"A Christmas Carol"

I have recently become obsessed with "A Christmas Carol."

Last week, after a long day of work, I curled up in my chair and turned on Jim Hensen's "A Muppet Christmas Carol." I've since seen it and the 1935 version of the famous Charles Dickens about 4 times.  I'm listening to the soundtrack of the Muppet version as I blog. This is not some nutter obsession. I've always been an enormous fan of Dickens and I haven't read his works or seen renditions of his stories in a while. I was delightfully reminded of how great a story teller he was - I love how he conveyed that one's soul may be redeemed if only they turn their hearts from being filled with hate, to being filled with love. 

There could not have been a better pair than that between "A Christmas Carole" and the Muppets. Alright, if you haven't seen the movie, it is honest to goodness worth the 1.5 hours of your life, for you and your kiddos. 

The "Muppet Christmas Carole" Cast 

My favorite song and scene is "Thankful Heart" sang by Sir Michael Caine. Yep, Sir Michael Caine. He plays Scrooge and he does so brilliantly. 

Mr. Scrooge and Bob Crachet, as played by Kermit the Frog.

This movie is sooooooo sweet. Not convinced? Read through the below song and see if you're enticed:

"Thankful Heart"

"With a thankful heart, with an endless joy, 

With a growing family every girl and boy will be nephew and niece to me.

Will bring love hope and peace to me,

Yes and every night will end, and every day will start, 

With a grateful prayer and a thankful heart.

"With an open smile and with open doors, I will bid you welcome what is mine is yours,

With a glass raised to toast your health.

And a promise to share the wealth,

I will sail a friendly course, file a friendly chart,

On a sea of love and a thankful heart.

"Life is like a journey, who knows when it ends, 

Yes, and if you need to know the measure of a man, you simply count his friends.

"Stop and look arround you,

The glory that you see,

Is born again each day, 

Don't let it slip away, how precious life can be.

"With a thankful heart that is wide awake, I do make this promise, every breath I take will be used now to sing your praise.

And to beg you to share my days.

With a loving guarantee that even if we part, 

I will hold you close in a thankful heart

I will hold you close in a thankful heart."

God bless the Muppets! (And Charles Dickens and Sir Michael Caine!)

I've been in such a great mood since I first watched the Muppets - I have a bit of a stressful job and I have to deal with an hour of traffic on my commute home, but the spirit of this song and the other beautiful messages from a "Christmas Carole" have kept a grateful smile on my face. 

So go on, enjoy your recommended viewing from the Weekly Read. See if this doesn't absolutely put you in the Christmas mood. Remember, Christmas is not about the gifts, it's about the giving. 

I may not check in next week, so if I don't see you until after Christmas, may you and your loved ones, have a warm, wonderful, merry, happy, loving, Christmas! For those of you who are celebrating Hanukah, I wish you many evenings of happiness with the holiday! For those of you who celebrate Kwanza, many happy cheers to you as well! And for those of you who don't celebrate anything this time of year, may the warmth, and welcoming of the season fill your hearts with joy!

See you soon, dear readers! And thank you as always for tuning in!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Thanksgiving

*Heaved sigh of relief* Ahh, I don't know about you all, but I'm feeling relaxed and recharged after a beautiful, restful post-Thanksgiving weekend. So many of us get caught up in the Black Friday-Don't Burn the Bird weekend, that the reason for why we have Thanksgiving becomes muddled in the dust of shoppers running for discounts. As you can likely tell, I'm not an enormous fan of Black Friday, although admittedly I did go to Verizon to get a new phone (not because of the sales, but because after 2 years with my handy-dandy Motorola, it was time to upgrade), which resulted with me leaving with a new phone and 2 tablets...so take my commentary as you may.

Anyway, back to the thanks giving aspect of Thanksgiving weekend. As I was preparing the kitchen for the family to arrive on Thursday, I had the Macy's Day parade on in the background and it was positively delightful, until, the official parade began. Honestly, please don't think I have anything against the parade, but something struck me that I had never noticed before and which was the inspiration for this post; when the announcer said, "And here are the reminders of why we have this holiday, the very first two people to celebrate Thanksgiving, the Pilgrims!" Thus followed two large headed pilgrim balloons. Indeed, I do understand that this is a parade and historical accuracy is a minor detail, but lest history slips any farther, let us not forget the other half of the party without whom so lovely a premier feast likely would not have occurred, the Wampanoag. Yes, that is the name of the tribe of Native Americans who helped to keep the pilgrims slide that winter. I remember growing up not really being taught enough about Thanksgiving and in case you're now scratching your head like I was about what children of present day are being taught, I highly suggest checking out Plymoth's website for youngsters about the first Thanksgiving. In my humble opinion, I think they've done a really nice job at making a historical event that is an integral part of our American culture interactive and informative.

For you bigger kids out there like me, here's a website that I'd also recommend, and the History Channel has a nice "did you know" type of video on their website, mostly about the tradition of Thanksgiving itself.

So there's a couple of entertaining reads and things to see for the week. I'm going g to enjoy my rainy day off by sipping coco and getting my pen to the page.

Until next week.
I hope you all had beautiful, wonderful Thanksgivings!
Your humble author,
S. Faxon

Fall

Good evening!

The autumn season is in bloom here in San Diego. It is 42' outside, 50' inside my house where we have yet to turn on the heat because this is Southern California and we are in denial that it gets cold at night. I have my steaming cup of tea, fuzzy socks, scarf and throw blanket as my "warming team" until such a time when our single wall heater comes to life.

Last night I attended the reunion dinner for the Pacifica Institute's Turkey adventure. It was a beautiful dinner and it was wonderful to see my travel companions. And wouldn't you know, the people of Nigde did it again! When we were in Nigde (pronounced 'nee-dah") we were treated like royalty and given surprise after surprise. Last night, we received the very same treatment. Four men from Nigde, including the host who allowed my friend and me to stay in his family's home, were there. After everyone ate, and after Rosemary walked us down memory lane with Walt's photos as her guide, the people of Nigde gave us one more gift. 

We each received these beautiful quotes with the Turkish tulip in the background. My frame is currently on my dresser, but it will soon take a place in my office at work.

By the way, I would like to extend my apologies for not writing in recent weeks, my dear readers. I've recently started a new job and my time at home has mostly been warmly dedicated to helping out my mom. You see, my mom is on crutches right now. She recently had surgery to repair her ACL and the Meniscus in her right knee. This is not the first major surgery my mom has undergone, in fact it is one of a few. My mother is not "injury prone," and nor is she clumsy. My mom has a condition called Osteogenisis Imperfecta, O.I. Haven't heard of it? You are not alone. Often times when my mom goes to new doctors or physicians, they haven't heard of it either. And so, as I'm sure you can imagine, it's been a frustrating road for my mom. It is a condition with many signs, but the symptoms are the troubling aspect - it is often referred to as the brittle bone disease.

