Tuesday, October 25, 2005


The Real World...
a fable... 
Written for a Workshop


The church boasted only a tiny congregation, but they were a tight-knit group, meeting every Sunday for services, playing bingo on Friday night, and holding lots of bake sales. Everyone knew everybody else and their spouses and children. The group was like family.

One bright summer Sunday, as Pastor Givens gave his sermon, what should happen but a slimy slithering snake dragged itself down the aisle to stop at the front, just below Pastor Givens pulpit.

"What is that creature doing in here?" Mrs. Smith whined. 

"Vile thing! Who left the door open?" Mr. Delancey declared.

The outrage spread like a tidal wave over the congregation until finally Pastor Givens took his sermon manuscript, rolled it up, and got down from his lofty pulpit to shoo the creature away. As he bent to swat the reptile, its ugly head lifted up and it stuck out its obnoxious, forked tongue, hissing.

The pastor stepped back in alarm while a stunned congregation waited in silence.

The serpent spoke, his tiny green eyes alive with horror. "Don't put me out! I'm lost. Can't I rest here for a while? Don't I deserve a chance to be here, too?" He stretched his head toward the congregation, hissing and showing his ugly tongue again. "Am I not pretty enough for you?" the snake asked.

The pastor felt the need to explain. "Excuse me, Mr. Snake," he said. "It isn't that you are too ugly. You're just different. You're a snake and we are humans, after all."

"Just because I'm different doesn't mean I am not one of God's creatures," the snake replied. "If I were a pretty bird, then I'm guessing you would let me stay." 

With that remark, he twisted, then spun in circles before whoosh, disappearing in a flash. In the next instant, a fluttering white dove appeared on the spot. It lifted and flexed its graceful wings. "Am I pretty enough for you now?" the creature asked.

"Yes,  you are," the Pastor replied. "I guess this means we shouldn't judge each other by appearances, since true beauty is inside, beyond where the eye can see. Apparently you were a beautiful bird inside.

"Yes, that's right!" said Mrs. Smith from the first pew.

"Absolutely!" said Mr. Delancey from the back.

The Congregation all joined in, congratulating themselves on a lesson well learned, smiling and shaking each other's hands.

"NO! It doesn't mean that at all," the dove said. "The moral of the story is..." the dove spread its wings and spun faster than the eye could see, coming to an abrupt stop to reveal the snake had returned. "The moral is 'never trust a snake.'" 

Having said that, he slithered down the aisle and out the door, never to be seen again...that is, he was never seen in the form of a snake again. From that day, the congregation was never quite sure what they were looking at. 



Copyright 2005 JO Janoski 




Sunday, October 23, 2005

Coffee is the Best Medicine...
October 23, 2005
...The Strange Happenings in a Coffee Shop...
 
Last episode: Brenda, jealous of the Health Inspector Supervisor flirting with her love, Alfred, came to my place and I fitted her out with a sexy make-over to go back and win her man.
_____

Brenda and I arrived at the coffee shop to find the Supervisor whispering what were probably especially sweet nothings in Alfred's ear while he sipped on a large mug of the shop's primo Colombian blend. His face wore a grin of satisfaction so huge it could only come from two methods of simultaneous happiness attacking him at the same time merging in sweet harmony. Coffee and sweet nothings can do that to a man. Spying this, Brenda's expression of mortification tore at my heart. She truly did love him; it was obvious.

"How can I get his attention with all that going on?" she asked.

"Yeah, I see what you mean," I responded. Gazing around looking for inspiration,  I took note of Rose doling out coffee from one of her big glass pots. "I've got it!" I said. "You've just become Alfred's personal waitress!"

Rose who was very proud of her waitressing skills, agreed to Brenda, an amateur, working her counter -- but only barely. She didn't cotton to the idea of someone else dishing out java in her place, but with some arm-twisting and pleas to save Brenda's romance, she agreed. We put a saucy little white apron on Brenda and touched up her make-up. Standing back, I surveyed her. Yes, she was ready. 

"Okay, you go girl!" I said. 

"I will!" she replied triumphantly.

I took a seat at the counter to watch. Brenda slithered up with all the sultry steamy air she could muster, an equally simmering pot of the best java clutched in her right hand.

"Refill on your coffee, honey?" she asked.

Alfred looked up and his face transformed with an expression that can only be described as a combination of curiosity, hungry, and the odd way a person appears trying to cipher long division in his head. I could tell she looked familiar to him, but he had no clue how to place her. My make-over of Brenda was that good. Her own mother would not know her; but if she did, she'd be embarrassed by her young one's lack of modesty. 

Pouring his coffee in a long lingering flow while leaning close, she almost touched poor Alfred, making lots of heat between them. "There you go, sweetie!" she mouthed in a murmur from deep in her throat. Her eyes remained riveted to his in a hypnotic connection until she finally turned and walked away. Alfred's eyes followed her with longing.

The Supervisor watched all of this with dismay. She leaned closer to Alfred and blew in his ear, but he pushed her aside as he latched his gaze on Brenda.

