C. Michaels's Blog, page 6
February 4, 2013
My Table For Six
Super Bowl was yesterday, and boy was I excited. There’s nothing like a great game to bring anticipation, thrills to a town. Be it the ads or the actual sport, there is something for everyone.
All the usual watering holes in town had specials; so many pesos would get you into the event. But I waited too long to make plans. When it hit me that I had been left out in the cold, I was dismayed, “No!” I cried. “This just cannot be.”
Late last week, I walked up the beach, then up a road to where I indulge each afternoon with my double espresso. I was to that point in this exercise where my eyes began to open wider, and my body felt alive, when it hit me. There’s a sports bar down this way. I finished my delightful mini cup of potent juice and marched down the walk to the place that would welcome me into their den for this precious football party.
The owner was kind, she reserved me a table, but needed to know how many folks there would be. By this time, my body was armed with the jingle juice. I looked at her through big eyes, and blurted out, “Six.”
I was elated, I had a place to sit for the event. As I walked away, it hit me. “Did I really say six?”
I struggled to think of people who would be fun to watch the game with. Then it hit me. “I’m sitting on something big here, I have a table for six for the most exciting game of the year (well, for some of us).” The thoughts that rambled through my head had me spinning. I had a TABLE.
I began asking friends if they would like to sit at my table, when it became painfully clear that everyone already had plans. “Wait, I knew this, why did I think owning this table would change that?”
A friend suggested a group of folks for the table, but I didn’t want his friends sitting at my table, I wanted my friends. I spent the next couple of days pondering my problem. I even thought of going back and turning in my table so they could re-reserve it. I was ashamed of the selfish thoughts I had been having over this precious table. I contemplated, “I could just give the table to the guy and his friends.” But it occurred to me that I would again be without a seat for the game.
Then it hit me. “I’ll just bet there are others that are gameless like me. I need to keep this table for those who waited too long, for die-hard fans without a table to share.
Sunday came, and I put on my confidence to walked up the beach. I stopped for my eye-jerking double espresso, then stood tall, and walked up to the bar. There were so many people, I didn’t see my “table for six” anywhere. I strained my neck, then heard my name being called. I followed the sound, only to be delighted at the sight of a large table full of happy fans, they were inviting me to sit at their table. I found a chair, told the owner that I wouldn’t need my table for six, and began enjoying the delightful event.
There is a point to this story. There will be times when I hold all the cards in my hand, but I need to refrain from becoming selfish, and inconsiderate. My table nearly ruined me. Taking my ego to new heights, I became picky about who I would spend time with, I became a snob. I no longer recognized myself in the mirror, it was a sorry reflection.
The table episode turned out well, and it left me with new wisdom. No matter how important I become (I may reserve another table one day), the key point here is to remain down to earth, I must not get full of myself. This table lesson could just be the trigger that prevents me from a lifetime of tables for one.
All the usual watering holes in town had specials; so many pesos would get you into the event. But I waited too long to make plans. When it hit me that I had been left out in the cold, I was dismayed, “No!” I cried. “This just cannot be.”
Late last week, I walked up the beach, then up a road to where I indulge each afternoon with my double espresso. I was to that point in this exercise where my eyes began to open wider, and my body felt alive, when it hit me. There’s a sports bar down this way. I finished my delightful mini cup of potent juice and marched down the walk to the place that would welcome me into their den for this precious football party.
The owner was kind, she reserved me a table, but needed to know how many folks there would be. By this time, my body was armed with the jingle juice. I looked at her through big eyes, and blurted out, “Six.”
I was elated, I had a place to sit for the event. As I walked away, it hit me. “Did I really say six?”
I struggled to think of people who would be fun to watch the game with. Then it hit me. “I’m sitting on something big here, I have a table for six for the most exciting game of the year (well, for some of us).” The thoughts that rambled through my head had me spinning. I had a TABLE.
I began asking friends if they would like to sit at my table, when it became painfully clear that everyone already had plans. “Wait, I knew this, why did I think owning this table would change that?”
A friend suggested a group of folks for the table, but I didn’t want his friends sitting at my table, I wanted my friends. I spent the next couple of days pondering my problem. I even thought of going back and turning in my table so they could re-reserve it. I was ashamed of the selfish thoughts I had been having over this precious table. I contemplated, “I could just give the table to the guy and his friends.” But it occurred to me that I would again be without a seat for the game.
Then it hit me. “I’ll just bet there are others that are gameless like me. I need to keep this table for those who waited too long, for die-hard fans without a table to share.
Sunday came, and I put on my confidence to walked up the beach. I stopped for my eye-jerking double espresso, then stood tall, and walked up to the bar. There were so many people, I didn’t see my “table for six” anywhere. I strained my neck, then heard my name being called. I followed the sound, only to be delighted at the sight of a large table full of happy fans, they were inviting me to sit at their table. I found a chair, told the owner that I wouldn’t need my table for six, and began enjoying the delightful event.
There is a point to this story. There will be times when I hold all the cards in my hand, but I need to refrain from becoming selfish, and inconsiderate. My table nearly ruined me. Taking my ego to new heights, I became picky about who I would spend time with, I became a snob. I no longer recognized myself in the mirror, it was a sorry reflection.
