Hope

 

 

    Life isn’t always plain sailing as we all know. Illness can strike unexpectedly and lives can be turned upside down.

    For those who are admitted to the hospital and face a long stay, feelings of despair and abandonment can creep in and trying to remain optimistic is hard.

    All they can do is hope that their future may become brighter than the dark days they are experiencing.

    The poem extract featured today is by John Keats and is about finding ourselves searching for hope and comfort, whilst facing moments of despair.

To Hope

 

When by my solitary hearth I sit,

And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; 

When no fair dreams before my mind's eye flit,

And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;

Sweet hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,

And wave thy silver pinions over my head!

Whenever I wander, at the fall of night,

Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,

Should sad despondency my musings fright,

And frown, to drive fair cheerfulness away,

Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,

And keep that fiend despondence far aloof!

 

John Keats  1795-1821

 

 

No Kissing Required, Chapter Four

    The first book in my Salvation series is available to read free on Kindle from tomorrow for a few days. Jenny’s story, featured in this chapter illustrates bullying can happen at ant age and in any trusted relationship.

    Other extracts from my books can be read on this blog.

 

Chapter Four

 

Jenny’s Story

Jenny Green is lying on top of her bed staring into space when her cell phone starts to ring. On the display screen she can see it’s her boyfriend calling.

“Hi Kurt, I’m sorry I don’t think I can see you tonight.” She had been dreading this call.

“What do you mean you don’t think you can see me tonight?” says Kurt angrily. When he says jump, he expects others to say ‘how high?’, and his girlfriend is no exception.

“I see you every night. I’ll see you, usual place, or are you meeting some other guy?” He isn’t going to accept excuses.

“No. Of course not. I love you Ku…” Jenny can feel the tears prick her eyes as Kurt hangs up. Why did he constantly get so mad with her? They made out most nights, even when she didn’t want to. 

She had just wanted to explain that her mother had suggested that they should spend some quality time together. The suggestion came out of the blue and it was unlikely to
happen again in a long while.

Jenny’s mother, Gabriella, is a forty-something, going on twenty, divorcee. She goes clubbing with her friends most nights, meaning that Jenny can normally do as she pleases, with no questions asked. The young woman is treating her mother’s newfound caring side with mistrust. But as she’s always longed to have a close relationship with her mother, like
other girls at school have, she’s willing to give it a go. 

But what is she going to do about Kurt? She doesn’t want to do anything that might cause her to lose him. She is the envy of all the girls at school, as he’s Wingate High’s promising sports
star of the future. Her mind drifts, she dreams of them together in the years to come, she’ll have fancy clothes and jewelry and they’ll guest at red carpet events. Kurt promises her it all.

There’s a knock at Jenny’s bedroom door. “Jenny, the pizzas are here. I’ve put your favorite chick flick in the DVD player. Cold beer for me, cold soda for you. We’re all set.” Gabriella
enters the room. Jenny doesn’t reply, her mind is racing. She can’t let Kurt down, he can get any other girl he wants. “Okay a cold beer for you as well. One won’t do you any harm.”
Gabriella tries to coax a response from her daughter. 

“I don’t want pizza. I don’t want beer. In fact I don’t want you,” shouts Jenny defensively at her mother and she suppresses her tears of frustration.

“You ungrateful little tramp. I could have been out with Andy tonight.” Gabriella is angry at her daughter’s outburst.

“Don’t let me spoil your night,” screams Jenny.

“Spoil my night. You’ve spoiled my life. Don’t bother coming down for pizza.” As she storms out of her daughter’s bedroom, Gabriella slams the door closed behind her.

“Bitch,” shouts Jenny after her mother. Glaring at the closed wooden door, she wishes that she could see through it. She wants her mother to know how much she hates her. After all, her mother has just made it very clear that she has no love for her at all. Gabriella’s beloved little dog, Kushi, has always been at the forefront of her mother’s affections. “Bitch.”

