Slytherin Wednesday Wanderings

The Writecation is over.

Time to go back to work.

The worst part of my week off was the snake in our woodpile, inside our screened-in porch.

I tried to identify by social media, but the responses came too slow.

Alison was scared.  It had diamond shapes on its back.  It had a triangle head.

Before we got word as to what it might be, it started to move.  It was going to hide behind some things I couldn't move, and would become a permanent resident of our porch.

Alison hates snakes.  I had never seen a live one out of a cage or a pet owner/trainer's hands,  We have three small dogs who could get in big trouble if they saw it. And safe or not, I wasn't going to pick it up.

I had a shovel, and I resolved the problem.

Then the social media verdict came in.  It was a harmless snake, non-venomous.  Too late.

I felt ashamed and embarrassed,  but I also felt like I had to act.  Not a particular moment I'm proud of.

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The writing part of writecation went pretty well.  I revised the prologue of the first book of History of the Trap and started writing the prologue for the  second book.  So far, the reaction to my postings of chapter parts has been...pretty much non-existent, but that's okay.  I have to concede that I am writing for me, and inviting anyone else to come along if they want.

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We did not go to the movie theater, but we did introduce Benjamin to the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise by streaming the first movie.  He enjoyed it, but as Alison and I know, the franchise becomes less interesting and more repetitive as time goes on, I don't know if or when we'll watch the other ones with him.

I find Johnny Depp's pirate interesting and quirky, but not exactly the tour de force that many others seem to consider it.  Drunk, slurry pirate is an interesting twist, but not sustainable over so many movies - just my own feelings.

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The disintegration of Trump continues, faster than I can write about.  Yes, his approval rating is low, but nowhere near as low it should be.  People around me continue to cling to the notion that Trump is not as bad as Hillary.  It scares me as to how many lives will be hurt before they wake up.


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I am making progress on my weight and blood pressure, but not as quickly as I would like.  I was able to stabilize my weight while I was at home for a week, and that is kind of a victory in and of itself. Normally, being at home has an upward weight trajectory.  My blood pressure is a tick up from previous recent readings, but that probably has to do with resuming accounting work this morning.

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I'm proud of Benjamin.  He starts volunteering at the public library today.  I hope that goes well.

Now, I wander away.

History of the Trap Vol. 2: Prologue - Morgan Battles a Robot Part 4

-4-

Mr. Gary Jackson looked them over carefully.  “You’re not servants.”  Another pause as it calculated out the next most logical possibility. “You’re students.” 

"Very good, Sir Robot” said Morgan, giving a slight curtsy for some unknown reason. “Yes, we’re here to see Andrea.  I’m sure she is expecting us.  Well. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see us.  Anyhoo, let us in.  It’ll be all right, I swears!”

Mr. Gary Jackson looked down at the two waiting just outside the door.  It was at least six and a half feet tall, with black skin, no blemishes, birthmarks, or variations in shade.  It appeared to be three hundred pounds or more, but as Phillip found out, it was closer to four hundred, considering the weight of his inner workings. “Andrea is not receiving guests.  You must leave.”

With a robot, you had to do the unexpected, before they could react.  That’s what Morgan reasoned, and who was better at the unexpected than she. She pointed to out past the garden. “Oh, look!  A baby deer!”

Mr. Gary Jackson looked out where she had pointed, trying to see what was there.  Morgan tapped Phillip quickly and nodded that she was going to slip past the huge robot.  She took advantage of her diversion, and slipped past him into the foyer of the castle, but Phillip had stayed where he was, confused.

Mr. Gary Jackson picked up Phillip and held him where he could study Phillip’s face.  Morgan punched the robot in the upper arm, to no avail.  She might as well have been a gnat.  "Let him go, ya big galumph!”, shouted Morgan, as she uselessly assailed it.

Something clicked in its mechanical brain.  “I know you.  Andrea has mentioned you.  She has a picture of you.  You are him.  You are Philly, Philly of Westland Village.”  Mr. Gary Jackson gently set him down. “You will survive, but you must leave.  She is not ready for you yet.”

It moved its arm, the one Morgan had been wailing on, and tossed her against the foyer wall, with the same minimal effort given to flicking off a flea, "You, I don’t know.  Your existence is not required.”

Morgan got up, defiantly.  "No one pushes me around! It’s not my existence you need to worry about, you hunka junk!” She ran quickly up to it and swiftly kicked it as hard as she could, right in its nether region.

This only resulted in incredible pain to her foot.  It looked at her, puzzled.  If it had a sense of humor programmed in to it, it would laugh.

"God, I hate robots!” Morgan cried out.  And one like this shouldn’t even exist.  Yes, Gregor Robotics was a leader in their construction, but the world thought that meant industrial robots, designed to pick up and install car parts, or replace humans on assembly lines, doing the most routine and rote of tasks.  But this one, a robot like this – it should be decades off, maybe even centuries.  Nevertheless, there it was.  And who were Morgan and Phillip to question it?  After ten years in a trap filled with fantastical happenings, anything was possible.

Mr. Gary Jackson picked her up by the neck. "Leave, Phillip of Westland Village.  You may not want to see this.”

Morgan grabbed it by the shoulders, as she felt the robot begin to tighten its hands around her neck.  "Phillip!  Help!” she gasped.

The robot pulled her closer.  And her hands slid down its shoulder blades.  “The button!” cried out Phillip.  He raced to help but the robot kicked him with the back of its foot, leaving Phillip sprawled on the floor. 

Morgan, choking, on the verge of blacking out, knowing that if she did that it would be the end, reached to the end of the shoulder blade and found the button, recessed just under its skin. She pushed it in.

Mr. Gary Jackson froze.  The robot’s hands eased some on her throat, but not enough to let her go.  It moved her enough that her hand slipped off the button and she could no longer reach it. She continued to hang on to its shoulders.  If she let go, she would be quickly strangled. “Now what? “she rasped.

“Quick!  The code word!  You only have fifteen seconds before it starts back up again.” He tried to get up, but the whole world was spinning, and he was barely maintaining consciousness.  

"Code word?  What’s the code word?” Morgan pleaded.  But Phillip was starting to pass out.  “Phillip!  The code word!  What is it?” She screamed as loud as she could.

He focused through the haze.  “Indiana,” he said, dreamlike, as if he himself longed to go there.

Ok, great!  You just said it!”

"No. You need to say it.  You pressed the….” And Phillip was under.

