I have decided to make it official - I hate February. Not only do I hate February, but the season of death that I was hoping left us when the calendar rolled around to January 1, didn't. No one close to me has passed away, but enough folks that I care about have suffered loss already this year. It can quite whenever it wants.
I do, however, like the snow, so I'm not complaining - too much - about the snow days the girls will have to make up. it's been beautiful. (Some photos have been uploaded to my Facebook profile.:)
What's up with the reading list? Yes, that list to my right. A friend from NaNo tries to read 100 books a year and I'm playing along. I thought this would be a fun way to keep track of what and how many I've read. It's been fun so far.
Okay, I think it's now time for Melinda to go to bed. I'll try to make the next posting have a little more substance.
Night all!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Oh Dear!
Almost three months since I've written anything on here, let alone posted some fiction. I'll try to post the end of "Divine Visions" over the weekend, really I will. And next year? I'm already planning to just take January off as much as possible. Between the work/stress/creating of November and December, I'm pretty much a mental zombie by January and shut down regardless. It's been that way the past two years, so I may as well plan for it. I did win NaNo this year again though, while sick. And I got to enjoy seeing some area winners cross that finish line for the first time as well. It was a heady month.
In the meantime, I've been promising a friend that I'd write up the following recipe for the most heavenly black bean soup. It'll warm you to your toes with its tastiness. And, it's vegetarian!
Heavenly Black Bean Soup
4 cans black beans, rinsed
2 carrots, sliced
1 stalk celery, sliced
3/4 c. button mushrooms, sliced and then loosely chopped
2 tbsp. preserved garlic in oil, heaping
1 packet dried onion soup mix
Toss it all into the slow cooker with about 4 cans worth of water, more or less, and let cook for at least 4 hours. Enjoy.
Yep, pretty easy. You could probably do it on the stove as well and just let it simmer for at least an hour. If you need to cut the amounts, try for a ratio of about 1/2 black beans to 1/2 veggies. This served six people, although a couple of us didn't eat that much for various reasons.
In the meantime, I've been promising a friend that I'd write up the following recipe for the most heavenly black bean soup. It'll warm you to your toes with its tastiness. And, it's vegetarian!
Heavenly Black Bean Soup
4 cans black beans, rinsed
2 carrots, sliced
1 stalk celery, sliced
3/4 c. button mushrooms, sliced and then loosely chopped
2 tbsp. preserved garlic in oil, heaping
1 packet dried onion soup mix
Toss it all into the slow cooker with about 4 cans worth of water, more or less, and let cook for at least 4 hours. Enjoy.
Yep, pretty easy. You could probably do it on the stove as well and just let it simmer for at least an hour. If you need to cut the amounts, try for a ratio of about 1/2 black beans to 1/2 veggies. This served six people, although a couple of us didn't eat that much for various reasons.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Friday Fiction - Divine Visions, part two
I can't type much right now. Too busy with 2009's NaNoWriMo. Finally broke 18000 words tonight and it's time for bed.
Enjoy the story!
------------------------------------
*********
Days later, good Jonathan was performing his usual street ministry. A well-dressed businessman had paused to talk. Brittleby was expounding the need for more gentlemen to become involved in what was happening around them, on the human level. “The Word of God isn’t only for the poor.” That’s when he noticed her, standing across the street watching him.
As Brittleby’s face drained of color and his chest tightened, the businessman asked if he needed assistance. An ambulance, perhaps? He waved the man off, claiming he’d not eaten yet that day, and withdrew to the coffee shop behind them.
Once seated, with a strong, dark cup before him, he chanced looking across the street again. There stood Meg all right - long blonde hair, voluptuous body. He felt his blood stir again at the sight of her, before he caught himself. Chastisingly he muttered to himself, “ Meg’s dead. Remember? You killed her. Drowned her in the bathtub.” He raised his head to stare defiantly back at her vision. She was gone.
