He Was A Cowboy Alright...But Darling Was His Nickname...

He was a cowboy alright, but "Darling" was his nickname...true story


Yes, I know I promised to get to the conclusion of "The Page" before the weekend, and I will.  I also will begin rolling out my two new fictional stories, "Crucifix" and "The Lesson", but I wanted to announce one additional important piece of information that up to now, was only available to my Twitter followers.  Thanks to all of you who continue to follow my blog I have decided to secure a web domain for it.  So in the future there will be a NY Eastside Entertainment website with even more entertaining things to read and/or simply watch.  This will also hopefully open doors for family and friends who also love to write, make videos, share a life story to also be able to contribute their entertainment skills to share with the world. Who knows where we'll go from there?  But I owe it all to you folks out there.  Keep visiting me and feel free to share your thoughts and comments on this blog, Twitter or in an email.

Now onto my real life experience with a guy named Darling Yearwood...

I was born and raised in New York City.  Both my parents came from the deep south, which I visited several times in my early developmental years.  So even though I was a city boy, I always had an appreciation of rural and rustic life.  However, my overwhelming formal and informal education came from the public schools of New York City as well as the streets of New York City.  From Kindergarten to the 10th grade I was taught by a fairly solid education in NYC, Lower Eastside.

However, there was an opportunity to attend a preparatory school 400 miles away in New Hampshire, via an educational opportunity scholarship.  I took the test, won the award and jump at the chance to leave Broadway for the Boondocks.  The one criteria was that you had to attend summer school at a prep school to see "if you fit in" with such a "drastic change of culture, environment and upbringing".

For those who don't know, I am African American, Black American, or whatever designation that you wish to choose.  Fortunately for me my local public schools, although predominantly were black and Hispanic, also had mixes of Irish, Italian, European decedent Jews, Chinese, Filipino and Indian.  It seemed like every six blocks you could experience people from all over the world.  And I ran up and down those streets of the entire Lower Eastside and interacted with everyone of them.

What "drastic change" could I possibly be going into?  I was certain I could handle anyone and anything!

Okay...so...I go to this summer prep school...in New Hampshire.  It was a 11 hour bus ride northwest, into the White Mountains of NH.  When I stepped off the bus into this rural, mountainous, environment, I felt like a fly who had been dropped in a bathtub of milk.  There was not one single person of color of any kind anywhere.  There were no brown, tans or even olive skinned people anywhere.  Everyone was clearly faired skinned Caucasian or White American.  I immediately felt that my arrival in this town had probably quadrupled the African American population in the whole entire state.

I called the school from the bus stop.  A teacher was already on the way.  So I just stood there and waited.  It was a bright sunny day, and everyone who walked by me said hello.  In fact, they just kept waving and saying hello.  I was now being forced to keep waving back and saying hello.  The more hellos I said, the more that came back to me.  It got to the point where I felt that everyone was just too friendly.  I had hit my New York limit of ten "hi/hello" to complete strangers in just 4 minutes.  Then I started wondering if everyone in this town had all sent out some kind of telepathic message to one another saying that "The only black kid in the entire state is here.  Say hello to him before he calls Jesse Jackson!" (I would later find out that people in New Hampshire, by nature usually just say hello to you, even if they don't know you, just like folks do in parts of the rural South, or out West - it's a hospitality thing).

One another thing to note was that this town seemed to be a rustic throwback to the American frontier some 70 years earlier.  Although most of the cars were fairly new, some of the cars and trucks within that town seemed like they had been original models made by Henry Ford himself.

I waited barely 10 minutes before that teacher from the school did arrive to pick me up at the bus stop.  He was really a cool, down to earth dude who graduated from Dartmouth, University.  Very intelligent.  Made jokes about the shocked look on my face and about me being the only black person within hours of this town.  Got me all relaxed by letting me know that no matter what happened while I was up there, he had my back.  So I tossed my luggage into his car and off to the school we went.  Up hill, down hill, round the mountain, over a rocky road, through a creak, and then back onto paved road again.

Before I got there, the people back in New York told me this would be "different".  No, no...this wasn't "different" this was another planet to me.  It was time travel...mixed in with another civilization.  And I was scheduled to stay there for five weeks, on a mission (scholarship) where failure was not an option.

When we arrived at my dormitory, it was little more than an old, small, white wooden house (yes even the dorm buildings were white) that seemed to creak in every stiff wind.  The room furniture was an old desk, bed and dresser that I think were originally used by Thomas Edison and perhaps George Washington.  There was nine other students there for this summer school program.  Three girls, seven guys myself included.  They were from various parts of the Northeast east including New Hampshire, New Jersey, Massachusetts and Maine.  All of them looked like sourpussed, teens whose families had a little money to put them in "summer school jail" for either disciplinary or academic reasons.  I was the only one there to test drive the prep school environment.  Actually, at that point I was more concerned if the house had running water.  Thankfully it did.

