The Lease Is Extended - I'll Live !

They say that when you're living the fast life, sooner or later it'll catch up to you.

I've found that living for fast food, will most definitely catch up to you also !

Tonight my wife prepared our first meal, a supper, using the guidelines stipulated by the doctor-ordered diet upon which I've been placed. She's decided that it would be a good idea for her to start watching what she eats too.

I'd never realized just how much for granted I've been taking salt over the years. It was quite literally a shock to the system to eat an entire meal without salt! It's going to take a lot of getting used to, to say the least!

I'm getting ahead of myself ....

I was released from the hospital on Thursday afternoon and sent home with a sack of prescribed medicines, [sic] drugs.

Lisinopril 20 mg -( 1 a day ) to control high blood pressure
Cephalexin 500 mg - (4 a day) antibiotic for infection
Ferrous So4 325 mg - (3 a day ) iron supplement for anemia
Furosemide 40 mg - (1 a day) fluid removal and blood pressure

Non-oral meds

Ammonium Lactate lotion - (2 a day) apply to dry irritated skin

Then there was a brief consultation with the hospital nutritionist who lowered the boom on me: a two-page diet plan that literally turned my world upside down! Of course, if the title of this post is to mean anything I'll have to follow it as religiously as possible.

I. Diet: You have been prescribed a Cardiac Diet.

We would like you to eat foods low in sodium (salt), fat and cholesterol. You should have lean meats, low fat dairy products, low sodium soups, low fat salad dressings. You should avoid eating processed meats (bacon, ham and sausage), convenience foods, regular soups, fried foods, whole milk, butter, table salt, rich desserts.

II. Diet: You have been prescribed a 2 Gram Sodium Controlled Diet.

We would like you to eat foods that are low in sodium (salt). This may help you control your blood pressure and avoid large amounts of fluid weight gain. You should eat more fresh meat, chicken, fish, fruit and vegetables, plain rice and potatoes. Avoid adding salt to foods. You should NOT eat processed foods like cold cuts, hot dogs, and frozen dinners. Buy low salt cheese, reduced salt canned soups, unsalted crackers, and no no salt added canned vegetables. Limit pickles and condiments like soy sauce and steak sauce.

III. Diet: You have been prescribed a High Fiber diet.

A high fiber diet may protect you from certain caners, heart disease or constipation. We would like you to gradually add foods to your diet that are high in fiber. Foods such as: whole grains, breads, cereals, vegetables, oat/wheat bran, dried beans, legumes, and fruits are good choices.

Drink plenty of fluid (6-8 cups per day.)

In Clement Moore's "A Visit From St. Nicholas," the children were asleep while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads!

I'm not asleep, but visions of hot dogs, sausage links, eggs, and sticks of butter with sprouted wings can be seen circling above my head just out of reach before they fly through the window into the evening air.

My Blue Cheese salad dressing - gone! Fish and Chips (fried) - bye-bye! Southern style fried chicken - no more! Encore frozen Salisbury Steaks - history!

I think you get the picture.

This morning, I had a 10am appointment with the Dermatologist. The rash that had developed after the outset of the edema (fluid retention) appears to be clearing up. The rash itself has been a complete mystery to the doctors. They have been unable to explain its presence or what caused it. They are stumped as to why it "jumped" over the white untanned skin on my wrist where I'd been wearing a watch. They cannot figure why it was appearing on my lower legs and next on my abdomen skipping altogether my thighs. The next day it then be on the thighs. One day it was on my neck and formed rings around my eyes - two days later, it was gone from those spots. The rash never appeared on my back and it never showed up on any part of my skin that was covered by my underwear!

This really has them scratching their heads: not once did the rash ever itch!

I have a appointment for next Thursday with the dermatologist for him to see what has or will not happen during a six-day span.

As for the edema, the doctors are also baffled over that case too. They are unable to explain why I "blew" up and why such a large area of my body was affected in a matter of only three days! The water pills have been doing the trick and the swelling has been subsiding quite rapidly. It is almost completely gone now! Of course, in order for the water pills to work their magic, the fluid is drained through the kidneys. Trips to the bathroom to urinate are quite frequent especially within the first hour of taking the pills.

