View allAll Photos Tagged Attuning
It's life, isn't it?
in the air, in light,and the water sparkling bright
seeing nature unfurl before our eyes
circinate, as it once was
like hands opening to the world
finally...
we may wonder parabolically
recruiting ideals best suited to others-
those posturing lost souls
leading us? I think not...
make today recrudescent!
come along, astride me
eyes closed, the sky comes nearer
ears attuned, nature speaks
body loose, warm sunlight enraps you
safe, pure, true, it's all we were born to be
and so seldom recognised anymore,
a second more, please...
remember a single thing...
we, all...
are servants only
to the water reflecting life in light.
by anglia24
17h50: 03/09/2007
© 2007anglia24
☀
both opening prompt and vanishing point for these mostly gestural ink paintings is a quote from artist Alok Hsu Kwang-han –
“the emptiness of the self is the one who can move through the broken heart of the world and feel at home”
the initial impulse to allow the intuition of the moment to guide the brush strokes, as portraits of energy or presencing; a kind of witnessing without accumulation or interference, attunement to murmurations; while occasionally more representational images emerge – as well, entendering – and in the spirit of the initial quotation, everything belongs
Walkway, Arch, and Stairs. © Copyright 2013 G Dan Mitchell – all rights reserved.
Architectural details at Balboa Park, San Diego
One thing that has fascinated me as I’ve spent more time reviewing old files during the pandemic is the variations in how much I recall about the original experience of making the images. In some cases the recollection is so clear that I literally remember almost everything about it. At the other end of the spectrum are photographs that I don’t even recall making — they come as almost complete surprises now. This photograph lies between the extremes. I do specifically recall this day and the places we visited, but I do not remember making this photograph and I’m not exactly sure of the precise location.
Scenes like this intrigue me, and when I slow down and look I find them everywhere. I could easily walk through here and barely register the surroundings at all, but sometimes when I’m attuned to what I see, such places come alive. There are, I think, some fun visual surprises here. First, note how full the scene is of those black railings — parallel to the walkway at the left, steeply angled upwards beyond the column, and dropping into the scene from the right margin. Then spend a moment trying to make sense of the ways all of the various lines relate to one another. Some (all?) are angled due to perspective convergence (both straight ahead and toward the left) and their actual inclines. There’s more, if you are interested…
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books, Amazon, and directly from G Dan Mitchell.
Dungeons & Dragons
Complete Arcane
Page 28:
Bloodwalk (Su): At 10th level, a blood magus becomes perfectly attuned to the song of blood. He gains the supernatural ability to transport himself great distances via the blood of living creatures. Once per day as a standard action that does not provoke attacks of opportunity, he can seamlessly enter any living creature (except an elemental, ooze, plant, undead, or other creature without blood or a similar fluid) whose size equals or exceeds his own and pass any distance to another living creature on the same plane in a single round, regardless of the distance separating the two. A blood magus merely designates a direction and distance (“a living creature twenty miles due west of here”), and the bloodwalk ability transports him to a destination creature as close as possible to the desired location. He can’t specify a named individual as the endpoint unless he has previously obtained a sample of that creature’s blood and has it preserved in a vial that he carries. The entry and destination creatures need not be familiar to the blood magus. A blood magus cannot use himself as an entry creature. If an intended entry creature is unwilling, he must make a successful melee touch attack to enter. (A missed touch attack does not use up the ability for that day.) When exiting a creature, a blood magus chooses an adjacent square in which to appear. Entering and exiting a creature is painless unless a blood magus wishes otherwise (see below). In most cases, though, the destination creature finds being the endpoint of a magical portal surprising and quite unsettling. If he desires, a blood magus can attempt to make a bloody exit from the destination creature. He bursts forth explosively from the creature’s body, dealing 10d6 points of damage unless the creature makes a Fortitude save (DC 10 + blood magus’s class level + blood magus’s Con modifier). When he makes a bloody exit, a blood magus must succeed on a DC 15 Fortitude save or be stunned for 1 round from the shock of his expulsion.
Whichever way you want to look at it, Manila is a fascinating city. In a very different fashion than anything I've experienced in Japan. There the very order and cleanliness is such that you're tempted to walk across a lawn, to drop a wrapper, to sneeze loudly in public, to go Habu-snake hunting, even though you can't read the signs that forbid such Gross Indecent Impoliteness and Danger. Here in Manila the utter clutter and the perpetual dirt is sense-boggling until you begin to find your way and become attuned to the great variety of smells both foul and sweet of a poverty-driven tropical Asian city and to the cacaphony of its traffic.
I chose to be near Rizal Park, devoted to the 'George Washington' of Philippine national independence, José Rizal. The park is overwhelmingly large with much nationalist statuary; rather crumbling, though, and falling apart, and also with many homeless people (generally with a smile for the Tourist with the Funny Japanese Hat). Whatever... I came here especially for the Japanese and Chinese Gardens and the Orchidarium. They'd been highly recommended. I was sorely disappointed. The Chinese and Japanese Gardens are scratchy affairs badly maintained, dry ponds, broken steps and paths. Plants not cultivated. Even the weeds - yes! those favorites of mine - seemed 'tired'. The Orchidarium is closed 'for renovation' and is - I was told by a 'street-person' - open only to wedding parties who want to pose prettily. She even made a joke of it, as you might expect.
Today I walked around the Old City, Intramuros, maybe five kilometers or so. At least as far as I was allowed. A large swathe of the beautiful lawns and greens are the very private Intramuros Golf Club. Fenced out are scores of derelicts who make themselves a home between the perimeter fence and the trees lining a major highway, and also anyone else who's not a member. Nowhere though did I have a sense of insecurity, and when I lost my way along the Pasig River - my presumed passageway has been blocked off by another grate - I was led back to a throughway by a pack of half-naked boys diving up from the incredibly dirty waters. Here, too, everything was 'broken' - even one or two of the lads -, but for the weeds!
Making my way to Fort Santiago and yet another shrine to José Rizal (1861-1896), I climbed onto the Bulwarks. Weeds, again, of course. Among them this pretty Desmodium paniculatum.
Great Carolus Linnaeus on the authority of Johannes Fredericus Gronovius (1686-1772) calls it Hedysarum paniculatum. But it received its Desmodian name from Augustin Pyramus de Candolle (1778-1841) in 1825. It is said to grow in dry woods and fields from New York southwards to Virginia. Since then - and perhaps earlier even if botanists didn't notice - it's been naturalised all over the world. Also on the dry grounds of the stony Ramparts of Intramuros, Manila, where I could greet it as an Old Friend.
The flower of this member of the bean family measures about 10 by 6-7 mm.
All rights reserved.
This Easter I traveled to the colonial town of Taxco, Mexico to relax and document the Semana Santa or Holy Week procession festivities. They are based on customs originally brought from Spain almost 500 years ago. These rituals were periodically banned for political reasons but have been regularly practiced in Taxco once a year for the past 100 years or so. One can see, hear, and sense the processions as they wind through the ancient cobblestone streets. Children dressed as angels, followed by the faithful shouldering beautifully carved religious statuses. I witnessed “penitentes” who demonstrated their faith through self-inflicted suffering.
These re-enactments and processions are an amalgamation of Spanish and pre-Columbian worship and culture. For example, the use of percussion and musical instruments, and the specific qualities of “penitente” practices have indigenous roots. The indigenous identification with Christ’s (Jews) suffering at the hands of the Romans, mirrors their own history of suffering at the hands of the conquistadors. The flagellation practices are reminiscent of those found in Aztec culture. Their use of decorations, plants (zarzamora) and materials by the “penitentes” are clear adaptations to medieval Spanish customs and ritual.
Taxco is reported to be the “Silver Center of the World” where four tons of silver a month are made into jewelry and other works of art. In the late 1920s, the charm of this colonial hillside town attracted William Spratling, a North American architect, writer and artist, and his charisma in turn made Taxco “the haunt of Bohemian American artists and literati.”
Since 9/11 they’ve been hit hard due to drastically reduced tourism and because of the increased prices of silver. These are a proud, hardworking people who are very devout in their spirituality and commitment to their families. These are part of a series of images captured in Taxco as well as Cacalotenango. I got to the later by paying a private driver to transport me there. On my return to Taxco, I was blessed by having made friends with two Univision TV cameramen who’d managed to have a police truck at their disposal.
Cacalotenango is a small agricultural town in the mountains about one hour west of Taxco. The Semana Santa Good Friday festivities and passion play are acted out authentically. The whippings, flagellations and crucifixion actually occur live in front of spectators who are warned to stay clear of the action to avoid getting hurt. True to form, the crowds (and the photographers) were constantly being harassed, pushed and shoved by the Roman centurions who were clearing the way for the procession along the “Via Dolorosa.”
At one point, a bullwhip lash meant for “Jesus” actually hit me. I didn’t really get hurt but (in my mind) I fancied myself an “artist-penitent” of sorts as I roasted in the hot sun running up and down a wide area of hills and steep walkways trying to stay close to the action.
Let me tell you, this was as real an enactment as can be, short of death. According to an indigenous penitente, who became a friend, the crucifixion was real on both hands though the feet were tied in place. As I followed the Christ figure through various phases of torture, defilement and physical injuries, there was no doubt he was actually experiencing incredible suffering, exhaustion and pain.
As a semi-lapsed Catholic convert and human being I was extremely moved by the devotion of the participants and spectators who were able to relive the suffering, sacrifice and selflessness of this event.
A “penitente” told me this suffering was offered prayerfully for the well-being and healing of themselves, their families and communities. Beyond this was also an offering for national and world peace.
As an example, this indigenous “penitente” told me that he was praying for peace in Iraq and for the safety of American soldiers. Although I found these practices to be extreme and outside of my frame of experience, there was nothing fanatical or pathological about the people choosing to do this. They presented as very intelligent, discriminating, balanced and kind.
I got the sense that they were at peace with themselves and very centered. They seem to go into ecstatic or meditative states that defy ones concept of human endurance and self healing. I was told elderly diabetics have healed completely after deep flagellations with lead tipped whips after exhausting processions of many miles.
About 36 hours after severe self flagellation with metal tipped whips causing severe open wounds and ripped flesh, my friend's back appeared to have only a slight purplish hematomas with unbroken skin. I accidentally touched it when we hugged and he did not feel any pain........ Had I not seen this, I wouldn't have believed it possible.
Though I don't feel moved to do what these folks do, having seen what I've seen and having developed friendships with these wonderful people, I can understand how they attune to their spirituality in this way. When I think about it, I'm amazed at the perfection, joy and abundance of spirit to be found everywhere, however alien these particular practices may have seemed at first.
I have somehow developed a faith that the "economies" of spirit are perfectly balanced and without judgement toward all manner of human spiritual development and devotion. This is part of a forthcoming series of images documenting Semana Santa (Easter) in Taxco and Cacalotenango, Mexico in April 2007.
I returned today back to the place where I built the circle yesterday. It was much warmer today and the wind had dropped. I had noticed the pebbles yesterday and thought I would try and make something with them.
Yet again I tried several different things unsure right to the end whether what I had finally settled on would work. I didn't know when I started if I would find enough colours to fill the platform, but as always as you start to get a feel for the pebbles that are there, you start to see many more colours than were first apparent. It takes a few hours of being there before your eyes become attuned and the different hues reveal themselves. This is what is interesting for me when making these sculptures that as you spend more time looking you become more absorbed in the environment and more and more aspects are revealed to you. This process is at the heart of land art. Through making sculptures with natural materials you peel back the layers of the place and discover what is at first hidden from the the fleeting eye.
This is the oldest of the existing classical - read Sanskrit - theatre in Kerala, India, which is usually performed in a kuthambalam a specially designed and constructed building inside the Hindu temple complexes. It is a living tradition of classical Sanskrit drama that has survived intact for more than one thousand years and is perhaps the oldest continuous art form in India. Kudiyattam means literally, “performing or playing together”; the name may reflect the presence on stage of one or more actors closely attuned to drummers playing the ancient, free-standing mizhavu drums, or it may point to the moment, common to many of the dramas performed, when a lone actor—who has held the audience in thrall over many nights—is joined by another.
This image is from a scene from one of the great compositions of this tradition, the so-called Anguliyankam, or Drama of the Ring, which goes on for some 130 hours spread over twenty-nine nights.It is based on the sixth act of the seven-act "Ascharya-chudamani", or "Marvelous Jewel on the Head", by the great Kerala poet Saktibhadra (perhaps tenth century), who reworked the story of the Sanskrit epic Ramayana in highly original ways. This Kudiyattam version has completely recast the sequence of the original Sanskrit text in order to create an entire world of visions, memories, wishes, fantasies, perceptions (both false and less-than-false), obsessive projections, lost chunks of stories—everything, in short, that must have existed in the awareness of each of its characters and that can be conjured up by the actor as he shapes or kneads the empty space around him and also to sculpt a fully formed reality out of that empty space to explore the subtleties and inner meanings of longing and loss.
This classical rendering of drama is believed to be a more advanced form of art,both in aesthetics and theater practices, than the well known dance-drama form called Kathakali.
In May 2001,UNESCO declared it a masterpiece of human heritage to be protected and preserved.
Some strange weather modification shenanigans went on yesterday in the area, and I've chosen a bleak looking photo as a backdrop to this description.
Upon arriving to the woods, we were greeted by a hailstorm. Nothing to write home about in and of itself but... the air temperature kept 7 degrees above the freezing point. Yet the icy pellets would not melt. This lasted for 20 minutes or so, then changed into rain, then stopped. Skies cleared, a real-life 7*C temperature returned, then another band of hail precipitation came and pelted down for 10 minutes.
These weird phenomena have been occurring for a few years now, but have recently assumed a more regular and in-your-face appearance. In January this year, after tinkering with our car, I wanted to clean my hands in the snow, the abundance of which had become unprecedented in the past half a decade. 4 degrees above the freezing point (shortly after 15 below) plus many years of experience playing with snow at various temperatures during wintertime instilled a confidence in me as to what I should be expecting in terms of texture and viscosity of the water crystals I was about to use as a cleaning agent. I was dumbfounded to discover that the "snow" I'd just scooped up from the ground would not stick or melt, it just escaped through my fingers almost like grains of sand.
Countless visits to the woods would leave me puzzled on noticing vast areas with plants suddenly withering mid-season, yet keeping their bronzed, wizened foliage even through winter. Then, leaves which did fall in autumn, failed to decompose and would just drift in an eternal layer, crumbling only below the feet of hikers. What happened to the microbiota..?
If you're more or less attuned to Nature, you know when something is off. I've been noticing things on my own and would pick bits and pieces of information from like-minded people. Then I stumbled upon Dane Wigington and GeoEngineeringWatch.org — if you haven't seen Dane's latest docu, "The Dimming," please do. It may be a shocker, an eye-opener, or it may simply provide a few missing pieces to the puzzle you might have been trying to solve.
Especially in the current global state of affairs.
It'd be wrong to claim that I like being anxious, but I've found a way to redirect that energy pretty effectively into my particular way of being. Anxiety inhabits a nervous, weightless space – I feel light-headed, and a little sick with it. When it gets too wild, the static maelstrom sort of buzzes out my effectiveness. But as a driving force, well, it's the closest I've come to ever having one. When I show up at some signing or speaking engagement, there's always at least one person saying: "You look younger than I thought." I know why, and it's not surprising. As a writer, I'm solitary and intensely directed. Any distractions in the veil of me and nature are mostly unneeded. But face-to-face, I'm smiling, I'm talking till I'm tripping over my own tongue and words. Ancient as I feel in isolation, I'm still a little kid in company. There's a part of me that comes alive in contact, and the high is manageable because I've become attuned to it. Anxiety in action, a force for my greater good.
June 18, 2023
Bear River, Nova Scotia
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Towards the end of March I made another trip to Slimbridge, Gloucestershire.
This Juvenile Spoonbill started to have a flap around.
Spoonbills are relatively rare breeding birds in the UK, but their numbers are increasing. They are most often found along coastal sites in southern and eastern England. The main stronghold for breeding spoonbills in the UK is Holkham Nature Reserve in Norfolk.
Spoonbills are named after their bizarre spatula-like bill. Generally feeding in flocks, they swing their slightly open beaks from side to side through shallow pools of water. Their remarkable bill is packed full of sensors attuned to the tiniest vibrations, and once located, unlucky beetles, crustaceans, worms, small fish, tadpoles and frogs stand no chance of escape.
I've always felt sorry for folks who were perfectly happy as kids, teenagers, and young adults. There's an unseen downside in having no context for darkness – when your shadow finally sneaks up to grab you, you've got no natural immunity. I've seen the bottom fall out for a lot of men in my age group, hit hard in their twenties and thirties. They don't know how to deal with it, so end up unhinged or shut down all together. I've got sympathy for the former, but find the latter hard to relate. Giving up the fight is understandable, but hardly honourable. A lot of middle-aged guys think that their dullness is earned. Hard work is exhausting, and at the end of the day, they just want to shut off. But the outlet of making a mess of yourself is underrated. I don't mean anger, that's cheap. You've gotta be stronger to get weak. I cry at shows and movies, laugh at simple beauty, feel emotionally overwhelmed on a daily basis. I keep absolutely nothing to myself. It was a tough thing to learn. At first, all your bleeding is black and congealed, just a disgusting misery to be around. But eventually, the blood flows bright red and fully oxygenated – and the wounds you stopped trying to stifle will heal.
Some of my earliest memories are of feeling somehow off, wearing an unnamed emotional weight, or buzzing from unseen anxiety. That was in my head from the start. Growing up wasn't something I'd want to repeat. Most of my childhood was outwardly happy, but inside, I was a mess. I still sense that static in my background daily, waiting to rise. But that's not how I present face-to-face. Over the past fifteen years, I've become steadily attuned to the light of interaction, pleasures of human connection. Any chance to open up has treated me well. I thought the day would never come when I wasn't constantly complaining, broke down from dragging myself through life. I thought I'd have to wear the badge most men in my family had sewn to their skin by the time I was born – cold and distant like survival demanded it. It was a hell of a heartache, but I shook loose and left myself exposed. Took a hard look at everything, audited my emotions, didn't accept that apathy is earned. It's a curse compiled from a life of not caring. If thawing out doesn't seem worth it at the moment, that's all the evidence you should need that it is.
March 9, 2025
St. Croix Cove, Nova Scotia
Year 18, Day 6328 of my daily journal.
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The Canadian lynx (Lynx canadensis) is a medium-sized wild cat native to North America, renowned for its adaptability to cold environments. Typically weighing 18–24 pounds and standing about 19–22 inches tall, it boasts a thick, silvery-brown coat with faint spots, providing camouflage in snowy forests. Its large, padded paws act like snowshoes, enabling silent stalking across deep snow, while tufted ears enhance its acute hearing. A short, black-tipped tail and a ruff of fur framing its face give it a distinctive look.
Primarily a solitary hunter, the lynx preys on snowshoe hares, which dictate its population cycles. Found across Canada, Alaska, and parts of the northern U.S., it thrives in boreal forests. Elusive and rarely seen, the Canadian lynx embodies the quiet resilience of the wilderness, perfectly attuned to its harsh, wintry domain.
______________
AI image created with Elon Musk's Grok3.
Luciel (left) and Lysander (right) are Pazuzu's oldest children - their parentage is kept under lock and key (some say because Pazuzu herself can't remember but shush, we are not listening to gossips!). As children they are attuned to each other like only twins are but drift apart as adults when both take their leave of their mother’s crazy life and settle down far away as ‘normal’ people.
They actually come back together when Luciel’s marriage goes south, Lysander kills dis brother’s husband, Pazuzu has her hands full with getting that cleared off and Lysander falls back into his role as protective one of the twins.
As an adult Luciel actually closely resembles his mother and often gets confused for her when people only go by the description of “tall black haired woman with deadly smile”. Jeromé likes to point out that the difference are Pazuzu’s ‘obvious assets’ because everyone got stuck in the toddler stage of humoristic development.
So, I finally succumbed to the lure of TWINSES and Amet did a fantabulous job in painting them <3 Their success in getting dress in mainly ready-made stuff actually inspired the rule that all of Pazuzu’s children shall-not-get-custom-made-stuff-to-save-me-money-rule but ahaha, that went outta the window very fast cause finding YoSD stuff ready-made how I want them dressed? No chance!
The ‘what is what’
Fairyland Littlefee Shiwoo OE and SP Mod. with face-ups by Amet, eye mod by Eludys,wig from Crobidoll, turtleneck by oursweetcreations, vest by Dollheart, hakama by japonsakura, shoes from Taobao, swords from eBay.
Eyes are EnchanteDoll OE) and LuaGaro (SP Mod.)
both opening prompt and vanishing point for these mostly gestural ink paintings is a quote from artist Alok Hsu Kwang-han –
“the emptiness of the self is the one who can move through the broken heart of the world and feel at home”
the initial impulse to allow the intuition of the moment to guide the brush strokes, as portraits of energy or presencing; a kind of witnessing without accumulation or interference, attunement to murmurations; while occasionally more representational images emerge – as well, entendering – and in the spirit of the initial quotation, everything belongs
Classical science tends to think of nature as something external to predict and control. Scientists try to understand the forces of nature and harness them for the benefit of humanity. This use of nature can be positive, leading to many technological advances that save lives and make living easier.
There is another completely different view of nature as something to connect with, to become One with. Through nature we experience our own nature, our spiritual being. When we are truly attuned to nature, we will know it and understand it from the inside. Nature expresses the sublime. A snow-capped mountain, a fragrant flora in bloom, a red-orange sunset inspires awe and reverence. Your understanding begins with simple, direct contact: becoming aware of the grass under your feet or the stars above your head.
Trying to control nature sets us apart from it. The more we strive to control, the further away we find ourselves, alienated from our own environment. Only human beings interfere with what is naturally there. We create obstructions that alienate us from our true nature. We construct barriers on the path that hinder our journey.
Reclaim your ability to respond and react directly to what is really there by getting in touch with nature. And as you reunite with nature, you draw strength from it, rediscovering your harmony with the universe. There is no conflict and nothing to control.
Nature is nearby, accessible, and patiently waiting. Just walk out into the woods, climb a mountain on a majestic day, or laydown on riverbank, and you instinctual feel something stir within. Our relationship with nature is a kinship. It does not need to be adversarial. With enlightenment comes an acceptance and awareness of the intimate interrelationship at the heart of all things.
Attune yourself to nature by attuning your own awareness to what is all around you. Then you become a part of a peaceful moment in nature, busy just being trees and grass and flowers and you. You become aware of the whole, experiencing the wonders of nature through your own wonder. You are not so different: You are nature itself.
Taken: Camping Site, Beside the river Banks of Kunhar, Upper Kagan Valley, Pakistan
The Watcher in the woods
Pursuing the Posh
A Cat Burglar Saga
From the files of Chatwick University Criminology Department.
C.B. Case Study 13 , File B
Subset Source: Journal
Subject “Harley Q” -- Real name?
ORIGINATION STORY:
flic.kr/p/BcnW2J
Synopsis:
The young lady was approaching sweet sixteen if I estimated accurately. She was clad in a tailored dress of bronze velvet that shone richly over her lithe figure. Her long blonde hair tied in back, flickered like a horses’’ tail. She had come bounding from a ladies powder chamber, one of several located at either end of the grand ballroom that sat off the formal dining rooms.
I fell in step behind her, watching as her splendid jewelry bounced merrily as she pranced along like some untried colt, sorry filly. Her pearls were lovely things, a matched set, double strands all, real diamond clasps, shone gleaming with a pristine whiteness that reminded me of fresh snow.
