franksolich & friends seek to deter stalking primitives

[franksolich]

Note: this is dedicated to Skippy, the NYC_SKP primitive on Skins’s island, for reasons that should become obvious as the story moves along.

It’s rated “G,” harmless and innocuous to even the most sensitive of sensibilities, and besides, there's nothing that could possibly be pornographic about “the safety and security of the deaf and hard-of-hearing” anyway.

Since lurking primitives aren’t able to gasp the nuances, the ironies, the humor, the underlying “message” of many things franksolich writes, I should explain to them that this is a parody, a mockery, a spoof, a satire, on the paranoia of the primitives.

All of the individuals herein are based upon real people in real life, but not necessarily all the events; some are, some aren’t.

- - - - - - - - - -

“You know, I really think all you need are a couple of old dogs around the place,” Romeo said to me, as we were driving someplace where he had some work to do.

I wasn’t doing anything in particular, and he might need me.  I’m no good at the finer arts of agriculture, but I am a good person to have around when something heavy needs lifted, held, or moved.

“You wouldn’t hear them bark, but stalking primitives would, and it’d scare them away.”

I hadn’t seen Romeo for a couple of weeks; on New Year’s Eve, he went to the raunchy bordellos of Sioux City, Iowa, catching something, and since has been involuntarily celibate until it clears up.

“It’s always been my plan,” I said, “that as soon as the last cat dies off, I’d go to the veterinary and get a couple of old mutts nobody else wants, training them myself to ‘hear’ for me.

“Cats and dogs don’t mix well. 

“But cats, not dogs, came with my place, and I had to accommodate them first, getting them all shot up and neutralized, so they’d stay healthy and not propagate.

“Well, I’d gone through Abbie, Snow, Junior, Apricot, Floyd, Gordon, Harold, Ellie, George, Leo, Gustav, William, Decker, and Jack, all of whom lived pretty good lives with me, until last October, when Ellie was the last one left.

“So I figured after Ellie was gone, it’d be the dogs’ turn.

“But Ellie’s a very sociable cat, and was obviously miserable being the only cat.  So I went to the veterinary, who asked around for me for two more cats nobody wanted, and he got me two orange males, orange like Ellie is, Rusty and Russ.

“So now I’m back at where I started, and’ll have to wait until they’ve lived out their lives, to get a couple of dogs.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Why don’t you think about getting one of those ‘hearing’ dogs?” Romeo asked; “and the way they’re trained, they probably get along okay with cats.”

“Oh, but everybody wants one of those ‘hearing’ dogs,” I said; “they’re ‘pretty’ and clean and trained and some aesthetic breed.

“Nobody wants ugly old mutts.

“Since all are equal to God, my Catholic conscience demands that I accept, and take in, the unwanted, the rejected, the despised--and that includes animals as well as people.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“But what makes you think you could train them?” Romeo asked.

“You’ve seen the cats, how I trained them,” I said.

“I never had a cat until I moved out here; I’d grown up only with dogs.

“Since I didn’t know how to treat cats, I treated them as if they were dogs.  You yourself used to watch as I played ‘fetch’ with them, using a frisbee or a stick.

“And how they used to enjoy rides through the Sandhills, the windows halfway open, their heads sticking out, and their tongues hanging down, to catch the cool breeze.  They’d really put up a fuss when I was driving somewhere, and couldn’t take them with me.

“And in the end, all the cats but Snow and George were in the habit of walking around in a circle before laying down.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“You need to shorten the title of A Nebraska Sandhills Cowboy Among the Reds,” the neighbor’s older brother said, when he was here this afternoon.

“How about just Cowboy Among the Reds,” he suggested; “after all, the reader doesn’t get past the first five paragraphs before he goes ’Aha, this guy’s from the Sandhills of Nebraska, even though the setting’s in a decrepit fourth-world country; his behavior betrays him.’”

“You’re right,” I said; “Cowboy Among the Reds it is.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“I’ve only started to read the second one,” he said, “but the wife read the whole thing--couldn’t put it down until she was done--and obviously it’s something that draws the fluids out of women’s lachrymal glands.

“It looks as if you’ve made ‘maudlin’ into a fine art.”

Thank you, I said.  The neighbor’s older brother and I are the same age, the neighbor ten years younger.  The neighbor’s my best friend; his older brother’s never cared much for me, thinking me destined for some sort of bad end.

And so getting a compliment from him like that’s a rare thing.

“I write all sorts of ways--it‘s just a harmless hobby--but I prefer to write maudlin,” I continued.  “I’ve tried my hand at writing pornography, but it’s always flopped.

“And besides, Judy grasswire on Skins‘s island, my most faithful reader, likes maudlin.”

- - - - - - - - - -

He’d heard that the property caretaker and I were going down to Omaha in a few days, and inquired what was up with that.

“Oh, we’re just going down to talk with a security expert,” I replied; “some guy with whom the owners of this place have done business in the past.

“They think that because I’m deaf, and given all the primitives stalking me, this place needs better security, for my own good.

“Well, I’m pretty familiar with safety and security devices for the deaf, and am going there with an open mind, but I doubt, really, we’re going to find anything effective.

“The problem with these things is that they’re invented, made, and sold by hearing people who think they understand the problems of the deaf and hard-of-hearing, and can solve them.

“But really, they don’t understand at all, and their ‘solutions’ utterly ineffective, useless, a waste of time and money and hopes.

“On the other hand, we deaf and hard-of-hearing lack the gift of articulation, so we can’t explain to hearing people what the problems really are.

“It’s a hopeless situation, as never the twain’s going to meet.  Hearing people should just as well leave us alone, to make out best we can on our own.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Well, the way you are, always setting yourself up,” the neighbor’s older brother said, “the only sure guarantee of shielding you from stalking primitives would be if you lived inside a castle with thick walls, and a moat of boiling oil around it, and weren‘t let out of it.”

“I’m not Skippy, I said; “I can’t live like he does, perpetually paranoid.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“I haven’t gotten around to reading either one,” the neighbor told me this morning.

“But the wife’s read the second one, and the daughters too, and there’s not a single Kleenex left in the house.

The neighbor and his wife have five children, the oldest being a set of 14-year-old twin daughters.

“Apparently you’re awesome when you write maudlin.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Then he changed the subject.

“Now, about all these security things; we’ve all been urging you to have something ever since you moved out here, and you always resisted.

“Why this sudden rush now?”

