SUNDAY, JUNE 14, 2009
DOCTOR WHO?
A True Story by Izzy Sommers, MD
About ten years ago, here in Welland, I started writing letters to the editor. Most of them were certainly pet peeves but some of them were complimentary to the city fathers regarding their sprucing up of the city and making it safer. After perhaps 10 letters published in as many weeks, including a Longfellow type, 50 line poem about a Sunday walk in one of our parks one Sunday morning, some of my acquaintances in town started calling me Joseph. They were somewhat disbelieving when I said, “No, my real name is Izzy, really.”
After about a year of this, I noticed that a frequent letter writer to the editor in the Welland Tribune was Joseph Somers. Joseph called me one morning and laughed. “I think I’m getting blamed for what you wrote and I’m sure you’re getting blamed for what I wrote.” Joseph and I have become good email friends in the meantime. About 3 years ago, I was getting little response from my letters and mentioned this to Joseph. He was very complimentary about my ideas and writing, and said it would be a great loss to him and the community, if I stopped. I still get little response except from Joseph, but now I also get little or no response from The Washington Post, The New York Times, the International Herald Tribune, the Toronto Sun and the Toronto Globe and Mail, as well. It’s actually a lot of fun.
One of the reporters for the Washington Post did send me an email in response to some comments about Obama. It simply said, “well said!” It made my day, my week and my whole career as a letter writer. The most fun is the open Question and Answer forum on Canadian Yahoo! The feedback is often instantaneous and very funny. I have the unreasonable distinction of having had about 60 letters published in the Welland Tribune, over a hundred posts on Yahoo’s Q&A service and over a hundred letters posted in various electronic newspaper services, especially the Washington Post, which makes it most convenient to post one’s comments directly under the articles of the reporters, some of whom are very well known, like George Will and Armin Specter. I even have a published letter about zebras in the Canadian Reader’s Digest.
THE END
© Izzy Sommers, MD, retired, Welland, Canada, June 13, 2009
Labels: TRUE STORY
Nicotine Revisited
Dear Lyndsey Layton,
Thank you for your excellent reporting of this controversial subject.
I believe the push to stop folks from using tobacco, a source of nicotine, is like getting them to throw the baby out with the bath water. Nicotine, like caffeine, morphine and alcohol, have been used for centuries by entire civilizations to reduce stress and perform ceremonies. Nicotinic acid is a naturally occuring substance that comes from plants and is accepted by the brain and nervous system in a healthy, normal, physiological system. There are receptor sites, with which we are born that accept it in a kind of biological receptor site wherein the nicotine locks into the cell membrane and induces the cells to produce biologic substances which stimulate brain cell growth and brain cell function. The North American Aboriginals used the "Peace Pipe" to make discussions of conflicts and histories more acceptable to theparticipants, mainly within the elderly population. The medical community used nicotinic acid in the form of pills and elixirs to treat stroke victims with success in the early 20th century. Studies show that folks that use tobacco products have more brain pathways and play Euchre better that those that don't. The same is true of caffeine product users. In a nursing home, the elderly folks that smoke and drink coffee tea or chocolate, do crosswords better than those that don't. Cigar and pipe smokers live two years longer than those that don't, and so on. It seems to me the problem with cigarettes is their adulteration with nicotine and other substances and the use of cigarette paper which burns with the tobacco and produces toxins like carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide. It is conceivable that cigarettes with unadulterated tobacco, wrapped in tobacco leaves, would be completely harmless and would provide the benefits of a natural, positive psychoactive substance. If cigarette manufacturers are not allowed to poison us with commercially driven additives, including the paper, then all would be honky-dory.
There is not enough space in the world of electronic newspapers to cover the wide spectrum of problems introduced by profit driven manufacturers who have no moral inhibition to make products that are untested and dangerous. I will only give as an example that before antihistamines were sold, no child ever died of asthma. In the past few years, the warnings for use in asthmatic children and adults have finally been heralded. I daresay that many more lives would be saved if strong alcohol, for which the brain has no receptor sites, would be banned, rather than cigars and pipes. Untold numbers of deaths are due to alcohol abuse with a resultant high cost to everyone else. Banning hand guns and gasoline engine cars would save more lives. Banning nuclear bomb manufacturing would save us from annihilation. Bringing back good beer and good wine, steam cars and hand to hand combat would be a blessing.
Thank you in advance for allowing me to post these humble comments right underneath your fine article.
Sincerely,
Izzy Sommers, MD, retired,
Welland, Canada
6/13/2009 8:39:09 AM
North Korea Says
washingtonpost.com > World > Special Reports > North Korea
www.washingtonpost.com
TODAY'S NEWSPAPER
Your Comments On
North Korea Says It Will Start Enriching Uranium
TOKYO, June 13 -- North Korea adamantly denied for seven years that it had a program for making nuclear weapons from enriched uranium.
-
By Blaine Harden [USA and Stella Kim, Korea]
COMMENTS:
canadizzy wrote:
Dear Mr. Harden and Ms. Kim,
Hasn't anyone considered the great “solution” to the "problem" with North Korea, reunification of Korea. Like the split of Germany during the Cold War between USSR and USA and their respective allies, the split of North and South Korea has had little advantage in terms of progress of North Korea. Commercially, it seems to me, the South Koreans have been far more successful in world trade and politics than the North Koreans. I would never have believed how resistant the East German folks were to reunification, but then again, I'm sure I was not privy to all the information. And, I’m sure that my view of which is more successful is slanted by the political milieu in which I live. What I did know was that there were many Germans in the neutral country of Switzerland in 1968 that were politicking for reunification. Is there a movement for reunification for the Koreans? It would not be simple or uncomplicated. It would be hard work, internally and internationally. It would, it seems to me, to be the ultimate solution to the problems of Korea, both North and South. Certainly it would be better than annihilation. The "areas" of interest for the Russians and the Americans would best be dissolved, I believe, so that unreasonable leaders in one area are handled internally rather than by the people of the world at large. It makes sense to me. I'm not sure why it doesn't make sense to everyone else, on both sides. I’m willing to consider that I don’t know the feelings of the Koreans themselves..
Thank you in advance for this article and for allowing me to post my comments directly under yours. Canada and the USA split at the time of the American Revolution. The conflict with the English and their colonies was over taxes and land ownership, I believe. The continued problems between the USA and Canada still continue under the recent NAFTA provisions. Border crossings and trans-border trade are presently getting tougher, rather than better, but overall, the relationships between Canada and the USA have allowed both to flourish fairly well. Certainly the same can be said for the artificially divided East and West Germany and North and South Vietnam. Korea needs to be a united, successful country, as all countries do, solving its own problems with it's own cultures and its own language. The North and South Koreans would re-unite their families and work together for commercial success, better golfers, inner and outer peace and prevention of annihilation, I believe. This would allow the East and West to be more co-operative and help them out rather than remain antagonistic.
Sincerely,
Izzy Sommers, MD, retired, Welland, Canada.
6/14/2009 4:31:25 AM
Ahmadinejad Vows
TEHRAN, June 13 -- President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad declared a "new beginning" for Iran late Saturday after he was declared victor in the presidential election, but as he spoke on national television violent demonstrations rolled through several areas of Tehran. Supporters of defeated candidate Mir...
By Thomas Erdbrink
THE WASHINGTON POST
TODAY'S NEWSPAPER
washingtonpost.com > World > Middle East > Iran
OPINION:
canadizzy wrote:
Now, this is what free elections are all about! Americans and Canadians should take note of the passions that can be fired by really good choices at election time. We could learn something of what enthusiastic elections and candidates could engender. This is "hot" stuff and gets everyone involved in the running of his own country. Of course, now they have to learn to run their own country and not try to run the countries of other folks... Thanks for listening.
6/14/2009 4:47:48 AM
THURSDAY, JUNE 11, 2009
The Chambermaid of Elsinore
Methinks the governor of Elsinore
Adored the chambermaid from Corridor
Who loved the Spanish born Conquistador
Who yearned for Isidore, the Matador.
Suffice to say, one moonlit night of love,
The super novas, brightly from above
Shone for a busy Izzy’s turtle dove
When Ellsinore’s maid made a little shove.
The maid, whose name, Penelope entranced
The Governor who did a whirling dance,
Removing all his clothes when Penny pranced
With her Conquistador in Paris, France.
The maid was made by every man who dared
To pay high homage to the scared old Laird.
THE END
© Izzy Sommers, MD
Welland, Canada
June 2, 2009
Labels: COPY A POEM FOR YOUR ASSIGNMENT
Letter to The Washington Post re Palin
Dear Ms. Parker,
I'm not an American with a vote but I would vote for Palin without hesitation and without reservation. She’s fresh and painfully honest about her inability to toe the line and learn the language. She has her own language and her own agenda. She is unaffected by the likes of Cheney, Gingrich and McCain, who have the demonstrated power to blackball her.. If one of her Republican commanders would have recognized the value of a Palin to them, they would have smiled benignly and laughed along with everyone else including a tremendous crowd of fans that she accumulated. I judge her to be a stranger in the Promised Land, a Type B personality amongst a lot of Type capital A's and a master of being down to Earth. She speaks the language of the people and has shunned political rhetoric in favour of street, American English. The comedians of SNL recognized her value to their show and ran with it.
There's no doubt in my mind that she is a master at getting sympathy and votes from hard working, tax burdened citizens, a group not often touched by Republicans. As you said, she rivaled Obama for air time and newspaper space and fund raising and no wonder. Her attitude and aptitude attracts the common man and striving to be independent woman, not the bankers, administrators, brokers or insurers making all those bucks and hoarding all that gold. All McCain would have had to do was to lose his school teaching, fathering, preaching and moralizing attitude toward her and sat back and won the presidency. That's what I said last year and I'm saying it this year. Let her be and she'll win against Obama, easily. Try and make her into a Republican animal and she'll balk and refuse to participate. The Republicans would do well to get in line behind her instead of standing in front of her, impeding her successes and putting her in a protective pen.. At present, the old boys club of Republicans are going to be annihilated unless they see the writing on the wall. A fatherly, priestly, moralizing leader is not what the Americans require today. They need a free spirit and an honest, plain-talking one to lead them to the Promised Land and to a fulfillment of the American Dream for everyone.
Sarah Palin has the first historic Republican groundswell of admiring Americans for her spunk and honest values. She could win it all with very little help from her fellow Republicans. She’s not as smart as Thomas Jefferson, JFK or Bill Clinton, but she has the stuff of which Ben Franklin and Jimmy Carter was made and she seems to have more fun.
Thank you for listening and thank you for allowing me to post my comments directly under yours. Your reporting was excellent and I appreciate your candid observations. Best personal regards.
Sincerely,
Izzy Sommers, MD, retired, Welland, Canada.
6/10/2009 2:39:35 PM
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Half-Baked Alaska
Sarah Palin still isn't ready for the Big Game Hunt of national politics.
-
By Kathleen Parker
FRIDAY, MAY 29, 2009
AN EIGHT-HANDED MAN
A Sonnette
By Izzy Sommers, MD
I met a man from Western Inner Bands
Who demonstrated that he held eight hands
Which represented East, West, North and South
In Duplicate, last year, by word of mouth,
Which won for him and Genevieve the prize
Of Twenty thousand Deutsch Marks and some Gold
Left over from the World War II from bold
And schizophrenic egomaniacs.
Perhaps, the egomaniacs have had
Their traumas and anxieties, expressed
Their anger at some scapegoats and some aliens
As part of xenophobia and social
Phobias, when covered up, are deadly
If their power is not curbed by TRUTH.
The End
© Izzy Sommers, MD
Welland, Canada
May 29, 2009
Labels: COPY A POEM FOR YOUR ASSIGNMENT
ANOTHER MISUNDERSTOOD BERGMAN
Danish 'Antichrist' provides Cannes' annual scandal
• Sun May 24, 9:58 PM
CANNES, France (AFP) - Cannes nearly always has its scandal and this year it came in the form of a Danish "Antichrist" that provoked such a storm its director promised a cleaner "Catholic" version for US audiences.
FOR mr. HARDEN OF THE washingtonpost.com
Thank you for your article on the latest fiasco from North Korea. I believe it is just such an article that was expected and "planned" by the North Koreans, who are in the midst of a leadership struggle and an international scandal. Publicizing this as an atrocity, only fires the fuel of the bullies in North Korea who seek control, internal and external. They have successfully scared us and their own people to provoke a certain kind of voting behaviour and a certain kind of diplomatic ado. It's the world wide and nation wide propaganda they seek to get re-elected and show the country and themselves that they have the power and deserve to be voted in, again.
I suggest, perhaps naively, that the world stop seeing their activities as dangerous. The only people who will be truly harmed are the common North Korean folks who have as much of a distaste for a leader who threatens annihilation as we do. Give the space and the rope to destroy themselves without harm to the populaces of the world and their own populace. Turn off the satellite surveillances. Pay no attention to their propagandas. Continue to take the high road: offer help until they smarten up and see that threatening death will get them nowhere! Turn the other cheek. Forgive thine enemies as they will eventually forgive you. Offer love and forgiveness, not anger and fear. See if, eventually, they will do the same.
Share a bowl of chicken soup and some great lo mien with them. Let the sensible common folks say hi across the backyard fence and share a BBQ hamburger or kabob with them. They are people. We are people. We want to feed our families and have a satisfying job which has a reasonable wage. We want to worship our deities in peace and without interference. Amen.
Thank you for letting me post these comments right after your excellent article, on the extremely convenient website, www.washingtonpost.com.
Sincerely,
Izzy Sommers, MD, retired, Welland, Canada.
canadizzy wrote:
Dear Mr. Harden,
Thank you for your article on the latest fiasco from North Korea. I believe it is just such an article that was expected and "planned" by the North Koreans, who are in the midst of a leadership struggle and an international scandal. Publicizing this as an atrocity, only fires the fuel of the bullies in North Korea who seek control, internal and external. They have successfully scared us and their own people to provoke a certain kind of voting behaviour and a certain kind of diplomatic ado. It's the world wide and nation wide propaganda they seek to get re-elected and show the country and themselves that they have the power and deserve to be voted in, again.
I suggest, perhaps naively, that the world stop seeing their activities as dangerous. The only people who will be truly harmed are the common North Korean folks who have as much of a distaste for a leader who threatens annihilation as we do. Give the space and the rope to destroy themselves without harm to the populaces of the world and their own populace. Turn off the satellite surveillances. Pay no attention to their propagandas. Continue to take the high road: offer help until they smarten up and see that threatening death will get them nowhere! Turn the other cheek. Forgive thine enemies as they will eventually forgive you. Offer love and forgiveness, not anger and fear. See if, eventually, they will do the same.
Share a bowl of chicken soup and some great lo mien with them. Let the sensible common folks say hi across the backyard fence and share a BBQ hamburger or kabob with them. They are people. We are people. We want to feed our families and have a satisfying job which has a reasonable wage. We want to worship our deities in peace and without interference. Amen.
Thank you for letting me post these comments right after your excellent article, on the extremely convenient website, www.washingtonpost.com.
Sincerely,
Izzy Sommers, MD, retired, Welland, Canada.
5/26/2009 7:05:07 AM
TODAY'S NEWSPAPER
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Your Comments On...
North Korean Nuclear Blast Draws Global Condemnation
TOKYO, May 27 -- North Korea's detonation of a nuclear device Monday appears not to have been a significant technical advance over its first underground test three years ago. But it has triggered a swifter, stronger and more uniform wave of international condemnation, most notably from the isola...