The pearls were a sweet lure, of that there was no doubt; but apologies if I am prattling n a bit about them, for after all, what is a jewel thief who fails to notice a ladies jewels? A starving bugger, that’s who.
Now I have found out during my times here on the earth that I can make quite a profit from burgling the safes of wealthy ladies whilst they slept peacefully within their fancy chambres. But I had started out walking my morally tainted chosen path by picking the pockets of the unwary along the way. It was my fate to eventually discover the delightfully chilling sensation that was experienced when lifting the very jewels displayed by unsuspecting female targets. And this was still my guilty pleasure, to the point that I would still take that far riskier venture of lifting worn jewelry whenever opportunity arose, which was quite often in my travelled circles.
So, that is why I habitually started to follow this meandering youth, only because of her jewels, which I found to be quite vexing. Especially her earrings, a dangling set held to her ears by genuine diamond studded hinge clasps. I had seldom attempted sets of worn earrings, not for the lack of desire, and with this one’s head just reaching me chest, it was a very tempting prospect to try and pluck em both off just to see?
Fortunately, for her (not me), this pretty miss was a bit too young for my standards to make any attempt to lift from her any of the swinging pearls, earrings or otherwise. I do prefer my marks to be a bit older, a bit wiser, a bit more of a challenge to my abilities, thank you very much! Besides, I had already had my eye on a few other, challenging female prospects wearing some rather nice pieces in their own right. Including one sapphire laden Lass in a silky frock that had greatly provoked my attentiveness.
So I just followed this young one while she skirted the ballroom and entered a dining area. There she rejoined, what were quite obviously, her parents.
There were, it appeared, just the three of them, no older jewel laden siblings in sight. But, speaking of appearances, the Mother certainly presented a rather nice one, and so I stopped to drink it all in.
The mother/wife was fluidly clad in an all so elegant purple satin number, poured rather snugly along her still quite lovely figure. Said figure had been made even more eye catching (especially for me) by being emblazon with a matching set of jewels, all set with small 1 caret white diamonds, encircling her neck, wrists and fingers with energetic ripples of fiery colour.
She was with her husband, a distinguished looking gent in tails who may have passed as a Barrister, for which all I knew he was. Now Sandwiched in between was their charming young daughter, who was happily chatting away without a care in the world. Her pristine pearls still dangling, mocking me it would seem, to just make the one exception and attempt to take them home with me. I just smiled to wickedly to myself, maybe someday I would I promised them, once their young mistress had grown up a bit, then we would see who was mocking whom from the wickets!
But I did not dwell too long on such thought’s , or on the pretty family either, for, like I have revealed, I had other fish frying, and only am mentioning this particular incident because of what would occur in two days hence. So after a bit I turned and began wandering off.
But then, speaking of starving jewel thieves, I observed at the precise moment I turned away, a most stunning red head wearing a long black gown that fluttered about, here and there, in a most alluring fashion. She was making a beeline towards the very same powder chamber I had just passed. She was obviously in a rush to reach it, and once I laid my eyes on the pearls she was wearing, I moved towards her in an equally purposeful stride. I intercepted her, letting her bump against me, as I stepped on the hem of her long gown. She stopped abruptly, and I momentarily placed an arm around her smooth waist, steadying her as I apologized and begged the ladies pardon for my clumsiness.
She begrudgingly accepted my apologies, and I watched as she scurried off, having already pocketed the pearled bracelet I had slipped from her red satin gloved wrist, and made my own path. I smirked to myself that the bracelet was some consolation for not having an unscrupulous go for the pearls that had hung around the young daughter’s throat, hung from her ears, and encircled one petite wrist, as I stole one last look back towards the pretty families’ table.
I walked away, turning my attentions back to relocating a certain lady elegantly wearing a silky frock, displaying those magnificent sapphires. I was watching, waiting for her to leave, in order to follow to her next stop, eventually hoping to be led to her last, having decided to acquire the fair damsel’s collection of jewels enmasse!
***** Two productive evenings later ****************
It was at a wedding reception the 2 evenings later that I again, quite un-expectantly, spied the Barrister and his entourage.
I had been having a delightful chat with the newly minted wife of the titled Scion of a rather old family. I had won the sweepstakes of receiving a dance with the charming Miss. But alas my chat was cut short as she was whisked away to dance with yet another admirer. I watched as she swept off, my hand reaching into me breast pocket, fingering a still warm diamond brooch. That jewel had been merrily dangling down from her satin gowns’ cleavage, over shadowed by her ample bosom. As we had danced, I had managed to work open its silvery clasp, and lift the brooch cleanly away. My hidden vest pocket also contained at the time a rather pretty ring with a blue carbuncle surrounded by sparkly diamonds. Said ring had been wrapped around the finger of a rather vexing long raven haired lass. I had admired the silken dress she was wearing, and as she had happily swirled and twirled to give me a better look, I had taken the opportunity to relieve her finger of its burden. Since I was only allowing meself a couple of prospects with an affair this small, I now made my way, leisurely, contentedly, towards an exit (stage right as they say in the trades).
But, no sooner had I put me back to the dance floor, than whom do I spy across the room? That rather delightful miss with a long blonde ponytail, who was now dressed elegantly in cream lace, that I had spied at dinner a few evenings back. It was the very same young lady, wearing the same set of mocking white pearls, and as I discreetly draw near, I soon spied her parents.
The “Barrister” was dapper in crisp white shirt and tux, with a fancy gold pocket watch and fob at his waist. The daughter’s look alike mother was now smartly encased in a fitted red gown that shimmered delightfully as it swished about. She was also wearing a nice display of brite emeralds to boot.
This time I took closer notice of the Mothers Jeweles. Between the emeralds today and the diamonds the night before, this lady in red could be a nice meal ticket if the stars were aligned properly. And so it turned out they very happily (for me) did.
With a few discreet questions from some acquaintances quickly garnered for just such information, I found out where my “Barrister” and his family were spending their late evenings asleep. It so happened that they were staying in a penthouse suite 3 floors above my own modest single. So instead of leaving the reception to scout out a way to gain easy access to their rooms, I could stay and enjoy myself, already being all too familiar with the place. Which I did, later acquiring a gold jeweled bracelet from a charming maiden attired delightfully in teal satin, who had kept flaunting her jewels in me face as she told me all about her perfect self. Another jewel added for my growing collection of the evening.
Now, don’t ask me why I was so familiar with my hotels’ penthouse suites, being a cat burglar, the reasons should be quite clear! So when the pretty family left the reception early, around 9 pm returning to their rooms, I was able to follow them with less discretion then I usually do, but still with growing eager anticipation. Also, even more remarkably, they were in bed and asleep by 10:30 pm, which allowed me a much earlier window of opportunity than I had grown accustomed to having.
And so it was, that soon after the stroke of midnight, with the happy family deep in their slumbers that I, wearing my black burgling attire, climbed onto the balcony of their rooms. After jimmying open the double glass doors with my Fairborn dagger, I found myself in a small sitting room. Carefully allowing my torch to search around I spied a door on the far end. Opening it cautiously, the first thing I see are the daughters pricey pearls piled loosely on a vanity by the bed where she lay sleeping, dressed in white, looking ever so like the angel she is. I picked up the necklace of pearls, eyeing them as I watch the slumbering figure on the bed. But I passed the pretty things up, for even though I am a thief by nature, I do possess some scruples, albeit maybe a little warped! Besides, those taunting pearls had led me to the small treasure trove that was awaiting me in her Mothers’ chambers. So with a silent thanks, I replaced them upon the vanity, and move off…
The parents were found in the next room, soundly sleeping off their alcohol induced haze. The mother was draped over her husband, fetchingly clad in a long satin nightdress that looked almost like an evening gown. Her vulgarly large wedding diamonds flickered pleasantly from her finger as I let my torch sneak up along her shimmering figure. On the bed stand laid the “Barristers” gold watch and a rather pleasing selection of his wife’s gold “day” jewelry, but I passed the lot up, my eyes looking for the good stuff that would be snuggled inside the small room safe that I knew would be behind a false door in one side of the oak dresser ( having already discovered that fact a year previously in a different room of the same hotel)!
I went directly to it, and opening the cabinet door, began to use my finely attuned skills to crack it. It was a simple American lock and only took me a minute to have open. I than emptied the small collection of jewel cases ( lovely things) placing them into my small sack. I also find inside the mothers small clutch purse made expensively of red silk and rhinestones, that had been at her side all evening. Out of curiosity (why in the safe?) I placed it inside my bag with the jewels. After checking that the parents were still out cold, I closed the safe, flickering my torch around one last time, it settles upon her red gown, and its emerald rhinestone clips coming blazing into lively flame. I passed on them, and headed back out towards the door. I had almost regained it, and my freedom, when the husband let out a loud snort, and I heard rustling going on in the bed behind me. I froze and carefully looked back. Neither had woken, but the wife had turned onto her side, and her left hand was now hanging limply over the side of the bed. I watched as the diamonds set in the gold ring encircling her slender finger blazed into life (the ring was somewhat loose I keenly noticed)! Blimey, there was enough dosh in the value of that ring that would have paid for all the expenses of the Cardiff C.C. for an entire season, perhaps 2! But, Bird in the Hand, I am always telling meself, so I left the pretty thing dangling there, and finished my careful retreat. I made it out without further incident.
Passing the daughters room ( and her pearls again), I checked in. The young filly was still was sound asleep in her own pleasant dreams, her taunting pile of pearls still on the vanity, where they would remain. I regained the balcony and slipping over, made my way down to the window of my own room.
Back in my room I empty my sack, the pile of jewels flickering in a frenzy of colours. I admire the little darlings briefly before stashing them. I than pick up the purse and open it. Inside amongst the usual feminy items, I found a letter. Looking at it my heart, already beating quickly from the exhilaration of being on the prowl, skipped one beat, for it was addressed to the lady whose jewels I now possessed, and it was an address of an area I knew quite well. I thought about her address, the house she presumably shared with husband and daughter, the house which should be empty seeing its owners were sleeping just three floors above me. A house that was little over an hour away, only about ¾ of that hour by driving my Lotus. It was a house that I figuratively knew; being in the same neighborhood (relatively speaking) of a house I had reconnoitered and quite lucratively burgled the previous spring.
It was perfect. While the family was asleep snug in their beds here, I could reach their abode, with its jewel laden safe ( they all had jewel laden safes in that area), ½ hour to creep the place, an hour to do the job proper and I would be back in time to catch a two hour kip and be checked out and on my way before the pretty family have had breakfast. It, bears repeating, was perfect.
I looked at the envelope, was its contents that valuable that she felt the need to lock it up. More than mildly curious, I pulled it out and read it. It was from someone named Samuel. In no uncertain terms, he was informing the lady that for only ₤5000 sterling he would leave for the States and never bother her Daughter Claire again. I thought of the young girl asleep in the suite I had just left. What kind of Scoundrel would lure a young girl like that into his clutches with the intent of extorting her parents! For a moment I pondered this bit of information, before deciding that the opportunity was too ripe to pass up just because I felt a small twinge of compassion. Besides, if the parents could afford to cough up a cool 5 thousand, they weren’t hurting in the financial department.
I changed, and quickly gathered my things and headed out quietly via a back entrance. Placing my burgle kit (containing the ladies jewels) into the boot of me two seater, I fired up the lotus’s engine and was off on my little undertaking!
A half hour away I turned down a little used rutty road/path. Pulling over I grabbed my burgle kit and headed down to some ancient stone ruins. Checking to make sure none of my warning snares had been tripped, I entered a small stone building. Going down into one of its old, crumbling basements, I uncovered a small cubby and added the jewels to the growing collection of my recent takings.
Included in the collection were sets of pearls burgled from a coach stop overnight room occupied by a pair of fairly insufferable spinster sisters. Other burgled items were a rather pretty , if not vulgarly large, diamond set obtained from a naive damsel who thought hiding them under the pillow she slept on was safer than a safe, (always happy to enlighten someone upon the error of their ways that’s me), and of course the sapphires that the lass in the silky frock had been wearing 2 nights previous ( along with some rather nice sets of rubies and diamond adorned amethysts that had lain in the same safe, located above her soundly sleeping figure! ) The rest of the lot consisted of items I had “picked up” while on the prowl: a nice collection of brooches, rings, bracelets, and an eye-catching sapphire pendent hanging from a diamonded chain.
I than closed everything up, rechecked my warning snares, and headed back to my Lotus.
Another 30 minutes and I had reached my destination.
The house itself was pretty secluded, located by an intersection of two lanes. I drove its perimeter than doubling back found a pull off. I backed up and turned down and off the road hiding the small sports car in a grove of pines.
Already wearing some of my burglar attire, (black military trousers and sweater), I placed a hood over my head, pulled out my small kit, fastening a torch and military knife to my belt, I was off. The house appeared to be deserted, I found the servants quarters located at the back of the house over a small barn, the only cars were a small sports car in a shed, and a roadster sitting out front. A large garden surrounded by hedges lay to the west of the house, a larger Tudor, with several porches and balconies. Using the hedges as cover, I shimmed up an old tree located by a balcony, and slipping onto the balcony proper, I made my way to the door. Shimmed the latch with my Fairborn commando knife, and then entered into a side bedroom. I was looking for the master suite, and this was not it, the daughter’s by all appearances. I spied a small ornate silver box on a table, but passed it up , on the search for bigger game!
Turning on my torch I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. At the end was a set of double mahogany doors and this is where I set my sights. Along the hallway wall were several rather nice paintings (not copies) and I let the pool of my light flicker along them. Included in the lot was a small painting of a young fox, half asleep, eyeing something in the distance? I stood for precious seconds admiring it, and then turned my attention to the mahogany doors. They were not locked, and I cautiously, very slowly, opened one. Pay dirt! A large empty canopied bed stood in the middle of the room, a love seat to one side, a settee on the other, and directly across from the bed a large ornate sideboard with mirror. Along one side of the wall was a series of chains with different rooms labelled underneath, presumably connected to bells in those rooms. It definitely belonged to the mistress of the house, and, hopefully, her jewels.
I let my light flow over the room, avoiding the window and glass door that led out onto another balcony. I soon spotted the location of the safe; it was behind an old painting of a Harlequin. Said Harlequin was standing on a black and white checked tile floor, as he looked inquisitively into his own reflection from an ornate wall mirror. The painting was located on the wall between the corner and the intricately carved oak sideboard. I slid back the painting on its hinges, exposing the small safe.
It was exactly the same safe as their neighbors, the ones I had burgled clean in the spring. Quickly getting to work I spin the tumblers, listening intently for the correct paths of clicks. Bingo! , it opened up like a dream. Inside I found a bonanza of about a dozen small jewel cases handedly printed with the jewelers names (Cartier and Tiffany’s amongst them! ) I quickly open and empty their contents into my kit, pouring out a delightfully pricey array of colorful gems of all types and styles. Replacing the empty cartons, I rummage around, finding a small stack of gold and silver coins and a couple of bundles of notes, currency of the realm. I favorably pocket the lot.
Suddenly I freeze, hearing the unmistakable sounds of muffled giggling from down the corridor. Closing the safe and picture I back off and hide inside a closet, wishing I had had the foresight to have opened the balcony door to see if that had offered escape, but I had been so sure I would be alone that evening that I had let me guard slacken a bit. I hoped that whoever it was they were heading off to bed.
They were off to bed, problem was it was the bed in the room I was in for which they were heading. I heard the door open, and from the crack in the closet door, I saw a young couple come in, tipsy and fondling the heck out of one another. The female was obviously an older daughter of the house, a mini version of the mother and her sister. She was resplendent in a long flowing cream satin evening gown; her paramour was a beady eyed, weasely faced chap in loose fitting tux and tails. It must have been his roadster outside; the couple must have been snogging in the garden, and drinking wine, judging from the smell and the way they were acting. Again I kicked myself for not checking the grounds more thoroughly. But why hadn’t the bloody twit of a daughter been at the wedding with her family where she belonged? But a bit later I was to reason that if she had, I would have been tempted to lift a diamond bracelet, and me path may have ended there. Missing out entirely, the opportunity to burgle the contents of 2 bedroom safes, master and penthouse!
They headed right to the bed, (doing it on the parents bed, and old cracker that was) the lady not even taking off her long satin gloves, just falling onto the bed with her doe wide eyes gleaming, while her beady eyed lover was falling all over her. Oh god! Samuel, I heard her mummer in passion. My eyes were opened, this must be the daughter Claire, and the beady eyed bloke was the infamous Samuel. Now it made a little more sense, but not any less wicked. I watched them in a new light, my mind going a full mile a minute trying to see a way out of the situation. . “Si vous voulez faire rire Dieu , faire des plans” I muttered an old saying in French, chastising myself inwardly for taking on such a gamble rushed for time.
Now, I am certainly no voyeur, and my belief that some things private, are, well private! But actually, in this instance, there was no choice. I tried not to watch, but the couple’s raw, animal like lovemaking and all its trimmings were happening just feet away. I began to amuse myself by watching the flashy show put on by the daughter’s sparkling jewels and the fluidly movement of her shiny, slinking gown as they were caught in the moonlight that streamed thru the glass of the balcony door. It was the type of show that engrosses any jewel thief worth his salt (hell, any bloke worth his salt for that matter). My mind also kept going back to the letter that I had found in the red silk purse and I hoped that a way would open to cause “Mr.” Samuel some sort of grief.
Beady eyes comes onto her, driving her mind off everything but what he is doing, as her eyes are closed tight, his are open, looking about. I slink in a little more into the shadows, keeping his face in my view. Occasionally a white satin gloved hand appears, rings and bracelets sparkling in a frenzied flickering as her fingers grip his face. Suddenly his eyes open wide as he looks towards the painting of the Harlequin. Cripes I mutter as I look there also, for on the floor lies a diamond bracelet, the fancy bugger must have slipped out as I scurried to my hole. I prepare to bolt like a fox hiding close to where the hounds are heading (my mind went to the painting of the watchful fox in the hallway outside the bedroom).
But beady eyes says nothing..
He finished the job, with her squealing like a piglet, before she slumps back exhaustedly onto the bed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing became heavier as she lost all drink induced conscious. I watched as her lover’s half closed eye stayed focused on the bracelet, as he listened to her breathing become heavier. When he was sure she was asleep he slipped off and heading to the vanity scooped up the bracelet and placed it inside a pocket of his tux’s vest. He then crawls back next to her, gently fingering her diamond rings before (finally) joining her into heavy, wine induced sleep alongside.
It seemed like hours, but the whole episode, by me watch, lasted only a ¾ of hour, but it was a precious time I could ill afford to have lost atoll.
I was running late, but knew what I had to do next. Walking over to the pair I watched them for a few seconds, plotting my next course of action. Her jewels were flickering nicely in the moon’s light.
I reached down an lifting ever so gently one still gloved lifeless feminine hand, I slipped off a couple of sparkly rings from satin clad fingers, and unfastened a tight cuff bracelet emblazon with diamonds from around her wrist. Then I lifted the other hand, easily gliding off another brace of glistening rings from her fingers, and a second diamonded bracelet from her limp wrist. Than lifting her necklace of diamonds, I pulled it gently around admiring the way they rippled fire along her throat, till its jeweled clasp was exposed. Then I slowly pry open the jeweled clasp, and slipped the necklace away, watching it sway in the moonlight like a glistening snake. They were both still out cold, It wasn’t really very much of a challenge, not that I was complaining mind you.
I happily pocketed the lot, except for a cheaper ring. I swapped that ring for the diamond bracelet in Samuel’s vest pocket, hoping that the outcome would prove interesting. In the process of placing the ring in the Sammy boy’s vest, I came across his fat pocketbook, which I gladly lifted and added to the collection in my own now bulging pocket.
I then left the room, leaving quietly by stepping upon the soles of my feet. As I pass the small painting of the watching fox, I pull it off and stick it into my kit, a bonus for me extra worries. I than slip back through the daughter’s bedroom, its door now slightly ajar.
In a corner of the room lay the small silvery jewelry case I had passed up earlier thinking it was the younger daughters. But, I hesitated, wondering to which daughter the room belonged, for someone had slightly opened the door for a reason? I shook my head, no chances. But, wait a minute, I grinned as my thoughts grew ever more pleasing. I walked over to the small table that held the ornate silver jewel case (casket was what my Gram had called hers), above it was a small picture of the family daughters in full riding regalia, the older daughter, Claire, had a small pin of a fox in her shiny white satin caveat.
I bent down and opening the small case. There on top was the fox pin, glittering with brownish Sardonyx gemstones and bright red ruby eyes. I plucked it up and added it to my sparkling collection. Then I admired the shimmery collection of gold and pearled jewelry (no lowly silver for this lass). Selecting the better ones I placed them with the fox pin and the Mothers jewels in my kit, then scooping out the rest, I placed them in unceremoniously in a side pocket.
I then went back out the balcony and down the tree. I headed over to the roadster out front and taking out a few of the lesser jewels I had scooped into me pocket, and I began placing them in and underneath the passenger seat of the vehicle.
Finished I admired my handiwork, then looking leisurely around, let out a deep sigh of absolute relief, mixed with exquisite feelings of pleasure of an adventuer winningly pulled off, before melting off into the shadows of the woods. I soon reached my lotus, gunned the engine to life, and then proceeded to slowly drive off without headlights until I reach the main road.
I once again stopped at my hidden cubby and deposited my burglar’s kit and purloined jewels with the rest of my stash, reset my snares, and headed quickly back to the hotel.
I reached my destination just at cock crow, went upstairs and finished packing. It was later than I had anticipated, so no kip for the sinners. I just loaded my luggage into the boot of the two seater, checked my key in at the desk, settled my bill, and headed for a quick breakfast.
But I wasn’t quick enough, for about halfway through my breakfast The “Barrister” and his family came down to have the same. They appeared to be calm, so I knew that my activities earlier that morning had not been exposed yet.
I pushed aside my almost finished plate and standing, walked past them, allowing the daughter, who was clad in a silky skirt and matching satiny top, and wearing those taunting white pearls of hers, to bump into me as she pranced to their table. Steady girl I says, catching her as I eye for the last time her dangling jewelry. So sorry sir, she replied apologetically. I complimented her parents on their charming daughter. The father, in a formal suit and tie, grunts his thanks. The mother, in a scintillatingly swishing long red skirt, and heavy cream silk blouse, blushes prettily. I look over her plentiful “everyday” jewelry as I take their leave. What she was wearing for a normal day of activates was expensive enough to catch any thief’s desire to acquire.
As I walked away, a vision of her walking the streets, dressed as she was, back in Dickens London formed in my thoughts. She attracted the notice of a small street urchin, his devious heart pounding as he left huis vigil from the wall he had been leaning against too closely follow her as she swished by. Catching up to her in the hopes of brushing against her and with a sorry ma’am, walk away with some of it.
This was actually from a memory of mine ( long after Dickens time though) about an incident I had witnessed while working at my old uncles “eel and mash” shop.
A finely decked out young couple (the long haired lady wearing pearls as it so happened) had been inside the shop and finishing their meal, had walked out across the street. A street youth had been hanging out by the shop and had followed them across the street close on their heels. They all turned a corner, so I never knew what had happened, if anything ( which I sincerely doubted)! But that image had plagued many an unsettling adolescent dream with images of finely dressed ladies bending down to a begging young grimy faced lad, well ringed fingers and bracelets jangling as a coin was offered, gold lockets or pearls swaying out from tightly satin clad breasts to just within the reach of his grubby fingers….
I have come to believes that it was the seeds planted in my mind by those dreams that may have very well guided and nudged me onto the course I have continued following to this day.
