“It’s coming on the end of August.  Another summer’s promise almost gone…”  This is the opening line of the Eagles’ song, “Waiting in the Weeds”, from their Long Road Out of Eden CD (Eagles Recording Co./2009).  It sums up exactly how I feel at this time of year; there’s a certain melancholy that embraces me.  The promise of the summer, so bright and full of hope in April and May, is winding down.  All the things I planned to do-cookouts, having a nice yard for once, sitting outside watching the fireflies-didn’t happen.  Again.  It’s funny, toward the end of winter, I always picture myself sitting on my front deck as dusk falls, looking out across my beautiful, lush, green lawn.  But, if I do sit out, I’m looking at the same, crappy crab grass and dandelions I looked at last summer, at least until the mosquitoes find me and force me back inside to watch Law and Order reruns.  And, for the past two summers, that same section of the yard has been taken over by sand wasps, meaning it can’t even be mowed for about a month.  So, terrible as it looks neatly cut, it looks twice as bad overgrown.

In the winter, holding out the hope of an early spring, I start to plan my gardens; flowers on the front deck and vegetables and melons on the side of the house.  I usually buy plants, but this year I did a lot of seeds so I could get things started sooner.  The result was much thinner plants on the deck.  And the vegetable plants, so green and full of promise in May, wilted and died when we experienced problems with our well, resulting in my not being able to water them.  I don’t know yet what the final veggie count is going to be, but I served my own green beans once and I ate a handful of tomatoes.  That was about it.

We’ve already had some pretty cool nights; the ones I used to call “pool killers”.  When we had a pool, we always seemed to have a couple of nights where the temperature dipped into the fifties in late July or early August, nights that cooled the pool enough so it never really recovered to comfortable levels.  Of course, the pool is long gone now, so I guess it doesn’t matter.  I’ve noticed a few trees starting to change color, too; another sign the summer is fading quickly.

A few weeks ago, it was getting dark at about 8:45; now the sun is setting almost an hour earlier. You can feel the change coming; it’s in the air and it’s in the way birds and animals are acting.  The squirrels are gathering and the hummingbirds are hitting my feeder in a constant stream.  I’ve even seen a couple flocks of geese heading south.  Well, they were going that way; I can’t say for sure they didn’t do a u-turn, but I don’t think so.  Speaking of the hummingbirds: They arrive in April and May and leave in September, so my time enjoying them is measured in weeks rather than months now.  Soon it will be measured in days.

Inevitably, Christmas ornaments and Halloween candy will arrive in the stores almost simultaneously, likely by the end of August.  Way too soon, in my opinion, but I have no say in the matter.  By the time Christmas does roll around each year, I’m pretty much ready for it to be over.  And why not?  I’ve been seeing the trappings of the holiday for months by then.  But, this post wasn’t intended to be about the holidays.  Rather, it’s my lament on a summer that seems to have gone by way too fast.  Like every one before it.

Actually, between the day I wrote that about Christmas and Halloween, candy and Thanksgiving plates, napkins, etc. showed up in the grocery store.  Places are starting to advertise pellet fuel, too.  I’ll be ordering a couple of pallets within the next week or two.  Cold weather is coming, and quickly

“It’s coming on the end of August.  Another summer’s promise almost gone.”

As I sit here in front of my laptop, my 2005 Chrysler Town and Country -purchased brand-spanking-new in March, 2004- has over 222,600 miles on the odometer.  Right now, it needs the radiator fan replaced, extensive front end work, front brakes, and a lot of body work if it is to pass state inspection, which has to be done within the next 18 days.  I got a price the other day on the body work.  To make it functional, but not pretty (no finish work, no paint) will run between $1500 and $2000.  I’ll get an estimate on all the other work, as well as anything I might have missed, later today.  (I just returned from the garage and all the work except for the body will run between $1200 - $1400)

Let’s say for a moment that the mechanical repairs will be $1500 (the fan alone lists for over $400 just for the part itself); add the worst-case scenario for the body work and we’re at about $3500.  That seems like an awful lot of money to spend on a vehicle that’s sitting on the north side of 222,000 miles.  But, the alternative is to buy another car.  I can’t afford new, so I’m looking at something in the 2011 and newer range.  There are a lot of cars available that are from those years and retail for around $15,000.  There are plenty that are cheaper, but I want to try and keep the mileage as low as possible, hence the $15K.

In the interest of full disclosure, there are few experiences I hate more than car shopping but, as you can tell, I don’t do it very often.  In all honesty, I’m just not that good at it.  And I hate dealing with pushy salespeople.  This time, though, it’s going to be different.  Or so I thought.  I plan to pay cash, thinking that would give me all sorts of leverage.  That and the fact that there are TONS of car dealers out there and tons of cars available.

The first thing I did -also the first mistake I made- was to fill out a form online to get a price on a brand-new Nissan Altima.  I know, I said used, but their commercials make it sound like their “end-of-model-year deals” are too good to miss.  So I went on Nissan’s website and filled out a request for a price.  Within MINUTES, I was contacted about my request - by 5 different dealerships.  5!  Why Nissan would put five of their dealers in direct competition with each other is beyond me.  All I know for sure is that, as annoying as it is to have one person hounding you with phone calls and emails, it’s WAY more annoying to have ten people doing it.  Yes, I said ten.  Five salespeople and five sales managers.  The first thing I decided, my first decision in this process, was that I WASN’T dealing with Nissan.