BANKING REGULATION THESE DAYS
Canada's banks are under central control and private banks are few, but include several participating local depositories called "trust" banks, with local and international branches which sell stock to their depositors and are allowed to supply checks and debit cards. The Bank of Canada, a Federal agency, is equivalent to the USA's Federal Reserve and regulates the interest rates as it loans money to the other big banks and their local and international branches, namely, The Bank of Nova Scotia, the Royal Bank of Canada, The Bank of Montreal, The National Bank and the Canadian Bank of Commerce. The present lending rate from the Bank of Canada is under 1% and the equivalent of the USA’s CD’s, earn less than 3% at this time, even with a 5 year commitment.
This system did not prevent the near collapse of these major banks and trust companies for the same reasons as in the USA: fear of unpaid loans and mortgages, despite lowering of interest rates, close to zero. Ironically, almost all fees and interest rates have risen sharply for credit cards and other services making Canadians loath to use their credit cards and the bank services as they are being nickel and dime’d to death with exorbitant credit card interest, some over 20%, and fees for simple services which used to be free, like checking accounts. Bank interest for savings has fallen to about 1% making Canadians unwilling to bank their money, altogether.
Therefore, Federal regulations have the made the banks "unfriendly" to citizens. Thus, the idea of a central, single agency for regulation is not the answer to banking woes, I believe. It seems to me that simple competition is the answer. Allowing banks to raise their rewards for saving and lower their fees for borrowing, would make one bank more attractive than the next, rather than having all banks with approximately the same fees and interest. A bank after all makes money by lending and issuing mortgages, etc. At this time, it is unattractive to get mortgage loans and business loans and the banks are restrictive rather than friendly, reducing overall the money supply and availability for homes and businesses.
Most large banks were exultant several years ago, reporting obscene profits of over 2 billion for their executives and shareholders. With the recent crunch, they whined when their profits dropped to 1 billion. They stopped lending money, raising their already unfriendly interests for credit and fees for services. I believe that mattresses, once again, became a safer place to keep ones hard earned cash. Buying small or big ticket items became uncommon, dropping the economic confidence for manufacturers and services.
This overview may be inaccurate and naive, but that's the way it looks to me as a retiree, in Canada. I'm not sure what the solutions are, but bailouts for banks and their executives seem counterproductive and only solidifies unfavourable banking services. Allowing them to go bankrupt may be a wake-up call for all banks who will have to be more friendly to their customers and not nickel and dime them out of the marbled bank lobbies, which remind one of churches and temples. The local trust companies draw more customers because they appear to be more co-operative, more sharing and more understanding of the needs of the citizens. I feel the days of the evil banker foreclosing the mortgage on the unfortunate citizen, with a frown on the citizen's face and a grin on the banker's face, are over, or should be.
Perhaps both the citizens and the banks have had their wake-up calls regarding loans and credit. Perhaps "consumerism" is no longer an acceptable attitude for both entrepreneurs or citizens. All of us need reasonable housing, transportation, food, clothing, toys, education, health care, dental care and welfare. All of us need to make a reasonable income at a satisfying job where we can participate in decisions for manufacturing and services. Unreasonable salaries and banking practices are counterproductive and destructive to the American/Canadian Dream. The bubble has burst in 2008-9 as it did in the 1930's. Enron, Lehman Brothers and Martha Stuart got their comeuppance early. The rest of us are getting ours now.
A central agency without insight and respect for the hard working, tax-burdened citizen trying to support a family in a healthy, optimistic atmosphere, would be useless, and even worse than useless, as it would tend to maintain the status quo. A little competition and a fiat against "price fixing" of interest rates and fees, might help.
Thanks in advance for allowing me to post these comments below your article at www.washingtonpost.com.
Sincerely,
Izzy Sommers, MD (ret.) Welland, Canada
canadizzy wrote:
Dear reporters and writers of the excellent article on banking regulation in today’s Washington Post:
Canada's banks are under central control and private banks are few, but include several participating local depositories called "trust" banks, with local and international branches which sell stock to their depositors and are allowed to supply checks and debit cards. The Bank of Canada, a Federal agency, is equivalent to the USA's Federal Reserve and regulates the interest rates as it loans money to the other big banks and their local and international branches, namely, The Bank of Nova Scotia, the Royal Bank of Canada, The Bank of Montreal, The National Bank and the Canadian Bank of Commerce. The present lending rate from the Bank of Canada is under 1% and the equivalent of the USA’s CD’s, earn less than 3% at this time, even with a 5 year commitment.
This system did not prevent the near collapse of these major banks and trust companies for the same reasons as in the USA: fear of unpaid loans and mortgages, despite lowering of interest rates, close to zero. Ironically, almost all fees and interest rates have risen sharply for credit cards and other services making Canadians loath to use their credit cards and the bank services as they are being nickel and dime’d to death with exorbitant credit card interest, some over 20%, and fees for simple services which used to be free, like checking accounts. Bank interest for savings has fallen to about 1% making Canadians unwilling to bank their money, altogether.
Therefore, Federal regulations have the made the banks "unfriendly" to citizens. Thus, the idea of a central, single agency for regulation is not the answer to banking woes, I believe. It seems to me that simple competition is the answer. Allowing banks to raise their rewards for saving and lower their fees for borrowing, would make one bank more attractive than the next, rather than having all banks with approximately the same fees and interest. A bank after all makes money by lending and issuing mortgages, etc. At this time, it is unattractive to get mortgage loans and business loans and the banks are restrictive rather than friendly, reducing overall the money supply and availability for homes and businesses.
Most large banks were exultant several years ago, reporting obscene profits of over 2 billion for their executives and shareholders. With the recent crunch, they whined when their profits dropped to 1 billion. They stopped lending money, raising their already unfriendly interests for credit and fees for services. I believe that mattresses, once again, became a safer place to keep ones hard earned cash. Buying small or big ticket items became uncommon, dropping the economic confidence for manufacturers and services.
This overview may be inaccurate and naive, but that's the way it looks to me as a retiree, in Canada. I'm not sure what the solutions are, but bailouts for banks and their executives seem counterproductive and only solidifies unfavourable banking services. Allowing them to go bankrupt may be a wake-up call for all banks who will have to be more friendly to their customers and not nickel and dime them out of the marbled bank lobbies, which remind one of churches and temples. The local trust companies draw more customers because they appear to be more co-operative, more sharing and more understanding of the needs of the citizens. I feel the days of the evil banker foreclosing the mortgage on the unfortunate citizen, with a frown on the citizen's face and a grin on the banker's face, are over, or should be.
Perhaps both the citizens and the banks have had their wake-up calls regarding loans and credit. Perhaps "consumerism" is no longer an acceptable attitude for both entrepreneurs or citizens. All of us need reasonable housing, transportation, food, clothing, toys, education, health care, dental care and welfare. All of us need to make a reasonable income at a satisfying job where we can participate in decisions for manufacturing and services. Unreasonable salaries and banking practices are counterproductive and destructive to the American/Canadian Dream. The bubble has burst in 2008-9 as it did in the 1930's. Enron, Lehman Brothers and Martha Stuart got their comeuppance early. The rest of us are getting ours now.
A central agency without insight and respect for the hard working, tax-burdened citizen trying to support a family in a healthy, optimistic atmosphere, would be useless, and even worse than useless, as it would tend to maintain the status quo. A little competition and a fiat against "price fixing" of interest rates and fees, might help.
Thanks in advance for allowing me to post these comments below your article at www.washingtonpost.com.
Sincerely,
Izzy Sommers, MD, (retired,) Welland, Canada
5/28/2009 7:10:50 AM
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U.S. Weighs Single Agency to Regulate Banking Industry
Senior administration officials are considering the creation of a single agency to regulate the banking industry, replacing a patchwork of agencies that failed to prevent banks from falling into the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression, sources said.
-
By Binyamin Appelbaum and Zachary A. Goldfarb
FOR DAVID IGNATIUS, WASHINGTON POST
Thank you for reporting your interview with Bernanke, the brave steward of the Fed. We all thought that Alan Greenspan, once a disciple of Ayn Rand and her principles of Logical Positivism, was the best. Now it looks like Bernanke has been up to the job. His view of history and the psychology of investors and investment are outstanding. His ability to adapt to rapidly changing conditions and challenges is outstanding. His logic and morality seem to be unquestioned.
I vote a resounding "Yes!" to Bernanke’s having another term at the post of Fed Chair. I think Obama would be ill advised to replace him, unless of course, Bernanke requests some peace and quiet for a year or two. Should he desire to be in the midst of the action, then he should be given the chance to show his stuff, again. If he burns out or makes a serious misjudgment, which seems unlikely, then it would be time to replace him. Perhaps Summers or even Greenspan, or both, could be hired to work with him and support his analyses and decisions. A shared responsibility might be stronger than just one man at the helm. A little more openness in the decision-making processes might also be re-assuring for the rest of us.
Thank you in advance for listening and allowing me to post my comments right below yours at www.washingtonpost.com. Congratulations on an excellent interview and an insightful report.
Sincerely,
Izzy Sommers, MD, retired, Welland, Canada
canadizzy wrote:
Dear Mr. Ignatius:
Thank you for reporting your interview with Bernanke, the brave steward of the Fed. We all thought that Alan Greenspan, once a disciple of Ayn Rand and her principles of Logical Positivism, was the best. Now it looks like Bernanke has been up to the job. His view of history and the psychology of investors and investment are outstanding. His ability to adapt to rapidly changing conditions and challenges is outstanding. His logic and morality seem to be unquestioned.
I vote a resounding "Yes!" to Bernanke’s having another term at the post of Fed Chair. I think Obama would be ill advised to replace him, unless of course, Bernanke requests some peace and quiet for a year or two. Should he desire to be in the midst of the action, then he should be given the chance to show his stuff, again. If he burns out or makes a serious misjudgment, which seems unlikely, then it would be time to replace him. Perhaps Summers or even Greenspan, or both, could be hired to work with him and support his analyses and decisions. A shared responsibility might be stronger than just one man at the helm. A little more openness in the decision-making processes might also be re-assuring for the rest of us.
Thank you in advance for listening and allowing me to post my comments right below yours at www.washingtonpost.com. Congratulations on an excellent interview and an insightful report.
Sincerely,
Izzy Sommers, MD, retired, Welland, Canada
5/28/2009 4:03:51 PM
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Quiet Tiger at the Fed
Will the president stick with Ben Bernanke, quiet hero of the financial crisis?
-
By David Ignatius
SAMANTHA REVISITED
A Silly Sonnette by Izzy Sommers, MD
Samantha had a crush on Jonathan,
While Jonathan desired Persephone
And she was in the clouds for Jennifer
Who would have climbed a mount for Michael John.
While Mikey had a thing for Marilyn,
Who sang the praises for her Cantonese
Pool cleaner, Ken Xi Chen, ‘twas Chen who had
A yen for Mimi, Salamander’s maid,
A lovely lass who took a class in bass
To get a little closer to the fast
And handsome, Peter Herbert Demitasse,
The leader of the trumpet band in Bonn.
Samantha settled for the metaphor
Which goes around becomes a matador.
THE END
© Izzy Sommers, MD
Welland, Canada
May 28, 2009
A KIND WORD
A Silly Sonnette
By Izzy Sommers, MD
I wrote some letters to the editors
And then I wrote a hundred more, but
Never did I see responses or get feedback,
‘Til today! The email said, “well said.”
Oh joy and happiness! Of letters that
I’d sent, I never knew if they were read
Or liked or totally ignored. Today,
I feel a million bucks! Oh thank you! Thank
You Mr. David (Sir) Ignatius.
You’ve made my day, my week, my month, my year,
My life! Perhaps at one and seventy
There’s very little function for the satisfaction
That I yearn, except for just
A word or two of kindness, praise or lust.
THE END
© Izzy Sommers, MD
Welland, Canada
May 28, 2009
WEDNESDAY, MAY 27, 2009
The Garden of Eden
A Poem in Iambic Pentametre
In Aboriginal Circular Thinking
By Izzy Sommers, MD
Instead of turning ‘round, Penelope
Continued walking in her bathing suit
Toward the beach she knew to be behind
Abandoned cottages on Lake Pierre,
Ontario, once held by Mississauga
Aboriginals before the Europeans
Swept the USA and Canada
Obsessively-compulsively,
Just like the Spaniards and the Portuguese
Cleaned Mexico and south to Argentina,
Chile and Brazil, while hardly integrating
Or assimilating cultures
Far superior to theirs in terms
Of happiness and inner peace, the masonry
And architecture, agriculture
And the happiness of families with
Great art and sculpture with a moral ethic
Aimed at worshipping, respecting and
Preserving nature and each other, eh?
Just few could see the inspiration and
The way that aboriginals survive,
Enjoy their families and stay alive.
Penelope met Quidashay and jived
The way the aboriginals contrived
To sing and dance the night away, today.
Tomorrow they will greet the sun and play
And propagate like animals, they say,
As natural as God would have his way.
The End and the Beginning
© Izzy Sommers, MD
Welland, Canada
May 27, 2009
Or Anytime and Place
Labels: COPY A POEM FOR YOUR ASSIGNMENT
FRIDAY, MAY 15, 2009
Penny and the Arc
A Silly Sonnette
By Izzy Sommers, MD
Because of elephants in cherry trees,
Penelope designed an elephant
For hanging up on all her walls, instead
Of pictures of her movie stars of yore.
In years to come, photographers who took
Her portrait to the public in her skimpy
Bathing suits, observed that more and more
She sought the company of elephants
And silverbacks instead of bachelors.
Suffice to say when she announced her thoughts
To have an elephant and silverback
Aboard her yacht, they quickly guessed that she
Preferred the manly type with tusks and lumps
That emulated camels with two humps.
THE END
© Izzy Sommers, MD
Welland, Canada
May 14, 2009
Labels: silly sonnette
THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2009
Maybe, my friend, maybe there is a God...
Thank you for the update and the inside information. The machinations of ill-advised, vested interest folks are fascinating and often underhanded and deadly. Bottom-line politics sucks! Caring for the citizens seems to go by the wayside. Compassion, love and forgiveness is needed, desperately! Where is the Holy Ghost when he is most needed? Don't folks know that it's harder to get a rich man into heaven than it is to thread a Model T Ford through the eye of a needle? Are we to abandon the health and welfare of the folks in this area for a paltry few dollars?
God Bless you, my friend. Your vigilance is outstanding. Your ferreting out of uncaring folks is perspicacious. I hope someone is listening to you and your fellow crusaders for Truth and Charity. May you all have good health and perserverance, despite what the self-centred idiots are trying to do. We're all in this life and bailywick together. The least we can do for our fellow man is share the load, not letting the impoverished and hungry fall through the cracks made by some misdirected rotten apples who are hoarding all the gold, frankincense and myrrh for themselves.
Take care of yourself, my friend. It looks like you'll need a heap of energy to stay on watch.
Sincerely,
Izzy.
(C) Izzy Sommers, MD
Welland, Canada
April 14, 2009
Labels: economics
The McPherson Story
What surprised most men is that she was a genius and a super athlete and had the credentials to back it up. Jennifer had been a champion of intercollegiate tennis and skiing. She had been enrolled at the University of Chicago Schools for gifted children, as the youngest in her classes. Mathematics, Physics and English were her majors as she achieved a Ph.D. in English at the tender age of twenty-eight. She took a year of Law School, at the University’s School of Law; she dropped out to get married to a man much less gifted than she. The marriage became boring to her after she bore him three girls, all looking, acting and operating like their mother. Michael O’Brian, her husband, was simply overwhelmed by his four intelligent, athletic beauties. She decided to teach English at a college in Hinsdale, a wealthy suburb, about twenty-five miles southwest of the centre of Chicago. It was near La Grange Park, where the O’Brians had a moderately large home and the daughters attended public schools. Michael became a manager at the GM factory in nearby Lyons, a 10 minute drive from their home. His salaries and bonuses were substantial. Jennifer drove a black Jaguar XKE. Michael drove a Ford Country Squire station wagon which easily accommodated the entire family of five, plus two Yorkshire Terriers and a Chinese Tabby.
