My Scattered Stones

Sunday Scribblings - # 301 Normal

2012-01-08T23:01:00.002-06:00

I think that for the potential emotional load, this is one of the most overlooked words in the English language.

What do you think of normal?

~~~~

Distractions

The teacher put him by the door in the front of the classroom on the end of the row and at the beginning of the first row. He liked it there because he was surrounded by girls and he could concentrate. But he managed to find something else to preoccupy his interest. His pencil. His itchy tag on his t-shirt collar. The blackboard. Anything could distract him from the lesson on fractions.

When he got into the lunch line, he was by himself. They were his buddies when they were younger. Now they couldn't even save a seat for him at their lunch table. At recess he walked around by himself, imagining himself to be the invisible kid or the chameleon kid, blending into the bricks of the building.

They used to talk to him and include him. Now he walked home alone.

Whatever happened to normal?

Copyright 2012 All Rights Reserved

Fairytale Bridge in Wales

2011-11-26T09:40:00.001-06:00

Inspiration

You have the pain of watching

2011-09-17T20:45:00.000-05:00

My youngest probably has ADHD. I've said it before, of course. We don't have an official diagnosis but it's all pointing there.

He has or rather had one friend in school. They say that one friend is all you need.

On Friday the high school had a back to school barbeque to raise funds for the Music Boosters. I'm a Music Booster mom so I was up there helping set up, brought my kids to eat, stayed for the concert and helped clean up.

My youngest called his friend to see if he was going to go up there to eat. He called once before we left the house. And once when we got there.

Apparently this kid had another friend over. The other friend told Harrey the youngest that they would not be there and hung up.

My youngest was heartbroken.

At school he's being shunned. The kids that were friendly to him are not anymore. Mostly they are not mean, they just don't want anything to do with him.

At lunch he was being crowded out of the two lunch tables where all his classmates sat. I called the school as this had happened several times. At recess he played kickball and there were kids who cut in line; I think I already blogged this.

I talked to the teacher and I talked to the social worker. The social worker confirmed that there was a problem on the playground and it was indeed the 5th graders. She warned them that there would be consequences to their actions. The next day Harrey sat with a couple of kids who were nice to him, including his friend.

The friend told him to leave him alone on Friday.

This same friend had him over all afternoon on Sunday and they played all afternoon with absolutely no problem.

It wouldn't be a problem except that this is my son's only buddy in his 5th grade class. Thank God, no seriously, thank God that he has two other friends who are younger than him.

On Friday after we came home from the bbq, he went in his room and got into bed. When I went to check on him he was laying down and facing the wall. Perhaps I handled it wrong but I gave him a couple of Boy's Life Magazines to read. I didn't want him to think depressing thoughts, but maybe he needs to. I just don't see how it could be good for a 10 1/2 year old boy to stare at a blank wall.

His confidence is shattered. He is irritable and hard to get along with at home. I know why he is this way and I cannot fix it.

My daughter has shunned her best friend from childhood; she calls her annoying and needy. Perhaps she is. But I understand the pain and loneliness of rejection for myself. And now, as a parent, I have the pain of watching it once again to one of my children.

Greek Salad Sandwich from Everyday Food

2011-07-28T17:01:00.000-05:00

1 cup canned chickpeas, rinsed and drained
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 cup fresh parsley leaves
1/2 small red onion, thinly sliced
Coarse salt and ground pepper
3 ounces crumbled feta
8 slices rustic bread or olive bread
1/2 medium cucumber, thinly sliced
1 tomato, thinly sliced

Tuesday Ten

2011-05-24T06:18:00.000-05:00

1 Went walking with a friend last night. Wonderful conversation and much, much needed.

2 It meant that Bruce was home with the kids so they were happy. It's free for all. LOL Poor Bruce.

3 I don't like the kids playing on video games during the school week. I tolerate the computer but they are only on it 2x a week each.

4 Bruce let them play last night.

5 Do you remember me complaining about being the bad guy all the time?

6 Harrey the youngest took Kiwi for a walk yesterday afternoon--a long walk to our local park.

7 Dear daughter was also at the park with her friends. Harrey brought the dog over to his sister and her friends and the dog was good. She was scared, we think, but she lay down and let her friends pet her.

8 Progress! WooHOO!

I'm Moving

2011-03-20T11:25:00.016-05:00

This beautiful picture was taken by Jonathan Hutton and can be found at photo.net.

Find me over at The Scattered Stones.

Sunday Scribblings # 252

2011-02-02T00:28:00.001-06:00

Near Brewer Street in London

Her skirt picked up mud and dirt from the wet, cobble street. She did not bother to lift them. The sidewalks were crowded, including the beggar children. She would not give this evening, even though they called out to her,

"Lady. Please. Just a penny, ma'am, so we can eat."

On normal days, even in the summer when the sun shone low in the sky, Helen knew her surroundings. She was familiar who was coming out of the pubs or waiting in their livery wagons or black hansom cabs. There was an older lady who put away her wares into her store. Sometimes the lady bid her good evening. She knew the sounds of the children laughing and crying from a window above. They were comforting, familiar sounds of her walk home to the tenements.

Tonight she heard footsteps behind her.

She noticed them after she left the master's house for the evening. At first Helen thought that her imagination was running away from her. She stopped to cross the street and heard the steps coming closer. Her shoes sounded harsh and clunky on the cobbles so she tried to walk on the balls of her feet. She tripped a couple of times and almost fell.

She ducked into a small sidedoor of a local hat shop. The footsteps stopped. Helen could tell that the person looked around and came down the alley. But the footsteps went back to the walkway softer and softer. Helen pushed back a hair that had floated near her mouth and peeked out both ways. A couple of delivery boys and all was clear.

The gangway led to her street and with a quick left turn, she was almost home. And then she heard them again. Quick and gaining on her.

She crossed the street without looking.

"Hey, watch out, Miss," the cabbie yelled, but kept his horse at a full trot.

Helen passed by two windows. Then a door. Then another two windows, two doors and a gangway. Finally, she found her place. She knocked on the door. The fire was going so her landlady was home and waiting to let her in. The steps were closer, louder.

"Mrs. McMinn, open the door." Helen used her knuckles to knock quickly. She could see the figure, a tall man, dark, his face hidden, as he came towards her.

"Mrs. McMinn, please open the door. It's Helen." She pounded the door with her fist.

"Excuse me." The voice was deep and quiet.

Helen shook as she turned to see him. She clutched the doorknob and leaned back on the large, wooden door.

"I've been following you for several blocks. I didn't think I would catch you." He removed his hat. His hair was a light brown and he ran a hand through it to smooth the tousles. He leaned closer and she saw that his features were hardened and unfriendly.

"You dropped one of your bags, back there, near Brewer Street. I didn't think I would catch you." The man held up her small black purse.

Helen let go of the knob. "I didn't realize it was gone." She slowly took it from him. The light from the fire cast shadows on his angular face; a handsome but stern.

"What was all that noise? Oh, Helen, yes, come in, child. Oh, am I interrupting? I beg your pardon--" Mrs. McMinn's round face smiled as warmly as the fire in her parlor.

"This gentleman brought me my purse, Mrs. McMinn." Helen stood straight and pushed back the loose strand of hair. "Thank you, sir."

"Well now, please come in, won't you and have some tea?" Helen's landlady opened the door. The man seemed to hesitate.

"No, thank you, ma'am. I best be getting back to work near Air Street. It's getting dark and it's not safe." The man tipped his hat and walked away. "Good night."

~~~~

For more Magpie Tales, please click here.

Magpie Tales Mag # 49

2011-01-25T21:27:00.010-06:00

Virginia Min

The Great Aunties
1933

I was mad. I was burning up with the very flames of hell mad. I am surprised that I didn't break something by the way I was handling things. Screen doors slammed. Feet stomped up the back stairs but I knew enough to walk quietly in the house. I had had a switch across the back of my legs; it stung and Mama wouldn't let me swim until it was healed after a few days. Well, I wanted a swim.

I helped Mama prepare the plates. She had pickles out and made sandwiches out of the roast chicken from the night before. Maybe she knew that the Aunties were coming and didn't tell us. We didn't have a lot of money but Mama could make a table look like everything was special. I hinted to her that I wanted to go up to the creek but she wasn't listening to me at all. She was so excited and happy, almost as excited as when Daddy had wired us that he found a job.

I was folding the napkins when I heard a knock at the door. I looked up at Mama, who suddenly looked very young and fresh. She ran to the door and the gaggling began.

Oh, Evvy! Good to see you. Minna, honey!

Minna. Why Evvy, how beautiful you look!

Is that Viriginia Min? Look how big she's grown

Little Kenny? Well, he certainly isn't little any more.

And on and on like that. Hugging. Kissing. It was pushing noon in August in St. Louis. The moist heat weighed down a body's skin. Auntie Cora was the youngest and she was a large woman with a round face and magnificent steel gray hair set in a bob; it made her blue eyes sparkle with life. Aunt Zonie was quieter, with dark hair. Then there was my Granny, the oldest; the shortest one with a little square face and an imposing jaw.

"I thought we would sit outside under the tree. It's so sticky in the house." Mama pointed the way through the kitchen out the door. I helped carry two plates of pickles and watermelon rinds. I noticed that Kenny carried one little plate: the butter for the bread. He wasn't clumsy. He could have carried the plate of bread but he made Auntie Zonie carry it.

Mama had set out our little kitchen table in the yard under beautiful honey locus. The little, light green fronds let dappled sunlight through and let the hot, sweaty breeze tease us with a promise of relief. The white sheets flipped limply on the line. Hurricane force winds could not cool us in the August noon in St. Louis.

I don't remember what they talked about. I ate a pretty finger sandwich and a couple of pickled melons. But when the pink glass pitcher got low, I carried it up the wooden steps, through our wood screen and back out and then did it again as the ladies wiped themselves with their handkerchiefs. Kenny sat and squirmed and slumped in his chair. Well, that's what he got for only bringing out one plate of butter.

I set the glass pitcher on the table and took my place between Auntie Zonie and Granny.

"Kenneth Stevenson, sit down in that chair." Granny leaned forward and dabbed her neck. Kenny was sliding out of his chair next to Mama; his legs and knees were in the grass and his body was draped across the seat.

"Oh, Min, he's just a boy and hot, isn't it, honey?" Auntie Cora giggled as she watched him melt down into the grass, right himself and sit down in the chair with a scowl. "It's such a hot day. I'll bet you'd like to go take a swim in a creek." Auntie hit her arm; although they loved the dusk, a few desperate mosquitos hunted in the heat.

"There's a creek not too far from us. My friends are all there." Kenny's voice had a little catch in it. He could lay on the pity when he tried.

"My friends are there too, Kenny," I growled and sat back in my chair with my arms crossed. The sweat ran down the crook of my arm but I didn't care. Better fold my arms than give a good pinch to my little brother in front of relatives.

"Aw, Evvy. Let the boy go to his friends. Kenny, you've eaten so nice and you've been so quiet. Evvy." Auntie Cora took a long drink of water and dabbed her upper lip.

"Cora, it is his mother's decision, not yours." Granny fixed that jaw of hers and sat ramrod straight.

"For pity's sake, Min, he's a little boy and he should be out running around." Auntie Cora looked away with her nose turned up slightly into the air.

"He can sit still a few minutes with his great aunts." Granny leaned forward and stared a hole into Kenny. "The great aunts that he hasn't seen in good while."

"Look at the poor dear, Min. He was always as cute as--"

"Yes, as a bugs ear. We've heard that before, Cora. The boy can sit."

"But he's so hot--"

"We're all hot."