The table episode turned out well, and it left me with new wisdom. No matter how important I become (I may reserve another table one day), the key point here is to remain down to earth, I must not get full of myself. This table lesson could just be the trigger that prevents me from a lifetime of tables for one.
January 29, 2013
Man Holes
Here in Mazatlán, it is not at all unusual to find an open man hole next to the sidewalk, the street.
The other day, my friend told me a story, a story that another person had told her. In a strange way, this is a form of communication, a sort of local paper of information in this town. With that said, I must say that often, the information is not totally accurate. And yet, this story is priceless. Hence, I am telling you what I heard.
A northerner was walking one day, he failed to see one of these open man holes. Falling was painful for him, the obvious result was a broken leg. Not being from Mexico, the man thought he had a wonderful lawsuit, maybe he’d get enough money so he could retire and live in this wonderful city full time. He was elated in spite of his pain.
As soon as he was released from the hospital, this man, I will call him Mr. Smith, jetted over to see a Mexican attorney as best he could, noting that he was on crutches. He told his story to the lawyer, who listened intently, taking in each detail.
The response from the attorney was, “It sounds like we may have a case, but I need to do a little research before we move forward with this. I will get back to you in a few days.” The attorney carefully led his new client to the door, and wished him a good day.
Mr. Smith waited patiently for the next week, when he finally got the call he was waiting for. It was his attorney.
“Mr. Smith, I have to say… I went to your man hole yesterday. I brought a chair so I could do this job properly. I sat there for hours, and no one who walked by the man hole fell in. I don’t believe we have a case.”
Mr. Smith returned north to his job where he still had six years of hard labor before he could retire. So, what is the moral of this story? Should Mexico have stricter laws about liability situations? Is Mexico smarter than the north with sue-happy folks? I really do not know the answer, it’s up to each of us to have our opinion. However, I will end with this. If there is any ounce of truth to this story, it is what I call, another great charm of this beautiful city.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
The other day, my friend told me a story, a story that another person had told her. In a strange way, this is a form of communication, a sort of local paper of information in this town. With that said, I must say that often, the information is not totally accurate. And yet, this story is priceless. Hence, I am telling you what I heard.
A northerner was walking one day, he failed to see one of these open man holes. Falling was painful for him, the obvious result was a broken leg. Not being from Mexico, the man thought he had a wonderful lawsuit, maybe he’d get enough money so he could retire and live in this wonderful city full time. He was elated in spite of his pain.
As soon as he was released from the hospital, this man, I will call him Mr. Smith, jetted over to see a Mexican attorney as best he could, noting that he was on crutches. He told his story to the lawyer, who listened intently, taking in each detail.
The response from the attorney was, “It sounds like we may have a case, but I need to do a little research before we move forward with this. I will get back to you in a few days.” The attorney carefully led his new client to the door, and wished him a good day.
Mr. Smith waited patiently for the next week, when he finally got the call he was waiting for. It was his attorney.
“Mr. Smith, I have to say… I went to your man hole yesterday. I brought a chair so I could do this job properly. I sat there for hours, and no one who walked by the man hole fell in. I don’t believe we have a case.”
Mr. Smith returned north to his job where he still had six years of hard labor before he could retire. So, what is the moral of this story? Should Mexico have stricter laws about liability situations? Is Mexico smarter than the north with sue-happy folks? I really do not know the answer, it’s up to each of us to have our opinion. However, I will end with this. If there is any ounce of truth to this story, it is what I call, another great charm of this beautiful city.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
January 21, 2013
Immigration Social Club
The rules for getting a visa in Mexico have changed, that is where this story begins.
Imagine playing a game with 50 folks, where you are split into several groups, each group receiving a different set of rules for the game. Furthermore, no one is aware of the other’s group designation. If your head is now aching, then you have understood my description of this game.
The result is chaos.
Here is the deal, the room at the Immigration office fills up with desperate non-Mexicans, all unsure about what they need to do in order to stay in this beautiful country. Each northerner has their own story… some are grandfathered to make this their final year, they are playing with the rules to obtain their permanent visa. Some are beginning the process, playing by a different set of rules. This change in the visa regulations has created a huge backlog, meaning that after you go through all the paperwork, you need to wait up to two months to get the magic card you have worked so hard to own, the card that says you are a semi-Mexican. During that time, if you need to leave the country, you must go to this Social Club, and wait for your number so they can process a different set of papers. Did I mention that it takes roughly five hours for the workers to get through 30 numbers? Yes, this is the real problem… sitting for hours, waiting for your number to be called. Oh, and if there are any problems with your name spelling, address, etc. you must start over. This process takes a minimum of two visits.
What do you think happens with this scenario? GRUMPY PEOPLE.
You are unsure of the rules for your reason to be there, so you ask the person next to you if they know what they are doing. NO! Wrong move! Remember, that person may not be playing your game. In fact, it is a good bet that they are not.
With the new changes, the workers at this fabulous club have their work increased. Now, enter the man behind the counter.
He has people aiming their angry at him all day. Each person feels the need to tell him their problem, and why this new process is ruining their life. This man is a Saint. He smiles, and repeats the rules, he uses his soothing voice to let them know what they must do. He is not human, no one could be so nice under these circumstances, and yet, he is! I watch with disbelief, and know that he does it day after day. We need his face painted on a huge boulder, and make him our God.
