My best friend John and I had been sitting on my deck for the last 5 hours drinking and staring out at the forest that surrounded my property. Why we drank may become evident during this story, but please don’t chastise yourself if it doesn’t. You have to know us to love us, as someone other than Shakespeare reportedly said.

We had begun the morning around 7 when the two of us had woken up. John had spent the night at my place because he was in no condition to drive and his wife who had offered to drive, couldn’t get him into the car. I tried as did my wife. He was so full of alcohol that as we tried to lift him, I could actually hear the liquor slosh in his stomach and as soon as we had him in the car he slid out onto the ground.

Jessica drank a lot. However, if you were to ask why, she would correct you.

“No, I do not!” she would spit out at you if you dared to point out that drinking one or two bottles of wine a night was a lot. “If you look at all the literature and especially religious literature, it’s nearly on every single page. They drank, she drank, he drank, there it is, go look for it. So, all I’m doing is carrying on that tradition.”
“But Jessica,” I pleaded with her on our second date. I was trying desperately to go on another date with her, but when the waitress brought over the second bottle I found it quite difficult. Even the waitress had to bite her tongue when she came out with the second bottle of cabernet.

I will never forget the first time I met Cynthia. It was at the annual dinner dance held by the company I worked for. It was a way for those who owned the business to say that they did something nice at least once a year for the employees, while the employees on the other hand felt it was the only night of the year, where they could get plastered, eat too much, puke their guts up on the marble floors of a high class restaurant where the function was held, and never lose their job. Every other night of the year they had to behave themselves.

Janet is one of those women they write books about.

Growing up in a family of high achievers, she had no alternative but to become a high achiever herself. She really didn’t want to be one, but there was really no viable alternative. Her brothers left home when they were barely in their teens. John left home at 12 to find himself and hasn’t been heard from since. While Richard never did want to find himself, he was very confident as to who he was. But because John left at 12, he knew he had no alternative but to leave as soon as he was 13. The only problem was that he had no place to live and so ended up in the French Foreign Legion, where he did extremely well. Janet’s last brother, Gordon, when he turned 11 brought his family together one cold winter’s evening while a roaring fire was threatening to burn down the house and told his parents and Janet who was still living at home, that he wanted to be a fireman when he grew up.

Mildred Ulrich, Midget’s grandmother, was considered one of the wisest people to ever live. Not only did she knit body armour for her grandson when he became the executive chef of Viking Horde number 12, but she was also known for her prognostications. And thus she acquired the nick name the ‘Oracle of Lapland.’

Even before Midget joined the Viking horde on their very first mission to India, each chieftain of a horde sought an audience with her where they would pose basically the same questions.

“Oh Oracle of Lapland,” they would begin bowing low, throwing money into her tin, which was an old cigarette can that had washed up on the shore of Swedonia, before it was renamed Sweden because the Swedish kept forgetting the name of their country, while Mildred sat crossed legged outside her cave in the scared mountain of Or, depending upon the weather. They would continue with their request once she had counted the money and determined it was enough to pay her rent or groceries for the upcoming week. “Oh Oracle of Lapland. I and my horde will be sailing tomorrow at dawn for who knows where, and before we leave I need to know whether or not I’m going to come back alive and whether where I’m going is a fool’s errand.”

Midget Ulrich, all 6 feet 11 inches of him, a man of someone’s dreams though I have yet to meet someone who believes that, had numerous fetishes. This isn’t something that should come as a surprise to any reader or those who line up outside the kitchen tent for one of the meals he has cooked on one of the Viking hordes’ numerous battles. Needless to say, his fellow compatriots, the ones who take him along on their conquests, don’t care what idiosyncrasies he has, as long as he keeps turning out dishes like pelican stew on high holy days or sweet potato pancakes laced with maple syrup, which they had just been introduced to in Columbusland, or Caviar from Russia.

“Dammit! Where’s Misty?”

“No idea, your Excellency. The last time I saw him he was going to the bathroom behind that bush,” replied Rudy pointing to a bush in the distance that appeared to be on fire.

“I hope not,” said Moshe King of the Vikings, “because it’s on fire.”

“Oh no, your Excellency. It’s not on fire. It just appears to be because of the way the sun’s rays are dancing on it.”

Moshe looked at Rudy and shook his head. “I damn well know the difference between a burning bush and a bush that appears to be burning, and that bush over there is burning. So please don’t question me. Go over there and see if Misty is behind it.”

n every Viking horde there is always one person whose sole job it is to cook and wash up after every meal. The method employed in selecting the appropriate candidate is not only long and arduous, but also very specific. For instance, in the horde we are following, Midget Ulrich is the man tasked with planning and executing the meals.

