(c)

(C) Copyright SNOWbear Productions. T h a n k Y o u F o r V i s i t i n g

Simply Wise


When I woke up this morning, I asked myself, "What is life

 about?" I found the answer in my room. the fan said, "Be

 cool." The roof said, "Aim high." The window said, "See the 

world!" The clock said, "Every minute is precious." The mirror 

said, "Reflect before you act." The calendar said, "Be up to 

date." The door said, "Push hard for your goals." The floor 

said, "Kneel down and pray".


=From a Facebook friend...

Ra`More of EUL



This is a photo shopped picture I created.  It is made up of over 157 layers and more than 37 pictures I lifted from various surfed web sites.  Countless hours surfing the web, about 6 hours creating this pic.  The Tree-Shrine is Ra`More on the island of Eul, with the divided Mount Ipstha in the background to the right.  The scene is from my novel: THE WATCHER'S REQUIEM.

A Really Big OUCH!

   When I was twelve years old I fell out of a tree breaking both bones in my right arm; that took "forever" to heal in a cast up to my shoulder.  Last month I had a jammed middle finger that swelled up with infection.
    I must have been bitten by a spider or something; because I developed this horribly painful pimple that didn't go away after eight days.  I finally broke down and went to the doctor who said I should have come in seven days ago. He numbed the pain with a huge gauge needle, then lanced it open with a scalpel by an inch and a half, but it was the 10 minuets of squeezing to ooze out the infectious pressure that overwhelmed the experience in pain.  The doctor that did the procedure was an 18 year military veteran, who told me many of his soldiers would have been yelling out.  I didn't make a sound which impressed him; my waiting so long didn't. Believe me, my side hurts, even though I haven't been to the Doctor in years - this was a really big OUCH!!!
   As of today, Sunday, I'M feeling better with all the pain reliever and antibiotics; called in to work (sorry guys), but all the bending and stretching can't be dealt with - doc's excuse will have to do, and FMLA.

FAMILY Headstones



Sea Side Memorial Park, Corpus Christi, Texas.
Alice's Mother (Betty) and Grandmother, (Wilma).


THE PLANCHETTE

(Apartment 667)
A Short Story
By
David DeLane Snow


 

   “How neat.  Look, Steven this was the first book I ever read as a kid: Journey to the Center of the Er-”
  “Ha!  That was a cheesy Brandon Fraser movie, Mom.”
  “Movie? No it’s a classic son -.”
  “Wow, how cool!”
   Half hoping he had changed his mind, Rebekah’s brief smile dashed into a smirk, “Don’t think so, Rick.”
   Her older son was investigating a warn game box that had been marked .25 cents in red ink on a masking tape label, “Oh come on, Mom don’t be a stick in the mud.  It’s just an ’ol Ouija Board for a quarter.” Then before she could protest any further the fifteen year old fished out the coin from his own blue jean pocket, and paid the elderly woman behind the rickety folding table who smiled toothlessly back.
  She spoke to them for the first time, even though they had been the only ones rummaging through her garage sale for the last thirty minuets, “Wonderful choice young man, wary who you conjure.  The fifth will point out the Four, who are waiting already.”
   With that Rebekah Fairfield hurriedly paid for her other items: a book, lamp, and baseball bat; then uneasily gathered her two teenage boys, and headed down the long driveway back to their family’s mini-van.

[SEE ALSO: Dead Secrets]

DEAD SECRETS...

