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Newspaper Scandal

Newspaper Scandal

Feature Photo by abolfazl shaker – Upsplash.com.

Newspaper Scandal

It’s seven, giving me an hour before hitting the trail to my factory. during this time of the day, I’m alone, quiet, my local newspaper lying on the twelve-seater table in the breakfast room. A crackling log fire burning, the smell of Canadian Pine from the furniture, and my favorite Columbian ground coffee percolating on the hot plate.

“Buenos días, señor Pierre.” “De coffee, she is ready, señor; I fix for you, no?” “Si Angelina, gracias.” Our Cook, housekeeper, and butler, all bound in one, is from Columbia, hence my coffee preference. Angelina’s family is in the coffee business back home, and she insists on me drinking their brand.

 “Angelina only make Ferrozo Coffee in dees house Meester Pierre or no coffee at all!” She stated. “Then you must make it like my Grandmother did, Angelina.” “How she make it?” “Many years ago, Granny used to buy her baking flour in a small muslin bag, and once emptied, she washed the bag, turned the open end, and sewed an elastic strip onto it. She would put the bag into an enamel coffee jug, fill it with water, and add Trekker Koffie from the crushed beans into the bag once it boiled. Then it was allowed to percolate for thirty minutes.

“What ees dis tre… coffee? She struggled with the name. In my Grandmother’s time, it was coffee drunk by the Dutch Farmers of the day.

A truly win-win situation arose from this discussion, and with no help from me, Angelina sourced some calico, found an enamel coffee jug, sewed up some bags, and percolated Ferrozo.

I didn’t tell Angelina that my Grandmother drank her Trekker Koffie with condensed milk. (during the Boer War in South Africa, fresh milk was not freely available) The outcome of this was that I became a condensed milk addict. Angelina thought I drank my coffee without milk (as her fellow Columbians did), but I had a secret stash of condensed milk that I used.

Coffee was poured, and the newspaper opened– my two favorite items. Now happiness is mine.

On opening the paper (I always look to see the date in case the wrong paper was delivered. It happens, you know;) lo and behold, it was tomorrow’s date! I checked my watch to confirm it was right; tomorrow’s date. I looked up to see if there was anyone with whom I could share this phenomenon. I didn’t think Angelina would appreciate my vexation, so continuing to read, I accepted it as a printing error.

I happily worked through the news items, and then it happened. It was at the bottom of page three; I could not believe my eyes.

Company Owner and CEO Detained By Police.

Mr. Pierre Williams, the owner, and CEO of Williams Cables Ltd, has been detained by the Police, pending investigations into certain irregularities concerning the company’s tax returns.

Neither the Public Officer, Ms. Fossie, nor Mr. Williams would comment. The Police Chief Public Relations Officer, Inspector Len Jones, explained that no comment could be made until Mr. Williams came before the local magistrate.

Case covered by Staff Reporter Janice Morrison.

Hey, this is me. I thought, dumbstruck.

Before I knew it, I coughed and sprayed my coffee over the breakfast table with shock. I was in the process of mopping up the mess on my shirt when a distressed Angelina came striding into the room. “Meester Pierre come kweek, there is men at the door, saying eet is Police.” I had barely stood up from the table when two men in overcoats pushed Angelina out of their path. And while one explained they were arresting me on charges of defrauding the Receiver of Inland Revenue, the other roughly pulled my hands behind me and locked them in cuffs. The first then proceeded to read me my rights.

Protesting, I asked if I could change my shirt.” Please come with us, Mr. Williams, and don’t offer any resistance.” feigning politeness, the officer said quietly.

Pushing a sheet of paper, along with a chewed-end pen, the policemen at a desk stated,” We need a statement from you.” “Officer, I need to speak to my attorney before I am willing to make any statement, please.” Anger melted a little of my fear; his eyes met mine. Standing suddenly, he beckoned me to follow him. “He wants to make a call.” The Sergeant, who was as broad as he was tall, passed me a mobile with my attorney’s number dialed.

Joseph Berelowitz was a no-nonsense attorney and a man with a razor-sharp mind. “Hello Bill, Joe here. “Give me an hour; I’ll be with you. We’ll apply for bail.”

