Nathaniel's Blog "Gone West" August 20th, 201-

While scouring my art studio for clean paper I found one of my old journals which I thought I'd lost.  It's a fairly recent one with only a few entries in it.  I remember buying it just after I headed out to California to meet with some movie producers down in Los Angeles.  It had been many years since I'd last been down there so I bought some art supplies to do some preliminary sketches to be turned into paintings later on.  The journal had originally been intended so I could make some mental notes and impression, but it wound up being a travel diary after I made an unexpected stop in Monterey and wound up visiting my first aquarium...

*Note:   Yes I know it sounds weird but most places like this have daytime business hours.  I was lucky to catch this one with extended evening hours.  Furthermore, not everywhere I've gone has been close to the water.  A pity really because I really enjoy walking along the sea, or traveling on a ship. 

I need to do that some more.  Anyway, here goes...

Travel Journal, May 16th, 2009...

Well, everything is set.  The producers were happy and so am I.  Soon my bank account will be as well.  Negotiations for the rights to my first two novels are set and all is well.  I've come back north to stay with some old friends, the Cloudfoots.  As the name implies, they were of native American ancestry dating back to way before my time even.  

I met Jason Cloudfoot some years back over in Connecticut, when his niece disappeared around Christmas.  After helping find her, Jason and I became fast friends and I visited whenever I could.  Over the years he's told me some wonderful tales of Seneca lore, while I've shared many of my own personal stories and adventure with him. He's one of the most remarkable men I've ever met.  He's one of those rare people who figured out right away I wasn't all that I appeared to be... but that's a story for another time.

I got to know his children and helped keep an eye on them they were growing up and they too know all about me and what I am.  Now they have families of their own and have moved out this way and are currently living up near Santa Cruz.  When they heard I was going to be down in Los Angeles, they insisted I swing up north and come to stay with them for a few days.  

When I gave them a date they asked me to meet them here in Monterey, because they were taking their own children to the aquarium located here.  Apparently, this place keeps long hours and occasionally have sleep-overs for children who wish to spend the night surrounded by the mysterious beings from the depths.  

I agreed to meet them and I'm so glad I did.  I've never been to an aquarium like this before.  To me, an aquarium is a big twenty to thirty gallon tank in someone's living room, filled with gold-fish or whatever.  

I had no idea what a treat I was in for.  This place was magical.  I've practically filled my sketch pad with pencil drawings of creatures and settings I'd never dreamed existed.  Oh, I've seen photos in magazines, but to actually be here is another thing entirely.

For one thing, each exhibit room has it's own background sounds.  There's a jellyfish exhibit that is nice and dark (perfect for someone like me) with the most ethereal music playing in the back ground.  It was so soothing and relaxing I almost didn't want to leave that room.  The types of fish varied more widely than I ever suspected.  

Then there were the sea otters, playful furry beings who are so gosh-darned cute as well. They are also very large, much bigger than I originally expected.  Some are the size of a large dog, as in 60-70 pounds big.  Yet they were so graceful under the water.

There was a particularly interesting blue room with a circular ceiling.  Inside the ceiling was a series of glass windows all interconnected, with silver sardines racing about in one huge continuous circle.  It was both dizzying and breathtaking.  

I even got to see my first real live octopus.  My timing couldn't have been more perfect.  Like me, the creature is usually very shy during the daytime hours.  But tonight, he was more lively and I got to see him to great advantage.  I made several sketches of him for future use.

A part of me could have stayed in this wondrous place for days or weeks.  Alas, time was getting on and the children decided they wanted to be home instead of staying for the sleepover.  Too much excitement for them they said.  Personally I think they were a little intimidated by all that was around them and I couldn't blame them.  Everything here inspires both wonder and awe.  I could set up my easel and spend night after night painting these wonderful creatures.  This place is truly magical...

