Wednesday, February 28, 2024

Welcome To My Blog

 

To help you select the stories and poetry you might want to read, below is the list of all posts made to my blog since its inception. Posts are listed in chronological order from the first post made on April 18, 2019, until the most recent post (The most recent post appears first on the blog). Please browse the list of posts to find the titles that most intrigue you. Then do one of the following:

 

1.         Place the title of the post in the space beneath the header, “Search This Blog.” With regard to poetry, a post may contain more than one poem. You may have to insert the first two poems listed to find what you want. Then click on search. The posting should appear at the top of the screen for you to read. Or . . .

 

2.         Using the date a particular posting was made, go to the “Blog Archive” to the right of the posts and click on the particular month in which the poem or short story was posted and scroll down until you find what you would like to read. Please note that if you scroll through all the posts on the screen and don’t find what you are looking for, below the last post on the screen, on the right, are the words, “Older Posts.” Click on this and you will find the additional posts made during the particular month you have selected. Scroll through these until you find the story or poem you wish to read.

 

Enjoy the journey, as you read the creations of my heart and my mind.

 

Thank you.

 

Alan

Alan Lowe
Poet and Writer

slolowe@icloud.com

https://slolowe44.blogspot.com/

 

 








 

If you did it, you don’t want her to know. And if you didn’t, you want to prove you’re being honest about it.

 

But, if she doesn’t believe you, she may say . . .

 

 

You’re Cheating

 

“You’re cheating, aren’t you?”

she asked, with a scowl on her face.

 

“No, I’m not,” I replied.

“It’s not my place.”

 

“You’re my partner

and I trusted you.”

 

“How did I break that trust?

What did I do?”

 

“Oh, you better come clean,

Or you’ll have a price to pay.”

 

“I’m clean as a whistle.

That’s all I have to say.”

 

“I see it in your eyes.

You’re one of those unscrupulous guys.”

 

“But I didn’t do anything,

and this may come as a surprise.

 

“I’m as honest as the day is long.

I play by the book.”

 

“Just keep it up, mister.

I’m not letting you off the hook.”

 

“What am I, . . .

some kind of fish?”

 

“Keep going on like this,

and you may get your wish.”

 

“I’ve had it.

Take my hand.

 

“You’ll see I haven’t been cheating.

Then you’ll understand.”

 

She grabbed my hand,

and stared at me.

 

No sign of a run, or even a marriage,

could she see.

 

“You’re worth nothing!” she screamed,

in a way that made me shake.

 

But she was right.

I’d made a huge mistake.

 

I threw my cards on the table

And admitted I’d overbid.

 

With my cheating behind us,

I put my face in my hands and hid.

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Saturday, February 24, 2024

When we don’t move forward in life, we wonder why. We look for someone to blame.

 

However, the answer may be closer than we want it to be. For we may be . . .

 

 

Our Own Worst Enemy

 

I’m drowning.

Please help me

find my way.

 

I need

an answer

to survive.

 

Yes, I’m listening,

but you’re not

making any sense.

 

I’m trying

hard

to understand.

 

But the picture

you’re painting

is cloudy.

 

All right,

describe it

to me again.

 

Why

can’t I

hear you?

 

Where

did you

go?

 

This isn’t

funny.

Come back.

 

What?

You never

left?

 

This

is getting

weird.

 

What

are you

implying?

 

How

is it

my fault?

 

I need

to have

a what?

 

A plan?

What kind

of plan?

 

One to help

me escape

from myself?

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Monday, February 12, 2024

Sometimes things occur when least expected. When you’re young, this can be quite confusing.

 

You try to make sense of what’s happening. But this can be a challenge in . . .

 

 

The Oval Office

 

      Growing up is hard to do. You surmount one hurdle only to move on to the next. My name is Jason Haggerty. I grew up in a single-parent home. My mother could be quite the character. She challenged me in ways that made me think, but not always to my liking.

      However, if it were not for her, I wouldn’t be the man I am today. I’m president of Haggerty, Styles, and Lee, a successful advertising firm.

      Let me share an example of how my mother interacted with me. I was ten years old at the time and had a mind of my own. It was then that our lives collided in a very unexpected way.