So, naturally I guess, as I walked away my train of thoughts took a similar course as those dreams/nightmares. I imagined the mother I had just left, walking along a street alone, dressed as she was last evening, the jewels that were now in a cold small cubby, once again upon her figure, glittering their fiery beacon. Then suddenly her daughter, dressed as she was now, was strolling alongside her. The street urchin I had seen that morning so long ago was here also, following close, eyeing the ladies reflected jewels in a storefront window as they walked past……
But at that point in my daydream I realized that I had reached and was standing beside my two seater, and shaking my head clear of such thoughts (once again, sadly not seeing the outcome) I happily hopped over the door and into the driver’s seat, firing up the engine, and quite eagerly pulled away from the hotel and roared down the road.
I stopped by my secret cubby, and without haste, fully on the alert, made my way down to the basement. I collected my stash and made it back to the Lotus without incident. Lighting me pipe, I smiled to meself, promising a nice stiff one once I got back to the abode. I pulled away, slowly, cheerfully, driving down the warm sunlit road. I was now on to new quests, filled with promises of many lucrative acquisitions.
One of those quests was wrapped around a young lady in Soho, who recently had inherited a jewellery collection worth ₤25,000 which she loved wearing out in public, flaunting the richly jeweled pieces all about whenever she could. The quite, almost vulgarly rich, young lass had so many Beaus seeking her affections that she was being invited out almost weekly out to some special dress up affair. This all made her overly ripe for the plucking by some jewelry procurement minded thief. And being one meself, a jewel thief that is, I intended to be the first in line.
Once I returned home, I first visited my London banks strongbox to deposit my newly acquired ” glittering with fire” trophies to let them “cool” down a bit. Then I made sure the Yard received an anonymous post. Said post containing a red silk evening clutch, inside which was beady eyes’ pocketbook( sans money) along with the letter incriminating one certain rogish gent by the name of Samuel for attempting extortion of 5000 pounds sterling from the fair Claire’s Mother. I know how the chaps in the inspector’s squad so love a mystery!
And so, for now dear journal, I bid farewell, adieu.
************************************
Si vous voulez faire rire Dieu , faire des plans
Roughly translated:
If you want to make God laugh, Make plans
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
The Lysander was the mainstay of the Special Operations Executive (SOE) during World War Two. The Lysander was used to transport SOE operatives to and from occupied Europe - a mission that was fraught with danger - so that they could help resistance movements in western Europe.
The Lysander was ideal for covert work. In an era when planes were flying faster and faster and when people were becoming attuned to this, the Lysander was a slow moving plane, designed for hard work - being able to take off and land in the most difficult of terrain. The Lysander also flew at a low altitude - below radar - which, at night, gave it more ability to 'disappear' from sight.
Some of the most famous SOE operatives were landed by Lysanders - Violette Szabo and the 'White Rabbit. Many flew out of Tangmere airbase in East Sussex. As well as taking in SOE operatives, the Lysander was also used to bring out escaping airmen.
The Lysander had a maximum speed of 206 mph and had a crew of 2. It needed just 250 meters for a take off to 50 feet and it needed just 320 meters for a landing from an altitude of 50 feet. The Lysander was armed in case of attack - two .303 Browning machine guns were fitted into the two wheel spats and some had a Lewis machine gun in the rear cockpit. Along with its human cargo, the Lysander could also carry two supply canisters. To the SOE, the Lysander was known as the 'scarlet pimpernel of the air'.
Silverton, Colorado is a really cool place to visit. Nestled in the heart of Colorado’s magnificent San Juan Mountain Range, Silverton was originally founded in the 1880’s as a silver mining boom town. The mines are gone, but this small town (less than 600 full time residents) remains a robust destination for tourists and adventurers. The restaurants and shops of Silverton are housed in the same buildings that were the saloons and brothels for prospectors a century ago. Despite the fact that the town lives on tourism, all of the businesses are independent establishments (no big franchises) which served to further promote an authenticity that seems more & more elusive in this day and age. Central to Silverton’s success is the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad. Although it now caters to tourists, the railroad is comprised of classic steam engines and passenger cars along with a historic and incredibly scenic track that winds its way to and from Durango Colorado through the mountains along the Animas River (3.5 hours one way). It is a ‘must do’ experience for anyone visiting southwest Colorado. It was in this setting that I captured the 156th portrait of my 100 Strangers project.
Lately I have been focused on environmental portraiture. I am finding that this type of street portraiture requires a different kind of approach than what I am accustomed. I almost feel that I cannot actively search out subjects for this type of portrait. Instead I have to simply wait for the opportunities of a stranger / environment coalescence to present themselves to me, and hopefully I have the where-with-all to spot the opportunity and my camera at hand to capture the image. That said, I was entirely aware that I was located in a rich environment, so my stranger radar was on high alert.
When I first spotted Kevin, I must admit that had mixed feelings about using him in my project. Generally I try to avoid costumed actors playing to tourists. There is certainly nothing wrong with capturing these types of portraits, but for my project I try to capture the true character of a person rather than a character that a person is portraying. This railroad being a tourist attraction (albeit an authentic experience), I had my reservations about approaching an obvious employee of the railroad as he might be playing a role. Any doubts I had had were quickly dispelled once I introduced myself to Kevin.
Kevin was not there to meet and greet passengers, and in fact I think I was the only person to approach him. I asked him if he was the train engineer, and he informed me that he was the fireman of this locomotive engine. That means that he is the individual responsible for continually stoking the fire with coal to make the steam engine run. Later, as I was sticking my head out my window during a quick stop on our train trip, I discovered another one of his duties. I saw Kevin climbing on top of the steam locomotive replenishing the engine water supply by directing a spout that was fed directly from a mountain spring. So although Kevin looked the part, he was not wearing a costume for the consumption of passengers. He is simply a working man dressed in work attire appropriate for his job, up to and including a layer of coal dust covering his entire body. As we chatted, I became fascinated with his occupation. I can’t imagine that there are more than a handful of people in the world that share this bygone era profession.
Once we finally got around to making the portrait, I certainly wanted to include the steam locomotive as an integral part of the shot. I asked him to climb up onto the engine to complete the environmental setting. I positioned myself to capture the entire length of this huge piece of machinery it, and so I went with a deep DOF (f/16) to ensure sharp focus throughout. In hindsight, I maybe should have gone with less DOF because I think that if the front of the engine had been a little blurred, it would still have been an effective environmental shot (maybe even more so). Certainly something for me to keep in mind as I go forward.
This image is the third and final environmental stranger portrait that I captured during my recent family vacation. I think the fact that I was in unfamiliar surroundings made me more attuned to my environment hence aiding me in my efforts to find environmental portraits. Now that I am back home in familiar surroundings, it occurs to me that I may need to work harder at finding that ‘stranger / environment coalescence’ as everything here seems so much more ordinary and mundane to me. I beat myself up trying to find strangers that I find interesting and I want to photograph, so trying to find both a stranger and environment seems a daunting task. I desire to continue this run of environmental portraiture, but frankly I am not exactly sure how I will proceed.
Check out the rest of the stranger street portraits in my project at Paco's 100 Strangers Project and find out more about the project and see pictures taken by other photographers at the 100 Strangers Flickr Group page.
Japanese Friendship Garden Brochure
Dry stream. The Dry Stream suggests the fall of water through carefully placed stones. Designed by experts from Japan, the Dry Stream has an elevation drop of approx. 30 ft. and took roughly one to two months to complete.
“The rocks are where they are- and this is their will. The rivers flow- and this is their will. The birds fly- this is their will. Human beings talk- this is their will. The seasons change, heaven sends down rain or snow, the earth occasionally shakes, the waves roll, the stars shine- each of them follows its own will. To be is to will and so is to become.” D.T. Suzuki
The mission of the Japanese Friendship Garden Society of San Diego (JFG) is to develop a traditional Japanese garden as a center to educate, engage, and inspire people of diverse backgrounds about Japanese culture and community legacy.
JFG is an accredited museum that offers a variety of educational programs, exhibits, and cultural festivals to enhance appreciation and understanding of Japanese culture. Over 330,000 visitors from the United States and internationally attend the garden annually. JFG opened to the public in 1991 and is an expression of friendship between San Diego and its sister city, Yokohama. The garden is inspired from centuries-old Japanese design and techniques that showcase JFG’s living exhibition comprised of plants and florae native to Japan and San Diego. The second phase opened in 1999 and was designed by renowned landscape architect Takeo Uesugi, which included the addition of the Exhibit Hall, Activity Center, and Upper Koi Pond. The third phase, completed in 2015, incorporated a 200 cherry tree grove, large azalea and camellia garden, a water feature reminiscent of the San Diego watershed, and the state of the art Inamori Pavilion. Today, JFG resides on 12 acres and fosters a relationship between humans and nature, providing a respite attuned to Japanese simplicity, serenity, and aestheticism.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_Friendship_Garden_(Balboa_Park)
The Japanese Friendship Garden, also known as Sankei-en ( 三渓園 ) is a twelve-acre Japanese garden located within Balboa Park in San Diego, California. It is an expression of friendship between San Diego and its Japanese sister city Yokohama that binds the two cultures to create a unique experience for visitors from all over the world; over 240,000 people from across the United States and the world visit the garden annually. Representing a new concept in the development of a Japanese garden outside Japan, the Japanese Friendship Garden is designed to present an atmosphere of elegant simplicity (shibui) and quiet beauty. The garden's naturalistic design is guided by the original principles/techniques of the Japanese garden while incorporating elements of the regional San Diego landscape and climate; in terms of features, the garden is well-known for its unique placement, sukiya-style buildings, koi ponds, and landscape exhibits. The Japanese Friendship Garden also hosts many local educational programs, activities, festivals, and horticultural classes that focus on the relationship between nature and Japanese culture.[1]
The Japanese Friendship Garden was built and continues to be maintained under the philosophy that, "a garden is always in a state of change but the basic elements of trees, shrubs, rocks and water designed in natural balance create a peaceful, harmonious, and transcendental environment conducive to contemplation and meditation."[2]
DSC01519 acd
The trait d’union between this project and Einaudi’s music is to be found both in the way I shot these pictures and in the stylistic similarities that can be noticed between these two worlds (visual and musical).
Each image shares its title with the track that inspired its preparation, shot and digital editing: I use Einaudi’s tracks to enhance my perception and my capacity to attune to the environment that surrounds me. This way I manage to catch echoes and traces of those who lived there, which is the aim of my project. I would like it to be self-evident for the audience that the style of my photographs can be associated to the musical texture of Einaudi’s work: rarefied tracks built on a precise structure of tones that refers to an atmosphere of silence and suspended waiting, and that can be associated with the soft chromatic effects of my photos and the silence that the depicted objects suggest. A photo exhibition to go along with the rarefied atmosphere of Einaudi’s concert, and one that translates his musical style into visuals, could offer the audience a chance to enhance their listening ability and open up to a wider range of sensations, having their own sensitivity grow in the process.
Valentina Oldoni
Chronicles of lifting Light C (The Reception Game)
A forethought
“The wedding was a bit over the top. The bride wanted her girl’s dresses to be something they would wear out again. A nice thought, but the gowns she found were a little too long for anything but formal evening wear, according to our girls who were asked to be part of the bridal party. The maid of honour wore a red silk version; the six Bridesmaids wore theirs in black satin.” Each of the girls were also presented with a matching collection of Swarovski rhinestones “traditional classic darlings” ! The jewellery, when added to the girl’s ensemble, further enhanced the red carpet like atmosphere of the Bridal party coterie’!
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Intro of the story proper :
“A few years ago, “Ginny” was watching some type of show when I heard her squeal out. Our Golden Retriever ‘Sam’ meandered back in to see what all the fuss was about? I obediently followed. Ginny pointed out to us a model who was wearing, rather fetchingly I might add, a long black satin gown. That’s m’ gown Ginny exclaimed, you remember, the one I wore at “Sheila’s” wedding, the one where my necklace was sn…., But at that point her attention was diverted back to her program. Squirrel I teased as Sam and I watched with her.
It was a gown strikingly very similar in colour, cut, and material to the one worn by Ginny ( and me sister) at a chums wedding years before ( and winningly worn several times hence I might add). It is a pretty thing to behold my charming Ginny sporting it, and in its time, it has born witness to a few goings on that most ladies wearing a gown like that would never encounter…….”
Chronicles of lifting Light C
Story Proper
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This story is true, and is really pretty much told as it happened.
What we did may sound daft, but read and understand the circumstances, plus realize we all were pretty well lit up with drink.
I will plead guilty at having enhanced certain aspects of the story.
For indeed, truth can be stranger than fiction… and coincidences occur, both sweet and bitter….. as I’m sure someone once said.
So here goes it….
My twin sister and our friend “Ginny” were invited to join in a school chums bridal party. The groom didn’t have enough to go around so my sister’s boyfriend “Brian” and I were pressed, not unwillingly, into service.
As I stated earlier, the wedding and reception were both over the top posh. So much so that our opinions, and subsequent escapades, were still coming up amongst us as a topic of conversation at our local haunt The ‘Poet and the Peasant Pub’, kept by Brian’s Auntie and Uncle..
www.flickr.com/groups/poet_and_the_peasant__pub_/
The Wedding proper was held at the local Cathedral. A rather decadent place built with a hearty clash of gothic/ medieval styles ; with black stone towers, Lancet arches, and fly away buttresses.
Inside one finds white marble columns, oak pews blackened with age, intricate wood work and ghostly while statues. All lit with hanging diamond shaped antique glass lights and colourful lead glass stained windows depicting a horde of medieval era religious scenes.
I twas a fine backdrop for the rather glamoursly attired guests in attendance. The wedding ceremony itself would have been an interesting tale in and of itself, but that telling will await another day, for mine has its’ beginnings at the Reception.
The Reception was held in the basement, a grand place with an opulent ballroom, well stocked bar room and elegant dining area. The subterranean basement was decorated richly along the same grand lines as the interior of the ancient Cathedral above.
We were some time at the reception when my Ginny , who had been held up on her way back from the loo by a snobbish dowager feeling the need to criticise someone, regained her seat by plopping down with a loud woosh.
That was a chore, being picked apart by that “lovely !”creature. she exclaimed cynically, whilst adjusting her loose brooch. We all just smirked. I had received the same treatment from the lecturing prig earlier that evening.
Well, to be honest , my twin sister and Brian just actually were smirking at that. I believe my attention at the time was rather more occupied on the area where Ginny’s Brooch lay, which was the proper cause of my smirk! (naughty me)
Finished, Ginny than leaned against me sister, and, still reeling from being inappropriately chided, made a snide comment about the flimsy clasps on the shimmering jewellery they were wearing. My Sister, touching her necklace, told her, “ no worries, luv, no one would nick them anyways, they are only rhinestones”. Except my ring isn’t, said Ginny looking down at the ruby ring she was wearing on her pinky. My sister, thinking a minute, retorted “Then one never knows… “ , It looked like she was going to add something to that, but at that point the band restarted, and we joined the swarm of fancy dress gowns, silky dresses, suits and tuxes worn by the chic guests as they herded to the dance floor.
As we headed off, I was still perplexed about what had been going on in Sis’s head that made her come out with that reply, and I swear she had stolen a look at me while saying it. But as I had watched her pull at an earring to emphasize how loose the sparkling jewel was, a seed was planted in my head about a subject I myself had always found rather intriguing, pickpocketing jewelry!
Much later that evening, found Brian, me sister, and I alone, and probably more than a little drunk (always a precarious time with us). As Sis and Brain chatted on about a topic I had soon lost interest in, I started to watch Ginny, who had been asked to dance by some twit with shifty eyes in a red silk shirt, (open collared), who had rudely cut in on us. As I watched Ginny’s swishing gown liquidly move and flutter about in quite an interesting exhibition, I found meself mesmerized by the beckoning manner in which her healthy display of rhinestones were sparkling about( as they had been all evening). I looked back at my sister, and her own show of jewelry, also sparkling up nicely against the smooth black satin backdrop of her own matching gown..
Still not being able to shake me twin’s earlier comment about nicking jewels, nor its answer, out of my head , I waited for a lull in conversation to finally chance asking my twin about her comments.
She looked at me, having to think back a bit about the question, ( As I said, we were more drunk than sober by then), placing a nicely ringed finger to her lips, while regrouping her thoughts. Got it, she exclaimed! Proudly remembering what had triggered her memory, and with that she started to explain.
When she was a tyke of about 7, there was a show that she had seen on the tele that centered on this group of people trying to reform a thief. Believing that he had turned a new leaf, they threw a fancy dress dance for him in honour of his new ways. During the dance, he cut in and danced with each of the three ladies who had been trying to teach him the errors of his ways. From one he slipped off her long diamond earrings, from a second her diamond necklace was lifted away, but me sister was unsure what the scoundrel took from the third. Sis had reckoned that the earrings and necklaces that she and Ginny were wearing that evening, looked a lot like the ones worn by ( and nicked from) the ladies on that show.
Now, as me twin described the thief’s antics, certain emotions awakened, rearing their tantalizing heads; my mind began wandering in some deep waters, pulled bout by some deep personal emotions. Cause I had been sitting on the couch with her, when as quite young children, we had seen a repeat of that episode.
As it happened my sister had been outside earlier playing dress up in on of mum’s old party frocks and was still wearing it, along with a set of costume pearls. Suddenly, that day, I wanted nothing more in the world than to lift the pearls she was wearing. I simmered over it for the rest of the program, getting to the point of actually laying my arm on the back of the couch, inching my fingers towards the clasp of her pearls laying there upon the back of her throat. But then the show ended, and I got no closer to stealing anything more than a touch of a really soft old evening gown. After the show ended, I warily suggested we go back outside and play Robin Hood (my sister has always been into his story).
We did, and as Sir Robin led her to his hideout, conveniently located through a thicket of Hawthorne’s, the pretty Maid Marion’s pearls mysteriously melted away.
That is when I had I had my epiphany, hitting me like a brick wall! Waiting till sis finished her story, I pointed out to Ginny, and asked the pair, If Ginny had been the third lady he had danced with, what jeweles do you think he would have found easiest to lift from her while dancing?
Brian , always the more pragmatic of the group, snorted, that’s stuff that only happens in stories and movies.
I said I would bet it can be done, a quid says I can lift a piece of Ginny’s jewelry with her never noticing. Sis chimed in, you wouldn’t dare, but she was looking at me like she knew the answer already. Brian caught her tone, and took me up on it, betting me the quid that I couldn’t get away with lifting her necklace,( I liked his choice, it had been a necklace that “Sir Robin” had first lifted from me sisters neck that day in the woods long past).
At this time the music ended, and Ginny swished back to rejoin us. As we played mute about our plans, we welcomed the damsel back and acted like there had been nothing in the world goin on amongst us while she was out dancing.
We drank and talked for a bit more, and I was all but certain that Brian and my sister had all but forgotten the wager.
But I hadn’t, nor had I been able to keep my eyes from studying the glittery rhinestones Ginny had draped around her pretty throat. When a slow song started up, I rose and asked Ginny to a dance. I caught Brian’s eyes, and read the dare reflecting in them, so we were still on with the wager.
Leading Ginny to the dance floor, we embraced, and danced to the pretty song beginning to play, it twas a slow romantic one ( lady in red If I recall correctly). Ginny was absolute pure heaven in my arms, and I found me self so entrapped by her charms, that all ambitions to be a thief and make an attempt upon her lovely rhinestone necklace fell to the wayside.
As the song was ending, I caught a look from Brian across the dance floor, noticing that he smugly was looked at Ginny’s throat. I did not want to lose me quid on principle (I swear), so as the dance ended I held onto Ginny, waiting. Soon a second song started, disappointedly a more fast paced one with a Latin beat. I spun Ginny around onto the floor before she had time to catch a breath, we danced, like the song which played says:
And we… danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced
We were liars in love and we danced
Swept away for a moment by chance
And we danced, danced, danced
And dance we did, hot, furious and fast. A couple of times I spun Ginny around, and the poor girl already a bit tipsy, fell against me, giggling. About the third time I spun her, she stopped, and dropped backside into me and began to do this sort of gyrating move, slithering up and down my front side, with her hands held high above her head, her longish ginger hair had fallen over one shoulder, exposing her necklace in all its fine brilliance. As her warm, sweaty figure slipped up and down against mine, I watched the back of her throat, eyeing the necklace as it sparkled opulently in the dim lights. I started Studying, intently, the sparkly chain with it’s simple hook in eye clasp.
She brought her hands down behind me back, crossing them behind me waist. My right hand went to the front of her waist, holding onto her squirming, satin slippery sweating figure, pressing her warm body tightly against me.
My left hand went up to her shoulder, gliding along the glossy slick fabric of her black satin gown, until I reached her necklace. It only took seconds for my fingers to lift up, and slip off the hook from its”eye” , letting the shimmering chain slither down the front side of Ginny’s satin clad breasts. My right hand left her waist, and travelled nimbly, tingling, all the way up the front until my fingers grasped the dangling chain. My left hand let go, and the necklace whisked down the front of her perking bosom, tightly covered by the glossy black satin bridesmaid gown. The whole bit of thievery took me only a few chords of the music, but it seemed to be carried out in slow motion in the process.
We finished out the song, me basking in the fact that my gyrating partner was innocently unaware that her shiny necklace had been pinched, and were now residing in her dance partners vest pocket. I will admit feeling a twinge of regret that it no longer could be seen glittering from around its’ mistress’s now bare throat.
We made our way back to the others, Brian had a smug look on his bearded face, I knew he was up to something. As I sat down, he whispered double it or nothing mate, that she notices it’s missing before we leave. I nodded, taking him up on it.
So, the game was still on, and for the last two hours that we stayed at the reception poor Ginny became the unknowing centre of our somewhat devious game1
Brain, eagerly waiting for Ginny to notice her missing necklace, tried for the most part to remain mute. I sweated it a bit, but his saboteur’s tactics failed.
I’ll admit I hadn’t thought it out before agreeing, but what probably should have been a suckers bet, with a million ways for Ginny to notice her necklace was playing hooky, apparently was going with the long odds for me to win.
I sweated it a bit, butno-one else amongst the crowd pointed out, or even seemed to care that Ginny was no longer wearing her necklace! Even the bloke in the open collared re shirt, who managed to steal Ginny away for another dance, failed to say anything. Which made me a mite curious as to where his attention span had been focused.
Even when me sister tried to help Brian out by playing with her own jewelled necklace while she held Ginny’s attention during conversation in the ladies powder room, failed to cause a reaction!
Through all this, the poor creature never quite caught on that her necklace had been lifted from her throat ! Unscrupulously nicked away on a whimsical bet while innocently dancing!
And continued danced with me she did, all of us thoroughly enjoying the rest of the evening’s attractions, along with the bit of fun we were having at poor Ginny’s expense.! But I made damn sure that our poor victim had the time of her life for my repentance.
Then during our last slow dance, I did start to harbour the prickling thought of trying for another of Ginny’s baubles. But the thought of winning 2 quid from Brian, who in his time has won a bit more from me than I him, kept my thoughts of further thievery in check! I knew my spirit was weakening. Fortunately we left soon afterwards….
We finally left the reception after midnight and made our way along the ten city blocks back to the hotel where Ginny and my twin sister shared a joining room with Brian and meself.
Ginny walked calmly with us, unaware of the picaresque devils that were us, keeping pace beside her. As were making our way through a short cut in a wooded Provincial park, we stopped in a small isolated glen and circled around Ginny. Sis was grinning as she asked poor unawares Ginny; So luv, whatever did happen to your necklace? Gin’s reaction was absolutely, rewardingly priceless.
