Pat Ritter. Books

[patritter]

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 25:

His Or Her Misfortune.

Saturday night became one of those nights which I dread to think about. We attended a birthday party at a hotel to celebrate the seventieth birthday of a friend. I didn’t mind going to dinner at the hotel, it gave me an opportunity to play my favourite gambling game – keno, but my mind wasn’t fixed on celebrating the birthday; instead I wanted to win the major prize in keno.
Whilst waiting for our birthday girl to arrive, I pondered the likelihood of myself celebrating seventy years and wondered if my family would take me to a hotel to celebrate the occasion. We waited for the other guests to arrive. I asked my partner, ‘do you want to play keno.’
‘Knowing you – you’d probably put it on anyway – put on a game for me then.’ She filled out a gaming coupon. My usual game of keno is to select six numbers, at a cost of ten cents a game, also include the keno bonus and play the same numbers for one hundred games. This gave me five hours of entertainment for a cost of twenty dollars.
I placed a similar game for my partner. She played six numbers at a cost of one dollar per game for twenty games for an investment of twenty dollars. She has no keno bonus and the games play for one hour.
The guest of honour arrived with the remainder of the family and we got to chatting about family things, the weather and how everything else in this wonderful world was going.
When I play keno I always place myself in a position at the table to see each game. My numbers are fixed in my mind so if at anytime one of these numbers appears on the scene my mind takes an excited jump of ‘come on’! In one game, five of my numbers appeared on scene and I was waiting for the number 5 to be drawn to make it six numbers. The bonus game was showing five times the amount. If the number 5 appeared before the conclusion of the game I would win nine hundred dollars. Alas number five didn’t appear so instead I won forty dollars.
A couple of games later my partner turned to me and said, ‘all I need is number eleven to win.’ Her eyes glued to the monitor she wished for number eleven. It didn’t appear. Because five numbers came out instead of six she won eighty dollars. She missed out on eighteen hundred dollars.
Instead of winning a total of twenty-seven hundred dollars between us we won one hundred and twenty dollars. It was his and her misfortune.
Word count: 450.
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.

[patritter]

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 26:

A Bush Burial.
There’s an old stockman lay dying. His mates stand around him. Entertainer Rolf Harris wobbles his boggy board between his hands and sings, ‘watch me wallabies feed, mate, watch me wallabies feed, they’re a dangerous breed, mate, so watch me wallabies feed. All together now, tie me kangaroo down, sport, tie me kangaroo down, tie me kangaroo down, sport, tie me kangaroo down’.
Rolf’s voice echoes through the crowd of on-lookers all concentrating on the old stockman lay dying. In chorus they join Rolf in song heralding the life of the dying stockman. Alas the stockman hasn’t long to live before he meets his maker. His mind returns to when he was a stockman. At aged ten he realised his dream of wanting to work with stock and travel the outback never setting foot in a city.
He was a true blue Australian stockman from the tip of his akubra hat to the soles of his R M Williams boots. He wore spurs everywhere he went and even slept with them on. There wasn’t any part of Australian outback he hadn’t been. He helped to open up the Northern Territory with the sound of horse bells, droving cattle with packhorses, turning the lead when a mob rushed at night; and the many mates he’d worked with throughout his life again entered his mind.
It was a free life on unfenced routes through the back country mustering wild cattle to take to market. At night he rode the Nighthorse that picked its way around the mob. He’d sing in a low tone, country songs to pass away the time and to sooth the resting beasts. He was now at the end of the road not much time to reflect on his past life. Would he have done anything different? No – he was happy and content to go to the wide country above.
Echoing in the distance he heard Rolf Harris singing his favourite song, ‘tie me kangaroo down’ and as it faded he knew he breathed his last breathe. They buried the old stockman where he lay and placed a plague on the headstone which read:
‘Here lies the old stockman who died with his boots and spurs on to rest in peace in the bush he loved.’
Word count: 383
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.

[dub]

Hi Pat, Cobber

A Bush Burial

I loved the tale about the old stockman
A first class read
I'm looking forward to doing some backtracking and catching up on...
'Awesome-OMR-Stories'

[patritter]

Thank you dub for your kind words. Here is the story for today: 'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 27:

Bright Star.