Now, we need to look at the folks sitting in the chairs waiting for their number to be called. I noticed the other day that many of them, myself included, realized that we were stuck, this was it, and we had decided to resign to it. Maybe this is what a wild horse goes through when being tamed by a master.
This is when the party begins. The room becomes a bar without drinks. We begin to laugh, tell stories, jokes. I’m conscience that we have turned this vicious game into a beautiful experience. The time suddenly flies, you have new friends, there’s a delightful, warm sense that rinses through your insides. You are not only turning a bad experience around, but you are now meeting folks that you will want to hug next time you see them in the grocery store. This is real stuff, you can’t beat it! The transformation is uncanny.
This week I finished my second day at the Social Club. I left, elated that I would never need to do it again, I will be issued my permanent card. But, as I drove away from the office, a brief moment of sadness came over me. “Oh my, I will miss the man behind the counter, I will miss out on meeting wonderful folks. This was an experience I will remember with great warmth.” Then I smiled, “I’m DONE!”
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
Imagine playing a game with 50 folks, where you are split into several groups, each group receiving a different set of rules for the game. Furthermore, no one is aware of the other’s group designation. If your head is now aching, then you have understood my description of this game.
The result is chaos.
Here is the deal, the room at the Immigration office fills up with desperate non-Mexicans, all unsure about what they need to do in order to stay in this beautiful country. Each northerner has their own story… some are grandfathered to make this their final year, they are playing with the rules to obtain their permanent visa. Some are beginning the process, playing by a different set of rules. This change in the visa regulations has created a huge backlog, meaning that after you go through all the paperwork, you need to wait up to two months to get the magic card you have worked so hard to own, the card that says you are a semi-Mexican. During that time, if you need to leave the country, you must go to this Social Club, and wait for your number so they can process a different set of papers. Did I mention that it takes roughly five hours for the workers to get through 30 numbers? Yes, this is the real problem… sitting for hours, waiting for your number to be called. Oh, and if there are any problems with your name spelling, address, etc. you must start over. This process takes a minimum of two visits.
What do you think happens with this scenario? GRUMPY PEOPLE.
You are unsure of the rules for your reason to be there, so you ask the person next to you if they know what they are doing. NO! Wrong move! Remember, that person may not be playing your game. In fact, it is a good bet that they are not.
With the new changes, the workers at this fabulous club have their work increased. Now, enter the man behind the counter.
He has people aiming their angry at him all day. Each person feels the need to tell him their problem, and why this new process is ruining their life. This man is a Saint. He smiles, and repeats the rules, he uses his soothing voice to let them know what they must do. He is not human, no one could be so nice under these circumstances, and yet, he is! I watch with disbelief, and know that he does it day after day. We need his face painted on a huge boulder, and make him our God.
Now, we need to look at the folks sitting in the chairs waiting for their number to be called. I noticed the other day that many of them, myself included, realized that we were stuck, this was it, and we had decided to resign to it. Maybe this is what a wild horse goes through when being tamed by a master.
This is when the party begins. The room becomes a bar without drinks. We begin to laugh, tell stories, jokes. I’m conscience that we have turned this vicious game into a beautiful experience. The time suddenly flies, you have new friends, there’s a delightful, warm sense that rinses through your insides. You are not only turning a bad experience around, but you are now meeting folks that you will want to hug next time you see them in the grocery store. This is real stuff, you can’t beat it! The transformation is uncanny.
This week I finished my second day at the Social Club. I left, elated that I would never need to do it again, I will be issued my permanent card. But, as I drove away from the office, a brief moment of sadness came over me. “Oh my, I will miss the man behind the counter, I will miss out on meeting wonderful folks. This was an experience I will remember with great warmth.” Then I smiled, “I’m DONE!”
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
January 18, 2013
The Whistle Blower
When you think of a whistle blower, the usual thing that comes to mind is the guy or gal who has inside information about something they are about to blow sky-high. Not the case here in Mazatlán.
Here, this person is a man, the good ones always smile. They hang out in parking lots, mostly at grocery stores, shopping malls… places where they can watch over your car to ensure that it is safe.
I come out of the store with my groceries, and if he is not guiding a car to back out of its parking position, he will run to my aide, he will load my car for me. He’ll then run to the back of my car, and begin going through his routine, his purpose for being there. I look into my rear view mirror, and watch his hands take a hold of the whistle that is tied around his neck. He proudly raises it to his lips, and I hear the sound that I so love. It’s always a short two-toot warning to all those around me to freeze their life for the next moment, to allow me to back my car out safely. He is very serious at this stage of his job.
I roll down my window and smile at him with gratitude, I say something to him in my best Spanish accent, hoping that he will not detect that I still do not know his language. I hand him some pesos, and he thanks me in a professional manner. Our encounter is over until I return for more groceries, but it leaves me with a warm tingle during the first moments of the journey back to my home.
The other day, it just so happened that there was no car parked in front of mine, it would have been easiest for me to simply put the car in its forward gear, and drive away. I saw him running up to the rear of my car, and that warm feeling came over me. I waited for the whistle toots, and happily backed my car into the safe haven he was providing for my exit.
Whistle blowers, they are one of the many majestic experiences in this town they call Mazatlán, they make my trip to the store complete. They add just a little spice to my day. Yes, they are wonderful creatures; they remind me how delightful life is. Know this, whistle blowers… this lady appreciates what you do for us car people.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
Here, this person is a man, the good ones always smile. They hang out in parking lots, mostly at grocery stores, shopping malls… places where they can watch over your car to ensure that it is safe.
