Diary of an Unborn Child

Entry #1
     After what seemed an eternity, it had been decided. My time to be born was coming soon. This decision was not taken lightly; it required the gathering of information, vast planning, and what you call, years of observation.
     Everyone thinks spirits are on some distant cloud, or surreal kingdom with wings and harps just sitting around waiting for something, or someone to tell them something. This is definitely not true. Oh if those who have bodies could just look a little closer they would see, we the unborn are watching you, waiting, learning, and trying to positively influencing those we love.
     Yes we have emotions, always have and always will I suppose. I don’t remember ever not feeling, not earning for more, not just being. Yes we have feelings. My favorite feeling is what those who have gone ahead call love. You see it in the eyes of children as they look to their parents and conversely you see it in the eyes of parents as they watch their little ones experience life. You see it in the eyes and hear it in the words and hearts of parents, as they make love hoping for a child of their own. It must be wonderful to experience love.
     After all this time the plan had been made, my parents chosen, and an expected time for my birth, my moment of breathing fresh air and experiencing life. Oh there is so much I want to know, to discover, and to share. I have been told my gifts will be great and difficult, nonetheless, as I develop them and share them with others we all will grow in experience and intelligence.
Entry #2
     The picking or assigning of parents and children is a process that takes time. As each individual is schooled on what to expect, how to act, things to search for and things to avoid, it becomes evident that we all have differing desires and tastes. Some want great trials and great rewards; others desire no trials yet great rewards. I believe most of us simple want a good time in this new consciousness, filled with whatever experiences we have. As we are told it is those experiences that help us progress and become more, at least more than I understand now.
     The parents, of my parents, traveled from various parts of the world to find each other, mine would too.  Funny how they somehow know when they finally meet that special someone, someone to be happy with, someone to share experiences with, someone with whom to have children. Most of this is discussed and alignments made with promises of undying devotion long before each is born certainly long before children are assigned. Few remember these moments, but all know in their hearts when it happens.
    My Mother to be is a beautiful woman with perfect hair and skin. She looks like the ladies others call movie stars, but I don’t know what that means. Her Mother is from a small country with lots of people, many do not have enough to eat, or homes to sleep in. Some don’t live very long and return quickly.
    My Father is strong and smart and loves to read and teach others about life and those who came before him. He is from a nice place with enough to eat, and will meet my Mother in a class he is teaching. They will fall in love just by looking into each other’s eyes.
     I know I will have the best parents anyone will ever have!
Entry #3
     Today is the day! Mother signed up for the class. She works so hard for the little things she has, still she is generous to a fault. Her roommates take advantage of her benevolence sometimes, and she knows it, but in this place she has so much more than her parents ever dreamed of having, she doesn’t mind the supposed deception.
     Father is in his office grading papers and looking over the notes for his lecture today. He is older than Mother and more set in his ways, firm to his convictions, however I know when I am in his arms he will smile and the tough guy outside will soften.
   It is wonderful, the young beauty finding a seat in class, just right of center on the second row. The wiser man enters and begins the usual first day lecture, rehearsing the words he had said so many times, not even looking at the students. He hands papers to the first student and asks him to pass them on. Each student takes a few as the shrinking pile makes is way across the first row, then to the second.
   As the pile reached Mother she was preoccupied, taking notes as fervently as she could, just like she did before she left this place. The student to her left held the papers out for Mother to take, she didn’t notice them, so he placed them on the empty desk between them. Mother, not yet accustomed to the damper climate, sneezed and sent the papers flying.
     Father turned to see who was disturbing his class preparing to sternly reprimand the student, and saw her for the first time. Her beauty overtook him and he softened. There it was, the love in both their eyes.
Entry #4
     The dating was fast and intense. Passion such as theirs, few in any history had known.  The forethought plan was coming true and even greater than I imagined it could be. Arrangements were quickly made and by the school’s winter break a wedding was held. She worn a crown of Asteracea, and held a bouquet of Camellia, both beautiful white flowers showing her virtue, he wore a white afternoon tuxedo with a satin bowtie. Now I may be biased in my view as these two individuals are going to be my parents. Nonetheless it was the most wonderful event I had ever witnessed.
     On their wedding night I stood outside of their window waiting, knowing at some point my body would begin to grow, that very night, it did.
Entry #5
     The excitement of watching as one cell multiples over and over again, knowing that this is your body, your home on this plane for as long as it can carry you is beyond description. After only a few days I could see my head, the beginnings of limbs and eyes. Why I have the makings of a rather handsome individual if I may say so.
     Most people think an embryo moves due to nerves being made, or chemical changes in the new body. I can tell you it is me trying it on for size. Not really size, because my spirit is already adult size.  It is like building a new home, one tends to visit it every step of the way, to walk around in it to personally see how the construction is going, to make any necessary changes along the way. I was there as often as I could. In fact Mother would complain about all the dancing and stretching. For me it felt really good to have a new home with parents that love me.
     My new life was becoming a reality, my new body growing a little different than I expected, but still I would soon be experiencing life. Then a routine doctor visit began an unusual path.

