Your three words, my little story: Carols words are kangaroo, basement & lamp

Your three words, my little story: kangaroo, basement & lamp




This BASEMENT reminded me of the one in Lanham, on Cordova Street. We lived there from 1960 to 1965, I was eleven when we moved from there to the farm in Hughesville.
My scariest memory of that basement was when my brother, George, and I were downstairs watching a scary movie. It was called, ‘It Came From Outer Space’. Mom called us, “It’s time to come upstairs.” The reason for calling us up, must not have been that important, because she allowed me to stay down and watch the rest of the show, while George left. It was dark outside, so it might have been close to our bed time.

By today’s standards it was not a very scary movie. But I was nine and when it was over, I was afraid to get off the couch and go upstairs. However, I eventually did.

While upstairs in the kitchen, dad noticed I didn’t turn off the basement light, he asked, “Did you forget something?”

I knew exactly what he was talking about, because I was too scared to turn it off, but what I said was, “What?”

“The basement light is still on. Turn it off.” We didn’t have a switch at the top of the stairs to turn any lights on or off. All we had were lambs. The only light on downstairs was a table LAMP, and it was all the way across the then freighting wide open space.

I can’t remember actually turning off the light and going back upstairs, but I do remember standing there with my thumb and forefinger on the knob. Afraid beyond belief, of the mad dash that laid ahead of me. In my mind, I had to negotiate a path from the lamb to the bottom step, in the dark. With tears in my eyes I called to dad, “Please dad! Please!” I don’t remember actually doing it, I just remember the fear.

That memory is fifty-five years old. This basement was wide open just like ours was, but it didn’t have a television, couch or chairs. The walls and tables were full of photos, art work, guns, mounted heads and statues.

It was an amazing room, but there was one item that was called into question. It was a stuffed KANGAROO and it had another stuffed kangaroo in it’s pouch. When Carol saw me pointing at it, she giggled and said, “Yeah, that looks out of place, doesn’t it?”

I said, “Sure does.”

“It belongs to my daughter, and she thinks it should hang around with the rest of the art…”



Your three words, my little story; Andrew, Jadis, Rick

Your three words, my little story; Andrew, Jadis, Rick

The last time I saw ANDREW, was a few years ago in Northern Virginia. He was my defense attorney, for a jewel heist trail. That case was nothing compared to this one.




This time I was accused of murdering a DJ in Atlanta, Georgia. The victim’s name was Clay Moore. I met him years ago at a family reunion in Ellijay, Georgia. He was a terrible cook, but a good disk jockey. I told some people about his lack of culinary skills and he was killed shortly after that. I was dumbfounded, when I heard this. I didn’t think he deserved to be killed for making a terrible Sloppy Joe.

I was arrested with-in hours of his death, because of my, “…..terrible cook remark.”

I think it had something to do with the local Bar-B-Que Association. I heard through the grapevine, it was about battered meat.

I told him once, “You’re a great DJ and seem to be a nice guy.” But this information didn’t find it’s way to my defense council.

Wondering if Andrew could handle a case of this nature, I contacted Ben Matlock out of Atlanta. Ben told me, “Give me a day to look into your case. I’ll let you know, mid-day tomorrow.

Later that evening Andrew gave me more information about Clay’s death. He said, “Mr. Moore was struck in the head with a baseball bat several times, till he laid motionless in the street. We also found a witness, her name is JADIS and she’s coming to the Sherriff’s Office at 2 pm.”




Stunned, I asked, “What did she witness?”

She said, “The killer was wearing a leather jacket over a white t-shirt.”




Two-thirty that afternoon, I, along with four other men, stood in a line-up, wearing leather jackets. The police officer had each one of us step forward, turn to the left, to the right, then step back in line. Andrew told me later, “She choose number five.” I was number two.

Since all of the evidence against me was strictly circumstantial, they had no choice but to release me. I asked Andrew, “What’s up with number five?”

“It’s a guy named Negan. Apparently, Negan and Jadis were living together and a guy named RICK came between them. Negan got so angry, that he and his bat took it out on an innocent bystander.”




“So Clay, had nothing to do with it.”

Andrew said, “Yep, poor guy.”

“So what happens now?”

