Magglio Cervantes, a novel

With much pride and satisfaction I announce my first novel, Magglio Cervantes, is live on Amazon. [amazon.com/author/williamklem]

After the demise of his family he is destined to spend centuries traveling the earth. The cruel circumstances that leave him alone in the world also render him immortal. Struggling with internal turmoil he must find a way to go on . . . because anything is now possible.

Adventuring and death-defying developments unfold. There will be the Black Plague of Medieval Europe, the Spanish Inquisition, a boating mishap, the Dutch East India Company, the American Revolution and Civil War, spelunking, the Salem witch trials, a brush with the Papal Father, a bloody nose, blueberry scones and hot chocolate, a belvedere, an Irish pub, the Great War, and paella. But with so much grief and trauma behind him can Magglio Cervantes find meaning in this life?

Click here to see more: [Magglio Cervantes]

[Published April 2023]

Monkeys In the Mast

Indian Ocean off the coast of Madagascar, late 19th century

There were dozens of them. Dozens of monkeys in dozens of cages being cared for by a dozen jackasses. 'Cared for' is deployed generously, because the level of care could barely be considered life sustaining, had the monkeys' journey not started from a baseline of very good health. 'Jackass' is also generously used because these miscreants would have to be viewed through rose-colored goggles to be considered as decently as jackasses.

The monkeys had been captured and caged on Madagascar. Since their discovery by Western civilization in 1859, monkey ownership had been all the rage for personal bragging rights. These monkeys were en route to being sold to private zoos or wealthy Western citizens and their ever insatiable appetite to enrich their lives with pet monkeys. Sad beasts, both. The monkeys for their sordid forthcoming future of captivity, and the rich citizens errantly seeking fulfillment through possessions.

Monkeys in the wild live in hierarchical communities rife with rivalries and cliques. They know their standing within their community. But this was a long way removed from the wild landscapes of their home. As if by a form of simian mental telepathy, they knew, did these monkeys, that their current setting allowed for no such luxury of a hierarchy. If they were to prevail it would be through a shared struggle and camaraderie against a common enemy.

When dealing with jackasses it becomes a waiting game. The monkeys must await an opportunity or a mistake, recognize that opportunity, then know what to do with it. They could see they were no match against the steel cages, but also figured they'd fare adequately enough against the men. They needed only that chance. 

The men spent much of their time drinking hooch, playing cards and fighting. Very little of it with success. Maintaining the cargo occupied only minimal brain power, which was good because that threshold could be met by this lot, though not by a wide margin. The monkeys, though, their interactions were total awareness. All eyes, watching, learning and planning.

The men approached the cages twice daily with bananas and bowls of water. They'd unlock a cage, toss in the bananas, change the water bowl, then watch their captives after closing and locking it. Just sit back and watch as if it were their own personal zoo exhibit. The monkeys, too, doing the same, sitting back with banana in hand watching their captors.

At these feeding times they resisted the self-serving behavior in the wild. One caged monkey would grab the banana bunch, pull one off, then pass the bunch around the horn, each monkey cooperating. They ate their bananas and watched the human detritus who was watching them from just beyond the cage. Really creepy, if you were aware of it, which the jackass was not, so he watched with amusement. The monkeys watching with something more constructive in mind than entertainment.

One night shortly after taking to sea on a glorious cloudless night there was a gentle summer breeze, like so many other nights at this time of year. Millions of stars poked through the black canopy above as if pin pricks in a blanket with a backdrop of illumination.

Then came the opportune jackass as all the monkeys knew would occur. He struggled locking the cage. Too much hooch in his belly played games on his vision and he was certain the keyhole kept moving. He didn't struggle for long because one of the monkeys had aptly recognized the opportunity to strike.

Without hesitation the monkey slammed the gate outward striking the man full in the face. Given his fermented state he went down without a grunt or cry. With its hand still on the gate the monkey stepped forward. One foot outside the cage stood in freedom, the other still in captivity, as if testing the water temperature of a pool before diving in. He turned to look back as his compadres. With only minimal vocalizing they all knew what to do.

The lead monkey grabbed the key and went from cage to cage unlocking his compatriots. He lacked the learned dexterity having no experience with keys and locks, but its skills of observation, in conjunction with an opposable thumb, eventually yielded the desired result. Over and over again.

 

The thing about monkeys is that they are deceptively strong. They appear physically no more imposing than a skinny grade school boy. Looks, though, can be deceiving. A monkey could easily handle any of these men in the event a physical scuffle were to commence, as it soon would. Appearances aside, monkeys are a dangerous foe, especially for someone unsuspecting with no time to prepare a sensible defense. Someone who maybe expects to find dozens of monkeys caged up only to find them loose on the deck and angry would find himself to be disadvantaged.