I come out of the store with my groceries, and if he is not guiding a car to back out of its parking position, he will run to my aide, he will load my car for me. He’ll then run to the back of my car, and begin going through his routine, his purpose for being there. I look into my rear view mirror, and watch his hands take a hold of the whistle that is tied around his neck. He proudly raises it to his lips, and I hear the sound that I so love. It’s always a short two-toot warning to all those around me to freeze their life for the next moment, to allow me to back my car out safely. He is very serious at this stage of his job.
I roll down my window and smile at him with gratitude, I say something to him in my best Spanish accent, hoping that he will not detect that I still do not know his language. I hand him some pesos, and he thanks me in a professional manner. Our encounter is over until I return for more groceries, but it leaves me with a warm tingle during the first moments of the journey back to my home.
The other day, it just so happened that there was no car parked in front of mine, it would have been easiest for me to simply put the car in its forward gear, and drive away. I saw him running up to the rear of my car, and that warm feeling came over me. I waited for the whistle toots, and happily backed my car into the safe haven he was providing for my exit.
Whistle blowers, they are one of the many majestic experiences in this town they call Mazatlán, they make my trip to the store complete. They add just a little spice to my day. Yes, they are wonderful creatures; they remind me how delightful life is. Know this, whistle blowers… this lady appreciates what you do for us car people.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
January 8, 2013
Winning vs Common Sense
This past Sunday, I watched as my beloved Seahawks beat the Washington Redskins in the first of (hopefully) many playoff games. Screams of delight escaped me when we got our game sorted out, and began to put points on the scoreboard.
This game was special as it pitted two astounding rookie quarter backs against each other. Boy, is this ever a rough game. When the Redskins QB, Griffin, known as RG3, showed signs that his already injured knee was decidedly hurting, my friends and I noticed that he was taken into a small shack. Did they shoot something into that bum knee? We will never know, but minutes later, he was back out on the field.
It wasn’t long at all before we noticed a difference in his line of attack… he would pass the ball off to the closest player, rather than use any sign of mobility as he had done earlier. One of my fan friends noticed it first. “Look, he isn’t able to move anymore, this guy is in real pain!” he said.
It became difficult to watch when RG3 was on the field, why was he still out there? Still, when the Seahawks made a good play, screams of delight were heard from our table. The movie, Gladiator flashed momentarily through my mind. Are we as bad as the spectators in those days? Are we no better than the Romans, enjoying the violence of this game? A stern voice in my head told me, NO. It is fine to enjoy this sport. I kept up the conversation in my head while maintaining my excitement for the big flat screen on the wall.
The consensus of my private conversation was not to blame the spectator. I can’t imagine that football fans enjoy watching gifted players get hurt. However, there is a big problem here. When it is clearly not the right decision to send an injured player into this violent game, you have to wonder… where is the real leadership?
To be a strong leader, you must have compassion for your team. I, like everyone who saw what happened to this talented young man, hope he recovers, and will be able to have a fine football career. But, please let this be a lesson to all coaches and team doctors across the country. You want to win? Fine. But you do it by developing a strong game plan, by picking the best players and coaches. You do it with ability and common sense. You have great backup players so you can remove the injured boys from the game. You need to care more about them than winning, and then, just maybe you will win. Washington lost in more than one way in this game.
I do hope there will be enough anger from the public to put pressure on the team leadership. Probably not. Wait, I know the answer. Put a woman advisor on each NFL team. Ah, perhaps the feminine contrast, the compassionate mother-like common sense could stop terrible decisions, while keeping the game intact for us fans to look forward to each week’s upcoming game. There, I’ve done it. I have the problem solved.
I can’t wait for Sunday to arrive so I can hurt my throat again. I just love being the 12th man from Mexico, this time it will be to cheer my beloved Seahawks to a victory over the Atlanta Falcons. Wow, this getting stuff off my chest really works. Think I will take my dog for her walk now.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
This game was special as it pitted two astounding rookie quarter backs against each other. Boy, is this ever a rough game. When the Redskins QB, Griffin, known as RG3, showed signs that his already injured knee was decidedly hurting, my friends and I noticed that he was taken into a small shack. Did they shoot something into that bum knee? We will never know, but minutes later, he was back out on the field.
It wasn’t long at all before we noticed a difference in his line of attack… he would pass the ball off to the closest player, rather than use any sign of mobility as he had done earlier. One of my fan friends noticed it first. “Look, he isn’t able to move anymore, this guy is in real pain!” he said.
It became difficult to watch when RG3 was on the field, why was he still out there? Still, when the Seahawks made a good play, screams of delight were heard from our table. The movie, Gladiator flashed momentarily through my mind. Are we as bad as the spectators in those days? Are we no better than the Romans, enjoying the violence of this game? A stern voice in my head told me, NO. It is fine to enjoy this sport. I kept up the conversation in my head while maintaining my excitement for the big flat screen on the wall.
The consensus of my private conversation was not to blame the spectator. I can’t imagine that football fans enjoy watching gifted players get hurt. However, there is a big problem here. When it is clearly not the right decision to send an injured player into this violent game, you have to wonder… where is the real leadership?
