Review of the Anderson Japanese Garden in Rockford, Illinois

Hello:

Looking for a nature activity to do this weekend? Might I suggest the Anderson Japanese Garden in Rockford, Illinois? I took the wife and kids there on a recent weekend and was very impressed. Let me tell you all about in today's featured writing. 

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Have a great weekend! Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there.

Review of the Anderson Japanese Garden in Rockford, Illinois

If you've ever visited one, then you'll certainly agree that a Japanese garden is a wonderful place to visit, offering beauty and tranquility which restores your peace of mind. My wife, kids and I recently visited one located in Rockford, Illinois: the Anderson Japanese Garden. It’s located off Creek Road in Rockford.

Construction of the Anderson Japanese Garden initially began in the late 1970s when Rockford business man, John Anderson, wished to recreate his experience during a visit to the Portland Japanese Garden in Oregon. Anderson soon converted his own backyard into a private Japanese garden and employed the expertise of Hoichi Kurisu to do so. The garden was ultimately donated in 1998 to the Rockford Rotary Charitable Association. To this day, people can visit the Alexander Japanese Garden and—according to their website— receive "...a place of peace and tranquility where they will find healing, renewal, inspiration, and a re-energized soul"

Visitors are encouraged to feed the numerous coy fish located in the ponds. The fish excitedly race through the water and eagerly accept food which is sold at the admission counter. And it isn't just the coy fish that swim over for food! There are plenty of mallard ducks who swoop in to try and share a meal with the fish. So much fun!

The entire garden is hand crafted with an exquisite touch of art. Huge stones are stacked and placed about which leaves you feeling like they had always been there. And be sure to check out the beautiful waterfall. How many people have taken photos and used this as a backdrop?

Now there are plenty of ponds and lakes throughout northern Illinois. But it's not every day that the scenery yields something like this. There are all sorts of architectures about the garden such as this beautiful bridge that joins the

surrounding land to a small island.

In many places it is possible to enter these small architectures to sit and meditate for a while, or maybe simply spend time with a special someone. Imagine sitting on one of the numerous natural-appearing benches located throughout the garden and watching a peaceful brook babble on.

But despite all of its beauty, the Anderson Japanese Garden hides a secret. While visiting, we couldn't help but notice the numerous signs and blockades that prevented us from walking any further. And many of these places looked interesting—stairways that led to higher plateaus in the surrounding forest, or boulders that were stacked in such a way to encourage visitors to climb up to a different area. Well we broke the rules that day, disregarded the "private property" signs and entered the forbidden area. Everything was okay at first as we

continued to hike, but then we stumbled upon a building which, from a distance, appeared to house a large group of ninjas inside of it. From a distance we could see that they were practicing their ninjitsu exercises. It must have been a lesson that day.

Then, suddenly, someone spotted us through the window! With that, a dozen or more ninjas flipped out of the building and proceeded to chase after us.

"Oh no!" screamed my wife. "I told you this wasn't a good idea! Why don’t you ever listen to me???

"

We all ran for our lives. There was no telling what would happen to us if the ninjas reached us. And to be honest, I believe that they were simply playing with us as a warning to never return. A ninja would suddenly appear at the side of

the nearby trail (I swear these people had magic abilities) while wielding a Samurai sword and doing jumping summersaults in the air. We had large chains whipped at us which caused the kids to trip onto the ground a couple of times. And then came frightening assault of dozens of throwing stars. It was five minutes of the most awful terror anyone would want to endure. All the while, we wondered if we would make it out of there alive.

We finally made it across the private property boundary and back to the main visitor section of the Japanese garden. I can only conclude that the Anderson Japanese Garden hides a secret cult of ninjas that train in the surrounding off-limits forest.

So if you are looking for a nice afternoon of the beauty and tranquility of a Japanese garden, along with the fun and excitement of being chased by ninja

warriors, be sure to check out the Anderson Japanese Gardens. We give it 5 stars, and will definitely be returning.

The Ghost People

Hello All:

I love turning those strange dreams we have early in the morning (just moments before waking up) into short stories. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. Today's brand, new story is one such example.

The Ghost People

He calls them the "ghost people"; this is what six-year-old Aaron refers to them as. Mother and Father understand these "ghost people" to be little Aaron's imaginary friends. It’s theorized that he invented them as a means to cope with the move into the new home. You see, Father's job transfer required that the family move out of state. And this relocated little Aaron to a new school with new teacher and new kids. Many children invent imaginary friends when coping with stressors in life.

The "ghost people" as Aaron describe are quite interesting. With the exception of being nearly transparent, they initially appear to be ordinary people. It's three of them—three men—one wearing a suit, and the other dressed in plain clothes, the sort of clothes that Grandpa wears—button down shirts and dress slacks. Sometimes the one who wears a suit enters the room with a brimmed hat. Aaron understands him to be the boss.

But what makes the "ghost people" so interesting?—you might ask?

They can morph into anything they wish. Often the "ghost people" transform themselves into "cartoon people". They can actually look like the strange creatures that Aaron often sees in today's modern cartoons—nothing adults would ever recognize.

Take for example the night that Aaron sat on his bedroom floor while playing with matchbox cars. Suddenly, the "ghost people" flattened themselves like a pancake and slid under the closed closet door into the main bedroom.

"Hi Aaron!" greeted one of the "ghost people". "What's wrong? Don't recognize us?"

Although what hovered nearby Aaron were colorful blobs with funny faces that would make anyone laugh, Aaron definitely recognized them. And to distinguish himself from the other two, the boss wore the brimmed hat.

"I recognize you guys." answered Aaron. "Want to play matchbox cars with me?" he offered.

One of the "ghost/cartoon people" whistled before exclaiming, "Oh, them are swell! Look at them!" he encouraged the other two "ghost people". "Ain't them nice little cars?"

"Yeah, they sure are." agreed the boss.

"You got a Studebaker?" asked one of the other two.

Aaron shrugged his shoulder. "What's a Studebaker?"

"Uh-oh!" exclaimed the boss. "Here comes the Mrs." With that, the "ghost/cartoon people" whisked away and flattened themselves up to slip behind the pictures on Aaron's wall.

