Day 93: Ailchas Pees in New Zealand

Been thinking about doing a little clean up around here.  I like the clean lines and the focus on the words.  I like that I didn’t have to do anything to get it that way too.  I don’t want to spent too much time with the site design since this is primarily about the writing, but the title font is a just a little too small and the link color too hard to distinguish.

What follows is more talky stuff since I can’t find the time to be creative on the holiday.

I am reminded at how much I really dig other cultures.  Especially the subtle differences with respect to the same activities.  At work I am exposed to the twittering of a group of folks in the UK.  It’s work so I don’t get any of their wacky swear words, but there are still differences.  One mentioned trains recently and it struck me how European such a notion is–I suspect it’s Asian too.  I live in the west and sometimes in the mountains.  Trains are for cattle and coal.  I am not sure you can even put people on a train in Oklahoma.

On our fifth anniversary we went to New Zealand.  There were so many different ways to do the same thing it left me marveling.  Never paid up front for a hotel–never gave credentials indicating that I could.  Always paid up front for food–typing was inexplicable.  Ketchup was too.  Urinals were nearly always metal and raised off the main floor a step.  Most of them drained under you feet as you peed through a grill.  Toilets had number one and number two flush options.  I never signed a waiver of law suit even though I rented a car and a kayak as well as flew in a sail plane.  There were almost no stop signs–only give ways. Lots of round abouts.  All of our driving was on two lane roads, none of the bridges were more than one lane.  One of those shared the crossing with a train.

All this is to say that I need to capture that experience for Ailchas when he goes back in time.  The trick is to capture it in such a way as to tweak the reader’s sensibilities as well.  Maybe it’s time to read "Job: A Comedy of Justice" again.  Heinlein pulled that of marvelously.  As I recall it was best done by allowing the reader to make assumptions about what they thought the main character was familiar with and then dousing them with reality.  Of course that’s easier for Heinlein since, in addition to knowing how to write, his characters were ostensibly in the ‘real world’.  Ailchas is not.

Day 92: The Man Comes Around

“The whirlwind is in the thorn trees.  It’s hard for thee to kick against the pricks.  Till Armageddon no salaam, no shalom.”

Johnny Cash provides musical accompaniment to my morning writing.

Mr. and Mrs. Robert Buchard Frels walked in the morning.  From a distance Buchard looked like he might entertain as a clown at children’s parties.  His hair was quite white and had a tufted quality that might need trimming in a week or so.

One did not need to get too much closer to discover that this man was not entertaining–at parties or otherwise.  Profoundly set lines pointed to the center of his face.  He looked as though he’d been plowing into the setting sun and angry about it his whole life.  His short white eyebrows angled downward and unhappily along with the balance of his countenance. Though they argued equally well that it would be hard to take this short German Texan seriously.  Buchard looked like someone you’d call a zealot, except he wasn’t Jewish.  He most certainly wasn’t Jewish.

Buchard was raised in Schulenberg though he’d been born in New Braunfels.  His father had been born in New Braunfels, but moved east when San Antonio encroached on the immigrant town.  Burchard moved east toward Houston of all places when his son graduated from the University of Texas and got a job with Schlumberger.  His son, who now went by Mark, lived out in Katy, but worked in the city.

Buchard had spent much of his life on a farm or near the earth.  His tan Carhart pants testified to that.  His shirt was crisp and as white as his hair.  His boots were black.  He was dressed more to emphasize a religious gradient from sin to purity than for a walk.  Buchard only ever had one thing on his mind at a time–it was more practical that way.  Currently his thoughts focused on walking.

Mrs. Frels a step behind Buchard wore a blue kerchief.  She had other things on her mind.

Word count: 329