https://www.novel-software.com/
I am thinking about giving this writing software a try. Has anyone else worked with it? In the screenshots it appears to be user friendly. They offer a 7 day full version trial so once I am back with my computer I will have to download it.
Thursday 22 September 2016
Tuesday 2 June 2015
Oh my! Followup to #writefridays 16
Oh my! After my response to #writefridays exercise 16, I received a new notification that I won a Google prize. I am so pleased that "It is OBLIVIOUS that this notification would come as a surprise".
The hits just keep coming.
Noel
The hits just keep coming.
Noel
Google UK
Ltd
Belgrave House
76 Buckingham Palace Road
London SW1W 9TQ
United Kingdom.
Ref
No: GUK/ 8900/88/2015
Batch: GUK/ 955/GPKLI/UK
OFFICIAL NOTIFICATION LETTER.
It is oblivious that this
notification will come to you as a surprise but please find time to read it
carefully as we congratulate you over your success in the following official
publication of results of the E-mail Electronic Online Sweepstakes Organized by
Google, in conjunction with the foundation for the Promotion of Software
Products (F.P.S.). Google earns its profit mainly from advertising using their
very own Google search engine, Gmail, Gala, Sify, e-mail service Google Maps,
Google Apps, Orkut social networking and You Tube video sharing, which are all
offered to the public for free.
We wish to congratulate you once
again, for being among the Twelve (12) selected winners in the ongoing E-mail
Electronic Online Sweepstakes; we do believe with your prize, you will continue
to be active in your patronage to Google and its Products. A Bank Cheque have
been issued in your favor, hence you have won for yourself the sum of
450.000.00 (four Hundred and Fifty
Thousand Great British Pounds Sterling), One Google Nexus 10 Tablet and also you
have been enlisted as one of the Google Ambassadors for 2015.
To claim your reward, please contact
our Foreign Payment Bureau officer below by neatly filling the verification and
funds release form below, as your payment will be released and arranged by our
United Kingdom Office.
MANDATORY FOREIGN PAYMENT RELEASE
FORM.
(1)
Your Contact Address:
(2) Your Contact Telephone/Mobile
Number:
(3)
Your Nationality/Country:
(4)Your Full Names:
(5) Occupation:
(6) Age/Gender:
(7) Marital Status:
(8) Private Email Address:
(9) Ever Won An Online Lottery?
(10) How Do You Feel As A Winner?
(11) Your preferred mode of prize remittance stated
below:
*Courier Delivery of your certified
winning cheque in your name and other Winning documents safely to your home
address.
………………………………………………………………………………
Contact our Foreign Payment Bureau
officer below:
MARIA
.O.BAKER
Senior Vice President, Corporate
Development and Chief Legal Officer with the E-mail account as
follows:
Email:markbaker343@gmail.com
………………………………………………………………………………
Note: You can either fill your
claims verification form by printing and manually filling out the requested
details or you can fill directly on e-mail, or provide the details on Microsoft
Word.
NOTE:For security
reasons, you are advised to keep your winning information confidential till your
claims are processed and your money remitted to you. This is part of our
precautionary measure to avoid double claiming and unwarranted abuse of this
program by some unscrupulous elements. Please be WARNED!!!!
Congratulations from the Staffs
& Members of Google Board Commission.
MD
Matt Brittin,
Chairman of the Board and Managing
Director,
Google United Kingdom
©2015
Google Corporation.
Monday 1 June 2015
Congratulations! You are a winner!
Exercise 16: One or more of your characters
(protagonist, antagonist, supporting cast member) wins a contest. What
do they receive? Is the contest one they entered? Is it something they want
to win? How does the win affect the direction of their lives? Sketch a
scene, or more, that shows the aftermath of the contest announcement.
Mark read the e-mail again. He had seen far too many of these types of messages,this one had all the signs of a scam artist. Misspelled words, a random draw for a contest he had never entered, for a lottery he had never heard of, and for which he had definitely not purchased any ticket, the name of the claims agent he was to contact was different than the one in the e-mail address given. Alarms bells went off in his head.
Usually his spam filter caught messages like this, but for some reason this was delivered to his inbox instead, he moved the mouse and was about to click on delete. He paused for a moment, looked over the message again. He looked at the very official "Award Letter Powered by Google.pdf" attached at the bottom of the message. He saw the numbers ₤550,000 in numerals and written out as ₤ Five Hundred Thousand. He was uncertain about the exact exchange rate but estimated that was about $825,000 US.