One of the kids who stood out...just via his name alone...was Darling Yearwood.  His first name was a nickname, his real name has long since been forgotten.  I forgot why Darling was there, but I do remember that he was the youngest of our group.  All of the other kids were from suburban backgrounds, with exception to me and Darling Yearwood.  Make no mistake, Darling was from Western Massachussetts - aka cowboy country.  Western, MA is the apparent tough guy bastion of all of the United States.  "I'm not one of those funny talking Eastern Massholes."  He was referring to that sometimes ear piercing Bostonian accent that dominates the language of many people who live in the greater Boston, MA area.  They speak something like this "Pahk, the Cahr, by the the Bahr in the Dahrk."  I've seen some folks from that area shatter wine glasses with their accents.

We had afternoon, early evening meetings and met all the faculty members and their families.  They were all nice, definitely educated and very well spoken.  They had planned for us to accomplish several things.  First, we had to complete all the summer academic requirements.  Second, we were going to hike five of the eight presidential mountains.  Third, we were going to go on two camping trips out in the deep woods.  (Which was like just outside my dormitory window?  How much deeper woods could we get?)

I used my socialization skills to develop and maintain great relationships with the faculty, grounds and kitchen staff.  Even developed a more than friendly relationship with a teenage girl from the kitchen staff who lived in the neighboring town.  Within days, I became adored by everyone attached with the school.  However, my campus peers were a different story.  They were all whiny, sneaky, snobby and lazy kids who didn't want to be there.  One of my peers declared the first night in the dorms that he wasn't going to last the five weeks.  With his undisciplined behavior and numerous infractions, he was gone after just ten days. 

The school work was constant and took up a lot of time.  The weekend hiking trips to the presidential range was great for me since I was already an athlete who ran track, played basketball, used weights and did hundreds of push ups, sit ups and squats as part of my personal workout since the 7th grade. So for me, hiking into a higher altitude and fresh air was great!

Most of the guys didn't wine about the long hikes, but the girls always did.  I always loved it when we reached the summit for the mountain because as everyone would sit down and whip out their food, I would whip out my sketch books and color stencils.  I drew pictures of the beautiful scenic landscape that was 5,000 plus feet above sea level.  The teachers there told me beforehand that it would be a better and higher view than the Empire State Building...and they were right.  When you reach the top of Mount Washington, some 6,288 feet above sea level (by comparison the Empire State Building is only 1,454 feet) you feel like you can touch the Heavens.  You really do feel on top of the world.  It is a beautiful view.

Then there was a place called Upper Falls where you could slide down a natural waterfall some 10 feet over smooth rocks and then drop about 30 feet into a pool of natural mountain water.  Sorry Great Adventure and Disney, but Upper Falls was definitely more fun!

Then there was the bugs.  The bugs that bite.  Every native New Hampshirian knows that in the White Mountains...just about everything that flies...bites.  Birds and Butterflies might be the only exceptions.  In my five weeks we had black fly season, house fly season, horse fly season (huge and green) and white fly season.  Mosquito season was all night long, all five weeks.  Toss in some spiders who might also choose to bite you in the night on your camping trips.  I tell you...God as my witness...all of these biting insects loved dark meat.  At night I could HEAR the mosquitoes flying over me, waiting for me to to drift into a good, deep sleep and come from under the covers.  They sounded like Japanese Zero airplanes diving after you.

Everyday I would wake up with several new bites, while the other kids looked at me like I was crazy, because they had no bites.  Back in NYC the only thing that had ever bit me at that point was a mosquito and a dog.  Here in NH everything was biting me, except the dogs and the people.  Finally, I complained to the staff that they had to help me, especially with the deep wood camping trips coming up...one of them was to be at Hampton Beach, NH.  What does that mean?  Hmm...think...large body of water (the beach)...wooded camping ground....a crappy tent that seemed to allow every insect inside...and even larger mosquitoes.

My mother sent me a can of Off.  The teachers gave me a spare can of DEET.  Both were effective insect repellents for me.  However, the other students didn't really care for the smell of them.  So...with the male student population reduced down to an even six, I was no longer going to get a tent all to myself.  I had to share a tent with Darling Yearwood.  In another life, Darling fancied himself to be a young John Wayne.  All he needed was the ten gallon hat, the spurs and a horse.  The other boys couldn't stand him, and the feeling was mutual.  Growing up around my neck of the woods in NYC...Darling would have gotten a blanket party to knock that false bravado off his face.  Darling was just a soft kid, trying to talk and act tough, but couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag.

Needless to say because none of the other guys wanted to tent with me either (why?  umm...yeah...you guessed it...my color) and no one wanted to tent with Darling for obvious reasons, we ended up tenting together.  Darling started out watching me pack my bag for the camping trip.  He pounded his chest and forswore about how if I ever used any of that stuff, he was going to kick some ass.  He didn't like the smell of it, it affected his allergies.  I just nodded and packed away.