Entry #6
     Long ago parents would make lists of names and buy clothes for both male and female babies, not being sure what they were having but being prepared for anything. Now with all the technology parents want to know whether their baby is male or female, how tall they will be, are they perfect. My parents are the same.
     I was happy for them to know my sex, and running all the tests Doctors do now, they found out. Then they ran more and more tests, checking blood and fluid levels. That was when they also found out I was not going to be the perfect baby.
     To me the situation was not that bad. The Doctor used some big words to tell my parents I would be different. Is what he meant was my body had not grown like it was supposed to, my body was growing in unusual ways, meaning less than perfect. My head would be a little bigger than the correct proportions, my arms bent differently due to not having enough room, and my legs stopped growing long ago. However my intelligence was high and my ability to love was off the charts. They just couldn’t measure that yet.
     The Doctor spoke of what life would be like with me as their new baby, the struggles, challenges, and hard times. Nevertheless that is what life is about, having the experiences we need to grow and learn from, to move on. That is why I was coming to them, had they forgotten our plan.
Entry #7
  The pleasant loving talk about their baby had been replaced with escalating arguments that eventually became name calling, slamming doors, and tearful nights. I had heard about these emotions but they are much worse, than you can imagine, ... especially when they are about you.
    It took longer for me to understand where all this was going, yet soon one realizes, the plan can be altered.    
Entry #8
    Last night was calm; I spent most of it resting in my new body feeling my Mother’s warmth surround me, her blood feeding mine, our union together. Father slept in the other room; I don’t think he slept well, as he would stand in the doorway just watching us.
     As morning came there was little conversation about anything, they had stopped talking about me several days ago. I knew today was important, I just didn’t understand what was about to happen. Mother and Father even rode in silence as we drove down the interstate, usually they sang along with the radio, talked politics, or about the future.
     The Doctor was in a new place with lots of lights and sterile looking clothes hanging from everyone. I had never been in this room, it is quiet and for some reason it felt sad, I would soon find out.
    Mother went to sleep, this time it was different. Not like she would at night after studying, watching TV, or talking to Father. This was deep, she could not move, but I felt her heart break. Then everything changed.
     Instrument where inside her, poking me, cutting at my home. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” I screamed.  This is not how it’s supposed to happen.
     But no one listened.
     No one heard me.
     Suddenly my connection with my Mother was gone.
     The lights were bright on my skin: I tried to move, to breathe, to survive! The only sound I could comprehend was my own heart beating to keep me alive! Even it slowed and faded away. The lights slowly faded away.
    My friends will try to explain things to me, to make me feel better. I won’t understand, I won’t feel better, we had a plan, and they were supposed to love me!
     I still love them.... what do I do now?
The End

Working With

Working with ……

Recently I have been given to considering the work environment and how individuals react to each other. As anyone who works in a situation of more than a few individuals can attest to egos, posturing, and who’s to blame are all prevalent in such work environments. I believe it is basic human nature to have faith in one’s self, to try and stay out of trouble, and at the same time call attention to our actions for praise and future considerations for promotions.

The new hires or, those with less experience, always try to please and sometimes have difficulty speaking up about their feelings. Nonetheless it is these same individuals who do not look to experience as a fountain of knowledge. I have found it is the quiet ones who do their work on time, completely, and ahead of schedule, who should be watched. For these individuals usually have great work ethics and contribute to the workflow in a positive manner creating a better product with greater profitability and less stress for everyone involved.

Focus, consideration, and respect are ofttimes lost in the look at me and it’s not my fault attitudes. When the focus is on the individual, or recognition thereof, and not the workflow or product the team suffers. When the environment contains a lack of consideration for the ideas and suggestions of others, the project suffers. When there is a lack of respect for the knowledge, experience, or ideas of team members, the company suffers.

