My Bucket List

I turned 56 years old today. I had a thought early this morning, what if this is the last birthday I will ever have? What if 57 is just the number of states President Obama visited?

So throughout the day I pondered over my Bucket List. There wasn’t much pondering, you see I have never had a Bucket List. So the task last year on my 55^th birthday, was to create my own Bucket List.

I scratched my head and put teeth marks in the proverbial pencil as I mused over what would be number 1 on my list. Minutes then hours passed with nothing rising to the surface. So I changed strategies, I thought about the things that I have already accomplished or have been blessed with, things that may have been on a bucket list if I hadn’t already experienced them.   

Family always comes first to mind. I was born into the most incredible family 56 years ago. I still see them every week, we still talk and hug, and we laugh and cry together. We grow old together.

I have lived in the Great Northwest, the South Pacific, the east coast and the great state of Texas. I have fished for rainbows in the Russian River and went snorkeling along the Coral Reef.

I have served my country and been called a U.S. Marine.

I went to school with Mark Twain and Thomas Edison and tasted college for a short while. I have read Tolstoy, Dickens, Stephen King and the Bible.

I have eaten at the Ritz Carlton and Taco Bell, both on the same day.

I have had money in the bank and I have sold Coke bottles so I could buy a pack of smokes.

I have been high and I have been so low that all I could see was the bottom.

I have run marathons.  I have crawled across the cold floor on hands and knees, unable to stand because of pain.

I have gone from a 34 waist to a 38 waist and back to a 34 waist. (it is okay to applaud here)

My favorite teams have won the Super Bowl, and the Stanley Cup. I have watched a perfect game and caught a foul ball.

I have listened to Vivaldi, Miles Davis and ZZ Top, all in the same afternoon.

I have tasted Opus One in Napa Valley and drank a Lone Star beer with Willie Nelson while sitting in the Recovery Room.

I have seen every episode of Seinfeld at least three times.

I have fallen in love and out of love. I have made love on a beach and on a mountain top.

I have had two wives, two ex-wives and six children. (Maximized the limit on both of these!)

I was with four of my children when they took their first breath.

I was with my father when he took his last.

I have done everything I want to do... almost. At the end of the day my Bucket List only had one thing written on it, you.

I figure if you are reading these words then you and I have at least met somewhere along the way. And I don’t know if I have ever told you the story about Jesus. You see, He is the reason I made it to 56, I know without Him I never would have.

So, on my Bucket List I wrote just one thing,

1)      Tell someone about Jesus.

I think that someone is you, so here goes-

God loves you and me so much, since the very beginning of time. God can see everything from the beginning to the end; everything, every day and everybody in between. God knew that we would never love Him as He loved us, and He knew that would mean separation forever and ever. So God sent His son down from the heavens, down to earth. We called Him Jesus, teacher, King and Messiah, and then we killed Him. And when He died He took all of your sin and all of my sin and He paid the price for them. He paid the price of admission to an eternity with God. He did it for you and me, and He said all you have to do is believe, He would do the rest.

If you were the only one in the entire world, He still would have died for you.

Do you believe?

Thanks for listening. Thanks for helping me finish my Bucket List.

If I were king...

Sometimes the obstacles or challenges we face in life seem to all arrive at the most inconvenient time. If I were king of the world I would decree that we should never have to face more than one challenge at a time. I suppose if I were king I could just as easily decree that no one need face these unfair challenges at all. But as a wise king I know that challenges build character, or so they tell me. My character must be a skyscraper by now.

I was talking to God this morning. I began to wonder how He sees these numerous trials that I am suddenly facing. He is a pretty awesome God, all I had to do is think of the question, I didn’t even ask Him out loud, and He answered me in a way that only the God of the universe can.  An image of just one word developed in my thought furnace. Bold letters in my favorite font, the single word floated above all other thoughts—Small!

Worries, challenges, problems, call them what you like, that seem so large to me look so small to God. Late at night when these problems tower over me, robbing me of sleep, God looks down on them and says “So what? They do not matter. When are you going to learn to trust me?”

Late at night my answer is often, “Tomorrow God.” When I wake up, lacking true rest, the problems are still there.  I forget my late night promise to start trusting tomorrow. Instead I start all over with the worrying and planning. But God doesn’t forget.

Most times slowly and in small portions God starts making the way. Big, medium or small problems start to be not problems at all. On the stage that is my life God is working in the wings. It is incredible how He lines things up so perfectly, without us even realizing, so our worries float away.

