Mr. Wilson Made it Home!

Mr. Wilson Made it Home!
Mr. Wilson

Saturday, December 27, 2014

Dancing with Mr. Wilson

Had somebody in the year 1977 told me that the music that blared from just about every self-respecting teenaged youth's speakers, created by the mighty AC/DC would in my lifetime be considered mainstream rock and roll, and good time music I would have told them they were nuts. When we were young and a bit wild, AC/DC was the epitope of hard rock. It would drive our parents crazy, and the louder it got the better we liked it!

I don't think I would have recognized myself had I had the opportunity to climb into a time machine and fast forward thirty-five years. But I definately would have recognized the tunes that the old guy and his dog were dancing to in the living room of their middle-class ranch in their middle class neighborhood, smack dab in their middle ages!

Rock and Roll ain't dead, and neither are we...



Sunday, December 21, 2014

The Bell Ringer



The Bell Ringer

The day is a bit frantic, lots to do, and not enough time to do it in. An after dark cup of coffee is just what I
need for the final leg of my journey that began shortly after sunrise. There’s a place near the last place on my list of places to go; a Christmas Shoppe on the week before Christmas. I can hardly wait.
There’s a line at the drive-thru so I park the car and walk in. A couple of teenage boys are the only people in the place and as soon as I enter one of them cuts in front of me and asks the girl behind the counter, “how much for a medium hot chocolate?”

“Two-fifty plus tax,” the girl replied.

“What about the .99 cent special?” asked the kid.

“You need a receipt from before noon today,” she replied as sternly as the kid’s question was surly. He snorted and put his buck back in his pocket and returned to his friend, rejected.

“Can I help you?” asked the girl behind the counter, finally noticing me.  I hate being invisible.

“A medium hot coffee, just milk.” I thought for a moment then said “and two medium hot chocolates.”

“You want whipped cream?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

The boys sat at a little table in the corner, two kids with no money and nothing to do but around the coffee shop. Their uniform of skinny jeans and hoodies didn’t look all that different from mine some thirty-five years ago, only my jeans were faded and an old army jacket took the place of the hooded sweatshirts. One thing had changed though, we used to hang around outside the stores; nobody would let us in
.
“You guys want whipped cream?” I asked them.

They looked back, bewildered.

“Two with whipped cream,” I said to the girl behind the counter, and she went to work. 

“Merry Christmas guys, I remember how it feels to be broke,” I said, and dropped the cups on their table.

The kids were stunned, and though they tried to remain cool could not suppress the delight my small gesture had on them.  It never fails to amaze me how a smile can transform a person; these two went from thug imitators to a couple of regular high school kids who just got an unexpected treat.

They got a hot chocolate, but I got much more. The looks on their faces when they realized what I had done was not at all what I would have thought. There was no suspicion, no uneasiness or sarcasm, just a genuine helping of gratitude that even the angst of adolescent life could not disguise. I think that they were as surprised with their response as I was. I doubt if anything like what just happened to them had ever happened to them before. In a world full of predictability something completely unpredictable had just happened.

Maybe I’m kidding myself and my gesture was no big deal. But maybe it was. Maybe these two kids who were hanging around a donut shop with nothing to do spent a few minutes enjoying their hot chocolate and feeling a little better about the people they share their world with. Maybe the next time they see an older guy coming they’ll hold the door for him, and that guy will get a different perspective of today’s youth, and not think that they are all a bunch of rude, unmotivated, texting, video game addicted creeps with no manners. Maybe that guy will see that these kids are a lot like he was when he was young, and though our pastimes have changed considerably, we are more alike than different.

And just maybe that guy will go home, and see his estranged teenaged son as a person again, and maybe he’ll find the patience he had lost, and maybe he’ll be able to recapture the magic between father and son that always seems to slip away between age 13 and twenty, no matter if it’s 1975 or 2014, or any time there have been fathers growing old and sons growing up.

Yeah, it was just a couple of hot chocolates, and there is a good a chance that the kids thought I was a chump. But there’s something magical about doing something good and decent for somebody else when there is nothing in it for you. You get to think about what you did any way you want, and allow those thoughts to grow into feelings. And it just feels great to think you made a difference.

I brought my good feelings with me to the Christmas Shoppe. I picked up the things on the list my wife had provided, and after cashing out the lady at the register quietly asked if I had “the coupon.”
“What coupon?” I asked.

The lady behind me gave me hers. It was good for ten bucks. I stashed the dough in my shirt, smiled and walked out. When I dropped the ten in the Salvation Army Bell ringer’s pot I realized that forces far greater than myself were at work. And it felt great to be part of it.