He moved the mouse from Delete to Reply and clicked it instead. A new e-mail opened up, Mark highlighted the address in the e-mail body, copied the claim agent's contact and pasted it in the To: field below the reply address in the header.
He clicked in the body and began to type:
Dear Dr. David Drummond, (or Dr. Willias Gibson) or whoever your are.
I received your e-mail advising me that I had won a large sum of money for using Google services.
Normally these types of messages go straight to junk mail, the rare one that gets past my filters is deleted immediately by me. I have read too many articles and seen many reports on the internet of people scammed out of their life savings by messages exactly like this. Instead I find myself responding to you, in the vain hope that this may be true, that it may answer to our prayers.
My daughter Samantha is eight years old, and suffers from cystic fibrosis. The doctors tell us her disease is so far advanced the only hope for her is a double lung transplant, if a suitable donor can be located. If we cannot operate on her, it is likely she will die within a year, at best maybe she will live for two.The costs for her operation will be almost $800,000 and the HMO has declined to pay for it, claiming her sickness is a preexisting condition, that she had it before we were insured by them, and is ineligible. We are unable to raise that amount of money on our own. Unfortunately we do not qualify for any aid to offset the costs.Her mother and I are forced to try ease her congestion as best we can, and pray for a miracle. Please let this Official Notification be real.
Yours in hope,
Mark Reed
He hovered the mouse over the send button, let out a sigh, and clicked. As the bar showed the progress, he thought to himself the worst that can happen is he just confirmed his e-mail address to a spammer, and it would get sold to other spammers. But a faint hope, a tiny spark made him want to believe it was real, that he had actually won a contest he had never heard of, and had never entered.
He signed out of Gmail, turned off the computer, switched off the desk lamp and walked down the hall to Samantha's room. He could hear her labored breathing, the sound of the humidifier running, his wife Jolene's voice as she comforted her softly, "It's OK Sammie, we will find a way to pay, somehow." Mark took a deep breath, entered the bedroom and asked Jolene, "How is she Jo?", as he sat on the bed beside his daughter. "I have this strange feeling everything is going to be OK."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was searching my Gmail Trash looking for a message like this to use as the typical scammer's baited hook, but I had not received one since the last time I emptied the junk mail. While I was searching the internet for typical wording, I saw I had a message in Spam. I was surprised and pleased to see the message quoted at the top of this piece had just arrived.
Kids, do not try this at home! There are some bad guys out there, and they are devious in parting unsuspecting victims out of their hard earned money. Do not reply to any messages like the one I just received.
Official Notification Letter.
Dear Google User.
You have been selected as a winner for using Google services,attached to
this email is Our Official Notification Letter for your perusal.
Find attached document for claims
Claims Agent: Dr David Drummod drwilliasgibson@dr.com
Sincerely.
MD. Matt-Brittin.
Chairman Of The Board and Managing Director Google UK Ltd.
©2015 Google Corporation.
Mark read the e-mail again. He had seen far too many of these types of messages,this one had all the signs of a scam artist. Misspelled words, a random draw for a contest he had never entered, for a lottery he had never heard of, and for which he had definitely not purchased any ticket, the name of the claims agent he was to contact was different than the one in the e-mail address given. Alarms bells went off in his head.
Usually his spam filter caught messages like this, but for some reason this was delivered to his inbox instead, he moved the mouse and was about to click on delete. He paused for a moment, looked over the message again. He looked at the very official "Award Letter Powered by Google.pdf" attached at the bottom of the message. He saw the numbers ₤550,000 in numerals and written out as ₤ Five Hundred Thousand. He was uncertain about the exact exchange rate but estimated that was about $825,000 US.
He moved the mouse from Delete to Reply and clicked it instead. A new e-mail opened up, Mark highlighted the address in the e-mail body, copied the claim agent's contact and pasted it in the To: field below the reply address in the header.
He clicked in the body and began to type:
Dear Dr. David Drummond, (or Dr. Willias Gibson) or whoever your are.
I received your e-mail advising me that I had won a large sum of money for using Google services.
Normally these types of messages go straight to junk mail, the rare one that gets past my filters is deleted immediately by me. I have read too many articles and seen many reports on the internet of people scammed out of their life savings by messages exactly like this. Instead I find myself responding to you, in the vain hope that this may be true, that it may answer to our prayers.