Now if I was king I would knock your problems away swiftly and with nuclear power. There would be no waiting or worrying, no sleepless nights. What God does is delicate; He uses other people, circumstances or events to help. He uses others to bless them as he blesses us. What God does is perfect. He makes a better King than I.

I look at our world today and think if I was king I would put an end to the terror, I would stop the hatred and the bigotry. Oh but I know even the mightiest king would fail at such a grand endeavor. So instead I talk to God and tell Him what I think He should do. Arrogance unconstrained! I am sure God has a chuckle each time I endeavor to advise Him!

Yet I don’t stop. You see dear friend I know the majesty of God. I know His power. I know His love. I know that God promised that His Son would return claiming His kingdom. So I point out to Him that now would be a really good time to make good on this promise. I tell Him, “Just look around God, you can see all the problems. You could make them all go away with the breath from your nostrils! With a swipe of your mighty hand you could end evil. “I know that if God sees my problems as Small, then He can see the world’s problems as fleeting and trivial.

 “So come back now! What are you waiting for?” I plea from bended knee.

God answers again, this time with two words—“One more.”

  

The day will surely come when God is waiting on just one more. Just one more to turn towards Him and say “Yes, I believe!” He won’t come back until all who will believe have done so. His love is so great that it would be impossible to leave even one behind. Everything else is so small, nothing else matters to God. Oh to understand a love so great!

On God’s stage we are working in the wings. Are you ready for Him to use you to bring one more to Him? If you are like me, a man who will never be king, then your answer is no. As long as I worry, as long as I lose sleep, as long as I forget to trust…I can’t be ready. 

How about you?

Part 4 continued

With Savalli out of the room Rockrider asked his grandmother, “Do you remember any of the things he has said?”

“Things were different everywhere,” she said, “I try not to remember. “

“Why?” her grandson asked.

Leila answered, “That was the day I lost your grandfather, which is enough to remember.”

“You never talk about what happened to grandpa. Was he killed by the terrorist?” Rockrider didn’t expect her to answer but Savalli’s story had awoken an interest in him that had not been there before.

Leila looked at her grandson. She could see so much of Russell in him. She had never told Rockrider how much he favored his grandfather, not only in appearance but also his personality, his inquisitive nature. How she wished they had known each other.

As he expected she did not answer his question, “If the rain doesn’t stop soon our guest may have to spend the night. Would you bring some blankets up from the cellar, please?”

Another loud clap of thunder signaled that the rain wasn’t ready to stop anytime soon. Savalli entered the room just as Rockrider was standing up. When he saw the old man he sat back down, ready to hear more of this man’s story.

“I feel much better, now where was I?” Savalli said with a smile.

“You were in Vermont.” offered Rockrider.

“And about to tell us about a certain ‘her’.” Leila added.

Savalli smiled, looking at his small audience. “I don’t think I was quite there yet, Vermont or to talk about her. A good story begs the patience of its audience.”

The wind outside intensified, shaking the cottage. A loud crash rang from outside as the wind threw some unknown object against the house. Titus jumped to his feet and barked at the sound. It was Rockrider this time that calmed the dog with words of reassurance.

Savalli asked, “Do we need to check that out, it sounded awfully loud?”

Leila looked at Rockrider, “Do you have any idea what that might have been?”

“Not one that you want to hear. I hope it wasn’t part of the greenhouse. I can’t think of anything else that would be able to make that loud of a sound. Unless it came from somewhere else, the wind is strong enough.” Rockrider continued, hoping to comfort his grandmother, knowing his own suggestion that it may have been part of the greenhouse had disturbed her, “Yeah that’s it. I am sure it must have come from somewhere else.”

Leila thought of the Nivellie,even though the plant was more than twenty years old, she feared its delicate structure would never survive the ravage of this weather if the greenhouse’s protection was even partially torn away. Common sense was the only thing that dampened the sense of urgency to run and check on the greenhouse. If the wind could carry the heavy walls of the greenhouse imagine what it would do to her.

“Maybe we should look; perhaps we can see what it was through a window.” It was Savalli who broke the silence.

Rockrider ran to the front room of the cottage and pulled the heavy drapes away from the front window. The rain ran down the panes in dark rivulets.  Like a small child peering through the frosted window of a Christmas Shoppe Rockrider cupped his hands on either side of his face and placed his nose on the glass. Titus had followed Rockrider into the living room and stood beside him, front paws on the window sill, looking outside.

