The Exile of the Lone Wolf
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Image by นัธทวัฒน์ วสันต์กนกพัชร from Pixabay
The Most Precious Gift From My Father
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Today is my father’s birthday.
Dad passed away on Friday the 13th in March of this year.
I’ve been meaning to write this piece for months. I wrote 2 other pieces about him after he died. The 2nd was the most grueling and most cathartic. I thought this piece would come easily afterwards.
It probably would have if I had gotten on it immediately.
But I took a week to decompress. In that time, George Floyd was killed by the police, and all hell broke loose.
Suddenly, I was very uncomfortable, and even ashamed, to write this piece honoring the man who had gave me the freedom I’ve enjoyed for all of my adult life – especially when confronted with the harsh reality of a race of people for whom freedom has always been a more limited resource.
Today, that feels a little different. Tomorrow is a crucial election, and freedom, as Americans have always known it, is on the line.
Most people who would find an interest in this piece would likely disagree with that opinion, or they would agree from the opposite point-of-view to mine. The strangest irony is that Dad would have been one of them.
But this piece is not about politics, the pandemic, civil unrest, or Black Lives Matter. I give my nod to the historical importance of what is going on in this country at this time, because regardless of what side one is on, everybody is terrified of what is here and now, and what lies ahead.
This piece is about my father, and that precious gift of freedom I mentioned. Time to segue.
It started with my choice of college.
As with many other stories I’ve already shared, this one about my father also involves my mother.
I don’t know where this inspiration came from. Perhaps singing John Denver songs every summer at camp, where his reverence for all things Colorado and the Rocky Mountain High sunk its claws into my unconscious.
All I know is one day when I started to think about college, and where I wanted to go, “Colorado” popped into my mind.
Suddenly, I wanted to go to college in a state I had never been so bad it hurt.
Mom was livid, and we fought about this for the next 3 years.
Mom thought I should go to a small southern women’s college – maybe even her alma mater – or Indiana University. My oldest brother, Jimmy, had been a big man on campus during his time there, and I would have had “an easy 4 years,” as she put it.
But I didn’t give a damn. I wanted Colorado and the fights continued.
I was stubborn, but Mom was relentless. She wore me out enough that I started to cave by the summer before my senior year of high school.
I started to doubt myself, and the dream of Colorado started to fade. I started to wonder if maybe I wouldn’t have a better time in Indiana.
As I mentioned in an earlier piece, Robert and I lived with Dad and Terry during the summers when Mom worked in North Carolina.
One evening, Dad and I were alone and he asked me something about college.
Dad knew that Mom and I had been battling it out over this. But after the divorce, Dad kept a respectful distance from Mom’s mothering. At least, he did most of the time. He sure as hell didn’t that night.
I don’t remember exactly what I said. I think I hemmed and hawed that maybe I should go to Indiana.
“GOD DAMMIT!”
I think Dad even slammed his arm against the sofa. I was so stunned I couldn’t move, and wondered what the hell I had just said to get in trouble.
“No, you’re not!”
“What?”
“You don’t want to go to Indiana! You want to go to Colorado.”
“But Mom says-”
“I don’t care what your mother says!”
I sat there with my mouth hanging open as Dad bellowed that when he was my age, he fought with Dado about where he wanted to go to school. Dado wanted Dad to go to Notre Dame. Dad wanted to go to Tulane in New Orleans.
By some miracle, Dad won and went to Tulane.
“This isn’t your mother’s decision,” he ranted, jabbing one finger in the arm of the sofa to emphasize his point. “It’s your education. She’s not paying for your college. I am! So if you want to go to Colorado, that’s where you go!”
And I did. The University of Colorado, Boulder is my alma mater.
Maybe there really is something about that Rocky Mountain High. Because going to school in Colorado from the end of my teens to my early 20’s changed the entire course of my life.
The west is very different from the south. Because of the idyllic, adventurous way of life of skiing, mountaineering, road trips, rafting, and rock climbing, students came from all over the country and the world to be there.
The realm of possibility was heady, and like nothing I had ever experienced.
I wasn’t even 6 months into my freshman year before everything I wanted out of life changed. There were far too many things to do, places to go, adventures to be had to be satisfied with the conventional and old-fashioned desires I came there with.
But I didn’t know any of this on that night when I was an awkward and insecure 17-year old who couldn’t own my right to want what I wanted. All I felt was that ecstatic relief of knowing that somebody had my back. And the joy of knowing I’d go to school in Colorado.
As young as I was, I didn’t understand the significance of Dad’s support.
But Dad certainly did. I remember how intense he was that night. He was genuinely worked up and even upset on my behalf. He knew how precious and fleeting those years were, and that I only had that one chance to go to the college of my choice.
My life is very different than I thought it would be when I went to the college of my choice all those years ago. Some of my dreams came true. Most of them didn’t. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’ve enjoyed more freedom in my life than most people I know. That doesn’t happen without a very strong pair of wings. When Dad supported me in my choice of school, he handed me those wings to fly with.
And I’m embarrassed to say that I did not recognize that until after he died.
Today is not just Dad’s birthday. It’s also the second day of Dia de los Muertos, what the Catholics call All Souls Day.
The Aztecs believed that in those precious 2 days after Halloween, the veil between the living and the dead lifts and our departed can be with us. I haven’t celebrated this since the year Mom died.
So tonight I will have the altar ready, with some photos, candles, and feast with my Dad - steak, a baked potato, a heavy red wine, a bottle of Dom, as well as Dad’s favorite snack – Ritz crackers with Peter Pan peanut butter.
It’s the least I can do to express my eternal gratitude for something I never thanked him for when he was alive.
If the Aztecs are right, he’ll be able to receive my thanks.
Addie's First True Friend
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Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
Just as I was about to fall asleep, the shock of an ice-cold compress on my head startled me fully awake.
Carla sat beside me and smiled when I gasped.
“You had a close call, dearie. You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded and then grimaced when a shock seared through my head. I wondered if I would die from that blow after all.
Carla opened a small bottle, put a generous drop on her finger and held it to my lips. I drew back, reluctant.
“Relax, dearie. This will take the pain away in minutes.”
“What is it?”
“Laudanum. Now take it before it slides off my finger.”
She pressed against my mouth until I opened and sucked on her finger.
Any awkwardness I might have endured disappeared at the taste of the most horrid bitterness until Carla handed me a goblet of red wine.
Desperate to make the taste go away, I took a long sip. The bitterness of the laudanum made that drink unspeakably dreadful.
But it worked.
Once I swallowed, the bitterness went away, along with the headache.
“The con man was scum,” Carla said casually, “but he was fairly good at swindling, or he wouldn’t have been able to afford it here. Yet he’s not a thug. I’ve never known him to directly attack anybody.”
She peered at me with her all-knowing, swampy eyes.
“Do you mind if I ask what you did to make him so angry?”
“Nothing. I didn’t like him and I wouldn’t talk to him.”
“That’s it? You barely spoke to me and Filly.”
I hesitated and looked away.
“I didn’t snub you and Filly.”
“So he was friendly when you met him?”
“Oh yes,” I scoffed. “He was very nice and most welcoming.”
“I take it you refused to speak to him?”
I nodded.
“Well,” Carla sniggered. “It sounds like you threw a cog in his wheel. I bet he planned to chat you up until he was close enough to get to your purse. If the con man charmed you into bed, so much the better for him and worse for you.”
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
Carla paused and replaced the compress that had already gone lukewarm with another icy one.
I winced when it touched my brow.
“You shouldn’t have paid six months rent with a gold coin. If you had paid the landlady with copper and silver, she wouldn’t have made a fuss.”
“What! How did you know that?”
“Everybody knows.”
“What do you mean by everybody?”
Carla swept her hand around her head.
“Everybody on the street, in the brothels, in the cafés, in the theaters even.”
I stared at her with my mouth open.
Carla looked at me and shrugged.
“What else can you expect, dearie? Here you are, a beautiful girl with a noble face and a goddess figure, yet you’re dressed in country clothes, you leave the house every day with your hair in a braid, with no gloves and no hat. You are never seen with any company. You have no servants, which is obvious when you carry your own chamber pot for ten blocks to dump in the cesspit behind brothel row. Yet you can pay six months rent your first week in town. The landlady said you knew quite well how to haggle with her; yet you always seem so lost. All this is very odd, and word gets out. People have been talking about you for weeks, trying to figure out what your game is.”
“I don’t have a game.”
Carla laughed.
“That much has become apparent. You certainly don’t lack for surprises, you fierce little minx. I promise you’re the most exciting topic of conversation tonight.”
“Already?”
“Absolutely! I wouldn’t be surprised if Filly cuts her evening short, unless her gentleman has an extraordinary time planned for her. Hell, he’d probably cut it short too if he thought he could be in the know.”
I couldn’t say anything. I simply stared at Carla who smiled at me.
“So how did you come to us, dearie? Landlady said you came straight to her boarding house. She doesn’t have a sign out, yet you knew she had rooms.”
I looked away from her, my throat tight.
Carla tilted her head to one side and peered at me.
“Like I said before, dearie, you already had a close call. Do you really want to leave yourself open for another?”
“No.”
“Then it’s time to stop hiding. You can’t be alone here in the Capital City, and survive.”
I opened my mouth to answer Carla, but my throat closed up.
“Talk to me, dearie.”
“Somebody gave me directions to the boarding house, and told me she would have apartments as well.”
“Who?”
I said nothing and shook my head.
Carla sighed.
“Okay. Then why?”
“I heard nobody asked questions around here if I had enough money to pay my way.”
“So you’re a runaway?”
“Sort of. Yes, I suppose I am.”
“You don’t have papers, do you?”
“No.”
“I’ll bet that slime downstairs figured it out too. He must have thought you’d be easy to take by force and that he could get away with it.”
The matter-of-fact tone in Carla’s voice brought home the magnitude of what had almost happened.