"It's fine, Mama. Kenny, go on." My Mama stood up and poured out the last of the water. He was gone before the last drop in Auntie Zonie's glass.

"I'm hot, too," I pleaded with the aunties.

"You sit down, Virginia. You're a girl and one day you will be a woman. You will have a nice sit down with us." Auntie Cora smiled and sat back in her chair.

And then the talk about the old days in the hills of southeastern Missouri. The endless discussions about people and relatives I never knew and would never meet. Births. Deaths. The scandal of a cousin who married her aunt's husband, left him, had a baby and then died of tuberculosis. On and on. Eternity on a hot, summer afternoon.

"Would you be a love and bring your Auntie more water, angel? Thank you." Auntie Cora picked up the pink pitcher and handed it to me. I looked at Mama who smiled so I took it into the house with a sigh.

I let the door slam and put the pitcher on the counter none too gently. The door slammed again and my Auntie Zonie appeared, holding the two plates of pickles.

"I thought I'd bring these in and help you, Virginia. I brought a picture that I wanted to show your granny but I think you'd probably like to see it first." Auntie Zonie had a soft, kindly look just like Mama or maybe Mama had a look like Auntie Zonie. I followed her into our front room. It felt like a hot, stifling oven with no breeze coming through the windows. She set her purse on the dining room table and pulled out an old black and white picture. There were three young women with ice skates hanging over their shoulders. The snow was deep from the looks of it and their clothes were old fashioned.

"This picture was taken in Fredericktown when we were young women. See your granny? She was small but she was so pretty. There's Cora. She was so stylish. See the stripes on her coat?"

"Is that you on the end, Auntie?" I asked as I examined the picture and pulled it close to my nose. Her face was blurry but even then she had that kind, gentle look that Mama had.

"We had a lot of fun that day. It wasn't too long after Min met a handsome young man named Leroy." Her face turned serious for a moment. A hot breeze blew the cotton curtain. Auntie smiled again. "Your grandfather."

"What was he like?" I smiled back at her and pushed my sweaty hair behind my ear.

"Well, it wouldn't be right to hear it from just one person and the quietest one of the girls. Let's go outside and ask my sisters, Virginia." She smoothed back my hair. It felt nice. Familiar. Loving. I've never forgotten that gesture, even though I'm an old woman. How I miss her. But that afternoon I was 9 years old and it was a hot summer day. I wanted to go to swim in the creek with Kenny but Auntie Zonie had just sweetened the pot.

"Are you thirsty, Virginia?" she asked. I nodded. Without a word, we got up and went into the kitchen.

~~~~

For more creative stories at Sunday Scribblings, please click here.

Friday Freezing Cold here

2011-01-21T03:34:00.000-06:00

I am writing this at 8:34am Central Standard Time and I live in Chicago, IL US. It's -1 degree F or -18.33 degrees C. It's cold today but I have seen it colder.

Sunday Scribblings # 250

2011-01-16T23:10:00.000-06:00

I
Need, just like you.
Vents in the sidewalk are warm;
I
Sit on them and cover myself and my vent with a blanket.
I
Blend in the shadows and greys of the
Large walls, the freshly washed windows and the wide alleys.
Every day I see you walk by. Do you see me?

~~~

For more creative posts, please click here.

ResAliens Issue 5

2011-01-13T17:26:00.000-06:00

My friend Lyn (short for Lyndon) Perry publishes a really nice e-zine called ResAliens. It's filled with fantasy and science fiction stories that are well done and rated PG. Some are dark, some are creepy and disturbing, but all are well done. It's one of my favorite little gems that I go out of my way to read.

He asked for a plug so here is the link to the newest issue.

ResAliens

Sunday Scribblings # 248 Progress

2011-01-03T23:12:00.003-06:00

Under the Canopy of the Queen

Sunday Scribblings

"Tell me about our home, Muhktar." Aliya looked up at the queen, the mother tree of the apple forest.

"We will not live in a tent. You will not stoop over a metal tub to clean the dishes or wash the clothes or wash your children."

Alilya giggled, but Muhktar took her hand and kissed it, all the while he stared at the canopy of the forest.

"You will not hang your clothes on a stoop or your rags on a string. No, Aliya." Mukhtar circled around the large trunk and never looked at her. Aliyah looked up and did not know what he saw in the sky.

"We will have a house someday. A real one, like the ones in town. Perhaps we will have make it out of mud bricks like the old ones but one day. Someday. We will have a proper house made out of wood. With steps and wooden floors. They will creak when you walk on them." He stopped and held her in his strong arms. Aliya melted in them and took in his fragrance of earth and dirt and smell of outdoors. His wool coat was beginning to unravel at a seam and she played with the thread. Tomorrow morning she would mend it while she had a chance.

"I will miss you." She felt his head lay on top of hers. "I will remember this moment always."

For several minutes they stood without words. The birds called to each other and landed indecisively on upper branches. They could not make up their minds and flew away; their song, though farther away, lingered with the dappled sun. A cool breeze blew through the summer leaves and joined the bird's chorus. It sounded soft and gentle under the shade of the queen.

"What time will you leave for University?" Aliya tugged at the loose thread on his jacket. The hole was in the shoulder and would be easily mended.

"Tomorrow morning, before midday." Mukhtar tightened his embrace.

"Midday, Mukhtar? It doesn't leave much time. I must mend your jacket right away." Aliya pulled back. They kissed.

"Aliya, I will be wearing a new jacket. My uncle bought me one for my trip. I cannot wear this one to the city." He took her hand and they walked leisurely away from the large tree. "They will already know that I am a farmer from a small village. They will see me as backward. They will--" He stopped and looked down.

"Mukhtar, you will be the smartest one there. And you will return to me and you will put all your ideas into place." Aliyah's round cheeks glowed as she smiled. Mukhtar looked straight ahead even as she kissed him.

"I will give you electricity, out here. We will have the wires come right to the house, Aliyah. And you will have cold and hot running water in your house. For your children." He tripped a little over a small root which stuck out of the ground.

"The shade is nice in the forest. They say that the forest is being cut down and pretty soon it won't be here anymore."

"Nonsense. Look how it goes on and on. This apple forest goes on for miles. How can we use it all up? Aliyah, push those thoughts aside. Dr. Dzangaliev, he is a Russian and an alarmist. What can possibly happen? Besides, we need to grow and to expand. I want you to have wooden floors, Aliyah. I want you to have hot and cold running water. I want you to have electricity. I am going to the university but I will be back to build you that house."

They walked their well worn path under the uplifted arms of many fruited trees. They stopped under a familiar one and took as many apples as they could carry in their pockets. Aliyah spread out her apron to carry some for their parents. Mukhtar polished one on his shirt and took a bite. He stood a little taller and his jaw looked a little harder and straighter.

"Midday. Tomorrow." Aliyah stared at the clearing ahead of them. The heat of the day was looming before them, without shade, without the canopy and away from the queen.

"We are young, Aliyah. We have the future. We must have progress. The world awaits."

Aliyah leaned back a little to hold the weight of the apples as Mukhtar strode ahead.
~~~~

For more information about the apple forests of Kazakhstan, click here to visit Orion Magazine.

A little information about the people who live in the area can be found here.

Happy New Year's!

2010-12-31T06:02:00.000-06:00

The only limit to our realization of tomorrow will be our doubts of today.

Let us move forward with strong and active faith.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt

~~~

Mag 46

2010-12-29T00:48:00.005-06:00

New Year's Eve at Their Table

A Magpie Tale

"So you're busy tomorrow night?" Julie took off her earring as she pressed her cell phone to her ear. She stood up straight in her chair. She sat at their table at their coffee shop. "But you said that we were going downtown so I bought--well, yes, you said that you might have other plans and that you would check but I talked to you on Monday."

She closed her eyes and tears splashed on the table. "Joe, I thought that we were ringing in the New Year together. I just talked to you."

"Look, Julie. We've had a great time together. Didn't I spend Christmas with you and your family? Didn't we have a good time? It's just, you know, I feel like we've had fun together but it's time to start the New Year fresh. You're a great girl, Julie, but I think you want something more from me than I want to give right now. I'm sorry." Joe sounded the same as he did at her family's house. Pleasant, conversational, like nothing was wrong. "Call up Amber and Liz. Don't worry. You'll go out and forget all about me, Jule."

"Joe, I don't think you understand--" Her voice tightened as she gripped her cup of coffee. The paper cup began to collapse and spill on the counter. "My coffee--I spilled--hold on--"

"I'll let you get that. You'll be ok, Julie. Take care." He hung up.

Julie stood up with a red nose and a wet face. She clicked her phone off and swallowed a sob. The chair at their table scraped the wooden floor and fell over. Julie looked down and almost burst out when someone picked up the chair and handed her napkins. She felt herself sit down and watched someone wipe off the table. Julie whirled her head around and saw that guy that always sat by the window when she was there.

"Thanks," she said and wiped her face. She didn't bother smiling, but dialed Amber's number on her phone.

"Yeah, Amber? Thank God I got you. You'll never guess what Joe just did to me." Julie stood up, pushed her chair in and grabbed her crumpled cup. That guy put a new empty cup in front of her and she poured her coffee into it.

"Let me guess. He broke up with you." Amber's voice was caustic as ever and it felt like a warm hug to hear it.

"Yeah, Amber. That's exactly what he did. I can't believe it. He said he loved me. I thought he was the one. Wait, hold on, Amber."

Julie buttoned her coat and picked up the phone off their table. "Yeah. Can you believe it? I thought he loved me as much as I loved him. He must have planned this all along. Why can I never meet anyone nice? Oh no, my gloves. I can't find my gloves. Those were the ones my grandma gave me."

That guy appeared by the door with her gloves in his hands.

"You dropped these on the floor by your table." He handed them to her and pushed his brown hair away from his glasses.

"Thank you so much. These were given to me by my grandma--hold on, Amber. Thank you. See you around! Happy New Year's! Yeah,Amber? There's this guy at the coffee shop, he found them on the floor and just gave them to me. Yeah, I know, that was nice. So, what are you guys doing tonight?" Julie pulled open the door and the wind slapped her in the face.

"We're going to a Western bar, probably Cork and Kerry's. Nothing exciting. I always knew that guys was a complete jerk. I never told you this but I always thought that he was a big phony. What a jerk. Breaking up with you on New Year's Eve? Idiot. Well, at least you found your gloves. I know much they mean to you. Remember when you lost them in my car and you took half an hour at midnight to find them? They're from your grandma and when you wear them you remember her, right? Someone who loved you unconditionally. Just because you're you. Unlike that moron--"

"Unconditionally," Julie said outloud. She looked into the window and saw that guy looking back at her through the foggy glass. She stopped and stared back. "Amber, I'll call you right back."

~~~~~

I was also inspired by this lovely, romantic poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Also, Western bars are Chicago souhside bars on Western Avenue.

I won I won I won

2010-11-30T18:42:00.000-06:00

I did it!

Writing Race

2010-11-26T09:21:00.000-06:00

I'm so far behind that I think that I'm ahead. I'm currently at the library for a couple of hours so I can get a little caught up. May have to go to Panera or Corner Bakery for some quiet writing time.

We have been regularly using our pressure cooker. Made split pea soup in under an hour start to finish. I could have cooked it a little longer but it was good.

I have enough potatoes for potato soup. It's chilly here-about 33 degrees F / 3 degrees C.

Anyway, time to type. Love to all.

Gearing Up for November

2010-10-28T13:12:00.000-05:00

For once in my life, I have planned something or am working on it.

I figured out my schedule to meet up with people. I've even printed out a blank Nov. calendar so that I can - get this - plan out the meals for the month.

I'm getting a crock pot, possibly two, from local friends. The crockpot I own has 2 Corning Ware pots that fit in it!

However, I still don't have a title and I need to name my main characters. I'll work on that when I get home tonight.

Sunday Scribblings #237

2010-10-18T21:58:00.000-05:00

As I sat looking out at a beautiful autumn day, I asked my husband what the prompt this week should be and he said, "harvest." A perfectly seasonal prompt, (at least for those of us in the Northern hemisphere) this week please tell us what you think of: harvest.

Autumn Thoughts

Autumn sun grows short

as shirts and shoes grow tall, long.

Harvest comes so soon.

For more creative entries, please click here.

Wednesday Quote

2010-10-06T04:14:00.000-05:00

A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing.

George Bernard Shaw

Shadowlight Sanctuary 09/29/10

2010-10-04T01:00:00.000-05:00

"Never start something you can't finish."

The words echoed in the recesses of his mind, the only thing he remembered of his life. They flitted through hovering mists and shadows and bounced off the emptiness, taunting him. Had he started something? Finished it? He needed information. Detailed information. And lots of it. He looked into the mirror hanging in the unfamiliar room and ran his fingers through his unruly dark hair. But for now he'd settle for his name.