Yes, the lease has been extended.

Lessons learned: eat properly and when something doesn't look or feel right - get thine ass to the doctor!

LONG LIVE ME!

№ 1740

The Quill and the Quire (4)

Part four of a macabre tale of prognostication that asks, "What if one were to write about fictional tragedies of the future ... and they came to pass?" The discovery of an ancient artifact sends Vance Henderson on a terrifying race against time to save the present and all that he holds precious.

To read from the beginning click HERE.

The next thing I remembered was awakening to the siege of smelling salts beneath my nose. I was no longer outside but lying upon some hard surface. A ring of curious faces were hovering over me. Apparently I had fainted, and these men must have carried me inside and placed me upon a table.

"Not used to seeing death are we, Yank?" I'd heard the voice but was unable to detect which of the faces had spoken.

"Who ... Who was it?" I asked.

"Nobody of importance," replied the one above my head. "Her name was Agnes Lennon. She sold antiques up the street. The lightning struck her right in front of her shop." He and another man grabbed my arms and helped me into a sitting position. Making eye contact, I recognized some of the men as those who had been at the pub the night before.

Another man spoke, "This morning you became her first customer in nearly five years."

The other men turned to him in scorn and he lowered his head. His statement had struck me like a double-edged sword. Why would he have said that and what had he meant? All along I thought that I'd been the only soul out and about this morning. If it was known that I'd visited her shop, were these townspeople watching my every action?

"Oh, I see. She must have told you of my visit," I suggested.

"No," one of them countered, "Agnes neither spoke to anyone, nor did anyone speak to her for the sake of idle conversation. Like most of us in town, she tended to go her way as we went ours."

"Mighty friendly lot you people are," I said bitterly. "All along I thought it was me because I was a stranger."

"I supposed we deserve that," said the man who had apparently adopted the role as the spokesperson among the assembled men. "This is a small town, and as such everyone knows the business of everyone else simply by association. We menfolk do get together at the pub, but we choose to discuss sports and politics. We never talk about anyone unless that person is present and wishes to discuss his problems. Our womenfolk have their gatherings too, but there isn't a man among us who would dare ask what they speak about in their private hen parties."

There was a round of laughter from their ranks. I grinned and said, "That is a most wise position to take, sir."

"You must think us callous, especially where Agnes Lennon is concerned. I assure you that we all grieve at the loss of any human life. I never intended for you to think we detested her. It's just that she was ... well, different."

"How so?" I asked. Looking around, I noted that the others had drifted away from our conversation. It seemed apparent that they wanted to avoid discussing the late Agnes Lennon.

"She lived alone for a long time," the man said. "She was the last of the Lennons. Nearly all of her family had died under tragic circumstances over the years."

I listened intently as he chronicled from both memory and hearsay the tragic lives of the Lennon family. It seemed that the family had once prospered in fifteenth century France before eventually migrating to the British Isles. Her immediate family had once settled in Wales.

"Then there were all of their family heirlooms and so-called treasures," he said. "The family had been well known collectors and they set up shops everywhere they went. It seems that they gathered and collected things from all over Europe. It has been said that they at one time had even gotten a hold of the Holy Grail itself!"

I was fascinated by his narrative and the story it told about the unfortunate woman's family. Death however, followed the family like a shadow no matter where they may have relocated over the centuries. As he had said before, countless numbers of them had died violent deaths. In time, the family was assumed to be cursed and they were avoided by others. Hence, the family would pull up stakes and move elsewhere.

"As far as anyone has been able to learn, not one single descendant had ever died of natural causes," he remarked. He lowered his head and cleared his throat and added, "...And that includes the last of the lineage, one Agnes Lennon."

It had become obvious to me that Agnes Lennon had been an outcast, treated with superstitious caution by these locals. I could see how it was only natural for a legend of a family curse to rise above reason. It was no wonder, I mused, that the blood line of the family had come to an end. As for Agnes living alone, who would have risked marrying into a family that seemed destined for nothing but tragedy?

