Soap In Your Eyes

Hello All:
Back to work/school after what was hopefully a nice weekend for you; we start Monday with a peculiar short story.

Soap In Your Eyes
Ask any kid what his or her favorite day of the week is, and he or she will surely answer Saturday.
Why Saturday? Why not Friday, Sunday, or Monday?
Well, Saturday is that one and only day of the week which is 100 percent isolated from the school week. Monday sucks for the obvious reason that an entire week of school is ahead. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday aren't much better; only closer to Saturday. Friday does bring some sense of hope that the final bell for the day will allow leaving school for the next couple of days. But Friday does include that unpleasant thing of having to be in school. And then there is Saturday, the one day in which a kid can sleep in and then enjoy the day without the bother of having to go to school. He or she can even put off doing homework. As for Sunday, it's okay. The problem with this day is the fact that a kid is occasionally reminded of having to go back to school on Monday.
For Eric it was a Saturday morning, just a bit past seven o'clock. He rolled over and took notice of the early morning sun shining through his window. But he was in no hurry to get out of bed. Eric felt like he could lay there and doze off for about another hour or so for some dreaming. It was his much earned right as a kid to do this, being that the stupid alarm would wake him up on Monday through Friday.
Eric closed his eyes, and lay there while listening to the outside sounds of trees rustling in the gentle, early morning wind. A few blocks away, someone was mowing their lawn--nothing terribly noisy to distract Eric from falling back to sleep.
But then there were the sounds of soft, sneaky footsteps entering the bedroom, followed by the unavoidable creek on the floor. Yes, someone was in Eric's bedroom; probably his jerk older brother, Martin.
Perhaps if Eric simply lay there and pretend to be sound asleep, his brother would go away.
The footsteps came closer and closer until a presence could be felt very close to the bed. Eric could sense that whoever was near did their best to keep from laughing. And then there was the peculiar scent of popcorn and cotton candy as-if whoever it was had been at a circus or carnival. What was Martin doing? Did he go to a carnival on Friday night?
Thumbs were smashed into Eric's closed eyes, with some sort of lotion or gel rubbed in.
"Quit it! You jerk!" shouted Eric. He immediately opened his eyes.
But it wasn't Eric's older brother Martin who stood over the bed. Rather, it was an obnoxious clown with painted face and large, red rose. It wore a ridiculous outfit of loud colors. "Smile! There's soap in your eyes!" called out the clown.
And that's the last thing poor Eric remembered seeing that morning. He had to close his from the painful sting brought on by the soap running in. Stupid clown! And if that weren't enough, Eric had to fight the clown off, blind, as he continued rubbing soap all over his face.

The End! 

Back to School

Hello All:

When I was a kid on summer break I used to hate it when I’d see the first sign of school about to resume. This usually came as an ad in the newspaper with the heading, “Back to School!” Or maybe I’d be at the store with my mother where we’d pass an aisle that had a large sign hanging from the ceiling that read, “Back to School!” A glance down the aisle revealed those God-awful school supplies that the teacher would expect us to use in the upcoming school year.

Well, it’s August which means summer vacation will end in a few weeks for all the kids. As a parent, I now like to tease my youngest daughter by pointing out these unpleasant back-to-school reminders. I might chime the words, “Back to School!” while holding up a Walmart ad with a “Back to School” sale.

***

Hopefully your kids won’t have a teacher like the main character in today’s featured writing. Have a great weekend. Enjoy it while it lasts… before the kids go back to school!

Back to School

There are two recesses at Valley Grammar School. Well, actually in the kids' world, there are three if you count arriving at school for the day and playing on the playground before class begins. Then the kids must endure a couple hours of sitting in their desks and learning lessons from the teacher who stands at the chalkboard. At ten o'clock they are permitted to eat a small snack at their desks in an allotted time frame of five minutes before morning recess begins. Then the kids rush out for ten minutes for some much needed play.

It was a Tuesday morning around quarter to eleven, about a half hour after recess. Every morning at this time, Mrs. Lynch's first grade class did an exercise of reading a short story from the reading text book. Each student was to take a turn reading out loud—maybe a few sentences or so from the book—until the story was complete.

"Come-on Brian, pronounce the word!" demanded Mrs. Lynch. She was growing impatient with students like him. He was slow with poor reading skills.

