https://www.climaterealityproject.org/initiative/inconvenient-sequel-truth-power
https://www.climaterealityproject.org/paris
An Inconvenient Sequel: Truth To Power (2017)--See This Film
Sunday, August 6, 2017
An Inconvenient Sequel: Truth To Power (2017)--See This Film
An Inconvenient Sequel: Truth To Power (2017)--See This Film
Friday, July 28, 2017
Grizzly Creek Redwoods State Park – Health, Inspiration and Education
Redwoods have 66 or more chromosomes (six copies of each chromosome) which help the tree fight disease. When attacked the tree has a chance to protect itself. These trees can intercept dense coastal fog and absorb it through their leaves to stay hydrated during dry summers. Which brings us to the issue of climate change. I’m saddened that this term is over-used to the point that it has lost meaning. However, one trip in nature brings the point home.
We were fortunate to arrive at our destination on a day that included a campfire program about owls. Who knew that there was so much controversy surrounding habitats for the Northern Spotted Owl, the Barred Owl and a recently sighted hybrid, the Sparred Owl? I’ve included links for you to investigate and learn about these complicated issues.
Inspiration comes with getting outside. Grizzly Creek is a traveler’s and a local’s destination. The day use area is a popular picnic and swimming spot. Well-marked hiking trails allowed me to venture off for a “tree bath” and a few conversations with the nature spirits. At the nearby Owen R, Cheatham Grove where George Lucas filmed the Return of the Jedi, I swear I saw an Ewok or two peering out from under the forest ferns.
Finally, I encourage you to become familiar with the work of the Save The Redwood League. They have been paramount in protecting redwood forests since 1918 and helped to keep Grizzly Creek open during the dismal state budget years.
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2002/12/1217_021226_tvinterbreeding.html
https://www.savetheredwoods.org/
Grizzly Creek Redwoods State Park – Health, Inspiration and Education
Friday, June 23, 2017
Between Drought and Deluge
Carmel’s garden didn’t ask, nor care, who this Jerry was, but if it did, Carmel was prepared to explain about how the current California Governor, Jerry Brown, knew these things. Instead she pulled the garden cart into the shade of her favorite pine and sat to meditate and continue the conversation.
It’s been a tough few years for both you and me, but once again, we’ve made it through,” she began with the obvious and added one more thought, “although, there were times I thought it would never get any better, yet it did, despite ourselves.”
She sat, drifting in and out of deep silence, interspersed with watery thoughts that sought the path of least resistance. She remembered reading that the human body is at least 60% water. She wondered if it was the same for her trees, flowers, herbs and grasses. She had cut their water in half the last three years, were they frightened as she had been? Trying to survive attack from without in a desert of human misdeeds and cruelties?
No matter. She had her strengths and innate courage, like her garden. Although she had to admit that when the rains came, they came fast and furious, challenging her hold on situational reality. Not too long ago, she had braved the storms to re-tie the stakes that held their world together. Nothing had toppled or blown away. Instead, the deluge had delivered a welcomed soaking of life and spirit.
* * *
A garden and gardener are lovers–carefully caretaking each other’s needs–fulfilling desires–that they only whisper about. Years of careful management builds a legacy that lasts for many generations. Secrets are hidden in seeds carefully stowed away until the timing is perfect to plant.
The garden and the gardener understand what sustains and what destroys. They work together to build resilience and continuity when challenged by life’s extremes. They forgive mistakes and live on, to trust once again, in the bond they’ve made.
Carmel hand waters her relationships–time consuming–consequently she has few. When weeds begin to overwhelm the landscape, she pulls at them with a strength that comes to her by will. Yet, what is a flower to one, is a weed to another, and she tries to understand the difference.
Only once did she fail a garden, when after cultivating their relationship for several years, she left it in someone else’s care. When she returned the land had been covered in asphalt and automobiles sat where the raised beds had been. She had sold it out and they never recovered. She moved on with trepidation and worry.
* * *
Today, between the drought and deluge, summertime brings the sweetness of a ripe tomato, red and juicy as the act of love. Carmel knows of the dangers outside the fence that protects her, but has decided to be aware, do what she can, and move forward. She will defend the boundaries with her life and welcome in those that care. The invitees are different, unusual, yet seek a peace that they know is true. Their peace, not necessarily hers, but welcomed just the same. A peace to be planted, tended and harvested–until the next deluge.
Between Drought and Deluge
Friday, June 2, 2017
Red Rock Canyon – Aliens Above Las Vegas
Taking into Consideration that the U.S. Government owns 85% of the land in Nevada, much of which is used by the military, it isn’t unusual to see unexplained objects in the night sky. Then, of course, there is the infamous Area 51 where rumors of alien contact run rampant. Still, I was surprised to find this video today taken the same night, from the same neighborhood, where we stayed.
Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area Red Rock Canyon NCA is a mere 15 miles west of Las Vegas and is easily seen from the strip. It is also an area visited by strange lights and objects in the night sky. There are numerous reports that aliens have been seen in the casinos, alongside Elvis sightings–remember Men in Black? I’ll have to admit that I am often tuned in to my surroundings–some may say psychic–at the very least, sensitive. That’s why I took this photo. Looks like an alien encampment to me–how about you?
Red Rock Canyon – Aliens Above Las Vegas
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
River Agosto--Your wake-up call.
“Hi, this is River, I just got in.”
“Have you been to the site yet?”
“No, I told you, I just got in.”
A long silence followed—probably a few minutes, but to River, it felt like an hour. Rochelle used long pauses to control conversations. River used to jump in, but as soon as she’d start to speak, Rochelle would cut her off. She had learned to wait her boss out and the test had turned into a game between them. Who would go first? River had nowhere to go and she leaned back on the bed pillow.
“Are you there?” Rochelle’s voice finally came through.
“Yeah, I’m waiting for a pizza delivery. Is there something you need?”
“I’m sending Dusty to meet up with you in a few days. I want all the sampling done before she gets there . . . understood?”
“Sure, no problem. Anything else?”
“No that’s it. Have a good night.”
The abrupt ending of the call sent panic through her veins, she didn’t know why. Routine activities usually helped. A few hours later River had scarfed the delivered pizza, drank a few beers from the honor bar, watched a shopping channel on TV, took a long hot bath and got into bed. Just before she dozed off, she looked at the clock which said 2:00.
The dream was different. Not the usual race through the darkness she had come to expect.
The moonlit landscape flowed high and low through mountains and valleys. Animals—large and small cats, birds, lizards and snakes–huddled around an oasis of wetland. When she approached, they became motionless statues, when she backed off and they would resume drinking. A hand grabbed at her shoulder; River turned and gazed into the eyes of a red-haired woman.
“Are you a robber?” River asked.
“Oh no, I am on your side. I’m here to protect you. If anyone bothers you, you call me.”
River wanted to believe, but thought it best to move away. Two older women with hoes were digging trenches through which the waters of the oasis drained. The animal statues crumbled to sand. River ran her fingers through the particles and cried.
The phone call jarred River awake. “Good Morning Ms. Agosto, this is your wake-up call.”
My work in progress, a novel with the working title of “River” ,is an environmental/political thriller focused on water and wildlife issues of the American Desert Southwest. I welcome any and all comments or information to help me drive the story. (Including the infamous WALL, immigration issues, and current government administrations.) This is a tidbit of story. elaine@mediadesign-mds.com
River Agosto--Your wake-up call.
Monday, March 13, 2017
Alliance For Aging Research -- Heartfelt, Caregiver"s Guide
Order Heartfelt, Caregiver’s Guide to Cardiomyopathy and Mitral Valve Surgery ORDER
Alliance For Aging Research -- Heartfelt, Caregiver"s Guide
Friday, February 10, 2017
Keep the Power On--alternative energy sources for home and away.
To connect with and hold on to power is high on my list—not political power—Goddess no! Electrical power—pure, simple, plugs. You know the ones—little, big, one prong, two prong or three prong oddly shaped electric plugs that make a male/female connection sexy. So sexy that they light up and energize cell phones, computers, appliances, radios, TVs, and miscellaneous adult and childish toys of all kinds. Titillation that would make Thomas Edison take notice.
If you follow this blog you know that I’m preparing for a road trip—short at first to get my sea legs—to soon increase in time and distance. This will happen with my longtime friend, husband and ally, Blake—this is if I can keep him alive, but that’s another story. (Check out the home page for Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd and Heartfelt.) The long and short of it is, we’ve come a long way and so has technology. Check out the pictures below to see the change in vehicles. The 1966 Chevy converted camper (top) is what we traveled in for the first ten years together. The Thor Motor Coach (bottom) is newly purchased.
Here’s a handy clickable list of what we’ve bought so far:
ZTE MOBILE HOTSPOT
https://www.consumercellular.com/Products/676/Details
GOAL ZERO Yeti 150 Solar Generator Power Pack
https://www.bhphotovideo.com/c/product/1043818-REG/goal_zero_gz_22004_yeti_150_solar_generator.html
Apple 16GB iPod touch (6th Generation)
https://www.bhphotovideo.com/c/product/1170761-REG/apple_mkh62ll_a_16gb_ipod_touch_space.html
instaCHARGE Grab-and-Go 4-pack 4,000 mAh Portable Device Chargers with Charging Station and 5 Charging Cables
https://www.hsn.com/products/instacharge-4pk-portable-device-chargers-wcharge-dock/8196646
Bose® SoundLink® Color II Water-Resistant Bluetooth Speaker
https://www.hsn.com/products/bose-soundlink-color-ii-bluetooth-speaker/8250041
With the above, we can now get an internet connection, recharge and power almost anything at home or on the road, without a land connection. Pretty cool and so Beyond Cuckoo.