It had come as no surprise to me that there had also been a mystique as well as a stigma associated to the family heirlooms. At one time someone had attributed the family's tragedies to the relics they had collected. In order to survive, remaining family members had resorted to selling the treasures. Of course, local business had been nonexistent as locals feared their so-called treasures. As a result, the family had to depend on outside trade, forced to travel to peddle their goods.

The man concluded his narration by telling me about the fate of Agnes' father. "It was thirty years ago that he set out one morning with his mule hitched to his cart to ply his trade. He never returned. His body was found several weeks later buried beneath the rocks and earth of a landslide. Agnes had been living alone ever since."


Leaving the company of the townsmen, I set off on the slow walk back home. Along the way I came across a small general store and stepped inside. I was pleased that I was able to purchase a can of coffee and a small electric percolator.

I was being eaten alive by both a sense of dread and the pangs of guilt. I was not a superstitious person by any stretch of the imagination, and not at all given to fearing curses. My skin, however, was acrawl as I thought of the quill and the quire and what had been written using them.

Earlier I had been trying to recall the obvious missing three and a half hours. It had since occurred to me that there was another unaccounted half hour or so. When I had been confused earlier regarding the time, it had been three o'clock, and the lightning strike had taken place at four o'clock. From the time I'd entered the house to the moment I'd read from the quire, surely an entire hour had not passed.

I found myself once again running to the cottage. I was trembling and perspiring heavily. What was happening to me? The missing pieces of time could only mean one thing. I'd been blacking out! What else could explain the missing time? It was obvious I had written the account of Agnes' death, but why the loss of memory of doing so?

It was still there where I'd left it. The sheet describing the lightning victim was still lying off to the side of the case. I froze several feet short of the table and I am certain that my face must have paled to the color of the paper.

The next sheet bore writing!

(To be continued ... Monday, 7/20.)

№ 1739

I'M HOME ! !

Was released today - got home at about 6PM.

By the time I called my brother and sisters, friends here in Home area - It was 11:00 PM .

I'm going to bed - it's been a long day.

As for my health - for now -Everything is optimistic.

I will detail everything as soon as I am up to it.

I have out-patient appointment tomorrow (Friday) with Dermatology team and it may or may not be a long day.

Thanks for your prayers and well wishes. I will respond to those comments soon on those posts.

№ 1738

I'm Hospitalized

Sorry for not pulling the punches.



I'm just telling it like it is!


My post Go Shit In Your Hat gave you a status of my recent health woes with a few cartoons thrown in for comic relief.

Since that post and on this past Monday I was admitted to the VA's West Roxbury Hospital. It's been a roller coaster ride to say the least.

They are still not sure what is causing the water retention (edema). If that wasn't bad enough a nearly whole body encompassing rash has pervaded over me. The cause? - They haven't been able to figure that out either!

They have, however, ruled out the rash is a result of an allergic reaction to any of the meds they been giving me. I have lost six pounds since I was admitted on Monday- but that still puts me at an alarming 208 pounds! They ramped up the Lasex intravenious - so that weight should be going down quicker soon.

My overall health is good. I'm in no appreciable pain. The rash is not itchy at all (another mystery).

Beyond that, there really is much that I can add. Now that I know i have Internet access, I'll try to keep everyone up to snuff via a brief post like this one.

Also, I see no reason that that the next chapter of "The Quill and the Quire" cannot and will not be posted for Friday's scheduled post.

Wish me luck and pray hard to get me home sooner!

№ 1737

The Quill and the Quire (3)

Part three of a macabre tale of prognostication that asks, "What if one were to write about fictional tragedies of the future ... and they came to pass?" The discovery of an ancient artifact sends Vance Henderson on a terrifying race against time to save the present and all that he holds precious.

To read from the beginning click HERE.

Yes, I'd felt its allure even then. With consequences no less deadly, I had been drawn to it like a moth to the flame of a candle. What I'd first thought to have been a valuable treasure was surely an instrument of the devil.

