Thanksgiving is such a weird holiday

There's the story about the Pilgrims and Indians sitting down at a peaceful feast. Brings to mind Maize, the Native American word for corn, which our brethren were supposed to have brought to that outdoor dining room table. It more reminds me of corny. Yes, perhaps the earlier settlers broke bread with the natives one day. But it was a precursor to decades of bloodshed. Mostly undocumented due to the horrific nature of what transpired, as European Nations, and the New Colonies, conquered fertile soil. I'm glad they shared a nice meal though.

But I try not to dwell on that. :) I like the idea of giving thanks. Let's take some inventory.

Is there a roof over your head? Does the sun rise? Is there food in the cupboard? Can you scratch your face? Seems simple. Till you lose it.

Next Level
The biggest thing to me is having family. And, I would like to give thanks without bragging. Mom and pops did a great job. Together over 50 years, till death did they part. Three brothers and sis. Good Company.

Then there's opportunity. I squandered a lot of it. Wanted to be a teacher, got sidetracked. Wanted to be an art teacher. So, I try to rationalize. Kind of an outlook on life. If you're not teaching, you should be learning. Never stop interacting. And I have real problems with that! Maintaining relationships, being social. Not letting my turtle head go into a shell! :) But I give thanks for the opportunity. I give thanks for Free Will.

Oh, there's lots more. This blog is kind of cheesy. How about you? I give thanks for you. You made it this far. Thank you for your time.

:)

TG

I've been making chicken wings for many, many years. By request of a couple of my dear friends, I'm going to share how I like to make my wings. I've decided to use an analogy, it can sometimes help to remember things.

Compare it to going to the spa for a day, getting the full treatment. First there's the rub down, then some time in the whirlpool bath, and finally time in the sauna. But first, a bit about the anatomy of the chicken wing.

The chicken wing comprises three segments, separated by two joints. The wing is technically considered "white meat," but it's actually a combination of white and dark meat. The prized portion is the front end, often sold separately, as the "drummett." Drummetts usually sell thirty or forty more cents a pound. But they're great and worth it! Unless you're doing volume. Then the cost adds up. If you do get standard wings, chop off that back end, the tail. They're worthless. With a sharp cleaver, doesn't take that long to remove.

Back to the Spa Analogy. Before going to a spa, you want to be clean. It's just... standard practice. For this recipe, we're talking two dozen wings. No, I hate that. We're talking 24 wings. I don't like it when people take numbers and put them into words. Like half a million, tens of thousands, etc. Just say a number! Clean your sink, sterilize it if you want. Then take your wings, eight at a time, and wash them with cold water.

The Rub
Besides chopping them with a cleaver, this is the most intimate you get with your wings. The Rub involves spices. Here's my standard fare: five tablespoons of garlic-oregano, three tablespoons of cayenne, and two tablespoons of black pepper. It you like Rosemary, Sage, and Thyme, throw it in there! But I wouldn't overdo it. :) Put the spices in a coffee cup, and mix well. Using a teaspoon, sprinkle the spices across the wings. Then turn them over and do it again, making sure they get well covered. Then, to do this right, you gotta take each wing in your hands and rub the spices in deep. I mean, after putting a cleaver to them, isn't it time to make friends? :) And yeah, you do this in three different sets, eight wings to a set. No shortcuts! Oh, and if you're really big on honey wings, this could be a good time to coat your hands in honey and rub them down! But the honey's viscosity, it can trap out the smokey flavor. More on that later!

The Whirlpool
This is the marinade. Like The Rub, variety is of the essence. Here's the basic formula: get a couple of bottles of barbecue sauce. I'm not going to make any recommendations, because I haven't finalized any royalty contracts. :) You need a pitcher, like a tea pitcher. Pour about one and a half bottles of sauce, then go custom. For me, a significant quantity of hot sauce is in play. Significant? lol. Half a bottle, depending on the size of the bottle. Then a fruit juice, orange juice or grapefruit juice. Grapefruit's really better, if you like that subtle flavor. And that's what we're building here. Subtlety. The fruit juice is signnificant, because it's acidic. It permeates the fatty outter coating of the wings. This is also a good place to add three or four teaspoons of honey, if you want that semi sweet tasty finger lickin' goodness.

