Peredhil

Much of it quite true. If you don't post often, how can you find your "voice".

It counts. Fantastic! *hugs*

Silvered pieces of glass lie - let your friend's eyes and words be your mirror. It's not your pants that make your butt look big, it's your butt. When asking for reassurance, make sure you specify you want reassurance. When venting, please note that problem-solving isn't required. It puts everyone on the same communication model up front. Maturity is meeting all responsibilities, and knowing for what you aren't responsible. With the rest of life, have fun, be silly, grow up to be young at heart. As C.S. Lewis said, "The only ones against Escapism are Jailors". If you are responsible, you are accountable. Accountability cannot be passed or deferred, it will always come back in some way. Doing nothing or chosing to do things another person's way - you are still accountable. God, Karma, or whatever your paradigm, provides consequences on the cosmic scale.

*happy huggles to all* given my long silence, it's nice to know I've not been forgotten. Real Life has me down, but I'm going for two falls out of three.

*hugs everyone* Thank you all.

He was beautiful, and so is his elegant eulogy

Congratulations to all. Fades back unobtrusively into the woodwork

I think they're both well written. Kiss her platonically for me.

Ooooh. Good brainstorming suggestions Rev! *hugs Parm* and good to see you again, writing so well.

No clever words to write No role-played post Just a happy birthday wish From a Polite Ancient Elder Ghost.

rushing through, but I really like this; had to comment. Good stuff Maynerd!

rats! I'll miss you! Nyyark and I are driving back to Idaho next weekend, or I could be a Virginia visit.

Oh! AWESOME! Big huge huggles!!!!

It's good to see you writing again, however rusty you may be.

LOL!!! Finally, someone who knows the reality of me. I will point out that, when I think about it, I am very manipulative. Love is one of the most powerful forms of manipulation there is, and I do love a number of people.

Mrs. Peredhil sneaks into his account and posts... hi everybody! yes its me, hey I really do know Peredhil most likely better than anyone on the planet! And its true America, he really is very polite in a manipulative way and that's because he knows how to get what he wants. Really now, I have been with him for over 24 years and he is the most unique person I have ever met or hope to meet. I love him very much and I have to write that, all in all, he has been there for me all 24 years. I feel that my life is much richer because of him. I have shared him with you and now I would like monetary pay back for that. Thanks, Mrs. P(Kerry)

Polite high-speed huggles!!!!

*belated hugs* Drat - you are on my calendar - for Feb 29th. Duh... Adjusted to Feb 28th with a reminder to "Plus one". Thank for you pointing out the lack!!! *huggles*

Peredhil wanders through looking panicked. His son Elrohir is flipping through papers and scribbling on them. "Dad, didn't you sprain your left knee once?" "That was EONS ago!" "They need to know what the day, month, and year, local time, and where." "AUGGGHHHH!" Pausing to hug Evangeline a Polite Welcome, Peredhil begins pulling at his hair. "I don't remember things that long ago!" "Let's go ask Elladan. He'd know." The duo exit. (Welcome! I like Mercedes Lackey too.)

I tend to write in third person, because I tend to think in third person. Which comes of forgetting myself when I concentrate on others - to include RP characters. For RP, I tend to create profiles of the characters' personality traits, distance from centric (self), values, and the other normal modeling stuff used in profiling an individual. Then I just play from the profile.

Semper ubi, sub ubi.

Heh, makes me want to write something for all the wench's in Peredhil's Dungeon. This is delightful fun. Dance disco .... Hmm. you could find a "d" word for the alliteration. A two syllable word might balance the beat established by the one syllable "morn", two syllable "singing", a two syllable ...., and the one syllable "meal". If you found something two syllable, soft sounds like "singing" then it could balance the hard "M" sounds of "morn" and "meal". But, as Parmenion can tell you, I'm a dangerous person for suggestions, as I tear things apart in three dimensions.