Then the evening came and we set up our tent and once again he reiterated that if I used any of that stuff there was going to be some trouble in our tent that night.  I just nodded and set up my sleeping bag.  Then bedtime came and I stood outside our tent and sprayed myself down and crawled into the tent and into my bag.  No sooner that I laid my head down, good old Darling started coughing and chiming away about what a sissy I was using the bug spray and how "a real man" would have just went to sleep and not be afraid of the bugs.  When he said that, I reached for the can and sprayed a little bit more on myself inside my sleeping bag - just to be on the safe side of course?  After I did that, Darling swore that if I sprayed just once more, he would sleep outside and away from "the sissy inside the tent."  I reached for my can and sprayed just a little more.  I had apparently missed a spot.

With that, Darling grabbed his sleeping bag, and out the tent door he went to sleep outside just as he had promised.  I turned over and slept like a baby.

When I woke up on that next morning, on that fresh mountain dew day, it was planned that we would have breakfast on the beach front, about a ten minute walk away.  We had a long day, the day before and I was actually one of the last ones from our group to wake up.  As I walked towards the beach to join the others...I kept getting looks from the other kids.  The teachers had smirks on their faces, and I just couldn't understand where all this was coming from.  I was starting to get a little worried.  Perhaps my confrontation with Darling last night had caused for there to be a problem and I was going to get in some kind of trouble?  Nope.

It wasn't until the teacher, who had picked me up the first day from the bus stop, said to me,
"Heard you had disagreement with your tent mate last night?"
"Yes, I did.  He didn't want me to use the repellent, but I told him that I was going to.  I can't take anymore bites."
"Well, have you seen him, yet?"
"No I haven't."
"There he is out there in the water."

Out in the water I saw Darling's tubby figure bouncing and soaking down in the salt water of the waves.  When he came out of the water...he looked like...one...big...huge...bug bite.  The insects had feasted on his silly ass and he was using the salt water to sooth his dozens and dozens of bites.

"Am I going to get in trouble for his condition?"
"Nope.  Enjoy your breakfast and please don't let him see you laughing."

I went back to our campground and laughed for about 15 minutes along with some of the other teachers.

There were a lot more ins and outs to my five weeks in the White Mountains.  However, the bottom line were that I had passed all tests with flying colors.  I was absolutely beloved by all of the staff at the school.  They said that they could not believe that I was a big city boy, that I had given them zero problems and that OF ALL the kids in the group - I was the only unnamious vote by the staff, to attend the school in September.  However, an older friend from NYC, who had been in the same scholarship program as me, stopped by for a visit the last two weeks.  He had attended a prep school in Maine.  When he walked in and saw how rural/rustic my situation was, he swore that he would get me out of this school and into a better situation.

And he did.

I ended up getting an interview with another prep school that was over an hour south of this school.  This second prep school is set on a more modern campus, and was a more conducive situation to the lifestyle that I came from.  It is a place where I eventually made lifelong friends, had numerous surrogate parents, aunts and uncles, as well as extended sisters and brothers in my life.  A place that has always been and will always be my second hometown.

Humor time....

It's been a week...it's time now for "Ask Tabitha"

Yes ladies and gentlemen, it's time for a little weekly pick me up.  I have returned to my town psychic, the one and the only, Tabitha.  She has been so helpful in predicting and foreseeing the sudden increase in mosquito activity in our neighborhood in the month of September.  As I entered her low lighted place of business, I had to thank her for all of the wonderful emails she has sent me in regard to my lucky lotto numbers.  Nope, I still haven't won the big prize, but between my lucky numbers and my scratch offs...I managed to earn back $5 of the $20 dollars I spent on lottery tickets and scratch offs.  I feel like I'm getting...close!

So Mrs. Tabitha as sit before you at your table of predictions...I have three questions for you this week.  Questions that I know that you...and only you have the all foreseeing power to answer.  What does bad breath, armpits and personality all have in common?

"What does your breath, armpits and personality...all have in common?"  She leaned back and tilted her head side to side.  "Those are all three things that can really stink.  But you can always brush your teeth or use a deodorant to cover up the first two.  The third one...not so much.  Takes a lot more work."


Thank you my highness.  Next up when am I most likely to hear the words "Ho, ho, ho!"

She smiled and gave me a wink.  "When are you mostly likely to hear the words, ho, ho, ho?  That would be at divorce court, after the ex-husband is awarded custody.  Next."

Speaking of ex-wives oh great one.  I was wondering what is the difference between three ex-wives, a lawyer, and a junk yard dog?

