Under The Tall Oaks pt.2

By mid-May there are lilacs blooming. Dragonflies litter the sky, and the air smells the same way that I imagine the Garden of Eden did – like growing plants and a type of excitement that has distinctly Holy notes to it. As if God had just, moments ago, walked through.

Almost every night it rains hard, washing away all traces of yesterday. In the early mornings the sidewalks are still dark and damp and there are worms all over parking lots. They travel back home, slowly, before the heat of the day comes around to dry everything up.

The diner up town is busy with the sound of knives and forks and coffee cups being set on well-worn tabletops. By mid-morning, an arts fair has set been set up in the town’s community center. All the shops leave their doors propped open with overflowing flowerpots, welcoming in shoppers and summertime itself.

But that’s all in town. At Woodland Cemetery it’s quiet, the frogs sing ballads to Ann as she makes flower crowns out of dandelions and deer cross the road and hop the rusty fence to the woods beyond. She is blissfully unaware of the bustle of town; she knows only the tall grass and the backroads that cross in front of the cemetery.

***

The last time we spoke I told you Jamie was the type that inspired feelings of love – I believe this is because of the silent steady way he had about him. I don’t want to lead you to believe that Jamie inspired a frenzy of burning passion. It was that one could grow so easily, painfully fond of him- almost without knowing it. A turning on of a longing within someone, deep within someone- a calling of sorts. Something I have no name for; that’s what Jamie afflicted.

Those days, the early days of loving Jamie, were dog eared in Ann’s mind. She’d return to them often, flipping through them over and over like well-loved pages in a favorite book. Lying in the grass, cloud watching, she would listen to the music he played as he worked. There was a hypnotic quality about that time. It created a burning in her heart.

It’s unknown the last time Ann had liked someone in the romantic sense of the word. The period of her existence that involved relationships and boys was so long ago, that the feelings that were developing in her heart and lungs out there on Woodland Road seemed to Ann to be entirely new.

Standing still, toes scrunched into the soft dirt, hair pulling and tangling in the breeze, this feeling – which I know to be longing - felt fatal to Ann. She was unprepared, with no defense against the ache. It throbbed as if she had been shot.

Longing, which we all know to be the worst of the emotions, infected Ann entirely. It started as a hiccup in her heart then it beat and pumped throughout her entire body, growing roots in her lungs and blooming in her mind. She’d squeeze her eyes shut and clench her teeth to try to ward it off, standing with her arms wrapped around her ribs to hold herself together.

It was agony to exist inches close to him and also years away. Sometimes, she wished that he would never come back. She wished the bleeding she felt in her body would clot. A stronger feeling though, was the fear that he would never come back. Having known him, how was she to exist never seeing him again? She’d feel adrift for forever.

Ann had no concept of time, but she knew the moment the morning light hit the little hill in front of Little Italy Acres, his truck would come around the bend in Rider Road. She’d run to the fence that faced the road, watching him come in as the sun rose. She also knew that once the frogs started singing, he would soon leave. Agony.

In a backwards way, Ann felt lonelier since knowing about Jamie. To see him, so close, but always out of reach awoke a feeling of homesickness. Everything she wanted was a few feet away and entirely too alive. Was it better before Jamie came around? She sometimes wondered what she had felt before knowing of Jamie. Had she felt anything at all? Or was life just listless? She couldn’t remember.

“Please never come back – I can’t live this way,” her Longing begged.

“Please take me with you,” Hope whispered.

I haven’t mentioned Jamie’s feeling much yet, and I fear that you might assume he is getting off scot free in this whole ordeal. I can assure you he isn’t. He doesn’t know of Ann or her love for him, but he does know how he feels once he arrives at the cemetery. There’s a loosening of his chest as he parks the truck in the small parking lot. There’s a sense of belonging that he attributes to the quiet and sunshine.

Sometimes in the corner of his eye he catches glimpses of something he can’t be sure of. He’ll glance over his shoulder occasionally, expecting someone to be standing just behind him. He wonders sometimes, as he eats lunch sitting against one of the great oaks, if he sees something sitting away from him in the grass. Not exactly someone, but the shadow of someone who has just been there. A whisper of someone being with him.

When his boss calls him a few weeks in, to ask how things are going, he laughs and says, “Do you think the place could be haunted?”

Neither Understood Nor Found Interesting!?

The beginning of D’yer Mak’er (Houses of the Holy - released 1973) plays in my mind as background noise. Day in and day out. Every once in awhile it plays (for real) over the radio in the office and I always have a strange moment of ‘is this in my mind or is this actually happening?’. It’s become clear that I have imagination issues and sometimes I’m worried I’ve fully lost my grasp with what’s real and what’s going on in the ol’ noggin. (Don’t you get the feeling that that sentence should be followed by a semi-manic, mostly nervous, laugh?)

Oh oh oh oh oh oh,
You don't have to go, oh oh oh oh oh
You don't have to go, oh oh oh oh oh
You don't have to go

I keep a journal in my bag which contents are equal parts totally true conversations and situations and, also, complete lies. It is hard to tell which is which. The purpose of this notebook is to jot down any organic writing inspo as it happens. A catalog of interesting things which, no one will ever be able to go back and read and know what is true or not.

Where did I take creative liberties?

What is an outright lie?

What is verbatim?

Who is to say? Certainly not I.

Never in my life have I felt more understood than reading part of Joan Didion’s essay in ‘Slouching Towards Bethlehem’:

…instead I tell what some would call lies. “That’s simply not true,” the members of my family frequently tell me when they come up against my memory of a shared event. “The party was not for you, the spider was not a black widow, it wasn’t that way at all.” Very likely they are right, for not only have I always had trouble distinguishing between what happened and what merely might have happened, but I remain unconvinced that the distinction, for my purposes, matters.

Ay ay ay ay ay ay
All those tears I cry, ay ay ay ay
All those tears I cry, oh oh ah ay
Baby please don't go

Am I admitting to being a liar? Yes. My mind is constantly asking these questions:

‘Would this have been a better story if…’

‘Imagine the conversation if…’

‘This sets the plot up perfectly for…’

‘Don’t I wish she’d done…’

I’m picking apart people, situations, and dialogue left and right, scavenging for bits of personality, hand gestures, and shoe choices I can recycle to use at a later date. I’m a vulture.

(Didion also said “I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.” I find this to be a very interesting quote and I think about it routinely.)

When I read the letter you wrote me, it made me mad mad mad
When I read the news that it told me, it made me sad sad sad
But I still love you so
I can't let you go
I love you
Oh, baby I love you

A writer that I like and admire (since I cannot find this quote anywhere on her Substack, I will not name her- Did she delete it??) talked about how dating disappoints her because she is constantly writing how she would have preferred whoever she is on a date with to be.

While they’re on dates and getting to know one another: texting, calling, talking, walking… the whole shebang, she’s editing and proofing him.

Shes found that she has often created a better version of him. Then, of course, she is disappointed with the real-life him… due to her made-up version being, well, better.

A lot of elements here!! That I can relate to!! Mostly: delusion and taking people and deciding you can day-dream a significantly more exciting version of them.

I am disappointed in dating mostly because it sucks, but also because of how men are these days, and probably partly because I also spend a good amount of time imagining people into versions of them I adore.

I think I set myself up for disappoint on this endeavor.

So I wonder, will I be disappointed in dating and men and so on and so forth for forever? Or will someone come along who I cannot re-write better? A perfect character? How condescending does that sound? Holy moly.

Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Every breath I take, oh oh oh oh
Oh, every move I make
Oh, baby please don't go

A guy I went out with last summer told me that he was equal parts interested and terrified of what my brain was coming up with (I had showed him my writing). I feel much the same way.

(Fun fact about this man: we had made plans for a Facetime date, he told me he needed to run to grab mice traps from the store quick, then he never called. Didn’t hear from him anymore at all, actually. I can only assume the mice got him. Like some sort of sick and twisted Nutcracker re-telling.)

The fact he succumbed to the mice is disappointing because, 1) he’s the most attractive man I’ve seen yet and 2) I often suspected he understood what was going on in the writers room of my mind. We know for a fact he thought it was interesting (perhaps, terrifying) I could have lived with either.

Often, especially in the case of men getting to know me, I’ve been told I’m “off-putting”. Or as one man said, “You freak me out when you tell me what you’re thinking about,”. (Hence why I liked Mouse Man being interested and terrified) Pish-posh. Neither understood nor found interesting!? Life drags me along regardless.

Ay ay ay ay ay ay
You hurt me to my soul, oh oh oh oh
You hurt me to my soul oh, oh
Darling please don't go

---

Did you know that the name of "D'yer Mak'er" is supposed to be pronouced Jamaica?

According to Robert Plant, the title is based on an old joke in which one man tells another that his wife is going on holiday in a rapid English accent. "D'yer make 'er?" the second man replies — "Jamaica" but pronounced so quickly that it sounds like "Did you make her?"

"No, she's going on her own accord," the punch line goes.

While reading this I thought ‘yikes, I’ve been pronouncing that wrong’, then I read this:

"In America, they had no clue what it meant, and it was just boring to have to explain what it was," Page told Classic Rock in 2016. "You'd think: Why didn't we name it something else? At least the Brits got it, thank God."

Dang Americans. Back to what I was saying…

---

When I read the letter you sent me, it made me mad mad mad
When I read the news that it brought me, it made me sad sad sad
But I still love you so
And I can't let you go
I love you
Oh, baby I love you, oh

I often wonder if this particular brand of feeling misunderstood or lonely is the pizazz that all artists and writers share. This habit of re-writing and scavenging interactions for character ideas and so on and so forth is either a serious mental downfall I have OR maybe it’s an artist thing?

My arts teacher in college one time complimented the painting I was working on by telling me she feared I’d always feel lonely - when I asked her to elaborate she said “true artists are always a bit lonely. forever. until we die.” Then, pointing to my painting, she said “and you’re an artist,”

I finished that class with a high grade and a sense of doom on the horizon.

I’m being dramatic. You know what I mean- whatever.

NOW. Years later - I still think about that. I truly do my best writing late at night in a fit of frustration and lack of sleep. What if I felt peaceful? At ease? What would I write about? What if I lost my pizazz and ability to string sentences along? Then what? I just exist? Bland.

An artist who knocks my socks off made this TikTok which perfectly encapsulates this fear:

Oh oh oh oh oh oh
You don't have to go, oh oh oh oh
You don't have to go, oh oh oh oh
Oh, baby
Babe, please, please, please, please
Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh, baby
Oh oh, oh I really love you, baby

Anywho, it’s a rainy day and I'm sitting in the laundromat washing rugs and I feel like drinking a Coke (a bit of lime to jazz her up) and writing something devastating.

I’ve gone on enough. Happy Monday.

NOTE: I already know my Uncle Shad is going to text me after reading this and ask about pt. 2 to Under The Tall Oaks. Uncle Shad, I’m working on it.

Father of Flies™ Tells All

Satan (common alias’s include: The Devil, Lucifer & Beelzebub) has been found out as the mastermind behind tax season and, as information has come out, taxes as a whole. This news, as expected, has been detrimental to the Father of Flies™ brand. Stocks have been falling steadily since the news broke, people have been leaving the satanic church in droves, and Satan has been silent. Until now.

Now, months later, Satan sits down for a tell all. Our interviewer, Stanley T. Flat, meets with Satan in an empty rooftop bar in Northern Italy for the story.

Below is a transcript of the interview.

…

Stanley: Thank you for meeting me here today - No point in beating around the bush, the people want to know how you thought up tax season. Or really, taxes in general.

Satan: Taxes in general were a no brainer - the concept is literally just “give us your money”. The idea for tax season happened during a Hades Creative Board meeting, I was coked out of my mind and running on no sleep, it was really just a meeting about how we were going to keep track of what everyone owed us - not us, ha, but owed in tax and it grew from there.