Ginny, a relatively innocent soul, who is prone to believing most anything told to her, started, and her hand went to her throat, feeling about fruitlessly, as her rustling glossy gown and remaining jewels glistened dark in the full moons’ light.
“M’ necklace, why it’s gone? , where did it go!, she pleaded helplessly, her thought patterns and speech a little slurred by her rather intoxicated condition. We than got into it, playing dumb along with her, and tried to figure out the “mystery” I said the last time I saw it was when that seedy bloke cut in, and I ran my hand up her back, feeling the shivers going down her spine, did the blighter touch you like that, then luv. No she said, then thought hard, no she repeated, he couldn’t have, he was a proper gentleman, and it was only rhinestone, like your sister said.
I don’t know said Brian, never trust any gent who doesn’t wear a tie to fancy dress! He had to ‘ave been up to no good, that one!
My sister then commented that the bloke may have not noticed no difference, and she held out her own necklace, I’m glad he didn’t ask me to dance.
No, Ginny shook her head, her long earrings flickering a frenzied fire out from her let down ginger hair, no one could have lifted them like that, I’d have felt it….I’m sure of that…!
She looked desperately around at us, then seeing the look on upon our faces, Ginny froze with the realization that we had all been up to something, and, then a smile of relief showed up on her pretty face, as I held up her necklace, sparkling in front of her eyes. A sly look of understanding that we had been up to something crept into those dazzling green eyes , as she told us now to spill it out.
We explained the whole tale as Sis helped Ginny place her necklace back on. Ginny, with her usual good humor, said she had never noticed a thing, and it probably was a good thing we weren’t real thieves, because if her necklace had been diamonds, it would have been worth a small fortune. And shame on us for having her believe it was that poor blighter in the red shirt.
We wouldn’t’ make very good thieves I agreed we drink too much. She just smiled, a curious looking gleam creeping up into those witchy green eyes of hers. Let’s get going before we meet a real thief then, urged my sister, all this talk about someone thinking our jewels are real is giving me the right chills.
Our drunken little group then merrily, if not a little more guardedly, made our way home..
This next bit is my favorite.
We rode the elevator up to the boy’s room, as the girls called our room, where we drank beer, danced to music and talked on a bit about the reception. The girls stayed in dress and I happily soaked up the pretty picture the pair of admirably attractive girls presented with their long sheets of straight hair now just hanging down, their “diamonds” sparkling and all other assorted frills enticing.
About two hours later found Brian and myself sitting on the couch in kind of a hazy stupor while holding onto our beers. Ginny and my sister were standing directly in front of us, holding beers of their own and giggling over some girlish nonsense, the hypnotic swaying of their longish glossy black satin gowns slowly putting me to sleep.
Brain, draining his beer, got up to get another, bumping against my sister and playfully grabbed a handful. My sister started giggling at him as he sauntered off grinning, turning her figure so the brooch at the centre of her gowns’ waistline almost wacked me on the nose. Half asleep I reached over and gingerly lifted it up.
Looking up at the girls I saw that neither was paying no never mind towards me. Ginny, however, laid a hand on my twins shoulder, drawing her close so she could whisper some girlish secret about Brian. I continued on, and was able to undo the brooch, and slip it carefully off without notice. I slipped her jewel into my pocket; waiting until I could think ,now that I did the deed, just hpw I would tease her about it.
Brian stopped on the way back and reset the music, a slow song came up. Sis went to him, and the pair started dancing. I rose and taking Ginny by the hand, followed suit, leading her to the bit of a dance floor we had cleared. She was again, pure heaven in my arms and my hands slipped liberally up and down her smooth, slinky gowned figure.
Ginny smiled! I knew that smile, and realized that something was going on behind her pretty green eyes.
She flicked back her sheet of ginger hair, and leaned against me. I saw you, she huskily whispered, her voice putting a tickle in my ear. Saw me I asked, not getting it. I saw you lift that dame’s diamond brooch, Ginny said in a sultry voice as she looked over towards where my sister was dancing, (no, she was actually swooning), in Brian’s arms.
Now mate, you see that one over there, in the black dancing with the bearded gent? I looked over, as she continues, look at ‘er necklace, I have a fancy for diamonds, and if you don’t want me to call security, I suggest you get hers for me, darling, she said with conspiracy like tones, acting like she was some old time actress in a movie. I loved the devilishness of Ginny’s role play idea and it did not take much to toss me whole heart and soul into the assignment!.
Check out the Sonia clip shortcut at the end of my tale( recommend viewing)
Now wide awake, I got fully into Ginny’s game. As we continued dancing, my eyes watched Brian and me sister, taking careful inventory of all the “dames” sparkling jewelry. Sis turned, and caught my eyes looking her over, she blushed, and not knowing what was really going through my mind, smiled at me. As I smiled back, my eyes drinking her fetchingly attired figure up!
I was imagining that all of her ample collection of rhinestones so prettily positioned on her figure, were real diamonds. And that I was an actual thief plotting to nick her lovely sparklers. I looked into Ginny’s eyes. You have a deal miss, I whispered, making my voice deep and throaty, as I imagined meself as some, albeit drunk, Humphrey Bogart type character in some grittingly shadowy film noir style black and white movie.
The song ended and a second, even slower one began playing. Brian and my sister were still locked into each other’s arms, but I felt that the time to make my move was now. Throwing Ginny a wink, I went over and cut in, Brian looked drunkenly at me like “whattsup chap,” but Ginny was right behind and swirled him conveniently away before he could properly react.
And as I took the pretty, wide eyed with innocence looking “dame” into my arms I found it exciting that she was oblivious to my nefarious intentions. Naïvely unaware, that in indifference to her own words earlier, someone did now want to nick the jewelry which was quite so merrily dangling from her svelte figure. Now, don’t forget at this point to me she was no longer my sister, but a sweet innocent victim weighted down with desirable loot. And I? I was nothing more than a suave thief deliciously hungering after her bright baubles, albeit, a slightly inebriated suave thief!
I bided my time, appearing to look into my twins/victims half opened eyes ( she was really lit by this time, as we all were) , my mind was working overtime on how the best approach to reach my objective. Then it came to me, quite clearly, and so Bob became my uncle, and I began his suggested approach…. And if I would have dared say so at the time, I executed my bit of jewel thievery like a pro….That is if there are actually pros at this sort of thing1?
Employing the same method that I remembered the thief using in the Gilligan’s Island episode to remove his dance partners necklace, I began to compliment my twin on how devastating her and Ginny looked both looked that evening (no lies), slowly moving my one hand up the slick material of the gown covering her back as I whispered my praise. Easily I reached the dangling part of her hook and eye necklace with its’ glittering rows of “diamonds”. She ate it up, blushing and closing her eyes, naively cooperating by tilting her head down, exposing even more of the back of her throat, and laying bare the chain of her “diamond” necklace. As she fawned over my words of (not false) praise, I subtly lifted up the chain of her necklace, whilst my free hand held her ever so her tightly around the waist. For the second time that evening I could feel the heat emanating from my victims squirming figure. As well as again feeling me own heart pounding a storm.
I gently used my free left hands’ fingers to unhooked the clasp, and let the necklace fall over her one shoulder. Sis never felt it hanging, or noticed it as I peeled it off her chest (whisking along her gown smooth as silk) and pulled it over her gown’s satin shoulder till it slipped sparkling down behind her. I held it hanging loose behind her back for a few turns, still pouring out the compliments, until I pocketed it, letting it join her purloined brooch.
Meanwhile, Brian had left Ginny to go to the loo, and I saw Ginny, who had been eagerly watching all of it, give me a wink. Then she turned and stole out the apartment door, her longish slinking gown slipping through behind her as she closed the door. I made ready to make some excuse to break away from my sister and head after her with my loot.
But just as I opened my mouth to make that excuse , Sis pulled her arms behind me head, and laid her own head back on my shoulder and closed her tired eyes, getting into the music’s deep beat. One of her longish rhinestone earrings just hung there sparkling, mocking me to touch it, and like Gingers diamonds, I saw them as quite ripe for the picking.
With the prize within my grasp, I momentarily forgot about the departing Ginny, and I made my move. I found meself trembling a bit, as I reached up and placed my hands gently alongside her ear, her eyes still shut, my victim smiled prettily. The rest of the manoeuvre was surprisingly easy, as I glided my fingers down and slipped it off the earring in one effortless motion. The sparkling beauty came away from her sweaty ear as smoothly as an ice cube moves along a steaming hot grill ( I actually did have a thought like that). I held it in one fist for a bit, watching my victim, she had not felt so much as a tickle on her earlobe, as I had removed her earring. Relishing in my success, I looked at it dangling and shimmering in my hand behind her back. Then, as I secured her diamonds away, I thought about trying for the other. But thought better of it, knowing Ginny was just waiting on the other side of the door.
I finished out the dance, taking my sisters hand with its dazzling bracelet and rings, and admired them while I kissed it, the “Dames” Bracelet tantalizing slipped down along her wrist and brushed against me knuckles. At that moment, we both heard the toilet flushing, and my twin looked over her shoulder laughing. As she did do, I saw an opportunity opening up and taking her dangling diamonded bracelet in me fingers, tugged it down ever so discreetly. Surprisingly the clasp popped opened ( right about being flimsy luv, I silently agreed with my twin’s earlier statement)!
I daringly pulled it free from around her wrist and slipped it in me pocket just as she turned back around to face her dance partner. I could see in her eyes that she had not felt nor noticed anything outta place. I’d better be off after Ginny I said, clearing me throat, and then , with no fanfare, let go of her hand. It dropped to her side, rings flashing, purloined bracelet gone from where it had, with cheeky regality, had been holding shimmering court all evening.
Nice doing business with you I said, bemused as I watched the puzzlement creep into her half awake eyes while I backed away from her towards the door.
And that chaps, is how I left her. With my grainy black and white movie still playing out in my mind. She just was standing there puzzled, a wealthy lady in fancy dress, unknowingly watching the dashing stranger leave with the “fortune” in jewels she thought she still was wearing. She innocently watched me as I left the room with her “diamonds” in my scoundrel’s possession!
However, it was my turn to look puzzled as I went out, Ginny was nowhere to be seen! I quickly looked around, then headed to the elevator and rode down in it, alone at this early morning hour, to the lobby.
I arrived there, and at first the lobby appeared deserted, cept for a lonely desk clerk with her head buried in a novel. Then breathed a sigh of relief, there, around a corner, Ginny stood talking to some older lady wearing a garish grey pant suit, with this blue tinted helmet of curly hair covered by a large silk head scarf, and carrying an overlarge purse. I suddenly realized that now my anxiety had gone, another urge had taken its place. Ginny looked up, and smiles happily at me, and I smiled back, indicated that I had to go for a minute, and headed meself to the loo.
Coming out after I finished, I saw that the lobby was actually now really empty, not even the desk clerk was visible. Thinking Ginny may have gone back upstairs, I first went to the hotels double doors to chance a look outside onto the street below. I just caught sight of a wisp of black gown moving just out of sight past the stairs, on the now smoggy sidewalk below.
I headed out, and there was Ginny walking with the Blue haired stranger, they appeared to be looking for something. I started wondering if Ginny had invited this stranger to go on out walk with us? But no, apparently the blue haired lady in the unfortunate grey pantsuit had discovered her keys were missing, and thought they had dropped somewhere after getting out of a taxi just around the corner. And Ginny, bless her kind heated soul, had offered to help the distressed lady look for them.
As Ginny was telling me all this after I had caught up, the blue haired older lady , her cheerful face now stern, had started rummaging in her large shoulder bag, I sneaked a peek over her shoulder and saw that is contained quite an amazing assortment of items , ( no wonder it had to be so big). Suddenly she uttered an exclamation, found them she said, triumphantly pulling out an interesting assortment of skeleton type keys on a small ring. Happily smiling at Ginny, she pulled her into an enveloping hug for her efforts, before quickly leaving, but not without first giving me a sidelong glance with a disapproving look from her now pursed–lipped mouth as she passed. But I at the time put it down as her just being stressed out from believing she had misplaced her keys.
I am so glad she found her keys remarked Ginny, taking up me hand. That lady was ever so nice, she wanted to know where I had been dressed up all pretty like I am, and when I told her about the wedding, she said it must have been lovely. Then she admired me dress, and rhinestones. Then asked if me ruby ring was a gift from the bride. Liked your ring huh, I asked Ginny, my mind clearing up a little. Oh yes she said, lifted my hand, looked at it an everything!
Then the poor dear missed her keys, and asked if I could be a dear and help her look outside, and that was that until you showed up. (Looking outside for keys at 2:30 in the morning? I thought to myself) As I said ti Ginny, it is a pretty ring, and taking her arm, we started down the block together.
My mind, now somewhat attuned to the reality of things, went back to the blue haired lady and her large shoulder bag. Among some of various items I had seen had been a penknife, a length of old silk sash cord, small bundle of lacy handkerchiefs, and a small torch! Then add in the odd assortment of keys on her “misplaced” keyring, and put it all together, it all began to sum up to a new, slightly more sinister meaning of her intentions, in my take on the episode.
As we walked, I said nothing in reply to the happily chirping, richly attired girl walking beside me , as for the first time, and not the last, I wondered if something had been afoot with the Blue Haired, pursed mouthed lady that Ginny had seen as a kind older lady needed help, like the bird with a broken wing she had tried to help a few days past( a blue jay!). So was the blue haired lady, with the silk scarf and wearing a rather unisexual pantsuit, acting out the part of a “blue jay”, using her “broken wing” as a ruse to lure my Ginny safely away for her own nefarious reasons?
Surreptitiously, I carefully checked over Ginny from head to heeled toes as we walked, to make sure nothing was amiss. Her rhinestones were still safely all in their place, but I did not see the ruby ring, and me heart went still, and chills prickled down my spine! Bullocks! I swore under my breath, that pucker faced tart walked away with it. Ginny, I said, a little choked, she swirled facing me, her green eyes questioning, as she raised her hand to her perked breasts, and there it was, the small, but rather pricey, ruby ring she so loved wearing, the glittery darling had turned around on her finger so it was hidden from my view
.
I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, I just wanted to say how lovely you looked this evening my lass, I said saving myself. She smiled winningly, giving me a deep hug for my words. We walked on, as my beating heart slowed down, I convinced myself that maybe the incident of lost keys had all been harmless, and I was just being a worry-wort. I apologized silently for what I had called the fashion challenged blue haired lady in my mind. But I was still beginning to feel like ever a fool to have let Ginny, handsomely decked out as she was, out of my sight at this early hour of the morning.
I opened my mind and let all such thoughts flee my head, for the world was now ours, as we made our journey together, hand in hand. We ended up making a very long stroll in the Provincial Park, and reentering the same isolated, secret glen we had been in earlier, proceeded to continue acting out the role playing game we had started at the apartment.
Ginny went to the middle of the clearing to wait, pretending she was smoking, like a moll from a gangster movie. I circled and watched her sparkling figure, black in the glens shadows, move about a bit.
And as I did, my thoughts wondered a bit, and I remember reflecting ( not for the first time) how in the older black n whites, the heroine, or villainous, is always wearing gowns, elegant long gloves, and jeweled to the sparkling hilt. Then she walks alone to and then waits in some dark alley or other desolate spot for her contact, or hero to show up, much like Ginny was acting out now. So how is it that those fancy dressed and well jeweled unescorted dames, always manage to get to those spots, and are able to wait around in them alone, in those movies, and nary ever meet a ruffian who strips them of those pricy looking sparklers they are flaunting about? Just saying!
Saying a brief prayer that my thoughts were not tempting a fate of that type to occur to us now that I had been thinking it, I came out of the shadows and approached Ginny. Keeping my left hand in my pocket like I was carrying a heater. Hey sister, I said, been waiting long? No, she whispered, did you get the goods. Hot as ice I said proudly, producing the necklace and earring I had liberated from the dancing “dame”.
As I showed Ginny my take from “the dame”, she squealing over the fact I was able to take one of her diamond earrings, bonus she chanted. Playing a thief’s role, I kept mum about the bracelet, no honour amongst thieves I thought mischievously .
We laughed over what the “dames” reaction would be when the jewels were discovered missing. As we snickered, Ginny caught my eyes and then we got off on a tangent about jewel thieves in love, and ended up reenacting the “lure” scene from the movie ‘To Catch a Thief” ending up producing fireworks of our own making as Ginny lost all her jewels as well as her “innocence”.. We then made our way back home, as the cock crows, receiving a few odd looks from the occasional early morning lorry drivers.
And above all, I still remember feeling pretty bloody cocky as Ginny and I had sauntered our way to the park. And why not, I ask? Cause not only did I get to stroll about with the most captivating ginger haired lass, sparkling in fancy dress around, But I also had totally scored a hat trick in the jewelry lifting department, collecting two Quid to boot, and that’s what life is all about for us boys, winning the game, taint it?
So ends my story
Please leave a comment at the end of the story if you rather liked the telling..
The Sonia clip shortcut ( recommend viewing)
youtu.be/HAZdjhNVjxk
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Please consider leaving a comment at the end of the story if you rather liked the telling..
"Generally, i spend my day with my mother at our quiet room;
without too much noise or people around.
(father leaves early in the morning, and returns late;
i hardly know him.)
Today, already from the morning i sensed something was very different--
mother was very excited.
I could not understand why.
Then she tied me on her back, and we got out.
It was night; we wandered along narrow dark lanes,
with many people around us.
They also seemed excited.
It was very crowded, strange and a bit frightening.
Then we reached a square, where many, many people sang and danced.
My mother was even more excited, laughed very often, talked to many people,
and was much less attuned to me than when we are at home.
Then we entered some big building, and suddenly, mom laid down,
cried, and seemed even more moved.
It's really difficult for me to understand all this.
I am a bit worried"
both opening prompt and vanishing point for these mostly gestural ink paintings is a quote from artist Alok Hsu Kwang-han –
“the emptiness of the self is the one who can move through the broken heart of the world and feel at home”
the initial impulse to allow the intuition of the moment to guide the brush strokes, as portraits of energy or presencing; a kind of witnessing without accumulation or interference, attunement to murmurations; while occasionally more representational images emerge – as well, entendering – and in the spirit of the initial quotation, everything belongs
The Watcher in the woods
Pursuing the Posh
A Cat Burglar Saga
From the files of Chatwick University Criminology Department.
C.B. Case Study 13 , File B
Subset Source: Journal
Subject “Harley Q” -- Real name?
ORIGINATION STORY:
flic.kr/p/BcnW2J
Synopsis:
The young lady was approaching sweet sixteen if I estimated accurately. She was clad in a tailored dress of bronze velvet that shone richly over her lithe figure. Her long blonde hair tied in back, flickered like a horses’’ tail. She had come bounding from a ladies powder chamber, one of several located at either end of the grand ballroom that sat off the formal dining rooms.
I fell in step behind her, watching as her splendid jewelry bounced merrily as she pranced along like some untried colt, sorry filly. Her pearls were lovely things, a matched set, double strands all, real diamond clasps, shone gleaming with a pristine whiteness that reminded me of fresh snow.
The pearls were a sweet lure, of that there was no doubt; but apologies if I am prattling n a bit about them, for after all, what is a jewel thief who fails to notice a ladies jewels? A starving bugger, that’s who.
Now I have found out during my times here on the earth that I can make quite a profit from burgling the safes of wealthy ladies whilst they slept peacefully within their fancy chambres. But I had started out walking my morally tainted chosen path by picking the pockets of the unwary along the way. It was my fate to eventually discover the delightfully chilling sensation that was experienced when lifting the very jewels displayed by unsuspecting female targets. And this was still my guilty pleasure, to the point that I would still take that far riskier venture of lifting worn jewelry whenever opportunity arose, which was quite often in my travelled circles.
So, that is why I habitually started to follow this meandering youth, only because of her jewels, which I found to be quite vexing. Especially her earrings, a dangling set held to her ears by genuine diamond studded hinge clasps. I had seldom attempted sets of worn earrings, not for the lack of desire, and with this one’s head just reaching me chest, it was a very tempting prospect to try and pluck em both off just to see?
Fortunately, for her (not me), this pretty miss was a bit too young for my standards to make any attempt to lift from her any of the swinging pearls, earrings or otherwise. I do prefer my marks to be a bit older, a bit wiser, a bit more of a challenge to my abilities, thank you very much! Besides, I had already had my eye on a few other, challenging female prospects wearing some rather nice pieces in their own right. Including one sapphire laden Lass in a silky frock that had greatly provoked my attentiveness.
So I just followed this young one while she skirted the ballroom and entered a dining area. There she rejoined, what were quite obviously, her parents.
There were, it appeared, just the three of them, no older jewel laden siblings in sight. But, speaking of appearances, the Mother certainly presented a rather nice one, and so I stopped to drink it all in.
The mother/wife was fluidly clad in an all so elegant purple satin number, poured rather snugly along her still quite lovely figure. Said figure had been made even more eye catching (especially for me) by being emblazon with a matching set of jewels, all set with small 1 caret white diamonds, encircling her neck, wrists and fingers with energetic ripples of fiery colour.
She was with her husband, a distinguished looking gent in tails who may have passed as a Barrister, for which all I knew he was. Now Sandwiched in between was their charming young daughter, who was happily chatting away without a care in the world. Her pristine pearls still dangling, mocking me it would seem, to just make the one exception and attempt to take them home with me. I just smiled to wickedly to myself, maybe someday I would I promised them, once their young mistress had grown up a bit, then we would see who was mocking whom from the wickets!
But I did not dwell too long on such thought’s , or on the pretty family either, for, like I have revealed, I had other fish frying, and only am mentioning this particular incident because of what would occur in two days hence. So after a bit I turned and began wandering off.
But then, speaking of starving jewel thieves, I observed at the precise moment I turned away, a most stunning red head wearing a long black gown that fluttered about, here and there, in a most alluring fashion. She was making a beeline towards the very same powder chamber I had just passed. She was obviously in a rush to reach it, and once I laid my eyes on the pearls she was wearing, I moved towards her in an equally purposeful stride. I intercepted her, letting her bump against me, as I stepped on the hem of her long gown. She stopped abruptly, and I momentarily placed an arm around her smooth waist, steadying her as I apologized and begged the ladies pardon for my clumsiness.
She begrudgingly accepted my apologies, and I watched as she scurried off, having already pocketed the pearled bracelet I had slipped from her red satin gloved wrist, and made my own path. I smirked to myself that the bracelet was some consolation for not having an unscrupulous go for the pearls that had hung around the young daughter’s throat, hung from her ears, and encircled one petite wrist, as I stole one last look back towards the pretty families’ table.
I walked away, turning my attentions back to relocating a certain lady elegantly wearing a silky frock, displaying those magnificent sapphires. I was watching, waiting for her to leave, in order to follow to her next stop, eventually hoping to be led to her last, having decided to acquire the fair damsel’s collection of jewels enmasse!
***** Two productive evenings later ****************
It was at a wedding reception the 2 evenings later that I again, quite un-expectantly, spied the Barrister and his entourage.
I had been having a delightful chat with the newly minted wife of the titled Scion of a rather old family. I had won the sweepstakes of receiving a dance with the charming Miss. But alas my chat was cut short as she was whisked away to dance with yet another admirer. I watched as she swept off, my hand reaching into me breast pocket, fingering a still warm diamond brooch. That jewel had been merrily dangling down from her satin gowns’ cleavage, over shadowed by her ample bosom. As we had danced, I had managed to work open its silvery clasp, and lift the brooch cleanly away. My hidden vest pocket also contained at the time a rather pretty ring with a blue carbuncle surrounded by sparkly diamonds. Said ring had been wrapped around the finger of a rather vexing long raven haired lass. I had admired the silken dress she was wearing, and as she had happily swirled and twirled to give me a better look, I had taken the opportunity to relieve her finger of its burden. Since I was only allowing meself a couple of prospects with an affair this small, I now made my way, leisurely, contentedly, towards an exit (stage right as they say in the trades).