She stared me in the eye and gave me a look as if I was crazy to even ask.  "Oh why that's an easy one.  There's no difference between the first two.  They all want your money.  But a junk yard dog...will always be loyal to you for just your companionship."

I couldn't stop Tabitha for sharing her infinite wisdom yet another week.  As soon as I left her establishment, i went down to the corner store and bought another scratch off game...

Hold onto your seats, Part 6 "The Page"

"The Page" ©

by John S  LES


16 hours.  That's how long our direct flight  from Dulles International airport in Washington, to Jomo Kenyatta International in Kenya took us.  During the first 8 hours, my father was part of several briefings by phone and several short meetings on the commercial plane that was chartered for us.  They wanted him in charge of identifying and coordinating the security of the members of the first and this second UN delegation.  The 50 man elite unit of Marines flying over with us, and the 1,000 more Marines that would meet us in Bustani were all responsible for the actual carrying out of our security and safety.

 Since it was my phone using a cross platform messaging application, I was officially listed as one of three staff member to Hollingsworth.  However, there was others flying with us.  There was a CIA analyst who was the point person responsible for US intelligence on Bustani.  She had my phone cloned  for both her and the US military intelligence officer also was with us.  Between the two of them and their sophisticated electronics, they could pinpoint and lock the signal to any additional messages to my phone from Jamila, should she be able to send one out.

Two additional Congressmen with past experience in eastern Africa joined us, as well as Hollingsworth himself.  There was also Jack Lyons, a lawyer and a special advisor to the President and two UN diplomats from Kenya and Tanzania, Bustani's border countries.

For the first 8 hours of the flight, my father and the UN officials had briefings with the UN and US military officials.  Our arrival there was not going to be part of an intervention in civil war.  We were going simply to evacuate Americans.  The African diplomats were concerned that this was going to be another Rwanda, where Western nations leave a leadership vacuum, by cutting their losses and removing all military and economic resources once a full scale civil war erupted.  The African ambassadors didn't want that to happen.  On the American side Washington wasn't interested in becoming embroiled in a war where the loss of American military lives could prove to be politically damaging.

As I overheard some of the discussions and issues, all I kept thinking about was wanting to be awake for Jamila's next message to my phone.  Every now and again I would also think about how I would I be able to explain to my classmates  and teachers what I did for the summer when school started again in the fall.  I didn't think any other classmate would have a story that could top this. 

Looking back now it all seems so surreal.  As soon as we landed in Kenya, we were then flown another 45 minutes into Bustani's, Karibu airport.  US marines from the 5th fleet had already landed and taken over the airport.  Everyone in our party had expected to be flying into chaos and flying bullets, but that wasn't the case.  Although the airport clearly was not it's sprawling self, it was not under any siege of civil warfare of any kind.  The only activity was the US Marines and the UN forces that were already in place. 

Communications with the UN forces had been reestablished nearly 7 hours before our arrival when a US Special Forces came in and took out all radio and satellite signal jamming defenses.  Once that happened it was just a matter of formulating how a convoy of American troops would come in, assist the UN forces and then evacuate all Americans and UN personnel.  But to the surprise of everyone, Masamba had simply played another trick on the world.  He harassed and terrorized the original delegation to get rid of them.  He wanted to show his following that he had the power to stir up the world. 

By the time our convoy had reached Mbegu, the capital city in Bustani, it was nothing of what I expected.  Mbegu City was just five miles west of the airport.  It was actually fairly large and modern.  There were brick buildings, mostly three to five stories high everywhere.  It looked like a cleaned up Lower Manhattan or downtown Brooklyn must have looked like 70 years ago, before the Skyscraper buildings came in.  Although there were many cars and pickup trucks moving about the city, it appeared that the people traveled mostly by bicycle or foot throughout the city.  The people walked about the streets dressed in mostly khaki or white colored trousers and bright colored shirt ranging from greens, to red to purple and yellow.

It was a beautiful and vibrant looking city.  Only the occasional passing of Tumbili military police in their Humvee driving through the city began to stand out.  From all of our briefings, Mbegu city was supposed to be overwhelmingly inhabited by Simba, who known to dress more uniformly in blues and white.  The more we drove around and through the city unchallenged, the more it became obvious that Mbegu City now belonged to the Tumbili people.  It was as if there had been a coup, but not a single sign of genocide.  Everyone in our group, including my father and Hollingsworth were baffled.  None of the military police even challenged our presence...a 1,000 strong convoy of US Marines rolling into their city.

Masamba had been masterful.  In the 48 hours it took us to get to Bustani, he had convinced all remaining factional Simba leaders to abandon Mbegu City and move into the forest and bungalow cities outside of all the major cities to avoid bloodshed.  He had used his now overwhelming army numbers, as well as his black magic to kill opposition leaders with merely the touch of the body, using members of the Simba tribe who had defected to his side.  He captured and secluded members of the first delegation, and cut off their communication with the rest of the world so that they could not see his mysterious powers.  It was the art of war.  He had won the battle without having to an all out civil war.