My daughter Samantha is eight years old, and suffers from cystic fibrosis. The doctors tell us her disease is so far advanced the only hope for her is a double lung transplant, if a suitable donor can be located. If we cannot operate on her, it is likely she will die within a year, at best maybe she will live for two.The costs for her operation will be almost $800,000 and the HMO has declined to pay for it, claiming her sickness is a preexisting condition, that she had it before we were insured by them, and is ineligible. We are unable to raise that amount of money on our own. Unfortunately we do not qualify for any aid to offset the costs.Her mother and I are forced to try ease her congestion as best we can, and pray for a miracle. Please let this Official Notification be real.
Yours in hope,
Mark Reed
He hovered the mouse over the send button, let out a sigh, and clicked. As the bar showed the progress, he thought to himself the worst that can happen is he just confirmed his e-mail address to a spammer, and it would get sold to other spammers. But a faint hope, a tiny spark made him want to believe it was real, that he had actually won a contest he had never heard of, and had never entered.
He signed out of Gmail, turned off the computer, switched off the desk lamp and walked down the hall to Samantha's room. He could hear her labored breathing, the sound of the humidifier running, his wife Jolene's voice as she comforted her softly, "It's OK Sammie, we will find a way to pay, somehow." Mark took a deep breath, entered the bedroom and asked Jolene, "How is she Jo?", as he sat on the bed beside his daughter. "I have this strange feeling everything is going to be OK."
© 2015 NoelHC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was searching my Gmail Trash looking for a message like this to use as the typical scammer's baited hook, but I had not received one since the last time I emptied the junk mail. While I was searching the internet for typical wording, I saw I had a message in Spam. I was surprised and pleased to see the message quoted at the top of this piece had just arrived.
Kids, do not try this at home! There are some bad guys out there, and they are devious in parting unsuspecting victims out of their hard earned money. Do not reply to any messages like the one I just received.
Tuesday 26 May 2015
Coffee memories
Exercise 15: Diner cheeseburger deluxe. Mrs. Brune’s
lasagna. Cheese and veggie omelet MRE. No, this isn’t my “To Eat” list,
although I sure could go for some lasagna, now that I think about it.
Rather, I can tell you a story about each one of these items, evoking a
couple of memories along the way.
For this challenge, write a scene in which food plays a role. It could be major, it could be incidental. But share with us the story that your character will always remember when next they see, smell, and/or taste that food.
He scooped a small handful of the rich brown Mexican beans out of the bag, and poured them into the coffee grinder. Carefully placing the lid on top, he pressed the button to start the process. The beans rattled around at first, and then the pitch changed. "Not too long." he reminded himself, he wanted the grind just right, too coarse and the full flavor would not be released, too long and it will too fine and will leave sediment in the brew.
When he felt the time was right, he stopped the grinder and opened the lid. He brought the machine close to his nose and breathed in the aroma. It was rich, earthy, with hints of spices and fruits. As he took in the heady combination an image came to his mind, a small white stucco building, trimmed with a light green.
Sun filtered through branches of the coffee plants, their cherry red fruit grew in clusters. Coffee beans were spread out on a concrete pad to dry, a tarp stretched over the area, offered protective shade. The owner explained how his family had run this small plantation in San Sebastian del Oeste for five generations as he described how he picked the fruit by hand when it was at its ripest, a deep ruby red.
The entire process was demonstrated, the cleaning, drying of the beans, and finally the roasting. The coffee roaster emitted waves of heat in the stifling hot afternoon. Beans prepared earlier were ground in an ancient hand grinder, and brewed. All the guests were served a small earthenware cup of the fresh brew, piping hot, it was refreshing to drink, even on such a hot sunny day.
He added the fresh grounds to a French press and poured the boiling water over them, stirred gently and set the strainer on the top. Now all that is left is to wait a few minutes before carefully pushing the handle down to get all the coffee grounds separated on the the bottom.
The coffee, visible through the glass carafe,was a deep, mysterious brown. The scent of the coffee takes him back to that afternoon at the small plantation, and the memory of the small dog that played with him there. He smiled.
https://www.flickr.com/photos/collazoprojects/sets/72157629821186605/
From blogger Julie Collazo, I couldn't find mine on the computer yet.