Alas, I haven't been back there since, duty has called me away to other places.  But I hope to get back there soon.  Jason is no longer with us, but his children know me (and what I am) yet always ask me to come and visit them again.  Which I will do shortly.  There are other sights and places I wish to visit, like the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk and a supposed "Concrete Boat".  Jason's son always laughs when he mentions it, perhaps it's the incredulous tone in my voice.  A concrete boat?  That is something I have to see for myself.  I'm planning on going to see them next month.  I'll write more about that adventure when I get there.

For now, I'm going to set up my easel and try and make up my mind which of my sketches to work from first.  I'll either do several pieces or use the various creatures to create one large painting.  We shall see, it's so hard to say.  They are all so beautiful and colorful.  My palette will get a hell of a workout over the next few weeks.

Nathaniel's Blog April 3rd, 201- "My Visit to Marye's Heights"

 

I visited Mary's Heights over in Virginia today.  It's something I try to do every year.  Partly to pay my respects to my Union brothers who fell that day, as well as to those from the Confederate side who took pity that night cold December night.  War can be hell, but it can also bring out a certain decency among men when the shooting stops even for just a little while.  I was there... sort of.  Or rather, I could see everything from where I landed up.  

Like so many others I was badly wounded, but out of anyone's reach.  However, the thing I passed through which led to my current condition, was still open.  I could see down onto the battlefield and witnessed all that transpired.  

Those wounded during battle, like myself, who could not drag themselves to safety had been left where they fell.  Still alive and crying piteously for water.  But no one dared go out into the open for fear of being shot.  There were hundreds of them

Night had fallen, the guns and the cannons had gone quiet.  But silence was nowhere to be found.  The screams and the cries for water from the wounded left on the battlefield still echo in my ears.  But what happened the next morning is etched into my memory like a treasure.

The legend of the Angel of Marye's Heights comes into question at times, but I saw what transpired.  Admittedly, I was drifting in and out of consciousness occasionally, but I was awake enough to see the Confederate soldier carefully climb over that stone wall and take those first tentative steps onto the battlefield where thousands of Union soldiers lay, many still alive.

The fellow was armed with dozens of water canteens, blankets and little else.  I remember silently praying that no one from my side would take a shot at him as he carefully made his way to the nearest Union soldier and gave him water and a blanket.  He made my brother soldier as comfortable as possible, before moving on to the next  man.  I didn't know the man in gray's name, but I wished like crazy to shake his hand and offer a word of thanks for what he was doing.  He went back for more water and blankets time and again.  I also prayed that by some miracle he'd look up and see where I was and could show me some of that compassion, but his eyes were fixed on those before him.  

Eventually, I passed out and when I awoke again all was quiet.  The battlefield was quiet, I vaguely recall crying out myself, hoping someone would hear and take pity on me, either with a bullet or medical aid.  Of course, no one heard and if they did my voice would've seemed to come out of thin air.  

Although I say 'no one' heard me, something else did and made me what I am now.  Eventually, I managed to fall back onto the battlefield, partly to escape a menace that still haunts my dreams.  It was night and I remember falling next to one of my fellow soldiers.  He'd been stripped of his wool uniform by some poorly dressed southerner who had been desperate to keep warm.  How do I know this?  Because of the person who mistook me lying next to my fallen comrade as a another dead body.  I saw into his mind as I sank my teeth into him and tasted blood for the first time.  

Miraculously, I did not kill him.  I was too taken aback by my own actions to finish the job.  The thirst was still with me though and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from indulging in the fluid pumping through his veins.  However, I managed to make myself let him go and slaked my thirst with the more stale blood of my fallen friends.  At least in their case, I did not have to see the terror I inspired as I took from them what my altered form demanded.

To this day, I prefer my blood to be in bags or from a willing volunteer who's mind will not hold terror or fear of me.  Instead I will see and feel the friendship that drives them to making the gesture.  I find their thoughts a great comfort on those occasions.