At this point, I went back to looking for a used car.  I visited a CarMax dealer, thinking it would be a good way to check out a lot of different makes and models, and it was.  But, listed on each price sticker are the words, “No Haggle Price”.  I don’t want to haggle.  I HATE to haggle.  But, fool that I am, I mistakenly thought that, since I was paying cash, I held all the power.  My plan was to walk into a dealership, find a car, give them a low-ball offer, and then negotiate from there.  Perfect, right? 

Not so much.  My second experience was to search online (Cars.com, AutoTrader.com).  I found a car I liked at a dealer I hate.  My son bought a used car from them and had nothing but problems, both with the car and the dealership.  Another guy I know stopped doing business with them even though he bought his car there and it was, by far, the most convenient place to take it for service.  I went there years ago to have a recall performed.  When I arrived to pick up my van, they handed me a several pages long invoice of all the work they claimed it needed.  I insisted they just do the recall work (which they hadn’t done even though they told me to pick the van up at X o’clock).  When I left, I went straight to my mechanic and showed him the invoice.  Once he stopped laughing and caught his breath, he told me I didn’t need ANY of the work on it.  Not one thing.  And, since he saw the van regularly, I felt comfortable that he would know.  Some of that work has NEVER been done and that happened over 120,000 miles ago.

So, against my better judgment, I emailed the dealer about the car I was interested in.  It was listed at $16,900.  My email said, “Please let me know your absolutely rock bottom price on this vehicle for a cash sale, no trade.”  Their response?  $16,900.  Their email also mentioned how “motivated” they were to have me as a client.  I wound up receiving three emails from the internet sales manager.  The first said how much they wanted my business.  The second one said how they were going to bang me for an extra $1000 because I didn’t want to finance it THROUGH THEM, which they “require”.  And finally, after she spoke to “the manager”, she offered the car to me for $16,900 (the original price) - $16,500 if I would forgo certification. 

This is NOT how haggling works.  Trust me on this one.  You DON’T add to your price, then come back to the original price and expect me to say, “Wow, they knocked $1000 off the price!”  I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night.  At this point, I told her not to bother contacting me again and she didn’t.  Somebody else did, though, once again assuring me how important my business was to them.  Yeah, I can tell.

So, the search goes on.  I will likely get the mechanical work on the van done and then do the body work myself.  If we wind up with a new(er) car, we can use the van as a second vehicle.  It’s been quite the hassle having only one with four people sharing it for the past year and a half.  For now, wish me luck.

WARNING:  POLITICAL COMMENTARY/OPINIONS.

I don’t know if it’s the same everywhere, but in Rhode Island, some refer to the political season as “Silly Season”.  And with good reason, I might add, although “Stupid Season” might be a more apropos title.  I hear a lot of promises and a lot of obvious problems pointed out; what I don’t hear are a lot of plans.  Or any plans.  We have one person telling us we “need to build our infrastructure” while another insists we have to foster a partnership between the State’s schools and employers.  Okay, those make nice sound bites, but what I want to hear from the candidates is how they propose these things be accomplished.  Crickets.

I have a few plans.  They might work, they might not, but at least they’re something more than “we need to…” with no action steps attached.

Everyone knows public assistance programs are completely out of control.  My plan?  Everyone who is on assistance and is able to work, should.  We could revise Roosevelt’s Works Progress Administration, which was established with passage of the Emergency Relief Appropriation Act (1935).  I would say we have an emergency in this state, wouldn’t you.  Here’s my plan:

Let the people who stay home instead of working fix the roads, pick up litter, fix bridges, maintain public properties, clean the beaches and run the parking concession (which is currently run by a Connecticut company that’s made millions off the contract; that money could have stayed in RI),etc.  Pay them with their welfare “benefits”.  Obviously, they would, for the most part, serve on crews with qualified State employees; I’m not suggesting we hand out a bunch of tools to people who don’t know the difference between a pothole and a bridge abutment and send them out on their own.  And while we’re at it, no more ice cream, chips, soda, etc. on food stamps.  Use a system like the old WIC vouchers, where the coupons were good for specific items (milk, bread, cheese, etc.).  The new system doesn’t have to be quite as restrictive, but junk food, etc, is not a right, it’s a privilege.  If you can’t afford it, you can’t have it.  And, if someone else is paying for your food, you can’t afford it.  Just like cell phones.  Since when is a cell phone an absolute necessity?  We all got along just fine without them for years and years.  There’s no reason the government should be handing out cell phones at taxpayer expense.

And, before anyone tells me that a lot of people on assistance don’t have/can’t afford daycare so they can’t work outside the home, I have one thing to say:  Bull.  Obviously, the state owns lots of empty buildings, since our governor seems Hell-bent on finding room for a bunch of illegal alien kids; turn some of those into day care centers; the parents can run the daycare.  Simple?  Yes.  Responsible?  Yes.  Likely to happen under the current climate in the state?  Hell, no!  But, it’s a viable solution.  I have first-hand knowledge of the abuses that go on in the welfare system.  I don’t have a problem with people who need assistance getting it, but they shouldn’t spend all day every day sitting on the front steps of their subsidized apartments smoking cigarettes (at $8 per pack) and drinking beer, joy riding, smoking pot, getting tattoos, etc.  There’s no reason they shouldn’t work for the money we, the taxpayers, give them.  The taxpayers work for their money; so should every able-bodied welfare recipient.  We’ve created a climate where welfare/food stamps has become a “career”.  It’s not and was never intended to be that.  It was intended as a helping hand until you got back on your feet.