I gripped the handle of the coffee mug with some difficulty, the shock of it all making my hands shake uncontrollably. “I need a pub, not a coffee,” trying to present a humorous front. I reassured Joe that I had no faintest idea of what was happening. “Get up to your office and sort this out as soon as possible.” Joe was anxious. “This is serious. Call me with whatever you find.” “Give me a couple of hours, I’m going home to change, and I’ll head for the office.”

Rushing in through the front door, I nearly knocked Angelina flying. “Sorry, Angelina.” “Is Meesta Pierre OK?” “Yes, I’m fine; I just need a whiskey.” Angelina walked away, staring at me wide-eyed over her shoulder.

The phone rang, “Williams,” I answered the call. A strange gruff voice on the other end stated, “Your wife is here with us, and if you want to see her again, you’ll get over here right away.” “What are you talking about?” I demanded. My wife’s voice screamed in the background, “Pierre, they want to kill me, help me please…” My wife was hysterical. The male voice came back on the line. “You’ve got one hour to get over here, Unit 16 G, Dock Terminal A. You now have 55 minutes. The phone clicked.

With my heart thumping, I drove like a madman, the clock racing ahead. I knew Terminal A and pulled up at 16G. The door opened, and I was pulled into the room by my collar. A figure shoved me into a filthy chair. My wife was tied to a chair with her mouth taped, face red and swollen. Her mouth was bleeding through the tape in one corner.

“Your partner Ms. Fossie has an unpaid bill we need to collect.” “She’s not my partner. She’s my employee,” I retorted. Wham! A back-hander from one of the three men smashed across my face, crashing me to the floor. The hitter lifted me by my lapels. He pushed his face into mine, rotting teeth stench swathing my nostrils; then, he punched me in the gut. I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath.

They lifted me onto the chair once more, and one of the others muttered, “Enough, I want him to talk.” “We need the stash or the money. You got it?” Wheezing heavily and fearing another blow, I said cautiously, “I don’t have the stash; Ms. Fossie must have it, but how much does she owe you?” “Twenty G’s” “Twenty thousand! What?” “Listen, mister, don’t f***k with me; you heard what I said.” “OK, untie my wife, drive us to the cash machine, and I will see if I can draw that amount.” “Mister, your wife, stays here; we go for the cash. We get the cash, and you come to collect your wife. Let’s go!”

The leader walked close behind me. “One wrong move, you dead meat, and we go kill your wife, right?”

Suddenly from behind, a voice yelled, “Freeze, Police!” I slowly raised my hands, as did the big guy behind me. Sirens and lights were flashing from the squad cars; this added to the drama as people in the street stared in disbelief.

An officer led me to a waiting patrol car, and there was my wife. I leaped in alongside her; we hugged and wept. “Would you like a visit to the hospital or straight home?” The officer asked. “Straight home.” We chorused.

“Tell me, officer, how did you know where to find my wife?” “Well, Mister Williams, we had your phone wired, and the gang kindly gave us the address when you got your instructions. They are part of a drug ring and in cahoots with your Ms. Fossie. Who, incidentally, was responsible for tampering with your tax account. It seems she owed them a lot of money. Call me Paddy, by the way, he said in his fine Irish lilt.” “Do you know, Paddy, I read about the story in the newspaper this morning, a paper dated tomorrow.” “Surely not; that is strange now.” Officer Paddy smiled. Just as I thought, indeed, the work of a Leprechaun!

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The Lion

The Lion

The lion was a beast of gigantic proportions, yellow mane blowing in the cool breeze. His tail shaking its tufted end looked like a knobkerrie. A snarl revealed two rows of razor-sharp teeth as his fetid breath wafted through my mosquito net. I shouted or screamed, not sure which. Grabbing my pillow and making a threatening gesture, I yelled all the louder. He opened his great jaws, drooling streams of saliva. ‘Oh god no, he’s going to spring and crush me!’ Dragging my torn mosquito net, I dived into what looked like a ravine. Hitting bottom, I stared upwards and then awoke wrapped in the remains of the net.

Gasping for breath, bathed in sweat, and my heart thumping, I realized I had dived out of my bed onto the floor. Relieved that I was still alive and in my bedroom, I untangled myself from the net and went to the bathroom.

Later, still shaking and trying to swallow hot milo, I searched for a dream analysis on my computer. The dream interpretation of paying a severe price for a current furtive affair I was having; stared at me in the face.