For this challenge, write a scene in which food plays a role. It could be major, it could be incidental. But share with us the story that your character will always remember when next they see, smell, and/or taste that food.
Coffee Memories
He scooped a small handful of the rich brown Mexican beans out of the bag, and poured them into the coffee grinder. Carefully placing the lid on top, he pressed the button to start the process. The beans rattled around at first, and then the pitch changed. "Not too long." he reminded himself, he wanted the grind just right, too coarse and the full flavor would not be released, too long and it will too fine and will leave sediment in the brew.
When he felt the time was right, he stopped the grinder and opened the lid. He brought the machine close to his nose and breathed in the aroma. It was rich, earthy, with hints of spices and fruits. As he took in the heady combination an image came to his mind, a small white stucco building, trimmed with a light green.
Sun filtered through branches of the coffee plants, their cherry red fruit grew in clusters. Coffee beans were spread out on a concrete pad to dry, a tarp stretched over the area, offered protective shade. The owner explained how his family had run this small plantation in San Sebastian del Oeste for five generations as he described how he picked the fruit by hand when it was at its ripest, a deep ruby red.
The entire process was demonstrated, the cleaning, drying of the beans, and finally the roasting. The coffee roaster emitted waves of heat in the stifling hot afternoon. Beans prepared earlier were ground in an ancient hand grinder, and brewed. All the guests were served a small earthenware cup of the fresh brew, piping hot, it was refreshing to drink, even on such a hot sunny day.
He added the fresh grounds to a French press and poured the boiling water over them, stirred gently and set the strainer on the top. Now all that is left is to wait a few minutes before carefully pushing the handle down to get all the coffee grounds separated on the the bottom.
The coffee, visible through the glass carafe,was a deep, mysterious brown. The scent of the coffee takes him back to that afternoon at the small plantation, and the memory of the small dog that played with him there. He smiled.
© 2015 NoelHC
For images of this little family coffee business in San Sebastian del Oeste, Jalisco, Mexico see the link below.
https://www.flickr.com/photos/collazoprojects/sets/72157629821186605/
From blogger Julie Collazo, I couldn't find mine on the computer yet.
Saturday 9 May 2015
Road Trip
Exercise 13: Your characters are on a road trip, driving along,
seeing the sights. Maybe they are on a deadline. Maybe they are just out
for a joy ride. Maybe they’re on their way to Missouri to clear out a
nest of vamps. In any case, they see something on the side of the road
that they just have to stop and check out.
Write a short piece that clues us in as to what they saw, and why it made them stop in their tracks.
Driving into the sun.
Sky is almost free of clouds.
The sun, a huge disc, shining straight into my eyes.
Dust stirred up by the cars in front of me lit up,
a haze hanging over the road.
George Strait playing, loud.
I want to just keep driving into it.
The highway stretches out ahead in a straight line , as far as the eye could see, all the way to the snow capped peaks on the horizon.
The sky was the softest, palest blue possible; not a cloud in sight to sully its purity.
Heat shimmer crosses like little creeks on the road in front, until the truck gets closer to them, and then suddenly break up, and join together like droplets of quicksilver, appearing again just a little further ahead, always just beyond reach.
The sunlight reflects off the hood, creating a glare on the windshield, the driver squints to see past it. Insects hit the glass, and makes his view forward even more challenging.
The heat outside is only slightly relieved by the air coming in through the open windows, the noise of it rushing past making it necessary to turn the volume up on the radio. George Strait is playing, the woman singing along with him, blending in so well.
"Oh my god you're something, like nothing I've ever seen, if I'm asleep let me dream" she sings.
"You have such a lovely voice. You should sing backup for George." he says
In the ditch on either side of the road wildflowers wave in the breeze, and beyond the ditch the bright sulfur yellow of canola blossoms, reflecting so brightly in the sun it is almost blinding to look at, stirred by the air, move in unison with the wildflowers. Their scent, sweet, almost cloying, wafts in through the windows, perfuming the air.
He looks over at her, reclining in the passenger seat, one arm resting on the window sill, leaning against the door, the other hand busy brushing strands of light blonde hair away from her face as the wind blows it all over. Her long legs are stretched out in front of her, her small, pretty feet, bare, resting on the dash. He says "If anybody else did that to my truck, I would go crazy, they would be on the side of the road, walking. For some reason I don’t mind it when it's you." He admires the curve of her thighs, her calves, in tight cut off jeans. His mind wanders to those legs entwined with his in bed, a few hours earlier this morning.