"INDIANA!” she shouted. It let her go, and she clattered to the ground.  It teetered, and started to fall.  She quickly rolled way, avoiding being squashed by inches.

She came over to Phillip and shook him. “Snap out of it!  We gotta go!”

Phillip moaned, but did not wake up.  She slapped him hard.  Morgan did not do half measures. “Wake up, Philly!”

He half opened his eyes.  “Andrea?  Is that you?” He focused and saw who it was.  “Oh, God, it’s you.”

“Yeah?  Well. I’m thrilled to peaches to see you, too.”  She pulled him up. The weight she put on right foot hurt like heck fires.  She sprained it good in her stupid move to groin-kick a robot.

"Don’t ever call me Philly again.  Only she can call me Philly.”

“The robot called you Philly!”

“The robot doesn’t count.”

They made quite a pair.  Phillip could barely stand, and Morgan could barely walk. “How long will it be out?”

"I’m not sure.  I think until someone reboots it.”

"Re whats?”

“Reboots.  I don’t know.  It’s something she said.  I wasn’t always sure what she was talking about.”

They put their arms around each other and started to move forward. "Yeah, well, we can figure out stuff like that another time.  Right now, let’s go get Rapunzel.”

And they went off into the castle, resuming their quest to find the strange girl with the long red hair.

History of the Trap Vol. 2: Prologue - Morgan Battles a Robot Part 3

-3-

“They live in a castle.”  Both looked up at the imposing home before them.  It wasn’t quite out of a fairy tale, but it was close enough.  Large grey stones, mortared together in intricate patterns, and at least two towers that she could see.  Morgan wondered if Rapunzel was in one of those towers.  Andrea’s hair was certainly back, long flowing red locks, extending past her shoulder blades.  Maybe that would be how they got in.  “Andrea! Andrea! Let down your hair!” Morgan whispered, giggling.

“Stop goofing!” Phillip sternly replied.  “This is serious!  We’re trespassing, you know.  I can’t believe we haven’t been caught already.”

They had managed to avoid the security guards by the gate, climbing the stone wall that surrounded the Gregor Castle.  Fortunately, as they dropped down onto the property, there was no moat, and no slavering guard dogs.  There was only green grass, and as they got closer, an elaborate flower garden.  The path through the garden was made with yellow bricks.  “Watch out for poppies.  We don’t want to fall asleep,” Morgan had joked as they went through it.

Now they stood on the portico in front of a large wooden door, a side entrance away from the front entrance that was well-lit and with a driveway to drop off chauffeured guests. Near the ornate door knob was a strange looking silver key pad, with white numbered buttons. “Do you remember what she told you?”

“Yes,” Phillip answered.  “But there’s no telling if it’s still the same.”  There were many things that Andrea had told him over the many months they were together. She loved to talk, and for much of it, he loved to hear her talk.  “Besides, that was a word.  These are numbers.” 

She cuffed him gently across the top of his head.  “You maroon!  Focus!  It’s like the dial of a telephone.  Letters are connected to different numbers!  Punch the number associated with that number and we’re in!”

Phillip hesitated.  “Are you sure that would work?”

“Do you have a better plan? You think we should just knock and ask if Andrea could come out to play?”

"She may not even be here.  She left school two weeks early, and before that, she barely spoke to me.  It’s almost like she’s afraid to open up to me, and that is so unlike her.  She might be in Paris or India or somewhere.”

"She doesn’t want to open up to you because she remembers some of what happened and it scares her."

"How could she know?  No one else who didn’t survive remembers anything.  Why would she be different?”

"And yet, you think she does.  Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”  Morgan looked at Phillip with her Morganesque stare of intensity. “You and I both know that she can…do things.  They may have helped her preserve her memories of that time.”

"It’s more than just memories.  You’ve seen enough to know that there’s more than that going on here.  It’s one of the reasons this code you think I have may not work.”

"Enough! We’ll work that out later.  Try the code!  We don’t know when some security guard could patrol by here, and throw us out on our kiesters.”

What he could he do?  How do you say no to a force of nature like Morgan Tigh?  Well, his chance to do that had passed when he let her in his bedroom window. He looked at the key pad, and struggled to remember what letters went with what numbers.

He closed his eyes, and pictured the phone dial in his head, remembering the letters under each number.  And then he slowly pressed it in.  7-2-9-6-7-5-2.

Nothing happened.  "Just great.  What do you want to do next, Morgan? Break another window?”  Phillip thought of how she had cracked his bedroom window trying to get his attention.

"Are you sure you got it right? Think again.”

"Of course I got right!”  He repictured it in his mind.  No, he didn’t get it quite right.  The I is associated with 4, not 5.  He tried it one more time.  7-2-9-6-7-4-2.

There was an audible click.  “Oh, goodness, Phillip Irman!  Who says you’re not a genius?” 

“Thanks.  Wait!  What?  Who does say I’m not a….”

 Morgan was ready to place her hand on the knob when it started to turn on its own.

As the door started to open, they saw who it was.  Emphasis on it. And they had not seen it for years.

There he was - big, hulking, Mr. Gary Jackson.

"Oh, my God!” gasped Morgan.  “It’s Andrea’s killer robot!”

Phillip shivered.  They had really stepped into it now.

Montana Blues: Saturday Political Soap Box 165

Sometimes it's hard to hold onto faith.  Sometimes it seems like all hope is gone.Sometimes your heart sinks, because you think we will never back away from the abyss.

I don't know why the Montana special election to replace a far right Republican Congressman in a deep red state broke me, but it did.

I thought people were finally waking up.  I thought they would start to rebel against the greatest con in American History.  Their candidate for President was under multiple investigations for colluding with a foreign power, and then obstructing justice.  His foreign policy was dangerous, and putting us at risk all around the world.  He lies without any regard for the truth.  He disregards the constitution, including shredding the emoluments clause, and stripping first amendment rights from the press.  He has not drained the swamp, instead filling it with billionaire swamp monsters whose major goal is to destroy agencies and enrich themselves.  His budgets would take hard benefits away from the very people that voted for him, and shower tax reductions on the very , very wealthy.

This spoiled multi-millionaire Greg Gianforte, this until recently New Jerseyite, this somewhat unpopular man who lost a statewide race for Governor, this Trumpeteer who ran bragging about his connections to the foulest administration of our times, this man won.