      The day was cloudy, with a chance of rain. We finished breakfast and sat staring out the kitchen window. Then Mom turned towards me, and . . .

      “Jason, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

      “How should I know? I’m only ten.”

      “Come on. You must think about it sometimes.”

      “Yeah, sometimes.”

      “Well . . .”

      “I’m thinking.”

      “So, you’ve had enough time.”

      “Uh, President of the United States. That’s what I want to be.”

      “Why?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “You must have some idea as to why. It’s a big job, you realize.”

      “Mom, I gotta go.”

      “Go where?”

      “Not go. Go!”

      “Oh! Okay.”

      I left the kitchen and raced down the hall to the bathroom. I didn’t think I was going to make it, but I got lucky.

      When I exited the bathroom, Mom was standing in the hallway. “Did everything come out all right?” she asked, with grin on her face.

      “Aw, Mom, stop it!”

      That night, I lay in bed thinking about becoming president. I would be king, I thought. I’d make all the rules and have my own office. It sounded so good.

      My eyes started to close and I fell into a deep sleep. “President Haggerty,” a voice called out.

      “Huh, what do you want? I’m trying to sleep.”

      “Sleep? You’re on the job, President. So wake up!”

      “Okay, I’m awake. Now what?”

      “You’re wanted in the Oval Office.”

      “Oval what?”

      “Oh, come now, don’t play games with me.”

      “I’m not playing games. Mom doesn’t let me play games at night.”

      “You’re forty-five years old. If you want to play games, you don’t have to ask your mother.”

      “Forty-five? What?”

      “You heard me.”

      “Who are you?”

      “Your Chief of Staff. But you know that. I make things happen for you.”

      “Like what?”

      “Whatever you’d like. Just name it.”

      “Anything I want.”

      “Generally so. There might be some exceptions. I don’t want to do anything illegal.”

      “Mom doesn’t let me do anything illegal. She says I’ll get arrested if I do.”

      “No worry, presidents don’t get arrested.”

      “You mean they can do bad things and won’t get caught?”

      “For the most part, yes.”

      “What about the other part?”

      “What other part?”

      “The rest, after the most?”

      “You’re confusing me. And you’re wanted in the Oval Office. So get up and come with me.”

      “All right.”

      I began to roll out of bed. It wasn’t as easy as it used to be. I was bigger and bulkier. I took my time and stood up. “Oh, my,” I murmured. Staring back at me from the mirror on the wall was a grown man in a suit. Who is this person? I wondered.

      My Chief of . . . was gone and the door of the room was open. I looked out and saw people—lots of people moving around. They appeared to be very busy.

      I started down the hallway. A young woman smiled at me, and said, “Good morning, Mr. President.”

      “Good morning,” I whispered, and continued down the corridor.

      A tall, well-dressed, older woman looked me in the eyes. “Mr. President, I need to talk with you. It’s very important,” she stated.

      I didn’t know where the words came from or why they flowed from my mouth, but I spoke as if I knew what to say. “Senator Wells, how can I be of assistance to you?”

      “I need you to consider a very important proposal.”

      “Proposal? Are you asking me to marry you?”

      “What? Oh, no! You’re joking, aren’t you?”

      “Why, yes. I guess so. What is the proposal?”

      “Can we talk in the Oval Office?”

      “Senator Wells, I gotta go.”

      “Huh, go where?”

      “Not go. Go!”

      “Oh! Okay, Mr. President.”

      “I ran as fast as I could down the hall. Seeing the sign, “Private Men’s Room,” I entered, pulled down my pants and sat on the pot.

      Then I heard someone knocking on the door. “Go away,” I yelled. “There’s only one seat in here.”

      A woman’s voice replied, “I know.”

      “Senator Wells, just leave me alone.”

      “Senator who?”

      “Stop playing games with me. You know who.”

      “All I know is that you spend more time in the “Oval Office” than any ten-year-old I know, Jason. So come out, now!

      “All right, Mom. I’m coming,” I muttered.

      “And remember to flush.”

      This story always will be a part of me, with a small addition. “Keep all your reading material in the ‘Oval Office’ a safe distance from the pot, and don’t flush while sitting on it, for you may go down with the crap. And no president wants to do that,” Mom would say, in a way I never forgot.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Wednesday, January 31, 2024

Can dogs and cats get along? How might this happen?