(Apartment 105)
A Short Story
By
David DeLaine Snow



   A week had gone by before the Coroner finally released her husband’s body to the local Funeral Home; a single gun shot to the head confirmed what she had seen for herself -- a suicide.  Jillian would never forget finding George slumped over on the blood soaked couch with brain matter splattered against the wall.  Nor would she be able to erase having to clean it up herself.
  Next to a pile of bills and collection notices on the coffee table lay George’s final note; which simply read: “It all got out of hand and I’m so sorry, but I can’t stop.”
  George’s gambling debts had drained their joint bank accounts, and now Jillian was left holding several unpaid Payday loans.  She lost her land line, Cable, and her utilities were being threatened with getting shut off as well.  Now, she had to wait for his Insurance policy to arrive from the Post Office just to pay for his cremation.  Their eight months of marriage had not seen them do anything more than verbally plan for their future “old-aged” deaths.  Hence the waiting.
   Two days after they took George’s body away, Jillian still could not stomach staying at home by herself. She had yet to go through all his belongings or decide on what to do with his personal papers that were pilled up on the corner desk; so, she took another long walk instead.  Spencer, her Brittney Spaniel was more than eager for his walk.

   A stone’s throw from their Lake Cliff apartment complex was an undeveloped wooded area near a community park, and that’s where Jillian found herself heading.  Spencer excitedly tugged at his leash wanting to be released, but Jillian smiled, “Hold up, boy.”
   Upping her stride to keep pace with him, they continued along the curvatures of the winding sidewalk’s path.  Three nanny’s with strollers watched their children at play on the ground’s equipment.  At the other end of the park a group of men began the game of frieze bee golf, as a middle aged woman was being pulled along by her own pack of twelve dogs.  Crazy dog-walkers, go figure, Jillian thought to herself as Spence sniffed for a place to do his own business.
   Jillian came here every evening to walk Spencer after work.  It was the very place where she first met George, and where he had later proposed marriage to her.  The woodland trails had been their special place.  But now that he was gone memories was all she had left, and a few of the gifts he had lavished on her in the last few months.

   Suddenly something out the corner of her eye caught her attention in the woods. Glancing back, she could have sworn she saw George himself!
  She had. He was quickly walking away from her along on a parallel pathway far in the thicket of the woods.  Jillian found herself shouting out his name.  Even more astounding was when he turned around in response.  It was George!
  With wide eyes, Jillian felt herself drained cold and yelling out, “Why the hell did you do it, George!?”
   He was silent.
   Whining; Spencer looked up at her cocking his head, questioning his owner’s tone of voice.  Checking her dog for any validation that she wasn’t going crazy, Jillian found herself looking back into the now empty woods.  Feeling like an idiot she began questioning her own sanity.
   The dog-walker came up from behind Jillian and asked, “I’m sorry - what did you say?”
   Blushing Jillian quickly replied, “Sorry.  I -- Just thought I saw someone I knew.” Then abruptly turned away and headed home crying.


   Jillian stood in front of the bathroom mirror getting ready for work.  The gospel music coming from the living room’s Bose sound-system usually embraced Jillian’s soul with a sense of warmth and peace.   But somehow the baritone-quartet vocal’s seemed to change into tiny distant-voices coming from a tin can.  The spiritual message suddenly lost all meaning and offered nothing but annoyance.  As Jillian slowly reached for her favorite hair barrette, a torques Dragonfly, the insect blurred to a frozen halt in mid-flight.  Cocking her head slightly with widening eyes, Jillian’s swift thoughts were transported to the very moment when her husband had gifted it to her.  It was the day before their seven month anniversary, and came as a total surprise like the news of his job promotion.

   George came in tired, obviously preoccupied with thoughts of work, and abruptly double locked the front door behind him.  He did not seem to take notice of his wife’s new hair color; and after a long while of fishing for a compliment, Jillian’s disappointment didn’t seem to matter.  Then, George’s smiling mood suddenly changed on a dime, like an afterthought he produced a beautiful torques hair barrette from his pocket. As she inspected the details of the Dragonfly’s blue-glass wings, Jillian listened to her husband stilted tale of a job promotion.
    Dropping the brush she almost ran to the living room and retrieved the journal.  Trying to calm her quaking hands, thumbed through the warped pages scanning for February third, and read: “… the black girl was a perfect tone of creamed coffee, but her voice…”
 
