Lost & Found Series (in progress)

Alright, so I finally published something.  I had set a goal to get two things published this month, and I waited until the end before even TRYING to get something up there.*  Finally, though, I published "But Now I'm Found," the novella in my Will Choner/"Lost & Found" series.  And since I put out the last book, Kindle Direct Publishing has created a Series tracker on their site, where you as an author can let people know which books or stories are in which series.

And I realized I'd never published the second story in the run, "The Case of the Runaway Turtle," which introduces Will's friend Marcellus Fonseca.  So, I guess I ought to put that out there too (I did run it on the Outcast, a year or two back).

Here's the story order, by the way:

1.  Lost & Found (novella)

2.  The Case of the Runaway Turtle (short story)

3.  But Now I'm Found (novella)

4.  The Case of the Missing Bracelet (short story--unpublished)

5.  The Case of the World's Oldest Dog (novella--unpublished)

I hope that, once Big gets back to his regular schedule, he can get these covers looking more presentable.**  Of course, I could do a lot more to make them a priority, but hey, I haven't checked Facebook in fifteen minutes.

*I keep using the fact that I'm not happy with my cover images as an excuse not to do it, when you can literally use something like this on Amazon:

**Hey, he got back to me, with some cool covers:

Unfortunately, the photo for one of them wasn't the right one, and I probably won't publish "Bracelet" until February or March, but they already look both better and more uniform than the ones I was using.  Thanks, Big!

Rish Outcast 238: Made Just For You

Made just for the holidays, Rish presents his Lara & the Witch story, "Made Just For You."  Lara Demming is spending her first holiday with Old Widow Holcomb . . .  could any heart warm in that environment?

To download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

To support me on Patreon, click HERE.

To lose at Whamageddon, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "No Insulting Nickname - It's Christmas!" Moretto.

December 22nd

For two years, I blogged every single day.  I may have written every day too, but I can't quite remember.  It was irritating, to you as well as to me, and took up time I could've been doing everything from self-publishing to exercising in, but it was hard to stop.  When I went to Europe, no matter how tired I was, I wanted to write down my experiences (or feelings about my experiences) each day, regardless of whether other folks found it interesting or not.

This month, I've been pretty spare when it came to blogging, mostly intentionally.  But I discovered that there's a downside to not blogging (for me, rather than for you): I've had absolutely no pressure about fulfilling my December goals without it.

One of my goals was to publish two things (downsized from my goal of publishing three things), and without typing the words "I haven't published anything yet this month, but I will," I haven't found the strength within myself to do it, even though it would probably take less than ten minutes to get a story out there.  I have no one to blame by myself.

Also, I worked for several days on a TV show, which I enjoyed (close to) every minute of,* watching likeable, talented, or extremely beautiful people performing over and over in front of me, and being in the exciting world of entertainment once again.  But I didn't write about it, and I started podcasting about it, but Big Anklevich called me about three minutes in, and I never went back to it.  And that's disappointing, because working on this show was probably in the Top Five (maybe Top Three) projects I've been a part of.

I also wanted to complain that I was picked to write a story for our family Christmas party again, and couldn't come up with a good idea this year.  I struggled with it, and then discovered that it was just last year, December of 2021, that I wrote the last one.  When I found that out, I just decided to re-run the first one I wrote, back in 2017.  That was nice.

I played Whamageddon this month, competing against my fellow humans to see who could hold out the longest without crapping themselves, and sadly, failed a couple of days ago when I thought I could walk to the toilet rather than run.  Oh wait, that's not what Whamageddon is: Whamageddon is a competition where you see who can go the longest without hearing "Last Christmas" by Wham!  It was a somewhat-fun game, but would be a heck of a lot better if I were doing it with a bunch of coworkers in an office, or at least blogging my progress each day.  Sigh.

