(c)

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

Becoming An Adult

The most difficult thing I ever did was: not learning to be a Home Team Leader of a crew serving the needs of physically and intellectually disabled individuals, nor serving in the military, nor learning to drive a car.  The hardest "things" I ever did came in the summer of 1982.  I dropped out of High School [May], got married [April], had a child[June], left the religion I was raised in, (the Jehovah's Witnesses) for thirteen years, I left my 'hometown' (Brownwood)[July], got a real job for the first time [Aug], and all in the span of the same time. Growing up was amazing.

...



The Sound of Tearing Fabric

Overwhelmed by continually striving for the next dollar of pay, and just a brief exhale to relief from a rough, long over due vacation; no one has time to critically think.  Distractions, gadgets, and shiny objects get what little attention there is to be had by the average American.  OUR ever desiring more control of a confused and broken populace of a government will ease into the decision of Same-Sex Marriage come June. From the out-start, even now the groundswell of parting sides is taking place ready to burst with division; tearing apart the very foundation of the country.

CHAPTER ONE: Rowena’s Smile

CURE CRISIS
=========================================

   The car sat still.
   The man’s starring eyes were fixed.
   The silver car’s headlights flashed on.
   The man’s blues eyes reflected the brilliant beams.
   The race car’s engine roared to life.
   Fear welled up in the man’s face.
   The squealing tires spun out of control, burning smoke bellowed upward as the car’s rear frame danced about on the hot pavement.
   The brown haired man suddenly went pale, his outstretched arms ridged, up-turned eyes twitching uncontrollably.
   The sports car headed directly for the man at top speed without veering off.
   Everything went black.
   “Jessica” A voice yelled out.
   Nothing.
   “Jessica!” The staff hovered over the jerking man called out again.
      “What?” The nurse called back from the dining room where she sat at a table updating her records on an electronic device.
   “It’s Stanley Rice,” He called from the Living room, “He just had a two minuet seizure; that dumb car commercial was on.”
   Jessica smirked as she rose to go check on the client, “Goodness, Ron, how many does that make it now?”
   “Eight,” Ron Sites answered back then added, “Well, least this shift.”
   “There were three seizures this morning.”  A second staff injected.
   “You worked this morning, Stephanie?”  The nurse inquired.
   “Nah,” The African-America checked her watch, “First shift wrote it down on the Log Report.”
   The tattooed nurse nodded as Ron asked his co-worker a side comment, “Did ya notice his eyes?”
   Stephanie’s curled lip expressed recoiled, “Yeah his baby blues are kinda creepy now, hum?”  The other two agreed with nodding arched brows of their own.
   Ron Sites, the senior staff informed them, “He came back with his parents yesterday.”
   Stephanie sighed, “My two week vacation flew by.  Man, last time I saw Stanley I was actually thrilled he went to the Clinic to have the procedure done.”
   Jessica added, “Think we all were, Stef.  I was there with him when he got it done.  The Technicians doing it still make my skin crawl.”  Answering her ringing phone the nurse spoke awhile and then hung up, “Marylyn, the Charge, just got off the phone with Doctor Prather.”
   Ron wondered, “She mention anything about his blue eyes?”
   Jessica shook her head, “No, said the doctor was just as stumped, and that he’d never seen yellow eyes go back to their natural color before.”
   Ever the conspiratorial minded one, Ron Sites offered, “We all know that’s not the case. The government and these whacked out doctors are all covering up world domination.  You know these clients are just pawns of their end game!”
   Stephanie smiled off her co-worker’s rant, “Are they going to reschedule a do over, Jess?”
   “I asked Stanley’s dad that when they brought him back to the Home,” The other two listened intently, “He’s mom is an Emularian; said it depended on what their Bishop wanted them to do.”
   Stephanie Yatter sarcastically spat, “For real?  If the price is right for a donation you mean.” Waving her hand in the air, “These ultra-religious folks just don’t make no sense to me doing this stuff for money.  ‘Ol Stanley here deserves to be normal like the rest of us.” Then she laughed, while rubbing the smiling client on the head, “Besides, you’d look sexy with yellow eyes Mr. Rice.”   
   From across the room a man with thinning blond hair and a red-blotched birthmark on his forehead began screaming out for no apparent reason what so ever.  When the staff turned in his direction with questioning eyes, they noticed him pointing to Stanley, and yelling, “What’s your name?”
   Stephanie replied, “It’s Stanley, Johnny.  You know Stanley, he was in the hospital, and then went home for a while; he’s back now.”
   “What do you think about him being back Home with us, Johnny,” asked Ron?
   “He’s got creepy weepy eyes.  Is he gona kill me, Ronny Bo-Donny?”  The intellectually disabled man loved making up rhyming names.  He liked being constantly reassured that his personal health was alright, and enjoyed staff’s attention directed solely on him as well.
   Chuckling, the thin Stephanie chided back, “No silly head he ain’t gona kill ya.”  Then she playfully added, “Wanta watch TV before I change my mind?”
   Not quite catching that she meant changing her mind about him watching the television, Johnny referred to his murder, “You just joshing me, ain’t ya Stephie; you hill billie dilly?”
   Shaking her head with a nervous laugh and puzzled look back at Ron asked, “Where in the world does he come up with all this stuff?”
  