While the seconds between the lightning and thunder appeared to be widening, outside the storm was a producing a different sound. The rat-a-tat of dime-sized ice crystals upon the house drew me once again to the window. The hail stones were being driven sideways by the persistent wind. The fluttering leaves and creaking smaller branches of the fallen treetop swayed and danced to the force of fierce gusts of wind.

My plight more desperate with each passing minute, I couldn't wait any longer. I had to get out of that house. I had to get to the lake.


Stepping onto the sidewalk outside the shop was like entering another world. It was as if I'd been plucked from one dimension and set down in another. I stood transfixed for several moments studying the scene before me. What only twenty minutes earlier had been desolate streets, had become a teeming community. The inhabitants had spilled out of their darkened homes, thus resuming their lives with the departure of the fog.

Although I experienced several furtive glances from passersby, my walk home up the hill was without incident. The warm morning air was clean and refreshing, thousands of miles removed from the urban atmosphere of Boston. I decided to take further advantage of the pleasant day when I spotted a lofty shade tree by the side of the road. I sat down on the soft grass and leaned against the tree, anxious to enjoy a quiet respite of contemplation.

Even with my eyes closed, the presence of my recent purchase could not be ignored. I picked up the object and began to wipe away the fine dust upon its surface. My nervous fingers pulled at the leather binding holding it closed so that I might view the contents of the case. Despite the coating of dust that been brushed away and its apparent age, I was surprised by its pristine condition.

Inside, lying in carved niches were an ink receptacle and a quill pen. Those two items were in a sectioned compartment below a large leather panel. My eyes settled on the magnificent crafted feather quill pen. It had a fine precision crafted nib, a unique etched body in intricate scroll and a marvelous peacock plume to compliment its length in grand fashion. Never had I seen a feather crafted into such a lovely writing instrument. Picking it up, I carefully weighed it on my fingertips, pleased with its perfect balance.

Returning the pen into its niche, I removed the ink receptacle and found it to be nearly full of the black viscous liquid. I next pulled at the tab on the large panel which swung open to reveal an ample supply of paper with a parchment-like texture. I was amazed at how crisp and fresh the paper had been maintained. Of course, in the case's alleged three hundred years of existence, the paper would have been replaced many times over.

As I was closing the case, it occurred to me that a sudden chill was present in the air. Looking down the rolling hill upon the town I saw that everything there was in shadows. A glance skyward revealed that a front of storm clouds had moved in while I'd been occupied with my prize. It was fortunate that I was only a short distance from the cottage, and as such my dash there had me at the front door only moments before the first of the rain drops began to fall.

Entering the front hall I glanced at the prominent clock on the mantle. It displayed ... three o'clock? Stunned, I turned to my wrist watch only to discover the same hour. Like a drunkard awakening from a weekend carousal I stumbled to the parlor sofa. Somehow, I had wiled away nearly five hours. Mentally retracing my steps and actions since the morning hours, I could not account for all of five hours!

It could not have taken more than a half an hour to and from the cottage. I'd spent no more than another half hour walking about the fog-laden town before coming across the antique shop. Certainly no more than twenty minutes or so could have possibly passed while I was in the shop. Maybe I'd sat under that tree for another fifteen minutes or so. At best, the total of the those events could not have exceeded an hour and thirty-five minutes. Give or take a few minutes here and there, I was unable to justify the passage of another three and a half hours!

Still in my hand, I lifted the case and stared at it. What had the shopkeeper called it? Oh yes, she'd called it a quill and quire. Moving to the desk, I decided that I would more closely study my new possession. Perhaps being occupied with it there might come to me a flash of memory to explain the hours I'd lost.

Setting aside the quill pen I reached for the tab to open the panel when something struck me as quite odd. Retrieving the quill pen and holding it close to my face, I saw that there was a dark discoloration upon the nib. I was certain that it hadn't been there earlier, and yet there it was - dried ink! How did it come to be stained in ink? When? Viewing it under the tree, it had been clean. Only I could have possibly used it, but I knew I had not.

Again I was haunted by the missing time. Could I have fallen asleep under that tree and used the pen? It made no sense whatsoever, and I'd never been prone to sleepwalking, let alone sleep-writing. I looked up at the ceiling in a fruitless attempt to clear my head. Supposing I might have used the pen, what would I have written and what would I have written upon - the quire?