Keep the Power On--alternative energy sources for home and away.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
Clancy -- River Agosto, "It"s the eyes."
“The President of Mexico and I have cancelled our meeting set for next week.” Wolf Blitzer and his Situation Room’s coverage of Donald Trump’s latest presidential decree caught River’s eye as she slid onto the bar stool nearest the TV. The president’s insistence that a wall would be built along the U.S./Mexican border and that “one way or the other” Mexico would pay, had been the topic of discussion all day at the irrigation canal site.
“What can I get for you?”
River pulled her attention from the newscast and focused on the caramel brown eyes that had asked the question. “What do you have on tap?” was all she could think of to say, even though she really wanted something stronger than a beer.
Mr. Brown Eyes set a cold mug of the local lager on the bar.
“Nice color,” River said. “Same color as your eyes.”
“So I’ve been told,” replied the bartender as he set a bowl of pepitas next to the beer.
“What do you think of this wall idea?” River asked with a nod towards the broadcast.
“It’s gettin’ folks’ attention, that’s for sure.”
“Can I ask your name?” River decided that political insanity could take back seat to her current interest behind the bar.
“Clancy, Clancy Reynolds. Yours?”
“River, River Agosto.”
“That’s an interesting name, “Clancy laughed. “Are you a water sign?”
“No, but I do work for a water engineering company—been out in the field all day taking soil samples.”
“So, you’re one of them. Excuse me I’ve got other customers.” Clancy tossed a paper coaster in front of the woman that now sat a few stools away. “How’s it going Nora?”
“Do me a favor Clancy and turn on Channel 98, I think we made the news today.”
A few remote clicks filled the flat screen showing a portion of wall under construction in Sunland, New Mexico. A few protestors held banners with pictures of Mexican wolves. The few minute spot featured Nora explaining the effects that an expanded border wall would have on local wildlife, especially Los Lobos.
“We didn’t get a whole lot of coverage, but at least it’s something. We’ve been trying to lure the last twenty or so wolves north, but they’re playing hard to get. I don’t know what we’ll be able to do if we can’t.”
Clancy set a beer in front of Nora and jerked his head toward River. “Well this lady here, is helping the corporates to build more canals.”
River stiffened. “So, tell me what’s wrong with that? You people need water, no?”
Nora held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Nora Freedman, I work for the local freebie paper and volunteer for the Environmental Center.”
River shook the welcoming hand. “I’m River, River Agosto and like this bar keep said I work for Global Engineering and was sent to see if more canals will meet EPA standards. I’m not the bad guy, just a worker bee.”
“Look, there isn’t bad or good in the desert, only survival. Viewpoints differ, but it all ultimately comes down to water rights and distribution. We’ve been restoring wetlands with some success, but the Rio Grande is a puddle most of the year and we’re trying to reverse the trend. Today our focus was on the wolves. There are only about 100 left and we hope to reverse their extinction.”
“So, are you involved with this effort?” River touched Clancy’s hand that rested on the bar.
“Yeah, I’ve done some dirt work in the wetlands. When my Mom was a girl there were fish and beaver in both the river and the ponds. The dams and canals now send most of the water to El Paso for the cotton farmers.”
River finished off her beer and realized she needed to report in with the office. Rochelle threatened to can her ass if she didn’t keep in touch—especially since Dusty was still missing.
“Look, this has been very interesting and all, but I gotta go.” River had hoped to smooth things over with Clancy before she left, but that would have to wait. Her gut said to stay away from him, but those eyes. . .
Clancy -- River Agosto, "It"s the eyes."
Thursday, October 27, 2016
It"s All In The Timing--River Agosto"s Early Years
“How was school today?” Her mother asked, as she did every school day. On weekends and holidays, with nothing to say, she often said nothing at all.
“Mrs. Seidel let me feed the hamster,” River said as she passed the hamburger helper to her Father who dished mounds of the unidentifiable slop on to his plate. The smell of cigarettes and beer was stronger than usual and her sister, Anna, scowled from across the table.
“I hope you washed your hands,” Anna said. “You know those things are no different than rats. Who knows what kind of germs you’ve brought home to the rest of us.”