The following evening as I opened the door for my girlfriend, who was coming to supper, she screamed at me. “You are a two-timing, no, a three-timing bastard.” Suddenly I felt a blow to my eye, and as I stumbled backward, a perfectly timed kick between my thighs dropped me to my knees!

It would have been less painful had the lion been real.

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Fork in The Road

When we reach a fork in the road ahead, we are forced to decide: Which road do I take? As surely as the sun will rise tomorrow, so will the fork in the road appear tomorrow. Often it appears many times in the day.

When faced with this decision, we have two choices; take the right fork, which is remaining on the same road with which we are familiar. And along this, we alternate between happiness and misery at differing times. Or do we take the left fork?. The left fork represents the road less traveled, the road of change and unfamiliarity. The road of the unknown.

At the point of confronting the fork and facing a decision, how do we decide? For the most part, we rely on our minds to make our decision. The mind, of course, has a voice. That voice is called ‘the ego.’ The ego is the voice of our bodyguard, protecting us from natural dangers, perceived failures, and potential embarrassments.

Wait, there’s more. There is within each of us another voice. The voice of God-Within-Me. This voice is always speaking. It is the voice of a true lifeguard, protecting both body and soul from any form of harm. It does not protect us from potential failures or embarrassments because it does not speak that language. Unlike the voice of the ego, G-W-M offers guidance, training, encouragement, and above all – never failing trustworthy friendship, available 24/7.

The voice of G-W-M is authentic; the voice of the ego is a bot manufactured by people and events outside you over your lifetime.

I have one life and one body in which to live this life. So I will live this life to the full, never defining myself by others and events outside of me. I will care for my life and my body. This I will do by acting on the voice of God-Within-Me.

If you feel this article has value, please send this link to others. Writings are meant for people, not for dormant files in our computers. Often, when we share them, it results in positive changes in the lives of individuals and communities.

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Willy Chased Becky

Willy Bee

Short Fiction Children’s Story – Adventure4 min

Calgary Public Library – Story Lovingly, Willie by author Monika R Martyn, available online since 25 days and 17 hours – Willie chased Becky; she – Short Édition (short-edition.com)

Monika R Martyn

Monika R. Martyn is retired, married, happy, and a minimalist. She has been published in numerous print and online magazines and recently honored with a Pushcart Nomination. The Lucky Man—An Act of Malice is her debut novel. Visit her on Facebook or her personal website page & @monikarmartyn.

#Alberta Author Monika R. Martyn is retired, married, happy, and a minimalist. She enjoys travelling and has been published in print and online and nominated for a Pushcart by Honeyguide Literary Magazine. Her debut novel, The Lucky Man—An Act of Malice, is available on Amazon.

Lovingly, Willie

Willie chased Becky; she didn’t like to lose on a dare. Becky was always up to some kind of mischief. Becky was so much fun.

Willie flew in hot pursuit, flying backwards and keeping an eye on the hives to find her way back home. Becky was faster and very agile.

“Wait!” Willie buzzed. She didn’t know where Becky was going. And the temptation of promised nectar was difficult to overcome. Every night she’d contributed her portion of nectar to make bee bread for the expected babies, but now Willie deserved a treat.

“Be Careful!” Cindy frantically cautioned in the hive, but Willie didn’t hear a word above the buzz.

Once they reached the small creek, Becky veered farther away from the hive, and Willie chased. While flying above the meadow, Willie kept track of the landmarks. Willie noticed the broken turnstile, the trio of spruce trees, and the mailbox with upturned wings when Becky suddenly dived into an unexpected garden below. The aroma of basil in bloom was thick like syrup.

“What took you so long?” Becky teased while gorging on nectar. The garden was smaller than the one at the mansion, but Willie had never seen such variety. Carnations, oregano, lilies, roses, petunias, daisies, and dahlias the size of dinner plates.

“You cheated! You never counted to ten.” Willie reprimanded Becky, who rolled in a bath of yellow nectar.

“Yum! So delicious,” Becky smacked her mouth. “That wasn’t my fault. You’re so slow at counting. In my head, I was already at twenty.” Becky sported a growing purple pollen beard and grinned.

Cindy didn’t trust Becky. She said she was reckless. But Willie loved the adventuresome spirit of her newest friend. Becky—everyone agreed, had been to places. Willie giggled, been —that word never got old.

