Dec 4, 2014: The Sound of silence. Dead silence. Silence is golden.

Her counselor asks, “Why didn’t you tell someone or ask for help? Why did you keep silent?” Trixie responded. “You know, there are so many types of silence. There is silence, which isn’t even real silence.” “Imagine, you are alone in a damp wooded area, like the Wheeler Preserve. There is total silence, except it really isn’t the absence of sound. You hear the wind and it sounds less like a moan, and more like a low whistle. Then you hear the sound of the damp loose leaves skittering and dancing across the ground until they slap into the base of the trees born by the weight of the rain absorbed by the paper thin membranes. You hear the light rain hitting the muddy path, and the occasional splash of the drops into the already present puddles of water. You hear the very light chittering of the birds who are scrambling to huddle as tightly as possible, in hopes that many can help keep the one dry. You may feel, more than hear, the rasp of your breath as you inhale the scent of the rain and the wet dirt. You wish for someone to help you break the silence, but you they can’t because you are alone. Then there is another kind of silence. It is the silence of not talking, because you can’t believe that anybody, anyone listening to you would believe what you have to say. I was fortunate, in a way. I knew that my abuser didn’t believe that he was doing anything wrong, and he didn’t hide his actions.  I couldn't articulate why I was so unhappy. He kept telling me that I was taking risks and getting myself in danger, that I couldn’t be trusted to keep myself safe. He kept saying that he was only trying to protect me, and that is why he would find me in town, and take my keys away and insist on driving me home. Everybody always thought that he was so honorable, and responsible and  because he was open about his abuse, it seemed less like something bad.  I couldn’t believe that anyone would ever listen and believe me when I tried to tell them what he was doing to me. You may feel, more than hear, the rasp of your breath as you inhale the scent of the fear and the threat of the pain. You wish for someone to help you break the silence, but they can’t because you are alone. That is why I lived with the thundering sound of silence.”

Oct 15, 2014: Dirty Dozen - message, pants, angle, vitamins, memory, truck, swimming, service, band, shirt, thistle, finance.

In the early dawn light Trixie huddled on the cracked leather of the bench seat in the old dark green 57 chevy pickup.  Her hoody sweatshirt wasn’t very much help in keeping her warm.  She was heartily wishing for the warmth of a late model truck with heated seats and more leg room. Every time she moved her legs to smooth the bunched up wrinkles of her pants, or  slid her feet under the angled output of the heater vent, she worried about kicking the console stick shift out of gear and rolling down the small hill of the parking lot. Dan was sitting off to the side,  in the cab of a Peterbilt tractor truck registered to Pennsylvania. He had gone into the service station store and laid the bait of being a trucker who didn’t want to ‘dead head’* back home. Now he was sitting there, actually hoping that nobody approached him to hire his rig.  He needed to stay right here, searching for their quarry that would be hauling booze to Pennsylvania.  Once they found the right target, he would abandon the rig, and join her in the chevy to trail the illegal booze across the border.  There, they would signal the state police in Pennsylvania who would take over the chase and make the necessary arrests at the end of the line. Trixie closely watched the trailing line of a dozen or more eighteen wheeler trucks that were patiently waiting their turn at the gas tanks.  She was glad she was able to recognize and sort the different details of all the trucks.  If it wasn’t for her memory, finding the right truck to follow could make this investigation a lot harder to complete. Considering that she was on the lookout for trucks possibly hauling illegal liquor, she couldn’t help seeing the analogy between the trucks waiting to be gassed up and a bunch of drunks bellying up to the bar for their share of drinks that were ‘on the house’. Their confidential informant had sent them a message that a new band of thieves  was working to finance a scheme to transport liquor across the border from New York, to Pennsylvania.  This was particularly bad news since Pennsylvania,  being a control state, prohibits the sale of wine and distilled spirits except in state controlled stores.  Therefore it was important for interstate relations that New York law enforcement close the pipeline from their state to their next door neighbor. Suddenly, the cb radio crackled, and Trixie heard a gravelly voice say, “Breaker Big Orange, you got your ears on?  This is Thistle.” Another younger voice responded, “That’s a 10-4 good buddy.  I don’t think we have any bears with ears or plain brown wrappers to worry about.  I just saw a cheese wagon go by, and my dashboard puppy is taking a well deserved nap.  I think we are good to go.  Big Orange, over and out” “I hope you took all your vitamins this morning. It looks like we have a have a long day ahead of us.  But we’ll be swimming in green-stamps at the end of the day.   Thistle out.”