I grew dizzy when the blood drained from my face.
“I really can’t thank you enough, Carla! If you hadn’t come along when you did, I can’t bear to think of it.”
“That was not happenstance, darling girl. I’ve been following the con man following you for the last two weeks.”
“Why?” I blurted. “You don’t even know me!”
“And whose fault is that?” asked Carla, and raised her brows.
“Why would you go to that much trouble for somebody who barely spoke to you?”
“I don’t know. One day I saw him trailing you with a more repellent expression than usual. You seemed so alone and vulnerable, I guess I couldn’t mind my business and let some horror happen to you.”
I stared at her until my vision blurred from the tears.
“Carla, I can never repay you for this.”
“You don’t have to, dearie. But you do have to trust me. I want you to tell me who you are and how you came here.”
My life of the past several months flooded through me.
I relived everything from yearning for the Noble Son to my jealousy of the Patron’s Daughter and luring her to the Brute, then selling my heart to the Sorcerer to have this transformation into beauty. But I never foresaw the cost of my former strength as well as the loss of my identity.
I didn’t know who I was anymore, so how could I tell Carla?
I burst into tears.
How could I tell this marvelous, heroic woman everything I had done?
All I could think was that she would despise me, and regret saving my life.
As if she had read my mind, Carla gripped my hand.
“Everybody around here has stories, dearie. Judgment isn’t for people like us. Let the fancy folks who live near the Mayor be that stupid.”
There was so much wisdom in the swampy depths of her green brown eyes. There was nothing but understanding and acceptance in her gaze, freely given before she knew anything about me.
That broke me.
Confrontation Between The Shepherd and the Lone Wolf
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The Wolf had hoped to have his peace of mind restored from the Shepherd’s story.
But there was no relief from the throbbing in his hollow, or from his doubt. His belly ached when he looked at the Shepherd, this friend he cherished more than any he’d ever known.
“How could you not tell me about this?”
“As I said, that night was thirty years ago. Why would I?”
“Stop using time as an excuse,” the Wolf retorted. “I’m twenty six and I’ve heard stories about her since I was five years old. Eternal youth is part of her legend.”
“If I remember correctly,” the Shepherd said. “For a long time you believed Ella Bandita was nothing more than a legend. Did the thought occur to you I didn’t believe it either?”
“But for three years, you knew otherwise. Why did you keep this from me?”
The Shepherd sighed, and closed his eyes. He was quiet for a few minutes before looking back at the Wolf and nodding.
“I always have suspected that girl was Ella Bandita, ever since the stories about her began. But in my heart, I hoped that she wasn’t.”
The Wolf couldn’t say anything.
His range of vision narrowed on the Shepherd, who now seemed far away. The implication behind what was just said nagged at the back of his mind, but he pushed those thoughts away.
“I don’t understand. Do you have any idea how fortunate you are she didn’t harm you?”
The Shepherd smiled.
“And this is why I didn’t tell you. Because I knew you’d be upset about it.”
The Wolf couldn’t remember any time his hollow throbbed like this.
In the space where his heart should have been, pressure built from an invisible pulse. The tension invigorated his limbs, making it impossible to remain still.
He got up and paced.
“I know this must be a bitter irony for you,” the Shepherd said. “But that girl taught me to listen to my heart. And I haven’t been afraid ever since.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” the Wolf muttered. “But it still doesn’t fully explain why you never told me about her.”
“Because I can’t stand to dwell on it,” the Shepherd snapped.
The Wolf was startled enough he stopped and stared at him.
“Why?”
“Ella Bandita has destroyed too many lives. If she ever dies, she’s damned.”
“And that is as it should be! How can you have compassion for her?”
The Wolf’s limbs quivered.
Outrage and disbelief escalated the throbbing in his hollow to pure agony.
It didn’t help when he saw the Shepherd peering at him and shaking his head.
“Wolf,” he said slowly. “Do you ever think about anybody but yourself?”
“What!”
“When are you going to accept some responsibility for what happened?”
The Wolf thought he might explode.
He itched, imagining the vile that coursed through him, thick with fury and pushing against his veins. He started pacing again, his paws tender thumping along the ground and his head dropping beneath his shoulders.
When he turned the Shepherd’s way again, he caught him looking sideways at his rifle.
“As I recall,” the Shepherd continued. “She tried many times to spare you. Yet you kept going where you knew you weren’t wanted.”
“If you remember everything so well, then you must realize that couldn’t have been true.”
“Oh I remember,” the Shepherd said, a hard edge in his voice. “And didn’t she leave you in the woods? Unharmed, except for your wounded pride.”
“She stole my heart!” the Wolf shouted. “And look at me!”
“Are you now going to insist it was your heart you followed into the tavern?”
The contempt in the Shepherd’s voice was more than the Wolf could bear.
He looked at him and saw deceit, suddenly hating the Shepherd as much as he hated Ella Bandita.
The Wolf stared at his throat and lunged, jaws snapping.
But the Shepherd was swift, throwing himself aside in time to evade him.
The Wolf hit the ground hard, shock numbing his limbs. His fur stood on end, his snarl echoed in the air only to fall silent when he spun around.
The Shepherd was back on his feet, rifle in hand.
One finger was on the trigger and one eye stared down the foresight, piercing through the madness.
His rage deserted the Wolf.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no…” he moaned. “Please forgive me. I am so sorry!”
“I’m sorry too,” the Shepherd said.
“I don’t know what came over me. I would never hurt you.”
“You already have and I want you to leave.”
Carla and the Hawkish Gentleman
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Image by Yingnan Lu from Pixabay
Suddenly, I was freed from his clutches.
I didn’t see how it happened, but I heard a loud thump, and the con man lurched and his fingers released my throat.
The sudden intake of air was so intense I became dizzy and lost my balance. Rather than fall to the ground, a pair of strong hands caught me.
I knew this couldn’t be the con man from the gentle strength holding me in the middle of my back until I was steady.
I also heard the voice of fury coming from another woman, and then I heard a series of thumps.
When I could finally open my eyes, I saw Carla hitting the con man repeatedly with a long, dark cane.
“You worthless bastard! When a girl screams to let her go, you let her go!”
“This is none of your business, Carla! She owes me money, so stay out of it!”
In response, Carla whipped the cane around so the length of it careened into the con man’s torso.
He doubled over.
His rodent face went white from the pain and his lips curled back to reveal the full length of his teeth.
“You dirty whore!”
“You pathetic liar!”
The con man was stupid enough to lunge for her.
But Carla stepped aside.
Then whoever had held me up let go to grab the con man by the hair and press the muzzle of his pistol between his eyes.
The neighbor’s face turned ashen when he saw the hawkish gentleman.
“I don’t care to see a young lady attacked,” he said softly.
The con man heaved for air and pleaded in a raspy voice.
“I know this looks terrible, but please listen to me. The girl has been robbing me since she moved in. I’m only trying to get back what’s mine!”
I was so stunned I couldn’t speak to defend myself.
I was aghast when the hawkish gentleman raised his brows and brought his gun away from the brow of the con man.
Then he stepped back and turned to Carla with a sigh.
“Darling, I delighted in watching you thrash this piece of excrement with my cane. So have another go and make it count.”
With a savage grin, Carla twirled the cane before drawing it upwards with a perfect aim between the con man’s legs and the strike landed at the apex.
He made a strangled, growling sound and fell to the ground, curling into himself with his hand cupping that raw and tender place.
He glared at Carla then directed his hatred and helpless ire on me.
The hawkish gentleman raised his gun and aimed for his heart. The con man froze and whimpered.
“You are making a grave mistake, sire!”
“You really are the most laughable swindler in the Capital, aren’t you?”
“I swear to you I’m telling the truth!”
“We both know your word is worth less than nothing.”
“But sire-”
“We followed you as you followed that young lady,” the hawkish gentleman snapped. “We heard everything you said to her, and there was no mention of getting back anything that was yours.”
“You had a lot to say about what was hers,” Carla added, her voice filled with disgust. “Imbecile! You thought she was an easy mark.”
“Shut up, you filthy harlot!”
Carla raised the cane to strike the con man yet again.
It looked like she was aiming for his head, which might have killed him.
Yet the hawkish gentleman gripped the opposite end of the cane and shook his head.
“Darling Carla, I believe the young lady might need some care.”
Carla let go of the cane and came to me. She was very gentle as she felt around the side of my face where the con man had struck me.
I gasped when she touched the sore spot at my left temple, and the bolt of pain seared into my brain.
She swore under her breath.
“Do you have a headache?” she asked gently. “Dearie, is your vision blurry?”
I nodded.
“Tibodeau, I think she has a concussion!”
The hawkish gentleman looked beyond us to a kindly-looking man I hadn’t seen yet.
Nor had I seen the carriage that was less than a block away.
“Go get the Law,” he commanded.
“It would be my pleasure, sire.”
His steward turned towards the Avenue of the Theaters where the Lawmen would easily be found.
Their black uniforms with flared waistcoats stood out in the crowd of beautiful gowns in the colors of gaiety.
Somehow, the con man recovered enough that he jumped to his feet and ran.
Instead of aiming at him, the hawkish gentleman pointed his gun to the air and fired, which made my former neighbor run even faster.
As soon as he was gone, my limbs started shaking. I would have collapsed if Carla hadn’t held me up with an arm around my waist.
As lean as she was, she was strong, and I envied that. I hated being so weak and helpless.
“I don’t need to talk to the Law,” Carla said. “I don’t know dearie’s story, Tibodeau, but I suspect she wouldn’t want an interview with a Lawman either.”
“Oh dear god,” I muttered.
The blood drained from my face at the thought.
The first things the Lawmen in black would ask for were identification papers I didn’t have.
Narcissus Must Die. Long Live Narcissus
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By Christoffer Wilhelm Eckersberg — Self-scanned, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=50060345
Narcissus must die.
