Brownstonelit's Blog

3/9/12

 I have written mostly of the fluff and flavor of life of late and feel as though I have betrayed a small portion of my readers in doing so. So let me break from recent tradition and tell you that I have had many odd dreams of late. In one, another door opens which brings me great hope. In yet another, I continue to see the number of the ______________ rush across the screen of my cell phone. It flashes incessantly at me, telling me I have an urgent message. I also see something R has described to me of late.

Small silver blades that dovetail and spring from the ends of fingers meant to do someone great bodily harm. They are the weapons of Marshall Arts or Hollywood’s favorite Wolverine. Who bears such nifty little toys of destruction? Who might carry and covet such weapons of passion… for kid yourself naught. Maiming and ripping the flesh of another is most definitely an intimate and passionate crime… for you cannot get any closer or more personal than to defame and defile the epithelium of another.

So who are you, Wolverine? Or are you already known to me by another name?

 Is it you who winds threads from doors to doors, like a spider coiling his web to catch the errant fly? Or you who cans and peddles her wares while she watches from generational windows and waits to tell what she has seen? Maybe you once worked in a bakery… or is it you, who now works within the medical profession, whose father once saw and recorded another’s deeds for profit?

Think dear children… for they walk among you every day and you know naught what lurid history they drag behind them, as you smile and wish them well.

The clock has begun to wind down and the murders run around in circles, like in a game of musical chairs.

After almost 46 years chairs have been removed as each player dies. We are down to just a handful now that can still step to the plate and tell the truth.

Who will be brave? Who will be sly? Who is foolish enough to think I do not already know which amongst you has already spilled the beans? Who will sit in the hot seat once the music has stopped?

Ready… go!

“Here we go ‘round the Mulberry bush, the Mulberry bush, the Mulberry bush… Here we go ‘round the Mulberry bush… so early in the morning!”

STOP!

We are down to four chairs.

Go…STOP…GO…STOP…GO…STOP…

One chair left!

Who is in the hot seat now?

3/8/12

On Saturday I am going to see the grand Pooh-Bah of mediums, John Edward. I can hardly wait to see who comes through. I am asking Charley to invite the gang along to watch! Roxanne, Jessica, the MOT, Miss M, the B-man, G, the shooter, the pipe-smoker, the drinker and the farmer!

Should be a Hell of a party, don’t cha think?

Just can’t wait to see who else might show! There is someone new I wish to speak to, though.

Do you know who that is?

It’s a person by the name of _____________________.

I can keep a secret… can you?

3/6/12

Aside from familial heartbreaks, I had a very interesting weekend. Julie and her son Connor came for a visit and together we walked down Julie’s memory lane through numerous photos and one very special recording of Julie’s 6^th Birthday…the Birthday just before her father was murdered.

For over 30 minutes we listened to the chatter of meddling adults, the squeals of laughter coming from a gaggle of small children, the careful orchestration of events as moderated by her brother, the clatter of toys…and then in the background for no more than a handful of words…a voice.

The deep and hollowed voice of Charley.

3/5/12

So much is happening these last few days and not all of it wonderful. The book is coming along wonderfully. I won tickets to see John Edward the Psychic/Medium this weekend and am going to watch my oldest child perform on stage as well. In between all that… heartache looms. After two years, a promising relationship for one of my children has fallen apart and my heart breaks for her as she weathers this storm. Broken in spirit she gathers her things, divvies up the groceries left in a kitchen cabinet and tries to convince the dogs that it’s not what she wants, but it can’t be helped. The puppy does not understand why it cannot stay in its home or with its playmate … neither can she and all the while, tears fall from her eyes while she tries to convince them both its better this way.

Mustang packed and loaded down, we run form old home to new, knowing another week will pass before it is all removed. Today as I looked into the eyes of a confused German Shepard puppy, I really understood what it means to break up a family… even a fledgling one. People can be so unkind; quick to love and even quicker to leave when the going gets tough. I do not understand. Why are we all so chicken__________ when it comes to love?

3/2/2012

Yesterday I saw a feather…

This morning as I was driving, I was suddenly reminded of a scene from the movie, The Field Of Dreams about how (Moonlight Graham) Doc’s wife Alicia always wore blue and folks in town always put blue hats in the windows, because they knew if Doc walked by and saw them… he would buy one of them.  In the scene, the writer character, Terrance Mann sat quietly taking notes and listening as the man beside him coddled a beer and then continued…

“…They said when they cleaned out his office after he died; they found shoe boxes full of blue hats he never got around to give her. I bet you didn’t know that, did you?” the man on the bar stool queried.

“No.” said Terrance Mann as he finished his memo and then closed his notebook, smiling. “I didn’t.”

I thought about that for a moment as fence post after fence post invaded my peripheral vision, wondering why Charley would have wanted me to think about that.   I parsed the epiphany for about five seconds before it hit me…hats! Where else had I heard about someone similar to Doc Graham who had an affinity for hats?

Go back into your notebooks T.A., Charley whispered… way back! Think!! And I did…

Gotcha!

Thanks for the feather, my dear friend. You never disappoint!

3/1/2012

Today I saw a feather…

We all know what that means!