On this day, as I venture out onto the field where I fought I feel the pull from above and know the opening to the place I went is still there.   I do not sense presence from it though and allow myself a sigh of relief.  This is the other reason I keep coming back to this place.  I keep hoping to find the 'door' or whatever it was I passed through to be closed.  Perhaps it does and it's merely my presence that makes it open again. 

I make a sweep of the area anyway and find nothing amiss.  After a while I bend down and offer a prayer up to my fallen friends who lost their lives in this place all those years ago.  Then I stand up and head off to a particular memorial.  

It's a beautiful piece that helps renew my faith in man's ability to show compassion even in the heat of war.  There etched in the dark stone I see the name "Richard Rowland Kirkland" the man I saw bringing water and aid to my injured brethren in arms.  I quietly offer a quiet thank you to his memory and move on.  Although he never reached me to offer water or comfort, his actions that day did feed my soul with hope and a desire to be as good a man as I could be in spite of what I'd become, a vampyre with a human heart.

Nathaniel's Blog March 23rd, 201- "Me and My Easel"

Just got back from the museum.  Transcribed more letters onto the computer, while Brian tended to a new exhibit.  I'm pleased to say that the transcriptions are getting easier with time.  Occasionally, I find it more difficult and emotionally draining, but it mostly depends on the content of the letters and who wrote them.

Tonight I was mostly working on letters to friends while I was serving the in the 7th West Virginia Volunteer Infantry Regiment, more commonly known as 'The Bloody Seventh'.  We didn't start out with that moniker, it came later.  But for the first six months of our existence we were basically guarding the railroads from Confederate raiders.  These letters were from that period.

I enter the building where "The Crypt" is located.  But instead of going into the club itself which is located in the basement level, I head upstairs.  As I've indicated before, I bought the entire structure back during the Great Depression.  It's a four story affair that takes up a small block downtown.  I keep the place in good shape so no politicians can get any funny ideas about declaring the place 'run down' or an 'eyesore' that needs to be pulled down.

The ground floor is currently being renovated to become roller skating rink.  Yes, you read correctly.  A Roller Rink.  There's already some really good hardwood floors and open space down there. It won't be a huge affair, more like a couple of small rinks.  The smaller of the two will be for lessons or private parties, while the other will be more like a regular place.

I had thought about making one of them and Ice Skating Rink, but the refrigeration equipment would have to get run down into the basement area.  Plus there was the risk of any leaks dripping down into The Crypt itself. 

Anyhow, above what will become the roller rink are three floors.  The 2nd floor is comprised of mostly empty office spaces, while the 3rd floor contains empty small apartments.  Occasionally I'll rent a couple out, but not for very long.  I'm not keen on anyone living full time in the same building where I stay whenever I'm in town.  

Then there's the fourth floor, which is closed off to all unless I invite people up.  The entire floor is one gigantic open space that I use as my art studio.  Mostly the room is filled with canvases, oil paints, pastels and the like.  There's a big window that looks out into the sky that I love to work near, especially on nights when there's a full moon, like tonight.

I wander over to where my easel is and pull out one of the many canvasses I've been working on.  That's one of the tricky things with oil painting, you have let each layer dry before you continue.  So whenever I do settle in to work in here, I'll have several pieces under way and a lot of paint on my palette.

I tried my hand at painting after I 'came back'.  It was in the late 1890's, shortly after the death of my first wife Madeline.  We'd been traveling in Europe at the time she passed.  Feeling lost and alone I'd found myself wandering the streets at night.  One evening I'd run across a gallery where a local artist was giving a demonstration.  I wandered in and sat down to listen.

By the time he'd finished, I was eager to talk to him about doing a portrait of my dear Madeline.  Alas the  speaker refused, but another fellow who had attended the talk was only too happy to talk with me.  He was an older man, Professor Otto Hofstadter.  I often wonder what turns my existence would've taken had I not met him that night.  Much of man I have become I owe to him.

We spent many evenings talking and eventually Otto found an artist who was renowned for his portrait work.  I still treasure the portrait Mr. Sargent did of my Madeline, but I remember him more fondly for taking me under his wing.  I studied oil painting under his watchful eye for three years, but then I had to return to America to deal with issues regarding my Madeline's estate.  