Stanley: Taxes were much simpler when they began. Did you ever anticipate them to grow to the point where you’d need a whole season to organize it all? Did you foresee there being income taxes, payroll taxes, state and local sales taxes, federal and state excise taxes, and local property taxes?

Satan: No, no, no. Jeez we thought people would just send us money and we’d put it all in a bank account and whatever, who cares- We’d spend it on funding for killer red lasers and space ships; we’d hunt for aliens with it, but then people wanted things to be organized. Wanted to know where it was going? Nosey bastards. Our first pitch was that people would be organized by last names, taxes would happen year round, consistent money flow and whatever. But then the whole, ‘what if we made it miserable?’ touch my team is known for kicked in. And, yea-

Stanley: Please, elaborate.

Satan: Listen, The idea seemed far fetched even for us. We never thought it would fly. In what world do we go: okay guys, you’re going to be dealing with an angry government and angry clients. You will be sleep deprived, over worked and not getting necessary amounts of nutrients or sunlight. By the end of the season, you will need a haircut, a few days worth of sleep and to be re-introduced to your family. Oh and don’t kill yourselves. That was something we didn’t see coming - Suicide rates skyrocketed.

Even though the CPA’s don’t create the rules for who is getting taxed what, they would be getting the heat for it. We were right when we anticipated that being a lot on the mental load. But, what are you gunna do?

Stanley: Who hashed out the details for tax season? Due dates and such? Who truly makes the rules? Your team?

Satan: The IRS, kind of. Tax season started really rolling when we chose to commit to the IRS project. They started as our front-man, someone to catch all the hate and deal with the general public. I can’t even stand them these days, most of America never could - hence our third party, ‘CPA’s’ came into play. If we let the general public deal with the IRS too much we would have had a civil war by now. Exactly why we started auto deducting some tax right from paychecks. Too many ruffled feathers.

We essentially just created a new game for humans when we thought up this new position- A CPA. They love a good task - especially one with a due date and dealing with money and a acronym job title. They ate it up. Helped us out a ton, overnight it became the IRS against CPA’s and a bunch of angry regular people behind them. Why not let them hash it all out themselves? We got the ball rolling, sat back- mostly uninvolved.

Stanley: IRS project? You created the IRS? And now they run on their own? Am I understanding this correctly?

Satan: Sure. Again, something I can’t believe we got away with. How ideas like the IRS start is: we just decide something, say it with authority and promise vague retaliation if you don’t listen, then hope for the best. In 1862 we decided the IRS is an authority figure and expected everyone to listen. Boom - now we have more government.

Someone on the board of Hades Creative had suggested we call them IRS ‘Agents’ - but not give them guns. Everyone got quiet the laugh out of that. Imagine some nerd showing up at your house demanding more tax, which you don’t think you should be paying in the first place, armed with nothing but a 10-key and a fountain pen. And you ‘have’ to listen to them. Ridiculous.

Anyway, back to your question, we essentially let a bunch of power hungry nerds with god-complexes run wild. We gave them a goal, some power and let them loose. They’ve been the ones moving around dates and such, making some of the random law changes - we don’t care what they do as long as we get the money. We’ve tried to reel them in on some of the truly random stuff, like ES Payments and Gift Tax - why are we even doing that? But they feel passionately about it, and honestly, whatever. They’re too annoying to argue with.

Gosh, they’re evil little freaks - you know the whole new W4 form being too difficult for the average Joe to fill out without contacting a tax professional? I wasn’t even behind that, no one from the Father Of Flies team was nor Hades Creative Team. Some guy named Chad created that in his windowless basement office. About knocked me on my ass when I saw it - and Chad truly believes it needs to be this difficult. He isn’t in on the bit in the slightest, he’s just a sicko.

Stanley: What details have you orchestrated for taxes or tax season? Anything you’re particularly proud of?

Satan: I have three. One: the letters. I thought, let’s send out mass letters claiming you didn’t pay tax then immediately send one out saying “wait, yes you didn’t. Disregard that letter,”. That really gets people going. Tension rises when someone just sees an IRS letter now because who knows if it’s right or not? And boom, before you have enough time to call the help line and successfully get through to someone, we have a lean on your house, we’re garnishing your checks, we’re showing up at your front door. Not with guns though! HA!

Two: auditing is a favorite of mine, became popular for the Hades Creative Team too. We loved the whole “we don’t wanna tell you how much you owe, you need to figure it out and then we’ll see if it matches our number, which, by the way we still won’t tell you and if we feel like something is even slightly amiss we’re digging through your entire life and charging you interest.” Better keep every receipt and invoice for seven years or we’re gunna getcha!

Three: when we approved the IRS and State for cashing whatever checks they receive, I knew we really hit gold with that idea - Accidently sent your State tax to the IRS? They’re keeping it. You need it back? Downer. Try next year, but don’t forget to still pay your State! The interest is insane. This one doesn’t happen as often as I would like, but non-the-less is a guaranteed gasket blower.

Stanley: Do you feel guilty over the stress that taxes have put on the American people and the harm that tax season has had on CPA’s, Accountants and their families?

Satan: No.

Stanley: There are rumors the Father Of Flies brand is involved in more than just government? Some speculate your influence is in the music and art community? Care to comment?

Satan: No.

Stanley: Are you concerned over the hit your brand has taken? The people leaving your church?

Satan: This is the brand. Anyone who truly follows my doctrine wont be scandalized to find out I invented taxes or tax season. If you’re running for the hills over tax you’ll come undone if you knew the rest of what I’ve been up to. Give me a break. I’m shocked people haven’t been putting this together from the beginning. You’re working a 9-5, or better yet, something Blue Collar, and you have to give someone else some of your money? You don’t really know where it’s going and you might, might be allowed to have some of it back at the end of the year? You didn’t see this as my handiwork? Head in the sand.

Stanley: Why break your silence on this matter now?

Satan: Oh, I figured what the heck, might as well show a little behind the scenes for the American people. Plus J.C. is headed back soon so my time is more limited now then ever - no press is bad press.

…

For questions regarding this interview, please inquire via the commenting feature below.

Welcome Home

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wrote this with ‘New Home’ by Austin Farwell playing on repeat and I think, perhaps, it enhances the story. Linked below, if you’d like it to accompany the reading:

Outer space is not as you would imagine it. Surely it’s not as I had imagined it. It looks nothing like the posters of the solar system I had on my bedroom wall growing up nor, is it like the ad I have pinned on my wall now - an advertisement from the time of my life when I was on Earth, brought with me on my voyage into the unknown. It’s postcard sized and colorful - on it is a sketch of Earth and Mars and a little silver ship traveling between the two perfectly round plants. A green man stands on Mars holding an American flag and is waving to the approaching passengers on the ship. Above the top, in a puffy print, reads: ‘Greetings Earthlings!’ and below that, ‘Welcome HOME”.

Space, as I’ve come to know her, is not bright and colorful. Nor is this place, The Hub, home, as much as we all would have liked it to be.

The advertisements that littered the internet, billboards, and radio back in 2050 did their job well. They convinced us that something glamourous awaited 142 million miles away, on Mars. They thoroughly plastered the entirely world with this project, The “Welcome Home” Project - polarizing the population between those who mistrusted the government’s plans completely and those who wouldn’t know a moments peace until they existed outside Earth’s orbit. You couldn’t escape hearing about it, talking about it or reading about it. Looking back it all seems much like a mad frenzy - fever dream at best.

And who is this ‘They’ that I talk about? The scientists who worked on the project? The engineers that signed, sealed and delivered a huge hunk of metal through space, to Mars? The investors who funded this exploration, seduced by the idea that their names would be associated with cutting edge science and listed in history books? Or the advertising firm that was hired to paint and draw and romanticize a life out of gravity? Who carries the most blame? ‘They’ that made it or ‘They’ that sold us on it?

Oversold and under delivered. The ones without anything left for us on Earth, the rich, the adventurous, and the lonely said goodbye to life as we knew it, all to be one of the first people to live on Mars. We also happen to be the last.

The ever looming ‘They’ planned that there would be five shuttles sent out into space, all within three months of one another until the first Hub was full. The Hub could fit 2,500 people, we would come 500 at a time and create our new community. Each shuttle group assimilating to the new laws of space before the next group arrived.

Long term, the plan was that after ten successful years of outer space bliss ‘They’ would create another Hub in space and fill that with an additional 2,500 and so on and so forth until the option of living between Earth or Mars would be similar to that of picking what state you wanted to reside in.

So popular was this idea of being hurled into space that they had to create a lottery to select who would go. You coughed up enough cash to add your name into the mix, and then you prayed to the same God who created this perfect planet we lived on that you could be one of the lucky few who got off it.

Never having won anything in my life, I was shocked when the notification popped up on my phone. “CONGRATS! Your New Home Awaits” it looked shockingly like a scam email. In a way, it was.

Wandering the Hub feels very similar to wandering a college - long, wide halls with large double doors leading to big rooms for worship, learning and recreational actives. Corridors and sitting spaces and great windows with tacky drapes peer out at the Red Planet. There’s a library and hospital and a place for the Peace Keepers to file their papers and, although they promised no crime, a small holding station. A clothing store with basic selections and a ‘spa’ where you could get your hair cut. No grocery stores, but allotted groceries were to show up at our doors once a week. By request and explanation you could ask for additional allowances. No place to eat out and no ‘fun’ shopping. There was a movie theater, something I found particularly exciting at the time.

On the walls of the college style halls are, hanging in beautiful, heavy frames, depictions of Earth. Grassy fields, and flowers and pets and people and homes and war scenes and still lakes and oceans with boats on the crest of a wave. I think it’s odd that ‘They’ would decorate a place where people went to escape Earth, with reminders of Earth. I digress.

Branching off from the main section of the Hub are separate wings for housing. Six of them in total, organized by last names containing rows and rows of doors that lead to little apartments. They seemed to go on for forever, the hallways and doors. The apartments are small and functional - simple furnishings that are all, mostly, identical to one another. Depending on the amount you wanted to shell out, some of the apartments are larger than others.

Everyone had been allowed to select the color on the walls of their new homes, the beddings and curtains. Carpet or hardwood? Gold or silver hardware? How many windows? No windows at all? We submitted our answers to the questionnaire concerning housing preferences via the USPS, a shockingly old school way to answer questions for the wave of the future. I didn’t make any selections, rather I wrote, “ANY” across the top of my page before mailing. Although the paperwork talked of a designer making these selections, it was probably an intern that chose the colors on my behalf. Or even maybe it was whatever they had an excess of that got painted and nailed and set in my apartment - soft blue bedding and curtains and creamy off white walls. All hardwood flooring except for my bedroom, which was soft white carpet. The kind of carpet that never vacuums well, but you can dig your toes into.

I am not sure how the inner workings of the Hub function. Power and water and how the automatic doors open or how the movie theater still played from the kiosk selection list, it’s all beyond me. There is no doubt that once my name was pulled in the lottery, I received this information in the thick packet that showed up at my home, which I never got around to reading. In the classes I took about going to Mars and the countless conversations with the ‘They’, I am sure I was told and simply didn’t pay attention. My assumption, at that time, was that since ‘They’ said it was going to work, it would. Why do I need to know how we have water in space? ‘They’ said that we would. Why would I question how we would be getting food? ‘They’ said we would have it.

Now, of course, I see how that was a wrong assumption. A bad plan of action. If I had known what was going to happen, would happen, I would have paid better attention. I wouldn’t have gone at all.

Officially, the first and only shuttle to the Hub and the Welcome Home project itself, is considered a failure. I know this only because the speakers were still connected to some control room on Earth when they announced it. Only a few of us had made it successfully into the Hub before an error code sounded and the great heavy doors closed and loudly locked. Metal grinding on metal - locking us in.

All of us stood in what I now refer to as the Base. A great room which was intended to hold all 2,500 of us for special announcements and gatherings - it’s lecture hall style seating with a stage and podium positioned in front of a large projector screen. We stood and stared at the words “Welcome HOME” in bright colors. The projector flickered on and off as we listened to the men, the ‘They’, speak into microphones they didn’t think we could hear.