§ § §

“Goodnight Isais. Thanks for the lift and the company. Probably see you tomorrow.” I walk with Isais to the front door.

“Probably will. Goodnight boy, enjoy school.” He gives me one of his now familiar big hugs. As I close the door, I can hear Isais laugh loudly as he makes his way down the front path.

I walk into the kitchen where Aunt Sylvia is putting away the dishes that Isais and I washed and dried earlier.

“Daniel, sit down at the table, we need to have a little chat. I’ll be with you in a moment.” I instantly realize by Aunt Sylvia’s tone that she takes the role of guardian very seriously. Now that we’re alone we’ll be able to get to know each other a bit better.

“Sure, time to get down to business.” My bravado is to cover up the fact that I’m now feeling rather nervous. Although the word nervous is an understatement; I’m totally petrified. Whilst Isais was with us, the evening had been happy and relaxed. But I knew the serious stuff would have to be raised at some point in the evening.

“Daniel, do you understand why you are here with me?”

“Yes. Mikey explained, sorry I mean Archangel Michael.” I don’t mean to be discourteous towards her or Mikey. I hope she’s okay with what I just said. Things are good, she’s smiling.

“I’m sure it was all explained to you, but I’d like to reiterate a very important point; you’re here because you need to prove that you deserve salvation.” Her voice is so gentle, kind of hypnotic. I’m not sure if she wants me to say anything or not. If in doubt, which I am, I think I’d better wait for her to speak again. Phew, she’s opening her mouth. “You’ll be tested on various things. We angels require a multitude of strings to our harps. We offer everyday guidance, healing, support, as well as spiritual guidance. We also need to demonstrate that we can protect, deliver others and ourselves from evil. Unfortunately for Earth, Satan is at large and more humans than normal need our help right now.” Her eyes search my face. I think she’s probably weighing me up.

“Seems simple enough.” I’m trying to sound confident but I’m quaking in my boots. Aunt Sylvia seems to find my statement as amusing as you probably did; she titters in an angel like manner. Not that you would know how an angel titters and I have no time to mimic her titter at
present. I have a few things that I want to clear up and now would probably be as good a time as any to get my questions out of the way.

“I’ve had two kid’s profiles downloaded to me, but no pictures, how will I know them?” This has been quite a puzzle to me.

“The information you have been provided with is pretty accurate. For one, you have their names and a few discreet inquiries around school should point you in their direction.”

“Okay I never thought of that. That’s put my mind a bit more at ease about the good guys. What about the bad ones?” I only asked the question because I thought you would want to know.

“Unlike the good guys, as you like to call them, you won’t always know them. The Devil and his accomplices come in all shapes and disguises. They will endeavor to seduce you and enlist you in their wicked, cruel ways. Going with the Red Rider will do nothing but lead to your ruin and your heavenly ambitions will be destroyed.” No smiles from her this time.

“I can understand why you chuckled earlier. If my enemies aren’t easily identified, things are going to be a little more difficult than I first anticipated. In fact, I was being cocky.”

“I don’t think you were being cocky; you were being a tad naive. I know this is something that you will have been told already, but there is no harm in me going over it again. You do have a slight advantage over the Devil’s new recruits. The power of good, given to you by our Lord, will help protect you from their attacks. But once their souls have been fully possessed by the Red Rider, I’m afraid it will be a matter of good versus evil. And we can only pray that the good you have been empowered with will win. Now, do you have any other questions?” Aunt Sylvia is a real sensitive lady. The only problem I can see with the powers I’ve been given is that no one has actually explained what they are. Mikey told me that it’s all about gaining hands-on experience.

“Do you think I’ll ever have any recollection of who I am, how I died, or will heaven even be able to establish the true facts?” I’m starting to feel rather anxious about this whole thing, especially the devil slaying part. Maybe I should have jumped in the lake, saved them the trouble.

“Your memory should gradually return. I will try and explain what’s happening the best way I can. Following accidents, trauma, and bad experiences, some humans suffer from amnesia. They can’t recall past memories, or retain current happenings until their brain deals with
what caused it to forget in the first place.

