THE KEY
The body laid still and cold. No visible wounds. No visible abrasions. No apparent weapon. No sign of confrontation. Every object was quiet and motionless, almost sneering at the detective. The door to the garden was closed but slightly ajar. Curtains drawn. The desk, strangely barren. No papers, no instruments, not even a picture of his beautiful blond wife.
David S. Freud. 43. District Attorney. Appointed two years previously. Promised to clean up the mob. Madeline Freud currently in Virginia visiting mother.
Medical officer Gordon Wellworth. Just arriving. Studies victim. Concludes same. Looks like heart attack, or possible poisoning. Cyclophosphamide? Cocaine over-dose? Suicide?
But why was he stretched out on the floor... doesn't fit. Makes it look more like murder. Strange.
Three quarter length tweed coat. Buttoned. All identification with him. Brief case standing near desk.
Looks like he was going somewhere. Where?
Assistant D.A. Richard Colme. Cases the room. Opens drawers. Opens closet. Takes finger print samples. Draws conclusions. No way David would kill himself. Not the David he knew.
Good marriage, two nice kids. At least, as far as he knew. Rest of house impeccably clean. Nothing out of place. No dust, and the windows were so clear you could almost walk through them.
Re-entering room, Colme opens door wider. Previously hidden by partially closed door, was a cellarette. A large key declared its presence. Bronze. Bow skeleton. There was nothing in this house for that key, he was almost sure.
The coroner knew the family well. He was asked about a possible source for the key. Nothing... apparently.
On the train, Madeline Freud was arriving at the Leesburg Station. She was gathering her belongings. It was late. Well after midnight. Her sickly mother would not be waiting up. Madeline would use the old guest house. She would not awaken her. It was a pretty, old regency cottage. Recently painted yellow to freshen it up. Dolores loved it. Especially the grand paneled oak door, that so majestically invited her in, with the turn of the bow skelton key.
DBP 10-6-14
The Paper and Pen Timeline of Fractured History
DBP 9-24-14
Google Dual Computer invented 300 B.C.
The long journeys afoot were saved by this dual computer, designed by William InTell.
Coated Acid Free Paper 100 B.C.
Invented by the rehabilitated patients at the Babylon Hospital, some paper in wibbly colours.
First portable computer...IBM 5100 50 AD
The last of the compacts, before the more practical room size units.
386 computer system 220 AD
An early personal computer that cost the astronomical amount of 386 orichalcum.
Commodore 64 898 AD
Named in honour of the Commodores 64th gold record, Three Times a Hard Drive.
Fortran Monster
A proud device thattook up the entire 3rd floor of King Bytes Castle.
Word Processor 1450 AD
The concept of processing without computation seemed to simplify the communication process, which to many parents, stimulated the creativity of youth.
Ball Typewriter 1493 AD
This unit made everyone's head spin.
Etch a Sketch 1650 AD
Perhaps the greatest breakthrough in visual communication. Invented by Andres Cassagnes, who in the opinion of many was a lineographic knob.
Fortran 1820 AD
Invented by Karl P. Fortran who was quite a card.
Magic Marker 1826 AD
The ease of use, agility and brightness of image made this invention noteworthy. Invented by saxophonist Charlie Marker. Known as "Bird" because of the beak-like sharpness of the new point.
Ball Point 1867 AD
The inventers of this pen had a ball. Mr. Bic apparently liked the click.
Typewriter 1868 AD
This great invention was master-minded by Franz Xavier Wagner, not John Thomas Underwood. Underwood was the entrepreneur, who was known to get upset when he had difficulty using it, and would start cutting ribbons. The opening of this company henceforth was the start of the ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Fountain Pen 1888 AD
The inventor Peter Dipp, did experiments on this pen while sitting in a water fountain. He wanted it to be waterproof. He failed in two ways. It was not waterproof, and he drowned.
Steam driven calculator 1952 AD
Great creation, with many data institutes getting steamed over miscalculation.
Steam driven paper machine 1955 AD
This enabled the calculator to be hooked up to the paper-maker allowing instantaneous results of Grey Cup game.