Contact was made with the first delegation.  They were just twenty five minutes outside of the city.  I stayed in the background trying to call Jamila's cell phone, but it would go directly to voice mail.  Her father spoke to my father.  He and a few others had been kept virtual prisoners in another city, but had been released by dawn and were walking their way back to village to the same village that his family and others from the party had been moved to.  When we arrived at the village, it was composed mostly of small brick houses surrounded by thick, but beautiful forestry.  The villagers inhabiting it were clearly taller, and leaner in their build on average, but not in all cases.  The overwhelming majority also had the distinctive green eyes.  Almost immediately we could feel that our presence was not desired there and the tension level was high.

Once we arrived at the house that Jamila's family was forced to stay at, my thoughts became like a music video.  I don't quite remember how I got out of the truck we were in, and left both my father and my boss in the dust behind me, but somehow I had pushed through a crowd of about ten Marines and fifteen villagers and delegates and picked Jamila up off the ground kissing her.  For a few minutes in that one moment, the world around us seemed to stop as we continued to kiss and embrace.

It wasn't until our father's made it over to us that we finally let go of each other.  Even as some Red Cross workers moved in and began inspecting the health of everyone in the delegation, Jamila and I could not stop looking at each other.  Our hearts beating in our chests, both of us feeling the same love for one another.  Our eyes said it all.

Several hours later, more details came out as to what had transpired over the 60 hours.  As my father was being debriefed by the delegates, Jamila and I laid together in a hammock like bed hanging in the backyard of the house.  She told me of how the delegation was staying at a hotel in Mbegu, when Masamba rolled in with his army and met with the remaining leaders of the crumbling hierarchy of the Simba tribe within Mbegu and the other five major cities in Bustani. 

He had built up such a fearsome reputation, and word had spread that he used black magic, or human bombs, an ancient warrior practice known as mwili mipuko, body explosion, a secret art of assassination which had been used hundred if not thousands of years ago.
"Only the Simba have the body chemistry to do this and he has convinced or coerced some Simba radicals to join him and carry out these assassinations.  No one has witnessed them, only the aftermath."

Then she told went on to tell me that her father and a group of about 25 others, including mission delegates, the leader of the UN forces, General Paul Bigqouette of Canada and 12 soldiers of American or Canadian origin - had all been taken into custody by Masamba's soldiers.  They were initially to be executed to incite the Canadian and American forces to leave, Bustani.  Once gone, Masamba would then expel the remaining African forces that were in the UN army and conduct his civil war with zero interference from the outside world.  However, a quick thinking UN army captain, from Senegal, a Captain Amari Kanyomozi, secured their release by arranging  what was supposed to be a friendly negotiation meeting with Masamba.  However, Kanyomozi broke his UN orders and turned the tables on Masamba by appearing at the meeting with several hidden explosives strapped to his own body, as well as two grenades with the pins pulled.

"Captain Kanyomozi was responsible for the safe release of my father, the general and the 23 others.  He also convinced Masamba that the UN forces would be forced to leave if there was no civilian casualties while the two tribes peacefully changed power within Mbegu City.  Once the UN was gone, the two sides could fight it out.  That ploy gave Kanyomozi and the UN troops time to help move women and children out of the war zone and into the country's outer borderline or become refugees into Kenya and Tanzania.  No matter what happens now, there will be a war."

I couldn't help but wonder out loud to her, "But what happened to your father's delegation and their efforts to restore moderates here?"

She bluntly replied, "The Simba do not want us here.  They called us all 'Americans'.  They consider us medling outsiders to both the Simba and the Tumbili.  They said Americans have no oil, no diamonds, no military base and therefore interests or reason to be here to decide the fate of Bustani.  My uncle is free to leave with my father."

And she was right.  With innocent civilians moving to the country's borderline, and both UN delegations free to leave, there was no longer a need for any outside military force to be in Bustani.  Both the UN troops and Red Cross were moved to encampments outside the major city borderlines to protect the innocent.  Neither the United States nor Canada had a political reason to stay there anymore.  The remaining UN forces would be made up of mostly participating African nations.  Unless there was apparent genocide, interceding in the civil warfare would not be in any country's interest.  The conflict could spread out into the bordering countries.

As I sat holding Jamila's hand on our long plane ride back home, I couldn't help but think that Heaven had began us, but for the beautiful people I saw in Bustani, Hell had began for them...And the seeds for a threat to the rest of the Super Power nations were being sowed...

COMING NEXT...THE CONCLUSION TO "THE PAGE".  ©
.

Know it alls...(humor)


Ever know a Know It All Person?