~~~~~~~~

He reached in his right front pocket and found a wallet. He didn't have to search for it. He knew instinctively it would be there. The wallet was leather and it was black. On one side was plastic clip. The other side was closed by a little black velcro strap. He ripped it open and saw the blackberry was off. He turned it on and looked at the papers. A receipt for Starbucks with a credit card number of XXXX-XXXX-XXXX-2349, dated September 28th was shoved in the back. Gas Card for Marathon. Gas Card for Mobile. Grocery store card. A twenty. And no driver's license.

He started operating the Blackberry and could find no information. None of the history was saved. All the passwords were deleted. Nothing. The room appeared to be a motel room. He turned on the television and the channel was set to Animal Planet. He watched a few seconds and wondered why he would be watching this station and not another one. Children? He spun around and looked on the perfectly made beds. No suitcase. He checked the bathroom and it was pristine with clean towels, clean wash clothes, complimentary shampoo, conditioner and french milled soap.

He went to the windows and pushed back the lined curtains to see the sun. He went outside and the heavy door shut behind him. He tried the handle but it was locked. He checked his other pockets for the card key but found none. He held the blackberry and wallet in his hand like a life raft, which held him afloat in the middle of an oceanic nightmare. He spun around and realized that his credit cards and receipt were laying on the bed inside the room.

He looked around and saw red, singular mountains. Beyond the motel there were little homes and past them another mountain, red, jagged and almost flat in the distance.

"I don't know where I am."

He walked past other rooms and saw the swimming pool lined with an iron gate. A family with children walked leisurely towards a room and decided to follow them. They held the door opened to him and said "Good morning." There was lots of people, lots of talking and food and coffee. He got a cup of coffee and went out to the sun.

"Excuse me," he said. He rang the bell in the motel lobby and a perky woman with heavy make-up smiled at him.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"

"I got locked out of my room. Um, it's the one past the pool on the end."

"Do you remember the number?"

"301. Wait. My bill. I registered. I--I need my bill, um, Donna." Cold sweat poured down his face. There had to be a receipt from the bill that would have his name. Donna, the name on her tag, held more keys than one.

"Do you need your bill first or do you need to get into your room?" Donna typed and the printer behind her was buzzing.

"My bill please." He set down the coffee cup and rubbed his face.

"Here you are, Mr. Smith. Paid in full for two more days. And here's a key for your room. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

The bill read John Smith from an address in Galesburg, IL. It did not sound familiar in any way. He ran to his room and opened the door. He picked up his gas cards and the cash and put them carefully into his wallet. The receipt was gone. He took everything out of his wallet and one of the cards fell on the floor between the two beds. He picked it up and noticed car keys in the middle of the floor. The receipt was forgotten as he held the smart key. He pushed the green button and heard a familiar chirp.

He swallowed and went through a mental checklist before leaving his room. Outside his door was a green, older model Toyota that he swore was not there half an hour before. He heard the chirp again and got in. In the lower dashboard, just above the steering wheel, tucked in by the odometer, he found an Illinois driver's license. John Smith from Galesburg, IL.

"Impossible. It can't be. I don't remember."

He left the motel and wove his way through Sedona to the highway. I-17 was not crowded. The sun was getting hot, even with the air on. He drove aimlessly and tried to remember anything that reminded him of something. And then he saw it.

Exit 244 Black Canyon City. He was meeting someone, a buyer. The guy was buying something. A rock. It was some kind of rock. He made the exit and drove what was more of a town. He passed a little house that looked familiar. The front lawn had a large bear carved out of a log; the bear wore a tall troll hat. He parked his car and walked up the gravel drive way. It was river rock.

"It makes that noise when you walk on it," he murmured. Pieces of memory began to hit his mind like shrapnel.

When he knocked on the door an old man answered and gasped. He heard a noise behind him and when he turned, he saw a woman behind him. The house spun, the yard spun, and he felt a terrible pinch in his lower back. He dropped to his knees and his eyes pulled themselves shut.

~~~~~~

"Thanks, Manny. We got him. He'll be fine. Don't worry. We'll be around in few more days, just in case." The woman climbed into the white work van and shut the door behind her.

"I told you. We dropped him off too close." She stepped over the prostrate man and sat in the passenger's seat.

"I know, but it was cheaper. We'll have to drive him back now." The driver stared ahead and put on black sunglasses. "This sun. How do you stand it?"

"The sun's more direct here." The woman put on black sunglasses and scratched the back of her head. "He looks fine. He'll be out for a while."

"The sun's more direct here. Everyone says that. Idiot farmer." The driver rubbed the back of his head.

"Oh, he's the idiot? How about the pilot who dropped that chunk of metal off the ship." The woman looked out the window.

"The atmosphere of this planet gets extraordinarily hot on descent. We were lucky to land safely."

"618 terra miles off course." The woman turned to the driver who said nothing for the next 20 miles on an off road.

"Well?" The driver stopped the van in the middle of the desert.

"What?"

"Where do we put him now?" The driver rubbed the back of his head.

"We have no choice. We have our orders not to kill or be noticed. We've already broken one rule. Manny noticed us. I don't want to hurt any more of these creatures. Hold on, I have hair in my eye." The woman moved the hair on the back of her head and her third eye opened, sparkling blue.

"That's better. It looks like a road trip to Illinois. He's got a two cards for gasoline and this other useful card called Visa. We better get moving."

The driver rubbed the back of his head and his third eye blinked open, a little bloodshot. He hadn't slept well since the landing and wouldn't until he wiped away that human's memory again, made certain they had all those receipts and deposited him back near his familiar habitat.

Sunday Scribblings # 235

2010-10-02T21:27:00.002-05:00

The prompt for this week isn't one you've seen before, but I hope that it is one that will help you remember!
It's flashback time!

The Interview

"Mrs. Arnswald, Tiffany will see you in a moment. Thank you for waiting." The young secretary turned and typed on her computer. Even though she sat across the room, Nancy could see she was on Facebook.

The room was decorated in a retro avocado green on one wall with some type of largish, hanging light fixture that looked like it was bought from Ikea. Very trendy and modern. It reminded her of something her mother would have picked out when she was a girl.

The phone hadn't rang since she came at 10:30, half an hour before Nancy's appointment. There were two people ahead of her, both of them younger. Tiffany, who was conducting the interview, was cordial and polite to the first one; a black man who appeared to be in his late 30s. He looked a little overweight but seemed poised and a little grim. That interview was quick. The next interview was with a much younger girl, probably just out of college. Tiffany remarked that she had the same shoes at home; it was now 11:30pm.

The secretary turned off her computer, got her purse and walked out of the room. Nancy took out her Blackberry to check for messages, leaned her head back on the white wall and closed her eyes with a sigh.

Thirty years ago she was as young as that secretary and just out of college. She was gorgeous, with great billows of dishwater blonde hair, styled just like Jaclyn Smith. She wore a navy power dress complete with shoulder pads and large, white button earrings. Her first interview at the law offices of Beloit Haskell and Seins went quite well. She had sex with one of the junior partners who hired her on the spot.

Nancy let the affair come to its natural conclusion and the two of them got along quite well. They attended each others weddings and baptisms of children. Nancy organized soccer practices from the office; after he made partner, she stayed with him and served as a patient go between him and his first wife.

She remembered when he introduced her to his girlfriend. Nancy had seen her many times before at various events and knew that she was trouble. This girlfriend was sweet as sugar to her face but she knew her time was up. Girlfriend had been a secretary. Her boss gave her a pretty good severance package; it was guilt money. According to her office friends, new wife now sat outside her husband's office.

Nancy heard the door open and sat straight. No reason to give Tiffany any more reason not to hire her. She knew she was going through the motions when she saw the two of them laugh and pause at the open door to get each other's e-mail.

The young woman did not look her in the eye as she left. Tiffany smiled, cordially and politely. Nancy stood up, smiled back grimly and entered her office.

~~~~

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Magpie Tales Mag 33

2010-09-30T00:35:00.001-05:00

Sunday Scribblings 234 - Love

Virginia Min

part 2

Granny Matkin

I soaked in that tub until my fingers and toes were pruny and the water was tepid. It felt so good to sit in that water. I imagined myself as Joan Crawford or Greta Garbo, exotic and detached from the triviality of the mundane.

"Are you done yet? Mama said it's dinner time and to come your hair 'cause Granny Matkin's here." The urgency in Kenny's voice was gone. I figured he must've gone behind the garage, but all that didn't matter one bit.

Granny Matkin was having dinner with us tonight. My blood ran cold. I knew that Mama wanted me to run a comb through my hair, put a ribbon around my head, put a dress on and be on my best behavior. I threw a towel around me, ran to my room and shut the door behind me. My toes looked like gorgeous, glamorous gems that gleamed on my little braided rug. Even so, I knew I better get some socks on because Granny would not approve.

Now, my Granny Matkin was a tiger. She was about as formidable as a Grizzly Bear Mama against a pack of wolves. I was scared to death of her when I was little. She wore her thick black hair in a large bun behind her head. Her face was wrinkly and wide. I think of her now and I can see that she must have been a knockout when she was young. But on that hot day, she was the embodiment of a hungry bobcat, a thorny switch, just waiting to come across someone's backside.

I hurried and put on a clean dress. I figured Mama wouldn't mind, considering Granny was here. I found a pretty ribbon. I had never noticed how soft and satiny it looked until I stood there with my fancy feet. Kenny yelled up the stairs again and I knew I needed to fly.

I ran down the stairs and quickly sat at the table.

"Good evening, Virginia Min," said Granny Matkin. If she'd've cracked a smile, her face would have shattered into pieces.

"Hi, Granny." I sat up straight and looked up at Mama, who was placing the food on the table. She looked so pretty tonight and she had a soft, kindly look on her face. Kenny looked like he had been rolling around in dirt all day long, except for his face. It was brown, certainly, from the sun, but it was scrubbed clean.

"Let me see your fingernails, child," Granny told my brother. He sat straight and held out both hands, palms up. Granny pursed her lips and stuck her chin in the air. Kenny slumped a little and turned them over. His nails were short and they were black. "You go in the kitchen and scrub them good, you hear me?"

"Yes, Granny," he murmured and flew out of his seat. The food smelled so good. Mama must have known all along that Granny would be coming because we had a whole chicken, green beans and new potatoes. It was like a Sunday dinner during the week.