“Well, ever since the Top DUmmies of 2014 came out, according to my deep throat sources on Skins’s island, while they’re not saying anything out in public, there’s some primitives who want to take measures so as to ensure franksolich isn’t around to write the Top DUmmies of 2015.

“This’d been the tenth edition of the Top DUmmies, and I’ve written the awards the last six years.

“I dunno what I wrote this year that got their goat, but it seems to have gotten their goat pretty good.

“The primitives have no sense of humor.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Do you have any idea who’s behind it?” the neighbor asked.  “Maybe that baby-faced eunuch over in Elgin, Illinois, who threatened you that one time, who wanted to play ‘baseball’ with you?”

“No,” I answered; “Fat Che’s since fallen on hard times, and’s been out of the picture for years now.”

“How about that sinister Italianate character, that old guy with a much-younger trophy wife?”

“No,” I answered again; “the sparkling old dude’s aged, and the past two, three, years has been having some marital problems--although just to be safe, the state patrol still has an alert in force, to check any Italianate-looking people who pass through this area.

“He of course wouldn’t come out there, but there’s nothing stopping him from sending his business associates Louie “the Butcher,” “Nose-Breaker” Sal, or Giovanni “the Nut-Cracker.”

“But I don’t think it’s him.”

“What about surfer-boy Atman, the one who looks like he buys his suits off the ‘seconds’ rack of thrift stores?

“He’s had it in for you for years.”

Nah, I said; “Atman’s a has-been; he doesn’t count any more.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“Actually, I think I know who it is,” I said, “and it doesn‘t bode well for me.

“Unwittingly, I’d been tickling the tail of a dragon, which is pretty risky business.

“Nearly all the primitives are really dense and stupid, blowhard do-nothings, keyboard warriors, too lazy or over-pharmaceuticalized to pose a threat to anybody, but there’s one on Skins’s island who’s actually pretty dangerous, a real threat to the Constitution, our rights and liberties, our way of life, and in fact our very lives.

“And he’s got both the cerebral means and the motivation to pull it off. 

“I’m of course talking about Skippy, the NYC_SKP primitive, whom I casually started reading three years ago, unaware that I’d latched onto the real thing.

“In his heart, he wants the Islamacists to kill every white American…..excepting of course himself.  And probably every black and Hispanic American too, although he’s been a little fuzzy on that.

“An admirer of the hoary old Bill Ayers, he wants millions dead.

“He knows franksolich has been keeping an eye on him, and so’s been rather circumspect in expressing his sedition the past several months, giving other decent and civilized people the impression he‘s just a cherubic older guy with a penchant for polyester.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Now, last year, something went wrong with his brain, and some holes had to be drilled into his skull, and he was put on pharmaceuticals.

“Of course, that doesn’t matter that much, because he’s so packed with cerebral cells the removal of some of them still leaves him brighter than average.

“While on drugs, he of course hasn’t been able to drink, and being smarter than the general run of primitives, he’s paid attention to what the doctors said.

“But once Skippy’s brain’s all healed up and he’s off the pharmaceuticals, he’ll be able to suck on the bottle again, and post while drunk.

“And as it’s been said, in vino, veritas; ‘wine in, truth out.’

“He’ll let out his real feelings then, and they include more than simply an admiration and affection for Islamacist terrorists.

“Skippy’s a hard-core totalitarian Nazi, in the mold of Reinhard Heydrich; if he doesn’t like someone, he wants him dead. 

“Dead, dead, dead, deader than a door-nail.

“I’ll never forget the time he advocated--while drunk, of course, betraying how he really feels--the liquidation of anyone who dared complain about Obamacare.

“He makes Idi Amin, Robert Mugabe, and Kim Jung-on look like benefactors of humanity, in comparison.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“He’s a graduate of one of the premier engineering schools in the world, which he attended on a full-ride scholarship.

“This is a primitive who knows how to make an atomic bomb.

“And here’s the problem about any safety and security devices; alarms, lights, sirens don't protect one against every peril.

“It’s not likely Skippy would bother showing up here in person; he doesn’t need to.

“All he has to do is build a nuclear device, package it up, and mail it to me. 

“Upon receipt, I’ll innocently open it up, and whssssssh! all of northeastern Nebraska and the eastern half of the Sandhills’ll be vaporized.

“I suppose, though, one could take solace in that dutch508 on the other side of the Sandhills would be too far away, and so at least he’d survive.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“Well, I’ve read all of what you’ve written for Cowboy Among the Reds.

“It of course needs refinement and editing, but you say you plan to cut out about 90% of it, cherry-picking for only the very best parts of it.

“It’s all so good, so intense, so gripping, I’ll be damned if I could find anything that should be cut out, myself.”

I was having lunch at the bar in town with the insurance man; just a social event, nothing more.

“What about the other one?” I asked.

“I haven’t read it yet, but the wife did, and when she was done, all she did was gush, ‘Now, this is a man, a real man, a man the way women wish men‘d be.’

“I wasn’t sure how to take that, but as she likes maudlin, I imagine it’s that.

“She’s passing it around to all of her women friends, and so I’ll have to wait until it comes back to us.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Since the insurance man’s someone who understands “risk,” I told him the property caretaker and I were driving down to Omaha next week, to see a security guy to illuminate us about how to make where I live, safe and secure for a deaf person.

“Well,” he said, “it’s always been a matter of concern for us here in town, you living way out there all alone, and because you can’t hear, wide-open to anybody or anything that comes along.

“I’m glad you’re finally doing something about it.”

That’s not for sure, I reminded him; “It has to be something effective for hard-of-hearing and deaf people, and thus far I haven’t seen anything that is.”

However, I’m going with an open mind, I assured him.

- - - - - - - - - -

“Well, I think your biggest problem is you,” he said.

“You’re way too accepting, too indulgent, of everyone coming to you.

“That’s okay if they’re people you know, but usually they aren’t.

“And because of your, uh, ‘challenge,’ you aren’t able to figure out strangers until long after they’ve sized you up…..and long after they’ve wreaked harm on you, if that’s their intention.

“You’ve got to be more cautious about people you don’t know.”

Well, I protested; “I can’t help being what I am, outgoing, friendly, trusting, a friend of humanity.

“I’m not Skippy; I can’t live like he does, perpetually paranoid.”

- - - - - - - - - -

True, he agreed; one can’t help being what one is.

“But you could minimize risks.

“For one,” he finally said, “you never lock your doors; people walk right in on you.