"Who were you talking to?" asked Mother upon entering Aaron's bedroom.

"The ghost people." answered Aaron. "They were going to play Matchbox cars with me. One of them wanted to know if I have a Studebaker."

Mother remained silent. If her son could just make a new friend at school, it would put an end to these imaginary "ghost people".

"Mommy? What's a Studebaker?"

"I don't know Aaron." answered Mother. "It's time for bed. Pick up your toys and put them away."

Mother stepped out of the bedroom for a moment. During this time, Aaron reluctantly did as ordered. Already in his pajamas, he climbed into bed and waited with the lights on to be tucked in.

Moments later Mother entered the room and approached the bed. "Good night, Honey. I love you." She kissed Aaron on the lips.

"I wish that was me she was kissing." remarked one of the “ghost people” from behind the pictures hanging on the wall.

"Watch it!" ordered the boss. "That's the kid's mother. Is nothing sacred with you?"

As Mother stepped out she turned off the lights and closed the door. Almost immediately, the "ghost people" slipped out from behind the pictures and resumed their cartoon appearances.

"Bed time, huh?" asked one of them.

"Yeah..." sadly answered little Aaron.

"You still want to play, huh kid?" asked the boss.

"I guess..." answered Aaron.

"Hey, I got a good idea." began one of the other two "ghost people" with a mischievous smile on his face. "What do you say we play monkey in the middle?"

"No!" cried out little Aaron. Aaron did not like this cruel game of monkey in the middle. Invented by the "ghost people" it had nothing to do with intercepting a ball or playing any form of keep away. Rather it involved the "ghost people" transforming their faces into hideous monsters while chasing frightened little Aaron around the bedroom.

And that's what the "ghost people" suddenly did. They put on frightful faces of sharp teeth and huge horns on their heads. Sometimes they made themselves look like angry animals. They often growled and made loud noises while playing this cruel game. And whenever Aaron tried to get away, the "ghost people" simply stretched themselves out like a blanket to catch little Aaron and fling him back in the center. Hence the meaning of monkey in the middle.

Poor Aaron scurried around the bedroom. "No! No! Not again!"

The "ghost people" swirled and danced around the bedroom while transforming themselves into hideous animals. A couple of times they stretched themselves out like a blanket to catch Aaron and thrown him in the middle.

"Monkey in the middle!" the three of them called out.

Somehow, little Aaron managed to escape. He ran out into the hallway and into the family room where Mother and Father watched TV. "The ghost people aren't being nice to me! They're chasing me around the bedroom and playing monkey in the middle! It scares me!

In the bedroom, the "ghost people" transformed themselves back into their original form; the boss wearing his suit with brimmed hat, and the other two wearing button down shirts with dress slacks.

"Is this all we have to look forward to?" asked the boss. "Playing with toys and chasing a little boy around the bedroom to scare him?" He was more-or-less complaining their existence.

"Well we don't have to hang around this place." cited one of the other two. "There's a whole world out there. How come we never left?"

The boss lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag. Then he exhaled. "You know what gets me with you two? In all the years... In all the bad stuff we did... You never think about what's waiting for us as payback."

"We got our payback!" snapped one of the other two "ghost people". "They finally caught up with us. We got the ultimate punishment. What's worse than dead? What can happen to us now?"

The boss shook his head in disbelief while taking another drag. "See, that's what you don't get. What’s out there waiting for us? What's going to happen to us? Where will we end up for all the bad things we did to people?"

The End

The Last Day of School

Hello All:

My poor aloe plant; I carried it outside to the deck a couple of weeks ago so that it could enjoy plenty of sunlight. It was brought back in the house to prevent rain from drowing it. (Excessive water is not good for aloe plants.) I thought all was fine, but then noticed that some of the leaves turned brown! Come to find out, aloe plants can get sunburn! Who would have known. I hope my plant gets better soon.
***
Brand new story for you to enjoy today.
The Last Day of School

It was the last day of school at Birch Elementary School. At the sound of the bell, kids rushed to the main exit door to be the first to kick it open and race out to the bus. Those kids couldn't get to the bus fast enough! You remember how the last day of school was, don't you?

Out in the front parking lot were a dozen or so school buses with drivers who waited for the children to board. One of those drivers was 48 year old Shawna who was excited to follow through with her surprise for the kids on the last day of school. You see, many years ago when Shawna was a little girl, her bus driver treated the kids to a special surprise on their last day of school. The driver actually drove into town and treated the kids to ice cream cones from the Tasty Freeze. It was always a fond memory for Shawna. Somehow the act officially marked the beginning of a wonderful summer break. But each year, thereafter, Shawna anticipated the next bus driver to do the same. But, sadly, this never happened again.

Well Shawna is a bus driver, now. She's thought about repeating the surprise for her kids in recent years. But this is the first year that she decided to follow through with it.

Kids screamed and yelled while boarding the bus. They were a bunch of wild animals who couldn't wait to get home and swim in their pools, or ride their bikes to the park to play ball.

But what was this?

"Okay boys and girls, settle down!" announced Shawna while standing in the main aisle. This was just a minute or so before the buses were given final clearance to leave the school. "Settle down, I have an announcement for you all."

The noisy kids quieted down as ordered.

"Well today's your last day of school, and I hope you all have a nice summer break. You kids certainly deserve it. And I just want to say that it was my pleasure being your school bus driver this year. I want to treat you all to a surprise before going home."

"What is it?" shouted Mike, one of the older boys sitting in back.

"You'll find out." answered Shawna. "Just sit tight."

The dispatcher squawked over the radio which granted the busses clearance to pull out and take the kids home. But not Shawna! She was going to deviate from the usual route, and take the kids to McDonald's for ice cream cones.

As the dozen or so busses took off from the school, the drivers all followed through with a yearly ritual that involved tooting their horns in celebration of summer break beginning.

"Bye Birch Elementary School!" said one of the girls while waving out the window. "I hope summer break is nice and long so I won't have to see you for a long time!"

Jimmy, one of the older kids in the back, extended his middle finger through the window. "You suck Birch Elementary School!"