In the meantime Kenny plunked back in his chair, but straighted as he saw Granny across the table. Mama smiled and had just sat down when we heard a knock at the front door. She opened the door and I saw Pete Kauffman, who held his hat in his hands.

"Thank you, Evelyn. Good evening, Mrs. Matkin. Min. Kenny. I am sorry to disturb you at supper time." Pete looked down at his shoes, but he didn't leave and come back. He stood his ground, God bless him.

"Pete, you look hungry, won't you sit and join us? We have plenty tonight." Mama pulled out a chair for him to sit opposite her, in Daddy's chair. Granny cleared her throat and looked away. Pete just stood there.

"Well, now, go on and sit down, Peter Kauffman." Granny seemed to glare at him. Pete glanced up at her, nodded his head and sat. We all bowed our head and Mama said grace. I sure was glad that she said a quick prayer because I was ready to eat.

Even in that hot dining room, I was hungry and I ate my fill. We all did, Pete included. In fact, he ate like he'd never had seen food before he came in our house. I saw him catch himself after a third piece of chicken. He wiped his mouth and put his napkin down on his lap, his eyes still averted.

"Go on, now, Pete. Here's another piece." I couldn't believe my eyes, but Granny put a whole chicken breast on his plate and a heap of potatoes. He nodded and ate.

"Have you seen Harry?" Mama put a spoonful of carrots on her plate and ate one little medallion at a time.

"No, ma'am. I heard that he's on his way up to Effingham to see if he can find some farmwork there." Pete wiped his face and hands before he dug into that pile of creamy, mashed potatoes. "It's bad out there, Evy. I've been to every town and farm within 10 miles and I can't find--that is, I been trying real hard-"

Pete put his fork down and stared down in his lap. I must have been staring at him because Granny kicked me under the table.

"I'm sure you have been. Work is scarce right now. When the harvest comes in, I'm certain you'll find something." Granny sat ramrod straight in her chair, her chin hard as granite.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry--that is, I've already eaten so much." Pete pulled his chair back and stood, still looking at the floor. Mama quietly withdrew into the kitchen.

"Mama, can I have more potatoes?" Kenny asked.

"No, you may not. That's all you've eaten and your Mama spent all that time preparing all this good food. Have some turnip greens." Granny plopped down a spoon of greens on Kenny's plate. He sat back in his chair and frowned; he'd have to eat the whole thing before he was excused from the table. "Virginia Min, please take that plate into the kitchen for your Mama."

I got out of the chair and to my horror I looked down and saw I was barefoot. I grabbed the serving plate and walked into the kitchen just as fast as I could. Mama was putting food into a paper bag. I think it was bread from the morning.

"Granny told me to give this to you, Mama." I held the plate up so that she couldn't see my feet.

"Evvy?" Granny called from the next room. "I suppose you should give him a piece of that pie I brought. You could wrap in paper for him."

Mama smiled, cut that pie quick, wrapped it up and put in that bag. It would be a nice meal for tomorrow. I put in the another chicken breast and we closed the top. Mama handed him the bag and touched his arm.

"You take this. It'll keep for tomorrow. Oh, and Kenny, run and get an apple for Pete, would you please?"

Kenny darted into the kitchen and I know why. It was to get away from the greens and Granny Matkin. Granny sat quietly in her seat and ate her greens, a little bit at a time. Pete, in the meantime, accepted the bag, but never looked up. I saw tear drop from his face and on to our floor. He was so embarrassed and hungry. Kenny bounded back in and dropped the apple on the floor. It rolled by my foot.

"Mama, Min hurt all her toes. They're bleeding," he cried, pointing at my feet.

Now then. I love my brother. He's one of the best men I'll ever know but so help me, at that moment, I could have smashed a brick in his brown, freckled face.

Everyone was looking at my feet. Granny Matkin got up to take a look.

"Virginia Min Stevenson. Painted toes. What is next, child? Evvy, I don't know, but you are too indulgent with your children. Nothing good will come of this." Granny gave me a withering look. I looked up at my mother and her eyes were about as big as our plates. Pete, too, stared at me with an open mouth, shocked at my depravity. So I did what any nine year old would do. I burst into tears, ran upstairs into my room and slammed the door shut.

I wept on my bed. I sobbed into my pillow and thought I would never be able to show my face in public again. I would live upstairs in my house, a spinster, for the rest of my life, while that old buzzard of a brother of mine would become a bastion of commerce and live in a big mansion with bushels of money. After some time, the mattress sagged by me and I felt a warm hand on my back.

"Virginia Min, I wish you would have told me. I wouldn't have yelled. Well, now, I might've but not as much as you think." There was a smile in her voice but I didn't look at her. I laid my head on my arms and involuntarily sobbed.

"Virginia Min, do you know what your Granny did when I cut my hair? She was mad as a hornet and told me that I was a brazen hussy and that nothing good would come from me getting my hair bobbed." Mama was laughing. "Granny means well. She's, uh, set in her ways. Now I don't approve of little girls like you painting your toes. And I can only guess that you girls took that paint without permission, right?"

How in the world did she know? I didn't say a word. I got up and my arms were all red and marked from my candlestick spread. I was ready to got outside and get a switch. Tears streaked down my face. Mama looked at me with a face full of love and I melted into her arms. She kissed my head, took my hand and led me to her room. She turned on her little light and showed me a little perfume bottle.

"Grandpaw Matkin gave this to your granny when they were young and newlywed. She passed this on to me when I got married, but-" Mama whispered in my ear- "I don't care for it. Maybe you will." She opened the top and held it to my nose.

The fragrance was heavy and exotic. In my head I saw visions of lipstick, Hollywood and Garbo. I liked it. Mama let me put a little on my finger and I dabbed it behind my ears.

"You go downstairs and give your Granny a hug and kiss. It's time for bed. You've had quite a day."

I kissed her on both her cheeks and ran down the stairs. Kenny's plate still had the greens on it. Granny was sitting at the table playing solitaire. She said nothing, didn't even acknowledge me; she gripped a card in her hand and stared like a hawk. I jutted out my chin, just like her and went right over to her and hugged her.

She put down the card and hugged me back, tight. I was so surprised that I kissed her cheek, delicate and soft like crepe paper.

"You smell right nice, Virginia Min. Good night." She kissed me roughly and went back to her game.

On the floor by our radio, Kenny had dropped Mr. Winkie. Mr. Winkie was his bear and he could not sleep without it. In fact, I could hear him whining and crying in his room. I thought about dropping it into the trash. I thought of taking scissors and cutting each limb off in front of him while he watched. I even thought of putting through the butcher's meat grinder. That'd teach him. I grabbed Mr. Winkie and walked upstairs. Mama was coming down. She stopped me and kissed me on my head one more time.

So much had happened that night. Everything would be different in the morning. And the same, a little too.

"Min, have you seen Mr. Winkie?" He sobbed, a lonesome, lonely sob. I remembered how upset I was early that evening. I remembered how sweet and kind Mama was to me.

I took Mr. Winkie and I threw him at my brother as hard as I could. He protested and called for Mama. I went in my room and slammed the door shut.

Birthday

2010-09-11T08:44:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry if this is a mere recap from year to year.

Today is my mom and my own birthday. On Sept. 11th, 2001, My youngest was 6 mos old, my daughter was 2 1/2 and my oldest just under 5.

I happened to turn on ABC and Peter Jennings was on. That was unusual because it was so early; saw one of the twin towers on fire. I turned the t.v. on PBS so that my little ones could watch something nice and safe. That's all we did that day was watch t.v. and I don't apologize.

I remember watching the second plane crash into the other tower and thought it was a joke. Then news of the Pentagon. Then the towers fell. I remember screaming "No" and my kids got up and wanted to know what was wrong. I shuffled them back to Teletubbies or whatever was on at the time and made them lunch.

My mom was in FL and I couldn't get a hold of her. I tried all day. Became a little frantic. She was in the Keys with my aunties and was safe.

I can't forget that day because it was my birthday. But it changed the way I look at little things like birthdays.

Sunday Scribblings # 230

2010-08-29T23:15:00.000-05:00

Sunday Scribblings # 230 Faith

Do you have faith in the future, faith in your friends or family, faith in your car starting, the floor being there in the morning, or in a religion or religious figure? Is there someone in your life named Faith? Do you have faith in humanity or goodness or animals or superheroes or simply that the sun will rise tomorrow morning? Is faith something we all need in some way or another? What do you think about faith?

I know what my faith is and what it is in. My faith is trust, but it's more than trust. It's a certainty, beyond a shadow of a doubt. There is a Bible verse in the old King James Version which says:

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Heb. 11:1

My faith is in Jesus.

I do not have faith in institutions, such as denominations. Nor do I place my faith and trust in leaders, such as pastors. They are men, nothing more. Some are corrupt and perverse; we hear it all the time. Some are wonderful people who devote their lives to what they believe in. But I cannot put my trust in such a person because I know that they will fail me. Seen it too many times.

I have put my faith in my family. I love my family but it would be foolish--no, insane--to put all my hopes and dreams into them. They will fail my hopes and dreams because they have their own journey and their own dreams. It would not be fair to them to do that.

I have chosen to put my faith in something and Someone far beyond my limited capabilities.

Music is Music except on Sunday Morning

2010-08-27T06:48:00.000-05:00

Every Sunday morning churches all over the world get together and sing praise and worship music. All different languages, different styles, different instruments, different songs, different dynamics of sounds and harmonies. Beautiful.

Except in America or so it would seem.

African Americans like different types of music than white people. Their harmonies are different too. White people like their worship more sedate or more like a rock band. African Americans love gospel and syncopation. I swear, the white church just discovered syncopation. It's awkward for us.

Sunday mornings are called the most divisive day of the week. I say it's because of the preferential style of music. I wonder if one day we will all relax and just do music. Some Spanish, some gospel, some rock and roll and some lovely hymns with all that beautiful poetry and theology.

Personally, I would love to sing a pretty African chorus in the native language. Of course, I would want to know what I'm singing--I'm not completely nuts. But I think that singing an African chorus or a Chinese chorus would help me to feel a little connected with my church around the world. I know they are there and I wish I knew them and could pray for them.

It seems like music could connect us together in the here and now. Maybe one day.

Sunday Scribblings # 229

2010-08-22T21:52:00.000-05:00

Sunday Scribblings # 229
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I thought we might go somewhere a bit more dangerous this week. What do you make of that?

4 Times

If all journeys start with one step,

And I know that journeys are always fraught

With danger and dangerous characters,

I refuse to let it bother me

that I have hit the snooze button

4 times.

Magpie Tales Mag 28

2010-08-21T19:09:00.010-05:00

Virginia Min

"Go on upstairs, take a bath and change your clothes. Dinner's almost ready and it's Lum and Abner night. Honestly, Virginia Min, I think you have more dirt on you than skin. Come on." Mother walked up our carpeted stairs and marched me into the bathroom.

Dusk in August in St. Louis in 1933. It was hot. It was sticky. I welcomed a cool bath, even if it meant soap.

"I thought you said you were playing at Ray and Walt's house. I saw their older sister and she said you left after lunch." Mother helped me unbutton my gingham dress, blue and green with thin red stripe and a white Peter-Pan collar. I liked that dress. It hid the dirt.

"I saw Gladys Pinkley and played with her this afternoon." I was in my little slip and getting nervous now. I turned and faced my mom. I didn't know what to say to her. I didn't know how she would react.

"Gladys Pinkley? You never played with her before, Min. I didn't think you even liked her, the way you spoke of her." Mother sat on the commode and stared at me suspiciously. I shuffled my feet. "Aren't you going to take your socks off?"

