The items into which we will be looking this week are 1) one of my techniques of writing, and 2) a scene from the sequel to The Feasts and Follies of the Animal Court, which I am finally in full speed of producing for your future reading pleasure.
Something that I have the tendency of doing is linking my stories. By that I mean, I'll write books with plots or characters that intersect, which could stand alone, but are also enhanced if all of the stories are read. I do this because, like life, everyone that we meet has a story, no matter how minor their roll in our day-to-day experiences. In the sequel that is currently in the works, there are a number of separate stories to which are either alluded within the pages or which have integral pieces to the plot. For example, two major characters in two other stories enter the life of Queen Gertrude in her sequel, and yet their parts in this tale are minimal. Hopefully, this will breed familiarity with the characters and their parts in this world of my creation.
The short that follows is exactly that. It is a minor scene in the book that I am developing, which takes place in an evening of multiple performances before the royal court. In the story, this scene is told from the perspective of the royal box, not from the musicians, as it will be told below. Every perspective is different and every one deserves a chance to tell their tale. So I hope that you enjoy this short, "A Song for their King and Queen."
~*~*~
"Now, you will be performing for the king and the queen," the white haired stage director, the organizer of the event reminded, though no one in the small chamber orchestra needed the point. As painted ballerinas, stage hands, actors, assistants zoomed around them in streaks of coordinated chaos, the three musicians looked to each other for strength. They were masters at their craft in the country, but here in the city, they were out of their element. This was more than they could have ever dreamed for, what they had wondered about their whole lives, and here it was at their feet ready for them to grab. And they were terrified. "Oh, and don't forget this as well," the short man pointed a stern finger in their faces. "Those damn reps from Ruishland are out there. You're representin' the whole o' Vitenka to the likes of them. Don't blow it! Last we need is to give them any reason to laugh at us."
The violinist gave a look to the viola player like they were in way over their heads. Standing in the concert hall of the royal city was overwhelming enough, but now that they would be the sole featured musicians playing their craft to a nation that hated their people was enough to make a stomach turn from nerves.
No pressure.
The cellist stood proud. This was the opportunity that they had been preparing for their whole lives. It could not be more grand.
The white haired organizer told them to wait one moment while the last performance finished. He trotted off to ensure that the stage hands would know what to do for the upcoming act.
Peaking from the shadows through the curtains on stage left, the viola player looked to the rows and rows of filled seats facing the stage. They had never performed in anything this big. They were from the country, from a town not so far from that where the queen had been born and raised. The vitality of their music had been called to her attention personally from her mother, a woman of great esteem. Their songs were composed from the sorrow endured and the uplifting experiences, which had come to save the nation. But those were not the songs that they had been approved to play. The white haired man told them that they were to perform classics, songs that people knew. This did not settle well with the musicians, but they had been so thrilled to be representing their county that the excitement overthrew their principles. But this was something for which the cellist would no longer stand.
The cellist spun around to his colleagues to quietly, but firmly announce, "Let's play 'The Nation's Concerto."
The violinist and the viola stared at him flabbergasted at the thought of straying away from the mandate of playing classics, to play the song that defined the patriotism of the country that for so long had been lost. Indeed, it was a song that everyone knew, but the implications of playing it were beyond the imaginings of the three. The king and queen had been doing everything in their power to re-instill in the people the patriotism that existed prior to the reign of King Breyton's father, but the scars were still too deep. Eighteen years into their rule, Gertrude and Breyton were still the king and queen, not their king and queen.
This song was known by all, though it was rarely played. To play it at an event like this certainly would make a statement, but what would happen if they were to play a song that's notes sang of oppression, struggle, reflection, the beauty of revival and the strength of a nation united by the ancient symbols, the white dragon and the black bear?
"C'mon, lads," the cellist insisted. "This is our chance. You know as well as I how hard Her Ladyship fought for our people, for our class. That's not something she's abandoned. This is our chance to sing to our lady our love song. What d' you say? Are you with me?"
The claps in the audience told them that the current act was done. The curtain folded over the last act and the stage hands rushed to bring out three chairs for the center of the stage. The musicians would be taking the stage momentarily.
The white haired stage director came hurriedly over toward them.
The violinist's forehead was already shining with perspiration, it seemed only natural that they be remembered in history as the bold musicians, rather than the timid fools from the country. "Let's do it." He agreed, though inside he was trembling. "Let's play this song for our king and queen."
The viola nodded. They had known this song all of their lives, and it would easily rise from their memories. His face was aglow. This was the greatest feeling that he had ever known.
"Alright, lads, come along," the stage director hurried them onto the stage.
This was it.
The nervous feeling was replaced by one of excitement. The three men from the country took their positions with their dark-wood and well played instruments. They checked their strings briefly to ensure that all was in tune, ready to adjust themselves if otherwise.Then, with only a quick point to them from stage right of the director, the long, red-velvet curtains opened.
The flash of the lights at the edge of the stage hit the standing musicians with their intense heat. It was very warm in the auditorium and that was of little wonder. It was packed. The glowing chandeliers that dangled above the heads of the audience did little to help the heat with their hundreds of candles in glass jars aflame. The welcoming claps from the audience gently welcomed the musicians into their positions on their chairs, save for the cellist who remained standing between his seated friends. It had been earlier decided that he would introduce them. Clearing his throat, the cellist stood tall, holding his beautiful, full bodied instrument as though it were a shield bearing the crest of his countrymen. When the hush settled over the audience, the cellist began: "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Your majesties." As they entered the stage, he had been scanning the audience to find the royal box. Even though he had been explicitly instructed not to address them, talking to the majesties was now his only intent. He looked directly at the people whom he knew were the king and queen, though he had never before seen either of them personally, as he spoke, "We've come from very far to be here tonight to play this song from our hearts to you. This, my king and my queen, this song is for you."
The stage director on the side was already feeling very nervous. Those were not the words that had been approved.
The cellist sat, adjusted himself properly and looked to his mates to ensure that they were ready.
The pair nodded. With his toe the violinist tapped the beat on the wooden floor. The song started on one so he counted off on the beat of three, "One, two, three."
And the first long, powerful chord of the song rang throughout the auditorium.
Immediately, every single soul in the auditorium knew what it was that the chamber had begun to play.
