Shortest chapter of all
Chapter XI
One morning in the following week found Joseph was in high good humor. Yesterday, he had crossed paths with a English ship, with which he had initiated an extensive firefight, which culminated in Joseph losing half his crew. In response to that, he had crept aboard the enemy ship in the dead of night, captured half the crew, holed their boat, and sailed away as if nothing had happened.
Later, that afternoon, as he got increasingly closer to the enemy mainland, Joseph was surprised by two more Spanish ships. As he was flying the American flag, they opened fire, but by some amazing stroke of luck, he managed to escape with nothing more than a missing foremast.
That night, having replaced the foremast, Joseph fell asleep planning the next day’s actions and wondering what his sons were up to.
At about one in the morning, Joseph was roused out of his bunk by startled cries. “We’re doomed! There’s two feet of water in the hold! Someone get the Captain! Man the pumps!”
Joseph swung himself out of his bunk only to find that there were several inches of water in his own cabin. Wading out, he collided with a crewman who had come to get him. He sent the man back up the hatch immediately, adding that if “half the crew worked the pumps in shifts with the other half, they might be alive by daylight.”
By daylight next morning, there was five feet of water in the hold, the launch had been lowered, and lots drawn to see which ten men would accompany the captain. Two hours later, Joseph, with seven Spaniards and three Englishmen, was still moving north, to Spain and glory.
About Me
- JT
- Corrandion, Corridane
- I am JT, Ringer, nutjob, and archer, in that order. I like animated films, epic films, book films, movie music, folk music, and the occasional random other thing. I make friends by accident and like it that way...
27 June 2010
23 June 2010
Chapter Ten
Figured I would go ahead and post this chapter now.
Chapter X
As he was scouting ahead in the afternoon of the second day of the journey, Michael spotted something sitting in the grass up ahead. Without a thought as to what it might be, he dashed forward to catch it. Suddenly, the thing stood up and fired a dart, just missing his ear.
“Uh-oh,” Michael thought to himself “What have I gotten myself into?” He immediately turned and began retracing his steps back to the main group. As he ran, two more hostile natives jumped up from where they had been hiding and stepped in front of him. Luckily, these were only armed with spears, though they carried several.
As one raised his spear, Michael dove to his left, the side with no one on it. Narrowly missing the spear, he rolled over, jumped up, and found himself behind his attackers. But while all this was happening, he had not noticed that the blowgun carrier had run around behind the spear carriers and was now in front of him again.
Then the spear carriers shifted position, forcing Michael to run to the left, farther away from his intended path. As Michael ran, he spotted a fourth native crouching a few feet in front of him. He swerved to avoid the man, but the native promptly got up and chased after him. When he saw this, Michael realized that he would have to attack at least one of them if he were ever going to escape.
As the natives closed in, they all readied their weapons simultaneously. A little closer, and they all threw (or blew) at the same time! When Michael saw that the blower in front of him was about to shoot, he dropped down flat on the ground. The natives were caught by surprise, as their quarry would typically make a frantic attempt to attack the closest one and be killed. Unable to stop themselves, they fired their weapons when their when their prize had already vanished.
When the weapons had passed overhead, Michael did a forward roll into the legs of the man in front of him, bumped him off balance, swiftly got up again, and ran off in the general direction of the main party.
Several hours later, he staggered into the main group, thoroughly exhausted. He drank some water and then collapsed next to the drinking barrels. His rather abrupt return startled the crew.
When Michael woke up, he noticed something: the sun was in his eyes again. That meant that it was the next morning: he had slept all night. Rolling over to get out of the light, he heard someone say “Mornin’ boy. The rest of the crew have abandoned you, but we stayed behind, appreciating your skill enough to keep you alive.”
Michael got up and sat next his two remaining crew members. “Well, I can’t say that I make a very good Captain. First thing I do with my ship is to run it into the worst storm I’ve ever seen. Let’s get moving and eat on the way, we’ll be quicker.”