“In the same way, you’re having to come to terms with the traumatic experience of death. This in turn, has caused your recollection process to go into lock down. Dan, don’t build your hopes up, it may take some time. In fact, it could take years before you will remember anything about yourself. Of course there is also the risk that when you do recollect, you’ll wish you never had.”

“Do you think Heaven will find out my true identity in the near future?”

“Dan, these are very unusual circumstances. The Gatekeeper keeps excellent records and you’re proving to be an enigma.”

“Mmm. Let’s hope I’m a good guy then.”

“Dan, even if you’re not, I am on your side and I will help you when and where I can. As will the other celestial beings who watch over you. This is your big chance, grab  it with both hands.”

Something that will surprise you is I’m kind of lost for words. I look at Sylvia for some kind of assurance.

“Now when you go to bed think hard about what I’ve said to you. Now let us pray.” She smiles and takes my hand.

If it was possible for me to run for the door and head for the hills, I would do it right now, at this minute. But somehow I think the celestial beings would find me. I better just pray and hope that someone up there is listening to the pleading in my voice. We both say in unison,

“Our Father who art in heaven…”

https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/2023/07/no-kissing-required-chapter-two.html

https://www.amazon.com/No-Kissing-Required-Salvation-Book-ebook/dp/B08GD315P1/ 

March #Doing It For The Girls

   This week we've been celebrating ‘International Women's Week’ on 4th -10th March 2024 and ‘International Women's Day’ on 8th March 2024. This year's theme is ‘Inspire inclusion.’

     Through the centuries, it has been hard for women to have gender equality and inclusion. Because of this, many talented women have been excluded from society and branded as being different, causing them to lead a secluded and lonely life.

    

    Their work not being recognized until they were sadly not with us. One such talent was the American poet, Emily Dickinson. Today I want to pay homage to her and I've included one of her poems. Some of the #photographs I took in the month of  March a few years ago, so I felt were fitting. I hope you enjoy it.

 

    Remember, we’re #DoingItForTheGirls!!

 

 

Dear   March

Dear March ... Come in ...

How glad I am ...

I hoped for you before ...

Put down your hat ...

You must have walked ...

How out of breath you are ...

Dear March, how are you and the rest ...

Did you leave nature well ...

 Oh March, come right up the stairs with me ...

I have so much to tell ...

 

I got your letter, and the birds ...

The Maples never knew that you were coming ...

I declare, how red their faces grew ...

But March, forgive me ...

 And all those hills you left for me to hue ...

There was no purple suitable ...

You took it all with you ...

Who knocks? that April ...

Lock the door ...

I will not be pursued ...

He stayed away a year to call.

When I am occupied ...

But trifles look so trivial

As soon as you have come

That  blame is just as dear as praise,

And praise as mere as blame ...

Emily Dickinson 1830 ⁄ 1886

Words from the Heart

 

 

To love, is to cherish

To cherish, is to adore

To adore, is to treasure

To treasure, is to be devoted to 

To be devoted to, is to be faithful

To be faithful to, is to be committed to 

To be committed to, is what I am to you

My darling Valentine 

 

Nature Sculpting the Landscape

 

    If you live in Tenerife or any of the principal Canary Islands, it's impossible to not realize that the landscape has been resculpted by volcanic explosions in years gone by.  

    The last one in Tenerife was November 18 1909. The following extract from a poem by William Cowper, although written about Mount Etna, Italy, is very appropriate and could have been written about Mount Teide.

 Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire;

When, conscious of no danger from below, 

She towered a  cloud capped pyramid of snow,

No thunders shook with deep intestine sound

The blooming groves that girdled her around.

Her unctuous olives and her purple vines

Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines

The peasant’s hopes, and not in vain, assured,

In peace upon her sloping sides matured.

When on a day, like that of the last doom,

A conflagration laboring in her womb,

She teemed and heaved with an infernal birth,

That took the circling seas and solid earth.

