Wind Chimes

Wind chimes...I often think of those days. They're like a dream. Not a bad dream, a good one, a peaceful one, one where hardly anything ever seems to go wrong or feel rotten. If I go back far enough, concentrate hard enough, close my eyes and try as I listen to those same wind chimes...then I can smell the dirt, the trees, and the freshly cut grass. I can feel the soft summer wind on my hot skin. I can watch the long summer days fade by slowly. They were happy ones.

Forts, water, acorns and mud pies were the most I usually did. Long hikes over our land, or sitting in a tree writing poetry, or building "forts" out of broken branches, and picnics under the cool shade of a maple tree...they're all good memories. When barbed wire fences, and chokecherries were a fact of life. When chicken plucking was a normal summer activity. Wasps were an inevitable evil...but they announced the arrival of summer. Swings, slip-n-slides, and sprinklers to run through were always available...

Those were good days...it's nice to remember them!

Possum Surprise...

  Just call me...Raul! I live in Hervey Bay, Queensland Australia, and yes, I am a possum. Proud to be one too. If you ever want to find my house, just think again! One thing you should know about me? I hate humans! With a passion! Why? 

1. They throw dirty water on you.
2. They laugh at you when you defend yourself.
3. They turn tail and run at the first sign of a glare.

  Don't believe me? I'll prove it. I was hanging out at my cousin's house one night, and just about to go home. So I started down his tree and stopped dead in my tracks. There was a man, a young man, standing 4 feet away, staring at me. In his hand he held a pot full of dirty water, and his eyes were bulging out of his head with surprise. Don't know his name, so we'll call him Mr. A.

A = Annoying.

  Neither one of us moved. We stared. I thought he might be sensible and go away. Nope. He called in a loud voice for his friends to come see me. What am I? Some kind of freak show? I'm a possum...what's so amazing about that?! Well, half a dozen other people gathered around him and crowded together in the doorway. Laughing, giggling, talking about me. Mr. A. stood in front of them all. Pot still in hand. I moved two steps. They all screamed and squealed. 

  Mr. A. decided it wasn't exciting enough. So what did he do? He splashed water on me out of the pot! Annoying much? YES! One of the girls, a sweet funny little thing, told him to stop it. We'll call her Miss C. 

C = Comical. 

  Mr. A. didn't pay any attention to her. He did it again then jumped back towards the door a bit. The girls squealed, as well as Miss C. but she told him to stop again. Said I'd get mad and then what would he do? Why can't all humans be like her?! The two other guys in the group went separate directions: one into the bushes, the other towards the gate. I was quite annoyed and upset by now. So I hissed. It was a warning. Some of them shrieked, Mr. B. (Mr. Bushman) and Mr. G. (Mr. Gateman) both retreated. Mr. A. made a face and threw his arms up, trying to look big and scary I suppose. 

 I was not impressed.

  I was not amused.

  I'd had enough.

  I was angry!

  And so...I hissed again and took a couple steps down the tree. Miss C. thought it was quite funny by now because Mr. A. was starting to freak out. I continued hissing. Mr. A. continued to press against the other people in the door, trying to get inside. Miss C. pushed him out, laughing as she did so. He freaked out more. I laughed with Miss C. inwardly, but outwardly I'd had MORE than enough. I charged!

  And that was the end of it all. Everyone shrieked inside, closed the doors, and I could hear Mr. A. and Miss C. arguing. I crept away, angry, but a little amused. Mr. B. and Mr. G. soon crept back inside the house as well. Humans...they're the bane of my existence! 

  But Miss C., I have to admit, is quite funny!

  This is Raul, signing off!  

(pictures taken on location in Hervey Bay

Horror Cheetos...

Caution: If you have a weak stomach and get queasy very easily, please do not proceed. The following story is of a car ride...