The card game and drinking below deck were unaware of the budding chaos. A man emerged on deck with a jug in hand. He closed the door behind him, yawned and stretched. Standing at the rail taking a hearty swig to finish the hooch then tossed the empty jug into the sea. He unbuttoned his breaches to release his bladder into the ocean while looking up at the beautiful stars overhead. Only to him, having seen this remarkable vision thousands of time before it meant no more to him than if it really was only light behind a curtain with pinholes. That's when he heard it. A squeak or something.

Turning his head he saw dozens of dark shapes on deck. Like a bunch of skinny little boys all staring in his direction. In his state of hooch it struck him odd that the boys had such long arms. That's when he noticed one of the cages was open. Turning, he realized they were all open and there was a monkey directly in front of him. A squeak vocalized from its throat, the monkey.

A surprised "Oh" emanated from the man.

Then the altercation, ever so brief. A yell as he tumbled over board.

The other men came out at a mad scramble. Only they weren't mad so much as confused. Emerging into this melee steeped in confusion was mere child's play to this organized and determined coterie of monkeys and their viscous rampaging sentiment.

The melee's thrust started near the galley entrance and quickly oozed inside. The monkeys prevailed and their carnage was devastating, disgusting, and complete. Monkeys knew no such thing as a mercy rule. The men's suffering would be slow, those who had not already succumbed.

In their frenzied state after subduing the men they scampered throughout the ship unrestrained. They found the food supplies and ate their fill, then got into the men's sleeping quarters and the hull. Wreckage followed them like the wake of a heavy cruiser. 

The sun rose a few hours later to a ship full of monkeys. With the excitement dying down they got bored and emerged back to the main deck in the heat of high noon. It was hot, but the ocean breeze effectively functioned as a cooling countervail. A few fatally injured men were strewn about. Their lights had not yet been extinguished for some, but would be gone before the sun would set.

The monkeys did what monkeys do. They climbed. This sailing ship was a veritable joyful playground jungle gym for beasts who could master such climbing feats. They took to the masts like natural sailing mammals. The day passed with no further excitement. The second day, though, would require decision making. 

A few nautical miles off the port side was another sailing vessel, this one manned by humans. Eager to exchange news after so many months out to sea they signaled to the monkey ship by means of their nautical flags. The monkeys did not signal back because they knew not the communicating code of human mariners. Plus they didn't know where the signal flags were stowed.

Impatient for news and riled up at the perceived snub, the manned ship changed course. It headed directly toward the monkey ship. They were determined to get their news exchange as is expected courtesy between vessels at sea. The sea breeze was robust causing the interception in a short time. As the distance closed and visibility became clear, the developing scene that took shape was remarkable, for both ships.

From a distance close enough to toss a lime, depending on one's arm strength, the denizens of both ships paused with all eyes looking at the other. The men saw a wooden sailing ship, much like their own, with no sign of humans, but dozens of monkeys hanging from the mast. They also saw cages on deck, open and empty. The monkeys saw a vessel like their own had been only two days before. A ship with men on the loose.

"Monkeys. What do you make of that," asked the captain playfully to his first mate.

"It would appear, sir, that monkeys have mastered sailing craft. Or have escaped from the cages," replied the first mate, half joking.

"Well, no doubt on your commendable observation skills. What do you suspect of the men aboard?"

"I suspect their ending was unpleasant."

"What do you think is on the ship? Or more specifically, what is there for us to commandeer once the monkeys are under control," without really contemplating by what means one might control a monkey.

The manned ship, with little further discourse, decided they would board the monkey ship. The monkeys meanwhile, without discussion or consultation, eagerly awaited another opportunity. After their practice run two days prior this new interaction would go even smoother than did before. All eyes were on the approaching ship. As it got closer they looked around at each other, a visual leveling up of confidence, then instinctively positioned themselves into some vestige of battle formation.

In the sailors' defense, they couldn't possibly have known what they were about to engage. Monkeys on a ship. Two items with seemingly no likely possibility of overlap, yet here it was occurring in real life, monkeys at the helm of an ocean-faring vessel. What to expect was the quandary. Before game planning a proper course of action, the choice to engage the monkey ship had been enacted.

The sailors eased their ship adjacent, then lay a plank across for passage. With very little vocalization, as if issuing instructions by means of eye contact, the monkeys' course of action was settled. They would grapple. Only this time they were a well practiced troop and the rage swelled deeply as they were the first on the plank to communicate across.

The monkeys held advantage and would not relinquish. The men, still not certain what might transpire reacted with deadly hesitation. The monkeys, with no wasted motion swept across the planks with the frightening efficiency of battle-experienced pirates.