But, no sooner had I put me back to the dance floor, than whom do I spy across the room? That rather delightful miss with a long blonde ponytail, who was now dressed elegantly in cream lace, that I had spied at dinner a few evenings back. It was the very same young lady, wearing the same set of mocking white pearls, and as I discreetly draw near, I soon spied her parents.
The “Barrister” was dapper in crisp white shirt and tux, with a fancy gold pocket watch and fob at his waist. The daughter’s look alike mother was now smartly encased in a fitted red gown that shimmered delightfully as it swished about. She was also wearing a nice display of brite emeralds to boot.
This time I took closer notice of the Mothers Jeweles. Between the emeralds today and the diamonds the night before, this lady in red could be a nice meal ticket if the stars were aligned properly. And so it turned out they very happily (for me) did.
With a few discreet questions from some acquaintances quickly garnered for just such information, I found out where my “Barrister” and his family were spending their late evenings asleep. It so happened that they were staying in a penthouse suite 3 floors above my own modest single. So instead of leaving the reception to scout out a way to gain easy access to their rooms, I could stay and enjoy myself, already being all too familiar with the place. Which I did, later acquiring a gold jeweled bracelet from a charming maiden attired delightfully in teal satin, who had kept flaunting her jewels in me face as she told me all about her perfect self. Another jewel added for my growing collection of the evening.
Now, don’t ask me why I was so familiar with my hotels’ penthouse suites, being a cat burglar, the reasons should be quite clear! So when the pretty family left the reception early, around 9 pm returning to their rooms, I was able to follow them with less discretion then I usually do, but still with growing eager anticipation. Also, even more remarkably, they were in bed and asleep by 10:30 pm, which allowed me a much earlier window of opportunity than I had grown accustomed to having.
And so it was, that soon after the stroke of midnight, with the happy family deep in their slumbers that I, wearing my black burgling attire, climbed onto the balcony of their rooms. After jimmying open the double glass doors with my Fairborn dagger, I found myself in a small sitting room. Carefully allowing my torch to search around I spied a door on the far end. Opening it cautiously, the first thing I see are the daughters pricey pearls piled loosely on a vanity by the bed where she lay sleeping, dressed in white, looking ever so like the angel she is. I picked up the necklace of pearls, eyeing them as I watch the slumbering figure on the bed. But I passed the pretty things up, for even though I am a thief by nature, I do possess some scruples, albeit maybe a little warped! Besides, those taunting pearls had led me to the small treasure trove that was awaiting me in her Mothers’ chambers. So with a silent thanks, I replaced them upon the vanity, and move off…
The parents were found in the next room, soundly sleeping off their alcohol induced haze. The mother was draped over her husband, fetchingly clad in a long satin nightdress that looked almost like an evening gown. Her vulgarly large wedding diamonds flickered pleasantly from her finger as I let my torch sneak up along her shimmering figure. On the bed stand laid the “Barristers” gold watch and a rather pleasing selection of his wife’s gold “day” jewelry, but I passed the lot up, my eyes looking for the good stuff that would be snuggled inside the small room safe that I knew would be behind a false door in one side of the oak dresser ( having already discovered that fact a year previously in a different room of the same hotel)!
I went directly to it, and opening the cabinet door, began to use my finely attuned skills to crack it. It was a simple American lock and only took me a minute to have open. I than emptied the small collection of jewel cases ( lovely things) placing them into my small sack. I also find inside the mothers small clutch purse made expensively of red silk and rhinestones, that had been at her side all evening. Out of curiosity (why in the safe?) I placed it inside my bag with the jewels. After checking that the parents were still out cold, I closed the safe, flickering my torch around one last time, it settles upon her red gown, and its emerald rhinestone clips coming blazing into lively flame. I passed on them, and headed back out towards the door. I had almost regained it, and my freedom, when the husband let out a loud snort, and I heard rustling going on in the bed behind me. I froze and carefully looked back. Neither had woken, but the wife had turned onto her side, and her left hand was now hanging limply over the side of the bed. I watched as the diamonds set in the gold ring encircling her slender finger blazed into life (the ring was somewhat loose I keenly noticed)! Blimey, there was enough dosh in the value of that ring that would have paid for all the expenses of the Cardiff C.C. for an entire season, perhaps 2! But, Bird in the Hand, I am always telling meself, so I left the pretty thing dangling there, and finished my careful retreat. I made it out without further incident.
Passing the daughters room ( and her pearls again), I checked in. The young filly was still was sound asleep in her own pleasant dreams, her taunting pile of pearls still on the vanity, where they would remain. I regained the balcony and slipping over, made my way down to the window of my own room.
Back in my room I empty my sack, the pile of jewels flickering in a frenzy of colours. I admire the little darlings briefly before stashing them. I than pick up the purse and open it. Inside amongst the usual feminy items, I found a letter. Looking at it my heart, already beating quickly from the exhilaration of being on the prowl, skipped one beat, for it was addressed to the lady whose jewels I now possessed, and it was an address of an area I knew quite well. I thought about her address, the house she presumably shared with husband and daughter, the house which should be empty seeing its owners were sleeping just three floors above me. A house that was little over an hour away, only about ¾ of that hour by driving my Lotus. It was a house that I figuratively knew; being in the same neighborhood (relatively speaking) of a house I had reconnoitered and quite lucratively burgled the previous spring.
It was perfect. While the family was asleep snug in their beds here, I could reach their abode, with its jewel laden safe ( they all had jewel laden safes in that area), ½ hour to creep the place, an hour to do the job proper and I would be back in time to catch a two hour kip and be checked out and on my way before the pretty family have had breakfast. It, bears repeating, was perfect.
I looked at the envelope, was its contents that valuable that she felt the need to lock it up. More than mildly curious, I pulled it out and read it. It was from someone named Samuel. In no uncertain terms, he was informing the lady that for only ₤5000 sterling he would leave for the States and never bother her Daughter Claire again. I thought of the young girl asleep in the suite I had just left. What kind of Scoundrel would lure a young girl like that into his clutches with the intent of extorting her parents! For a moment I pondered this bit of information, before deciding that the opportunity was too ripe to pass up just because I felt a small twinge of compassion. Besides, if the parents could afford to cough up a cool 5 thousand, they weren’t hurting in the financial department.
I changed, and quickly gathered my things and headed out quietly via a back entrance. Placing my burgle kit (containing the ladies jewels) into the boot of me two seater, I fired up the lotus’s engine and was off on my little undertaking!
A half hour away I turned down a little used rutty road/path. Pulling over I grabbed my burgle kit and headed down to some ancient stone ruins. Checking to make sure none of my warning snares had been tripped, I entered a small stone building. Going down into one of its old, crumbling basements, I uncovered a small cubby and added the jewels to the growing collection of my recent takings.
Included in the collection were sets of pearls burgled from a coach stop overnight room occupied by a pair of fairly insufferable spinster sisters. Other burgled items were a rather pretty , if not vulgarly large, diamond set obtained from a naive damsel who thought hiding them under the pillow she slept on was safer than a safe, (always happy to enlighten someone upon the error of their ways that’s me), and of course the sapphires that the lass in the silky frock had been wearing 2 nights previous ( along with some rather nice sets of rubies and diamond adorned amethysts that had lain in the same safe, located above her soundly sleeping figure! ) The rest of the lot consisted of items I had “picked up” while on the prowl: a nice collection of brooches, rings, bracelets, and an eye-catching sapphire pendent hanging from a diamonded chain.
I than closed everything up, rechecked my warning snares, and headed back to my Lotus.
Another 30 minutes and I had reached my destination.
The house itself was pretty secluded, located by an intersection of two lanes. I drove its perimeter than doubling back found a pull off. I backed up and turned down and off the road hiding the small sports car in a grove of pines.
Already wearing some of my burglar attire, (black military trousers and sweater), I placed a hood over my head, pulled out my small kit, fastening a torch and military knife to my belt, I was off. The house appeared to be deserted, I found the servants quarters located at the back of the house over a small barn, the only cars were a small sports car in a shed, and a roadster sitting out front. A large garden surrounded by hedges lay to the west of the house, a larger Tudor, with several porches and balconies. Using the hedges as cover, I shimmed up an old tree located by a balcony, and slipping onto the balcony proper, I made my way to the door. Shimmed the latch with my Fairborn commando knife, and then entered into a side bedroom. I was looking for the master suite, and this was not it, the daughter’s by all appearances. I spied a small ornate silver box on a table, but passed it up , on the search for bigger game!
Turning on my torch I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. At the end was a set of double mahogany doors and this is where I set my sights. Along the hallway wall were several rather nice paintings (not copies) and I let the pool of my light flicker along them. Included in the lot was a small painting of a young fox, half asleep, eyeing something in the distance? I stood for precious seconds admiring it, and then turned my attention to the mahogany doors. They were not locked, and I cautiously, very slowly, opened one. Pay dirt! A large empty canopied bed stood in the middle of the room, a love seat to one side, a settee on the other, and directly across from the bed a large ornate sideboard with mirror. Along one side of the wall was a series of chains with different rooms labelled underneath, presumably connected to bells in those rooms. It definitely belonged to the mistress of the house, and, hopefully, her jewels.
I let my light flow over the room, avoiding the window and glass door that led out onto another balcony. I soon spotted the location of the safe; it was behind an old painting of a Harlequin. Said Harlequin was standing on a black and white checked tile floor, as he looked inquisitively into his own reflection from an ornate wall mirror. The painting was located on the wall between the corner and the intricately carved oak sideboard. I slid back the painting on its hinges, exposing the small safe.
It was exactly the same safe as their neighbors, the ones I had burgled clean in the spring. Quickly getting to work I spin the tumblers, listening intently for the correct paths of clicks. Bingo! , it opened up like a dream. Inside I found a bonanza of about a dozen small jewel cases handedly printed with the jewelers names (Cartier and Tiffany’s amongst them! ) I quickly open and empty their contents into my kit, pouring out a delightfully pricey array of colorful gems of all types and styles. Replacing the empty cartons, I rummage around, finding a small stack of gold and silver coins and a couple of bundles of notes, currency of the realm. I favorably pocket the lot.
Suddenly I freeze, hearing the unmistakable sounds of muffled giggling from down the corridor. Closing the safe and picture I back off and hide inside a closet, wishing I had had the foresight to have opened the balcony door to see if that had offered escape, but I had been so sure I would be alone that evening that I had let me guard slacken a bit. I hoped that whoever it was they were heading off to bed.
They were off to bed, problem was it was the bed in the room I was in for which they were heading. I heard the door open, and from the crack in the closet door, I saw a young couple come in, tipsy and fondling the heck out of one another. The female was obviously an older daughter of the house, a mini version of the mother and her sister. She was resplendent in a long flowing cream satin evening gown; her paramour was a beady eyed, weasely faced chap in loose fitting tux and tails. It must have been his roadster outside; the couple must have been snogging in the garden, and drinking wine, judging from the smell and the way they were acting. Again I kicked myself for not checking the grounds more thoroughly. But why hadn’t the bloody twit of a daughter been at the wedding with her family where she belonged? But a bit later I was to reason that if she had, I would have been tempted to lift a diamond bracelet, and me path may have ended there. Missing out entirely, the opportunity to burgle the contents of 2 bedroom safes, master and penthouse!
They headed right to the bed, (doing it on the parents bed, and old cracker that was) the lady not even taking off her long satin gloves, just falling onto the bed with her doe wide eyes gleaming, while her beady eyed lover was falling all over her. Oh god! Samuel, I heard her mummer in passion. My eyes were opened, this must be the daughter Claire, and the beady eyed bloke was the infamous Samuel. Now it made a little more sense, but not any less wicked. I watched them in a new light, my mind going a full mile a minute trying to see a way out of the situation. . “Si vous voulez faire rire Dieu , faire des plans” I muttered an old saying in French, chastising myself inwardly for taking on such a gamble rushed for time.
Now, I am certainly no voyeur, and my belief that some things private, are, well private! But actually, in this instance, there was no choice. I tried not to watch, but the couple’s raw, animal like lovemaking and all its trimmings were happening just feet away. I began to amuse myself by watching the flashy show put on by the daughter’s sparkling jewels and the fluidly movement of her shiny, slinking gown as they were caught in the moonlight that streamed thru the glass of the balcony door. It was the type of show that engrosses any jewel thief worth his salt (hell, any bloke worth his salt for that matter). My mind also kept going back to the letter that I had found in the red silk purse and I hoped that a way would open to cause “Mr.” Samuel some sort of grief.
Beady eyes comes onto her, driving her mind off everything but what he is doing, as her eyes are closed tight, his are open, looking about. I slink in a little more into the shadows, keeping his face in my view. Occasionally a white satin gloved hand appears, rings and bracelets sparkling in a frenzied flickering as her fingers grip his face. Suddenly his eyes open wide as he looks towards the painting of the Harlequin. Cripes I mutter as I look there also, for on the floor lies a diamond bracelet, the fancy bugger must have slipped out as I scurried to my hole. I prepare to bolt like a fox hiding close to where the hounds are heading (my mind went to the painting of the watchful fox in the hallway outside the bedroom).
But beady eyes says nothing..
He finished the job, with her squealing like a piglet, before she slumps back exhaustedly onto the bed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing became heavier as she lost all drink induced conscious. I watched as her lover’s half closed eye stayed focused on the bracelet, as he listened to her breathing become heavier. When he was sure she was asleep he slipped off and heading to the vanity scooped up the bracelet and placed it inside a pocket of his tux’s vest. He then crawls back next to her, gently fingering her diamond rings before (finally) joining her into heavy, wine induced sleep alongside.
It seemed like hours, but the whole episode, by me watch, lasted only a ¾ of hour, but it was a precious time I could ill afford to have lost atoll.
I was running late, but knew what I had to do next. Walking over to the pair I watched them for a few seconds, plotting my next course of action. Her jewels were flickering nicely in the moon’s light.
I reached down an lifting ever so gently one still gloved lifeless feminine hand, I slipped off a couple of sparkly rings from satin clad fingers, and unfastened a tight cuff bracelet emblazon with diamonds from around her wrist. Then I lifted the other hand, easily gliding off another brace of glistening rings from her fingers, and a second diamonded bracelet from her limp wrist. Than lifting her necklace of diamonds, I pulled it gently around admiring the way they rippled fire along her throat, till its jeweled clasp was exposed. Then I slowly pry open the jeweled clasp, and slipped the necklace away, watching it sway in the moonlight like a glistening snake. They were both still out cold, It wasn’t really very much of a challenge, not that I was complaining mind you.
I happily pocketed the lot, except for a cheaper ring. I swapped that ring for the diamond bracelet in Samuel’s vest pocket, hoping that the outcome would prove interesting. In the process of placing the ring in the Sammy boy’s vest, I came across his fat pocketbook, which I gladly lifted and added to the collection in my own now bulging pocket.
I then left the room, leaving quietly by stepping upon the soles of my feet. As I pass the small painting of the watching fox, I pull it off and stick it into my kit, a bonus for me extra worries. I than slip back through the daughter’s bedroom, its door now slightly ajar.
In a corner of the room lay the small silvery jewelry case I had passed up earlier thinking it was the younger daughters. But, I hesitated, wondering to which daughter the room belonged, for someone had slightly opened the door for a reason? I shook my head, no chances. But, wait a minute, I grinned as my thoughts grew ever more pleasing. I walked over to the small table that held the ornate silver jewel case (casket was what my Gram had called hers), above it was a small picture of the family daughters in full riding regalia, the older daughter, Claire, had a small pin of a fox in her shiny white satin caveat.
I bent down and opening the small case. There on top was the fox pin, glittering with brownish Sardonyx gemstones and bright red ruby eyes. I plucked it up and added it to my sparkling collection. Then I admired the shimmery collection of gold and pearled jewelry (no lowly silver for this lass). Selecting the better ones I placed them with the fox pin and the Mothers jewels in my kit, then scooping out the rest, I placed them in unceremoniously in a side pocket.
I then went back out the balcony and down the tree. I headed over to the roadster out front and taking out a few of the lesser jewels I had scooped into me pocket, and I began placing them in and underneath the passenger seat of the vehicle.
Finished I admired my handiwork, then looking leisurely around, let out a deep sigh of absolute relief, mixed with exquisite feelings of pleasure of an adventuer winningly pulled off, before melting off into the shadows of the woods. I soon reached my lotus, gunned the engine to life, and then proceeded to slowly drive off without headlights until I reach the main road.
I once again stopped at my hidden cubby and deposited my burglar’s kit and purloined jewels with the rest of my stash, reset my snares, and headed quickly back to the hotel.
I reached my destination just at cock crow, went upstairs and finished packing. It was later than I had anticipated, so no kip for the sinners. I just loaded my luggage into the boot of the two seater, checked my key in at the desk, settled my bill, and headed for a quick breakfast.
But I wasn’t quick enough, for about halfway through my breakfast The “Barrister” and his family came down to have the same. They appeared to be calm, so I knew that my activities earlier that morning had not been exposed yet.
I pushed aside my almost finished plate and standing, walked past them, allowing the daughter, who was clad in a silky skirt and matching satiny top, and wearing those taunting white pearls of hers, to bump into me as she pranced to their table. Steady girl I says, catching her as I eye for the last time her dangling jewelry. So sorry sir, she replied apologetically. I complimented her parents on their charming daughter. The father, in a formal suit and tie, grunts his thanks. The mother, in a scintillatingly swishing long red skirt, and heavy cream silk blouse, blushes prettily. I look over her plentiful “everyday” jewelry as I take their leave. What she was wearing for a normal day of activates was expensive enough to catch any thief’s desire to acquire.
As I walked away, a vision of her walking the streets, dressed as she was, back in Dickens London formed in my thoughts. She attracted the notice of a small street urchin, his devious heart pounding as he left huis vigil from the wall he had been leaning against too closely follow her as she swished by. Catching up to her in the hopes of brushing against her and with a sorry ma’am, walk away with some of it.
This was actually from a memory of mine ( long after Dickens time though) about an incident I had witnessed while working at my old uncles “eel and mash” shop.
A finely decked out young couple (the long haired lady wearing pearls as it so happened) had been inside the shop and finishing their meal, had walked out across the street. A street youth had been hanging out by the shop and had followed them across the street close on their heels. They all turned a corner, so I never knew what had happened, if anything ( which I sincerely doubted)! But that image had plagued many an unsettling adolescent dream with images of finely dressed ladies bending down to a begging young grimy faced lad, well ringed fingers and bracelets jangling as a coin was offered, gold lockets or pearls swaying out from tightly satin clad breasts to just within the reach of his grubby fingers….
I have come to believes that it was the seeds planted in my mind by those dreams that may have very well guided and nudged me onto the course I have continued following to this day.
So, naturally I guess, as I walked away my train of thoughts took a similar course as those dreams/nightmares. I imagined the mother I had just left, walking along a street alone, dressed as she was last evening, the jewels that were now in a cold small cubby, once again upon her figure, glittering their fiery beacon. Then suddenly her daughter, dressed as she was now, was strolling alongside her. The street urchin I had seen that morning so long ago was here also, following close, eyeing the ladies reflected jewels in a storefront window as they walked past……
But at that point in my daydream I realized that I had reached and was standing beside my two seater, and shaking my head clear of such thoughts (once again, sadly not seeing the outcome) I happily hopped over the door and into the driver’s seat, firing up the engine, and quite eagerly pulled away from the hotel and roared down the road.
I stopped by my secret cubby, and without haste, fully on the alert, made my way down to the basement. I collected my stash and made it back to the Lotus without incident. Lighting me pipe, I smiled to meself, promising a nice stiff one once I got back to the abode. I pulled away, slowly, cheerfully, driving down the warm sunlit road. I was now on to new quests, filled with promises of many lucrative acquisitions.
One of those quests was wrapped around a young lady in Soho, who recently had inherited a jewellery collection worth ₤25,000 which she loved wearing out in public, flaunting the richly jeweled pieces all about whenever she could. The quite, almost vulgarly rich, young lass had so many Beaus seeking her affections that she was being invited out almost weekly out to some special dress up affair. This all made her overly ripe for the plucking by some jewelry procurement minded thief. And being one meself, a jewel thief that is, I intended to be the first in line.
Once I returned home, I first visited my London banks strongbox to deposit my newly acquired ” glittering with fire” trophies to let them “cool” down a bit. Then I made sure the Yard received an anonymous post. Said post containing a red silk evening clutch, inside which was beady eyes’ pocketbook( sans money) along with the letter incriminating one certain rogish gent by the name of Samuel for attempting extortion of 5000 pounds sterling from the fair Claire’s Mother. I know how the chaps in the inspector’s squad so love a mystery!
And so, for now dear journal, I bid farewell, adieu.
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Si vous voulez faire rire Dieu , faire des plans
Roughly translated:
If you want to make God laugh, Make plans
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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DISCLAIMER
All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents
The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.
No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.
These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment and/or educational purposes only, and should never be attempted in real life.
We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.
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Don't leave New York without dining alfresco.
And so I hunkered down by the steps of the Apple flagship store at 5th Ave, with eyes gazing across a stream of yellow taxi cabs swooshing abreast of bike buggies and tinted limousines, ears attuned to the distant murmur of children playing by the courtyard of the old Plaza Hotel, my mouth dripping with carnal juices from my shish kebab dinner, thinking happy thoughts on a sultry Manhattan evening.
The push-cart guy from whom I bought my dinner graciously obliged my request for a snapshot. He briefly smiled and said thank you.
Nine days left...
love my title? HA! View On Black
Off to watch the EXPENDABLES!!!
I recently got ahold of a brand spankin new version of final cut,and have been
editing more on our film.for some unexplainable reason,my mind has been
viewing films and music videos different than ever before. perhaps good,perhaps
bad, but its made me more attuned to the talent (or lack of) that is always in
front of our eyes.
One of my personal Heros FreddieW has an awesome channel on Youtube
that you should check out. go do it HERE !!!
hes incredibly talented, extremely funny,and has just recently got to hang out
with Andy whitfield. Mr SPARTACUS himself. and on a side not,but related... season 2
has just begun filming! ... ok, im going to drink a bit more and pass out.
oh yeah .. the Expendables was badass. too much shaky cam for me,i like to see whats
actually going on in fights, but an awesome,fun movie anyways.
#smalltowninertia Visited with David today. We had a lot to discuss and a few chores that needed taking care of, so whilst my partner, Laura, mowed his back lawn, David and I, talked through a long list of ideas of what might be embraced and embarked upon to make his life better and we’ll all be putting those ideas into action from next week.
I’m busy researching more devices that will enable David to have more freedom, including a new telephone, walking aids and safety devices to ensure his house is attuned to his blindness as possible and will work out ways to fund raise for any new items he will require.
I’ll also be making a list of all local, available charities that offer support to blind members of the community and reporting back to David with all the information, so he might be better informed and make the right decision, for himself.
One priority today, was to take over a voice recording of his late mother, Eugene, for him to listen to. David had not heard her voice since she passed away.
Upon first listen, David could not recognise Eugene upon the recording. Again we listened, and again, and again.
Then, slowly, when and where I feared tears would come, upon remembering and realising it was his mothers voice, David’s smile, as wondrous as sunrise, lit up his face.