Jennifer had her own money, her wealthy parents having left her millions when they died. Jennifer was the youngest of four wealthy sisters. Jennifer seems to have cornered the market on beauty, brains and athleticism amongst her siblings. Her mother and father, grandparents, aunts and uncles were brainy and athletic. Some had owned companies. Others had played professional sports. Virtually all were CEO’s, doctors, lawyers, dentists and physiotherapists.
Jennifer left her husband and moved into a large house in Western Springs, adjacent to Hinsdale. The two oldest daughters, and the Tabby, stayed with their dad by mutual agreement. The two dogs and the youngest daughter, Sophia, moved with Jennifer. Sophia entered the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana, about a two hour drive south from Chicago. Her talents were much like her mother’s; she was one of the youngest women to ever achieve her Ph.D. in Psychology at that institution. She took a very lucrative job offer in industrial psychology at the IBM research centre in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She met and married a computer nerd there, had three boys and settled down peacefully and satisfyingly, in one of the grand old houses in St. Paul, Minnesota, the twin city of Minneapolis, on the Mississippi River steep, cliff-like banks.
Jennifer’s job was with Hinsdale Community College, a branch of the University of Chicago system, teaching English to serious students of English who would go on to professorships. Jennifer became an assistant professor of English and second in command in the department. Within five years she achieved tenure and was made the Head of the Department. The next year, she was asked to take over the Department Chair at the main campus of the University of Chicago, in the Hyde Park area, near the Midway, a rebuilding, resurgent part of the South Side.
Dr. Jennifer Anne McPherson was a popular teacher and drew many students to enroll in her classes. She wrote several papers on Medieval English. On her University supported Sabbatical, she moved to London, England, for two years. Her research on Medieval English, Shakespeare, Queen Elizabeth, the Protestant Bible and the White Witches resulted in hundreds of popular papers and four text books. She wrote some fiction and poetry. Two of these became best sellers; this added substantially to her income. The books were titled, “Queen Elizabeth’s Secret Love,” and “The White Witch of Wickenham.” Both books were steamy romances, liberally sprinkled with poetry and heavily invested in real history and geography. Her down-to-earth writing style was given high marks by the literary critics. She was on the short list for many prestigious prizes.
In contrast, her reality was nothing like the stories she wrote about wild men and women and equally wild romances and adventures. Her main characters were consistently very smart and very attractive, very athletic and very wise. The men and women that knew Jennifer well saw her as conservative and aloof, shy and independent and, of course, brainy and physically active. She continued to play tennis at local tennis clubs and ski at famous European and American ski resorts. Though men flocked to her at pubs in London and bars in America, she always went home alone, as far as one could tell. She still boasted that she could bed a number of men, anytime and anyplace. She was always quick to add that no one intrigued her enough to make her bed messy and wet, as she put it.
Jennifer was plagued by two kinds of rumours that followed her everywhere. One was that she was a lesbian and had a secret lover that visited her at night. The other was that she had a married boyfriend that kept out of sight for obvious reasons. Certainly these rumours proved to be true about many other women with whom she worked and played.
Samantha Leah Weiss, a Jewish Professor of English at the University of Chicago, in Jennifer’s department as the Assistant Chairperson, was Jennifer’s best friend. She was a dazzling looking redhead who did bed most of her men, singly and in pairs. At bars and pubs, the two of them drew large numbers of admirers. Sam went home with one or two of them, most of the time. Sometimes, Sam went home with Jennifer and spent the night talking, drinking, dancing, cuddling and sleeping. Everyone was sure that they were lovers, but they knew the truth. They were just good friends who sometimes had some good, old-fashioned pajama parties. They had met casually in the gifted programme and had enjoyed many athletic and social activities together through the years. Samantha never married. They had arranged to take their academic sabbaticals at the same time and place, sharing a small, two bedroom flat in London.
“I really don’t like sex,” said Jennifer one night. “It’s messy and unpredictable. I can get as much pleasure as I want when I diddle myself.” Jennifer was in a silk, sexy black teddy which revealed her entire body, provocatively.
Samantha was dressed in a silk nightgown which revealed her lovely contours. Like Jennifer’s, her long hair tumbled on her bare shoulders. “I love it Jennifer. The whole gymnastic act of making love and feeling great is unequaled by anything I can do for myself.”
Jennifer arose gracefully from the couch on which they were both sitting and listening to Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto, Number three. She went to her bedroom and retrieved her prize. It was a rubber monk in a hood which vibrated. From the back it looked an erect phallus; from the front, it looked like a monk wearing a hooded robe. It had the outlines of a rope belt and a large cross handing from the belt. It had a soft light and it vibrated, there being a D cell battery inside. “It can’t be any better than this!” declared Jennifer. “Wait a second and I’ll demonstrate.” Jennifer went to her bathroom and retrieved a large beige fluffy bath towel. She put it down on the seat of the couch and sat on it after hiking up her teddy to be bare from the waist down.
Dear Reader, If graphic sexual writing disturbs you, please skip this next paragraph. I feel that it sets the mood for the scene I’m describing, but I know it is very disturbing to some people. Frankly, I put it in to round out Jennifer’s real personality.
She spread her legs and stimulated herself with her finger first. “I’m moist and ready for pleasure. Watch closely.” Jennifer lay back against the couch and lifted her hips to accept the monk’s head into her vagina. Her upper and lower lips parted as she slowly pushed the monk into herself, up the hilt. Only the closed lid of the battery receptacle could be seen. She closed her eyes and started moaning. Within seconds, she grunted and gasped. She lay back and relaxed. “See,” she said. “Neat and clean and exciting. No fuss, no muss and no man’s ego to deal with.”
Samantha smiled as Jennifer handled the towel gingerly and took it to the clothes hamper in the bathroom. She cleaned herself with a soapy washcloth, rinsed everything with water and toweled off.
Samantha asked, “May I?”
“Of course,” said Jennifer. She readjusted her teddy to cover up. Then she carefully washed with soap the little monk and dried it thoroughly. “Here,” she said as she handed it to Sam with a fresh towel.
Dear Reader: Sorry. The next paragraph is steamy.
Sam sat on her towel. She’d dropped her nightgown in a heap and was completely naked. She lay back and thrust the vibrating, lit up monk inside of her, burying it completely. Then she stretched and clamped her legs and buttocks, tightly. Then she arched her back and closed her eyes. Within seconds, she screamed and writhed, repeatedly.
Jennifer approached and put her hand over Samantha’s mouth which only served to make Samantha’s spasms harder and more frequent. Jennifer tried unsuccessfully to shush her up.
Finally, after several very hard convulsions, Samantha seemed to settle down. Her spasms became less frequent and less forceful. Her screams subsided to whispered gasps. At the end, she sat up and opened her eyes and laughed heartily. “It was great Jennifer. You’re right: no fuss, no muss, no fragile ego. It’s neat and convenient. Where’d you buy the monk?” she asked as she squeezed him out unto a thoroughly wet towel.
Jennifer hustled to get another two towels and helped Samantha clean herself and the couch up. “The couch is Scotch-guarded. The puddle you made should clean up just fine with a little water and laundry detergent and a Tide-To-Go stick.”
“Sorry!” said Samantha, sincerely. “I’m sorry for the noise. I couldn’t help it. That was the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had. That monk is great. I’ll have to get me one.” She smiled.
“The neighbours…” began Jennifer.
“Yes, I know,” said Samantha. “This flat has thin walls, doesn’t it. I’ll be quieter next time.”
“There won’t be a next time, my old friend,” said Jennifer in a guilt-provoking manner. “Thanks for the show, but no thanks. I don’t want to see the show again. The men and women you do it with must love you for your performances.”
“Sorry, Jen,” responded Sam. “That was no show. It was genuine. I repeat: that was the best I’ve ever had. I’ll do it privately next time as soon as I get my own monk, or a bigger monk, if available.
“Braggart!” said Jennifer and smiled. “That really was genuine, eh? You must have special equipment. I don’t ever respond like the way you did. My husband used to accuse me of holding back. Honestly, Sam, I was doing the best I could.”
“I can’t be sorry for you Jen, my friend,” said Samantha. “It’s obvious that what you had was all you have. Your talents are obviously in other sports and academics. I guess I’m lucky. I love sex. I do put up with funny personalities but the end result is highly pleasurable. It always has been since I’ve been a preteen.”
Both women became quiet and pensive. Jennifer retrieved heavy duvets for both of them. Like two moving teepees, they moved quietly to their respective bedrooms to the music of Tchaikovsky’s Pathatique, closed the doors and went to bed. Samantha slept deeply and dreamt of the last threesome she had. Jennifer slept only after an hour of restless legs and then fitfully. She had nightmares of being in a flood and having to swim to safety. The dream became really frightening as she fought a losing battle to keep her apartment from being flooded with smelly mud. When she awoke with a muffled scream, she arose and cleaned up the little monk. She tied it with a multi-coloured ribbon and attached a sticky note with the words, “Sam, It’s yours. Enjoy!” She re-read her message and added another sticky note. “It’s clean and sterile and all yours, with love, Jen.” She added yet a third note: “The battery is new.”
Jennifer started packing the next morning. To a sad-looking Samantha, she explained that the apartment was not large enough for them and that she would move into the student’s dormitories as soon as she could get a room. She was sure there would be a suitable large place open somewhere. She recalled she had seen several rooms for students in the residential areas surrounding the University.
Sam felt bad and she offered to move out. She had had several offers by several men for accommodations. Also, there was the Jewish Women’s Fraternity House, to which she had some connections. Three days later, it was Sam who found a professor that she’d met at one of the pubs who said he had an extra room that he’d be glad to rent to her at a reasonable price. She moved out of the flat the next day after some perfunctory good-byes.
Both knew that their friendship was changed, significantly. Though they mentioned they would call each other for coffee, tea or a Guinness, they both knew they wouldn’t call. However, they both knew that their professional relationship would continue. Jennifer, after all, was Samantha’s boss and they both had prestigious positions at the University of Chicago waiting for them to return to the USA.
Actually, it was no surprise to either of them that Jennifer helped Samantha resign and accept a Chair at the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana’s Department of English. Like Dr. Jennifer, she was a Doctor of Philosophy, a published author of fiction, non-fiction, texts, poetry and research papers. Search committees were happy to hear from her and easily found the University of Illinois for her to send her resumes.
In the meantime, Jennifer decided to do more research on the work and life of Shakespeare. Also, her genealogy research had located a descendent of both Anne Hathaway and William Shakespeare, living in Stratford-on-Avon. Jennifer made a month long visit to there and stayed at a Bed & Breakfast right next to the preserved home of Shakespeare, now a walk-through tourist attraction. She made notes of the personalities of Anne’s descendent and Will’s descendent. She had some odd flashes and fantasies about what life was really like in the Shakespeare household before William left to go to the “big city,” to make his fortune. She also had some strange thoughts about a visit there by the young Queen Elizabeth. She played with the idea that her personality was like the Queen’s. She thought it was just one of her many flashes that created many of her fictional stories, the steamy ones that sold a lot of copies.
Jennifer formulated a novel about the young princess, who would become the Virgin Queen, making a countryside tour on her own and enjoying the peacefulness of Stratford-on-Avon. She thought that a secret tryst with a poetic young William Shakespeare could have occurred. She conceived that Liz and Will hit it off and formed a deeper relationship based on mutual love of poetry and the intrigues of royalty. Of course, Elizabeth would have known all the palace scuttlebutt about King’s and Queen’s of England, Scotland and Denmark. Shakespeare would have joined Elizabeth in making up stories based partially on real history, the Christian Crusades in Europe and the Middle East, the special Magna Carta signing by King John after King Richard III had bankrupted the country with the war against the Muslims, the colonizations of many countries including the USA, the work on creating a strong Protestant Bible and opposing the still strong Roman Catholic and French influences in England and the strong superstitions involving ghosts and spirits, witches and witch’s brews, goblins and imps, astrology and mythology.
In secret places, still existing, Jennifer also imagined that Liz and Will recited intimate and loving poetry to each other, all in iambic pentameter and mostly in sonnets. She thought that the adolescent Elizabeth might have dressed as a young country boy to disguise her identity for her own safety. She felt that the secret lover that Shakespeare seemed to have when he was writing his sonnets in London might have been the one and only Queen Elizabeth I. She speculated that the Virgin Queen, after whom Virginia and West Virginia were named, populated and cultivated for England’s growing wealth and the very beginnings of the British Empire, “on which the sun never set,” continued to meet William in secret places in the Globe and Rose Theatres. Finally, she conceived that the Shakespearean folio was conceived and written in iambic pentametre by the Queen, herself. Of course she could no more take credit for Macbeth or The Tempest or the other plays as she could take it for the King James version of the Anglican Protestant Bible, which she obviously also wrote. Her linguistics and religious knowledge didn’t hold her back.
In fact, originally, the Queen wanted to write the bible in the poetry it deserved, inasmuch as she recognized that most of the Hebrew of the Old Testament was very lyrical. She noted that the Song of Moses and the Song of David had words with extra syllables to make them lilt, just like Petrarch, Shakespeare and Browning Sonnets. She also noticed the metaphorical nature of the Hebrew language of the Pentateuch and the Greek language of the New Testament. When the King James committee put their genius to it, they saw to it that the words they picked had double and triple meanings, just like the Hebrew and Greek. Unfortunately, they didn’t put in the works excluded by the Popes who generally omitted those passages which displeased them. They omitted the parts about Jesus’ social life and family realities and those gospel writers who were earthier than John, Matthew Luke and Mark. They left out the very important story of Jesus and Martha wherein he was spotted sitting on a hill stroking her flaxen hair. This passage was at the centre of the books by Wallace, “The Book,” da Quieroz, “O Crimo del Padre Amaro,” and Schonfeld, “Passover Plot.” The British Library has several whole Gospels, including the one according to St. James, which were omitted by the Popes around the second and third centuries.
Jennifer came across another biblical metaphor in the Book of Esther. Esther is actually the Persian version of Hadassah. The whole book doesn’t have any of the usual smatterings of references to “Adonai” characteristic of the other OT books. Scholars thought that it was written by a Persian Jew, one of the somewhat liberated Jewish Slaves taken over by Persia from Babylon. Basically, Iraq and Bagdad defeated the Jews of Judea and destroyed the temple of Solomon. They enslaved the Jews and either buried or destroyed the Ark of the Covenant. The Jews apparently vowed never to sing or dance until the Temple was rebuilt. Esther was perhaps fourteen and chosen for her beauty to be taken care of by the king’s eunuchs for the eventual pleasure of the king, who was displeased with his wife. Her care taker was her uncle, Mordechai, who became aware that Haman, the king’s Prime Minister, was offering silver for the killing of Jews. With the possibility of death, Esther was encouraged by Mordechai to approach the king and plead for her people. She did and was successful in revealing Haman’s anti-Semitic plans. Haman was hung and Esther became the Queen of Persia, according to the OT book. Mordechai was chosen to be Prime Minister of Persia, preceding Daniel, who miraculously survived the lion’s den to be recognized as a special Jew who was protected by his God.
Jennifer took the Persian legend of Scheherazade and found that there was an interesting parallel with the concubines. The Persians, under Xerxes I, do not mention the Jewish slaves at all. Scheherazade guessed rightly that the young virgins of the harem were being cleansed and prepared for spending the night with the king. In the morning, the freshly deflowered young woman was killed. When Scheherazade’s evening came, she started telling fictional adventure stories which so intrigued the king that he saved her life for another night so that she may continue. The stories of course are still famous: “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” “Sinbad, the Sailor,” Aladdin and his Magic Lamp,” etc. They are part of the book, “1001 Arabian Nights,” supposedly covering more than three years of nightly serialized stories. Shah Xerxes, seemingly, gave up the nightly virgin routine and married Scheherazade, making her the Queen of Persia.