Her arms are bare, strong, her hands are so graceful, he thinks about them on his chest, up under the front of his shirt, as they kissed outside the truck before leaving, although that was many miles and over an hour ago.
Her tank top strains to hold all of her charms in, his eyes keep returning to her cleavage, it is a good thing the highway has no other traffic on it now, as he keeps correcting the wheel to stay in the lane.
She looks at him with alluring eyes that drive men wild, a smile plays on her lips, she reaches over and puts her hand on his muscular thigh, staking her claim. Her look says "You are mine, you are powerless to resist me."
She stops singing long enough to look off to the right side of the highway and point with her other hand to a small grove of trees and an abandoned farm house, just off the road. “Stop, over there, please,” she says, "I think I have been here before when I was just little, I know that house."
She turns her face back to him, and he knows there is no choice. The truck slows down, and pulls over to the shoulder before turning up the narrow dirt lane. On either side stand old elm trees, their branches meeting over the middle, forming a tunnel. Under their canopy it is shady, and cooler.
Pulling into an open meadow, long grass and tall wildflowers are everywhere. He turns off the engine, and switches off the music. Peace fills the meadow, so quiet, so calm, the only sounds a metallic tick, tick, tick of the engine cooling, the buzz of the bees flying from flower to flower, and a bird singing high in on of the trees at the edge of the grove.
They look at each other, and smile.
Her lovely mouth opens, he is not surprised when she says, "Hey, you, let's go see if we can break into that house."
To be continued.....
Image by Followings Photography. For great family and wedding photography in Maple Ridge BC and area check
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Followings-Photography/189047931139328?fref=ts
Write a short piece that clues us in as to what they saw, and why it made them stop in their tracks.
Driving into the sun.
Sky is almost free of clouds.
The sun, a huge disc, shining straight into my eyes.
Dust stirred up by the cars in front of me lit up,
a haze hanging over the road.
George Strait playing, loud.
I want to just keep driving into it.
The highway stretches out ahead in a straight line , as far as the eye could see, all the way to the snow capped peaks on the horizon.
The sky was the softest, palest blue possible; not a cloud in sight to sully its purity.
Heat shimmer crosses like little creeks on the road in front, until the truck gets closer to them, and then suddenly break up, and join together like droplets of quicksilver, appearing again just a little further ahead, always just beyond reach.
The sunlight reflects off the hood, creating a glare on the windshield, the driver squints to see past it. Insects hit the glass, and makes his view forward even more challenging.
The heat outside is only slightly relieved by the air coming in through the open windows, the noise of it rushing past making it necessary to turn the volume up on the radio. George Strait is playing, the woman singing along with him, blending in so well.
"Oh my god you're something, like nothing I've ever seen, if I'm asleep let me dream" she sings.
"You have such a lovely voice. You should sing backup for George." he says
In the ditch on either side of the road wildflowers wave in the breeze, and beyond the ditch the bright sulfur yellow of canola blossoms, reflecting so brightly in the sun it is almost blinding to look at, stirred by the air, move in unison with the wildflowers. Their scent, sweet, almost cloying, wafts in through the windows, perfuming the air.
He looks over at her, reclining in the passenger seat, one arm resting on the window sill, leaning against the door, the other hand busy brushing strands of light blonde hair away from her face as the wind blows it all over. Her long legs are stretched out in front of her, her small, pretty feet, bare, resting on the dash. He says "If anybody else did that to my truck, I would go crazy, they would be on the side of the road, walking. For some reason I don’t mind it when it's you." He admires the curve of her thighs, her calves, in tight cut off jeans. His mind wanders to those legs entwined with his in bed, a few hours earlier this morning.
Her arms are bare, strong, her hands are so graceful, he thinks about them on his chest, up under the front of his shirt, as they kissed outside the truck before leaving, although that was many miles and over an hour ago.
Her tank top strains to hold all of her charms in, his eyes keep returning to her cleavage, it is a good thing the highway has no other traffic on it now, as he keeps correcting the wheel to stay in the lane.
She looks at him with alluring eyes that drive men wild, a smile plays on her lips, she reaches over and puts her hand on his muscular thigh, staking her claim. Her look says "You are mine, you are powerless to resist me."