Aboriginal dreamtime tells us on the passing of one of their people their spirit leaves mother earth and joins the cosmos of stars to form a pattern in the sky. Is it a myth or is it true? Aboriginal elders firmly believe their ancestors’ spirit form shapes and designs in the sky. Then what happens to our spirit as a non-aboriginal person.
In my case I’ve been taught if we were a good person on earth we would go directly to heaven. Is it a myth or is it true? In either way I don’t think anyone has experienced the feeling of heaven nor has knowledge exactly where it is.
Kerry Packer, Australian wealthiest person once stated he’d died and went to the other side and saw nothing. ‘Don’t kid yourself’, he said to a question from a report, ‘there’s nothing there only darkness. I should know because I’ve been there.’
Another time, it was shortly after my mother died many years ago. My sister was nine years old and she asked me where our mother was. Not to disappoint her I pointed to the sky and said, ‘you see the bight star. There she is looking down and watching over us.’
This appeased her; however I didn’t have any evidence to support the bright star was our mother and further could the aboriginal elders be correct in their beliefs our spirits form the sky above? I don’t know. Yes, it may have been a good idea at the time to tell my sister our mother was a bright star looking down on us and to keep us safe. At the time I knew no different whether the fact she was the bright star or not. However, I had no proof and therefore made it up as a lie or untruth to appease my sister’s sorrow at losing her mother at such a tender age.
After my wife lost her fight with cancer, my grandson often said, ‘look Pop there’s Nanna, the bright star in the sky. She’s looking down on us.’ With tears trickling down my face and hugging him I confirmed, ‘yes, it’s Nanna, she will always look down on us and keep us safe.’
Whether it’s mystical or not to a child’s mind there needs to be some hope of continuance with their loved ones. Whether it’s a myth or untrue the bright star could in fact be the person we speak of. Who knows? But until we prove different – we may as well appease our young ones by telling them the bright star is their loved one who sadly left us to look down from above to keep us safe.
Word count: 449
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.

[patritter]

Thank you dub for your thanks. Here is the story for today: 'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 28:

Memories From Address Book.

Until the concept of the internet, I’m afraid to admit I never used an address book. When I was twelve years old my mother gave me an address book as a birthday present. Unfortunately instructions didn’t go with it and I failed to make an entry.
Searching the inner most thoughts of my mind about memories of an address book can only be prompted when I think about sending or receiving e-mails on the computer. Otherwise my mind is void of such events in my life.
In 2001 I created my website. Each month I published a newsletter. This newsletter contained information about books I’d written included my writing journey. It’s interesting to note looking back to the time; it was unethical to elicit e-mail addresses unless the user voluntarily provided their e-mail address.
When I commenced publishing the newsletter to my interested readers, only ten users received it. Future figures rose to a couple of hundred as word spread. This newsletter contained a two page newspaper format. It was attached to an e-mail and sent to group members. The monthly newsletter was included on the website to keep as a reference and for any person to read if they went to the website. This process worked for a number of years with the expansion to users throughout the world. If a user viewed a newsletter on the website they could register and receive the next newsletter via their e-mail address.
Along came Facebook. How did we ever survive before Facebook I would never know? Facebook uses the e-mail address of each member to connect them to their social network. It is the largest address book in the world. Since the intervention of Facebook I’ve deleted the newsletter section on my website and now directly interact with those e-mail users on Facebook. At first I found there were a few old fashioned users who would rather read the monthly newsletter; however with time these users dwindled and now the numbers have again build using Facebook.
E-mail is our latest address book and I wonder how my mother would feel now after fifty years when she gave me my first address book. Although I didn’t use it – the book continues to hold a deep feeling of love in my heart because it was given to me by my mother.
Word count: 395.
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.

[patritter]

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 29:

I Dare You.

The words ricocheted through my mind and instantly I visualised the television advertisement about the commercial ‘Dare Milk’. There have been a number of these commercials produced and screened on television, one of which comes to mind. A couple are seated at a table of a restaurant. The male had a look on his face as if he was about to propose marriage to his female companion.
The camera projected onto the female actress who said to her companion, ‘I’m pregnant – your father is the father of my child’. Without a blink of an eyelid the male actor listened and heard the female actress tell him she also had a venereal disease. He was holding a carton of ‘Dare Milk’.
Another commercial shows two male actors standing on the footpath – one holding a carton of ‘Dare Milk’ and the other appeared to be his boss. ‘You’re fired,’ the one who looked like the boss said to the young fellow holding the ‘Dare Milk’. He takes a drink from the carton.
When I first viewed these commercials I actually thought they were funny, until I looked inside of the commercial to see what the marketing strategy could be. Obviously by drinking the brand of ‘Dare Milk’ gave you instant courage to say what was on your mind and dare the other person to tell you their thoughts.
If only by drinking a carton of ‘Dare Milk’ would provide sufficient courage to tell another what you actually thought of them. ‘I dare you’ is a challenge to another to either carry out the dare or to walk away. Does it make you a lesser person to ignore ‘the dare’ and not carry it out? Or do you carry out ‘the dare’ and hopefully don’t make a fool of yourself. It is purely dependent upon the person who either accepts or denies ‘the dare’.
Speaking for myself – unfortunately I can’t play these type of games because knowing me and my past life experiences if I carried out ‘the dare’ I would lose. I’m a little slow in the brain compartment. There are many other ways to deny the other person the satisfaction of ‘the dare’ by ignoring the proposal in the first place. It takes greater courage to walk away from an argument or confrontation than to become aggressive and carry out a stupid act controlled by the other person.
If it means being humiliated and disgraced by not carrying out ‘the dare’ then so be it for it is easier to carry your head high than to be placed in a position of not having control over your actions.
Word count: 443.
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.

