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Me Times Three: The early bird gets what?

The story begins… Stories as in. What is her story? Why the big hair? Why did she look at me like I had a third eye?     So, let’s try to imagine what an average day for Roberta aka Birdie would be like. The scene. It is morning. Most days start that way. A little light sneaks through the blind and she stirs just enough to get attention. The bedroom has a white plush carpeted floor and is littered with a thousand throw pillows that were once neatly place on the bed the night before. On the nightstand is an opened book laying face down and beside the book a half a cup of chamomile tea. Hanging from the closet door her attire waits for her morning transformation. I’ll not bore you with the particulars. I’ll just say the usually professional clothes that one wears in her profession. I’ll leave this to your imagination. I’m thinking black pantsuit and pumps. I would prefer jeans, a tee shirt and a baseball cap. But I won’t let my tomboy fetishes get in the way of fiction...
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Me Times Three. It begins

I wanted to create a weekly story about three characters all played by me. The patient, the psychologist and his secretary. The idea is to help the writer. Me. Share with his audience. You. A story about life. Maybe doctor D might just help patient DD figure it out. The story begins… Imagine a doctor's office. At the desk is a drag version of me. Not a pretty version but for this story she or he will do. Why I felt the need to create the drag character is a mystery. Maybe Doctor D will help me figure it out.  Scene: The door opens. A man walks in. I'm the man. The office walls are painted mint green with pictures the Doc has taken of various destination on the road. Every picture has a clever little quote. This is meant to lighten the mood but really, it's to stroke his ego. These collections of vacation pictures and words can also be found in his big glossy book which is conveniently laying open on the glass table in the center of the room. I look down and see a pi...

New Roads

"Let us be silent, that we may hear the whispers of God" Ralph Waldo Emerson I often wake up in the early hours of the morning. Instead of trying to fall back to sleep, I sit lotus style with a comforter wrapped around me. I breath in and out and invite the spirit to move me. I only invite those who God has appointed to me to be present. Good spirits are welcome.  I wait for words. It usually doesn't take long. Sometimes, I wake up and immediately write about another strange dream I had. I have a spiral notebook tucked into a magazine rack next to the couch for just such an occasion. Often the content comes from another place. I call this the Emerson effect. I am moved by a spirit who may have wanted to say more but time ran out for them so, I am kind of instrument of divine words. I don't know if that is true but things we can't really explain, we really can't explain.  I don't think that I am all that special. I have just learned to listen and to write w...

The first snow squall

The first snow squall. Written or embellished by:  Dennis Deschamps  a song for  Family and friend Christmas 2025 On the first snow squall the town folks did say Watch how you’re driving stay out of my way The roads and streets were an icy sheet On a cold winters’ night of rain, snow and sleet Snow squall, snow squall, snow squall, snow squall A storm is coming it’s starting to fall They looked up and saw a car Stuck in the ditch he didn’t get too far And up the road at a green light Someone is texting stopping traffic in spite Snow squall, snow squall, snow squall, snow squall A warning is one thing But it didn’t turn out so well Snow squall, snow squall, snow squall, snow squall On the second snow squall it was the same as yesterday People still bitching, get out of my way The streets were littered with ice, snow and debris With abandon cars from a demolition derby Snow squall, snow squall, snow squall, snow squall A warning is one thing But it didn’t turn out so well

Speed talking

There's always a story to tell and people to tell it. Every story takes time to tell. There are generally two speeds to story telling: Fast and slow. An example of slow can be found in church. The priest reading the gospel decides to separate every sentence with the invention of new comas.  All good books including the bible are not published until it have been edited. Editing includes the proper punctuation. Sounds easy enough. Do you follow? And you could follow and read along with the priest but you'll never see those extra comas. Why? Because they are not there! Jesus didn't put it in, so why is this guy doing it! The priest was like Captain Kirk. The bridge is the pulpit. "And Jesus said, (pause)to his disciples (pause again)I will make (surprise, keep pausing)you fishers of men" Wow, he got up to four words. When the verbal waltz was over I heard two words. To be truthful, I heard two words and felt an elbow. The elbow was my mother and so were the words. W...

Road Trips: Kejimkujik National Park and Historic Site

We bought a van and we did so for one reason: camping. Our first test would be at Jeremy's Bay Campground. Kejimkujik National park had many sites to choose from usually but because people were spending their hard earned money in Canada (boycotting America) we only had a few spots available. The van had stow n go seats so it gave us enough room for a couple roll out mattresses. Setting up camp was pretty simple a dinning tent a couple of chairs and a fire.  Luckily for us we were there a week before the fire ban. Things were great until it was time to sleep. There was a crying kid a few sites away who was always in trouble for something. His crying continued into the wee hours of the morning. I finally locked the doors and fell asleep. Then it was tinkle time. As I opened the door the ani-theft alarm started to blare and I couldn't turn the darn thing off. After a few minutes of frustration and yes, cussing, I got it to stop not before waking up the entire camp.   I try t...

The call

 High school was in the rear view mirror of life. I was looking toward the future. There where a few bugs splattered to the windshield but I could see enough to get down the road. The journey was a painfully one, mentally and physically but I learned to grow while growing. That's the way it usually works. I had grown a foot in a little over a year. Puberty was delayed and the embarrassment of being a hairless adult made it hard for me to be intimate with anyone. I didn't know what urges where until the hormones kicked in. Still I loathed my hairless body. Today I am a sixty-six year old walking sasquatch.  Be careful what you wish for, I guess. Having no desire to fornicate, I decided to investigate a celibate life.  Every catholic family had at least one child destined for secular or religious life.  That child was me.  My spiritual advisor and local priest Father Janise, help me with my spiritual journey. A journey that took me to Saint Peter's Seminary in Lon...