Her healing this time around is going fairly smoothly, but the frustrations from the unknown have been troubling. So, my mom has done something about it. She's writing a blog and I invite and encourage you to read it. Her story is incredible and for some of you it may feel familiar. The link for my mom's blog is below, and it is entitled, "I am Not Breakable." Please check out my mom's blog, who's bones and tendants are easily damaged, but will not fall: 

http://iamnotbreakable.blogspot.com

See you soon dear readers.

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Halloween Short

Here it is at last, the Halloween short from S. Faxon.

The Confession

Detective DiVida hated this time of year. Halloween was not a time of laughter, tricks, and treats. It was a hell-inspiring time of year when seemingly every wacko and loner struck out in demon-like or ridiculous ways. And here before midnight, this Halloween had already proved to be far more foul than anyone involved in this case could ever accept.

The gruesome scene left behind at 130 Richmond was one that would spell out nightmares for anyone who responded to this case. There were so many questions to be answered, questions that would likely never be seen through.

As he stood outside of the police station alone, taking in the last duffs of a bummed cigarette, the detective took a look up to the heavens above. The sky was black. Only a sliver of a moon glared back. On any other night, this would have been expected, but tonight, the sight of the darkness gave the detective an unexpected chill. Evil truly had touched all of them in this night.

This case would be unlike any other homicide before, although it had the makeup to be as regular as any other youth gone bad profile; a recent drastic move, a step-parent, isolation, and to top it off, the kid had a record. Possession and being involved in a knife fight on the street in his last city of residence. The kid had convinced a jury that the fight was in self-defense, but the ink on his sheet did not bode him favors tonight.

Both his parents were dead and his house lie half in rubble from a fire that most were already saying he started. How else could a sixteen year old escape from a level 3 blaze relatively untouched?

This was one of the countless questions that Detective DiVida intended to find out.

The door opened and the Detective entered the plain walled interrogation room, a scene he felt more comfortable in than at home. There were a number of things a veteran detective such as himself looked for the second he stepped into the room – first and foremost, was the detainee awake. It seemed backwards to new recruits and to those who had no experience in crime investigation, but for most, planning a murder is a sleep depriving ordeal, one that has a host of demons screaming in your head, so once the deed is done and if you’re in a quiet, safe place, the adrenaline drops you into dreams. Detective DiVida half expected this, but the kid was awake, wide awake. Though deep circles that suggested the boy had not slept in weeks, underlined his brown eyes, the kid could not have looked farther away from being dropped by adrenaline. Perhaps he was terrified that he had been caught so easily. Time would tell.

“Alright,” Detective DiVida sat down slowly at the desk, deciding to take a more firm, yet soft spoken approach with this kid who already seemed so tightly strung out on the edge. “They said you wanted to talk to me. Just take your time, there’s no rush.”

The boy's eyes never ceased their constant scanning of the room. But he did not appear to be looking for anything in particular. It was more like he was afraid of the shadows on the walls. The unsipped cup of Styrofoam between his hands that would not keep still rattled from his knee bouncing up and down unyielding beneath the table. The observers on the other side of the black window were taking bets as to what drugs the kid was on.

But after years of working VICE the detective had thought he’d seen it all until tonight. There was something so otherworldly about this case and it was all about to spill out before him.

“Okay,” the boy's shaky voice started. He pushed his ear length hair back and for a split second the detective could see some of the deep scratches that had been noted in the report the first responders made. From the file that the detective had reviewed before coming into the room, the detective knew that the boy’s skin was riddled with similar scratches that looked to have been done by fingernails. “I-I-I’ll tell you,” the boy's voice was frantic. “But there’s no way you’ll believe me. I just, I gotta tell someone.”

The detective calmly nodded his head. “I’m listening, Brandon.”

Sighing hard, the boy took several deep breaths before being able to muster up the words to tell his tale of horror.

“We moved into this stupid town from the city a few months ago. My step-dad got a new job out here, so my mom and I picked up our entire lives and moved. Aside from the fact that the town sucked, everything was fine at first. Until the day I got into a fight after school. That’s when everything all started.

“My mom and step-dad were pissed, to say the least. He started yelling at me and then my mom started yelling at him and in the midst of everything a family picture we had on the wall of the living room fell.” The boy hesitated, his shoulders drew up. The detective did not know, but this was exactly as everyone had reacted the moment the frame shattered upon the floor. “It stopped our fight and we just sorta blamed it on an earthquake that we didn’t notice– this is California, a faulty nail, or something like that. But, we could not have been more wrong.

“We’re not,” the boy stopped. His heart wondered if he should use past tense, but thinking of his parents as dead was too much for him yet. “We’re not a quote ‘religious’ family or nothing like that. We’d go to church on Christmas and Easter and that was pretty much it, but once things really started going in the house…that’s when we became believers. Clearly too late.” The boy snuffled hard, wiped his running nose with the sleeve of his loose fitting black sweatshirt.

“My parents started fighting all the time, like really bad. Screaming and yelling. They’d never been like that before. I know you probably think that I hated my step dad, but I didn’t, ok. He was alright. He always treated me and my mom right, you know? But once he started screaming at her, that was it. I knew it wasn’t right. You know? Like it wasn’t him.

“After the first few nights following the first few fights, that’s when things really started getting nuts. I’d wake up in the middle of the night. It was really weird. Like I felt like something was in there with me…staring at me. But there was nothing there.

“My mom said that there was one morning when she was getting ready for work that she was in the bathroom and when she was in the shower, there was someone in there with her. Creeping on her. She was terrified. She came out screaming. That was just a day or two before…” the boy could not finish his sentence, but he meant a day or two before Halloween. “That night, we all had another big fight, my parents and me. It was the worst. I honestly can’t remember what we fought about because of what else happened. We were in the living room and we started to hear doors slamming upstairs. Open and shut, open and shut.

“All the photos we had on the walls were shaking like there was an earthquake, but the ground, it wasn’t shaking. It was horrible. I’ve never been so scared in my life, but I was still so mad from the fight, you know? So I started screaming at the house. How I hated that place how it needed to burn.” The boy stopped because he could see the judgment in the eyes of the detective. “Look man, I know this sounds nuts, but I’m not making this up. Look what it did to me!” The boy popped up out of his chair and ripped up his shirt. All across the boy’s stomach, chest, sides and back were the terrible scratches that did not look as if caused by human fingers, but by claws. The detective was taken aback by this. He had seen the file that the EMTS, had provided in the file and they were not described half as terrible as these.

Before the detective could say or ask anything, the boy continued, “It all stopped after the scratches. Until tonight.” The boy sobbed heavily. “Everything went to hell tonight. My mom had brought home a Bible, as far back as I can remember we’d never had one before. As soon as she crossed into the front door…they knew.

“All the lights began to fade, then light up again, fade then light up. We heard what sounded like, I don’t know, a tapping? Coming from my room upstairs. So my mom, my step dad and I went up there to see what was going on. The lights wouldn’t turn on. It was pitch dark in there, but that same feeling that I’d had that something was in the room with me was back and I knew my folks could feel it to.