Dark and voluminous the vapor rise,

And hang their horrors in the neighboring skies,

While through the Stygian veil, that blots the day,

In dazzling streaks the vivid lightning's play.

 But oh! what muse, and in what powers of song,

Can trace the torrent as it burns along?

Havoc and devastation in the van,

It marches over the prostrate works of man;

Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear.

 

Heroism by William Cowper (1731-1800)

Come To My Sun–land!

 

 

    Do the first, second, and third words or lines of poems and books capture your imagination when you first read them? 

    Yes, it is a rhetorical question, I know. For many of us, that's why we keep reading an author’s work. It reminds us of something we've already experienced or want to add to our bucket lists.

    Today, I've included an excerpt from a poem written by Joaquin Miller, which reminds me of the  sights I've seen on my trips around Tenerife.

    I've also included a collage of some of the pictures I've taken along the way. Hoping that if you haven’t already visited the island, you will definitely want to add it to your travel bucket list.

Come to my sun-land! Come with me,

To the land I love; Where the sun and sea

Are wed forever; where the palm and the pine

Are filled with singers; where tree and vine

Are voiced with prophets! O come, and you

Shall sing a song with the seas that swirl

And kiss their hands to that cold white girl,

To the maiden moon in her mantle of blue.

The Arizonian by Joaquin Miller

The Bells Are Ringing

 

     All over Puerto De La Cruz, the name of Tomas De Iriarte is celebrated, with a street, a school and a library bearing his name. Born in the city in 1750 the poet was educated in Madrid under the supervision of his uncle Juan De Iriarte, who was librarian for the King of Spain.

    Every time I visit the city, I can't help but take photos of the cathedral and churches of the city and surrounding areas. Since it's the time of year when church bells ring out regularly, I've included a fable by the poet and some of my photos.

   

The Cathedral Bell and The Little Bell

In a certain cathedral a huge bell there hung,

But only on solemn occasions was rung;

It's echoes majestic, by strokes three or four,

Now and then, in grave cadence, were heard never more,

For the stately reserve and its wonderful weight,

Throughout the whole parish, its glory was great.

In the district the city held under its sway,

Of a few wretched rustics, a hamlet there lay;

And a poor little church, with a belfry so small,

That you hardly would call it a belfry at all,

There a little cracked cowbell, that in it was swinging,

For the poor little neighbor who did all the ringing.

Now that this little belfry might ape in renown,

The cathedral's huge tower, that loomed up up over the town;

That briefly and seldom on festivals noted,

The safe little bell should be rung it was voted,

By this cunning device, and their rustical eyes,

It's tinkle soon past for a bell of great size.

 

A fable by Tomas de Iriarte

#NoExcuse

    

    International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women was marked on the 25th of November all over the world.  

    Violence against women and girls continues to be a problem in our world, and the UN wants us to join together to show that we do care. We are asked to remind our worldwide governments that there is no place for violence in our societies in any way we can.

    The UNiTE campaign, incorporating this violation of human rights commenced on the same day and will last for 16 days, their slogan this year is #NoExcuse.

    Today I've included a poem By Lord Byron from the early 19th century. I've included this because I want to celebrate women for their beauty inside and out. Women deserve to be respected for who they are and there is #NoExcuse.

 

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more,  one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens over her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and over that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days and goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

George Gordon Byron 1814

    

Here Comes the Sun

 

    April 1963, three young men from Liverpool, UK packed their suitcases and headed for Puerto de la Cruz, Tenerife, the Canary Islands. They had been recording their first album in the EMI studios, in Abbey Road, London and now needed a break.

    These, lads were called Paul, George and Ringo. The fourth member of the pop group, John had decided to go it alone and holiday elsewhere in Spain. Whether, you were born in 1963 or not, I'm sure you will recognize the name of the band, The Beatles.

    If you read my blog, or follow me on Instagram you will know that I’m a regular visitor to this beautiful city and when I was back there in May I couldn’t help but think about them walking the same streets and taking in the same beauty as I was.