“Esther must have been Sheherazade!” declared Jennifer to herself one night, to herself. “Their histories are parallel and contemporary. Each woman was exceptionally brave and probably very attractive. Both of them are depicted by artists as partially undressed, extremely young, extremely beautiful adolescent women. Both of them changed history and culture values, significantly. The differences in their biographies is purely cultural. Their personalities and historical eras, and geographical regions, are practically the same. They’ve got to be the same person!”
“Esther and Scheherazade, ONE AND THE SAME, Twin Legendary Biographies,” became an international best seller for Jennifer. It made the most money for her than any of her other published works. Movie rights brought a bundle. The movie starred the young starlet, Jennifer Aniston, who won the Academy Award. King Xerxes I was played by Nicolas Cage. The movie was shot on location in Tehran at a time when the Shah of Iran was very friendly with the USA. The Shah appeared as a cameo which added to his popularity at home and abroad. Jennifer wrote the award winning, lucrative screenplay. It made her a candidate for several more screenplays which also added a lot to her income.
Professor McPherson left out another intriguing idea. Her linguist expertise allowed her to play with the name Xerxes. In Greek, Xepxeswould be pronounced like the Spanish, Jorge. This makes it likely that Xerxes is the equivalent of George. Thus King Xerxes I of Persia, would have been King George I of Iran! A Divinity student friend of hers said simply, “that’s funny enough to be true!”
The book about Elizabeth I and William Shakespeare, “The Royal Ghost Writer,” hardly made any money at all. It wasn’t her usual steamy romance novel but was more in the style of Irving Wallace’s and James Michener’s historical novels. It was also converted to a Hollywood film, nowhere near the blockbuster that was the Scheherazade/Esther film.
Labels: Fiction
Shakespearean Escort Service
A Silly Single Sentence Sonnette
By Izzy Sommers, MD
The Shakespeare that was known to everyone
Was also known to count to twenty-one
When he was with Louisa Alder, Ton
O’ Laughs proprietor of Hamilton,
Who cornered younger women in the night,
Enrolling them in Trader’s Cove, alright,
The Den of Hospitality, on sight,
For purposes of lucrative and light
Escorting of the single men and men
Of open marriages who wanted ten
Or twelve experiences to attend
Societies at play in Sophie’s Den,
Where poetry was sung by minstrels of
The Art of Turtle Dove and Birdie Love.
THE END
© Izzy Sommers, MD
Welland, Canada
April 15, 2009
Labels: Poetry
Bailouts without monitoring sucks!
Your Comments On...
Lending By Bailout Recipients Falls Again
Lending by the nation's largest banks fell 6 percent in February from the previous month, continuing a downward trend that began in October with the financial crisis, according to data published yesterday by the Treasury Department.
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By Binyamin Appelbaum
Comments
canadizzy wrote:
As expected, the banks response to bailouts is to lend less and ask for more bailout money. A bank has no vested interest in making loans in a shaky economic atmosphere. Banks are not normally risk takers; those that were got burned recently. Bailout money filled the coffers of the banks without risk. Why should they loan money if they have bailout money to balance their books. It's the policy of banks that need to be changed, not their capital reserves.
There are banks which have taken chances recently. One very clever banker loaned money to Amish and Mennonite farmers in the Pennsylvania area, where folks are so conscientious about borrowing money that they rarely do. When they do, they have moral reasons to repay in full, on time, and, if possible, early. That bank has been doing really well despite the lack of papers which ordinarily make banks loan their money. The hard working, generally self-sufficient, farmers of the area have no loan history and hence, on paper, are not good candidates for loans. What they do have is the correct attitude toward borrowed money and the bank that took the risks with them has been rewarded handsomely. That bank needed no bailout. Like Ford, they stated up front that they do not need bailout money. Their risk taking is logical and remunerative. Bailouts, without strict monitoring, have favoured the hoarders and not rewarded the logical risk takers.
Thanks for listening.
4/16/2009 5:23:39 AM
Labels: economics
MONDAY, AUGUST 11, 2008
The Destiny of Soul-Mates
The Destiny of Soul-Mates
A Developing Novel
By John Henry Smyth
CHAPTER ONE
In Chicago
I, Benjamin Applebaum, cleared my throat and with some difficulty managed to approach her and say, “Marc was something, wasn’t he? He really liked that blue. Did you see his mosaic block in theFirst Chicago Plaza
She turned her head to look at me. She took a long time to smile and extend her hand. “Hi. I’m Sara,” she said with a Royal British accent. “No, I didn’t see the mosaic. I’m from Cairo
“Great!” I managed to say. I was dazzled by her appearance and demeanor. If she was nervous, she certainly hid it well. Her handshake was firm and her palms were dry. “I’m here for the conference, too. I presented my paper on The Effects of Quinidine on Action Potentials in Heart Muscle Fibres, two years ago.”
“You must be Doctor Benjamin Applebaum. I read your extract. When are you publishing your article? I kept looking for it in the Journal of Applied Physiology.”
“It’ll be in the next issue of the Journal for Clinical Investigation.” I must have beamed. I felt myself relax and smile from ear to ear. Such recognition was special for me.
“Oh. OK. I’ll look for it. I wanted to read the Methodology. My paper is about the Effects of the Human Voice on the Electrophysiology of Giant Squid Axons.My methodology was taken from the Andrew Huxley papers on Electrophysiology of Nerve Fibres which won him a Nobel Prize. I worked with his group at Cambridge Medical School University ofEgypt Cairo
It was indeed dramatic. The sound of Sara’s voice on my psyche caused me to be calm and more confident. My attraction to her increased greatly. I heard, “Love At First Sight” echoing through my brain. “I’m from Hinsdale , Illinois
“That’s cool. Maybe you can give me the skinny on some stuff I need to see while I’m in Chicago
I was pleasantly surprised at her use of the American vernacular. “It would be my pleasure. Perhaps we could have coffee at the Art Institute’s café. I can make a list of restaurants and night spots for you and suggest visiting some great museums they have here. The Palmer House should have given you a copy of Chicago Magazine, which has a lot of things in there about restaurants and things to see and do.”
“Yes. I have it here in my purse.”
“Great! How ‘bout coffee?”
“I have a better idea,” said Sara. “I need to retrieve some things from my room at the Palmer House. We can get room service to bring up coffee and something to eat and have our tour guiding start there. Whaddya think?”
“I think you have the better idea!” I said as I felt my heart thumping. I hoped she didn’t see my chest heaving until I saw her chest heaving a little. “Shall we?” I offered my arm and she took it snuggly.We exited the Art Institute and headed across Michigan Avenue Jackson Street Wabash Avenue
Sara had booked a luxury suite on the tenth floor. It had a small balcony with a glass and wrought-iron patio set of chairs, table and umbrella. There was also a large potted palm and ferns in one corner and a large split-leaf philodendron plant in the other corner in huge colourful, obviously hand-painted ceramic pots. The French doors leading out to the balcony were draped with heavy paisley silk, as was the bed sheets and canopy of an old American antique four poster bed with very expensive-looking, hand-carved head and foot boards. The suite, itself was extra large. There was a small room containing a roll top desk convenient to multiple electrical outlets for power, telephone and computer connections. Sara’s Macintosh laptop and cell phone were on the desk top being charged. There was also a generous space for an antique, colonial, highly lacquered dark cherry wood, dining room set of four upholstered, high-backed arm chairs, an expandable oval table, a leaded glass, a credenza and a china cabinet stocked with antique dinnerware and silver. On the credenza were an indoor barbeque grill and a large Polish crystal bowl for ice and large silver tongs.On the wall, opposite the bed, there was an oversized, large flat-screened, plasma television monitor. Around the room there were comfy couches and reclining rocker chairs, and several antique arm chairs, matching those of the dining room set.
“Do you mind if I change out of these clothes?”
“No, of course not,” I managed to say.
“In fact, I feel the need for a bubble bath to help me relax and get rid of this jet lag I’m having. Do you mind?” Sara didn’t wait for me to say, “No, I don’t mind.”She added. “Would you like to join me?The tub is very large and it has those delightful jets we could turn on.”
“Of course, I’d like to join you,” I replied, without hesitation.
Sara went into the bathroom and retrieved two white terrycloth robes embroidered with the Palmer House Crest on the breast pocket. She threw one to me and threw the other on the bed. Without hesitation, she undressed and threw her clothes on the bed. She wasn’t wearing any underwear to remove.
I did my best to stay calm. I undressed and threw my clothes over the back of the couch. She didn’t glance at me. As I donned the robe, facing her, she did look and she smiled. “Nice,” she smiled widely.Nice? I’d never been called “Nice” before. I closed the robe and tied the belt as she stood before me. It was an invitation to look at her. She smiled and said, “I like your appraisal.” Was she reading my mind? “Thanks. I’m very proud of my body. I’ve kept it healthy and trim with olive oil.” She retrieved a large bottle of extra virgin olive oil, EVOO. “I eat it and drink it and use it for sex.Would you like some?” She used a palm full, or so, to rub all over her body. Then she handed me the oil.
I dropped my robe and took the bottle.Imitating her I used a couple of palm’s full to rub on my body. Both of us were now naked and anointed. We rubbed some olive oil on each others backs. Her skin felt very smooth. Under her skin, her muscles were very firm. “Been working out?” I asked automatically.
She replied. “Yes. And, it looks like you’re in good shape. Have you been in the gym? If you want, there’s one in the hotel that you could use, as my guest. We could do it together, if you wish. You could show me some American moves.”She handed me the bottle of EVOO.
I took the bottle of an Egyptian brand of EVOO with me to the bathroom as she led me to the bubble bath in the huge Jacuzzi tub. She took the EVOO from me and poured a cup or so into the rising bubbles.She turned off the brass faucets and helped me into the sudsy depths. I extended my hand to steady her as she stepped into the tube. It felt warm and silky and sexy. We were able to sit side by side. She pushed the buttons for all the jets. The bubbles rose up to our chins. It must have been a comical site as one light head and one dark head sat atop the mountain of silky froth. We could see each other in the mirrored walls. We both laughed out loud.
It was by far the most sensuous bath I’d ever taken. Every part of my body was soothed and massaged. I imitated her techniques and she relaxed under my touch. The quivering came gradually and we enjoyed a union that was both tranquilizing and exhilarating. Afterwards, she fell asleep in my arms, our bodies still getting the warm soothing from the Jacuzzi jets. I fell deeply asleep, too, as if drugged.
I don’t know yet how I got into the bed, and covered snuggly by Sara and the silk sheets. Logically, I thought, she must have carried me from the tub to the bed while I was asleep. The picture in my brain of a beautiful dark woman carrying a lily-white, deeply sleeping man, intrigued me.I awoke to her gentle voice reciting poetry in Arabic. It was Gibron. If there was a heaven, I said to myself, this is what it should be like. Her lovely head with its long black curly locks lay on my chest. A lovely black arm and an equally lovely black leg held me to her lovely body. I became aroused. She responded by laughing, as she rolled over me. We coupled and entwined. It was wonderful.Glistening with EVOO, we enjoyed each other as if in a fragrant Garden of Eden, until, exhausted, she fell on top of me and slept deeply, again. I fell asleep, too, firmly encircling and holding Sara to my body with my arms and legs.
It was dark and cool when we awoke some hours later. She kissed me on the lips and rose to retrieve our robes. She went to the phone and ordered a Chateaubriand dinner with a bottle of Burgundy Burgundy
“I need to do some work on my presentation. I’m sure you need to do some work also.” We were finishing the small salads for desert.
“Of course,” I said. Thank you for the time of my life. I can’t imagine anything more glorious than what you’ve given me.Danke zehr! Merci beaucoups. Mille Grazzi! Mucho Gracias. Taks a’mal.”
“Cool it, dude. The pleasure was all mine.You are a wonderful lover. I appreciate your creativity and resourcefulness. Of course, it was the olive oil, you know.”
I laughed. “I should have known.”
She laughed. “At least there was something that I could teach you. You taught me a lot about intimacy and attentiveness. Now, please leave,” she said gently, but firmly.
I said my good-byes, ciaos and salaams, having written down her email address, her cell phone number and her hotel room number. We kissed at the door and we smiled a last good-night smile.
I found my lonely car in the underground parking lot under Grant Park. I drove toHinsdale , via I-55, and my two kittens in my condominium apartment on 55thStreet
I was back in the underground garage by8:30 am . I grabbed a double-double coffee and buttered French, cheese-croissant and a bottle of orange juice at a kiosk in the Palmer House lobby and headed for the conference rooms. Sitting in the front row, I spotted Professor Sara Leah Hussein on the stage, sitting at a table with microphones with two other participants and a host. At 9:00 am sharp, the host, standing behind the podium with a microphone on a snake, introduced himself and described himself as the chairman of the Agenda Committee of the Society for Clinical Investigation. He announced that the subject for discussion for this morning’s symposium was Trans-Membrane Neurophysiology. Then he introduced the first invited panel member, Professor Sara Leah Hussein, Professor of Physiology, from the University of Cairo Medical School’s Physiology Department.He indicated that she was to stand behind the podium and pointed to his watch. “In the interests of keeping to the scheduled time, please limit your presentations to 20 minutes.” The moderator then took a seat while Sara walked to the podium.
Professor Hussein glanced at me and smiled. She addressed the audience, and began with, “Good morning ladies and gentlemen.” She looked at several audience members and smiled. “I feel privileged standing here before you. I appreciate the efforts on my behalf by the Society. I believe my humble efforts will be of interest to you all. I wish to present my prepared abstract without interruption, thank you. I will be available on stage for 30 minutes, following our three presentations, for questions and comments, which I appreciate in advance.” She took a large breath and relaxed while thumbing through the notes she had brought to the podium. The light made her look mysterious and the lamp looked like the asp one sees drawn on Cleopatra’s breast.
“My research started with a simple idea.Folk lore suggests that it is well known that plants and animals respond to the human voice. However, it has never been proven. I believe the human voice has always had effects on all living things, both favourable and unfavourable. I believe it is speech that changed the human race into a special species that allowed co-operation and conflict, in construction and destruction of some of our most famous efforts and events. My staff and I are suggesting that the human voice, in poetry or prose, in song or in speech, affects more than just our mechanisms for perception of sound. We believe that a neurological response to the intensity, timbre, emotion, lyricism, rhythm, dissonance, repetitiveness and rhyme qualities of speech affect the brain and nervous system far beyond simple hearing and understanding. It is consistent with the concept put forth by Toronto
In a few minutes she described her methodology and her results in words and by projected images. She moved about the stage in a flowing manner with her index finger raised to show specific points on her projections. Her projections were outstanding and beautiful, as was her presence on the stage. She interpreted her findings in a concise manner. “The quality of speech affects the trans-membrane electrophysiology of nerve cells. We have demonstrated significantly altered electrophysiological responses to things like a deep voice as opposed to a squeaky voice, a singing voice as opposed to a speaking voice and a poem as opposed to prose. There are alterations in the speed of depolarization and repolarization, the threshold of firing, the minute changes in permeability, the current and the height of the action potential. I believe these effects will be demonstrated in all excitable cells, but further research is necessary.”
Sara turned off her projections with her computer controls on the podium. and asked that the house lights be brightened.She continued, “I believe this research has practical applications in many areas, such as speaking to, and the psychotherapy of, a person with mental illness, speaking to pets, speaking to plants and even speaking to microorganisms. We believe that these responses are quite old and may reach back to the beginnings of speech in Mankind. We believe that this is the basis for the tranquilizing effect of music, the motivating effect of oratory and the loving and agitating response between mates.
“Thank you. Please hold your questions until the other panel members have had the opportunity to present their abstracts.”