Friday, December 19, 2014

Silent Night, Good Girl



It’s time once again for one of my favorite passtimes, telling Ghost Stories! Loren Eaton at I Saw Lightening Fall has provided a creepy, wonderful means for us to tell some good ones. The rules are simple, 100 words, no more, no less, and make it creepy!

“From your chair by the window, you can see snow sluicing down from a leaden sky, white on gray. The radiator ticks. The eaves creak. Metal clinks against porcelain as you shiver while stirring your drink. The world itself seems blasted by cold, an empty waste of icy earth hard as iron, denuded of life.

But, oh, it is not. Had you eyes to see, you could behold the host of restless spirits moving across this chill tableau, a cloud of unsettled witnesses. Are you sure you want to know what have they seen? Because you are anything but alone. They can tell of the wayfarer huddled in the woods just over the hill whose red right hand turned against his brother. They can tell of the nameless thing that stalks him, desperate to slake its undying thirst. And they can tell of the quiet congregation accreting by your back door.
Come, turn the knob and let us tell you our stories…”
~Loren Eaton

Here’s my contribution…

It’s time once again for one of my favorite passtimes, telling Ghost Stories! Loren Eaton at I Saw Lightening Fall has provided a creepy, wonderful means for us to tell some good ones. The rules are simple, 100 words, no more, no less, and make it creepy!

“From your chair by the window, you can see snow sluicing down from a leaden sky, white on gray. The radiator ticks. The eaves creak. Metal clinks against porcelain as you shiver while stirring your drink. The world itself seems blasted by cold, an empty waste of icy earth hard as iron, denuded of life.

But, oh, it is not. Had you eyes to see, you could behold the host of restless spirits moving across this chill tableau, a cloud of unsettled witnesses. Are you sure you want to know what have they seen? Because you are anything but alone. They can tell of the wayfarer huddled in the woods just over the hill whose red right hand turned against his brother. They can tell of the nameless thing that stalks him, desperate to slake its undying thirst. And they can tell of the quiet congregation accreting by your back door.
Come, turn the knob and let us tell you our stories…”
~Loren Eaton

Here’s my contribution…

- See more at: http://www.rescuingprovidence.com/2014/12/19/where-is-santa/#sthash.vUCPGgnn.dpuf


It’s time once again for one of my favorite passtimes, telling Ghost Stories! Loren Eaton at I Saw Lightening Fall has provided a creepy, wonderful means for us to tell some good ones. The rules are simple, 100 words, no more, no less, and make it creepy!

“From your chair by the window, you can see snow sluicing down from a leaden sky, white on gray. The radiator ticks. The eaves creak. Metal clinks against porcelain as you shiver while stirring your drink. The world itself seems blasted by cold, an empty waste of icy earth hard as iron, denuded of life.

But, oh, it is not. Had you eyes to see, you could behold the host of restless spirits moving across this chill tableau, a cloud of unsettled witnesses. Are you sure you want to know what have they seen? Because you are anything but alone. They can tell of the wayfarer huddled in the woods just over the hill whose red right hand turned against his brother. They can tell of the nameless thing that stalks him, desperate to slake its undying thirst. And they can tell of the quiet congregation accreting by your back door.
Come, turn the knob and let us tell you our stories…”
~Loren Eaton

Here’s my contribution…

- See more at: http://www.rescuingprovidence.com/2014/12/19/where-is-santa/#sthash.vUCPGgnn.dpuf

“I always loved them.”
“Even when you were alive?”
“Even more.”

Bells chime exactly one mile behind them, muted by wind, lights blinking through the squall, a red dot shrouded by a blur of color.

“Hurry, we don’t have much time.”
“Is it always this crazy?”
“Every year.”

Onto the rooftop where few four legged creatures dare, through the roof; silent, just a wisp. Eyes watching, wary, interested. An ear cocks, a head tilts.

“Good dog, sleep now my sweet girl.”
“She seems content.”
“We did our job.”

Back into the night, where a million pets waited.

“Nobody bites Santa!”


Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Goodreads Giveaway!

In three short days a Goodreads Giveaway featuring Mr. Wilson Makes it Home begins! Ten copies of the book are up for grabs. All you have to do is enter!





Goodreads Book Giveaway


Mr. Wilson Makes It Home by Michael Morse

Mr. Wilson Makes It Home

by Michael Morse


Giveaway ends December 27, 2014.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.