"S... S... So... W... W... W... H...O" Bryan struggled through every word.

"Bryan, is that all you can do?" complained Mrs. Lynch. "You can't even read a simple phrase, 'so who...?'" Then she mocked poor Bryan in such a way to make him appear to be a stupid retard. "This is you! S... S... O.... Uh... Hu... S." She was sure to make a dopey look on her face. "I mean what's so hard about it?"

Mrs. Lynch nosily exhaled and ordered little Susan to continue.

"so who took the cookie from the cookie jar?" Susan read. Although read perfectly, little Susan was shy and bashful. She was terribly soft-spoken and it was difficult to hear her.

Mrs. Lynch proceeded to mock Susan. "You sound like a little mouse on its dying breath." Then she whispered softly like little Susan, "so who took the cookie from the cookie jar?" While doing so, she made a sad face which clearly exhibited the way Susan read.

The entire classroom laughed.

Heather, perhaps the smartest kid in class and seemingly the teacher's pet chimed in, "I like it when you imitate people. It keeps everyone laughing."

"Oh really?" challenged Mrs. Lynch. "Here let me impersonate you." Mrs. Lynch proceeded to skip across the front of the room over to the teacher's desk. "Good morning Mrs. Lynch." She used an exaggerated voice in a somewhat cruel tone which was aimed to mock Heather. "You have a nice dress today. You look nice. Can I be your special student... your teacher’s pet?"

All the kids in the class laughed, including Heather who clearly didn't have a problem with laughing at herself.

"You like that, huh Heather?" asked Mrs. Lynch.

Heather nodded in affirmation as her laughter calmed down.

"Well what about me?" encouraged Mrs. Lynch. "Doesn't anyone want to impersonate me?"

Heather immediately offered, "I will!" She stood up from her desk and scurried over to the blackboard where she picked up a piece of chalk. "Okay boys and girls, we need to learn how to pronounce letters correctly." Heather drew the letter R on the blackboard.

Mrs. Lynch stood some distance away and observed in silence.

"And so boys and girls, what is this letter?" asked Heather who was acting out Mrs. Lynch.

"R!" answered the entire class.

"Good!" congratulated Heather who, for some reason, was able to imitate Mrs. Lynch's voice quite well. "And how do you pronounce it?"

"RRRRRR!" answered the class. This was certainly a fun game. Mrs. Lynch wasn't such a bad teacher after all.

Heather was able to impersonate Mrs. Lynch so well that she even stretched her neck out while partly bowing to correct the students. "URRRRRRRRRR!" she answered in correction.

All the kids in the classroom laughed. Heather sounded just like Mrs. Lynch. She even exhibited the same gestures and body motion while pretending to teach the class.

But unlike the kids in the class, Mrs. Lynch was not laughing. She grew all the more silently outraged until finally speaking, "Wow, Heather! That's good! How did you learn how to do that?"

Heather smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"It looks like you've had a lot practice." pointed Mrs. Lynch. "Is this what you do during recess? You go out to the playground and mock me with all of your friends?"

The smile on Heather's face immediately went away. Now she stood at the front of the class while trying to defend herself. "But Mrs. Lynch, I was only playing. You told me to do that. I thought we were playing a fun game."

"After all that I've done for you!" shouted Mrs. Lynch. "You ungrateful, little brat!"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Lynch!" apologized Heather. "Please don't be mad."

"You really hurt my feelings by doing all of that!" explained Mrs. Lynch. "And you know what? I don't think I want you in my class anymore."

"Mrs. Lynch, no!" Heather pleaded.

"That's right! You can get out of my class and move next door to Mrs. White's class. Gather up all of your books, pencils, crayons, glue, paper—everything—from your desk."

Heather's shoulders sunk. Reluctantly, she approached her desk and opened the top.

"Take it all out!" ordered Mrs. Lynch.

In two minutes, Heather gathered everything up from her desk and stacked all of her books on top of one another. Then she placed all the supplies on top.

"Now pick all of that up and carry it over to the corner near the door." ordered Mrs. Lynch. "You can stand there and wait. I just need to talk to Mrs. White so she can find you a desk."