The memory awoke, the day of recording recollected. A cold December afternoon, a few months after David had first been released from hospital and returned home after the accident, that had so brutally robbed him, of his sight.
This afternoon, we were as much back within that day, as Eugene was with us again, today. As we listened to her voice, a lilting old Norfolk accent, as gentle in tone as intent, Eugene’s words, Eugene’s voice, once again reaching out and having her son smile.
Full story update coming soon.
both opening prompt and vanishing point for these mostly gestural ink paintings is a quote from artist Alok Hsu Kwang-han –
“the emptiness of the self is the one who can move through the broken heart of the world and feel at home”
the initial impulse to allow the intuition of the moment to guide the brush strokes, as portraits of energy or presencing; a kind of witnessing without accumulation or interference, attunement to murmurations; while occasionally more representational images emerge – as well, entendering – and in the spirit of the initial quotation, everything belongs
#AbFav_ABSTRACT_MINIMALISM_ ♋️
Taken in Salford, Manchester, Lancashire.
Named after the Greek god of wind, Aeolus – Acoustic Wind Pavilion is a giant instrument and optical sculpture, crafted by Luke Jerram.
It was singing away in Canary Wharf, Aeolus allows wind to resonate through polished steel tubes and along vibrating strings attached to the tubes.
The hum produced is attuned to the aeolian scale and registers even in the lowest of winds, creating a soundscape of the environment throughout the day.
The pavilion itself is a remarkable feat of elegant engineering as each protrusion reflects the sky light to the centre of the harp-like structure combining the particular nuances of light and sound into a quite beautiful and situationally unique performance.
With love to you and thank you for ALL your faves and comments, M, (* _ *)
For more: www.indigo2photography.com
IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY image or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
design, graphic, minimalism, "conceptual art", tubes, metal, Acoustic Wind Pavilion, Sculpture, Luke Jerram, TUBULAR "EYE TEASER", Salford Manchester, colour, "Magda indigo"
Dungeons & Dragons
Complete Arcane
Page 28:
Bloodwalk (Su): At 10th level, a blood magus becomes perfectly attuned to the song of blood. He gains the supernatural ability to transport himself great distances via the blood of living creatures. Once per day as a standard action that does not provoke attacks of opportunity, he can seamlessly enter any living creature (except an elemental, ooze, plant, undead, or other creature without blood or a similar fl uid) whose size equals or exceeds his own and pass any distance to another living creature on the same plane in a single round, regardless of the distance separating the two. A blood magus merely designates a direction and distance (“a living creature twenty miles due west of here”), and the bloodwalk ability transports him to a destination creature as close as possible to the desired location. He can’t specify a named individual as the endpoint unless he has previously obtained a sample of that creature’s blood and has it preserved in a vial that he carries. The entry and destination creatures need not be familiar to the blood magus. A blood magus cannot use himself as an entry creature. If an intended entry creature is unwilling, he must make a successful melee touch attack to enter. (A missed touch attack does not use up the ability for that day.) When exiting a creature, a blood magus chooses an adjacent square in which to appear. Entering and exiting a creature is painless unless a blood magus wishes otherwise (see below). In most cases, though, the destination creature finds being the endpoint of a magical portal surprising and quite unsettling. If he desires, a blood magus can attempt to make a bloody exit from the destination creature. He bursts forth explosively from the creature’s body, dealing 10d6 points of damage unless the creature makes a Fortitude save (DC 10 + blood magus’s class level + blood magus’s Con modifier). When he makes a bloody exit, a blood magus must succeed on a DC 15 Fortitude save or be stunned for 1 round from the shock of his expulsion.
I headed into the forest as the sun was falling out of the sky, its rays piercing under the canopy onto the forest floor carpeted with ferns. Wading through the undergrowth brought back childhood memories of chasing friends and playing soldiers in the wilds of Wales. Sometimes we would imagine we were on speeders on Endor from Return of the Jedi. Other times we would make up scary stories of a spirit living in the forest that wanted to catch us and turn us into trees.
Now as a photographer when I go out, my mind is more attuned to discovering real beauty rather than the imaginary – until I get home and sit in front of a computer. Then somehow the reality just isn’t quite as appealing as wandering around a naturally beautiful place. Of course there’s nothing wrong with indulging in a little fantasy from time to time. Maybe I’ll write some fictional tales to go with my images. Until the next trip…
Join me on:
Pentri's duty was to protect the Fe-Matoran of Nynrah, but lacking a Turaga's leadership and chastising the Nynrah Ghosts' involvement in the creation and retailing of deadly weapons, she soon decided to spend her life in reclusion, meditating, training herself and attuning her mind to the elements around her. Everything changed when Makuta Kuperix was sent to the island of Nynrah in order to dispose of the Ghosts; Pentri had no choice but to engage the menace in order to protect the lives of her tribe.
Pentri, despite her overwhelming amount of physical strenght and durability, lacks practical combat experience. She's been an hermit for most of her life, but is very sociable and friendly. She has strong values and condemns violence, but her lack of guidance and her headstrong nature rarely allow her to come to moral compromises. She is equipped with a Kanohi Pakari and a pair of devastating Jackhammer Claws, and she can harden her outer armor using her elemental powers.
“I was only rattling the bars of my crib because I thought you liked it” (LIL, 71). More than that, he acknowledges that she was right to call him out for his excessive complaining, confessing that he had used her as a sounding board for his frustrations without being adequately attuned to her feelings: “I am childish, I am selfish, I love to gripe. I want to complain and have someone to complain to, and for a while you were elected. I am sorry. It won’t happen again, and at the same time I will make a serious effort to grow up” (LIL, 72).
-Thomas Merton
Termite hills
Mound-building termites are a group of termite species that live in mounds. These termites live in Africa, Australia and South America. The mounds sometimes have a diameter of 30 metres (98 ft). Most of the mounds are in well-drained areas. Termite mounds usually outlive the colonies themselves.
Collective Mind in the Mound: How Do Termites Build Their Huge Structures?
Termites move a fourth of a metric ton of dirt to build mounds that can reach 17 feet (5 meters) and higher.
A single termite can be barely bigger than the moon of a fingernail, its semi-transparent exoskeleton as vulnerable to sunlight as to being crushed by a child in flip-flops. But in groups of a million or two, termites are formidable architects, building mounds that can reach 17 feet (5 meters) and higher. The 33 pounds (15 kilograms) or so of termites in a typical mound will, in an average year, move a fourth of a metric ton (about 550 pounds) of soil and several tons of water.
The termites also "farm" a symbiotic fungus that occupies eight times more of the nest than the insects do. And some termites eat as much grass each year as an 880-pound (400-kilogram) cow.
Like ants, bees, and other social insects, termites live in societies where the collective power of the colony far outstrips that of the individual. Being part of a super-organism gives the tiny termite superpowers. But a termite mound is like a construction site without a foreman—no one termite is in charge of the project. Is there a "collective plan" encoded in the collective mind of the colony?
In addition to experimenting in the mounds, Turner designs computer simulations to explore deeper patterns in termite behaviour. It wouldn't be wrong to say he's been searching for the psyche of the super-organism, but it wouldn't fully get at the richness of all of the other things he's noticed along the way—including clues to how humans might build more energy-efficient buildings, how we might design robots to build on places like Mars, and even peculiar termite behaviours that might help us understand how our own brains work.
The life of the termite is a race against rain, Turner says. Termite mounds can take four to five years to build, but a really heavy downpour might cause a third of the mounds to collapse. So termites are always scurrying to rebuild their mounds as fast as the weather erodes them.
To demonstrate the rebuilding process, Turner uses an auger, a tool that looks like a big corkscrew, to cut into the rock-hard surface of a mound. As he pulls a six-inch (15-centimeter) plug of dirt from the side, termites pour out of the hole. Soldiers fan out with their pinching mandibles ready for battle, and workers with mouths full of dirt run to plug the hole. How do they know there's a hole in the mound?
Termites are "novelty detectors," attuned to excitement and always on alert, says Turner. (When there isn't external stimulation, termites sometimes stand in little clusters, massaging each other's antennae.) Experiments in Turner's lab suggest they respond to slight air movements and changes in humidity and concentrations of gases like carbon dioxide.
At the first sign of a disturbance, a termite runs to communicate the news with touch and vibrations. Roused, masses of termites fill their mouths with dirt and head toward the source of the problem. The commotion attracts more termites with more dirt, and within an hour or so the hole is patched.
Peering Inside
The only way to get a glimpse of the termite super-organism in action is to rip the side off a mound. And so one morning Turner, along with entomologist Eugene Marais of the National Museum of Namibia, takes a backhoe to the test fields. With a single swoop, the backhoe removes the top of a mound and then precisely dismantles the rest, like pulling the walls off a dollhouse.
The termites are not happy that their walls have suddenly disappeared, and they swarm frantically around the exposed structure. Marais dislodges a chunk of dense soil about the size of a squashed soccer ball—the queen's chamber.
After repeated blows of a hand pick, the capsule breaks open suddenly, revealing a saucer about five inches (almost 13 centimeters) across containing the queen. Her sweating body is swollen to the size of a human finger. A coterie of workers carries the eggs she produces—at the staggering rate of one every three seconds—to nearby nurseries, while others feed and clean her.
The queen herself, once a relatively normal size, retains her original legs, but they are now nearly useless. Her pale body pulsates, the caramel-colored fats and liquids inside swirling under her skin.
The title "queen" leads people to imagine that she is in charge of the mound, but this is a misconception. "The queen is not in charge," says Marais. "She's really a slave." The queen is the epitome of the super-organism: one for all and all for one. She is a captive ovary, producing hundreds of millions of eggs over her life span of up to 15 years to populate the mound.
Farming Fungus
Below the queen's chamber lies the super-organism's largest organ: the fungus garden. In a symbiotic relationship dating back millions of years, the termites exit the mound through long foraging tunnels and return with their "intestines full of chewed grass and wood, which they defecate upon their return, and other workers assemble these 'pseudo-feces' into several mazelike fungus combs," Turner explains.
The termites then seed the comb with spores of fungus, which sprout and dissolve the tough cellulose into a high-energy mixture of partially digested wood and grass. For the termites, the fungus functions as a sort of external stomach, but the fungus gets the better deal. Ensconced in elaborate termite-built combs and constantly tended, the fungus receives multiple benefits, including food, water, shelter, and protection.
In fact, the deal is so lopsided that it calls into question just who's in charge of the relationship. Collectively, the colony's fungus accounts for nearly 85 percent of the total metabolism inside the mound, and Turner speculates that the fungus may send chemical signals to the termites that influence—control?—the way they build the mound. "I like to tell people that this may not be a termite-built structure," he says. "It may actually be a fungus-built structure."
Living Quarters
Which brings us to the most extraordinary organ: the mound itself. Contrary to common notions, termite mounds are not high-rise residence halls. Rather, they are "accessory organs of gas exchange," in Turner's words, designed to serve the respiratory needs of the subterranean colony located several feet (a meter or two) below the mound.
For many years, researchers looked at termite mounds and supposed that the spires worked like chimneys, drawing hot air up and out. But Turner discovered that mounds function more like lungs, inhaling and exhaling through walls that appear impenetrable but are actually quite porous.
Inside the mound, a series of bubble-like chambers connected to branching passages absorb changes in outside pressure or wind and pass them through the mound. To regulate the mix of gases and maintain a stable nest environment, the termites are forever remodeling the mound in response to changing conditions.
"A termite mound is like a living thing," says Turner, "dynamic and constantly maintained."
Wet Kisses
While studying termite building behavior, Turner noticed that his subjects seemed to be kissing each other, mouth to mouth, after a complicated ritual that included grooming and begging. Curious, he added fluorescent green dye to their water and discovered that all this "kissing" was actually a bucket brigade, transferring large amounts of water across the mound. A termite can drink half its own weight in water, scurry to a drier part of the mound, and distribute it to other termites. In addition to rebalancing the mound's moisture level, moving all of this water dramatically changes its shape.
Turner's work with termites has attracted some notable collaborators, among them British engineer Rupert Soar. Inspired in part by termite mounds, Soar has plans to build energy-efficient houses with porous walls that make use of passive wind energy. He's also looked into using termite-style building methods to help robots build structures in remote locations using only local materials.
Group Brain
Termites may even change the way we think about thinking. A research project at Harvard's Wyss Institute for Biologically Inspired Engineering brought computer scientists and roboticists to Turner's site to observe termite behavior with a range of sophisticated scanners and software.
Harvard professor of robotics Radhika Nagpal makes an analogy between the behavior of termites and the brain. Individual termites react rather than think, but at a group level they exhibit a kind of cognition and awareness of their surroundings. Similarly, in the brain, individual neurons don't think, but thinking arises in the connections between them. (Single neurons, for example, may recognize a baseball bat and the smell of hot dogs, but working in concert they let you know you're at a baseball game.)
Nagpal's team set up dozens of experiments to try to observe just where this collective cognition arose. "What program are they running?" mused Harvard physicist Justin Werfel, comparing the termites to robots. "Can we get a stochastic model of a stateless automaton that has no memory but reacts to what it encounters?"
Nagpal, Werfel, and Kirstin Peterson, also from Harvard, recently used termite behavior as a model to build a small swarm of robots (named TERMES) that assembles a structure without any instructions.
"This is a system where complexity is of the essence," Turner says of the termites' behavior. "If you don't capture the complexity, there's no hope of understanding it." And so the quest continues for the elusive mind in the mound.
A stream with waterfalls. These are variations on the photo with my Apple Iphone 14 Pro Max. I'm using Flickr to see which one Flickrites like the best. :)
The mission of the Japanese Friendship Garden Society of San Diego (JFG) is to develop a traditional Japanese garden as a center to educate, engage, and inspire people of diverse backgrounds about Japanese culture and community legacy.
JFG is an accredited museum that offers a variety of educational programs, exhibits, and cultural festivals to enhance appreciation and understanding of Japanese culture. Over 330,000 visitors from the United States and internationally attend the garden annually. JFG opened to the public in 1991 and is an expression of friendship between San Diego and its sister city, Yokohama. The garden is inspired from centuries-old Japanese design and techniques that showcase JFG’s living exhibition comprised of plants and florae native to Japan and San Diego. The second phase opened in 1999 and was designed by renowned landscape architect Takeo Uesugi, which included the addition of the Exhibit Hall, Activity Center, and Upper Koi Pond. The third phase, completed in 2015, incorporated a 200 cherry tree grove, large azalea and camellia garden, a water feature reminiscent of the San Diego watershed, and the state of the art Inamori Pavilion. Today, JFG resides on 12 acres and fosters a relationship between humans and nature, providing a respite attuned to Japanese simplicity, serenity, and aestheticism.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_Friendship_Garden_(Balboa_Park)
The Japanese Friendship Garden, also known as Sankei-en ( 三渓園 ) is a twelve-acre Japanese garden located within Balboa Park in San Diego, California. It is an expression of friendship between San Diego and its Japanese sister city Yokohama that binds the two cultures to create a unique experience for visitors from all over the world; over 240,000 people from across the United States and the world visit the garden annually. Representing a new concept in the development of a Japanese garden outside Japan, the Japanese Friendship Garden is designed to present an atmosphere of elegant simplicity (shibui) and quiet beauty. The garden's naturalistic design is guided by the original principles/techniques of the Japanese garden while incorporating elements of the regional San Diego landscape and climate; in terms of features, the garden is well-known for its unique placement, sukiya-style buildings, koi ponds, and landscape exhibits. The Japanese Friendship Garden also hosts many local educational programs, activities, festivals, and horticultural classes that focus on the relationship between nature and Japanese culture.[1]
The Japanese Friendship Garden was built and continues to be maintained under the philosophy that, "a garden is always in a state of change but the basic elements of trees, shrubs, rocks and water designed in natural balance create a peaceful, harmonious, and transcendental environment conducive to contemplation and meditation."[2]
San Diego 2023
IMG_E0481.jpg
Huge thanks to Teddi Beres and her ginger haired friend BellaDonna Quixote for setting up the poises and allowing me free reign to use them in my story scenario. The Deed has been done;).
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Chronicles of lifting Light C (The Reception Game)
The alternate version of Chronicles of lifting Light B ( Bridesmaids) - Album
“The wedding was a little over the top. The bride wanted her girl’s dresses to be something they would wear out again. A nice thought, but the gowns she found were a little too long for anything but formal evening wear, according to our girls who were asked to be part of the bridal party. The maid of honor wore a red silk version; the six Bridesmaids wore theirs in black satin.”
“A few years ago, “Ginny” was watching some type of show when I heard her squeal out. Our Golden Retriever ‘Sam’ meandered back in to see what all the fuss was about? I obediently followed. Ginny pointed out to me a model who was wearing fetchingly a long black satin gown, That’s m’ gown Ginny exclaimed, you remember, the one I wore at “Sheila’s” wedding, the one where my necklace was.., But at that point her attention was diverted back to her program. Squirrel I teased as Sam and I watched with her.
It was a gown strikingly very similar in colour, cut, and material to the one worn by Ginny ( and me sister) at a chums wedding years before ( and winningly worn several times hence I might add). It is a pretty thing to behold my charming Ginny sporting it, and in its time, it has born witness to a few goings on that most ladies wearing a gown like that would never encounter…….”
Chronicles of lifting Light C
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This story is true, and is really pretty much told as it happened.
What we did may sound daft, but read and understand the circumstances, plus realize we all were pretty well lit up with drink.
I have enhanced certain aspects of the story, but not as much as on my first draft, for that one came out sounding more farfetched than it should have.
For indeed, truth can be stranger than fiction… and coincidences occur, both sweet and bitter….. as I’m sure someone once said.
So here goes it….
My twin sister and our friend “Ginny” were invited to join in a school chums bridal party. The groom didn’t have enough to go around so my sister’s boyfriend “Brian” and I were pressed, not unwillingly, into service.
At the reception my Ginny made a comment about the flimsy clasps on the rhinestone jewelry they were wearing. My Sister, touched her necklace, told her, “ no worries, luv, no one would nick them anyways, they are only rhinestones”. Except my ring isn’t, said Ginny looking down at the ruby ring she was wearing on her pinky. My sister, thinking a minute, retorted “Then one never knows… “ , It looked like she was going to add something, but at that point the band restarted, and we joined the swarm of fancy gowns, silky dresses, suits and tuxes heading to the dance floor.
As we headed off, I was still perplexed about what had been going on in Sis’s head that made her come out with that reply, and I swear she had stolen a look at me while saying it. But as I had watched her pull at an earring to emphasize how loose the sparkling jewel was, a seed was planted in my head about a subject I myself had always found fascinating, pickpocketing jewelry!
Much later that evening, found Brian, me sister, and I alone, and probably more than a little drunk (always a precarious time with us). As Sis and Brain chatted on about a topic I had lost interest in, I started to watch Ginny, who had been asked to dance by some twit with shifty eyes in a red silk shirt, (open colored), who had rudely cut in on us. As I watched Ginny’s swishing gown move and flutter about in quite an interesting exhibition, I found meself mesmerized by the manner in which her healthy display of rhinestones were sparkling about( as they had been all evening). I looked back at my sister, and her own show of jewelry, sparkling up nicely against a black satin backdrop.
Still not being able to shake me twin’s earlier comment, nor its answer, out of my head about nicking jewels, I finally chanced asking my twin about her comments. She looked at me, having to think back a bit about the question, ( As I said, we were more drunk than sober by then), placing a nicely ringed finger to her lips, while regrouping her thoughts. Got it, she exclaimed proudly remembering what had triggered her memory, and started to explain.
When she was a tyke of about 7, there was a show that she had seen on the tele that centered on this group of people trying to reform a thief. Believing that he had turned a new leaf, they threw a fancy dance for him in honor of his new ways. During the dance, he cut in and danced with each of the three ladies who had been trying to teach him the errors of his ways. From one he slipped off her long diamond earrings, from a second her diamond necklace was lifted away, but me sister was unsure what the scoundrel took from the third. Sis thought that the earrings and necklaces that she and Ginny were wearing that evening, looked a lot like the ones from that show.
Now, as me twin described the thief’s antics, certain emotions awakened, rearing their tantalizing heads; my mind began wandering in some deep waters, pulled bout by some deep personal emotions. Cause I had been sitting on the couch with her, when as quite young children, we had first seen that episode.
As it happened my sister had been outside earlier playing dress up in on of mum’s old party gowns and was still wearing it, along with a set of costume pearls. Suddenly, that day, I wanted nothing more in the world than to lift the pearls she was wearing. I simmered over it for the rest of the program, getting to the point of actually laying my arm on the back of the couch, inching my fingers towards the clasp of her pearls laying there upon the back of her throat. But then the show ended, and I got no closer to stealing anything more than a touch of a really soft old evening gown. After the show ended, I warily suggested we go back outside and play Robin Hood (my sister has always been into his story).
We did, and as Sir Robin led her to his hideout, conveniently located through a thicket of Hawthorne’s, the pretty Maid Marion’s pearls mysteriously melted away.
That is when I had I had my epiphany, hitting me like a brick wall! Waiting till sis finished her story, I pointed out to Ginny, and asked the pair, If Ginny had been the third lady he had danced with, what jewelry do you think he would have lifted from her while dancing?
Brian , always the more pragmatic of the group, snorted, that’s stuff that only happens in stories and movies. I said I would bet it can be done, a quid says I can lift a piece of Ginny’s jewelry with her never noticing. Sis chimed in, you wouldn’t dare, but she was looking at me like she knew the answer already. Brian caught her tone, and took me up on it, betting me the quid that I couldn’t get away with lifting her necklace,( I liked his choice, it had been a necklace that “Sir Robin” had first lifted from me sisters neck that day in the woods long past).
At this time the music ended, and Ginny swished back to rejoin us. We drank and talked for a bit more, and I’m was all but certain Brian and my sister had all but forgotten the wager. But I hadn’t, nor had I been able to keep my eyes from studying the rhinestones Ginny had wrapped around her pretty throat. When a slow song started up, I rose and asked Ginny to a dance. I caught Brian’s eyes, and read the dare reflecting in them, so we were still on with the wager. Leading Ginny to the dance floor, we embraced, and danced to the pretty song, a slow one. Ginny was absolute pure heaven in my arms, and I found me self so entrapped that I never made an attempt upon her lovely rhinestone necklace.
As the song was ending, I caught a look from Brian across the dance floor, noticing that he smugly was looked at Ginny’s throat. I did not want to lose me quid on principle (I swear), so as the dance ended I held onto Ginny, waiting. Soon a second song started, disappointedly a more fast paced one with a Latin beat. I spun Ginny around onto the floor before she had time to catch a breath, we danced, like the song says:
And we… danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced
We were liars in love and we danced
Swept away for a moment by chance
And we danced, danced, danced
And dance we did, hot, furious and fast. A couple of times I spun Ginny around, and the poor girl already a bit tipsy, fell against me, giggling. About the third time I spun her, she stopped, and dropped backside into me and began to do this sort of gyrating move, slithering up and down my front side, with her hands held high above her head, her longish ginger hair had fallen over one shoulder, exposing her necklace in all its fine brilliance. As her warm, sweaty figure slipped up and down against mine, I watched the back of her throat, eyeing the necklace as it sparkled brilliantly in the dim lights. Studying intently the sparkly chain with it’s the hook in eye clasp.