I used to work with a guy like that...let's call him Jerry.  Jerry is one of those guys, that no matter what anyone did in the office, he always had a similar experience or knowledge and somehow managed to be better than anyone else at doing it.  He was so bad at behaving like this...that several times I set him up in front of other coworkers.  I would tell three or four of them that I was going to make up an odd experience or place I visited, and within five minutes of talking about it - this Jerry character would join in the conversation and have been in something just as similar. 

Sure enough...it went something like this:

<me talking to the other guys just as Jerry walked in the room> "Yeah man, I tell you milking a cow was the funniest thing I ever did when I went down south way back when.  A big city boy like me, hanging with the country boys."

<uninvited into the conversation Jerry steps in> "Milking cows?  Oh that's easy.  I did that upstate for years when I was visiting my hick side of my family.  It's really easy to do, no problem."  Meanwhile, I've never milked a cow, I just mentioned it to demonstrate his sickness in front of coworkers.

A few minutes goes by...and I started up again.  "Yeah, I can't wait to plan another trip to Arkansas.  I kinda like their weather and rural locations.  I might buy some property there and retire."

Here comes Jerry.  "Yeah, Arkansas has some very nice areas.  Very scenic areas.  I was there once when I was driving through with family.  We were there about 3 days.  Had a great time.  They have a great retirement community over there."  No one ever recalled him mentioning a family road trip in the Midwest - ever.  Nor is Arkansas known for having a great retirement community.  So the eye rolls from the other coworkers began, as he had barged in yet another time. 

But I wasn't done.

"Next summer, I might go to Brazil.  I've never been there and would like to visit the place where one of my martial arts instructors grew up."

Here he comes, "I once dated a girl from Brazil.  Yeah, I visited her once.  It was crazy.  I must have been 23 at the time. Her family was nice and took me around.  But I couldn't wait to go home.  It's too hot down there."

Yep...Jerry knew it all.  I had made up everything in the conversation, but he was dead serious about his own participation in similar experiences.  Meanwhile he didn't experience those things either.  He just couldn't help himself by saying something to make himself fit into the conversation.  He has long since left my job.  He was an otherwise harmless guy...but he just had to be in every conversation and be an expert on everything. To him and the millions of people like him...I'm developing yet another humorous character on here to be heretofore known as...
Jerry Knows!

Humor

On a lighter side of things, I'm starting a new humor segment called:
"Ask Tabitha"


Tabitha comes from a family of gypsies who originated from Egypt, then migrated to Europe and now the United States.  Tabitha has kept the family tradition of soothsaying, fortune-telling and astral projection alive.  She has decided to loan her talents to this blog for free...provided that we click on some of the blog ads every now and then.  For today's inaugural session for truth and knowledge and insight to higher awareness here are the three questions I proposed to her...and her responses.

She is sitting before me dressed in a beautiful, hip hugging black dress and has a beautiful mint colored scarf draped around her head, revealing only her beautiful hazel eyes.

Me "Oh Tabitha the Great.  I have before you three questions to share with my friends around the world.  As difficult as they may be, I know with complete confidence, that you and only you will have all the answers.  Here's my first question:  ' What does Fee, four, five, fum' mean?"

Tabitha <raising an eyebrow and leaning back in her chair> "'Fee, four, five, fum?'"

Me "Yes, that's what I asked."

Tabitha, "Fee, four, five, fum.  That was the answer Mike Tyson gave when he was asked how many ears he chewed off in his career, plus a thumb.  Next question."


Me "My next question, your Highness, is 'What do a new born baby, a millionaire jet setter and fantasy football fans have in common?'"

Tabitha, "A new born baby?  A millionaire?  And fantasy football fans?"

Me, "Yes oh Great One."

Tabitha, "Nothing.  Babies are a new life.  Jet setters have a life, and fantasy football fans really need to get a life.  Next."

Me, "Ms. Tabitha...I have my absolute last question for the week.  Are you ready for it?"

Tabitha, "Well of course I am.  I've already travelled to next week and your next vacation spot, John.  Next week looks great, but your vacation spot at a cheap motel really sucks.  Need me to loan you a few bucks to at least upgrade to a Motel 8?  That way you won't have to share a bed with complete strangers."

Me <looking around and embarrassed>  "Okay, okay.  We can talk about the loan after I finish writing.  But in the meantime, are you ready for my very last question?

Tabitha, "Yes, I am.  Let's do it."

Me, "What does a scorpion, a rattle snake...and a scorned woman have in common?"

Tabitha, "'A scorpion, a rattle snake...and a scorned woman?'  Oh that's easy.  The first two deadly animals you can outrun and the last one you absolutely cannot."


And that is all from my new "Tabitha" segment.  Tune in next week for Tabitha's all knowing knowledge.  Feel free to send any questions you have for Tabitha.

Positive Time Spent Is Never A Waste...