"Hey!" shouted Shawna. "This is still school property. No swearing and no sticking up your middle finger!"

"Sorry..." apologized Jimmy.

A minute or so later, as Shawna continued to travel down the main road and past the entrance of her first subdivision, a voice called out over the radio."Hey Shawna?" It was a fellow bus driver who was familiar with Shawna's daily route. "Didn't you miss your turn?"

Shawna said nothing, just kept on driving.

There's a new technology on buses in the 21st century that we didn't have a kids. It employees GPS tracking, and enables the dispatch office to track the whereabouts of a bus. Sandy, the dispatcher, noticed that Shawna's bus was deviating from the route quite considerably. "Base to Shawna!" called out Sandy.

Sandy said nothing, just kept on driving.

"Base to Shawna. I notice that you are deviating from your route. Is everything okay?"

"Bah! Turn this thing off!" exclaimed Shawna. "It's the last day of school, and this is my last route for the day." With that, Shawna switched the radio off.

"Where are we going?" shouted Mike from the back.

"It's a surprise!" shouted Shawna in return. “You're going to like it.”

"To be honest..." began Susan, shouting over the noise of the kids. "...I was really looking forward to going home and swimming in the pool for the rest of the day."

Shawna said nothing, just kept driving.

"Hey bus driver!" called out Jimmy from the back. "We actually have a game of baseball at the park. I kind of wanted to get home and have lunch so I could meet everyone in time."

"It won't take long!" reassured Shawna.

"Yeah, I wanted to spend the rest of the day playing my Wii Sims!" shouted another kid. "Can't we just go home?

"Come—on, Kids!" snapped Shawna. "What's wrong with you all? I'm treating you to a surprise on the last day of school!" Through the rearview mirror, Shawna could be seen glaring out at the road with a perturbed look on her face. "Kids are so spoiled and ungrateful these days." she thought to herself. "Well this is actually good for them." she further reasoned. "I'm going to follow through with this and make them enjoy ice cream cones. If more adults did this, the kids of today would be saved."

Shawna kept driving down the rural highway until reaching the main road in town. From there she turned left and traveled about a half mile until reaching McDonald's.

"UGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" exclaimed the kids in a disappointed tone of voice. No, they were not happy. You see, kids today are much different than we were. We actually used to like McDonald's and saw it as a treat. But thanks to a bombardment of social media health propaganda along with extreme education in health class, kids today have a dreadful phobia of McDonald's!

"You're treating us to genetically altered beef organisms and stuff made with dangerous hormones, artificial sweeteners, chemicals and stuff?" asked a smartass kid from the back.

"What are you talking about???" argued Shawna. "This is McDonald's! I'm treating you to ice cream cones."

"Don't you mean fake ice cream cones?" corrected Susan who really wished she could be swimming. McDonald's doesn't even use real dairy. It's some powdered mixture added with water that is frozen. Yuck!"

"No it's not!" snapped Shawna. "The sign on the ice cream cone machine says that it uses real dairy. You think I would give you something bad?"

"But I'm lactose intolerant!" called out one of the kids.

"Oh, don't give me that crap!" answered Shawna. "All you kids today are brainwashed into thinking that you have food allergies, gluten allergies, peanut allergies, and lactose intolerance." You'll see that eating an ice cream cone won't hurt you.

Shawna wouldn't let today's weird generation of kids ruin her surprise. She simply parked the school bus and shut it off. "I'll be right back!" she announced, and then locked the bus—leaving the kids trapped inside of a hot bus on the last day of school while she gets ice cream cones for everyone.

"This sucks!" kids began to shout.

"I hate this bus driver!"

"I'm texting my mother!"

Ten minutes later, Shawna returned with three dozen ice cream cones. She unlocked the bus and climbed on board. "Okay, kids! Here are your ice cream cones."

"It's freakin' hot in here!"

"Take us home!"

"Don't worry, kids." reassured Shawna. "Once I pass these out to everyone, we'll be back on the road to go home."

"Hurry up!" the kids demanded.

"My, you kids are so spoiled today." remarked Shawna.

One—by—one, kids were handed a small, vanilla cone. Surprisingly, most of the kids enjoyed it. After all, McDonald's ice cream isn't so bad.

"But I'm lactose intolerant." argued a little girl when being handed a cone.

"Not on my bus, you aren't!" answered Shawna. She placed the cone towards the little girl's face, "Taste it!" Shawna demanded.

The little girl shook her head, no.

"Taste it!" Shawna ordered a second time. "You will eat this ice cream cone and enjoy it!"

The little girl broke down in tears. "But it will give me diarrhea!"

A nearby girl began to cry along with her. "I want to go home!"

Just then, four police officers stormed onto the bus. "Police! Put your hands up."

Startled, Shawna turned around with the trays of ice cream cones. "What seems to be the problem?" she asked.

"Put the ice cream cones down!" ordered a police officer. "You're under arrest! You have the right to remain silent!"

***

Later that night, the five o'clock news aired the main story for everyone to watch. The reporter stood in the parking lot of McDonald's. "Police are investigating a massive child abduction that took place earlier today. A deranged bus driver abducted an entire bus load of school children from Birch Elementary School. They were taken to McDonald's and forced against their will to eat ice cream cones. And some of those children were lactose intolerant. It was reported that they were locked up in the hot bus while that driver went inside McDonald's to purchase these ice cream cones."

The camera switched over to Sandy, the bus company dispatcher. "I noticed on GPS that she deviated from her route. We lost communication with her. That's when I called police."

The camera switched back to the news reporter. "None of the children were harmed. They've all been reunited with their parents. As for the bus driver, she's been suspended from her job without pay throughout the duration of police investigation."

The End

The Refrigerator

Hello All:

I’ve always been fascinated by those peculiar, vivid and sometimes lucid dreams that we get just a few moments before waking up in the morning. I’ve actually turned some of these into stories. And today’s new story was an actual dream that I had a few mornings ago.

Dreams can often be used to help analyze the subconscious. But I’m afraid I have no answers for this one. I can only guess that it reveals a certain aversion towards socialism.