It was quite a lot of weight for child in first grade to carry. Heather struggled to maintain her balance while not allowing anything to fall. When finally making it to the door, Heather was ordered to turn around and face the class.

"So you don't like me, huh?" asked Mrs. Lynch.

"That's not true." sadly answered Heather.

But Mrs. Lynch wasn't buying it. "So tell me when you started to hate me so much?"

"But I don't hate you Mrs. Lynch." insisted Heather.

"Is it my dress? Don't you like my dress? Maybe you don't like my hairstyle? Or maybe my teeth aren't white enough for you?"

"You look fine." whispered Heather. Then she asked, "Mrs. Lynch?"

"What????" sharply asked Mrs. Lynch. "What do you want?????"

"Could I put my books down? These are getting really heavy and I'm getting tired."

"What, are you some kind of weakling?" charged Mrs. Lynch. "You can't hold up books for a couple of minutes. You're pathetic, Heather.—you know that? I could stand there for an hour and hold those books without any problem. So I guess I'm better than you. And you're going to make fun of me?"

By now, Heather's arms were shaking. She aimed her face to the ceiling in some effort to summon the strength to keep holding the stack of books and supplies. Remember, this was a child in first grade and she was given a terribly difficult task... actually a cruel punishment to endure.

"You disgust me!" declared Mrs. Lynch. "I'm going next door to talk to Mrs. White so I can get you out of here.

As Mrs. Lynch left the room, poor Heather began to cry. Despite how cruel her teacher was, Heather was actually fond of Mrs. Lynch. And there was just something about being evicted from her class in the middle of the year that didn't sit right with her. Aside from that, the kids in Mrs. White's class were weird. They were the losers who could never do anything right.

As always, the kids in Mrs. Lynch's class began to chatter once the teacher left the room. Would this time be real? There were a few occasions of when Mrs. Lynch became disappointed with a student and threatened to send him or her next door. But it never happened. Well this time Mrs. Lynch looked really angry. Maybe this time it would actually happen.

A minute later, Mrs. Lynch returned and sighed. "Well, Heather, I guess put your books and supplies back in your desk. Mrs. White doesn't have an empty desk for you to sit at.

Relieved, Heather walked back to her desk and nearly dropped everything onto the seat.

While Heather waited for the blood to rush back to her hands, Mrs. Lynch added a final remark, "Remember, Heather: the only reason why you are not next door is because Mrs. White doesn't have a desk. I'm really serious when I say that I don't want you in my class anymore. From now on, things are going to be different between you and me. Understand?"

"Yes..." sadly answered Heather.

And that's what happens when someone mocks Mrs. Lynch, the first grade teacher at Valley Grammar School.

The End!

Killing Yourself to Live

Hello All:

I’ve mentioned before of how much I love the premium subscription to Spotifiy. Any time a song is in my head, I can look for it on Spotify and give a listen. Last night I was cleaning the kitchen and suddenly had an urge to listen to the song, “killing yourself to live” by English rock band, Black Sabbath. It just popped into my head and I had to give a listen.

Halfway through the song, I realized that it is truly a masterpiece. The music is colorful, vibrant and alive. The message from the lyrics is important, reminding us that sometimes in life we kill ourselves trying to fulfill our expectations. I’m not sure I agree with another message in the song that we should “smoke it and get high”. But I suppose that’s how the songwriter attempted to relay that we should relax and not worry about anything.

Be sure to give the song a listen if you never heard it. I provide the You Tube video, below. Then read today’s new short story, a new tale out of the Cableman series.

Killing Yourself to Live

Sometimes being the Cableman isn't easy, especially on those days when he is given an impossible route of installs to complete. It seems the boss doesn't understand how long it takes to complete installs as well as answer service calls. There's only so much that a cable man can do in one day.  And how the Cableman hates it when the boss gives him that “your days are numbered around here” sort of look when walking past the office after 5:00.

Days like this require a special sort of after-hours therapy which involves going home after his workout and cracking open a couple of beers while playing one of his favorite Black Sabbath CDs, Volume 4. The album is ideal for drowning one's sorrows out in rock and roll. The same can be said of many songs by Black Sabbath or simply Ozzy Osbourne.