Okay, you've got to take all that stuff in your tea pitcher, and stir like you can't sleep over an old lover! Don't stop. Stir, stir, stir! FASTER! Once it's right, you need a large bowl. Like maybe an eight quarter. Something that could hold the wings, and a couple of breasts. Did I mention the breasts? Never forget the breasts! You should have been prepping them in much the same fashion. I mean, if you're busting your ass, you should get some breasts! You can eat on those things all week! Pour the marinade over the chicken. Then roll up your sleeves and stick your hands down in the bowl, mixing the wings around. Make sure they get covered. Yeah, it's messy. But it's worth it. Now here's the secret: You did all this the day before you cook the wings! Put them in the fridge. They must settle over night. And, you need to put them on the counter two or three hours before cooking. They need to get back to room temperature. It helps in letting the flavor set in. Trust me.

The Sauna
This is where you can really screw it up. :) Up to now, it's been pretty easy. So the cooking method? Two words: Ambient Heat. No, I shouldn't pass over the importance of smoking. In the simplest of terms, it involves using charcoal and wood chips. Wood chips are like the thing you could use and do nothing else I described above. You'd still get good wings. The ideal situation (for me), you have a decent sized charcoal grill with a lid. Big round thing. On one side, you put your hot briquets.

Then you cover those biscuits with wood chips. These you can get at most grocery stores. They're usually hickory or mesquite flavored. And you have to soak them beforehand. For at least an hour. It makes them burn slower and makes more smoke. If you want to get real gourmet fancy, soak them in a dark red wine, like a burgundy! I've done it a couple of times. :) You really can taste a difference! I wouldn't recommend the '72 French Merlot though.

So then you just have to be patient. The charcoal is on one side of the grill, there's smoke billowing out, and the heat's cooking the bird. If you're using a gas grill without wood chips, still use the ambient heat. Put the chicken on one side, and the heat on the other. But the charcoal is the way to go! Keep the temperature at about 250-300, let it cook for about 90 minutes to 2 hours. Check it out. Cut to the bone. If you see red or pink at the bone, let it cook another 30 minutes. But keep the heat constant! And the breasts may have to cook a bit longer. Also, don't cook them too long! No one likes a dry breast! :)

Bring A Friend
The spa is a personal experience, but if you can bring a friend it's that much better! I make this side deal, called Italian Bread. Not sure of its origins. Here's the recipe: Get a loaf of Italian Bread. You need butter, garlic salt, a sharp serrated knife, and aluminum foil. I know, duh. But like everything else, it's like everything else! Lots of work. I usually prepare it in half loaves, because of the brood I'm feeding. You need a sharp, serrated knife, because you need to cut the loaf without smashing the bread. Strokes back and forth. Lots of crumbs, but that's okay. Cut the loaf cross wise into half inch slices. Could be up to 12 to 15 slices. Then cut it length wise, down the middle. Then, the butter fun starts! Slice wedges of butter off the stick, packing it between the bread segments. One at a time, repetition! Then you rub butter all over the crust, drizzle it with garlic salt, wrap it in the aluminum foil, put it in the oven at 300 for 25 minutes, yada yada. You get the idea.

You know, this is one of those rare occasions. If I could just pay someone to make it for me, I'd pass.

:)

TG

I like smoking wings. I use my words carefully, for the purists. See, there's cooking, there's grilling, and there's smoking. There's also other techniques for preparing foods, but I take pride in my wings. Also my breasts. I mean, chicken breasts. As a guy, I don't take pride in my own breasts. Not that I'm ashamed of them. They're called something else. Escapes me now.

Anyhow, last time I made chicken wings, a friend of mine said I was the best at flavor, but another friend of mine was best at the heat. He did the best HOT wings. Well, this is nothing new. I've been doing wings for... decades? I feel so old. I take flavor over heat all day long. But this time... kind of bugged me.

So today/tonight I made a batch of wings. The marinade is crucial, more so than many realize. In this marinade, I put in a half bottle of habanero hot sauce. The habanero pepper is very special. Volume wise, the habanero sauce was very small. But that has little to do with it!

A Quick Story...

Some friends of mine were coming home from a cruise to Cozumel. While in Mexico, they had purchased a jar of habanero peppers. Upon returning stateside, they stopped at a bar on their way home. They brought the peppers into the bar with them.