The stage director stood furious, for he knew that it would be his head on the plate to pay for this, but there was nothing that could be done. As it had been said a million times before, the show must go on.
The king and the queen instantly froze from the fear of what these three mad musicians would bring upon them all with the people of Ruishland seated to their left. But then, as the majesty and the glory of the song built from those three men, the power of it consumed the king and queen. No one threw eggs at the stage, most certainly no one booed. The entire audience was gripped with the silent words the three sole musicians were screaming beautifully to them.
This was the song that defined the history of their people and it was infectious.
Breyton looked to his wife and she to him. This song was being played for them. Both were deeply moved. Nothing in their nearly two decades of rule had been done to honor their efforts to save their nation. And they had brought it back from the brink.
The song came to its powerful conclusion. It's long, bold notes rang throughout the hall as though an entire orchestra was playing and not just three wooden pieces.
For the faintest of moments, the musicians, hearts pounding and instruments still vibrating from the reverberations of their tunes, thought that the walls would fall on them from their bold move.
Instead, the hall erupted into nearly deafening applauds. The queen was the first to stand. She proudly did not hide the tears running from her eyes. To praise the small chamber by rising to their feet, the audience followed the lead of the woman who was their queen. Even the Ruishlanders, however reluctantly, stood to acknowledge the beauty of what they had heard, but the political implications of this song would not die for them here.
~*~*~
Inspirational Side Note
Last Monday, I listened to and met Nobel Peace Laureate Leymah Gbowee who told the audience at Columbia University the following: You cannot go to a region with a pre-designed plan to "save" the people. You cannot "save" Africa. When you go to regions with the intent of doing good, you must go there to learn, because only when your eyes are open will you see what truly needs to be addressed from the people themselves, and then, only then, will you be able to help and thus to serve.
About Me
- S. Faxon
- We've MOVED: Visit the new site at https://sfaxon.com for the latest S. Faxon stories and reading escapes...
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Part Three: The Traveling Tail of Bella Tuna Todd
(I SOMEHOW MANAGED TO REPOST THIS ONE - IF YOU'VE ALREADY READ THIS, SKIP TO THE BLOG POST BELOW "THE TWO PARTER"
Sorry for posting off schedule- recovering from stomach flu. Last week Bella Tuna Todd and I were in the company of a delightful pair of seven year olds. I read to the girls the last blog entry and we spent some time trying to decide what my next post should be about. It was decided that I should write about Bella's and my visits to their abode and the next section in the chronicle of the kitten's life. So, this blog post is inspired by and dedicated to my favorite set of twins. Thanks for the help and all the laughter that we shared, girls!
The Storm
The final push for me to start this blog was Super Storm Sandy, which happened only a couple of weeks after Bella came into my life. As the storm started to approach, I made all of the necessary precautions (stocking up on water, candles, instant coffee - lest I should lose the life-source of the coffee maker, and other such bare necessities for survival.) I did everything well in advance, but on the afternoon that the super storm was supposed to arrive, I realized that I was almost out of cat litter. Not at all willing to accept running out of that necessity, I went to my local Rite Aid to fetch more supplies for my cat's latrine not expecting anything out of the ordinary. However, in my bubble of personal security, I failed to realize that not everyone had stored food for the winter like me. Rite Aid was insane. It was like stepping into a beehive. People were dashing about the store trying to find candles, then comparing scented candles - like it makes that much of a difference when your electricity goes out - grabbing whatever form of water or non-perishable cans that they could find. And then came the standing in the line waiting for the registers. Any one who knows New Yorkers or who lives in New York, knows that waiting in line is comparable to sitting in traffic in LA - frustration rises and people will verbally complain whether anyone is listening or not. There are currently signs in the subways, which demonstrate how much New Yorkers despise standing in lines; I could be wrong, but I think that the posters say, "Waiting in line kills New Yorkers." If you've seen the poster and/or are able to take a photo of it, please try to post it in one of the comments, so that non-New Yorkers know what I'm talking about. (Likewise, if I see it again, I'll snap the shot). So anyway, after casually strolling through the aisles to find my desired cat-latrine filler, I stood in line (or "on line" as they say out here). I try to mind my own business and stay in my happy bubble of security whenever I'm out and about - I'm generally a very calm and level headed individual, so it takes a lot to disturb or to rattle me. BUT, one thing that I picked up quite quickly as I stood in the line that led through the aisle that was half Halloween candy and half Christmas decorations, was that people were staring at me. Large eyed and whispering, people were talking about me, the crazy cat woman, whose efforts toward preparing for this wretched storm was to buy cat litter. It was a bit on the silly side that my selection of market-goods was judged so much, but it sure made me laugh on my way back to my apartment. The looks that I received were priceless.
With the extended and seemingly perpetual edition of Brian Lehrer's storm updates playing on my radio, the kitten and I settled in for the storm (I was very grateful to have my radio once the cable and internet died, so that I could continue to know what was going on). From the advice from my radio, I moved my bed away from the window and did a very horrible job of "boarding" it by duct taping the random bits of cardboard that I had in my room to the glass in case it shattered. When I finished taping the shoe box patches to the window, it made me realize how pathetic my storm prep was, but I managed and made it through with what I had. By my door I had a Barnes and Noble book bag that my cat had decided to use as her place of refuge for the storm - she had packed herself and was prepared in case we needed to be evacuated. During the night, the storm rolled through and it was the most unnerving/terrifying natural event that I have yet experienced; I've been in a 7.2 earthquake and some seriously bad blizzards, but Sandy was a whole new ball game for me.
The Party
In the weekend before the storm, I had hosted a Halloween Party/Housewarming Party/Friend's Birthday Party (I like to do party-themes in bulk) with a couple of friends with the hope to socialize the kitten who was at that time only used to me. My friends and I spent a good portion of the night in her territory (my room) and during the course of the evening, a photo was taken of one of my friends looking under the couch to trying to coax out Bella. Little did we know (there's that cliche again) that Bella was actually in the photo. My friend had dressed up as a villain with bloody hand prints painted onto his shirt; in the photo he is laying flat on the ground and my kitten is lurking not too far from him as though she had been caught in the midst of her murderous act. Of course, my kitten did not kill my friend, but the photo makes for a good laugh - I passed the photo around the office enough to prove that.