I could feel nervous excitement building as I reached again for the tab of the panel. My eyes widened in wonderment as I flipped the panel open to expose the paper underneath. The top sheet had been written upon and in my own handwriting! I would have sworn on my mother's grave, God rest her soul, had I not seen that sheet, that I had not written upon it.

What was it that I could have written without my recollection of having written it? With slow deliberation I began to read the lines that appeared to have been written in the fashion of a news article.

"Woman Dies From Lightning Strike"

My eyebrows steepled upwards on my brow and I struggled to catch my breath when I read the next line. While no name was given, the article identified the victim as the proprietor of an antique shop.

What could have ever possessed me to write such morbid fiction? Had I chosen the proprietor of an antique shop because of my recent contact with such an individual? The article, bearing the current date stated that the incident had occurred at four o'clock P.M. Glancing at my watch, I noted that it was less than one minute before the time cited.

Abruptly in a split-second that seemed like an eternity, a brilliant flash of light and an ear-splitting roar emanated from outside. If I live to a hundred, I'm sure that I would never again experience the foreboding terror that I had sensed in a trice.

I knew that is was absurd, but I was compelled to grab my jacket and to race out into the pouring rain toward the small town. Surely, my imagination had to be running faster than my feet. I was trembling as I ran down the hill and I stumbled a couple of times. It had to be my lack of stamina, borne of years without a regimen of exercise, for I was struggling to maintain even a steady trot.

Why was I feeling guilt ridden? I tried to reason with myself. It was only an article, and a fictionalized one at that. It was mere coincidence. The article didn't cite any name. There was no mention of the town. There must have been at least one antique shop in practically every town in Scotland. People were struck by lightning all the time.

The smell of ozone permeated the air as I neared the shop. Ahead of me were the sounds of excited voices chattering at once. My pace slowed by necessity to a stagger, I edged myself into the ring of townsfolk milling about across the street from the old antique shop.

By the time the town's only emergency vehicles, a firetruck and an ambulance had arrived on the scene, the gathered crowd had grown and had begun to spill from the sidewalk onto the street. A local policeman was frantic in his efforts to keep the gawking throng on the far side of the street.

Through the sea of heads between me and the street I caught a glimpse of the far sidewalk in front of the entrance to the shop. I gasped as my eyes fell upon the charred remains of a body, that of an elderly woman.

I felt suddenly ill as if I was about to faint.


(To be continued ... Friday, 7/17.)

№ 1736

Go Shit In Your Hat !

Go shit in your hat!

Depending on who says it to you, it could be taken as a subtle way of saying "F**K OFF!"

But when a nurse said it to me, it meant "Come back Monday with three stool samples."

I suppose I could have been a smart ass and said something like, "Milking stool, bar stool or a kitchen stool?"

But I didn't. To be serious, I had to give a shit!

It seems to have been my lot the past two years to be coming up with leg problems. Two bouts of cellulitis was enough, thank you very much!

I'm afraid it's something different this time, however.


A few months ago I began experiencing swollen feet and ankles when I was getting home from work. Getting off my feet and soaking them was doing the trick for a few weeks. Not long after that my legs were achy before the end of the work day.

When I began having tired and sore legs I noticed I was especially struggling to climb stairs. Next, bending and stooping was becoming an effort. For that I was told to wear those over-the-knee support stockings. For a month or so, they did the trick as far as controlling the fatigue and soreness in the legs.

There was another red flag that should have caused me more alarm. Since September of 2008, until a couple of weeks ago, I have gained considerable weight. (Between 165-170 pounds in September to a current 204 pounds!)

You're probably thinking at this point, why hadn't I got off my ass and sought some medical attention?

Unfortunately, at the end of last year, 12/31/08, my work status was changed from full time to part-time. This was based largely on available State and Federal funds. It is tragic, but the state of the economy even has an impact on the services provided our elderly citizens.