So this drunk guy sees the jar. He sez, give me a pepper! They warn him against it, but he insists. So they open the fresh jar, and he chomps down on the pepper... MMMmmm.... then his eyes start to water. Then his face starts turning red. Then he asks for some water! Then his face starts shaking. Then the bartender gets him some milk. Which is supposed to help. But he ends up running out of the bar, crying like a baby. A seriously damaged man.

So, my wings needed some heat. I just put a half a bottle of Habanero hot sauce in the marinade. I thought it would give it some bite. There's lots of other things in the marinade. But the Habanero lingers like a drug! Or a caustic substance. I can still feel it on my lips, my finger tips, even diluted. As for the final product, the wings... all things considered, not too bad! :) But Beware the Habanero!

:)

TG

These questionnaires keep cropping up. I wondered, where do they come from? Each had to start somewhere.

So I thought I would make my own version.

1. When's the last time someone tried to sell you something? Other than on TV? I don't shop much, just buy what I need. I had a guy talk me into giving him five bucks. Does that count?

2. Ever been caught picking your nose? Oh, probably. Fortunately they didn't point it out to me!

3. Wave or Particle Theory? I lean towards Wave. *waves* Hey! :)

4. What living person do you respect the most? Oh please. I've found the less you know about someone, the more you respect them! My brother Rodney.

5. Get-to-know-you date: picnic in the park, or dinner and a movie? I'd take the picnic. Cheaper. :)

6. How often do you replace your toothbrush? Depends on how often I lose it!

7. Do you believe in Jesus Christ as Your Lord and Personal Savior? Could be. That's kind of personal! Okay, yes, yes, yes... turn that bright light off!

8. Do you remove your left or right shoe first? Right.

9. Would you fight, risk your life, kill someone, for something you believe in? I'd like to think so, but I don't really know.

10. When's the last time you ate cotton candy? I'm not sure. Bet it was on the midway.

11. Who's outside your window? STOP IT! :)

12. Country or Blues? Blues.

13. What has been your biggest mistake? Following others, not making my own way.

14. What was your best decision? Damn, there's a lot of competition there! Probably coming back home after pops threw me out.

15. Is anybody your nemesis? Yes or no. No

16. Would you rather have a tattoo or a piercing? Oh, probably a piercing. Easier to hide.

17. Who let the dogs out? I think the Bounty Hunter did! :)

18. If you had to be either one, deaf and blind, or paralyzed, neck down, which would it be? Depends on how it happened. I think deaf and blind, but tough call.

19. Flintstones or Jetsons? Gotta go Flintstones. They're more comfortable with their evolutionary development.

20. Why? Now, that's a trick question. :)

I'm done! Feel free to pass the questionnaire along! lol.

:)

TG

This is an emotional, quick spontaneous post. I'm watching wrestling. Yes, that's a confession I'd rather not admit! I watch wrestling. I hope you'll not think lesser of me! What do they call it, a guilty pleasure?

Anyhow, they go to commercial. I hear the House theme music come on. Grabs my attention pronto! IT'S FOR A VIDEO GAME! Something called "Assasins." I don't do video games, but I don't have anything against them. I mean, except for kids who are influenced to the point that it changes their behavior. Okay, what doesn't change your behavior if you engage in it constantly? I really do think some violent video games inspire violent actions in the real world. Just my opinion. But to hear the House Theme, look up and see that crap being promoted, it disgusted me.

There should be a way of protecting All Things House! I was kind of stunned by it. Okay, got it out of my system. Had to say something. Didn't have a better forum to do it than here! Thank you for your time.

TG

A couple of weeks ago, someone sent me an email. It documented a place in history that many of us would just as soon forget. I forwarded it to a few friends, and today I was reminded of it again. I thought I might share it here. I'm going to try to recreate the email, both words and images, as accurately as possible. I might also offer my own remarks, where I feel it's appropriate. And if I offend anyone who still holds these cultural values, I would like to apologize now. The content speaks for itself.

The 1977 JC Penney Catalogue

Last weekend I put an exhaust fan in the ceiling for my wife's grandfather. While my wife's brother and I were fitting the fan in between the joists, we found something under the insulation. What we found was this:

A JC Penney catalog from 1977. It's not often blog fodder just falls in my lap, but holy hell this was two solid inches of it, right there for the taking. I thumbed through it quickly and found my next dining room set, which is apparently made by adding upholstery to old barrels:

Also, I am totally getting this for my bathroom:

TG: I haven't seen this much green on a toilet since... never mind!