But like any good pupil, I continued to learn more from other teachers, some of them recommended to me by my mentor.  I did not see him again until 1918 when we met in England.  He had just been hired by the British Ministry of Information to paint a series of images depicting the Great War (World War I for those not familiar with the original name of that conflict).  His depiction of the victims of 'mustard gas' I still find hauntingly realistic.

I like to think it was my time with Mr. Sargent that got me to try and learn new things.  Otto, being a professor, got me to take night classes and expand my education. But that's a story for another entry.  Right now it's time to get down to some painting.  Light is just right and I know what I want to work on. 

I turn to my unfinished paintings and pull out the one of Brian's daughter Lisa.  She's going to be turning sixteen in a couple of months.  And since I'm doing her portrait in oils, I really want to make sure its fully dried and finished in time.

We Interrupt Your Regular Blog Reading With A Word From The Author....

My sincerest apologies for not updating the untold chronicles of Nathaniel and company.  I've been very busy these last few weeks working on the 3rd and 4th drafts of my second book "The Ship" which is coming out in May during the Memorial Day Weekend.  Naturally, a lot has to be done between now and then to get that book in proper shape.  So it's taking up a lot of my time. 

That said, I want to reassure you Nathaniel, Marisa and many others will be posting here again soon.  In the meantime I thought I'd share a little of my inspirations and thoughts on Nathaniel's personality.  

I've been a long time fan of Doctor Who since the 1960's when I saw my first Dalek.  Naturally, I became fascinated with the series and the many incarnations of the Doctor and his companions.  But what really struck me sometimes was the concept of someone having such a long life.  While the Doctor is not immortal, he has been around for centuries and he's always kept himself busy.  Each incarnation makes reference to some famous person they'd met years ago such as Houdini, Einstein, HG Wells, and many others.  

In a lot of vampire fiction I've seen over the years, it seems many of the undead spent time staked or sleeping while the centuries passed them by and they awakened into a whole new period so different from the one they remembered.  For them there is the storyline of adapting and becoming familiar with how the world has changed, in addition to whatever mischief they were about to unleash on others.  

I didn't want that for Nathaniel.  I wanted him to be a man who has witnessed and been part of the changing times.  Like the Doctor, he loves seeing how humankind is moving forward, making new discoveries and even getting to be a part of it.  

However, there is still an old-world charm about him as well.  He still carries the lessons and values his parents instilled in him when he was growing up.  He'll use modern idioms and phrases, but there's still a lot of mannerisms that make one think he doesn't quite fully belong to this era.  I took some inspiration from Dark Shadows vampire Barnabas Collins, in this respect.  Barnabas was originally intended to be a villain who would be destroyed when the show ended in a few months time.  But his brooding nature, and tragic past, endeared him to viewers so much the show went on to last for several more years, with him becoming a dark guardian angel to his descendants and the town they lived in.  

Barnabas Collins was also one of the first good-guy vampires ever seen either in books or on television and has been a huge inspiration to those creating heroic undead.  However, he was also one of those vampires who was locked away and never fully fit in with the modern times.

I've been careful to make Nathaniel a mixed bag of old and new world.  If you were to meet him you'd find him funny, amusing, a bit dry in his sense of humor, but quite enjoyable to be around.  But he does have his moody side.  He's outlived a lot of people he loved and watched over.  But he doesn't get bogged down in the past, because there's always so many new things happening and new people to meet.  In this respect, he's a lot like the Doctor.  He remembers and respects the past, but knows he can only move forward with the times.  

He's also used his long life to keep busy.  Nathaniel is a man of many talents, because he's had the time to study and develop numerous skills.  He paints, has done stage work, plays several instruments, has worked various jobs and has gone to a number of colleges and holds several degrees including a doctorate and three masters.  I won't go into detail about what he's studied because that will come to light in the novel.  He chose his studies carefully and with a purpose.  