“Can you see anything” Leila asked.

Thirty seconds passed before Rockrider answered, “I can, but I can’t tell what it is. But I don't think it is not part of the greenhouse.”

“Thank God!” Leila rejoiced.

The old preacher had joined the boy and the dog at the window, “Do you mind if I take a look?” he asked. Rockrider stepped aside and let Savalli take his place. More time passed before the old man said something.

 “Well I’ll be damned. I haven’t seen one of those in years.” He laughed out loud.

“What is it?” Leila and Rockrider both asked at the same time.

“It is an old Schwinn Continental bicycle. Or what’s left of it anyway. I had one just like it many years ago.”

Leila took her turn at the window and saw the old bicycle leaning against the house, positioned as if someone had stood the bike on its handlebars. The rear rim, there was not tire or tube left on it, spun in the wind. For the first time since the storm had begun Leila thought of hurricanes. She had lived through two hurricanes in her lifetime, but none had ever traveled this far in land. She and Russell had been vacationing at Virginia Beach once when a hurricane had unexpectedly turned back towards the coast; it was a vacation she would never forget.

Savalli asked, “Is it your bike?”

“No,” Leila replied, “But I think I know where it came from. There is a Schwinn Museum in Roanoke; the storm must have carried it in.” She was careful not to use the word hurricane, no need to add more worry to the day.

“All the way from Roanoke? That would be on heck of a storm.” Rockrider pointed out.

Savalli, not as concerned about worry said, “There is probably a hurricane, although it seems late in the year for the tropics to churn up such anger.”

Leila waited to see her grandson’s reaction to the little man’s statement. After a minute and no response she decided that it was a good time to change subjects.

“Well I believe you still owe us a story Savalli. Should we return to the kitchen or stay here and enjoy Mother Nature’s show in the background?”

“I was just thinking how comfortable and inviting that overstuffed rocker looks. I vote we stay here.” Savalli said with a smile.

Leila scooted into the kitchen and returned with the water bottles and a tray of cut vegetables. Rockrider prompted Savalli, “So what happened after you learned about the resistance fighters?”

“So you were listening! Very good Rockrider, you will make a good storyteller, the world can never have enough storytellers.”

 Savalli closed his eyes, paused for just a moment and then continued,” The news of fighters brought hope to our camp, but you soon discover that hope alone is not enough when the human spirit, or in this case—spirits, face challenges they are unaccustomed to. Things that we had taken for granted— food, shelter and even bathing had suddenly become scarce. A leader for our own group had not yet materialized. Many turned to me but I am not that man. Yes I had been the pastor of a church, a position of leadership, but a pastor leads by following God and quite honestly it had become increasingly difficult to find God in all that mess.”

Savalli’s voice had cracked on the last few words; Leila saw tears running down the old man’s face. No attempt was made by him to hide them or wipe them away. Behind the tears she could see the pain of loss, the agony of realizing an unwanted truth. She touched his hand, silently comforting and encouraging.

Rockrider asked him, “But you did; didn’t you?”

Savalli looked at the boy, “Did what?”

“Find God.”

“No.” Savalli uttered a small laugh, “He found me.”

Part 4 Remember

Savalli began,

 “My home was in Wrightsville, North Carolina; a small bedroom community just north of Elizabeth City. It was early Sunday morning; I was standing on my back porch enjoying the clean brisk air and a hot cup of coffee. I remember thinking that it seemed so quiet that morning when suddenly I heard the sound of guns. It was far off and I wasn’t sure that it was gunfire. But the rapid dull thump, thump, thump continued. It was a sound I had not heard in many years. As a young man I had served in the army, during training I heard that same sound coming from the firing range every day for two months, thump, thump, thump, as soldiers fired their weapons. The longer the sound continued that morning the more certain I became that it was gunfire. A sinking feeling came over me. It was too much gunfire to be a hunter or even a group of hunters. And there are no no firing ranges anywhere close to Wrightsville. The sound came from the direction of Elizabeth City, a place where so many from my congregation lived. It was too early on Sunday morning to believe that they would have already left their homes to drive north to the church in Wrightsville. I looked across the street where the small church building was, the parking lot was empty. I looked up and down the street, I saw no one else. I went back into the house and turned the television on, tuning it to the local news channel. I was greeted by a blank screen, nothing. I ran into the kitchen and turned on the radio that always sat on the counter. Only static filled the room. The sinking feeling was overwhelming, causing my knees to buckle. I knelt on the cold floor and began to pray.”