   Sitting beside another resident, Ron shrugged off the question and resumed reading aloud to the seeing impaired man next to him.  Using a hand over hand approach he guided the fingers of the individual across the raised bumps of the Brail page.  Adding Johnny’s humor into the mix, Ron made Stephanie laugh with, “The Hobbit, by Stephie Billie Dilly.”  Then in her direction, added, “Hey at least he’s not calling you the N-word like he did all last month.”
   At that, Johnny gave an enormously wide toothy grin up at her saying, “She’s my wife, Toddy Waddy.  She makes me pimento cheese sanyitches, don’t ya baby doll?’
   Suddenly looking annoyed with him, she walked off with, “Yeah baby whatever. Here, watch this.”  Clicking a remote, instead of a verbal command the wall screen resumed its image; albeit, after the car commercial. “Ron, I’m going to go set up things for lunch, you got the guys?”
   After giving a quick scan about the living room area, “Yep, all six of us are accounted for up front; thanks, I’ll do the clean-up then.”
   The day-room of the Assisted Living Facility was unusually quiet after that as everyone seemed interested in the visual effects and ‘background noise’ of the wall to wall monitor’s program.  Another commercial for a hologram game console ended with the GNB News logo spinning on its axis.
   The usually soft-spoken voice-over was replaced with Johnny’s stilted yelling voice instead, “The Yodel News Bald-stand!”
   Ron corrected his error, “The Global New Broadband, Johnny.  Let’s watch the news for a while before we eat, alright?” Hoping he would not interrupt again, the staff physically turned himself about, thinking the client would get the hint as well.
   “I like watching the pretty China woman, Ron.  Does she eat rice and beans?”
   Ignoring the comment, the staff pivoted his attention away from Johnny’s junk behavior and back to telling the sight impaired individual what was on the screen.
   The Filipino anchorwoman continued, “…and I am Rhodora Inianna reporting.  Mister Clyde of the United Nations is to hold a special conference in the Middle East next week, where talks will resume over tightening controls over the Lee-Roberts device, commonly called an Emulator –“
   Stephanie interrupted, “For heaven’s sake Ron can we watch something other than news for a while? What about the History Channel or golfing instead.”
   “Eskabay!!!! What a day, what, what, what a day!”  Another man suddenly jumped up agitatedly waving his hands about as he began weaving about the wheel chaired individuals facing the huge television screen.
   Ron continued with, “I hear ya Frank, Mr. Clyde give me the creeps too.  Here, let’s watch something else.”  Then talking louder, commanded, “TV 42.”  Instantly the History Channel’s logo faded on then dissolved into a program already in progress.
   Grainy video images of World War II fighter jets shooting at one another filled the entire wall to wall vision of the room.  The rumbling crashing noise faded into the serene sound of dove calls and children’s laughter.  A futuristic landscape filled the horizon with glassed skyscrapers rising amid ancient buildings badly needing to be refurbished.  A monorail trail sped over the park where families happily played yard games as several blimps slowly crossed over head in the brilliant spring skies. The images were being contrasted by a male voice-over narration.  “No longer are mid-air dog fights the combat tool of choice by dictatorial governments bent on world domination.  By the mid 2020’s, The Eugenics’ War, later termed The Great Tribulation; saw scientist taking over the helm of warfare altogether with the abuse of the Lee-Roberts device.”
   A man in a green lab coat was placing a blood pressure like device on a child’s wrist.  Moments later the child appeared to have drifted off to sleep.  A disclaimer caption read “Re-enactment, child did not really die.”
   The Narrator continued, “With the advent of the Emulator device, and the growing role of the United Nation Regulators of it; exercising their Nazi-like control, death was seen everywhere.  Humanity seemed to be on the very door steps of self-extinction.  The FEMA Incarceration Camps and termination of two thirds of the world’s population within a nine year span, severely redefined the meaning of global warfare.”