"I don't think I like where this is going," Rose said from the sidelines. "If he rejects the Supervisor, she'll get back to doing her job and then for sure she'll issue me a health violation...maybe even shut my coffee shop down."

I looked at Rose in dismay. She was right. In panic, I gazed at the Super, then at Brenda, swinging next around to Alfred. Gee, I'd made a mess of things. 

There is something to be said about having a filthy mind. It didn't take long for true inspiration to hit me with a wallop. I called Brenda over and whispered in her ear, taking delight in how her face lit up as I spoke. Giving her a healthy thumbs up, I sent her back in. 

The Super was back at it, luring Alfred into her grasp, having unbuttoned her blouse and starting a lap dance. I nodded to Brenda, and with an oomph, she jumped up on the counter in front of Alfred. Looking at me first for reassurance, she danced -- swaying slowly back and forth, then faster. Stiletto heels and vibrating hips were all Alfred could see, but it was enough. He couldn't take his eyes off her. With a wink, she jumped down and took a seat next to him, making Alfred the happy middle of a doll sandwich. Brenda had just become part of a new, interesting threesome. Each lady had half of Alfred, and everyone was happy!

And I was a happy woman, reveling in my success at making over people to be attractive, wanted, and sensual. I never would have thought I could be successful at such a thing, I mean I'm sort of school-marmish looking myself. But hey, obviously I'm an artist at heart!

Loud voices broke into my egotistical thoughts as I looked over to see Butch, Rose's favorite big guy, bawling like a baby at the other end of the counter. Now, what would make such a manly man cry like that? I grabbed my coffee and headed over to see...

_________

I'll be taking the month of November off to participate in National Novel Writing Month. This story will resume in the beginning of December. 


To be Continued

Copyright 2005 JO Janoski






Friday, October 21, 2005

IN THE NEWS...
Crashing planes, puppies, old wallets, and Grateful Un-dead


Thank Gawd Nature Called!
Teen Escapes as Plane Crashes Home


In  light of local pet abuse this week, here is a good story...


Remarkable!
Man and His Wallet Reunited



Oops! Sorry 'bout that!
Man Wakes Up After Declared Dead



Wednesday, October 19, 2005


In the News...
Lazy Dog, Ricky Martin, and a Poor Cat



I'd take him!
Lazy British Police Dog Relieved of Duty


Poor baby!
Ricky Martin is bored!


Ghastly! Who would do this!







Monday, October 17, 2005

From My Book Shelf...
A Book for All Pittsburghers


I found a web site today for a link I'd like to share. You see, one Christmas recently my brother gave me a book as a gift. It's called Millhunks and Renegades by Anita Kulina .  Historical, the brownish orange cover glows with a  steel mill scene, and inside the pages tell the story of an equally fiery population. It's all about Pittsburgh! Specifically it is a book about the Greenfield-Hazelwood area of the city, the neighborhood where I grew up--but this is actually a story for all Pittsburghers. 

Anita Kulina starts at the beginning when that area was simply wilderness and traces the terrain, history, and  people up to the present. She more than successfully captures the evolving rambunctious spirit of that Pittsburgh mill neighborhood from its inception.  In  later chapters, she relates the magnificent experience of growing up in Greenfield in the 50's. I'm telling you, when I read the book I wore a smile for every page. Absolutely delightful! The Irish, the Italian, the Slovaks--the misbehaving--it's all in there. From tribes and trappers all the way through to the town today. It is a beautiful book with an abundance of fine drawings to serve as illustrations. First-rate! Ms. Kulina's research is amazing in itself. 

So, if you're a typical Pittsburgher who grew up in a mill neighborhood in the Mon Valley, or if you're curious about Pittsburgh's roots--then get this book. I don't know Anita Kulina, and she's not paying me to say all this. I just loved the book so much I want to spread the word. 

You can get it from this web site:  Millhunks and Renegades

A CAMEL STORY...
Just a fun little story I did for a workshop...



Trudy's feet ached in the red sandals. She'd been walking for blocks and still no luck. The day had started so well--she wore her favorite red shoes. Well, they were her favorites. But to be honest, they didn't fit well. Anyway, she wore them because she always felt good about herself when she donned the sandals and strutted her stuff.

Working at the zoo, perhaps that wasn't the best place to wear your favorite sandals, either. But she did. Now it was too late to go back and fix things.

They always were a loose fit and wouldn't you know it--she tripped and fell while closing the gate to the camel cage. And wouldn't you know it--Big Bess, the oldest female, got loose and took off. That darned camel trotted at high speed through the park and into town, disappearing somewhere between Fourth and Fifth Avenues. It happened so fast, no one at the zoo had noticed. It was dawn, feeding time; so there were no crowds of onlookers either.

Now here she was, with a bag of camel munchies looking for Big Bess. You wouldn't think it would be easy to lose a camel; but, by golly, that is just what she had done. 

It wasn't until she looked behind the town's big exhibition hall that she spied the animal, poking her head up in some nearby trees, scavenging for a snack.