The First Visit
It is not good for animals to only know a limited number of people. They need to be socialized to help them develop good skills with people. Knowing this, I decided to socialize my kitten. Now, being that dogs get to go on car rides and go on long walks, I rationalized: why shouldn't my kitten get to ride the train and travel the city and come on long walks with me? So, I made a play date with a friend to have my kitten meet his daughters - the twins. Some of you may disagree with this, but there is no better way to socialize a kitten, then to take her to someone else's home and introduce her to a pair of seven year olds. It sounds like a situation riddled with potential catastrophe - taking a cat on a subway and then to a strange land where there are children, but nope. Not the case. I've said in earlier posts that I have an extremely calm cat who handles the subways (now) like a pro. The trains do startle her when they arrive, but she watches the people in the trains who stare back at her with great curiosity. This visit was not Bella's first train ride - we had gone to the vet's twice at this point, which is a couple of stops away from my place, so at the very least she knew about the trains. When we arrived at the family's house, Bella wanted nothing to do with anyone for the first half hour - she hid under the bed. The family and I stayed in the room with the kitten, talking normally to get her used to all the new people. At one point, I coaxed (by a good grasp on the scruff of her neck) Bella out from under the bed and handed her to the lady of the house, so that Bella could be calmed by someone other than me. It worked very well. Within no time Bella went from trembling to purring. It was her first time being held by anyone other than me (vets don't count in this situation.) By the end of the evening, with a few lapses of the kitten running back under the beds, Bella was being passed back and forth between the girls as though she was a stuffed animal. It was a very good evening for Bella. I noticed that evening and in the following days that she was much more willing to be cuddled by me. Thanksgiving A week or so went by and then came Thanksgiving. I was invited back to the household of my friend to spend Thanksgiving with his family. The price of my admission: bringing Bella. So, again Bella and I boarded the train, this time with a pie and several loaves of bread that I had baked. A little boy spotted my kitten in her carrier and declared, "Mommy, look! A kitten!" From which were generated numerous smiles and my showing off Bella to many new faces.
One very happy evening, filled with good food, good company, and loads of dancing with the girls, Bella and I returned to our abode. We took a cab back and believe it or not, Bella fell fast asleep. The car ride did not bother her one bit - not surprising as cars are no where near as loud as trains. The kitten's willingness to cuddle with me again intensified. The Third Visit of the Traveling Cat This week marked our third visit to the household of the girls. This time, Bella was given full access to the house,whereas previously she had stayed in the girls' room to feel secure. Now she was running up and down the hall, letting the girls feed her and pet her, and curling up on the back of the couch to watch T.V. with the them. Transformation from liberated-wild-cat to domesticated-socialized-kitten, nearly complete. I've not heard any bark hissing since that first night, but Bella does still have the tendency to bite. I was recently told by a friend that it's not uncommon for wild cats or for cats who lived in foster homes to bite, but that with good training and patience it'll pass. I figure if I can continue to train Bella to be comfortable on subway trains, training her to not bite will come. Our time with the girls has been a blessing for Bella in terms of her socializing and getting used to people. Bella and I are currently in a Chicago airport, westward bound.
Your humble writer,
S. Faxon
Sorry for posting off schedule- recovering from stomach flu. Last week Bella Tuna Todd and I were in the company of a delightful pair of seven year olds. I read to the girls the last blog entry and we spent some time trying to decide what my next post should be about. It was decided that I should write about Bella's and my visits to their abode and the next section in the chronicle of the kitten's life. So, this blog post is inspired by and dedicated to my favorite set of twins. Thanks for the help and all the laughter that we shared, girls!
The Storm
The final push for me to start this blog was Super Storm Sandy, which happened only a couple of weeks after Bella came into my life. As the storm started to approach, I made all of the necessary precautions (stocking up on water, candles, instant coffee - lest I should lose the life-source of the coffee maker, and other such bare necessities for survival.) I did everything well in advance, but on the afternoon that the super storm was supposed to arrive, I realized that I was almost out of cat litter. Not at all willing to accept running out of that necessity, I went to my local Rite Aid to fetch more supplies for my cat's latrine not expecting anything out of the ordinary. However, in my bubble of personal security, I failed to realize that not everyone had stored food for the winter like me. Rite Aid was insane. It was like stepping into a beehive. People were dashing about the store trying to find candles, then comparing scented candles - like it makes that much of a difference when your electricity goes out - grabbing whatever form of water or non-perishable cans that they could find. And then came the standing in the line waiting for the registers. Any one who knows New Yorkers or who lives in New York, knows that waiting in line is comparable to sitting in traffic in LA - frustration rises and people will verbally complain whether anyone is listening or not. There are currently signs in the subways, which demonstrate how much New Yorkers despise standing in lines; I could be wrong, but I think that the posters say, "Waiting in line kills New Yorkers." If you've seen the poster and/or are able to take a photo of it, please try to post it in one of the comments, so that non-New Yorkers know what I'm talking about. (Likewise, if I see it again, I'll snap the shot). So anyway, after casually strolling through the aisles to find my desired cat-latrine filler, I stood in line (or "on line" as they say out here). I try to mind my own business and stay in my happy bubble of security whenever I'm out and about - I'm generally a very calm and level headed individual, so it takes a lot to disturb or to rattle me. BUT, one thing that I picked up quite quickly as I stood in the line that led through the aisle that was half Halloween candy and half Christmas decorations, was that people were staring at me. Large eyed and whispering, people were talking about me, the crazy cat woman, whose efforts toward preparing for this wretched storm was to buy cat litter. It was a bit on the silly side that my selection of market-goods was judged so much, but it sure made me laugh on my way back to my apartment. The looks that I received were priceless.
With the extended and seemingly perpetual edition of Brian Lehrer's storm updates playing on my radio, the kitten and I settled in for the storm (I was very grateful to have my radio once the cable and internet died, so that I could continue to know what was going on). From the advice from my radio, I moved my bed away from the window and did a very horrible job of "boarding" it by duct taping the random bits of cardboard that I had in my room to the glass in case it shattered. When I finished taping the shoe box patches to the window, it made me realize how pathetic my storm prep was, but I managed and made it through with what I had. By my door I had a Barnes and Noble book bag that my cat had decided to use as her place of refuge for the storm - she had packed herself and was prepared in case we needed to be evacuated. During the night, the storm rolled through and it was the most unnerving/terrifying natural event that I have yet experienced; I've been in a 7.2 earthquake and some seriously bad blizzards, but Sandy was a whole new ball game for me.