To be a strong leader, you must have compassion for your team. I, like everyone who saw what happened to this talented young man, hope he recovers, and will be able to have a fine football career. But, please let this be a lesson to all coaches and team doctors across the country. You want to win? Fine. But you do it by developing a strong game plan, by picking the best players and coaches. You do it with ability and common sense. You have great backup players so you can remove the injured boys from the game. You need to care more about them than winning, and then, just maybe you will win. Washington lost in more than one way in this game.
I do hope there will be enough anger from the public to put pressure on the team leadership. Probably not. Wait, I know the answer. Put a woman advisor on each NFL team. Ah, perhaps the feminine contrast, the compassionate mother-like common sense could stop terrible decisions, while keeping the game intact for us fans to look forward to each week’s upcoming game. There, I’ve done it. I have the problem solved.
I can’t wait for Sunday to arrive so I can hurt my throat again. I just love being the 12th man from Mexico, this time it will be to cheer my beloved Seahawks to a victory over the Atlanta Falcons. Wow, this getting stuff off my chest really works. Think I will take my dog for her walk now.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
January 2, 2013
What Did 2012 Do For Me?
I have lived in Mexico for over two years now. I remember why I moved here. Of course it was the tropical climate, the plants, but it was mostly the colorful attitude of the folks down here.
I remember hearing the excited words come out of my Mexican friends’ mouths. Not knowing their language well enough, I would just listen to the tones coming from their voices. It went something like this (but in Espanol). “CAN YOU believe THAT?! I never thought I WOULD EVER see THAT IN MY LIFETIME! Just LOOK at IT!”
As I said, they used colorful, animation with their words for just about anything that I would have considered ordinary observations. Well, lately, I have heard my own expressions coming from my mouth. “Did YOU SEE THAT? Why, look AT ALL THE SURFERS out THERE!”
It appears that I have picked up the MEXICAN EXCITED TALK habit during the 2012 year.
I remember noticing how the Mexicans would bundle up for a walk on the beach during the winter months, while the tourists (me included) were parading around in skimpy clothes in celebration of the blue sky and sun. The other day, I bundled up for my walk on the beach. It was the only way I could brave the seventy-degree weather.
It appears that I have morphed physically; I’ve gone through a thinning process in my bloodstream during the 2012 year.
I remember being shocked by open man holes next to the sidewalk while walking my dog down the street. “What a liability,” I’d think, “why aren’t there more people falling in, breaking bones?” Now, I walk around them, while chatting to the person next to me, obviously seeing the hole, but not thinking anything of it.
It appears that I have become oblivious to certain dangers, and am taking responsibility for my own welfare, accepting the dangers around me. Yes, this happened to me during the year, 2012.
I don’t know what 2013 will bring to me, personally, but am pleased that I have inherited some goofy habits from my new homeland. Colorful is good, excitement for the normal is good, smiling is good, lack of worry is good. I hope more people in this world will hop on the enjoy life because you never know how long it will last train in 2013. It feels pretty fine, it makes this person relish (add a little hot mustard while you are at it) the moment, each moment of this thing they call life.
Saludos!. 2013 BRINGS us ALL MUCH GREAT anticipation. We just NEED TO EMBRACE IT!
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
I remember hearing the excited words come out of my Mexican friends’ mouths. Not knowing their language well enough, I would just listen to the tones coming from their voices. It went something like this (but in Espanol). “CAN YOU believe THAT?! I never thought I WOULD EVER see THAT IN MY LIFETIME! Just LOOK at IT!”
As I said, they used colorful, animation with their words for just about anything that I would have considered ordinary observations. Well, lately, I have heard my own expressions coming from my mouth. “Did YOU SEE THAT? Why, look AT ALL THE SURFERS out THERE!”
It appears that I have picked up the MEXICAN EXCITED TALK habit during the 2012 year.
I remember noticing how the Mexicans would bundle up for a walk on the beach during the winter months, while the tourists (me included) were parading around in skimpy clothes in celebration of the blue sky and sun. The other day, I bundled up for my walk on the beach. It was the only way I could brave the seventy-degree weather.
It appears that I have morphed physically; I’ve gone through a thinning process in my bloodstream during the 2012 year.
I remember being shocked by open man holes next to the sidewalk while walking my dog down the street. “What a liability,” I’d think, “why aren’t there more people falling in, breaking bones?” Now, I walk around them, while chatting to the person next to me, obviously seeing the hole, but not thinking anything of it.
It appears that I have become oblivious to certain dangers, and am taking responsibility for my own welfare, accepting the dangers around me. Yes, this happened to me during the year, 2012.
I don’t know what 2013 will bring to me, personally, but am pleased that I have inherited some goofy habits from my new homeland. Colorful is good, excitement for the normal is good, smiling is good, lack of worry is good. I hope more people in this world will hop on the enjoy life because you never know how long it will last train in 2013. It feels pretty fine, it makes this person relish (add a little hot mustard while you are at it) the moment, each moment of this thing they call life.
Saludos!. 2013 BRINGS us ALL MUCH GREAT anticipation. We just NEED TO EMBRACE IT!
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Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
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December 24, 2012
A Magical Evening
A wonderful event happened the other night in my neighborhood. I live in Mexico, so needless to say, the folks around me, myself included, add to a diverse environment. Did I mention how great that is?