The Refrigerator 

It was a Sunday evening as my wife and I rolled the refrigerator out of the kitchen, through the main hallway, into the foyer and then out to the garage. From the garage, we struggled with guiding the small wheels of the refrigerator over the bump that separates the garage from the driveway. But once it was fully outside, it was easy to roll the refrigerator down the driveway and over to the parkway.

Now I really thought that dragging the large and bulky appliance across the lawn of the parkway would be next to impossible. But surprisingly it was quite easy to drag it over the curb and position it just right. My wife and I discussed earlier that day whether or not the doors of the refrigerator should face the street, or face our house. But we eventually decided that it would be safer to go outside for food without standing in the road. For this matter, the doors ended up facing our house.

At this point you are probably wondering why we had moved our refrigerator outside, and spent so much time positioning it just right in the parkway against the curb. And you are probably even more curious of this mention of going outside to the street for our food. Well, you see, after about a week's worth of careful planning, it was realized that the optimal location for our refrigerator wouldn't be in the kitchen, but outside near the street. For electricity, we simply plugged a long extension cord into an outlet of the garage, and unrolled it through the lawn and across the sidewalk to reach the refrigerator. It was that easy. And the refrigerator looked so nice sitting outside in the parkway near the curb.

For the first week, there weren't any problems with going outside if needing something from the refrigerator. If someone wanted some milk, they would bring the glass out to the street and pour some near the refrigerator. Eggs and bacon for breakfast? We would simply go out to the street and rummage through the refrigerator. And any leftovers from dinner would be carried out and stored in the refrigerator for future meals.

Now about those leftovers; it was late in the week—our second week of having the refrigerator outside—when my daughter accompanied me to the street side curb to gather up leftovers in the refrigerator from previous meals. Thursday nights are usually designated as leftover nights.

Halfway down the driveway, I saw something startling. "Whoa!" I exclaimed, and blocked my daughter with the back of my hand from walking any further. I pointed to my car. "Who is that underneath?”

Lying under my car was a strange black man who looked like he was homeless, or at the least spent much of his time out in the streets. He wore a stocking hat on his head, and had a scraggly beard. And he started back at me with his beady, black eyes. I wasn't supposed to see him. From the looks of it, he was up to no good. Maybe he was casing out the neighborhood with plans of burglary.

"Let's get back in the house!" I urged my daughter. We both ran inside, and I immediately reached for the phone to call the police. While doing so, I watched out the front room window and observed the strange, black man crawl out from under my car and scurry back to his own that was down the street. From what I could see, it was an old 1970s beater Cadillac with no license plate.

"Hello, yes, I would like to report some suspicious activity taking place in my neighborhood." I told the 911 dispatcher.

Within a minute, two squad cars sailed down the street and parked near the curb of my house, right where my refrigerator sat.

"Unfortunately, I couldn't get much of a description of the suspect or the vehicle." I told the officers. "He was just some black guy with scraggly beard and a stocking hat. He looked like someone who lived out in the streets. And he drove an old Cadillac that had dulled and faded maroon color."

"And you say he was lying under your car?" probed the officer.

"Yes." I affimed. “It looked like he was hiding.”

"And when did you first see him?"

"It was when my daughter and I came outside to the refrigerator to get dinner for the evening."

The officer said not a word, just continued writing. While this happened, the other officer walked around my car, probably looking for any evidence left behind from strange black man.

"Well..." began the officer after jotting down all the information. "At this point all we can do is keep an eye on the neighborhood. Give us a call if you see him again, or notice any suspicious activity in the neighborhood."

"Will do." I reassured the office. And as the two walked back to their squad cars, I dashed over to the refrigerator and called out, "Hey, want something to drink?" I pulled out two cans of Coca Cola.

Both officers shrugged their shoulders. "Sure, why not."

I handed the sodas to the officers. "Thanks for doing a great job in protecting our community."

***

A few days passed, and there weren't any further sightings of the strange black man who was hiding under my car. But there was something peculiar that we noticed. When going out to the curbside for breakfast in the morning, the inside of the refrigerator appeared messy and unorganized.

Then we started to notice that food was missing, "Now I know that I put that leftover pizza in here." I insisted to my wife. "And nobody else here ate it?"

"No..."

"No..."

"Wasn't me..."

Then came the morning that I discovered that one of the shelves in the refrigerator had fallen off the track and collapsed to the lower shelf. There were a couple of broken eggs at the bottom of the refrigerator, and something sticky had spilled over the bag off tossed salad.

"What the hell is going on?" I exclaimed. I nearly yelled at my kids. "Just because we put the refrigerator outside doesn't mean that you can now be messy. Come-on, kids! That's our food! Now we have to clean that mess up."

"But, Dad, I didn't go out there last night." sweared my daughter.

"Yeah, Dad, me neither."

"Well someone made that mess out there." I pointed. "And it wasn't me or your mother."

The only other explanation I could think of was that maybe the strange black man had returned to the neighborhood and was helping himself to our food at night while we slept. But I wasn't ready to jump to such a conclusion.

***

There came a Saturday when I happened to glance outside the front window and was shocked by a new disturbing sight. The strange black man had returned, and he brought with him a few friends. And they were all hiding under my car in the street.

"Son of a..." I exclaimed. Curious of what they were doing under my car, I dashed away to the closet for a pair of binoculars and returned. If a bunch of dirty street appearing people hiding under my car wasn't disturbing enough, I could now see through the binoculars that they were using drugs. Smoking crack cocaine and shooting up with heroin; these people were nothing more than a small group of drug addicts who camped under my car in a means to hide from the police so that they could use their drugs.

And that's not all that was happening! From under the car emerged a zombie-appearing, emaciated girl in a black t-shirt, shorts and a pair of leather boots. She had ultra-short blond hair and heavy dark under her eyes, probably from neglecting her health. She had infected needle tracks all up and down her arms, as well as burns all over her lips from—probably—a crack pipe. She opened our refrigerator and actually crawled inside of it. Yes, her entire body slithered and wedged itself into the refrigerator. She was thin enough to actually slip behind the shelves while browsing the selections of food.