And I wanted to talk about a bad eBay experience I had, where a guy wanted to return an item for a refund after he'd made it valueless, and so I asked eBay to step in, and they said, "Okay, you have to give him a refund AND he gets to keep the item."  It was such an unjust decision that I appealed it for the first time in my decades on eBay . . . and they came back with an immediate "We have found in favor of the buyer and our decision stands" in such short proximity that I knew they hadn't even considered what I'd told them.

But I didn't.

Now I'm at the library again, typing this instead of finishing my Christmas story (which is actually pretty close to finished, with only an hour or so more I need to commit to it to get to those most joyous two words).  Not sure what's wrong with me, but it's something.

*Close to, because I have never been a morning person, and I had to get up early, starting at 5:30, to get there on time.  Which I never managed.  Not once.  Came close on the last day, though.

I Guest on the Anklecast For Big-mas

I just finished editing my Christmas episode, but in the meantime...

Years ago, Big and I presented a fun audio drama on the Dunesteef called "The Spirit of Christmas," in which a small David Lynchian town loses its holiday spirit when a plate is broken.  This was, as you know, Kate, based on a true story.  Now Big, over at his Anklecast podcast, has adapted that script into a prose version, and is presenting it on his show.  He asked me to come along for the ride.

How well does the story translate from one format to another?  Well, I haven't heard it either, so hop on over to THIS LINK, and let's find out together!

P.S. This is the only time I'll do this for a while, but check out Big's Patreon Fund, and reward him for his good works and overall handsomeness.

Rish Outcast 236: Eurotrip Part 1

Rish begins his massive report on his massive trip to Europe. Volume one is mostly about Germany.

Hopefully, this enables you to fall asleep much easier than Rish did.

Just a note: Episode 235 was recorded in Europe, and was Patreon-only.

To download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

To support me on Patreon, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "EuroDrip" Moretto.

Brush With Pseudo-Greatness

I worked on a TV show this week (jeez, they swore us to absolute secrecy on this one that we wouldn't divulge ANYTHING we saw, from plotpoints to casting to even where we shot it, so I'll remain as mum as I can*), but the dude next to me, wearing a Harley Davidson cap, was asked to take off his hat when we filmed, and as I looked at him, I said, "You know who you look like?" expecting to hear the answer "Yeah, I get that all the time."  

But he claimed that the only celebrity he's ever been compared to is John Travolta, which I plainly didn't see.  Anyway, I joked that I'd get a picture with him later, and tell everyone that I'd met Sean Connery.  And to my surprise, he later said that it would be funny, and that I should grab my phone and go right ahead and take it.**  So, I took a selfie, but a lady photobombed us, and laughed about it, so I told her she had to take the picture now, which probably made it come out better.

But you tell me, does the guy NOT look like Connery, Fake or otherwise?

*For Bossk's sake, they even said we weren't to talk about it AFTER the mother-hugging show has aired, which has to be more than a little unreasonable, right?

**Again, even this was forbidden by the NDA I signed, but I doubt they'll kick up much of a fuss, not for an old crook like me.

Podcast That Dares 39: The Scarlet Citadel 2

Rish finishes his performance of Robert E. Howard's "The Scarlet Citadel" from 1933.  Can you make it through?

Download the episode directly by Right-Clicking HERE.

Support me on Patreon, by clicking HERE.

Logo by Gino "The Taupe Citadel" Moretto.

11-30

I went to the storage unit the other day and as I was leaving, I noticed a unit that had two padlocks on it, rather than the usual one (or zero, for empty ones).  And immediately, I wondered about it.  What was inside that's so valuable there are two locks instead of only one?  It made me think that, if I were a thief, out of all the lockers to break into . . . that would be my first pick.  And I can't be the only one curious about what might be inside.  In other words, putting on a redundancy on their unit, they actually made the treasures inside less safe than they would otherwise be.

So, it's the end of the month, and that means I should look at how I did with my writing.  I set a November goal for ten thousand words, and did what I could to not only achieve that goal, but keep track of my numbers each day.