I’ll spare you the details - when it all boiled down, ‘They’ announced that the mission was a failure with no anticipated survivors. I have no idea what exactly went on to prompt the emergency code, it sounded like they didn’t either. And, to the detriment of all 8 of us sitting in the Base, they weren’t coming back to the Hub to confirm this whole no survivors assumption.

Being one of the non-anticipated survivors this was extremely upsetting news, increasingly so as the hours and days and weeks wore on. Full realization of our situation came in pieces, burning in the back of our minds every waking second.

It’s now been two years since the first shuttle traveled the distance between Earth and Mars and the mission was deemed a loss.

My name is Theresa Wink, I am the last surviving participant of the Welcome Home project, and I am worried that something else has gotten into the Hub. It’s become increasingly clear that I am no longer alone.

Location? The Lord’s Living room.

I am reading a book called 'Choosing Gratitude' by  Nancy Leigh DeMoss for a woman’s group. It’s about, as I am sure you’ve guessed, gratitude. Fun fact: this book has exposed me as an ungrateful little brat (my mother would tell you that she's' known all along). However, I have not come here today to talk about that issue, instead, I want to talk about something the author mentioned in passing. In my experience, it’s the offhanded comments that really hit me.

Chapter Four, titled “Why Choose Gratitude?” takes you through scripture and teachings on the importance of making the conscious (hard) choice to be grateful regardless of the situation. Maybe the hardest thing ever to do.

Page 70 says: “Thanksgiving puts us in God’s living room.”

This didn't strike me as anything super noteworthy my first read through; it didn't even make it to my highlight list. However, while sitting in the middle of the Bible Study, someone noted that as a section that had really stuck with her. She went into detail as to why, talking about thanking the Lord in prayer and how that moves your heart and mindset.

She really got me thinking.

Farther down in the same chapter she says:

“… In every situation…prayer + thanksgiving = peace”

This really got me thinking about how instantly we can pray and be in the presence of God… in His living room even.

Prayer is not sending a long-drafted email and refreshing your Outlook every few moments for a response. It's not yelling out into the void, red faced and frustrated (how it often feels for me). It's not even a casual coffee shop chat - I believe the Lord is more personal than coffee shop catch-ups. There is no 'wait time' to talk to the Lord, no cue that you stand in to get a moment with Him. This is the hard part about being human, truly, I don't think we can fully understand the omnipresence that is The Lord. And how can we really? Humans with beginning and ends understand THE Alpha and Omega? He was at the beginning and He will be beyond the end. He is everywhere He is invited, all at once. Hard to wrap a mind around.

Prayer (we’re running with the living room example that DeMoss used) puts you instantly into the Lord's living room. Instantly in His presence. Almost an overwhelming thought - having that access to the Creator of the Universe. But isn't that why Jesus came to Earth? To fulfil the old law and create this access and intimacy? I think I would take speaking to the Lord in His living room over sacrificing animals to atone for my misdoings and hearing from the Lord through the chosen Priests. To each, their own.

Matthew 27:51 says, "Behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent.” My understanding is that once Jesus fulfilled the Old Law, the veil between the Holy of Holies was torn, in doing so, signified the veil being torn between all of Us and God. No more need for the Temple of the Most High, now we ALL have access to The Lord. Apparently, even His living room (haha).

I’ve been thinking about this little line of DeMoss’s book for a few weeks now; there were a few days where I felt like 'dang, does he even want me in His living room?' Seemed a little too comfortable? Maybe I shouldn't be allowed that closeness? But then, I suppose, you have to differentiate between the religious-ness of Christianity or having a Relationship with The Lord, Himself?

I believe we are called to be in relationship with the Lord, to know Him beyond going to Church and following rules. He wants to KNOW us. Why wouldn't I 'be' in the Lord's living room when praying? 

The verses, John 14:1-3 (NIV), comes to mind when I think about all this: "My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me, that you also may be where I am." I think if He is building a room for me in His Father's home, dying for me on a cross, and taking all my sin away on a daily basis, I'm sure He wouldn't mind if I dropped in to talk with him. Does my logic track? 

I especially like the example of the living room because it creates a cozy atmosphere - I often feel as if God is a 'cold', authoritative figure. My knee-jerk reaction is not to imagine him as smiling and warm. My mind gets too caught up in the jealous, righteousness of the Lord I have read about in the Old Testament and I forget about the lowliness and gentleness that also exists within the trinity. The same God that we will all answer to on Judgement Day, that the book of Romans tells us will take revenge on our behalf, is one in the same as The Holy Spirit, our Great Comforter. 

So beyond my understanding. But I trust it. 

Anywho, lately when I have been praying, I imagine I am in The Lord's living room; cozy and warm chatting with El Roi - the God who sees me. I get tingly just thinking about it. No more screaming into the void around here, folks. No more refreshing your email for a reply or staring mindless and numb at the wall as you try to feel 'close' to Him, rather an intimate conversation in His living room. I imagine He keeps the temp warm and has the perfect throw blanket to toss over your legs. 

This leads me into the big question of: What do you think the Lord’s living room looks like? I would like nothing more than for you to think about this deeply and let me know. Include as much detail as possible please and thank you.

In my mind, the Lord's living room looks like my grandparent's old living room. Does The Lord's living room exist in a rambler on Trenton Lane in Maple Grove? I would assume not?? Does it have luxury carpet and little deer figurines?? Maybe?! I’m not sure what His style is tbh. Can’t tell you why, but that’s where my mind puts me.

I hope you all are spending time in The Lord's living room! I pray that you all cultivate a relationship and feel the peace that comes with knowing Him. This has been rambling around in my mind for weeks now, Friends. I am tickled pink to have it all down on paper (the blog).

3pm.

When 3pm hits, a small man who lives in the back corridor of my mind lets loose the same sheep that I count to fall asleep.

They’re restless after being cooped up all day and it’s mayhem.

I watch the sun, lower now in the horizon, from my desk. I answer phone calls and talk to clients and staple papers and send faxes and nod and smile and all the while there are 99 bleating sheep in my brain.

This small man, the one who tends to my sheep, must hate me.

He sits on the corner of the fence where I wish the sheep would stay and watches them run and play. He leans, rests his head on his hand and his arm on the fence-post next to him. His eyes grow heavy in the warm afternoon sun.

My eyes grow heavy too.

“You’ve hit a wall,” my co-worker tells me.

She’s seen me yawn. I nod and agree. She has no idea of the 99 sheep.

The sheep are taking up entirely too much mental real estate. I’m asked questions and I try to think of answers, but the sheep are running and the small man is napping in the tall, tall grass of my memories and I can’t possibly form words when my eyelids feel as heavy as they do.

“Can I get back to you on this tomorrow?” I ask them. “It’s been a long day,” No one knows about the sheep.

I’ve talked with the small man before about pushing back the release of the sheep to later in the day. “Preferably after office hours,” I’ve asked him. He shakes his head and walks through the little puddles of my mental to-do’s, sending ripples through my evening plans.

“3:00 is the latest.” he calls softly back to me.

I dread 3pm because of the sheep.

I can feel them growing restless leading up to 3pm.

3pm hits and my eyes glaze over as I heed to their bleating.

“I’m so sorry, its just the sheep in my mind!! They’re up now for the rest of the day. Maybe they’ll take a cat nap, if we’re lucky, later this evening so I can get something done, but they’re out now!! Out until I count them back to sleep!! Can I send this email tomorrow?” I want to tell my boss, but she can’t know about the sheep. No one can know they’re running through the ridges and bends in my mind.

99 sheep and they’re always on time.

sunday latte x2

My eyes haven’t even opened on Sunday morning and I’m already thinking about getting my papercut riddled fingers on a vanilla latte. It’s not just the liquid in the cheap probably cancer-causing cups I crave, It’s the coffee shop itself.

I like standing in line at a coffee shop, people watching and listening to conversations. Medias res will always be my preferred way to begin a book or listen to a conversation that is none of my business. Drop me in the middle babes, I’ll figure it out.

I can’t think of a barista I haven’t wanted to hug. There is something so endearing about an alternative highschooler decked out in silver jewelry with messy, unbrushed hair. Work your magic girlfriend. Even better are the scary ones. There’s a girl who looks much like you would imagine a villain in a movie would - jet black hair and lime green eyebrows. Five face piercings, wearing only the blackest black and perfectly applied black lipstick. She has a look in her eyes that makes me afraid. She reminds me a bit of Shego from Kim Possible:

She’s gorgeous, and she recently told me that I am really pretty, so I’ll be thinking about that for probably the rest of my life. She makes a killer vanilla latte - I think it has much to do with the anger that courses through her porcelain veins. Teenage angst and coffee beans go together hand in hand, that’s why all the coffee shops hire highschoolers. I cannot imagine getting a latte from a well-adjusted, middle-aged woman. No thanks.

The coffee shop I am sitting at right now is packed with fancy bikers from MPLS who have just gotten out of the mine pits. Sitting next to me are a group of middle-aged men sweaty and covered in red dirt discussing interest rates on land purchases in the area (they’re all in the market for a ‘few acres to play on’). Sounds like they’re really going to start inquiring on land in the area after their busy season ends. They simply don’t have the time right now.

I have my vanilla latte in hand, ‘Eva’ written in big black letters across the side. Close enough. And now I am writing to you all - and I have so much to tell you.

You might be one of the few people who noticed that I didn’t post last week and have officially broken this New Year’s resolution only a month in. Am I disappointed? Very. Did I consider, when setting the resolution, the fact tax season would happen, and my mind would be much the same consistency as a slushie from Jan-April? No.

Now the goal is to ‘write as much as I can’ until tax season ends.

How is tax season going? I’m not an accountant so I’m not sitting and pounding on a 10-key all day, Thank God. Instead, I am answering phones and getting verbally abused by clients, sending faxes and making coffee (The clients aren’t all bad, but it would be a boring story if I focused on the sweethearts). I leave the office with papercuts, smelling of printer toner and feeling as if I had to talk to another person for the evening I could die.

I’m trying to wear cute outfits every day in the office, hopefully giving me a little boost for the day AND discouraging clients from being mad at me. This is how I imagine their internal monologue will go:

‘Jeez, I couldn’t possibly be mad at this 24 year old teenage girl over the IRS rejecting my e-file! She isn’t in charge of the IRS!! PLUS, look how cute her pencil skirt is! Paired with that vintage L.L. Bean sweater and those black leather booties?! I’m not even mad anymore,’

I’ll report back if this strategy works.

In other news, I offered to volunteer at church a few months ago and was put in charge of children. I am also shocked. I very much thought that they would ask me to stack chairs after Sunday service or vacuum. Instead, I am trying to get 13 little kids to listen to me, learn about Jesus, and not punch one another -

This has both opened my eyes to how awful some peoples’ kids are, and I’ve also met the most adorable little girl whom I wish I could keep for the rest of my life. I also now understand why the Bible talks about having ‘childlike faith’ Believing in God is so simple for them. Everything they’re thankful for is so simple. I just love their minds.

Last Sunday we made Thankfulness Rainbows - this was a HIT with the class.

I’ll show you all mine:

***

I am absolutely delighted to report that I had a nice Valentine’s Day.

A very cute, very tall, very nice man (he has been dubbed as Mr. Party In the USA by some of my girlfriends, so I suppose that’s how I’ll be referring to him on here.) picked me up at 5:50 for beers and bar food and he got me flowers. How lovely is that??

“I think I definitely have a big crush on [Mr. Party In the USA],” I told a friend on Friday. To which they looked at me like I was the dumbest person in the room (I was at the time) and said “No, really?” Practically dripping with sarcasm.

I thought this was new information, but it appears everyone already knew.

He’s tall and funny so honestly what choice do I have but to like him?? my hands are tied!