"Bess! Come on, baby! Let's go back to the zoo!" Trudy threw a lasso up and roped Bess's neck with the first try; but when she tugged the rope, Bess wouldn't budge.

"Look, I got some goodies for you!" Trudy waved her bag of camel treats at the animal, then reached in and got one, holding it up for Bess to see. Normally, the camel would bend down and take it straight from Trudy's hand; but today she wasn't biting. Trudy tugged the rope once more, but to no avail. It appeared Bess had no intention of going back to the zoo.

"Having some trouble there?" a voice inquired.

Trudy turned to see, of all things, a clown, standing behind her. Red bulbous nose; orange fly-away hair; white face; lips lined in a rainbow of blue, orange, and red; a polka-dot suit with a jazzy red bow tie; plus the biggest clown shoes she had ever seen. They stretched out a foot onto the walkway. "Yeah, I'm having trouble. Bessie here got away on me this morning; and now I've got to get her back to the zoo--but she refuses to move from this spot."

"Oh, I see. She probably wants to hang around here because of the circus." The clown pointed to the exhibition hall behind them. "We've got animals, and we're setting up today. She probably smells the other creatures."

"Well, that's no help. I've got to get her back before my boss sees she is missing."

The clown rolled back and forth on his huge clown feet while he pondered the problem.  Finally, he spoke. "Have you tried telling her a joke?"

"What?"

"Tell her a joke!"

"With all due respect, Mr. Clown, I don't believe that camel speaks English." Trudy frowned. Was this guy serious?

"Well, I'm pretty sure she is an Indian camel, but I doubt she speaks Hindi--it's too complicated for camels. So give English a try. I'll bet my bottom dollar she speaks English."

"You've got to be kidding!"

"No, really. Try a knock-knock joke." The clown's rainbow smile reached to both ears.

Trudy sighed. "KNOCK KNOCK!" she yelled to Bessie.

The camel didn't budge.

"WHO'S THERE?" Trudy continued, taking Bess's line.

"WASSA-A-A-A!" Trudy's cheeks reddened as she spoke. No response, so she continued.

"WASSA-A-A-A WHO?" she said, murmuring, "Oh, this is hopeless!" 

"WASSUP!" Trudy roared, then threw her hands up and walked in a circle of frustration. The clown shook his head in disdain.

"Please don't tell another joke!" the voice was smooth and resonant and came from up above. "If you promise not to tell any more jokes, I'll come back to the zoo with you." It was Bess, talking with eloquence and style.

Trudy stared in disbelief. "Are you talking to me?" she asked. 

"Yes, now please--no jokes and take me home."

"See, I told you," said the clown, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Okay, let's go!" Trudy said, tugging the rope as Bess followed. "Thanks, Mr. Clown," she said, nodding to the smiling fellow.

"Pleased to help," he replied. "Bye, Bessie!" He waved to the big animal.

As they started their journey, Trudy asked, "Bess, I suppose when we get back, you'll never talk again, huh? Especially if I tell everyone you spoke to me, you'll probably clam up and make me look like a fool."

"You got that right, sweetie!" the camel replied as a hint of a smile revealed her huge white teeth. "You got that right."



Copyright 2005 JO Janoski 



Sunday, October 16, 2005


IN THE NEWS...
Hot Soup, Beethoven, Politics, and Roaches


When a Woman Wants Her Soup, She Wants Her Soup!
Women Brawl Over Microwaving Soup


Fascinating!



Never Discuss Religion or Politics!
Note on Car Gets Man in Trouble


Roaches, Roaches, Everywhere!
Roaches Infest One Home, Spread to Others



Thursday, October 13, 2005

Coffee is the Best Medicine...
October 13, 2005
...The Strange Happenings in a Coffee Shop
 
In Review: I had writer's block and hit the streets looking for inspiration.  Stumbling upon a coffee shop and being a lover of coffees, fine and rare as well as not so hot, I went through the doors to find a bunch of folks who could keep my muse giggling for a long time to come. Rose, the owner and chief waitress; Butch, her tough-skinned friend; Alfred, the nerd who recently went through an extreme make-over to morph into a handsome Romeo; Brenda, his up-to-now lady; and don't forget me, JO--the writer of this story. In recent episodes we fed the Health Inspector pancakes and let his lady Supervisor hang around the new and improved Alfred, which made her very happy, saving this filthy restaurant (yeah, it's pretty bad) from being shut down for sanitation reasons. There, that puts you up to date.
_______

Things settled in. The Supervisor lady came back every day to see Alfred, cuddling up next to him at the counter each morning, wrapping her body around him in curves you wouldn't think such a stiff spine could achieve. And the Inspector gained more and more weight as he gobbled up Rose's pancakes day in and day out, perched on his usual seat at the counter. I'd say we had the County Health Department completely neutralized thanks to our pancakes and sex appeal, I'm not certain in which order.

Speaking of sex appeal, I remembered how Alfred used to flirt with me back in the days when he was still a geek. Now, he flirted with the Supervisor, and I felt left out. I should make the point that I am happily married and simply missed his attention. One day, I pulled him aside before he could reach the Supervisor.