A repeat of two days earlier unveiled itself in the beauty of full daylight and a clear field of engagement. There were some monkey losses as a few of the men managed to unsheathe a sword for a swing or two before being overpowered. There were several musket shots, but few humans can move as quickly as a monkey. How could they possibly lead the erratic movements of such a beast with a firearm. Despite being experienced with musketry this firing was not successful. But the concluding wave of monkey aggression was.

The monkeys now dominated two ships. Afloat at sea awaiting what probability or improbability might follow. The masts, both of them, festooned with monkeys staring ahead at the sun setting out over the horizon of a beautiful deep blue. Dolphins ahead in the surf jumping out of the water as if leading a mammalian parade celebrating the victory.

[Inspired by two things. A short story by Mark Helprin, the title of which eludes me. Also by a fantastic painting in a Los Angeles pub where I watched my brother's band perform in January. The painting was a wooden sailing ship enveloped in what appeared to be fruitless defensive battle against a giant octopus. The ocean is wonderful, and so are monkeys. wdk]

The Organ Grinder

• 1908 Oxford, England

  
  

  He was an organ grinder, grinding away to brighten the day of pedestrians within earshot. He wasn't playing the organ, but turning the wheel projecting the music. This was not accompanied by a monkey in diminutive sequined vest and fez, just the man and his organ grinder. Appreciative passersby would toss a coin into his box. He was Domenico Tedesco.

  
  

  The man made a living for himself. Not elegantly, but effectively. Ten hours of day enduring this same roster of songs. Nine hours if he'd had a good day knocking off an hour early. How many times had he heard each song? So many times, in fact, that the organ music had come to dominate his aural ambiance, even after hours when there was quiet. He heard it.

  
  

  Late at night concluding the evening meal dipping bread into his tomato sauce residue. A favorite part of the meal enjoying the bread crusts. The organ, meanwhile, had been put away hours earlier. Yet there it was, clear as if still playing, he heard the organ music. Some evenings the phantom ambience was so clear in his head that he was impelled to look at the organ in the corner of the room, just to make sure it was still put away and box closed. It was. Like it always was. But the organ music played on in his head from incessant repetition. An unwanted continuous serenade tempering his meal's otherwise enthusiastic denouement.

  
  

  The next morning he'd be back at it again. Organ grinding to earn one's daily bread. Only this morning, a grand proposal would displace the mendacity for the first time in many months. 

  
  

  
  

  A gentleman approached. He was nicely dressed in his Sunday best, but not well dressed. A friendly interloper to dispel a small portion of the day's tedium. They'd spoken on several occasions. Never deep, but friendly. Two paisans sharing an opportunity to speak in their own native Italian tongue. The gentleman had circumstances that needed addressing and he'd come to the possibility that the organ grinder could be a factor in seeking resolution. With pleasantries exchanged the opening salvo was delivered.

  
  

  "Domenic, we have known each other for a few months now. I have something to ask you," started the gentleman. "You see, I have a daughter, she is unmarried." 

  
  

  "Ah, you are a lucky man to have family," replied Domenico seeing where this was heading and not yet knowing how he felt about it.

  
  

  "You, too, are unmarried, no," getting to the point. The directness was disorienting and Domenic stopped grinding out the organ music. "You see, I have a parcel of land in Italy, in Cassino. If you marry my daughter the land will be yours." 

  
  

  "I know Cassino, to the south of Rome," artfully dodging commitment volleying for extra time to think. This was a lot to digest all at once. He thought how nice it would be to continue brainlessly grinding away with the organ instead of trying to maneuver this tenuous situation.

  
  

  The conversation thankfully wound down without any immediate decision making. The one not wanting to press too firmly on the other. The other uncertain as to whether the proposal would be a burden or a blessing. But Domenico did know that a more meaningful existence awaited ahead for him. The two parted on friendly terms to follow up in a day or so.

  
  

  That evening, for a pleasant change, he enjoyed his bread dipping without the organ's phantom ambience cluttering his head, now that there was something worthy of thought. His head was clear. And so was his decision. A wife and family will be mine. When they next met it was agreed that he would marry the gentleman's daughter, Rosa.

  
  

  With that Domenic and Rosa would soon be married. They both lived in Oxford, separately, while making arrangements and planning their future. He met her family, the gentleman introducing the organ grinder as the man who would marry his daughter. They liked each other, the two affianced, but still to be talking marriage without knowing each other beyond these superficial greetings was a scary prospect. But not as scary as the prospect of loneliness. 

  
  

  They married February 1909 and got along well, the bride and groom, as evidenced by a baby boy being born before a year had passed. Lodovico was born December 1909. With children come a new, more serious reality. People to care for, little people who are totally dependent on your day's success.