There's plenty more home furnishings where those came from, however I'm not going to bore you with that. Instead, I'm going to bore you with something else. The clothes.

The clothes are fantastic.

Here's how to get your butt kicked in elementary school:

Just look at that belt. It's like a boob job for your pants. He probably needed help just to lift it into place. The belt loops have to be three inches long. And way to pull them up to your armpits, grandpa.

Here's how to get your butt kicked in high school:

This kid looks like he's pretending to be David Soul, who is pretending to be a cop who is pretending to be a pimp that everyone knows is really an undercover cop. Who is pretending to be 15.

Here's how to get your butt kicked on the golf course:

TG: My pops wore these things around the house all the time. My Hero, Jumpsuit Man!

This "all purpose jumpsuit" is, according to the description, equally appropriate for playing golf or simply relaxing around the house. Personally, I can't see wearing this unless you happen to be relaxing around your cell in D block. Even then, the only reason you should put this thing on is because the warden made you, and as a one-piece, it's slightly more effective as a deterrent against a**-rapery.

Here's how to get your butt kicked pretty much anywhere:

If you look at that picture quickly, it looks like Mr. Bob "No-pants" Saget has his hand in the other guy's pocket. In this case, he doesn't, although you can tell just by looking at them that it's happened - or if it hasn't happened it will. Oh yes. It will. As soon as he puts down his matching coffee cup.

TG: I'd love to hear what Bob Saget would have to say about this pic!

Here's how to get your butt kicked at the beach:

He looks like he's reaching for a gun, but you know it's probably just a bottle of suntan lotion in a holster.

TG: Lucky for Tom Selleck he didn't grow a mustache!

How to get your butt kicked in a meeting:

If you wear this suit and don't sell used cars for a living, I believe you can be fined and face serious repercussions, up to and including termination. Or imprisonment, in which case you'd be forced to wear that orange jumpsuit.

TG: I think these are knockoffs from "The Ted Baxter Collection!"

How to get your butt kicked on every day up to and including St. Patrick's Day

Dear god in heaven, I don't believe that color exists in nature. There is NO excuse for wearing either of these ensembles unless you're working as a body guard for the Lucky Charms leprechaun.

TG: Or, as the late Paul Lynde might have said, "They're magically delicious! hehehehe..."

In this next one, Your Search For VALUE Ends at Penneys.

As does your search for chest hair.

And this -- Seriously. No words.

Oh wait, it turns out that there are words after all. Those words are What. The. H*** . I'm guessing the snap front gives you quick access to the chest hair. The little tie must be the pull tab.

TG: "This is your captain speaking. We're currently circling Brokeback Mountain..."

Also, judging by the sheer amount of matching his/hers outfits, I'm guessing that in 1977 it was considered pretty stylish for couples to dress alike. These couples look happy, don't they?

I am especially fond of this one, which I have entitled "Cowboy Chachi Loves You Best."

TG: I swear, I've seen all three of these couples together, clapping on Hee-Haw!

And nothing showcases your everlasting love more than the commitment of matching bathing suits. That, and a blonde girl with a look on her face that says "I love the way your junk fights against that fabric."

Then, after the lovin', you can relax in your one-piece matching terry cloth jumpsuits:

I could go on, but I'm tired, and my eyes hurt from this trip back in time. I think it's the colors. That said, I will leave you with these tasteful little numbers:

Man, that's sexy.

TG: Which one is the evil twin?

:)

TG

I thought this was going to be an easy blog, but it's not! First off, I love these books:

They're books produced in Germany, celebrating the 1932 Summer Games, held in Los Angeles, USA, and the 1936 Winter Games, held in Berlin, Germany. They're each over 100 pages, filled with intricate details about results from both games. I really don't know as much as I would like to about them. But they're distinct in at least two aspects: In '32, the games were in LA; in '36, they were in Germany, under a new ruling party!

Here's the opening page of the '32 Olympics Book...

His name was Paul von Hindenburg, a military and political icon who was brought back to power, mostly as a figurehead.

In the 1936 Olympic Book, this was the opening page:

EDIT! At the request of a friend, I've removed the

photo of this page. No problem!