“You’re deaf.  Any Tom, Dick, Harry, hippyhubby Wild Bill, or Skippy can walk inside your house, and you wouldn’t even know they’re there until they‘re right in front of your face.”

“You know why I keep it wide open,” I protested.  “I’m the only house for miles around, and close to the highway.

“Things happen on the highway, and people need help.

“Unable to hear people knock, if I locked the doors, no matter how hard someone pounded, or rapped on the windows, it wouldn’t get my attention, and that person might be in truly desperate straits.

“And I’m the only one around; the only possible assistance.

“It bothers me that if I locked the doors, one winter morning I might wake up finding a frozen corpse of someone who’d banged on the door, trying to get my attention, but couldn’t because I can’t hear.

“Or one summer morning I might wake up finding a charred carcass of someone who’d expired from the heat, because I didn’t hear his knocks.

“One never knows, so best to just be wide open, in case someone needs to come inside.”

“But not only that,” he started.

“Oh come on, now,” I interrupted before he got started.  “There’s nothing kept in the house worth stealing.  I’m smarter than that.  The family archives and heirlooms are in professional storage here in town, the valuable things are in a big box in the vault at the bank, and my personal papers are in [the business partner]’s safe.

“What’s in the house to steal wouldn’t bring even two hundred bucks at a garage sale.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

The neighbor’s wife was here, on her way to town to pick up the children from school.

“Oh, it was s-o-o-o-o-o-o-o good,” she said.

“Okay, okay, granted, but what about Cowboy Among the Reds?  Is it, or is it not, something that might appeal to the feminine book-buying market?”

“It might,” she said, “but essentially it’s just a bare-knuckles adventure story.  We don’t have testosterone like men do; it‘s affairs of the heart that touch us more.”

- - - - - - - - - -

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, so I changed the subject, telling her about the conversation I’d had with the insurance man.

“And he’s right,” she said; “you could at least minimize risks, so as to be safer.

“Like, for example, this house is more than half windows,” she said, “floor-to-ceiling windows, windows on all four sides, big windows, and you keep them uncovered.

[Note: the previous occupant, who lived here 1885-1987--the place was vacant for nineteen years before me--in her old age had gotten blind, and had the house windowized as she was still able to discern between light and dark.]

“I will grant the window for the bathroom is actually ‘cubes’ of glass, obscuring everything but light, but as for the rest of the house, anybody could be looking right inside, and you, not hearing them, wouldn’t know.

“And it doesn’t help that the windows are so big, and the house is built so close to the ground.”

“You know why that is,” I pointed out.  “When I first moved here, the windows had roll-down shades on them; things only slovenly lazy voluntarily-poor people have.

“I’d be embarrassed to have roll-down shades on windows.

“And besides, I’m going to replace them with curtains or draperies.”

“But you moved here ten years ago, and tore down the shades ten years ago,” she reminded me.

“I’ll get around to it, sooner or later,” I promised.

to be continued

[franksolich]

“You’re aware this might be an unfulfillable expectation, making this place safe,” I said to the property caretaker when he was here around suppertime.

Every Friday evening, his wife goes with the “girls” to the big city, to do whatever it is women do, at the shopping malls and Wal-Mart, and so he comes over here for supper and a few beers, as the larders are always full…..and usually of stuff I don’t like.

Given the layout of the property, and the way the house is, it’s a popular place for others to gather and have big cookouts and stuff, and the leftovers are usually stashed here.

“So far, we’ve talked only about my safety inside the house; something that’ll alert me to that someone’s around.

“But what about the outside--it’s a pretty big outside.”

As the caretaker knows, “my” part stretches from just east of the William Rivers Pitt, the miniature Jungfrau-looking heap of antique swine manure dating from 1875-1950 (and so it’s been long decayed into just ordinary dirt) to the banks of the river 500 yards distant from the back porch.

Its width is about half that length; to the south of me’s a big chunk of idle property owned by Italianate interests in New Jersey, and to the north of me’s farming land that goes to the highway two miles further on, that’s similarly left idle by its owners, seeking to take advantage of a Democrat-inspired system of taxation that discourages productivity.

The neighbor’s the nearest neighbor, and he and his family live six miles north; it’s eight miles to town.  franksolich is the only human person for miles around.

- - - - - - - - - -

“Well now, it doesn’t help that you allow strangers to camp around here,” he said; “we all really wish you wouldn’t do that.”

But this place is ideal for camping, I pointed out; “Not to mention it’s private property.  Consumption of alcohol’s prohibited on all governmentally-owned premises in Nebraska, which eliminates the parks and camp-grounds.

“I look at it as providing a public service for the Good of Humanity, keeping primitives out of the public parks so they don’t interfere with decent and civilized people having a good time.”

“But you don’t know these people, who you allow to do that.

“I still shudder when I think of hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer’s hippyhubby Wild Bill, and that whole crew of old hippies, camping here, coming all the way here from northeastern Oklahoma to find franksolich, as their meat-freezer was getting low.

“It’s true as it turned out, they’d mistaken [the business partner] for you, supposing you yourself were too stupid to be franksolich, and as he by random chance wasn’t around when they were, nothing happened.

“But one of these days, you might not be so lucky.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

As it was Friday evening, I was bored, with nothing to do, and so I went to town to see what was happening at Swede’s bar.

Swede, the cook of Norwegian derivation whose specialty is Italianate cuisine, was cooking, but as I’d already eaten supper, I just ordered a cup of coffee.

“Hey, I’ve heard about those two books you’re writing,” he said to me; “I’d be pleased to see copies of the drafts, if I could.”

A request which startled me; Swede doesn’t usually care for me, as all I’ve ever ordered from him are a hamburgers, extremely well-done, pressed down hard on the grill to as to squeeze out every drop of grease, whereas he thinks I should have something Italianate.

He’s never gotten it; he’s a very busy man, and I’m a nice guy.  Making the stuff he does is a lot of work and detail, and so I’m saving him a lot of time and trouble.

Okay, I’ll get him copies of Cowboy Among the Reds and the other one, to see what he thinks, I said.

- - - - - - - - - -

“I heard you finally came to your senses,” he commented, “and are finally going to do something about your personal safety out there.

“People around here get grey hairs, worrying about you.

“You need to consider a firearm,” he counseled, reminding me that the old woman who’d lived out here before I did, was a crack shot with the rifle, the shotgun, and the revolver, and had them all.