As one looks to strengthen the team, improve the product, and protect the company, all stakeholders benefit.

Billy Ray

Billy Ray
by
Bob Conder
9/23/2012

  Dorothy was always cold, even at night by the fire she would hold a blanket tight to her chin, feet tucked up with knees to her chest. Daddy said she needed to eat more, “to put some meat on those bones”. That's why summer was a much happier time. Summer brought warmth to those bones.

    Dorothy liked to play in the meadow with dolls and teapots. She held the most wonderful tea parties, and everyone would smile and comment how wonderful the cakes where, even if they were made of air and imagination. She never wanted her world to change. Nonetheless it did when Billy Ray moved to town.  

     Billy Ray was a kind soul, almost nice to a fault, slower than most kids his age. Daddy said he had a hard birth and didn’t know how to breathe or something. Dorothy didn’t mind, she was just happy to have someone to play with, the two where together most days, sometimes even into the night. It was nice to have a friend who liked dolls and tea parties in the meadow. But Billy Ray had a mean brother, Charles James.

     One day, about sunset, Dorothy and Billy Ray were having a wonderful party. All the very best people had attended and everything was delicious. Mrs. Wheaton and the Chauncey sisters were the best hostess ever imagined. That was the day Charles Ray came looking for Billy Ray.

     Later everyone would ask her what happened. She really didn't understand. Charles Ray had found them in the meadow and for the first time saw the dolls and the tea party. He didn’t want to play, he began screaming, and calling Billy Ray names. Charles James kicked the dolls and stomped on the teapots, breaking them into a thousand pieces. Dorothy ran away as fast as she could.

     Sometimes on a cold winter’s night, Dorothy was jealous of Billy Ray. He was warm in the ground now and no one could call him names, or hurt him anymore.

   

Lazy Day

9-2-12  

   Today was one of those days. It started weeks ago working on a new film project, which means long days on set, e-mails afterwards, meetings in the morning. One doesn’t really notice the effects due to lack of sleep and improper nutrition, until about the third weekend. This is were I am.

     I arrived home last night about 1:30 AM, took a few vitamins and a pain pill for my knees. After long days of standing they ofttimes keep me awake as I try to find the perfect position for the back, the knees, the pillows.

     In recent years I have taken to sleeping with a foam pillow under my head, one of those expensive ones my wife bought, and a flimsy pillow over my head. The second is positioned just right to cover my eyes from the bright clocks we have each positioned on the night stand within easy reach, and the sounds of the dogs snoring.

     Yet this morning I slept hard. The only reason to even move was the crying of my bladder threatening another explosion and our small poodle licking the salt off my arm. Love the dog, hate that habit. I arose took care of business, let the dog out, and went back to bed sniffing and coughing.

     Most film sets will have a cold , or the flu, or a sniffle, something that spreads across the crew looking for the tired, overworked, and susceptible ones. Last night I started sneezing and this morning confirmed, it was my turn.  I had caught the set cold.

     As I tried to make the most of a day off all my plans changed, no church, no visiting the kids in their new house, not even sleeping on the couch between football plays. I finally crawled downstairs and made a bologna sandwich, drank a Diet Coke and moved to the office to check e-mails. Nothing new but some junk mail, one reply to a book I ordered long ago that somehow never came. They said they would refund my money, which means, “We will keep your money until you purchase something else from us.” So I did, two books this time. Michael Vey part two, and a Nikki Heat book from the TV series Castle, which is suppose to be the fictional writer from the shows real novels. Both are easy reads but fun.

     After a few games of spider solitaire, my eyes were heavy and crawled back to lay down for a few minutes. Four hours later I arose as my lovely wife was getting ready to leave, the kids had not called off dinner due to my illness, I just was not now welcome. Back to the kitchen for a burger, then the couch for some TV. After eating a bag of bugles and flipping amidst games shows, old movies, and searching for football, I gave in and took a shower.

     As I finished the rinse cycle my wife arrived home and came to check on me. She laughed saying, “So your getting all cleaned up to go to bed?”
“Yes I am.” I replied, “I thought you would appreciate it.”
After a few more moments on the computer, I will go watch TV with her, eat a few sweet somethings, and go to bed, having never left the house, or putting on more than my pajamas.