And what makes it irredeemably worse, is that he beat up a reporter the night before the election.  Don't believe me?  Maybe you'll believe the FOX NEWS TEAM that witnessed it and verified the reporter's story.

Yes, I know that much of the vote had already been mailed in, prior to this incident.  Yes, I know that Rob Quist may not have been the ideal candidate.  But I'm tired of races where the slightest mistake by a Democrat eliminates him from contention, and the most egregious foulness done by the Republican is shoved under the rug and forgiven.

Using a private server does not equal using your celebrity status to grab women by their private parts.  It does not equal colluding with Russia.  It does not equal being a slumlord that is prosecuted for discrimination against minorities. It does not equal calling Mexicans rapist and murderers, attacking gold Star families, threatening reporters with violence and lawsuits, obstructing justice, and I could go on and on and on and on and on.  And of course, to you Trumpeteers, it wouldn't mean a damn thing.  Like lemmings you follow him off the cliff of democracy, plummeting us into an authoritarian tyranny, led by a buffoonish con man in clown face.

Trump floats.  But you don't.

At times like this, it is hard to cling to my Christian faith, to my rock-bed belief that the arc of history is towards justice, towards bringing the Kingdom of Heaven to Earth, as I pray each night with the Lord's Prayer.

I have to remind myself that history is not a smooth trajectory to the light, but there are sometimes setbacks, tragic regressions that appeal to the worst in human kind.  We are going through that dark time now.

As hard as it is, I still have faith we can come out of it, and emerge a better nation and world.  I just weep for all those lives that hurt until that happens.

In the meantime, I have to cope with reactions to the Montana beating like this -

Right now, I grieve for all we have lost, and are losing.

Soon, though, I hope to be back in the saddle.

As quixotic as it may, I will always strive for a better nation, a better world.

The light has been dimmed, but it is still there.

Flash Fiction Friday: Thy Kingdom Comes

They said it couldn't happen here.

But it did.

And now I need to get out.  Not just me, but my entire family.  This would not be an easy feat, but it had to be done.  They were cracking down even harder now, and it would only be a matter of a short time when they would take us all.

It hadn't been easy to survive this long. I had been know for my editorials and writings, critical of the administrations that had led to this.  Others who had not had been as publicly assertive as I could blend back in.  Not me.  I, along with several other well-known progressives, had to publicly recant, or face prison, even execution.

You may think of me as a coward for backing down.  That's all right.  I think that, too.  We always think of how courageous we'll be, only to melt when it's yourself or your family on the line.

So I behaved.  It hurt.  My head ached, my blood pressure rose, my stomach was now the proud possessor of an ulcer.  Yet, I swallowed it all so my family could go on.

Benjamin managed to graduate from public schools just before they were destroyed and replaced with "Christian Academies."  Unfortunately, only so-called Christian Universities were left for him to go to, and despite our urgings, he could not stay silent.

I feared for him, and the arrests were increasing again.  They created something called "Redemption Camps," where you were brainwashed into conformity, or you were never seen again.  When the underground warned us that they were putting Benjamin on the camp list, I knew I had to risk everything to get us out of there.

And that is why we were in Covington, waiting for the border agent to evaluate our paperwork. "Could you tell me again, Mr. Easlick, why you want to visit the Great Lakes Union?"  Well, I'm not sure that I did.  Ideally, it was going to be way station onto a journey to Pacifica.  The Great Lakes Union had their own problems and were only marginally better than the Kingdom. But I wasn't going to tell him that.

"My brother is very sick, and I want to see him before he passes," I replied, teary-eyed.  Mike Easlick wasn't really sick - a sympathetic doctor had forged a letter to us.  And my last name wasn't Easlick. The underground provided us with fake documents.  This might not have been the best plan, but it was the best we could come up within the short time we had.

"And you will only be there three days?  Is that correct?"

"Yes.  Just three days, and then we'll be back."

The border guard stared blankly.  I don't know whether he believed us or not.  "Do you pledge your complete and utter loyalty to the Kingdom?"

Benjamin and I both nodded vigorously and answered, "Yes!" My wife, Alison,  didn't respond. Women weren't supposed to respond anymore.

"Do you pledge your devotion and loyalty to President Pence, Vise President Graham, and the entire government, under God, for which they stand?"  I can't believe that Billy would be pleased with what Franklin had done, but that is where the lit fuse went.

We both stood straight up and shouted together, "We do!"

The border guard leaped up, and shot his right arm straight out, bending his hand up into the air. "Thy Kingdom come!"

We returned the salute.  "Thy will be done!"

At that moment, another official broke in.  By his uniform, I could tell he wasn't a border guard, but a high-level officer in the Kingdom Guard.  "Well, if it isn't T. M. Strait and his seditionist family!"

"N-no," I pleaded desperately.  "I'm Robert Easlick, just looking to visit my dying brother."

The officer laughed, booming laughter that thundered across the room.  "How backward do you think we are?  You don't think we have facial recognition software?  And we couldn't follow your ridiculous trail or your terrible disguises?"

I fell silent, my heart beating wildly, and my ulcer perforating.

"Take them all to the Berea Redemption Camp.  They should enjoy that," he said, then after a brief dramatic pause, "for a while."

We were too late.  We warned, but not enough.  We fought, but we gave in too soon.

Maybe it was just baked into the divisions this country has always had, and nothing could heal it or bring us together.

Thy Kingdom comes.

And I don't know if we could have stopped it.

History of the Trap Vol. 2 Prologue: Morgan Battles a Robot Part 2

-2-

The Trap: Year Nine

I will find a way to save her.

He wasn’t stupid.  He knew things looked grim.  His heart, however, couldn’t accept the possibility of giving up.

She coughed.  A dribble of blood came out of her mouth.  Did she have internal injuries he could not see?  He shut that worry out of his mind, and gently held her head on his lap.  She looked up at him, the happy spirit she always exuded from her beautiful green eyes, was now vanished. “I’m so tired,” she said, in a weak voice he could barely hear.  “I’m so tired of fighting everyone and everything.”

“Don’t give up,” he urged.  “I’ll get us out of this.  I promise.”  He stroked her red hair, once long and flowing, but now very short, due to the horrors of the rebellion year.  It had slowly grown back, but still did not even cover her ears.

“I tied to do the right thing,” she said, tears forming.  “There were just so many losses, so many people I cared about.  Maybe I hid what I could do too well.  Maybe I should have been open about it from the beginning.”