Sara smiled at me for an instant and then turned and smiled at the small audience of specialists. There was a smattering of quiet laughter following her final comment and a smattering of reserved applause. I drank my coffee and orange juice and ate my croissant as I listened to the other speakers who discussed “The Microanatomy of the Hippocampus and the Central Nuclei” and “The Differences in Evoked EEG Responses to Bach, Beethoven and Brahms as opposed to those to Mozart, Mendelssohn and Mahler.”
The Chairman rose and asked the audience to direct their questions and comments to the panelists seated at the table. There were microphones in the auditorium. About a dozen people lined up behind the microphones. The chairman asked that everyone identify himself and his origin and limit his questions and comments to less than 30 seconds. A professor Schmidt from Bonn
There were many others that asked questions and offered examples for all the speakers regarding the neurological effect of the spoken word and music. It was a lively discussion handled well by the panel members and their chairman. At the end of the session, there were still folks waiting at the microphones. The chairman thanked the audience and the speakers and suggested that the speakers could answer questions during the half hour break for coffee and pastry. The meeting was adjourned and we all moved out to the hall where there were tables, small bottles of water, cans of soft drinks on ice, hot coffee and hot water urns for tea, as well as plates of croissants, donuts, cookies and fixings for the coffee and tea.I sought out Sara who was in a small group having a discussion of her paper. I joined the group and got to ask about voice and mating. She smiled and gave me a scientific answer to an otherwise intimate question. Other members of the group joined in eagerly with their comments and questions about social settings and sexual encounters.
We all finished our food and drink and Sara was able to get away from the others.We walked together to the exit and out toWabash Avenue Loop formed by the famous El of Chicago allowed rattling trains to pass overhead at frequent intervals. We kissed and held hands as we walked north on Wabash Avenue Madison Madison State Street Chicago
Coffee and tea was served when the guest speaker was introduced. It was a Professor and Clinical Cardiologist, Stephen Fordham from the University of Chicago and Billings Hospital who talked about the latest findings in cardiac arrhythmias as studied by the newest, most sophisticated, monitoring intracardiac electrodes placed in patients as part of the procedure for implanting the most modern pacemakers with digital and wireless technology able to interact with modern high-speed internet technologies. Replacing the batteries of the old equipment was an automated, tiny, power plant which used the metabolic reactions of the patients’ own chemistry for using oxygen and glucose for harnessing energy for bodily functions. He explained the methodology, biochemistry and circuitry and presented the results with projected computer imaging. It was a very informative lecture that would have been suitable for a postgraduate physiology student.
Sara and I ate our cake and drank our coffee, sitting shoulder to shoulder at our table. Her understanding of physiology was impressive as she jotted down formulae and diagrams for my edification, with the hotel pens and paper that had been provided at each table. I pocketed her notes to study later and she seemed pleased. Certainly, I was pleased.
“There’s not much doing for the afternoon,” I said after the Fordham’s lecture. Sara smiled and winked. “My room’s not too far away. Would you like to join me for a nap?” “I would and I could and I should!” I quipped. We finished our coffee and cake. Sara said she needed to make a personal phone call toCairo
I had fallen asleep and awoke to the sound of WFMT-FM. It was after two. I arose and found Sarah in her robe at her computer. She was writing about her morning at the conference as if she was writing a report to justify her time and expenses. “It’s the pain in the ass report to justify my existence. It’s a necessary evil,” she said. “I have to write a daily log and get it sent every day or two. When I get back to Cairo
I took a chance and asked, “Who’d you call in Cairo
“A friend, my friend,” she answered easily. “I have friends all over the world.This was a dear girl friend I called inAlexandria Cairo
You’re one of the only handfuls of men who have seen it. I ask you to keep it a secret under penalty of death.” She smiled to reassure me. My feeling was that I wasn’t as safe as she indicated. She seemed to read my mind again. “Don’t worry Benny, darling, I don’t want to give up your caresses. You’re already mine and I don’t want to lose you. I think I’m falling in love with you. I promise: I won’t kill you! Besides, you’re obviously not a descendent of Marc Antony or Julius Caesar.” Now, I felt reassured Sara went back to writing her report. “I’m falling in love with you, too, Sara,” I said. “You are the epitome of beauty and grace. I can’t help it.” We kissed on the lips for more than a few seconds. I pulled away from her reluctantly and we smiled. I turned and found my robe to get into after dropping my clothes in her presence. She looked at me approvingly and caressed me and aroused me. “Are you prepared for anointing and conjoining?” “I am!” I said immediately. “Then, be a good little slave and get us the EVOO. It’s in the bathroom.”
Sara closed her laptop computer and chased me and the EVOO unto the bed.We pulled off the covers and made love with the olive oil on the satin paisley, all afternoon, coming up for air, water, elimination and re-oiling. At six, we ordered room service, a sumptuous garlic shrimp plus veggies, water chestnuts and Chinese noodles dinner for two with a French Chardonnay Blanc. After eating eagerly, we cleared the table and made love on it, more eagerly. Afterwards, we prepared the Jacuzzi and gently made love in it. We were so exhausted; we barely made it to the bed where we fell asleep entwined.
I was awakened by Sara. “Ben, it’s nine o’clock . It’s time to do it again.” It didn’t take much to convince me. My body vigourously responded to her voice, her touch, her vision and her EVOO applications. I left at midnight as she returned to her Macintosh laptop and her report. She answered the phone and giggled. Part of what she said is that she screwed at least10 times each day for 2 days.
As I walked to my lonely car, and got in to drive to Hinsdale , I was struck again by Sara’s use of American slang. I guessed she was boasting to a girlfriend, using the street language of the USA
CHAPTER TWO
When I got home, I decided to check my computer for emails and messages. I was surprised that I couldn’t open my email. I was forced to change my password. There were several messages from Sara which I opened first. “It was nice to make your acquaintance, my dear sir. I’m hoping you’ll knock me up or ring me up, anon. I have strong feelings for you. I hope you have strong feelings for me. Love, Sara Leah.” Another said, “Our recent encounter was very stimulating and enlightening. Perhaps you have the blood of Isaiah or David in you. I don’t believe it is Habakkuk or Jacob because they were whiners and losers. David and Isaiah were strong and heroic, like you. I hope you call on me as soon as you are recovered from our jousting. I am. Love.” The other three were similarly phrased to please a man with a classic education, an Old Testament background and a good sense of humour.
The disturbing messages were exactly the same. They were sent at two different times and read, “Message from Yahoo.Your password was changed. If you didn’t do it, report it to Yahoo immediately and change your password to protect your email. If you did change it, please click on the following link and confirm your new password and confirm that it was you that did the changing.” Without thinking it might be Sara, I reported the transgression to Yahoo. Then I changed the password back to my old familiar one that I used for my many IDs. Then it struck me that it was Sara. The two passwords she had chosen were Cleopatra and Marc Antony.I hadn’t thought to suspect her at first, but it was now obvious it was Sara, or perhaps someone in communication with Sara, say someone from SACC or someone with ADMACJ. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I felt a cold chill go through my body and my hands, feet and nose started tingling. My signs and symptoms of anxiety faded as I smiled to myself. “I guess I still have the old Panic Disorder to deal with.” Smiling and thinking it out were my old standbys for aborting panic attacks. Silently, I thanked my old mentor psychiatrist, Dr. Ted Abraham. He had been treating a group of us young doctors with panic attacks and taught us how to think positively, smile and use profanity to get the attention of our aggressive centres.“Holy Shit! I still get those damn attacks.Go get ‘em tiger!” I said out loud as I calmed down significantly.
My anger turned to Sara and her associates. “It had to have been Sara!” I declared loudly. I calmed down. “Maybe it was one of her “little girls” at the SACC. Or, maybe it was one of her avowed enemies, the ADMACJ fromItaly United Kingdom New Zealand Baltimore ,MD Rochester , NY
The internet intrusion meant that Sara had some clandestine agenda concerning me. I was angry and then frightened. Maybe my first reaction to her “penalty of death” statement was the correct one. Maybe she is dangerous to me. My curiosity then overwhelmed my other emotions. “What are she and her little girls up to?” I couldn’t sleep. I reviewed my encounter with Sara. “Maybe the meeting in the Art Institute was not chance and was not a triumph of my chutzpah, charm and wit.Maybe she lured me to her hotel room and drugged me to get information out of me.Maybe she implanted posthypnotic suggestions like the ones in the Manchurian Candidate. Maybe I’ll be doing something bizarre to one, or both, of my friends, who might be other targets for SACC.” Maybe, maybe, maybe… I had no way of proving anything outside a really lovely sexual encounter with a strikingly beautiful, sensuous woman.
I retrieved the card and the other information she had given me about her email address and phone numbers and herCairo Cairo Cairo Chicago
If this is as clever an operation as it seemed, my recent sexual triumph was a fait accompli performed by a master of espionage. I was overwhelmed by the cleverness of the operation, kidnapping a professor, successfully impersonating her and presenting her research in a critical atmosphere, all the while carrying on with an innocent, or perhaps really guilty, bystander, me. And what was my role?Was I, Doctor Benjamin Applebaum, in fact, incidental?
I thought of the movie where an alien transformed into a sexy woman, selected a healthy male, screwed him and then killed him. Her purpose was to get pregnant by a living specimen of a human male. Was it my sperm she was after? Was it my ancient DNA she was after? It slowly dawned on me that it wasn’t my wit and charm that seduced her. I was the seductee! More anger and fear started buzzing my psyche. “Holy shit!” I began again but it took a lot longer this time to calm me down. It took a whole hour before my trembling and nausea and nausea and thoughts of impending doom let up. I was left with a residual of paranoia, fear and resentment.
I decided to confront her, more or less. I called the hotel thinking I’d say I wanted more and could I come to her before breakfast for another series of anointments. I was too late. The desk clerk who handled messages said she had checked out about an hour ago and had taken a limousine to the airport. I called both O’Hare and Midway hoping to leave a message of great family urgency for the Professor Hussein that was flying back toCairo Cairo Island Airport Lake Michigan near the Shedd Aquarium. Yes, a private jet was just taking off. An Egyptian aircraft, which had Arabic markings was headed toward both Cairo Alexandria London
I thought about it for a long time. Finally, I called Homeland Security and told them the story as I knew it. An agent, code-named “The American Eagle,” gave me a special login number and asked me to write it up in the form of a report, under the code name, “Doctor Hinsdale Donor.”I complied and received a complimentary response saying I was assisting greatly in the thwarting of a threat to National Security. I was told to report immediately should there be any further contact with the conspirators and that I might do well to watch CNN for any news developments.
CNN reported briefly that Professor Hussein of Cairo Chicago
“I forgive you Ms. Sara, or whatever your name is. Perhaps it’s Cleo. I’ll call you Cleo Chagall and I’ll always remember you with fondness and joy.” I cried as I became aware of the extent of her duplicity. I smiled as I had such wonderful memories of bubble baths and anointments, kisses and hugs and the wonderful patter and repartee we exchanged. I fell asleep finally with Cleo in my psychic grasp and the powerful image of her naked beautiful body open to my pleasures and fulfillments.
An email from The American Eagle brought me up to date with the CNN news release. It warned me not to use the telephone or internet. It informed me that an agent would be making a visit within the hour. I had seen the movies and had had a brush with the CIA in Switzerland
I turned on CNN on my cable channel 37.The announcer announced that the news story about the kidnapped professor inCairo USA Italy Egypt
The agent, “Miss America Alabama Veronica Lake
I opened the door for Henrietta and she immediately cautioned me to remain silent by putting her index finger and thumb up to the corner of her mouth and making the motion of zippering up her lips. I made the same gesture, let her in and locked the door behind her. She looked around the room and checked the entire apartment quickly, apparently looking for someone.Then she put down her brief case on my coffee table and opened it. It contained what I recognized as finger-print searching and recording equipment, a tiny walkie-talkie, test-tubes, plastic locking bags, small metal containers, blue rubber gloves and medical instruments, including a scalpel and various sized forceps. She did what I expected her to do; she scanned my place for listening devices and found twelve. She carefully removed them and put them each in a plastic bag and labeled the bags with the location, including my kittens’ litter box, in which two of the bugs had been found. I handed her the bugs I had found; she whispered that I shouldn’t have done this without gloves.Marking the locations from my discovered bugs, she put them in individual plastic bags and put them in her briefcase. Next, she inspected my computer and all my electronic equipment, including my very expensive, Sony, audio-visual equipment.She started disconnecting everything and then used her walkie-talkie to communicate in a whisper, with a male associate, apparently nearby. “Clear, Virginia Victor!” She indicated to me that someone was coming to join us.
A Victor Mature look alike appeared on my lobby screen near my front door. Ms. Matisse rang him in. Silently, he entered my apartment with large cardboard cartons, some of which were collapsed and some of which were labeled with a large SONY logo. He put the boxes down on my kitchen counter and kitchen floor and retrieved a calling card for me. It read Peter Meyer-Hoff, badge number 9876543. Mr. Meyer-Hoff replaced my telephone, computer and my entertainment equipment with miniature versions of a Sony laptop computer, a Sony television screen and computer monitor and a very neat Sony, compact unit with built in speakers, which could handle CD’s, DVD’s, AM and FM and TV cable stations with wireless technology.He turned it all on and assured me silently that it was all operative and safe to use.
My kittens, Beauregard and Chelsea, had warmed up to my visitors and were purring and rubbing themselves against their legs. A light began flashing on both Henrietta’s and Peter’s bug detecting equipment. They stooped to pick up the kittens who purred even louder as they enjoyed the attention. A tiny scanner located two more listening devises in the bellies of my cats.
“I’m guessing these will come out in a day or two,” whispered Peter. “Please save them for us.” Henrietta retrieved two metal containers and a small eye-dropper bottle. “Fill them with this special solution and drop them in, poop and all. Don’t touch them. Here. Use these forceps.” She handed me a small forceps from her briefcase. “Call us as soon as you retrieve them and we’ll come and pick them up.Save the forceps. I’ll clean them. And, always wear these gloves,” she smiled as she handed me a pair of blue latex gloves from her case. “They won’t spoil any fingerprints.”
I smiled back. I couldn’t help it. “Thanks Agent Henrietta.
“Call me June, Ben,” she said. “Henrietta was my great grandmother’s name. I prefer June. June was sexy and beautiful.She had blue eyes and a small mouth with larger than expected lips. Her tight uniform left little to my imagination. She appeared to be muscular and lithe. She moved smoothly around my apartment like a dancer would. “I really like your kittens, and their names, Beauregard and Chelsea. Are they named after someone special?”
No,” I admitted. “I just liked the names and after I met them they both acted like Southern plantation owners. So, I picked the names of a Southern Gentleman and Lady. “Thanks.” I whispered.
“You’re welcome, I’m sure,” said June, imitating Kim Basinger’s accent and demeanor. With a mock curtsy, she smiled openly at me with a friendliness that I hadn’t seen below her cool professional look. “I’ll need to return for a personal visit and interview, after we get your stuff out of here and to the lab for a thorough inspection.”
“Anytime,” I said quickly, perhaps too quickly. I tried to act cool and smile a little. I couldn’t help it. Instead, I smiled a big, invitational smile and felt my face act friendly from ear to ear. I must have blushed, because I suddenly felt warm all over.
June didn’t blush. She set her lips at neutral and returned to her job of anti-surveillance techniques. She helped Peter pack up my equipment in the large boxes, using lots of bubble packing material, hoisted several of them up in her strong arms and on her strong shoulders and left silently with Peter and his boxes, soon after.