Campaign reform is another pet peeve of mine.  Between the half-truths, outright lies, and staged family outings, I want to puke.  One candidate using a derisive term for his opponent’s supporters?  Seriously?  I hear lots of grandiose pronouncements, but no substance, no solutions.  Here’s my plan: 

                1.  Determine a set amount that can be spent by any candidate.  No more having the rich candidates flood their own campaigns with hundreds of thousands of dollars of their personal fortunes, which sets up a climate in which only rich candidates can win.

                2.  A limit on what any one person or company can donate.  $100.  Anyone caught violating this law would be subject to severe penalties, up to and including jail time.  See how many people have the guts to violate once a handful are locked up.

                3.  A limit of 2 TV commercials.  And to avoid the inevitable “I didn’t get to respond to what he/she said in their commercial” whining, all commercials will be released on the same day at the same time.  Two rounds, two commercials.  Done.

                4.  A limit on mailings.  Similar to the TV limit, but less restrictive.  5 mailings, done whenever the candidate sees fit. 

                5.  Claims will have to be vetted by a State board before any information can be used in a commercial or any type of advertising.  I know, the last thing we need is another State board, but I don’t think it would be difficult to find more than enough volunteers to staff it.

Since the State is in such dire financial straits, I would have police in all cities and towns compile a listing of all the Florida license plates that are being used on cars here.  It’s no secret that tons of people live part of the year here and part in Florida and register their cars there for the tax benefits.  No more.  If you live in Rhode Island 6 months per year (or 3, or 9, or 7), you pay a pro-rated property tax.  Why should these people -who are wealthy enough to afford not 1, but 2 homes, not have to pay any property taxes?  It’s not fair to the rest of us.  They’re using the same roads as us, aren’t they?  But only we are paying for them.

I’m sure if I give it more thought, I can come up with plenty more ideas, but this is what came to mind when I decided to write this piece.

You can agree with me, disagree with me, love me, hate me, but, if you choose to respond to this, please don’t resort to name-calling (of me or any of the aforementioned groups).  Let’s keep it classy.  Thanks.

For today’s blog post, I’m sharing a little of one of the stories from my latest release, the short story collection, THE CABIN IN THE WOODS and Other Tales, available on Amazon (print or Kindle), Nook, iBook, and Kobo and in the CreateSpace.com store.

Excerpt ©2104 Rick Marchetti

The Cabin in the Woods

It was much darker in the woods than it had been along the water, so Ray didn’t realize that the sun was setting until he broke through into a small clearing on the opposite side of the lake from where he had ventured in.  Panicked, he looked at his watch and was stunned to see that it was quarter to five.  With no reference in the dark and tangled forest, he had completely lost track of the time.  What felt to him like an hour or two had been closer to four.  The sun had been setting just after four-thirty for the past week and he was fifteen minutes past that now.  There was absolutely no way he could make it back to the cabin -or even to the other side of the lake- until well after full dark.  Ray ran a hand through his wild hair and looked around, completely unnerved by this unexpected development.  He took out his phone, praying to find even one bar showing on the screen.  Instead, he saw exactly what he feared:  No Service.

The decision now was whether to go on, expecting the path to resume at some point, or go back, hoping he had carved out enough of a trail that he could follow it back around the lake.  He stood there, frozen, unable to make a decision.  For a few seconds, continuing on seemed like the best course of action, then it seemed like utter foolishness, nothing more than a good way to get even more lost.  Going back was the only answer, then that seemed like certain suicide. He couldn’t decide.  Finally, he settled on forward.  If the path is there, he reasoned, I’ll be able to follow it out.

But, if you go back, you know where you’re going, the other side of his brain argued.

Forward, pick up the path again, you’re good to go.

No, you could get further away from the cabin.

There might even be a road ahead.

There might be animals, too.  You didn’t see any on the way in.

Suddenly, Ray pressed his hands to the sides of his head.  “STOP IT!” he shouted.  Birds took wing all around him, tweeting, cawing, screeching.  He was stunned by the cacophony but, even through the shock he realized he hadn’t heard anything crashing through the underbrush.  He reached down to his water belt and pulled out a bottle.  Empty.  He reached for the next one in line.  Empty.  He was reluctant to check the third one, but he forced himself to do it.  Empty.

“Oh my God,” Ray whispered to the gathering night.

“Hoo,” an owl hooted in response.

Ray began to walk, keeping the lake to his left.  He welcomed the sight of the moon when it rose, glinting off the water’s surface.  It didn’t provide much light, but some was better than none.  As he made his way through the underbrush, occasionally stumbling but so far managing to avoid a fall, his mind began to drift.  Against his will, he began to picture his obituary:  Next to a picture of him taken for his last book jacket, it read Ray Trammel, 45, best-selling author, loving husband and father, died in the woods of northern New Hampshire because he was too frigging stupid to get back to the cabin he was losing his mind in.

Despite his current predicament, he laughed out loud.  He couldn’t help it.  But laughing while lost in the woods felt strange, felt wrong somehow, and he quickly stopped.