Trixie grinned at the revelation of which truck she needed to follow.  She put the chevy in gear, and drove over to the Bob-tail and attracted Dan’s attention with a shrill Bobwhite whistle.  As she slid across the bench seat to let him climb in behind the steering wheel, she said, “Come on! We can pass the package to the Keystone Cops and then I am ready to go get some chocolate from Hershey Town.” *Thanks to Trish for explaining that ‘dead head’ means not driving an empty ruck back to home base. **Pennsylvania - All wine and spirits is sold in Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board stores, known as 'State Stores'. Malt beverages are sold in case lots by licensed beer retailers known as 'distributors', and in smaller quantities by on-premise establishments. The number of licenses to serve alcohol (including beer and wine) in restaurants is limited based on county populations.[8]  http://www.justice.gov/oig/reports/ATF/e0905.pdf Thanks to Mary C for the thought to use CB lingo.

Bears with ears: a police officer listening to others on the CBF

Cheese wagon:  A school bus

dashboard puppy:Radar Detector or other portable monitor (usually with an audible alarm).

Big Orange:  Skelton Truck Lines Truck.

Bob-tail:  a semi-tractor operating without a trailer.

Keystone Cops: Keystone State is a nickname for Pennsylvania.  Trixie is talking of handing the package to the Pennsylvania LEO’s.  Trixie means no disrespect but  Keystone Cops were also fictional incompetent policemen.

Hershey Town:  Hershey, Pennsylvania

green-stamps - money

Blackbird

Aug 15, 2014:  The August 15th writing prompt involved the top ten Beatles songs.   I am making no profit from the partial use of this song, nor from the use of the characters from the Trixie Belden series.  And many thanks to Vivian and Chey for the editing help.  However, I played with the story after their edits, so any errors are and always will be my own.  Also thanks to the writers of NCIS from whom I borrowed the pivotal plot point.

♩♩♬♬♩  Blackbird singing in the dead of night

The small individual moved with sneaky grace and was dressed much like a black bear.  No,  a bear is too husky.  A leopard maybe?  No.  The black costume made her look like a small blackbird, from the the light-weight dark stocking cap covering her bouncy blond curls, to the black rock climbing slippers on her feet.

There. There is a chittering whistle.  Odd,  the only whistles usually heard in these parts are the sound of a bobwhite quail.  But bobwhites don’t whistle in the dead of night.  Well, not unless they are human and not unless someone is in trouble.
 

But again, this is a chittering whistle.  Less about calling for help, and more about saying, ‘I am here and I am okay.’

♩♩♬♬♩ Take these broken wings and learn to fly

Quietly and more surefooted than her almost twin would expect of the former yellow-daffodil, she climbed up the rain spout to the second floor balcony and peered in the open window.  Most blackbirds would wonder why the window was open.  But with the recent power outage working in her favor, she knew the window was open to gather as much sweet cool air into the apartment as was possible from the hot sultry night.

♩♩♬♬♩ All your life, You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Suddenly, lightning flashed, and the blackbird huddled against the coarse brick of the building and paused to count the seconds while she listened for the boom of thunder.  It would help to have an idea of how far away the storm was. That way, she could better gauge the amount of time that would be available to search the apartment before the tenant rushed in to close the window against the coming storm.

♩♩♬♬♩ Blackbird singing in the dead of night

An explosive boom of thunder filled the night. The blackbird whistled again to her compatriot, this time to warn of her impending entry to the apartment.  It was his job to keep the tenant occupied as long as possible.

♩♩♬♬♩ Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

The blackbird cautiously spilled over the windowsill and, using a thin beam from a pencil flashlight, she began her search for the treasure.  The electricity was off, so there was no point in checking the computer, but she knew that her prey was more inclined toward the old fashioned methods of pencil and paper.  She only hoped to find some remnant of evidence which would prove that her almost twin had a new occupation as ghost author of the Cosmo McNaught series for boys.

♩♩♬♬♩ All your life, You were only waiting for this moment to be free

She looked for almost twenty minutes and was beginning to panic that she would be discovered before her search was completed.  As she rummaged in the trash can for any scraps of paper, she realized that she was looking at a stream of used typewriter ribbon.  She remembered that she had seen several boxes of replacement spools in one of the desk drawers.  Her hand stilled on the black tape.  She had seen the manual typewriter, but had thought that it was little more than an old machine, sort of like a piece of bulky art.  But, if it was only an antique, why on earth would Mart have several boxes of new printwheels in the desk drawer and a used one in the trash?  She decided to take the used tape out of the trash and replace it with a fresh spool from the desk drawer.  If she worked carefully, she could make the new ribbon look like it had been used and thrown in the trash.  As she placed the spent cartridge and extra packaging in an evidence bag to take home to examine, she moved towards the window. 