Anywho, that’s all I have for you today - I am on my second latte and the adult biker men are now making dick jokes and laughing like maniacs so I must move on for the day.

flowers from Mr. Party In the USA.

Unseasonably warm & oozing with jealousy.

Happy February Friends! The air is positively buzzing with the unseasonably high temperatures and the smell of love. Have you noticed it?

I originally was going to write a hate letter to T.J. Maxx and HomeGoods this week, then my attention and typing pivoted to writing about my favorite romance movies, and then work got busy and no typing at all happened.

Right now, as I write this, I am sitting in a coffee shop at 7am typing like a mad woman to make my own Saturday deadline. The stakes are high and the espresso is strong. I am listening to Suki Waterhouse. The atmosphere is lovely.

I want to talk about Valentine’s Day… and my sins.

Back in college, I used to talk about not loving Valentine’s Day - I remember being that really annoying type of ‘pick me’ girl that wanted to seem superior to the girls who were all twitterpated with the idea of getting a card from their boyfriend. Flowers?? A cute little gift?? No thank you. ‘I don’t NEED my boyfriend to do that’, I remember thinking.

A girl I was friends with at the time got a handmade card from her boyfriend and a flower. It was beautiful and heartfelt and overall, maybe the cutest thing I’ve ever witnessed in a college library at 7pm. I could have died. I remember him being slightly embarrassed over the fact the card was handmade and trying to explain why there was only one flower. His girlfriend didn’t care in the slightest. She was ecstatic.

I had a fantastic heart check in that moment, like all jealous moments, it revealed something inside of me that was the problem. All these girls who just went ahead and loved love and found cutie boys who wanted to do something for them weren’t the issue here. I was the issue and so was the green jealousy practically oozing out of me. I was also, at that time, dating silly guys who would have NEVER done something for me if I had expressed an interest in celebrating Valentine’s Day. Again, not those girls problem, but one of my own.

I also am not naive enough to assume that if a boy gives me flowers and gifts for Valentine’s Day that means he truly likes/cares for me!! Last year on Valentine’s Day I got two bouquets of pink roses (my fav) and a beautiful bracelet from a boy who had a whole other girlfriend at the time.

Cannot possibly imagine the financial strain Valentine’s Day would be on a man while he is juggling two girls. Nightmare situation. I still have the bracelet - that gold rope chain never did anything bad to me and I love her. I obviously didn’t keep the boy around.

All this to say, I understand Valentine’s Day is a mostly commercialized holiday. I agree it’s silly. I happen to love cute, silly things! I love love and I apologize to each and every girl who I considered lame for loving love in college all because I was having heart posture issues.

A very wise guy friend told me awhile back, ‘Ava you will absolutely never find some guy who loves Valentine’s Day like you do, but I have no doubt whoever you end up with will humor you and do all the things because of how much you love it,”

FINGERS CROSSED. Make your girlfriend a card this Feb 14th <3

Buermann & Drake, Ltd.

Buermann and Drake, Ltd., 

721 5th Ave.

New York, New York 10022

Hello All, 

As we are heading into yet another tax season there are a few topics the partners here at B&D would like to touch on before our all staff meeting next week. 

The intention is that in bringing forward these new policies and goals now, it will allow time for questions or ideas to ruminate! Bring any and all concerns to the meeting for discussion. 

It’s been a long year transitioning roles from Jasmine to our new Fearless Leader, Craig. New leadership— new vision!!!

For years here at Buermann & Drake we’ve preached on the importance of striving for perfection. Error free and timely returns were our goal. “Taking the time to get things right.”

What an unrealistic standard for our staff to strive for and our clients to expect. 

Switching gears this season, we are implementing the firm-wide slogan of “As good as we could!” Let’s face it! We don’t know everything, and no amount of CPE will teach us everything! Just imagine how many numbers there are - we couldn’t possibly know them all. 

In that same vein, we have decided that our clientele load is on the lighter side. Due to the fact that we won’t be spending grueling hours poring over each return we will be freeing up hundreds of billable hours for new clients! Expect to have an influx of meetings on your calendar for Meet N’ Greets.

A hot topic this time of year is contract hours. Normally we require your contracted overtime to be fulfilled before allowing hours to be banked. This year, we have decided to do away with banking hours all together - let’s really pour ourselves into the office this tax season. There will be a following email from HR explaining this new policy. 

You might have noticed the construction happening in the back of the office the past few weeks. We have been waiting with anticipation to announce napping stations are being installed! During discussions about our new tax season hours policy being rolled out, a big question all the partners were asking was “when will everyone get time to sleep?” This is our solution. Science tells us how beneficial power naps are and now, coupled with our napping stations being available, you will have the ability to almost never have to leave the office! 

Another former policy that we are doing away with is the enforced hour-long lunch breaks. We discussed the topic thoroughly and have come to the conclusion an hour-long mid-day break doesn’t, in fact, have all that much of an effect on mental health. Going forward during tax season, we are asking you all the be diligent in eating fast and getting back at it. The firm is hopeful to see 15-minute lunches on your timecard. If absolutely necessary, take up to 30minutes; keeping in mind that an excess of longer lunches will warrant a discussion.

Remember to be honest and diligent when it comes to filling out your timecard! 

In preparation for our busy season, we have hired a few interns to tie up all loose ends. Formerly, we homed the interns in the cubes that have now been build-out into our sleep stations. Because of this, we have set up workspaces by the elevator room on the first floor. Please stop by sometime this week to welcome them, keeping in mind non-work-related chatting will be deducted from your PTO.

Our new interns will be in charge of 8879 retrieval, coffee runs, and making sure files are properly organized before sending up to our admin staff for processing. They will also be keeping track of whose files have unnecessary staples in them. Disciplinary action will be taken on individuals who are not following our three staple per PIT rule. 

Staples are annoying and time consuming to remove. Be mindful of staple usage!!! Please utilize the paper clips we have made readily available in our supply closet. Due to everyone’s hatred of small paper clips we have banned them from the office.

Please let clients know that we will be charging extra this year for unnecessary staple and small paper clip usage in their tax organizer drop offs. We expect our front-end staff to communicate and enforce these new rules. 

A big complaint from the Reviewers last season were the cryptic messages written on the Due Diligence forms. Verbiage we have to research in the Urban Dictionary is strongly discouraged. The age of our Reviewers must be taken into account, they do not understand slang.

An issue we’ve ran into time and time again is clients leaving drop-off information in our office for months on end. This problem exponentially increases from January-April. We have found a solution that both incentivizes clients to get into the office for pick up and will contribute to employee moral! 

Going forward, we will be holding onto information for a month as a curtesy to our clients, however, beyond that point we will be tossing the information into the new dumpster you will find in the parking garage. 

At the end of tax season, we will be rolling this dumpster into the parking lot and burning it, along with any left-over cardboard and the stack of pallets we’ve been collecting in the parking garage! This fulfills the requirement to destroy sensitive information in a way which is significantly more fun than using the shred bins! I am sure you are all aware of the rising cost in using our shred it bins during our paper heavy months.

We have included verbiage in our Client Newsletter informing them of this change.

There has also been a concern regarding the level of advertising we are doing to get new clients in the door. Mr. Murray has pitched a few ideas for us to print on the back of our business cards to handout at our community outreach events - please view below and vote on the one you like best!! As always, we are wanting to put our best foot forward in the public eye - we think these updates will give us the boost we are looking for.

We are beyond excited for the new changes happening at Buermann and Drake!! We anticipate this being another fantastic year for the firm!

- Partners of Buermann and Drake, Ltd., 

A Vampire & The Hottest Woman Alive Fall In Love

I *normally* am not a big celebrity couple type of gal.

There are some that I think are cute. For example, I think Taylor and Football Boy Travis are a pretty pair, I love looking at photos of Ben Affleck looking dreadfully miserable with JLO, and I think there is something hauntingly beautiful about old photos of Johnny Depp and Winona Ryder, but I am not invested in any of their love stories. To be fair, I think I would be invested in Johnny and Winona if they were still together.

But, as the French say “soo la voo or whatever.” (That quote is from Sam Sched and I don’t have time to explain but it is oh so funny!! I’ll put it at the end!)

There is something ridiculously fake about famous peoples’ relationships. I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility for two rich, famous people who want to be richer and more famous to collaborate (via dating) to make that happen. (Have you heard the Taylor and Travis theories? I don’t NOT believe it.)

So often, when I see two famous people out in public constantly, I often wonder if it’s all a good PR stunt. Especially when the outfits and lighting and poses seem a little too organized. A little too good. What are they trying to sell me on?

HOWEVER, there are the select recluses of the Hollywood world whose relationships are private. The photos of them out and about together look a lot like normal, everyday people. I can’t help but find them more believable. If those are also individuals pulling an elaborate PR stunt, consider me bamboozled.

Overall, count me out for the mega wealthy movie stars and their model girlfriends. Give me the fame haters and their strange artistic significant others.

Tay-Tay & Ball Boy

Ben & Jen

Johnny & Winona

This leads me right into the topic of our favorite sparkly boy, Robert and his strange, artistic significant other, Suki.

They’ve been dating for five years, almost all of which has been out of the public’s eye and VERY private (Can you say mysterious?!) There have been misc. sightings of them out and about and small tid-bits from interviews when they’ve talked about one another, but that’s about it.

For a long time, all I felt about their relationship was burning jealousy. The fact Suki was kissing Edward Cullen?! Probably kissing him consistently?! Consider my blood to be boiling.

At that time of my life, The Hating Suki Era, I had yet to realized how cool she was. My eyes hadn’t been opened to how stylish and classy they were together. I was yet to realize I loved them. I was ignorant. You have to forgive me.

To atone for my miss-felt feelings I have prepared some information on her, on him and on them, in case you are how I was: In the dark.

Suki Waterhouse:

Suki Waterhouse is 32 years old, born and raised in London. Blonde hair, brown eyes, and clocks in at 5’8’. I have no idea what her shoe size is.

Her mother is a cancer care nurse, and her father is a plastic surgeon (talk about convenient). She has one sister, Imogen, who is also petite and pretty. Or at least, petite and has had their father do some work (JOKING).

Suki has made an appearance in the film world. Some of the films and TV shows being ones that you’ve probably seen, for example: ‘The Divergent Series: Insurgent’, ‘Daisy Jones & the Six’, and ‘Love, Rosie’.

Pivoting careers, she’s also done modeled for Tommy Hilfiger, Swatch, Lucy in Disguise, H&M, Alice + Olivia, Sass & bide and Pepe Jeans. Color me impressed, Suki.

Most notably is her singing. Coming in at 7.7M monthly listeners on Spotify, I can say with confidence that she deserves every one of them. Her music is categorized as ‘Alt/Indie’ - it has much the same feeling as a foggy evening in the woods, how a coke and lime tastes out of a really pretty glass, or how ‘White Opium’ perfume smells. The general consensus being: it’s good.

Her first single release was in 2016. Gaining in popularity over the years.

Shes even featured on a playlist on Spotify called ‘Twilight Vibes’ you’re JOKING ME.

‘OMG’, her new song, has a music video that could inspire a feature film. Her makeup, outfit and the setting is wildly atmospheric. 

She’s just capital ‘K’ kewl. I don’t make the rules here!! I just follow them!! 

On top of being accomplished and getting to kiss heart throb, Robert, she’s also gorgeous. Because of course she is. 

We cannot blame Rob for falling in love with her… just look at this woman. 

Have I convinced you to love her? 

Do I need to do any convincing for you to love Rob? Should we talk about him just for fun?? 

You’re right, we should.

Robert Pattinson:

Robert Pattinson is a 37 year old London man. Stands at 6’1 and, according to my sources, wears a men’s shoe size 10. 

He is an actor; notably in Twilight (!!!!!!), Batman, Remember me (I’m devastated), and The Lighthouse (very scary). He also sings! Has a few songs on the Twilight soundtrack, Damsel movie + a few misc others. What a talented young chap. 