  
  

  The time had come to depart from Oxford to see what awaited them in Cassino, Italy. The land with a home, acreage and olive trees. It was wonderful. He also met Rosa's mother, Teresa, who lived in the home with them. His bride by this time had their second child. Germano was born, another little boy, and her mother was of help with the two children.

  
  

  Domenic's burden grew, and he embraced it. A man has to do what he must to support his family, was his belief. Life was hard, but opportunities present themselves. You must be able to recognize these opportunities and be ready to take action, even if they were in the New World.

  
  

  The organ grinder went abroad to America leaving his family behind in Cassino. This short-term separation so that they might be together in the long-term. The organ had long-ago gone fallow for a more constructive existence for his family. He would work in the land of opportunity, live there meagerly and send money back to Rosa. The plan was to save up enough money to buy passage for the family.

  
  

  It took three years of hard manual labor. Domenic had no trade, but he was strong and could manage any job should brute force be the fuel by which to tame it. He was employed as a ditch digger. Not a well paying job, but so committed was he, that even at this wage he was able to save money. The immense feeling of victory with that final savings installment to Rosa in Cassino. He felt heroic and joyful, having come so far from those lonely days in Oxford to living in America with his family to soon join him. It would now be only months before reuniting.

  
  

  Tickets for passage had been purchased for Rosa and the boys. The day had come to board ship. June 1913 on the SS San Giovanni from Cassino. Rosa carried her one year old, plus all the luggage. A big load to handle by herself. Her mother offered to help by bringing the older boy, now three-years old, to the ship to rendezvous with them. 

  
  

  Rosa was early and waited, reluctant to board the ship until her mother arrived with the older boy. Where is momma? Where is my boy? The ship's steward occasionally asking, "Are you ready to board, miss? The ship will be departing soon." But her mother never arrived, nor did Lodovico.

  
  

  The ship's whistle let out an enormous blast. The finality of her life's divergence from her son struck hard. Tears streaming down both cheeks, Rosa cried out and hugged Germano tightly who started to cry in frightened solidarity with his mother.

  
  

  "Miss, I'm sorry. Please, you must board now. The ship will be leaving presently," said the steward with sympathetically upraised eyebrows.

  
  

  "My baby boy, my Lodovico," she cried while boarding ship, but board she must. It was later surmised that her mother didn’t bring the older boy because she didn’t want to be left alone in Italy.

  
  

  Arriving at Ellis Island brought commotion trying to disembark the ship. The manifest listed Rosa traveling with two children. Yet, here she was arriving in America with only one. There was suspicion that she possibly tossed the other child overboard. That was eventually settled with the outlandish explanation of her son being left back in Italy. Rosa again weeping for her lost son.

  
  

  She arrived in Detroit reuniting with her husband. Her joyful reunion with her Domenic stifled by their lost boy. But life goes on. And so must the Tedescos. His work continued as there were forever ditches needed digging. He was a strong man and threw himself into it with renewed vigor. With each shovelful of dirt and gravel, he thought of his lost son. He'd arrive home each evening to his wife and son with physical exhaustion matched equally with rejuvenated spirit, for they were his motivation.

  
  

  He continued working and they saved money, but now, providing for three. This was a different dynamic than living for only one and saving everything above the bare minimum. The bare minimum was to be endured by himself alone, but his family deserved better. Then there were more children, and the needs of a growing family.

  
  

  Rosa was also constantly at work. All day in the kitchen, cleaning up after one meal, then preparing and cooking the next. Even still, there was more to be done. Instead of striving to fulfill the needs of a family of six, they must find a way to earn more to save up for their lost boy. To help make ends meet Rosa took in boarders. There was room for two. She was industrious and also made beer in the basement of their home on Cardoni Street during the Prohibition years, 1920-1933. Amongst her customers were two kindly police officers, occasionally stopping by to buy a bottle of the latest brew, or tipping her off if a search was forthcoming.

  
  

  In July 1927, the family had finally saved enough. The money was given to a godfather who traveled from the U.S. to Italy and returned with Lodovico. He was 17 when he arrived in America aboard the SS Conte Biancamano. He didn't remember his parents or baby brother. He had grown up thinking his grandmother had been his mom. In addition to his little brother, he now also had four American-born siblings, another brother and three sisters.