“Tell me you’re not losing it, Willy Nilly,” he said.  Something struck him then and he stopped dead in his tracks.  Willy Nilly?  Why does that sound so familiar? he puzzled.

“Hoo,” the owl called again.  As the moon continued to climb in the sky, slightly ahead of him and to his left, it offered some illumination, but not nearly enough.  He was still finding it rough going because of the roots and stones, but now the ground had become boggy as well.  Every so often, Ray could hear the sounds of something moving through the woods, but not so close as to scare him.  Too much.

After a while, he found himself in another clearing.  Overhead, what seemed like millions of stars twinkled icily.  The temperature had dropped considerably and now the sweat that he had generated felt as if it was freezing on him.  He began to shiver and his teeth chattered, gently at first, but then increasing in intensity.  At some point, his feet had gotten wet and now they were beginning to sting from the cold.  Again, he had the sensation of being watched.

Ray stood in the clearing for a while, watching the constellations cross the sky.  He didn’t remember much from his college astronomy course, but he recognized both Dippers, Cassiopeia, Orion, and even The Pleiades - the seven sisters.  Occasionally, a meteor streaked across the sky.  As the moon climbed, however, its light overwhelmed the stars and the sky took on a washed-out, faded denim look.  The woods seemed a bit brighter and Ray started picking his was along, always keeping the lake to his left.

After a little while, he happened to glance up and was shocked to realize the lake was now on his right.  Somewhere along the line, he had doubled back without realizing it.  Now panic gripped him and he slumped against a tree, physically and emotionally drained.  He found himself wishing for a gun again, not for protection this time, but to end this nightmare.  He slid slowly down the tree trunk until he was seated on the ground, barely feeling it when his shirt rode up and the rough bark dug into his back, leaving lines like those made by an overly enthusiastic lover. He sat with his eyes closed and prayed that the end would come quickly, then focused on Lauren and the boys; he wanted them to be the last thought he had.  Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he was silent.  He thought about all the things he had accomplished in his life, as well as all the things he had yet to do.  Forty-five, which sometimes seemed so old to him, now sounded ridiculously young.  Too young for the man whose grandma called him Willy Nilly.

His eyes snapped open.  “Willy Nilly”, he whispered, liking the sound of it.  “Willy Nilly,” he tried again.  “I haven’t thought of that in years,” he said, his voice filled with wonder.  Grandma Nash, his mother’s mother, had nicknamed him that because she said he was always trying to go off in five different directions at once.

“Gram?” he whispered, certain that Death was at hand. 

At some point, every unpublished author is faced with a dilemma: How to interest an agent or publisher.  This is not an easy thing to do, by any stretch of the imagination.  It starts with something called a query, or query letter.  Basically, you write a letter (and there are entire courses on just this topic) intended to entice the person you’re writing to read your book.  Query letter requirements vary and, for the sake of this post, I’m only speaking about Fiction projects.  The rules change if you write a non-Fiction book. 

Generally speaking, Fiction queries have some common elements:  You need a letter that is intriguing enough to stand out from the thousands of other letters your intended reader receives and you need a synopsis of your book.  Besides those items, which better be perfect, you need one of the following:  Either the first 50 pages of your manuscript, the first three chapters, or the whole enchilada.  I’ve queried people who ask for one or another of those.  Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that the person you want to pitch your book to is interested in reading -or even representing- your book (in the case of an agent, since these are the most common people you would send a query to).  If they’re not interested, there’s a good chance you’ll never even hear back from them, but we’ll say, for our purposes, they are interested.  They’ll instruct you to send your manuscript (unless they wanted the whole thing with the initial letter).  They’ll read it and, if they’re still interested, they may agree to represent you to publishers.  Then they have the fun task of trying to find someone else to read it.  If -and that’s a BIG if- a publisher is interested, there may be a delay of up to 18 months in seeing your book in print.  And, unless your last name happens to be King, Koontz, or Grisham, most of the marketing is going to be done by….YOU.  Now, obviously, this is a phenomenally simplified view of the process, but it’s pretty much what you can expect.

The other option is self-publishing.  Self-publishing, once widely known as vanity publishing, used to be an outlet for people with little talent and lots of money.  If you self-published your book, it meant that no one except your mother would have any interest in reading it.  Now, however, self-publishing has gone mainstream, with some previously-published authors choosing it over traditional publishing.  In interviews I’ve read over the past couple years there are usually one or two common reasons that people choose to “go it alone”.  One is the time it takes to get your book to market.  If you self-publish, the time to market is dictated by you and you alone.  The other is creative control.  If you self-publish, you get to decide absolutely everything that has to do with your book; interior layout, cover, fonts, marketing, appearances, you name it.  This can be a blessing or a curse because I’m certainly not implying these things are easy to do, especially with no experience and a most-likely very limited budget, but even with a traditional publisher, you’d have to do a lot of it anyway.  And there are a lot of companies that provide the services you need.  Some will do everything from cover design to layout to printing the books (but you have the final word on every detail) and some provide templates for the interior and the cover and you design everything.  This is the way I do it, because there are no upfront costs involved.  This method is called Print-on-Demand (POD), which requires no inventory, either by the author or a publisher.  I do keep a small stock on hand, but only for local bookstores and personal appearances.  Otherwise, when someone orders a book through Amazon or any other service, the order goes to the printer, who prints the needed numbers of books, and ships them, usually within a day or two for small orders.  No muss, no fuss.  And, except for the month leading up to Christmas, my books have always been shipped in 1 to 2 days; not just printed, but shipped.

