Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

of course, you’re hearing Robert DeNiro in your head.

This is the Ten Things of Thankful (TToT) bloghop

Founded by Lizzi Lewis (not the grand-niece of CS, at least we lack documentation that rises to sufficient standards). From the time L. started this here ‘hop, the baton/torch/candle has been passed down twice. Josie/Wendy and then/now our current hostinae Kristi who works diligently in order there be a place for people to gather and share their thoughts, feelings and experiences with the gratitudenal aspects of everyday life and such.

1) Phyllis (the human in the photo below)

‘Of mirrors and windows, life’s perspectives unfettered.’
(Landscape orientation)
The subjects of this photo, at diagonally opposite corners, telling the story of the home by position if not obvious statement.
At the upper right corner, Phyllis steps down the staircase to leave the house for adventure and conquest. The adventure is found in the ways and manner of the world, the conquest, in large part, within. She is dressed for a colder sort of May Saturday. There is a mirrored closet door behind her.
At the lower left corner (of our photo), Una sits, watching Phyllis as she leaves. She lacks only the scarf from the princess remaining behind.
There are windows and doors everywhere in this someplace…surely not a place for the un-imaginative.

2) Una (the dog in the photo above)

3) Una’s garden still in pre-turn over stage. (above)

4) Just in case I forget how grateful I am for the weather (mostly cloudy most of the time, but when sunny, temperatures in the high 60s) this:

5) Hey! While we wait for the feedback on Almira, hows about an excerpt from my WIP ‘The Case of the Missing Starr?’ (Backstory: Noir detective story. Protagonist: Ian Devereaux owner of the Desiderata Investigations & Conflict Resolutions LLC. Let me have him introduce himself: “I’m a licensed PI. I have half a law degree, a permit to carry a concealed weapon and a black belt. When I’m not having lunch standing at the bar in the strip club down the street, I sometimes wonder if I’ve made the best career choices.”

The industrial beeping of a school bus woke me from my dreamless sleep. A second later, my mind surrendered to the October sunshine that managed to get past the curtains. For me, the process of waking up is just that… a process. Like the way a crystal grows in one of those nature films, fast-motion and in extreme close-up.

I waited. Not a hundred percent certain why, it’s not like I’m afraid of anything. I think it’s because I enjoy the moments of active silence in my head.

The coming day needed to be allowed to organize itself before I started mucking around with labels of, ‘Very Important’ and ‘Doesn’t fuckin matter’. I finally ran out of patience. The truth be told, I get bored pretty easy and laying in bed contemplating the coming day was right up there with memorizing multiplication tables. Once you see the underlying rule, where’s the suspense? Other than the ‘nine times’ that is, for some reason I really liked the ‘nine times’ table.

I lived alone, in a too-big house, in an upscale suburban neighborhood.

I used to have a dog. I used to have a wife. My wife divorced me and my dog died.

I really miss the dog

My house is a 2400 square foot monument to the 21st Century American Dream. Haley and I were well on our way to having the life together she always wanted. Unfortunately, dreams are irreconcilably personal and when they can’t be altered enough to accommodate two people, they become nothing more than shackles. She knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. I was never convinced that I would.

I met Haley Simmons at Harvard. She was a law student and I was a psych major. I graduated a year ahead of her and got a job on a fishing boat out of Pt. Judith. Seeing how my minor degree was law, it was the obvious career move. I made good money and saved it all. Haley commuted to Cambridge from our rented house in Narragansett, Rhode Island. Being exceptionally bright and all kinds of ambitious, she would have her degree within three years. We passed each other at the breakfast table. At least three days a week. The fishing career lasted as long as law school. The day after graduation, Haley accepted a position with Hathaway, Tillinghast and Macomb LP in Providence RI.

For a graduation present, her parents bought us a house. It was just what Haley wanted. It was in an upscale neighborhood in East Greenwich and we talked about hiring a full-time housekeeper.

Within two years of our moving in, Haley Devereaux-Simmons was the youngest Full Partner at Hathaway, Tillinghast and Macomb LP. Barely twenty-seven years old, she was already a highly respected litigation attorney and a divorced mother of none.

Taking my laptop out to the deck that ran along most of the back of the house, I put my coffee on the side table and dove into my email. The most recent one was from my newest client.