I was outraged to see this, to say the least. I did not want a filthy drug addict with sores and burns all over her body—not to mention whatever diseases she might have had—crawling through my refrigerator and touching my food.

In horror I watched as she opened a Tupperware bowl of barbecued chicken and started to help herself. "No, not the barbecued chicken!" I cried out. "That's it, I'm calling the police. Enough is enough."

The windows of the house were not open that afternoon, so there would have been no way for them to hear me. It was as-if they could somehow sense or read my mind that I was calling the police. With phone in hand I watched in disbelief as about a half-dozen drug addicts hopped out from under my car and ran down the street to their own cars. The girl in the refrigerator, of course, followed. She, too, did not want to get busted.

"Yes, there is a group of people using drugs under my car. And they are stealing my food. You need to send the police!"

While stepping outside to wait for the police, I noticed that the drug addicts had pushed my refrigerator over, probably to punish me for calling the police. Spilled food now stretched across the road.

That wasn't very nice of them.

The End

The Slide Zone

Hello All:
If you're old enough to remember (and you would have to be really old) then you can recall a time when MTV used to air something called music videos. In fact, that's what MTV originally stood for: Music Television. These music videos would have been popular throughout the early to late 1980s. Yes, you would have to be old to remember them!
What is a music video?--a younger reader might ask?
A music video could have been described as a three-to-five minute short movie that was accompanied by some popular song by a well known artist--usually rock, pop, or rap. Sure, some of these music videos would simply be the artists performing before the camera. But most music videos aimed to really entertain the viewer by showing scenes and action. Sometimes the video would play for about thirty seconds to a minute as a scene unfolded before the music actually started.
I mention all of this because that's what came to mind when originally conceiving today's featured writing. It's based on an old, mostly unheard-of song from the late 1970s from a well-known artist. I'm going to leave the name of the song and the artist unmentioned for now. It will be revealed towards the end of the story. See if you can figure it out while reading it.
The particular song that inspired this story is unusual for the artist. Released in 1978, I believe they were experimenting with what would have considered the up and coming high tech, electro sound that would dominate much of the 1980s. The artist was mostly acoustic. Now they were integrating synthesizers, electronic sound effects, along with a higher than usual tempo.
In analyzing the lyrics I thought to myself, "Hmm... That's a really interesting story... That almost sounds like something that would happen to our friend, the Cableman." And there we have it! A short story about the Cableman put to music video.
Just a sidenote: at the end of the story I do include the You Tube video. In the first 30 seconds of the video there is the sound of crickets and some other noises. Just be patient. The music will begin after 30 seconds.
Have a great weekend!

The Slide Zone

The Cableman has had more than his share of strange experiences throughout his life. If you've come to know him in our series of short stories, then you certainly know all about it. And despite how strange they can get, these occurrences have been so common for the Cableman that he tends to forget most of them. Take for example that peculiar stranger that he met some years ago on a late night ride home from the airport. No, it wasn't a lady who he would end up going to bed with, which is a typical scenario for the Cableman. This was someone completely out of the ordinary who would catapult the Cableman into an unknown place.

As stated above, the occurrence took place some years ago after landing at the airport from a week-long job training seminar. The Cableman retrieved his luggage from the carousel, and then walked out to the taxi pickup area. Supposedly his boss arranged for the Cableman's transportation home. Sure enough, there was man standing out on the sidewalk with a large, handwritten sheet of paper that said, Cableman. Apparently this was the cabbie who would give him his ride home.

But what was this?

Much to the Cableman's surprise, it wasn't a taxi cab that he would be riding in. Rather it was a large, white limousine! Wasn't that nice of the boss to arrange for a stylish limo ride home from the airport? Maybe it would be complete with a couple bottles of beer from the cooler.

Then again, maybe the Cableman shouldn't have been so impressed, much less gotten his hopes up for a stylish, luxurious ride home. It would appear that the boss had taken advantage of some sort of share ride discount. Upon entering the backseat, there was an old man sitting there who briefly glanced over at the Cableman, and then resumed facing forward. What sort of cheapskate deal did the Cableman fall victim to?

One of the first things that the Cableman noticed was that the old man was wearing a torn coat. It was battered and shabby, looked to be made of the skin of some animal—perhaps suede or leather. And once the limousine had driven off from the pickup area of the airport, the Cableman glanced back over to the old man and noticed that his face was terribly worn. He had certainly experienced a considerable passage of time in the duration of his life.

Suddenly, the old man turned and faced the Cableman which revealed, for the first time, a pair of exceptionally clear eyes that for some reason suggested to the Cableman a certain level of awareness and superior wisdom.

"A river will always flow downhill." the old man suddenly said to the Cableman. "It's born out of a mass of water that becomes so great that it must move. Movement is always downhill for a river. A river will always start high up on a hill, or in the mountains. From there, it flows for a very long time—sometimes joining with other rivers—until finally reaching a lake or the ocean. This is where a river flows."

The Cableman was taken aback by the random piece of information suddenly given by the old man. And it was the first thing that the old man had said to the Cableman. Such a peculiar introduction.

"Interesting..." finally commented the Cableman. "I guess I never looked at it that way. Yes, you are right. Rivers always flow downhill and into a lake or ocean."

The old man smiled, nodded, and then resumed facing forward.

"I'm the Cableman." introduced the Cableman while extending his hand to shake.

But the old man said nothing in return. He simply kept his face forward while maintaining a stoned, blank expression.

The Cableman shrugged his shoulders, sat back in his seat and looked out the window of the limousine. Apparently the old man felt it was okay to dish out wisdom to people without extending common greetings and courtesy. He was, after all, an odd fellow. Maybe it was just some homeless guy who managed to get a free ride in a limousine for the evening.

Five minutes later, as the Cableman started to dose off, the old man suddenly announced, "Apple trees need honey bees to cross pollinate during the flowering season. This is crucial if the apple is to grow."

Startled, the Cableman turned to face him. Unsure of what to think, he simply agreed with the old man. "Yes, that's right. Bees are very important in growing fruits and vegetables."

Just like before; the old man smiled, nodded and resumed facing forward.