So, while there are obvious benefits to both scenarios, I prefer to self-publish.  Of course, if some big publishing house wants to handle one of my books and pay me a six-figure advance, I’d be open to that.  In the meantime, as I prepare to release my 5th book, I’ve had good success with self-publishing.

If it wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.  And if I had a nickel for every time I’ve said those words, I could buy a small island.  Ever feel like there was a dark cloud over your head following you around?  I know I have.  I have friends who even refer to it from time to time, so it must be there, right?  It’s easy to feel that way when things go south, but a simple twist on perspective can change the way you look at things.

For instance, a couple of months ago, one of my kids was involved in a minor car accident.  She was making a right turn at an intersection and was sideswiped by another vehicle that was going straight (coming from her left).  I won’t go into the details, but I’m guessing she’ll be deemed partially at fault, which means our rates will go up.  And, we don’t have coverage that’s going to pay for her damage because it’s a 14-year-old car.  So her car is banged up and my rates are going to go up; I can’t afford to fix the car and a rate increase is going to involve some creative budgeting.  Bad luck?  Why did this happen?  Woe is me?  All of the above?  Sure, it’s easy to feel that way, but take a look from the positive side:  No one was hurt in the accident and her car will be perfectly fine to drive once we reattach her side mirror.  So, did Bad Luck cause the accident, which is the way I’ve always seen these things, or did Good Luck prevent it from being worse?

Another car story:  Recently, the phone rang at 8:00 on a Sunday morning.  It was my other daughter; she was driving to work and the van broke down on 146N, in just about the worst possible spot (no breakdown lane).  Bad luck?  You betcha!  But, look at it from the opposite perspective:  It happened early on a Sunday morning, when there was very little traffic, on a bright, sunny day, so the visibility was excellent.  What if it had happened on her way home some night at 11:15 in a downpour?  Big difference.  Luckily, the van has come back to life -if it was a cat, I’d be concerned that it was around Life 8 at this point -so it’s still functional (as functional as a 10-year-old vehicle with 216,000 miles can be, anyway).  Which brings me to another point.  I’m not thrilled with the fact that we’re driving around in a crappy, 10-year-old minivan with that kind of mileage on it.  But, if I spin positive, it could very well have died 60,000 miles ago, no?

My point is, sometimes bad luck is more a matter of how we interpret our circumstances than anything else.  Me, I’m a card-carrying pessimist.  “Everything and everybody are against me.”  “Why can’t I catch a break?”  “Waaaa-waaaa-waaa.”  I’ve always told people I’m not a pessimist, but a realist.  I say I see the reality in situations.  Well, I’m here to say, with God as my witness, that that’s basically crap.  Mindset is important and, since I’ve been making an effort to be more positive, I haven’t seen that little black cloud hovering over me.  So, if you’re like me and always seeing the negative in everything, try and look at things from other angles.  Find the positive.  Sometimes it really is a matter of perspective.

I’ve never heard a single person admit to voting for Governor Chafee, so how did he get elected?

I’ve been all over New England and I’ve never seen potholes like we have here in RI.  We must be doing something wrong.

In Smithfield, we went to the new trash collection system a few months ago.  Now we can only put out 1 trash can and 1 recycle can.  We used to be able to put out 10 or 12 cans, bags, etc.  EVERY WEEK.  The old trucks had 3 guys on them, the new ones have just a driver.  And only one truck picks up everything, unlike previously when there was a trash truck and a recycle truck.  So if we have had the amount of trash we can get rid of cut by, say, 90% and the crew on the trucks has been cut by 2/3, and the number of trucks on the road has been halved, why aren’t our taxes going down?

College is ridiculously expensive.  There’s absolutely no reason any school should be charging 50, or even 60 thousand dollars per year.  And on top of that, the kids have to buy hundreds of dollars worth of books each semester; in some cases, they never even use the book.  And sometimes, the book is even written by the professor teaching the course.  No one should have to start their life after college $100,000+ in debt.

Can anyone explain to me why it’s OK to leave your shopping cart right where you emptied it rather than returning it to the rack that’s there for just that purpose?  And, if you think it’s OK, how are you going to feel when someone else’s cart rolls into your new car?

Why, with more and more channels on TV, is there less and less to watch?  And, who watches “Marriage Boot Camp” or “Honey Boo Boo anyway?”  And if you do (and are willing to admit it), why?

Why, with our state circling the bowl, are marriage equality and calamari the things the General Assembly chose to spend their time and energy on?  And what good was the Sales Tax Commision if all they could come up with for their efforts was…..nothing, nothing at all?

How, well before winter is over, do you run out of something as basic as road salt?  I understand that there was demand in places that usually don’t need it, but how do you run out?  If you think you need X tons for the season, why don’t you order X 1/4, or X 1/2?  The same goes for wood pellet fuel.  I haven’t found a dealer in weeks that has any.  Another basic item that should always be available, since people rely on them for heat.  And before you ask how WE ran out (oh, the irony); I couldn’t afford to buy enough up front to last the season.  Next year, I’ll be buying 2 tons before the heating season starts.

Girls/Womens softball is an awesome game.  I had the pleasure of watching both of my daughters play for several years and those are some of my fondest memories.  I’ve been a lifelong baseball fan, I played Little League and in college but, if I had the choice between the two, I’d opt for watching the softball game.