I really gave a lot of thought about his life when I came up with him.  What kinds of things would you do if you had an extended life-span that lasted centuries and you were fairly young all the time.  How many hobbies and skills could you learn?  What kind of talents would YOU want to develop.  Give it some thought and share some of them with us in the comments below.

Finally, I wanted to share a final image with you.  If I ever got the chance to see The Vampyre Blogs get turned into a movie for the theater or television, the person I'd most like to see as Nathaniel is Derek Hough.  His normal expression is kind of intense thanks to the arch of his eyebrows.  But he has such an animated personality, I could so see him going from intense to funny to moody all quite convincingly.  So if you've been wondering what Nathaniel might look like Derek's my choice.  Well that's all for now.  I hope to have Marisa or another new character post an entry in about a week or so.  So stay tuned, there are a lot more stories to be told.  Until then, happy reading everyone and thanks for sticking with me.

  

Nathaniel's Blog March 19th, 201- "An Evening With Family"

Finally got back into town after several weeks of book signings. Of all the things I've done over the years, I thought becoming a writer of novels would be the least demanding.  Boy was I wrong.  Writing the books was one thing.  I made my own hours, wrote when I felt like it, etc.  That was all well and good.  No one told me about the other half of the equation.  

Finding an agent to represent me was a bit of an issue for a while, but I had time on my side and I eventually got one.  Then having them pitch and find a publisher was a bit of a wait, but nothing I couldn't handle.  Once we found one and their editors got a hold of the manuscript, then things started to change.  Seeing my oh so wonderful pages come back covered in so much red I had to run to my 'supply room' just to make sure I hadn't spilled any bags on the pages without realizing it.  

Mind you, the day I got to see my first book on the shelves at the bookstores and online, was a real thrill.  It got even better when I found out it made the NY Times Besteller list.  I was so proud.  My hard work had paid off and I could sit back and relax while planning out the next installment in the series.

That's when reality decided to come knocking at my door, and it brought it's buddy 'The Learning Curve' along with it.  

The demands for book signings and the interviews started pouring in.  It wasn't easy getting people to understand I rarely do daytime appearances, and even those I keep short and sweet.  I have to glut my cells with fresh blood in order to handle the exposure, even at a minimum.  Unfortunately, this gives me a very 'pink' complexion that people often comment on.  I usually tell them I got a bad sunburn the day before.  Actually it's partly happening right at that moment, but I can usually last a few hours so long as I'm not in direct sunlight. I learned this little trick decades ago out on the battlefield, but I also learned the downside of too much blood and the nasty side effects it could have.  It's a delicate balancing act, but I've learned how to maintain a balance.

Anyway, with the latest round of publicity for the newest installment of my 'Love Across Time' series out of the way, it felt good to come back here and spend time with my godchildren.  Or rather, this particular set of godchildren.  Lord knows I've got a number of them out there, including a few overseas.

But, Brian and his family are rather special to me.  Their ancestors were friends of my family before I joined the Union Army.  One of my best friends was David Weston.  We fought and nearly died together several times.  He became highly decorated and became my captain in time, or rather just in time.  It was shortly after his promotion that I... became what I am.  I confided in him what had happened and he helped keep my secret by assigning me to night duty and scouting missions.  

When David fell at Gettysburg, I had myself listed among the fallen and came back here in secret to break the news to his widow Madeline, who was expecting at the time.  She had braved the lines to be near him and had been sent back home after becoming pregnant.  Upon hearing the news she went into labor and I was all she had available to help her with the delivery.  Long story short, I managed to keep my own needs in check while I helped deliver the first of my many godchildren.  Although, that boy, also became my step-son, two years later.  But that's another story.

In any case, you can understand my attachment to this family, who also consider me one of their own.  Especially, Brian's children Lisa and Geoffrey.  In spite of a thirteen year difference, Lisa is very attached to her baby brother.  Who sometimes attaches himself to me with a vengeance.  Like tonight.  