"Alfred, your extreme make-over is simply fabulous," I said.

He smiled back with one of those cat-ate-the canary grins. "Yeah, it gets me to first base fast with all the ladies," he said.

"You seem to be enjoying it."

"You bet I am." There was that smile again.

"Don't you love me anymore, Alfred?" Brenda had crept up beside us and warbled in her little voice. I wanted his attention, but I knew for Brenda, the need for his devotion was more profound than mine.

Alfred gave her a sidelong glance. "It isn't that I don't love you. It's just that things are rather...dull with you, Brenda."

"Dull! Well, I never." The tiny girl stomped off, heading for the kitchen. I followed.

"Brenda, honey. Take it easy. It's only, you know, Alfred! There are other fish in the sea, as they say."

Brenda shuddered at my words. "But I love him," she replied in a shaky whisper.

I studied her. The tiny woman was the epitome of neatness with a perky little blouse all pressed, slacks with a pleat properly set in each leg and well-shined shoes you could see your face in. After a moment's consideration I realized it was no wonder Alfred found her dull. 

"Brenda," I said. "If you love Alfred, then I'll help you get him back. Come on over to my place."

And so, Brenda and I got to work on making her anything but dull.

Later, at my place I attacked her hair first, which was well-combed, parted in the middle, and each side of straight brown hair held in place with an equally dull brown barrette. I ripped out the barrettes and swirled it around with my hands, teased it, then finger-combed and settled it down, producing a disheveled. sultry look. As a final touch, I sprayed hair spray on in a suffocating mist of cheap fragrance. Next,  rummaging through my cosmetics, I found a dark purplish lipstick and some light eye shadow along with a handful of other magic fixes for homely little Brenda. I applied a new face on her despite protests as she wiggled and squirmed. The resulting "look" could make a good living on Liberty Avenue, if the truth be told.

Then I found a form-fitting black dress we squeezed her into, not because it was too small, but because it was made like a tube--one size fits all and you simply had to wiggle into it like a caterpillar trying to writhe his way up in a cocoon.

"I can't breathe!" Brenda squeaked.

"You don't need to. Just look sexy."

"Are you nuts?"

I stared back at her. "Not me. I'm not nuts. Blame the designers of this stuff, not me."

When I produced a pair of black stiletto heels from my closet, a look of outrage passed over Brenda's face. "I'm not wearing those!"

"You have to. That dress will not go with your sneakers."

"Then maybe I won't wear the dress either."

I felt like screaming, but instead took her hand in mine and spoke in the softest voice I could manage. "Brenda, do you want to get Alfred back?"

"Yes," she replied with a tremor.

"Put the shoes on."

She obeyed, sitting down to push her feet into the tight shoes. Finally, she stood and announced, "I'm ready. I'm ready to go and win back Alfred, my Love."

"Let's go," I said, as I watched her wobbling back and forth in the stiletto's.  



To be Continued

Copyright 2005 JO Janoski






Wednesday, October 12, 2005


I HEARD THEIR CRIES
...A workshop assignment 
to tell of an experience I've had on a beach.



Huge grayish-white clouds fleeted across the metallic blue October sky. I was on Cape Code--Provincetown, Mass., to be exact, walking along the beach. Shortly before, I had stood spellbound before a memorial listing the names of the Pilgrims who first set foot in America on these beaches, before moving on to Plymouth. And now, I stood where they had, staring out to sea, posed as a lone figure perched between angry clouds and a desolate beach with a ferocious wind rushing past me. I watched the waves slam against the shore, mixing with the fearsome air current to make an angry concoction. This sea, it was a force to be reckoned with. Looking out, I spied turbulent gray water stretching straight out to the horizon. From some obscure distant place, the Pilgrims, the very same whose names I saw on the memorial, came sailing in from that horizon, searching for some sign of land. Finally, they would spy the shore I now stood on. With hearts pounding, they would rush from the boat to touch, one by one, dry sand after weeks in the utter oblivion of endless sea. On the shore, they would look around at its emptiness and feel lonely again...from one empty void to another. Which is how I felt, lonely, as I considered their story and pondered what forces could make land-loving people cast away all and sail a boat across miles and miles of desolate ocean to a no man's land as strange and lonely as the sea they had traveled on. I could feel their spirits on the beach aching to tell me while seeing what they saw and brushing against their souls. I heard their cries.



Copyright 2005 JO Janoski 




Tuesday, October 11, 2005


In the News
...That's gotta hurt!




New Operating Room Targets Brain Tumors
Quote: Surgeons use special instruments and computer mapping to find and
remove brain tumors, some as large as baseballs, through the nose and
nasal sinuses.

One word! OUCH!! A brain tumor coming through your nose! 

________

I'm back in my office after being away 
at an art show. Many thanks to 
Oddybobo
on my book



Tuesday, October 04, 2005

IN THE NEWS...
OJ, Severed Heads, and Music


Appropriate, don't you think?
OJ Signing Autographs at a Horror Convention


Yikes!
Photos of  Their Severed Heads Used to Identify Bali Bombers


Wonder what they played for your operation?
Anesthesiologists Play Music in the OR

***

(I'll be away from my blog until next week. I'm working our Pittsburgh Photo booth at an art show at Monroeville Mall, Wed. thru Sunday, second level, in front of Penney's. I'll have my books, too.)