The family of four fell into the silence of eating—forks scraped melamine plates, interrupted by sips of water and an occasional sniffle or cough. River retreated to the world she had devoured earlier at the library. Mrs. Seidel’s homework assignment was to write about a place from a branch of each student’s family tree. River didn’t know if she should choose her father’s white-side from Oklahoma or her mother’s hispanic-side from Mexico. She spent two hours going through encyclopedias researching Mayan culture. She stayed a high priestess until it was time to clear the dishes.
* * *
The swamp cooler pumped musty dampness through the stucco dwelling. If it ran all day, it would be tolerable when they got home from the packing house. Her father was lucky—he had a sales job at the local furniture store. He’d be cool all day—drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes between customers. The three other pieces of the family would be sorting, washing and packing tomatoes all week in 100º heat. The packing shed had fans which helped some, but not much.
“Break time,” the crew captain shouted.
“Come hijas, I brought cold Cokes and tuna sandwiches.”
“Tuna again?” Anna whined.
River knew the look on her mother’s face and smiled cautiously as she took the cold drink and lunch. Heat brought out the matriarch’s snarly side and River cringed under the constant put downs. Anna, with a few years more experience, had learned how to snap back and win. River, on the other hand, melted under the pressure.
“The way your father’s paycheck is these days; you should be grateful we have anything at all. He was pretty good at selling cars, but he can’t sell a sofa or TV for the life of him. We wouldn’t be here, if he could earn a living. I don’t know what got into me when I married him.”
“I know what got into you,” the crew captain’s voice came up from behind. “I’d like to do the same.”
“Pedro,” her mother pushed the man’s hands from her waist. “Not in front of the girls.”
“Okay, Angelina—later,” he whispered as he shuffled away.
River had watched her mother go through men. She seemed to hate their father unless he had a big commission month. Then he’d take her out to dinner and buy something they couldn’t afford like jewelry. If he was broke, as he usually was, she’d go out with just about anyone who could show her a good time. When she came home there would be hitting, screaming and door slams. One night River tried to climb into Anna’s bed for safety, but her sister kicked her to the floor. River never tried again. Instead she put on headphones and turned the Walkman radio up loud—but not until she locked the bedroom door. If she had a dog, she’d be protected. That’s what dogs do, they protect, love and befriend. That’s why dogs were banned from their house—no love allowed, period.
Lunch break lasted thirty minutes. River finished the last sip of Coke and looked at her watch. She never went anywhere without it. She timed her life exactly. Sometimes she made a list, but only if she had to plan for something late in the month. Usually she made each day’s plan when she awoke in the morning. She had gotten good at how long each thing took. Fifteen minutes to wash face, use toilet and brush teeth. Twenty minutes to eat a bowl of cereal. Half hour to walk to school. Or in Summer, like now, be in the family car by 6 a.m. to ride to work.
By California labor laws, age ten was officially too young to be working full time, even during the Summer break from school. Yet there were at least ten kids her age at the packing house, even more in the fields. The field work was much harder, so River was thankful that her mother was such good friends with Pedro.
“I’ll be right back. I have to pee,” River announced.
“Don’t be late to the line like yesterday,” Anna scolded. “I had to cover for you.”
“Yeah, we can’t afford to lose our place near the fan because you wait until the last minute to go to the bathroom,” Angelina added.
River pointed to her beloved watch and said, “I’ve got ten minutes.”
* * *
In bed at exactly 9:00, River went to her favorite place—the place where, in her dreams, she was a princess. Her Mayan throne, atop the central pyramid, commanded a view of the city and she commanded respect. On high holy days people traveled great distances to bring her gifts and ask for her blessing and advice. Two jaguars crouched nearby and she tossed them tidbits of meat.
“Where have you been? Bitch!” River jolted back to consciousness with the sound of her father’s voice.
“None of your business,” Angelina responded. “I’ve been working in the heat all day and I needed some air.”
“Yeah, sure. You went to see that guy you work for. What’s his name? Pedro?”
“I told you I just went out to clear my head and to get away from you. You stink like a tequila factory.”
River knew what was coming. Anna had gone out with some friends, so she had to think fast in case they pulled her into their argument. Somehow, when things went bad, they found a way to make her feel it was all her fault. The fights usually turned to money woes and River became the extra mouth to feed, her clothes cost money, and she needed school supplies. It didn’t help that River didn’t look much like her father, Ernie.
“Where’s that kid of yours?” River heard through the door, which she quickly latched. Ernie pounded on it and she knew it wouldn’t hold much longer. If she only had a dog to bark and growl, she’d be okay. Or maybe two leopards. Protectors suitable for a Mayan princess.