“All right, “the men agreed “you’re still the Cap’n, so if that’s the way you want it, we’ll do it that way.”
So Michael set off again with the only truly reformed characters from the prize, which had been renamed the Wild Duck, following the tracks left by the rest of the crew. After about three hours, Michael found a spot where the tracks they were following ended. “Just as I suspected.” He announced “They’ve been ambushed by those natives, who are apparently cannibals.” A few paces farther ahead, he found the rest of the barrels which had been used to carry the food and water. “The natives ignored our food and water! Unfortunately, it’s probably too late to save the crew, so we’re just going to have to take what’s left of the food and water and go. It’s bigger rations for the three of us though.”
Two hours later, Michael and his two followers were working much harder to drag their supplies, hauling them through the seemingly endless savannah. With only one rest since starting, he and his men were too tired to notice when the natives surrounded them.
“Blanco Marzi! (white men!)” The leader exclaimed excitedly “Cornay! Narsto tharma! Narsto tharma ti carno ti cuno basi (come! Help them! Help them to come to our village!) The rest of the men lowered their spears and reached under the arms of the white men, dragging them to their feet. “Tweet ripo (bring ropes)!” the leader demanded, and marched off.
With three in the rear to haul the “ripo”, the Africans set off on the path taken by their leader, jabbering in unintelligible gibberish the whole time.
On arrival at the village, the guides rushed off, only to return with a steaming bowl of stew for each of their visitors. Michael found his share so appetizing that he finished it in two gulps. Aware that he was making an outrageous request, he then turned to his two men and asked if either of them could understand the natives yet
“Yes,” one replied “it was easy to guess what was said when they found us, and I’ve already figured out a few more since that time.”
“Fine,” Michael answered “go up to them and see if you can figure how to ask them if any other white men have come through and if the great water is very far from here.”
Half an hour later the man returned with the news that, unfortunately, none of the inhabitants had ever been out of the area, but they did remember some relatives that had ventured northward, never to return.
“Well, I’m sorry for them, and we’re going that way too.” Michael announced.
His two followers were astounded. “But those men never returned!” they cried “How can you expect to survive!”
That was the last straw. In a flash, the two knives were out and had split the men’s hats down the middle before they realized what was happening. Michael was boiling, as the men saw seconds before they landed hard on the ground, gasping for breath. Stepping over the two to retrieve his weapons, Michael turned and gritted out “No-one – tells – me I can’t – do – something. If that’s what I want, it will get done! You- now you can stay here. But me! I, I have a father who is out risking his life in a war, where I should be, and I don’t care if the whole world thinks I’m going to die, because I’m going to prove them all wrong! Loyal, hah, that’s a laugh. Have a good time being loyal to this gang, nitwits!”
Grabbing the ropes to two barrels, which had been generously restocked by the natives, Michael stormed out of the gate and did an about turn to begin a solo odyssey across the African continent, from South to North.
Chapter X
As he was scouting ahead in the afternoon of the second day of the journey, Michael spotted something sitting in the grass up ahead. Without a thought as to what it might be, he dashed forward to catch it. Suddenly, the thing stood up and fired a dart, just missing his ear.
“Uh-oh,” Michael thought to himself “What have I gotten myself into?” He immediately turned and began retracing his steps back to the main group. As he ran, two more hostile natives jumped up from where they had been hiding and stepped in front of him. Luckily, these were only armed with spears, though they carried several.
As one raised his spear, Michael dove to his left, the side with no one on it. Narrowly missing the spear, he rolled over, jumped up, and found himself behind his attackers. But while all this was happening, he had not noticed that the blowgun carrier had run around behind the spear carriers and was now in front of him again.
Then the spear carriers shifted position, forcing Michael to run to the left, farther away from his intended path. As Michael ran, he spotted a fourth native crouching a few feet in front of him. He swerved to avoid the man, but the native promptly got up and chased after him. When he saw this, Michael realized that he would have to attack at least one of them if he were ever going to escape.