I held my kittens back from running out after June and Peter into the hall, which was their favourite way of escaping and making me chase them up and down the halls and the stairwells. I held one kitten under each armpit while they struggled to get free. I locked the door with the dead bolt and the door chain, put the disappointed kittens down and turned to my new equipment. I displayed the CNN webpage. It was repeating the Cairo Chelsea
Agents June and Peter of the CIA walked to Peter’s military issue Hummer and deposited the boxes in the back. Peter gave her a lift to her Thunderbird convertible. They drove off toward The Loop, in Chicago Lower Wacker Drive Chicago
Peter took the underground expressway all the way to the end, exiting so as to come up behind the John Hancock building. He parked his hummer and using a grocery cart, unloaded Ben’s boxes. He arrived safely to the secret office on the entire 50th floor, in the dramatically and distinctly built Hancock, an erstwhile tallest building in the world.
June let Peter exit Wacker Drive Michigan Avenue Bridge Chicago River to her building halfway between theWrigley Building Chicago River . It had 60 floors, the top 40 for apartments, the bottom 20 for parking and an underwater basement for docking yachts.
Peter industriously examined all of Ben’s equipment for fingerprints and evidence of further listening devises. He found several Egyptian cookies in his Windows programme, including two in his Yahoo website. He found that his Norton’s virus detection programme had been disabled and he found a Trojan Horse in his hard drive. It was the most modern sophisticated programme, capable of avoiding detection and removal and of receiving and sending millions of emails on command while it slowed the computer just a little for its usual Microsoft programmes. He was unable to discover the true source of the spammer but did find that it had a lot of Egyptian characters and numbers for the use of the sender and the receiver. By morning, the computer had been completely dismantled allowing Peter to sequester and isolate the data and programmes on the hard disc and the open and cached mother boards. He fitted these into a special tower designed to keep it all isolated and yet minutely monitored when it was connected to the internet and the CIA system. He memorized the ID and passwords and left his equipment do the monitoring and recording. In his lab, he had some of the old IBM and Remington Rand equipment, but for the most part, he used the most up-to-date Macintosh and Microsoft stuff. His pet was the large old Bell Telephone booth that had the equivalent of Big Blue, the chess playing champion. He loved chess. After his official work was done, he poured himself a glass of Italian Swiss Colony Chianti, cut himself a large piece of Emmentaler cheese and retrieved a large Macintosh apple. He tuned a short wave receiver to the 24 hour CBC international news station and sat in his favourite Lazy-Boy chair. There was no further detail on the Cairo
The entire condominium apartment on the 59th floor and its contents was similarly destroyed by an expertly engineered, flash explosion. Ms. America Alabama 55th street Cook County Hospital Westchester , NY Westchester , a pharmacist operating a small drug store in Westchester , near the small community hospital. Mary and I were to have two girls, ages 10 and 12, without the benefit of pregnancies, but with a history of two normal deliveries in the hospital record and chart room. Mary was also to have a part-time job as a pharmacy assistant working behind the counter with John Henry whose wall hangings indicated he had graduated summa cum laude from anIvy League University
Mary’s and John’s kith and kin were told June and Benjamin were burned to a heap of ashes in their respective condo-apartments. My two doctor friends came to my funeral and their lives were saved by the protective agents of the CIA, I was informed.
I was also informed that SACC was mopped up and destroyed. Those were the only details. I assumed that meant that “Cleo Chagall” and all her friends were assassinated. CNN breathed not a word of the truth. Mary and I were slated to live happy lives, to own a small sail boat, two cars and a vacation cottage on Cape Cod .We were to send both our girls to Vassar.We were to enjoy yearly vacations for the entire months of August and February in our cottage on Cape Cod and our time-share condo in Aspen
And, we did. Mary and I grew to love each other, our cats and our daughters.School, medical, business, banking, dental and veterinary records automatically existed in the appropriate offices. Mary was as lovely and loving in her new red hair and I was as handsome and adoring in my new well-trimmed beard and moustaches. Our records of having been attended by the stylists of Westchester ’s Hair Today and Groomed Tomorrow went back many years. The Fates were right.June and I were meant for each other as Mary and John.
Incidentally, Mary started perfecting her poetry and published a successful book of Love Sonnets and other Non-Sense. Many of her poems were published in the New Yorker. I found I liked writing essays, many of which showed up in local and national newspapers as letters to the editor or on the editorial pages as contributed commentary. One of my essays, I’m proud to say, was published by the Atlantic Monthly.
THE END
©John Henry Smythe
CHAPTER THREE
I live and work as a pharmacist inWestchester , NY Chelsea
I cannot publish the above fictionalized story for National Security reasons and the safety of my family and friends. Here are an essay and three sonnets by my wife and I that were allowed to be published under our assumed names:
Optional Introduction:
In the sense that it's hard to suppress the spirit of a semi-delusional, nervy writer, the essay below was of interest to me and may have been in my head, or other parts of my body, for a few years, now. Please delete before you get interested, if you don't like such speculations, the delusions and the nerviness. I was thinking of yet another rejection by the Globe and Mail or the Atlantic Monthly...
The Humanization of the Earth
An Essay
By John Henry Smythe
In the Beginning, the Earth was devoid of Human Beings. In the beginning the Earth cooled from a mass of gasses. There was no water and no air. There was no life. Life came to Earth a finite time ago. Perhaps it was in the form of a virus-like animal, a single, or double, strand of deoxyribonucleic acid, DNA, more or less. Mars and Venus were similar in shape and origins and, to my knowledge, have never supported life, as we know it. I suppose the first forms of life were single microbes, viruses, fungi, bacteria and a form we may not yet have guessed.
That all life originated from one source is dramatically demonstrated by microbiology and various forms of X-ray techniques, especially X-ray microscopy. The basic structure of a single cell is remarkably similar from trees and shrubs to fungi and humans. There is a double layered, double lipoprotein molecule, around the cell with invaginations which contain a nucleus, and many mitochondria. Within the nucleus, there are strands of DNA which are species-specific. The mitochondria produce ribonucleic acids, RNA, somewhat species specific. Both the DNA and RNA are capable of forming segments and duplicating itself, in whole or part, by a special template mechanism, where the sequences of amino acids are attracted arranged in double helices. Amino acids themselves are common to all life forms. It’s the sequence that is species specific. A duplicate of DNA is able to take some material with it and manufacture another cell by the process of mitosis, common to all life forms. RNA can do the same thing, more or less, from within the mitochondria and secrete the RNA into the cell. From there, it can stay or can be extruded into the cells’ milieu, bound for other adjacent cells as so-called Messenger RNA. A lot of antibodies are formed this way, as are hormones which have effects on other cells, foreign or indigenous, by way of “Key-Lock” receptor sites, in the cell membrane configuration, to affect a change, usually in defense of the indigenous cells and in aggression to the foreign cells.
For example, it was discovered that bacteria develop antibodies to antibiotics in a single cell, or set of dividing cells, to establish resistance to an antibiotic. The RNA, which is the antibody, itself, then travels out of the cell to other cells, establishing larger populations of resistant bacteria, eventually replacing the vulnerable bacteria with bacteria able to fend off the antibiotic(s) and proliferate. Eventually, if the bacteria are not erased by other means, or another antibiotic, the bacteria succeeds in developing multiple resistances, even to all antibiotics, or types of antibiotics, and therefore “untreatable” by traditional antibiotic therapy. Patients’ bodies must then learn to survive without antibiotics as a defense mechanism. Entire hospital populations must then be isolated to prevent the powerful infecting “bugs” from becoming epidemic. Sometimes hospitals and other health facilities must be shut down entirely in the hopes that the resistant strains of the bacteria will lose its shared messenger RNA and become vulnerable again to the available antibiotics.
Inasmuch as a pregnancy is a form of parasitism, the RNA serves to protect the embryo and fetus from rejection by its mother host, and her set of antibodies, during the process where the DNA is causing development and specialization of the cells and its eventual organism, the baby. In unicellular organisms, there is no parasitism, because there is no multicellular host involved. Mitosis under favourable milieu circumstances is all that is needed, generally, for reproduction. Where there are hosts and the formation of embryonic cells by contributions from the male and female of the species, the protection is necessary for maintenance of the proper internal and external milieu for normal growth and development from the single cell onset of a new life. Though it seems much different with plants and seeds and bees and cross pollinization, it is a remarkable similar process. Plants may use chlorophyll for handling and converting carbon dioxide to oxygen, and animals may use hemoglobin and carbonic anhydrase for handling and converting oxygen to carbon dioxide, but the cells in which these processes occur are remarkably alike. In the future, it may be possible to transplant DNA and RNA and convert plants to animals and visa versa. The concepts of reincarnation, the Holy Spirit and the conservation of energy and entropy may easily by reflected by submicroscopic redistribution of important molecules, or segments of molecules, for DNA and RNA.
So how did the Western Hemisphere acquire humans?
I am arguing that the seeds of humanity are the same as the seeds for the entire biological world. In order to set the time limits for the question of Man in theWestern Hemisphere , I have looked at the ever increasing archeological evidence. It seems a possibility that Man was here in our Hemisphere from the onset. Villagers and cavemen and civilizations may have occurred as long ago as the disaster that killed the dinosaurs, or even earlier, running from dinosaurs as all forms of life did. Like a cockroach that may survive a nuclear holocaust, tiny versions of humans may have survived the 5 or 10 year winter caused by a meteor hitting the earth and spewing tons of dust into the air. Sparrows, finches, worms, snails, lobster, crabs, skunks, porcupines, garter snakes, frogs, microorganisms, grass, crocuses, fungi, saplings and the like might have all survived.
Could Man have already existed when the dry earth on this world was one big continent? I think it’s likely. Would a two to three feet high ape like animal have been recognized as unique? I would guess the answer is “Yes!” I would guess the uniqueness was the language and the co-operation that comes from language. Perhaps that’s the alternate interpretation to “In the beginning, there was the Word, etc.,” from John. Perhaps that is the legend behind the Tree of Knowledge and the Tower ofBabel
Modern DNA studies in living and dead humans tend to indicate that man originated somewhere in the Fertile Crescent, as described in Genesis and other Mediterranean Myths and Legends. The tsunami and flood of the region left Noah and his family and animals as survivors on or near Mount Ararat inTurkey Mediterranean Sea coasts. The Flood wiped out Atlantis and Sodom Malta Dead Sea . Ruins have been discovered in those areas 200 feet underwater. Could the populations in the Americas South America and led to the drawings of “birdmen” in the caves. He suggested that these were spacemen from another planet wearing specialized helmets. Like others, I’m guessing these were humans capable of space flight, or at least ordinary humans capable of flying into the stratosphere needing to wear the expected protective and oxygen supplying headgear. On the ground, they were apparently expert masons able to put together 600 pound shaped rocks so exactly that a razor blade can barely be introduced between them. Modern attempts to duplicate this wonderful masonry using less than highly mechanized apparatus has confirmed that this population of humans was technologically, highly advanced about 50,000 years ago.
Was there such a civilization in the Mediterranean Sea area? I’m guessing there was. The legends of Sodom Gomorrah Atlantis Americas Mediterranean or did they come to theAmericas Atlantic River Caribbean Gulf Mediterranean Sea in a form that would have existed before the Americas
Development after that time would have taken the form of parallel, but different advances. Pyramids were built on both sides of theAtlantic by humans. Those in the Americas North Africa were built for burial of the leaders and the wealthy, apparently, in order to ascend to the heavens after they changed from "gods on earth" to "gods in heaven."
It seems like everyday, more artifacts are discovered which places civilized, advanced humans on all land masses all over the world. The times are being pushed back further and further. I believe the Chinese have yet to discover their really ancient ruins. I believe the Americans, Africans, Australians and Europeans already have evidence of their ancestry tens of thousands of years ago by way of skeletal remains and cave drawings and ruins of cities and countries. Some of these ruins reflect technological advances that we may not have today, yet. The possibility that ancient Incas had stratospheric flight is intriguing. We moderns hadn’t developed it until just recently. Our space explorations may find that man has been to Mars or the Moon years ago. It’s an intriguing idea. Again, it reflects the true meaning of the word research. It is hard to imagine what technological and sociological advances might have lead to "Peace on Earth" so far back that remain as possibilities for us in the near future. On the other hand, the declines of civilizations are also in our history and may be the future we don’t want. Some people believe that a large decline is imminent. It would be the next time that Mankind would have to start over, so-to-speak. Our dreams, seemingly universal, of the Kingdom of Heaven
After all, their DNA is my DNA. Their dreams, for themselves and for others, are my dreams. Their declines and almost complete destructions, followed by their almost glorious recoveries, their Fertile Crescents, their Olympics and other wonderful global tournaments, Rivers and Mountains, life-giving oxygen and destructive fires, meteorite strikes, tsunamis, floods, conflagrations, volcanoes, Gulf Streams, Polar icecaps, earthquakes, kittens, trees, butterflies, the South American and Chinese Great Walls, the computers, chess, bridge, poetry, the cave drawings, Tibetan Monasteries, the pyramids, the right-angled triangle, the castles in the sky, the symphonies, the impressionists, the Towers of Babel and Pisa, the Niagara and Victorian Falls, the casinos, the pleasures and the pains, and the Gardens of Eden, are all mine, as well. Amen.
THE END and THE BEGINNING
©John Henry Smythe
DIPPIN’ HIPPOCAMPim
A Silly Sonnet
By Mary Smythe
The rains have soaked my kitties and myself
And now we’ve had to lie upon a shelf
All day to let our brains and fur dry out,
Without discovering what life’s about.
Outside my patio’s at least a foot
Below the surface of a pond of wets
And damps that guard the world from silly pets
And me and everyone from Lilliput.
Perchance a fisherman could find a sea-
Food fantasy to base his poetry
On seas and rivulets for household pets
And barefoot happy children sans regrets.
I wish that I could conjure up a
Hippocampus to entice us for a dip.
THE END
©Mary Smythe
Thank God for Noah
A Sonnet
By Mary Smythe
In Genesis, there is a reference to
The Giants, Nephalim, who walked the earth.
In Chapter Six, The Men of God decided
That the fairest of Mankind was
Womankind and chose them. Mating followed
Mating and the children were renowned throughout
The world. Unluckily the Evil that
Was shunned by God, since Eve removed the fruit
From THE Forbidden Tree and offered it
To Adam under Lucifer who watched
Them do THE Sin which started Sin forever,
Not forgiven ever by the Lord.
‘Twas sad. If not for Noah, We would NOT
Be here today. Unless we’re Born Again,
We would not be here when Our Jesus comes,
When Trumpets hail the Coming of Our Lord.
THE END
©Mary Smythe
Peter’s Purple Tongue
A Silly Sonnet
By Mary Smyth
The symptoms suffered, loudly, by Pierre
Included pain superior and to
The derriere of his protruding blue
And purple tongue. Perplexed, the doctor did
Some testing in the kitchenette which showed
His patient had acute and chronic,
Aggravation due to conflicts in his new
Exciting marriage to Adele from Del
Of Costa Christa, once the summer home
Of Dame Juanita de la Casablanca.
Peter’s pimple, Sauvignon, commenced
To squirt red wine, a vintage never seen
By Doctor Leonard Bean or Jimmy Dean.
THE END
©Mary Smythe
CHAPTER FOUR
The Destiny of my Soul
A Beginner’s Novel
By Jennifer Williams
The message to my secret code name, Cleopatra Cairo Cop, CCC, from TAE, was life saving; “The stocks of SACC have crashed. Arabic Airlift is waiting.GO!” Barely did I get out of my apartment in Alexandra when the entire building imploded and was engulfed in flame.Everything I owned, including my Toyota Camry and my specialized Philips radio and television studio equipment, were instantly and utterly destroyed. On board Arab III, a Fokker, TAE was waiting with a large, black, modern, wheeled suitcase labeled Jennifer Williams. “ Sit and put on your seat belt Jennifer,” was TAE’s greeting. TAE found a seat near her and fastened his seat belt. The small jet plane, already warmed up and cleared for takeoff, started taxiing to its runway.Within a few moments it was in the air and leveling off. The seat belt signal went off.
