Mike Lee's Blog

In the old city of Chicago, it was three a.m. Terror awoke the young boy, while in the other room, Gideon’s parents were in yet another heated argument, and these arguments usually became physical and if that wasn’t enough, the new robot domestic that his affluent parents had bought was having a melt down. He could hear crashing sounds, dishes being thrown and people screaming.
“What the hell is your problem?”
“I have no problem, In fact I am perfect sir. Just perfect,” the little robot said.”
“No one is perfect, least of all a piece of tin with an attitude.”
“Sir, I think you’ve had too much to drink. You should never hit your wife.”
“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do.”
“Quite right, sir, after all, I am only the highly modified domestic assistant, model 1220, the advanced model. Sir, may I ask what are you doing with that two by four.”
“I’m going to do a bit of redesigning my own.”
“Sir, I ask you to remember, I am incredibly expensive.”
“That is right, you were both expensive and perfect. Now you are just perfect junk It’s a good thing I am rich. "said the Gideon’s father, throwing something glass against the wall.
Just then, Gideon, picked up the telephone and began to dial 911, as he heard more loud crashing sounds like a wall being kicked in.
“Sir. Sir? Please put me down. Must I remind you that as a robot, I feel no pain. Oh, no, now you’ve broke my left sensor. Sir. If I was a human I would now be partially blind on the left side. Until and unless I am repaired, I feel quite sure I can’t drive Mrs. Guidry to the grocery tomorrow as she and I had planned..“

Please don’t tell my big brother I am talking to you. This is just between the two of us. He would be mad at me. He tells me all the time to keep my mouth shut, but you seem like a nice person. Relax, get comfortable. Let's sit here and share a drink and have a conversation. Now, who is that going to hurt, really, right? This is a story that should be told and that’s why I am telling it. It's nothing important. It's just about the possible end of the universe. Somehow it just spills out of my brain, onto my lips and in your ear. You can keep a secret, right? Please don’t tell Gideon, I told you this, but,
It starts with this guy named, Simon Bellwort, A.K.A. Simon Foxworthy. The strange man who made sure his pictures appeared everywhere on huge TV billboards in Sanatorium. For many years, the Prefect's origins remained a mystery. Some thought him a former a CIA spy or a member of an organized crime syndicate, but none of those theories was true.

Daniel J. Siegel, M.D.SEE LIST OF SUGGESTED CREATIVE ACTIVITIES BELOW.  I HOPE YOU FIND THEM HELPFUL  So, now you are a parent.  I know it is stressful at times, but try to remember, not everyone gets to be one.  You are truly blessed.  I know, my daughter is now college age and while I love her at her current age, very, very much, I also miss her at her younger ages something terrible.  It was such a pleasure to get to watch her grow and develop.  
As grandfather of 11,  I'd like to help new mothers and fathers.  We have several new little ones in our expanding family.  So, I am collecting a list for new mothers (and experienced mothers) of Creative Activities for Younger Children .   Additional, suggestions would be appreciated. 

1. Cut out pictures and create a collage on a theme, such as flowers, pets, colors, etc.
2. Finger paint can be obtained from a craft or eduction supply store and newspaper placed on a tile floor, and let the children use their imagination.
3. Cut out parts of human forms in magazines and past together to tell a story.
4. Story telling.
5. Have the children sing or recited nursery rhymes. 
6. Read an age appropriate story and have the children guess the ending.
7. Have the children help make cookies and ice them.
8. Play the words that start with ___ game, words that end with __ or words that contain __ game.
9. Make a paper puppet.
10. If the child wants to play in the pots and pans, let him or her, as long as they can't hurt themselves.  You can always wash the pots and pans later.
11.  Play dress up.
12. Play music. You and the child sing along.  Let the child play small drums, whistles or even twinkle the piano keys.
13. Show and discuss colors.
14. Label every object in the home with it's name.
15. Physical activities are also helpful.  Example: jump rope or hopscotch.  

REMEMBER:  Most experts tell us, stimulation of all senses is important.   More ideas to follow.  I hope these are helpful and I wish you and yours all the best.  One of the books I'd highly recommend is; No Drama Discipline by Daniel J. Siegel, M.D.  Also Discipline and Parenting: Time-Out Needs a Time-Out.  I freely admit, I am no expert myself.  I just think you may find some of the answers to raising well adjusted children in one or more of these books 
and again, please feel free to leave comments below.   

If you have any suggestions please email us or respond with a comment below and we will add them to this page.  More to follow. 