  
  

  
  

  [This is the true story of my great maternal grandparents as remembered by their granddaughter, my Mom. Lodovico is my Grandpa Tedesco. -wdk 3/2023]

  
  

  
  

  • Domenico Tedesco, 12/7/1884 (Cassino, Frosinone, Italy) - 7/29/1956 (Los Angeles, CA).
  • Rosa Lanni, 12/16/1891 (Cassino, Frosinone, Italy) - 2/27/1936 (Detroit, Michigan).
  • They were married 2/14/1909 in Banbury, Oxfordshire, England. It is unknown why they were in England, for how long, or for what purpose.
  • Rosa's father was Felix Lanni, the gentleman who made the proposal.
  • Teresa Nieri, Rosa's mother, was left behind in Cassino after Lodovico [my grandfather] emigrated to America. She passed away one month later, August 1927.
  • Lodovico 'David' Tedesco, 12/22/1909 (Oxford, England) - 4/21/2000 (Burbank, CA).
  • To read about Lodovico, my Grandpa Tedesco, click here [https://wdklem.blogspot.com/2020/06/lodovico.html].

Klem's Goals for 2023

It's important to have a game plan to keep a guy on course. So, here's my plan for the new year.

[1]  Read Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. Is a lengthy one at 900+ pages, but writing it down here will tilt the table toward completion. Plus the following two classics. It's easy to drag one's feet and avoid these oldies, but I'll knock them off in 2023.

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy.

[2]  Self-publish Magglio Cervantes a novel. This will entail the figuring out of Kindle's self-publishing feature. So here goes.

E-Book in Q2.

Audio book in Q3.

Physical book in Q4.

[3]  With the goal of staying healthy in these advanced years [heck, I'm 55], here's a medical checklist for the year:

Blood test,

Colonoscopy,

Physical,

Prostate check,

Dermatologist to check for troublesome sun exposure on my balding skull,

And the recently achey back, unless it self-fixes in the near future.

[4] Research non-profits, part-time paying jobs and volunteerism. This will be a retirement prelude. The goal is to stay productive in retirement instead of turning every day into a weekend.

[5]  With an eyeball on retirement, compile list of 30 things where deferral will no longer be a viable option.

[6]  And a fun retirement list, 100 things I'd like to do once I'm there.

[7]  Scrub old Mac laptop and discard.

Velodrome

Rumors had circulated about it, this home, fantastic in its pomposity, since even before construction had concluded. Now there was the ogling, the unsavory hectoring, building a domicile with these features, dimensions and capacious girth.

The home, though not beautiful, was so magnificently massive that it commanded a begrudging respect. A single family dwelling of this size. What the hell. It was asinine, such a thing. At the very least, it was expected that it housed assholes. They'd have to be assholes to occupy such a behemoth. Egomaniacs that absolutely took themselves too seriously. But wow, the size!

There were so many bedrooms and bathrooms that nobody really knew the final tally. It's fully built-out basement with home theater and auxiliary media room, roof top deck plus a roof-top full basketball court, a garage large enough to host a high-end antique racing car show, if desired, but at the moment it was not. So large, was the home, that a professional footballer could stand at one end and was unable to huck a football in the air to the other end. Beyond reach both in length and width.

People would drive from all over to witness this monstrosity of magnificence. They knew nothing of the owner or family within. They knew only that the home was certainly an exterior shell hiding the weaknesses of a very shallow human, or family of humans. Nobody was really sure, of course, because the inhabitants did not commingle with outsiders. In fact, they didn't really mingle. They kept to themselves, like they're too good for everyone else. What assholes, those who reside there, right?

The laughter was wonderful, loud and inviting, the total lack of restraint. Four of them. Father, mother, two youngsters plus a dog. The laughing, not at each other, but at all of themselves, each enhancing the ebullience of the others. Magnanimous laughter enjoying their camaraderie.

They lived there, this family. In the house that purportedly contained assholes, these were the purported assholes. But, all they really were was ridiculous. They would be defenseless in the face of that accusation, not that it would bother them. Though they would likely giggle, especially the little ones.

The laughter slowly cascaded to a close. The father, still catching his breath after all that gregarious harrumphing, offered a precautionary suggestion. "Almost ready, you fun bugs. Get another drink, catch your breath . . . and here we GO!" Closing the sentence with an alarming amplitude of decibels amply diluted by laughter. 

He was riding a bicycle, the father, in the house! In the fantastically too large domicile he commenced at what most would definitely denote a too fast rate of speed. 'Why is he riding indoors? And riding at an outdoor rate of speed? But why's he inside,' they would certainly ask, and they would be correct in its asking.

Meanwhile, his speed escalated as he blew past the coat closet, wet bar, pair of elevators, and sports room. The bicycle zipped down the hall, through the family room, office, continuing through the laundry room, eventually letting out into the grandest of large garages for a 180-degree turn, then back in through the kitchen, down the hall, through another family room before eventually egressing into the polished floor of the jai alai court where they would turn again to continue their cycling loop.