"Yeah, I just got back from a week long training seminar for my job." said the Cableman. "I have to admit that this sort of conversation is refreshing. It's nice not to have to hear about installing cable. That's what I do for living."

The old man said nothing in return.

"So where are you off to?" asked the Cableman. "Home, I assume."

The old man resumed his stoned, blank expression as if in some sort of trance. This went on for nearly a minute before he turned to face the Cableman to say, "There's an old stream that no one has ever heard of that has been dried up for many decades. Once upon a time, people would go there for its healing power. Some say that the gods have taken it away."

"Yeah?" asked the Cableman while beginning to conclude that the old man was crazy. "Is that where you are off to?—to find the magic stream that can heal people?"

"No..." answered the old man. "And you certainly are interested in where it is that I'm going. If you must know then I will tell you. I'm going to find a shooting star. It should be just around the bend up there. That's where they are."

With a somewhat amused look on his face, the Cableman gazed out the window and up the highway. "Oh, right... I know the bend you are talking about. It's sort of a fork in the road up there that—I think—leads to nothing but farm fields. I've never driven that way before. So you think there's going to be a shooting star?"

"Definitely!" firmly stated the old man.

Suddenly intrigued, the Cableman asked, "Can I come with you to see this shooting star? I'm sorry, but those are usually random occurrences that are almost impossible to predict. I want to see this shooting star of yours."

"Sure, I don't see why not." answered the old man. "I believe you are already going along for the ride. I think it's a quick detour we need to take before reaching your destination. If you want to get out of the limousine with me, then that's your choice."

"Hey driver!" called out the Cableman. "Are you listening to this? I want to get out wherever this guy is going to see his shooting star. You wouldn't mind waiting for a few minutes before taking me, would you?"

"Sure, I can wait." reassured the driver. "But are you sure you want to do that?—agree to finding this shooting star?"

"What do I've got to lose?" challenged the Cableman. "If this man says he's going to find a shooting star, I'm in with him."

The driver shrugged his shoulders, "Okay..."

The Cableman shouldn't have agreed to such a thing. For that was the very moment that marked the beginning of a most bizarre incident of non-ordinary reality. Just as the limousine turned onto the fork in the highway that leads to the bend and open farm field, the Cableman started to feel the strange sensation of gliding. Although triggering an unpleasant moment of apprehension, the Cableman attributed the unexplained gliding to some residual motion sickness brought on by riding the plane for some hours before landing.

Then the Cableman's ears suddenly plugged up. He could no longer hear anything; not the sound of air rushing against the side of the limousine or the sound of the engine. Instinctively, he wedged his pinky finger in one of the ear canals in an effort to dislodge some wax that might have gotten displaced from the altitude change during the plane ride. This didn't help anything.

"I can't hear!" shouted the Cableman in a panic. It was a like a bad dream in which he tried to talk but made no sound.

Suddenly, the Cableman found himself rising high above the ground with the sensation of a great wind rushing from every direction. Somehow the old man was before him in this strange, new reality. And despite the fact that the Cableman was deaf, he could hear the voice of the old man. He announced with a smile that lit across his face, "You will know this place."

Upon this suggestion, the Cableman looked down to some thousand feet below to where the farm fields were. There was something there that the Cableman knew. But he wasn't sure of what it was. He was actually more concerned with what has happening in that moment. I mean it's not every day one takes a limousine ride around a bend and is suddenly transported into new reality of gliding a thousand feet in the air with a stranger.

And then the Cableman began to fall. Whatever power that had raised him and the old man some thousand feet in the air had suddenly released them so that they began to fall and spiral back to the Earth.

"Help me! Please!" the Cableman screamed.

Almost immediately he heard music... or at least he initially perceived it as music. No, actually it was the sound of an ambulance siren. While pulling out of unconsciousness, the Cableman perceived the siren as music. He was now riding in the back of an ambulance.

"Sir, are you awake now?" probed the paramedic.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Much better!" answered the Cableman. "What happened?"

"Well, according to your limo driver, you were picked from the airport and started complaining about a gliding sensation. Then you passed out. It looks like you had an extreme episode of motion sickness accompanied by long term jet lag. Slipping through all those times zones, or slide zones as some people call them..."

"So I stepped into a slide zone?" inquired the Cableman. "The old man had me going through a time zone?"

"Yeah, something like that Sir." answered the paramedic.

***

Somehow, word of this incident had been picked up by the progressive English rock band, The Moody Blues. Such a strange occurrence to have happened to someone; they actually made a song about it. Yes, 'steppin in a slide zone' is all about that fateful night that the Cableman would rather forget.

Now I hear you, the reader, challenging this notion. "Wait a minute!" you might argue. "The Moody Blues made that song in 1978! The Cableman was just a wee lad in those days!"

Ah, but you see; the old man in this story made the Cableman step through a time zone which triggered a brief moment of time travel. This traversing of time manifested itself so that people way in the past actually heard about the Cableman’s experience.

If you've never heard the song, do give it a listen in this You Tube video. I think the Cableman's story would be better suiting for the music video, don't you? And for your convenience, the lyrics of 'steppin in a slide zone' have been printed below the video.

Steppin' In A Slide Zone by The Moody Blues

I took a ride in a limousine

I took a road I'd never been

I met a stranger by the way

His coat was torn but his eyes were clear

Standing in a slide zone

I could be steppin' in a slide zone

He told me where a river flows

He showed me how the apple grows

He told me of a magic stream

His face was worn but his eyes were clear

Standing in a slide zone

I could be steppin' in a slide zone

Standing in a slide zone

I could be steppin' through a time zone

He went to find a shooting star

Around the bend that's where they are

I went along just for the ride

Suddenly I began to glide

Standing in a slide zone

I could be steppin' through a time zone

The air raced by there was no sound

We drifted high above the ground

And then said you know this place

And then a smile lit up his face

Standing in a slide zone

I could be steppin' in a slide zone

Standing in a slide zone

I could be steppin' through a time zone

I turned my head and looked below

And there was something there I know

Suddenly I began to fall

I looked around and tried to call

Standing in a slide zone

He had me steppin' in a time zone

Standing in a slide zone

Falling through a time zone

Help me please I thought I said

Then something happened in my head

Music came from all around

And I knew what I had found

Standing in a slide zone

Falling through a time zone

Steppin' in a slide zone

He had me falling through a time zone

The Creepy Doll Closet

Hello All:
I have for you some vintage Barbie commercials to enjoy that provide a nice early stage evolution of the popular toy that girls have played with through the ages. Scroll down and check out the original Barbie commercial, the introduction to her friend Midge, and then the exciting release of the Twist and Turn Barbie. I believe the girl in the third commercial is the young Marcia Brady (Maureen McCormic) from the Brady Bunch.
Bud do you know what's so sad about the third commercial? Girls are encouraged to bring their old and unwanted Barbies in for the new "Twist and Turn" Barbie. Don't you feel sorry for the old ones?

