Posts Tagged “just beachie column”

Where iz et Your Hiding Place Mon Cherie!?

L’amour!
by Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”

L’amour! Love, sweet love. And this is the month to express it freely. If you need inspiration, Pepé Le Pew will be happy to be your guide, for the sweet-smelling skunk never fails to win his true love’s heart. Whoops! Maybe I should have said he never fails to pursue his true love’s heart. No matter her rejections, Pepe remains unwavering in the quest for kisses from his beautiful Cherie.

“We are inseparable…are we not darling!?” smooches Pepé as he tries to convince the object of his affection, Penelope Pussycat, that his only desire is to make love to her in the Casbah.

     “Eney, meeny, miny, moe,
     Catch a lover by the toe.
     If she holler hold her closer,
     Eney, meeny, miny, moesa.
     O-U-T! spells I LOVE YOU!”

Could it be that Pepe is truly in love? Or is he just in love with love? Amoureux de l’amour.

Like so many of us, I think we are just in love with love, which isn’t a bad thing unless of course you hookup with the Tasmanian Devil and allow them to swirl so quickly through your romantic life that by the time they depart you feel as if a tornado has imploded your heart. Your emotions splintered and scattered in the after mass.

But even after Taz encounters of the worst kind, love is delightful! Love gives you the sensation of bouncing on fluffy pink clouds. Love makes life good. Love makes life fun! Love helps us endure hard times and celebrate good times.

Hard-knocks have given many a heart pain, mine included, and yet, I still believe in love. I believe in the magic of love. It is the only true power in the world. A divine presence. A heavenly force.

Let February be the month we enjoy the philosophy of Pepé Le Pew, and follow your romantic heart: slip into something more comfortable, pop the bubbly and sing words of love to your Cherie.

In Peace and L’amour
Beach

© Beach T. Weston 2017

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Don’t Ya Just Love a Good Ghost Story?

BOO! gost pic6

Don’t Ya Just Love a Good Ghost Story?
by Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”

While this particular column may have no profound meaning—it will be a source of spooky entertainment. For who doesn’t love a good ghost story? It’s an imaginative story told to me many moons ago, and has remained forever in my index of EErie and hair-raising tales. Completely untrue I’m sure, but then again, maybe not.

“It’s time for a chilling tale”, announced my thespian friend.

Actors can exaggerate at times. Being one, I can appreciate the necessity of hammy-embellishment. However, this particular Ham-spian was over the top when he began to tell a ghostly story complete with unsettling sounds, and unexplainable sightings.

“It was late summer,” he began. “I was hiking alone, deep in the woods—being one with nature. Birds trilled from tree tops, and pine needles crunched under my boots. I was charmed by the rustling leaves (announcing an early fall) when I noticed about five-hundred feet from the hiking trail, flickers of gold light streamed through a grove of Pine trees. I was enticed by curiosity and proceeded to follow the source of strange illumination. As I entered the grove, the trees seemed prudently planted—as if arranged to skillfully lead me to a dilapidated, two-story house. Faded green shutters dangled from corroded hinges, and blocks of wood shingles shifted in the breeze. The old house telepathically invited me to enter. I stepped onto the rickety porch and the front door opened as if I was being welcomed, but by whom!? There was no one there…”

At this point in the tale, everyone who had gathered around Ham-spian was completely engaged. We knew he was full of it, but the story was damn intriguing and sucked us into the moment of story-telling-reality. A place where part of you knows it couldn’t possibly be true, and the other part, I want to believe in fairy tales, believes it to be fact.

“…I entered the living room…the couch was covered in a stained yellow sheet, and tables looked as if they had never been dusted. There were no footprints or fingerprints, only decaying books and a broken lantern. As I continued to investigate, the upstairs floorboards began to creak. The sound near to a moan. I shouted, “IS THERE SOMEONE THERE?” No answer. The creaking traveled above my head and onto the stairwell landing. And as it did…a whoosh of cold air needled my skin. And then…an unearthly growl reverberated off the walls.”

“What the hell did you do!?”

“I ran! Of course. As fast as I could! Out the front door and back through the tree lined path. My heart has never beat so fast. It was damn weird. But, for some reason…I’m not sure why…I came to a dead halt…as if my feet were stuck in quicksand. I turned to the house, and what I saw in the second-story window you won’t believe…” 

There was utter silence. You could have heard a strand of hay hit the floor.

Red eyes! Two…glowing…redeyes. Ahhh Woooooo!!!” Ham-spian howled—his fingers making exaggerated clawing jesters.

Chances are Ham-spian’s story was a wheelbarrow of horse manure, although he swears to this day that he saw the red eyes, and that they often haunt his dreams.

Yeah right.

But then again, many say ghost and hauntings really exist.

I shall explore more of this phenomenon in columns to come. But for now—next time you sit around a campfire, roasting your vegetarian hot dogs, listen to the sounds of the night as you tell stories of ghosts and spirits past.

In peace, love and a few EEECHS! and BOOS!
Beach

© Beach T. Weston 2016

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