As I write this, it is Sunday at 7:00 pm, so Good Evening. When I was approximately (about) 9 or 10 years old, I discovered I liked scary stories. I was sitting on the sofa in my family's living room all by myself reading a collection of ghost stories. Some of them were somewhat (a bit) scary, but nothing that sent chills up my spine. Then I read one about two ghost hunters in New York that was quite good, and very scary. By the end of the story I was so afraid I picked my feet up onto the couch (sofa) because I was afraid someting would grab my feet from underneath it. I have liked horror stories and novels ( a short story could be 10 to 50 or 60 pages long; a novel is a story that might run anywhere from 150 to 1000 pages long) ever since. Some people like horror stories and some people don't. Those of us who do like them, well, maybe there is something wrong with us, who can say. Due to (because of) my reading scary stories and watching horror movies, I have scared myself upon more than one occasion. When I was about 16 years old I didn't have my drivers license, or a car for that matter, and I would sometimes hitchhike to get to or from a high school dance. One late spring night, probably close to midnight, I got a ride from big man in a station wagon. You don't see many station wagons anymore. People drive suv's instead. Back then, however, station wagons were very common. The man asked me where I was going, and never said another word. He picked me up in Norwich and took me to Baltic, which took about twenty minutes. He was so quiet, and being dark outside as well as in the car except for the glow of the dashboard lights, that before we ever arrived in Baltic I was totally spooked. He wanted to give me a ride all the way home, but I was convinced that once he knew where I lived he would come back later during the night and kill everyone in my family, so I had him turn onto a street a good distance from my house and drop me in front of a house I didn't know. I ducked behind it like I was going in the backdoor, and took off across a field to get back to the road that would take me home. From that point it was probably not much more than a half mile to my house, but on that last stretch of road there were onlt two street lights, so it was good and dark all the way. The entire time I walked that bit of road my heart felt like it was beating as loud as a drum, and I kept looking behind me for the lights of an oncoming car. I felt sure he was going to realize what I had done and come after me. Even after I got home, I did not feel relieved of my fear. Now I had to worry about the people in the house where he had dropped me off. Maybe he would go back and kill them, and it would be my fault.
After a couple of days when I didn't hear about anything terrible happening in the news, I felt able to relax. He was probably just a good samaritan giving some young dumb kid a ride home to keep him out of trouble, and I had completely made him out to be a crazed serial killer in my mind. Of course, I still love horror stories, and occasionally, I still scare the heck out of myself.
Goodnight, until next time.

Sunny Afternoon in a Small Town

We all have stories we remember from childhood. This is a story my mother told me happened when I was 2 years old. I don't remember this particular incident. Probably because I was so young, but maybe because of all the head injuries I received later in life. Ha, ha.
Growing up in a small town is very different from growing up in a big city. Not as different as growing up in different cultures, but maybe a little similar (like). I grew up in a town that had a population of no more than 3000 people. In a small town everybody knows everybody. In the town I grew up in, nosy neighbors were a dime a dozen. In other words, they were everywhere. Everybody was minding everybody else's business, but they were trying their best to not look like it.
We lived on High St., which as you may have guessed, was the highest street in downtown Baltic, one street above Main St. Behind the houses on High St. was a back street that connected at both ends back to High St., and just gave access to the back of our neighbor's and our houses.
So (never start a sentence with so, ha ha), as the story goes, my mother was giving me a bath, and when she turned her back for a minute while drying me off, I dashed out the back door stark naked (no clothes, not even a towel). It was a bright sunny afternoon, and happy to be outside I took off running down the back street. When my mother realized what I had done she came running after me , chasing me down the street past all our neighbors' houses. As I ran past those houses, my mother said she heard windows and doors in all those houses slamming shut. She caught me of course and took me back home. I'm sure I thought it was all great fun. As for my poor mother, who has had to endure much because of me through my life, she was very, very, very embarassed, but she did enjoy telling that story when I was older, laughing while she did it.