I doubt that.  It would have just brought tragedy sooner. Intolerance and suspicion bred too well in their little petri dish.

“It will be all right,” he said, attempting to soothe her fears.  “Soon they’ll break off their search, and we can make our escape.”

She inhaled a jagged breath, gulping air as if it would be her last.  “Escape?  Escape where?  There is nowhere to escape from this madness.”

“T-that’s not true!  We could escape to the tunnels.  Remember what Morgan said she found down there?  There are places and food sources down there that almost no one ever goes to, and there may places no one’s explored yet.”  Hard to believe after the failed quests to find a way out, but last year Morgan found someone down there who had been hiding for over seven years.

She looked at him with a slight grin of disbelief, a glimpse of her true character shining through her pain.  “Seriously, you want me to be a tunnel rat?  Really, Philly?  Has it come to that?”

Phillip Irman eyes brimmed, filling with affection for his love.  “You wouldn’t be alone.”  He bent down and gently kissed her, tasting the metallic blood still at the corner of her mouth.  “You’ll never be alone.”  He kissed her again, this time their lips parting. “I’ll always be with you.” 

He heard noise in the hallway.  Surely, they would not look in the supply closet they were hiding in.  And if they did, they would not look behind the desk.  He motioned for her to be quiet.   

It was involuntary.  The pain was just too great.  She muffled an anguished cry as best she could, but the waves of pain caused her to momentarily lose control, and a stapler on the desk clattered to the floor.

In here!” someone just outside the door shouted.  “There’s something in here!”  They moved the knob.  “It’s locked!”

“Break it open!”  and then the incessant banging began.  It wouldn’t hold long. He was afraid to move her. He clutched his only weapon, a kitchen steak knife.

“It’s okay, Philly,” she whispered.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, Andrea.”

And then they burst in.  A half-dozen of them. He couldn’t take on all of them, as much as he wanted to. There was nothing left he could do.

Now it was all up to her.

The Mystery of the Trash Tossers

We are literally making trash islands in our rivers, lakes and oceans.

I don't understand what's going through their heads.

It's incomprehensible to me as to why they do what they do.

Nevertheless, they do it.  The evidence is all around us.

I've been walking more in my neighborhood.  Another attempt to improve my health and become slightly more fit.  I've even gotten have one of those fittle bits that counts the number of steps you take.  This really begins to draw into focus my previous days of immobility, so it's been a powerful motivator.

I walk in our residential neighborhood, and then at one point, I come to the sidewalk of a main road.  On that road, strewn about willy-nilly, was food  from a fast food restaurant, a place that was located in a nearby town.  There was the plastic bag proudly declaring the name of the restaurant. There was an opened take out box, half-filled, including with multiple chicken strips.  There were french fries trailed from the middle of the road to the curb.  

I shook my head in disgust, and started to walk away from it.  I mean, you can't clean up everything, can you?  It wasn't my responsibility.  Then I thought of some poor dog or other animal coming across it, and chowing down so hard it wouldn't see an oncoming car.

So I looked out for traffic, retrieved the plastic bag, scooped up the fries and take out box.  and brought it back to my house to be disposed of properly.

Who would do such a thing?  What is going through their minds when they do it?

If I saw someone do something like that, I would love to chase them down and ask them what on Earth were they thinking?  How could they possibly think it was okay to do that?  But I realize in today's world of short tempers and heavy armaments, that might not be a very safe thing to do.

I cannot fathom the rationale.  Are they more concerned about keeping their car clean than waiting to they get home to dispose of it properly?  Do they think it's the local government's fault because they don't have trash cans every few yards?

I know our rivers have a great deal of trash from thoughtless people, and dedicated organizations such as the Satilla River Keepers do yeoman's effort to clean it up.  I'd like to think that more trash containers along the river would help, but I just don't know.  If they're used to just throwing trash without a thought, would they even care to find one?

This area doesn't make trash disposal, and more importantly, recyclables easy.  There may be closer places, but we take a lot of our recyclables to Atlanta when we visit my son, Doug.  We take our papers to a place that will shred and recycle.  

It's not hopeless.  There are organizations in our area that fight trash and pollution, be it from careless individuals, or from corporations more focused on profit than responsibility.  We have groups fighting to clean up our rivers, to stop coal ash, to prevent industrial pollution to our water supply, and much more.

No, if you're tossing trash out of your car, I don't know what you're thinking.  But whatever it is, you need to just stop thinking it.  Stop it.  Stop it right now.  We can psycho-analyze later.

History of the Trap Vol. 2! Prologue Part 1

Prologue

Morgan Battles a Robot

-1-

Eight years before the Trap

From the first time they met, she was pushy and assertive.  She grabbed control, and stood on the moral high ground, and no one could take this queen off the mountain top.

Third grade was a good year for Lance. His classmates and the teacher discovered that he was an excellent reader, and could read aloud with accuracy, intensity, and excitement.  Mrs. Russell had attempted to read a novel about John Smith and Pocahontas, and did poorly at holding their attention.  So, she let Lance try it one day, and Lance became the class reader for the rest of the year. No one cared that he was horrible at athletics.  They even elected him as their student council representative.  The prettiest girls would jostle over who got to share a table with him at lunch.

But none of this impressed Morgan LaDona Tigh.  Oh, no.  Not at all.  She stared at him as if he were the lowest form of criminal.  “You leave my cousin alone, you big bully!” There she stood, her hands planted on her hips, her curled auburn hair framing her pretty but stern face.

Lance was stunned.  He’d been called all kinds of names in his young life, but never anything remotely like bully.  That was farthest removed from anything he had ever thought of himself.  And now this mean girl from another classroom was chastising him in the middle of the playground.

There was a second-grade boy who was terrorizing a couple of the girls from his class, Peggy Weston and Lisa Carlton, and he was going to put a stop to it.  After all, he was the class student council rep, and he was pumped up, full of himself, ready to be the class hero.  He almost wished he had a cape, like he used to  in first grade, using a jacket to rescue Damsels in distress.

The young bully had snapped some rubber bands at them, and then ran around them, pulling their hair, laughing all the while he was doing it.  Not on my watch, Super Lance thought.  He put himself in-between the boy and the two girls. Lance puffed himself up as best he could, and said, “You need to cut this out and stop right now!”

"Don’t tell me what to do!  I was just funning with them girls!  They like that stuff!” the boy defiantly asserted.