Being that he’s a wildly private person I have no hot goss about Robby. Not even an Instagram to scour for salacious comments or followings. No conclusions to jump to or rumors to start. :/

Something that I would like to briefly touch on is his feelings concerning the Twilight movie universe. Those of you who know me well know that my feelings towards the Twilight movies/books are deep and complicated. My love for them stems from watching the movies in my youth, binge reading them in my early 20s, and again now at 24.

The blue haze, bad acting, and questionable wig choices are something I see through nothing but rose-colored glasses. Robert does not seem to share my passion - or at least the passion he feels towards them, although maybe felt with the same ferocity, is negative.

If you would like to hear Robby boys’ thoughts on the films, please click the link below. You will certainly giggle.

He’s talented, tall, opinionated, and HOT. What else is there to know, really? 

So just imagine Robert and Suki together. Stunning. Might burn your eyes. 

To top it all off, THEY’RE HAVING A BABY AND THEY’RE ENGAGED. 

Can you hear me screaming??

Imagine how beautiful their wedding will be - I hope to God they let a magazine publish photos, or post them themselves OR I will be writing an email begging her PR team to let me take a small peek.

I simply cannot go on with life without seeing them. 

What do you think they’ll name the baby? I’m crossing my fingers they’ll even release the baby’s name, considering how privet they are. Probably wise not to for security reasons, but for my personal nosiness I would love to know.

She’s still been doing concerts and even made her recent music video with the baby bump, bumping. (Goes to show that you can have a baby and be a cool, successful woman!!! Babies ARE cool!!!)

Think of how stylish they will look when also accessorizing with a toddler. I cannot wait.

***

Are you glad you got to take a little look into what’s been going on in my mind this week? A little sneak peek into my feelings and interests?
Are you now going to go listen to Suki’s music and vibe out? Correct answer is yes!!
Are you going to go watch all of Twilight and bask in the blue haze?? YES!!

Bye for now <3

soo la voo video

Under The Tall Oaks - pt.1

It was a sad thing, really, what happened out there in the cemetery on Woodland Road. A love story developing like a Polaroid photo in early summer - sun bleached and dew soaked, a ghost and the cemetery caretaker fall into love. And what hope can the dead and undead share?

***

Jamie had come across the caretaker job in the paper - the paper that someone before him had left sitting on the North Country Cafe’s counter. They had even circled the wanted ad in red ink. It might as well have been a beacon calling out to him. He saw it sitting there, next to the cash register as he paid his bill - coffee stained and crinkled from handling.

‘Mind if I take this?’ he asked a passing waitress.

She shrugged in reply, was gone around the counter with a fresh carafe of coffee before he could look back to her.

He imagined, later in life, that it was some sort of divine intervention that had caused the paper to be left there for him. Or maybe, really truly, just a forgetful patron of the cafe left it after they’d paid their tab. It’s hard to tell where divine intervention and happenstance cross.

The job paid surprisingly well for such a small township. There was barely an interview process, and before he knew it he was handed the keys to a truck stamped with the township’s name on the driver’s door. He was outside all day in the sun with no coworkers to try to befriend or bosses to micromanage him. All alone in the quiet, he felt strongly that he had hit the jackpot. 

Due to the disarray the cemetery had fallen into from lack of care over the years he worked long hours. Due to the fact he didn’t have anywhere else to be, it worked out well.

There’s very little known about where Jamie came from, but one got the feeling that he’d come here to escape whatever his life had consisted of before. He’d appeared into town one day - renting a little cabin off of Rider Road, driving a rusted Chevy and blending effortlessly into the background of the Iron Range. I don’t think the intent was to stay for very long, but, of course, things like that have a way of changing.

As for Ann, there’s no one who can say really why she was there. Her body, yes- that’s easily explained. She was buried, a long time ago, in the back corner of the cemetery where the oak trees shed their leaves in the fall and the deer bedded down in the spring. So tucked away from the rest of the cemetery’s residents, she was forgotten entirely. An admin error no doubt, she didn’t even appear on the cemetery plot layout map. Much the same way the walking path back to her corner of the world became overgrown and unused. The grass growing so thick and tall you’d never know it was there. A sad state of affairs. She was cut off from life and the rest of her eternal neighbors.

But why was she still there? Her essence, that is? Was there unfinished business to attend to? A task still to complete? Or had death simply missed a step? She wasn’t sure. 

Time, both for the alive and the dead, muddies memories. She wasn’t sure anymore how long she had been there in the cemetery, wasn’t sure of the year or the day or even who she had been before getting here. What she did know about herself came in bits and pieces. She could tell you which horses her father owned that were her favorite, the name of the perfume her nanny wore, and what songs she liked most from her record collection. But the vast history of herself was unknown. I’m sure you can imagine how frustrating that would be.

So what does the dead do when they’re forgotten about? Ann mostly laid in the tall grass and daydreamed. An unexpected perk of being stuck there is she had all the time in the world for make-believe. She passed the days quickly that way, inventing different lives and endings for herself. Some of them so real in her mind’s eye she felt content living out her days in her made-up worlds. Death wasn’t so bad when you were good at make-believe.

Jamie didn’t know about Ann, but Ann knew about Jamie. 

She knew about him the moment he stepped foot in the cemetery; almost the second he stepped out of the truck, she was all twisted up inside.

It was love at first sight.

Someone might argue she fell in love so quickly because Jamie was the only boy even remotely Ann’s age who had visited the cemetery for non-funeral related obligations since she’d been there. But, truly, Jamie was the type who could so easily cause others to fall, deeply, into love. 

Well that, and I’d imagine romance works differently for the dead.

‘What’s The Story, Morning Glory?’

In 2010 the movie Morning Glory was released, November 10th to be exact. Gross USA box office bringing in a reported $31.0M. Run time is 1h 50m, it’s classified as a ‘romantic comedy’ with a PG-13 rating. I can confirm there is both humor and romance, unsure of the PG-13 rating.

Movie synopsis: “Newly hired as a producer on a national morning-news program called "Daybreak," Becky Fuller (Rachel McAdams) decides to revitalize the low-rated show by bringing in legendary anchorman Mike Pomeroy (Harrison Ford). Pomeroy, however, refuses to do puff pieces like celebrity gossip and fashion, and clashes with his co-host (Diane Keaton). Meanwhile, Becky's romance with a colleague begins to unravel, leaving her struggling to save her relationship, her job and the show.”

Unofficially, it’s the most adorable, light-hearted film to grace the big screen. 

I wish I had been able to see it in theaters.

There’s something about office-esque movies with cute 20somethings’ wearing chic pencil skirts, set in big cities with bland boardrooms that really float my boat. Glamorize office life!! Glamorize a big (probably so icky) city!! Sell me on this corporate dream!!

You can’t help but love our MC, Becky - she’s cute, frazzled, has big dreams, and an awful dating life (wait, am I talking about me rn?). Start to finish I am Team Becky. I love her two over-flowing tote bags she hauls around, how she rabbles on when talking, and how annoying her phone ring-tone is.

The love interest (Patrick Wilson) is the type of cute that every boy shopping at Target on a Thursday evening seems to share, wears boring man office clothes and deals so effortlessly with Becky’s workaholic tendencies. Swoon. Who doesn’t love a patient, medium-ugly man?!

The character arcs', found family feeling, and how everything is filmed in a solf yellow hue that all movies seem to share in the early 2000s’ = peak comfort.

I think it was my freshman year of college when I stumbled upon the book ‘Morning Glory’, written after the film was released (how backwards is that? A topic deserving of its own exploration.) in my local Goodwill. I purchased it because it had Rachel McAdams on the cover, which is reason enough for me. I believe I still have it someplace - later, I am going to make sure it is, in fact, shoved somewhere on the shelf.

This won’t surprise you, but I loved the book and subsequently the movie. Still to this day I have the same warm feeling towards both of them.

Aline Brosh McKenna is a writer on the film - she was also a writer for 27 Dresses, and a screenwriter for The Devil Wears Prada. The woman is a genius and proven to be trustworthy. I’d like to think we’d get along. 

Aline Brosh McKenna.

There’s something ridiculously like-able about films where the stress and stakes are LOW. I don’t understand the idea of wanting to ‘relax’ and watching a movie that induces stress. I’ll pass. 

Maybe you’re someone who thinks that all romcom movies are low stress and easy-peasy? You’d be wrong.

The following is a list of romcoms where there is stress:

• Sweet Home Alabama - I recently read somewhere online that there is a lot of ‘banter’ in this film. There’s not, but there is an insane amount of yelling and screaming. AND that bar scene - I’m stressed thinking about it.

• The Family Stone- this is a painful one because it does contain Rachel McAdams, but the whole movie induces the feeling of walking on eggshells.

• The Proposal- Lying. And lying is stressful.

• While You Were Sleeping- Again with the lying. Can we just decide to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God?

• Serendipity- I LOVE this movie but holy cow does it bring out the anxiety in me. All those near misses?!

• How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days- Can you bounce back from something like that with a partner??

I am not saying that these movies are bad. (I AM saying The Family Stone is bad. I loathe that movie.), but they’re not relaxing little cutie films. Just because something ends well doesn’t mean it doesn’t drag you through it first. Consider me unwilling to be drug through it to get to the good ending.

I want the romance, warm fuzzies, and nothing else.

One of my favorite romance authors recently said, “Before I was an author, I was a reader with high anxiety who wanted books that are start to finish happy with low conflict. That’s why I wrote these books.” Ugh, Sarah Adams, you are speaking right to my heart. I am so glad someone else is feeling the same way when it comes to entertainment.

Adams writes the perfect low stakes books, previously closed door (again, another topic for another time - so many thoughts), easy-breezy beautiful type of ‘beach reads’. The Cheet Sheet is still a fav of mine.

Anyway, as I am writing this I am just finishing the movie Morning Glory, it is five hours away from the New Year, I am eating Annie’s Mac and Cheese, and drinking room temp water. Is it surprising I like bland, cutsie little movies?

Happy New Year to everyone, but people who watch war movies to ‘hangout and relax’.

Go watch this movie!!!!!!

IHNYR (I Hate New Year’s Resolutions)

I hate New Year's Resolutions. 

4,000 years ago, some Babylonian silly gooses started making pledges to their gods at the beginning of their year (mid-March), and now we have everyone's mom deciding to go low-carb and workout three days a week come January 1st. The trickle effect is trickling here.

I wonder if the Babylonian's were making bigger commitments that weight loss or if this is historically what we were worried about. 

Circa 46 B.C., Julius Caesar moved the beginning of the year to what we now know and love; keeping with the "New Year, New Me" energy they put together sacrifices to Janus, the two-faced god whose spirit inhabited doorways and arches (FUN!). They also made pledges of good conduct to him. This, obviously, brought all the good vibes into the coming year. Lot's to think about here, folks. 

"According to recent research, while as many as 45 percent of Americans say they usually make New Year’s resolutions, only 8 percent are successful in achieving their goals. But that dismal record probably won’t stop people from making resolutions anytime soon—after all, we’ve had about 4,000 years of practice." - SARAH PRUITT

I know people who make vision boards, pick their word of the year, set monthly goals to meet throughout the year, manifest, eat grapes under the table at midnight, and create 'ins' and 'outs' lists - these are just the trends I know about!  We're getting creative with our New Year - ancient pledges and sacrifices are out, and taping photos of what you want your future to look like on poster board is in. 

What would the Babylonians think? What would Julius say?

Are we on the same page that this New Years Resolution mumbo-jumbo seems a little wonky?? That being said, I will be setting New Year’s Resolutions and have already created my 'in' and 'out' list. I am nothing if not occasionally hypocritical.

What are my New Year’s Resolutions, you ask? Fine, I'll share: 

• Finish reading The Bible 

• Write something for the blog once a week AND actually post it. (KEY-word here is 'post'. The grave-yard file of unposted stories is getting cramped.)