 

Who’s the boss? You’ll find out, when you have  . . .

 

 

A Cat In The House

 

     My name is Lizzy. I’m a cocker spaniel and live with my Dad, Adam, and spaniel sister, Bets. Dad is single and looking for a mate. And I’m looking for a mother. Sometimes we visit and stay overnight at my “mother-to-be’s” house.

     The home my sister and I have been visiting recently is quite crowded. Three females and one male live there. However, the visits aren’t bad. One of the females, the mother, Anna, is nice and treats me with respect. The two girls, Sadie and Maddy, both schnauzers, are just there. Even though I’m female, too, they don’t pay much attention to me.

     And then there is Amore. I heard someone say his name meant “love,” but he exhibits anything but the tenderness and kindness you’d expect, especially to my sister and me. Some might say he’s the boss of the house. He’s smaller than we are, but has a very controlling attitude.

     He sits in the armchair next to the couch. If we come too close, he swats us across the face with his cat paw. It scares the hell out of me—makes me shake and scoot away. But it never hurts. I wondered why. And then I heard Dad say, “Glad you declawed him, Anna.”

     I really didn’t know what that meant, but I guess it’s a good thing. Not only is Amore the boss, he also is a magician and makes things disappear. One morning the doorbell rang. “Mom” opened it and said, “Hello, Isaac.”

      “Ms. H, the key to the back gate isn’t under the bench.”

     “It has to be. That’s where I always leave it for you so you can get into the yard to mow and blow.”

     “It isn’t there,” he said.

     “Just look for the plastic, springy yellow keychain holder. It must have fallen on the ground.”

     “Did that. It’s not there.”

     Well, she opened the gate for him with a key she had in the kitchen, and all seemed fine. That evening, she went out to water some plants in the area where the bench was. As I watched, she looked up toward the sky and saw a shinny thing hanging from the roof. “My God!” she screamed. “There’s the keychain.” The only way it could’ve gotten there is because Amore is a magician.

     This, however, was just the beginning of my relationship with Amore, for his mom and my dad mated. In our new house, everything seemed to be going well. The dog doors gave us the freedom to exit the house, but not leave the yard. That is, except for Amore. We could run and play all day on the beautiful lawn. It was paradise. But he could jump the fence and go anywhere he wanted.

     One evening, Mom and Dad leashed up my two stepsisters, Bets, and me, for our walk through the neighborhood. As we pranced along and smelled the grass, trees, and fire hydrants, we passed a couple standing in their driveway. The woman called out to Mom and Dad, “Do you know that you have a cat following you?”

     “What!” Mom exclaimed.

     There was Amore, walking, in step, behind us. Seems he would do this every night. Sometimes he would start out with us, then turn down a different block, and then join us again as we proceeded on our journey.

     One day, as I lay on the couch gazing out the window, the doorbell rang. Mom went to the door and opened it. There was a woman standing there.

     She looked at Mom, and said, “Do you own a black male cat?”

     “Yes. Why do you ask?”

     “Has he had all his shots? And has he been neutered?”

     Flustered, Mom, stammered, “Yes, he has. But . . .”

     “Well, he’s been sleeping in my bed a lot of nights with my female cat.”

     “Oh, my! I’ll be sure to lock him in, so he doesn’t visit you again.”

     “No, you don’t have to do that,” she stated. “He’s been wonderful company in bed. I just wanted to make sure he’s healthy.”

     That’s my brother, Amore—a traveling scoundrel. But there’s a lot more to tell.

     One night Mom and Dad were getting ready for bed. Mom stared at Dad and said, “Honey, I think you need to sleep in the guest room tonight.”   

     “Huh, why? What did I do?” Dad asked.

     “Nothing,” she said. “I’m suffering from Restless Leg Syndrome and I’m going to toss and turn all night and keep you awake.”

     Dad responded, “Okay. Are you sure?”

     “Yes, I’m sure.”

     Dad got into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and headed toward the guest room. And I decided to follow. I didn’t want to be kicked around by Mom either.