11-10 567

11-11 413

11-12 369

11-13 Zero

11-14 1284

11-15 1331

11-16 1062

11-17 964

11-18 213 (I just couldn't bring myself to write, even though I had a full hour to do it in)

11-19 1349

11-20 266

11-21 597

11-22 565

11-23 789 plus 105

11-25 69

11-26 1088

11-27 Niente

11-28 485 plus 90

11-29 1410

11-30 459

That's a total of 13,475 words.

13,475 /10000 words. All done!

In December, I think I'll set the goal of throwing out my brown and orange button-up shirt, which has gotten so small on me I look like I will Lou Ferrigno out on it every time I put it on.  That's right, the problem's the shirt, not the ever-expanding dude under it.

11-26

Every day or two, when I log into Facebook, it will remind me of a post I made on that day, whether it was just last year, or as long ago as a decade ago.  Today's was a reminder of a bit of story I had been writing this day, back in 2015.  It was the scene from my tale "Rest Stop" where the woman/ghost/witch shows up: 

But here we are, years later, and I've just been writing about her again.  Kind of fun, really.

I've not written every single day, but I have tried.  Also, I've not exercised every day either, but I have managed to most of the time, despite it being cold out (and there's nothing better than running at night when it's below freezing, when my hands and ears and very lungs are trumpeting, "You should not be doing this!").  So, here's where we stand today:

11-10 567

11-11 413

11-12 369

11-13 Zero

11-14 1284

11-15 1331

11-16 1062

11-17 964

11-18 213 (I just couldn't bring myself to write, even though I had a full hour to do it in)

11-19 1349

11-20 266

11-21 597

11-22 565

11-23 789 plus 105

11-25 69

11-26 1088

11031 / 10000 words. 110% done!

Podcast That Dares 38: The Scarlet Citadel 1

Rish presents the first half of Robert E. Howard's Conan story, "The Scarlet Citadel."  

Enjoy . . . or to Hell with you!

To download the episode directly, Right-Click HERE.

To support me on Patreon, by Crom, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "The Brown Citadel" Moretto.

I Find Your Lack of Holiday Spirit Disturbing

I took my nephew to the mall today, and as we were passing the section where kids can line up to meet Santa Claus (or in 2020, could line up to stand in front of the glass partition that housed Santa Claus), I noticed this sign, advertising exciting things to come.

Now, I may be a grown-ass man, with a high school diploma and an IQ of 117, but I kinda want to go to the mall and see kids get pictures with Santa Claus and Darth Vader.  

Heck, I'll go so far as to say I kind of want to go and get pictures of myself with Santa Claus and Darth Vader.  

That's normal, right?

11-19

Something in the past that has helped me has been to "compete" with Big Anklevich when I go to the library to write, sending him my word count every few minutes, while he does the same.  Tonight was a good one because I started out way ahead of him, but he started to close in around the time the library made its announcement to kick us out.  Big passed me by, but the moment I got home, I hopped on the computer and wrote another 477 words I surely wouldn't have bothered with had he not been racing with me.*

11-10 567
11-11 413
11-12 369
11-13 Zero
11-14 1284
11-15 1331
11-16 1062
11-17 964
11-18 213 (I just couldn't bring myself to write, even though I had a full hour to do it in)
11-19 1349

7552 / 10000 words. 76% done!

*Big's final score was 1192, so there.

11-16

Been going for a week, not accomplishing much, but getting some writing done almost every day (Big has been kicking my butt on it, but that's fine).  My goal for the month is ten thousand words.

11-10 567

11-11 413

11-12 369

11-13 Zero

11-14 1284

11-15 1331

11-16 1062

5026 / 10000 words. 50% done!

11-13

So, I've been home for a number of days, and my body has not yet recovered from the time change.  Two nights ago, we went to see WAKANDA FOREVER, and due to that, I didn't get to sleep until around three, and that was fine . . . but it caught up to me last night, when I was super sleepy at eight or so, ended up falling asleep until nearly four in the morning, and couldn't go back to sleep after that, so I podcasted for three hours, ate breakfast, and am now blogging, even though my morning alarm won't go off for another hour.