*********
As the month passed, Brittleby got used to seeing Meg’s face staring at him from off the street. He usually responded, after the initial paleness passed, but simply turning his head and looking elsewhere. Seems this wasn’t the appropriate method for dealing with the problem. Meg Saunders had no intention of simply disappearing from Jonathan’s life. She started showing up at the soup kitchen as well.
The first night it happened, our good Father was busy handing out bread to the indigent. He looked up, and there she was, only three people back in the line. Dropping the platter to the floor with a loud clatter, Brittleby joined it. Collapsing on the spot. While someone ran off to call 911, another helped him to a nearby chair, loosening the top buttons of his shirt collar as well. Eventually recovering his composure, he looked around for her, only to see a toothless old man standing where she’d been just a moment ago. Where had the man come from? Brittleby was sure he’d not been there earlier....
The volunteer staff insisted he go to the emergency room “just in case.” While an EKG showed some elevated heart activity, the doctor on duty assured him all was fine. However, he might want to get a routine physical just in case and especially if the good preacher was suffering these weak spells on a regular basis. The community would suffer terribly if something happened to a man like Jonathan Brittleby.
*********
Apparently, she’d learned the value of the shock-factor, for her next appearance was in his home. In the john to be exact. Meg stood behind him as he relieved himself, effortlessly watching over his shoulder. And he was sure she had been smirking.
Finishing up, he sank down onto the toilet, crossing himself. He was being haunted! The silly tart actually thought she could haunt him. He began giggling at the notion. The giggles progressed to a hearty chuckle and the next thing he knew, tears were streaming down his face as his laughter flew out of control.
Enjoy the story!
------------------------------------
*********
Days later, good Jonathan was performing his usual street ministry. A well-dressed businessman had paused to talk. Brittleby was expounding the need for more gentlemen to become involved in what was happening around them, on the human level. “The Word of God isn’t only for the poor.” That’s when he noticed her, standing across the street watching him.
As Brittleby’s face drained of color and his chest tightened, the businessman asked if he needed assistance. An ambulance, perhaps? He waved the man off, claiming he’d not eaten yet that day, and withdrew to the coffee shop behind them.
Once seated, with a strong, dark cup before him, he chanced looking across the street again. There stood Meg all right - long blonde hair, voluptuous body. He felt his blood stir again at the sight of her, before he caught himself. Chastisingly he muttered to himself, “ Meg’s dead. Remember? You killed her. Drowned her in the bathtub.” He raised his head to stare defiantly back at her vision. She was gone.
*********
As the month passed, Brittleby got used to seeing Meg’s face staring at him from off the street. He usually responded, after the initial paleness passed, but simply turning his head and looking elsewhere. Seems this wasn’t the appropriate method for dealing with the problem. Meg Saunders had no intention of simply disappearing from Jonathan’s life. She started showing up at the soup kitchen as well.
The first night it happened, our good Father was busy handing out bread to the indigent. He looked up, and there she was, only three people back in the line. Dropping the platter to the floor with a loud clatter, Brittleby joined it. Collapsing on the spot. While someone ran off to call 911, another helped him to a nearby chair, loosening the top buttons of his shirt collar as well. Eventually recovering his composure, he looked around for her, only to see a toothless old man standing where she’d been just a moment ago. Where had the man come from? Brittleby was sure he’d not been there earlier....
The volunteer staff insisted he go to the emergency room “just in case.” While an EKG showed some elevated heart activity, the doctor on duty assured him all was fine. However, he might want to get a routine physical just in case and especially if the good preacher was suffering these weak spells on a regular basis. The community would suffer terribly if something happened to a man like Jonathan Brittleby.
*********
Apparently, she’d learned the value of the shock-factor, for her next appearance was in his home. In the john to be exact. Meg stood behind him as he relieved himself, effortlessly watching over his shoulder. And he was sure she had been smirking.