The Party
In the weekend before the storm, I had hosted a Halloween Party/Housewarming Party/Friend's Birthday Party (I like to do party-themes in bulk) with a couple of friends with the hope to socialize the kitten who was at that time only used to me. My friends and I spent a good portion of the night in her territory (my room) and during the course of the evening, a photo was taken of one of my friends looking under the couch to trying to coax out Bella. Little did we know (there's that cliche again) that Bella was actually in the photo. My friend had dressed up as a villain with bloody hand prints painted onto his shirt; in the photo he is laying flat on the ground and my kitten is lurking not too far from him as though she had been caught in the midst of her murderous act. Of course, my kitten did not kill my friend, but the photo makes for a good laugh - I passed the photo around the office enough to prove that.
The First Visit
It is not good for animals to only know a limited number of people. They need to be socialized to help them develop good skills with people. Knowing this, I decided to socialize my kitten. Now, being that dogs get to go on car rides and go on long walks, I rationalized: why shouldn't my kitten get to ride the train and travel the city and come on long walks with me? So, I made a play date with a friend to have my kitten meet his daughters - the twins. Some of you may disagree with this, but there is no better way to socialize a kitten, then to take her to someone else's home and introduce her to a pair of seven year olds. It sounds like a situation riddled with potential catastrophe - taking a cat on a subway and then to a strange land where there are children, but nope. Not the case. I've said in earlier posts that I have an extremely calm cat who handles the subways (now) like a pro. The trains do startle her when they arrive, but she watches the people in the trains who stare back at her with great curiosity. This visit was not Bella's first train ride - we had gone to the vet's twice at this point, which is a couple of stops away from my place, so at the very least she knew about the trains. When we arrived at the family's house, Bella wanted nothing to do with anyone for the first half hour - she hid under the bed. The family and I stayed in the room with the kitten, talking normally to get her used to all the new people. At one point, I coaxed (by a good grasp on the scruff of her neck) Bella out from under the bed and handed her to the lady of the house, so that Bella could be calmed by someone other than me. It worked very well. Within no time Bella went from trembling to purring. It was her first time being held by anyone other than me (vets don't count in this situation.) By the end of the evening, with a few lapses of the kitten running back under the beds, Bella was being passed back and forth between the girls as though she was a stuffed animal. It was a very good evening for Bella. I noticed that evening and in the following days that she was much more willing to be cuddled by me. Thanksgiving A week or so went by and then came Thanksgiving. I was invited back to the household of my friend to spend Thanksgiving with his family. The price of my admission: bringing Bella. So, again Bella and I boarded the train, this time with a pie and several loaves of bread that I had baked. A little boy spotted my kitten in her carrier and declared, "Mommy, look! A kitten!" From which were generated numerous smiles and my showing off Bella to many new faces.
One very happy evening, filled with good food, good company, and loads of dancing with the girls, Bella and I returned to our abode. We took a cab back and believe it or not, Bella fell fast asleep. The car ride did not bother her one bit - not surprising as cars are no where near as loud as trains. The kitten's willingness to cuddle with me again intensified. The Third Visit of the Traveling Cat This week marked our third visit to the household of the girls. This time, Bella was given full access to the house,whereas previously she had stayed in the girls' room to feel secure. Now she was running up and down the hall, letting the girls feed her and pet her, and curling up on the back of the couch to watch T.V. with the them. Transformation from liberated-wild-cat to domesticated-socialized-kitten, nearly complete. I've not heard any bark hissing since that first night, but Bella does still have the tendency to bite. I was recently told by a friend that it's not uncommon for wild cats or for cats who lived in foster homes to bite, but that with good training and patience it'll pass. I figure if I can continue to train Bella to be comfortable on subway trains, training her to not bite will come. Our time with the girls has been a blessing for Bella in terms of her socializing and getting used to people. Bella and I are currently in a Chicago airport, westward bound.
Your humble writer,
S. Faxon
A Two Parter
THIS IS THE POSTING FOR FEBRUARY 19
---
Intriguing, no? A prince, who abdicated power, seceding the right of king to his youngest brother of three?
Over the
weekend, I spent time at the window watching the birds with Bella. I’ve been
noticing lately that the songs of the feathered ones have been increasing,
which can only mean one thing: spring is a-comin’. True, we are still
experiencing dreadfully cold nights, mais, c’est la vie in February.
I
realized today that it has been an awful long time since I have shared a
literary piece with you of my own making. The reason for this is because the
book that I am advertising primarily in these blogs is a heavy story, which
defeats the primary purpose of the “Reading Escape” for the sake of peace.
However, I am a woman of my word, so here is the resolution for this pickle –
the first half of the following will be the start of Chapter Two in The Feasts and Follies of the Animal Court (to
see part 1, please view "Chapter 1" of the blog from 11/10/12 or feel free to purchase the book J); the second and ending half of the blog will be a
story that my grandmother told me about her first pet. Enjoy this two parter!
---
The Feasts and Follies of the Animal Court
Chapter
2 ~ Brothers
Eighteen
Years Ago
August
23, 1335
Decades had died since Breyton last treaded the steps of his
family’s castle. The years had changed him and the ancient walls of Maltoro
Manor. His youngest brother, the king, had finally seen through his dream of
revitalizing the decrepit and archaic halls of the royal castle by the sea. In
his absence, the castle had become a palace beyond imagining.
Breyton’s childhood memories of this place were still as bright and
as alive in his mind as they were four decades ago when he lived them. How
entranced then he was by the prospect of being king! So many times he
childishly warned his brothers to be weary of their words and actions toward
him, for one day he would have power over everything. ‘What fools we were,’ Breyton thought with a smile, remembering the
days of old while mindlessly walking the well-lit and wide castle’s halls. Up
until his seventeenth birthday Breyton entertained every intention of assuming
the throne, but experience and maturity that spanned beyond his years changed
his mind. He told his parents, the then king and queen, that he wished to pursue
a grander leg of education before he took the crown so that he would not be a
king of ignorance. However reluctantly, his father allowed him the three year
education he desired from the Northern University in the not-so-near
neighboring country Viramont. He learned much of life, a new language – the
common tongue spoken widely throughout the world, and he gained a great
perspective of international relations. After finding the game of horse racing
to be a significant engagement to bring back from Viramont along with his
education, Breyton found himself on the long ship ride back to his motherland.