Leila asked him, “Were you a preacher?”

“I was.” Savalli took a sip of his water and then continued.

“The Intaha terrorist group had invaded the world, including our own little community. These were bad, bad men. They make the Taliban and Al-Qaeda seem like schoolyard bullies. They were well organized, intelligent, they planned everything. Some believe they may have begun the plans of attack more than thirty years earlier. Even before that saxophone playing Billy-Bob from Arkansas was president."

" They had infiltrated the infrastructure of the United States and Europe. Over the years they had integrated themselves into commerce, the education system and even the military. Two of them had actually been elected governors and one a prime minister. The lived among us as neighbors and friends. They were doctors who delivered our children and cared of our elderly. They were presidents and C.E.O.’s of companies we trusted, businesses we traded with. They had entered every part of society except our churches. Their radical beliefs prevented them from going that far, it seems kind of funny. They manipulated world governments, right under our very noses. They caused division in Muslim countries knowing that the world powers, the US and Britain would intervene. After the incumbents were ousted by the world morality police the Intaha would move into power. All the while causing divisions in the US and Europe as citizens argued over the decisions to intervene. People were upset that we had interfered, others were upset that we hadn’t done enough. Russia adopted a threatening stance for the first time on many years; another cold war was on the horizon."   

"The Intaha patiently waited, watching for the time to be right. And then when the internal strife on our own soil  escalated to a point approaching civil unrest the terrorists moved swiftly. They shut down our communication highways. They destroyed our transport systems. Financial markets crashed overnight. Every one of these events was caused by Intaha operatives, men and women that had lived amongst us for years. Elizabeth City was attacked by ground troops that had moved in from the seafront. But large cities, New York, Los Angeles, Dallas, they were attacked from air. CWA’s, chemical weapons, containing sarin and soman gases were dropped over and over. Millions of people died. Overseas, in parts of Africa and the Far East the terrorist didn’t bother with ground troops or chemical weapons, they dropped nuclear weapons, weapons they had obtained while acting as inspectors for the United Nations! I understand that South America was completely destroyed, uninhabitable.”

“How did anyone survive? Why didn’t anyone see this coming?” Rockrider asked.

“Many that survived were by design, others by blessing. The Intaha had calculated the perfect attack. It is hard for you to understand because you do not know what the world was like before the invasion. The primary target was the United States, a country steeped in tradition and pride. But our government had begun its own destructive plan, causing divisions beyond that of political beliefs. Class warfare was rampant; discrimination was encouraged instead of shunned. Our attention was turned inward ignoring those that lived to destroy this great nation. Their plan was masterful, it took decades to device. Could we have seen it coming? I don’t know. I hate to believe that the answer may be yes.”

Leila looked at the old man. A single tear was running down his cheek.

“I had hid inside my home that morning. I didn’t know anything about the terrorists or their masterful plot at that time, but I had never been so afraid. The gunfire has ceased after about three hours. The enemy had not advanced into Wrightsville for whatever reason. I finally was able to build up enough courage to go outside. Small groups of people were gathered together in the streets all of them looking southeast. I recognized a few people that had huddled together in the church parking lot so I headed there. Two of them had come from Elizabeth City that morning, they told me about the invasion. They spoke of the horror that had taken place as the sun was rising. I suggested that we move into the church in case the enemy was making their way to our small community. That group and two others, a total of about thirty people followed my lead inside. More stories were exchanged, much of it was assumptive or rumors retold. One of the men, I believe his name was Flores, was a cameraman for the local Fox network. He told us that before the radios went out he had heard that the attacks were global. He was the first to mention nuclear warfare but was not certain of targets. Someone asked him about our own armed forces, where were they, what were they doing. He said that as he left Elizabeth City he had spotted fighters crossing the sky, he thought they were headed to Washington D.C.”

Savalli looked out the window at the falling rain. After a moment he continued,

“Our conversations were interrupted by the sound of gunfire. This time there was no mistaking it, it was too close. I could hear people screaming and others barking orders in a language I could not understand. I told everyone to lie on the floor; I didn’t know what else to do. Except to pray; I shut my eyes tight and began praying like this old preacher had never done before. The gunfire continued for more than an hour, mercifully the screams ended long before that. We stayed on the floor, silent, until nightfall. Some had fallen asleep, others cried and some prayed, barely audible. The Intaha never entered the church, not our church or any other as far as I can tell. I believe it was God’s protection that kept evil away. These men were evil, no respecter of man or god. It could only be God that would keep them away.”