"I will." My heart beat so that I felt it shake the room. "Gladys ain't so bad--"

"Isn't."

"Isn't so bad. We had fun." I bent down and slowly untied my shoes. Mother turned on the faucet to the tub. Sweat from dread poured down my cheek.

"Well," Mother said as stood. I swear she looked twenty feet taller in that little bathroom. "It's about time you found some girls to play with. You can't be a tomboy forever. You're growing up."

I looked up at her, my heart on my mouth. She would never approve. I wondered if I was going to hell for keeping this from her. I wondered if Gladys' older sister found out what we used. I wondered if Gladys was getting a thrashing as I stood in my slip in the bathroom.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" She looked as if she grew another two or three feet.

"Um." I didn't know what to do so I cross my arms in front of me. Mother's jaw dropped open and she coughed. It looked to me like she was laughing but I was too scared to be sure.

"Ok, Min. Wash your hair and you make sure you scrub." She handed me a wash rag and closed the door. I locked it behind her. Then I listened to her walk down the stairs. It was only then that I took off my shoes, my socks and my underthings.

I stepped into the tub and put the washrag under the running water with the soap, hoping to get more bubbles. I scrubbed and scrubbed that rag with soap and I got a decent lather that day.

"Min, hurry up. I have to go," said my little brother Kenny.

"I just got in here," I growled. He was ruining my special time.

"Come on."

"No!"

I could hear him whine all the way down the stairs.

I sat back in that wonderful clawfoot tub. Today was the day that everything changed. With a deep, contented sigh, I let my feet float up and admired my painted red toenails.

~~~
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Six Word Saturday 082110

2010-08-21T13:24:00.004-05:00

I'm a stay at home mom with three school aged kids, who start school shortly. I dedicate this blog to their summer vacation.

Eight more days of sleeping in.

Theme Thursday 081910

2010-08-19T19:53:00.007-05:00

brush your teeth, brush your hair
hide in the under brush
brush up against someone...

just be sure you brush it up for theme thursday!

Wai-Gong

He opened his eyes to the little kitchen across from his bed. It took him a few moments to sit up and feel the pains in his feet, his legs, his back and his hands which gripped the wooden frame under his mattress. He took a deep breath and with a sigh, stood. The new stove turned out to be a blessing; he merely turned the nob and he heat came on for his hot water.

After he relieved himself, he shuffled over to the little hook where he kept his clothes. He winced as he lifted the clothes off the hook. He sat down to put on his pants and stood to zipper them, with mechanical grace. He happened to notice the faded wedding picture on the wall by the door. He walked over to touch it and his gnarled hand straightened the frame on the crumbling plaster. The old man pulled his shirt over his head and for an instant, he was young.

He remembered, he felt, he transformed into the artist of the people. He proudly put on his hat, picked up his brushes and ran out the door with a shout of good-bye to his young wife. The streets were alive and vibrant. The cause bubbled through his veins and his heart. He, the oldest, the artist, would be painting for the people. How his father would have to eat his words--he would be an artist but he would be serving his great country. Productive and creative. The possibilities of the future were as open as the skies above the millet fields in Zhongyuan.

The old man buttoned the shirt and turned off the water, which boiled in the little metal kettle. He let his mind wander to his father's fields, to the quiet, honest roads and families and to endless stars in the night sky. A car's horn outside his apartment window brought him back to his dingy room in the city. He had just enough time to sit down for a cup of tea and a little rice.

He picked up his brushes and examined the bristles. He kept them as clean as an old man could and handled them jealously. No one would take these precious tools. They had served him well all those years and they had written countless hanzi to encourage the worker, the farmer, the child to do better, to be better, for the good of all.

One last sip of tea. One last mouthful of rice. Dishes in the plastic dish tub in the cement sink. Keys in pocket. Brushes safe in their case. Close the door.

His street received no sun at that time of morning. In spite of the blue sky, all seemed gray and dull. He nodded to the street vendor. He nodded to the man selling the morning paper. He avoided the young men who rushed passed him with electronic phones pressed to their ears. The energy of the city had long since lost its charm and appeal. The artists were newer, younger, with new ways of painting on machines he didn't understand or desired to understand.

The old man clutched his brush case and stood a little straighter. He still considered himself an artist, a productive artist, though he now painted posters for the local butcher.

Sunday Scribblings # 228

2010-08-15T21:02:00.026-05:00

Sunday Scribblings # 228

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The prompt this week is: view. What's the view from your window? What's your view on life? On the current world situation? What's the best view you have ever seen? Had? What's your dream view? Have you expressed your views?

A Fork In The Road by *intao on deviant ART

A Room with a View

Most times I sit and type my blogs in my front room. It is a gateway to several places in the house. My bedroom, bathroom, dining room and up the stairs. From here I can listen to my children complain about homework. Or watch them post things on Facebook, since our computer is centrally located in our frontroom, thank you very much. I can watch my hard working husband crash on the couch. I can get the front door. It's a very good view of what is going on in our little home.

I am in my last semester at the local college and will need to make a decision about what to do beyond my associate's degree. I don't even know that it matters. I'm doing this so that I will have some type of paper to show that I have education to do a job--that doesn't exist anymore. I will be taking classes that will go towards the old Liberal Arts degree but they've titled it different. If I don't do this, then I will have several years of extra classes to take and I'm not sure I want to do that.

I'm older now. I am approaching 50 in a couple of years or so. The dreams I had when I was young stayed there and new ones took their place. But dreams don't pay bills or feed a family.

My view is one of transition and stability. It seems that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I am a stay at home mother who is available for her children. I am guiding my children to become more independent and self reliant so that when the time comes, they will fly. Some people embrace this but I chafe at the very thing I like. Stability.

The other view is one of transition. I am getting older and it cannot be escaped. The options that were open to me in my 20s and 3os are no longer feasible. I am a dreamer from way back and I suppose I always will be. Responsibilites and age are clouding my view.

Pumping Your Muse 072710

2010-08-02T20:26:00.007-05:00

From Pumping Your Muse

Situations come into life unplanned and how we deal with them is a story. I sat at a garage sale today and a stray dog wandered into our midst. His golden coat was dingy and dirty. He'd been around for three days. Someone probably dumped him hoping he'd find a home.

The grandkids begged to keep it, and with each potential shopper the dog's ears perked up as if to ask, "Are you my new family." Each individual reacted differently.

For your prompt today, write three short paragraphs telling the story of three different people and how they reacted this this two-year-old yellow lab.

Include the sense of smell or hearing in each paragraph.

Her hip bothered her that morning. Aches and pains were part of the daily routine, but it was inconvenient that morning. She looked forward to browsing through small, cast off items at the garage sales. A cup here. A plate there. The carafe of a long gone coffee maker. As she walked up the driveway, she paused to take in the heavy, scent of homeowner's climbing roses. She turned and her leg was blocked by something warm and soft. The dog looked up at her; his tail thumped in anticipation. She smiled and caressed his broad head with a stiff hand. He was so like Charlie. She missed a dog's companionship. Something else to put aside to remembrance.

~~~~~~~~

The mother was huffing and puffing and she just gotten out of the car. She told her four year old son to hold her two year old sister's hand; she carried her newborn in the carrier along with the diaper bag. The walk up the drive way seemed an eternity of watching, lifting, carrying and worrying that someone would fall. No one did. The yellow lab stretched out across her path. One more thing to worry about. She told her son to step aside of the dog as a bead of sweat poured down her cheek. All that effort and the mother saw no clothes, no toys or anything that she could use. She stopped to take a breath and heard her baby make a familiar noise. She closed her eyes and turned around. She summoned her children and took the long walk back to the car. She knew what awaited her. The smell followed her.

~~~~~~~~~

He got up early and rode his bike in the quiet morning sun. He loved that time of morning when the day was filled with possibilities. The day before he found a rogue cicada and the day before that a yellow caterpillar. There were lots of cars by his neighbor's house and found the garage sale. After saying hello, he looked around the tables. It looked like the same kind of stuff his mom had at home. The garage smelled the same at theirs too, musty and old. The yellow lab approached him and he took a step back. When he saw the wagging tail, he held out his hand, which was promptly licked. The boy smiled and stroked the dog's head. He went through his pockets and found a green Skittle, which he popped in his mouth. He smiled at the dog, said good-bye to his neighbor and ran home to get some money.

Sunday Scribblings # 226

2010-08-01T22:51:00.010-05:00

#226 - I'd like to thank...

This week you are going to write your acceptance speech. Whether it is your Oscar's speech, the dedication page from your book, or some other award, make sure it is for the award that is the most important one you can think of. In that moment of accepting your prize, who are you going to thank and why? What would you like to say to the people in your life who have helped you get this far? Who do you need to acknowledge?

A Thank You Speech

Dear Jesus, my loving Heavenly Father, and sweet Holy Spirit;

I have thought many times of how to thank You for awarding me not one, not two but three children.

I remember how hard it was to try to have children and wait. I remember the agony of each month, hoping and crying when that hope was dashed. I remember my co-worker asking me every Monday morning if I was pregnant and how humiliated it made me. I remember the doctor visits, the poking and prodding in places reserved for intimacy and privacy.

And I remember seeing the little heart beat. It was nothing but a blip; he was only 2 weeks from conception but his little heart was strong.

Two more times I was able to carry a child to full term. Through all the sleepless nights, the exhaustion, the nursing, the crying and changing and wiping and demands, You brought me through it all. It was so difficult but You, God, You helped me.

But today, that's not why I am here to thank You.

You see, Lord, I thought that I had faith. And I did. I thought that I was a faithful daughter and servant. I did many things, like sing at shelters and at Spred Group. Like visit the elderly once a week. Like become a chaplain to hand out coloring sheets. I did a lot of things and You helped me grow.

But nothing prepared me for the award You were to give me.

I don't have a lovely statue or a trophy as my award. No, You have given me so much more.

Through my son's diagnosis of asperger's, you have given me compassion, patience and tolerance. You have helped me be comfortable with people and families with special needs. That was a precious gift that I didn't know I needed.

Through my children being rejected, I learned to be an encourager. There were some days I needed it so badly that I thought my heart would crack my chest open. But it was through that pain that I became even better aware of another's pain.

Through my children's music, I was able to hear with my heart and set aside imperfections.

Through my youngest's physical struggles, I am learning endurance. And strength. And courage. And perseverance. And I am learning these things not from within but from my youngest son as he faces these difficulties.

Through my marriage, I have learned that I am capable of love beyond the surface of the skin. You have taught me the humor, the sorrow and the gracious acceptance through another human and Christian. I thought that the fires of love would die and grow cold. You taught me that the embers of love can burn for a lifetime.

Therefore, most gracious Lord Jesus, my loving Heavenly Father and Holy Spirit, I thank you for my many awards that You have sought to bestow upon me.

I thought that they were trials and sorrows. They were but they were lined with gold.
~~~~~~~~

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Tuesday Ten or back porch musings

2010-06-29T16:31:00.000-05:00

1 Husband is still home on vacation so we are doing a lot of work around the house.

2 We are catching up from all the things we neglected last year. Last year, my husband and I were worship leaders, doing way too much and just letting things go. It was what we had to do. Now that we're not the actual leaders anymore, we have time to do things like clean up our the porch, get rid of a lot of books and clothes, and fix the roof on said porch.

We are thanking God for this time.

3 We took the Wii remotes, the Gamecube remotes, our old Gameboy and the DS. I am not going to let them rule my children's summer.