She stops singing long enough to look off to the right side of the highway and point with her other hand to a small grove of trees and an abandoned farm house, just off the road. “Stop, over there, please,” she says, "I think I have been here before when I was just little, I know that house."
She turns her face back to him, and he knows there is no choice. The truck slows down, and pulls over to the shoulder before turning up the narrow dirt lane. On either side stand old elm trees, their branches meeting over the middle, forming a tunnel. Under their canopy it is shady, and cooler.
Pulling into an open meadow, long grass and tall wildflowers are everywhere. He turns off the engine, and switches off the music. Peace fills the meadow, so quiet, so calm, the only sounds a metallic tick, tick, tick of the engine cooling, the buzz of the bees flying from flower to flower, and a bird singing high in on of the trees at the edge of the grove.
They look at each other, and smile.
Her lovely mouth opens, he is not surprised when she says, "Hey, you, let's go see if we can break into that house."
To be continued.....
© 2015 NoelHC
Image by Followings Photography. For great family and wedding photography in Maple Ridge BC and area check
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Followings-Photography/189047931139328?fref=ts
Monday 4 May 2015
A Moment in Time
Exercise 11: Life is full of mundane missed moments.
Sometimes, the subway door closes right as we’re walking down the
stairs. Sometimes, we’re the first in line for the movies when they
announce the theater is full. If only we hadn’t forgotten our jacket –
if only that red light hadn’t caught us – if only … Write a paragraph or
several in which your character’s life goes off track due to a missed
moment in time …
"You can't leave me stuck here alone with the kids in this weather." my wife said tearfully. "The last time I dug and dug snow for hours, and just when I finished the snowplow came and piled it up deep across the driveway and I couldn't get out." I replied "You know I have to get this done, it is my job." She answered "You don't get overtime, you don't get days off for spending a weekend offshore, so why go on our time? Go on Monday, hopefully the storm has passed by then."
The weather forecast was calling for heavy snow fall. She had problems digging out before when I was away. Being stranded in our house with no family to help out, and two young children concerned her. On the other hand, my supervisor was adamant that I go offshore to check on the modifications. I was torn between the two, and after much thought made my decision. As there was no compensation, or days off in trade, spending a weekend offshore was not fair to me or to my young family.
I cancelled my helicopter flight, and rescheduled it for the following Monday morning. We had many errands to do that weekend. She saw no reason why I had to spend the weekend offshore. Frankly, neither did I, it was my boss that thought I must go out. I already knew what modifications were required to adapt the drilling fluid system to handle oil based drilling fluids as I had already been involved in the conversion on its sister ship previously.
Sunday morning arrived, and with it a wild snow storm blew in from the ocean. Our house was less than a mile away from Conception Bay, and there was little to block the wind coming in over it. The snow drifted in against the ocean side of our house, and completely blocked the door way. I had to go out of the house through another door, and dig in to clear the huge drift away from the entrance. The whole family went outside. My wife and I shoveled to clear the driveway so we could move the cars, the children climbed up the snow banks and slid down them.
The news broadcasts covered the weather offshore as well as on land for Newfoundland. The predictions for the Grand Banks called for very strong winds and extreme wave heights. I was glad I was not out there. Even after many years at sea the motion of the platform in waves made me nauseous and dizzy.
That night the wind howled and rattled the house like nothing we had ever heard before; I thought the doors would blow in with the force against them. I slept, fitfully, waking up often to check the time, as I had to leave early to drive to the heliport.
I woke to the alarm clock, and got out of bed. I looked out the window in the darkness, and could see more snow had fallen overnight, and had been blown into deep drifts across our driveway and the long street down to the main highway. I went out to the end of our drive and saw the snow, above my knees, all the way down to the main road. Driving the car would not be possible until a plow came and cleared the road.
I returned to the house and called the heliport to advise them I would not be able to get there for my flight to the rig. A grim voice at the other end said, "Nobody is flying out to the Ocean Ranger today."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On February 14, 1982, the Ocean Ranger was hit by a large wave, took on water, and began to list severely. Lifeboats were launched, and the order to abandon ship was given. The drill rig capsized, and sunk. All 84 crew on board perished.