Saturday, October 01, 2005

IN THE NEWS...
India, Car Trunks, Colons, and Control Freaks


Hello! How can this be?
Hotline for Hurricane Rita Rang in India?

I'm certain I, for one, would not be okay! And why do that?
Woman Okay After Being Put in Trunk of Car

I'm also certain I'd never steal one of these!
BTW, how do you pronounce "colonoscope"?
Stolen Colonoscopes from Armstrong County Hospital


I don't think so, unless you can show me the money!
EU Wants Shared Control of the Internet









Thursday, September 29, 2005


THE EARLY BIRD...  
Does everything have a dollar value?


The handcuffs dug into his wrists. He'd been left waiting so long with his hands fastened behind his back, after being shoved in the back seat of the squad car. The cops were in the house, gathering evidence.

He'd be lucky if his hands could ever perform surgery again, what with being stuck in these barbarian restraints. He was innocent; couldn't they see that? And a surgeon, for Gawd's sake, wealthy in his own right, why would he steal jewelry? He just wanted to save the heirloom from being sold into the open market. That girl had no appreciation for its historical worth.

"I'm so glad you caught that scoundrel," May Worth's daughter, Ellen, told the officer. "I don't understand why a successful doctor would stoop so low as to steal Mother's ring."

"Well, it appears he did. Maybe we'll find out why in court," the policeman replied. "We're taking him down to headquarters now."

The next morning, Dr. Adams stood before a grim Judge Wellington. That man had missed his morning coffee and his day had gone downhill from there.

"Well, Dr. Adams, it seems you have a penchant for fine jewelry." The Judge scanned a stack of papers before him. "And you plead guilty to the charge of grand larceny."

"Yes, sir. I took the ring."

The Judge studied him, his eyes searching for some explanation concerning such outrageous behavior on the part of a successful surgeon. "I don't understand," he said. "Why?" 

Dr. Adams looked at the Judge with wide eyes that registered disbelief about the situation. "It began with the lady, 'May.' Well, maybe it began with my car which broke down. I had patients scheduled for surgery that morning, and I had to get to the hospital, so I took the bus."

"So?" the Judge asked.

"Well, I got a seat next to May, the old lady. Such a sweet woman she was, really. She told me about her family and how proud she was of them all. A true family enthusiast if ever I saw one."

"I don't understand where this is going, Dr. Adams."

"Well, that was when I noticed her ring, Such a beautiful item. I commented on it, and she explained how it had been passed down for  generations in her family. She pointed out each pearl and emerald to make sure I saw how well made and beautiful it was. And she regaled me with stories concerning her ancestors and the ring. Wonderful stories..." The doctor's eyes glazed over as he recalled the memories.

"Dr. Adams!" The Judge's voice brought the good doctor back to the present.

"I found that I loved the ring. I studied it on her finger and I could sense her entire heritage in that beautiful piece of jewelry. I could imagine ladies in the 18th century wearing it to Presidential balls, or Victorian relatives wearing it to the Opera, or even May herself wearing it as she did, everyday, to pay tribute to her ancestors. She told me she planned to will it to her daughter, because she felt the girl would treasure it and pass it on to her daughter."

"Well," the Judge replied while flipping through papers. "I see May Worth did exactly that, and upon her demise the daughter took possession of the ring." He paused and looked up to make eye contact with Dr. Adams. "And that is where you come in--stealing the ring last night from the daughter."

"Yes, I did. Because the daughter doesn't deserve it. She put an ad in the paper to sell it. I saw the ad myself. She was willing to release that heirloom to the highest bidder."

"And what business is that of yours, Dr. Adams?"

"Well, Sir. Do your papers there tell you I was at May's side when she died. There on the bus, she had a heart attack not long after showing me the ring."

"Yes, I see that here."

"She died in my arms. I gave her CPR, but alas, I couldn't revive her." The doctor paused; his eyes welled. "When a doctor loses a patient, especially a sweet woman like May, it is painful. We may be doctors, but we are human beings, too."

"Understood, but you still haven't explained what got into you to try and steal that ring."

"Well, I went to the funeral, and I didn't like the daughter from the start. When I tried to discuss the history of the ring with her, she scoffed and told me she wanted money, not jewelry. That was when I realized she would probably try and sell it. You can imagine my dismay when I spied her ad in the Gazette."

"I still don't see where it is any of your business."

"Oh, but it is! When you hold someone's life in your hands, you must consider their dying wishes. May said to me with her last breath, 'Make sure she takes care of my ring.'"

"So you take care of it by stealing it? Are you crazy, man?"

"I only meant to take care of it myself, since she didn't intend to."

"Dr. Adams, why didn't you simply buy the ring?"

"Because I wouldn't sell it to him." May Worth's daughter, Ellen, stood  in the back of the room. "This man has an unhealthy obsession with my mother's ring."

