life from coming apart
And never know
The shallows and the unseen reefs
That are there from the start
In the shape of a heart .

In The Shape of a Heart (video)



Pour tous les fans Français, Jackson Browne est et sera le plus grand auteur compositeur interprete de sa génération!!!

Au revoir.

HAPPY APRIL FOOL'S DAY!

By Debbie Bulloch



Today is April Fools' Day or All Fools' Day. Even though it is not an official “holiday,” April Fool’s Day is celebrated in many countries. The day is marked by the commission of hoaxes and other practical jokes on friends, family members, enemies, and neighbors.

In some countries, like the UK, Australia, New Zealand and Canada, the jokes last only until noon; someone who plays a trick after noon is called an "April Fool". Elsewhere, such as in Ireland, France, and the USA, the jokes last all day.

There are many theories regarding the origins of April Fools' Day. One theory is that the modern holiday was first celebrated soon after the adoption of the Gregorian Calendar. If someone still used the Julian Calendar he would be called a “fool.” In many pre-Christian cultures May Day (May 1) was celebrated as the first day of summer, and signaled the start of the spring planting season. An April Fool was someone who did this prematurely.

Another theory is that April 1 was counted the first day of the year in France. When King Charles IX changed that to January 1, some people stayed with April 1. Those who did were called "April Fools" and were taunted by their neighbors.

Here are some of the most “famous” April Fool’s Day hoaxes:



• Alabama Changes the Value of Pi: The April 1998 newsletter of New Mexicans for Science and Reason contained an article written by physicist Mark Boslough claiming that the Alabama Legislature had voted to change the value of the mathematical constant pi to the "Biblical value" of 3.0. (This claim originally appeared as a news story in the 1961 science fiction novel Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein.)

• Spaghetti trees: The BBC television program Panorama ran a famous hoax in 1957, showing the Swiss harvesting spaghetti from trees. They had claimed that the despised pest, the spaghetti weevil, had been eradicated. A large number of people contacted the BBC wanting to know how to cultivate their own spaghetti trees. It was, in fact, filmed in St Albans.

• Left Handed Whoppers: In 1998, Burger King ran an ad in USA Today, saying that people could get a Whopper for left-handed people whose condiments were designed to drip out of the right side.[7] Not only did customers order the new burgers, but some specifically requested the "old", right-handed burger.

• Taco Liberty Bell: In 1996, Taco Bell took out a full-page advertisement in The New York Times announcing that they had purchased the Liberty Bell to "reduce the country's debt" and renamed it the "Taco Liberty Bell." When asked about the sale, White House press secretary Mike McCurry replied tongue-in-cheek that the Lincoln Memorial had also been sold and would henceforth be known as the Lincoln Mercury Memorial.

• Tower of Pisa: The Dutch television news reported once in the 1950s that the Tower of Pisa had fallen over. Many shocked people contacted the station. (Those wacky Dutchies.)

• Jovian-Plutonian gravitational effect: In 1976, British astronomer Sir Patrick Moore told listeners of BBC Radio 2 that unique alignment of two planets would result in an upward gravitational pull making people lighter at precisely 9:47 a.m. that day. He invited his audience to jump in the air and experience "a strange floating sensation." Dozens of listeners phoned in to say the experiment had worked.

• Every year National Public Radio in the United States does an extensive news story on April 1st. These usually start off more or less reasonably, and get more and more unusual. A recent example is the story on the "iBod" a portable body control device. In 2008 it reported that the IRS, to assure rebate checks were actually spent, was shipping consumer products instead of checks. It also runs false sponsor mentions, such as "Support for NPR comes from the Soylent Corporation, manufacturing protein-rich food products in a variety of colors. Soylent Green is People.”

• The Trouble with Tracy: In 2003, The Comedy Network in Canada announced that it would produce and air a remake of the 1970s Canadian sitcom The Trouble with Tracy. The original series is widely considered to be one of the worst sitcoms ever produced. Several media outlets fell for the hoax. (Those Canadians are wild and crazy Canadians, eh?)

• On Comedy Central, the creators of South Park aired a fake episode of Terrance and Phillip titled "Terrance and Phillip in Not Without My Anus instead of running the season premier which was supposed to reveal the father of Eric Cartman.

• Microsoft Research Reclaims Value of Pi: In 2008, an executive with the Microsoft Institute for Advanced Technology in Governments posted on his personal blog an updated spoof of the 1998 April Fools hoax claiming Alabama's state legislature had rounded the value of pi to the "Biblical value of 3." The 2008 hoax claimed that Microsoft Research had determined the true-up value of pi to be a definitive 3.141999, or as expressed in company literature, "Three easy payments of 1.047333."

Go and enjoy the day and may all your April Fool’s Day jokes (the ones you play and the ones played on you) be fun and safe!

Have fun!