Leila said, “Amen.”

The old preacher smiled, “I haven’t heard that word in so long.” He continued his story after taking a sip of water.

“Two days passed before we left the protection of the church. No gunfire or voices had been heard in over twenty four hours. We had decided to try and gather some supplies and head toward the mountains. Along the way two more small groups joined ours. New information was exchanged; more horror stories and rumors. One of the groups included three small children, a baby and four teenagers. I was concerned that they would slow us down once we reached the mountains; I was even more concerned about how we would protect them in the event of an attack. As it turned out the teenaged boys were one of our greatest assets.”

Rockrider asked, “How did you know that no one in the group was part of the terrorist group?”

Savalli paused and looked at Leila, “You could see it in their faces.” He continued, “There was a young man named Saied Badini, he was from Atlanta, born and raised in the U.S.A. His parents were from Pakistan. Many in the group were hesitant to associate with him at first, call it profiling if you like. Under the circumstances Saied understood and took it very well. He too turned out to be great asset to the group when we started venturing outside the camp. He was able to go into places that we wouldn’t have been able to without raising suspicions, possibly risking our lives. But I am getting ahead of myself.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting, please continue.” Rockrider said.

“No my dear boy, ask questions whenever you like. It is important that you understand the past. You may have to tell this story yourself one day.”

Rockrider looked at his grandmother with a quizzical look on his face; she smiled at him and patted his hand. She remembered Savalli speaking of his search for someone to carry on.

Savalli returned to his story, “There were so many questions we did not have answers to. Many days passed before other travelers came through the camp. We heard stories that the invasion had destroyed most of the world, of course that turned out to be untrue. There was also word going through the camp that groups of resistance fighters were beginning to form. Because most major cities had been targeted smaller towns were being used as camps for the fighters. Jamestown, Colorado was the camp furthest west. Another camp was in Sunburst, Montana. The resistance fighters from Canada had gathered there with the American fighters. Vega, Texas was said to have the largest group of fighters, and finally St. George, Vermont, the small town that would become my home for almost a year.”

His story was interrupted once again, this time by a loud clap of thunder. Titus whined and the curled into a tight ball. The old man whispered a single word that only the dog heard and Titus seemed to relax. Rockrider watched this exchange with fascination and a sense of loss. In that quick moment it became crystal clear who the dog belonged to.

Leila asked Savalli, “Why were you in Vermont? That is a long way from Elizabeth City.”

The old man smiled at Leila, “I need to take a quick break, too much water. The short answer to your question... that was where God lead me to look for her.”

Part 3 Savalli

The rains came down in sheets just as the small group closed the door to nature’s anger. Leila didn’t like that the dog had entered with everyone else but a sudden loud clap of thunder softened her heart somewhat towards the animal. “Just this one time”, she thought, “don’t get used to it.”

Leila lead the two men into the kitchen, it had always been the most used room in her home. A butcher block table sat in front of a five sided bay window, it was here that they settled down. Shiloh, now and forever more known as Titus, curled up on the floor by his master’s feet. They sat in silence, listening to the music of the rain, mesmerized by the deceptively soothing sound. Television and weather reports were something from long ago now, so there was no way of them knowing that the storm was born of a hurricane traveling northward along the east coast. The storm that was currently providing a moment of peace would drop more than six inches of rain over the next hour.

“Well I don’t think we will have rabbit stew today Grandma. I had it in the big pot ready to boil but the rain would have doused the fire already.” Rockrider sounded disappointed.

“Maybe the rain will stop soon and we can have a late supper. That is if the whole pot, rabbit and all doesn’t float away.” Leila turned to Savalli, “The rabbit was compliments of your dog.”

Savalli laughed, “Titus loves to chase rabbits and he usually catches them too. My own cooking skills are rather limited, the mention of rabbit stew sounded wonderfully delicious.”

“I’m afraid it would be raw, cold and not very delicious. Let’s hope this rain ends soon. We have stored some dry wood in the cellar just for these occasions.”

“And these are the occasions when I miss the convenience of gas stoves and microwaves.” The little man lamented.

Rockrider asked, “What is a microwave?”

Savalli laughed again, “Does your grandmother ever speak of the days of past?”