Long Live Narcissus.
Narcissus was a hunter, but his distinction was that he was the most beautiful boy in the world.
He was the son of the river God Cephissus — who was the son of Oceanus and Tethys — and the water nymph, the naiad Liriope — who was likely the daughter of a river god.
Thus Narcissus was born from the essence of water, the grandson of Titans.
Although Narcissus was mortal, he was touched with the divine and blessed with immaculate beauty by the goddess Aphrodite herself.
Dazzled from the power of such exquisite comeliness and allure that belonged to Narcissus, people lost their good sense and large pieces of their dignity whenever he came near.
They would gasp in wonder at the perfect symmetry of his features, the strength and elegance of his form, and the grace of his movement.
They would whisper that he must be part God and would elevate to Olympus when he left the world.
Narcissus found the excessive admiration tedious after a time, and found his admirers irritating and beneath him.
There was nobody who could inspire Narcissus to love; he was so disdainful of everybody around him.
He was notorious for spurning the would-be male lovers who tried to seduce him, those men driven by lust and desire when confronted with the physical perfection of his form.
But there was one, Amenias, who believed he had what it took to succeed where others had failed.
He loved Narcissus for his beauty.
But Amenias also loved himself enough to recognize his value.
Although not as beautiful as Narcissus, he was very handsome. Amenias was also wealthy, educated, strong, and advanced in the erotic arts.
He knew that as a whole, he was more than equal to recommend himself to Narcissus.
When Amenias came to woo Narcissus, his would-be beloved was exceptionally cruel in his rebuff.
Narcissus handed Amenias a sword and suggested he make good use of it.
Humiliated, Amenias used the sword to slay himself on Narcissus’ doorstep, praying to the gods to avenge him for the dishonor.
Aphrodite heard his plea, and was enraged.
This was the most appalling affront to everything she held dear — love, passion, desire, lust, beauty.
She regretted blessing Narcissus with the power of immaculate beauty because he had done nothing but abuse and debase his gift.
On the other hand, the Goddess of Love and Beauty had to consider the possibility that it wasn’t in the nature of Narcissus to love other men, as men loved him.
Perhaps what he needed was feminine love, from one who might remind him of his mother. Aphrodite knew just the girl, the wood nymph Echo.
Echo fell madly in love with Narcissus the first time she saw him hunting in the woods.
She was a beautiful, spritely, and mischievous being. She followed Narcissus every time he came in the woods, which was often.
Echo was very adept at hiding in the rushes and amongst the trees, as she trailed behind him.
Over time, Narcissus became aware that somebody always followed him through the forest, and one day, he determined to find out who it was.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
“Who’s there?” Echo repeated.
“Come now,” Narcissus cajoled. “Show yourself to me.”
“…Show yourself to me,” Echo called back.
Frustrated, Narcissus thought another minute, and then decided he needed to bait this being who trailed him every day.
“Let us come together here!” Narcissus called out, and spread his arms wide as if to receive.
Overjoyed, Echo came running out of the trees, ready to jump into the arms of her beloved.
“Let us come together here!” she repeated.
Instead of catching her in his arms, Narcissus laughed at Echo and turned away.
Heartbroken and mortified, Echo ran sobbing through the woods, her grief making her disappear until there was nothing left of her but a disembodied voice doomed to repeat what was said on the open air until the end of time.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Echo_and_Narcissus_by_Rupert_Bunny.jpg
Watching from Olympus, Aphrodite was beyond livid.
Narcissus had gone too far and must be punished. After meditating on the best punishment for Narcissus, she smiled with grim satisfaction.
“I condemn Narcissus to fall passionately in love,” Aphrodite declared. “And his desire and longing will be his undoing.”
Then Aphrodite transformed into Nemesis, the vengeful aspect of herself.
Nemesis lured Narcissus close to a spring the next time he went hunting in the woods.
As soon as Narcissus looked in the water, he fell to his knees. He had never seen such a beautiful creature in all of his life, and he was suddenly consumed with the most ravenous lust and desire.
But when he tried to touch the beautiful face, the water rippled and his reflection was distorted. Narcissus suddenly knew he was looking at himself.
He lamented and refused to leave the spring.
Suddenly, Narcissus understood the yearning and the senselessness of those who had admired him all his life, for he was now overcome with the same emotion.
The problem was that it was impossible to make love to himself. The longing that would never be sated drove him to madness.
Suddenly, he decided there had to be a way to fuck himself and that always started with a kiss.
He was Narcissus, the son of Cephissus and Liriope. He was of the essence of water.
Thus leaning down to give himself a kiss, Narcissus fell into the spring and drowned.
Unfortunately, one thing Aphrodite may not have considered was the effect Narcissus would have on humanity once he wasn’t confined to a physical form.
The spirit of Narcissus spread far and wide.
Nowadays, anybody could be infected with an excessive love of oneself, a fixation on one’s own glory, and a conceit that one believes themselves above others.
We have all been rendered a little more ridiculous as a result of the disease of the psyche. And you don’t even have to be good-looking to be afflicted.
7 New Writing Prompts!
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Time for some writing prompts! Fiction, romance, love story, suspense, speculative fiction, fantasy, journaling prompts that could transform into any kind of fiction, or…the therapeutic healing of reflection and remembrance whether direct or looked at from a different perspective.
Here they are and enjoy!
The Shepherd and the Stranger Girl
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Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
The girl stood at the edge of his flock.
Up close, the Shepherd saw she was about his age, which caught him off guard. She still had blood caked around her mouth and chin, her skirts stained where she must have wiped her hands.
“Are you all right, Miss?” he asked, relieved he sounded calm. “May I help you?”
The girl tilted her head to one side.
“Perhaps you can, Shepherd,” she replied. “How long have you been here?”
“Not long,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t notice his trembling. “I just stopped to feed and water my flock. We have a long distance to travel tonight.”
She nodded slowly.
Then she bent down and picked up the youngest lamb, the tiny animal struggling against her. But her hold was firm and she gripped its throat with her fingers.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Please, Miss. I just want to go with my sheep.”
The girl didn’t answer right away.
His heart roared in his ears when the Shepherd stared into her eyes, chips of ice in the light of the moon.
She finally let go of the throat and stroked the lamb along its back. But she never looked away from him.
“Shepherd, come to me.”
She almost sounded gentle, but her low voice sent tremors along his flesh.
The Shepherd wondered if he’d stepped outside himself.
Part of him detached to bear witness to something that didn’t seem real, even as he pushed through his flock to go to her.
The lamb in her arms was the only thing between them when he stopped.
The girl locked the Shepherd inside her gaze and dropped the animal to the ground.
Without warning, she grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him to her, pressing her ear against his chest.
The illusion of separation disappeared and the Shepherd was back in his skin, his limbs shaking.
He’d never been this close to a woman in his life.
The softness of the girl took his breath away.
“I can feel your heart,” she said. “It’s beating really fast.”
She leaned her head back and stared up at him.
The Shepherd could neither move nor speak, trapped between the warmth of her body and the chill of her eyes.
“You’re afraid, aren’t you, Shepherd You saw me kill the Sorcerer.”
The girl paused.
“Didn’t you?”
In his mind, the Shepherd saw a shroud held out for him by the Angel of Death.
For a moment, he felt like he’d turned to stone.
Then his knees buckled. The Shepherd collapsed to the ground and started to cry.
The girl ran her fingers through his hair.
He found the gesture terrifying and soothing at once, leaving him no words to plead for mercy and his heart pounding.
The girl came down and knelt before the Shepherd, holding his face and wiping his tears.
Then she lay back upon the ground and pulled him with her, resting his head against her breast.
She kept stroking his hair, his scalp tingling from the brush of her fingers, the vibration of her voice against his cheek.
“So, tell me Shepherd, what do you feel? What do you hear?”
His heart stopped beating for an instant when he realized that all he heard inside the girl was silence.
The Shepherd pulled his head up and stared at her.
“Nothing, Miss.”
“That’s right,” she murmured. “I’m a girl who can live without her heart.”
Then she pushed him to the ground and rolled him on his back.
Nestling along his side, she laid her head on his chest and sighed, her breath seeping into him.
The Shepherd didn’t resist when the girl took his hand and brought it to his neck, pressing his fingers into the groove where his heart echoed. His pulse beat into the tips of his fingers and reverberated through him.
When the girl spoke again, her whisper felt like a caress.
“Listen to your heart,” she said.
****
The Shepherd trailed off, his eyes glazed over looking back on that long ago night.
The Wolf rested on his belly, his forelegs stretched out, blinking when the story came to its close. He shifted his weight and found his limbs were stiff, but the Shepherd remained lost in reverie.
“So then what happened?” the Wolf asked.
The Shepherd started and glanced at him with an expression of mild surprise. Then he shook his head, pausing for another moment before he spoke.
“I must have fallen asleep. Next thing I remember I woke up and she was gone.”
Addie Puts Up a Fight
/
I cursed myself for not paying attention, and for not going into the café.
“That’s offensive,” the con man crooned. “And even rather foolish. I’ve been watching you, and you’re always alone.”
The pleasantry in his voice turned my stomach.
I forced myself to breathe slowly to quell the rise of panic. When I spoke again, I was relieved I sounded calm.
“I’m new here.”
“I know you are. Don’t you want a friend?”
“I’m selective.”
“It is rather intriguing,” the con man said with a slithering quality to his tone.
“How could a woman child like you come here all alone? You have no family and no connections. You have only two changes of clothes which you’ve worn out, yet somehow you can afford an apartment from one of the greediest landladies in the Capital City.”
His smell was the odor of rage.
The acrid scent wafted off the con man in waves.
Thus the easygoing manner of conversation made me desperate to get away from him.
“You have no visitors,” he wheedled. “Which means you’re not a fancy whore, like Carla and Filly. So where does your money come from, neighbor?”