The PC Friars have been incredibly frustrating at times this year, but Ed Cooley should get a medal for getting what is essentially a 6-man team to the point they’re at (19 wins and counting).

Anyone who knows me knows that I love to complain.  If complaining were an Olympic sport, I would be a gold medalist.  But, despite that, there are things that make me happy:  My family, riding my motorcycle, writing, spring, summer, Law & Order (all 3 'versions'), reading, my bed, our dog and cat, trains, feeding birds, long drives, Disney World, The Three Stooges, Coke Zero, Pepsi Max, Munson’s Chocolates, trains (both model and real), grilling, fireflies, etc.  See?  I’m not always miserable.  It just seems that way.

I enjoy traveling, although it’s not something I get to do often.  My wife and I were talking the other day and I mentioned someplace I’d like to go, then another, then another, then…well, you get my point.  I’m definitely someone who has ‘champagne taste on a beer budget’.  For the past ten or so years, most of our travel was to sporting events that my younger daughter’s teams were participating in; soccer on the Cape, softball in New Hampshire, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, and Virginia.  In between, we managed some trips to my favorite destination, Walt Disney World.  I recently suggested to my wife that we go back to where we used to stay on the Cape, but just the two of us.  She didn’t seem overly enthusiastic so, after checking to make sure my deodorant was working, I asked why.  She replied that she wanted to go “somewhere different”.  So, the Cape is out, as are family trips to Orlando, DC, or Gettysburg.

So, I started thinking of places I’d like to go.  In no particular order, here is my list.  I wish I was in…

1.  Key West.  This has long been a dream of mine, to drive from RI to Key West, avoiding the Interstates.  On the way south, I’d like to see Charleston, SC and Savannah, GA.  Our current vehicle has about 204,000 miles on it, so this isn’t likely to happen anytime soon, but I’d love to make this drive.

2.  California.  Another driving trip, this one would be RI to Chicago, then following as much of the old Rt. 66 as we could.  I’d love to see the country and the cheesy tourist traps along the way.  There’s another cross-country route (I believe it’s Rt. 50) that goes from Maryland to California.  I’d like to do that one as well.

3.  South Dakota.  I’m dying to see Mount Rushmore.  More than that, I’d like to rent a Harley when I get there.  The Black Hills are supposed to be amazing to ride through.

4.  New Orleans.  Just to say I’ve been.

5.  Orlando.  Okay, this one is on my list even though we’ve been there several times (including Universal), but I really want to see The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.  And, as long as we’re in central Florida, we might as well pop over to Disney for a week or two, right?

6.  Montana.  This could be part of the Mt. Rushmore trip, but the words “Big Sky” have intrigued me ever since I was a little kid.  Maybe because I grew up in Rhode Island, but I’d love to spend a night outdoors where you can actually see more than the Big Dipper and Orion.

7.  Paris.  I have to visit The Louvre.

8.  Rome.  The Vatican, The Coliseum, etc. 

9.  The Bahamas.  Specifically, a place called Atlantis.  Every time I see the commercial, I drool a little bit.

10.  The Dominican Republic.  I’ve had the good fortune to meet several people from the DR and they’re all among the nicest people I know, which makes me think it would be a nice place to visit.

So that’s my list, off the top of my head.  How about you?  Is there any place you’re dying (or planning) to go?  Have you been to some on my list?  If so, what did you think of them?  Comments are always welcome.

In the hope of getting some honest feedback, today’s post is the first chapter of a work-in-progress called “The Cabin in the Woods”.  I’d like to know if you find it interesting, if you find it interesting enough to keep reading, and, if not, why not?  Presently, this is the lead story in my upcoming short story collection, “THE CABIN IN THE WOODS and Other Tales”.  Thanks in advance and happy reading.  And away we go…

Excerpt from “The Cabin in the Woods” ©2013 Rick Marchetti

 “So what are you going to do?” Lauren asked.  Ray didn’t answer right away.  Instead he looked out the window where their twins, Sean and Liam, we’re playing in the falling snow.  It had been snowing lightly for three straight days but, so far, the plows had been able to stay ahead of it. 

“It’s still snowing,” Ray said, trying to avoid the conversation Lauren was determined to have.

“Well?” she asked.

Ray sighed, then shrugged.  “I don’t know,” he said, turning to face her.

“It’s what you need to do, honey,” she said.  “You need to get away.”

Ray looked unconvinced.  “I don’t know,” he repeated, then shrugged again.  “Maybe it’s over.  Maybe I just have to accept it.”

Lauren slumped.  They had had this discussion what seemed to her to be a million times over the past year.  Ray was a successful author with an enviable string of bestsellers to his credit.  Writing had always come easy to him but, mysteriously, a year ago, he had suddenly been unable to do it.  He had spent a solid three months keeping to his usual work schedule, but hadn’t produced much more than a grocery list.

For the next few months after that, he had lamented his writer’s block, but since then he seemed to have given up entirely and accepted the situation, although not happily or with any particular grace.  Lord knows they didn’t need the money; his previous books had raked in millions.  And the movie versions of the books had put him on several ‘wealthiest people’ lists. But, there were two Rays; the happy, fun-loving Ray who wrote prolifically, but still managed to find ample time to play with their boys, take the family on grand vacations, and be a thoughtful and very attentive husband, and the miserable, depressed one who was the polar opposite, none of those other things. 