Yesterday evening, I was on the phone with my cellular phone company for over two hours, trying to repair a broken application on my phone.  Anyone who has handled computers or been on the phone with a cellular phone company knows that everything takes time.  You have to go across and test all issues one by one.  After the time was spent, I had virtually a "new" phone again as it had to be reset to right out of the factory again. I had backed up and restored all of my other applications and photos, videos, contacts.  Everything was good. 

Three hours later, that same application was broken again. 

Now it is quick and easy to say that the two hours I spent was a waste of time. But I completely disagree with that notion.  By walking step by step with the technician "Gina" and testing, each and every possibility, I was able to learn more about my phone and how it is set up.  In addition, she and I made small talk, while we waited for certain things to load up into either my computer or my phone.  It was a beautiful moment of life exchange.  Positive energy exchange.  I learned about my phone and about the beauty of someone else's struggles in life.

I truly appreciated her time, earnest energy to assist me and repair my broken phone.  Although hours later, the application failed once again, nothing can replace me appreciating learning of her amazing multicultural and multi ethnic background, nor her learning of my razzle dazzle family life and this blog.  I told her I was going to talk about her on here.  I kept to my word, Gina.  May God continue to walk with you and your family.

And that brings me to this thought.  When I was a younger man, I was very rigid.  Very self disciplined about certain things in life.  As I've gotten older I see the different shades of grey in between the solid colors of black and white.  When I listen to music, I can appreciate the silent notes or beats in between the ones I can actually hear.  How many times do we come across a misspelled word and miss it time and time again, because our brain actually understands the mistake and compensates the error with a correction?

We need to apply that same understanding in our lives.  Not only towards one another, but within one another.  To error may be human, but to evolve is to understand the divine.

If you spent time growing up hating someone, or something or some other group of people...that is okay, as long as you have evolved past that today.  Hate is intoxicating, but it is also empty.  Love, although difficult at times, is far more fulfilling and spreads like poppy seeds in the wind.

If you have now grown into a person who understands that no race, sex, religion, ethnic group, or country has sole ownership of being morality, or more deserving of life, liberty and happiness - then you are on the right track.  Every child born on this earth is deserving of a decent life and upbringing.

Everyone, and everything around us is imperfect.  Evil is everywhere.  It lays dormant within all forms of government, laws and our own hearts.  Love, tolerance and understanding are the only things that inoculates all of us.  Deeds not words are the most universal language in the world.

There are imperfections within our religions, our countries, our families and within ourselves.  We truly need to let ourselves and each other off the impossible ability to be perfect.  We cannot resolve problems and issues in an hour, a day, a week or a millennium.  There are no guarantees or absolutes for anything.  All we can do is just try to love and respect one another and grow in that understanding every day.

Never under estimate the power of love over hate, or the power of kindness over anger, or a smile over a frown.

I wish all my readers - friends, family and strangers - to have a great week!


 

"The Page" by John S LES part 5

Part 5...."The Page"

by John S  LES
©

Usually when you're in school during the Spring semester time seems to stand still.  But it wasn't that way for me in Spring 2011.  I took the SAT's exam and knew I did well.  I actually finished the exam 10 minutes ahead of time.  Then there was my interview with Congressman Hollingsworth.  I nailed that one too.  He gave me the Page job shortly after the interview was over.  I also followed all rules, restrictions and curfews my father gave to me as punishment, no matter how ridiculous or tedious he became.  Clearly he was still fuming longer than two or three weeks from my skipping school and running down to Arlington, VA to see Jamila.  I also topped off my SAT performance with nothing but straight A's for all my classes for the rest of the semester.  It's amazing how highly motivated you can become when your behind is on the line, and you're doing everything you can to fight to keep someone you love in you life.

However, just as I was preparing to move to Washington, DC for the summer with relatives, Jamila and her family were preparing to leave for Africa.  It was frustrating.  It felt like I couldn't get to Washington faster than they were preparing to leave the US.  Since my father had me on lock down I couldn't even go see her for a weekend.  Zach, Will and Tanya kept my spirits up all the way until school ended.  They helped me research past civil wars in various African countries and got me mentally prepared for what Jamila and her family would be walking into.  I went down to Washington, DC within a week or so after school ended, but by then Jamila and her family were gone.  Her father and brother left in mid May with a group of disposed Bustanians.  Her and her mother left mid June.

That same Spring 2011, the uprisings in Tunisia, Yemen, Egypt and Libya, so dominated the political scene and worldwide media, that Bustani's small civil warfare skirmishes were hardly noticed.  The United Nations general meetings were centered on establishing NATO support wherever needed in the Arab nations, including "No fly zones" in Libya.  Northern Africa was a simmering mess.  My boss Congressman Hollingsworth, was on the House Committee on Foreign Affairs.  The Committee had been watching Bustani the past three years and had assisted the return of disposed Bustanians to their country to see if they could keep Bustani's civil warfare from triggering additional civil wars along the entire eastern seaboard of the continent.  To have both Northern and Eastern African engaged in simultaneous civil warfare would be utter chaos.  The committee was aware of Masamba, and his apparent rise to power.  They were also aware that his enemies were disappearing one, by one and suspected him of being behind it.  But proving that he was behind them, or simply the fortunate recipient of timely deaths of other emerging leaders within the country was uncertain.