My street was a half block away, and my building was two blocks down.
Even if I could outrun him, the con man lived there too.
I would have to get up the stairs, in my apartment, and lock the door before he could catch up with me.
So there was no refuge there.
I had no doubt the con man had cruel intentions towards me.
The memory came to mind of the Brute gripping the hair of the Patron’s Daughter in his fist as he pummeled his manmeat into her from behind. Somehow I knew I would suffer a similar humiliation if the con man had his way.
I turned and ran as fast as I could for the Avenue of the Theaters. Getting back to a crowd was my only chance.
I hadn’t gone twenty paces before the weasel-faced con man caught up with me and grabbed my elbow. I tried to shake him off, but his bony hand could have been a vise.
“Let go of me!” I snarled, relieved at the ferocity in my voice.
I was terrified, but at least my fear didn’t show.
“Well, aren’t you a fierce little snit,” he said.
“Settle down, neighbor. Let’s go home and have the kind of drink that will relax us both where we can have a conversation, and maybe come to understand each other better.”
The con man gripped my left arm and kept me close to him, turning me back towards the street of our building.
I had never been so frightened in my life.
But as that weasel with the river rat teeth pulled me towards certain doom, something else came up in me as well.
Everything I had endured to get to the Capital City surged inside with a force beyond memories and thought. The threat of losing all I had and much worse to this contemptible grifter brought up a wrath in me I’d never known before.
There was no way in hell I could have allowed that to happen.
“I said let go of me!”
I threw my right fist at him with all my might.
The con man didn’t see it coming and my strike landed on his jaw.
But to my horror, my body was now a traitor to my will.
I had acted as a hardscrabble peasant with a sturdy frame layered with muscle, and burly hands thickened from arduous work. But I no longer had such a form and therefore, I had no power behind my punch.
All I did was enrage him.
“You vicious wench!”
He gripped me by the throat and squeezed.
I clawed his arm and kicked at his legs. I tried to scream, but he held his hand over my mouth to silence me.
I bit down on the meat of his palm with my healthy, sharp teeth.
The con man howled and hit me so hard on the side of my face, I blacked out for an instant.
Suddenly, I was freed from his clutches.
I didn’t see how it happened.
But I heard a loud thump. Then the con man lurched and his fingers released my throat.
The sudden intake of air was so intense I became dizzy and lost my balance.
Rather than fall to the ground, a pair of strong hands caught me.
I knew this couldn’t be the con man from the gentle strength holding me in the middle of my back until I was steady.
Craigslist New Year's Eve, Part 2 - On the Road #30
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Image by Ryan McGuire from Pixabay
Alicia was exactly what you would expect from a woman who had built her social life around the Internet and who was not a total psycho-freak.
She was a kind, warm, sweet woman, and so shy it hurt. I could easily see her being petrified in any social occasion where she would have to step forth and put herself out there.
"I got hooked on chat rooms back when you had to pay for them," she said. "My credit card bill was at least 300 bucks a month because of it."
And that was when Alicia met her best friend, David - the guy who wouldn’t stop messaging her until she met him for a drink.
David was the only good-looking man in the room, not that handsomeness did him any good. On paper, he seemed all right. He was an artist and a carpenter.
But anger emanated off of him in waves. I was uncomfortable being in the same room as David, and if others hadn’t been there, I would have made my excuses and left.
In short, his story was such that David had been married twice and begat three kids upon his wives by the age of thirty-six. He was in the throes of an ugly divorce from his second wife.
“David was stupid with that one,” Alicia piped up. “They had problems from the first week on.”
And here’s the kicker. He met her through Match.com.
I never met someone who actually married somebody they met on a dating site.
(Remember this was New Year’s Eve, calling in 2006. Online dating was fast becoming the norm, but it wasn’t yet.)
So why did David marry the Nightmare on Match.com?
He had no problem answering my question.
"She had perfect tits," he said. "And cute freckles."
He said that with a straight face and his bestie, Alicia, backed him up.
"She fit his pre-conceived idea of what he thought he wanted," said Alicia.
So why did Freckles & Tits marry David?
"Biological clock," said David.
David suspected that his soon-to-be-second-ex-wife was about to become a lesbian.
"She had a friend who looked like a lesbian and Freckles & Tits swore she wasn't," he continued. "But now she's hanging out with another who also looks like a lesbian.
David paused.
“After New Year's I'm not drinking and I'm not having sex anymore."
In this room of motley strangers, everybody looked at David like he was nuts. I thought it was the first sane thing he’d said all night.
"I need to heal from all this," said David. "This month I decided that Jesus really is my lord and savior and to let him into my heart.”
Oh hell. Never mind.
"You won't heal if you don't have sex," said Alicia to David, the voice of reason that David lacked.
To the rest of us, she explained further.
"The problem with David is that he can't find girls who can separate sex and love, especially with him. They take one look at him and peg him as the boyfriend type."
I wonder if David would have fallen for Alicia if she hadn’t been so motherly. On the other hand, Alicia was pretty matronly. Since perfect tits and cute freckles were enough of an incentive to ignore problems coming out of the gate and actually GET MARRIED, I doubt David had the sense to be attracted to depth and character.
And then there was the man of the hour...our host, Mike.
When I later told this story to a friend, she asked me if Mike had been attractive.
"No.”
No, Mike was anything but attractive. He had a vague resemblance to Mitch McConnell.
To be more exact, Mike had no chin, a prissy mouth that he pursed throughout the night, a doughy face, and the soft formless body of a man who took no advantage of the outdoors that Colorado was famous for.
But his lack of good looks paled in comparison to Mike’s personality. Bitter, rude, unpleasant, pompous – I could go on and on. But the truly sad part was that Mike had no idea how disagreeable he was.
In the original Craigslist post, Mike had said several friends were coming over. And there were no friends there because…drum roll…he didn’t have any. I’m pretty sure the date that had fallen through was also a fiction.
After a couple of hours, I could understand why. I knew I never wanted to be around Mike again long before we called in the New Year 2006.
According to Mike, he had no friends after 5 1/2 years in Denver due to the manipulations of his evil ex-wife.
A woman he had been married to for only nine months, she'd tried to kill him twice – according to Mike - and had used him as part of an immigration fraud scam she had going on with her family.
I don’t know how this happened, but I ended up telling a story to this group – the first chapter of Ella Bandita.
Mike extrapolated from that.
"You want inspiration?" he sneered. "Generations of dysfunction and evil run in my ex-wife's family."
That was a good moment to smile and nod.
Mike also claimed more horrible first dates than everyone in the room combined. He was also an aficionado of which internet sources were good, and which ones were awful.
It was a shock to my system being in a room full of people whose main source of social interaction was through a computer.
David and Mike exchanged horror stories of shrewish con-women, heifers, bitches, dykes, and other undesirable and highly suspect females they had met while looking for love online.
Mike really wanted to talk about his psycho marriage and his ugly divorce all night, and he interrupted conversations that were enjoyable to do so.
He also had this beagle, Dakota, that was so hungry for affectionate attention, it was pitiful.
"Love me," the dog’s eyes pleaded as Dakota humped people's feet. "Please..."
"Dakota!" Mike would shout. "Dakota!"
“He has a foot fetish,” Mike would explain to his guests, two of whom were allergic to dogs.
The courtesy of putting the dog away didn’t occur to Mike. And Dakota wouldn’t listen in his relentless search for someone at that party to take him away.
Because I’m pretty sure that’s what that dog wanted.
Eventually, midnight happened. We called in the New Year, and all of us hot-hoofed it out of that house by quarter past twelve.
By the time I got back to my hotel, it was around 1am – that had been a long, sober drive back. The bars were pouring out and people were cheering, hooting, and hollering Happy New Year in giddy, drunken joy.
Lesson learned.
If I’m ever in an unfamiliar city for New Year’s where I don’t know anybody, I’m going to bite the bullet, down 2 or 3 shots of tequila and party down.
Because that was the weirdest New Year’s Eve of my life.
Peace,
Montgomery
To read Part 1 of Craigslist New Year’s Eve, click HERE.
Craigslist New Year's Eve, Part 1 - On the Road #30
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Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
This post is from my booktour/roadtrip I did in 2005-2006. This New Year’s Eve called in 2006, and stands in my memory as the weirdest New Year’s of my life. It made me miss the Craigslist of its glory days because this kind of thing isn’t even possible anymore.
Enjoy!
Hey y'all,
Happy New Year!
And I must say, this New Year's Eve was... different...interesting...I learned a lot.
And I walked away grateful for all kinds of reasons.
I took a break from the road trip to fly back to Florida from Denver and spend X-mas with la familia. Then, I came back to Colorado and did some snowboarding and waited for my college friend's kid brother to fix the Beast.
I should have driven on.
The kid brother's garage was closed on the 31st - it being a party holiday and all - and my friend already had plans.
I should have driven to Albuquerque anyway and joined Jason for the "Crazy Sexy" Spankfest he went to.
Y'all from GGC, you remember Jason, don't you? Well, he's been a naughty boy...
Instead, I was in Denver with nothing to do.
Since I've become addicted to Craigslist - you can find everything from a ride to a place to live to a job to used furniture to a date to a one-night stand to...
I looked under "Strictly Platonic" for something to do on New Year's Eve.
One post sounded promising...
"Singles New Year's Eve Party!"
According to the post, the guy throwing the party said his date fell through at the last minute.
He also claimed that several friends were coming over.
After a screening process - because "after all, I’m inviting strangers to my house" - this guy was generous to include all of us in the greater Denver area without plans for New Year's to come ring it in with him.
Well, that definitely applied to me and it didn’t sound too complicated.
I was to BYOB, along with a snack. And of course, “Dress to Impress. No Jeans.”
It sounded all right. So after a brief and simple screening, I was officially invited. My host’s name was Mike.
Obviously, the party was safe. I am I'm writing this email after the fact, and I can't do that from the bottom of a ditch.