For her money, Lauren had had enough of the latter.  In all honesty, she didn’t care about the writing itself, she just couldn’t stand what her husband of eighteen years became when he wasn’t doing it.  Not for her sake, but for his.  And the boys’.  Once he stopped writing, Ray had turned inward and become distant to the point where he seldom spoke unless asked a direct question and, even then, the odds were fifty-fifty he wouldn’t answer.  Those times he would merely shrug and go back to what seemed to be his new favorite pastime; staring out the window of their big house on Providence’s East Side, looking at the city’s skyline as if, this time, something was going to be different about it.  She had tried to do everything she could think of to pull him out of his funk, but without writing he couldn’t see any reason to exist.  It was what defined him, what anchored him and, without it, he felt adrift, disconnected.  Lately, he had begun to drink; not enough to be a concern yet, but more than he ever had before.

Without letting him know she was doing it, Lauren had done some online research, looking for a cabin in northern New England where they could go spend a couple of weeks.  Maybe the change of scenery would recharge his batteries, she hoped.  The more she thought about it, though, she came to the conclusion that she and the kids would just be a distraction to him and it would be better if he went without them.  She found a couple of places that seemed like possibilities, made some phone calls, and finally picked a place outside of Dexter’s Corner in western New Hampshire.  The owner of the cabin, Mr. Deacon, sounded like he had been born when Lincoln was running the show and he didn’t accept credit cards, so Lauren had sent him a check for eighteen-hundred dollars to cover a month’s rent without telling Ray.  She reasoned that, with the place already paid for, he would have one less excuse not to go.  Still, she knew it was going to be a tough sell.

As she expected, Ray rejected her plan out of hand but, over the past several weeks, she had been wearing him down.  As much as he claimed to believe his career as an author was over, she was certain he yearned to get back in the saddle.  Lauren appealed to this side of him.

“Write some short stories instead of a novel, or some poetry.  A newsletter for this year’s Christmas card; anything, just to get your writer muscles working again,” she had urged.  He had responded with a shake of the head, but she saw something on his face that made her think she might have finally hit a nerve, so she had pushed on.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a bestseller,” she insisted.  “It doesn’t even matter if you publish it.  Just write anything.  It’s not like we need the money, but you do need to write.”  Little by little, she had been able to overcome his objections and his refusals became less adamant.  Now, today, she knew it was time to finally force the issue.  And she wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.

“You might as well go, honey,” she said finally.  “I already paid for a place.”

Ray looked at her, clearly taken aback.  “What?  What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Just what I said.  You need to write.  It’s like breathing to you.  If you don’t do it, you’re going to die.”

He snorted laughter.  “I’m not going to die,” he said, shaking his head.  “You’re being just a tad melodramatic, don’t you think?  And the Oscar for best actress goes to Lauren Trammel for her portrayal of the long-suffering wife in…”

“Oh, shut up,” Lauren said, then laughed.  Outside, Sean had just plunked Liam in the eye with a snowball and Liam had responded by wrestling his brother to the ground.  Now they were throwing punches.  Ray stood up quickly.

“I have to go out and break that up,” he said.

“Sit down!” Lauren ordered.  She stood up and walked to the window.  She rapped on it sharply and the boys both looked up.  All she did was glare at them and they separated, looking sheepish, their faces pink from the cold.  She turned away from them and walked over to where her husband was sitting, stood in front of him, and took his hands.

“Look, this is for your own good.  And ours.”

“What do you…” he began.

“You’re not you,” she interrupted, but gently.  “I want the old Ray back.”  He opened his mouth to protest and she shook her head.  “And so do the boys.  It’s settled.”

Ray who had sat up when he planned to argue, settled against the back of the chair.  “Fine,” he said, sounding defeated.  “When am I supposed to do this?”

“I booked it for a month, starting tomorrow,” Lauren said.

His mouth dropped open.  “A month?  Tomorrow?”  Where is this place, anyway?”

“Dexter’s Corner, New Hampshire.”

“Never heard of it,” he grumbled.  “Probably out in the sticks, right?”

“Yep,” she answered proudly.  “Limited distractions.  Exactly what you need.”

He started to protest and Lauren held up her hand, smiling.  “Talk to the hand, pal, ‘cause the ears ain’t listening.”  Then her smile faded.  “Seriously, honey, we’re done talking about it.  You’re going and that’s final.”

They stared at each other for perhaps thirty seconds, then Ray dropped his eyes.  He turned and trudged up the stairs.  “I guess I’ll go pack,” he said, sounding like a petulant child.

At dinner that night, Lauren told the boys what was going on.  “Daddy needs to start writing again, so he’s going away for a little while.”

The kids exchanged a glance, then turned their attention back to the meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans on their plates.  Ray remained silent.

“We’ll be fine, and he’s not going too far,” she went on.  “Maybe we’ll go up for a weekend and visit him.  Would you like that?”  The boys continued to push the food around on their plates.

Lauren tried to catch Ray’s eye to urge him wordlessly to step up to the plate and say something, but he wouldn’t look at her.

“Are you guys okay with that?” she asked finally.

“Will you be happy again when you come back?”  Liam –the older boy- asked suddenly.  Ray looked up, shocked, and blinked back the tears that had suddenly and unexpectedly sprung up.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, sounding angry even though he wasn’t.