“Follow me. Have you ever tasted carnations?” An array of multi-coloured dust-covered Becky’s bum. “There are so many flavours; it’s like an ice cream shop.”

Willie took another lick and lifted off; Becky was already high above her. Becky was the most popular bee in the colony. Everyone loved her sense of humour. Cindy was cautious, and Willie suspected unfounded jealousy.

Willie logged the new flavours in her memory; she also noticed the garden drew all kinds of characters besides bees. She saw many new butterflies, flies, beetles, ladybugs, snails, and dragonflies. Remembering her manners, Willie remained courteous and said hello. She was busy feasting on an orange lily when she bumped into a very furry bee.

“Goodness me.” The furry bee said.

“I’m sorry, I should have been more careful.” Willie knew to mind her manners. She didn’t giggle over the word been.

“I haven’t seen you around here before?” The furry bee came closer.

“No, it’s my first time.” Willie giggled. Seen.

“What’s so funny? Are you laughing at me because I’m furry and plump?”

“No. No. You said seen. That’s funny. I thought all bees found ee words funny.”

“I’m not just a bee.”

“What are you then?” Willie stopped eating.

“I’m a relative like an Auntie. I’m what’s called a bumblebee. The differences are obvious, aren’t they?”

“Yes, you’re much larger. And your stripe is wider. You definitely have more hair. But why is that?” Willie reached out and touched.

“Genetics, my dear. What’s your name? I’m Trudi.”

“Trudi, I’m Willie. I’m here with my friend. So which hive do you live in?”

“My swarm and I live below ground.”

“You mean no one built you a hive?”

“Nope. My group is much smaller. There are only 398 of us. That’s until our brood hatches.”

“But how do you make enough honey?”

“We don’t. We make enough to eat. You’re a honeybee; I am a bumblebee.”

Willie giggled. Honey. That word just tickled every stripe on her tummy.

“Bumblebee? You don’t eat us like wasps, do you?”

“No. It’s complicated. Wasps follow their ways, but they’re our cousins. As are ants.”

“Ants? Really?”

“If I had more time, I would love to share all I know about this wonderful planet, but I have a long way to go home. I wish you a lovely day.”

And just like that, Trudi lifted off, her legs swollen with baskets of nectar and pollen.

Willie flew to the next flower, a beautiful aster, and everything that Trudi was telling her was coming back to her. Her complex memory bank slowly released bits of stored information. She wished she could have spent more time with Trudi, but it was also time to head home. She glanced around for Becky and realized that the garden had become quieter. Becky was gone. The human came out of the house wearing a large-brimmed hat, and gloves and turned on the garden hose. A shimmering rainbow cast its beautiful colours in an arc.

And Willie was getting worried. Without Becky, she’d have a hard time finding her way back. She lifted off and saw the familiar rear end of a bee in flight and followed.

After several minutes, Willie panicked. She couldn’t identify the landscape below. Out of breath, she caught up to the bee and yelled, “excuse me.” The bee dropped lower and landed on a bluebell swaying in the evening breeze.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something?” The bee asked, and Willie saw her mistake. She didn’t know this bee at all.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I knew you.”

“No worries. You lost? You look lost. Don’t tell me you’re lost.”

“I am. I think. Lost.”

“Well, I don’t think I can help. I don’t know you. I’ve never met you. I have never seen you before.” The bee giggled.

Willie giggled too.

“I’m Willie. I’m from the Oak Colony. Do you know it?”

“Ah! Yes. Fly back that way. Look for the fallen log and turn right. Then fly a little higher, and you’ll see the oaks in the distance. Be careful.”

“Thank you. Which hive do you belong to? Willie asked.

“I’m a renter bee. I live alone in an abandoned house? But I have to hurry. I must go. I’m late.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Willie took flight, found the log and buzzed her wings higher. In the distance, she recognized the familiar cluster of oaks, the sunlight filtering through the leaves. She couldn’t wait to see Cindy and share her adventure.

But first, she needed to chat with Becky. It wasn’t cool to leave a friend behind.

Snug next to Cindy, Willie had questions. Each day among the hive was joyous and full of adventure. But as Cindy was explaining, also full of danger. The log she flew over was full of wasps, and she came dangerously close.