As the natives closed in, they all readied their weapons simultaneously. A little closer, and they all threw (or blew) at the same time! When Michael saw that the blower in front of him was about to shoot, he dropped down flat on the ground. The natives were caught by surprise, as their quarry would typically make a frantic attempt to attack the closest one and be killed. Unable to stop themselves, they fired their weapons when their when their prize had already vanished.
When the weapons had passed overhead, Michael did a forward roll into the legs of the man in front of him, bumped him off balance, swiftly got up again, and ran off in the general direction of the main party.
Several hours later, he staggered into the main group, thoroughly exhausted. He drank some water and then collapsed next to the drinking barrels. His rather abrupt return startled the crew.
When Michael woke up, he noticed something: the sun was in his eyes again. That meant that it was the next morning: he had slept all night. Rolling over to get out of the light, he heard someone say “Mornin’ boy. The rest of the crew have abandoned you, but we stayed behind, appreciating your skill enough to keep you alive.”
Michael got up and sat next his two remaining crew members. “Well, I can’t say that I make a very good Captain. First thing I do with my ship is to run it into the worst storm I’ve ever seen. Let’s get moving and eat on the way, we’ll be quicker.”
“All right, “the men agreed “you’re still the Cap’n, so if that’s the way you want it, we’ll do it that way.”
So Michael set off again with the only truly reformed characters from the prize, which had been renamed the Wild Duck, following the tracks left by the rest of the crew. After about three hours, Michael found a spot where the tracks they were following ended. “Just as I suspected.” He announced “They’ve been ambushed by those natives, who are apparently cannibals.” A few paces farther ahead, he found the rest of the barrels which had been used to carry the food and water. “The natives ignored our food and water! Unfortunately, it’s probably too late to save the crew, so we’re just going to have to take what’s left of the food and water and go. It’s bigger rations for the three of us though.”
Two hours later, Michael and his two followers were working much harder to drag their supplies, hauling them through the seemingly endless savannah. With only one rest since starting, he and his men were too tired to notice when the natives surrounded them.
“Blanco Marzi! (white men!)” The leader exclaimed excitedly “Cornay! Narsto tharma! Narsto tharma ti carno ti cuno basi (come! Help them! Help them to come to our village!) The rest of the men lowered their spears and reached under the arms of the white men, dragging them to their feet. “Tweet ripo (bring ropes)!” the leader demanded, and marched off.
With three in the rear to haul the “ripo”, the Africans set off on the path taken by their leader, jabbering in unintelligible gibberish the whole time.
On arrival at the village, the guides rushed off, only to return with a steaming bowl of stew for each of their visitors. Michael found his share so appetizing that he finished it in two gulps. Aware that he was making an outrageous request, he then turned to his two men and asked if either of them could understand the natives yet
“Yes,” one replied “it was easy to guess what was said when they found us, and I’ve already figured out a few more since that time.”
“Fine,” Michael answered “go up to them and see if you can figure how to ask them if any other white men have come through and if the great water is very far from here.”
Half an hour later the man returned with the news that, unfortunately, none of the inhabitants had ever been out of the area, but they did remember some relatives that had ventured northward, never to return.
“Well, I’m sorry for them, and we’re going that way too.” Michael announced.
His two followers were astounded. “But those men never returned!” they cried “How can you expect to survive!”
That was the last straw. In a flash, the two knives were out and had split the men’s hats down the middle before they realized what was happening. Michael was boiling, as the men saw seconds before they landed hard on the ground, gasping for breath. Stepping over the two to retrieve his weapons, Michael turned and gritted out “No-one – tells – me I can’t – do – something. If that’s what I want, it will get done! You- now you can stay here. But me! I, I have a father who is out risking his life in a war, where I should be, and I don’t care if the whole world thinks I’m going to die, because I’m going to prove them all wrong! Loyal, hah, that’s a laugh. Have a good time being loyal to this gang, nitwits!”