"You are Ellen Worth?" the Judge asked. "Step up here, please."

"Yes, that may be true, Miss, but he makes an interesting point. Why are you so anxious to sell it?" the Judge asked.

"With all due respect, do I have to answer such a question?"

"Yes, I think you do. Would you take the stand, please, Ms. Worth," Judge Wellington instructed.

The young lady complied, grimacing as the bailiff asked her to take an oath on the Bible.

"Ms. Worth, I am simply curious why you see no value in this ring as an heirloom."

"I simply have no interest in that sort of thing. Life is meant to be enjoyed, why should I sit around and look at a silly bauble like that when it could buy me a lot of happiness."

The Judge studied her with a sad expression. "I find it disappointing you put so little importance on your heritage, Ms. Worth. I'm sure your mother would be appalled."

"My mother was always appalled at my behavior, so this won't surprise her, Your Honor." Her deep, sharp voice cut through the courtroom like a knife.

As the girl spoke, Dr. Adams sat rigidly in his seat, his disapproval obvious.

With a sigh, the Judge continued, "You are dismissed, Ms. Worth. There is nothing left to do but hand the ring over to you then, and continue with this case against Dr. Adams.

"Nothing would make me happier, Your Honor." The girl stood to leave.

"I'm sure you feel that way, Ms. Worth. There is one other item I want to do. I have sent for an antique dealer who also has experience as a museum curator. He will establish a value to the ring to help me in the sentencing of Dr. Adams."

Ellen Worth stood still. "Your Honor, that really isn't necessary. I have had the ring appraised. I did so in the course of trying to sell it. I was told it is worth $20,000."

"That may be so, Ms. Worth, but I am obligated to use the court's specialist in these matters."

Ellen's face wrinkled in disapproval. "Well then, Your Honor, may I be excused from court. I have things to attend to."

"Certainly, Ms. Worth. You may pick up the ring later today at the Police Station."

"Thank you."

* * *
Mr. Perkins, the antique dealer, fumbled into the courtroom, lugging a huge brown book. He nodded to Judge Wellington. 

"I see you have arrived, Mr. Perkins," the Judge commented.

"Yes, Your Honor." Mr. Perkins busied himself removing his drab brown coat and arranging the book on a table.  "I have some astounding information about the ring."  He lifted the book up to reveal on one of its worn, yellow pages a photograph of the jewelry.
 
"Please take a seat and be sworn in, Mr. Perkins." 

That being done, the antique dealer, anxious to make his announcement, opened to a new page in the large brown volume he had carried in so carefully.

"Your Honor, the first thing I would like to report is the value of the ring, which is quite high. In fact, thirty years ago, it was valued at $30,000. Today it is worth $200,000." His eyes opened wide and his teeth gleamed in a broad smile.

"My word! Are you certain?" The Judge shifted in his seat to lean closer to Mr. Perkins, as though that would clarify the situation.

"Yes, Your Honor. Here is the interesting part though. This ring, which was originally designed for and owned by a German aristocrat in 1705, went missing from our local museum thirty years ago. We had received it as part of a personal collection when the owner at that time died. Mr. Tibbles, the famous banker, willed it to the museum  upon his demise."

"What?"

"It is a museum piece, Your Honor. And it was presumed to be stolen thirty years ago when it became missing without a trace. The police searched and searched but never solved the case."

"Well, how did it end up with May Worth?"

"Your Honor, I checked the old records. May was employed at the museum thirty years ago. The most obvious conclusion is she stole the ring, although I have no proof, of course. I'm surmising she only showed it to people years later when it was long forgotten."

"But she told me it had been in her family for generations," Dr. Adams blurted out.

"No. That may have been her story, but it just isn't true."

Judge Wellington stroked his chin as he pondered the situation. Then he startled and looked to the bailiff. "Bailiff, have you been able to contact Ellen Worth since she left the courtroom?"

The officer shook his head in a dubious fashion. "Your Honor, she is nowhere to be found."

"I see. I have a feeling we will never find her." Judge Wellington shook his head in dismay.

"So what are you saying? You are telling me that sweet old lady told me a lie," Dr. Adams asked.

"Yes, Dr. Adams. That is exactly what we are saying. But you should be happy. I'm going to drop the charges against you, since the ring was already stolen when you took it. You could have just as easily been trying to take it back to return to its rightful owners."

The Judge paused, tapping his pencil on the desk in a thoughtful motion. "The real criminal in this case was May Worth. And I might add she was the proverbial early bird who got the worm. . .Case dismissed."

And so, she was.




Copyright 2005 JO Janoski 

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Wednesday, September 28, 2005

IN THE NEWS...
Scuz, Trees, Penguins, and a Mighty Mouse


I think that's a good idea!
Judge asked to bar use of defendant's nickname -- ``Scuz'' at trial


Another good idea!
Pittsburgh's tree inventory finished and
it's full of surprises


Someone may as well make use of them.
Penguins stay snug and secure in minefields


A Mouse of importance!
Mouse grounds plane for 13 hours



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Monday, September 26, 2005

Friday, September 23, 2005

In  the News...
Plague, New Faces--and I do mean a "new face," Vinegar, and Threats!...