What girl hasn't played with dolls? Oh, but there are people who have a phobia of dolls. If your child is afraid of dolls, here is a nice story to make him or her feel better.

The Creepy Doll Closet

Located on an intermediate level that separates the main floor of an old Victorian two story home from the second floor is an area that has been referred to as "then den", "the office", or the "rec room". Names for this intermediate level have been designated by the various families who have lived in that old Victorian two story throughout the many decades. You see; families move in and then move out some years later. And they do so out of their own will, not because of what some might immediate conclude to be a haunting. Old Victorian homes, after all, that have stood a century or more must surely be haunted, right?

Well this doesn't hold true for all historic homes—especially this one.

Oh, but there is one peculiar thing about this home to mention. It's on that intermediate level that we were just discussing in the above paragraph. There's a closet in the corner that is nearest the radiator that might have been intended to be used as storage. But over a hundred years ago it was considered ideal to be a small play area for a young girl who lived there. Outlined with a couple rows of wooden shelves, it was home to her prized collection of dolls that sat on them. A wool carpet had been fitted and laid on the floor so that the young girl could have a nice place to sit and play with her dolls. To this very day her collection remains in this closet. It's unclear as to why the original family had left the dolls there upon moving out. Perhaps they felt that the next family might have a young girl who would enjoy playing with them. Isn't that nice?

Strange you might comment?

Well it just so happens that the next family who moved in did have a young girl who was delighted to discover the closet full of dolls. She added her own collection of dolls that were received on birthdays, Christmas, or when Father would travel on business and bring back a doll as a gift. But eventually this young girl was too old to play with dolls, and the closet door remained shut for a number of years until her daughter was introduced to the dolls. And just like before, this new girl added her own collection to the doll closet and played with them in there. These were the happiest times for the dolls; to have a human play with them. Unfortunately, it was followed by some years or a few decades of being closed up in the dark until someone new would discover them.

And so this went on for many, many decades—over a century, actually. The collection of dolls accumulated and was passed down from child to child whether it be daughter, granddaughter, or a new girl who moved in. By the time that closet reached the modern age, it included newer Barbies, Brats and the likes.

Today there is a young girl who lives in that old Victorian two story home named Shelly. But unlike the girls who lived there before her, she wants nothing to do with the dolls. For her, the doll closet is used for punishment. You see, Shelly doesn't like the dolls in that closet. They're old, creepy, and give her an eerie feeling. Mother and Father usually find some way to integrate the creepy doll closet into dished out punishment. And with as much of a dreadful phobia that Shelly has of dolls, one would think that she would be on her best behavior.

Shelly tries her best to avoid punishment and is sure not to do anything wrong at home. But if she didn't know any better, the dolls can come to life and do all sorts of mischief just to frame her and get Mother and Father to punish her. And when Mother and Father punish Shelly...

Uh oh! It's about to happen again!

"Shelly!" Father yells up the stairs to his daughter. "Shelly, come down here!"

Shelly is in her bedroom and practicing her violin for an upcoming concert. And with the tone of her father's voice, she immediately gets nervous. What could it possibly be now?

"I'm coming!" yells Shelly as she scampers out of her bedroom, through the hallway and down the stairs. She passes the intermediate level; the office as Mother and Father have named it which contains a desk, and some file cabinets. And don't forget the creepy doll closet next to the radiator!

Shelly reaches the main level.

Father has a stern look on his face. "Now I'm only going to ask you this once, and I want an honest answer."

Shelly grows all the more worried. What did those blasted dolls do this time?

"Come in here!" orders Mother.

Shelly carefully enters the kitchen and sees Mother standing over a collection of items on the linoleum floor which had apparently fallen out of her purse.

"Do you know anything about this?" asks Mother.

"No!" answers Shelly.

"Well my purse was up on the counter a few minutes ago." explains Mother. "It was knocked on the floor, and my stuff came out of it."

"And don't forget the forty dollars!" reminds Father.

"I was getting to that!" snaps Mother. "Where is the money? You took money from my purse!"

"No I didn't!" defends Shelly. "I wouldn't do something like that! Why would I need money?"

"Bring it back right now!" demands Mother.

"Mom, I didn't take your money!" cries Shelly. "And I wasn't going through your purse! Why won't you believe me?"

"Well who would knock my purse over?" asks Mother.

"Yeah..." chimes in Father. "Do you think it was one of the dolls from the creepy doll closet?"

"Daddy, stop it!" snaps Shelly. "You know I don't like those dolls!"

For over five minutes, Mother continues to demand that Shelly return her money. In that time, poor Shelly is accused of being a little thief who would one day go to jail. Mother is terribly disappointed in her daughter for not only stealing but repeatedly lying. Unsure of what to do for the moment, Mother sends her daughter back upstairs to her room.

"She'll fess up eventually." promises Father with a mischievous smile on his face. He says this while Shelly storms her way over to the stairs.

"Daddy, what did you?" demands Shelly.

"You'll find out..." answers Father in a spooky, mysterious voice.

Outraged, Shelly stamps up the stairs. Apparently, Father sneaked away while Mother was scolding her, and did something that involved the dolls. Maybe he put her schoolbag in the creepy doll closet. Shelly would have to go in there to retrieve it if she wanted to do her homework. Or maybe he took a dozen or so dolls and scattered them on her bed. Shelly would be expected to put them away which, of course, would involve touching the old, creepy dolls while spending time in their musty closet. Oh, what sort of horrible thing did Father do this time?