“What’s a renter bee?” Willie waggled.

“They live alone and have babies alone. They move into the spaces between cracks, pithy stems, or shells. Although it seems impossible, there are more solitary bees than hive honeybees. And like Trudi was explaining to you, we’re like a chocolate box assortment. There are so many kinds, perhaps thousands. But you know what?” Cindy stroked Willie’s legs.

“What?” Willie couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have a 🐝 friend like Cindy.

“Nobody’s as special to me as you are.”


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If you feel this article has value, please send this link to others. Writings are meant for people, not for dormant files in our computers. Often, when we share them, it results in positive changes in the lives of individuals and communities.

All rights reserved sirpeterjamesdotcom©2020-01-20

If you are spiritually inclined see my other site; www.adcrucemchristi.com

Please feel free to send in questions (see ‘Contact’) and comments (hit the ‘Comments’ Button.)

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The Cheat-Clover and Atlas

Anxiety

Feature Photo by Hannah Myers

“Atee, it’s Clover. You got a minute?”

 “Sounds serious, everything okay?”

 “Atee, we need to meet.” The sea breeze forced its way into the telephone booth and beach sand stung her legs.

“I’m fine, but we need to talk.” “Something wrong Clover?” “Nothing’s wrong. Look Atee if I called asking to be laid, would we have this inquiry session? No, we wouldn’t. So, message me a time and place.”

Click! Clover hung up. The phone rang, answered only by the howling wind tossing plastic bags into the air, and discarded coffee cups rolling along the sidewalk. What the hell has got into that woman, Atlas asked himself, shutting his return call down.

The bottle of bourbon stood flanked by two glasses and an ice bucket. Atlas sat in the moth-eaten easy chair; ice crackled as bourbon washed over into the glass. With two criminal cases back-to-back this week, he didn’t need this. What’s gotten into her, so seriously agitated? The purposeful knock at the door barged into his thoughts. Clover stood, her eyes glaring at him. Stepping into the room, she went to the side table and poured herself a double shot, swallowing it in one gulp.

Her behavior stunned Atlas and shaking he topped their glasses. The two sat. “You must have had a really hard time finding this shithole Atee, you’ve never done this before. Open the blinds it’s dingy in here, stinks too.” “We have got to be more discreet if Jessie finds out…” “Oh, your beloved wife of 30 years you mean!” Clover interjected, yelling. “Clover, what’s got into you?” “A baby, that’s what’s got into me, I’m three weeks and counting.” “What are you going to do, get rid of it?” “In one deft movement, Clover slid out of the chair and slapped Atlas across the face. His glass went tumbling onto the carpet; ashen-faced with a visible three-finger imprint on his cheek, Atlas fell back into the chair.  

“You bastard, you want me to kill my child? You’re a psycho. I will never do that! This child will grow up with the best of everything. I think I might even sign for an undergraduate in Cambridge, our child will study law at the best facility. After all, this little one will have two lawyers as parents, won’t that be grand? “What about Jessie?” “I don’t care about Jessie, I have my baby, and Jessie’s yours; the difference is I will not be sharing her costs with you. She may not ever find out about your other floozies, but she will certainly know about this one.”

The door slammed, Atlas went over and sat on the bed, twisting his fingers and then combing them through his hair. “I’m ruined!” He muttered painfully.

To Cheat is like throwing a boomerang, it will always return to you. When your cheat returns to you it will be very hurtful.

If you feel this article has value, please send this link to others. Writings are meant for people, not for dormant files in our computers. Often, when we share them, it results in positive changes in the lives of individuals and communities.

All rights reserved sirpeterjamesdotcom©2020-01-20

If you are spiritually inclined see my other site; www.adcrucemchristi.com

Please feel free to send in questions (see ‘Contact’) and comments (hit the ‘Comments’ Button.)

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Vince-The Plan

Thieves

Feature Photo by Upsplash.com

This is the plan, the chickens coming to roost, Vince thought.

Wind buffeted the late night; it began to drizzle, the cold drops spattering onto Vince’s face. Under the lamppost, he cut a ghostly figure. “Hi, Vince.”

“You’re late!” Vince grumbled.

“I know. Got laid up at the factory.” Gordon sounded almost cheerful. “Couldn’t you have found a better venue?”