4 Ronn the aspie loves his little Ipod; it's only 1G so it holds only 100 songs or so. He loves it. He tries to hog the computer every day, rearranging songs, putting new songs in it and playing his music.

Obsessed or typical 13 year old? I think it's the latter.

5 Ronn hasn't had any playdates. He seems to be handling it ok so far. He had mentioned something about wishing he could have fun with other kids.

He and his sister are in band Monday through Thursday from 9am-12pm. That's quite a bit of socialization, I think.

And he's not being harrassed.I talked to friends who have kids his age--normal kids. They have been bullied, harassed, letters to principal, board members, talked to bullies' parents and still their child is bullied.

I cannot understand why our district does nothing about it.

6 Harrey the younger is across the street or outside all day. It does my heart good. However, he took the Nintendo DS (a handheld video game) and sat in the car with it. It was a cool day, thank God.

Needless to say, said DS was taken away until further notice.

7 It is indescribably beautiful out. At the time I am writing this, it's 63 degrees F with low humidity.

8 As soon as the porch is done, I will take pictures. It is such a pleasure to be able to use it again.

9 Another reason the mess on the porch was out of control was the garage sale. Excuses, excuses. But it's being cleaned.

10 I don't know if I've said it before, but I love having my husband home. I love him being home when I wake up. I love him being around. Maybe it's corny but I so enjoy being with him, even after 18 years of marriage.

One of my Multiply friends lost her husband recently and is actively mourning his loss. She reminds me not to take anyone for granted, especially one you love.

Otitis Media and blog translations

2010-06-05T06:59:00.000-05:00

For the past month or so I have had fluid in my ear. My right ear is filled that I have hearing loss in it and on Saturday I will be on a plane to Florida. This is a problem.

I have tried candling in the past and believe it or not, it worked. Experts don't recommend doing it. I cautiously recommend it but you have to be so careful and you should never ever do it alone. But that's my opinion.

If I didn't tell you that I had this problem, you would not know. I don't physically speak or make videos of myself speaking. Even if I did, there would be no way for you to know that I have this problem, unless we had conversation.

Blogging is like that and I forget that. Sarcasm sometimes does not translate as sarcasm--it translates as stupidity. I should know because I've posted sarcasm unsuccessfully.

It's a little like my ear problem. If I never posted it, you would not know. And mere words may not convey a certain tone of voice, unless you are thoughtful and careful.

Sunday Scribblings # 216

2010-05-26T22:19:00.005-05:00

Sunday Scribblings #216 - dragon
I know we don't very often go fantasy here at Sunday Scribblings, and this doesn't have to be if you don't want to go there. It is inspired by this J.R.R. Tolkien quote: "It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him."

This is a piece I wrote about 3 years ago. I reread after a couple of years and I still like it. Would love some good feedback on this one.

Farewell
by C. Deanne
Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved

Pragmatism, child. I have taught you since you played as a hatchling in the trees.

Yet another harvest, my daughter. And still, you do not listen. You will see for yourself if I am right in so teaching you.

This stone shelf is warm. The sun loves it here, high on the mountain, above the trees. Your bones and flesh will warm on this smooth stone well into autumn. Keep it clean, my child. It does not belong to us, really. Lord Arawn has not come here in many good long years but he will one day. They always do and out of politeness and regard for their courtesy, you must keep the shelf clean. He and his people have never once hunted you or your brother. For that matter, they have never bothered me, your father or any of your sires; that means something. Do not forget. This is their holy place.

There are many things that I will miss. I have many memories here, most of them are good. Just the few bad ones from my youngest days. I befriended a little girl at the root of one of the mountains. Her hair was gold, like armor on your chest and she was sweet as ripened berries in summer. Many a fine talk we had when she was a little one and I a dragonling. We walked the tree line. We hid, or we thought we hid, from her mother. Her mother said nothing, bowing her head towards me; she never said a word to me. And the little girl—what was her name, it's been so long? She used to run to me, her curls bouncing in the summer fields when the wildflowers were in bloom. So pretty she looked, so pretty that I forget how sick I would get from the flower dust.

The winter was particularly harsh that year and their days from the Flood were young. Their hovels were dirty and drafty and a fair one could become sick. Quickly. Like a sudden wind from the North, blowing the leaves away. No more bouncing curls. No more little walks. Her mother's vacant stare. She wouldn't look at me. Even when she was bent with age.

And now listen to me, daughter. You are your father's daughter. I try to spare you such pain. It has never left me, after all these long years. The hot summer sun should comfort my old bones, the fields swelling with grass and I still catch myself thinking about a mother's loss when I was a dragonling.

I have cleaned the ancestral home as best as I could. I put all the dried bones in the privy. The tunnels are smooth from many sires. You would do well to keep them tidy. The tunnels are smooth from many sires; will you remember them? They had all gone before and many of them had left by the time you hatched. Now there are the three of us and now, there will be only two of you.

I have tried to reason with your brother but he is lusty with greed. Balor has promised him the Jewels of Arawn and he listens. Perhaps he will listen to you. Understand me. He will die if he holds to this promise and maintains the covenant. For what has Balor to offer him that he does not have already and more? His hoard is ten times what Balor offers. Greed. It has been the bane of many of my cousins. Many more left and crossed the great sea; more moved to other mountains and other kingdom. The spring wind blows from the waters but I feel their presence no more.

Balor will cause you trouble, but not the way that you think. He will not dare to defy you or gather your blood. He may be blind, but he is cunning like a snake. Like us, I suppose. He offers jewels and riches that he does not have. He seeks to regain glory; glory that he never had. He claims that the land belongs to him and his people. Bah! His people were starving to death before the outsiders. He taxed the outsiders, bullied the peasants, and gave them earls that couldn't grow a clover in the middle of a field. Who didn't know the land. Who forced those poor people to grow wheat crops in hardened clay. Stupidity. And the lowlands, where the water remained, they left untouched. Better they had raised cattle and sheep instead of scratching weeds. Better for us, aye? Ha. Yes, of course, better for us.

Balor will cause division. I have seen him go back to the henges. I have heard rumors for the jackdaws. He has started the sacrifices again, but he is smart. He uses the children of his enemies because he says they are pure and will be raised by the goddess. Did he even ask her if this is her will? He asks the fickle moon; she changes her mind at every turn. Foolishness.

The outsiders bring the cult, as they call it. The New religion. Mother and Father, Lord Arawn, we worship the same Chreawdwr and have for time forgotten. His Lordship comes to this very spot to summon our God; if I remember correctly, God will answer him right here. You might remember the last time. It was just before Balor wiped out the Nemedians. Arawn asked for guidance, if he should be involved. Fool. He asked too late and could not, would not wait. Bloodshed everywhere and our kindred flew in from all parts to feast. Balor killed many of them, dear friends, draining their blood and storing it away. My brother, your uncle wouldn't listen; he fell and I felt his loss deep in my heart. The Nemedians are gone and those that survived sailed the Western Shores. They weren't all bad. No. But they are all alike, my daughter, all of them; they are like the cornflower and speedwells blooming in the summer and perishing in the new moon of fall. You must protect your golden heart from them or it will be broken.

These past months I flew the length of the Range and back. I glided the turgid currents until I thought my wings would fold in the air. I built up my strength, daughter, for my long journey.
We knew this parting would come for it is part of who we are. We may linger for an age and there comes a time inside us to leave and forsake. To push the memories and the past behind and soar to the new. I am going to your father and his people. I feel his presence yet, strong and vital. They have strange ideas, being from the west. He had a keen interest in relationships with men and women, particularly with children. He enjoys helping them and serving them. I always admired that their brevity never scarred him as it has me. Perhaps admired isn't the right word. Respected. Yes. I respected your father's pragmatism.

The winds between summer and autumn will go with me so I must leave now. You may visit anytime you wish. You will not, of course, but you are always welcome to fellowship with me. I will feel your presence during this time of year; you have only to send your thoughts to the wind and I will hear them as you will hear me in the early spring.

Ah, daughter. You are beautiful and strong, wise and kind. How proud I am of who you have become. How proud your grandsires would be. In my heart, I feel they are proud of you even now.

One more thing. The jackdaws are our friends; they will bring you news from all over the realm and from Dyfydd and Rheged. Their constant chattering can be irritating but they are good company and loyal. Do not forsake them in their time of need.

Your father told me when you were a dragonling that his home was so different. He lives in the water and makes his home in caves beneath them. He once told me, though, that caves such as ours dot their mountains. Still, he told me his land is harsh, with taller mountains and few meadows. As beautiful as they are and as many painful and pleasant memories they bring, I will not miss them. Every spring, every year I become sick.

I haven't forgotten anything. I thought I would. Only heed my words. You are a dragon and you are long lived. Pragmatism will keep you alive; do not trust your heart to men. They do not live long and each time you love one of them, your heart will be crushed. The Chreawdwr blessed us and punished us with long life and strong memory. Take heed.

How proud I am of you, my beautiful child with the golden heart.

Farewell.

Sunday Scribblings # 215

2010-05-17T14:31:00.006-05:00

#215 - recipe
With all of the foodie blogs out there, sometimes I get full just looking at the internet. With deliciousness in mind this week, I thought I'd suggest something a little different. The prompt is: recipe. Do with it what you will!

My Scattered Mind

(results and ingredients will vary. This is a good, basic recipe)

For this recipe, you will need the following ingredients.

1 - redheaded boy with a social skill problem

1 - 11 year old girl with braces, zits, hormones and low blood sugar

1 - 9 year old boy with the attention span of a fly

1 - tired husband, who is no longer afforded the luxury of overtime, unless authorized

3 - churches: one for the family; one for the daughter; one for the boys

5 - personalities

1 1/2 bible studies: one you could only attend in the fall; one you can attend regularly

2 - semesters of college; more if needed

5 gallons/yards/gross of music, homework and chores

a dash of dreams

a pinch of crabbiness, PTA, anxiety

guilt

imagination

hope

love

faith

Preheat the summer air in Chicago to 90 to 100 degrees F. Add moisture, if the atmosphere is not saturated already.

Add first four ingredients and let them go. Either tread carefully around them or step out of their way.

Stir in churches, personalities. Simmer gently. Carefully add Bible studies and then college. If you reverse the order, the husband will fly off the handle and you will have a mess on your hands.

Transfer into the music. Stir often so that practicing, chores and homework do not get mushy or stick together.

Add the dreams, along with the crabbiness, PTA and anxiety. Be careful that you don't add too much PTA because it can overwhelm the recipe.

Sprinkle with guilt liberally; in this recipe, there is never enough.

It is easy to walk away from this recipe because it takes a long time until it is done. In fact, it takes a lifetime. While you are stirring, add imagination, love, hope and faith; without them, the stirring is useless and your results will be ruined.

Best served on a cold November day with hot chocolate, blankets and the Three Stooges on Saturday night.

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Sunday Scribblings # 214

2010-05-09T21:02:00.003-05:00

The prompt this week is: courage.

Note: I took this from another prompt but it fits Sunday Scribblings' prompt as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Training Wheels

I made him wear a helmet. I don't care; there will be no skull fracture if I can help it.

We bought him one of those push bicycles but he wouldn't pedal. We tried everything. He liked tricycles at other people's homes but outgrew them before we could purchase one.

We bought him a bike with training wheels. He outgrew it.

We bought him a larger bike with training wheels, but when we took the training wheels off, he still couldn't do it.

It all has to do with upper body weakness and low muscle tone. I read that's part of my son's diagnosis. What that has to do with autism or asperger's syndrome, I'll never know.

We gave up on it or rather, we let it go. My husband and I had tried our best and if he couldn't ride a bike, so be it. There are so many more worse things in life than that.