My work in progress, a novel with the working title of “River” ,is an environmental/political thriller focused on water and wildlife issues of the American Desert Southwest. I welcome any and all comments or information to help me drive the story. This is a tidbit of backstory. elaine@mediadesign-mds.com
It"s All In The Timing--River Agosto"s Early Years
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Farm To Table
It’s no secret that I love to cook, or that now I’ve retired, I’m officially Beyond Cuckoo. (Well, that part I’m still working on—but more about that soon.) This week, canvas bags in hand and like Ina Garten, husband in tow, I hit the Wednesday Santa Rosa Farmers Market.
For those that don’t know, or who live on another planet, Ina Garten is the infamous Barefoot Contessa, whose new book, Cooking for Jeffrey, is due out October 25, 2016. I have one of Ina’s earliest dinner party books and love her wit and charm, along with a few choice recipes. I’m attracted to the personal approach she takes with her newest collection because she and I share many years cooking for love; i.e. love for food and love for those for which we cook. I’m not a fan of restaurant food. Certainly not fast food chains, but even high end restaurants. I see food preparation as a transfer of energy. The source of that energy, and the way it is produced and prepared, are important to how food sustains the body. The business of cooking food, no matter how skilled, is stressed. It’s the nature of business. Home cooking on the other hand instills comfort—physical, mental, and spiritual.
This philosophy along with the belief, that ideally, food is healthiest when grown nearby, takes us back to the Farmer’s Market http://thesantarosafarmersmarket.com/ to hunt and gather our breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
The Wednesday Market has grown in size—close to that of the weekend market. Seniors shopping on Wednesday get a one-dollar market buck good with any vendor. The feel is relaxed—a perfect way to shop and a contradiction to grocery stores, or dare I say it? —Big Box Stores. (I have a panic attack just looking at a Costco.) Shopping on Wednesday also allows for weekly meal preparation planned around what is available, fresh, seasonal and healthy.
Here’s what we came away with this week: Fresh boneless rainbow trout, smoked salmon, heirloom and early girl tomatoes, red Italian garlic, red onions, and the sweetest Ambrosia melons imaginable. I stuffed the trout with vegies, tied with string, and marinated the bundles. The melon and salmon became oerderves with a local Sauvignon Blanc. The heirloom tomatoes accompanied the grilled fish along with brown rice to complete a light, healthy, early Fall supper. So good and so easy.
I suspect that my husband Blake (Cooking for Blake? Hmmm—has a ring, don’t you think?) and I have arrived at the most creative and productive season in our lives. One in which we have the luxury to pick and choose from every variety and abundance available. Food is a starting point—the fuel that stokes the fire. I toast to Chi the fuel that stokes the soul. Stay tuned and become, along with me, Beyond Cuckoo.
Farm To Table
Friday, September 9, 2016
I Love A Parade
I Love A Parade
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
River Agosto--Nuchu
River grabbed a breakfast burrito from the food truck at the downtown outdoor market in Las Cruces. That and a steaming hot Latté pushed Dusty’s demise from her mind. Passionate about shopping she bought clothing, jewelry and art on her expense account. It was easy to stay under her daily allowance if she traded fancy lodging for campsites. She never thought that Dusty would figure it out and come after her as she did. Oh well, water under the bridge, or in this case, Dusty over the canyon wall. She deserved it.
“Buenas dias, señorita” an Indian woman called from under a canopy shade. “Come see these beautiful molas—highest quality—most have four layers and the finest stitching. You could sell them for twice the price on EBay.”
River strolled over to the table and fingered the intricately patterned cloth sections. “These are gorgeous. How much?”
“For you . . . $30. If you buy four, $20 each.”
River rummaged through several piles of paired designs; most cut from previously worn blouses. Authentic molas from traditional garments fetched higher prices. River however doubted she would sell her purchases. These would do nicely framed in her studio—a reminder of her trip and freedom from Dusty’s sabotage.
“Okay, I’ll take these,” she said handing over her company credit card. As the woman swiped the Square, River eyed something else—a small wooden doll that drew her. As she stroked the smooth carved surface, a young super-charged youngster ran up to her.
“Are these from Mexico?” the young girl asked as she pulled on River’s jacket.
“No Panama.” River said. “Stop tugging on me.”
The girl ran off and hoping that she was gone for good, River tossed down another $5.00 in cash and crammed the wooden nachu in the front flap of her day pack.
“Gracias,” the woman said as she turned to help another customer. “Be careful with that, it has a powerful live spirit. You don’t want to piss her off.”
