She died in her sleep 2 August 2015 at 94 years of age. Her death was a surprise, but not unexpected. We had all gotten together with her just two weeks ago. She seemed in good spirits, considering her age. The Alzheimer’s had been progressing recently, but she still knew all of us, and that was a blessing.

She lived a full life and raised seven children. My brother posted a sign on Facebook: “My mother taught me everything, except how to survive without her.” For that, we have to muddle through on our own.

Several of … more → ]]> We buried my mother today.

She died in her sleep 2 August 2015 at 94 years of age. Her death was a surprise, but not unexpected. We had all gotten together with her just two weeks ago. She seemed in good spirits, considering her age. The Alzheimer’s had been progressing recently, but she still knew all of us, and that was a blessing.

She lived a full life and raised seven children. My brother posted a sign on Facebook: “My mother taught me everything, except how to survive without her.” For that, we have to muddle through on our own.

Several of the comments the reverend said at the service struck chords.

“You can get a bigger house. You can get a bigger car. You can get a bigger bank account. But none of that gets you a bigger casket.”

I’m pleased to be able to say my ambitions are rather modest. We don’t need a bigger house, so what would be the use of having one? And a big car? Just guzzles more gas. I will admit to the bigger bank account; not so much for itself as for what we could do with it. We’ve always wanted to travel and see parts of the world outside the United States, or even the remoter (from us) parts of this country. But you know what? we’re doing fine without it.

He also read The Dash, a poem by Linda Ellis. A reflection on the dash between the two dates on a tombstone. It is a thought-provoking look at what is important in your life, not only to you but to the people around you too.

I haven’t really cried yet. If it is anything like the loss of my father, years ago, it will keep coming back to me at odd and unusual times. That’s when I’ll miss her and the tears will fill my eyes.

“Casey’s Jersey City crew got careless,” Says Bossman. “Zombies flooded three sites. Two held them back but we blew the third. Horde made it up four flights and we couldn’t risk it. All told, probably lost fifty people.”

Bossman looks at me, gin blossoms reddening. The skin around his eyes draws tight, his hands, resting on the desk between us, clench, unclench. “Go find Casey. You ask him how he … more → ]]> Chuck Wendig’s Latest Flash Fiction Challenge. Part four of Michael D. Woods’ untitled story, later titled Jersey City of the Dead.

“Casey’s Jersey City crew got careless,” Says Bossman. “Zombies flooded three sites. Two held them back but we blew the third. Horde made it up four flights and we couldn’t risk it. All told, probably lost fifty people.”

Bossman looks at me, gin blossoms reddening. The skin around his eyes draws tight, his hands, resting on the desk between us, clench, unclench. “Go find Casey. You ask him how he nearly lost three buildings. Then, once he answers, you make certain it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

Boss nods, quick, but the tears never leave his eyes. I turn and make for the stairs. How do I make fifty deaths count for something? These weren’t soldiers or made-men. These were men, women, and children, each under the protection of the Poverelli family. Fifty dead. And I gotta go make it fifty-one.

Name’s Blaylock, but everybody calls me Block. The name suits me. I’m muscle for the Family. It’s my job to make sure none of these mooks foul up and let the dead run riot over our rooftop paradise.

Here, it ain’t the zombies on the streets you gotta worry about. It’s the guy beside ya still breathing.

I only knock once ’cause I’m a little pissed. I’m standing just outside the door to Casey’s office, gun in hand. Behind me there’s a little crowd of civilians gathering. They’re all lookin’ mean at me—probably because they’re a little fed up with the administration at this point. They’re all quiet-like though, ’cause I was sent by Bossman himself and they knowed it.

It took a while to get to Casey’s place, what with the big, still smoking ruins of the building he lost in the way. Before the screw-up I coulda walked straight over. The buildings had been like a row of teeth, albeit crooked and rotting. But, one of ‘em had got knocked out, so I had to schlep it ‘cross the gap on the ground, which was dangerous.

That was a stressful trip. I am stressed.

So, I only knock once. Then I open the door, see Casey still getting’ outa his chair, and say to him, “Casey.”

“I… I can explain,” he says, but his face says he can’t, so I shoot him before he can bullshit me. His head pops like a soda can that somebody shook up and dropped.

I turn around and hear one of the civvies, actually a soldier I guess, since he’s pointing a gun at me, say, “We’re sick of the Family’s shit.”

I see that they’re all pointing guns at me and frown. I musta underestimated how angry they was.

Here’s the thing about Jersey City that some folks forget.

Jersey City folks, they’re used to some gunfire ruining a nice, quiet evening.

Jersey City zombies, well, they ain’t so kind.

There’s a reason my gun’s got a silencer. It’s not that whisper-quiet pchew, pchew bullshit you’d get in the movies, but it’s a damn sight more quiet than, say, a bunch of pissed-off civvies with poorly-maintained firearms.