♩♩♬♬♩ Black bird fly, Black bird fly,  Into the light of the dark black night

After climbing back onto the balcony, she released another chittering whistle as an all clear and slid down the gutter spout.  She considered the best way to leverage the evidence in her hands as she took off into the light of the dark black night.

Distaff Side. (Trixie age 21)

The August 15th, 2014 writing prompt involved the top ten Beatles songs. Although Help was not in the top ten list, it was a good venue to continue the Reflections snippet. I am making no profit from the partial use of this song, nor from the use of the characters from the Trixie Belden series. And many thanks to Vivian and Chey for the editing help. However, I played with the story after their edits, so any errors are and always will be my own. (This was originally posted on Jix in August 2014. However, when it was transferred to the blog, it was tagged as a draft instead of an actual post.)

♬Help, I need somebody

“Why are you here?”

“I was in an abusive relationship.  My boyfriend, well he ...”

“Does your boyfriend hurt you?

“What?  No!  Well not physically.  And he isn’t my boyfriend. Not any more.  We broke up.

♬When I was younger, so much younger than today

“Well, I broke up with him.

“We had basically been together since I was thirteen and he was turning fifteen.  We met when he ran away from his abusive stepfather, a year or so after his mom died.

♬I never needed anybodys help in any way

“I thought he was the most wonderful boy in the world.  He was so smart that he had already earned a college scholarship when he was just fourteen. He could ride horses, and hunt and shoot.  When he was a runaway, he even hooked up an outdoor shower to help him keep clean.
 
“Then, he was adopted by my best friend’s parents.  They gave him a nice home, managed the money his great uncle left him so it would be there when he grew up and they kept him safe and loved. We kinda grew up together after all that. 

♬But now these days are gone, I’m not so self-assured

“I, well both of us really, were too young to realize how his past affected his life.

"He had already lost first his Dad and then his Mom.  And even though he had a new sister and  adoptive parents, he was still so afraid of something else happening that would take the good things away.  So I gave him a lot of latitude when he got over protective.”

♬Now I find, I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors.

“When did you break up?”

“A couple of months ago, back in January.

"Whoa, I hadn’t realized that it has been seven months.

 "I broke up with him because not only was he over-protective, but he was arrogant, patronizing, and mostly because he didn’t seem to trust me, even though I never gave him any reason not to.
 

"I looked up the signs of domestic violence because of a class I was taking. When I did, I realized that he showed more than half the indicators of an abuser.

♬And now my life has changed in oh so many ways

“So what have you been doing in the last seven months?”

“I am in my third year of college and I am working as a security guard to supplement my scholarships.”

“So you’re about 21?”

Trixie nodded.

“And you haven’t been dating since the breakup?  Is there any particular reason for that?”

“No, I haven’t dated.  I have had coffee with a couple of guys from my classes, but nothing seemed to click, you know? 

"And maybe...”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe I am afraid of getting involved all over again with another controlling guy? I don't know.”

♬Help me if you can, I’m feeling down

“Tell me about the other men in your life. Your father, brothers, peers;  are any of them controlling?”

“You have to understand my family before I answer that.  I am the third of four children and the only girl.  My parents both grew up in an age where gender roles were very defined.  Women did household chores, and men did outside chores.

“My parents made my older brothers responsible for me, the way they made me responsible for my youngest brother, Bobby, who just turned 15.  My oldest brother, Brian, is twenty-four and a little over two years older than me. But, since he skipped a year of school, he is three years ahead of me academically.  Then there is my brother Mart.  He is twenty-two and only eleven months older than me, so my family has always joked about us being twins for the thirty-one days between my birthday on the first of May and his  birthday on the first of June.
 
“My parents had the typical double standard of giving my older brothers more privileges because they were boys, than they gave me at the same age.

"I admit, that when I was younger, I made my share of irresponsible decisions, and that I often times rushed headlong into some dangerous situations.  But isn’t part of growing up learning to know the difference between good and bad choices?

"Now my family,  well maybe not so much my brothers but my parents anyway, have gradually started treating me like a responsible adult able to make my own decisions.  I do know they worry, but they are mostly supportive of my career goals.
 "I really think that the parental and sibling rules that I lived with when I was growing up, really affected my self esteem. I think that is why I had such a hard time recognizing the controlling way that Jim treated me.  It wasn't that far off from the way that my family treated me as a teenager.  But, Jim kept on treating me like he thought I was still 13 years old.