“Something began to speak to us, but it wasn’t right. It was somewhere between a growl and a whisper. I couldn’t hear it exactly, but I could understand it, like it was in my head. It was saying, ‘Get it out. Get it out.’ Over and over again. I knew exactly what it meant: the Bible. But that was the last thing I was about to do. I ran down stairs to where my mom had left it, leaving my folks upstairs. I grabbed it and the second I did, screams. My parents were screaming!” The tears streaming down the boy’s face were running into his mouth and down onto his heart as he spoke. “I bolted back, but half way up the stairs…there was fire. It was so hot. I couldn’t…there was nothing I could do. There was this horrible feeling like something was pulling me, pulling me in two directions. One toward the fire, one back down the stairs. It felt like I was being dragged downward, like my feet didn’t even touch the ground.

“Next thing I knew, I was out front. Watching my home, my life, my…my parents burn.” The boy looked up straight into the eyes of Detective DiVida. “I know you think I’m nuts and that you’re probably going to lock me away forever, but this is what happened. I swear to you. There was something evil in that house. And it destroyed us.”

The detective had been watching, listening to everything that the boy shared. He remained a moment more, trying to see if the boy was going to prove his madness and burst into, ‘Happy Halloween.’ But he didn’t.

“Thank you, Adam,” Detective DiVida said as he began to stand. “I’m going to um, get you some stuff to help you freshen up. I’ll be right back. Okay?”

Adam didn’t know what to think or to say. Freshening up seemed so pointless.  He nodded once. He knew that the men in white coats would soon come to take him away.

Detective DiVida removed himself from the room. He did not stop when questioned. He continued all the way back to the spot at which he had been smoking his cigarette. He wished he had bummed a second. Leaning his back against the door, the detective once more stared up in to the black sky. He thought back to the scene that he had walked in upon two hours ago: a Bible on the grass of the front lawn, the house, smouldering. Deep within the rubble and the ashes were found two collections of bones, but not complete bodies. On two separate locations in the exact positions, there lie a head and two femurs, crossed as if designed like skull and crossbones. The most unnerving aspect was that neither of the bones displayed any typical trait of having been through extreme heat and fire. It was as if the flesh had been stripped and placed at the scene of the crime.

Another wretched chill ripped through the Detective. He knew what fate awaited the boy. He knew what the juries and the CPS investigators would say. Holding on tight to the pocket Rosary his grandmother had given him when he was around about Adam’s age, he felt it as true as anything in his heart. He knew, that probably he alone with the boy, believed in the demons that haunted and tormented the former tenants of that house.

~*~*~

Happy Halloween!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

"The Red Queen"

I'm at an adorable coffee shop in Temeula called Ryan Bros. I'm enjoying their Earl Grey while writing this week's edition of z blog. I am so sorry for the delay, but I've been preparing a good one. Without further adieu, on to the dark tale of the Red queen...

The Red Queen

The queen stood stalwart, gazing out a window. The attendant that joined her in the otherwise empty dining hall watched her with fear and respect.

"Madam," his shaky, but diligent voice called, "they are here."

The queen barely tilted her head to her knowledge that she was listening. Her eyes never left the window. She inhaled deeply. Everything has been arranged. There was nothing now to be done then to see her last attempt through. "Let them come," her firm, quiet voice commanded.

The attendant that had served the middle aged queen for many years drew his back straight. The last act was bold, terribly so, but there was nothing left to do. Glancing at the table, he verified yet again that all of the nicestest dinnerware had been set. It looked as if the queen was expecting to entertain loved dignitaries, and not despised enemies. "Very well, your Majesty," the attendent bowed and left the queen alone in the hall. 

When the doors on the other side of the hall opened with the unmistakable sound of armored men entering, she remained still as a stone at the window.

"Ah, your worship," a cruel voice that the queen had long dread hearing called to her. "What would your people think to see this lavish spread when most of the men in their families are dead?"

The spread on the table was highly decorated. The queen requested the best be set up for these expected, but unwanted guest. The queen turned to face the war stained men that entered, turning away from the view of her city that lay partially in ruin. "I should think you to be glad to see the set, Lord Lastric,"using his title taste wretched on her tongue. "It is, after all, for you."

The intimidating figure complete with a sword dangling from his belt, strut slowly toward the head of the table opposite from where the queen stood. "Is this your last grab at civility? Now that your short reign is at an end, this certainly can't be a celebtration."

The queen inhaled deeply. She was careful not to greatly insult this poor excuse for a man. "Come, if civility will not appease you and your men, won't you at least allow your men to enjoy a meal?"

The men looked to their leader. The bellies were rumbling. With no rest, they had been leading the seige against this woman and her well-trained army for over a week. Obtaing this city had proven to be much more of a nightmare than planned. Sitting down and eating even if it was with their sworn enemy, was certainly tempting.

Lord Lastric was not immune to human desires, but he was hyper sensitive to human mischievousness. "This may be of no surprise to you, but being that our two sides have been at war for two years, you will understand if I do not trust you."

The queen scoffed. "Do you think I'm going to poison you?" She made a motion to one of the servants that had entered to bring in the food. Shaking her head the Queen leaned on the back of her chair. Looking straight into the eyes of her enemy she said, "Pour whatever is served into my glass. Serve whatever food you wish to me, so that I may prove that this is a meal of goodwill. A formal acknowledgment of my defeat."

The servers immediately entered bringing in and laying out numerous platters of steaming food. The men uneasily made their way around the table by the orders of their crawling bellies. Their leader was quiet. He knew his men were starved, but he knew the queen was cunning. "Very well," he said, unable to deny his men this comfort after the sacrifices they made for him. "But," he reached across the table to a teacup from the setting where one of his men was to sit. "You will drink from this, so in the event this proves to be lined with more than gold we will all be in the know." He walked the cup to the queen and exchanged it with her own. "Enjoy this, my lady," he growled. He stared at her neck as she calmly took her seat. He imagined running his blade across her pretty thin throat. It would be so easy. Too easy. He chuckled then began to return to where he would sit. "This truly will be your last look at your life as queen."

The queen poured herself a cup of tea as she would on any other day, but she decided not to add sugar or milk as was her country's customary way for taking their teas. It would be a strange break from tradition, but extraordinarily necessary. Clearing her throat, the queen said, "I'm sure your men are capable of serving themselves, so please, gentlmen, eat." Her tone was motherly, which was unexpected. It was as if she was talking to her sons, not her enemies.

The men eagerly reached for the serving utensils, but again their leader stopped them.  "Do not forget your manners, gentlemen. We are in the presence of a lady. She deserves first bite."

The queen smiled. She more than understood this hesitation; she anticipated it. The queen quietly served herself, then took a bite of the flank steak and the mashed potatoes. "So, Lord Lastric, what plans have you for me?" 

Lord Lastric watched her for a moment and after ensuring that she was tasting and swallowing all of the food, he answered, "No more than you would have done to me were our places in history switched."

The queen finished chewing her bite and whille holding her knife and fork in her hands, she mused, "I see, so you will have me destroyed so to make a final mark on your rampage. To show that this crusade you invented has only begun?"