I duck ’round the corner into Casey’s place when they start unloading. I ain’t gonna lie, being outgunned by just about anybody is pretty scary, and I’m a little scared as I hunker down behind Casey’s davenport. But I got two things going for me.

One, the mob’s more scared than I am, so they hesitate rather than rushing me.

Two, guns without silencers are loud as balls.

“Why don’t you come on out, Block?” It’s the soldier again. Gotta be the leader. “Stop hiding and face death like a man.”

I spot the fire escape outside of the bedroom window, a room and a half away. I’ll never make it with them watching.

Then the zombies start breaking down the door downstairs.

The civvies panic. I make a break for it.

I throw a glance into the hall as I duck across the doorway and head for Casey’s bedroom. Most of the civvies are headed up the stairs to the roof. Idiots. A few are heading down to try and stem the tide. Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. This place is lost now. The soldier was staring down the staircase, tryin to decide his best course of action, but he must have heard me scuttle behind him, cause I caught a last glimpse of him whirling around.

I’m through the door and I slam it closed. I leap the bed and carefully stick an eye over the window sill. Zombies ain’t too graceful in any case, and no way they’d be able to pull down the bottom section.

I’m half way over the sill, stayin low, when the bedroom door slams against the wall and a shot breaks the glass over my head. It’s the soldier, of course.

“Put that thing away,” I hiss at him, “and we might get out of this alive.”

The hate he’s throwing my way is hotter than the lead from his cannon.

“Yes, this penthouse view is quite breathtaking,” I turned to the luscious blonde before me, “but not nearly as lovely as—”

A thunder clap, and then I was standing in a small, glowing circle, surrounded by a gaggle of chanting fools in robes.

”Oh great Sorasel im Palat, lord of fire and darkness, fell devourer of the innocent, conqueror of—” Arcane symbols covered the speaker’s robes, nearly obscuring the heavy crimson fabric.

“Yes, yes, get on with it.” I gestured with my … more → ]]> Part Two of Chuck Wendig’s Latest Flash Fiction Challenge. A continuation of Meagan Wilson’s untitled story.

“Yes, this penthouse view is quite breathtaking,” I turned to the luscious blonde before me, “but not nearly as lovely as—”

A thunder clap, and then I was standing in a small, glowing circle, surrounded by a gaggle of chanting fools in robes.

”Oh great Sorasel im Palat, lord of fire and darkness, fell devourer of the innocent, conqueror of—” Arcane symbols covered the speaker’s robes, nearly obscuring the heavy crimson fabric.

“Yes, yes, get on with it.” I gestured with my gin martini.

He paused, then finished in a post-pubescent squeak, “We invoke thy true name and bid thee do our will.”

“Oh you do, do you? Well I want you to send me back. I was having a smashing time, and that girl may not have two brain cells to rub together, but she looked quite likely to do some rubbing together. If you know what I mean.”

The robe-wearers shuffled, and whispered amongst themselves. The leader piped up again.

“O great Sorasel im—“

“Stop that, stop that,” I interrupted. “Only my dad calls me that. I prefer my middle name. If you must speak, call me Stewart.”

More shuffling and whispering from my summoners.

Part Two

“O great Stewart,” the leader stumbled, “Lord of–”

“Stop! Just Stewart. Now get on with it, I’m busy.” I took a sip of my drink and started tapping my foot while they huddled together. When the muttering and gesturing threatened to drag on until my drink was gone, I decided to hurry things along.

“You there! What’s your name?”

The leader opened his mouth but stopped when the robed figure next to him elbowed him.

“I won’t give you my name.” He tried to make it confident, but it just came across as nervous. “You would have power over me, then.”

Gambit one, down the drain.

I waved a hand as if it didn’t matter. “Whatever. I have to call you something, so I think I’ll call you Bob.”

“B-ah-b?”

“Close enough. Listen, Bob, I have places to go and people to do, so let’s move this along, shall we? Just tell me what you want so we can wrap this up.”

“We want you to grant us power,” the geek said. “And in return we offer you this.” The circle of robe-wearing idiots parted to reveal a nude woman, gagged and bound to a stone altar. Nice form, although not anywhere close to the woman I was dragged away from. Her face was rather sharp-featured, with high, prominent cheekbones and a pointed chin. Her eyes weren’t fearful, pleading, or tearful as I would have expected. Instead they looked angry. Very angry.

Thirteen months of 28 days each: 13×28=364. This would have several advantages:

1) All months have the same number of days. None of this “30 days hath september” crap. We will still need a leap year, but it should be an invisible day. I nominate December 29th as the leap day. This would be an invisible day, skipped by all.
2) Each date will fall on the same day of the week. Each 1st of the month will be on Monday, or whatever

Disadvantages:
… more → ]]> I think it is time for another calendar reform. I want a lunar calendar.