He's been well-behaved, but I couldn't help noticing how he keeps watching me intently.  As if he's hoping for something, but is afraid to ask.  I can't figure out what he wants though.  I did the 'money-shake' thing with him as soon as I came in.  He loves being turned upside down and watching coins suddenly rain down around him.  I used to do it to his sister too, until she complained she was too old for that sort of thing.  Too bad.  I was going to start using dollar bills in her case.  Oh well.

Anyway, we'd just finished dinner and were sitting in the living room when Geoffrey finally comes up to me and asks, "Are your feet going woof yet?"

It takes me a moment to realize what he means.  I got into the habit of using a phrase from the 1930's to complain about being on my feet too much.  The last time I did it in front of little Geoffrey, I'd used a little of my shape-shifting ability to produce two smaller versions of my 'Black Dogs' to play with him.  Poor little guy is allergic to dogs, which is sad because he loves to play with them.  

I smile and grab a blanket from nearby.  After covering my legs with it I tell him, "As a matter of fact, my dogs are barking."  Then I look down and he follows my gaze. 

There is movement under the blanket and radiates down to where my feet would be.  A moment later, two black puppy-shaped heads peak out from beneath the blanket.  

Immediately, the boy's face lights up as they bark happily at him and pounce.  Since they're smaller than what I usually produce, I was able to give them complete bodies this time.  I let them detach from me so they can play with Geoffrey.  As the three roll around on the floor together, Lisa comes to sit next to me.  She knows I won't be able to move for a while, or at least until her brother gets tired and goes to bed, which will be in about an hour or so.  I hope.

"Would you like to come with me to The Crypt tonight?" I ask her, knowing it will be all right with her parents.  I checked with them earlier.  "It's Friday so there's no school tomorrow."

"YES!" she cries excitedly and kisses me on the cheek.  

As she takes off to get ready, I turn to Brian and his wife Mary, "Don't say I never give you any time off from your kids.  Just make sure you enjoy yourselves.  Maybe you can make me another godchild."

"No way," Mary replies archly, "I got my tubes tied after Geoffrey was born."

"Doesn't mean you can't enjoy going through the motions of making another one," I smile.

She blushes furiously, but I can tell the idea has a lot of appeal to her.  

Behind her, I see Brian grinning broadly and mouth the words 'Thank you.'

I simply nod and continue to watch Geoff and the puppies at play.  He'll be good and tired by the time they're done with him.  The boy will sleep soundly tonight.  An earthquake wouldn't be enough to wake him up.

It feels good being part of a family, every once in a while anyway.  Maybe, one day, I'll even let myself settle down and stay put.  The question is where?  

My family homestead is nearby.  I know it's just sitting there empty, waiting for me.  The problem is that there might be another who's also waiting for me, within its walls.  A person I made a promise to, that I failed to keep...

Marisa's Musings "My Dad The Hero..." October 28th, 2007

That's right, you saw it here.  My Dad is an honest to God hero.

Now for those of you who've never met him, let me tell a bit about Dad.  He's not a firefighter.  He's not a marine, a cop, or in the military.  He's a mailman.  An average guy who walks the same route day after day, delivering mail.  In rain, sleet, snow, or the heat of the summer, he's out there doing his thing.

He's walked the same route for like ten years now, and he knows every one of his customers and they know him.  Heck, even their dogs know him and they don't chase him either.  They all like him, with the exception of Dukey.

Dukey's a pain in the ass. I'll talk about him another time, right now I want to tell you how Dad saved a woman's life today.

One of the people on his route is an old woman named Ms. Katz.  She's a widow who recently had to put down her dog.  Dad was really upset about that one.  Brandy was an Alaskan Malamute who was a really sweetheart.  He'd bore us with stories about her sometimes, but she was a great dog.  Unfortunately, age caught up with her and she had to be put to sleep.