But there has been a positive to this weird sleep schedule: I've used it to podcast in the pre-dawn hours of the morning.  Unfortunately for my listeners, that's gonna mean a lot of episodes about my trip to Europe (the first one will just be for the Patreon supporters).  And unfortunately for me, that's hours and hours of editing, somewhere other than the cabin, where my brother informed me there are three or four feet of snow, making it inaccessible to anybody not on a snowmobile.

One of these days, I will man up and take my laptop to the library, put on headphones, and edit for an hour or two straight, with no distractions.  As it stands, I edit with my laptop on the bed, and if I get distracted, I stop editing, or if I get bored, I fall asleep.  I can do better.

Anyway, I had set a mini-goal for myself to get 10,000 words written in the month of November, despite having zero words written during my vacation.  I have gone to the library three days in a row, but only managed a few hundred words in that time, so unless I become really inspired (or really dedicated), I doubt I will achieve my goal.  But it's good to try things, even if you fail.

This is my progress so far:

11-10 567

11-11 413

11-12 369

11-13 Zero

1349 / 10000 words. 13% done!

My Voice on "Door Approach" on the Anklecast

Big Anklevich is still going strong with his solo podcast (or should I say "solo" podcast, since every one of them has had a guest star with him), and this month's, he's running a story he wrote called "Door Approach," about two Mormon missionaries who are not what they seem.

I think I voiced Elder Jensen, but I can't really remember.  Regardless, he is joined by Marshal Latham, because I was too busy getting ready to leave the country to help a brutha out.  Now I kind of regret that decision, since they talked about vampires and werewolves and horror movies, and I have a bit of experience with those three things.  Check it out HERE.

11-9

Day 17

Jeff got me up a little bit early (3:45am), but that was probably for the best--I'm slow-moving at the best of times, and in the morning, fugettaboudit.  Virtually every day since this started, I've been worried about forgetting something, leaving an item behind that I need to bring, and today being the last day in Europe, if I forgot something (like I did my mask yesterday), I can't just go back and get it.

We took a cab, because the trains don't run this early, and once again, I was floored by how expensive it was to ride just fifteen minutes (or less) to the airport.  Before I left, my mom told me I should take a taxi or shuttle to the airport at home, and I was too cheap to do even that, preferring to buy my cousin a meal for taking me there and picking me up.

Sunrise at Amsterdam airport.

Well, I tried to record, but there were too many people around, and I tried to blog, but started falling asleep.  Guess I'll give in to it for a few minutes more.

Eventually, my flight came, and I was on my way.  I watched a few television episodes, watched CYRANO, tried to watch Spielberg's WEST SIDE STORY (I tried, man, but didn't make it through), and before long, we were in U.S. airspace again, and I could turn on my phone's dataplan again (I had made exactly zero calls and used it for internet not once since leaving the States).  Everyone around me was speaking English again, and we were back in the Land of Pepsi.

It turned out that my cousin's wife got sick, so he had to take his daughter to a field trip only a few miles from the airport, so even that wasn't particularly inconvenient.  He waited for me to go through Customs, get my suitcase, and I met him at the curbside, and I was back on my way home.  It was cold here, and bright, because I had gained eight hours on the flight.  That would plague me for the days after the trip, with me waking up before dawn almost every single day (regardless of what time I had gone to sleep the night before), but that seems like a small price to pay for a European vacation.

A few days later, my uncle's daughter found out I had been overseas and asked, "Why would YOU get to go to Europe?"  It was a question I had difficulty answering, because I did nothing to deserve such an excellent trip, with so much attention and money showered on me, but just like sometimes bad things happen to good people . . .

Anyway, I leave you with this, a montage of warning signs I saw around Europe (I had a friend, years ago, who was always entertained by them, pretty inexplicably).  Enjoy?

11-8

Day 16

There was nothing on the agenda for today, so we mostly sat around and watched TV.  Emily commented on that, and Jeff told her that this was what it was all for, to just relax and enjoy some television.  I'm not sure if he's right or not, but we watched the rest of "Detectorists," and I did really enjoy that, despite how cruel and sad it was.

