Welcome
Every morning when I wake up I embrace the only goal that I have, which is to get through this single day. And at night when I lay my head on my pillow, I am very much aware, and relieved, that I am one measurable step closer to being with my son again. It is a daily and deliberate march toward my boy. What's more, NOTHING can stop me!
Cool Hand Luke's jail-boss said, in a whiny, twangy, southern-voice, "What we have here is a failure to communicate."
And so often this is the case. BUT, I suppose if I post some regular information
on here, no one can accuse me of the same thing. So I guess I will endeavor to
keep a general account of what is happening on this coast so that those of you
in the Homeland will not be left to remnants of conversations to keep updated
on how things are going out here.
If you haven't heard already, I've got my fingers in several computer pies.
In the one pie, I am working in corporate IT and enjoying it tremendously. I mean, can you believe that someone is paying me to sit at a computer all day?
And in the other pie, I am working on some very interesting search engine things. This stuff gets me going. It is thrilling and alive in that it is constantly changing and
evolving. Bottom line, it's something to do, it's a nice distraction, and I don't have to shovel dirt!
News
June 19th, 2007.
Well, It seems there have been some events
worthy of note. For some reason, somebody allowed Shawn to graduate. OK, congrats,
Shawn. And Big Louie decided to break his wrist so he could set a good example
for Haven. Ava got done with her first year of college and they may even let her
back for a second one! Then, of couse, Brittanie conned some sucker into giving
her a ring on June 16. Spick Brainsbird and Mrs. Brainsbird travelled the miles
to witness the event, even though they were delayed for hours in airport security
for being suspected terrorists. Ya, Spick shouldn't travel with such suspiscious-looking
characters, ya know.
Embarrassing Story
Joe Mannix could do no wrong. He was cool. He was immortal.
He had the keenest of private investigator's instincts and always put
all the clues together. He always dodged the bullets. He always won the fights. And
he ALWAYS got the bad guy. Though he was shown on tv on Saturday nights at 9:00 as a private eye,
he was real. And yes he was inspiring. Especially to one certain youngster.
And it did not escape notice that every time Joe Mannix reached into his suit
jacket, he pulled something out. Once in awhile it was paperwork, but most of
the time it was his gun.....
Well, it wasn't long until the kid, too was wearing a suit jacket around the house. He was just like Joe Mannix. And though nobody
knew it, underneath that jacket was a gun. It was in a shoulder-holster strapped onto a belt that hung down under the the left arm.
The kid was packing heat just like Joe Mannix did. So it wasn't long when the kid saw a perfect time to go out in public, carrying hardware that nobody would know about.
Yes, he could wear his suit jacket in public to one place....and that was to church.
So Sunday came and the family went off to the local Lutheran Evangelical church. The boy entered the assembly with a delicious secret that only he, and
he alone, was privvy to. Yes, there in that building, amongst all those people, the kid knew that he was carrying. Nobody ele could tell, of course, because
it was hidden under his suit jacket. But the boy knew that all he would have to do would be to slip his hand inside the suit and instantly, he could pull out
that gun.
The church was quiet. Everybody sat there waiting for something to happen. Then some organ music played and there were other rituals happening.
The boy's mother whispered something toward the kids sitting in a line in the pew. The boy did not hear what was said and leaned forward to catch the end and the jist of what his mother was saying. The church at that moment was deadly still. Not a peep
was being made. All the focus was on whatever was happening in front. The organ has stopped playing. As the boy leaned forward, to his and his mother's everlasting shame, the gun also
slid forward.
The boy saw it begin to drop. The weapon was out. It was no longer concealed. Everybody would be able to see it. Time seemed to shift into
slow motion as the gun hurled, inch by painful inch toward the cold, hard and noisy varnished wooden floor. The boy knew there would be no escaping
the dreadful event that he could no longer prevent or control. He wanted more than anything to have hands as fast as lightening and be able to grab the gun
before it hit the floor. But they were not moving. Nothing was moving. Except that pistol, which was getting closer and closer to the ground.
It hit the hard wooden floor with a shuddering, silence-shattering clatter. The plastic barrell and handgrip bounced and spun, then bounced and clattered
again as it slid out away from the pew. The boy hated every single moment of this never-ending process. The sound filled the quiet auditorium and echoed
off the walls in the back spaces of the church.
And then, most terribly, the heads of ALL of the perishoners began to swivel toward the source
of the sudden, unscheduled and uninvited racket. The boy could see past his mother, where the ENTIRE row of people all turned together, head after head,
eyeball after eyeball to look at the perpetrator of this nonsense with professional scorn. The boy saw the eyes. He had to get that gun, but there was no way to
do it now without everybody seeing it! So as quickly as he could, he slid off the pew, grabbed his gun and hurried back to his seat, but not before meeting
the glance of his horrified mother. He slouched back into the pew, wishing now that he could sink right into the bench itself and beyond so that he
could escape the paralyzing gaze of tens, hundreds, maybe thousands of grown-ups who must now want his head. He knew those on the other side of
him were peering as well. He knew they were all looking.
Besides this, he knew his mother also bore the same shame and humiliation. For she and everybody else in the room knew that she was
responsible for bringing this little misfit into such a noble place as a Lutheran church service. Had this little yayhoo no sense of propriety,
bringing a toy gun into church? His mother, then too, must be just as guilty for bearing such a runt, the boy knew they were all thinking.
The boy could not get away. He could not escape the blazing glare. There was nothing he could do. And he hated it. How badly he hated being there in that
situation! And from that moment on, the boy resolved that Joe Mannix wouldn't be going to church anymore. Joe would have to stay at home. The rest of the
week, Joe could do whatever he wanted, but on Sunday mornings, Joe Mannix was on his own.
Share your Enbarassing Story.
Just tap it out on your computer and email it to me and I will post it on the Vradenburg.Net site for all to see. Yes, you, too can bear the scorn of many.
You are not alone. Well, actually you were when you did that STUPID thing that we all wanna hear about....ha ha.