The article below gives details of the incident, and a summary of the report into the disaster. The memorial statue shown at the end of this article was the result of fundraising and lobbying efforts by my friend Rob Strong and myself, in memory of those lost at sea.
http://www.heritage.nf.ca/articles/economy/ocean-ranger.php
"You can't leave me stuck here alone with the kids in this weather." my wife said tearfully. "The last time I dug and dug snow for hours, and just when I finished the snowplow came and piled it up deep across the driveway and I couldn't get out." I replied "You know I have to get this done, it is my job." She answered "You don't get overtime, you don't get days off for spending a weekend offshore, so why go on our time? Go on Monday, hopefully the storm has passed by then."
The weather forecast was calling for heavy snow fall. She had problems digging out before when I was away. Being stranded in our house with no family to help out, and two young children concerned her. On the other hand, my supervisor was adamant that I go offshore to check on the modifications. I was torn between the two, and after much thought made my decision. As there was no compensation, or days off in trade, spending a weekend offshore was not fair to me or to my young family.
I cancelled my helicopter flight, and rescheduled it for the following Monday morning. We had many errands to do that weekend. She saw no reason why I had to spend the weekend offshore. Frankly, neither did I, it was my boss that thought I must go out. I already knew what modifications were required to adapt the drilling fluid system to handle oil based drilling fluids as I had already been involved in the conversion on its sister ship previously.
Sunday morning arrived, and with it a wild snow storm blew in from the ocean. Our house was less than a mile away from Conception Bay, and there was little to block the wind coming in over it. The snow drifted in against the ocean side of our house, and completely blocked the door way. I had to go out of the house through another door, and dig in to clear the huge drift away from the entrance. The whole family went outside. My wife and I shoveled to clear the driveway so we could move the cars, the children climbed up the snow banks and slid down them.
The news broadcasts covered the weather offshore as well as on land for Newfoundland. The predictions for the Grand Banks called for very strong winds and extreme wave heights. I was glad I was not out there. Even after many years at sea the motion of the platform in waves made me nauseous and dizzy.
That night the wind howled and rattled the house like nothing we had ever heard before; I thought the doors would blow in with the force against them. I slept, fitfully, waking up often to check the time, as I had to leave early to drive to the heliport.
I woke to the alarm clock, and got out of bed. I looked out the window in the darkness, and could see more snow had fallen overnight, and had been blown into deep drifts across our driveway and the long street down to the main highway. I went out to the end of our drive and saw the snow, above my knees, all the way down to the main road. Driving the car would not be possible until a plow came and cleared the road.
I returned to the house and called the heliport to advise them I would not be able to get there for my flight to the rig. A grim voice at the other end said, "Nobody is flying out to the Ocean Ranger today."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On February 14, 1982, the Ocean Ranger was hit by a large wave, took on water, and began to list severely. Lifeboats were launched, and the order to abandon ship was given. The drill rig capsized, and sunk. All 84 crew on board perished.
The article below gives details of the incident, and a summary of the report into the disaster. The memorial statue shown at the end of this article was the result of fundraising and lobbying efforts by my friend Rob Strong and myself, in memory of those lost at sea.
http://www.heritage.nf.ca/articles/economy/ocean-ranger.php
© 2015 NoelHC
Sunday 3 May 2015
Meditations on meditation
Exercise 9: If you have a favorite meditation technique, feel free to
use that. Otherwise, take a seat somewhere comfortable and out of reach
of electronic distractions. Let your thoughts cycle through until they
settle. If there are any ideas or thoughts that insist on persisting,
write them down on a notebook. Enjoy the respite from the constant
forward motion of our overfull lives. At the end, grab a nice cup of
coffee to jolt you back to reality (sorry, it has to happen …) take a
look at what you have on the notebook. If there is something there, take
a minute and go deeper — bring it out in a sketch of a paragraph or
two. If you have nothing on the notebook, you can at least enjoy the
brief moment of contemplation.
When this #WriteFridays prompt arrived I was traveling through Toronto to Orlando to take two of our grandchildren to DisneyWorld.
It was extremely difficult to "take a seat somewhere comfortable", after all I was on an airplane. "Out of reach of electronic distractions" is not that simple when there is a small display in the seat back immediately in front of you, as well as the screens other passengers were watching nearby. The normal in-cabin flight announcements and safety demonstrations, in both official languages, interrupted my thoughts frequently.
I usually take notes on my Blackberry phone Memo app, and then e-mail them to myself to work on later. This trip I decided to leave the phone at home, as I wanted to concentrate on enjoying the time together with the grandchildren. Instead I took a small memo book, the type with the coil binding at the top, small enough to be put in a shirt pocket. This one featured a small strip of elastic riveted on the cover that could hold a small pencil.