Well, here we are: my last night in Europe.  Jeff has gone to sleep (and rightly so, since he's getting me up at 3:55am to make my flight), and I'm typing this, waiting for the NyQuil I just took to kick in.

As the man said, I'm not even supposed to be here today.  My initial flight home was two days ago, but it got delayed, and ultimately canceled, and they booked me on the next soonest flight back to Amsterdam and on to the U.S., which is tomorrow morning at six-something.  So I had an extra day and a half here, where we didn't do much but watch "Detectorists" and HOT FUZZ, though we did go into town for lunch and walked a bit through the city (though Jeff hadn't brought his cane, and was suffering greatly after a little while, something I didn't pick up on until he mentioned it later).  

Downtown Stuttgart.

We'd walked to the train station when I realized I didn't have a mask with me, so we walked back to get it, and I grabbed a coat and a mask.  When we got to the bus terminal, Emily said that only two-thirds of the people even wear their masks on the trains anymore, which made me wonder why we'd gone all the way back.  But I am a foreigner, and it's best not to stand out, right?

We went to Five Guys downtown, and the cashier spoke to me in English, which was such a relief, I exclaimed, "Oh my gosh, your English is excellent!"  Her sweetish face soured and she said, "I am from Nigeria," like I had asked her when her baby was due, or how her gender reassignment surgery was going.  I had meant no offense . . . it had just been refreshing to hear*.  But hey, I'll probably forever associate Five Guys Burgers with my trip to Europe (we went to three of them, more than any other restaurant),

Well, the cold medicine is kicking in faster than I thought it would.  So, light out, and pleasant journeys.

*There was a German man in the seat next to me on the train from Paris to Stuttgart, who did business in France speaking English, and we had a bit of a conversation.  He had a lot of trouble understanding me, until I up-shifted into a British accent, after which, he exclaimed, "Ah, now you are speaking English!"  True dat.

Rish Outcast 233: Yet Another Christmas Movie

Due to no popular demand, Rish talks about being on extra on yet another holiday movie.

To download the episode, just Right-Click HERE.

To support me on Patreon, Left-Click HERE.

Logo by Gino "Yet Another Anzac Day Movie" Moretto.

11-7

Day 15

This morning was probably the low point of the entire trip.  

I awoke AGAIN at right around four am, my back in such pain that it was hard to even roll over.  I'm pretty sure these upper compartments are for luggage, not children after all.  Luckily, Big Anklevich was still awake (it was only nine pm for him there . . . not sure how, since my math said it had to be midnight or at least eleven in Texas), and he texted back and forth with me for an hour while I hoped that Jeff and Emily would wake up right at five like they usually do, and I could come down and sit with them, giving my back a break.

And true to their wont, they soon were awake, and I came down and sat next to them, sitting and dozing while they chatted, until the porter brought bread and jam for our breakfast.  We watched the passing scenery (once the sun came up) from the train's windows, and having passed through Austria in the dark, were now in Germany once again.

Even now, hours later, I can feel the sway of the train, even though I'm in the guest room in Jeff's apartment.  Yesterday, at the train station, I could feel the rocking of the boat, even though we were ostensibly on dry land there.  So weird.

Big said that he was still writing daily, even though I hadn't written a darn word since leaving the country, so I MIGHT get some done today, but the blog is taking priority, since the stuff I'm doing is rapidly fleeing my mind, and the writing will always be there.

At the Munich station, it was cold (the train station is outdoors, prompting me the other day to wonder what it must feel like in January), so I stepped away from Jeff and Emily to put on my heavy sweatshirt, the one I'd only worn once this whole trip, when it was drizzling in England.  Well, it was apparently a mistake to wander away from my group (and backpack), because the Polizei saw me--there were four of them--came up the escalator, and asked me for my papers, just like in the movies.

