Mega Marine Story Contest

As I opened one more Christmas present, my twelve year old was very cautious. She repeatedly told me it was just a joke. What? My two daughters had made a pretend gift certificate for a class in Anger Management. After the laughter subsided, my embarrassment was still there. My anger was becoming more than just an excusable tirade. It was affecting the family. Before Christmas, my wife and I had had another argument. I feared I pushed the yelling too far. This time my older daughter was right there, which further incensed my wife. As I was to find out later, it didn’t really matter what the argument was about. What mattered was the lasting impression on my relationships with my wife and daughter. Looking back, fear and distance were creeping into their eyes.

After Christmas, going through the mall bookstore, my daughter once again kidded me about going to books about anger. Denial is common with any problem, and of course I saw myself as more of an angel, so I went to the religious section. The temptation was to excuse this as just the developing humor and sarcasm of an approaching teen. This little joke went on as we went to rent a movie and she suggested "Anger Management."

A few weeks later, the turning point came. While at the library, my daughter showed off her computer skills. After getting the book she came for, she typed in the word “anger” into the computer. Even a hard headed, loud mouthed Italian boy could figure out that this time it wasn’t a joke. Playing along, I showed my willingness to at least look at these pop solutions. I checked out two of the books to continue my attempt to placate my daughter.

This was the beginning of a reading odyssey through books filled with tricks and supposedly profound ideas to turn any monster into a controlled gentleman. Act out your anger, hit a pillow, meditate, join a group…approaches that sounded nice in a book, but difficult to connect with everyday life.

Then one book that stood out, proved to be the toughest, and helped me take the biggest step in controlling my anger was Anger Busting 101, by Newton Hightower (Bayou, 2002). It appealed because it offered tangible points and placed the responsibility for action squarely in my lap. In it were three great ideas for solving any anger problem:

1. WHEN ANGRY … STOP! The author begins the book with immediate solutions. There is always one more point to make, one more stare, one more threat, one more name to be called, one more criticism, one more lecture. Stop! None of these ever solve anything! Walk away! Take a time out. Re-schedule the rest of the conversation. The belief that you are right and in the importance of your words or actions is part of the problem.

2. BELIEVE THE BEST OF OTHERS! Behind most angry people is a deep belief that blame, criticism, and superiority over others is a pre-ordained right. Many self-righteous people eventually find that their lack of kindness, patience, grace, and empathy is anything but admirable. Instead - criticism, revenge, blame, and selfishness are a greater part of their character than they want to admit.

3. COMPROMISE. There is always something right about what any person says. Make it a game to find the one aspect of another’s comment that you agree with. The result…others will agree with you more! Be willing to say, "I was wrong," "I was crazy." Not learning these words may result in the loss of your relationships with others.

Fortunately, I found these steps in time before more serious damage was done to my marriage. I still wonder about the damage done to my children thus far. Will they shy away from relationships because of my anger toward my wife or them? Will they rely on this form of expression and damage their relationships?

Now I keep a piece of paper by my desk, with all the check marks from anger free days. Right with it is one of the best Christmas present I ever got … my certificate for Anger Management from my daughters.

Michael Gisondi is an engineer, working on the International Space Station at Kennedy Space Center, Florida, as well as a motivational speaker. Mike is a husband and father of 2 girls (12 and 9) who advises “Be involved with your kids' everyday activities, where you’ll find life’s most powerful moments.” Send feedback to mmgisondi@yahoo.com.

It all started innocently enough last fall with the little flashing icon that delights us when we turn on our computer, “ you’ve got mail”. A short note from my close friend Gerry telling me he was going to an auction sale in Barrie to look at boats. He, being an avid, and in my opinion, a very experienced and knowledgeable boater, was looking forward to going.

Myself, I couldn’t have cared less, but I also heard about this sale and after the boats, between 100 and 150 snowmobiles were to be sold. I had always wanted a snow machine and thought this would be a good opportunity to look at different kinds and if lucky enough, bring one home to our farm. It would also be good to spend time with my friend.