** Another teaser for upcoming novel, “River”. Research involves environmental and political issue of the U.S. Southwest desert. Help me out: Send any pertinent information to– elaine@mediadesign-mds.com
River Agosto--Nuchu
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
River Agosto--All Alone
As a child, River lived in a house where the women hated her. Her Mother resented the chore of motherhood and all she could remember of her sister was her scowl. An alcoholic Father was there in sober times, but lacked the balls to intervene in family drama–hen-pecked into submission.
“So where do I go from here?” she asked the constellations as they moved across the sky. Dusty Cooke’s body would ultimately be discovered by some hiker at the canyon bottom. Could they trace the death to her? Probably—maybe not. Boy did she deserve it and the river, her river, deserved saving. One individuals death was a small price for the lives of many—animals, plants, and yes, even humans.
River stoked the fire and adjusted the pans on the grill. Her favorite meal of macaroni and cheese, steamed in a covered dish. Not as good as baked, but it would do—comfort food after the day she had. She pushed the image of Dusty coming at her and how she stepped aside in time to let her attacker fall to her death. She closed her mind’s eye to forget the scene entirely. Yes, that was the answer—it never happened.
Smiling, River scarfed her dinner, wiped out the pans with water from her cooler and settled into the sleeping bag. Tomorrow she’d go back to town and call her boss. Wrong? Nothing was, or was going to be, wrong.
** Another teaser for upcoming novel, “River”. Research involves environmental and political issue of the U.S. Southwest desert. Help me out: Send any pertinent information to– elaine@mediadesign-mds.com
River Agosto--All Alone
Sunday, February 28, 2016
Damn It! -- River Agosto
“Damn it,” River grumbled as she struggled to push the garment bag back into the overhead compartment. The strong sweaty smell originated with the sloppy, baggy-shorted, millennial boy/man pushing up against her from behind.
“Excuse me, that’s mine,” the peanut-breathed owner of the baggage said as he came close to breast contact as he pulled at the bag River pushed.
“This may be your bag, but if you don’t move your hand, I’m going to kick you in the nuts.”
Baggy-shorts took a side step and stared. River pushed the next row of coach passengers back into their seats and forced her way two rows ahead. God she hated flying coach. Dusty and Rochelle always flew first class—a privilege of the perpetually overpaid and underworked.
“Welcome to Albuquerque and thank you for flying United,” the flight attendant quipped for the millionth time. River tried to crack a smile as she pushed her way towards the terminal.
She carried on her laptop and a purse the size of Manhattan to avoid baggage fees and the wait at the carousel. Only one person stood at the rental car line when she arrived.
“Oh much better,” River thought as she eyed the rounded derrière of the polished grey suited gentleman before her.
“Next?” the desk clerk commanded. Mr. Grey Suit turned abruptly and River not so accidently let him brush into her.
“Oh I’m sorry, excuse me,” her fantasy mumbled as he headed towards the pick-up area.
River snapped herself back to reality. “Damn it,” she mused as she signed the rental agreement
For the fans of flash fiction. Similar to how pianists warm up on the keyboard, or guitarists pick licks, writers can warm up to their characters with 250 word character snapshots. How do you like (or dislike) River Agosto?
Damn It! -- River Agosto
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Lone Wolf--solitary poetry
A boy looking for a father’s hand to hold—afraid and brave all at once.
Women nurture and turn away.
Unprotected.
A man spins words into precise configurations of protective strategy
Only to find attack from the side
Or from behind.
He escapes to a dance with wind blown ice.
Thick fur withstands Mother Nature
who hurts, attacks, and kills.
He salvages comfort, love and money with stories of struggle. A stone retreat. Silent trees sway in the wind and creak with age.
Look to the sky
—to the birds in flight
that nest together for warmth.
Dull the pain.
Cherish the words alone.
Lone Wolf--solitary poetry
Sunday, December 20, 2015
River Agosto Character Creation
The Groundwork of Character Creation: (smart, strong, resourceful and romantically foolish)
River fears getting stuck in situations she cannot control which stifle her gregarious tendency to act on her instincts.
Her major flaw is her self-righteousness with no room for compromise.
She secretly betrayed a lover when she was in the military. Her actions went unnoticed. His actions resulted in a dishonorable discharge.
She loves animals way more than people.
River is clever, physically strong, and determined.
She wants money to buy a high desert working ranch.
She loves the high life but feels guilty when she indulges.
Environmental issues drive River above all else.
She regrets her military betrayal and her previous lover will play an antagonistic role.
I recently re-watched the 1967 movie “Cool Hand Luke”. Luke played by Paul Newman gave me a clue to River Augusto’s general statement. Like Luke she has come to understand governmental protocol and how to survive it–at least temporarily. Luke, of course, was imprisoned, and worked on a Florida road crew. River deals with a similar hierarchy of command that like Luke is against her nature and the movie quote, “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate,” fits the bill.
