Quick Pick

Chapter 1 Jonas Jackson was not a content man. In fact he was at odds with the entire world as he knew it. More precisely, he was an angry man heavily burdened with his share of regrets and disappointments. Most surely, if contentment was on one side of his life’s scale it would ride weightless against the disappointments that had been thrown his way. His traveling experience had been primarily limited to his short military service. It had been a rewarding adventure for the most part. Like others with a history of some venturing about, he was now reduced to spending his idle hours dwelling on his more significant memories; both good and bad. Distressingly, this day was not unlike most of his current days; it was joyless with little promise of anything uplifting. Squirming under his blanket provided nothing in the way of relief or comfort for his tormented and worn body. For him, the smallest exertion tended to add to his physical and emotional discomfort. Furthermore, there was no promise for a brighter future. In fact, his world had closed in on him, smothering his expectations for any sign of improvement. He had been robbed of his family and old friends His life had been pillaged by Mother Nature. Now, he was forced to redefine the meaning of why he was here on earth in such a hopeless condition. Each morning, the sunshine of a new day arrived without hope, only to serve as a reminder that he had to battle the world around him just to maintain his meager existence. That was certainly deplorable by anyone‘s standard. His whole life was a bitter imprisonment as he struggled for survival. He was at war with not only himself, but the entire world. This was a war that he had no weapons with which to fight. There was nothing in his foreseeable future that glimmered with encouragement about his present situation. In fact, his life had continued to spiral downward for several years now. However, this was one of the times when he would cope by clinging to some of his nearly forgotten and better memories. With vivid clarity, his mind allowed him to recall 1964 and those white sandy beaches of the Caribbean. Life back then had been full of promise and limitless possibilities. His health had been good and his mind and heart had danced with visions of a good life; one filled with happiness and a prospect of a modest prosperity. His life in the U.S. Navy had always been structured. The emotional and environmental perks of the U. S. Navy had always been gratifying and positive. As a boatswain mate, he had enjoyed sea duty and to this day his thoughts were always drawn back in time to a place where gentle ocean breezes and clear blue skies had soothed his soul and warmed his heart. He had graciously enjoyed the occasional interruption by a cool cleansing storm. It had been a good, healthy and robust life. Sadly, those days were gone, lost to changing times, and circumstances beyond his control. Men and women who believe that people create their own destiny fail to understand the power of Nature. Fate had a way of destroying the best of intentions regardless of how well a person planned or how hard they worked. This was the reality of life for the rank and file and even for the privileged for even they had no immunity to fate. He had religiously kept a crude journal of his navy life; travels and adventures had been plentiful and nearly always rewarding. Without that tattered old journal his memories would surely be lost and irretrievable. Every seafarer knows the anguish and despair brought on by forgetting the details of all of his or her adventures and misadventures so it was not unusual for Jonas to cling to his journal as if it was the Holy Bible. His life had always included a variety of inner spiritual thoughts that he could seldom adequately express in everyday words. However, his hand-written entries never failed to prompt his old emotions to rise above his circumstances. Like most people, the good things in his life had always been felt on a deep emotional or spiritual level and were rarely openly expressed for others to inspect and judge. They were private matters and they were all he had left. The writings and ramblings in his journal were the only things that could put a smile on his lonely and aging face. He rolled over on his back and pulled his frayed blanket up under his chin. The lone tear that trickled down his face gave him pause to wonder if he was now weeping over sins he had committed or sins he had yearned to commit during moments of spiritual weakness. Tear or no tear, he was keenly aware that he had not caused all the tragedies in his life so the blame was not all of his own making. Life was usually too complex to blame every event or catastrophe on any single source, especially if that source was one’s self.