“Piss off, will you? There are eyes and ears everywhere; out here, we are on our own.”

“Yeah, I get it, bleedin cold though, eh?” “what’s the pitch, mate?”

“We move in tomorrow at dawn. The warehouse only has one alarm system. From outside, we cut the mains, then come in through the roof. From there, the battery backup is accessible. Once disabled, it’s all go.”

“Do we have a location on the goods?”

“Sure, that’s mapped and easily accessed at the far end of the warehouse.”

“Where did you get the layout details?” Gordon was now showing signs of concern.

“Does it matter?”

“Feck you, of course, it matters! My life’s on the line here.” Beads of sweat were now visible on Gordon’s face, even in the poor lamplight.

“Join the team, mate; we’re all in the same boat. Team being the word, each of us has a part.”

“Yeah, right, how come I haven’t met the others then?

“You don’t need to meet them. You drive the van in, pick up the stuff, I join you, and we head for delivery simple.”

“The others?”

“They head in other directions.”

“From there?”

“You and I do the delivery. I get the dough, give you your share, drop you off at your spot, and we split ways.”

“Where will you go, Vince?

“Look, Gordon, the less each team member knows, the better. But I will ditch the van, meet the others, pay them out, and we each take to our different routes. Listen to me now. My advice to you is this. Don’t go back to your place. Take a taxi cross country. From there, catch the ferry and finally take a plane overseas, Don’t come back, ever!”

“Looks like a frikken long way to take a trip. Why don’t I jump on a plane from the first?”

“Gordon, you thickhead, think for a second. A long way around is a long way to trace, and we can’t leave any trace!”

“Yeah, you’re right, that’s frikken smart mate, cool.”

“Wake up, will you. It will be tickets for the rest of us if just one gets caught. Poof, goes our lolly, and we sit in the cooler for a few years. The feds have had a fair deal of practice with this stuff. They know how to extract information from the likes of us.” Vince went on. “You think on that boyo, have it fixed in your face all the time, one goes, all go, right? Let’s move.”

“Cut, cut, well-done guys, great scene! Let’s get the cameras and stuff packed up. Hot food and pints at the pub then, move, move.”

The Director was satisfied with the scene; no re-shoot was necessary.

When I do not see the results of what I want coming about in my life, I give up, often on the brink of these being realized. They would have fallen into my lap if I had been patient.

If you feel this article has value, please send this link to others. Writings are meant for people, not for dormant files in our computers. Often, when we share them, it results in positive changes in the lives of individuals and communities.

All rights reserved sirpeterjamesdotcom©2020-01-20

If you are spiritually inclined see my other site; www.adcrucemchristi.com

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Wisdom Snippets From Peter.

Mountains

Feature Photo by Upsplash.com

They lay together in the warmth of their spooned embrace; breathing slowly now, the embers of passion subsiding, she smiled with closed eyes as he held her close. Together they drifted to a cozy misty place of slumber. He wanted to remember that moment forever. Even in his torment of hearing, she had given herself to another; he wished to see her just one more time. Wisdom visited him in a dream one night, warning that should his wish be granted, his best memory would be traded for his worst. The day came when his wish was granted and he gazed at her from a distance, beautiful, happy, in the arms of another. He looked at her with grief in his heart. She turned briefly, looking into his eyes with no recognition of who he was; she lifted her face and kissed the other man. At that moment, his wish, his dream, had turned into a pillar of salt! In our lives, there is only one reality, an opportunity for enjoying love, peace, and joy in this moment now;  dreams of yesterday do not matter, and tomorrow does not exist until it becomes today. Seek only this moment in which you are living now.

If you keep peeling an onion, what do you have once it has all been peeled – a peeled onion. The important matter is this, did you enjoy peeling it, because it seems you are crying?

“Faith is the unconditional acceptance of something you are wanting has already come about, even though you don’t see it for the moment.

Very little of what you want in your life will come about if you do not believe in what you want in your life.

If you feel this article has value, please send this link to others. Writings are meant for people, not for dormant files in our computers. Often, when we share them, it results in positive changes in the lives of individuals and communities.

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Wisdom Snippets From Peter.