2/29/12

You ask the questions… you chatter amongst yourselves about the blog in the café’s and the doctor’s offices and grocery stores of your little burg, moving your players about the chess boards of your titillated imaginations and say…

“Was it him? Was it her? Was it them? Who are the 4 in flannel? How could these things have happened here? Who was really involved and how could people have done such horrible things? How do two young girls go missing and nobody asks where they went? How does a crime investigation last less time than a L’Oreal color rinse? Were there any more people who suddenly went missing in 1966 without proper segue to justice… or proper burial… or public declaration? Where are the files? Where are the names? Where is the outrage? What really happened before that night on the Clyattville-Nankin  Road on October 9, 1966?”

But the question you should all be asking yourselves is not contained in those listed above. The real question you should be asking is…

Why has it taken 46 years for anyone to ask them at all?

2/28/12

Yesterday should have been a day for feathers and yet, none crossed my path. How ironic, for I felt the bald eagle from last November, metaphorically spread its wings high above me and shelter me from harm. I did an interview yesterday and while I wanted to sing from the rafters, this canary clung to the cage of tact and held her tongue. It was a curious day. Sometimes I felt very much alone in my path and then without fanfare, Charley would be near me, his face hinting of a smile—but not committing.  It almost felt as though he was holding back on purpose… watching and waiting, like a child eager for a parent to open a present they had made for them.

Yesterday too was a day for Roxanne. Once my work day had ended, I spent the drive home listening to “Il Divo,” a CD sung by the 4 famous Italian Tenors and while I understood very little of the foreign language spoken, the music was beyond beautiful, their voices primal and striking and it touched my heart so that I listened in silence the entire ride. Once home and stranded in pensive mode, I poured a generous Amaretto on the rocks and sat on the deck- watching the sunlight skip across the water as it began to hide behind the tree line. Everything was perfect. I said a small prayer of gratitude and then at the shoreline, a small frog disturbed the sullen rhythm of the lapping waves and sent out a ripple that grew with each foot of water it consumed. In that instant I thought of the perfection of my placement in the cosmos, the encouragement of my view juxtaposed against the disappointing view my dear Roxanne saw from her vantage point in another body of water 4 hours to my south. I wanted to cry and tell her that not all lakes bore such evil tidings…that I would be happy to share such happy shores of my own with her. And then I bid her to rest with me…there on the beach for a time before she moved on to what was necessary for her evolution.

I know she heard me, for as the buttery sun began to melt beyond the horizon, a small breeze escaped the lips of the hemlock nearby and a long blonde hair drifted across my cheek and tickled the end of my nose.

Was it one of mine…or one of hers?  I brushed the hair away, but it returned time and time again and so I smiled and let the wind and Roxanne play where they willed.

I know that this blog must come to an end, as all things eventually do. I know that there may be some questions asked that may never be answered. But I also know that there have been many questions brought to bare, shadows dispelled and light shed where none has shined for over four decades. Is today the day this blog ends? That remains to be seen. For now, I am content to let Charley grin and Roxanne play and I invite the MOT and Jessica to do the same. Let them rest for awhile and live with me here, in this glorious place that was chosen just for me.

How do I know it was chosen for me?

Because like every other clue presented, certain numbers were offered to R as significant. Over 6 months ago, the exact letters in this address kept appearing to R in the exact order they occur on my mail. At the time I had no idea their significance or what they were tied to. Infact, it wasn’t until I unpacked my first box that it dawned on me that someone had been guiding me to this sanctuary all along.

Who knows… it may have even been Roxanne.

Rest in peace, my dear girl. I am here to keep you safe…all of you!

2/27/2012

BREATHE!

2/24/12
Today will be one for the books.
To be specific, “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” by Douglas Adams.

Why?
Oh, let’s just say something about going fishing… dolphins… the cosmos…and the famous tag line—“So long! And… thanks for all the fish!”
Well, the other day I set out my pole. This morning I reeled in a fish! And quite a necessary fish to boot. You see, sometimes you know things without knowing that you know them. Even worse, you suspect you are right about someone or something, but cannot prove it until low and behold… someone drops a Mackerel in your lap the size of a 1966 Volkswagen and you are validated!
Well, today I got that Mackerel; albeit a dead Mackerel, but a Mackerel nonetheless and that makes me smile! Why? Because at 6:47 this morning, Charley and I had a little chat. As the drizzle began to glaze the landscape and blur in the darkening clouds, I ran through a sequence of recent events and asked why it is that with so much completed… I hang on the last two chapters of this thing as though I am afraid to commit to the ending.

To be sure they are outlined and for the most part fleshed… but there has been something holding me back from completing the sequence.

Now I have been doing this long enough to know when my subconscious is stalling me. I also know when a segue needs another brick or two for support, so in the interest of waiting on another brick…I asked for a few resolutions to some annoying loose ends and he asked for a little faith.A little meditation, a wonderful bucolic ride and half a cup of coffee later… I had my answer. The time the clock rolled over to 8:30, I had resolution and he had my undying faith.

All in all it has been a very good morning for fishing! Don’t you just love that about the weather? One day sun, one day rain… some days not good for fishing and some days you just can’t beat those suckers off the hook!
So, here’s to a great day of fishing!
Jump in Grim… the water’s warm. In fact…it’s so warm, it’s beginning to boil!
I’d say, it’s time for a bit of a FISH FRY!!!