The email was very organized, quite logical in presentation and had six files attached. I looked and could not detect an ounce of the Venus fly trap vibe that filled my office less than six hours before. I wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. I decided to go with relieved for now. Experience has taught me that there’s always an option on disappointment.

The email was brief:

‘Mr. Devereaux,

The attached documents represent all that I know about the whereabouts of my sister, Starr. The last time I saw her was Christmas Past. (I laughed into my coffee at what I really hoped was not a misplaced capital letter). Starr showed up unexpectedly when my husband, his children and I were spending the holidays at our home in Vail. She appeared in good health, physically. She seemed preoccupied. Not quite withdrawn, but would break off in the middle of a sentence. I distinctly remember her saying that she was going to Malibu to see a friend. We all laughed when someone said, ‘Don’t forget your bikini’. As she was leaving, she mentioned that she had applied for re-admission to school in Boston.’

Victoria Tudor-Prendergast

Attached: Missing Person report, Credit Report, Employment, College transcripts, Police record and birth certificate.

My left eyebrow woke up at the last two attachments; I decided to practice my ironic smile.

In the field of Investigation (Private and otherwise), Missing Persons is a specialty. Nine times out of ten, however, it’s combined with another type of investigation.

Wife goes missing. Someone’s been cheating.

Finding a missing person is simple, if not easy. Finding a hiding person is another matter entirely. So the first step, in a case like this, is to determine which kind of missing person you’re being asked to find.

The preliminary steps in any search nowadays are largely automated, digital and online. Not a lot of skills needed to tap into the various databases. Which means almost any individual can start the search for a missing person. Of course, that’s not why people hire me. Anyone with a computer or a phone can get information, what to do with the information depends on the skill and experience of the investigator.

Having personal and professional relationships with working cops, attorneys, and other PIs opens doors not available to even the most determined private citizen. Not to mention the value of a certain class of people not hindered by professional standards and privacy laws.

I decided to start my networking with the people who don’t work out of PO boxes and burner phones. Twenty minutes later I was in my car. With the single door up, the two-car garage looked like an empty airplane hangar. I renewed my resolution to buy a riding mower or a snow blower or whatever, just so I could fill up the empty space.

6) How about one more non-human-centric photo?

‘A mill left to the side of the River of Time’
(Landscape format)
The lower half of the photo is a river, interrupted only at the very bottom (left) with an outcropping of spring-pale growing things to serve as a note that the photographer is still captive of the dry-side of the world. (A part of this outcropping is a dry, worn brown path, the color of feet resisting the pull of the surging grasses. Perhaps an insensate effort to save visitors from throwing themselves at the water.)
To the right side from top to bottom, the un-appetizing blossoms of what surely is a cauliflower tree in full bloom.
Across the river is an old mill. Trapped between the endless sky and the moving river is sits in granite solidity, it’s broken-out windows the look of the lost from whom time has cured of the need to resent the living world.

7) ok… so its no secret that I believe that some of the elements of our culture tends to the silly-side. or, maybe I’m just too old to get it, which is not the worst thing as I am surely not the target demographic for most of the advertising effort. that said, I was out on the web looking for to buy a charcoal grill^{GRAT ITEM #8} and I came across this:

Surely I am not the only person Laughtering (a sort of stutter-half-laugh, a guffaw-ette, if you will). For the record, I will continue to ‘analog shop’. Thats where I go into the store, pickup the item and then buy it.

oh, the humanity!

8) We have a propane grill. I have a memory of hamburgers on the grill that includes a certain smell/taste that I have not been able to replicate. It is, of course, the essences of carbon-carcinogen… polyunsyllabic-beef fat melded with charcoal dust… yum! In any event, thats why I was on the internet in the previous item and ran head-long into the future.

9) THIS SPACE AVAILABLE. Hey! From our friend Mimi, who hit publish on her own TToT prior to entering the following:

“…my children gave me a small netbook for Mother’s Day — no more using the old computer that won’t get on the internet as a sort of word processor that i store files on and move from place to place via thumb drive. At least, as soon as i learn how to use it.”

10) Secret Rule 1.3 Because life’s rules are mostly secret, at one point in life or another, non?

music vid