Stay tuned for more about River Agosto as she develops. I promise a fun ride.
River Agosto Character Creation
Sunday, December 6, 2015
River Agosto -- The Setup
The Setup
River’s fear of attack from behind wouldn’t allow for the use of ear buds to muffle the mindless chatter in the office. In an attempt to control the time wasters, Dusty Cooke and Rochelle Stone regularly circled the area. Their self-imposed deadline for the environmental impact report made River uncomfortable. They had never pushed this hard before. River had the phone signal turned down, but each time it rang, she jumped.
“Something’s wrong here,” Dusty’s voice bellowed from the receiver.
“Wrong?” River said knowing that even if it wasn’t her fault that she would be blamed for anything askew.
“You’ve got to go out to the excavation site tomorrow and check the soil samples. The salt levels can’t be this high. You’ve got to verify that the range is normal, or they’ll never let us finish the canals.”
“I double checked the numbers yesterday and they were accurate,”
“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a greenie with this. I bet you sabotaged the data for the sake of saving some tortoises.”
The term greenie was Dusty’s slang for environmentalists and River was tired of the constant ridicule; but before she could let Dusty have it, she felt a tap from behind. It was Rochelle.
“Is that Dusty on the phone?”
“Hold on Dusty, Rochelle’s here,” River quipped and handed Rochelle the receiver.
“Hi darlin’, is there a problem with the construction site? Too much salt? Well, we’ll tweak the numbers. What? A demonstration? Shit, this better not make the news. We’ve got to send someone who can talk green. Yeah, I guess River is it. I’ll talk to her about the money—she’ll do it. Huh? No worries, I’ll come by your office later.”
Rochelle hit end call. “Okay everyone, we need to have a quick meeting,” she announced to the rest of the cubicle row. “Conference Room C, now.”
Sadie, Jack and Opal filed out of their assigned pods as ordered, down the hall and into Room C without a word. They knew better than to question Rochelle, especially if they ever wanted to see bigger paychecks and private offices. River followed reluctantly.
“Okay everyone, here’s the scoop. As usual, it’s all about water and we have to prove that our canals won’t hurt, but help, the area. I’m sending River to personally take soil samples. Sadie, book her a flight to Albuquerque as soon as you can get her there. She’ll need a four wheel drive truck. Jack, pack her a sample bag and Opal transfer all the files to a laptop.”
The group scurried to their assignments. River glared at Rochelle. “This is kinda sudden, isn’t it? You want me to drop my life and run off on this whim of yours?”
“Look sweetie,” Rochelle started.
“I told you, my name is River.”
“Okay, River,” Rochelle said softening her tone. “There’s money in this, lots of it and some of it could be yours.”
“How much money?” River also softened.
“You help us tweak a few reports, alter a few numbers and come out squeaky clean for the EPA and I’ll make sure you can move out of that hovel you call an apartment. How would you feel about Cahuilla Hills? Maybe meet a Palm Desert hunk with a bank account and horses? It could be nice.”
River arrived on a flight from Palm Springs to Albuquerque at 9:00 P.M. Wednesday, November 11, 2015.
River Agosto -- The Setup
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
The Setup--A Scene Sketch
The Setup
River’s fear of attack from behind wouldn’t allow for the use of ear buds to muffle the mindless chatter in the office. In an attempt to control the time wasters, Dusty Cooke and Rochelle Stone regularly circled the area. Their self-imposed deadline for the environmental impact report made River uncomfortable. They had never pushed this hard before. River had the phone signal turned down, but each time it rang, she jumped.
“Something’s wrong here,” Dusty’s voice bellowed from the receiver.
“Wrong?” River said knowing that even if it wasn’t her fault that she would be blamed for anything askew.
“You’ve got to go out to the excavation site tomorrow and check the soil samples. The salt levels can’t be this high. You’ve got to verify that the range is normal, or they’ll never let us finish the canals.”
“I double checked the numbers yesterday and they were accurate,”
“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a greenie with this. I bet you sabotaged the data for the sake of saving some tortoises.”
The term greenie was Dusty’s slang for environmentalists and River was tired of the constant ridicule; but before she could let Dusty have it, she felt a tap from behind. It was Rochelle.
“Is that Dusty on the phone?”
“Hold on Dusty, Rochelle’s here,” River quipped and handed Rochelle the receiver.
“Hi darlin’, is there a problem with the construction site? Too much salt? Well, we’ll tweak the numbers. What? A demonstration? Shit, this better not make the news. We’ve got to send someone who can talk green. Yeah, I guess River is it. I’ll talk to her about the money—she’ll do it. Huh? No worries, I’ll come by your office later.”