"Really? That’s a buncha a hooey! Right, Peggy?”  Lance turned around to get confirmation, only to find that the girls were no longer there.

“Ya scared ‘em off, ya big dip!” he screamed.  Then he ran up to Lance and punched him in the gut.  Lance scrunched up, amazed at how much it hurt.  Angry, when he righted himself, he pushed the boy down to the ground.

And that’s when she came in.  "You leave my cousin alone, you big bully!”

Lance was confused.  What was going on?  He was the hero, not the villain.  Didn’t she see that?  “He-he was pushing some girls around, chasing them, pulling their hair!”

Morgan scoffed.  “What girls?  Where?  All I see is a big ol’ third grader pushing around a little second grader!”  She turned to her cousin and stroked the top of his head. "Did he hurt you, Elmer?  Are you gonna be okay?”

"I’m fine, Morgy.  I woulda kicked his butt if ya hadn’t stopped us,” said Elmer.

“Sure, you would.  Run along now while I deal with this goon. And never call me Morgy again.”  Goon?  That was another new one for Lance.  He was racking up the invectives this recess!

Elmer scampered off, perhaps to find easier prey to harass.  Morgan, looking stern, moved closer and closer to his face.  His heart beat faster.  She was scary, and he should be scared.  She was only inches away from him, looking up at him, as he was slightly taller. "Now, I’m not sure who you are.  I don’t ever think I’ve had a class with you before.”

"I’m, uh, I’m Lance Martin.”

“Really?” she thought about it for a second.  “You know what?  I don’t rightly care.  If I did have a class with you, it must have been downright forgettable.  But you remember this!  I am Morgan Tigh, and don’t you ever forget it!  If I ever see you threaten Elmer again, I will find you and make your life a living hell.  Do you understand?”

He stared into her determined sky-blue eyes. contempt dripping from her.  He should have been scared or defiant or something, but all he could think about was the way she smelled, like sweet cream and vanilla and raspberries.

"He leaves my friends alone, and I’ll leave him alone.  Deal?” Lance answered, unable to take his eyes off her, unable to stop drinking in her wonderful scent.

She stared silently back for a moment.  Time froze.  There was a connection made in his mind that would last for years.  She might not share it, but he would be thinking about her all the way to high school. “Deal,” she finally spoke. “Just if you see him start to do something wrong, get me first.  If he’s acting up, I’ll bop him myself.”  Years later, he thought he remembered her giving a slight flickering of a smile.  But maybe not.  Maybe time was just playing tricks on his memory.

Before he could say anything else, she was gone.  Vanished.  The bell rang ending recess, but he didn’t move.  Eventually, Mrs. Russell had to come over and urge him to come inside.

That was the first time Lance had met Morgan.  It stayed burned in his mind.  He had a crush on her for years afterwards, until he finally thought of himself as not being in her league.

The Trap would change all that, and reverse their roles.  But one thing never changed.  She was a fierce, passionate person, always committing herself full speed.  Sometimes it was for the better.  And often, unfortunately, sometimes it was for the worst.

One thing was for sure, though.  They were now inextricably intertwined.    

And now that they had escaped the Trap, and Lance was imprisoned, they needed each other more than ever.

Thoughts on a Tuesday Tidbits

Thoughts on a Tuesday Tidbits!


1) Last day of work for a week!  Huzzah!  No, I'm not going anywhere, except in my imagination.  I'm starting a writecation!  I'm not sure yet where it will take me, or what I will focus on, but sometimes you steer the boat and sometimes you let the boat steer you.  I could wind up at Swamp's Edge in Crowley, or on Pazoria. I could return to Loren, Michigan and the Trap, or rocket to My Europa.  Or I might eat bonbons and binge watch Twin Peaks!  At this point, anything is possible!

2) I'd like to write more about America's Worst President Ever, Donald J. Drumpf.  But events move so fast, it's hard to keep up with the current lunacy.  Yes, it would be nice to tie out the Russian collusion frame by frame. Regardless of how that pans out (and it don't look too good for the Trump team), he's already committed obstruction of justice.  I mean, that's not hidden.  It's a prima facie case, clear to the most casual observer, and undeniable.  It's just a matter of when the Republicans will turn on him.  Just remember, the politicians won't be first.  My Trumpeteer friends will be first. Until they wake up and smell the con, we're doomed to wake up each morning screaming to the reality that this orange buffoon is our President.

3) I can't help myself.  I feel almost sympathetic to Melania. Yes, I know she's no Michelle Obama, but I think she realizes she has sold more of her soul than she intended.  It's more than a lack of PDA. I think she has reached a level of revulsion that is hard to hide in public.  She reminds of the wives on The Handmaid's Tale.

4)  I finally saw Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2.  Was this a movie with deep meaning?  Nawh, although it tried to slap that veneer on it near the end.  What it was, was GREAT FUN!  Tiny Groot was astounding, and the opening fight sequence a thing of beauty. The director, James Gunn, is one of my favorites.  I look forward to more.

5) I wanted to return to the good ol' days of fun contests on Facebook.  I put out a couple of movie polls on my group, Ripping Good Yarns.  They only got a hand full of votes.  Sigh.

6) I loved going to the soccer game with Doug.  I hope to see another game or two as the year progresses.  Since Atlanta won 4 to 1, I told Doug I was good luck, and now will have to go to all the games.  Soccer is really an exciting game, with non-stop movement, and is especially fun to watch with a big, rowdy crowd.


Well, I'm already tid-bitted out.

Time to get this day started and complete.

Here comes WRITECATION!!!

GOOOOOOOOOALS Monday Musings!

What great fun!  Spending a special evening bonding with my middle son, Doug!  We went together to Bobby Dodd Stadium and watched Atlanta's brand new soccer team, the Terminus.  Sorry.  I meant Atlanta United.  Which is the same last name as a bout a zillion other soccer teams.  Oh, well.  Despite the redundancy of the name, they are a great team - imaginative, talented and explosive - a joy to watch!

They won 4 to 1, the rough equivalent of winning an NFL game 49 to 7.  The movement and play is non-stop for forty-five plus minutes each half.  We literally never sat down, the crowd on its feet the whole game.

Benjamin and Alison stayed back, spending the evening with Doug's girlfriend, Paige.  She is a great person, and they really enjoyed their time getting to know her.  She even baked an apple pie for us.  It wasn't just good.  It was one of the best apple pies I've ever had,

Yep.  That's two of the Strait boys at the big game!  He's the good looking one wearing a ball cap.  I'm the old dude with the big thumb.