Six of my long-time regular elderly clients either died, or were hospitalized, or placed in nursing homes. Because of the economic cutbacks, no new elder clients were accepted into the system. As such, there were no clients and hours available to fill my schedule.

As it was, my boss was generous and kept my status at full-time for three months. At the start of the new calendar year however, there was no choice but to make the change. The result of this was dramatic.

The loss of paid holidays, sick pay and paid vacations were a bitter pill to swallow after fourteen years of dedicated employment. The bitterest pill however, was being dropped from the company health insurance plan!

Oh, I had the option to remain on the company plan - at an out-of-pocket cost of $500 a month! At part time hours, it was too prohibitive. I couldn't afford to shell out that much and yet maintain my monthly expenses, let alone eat!

To make matters worse, last year the State of Massachusetts passed a law that every citizen must be enrolled in a health plan. Any citizen NOT having health insurance would be penalized when filing their state taxes. Part of the law stipulated that Insurers had to make available affordable health insurance for everyone.

As is usually the case when lawmakers pass laws, there are the inevitable loopholes and caveats hidden in the language of the bills by the time they are enacted. (Yes, somebody along the way had their palms greased.)

In my case, I was only too willing to apply for one of these affordable health plans. Hey, you have to have health insurance! Right? And they have to make it available to me! Right?

I ran headlong into a Catch-22 ! When filling out the enrollment paperwork of one Insurer, I was asked to state my income and that of my spouse! I was summarily denied enrollment because our combined income exceeded the maximum amount allowed for their "affordable" plan.

"Whoa! Wait a minute! Time out!" I protested. My wife has her own health insurance through her employer! (Her employer has employee insurance but no family insurance.) I was applying for myself, not her.

The same scenario played out when I applied at a half dozen other Insurers with so-called affordable health plans available for every citizen of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

In their own not so subtle ways the Insurance companies said to me, "Go shit in your hat!"

Oh yes, as for the question as to why I hadn't gotten off my ass and sought medical attention .....

Knowing that any and all medical treatment would be 100% out of my pocket, I kept putting off seeing a doctor ...

I forgot to mention that since I'd lost my health insurance - I was also dropped by my Primary Care Physician! It seems that the new Massachusetts law also gave the state's doctors the right to refuse patients without medical insurance. (Like I said above, a lot of somebodies along the way had their palms greased.) Yep, even my doctor of 15 years told me, "Go shit in your hat!"

Then I woke up and smelled the coffee!
Why did I devote four years of my life to the United States Navy and earn Veterans' benefits and not take advantage of them, especially the medical and hospitalization benefits?

Unable to find my Discharge Papers (DD-214), I googled the Veteran sites and was able to request a copy of that valuable and very necessary form. Finally, I got to see a doctor this past Thursday, 7/10.

By this time my condition had grown well beyond swollen ankles and legs. Tired and sore legs were the least of my worries. I guess the first doctor I saw said it best, "You should have been in here two months ago!"

The swelling had traveled up my legs - above the knees - well up my thighs - and into my stomach! Even my left arm was swollen almost to my shoulder and I couldn't bend it to touch my head. At this point, I couldn't bend my legs all the way either.

The doctors and nurses initial diagnoses were one that I assumed already. I was suffering from from a serious case of (edema) water retention! That was further evidenced by flaking dry skin and spots of water blisters on my shins.

It came as no surprise that I was put through a whole gamut of tests. These began with an EKG. That was immediately followed by a series of X-rays. Next was that dreaded command to drop my drawers, bend forward and spread them. Of course there was the obligatory offering of an urinalysis sample in the cup. Next, there was a battery of blood tests ordered up. Twelve separate vials were drawn for these tests, even though they had a hard time getting the veins to be cooperative due to the swelling in my arms.

I don't think I need to state that I was becoming very concerned about my fate with all of this taking place at such a hurried and urgent pace. I had visions of being held overnight with wires and tubes connected to me. Did I say I was concerned? Hell, I was afraid!

I'd be remiss not to mention my son-in-law, Scott. He drove me to the Veterans Hospital and stayed with me the whole day. They apparently thought he was my son, for they seemed to confide in him more so than with me. In any event, he was much appreciated company for those times I was in the waiting room and not being seen. We were able to have lunch together in the canteen.

