An independent democratic socialist observes LIFE in " OUR democracy ": Walking is good for you

An independent democratic socialist observes LIFE in " OUR democracy ": Walking is good for you: This story of 100 year old Ruth Couch and her life long walking habit rings completely true for me. I too am a constant walker. Gr...

An independent democratic socialist observes LIFE in " OUR democracy ": Walking and Reading -lost arts ?

An independent democratic socialist observes LIFE in " OUR democracy ": Walking and Reading -lost arts ?: Health News today : Center for Disease Control- noting the     " growing problem of childhood obesity " - suggests " Let kids...

An independent democratic socialist observes LIFE in " OUR democracy ": A Fishy Tale [ Another one of my mini-horror stories ]

An independent democratic socialist observes LIFE in " OUR democracy ": A Fishy Tale: Last night I had a nightmare perhaps inspired by the "fish eye" soup that I saw a man known as the "Old Salt" savor at a... A Fishy Tale [Last night I had a nightmare perhaps inspired by the "fish eye" soup that I saw a man known as the "Old Salt" savor at an East Providence restaurant. In the nightmare I was back in Washington Park of the 1950s at an exotic aquarium fish store named Dagon's. I was accompanied by my friend Norman - the "boy scientist." Norman expressed an interest in buying an unusually beautiful fish for his science teacher, Miss Brodie, whom he had a pre-adolescent crush on. Old Mr. Dagon said in a discouraging tone: "Why you look like you own no property!" The price of the fish was $50.00 - indeed a little too expensive for poor boy Norman. Then the nightmare became confused with reality. I remember Norman going back to Dagon's the next day and without hinting to me what he had in mind, dropped a tablet of Alka-Seltzer into the tank of the highly desired fish. We returned to Dagon's after school and saw the ghastly result of Norman's evil prank: the beautiful fish was now a sickly white bloated corpse. Mr. Dagon was just scooping it out of the bowl. He gave Norman the "evil eye". That summer Miss Brodie, on her honeymoon in South America was attacked by a school of hungry piranhas. There was not even a funeral. ]

An independent democratic socialist observes LIFE in " OUR democracy ": Radical mini -horror story : " The Dead Cat in the... [ One of my mini-horror stories ]

An independent democratic socialist observes LIFE in " OUR democracy ": Radical mini -horror story : " The Dead Cat in the...: The Dead Cat in the Cellar John Rogers was just finishing his hot oatmeal with raisins in it that reminded him of rabbit turds. "... Radical mini -horror story : " The Dead Cat in the Cellar " The Dead Cat in the Cellar [John Rogers was just finishing his hot oatmeal with raisins in it that reminded him of rabbit turds. " They have lots of iron in them ", his grandmother would point out. The two lived alone in an old house in Pawtuxet Village . His mother and father were on vacation in Egypt. His father -a frustrated archaeologist - had always been fascinated by old dead things. John had an unusual interest in flowers, always fascinated by their color and variety. He was at age 11 an expert on local wild flowers. His science project that semester was an investigation of the flora in the wooded area near Fay Field. He needed his allowance that morning in order to buy a new magnifying glass at the second hand bookstore near the house, " Twice Told Tales ". But in order to get it he had to complete a -for him- most, unpleasant chore. There was a dead cat in the cellar . Some neighbor, Old Jake, had seen it run over by a pick up truck, most likely Mike Kelley's, one of the regulars at the Gaspee Lounge. The cat had gone down the dark ,dank cold cellar to die. Grandmother handed him a plastic green garbage bag and reminded him it was getting late for school. John dreaded dead things . He was already a near vegetarian. But his hobby -wild flowers -was his passion. He went down the creaky old wooden cellar stairs. They must be a hundred years old, he reflected. He spotted the cold stiff dead THING. That was the thing about DEATH - transformation into a loathsome dead THING. But if he did not get the dead cat out of there, the rats would get to it, leaving behind a more gruesome mess. He located a shovel and dumped the dead thing into the open garbage bag. He walked up the stairs in shuddering horror. He felt the dead cat scratch him through the bag and worried about an infection. Outside he tossed the green bag with the horrid contents into a small dumpster. He had EARNED his allowance. That morning in the English class he was assigned this topic to write on: " Household Chores I Hate To Do ". Johnny wrote about washing dishes. He wanted to forget this morning. After school he would again be happy in the company of his beautiful wild flowers.]