Commom Press 1960
Invented after continuousy pressing problems regarding early symptoms of arm pain suffered by Corporal Tunnel.
Water powered paper mill 1961
Inspired by realization that the Taj Mahal washrooms were using toilet tissue made from water forced from Charbagh.
Gutenberg Press 1963
Officially recognizing the stamp this new technology would have on the literary world.
Gutenberg Bible 1972
Many did not attend this book launch as on the same day the Whiskey-a Go-Go, America's first discotheque was opening in Los Angeles.
Diamond Sultra Print block 1980
Engraved and formed by the experienced craftsman, George Washington Carver.
Chinese Paper 1983 AD
Pre-cursor to Silk Road paper made from poppy stamen.
Silk Road paper 1985 AD
Invented by Mr. Wingwang after drinking beverage made from tree bark, hemp, and fish nets.
Quill Pen 1986
Invented by Barney Quill, before he was murdered by Lt. Manion.
Reed or "Takhti 2014
Bahl Wrongpen created while watching the Flintstones.
DBP 9-24-14
Bix the Blasting Bullfrog
Bix was born in Davenport, Iowa in 1918...born in the muck of the Mississippi. He was a carefree child. He sang loudly and clearly, taking full advantage of his rather large vocal sacs.
Bix dropped out of school, as the County Frog School cancelled the music program, the only thing that kept Bix in school at all. So he had time to be inventive, which resulted in the construction of a finely engineered reed trumpet. His compositions became the rage, including Neobratrachia Rag and Rhapsody in Green. His unique jazz style became known as Swamp Swing or Jumping Jazz. He heard the composition by William Harris, Bullfrog Blues, and created a new solo, which demonstrated his incredible cleft tonging techique. Louis Armstrong, a young chap from New Orleans could not match his improvisitional virtuosity.
He was quite a charmer too. His body was strong and stout, his eyes protruded with curiosity and imposition and his limbs were long and quick. No one was coloured like him either. He was a dappled brown but had extremely vivid patterns of bright green and yellow on his back. And when he blew his instrument, his cheeks expanded and shone a golden amber.
He tried to use his buccal pumping to create a new underwater sound, but the flow of air struggled to permeate the murky, thick water of the bog.
Whenever he joined other musicians, he was acutely adept at musical symmetry, as his side-viewing eyes were able to pick every motif offered by his fellow musicians. The tympanic membrane of his external ears was ideal for the amazing metronomic rhythm of his progressive new jazz sound.
Unfortuneately, poor Bix became known as much for his womanizing and drinking as his musicianship. The swamp water began to take it's toll on him, and the duration of his torpor got longer and longer. On the steamy hot evening of August 9, 1931, Bix was playing very loudy, annoying his amphibious friends. His bassist, the soon popular Rufus Ribbit, visited his room and found him shaking violently. His respiratory system refused him and he passed away, with two Mexican salamanders under the detached lily pad on which he lay. They were yielding bur-weed stems and shouting boisterously, faintly renditioning the words to Bix's new song "Skunk-Cabbage Jam". This was his final legacy.
DBP 8-16-14
My Summer Vacation (OR… A Summer “Christmas” Tale)
It was my holidays. July, many years ago. My wife and I decided to visit Santa at the North Pole. We had to get ourselves to a place where Santa and his loyal elks, could meet us, and take us the rest of the way.
My friend was kind enough to take us in his helicopter to Eureka. For those who are not aware of its location, it is on the east side of Axel Heiberg Island. He was able to get us there because he was able to re-fuel at Polaris, near Bathurst Island. Otherwise, Santa would have had to send his reindeer much further to pick us up.
I was not even aware that Santa's herd worked in the summer. There were only six, four of them were not his Christmas team. Donder and Blitzen did come, as he wanted two experienced deer to navigate and supervise. They did have to negotiate a pay increase, but Santa in his usual way, was able to work out a happy agreement sealed only with his good word and a Ho Ho Ho.
Rudolph has a large family and insists on spending the summers with his children. He likes to take them to Severnaya Zemlya.