These are goals that I am willing to fight tooth and nail to complete - I think that the Bible one will be completed due to my fear of disappointing God. (this fear comes from me being culturally and aesthetically Catholic ((I feel guilty all the time, love fancy buildings, stained glass and over-the-top artwork)) this is mostly a joke.) AND coupled with the bragging rights that must come with reading that whole book = Success.

The writing one is much trickier. In 2020 I was really in the swing of writing and not caring what people thought about it. I posted little blurbs and short stories care free and wild with abandon. I am no longer in possession of this ability. There is something debilitating about posting out here.  Even more so when you post and almost immediately some jerk-face who wears white socks has something snarky to say. 

As we all know, people who wear white socks deserve prison time and nothing else!!  No opinions from you, Sir!! no no!!

I am bound and determined none-the-less. Check your sock color before emailing me critiques. 

Now that we've covered New Year’s Resolutions, I want to talk about my 'Ins' and 'outs' of the new year. I am a big fan of this little trend, personally - picking what you're purging from the last year? I have so much I want to toss. These seem significantly more 'vibe' based than the resolution business - I can’t explain why it feels that way. You just have to trust me. 

I'll include mine here: 

Ugh, I hope you all don't suffer from the same people pleasing, non-backbone disease that I do. My biggest ‘outs’ is the saying 'no'. Someone asks me to do something that I don't want to, and I feel like I need to provide a three-point essay explaining why I would rather not do/attend/spend money on said idea. 

I'll be practicing "Oh that sounds like fun, but I wont be able to go/attend/want to spend money on that!" in the mirror. 

Practice makes perfect!

Are you setting any resolutions for the year? Do you have an 'ins’ and 'outs’ list prepped for Jan 1st? Are you making pledges and offering sacrifices? Eating grapes under a table?? I wanna know what you all are setting out to do this year!! Tell me everything.

EDIT: concerning the whole grape thing, my sources tell me that its about finding your soulmate - I have no information other than that. If you're someone who has found their soulmate due to New Year’s grape eating please email me.

a short story with no discernible plot & no real ending.

Oh, and everything was burning – the bonfire and the light in his eyes and everything in me.

I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits.

There’s something about the woods that appeals to me. I never feel like I belong anywhere – constantly a visitor. Here in this city, in this room, in this skin, on this Earth. I’m a quick bit of passing through that, to the world, will be nothing, but to me, it’s been years of turmoil and icky bits of deep, murky blues. But not right now. Not here in the woods. A bonfire in between us and this hazy look in his eyes and everything in me is screaming.

I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits. I hate white rabbits.

I think I might be in love with him. Impossible. He has this lazy, careless way about him. There’s this odd sense of security I get around him. He’s skin and bones, just like me. But sometimes my mind forgets, and I’m quite sure he holds this whole world together. Impossible.

Can you hear the woods?

The acorns falling, bouncing off leaves on the way down. A crack- the sighing of trees.
Can you hear the owls talking and the other bits and ends of nature scurrying?

That’s all I can hear, the woods. That and my heart pounding and the fire talking.

I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits.

I just stare at him. I like his almond-shaped eyes and how he gets little smile lines when he laughed, and I love how he looks when he reads. I like how he walks, how he puts on shoes, and how easily he exists.

I’m at home here. Maybe not in this exact lifetime, but positively at this moment.
Here, where absolutely everything feels on fire. I have to squeeze my eyes closed.

I feel on fire, either with how much I like him or maybe it’s just the smoke in my eyes.

I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits.

Pub. April 13, 2020.

The tooth-fairy's evil twin sister is my best friend.

The tooth-fairy's evil twin sister is my best friend. Her name is Cynthia and she cares very little for dental health or world peace.

There's a strange contrast between the twins— one of them is light and airy and she smells of spring and every single word that comes out of her mouth feels warm and sparkly. Whereas the other started spelling her name Sin-thia in middle school and recently got banned from international travel until a court case wraps up next fall. She wears only dark shades of blue and purple and the blackest black.

From birth it was known that her sister would be the Tooth-Fairy; decided on by some sort of higher power. It was pre-ordained, the whole ordeal with the ancient text and prophecies, yada yada. Want to know what wasn't in the ancient text or prophecies? Cynthia.

Her mother didn't even know she was pregnant with twins until the day of - a big surprise for everyone involved.

There was panic after the birth(s), a meeting of the council of Magical Beings, rioting in the streets, talk of an uprising against the current leadership. The big question was "What the heck is going on and what are we going to do about this baby?"

The Counsels' official recommendation was that they drown this surprise bonus baby in the river - "we're just really not sure about this one" they said, looking down into the bassinet where one baby was blonde and seemed to glow from within and the other was pale and had thick black hair and didn't give off fairy princess vibes in the slightest.

Poor baby Cynthia. Drown her, they tried...three times... unsuccessfully. You can imagine what three attempts at being murdered can do to a child. Naturally everyone starting to think the baby was a witch being that she was only three days old and able to withstand death. The town's biggest thinkers all came together to come up with something else to try. It was an all-hands-on deck affair.

A few weeks later there was a plan B attempt to leave her in the woods to succumb to the elements. They even sought out a location with a particularly large wolf pack in hopes of them treating her as an appetizer, but the wolves just kept bringing her back to her parents' house. Howling up at the front door until someone would come and retrieve the infant. They only tried that a few times before the town's people asked them to stop - the wolves kept picking off everyone's pets on their way out of town, all the children were distraught; as you might imagine.

Plan C (my personal favorite) was to give her to a passing group of gypsies - they figured if there was no way to truly un-alive this child then at least it would be better to have her as far away from them as possible. Legend has it that the gypsies only got a few miles out of town before turning the whole caravan around. They left her at the towns edge in the tall tall grass all the while yelling strange, ancient, evil curses to the towns people who met them there.

A translator from the town, who later denied this claim, said someone from the caravan had told him of all the visions the gypsies had been plagued with since the child was in their care. Horrible signs of end times and war -

The gypsies never came back to  town and Cynthia was returned to her parents yet again.

"Maybe it'll be nice to have her in the house." Her father was overheard saying "She could end up being like a small guard dog," Oddly enough she was. No one wanted to mess with the family when their strange feral, emo daughter was around. Which came in handy when your other daughter is a prevalent magical and political figure.

Cynthia was especially beneficial for the years when no one wanted to have a Tooth-fairy anymore - all those progressive college students and their radical anti-childhood magic ideas.  When they came to protest outside the family estate it was comically short lived once Cynthia caught wind of it. She has a way with people and plagues, you know how it is.

All in all, her childhood years were spent between being grounded in the attic and in the detention hall. Her teenage years were spent in the woods with the witches and in juvie. And her young adult years have, so far, been in the deans office and debate room.

At this current moment, however, she is in none of those places. Instead, she is standing in her dorm room practicing a speech in her mirror.

"...In conclusion, I propose to you a vote of who should be the Tooth-fairy. Let the people decide who should hold the title."

Some people truly want to watch the world burn - Cynthia is one of those people. She also happens to be the type to want to set it on fire herself.

In some regards this is what she is doing with this speech. A long toss of the match - these ending lines will set ablaze both personal and professional relationships. In simpler terms, her family and the Counsel are going to be completely pissed when they hear it - oh, in about  15 minutes.

It's a yearly ordeal, the meeting of all the Counsel, the Magical Beings and all the powers that be.  Held in one of the great halls of the very university that Cynthia cheated, swindled and threatened her way into. She flashes her signature smile into the mirror (much debate in the last few years of whose smile is straighter and whiter between the twins. Truly sometimes it's hard to tell.) She straightens her black turtleneck, adjusting the campaign button pinned to it and runs a lint roller over her slacks.

I stack the flyers, pamphlets and box of buttons on the campaign cart. The banner tacked on the side reading "Sin-thia, wants YOU to bite back." the illustration being Cynthia in a dark hooded robe, sporting vampire fangs and pointing directly at the reader.

"Do you know where my fangs are ?" She asks, I slip them out of my pocket and into her hands.

This moment was years in the making, after taking classes in the art of voodoo doll making, black magic consultations, full moon conjuring in the mountains, tracking and manipulation of the stars and a brief stint of meetings with the pop closet demon in southern MN, we came to the conclusion that the only way to win this war against her sister would be behind a podium.

As Cynthia puts in the faux fangs, I also bare my teeth and look at my smile. Running my polished red nail over the row of teeth - the clicking sound it makes sounding fake and hollow.

My burning anger against the Tooth-fairy goes beyond prophecy and sibling rivalry. Rather, she ruined my teeth six years back during a procedure she personally assured (and used as promo for her franchise) would be so simple and easy she could do it blindfolded. The new procedure was part of her New Years "Reso-TOOTH-ion" (gag), bringing dental work into lower income areas. So badly executed was the procedure that the executive decision was made to pull all of my teeth, give me dentures and sweep the whole thing under the rug. Swiftly and cleanly.

Cynthia and I connected a few years later on an 'I hate the tooth-fairy’ Facebook page. It was friendship at first cruel, de-humanizing post against her sister. “she could have at least given you veneers” she had commented under my lengthy post describing the suffering I'd endured under the Tooth-fairy’s drill.

Friendship bloomed from there, evolving from our anonymous online presence to best friends quickly. The idea of over-throwing her sister’s reign didn't come to us until years later. One drunken night out and about the pubs in London, Cynthia came to a screeching halt, putting both hands on my shoulders, her face inches from mine- she whispered "I'm going to run for Tooth-fairy," In the obnoxiously fake British accent she pulled out every time we got to this country.

This idea was ridiculous. There was no 'running' for Tooth-fairy. All magical positions are appointed by The Beings and Fate- there is no deciding against it. Sure, every summer her sister would come out with a new 'campaign' but it was never for an election, rather to promote whatever she was pushing out to consumers next.

I brushed off the idea as a drunken rant, except for the next morning Cynthia woke me up at the break of dawn to confirm I would be her campaign manager.

Our deadline to get this show up and running was today’s date, when all of council would be together.

It did end up making sense, all the occult dabbling we’d done to try and end it all for Miss Tooth-fairy was for nothing- this was our last resort. Our roles from friendship into Campaign manager and Runnie transitioned seamlessly, since really, the bases of both relationships were the same: our mutual distain and personal need for the eventual downfall of her sister.

We chose not to take any sort of high road in our strategy for success. 

We began by spending months carefully orcistrating rumors and posting articles against her. Some of my favorites:

"What is the Tooth-fairy REALLY doing with all your children's teeth?"

"Why isn't the Tooth-fairy leaving more money under your child's pillow? Aren't their teeth worth more?"

"Ex-Best friend spills all - the rotting secrets about the woman in charge of your teeth,"

“Does she even have a first name? Who is the ‘Tooth-fairy’?”

“How She Makes Her Money: The Tooth-fairy profits on your dental decay,”

It worked almost too well. People, for the first time, were questioning exactly what they knew about this woman who visited their homes in the night, left money for their children and took their baby teeth. Who was the ‘professional’ clad in sparkly pink dresses who spoke to us about future dental care procedures?? Who begged Europe to let her come visit?? Who bled red, white and fluoride ?? What exactly were her credentials?! Why was she always in pink!?

There was also a timely leak of particularly questionable adolescent diary entries, which we mailed to Teeth & Jaw, Dentists Weekly, and Braced Faced. They published them almost immediately.

Who doesn’t wanna see the popular girl go down?

We paid the arts department at the college to make our buttons and flyers - threatening anyone who tried to question production or seemed like they would leak information. A campaign site was created and now sits ready to be publish - all sent into work once this meeting was over, which we were quickly approaching.

It was all a fever dream. I clicked my jaw together - we were gunna create quite the stir.

I pin a campaign button onto my own blazer and took a deep breath.

"We’ve done good work,” Cynthia says - her eyes are ablaze, and she practically vibrates across the room to grab two shooters of Tito’s from her backpack, handing one to me, “To root-canals, and world domination!” 