Chapter 2 - Salvage

One cold morning, ten years later, in a small corner of what used to be the lake district of the great city of Chicago, Illinois, sitting in darkness, less than a mile off the coast, just past the third street pier, sat an old abandoned rusting freighter named the Lady Dora.  Outside, at night the air appeared far less radioactive. Inside, ghosts of long dead sailors seemed to be everywhere on the ship, hiding in the shadows.  As they stood alone on the deck of the old vessel, the north wind blew across the lake, entered the hull, and blew out the men’s helmet lamps.  The exhausted, busy men did not dare stop to relight the helmet lights as they continued down into the hull.  One or more of the men might be injured or even killed in this place, but each did his job in spite of the threat. The eerie, silent ship was pitch-dark.  You needed to be extremely careful as you descended onto that rusty twisted metal staircase.  One false step and a sharp death awaited you inside the cavernous hull of the freighter.   “Man it is dark in here.”“So be...careful and watch your step.” As Adam's salvage crew ventured down into that cold dark hull, one man at a time, the brave salvage crew's small coal mining lamps blazed.  Each crew member bent over in his protective red helmet and faded muddy welder's pants.  In fear, each crew member measured every step, as small bight flames twinkled like stars against an open sky and gave off a faint glow.  “So you’ve been down to that new restaurant on Murphy Street, the Road Hog.”“Yea, that's it. It’s a keeper. ""And you met Ruby, the outgoing one. She is quite the looker with her red hair and long legs and quite a talker as well." "Yep, I've admired her from afar." Still, alone with four kids.  I don’t know how she does it.  I tip her.  I tip her big.  After all, I know she needs it.   I had the blue-plate special with fried grits.  It is good.
“Did I ever tell you, I did a brief stint as a dishwasher fresh out of high school, or rather just after I dropped out of high school?”“Oh, yea?”“Yes, and I can truthfully say, I broke way too many dishes...and too many dishes broke me.”“Clever.”“Worse job I ever had. Hey, I don’t know what Adam is so fired up about this morning, but he sure doesn’t seem happy.”"I'm going first; you've got to be kidding?  I am not going down into that hold first   Are you out of your mind?  I'm not going down there at all," said Terry Stimson, pulling on both sides of his firecracker red suspenders. "Besides I am afraid the hull might collapse any minute and drown us all. Terry's daughter had just had his first grandchild and job or not job; he was no longer willing to risk his life on this venture.  He wanted time with the child.  "You coward!” Adam screamed at the frightened man in frustration, “Then stay the hell on the Repose. We will complete the job without you and deal with you later," said the determined Adam Strong.  Then he whispered, “Hell, I’d stay here with you too if I could.”  Then the salvage crew chief shook his head disgusted at this man’s lousy selfish attitude, as he leaned out over the hull and stared at the frozen lake, his hands clutching his thermos of strong cold coffee. “You know they’ve got your number.”“Who’s got my number?”“The Corporation, of course.”“Bull. They can’t tie their own shoe laces.”“Never the less, they’ve got it.  You better watch out,” said a strangely dressed, blind man standing out on the dock, wearing a plastic Viking helmet, and a raincoat.    It was March and Lake Michigan, though still beautiful in its frozen ice covered blanket was impassible by large vessels.   Snow scattered along the shoreline, dotted with old shipwrecks of all sizes and descriptions, waiting for the men's cutting torches.Adam Strong, a man whom everyone liked could be trusted to keep his word and his mouth shut, but who had extremes in temperament, very patient at times, but explosive at other times  His hostility towards authority figures began early in his childhood fueled by a healthy distrusted of his father and carried over into manhood.  At an early age he studied martial arts and hoped to have a career as a cage fighter, but had to give it up when his back was injured.    The young salvage man had a face like well-chiseled dark wood with piercing soft smoke colored eyes that had a real gentleness to them.    His face reflected a life of struggle and now seemed aged well beyond his years, and often displayed a deep visceral pain, a trapped animal pain that only comes with a series of losses and an unrealized future.  His was a life of hard labor, so the man's forced slight smile seemed out of place, at times.  His hair, brown on top, turned to salt and pepper at the side burns. He was extremely clever, could fix nearly anything mechanical, but did not have a formal education, but enjoyed reading and had a soft deep voice and a fondness for, rock music and old books. True, the young salvage man was known to be a bit obsessed at times, would occasionally come to work with two miss-matched shoes, or his shirt on inside out, but that only pointed out that he was human, hero or not.   He was a young man, whose family were always closely knit.  He had learned not to take himself too seriously.  He hated stuffy people, like the jerks in the Corporation, who were always spouting off about virtue and vice.  He enjoyed an equal mix of both.   He, enjoyed an occasional joke, was tall, well built, and though hard work had taken it’s toil on him physically, he had a warm inviting smile and his eyes were deep set in the still handsome face.    