They were right on time. We only had to wait an hour for them. While we waited, Gord, our pilot, let us stay warm in his vehicle and we had a touch of very strong coffee. It would be a while before we could enjoy our daily application of caffeine.
Upon arrival, we were met by Mrs. Claus. She was surprisingly svelte. Even though I did not say a word, she detected my epiphany.
"Oh, yes." she said. "I am getting much older. I go for a snowshoe every morning... I am off deer meat and I find that meditation keeps me from being frustrated, ambivalent and unmotivated. Mr. Claus prefers his old ways, although he has cut back on his drinking... a little."
I smiled, knowing that Mrs. Claus was going to be a very fun host. She insisted on us calling her Ahoop.
The first day was sunny and quite comfortable. Mrs. Claus was dressed in a tight-fitting green felt knickers and a sweat top made of a synthetic pine needle fabric. It was quite sporting. Instead of her hair atop her head, she had let it down and it tied with a cedar comb. Bordering on "funky" I thought.
Santa has been at toy factory number six, the furthest away, so up until now, we had not met him. My lovely spouse and I had lunch with the two of them, as well as with Zwarte Piet, Santa's loyal friend who mainly amuses the elves and scatters pepernoten, kruidnoten and strooigoed.
He was almost as jolly and gregarious as Santa, and might I add, a slight less moody.
Our lunch consisted primarily of a soup made of cloudberries. It was sweet and delicious. Our desert was primarily cakes and candies, as well as peppermint horehound cookies. We never managed to grow accustomed to them. Considering that caribou steaks were going to be a staple of our later meals, we were concerned for our well-being. there was no question that we would be joining Ahoof on her morning hikes.
The bark n' berry wine was quite delicious and I suspected that it was well above the twelve-or-so percent alcohol of which we are accustomed. Fetching water was quite a chore so it became our realization early on that we would remain somewhat inebriated throughout our vacation. The reindeer milk was rich and delicious, but in short supply, as reindeer can usually only produce about a cup or two a day. Mrs. Claus also liked using it for her sugar pies.
We had many wonderful evenings, many being surprisingly robust and festive. Zwarte Piet and Santa entertained us one evening. Zwarte played an ancient cornet and Santa to our astonishment played a stand-up bass. Their version of jingle bells was quite contemporary and their performance in my opinion could stand up to that of Fats Navarro and Ray Brown. Mrs. Claus was in bed by then, her baking enterprises requiring her to rise before the sun.
We all attended Church service, but the scheduling seemed sporadic. We were never sure of the time of day, but usually in the morning, that had followed a day of particularly hard work everyone including the elves would gather in a small chaple and do a silent prayer. This bethel, despite being diminutive, seemed to grow in size as you watched the dangling emblems, cascading from the rafters. There was a Wheel of Dharma, Nine-point Star, Christian Cross, Om, Star and Crescent, Star of David, Thor's hammer, Taijitu and many others, of whom's source I must declare ignornace. At the end of the prayer, a cup of mulled wine was left. As we left, Mrs. Claus sprinkled it with snow and nutmeg.
The Santa Claus library was quite substantial, and on days of inclement weather, it was a wonderful place to be. Occassionally the elves would drop by and do a little song and dance, giving us an intermission from our contemplative chapters. Santa particularly liked J. R. R. Tolkien's Letters From Father Christmas.
He asked us, "Remember the story of how the accident-prone Polar Bear climbed the North Pole and fell through the roof of our house into the dining-room? Tolky just about split his belly when I told him about it. I must admit, his literary working of the tale is almost as good as my original telling!"
We didn't have many mishaps during our week of near-fantasy, but one comical and fortunately not injurious event occurred. During our tour of the factories (which were vast and infinite in there clanging noises, pitter-patter-of little feet, and thud of boxes and giant parcels) we decided to help with the slinky makers. One of the elves, "Springy" had been working on them since 1945 and never tired of the chore. One would think that a machine would be necessary to test the tensility of the toy, as it had to be just right. But... "Springy" would hold it in his hand and "play" it like an accordian, and would quickly respond by saying... "Good-to-go" or "one-more-twist". As he handed me one that passed the test, for me to put it in the box, it slipped from my hand... or should I say jumped from my hand!