We're back now, and I face work again.  But it's a short work week for me.  I'm starting another writecation this Wednesday.  I'm undecided as to which project to focus on, but I'm sure it will come to me.  Maybe.

I have shifted my weight and blood pressure in the right direction, although I wish progress was faster.  Sometimes you just have to be happy you're improving, I guess.  If I was going the other way, I'd be heading to Tent & Awning for clothes, and the ICU for naps.

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

Hat Tossed Graduates!

It's that time again!

Hats off to Graduates!

It's happening tonight in Pierce County!  And there have been staggered graduation events throughout the country, from pre-K to post-grad.  My friends in Michigan public schools still have a ways to go. and some colleges in Georgia have been over for a week or more.

The ceremonies are usually filled with pomp and circumstance (I think there may even be a song for that).  Underneath the gowns, people might be wearing dresses or suits, shorts and t-shirts, or nothing at all, There are speeches - some boring, some inspirational, some emotional.

Colleges most often have guest speakers.  This, I think, is a mistake.  Often the speeches are filled with meaningless bromides (work hard, seize the moment, keep looking on the bright side,etc.). There are speakers who think if you follow their recipe for success, you will be as successful as they are.  I have found out the hard way that there is no one path to success and happiness (and, stunningly, the two might not even be related).  And this year, there was at least one speaker who used his time to complain that nobody has been treated worse or more unfairly than he has.  But that is a tale for a different day and column.


I like it so much better when the students give their own speeches.  Especially when the school administration gives them wide latitude to express themselves.  This task most often falls to the class valedictorian, the one with the highest GPA in their class.  Very often, these well rounded students are also excellent speakers.  They are, however, not always familiar with the ground level experience of the average student in the school.  They don't always know what it's like to be in a place that doesn't always recognize your own struggles, or what it's like to be just another student.  Not everyone ranks near the top of their class.  Not everyone is a part of a winning team.


One of the best commencement speech ideas, one that I was lucky enough to be a part of, was done way back in ancient times when I was in high school.  They had an open competition to be a commencement speaker.  They selected the top three, and I was fortunate enough to be qualify.  I certainly wasn't going to get to speak if it went to the class valedictorian.

The other two speeches were very forward looking, about the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead.  Mine was not.  I told them that this was a special time in their lives that they would never return to, so they best remember it and cherish it, both the good times and the bad.   I identified people by name, recalling things about them that made people laugh and smile.  This was a special microcosm, a little independent world, in-which they were now leaving forever.  Some would never hold the place in the broader world that they held there.  The cheerleader and football player may never have another place where they are pedalstalized and adored as much as they were in high school.  The nerd that was despised might go on to employ a bunch of them.  And there were people they felt close to that would float out of their lives, never to return, or just be someone you passed in the supermarket and thought, "I know that person from somewhere, don't I?"


Cherish your school memories.  The good and bad are all over now, but they will help shape you for the rest of your life.

Move forward, but remember.

It was a special place and time.

What's in a Name?

It gets complicated.

"Have you done Buckie's tax return yet?" they ask.

"Who?" I ask.  I have several in the works, but no one named Buckie.

"You know!  Buckie Grimes!  I gave it to you last week!"

I search frantically and realize I do have Buckie's return.  Except it's not Buckie, it's Reginald Bucknell Grimes.  Tax returns are done under the Social Security card name of the taxpayer.  Except, particularly here in the South, very few are referred by their birth certificate first name.

It's likely that Reginald is also his Daddy's name. And maybe his Granddaddy, and even his Granddaddy's Granddaddy. So they don't use the first name as the identifier, it's the middle name that may vary.

And then there's the strong tendency toward Juniors.  In that case, the name may be identical, even the middle name. So,they're often monikered with the generation.  We start with Junior, and then move on from there to Tray.  I've even heard Quad and Quint.  Thankfully, I know of no one who's carried forward to the sixth generation.  I'd hate to be called Sext.

Sometimes the name used, whether middle or nickname, is not for generational reasons.  I think that there are some who are just of the mindset that the first name is decorative only, and that it is another name that the person should be known by.

I have a little trouble with that, but it's probably just because it's not what I grew up with.  Where I grew up, in the cold confines of Michigan, that was not the dominant way of doing things.  People were generally called by their first name.  However, we weren't quite quirk free,  The name was most often shortened to one or two syllables, as if the name needed to be condensed, as if anything more would just be too long to say in our freezing winters.  Best to get the name done quickly.  Therefore, my birth first name was shortened from Thomas to Tom.  In our Southern example above, Reginald Bucknell Grimes would most likely be Reggie or Reg.

I've lived in Georgia since 1978.  By the time my first son was born, I had figured out that naming him had to be done carefully.  How did I ensure that his first name was used instead of his middle? First, there was gonna be no Juniors in the Strait household.  I now have three sons, and none of them have Thomas in their name, either first or middle.  Second, I would use a family tradition that started with me - the middle name used is a last name from the mother's side of the family.  My firstborn has the accessible first name of Gregory, and his mother's maiden name as his middle, Rountree.  And as if he was a Yankee, he is most commonly referred to as "Greg".  In the case of all three boys, the plan worked!  All three are called by their first names.

So, if all you know is the name on the tax return, it can be a real guessing game as to what name the person is really using.  Maybe when I'm given the tax return to do, they could put on the summary sheet that is prepared to go with the return, the real name and the nickname, like "Reginald Bucknell Grimes AKA Buckie".

But gee whiz, everybody knows who Buckie is!

Except me, apparently.

Double Down Take Down!!!

J. Edgar Hoover's spirit must be glowing with pride and envy!  As much power and sway as he held for so many decades as FBI Director, he never was able to do what James Comey has done - take down two Presidents!

First, James Comey took down the woman who was certain to win had he not intervened - President-to-be Hillary Clinton. Respected pollster, Nate Silver of FiveThirtyEight, has stated that it was the decisive factor in Hillary's narrow electoral college loss.  Comey's announcement of uncovering emails to re-examine came at a crucial point.  His announcement that there was nothing in them a few days before the election had no impact - the damage was already done.

It's anecdotal, but I remember the change in Republicans that I knew.  None were going to vote for Hillary, but many of them couldn't stand Trump and were just going to not vote at all, or for the Libertarian candidate.  But the Comey thing gave them an excuse to come home to roost.  It confirmed their worst suspicions about Hillary, and made them feel like they could take a chance on Trump.  At least they could get the Supreme Court out of it, and maybe stop Obamacare.