“You know, even after she was blind as a bat, she was still good, using hearing to direct her aim.

“Even when she was 99 years old, malicious intruders felt it worth their while to stay away from her.”

- - - - - - - - - -

I thought about that a few years ago, I reminded him.

I’d found a gun-dealer in the big city who, instead of sitting on his ass on the disability gravy train despite that he could hardly move because of severe arthritis, who agreed to teach me to use a firearm.

“It flopped though; after about the sixth lesson, he got all upset and started jumping up-and-down, getting red-white-and-blue in the face.

“’Damn it, damn it, damn it all, you’re not temperamentally suited for a gun,’ he said; ‘I’ve never seen anybody so cautious with a gun, and you seem to want to use them as a club, not a gun.’

“With which I agreed; while I’m a firm and steadfast supporter of the Second Amendment, guns aren’t for me.  For self-defense, I really prefer close-up, hands on, and personal.

“When I was ten years old, and in the alley behind the pool hall in the Sandhills town where I grew up, I saw an old man knock off the jaw of a much-younger guy--sheared it clean off--with his S/K adjustable wrench.

“That was a very long time ago, but I still remember it as if it were only an hour ago, how the old man did it.

“The wrench had a spannage of 1-3/8 inches, and the handle was 17” long.

“So when I went away to college and worked for a wholesale hardware dealership, because I could get them at cost, I bought six S/K wrenches with a spannage of 1-3/8 inches, and a handle 17” long.

“I still have them--S/K’s a durable brand, the best there is--and they’re laying around the house, in case I ever need one of them.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“You know, I was impressed by both of your prospective books,” the business partner said as we were driving down the highway.

“I think though you need to offer Cowboy Among the Reds to an agent, rather than vanity-publishing it. 

“To me at least, it seems Random House or Shuster’s or Harper & Row or somesuch quality.

“The other one, you’d probably best vanity-publish, and get it sold to one of these women’s touchy-feely television networks.  They love bittersweet, poignant, get-in-touch-with-yourself stories, especially from ‘sensitive’ men.

“And it’s so maudlin even men would shed some tears over it.”

- - - - - - - - - -

I mentioned the property caretaker and I were going to visit a security guy in Omaha, to determine what’d be suitable for me to use at my place.

“You know, some sort of warning system, to let me know someone’s around.

“I think it’s silly, because I’m safe where I’m at, out in the middle of nowhere, nobody else around.

“I’m not Skippy; I can’t live like he does, perpetually paranoid.”

- - - - - - - - - -

The business partner arched his eyebrows.

“But the way the rest of us see it, you’re vulnerable and wide-open, because you can’t hear, and there’s nothing that tells you someone’s around until he’s right in front of your face.

“And I see you indulging in high-risk behavior all the time, which is why Cowboy Among the Reds was no surprise to me; you’re very rash and impetuous, and have that curious habit of rendering yourself defenseless before you go into defense mode, giving the other guy a head start that might be insurmountable.”

Well, thus far it’s always worked, I said, sullenly. 

This was one of those times where, even though he’s younger than I am, the business partner lectures me as if our ages were reversed…..or if I was a somewhat dull child.

I squawk about it once in a while, but I usually just put up with it because being treated as a somewhat dull child happens to everybody who’s hard-of-hearing or deaf, and besides, he’s a good friend, and nobody’s perfect.

- - - - - - - - - -

“Now wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute,” I said; “Cowboy Among the Reds was when I was in the socialist paradises, a world utterly alien to me.  I’m on familiar terrain, around people I know; what am I doing around here, that I'm being rash and reckless?”

“Well, you do things I consider high-risk behavior,” the business partner said.  “You’re deaf; you’re not aware anybody’s around until they’re right in front of you.

“One of Skippy’s Islamacist pals could come up to you while your back’s turned, making coffee, and with one ’swoosh’ of his scimitar, you’re in two pieces and never know why.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a risk I have to take,” I answered.

“I’m not Skippy; I can’t live like he does, perpetually paranoid.”

to be continued

[Skul]

We've been long over due for a new adventure.

[franksolich]

The business partner thought for a while. 

“The way you sleep; that’s an unnecessary risk,” he finally said.

“Now wait,” I protested.  “I’m doing something a third to a half of everybody else around here does, and you’re saying I shouldn’t, because I’m more likely to suffer embarrassment?

“I’m aware I’m more likely to be caught with my pants dow--er, off, but I think I take precautions so as to minimize the risks of getting caught like that.

“It’s only between 10:00 p.m. and 6:00 a.m.; all of the rest of the day, every day, I’m decorously dressed.

“Between 10 p.m. and 6:00 a.m., ancient people, respectable women, and children are at home in bed.  Nobody else is afoot at those hours, excepting other men and slatternly women, both for whom the sight’s hardly something they haven’t seen before.”

“Yes, yes,” the business partner said; “thus far all these years you’ve been lucky, very lucky, with only people who know what you’re like, or drunks, or meth-heads, or trashy women, who don‘t really care, showing up there in the middle of the night.

“But you have primitives stalking you, and only God knows when one of them’ll show up.

“You’re not an ungood-looking guy, and because you’ve always had to lead the strenuous life, you’re more fit and trim than most.  And so some primitives, given that they know you don’t know they’re there, will take advantage of the situation.

“One of these nights, it might happen that some fat fairy--say, for example, the Fat Che's Little Brotherugenis primitive, who’s got a big grudge against you--might walk in on you while your back’s turned, and you’ll suffer the same bestial humiliation your role-model Lawrence of Arabia did.

“Despite what the BainsBane primitive thinks, it’s not something that happens only to women.”

The blood drained from my face.  I hadn’t ever thought of that.

“Well,” the business partner said, “the deafness’s inalterable, nothing can be done about it.

“There’s a lot of things hearing people can do with little or no risk, that you can’t do without taking great risks. 

“It’s unfortunate, and resent it all you want, but that’s just the way it is.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

The retired banker’s wife came here this morning, bringing some fresh flowers from her private greenhouse in town.

Oh my, she said; “you look disheveled, as if you’d slept in your clothes.”

I had in fact slept in my clothes, including my shoes, but I didn’t tell her that, instead simply apologizing for the way I looked.

- - - - - - - - - -

Grumpy, her husband, who wears his polyester pants hiked clear up to his midriff, wasn’t with her, and in his place she brought along her 12-year-old grandson, whom I privately call “Pudgy Four-Eyes.”