Re-write. The "So I'm"s started to grate on me. fixed a verb tense; spelling. So I'm walking briskly down the hall, wanting to get OUT of the hospital, as I've completed the interview. I dislike hospitals even as I cherish and appreciate those who heal and who are healed. They just seem to reek of old pains which stain the walls like a subtle scent that one can't track. I walk past the rooms, avoiding people in white and soldiers in camouflage, as they stride purposefully with clipboards and IV bags and other implements of healing. My boots make an annoying squeaking noise every time my right foot hits the ground, and I find my thoughts silently chanting cadences to the rhythm produced. I pass open doors, I glancing in curiously, always wondering if I'll see someone I know, yet hoping not. I peer into this one room and I stutter-step in surprise. There are bright crayon drawings all over the walls and a young man lying propped up against starched white pillows in the bed. But what catches my eye is the short blond with the ponytail lying sideways across the bed where his legs should be. The sleeve of his left arm is neatly folded up and secured with a "hair scrunchy", one of those wide stretchy fabric things that girls and women use. The scrunchy is pink with red and white hearts and matches the band tying the girl's ponytail into place. He smiles over her intent form - her attention is totally absorbed in meticulously creating another crayon masterpiece - and rumbles a bass, "Heya, Sarge, how're you?" "Fine," I reply. "Nice scrunchy!" "Yeah," he laughs. "When my battle buddies see it, they'll razz me to no end. I've got two more on the pajama legs that you can't see. Specialist White, who's one of my nurses, has been taking her down to the Shoppette and letting her buy sets of four - three for me and one for her." He beams happily down at his child. "How'd it happen, soldier?" I've found that most of them appreciate honest curiosity. They know their life has changed, and pretending all is peachy is annoying. "IED, ya know, an Improvised Explosive Device? This one had bolts and nails in it. I was on a dismounted patrol and I happened to be the one in front of the alley. "Bummer." "Naw, I'm blest. My wife is still over there, Stop-loss in effect, so we don't know when she'll come back, and this way I'm home with Amber. Plus I'm alive, which is a huge bonus when you have an angel like mine." "How's she taking it?" He reaches down with his right hand, careful of the IV, and nudges Amber. She looks up in annoyance. "What Daddy?" "Sarge wants to know what you think of Daddy's Owies." She turns and stiffens when she sees me. "Three chevwons and two Wockers are a Sawgent Fiwst Class Daddy! Not a Sawge," she corrects severely. Turning a high wattage smile on me, she pipes, "Good Afternoon, Sawgent Fiwst Class." "Good afternoon, Miss Amber." Her eyes are the green of an old Heineken beer bottle. She has bits of green crayon on front teeth from helpful chewing in the creative effort. "What are you drawing?" "I'm dwawing for Mommy. We mail Mommy evewy day. Its a twuck, cause she dwives one." She holds it up for my scrutiny and looks at me proudly. I nod my approval and point out some details I like - and am pleasantly surprised when she knows the nomenclature and model of Mommy's truck. "So what do you think of your Daddy's Owies, Hon'?" "Well, they'weh bad, but it's okay. God left him his hugging ahm, and he w'ites with it too. And Mommy and I have all ouw hands so we can help him. And I fit just wight on his bed now to keep the bad dweams away fwom him." She pauses and then nods, as if she's decided she's met all requirements in her report. "It was good meeting you, Sawgent Fiwst Class, but I've got to finish this befouh mail call." She turns back to her drawing and my eyes meet her Dad's proud eyes over her back. "Pretty smart girl you have there," I say, my voice a bit thick. "Yeah," he replies looking down at her. He looks up and continues, "Sometimes I think I'm the luckiest man in the world." We exchange nods again. He thanks me for stopping to talk and I'm on my way. The quiet "just-so" positive attitude I keep encountering in this place is inspiring. I just wish the circumstances which bring it out weren't so harsh. But I'm a soldier, not a story-teller, so I guess I'm done.

Happy birthday Wren!

Peredhil zips through, pausing to bow deeply and then enthusiastically hugging Madoka-chan, then shooting away again after Real Life.