Once the flight was in the air and the announcement that we were now free to move about the cabin came on, I started to "let my thoughts cycle through until they settle". Initially my thoughts were of seeing my grandchildren again, the last time we had been together with them was six months prior. They live on the far end of the country, three time zones away and at the end of the day here, it is bed time for them, so we don't get to visit on the phone or Facetime often.
Thoughts of them eventually drifted to thoughts of my own grandparents, all long gone now, but still a very big part of my memories to this day. One memory, which is more a collection of a number of scenes with my paternal grandparents came to the forefront.
I took out my notebook and began to write down points as they occurred to me. Reading over my notes now I have a list. The list will form the backbone of another memoir chapter I plan to write and share with my own grandchildren.
My list of notes:
Chores done
Supper
Woodstove
Kerosene lamp
Transistor Radio
CFCW Ukrainian music hour
Grandfather bent forward listening
Frost on windows
Cold draft
Cup of tea, milk and sugar
Bread, homemade, butter, jam
Go to bed
Moonlight on the wall
Get up
Look out window
Dark blue shadows on white snow, of wooden fence, tall black spruce trees
Full moon, high in clear sky
Dogs barking
Coyotes howling in response, distant.
I dozed off, thinking of that scene, or collection of impressions from a number of scenes over the years visiting them on the farm.
We arrived in Toronto, very early in the morning, to "grab a nice cup of coffee to jolt you back to reality" and found our gate to wait for our son and the grandchildren to arrive from their flight.
I see the notes I made while at Disney on the next pages in the memo book, but that will be another story for another time. I will leave with just a little hint of what it will be about, best summed up by the three year old grandson's comment, "I love the whole wide Disney!"
When this #WriteFridays prompt arrived I was traveling through Toronto to Orlando to take two of our grandchildren to DisneyWorld.
It was extremely difficult to "take a seat somewhere comfortable", after all I was on an airplane. "Out of reach of electronic distractions" is not that simple when there is a small display in the seat back immediately in front of you, as well as the screens other passengers were watching nearby. The normal in-cabin flight announcements and safety demonstrations, in both official languages, interrupted my thoughts frequently.
I usually take notes on my Blackberry phone Memo app, and then e-mail them to myself to work on later. This trip I decided to leave the phone at home, as I wanted to concentrate on enjoying the time together with the grandchildren. Instead I took a small memo book, the type with the coil binding at the top, small enough to be put in a shirt pocket. This one featured a small strip of elastic riveted on the cover that could hold a small pencil.
Once the flight was in the air and the announcement that we were now free to move about the cabin came on, I started to "let my thoughts cycle through until they settle". Initially my thoughts were of seeing my grandchildren again, the last time we had been together with them was six months prior. They live on the far end of the country, three time zones away and at the end of the day here, it is bed time for them, so we don't get to visit on the phone or Facetime often.
Thoughts of them eventually drifted to thoughts of my own grandparents, all long gone now, but still a very big part of my memories to this day. One memory, which is more a collection of a number of scenes with my paternal grandparents came to the forefront.
I took out my notebook and began to write down points as they occurred to me. Reading over my notes now I have a list. The list will form the backbone of another memoir chapter I plan to write and share with my own grandchildren.
My list of notes:
Chores done
Supper
Woodstove
Kerosene lamp
Transistor Radio
CFCW Ukrainian music hour
Grandfather bent forward listening
Frost on windows
Cold draft
Cup of tea, milk and sugar
Bread, homemade, butter, jam
Go to bed
Moonlight on the wall
Get up
Look out window
Dark blue shadows on white snow, of wooden fence, tall black spruce trees
Full moon, high in clear sky
Dogs barking
Coyotes howling in response, distant.
I dozed off, thinking of that scene, or collection of impressions from a number of scenes over the years visiting them on the farm.
We arrived in Toronto, very early in the morning, to "grab a nice cup of coffee to jolt you back to reality" and found our gate to wait for our son and the grandchildren to arrive from their flight.
I see the notes I made while at Disney on the next pages in the memo book, but that will be another story for another time. I will leave with just a little hint of what it will be about, best summed up by the three year old grandson's comment, "I love the whole wide Disney!"
© 2015 NoelHC
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