Saturday came and after I kissed my wife goodbye and promised to behave myself, I set off with the truck to Barrie in the rain.

As I arrived and parked the truck, I couldn’t believe the crowds and when I walked toward the yard, the sound from the loudspeakers was almost deafening with the machine gun staccato of the auctioneers song.

What a set-up I was thinking to myself, for the auctioneer was sitting at a window of a motor home as it moved up and down the rows of equipment. He sat in comfort and relative warmth while the rest of us were stamping our feet and huddling coffee to keep warm.

As I suspected, the snowmobiles were all lined up, and after the grey clouds cleared a little, they seemed to sparkle in their brilliant greens, yellows and reds. Even the black ones looked really cool.

After about half an hour, I found Gerry and we started to inspect the snowmobiles. We soon had them narrowed down into year and condition. He is, like me, very mechanically inclined; both of us getting our fingernails dirty in old car, truck and motorcycle engine transplants and rebuilds. After a while though, he went back to looking at boats and I quite happily dissected each machine that we had deemed suitable.

After lunch, I stayed with him a bit to enjoy the carnival atmosphere of people bidding, winning and losing in the game of auction-a-rama. It was during this, for the first time it seemed, that I noticed some cabin cruisers that looked interesting. As I mentioned this to my friend he started filling my head with nautical terms like galley, head, freeboard, anchor rode, inboards/outboards, rudders, etc. To me, these seemed romantic terms to be read about in novels, while appreciated, not really understood.

It was then, that I found, beside a boat, somebody’s discarded auction card with the number still attached. As we joked about using it to buy something a pretty girl climbed into this boat right beside where we were standing. Of course, we both looked, and then at each other chuckling as we remembered our unmarried youth of only, I’m sure, just a “few” years ago. As she, and other sightseers left, my curiosity was now being drawn to this boat like a moth to flame and I dared to climb the ladder to look inside.

The first image to hit me was the golden glow of the brightly polished brass sink

and fixtures, then, the greens of the plants that were arranged around the V-Berth. There was even a basket of fruit and champagne glasses set up, inviting, in my mind, only the most sophisticated of passengers to come aboard to sit and relax and have some wine.

I asked Gerry to have a look at this boat and he thought it looked nice, sure it was a little old but it looked in very good condition both inside and out, but he being more of the water-skiing type, I think he was just being polite.

When the auctioneer sold this boat for what seemed a very reasonable amount, I thought of my wife Sue, who had always dreamed about cruising on the water and how upset she would be that we weren’t the ones who bought this boat.

While my friend and I were lamenting about opportunities lost, the auctioneer, to everyone’s astonishment announced that he would have to sell this boat again because of a false bid. As I frantically called my wife on Gerry’s cell phone to tell her about it and to find out if we had any money tucked away somewhere the auctioneer started to sell it again.

Now, since my wife runs a very busy fabric shop in Perth I was surprised and relieved that she actually answered the phone and that she was giving me the go ahead and that we would find the money somewhere.

Since I have been to quite a few auctions and knew the drill I kept to the background with my hands in my pockets. The auctioneer tried to start the bidding by asking for the same amount he got before but there were no takers. As he dropped the price the bidding started but after only a couple of rounds, it sputtered and stalled. With my heart pounding I jumped to front of the crowd and put in my bid. My bid was taken and after only a few back and forths I was couldn’t believe that I had won the game at $ 1500 less than what it sold for only a few minutes earlier.

Gerry, whom I had lost in all this, came running around the corner to find me. He was relieved to see my ear-to-ear grin because he, prior to that, thought of bidding because he was not sure that I was. As the dust was settling, people were coming up to me and actually shaking my hand to congratulate me on the great deal that I had made in buying this boat.

After the adrenalin rush had subsided and the “Oh my God what have I done” feeling set in, I again phoned my wife to tell her that we have taking the next step in our adventures and we are now proud owners of a 1985 26 ft Tempest cabin cruiser with a 260 HP V8 inboard/outboard.