Grabbing the ropes to two barrels, which had been generously restocked by the natives, Michael stormed out of the gate and did an about turn to begin a solo odyssey across the African continent, from South to North.
21 June 2010
Movie Update 3
Cantrell has responded as of yesterday. They are cleared to shoot this week, pending Jack's availability. The C's are also open to playing just about any role that needs playing. Things are looking up.
-The Phantom Director
-The Phantom Director
19 June 2010
Chapter Nine
Finally! Chapter Nine is complete! You wouldn't think two pages would take so long. The story is back on track now.
Chapter IX
As Anthony was speaking, Michael had gotten himself over to the British prize. Climbing on deck, he announced “I am the new commander of this ship, and I know how to sail, so don’t cross me.”
“You!” exclaimed one of the British midshipmen. “You’re not even a man yet! Swim back to your father, boy, if that’s who he is, and get some more training before you come to put yourself over us!”
Drawing one of his knives, taking aim at the mainmast, and throwing, Michael replied, as he watched the blade strike its target “I’ve had no practice yet, and yet my aim is true? As I said, do not cross me! Return to your work.”
By the time that the damage had been satisfactorily repaired, more than hour had passed and Anthony had left to seek out more prizes.
Taking up a position on the quarter-deck, Michael announced “I’ve been given no orders. My orders are my own. We’re to sail around the cape!”
Immediately, a crewman spoke out against the decision. “Real sailors know it’s storm season around the cape this time of year!”
Hefting one of his daggers, Michael shouted back “Are you armed, or are you the captain? Because if you’re either, you may have a right to dispute with me. But you’ll die if you move from your place, for I’ll brook no objections. Set the course!”
Michael did not hear any objections for some time after that incident. He suspected it was because the crew was afraid of being slain suddenly if he grew upset. Every order he called was executed promptly, with little noise.
Under the threat of sudden death, the hostile crew refrained from giving Michael any trouble for several days. At the end of the week, they sighted the Cape of Good Hope. Michael heard one deckhand muttering “Cape of No Hope, more like. Especially at this time of year. Though if I say anything, that boy commanding us is likely to take the opportunity to prove his aim. I wouldn’t want that.”
As he listened, Michael thought “He’s got sense, at least. He’ll cause no trouble.” Then, looking up at the sky ahead of the ship, he thought “But he’s right. The storms have beaten me to the point.”
Accordingly, when they had reached a position approximately one thousand yards off the coast, Michael gave the order to prepare the ship to ride out the squall.
The crew set the sails, and the storm came to them. It was likely to be the most awful experience Michael had ever been through.
First, there was the wind. The wind came whistling through the rigging, buffeting the crew across the deck in all directions as they worked to steady the ship. Everything was done in silence, if it was possible to consider the obvious futility of opening one’s mouth, as a result of the awful keening wind, as silence.
Michael, who was aware of the impact a captain’s actions had on a crew, had long since found a suit of storm gear and resolved to remain on deck. But then the rain came. It seemed to be driving straight onto his face regardless of the direction he faced. Squinting against the bitterly cold torrent, which anywhere else, the crew may have attempted to collect, he still remained on deck, trying to keep his ship above the water. It was not long before he began to wonder what the downpour was doing to his face. He could no longer tell, as he had grown numb. When he finally realized that he could hardly tell whether he even had a nose any longer, he abandoned all pretences and ran for his cabin as hard as he was able, slamming the door, which mercifully remained shut.
As soon as this was done, he threw himself down on his cot and began rubbing his hands back and forth, again, as hard as he was able to.
Finally, he began to relax, although he still had no chance to sleep, with the wind howling outside as loud as it was. It was then that the waves finally arrived. Michael could hear them crashing on the deck, rocking the ship from side to side as they did so. Several times, Michael came perilously close to being thrown out his bunk and rolling across the cabin floor. This did not happen only because he was gripping the sides so tightly that he thought he could nearly see his veins bulging in his arms. Keeping his teeth clenched, he strained to hear the noises that told any sailor to brace for the impending disaster.