Finishing up, he sank down onto the toilet, crossing himself. He was being haunted! The silly tart actually thought she could haunt him. He began giggling at the notion. The giggles progressed to a hearty chuckle and the next thing he knew, tears were streaming down his face as his laughter flew out of control.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Thank You!
A big thank you for your service to all the veterans out there. Even when we aren't at war, it's still not necessarily easy being in the service. You give up so much of your own freedoms to help protect ours. Thank you for those sacrifices.
.
The photo above is of my father's headstone. It never fully sank in that he was indeed a veteran, of the Vietnam War. He never served in country, but was still in the military. And he was quite proud of that, even if we didn't discover it until after he was gone. I'm the very proud owner of his dog tags and his uniform pieces that he held onto all those years. I'm so proud of him.
.
I'm also very proud to be the step-father of a former Marine, the daughter-in-law of another Marine, and the granddaughter of at least to WWII Army vets. Then there's my step-brother and various dear, dear friends.
If you know a vet, tell 'em thanks, not just today but any day!
Friday, November 6, 2009
Friday Fiction - Divine Visions
I'm hping you enjoy this little ghost story. I had the most fun writing it.
Divine Visions
Jonathan Brittleby was a man of god. Just ask his parishioners. He could often be seen out ministering to the sick, downtrodden, and needy, seeking to bring them into the fold of God. Any given night might find him out on the streets of Ravenford, talking quietly with anyone who cared to stop and listen. And in his spare time, Father Brittleby helped organize and maintain the First Street Mission’s soup kitchen, feeding the community’s poor. Father Jonathan Brittleby was a real pillar of the Ravenford religious community all right.
One of his favorite projects was ministering to Meg Saunders. He spent at least three nights a week working with her, more if he could manage it. Meg was his refuge from the trials of saintly perfection. And then she had to go and get religion, ruining everything. The minute Meg found God, she began questioning her all-too-physical relationship with the good brother. And then, adding insult to injury, she threatened to “tell all” in one public confession of sin.
So he did the only thing a righteous man could. He killed her. Drowned her actually. Couldn’t have the little bitch blabbering things the public didn’t need to know. He did it one night when they were together, soaking in that old claw-footed bathtub. Meg brought the subject up again and he’d just shoved her under, holding her there while dispassionately watching her struggle.
Afterwards, Brittleby’d wrapped the body in a tarp and tossed it in the trunk with some cement blocks and rope. He headed out to Lenore State Park and dumped poor Meg in Pym Lake. Suitably weighted down, she’d make excellent fish food and take forever to find. The holy man grinned to himself and patted the wrapped corpse’s rump, “Consider it your baptism, Meg.” He continued, laughing at his private humor, “Hell, I’ll even say a few words as I send you off.” And thus was Meg buried.
Divine Visions
Jonathan Brittleby was a man of god. Just ask his parishioners. He could often be seen out ministering to the sick, downtrodden, and needy, seeking to bring them into the fold of God. Any given night might find him out on the streets of Ravenford, talking quietly with anyone who cared to stop and listen. And in his spare time, Father Brittleby helped organize and maintain the First Street Mission’s soup kitchen, feeding the community’s poor. Father Jonathan Brittleby was a real pillar of the Ravenford religious community all right.
One of his favorite projects was ministering to Meg Saunders. He spent at least three nights a week working with her, more if he could manage it. Meg was his refuge from the trials of saintly perfection. And then she had to go and get religion, ruining everything. The minute Meg found God, she began questioning her all-too-physical relationship with the good brother. And then, adding insult to injury, she threatened to “tell all” in one public confession of sin.
So he did the only thing a righteous man could. He killed her. Drowned her actually. Couldn’t have the little bitch blabbering things the public didn’t need to know. He did it one night when they were together, soaking in that old claw-footed bathtub. Meg brought the subject up again and he’d just shoved her under, holding her there while dispassionately watching her struggle.