But…ahem…
When I walked into his house, the “several friends” and anybody else from the greater Denver area with no plans added up to 6 people.3 men and 3 women, including me.
Nobody wore jeans.
Nobody knew each other either.
Except for the two best friends who came together - David and Alicia - everybody in that room was a stranger to each other.
And we had all connected through Craigslist.
Even the best friends had met through the Internet years before in the days of Instant Messaging.
"I kept sending her instant messages because I thought she sounded like somebody I wanted to know," said David about Alicia.
"I got tired of ignoring him," said Alicia about David. "So finally I answered. That night we met for drinks and we've been best friends ever since."
"We also became pot buddies," said David. "Now neither of us smokes pot, but we like each other anyway."
So this was how my evening started. I don’t remember when exactly I thought to myself: “Oh shit!”
Disclaimer: Everybody except my host (more on him later) were decent people. Extremely lonely, but decent.
Rick was a divorced construction worker.
He was a classic good ole boy with two daughters, and the kind of guy who would struggle to build his own social circle.
As is often the case with men like him, his ex-wife probably had taken care of the social stuff, and he was left to fend for himself without the social skills after the divorce. According to Rick, his plans had fallen through and he simply wanted something to do.
Rick was a sweet guy and I think he was sweet on Ginger.
Ginger was a looker.
Slender, with died black hair that she wore quite well with her fair skin and blue eyes, Ginger was the only one in that room dressed to impress. She wore a slinky black cocktail dress and sexy, strappy, stiletto-heeled sandals, with rhinestone thing-ma-jigs that may have doubled as clasps.
On top of everything else, she had a southern accent. I think she was from South Carolina. She was a pretty southern belle who, I suspect, made all her decisions based on men.
And I’m pretty sure she lied about her age.
Oh, and Ginger wasn’t shy. I think she made all the men blush when we talked about our youthful years.
"When I was sixteen, I was into my church and into my boyfriend," she said. "I fucked him silly!"
Then she laughed boisterously.
Ginger had been divorced a year and a half. I think she made it all right in the divorce, at least where practicality was concerned. She had two daughters, a big house, and generous alimony.
And apparently, Ginger had no group of friends. She drove an hour and a half down to Denver from Fort Collins just to attend this little soiree.
I was grateful for Ginger’s presence there. She was the only lively personality in that room. And without her, the night would have been rough.
She was also very open.
Her divorce must have been emotionally bitter. Because Ginger shared that she decided older men were the way to go after being married to someone her age.
"I start at 40 and go up from there," said Ginger. "I'm twenty eight."
Like I said, I’m pretty sure she lied about her age. I’d put her around 35.
She had a boyfriend, but he was a long-distance beau who lived in my state – Anchorage to be precise.
Where do y’all think she met him?
On Craigslist. Where else?
I think Ginger will be okay. She had the rare talent of laughing out loud with lots of gusto at jokes that aren’t funny. She probably makes a great date, no matter how dull her man may be.
(Craigslist New Year’s Eve will be continued on Monday, October 5th)
Peace,
Montgomery
Discipline, Baby!
/
So yesterday I went to a les-bi writers meetup that I’ve belonged to for at least two years, and had never attended an event.
I had joined because I liked the focus on queer women writers.
Even if most of what I write isn’t queer – at least not directly – I still appreciate narrowing the field to create community between an intersection between identities. Being lesbian/bisexual is a specific way to be in this world, and being a writer is no less specific.
Besides realizing that I just enjoyed meeting new people for the first time since I left my now-ex-fiancee, that was an excellent cure for writer’s block.
I’ve hardly written anything original, except for writing prompts in over 2 months, and lately, I’ve been borrowing from dialogue excerpts in various novels to get a jumpstart on those.
Gotta love those breakup blues that result in creative blocks!
Anyway, the event started with a writing prompt. I picked it and what came up was something that had been lacking in my world – discipline.
Discipline makes a dry subject to write about, so instead I turned discipline into a character study. The end result is that I finally wrote SOMETHING NEW, DAMMIT!
Besides being totally excited that I just wrote something fresh, I was pleased enough with the piece to share it here. Because all writers need discipline to do what we do.
Discipline.
It’s such a dirty word because it’s so necessary.
If Discipline were a woman, she’d be a rail thin, long-limbed, tight-lipped clichéd librarian type with angular features and humorless eyes.
But she gets the job done.
She gets up at 4:30 AM to meditate, eat a light breakfast, workout, shower, and dry her hair, only to put in a tight knot at the base of her neck.
Her hair is chestnut brown and her eyes are a flat hazel.
She would then dress primly and properly for her day job, which doesn’t necessarily have to be a librarian, but would have to involve DISCIPLINE because that’s her jam.
All her appointments are timed impeccably.
Any client who is not on time will lose time with her for her to welcome her next appointment, no matter how much money or power is involved. She does not tolerate lateness because she is never late herself.
Never.
Her clients are rarely late for their appointments with her.
For an hour lunch, she only spends fifteen minutes eating.
The rest of the time, she power walks around the park or gets some work done on a personal project that she does for love and giggles – like maybe writing a novel.
She will later work on this project for exactly two hours that night after work, before cooking and after dinner.
Even if she has a partner/lover/husband/kids or all of the above, nothing can sway her from her 2 hours of personal time on her project.
It is quite likely though, that Discipline is a child-free woman.
Kids are too messy and too demanding for her strictly-adhered to schedule. They have too many needs, and are prone to getting sick at the most inconvenient times.
Discipline has few girlfriends, because most women are frightened of her.
She has one best friend, who is as organized, driven, and focused as she is. They bonded over their mutual impatience and disdain for fluffy, flaky types.
If they aren’t roommates, Discipline and her bestie meet for dinner or a show at least once a week, and they talk on the phone at least twice a week. Like most besties, they text back and forth just about every day.
When Discipline has a lover, you can bet she is kinky as all get out, a merciless domme with severe red lipstick painted on her narrow lips.
She is efficient in how she doles out punishment, and of course, discipline. Orgasm is always guaranteed. For herself as well as her lover.
She prefers to dominate the dominant types. Power gives her a grim satisfaction, and the thrill makes her flesh tease and tickle.
Discipline always goes to bed between 9 and 10 PM, after a cool shower where she flosses and brushes her teeth.
The last half hour of waking is reserved for the reading that she does solely for pleasure.
Her choice of novels are those that will transport her to another world of adventure, mystery, and the erotic for those last 20-30 minutes before she relaxes enough that her eyelids grow heavier and heavier.
Then she turns out the light and collapses under the covers and falls asleep within minutes. Her slumber will last somewhere between 6 ½ and 7 hours.
During that time, she will reach the vivid dreaming REM at least three times.
Then the alarm will sound at 4:30 AM and her new day begins.
I aspire to be more like this woman, but I know that will never happen. But that is how I see Discipline. Even a few crumbs of this would make me so much more productive.
For the record, I did get back to work on the Shepherd and the Courtesan. If you’d like to see a segment of that work-in-progress, click here.
The Shepherd's Secret
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Image by Christine Engelhardt from Pixabay
They became famous in time.
They were a curiosity traveling through cities, towns, and villages, this flock with a talking wolf as a sheepdog.
The Shepherd gave a brief history of what happened between his friend and Ella Bandita, drawing attention to his eyes to prove the Wolf had once been a man.
The Wolf quickly learned to keep his distance during these exchanges.
After his first meeting with the Shepherd, he never spoke about Ella Bandita again.
Hearing her name stirred up the rage and hatred, which the Wolf couldn’t bear. His peace of mind was everything to him after so many months of anguish.
For nearly three years, the Wolf and the Shepherd got on well.
Then one day everything changed.
Winter was disappearing to make way for spring, the snowmelt leaving the earth soggy with the first greens sprouting through the fields.
The Wolf could never resist running through the mud, his paws sinking in the muck with each bound.
He glanced at the Shepherd and saw he was in no hurry to gather the flock.
His friend leaned against a tree, his clear green eyes looking from them to his parchment, his pencil moving swiftly.
The Wolf continued harassing the sheep, splattering mud on them while diving and weaving amongst the flock.
By early afternoon, he knew the Shepherd was ready to move on when his whistle pierced the air.
The Wolf changed paces, nipping at their heels to gather the sheep the moment a breeze picked up in the valley. He found the air ruffling through his fur pleasant, but the light wind distressed the Shepherd.
The Wolf heard him shout, then saw him running across the meadow, frantic to catch the sheets whipping through the air before mud and trampling hooves ruined those drawings.
The Wolf sprang towards the flock, his teeth bared.
Snarling, he ran in wide circles, chasing the sheep from the sketches floating to the ground, while the Shepherd hurried to retrieve them.
The Wolf held a steady pace, running back and forth and pushing the flock away.
One paper hovered close by, the Wolf keeping one eye on it and one eye on the flock.
Then it flipped on the tail end of the breeze, fluttering to the ground, and the image halted the Wolf in his tracks.
He closed his eyes and opened them again to make certain his imagination wasn’t taunting him.
The sheep were forgotten as the Wolf trailed after the drawing and pinned it to the ground with his paw. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat and fur rose between his shoulders.
His hollow space began a violent pounding.
“What troubles you, Wolf?” the Shepherd asked, coming up with sketches in hand.
He didn’t answer.
His gaze was riveted on the likeness of a young woman cradling a tiny lamb to her breast. Her eyes were wintry and the lower half of her face was stained dark as were her hands, most likely from blood.
The drawing was of Ella Bandita.
The Shepherd took hold of the parchment, but the Wolf refused to step off.
The Wolf marveled that those treacherous eyes could be so clear, his gaze seeming as pure as ever.
“I take it this must be your Ella Bandita,” the Shepherd said, after a moment’s pause.
“Are you going to pretend you didn’t know that?”