Ms. Katz wasn't ready to get another dog just yet, so she was all alone in the house when the accident happened.  Dad noticed he hadn't seen Ms. Katz for a couple of days and that her mail wasn't being taken in.  He knew she lived alone and that she always alerted him if she was going to be away even for just a day.  So he knew something was up.

He went up to her front door which has an old mail slot.  Dad never uses it anymore, because of her age.  It's too hard for her to bend over all the time to pick the mail up off the floor.  He convinced her to have a regular mailbox put up near the front door.

As soon as he called out, he heard sobbing coming from the back room.  He raced around the house, looking through the windows until he saw her. Ms. Katz was lying on the floor, pinned by her bureau which had fallen over.  Dad immediately rushed to the back door, which was unlocked and got to her in record time.  He pulled the bureau off her and called 911.

Luckily Ms. Katz was just weak and dehydrated.  Nothing broken, but if Dad hadn't found her when he did, God knows how much longer she would've been trapped.  The newspapers are doing a write up about him and everything.  Even a television reporter interviewed him at work this afternoon.  How cool is that?

Apparently, this isn't the first time he's done something like this.  A few years ago, he spotted a guy breaking into the house of one of his other customers just a couple of blocks from Ms. Katz's place.  I guess I must've been too young to pay attention.  He had a neighbor call the cops, while he caught the guy on his way out and sat on him.

I may have to start paying more attention to him when he's telling me and mom about his day.  Being a mailman may not be glamorous, but it's not boring either.  I'm really proud of him.  He's always been my hero, and now everyone knows why.

Ciao, all!

PS:  Almost forgot, guess who made it onto the cheerleading squad this year?  That's right, me!  I can hardly wait, I've been working on routines all summer long.  Now it's finally paying off.  Tell you more next time.  Today is my Dad's day!  Woo-hoo!

Nathaniel's Blog January 7th, 20-- "A Night At The Crypt"

At The Crypt...

Brian talked me into taking the night off from transcribing more letters, and going to my dance club.  It's an older building.  One of many I purchased during the Depression.  Like many I felt the pinch of the stock market collapse, but I wasn't destroyed by it.  I lost a fair amount mind you, but I never kept all my eggs in one basket.  For one thing gold never goes out of style, no matter how bad things get.  Nor do diamonds and other fine jewels.  Plus I had investments that did not suffer, especially those overseas.

Not that I've had to worry about money for some time.  I don't have as many needs to spend money on, and I've had many jobs over the years which paid nicely.  What can I say, I like to keep busy doing things and learning new trades and skills.  It also helped that my first wife also left me quite well off.  Ah Madeline, even after 110 years I still miss her.  She was a wonderful woman and we enjoyed our time together.  Benjamin Franklin was quite right in his advice to a young man about being with an older woman, I learned so much from her.  Unfortunately, it also meant our time together was not nearly as long as I would've liked. 

These days however, I'm surrounded by younger women all the time.  Which is only natural.  It's hard to find someone your own age when you're a 167.  Many are in their teens, some in their twenties, with the occasional 30 or 40 year old as well.  I admire them all, but keep myself somewhat distant.  Sex is still quite enjoyable, even being what I am.  But I've learned to be careful about who I partner up with for the pleasure. 

But tonight, I'm just enjoying the company of the crowd itself.  Love watching excitement and pleasure they get from being in a place where everyone knows they're safe and can and enjoy themselves.

I've just finished running the turntables and turning them over to my main DJ "The Scar Man".  Former gang -banger I met a few years back.  He's a great guy and helps keep an eye out on  the younger crowd for me.  I prefer things being friendly around my place, not that there aren't the occasional upsets and punches thrown.  After all, a lot of my clientele are in their teens.  Hormones are running rampant, and status is oh so important.  