 When she slid into the passenger seat the cabin filled with the suddle scent of her sweet perfume.  Not quiet overpowering but it masked well the muskiness of his Toyota’s need for detailing.
   “You have no idea how much I’m sweating to death out there.” He almost melted at the angelic sound of her voice, the African America lilt with a touch of University learning. She placed her back pack on the floor between her feet, then added, “Oh that A/C feels great. I’m Brandi by the way.”
   Never with a look in his direction as she retrieved a nail file from her bag immediately devoting attention to her finger tips, “Thanks for the ride; you know where the rail station is, right? You’re such a life saver.”
   The dismissive tone in her voice lost him.  From there on everything she said numbed into background noise; “life saver” - if she only knew, George thought to himself as the adrenaline pounded through his heart.  His mind raced through scenarios with every intersection he passed of ‘what if at this turn we…’ Her inescapable need to ramble was beginning to grate on his nerves and that overly sweet fragrance was turning his stomach as he suddenly injected, “Let met check in on a friend of mine real quick, just want to see if his truck is in the drive - I’ll call him later - it’s on the way.” Without missing a beat George made a right hand turn going down a street he had never been down before. All the while Brandi played with her nails and continued with her rambling story that George gave no interest to.
   Trying to wind his way back to the abandon baseball diamond he had seen three weeks earlier, George meandered down several side streets ignoring his passenger’s voice.  As if he had recklessly slammed on the brakes she suddenly asked the question that changed the tempo of the adventure, “Where’s your friend live?”
   Looking up from filing her nails and having rummaged through her bag since having enter his vehicle this was actually the first time she had even laid eyes on at George’s middle aged face.  Whirling for an answer, he causally smiled as his eyes ignored her youthfully round face, darting over her shoulder to an empty driveway, “Well - guess he’s still out-of-town.” The exhale of pretended disappointment was excepted fully by the unsuspecting passenger.
   Brandi politely turned her conversation to her host, “I’m sorry your friend’s not home.” Then with his attention fully back on the road re-adjusting the scenario in his head an electric jolt shot through him as the girl’s hand gently touched his right elbow, “Hope everything’s alright with him.”


[The story is a work in progress...]

THE OBIT

 
[Apartment  409]
A Short Story by 
David DeLane Snow

   He had always joked that he read the obits just to make sure he didn’t read his own name in the paper; strange thing was - that morning his name was in there and it suddenly didn’t feel like a joke.  His light headedness came into clear telescoping focus.  Whirling thoughts of who in the world would have gone to such lengths to pay for such a prank ran through his mind.  Funny.  A lot of names came to him but none stuck for long as his interest pulled him back into a second reading of the article.
   Other than the lower case typo of his middle initial, Thomas freaked at the brief but concise details of his short life.  For starters thirty six was too young to die, and secondly - how could he be dead?
   Looking up from the newspaper it suddenly dawned on him that he was standing in a wholly different apartment.  It was the same tiny one bedroom economy, but the furnishings and d├ęcor were obviously not his own. He now had a 42” flat screen, a huge 55 gallon aquarium took up space along one side of the wall; and two black recliners were lit by one of those nude figure lamps he had always wanted to buy.  The walls were hung with photos of family members he had never met before, and inspection of the bedroom quickly let him know that there was defiantly a female presence about.  Thomas relished the idea of being a bachelor, so the ruffled skirt about the bed was almost a bigger jolt than reading of his own demise.
   Feeling like he had just woken up in someone else’s home, Thomas went outside to the patio.  The numbers on the front door still said 409 and the complex area was the same, with the tennis court to the right and parking lot on his left.  Another wave of panic rolled over him as he stood in his vacant spot wondering where his Jeep was.
   It was then that Thomas noticed a younger couple laden with groceries heading for his apartment, fumbling for their keys. Going over to them he called out, “Excuse me.”
  The young man in his mid twenties and curly brown hair turned about in reply, “Yes sir?”
  Wondering what he was going to say, Thomas blurted out, “How long have you been living here?”
  The thin brunette smiled, “We got married yesterday and moved in two weeks ago.”
   “I’m Sergio and this is Rebecca.”
   Extending his hand to return the shake, “I’m - Thomas Reed.  I use to live here - awhile back.”
   Their smiles changed with a look of sympathy as Sergio conveyed his condolences, “Ah - sorry to hear about your friend.  We were told someone had passed away in the apartment ‘bout a month ago.” Rebecca entered through the door leaving the two men on the patio. Thomas couldn’t help his side glance inside.  “Were you close?” Asked the new tenant.
   “Uh, yeah, yeah we were very close - friends, and it was a shock.” Stammered Thomas.
   “You want to come in for a glass of tea?” Rebecca invitingly asked after having dropped off her load of groceries on the counter top. Sergio’s eyes bounced between his new bride and the stranger, questioning Thomas’ awkward pause, “Sure come on in, you can tell us about your friend.”
   Catching himself staring wide eyed passed Rebecca, Thomas blushed, “Oh, thanks.” Then edged back into his old apartment.