Enter to win



Monday, December 15, 2014

The Grinch who ate the Birds

"Mr Grinch!" said Mr. Wilson from his comfy spot on the couch, "why are you in the Christmas Tree?"

The Grinch sat upon his perch, surprized that Mr. Wilson had woken up, but not so surprized that he couldn't think up a lie and think it up quick.

"I'm looking for a little birdie who lost his momma," said the sly, mischievous Grinch. "I heard him chirping, and he broke my heart."

"Those aren't real birds you dummy," said Mr. Wilson with a grin. "Come on, I'll show you the real birds!"

Mr. Wilson and his new found friend strolled to the kitchen door and glanced outside. There, as promised were dozens of birds gathered around the feeders.

"If we can get somebody to let us out we can chase them!" said Mr. Wilson.

"And if we catch one, we can eat him!" said The Grinch.

"Oh no, we never catch them," said Mr. Wilson. "We just chase them."

That old Grinch then slivered his way through the crack at the bottom of the door and snuck his way right up to a pair of mourning doves who were happily eating the sunflower seeds that fell from the feeders. Just as his grinchy little fingers were about to snap the neck of one of the doves, Mr. Wilson barked frantically and scared the birds away.

"Maybe you should stay outside!" he said to The Grinch and ran to the bedroom to tell his dad what The Grinch had done.

"His brain is full of maggots, his breath is like disease Mr. Wilson, stay as far away from him as you can get!" said Wilson's Dad.

Mr. Wilson returned to the door to keep an eye on his friend The Grinch, but The Grinch was gone, leaving only some feathers scattered around the snow at the bottom of the bird feeders.

"Oh Mr. Grinch, what am I going to do with you?"

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Mr. Wilson Meets The Grinch!

"Hey Dad, who's that?"

"He's The Grinch. Stay awy from him, he's no good!"

"Come on Dad, how bad can he be?"

"He's a mean one, that Mr. Grinch. He's really quite a heel."

"What's a heel?"

I pointed to The Grinch who dissapeared into the milk pitcher.

"Where'd he go?" asked Mr. Wilson.

"Far, far away, I hope."

But I knew better. The Grinch will be back, and he will do anything to STOP CHRISTMAS FROM COMING!




Friday, December 5, 2014

Mr. Wilson's Bad, Bad Day


I'm having a bad bad day
Its about time that I get my way
Steam rolling whatever I see, huh
Despicable me
I’m having a bad bad day
If you take it personal that's okay
Watch this is so fun to see, huh
Despicable me

Why ask why better yet why not
Why are you marking x on that spot
Why use a blow torch isn’t that hot?
Why use a chainsaw is that all you got
Why do you like seeing people in shock
But my question to you is why not
Why go to the bank and stand in line
Just use a freeze gun it saves me time

I'm having a bad bad day
Its about time that I get my way
Steam rolling whatever I see, huh
Despicable me
I’m having a bad bad day
If you take it personal that's okay
Watch this is so fun to see, huh
Despicable me







Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Book Giveaway!





Donate $5- (the link is to your right on the desktop, don't know where it is on your mobile device but I'm sure it's there) for a chance to win a signed advance copy of Mr. Wilson Makes it Home!

My latest book will be released on February 3, 2015. I have an advanced reading copy sitting on my desk waiting for me to give it away, but to whom I wondered? Then I realized that today is Giving Tuesday and an idea formed in my head: what if I asked the people who I network with here, on Facebook, Twitter and my "other" blog, Rescuing Providence  to use the Donate button next to this post as a way to raise money for one of my favorite animal rescue groups, NE All Breed Rescue and use the names of people who donate whatever they are comfortable with as a pool to pick a name from, randomly of course. I'll probably have Mr. Wilson pick a name from what I hope is a lengthy list, contact that person, sign the extremely limited ARC (advance reading copy) and send it to the winner on Friday, December 5th.

The following is from the book, I chose a passage that kind of ties my firefighting life in with my pet rescue life. It's a little sad, but was a vital part of the story that has as much to do with the past as it does with the future.