When the then twenty-year-old returned, he immediately requested to join the
military so he could learn tactics, skill, and strategy for times of
engagement. After emerging from eight active and structuring years of service,
Breyton’s father told him that soon he would be king. However, much to the
disgust and displeasure of his father, Breyton, with a spry smile and a firm
look in his eyes, said as politely as imaginable, “No, thank you.”
Walking down one of the brightest rounded halls of the castle, the
one with the positively superb view of the coast line, Breyton laughed as he
recalled how furious his father was when he officially denounced his title as
heir to the throne.
---
Intriguing, no? A prince, who abdicated power, seceding the right of king to his youngest brother of three?
If you can't wait to read what happens next, please feel free to click on the links below to fully open the doors to the world of Vitenka and the follies of its inhabitants.
For those of you with Nooks: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-feasts-and-follies-of-the-animal-court-s-faxon/1109967080
For those of you with Kindles: http://www.amazon.com/Feasts-Follies-Animal-Court-ebook/dp/B008YQDPAY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1361326929&sr=1-1&keywords=s.+faxon
For those of you who have neither - if you have a computer, you can download Nook or Kindle software for free onto your computer and you may read the book on your computer. The same thing goes if you have a smartphone.
The next
second half of the blog will be about one of my favorite stories, one that
grandma used to tell. When I was a young child, my grandmother used to tell me
stories every night before I fell asleep. These stories would range from
expansions of Disney tales (call them Fan –Fic. epilogues, if you like) to
memories from her life. One of the stories that I can recall most vividly is
the following as grandma would tell it, as if grandma was telling it.
Father's Gift
As you well know, my father used
to own a common goods store in Clinton, Oklahoma where I spent my childhood. Because
he had access to such things, I used to bother my father endlessly about ordering
me a pet. But not just any pet; I wanted a fluffy, bushy-tailed rabbit to call
my own. We didn’t have places like Petco or the animal shelter, so the only way
to get a pet like that would be to order one from a catalog, like those that
my father had in his store.
I waited for the longest time
until one day, my father called home to tell me, “Nelva, come down to the
store. I have a pet for you.”
I can’t tell you how excited I
was to finally be getting what I thought would be my white furred rabbit. I rushed
straight down to the store with all my might. The whole way I imagined how soft
the rabbit’s fur would be and I remember how happy I was to finally have a rabbit for a pet!
When I finally made it to the
shop, do you know what he had waiting for me? Instead of a furry white rabbit,
he had ordered me a chicken. I was so mad at my father. He had a good laugh,
but, oh, was I furious. So what did I do with this chicken to make it more like
a rabbit? I tied a big pink bow around its neck. Plucky as it was, that chicken
was my first pet.
---
Many
thanks are owed to my Aunt Arnell who reminded me of this story as she was
telling me about the chickens that she is currently caring for. Arnell is my
grandmother’s daughter; Grandma’s name was Nelva and her friends used to call
her “Our Nel,” so when my aunt was born, it made perfect sense to my grandma to
name her Arnell. I spent a moment to tell you this because as it so happens,
today is my wonderful Aunt’s birthday. Happiest of birthdays to you, dear one!
Your
humble writer,
S. Faxon
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Over the Mountains and into the Woods
This week has been one of strenuous commutes and errant weather for us New Yorkers; there's six or seven inches of snow in the back, so I am glad that this post has been especially entertaining to produce. Hopefully it will be equally pleasurable to read.
---
A few years ago, my best friend wrote a semi-formal proposal enumerating the reasons for why I should go camping with her. When all parties were satisfactorily convinced, thus began another journey with Victoria at the helm of the big, golden van.
I was attending morning classes at the community college to knock out credits over summer and had to attend class that morning. Having packed the night before, I was set and ready to throw my pack and emergency things (I'm prepared for anything) into the van and go. Mid-morning, class ended and I darted home to wait for Victoria and her sister to come. It was a beautiful and warm day in San Diego, which promised to be a hot, but pleasant afternoon in the local mountains.While waiting, I ensured that I had everything on my list. Whipping out a handy-dandy pencil and pad, I noted my supplies:
-Waterproof matches - check
-Battery powered lantern - check
-Spare batteries for lantern - check
-clothes & appropriate shoes -check
-sleeping bag - check
-anti-mosquito stuff - check-check (it was really important, as anything that bites finds me)
-Ridiculously large water bottle in red carrier - check
Victoria was to bring the food provisions, tent, Deana, and the van, so I was set to go.
After enjoying a twenty minute nap on the couch with Golden Girls on in the background, the van, the best friend, the little sister (by a year) pulled up. Locked, loaded, and seat-buckled in, we were ready to ride.
Julian
We stopped in Julian, our historic mountain town, for a bite at a local soda shoppe. We probably could have simply gone to the soda shoppe and left happy. The food was fantastic and the atmosphere very warm and comforting.
Ranger Rick
We arrived at the camp and had to check-in with the ranger to claim our spot, which we had reserved online (this is camping in the twenty-first century). The three of us entered the bungalow. There were all sorts of maps and live critters on display inside. We all found particular interest in the king snake. So that you know, if you see a snake with black, red and yellow coloration, here's how you know if it's venom (venom is injected, poison is consumed) will cause you harm or not: Red touches black, friend of jack; red touches yellow, kills a fellow. The ranger came out and he was the a-typical, dreamy hiking, I-live-part-time-in-the-forest type. The three of us went googly-eyed and yet somehow we managed to communicate to him why we were there. Actually, Victoria was the only one who could communicate sensibly to the man. After Deana got to play with the king snake we jumped back into the van and headed to our designated piece of camp. The grounds had been sectioned off so that people could reserve spots for tents or cabins that are on premise.
This one, no...this one.
The little chunk of camp ground that we had reserved with a click and taken with a word to Ranger Rick, was nice, but there was a family at a cabin right next to us. We no more than parked the van and all movement at the neighbor's stopped. They stared at us and it felt like their angry expressions were burning into our souls. If they had wanted uninterrupted, legitimate camping it may have been more efficient for them to have gone to a less high-tech five-star camp ground. BUT because we are not rude, we decided that we should leave and find a different spot. We didn't want to interrupt their camp time and we did not want their stares to leave burn marks on our skin.