Mexicans, Canadians, U Statsians… we are a true mix, coming for three main ethnicities, but have gladly thrown ourselves into the quaint neighborhood melting pot. Mind you, us out-of-towners live here because we love the colorful culture this southern paradise provides, but we have inserted some of our ways to add to this magnificent society.
There is a man who comes down here for the winters, an American from the farthest north western corner of the US. His talent is abundant, having spent a career as a chorus teacher, and played the sax, clarinet, flute with many bands and symphonies over the years. This man’s name is Jock.
Jock surprised many of us with a delightful idea this year. He offered to lead us in a Christmas singing concert; it took place at his large patio area the other night. All we had to do was bring a chair and our voices. The rest was magic. We listened to the beautiful notes come from his wind instruments, and sang our hearts out to the verses of traditional carols.
It was a chance to meet more neighbors, work through the language problems some of us have, laugh, hold hands. It left me with a smile and warm heart, another magical evening shared with a new set of friends.
Thank you, Jock, for making this event happen, and thank you, neighbors, for turning it into a fond memory.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays to each and every one of you, your readership has been important to me.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
Mexicans, Canadians, U Statsians… we are a true mix, coming for three main ethnicities, but have gladly thrown ourselves into the quaint neighborhood melting pot. Mind you, us out-of-towners live here because we love the colorful culture this southern paradise provides, but we have inserted some of our ways to add to this magnificent society.
There is a man who comes down here for the winters, an American from the farthest north western corner of the US. His talent is abundant, having spent a career as a chorus teacher, and played the sax, clarinet, flute with many bands and symphonies over the years. This man’s name is Jock.
Jock surprised many of us with a delightful idea this year. He offered to lead us in a Christmas singing concert; it took place at his large patio area the other night. All we had to do was bring a chair and our voices. The rest was magic. We listened to the beautiful notes come from his wind instruments, and sang our hearts out to the verses of traditional carols.
It was a chance to meet more neighbors, work through the language problems some of us have, laugh, hold hands. It left me with a smile and warm heart, another magical evening shared with a new set of friends.
Thank you, Jock, for making this event happen, and thank you, neighbors, for turning it into a fond memory.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays to each and every one of you, your readership has been important to me.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
December 19, 2012
Marathon Drive to Home Depot
As I backed my car out of the driveway the other day, I saw a neighbor rushing over. I rolled down the window, and smiled at him.
He grinned at me and said, “So the marathon is over, eh?”
I laughed. “Oh, you saw Mr. Jones and me washing our cars together.” Earlier, I had engaged in a car-cleaning marathon.
I started down the street toward one of my favorite stores. The sun highlighted the blue sky’s illuminating aura… a welcome invitation for my soul.
I passed the PEE WEE baseball fields. The pride of the families warmed my heart. I was lost in the thought, when something happened, a wonderful treat.
My head jerked, my nose began to tickle with that delicious, familiar scent. The chicken bbq merchants had begun their daily cookouts. It was all I could do to keep moving past them. I made a mental note to pick up a chicken at the market. I just had to replicate those intoxicating smells.
I began to slow down, not understanding why the traffic had become heavy. The visibility was impossible with the hill ahead. I became stricken with the grave and profound notion that things might be terribly wrong on the other side of this knoll.
The car’s speed was now at a crawl. I watched as those ahead of me disappeared. Closer, ever so slowly did I inch forward. In my mirror, I saw a pickup approaching, it was driving on the shoulder. No, it wasn’t one, but, two trucks, both loaded with men in uniforms, proudly displaying their machine guns for all to see.
I noticed that I was clenching to the steering wheel, the heat now bothered me. I was next to go over the hill’s top, see the horror! Why had my breathing become short? What was I about to witness? My turn was next, I was at the crest, I was next to find out!
I let out a groan, the pain I felt made me ill. It soon turned to disgust, the scenic beauty had been covered with… with what? Tens of thousands of small plastic cups. My beautiful town was covered with garbage! While my heart was sick, my curiosity suddenly perked up. I saw something strange several blocks ahead, I squinted my eyes. “Wha…”
A recent memory flashed through my mind… the neighbor. What did he say to me? I laughed.
He had asked me a question. “So the marathon is over, eh?”
Ahead, I saw the last of the runners. Workers were already picking up the trash. I inhaled the sea air, the beautiful tropical foliage scents. How nice to sponsor such a delightful event. My delicious emotions were back. And… I still had my visit to my favorite store ahead of me.
Writing should encapsulate the reader to smell, see, taste, hear. Words should dictate their emotions… make them laugh, cry. If this short read did that for you, then I succeeded as a writer.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
He grinned at me and said, “So the marathon is over, eh?”
I laughed. “Oh, you saw Mr. Jones and me washing our cars together.” Earlier, I had engaged in a car-cleaning marathon.
I started down the street toward one of my favorite stores. The sun highlighted the blue sky’s illuminating aura… a welcome invitation for my soul.
I passed the PEE WEE baseball fields. The pride of the families warmed my heart. I was lost in the thought, when something happened, a wonderful treat.
My head jerked, my nose began to tickle with that delicious, familiar scent. The chicken bbq merchants had begun their daily cookouts. It was all I could do to keep moving past them. I made a mental note to pick up a chicken at the market. I just had to replicate those intoxicating smells.