Vikings, when they are at home in their forts only require to be fed twice a day. However, when they are on the war path which is most of the time, especially when they are low on funds and have bills to pay, they require to be fed 6 times a day. The worst week for them is the second week of every month when bills such as their mortgages on their huts come due, and the leader of the pack has on his castle. Some have found that the banks who hold their mortgage notes, don’t particularly like to be strung out and even though they charge a great deal of extra interest whenever they are late, they can be pretty vicious by foreclosing on their huts. Even the fiercest Viking is dead scared of their mortgage banker.

There was a noticeable gasp and everyone turned their attention towards me, as I sat in the back of a large ornate conference room of a law firm we had all been summoned to. I shrugged my shoulders feeling embarrassed. I didn’t know what was expected of me. Should I stand up and say hooray I won or just hope the floor would open and swallow me.

The attorney who had summoned us sat at the head of a long mahogany conference table facing my entire family. As there were only enough chairs to accommodate 99.999% of my family, and as I was deemed to be the least influential and most likely not to succeed in life, I was relegated to a broken chair brought into the room by a janitor who had showered or bathed sometime in the last century. I could tell because where he had grabbed the chair, there were distinct marks, brown marks left by his dirty hands. And I was supposed to sit on that.

I stood in front of the door. I read the sign above it for the third time. Sam’s Computer Repair Shop. It just didn’t look like any computer service store I’d ever been to. The plate glass windows on either side of the door were blacked out. I hesitated to open the door. I wasn’t afraid of what I might in there. It was just that I had a peculiar feeling. I couldn’t put it into words though. Maybe it was just that whenever I have wanted to get my computer fixed or updated or something I couldn’t handle technologically, I went to a place called Alphatech Computer Sales and Service, and guess what, it looked like a computer repair shop. This place didn’t. When I peered through the glass door it seemed dark inside and even though it’s located on a busy main street, it looked as if it should be in a back alley in a not so nice part of town. But this was where I was told to go by a friend who swore by the place.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” shouted Rosa as she flew from bedroom to bedroom waking up everyone. And as the occupants groaned Rosa pulled the curtains aside. She then flew into the living room and opened those curtains as well because the occupant of that room, Elizabeth, was asleep on the couch. She groaned the most and tried though unsuccessfully, to pull the quilt back over herself. “Wake up! Wake up!” Rosa continued to shout and Elizabeth who had fallen asleep on the couch after drinking too much the prior evening, had been allowed to stay the night, instead of having an overly eager Jeremy walk her home. They didn’t trust Jeremy to take Elizabeth home without a detour down by the beach and the water’s edge. Jeremy was crestfallen when he was booted out of the house, even though he had unsuccessfully tried to plead his case.

“Whose idea was this anyway?” asked a shivering Julia.

“Rosa’s!” shouted everyone except of course, Rosa. The Blau family stood on a snow covered Atlantic City boardwalk.

“Yes Rosa, why did you make us come here in the middle of January?” Timmy being the skinniest of the lot tried to hide behind his father, the most corpulent of the lot, but failed miserably. Elizabeth, who had agreed to tag along in the hope of teaching Rosa a lesson about photographs of snow and actually being in the middle of the snow, watched Jeremy begin to move sideways closer to her.

“I can keep you warm,” he whispered to Elizabeth who lashed out with her wing sending him flying through the snow and ending up on the beach. “This is just like home!” he replied grinning from ear to ear. “You need to do that more often.” He looked at a fuming and shivering Elizabeth.

“What’s that doing on the table?” asked Sybil, her voice climbing as she pointed to a round glass container.

“What’s what doing on the table?” replied George pretending not to notice the small glass container in the centre of the table.

“That!” Sybil emphasised pointing even more determinedly with her wing.

“Oh, that,” replied George hoping he could come up with an answer which would placate his wife. However, after scanning all his brain cells and finding he couldn’t, he defaulted to the truth. “Ha,” he began, “you have to ask Rosa, she put it there.”

“Why would Rosa put that there?” she asked this time hoping George would finally tire of going around in circles and illuminate her.

“It’s cream cheese,” he replied looking quickly around the room for his youngest daughter, but she wasn’t there.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” shouted both Julia for whom that was unusual and Rosa for whom that was standard, as they ran through the front door of their nest, bypassing George’s open wings and throwing their school bags in the direction of the far wall closest to the kitchen, where Sybil stood to avoid any collateral damage from Rosa flying into her father’s arms. But on that day, it was different.