Back to Ranger Rick
Round two at the central bungalow. This time, Victoria went in, leaving Deana and me behind in the van. It was around about this time that we started to really notice that there were clouds growing over head. We had been aware that it was likely to rain, but it didn't seem like a big deal. We had a cover for the top of the tent in the event that there was rain, so we figured that we would be fine. Victoria came back to say that Ranger Rick gave us a better camp spot that was a bit removed from other spots, but still within a quick walk to the restrooms. Thanks Ranger Rick! And actually, this spot was much better than our first. As we started to drive toward the new camping spot, Deana and I asked Victoria if Ranger Rick's reaction to us being back within five minutes was, "Did you guys decide to go back to society already?"
Setting up and Settling Down
The second site really was much nicer than the first. It felt way more like camping to me than the other one would have with a cabin's shadow falling over us.
It took us about fifteen minutes to set up the tent. Deana set up her camping grounds, by laying out her sleeping bag on the table along with her book and calling it a day. Deana curled up in her sleeping bag on the table (it had cooled off a little because of the clouds) and started to read.
After locking up the van, for fear of hooligans taking our beef jerky from the van that was parked 25 feet away from us, Victoria excused herself to go to the restroom, which was down the hill. I sat down in one of the chairs and started to do what I do best (or at least most frequently); I wrote.
And then came the rain.
Rain, thunder, screaming, running, failing
It happened like this: drop, drop, sudden and unexpected downpour. Deana lept off of the table and I threw my journal under a bag that was out. We started running around like chickens with our heads chopped off. It came to our genius minds that it would be in our best interest to protect the tent. The cover was on one of the chairs, so Deana grabbed it and threw it to me. It didn't reach me, so I start laughing like crazy. Deana was screaming like mad. We continued to try to cover the tent, but we were laughing so hard that we were completely failing. Deana gave up and wrapped the plastic thing around herself. I grabbed half of the cover and pulled it over myself. Realizing that there was a van and that her sleeping bag was getting soaked, Deana again screamed, scooped up her things, and bolted up the hill. At this point, I was bent over laughing. I knew that the van was locked. Around about this time, Victoria came back up the hill, shaking her head at our pathetic display. Deana was rocking the van because she couldn't get in and I was wrapped in the tent cover. Before I unlocked it for her, Victoria and I began to effectively cover the tent. Seeing us actually making progress, Deana came back down and helped us. Then we all bolted for the van.
Survival Skills (a continuation of failing)
Inside the van...
WARNING - This is a video of us losing our minds and quoting Jurassic Park.
Garlic
The rains did pass within an hour. We emerged from the van (after Deana ate most of our beef jerky) and were greeted with the refreshing smell of rain and wet pine. It was beautiful.
Because it was so warm, the fire pit dried quickly. We set up the logs and used our waterproof matches to start a fire. It's easier than it looks if you have a match. It is important that the fire gets oxygen, so be sure that you arrange the logs in such a way that a flow of air is able to stoke the flame.
Our adventurous tummies were now growling. It was time to scare away all of the bugs in the vicinity. We whipped out the garlic. I don't remember what else we ate - I think that beans and bread were involved, but I could be wrong. We played with the citronella candles; thanks to Deana, we discovered that if you dip a thick stick into the melted wax and spin it around, bugs are less likely to bite. This was probably also due to the fact that a good portion of them had been scared/and or killed by the rain. We all came away with a bite or two, but it was not so bad.
Julian Revisited
After cleaning up, we decided that another visit to Julian was necessary. We hopped back into the van and drove toward the town to get dessert. The sunset in the mountain was absolutely breathtaking. As we drove to town, we saw the deer coming out to enjoy their dance and feasts among the twilight breeze.
A parking lot bed and a blanket of stars
We returned to camp with marshmallows and ice cream bars. We gathered around our newly stoked fire (always remember to put out your fire if you leave your camp) and talked for hours.
It was starting to get late, so we walked together to the bathroom to freshen up for bed. Prior to heading back to camp, we realized that our skyline was much larger in the parking lot in front of the bathroom. It was the perfect place to lay back and look into the heavens. There we were, stretched out upon the asphalt, staring into the universe. The night air was cool, refreshing after the long day of heat. That evening, watching the stars with Deana and Victoria, was one of the most relaxing and peaceful of my life.
Bees, Bears, and Bathroom Breaks
In the soft blue glow of the hour of dawn, I woke to the sound of bees buzzing and singing their morning hymn. They sounded as if they were in the tent, but (luckily) they were buzzing along the side, taking in the gifts from the blooming summer flowers. I watched their shadows and listened to their song as they bounced off the sides of the tent. It was quite magical.
But then I realized that Victoria was not in the tent. I started to think to myself, "Great, Victoria's been stung to death by bees and is being eaten by a bear." (Because it couldn't be just one). It took her a long while to return, but eventually she made it back from her bathroom break, after the bees had passed along to the next blooming buffet.
Breakfast of Campers
What time we woke up, I'm not sure. Time did not really matter. There were no deadlines, no business meetings to make, no time card to punch. The cell phones were left in the van and the watches were left at home. It was nice to wake when our bodies told us to rise and shine. It was nice to sip coffee made over an open flame, and to eat bacon and eggs from the same. Even though I live in the big city with every amenity and luxury imaginable at my finger tips, I'd rather wake up to the smell of pines and make breakfast over a fire that I stoked myself. There's something far more rewarding when the food that you eat comes from your own labor.
Return of the Bees
On our return journey, Deana was stung by a bee that she sat on, so she was our only casualty. Just kidding, she survived just fine.
I loved my time away from the cell phone and the confines of technology. Call me a transcendentalist, although I don't really think that's applicable - I like having my laptop to post my blog, I like having a heater and a lamp, but it was a very nice get away, one that I'd like to do again some day. Thanks Victoria and Deana - it truly was a treat!
Your humble writer,
S. Faxon
---
A few years ago, my best friend wrote a semi-formal proposal enumerating the reasons for why I should go camping with her. When all parties were satisfactorily convinced, thus began another journey with Victoria at the helm of the big, golden van.
