This is February’s monthly watercolor submission.
Legalism simply defined is the dependence on law rather than faith.
Once, I got into a heated exchange after claiming the Bible to be the “perfectly inspired word of God.”
“Oh, you’re one of those,” he responded.
“Yes,” I shot back adding, “And remember I have a doctorate in theology, while you sing in the choir,” which he did.
The following night, I found myself saying sorry to him for being so hurtful and thankfully he accepted my apology. Often I’ll use this incident as a reminder to try and watch what I say in the heat of any argument.
She was watching the white rabbit carrying a satchel. Being curious, Alice Liddell followed the hare into the garden.
“Why are you running?” she asked.
“I’m very late. No time to talk.”
“You can speak!”
“No I can’t, I’m late.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the Red Queen’s. It’s her birthday. I’m to bring her a gift!”
“I’d love to meet her.”
The rabbit slipped into a hole, leaving behind his satchel. Alice picked it up and looking inside, found a pair of ruby slippers. “I could wear them till the rabbit returns,” she said, slipping them on and excitedly clicking her heels together.
Suddenly, Alice slipped into confusion. Once she could think straight, she found herself sitting along a brightly painted cobblestone road, “I don’t think this is Oxford anymore.”
Still slightly stunned, a very small man approached her and she asked, “Who are you?”
“Welcome to Munchkinland. I represent the Lollipop Guild and I see you’ve brought Dorothy’s ruby slippers with you. Miss Gale will be so happy.”
The next time someone tries to shame you by calling you a ‘conspiracy theorist,’ tell them to look up how in 1932 the federal government gave 600 Black men syphilis to study the diseases progression, in 1933 poisoned the alcohol supply to stop moonshiners, killing 10,000 people, or how from 1950 to 1969, they sprayed the bacteria ‘Serratia marcescens’ over the city of San Francisco and in 1966, released ‘Bacillus globigii’ into New York City’s Subway system.
These are historical facts, not conspiracies. Then ask them, ‘Why don’t you know these facts?’ They won’t know the answer, which is: they attended a federally run school.
“Found a badly thrashed Nikon CoolPix L31 camera hanging on a tree branch while driving in the desert south and west of the Hungry Valley Rez. It has a slightly bent and mangled micro SD chip and I’m doing my best to salvage whatever might be on it. Fingers crossed. More to follow…” – from my Facebook timeline.
As I drove over the hill from the house, I turned left onto the muddy road leading into the high desert that skirts the Indian reservation. Having recently snowed, I was having a time trying to climb a steep hillside as my tires refused to gain traction and I kept sliding backwards.
That’s when I saw it – a small silver and black object hanging from a tree branch. It turned out to be a small pocket camera.
“That’s odd,” I thought as I got out of my truck to investigate.
Ever the cautious one, I examined it outwardly for possible booby-traps. Seeing that it wasn’t attached to any trip-wires and that the branch it was hanging on wasn’t set up to deliver a ‘spiked surprise,’ I removed it from the tree.
It became clear that it had been in the desert for sometime (2014, if photo’s recovered are any indication) and that it would take a miracle to get the piece of electronics to work again. That being said, I brought it home and packed it in a plastic container filled with white rice, hoping to dry it out (which, for me, has never worked.)
After 24-hours and a pair of new batteries, the camera did failed to come on, however I found a memory card. Looking the card over, it appeared folded in half at one time and there was a fracture in the back-half of the thing.
With no idea whether it could be salvaged, I tucked it inside the container of rice and let it stay there for about five-hours. I would have given it a full 24-hours to dry out, but curiosity got the best of me and I gave in.
A closer examination of the card showed that the metallic strips on the front end were in good shape and I was reasonably certain I could get it to work once inserted into my computer’s port. Within a minute of inserting it, I found the card (which eventually broke in two) to be filled with photographs and videos, that I’ve transferred to my computer’s memory for the time being.
But now for the twist – while the majority of the pictures recovered are of a baby girl, her older sister, mom, dad, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandma’s and grandpa’s, some of the images are of sites in and around Crescent City, California, 20-miles from where I grew up. Simply put…mind blown.
Time now to find the people in the pictures.
Dugan dipped beneath the yellow police tape and walked through the door, “What do we have?”
“Another one and more of the same,” came the answer.
He walked towards the back of the abandoned house. Streams of bloody cast off covered the room.
Dugan squatted down as he pulled on a rubber glove. He shined a light in the victim’s eye, quickly checked behind her left ear and inspected her large right toe nail.
“Shit!” Dugan exclaimed. “He’s done practicing and has begun escalating.”
“What do you mean, Lieutenant?”
“She’s not a cybernetic, she’s for real,” he answered, “Notify Homicide.”
“Just walk a mile in his moccasins, before you abuse, criticize and accuse,” Mary T. Lathrap wrote in her 1895 poem, ‘Judge Softly.’
But looking at the seven-inch high heel on my neighbor’s boots, that shiny black patent leather, reaching mid-thigh, I thought, “I’d rather not take a single step, let alone attempt a mile.”
But, hey, if they want to spend their day as a ‘number-cruncher,’ in a suit and tie, in an office, and nights dressed as a pole-dancing drag queen – who am I to judge. To each their own, right?
As for me, I’ll stick with tennis shoes.