“Nothing,” Liam mumbled, looking back down at his plate.

“Ray!” Lauren snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Ray said, “I’m not mad, just surprised, that’s all.  What do you mean, Li?”

“Nothing,” the boy insisted.

“It’s okay, honey,” Lauren soothed.  “You can tell your dad.”

The boys exchanged another glance, then Liam, without looking up, said, “You’re sad all the time.  We want you to be happy again.”

Ray slumped in his chair.  “I’m a little sad when I don’t write, but it’s got nothing to do with you guys at all.  Or mommy.  You make me happy.”

“But you’re not,” Liam said, on the verge of tears.

“When I get back, everything will be back to normal, okay?  I promise.”

Both boys slid off their seats and rushed to Ray’s side, hugging him tightly.  He looked over their heads at Lauren and saw tears in her eyes.  He felt them sliding down his cheeks, too, and kissed the tops of his sons’ heads.  “Everything’s going to be just the way it was before.”

The boys had finished their baths and been tucked into bed.  Lauren was lying with her head on Ray’s shoulder and his arm was around her.  They had just finished making love; one for the road, he had called it.  He was just about asleep when something occurred to him.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Mmmm?” came Lauren’s response.  She, too, was close to sleep.

“When you asked me what I was going to do tonight, it really didn’t matter what I said, did it?  I mean, you had already paid for the place.”

“You think too much,” Lauren murmured.  Then she snuggled tighter and sighed and the conversation was over.

And finally, no February 14 post would be complete without mentioning Valentine’s Day.  Done.

A few years ago, I was fortunate enough to be accepted into a union training program in Leadership which was held at the National Labor College in Silver Spring, MD.  The training was broken into three one-week segments, each about two months after the previous one.  There were thirty of us in my class, from branches all over the country.  During the first week-long segment, we were coaxed out of our comfort zones by a group of instructors who proved to be very adept at getting the best out of us.  At one point, we had to give a demonstration of something -I chose cooking- to a group of five other students and one instructor.  I’ve never been a fan of public speaking, but I got through it.

As I remember it, toward the end of that first week, when we were all feeling pretty good about ourselves, we were told that, during Week Two, we would be expected to give three speeches, all on the same day; one to another group of five plus an instructor, one to the entire class and all the instructors, and one at a dinner attended by all the national officers of the union, including the president.  I’m sure I wasn’t alone in dreading Week Two long before it arrived.

The weeks of training ran from Sunday through Friday and the speeches were to be given on Thursday.  I don’t remember much about that week, to be honest, because I was in a blind panic from Sunday on.  I spent the whole focused like a laser on ‘speech day’.  The building where we would speak at the dinner was open one night, so a friend and I walked in and looked around.  I got up on the stage and looked out over the empty tables and chairs and wondered just how, exactly, I was going to survive this.

 I wrote and gave three speeches of varying lengths; I have absolutely no recollection of the first one with the small audience.  The second one, for the whole class, was about what the union meant to me.  I compared it to a family -albeit a dysfunctional one at times (big laugh) - and related a story of an incident in which the manager and supervisor took me in to the office for a (not so) friendly chat.  I was entitled to representation, but management didn’t an end run around this requirement by sneaking me off the workroom floor.  My shop steward, however, saw what was happening and rushed to the office just as the supervisor was closing the door, demanding to be let in.  In a scene worthy of a sitcom, the steward was trying to push the door open while the supervisor struggled to hold it closed.  Luckily for me, the steward was stronger than the boss.  It sounds ridiculous, but that’s what happened.  I told the class how it felt like my big brother was coming to rescue me from a bully.  When I finished, I was astounded by the applause and high fives I received while I walked back to my seat.  I was told later that one of the instructors actually got a little teary eyed.

There had been a rumor circulating that, just before we gave our evening speeches, we’d be handed a new topic and we’d have to ‘wing it’.  In fact, as I was sitting at my table before dinner was served, going over my notes, the president walked by and asked me what I was doing.  I told him and he replied, “Don’t bother; you’re not going to be doing that speech anyway.”  Luckily, we had been told earlier in the day that we were, in fact, giving the speeches we had worked on so I didn’t pass out.  I was still very nervous, but after my afternoon success, I was feeling a little better about things.

Once the speeches started, the person who had volunteered to go first gave her speech, and then was told to pick the next speaker.  I think I wound up being twenty-first and the wait was agonizing but, when my turn came, I walked up to the dais and turned to face a crowd of, perhaps, forty people.  I started off with a very serious-sounding comment which I turned into a joke and I was off to the races.  I went for humor and it worked like a charm.  Suddenly I found myself reveling in the laughter and applause; for the first time in my life I welcomed the limelight.  It was a feeling of power and I loved it.  And, bottom line, I nailed it.  I don’t want to brag because there were a ton of great speeches that night, but I heard from several classmates and officers that mine was their favorite.

Is there something you’re uncomfortable with, or even afraid of?  Between Weeks One and Two I seriously considered dropping out of the class because I was so afraid of public speaking.  But, I stuck it out and the results couldn’t have been better.  If I can overcome a fear like that, anybody can.  Don’t let fear keep you from accomplishing what you’d like to accomplish. 

In my case, I won’t be petting any spiders in the near future, but if I have to speak in public, I know I can do it.