He’d heard that I’d gotten a haircut last week, and was hoping to see what I look like without ears.  He’s been trying to catch the sight since he was a little imp.

Tough luck, kid, I thought; I have a good barber who knows how to hide such things.

- - - - - - - - - -

“I haven’t read the drafts yet, but my husband read Cowboy Among the Reds, and he was impressed.”

“What’d he say about it?” I asked; Grumpy doesn’t ever say much, and when he sees me, all he does is “hrrrmmmph.”

“Not much, as you can guess,” she replied; “but basically that you seem to take big gambles against long odds, and it’s a miracle that you’re still alive.”

Well now, I said, “I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person I know.

“I was born under a lucky star; in fact, I lucky before I was even born.  Being an Accutane baby, I came into the world only minus ears and deaf.

“It could’ve been much worse, but I escaped all that; compared with all the others, I was extraordinarily lucky.”

- - - - - - - - - -

I mentioned to her that the property caretaker and I are checking out ways of making the premises here safer, now that the primitives are stalking again.

“Oh, good,” she said, “everybody in town’s always worried about you, out here all alone, and not able to hear anything.  It’d be better if you just moved back to town, where others can watch your back for you.

“But really, I don’t see what could be done to make this place safer for you, other than having an armed security guard walking around the property 24/7/365.

“However at $500 a shift, or $1500 a day, I don‘t suppose that‘s practical.”

to be continued

[Skul]

" Pudgy Four-Eyes" indeed. 

The only reason I wear spectacles is so folks call me "Ol' Two-eyes".    . 

[franksolich]

“It used to be worse, when he didn’t have a telephone,” the femme commented to the neighbor’s older brother.

The femme had come down from South Dakota, where she teaches dance and the theatre arts, and the two of us had gone to the bar in town for supper, where we’d met the neighbor’s older brother and his wife.

“We constantly told him, ‘you need a telephone, you need a telephone, it’s for your own good, and we’re worried.’

“But for five years, he refused to have a telephone.”

“I’m deaf,” I interrupted; “what use would a telephone be for me?

“Never able to master one, no matter how simple, as early as when I was a little kid, I loathed and detested the things; didn’t want to have a thing to do with them.

“If I needed to tell someone something, or if someone else needed to tell me something, it was best done up close and face-to-face, in person.

“And if geography separated us too much, well, too bad.  Excresence happens; one accepts, adapts, and moves on.”

- - - - - - - - - -

I leaned back.

“So…..I finally gave in, and got telephone service out there.

“The Nebraska Commission for the Deaf found me a telephone I could use, and I got service, at $24 a month.

“At first, I figured others wanted me to have a telephone so they’d have it to use when out there, but I’d forgotten that everybody but me was life-lined to those inventions of Satan, their own personal cellular telephones.

“I got to resent it, having to pay $24 a month for something I didn’t need, and could spend better on something else.

“The first year I had the telephone, I used it three times.

“Three times in twelve months.

“Figure it out; $24 a month for 12 months = $288.

“So it cost me $96 per telephone call--not exactly the dime, or however much it is they charge these days, one puts into a pay-telephone.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“And the ‘benefits’ were at best, dubious.

“Everybody remembers the tornadoes that ravaged this area last June.

“One of those afternoons, there was a violent storm going on around my place, and both internet and electricity were down.

“And of course I don’t have radio or television.

“I didn’t worry about it, though; after all, I had the land-line telephone, and land-lines never go down.  I could call someone in case something looked dangerous.

“At one point, the cats started going berserk, scrambling into corners or behind furniture.

“I went out to the front porch, but didn’t see anything, as it was too dark and the rain was coming down too hard.

“So I decided to telephone someone, to inquire what was going on.

“Unfortunately, I’d forgotten that while the telephone’s a land-line, the stuff that makes it adaptable for use by the deaf is electrical, and so when I dialed the number, the telephone was in standard operating mode, fine for people who can hear, but not fine for people who can’t hear.

“I spoke into the receiver, and unhearable by me, the person at the other end was screaming at the top of her lungs, ’GET DOWN!  GET DOWN!  THEY’RE COMING RIGHT IN YOUR DIRECTION!  THEY’RE RIGHT OVER YOU!  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GET DOWN!’

“Not hearing any of that, I just hung up the telephone and sat around until the storm subsided, and then while waiting for the electricity to come back on, drove to town to learn what’d happened.

“I later posted a newspaper picture of it in the Sandhills forum on conservativecave; that of two tornadoes, about half a mile apart, racing eastward…..and there I was, right exactly in between them.

“Forgive my skepticism, but I still fail to see how a telephone adds anything to my personal safety and security; it‘s a sheer waste of $24 a month.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

When I got up in the morning, I went into the kitchen, startled to find Romeo standing there, making coffee.

He looked me up and down.

“Whoa--you went to sleep in all that?--I’m seeing a stocking cap, a tee-shirt, a regular shirt, a sweater, long pants, a pair of shorts over that, socks, and shoes--”

“Never mind,” I said; “apparently I’ve got to start being more careful.

“Apparently I habitually indulge in extremely risky behavior.

“Everybody seems to think that if I’d be more paranoid about people and things, I’d be safer.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Well, I think they’re being too hard on you,” Romeo assured me.

And Romeo would know, he being laid up for something he caught off an Iowa femme over in Sioux City New Year’s Eve; when it comes to indulging in extremely risky behavior, Romeo’s a professional.

“They keep forgetting that no matter what sort of fix you get yourself into, you always get yourself out of it as slick as a pig sliding on ice, no injury or harm done.

“Like that time three years ago you stared down a guy jabbing the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun into your stomach, and he got scared and ran away.”

“Uh, Romeo,” I reminded him, “that’s not exactly what happened.”

“I know, I know, but that’s what it looked like on the videotape,” he said; “and everybody believes the pictures.

“And it didn’t hurt your reputation any, discarding any doubts about your manhood, your machissimo.”

Yeah, and for that reason I usually don’t dispute it when people tell me what they saw on the tape; it certainly enhances my reputation as having “balls of steel.”

- - - - - - - - -

What had happened was that I was buying gasoline in the middle of the night at a truck stop, and went inside to pay for it.

As I walked towards the door, some guy behind me hollered, “Hey!  Don’t go in there!  Don’t go in there!”

But of course I didn’t hear him, and went in there.