“I am in college.  I’m studying Criminal Justice.  I’m in self-defense classes, and I have gotten all of my certifications to legally carry a weapon, a police baton and pepper-spray for my job.  I have learned to be more cautious.  But the training I am receiving will also help me handle dangerous situations that I might encounter when I become a licensed private investigator in a few more years.”

♬Help me, get my feet back on the ground, Won't you please, please help me

“Ok.  You have told me about your father, your brothers, and Jim.  Are there any other men in your life?  Are they controlling?”

“Well,  there is one other guy.  Dan. He isn't controlling at all.    

“I have known him almost as long as I have known Jim. 

"You know, Jim and Dan had some similarities in their background.  They both lost their parents when they were twelve or so.  They both had to survive by their own wits for a time before each of their lives were turned around by new family situations.  But they each adjusted to those challenges in such different ways.  

“After Jim's Dad died, he thought he should be responsible for his mother. But she remarried and then she died. His stepfather was abusive. Jim kept trying to get away, but every time he did, he was dragged back and beaten some more and forced to work on the farm. After he finally did get away, even though he accepted the adoption and his new family, I think, for a while, he accepted it as the lesser of two evils.  Once he began to feel comfortable with his new family, he believed that the only option for his security was to do every thing he could to keep everybody happy and safe.  

“Dan had no control over his parents deaths, either.  He had an abusive stepfather too, but because he didn't think the police or child protective services would believe him about his stepfather, he managed to get away by joining a gang and living on the streets. 

"It wasn’t the best decision, but, he did his best to limit his involvement in the gang as much as possible. He did just enough to be able to get something to eat and have some place to sleep. 

  

"Then he got lucky and fell into a situation that helped him get out of the gang and get a new guardian as well as finding an uncle.  While it took some time for him to settle in with his new guardian, once he did, he was happy.  He knew he was safe and in control of the choice to go forward or to go back.

“Dan is so different from Jim.  He is supportive and he trusts me and it feels like he is always there for me. He makes me laugh.  He makes me happy.  He is on the Sleepyside police force, and he really encourages me in my classes and my training.  He makes me feel smart and cared about.  And sometimes…”

“Sometimes…?”

♬Help me if you can, I'm feeling down

♬And I do appreciate you being 'round

♬Help me get my feet back on the ground

♬Won't you please, please help me

“Sometimes, it feels like there could be more.”

Prompt: Lipstick, mascara, nail polish

The Lieutenant called out instructions to Trixie.  “Belden! You inventory the cosmetics.  Be sure you identify them by name, use, color and where they were found at the crime scene. See if there are any lipsticks that match the note.”

Trixie shot a startled look to Captain Molinson, a look that clearly said, “Are you kidding me?”  In her thoughts she shuddered, thinking, “Have you ever known me to willingly wear cosmetics?”

However, the Captain only smirked at her, so she knew there was no help from that quarter.

Trixie looked at the pile of cosmetics and medications on the table.  She used a pencil to gently sort the foundations, powders, eye-shadows, mascaras, and lipsticks into categories.  Trixie considered pulling out her cell-phone to call Moms.

“I bet Moms could help.   I love her, but unfortunately for her, fairies must have left me under the bush by the porch.  She always wanted a girly girl that she could play make-up with, but she got me instead.  She would be able to walk me through this land-mine mess of cosmetics but no, I can’t do that.  It would be foolish to bring a civilian into a police investigation.”

Trixie continued to mutter to herself, “Look at all these bottles of nail polish.  There are pinks, basic reds, peaches, white and clear.  Even I know that most of these look like polishes that would be more appropriate for a ‘tween’.  But then there are the bright or dark greens, blues and purples, bright or dark pinks and reds that should only be worn by someone with the sophistication to carry off the boldness of the colors.”

Trixie laughed under her breath, “Ok, most of these seem to be China Glaze products.  There is one bottle each and the names are really weird.  Colors like I’m with the lifeguard green, Hang Ten-Toes pink, Flirty Tankini orange, Love’s a Beach pink, Ride the Waves blue and Beach Cruise-r purple.  No, make that violet.  Oh heck,  I don’t have a built in color wheel.  I imagine that Diana could tell me the name of the actual color. Gleeps!  What was with this lady?  Did she have a Beach Boys obsession?”  