Patience

Feature Photo by Samuel Wong upsplash.com

“Two mature ladies sat under a great oak tree on an old bench. “Do you live here?” The one enquired. “Five minutes down the road, ” the other replied joyfully, grateful to have someone she could chat with. “I have lived here all my life, she continued.” “Ever traveled to another country or city?” “Never was inclined to do that.” “Oh! Any reason if you don’t mind me asking?” “Not at all. I was born in this town, baptized in the church over the road. All my schooling was completed in the town and then I married the only man I have ever loved in the same church over there.” Any children?” “Yes, one son.” Is your husband in business?” “No, fully retired,” “oh!” Yes, he died just after our son’s tenth birthday.” “Oh, how sad, I am sorry.” “No need, at 19 years my son joined the forces in Vietnam and I never saw him again.” “That must have been a terrible shock for you. You poor thing.” “A shock, yes, but it didn’t leave me poor. I had a man who loved me dearly. He gifted me with his life and blessed me with a son. My son was a fine young man, a bright scholar, and a top athlete. He loved and cared for his mother until he responded to his country’s call.” The silence between them was broken when the other woman looked up at the oak tree, “Beautiful tree, love the shade it gives; I wonder how old it is?” She remarked. “Forty-six years, five months, two weeks, and three days, to be exact.” What! How do you know that?” “I planted the little acorn in memory of the only two men I have ever loved. It took a lot of patience waiting for it to grow this big, so I could fully enjoy its shade. You know the old saying, ‘Great Trees from little acorns grow.’ But there’s no mention of how long it takes.” Silence. The moment was almost sacred.”

“When I was young I did all the talking. Now that I am older I have stopped talking and begun listening. I am learning so much more.”

“When I address anyone I have four non-negotiables I require of myself. I speak honestly, respectfully, empathetically, and with an understanding of what the other is needing to hear.”

“I have two choices in the way I speak; words that will encourage others or words that will break them down. Whatever I choose, will leave me responsible for the outcome.”

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Michael Collins – The Movie

Michael Collins

Feature Photo Michael Collins – The Movie

A Film Review by sirpeterjames.com.

Neil Jordan directs this film, and it stars Liam Neeson as the man, Michael Collins, Aiden Quinn as Hary Boland, and Julia Roberts as the romantic figure in both the lives of Michael and Harry.

The filming of this movie in 1996 took place in County Dublin and the city of Dublin. Filming also took place in County Wicklow, and a reshoot was done in New York.

The movie takes you back to the critical Irish history period of 1916-1922.

The film received many awards and was the highest-grossing film in Ireland. (4000 Irish pounds in 2000.)

There were many positives from critics around the globe and a few negatives. One of these is that certain of the scenes and statements made by characters in the film were inaccurate in terms of historical records. Jordan responded that filming time was limited, and in any event, most audiences needed a general idea of what took place, not the minutiae of Irish culture and history.

As a newcomer to this beautiful country and someone who has breezed through books and old films and visited a few historic sites, my local knowledge is somewhat limited. Therefore, the movie provided a fair amount of enlightenment about the establishment of the present Republic of Ireland and how it came about.

The performers were superb, the special effects were terrific, and the film was excellent. I considered my investment of three dollars ninety-nine to be the top value for my money.

Movie time was an hour and 33 minutes but I would not stake my life on this guess, though.

The storyline begins with the Irish Republican Army (IRA) surrendering to the British Army at the Easter Rising in 1916. Several key figures, Michael (Mick) Collins, Harry Boland, Eamon De Valera, and others, were imprisoned.

In 1918 in the Irish General Election, the Sein Fein Party was victorious. De Valera was elected president, Michael Collins, Director of Intelligence for the emerging IRA. The party then declared Irish independence unilaterally, leading to the Irish war of independence.

We now see the IRA coming into its own as Michael Collins launched his guerrilla tactics.

These tactics take you through the movie and a sprint pace. I wouldn’t comment on how much of the activity is true-to-life and how much is pumped up movie drama. But I would say that the man’s character, Michael Collins, was that of a sharp-witted, fearless man who went out against one of the greatest empires in the world with small numbers of poorly armed fighters. They were hopelessly outnumbered by the well-trained, well-armed British.

Michael Collins saw the chink in the British armor was their intelligence network, which he systematically destroyed, causing the British to call a truce.

Irrespective of your political beliefs, you cannot but appreciate what one man’s dedication, audacity, and intelligence accomplished against a mighty empire that had ruled Ireland with an iron fist for over 700 years.