Suddenly to find myself confronted with a guy wearing a ski-mask, and wielding a shotgun pointed at my stomach, and a second guy also wearing a ski-mask and with a gun, pointed my direction.

“I didn’t stare him down; I was just confused as to what he had against me; I‘m a nice guy, after all, one of the nicest guys one can ever hope to meet.

“It all happened very fast, and the two suddenly turned and ran away, although I have no idea why.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

The property caretaker was here this afternoon.  The weather’s bad, and something was wrong somewhere else, but the tools he needed were here.

“Well, what day of the week this week, do you want to go to talk to that security expert in Omaha?” he asked.

Friday, I said; “and as he closes at five, say we get there at 4:30.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“You know,” I said, “maybe I do at times indulge in rash, reckless risky behavior--and I’m sure some of those times, hearing people aren’t aware the risks I’m running, while I am--but look at it from my side.

“Because of past experience--always good luck--why not risk something?  It always comes out okay.

“I’m the luckiest person I know.

“For example, I’ve been driving since I was fourteen, but I was thirty-nine years old before I ever changed a tire on a car.

“It’s true that I haven’t had many flat tires in this life, but I’ve had some.  I hadn’t learned how to change a tire, probably because well, ‘he’s deaf and it’s too much time and trouble to explain things to him, so I’ll just do it myself.’

“The three older brothers I had, I should’ve learned all the useful arts and skills, but no, it was just easier for them to do it themselves, rather than bothering showing me.

“Friends, the same way.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Every single time, bar none, I’ve had a flat tire, there’s been someone who immediately stopped, hopped out, got out the stuff, and replaced the tire, like within, maybe three minutes, while I just stood by.

“There was one time a few summers ago when I was way out in the middle of the Sandhills, and there hadn’t been any traffic at all for several miles.  I was the only one on the road.

“Then ‘thump-thump-thumpety-thump’--’oh good,’ I thought; ‘I’m the only person out here, and I’ll finally get a chance to learn how to change a tire.’

“It was a really hot day, and I parked on the shoulder of the road, sitting inside, but my feet out on the ground, carefully reading the owner’s manual about how to change a tire.

“But lo and behold, out of thin air came another guy, who hopped out of his truck, inquired what I was doing, and set to himself changing the tire while I simply stood there.

“There hadn’t been anyone else on that road until then.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

“I never did change a tire until one time I wanted one replaced, and got the replacement at the gasoline station in town.”

Dane, the automotive mechanic of Norwegian derivation who drives a Swedish Saab, offered to put it on for me.

“’No,’ I told him; “just toss the new tire in the back seat, and I’ll replace it myself at home.

“So I came back here, and sitting on the ground reading the owner’s manual, changed the tire myself.

“At the age of thirty-nine years, my first time.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“What are you doing?” the neighbor’s wife asked when she was here earlier in the evening, coming to pick up something her husband, the neighbor needed.

“What I’m doing is making this place safer for a deaf person,” I said.  “Can you see one needs a whole lot of lamps and lights now, that one didn’t before?”

I’d only done it to the living room thus far, but those windows were all now covered, using dark-colored bed-sheets, double-ply.

“But at least stalking primitives can’t peek inside now.”

“Don’t you think you’re overdoing it?” she asked.

“No, madam, no.  I’m not going to stop until this place until this place is 100% secure against stalking primitives who, being unsportsmanlike in their conduct, might try to take advantage of that I can’t hear they‘re around, and do me grievous harm.”

“Well, I think you might be overdoing it a little bit.”

- - - - - - - - - -

She said she’d finally read Cowboy Among the Reds, although being a woman, she still liked the other one better.

“It’s scary, how you trust people,” she said.  “No matter who it is, you trust them.”

Well, I suppose that’s a problem for the deaf, I said; “after all, hearing people know each other’s life story, know everything there is to know about each other, upon their first encounter, whereas non-hearing people don’t know anything about someone else, at least not until after a very long time.

“It uncomplicates life for us, just simply trusting everybody, and letting the chips fall where they may.”

“It wasn’t the scariest, but it was one of the scariest parts of Cowboy Among the Reds, when you had all those problems getting your visa renewed, and you trusted someone nobody else would dare trust.”

“But as you already know, it worked out well in the end.”

- - - - - - - - - -

She was referring to my use of an hostile alien to get the visas renewed.  The official renewal fee at the time was $30, good for three months, but the people at that office demanded $500.

They might as well’ve demanded a million bucks; I didn’t have $500, and there was no way I could get it.

I did however have a hundred dollars.

I sought out an Iraqi, widely known as an effective middle-man.  I was fully aware of the risks; after all, this was the mid-1990s, and Democrat Bill Clinton was still daily bombing that country north of Baghdad.

Iraq was under a global embargo; they couldn’t buy anything or sell anything.

And at the same time, Ukraine was being sent massive amounts of humanitarian aid--which at the airport in Kiev, mysteriously always got re-routed south to Baghdad.

This middle-man, who was at the time hopping around in the sack with a woman high in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, was involved in all that.

- - - - - - - - - -

There’d been some anxiety about such a person having my valuable U.S. passport in his possession, but I was worried least of anybody.  I worried somewhat, but not enough to lose any sleep over it.

I wasn’t someone representing the United States, nor any other government.  I wasn’t an employee of some great big huge multi-national corporation, nor did I work for any of these “non“-profit do-good organizations.

I was just franksolich, a nobody.

My passport other than in my own hands, would be worthless.

- - - - - - - - - -

To make a long story short, the guy didn’t want to have anything to do with me; he hated white Christian dogs, Americans in particular, and besides, to him, a hundred bucks wasn’t even a trifle.

He really hated me, almost as much as the primitives hate franksolich.

Finally, near the time of expiry of my visa, one day I followed him to one of those workers' flats, where he apparently had arranged a tryst with a woman (not the one from the Foreign Ministry).

He knew I’d followed him.  I stood outside the building, waiting in the cold and snow and wind for seven hours, after which he came out.  To get rid of me, he finally agreed to get me a new visa.  I gave him my passport and the hundred dollars, and he told me where and when to meet him, to get it back.

I had to prevail upon his “services,” always for a hundred dollars, three times, and he never let me down.

There was much that happened inbetweentimes, but I don’t want to give away too many details of what’s in Cowboy Among the Reds, because already knowing them, nobody’d read the book.