Trixie continued to search through the pile and looked closely at the lipsticks.  She made marks of each lipstick on evidence cards and listed the brand, lipstick name, and color number.  She grimaced when her fist smudged one of the marks.  She started to make a new evidence card, but stopped suddenly.

Trixie called over to her superior.  “Hey Lieutenant?   Can I look at that note again?” She put on plastic evidence gloves and took the note out of the bag. She held the note up to the light, and then laid it flat on her palm so she could look across the flat plane of the page. Finally, she brought the page close to her face.  Without touching her nose to the paper, she sniffed once and then again.

“Sir, I don’t want to mess up the evidence on the note, but are we sure that is a lipstick print?  There is no scent to the lipstick mark like is on the evidence cards.  All the lipsticks on the vanity have some sort of fruity, sweet scent.  And if you look at the flat plane of these evidence cards, you can see that the lipstick marks leave a three dimensional residue that doesn’t show up on the note.  And since the note was originally folded, it would have smudged if it were real lipstick. I think that the note actually used a lipstick font instead of the real thing.  In fact, now that I look at it again,  I think the writing may be in that Comic Sans-serif font, especially since there is no scent but printer ink, or copier chemical.

She continued, “And didn’t you say that her missing shoe hasn’t been found? There are too many bottles of nail polish here.  I don't think this lady used a professional to do her mani-pedi’s. We need to look for the  friends that she hung out with that encouraged this nail polish behavior.  They will likely know more about her relationships than just about any other witness.  The big clue is,

when I looked at the body, the toenails looked like they were freshly painted, and that doesn’t make sense because she has ‘Dr. Scholl’s Ingrown Toenail Pain Reliever’ on the vanity.

I have a couple of friends who are really into getting mani-pedi’s and to them, it is all about making themselves feel good. If either one of them ever had an ingrown toenail, I would lay odds that they would stop with the pedicures until the toe was healed.  So I don’t think the victim would be painting her toe-nails if she was fighting an ingrown toenail infection.  

I would lay you odds that, the perp has a shoe or foot fetish, and after he or she committed murder, they took the shoe and left the fake suicide note to throw us off the trail.”

Thanks to jstar8 for editing. However, any errors are and always will be, mine.

Also thanks to McRuth for letting me take the words out of her mouth.

06/05/2014 Prompt: Deadlines

He spoke sotto voce. “We have a dead line.”

Trixie turned and gave Dan a look that clearly said, ‘you don’t have all the intelligence that I thought you had.’  She stuck out her lower lip and huffed to move that aggravating curl out of her way and with more than a hint of exasperation, replied.  “I know we have a deadline.  We have been….”

She was stopped by Dan lunging at her and placing his palm over her mouth.  “Will you be quiet?” He whispered. “Not a deadline.  A dead line!  The phone is dead.”  He picked up the old-fashioned handset and held it against her ear.  Her blue eyes widened as she realized that there was no dial tone.

Dan continued. “Look.  I have known you for eight years.  I know what you can do.  I know that you are studying criminal justice. You just earned your license to carry a weapon, and I know that you are taking self defense courses, but please, PLEASE, don’t try to be the heroine of the hour.  You are the most naturally gifted crime solver that I know, but you are still in school, and you don't have anything to prove to me.

“We must be in way over our heads.  I am not sure that the Chief, would have allowed you to work with me on organizing these cold case files, if he had had any idea that something would turn up that resulted in the phone line being cut.”

“I think it is worse than just that, Dan.  We have barely gotten started.  We haven’t even started asking questions.  So whoever cut the line, must know that the Chief handed over the files.  Do you think it is some rat on the force?  Who else would know about this project?

Suddenly, a door slammed down stairs.  They heard a lot of crashing and thumping.  It sounded like someone was having a heck of a fight.  They prepared to barricade the door but gradually, the sounds quieted and then they heard one last thump that seemed to rattle the walls.  Cautiously, they went downstairs and searched the stable.  They found Regan in the tack room, feverishly working on a leather bridle.

Dan looked around the room.  “Uncle Bill?  What’s going on?  It sounded like you were having a barroom brawl down here.”

Regan grumbled under his breath. “She is lucky she is a mouse and not a rat.”  

Then he looked at both Dan and Trixie and said, “I am as much of an animal lover as anybody.  But this is too much.  There is a nest of mice in the phone box and they have chewed through the phone line.  Again!  This is the second time this week.  I hoped that after the first time, when we moved the babies, that Mama Mouse would move on.  But apparently she thinks the phone box is like the Mouse Taj Mahal, because they are back.  Mama and all ten babies.