A moment more, and he thought he had heard it. It was so difficult to tell over the various sounds of the storm. The sound of the anchor rope creaking. “Thank the Lord it has not already snapped, but it is bound to break soon.” He thought, still clenching his teeth and gripping the sides of his cot. Only moments later, he heard the sound he had been dreading to hear since the squall had begun. The distinct sound of water pouring through a hole in the side into the lower decks. It grew louder and louder even as he listened. “The ship is breaking through the bottom!” he thought, becoming frantic in his desperation. “Lord, please let us all live through this day. I know the men are Brits, but they’re men just the same. Please, bring us all through this.”
Then, knowing it was useless to hide in the cabin, he resolved to run out onto the deck, grab the nearest piece of broken wood, and commit himself to the Lord. It was not long after this that he had found a broken spar floating in the ocean, leaped in after it, draped himself over it, and immediately began to fall asleep after relaxing his tightened muscles.
When he woke up the next morning, he found himself on the beach, face down in the sand. After he had finally realized he was alive and awake once more for another day, he remained motionless for several minutes. Then, his thoughts completed, he rose, made the sign of the cross over himself, and went to find the crew.
He found them together behind the first large hill he came to. “Well hello, boy.” Several called to him. “Do you believe us now? It is storm season. We’ve been salvaging while you slept out there on the sand.” They continued, indicating about ten barrels of supplies which they had, astonishingly, managed to rescue from the wreck.
Seeing these, Michael answered “We must now walk to the nearest city. We can not wait here, for no ship would come here to rescue us even if they knew we were here.”
Without waiting for a reply, he set off.
Chapter IX
As Anthony was speaking, Michael had gotten himself over to the British prize. Climbing on deck, he announced “I am the new commander of this ship, and I know how to sail, so don’t cross me.”
“You!” exclaimed one of the British midshipmen. “You’re not even a man yet! Swim back to your father, boy, if that’s who he is, and get some more training before you come to put yourself over us!”
Drawing one of his knives, taking aim at the mainmast, and throwing, Michael replied, as he watched the blade strike its target “I’ve had no practice yet, and yet my aim is true? As I said, do not cross me! Return to your work.”
By the time that the damage had been satisfactorily repaired, more than hour had passed and Anthony had left to seek out more prizes.
Taking up a position on the quarter-deck, Michael announced “I’ve been given no orders. My orders are my own. We’re to sail around the cape!”
Immediately, a crewman spoke out against the decision. “Real sailors know it’s storm season around the cape this time of year!”
Hefting one of his daggers, Michael shouted back “Are you armed, or are you the captain? Because if you’re either, you may have a right to dispute with me. But you’ll die if you move from your place, for I’ll brook no objections. Set the course!”
Michael did not hear any objections for some time after that incident. He suspected it was because the crew was afraid of being slain suddenly if he grew upset. Every order he called was executed promptly, with little noise.
Under the threat of sudden death, the hostile crew refrained from giving Michael any trouble for several days. At the end of the week, they sighted the Cape of Good Hope. Michael heard one deckhand muttering “Cape of No Hope, more like. Especially at this time of year. Though if I say anything, that boy commanding us is likely to take the opportunity to prove his aim. I wouldn’t want that.”
As he listened, Michael thought “He’s got sense, at least. He’ll cause no trouble.” Then, looking up at the sky ahead of the ship, he thought “But he’s right. The storms have beaten me to the point.”
Accordingly, when they had reached a position approximately one thousand yards off the coast, Michael gave the order to prepare the ship to ride out the squall.
The crew set the sails, and the storm came to them. It was likely to be the most awful experience Michael had ever been through.
First, there was the wind. The wind came whistling through the rigging, buffeting the crew across the deck in all directions as they worked to steady the ship. Everything was done in silence, if it was possible to consider the obvious futility of opening one’s mouth, as a result of the awful keening wind, as silence.