Well, they asked me in German, and luckily, the one speaking also spoke English, because they followed me to my backpack, where I gave them my passport, and he looked it up on his phone, verifying I was who I said I was.  Then they left, but Jeff said they're always looking for people traveling alone, especially those without bags.

Besides the ones under my eyes, I mean.

Before too long, our train to Stuttgart showed up, and we were on our way once again.  I was next to the window, and watched the scenery passing by, lots of green fields, forest, and quaint little European towns with 19th century architecture and towers with clocks on them.  This was what I imagined Germany looked like (and France too), and I was not disappointed.

We got back to the Stuttgart station, walked to the bus stop, took the bus back to the stop in front of Jeff's apartment, and walked in.  The shirts I had ordered for me and Jeff to wear to the Paris catacombs had still not arrived, and indeed, I doubt they'll ever arrive now.

I took three pictures out the window of my room, at different times of day.

We all got showers and changed into clean clothes, and Emily made another excellent meal (this one was burritos, I think, but that might have been the next night), and even I went to bed at a reasonable hour that night.  The adventure was all but over now.

11-6

Day 14 (Venice - Day 2)

I've taken more pictures in Venice than anywhere else, even London (maybe not the skulls, though).  And today it caught up with me, because my phone was full when I tried to take a picture of the Bridge of Sighs.  I took a moment to delete all the pictures in my Instagram folder (76 pics), but at the end of the day, when the sun was setting, I'd filled it again.

"Hey, Hicks, man, you look just like I feel."

The day started early when my back woke me up right before four, complaining about the upper compartment from the night before.  I finally got up and went to the bathroom, which was a gorgeous, opulent place nicer than my first two apartments (heck, I'd wager it was nicer than anyone's first apartment--it had a shower/bath, a sink, a toilet and a bidet, a closet, and a window big enough you could fit a Christmas tree through it, that looked out on the Venice rooftops and the stars.

This was my vantage point.  Beggars can't be choosers.

Out the window, I could see the big church dome on the other side of the canal, a few seagulls, and a couple of stars (one of them fell while I sat).  I took two Excedrin and waited for the pain to subside, and chatted with my cousin and Big Anklevich via text.

Soon, Jeff and Emily were up (and playing their DuoLingo games), and they nicely let me sleep as they got ready for their day.

This was a little bit more relaxed than yesterday, with room to look at things and take them in, rather than just bounce from sight to sight, not really digesting anything.

We happened to be walking by the big church when the sun was just coming up behind it, creating a pretty spectacular photo opportunity, even for my camera.

During the night, the water levels had risen greatly, and a lot of Venice had water on it.

For example, this is the restaurant where we ate the night before.

Even though we were told that it wasn't even the flooding season, we discovered that the main plaza and many of the alleyways had been flooded.  Anticipating this, the city had laid out portable platforms that the tourists could walk across, avoiding the water.  Or, if they were more adventurous, there were vendors selling colorful plastic garbage bags and elastics, to put over your feet and legs, so you could splash through the floodwaters like a little kid.  It was impressive to see several hundred people crossing above the six or seven inches of water in front of the main church and palace, in front of restaurants, and houses. 

I saw lots of little fish in the water and plenty of seagulls and pigeons on the land, but no rats, stray cats, singing birds, or water tarantulas.  I'm just saying.

The one thing you always see in movies about Venice is the striped-shirted gondoliers and their boats on the canal.  We saw one or two, but while we were walking around, eating gelatos, one of them was standing around, looking for business.  He approached us (speaking English), offering to give us a ride around town, and when we were hesitant, he offered to give us a guided tour for no additional charge (which he usually charged twenty Euro extra for).  Of course, since he was piloting the boat anyway, I wonder how different the two options would've been.  

He led us through the super-narrow alleyways to the place where the road simply dropped off into the water, where his gondola was waiting.  Emily and I climbed in, and helped Jeff down inside, but a false move and any one of us would've gone in the water (I wonder how many tourists fall every week--there's no way it's less than one a day).  