The leader gave his men the long awaited signal to at last endulge in their much needed desire. The men attacked the food like wolves a fresh carcass. The queen watched the men eat without directly looking at them. Instead, she kept her eyes on Lord Lastric who had yet to take a sip or a bite. The queen pulled her tea cup to her lips and sipped as he said, "Here is my plan. Once the bellies of my men are full, they will escort you to the coldest, dampest cell in your prison and hurl you into its keep. We will spread word to your resistence and make them come to the event that we will have tomorrow." As he spoke, he stirred the milk and sugar into his tea. The scene seemed so eerily peaceful. The man's actions were unnervingly unfitting to his words and reputation as a violent, ruthless soldier. Lord Lastric raised his tea cup to the queen. With a smile as cruel as Satan, he said, "And once we present to them your head upon a pike, then they will have a real reason to call you the Red Queen." The leader drew the tea to his mouth and what started as a sip became several mouth fulls. He had not realized the extent of his thirst. As the warm tea, sugar and milk hit his empty belly, he deemed it safe to eat, afterall, the queen was still eating. 

The queen nursed a small bite of potatoes in her mouth as she waited for the right length of time to pass. The men had already cleared their plates and were diving in for seconds, thirds. 

The queen cleared her throat, her stomach was already burning. "Well, you've taken everything else from me, my husband, my sons, my kingdom, why not my life?" 

Lord Lastric ripped into a chicken leg, seasoned so well that his men doubted if they weren't eating plates in heaven. "Maybe I shouldn't have you killed." Lord Lastric said with a mouth full of tea and chicken. He was eating so much and so fast, he was not surprised by the slight burning in his stomach. "I imagine it'd be terribly difficult to live with those demons, knowing, as you do, that this all could have been avoided if only you and your husband had abdicated when I asked."

The queen continued to slowly eat her mashed potatoes as she listened to the increasing amount of throat clearing sounds coming from the men. "I assure you, Lord Lastric, that neither of those options are what I would do to you."

The men continued to eat regardless the growing swelling and burning in their stomachs. They all assumed the same as their leader, that their long empty bellies were angered by the sudden presence of rich, highly seasoned food. 

They could not have been more wrong.

One of the men who sat at the right of the queen began to cough violently, as if he was choking. 

A few of the men slowed their eating to see if their comrade was alright. The queen placed a motherly hand on his shoulder and said, "Drink some tea to clear your throat, lad."

The man did as told and took down as much tea as he could, though nothing was stuck in his throat. He was having a difficult time swallowing and it felt as if his esophagus and stomach were being lit on fire.

A few of the men resumed their eating as their comrade appeared to be recovering, but it wasn't a minute more before another and another man began the same coughing spell. 

Lord Lastric stopped eating. His own esophagus was begining to burn wretchedly. "What's going on here?"

No sooner had he said it, the entire table of his men were either coughing or clutching on to their stomachs. For some it felt as if their intestines and stomachs were being violently stabbed from the inside out, for others it felt as if they had swallowed red-hot coals. 

 

One man stood and vomited right on the table, spilling sick everywhere. 

The men were consumed with their sudden onsets of cramping. Two fell out of their chairs in convulsions.

Lord Lastric stood, dumbstruck by what he was witnessing and feeling. His own stomach was cramping so horribly that he was forced to bend forward and lean heavily on the table. His men were falling out of their chairs one by one, crippled and convulsing from the same gruesome pains. Everyone was clearly affected, except the queen. 

She sat stoic, though she was not completely immune. The trace amounts of aresenic that she had consumed were enough to make her stomach hurt and to leave a metallic taste in her mouth, but not nearly enough to render her doomed.

"What have you done?" Lord Lastric growled to her as he fought every urge to vomit.

The queen stood and answered calmly, "I lined every cup of tea with arsen, as well as the meat, essentially everything, sir, that is on the table, except the tea. But none so much as the sugar and milk."

The general's knees crumpled and he fell hard to the floor. Most of his men were barely moving, having consumed enough poison to ensure their deaths in minutes. 

Though she knew that hardly any were listening, the queen walked around the table so that she could see her old foe. "You see, I knew that my chances of surving this afternoon were slim to none, so if I was to die, I would have preferred to go out with dignity and in the style of my choosing. But then I realized, why stop with myself, when I could take down the whole theatre?" She stood directly beside Lord Lastric who could no longer speak from the pains consuming his body. His expression said enough; he could not believe how quickly the tables had turned against him. Grabbing the lord's unfinished cup of tea, the queen looked straight down at this demon of a man. "And that, sir, that is why they call me the red queen." From her towering position, she poured the entirety of the cup onto his face.

And then there was silence. The movement around her had ceased. 

Sighing, the queen used a cloth napkin to wipe her hands and then she returned to her original position by the window, to look out once at her sick kingdom.

Hearing the silence, the kichen staff entered the room. They were surprised at the gruesome scene upon which they entered, but not by the death of the men. The kitchen staff was, afterall, those who were most loyal to the queen desguised for the afternoon to wait however lightly on their enemies. They would do anything for this woman who was willing to die to perserve the sanctity of her people and the kingdom that she loved.

With her eyes still locked on the horizon, the queen said to her loyal group, "It looks dark now, but the seed has been saved." Turning to face her circle, she smiled and concluded, "We may hope again."

~End~

Well folks, I hope you enjoyed the dark story of the Red Queen!

I'm enjoying my day in Temecula and hope that whatever you all are up to, that you're enjoying yourselves too!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

My view from my favorite winery in Temecula, Miramonte.

"Sent to Save" Part 2

Hi all and happy week two of October! The following story is the conclusion of "Sent to Save" Part 1, which was published last week. If you haven't read that section, please procede one week back in time to catch up with our heroine. For those of you who are all caught up, read away!

"Sent to Save" Part 2 

Fears of abandoning my old life, the destruction of the world I knew and the reality into which I had been thrown were obliterated by the blast of that bomb. Not that there was much time for me to consider the repercussions of following the demands of my heart. For a fraction of a second, when the heat from the blast's shockwave lightly burned the right side of my body, the fear of losing my life ought to have struck me then. But it didn't. Crazy as this entire story sounds, this may be the cherry on the cake - I was not afraid. Not for myself, for the people I was helping, yes. But for me, it was nuts, but I felt immune. Yes, I was burned and scared and yes it was horrible, but it was as if it was inconsequential. Like my pain did not matter. Strange, and it only progressed deeper into the mist. 

Once the door was completely shut and sealed, I blinked hard and instantly opened my eyes, but once more my reality had shifted. When my eyes opened it was not the day of the blast, but ten years later. Again, I cannot explain how or why, but this is what happened. Ten years had passed. Ten years gone, but not lost. Though my mind was blank of solid memories, my heart and body met the passing of the time. I caught an image of myself in the reflection of a mirror. The tale was told right there on the looking glass. Women my age always dread turning thirty, but they cannot begin to imagine what it's like to look at yourself one day and be 29 and then the next time you see yourself to be nearly 40, with radiation scars on your face, no less. 