By 1936, Germany had a new ruling party, the National Socialist German Workers' Party, lead by Adolf Hitler That's the guy in the inset photo. At that time, he was kind of like a rock star amongst many people. (NOTE! That last statement has generated some controversy amongst some of my friends. But I'm not taking it out or rephrasing it, because I don't think you should delete or edit blogs midstream. It changes the relevance of what people say in the comments section!) I'm not going to try to interpret history. I'm not qualified.

But I love these books! They have fantastic black and white photography...

And many, many, "colorized" photos. Best way to describe them!

And they're all displayed with an abundance of details and relevant sports stats..

Now for The Rest of the Story, Part One: Almost all of these photos are hand pasted in place! You might can tell from these pics, not sure. I thought they were part of the production process. But no, per the usual, I'm wrong! Someone told me they were "Cigarette Books." Then I noticed this on the credits page:

Seems that a cigarette company made these books, with blank spots for the photos! You had to buy the cigarette packs in order to get the photos to fill the book up! How deliciously devious! :) That's all I know about it to this day. I've tried to research more about these books, but I fall into an historical google mindtrap that I cannot escape!

Oh, Rest of the Story, Part Two: Reason I really love these books... I won them from my older bro in a game of billiards! :)

Thank you for your time. :)

TG

Hello Friends!

There's been some comparisons being bantered about here lately. The one that got my attention most was comparing House and Wilson to Batman and Robin. It's a great comparison, because it's so ridiculous! I've tried to see the analogy, and it's been a stretch, but then I thought:

I don't know, guess I could see it.

:)

TG

Editor's Note: The first half of this Ghost Story is available in the previous blog below. This picks up where the last blog left off. Happy Halloween everybody! :)

And I wasn't going to flee. I don't flee. I might get scared, but I don't flee.

So I lie there through the night, listening to the sounds of this thing in my house. A couple of times the BAMs went three in a row, it woke me up several times. I forced myself to sleep; I tried not to be intimidated. I knew whatever was out there could do nothing to me physically. I've never really believed in that sort of thing, but didn't dismiss it. I've always thought, what could a ghost do to me? Scary, scary, boo boo. Kind of like ufo's. Get real. And I was very tired. I listened and drifted into a deep sleep.

I awoke when the lights came back on. I couldn't believe it. They just came back on in the middle of the nite! All the lights were on. I went back into the living room and the candles were out, to my relief.

I turned to the tv area and a man was sitting in the captain's chair. He was neatly groomed with short, slick, side parted red hair and pock marks in his pale face, like you might get from acute acne. He was perhaps in his late forties. His attire was loud, an open collar yellow dress shirt screaming from beneath a crushed velvet chartreuse smoking jacket.

"What's going on?" I asked, and he told me the power was back on, the whole thing had been a misunderstanding. "Who are you?" I asked, and he said he was the ghost. "I'm leaving now," he said, "but first come over and let me give you something."

As I stepped toward him like a fool, my movements became fluid and the room pastel. I realized it was a dream tried to stop. It was too late. He lifted himself from the chair with an oversized hypodermic needle in his left hand, thrusting it into my midsection, landing it in my ribcage just below my heart. I winced and fell to the floor.

I awoke to the blackness. I normally would have been frustrated by falling into believing a dream like that, but my first sensation was pain. I could still feel the numbing hardness of the needle in my chest. It was real. I couldn't recall ever feeling pain in a dream. Now I was feeling pain from a dream. I lie beneath the blankets, protecting me from the cold. Only the cold.

And I listened. The deafening silence rivaled the blackness of my surroundings. There was a point I actually longed for a banging, a sound, anything. My eyes had given up on seeing anything resembling light, texture. My ears had hope. But nothing.

From my semi-conscious state I drifted back to sleep. My dream took me back to the well lit house. I walked into the living room knowing what to expect, yet curious about what I might find. My suitor awaited in the captain's chair.

"This is not real. This is a dream," I said, and the room began to disintegrate again. "Can't you see?" the ghost asked. "Let me check your eyes!"

As the room melted before me, the ghost moved incredibly quick, pulling a tiny flashlite from his blazer and shining it into my eyes. The light tore through the pastel like a blowtorch, rays kept coming at my eyes like a freight train, till the hard metal of the maglite jammed into my left eyeball, and blackness once again took me. But now the blackness was a friend, an escape from this madness. I woke shaking my head; my eye was aching.

At that point I wasn't awake and I wasn't asleep. The blackness of the room, the silence of the nite, couldn't pull me back into a fully awake state. I lie there trying to logically piece together what was happening, yet I was not at my full faculties. I fell asleep a final time.