And yes, even though I had to drag Gerry out of the motor compartment of my newly acquired boat, we did stay long enough to see the snowmobile being sold but it didn’t take long to realize that I could not justify bringing home two toys in one day. Besides, we may not have snow every winter we would certainly have water every summer.

Now “Second Chance”, appropriately named by Gerry’s daughter Kathleen, sits in my backyard, looking not at all like a snowmobile, waiting for the ice to clear in the Rideau.

Dating in the New Millennium

Over the past 20 years the face of dating has gone through some noticeable changes. Traditional methods of finding a date would be to rely on friends to play matchmaker or to attend bars, various different social events and parties. We now rely on internet service providers to open the doors for romance. Whether we like it or not, the internet has changed our lives especially in the way we date and meet people.

Men and women have moved their search for love to the internet simply because it is the most convenient in terms of time and money. However, along with this convenience also comes risk. Sure it takes the pressure off witty meaningful conversation, but how fun is that? And how do you know if the person who you are speaking with via text messaging actually looks like their picture or has all the great characteristics that they say they do? You can t read their body language to determine if they are genuine, dull or most importantly how they flirt, which is primarily the most important interaction you share with someone you are interested in.

This is why in our striving to make things better; there is now a combination of the traditional meets cutting edge. It s called Speed Dating; this concept takes the demand of our fast paced society and still gives you the opportunity to meet someone face to face. It s a very good way of meeting a large number of people in a fun environment and in a condensed period of time. Speed dating may be the new way to meet but after the first date, you must use traditional dating methods to make sure that your relationship grows.

Attending Singles parties in the past was deemed as an act of disparity but now they are becoming less and less unconventional. These parties are growing in popularity simply because we like to connect with people. Nothing beats a cheerful conversation and there is no better way of learning about someone than looking them in the eye and asking them a question.

The one mistake people make is that they want perfect and they want it fast. The only way to find your perfect fit is to take the time and put your self out there as much as possible. Many people will go to a bar and stand around waiting to be approached, or take in enough liquid courage so that they can do the approaching . bit of a hint no one finds drunken people attractive.

Singles parties and speed dating events are for those people who are sick of standing around bars getting no where and for people who want to get to know a person face to face. Every person who comes out to a Single in the City.ca event is there for the same reason, to meet new people for friendship or perhaps a future relationship. At these events you have eliminated 3 potential risks: Are they single? Are they looking to have a conversation? And Are they open to meeting me? It is not to say that you NEED to come to these events to meet someone, it is just simply the smartest way of doing so.

Singleinthecity.ca is a leading Singles Organization that provides various ways of meeting singles in Toronto and neighbouring cities in Southern Ontario. These include Speed Dating, Lock and Key Parties, Activities and Matchmaking in the form of a Blind Date.

Here is the Desiderata also sometimes spelled Desiderada. Reading this famous poem daily will cause a positive mental shift. It says to remember what peace there may be in silence. With this in mind, take 5-30 minutes daily to be still and contemplate the words in this poem. Reading this poem can help you to realize that what you think is important most of the time, is not that important at all.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and agressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself to others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the the world is full of trickery. But let not this blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all it's sham drudgery and broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world.

Wind, Waves and a White Whaler

By Sue Louvier

My husband (Jay) and I own a white Boston Whaler. It’s a nice, 18 foot speed hull with a 150 horsepower Yamaha outboard engine. We purchased the boat shortly after we were married, twenty some odd years ago. I say “we” but I really didn’t have a lot to do with it…other than to say, “Whatever you want, dear.” Jay is an avid boater and fisherman…and always has been. My father was a boater and fisherman, so I grew up with the same love of boating, fishing and the outdoors in general.

It is said that the second-happiest day of a man’s life is the day he buys a boat…the happiest one, the day he sells it. I can see where this statement would hold true in some situations; particularly for people who buy a boat without thinking the idea through completely. But there are others that should have been born with fins rather than fingers, and flippers for feet…and my husband is one.