When Mickey is not our friend...
Lab Mice with Plague are Missing

The Ultimate Make-Over
New Face - New Outlook?

I've known guys like this!
Man Threatens Agent

Don't say I never help you do housework! 
A Handy Page on the Many Uses of Vinegar


***

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Tuesday, September 20, 2005


Oh my Gosh! I Love This Program!...


OMG! A sweet romantic comedy, and it's on TV now, in this jaded, tainted, sex-obsessed world of the 21st century. I am in love with a new program I saw last night--How I Met Your Mother. It is a backward-walking story, beginning with the voice of Dad   twenty years from now, telling his children a story of how he met their mother. And we learn how he met a woman in a bar, but that's just the beginning. 

Every one of the four main players is a strong entity in his/her own right. These characters are not particularly hip; they're regular folks whom you wouldn't mind as having friends, the kind of friends you can actually depend on. Lily and Marshall, a cute-as-Christmas school teacher and a lawyer who frankly, is much nicer than any lawyer I've known. (Sorry to my attorney friends--yinz guys are fine, but some of your breed, yikes!). Then there is the main guy, Ted--a regular Joe who lives out his insecurities in front of us with doggedness and humor. Finally, there's Barney, his best friend, played with an edge by Neil Patrick Harris.  Everyone else is snuggly and giggly, so the anal-retentiveness of Barney offsets the others well.

This is a good show. I haven't had such a tingly feeling about an ensemble cast since the first episode of Cheers many years ago.


Copyright 2005 JO Janoski 

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Sunday, September 18, 2005

Coffee is the Best Medicine...
September 18, 2005
...The Strange Happenings in a Coffee Shop
 
(A serial. You may start reading at any point in the story.
Why not start with this episode?)



"Oh my Gawd! There goes my inspector, fired just when I got him the way I want him," Rose murmured.

"Oh, no!" I replied. "We can't let that happen." I spoke with defiance, although I had no idea how to stop it.

Our friend, the Inspector, stared at the lady supervisor, his jaw gaping in surprise. "Huh?" appeared to be all he could manage.

"You're fired, mister! I'm giving your route to someone else."

"Please, no! The pancakes here are so good!"

Glaring back at him, the supervisor spoke. "That's the problem, mister! You are too busy eating to tend to your responsibilities as a health inspector. Good Lord, man! We have standards!"

"He is doing a marvelous job!" The clear deep voice coming from the front, resonated through the room. All heads turned to see an imposing figure in the doorway. The tall man filled the frame, or at least it seemed so with the morning light glaring behind him, casting his bold figure in silhouette. "That man is the hardest-working health inspector I've ever seen. He personally tests every pancake for goodness and nutrition."

Yikes! Where did this guy come from? Then I noticed a curious thing happening. As the fellow came closer, his face, shadowed before, now came into the light. "Oh my Gawd!" I murmured. He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen--a broad ready smile, sparkling eyes, high cheekbones, and handsome brown hair neatly combed behind his ears, but long enough to be worn more free and relaxed. I noticed the supervisor staring at the fellow in much the same way as I. A quick glance around the room revealed all the ladies' eyes were riveted on the fellow. The guy was a real dreamboat.

He walked in with bold steps, moving  quickly and with importance. The supervisor watched,  looking wilted and swaying as she stood. 

"Please leave that good fellow alone." he said, walking straight up to the lady. "Don't fire him."

"Okay," she answered in a voice as limp as a wet rag. 

"And you, my sweet, will sit now and have a cup of coffee with me."

"Okay." She followed. I'm not certain her feet ever touched the floor.

"Yay! I don't know who that man is, but I'm sure glad he happened by," Rose said over my shoulder.

"Yes," I replied. I studied the fellow. Something about his movement was familiar -- a movement of confidence, but the gait...I'd seen that gait before.

"Oh my Gawd!" I whispered. A blinding epiphany about knocked me off my feet. "It's Alfred!"
 
"What did you say?" Rose asked. 

"That's Alfred!"

Rose stared at the fellow. I watched as her eyes widened in recognition. "JO, I think you're right."

We watched Alfred lead the supervisor to a table in the back. He pulled out a chair for her, and next he sat and took her hand in his. The fellow was absolutely debonair!

"I guess that supervisor won't be any trouble from now on." Rose said. Then she added, "Well, you know, two health inspectors in the hand is worth three in the bush." 





To be Continued

Copyright 2005 JO Janoski


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Friday, September 16, 2005

IN THE NEWS...
Bulges, Body Parts, and a Man in a Closet


A Land Bulge? What? Me Worry?
Growing Land Bulge Found in Oregon


Errrr, What's For Dinner?
Artist Bakes Edible Body Parts


Sea Lions Make Bad Neighbors!


What a Surprise Behind Door #1!
Police Search for Man in Break-In Case


And Mom Said He'd Never Amount to Anything!
Man Breaks Record for Watching TV

Wednesday, September 14, 2005


THE PRINCE...
A Short Story...