The Cableman listened to most of the songs on the album: "wheels of confusion", "tomorrow's dream", "supernaut"... he skipped the mellow songs like "changes" and "Laguna sunrise". While listening, he reflected on his crappy day and let the bluesy sound of Black Sabbath drown all of his sorrows away. He even thought about all of his women problems: Tina who broke up with him because of her parents, Melissa who left him for another man, and Jenny Robin who really messed with his mind. He buried it all in rock and roll, one of the best medicines for a troubled mind.

Before ending his session, the Cableman went back to the first song of the album, "wheels of confusion" and played it one more time just to make sure he heard the important message. Ozzy stated at the conclusion of the song,

“So I found that life is just a game.

But you know there's never been a winner.

Try your hardest just to be a loser.

The world will still be turning when you've gone...

Yeah, when you've gone."

"Amen to that!" exclaimed the Cableman. "Why try so hard at everything?" And that was the end of the Cableman's session of drowning his sorrows in rock and roll music. He felt one hundred percent better, and forgot everything. By then he was ready for dinner, and went to the refrigerator for a nice juicy steak to put on the grill.

***

Across town, however was a different story. Unemployed twenty-eight-year-old Larry who lived with his grandmother spoke on the telephone with his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend.

"I mean you're just not going anywhere in life." explained Larry's girlfriend, Michelle. "You don't have a job and you have no inhibitions.”

"But I love you." reminded Larry.

"That's great." answered Michelle. "But you put too much of a drain on my life. I don't want to sound mean when saying this, but you're kind of a loser. I really hoped you could at least get a job and get yourself back on your feet."

"Michelle, I've been through so much!" yelled Larry.

In the family room, Grandma listened to the one side of the conversation. She knew what this phone call was about, and shook her head in sadness. If only Larry could get his life together.

"I struggle every day to finally pull out of this." continued Larry. "You're the only thing left in this world that gives me hope."

"I understand that." answered Michelle. "But for now, I'm afraid I'm going to have to break up with you."

"No!" yelled Larry. "Please don't! Michelle, if you break up with me, I'm going to kill myself!"

"See what I mean!" pointed Michelle. "See how you bring me down? I can't take this sort of thing anymore." With that, she hung up the phone.

Larry slammed the phone down, stormed off into his bedroom and closed the door. Immediately he rummaged his collection of old records that were kept in the record case of the retro 1970s stereo. The old appliance was picked up at a garage sale when he was still in high school.

It was the album Sabbath Bloody Sabbath which caught Larry's attention, probably because he remembered the opening song, "killing yourself to live". Larry loaded the record and dropped the needle on the first track. Immediately the opening riff from the song played.

Now it should be mentioned that the opening song to Sabbath Bloody Sabbath is more of a motivational piece. It aims to remind people that we try so hard in life to gain wealth and success, only to end up killing ourselves in the process. Think of the health issues that people get after so many decades of chasing the horizon of material happiness. They die early, hence the meaning of the message, "killing yourself to live". The song was not intended to encourage people to commit suicide.

Larry, however, had a different interpretation. He reached up to the top shelf of his bedroom closet for a shotgun. It was already loaded in case ever needed. "So she wants to break up with me? Well I guess I have nothing left."

Through the speakers, Ozzy tried to reason with Larry:

"Just take a look around you what do you see

Pain, suffering, and misery

It's not the way that the world was meant

It's a pity you don't understand

Killing yourself to live...

Killing yourself to live..."

Larry turned the volume of the 1970s stereo up, and sat on the ground against the speaker. He just sat there for a while with the shotgun in hand. And whenever needed, Larry would reach over and pick up the needle to play the song over again. Eventually, he hoped, the song would give him the necessary motivation to finally pull the trigger.

By 11:30 in the evening, Larry had yet to commit suicide. But the song "killing yourself to live" continued to play over and over again.

Grandma really wanted to go to bed for the night, and couldn't sleep with all that racket coming from Larry's bedroom. She had to be up early the following morning to have someone from the cable company come over and look at her TV picture. "Larry!" she called out. "Larry, turn that noise down! It's time for bed!" She knocked and pounded; even tried to open the door herself, but it was locked.

Inside, Larry sat on the floor with the barrel of the shotgun pointed in his mouth. It would only be a matter of time before he finally pulled the trigger.