This magical bauble quickly hastened to the stairwell, and essayed a journey to the second floor. The elves being so pre-occupied, failed to see it as it went on its way. It found its way to another escalier and in its devilry, descended. The final path of its journey took it to the main entrance, where a hug wooden toggled door stood. Suddenly, Mrs. Claus opened this massive gate, and before she could navigate herself to safety, she tripped over the unsuspecting trinket. A large tray of rarely made lemonade crashed to its destination, leaving her on the floor, her eyes inches away from the curious beast. Everyone ran to her assistance, but in her glowing spirit, she said she was okay, got up by herself, and spoke. "I will have to pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again.".
I was amazed and befuddled at the consequences of what I thought was just a slight error in coordination. I apologized to Ahoop.
"Oh, never you mind. I was never fond of those silly little buggers anyways." We all laughed and Mrs. Claus smiled innocently.
On a drizzly morning, we were faced with going home. I felt badly about the reindeer having to take us to Eureka to meet our friend, on sush a horrible day. Blitzen was very reassuring and was proud be lightening fast, and courageous in a storm.
He chuckled to himself and said... "siwwy Rudolp. Ee wud nebber go out on day like dis."
All the elves were there along with Santa, Mrs. Claus and Zwarte... and our eyes welled as we could hear them singing So Long, Farewell... as our sleigh disappeared through the mizzly sky.
When we were home safe and sound, we opened a little gift that Mrs. Claus had placed in our hands. It was a Slinky... not just a Slinky, but THE Slinky. A note came with it.
"Hope the little bugger makes a fine pet."
Love Ahoop
Control Alt Delete #2
Why am I a CAD? It is because sometimes I forget myself and try to CONTROL. Then part way through this futile exercise I realize that I am being found out! So what to do? I then ALTERNATE my method in coy. But soon I realize the error of my ways. Hence I DELETE my entire motive. And then progress starts in the way of encouragement and co-operation. CAD!
DeaBeePea 2-16-16
Clanging
There are so many memories of those summer days. Being home from school meant many things. It was as if I had been given a free ticket to the world!
I would see people doing all the things I had missed during my days in school. So many things to learn, and questions to ask. Why did Mr. Parker leave for work at 9:30 every morning? What kind of a job could that be?
It was a time when the fathers were away. You could almost hear the mothers voicing ringing down our street. Sometimes calling, sometimes scolding. When our fathers came home (mine at 5:10 P.M. like clockwork) me and my friends all took deep sighs. We prayed that in some way or another that our behavior that day was "acceptable". Otherwise, we would get our comeuppance before dinner. If the situation was severe, father would say, "This is too much for me to deal with before dinner, Don't run away after dessert David."
Fortunately I was not in trouble TOO often. But I will never forget the scolding I got for biting the girl from up the street. I grabbed her arm and took a chunk out of it. I was a mad dog! But after all, she was taking liberties with my valued dinky cars.
My parents tied me up downstairs to the support pole. Act like a dog, get treated like a dog. That was not NEARLY as bad as having to go to her home and apologize to her and her mother and father. I would have rather died at that moment.
After all these memorable thoughts, the one thing, somewhat strangely, that stands out is the infamous clang. Yes, a clang.
From the descending hill there arose such a clatter. Kids and their mothers were running out on the street. Brandishing what appeared to be weapons.
Clang, clang, clang. It was almost deafening.
I witnessed my mother in a panic. Almost. Going through the cutlery drawer. Cling, clang, cling, clang.
Out on the street she went, cleaver in hand.
A man, pushing a little trolley. A white shirt rolled up just past the elbows, a flat cap, and greasy overalls. He was shy, and said little or nothing.
Scurr,,, rkkk... scurr... rkkk...
When he was finished he took a short bow and said what sounded like thank you.
Oh, those wonderful moments... when the knife-sharpening man came.
DeaBeePea 3-22-16
DeaBeePea 3-22-16