Shelly enters her bedroom and doesn't initially see anything out of the ordinary. But then she discovers that the violin is missing.

"Daddy! Where is my violin!" shouts Shelly down the stairs.

"I'm pretty sure you know where it's at." answers Father in his spooky, mysterious tone of voice.

Mother chimes in, "And if you want to be ready for your concert, you better make sure you keep practicing."

Reluctantly, Shelly descends the staircase to the intermediate level. Cautiously she approaches the door to the creepy doll closet and opens it. She is immediately greeted by the musty old smell which would remind anyone of antique dolls. As for light, it is necessary to walk inside to the center and pull the chain so that the light bulb illuminates. You see; the creepy doll closet is about the size of a large walk-in closet. I suppose in olden times it could have been used as a small bedroom for, perhaps, a newborn. Instead, it was used as a play area so that girls could spend time with their dolls. How anyone would want to spend time in that closet and actually touch those dolls is beyond Shelly's comprehension. People must have been very strange way back then.

As Shelly scopes out the area for her violin, the dolls all stare back at her from the shelves and the floor where they sit against the walls. Who has her violin? Father brought it in here a few minutes ago and hid it underneath a group of dolls. Within a few seconds, Shelly sees her violin case being used as seat for about a dozen of dolls.

Shelly would never touch those hideous dolls! She uses her foot, and kicks them out of the way so that she can finally reach the violin. While lifting it off the floor, Shelly hears the most dreadful sound; the closet door slamming shut!

Shelly lets out bloodcurdling screams while dashing over to the door with violin case in hand. But the violin was the least of her worries. You see; the doorknob would not turn. Mother or Father was on the other side and gripped the knob so that Shelly could not get out.

"Daddy! Let me out!" screams Shelly while pounding and desperately pulling at the doorknob. "Please let me out!"

"The money..." answers Mother. "As soon as you tell us where the money is, we'll let you out.”

"I didn't steal your money!" cries Shelly. "You have to let me out of here! Please let me out!"

"Not until you tell us where you hid the money." reminds Father in his spooky, mysterious voice.

Just then, Shelly sees something out of the corner of her eye. It looks like one of the dolls jumping off the shelf and onto the floor. Startled and still crying, she looks over. And there on the floor is an old doll with a pair of twenty dollar bills lying nearby. It's just as Shelly suspects; the dolls had been in Mother's purse and took her money so that Shelly would be blamed.

"The money is in here!" shouts Shelly. "Please let me out!"

With that, the door to the closet is partly opened. Father peaks his head in. "Where is it?” he asks.

"Shelly points over to the doll with the money lying nearby."

"Oh..." exclaims Father in his spooky, mysterious voice. "So one of the dolls went through your mother's purse and took the money. Then she brought it back in here to the creepy doll closet."

Mother slips into the closet and snatches up her money. "We're not done in here!" she declares. "You're not getting off Scott-free after taking my money. As punishment, you can stay in here for the next half hour and practice your violin with the door shut."

"Mommy, no!"cries Shelly. "I didn't take your money!"

"I'll tag another half hour onto that for lying." warns Mother.

Defeated, all Shelly could do was cry. She hates those stupid dolls. Even more, she hates the way Mother and Father never believe her. She cries all the more once Mother exits the closet and closes the door behind her.

"Stop your crying!" yells Mother. "And start practicing your violin!"

Shelly kneels down and opens her violin case. Then she screams upon discovering that Father had placed one of the dolls in there before hiding it.

"What's wrong?" asks Father through the door with his spooky, mysterious voice. "Was there a creepy doll in your violin case?"

Shelly ignores him. Instead of answering, she smacks the doll out of the case and picks up her violin with bow. Then she starts playing.

Now in that half hour, something strange happens in the closet. No, the dolls don't come to life and torment Shelly. Rather, they remain motionless with eyes fixed on her, seemingly admiring Shelly's ability to play such beautiful music on the violin. They seem to really like Shelly; seem to wish that she would be their friend and play with them.

***

Later that night, Shelly sleeps soundly in bed. But she is startled out of her sleep about a minute to midnight from the sound of an eerie music box that plays on her bedroom floor. Being that Shelly plays the violin, she is familiar with classical pieces and recognized the song coming from the music box. It is Nocturne—opus nine, number two from Chopin. Very frightened, but at the same time curious, Shelly carefully looks down towards the floor that receives just enough illumination from a nearby nightlight. And there in the middle of the room is one of the creepy, old dolls sitting next to a music box. Shelly recognizes this box as being the one that sits on one of the shelves in the creepy doll closet.

The doll misses the days of many decades ago of when a little girl used to dress her up like a ballerina, and help her dance to the music that came from the music box. Couldn't Shelly do the same with her now? She is, after all, a talented musician and surely has an appreciation for the fine arts.

But Shelly screams in horror at the sight, and runs out of the bedroom.

"What's wrong?" asks Father. "Did one of the creepy dolls come out of the closet to play with you?"

To be continued…?

Ides of March

Hello All:
Happy Ides of March! Today observes the tragic (or joyful) day when Julius Caesar was assassinated in Rome. But the Ides of March wasn't always such a dreaded day to beware of.
Ides of March

The ancient Roman's had a peculiar way of observing the days of the months. Due to the cycle of the moon, there were three significant times of the month: the Kalends (the first of the month). the Nones (somewhere between the 5th through 7th), and the Ides (somewhere between the 13th through the 15th). It's important to understand that where-as our modern-day calendar counts the days as 1-31, the ancient Roman calendar started a month (after the Kalends) with how many days were remaining until the Ides; afterwards, how many days remaining until the Nones. When scheduling an event for the month, people would consider these three important phases of Kalends, Nones and Ides. If an appointment were to be made--say--on the Ides of May, people would understand that there were x-amount of days remaining for that appointment.
As for poor Julius Caesar, his days remaining were certainly numbered and counted in March. I suppose those who plotted his assassination counted down the days until the Ides.
So beware the Ides of March!