Afterwards, Brittleby’d wrapped the body in a tarp and tossed it in the trunk with some cement blocks and rope. He headed out to Lenore State Park and dumped poor Meg in Pym Lake. Suitably weighted down, she’d make excellent fish food and take forever to find. The holy man grinned to himself and patted the wrapped corpse’s rump, “Consider it your baptism, Meg.” He continued, laughing at his private humor, “Hell, I’ll even say a few words as I send you off.” And thus was Meg buried.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Samhain Night Special
The story of Margaret Schilling has fascinated me for a good while now. I'd like to share it with you...
The Stain She Left Behind
According to some, especially when the Halloween specials come out of their mothballs, Athens, Ohio, is one of the most haunted places in the United States. Many of the spirits seem to inhabit the old mental health center, up on what is known today simply as The Ridges. Those old buildings have certainly seen their share of human tragedy. Most of the following story is true. And the rest? I leave that up to you, gentle readers, to decide.
According to legend, Margaret Schilling slipped out of her ward on December 1st, 1978. No one is sure what led the young woman to decide on a game of hide and seek on that cold, wintry Friday. At least, it’s been suggested that she was playing hide and seek with the staff. Perhaps something in her troubled mind urged her to seek refuge in the upper floors of an unused ward. Or maybe something very real drove her there. A rumor exists suggesting an affair between her and one of the male employees. If true, such a tale would certainly add to the tragedy of what happened to poor Margaret, but perhaps we should put such stories down to the prurient imaginations of others, romantically assuming the worst. Other stories claim poor Madge, who was supposedly deaf and mute, was unfortunately locked in and left behind when residents of her ward were moved elsewhere and the building closed. That story, however, has been proven thankfully untrue thanks to some clever folks checking the timelines of such events.
Getting back to our story, put yourself in our young lady’s place. It is quite possible, not being considered dangerous to yourself or others, that you’ve been given relative freedom to move around. One day, wandering aimlessly about, you notice the stairwell leading upwards to…what? Suddenly the urge to find out overtakes you and you begin climbing.
Looking down over the edge of the railing, you see employees moving about on the stairs beneath you. You worry that one of them might notice you and be angry at your curiosity. You finish darting quietly up the stairs. Slipping into a room, you rest against the wall to catch your breath before exploring the area. Maybe you even lock the door behind you, so anyone searching will think the area empty.
What’s that you say? How do I know it happened this way? Well, I don’t. But it could have happened something like that. Or perhaps a male at the hospital was pestering Margaret and she thought she’d found somewhere to hide. A place she could be safe from his uncomfortable attentions. Perhaps he had tried to force those attentions upon her recently enough that she was still flustered by his actions.
She obviously hadn’t thought things out if she’d been planning on hiding for any length of time. The ward she took refuge in was abandoned, so she didn’t need to worry about anyone finding her easily. However, it was also fairly unfurnished and, most importantly that cold December Friday, it was without a heat source other than some sunlight shining wanly in through the windows.
Whatever happened next, and whether or not she was a deaf-mute, Margaret found herself locked into the attic-level ward. Perhaps her medications wore off and she became too confused to find her way back down the stairs. The floor below her was uninhabited. The walls and floors are thick. (I’ve been there; the building is quite sturdy.) Even if she could make noise, she still wasn’t likely to be heard. Poor Margaret. Cold Margaret. She was dressed for inside, in her warm, cozy ward. Not for the chill, nearly outdoor conditions for a barren attic.
Meanwhile, while Marge was exploring the near-empty attic, her absence was noticed and the alarm was given. Search parties were formed, but they were unable to track the poor girl. Newspaper articles were run, asking if anyone had seen her. If they had any news at all of Margaret Schilling. Authorities probably followed up on several rumors. Unfortunately for Margaret, no one actually knew anything. If only someone had noticed the quiet girl slipping towards the stairwell, she’d have been found sooner.