“I try not to.” Leila chimed in.

“Oh dear lady, the only way to hold on to the past is to speak of it. Not to make assumptions or to sound rude, but you must be old enough to remember the days before the desolation.”

A small smile appeared on Leila’s face, “I try not to think that I am old enough, but the truth is I am. I choose not to talk about the days before the wars and desolation.  I would have to travel through the memories of those terrible days in order to get to the memories of the good ones.”

Savalli paused for a moment, first looking at Rockrider then turning to Leila, “For many all we have left is our memories. To lose those or have them held hostage by evil means they win. I have hope that this battle has not been lost, that good will still triumph. For our young people, those born after the invasions, after all the destruction, for them not to know what the world was like means they cannot know what was lost or even worse, what the world could be. They have never savored the taste of true freedom,” he paused, “or a cup of coffee for that matter.”

“Grandma is not the only person that doesn’t speak about those times. Autumn’s uncle is old too and she told me that he never says anything about the past days.”

Ignoring the “old too”, Leila replied, “It is difficult for many to think about, I hope Autumn understands her uncle’s reluctance. He is a good man.” Autumn was Rockrider’s best friend. She was a year younger than him. She had followed him everywhere when they were small children. Her mother had died earlier that year from pneumonia, now most of her time was spent caring for her uncle. He was older than his sister, Autumn’s mother, by almost twenty years. He had lost the use of his eyes about the same time Autumn had been born.

”She understands. She stopped asking him about the past long ago. But every so often she forgets and asks him a question but he doesn’t answer, he just grunts.” Rockrider replied to Leila and then turned to Savalli, “Can you tell me something?”

Savalli looked at Leila, waiting for her approval before answering her grandson’s request. She turned her glaze to the large window, the rain seemed to be getting heavier, ignoring her hope that it would end soon. She wanted to be outside, walking, not thinking. There was a time when Rockrider asked endless questions about the old days only to hear silence (at least she hadn’t grunted). She looked back at the little man who had interrupted her quiet life and gave a silent answer to his silent question, she nodded yes.

“I will do my best”, answered Savalli.

“Is all this,” Rockrider gestured by spreading his hands apart as far as they would reach, “is all this because of God?”

Savalli paused, “You know of God?”

Rockrider laughed, “The only thing from the past that grandma talks about is God!” He posed his question again, “So did God do all this?”

The silent pause was longer this time, even Titus seemed to notice by shifting his position slightly and looking up at his master.

Savalli cleared his throat, “No, God did not do all of this. This is evil, God is good. But I believe that God is in everything, He is always there. Without Him, the evil would have already won. Now, why do you ask such a question? You could have asked about anything, microwaves, football, girls…but you asked about God.”

“Because that’s what so many people think. They talk about a book called the Bible. They say that the desolation is in the Bible.”

Savalli reached up and touched his left breast pocket. Inside was his the last copy of the Bible. Years ago his library’s shelves had been lined with different bibles he had collected during his lifetime. His house along with the church had been set on fire by the first invaders, everything reduced to ash. The death of his books, that was how he thought of it, a death, was one he still mourned.

“The Bible speaks of the Abomination of Desolation, but that is not this. This is the evil of many men, not an evil man.” He touched the pocket that concealed his Bible again.

“What about the Incubus? They are demons.” Rockrider asked.

“So they claim. I am not convinced,” Savalli continued, “Why don’t I tell you about the beginning, and then if you have questions maybe we will explore them?”

Leila glanced out the window again, the rain and wind looked as if they wanted to stay a while. She turned to her grandson, “Why don’t you grab some of the bottled water from the basement, and bring up some dried fruit. We should at least feed our guest before he entertains us.”

“Yes ma’am.”  Rockrider bounded down the stairs.

“You may begin something that you will regret. He is very inquisitive.” Leila warned Savalli.

“No worries. I love to talk about the beginning; it helps to remind me that the end has not yet come. Besides I am made aware each morning by old joints and diminishing muscles that I am not getting any younger. I have been in search of someone to carry on the stories; perhaps your grandson is that person.”

As if on cue Rockrider bounded back into the kitchen carrying three bottles of water and a bag of dried fruit, he handed the old man a bottle, “Rain water we collect, it tastes pretty good.”

“Thank you.” Savalli took a sip from the bottle, the water lubricated his windpipes. He would need more before he finished talking; it was almost six hours before the rain and his story ended.