Jay has had some form of a boat since he was responsible enough to handle one; since he could afford the gas for it. So for him, the happiest, the second-happiest and any other day is a day in the boat…even if the boat is on the trailer, and he’s “tinkering” with some part or piece of equipment.

Not having a boat, for Jay, would be the equivalent of not having a car for most people. It’s transportation, just like a car. It gets you from one place to another quickly and efficiently, as a car will. It breaks down and, not unlike a car, it’s going to break down when you’re in the middle of nowhere with no one around to help. The obvious difference here is that, unless you’re initials are J.C. (and yes, my husband does have those initials but no, he’s not that good) you can’t get out and walk to the nearest phone for help.

Fortunately, modern technology has given us the GPS and the mobile phone; direct lines to salvation when it’s high noon in the heat of the summer and the sun is scorching and the wind is nonexistent and the engine is as quiet as those jellyfish floating alongside, and there isn’t a shoreline visible in any direction.

“Delta India Whiskey”…this is the phonetic alphabetic term…or “DIW”… “Dead In the Water.” ”Disabled” is the Coast Guard’s term. “Broke Down” is a common term, and “Blankety Blank Blank has also been used. But thanks to modern electronics, a phone call and a GPS read on the craft’s position has changed a once, very lonely and sobering situation into merely a minor inconvenience.

So when the phone call came, as it has from time to time over the years, I was sitting on a lovely verandah, deep in the heart of the French Quarter, quietly having my morning café au lait under the shade of a grand old magnolia, and contemplating the many possibilities for the day. My husband was “disabled in the lake” and alone in the “deep blue sea.”

I appreciated the information, but had neither the means nor the inclination to rescue the man, as it was the last day of the French Quarter Festival and nothing, short of torrential rains or hurricanes would have been able to dissuade me from my shade tree or the festivities. Wisely, Jay had a battery-operated trolling motor installed on the front bow of the Whaler a couple of years back, and he used it to return (albeit slowly) to shore. His call to me was not a plea for help, but merely to inform me of his circumstances and to garner sympathy for his plight. I was duly informed and sufficiently sympathetic, and then continued with my enjoyment of the festival, mostly unconcerned, as he had the situation handled. Once he arrived in port, Jay returned the boat to its trailer and promptly delivered it, along with its ailing engine, to the repair shop.

A few days and more than a few dollars later, the boat arrived back home. Jay was skeptical as to the satisfaction of the repair and he wanted to “try the engine.” He asked me to assist him with this trial run and, thinking of how desperate he sounded the last time he was “Delta India Whiskey,” I hesitated slightly before saying, yes, I would be his first mate. The winds were high and the waves were rather rough, so getting out into the Gulf was not a reasonable or safe possibility. We instead launched at a wonderful but dumpy little marina (and I use the term “marina” very loosely because, although it calls itself a marina, it’s really no more than a boat launch) in order to run the boat in the sheltered back waters. Since the engine failed at high speed initially, Jay wanted to repeat that scenario to assure himself that the problem had, in fact, been corrected. He “gunned” the engine, opening it up wide as I reached for my chest, tightening the clasp on my PFD (that’s Personal Flotation Device, for the uninformed, or Panic! Fear of Death! in my case).

Here is where Jay and I differ. He believes that a boat is meant to have two speeds…Slow/Idle for loading, unloading and courtesy to other boaters, and Wide Assed Open for all other times. I prefer to meander lazily, watching the glints of sunshine on the surface of the water, feeling the gentle breeze against my skin, listening to gulls crying in the air above and red-winged blackbirds calling from nearby reeds, admiring nice homes along the shoreline, and experiencing the delightful warmth of the sun caressing my bare shoulders and toes.