Michael, who was aware of the impact a captain’s actions had on a crew, had long since found a suit of storm gear and resolved to remain on deck. But then the rain came. It seemed to be driving straight onto his face regardless of the direction he faced. Squinting against the bitterly cold torrent, which anywhere else, the crew may have attempted to collect, he still remained on deck, trying to keep his ship above the water. It was not long before he began to wonder what the downpour was doing to his face. He could no longer tell, as he had grown numb. When he finally realized that he could hardly tell whether he even had a nose any longer, he abandoned all pretences and ran for his cabin as hard as he was able, slamming the door, which mercifully remained shut.
As soon as this was done, he threw himself down on his cot and began rubbing his hands back and forth, again, as hard as he was able to.
Finally, he began to relax, although he still had no chance to sleep, with the wind howling outside as loud as it was. It was then that the waves finally arrived. Michael could hear them crashing on the deck, rocking the ship from side to side as they did so. Several times, Michael came perilously close to being thrown out his bunk and rolling across the cabin floor. This did not happen only because he was gripping the sides so tightly that he thought he could nearly see his veins bulging in his arms. Keeping his teeth clenched, he strained to hear the noises that told any sailor to brace for the impending disaster.
A moment more, and he thought he had heard it. It was so difficult to tell over the various sounds of the storm. The sound of the anchor rope creaking. “Thank the Lord it has not already snapped, but it is bound to break soon.” He thought, still clenching his teeth and gripping the sides of his cot. Only moments later, he heard the sound he had been dreading to hear since the squall had begun. The distinct sound of water pouring through a hole in the side into the lower decks. It grew louder and louder even as he listened. “The ship is breaking through the bottom!” he thought, becoming frantic in his desperation. “Lord, please let us all live through this day. I know the men are Brits, but they’re men just the same. Please, bring us all through this.”
Then, knowing it was useless to hide in the cabin, he resolved to run out onto the deck, grab the nearest piece of broken wood, and commit himself to the Lord. It was not long after this that he had found a broken spar floating in the ocean, leaped in after it, draped himself over it, and immediately began to fall asleep after relaxing his tightened muscles.
When he woke up the next morning, he found himself on the beach, face down in the sand. After he had finally realized he was alive and awake once more for another day, he remained motionless for several minutes. Then, his thoughts completed, he rose, made the sign of the cross over himself, and went to find the crew.
He found them together behind the first large hill he came to. “Well hello, boy.” Several called to him. “Do you believe us now? It is storm season. We’ve been salvaging while you slept out there on the sand.” They continued, indicating about ten barrels of supplies which they had, astonishingly, managed to rescue from the wreck.
Seeing these, Michael answered “We must now walk to the nearest city. We can not wait here, for no ship would come here to rescue us even if they knew we were here.”
Without waiting for a reply, he set off.
18 June 2010
Movie Update 2
Having spoken with Cantrell yesterday, I have discovered that he does not seem worried about the status of the project, even though we only have a month left and he is going to disappear again in July. I am expecting to see a response today to an e-mail I sent him yesterday, which he assured me he would reply to. Not much else has happened. Going to see Toy Story 3 any day now. probably Sunday.
-the phantom director
-the phantom director
14 June 2010
Reunions and Destinies! characters
Ok, so you know who the Reunions and Destinies characters are: Daniel (Dameon), David, Anthony, Gabriel, and myself, Joseph (J.T.) Sponsler. Other friends of mine make appearences later in the story, most notably the villian. Because there was no longer any room for him on our side, (if he was going to have a central part, that is) Christopher Counihan did not make the cut as an American. Instead, I misspelled his name on purpose so it would sound somewhat Spanish. Maybe it sounds Portuguese? You tell me, 'cause here it is: Cristobol Coinhara.
All right, so that's not the true reason for this post. The true reason for this post is what the characters look like in my head, because of my consistent failure to describe anyone properly.