The ten years that were lost to my mind were not spent in waste by my heart and body. In this morning, the tenth anniversary, people were coming to me for guidance, answers directions. At some point in this parallel world, I had managed to position myself as a leader. A literal underground resistance had grown, and I was its face. But instinct was begining to tell me as I rushed around helping people to grab and pack survival supplies from their once exceedingly well-stocked shelter, that my time was running short. These people had apparently followed me for ten years, but the government learned of our survival underground. It was time for us to move. The conditions of the earth above our white walled shelter were unknown, but we knew through intercepted radio transmissions that the government was preparing to advance on our hiding place. How they determined we were there was lost on us, but we did not have the time to debate their rhymes or reasons. Had the advance taken place five, even one year ago, the people would have been able to sit through and wait out the advance. But the food and the general supplies were all but spent. There would be little hope in waiting.

I stood and watched the people prepare and saw that their priorities were merely to take food. I directed all of them to fill their canteens with water - a resource that came naturally from an aquifer that ran through the lower caves. Without question or command, I grabbed as many small tools as possible and shoved them in the various bags of the people who were cconveniently around. Those small tools, knives, forks, cups - those and access to water were the items that the people had grown comfortable to always having around - they had no idea how handy those tools could be off the table as well as on. 

About midmorning, the first door was opened. We sent out scouts to patrol the area. While the shelter had been extremely well lit, this was going to be the first time our people had seen the light of the sun in ten years. We all gathered around the open entrance, daring not to speak or move. The familiar unknown was paralyzing. I thought of deer caught in the headlights of a car. The light was harsh, but welcoming. The air seemed surprisingly clean. In my last reality I knew of post-radiation disaster zones and I knew that this soil would hardly bode well for us to dwell upon, but the sight I saw before me was nothing I could have expected.

What little memories people had of the ground above was long forgotten, so the landscape before us, was foreign, but more in part because of what we could easily see; after the blast, the government had clearly gone through these lands and planted trees, some stunted, some enormous from the poison that had been hurled over their soil. The instant giveaway that the trees were planted, were the neat little rows in which the pines stood. The government's attempt to cover up their intended major disaster was futile and pathetic, particularly with us alive. Because we remained we were far too great a liability. We had no idea how many other commmunities were destroyed in this way, but we were not about to let our people be obliterated without a fight.

The scouts returned with good news; the government had not yet found this area of escape and their forces remained many miles away. With a subtle nod of my head, the people began to move out in small, tight units. Many of the children that I had helped to pull inside this underground world were nearly adults or already sprouting families of their own. It was an odd sensation to watch the people that in my reality I had seen just yesterday with baby fat and abject fear clinging to their faces and yet on this day they passed by me with stoic expressions, like well trained soldiers off to save their lives and those of their families. 

I remained on the cusp of the entrance, standing beside the once little boy that I came here to save, the now adult who I knew in my heart I had adopted as my stepson. We stood proud, quietly beside one another as we watched our people seep out from the undergrounds. We refused to leave until everyone was out safe. His father, my apparent husband, had helped to facilitate the first to leave. He was guiding them to a zone we determined to be safe for the time being. Our son would then procede with the last of the citizens of our emerging underground community, to lead them on to lands far away from here, taking my position as their new leader. Because of this foreign familiarity that we shared, I could sense that my son was nervous and scared, but no one looking at him would ever know. His expression was stone and his position confident. I thought of how the great leaders in my reality stood and whether it was the maternal love that I had developed for this young man or the truth of the situation, but never before could I recall a person looking so right for the impossibly large role he was about to undertake. 

The last of the groups were preparing to leave, and a group of about twenty men and women stood behind me. They were the cadre that I was to lead towards the governments men. Our task was to draw the soldiers as far away from our people as possible, regardless the consequences. My face was one that the government would know - how, I have no idea. Perhaps somehow I was a trouble maker in this world before I stepped out from that tunnel. As a journalist in the life I knew, I had been a bit of a rabble rouser, it would make sense that a parallel soul of myself here would be the same.

Our time was running short. I turned to my son and in a motherly way fiddled with his brown tweed vest. "Do not be afraid," I queitly said to him. "You are ready for this." He knew that this was our last time together and looking him in the eye expressed every human emotion expected in so sorrowful a case, but it was alll masterfully contained. Inhaling deeply, I touched his face and said, "You'll always know what to say; you know my words because they come from your heart." I touched my fingertips to his heart and then took hold of his hands. I briefly saw that on my own hand, I wore a plain gold ring on my middle finger that his father likely gave me to mark our marriage here in these caves. It was strange to think that an entire lifetime had passed in these ten years, which had occured to me in the span of time no longer than a blink.

The young man nodded proudly. I could feel that he and I had already expressed our goodbies, but that did not make the moment any less difficult.

But it was time. I held the boy close and then looked once more into his blue eyes. I will never forget his face. 

And then, my cadre and I bolted. 

Out from the shelter, out from the protection of our dwelling place and up the hill. We headed north, towards the same direction from which I had originally brought the boy and his father. It was strange. The area then had been sparsely populated by trees, but today, it was a dense thicket. We lept and jumped over fallen logs and squeezed between the overgrown rows of trees. The only word I could think to describe the whole scene was "wild" - the forest itself, completely untamed and the way we threw ourselves through the brush, we were equally as wild. Like animals. It was a freeing and terrifyiing experience all at once. We had thought that the government troops were far though closing in, but we had no idea how close they in fact were until they were right upon us. 

Gun fire instantly started to pelt through the rows of trees. As planned, my companions and I parted in every which direction, except backwards towards our exit from the shelter, to conjur as much confusion as possible. The plan worked. The soldiers had to quickly decide which darting imp to follow. It wasn't long before I had three soldiers on my tale, shooting like mad. As a journalist, I had only ever been to post-conflict zones, never live action. I have a far new appreciation for how raw animal instincts take over when literally running for one's life.  

That odd sensation of being led by my heart again overtook my actions, though that sensation of immortality was waning. I sprang down a hill at high speed. The forest was so dense and bullets were ricochetting wooden splinters all around me. Characters falling when monsters were chasing you in movies seemed so much more realistic to me now. 

The hill was steep and it seemed to go on forever, until there was an unnexpected break from the trees and there before me was a beach. A thin, but deep looking inlet led from the ocean on my right and a thick forest of planted trees led right up to the sand on either side off the stream. This place looked nothing like it had when first I stepped onto the sand ten years ago, or a mere few hours in my head, but I knew it was the same beach where first I emerged into this world. I hesitated on the sand for just a second to catch my bearings. The cool mist coming from the sea did nothing to cool or to calm me. My face and back were dripping in sweat, my heart pounding, and the sound of soldiers shouting continuous. They would be right behind me in a matter of seconds and I was completely exposed. Darting back into the forest was out of the question at this point - they would find me easily. I was likely to get shot if I tried to cross the watery inlet. There was but one chance for me to get out of this alive.