So with one hand in a white-knuckle death grip on the bow rail and the other clutching my flapping visor and sunglasses simultaneously to keep them from being ripped off of my head and plummeting into the wake behind the boat, I held on as Jay gave the engine his “acid test” of the repair job. The gulls rapidly took flight. The red-winged blackbirds vanished. I assumed the blur of color along the shoreline was the nice homes I would liked to have been admiring, and the truth is, the sun simply doesn’t offer much warmth when you’re approaching Mach One.

I considered the residents in those blurs of color along the shoreline and what they would be thinking when they heard the sonic BOOM, butt I couldn’t take any more time to dwell on it. I was too busy thinking about my poor face; wondering how the force of air had been so successful in wrapping my flapping cheeks back over my ears, and how ridiculous I must look as a result. All those years of time and money spent on skin care products to preserve my youthful appearance and keep gravity from doing its evil deeds are thwarted…in one brief afternoon ride.

I think the engine’s fixed; I contemplated, as the force of air found its way behind my sun shades, funneling tears from the outside corners of my eyes, across my temples and back into my hair. I think it’s fixed! I said out loud, where the strength of the wind snatched the statement from my mouth and raised it high above the boat before shooting it backwards, depositing it somewhere a mile or so behind us in the marsh.

“I THINK IT’S FIXED!” I screamed into the ear of the Captain, before crouching down behind the windshield to keep from freezing to death in the cold fierce wind formed by the extreme acceleration.

“What?” He yelled back at me as he glanced down with a puzzled look on his face, wondering why I had ducked behind the center console. At that point I gave up on my attempt at conversation, choosing instead to flash him “the look.” You know the one I mean. It’s the accusatory “Jackass” look and, grinning just like one while a light bulb rose above his head and then shot backward, following my last statement into the marsh, he miraculously understood my message and slowed down.

Once we could speak without screaming over the wind and the engine, we agreed that the repair was satisfactory. I suggested we head in, as the weather was turning cloudy and rain was imminent. He nodded, shoving the throttle forward and bringing the boat back up to Wide Assed Open, as I clutched the hand rail again for the entire return.

Arriving back at the wonderful but dumpy little marina that’s really no more than a boat launch, we loaded the boat onto its trailer and headed home. The Whaler went back into the garage to wait for another day’s exciting adventure, and I went back into the house to check my calendar, to see when the next occasion for a return to the French Quarter might be.

Sue Louvier is a real estate broker and award winning writer who lives in the New Orleans area. She is a graduate of the University of New Orleans. Her work has been published both regionally and nationally. Contact Sue

Deep Song Of The Dolphins - by Maggie

I lie here in the depths of misery from which I will never rise. How happy we had been a few months ago. Now, despair is my constant companion.

The day little Mermi was born was the happiest day of my life. Almost at once I forgot how desperately I had wanted a son. As she grew, she would follow me everywhere, even into the darkest caverns. Here she met flounder, dragon fish sun fish and others but she said that they scared her. She would nestle in sea anemones pretending to hide from me. Her mother was horrified the day I told her I was taking Mermi to the surface.

"You must be mad she cried, "You know what will happen if the Dry Landers see you. No, it is far too dangerous."
Dry Landers. Bah! Many dolphins were scared just to hear their name mentioned. Not me. What good is life if you have to live in a state of anxiety? I laughed her fears away. Nothing would happen to my Mermi while she had me to protect her.

As I watched Mermi's sleek body float upon the waves and bask in the sunlight, I forgot her mother's warning, lost in admiration as she began leaping and diving. Her screams of delight knew no bounds. Eventually she was exhausted and we returned to the deep.

From then on there was no holding her. With or without me she would make her way to the surface and never return home until all her energy was spent. In the evenings, I would croon her to sleep. She never tired of the lullabies and gradually she came to know them by heart. Her mother would smile at us affectionately.

"Who is it who wanted a son?” she would tease. As Mermi grew, she would sing the songs she had learned from me, her haunting interpretations echoing through the dark depths, bringing suitors from far and wide.