- - - - - - - - - -

“But you know the rest of the story,” I reminded the neighbor’s wife.  “The first three months I was over there, I was constantly stopped and money demanded for this thing or another thing, or wasn’t allowed into certain places.

“It took a while for it to dawn on me, but suddenly I had no such problems; nobody demanded money from me, and I was given access to wherever I wanted to go, to see whatever I wanted to see.

“I didn’t bother paying attention to the stamps and signatures of the visas; it was all Greek to me anyway.  The dates were in numerals, and I could understand that, but nothing else.

“The night before I left that time and place, and some narcotics policemen were holding a farewell party for me. 

“At some point, one of them, curious, asked if he could see my passport.  When he looked at the visa’d pages, he let out a long low whistle and passed it around.

“Other than my first visa, of course gotten from the Ukrainian embassy in Washington, D.C., all the rest were from another place.

“The visa renewals were all stamped and signed by different near-the-top-of-the-pyramid officials of the Ukrainian militsiya, the secret police, names recognized in that country.

“It was no wonder I hadn’t had any problems.

“Anyway, so you see, madam,” I said to the neighbor’s wife, “I’m truly aware of great risks I take, despite that everybody seems to think I’m not, and because it always comes out well in the end, I take them.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

The property caretaker was here this morning; it’s a very cold morning, and he’d decided to work on some motors out in the garage instead of doing anything outdoors today.

I told him I needed new keys for the knobs on the front and back doors, as I’d lost the ones I had years ago.

And a couple of chain-locks, one for each door, and the same number of heavy-duty dead-bolts.

“How many sets of keys do you want?” he asked.

“Two,” I said; “one set for myself, and the other set of course for the owners of the property.

“I’ve decided I’ve got to stop habitually engaging in risky behavior, and start living like Skippy does out in northern California, all worried and paranoid about people.”

- - - - - - - - - -

franksolich wasn’t born yesterday; I’ve been through this all before, with different people, different places, different times.

As soon as everybody discovers they no longer have free and unlimited and easy access to franksolich, they’ll start resenting it.

After which this silly game can stop, and life can return to normal.

<<<been through this all before.

- - - - - - - - - -

“Dude, what about me?” he asked.

“This is only for the house, remember; you’ll of course be able to enter and exit at will, the garage and the two other buildings here.

"If anyone wants inside the house, they'll have to knock and get my attention."

to be continued

[franksolich]

“Hey, did you see those papers I left in your car this morning?” the insurance man asked while I was in town.

“Your house was locked, but I sensed you were in there, but even though I nearly broke down the doors, and almost smashed a window trying to get your attention, you didn’t answer.

“What’s up with all this?”

Yeah, I got the papers, I reminded him; “and besides, you told me to keep the doors locked so no one’d just walk in on me; that it‘d be good if I were paranoid like Skippy on Skins‘s island.”

“Well, I guess maybe after [the property caretaker] installs a door-bell with a blinking light on it, it’ll be okay.”

We’ll see, I said.

<<<been though all this before.

- - - - - - - - - -

Finding the insurance papers in the car had reminded me I’d overlooked something; the car.

After a lifetime of leaving my car unlocked, and the key still in the ignition, it’s going to be a hard habit to break, but probably I’d better learn, for my own good.

to be continued

[franksolich]

“Oh, I’m so happy to see you,” the wife of the old caretaker, the one before the current one, said to me.

“I’d changed the schedule for your laundry, and instead of picking up your things on Tuesdays, I’m going to do it on Mondays from now on.”

Yes, franksolich enjoys the services of a washing-woman, actually a very dear and good older friend of mine--although the town's biggest gossip--who, because I’m a nice guy, does it cheap.

She sews too.

“I went out there and found the place locked, although you were obviously inside, but unable to hear me.

“It was cold, and I was carrying all this clean laundry.

“Well, I couldn’t get inside to pick up your unclean clothes, but I could at least put the clean clothes inside your car.

“But your car was locked.

“And the other car and all the trucks out there were locked too.”

Of course; the other car and all the trucks belong to other people, entrusted in my care.  My own stuff, I’m free to treat as I wish; other people’s stuff, I treat as if the crown jewels, always locked up and secure.

- - - - - - - - - -

“Well, you see,” I explained to her, “I’ve been told s-o-o-o-o-o many times--by including your own husband, when he was caretaker--that I habitually indulge in extremely risky behavior, putting my stuff and my person in peril of being harmed, or worse.

“So I decided to be like Skippy on Skins’s island, keeping things locked up all the time.”

“Well, what are we going to do now?” she asked.  “It’s certainly going to be an inconvenience--”

Be patient, I advised; it’ll work itself out.

to be continued

[franksolich]

“It’s obviously a malicious entry,” the county sheriff said, as he inspected the damaged front door.  “Maybe a meth-head.”

Looking at the property caretaker, he added, “It’s too bad you did such a good job in installing the locks, because the door-frame’s substantially damaged, and’ll have to be replaced.”

Present besides the county sheriff and the caretaker were myself, the neighbor, the business partner, and the insurance man.

“Yeah, it looks like to me about three thousand bucks,” the insurance man sourly speculated.  “And it’s one of those things that’s 100% covered under the owners’ policy.”

“And once they did all that damage breaking in, they found nothing worth stealing, and so took off,” I said.

“If the door hadn’t been locked, they could’ve just walked in, and seen there was nothing to take, and leave without having done any destruction at all.

“As you can see, the whole place is a mess,” I continued; “even in the bedroom, dresser drawers were yanked out, and the closet rifled through.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Were you away when all this was going on?” the business partner asked.

“No, I was in bed, sleeping,” I said.

The county sheriff looked at me, incredulous.

“You didn’t hear a thing, and only found this when you woke up this morning?”

“You forget,” I said, pointing to the side of my head.

Of course, it’s partly my own fault; because I’m so good at masquerading as a hearing person, even people familiar with me at times tend to forget I’m actually deaf.

- - - - - - - - - -

“If I hadn’t been emulating the paranoia of Skippy on Skins’s island, the worst that would’ve happened would’ve been that the door was left half-open, and the furnace running at high speed against the inrushing cold air.

“But now it looks to be a major construction job.”

“Well, look at it as an opportunity,” the business partner answered; “you and [the property caretaker] are going down to Omaha on Friday, to look at security devices to make this place safer for you, and because the whole thing has to be rebuilt, it’ll be easier to incorporate those things.”