Six long weeks would pass before a maintenance man would come across the chilling find of Margaret’s body. Even in the cold, she had begun to decompose. It was as though she’d known the end was near, for she’d lain down in the sunlight and waited to die. The official cause of death was listed as cardiac arrest, ostensibly brought on by the extreme cold. And to sensationalize the story further, some accounts of the legend say that she’d removed her clothing beforehand and had placed it carefully folded nearby.
Even though she’s long since been buried, Margaret Schilling is still up there on The Ridges, up in that attic. Etched into the cement floor is an outline of her body – a photonegative created by the passing of the sun as she lay there rotting in its meager warmth. Every attempt to remove the stain has failed. It is so distinct that it’s said you can make out the folds of her hair and the creases in her clothing - the latter detail putting paid to the story of her being found naked.
There are stories of her walking the halls and peering out the windows, a member of the ghostly community that resided at The Ridges. Perhaps she still waits for the help that didn’t come in time. Whatever the case, Margaret is still present in the attic above old Ward 20 – a permanent outline on the floor.
And really, who could blame her if she did walk the halls to this day?
----------------------------------------
So which parts of the story are true? Well, Margaret Schilling did indeed die in an unheated and unused part of the mental health facility. The stain on the floor is also very real, thanks to some interesting chemistry. The rest is a bit more uncertain. A friend asked his mother, who was working there at the time of Margaret's death, what happened. She said there were rumors of a possible murder and hints that Margaret might have been trading "favors" for cigarettes. One of the men working at the institution may have done away with her for some reason. Was she a death/mute? I honestly don't know. Given enough time, I might go do some research in newspapers of the time and see what else can be learned.
As mentioned earlier, Athens County, Ohio is considered quite haunted, although many of the stories need to be taken with a rather industrial grain of salt. And the other stories? Maybe not so much. If you'd like more, please just tell me so in a comment and I'll see what I can do.
Happy Halloween and a Blessed Samhain!
The Stain She Left Behind
According to some, especially when the Halloween specials come out of their mothballs, Athens, Ohio, is one of the most haunted places in the United States. Many of the spirits seem to inhabit the old mental health center, up on what is known today simply as The Ridges. Those old buildings have certainly seen their share of human tragedy. Most of the following story is true. And the rest? I leave that up to you, gentle readers, to decide.
According to legend, Margaret Schilling slipped out of her ward on December 1st, 1978. No one is sure what led the young woman to decide on a game of hide and seek on that cold, wintry Friday. At least, it’s been suggested that she was playing hide and seek with the staff. Perhaps something in her troubled mind urged her to seek refuge in the upper floors of an unused ward. Or maybe something very real drove her there. A rumor exists suggesting an affair between her and one of the male employees. If true, such a tale would certainly add to the tragedy of what happened to poor Margaret, but perhaps we should put such stories down to the prurient imaginations of others, romantically assuming the worst. Other stories claim poor Madge, who was supposedly deaf and mute, was unfortunately locked in and left behind when residents of her ward were moved elsewhere and the building closed. That story, however, has been proven thankfully untrue thanks to some clever folks checking the timelines of such events.
Getting back to our story, put yourself in our young lady’s place. It is quite possible, not being considered dangerous to yourself or others, that you’ve been given relative freedom to move around. One day, wandering aimlessly about, you notice the stairwell leading upwards to…what? Suddenly the urge to find out overtakes you and you begin climbing.
Looking down over the edge of the railing, you see employees moving about on the stairs beneath you. You worry that one of them might notice you and be angry at your curiosity. You finish darting quietly up the stairs. Slipping into a room, you rest against the wall to catch your breath before exploring the area. Maybe you even lock the door behind you, so anyone searching will think the area empty.
What’s that you say? How do I know it happened this way? Well, I don’t. But it could have happened something like that. Or perhaps a male at the hospital was pestering Margaret and she thought she’d found somewhere to hide. A place she could be safe from his uncomfortable attentions. Perhaps he had tried to force those attentions upon her recently enough that she was still flustered by his actions.