"You won't be able to keep her to yourself forever," Clami warned. This I knew, but surely her warning was somewhere far into the future.

On the day Mermi disappeared, Laura tried hard to console me but nothing she could say or do brought any solace. I searched everywhere for weeks but Mermi was gone and my life was empty.

I will pass over this God forsaken period. A time I wish to forget.

One day, while brooding in a deep, dark recess, I thought I heard her sweet voice singing. A haunting refrain that had been a favorite to both of us. My mind was playing tricks again for I knew I was completely alone.

My heart was heavy, thinking of the past. There it was again, a lilting melody echoing through the cavern. Suddenly a shadow fell over me. Who dare intrude into my thoughts?

"Daddy." Was I dreaming? How often I had pined to hear that one word. "Daddy." My darling was back. Joy filled my heart as I swam towards her. But who was the stranger by her side?

"This is Oci Daddy".

The exuberance of a moment ago quickly died. I had found her but in the same breath I had lost her again. This young pup had taken her away from me. He was far too smug looking for my taste. Too handsome for his own good. The type who would never be satisfied with just one partner. He would have to be watched.

Mermi introduced him with such pride that I was careful not to let my thoughts show. Looking behind her she called softly.

"Algo, come here and bring your brothers with you.” Swimming towards me were three of the sprightliest pups I had ever seen. They were gazing at me shyly and from deep inside I felt such a swelling of pride. My spirits soared.

Mermi was telling me their names but I hardly heard. A yearning to touch and pamper was so strong. I just wanted to nuzzle close to them.

Clami was in raptures over the boys and took to Oci on sight. We settled down to what was my idea of heaven. Now I had three children to love and teach the pleasures and hazards of our underwater homeland. Three pups whose untried voices I could now train to sing the traditional songs of the deep. No lullabies for them; a sonic boom would be more descriptive.

There was just one drawback. Mermi partner. It wasn't anything he said or did, just that I couldn't trust him. Clami patted my hand as if she had read my mind.

"You know you are going to have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Mermi loves him and you can see how he treats her and the boys. Surely this should put your mind at rest."

"But it doesn't, he just came and took her without so much as a word to us. I will never forgive him.”

"Pardon me, but isn't that exactly what you did when you chose me? How easily you forget"

"That was different."

"How?"

"At least I had met your father, which is more than he ever did."

"You met him once and he didn't care for you, remember?” She could talk until midnight, it wouldn't make any difference.

I spent as much time as I could with the boys, disregarding Clami and Mermi's plea not to spoil them. They were young and needed an outlet for their boyish spirits. Their father had no time to play with them; he was busy foraging for food. Reluctantly I had to give him credit. He was a good provider and as the boys grew strong and healthy, my criticism of him began to lessen.

Clami would beg me not to let the boys stray too far; the noise they made could attract the Dry Landers. It was her worst nightmare. Although I had heard rumors of those callous hunters of the sea, I refused to curb their childish antics. Let them sing and play, no one would find them here.

They grew stronger and strayed further until one day, as they were shouting their anthems, their happy voices turned to shrieks of terror. Quick as a flash I rushed towards them, followed by their father, only to find them tangled in a mesh, being dragged upward. Desperately we struggled to free them. The screams from Clami and Mermi reverberated through the depths.

All our frenzied efforts couldn’t prevent them being hauled aloft. In desperation we followed their tragic path to the surface. Silent in our hopelessness we watched as our beloved pups, still helplessly screaming, were hauled aboard a vessel by the Dry Lander. We swam as far as the shore, knowing all hope was lost.

I lie here in my misery feeling I have nothing to live for. The pathetic cries of my loved ones my only company, for I seek no other. No more will I hear the deep song of my beloved Algo, Coril or sweet little Kelpi.

Short story contest. Short story contest. Short story contest. Short story contest.

Anger management

What You Need to Know

Before You Sell Your Boat

Thoroughly Wash and Dry the Boat

Prioritize the Job

Dating in the New Millennium


Short Stories, Articles and Poems

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