     When we got there, Amore was sleeping between the pillows. Dad crawled in slowly, trying not to disturb him. I jumped up onto the bed and lay down at the end on the other side. I couldn’t have predicted what happened next.

     Dad lay on his side facing Amore. Amore lifted his head and glared at him. Then he got up and started walking up and down Dad’s body. He did this all night.

     Finally, Dad rolled out of bed and went down the hall to be with Mom. I followed him. As he entered the room and got into bed, Mom woke up. He looked at her, and asked, “How long did it take for you to fall asleep?”

     She replied, “About fifteen minutes.”

     “Oh, my. And I’ve been up all night.”

     “Why?” she inquired.

     “The cat.” He put his head on the pillow and fell asleep.

     About a year later, Mom and Dad decided to move to a senior community, Sunset Glen, about a half hour away from our home in Sacramento. They spent weeks packing boxes, as they got ready for the move.

     The day arrived. My sisters and I were put in the backyard and told to stay there, as the movers began to load the truck. However, I snuck into the house. Since I didn’t get in the way, they let me remain inside and watch. They locked Amore in the guest room.

     When the movers needed to get the stuff out of the guest room, Dad went back there and got Amore. He walked down the hallway clutching him in his arms. As he did, a mover came through the front door and startled both Amore and him. Amore jumped out of Dad’s arms, ran out the front door, and disappeared down the block. And neither Dad nor Mom could find him.

     The movers closed up their truck and headed to our new home. With tears in my eyes, I cried for Amore. I thought I’d never see him again.

     After the movers unloaded the truck, we settled in for the evening. Mom looked at Dad and said, “We have to go back to the house tomorrow and do a final cleanup. I believe Amore will be there.”

     “I hope you’re right,” Dad replied.

     The next morning, Mom and Dad loaded my sisters and me into the station wagon and we headed back to our old house. Lo and behold, Amore sat on the front porch waiting to be rescued. My heart beat so fast; I thought it was going to jump out of my body.

     After Mom and Dad got everything cleaned up in the house, we headed back to our new home. When we pulled into the garage, all of us kids, except Amore, exited the car. With the tailgate open, Amore sat and stared. No matter how hard Mom and Dad tried, he wouldn’t leave the car. He must have thought, This is how I got here and this is how I’ll get home.

     Two days later, Mom managed to get Amore into a cage and brought him into the house. She turned to Dad and said, “Remember what the vet told us.”

     “Yeah. Keep him in the house for two weeks before letting him out, so he knows this is home.”

     However, the next day the doorbell rang. Dad opened the door, not knowing Amore was right behind him. And he escaped through it.

     Before Mom or Dad could say anything, he stopped at the edge of the front lawn, looked around, and headed back into the house. This was his home, and Amore, indeed, meant love. Our hearts were full of joy and the family was back together again.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Tuesday, January 16, 2024

What will the future bring? We have goals and aspirations.

 

Can we achieve what we desire? To do so, we must have . . .

 

 

Dreams

 

At night, shadows play games upon the wall.

Pictures dance before me and challenge my mind.

 

I lie in bed and contemplate what the future holds for me.

I reflect on my life—where I’ve been and where I’m going.

 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately, for much has happened.

Signs flash before my eyes and I must make some decisions.

 

But I’m somewhat confused and unsure of which path to follow.

The world has changed in ways I’d never anticipated.

 

I’m not sure I’m equipped to play in it or understand what lies ahead.

I pray for an answer, but know in my heart it is mine to find.

 

The dreams of my past have faded, as I have aged.

New ones emerge, but I’m not sure I can make them happen.

 

I’m frightened and alone, drowning in the missteps of my past.

I wish you were here to stand by me and open the door to our forever.

 

First, however, I must find you, as I navigate life’s road.

I do know you are there, looking for me, as I am for you.

 

Some starry night we will meet.

     I know it will happen.

         It has to.

 

For now, I’ll lie back,

     And dream of what will be.

         For dreams do come true.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Tuesday, January 9, 2024

Growing up can be hard to do. Obeying “the boss” is not always easy.

 

Sometimes interactions can get heated, as you will see in . . .

 

 

No You’re Not

 

“Why can’t you

just do

what I ask?”

she inquired

in a way

that made me shake.

 

I bent

my head

in “shame,”

but knew

it was just a ruse.