But that sunny afternoon, my husband called me from our side door and let the screen slam shut. I hate that noise and so does he, so I ran out; my husband does not let a screen door slam for nothing.

I walked to our front sidewalk and there he was. In fifth grade, yes, but riding without training wheels and beaming.

How many prayers had gone up for that small childhood milestone. My husband and I watched him pedal past us and felt a couple of fears lift off our shoulders and vanish.

Observations Part ?

2010-05-08T19:20:00.000-05:00

I went on a little writing spurt for a while, posting on blogger and Multiply. Then I got distracted with school and life and here it is, May.

I had so many goals and dreams about writing a novel. Now I'm not sure I ever will. It's pretty sad when your goal is not to write a great novel; your goal is to finish, to complete.

I thought about doing a frame novel, like in "The Martian Chronicles," where the novel is almost a compilation of short stories that centers around the colonization of Mars.

I thought of using the snowflake method to outline a good plot and then write it from there.

In the end, I'm back where I started from--the beginning.

Dragon Writing Prompts 050410

2010-05-05T22:49:00.002-05:00

From Dragon Writing Prompts:

Tell a true story ... in one sentence. No cheating with run ons ;-) Tell the essence and keep it succinct.

After asperger's, ADHD is a mere inconvenience.

3 Word Wednesday 042110

2010-04-24T20:50:00.005-05:00

At the ocean
Originally uploaded by qwithyd

Ebb and Flow

The water negotiates
an endless rhythm
Heedless of random days
and nights
and seasons
and years.

Little hands grow,
Small hands grow
and suddenly,
they've slipped out of your grip.

But it must.
Seasons pass.
Wax and Wane
Ebb and Flow.

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Sunday Scribblings # 210

2010-04-11T20:52:00.006-05:00

A minute before midnight

She read the last lines of her Elizabeth Gaskell novel:

Miss Barker hovering about us with offers of help, which, if she had not
remembered her former occupation, and wished us to forget it, would have been
much more pressing.

The pages of the paperback pressed into her thumb and left a small red mark. She placed a cross stitch book mark to keep her place and put the book on her bedside table, next to her alarm clock. The sheets were clean and crisp because it was Sunday, when she changed her sheets. It was like a fresh start to the new week. Normally she would turn off her light and snuggle into the white eyelet pillowcase, but not tonight.

Tonight Amy wished she had a television in her bedroom to keep her company. The silence in her condominium seemed a judgmental. She turned her light off and lay on her back. She had to straighten out her cotton nightgown against the cotton sheets, flip her hair out her face and smooth the blanked over her. Her eyes were stubborn that night and she could not get them to shut, even after reasoning with herself.

The top of her ceiling gave no sympathy and pressed down from the heights in a shadowy gray and black. The shadow from the fan looked like a spider ready to silk down on top of her. She turned the other way and had to adjust her gown again, which made her turn the other way and of course, she had get up, fix her gown and go back into the bed.

Amy turned on the light with a sigh and picked up her book.

11:59

Tears filled her eyes. Soon it would be midnight and she would miss her deadline. She smacked the book on her bed and covered her face with her hands.

She had gone to Carson's because they had a sale on black Aerosoles. When the sales clerk had gone in the back to find her size, she looked down on the floor and there it was. A perfect, white baby bootie. Just one, which told her that the baby had the other one on her foot. It was a her because she would never dream of putting a lovely thing like that on a boy. She picked it up. It was hand done, she was sure, and it was so soft, with a dainty satin ribbon to close it around a little ankle.

She asked the clerk if she remembered the mother. Maybe she was still in the store and she could give it to her. Surely she would miss it. But the clerk didn't know. So, Amy kept it and did not take it to lost and found like she said she would. She turned her head.

12:00

Amy broke into long, gasping sobs. Her deadline would pass and she would not be pregnant. The long, lonely decade of thirty something had begun.

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Theme Thursday 040810

2010-04-08T20:14:00.011-05:00

...so as to not waste a perfectly good image, let's think outside the box and have BOX be the theme for april 8th! hope we don't make you feel boxed in with our request!

James Blanton adjusted his Brooks Brother's jacket. It impressed him that in spite of the humid St. Louis July afternoon, the lines of his suit were crisp and clean. He straightened his blue satin tie and ran his finger between his Adam's apple and collar. He popped a small Altoid's under his tongue and turned to face Ms. Wilma Whitman's secretary.

His shoes tread through the plush carpet while he walked to the man's desk. The older man was typing on his keyboard and looked at him in a sort of wide-eyed wonder.

"My name is James Blanton. I'm here to see Ms. Whitman. She is expecting me at 4:30."

The man swiveled his chair and faced him. His eyes looked sad and his lips moved, as if he were searching for the right words. "Yes, James, I know. I'll go in and tell her you're here."

"Is--has she said something to you?" James asked him.

"Oh, yes. Yes." The man's smile appeared sad and sympathetic. Ms. Whitman's secretary walked to the large double doors, opened them and disappeared behind them.

The carpet muted the sound of everything in the room. The tall doors climbed all the way to the cathedral ceiling. James sighed and walked to the windows. Like the doors they went to the ceiling and overlooked downtown St. Louis, but not the arch or river. That view belonged to the chosen; the well-do-to; the lucky of the world. The two black leather chairs and little glass table looked a like an after thought. James wondered in his mind if anyone had ever used them. He turned to the elevator. The walls were painted black as was the elevator; no numbers at the top. All floors were down from here and straight to the garage; he had to leave his desk and go to the garage in order to get to her office.

What is it like to be here? To hold the future of all these people in your hands? What is it like to have so much power? To make decisions that will have lasting effect in a global economy, if it is only toys.

Two narrow and tall glass windows flanked the other corner of the elevator wall, competing with dark, oak panels behind pictures of the former Chief Executive Officers starting from the first owner. There were only three pictures. Founder and owner Jack Hanlon 1880-1920, Jocelyn Umberge 1920-1960 and Ms. Whitman 1960-present. They all looked grim, which seemed ironic considering their product.

They made high end children's toys. Lately it had been a tough market, but the toys were easy to sell, once children played with them. They were old fashioned, well made, expensive and utterly irresistible. James owned several pieces from childhood and they still worked, so when he graduated, he couldn't believe his luck getting a job at Hanlon's.

"She will see you now, James."

James Blanton whirled around and saw the great doors opened and the male secretary standing on the threshold. He cleared his throat and walked inside the large room.

"Good night, Miss Whitman. Thank you. Good night, James." The man closed the door behind him and the sound echoed in the room.

"Come in, James. Please." Miss Whitman was seated about sixty feet from him but the acoustics were so perfect, that her voice was quiet. The room was stark, the walls wooden and dark brown and the floor was some type of black slate, as far as he could tell.

The sound of his shoes bounced off these walls and floors only to bounce back from the wall of windows behind Miss Whitman's desk. She seems small, dwarfed by the magnificent view of the sun setting on the arch and the river. His hands were sweating and he let them brush along the side of his jacket to wipe them off. A bead of perspiration ran down his temple but he dared not wipe it off.

"Please, James, sit." Miss Whitman looked older than he thought and gaunt, in spite of her weight. "James, do you know why you are here?"

"No, ma'am. I don't." James sat in very comfortable leather chair, but sat up rigid straight. She handed him a pink phone message sheet. He blanched.

"I see from the expression on your face that you remember this note. It was put in the suggestion box."

"Yes. Ma'am. I didn't think anyone looked in that suggestion box. I thought it would get thrown away. No one in my part of the office ever heard back from their suggestions so I thought it would get--it was a Friday night and it had been a long week."

"Read it out loud, James. Please." Miss Whitman seemed to be holding her breath.

"I suggest that I run this company because I don't think--please, Miss Whitman, accept my apology--"

"Just...read it aloud, James. Please." Miss Whitman leaned forward and something like fear was in her eyes.

"I, um, suggest that I run this company because I don't think, I know that I could do a better job." James crumpled it in his hands. Miss Whitman leaped from her seat and grabbed the piece of paper from him.

"No. You mustn't do that. No." Miss Whitman smoothed out the crumples, her breath shallow. "James, I've been waiting for this note for many years. And I am delighted that it comes now, while I still have time. Did you notice the pictures of the CEO's on the walls outside this office?"

"Yes, ma'm." James watched her continue to smooth the pink piece of paper.

"James, what did you notice?" Her brown fingers smoothed the edges with great care.

"I noticed that each officer served for forty years, ma'am."

"That's right. I have served for forty years and I believe that my time is done. Right now." Miss Whitman smiled in triumph and continued to look at the paper. James could not understand why she would not look him in the eye. "You see, James, forty years ago, I sent a paper in Hanson's suggestion box. Do you know what it said? I can show you."

She pulled away from her desk and opened a drawer. Her smile was a hungry, animal smile. James sat back and gripped the sides of his chair. She put out a small, white piece of paper, which had been crumpled but was flattened and yellowing on the edges.

"I wrote, ,'I can do a better job running this company and I know you think I can't, just because I'm a black woman.' There's another one, from 1920." She laid a small piece of paper, fragile and folded in half. "It says, 'You all think you're so smart but I know that I can run the company better than old Hanlon.' So you see, James, why I wanted to see you."

"Some say it was Mr. Umberge's fault. But it wasn't. It was Hanlon himself. So you see, James. It's you. You are my replacement. The board of directors knows all about Hanson's crazy stipulations." Tears filled her eyes. "My husband was diagnosed with cancer but it's in remission, thank God. I wanted to leave but I couldn't. I had to wait. All these long years, but now. Your suggestion. I will have a pension and my family...will be protected." Miss Whitman took her purse from her desk.

"Married? But your name--"

"You can't marry unless you consult the board. You can only have three children; if you want more, you must consult the board. It's all there, James; Mr. Hanlon saw to it. You can't retire any toys. ANY of them. You can't introduce new toys unless you retire a toy. You cannot go with market trends. You must design new toys and they must be hand made by the staff from our northern office. You cannot travel more than half an hour away from this office or... You will thank God on your hands and knees for the invention of jet plane. You can't--"

"I don't understand. Why so many stipulations?"

"The money is legally tied to them, James. You can do nothing without consulting them first and believe me, the board knows every dot and every i of that document."

"But how can the company grow and move on? How can I introduce new ideas?" James jumped to his feet. "What if I don't want to do it?"

"They know where you live, James. They are very powerful. Do not cross them. Ever." Tears spilled on her cheeks.

"Miss Whitman, is that a threat?" James leaned on the table and into her face. She did not back away.

"You cannot leave until you receive a note, just like the one you sent me. And you cannot tell anyone or they will take everything, James; they will find a way. I have warned you as much as I can."

James paced back and forth in front of the desk. "So I get the limosine, the driver, a secretary, all this?"

Miss Whitman stood up. "You are the new CEO, James. There will be a reception for you when you leave this room. Good bye, James. I know that it was an angry suggestion, but it is now my freedom." She walked away.

"No, Miss Whitman. Not before you take your place by my side." He held out his arm and stood ram-rod straight. The older woman wiped her face. She adjusted her suit coat and wiped her hands on her skirt.

"I will not stay long," she said and took his arm.

"Yes, ma'am." James Blanton walked down the endless floor with Miss Whitman at his side and fought to keep a smirk off his face.

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United Friends Challenge # 230

2010-04-08T17:17:00.000-05:00

Kittigory's Challenge

Write a story or poem prompted by ONE of the following oxymorons.