Jennifer turned to face the powerful CIA chief of Arabic Operations. “Whazza?” she said in perfect American dialect.
TAE smiled. “You’ve learned well, Jennifer Williams. You’re American English is perfect. You must have picked it up from watching American TV commercials. Don’t use it openly. Start speaking with that British accent you do so well. Your credentials will make you an expert neurophysiology researcher in Huxley’s lab in Cambridge
TAE became very serious and deliberate as he faced me, less than a foot between our noses, to say, “This is an Eternal Federal Protection Plan for both you and Christine. There is no going back. SACC and all your kith and kin may have been wiped out.”
I fought back tears. Finally, I said, “Thank you for saving my life.” I sat down with my face in my hands and allowed myself to sob openly for a few moments. The seat-belt signal sounded as we started our descent to Heathrow.
The transition to my new life as TAE had described it was remarkably smooth.Christine Mae Jones was lovely and adapted as easily as I. We genuinely liked each other and grew to love each other.The occasional tall black male athlete was a lot of fun. Our love-making seemed natural and was indeed genuine. The practice that I’d had with my childhood little girls, adolescent high school girls and my college co-eds, all of them SACC members, stood me in good stead in my lesbian life-style at Cambridge. My staff, co-workers and superiors seemed to accept me quickly and easily. My work at the University was fulfilling and exciting.My English accent became as natural as a native’s. I spoke in American only to joke around in private with my lover and our occasional sexual athlete.
In my private moments, I cried sometimes about the losses of my kith and kin and my SACC and about my Benny. “Sweet, sweet Benny,” I said often to myself. “I’m sorry I lost you. I’m sorry I was responsible for your demise. I miss you terribly. Please forgive me wherever you are in your Old Testament Heaven. You were so kind and loving to me. I adored you. I adore you now. I will adore you forever. Maybe we’ll meet again when I die. I hope so. Please make me welcome. I will do anything you ask. Please watch over me, as I should have watched over you. Please forgive my trespasses as I forgive yours. I love you, Benjamin Applebaum. I love you with all my heart and soul. Do they use EVOO in Heaven? I hope so.”
At other times, I reviewed my life’s events. Christine and I were able to discuss our secret past lives in safety. It was therapeutic for both of us. We were able, together, to make peace with the gravity of our decisions and behaviours.Christine and I had many things in common, especially the facts of our secret CIA connections. Apparently we were both leading counterespionage woman’s groups in our respective locations, she inWashington , DC Alexandria Cairo New England and me in Egypt
One ugly encounter was enough for us. It was my Department Head, a staunch Episcopalian ordained minister who tended to greet me with a lemon-sucking serious face and make it clear that I was as unholy as anyone he had ever met.Often, he quipped that I was going to Hell when the trumpets sounded to announce the Second Coming. The ugliness experienced at one particular departmental meeting to which he arrived drunk, apparently, included a preamble to the presentation of the agenda. He chose to criticize me openly for my living in sin, claiming it was a black mark for the entire department and the University itself. He implied that there would be dire consequences to me, at the University and Christine at the Embassy. He indicated that a word from him to the righteous powers-that-be, would bring down the roof on both of us if we didn’t change our life-styles immediately.
Within a month, the roof fell on him. His unexpected resignation, after he started suffering a mysterious illness, was a welcome relief for Christine and I because, in fact, he did have the wherewithal to carry out his threat to us.We guessed that his illness was AIDS due to HIV. We suspected, but never had confirmed, that TAE and the CIA had something to do with it, inasmuch as TAE’s prophetic prediction was so accurate. In private, other members of my department were supportive and tried to be re-assuring about my position. At the meeting, their hands and their tongues were tied, obviously fearing the self-righteous wrath that had been so obnoxiously expressed by their boss.
Christine and I sent regular coded reports by special emails to The American Eagle.There was never a response. About every six months, Christine and I would get what appeared to be a package we had ordered from a company that specialized in custom-mixed cosmetics and perfumes, The Perfumery to the Queen of England, Smythe and Abercrombie and Company, from it’s London’s headquarters On The Strand. Besides our perfumes and soaps, lipsticks and shampoos, the delivery person would whisper the name of aLondon
Christine and I privately surmised that the CIA had many female operatives, like ourselves, in hiding or in secret cells, throughout the world. It seemed to us that it was someone’s clever idea to use Women’s Liberation and the female tendency to form action groups for one cause or another to front their clandestine operations. It would be simple to co-ordinate overt or covert operations anywhere in the world. In general, women would be less suspicious than men in a terrorist operation or an isolated assassination plot. If their covers were not broken and their CIA connections were not known, such operations could be carried out for years without suspicion.Unfortunately, broken covers, both accidental and purposeful, occurred. If the operative’s life was to be spared from a friendly or enemy bullet or knife, a pre-planned series of contingencies were always in place and ready to go. The secret of the CIA’s and probably other organization’s, foreign and domestic successes lay in the recruiting and evaluation of the woman’s resourcefulness, cleverness, nefariousness, fitness and readiness to do what was necessary to complete an operation.Language skills and interpersonal skills were valued highly. Beautiful women seemed to fit the bill. They were accepted in social and professional settings more easily than unattractive women, ugly or handsome men. Strong passions for liberty, freedom and equality were essential.
Movies and novels glorify the female spy as much as, or more than, the male spy.The work of the spy is more tedious and dirty than is imagined or portrayed. Ian Fleming’s books and 007 movies were known to be fantasies, mainly male fantasies. John Le Carre’s books and movies were much more realistic, pointing out the arbitrary and almost psychopathic decisions made by the espionage leaders.Sometimes there is kindness or glory.More often there are cruelties and cover-ups, disasters and mistakes, ugliness and confusion, injustice and exile. Agents in the field are lucky if their communications do not break down or a message isn’t misinterpreted. It is a thing of beauty if an operation goes like clockwork and one’s colleagues are alive and safe at the conclusion. Running is not an option. Fear is not an option. Love is also not an option.
I thought that innocent bystanders might get the worst of the ugliness of espionage.I thought of Ben, the first man I have ever loved so intimately. I knew quickly that this was genuine and not just a matter of great sex. The great sex was due to the love and intimacy. I became painfully aware of how false the premise was, but Benjamin was not. He was sincere. He was the first that made me feel like a real person, a real woman and a genuine contributor to society. I thought of how I ruined his life merely because we loved each other. I was aware that I started out by using him, according to plan. I drew him in to his inexorable demise. I’m sure he didn’t mean to fall in love with me. I didn’t mean to fall in love with him. It almost cost me my life. “I’m sorry Sweet Benjamin. Please forgive me. I’m sorry TAE. Remorse is not what I’m getting paid for. Shit! Guilt and shame are also not in my contract.”
Christine and I helped each other a lot.Both of us suffered remorse for the precious lives that we had played a part in ending. Both of us suffered guilt and shame for our nefarious behaviour. Both of us sought forgiveness. We were able to help each other make peace with our Makers and ourselves. Christine and I were good partners and soul-mates. We wouldn’t have made it as Jennifer and Christine were it not for our loving relationship. The Fates that had brought us together had been kind. I wished that they had been kinder to my first soul-mate, Benjamin Applebaum. May He Rest In Peace. Amen.
Jennifer had lied to Ben about her identity as Sara Leah Hussein. But she had not lied about SACC and her passion from childhood about the injustice done to Cleopatra. When she and her group were recruited by the CIA, and funded liberally, her passion grew greater. That part of her life was no lie. Ben must have responded to the truth about her origination and involvement in SACC. Would he have accepted her so readily had she told him about her assassinations, her training and her operations? These were necessarily the secret parts of her life, always to remain secret even with torture, as she had been warned and trained. Her life and the lives of her associates depended on it.Would Ben accept her now as Jennifer Williams? She prayed for the chance to find the answer to this question. She believed strongly that he would.
Christine and I lay in bed, naked, entwined and asleep. A quiet signalling knock on the door woke us up. We reached for our silk bath robes to no avail.The American Eagle opened our door with his key and let himself in before we could cover up. He deftly grabbed Christine and broke her neck with a practiced silent aggressive maneuver before I could intervene. At first I couldn’t believe what I had just witnessed. TAE cautioned me to remain silent and helped me into some sport clothes. “She’s a traitor!” he whispered. “You don’t have time to pack.Your cover and my cover have been blown. We need to go. Go!” His Jaguar XKE was still running. He indicated I would drive while he headed for the passenger seat. I started the car onto the road and he crouched under the dashboard. “Head toward London Tripoli London Scotland US Virginia Beach , Virginia Westchester , NY USA Cambridge
The American Eagle looked at me long and hard. “I can’t begin to tell you how much you’ve meant to me. You’ve been loyal and diligent. Earlier today, when I learned about Christine and knew what I needed to do about you and her, I was sick at heart. I recruited you both and until this afternoon you were my star operatives. I wouldn’t have predicted her disloyalty and still find it hard to believe.Good luck Linda Laben. You deserve the best there is!” With that he was out the door with my wig and I felt I’d never see my guardian angel again.
I filled the tank, paid in cash and drove off. Everything went smoothly. When I was over the Atlantic , I was handed my new suitcase full of clothes and accessories, all perfectly sized. I found a skirt and blouse to wear and my new wig.I was to leave all my Jennifer stuff with the operative on the plane and he would destroy it safely. I changed clothes behind some large cargo boxes and donned my new wig. It made me look more African than Egyptian. Then, I memorized the entire portfolio on Linda Laben, Registered Message Therapist,Westchester , NY Westchester .
CHAPTER FIVE
“Well, Linda Laben, RMT,” I said to myself. “Here I go again. I’m alive, reborn and still fit and healthy. God bless you, TAE, wherever you are. I hope you’re able to save your own life. God bless the soul of Christine Mae Jones, wherever it is. May you rest in peace, Christine. God bless the soul of Benjamin Applebaum, wherever you are. I hope you are finally at peace.” I imagined Ben and I anointed in EVOO and ready to make love. It was a wonderful image. I felt warm all over as the plane made a smooth landing. I felt Ben’s spirit very close to me as the plane taxied to a stop.
The American Eagle had struck a deal for the life of Jennifer Williams with his superior in order to seal the leaks and breaks in the Company’s veil of secrecy, absolutely necessary for it’s survival. TAE was taken out efficiently by a trained female assassin in the toilet of the British Petroleum petrol station soon after the new Linda Laben drove off. The beautiful assassin took the wig from TAE and everything in his pockets to sever all links to the CIA. She had ostensibly driven her Bentley in for petrol, just behind Linda’s Jaguar. Linda’s trained eye spotted her and felt she was TAE’s ride to wherever he was escaping. She had a stronger confirmatory feeling when she saw the pretty woman head for the water closets, on the other side of the station, soon after TAE headed there. She knew she shouldn’t hesitate to drive off and left the station with a confident, ever-increasing speed as she drove onto the entry ramp to the express highway headed to Heathrow.
The taxi dropped Linda off at her new apartment prepared for her. It was not only furnished, it had pictures of her and her family on the furniture and hanging on the walls. Moreover there was a complete wardrobe appropriate for a woman of her size and shape and life-style, plus a standing exercise bicycle, a real bicycle, roller blades, a tennis racquet, a squash racquet, a badminton racquet and a small treadmill. And, there was a small Sharp TV with a built in DVD/CD player plus a compact SONY unit with an AM-FM-SW radio band and a digital cassette player.Her purse contained the apartment keys, the traveller’s cheques for Euros and American dollars plus cosmetics appropriate to her skin type and colour.The refrigerator was stocked with fresh food. The pantry had an assortment of dry foods, including pasta and cans of soup.There was a large bottle of EVOO on the top shelf. In the bathroom mirrored cabinet there were bandages, shampoos and conditioners, underarm deodorants, disposable BIC shavers, toothpaste and a green toothbrush.
“It looks like they thought of everything, as usual,” I said aloud, alone. “This is for you and me, Ben.” I covered myself with palms full of EVOO, messaged myself all over while sitting in any empty large old fashioned New England tub, and then relaxed in a hot bubble bath.
It was exciting starting a new life.Credentials in hand, I visited Albany Virginia Beach , VA. Virginia
Finally, I had copies of bank statements and personal worth, address, telephone numbers, email addresses, monthly budget, renting history, previous addresses, tax returns for the past 5 years, evidence that I had paid off my student loans, credit card information, personal and professional references by people who were unrelated to me, names and addresses of all my employers, names and addresses of kith and kin who needed to be notified in case of serious illness or demise and retirement accounts with the IRA, Fidelity and a 401k to which my employers had contributed. Upon questioning about police records, I claimed to the clerk that I had never been arrested or convicted for any crimes or misdemeanors, and that I had no history of alcohol or drug addiction or distribution.
The clerk and I had had moved to a small side office and filled out a complex questionnaire with all of the above data and attached copies of all the documents.At the top of the form was Ms. Linda Laben, nee Hussein, widow, 256 Maple Street , Westchester , New York , 15151-5151
Three months later, my official certificate arrived from Albany New York
I opened my office and advertised that I provided, by appointment only, expert therapeutic messages that were often covered by most medical insurance plans, if prescribed by an MD, DO or DC. I advertised that the muscle spasms and muscle pain suffered after automobile accidents and sports injuries were my special field of expertise. I added that Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Migraine Headaches and cramps secondary to diuretic therapy were problems that could be handled by RMT’s. Moreover, I said I provided reports suitable for insurance claims, income tax deductions and work-related, compensation cases.
The office I had chosen was in a newMaple Street Westchester . Within weeks, the other offices were occupied by medical and surgical doctors, lawyers, physical therapists, dentists and an independent insurance agent. There was also an oriental therapist who did acupuncture and acupressure.
The building was close enough for me to bicycle there and back, weather permitting. There was a bicycle rack outside the building on the sidewalk. A Starbucks Coffee franchise was next door and on the other side was a florist and grocery store business. The pharmacy was a full service pharmacy with a large prescription-filling and formulating service, medical devises, motorized and non-motorized wheelchairs and a full range of sundries, post office, pop and juice machine, natural supplements, dietary preparations and candies. It was a franchise of the Smythe chain of drug stores, and operated by Nanette and Pierre Labelle, a husband and wife who were both registered pharmacists. The Labelle couple was originally from Montreal Westchester .
After the initial push to get the office set up and running, there was plenty of leisure time for me to write my poetry and take long bicycle trips in the city and the surrounding area. There was a lovely city park with extensive bicycle paths. Within 6 months I was able to hire two young RMTs to help me with an ever-increasing patient load. I was then able to lease some adjoining office space and expand my Laben Message Clinic. Later, I sublet space to a chiropractor and a medical physiotherapist who needed to expand their practices in this area of town 2 to 3 afternoons a week. The professional relationships helped me to fit into the community quite successfully.
My financial rewards were substantial and my savings and investments were growing.I planned to buy a large condominium or a small house for me and my two cats, Rosenkranz und Gildenstern, two fixed males. One was a large oriental tabby and the other was a white cat with one grey ear and a grey tail, in appearance as if the tail and ear had been glued onto a white cat. Both were great company for me and we usually slept together for naps and at night.
I love sonnets and limericks. Here are some that I had written before and after my flight to Westchester . Most of these are from my memory, so, bear with me.
THE INCIDENTS ON MOONBEAM BEACH
A Silly Sonnet
By Linda Laben
Professor Abercrombie stared so long,
Penelope removed her golden thong
And firmly grabbed his giant throbbing schlong
Attracting an excited sobbing throng.
Untying shoulder straps released her orbs
For all to glare at while the sand absorbs
The olive oil she spread on Mister Forbes
Whose activated charcoal gas adsorbs.