-The Phantom
All right, so that's not the true reason for this post. The true reason for this post is what the characters look like in my head, because of my consistent failure to describe anyone properly.
- The four Mellinos: They look the way they do in the yet-to-be released Privateers and Patriots film to be filmed by Lord & Lady productions. I don't remember the exact descriptions from the script, so I wont say more about them here.
- Myself: In R&D, everything about me is opposite to what I really look like. In short, I am tall, strong, agile, and sport neck-length hair and a small beard about four inches long. I am also an excellent swimmer and runner.
- Spaniards, yes ALL of them: For no discernible reason, I can't resist superimposing Jack Sparrow's face and hair on the head of any Spaniard. Attack of the Pirate Clones, anyone?
- Call me narrow-minded, but all English deckhands wear white shirts with short sleeves, hair slightly shorter than mine, and go hatless. English officers wear blue coats and tri-cornered hats
- Our sons: Mark, Matt, John, Luke, Michael, and Raphael
- Mark and Matt are my boys. They are identical twins who are 17-18, six feet tall, have long black hair like mine, and enjoy practical jokes. The only difference is their opposing personalities.
- John: Dameon's son is 13, of average height, has short brown hair, and more sense then the rest.
- Luke: David's son, is 12, of average size, has curly, flaming red hair for no reason at all, is already an accomplished boxer, and is the only one to succumb to sea-sickness.
- Michael: Anthony's son is 16, tall (nearly six feet himself), has average length black hair, is a natural aim, and doesn't always think before he acts.
- Raphael: Gabriel's son is the same age as Michael, has brown hair, is only slightly shorter, and an accomplished escaper of tight spots.
-The Phantom
12 June 2010
Another Birthday
Today is my brother Frank's birthday. I can't tell you why I'm even posting about it, because nothing has happened, and nothing will happen. Frank, who is now nine years old, does nothing but write comics and moan about how it's not 2006 anymore. The most memorable thing to happen today is that he spread honey all over my sister's dog named Honey.
-King Valun
-King Valun
07 June 2010
The Day
I am sorry that there is no R&D chapter today. I have been on hiatus while writing my other story, one I call PoT. I will be out of town all day, getting a new pair of shoes, among other things.
Today is my Grandma's 86th birthday! But we will not be celebrating because she is currently on a road trip headed toward Iowa to attend a family reunion. I guess she's celebrating somehow wherever she is right now. Exactly Two months to go! Gotta go now- The Phantom, a.k.a J.T
Today is my Grandma's 86th birthday! But we will not be celebrating because she is currently on a road trip headed toward Iowa to attend a family reunion. I guess she's celebrating somehow wherever she is right now. Exactly Two months to go! Gotta go now- The Phantom, a.k.a J.T
04 June 2010
Randomness from JT #3
I have been thinking recently, for no reason in particular, about birthday cards especially. About two weeks ago, I looked back at a bunch of stuff I have saved from past years, and I found a birthday card which I had received from a great-aunt a few years ago. Now this card makes me laugh every time I think of it. Imagine this: You have traveled for weeks to a remote mountain peak to seek the wisdom of an Indian guru who lives on said peak as a hermit. You struggle up to the top, exhausted. When you look up, the guru is looking down at you. He says "What is it that you have come to ask about, my young friend? Is it the secret to happiness, as it always seems to be?" In a tired tone, as if he has been answering the question ever since he retreated to the mountain peak where he was supposed to be left alone. "Yes." You groan in reply, wondering how long you'll be able to hold on before you lose your grip and plunge to a grisly death. "Well" the ancient guru replies slowly, stroking his long white beard. "The secret to happiness is to remember this one truth: Not all birthday cards contain money." He smiles, looking down at you as if you were a toddler. Dismayed at his answer, you forget where you are, lose your grip, and plunge to a grisly death after all, after learning the third great truth of life: that NOT ALL BIRTHDAY CARDS CONTAIN MONEY!
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