I began to slow down, not understanding why the traffic had become heavy. The visibility was impossible with the hill ahead. I became stricken with the grave and profound notion that things might be terribly wrong on the other side of this knoll.
The car’s speed was now at a crawl. I watched as those ahead of me disappeared. Closer, ever so slowly did I inch forward. In my mirror, I saw a pickup approaching, it was driving on the shoulder. No, it wasn’t one, but, two trucks, both loaded with men in uniforms, proudly displaying their machine guns for all to see.
I noticed that I was clenching to the steering wheel, the heat now bothered me. I was next to go over the hill’s top, see the horror! Why had my breathing become short? What was I about to witness? My turn was next, I was at the crest, I was next to find out!
I let out a groan, the pain I felt made me ill. It soon turned to disgust, the scenic beauty had been covered with… with what? Tens of thousands of small plastic cups. My beautiful town was covered with garbage! While my heart was sick, my curiosity suddenly perked up. I saw something strange several blocks ahead, I squinted my eyes. “Wha…”
A recent memory flashed through my mind… the neighbor. What did he say to me? I laughed.
He had asked me a question. “So the marathon is over, eh?”
Ahead, I saw the last of the runners. Workers were already picking up the trash. I inhaled the sea air, the beautiful tropical foliage scents. How nice to sponsor such a delightful event. My delicious emotions were back. And… I still had my visit to my favorite store ahead of me.
Writing should encapsulate the reader to smell, see, taste, hear. Words should dictate their emotions… make them laugh, cry. If this short read did that for you, then I succeeded as a writer.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
December 12, 2012
Twas’ The Night Before The Ballet
Twas’ the night before her performance, and all through her house, not a creature was stirring, except for one mouse. Yes, young Camila was to be a mouse in the great ballet, the Nutcracker.
Her costume was ready, she knew her moves… but the anticipation was nothing she could have imagined. After weeks of rehearsing, her life turned upside down, Camila was finally ready to step onto the stage.
She lay in bed for hours until finally, she fell into a deep sleep. There, she pictured the dancers and magic that she would, only hours away, be part of in a theater full of strange faces.
She heard the music, the beautiful sound of the strings, the wind instruments. She’d heard it so many times during the rehearsals. Then, before her eyes, the dancers came alive. She was in a forest, with snow dripping from trees, each flake twinkled like a star. The dancers delighted her, the sugar plum fairy with her beauty, the nutcracker in his princely ways. They were graceful, elegant, and their lips were frozen in an odd smile that warmed her heart.
Then, it happened.
The Mouse King appeared, and looked her way. He snapped his fingers, directing the dancers to face her. “Sugar Plum Fairy, Prince, the rest of you sweets, dance for this little mouse! Show her the magic of this snow-laden forest.”
The dancers obeyed the large mouse, and began to perform for Camila. They danced, and they twirled as she’d never seen before. It wasn’t an act, it was as real as the snowflakes that gleamed from the bows of the trees.
Camila was warm, in spite of the chilly air. She smiled at her silent friends to show her appreciation, when she felt Mouse King touch her hand. He led her down a path where the forest disappeared, and she found herself behind a stage.
He began to leave her, but turned one last time, to show her his admiration. He did it with silence, but she knew what he was saying. She was part of this family, these wonderful creatures. She would be able to step into a most wonderful trance, be a little mouse for two memorable nights.
Camila watched as Mouse King disappeared, her insides tingled with a happiness that made her feel rich. She had witnessed the enchantment of the Nutcracker, not only on the stage, but in her mind, inside her own dream. She was ready to join the other mouses, be on that stage, and give the strangers a show they would not forget.
The music grew louder, she opened her eyes. It was morning. What was that familiar sound?
“Wake up, Camila.” Her father smiled down at her, his grin beamed, the sound of Tchaikowsky filled their home.
She laughed. She had a secret, an amazing secret. She would go to the forest that night, and dance with the most wonderful creatures. Her delight got the best of her; she jumped out of bed on this wonderful day, her day to be a little mouse.
*******
I was fortunate to see Camila perform as the little mouse last night. The theater was elegant, the beautiful Teatro Angela Peralta, an historical landmark in El Centro, the old part of Mazatlán. The symphony played beautifully, the stage sets were stunning. When the dancing began, I was taken by the talent, the dazzling costumes. But, it was the mouse scene that captured my heart. One little mouse, they call her Camila, was magnificent. What was it about her? It was as if she was really in that snowy forest. What a pleasure it was. Thank you, little Camila mouse. It was a treat to be lost in that forest with you last night.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
Her costume was ready, she knew her moves… but the anticipation was nothing she could have imagined. After weeks of rehearsing, her life turned upside down, Camila was finally ready to step onto the stage.
She lay in bed for hours until finally, she fell into a deep sleep. There, she pictured the dancers and magic that she would, only hours away, be part of in a theater full of strange faces.
She heard the music, the beautiful sound of the strings, the wind instruments. She’d heard it so many times during the rehearsals. Then, before her eyes, the dancers came alive. She was in a forest, with snow dripping from trees, each flake twinkled like a star. The dancers delighted her, the sugar plum fairy with her beauty, the nutcracker in his princely ways. They were graceful, elegant, and their lips were frozen in an odd smile that warmed her heart.
Then, it happened.