“Clay gets buried tomorrow, they’ve arrested Negan, Rick went back to Virginia, you’re free and I have a date with Jadis tonight.”


Fact or fiction? What are your thoughts?

Your three words, my little story: confiscate, pyramid, region

Your three words, my little story: confiscate, pyramid & region

In 1995, my ex wife and I took a trip to Israel, for the Holy Land Tour, hopefully it won’t be my last.

One of my strongest memories, of the trip, was how tan the scenery was. I guess it could have been a combination of the REGION and the excursion taken by our tour guide. It really wasn’t a colorful country, but to date it was the most exciting trip I ever took.




During the trip we visited the Tomb, where Jesus was laid to rest, after being crucified on the cross. Sea of Galilee, which our Pastor’s son was lucky enough to steer the boat on his thirteenth birthday. We stood on top of Masada, overlooking a grand sight including the Dead Sea. After that we actually floated in/on the Dead Sea. We saw many, many more historical sights, including the birthplace of Jesus Christ.




After visiting these famed points of interest, we were invited to continue the trip for four more days in Egypt, since we were close, the price would have been discounted. The thought of visiting ‘The Great Sphinx of Giza’, ‘Mount Sinai’ or stand by an authentic Egyptian PYRAMID was enticing, but we didn’t have the money to spend on another luxurious vacation, so we continued home.




We purchased several souvenirs while in Israel: one was a hat, that I bought at a little shop on a bend of the Jordan River, another was a dead misquote that was trapped inside some tree sap and we also bought some Jerusalem jelly.

Standing at customs, after landing back in the states, we were asked, “Do you have anything to claim?”

While we were thinking, I said, “This was a great vacation, but it’s really nice to be home.”

“Again, do you have anything to claim?”

Wondering if they were going to CONISCATE anything, I said, “We bought some really nice jelly. Is that what you’re talking about?”

“Is that all?”

“That’s it, as far as I can remember. Oh, I bought a misquote in some tree sap.”

They didn’t even open our bags, she simply waved us on, as she grinned and said, “Welcome home Mr. and Mrs. McDonald, nice to have you back.”


Fact or fiction? What are your thoughts?


Your three words, my little story: Sharons words

Sharon’s words: Emerald, Heaven & Ocean


Sharon and her parents normally met somewhere near the Florida Keys for their annual vacation. This year however, their furloughs coincided with spring break. It was quickly determined to stay clear of the college kids and all the hoopla that went along with them.


Mom and pop fell back on their usual pattern of thought and asked Sharon if she would make all the arrangements. Of course she said, “I’ll take care of it.” She settled on a Gulf Coast destination instead of the OCEAN. Partly because she found a cozy little place close to ‘Fort Walton Beach, FL.’, and also because it was a quaint little strip of the EMERALD Coast.


Sharon’s dad, Bob, relished using water for fishing. What he really appreciated though, was the rest he got once he settled into the right spot. Her mom, Mary, loved water and the beach. She liked the sun and sand, which always meant sunburn and sand everywhere.


Within an hour of checking into their room, her and Mary were on a somewhat secluded area of the nearest beach. It boasted a blueish green water, that smoothly splashed along the shore line. The water was so clear, you could walk several hundred feet into the Gulf and still see your feet wiggle in the sand. It was beyond paradise, it was Glory.


Bob wasn’t impressed with the Gulf Coast, because he had a different setting in mind. Two rods, tackle box and a rental truck put him north bound for the pan handle lakes.


After a dozen miles or so, he found it. A peaceful little spot of sand on the south side, of the second lake he came to. It had wooded areas to the left and right with small walking paths in each direction.


He stood on the warm dry sand in his flip flops with his tackle box in his left hand and fishing rods in his right, gazing across the calm water. He was searching for the spot, the perfect spot, the only spot. So he took his time, closed his eyes, gulped down several deep breaths and began to search with his ears.


Without opening his eyes he turned to his right and took a half a dozen steps or so before he opened them. There it was, the long large tree laying on sand and leaves ten feet from the water. The spot was under an umbrella of Palm and Cypress trees and chock-full of an ample mix of flora. It was perfect, he didn’t need to search anymore, and it didn’t matter if he caught a fish – it was HEAVEN.