(World domination being our next goal once the position of Tooth-fairy is secured. Cheers.)

The Woman In The Net

I’m not sure where she came from, and I have no idea where she was off to, but I do know the determination and angst that was heavy in her eyes as she went there.

Sometimes situations fall into my lap, much like this one, that leaves me giggly and in utter awe of the universe.

Let me explain. 

The odd people, the ones a little off or unusual or different, that we all cross paths with every once in a while are like the exclamation point on the end of an otherwise dull paragraph. They jazz up something that was lame. This morning for me was so mundane, normal, and uneventful. Until I came past this woman walking in Plymouth around 6:30am.

An exclamation point. 

She was carrying a large walking stick, leaning on it as she went. A small woman, shoulders sloped forward, back bent, age was heavy.

She was walking fast- too fast almost. It was unnerving for some reason.

No one was around her, she stood along the edge of the wooded park area, on the path that weaved its way around town.

She had on shorts, ones that looked like they were made for adventuring- boxy and had lots of pockets on them, she had on a button-down top that matched the shorts – all of this was stark white. On her head, she had on a huge sun hat. But the real kicker of the outfit was the net that covered her entire body and trailed along the sidewalk behind her.

It was a huge net – and not the kind that I would imagine would be used to catch an angry tiger or a large group of chickens, the holes in it weren’t large. It was a net made for keeping bugs away.

It practically swallowed her. She had her left hand clutching it close around her face, holding it there. And the other hand was sticking out from beneath the net and held the walking stick. The bit that was left behind her looked like an odd wedding veil.

She marched on. Walking stick, bug net and all – going? Who knows where.

I thought about it all morning – what was that woman all about ? Was she terrified of the bugs? Was she crazy? Was this look some new high fashion that we’ve all been neglecting?

I think I would like the know the woman in the net.

If you, by chance, know the woman, please tell her that I am one of her biggest fans.

And that it that.

Safe sailing

-a.ray origional publication June 2020

Have you seen this young man?

The Cannon Beach area is in search of a young man in his early teens identified this morning as Keith Drake. He isn't thought to be armed but is considered dangerous. Please contact your local law enforcement if you see him or if you have any information that could lead police to him (profile sketch at end of article).

Drake entered Oregon late Sunday evening for a birthday trip with his family. His father, standing mysteriously by the waters edge and smoking a cigar, is quoted saying "he seemed as normal as usual on the plane ride," however, his seat mate did report Keith talking endlessly during the flight about the earth being square and hoping the pilot was equipped to "handle sharp corners". When the man asked him to elaborate, Keith shushed him and told him to "Just think about it,".

Once landing things steadily progressed. Keith was reported to be pacing the beach screaming obscenities at the seagulls. One by passer reported him yelling, "I know who you work for!" at them. Farther down the beach he had told a man (last name Davis) that he was a conformist for believing in birds and, after noticing Davis was feeding the seagulls, told him he would be punished for his war crimes.

A series of strange text messages were sent from his phone with photos of the birds. It appears Keith was paranoid of them "gathering the information".

(Text messages pulled from Keith’s phone showing conspiracy against the birds)

His mother, Stacy Drake (ridiculously fashionable) reported him missing Wednesday morning after finding a fake body in his bed (consisting of a basketball, three goose decoys and an outdated dictionary - the cops stated it "was shockingly convincing".) His parents are unsure where he acquired all the items used.  Drake had taken along with him all their shoelaces, everyone’s phone chargers, and left a cryptic note reading "Mitochondria: The Powerhouse of the Cell." for them to find. We are unsure what he was trying to say.

It was later reported that there was  a strange journal found a few steps away from his door with the words 'fresh, funky and fun' carved into the cover. Inside was drawings and photos of a small, scary looking troll whom Keith was known to travel with. His name is BoBo; It's important to note that BoBo is also missing.

(Recent photos of Keith and BoBo)

We know Keith attempted to purchase boat tickets from multiple locations, all of which were turned down since he was trying to pay for the tickets with buttons and sticks of chewing gum.

There is video footage of him, later in the day, successfully purchasing a bus ticket downtown, the clerk said he didn't realize he had paid in buttons until he had already printed the ticket and given it to Drake. While purchasing the ticket, Keith was overheard telling the clerk that Rat Bird would be joining him. If anyone knows or has information leading us to this 'Rat Bird' please contact the tipline.

Before his bus departed from the station he had been reading aloud from a book, "Better Than The Movies" by Lynn Painter. Investigators have since read the book hoping to find clues to his whereabouts, but came up empty handed. Although they all rated the book as a 5 star read on Goodreads and posted lengthy reviews. They recommend it to everyone; their official notes read "Keith has excellent taste in books. Also, we don't know where he is." 

Around Thursday morning his cousin Ava Gill was reported to have taken a phone call, which we think came from Drake, and promptly left work without explanation. We are assuming she is going to meet up with him - a tip has come in that they have worked together in the past. A theory circulating online is that she is the ‘Rat Bird’ he had talked about at the bus station.

At this time law enforcement isn't sure where they are going but are asking all bookstores in the surrounding areas to keep watch for them.  Keith is reported to have a serious London Fog addiction so coffee shops might also be hot spots for them to frequent.

If you happen to see Keith Drake, BoBo or Ava Gill (Rat Bird) please contact local authorities.

please see profile sketch below.

Flash Flooding

“I’ve heard it both ways,” 

“No, you haven’t.” 

“I have,” 

I flicked my cigarette and watched the ash slowly spin to the ground.

The back of my neck feels itchy, probably from the tag on my t-shirt. I usually cut the tag out, but I didn’t, and now my neck itches, and that’s all I can think about.

Well, that, and how it looks like it’s about to rain pretty soon. We’ve been watching the storm roll in for the last 20 minutes. All the while, bickering to keep ourselves entertained and taking smoke breaks from that.

Barely even summer, and already it was so hot. 

That damn tag. 

“You think you’re so smart,” 

The clouds out there in the distance rumbled, lightning flashed within them—the air electric feeling, tingly.

“Hmm,” 

The garage was open behind us, country music playing from the little stereo in the corner. The neighborhood around us was slowly retreating back inside, away from the soon to be rainstorm.

“Light showers, I think.” 

I hoped for flash flooding. 

I like it here; in the identical rows of single-family homes, I like the superficial chitchat between neighbors, and I liked how everything was always the same. Mundane and slow, so calm. Peaceful.

We pull the grill out and position it in front of the garage just right in case it starts to rain. The overhang of the garage will shield us, but we’re far enough outside for the smoke to not back up into the garage.

I’ve always liked the sound that striking a match makes, the sound that something catches fire makes; I likes the crack and crinkle as the charcoal turns red.

“Is the grill ready?”

I itch my neck and wonder if I should just rip the tag out – what if I rip the shirt?

“I suppose so.” 

There’s one stand up freezer in the garage and another one that’s a chest. The stand-up one holds the beer and sides for dinners and this and that and the other. The chest one is where we keep the meat.

I should tell you now before we get much further into this and you potentially start to like me – I am the bad guy in this story.

I know, I know – now you have to hate me and want me gone. I know how this works. But I’m a likable enough bad guy. I live here, in this house with my wife and daughters, I work a 9 to 5 at a firm, and I take my two weeks of PTO up at a cabin, and I coach the kid’s soccer games, and I have my friends over on the weekend for a grill out and some beers. I have short blond hair and brown eyes, and I’ve recently slimmed down and started running in the morning to stay fit.

It was the running that did it; if I had never started running, I would have never met Synthia.

The rain began, small drops that colored the concrete driveway a darker shade of grey. I could hear it on the windows—tap tap tap.

We pulled the meat out of the freezer and unwrapped it. It looked store bought – looked normal. It’s wasn’t.

The rain came down harder and harder – there was no one outside now. The smoke from the grill curled out into the weather.

Yea, it was the running that ruined everything. It was her deciding to run with me that did it. That was the nail in the coffin.

“Ofta, it’s raining hard.”

We opened two more beers and watching it storm.

The lightning was bright and white and reached all the way across the sky.

Yes, it was a good life here. I had nice cars and a big backyard, and did Synthia really think I was going to give it all up? Really?

The thunder just about shook the house. Briefly, the wives came out to say hello and see how things were going. The kids were in the backyard – probably soaking wet and muddy by now.

The wives left, and so did the conversation and the silence that filled the garage, with exception to the grill sizzling and the occasional crack of thunder.

Synthia lived two houses down. Well, she used to live two houses down. She had a husband and no children. They drove sports cars and were very rarely not traveling.

If she had never started running at the same time I did, we would have never talked, and we would have never had an affair, and I wouldn’t have had to get rid of her.

But really, whose fault was it?

“Maybe we should grab a plate for the meat that’s done.”

And the grilling process was started over with new burgers.

“How much will the kids eat?”

“Never know.”

It was a stormy night like this when it all happened – when the push came to shove, and the shove went to blunt force trauma.

Then there’s the whole problem with what you have to do with a dead body. What is there to do with it? Really? What options do you have?

Dump it someplace? Wait to be found out?

Leave her where she was?

Call the cops and pretend you happened to find her?

I always get a half a cow in the summer – I like to process it myself, so I spend the next few nights after getting it processing meat in the garage. It’s a bloody mess, and by the end of it, I have a ton of hamburger.

It was the best-case scenario that I happened to kill her that same week. No one ever came out into the garage until the whole thing was cleaned up and put away. The kids were apparently too young to see a dead animal, and my wife hated the blood.

It’s almost like it was meant to happen, how everything worked out.

The hamburgers were flipped and flipped again. Poked a thermometer into each of them. Putting some on the finished meat plate, I wondered briefly if anyone would think they tasted odd. Outside of the normal?

“Could you cut this tag out of my shirt?“ I asked Dave

It kept raining hard. It looks like I was right about flash flooding.

Hello ShopSmart Team,

Hello ShopSmart Team,

Just a few reminders and announcements.

First of all, we want to thank each and every one of you for all the long hours you put in over the holiday season. The success we saw from Thanksgiving through the New Year could not have been reached without all of you clocking in with your bright smiling faces and hardworking attitudes. Your dedication to serving our small town with grocery, home, and appliance needs does not go unnoticed. 

In fact, our Team not only surpassed the in-store sales goals we set for ourselves this year but hit the highest in our district! Outstanding work, Team! I get the opportunity to work personally with many of you throughout the week, and I see the attention to detail and mindfulness you all put into stocking shelves, ringing up sales, and greeting customers; this win for the company is merely a reflection of that.

The General Managers and corporate want to show our thanks with a pizza party. We are tentatively planning on Friday the 6th at 4:30 in the break room, directly following our yearly Smart Work Meeting. Please reach out to Tabitha, as she is the party organizer, with any and all questions! We hope to see you there.

Continuing with the good news and thanks, we want to give a special shout-out to Janice who has officially been with ShopSmart for 42 years! Janice is a fixture of our little store, beloved by the community and our Team. Along with being ShopSmart's longest-held employee, she also holds the most employee of the month awards - a whopping 136 awards signifying 136 months of exceptional work! To thank Janice for her dedication, we have given her a permanent Employee Of The Month parking space! Thank you Janice and enjoy! If you see her out and about this week on the sales floor please be sure to congratulate her!

A reminder that with Christmas break ending, our seasonal and college-age friends who come back home to help us when we're the busiest will be leaving. You might see an influx/change to your hours because of this. Please remember that any concerns or changes in your schedule (holiday hour or otherwise) need to be submitted to and approved by Kelly before the first of the month. Failure to do this will result in you being responsible for working your scheduled shift regardless of your availability. You are, of course, free to switch shifts amongst yourselves with the approval of the GM for that day. Remember to be mindful of max hours when swapping shifts. Thank you!

As mentioned above, our Yearly Smart Work Meeting will be on Friday the 6th. Attendance to this is MANDATORY for both GM's, general staff, and front office. Attendance will be taken. Those who fail to attend will be written up. Note: anyone with outstanding write up's who fails to come to this meeting will automatically be terminated per the company handbook.