Looking to my left, I saw the bluff from which I had emerged, but there was no sandstone visible - the face had been completely covered in wild vines. But I didn't care. I wasn't about to sit here and wait to be shot. Even if I was shot in the back, at least I'd die trying to reach my freedom.

My booted feet bolted towards the bluff. Running in the deep sand made the task so much more trying, but my adrenaline powered me forward. The cliff was so close! But so were the soldiers. They were nearing the beach.

I reached the cliff and slammed into it, unable to stop. My hand desperately ripped through the ivy, pulling down the branches, ignoring the sharp spines equally ripping through my hands. The task seemed hopeless as I destroyed the viney network, praying that I would find the tunnel. 

Behind me, the soldiers had reached the beach! They began shooting immediately. At least their distance and their running toward me temporarily threw the aim of their bullets. Until...

A sharp, scream of pain wretched clean through my shoulder, sending blood rippling across my face and the cliff. I cannot describe the pain of being shot. My left arm was useless and bleeding terribly, but I did not give up. My right arm made one last rip down and there it was. I couldn't believe it! There was the same round hole that I had squeezed out of and I was seconds away from dieing in front of it.

Without completely clearing the spot, I dove in head first. My body slammed into the base of the round tunnel, knocking the wind from me. Amidst my coughing and bleeding, I turned onto my back and kicked my way back through the water that occupied the tunnel, never losing sight of the beach. I could see the soldiers. They were running up to the entrance of the tunnel. Just as I saw the barrels of two guns reaching into the hole to make their death shots, my upper body slipped out of the tunnel, dropping my body into a wider pool. 

I was completley submerged. Fearing drowning ontop of being shot, I threw my arms up to the surface and kicked hard against the bottom, throwing my face up out from the water. 

I expected to be shot instantly. I expected to be dragged out of the tunnel by the soldiers and then be shot on the beach execution style, but what instead occured was silence. 

Silence.

I was in a pool shallow enough so that I could stand, but my feet were barely able to support my weight with the high of adrenaline throbbing through me. The walls were white, glowing. The natural ceiling was high above my head. The waters familiar. I stood as straight and as solid as I could, so to look at the waters. I expected to be surrounded by a pool of my own blood, but there was none. The pain was gone. I grabbed onto my shoulder, the bullet wound, gone. The clothes, the boots that I had been wearing when I ran through the forest and on the beach, gone. 

I was again in the navy blue swimming suit that I had worn to swim in this place at least a dozen times before. My eyes darted up to the rabbit hole spot where I had been lost. The hole was gone. Gone. The wall was solid. My left hand slowly reached up and touched the wall where the tunnel should have been. But there was nothing but solid rock, glowing white as it always had before. 

There is no way for me to tell you how long I stood motionless with my hand pressed against that wall. It could have been ten seconds it could have been ten hours. Time, reality, all those were lost to me. I knew where I was, I knew these walls and these waters better than most, but what I had just experienced ripped away every thing I thought I knew.

The memories of me leaving that cave, returning to my locker and bike to get changed and to go home are fuzzy at best. The only reason I know I did these things, is because of what happened to me as I neared the top of the hill leading to the natural wonder. Thank God for auto-pilot, which did steer me to grabbing my keys and clothes, otherwise I would have trekked this road twice in a dripping bathing suit in order to go home. Of course once I did reach home, I curled up in a ball on my sofa and remained motionless for hours trying to rationalize what had happened. However, before I made it back to my condo, as I neared the top of the path, I heard a woman's voice calling to me, "Excuse me?" Apparently she had been trying to get my attention for a little while. 

I turned to face her, but my expression surely gave nothing of welcome. I was still lost in the caves. The off-put look that she returned to me realized as much, though I'm sure she assumed for other reasons. Sounding quite snooty, she asked, "Can you tell me if there's really anything interesting in those caves?"

The question seemed so terribly dull to me, considering all that I had seen. I could barely summon a thought. I squeezed the handles on the rails on my bike and I noticed something incredible - the ring. The ring given to me by the man who was my husband in that alternate reality was there plain as day on my middle finger. I stared at it dumbfounded for a moment and just before the woman completely gave up on me, I turned my face to her and said with utmost conviction, "Oh yes. Yes. But that is completley dependent on what you choose to see."

The answer made all the sense in the world to me, but the woman clearly decided that my head was full of fluff and smoke, so she continued on her path toward those mystical caves. 

I turned around to peer down once more at the entrance to the atrium where those incredible petroglyphs were etched on the far back wall. I know that I will never be able to explan what happened to me, how it happened, or if that reality will ever again present itself to me in my lifetime. All that I know   is that those petroglyphs were carved by the hands of the children that I was sent to save.

End

Thoughts, questions, comments? Please feel free to write them below in the comments section - I'm always happy to hear your responses!

Until our next spooky tale dear readers!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

  

"Sent to Save"

Hi All,

As many of you know, October is my FAVORITE time of the year. SIDE BUT IMPORTANT NOTE - It is breast cancer awareness month -  men and ladies, check, check, check! 

October is my favorite month for a number of reasons - the season is changing, the best fruits are fresh, apple cider and Oktoberfest brews are abundant, and of course, my favorite holiday is a mere few weeks away - Halloween!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

I have many a new trick up my sleeve this year to make yours and my Halloween a delightful treat. Like last year, I will be doing a series of short, spooky stories to satisfy you thrill seekers. This first one is based on a dream that I had, so if you are into the extraordinary, you are indeed in for a treat. Curl up with your favorite cider or pumpkin spiced latte, and buckle in dear readers, you're in for a wild ride.

Sent to Save

I must account the strange events that happened to me before time makes the clarity of the details fade, though these events will haunt me to the end of my days.

It happened when I was visiting a national monument, one of those natural 8th wonders of the world places that I had visited countless times. The extensive sight is known as the White Caves, an underground network of rooms and caverns thought to be carved out from the workings of a nearby lake. A long, downward path leads you to the impressive sight that you can see from the parking lot a quarter of a mile away. The entrance, or the atrium as we locals call it, sits like a valley that a recent earthquake unveiled after several thousand years of being hidden from man's eye. But, we contemporary visitors were not the first to these white walled caves. On the tall wall at the back of the entrance, there are ancient petroglyphs depicting tales and legends unknown to any local or global cultural experts. The conclusion of the specialists, determined that this collection of pre-modern people were extremely intelligent, resourceful, and detached from interaction with the rest of the world.

The site was naturally a highly sought after place to see, and as a researcher and journalist I had been here more times than I can recall. Just this summer, it was determined that the historical aspects of the site were strictly limited to the entrance and that the standing cavern walls were sound. This was great news for outdoor-activity junkies, such as myself, as it meant that the caves were open to hikers and explorers, along with swimmers who were now allowed to dip in the highly rich mineral waters.