Activities like these along the beach
Included eating pear, banana, peach
And key lime apple pie which had to teach
Penelope to use her household bleach.
I wish that I wrote poetry to leach
Intelligence from Abercrombie’s speech.
THE END
©Linda Laben
Westchester, NY, USA
Benjamin, I’m Coming
A Sonnet
By Linda Laben
I miss him in the morning when the sun
Comes up and makes the eastern sky light up
With tones of red and yellow-orange.And,
I miss him in the evening when I yearn
For his caresses and his smiles. Oh, why
Did Destiny take him away so
Prematurely when the love we had was just
Beginning, when the embers were inflamed
And blazing in our hearts and souls? Oh, why
Did I not see that he was precious and
So vulnerable? Oh, Time and Space, please hold
The soul of Benny Applebaum both safe
And satisfied until I come a naïf.
THE END
©Linda Laben
Mankind, So Far
A Poem
By Linda Laben
A snake in Eden
Of Eve’s and Adam’s shame and consequent
Expulsion from a Paradise that might
Have been Iraq Baghdad
The Tigress and Euphrates . Hapless and
Profoundly guilty for their Sin, the Sin
Original, they exited the Eastern
Gate, forever, henceforth guarded by
A flaming, twirling sword while Lucifer
And Lillith mocked them from inside and God
Decided that their conjugation would
Be dark, and in the dark, forever. Lo,
The oldest, Cain, was envious of God’s
Endowment to the youngest, Abel. Cain
Didst murder him and tried to cover up
In vain. And yet, the Adam family
Didst prosper in the land. Along with Seth,
They all begat the rest of Humankind.
God even sent his men to mate with
Women judged so fair. And Giants roamed the Earth.
In stature and intelligence, the giants
Fostered population growth until
God saw that sin was still so rampant that
Destruction was Man’s Destiny. God granted
Each and all an hundred twenty years.
There was no chance for God’s salvation.Floods
Were on their way. If not for Noah finding
Favour in God’s eyes, we’d never have
Existed. Humankind owes Noah all.
Yet, here we are again, now billions on
The Earth are sinning and shall surely die.
What will it be this time, a flood, a fire,
An asteroid? Will He find favour in
One man or woman or will Trumpets sound,
Announcing Jesus coming for his Born
Agains, and no one else, to rise to join
Him in the Holy Kingdom
Everlasting Love and Peace, fore’er?Amen.
THE END
©Linda Laben
Westchester, NY, USA
CHAPTER SIX
My name is Itzik ben Reuben. I’ve been writing this partly fictional, partly true story. All the names and places and times have been changed, to protect the innocent, as they say. I’m not innocent. I have an active imagination and a dream-world which I prefer over the real world about a million to one. My problem at this moment is what to do with my main characters, now named John Henry Smythe, Linda Laben, Mary Smythe, and still named, Beauregard and Chelsea. I’ve already disposed of The American Eagle, Christine Mae Jones, and Virginia Victor.The Westchester setting and the protective custody ideas are getting stale. I need to have Linda Laben meet John Henry and/or Mary, soon, or I’ll lose the chance to finish this story efficiently and neatly.
Of course, I could have Mary die of breast cancer. Or, I could have Mary and Linda meet on the bicycle path and make them lovers. Or, I could have Linda meet John Henry when he comes to inspect the pharmacy in Linda’s professional building.I could make it instant recognition and a very emotional encounter or I could make them not recognize each other until they are in bed together at his secret apartment when he retrieves the olive oil for love-making. Or, I could let John Henry recognize Linda for her former duplicity when he sees her naked and recognizes the asp picture from her SACC calling card. At that point, I could have John Henry attack Linda without her knowing who he was. Of course, Linda would kill John Henry with a single blow, a technique learned by the Israelis at their respective Bar or Bat Mitzvahs. Then she would recognize him as Benjamin Applebaum by his intimate body parts when she stripped him down to get rid of his body, as she had been expertly trained to do.
I’m sure I’ll do what I usually do. Before or after sleeping, I put a picture of the characters in my head and let them do their thing. My best stories come on just awakening when the characters have obviously been scooting around in my head during the night. Here goes…
Oh, yes. I need to take away the ability for John Henry Smythe, Pharmacy Overlord and Linda Laben, Message Therapist Extraordinaire, to tell their stories in the first person. Maybe I’ll give Mary a chance to tell the story from her point of view. It’s only fair…
“I met Benny under strange circumstances, didn’t I?” I finished getting undressed beside the bed and threw my clothes on the armchair. “Ben is in the Jacuzzi room starting the jets going. I’ll get the EVOO from my bedside table and join him. I love these bubble baths in the Jacuzzi. John taught me how to get the bubbles up to my chin and how to use the EVOO to make love. I’ve been exceedingly happy. My life as a CIA agent was exceedingly stressful, though, I must say, very exiting, at times. Mostly it was paper work and tedious detective searches for minutiae. It took me 30 seconds to get used to this life in Westchester, nice house, nice family, nice time-shares in Aspen and Cape Cod, satisfying lucrative work, and nice customers.””
“John has been attentive and creative. The intimacy of this bubble bath is almost too ecstatic to bear. John is now anointing me again. It’s, by far, our favourite activity.The magic of EVOO is wonderful. I wonder where Ben learned his methods and techniques. It’s not relevant. The important thing is that he shares it with me and that I can lovingly reciprocate. The Fates that brought us together must have been in a very good mood. I couldn’t have chosen a more ideal husband and friend, room-mate and business partner. Wow!Does that feel good or what? Excuse me while I drift off to Never-Never Land
We were in bed, completing the bubble bath ritual with another round of gentle lovemaking and another refreshing application of the EVOO. We had two bottle so that we could do each other together, without pausing to get some oil for whoever had the bottle. He is so fit and trim and muscular. I’m still OK but I haven’t been as vigourous as he in my diet and exercise routines. He seems to be happy to be alive and to be able to remain fit and trim as a payment to the Fates for saving his life, and to me for keeping him happy. I guess I felt the same way, but not as passionately. I winced when he touched my shoulder. “Ow!” I said out loud. Ben stopped anointing immediately and said, “Whazza, sweetheart? Where’d you get the ‘Owwie?”
“I was bicycling and I hit the curb unexpectedly hard when I tried what the kids do to pop a wheelie and get up the curb without getting off the bike or looking for a beveled drive way. Silly, eh?I fell off the bike and landed hard on my outstretched arm and flat palm. I got grass stains on my hand and knees, but they washed off easily. I continued bicycling.My knees and wrists were OK but my shoulder got stiffer and stiffer and more painful. I applied ice and heat when I got home and it seemed better. It’s been a week and it’s not gone away entirely. I notice it most when I reach for something or I have to carry something out in front of me, like a grandchild. If I didn’t know any better I have an impingement syndrome of my shoulder. “Whaddya think?” I showed him I couldn’t get my arm above the horizontal without a lot of pain.
“I think you’re right but making your own diagnosis and treatment is like having a fool for a doctor and a fool for a patient,” Ben said as he gently probed my shoulder and moved my arm in various positions.“I’m no expert, either. Why don’t you see someone? I favour your giving old Doc Henley a call and making an appointment to have this precious shoulder evaluated.”
“You’re right, of course, my darling.Please restart what you started. My body aches for thee. ‘How do I love the? Let me count the empty bottles of EVOO!’”
“Don’t start your sonneteering on me, my love. I’ll restart as soon as I know which areas to avoid because of your injury.”
“I’d be happy to show you which areas to not avoid, my love.”
We smiled at each other. I’ve learned to see that smile as a beacon of security and love. He is wonderful. “Thank you Benny,” I murmured. Thank you God.Thank you CIA. Thank you Angels. Thank you Giants.” I couldn’t resist the quip.“Thank you EVOO and thank you whoever was the mentor that taught my lover how to use EVOO for something other than cooking, eating and drinking!”
I wasn’t sure, but I saw a flash of anger in John Henry’s eyes. When I tried to examine the vibes, it was gone. The loving, adoring look was back and the smile was contagious. We made love and I thanked the Fates, and the Powers-That-Be, all over again, before we fell peacefully asleep.
My shoulder was very stiff when I awoke.We took our morning shower and my lover helped me with getting it loosened up. He was good at message and varied the shower water temperature to my advantage. It felt much better by the time we toweled off. He applied some EVOO and it felt almost normal. Instead of bicycling, I went to a Walk-In clinic onMaple Street
The young Indian doctor at the Clinic was kind and firm as he examined my shoulder almost the same way that John had.Moreover, he made the same diagnosis.“Thank you, John,” I said whimsically to myself. “You should have been a doctor, my darling,” I thought. Dr. Punjab Patel reassured me it was all soft-tissue and that we didn’t need to get an X-ray. He recommended some physiotherapy and wrote a prescription for it. He said there was a professional building nearby that had physiotherapists, message therapists, chiropractors and acupuncturists. He indicated that any one of these should help greatly. He modified the prescription to include the other kinds of therapists and verbally recommended simple acetylsalicylic acid or plain acetaminophen and what I and John had already been doing, message and hot and cold moist applications and showers and Jacuzzi’s.
My shoulder continued to be bothersome.I asked around and found that Linda Laben, RMT, had an office not too far from home which included part time chiropractors and other therapists of muscular aches and pains. I called the office and a receptionist said that an appointment had opened up this morning at 11, if I could get to it. It was 10:44 . I said sure and without changing clothes, scooted out the door and hailed a cab. I got there 2 minutes early.
“Could you fill out this form?” said the beautiful young oriental receptionist handing me a clipboard with an abbreviated vital statistics form on it. “Ms. Laben will be with you shortly.” Quickly I filled in my name and address, phone numbers and email addresses, SSN, birthday, birthplace, insurance coverage details and the name and numbers of my husband who was to be called in an emergency. Ms. Laben appeared before me an smiled. She took my completed form with us as she lead me to a large office with a large, modern, open, oak desk and a very large, adjustable message and examination table with a padded hole for your face at the head end.
“Good morning Mary Smythe. Welcome to my place. What can I do for you.” She paused. She was reading my form before stapling it to the inside front of my new folder. Suddenly she smiled in recognition.“Of course! You’re THE Mary Smythe who writes that romantic and silly poetry for www.Poetry.com. I love it! You must have over a hundred posted at the International Society for Poets website. I write poetry for them too but it doesn’t have the passion and life that your poetry has. I tend to be a little more somber, as if I’m mourning and berating the Fates. I’m delighted to meet you!” She smiled and offered her hand.
I took her strong hand and did the best I could manage to shake her hand with my sore shoulder to deal with. When I winced, she said, of course, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you came to me for therapy for that shoulder. “She rightly diagnosed that it was my right shoulder. Linda asked me to get on the examining table and did much the same exam as Dr. Patel and my husband had done before. Her touch, like their touches, felt reassuring and therapeutic. I felt better already. I also felt I had come, fortuitously to the right place and the right person. Linda’s demeanor was almost hypnotic and I felt like I was in a dream. I recognized it as a meditative state of relaxation. I ascribed it not only to the gentleness and reassurance of Linda Laben, but also to the Mozart background music and the lit, Lavender candle and the jar of clear light, pastel yellowish green oil on the medicine cabinet counter top near me.
Ms. Laben worked on my shoulder for 30 minutes. She seemed to be able to get under my collar bone and shoulder blade and that little third bone of the shoulder girdle, the acromium bone which forms the acromioclavicular joint, under the deltoid muscle which constitutes the “point” of the shoulder.
We talked a lot about poetry and sonnets.We seemed to share passions for many other things, but it was language and poetry to which we kept returning. For the fun of it, we started a poem with I line I suggested, in iambic pentameter: “Imagine my imaginary cat…” We each wrote this down and promised to write a sonnet with this line and thirteen more lines of iambic pentameter. It was a remarkable encounter for a first meeting. We both remarked on how similar our personalities must be and how it felt like love at first sight. We both laughed at the idea but it didn’t seem so strange after I left Linda’s office. Linda was very attractive and about my age. She had the swarthy skin of a Mediterranean born woman and the dark wavy hair with the surprisingly penetrating dark brown eyes. I must have paled in comparison with my fair skin which burned so easily and had many freckles and my pale blue eyes and straight, short, strawberry blond hair presently tinted to cover the ever increasing grey. I wore my hair like Meg Ryan or Mia Farrow did in the movies, The French Connection and Alice. It was short and easy to get out of bed in the morning with a splash of water and a shake of my head. Nevertheless, we seemed to spark at a very important level of communication, especially through our poetry. She and I had both posted poetry on the Poetry.com website and she recognized mine immediately by my name. What an impression I must have made on her. Either that or she had an incredible memory. She remembered some of the titles and contents of my poems and recited them for me, to my delightful surprise. She took a few moments to go to the webpage of the ISP and show me her sonnets and show me my sonnets.
I left feeling much better and somewhat excited over meeting Linda. She made me tingle, intentionally or inadvertently. My shoulder pain was gone. I had never been attracted to another woman in a sexual way. It was true that I had certain heros that were women, including some historical women, like Empress Maria Theresa and Sainte Joanne d’Arc whom I admired greatly. It was true I admired several women who lead the Women’s Liberation Movement, but I never felt sensuous love welling up inside me with any of them. I considered that when I was a CIA agent, I dressed and acted like a man. It felt awkward at first. Eventually I felt like a macho cowboy with a gun.Some of the women with whom I dealt were lovely and flirted with me. I had ignored them though I thought some of them might have been interesting to know better. But, with Linda, I felt something that I hadn’t felt since I met Ben. Was I a latent homosexual person? Was I bisexual? Was I just looking for something different and exciting.?
Though I loved Ben deeply and intimately, my life had become somewhat of a routine, much different than my former life with the Company. I had embraced my new identity for my own survival. Ben had had to adjust from his former life-style, but the difference was not too great.He had been a successful doctor inHinsdale , a suburb of Chicago Westchester , close to New York City Aspen
And yet, what the hell was this. I injured my shoulder with a stupid move on my bicycle. Was that self-destructive? Was I distracted by some dissatisfaction? Was Fate doing its usual mysterious underhanded manipulation to get me to Linda, or someone like her? And, was Linda’s guidance system doing the same?Hey, my inner self, wake up! You’ve only just met the woman. Maybe it’s just the relief of pain that is turning you on to an innocent bystander.
Maybe…
The next visit, which was to be the second of 12 visits, altogether, with Linda was more intense and more intimate. We started with message and ended up with fondling. Always we read and exchanged poetry. The poetry was becoming more and more sensuous and intimate and personal. The fondling become the turn ons. The poetry became the excitements and the excitements became more intense.By visit 6, Linda was starting to remove her clothing. By visit 8, we were messaging each other in the nude. Linda shocked me by revealing that her specially scented, exciting oil was EVOO with lavender and cinnamon. How could the fates have us both olive oil, which Ben had given to me. By the tenth visit we knew each other inside and out. All the love-making skills that I shared with Ben, I now shared with Linda. The keys and the locks were are a perfect fit and we used them all. Only our deep personal histories remained largely untouched. I felt she had a mysterious history, just as I had one.
It was the poetry that was the most revealing. I used her words. She used my words. When we left the professional relationship, my shoulder was as good as new. When we started the personal relationship, my shoulder became irrelevant except as a focus for the initiation of touching and fondling. I couldn’t have predicted the coincidences of our language in our poetry. We had saved these poems for the last session:
Imagine my imaginary cat
Named Beauregard who cares for me and John
And has a friend named Chelsea
Though Chelsea
A macho man and stands aloof at times.
For show the cats are boxing and meowing
For a while and then they start to lick
Each other. Then they eat and rub against
Our calves as if expressing gratitude.
I wonder if i'll ever write this well again...
ReplyDeletei used to have a certain zing i no longer seem to have... perhaps i'm entering my quiet senility with dignity...
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