She obviously hadn’t thought things out if she’d been planning on hiding for any length of time. The ward she took refuge in was abandoned, so she didn’t need to worry about anyone finding her easily. However, it was also fairly unfurnished and, most importantly that cold December Friday, it was without a heat source other than some sunlight shining wanly in through the windows.
Whatever happened next, and whether or not she was a deaf-mute, Margaret found herself locked into the attic-level ward. Perhaps her medications wore off and she became too confused to find her way back down the stairs. The floor below her was uninhabited. The walls and floors are thick. (I’ve been there; the building is quite sturdy.) Even if she could make noise, she still wasn’t likely to be heard. Poor Margaret. Cold Margaret. She was dressed for inside, in her warm, cozy ward. Not for the chill, nearly outdoor conditions for a barren attic.
Meanwhile, while Marge was exploring the near-empty attic, her absence was noticed and the alarm was given. Search parties were formed, but they were unable to track the poor girl. Newspaper articles were run, asking if anyone had seen her. If they had any news at all of Margaret Schilling. Authorities probably followed up on several rumors. Unfortunately for Margaret, no one actually knew anything. If only someone had noticed the quiet girl slipping towards the stairwell, she’d have been found sooner.
Six long weeks would pass before a maintenance man would come across the chilling find of Margaret’s body. Even in the cold, she had begun to decompose. It was as though she’d known the end was near, for she’d lain down in the sunlight and waited to die. The official cause of death was listed as cardiac arrest, ostensibly brought on by the extreme cold. And to sensationalize the story further, some accounts of the legend say that she’d removed her clothing beforehand and had placed it carefully folded nearby.
Even though she’s long since been buried, Margaret Schilling is still up there on The Ridges, up in that attic. Etched into the cement floor is an outline of her body – a photonegative created by the passing of the sun as she lay there rotting in its meager warmth. Every attempt to remove the stain has failed. It is so distinct that it’s said you can make out the folds of her hair and the creases in her clothing - the latter detail putting paid to the story of her being found naked.
There are stories of her walking the halls and peering out the windows, a member of the ghostly community that resided at The Ridges. Perhaps she still waits for the help that didn’t come in time. Whatever the case, Margaret is still present in the attic above old Ward 20 – a permanent outline on the floor.
And really, who could blame her if she did walk the halls to this day?
----------------------------------------
So which parts of the story are true? Well, Margaret Schilling did indeed die in an unheated and unused part of the mental health facility. The stain on the floor is also very real, thanks to some interesting chemistry. The rest is a bit more uncertain. A friend asked his mother, who was working there at the time of Margaret's death, what happened. She said there were rumors of a possible murder and hints that Margaret might have been trading "favors" for cigarettes. One of the men working at the institution may have done away with her for some reason. Was she a death/mute? I honestly don't know. Given enough time, I might go do some research in newspapers of the time and see what else can be learned.
As mentioned earlier, Athens County, Ohio is considered quite haunted, although many of the stories need to be taken with a rather industrial grain of salt. And the other stories? Maybe not so much. If you'd like more, please just tell me so in a comment and I'll see what I can do.
Happy Halloween and a Blessed Samhain!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Oops!
I lied. Divine Visions didn't start last Friday. And it's not starting this Friday either. We'll aim for next Friday and let it carry Friday Fiction through November (hopefully) while I'm busy writing for NaNoWriMo. THIS Friday I'm going to share something written quite recently - last month, in fact - that's set here in Athens County. Not only is it set here, but it's also, at least partly, a true story.
Consider it my little treat for all of you. And if you like, and would like to hear more ghost stories here in Athens, just drop me a line in the comments and I'll see if I can't hook you up. Athens County is, by some accounts, one of the most haunted places in the world. Go figure....
Consider it my little treat for all of you. And if you like, and would like to hear more ghost stories here in Athens, just drop me a line in the comments and I'll see if I can't hook you up. Athens County is, by some accounts, one of the most haunted places in the world. Go figure....
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