Again the house was lit and the living room inviting. I thought it ironic I was beginning to fear light and normalcy. I walked into the living area. Looking to my right, I saw my ghost was no longer in the captain's chair. I looked straight ahead and there he was, leaning against the hallway entrance.

"Hey, I got one of your friends here that wants to say hello." He stepped back, offering the hallway for me to explore. Who did he have there? Then true terror took over. You can do to me what you want, but don't bring anyone else into this. When someone you love is threatened, you are most vulnerable.

I had to end this game now. I shook and shook myself, till I awoke shaking in my bed. I stopped and took in the stillness around me. Yes there was blackness. Yes there was silence. But, finally, there was calm.

"No more" I said under my breath, and with a bit of authority. The pain and dreams stopped. I don't know how long I lay there, contemplating what had happened.

When I finally got out of bed, the sunrise had begun to paint gray across the room. I immediately called Jim, who said he never came over. I went to the candles. They were all new candles, I lit them at the same time and blew them out at the same time.

But it was obvious that one candle had burned down more than the others, a pool of red wax reminding me of things I shouldn't remember. It affirmed that it wasn't all a dream, and a spirit had found me at the dawn of Halloween.

TG

Editor's Note: This is a ghost story. I wrote it several years ago, maybe... 2003? I was living in Taos, New Mexico. I had come home to an empty house on a Monday night. This is kind of longer than your average blog. But I thought I would throw it out there for Halloween! And yes, it's based on a true story! I lived it! :)

I worked late, got home around 7:30. I arrived to a dark house, as Jim (god bless his soul), forgot to pay the electric bill. He had moved in with a girl, and was supposed to be paying utilities at my place at the time. Needless to say, I wasn't happy. Called jim, he apologized, and invited me to come over there to spend the nite.

I was too frustrated and tired. I lit candles in the living room, and was sporting two flashlites in my office. It had been a long day, and I was missing monday nite football. I sat in the dark, smoked a cigarette and drank a beer. The smoke layered in the flashlights' rays. It had been a while since I was truly alone with my thoughts, and I bored myself. By 8, getting cold and out of options, I decided to go to bed. Get a real good nite's sleep.

I took the flashlights into the living room, adjacent to my bedroom, blew the candles out and headed to slumber, flashing my little mag lights against the stark walls. I recalled my enthusiasm as a child, flashlights in the dark were like a mini-fireworks display. They guided me to my slumber and I clicked them off, opening up a new world of sensory perception.

Lying in bed, I couldn't believe how pitch black it was. I held my hands in front of my face, trying to make them out. I couldn't. I normally leave a kitchen lite on, so I can make my way to the toilet if I wake up with a big bladder. This was different. No sight, no sound.

I shuffled the covers till it adequately fought off the cold, kicking till the edges of the blanket covered my toes. I wished I had kept my socks on, or had someone to snuggle with. Overall it was a fascinating emptiness. But I dozed off in about ten minutes, despite my night owl tendencies.

I awoke in the middle of the nite, and the first thing I noticed was light. There was a soft glow coming from the living room. I knew that wasn't right. I grabbed one of my flashlites and headed into the living room. On the dining room table, one of the three candles was lit. I was very disoriented. I flashed the light on the clock on the wall, it was about ten till one. I looked down at the flickering candle and blew it out.

I quickly concluded that Jim had come over to check on how I was doing, He must have lit the candle and forgotten to blow it out. My trusty light saber guided me back to bed.

Lying there, I knew my logic was flawed. What were the odds of him driving twenty miles, seeing me asleep, then leaving with one candle lit?

BAM! BAM! It was at that moment it hit me. Monday was October 30th, and now it was officially Halloween.

Loud banging noises started going off, once every few minutes. Sounded like cupboard drawers opening and closing, doors and books slamming shut. All over the house, the sounds were both close and far away. I lay there trying to decide whether to investigate, remain lying in bed, or flee. I decided I didn't want to go out there with just my flashlite. It was real cold, and this happened too suddenly; it wasn't natural. A little voice said 'don't go there.'

And I wasn't going to flee. I don't flee. I might get scared, but I don't flee.

Note: I couldn't post the whole story in one blog, so I'll try to finish it up Halloween night. Sorry, don't now why. I tried, but wouldn't let me post the whole thing!

TG