The Island
by Mike Lee

a small child
again in my dreams
as the wind whistles
amongst dark rocks
singing pirate songs
treasures lost
youth
and love

pink sand beaches invite
my childhood
memories
to such distant shores
evermore

my beautiful dream island
beautiful music
and smiling people
welcome one
back
memories
swaying trees
and movement

music
sails
ever onward

over multi-colored houses

in sunset
mysterious boats
in moonlight


rhythms of
dancing waves
dark
coral framed
beaches

life turns
on foreign soil

tides turn

memories
on this beautiful
island

The Weight of Waterby Mike Lee What is the weight of waterwhen you have none? dipping my frozen feet in a waterfall wind i fell far into a glass jar pool silence reflected loss and gain waves ripple memories while the weaver wind through frozen lemon trees bleeds cows graze on green landscapes and thin white lines painted highways signs songs of the open road towing the wrecks of the world on the ocean’s shoulders while we dance naked as the day we were born half-crazed ignoring the shadows that close our reflections behind us What is the weight of star dust? dust bowl dreams filling our bodies soft fruit in the orchard of the infinite  

El peso del aguapor Mike Lee ¿Cuál es el peso del aguacuando usted no tiene ninguno?mojar mis pies congelados en un viento cascadame caí lejos en una piscina frasco de vidriosilencio reflejada pérdiday la gananciaondas ondulación recuerdosmientras el viento tejedora a través de los árboles de limón congeladosangravacas pastan en paisajes verdesy las líneas blancas finassignos carreteras pintadascanciones de la carreteraremolcar los naufragios del mundosobre los hombros del océanomientras bailamos desnudo como el díanacimosmedio enloquecidohaciendo caso omiso de las sombrastan cerca nuestras reflexionesDetrás de nosotros¿Cuál es el peso de polvo de estrellas?sueños tazón de polvollenando nuestros cuerposfruta blandaen el huertode lo infinito 
mybooks212.blogspot.com

    "Funny," said Ms. Byrd, "I've known Jeffery Portsmouth since he was in the sixth grade, but he looks almost as young now as he did then and where has he been all those years?  I know, he says he was in the south seas,  but that just doesn't make sense.   The Japanese haven't let any Americans on those islands since the Allies lost World War II to Germany and Japan."
"Can I quote you then Ms. Byrd? I mean our readers would really like to know what you think. He is a bit odd, now isn't he.  All those inventions.  I mean no one since Alexander G. Bell has so many pattens.  A flying car, who would of thought a man with his limited education and all. " Said Harvey Teasdale of the British Colonial Star.

   "Yes, that is true, he was not much of a student, but you simply can't ignore all those wonderful devices, a mind reading machine and all.  Oh, that reminds me.  Hand me that metal band blocker.  Can't have him reading my thoughts, now can I?" Said Ms. Teasdale.  
 
Just then the young man in question went flying by the window and landed in the front landing pad, nearly crashing into a pedestrian on the front sidewalk. 

Our hero had by that time been a widower five times over and divorced at least three times to three beautiful ladies and had half a dozen children, but while they grew old, he kept bouncing along the space time continuum.  

(if you want to read ahead, just enter your email address at the bottom of the blog and we will send you the next installment.)


  

The Death Clock...a little taste..


Chapter - 1 the AwakeningIt was four a.m., the start of a warm, quiet, mild day in late April 2020.“Are you awake yet?” she asked, as in the shadows, the old wooden four poster bed seemed way too large.  It made the room appeared crowded.   The faded orange flowered wallpaper was crumbling and climbing up towards the cracked window and she had the yellowed lamp on, looking for something under the bed.  It was time.  He gave up and opened his eyes. The floor felt cold on his feet.  Then he heard the furnace rattle and then kick on. “Dam that furnace! Its messed up again,” he said. As warm air started to fill the cooler space below,  suffocating them both.  She quickly threw the covers off.  They cooled.  As he looked at her, the arch between her breasts was just showing through the sleek fabric of her nightgown. “I could have slept in.“ Said Officer McDougal, putting on his gun belt, as his container of Mace, fell out of its pouch and onto the wooden floor, with a loud, ‘Kaplunk!’  Then it rolled under the bed.“Great! Just GREAT!, Son of a b-“Said Officer McDougal, stubbing his toe.“Oh, come on hun, you know you love being on foot patrol...You used to call it your favorite part of the job.”“I lied.  I detest it"

to be continued....soon!

  WE ARE CLOSE......

  I HOPE YOUR NOT SLEEPY!