No exceptions. 

Smart Work Meetings are the perfect time for all of us to get on the same page for the new year with general store updates, important merchandise releases, and safety reminders! Plus, it helps us all connect and say hello before we're back to the normal, everyday pace of work after the holidays.

This year we will be spending some extra time on store policy and how we interact with guests - Maybe you had an interaction this holiday season that didn't go quite the ShopSmart way, or maybe you have some questions about store policy, I think we all can benefit from a policy refresh class!

I'm sure most of you are aware of a few specific instances that took place recently in our store between our ShopSmart guests and employees that didn't follow protocol. There have been a couple of reporters coming in wanting to get a comment or two from our staff about these handfuls of instances; You are more than welcome to talk with the reporters. However, please keep in mind that ShopSmart does not condone the actions of the employees in question. Feel free to provide a copy of the employee handbook to anyone inquiring. The handbook outlines store policy for how ShopSmart wants its employees to resolve conflicts with guests.

We understand that the holiday season is a stressful time, we also understand that conflict resolution techniques are not one-size-fits-all. Sometimes a situation arises where you have to think on your feet; however, I am concerned that there are a few things we need to cover ASAP, before our Smart Work Meeting. Consider the following as base ideas for working with customers -

1. Employees are expected to refrain from throwing, tossing or pelting food items at guests shopping in the store.

2. Employees are not to take out items from a guest's basket/cart that they don't want them purchasing, that they would like to purchase themselves, or that they (the guest) already have multiple of in the cart/basket. NOTE: it doesn't matter if you know this guest outside of work. It also doesn't matter what this guest did to you first.

3. Employees cannot ask guests, "Are you dumb?", "Can you not read?", "Are you always like this in public?". Please refrain.

4. Employees are to respond with "Thank you!" or "You as well!" When told to have a nice day. Anyone who continues saying "Don't tell me what to do" or "Don't talk to me anymore" will be written up immediately.

Please take time to think about how your actions and words reflect back on you and ShopSmart when helping guests in the store. We want to put our best foot forward in the public eye, and in the relationships we create while on the sales floor!

It was recently over-heard that a makeshift FightClub called "SmartFight" has been meeting on Wednesday nights behind the cardboard recycling dumpsters. We would like to announce that any fighting, organized or not, is prohibited from company property. 

ShopSmart does not and will not ever condone violence of any kind, especially that against your co-workers. The GM's would also like to make it clear to our newer employees that any rumors of "Best fighters get best shifts" and "if you lose you sleep in the warehouse" is NOT true. Please talk to HR if you have been a victim of "SmartFight".

Janice would also like us to clear up the rumor of her being undefeated in SmartFight. I think anyone who knows Janice well at all could deduct that that is not in her nature. She would also like everyone to stop calling her “Champ”. Previously thought of as a nickname stemming from her many Employee of the Moth awards, she now fears it has something to do with “SmartFight”. 

We have made adjustments and outlined our expectations to keep the ShopSmart property a violence-free zone in the employee handbook. If you have any questions on this, please reach out to HR or your GM.

Hand in hand with that, there is no betting or gambling of any kind allowed on ShopSmart property, and drugs or alcohol consumption of any kind is prohibited as well. (in anticipation of people wondering about drinking kombucha on store property: it has been decided that due to the almost non-existent alcohol content in kombucha, it will still be permitted on store grounds. Thank you.)

This brings me to the last topic needing to be touched on. As many of you know, Dan was let go of last weekend. At ShopSmart we value our employee's privacy, however, due to the nature of Dan's termination, it was decided that it would be best the clear up the situation.

On Christmas Eve, a few minutes before closing, there was an incident involving a ten-year-old boy being hit/partially run over with the driven floor mop. As the situation developed, it came to light that the young boy and Dan had been arguing with one another before the incident. 

The boy was in with his mother grabbing a few last-minute items before Christmas morning as Dan was mopping. The boy repeatedly got in his way/was walking on the freshly cleaned floors. Dan was overheard by another ShopSmart guest as telling the boy, "If you get in my way again you'll be sorry,".

Once the camera footage was pulled back by authorities, it was clear that Dan hit the child on purpose. Allegedly all Dan intended to do was hit him a little, NOT run him over. It is important to note that we do not condone any of his actions.

We are disheartened and appalled at the way things were handled that evening and we hope that through better Team building and conflict resolution training, we will be better equipped with handling frustrating situations with guests. 

It is important to note that we have a "see something, say something" Policy in ShopSmart. In the video footage pulled from the night of the incident, we noticed that multiple employees witnessed the situation unfolding in aisle 13 and either pretended not to see what was happening or stood there and watched. It is also reported that the employees who watched the incident take place were laughing "maniacally". We do not have proof of this since we cannot pull back sound with our cameras; however, a few guests shopping near that aisle reported the laughter. Please, we cannot stress this enough, if something of this nature happens in the future please find or call for your GM.

Be mindful in the weeks going forward to not add to the rumor mill about this situation - if you have a question about something that happened that night, please find Denise in HR.

All of you should have received an employee handbook when attending employee onboarding training; if you would like another, please come to my office during my posted Free Office Hours, and I will print you a new copy. It is vital that everyone is familiar with the handbook and follows the handbook to the best of their abilities. If you have questions, please either talk to a GM or Courtney in HR.

Remember everyone, ShopSmart is the best way to shop! And we can only be the best if we are the best at helping our guests!

Thank you,

Brad Miller 

General Store Manager

The Date

I would like to tell you about a date - I will neither confirm or deny that I was the individual on this date. It might have been me, it might have been my sister, it might have been a friend. This is a true story - and because of its nature, there is almost no need to bs any of it to get it to be hilarious.

For the purposes of this story, I have changed the names of our two main characters - the man on the date will be called Brian, and the girl will be called Ava.

This story closely resembles a fever dream.

The date is at 7:30 pm at a fancy restaurant. It's cold outside.

Brian had made the reservations; Ava showed up 15 minutes early. Brian is already waiting.

Brian meets her at the door; he is wearing a nice pair of slacks and a button down, over the top of the button down is a green vest. He looks like every 54 year old man in the restaurant. He is 25. His shoes are work boots, one pant leg is over the top of the workbook, and the other leg is tucked inside the work-boot. Ava does not comment on this but is confused. Brian is handsome with dark hair and big eyes. He is tall.

"You look nice," Brian says. "I like your glasses, but only from the side. When you look at them from the front, they look a little uglyish," Ava laughs; she thinks she might already dislike him, which is unfortunate because the date has just begun.

They sit at a table, Brian half pulls Ava's chair out for her but then abandons the mission halfway through and just sits down.

The silence begins and starts to stretch on. It's important for the readers to understand that Ava tried to start a conversation multiple times while they were sitting there, but Brian only nodded a bit and didn't contribute.

"I really have nothing to talk about. I almost canceled on you about 20 minutes ago, but I didn't," He laughs a nervous laugh.

Ava laughs. She regrets her choice to go on a date with this boy. She wonders if she should cancel the date right now. Fake an emergency, something.

Again, he says nothing and doesn't look at her - she tries to think of a topic to discuss.

It's almost hunting season so Ava asks, "Do you hunt?"

"Usually I do, but I can't this year," He trails off.

"Why is that?"

"I got a felony so I can't have a gun anymore,"

Brian doesn't look at Ava, he's reading the menu. The tone he delivered this fun fact in was casual, like he told her that he doesn't really care for fall weather or that he hates socks with a seam over the toes.

"What did you do?" She asks.

"I broke someone's arm,"

Due to how half handedly Brian says this, Ava assumes that he must be joking about this situation, oddly enough. So she says "Well did he deserve it?"

"I mean I guess - it was a road rage type of situation," It's clearer now that he is not joking.

Ava stares blankly at him.

"How do you feel about that?"

"About you breaking someone's arm?" She clarifies. He nods.

"Well not great to be honest,"

Brian is not fazed by this, he asks what she will be ordering, she replies, and he doesn't say anything else. she keeps asking questions - somehow his answers all have to tie into World War II history. Ava does not like this, finds it a bit upsetting. The food is delivered to the table - they talk about books, she tells him her favorite genre and he says something along the lines of "Women always have questionable taste in entertainment,"

Ava chooses to ignore the comment and asks if he's doing anything for Halloween? He says no and asks if she is, she says she has a party to go to.

"So you like Halloween a lot?" He wonders. Ava says "I think its alright,"

"I have something to show you," He takes out his phone and spends around seven minutes scrolling.

"You'll like this since you are a fan of Halloween," he adds.

A nervous feeling grows as he scrolls through his phone - while they wait for him to find whatever he is looking of he asks her what her favorite song is, Ava tells him. "Are you going to play it?" He asks, looking from his phone screen to her.

"No, I wasn't planning on it,"

He frowns, looking back down to his phone.

The photo he shows to Ava is of a little baby seal in a bathtub with little pumpkins floating in the water. She laughs. She wonders if this Brian boy is going to murder her at the end of the date. She really hopes not.

Silence again -

"This is a horrible date, isn't it?" He says looking around the dining floor. "You're really pretty by the way,"

"Too bad about the glasses then," She tried to joke.

"Only your glasses are ugly. Your face is fine. Especially with the glasses off."

Ava finds it a little strange eating with a stranger that she already knows she hates. She decides to grill him on politics and religion, she also asks about where he's traveled- he tells her a story that happened during a trip to Germany.

"So the guy asks me ' you don't believe in science?'" Brian's eyes widen as he recounts this "And I say ' I don't believe in science? That's like saying leprechauns don't exist! Get real buddy," He laughs - Ava laughs. She wonders how this person is actually real. It's a terrifying thought. He is out there voting and talking and having opinions - mostly about World War II, but still.

"That really shuts people down - when you throw something wild like that back at them. They get so mad," He musses. He hasn't touched his water. He just holds the glass in his hand and moves it around as he tells stories. Water has spilled from it onto the table but he doesn't seem to mind or notice.

The waitress brings over more water - she stares at Brain like he's a rabid animal.

They cover religion - Brian is Catholic because he likes how the buildings look and quote "I like smelling the incense they they throw around in that ball thing at the end,"

Ava decides to ask how he feels about the catholic church making people pay to get their relatives out of purgatory faster.

Brian is reported to have stared at Ava as if she is dumb. "I don't mind that - what? like we want heaven full of poor people?"

Ava fights the urge to hit him with something, anything.

She asks if he is the type to drink a lot or do drugs. He says yes - she is not surprised.

He asks her the same question - she says no to both.

"I have some in my car if you want to try,"

"You have what?"

"The stuff that you asked me about?"

"You have alcohol and drugs in the back of your car?"

"Who said anything about alcohol or drugs?"

She is getting really worried now that after this dinner he will, in fact, murder her.

He continued to show Ava photos of seals and photos he took while traveling - he tells her that he hasn't really ever been into the whole 'having a job thing', and that his parents take care of him.

The check comes, he gives the waitress his card.

Ava says, "Well tell your dad I said thank you for dinner then,"

He did NOT think that was funny.

He asks her if she wants to take a walk with him after they finish eating, its dark outside and Ava doesn't want to be murdered so she says "no,"

He says "You don't like me? Was it because the date was horrible? I blame the venue, the music they played was horrible"

She doesn't respond, just stares ahead.

They both leave.

The next day Ava thanks him for dinner, but tells him that she is not interested.

It's been around three weeks since the date; he calls her almost every night at 3am, he sends her a few texts a day involving seals and music he is listening to. She hasn't answered his calls, he always leaves a voicemail after the call. The voicemails consist of him trying to convince her to go out with him again - he uses different voices in the messages, different accents. They are hilarious and so strange.

Readers, I truly wish this was one of the stories I made up.

But how can you make stuff like this up?

Safe Sailing and don't talk to boys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-A.Ray