In the end when all the blood work had been run, processed and read for results, the news was MUCH better than I had been dreading. Especially the part where I would be going home and wasn't going to be admitted.

My heart and lungs were good. My cholesterol counts were good. My potassium levels were okay. My blood sugar was okay. These were good news to me considering that I had not had a good medical exam in a long, long time.

I knew I wasn't going to walk away clean though! I was anemic, the iron count being very low. I had high blood pressure, 167 over 79.

I was given prescriptions for Iron pills, three to be taken every day. I was also given water/blood pressure pills to be taken once a day. From the supply I was issued, I'm going to be on those for a while!

I was told to come back on Monday, 7/13, at 10:30 AM, for more tests. They may have diagnosed edema, but they still had to discover what was causing it!

So it was as we were about to leave, that the nurse called out to me. She handed to me a large paper bag. ....And she told me in so many words to, "Go shit in my hat!"

№ 1735

The Quill and the Quire (2)

Part two of a macabre tale of prognostication that asks, "What if one were to write about fictional tragedies of the future ... and they came to pass?" The discovery of an ancient artifact sends Vance Henderson on a terrifying race against time to save the present and all that he holds precious.

To read from the beginning click HERE.

Accepting Bourne's offer, we left the pub for the short ride to his house atop the hill overlooking the small village. It wasn't late, but he wanted to introduce me to his lovely wife, in addition to familiarizing me with their quaint bungalow.

He checked the miniature barn serving as a mailbox as we passed through the picket gate and onto the pathway of flagstones evenly spaced on a well manicured lawn. He paused by the front door and pulled aside a loose shingle which revealed a small niche containing a spare key to the house.

When the door opened we were met by a short frumpy woman who nodded when introduced to me as Meara Bourne. Taking my jacket, she motioned for me have a seat on the sofa before then scurrying off into the adjacent kitchen.

After the three of us had shared tea and a pleasant chat, Jonathan showed me the guest room and the location of the facilities. As they had to rise and leave at four in the morning to get to the airport in time to catch their flight, they retired to their upstairs bedroom and bid me goodnight. Although it wasn't very late, I decided that I might as well get some much needed sleep also. It had been a long flight across the Atlantic and I hadn't slept in over thirty hours.

I was fast asleep at almost the same moment my head touched upon the pillow and slept through the night. When I arose at six the following morning, as was expected I found myself alone in the Bourne couple's house. Finding only teabags in the kitchen, I resigned myself to the fact that a shower would have to serve as a temporary substitute for the cup of coffee I was craving.


Would things have been different had I chosen to settle for a cup of tea that morning? Perhaps if I had waited to leave the house until the dense fog had dissipated under the heat of the rising sun, I would have found instead other open establishments.

The blinding flash of lighting was but a precursor to the tumultuous rumble of thunder that followed in its wake only seconds later. The percussion rattled not only the windows throughout the small house, but indeed the bones in my body and the teeth in my mouth.

I huddled, no I cowered against the wall as another flash of brilliance lit up the world beyond the confines of the humble cottage. The inevitable roar of thunder resonated as if it were centered solely over and around the hilltop property upon which the Bournes' had built their home. A sudden loud snap somewhere above the roof line brought my eyes to bear upon the window in time to see what had been the top most part of the stately sycamore come crashing down into the yard.

The building tempest outside, the demonic quill and quire in the other room; I had no choice but to face one or the other, or both! My life would be empty and meaningless without her. I had to find Alicia!


Blanketing the small village below, a damp fog had crept in before the sun had yet risen. I buttoned my jacket and lifted the collar about my neck as I closed the door behind me. Somewhere down there, I reckoned, I felt I should be able to get a hot cup of coffee.

Driven by my craving and with the aid of gravity, I traversed the distance from the top of the hill and into town in little time. Noting the echo of my footsteps upon the cobblestones of the main thoroughfare, it appeared that I might be the only person up and and about at that early hour. By no means could I ever be considered an early bird; quite the contrary, the worm had little reason to fear me.