I was attending morning classes at the community college to knock out credits over summer and had to attend class that morning. Having packed the night before, I was set and ready to throw my pack and emergency things (I'm prepared for anything) into the van and go. Mid-morning, class ended and I darted home to wait for Victoria and her sister to come. It was a beautiful and warm day in San Diego, which promised to be a hot, but pleasant afternoon in the local mountains.While waiting, I ensured that I had everything on my list. Whipping out a handy-dandy pencil and pad, I noted my supplies:
-Waterproof matches - check
-Battery powered lantern - check
-Spare batteries for lantern - check
-clothes & appropriate shoes -check
-sleeping bag - check
-anti-mosquito stuff - check-check (it was really important, as anything that bites finds me)
-Ridiculously large water bottle in red carrier - check
Victoria was to bring the food provisions, tent, Deana, and the van, so I was set to go.
After enjoying a twenty minute nap on the couch with Golden Girls on in the background, the van, the best friend, the little sister (by a year) pulled up. Locked, loaded, and seat-buckled in, we were ready to ride.
Julian
We stopped in Julian, our historic mountain town, for a bite at a local soda shoppe. We probably could have simply gone to the soda shoppe and left happy. The food was fantastic and the atmosphere very warm and comforting.
Ranger Rick
We arrived at the camp and had to check-in with the ranger to claim our spot, which we had reserved online (this is camping in the twenty-first century). The three of us entered the bungalow. There were all sorts of maps and live critters on display inside. We all found particular interest in the king snake. So that you know, if you see a snake with black, red and yellow coloration, here's how you know if it's venom (venom is injected, poison is consumed) will cause you harm or not: Red touches black, friend of jack; red touches yellow, kills a fellow. The ranger came out and he was the a-typical, dreamy hiking, I-live-part-time-in-the-forest type. The three of us went googly-eyed and yet somehow we managed to communicate to him why we were there. Actually, Victoria was the only one who could communicate sensibly to the man. After Deana got to play with the king snake we jumped back into the van and headed to our designated piece of camp. The grounds had been sectioned off so that people could reserve spots for tents or cabins that are on premise.
This one, no...this one.
The little chunk of camp ground that we had reserved with a click and taken with a word to Ranger Rick, was nice, but there was a family at a cabin right next to us. We no more than parked the van and all movement at the neighbor's stopped. They stared at us and it felt like their angry expressions were burning into our souls. If they had wanted uninterrupted, legitimate camping it may have been more efficient for them to have gone to a less high-tech five-star camp ground. BUT because we are not rude, we decided that we should leave and find a different spot. We didn't want to interrupt their camp time and we did not want their stares to leave burn marks on our skin.
Back to Ranger Rick
Round two at the central bungalow. This time, Victoria went in, leaving Deana and me behind in the van. It was around about this time that we started to really notice that there were clouds growing over head. We had been aware that it was likely to rain, but it didn't seem like a big deal. We had a cover for the top of the tent in the event that there was rain, so we figured that we would be fine. Victoria came back to say that Ranger Rick gave us a better camp spot that was a bit removed from other spots, but still within a quick walk to the restrooms. Thanks Ranger Rick! And actually, this spot was much better than our first. As we started to drive toward the new camping spot, Deana and I asked Victoria if Ranger Rick's reaction to us being back within five minutes was, "Did you guys decide to go back to society already?"
Setting up and Settling Down
The second site really was much nicer than the first. It felt way more like camping to me than the other one would have with a cabin's shadow falling over us.
It took us about fifteen minutes to set up the tent. Deana set up her camping grounds, by laying out her sleeping bag on the table along with her book and calling it a day. Deana curled up in her sleeping bag on the table (it had cooled off a little because of the clouds) and started to read.
After locking up the van, for fear of hooligans taking our beef jerky from the van that was parked 25 feet away from us, Victoria excused herself to go to the restroom, which was down the hill. I sat down in one of the chairs and started to do what I do best (or at least most frequently); I wrote.
And then came the rain.
Rain, thunder, screaming, running, failing
It happened like this: drop, drop, sudden and unexpected downpour. Deana lept off of the table and I threw my journal under a bag that was out. We started running around like chickens with our heads chopped off. It came to our genius minds that it would be in our best interest to protect the tent. The cover was on one of the chairs, so Deana grabbed it and threw it to me. It didn't reach me, so I start laughing like crazy. Deana was screaming like mad. We continued to try to cover the tent, but we were laughing so hard that we were completely failing. Deana gave up and wrapped the plastic thing around herself. I grabbed half of the cover and pulled it over myself. Realizing that there was a van and that her sleeping bag was getting soaked, Deana again screamed, scooped up her things, and bolted up the hill. At this point, I was bent over laughing. I knew that the van was locked. Around about this time, Victoria came back up the hill, shaking her head at our pathetic display. Deana was rocking the van because she couldn't get in and I was wrapped in the tent cover. Before I unlocked it for her, Victoria and I began to effectively cover the tent. Seeing us actually making progress, Deana came back down and helped us. Then we all bolted for the van.
Survival Skills (a continuation of failing)
Inside the van...
WARNING - This is a video of us losing our minds and quoting Jurassic Park.
Garlic
The rains did pass within an hour. We emerged from the van (after Deana ate most of our beef jerky) and were greeted with the refreshing smell of rain and wet pine. It was beautiful.
Because it was so warm, the fire pit dried quickly. We set up the logs and used our waterproof matches to start a fire. It's easier than it looks if you have a match. It is important that the fire gets oxygen, so be sure that you arrange the logs in such a way that a flow of air is able to stoke the flame.
Our adventurous tummies were now growling. It was time to scare away all of the bugs in the vicinity. We whipped out the garlic. I don't remember what else we ate - I think that beans and bread were involved, but I could be wrong. We played with the citronella candles; thanks to Deana, we discovered that if you dip a thick stick into the melted wax and spin it around, bugs are less likely to bite. This was probably also due to the fact that a good portion of them had been scared/and or killed by the rain. We all came away with a bite or two, but it was not so bad.
Julian Revisited
After cleaning up, we decided that another visit to Julian was necessary. We hopped back into the van and drove toward the town to get dessert. The sunset in the mountain was absolutely breathtaking. As we drove to town, we saw the deer coming out to enjoy their dance and feasts among the twilight breeze.
A parking lot bed and a blanket of stars
We returned to camp with marshmallows and ice cream bars. We gathered around our newly stoked fire (always remember to put out your fire if you leave your camp) and talked for hours.