Frustrated, Grandma groaned and head off to bed for the evening. She would put the pillows over her head and try to drown out the noise from Larry's bedroom. It wasn't until 3:30 AM that she managed to fall asleep.

***

By 7:30 the following morning, Grandma woke up and could hear that the noise continued from Larry's bedroom. By now, she was able to recognize a pattern and realize that he was playing the same song over and over again.

"What in the world is wrong with him?" asked Grandma out loud. “Did he lose his mind?" She stormed down the hallway and over to Larry's bedroom door where she pounded it with her fists. "Larry!" she yelled. "Come on, now! That's enough! What happened? Did your girlfriend break up with you? That's okay, life has to go on."

The guitars screamed in answer. Larry wasn't ready to come out.

"Come-on Larry!" yelled Grandma. "I have the cable company coming in a half an hour. You're not going to make all that racket while they're here, are you?"

There was still no answer from Larry. All poor Grandma could do was change into a fresh pair of clothes, put her dentures in and wait by the door for the cable company to arrive.

By 8:15 AM, a cable van pulled up near the house and parked by curb. It was the Cableman who exited. Grandma watched as he put a safety cone out in the street and then clicked his way up the driveway in his steel-toed work boots. He was actually a handsome man. Too bad Larry couldn't be more like him.

"Well hello!" shouted Grandma upon opening the screen door.

"Hi, I'm here to answer a call for poor picture quality?" shouted the Cableman in return.

As the Cableman stood in the foyer, Grandma apologized, "I'm so sorry for all that racket. My grandson just broke up with his girlfriend, and he's been playing that all night. It's the same song over and over again. I can't get him to come out.

The Cableman immediately recognized the song. "Well that's 'killing yourself to live' by Black Sabbath."

"You mean to tell me you know that song?" asked Grandma so surprised.

"Yes I do." affirmed the Cableman. "And he's been playing it all night long?"

"Yes." answered Grandma. "I tried to go in his room, but the door is locked.”

The Cableman continued to probe, "And you say your grandson broke up with his girlfriend?"

"Yesterday afternoon." informed Grandma.

"Well, Ma'am, I don't like the sound of that." declared the Cableman. "Would you like me to go in there and check on him?"

"Oh, please do!" encouraged Grandma.

The Cableman walked over to Larry's bedroom door and knocked. "Hello??? This is the cable company!" He tried to turn the knob; but just as Grandma mentioned, the door was locked.

Grandma was standing nearby. Because of this the Cableman warned, "Ma'am, you might want to look away. This might not be pretty."

Once Grandma walked into the other room, the Cableman executed a powerful sidekick to the bedroom door which tore the frame as the door swung open.

There on the floor sat emotionally distraught Larry against the speaker of the stereo with the barrel of the shotgun pointed in his mouth. His body was shaking tremendously. The trigger of the shotgun was about halfway pulled.

"Hey, man!" shouted the Cableman while rushing in. "What are you doing?"

The lyrics from Ozzy screamed through the speakers,

“I'm telling you

Believe in me

Nobody else will tell you”

The Cableman kicked the butt-end of the shot gun to the side which caused the trigger to finally pull. The barrel exploded and out projected a massive bullet which blasted a hole in the bedroom wall.

Larry's head and face were still intact. The bullet missed him. It was a close call, indeed!

Immediately, the Cableman turned the volume down—relief for Grandma. "Are you stupid or something?" nagged the Cableman. "What's wrong with you?"

Larry just sat on the floor and continued to shake.

"Man, you're all messed up. You need help." He called out to Grandma in the other room, "Ma'am, your grandson is okay. But you might want to call the paramedics."

While waiting for rescue to arrive, the Cableman thought he would use the opportunity to talk some sense into Larry. "Look, I understand that you're girlfriend broke up with you. But this isn't the way to handle it. Suicide is never the answer. Did you know that someone once did the very thing that you attempted? He played "killing yourself to live" by Black Sabbath—over and over again—after his girlfriend broke up with him. After some hours he pulled the trigger of the shotgun; but chickened out at the last second, and managed to escape any serious damage from the bullet. But he now walks through life with a shotgun hole in his face. Is that how you want to end up?

Larry finally spoke up, "That's how I got the idea."

The End!

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. 

***

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