Establishment after establishment was still hidden behind drawn shades and signs reading 'closed.' It was almost unworldly to have been walking about a still-sleeping town at seven in the morning. It was only the faint the glow of the streets light above in the mist that gave any credence to the fact that the town was inhabited.

It was then, when I'd stop to light a cigarette that I saw a light in a shop window several blocks ahead. Although the light was faint like the street lights amid the willowy tendrils of the fog, the window offered the prospect of warmth inside. Tossing aside the cigarette I hadn't wanted in the first place, I walked in the direction of the small shop.

Above the door, animated by the wind a weather-beaten shingle creaked on its rusty hooks. The faded letters, barely legible, made a simple statement: "Antiques by Agnes." It struck me as both quaint and odd that an antique shop would be the first business to open in the town.

Irony aside and not knowing what to expect, I stepped inside. Curious as what would be considered antique in the small burg, I let my eyes wander over the interior of the shop. As should have been expected, everything was covered in dust, arranged in no particular order and nondescript in appearance. I studied the two closest display cases, one full of old tchotchkes, and the other of glass paperweights.

My curiosity satisfied, I was about to turn and leave when I heard a shuffling sound coming from an unseen back room. From behind a tattered curtain hung in a doorway, a small unassuming spinster emerged. Her pace was measured as if each step had been choreographed for effect. She smiled appreciably revealing a mouth with several missing teeth.

Her speech, combined with articulated hand gestures seemed to be rehearsed as if to best utilize the acoustics of the old shop that served as her stage. "Can I help you, sir? Is there something in particular you wish? I assure you that my merchandise is authentic and of the finest quality. Not one item is a day under a century old or in need of repair," she espoused with proud fluency.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that I had no interest in antiques and that I had no intentions of making a purchase. I thought it wise to omit the fact that I'd only entered her shop to escape the cold morning air outside. Half earnestly I smiled and replied, "I'm just browsing. I'm an impulse shopper. If something happens to catch my eye, I buy it."

Although she seemed satisfied with my response I sensed contempt in her demeanor. For some reason I felt compelled to add, "I'm a writer for an American travel magazine. I do have a fancy for old unique pens and desk paraphernalia. Perhaps you could suggest something along those lines?"

Her entire countenance seemed to undergo a sudden metamorphosis. The smile returned to her lips and dominated her wrinkled face. I'd said the right thing.

"So, a writer are you? Educated at some fancy-shmancy American college no doubt?" she mumbled with sarcasm. "Now let me see, might I have anything of interest to ... a writer?" Her questions, not intended to be answered were more for her own edification.

As she ambled from table to counter to display case, I couldn't help but sense that she knew exactly what she was looking for, as well as its precise location within the shop. It was just as likely that she was rehearsing in her head the right sales pitch calculated to make me the proud owner of the object in question.

My eyes came to rest upon it only moments before her hand touched it. It was in that trice that I knew I would not be leaving that shop empty handed. Even the coating of dust upon it could do little to hide its beauty. The craftsmanship was simply exquisite. Without knowing what it may have contained, if anything at all, I had to have that leather stationery case.

"This quill and quire set is the only one of its kind in existence," she said. There was little doubt that she knew the sale had been made and all that was left was the bickering over its value. "Its exact origin is unknown unfortunately, but I can verify that its age exceeds nearly three hundred years. This set is listed on our family's original inventory ledger dating back to ..."

"Excuse me, madam," my interruption startling her, "I'm sure that it is indeed ancient and that your family's records are impeccable. How much?"

She drew in her breath, exhaled slowly and whispered something inaudible before answering, "Three hundred American dollars would be an equitable sum. Of course, if you think that too expensive, perhaps we can reach ..."

"Three hundred dollars it is," I responded. "I assume that cash will be acceptable?"

Although pleased that she'd received her top figure, I could sense that she was chagrined that she'd been denied the ritualistic process of bickering over the price. Staring at the three one hundred dollar bills on the counter, she failed to acknowledge my departure.


(To be continued ... Part 3.)

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