   A first person perspective was moving between two rows of overly crowded shelves of an old library filled with books.  They faded to the green lettered text of a slow 1980s computer monitor; large and obviously outdated.  The old America Online AOL logo flashed onscreen as it too gave way to an enormous dark room filled with blinking blue lit Internet servers.  The Internet Towers faded with a backdrop of blue characters dropping down the screen.  Against the matrix field background was a beautiful African- American woman with tightly woven hair.  Her image slowly morphed away into that of an older Arab gentleman with a very unkept beard, and ever increasing morphed images of various international faces sped up as they drew closer to the viewer.  The entire wall to wall television soon went blank.
   The male narrator’s voice continued, “Just as the Lee-Roberts devise sparked the method for governments to spiral out of control in subduing its swelling population crisis, the world economics plummeted; it brought hope as well.  During the nine year nightmare of worldwide genocide, the collective knowledge of human experience merged with The Internet giving birth to Artificial Intelligence. Called by many names: Omeregie, Halister, and Rowena here in the UK; “she” was eagerly accepted by the common layperson and seen as the savior of the masses.
   “It was Rowena ‘herself’ who shut off all the Wi-Fi connections.  Using the Lee-Robert’s Zuniga crystals as the vehicle of control, A.I. called for world leaders to re-examine their current situation of actions and warned of their own impending extinction.”
   The wall to wall video screen compartmentalized into various scenes of aged seniors dying in grey nursing homes or overly crowded hospital wards filled with coughing victims.  Flashes of news reports across the globe of horrific accidents and natural disasters abounded.  Suddenly the screen filled with the single cast of technology in the making.  Videos of surveillance drones hovering about, cameras on every street corner and office buildings, even armored vest police officers sporting body-cams were flashing rapidly across the screen. Vast automated car factories or food processing plants, all busied themselves with robotic arms whirling with complex maneuvers.   These images all faded away into picturesque views of amazing vacation spots, where happy smiling faces were obliviously uncaring of the previous chaotic images.
   Overlaying these fast paced videos; being contrasted with the peaceful ones, came the informative narrator’s voice again, “Then there arose a change in the world like no other.  By 2024 The Internet had become as ubiquitous as electricity in every home; and not just to world leaders, but to every person who owned a connected devise, came Rowena’s call for peace…”
  Stephanie called to Ron, “Hey remind me after supper that I need to write down on the log about Johnny’s Community excursion tomorrow.  A Mr. Padgett is to come by and him pick him up personally.”
   “Where is he going?”
   “For an Air-ship ride; believe that?”
   “Cool, but why Johnny?”
   “It was weird, he said because it looked good that he was in a wheel chair.”


..........

Bottom Up


HUMBLED SNOW bear


I'm tired. Got my 7 days of 16 hour limit; but they keep raising the "limit" day by day. Be nice if they treat staff a little better. Retention is better than Orientation. $9,000.oo a month is spent on just 1 employee being hired and trained and yet within three to five months the class of 120 people is already gone. What's wrong with The STATE SCHOOL? Leadership, not treating staff with respect, double-standards being exemplified, lack of communication. I hear "we don't get paid enough" - I disagree with that; I believe the desire to matter and eagerness to sever and make a difference in people's lives is being crushed by a bureaucratic system of uncaring pawns.
What I just said I openly and vocally declare at work also, and all my fellow co-workers and former peers hear this kind of talk all the time. What can be done? I make a difference. In my small circle of influence even in my lone, satellite person. A staff came up to me tonight. Asked for info of what to do with some documentation; after looking over the paperwork I encouragingly pointed out a few details. Just as the staff turned to go, turned back to me and said, "Mr. Snow thank you for going out of your way to help me. You treat us with respect and easily share your experience and wisdom, and I just wanted to say I really do appreciate you."
*sigh* i tried my best to get a thank you and you're welcome out... with out showing my tearing eyes.


...