[patritter]

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 30:

First Encounter.

Do you know how our mind works? I’d love to know because life would be easier to understand. For instance, after I left the writer’s group last week and began my journey home, I thought about the title of this story ‘First Encounter’. Nothing flashed into my mind to give me ideas of what to write.
Our mind is a wondrous and magnificent appliance to have in our brain. However, this issue of not knowing how our mind or thoughts affect us has left me wondering over many years. It’s a bit like intuition. When we think a thought; I know because my mind never stops thinking thoughts, of what is on my mind at the time, the number of times the thoughts actually become true is amazing.
Let me explain. In this case on my journey home I constantly thought about ‘first encounter’. The title didn’t spark any magnificent channels of vision, nor did it give me anything to start the story, until I began to watch the television programme ‘Diagnose Murder’. Each day whilst I have lunch I watch the television programme ‘Diagnose Murder’ starring Dick Van Dyke as Doctor Mark Sloan with his offsider Doctor Jessie Travis.
On this particular episode, Doctor Jessie Travis was captured by aliens and locked in a cabin in the bush. After escaping from the aliens he wandered through the bush; finally rescued and taken to the hospital where Doctor Mark Sloan examined him. Doctor Jessie couldn’t remember anything during his absence and at times when he looked directly into light his memory returned vividly seeing men in space suits.
It was creepy crawly stuff for a large part of the programme until Doctor Mark Sloan discovered Doctor Jessie Travis had been drugged and everything he saw became an illusion. It turned out Doctor Jessie Travis had discovered a new drug which would have revolutionised medical science and pharmaceutical companies may have lost a lot of money. One of the pharmaceutical companies hired a ‘hitman’ to discredit the character of Doctor Jessie Travis. Doctor Mark Sloan came through again to solve the issue.
Doctor Jessie Travis honestly thought he’d witnessed his first encounter with aliens but when Doctor Sloan explained everything to him, he finally understood it was not aliens he thought he saw but visions and illusions whilst under the influence of drugs given to him by the ‘hitman’.
What surprised me about this story is the coincidence of thinking about the title and when viewing the story only a short time later how Doctor Jessie Travis thought he had his first encounter with aliens. It boggles my mind to think a thought could actually turn into the event I was thinking. What are the odds to determine the chances of seeing a programme on television showing a scene as an example of the title of this story of what I about to write. It’s either a remarkable coincidence or are there aliens out there?
Word count: 499
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.

[patritter]

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 31:

Object Of Desire.

There it stood, black in colour, of German design, tough, solid and made to withhold the roughness for a twelve year old boy. The man said he wanted five pounds to sell his pushbike. The boy’s throat filled with glee.
‘I’ll give you a week to come up with the money or there is another who wishes to buy it.’ The owner expressed to this excited twelve year old child, eyes bulging from their sockets at the thought of owning this particular pushbike.
If he owned this pushbike he would show it off to his school friends, beat them up the hill where they raced. He would be the king of the kids. How could he buy this pushbike, he pondered. Five pounds was a lot of money. It was a week’s wagers his father earned.
With excitement churning through his mind he ran home to speak with his father in the hope to purchase this wonderful pushbike. All he could see was a vision of riding this pushbike to school and showing it off to his school mates. Some had new pushbikes but the majority of them had old broken ones recycled from the local rubbish tip.
‘How can I afford to pay five pounds for a pushbike?’ his father bellowed in an angry voice when asked about the purchase.
‘Can you at least have a look at it Dad?’ The son pleaded in hope once he saw the pushbike he may change his mind.
‘Alright, we’ll have a look at it but I don’t know how I can afford to buy it. It’s a week’s wage.’ His father informed him. Father and son visited the pushbike’s owner and while the son was immersed in looking at the pushbike and dreaming of owning it, his father and the owner discussed the purchase price.
The owner walked over to the son and said, ‘I’m sorry I’ve decided not to sell the pushbike. I’ve changed my mind.’
Shock erupted through the veins of the twelve year old boy with a lump in his throat suddenly nothing could stop tears rushing from his eyes. He sobbed. On their way home the father explained to the child there was nothing certain in life and to make it up to him he would look for a cheaper pushbike.
It mattered not to the twelve year old boy for the father had made many promises before and had never carried out one. Although the pushbike was the object of desire for the child, his father for the first time did carry out his promise.
In the following weeks the child witnessed his father rebuild a gent’s 28 inch pushbike from parts he obtained from the rubbish tip. After it was painted a bright red and white the child was pleased to have a pushbike he could show off to his friends even though it wasn’t the original object of his desire.
Word count: 492.
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.

[dub]

"G'day cobber!"
Awesome - OMR - Stories
Object Of Desire.
A lovely story Pat, plus a beautifully and convenient enjoyable digression from a full on schedule.
A refreshing story to read at break-time
'Food for thought?'
Word count: 492