Trailing dad were the two youngsters on bicycles of decreasing size. Smiles as large and wide as their young faces, hair plastered to their sweaty foreheads, riding hard to keep pace. Momma followed behind the children, a slight worry in mind. Not of accidents. The lot of them were helmeted, fully decked out in personal protective equipment of elbow pads, knee pads and wrist guards. Accidents would happen, have happened, and will happen again. She worried they might get discouraged if they couldn't keep up with their father. Really, the guy had no restraint and would get lost in his own personal delights on these indoor rides. But no, nonsense such worries. The children, again, already laughing reveled in the chase. The joys of bike riding. The joys of riding indoors, and being fully sanctioned to do so. They were well practiced by this time. This had been their evening routine for weeks and they'd become quite good and agile, the nimble lot of them. 

The mother, smiling and lovely, buoyed by her halo of golden hair. This was the sensible one. When her husband had first proposed a bicycle ride, the whole family, she thought 'How wonderful.' His proposal, though, was not yet played out. It was not a normal bicycle ride being proposed, as unveiled by the additional details that tumbled from his mouth. There would be the pushing aside of furniture, clearing hallways of all loose carpets and most artwork from the walls, throw rugs gone, sculptures from the hallway tables, tables from the hallways. All the extra large double-doorways would be opened. (You build a dimensionally fantastic domicile of this size, you do not door it with single-serving doors.)

The look on her face listening to her husband blather on. Her patient grace, staring into his face waiting for the give, the wink betraying the joke. It did not arrive. There was no joke in it. A proposal of sincerity. She loved this man. She also knew beyond a doubt, as much as she loved him, that he loved her with a beautiful reciprocating love that outdistanced even her own generous issuing of the same. Disbelief accruing, yet undecided. 'What am I missing? What is he talking about, an indoor bike ride?' 

She was sitting on a hallway end table, hand resting comfortably on an expensive vase, her legs poking out from her sunflower yellow sundress, the one with prints of foxes in playful animations. Her feet dangling off the floor swinging back and forth, legs like two beautiful opposing metronomes, patiently waiting for it to pass, if it would. Then his big finish.

". . . because look at this place," he said with arms outstretched, eyes open wide, though not wide like a crazy man. Eyebrows arched and a generous smile, then going forward. "This gigantic ridiculous home. It's ours and it'd be a shame to treat it with untouchable reverence. Let's not waste this. And besides," bringing his arms in, hunching slightly to speak with her eyeball to eyeball. "And besides," he continued sotto voce, a hand resting gently on each of her thighs, his frisky lopsided smile. "We'd be assholes to do such a thing, the untouchable reverence. Look, I can be an asshole, but not most of the time. You're not. The kids are sometimes, but they'll outgrow it. Let's make the most of this fantastic beast of a home with it's too big hallways and impeccably straight uncluttered straightaways one after the other. We Iive in a phenomenal place like this. We cannot waste it. We mustn't." He then booped his nose to hers as if to punctuate his point.

She smiled. She loved him and his idiosyncrasies. Pausing to consider her options, not rushed and a non-awkward silence loomed. He was putty in her hands. They both knew it, but he didn't know that she knew it. She was his moral compass. He, of course, needed such a steady weathervane as this, a reliable means to adjudicate his occasional, though, grandiose cases of whimsy.

"You want this to be our own personal hippodrome," smilingly teasing him, an effort to clarify before deciding.

"Uh, actually, and you should know this, that's where they race hippos," correcting her, he thought, accentuated with two raised eyebrows on his forehead as if pleading, 'You do know this, of course, right?'

She knew, of course, but was amused at his misplaced admonition, so she gracefully allowed a reprieve from issuing her own unto him. 'How did he get along and function before me,' rightfully went the thinking. Then the reward of yet unspoken consent.

She kissed him on the lips. Not slow, nor was it hurried, and was then prepared to make a statement. Knowing the response was at hand, he withdrew to his full height kindly relinquishing her personal space.

"OK, but if we're going to do this, we'll all need new bicycles. They'll be our indoor bikes. We'll have a family outing this evening to get them. But first, dinner. Come. Chicken pot pies." Without awaiting a rebuttal she deftly dismounted the table with a grace that spoke to the vestiges of her athletic adolescence, and walked down the hall toward the dining room. He watched her move down the hall and his heart went pitter pat. It wasn't just because of the pot pies.

That was two months ago, the scene of inception.

"Dad, I'm tired. Can we stop riding bikes now and swim in the pool, please," asked the youngest. 

"Two more laps. Come on. Catch daddy," he yelled back, then accelerated, the kids giggling, pedaled harder at the challenge.

He rode, mouth wide open, the sweaty mess, and he was yell-laughing with joy. An overriding thought playing out in his head, a sincere recurring mantra of gratefulness, 'How fortunate am I. This is my life! This is my life!'