They mostly patrol themselves, because they know better than to have me intercede. If a weapon comes out, then I'm all over them before they know it.  God knows I've been stabbed by or even shot by accident more than once.  Most of the culprits freak out because they can't believe what they'd just done.  A rare few, don't care and even make another attempt to get past me.  They learn the hard way.  I make sure they never pull a weapon on anyone ever again, unless their own life or someone else's is at stake.  I try not to be stupid with my powers.   Not everyone is as long-lived or hard to kill as I am.

Tonight, I see trouble brewing but of the lesser kind.  

Over in one corner a boy named Teddy is asking the head cheerleader for a dance.  I've watched Teddy for a while.  He's not one of my nephews, but he's friends with a few.  He's a good kid, on the quiet side, not good at sports and certainly not a stoner.  So in short, a prime 'bully' target.  When he was younger, I heard he cried a lot when he got picked on which led to getting beat up.  Although others intervened on those occasions, he seemed to suffer more than one would expect from a few simple punches.  These days I think I know why.  And now I see the football's quarterback Cory coming over with a few of his buddies.

He grabs Teddy and gives him a body check that sends him into a couple of chairs.  Teddy hits the ground hard.  I pass through the crowd without their even realizing it.  Not one gyration or step is missed as I pass between the smallest of openings.

I'm standing before Cory and his friends before they can let out their first guffaw.  Their mouths clamp shut instantly.  I glance down at Teddy who is clenching his teeth in pain.  I can tell from here there's only going to be a bruise or two, but I know what's really going on.  I had it when I was a kid, only we didn't have a name for it back then.

Cory starts telling me that he'd warned Teddy about bothering Sherry, the cheerleader.  They're not actually dating, but he's one of those alpha males who thinks they are destined to be a couple.  Someone's been watching too many movies.

I nod and tell him he's not in trouble with me.  But I also point out that I know for a fact that he's been riding Ted since elementary school.  That's another benefit of being around for so long, you hear a lot of things. "While I'm glad you've channeled your more aggressive nature into sports, it doesn't give you free pass for tormenting those who are ill," I tell him.

He gives me an incredulous look.  "What are you talking about?  He's just a drama-queen who likes to have people feeling sorry for him," he shoots back.

Turning to Ted I ask, "How bad is your Fibromyalgia acting up today?  What are the pain levels like?"

The young man stares at me in shock.  "You know?"

I nod and say, "Of course I do.  Takes one to know one.  I had it back when I was a kid.  I suspect you have too."

"Yeah," he tells me and looks away.  "It's been this way my whole life.  They only diagnosed me with it two years ago.  Everyone kept telling me I was a crybaby, or a wimp who needed to toughen up.  My dad kept telling me I needed to be a man.  He never believed me until the doctor's told him what was wrong.  He still doesn't, but Mom does.  So do my sisters."

Behind me I hear one of Cory's crew muttering, "Shit!  My mom's got that."

I reach down and help Ted up onto a chair.  He hurts more than he's letting on, but I can sense it.  One of the other cheerleaders, comes over and sits down with us.  I remember her name is Tina.  She's one of the back-up cheerleaders.  She starts telling Ted that she knows where he's coming from and that she has it too.  Which is why she's a second-stringer.  Her ability to perform is erratic some days.

I leave them all to sort things out amongst themselves.  A few friendships may arise from this, even possibly a romantic relationship.  Mostly I'm hoping to see tolerance come from this encounter.  Invisible illnesses can be quite a difficult thing to contend with.  Both for the person suffering it, as well as for others to recognize.

My own father never fully recognized it in me, but I learned to hide it with time.  He wanted a son who was strong and able.  I did my best for years to live up to that expectation.  It was also one of the prime reasons I went to war, besides wanting to protect my friends.  I no longer feel those old pains at least not physically.  But I remember them as well as if they were still plaguing me.  I can't do anything for the physical pain, Ted is feeling, but at least I may have lessened some of the others he's known for so long.

I glance back once more.  Cory and most of his crew have moved on, but Tina is still with Ted.  They seem to be getting on pretty well.

Katy Perry's "Roar" is winding down, so I head over to the keyboard.  A little slow dance music seems to be in order.