SO MANY VOICES


Ideas galore rattle about my scattered thoughts
like the pattering of spring rain beyond the sill
they all come and go just that quick
the headaches that throb to be heard
like pleading people waiting next in line
a couple's first meeting in a park holding hands
coffee shop flirtations and cutting smiles
some demanding mental patient's horrific screams
a child's calling for his biking friends to wait
a mother breast feeding in a restaurant
the tow truck driver's approaching limp
unlit cigar being chewed by an angry man
the weeping woman on her cell phone
or cat playfully chasing the dog's lazy tail
so many stories to be told
each character with a background
how did they cross this bridge of now
where am I going in the retelling 
and what is the big picture of things
shall the reader even care
if she leaves on the train in the morning?

~ David De Lane Snow

...

REMEMBER ME


Shall I see you again?
By some bench reading your book
or tea shop's quiet nook
perhaps going down park's path
would there be a passing smile
an exchange of looks in the mall
an embrace or laughter shared
pictures once took
memories once experienced
would you forget my eyes
ask my name in surprise
after a thousand bridges passed
would we be friends still
where have all the people
in our lives come and gone
do I ever come to mind?

~ David De Lane Snow​


...

SPRING SHOWERS


With that pouring rain
its pattering puddles 
and rolling thunder
my thoughts wander off
silently drifting afar
to wooded fairy glades
where the rain streams make
across once dried beds
misting mushroom are watered
and nestled birds upon their nest
my thoughts imagine a forest 
of wonderment quiet and rest
a happy place in a far off land
yet as near beyond my window
I dare not pull the curtain back
for my drifting peace 
would see reality all wet.

~ David De Lane Snow​

REAL IS SUCH A PLACE


There is a realm I pray to see
one where loved ones have gathered
where the grey curtain of rain falls no more
the yellow green leaves ever in bloom
tears are from bursting laughter
and hearts are ever lifted
there is a place, in my soul
where such things reside 
a place not of forgetting
but where more than memories 
live on in new fellowships
where everyday is a first meeting
Heaven's joy
beyond the greater west's sunset
an undying realm 
of love's contentment
where others await my arrival
yet only when I seem to have 
more years behind me than ahead
do my thoughts go there on this side.

~ David DeLane Snow 

Mereith The Blue Wizard


   The man was married for nearly fifty three years to the same woman.  She was his entire life and all the experiences he had included her.  One day she got sick and died.  His world changed.  Everything was not the same.  Food tasted different, the sun was not as bright, the birds did not sing.  The world had changed and he could no longer cry.
   One day, while leaving his house and heading into town the man stood along the roadside.  He stood there thinking of all the many experiences he and his only wife of fifty three years, seven months, four days, and five hours had meant to one another.  A slow peaceful expression came over him.  Sure there were a multitude of things left unspoken, left undone, but for the most part all was said just right, all was done just right, all was as it was.  Contentment came over him.
   Seemed the man was frozen in his inner thoughts and he disregarded the passerby along the roadside and the night drew on and it seemed the day passed him by without care.  He was not in a pit of despair as some had fear, nor was he outwardly prancing with glee.  His thoughts were all his own.  His memories were of contentment.
   The people who passed him by, tried as they may were never able to get the man’s attention as they themselves went back and forth from the city to their country homes.  After sometime the ‘quiet-man’ as he became known, was not bothered and became a fixture upon the way.  Birds would lit on his shoulder or head undisturbed.  After a while he raised his arms to stretch but found he could not lower them and he was alright with them staying raised.  After sometime, lost in his thoughts of contentment and left alone by other, the others began to notice a change slowly come over him.  Days later his feet had begun to grow roots out of his sandals.  After a while there were branches from his arms, twigs from his fingers, bark on his body and a tree he became lost in this thoughts.

   That was seven years after construction began on the tower of Mithar.  Yet, for some unknown reason I – yes, I woke up three days before the Great Departure.  I woke from my self-induce slumber, and began shedding that woodland form that grew upon me.  Gathering news, from those who were astonished about me, I learned how much the world had changed.  The Great War of the Ring had come and gone.  The White Leader of our wizard’s order was slain, and his successor fled with the elves to the greater west with the Swan fleet.
   Vendumar knew me as Mereith, The Blue Wizard, but the dwarves of Jebul knew me as Isptha; meaning ‘Tenacity’.  They even named the northern mountain after me for it had been my home prior my slumber.