What we didn't know at the time was that Comey was ALSO investigating Trump and his team, for their connection to the Russian interference in our election.

And now it's become clear that Trump was doing whatever he could to obstruct that investigation.  He fired those in charge.  He hounded and vilified the media.  And in what may be the last straw, Comey has notes showing that Trump explicitly asked him to end the investigation into Gen. Mike Flynn - a prima facie case of obstruction of justice.

You may not know how things have changed yet.  But the reaction by many Republicans, who've put up with a lot of awfulness and incompetence from Trump, is definitively different.  You can feel it in the air.

And Comey once again will be a large part of it.  He is instrumental in bringing down the candidate he inadvertently helped launch into office.

As upsetting as the Hilary thing may have been, the truth is that, although a conservative Republican whose career was accelerated by John Ashcroft, Bush's ultra-conservative Attorney General, Comey has a reputation for being a boy scout and a straight shooter.  He prides himself on even-handedness.  His announcement about Hillary's emails may have not been the right thing to do, but the truth is he feared that leakers connected to FBI buddies of Rudy Giuliani were set to leak it, and he thought if he did it, he could control it and mitigate the damage.  He was wrong, but I am convinced his motives were not sinister.

And so it is with Trump.  I believe he is trying to do his job, and he has been dealing with a spoiled man-child who clearly did not want him to do it.

It's not malice.  It's a quirk of history.  Nevertheless. it is there.

James Comey, the FBI Director who took down TWO Presidents!

Blurry Monday Musings

Who is the MAN?  Ben Jer Man, that's who!  We went to his school's underclassmen honor's ceremony, where Benjamin received two (count 'em - two!) certificates - one for being part of the 3rd place State One Act, and the other for being part of the third place in the state Student Ambassadors!

Yes, my picture is blurry.  Alison has told me I need to wait for the picture to lock in place on my phone (which is also secretly a camera - can YOUR phone do that?  Huh? Huh?).  I also am not holding my hand still.  It's something I need to work on. 

OK, whatever lessons I was supposed to learn I didn't absorb for this picture.  We spent Friday and Saturday in St. Augustine, staying in historical downtown, and this was the view from outside our room.  Beyond that white fence is a bay.  That's what I was trying to take a picture of.  Maybe next time.

This one I held steadier!  Alison and I tried a popular downtown restaurant for the first time - Harry's Seafood Bar & Grille.  I had something called French Baked Scallops, and it was the best seafood entree I have ever had in my life.  It was a huge mess of scallops presented in a cast iron skillet, bubbling in a Parmesan cheese sauce.  I should have taken a picture of it, but I was too busy eating it.

I did not bring the BP machine, or the scales, so I wasn't sure what damage I did to my efforts to improve my weight and BP.  I did walk around extensively, and had my new Fitless Bit with me, so I did good with that.  Checking in this Monday, I find my weight gain less than a pound (par for the course for me on virtually any weekend - actually usually gain two to four pounds, which then I lose three to five during the weekdays), and my BP showed a modest decline this morning.

Still haven't seen the new Guardians of the Galaxy movie - looks like that might not be until Memorial Day.  Oh, well.  At least it's a big enough hit to still be at the movie theaters.


There's no mystery any more as to whether Trump is impeachable or not.  He has committed prima facie obstruction of justice by removing the FBI Director for the explicitly expressed objective of interfering or stopping an investigation that he is a part of.  Now it's simply a matter of Republicans choosing country over party.

Oh.  We're talking about Republican politicians.  So maybe not so simple.

98 & Tied

It's a-fixin' to reach 98 today.

And, yep, that's me up there, sportin' a tie.

It seems rather ridiculous, don't it?

Yes, I know.  I work in an air-conditioned office, gittin' there in an air-conditioned car.

Still, it don't seem quite right.

Let's mot even get into the concept that this is only early May, and much hotter weather is yet to come.  That is doesn't even factor in the "feels like" temp, or the humidity index.

Just when tax season is over and I can enjoy the outdoors more, it becomes satanically hot, not to mention the gnats.  They love me so much, they hang around outside the door, waiting for me to dare to step outside for a walk.  And walk I must, as part of a new regimen to reduce my high blood pressure and cut some weight.

Then there's the incredibly huge fire going on the Okefenokee Swamp, extending over almost 150,000 acres!  The fire is more south and west of us, but the smoke does come through when the winds shift.  I pray that it is controlled and extinguished soon, and I pray for the towns it is close to, and to the valiant firefighters who are putting themselves on the line to contain it.

It makes me having to wear a tie, in weather inappropriate for it, seem rather small.

Nevertheless, it would be nice to go without it until the weather gets back to 58 again.

58?  What?  What am I thinking?  I thinks I drifted off to Michigan again.

Catch you later.

Now it's time to say good morning to the gnats that love me.

Award Winning Board Night

Rhonda Cooper, Nutrition Department Head presents the State Award for Central office Staff Support to Alison Strait.

Alison showing Benjamin and me her State Award.

I don't normally go to School Board meetings, or any other government meetings.  I probably should, but somehow I don't seem to do it.  The level of dedication to organization and Robert's Rules of Order are plain to see in the professional conduct of the meeting.  It's light years different than the chaos that reigns when I run a writer's guild meeting, which might as well be run by the Marx Brothers.

Benjamin and I had a very special reason to come out to the recent meeting of the Pierce County Board of Education.   One of the people that would be recognized for their service to the system was going to my wife, Alison.  Both Benjamin and I were there to receive her well-deserved honor.

She won the State award for Nutrition Central Office Staff.  And by State, I mean Georgia.  All of it.  The entire state.  From Albany to Augusta, from Resaca to Valdosta, and every point in-between.

The nutrition department head, Rhonda Cooper, gushed about the wonderful work Alison has done, and with the incredibly positive spirit she does it with.  She not only does exemplary work in nutrition accounting, she also steps up and helps others in the office with any tasks they need help with, accounting or otherwise.  She works with nutrition staff in the schools, kindly helping them to do their jobs better, and winning friends and positive alliances along the way.  She is a favorite among administrators, nutrition personnel, teachers and parents.  Not an easy feat to pull off, but she does it, respectfully and compassionately.