    I’ve included a few photographs of some of the same places that I know they visited. Although sixty years on, the place has probably changed a little! 

    It’s the first time I can say  that I’ve followed in the Beatles footsteps. If you want to see any more of my photographs, catch me on Instagram @christinarowellauthor.

  Hoping you’re having a great week guys and we’ll catch up soon.

No Kissing Required CHAPTER ONE

 

Limbo

 
    My name’s Dan Pierce; whether or not that’s my birth name, I don’t really know. You’re asking; why don’t I know my identity? Good question. But there’s also a good answer; I’m Dea...d, and my earthbound memories have been totally wiped out. I’m finding the D word kind of hard to say, so excuse me. That revelation shocked you, didn’t it? Well it came as quite a blow to me. In fact, it’s a bit of a bummer, when you wake up and realize you’re now a spiritual being.

    I’ve discovered that entry into heaven is no mean feat. It’s like starting a new college, or university, the powers that be want to make sure that you’re qualified for the tasks ahead. When you reach the pearly gates they don’t say, “Hey you’re dead, come on in.”

    Firstly, your name’s got to be checked against God’s database. It used to be called the Book of  Life; well it still is, but it’s no longer etched on tablets of stone, or written on papyrus. No way, Heaven has invested in a high tech computer system and the gatekeeper accesses the information via an android tablet. I couldn’t believe it; the miracles of modern science will never cease to amaze.

    Back to the Book of Life, it’s literally a journal of your existence. You know, birth name, where you were born, achievements, disappointments, the good and the bad things you did; of course, it helps if you’ve led a blemish free life and I don’t mean a life without zits. Finally, it states where, when, and how you died. Now this data allows God and his trusted elders to judge as to whether you’re celestial material.

    When I arrived several days ago, or was it several years ago? Time isn’t measured the same way here. Sorry I’m rambling, put it down to shock. I don’t even know if it’s relevant as to when I arrived, what is relevant to me is the fact that I didn’t actually know my name, never mind how I died. But seemingly, this isn’t so uncommon.

    However, there was a complication in my case and that was the gatekeeper didn’t know my details either and he certainly wasn’t expecting me. He had no note of my arrival, nada. To cut a long story short, I didn’t get in. I was named Daniel Pierce, for the sake of the records and whisked away to Limbo, tout de suite.

    That’s when I got the devastating news; take a deep breath because this is a shocker. I was told that if they couldn’t establish who I was, or why I was there, I’d be thrown into the Lake of Fire for a second death. Well knock me down with a feather, if it wasn’t bad enough
that I’d died already, I was to die again. No right to appeal, no chance of a reprieve.

    Well that was until Mikey, sorry, I mean Archangel Michael, arrived in Limbo yesterday, to speak to me and a bunch of undesirables. He explained that there was a chance of salvation, all was not lost, we could prove that we were worth saving.

    He proposed that we enlist in God’s army to help defeat the Red Rider, aka Satan and his foot soldiers who are attempting to flex their muscles on Earth. It seems that Satan has escaped from the burning sulfur lake and he is determined to seek revenge on God for the years he has lived in torment. He is proving to be elusive, his army is growing stronger every day, and Heaven needs all the help it can get.

    Duh, now who would say no to this opportunity of redemption? Surprisingly enough, some of my fellow suspected hoods did decline. They didn’t fancy doing good deeds, obeying God’s word, or Devil slaying. But I said, “Bring it on.”

    Sooo, that’s where I’m at in my celestial career. By the way, I’m now an angelet, which is another name for a probationary angel. How long will my internship last? Well how long is a piece of string?

    Guys, I’m about to embark on an important journey and I could do with good friends like you around. What I’m saying is, I’d like you to tag along. I’ll need someone to sound off to. How about it? I believe I’ll be boarding a bus in Las Vegas tomorrow, headed for Phoenix. I hope to see you then.

 https://www.amazon.com/No-Kissing-Required-Salvation-Book-ebook/dp/B08GD315P1

 

No Kissing Required PROLOGUE

Arizona, six months earlier

    What’s happening? How did this all spiral out of control? The sixteen-year-old boy is confused. With the promises of no rules to obey, eternal life, and sex anytime he wants, with anyone he so desires; yeah, who wouldn’t be tempted? Besides, no money need change hands.