The water levels had risen so much that there were almost no boats on the water, and indeed, when we went under a bridge, the driver had to duck down low so as not to bump or scrape his head on the underside of the bridges.  Other, taller boats were stuck in mooring until the tide went down.

So, it's everybody's dream to go on a romantic gondola ride through the Venice canals.  And our pilot was certainly a hustler for our business, moving fast and effortlessly through the narrow and often-crowed canals (that pic above, you can see there's barely room for two gondolas to pass by one another).  I'm not going to throw him under the (water)bus, but look at these photos of our ride, and see if you notice anything particularly unusual or disappointing:

Yep, the dude was on his cellphone, probably complaining about us the whole time.

We ate at a restaurant where Jeff suggested we get some pizza, because surely people would ask me if I ate any pizza in Italy (his leg was bothering him so much we just went to the first restaurant we found, for the chance to sit down).  The pizza was not good, but as usual, I ate everything I was given, trying to be one of the good tourists, instead of the guy who asks for ketchup everywhere we went (Jeff loathes ketchup the way I loathe . . . well, stomach cancer, I suppose, but I would not have turned down a bottle at any one of the places we went).

Because I apparently have infinite time, I combined two of Emily's pictures when we had lunch.

We were taken on a water taxi to the island of Murano to see the glass-blowing factory by a dude who spoke good English and told us three times we had "no obligation to buy."  

There was a guy--a master, apparently--who took a blob of molten glass out of the oven with a stick and proceeded to mold it before our eyes into a horse rearing on its back legs.  

It was really impressive, but the guy does it over and over and over for the various tours, and I asked our tour guide if it's still thrilling for him to watch, and he said no.

I had seen the cemetery from the boat the day before, and wanted to go there.  It looked so amazing from the water, and I suppose it was kind of unusual and interesting (there was, for example, one section of the grounds where only nuns had been buried, and another a little way off, where only priests hung out*).  But the place was somber and quiet, and there was a big list of restrictions posted at its entrance, including no music, no photography, no drinking, no walking on the grass, no picnics, and no taking off your shirt (I didn't make that up, though I believe it said nothing about pants), which ensured that there were only a handful of tourists on the whole island.

Both Emily and I damned our souls by snapping a photo or two (including this one of a cool statue of a man and the Grim Reaper on it), but since we had seen the ossuary under Paris, this really could not compare.

The thing is, after going through the ossuary in the catacombs, where you were allowed to photograph piles of the literal dead, a prohibition on photography of headstones or crypts or trees seemed pretty ridiculous.

I got it into my head to buy a painting, and there are several artists who set up stands, all in a row, on a street in Venice.  Some are pretty friendly, trying to schmooze you into buying from them, and the one I thought was the best was pretty stand-offish (which, honestly, lost him the sale, since I went to every other artist after, looking for one that was as good, so I could buy from them, and ultimately found one where the guy was friendly, and I thought, "This will do.").

The night before, Emily and I had rushed to find a vantage point where we could take a picture of the sunset, but we missed it.  Today was very different.  In fact, for a full hour, leading up to the sunset and long after, the sky was almost breathtakingly beautiful, unlike anything I'd ever seen, except for where Lando Calrissian is administrator.  I took pictures till my phone was once again filled up, but my vantage point wasn't the best, so I stopped trying. 

Seagull.

The sunset was much, much more impressive than the one the day before (it had been cloudy, I suppose, though I have no idea why some sunsets are better than others).  We got on a water bus to take us back to the stop in front of the train station, and the sky got spectacularly red, with the color reflected in the waters of the canal below it.  By this point, my phone had filled up and I couldn't take any more pictures, but take my word for it, Stevie Wonder would've been impressed.

I got this one by sticking Emily's phone out the window, surprising the world I didn't drop it.

Eventually, we got to the station, went inside, and waited first for seats to open up, and then for our train back to Germany.

*This was clear because, as seems to be the custom in Italy, every headstone for the last thirty years had a photograph of the deceased as part of it.  We put one on my grandmother's stone here in the States, so it must be an option everywhere.