To look at the whole storyline, you need to see the movie. You will be on the edge of your seat, so brace yourself.

If you feel this article has value, please send this link to others. Writings are meant for people, not for dormant files in our computers. Often, when we share them, it results in positive changes in the lives of individuals and communities.

All rights reserved sirpeterjamesdotcom©2020-01-20

If you are spiritually inclined see my other site; www.adcrucemchristi.com

Please feel free to send in questions (see ‘Contact’) and comments (hit the ‘Comments’ Button.)

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Ireland-The Quiet Man Movie

the_quiet_man+poster-2

Feature Photo: The Quiet Man – Behind the Scenes Mostly Westerns

A Review by sirpeterjames.com.

Here’s a real oldie, shot in Ireland in 1952. The Quiet Man is based on a 1933 Saturday Evening Post short story by Irish novelist Maurice Walsh. The story was adapted for the movie by screenwriters Frank S Nugent and Richard Llewellyn. You may well ask, can there be an appeal for a 70-year-old movie in our day and age? My answer is emphatical, YES! Let me tell you why.

The Appeal.

Firstly it’s shot in Ireland – this means spectacular scenery. Green hills, quaint villages, streams, stoney roads, classic old choo-choo train, horse-driven carriages, and too many others to mention. John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara will be forever fresh and young, even 100 years from now. The storyline is oozing with romance and integrity that you and I can easily imagine for ourselves in today’s world. We have a break from the grim bloodied violence of today’s movies. The quality of both cinematography and sound are perfect. It only cost me 3.49 EUR, if I’d paid three times more it would have been well worth the money. At last, but far from the least of the film’s attributes; it is so humorous, you will be laughing most of the time.

The Story.

The story concerns a man, Sean Thornton (John Wayne), an Irish-born American, who comes to Ireland to seek the home of his birth in a village, White O’Morn, Innisfree, where he hopes to buy the small cottage which his parents owned. In the course of this pursuit, he encounters several obstacles.

The first is that of the altercation he has with Red Will Danaher (Victor McLaglen), who also wants to buy the cottage from a widow, Sarah Tillane (Mildred Natwick). Sean outbids Reds’ offer for the cottage and becomes its new owner.

The second hurdle, in the course of this saga, Sean meets Mary Kate (Maureen O’Hara)– who just happens to be Red’s sister. It’s love at first sight for both of them. But certainly not for Red. He hates Sean with a vengeance. Irish tradition however requires that before Sean and Mary Kate are allowed to be married, red must give his consent.

However, Sean makes friends with a rather influential character, Michaleen Flynn (Barry Fitzgerald) who is in collusion with the local village priest, Father Lonergan, (Ward Bond.) Between these two they think up several interesting ways to hook Red into giving his consent to the marriage.

The Marriage.

The marriage is no bed of roses, in fact, for Sean, no bed at all! It creates another traditional hurdle for Sean who is completely puzzled by the behavior of his Irish neighbors. In short Mary Kate wants Sean to collect a 300-pound dowry to be given her by her brother, which is rightfully hers. Once again, by tradition Sean is to ask his antagonist, Red for the dowry. This is the last straw for him and he flatly refuses. In reaction to this Mary Kate calls Sean a coward. What she does not know is, Sean was a champion heavyweight boxer in America. And because of his massive strength, he tragically killed a man with a single punch in the ring. He is not afraid of Red by any means, only fearful of killing him.

The Fight.

You’re itching to know what happens next, aren’t you? I’m sorry, but you have to see the movie to find out. What I will reassure you of, is this, it will be the best few bucks you’ll ever spend. Okay, I’ll give you a hint. Red and Sean end up having a classic fight. Fought along the Irish version of ‘Queensbury Rules,’ and a ring extending through the village and a river. In this Ireland, you will love and laugh every minute.

If you feel this article has value, please send this link to others. Writings are meant for people, not for dormant files in our computers. Often, when we share them, it results in positive changes in the lives of individuals and communities.

All rights reserved sirpeterjamesdotcom©2020-01-20

If you are spiritually inclined see my other site; www.adcrucemchristi.com

Please feel free to send in questions (see ‘Contact’) and comments (hit the ‘Comments’ Button.)