     However, payment was expected; of course, there was a charge for Utopia. Deep down, he had known it was all too good to be true. The price was non-negotiable, no haggling, no cutting a better deal was possible. What he had been asked for in exchange was priceless, and he just wasn’t prepared for it. No, selling his soul to the Devil wasn’t something he would ever be prepared for and something he wasn’t going to do.

    Therefore, he was now fleeing for his life, he needed to get away from Wingate and fast. Luckily, for him, the road was quiet. He had been driving for about an hour, he had only seen one other vehicle in that time and it was following close behind. It had joined the road about three miles back; the driver had not attempted to overtake and was unlikely to do so now, due to the byroad’s narrowness. At first he had thought it was a police car following. Somehow, they may have been alerted that he had stolen his father’s car, but eventually he had decided it was unlikely his father would notice it was gone before morning.

    The tailgating car suddenly closes the distance between them and it’s headlights illuminate the rear-view mirror of the boy’s vehicle; blinding him on every turn and twist of the winding road. He presses his foot down, hard onto the gas pedal, but the car’s response is sluggish. The young driver is certain that the engine is protesting at being pushed so hard.

The two cars reach the summit of the climbing road and the fearful teenager knows that the ground drops steeply down away from the side. He can’t see the bottom of the ravine, it’s as though it’s lurking in the bowels of the earth.

    “What the?” the teenage boy yells with surprise, as the pursuing car gently nudges the rear bumper of his. He moves forward slightly in his seat, but his seat belt clicks and saves him from being hurt in any way. His foot is flat to the floor, but his vehicle continues to struggle to pull away from its pursuer. The boy grips the steering wheel as though he’s on a white-knuckle ride at the fairground. The road widens around the last bend and will start to drop downhill, towards Highway 87. He hopes the maniac following him will pass then.

    Both cars are now traveling at high speed and the awkward curves of the road are hard to negotiate. The inexperienced driver is finding the steering heavy and he knows he is being pulled closer and closer to the edge of the precipice. He’s finally approaching the last bend; he glances in his rear-view, but what he sees causes him to lose his concentration. Just for a moment, but a moment too long. The car leaves the road on the bend and the darkness swallows the teenager up like a whale consuming a minnow.

The tailing car doesn’t stop; it drives on, no looking back.

 

https://www.amazon.com/No-Kissing-Required-Salvation-Book-ebook/dp/B08GD315P1

Hyperlink to Lost Souls Chapter 2 (Second of two parts)

     

    I’ve just gargled with some peppermint mouthwash. My breath probably isn’t too fresh after eating an abundance of herring for breakfast and you never know who I might kiss. Ha, ha.

    Back to the herring, I’ve never eaten them before, but they were superb plus they’re good for you, all that oil. I’m going to enjoy eating Inuit style because I love fish.

    Now, let me catch you up with the gossip. When I went down to breakfast, the atmosphere amongst the family was more than a little frosty and that was with the central heating on.

     Charlie was going on about a lost soul and Stan was having none of it. When I joined them, Rachel told her pop to “leave it.” So from then on, all the old man did was eat and throat sing in between swallows. Therefore, I haven’t got to the root of what’s going on; I’m hoping to later.

     For now, I’m getting ready to venture outside; the kids have chores to do around the house and Stan mentioned he wanted to check out the engine of the Coronado. Just in case it needs any essential repairs done before he goes back out on the road.

     It all sounded a bit too technical for me; however, I may learn something that could be useful in the years to come, so I’m going to go out and see what’s going down. A guy needs as many strings to his harp as he can get. Do you think I can put socks on my hands instead of gloves to keep out the cold? Why? Because I have no idea what I’ve done with the gloves I had on yesterday. The glove gremlin must have sneaked in during the night and stole them.