School lunchrooms have a reputation, not all of it positive.  It's hard to prepare food that is nutritionally sound and also acceptable to hundreds and hundreds of students with very individual tastes.  But Pierce County is sensitive to that, and have made extraordinary steps to do just that, and to increase it's supply of locally grown items, and to prepare as many recipies as possible in the school cafeteria.

School nutrition departments have as many or more bureaucratic regulations as any part of school, both in how food is prepared and served, and in how the bookkeeping and accounting must be done.  Free and reduced meals are a blessing for many students, but it is also a program that demands a lot of paper work and management.  Both Rhonda and Alison have managed that about as well as anyone in Georgia.

But their work is never done, and it never stays the same.  Legislators and regulators are constantly changing and shifting the rules.  The current administrations, both in Atlanta and D.C., are particularly active in making changes.  Food standards, who can or cannot get a free or reduced meal, what funding will be available, all this and more may be changing a great deal in the near future.

Whatever changes come, I can promise you this.  Alison and the entire nutrition staff will be dedicated to serving students with the very best meals that they can, at the most economical cost that they can.

Benjamin and I are very proud of Alison and her achievements. Now the whole community is more aware of what we already knew - she is a very special and wonderful person.

Special Announcements Monday Musings!

Special Announcement #1!

I am a great Uncle again!  And my first grand nephew!  My nephew. Nick Easlick,  is now a proud father!  He is holding in his arms young Elijah Robert Easlick!  

Now I have another reason to travel north!

Special Announcement #2!

Oke Con was a blast and a half Saturday!  I had a table in a prime spot, and received a lot of attention for my comics, my book History of the Trap, and for Okefenokee Heritage Center activities. Benjamin had a great time playing Super Smash Brothers and bonding with new friends.

Special Announcement #3!

I saw Anne of Green Gables Friday night, and if you haven't seen it yet, plan to this next weekend.  Brenda Luke is outstanding as Marilla, as is the entire cast.  Check it out!

Special Announcement #4!

The best shows on TV right now are Fargo (FX), The Leftovers (HBO) and The Handmaid's Tale (Hulu).  I can't pick a favorite between the three.

Special Announcement #5!

I applied for Social Security this weekend, and it will start August 1!  I finally get to step back from Accounting and do more of the things I love!  My employers have been supportive, and I will continue to work there on a part-time basis. I am very excited about starting this next phase of my career.

Special Announcement #6!

There are, of course, many things I would like to do as I increase the time I have to do them, but right now I have to prioritize my health.  I am doing pretty good, overall, but my blood pressure and weight are no where near where they should be.  Reducing them to where they should be has to be my main focus right now. Hopefully, those who are asking me to do more things will understand that I am trying to de-stress my life right now.  Please be patient with me.

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

What's It All About? : Saturday Political Soap Box 164

What's it all about?

What was the point of it?

Why did, according to some polls, over four fifths of white evangelicals vote for Donald Trump?

It wasn't because Donald Trump is a moral person.  Clearly, he is not.  Nothing in the way he has conducted his business, in the way he has treated and talked about others, in the narcissistic way he talks about himself, indicates otherwise.  And I don't think white evangelicals were fooled into thinking he was a decent person.  The voters who used to identify as "the moral majority" simply decided not to base their vote on personal morality.

Was it because they wanted to see health care eviscerated, as the Republican House passed on Thursday? Clearly, they did not.  It's not even what Trump campaigned on.  Yes, he said he would replace Obamacare, but that he would give us something better.  That did not happen.  A bill was passed (in the House only - it still has a long way to go to become law) whose basic intent was to eliminate the medicaid surtax on the very wealthy, and to do so by taking away funding for health care to the old, the sick,and the poor.

It's true that many on the right despise the name Obamacare.  However, when individual elements are polled, many components do quite well. People like their children being covered under their plans through age 26.  They like that pre-existing conditions are covered.  It's only when the Affordable Care Act is identified as Obamacare that it's popularity fades.  And even that's changing.  As the Republican alternative comes into sharper focus, Obamacare is now at its height of popularity.

Do they want to see Wall Street back in charge?  Instead of draining the swamp, it is now overflowing it's brackish stink from coast to coast.  I think that this barely registers with white evangelicals.

Is there a racial component to it?  Most definitely, but how conscious they are of it is hard to tell.  It is a vague desire to return America to a golden age that never was.  It is an indeterminate longing for the preservation of white privilege.  The wall becomes a symbol of protecting American values, as seen through the lens of those who see other groups as threat to their dominance.  But the wall is ultimately symbolic.  They won't turn on Trump if he fails to build it.

What is ultimately driving them can be seen not in the frightening destruction of American health care, but in the executive order signed that same day - the "Promoting Free Speech and Religious Liberty" executive order.  It busts down some of the barriers between church and state, and will allow tax-exempt churches and religious organizations to participate more fully in political discourse and activities, ordering the IRS to relax enforcement of that barrier.  It also will make it easier for religious organizations to deny the contraceptive part of health care.

This is just the beginning of the Faustian bargain they made in putting Trump over the electoral top. It was the promise that if he was elected, he would hand over the keys to the Christian Right in setting their agenda.  They would gain control of the Supreme Court, insuring the eventual reversal of Roe V. Wade.  They would be able to reverse the progress made on LGBTQ rights.  They could move us more to openly religious schools (Christian right denominations only - Muslims, Hindus, Jews, and others need not apply).  Prayer could be restored in school, as long as it was THEIR prayer. Liberals on campuses could be silenced and prosecuted, revised libel laws could go after the press.

Meanwhile, Trump chews up and spits out the Emoluments Clause of the Constitution,  and he and his family make a fortune at our expense.  His cronies dismantle effective government functions and turn them into profit for themselves and their wealthy buddies.   Our tax system is adjusted so that the income inequality we've seen so far looks like chump change.

But they don't care.  Because they'll get what they want. A Christian version of Sharia law.

That is what it is all about.

Come Visit Green Gables!

 WACT invites everyone to  "Anne of Green Gables"! Please attend this family classic which promises to be a great evening of entertainment for audiences of all ages!!! Show dates are May 4, 5, 6, 11, 12, 13 at 8:00 p.m. and one Sunday matinee on May 7 at 2:30 p.m. at the Ritz Theatre in downtown Waycross. Admission is $10 and reservations may be made by calling the box office at 283-2161.

The cast eagerly awaits your visit to Green Gables!