“I beg your pardon,” the Shepherd said, raising his brows. “But this night was thirty years ago, long before there were any stories about her.”
The Shepherd said nothing more.
For once, his calm provoked the Wolf.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Because there was no reason to,” the Shepherd replied. “Why would I connect a girl I met when I was nineteen with a predatory seductress thirty years later?”
“I don’t know,” the Wolf grumbled. “But if that’s blood on her face and hands, I would think that would hint of the possibility.”
“I admit I’ve often wondered if this girl and your Ella Bandita were the same. But your suspicion is offensive.”
“You never told me about her,” the Wolf persisted.
“Perhaps I should have. But as I said, this was before the Ella Bandita stories began.”
“Sounds like quite a tale. I’d be honored to hear it.”
“If you can act in a courteous manner, then you will.”
The Shepherd spoke with the same dignity that had inspired the Wolf’s respect from the day he met him; his tone was that of a man with nothing to be ashamed of.
His fingers still clutched the drawing, pulling gently until the Wolf let go.
The Wolf told himself he was making more fuss than the situation called for, while his hollow made chaos inside him and the vile coursed in his veins again.
He tried to console himself that the Shepherd must have a reasonable explanation.
But watching his friend gather his sketches and gingerly roll them into his cache made the Wolf wonder how many drawings were of Ella Bandita.
“Are you ready?”
Addie and the Con Man
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Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay
During these weeks of wandering and exploring, I finally crossed paths with my third neighbor, the con man.
Carla had disparaged him during our initial exchange, and even the landlady had advised me to steer clear, admitting she had made a dreadful mistake in renting to him.
Even if I hadn’t been forewarned, I would have kept my distance.
One evening, I passed the con man as I came in and he went out.
He made a point to stop, tip his hat with a smile, and welcome the new neighbor.
I paused after his greeting and glanced his way.
He looked like a rodent, even with his elegant grooming. The first thing I noticed about him was his pointed river rat teeth.
I knew the type.
He reminded me of those I could never stand to work with in my former life.
I used to curse aloud every time somebody like him had been on the same team as me. Lazy and cunning, these men never pulled their share of the labor and they never took a beating for it.
Somehow, no matter how diligently the rest of us guarded our bales and baskets, these louts always managed to steal enough harvest from the fastest workers, and filled theirs so much they always came in with the heaviest weights.
Often they received praise they never earned, while the true workers would take whippings they never deserved.
I hated him on sight.
Instinctively, I dulled my gaze to avoid truly looking at him, turned my back, and made my way up the stairs without saying a word.
Even with the soul-crushing loneliness I endured every day, I wasn’t at all tempted to make his acquaintance.
Looking back, I was a fool to be so rude. To slight someone has always been to make an enemy.
I had already divided the fortune I came with into several smaller satchels and hid them in the nooks, crannies, window seats, and hidden drawers all over my apartment.
As soon as I knew a crook lived downstairs, I was extremely vigilant.
I felt more secure knowing that the most likely misfortune that could have occurred would have been the theft of something, but not everything.
Yet by snubbing him so blatantly, what had been a casual awareness on his end became an intense focus. His vanity had been wounded and after that, the con man wanted blood.
He started to follow me on my long walks through the Capital City. He was adept at trailing me. Every day, a prickling made my skin itch in that way whenever I knew somebody was watching me, but I could never figure out who that was.
Not once did I see the con man following me.
One day everything changed.
I had been in the Capital City for several weeks.
Autumn was at its peak, the trees burst with color and vivid piles of leaves lined the streets. The crisp coolness and smoky fragrance in the air made me buoyant that day, so much that I wanted to relax and savor the pleasures of a season I had always loved.
So I let my guard down, even though that prickling sensation was ever present.
That day was especially agreeable.
During this amble, I finally mustered the courage to go into shops and galleries in the elegant neighborhood near the Mayor’s Mansion, and there I found clothes and furniture and art.
The clerks were so courteous and helpful I wondered why it had taken me so long to try them. Not once did anybody treat me like I was an outsider who didn’t belong.
One boutique in particular had some simple yet beautiful ensembles of blouses, skirts, and coats with matching hats.
The merchants there were a husband tailor and a wife seamstress, and together they designed and made the clothes.
They were so welcoming and encouraging, I immediately made an appointment to come back for a fitting, even though I wasn’t sure what that was.
I was fairly certain a fitting would entail leaving with lovely new clothes.
It was later than usual when I made my way back to my neighborhood.
I passed my usual café, and slowed down.
But the café was full, with the loud voices and laughter of the night crowd.
Also, I wasn’t hungry.
My last stop in the elegant neighborhood had been in a more peaceful café, where I had taken tea, sandwiches, and finished with a small cup of drinking chocolate.
The taste and texture were marvelous! The sensation after I swallowed was unforgettable.
I felt like I glowed inside. I had never had anything so divine in my life.
The young man who had waited on me had been most attentive, and always smiling.
I was very sated when I came to my usual café.
Also the rowdy gaiety inside didn’t mix with the mellow euphoria I was in, and I wanted to enjoy it.
So I passed the café without going inside.
This was the first day that I felt like I was a part of things in this splendid place.
I was happy as I made my way back to my apartment.
I didn’t know how it happened.
But within a minute after turning the corner past the café to head towards my street, I turned my head and there was the rodent face of the con man.
He had come up silently and fallen in step beside me.
My expression must have betrayed my surprised displeasure at the sight of him.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “It looks like you enjoyed a marvelous day until right now.”
I quickened my pace without a word.
But he stepped his up as well.
“It’s very disagreeable living in the same building as one who is as unfriendly as you are,” he continued in a wheedling tone.
“I wouldn’t say I’m unfriendly.”
“What would you say?”
“I’d say I don’t like you.”
What devil possessed me to express that!
I knew that was a mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
Looking around, I realized the streets were quiet and empty.
Everybody was either at home preparing for a late night out, or was already out. I cursed myself for not paying attention, and for not going into the café.
“That’s offensive,” he crooned.
“I’d say it’s even rather foolish. I’ve been watching you, and you’re always alone.”
Dumb Ass Luck for a Happy Holiday Season - On the Road #29
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Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
Hey y'all,
Yeehaw! Did Santa surprise my stocking this year!
For somebody who has not planned squat for a book tour, things sure keep falling into my lap, and all I have to say to La Fortuna is Grazie, Senora! Grazie, grazie, grazie!!!
But I get ahead of myself...
I'm in Colorado, the state of my college alma mater, to visit a college friend, and she threw her Christmas party right after I got here.
Since Kelly is immersed in the corporate world of computer software and telecommunications, she invited many folks she knew from work.
One of them, Anne, had an organization of sixty people, if you include all the contractors - which she didn't.
With a thick Scottish accent and a blunt, fiery attitude, Anne is known as an aggressive leader that scares the shit out of most people in her company.
"She's the devil," Kelly said.
Anne is often heard yelling at the top of her lungs in her office. However, unlike a lot of slave-driving bosses, her staff has the option of yelling back, which they often do.
But to reward them for all their hard work and being such good sports about tolerating and dishing out verbal abuse, she does something to surprise her team every quarter. And this quarter, she surprised them with me.
Gotta love those holiday parties, when everybody's half drunk and networking. She and her lover showed up "in drag," in that they were dressed up for the holidays. I told her what I was doing and she suggested I come and do a storytelling with her group.
"I haven't come up with anything fun for them to do this quarter," she slurred. "But you have to make it a team-building experience. How much do you charge?"
Given that I'd been doing this for free, plus book sales, I didn't really know how to answer that. I remembered Brett telling me that beginning storytellers charge $75 and told her that.
She pssshawed that.
"You need a manager, honey," she said. "I was thinking more like $500."
To tell a story? Why sure, I would love to.
Okay, I had to get a little flexible and make it a team-building experience. And I had to set my ego aside to do it.
I told Chapter four and gave six teams their own set of questions for them to construct a story around it. In other words, a bunch of computer techies had to switch to their right brain and get creative. It wasn't about figuring out what I wrote, they had to make it up.
They did pretty damn good, too. Some of the scenarios they came up with were outrageous.
Whoever thought that being a writer and travelling storyteller could translate into being a "motivational speaker" for a corporation?
If anybody from ODS should see Sarah Carter, Jean Richey, or (I can't believe I'm actually saying this!) Kevin Krein, thank them for me because I just got paid $500 to tell a story and give away 25 books.
And the exercises we did for the Small Group Communications class helped me think up my own.
$500 to tell a story? As far as karma is concerned, I know I deserve it, but still! I definitely wanna do that again!
Merry Christmas!
Montgomery
This excerpt is from my DIY booktour roadtrip journal I emailed to my friends during 2005-2006.
Since this was the holidays, this was at the end of 2005 and I’d been on the road for almost 6 months.
I’d spent a few months in the Alaskan Interior (I lived in Alaska at the time), went back to Juneau for a couple of weeks before heading down into the lower 48, where the book tour was a very different experience.
I was riding high at this time, having a very lucky stop in Ashland right before heading to Colorado. This was every bit as auspicious as the time in Ashland.
If you’d like to read about that experience, here are Parts 1 and 2 of the Fool’s Journey HERE and HERE.
I have such great memories of that time in my life. Especially because it was one of the most challenging and difficult things I’ve ever done.
Addie Explores Her Avenues in the City
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I’d been in the Capital City for a month when restless boredom got the better of my intimidation.
Autumn was also at its peak, and the season seemed so strange in this city of majestic buildings where trees lined the streets, but there was relatively little greenery.
Therefore when the colors changed, I was rather confused.
In the country, the explosion of color meant we were in the hardest months of labor. But it also meant that winter was close, the season when everybody slowed down enough that we peasants weren’t worked to exhaustion.
For some odd reason, I got it in my head that I was losing my last chance to get to know the Capital City.