  Imagine this: Green. Everything is green. The grass, the trees, and the car are green. It's a small five person Buick. It's Sunday, Church is over, and it's time to go home. Home is two hours away over narrow, winding roads full of potholes. No matter, it's still time to go home. Six people pile their luggage into the trunk of said car, then place the rest in the seats with them as they pile in.
  The mother's in the driver seat. The oldest child is in the passenger seat with hand bags around her, and four other children are squeezed into the back seat, bags at their feet as well. The engine starts. The mother pulls onto the highway nervously. It's been a long day, maybe the children will go to sleep? Silence is ordered as they start down that frightfully steep hill that people stall on going up, and can lose their breaks on going down. Silence has been commanded, therefore silence is given as each child begins to think that this will be the last journey they will ever make. Death must certainly be in store.
  The bottom of the hill is reached.
  The car is still running.
  The mother relaxes slightly...but not much!
  They begin to wind slowly through the hills, doors locked. Soon some of those in the back seat start to feel sick. There's no air. The littlest ones are too small to see out the windows and they're known for having weak stomachs anyway.
  "Mommy, I'm going to throw up, can't we stop?" Comes a small frantic voice.
  "No!" Comes the tense answer from the frightened mother. "I'm not stopping on this highway. It's not safe."
  Seconds pass.
  "But mommy, I feel sick! I'm going to throw up!" Comes the cry. Before anyone can do anything the sound of retching is heard from the same individual. The two kids next to her freak out as vomit covers her fleece jacket spread conveniently over her lap, and the second oldest makes a silent, solemn promise to never eat cheetos again. She'd rather starve in the future than consume the same vile substance that's all over that coat.
  The smell of apple and artificial cheese fill the car. There's no air. Those that already felt sick start to feel worse and start to cry. It's raining outside. Open windows are out of the question. Stopping is out of the question. The second oldest is ordered to gather up the jacket and it's prize and place it somewhere "safe" on the non-existent floor. Mom's stressed. There's no doubt about that. The girl reaches over and does as she's told. Apple pop? Never again! She bends down and rearranges things on the floor, her siblings whining at the bags on their feet and laps. Finally she finds a place for the "package". She leans her head against the window.
  The smell.
  The winding road.
  No air.
  The continual talk of sickness.
  And all the bending over...
  Her stomach starts to churn. Cheetos are all she can think of. She hasn't felt this sick in her entire life. Air, that's all anyone wants. Cheetos are on everyones mind...
  "Mommy, I'm going to throw up too!" The youngest one cries out.
  "Here!" The mom hands back a small bag. It's a chip bag. It's a cheeto bag.
  "Hold it for her!" The second child is ordered. "Everyone look out the window or go to sleep!" The mom is still freaking out. The youngest looses it. The second child starts to cry as she holds the cheeto bag for her little sister. Vomit is on her fingers. She's afraid the bag might overflow if her sister doesn't stop soon. She can't look at it or she'll start to hurl too. There's a major crisis in the back seat. The rest of the drive becomes a blur.
  Tears.
  Vomit.
  No air.
  The cheeto bag is held hatefully, yet carefully in the lap of the second oldest. Why? The mother will not allow her to litter. Cruelness! Sad day! Sick day! A day to remember. A ride to never be forgotten.


In all fairness, my mother had a reason to be scared, nervous, and tense. We were on a dangerous, secluded highway in Mexico and didn't have a phone (if I remember correctly). The rain was also not her fault. There was nothing anyone could do about it, and the only way to see out was to have the defrost on. So there was no air. This was also before we started carrying a "barf-bucket" with us, and so there was nothing to be done. I'm simply thankful that I've never had to repeat that exact same journey, and that I can now laugh at it. But cheetos still disgust me...and while I enjoy apple juice, I can no longer enjoy apple pop...especially Manzana Lift. 

(The volcano close to my house)


o.k. so my mom claims that we did litter with the cheeto bag full of barf. So, I will believe her and say that we did. :) 

Top Secret: Proceed with Caution!!!

  It's said that there is an island. It's an island that no one can find unless they know exactly where it is. If you don't know where it is, then chances are that you'll never find it and you don't belong there either. No, this is not Pirates of the Caribbean. It's not even close to that. But some people think that Pirates is a good story, and all good stories have to come from somewhere, right? Well, that story came from the top secret information that I'm about to disclose to you...

Warning: Proceed with caution. The following information could prove to be harmful and deadly. Read at your own risk. 




  Some may call me crazy, others may even believe that and try to prove it. But before we go any further, let's just settle the fact that I'm not! I know who the first president of the U.S. was, and I can count how many fingers you're holding up in front of my face with no difficulty at all. So no, I'm not crazy. But, there is an organization more powerful, more secretive, and more intricate than the CIA. It's found on this island that I spoke of in the beginning.

• Name of island? It has no name. It would be a security threat to give it one.
• Type of agents in organization? The agents of said organization are highly trained, highly adaptable young people spread and scattered throughout every nation on earth. 
• Agent's code names? They're most commonly known as MK's (Missionary Kids)
• Languages spoken by said MK's? About 99.9% of them speak two to five languages each.
• Their mission? World dominance. They infiltrate every sphere of society. As they grow older they practice and study whatever they do best. Some pose as teachers, others as major businessmen, others as doctors and scientists. Truth is you can find them everywhere and anywhere.

  Wherever you might be, believe me, these MK's know all about you. They have microphones and cameras planted everywhere - even in your private home! They know and archive all your personal information. The leaders of this organization were once MK's themselves. They have joined together, one from every nation in the world, and their dream is to one day rule the world without any of us knowing it! They claim to all be working for one man, to all be under his direction and authority. And they claim that he is the most powerful of all! Each leader speaks 15 different languages and has a PHD in Science, Linguistics and International Studies, or History.
  They're intelligent.
  They're powerful.
  They're deadly.
  Each one has a meeting with a different agent every day. But don't be fooled, not every MK you come across is an agent. Some don't even know about the existence and purpose of the island. But those that do know would never tell you. They protect their own above everything else. They swear a stronger loyalty to the island above that of their own countries.

• What brings and holds them all together? Their mutual understanding of the world, their yearning for identity, and the most powerful leader they have.
• What language is spoken on the island? One no one else can understand. It's a combination of nineteen different languages. Easy to learn, impossible to find anywhere else. 
• Who is their longtime competitor and arch-enemy? Those known as PK's (Pastor's Kids). The PK's are searching for the same world dominance. They are powerful and highly intelligent as well. Yet one thing stands in their way: They do not have the same cross-cultural training that the MK's have. Thus, they cannot relate to one another's different cultures and unity is more difficult.
• What happens to those that are born as both? They reach age fifteen, they decide where their loyalties lie. 

  I must run! The cameras are on me, and two agents are at my door this very minute! I beg you, come find me, save me, and help me defeat this group before they take over!!!

- Me -