{Still working on this one...}

THE HAIR CUT

[APARTMENT 123]


   Beethoven Adolf Bryan woke up in a panic. Beethoven was named by his schizophrenic music loving mother, and his bi-polar history-buff father; needless to say he went by Bryan. Bryan had scrambled headedly gotten up that morning thinking he was running late, when in fact it was his day off.
   Three weeks ago he had finally gotten around to replacing the cracked mirror on the cabinet door above his toilet. He had mirrors of every kind, shape and size on every wall in his small, heavily cluttered one bedroom apartment. There was just something about the illusion of a larger place that appealed to him, besides, the idea of a different world possibly lurking on the other side of the glass was an intriguing idea as well.
   On that morning as he took a leak, the image staring back must have surely been from the world on the other-side because it was not his own. How could it be? With those overly wild eye brows and uncombed bushy tuff of scariness staring back at him were of someone who had gotten old and out of shape. Bryan returned a grimace to the image. His thoughts snapped.



   At the mall’s Supper Cuts a young lady with a huge bust and tiny body attempted to turn Bryan into one of the celebrity want a bees in the photos framed beside the mirror that held the image of a man draped and ready to be sheared or executed. As the overly top heavy girl worked on her captive the image slowly evolved into a thick lipped, glazed-eyed, chubby faced man whose thinly, water-down bangs shouted, “Look at me world, I’m a freaken idiot!”
   That’s when he snapped. Politely thanking and paying the anorexic cashier, Bryan left. Sat outside the shop nonchalantly looking at magazines and waited until the girl who had fleeced him got off work. He would follow her home, go through her back-ally garbage and learn all her secrets, discover who her friends were and collect their garbage as well. After the eighteen bags had been dumped on Thin Girl’s front porch, Bryan would leave a “just-as-polite” note reminding her of the cost for butchering someone’s hair.

   After he had finished peeing, Bryan realized he had the day off and decided to go back to bed and dream of getting Thin Girl’s phone number instead.

The Apes are coming! IT BEGINS!!!!

O_M_G!!!! And I don't use that term! Finally a prequel Reboot even I can look forward to seeing: RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES!!!! By the Gods my number number one favorite shows of all times, sorry Mike yes even before Star Trek.

Still in the Hospital...

   Alice continues in the hospital.  A heat rash in tenderly personal areas developed into some serious bacterial infections that oral antibiotics alone couldn't easily resolve. After three days of IVs and observational treatments she's "turned a good corner".
   For some reason, though the hospital is only a year old we were told they were shutting a wing down; she was moved in her bed to two then three other rooms.  Staff were moved about as well.  LOL crazy.
   Now waiting, probably, until after the Independence Holiday - she'll be able to go home.  I went to the apartment to pick up some items and check on our pets, but with all the things in the world we've collected about ourselves it didn't feel like home with Alice not being there. As bad and the food, small the area, and lacking of personal effects - the hospital felt like "home" because of her presence.

VENTURE INTO MY WORLD

VENTURE INTO MY WORLD
The Watcher's Book of Books