So I ventured out everyday and explored, ambling through my neighborhood of bohemians and the Avenue of the Theaters. Once I grew familiar with those streets and the hidden places there, I was comfortable enough to wander beyond those boundaries.
I had my daily ritual though.
I always started and ended my day at my favorite café where the waiters knew me. I’d have tea with muffins and fruit when I began, and tea with finger sandwiches when I finished.
I took my time as I observed the other people in the café, noticing the differences and similarities in the clientele there early in the day, and those who came in the evening.
Once I had my fill, I’d pick a direction from the Avenue of the Theaters and go.
The Avenue of the Theaters was in the northern half of the City.
The bohemian neighborhood where I lived was in the northeastern corner of the Capital, and east of the Avenue of the Theaters.
The northwestern corner was the most dangerous part of town, where the joyful decadence of successful harlots, gamblers, courtesans, and the creatives took a downturn into the wretchedness of addiction, seediness, poverty, and despair.
West of the Avenue was where the opium dens, the violent gambling houses, and the most wretched brothels were, along with the slums.
West was where the beggars and hustlers along the Avenue of the Theaters disappeared when they were done panhandling, picking pockets, or conning the gullible.
The Sorcerer had described this part of the city to me.
I only ventured two blocks in before I remembered what I’d been taught and turned around.
But I had already attracted attention I didn’t want when two men started to follow me. I quickened my pace and they drifted off when I was back in the crowd along the Avenue of the Theaters.
Then I ventured south of the Avenue of the Theaters, to the part of the Capital where business and government meet in the stately buildings circling the town square in a circumference three blocks wide.
South of the neighborhood of business was the wealthiest and most elegant neighborhood in the Capital, where the Mayor’s Mansion was flanked with stately homes of the diplomats, the Parliament officials, and the wealthiest businessmen all around.
East of that exclusive area were the more modest, but still comfortable homes of well-made merchants and middle officials.
And to the east of that neighborhood were the apartments and humble dwellings of the respectable serving class, everybody from teachers to waiters to the servants, stewards, and maids who didn’t reside with their employers.
Their neighborhood was safe, but their abodes quite small.
If I had chosen the safe yet undistinguished path for my new destiny, I could have easily lived in this neighborhood for the rest of my life without worry.
When I walked through those streets, I felt the most at home and that these people were the most similar to those I had grown up with.
This was also the part of the Capital where nobody looked twice at me, where the women and men dressed simply, not fashionably. So my country attire and braid that I wore daily did not attract any attention.
I finished each day’s exploration in the café around the corner from the Avenue of the Theaters.
Sometimes, I was tempted to go there late on those many nights I couldn’t sleep, but I was too shy to go alone.
And likely, it would have been dangerous anyway.
As the weeks passed, I started to recognize more faces of people who recognized me.
I often saw Carla there.
She was usually with other courtesans. Every time she saw me, Carla gave me that knowing half-smile of hers, followed with a wink.
But there was one gentleman who accompanied Carla to the cafe quite often. He must have been one of her lovers, but I also saw him with other women, including Filly.
He and Carla seemed very close, yet this gentleman also showed affection for every woman I saw him with. He leaned close and his gestures were intimate, his focus solely on his lady that evening.
He inspired my curiosity, for certain.
This gentleman was handsome in a unique way. He reminded me of a hawk with his lean face, stark features, and sharp-eyed gaze.
Like most gentlemen of fashion, which he was, he walked with a cane. But unlike those who carried canes for elegance, he needed his for support and he leaned on it discreetly.
He walked tall and proud with a long stride and no discernible limp, but that was only self-control. The tight grip of his hand on the knob betrayed his dependence on the cane.
I really liked the look of him.
He differed from the other fine gentlemen I saw daily throughout the Capital.
He wasn’t soft.
He looked like he knew what it was to suffer.
Whenever Carla winked at me, her hawkish gentleman usually turned around and peered at me, with a faint grin on his mouth.
He always nodded to me whenever our eyes met.
His regard penetrated, but never invaded. The sensation was not unpleasant.
Beyond Her Wildest Dreams - Adrianna's First Apartment in the Capital City
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Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
The Sorcerer practically handed me to my future.
Although he was thorough as he explained to me the nature of the bohemian part of town I was to go, I didn’t understand the cause and effect of living amongst the libertines of the Capital City.
I’m sure the Sorcerer did.
We become the people we surround ourselves with. I’m sure you understand that, Shepherd.
Anyway, I did exactly as the Sorcerer told me to, and everything went precisely as he said it would.
He had prepared me well for getting set up in a place of my own.
My palms tingled when my landlady handed me those copper keys.
One for the street door and one for my apartment, none of it seemed real until I opened the door for the first time.
Moving in was easy, since all I had was what I had carried when I fled for the carriage that would take me to the Capital City.
I loved that apartment.
In some ways, I loved it even more than my glorious Casa.
By the time I moved in here I was at ease with riches, and the luxury wealth afforded.
But in the beginning of this Life, my apartment was beyond my wildest dreams.
How incredible that I had remained inscrutable the first time I walked through those rooms!
The spaciousness was too wonderful. The landlady brought me there in the late morning, and the light made me fall in love with the place.
I didn’t even pay attention as she boasted about the elegant rooms – the entry, drawing room, kitchen, servant’s quarters, boudoir, bedroom, and my toilette room.
As soon as I walked in, I knew I had to live there. My first minute in that apartment gave me my first taste of freedom, real freedom.
The windows faced east, and stretched more than half the height between floor and ceiling. The sun beamed through those tall windows, and the radiance was so brilliant I almost believed I had just entered the gates of heaven.
The landlady was exactly as the Sorcerer had described, a stout matron with a tight mouth and beady eyes that darted from side to side. She clearly loved money, especially when it flowed to her easily.
On that first morning, when I showed her a generous pile of copper coins and asked for a week’s lodging in her boarding house, she didn’t even ask my name.
She simply took the money and brought me to my room.
If she had been more observant as she guided me on a tour of her best apartments, she could have cheated me with an exorbitant rent.
I wanted that heavenly apartment so much it hurt. However, I played it casual enough that she didn’t pick up on my insatiable desire for that place.
I managed to talk the rent down to nearly half of what the landlady declared as the proper value for it.
Of course, offering six months rent immediately with a gold coin put the negotiation in my favor.
The landlady stared at me as if I had just said I was born on the moon.
Then she gushed and promised to be at my service if there was anything more that I needed, anything at all.
After I got to know the Capital City, I found that there were many apartments of a similar style and spacious layout, even with brilliant morning light.
But to me, that apartment has always been the most beautiful place in the world.
The elegant building I moved into was divided into four identical apartments between two floors.
Mine was upstairs with a southeastern exposure. My neighbors across the hall and below me were courtesans, and a con man lived in the downstairs northwestern apartment.
I was more than a little shocked that the landlady told me that straightaway, but later I would learn that nobody in the bohemian neighborhood attempted pretense at respectability.
I didn’t take much notice of them right away. That was a mistake, which could have had terrible consequences.
But I had been in the Capital City for less than a week when I moved in, and I was so overwhelmed with this strange and wonderful new place I couldn’t attend to specific people just yet.
My apartment alone was an exotic adventure to explore.
Any one room there was bigger than the cabin I grew up in with my parents, except for the kitchen and toilette room.
The toilette room was a marvel to me, for I’d never seen one before.
It was at the very end of my apartment, as far from the social rooms as possible. It wasn’t elegant by any means.
Besides the chamber pot with basin and pitcher, the toilette room had a round iron tub that was just big enough for me to sit in and stretch my legs out.
The spout of the water barrel was right over the tub.
I was amazed that the toilette room had its own water barrel, as did the kitchen.
Fortunately, the bathroom barrel was half full when I moved in because I forgot about the water sellers every day for the first week.
That water sellers even existed was so peculiar to me because I had always gathered water from the river when my family needed it.
In the Capital City, I had to get my water from the sellers who roamed the streets every day, shouting “fresh water!”
This was convenient, because going to the fountain at the Avenue of the Theaters was not.
The cesspool for my waste was not close to my apartment. I found it both pleasant and unfortunate that the neighborhood dumping-pit was in an alley behind brothel row, several blocks away from me.
My first days in that apartment, I wandered from room to room, looking up the blank walls that stretched so high.
I had no furniture for weeks because I had no idea what to get or even how to get it.
I didn’t mind having nothing in my new home.
I saw endless possibility in the vast emptiness of the rooms.
Reversing Diabetes - Letter to my Aunt, Part 2
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The is the 2nd half of a letter I wrote to my aunt about reversing pre-diabetes without medication to prevent the onset of diabetes.
However, these are the methods to reverse diabetes as well.
If you would like to read the 1st half about supplements and exercise, head to the blog tab on Monday, August 31st or click HERE.
1) Food.
My suggestions are a more relaxed version of the ketogenic diet or the LCHF (low carb-high fat diet). Personally, I think the usual standard 65-80% fat – even healthy fat – is a bit over the top.
Of the 3 types of food – protein, carbohydrates (including fruit and vegetables), and fat – fat has the smallest effect on blood sugar and therefore, insulin.
So as I said, healthy fat is your new best friend. These suggestions are only a basic framework. Experiment and see what works for you.
As your blood sugar normalizes over time, play around. But a good rule of thumb is to increase your fats and lower your carbs to get your blood sugars down.
40-50% Fat,
30-40% Protein,
10-20% Carbs.
Healthy fat keeps you full and cut down on sugar and carb cravings. Avocados, nuts, olive oil, coconut oil, cheese, butter.
Try to eat at least 1 avocado a day. For your needs, this is a super food. The healthy fats and nutrients in avocados are excellent for blood sugar, cholesterol, triglycerides, and bone health.
Go nuts for nuts. Nuts are both healthy fat and a protein source. They are also excellent fiber – and again, the nutrients are high.