“Well I have news for Mama Mouse. I am giving her a deadline.  I don’t know where, but she is moving, permanently, as of this afternoon.”

May 2, 2014 Prompt: You can observe a lot just by watching.

Trixie fidgeted in her seat thinking dire thoughts.  

‘Oh, it is a very nice seat, with nice poofy baby blue cushions on the chair seat and back.  And the chair back tilts just a smidgen, so I can  relax a bit instead of sitting straight up.  Of course, now that I think about it, I am probably supposed to sit straight up, ankles crossed to the side, instead of relaxing fairly comfortably.  After all, this is a fashion show.’

‘A fashion show!  How on earth did I ever get dragged to this.  I’m not even dating Jim anymore, and yet here I sit beside Maddy Wheeler watching a bunch of models who are parading around in everything from their underwear to evening wear.’

Maddy broke into Trixie's thoughts. “Trixie, I really appreciate you attending the show with me.  I wanted you to know that even though you and Jim are no longer a couple, you will always be a valued friend to all of us.  I even have to admit, that your break-up was much healthier for both of you than anyone could have expected.  But enough of that.

I am glad that when Honey had to cancel on me, that you were able to accept in her place. "  Maddy smilled, "Even if it was under duress.

Now, I know you don’t like fashion and shopping and all of that,  so I think I have had an idea that will help you have a little bit of fun today.  I imagine that as part of your criminal justice training, you can identify most of the various modes of transportation on the roads. So consider this as another facet of your training. Don’t think of these as fashions.  Think of them as a wide variety of clothes that your suspects might wear at any time.  Take notes of the complete description of the models height, weight, coloring and identifying marks as well as the clothing as if you were filling out a police report and you need to get everything just right, so it will help make your case in court.”

“After all,  you can observe a lot just by watching.”

03/27/2014 Prompt: A blank sheet of paper

The counselor handed him a piece of paper.

“What is this?”

“What does it look like?”

“It is just a piece of paper.”

“Oh, Jim.  You should have learned by now.  It is more than a piece of paper.  Describe it for me.”

“Well, it is a piece of paper.  It looks to be 11 by 8 ½ inches.”  Jim fluttered the paper in his hands. “It seems to be  regular weight paper, not bond.  There isn’t any watermark and there are no other marks on it, so I don’t think it has ever been used.”

“Is that it?  Hmmm. Lets try something different.  Describe yourself.”

Jim shot the counselor a surprised look. “Describe myself?  Isn’t that what I have been doing during all my visits with you? I have told you about my parents and their deaths, about my mom’s marriage to my step-father and about the abuse I suffered as a kid.  I have talked about the abuse I put Tri..my ex girlfriend through.  I have talked about my school and I have talked and talked about how I want to have a family some day...a wife and kids.  I have talked about how I am trying to learn not to be abusive and controlling and how I have tried to work on the exercises you have given me.  I am not sure what more you want.”

“Ok.  Lets look at this a different way.”  The counselor placed a marble in Jim’s other hand.  “The object that I just gave to you could be called a marble, a sphere, a Cats-eye, or a stone.  Just like that object in your hands, you can be described by many different labels.  I want you to give me as many labels as you can but none of them can be derogatory, so although you have tried in the past to say that you are abusive, stupid, controlling and any of a number of other derogatory names, you can’t use any of those labels.  Oh yes, you also need to list the descriptive labels by order of importance.”

Jim stared at the counselor for a few moments, and then haltingly started to speak.

“I am Jim Frayne.  I am the biological son of Win and Katje Frayne. I am the adopted son of Matthew and Madelyne Wheeler and the brother of Honey Wheeler Belden.  I am a college graduate with Bachelor degrees in Sociology and Psychology. I am working on my Masters in Education."

Jim’s voice trailed off and he looked at the marble and the piece of paper in each of  his hands.  

He felt the roundness of the marble, and knew that the shape would never change, as neither would its appearance.  He knew that the marble would be the same tomorrow as it was today.

Then he looked at the piece of paper and knew it would change when something was written on it, or when the paper was folded or torn.   

Jim took a deep breath and continued.  “I am a man with a strength of character.  I can change when needed to make myself better.  I can BE better to make those around me happy, and safe from me and my my actions, even if I can’t guarantee their safety from other forces in their environment or from illness.  I can’t keep from facing loss in my life, but I can change how I deal with that loss.

I am Jim Frayne, and on this sheet of paper, I can begin writing the plan of the rest of my life.”