Hollingsworth was the most hands on member of the committee.  He wanted to secretly visit Egypt and get his own feel for what was going on in Cairo.  His father was a wealthy real estate attorney, and he was a successful assistant district attorney in his 20's, before running for office.  Now as a three term Congressman, he had plenty of his own personal money to use for an undercover trip into Cairo with a small security detail. With the UN and NATO shifting military and political resources into Cairo and Tripoli, and Syria - Hollingsworth and the rest of the committee soon shifted their focus on making a trip into Bustani.  Just my luck.  Of course he had no need or desire to take his lowly Page along on a security risk trip like that.  As a Page, my daily duties consisted of running errands, maintaining journal binders, delivering messages, and making copies.  It was pretty exciting 17 years old and to be in chambers with some of the most powerful decision makers in the country...realistically the world.  I was ready to do anything to get out of DC and go into Bustani to see that Jamila and her family were still safe.  But I couldn't catch a break.

The media was besieging the President from both sides and so were his political opposition.  Early on he was questioned about not reacting with American military action to "save lives", and after NATO got involved, he was then questioned about getting American military "too involved" and the specter of losing American lives in yet another war.  With Bustani's possible fall triggering a domino effect, the President and the Congress wanted the Foreign Relations Committee to get more information on what needed to happen to turn this rogue nation more peaceful, Western friendly settling down.  At least until the Arab uprisings in the north settled down.  That impetus by the President and members of Congress began the formation of an American delegation to meet with Masamba and any other tribal leaders of the two major groups the Simbu Mtu and Tumbili Mtu, and smaller subgroups.

For the past four weeks...Jamila's late night conversations with me over the Internet via video or text messages had gone from three times a week to none.  All indications were that the conversations between her father's group, the native Bustanians, and Masamba's had broken down as he was positioned to wrest power from the remaining leaders.  A small detachment of  some 2,200 UN peacekeeping troops were stationed in Bustani.  They were mostly composed of 1000 US, Canadian, Dutch troops and another 1,200 Kenyan and Senegalese  troops.  They were had a "no fire unless fired upon" orders.  So they were basically lunch monitors who just made sure that the victims from the warfare in Bustani received their food from the Red Cross, who was also present.  But if warring factions shot after one another, or innocent civilians, in the streets in front of UN soldiers, not one of them could intercede.

As tense days started to pass, even the UN became apprehensive as there had been less and less contact with Jamila's father's delegation, and Masamba alliances seemed to grow by the hour. It  was finally decided that any secondary delegation was really going to be a rescue mission.  Security for such a trip needed to be as tight as possible with minimal resources.  My father was a former Marine who served in the Middle East, who then became a decorated 10 year New York City Police Department, Emergency Services police officer before he  was brought into the UN security staff and gradually worked his way to the chief position.  I figured him to be a perfect candidate to be involved in such an operation.  He had all the proper credentials.  Plus he was friends with a family that was part of the original delegation there.  I dropped my father's name to my boss and explained all of the circumstances...he laughed but couldn't agree more with my father as a candidate.

That night I gave my father the heads up on what the UN, the Committee, the President and Congress would be interested in.  He was angry at first.  Then humbled, but wouldn't commit to how he felt about going.  Even when my boss called him the next morning, with me sitting in his office, my father stayed on the fence.  He was sure to remind Hollingsworth that he believed that I was trying to find a way to get on that trip to Bustani and was using him.  I reminded both of them that I had some of the best computer hacking skills, and a working knowledge of some Swahili.  That if I got into any of Bustanian computers I could probably decode any hidden messages.

Hollingsworth expressed no interest in doing that.  I was shattered.  But my utter disappointment wouldn't last for long.  No one had heard from the UN troops commanders.  There were reports by officers there that the Canadian General who commanded the UN assignment had been arrested by Masamba militiamen, along with all members of the first delegation.

15 minutes later I was the only civilian on the planet earth to hear from the delegation.  I got a terrifying text message from Jamila, which read: "Laptop taken.  Mother hid my phone during strip search. Electricity cut off.  Father and brother and General detained.  11 Canadian officers arrested, beaten killed.  Send help!  He wants to kill us all.  I love y - "

48 hours later, Hollingsworth, several UN officials, my dad and myself were all on a plane flying to the Indian ocean.  We were to meet up with the US Fifth Fleet and head into Eastern Africa with 1,000 US Marines to escort American civilians out of Bustani...

TO BE CONTINUED