Careful with the overdone and over-salted nuts. And of course, honey roasted nuts are not the best choice.
Nut butters are also good, but check the labels to avoid sugar. You’ll be shocked how much sugar is added to a lot of things you find in jars and cans.
Don’t cook with safflower oil, canola oil, or any vegetable oil.
Extra virgin olive oil is good for salads and low-heat cooking. Butter is good for high heat cooking, so is coconut oil if you want to try it.
High fat milk products – like cheese, cream, half and half, and whole milk – are good in standard servings. The rule of thumb with milk is the more fat there is, the lower the milk sugars.
However, I do find when I eat too much cheese – and I’m talking about A LOT of cheese, my blood sugar is higher the next morning.
And now for Protein.
This is important: START YOUR DAY WITH PROTEIN! You can have fat with your protein. But no carbs. At all.
Animal protein is excellent - Eggs, chicken, hamburger patties, steak, pork chops, pork tenderloin. You really can have bacon and eggs at least once a week and be fine.
I’d be conservative with ham, though, because it’s often made with honey or maple syrup.
This leaves Carbs. You should have some carbs and the best carbs to have are vegetables – like your greens – and fruit. It comes down to balance.
Be cautious with high sugar vegetables like carrots and beets.
Dark leafy greens are excellent, have as much as you want. The nutrients in dark greens – like collard greens – really help with insulin sensitivity and lowering blood sugar.
Okra is good because it’s excellent fiber. So is cucumber and celery. Celery goes well with nut butters.
Beans like black eyed peas and lima beans and white, black, and red beans are carbohydrate, but also protein. They spike blood sugar, but they are also excellent fiber, which helps with both blood sugar and cholesterol. They also process quickly, especially if you exercise right after eating them.
My suggestion is to check your blood sugar after you eat beans and see how you do. If your blood sugar is high 45 minutes after eating, go for a fast 30-minute walk.
Be very conservative or avoid as much as you can:
Bread and all things wheat, like crackers and pasta,
Rice,
Corn,
White Potatoes.
Sweet potatoes are starchy, but they often do well with blood sugar. Again, experiment. Check your blood sugar after eating these and see how it is.
With fruit, you have to be a little careful and not eat too many. Berries are the lowest in sugar and high in antioxidants. Green apples are also fairly okay.
Eat sparingly of high sugar fruits like watermelon, cantaloupe, honey dew melon, mangoes, and pineapple.
Citrus fruits are good because of vitamin C, but grapefruit and lemons are preferable to oranges and tangerines.
2) Water.
Drink so much, you feel like you’re drowning in it.
Aim for at least a half-gallon (8 8oz glasses) to a gallon (16 8 oz glasses) a day. It flushes the excess sugar from your system, and your liver and kidneys will thank you for it.
If you need taste, squeeze some lemon into it. Or slice some cucumbers and crush some mint and infuse it in a pitcher of water in the fridge for 2-5 hours. Sieve the water and extract the cucumber and mint. Water will have a refreshing taste, and plenty of electrolytes.
3) Sleep.
Get your 8 hours in, preferably at night. I suspect you’re a nightowl like Mom and Mimi, but plenty of rest does the body good. This is also a crucial part of getting to your fasting morning blood sugar.
4) The bonus tip of Intermittent Fasting (IF).
This is one of the newest trends in health and wellness. It sounds a lot fancier than it is. But what it comes down to is eating only within a particular window of time, and don’t eat outside of it.
The most efficient way to bring down excess insulin in an insulin-resistant body is through not eating. All food stimulates insulin. To not eat gives your digestive system a break.
12 hours on when you eat and 12 hours off when you fast and don’t eat is the minimum. The other windows are 10 hours on and 14 hours off, or 8 hours on and 16 hours off.
This definitely cuts out mindless snacking late at night or early in the morning, and skipping either breakfast or dinner.
Intermittent fasting works quite well over time, but…
It is possible your morning blood sugar will go up initially. When the body is low on sugar, the liver will dump its stored sugars into the blood stream. In the long run, this is good because then those stores are depleted, but it can be startling at first.
Intermittent Fasting may not be necessary for you, but I think a 12/12 or 10/14 eating schedule would work well for you.
Try Intermittent Fasting with caution and see how you feel.
*******
So these are my tips, and what has been effective for me. I hope this helps you too.
Again, do what you can. And be kind to yourself whenever you splurge and indulge in treat. You can always go for a walk afterwards, and know that your blood sugars will come back down in a day or a few once you get back with the program.
Either way, to have made it to 80 without full-blown diabetes is damn good.
If you feel more comfortable running all this past your doctor, go ahead. If he would like to know who/what my sources are, I’m happy to tell him.
Love,
M
Reversing Diabetes - Letter to my Aunt, Part 1
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Image by Tesa Robbins from Pixabay
This is the first half of a copy of a letter I sent to my 80 year old aunt on ways to reverse pre-diabetes. Since diabetes runs in the family, she’s done very well to only be pre-diabetic at this age.
Since I’m on my 3rd - and last - round of reversing diabetes, I have consolidated years of research, practice, and experimentation on what worked for me.
However, it occurred to me that a lot of people have issues with diabetes and pre-diabetes. So why not go ahead and put it on my blog, even though this is - technically - outside of my “niche.”
For the record, I have never taken any medications - like metformin or insulin - to manage my blood sugar.
Reversing any chronic health condition is worth writing about. This also applies to cholesterol issues, weight loss, and heart health.
So for any random person who comes to this site, who already has diabetes, or just got diagnosed, here are some helpful tips and advice on today 31st, August 2020 and Wednesday, September 2nd.
Hey Aunt Sally,
Good news is pre-diabetes is much easier to reverse than diabetes.
Bad news is even after you reverse pre-diabetes, your pancreas will never work as well again as it once did.
You’ll have enough wriggle room to be able to have the ice cream again, but not as blissfully ignorant as you once were, or as often. Because there will be consequences if you do.
I speak from experience. Those consequences are why this is my 3rd rodeo in reversing diabetes.
I included copies of my daily fasting blood sugar that I take every morning since early June.
As you can see, the numbers vary even as the blood sugar is coming down. Since I started at 213, I’m ecstatic to be where you’re at now and it took me 2 months to get there.
I’m hoping to hit consistent normal morning blood sugar in the next 2 weeks to a month.
The HbA1C – likely the blood test that determined your diagnosis of pre-diabetes is the sum total of your blood sugar for 2-3 months.
But these are the daily values you can check for yourself.
Normal Fasting (morning) Blood Sugar: less than 100 or 70-99. This is what you want to get to.
Pre-diabetic Fasting Blood Sugar: 101-125. I imagine this is where you are most mornings right now.
Diabetic Fasting Blood Sugar: 126 and up. Where I was 5 years ago when I first found out. I think 196 was where I was at.
Over 200 – that’s bad. That’s where I started on this go round.
1) First thing you’ll need is a glucose meter with lancets and test strips to check your blood sugar daily. Without a prescription, the test strips can be expensive. I heard WalMart has a brand and the test strips are much cheaper. Have your doctor or a diabetic friend show you how to use it.
By “fasting” blood sugar, this is the blood sugar you take first thing in the morning when you wake up.
If you want to experiment, you can also test your blood sugar after eating – about 45 minutes later – to observe how certain foods affect you.
If you think of your body as a science project, this process is actually kind of cool.
Anytime your blood sugar is over 200 – this would likely be if you splurged on some ice cream and cake or even a lot of fruit or sugary fruits - go for a fast-paced walk for at least 30 minutes if you can. If you can’t, your sugar will come down every hour.
Which brings me to…
2) Exercise is your medicine.
Exercise as much as you can within safe and reasonable parameters. For example: a 30+ minute walk every morning before you eat anything and a 30+ minute walk every evening after your last meal.
The reason why is because exercise makes the body more insulin-sensitive, and it helps reverse high blood sugar much faster than diet alone.
Insulin is the hormone secreted by the pancreas to process everything we eat. We count on insulin to push the sugars into the cells for energy. So anything that processes to sugar quickly – like carbs – spike insulin the most.
With a sweets and carb-heavy diet – which most Americans have, the pancreas gets over-worked to exhaustion and the body becomes insulin-resistant. After some time, this leads to pre-diabetes, which eventually becomes diabetes – with insulin-resistance getting worse.
In insulin resistance, the demands for insulin are high and more insulin is produced. But it is no longer as effective at pushing the sugar into our cells.
So the excess sugar stays in the bloodstream and blood sugar goes up. Also, there’s too much insulin in your system, which increases fat storage and affects the “bad” cholesterol.
How exercise affects insulin-resistance is the increased heart rate and circulation of blood and lymph increase insulin-sensitivity, and the sugars are pushed into the cells to be used as energy as they should.
Sounds like walking is your go-to, and you can do that whenever you want. At night, when you’re done eating. In the morning. After meals. Whenever you splurge.
Whatever you do, go at a fast pace to get your heart rate up.
Check out the pics of the mini-trampoline rebounder I also sent. That would be a great way to mix up your exercise, and it’s great for your bone health and immunity.
3) Supplements:
All of these increase insulin-sensitivity and decrease blood sugar. The Omegas and CoQ10 are also good for cholesterol. Deficiency in Vitamin D screws up everything including blood sugar and insulin-resistance, as well as cholesterol.
Chromium Picolinate 300 mg; 2 tablets 2x/day;
Alpha Lipoic Acid 300-350 mg; 2 tablets 2x/day;
Magnesium 200 mg; 1 tablet 2x/day or 2 tablets 1x/day AT NIGHT.
Omega-3 fatty acids 2 capsules 2x/day.
CoQ10 1 tablet 1-2x a day.
Vitamin D – 2000-5000 IU daily.
Keep taking your cinnamon supplement.
You should see a change within a few weeks.
Check back on Wednesday, September 2nd, for specifics on food, water, sleep, and fasting tips. Cheers!