Klem's 77 Principles For Personal Peace

These are aspirations. Some I possess, others fleetingly, and with others I struggle. Occasional stumbles are motivation to straighten up and get back on track. But I confidently submit to you that wielding more of the following will lead to enhanced levels of peace.

[1] Find yourself an encourager because life isn’t always rose buds and soda pop. Someone you trust for honest feedback. Then, let them know you value them.

[2] Exercise regularly. This is important for your mental health, not just physical health. No, you don’t have to bench press your weight, do a bunch of squats or own a gym membership. Go for a walk after dinner several times a week, do yoga, rock your cardio machine. You get the idea. Move around a little bit.

[3] Be open to feedback. Anybody can get chewed out, that's easy. The hard part is scrolling through the noise to find the constructive, then a practical application.

[4] A person is only as strong as their own self-doubt. Identify yours, then seek to master it.

[5] Belts or suspenders. Choose one. Never both simultaneously.

[6] If you want peace in your life, then behave like someone who is already at peace.

[7] Don't concern yourself with what others think of you. It's a sure route to losing track of your priorities. Just do the right thing and keep moving forward.

[8] Complaining is for those who have given up. Remain above that self-degradation. Seek a solution, implement a plan, then go forth.

[9] Validation. A person seeking it is trying too hard. So don't seek it.

[10] No rhetorical questions.

[11] Turn the sprinklers off when it rains.

[12] You can’t control what happens. But what you can control is what you do. Care about your effort and the quality of your work. Do not obsess about the outcomes.

[13] Life is difficult. It requires dedication and hard work. But the rewards are there. There are lifetimes' worth of unredeemed rewards left by those who turned back in the face of adversity. So, do not give up. Persevere and redeem yours.

[14] Be guided by thought, not feelings. I often feel like eating frosted Pop-Tarts for breakfast, and I sometimes consent, but a steady flow of consenting to feelings would lack direction and decrease odds of peace.

[15] Do not condescend. You wouldn’t just sound like a pompous jackass, you would, in fact, be one. 

[16] Everyone makes mistakes. If you messed up, then apologize, take appropriate corrective measures, learn from your mistake, do not repeat.

[17] If you’re on a hike, it’s good to stay on the trail. But as you traverse life, it’s important to sometimes stray from the path everyone else takes. Find your healthy idiosyncrasies and feed them.

[18] One person behaving poorly does not give impunity to reciprocate. Conduct yourself as if your momma or grandparents are watching. Make them proud.

[19] Ego is the enemy, so attenuate its power by actively avoiding the last word in a discussion. Let the other person have the last word. Just give it away. This will take some getting used to, some practice and incremental improvements. Be equal to the challenge.

[20] Enduring life isn’t enough. Do something with your time.

[21] Ask ‘How’ and ‘What’ questions to improve the quality of discussion. And ask fewer ‘Why’ questions as they tend to induce a defensive response, an entrenching of position.

[22] Find inspiration, whatever makes you tick, and use it to motivate your productivity and creativity. Do something. It’s better than being sedentary.

[23] Do what needs to be done regardless of whether you want to. Get it done, then move on to the next thing, hopefully something you want to do.

[24] A goal without an action plan or road map is a mere dream. Don’t settle for being a dreamer. Have a plan.

[25] Stop casting blame. It's a distraction and waste of energy. Stay focused, look for a solution and proceed with its implementation.

[26] When speaking with someone look them in the eyeballs. Eye contact improves the quality of the interaction.

[27] Good manners. Everyone deserves them, so treat everyone as though they do.

[28] Body language matters.

        Good posture.

        Don’t cross your arms.

        No scowling. Save this for driving in traffic.

[29]  Walk with purpose, even if it’s feigned. Nobody can tell the difference. But also, and more importantly, have a purpose.

[30] Enter a room with confidence, even if it’s false bravado. Nobody can tell the difference on this one either.

[31] Control your temper and moods. As Albert Camus wrote in The Fall, ‘Being master of one’s moods is the privilege of the larger animals.’ Be a larger animal.

[32] Shake hands like you mean it, because you do.

[33] Remain calm under pressure. It’ll elevate your status in the eyes of others. Plus, the opposition will find it intimidating.

[34] It's not a matter of what you don’t want, but what you DO want. Let that be your motivation. Make progress toward a goal, rather than simply scampering away from an undesirable.

[35] Being busy is a choice. Choose to be productive instead. No more ‘I don’t have enough time' or ‘I’m too busy.’ Choose to have room in your schedule for what matters.

[36] Hindsight is 20-20. 'I knew it' is a cowardly remark. If you have something to say, then say it when it still matters. 