Rochelle hit end call. “Okay everyone, we need to have a quick meeting,” she announced to the rest of the cubicle row. “Conference Room C, now.”
Sadie, Jack and Opal filed out of their assigned pods as ordered, down the hall and into Room C without a word. They knew better than to question Rochelle, especially if they ever wanted to see bigger paychecks and private offices. River followed reluctantly.
“Okay everyone, here’s the scoop. As usual, it’s all about water and we have to prove that our canals won’t hurt, but help, the area. I’m sending River to personally take soil samples. Sadie, book her a flight to Albuquerque as soon as you can get her there. She’ll need a four wheel drive truck. Jack, pack her a sample bag and Opal transfer all the files to a laptop.”
The group scurried to their assignments. River glared at Rochelle. “This is kinda sudden, isn’t it? You want me to drop my life and run off on this whim of yours?”
“Look sweetie,” Rochelle started.
“I told you, my name is River.”
“Okay, River,” Rochelle said softening her tone. “There’s money in this, lots of it and some of it could be yours.”
“How much money?” River also softened.
“You help us tweak a few reports, alter a few numbers and come out squeaky clean for the EPA and I’ll make sure you can move out of that hovel you call an apartment. How would you feel about Cahuilla Hills? Maybe meet a Palm Desert hunk with a bank account and horses? It could be nice.”
River arrived on a flight from Palm Springs to Albuquerque at 9:00 P.M. Wednesday, November 11, 2015.
The Setup--A Scene Sketch
Sunday, November 1, 2015
River Agosto -- A character study
River Agosto
“River Agosto?” the nurse called out.
“Christ,” Sam snarled as River dug her nails into Sam’s leg for leverage. Her mangled foot had swollen to twice its normal size and the hard plastic waiting room chair had taken the feeling from her leg.
“I’m River, I’ll need some help.”
“Are you with him? Hon?” The nurse asked River as she pointed to Sam.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t know we were friends, by all the help he gives me.” River snapped.
Sam ruffled the pages of Sports Illustrated and sunk lower in his chair. ‘Whadaya want from me? It’s the swim suit issue. You’re a tough girl. You can walk,” he mumbled as he flipped through the pics of half-naked women.
River hobbled along behind the nurse who ushered her into EXAM ROOM B. “Take off your pants, socks, and shoes. The doctor will be in soon.”
River couldn’t put any weight on her left foot. That last slide down the canyon wall had dropped them fifty yards to where the mules waited. She could still hear Jack and Sadie’s curses echoing off the rock walls. Boy, were they pissed. She smiled at the thought, but this ankle hurt like hell. A tap on the door signaled the doctor’s entrance.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Sandahl, what do we have here?” Todd Sandahl asked as he flipped through a clipboard of paperwork.
River raised her leg, looked for a wedding ring and came up empty. She managed a few tears and gave it her best, “I’ve either sprained or broken this,” she sobbed. “I fell during a hike in the canyon and my friend outside in the waiting room brought me here to the ER.”
Dr. Todd glanced at his watch, pulled over a stool and peered at the injury. “I’ll buzz the nurse, she’ll take some x-rays. I don’t think it’s broken. She’ll give you a prescription for the pain; ice it and stay off it for a while and you’ll be fine. If it gets any worse see your family physician.”
“That’s it?” River whimpered.
The doc slid off his stool, “Yep, that’s it. Don’t call us, if we don’t call you,” he joked and slipped out into the hall.
“Shit,” she groaned as she gathered her stuff, managed to get her jeans back on, and hobbled to the waiting room. “Now where the hell did Sam go?”
“Will that be cash or credit card?”
“What?”
“Cash or Credit Card for the exam?”
“Is my friend still here?”
“No, he left. He called someone and they picked him up. He said he’d see you at home. Oh here, and he left you the car keys.”
River signed the discharge papers, handed over her credit card, and tried to look on the bright side—at least she could drive with her right foot and she wasn’t dead. Still she was going to beat the shit out of Sam—he better be home alone, that son of a bitch.
River Agosto -- A character study
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Part 3 Out the Door
I stayed put for a few moments after Claudia ran out on me. I shifted my gaze back to the ball. Encapsulated clouds swirled and became dark and threatening. The rock rolled off its stand to the floor, across the room, down the hallway to my bedroom. I followed and stuffed it into the green canvas
What was here to keep me?—my books?—records? Things; only things. The people I wanted to love didn’t care; didn’t feel—innards as hard as rocks. The curio shelf held scattered rough mined stones—amethyst, quartz, shale—I swept them into a side pocket.
The inanimate object mirrored my need to leave; to roll down a hallway or maybe a highway. It wouldn’t be long now.
Part 3 Out the Door
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