It was starting to get late, so we walked together to the bathroom to freshen up for bed. Prior to heading back to camp, we realized that our skyline was much larger in the parking lot in front of the bathroom. It was the perfect place to lay back and look into the heavens. There we were, stretched out upon the asphalt, staring into the universe. The night air was cool, refreshing after the long day of heat. That evening, watching the stars with Deana and Victoria, was one of the most relaxing and peaceful of my life.
Bees, Bears, and Bathroom Breaks
In the soft blue glow of the hour of dawn, I woke to the sound of bees buzzing and singing their morning hymn. They sounded as if they were in the tent, but (luckily) they were buzzing along the side, taking in the gifts from the blooming summer flowers. I watched their shadows and listened to their song as they bounced off the sides of the tent. It was quite magical.
But then I realized that Victoria was not in the tent. I started to think to myself, "Great, Victoria's been stung to death by bees and is being eaten by a bear." (Because it couldn't be just one). It took her a long while to return, but eventually she made it back from her bathroom break, after the bees had passed along to the next blooming buffet.
Breakfast of Campers
What time we woke up, I'm not sure. Time did not really matter. There were no deadlines, no business meetings to make, no time card to punch. The cell phones were left in the van and the watches were left at home. It was nice to wake when our bodies told us to rise and shine. It was nice to sip coffee made over an open flame, and to eat bacon and eggs from the same. Even though I live in the big city with every amenity and luxury imaginable at my finger tips, I'd rather wake up to the smell of pines and make breakfast over a fire that I stoked myself. There's something far more rewarding when the food that you eat comes from your own labor.
Return of the Bees
On our return journey, Deana was stung by a bee that she sat on, so she was our only casualty. Just kidding, she survived just fine.
I loved my time away from the cell phone and the confines of technology. Call me a transcendentalist, although I don't really think that's applicable - I like having my laptop to post my blog, I like having a heater and a lamp, but it was a very nice get away, one that I'd like to do again some day. Thanks Victoria and Deana - it truly was a treat!
Your humble writer,
S. Faxon
Saturday, February 2, 2013
The beach, the Del, the tale of Kate Morgan
It's midwinter and, that's right, I'm blogging about the beach. I'm a Southern Californian living in NYC, taking Vitamin D supplements like mad to keep my sunless days in tune with my body that is dependent on the great star. It's about time I pay tribute to the sun and the sand that are a part of me.
 |
| Photo that I took at Coronado of my best friend's mom's umbrella |
 |
| A nice, San Diego January activity - we ice skate on the beach. It was so hot that day, there was an inch of water on the ice from it melting. |
During those summers listed, I spent so much time sunning by the waters of the Pacific. With Point Loma and the Coronado Islands as my backdrop, I laughed, ate, swam and tanned with my best friend and her sister. We are Coronado girls, though we all grew up closer to Mission Beach, PB, and OB (that's Pacific Beach and Ocean Beach to any of you non-San Diegans.) But Coronado offered something that the other beaches did not. Maybe it was the awe of driving over the big, blue bridge. Maybe it was the wild dolphins, or maybe it was the historical hotel where our very own ghost, Kate Morgan, keeps watch over us....Nah, the whole thing is pretty spectacular. It's no joke or exaggeration that Coronado is the number 1 beach in the United States. Take that, Hawaii. (Yes, I've sited a reference and inserted a hyperlink in Hawaii.)
 |
| The Hotel Del Coronado |
I've many a memory on that white shore - from Victoria, Amy, and Deana trying to convince me that I wanted to be buried in the sand, to teaching my niece and nephew how to boogie board. It's one of my favorite places back home. It's a place of peace. I was not much of a "beach" person when I lived in San Diego; the ocean used to scare me, but now I can't get enough of it. The smell of the salt on the air, the sight of Caspian terns floating on the breeze, and, because it's Coronado, seeing the underbelly of jets as they fly a couple of dozen feet right over head - you can't get that anywhere else. Being there with my best friend, even if seagulls sabotaged our closed bags of chips, are some of the best memories that I have.
 |
| My best friend buried. (After I refused to be, she filled the void) |
 |
| One of the many jets that flew overhead |
 |
| A dusty road in Old Town |
 |
| My best friend's sister, my best friend, and me at a candy shop in Coronado. Yes, we are wearing mustaches. |
In the 1800s, when orange trees lined Orange Avenue on Coronado, there was a young woman named Kate Morgan. Kate used to travel with her husband all over the south-west. They were a married pair of con-men and thieves. While the husband would play a round of cards, Kate would distract the other players, conning or thieving them as she pleased. Their craft was very lucrative and the thrill of their sport was something that they both enjoyed. One day, while in San Diego, Kate told her husband that she was pregnant. Her having the child would mean that their lifestyles would have to change dramatically, even if only for a short time. The husband was furious, but he told Kate to stay at the Del and give him a week to blow off steam. He boarded a train and headed north. So at the Del Kate stayed. While the breeze from the west surely helped to clear her head and helped her to find peace, soon enough she began to realize that he was not coming back. He abandoned her. The torment of losing her love was too much for Kate to bear. With the sun setting, the reflection of its golden lights dancing off the waters and onto the western face of the red and white hotel, Kate took her life. At the Del, Kate will always stay. But, the eternal guest of the hotel is not one who spends her days in torment. She spends her time taking care of the guests, particularly of young couples. There are several stories of interactions with Kate, I even have one myself.
My friends Andrew, Victoria, and I were wandering around the basement of the hotel (how we got there...) and we were standing in a corridor, none of us touching anything or any walls, by two closed doors. We were trying to decide where to go next, when the doors opened. There was no one on the other side. The doors did have handicap assistance button, but none of us were anywhere near it. Being that we were calm and cool customers, we thanked Kate for opening the door for us and helping us to decide which way to go. There are other reports of Kate covering people with blankets during the night if they were cold, or likewise of turning off lights if no one is in the restroom, while the tenants are in their rooms. (She's a true Californian, alright). But that's our hotel spirit. I'm not the first one to talk about Kate, and nor am I the only one who thinks she is a pretty interesting entity. The hotel itself has a coffee drink named after her along with a shop named "Kate's", presumably in memory of her.
 |
| Me at Coronado in 2010. Pretty sure that this was the middle of winter. |
Your humble writer,
S. Faxon
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