   But in fact there were two of us.  We were twin forms of the same incarnation; each finishing the sentences of the other.  We had been tasked, like the others to fight against the growing darkness that was coming against the world.  We headed for distant lands in the Fareast, no longer on maps; to find that shadow.  In our search, Romestano was overcome and slain.  We were at our best together, yet I had been misled and called away.  In our separation deceitful companions fell upon him. 
   In my despair I could not recover but sought deeper sorrow in my grief living in the tunnels of the dwarves in their northern hill.  I took one as a wife and we lived as happily as despair allowed me.  Till one day, Gishmah fell from a broken bridge on her way to see me.  I fled the mountain for the cottage where we lived.  I never fully recovered from her loss.

  But here I am today and today is where I make my business in a world that changed, and passed me by for far too long!


...

CREATIVE Folks

THRIYEL


(The Requiem)


...   

THE WATCHERS REQUIEM

  When my mother-in-law passed away in 1989 I suddenly became hyperly aware of a great many things; mortality for one. I began writing poetry, scant pieces of which remain to this day.  There was a time of "purging" (I wont go into now); for 'whatever' reason - I threw everything I had composed away.  Many years later I re-visited those "ancient" concepts and began re-writing them.  This time around, the ideas grew by leaps and bound with ever increasing depth. I refer to this story as my oldest efforts in trying to write a novel; for it has an epic scale I'm trying to complete and find it's ending.
    For many, many years now I have been pounding away on this story which has evolved into one of great complexity.  The Watcher's Requiem has languages, maps, genealogy, appendix of name meaning, timelines.  It is a story within a story about a story with a twist; well several twist within twists.

   Using both The Bible and Middle-Earth as my background stage the main character, a Jacob Townsend has reoccurring "nightmares" about a time and place that is beyond his experience.  He not only gets in contact with his long lost brother, but is gifted a family inheritance as well.  Come to find out Jacob has been dreaming of a character from his inheritance.
  As an archaeologist, their grandfather had discovered an ancient relic deemed "too incredible to be accepted by his peers". It was 'a book', entitled: THE REQUIEM. It was an account of a fallen time in history; recorded in the pre-biblical era.  The antediluvian period of the nephilim age, of a forgotten people.



The Treeman

 (My drawing) 

 (My drawing)

 (My drawing)

   The man was married for nearly fifty three years to the same woman.  She was his entire life and all the experiences he had included her. One day she got sick and died.  His world changed.  Everything was not the same.  Food tasted different, the sun was not as bright, the birds did not sing.  The world had changed and he could no longer cry.  
   One day, while leaving his house and heading into town the man stood along the roadside. He stood there thinking of all the many experiences he and his only wife of fifty three years, seven month, four days, and five hours had meant to one another.  A slow peaceful expression came over him.  Not a frown and not a smile, but contentment his life had unfolded as it should have, as it could have, as it did.  Sure there were a multitude of things left unspoken, left undone, but for the most part all was said just right, all was done just right, all was as it was.  Contentment came over him.
   Seemed the man was frozen in his inner thoughts and he disregarded the passerby along the roadside and the night drew on and it seemed the days passed him by without care.  He was not in a pit of dispair as some had feared, nor was he outwardly prancing with glee. His thoughts were all his own.  His memories were of contentment.
   The people who passed him by, tried as they may were never able to get the man's attention as they themselves went back and forth from the city to their country homes.  After sometime the "quiet-man" as he became known, was not bothered and became a fixture upon the way. Birds would lit on his shoulder or head undisturbed.  After awhile he raised his arms to stretch but found he could not lower them and he was alright with them staying raised. After sometime, lost in his thoughts of contentment and left alone by others, the others began to notice a change slowly come over him. Days later his feet had begun to grow roots out of his sandals. After awhile there were branches from his arms, twigs from his fingers, bark on his body and a tree he became lost in this thoughts.

...................
[INFLUECES]









Cope and I

Still friends since sixth grade, not too many folks can say that these days.  Though we've both gone down different paths in life we've stayed infrequently in touch and are always there for the other as a sounding board and muse and friend when we need one.  Thank you Mike Cope for always being there for me.




..

Scribbles that's all














They're just sketches








ART in the act of drawing...









THE Scroll & Map 
both came from the material of an old couch's linen.

...




VENTURE INTO MY WORLD

VENTURE INTO MY WORLD
The Watcher's Book of Books