[37] Take responsibility for your own happiness. You are living your life, not merely existing in it. Do not empower others to furnish it unto you or prevent it. Decide for yourself. Choose happiness. It is self-fulfilling.

[38] Acting out in a bad mood is unfair to those around you, inflicting your foulness unto them. Rise above. Decide who owns whom. You or your mood.

[39] Keep it positive. It makes the world around you a better place. Not blind optimism, just proactive positivity.

[40] Ask for help when needed. Asking gives someone the opportunity to feel good about their knowledge-sharing. Then, pay it forward when it is asked of you.

[41] When considering a position, listen to an opposing view. Give yourself a weighted starting point, but remain open to hearing other positions and switching if it's better.

[42] Politics. Such conversation can be enlightening. Can be, but is mostly infuriating. If you intend to venture forth into this arena, keep the tone constructive. Do more asking and less telling. Ask intelligent, sincere questions of those you respect. Test your own positions and recalibrate if needed.

[43] Life is an endless stream of goals for which to strive. Take control of your destiny by game-planning each. When you level up, then advance to the next goal and pertinent action plan.

[44] Patience is a superpower. Nurture your capacity. The lack of it is the foundation for mistakes and regrettable behavior.

[45] Your success is limited by the difficult conversations you avoid. They’re difficult because they’re important. Talk it out. Choose courage over comfort. It leads to a more fulfilling path.

[46] Freedom and independence are opportunities for self-discipline. Be up to the responsibility.

[47] Do the right thing from one decision to the next, from one day to the next. All those things beyond your control, leave them to work themselves out. Those things beyond your control are distractions, not priorities.

[48] It doesn’t matter what other people say or think. It matters only what you do. You only control your own actions. Make them count.

[49] Be more direct. Not rude, just say what you mean, politely and sincerely.

[50] Say what you want, not what you don’t. This puts you on a positive path rather than passively hoping to avoid what you don’t want.

[51] Respect the elders. Engage them, ask questions and listen. They've earned an audience, offer them an opportunity to bask.

[52] Show your gratitude. You have much for which to be thankful. A life that prioritizes Gratitude is a life that hoves toward satisfaction and peace. Be a force for good.

[53] Never stop learning. If you think you know something, then you are done learning, and so is your forward progress.

[54] You are a combination of the five people with whom you spend the most time. Choose wisely.

[55] We judge ourselves based on our thoughts and intentions. But are judged by others based on our actions and words. If you behave rudely, then you are rude, regardless of thoughts, words or justifications. So do good and behave yourself.

[56] If you possess a talent at which you excel, do not be content to simply enjoy the excellence. Develop the talent. Then seek a way to turn it to positive effect.

[57] If finger pointing is your thing, then use it for casting praise rather than blame.

[58] Be a person whose first reaction is to resolve a problem rather than one whose first is to complain.

[59] No gratuitous foul language, that's lazy. Use your strong words. [Reprieve allowed in case of hammer striking thumb.]

[60] Teach your kids to swim.

[61] Anger leads to dumber decisions. So, be happy. Or at the very least, don’t make decisions while angry.

[62] To make the world a better place, the formula is simple. You don't need to be better than others, simply be better than you were yesterday. Everyday. Repeat process.

[63] In life, you get what you give. So give your best effort and best behavior to be reciprocated in kind.

[64] Do something, don’t just be something. Happiness is attained in the journey of doing, not in the destination.

[65] The email Subject line. Use it. No blanks.

[66] If Captain Obvious would say it, then you don't have to. So don't.

[67] The ways in which a person spends their time reveals what’s important to them. Don't just say what's important to you, prove it with your actions.

[68] Don't interrupt when someone's speaking. Await your chance.

[69] Humility. Get greedy with it.

[70] Button-fly blue jeans. Nope.

[71] Be patient with yourself when learning a skill. Be impatient in mastering your faults, weaknesses and fears.

[72] Exercise forgiveness. Learn to let it go. Peace awaits.

[73] Do not procrastinate because peace awaits this too.

[74] If you want to be heard, then speak constructively and concisely. Don't merely offer criticism.

[75] If your kids want to do something with you, just say yes, every time. This dynamic changes quickly as they age and the parent loses the power position. Get them while you can.

[76] Do the right thing. Let the consequences take care of themselves.

[77] If you're scratching a dog and you've found the 'magic spot,' don't stop scratching until the leg stops moving.

[This is my personal self-help list. A list for which I continue to work with varying degrees of success. But #77, I have that one mastered. -wdk]

Klem is the author of yet unpublished novel Magglio Cervantes, blogs at [http://wdklem.blogspot.com], and can be observed horsing around on Twitter at [@WilliamKlem1].