She brought her hands down behind me back, crossing them behind me waist. My right hand went to the front of her waist, holding onto her squirming, satin slippery figure, pressing it tightly against me. My left hand went up to her shoulder, gliding along the glossy slick fabric of her black satin gown, until I reached her necklace. It only took seconds for my fingers to lift, and slip off the hook from its”eye” , letting the shimmering chain slither down the front side of Ginny’s satin clad breasts. My right hand left her waist, and travelled nimbly, tingling, all the way up the front until my fingers grasped the dangling chain. My left hand let go, and the necklace whisked down the front of her perking bosom, tightly covered by the glossy black satin bridesmaid gown. The whole bit of thievery took me only a few chords of the music, but it seemed a lot longer in the process. We finished out the song, me basking in the fact that my gyrating partner was innocently unaware that her shiny necklace was absent from around her throat, and now resided in her dance partners vest pocket.
We made our way back to the others, Brian had a smug look on his bearded face, I knew he was up to something. As I sat down, he whispered double it or nothing mate, that she notices it’s missing before we leave. I nodded, taking him up on it. So, the game was still on, and for the last two hours that we stayed at the reception, Brain waiting for Ginny to notice her missing necklace, I tried to distract her as much as I could, even with me sister constantly played with her necklace whenever she held Ginny’s attention, but the poor creature never caught on that her necklace had been lifted.
We finally left the reception after midnight and made our way along the ten city blocks back to the hotel where Ginny and my sister shared a joining room with Brian and meself. Ginny walked calmly with us, unaware of the devils that were us, keeping pace beside her. As were making our way through a short cut in a wooded Provincial park, we stopped in a small isolated glen and circled around Ginny. Sis was grinning as she asked poor unawares Ginny, So luv, whatever did happen to your necklace? Gin’s reaction was absolutely, rewardingly priceless.
Ginny, a relatively innocent soul, who is prone to believing most anything told to her, started, and her hand went to her throat, feeling about fruitlessly, as her rustling glossy gown and remaining jewels glistened dark in the full moons’ light. “M’ necklace, why it’s gone? , where did it go!, she pleaded helplessly, her thought patterns and speech a little slurred by her rather intoxicated condition. We than got into it, playing dumb along with her, and tried to figure out the “mystery” I said the last time I saw it was when that seedy bloke cut in, and I ran my hand up her back, feeling the shivers going down her spine, did the blighter touch you like that, then luv. No she said, then thought hard, no she repeated, he couldn’t have, he was a proper gentleman, and it was only rhinestone, like your sister said. My sister commented that the bloke may have not noticed no difference, and she held out her own necklace, I’m glad the bloke didn’t ask me to dance. No, Ginny shook her head, her long earrings flickering a frenzied fire out from her hair, no one could have lifted them like that, I’d have felt it….
She looked desperately around at us, then seeing the look on upon our faces, Ginny froze with the realization that we had all been up to something, and, then a smile of relief showed up on her pretty face, as I held up her necklace, sparkling in front of her eyes. A sly look of understanding that we had been up to something crept into those dazzling green eyes , as she told us now to spill it out.
We explained the whole tale as sis helped Ginny place her necklace back on. Ginny, with her usual good humor, said she had never noticed a thing, and it probably was a good thing we weren’t real thieves, because if her necklace had been real, it would have been worth a small fortune. And shame on us for having her believe it was that poor blighter in the red shirt.
We wouldn’t’ make very good thieves I agreed we drink too much. She just smiled, a curious gleam creeping up into those witchy green eyes of hers. Let’s get going before we meet a real thief then, urged my sister, all this talk about someone thinking our jewels are real is giving me the chills.
Our drunken little group then merrily, if not a little more guardedly, made our way home..
This next bit is my favorite.
We rode the elevator up to the boy’s room, as the girls called our room, where we drank beer, danced to music and talked on a bit about the reception. The girls stayed in dress and I happily soaked up the pretty picture the pair of admirably attractive girls presented with their long sheets of straight hair just hanging down, their diamonds sparkling and all other assorted frills enticing. About two hours later found Brian and myself sitting on the couch in kind of a hazy stupor while holding onto our beers. Ginny and my sister were standing directly in front of us, holding beers of their own and giggling over some girlish nonsense, the swaying of their long glossy black satin gowns slowly putting me to sleep.
Brain, draining a beer, got up to get another, bumping against my sister and playfully grabbing a handful. My sister started giggling at him as he sauntered off grinning, turning her figure so the brooch at the center of her gowns’ waistline almost hit me on the nose. Half asleep I reached over and lifted it up.
Looking up at the girls I saw that neither was paying no never mind towards me. Ginny, however, laid a hand on my twins shoulder, drawing her close so she could whisper some girlish secret about Brian. I continued on, and was able to undo the brooch, and slip it carefully off without notice. I slipped her jewel into my pocket; until I could think of what it was I was going to do with it to tease me twin sister.
Brian stopped on the way back and reset the music, a slow song. Sis went to him, and the pair started dancing. I rose and taking Ginny by the hand, followed suit, leading her to the bit of a dance floor we had cleared. She was again, pure heaven in my arms as my hands slipped liberally up and down her smooth, slinky gowned figure. Ginny smiled, I knew that smile, and realized that something was going on behind her pretty green eyes. She flicked back her sheet of ginger hair, and leaned against me. I saw you, she whispered, her voice putting a tickle in my ear. Saw me I asked, not getting it. I saw you lift that dame’s diamond brooch, Ginny said in a sultry voice as she looked over towards where my sister was dancing, (no, she was actually swooning), in Brian’s arms. You see that one over there, in the black dancing with the bearded gent? I looked over, as she continues, look at ‘er necklace, I have a fancy for it, and if you don’t want me to call security, I suggest you get it for me, darling, she said, like she was some old time actress in a movie. I loved the devilishness of Ginny’s role play idea and threw me whole heart and soul into it.
Check out the Sonia clip shortcut at the end of my tale( recommend viewing)
Now wide awake, I got fully into Ginny’s game. As we continued dancing my eyes watched Brian and me sister, taking careful inventory of all her sparkling jewelry. Sis turned, and caught my eyes looking her over, she blushed, and not knowing what was really going through my mind, smiled at me. As I smiled back, my eyes drinking her fetchingly attired figure up, I was imagining that all of her ample collection of rhinestones so prettily positioned on her figure, were real diamonds. And that I was an actual thief after her lovely sparklers. I looked into Ginny’s eyes. You have a deal miss, I whispered, making my voice deep and throaty, as I imagined meself as Humphrey Bogart type character in some shadowy film noir movie.
The song ended and a second, even slower one began playing. Brian and my sister were still locked into each other’s arms, but I felt that the time to make my move was now. Throwing Ginny a wink, I went over and cut in, Brian looked drunkenly at me like “whattsup chap,” but Ginny was right behind and swirled him away before he could properly react.
And as I took the pretty, wide eyed with innocence looking “dame” into my arms I found it exciting that she was oblivious to my intentions. Naïvely unaware, that in indifference to her own words earlier, someone did now want to nick the jewelry so merrily dangling from her svelte figure. Don’t forget at this point she was no longer my sister, but my sweet victim, and I was nothing more than a thief hungering after her bright baubles, albeit, a slightly inebriated thief!
I bided my time, appearing to look into my twins half opened eyes ( she was really lit by this time, as we all were) , my mind was working overtime on how to best approach my objective.
Employing the same method that the thief had used in the Gilligan’s Island episode to remove his dance partners necklace, I began to compliment my twin on how devastating her and Ginny looked both looked that evening (no lies), slowly moving my one hand up the slick material of the gown covering her back until I reached the dangling part of her hook and eye necklace with its’ glittering row of single “diamonds”. She ate it up, blushing and closing her eyes, tilting her head down, exposing even more of the back of her throat, and laying bare the chain of her “diamond” necklace. As she fawned over my words of (not false) praise, I subtly lifted up the chain of her necklace, holding her ever so her tightly around the waist. As I felt the heat emanating from her figure, I used my free left hands’ fingers to unhooked the clasp, and let the necklace fall over her one shoulder. Sis never felt it hanging, or noticed it as I peeled it off her chest (whisking along smooth as silk) and pulled it over her gown’s satin shoulder till it slipped sparkling down behind her. I held it hanging behind her back for a few turns, still pouring out the compliments, until I pocketed it, letting it join her purloined brooch.
Meanwhile, Brian had left Ginny to go to the loo, and I saw Ginny, who had been watching all of it, give me a wink. Then she turned and stole out the apartment door, her longish slinking gown slipping through behind her as she closed the door. I made ready to make some excuse to break away from my sister and head after her with my loot.
But just as I opened my mouth to make that excuse , Sis pulled her arms behind me head, and laid her own head back on my shoulder and closed her tired eyes, getting into the music’s deep beat. One of her longish rhinestone earrings just hung there sparkling, mocking me to touch it, and like Gingers diamonds, was ripe for the picking.
With the prize within my grasp, I momentarily forgot about the departing Ginny, and I made my move. I found meself trembling a bit, as I reached up and placed my hands gently alongside her ear, her eyes still shut, my victim smiled. The rest of the maneuver was surprisingly easy, as I glided my fingers down and slipped it off the earring in one effortless motion. The sparkling beauty came away from her sweaty ear as smoothly as an ice cube moves along a steaming hot grill ( I actually did have a thought like that). I held it in one fist for a bit, watching my victim, she had not felt so much as a tickle on her earlobe, as I had taken her earring. Relishing in my success, I looked at it dangling and shimmering in my hand behind her back. Then I secured her diamond away. I thought about trying for the other, but thought better of it, knowing Ginny was just waiting on the other side of the door.
I finished out the dance, taking my sisters hand with its dazzling bracelet and rings, and admired them while I kissed it. I’d better be off after Ginny I said, and then let go of her hand. Nice doing business with you I said, bemused as I watched the puzzlement creep into her eyes. That is how I left her.
However it was my turn to look puzzled as I went out, Ginny was nowhere to be seen. I quickly looked around, then headed to the elevator and rode down in it, alone at this early morning hour, to the lobby.
I arrived there, and at first the lobby appeared deserted, cept for a lonely desk clerk with her head buried in a novel. Then breathed a sigh of relief, there, around a corner, Ginny stood talking to some older lady wearing a garish grey pant suit, with this blue tinted helmet of curly hair covered by a large silk head scarf, and carrying an overlarge purse. I suddenly realized that now my anxiety had gone, another urge had taken its place. Ginny looked up, and smiles happily at me, and I smiled back, indicated that I had to go for a minute, and headed meself to the loo.
Coming out after I finished, I saw that the lobby was actually now really empty, not even the desk clerk was visible. Thinking Ginny may have gone back upstairs, I first went to the hotels double doors to chance a look outside onto the street below. I just caught sight of a wisp of black gown moving just out of sight past the stairs, on the now smoggy sidewalk below.
I headed out, and there was Ginny walking with the Blue haired stranger, they appeared to be looking for something. I started wondering if Ginny had invited this stranger to go on out walk with us? But no, apparently the blue haired lady in the unfortunate grey pantsuit had discovered her keys were missing, and thought they had dropped somewhere after getting out of a taxi just around the corner. And Ginny, bless her kind heated soul, had offered to help the distressed lady look for them.
As Ginny was telling me all this after I had caught up, the blue haired older lady , her cheerful face now stern, had started rummaging in her large shoulder bag, I sneaked a peek over her shoulder and saw that is contained quite an amazing assortment of items , ( no wonder it had to be so big). Suddenly she uttered an exclamation, found them she said, triumphantly pulling out an interesting assortment of skeleton type keys on a small ring. Happily smiling at Ginny, she pulled her into an enveloping hug for her efforts, before quickly leaving, but not without first giving me a sidelong glance with a disapproving look from her now pursed–lipped mouth as she passed. But I at the time put it down as her just being stressed out from believing she had misplaced her keys.
I am so glad she found her keys remarked Ginny, taking up me hand. That lady was ever so nice, she wanted to know where I had been dressed up all pretty like I am, and when I told her about the wedding, she said it must have been lovely. Then she admired me dress, and rhinestones. Then asked if me ruby ring was a gift from the bride. Liked your ring huh, I asked Ginny, my mind clearing up a little. Oh yes she said, lifted my hand, looked at it an everything!
Then the poor dear missed her keys, and asked if I could be a dear and help her look outside, and that was that until you showed up. (Looking outside for keys at 2:30 in the morning? I thought to myself) As I said ti Ginny, it is a pretty ring, and taking her arm, we started down the block together.
My mind, now somewhat attuned to the reality of things, went back to the blue haired lady and her large shoulder bag. Among some of various items I had seen had been a penknife, a length of old silk sash cord, small bundle of lacy handkerchiefs, and a small torch! Then add in the odd assortment of keys on her “misplaced” keyring, and put it all together, it all began to sum up to a new, slightly more sinister meaning of her intentions, in my take on the episode.
As we walked, I said nothing in reply to the happily chirping, richly attired girl walking beside me , as for the first time, and not the last, I wondered if something had been afoot with the Blue Haired, pursed mouthed lady that Ginny had seen as a kind older lady needed help, like the bird with a broken wing she had tried to help a few days past( a blue jay!). So was the blue haired lady, with the silk scarf and wearing a rather unisexual pantsuit, acting out the part of a “blue jay”, using her “broken wing” as a ruse to lure my Ginny safely away for her own nefarious reasons?
Surreptitiously, I carefully checked over Ginny from head to heeled toes as we walked, to make sure nothing was amiss. Her rhinestones were still safely all in their place, but I did not see the ruby ring, and me heart went still, and chills prickled down my spine! Bullocks! I swore under my breath, that pucker faced tart walked away with it. Ginny, I said, a little choked, she swirled facing me, her green eyes questioning, as she raised her hand to her perked breasts, and there it was, the small, but rather pricey, ruby ring she so loved wearing, the glittery darling had turned around on her finger so it was hidden from my view
.
I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, I just wanted to say how lovely you looked this evening my lass, I said saving myself. She smiled winningly, giving me a deep hug for my words. We walked on, as my beating heart slowed down, I convinced myself that maybe the incident of lost keys had all been harmless, and I was just being a worry-wort. I apologized silently for what I had called the fashion challenged blue haired lady in my mind. But I was still beginning to feel like ever a fool to have let Ginny, handsomely decked out as she was, out of my sight at this early hour of the morning.
I opened my mind and let all such thoughts flee my head, for the world was now ours, as we made our journey together, hand in hand. We ended up making a very long stroll in the Provincial Park, and reentering the same isolated, secret glen we had been in earlier, proceeded to continue acting out the role playing game we had started at the apartment.
Ginny went to the middle of the clearing to wait, pretending she was smoking, like a moll from a gangster movie. I circled and watched her sparkling figure, black in the glens shadows, move about a bit.
And as I did, my thoughts wondered a bit, and I remember reflecting ( not for the first time) how in the older black n whites, the heroine, or villainous, is always wearing gowns, elegant long gloves, and jeweled to the sparkling hilt. Then she walks alone to and then waits in some dark alley or other desolate spot for her contact, or hero to show up, much like Ginny was acting out now. So how is it that those fancy dressed and well jeweled unescorted dames, always manage to get to those spots, and are able to wait around in them alone, in those movies, and nary ever meet a ruffian who strips them of those pricy looking sparklers they are flaunting about? Just saying!
Saying a brief prayer that my thoughts were not tempting a fate of that type to occur to us now that I had been thinking it, I came out of the shadows and approached Ginny. Keeping my left hand in my pocket like I was carrying a heater. Hey sister, I said, been waiting long? No, she whispered, did you get the goods. Hot as ice I said proudly, producing the necklace and earring I had liberated from the dancing “dame”.
As I showed Ginny my take from “the dame”, she squealing over the fact I was able to take one of her diamond earrings, bonus she chanted. We laughed over what the “dames” reaction would be when the jewels were discovered missing. As we snickered, Ginny caught my eyes and then we got off on a tangent about jewel thieves in love, and ended up reenacting the “lure” scene from the movie ‘To Catch a Thief” ending up producing fireworks of our own making as Ginny lost all her jewels as well as her “innocence”.. We then made our way back home, as the cock crows, receiving a few odd looks from the occasional early morning lorry drivers.
And above all, I still remember feeling pretty bloody cocky as Ginny and I had sauntered our way to the park. And why not, I ask? Cause not only did I get to stroll about with the most captivating ginger haired lass, sparkling in fancy dress around, But I also had totally scored a hat trick in the jewelry lifting department, collecting two Quid to boot, and that’s what life is all about for us boys, winning the game, isn’t it?
So ends my story, of which I have written 2 versions.
My question is now this:
Which version, if one reads both, do you believe to be the truer?
Please leave a comment at the end of the story you believe is..
In appreciation,
Thank You
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In Appraisal
Tis story may be unique in its nature, but if not we would love to hear about it. Please leave a comment or drop an email ( or both) about you own experience.
Thank You
The Sonia clip shortcut ( recommend viewing)
youtu.be/HAZdjhNVjxk
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Chronicles of lifting Light C (The Reception Game)
A forethought
“The wedding was a bit over the top. The bride wanted her girl’s dresses to be something they would wear out again. A nice thought, but the gowns she found were a little too long for anything but formal evening wear, according to our girls who were asked to be part of the bridal party. The maid of honour wore a red silk version; the six Bridesmaids wore theirs in black satin.” Each of the girls were also presented with a matching collection of Swarovski rhinestones “traditional classic darlings” ! The jewellery, when added to the girl’s ensemble, further enhanced the red carpet like atmosphere of the Bridal party coterie’!
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Intro of the story proper :
“A few years ago, “Ginny” was watching some type of show when I heard her squeal out. Our Golden Retriever ‘Sam’ meandered back in to see what all the fuss was about? I obediently followed. Ginny pointed out to us a model who was wearing, rather fetchingly I might add, a long black satin gown. That’s m’ gown Ginny exclaimed, you remember, the one I wore at “Sheila’s” wedding, the one where my necklace was sn…., But at that point her attention was diverted back to her program. Squirrel I teased as Sam and I watched with her.
It was a gown strikingly very similar in colour, cut, and material to the one worn by Ginny ( and me sister) at a chums wedding years before ( and winningly worn several times hence I might add). It is a pretty thing to behold my charming Ginny sporting it, and in its time, it has born witness to a few goings on that most ladies wearing a gown like that would never encounter…….”
Chronicles of lifting Light C
Story Proper
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This story is true, and is really pretty much told as it happened.
What we did may sound daft, but read and understand the circumstances, plus realize we all were pretty well lit up with drink.
I will plead guilty at having enhanced certain aspects of the story.
For indeed, truth can be stranger than fiction… and coincidences occur, both sweet and bitter….. as I’m sure someone once said.
So here goes it….
My twin sister and our friend “Ginny” were invited to join in a school chums bridal party. The groom didn’t have enough to go around so my sister’s boyfriend “Brian” and I were pressed, not unwillingly, into service.
As I stated earlier, the wedding and reception were both over the top posh. So much so that our opinions, and subsequent escapades, were still coming up amongst us as a topic of conversation at our local haunt The ‘Poet and the Peasant Pub’, kept by Brian’s Auntie and Uncle..
www.flickr.com/groups/poet_and_the_peasant__pub_/
The Wedding proper was held at the local Cathedral. A rather decadent place built with a hearty clash of gothic/ medieval styles ; with black stone towers, Lancet arches, and fly away buttresses.
Inside one finds white marble columns, oak pews blackened with age, intricate wood work and ghostly while statues. All lit with hanging diamond shaped antique glass lights and colourful lead glass stained windows depicting a horde of medieval era religious scenes.
I twas a fine backdrop for the rather glamoursly attired guests in attendance. The wedding ceremony itself would have been an interesting tale in and of itself, but that telling will await another day, for mine has its’ beginnings at the Reception.
The Reception was held in the basement, a grand place with an opulent ballroom, well stocked bar room and elegant dining area. The subterranean basement was decorated richly along the same grand lines as the interior of the ancient Cathedral above.
We were some time at the reception when my Ginny , who had been held up on her way back from the loo by a snobbish dowager feeling the need to criticise someone, regained her seat by plopping down with a loud woosh.
That was a chore, being picked apart by that “lovely !”creature. she exclaimed cynically, whilst adjusting her loose brooch. We all just smirked. I had received the same treatment from the lecturing prig earlier that evening.
Well, to be honest , my twin sister and Brian just actually were smirking at that. I believe my attention at the time was rather more occupied on the area where Ginny’s Brooch lay, which was the proper cause of my smirk! (naughty me)
Finished, Ginny than leaned against me sister, and, still reeling from being inappropriately chided, made a snide comment about the flimsy clasps on the shimmering jewellery they were wearing. My Sister, touching her necklace, told her, “ no worries, luv, no one would nick them anyways, they are only rhinestones”. Except my ring isn’t, said Ginny looking down at the ruby ring she was wearing on her pinky. My sister, thinking a minute, retorted “Then one never knows… “ , It looked like she was going to add something to that, but at that point the band restarted, and we joined the swarm of fancy dress gowns, silky dresses, suits and tuxes worn by the chic guests as they herded to the dance floor.
As we headed off, I was still perplexed about what had been going on in Sis’s head that made her come out with that reply, and I swear she had stolen a look at me while saying it. But as I had watched her pull at an earring to emphasize how loose the sparkling jewel was, a seed was planted in my head about a subject I myself had always found rather intriguing, pickpocketing jewelry!
Much later that evening, found Brian, me sister, and I alone, and probably more than a little drunk (always a precarious time with us). As Sis and Brain chatted on about a topic I had soon lost interest in, I started to watch Ginny, who had been asked to dance by some twit with shifty eyes in a red silk shirt, (open collared), who had rudely cut in on us. As I watched Ginny’s swishing gown liquidly move and flutter about in quite an interesting exhibition, I found meself mesmerized by the beckoning manner in which her healthy display of rhinestones were sparkling about( as they had been all evening). I looked back at my sister, and her own show of jewelry, also sparkling up nicely against the smooth black satin backdrop of her own matching gown..
Still not being able to shake me twin’s earlier comment about nicking jewels, nor its answer, out of my head , I waited for a lull in conversation to finally chance asking my twin about her comments.
She looked at me, having to think back a bit about the question, ( As I said, we were more drunk than sober by then), placing a nicely ringed finger to her lips, while regrouping her thoughts. Got it, she exclaimed! Proudly remembering what had triggered her memory, and with that she started to explain.
When she was a tyke of about 7, there was a show that she had seen on the tele that centered on this group of people trying to reform a thief. Believing that he had turned a new leaf, they threw a fancy dress dance for him in honour of his new ways. During the dance, he cut in and danced with each of the three ladies who had been trying to teach him the errors of his ways. From one he slipped off her long diamond earrings, from a second her diamond necklace was lifted away, but me sister was unsure what the scoundrel took from the third. Sis had reckoned that the earrings and necklaces that she and Ginny were wearing that evening, looked a lot like the ones worn by ( and nicked from) the ladies on that show.
Now, as me twin described the thief’s antics, certain emotions awakened, rearing their tantalizing heads; my mind began wandering in some deep waters, pulled bout by some deep personal emotions. Cause I had been sitting on the couch with her, when as quite young children, we had seen a repeat of that episode.
As it happened my sister had been outside earlier playing dress up in on of mum’s old party frocks and was still wearing it, along with a set of costume pearls. Suddenly, that day, I wanted nothing more in the world than to lift the pearls she was wearing. I simmered over it for the rest of the program, getting to the point of actually laying my arm on the back of the couch, inching my fingers towards the clasp of her pearls laying there upon the back of her throat. But then the show ended, and I got no closer to stealing anything more than a touch of a really soft old evening gown. After the show ended, I warily suggested we go back outside and play Robin Hood (my sister has always been into his story).
We did, and as Sir Robin led her to his hideout, conveniently located through a thicket of Hawthorne’s, the pretty Maid Marion’s pearls mysteriously melted away.