The Mouse King appeared, and looked her way. He snapped his fingers, directing the dancers to face her. “Sugar Plum Fairy, Prince, the rest of you sweets, dance for this little mouse! Show her the magic of this snow-laden forest.”
The dancers obeyed the large mouse, and began to perform for Camila. They danced, and they twirled as she’d never seen before. It wasn’t an act, it was as real as the snowflakes that gleamed from the bows of the trees.
Camila was warm, in spite of the chilly air. She smiled at her silent friends to show her appreciation, when she felt Mouse King touch her hand. He led her down a path where the forest disappeared, and she found herself behind a stage.
He began to leave her, but turned one last time, to show her his admiration. He did it with silence, but she knew what he was saying. She was part of this family, these wonderful creatures. She would be able to step into a most wonderful trance, be a little mouse for two memorable nights.
Camila watched as Mouse King disappeared, her insides tingled with a happiness that made her feel rich. She had witnessed the enchantment of the Nutcracker, not only on the stage, but in her mind, inside her own dream. She was ready to join the other mouses, be on that stage, and give the strangers a show they would not forget.
The music grew louder, she opened her eyes. It was morning. What was that familiar sound?
“Wake up, Camila.” Her father smiled down at her, his grin beamed, the sound of Tchaikowsky filled their home.
She laughed. She had a secret, an amazing secret. She would go to the forest that night, and dance with the most wonderful creatures. Her delight got the best of her; she jumped out of bed on this wonderful day, her day to be a little mouse.
*******
I was fortunate to see Camila perform as the little mouse last night. The theater was elegant, the beautiful Teatro Angela Peralta, an historical landmark in El Centro, the old part of Mazatlán. The symphony played beautifully, the stage sets were stunning. When the dancing began, I was taken by the talent, the dazzling costumes. But, it was the mouse scene that captured my heart. One little mouse, they call her Camila, was magnificent. What was it about her? It was as if she was really in that snowy forest. What a pleasure it was. Thank you, little Camila mouse. It was a treat to be lost in that forest with you last night.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
December 6, 2012
Congress Arrested?!
While reading my morning paper, I came across an odd article, a story done by Onion News Network. See it referenced here:http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/12/04/onion-news-network-congress-arrested-charged-with-manslaughter_n_2237638.html?utm_hp_ref=comedy
The photo of the prestigious folks I watch in the news each day, being hauled away in handcuffs was profound. At first I laughed, but during the video preview, my light-hearted reaction was stifled.
The video is of a man telling how he lost some of his family members, and of one who lost limbs while fighting in wars.
If you don’t have time to watch the video, it is a fake news story showing every member of the US Congress being arrested for manslaughter.
This is a joke! But, this is serious! Yes, sometimes humor is an ideal way expose a group, in this case a legislative body who continues to harm the very country whose citizens hired them.
They are an atrocity! Not all of them, but hey, an organization as a whole? They have failed. Not only failed, but each month, they seem to become worse.
Yesterday, the US Senate voted on a United Nations Treaty to recognize the rights of disabled veterans. The vote was 61-38, giving the ratification a big fat thumbs down from the United States. China, Britain, France, Germany, Russia to name a few biggies… all voted for this!
Hmmmmm….. HUMOR. Thanks, Onion. Because of you, more people will learn about this. Many of the folks who don’t watch the news do enjoy entertainment, humor. In my book, that makes you very important. Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, SNL to name just a few heroes that get the word out by mocking the craziness that goes on in Congress today.
We need voters to be aware of what this body of elected officials is doing so these nut cases can be voted out. Sure, there are more crazies in line for the job, but we can’t simply sit still and do nothing. Aren’t we their boss?
Let’s get back to humor, keep it coming Onion. This is one lady who greatly appreciates what you did with this piece.
Happy Holidays, and enjoy the parties!
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
The photo of the prestigious folks I watch in the news each day, being hauled away in handcuffs was profound. At first I laughed, but during the video preview, my light-hearted reaction was stifled.
The video is of a man telling how he lost some of his family members, and of one who lost limbs while fighting in wars.
If you don’t have time to watch the video, it is a fake news story showing every member of the US Congress being arrested for manslaughter.
This is a joke! But, this is serious! Yes, sometimes humor is an ideal way expose a group, in this case a legislative body who continues to harm the very country whose citizens hired them.
They are an atrocity! Not all of them, but hey, an organization as a whole? They have failed. Not only failed, but each month, they seem to become worse.
Yesterday, the US Senate voted on a United Nations Treaty to recognize the rights of disabled veterans. The vote was 61-38, giving the ratification a big fat thumbs down from the United States. China, Britain, France, Germany, Russia to name a few biggies… all voted for this!
Hmmmmm….. HUMOR. Thanks, Onion. Because of you, more people will learn about this. Many of the folks who don’t watch the news do enjoy entertainment, humor. In my book, that makes you very important. Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, SNL to name just a few heroes that get the word out by mocking the craziness that goes on in Congress today.
We need voters to be aware of what this body of elected officials is doing so these nut cases can be voted out. Sure, there are more crazies in line for the job, but we can’t simply sit still and do nothing. Aren’t we their boss?
Let’s get back to humor, keep it coming Onion. This is one lady who greatly appreciates what you did with this piece.
Happy Holidays, and enjoy the parties!
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
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