 

She was not

the boss of me

and I wasn’t

about to bow

to her command.

 

“Look at me!”

she bellowed,

“Or you’re going

to pay

the price.”

 

I glared at her

and replied,

“Not on you’re life—

no way!”

 

“I’ve had it

with you!”

she screamed

in anger.

 

“You have no right

to disobey me,

young man,”

she stated emphatically.

 

I began to dance

and sing,

“Yes, yes, I do,

boo-hoo, boo-hoo.”

 

“I’m your mother,

and you’ll do

as I say,

or else.”

 

“Mother?” I giggled.

“No you’re not.

You’re my

‘misstep’ mother,

boo-hoo, boo-hoo.”

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Sunday, December 31, 2023

Fatigue has a way of playing tricks with your mind. What you experience may not be what it seems.

 

However, when the truth of the situation unfolds, what has occurred starts to make sense. But . . .

 

 

Would You Believe It Happened On New Year’s Eve?

 

     It was December 31 and I had to work. My day was long and boring. And it didn’t end until after 7:00 p.m. Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I cleared my desk, grabbed my brief case, and dragged my fatigued body to my car. I slid into the driver’s seat and began the drive home.

     After a hellish twenty-six minutes, in which I had trouble keeping my eyes open, I pulled into the garage. Exiting the car, I headed through the covered walkway to the house.

     Entering through the front door, Bruno, our huge Saint Bernard, wearing a hat that read, “Happy New Year,” greeted me by jumping up and placing his paws on my shoulders. He then planted a slobbery kiss across my mouth and cheek. My balance compromised, I grabbed for the coat rack hanging on the wall in the hallway, while trying to push Bruno off me. I regained my composure, threw my coat over a hook on the rack, and called to my wife and kids, but got no response.

     I looked at the large mahogany grandfather clock sitting like a stately grandmaster against the wall across from the coat rack. It displayed the time, eight o’clock, and began to chime.

     I heard loud talking coming from the kitchen, so I dragged my tired body toward the commotion that must have prevented my family from hearing me call to them. Entering the room, I kissed my wife, Sheila, and hugged the kids, who had eaten a late dinner after spending the afternoon with her at the mall returning unwanted Christmas gifts. Then, without a word, I turned and left the room.

     I ambled down the hall to our bedroom and changed out of my suit and tie into my gray sweats, threw some water on my face, and returned to the kitchen. Grabbing a bowl of chicken noodle soup from the pot on the stove, I plodded toward the living room, placed the soup on a coaster on the coffee table, and collapsed onto our large, plush sectional couch.

     As I settled in, Sheila and the kids joined me to watch the end of our favorite reality show, Amazon Survivor.  After downing my dinner, I did my best to stay awake until the show ended. It concluded at 9:00 p.m. and Sheila hustled the kids off to bed.

     “Good night, Daddy,” Nicholas, my eight-year-old, sung out.

     Olivia, my subdued six-year-old, whispered, “Nighty night, Daddy.” 

     Before I could respond, they headed to their bedrooms. Sheila leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek and whispered, “Try not to fall asleep on the couch, as you always do. Instead of staying up, why don’t you come to bed now? You look bushed.”

     With my eyes half closed, I muttered, “It’s too early. I need time to unwind. And it’s New Year’s Eve.”

     “You can unwind in bed, you know. And I don’t have the energy to stay up until midnight. The kids and I had a full day.” Not waiting for a response, she turned and left the room.

     Moving to the chaise lounge portion of the couch, a comfortable section built for two, I stretched out my bone-tired torso on its soft velvet pillows. I reached for the remote, fumbled with it to find the “Guide” button and flipped through the selections until I located the Sci Fi Channel. Pressing “Information,” I read aloud, “Lucas Kieron and Sonia Tyrone in Disaster in a Small Town.” I pressed “OK” and settled in.

     This “highbrow” movie made me wish I’d selected another channel. However, too tired to make the effort to find something else to watch, I stared at the screen and tried hard to stay focused on the story. However, just as I realized this wouldn’t occur, my cell phone rang. Jumping up off the chaise, I grabbed it from the end table, hit “ON,” and sputtered, “Hello.” 