I’m keeping an open mind, I said, “but we’ll see.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

When I got up about 5:00 a.m. and was in the kitchen making coffee, the corner of my eye caught something at the covered-over window of the back door, and I went over to investigate.

Cautiously looking, I saw that it was someone flashing a flashlight, trying to get my attention. 

It was only Romeo; no point in bothering to get dressed.

The front doorway had been sealed up with ¾” sheets of plywood, pending installation of a new frame and door, all the windows covered over, and the back door was locked.

Having been assured the premises were absolutely safe for a deaf person, I’d resumed my nocturnal habit.

When an overnight guest in other people’s homes, I go by their rules and take care to not offend sensibilities.  But even wearing a pair of loose-fitting cotton briefs, I feel as if restricted, swaddled, or wrapped up like a mummy.

“It’s not six yet, so sorry,” I said, as I opened the door.

Ignoring my state of undress, Romeo complained, “It took forever to get your attention.  And having to walk through the snow twice to get around to your back door, well, it’s cold out there.”

I know, I know, I said, “But remember, it’s for my own safety and security.”

“And it’s as dark as a cave in here, even with all the lights on.”

I know, I know, I said; “Low-wattage bulbs, because I never needed anything stronger when the windows were uncovered.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Looking at me, Romeo took a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, while I stood leaning against the kitchen counter, facing him, both of us smoking cigarettes.

I suppose for someone naked, such would be an awkward position, but this was Romeo, and nothing nonplusses Romeo.

Besides, it’s to my own advantage to have a full view of the person talking to me, so as to capture the whole body language, not just the face.  I’ve caught people in lies before, by simply noticing they shifted a leg.

“You know,” Romeo finally said, “I think everybody’s looking at this from the wrong angle.

“Instead of remodeling the house, they need to remodel you, so that you can defend yourself.

“Have you ever thought about those Asian ways of self-defense?”

Only briefly, I said; “Karate, judo, taekwando, chop-chop-suey or whatever it’s called, but no, it’s not for me.

“Like firearms, they demand too much patience and discipline for my temperament.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Your problem is, you don’t know how to fight, how to defend yourself,” he said.

True, I admitted; “Despite all appearances, I’m as fragile as a Christmas tree ornament…..and alas I have the distinction of being the only man sissy-boy Atman on Skins’s island can beat up.

“Even he could beat franksolich into a red spot on the floor, in no time at all.  It‘s humiliating, being the only guy Atman can beat up.”

“And that’s something to worry about,” Romeo said; “remember, there’s a lot of fairies and other perverts on Skins’s island--and they all have it in for you.”

“Well, but I’m not exactly defenseless,” I said, walking over to the refrigerator and picking up a large S/K adjustable wrench with a 17” long handle.  I have six of these scattered all over inside the house.”

- - - - - - - - - -

I put the wrench back, and went over to the table to sit down.

“But you know, really, I don’t even need that for self-defense, thanks to long-ago speech therapy, when I was in college.

“Until I was 20 years old, remember, I spoke incoherently; only family and friends could understand me.  When talking to somebody, I always looked down, or aside, or away, and mumbled.

“I was a piece of work; for example, it took three months before I’d look at myself in the hand-mirror held up by the speech therapist.  I’d never looked at myself in the mirror before, other than fleeting glimpses as I walked by one.

“It was a hard harsh lesson, learning to see myself as others saw me, rather than as I thought they saw me.

“And then I had to be ‘trained’ to look the other person in the eyes as I spoke.

“Well, quite obviously, that succeeded, and has served me well, but there was an unplanned-for consequence of it.

“I learned by random chance and accident that strong, steady, intense eye-contact defuses a dangerous person.

“I dunno why, but it does.  Another person heatedly staring at me, and me staring back, doesn’t intimidate me, but apparently it does the other person.

“You’ve read the first draft of Cowboy Among the Reds, so you know what I mean.

“I can’t tell you how many times that’s saved my ass, strong, steady, intense eye-contact.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“Well, I’m glad I finally got a hold of you,” the neighbor’s wife said as she came inside the back door in the afternoon.

“Now that you keep the house locked, there’s no point in coming over until one calls first, and tells you.

“Although,” she added, with a hint of irritation in her voice, “it would’ve been better if I’d found you when I first tried, this morning.

“I called and called and called, getting routed to the answering machine after ten rings every time.

“Which does neither you or I any good, because when a message is left, you have to wait for someone else to come, listen to it, and tell you what the message is.

“Doesn’t that light on your telephone work, so you know the telephone’s ringing?”

Of course it does, I assured her; “After all, that’s how I managed to catch you the last time you called.  By rare random chance, I happened to be looking over that way in the dining room, and saw the light blink.

“The answering machine’s set to go after ten rings, instead of only three or four, so as to spend more time ringing, increasing the likelihood of me seeing the light.

“But unless I’m specifically eyeing the telephone, I don’t see the light.

“And I’m not looking at the telephone all time; in fact, I’m rarely in the dining room, where it’s at.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“You know, I’m really pissed off,” I said to the business partner as we were going down the highway, myself at the wheel.

“At myself.

“I’m such a submissive, spineless wimp, allowing everybody else to run all over me, in their efforts to improve my life.

“And to make it worse, everybody else is pissed off at me, because in my taking their advice and counsel, they’re inconvenienced, and don’t like it at all…..and then act like it’s my fault.

“I mean, I’m very appreciative of the fact that I’ve never lived a single day in my life without others being concerned for me, but this is too much.

“I’m too nice of a guy; at my age, it’s long past time for me to put my foot down and say ‘no!’” banging the steering-wheel.

“It’s just for a few more days,” he replied; “I’m sure [the property caretaker] and you’ll find something down in Omaha that makes the place safer for you, after which life’ll return to normal, for both you and them.”

“Well, I’m keeping an open mind,” I said; “but we’ll see.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“You can feel free to come over and let me undress you,” I said, already laying in bed.  “I’m ready.”

She was standing in front of the mirror, playing with her hair.

“We’re eminently safe here, what with all the windows being covered.  Stalking primitives can’t look inside and see us.”

The bedroom, a very long time ago, used to be a solarium, with more windows than walls.

“Even Skippy would feel at ease hopping around in the sack with Big Mo, or some other primitive femme, in here, because nobody’d see him.”

“I’m not feeling like it,” she said; “this darkness despite all the lights being turned on, and the closed-in-ness, turns me off.

“You’re best in the air, the light, the wide open, and there’s none of that in here.”

to be continued