"Dirty Mouth"

"Dirty Mouth"
By Bob Conder

The grass was our playground and could be any world we desired, however that afternoon in the sweltering heat, it was a battle field. Me and my forces, good men and women fighting against immeasurable odds waiting for the battle cries to ring out. I remember the look in their faces as they witnessed the hordes coming towards us, for not only the sheer numbers but also their physical size, all of them were a foot taller and not afraid of our meager army.

As a precaution we had stationed our troops behind large piles of dung, which would later be used to bring life to the valley, to add the needed nutrients bleach out from years of neglect. These mounds helped disguise our numbers and give a false sense of hope to those who would die this day.

As the sweat dripped from my sunburnt face and stung my eyes I did not flinch, I could not move, for to do so would give away our position. Then she appeared, the Evil Queen strolling into our valley head held high smug and arrogant.

I could wait no longer. I armed myself with the only weapon available, hard dried dung chips. As I rose preparing for the assault, my life as short as it had been did not flow before my eyes.  Today I would live and fight again.

The first chip hit her in the back, no injury just a quick twist to see where the attack came from. The second missed its target but infuriated the Queen. I had known her rage before, but this is my field and my people and we shall rid the world of Evil and the minions that follow her wishes.

As I laughed she retaliated, in rapid succession. The first  missed by a mile and hit nothing but, the relief was so great I began to laugh harder. She could be defeated! Then the second chip flew through the air, I know it was fast but I saw it in slow motion and there was nothing I could do.

My cheek flexed under the stress, the chip continued to rotate and spun into my mouth. To which I screamed running into the house crying and spitting.

My mother made me gargle with Listerine so much I threw up.

No punishment was given but I knew the Evil Queen would never do that again.

The Envelope

The Envelope
By
Bob Conder
1-25-12

It seemed winter was coming earlier this year. The leaves had already started to turn, and the sun's warmth somehow was less.

Holly had left the pot on too long as the whistle tooted with steam. But the hot tea would take the chill and calm her nerves. Sitting at the kitchen table, the one with the patchwork tablecloth her mother had made for her as a wedding present, she could see the long gravel drive which lead to the main highway. The highway lead to the town and onto the city. A place Holly had run from as a wayward youth.

Funny how whatever it was she was running from had never found her here on the farm, and more importantly, she couldn’t even remember what it was.

Donny, with his long golden locks and charismatic smile, had stolen her heart and placed her here, miles from frantic thoughts and people. A good secure home, a good place to be.
Somehow he must have known this would be good for both of them. A place removed from the hustle of the city, removed from meddling neighbors, removed from the mistakes of youth. With plenty of room to grow up and old together. 

Children had never come to the couple, but the good Lord knew they tried, and it was their desire to have a strong family. Donny wanted a boy to take hunting and fishing. Holly hoped for a girl or two so she could put ribbons in their hair and sew fancy dresses for the proms and dances that they would surely go to. After all, they would be the best-looking girls in three counties.

But now she sat, waiting, at the table, looking out the front window where she could watch the dust rise up as any car drove up the gravel lane. Waiting, that’s something Holly had become accustomed to. She waited to meet Donny, waited to find this farm, and waited by her mother as cancer ate her away. She waited for the first letter as Donny left for basic training and each and every letter after that. They brought comfort to her, and his letters are full of love and hope and dreams for the two of them.

Someone had called earlier and asked if they could stop by for a few moments. It sounded important, so she agreed, but when she hung up the phone, she suddenly felt worry and anxiety overcome her small frame. For not many people came by way out here to say hey.

And then, the dust began to rise from the highway as a big black car turned into the lane. It had a sign on the door, but the distance was too far to make it out. Holly stopped breathing, holding her breath still, for the five minutes it took the car to reach their home.

Two days earlier, Donny had come to her in a dream; oh he was handsome and dressed in his favorite plaid shirt. He didn’t say anything, just smiled, held her hand, and kissed her cheek, then he was gone. As she awoke, Holly thought she understood then what had happened.

When the doorbell rang, it pulled her lungs in, and she started to breathe again. She rose to her feet and slowly dragged herself to the door. Two men in uniforms stood before her; they asked to come in. The only words she remembered were, “sorry to inform you” and “serving his country.”  Then they handed her an envelope.

Life would be different now, that’s for certain. No more letters, no more talks about babies, no more Donny to take her away from her troubles. The one person who loved, understood, and protected her from herself and the world was gone.

The men left, and as the door closed, she felt weak in her knees for a moment. Holly sat down again at the table and wept.