An excerpt from Mr. Wilson Makes it Home, (this is from my original draft, the finished book has been meticulously edited by Skyhorse Publishing)



     We were lying on our bed one day, a rare occasion; idle time at the Morse Mansion is normally spent doing tasks that Cheryl has deemed absolutely imperative, when I discovered Apps. The TV came with a YouTube app., and the fun began. I entered “dog rescue stories” in the search box, and seconds later dozens appeared on our screen. For hours we sat, eyes transfixed on the screen, often tear filled, and watched story after story of emotional dog rescues. There was “Fiona,” a blind homeless dog who had been living near a dumpster in a trash heap. She was 100% blind, and the people who rescued her got her to an appropriate veterinarian who restored her sight in one eye. It was truly a remarkable story, and we watched it over and over. There were stories involving what we learned are called The Victory Dogs, they being the soldiers that fought in football star Michael Vick’s illegal dog fighting ring. Trained fighters turned loving pets, and all through the love of humans who took the time to resurrect their innate goodness, and let them be the dogs that nature intended them to be. Another story focused on a little hairy dirtball who ran away every time the rescuer’s came close, but was eventually captured, and given a haircut and a bath, and when she was done she looked like Mister Wilson’s sister!
     Cheryl was next to me, Mister Wilson was next to us, his eyes rapt with attention as his brethren’s stories were told as the story’s kept coming. It was incredibly moving, and we all felt more connected to each other when we finally had seen enough, more connected to each other, and more connected to the people who dedicate so much of their lives to helping homeless animals.
      I had spent the previous twenty-two years working in the inner city, and seeing the worst of what people are capable of. The things that people are capable of doing to each other are truly frightening. Shootings, stabbings, baseball bat attacks, rapes, and robberies- the list is endless. With all of the human suffering I saw as a firefighter and EMT the suffering of helpless dogs and cats had taken a backseat. Seeing dogs abused, and beaten and litters of puppies left in back stairways to die and worse, far worse, had become commonplace, and when there are people shot, or dying nearby the images of those poor suffering animals needed to be cleared before I could do my job. I had lost my ability to see the possibilities before me. The brain is like a sponge, it absorbs things for as long as it can, and when it is full, it simply stops absorbing. My brain was full, and I became a hard person, not oblivious to the suffering and neglect so many pets were enduring, but worse, seeing it and doing nothing to help. I was convinced that there was nothing I could do. We can’t even take care of each other, how we can take care of all the unwanted pets, I wondered. I had mine, and took good care of them, and the rest? I just couldn’t be bothered; the problem was overwhelming, and unsolvable. Or so I thought.
     I left that job when I couldn’t do it anymore, and slowly my empathy is returning, as is my ability to dream what I once thought impossible. By doing a small part in a bigger scheme, I can help the plight of the animals I had been forced to turn my back on. Because I cannot save them all doesn’t mean I can’t help one. Or two.
     We adopted Wilson, not knowing who would turn up in that truck from Arkansas. Did we get lucky, or are all, or at least most of the pets available for adoption as wonderful as he is? Of course they are! Each animal is its own miracle, and has a lot to offer to anybody willing to accept the gifts they bring. My belief that the universe is a good place, a place where love reigns supreme is re-affirmed every time I’m with Mister Wilson. His place in the universe is right here with us, and if lying on the bed on a lazy Sunday afternoon is where we are, then that is exactly where we are supposed to be. I cannot turn back time, and help the animals that I had to leave behind, but here and now, in the moment I can do my best to never do so again. Dogs live in the moment, I think, and from all I have read are incapable of remembering past events or worrying about the future.
      Knowing this, and believing it for the most part, I can’t stop myself from questioning the validity of  their supposed inability to remember the past every time I see Mister Wilson shy away from me as if I were about  to strike him. Fear was introduced to him by somebody, and he has to overcome that fear and trust that whatever happened to him is not going to happen again, and is simply an ugly old emotion. Dogs may not have the ability to remember the way that we humans understand memories, but hidden in their DNA the knowledge that there is potential for pain every time there is interaction with a human exists. Lack of memory does not negate a dog’s realization that humans can strike out with little or no warning and hurt them, and for them to fully trust their new owners is next to impossible, and the fact that Mister Wilson does so as much as he does is miraculous.
     I wish I knew what happened to him to make him quiver when somebody raises their voice, and to try and shrink into the floor, and not be seen, and become invisible. I wish I
knew how to erase those emotions from him, and let him fully appreciate the moment, and live his life knowing that nobody will hit him, or kick him, or toss him aside like an old rag, or tie him up in a freezing barn surrounded by his own waste, hungry, cold and alone. But I can’t. The only thing that I can do, that any of us can do, is to never let it happen again.




Anyway, the book moves on and a lot of great things happen, and lessons are learned and life keeps coming.

Please take a moment and give a little to the homeless pets and the people who care for them.

Me and Mr. Wilson will be picking a name on Friday, thank you for participating!