     “Hi, Julian, this is Mason. I wanted to get back to you to discuss the tax question you asked me about yesterday. And by the way, Happy New Year.”

     “Happy New Year to you, too, Mason. Thank you for calling.”

     Mason is my accountant and though I know we began to talk, I can’t remember what was said or even if we completed our conversation. And I don’t recall hanging up the phone or how I got back on the chaise lounge. But I reclined there with my eyes drooping.

     I had difficulty concentrating on the TV and the gore and devastation of a town in the midst of a tremendous earthquake, with people struggling to extricate themselves from the rubble. With my legs resting on the bed of the chaise, I endeavored to pay attention to the program, but fought a losing battle. I drifted into a semi-conscious state, not quite asleep, but not awake. 

     Then strange things started happening. I attempted to roll to my left and then my right, but had trouble doing so. I tried to bend my legs in an effort to get up, but they seemed to be pinned to the chaise. Lying on my back, with my eyes almost closed, I scanned the room, but could see only faint shadows, as the only light in the room came from the darkened picture of earthquake debris on the TV screen. 

     I felt a stabbing pain in my left thigh. I reached down to rub it and touched strange objects all around me.  As I endeavored to maneuver my stricken body, I realized something large held my legs within its grasp. I began to wiggle to free them, but to no avail. The more I struggled, the more it seemed things tumbled down onto my defenseless frame. The pain from the weight on my legs became greater and I tried to shout out in anguish, “Oh Lord, what on earth is happening?” But nothing came out of my mouth, as I fought for a breath of air.

     I attempted to locate my cell phone, but couldn’t find it. I remembered I was talking on it with Mason. However, at some time during the conversation everything seemed to go dark and then I felt trapped. But I had no idea how all this occurred.

     Maybe the phone was still on, so I gasped, “Mason,” but got no response. I tried again to move the huge object draped across my legs, however, it wouldn’t budge.

     Thinking I heard noises coming from outside the window, I attempted to yell, “Help me, I’m trapped in here.” But only a whisper came out and nobody responded. I began to panic and stammered, “Please, p . . . lease help me, I can’t move.” Again, no response.

     Could my mind be playing tricks on me? Did I imagine the voices coming from outside my window? Is this all a dream?

     My thoughts returned to the thunderous crash and subsequent falling debris. Did we have an earthquake? I didn’t feel any shaking. There was no warning. Everything just collapsed. Maybe this didn’t happen here, but just in the movie.

     But then why can’t I move my legs? I tried once more. However, nothing happened. It felt as though a herd of elephants had taken refuge on top of them.

     Why had I been placed in this perilous situation? Would anybody come looking for me? Maybe Mason would? But if we got disconnected, why hadn’t he called me back? Was he all right?

     Alone, frightened, and powerless to save myself, I feared I’d lost the battle with this silent and unforgiving foe. But I couldn’t give up. And what about my wife and kids? Were they all right?

     I attempted to retain whatever sanity I had left. Something is watching me, I thought. Mysteriously my voice returned, and I screamed in defiance, “I know you’re out there.”     

     A shrill voice responded, “You bet I am, Julian. Shut off the damn TV. I told you I didn’t want to stay up until midnight. And that stupid sci-fi movie is going to wake the kids. Come to bed, now!” 

     Sheila’s high-pitched, piercing voice startled Bruno, who had fallen into a peaceful sleep, draped across my legs, now quite frozen stiff. He rose and shook himself so hard the whole room seemed to vibrate. With my legs now free, I removed the large plastic dog bone that jabbed into my left thigh and struggled to get up off the couch.

     Then the lights went on and I saw stuffed dog toys all around me. As I gazed across the room, the menacing stare of my enraged wife cut through me. She held a dog toy in her hand and was about to hurl it in my direction. Before she could release it, I looked into her eyes and whimpered, “I’m coming dear.”

     “I sure hope so,” she said, shaking her head. She dropped the toy, turned, and left the room. I slid off the couch and shut off the TV and overhead light. Then, being the obedient husband she wanted me to be, with my head bent to my chest, I followed her down the hallway to our bedroom. As I entered, I looked up and saw balloons with letters hanging from them. I guess it was going to be a “Happy New Year” after all. 

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.