"Clara, would you comb my hair, please?" Princess Emily asked her servant, Clara Willoby. 

"Yes, Princess!" Clara picked up the brush and ran it through her mistress's shiny red hair. The auburn strands shimmered with each stroke all the way to the young lady's waist. Even more gorgeous than her hair, the Princess's fair face, with huge blue eyes and sweet pursed red lips would steal away the heart of any man. And exactly that had already happened.

Sir Jeffrey Thomas had asked for Princess Emily's hand in marriage. Clara would have liked to feel joy for the Princess, but she could not. Indeed, Clara herself was in love with Sir Jeffrey. She could never hope, however, to gain his love, what with her mousy common appearance, having no features of interest to anyone; and the fact she was a mere servant. Her straight brown hair and tiny listless face hardly made her a desirable companion.

Tall, gallant, and imposing, Sir Jeffrey haunted the halls of the palace daily, at first to merely gain the attention of Princess Emily.  Later, to firm up the friendship and earn her undying affection.

While he loitered near the kitchen, he had spoken many times to Clara as she fetched the Princess's tea and cakes. His deep voice made Clara's blood surge through her veins with excitement. The Prince's wavy brown hair and broad smile sent her heart skipping in her chest.

"And are you taking that food to Princess Emily again today?" he would ask. The sparkle in his blue eyes disarmed Clara every time he spoke to her.

"Yes, Sir Jeffrey!" she would reply,

He would always step forward and remove the tray from her hands. "Let me carry that for you," he would say, shooting her a wink to assure her compliance in their daily ritual.

They would walk together to Princess Emily's quarters. The gallant Prince would talk to Clara as though she were a Princess herself and not a mere servant, discussing the weather and fine points of life in the palace. The maid, indeed, felt like royalty when Sir Jeffrey offered her a smile or his blue eyes met hers. She kept a tiny gray book tucked in her bodice, next to her beating heart, and each evening she wrote about the day's walk with Sir Jeffrey to Princess Emily's room, carefully recording each detail of their conversation as best as her limited writing skills would allow. The little book was Clara's most precious possession.

Deep inside, she wished he would love her like he loved Princess Emily. That dream was dashed each time they arrived at the Royal quarters and he opened the door and slipped in, closing out Clara with nary a word of good-bye. The next day they went through the same sequence. Clara lived for their daily walk to Emily's room with Sir Jeffrey. She knew it was foolish but couldn't help herself.

"Clara, you're hurting me!" 

The handmaiden had forgotten what she was doing, and pushed the brush through Emily's tresses in frustrated strikes against her skull. 

"I'm sorry, Princess!" she murmured. Well, maybe only a little sorry, she thought. It was hard to feel regret when the Princess was taking away the only man Clara had ever loved. Her mind wandered again to his broad shoulders and big hands. With all that strength, he was gentle around women, treating them like china figurines to be moved about with the softest of motions. 

"Clara! Ouch! What is wrong with you today?"

"I'm sorry, Princess! ...May I be excused?"

"Yes, I think that's a good idea. I know my head will appreciate it!"

Clara curtsied and left the room, Running to the cold, dark hallway, she took the worn stone steps two at a time wanting nothing more than to get outside to be alone, perhaps to take a walk in the gardens. As she turned along a corner of the landing she ran full force into Sir Jeffrey. Her face smashed against his chest. It was hard and massive.

"Oh, Sir Jeffrey! I'm sorry!"

"Quite all right, Clara! I was rushing from this direction, too!" 

Clara felt her face getting warm. Oh dear! She certainly could blush redder than red. How embarrassing! She spied Sir Jeffrey studying her with a small smile.

"My goodness, Clara! You are beautiful when you blush!" He leaned forward and cupped her face in his big strong hands. Leaning down,  he touched his lips to hers. 

Clara's heart thump-thumped in her chest; her head swooned, making her worry she would pass out. His lips searched hers in curiosity and hunger. Grabbing her in his arms, he held her close. His kiss lasted and lasted, filling Clara with waves of joy.  She felt like she was melting right there in the hallway.

He pulled away in slow motion, wiping his lip with the back of his hand like he'd just had a satisfying sip of wine. "Thank you, Clara!" he murmured before dashing away and up the stairs from whence she had just come. Had it really happened? Had he kissed her? Clara, still in a trance and wanting more, much more, followed.

Trailing him to the next landing, she saw the Prince pause before opening the door to Princess Emily's room. Clara pulled back in dismay. Just as she had seen so many times before, he closed the door in her face. He was with his true love now, the Princess.

Her heart smashed to the floor and broke apart in jagged pieces, leaving the poor servant with her soul drowning in confusion and hunger for the man she could never have. Standing in silence, finally Clara sighed. "I guess the Princess will want her tea and cakes...after," she murmured.  Turning to return to the kitchen, she paused, removing the little gray diary from her bodice. Taking the book, she tossed it out a nearby open window and walked away to fulfill her duty to Princess Emily.




Copyright 2005 JO Janoski 

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