Thirteen months of 28 days each: 13×28=364. This would have several advantages:

1) All months have the same number of days. None of this “30 days hath september” crap. We will still need a leap year, but it should be an invisible day. I nominate December 29th as the leap day. This would be an invisible day, skipped by all.
2) Each date will fall on the same day of the week. Each 1st of the month will be on Monday, or whatever

Disadvantages:
1) We’ll have to name a new month. I suggest “Paul”. Or possibly thirteen new month names, to avoid confusion with the old, obsolete system.
2) The calendar makers will, of course, lobby to keep the old system because it will drive them out of business. Let them go the way of the buggy whip makers, or change their business model to be providers of photos of beautiful landscapes, women, or cartoons.

Who wants to sign a petition?

But for those people who say “I want my hour back” I have two things to say.

1) You’ll get it back in the Autumn
2) Be glad you weren’t alive in 1582/1752

Here is the output of the *nix command “cal sept 1752″

September 1752
Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa
1 2 14 15 16
17 18 19 20 21 22 23
24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Notice the dates:  1 , 2 , 14 , … more → ]]> I don’t like DST. I think it should be abolished. It serves no purpose.

But for those people who say “I want my hour back” I have two things to say.

1) You’ll get it back in the Autumn
2) Be glad you weren’t alive in 1582/1752

Here is the output of the *nix command “cal sept 1752″

September 1752
Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa
1 2 14 15 16
17 18 19 20 21 22 23
24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Notice the dates:  1 , 2 , 14 , 15 , 16
Wait, what?! In 1582, Pope Gregory issued a Papal Bull changing from the then current Julian calendar to the new Gregorian calendar. Because the astronomical dates had gotten out of sync with the calendar dates, this change was to bring them back into alignment and prevent it happening again (you can find the details of the change any number of places).

Since not every country and/or religion followed the authority of the Pope, it took several centuries for most of the world’s countries to follow suit. A few still follow the old Julian calendar, and I believe some others follow some other calendar system

So, to those who complain about that hour, I say: would you rather have temporarily lost an hour, or permanently lost 11 days?

Because, in the end, there’s no difference. In your lifetime, you will have lived the same number of days, hours, minutes and seconds in either case.

Just pretend you stayed up an hour later to watch porn or ST:TNG or something.

As you can see from my thumb, I finally have in my hands the new book by @JulieCzerneda , A Turn of Light. On Tuesday, I dropped in at the local chain bookstore, thinking that *of course* they would have the book on release date. They said they got it in the previous day and sold out. So I ordered it. I was told it would arrive in three days and they would call me.

Friday came and went; no call. Saturday came and went; no call. Sunday came and … more → ]]>

As you can see from my thumb, I finally have in my hands the new book by @JulieCzerneda , A Turn of Light. On Tuesday, I dropped in at the local chain bookstore, thinking that *of course* they would have the book on release date. They said they got it in the previous day and sold out. So I ordered it. I was told it would arrive in three days and they would call me.

Friday came and went; no call. Saturday came and went; no call. Sunday came and I visited the store. The employee looked it up and said they ‘found a copy in the warehouse” and it would be in on the 10th, Tuesday, a full week after I ordered it and four days after I was told it would be here.

I grumbled. I fumed. I visited the new science fiction shelves and found two copies just sitting there. I canceled my order and bought a copy that they apparently didn’t know they had.

Next time, I will order from Amazon and have it delivered on release day.

A review will appear here when I have finished it. In the meantime “SQUEEE! #TURN”

Sorry. Had to get that out of my system.

Chance (AKA the coward) steps out the door before he realized what else was sharing nature with him, and stands there, staring at me over his shoulder with this pathetic look on his face, as if to say “You are abandoning me to the stinky one?”

Chance, who is coming up on four, has been hit by skunk twice and a near miss once. He also lost to a … more → ]]> So this morning I open the door to let the dogs out and the odor of skunk wafts gently into my nostrils. “Yuck,” thinks I, “there’s a skunk out there somewhere.”

Chance (AKA the coward) steps out the door before he realized what else was sharing nature with him, and stands there, staring at me over his shoulder with this pathetic look on his face, as if to say “You are abandoning me to the stinky one?”

Chance, who is coming up on four, has been hit by skunk twice and a near miss once. He also lost to a porcupine, but that is another story.

Meanwhile, Gypsy, who at almost one, doesn’t know skunk from cat, is happily checking out whatever is under the deck.

“Crap,” thinks I, “this is not good first thing in the morning.” So call them back in. Chance is happy-happy to get away from that evil nature. Gypsy just wants food.

After they ate I walked them outside to do their interrupted business. Now Chance is happy-happy that I am out there to protect him or to take one for him. Gypsy just wants to pee.

Hopefully, the stinky one will be gone when next they venture into the wild.