The site that spaned two miles underground was well lit. The salt and minerals in the walls obsorbed the sunlight and sent a warm glow throughout the underground caverns. Being that the site was within a decent biking distance from my suburb condo, I made at least three visits a week to the pools within the caverns. I'd peddle over, lock up my bike, change out from my biking sweats, dawn my suit and submerse myself in the thick, rich waters. By the end of September, there was not a crevice nor a slip in the smooth caverns that I did not know. So it was to my great surprise when I found a cylindrical opening in a quiet corner of one of the caves farthest from the entrance. Tourist season had ended and it was early enough in the day that I was alone in this cave. Now, I've been on journalist missions around the world where we women are respected about as much as dirt, but my calm heart and analytical head have always gotten me out of trouble and helped me to see clearly through danger. In other words, being alone in this environment was about the equivalency of having breakfast alone on my patio in the morning. 

Being able to investigate this new detail by myself was satisfying nearly every thrill seeking bone in my body. This new cylindrical tunnel was fascinating to me. The water that filled these caves to about four feet deep came in slowly, gradually from a source a mile away from where I was, but here I was staring through a tunnel that clearly was feeding water into this cave. The incoming stream was not rapid by any means. It was calm, and from what I could tell, there was naturaland direct sunlight on the otherside of the tunnel. Now, this was another surprise. The only source of direct sunlight into these caverns was in the entrance. It simply did not make sense to be seeing sun rays, forgive the pun, as clear as day on the other side of the tunnel. Every inch of this site both above ground and below had been documented by researchers, quite often with me jotting down notes a mile a minute at their side. This was something new and I had to see what it was. I hate to use this phrase, but little did I know what I was stepping, or in this case swimmig in to.

The tunnel was small, but large enough for me to half swim, half crawl in a squatted position through. It was filled about half way, but I could see as I progressed by the markings on the wall, that the tide in there did not vary either way. That was comforting, but what was increasingly peculiar was the unmistakable sound of gentle waves rolling onto a beach. This made no sense. The lake was miles away and the nearest ocean was over a hundred miles away. And yet, once I made it to the other side, I could not believe what I saw. 

I emerged from the tunnel, slowly, carefully. There was sunlight alright, but no direct source of water feeding into the cave. My mind was so overwhelmed with the vision before me that my body operated automatically to remove itself from the tunnel and out onto the moist, coarse sand of a beach. My eyes scanned my surroundings, absorbing every detail but unable yet to process what had happened. I stood on a long beach that led out to an ocean a quick walk away. To my right were tall, steep cliffs, with light colored sand stone towering above me. To my left was a long band of sand with pine trees leading up a hill, with numerous plateaus. This was not an unoccupied place. I could see numerous stuctures on the hill, and they looked like maintained beach shacks.

I suddenly came to realize, although it continues to completely baffle me, that I had stepped through some sort of rabbit hole. For a moment I thought that maybe I knocked my head going through the cave and had passed out, slipping into a dream, but that couldn't be true. This was too real. Every one off my senses was being stimulated. I could smell the pines on the hill acrosss the thin bay. I was squinting from the sun reflecting off the glittering waters. I could feel the sand scraping between my toes. I could hear the waves splashing. I could taste the salt on the air.

Whatever had brought me here, wanted me to stay. I knew this, I can't exaclty explain why, but a sense of purpose and knowing filled my body, like I was being possessed by a mission I had no prior knowledge of: there was a boy here that I was sent to save.

At first this seemed ludicrous - here I was soaking in a swimming suit in a land I did not know on some hell-bent mission to save a boy I also had no idea about. And yet, somehow, my heart knew. It was the  strangest sensation of my life. There was a feeling of energy pounding from my heart, that commanded and forced my actions, with which my head would struggle to keep up. 

Regardless the madness and the hesitation and any sense of security that was on the other side of the tunnel from which I emerged, I had to move now and fast. 

My feet made an abrupt turn to the right and I was bounding up a set of stone steps that my eyes had not seen. As I climbed, I saw that my feet were no longer bare, but in boots. My entire outfit had been changed! In an outfit like one would see in steam-punk movies, I was able to comortably make my agile climb to the top of the cliffs. Once I reached the flat apex, I instantly locked onto a white light house at the edge of the cliff. That was where the boy was, the boy I was sent to save. To the day I die, I will never be able to explan "how" or "why" any of this happened, only what transpired.

For a moment, I hesitated to see my surroundings. From the top of the cliffs, I could see that this was a coastal area. A long strip of beach went for miles to the north, and to the east through a thin haze I could see mountains. This area was populated, but largely undeveloped. I took a deep breath of the clear air as my eyes continued to scan eastward. And then, a sudden, dire sense of urgency and dread filled me before I even saw it. Far off in the distance, yet still only a few miles from where I stood, I could see a structure that I knew had a supremely dark purpose, one that spelled out an apocalypse for all of the people in this area. The dread was not for mysellf, but for the boy.

My feet again bolted, this time in the direction of the house. Without any greeting or announcement, I threw open the front door. There in front of me was the young boy and his father. The man looked to be about my age and a lightness, like hope from familiarity passed between us. 

"Come on," I directed, taking hold of the boy's hand. "We'v got to get him to the shelter."

With nothing but the clothes on their backs, the father and the ten year old boy, raced with me across the cliff tops and down a short hillside past the beach where I had emerged. As we ran, I realized that we were headed to the area that in the reality I left, were directly over the caves. We ran on solid ground that in my reality was where the wide-mouthed entrance of the cave should have been. 

Our trail raced down a short slope where a thick half circle door stood agape. There were a small number of people in this entrance to what was a well fortified shelter, hidden in the hillside. It was clear that the people were unwilling guinea pigs for the government that was about to unleash hellfire on its own. I pushed the young boy and his father into this shelter and they turned to look at me as if I was killing them by not staying. For whatever reason, I knew that there was another shelter entrance that I had to go to. I would enter the safety zone from there. 

"I have to go," I said to these strangers who knew me enough to trust me with their lives.

Their looks were hurt, but they understood. They clearly knew more about my role in this society than I yet did. 

My feet once again began to bolt down farther down the hill where I spotted yet another shelter entrance, but this one had a long line of school aged children waiting to go inside. It was immediately apparent that there was a disproportionately small amount of adults to the children. 

The bone chilling and unmistakable sound of sirens began to wail. These were the screams that anyone who had lived through the Cold War in the 1950s would recognize that doom was on its way. I bolted to the front of the line where a small number of administers were clearly processing the children before letting them enter.

"We have to get them inside now!" I commanded, hearing the authoritativeness in my voice like never before. The idea of these children being outside when the package dropped from that devious blacktower was not something I would stand for in this reality or my own.

"Ma'am, we don't know where half of their parents are, we have to ensure we know who they are!" the female administrator with a large hand written list replied. 

"There will be plenty of time for that!" I yelled, the sirens were so loud and the imperativeness of the situation dire. "Get out of their way and get them inside!" Without waiting for any response I threw up my arms and motioned the children to rush forward as fast as possible. The children needed little incentive to escape. They rushed into the shelter as orderly as could be expected given the circumstances. As I watched them run into the shelter, I thought of all the horror movies I had seen in my reality where someone always falls when some monster is coming after them. As the last of the children made it into the cave, I felt hugely relieved that luckily in this world, that sort of nonsense did not occur. However, right after the last of the children passed by the sirens stopped.