Send me a Dear Jack (John) Letter

I don't know if you can get my email address without setting up an account. So for you english learners with questions or comments who don't want to set up an account, here it is:
callmejack3@sbcglobal.net

Ok, I think the poem, The Black Fox, might have been a bit difficult for some of you, and maybe not interesting enough for some of you, so I will try telling you a little story. No, actually, I am going to let a fictional character tell you his story. Anyone who wants to go back to the The Black Fox, or read it for the first time, just scroll down below to the previous "post". A post is an entry in a blog, so this is a new post.

Hello. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Steve. Can I ask your name? I was born right here in Norwich, Connecticut. It was not my plan to be born here. I had no say in it. My mother came here from Sydney, Australia. She married an American soldier she meet while he was on leave during WWII (World War 2). She returned with him to the US at the end of the war. When he was discharged from the service they moved to Norwich where he had family. I came along a few years later. When I was two years old, my father was killed in a car accident. After his death, my mother wanted to go back to Australia at first. Her in-laws, however, convinced her to stay, and helped her financially to open a restaurant here. That's where I spent a lot my time all through childhood. I feel comfortable and at home in a nice friendly restaurant more than any other place. During my grammar school years I spent my afternoons after school clearing & setting tables, taking out garbage, and other odd jobs. Once I was in high school I would help out in the kitchen, and sometimes wait on tables. School gave me a good education to help develop my mind, but the restaurant gave me a great learning experience of people. My life would have been very different if my mother had taken me back to Australia all those years ago.
Now I have a beautiful wife and two young sons of my own. My mother retired a number of years back, and now spends time gardening around her house among other things, and of course loves to look after my children . My wife and I not only run the restaurant my mother opened long ago, we also own half a dozen others all over Connecticut.
So, please, come in. Make yourself at home. This is my son, Sean. He will bring you whatever you require. Be welcome, and please, enjoy yourself.

The Black Fox (A Poem)

I have a poem for you, but I need to you a little background.

Before I start, I want to remind you that the idea with this blog is to help improve your

english, and your vocabularly. Do not be upset with what you have trouble understanding. Get

what you can from it. Even if it's just a little bit, that's great. Please ask any questions, or make

any comments you may have.

I chose this poem because I think the vocabularly is fairly easy, but if you have trouble don't

worry about it. Poetry can be a little confusing in the way words are used. Please let me know

what you think.

Poetry tries to use language in more of a musical way to create images (pictures) in our

minds.Those who write poetry, poets, don't always follow the rules of grammar, or use what we

might consider proper english. Don't let this distract you too much. Just try to get the general

meaning of the story that's being told.

The devil turns up in many "folk" tales and songs throughout western Culture, European as

well as American. He is always trying to trick people into selling their "souls" to him, so when

they die he can take them to hell where they will have to spend eternity (forever) in burning

torment. He is considered someone that we should be very scared of meeting, and someone who

is very dangerous and evil. He can appear in many forms, including animals, as in

The Black Fox

by Graham Pratt

As we were out a-hunting
One morning in the spring,
Both hounds an horses running well
Made the hills and valleys ring.

But to our great misfortune
No fox could there be found.
And the huntsmen cursed and swore but still
No fox moved over the ground.

Up spoke out master huntsman,
At the head of hounds rode he,
"Well, we have ridden for a full three hours
But no fox have we seen.

"And there is strength still in me
And I will have my chase,
And if only the Devil himself come by
We'd run him such a race!"

And then there sprang like lightning
A fox from out his hole.
His fur was the colour of a starless night,
His eyes like burning coals.

They chased him over the valley,
They chased him over the field,
They chased him down to the riverbank
But never would he yield.

He's jumped into the water
And he's swum to the other side.
He's laughed so loud that the greenwood shook
Then he's turned to the huntsmen and cried:

"Ride on, my gallant huntsmen!
When must I come again?
Oh, never shall you want a fox
To chase along the plain.

"And when your need is greatest,
Just call upon my name,
And I will come and you shall have
The best of sport and game."

All the men looked up in wonder.
All the hounds ran back to hide.
For the fox had changed to the Devil himself
Where he stood at the other side.

And men and hounds and horses
Went flying back to town,
And hard on their heels came the little black fox
A-laughing as he ran.

I will have my first post (entry) for you in the next day or two.