    Because of the dense cloud cover today, daylight is rather shy. I’ve wrapped up well, and as I leave the heat of the cabin, I can see the truck is parked where Stan has some work lights set up, in the shelter of a large wooden outbuilding about one hundred yards from the house. As I walk over to join my amigo, every breath that leaves me forms into a small icy cloud that floats eerily in front of me. Strange, but true.

    Stan looks up from the inside of the hood of the truck when he hears me approach and says, “Hi, Dan. Are you out to give me some help?”
    “I’m hoping I’ll learn something because I know absolutely zilch about engines. I couldn’t help you even if it was the engine of a lawnmower,” I say.
    “Lawnmowers are not much use around here,” Stan laughs.

    He opens one of the drawers in the large red toolbox on the ground beside him and lifts out a large, oily-looking spanner. Well, I think it’s a spanner. Anyway, with the spanner thing, he starts to tinker inside the engine compartment.
    “Have you found anything that may cause you problems?” I ask.
    “No. This truck is reliable. I’ve never had any problems with it. My last truck was a different make. It used to give me problems all the time, especially when I drove through heavy snowstorms. The filter used to draw in the snow and well, that was that.” Stan stands back and looks at the engine as though to admire it. “I can see by the look on your face that I may as well be speaking double Dutch. You have no idea what I’m talking about, have you?”
    “In a one word answer, no.”
    “Like you and I, the motor of a truck needs air, otherwise they break down and that’s where the filter
comes into play.” Stan keeps looking at me.
    “That makes sense,” I say.
    “Dan, why do you have socks on your hands?” Stan scratches his head and laughs.
    “Couldn’t find the gloves I had on yesterday and I knew they were a necessity rather than a fashion statement around here. Socks are just gloves for your feet, so what’s the difference?”
    Stan is now laughing heartily and his already red face is getting redder and redder as he continues to laugh.
    “Hey, what’s going on here?” shouts Beth, who has just appeared from inside the house. She’s carrying a large green mug in each hand; she’s watching her footing as she makes her way across the slippery yard towards us.
    “Look at this guy’s hands.” Stan points at me, he can hardly speak.

    Beth’s face lights up and she says, “Here, this will heat your hands ups.” She hands me a cup of piping hot liquid. The contents of the other mug she’s holding is spilling all over the ground as she starts to laugh on seeing my make-shift mittens close-up.

    Stan grabs hold of the steaming mug before there is nothing left inside and to save Beth from burning herself. He dries his wet, gloved hands individually on his checked wool jacket and says, “I assume this is for me? Hot chocolate is just what I need.”

    Beth takes off her woolen mittens, rubs her hands with a napkin from her coat pocket, and she says,   “Yeah, Dad. I thought you both might welcome a warm drink.” Beth places her uncovered hands along with her wet mittens deep into her pockets. She giggles as she continues to look at my hands. “So, why on earth do you have bright red socks on your hands?”

    “Can’t find my gloves,” I say. 

     “Surely you could have chosen a different color. One that would have been a little more, let’s say, subtle.” Beth’s dark eyes sparkle mischievously.
    “I don’t like these ones much; so, I thought, if I lost them too, it wouldn’t matter.”
    “That sounds reasonable,” says Beth.   

    Stan ejects a mouthful of the chocolate into the air as he starts to laugh raucously. He lifts a handful of snow and rubs it into my face and he says, “A good enough reason, Dan. Any sensible human being will understand your explanation.”
    “We better try to find you a pair before we go snowmobiling with Si tomorrow,” says Beth. She giggles uncontrollably as she leaves us to head back to the house.

    Can you tell me what they find so funny? After all, what is a guy to do when he’s lost his gloves?

 

 (REMEMBER YOU CAN READ CHAPTER ONE AND FIRST PART OF THIS EXTRACT IN PREVIOUS POSTS) Thank you

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