The silence that followed was the deepest sense of terror I have ever known. There were still a small number of people running out from the surrounding forest and towards the door when it happened.

The initial shock wave came rolling through the trees, like a blast of wind that nearly knocked the wind out from me. It felt as if the entire right side of my body had been slapped by a fiery hand. A person running fell foward and a man who was nearly at the entrance and struggling to help his aged mother make it to the caves bent forward dramatically from the hit. There was nothing I could do for the   majority of the people pressing forward, but I could not close the door knowing that these two were so close. I bolted out from the cave and helped to carry the elder woman with her son into the solid edifice of the shelter. Right behind us was the second wave, one more powerful and far more deadly. Three of us grasped our hands onto the four foot thick led door to close it. The extra push from the second blast sealed shut the door, locking us inside the caverns.

~*~*~

What will happen next????? Tune in next week to read the exciting conclusion of "Sent to Save."

Until then,

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Turkish Tea Time

 After a full week of unnnesessarliy warm weather, we've finally come to a break in the heat. Fall is in the air. I'm sitting outside watching Bella Tuna take her morning stroll, and I'm getting some fresh air in hopes that my cough that can wake the dead will be healed by the delightfully pleasant weather. 

Bella Tuna working out some of her boundless energy.

Yep, for those of you who tuned in last week my valiant batle against a sinus infecction has not ceased. It's getting a bit frustrating to be bested by a cold for this long. Any cold cure tips out there? If any of you have a "this is what mom had us do as kids" remedies, feel free to leave your suggestions in the comments section and I'll be more than happy to try any of them.

You likely noticed that this week's post is entitled "Turkish Tea Time;" allow me to elaborate: On Saturday night, my family hosted a "Welcome home" party for me, in which I shared with them a Turkish style meal. With the wonderful help of my mom, we put together a beautiful spread, trying to replicate the experience that I had in Turkey in our very own backyard.

As I've said in previous posts, one of the primmary reasons for my visit to Turkey was to bring back the cultural lessons that I've learned to the States to share with as many people as possible. I think that this will become a standard practice for me after every country that I visit. Otherwise, if I learn about all of these amazing cultures, people and places, what good would it be to anyone if I selfishly keep what I learn to myself?

So, with my mom and an exceptionally large amount of tissues and hand wipies with me to help contain my cold, we scoured San Diego in search of Turkish goodies. From the International Market on Balboa Avenue we found bread, rose jam, and Turkish Delights.

From North Park Produce also on Balboa Avenue I bought Middle Eastern tea cups, they weren't Turkish style exactly. Turkish style are tulip shaped without a handle. These are tulip shaped, but have handles, which is fine.

The teacups that I purchased. 

I also purchased the fresh produce from this shop and some freshly baked Baklava. Yum.

For the feast, my mom and I prepared Turkish meatballs, Shepherd Salad, and a dill/cucumber yogurt dip. The rest was fresh or already made. 

The spread also included: spicy mixed olives, a creamy, salty cheese, flat bread, peaches, cherry juice (called "vishna" in Turkish) pomegranate vinegar, and lemons.

The spread.

We all sat down around the table and I explained to my family that for Shepherd salad, which is a culmination of essentially whatever veggies you have, you start by pouring on the olive oil, then the vinegar and then lemon. This is the Turkish way of serving it. I then showed them how to sprinkle fresh mint over the meatballs and to eat them with the yogurt dip. To our delight we discovered that the cheese and the rose jam on the bread made an exceptionally yummy treat. 

As we enjoyed ourself on the fine dining, I went inside to start the tea. Turkish tea is a process and a time honored tradition. While I currently do not have the proper tea making equipment, I'm making due with what I have. Once I have access to the proper tea kettle/pot combo I will go into greater detail as to how to make Turkish tea. But, essentially you let water boil and then pour it over loose tea leaves and then you let those tea leaves settle for 17 minutes. Yes, it is specific and this is how I was taught in Turkey. It varies from family to family. Once the tea is done steeping, you pour the tea in the cup, but only to the thinest part in the glass, then you fill the rest witih hot water. 

This is an image of the tulip shaped tea cups in Turkey - see how the middle becomes thin? That's the line to which you fill up with tea. The rest is filled with water. And yes, the cups are hot to the touch. On one evening, one of the gentlemen with whom we were dining noticed that I couldn't hold my tea cup so he improvised a tea cozy/sleeve for me out of a napkin, which I should have figured out to do, but alas, I hadn't yet enjoyed caffein. 

My dad and I brought out the tea on a lovely tea tray that I bought from Goodwill and we served the tea with sugar cubes and lemon. The best way to have the tea is to sweaten to taste, squeeze the lemon and then drop it inside the glass. The tea time was lovely and we all shared many laughs.

After tea we all went inside for coffee and treats. Turkish coffee, of course. Amid my coughs and snuffles all week, I'd been practicing the art of making Turkish coffee. I cannot tell you how many videos I watched in attempt to figure out this process and of course, no two videos are the same. BUT I am a thorough researcher, so after compiling my findings I thought I had found a descent process for me to follow.

Turish coffee is made in an "Jezvet," (photo below) and one made out of copper is the best. It is served in small, espressso sized cups as seen here:

In the photo, you see the white Turkish delight. It is a nice accompanyment to the coffee.

Here is the link to the video that was the most instructive toward how to make Turkish coffee and this instructor can explain the process much better than I. http://youtu.be/OOaI8JC1_EE 

While making the coffee myself, I was trying to explain the process to Victoria (my best friend) only to fail miserably on several attempts. I spilled coffee all over the stove top and I completely messed up the  ratio of water to coffee. Luckily for me, my family was not paying attention and it is customary for Victoria and me to laugh almost uncontrollably when we are together, so the status quo did not seem altered enough to gain attention.

On the third try, I managed to make a passable cup of Turkish coffee. I served it to my family with the traditional Turkish delight on the side. 

I failed to tell my family not to stir the coffee because there are dust-sized coffee grinds on the bottom of the cup and stirring them up makes drinking difficult. However, I did tell them not to swig the last sip because they'd have a mouthful of grinds. Alas, my parents did not receive the message. However, we shared many laughs and the food was wonderful. 

Victoria and my sister Amanda learning about Turkish food culture.

My family truly enjoyed the experience and they were abel to learn about a culture new to them. We went through a slide of the photos from the trip, which further allowed me to talk about Turkish culture and the current happenings in the country. 

Me feeling right at home (literally) feeling like a professor while sharing my experiences with my family.

The evening was a great success and as I happily shared the culture with my family, I hope that you too are inspired to go out and learn about a culture foreign to you. Go on, go and try it! You will likely be delightfully surprised with what you find. And please, by all means, share your experiences, your culture, or your family recipes with us here in the comment section at the Weekly Read! 

Now please excuse me, I have to go save a lizard from Bella.

Lizard that Bella kidnapped and took all over the backyard. He's mostly in one piece and now contently catching his breath in a lemon tree.

Until next week,

Your humble author,

S. Faxon