Both Julia and Rosa came in together, though they finished school at different times, thus completely changing the order of business. George felt dejected. He lowered his wings and turned to follow his daughters’ progress into the nest. He wasn’t yet caught up in their exuberance. “Guess what?” shouted Rosa who was the least out of breath and began the conversation with her trademark question.

Elizabeth May Hicks was born into a financially comfortable Jewish family in Cirencester, Gloucestershire, in England, 10 years after the beginning of the last century.

Her father made his money by buying and selling cloth throughout the country. He travelled a great deal leaving his wife, Janet, at home to take care of their four children, 3 boys and Elizabeth being the only girl. Needless to say, Elizabeth grew up as a tomboy, but that was until she met a boy much to her liking, but not to her parents because he wasn’t Jewish. It was when she bumped into Rupert at her school as a teenager that she began to wear her hair longer and to the amusement of her parents, discovered what it was to wear a dress.

“What should we feed them?”

“Matzo ball soup!”

“Pastrami on rye with mustard!”

“Spaghetti and meatballs!”

The suggestions stopped immediately, “spaghetti and meatballs?” Everyone except Rosa asked in unison as they looked at her as if she had two heads.

“Why would you make that suggestion?” asked Sybil, “it’s not the slightest bit Jewish.”

And soon Virginia was fast asleep.

Bruce wasn’t quite sure what to do. On one hand he enjoyed Virginia laying on his chest fast asleep and yet on the other hand, he knew he couldn’t take her back. Her leaving and returning three times had taken a great toll on Bruce, not just mentally, but also physically. Each time she left he fell a little deeper into depression. His work suffered. The people in his business noticed the change in his mannerisms. He didn’t like the way he felt. He didn’t like the way he looked. That was being felt across his entire office. Bruce was known as a sharp dresser. He always wore the most expensive clothing. His ties were of the best fabrics and the knots were perfect, but now it seemed as if that pride had disappeared.

It was another beautiful early morning in Shangri-La. Rosa was outside this time on the deck sitting on her father’s lounge chair, looking out over the Atlantic Ocean desperately wondering why she couldn’t see Africa.

The sun was out and even though it was just above the horizon, its warmth could be felt and the cloudless sky bode well for the upcoming day. As usual, Rosa’s aunt Elizabeth, was out on the sand stretching her wings as far as they would go with her legs folded beneath her body in a most awkward manner.

The sliding door opened but Rosa didn’t look up to see who it was, she knew it was her mother.

Bruce took a deep breath. He knew it was now or never. He had to begin the conversation which would eventually lead to a different outcome from the past. As difficult as it would be, and he knew that in his heart of hearts he didn’t really want to do it, but he knew he had to. Virginia’s hands were still resting on his. She apparently hadn’t either noticed the difference in or ignored the difference but in the past he would have pulled her closer or held her hands tighter, but he hadn’t this time.

He squeezed his eyes closed. Virginia was still looking at him sadly. He pulled his hands away from hers, though she kept hers exactly where they were. “You can stay here tonight, but unfortunately….

“I know,” she interrupted him sadly, “you don’t need to say anything more. I know I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Every morning when Rosa awoke, she looked out of her bedroom window and saw a lonely figure sitting cross legged with her wings outstretched, gazing towards the rising sun, and knew all was well in the world.

Rosa smiled as she sat there in her pink pyjamas with little kittens all over it, a late Chanukah gift from Melody, who at that moment was stretched out under the nest still fast asleep. She watched her aunt, who she didn’t care much for, doing her hatha yoga stretches before flying off to her law office to spend the rest of the day threatening to sue companies who don’t comply with her warped reading of the world.

“You should join me some time,” Elizabeth said while she sat alone outside her nest after work making sure Jeremey didn’t come by. Rosa scrunched up her beak and rolled her eyes at her aunt’s suggestion.

“I don’t want to be a pretzel,” she replied not stopping but continuing her walk home in the company of her bodyguard, Melody. Elizabeth didn’t push the subject. She was always afraid that she may one day overstep her bounds and Rosa would send Melody after her and that would be the end of the slip and fall attorney. Rosa though never had any such thought and Melody she knew, even though she didn’t care for Elizabeth, would not comply feeling that the order wouldn’t be lawful or necessary, something she had overheard the Marines at Camp Lejeune discuss while walking on the beach with their little Marines in tow.