That is when I had I had my epiphany, hitting me like a brick wall! Waiting till sis finished her story, I pointed out to Ginny, and asked the pair, If Ginny had been the third lady he had danced with, what jeweles do you think he would have found easiest to lift from her while dancing?
Brian , always the more pragmatic of the group, snorted, that’s stuff that only happens in stories and movies.
I said I would bet it can be done, a quid says I can lift a piece of Ginny’s jewelry with her never noticing. Sis chimed in, you wouldn’t dare, but she was looking at me like she knew the answer already. Brian caught her tone, and took me up on it, betting me the quid that I couldn’t get away with lifting her necklace,( I liked his choice, it had been a necklace that “Sir Robin” had first lifted from me sisters neck that day in the woods long past).
At this time the music ended, and Ginny swished back to rejoin us. As we played mute about our plans, we welcomed the damsel back and acted like there had been nothing in the world goin on amongst us while she was out dancing.
We drank and talked for a bit more, and I was all but certain that Brian and my sister had all but forgotten the wager.
But I hadn’t, nor had I been able to keep my eyes from studying the glittery rhinestones Ginny had draped around her pretty throat. When a slow song started up, I rose and asked Ginny to a dance. I caught Brian’s eyes, and read the dare reflecting in them, so we were still on with the wager.
Leading Ginny to the dance floor, we embraced, and danced to the pretty song beginning to play, it twas a slow romantic one ( lady in red If I recall correctly). Ginny was absolute pure heaven in my arms, and I found me self so entrapped by her charms, that all ambitions to be a thief and make an attempt upon her lovely rhinestone necklace fell to the wayside.
As the song was ending, I caught a look from Brian across the dance floor, noticing that he smugly was looked at Ginny’s throat. I did not want to lose me quid on principle (I swear), so as the dance ended I held onto Ginny, waiting. Soon a second song started, disappointedly a more fast paced one with a Latin beat. I spun Ginny around onto the floor before she had time to catch a breath, we danced, like the song which played says:
And we… danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced
We were liars in love and we danced
Swept away for a moment by chance
And we danced, danced, danced
And dance we did, hot, furious and fast. A couple of times I spun Ginny around, and the poor girl already a bit tipsy, fell against me, giggling. About the third time I spun her, she stopped, and dropped backside into me and began to do this sort of gyrating move, slithering up and down my front side, with her hands held high above her head, her longish ginger hair had fallen over one shoulder, exposing her necklace in all its fine brilliance. As her warm, sweaty figure slipped up and down against mine, I watched the back of her throat, eyeing the necklace as it sparkled opulently in the dim lights. I started Studying, intently, the sparkly chain with it’s simple hook in eye clasp.
She brought her hands down behind me back, crossing them behind me waist. My right hand went to the front of her waist, holding onto her squirming, satin slippery sweating figure, pressing her warm body tightly against me.
My left hand went up to her shoulder, gliding along the glossy slick fabric of her black satin gown, until I reached her necklace. It only took seconds for my fingers to lift up, and slip off the hook from its”eye” , letting the shimmering chain slither down the front side of Ginny’s satin clad breasts. My right hand left her waist, and travelled nimbly, tingling, all the way up the front until my fingers grasped the dangling chain. My left hand let go, and the necklace whisked down the front of her perking bosom, tightly covered by the glossy black satin bridesmaid gown. The whole bit of thievery took me only a few chords of the music, but it seemed to be carried out in slow motion in the process.
We finished out the song, me basking in the fact that my gyrating partner was innocently unaware that her shiny necklace had been pinched, and were now residing in her dance partners vest pocket. I will admit feeling a twinge of regret that it no longer could be seen glittering from around its’ mistress’s now bare throat.
We made our way back to the others, Brian had a smug look on his bearded face, I knew he was up to something. As I sat down, he whispered double it or nothing mate, that she notices it’s missing before we leave. I nodded, taking him up on it.
So, the game was still on, and for the last two hours that we stayed at the reception poor Ginny became the unknowing centre of our somewhat devious game1
Brain, eagerly waiting for Ginny to notice her missing necklace, tried for the most part to remain mute. I sweated it a bit, but his saboteur’s tactics failed.
I’ll admit I hadn’t thought it out before agreeing, but what probably should have been a suckers bet, with a million ways for Ginny to notice her necklace was playing hooky, apparently was going with the long odds for me to win.
I sweated it a bit, butno-one else amongst the crowd pointed out, or even seemed to care that Ginny was no longer wearing her necklace! Even the bloke in the open collared re shirt, who managed to steal Ginny away for another dance, failed to say anything. Which made me a mite curious as to where his attention span had been focused.
Even when me sister tried to help Brian out by playing with her own jewelled necklace while she held Ginny’s attention during conversation in the ladies powder room, failed to cause a reaction!
Through all this, the poor creature never quite caught on that her necklace had been lifted from her throat ! Unscrupulously nicked away on a whimsical bet while innocently dancing!
And continued danced with me she did, all of us thoroughly enjoying the rest of the evening’s attractions, along with the bit of fun we were having at poor Ginny’s expense.! But I made damn sure that our poor victim had the time of her life for my repentance.
Then during our last slow dance, I did start to harbour the prickling thought of trying for another of Ginny’s baubles. But the thought of winning 2 quid from Brian, who in his time has won a bit more from me than I him, kept my thoughts of further thievery in check! I knew my spirit was weakening. Fortunately we left soon afterwards….
We finally left the reception after midnight and made our way along the ten city blocks back to the hotel where Ginny and my twin sister shared a joining room with Brian and meself.
Ginny walked calmly with us, unaware of the picaresque devils that were us, keeping pace beside her. As were making our way through a short cut in a wooded Provincial park, we stopped in a small isolated glen and circled around Ginny. Sis was grinning as she asked poor unawares Ginny; So luv, whatever did happen to your necklace? Gin’s reaction was absolutely, rewardingly priceless.
Ginny, a relatively innocent soul, who is prone to believing most anything told to her, started, and her hand went to her throat, feeling about fruitlessly, as her rustling glossy gown and remaining jewels glistened dark in the full moons’ light.
“M’ necklace, why it’s gone? , where did it go!, she pleaded helplessly, her thought patterns and speech a little slurred by her rather intoxicated condition. We than got into it, playing dumb along with her, and tried to figure out the “mystery” I said the last time I saw it was when that seedy bloke cut in, and I ran my hand up her back, feeling the shivers going down her spine, did the blighter touch you like that, then luv. No she said, then thought hard, no she repeated, he couldn’t have, he was a proper gentleman, and it was only rhinestone, like your sister said.
I don’t know said Brian, never trust any gent who doesn’t wear a tie to fancy dress! He had to ‘ave been up to no good, that one!
My sister then commented that the bloke may have not noticed no difference, and she held out her own necklace, I’m glad he didn’t ask me to dance.
No, Ginny shook her head, her long earrings flickering a frenzied fire out from her let down ginger hair, no one could have lifted them like that, I’d have felt it….I’m sure of that…!
She looked desperately around at us, then seeing the look on upon our faces, Ginny froze with the realization that we had all been up to something, and, then a smile of relief showed up on her pretty face, as I held up her necklace, sparkling in front of her eyes. A sly look of understanding that we had been up to something crept into those dazzling green eyes , as she told us now to spill it out.
We explained the whole tale as Sis helped Ginny place her necklace back on. Ginny, with her usual good humor, said she had never noticed a thing, and it probably was a good thing we weren’t real thieves, because if her necklace had been diamonds, it would have been worth a small fortune. And shame on us for having her believe it was that poor blighter in the red shirt.
We wouldn’t’ make very good thieves I agreed we drink too much. She just smiled, a curious looking gleam creeping up into those witchy green eyes of hers. Let’s get going before we meet a real thief then, urged my sister, all this talk about someone thinking our jewels are real is giving me the right chills.
Our drunken little group then merrily, if not a little more guardedly, made our way home..
This next bit is my favorite.
We rode the elevator up to the boy’s room, as the girls called our room, where we drank beer, danced to music and talked on a bit about the reception. The girls stayed in dress and I happily soaked up the pretty picture the pair of admirably attractive girls presented with their long sheets of straight hair now just hanging down, their “diamonds” sparkling and all other assorted frills enticing.
About two hours later found Brian and myself sitting on the couch in kind of a hazy stupor while holding onto our beers. Ginny and my sister were standing directly in front of us, holding beers of their own and giggling over some girlish nonsense, the hypnotic swaying of their longish glossy black satin gowns slowly putting me to sleep.
Brain, draining his beer, got up to get another, bumping against my sister and playfully grabbed a handful. My sister started giggling at him as he sauntered off grinning, turning her figure so the brooch at the centre of her gowns’ waistline almost wacked me on the nose. Half asleep I reached over and gingerly lifted it up.
Looking up at the girls I saw that neither was paying no never mind towards me. Ginny, however, laid a hand on my twins shoulder, drawing her close so she could whisper some girlish secret about Brian. I continued on, and was able to undo the brooch, and slip it carefully off without notice. I slipped her jewel into my pocket; waiting until I could think ,now that I did the deed, just hpw I would tease her about it.
Brian stopped on the way back and reset the music, a slow song came up. Sis went to him, and the pair started dancing. I rose and taking Ginny by the hand, followed suit, leading her to the bit of a dance floor we had cleared. She was again, pure heaven in my arms and my hands slipped liberally up and down her smooth, slinky gowned figure.
Ginny smiled! I knew that smile, and realized that something was going on behind her pretty green eyes.
She flicked back her sheet of ginger hair, and leaned against me. I saw you, she huskily whispered, her voice putting a tickle in my ear. Saw me I asked, not getting it. I saw you lift that dame’s diamond brooch, Ginny said in a sultry voice as she looked over towards where my sister was dancing, (no, she was actually swooning), in Brian’s arms.
Now mate, you see that one over there, in the black dancing with the bearded gent? I looked over, as she continues, look at ‘er necklace, I have a fancy for diamonds, and if you don’t want me to call security, I suggest you get hers for me, darling, she said with conspiracy like tones, acting like she was some old time actress in a movie. I loved the devilishness of Ginny’s role play idea and it did not take much to toss me whole heart and soul into the assignment!.
Check out the Sonia clip shortcut at the end of my tale( recommend viewing)
Now wide awake, I got fully into Ginny’s game. As we continued dancing, my eyes watched Brian and me sister, taking careful inventory of all the “dames” sparkling jewelry. Sis turned, and caught my eyes looking her over, she blushed, and not knowing what was really going through my mind, smiled at me. As I smiled back, my eyes drinking her fetchingly attired figure up!
I was imagining that all of her ample collection of rhinestones so prettily positioned on her figure, were real diamonds. And that I was an actual thief plotting to nick her lovely sparklers. I looked into Ginny’s eyes. You have a deal miss, I whispered, making my voice deep and throaty, as I imagined meself as some, albeit drunk, Humphrey Bogart type character in some grittingly shadowy film noir style black and white movie.
The song ended and a second, even slower one began playing. Brian and my sister were still locked into each other’s arms, but I felt that the time to make my move was now. Throwing Ginny a wink, I went over and cut in, Brian looked drunkenly at me like “whattsup chap,” but Ginny was right behind and swirled him conveniently away before he could properly react.
And as I took the pretty, wide eyed with innocence looking “dame” into my arms I found it exciting that she was oblivious to my nefarious intentions. Naïvely unaware, that in indifference to her own words earlier, someone did now want to nick the jewelry which was quite so merrily dangling from her svelte figure. Now, don’t forget at this point to me she was no longer my sister, but a sweet innocent victim weighted down with desirable loot. And I? I was nothing more than a suave thief deliciously hungering after her bright baubles, albeit, a slightly inebriated suave thief!
I bided my time, appearing to look into my twins/victims half opened eyes ( she was really lit by this time, as we all were) , my mind was working overtime on how the best approach to reach my objective. Then it came to me, quite clearly, and so Bob became my uncle, and I began his suggested approach…. And if I would have dared say so at the time, I executed my bit of jewel thievery like a pro….That is if there are actually pros at this sort of thing1?
Employing the same method that I remembered the thief using in the Gilligan’s Island episode to remove his dance partners necklace, I began to compliment my twin on how devastating her and Ginny looked both looked that evening (no lies), slowly moving my one hand up the slick material of the gown covering her back as I whispered my praise. Easily I reached the dangling part of her hook and eye necklace with its’ glittering rows of “diamonds”. She ate it up, blushing and closing her eyes, naively cooperating by tilting her head down, exposing even more of the back of her throat, and laying bare the chain of her “diamond” necklace. As she fawned over my words of (not false) praise, I subtly lifted up the chain of her necklace, whilst my free hand held her ever so her tightly around the waist. For the second time that evening I could feel the heat emanating from my victims squirming figure. As well as again feeling me own heart pounding a storm.
I gently used my free left hands’ fingers to unhooked the clasp, and let the necklace fall over her one shoulder. Sis never felt it hanging, or noticed it as I peeled it off her chest (whisking along her gown smooth as silk) and pulled it over her gown’s satin shoulder till it slipped sparkling down behind her. I held it hanging loose behind her back for a few turns, still pouring out the compliments, until I pocketed it, letting it join her purloined brooch.
Meanwhile, Brian had left Ginny to go to the loo, and I saw Ginny, who had been eagerly watching all of it, give me a wink. Then she turned and stole out the apartment door, her longish slinking gown slipping through behind her as she closed the door. I made ready to make some excuse to break away from my sister and head after her with my loot.
But just as I opened my mouth to make that excuse , Sis pulled her arms behind me head, and laid her own head back on my shoulder and closed her tired eyes, getting into the music’s deep beat. One of her longish rhinestone earrings just hung there sparkling, mocking me to touch it, and like Gingers diamonds, I saw them as quite ripe for the picking.
With the prize within my grasp, I momentarily forgot about the departing Ginny, and I made my move. I found meself trembling a bit, as I reached up and placed my hands gently alongside her ear, her eyes still shut, my victim smiled prettily. The rest of the manoeuvre was surprisingly easy, as I glided my fingers down and slipped it off the earring in one effortless motion. The sparkling beauty came away from her sweaty ear as smoothly as an ice cube moves along a steaming hot grill ( I actually did have a thought like that). I held it in one fist for a bit, watching my victim, she had not felt so much as a tickle on her earlobe, as I had removed her earring. Relishing in my success, I looked at it dangling and shimmering in my hand behind her back. Then, as I secured her diamonds away, I thought about trying for the other. But thought better of it, knowing Ginny was just waiting on the other side of the door.
I finished out the dance, taking my sisters hand with its dazzling bracelet and rings, and admired them while I kissed it, the “Dames” Bracelet tantalizing slipped down along her wrist and brushed against me knuckles. At that moment, we both heard the toilet flushing, and my twin looked over her shoulder laughing. As she did do, I saw an opportunity opening up and taking her dangling diamonded bracelet in me fingers, tugged it down ever so discreetly. Surprisingly the clasp popped opened ( right about being flimsy luv, I silently agreed with my twin’s earlier statement)!
I daringly pulled it free from around her wrist and slipped it in me pocket just as she turned back around to face her dance partner. I could see in her eyes that she had not felt nor noticed anything outta place. I’d better be off after Ginny I said, clearing me throat, and then , with no fanfare, let go of her hand. It dropped to her side, rings flashing, purloined bracelet gone from where it had, with cheeky regality, had been holding shimmering court all evening.
Nice doing business with you I said, bemused as I watched the puzzlement creep into her half awake eyes while I backed away from her towards the door.
And that chaps, is how I left her. With my grainy black and white movie still playing out in my mind. She just was standing there puzzled, a wealthy lady in fancy dress, unknowingly watching the dashing stranger leave with the “fortune” in jewels she thought she still was wearing. She innocently watched me as I left the room with her “diamonds” in my scoundrel’s possession!
However, it was my turn to look puzzled as I went out, Ginny was nowhere to be seen! I quickly looked around, then headed to the elevator and rode down in it, alone at this early morning hour, to the lobby.
I arrived there, and at first the lobby appeared deserted, cept for a lonely desk clerk with her head buried in a novel. Then breathed a sigh of relief, there, around a corner, Ginny stood talking to some older lady wearing a garish grey pant suit, with this blue tinted helmet of curly hair covered by a large silk head scarf, and carrying an overlarge purse. I suddenly realized that now my anxiety had gone, another urge had taken its place. Ginny looked up, and smiles happily at me, and I smiled back, indicated that I had to go for a minute, and headed meself to the loo.
Coming out after I finished, I saw that the lobby was actually now really empty, not even the desk clerk was visible. Thinking Ginny may have gone back upstairs, I first went to the hotels double doors to chance a look outside onto the street below. I just caught sight of a wisp of black gown moving just out of sight past the stairs, on the now smoggy sidewalk below.
I headed out, and there was Ginny walking with the Blue haired stranger, they appeared to be looking for something. I started wondering if Ginny had invited this stranger to go on out walk with us? But no, apparently the blue haired lady in the unfortunate grey pantsuit had discovered her keys were missing, and thought they had dropped somewhere after getting out of a taxi just around the corner. And Ginny, bless her kind heated soul, had offered to help the distressed lady look for them.
As Ginny was telling me all this after I had caught up, the blue haired older lady , her cheerful face now stern, had started rummaging in her large shoulder bag, I sneaked a peek over her shoulder and saw that is contained quite an amazing assortment of items , ( no wonder it had to be so big). Suddenly she uttered an exclamation, found them she said, triumphantly pulling out an interesting assortment of skeleton type keys on a small ring. Happily smiling at Ginny, she pulled her into an enveloping hug for her efforts, before quickly leaving, but not without first giving me a sidelong glance with a disapproving look from her now pursed–lipped mouth as she passed. But I at the time put it down as her just being stressed out from believing she had misplaced her keys.
I am so glad she found her keys remarked Ginny, taking up me hand. That lady was ever so nice, she wanted to know where I had been dressed up all pretty like I am, and when I told her about the wedding, she said it must have been lovely. Then she admired me dress, and rhinestones. Then asked if me ruby ring was a gift from the bride. Liked your ring huh, I asked Ginny, my mind clearing up a little. Oh yes she said, lifted my hand, looked at it an everything!
Then the poor dear missed her keys, and asked if I could be a dear and help her look outside, and that was that until you showed up. (Looking outside for keys at 2:30 in the morning? I thought to myself) As I said ti Ginny, it is a pretty ring, and taking her arm, we started down the block together.
My mind, now somewhat attuned to the reality of things, went back to the blue haired lady and her large shoulder bag. Among some of various items I had seen had been a penknife, a length of old silk sash cord, small bundle of lacy handkerchiefs, and a small torch! Then add in the odd assortment of keys on her “misplaced” keyring, and put it all together, it all began to sum up to a new, slightly more sinister meaning of her intentions, in my take on the episode.
As we walked, I said nothing in reply to the happily chirping, richly attired girl walking beside me , as for the first time, and not the last, I wondered if something had been afoot with the Blue Haired, pursed mouthed lady that Ginny had seen as a kind older lady needed help, like the bird with a broken wing she had tried to help a few days past( a blue jay!). So was the blue haired lady, with the silk scarf and wearing a rather unisexual pantsuit, acting out the part of a “blue jay”, using her “broken wing” as a ruse to lure my Ginny safely away for her own nefarious reasons?
Surreptitiously, I carefully checked over Ginny from head to heeled toes as we walked, to make sure nothing was amiss. Her rhinestones were still safely all in their place, but I did not see the ruby ring, and me heart went still, and chills prickled down my spine! Bullocks! I swore under my breath, that pucker faced tart walked away with it. Ginny, I said, a little choked, she swirled facing me, her green eyes questioning, as she raised her hand to her perked breasts, and there it was, the small, but rather pricey, ruby ring she so loved wearing, the glittery darling had turned around on her finger so it was hidden from my view
.
I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, I just wanted to say how lovely you looked this evening my lass, I said saving myself. She smiled winningly, giving me a deep hug for my words. We walked on, as my beating heart slowed down, I convinced myself that maybe the incident of lost keys had all been harmless, and I was just being a worry-wort. I apologized silently for what I had called the fashion challenged blue haired lady in my mind. But I was still beginning to feel like ever a fool to have let Ginny, handsomely decked out as she was, out of my sight at this early hour of the morning.
I opened my mind and let all such thoughts flee my head, for the world was now ours, as we made our journey together, hand in hand. We ended up making a very long stroll in the Provincial Park, and reentering the same isolated, secret glen we had been in earlier, proceeded to continue acting out the role playing game we had started at the apartment.
Ginny went to the middle of the clearing to wait, pretending she was smoking, like a moll from a gangster movie. I circled and watched her sparkling figure, black in the glens shadows, move about a bit.
And as I did, my thoughts wondered a bit, and I remember reflecting ( not for the first time) how in the older black n whites, the heroine, or villainous, is always wearing gowns, elegant long gloves, and jeweled to the sparkling hilt. Then she walks alone to and then waits in some dark alley or other desolate spot for her contact, or hero to show up, much like Ginny was acting out now. So how is it that those fancy dressed and well jeweled unescorted dames, always manage to get to those spots, and are able to wait around in them alone, in those movies, and nary ever meet a ruffian who strips them of those pricy looking sparklers they are flaunting about? Just saying!
Saying a brief prayer that my thoughts were not tempting a fate of that type to occur to us now that I had been thinking it, I came out of the shadows and approached Ginny. Keeping my left hand in my pocket like I was carrying a heater. Hey sister, I said, been waiting long? No, she whispered, did you get the goods. Hot as ice I said proudly, producing the necklace and earring I had liberated from the dancing “dame”.
As I showed Ginny my take from “the dame”, she squealing over the fact I was able to take one of her diamond earrings, bonus she chanted. Playing a thief’s role, I kept mum about the bracelet, no honour amongst thieves I thought mischievously .
We laughed over what the “dames” reaction would be when the jewels were discovered missing. As we snickered, Ginny caught my eyes and then we got off on a tangent about jewel thieves in love, and ended up reenacting the “lure” scene from the movie ‘To Catch a Thief” ending up producing fireworks of our own making as Ginny lost all her jewels as well as her “innocence”.. We then made our way back home, as the cock crows, receiving a few odd looks from the occasional early morning lorry drivers.
And above all, I still remember feeling pretty bloody cocky as Ginny and I had sauntered our way to the park. And why not, I ask? Cause not only did I get to stroll about with the most captivating ginger haired lass, sparkling in fancy dress around, But I also had totally scored a hat trick in the jewelry lifting department, collecting two Quid to boot, and that’s what life is all about for us boys, winning the game, taint it?
So ends my story
Please leave a comment at the end of the story if you rather liked the telling..
The Sonia clip shortcut ( recommend viewing)
youtu.be/HAZdjhNVjxk
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Please consider leaving a comment at the end of the story if you rather liked the telling..
I have been going through some transformations recently - things that made me question my own intuitions. Is what am I searching for too high of a bar, too far away from reality, and a mere fantasy?
But even so, does it stop me from seeking it? Have I exhausted all of my options?
Often times we let the environment define our values, and we work so hard towards those values. But the real values need to come from within ourselves. What makes you, you? What are your super powers? The stronger those internal callings are, more the reason we need to listen, and be attuned to them. I must defend my own lights.
"You cannot convince people to love you. This is an absolute rule. No one will ever give you love because you want him or her to give it. Real love moves freely in both directions. Don't waste your time on anything else.
Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room" -- Tiny Beautiful Things
Model: Denisa Strakova official
Crown and Jewelry Designer: Namiko Layden-Nakamura at Namiko Abloom
Photography: Jiamin Zhu JaJasgarden