1. "Nothing is permanent but change." ~ Heraclitus, in FRAGMENTS
2. "A good father is a little bit of a mother." ~ Lee Salk
3. "A man who lives everywhere lives nowhere." ~ MArtial, in EPIGRAMS
4. "The best things in life aren't things." ~ Ann Landers
5. "Silence is more eloquent than words." ~ Thomas Carlyle

My husband the father

My tired man sits,

listens to his children talk and

hugs them before bed.

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Three Word Wednesday 040710

2010-04-07T13:14:00.010-05:00

This week's words:

deviate identify saturate

The Colony

"It's days like this I hate this job." Jo dr'N let his tool box slam to the tunnel floor. Light from the sun pierced through the sewer grates. Family and single flight carriers glided on the electric gridgrate.

"The middle track provides the power and water has to be drained away. Oh, I'd love those engineers to come down here and clean this up. Big ideas." Bha b'luuB put on his yellow hardhat and gloves.

"This nut is corroded. Old iron from years ago. Give me that wrench, I'll try to take it off." The metal spanner flew out of Jo'N's hand and landed on the stone floor with a loud clang. "I'm not sure I can identify which socket to use."

"Identify? Well aren't we the university academic. Try this 2.2." Bha'B handed his co-worker the wrench. "How come you were late at Ah'Blinnley's last night? And where was Sal? I thought you said she was coming too?"

"My head is still pounding. We had a good time. Ugh, I can't get it to budge--wait." Jo'N winced as he pulled the handle towards him. The nut moved sightly. He paused for a moment and caught his breath. He moved the handle up and pulled it down. It loosened and moved again. Soon the clicking of the wrench became quicker.

A large harrier rode on the street above them.

"He shouldn't be driving here. It's residential zoning," said Bha'B as he looked up. "Unless they're spraying fertilizer."

"The rain will saturate the ground tonight. It can't be a tanker harrier; ground is bone dry. One more bolt. It won't take me long on this one. Get ready to grab the handles. Just a second--there." Jo'N dropped the nut and with Bha'B grabbed the handles to the round switchplate. They pulled it straight and set it on the ground. The noise echoed through the tunnel. The street above them was quiet. The only sound other than their breathing was water dripping somewhere in the dark.

Bha'B grabbed his torch and shone it into the hole. "What is that?" Inside the hole, a wet, fleshy creature clung to the sides of a drain pipe. Its tendons seemed to expand and contract. "I don't see a head." He shone the light around.

"I don't know, Jo'N. We better call the boss. Something is not right." Bha'B stepped away and looked down for his phone. A moment later his head hurt and he saw stars. He dropped to his knees.

"No. You won't. It won't hurt you. It's here to help you. See?"

Bha'B looked up to see his co-worker reach in and take hold in his bare hands.

"What are you doing? Are you crazy holding on to that thing? Oh, my head. Did you hit me?"

"Sal and I were late last night because we changed. The time has come to evolve. To deviate from the slow path of progress. You will see, Bha'B. We will join them. Together we will be more."

"No!" Bha'B cried out before Jo'N placed the tentacles of a thousand worms on his face.

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Sunday Scribblings # 209

2010-04-04T08:45:00.003-05:00

Taken from Sunday Scribblings

Have you had a mentor in your life? Would you like one? For what? Have you been one? How? Everyone could use a little more help in their lives, can you see where you could be a mentor now?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I want a writing mentor. I do. I want to be able to contact a more experienced writer and ask the dumb questions without worry. Questions like:

I am having trouble with my plot. Is this common?
Do you think I'm being too hard on myself because I want to rewrite this
chapter a 6th time?
Can you talk me out of throwing this away? I'm almost finished but I think
it's a complete piece of...um, work.

I don't need someone to edit. I need a sounding board for writing. But from the looks of these questions, I need a therapist.

I have mentors and peers in other areas of my life. God has blessed me with peers and mentors in the autism community. It took a long time and it came in an unexpected place, namely the internet. But I appreciate my community and try to be encouraging to others.

The last question made me laugh.

"can you see where you could be a mentor now?"

I am a mother. I mentor all the time, in the car, in the store, in the house, in the yard. All I seem to do is mentor. I'm not the best, but right now, it's my calling and God is helping me.

If I were a better Christian, I would say that God is my mentor and He teaches me all things. That is absolutely true and I know that He will continue to do so. To paraphrase something I heard elsewhere, I would like God to send me a mentor with skin.

Dragon Writing Prompt dated 032310

2010-04-03T20:06:00.005-05:00

Taken from Dragon Writing Prompts dated 3/23/10 and picked randomly by my oldest son.

The People: One is a god/goddess

The Theme: Taking a stand

The Location: Fairyland

Gods in Fairyland. I suppose they eat rainbows and poop butterflies. Here it goes...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Here's to a mutual agreement." Queen Rosemalina and Hermes touched their wine glasses. The fairy queen's wings rustled slightly but stayed in place behind her back.

"There is nothing like spring thistle wine, milady." Hermes put the rim to his lips but hesitated. He nodded towards her with a smile.

The queen returned his smile and took a sip from her glass. Hermes took a small sip and the two continued to lock eyes.

"I suppose your little villeins are waking from the winter to gaily begin spring. They touch the trees and they bud. They wave their little sticks--no, wands you call them--and flowers open. They work so hard for you, your Majesty."

"And dear Persephone is released from the underworld to embrace her mother Ceres. I've heard stories, Hermes. That she wasn't tricked into eating those seeds, that she chose to eat them, out of her great, what do you call it, love for Hades and that she was told that they were an aphrodisiac."

"That's a lie." The beautiful young woman with long blonde hair turned to face them.

"I am Queen Rosemalina and I will be addressed as such." The queen spun around to face her accuser.

"I was tricked by my husband. I have grown to love him now but it was not so at first. You are so small. You think your little courtiers begin spring. You are too small to realize that there are forces far bigger than you. Even the gods realize that there are forces greater and older than themselves."

"You may be queen in the underworld but you stand in my kingdom. Had I stood before your king Zeus, I would regard him with respect." The sounds of spring were silenced. Only a nearby brook gurgled, splashed and tried to ignore the tension. Persephone bowed deeply and vanished.

"My lord Zeus does send his kindest regards and hopes to see you and your court attend his spring feast. It will not be the same if you do not attend." Hermes choked back a laugh.

"You may tell Zeus that we value his friendship and will have as lovely a presentation for him as he has ever seen." Queen Rosemalina scowled and was soon surrounded by hundreds of flutters.

"The spring feast awaits. We look forward as always." Hermes drained his wine glass, bowed and vanished in a whisper of a breeze.

Good Friday

2010-04-02T16:11:00.002-05:00

What wond'rous love is this,
O my soul, O my soul...

Three Word Wednesday 033110

2010-04-01T19:11:00.003-05:00

Three Word Wednesday

Caustic
Hunch
Sacrifice

For Esmerelda

Frollo's caustic jealousy killed you

and all my dreams.

Your handsome Captain stood by and watched,

tall, straight but spineless.

My twisted hunch repulses you,

even when I sacrifice to save you from the gallows.

In the end they will find me devoted

bones among bones

in the pits of Mount Faucon.

Sunday Scribblings # 208

2010-03-29T19:42:00.007-05:00

Sunday Scribblings #208 - Alchemy
I thought I'd inject a little magic into this grey March afternoon. What's your take on alchemy?

Glimmer of Gold

He rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his greasy hair. The blue and orange glow from the small bowl of fire lit the room, already dark from the night. The bowl stood on a metal stand and stood under a large glass orb with a slender tube crooked at the end. Paton stared at the blue liquid condensing at the bottom of the tube.

The coals in the fireplace gave a little, patient warmth by his feet but no light.

He heard rather than saw a drip from the heated glass into its sister beaker, almost as large. Without looking, he reached for and grabbed a small, open bottle. There was just enough light for him to see the rim of the beaker. He forced opened his bleary eyes and poured a drop of tincture of nitre.

No puff of smoke. No sweet aroma or heady taste of smoky oak in back of the throat.

Paton tapped the bottle on the marble table. He was tired. His body ached from sunlit hours slouched over a cobbler's block. For the first time all day his thoughts turned to the room at the end of six small stairs. The faint glow of a candle peeked under the closed door at the top of the stairs and he heard a quiet knock.

"Paton? Are you there? It's time for bed." His wife's voice was the same, worried and kind.

With a short sigh, he poured in the entire contents of the bottle into the beaker. It didn't matter because he knew it wouldn't work. He walked the few short steps to the door and opened it. Even in the lamplight she was beautiful. She opened her mouth to speak but he kissed her. He touched her face.

"Sence." He put his hand behind her neck. "Sence. There is so much that I cannot give you. You deserve a beautiful home in the country. A barn, a couple of cows. Sheep."

"Sheep, Paton." She smiled.

"And chickens, Sence. Fresh eggs, every day. And we could sell them."

"It's a lovely dream. Someday."

Paton nodded. He pulled away and turned to pull the knob behind him. He thought he saw a glimmer of gold in the beaker. He drew a deep breath and shut the door.

Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved

One Single Impression # 107

2010-03-15T20:23:00.004-05:00

From One Single Impression

My head is ringing.

Shower runs, feet climb the stairs,

fade to a murmur.

Sunday Scribblings # 206

2010-03-14T22:15:00.002-05:00

#206 - The book that changed everything
Is there a book that you read at a particular time in your life that changed everything for you? Is there a book you think should be written that would change everything? Words have an incredible power if they are read/ heard by the right person at the right time. What collection of words has been powerful for you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It Changed Everything

I worked at a bank with a pastor's daughter. She was so free spirited. It bugged me because I was trapped in an abusive marriage, which was falling apart.

I began to go to her father's little church and to read the bible. In all my years of Sunday School, Lutheran Elementary School and confirmation classes, it never occurred to me that God loved me and forgave me of my sins. Sitting at his kitchen table, the pastor showed me otherwise.

The book was part of what changed me 22 years ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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3 WW 030310

2010-03-03T21:29:00.004-06:00

Amaze
Frail
Sacred

Crocus

Frail green reach and strive

Anticipate and amaze

Renew sacred hope

Sunday Scribblings 204

2010-02-28T22:18:00.006-06:00

#204 - Big Dreams

Big Dreams

Her waist was thin and her hair long and silky. She waited for her audition along with 50 other men and women. It was her first time downtown alone and she was frightened. But the challenge and excitement gave her confidence and stars in her eyes. It didn't matter that she didn't have experience. It didn't matter that there was no part for her. It didn't matter that this would be one in a series of many disappointments. She knew but her dreams were big.

She clutched her portfolio in her hand and leaned against the wall. The red carpet was dirty. The walls were dingy and needed paint. She wished she would have brought a book or a magazine like some of the others. As she stared at the black pattern in the maroon pile, she smiled.

Soon she would be working and doing what she loved. She would leave the safety and security of her parents' home and move to the Northside. Theatre. Great shops. Beautiful apartments. Art. Creativity. It was all before her.

~~~~

Sitting at the kitchen table, she remembered. She smoked her last cigarette and let the warmth flood her inside. The smoke billowed around her head, like a gray scarf.

The irony was not lost. She was heavy now, with three kids, and a husband who worked his fingers black in grease and oil. Back in her old stomping ground, where she swore she would leave. Back to the home where she grew up. Back to the neighbors who never believed she would get anywhere. Maybe they were right all along.

She crushed her smoke, got up and turned off the light. Tomorrow was coming faster each day. But in her heart there was always that hope. Even when she put on her uniform to go to work. One day, she'd go back and audition again. Let those old neighbors shake their heads. Let her husband roll his eyes.

Maybe she could get another portfolio and audition. The parts would be different but she didn't care. She double-locked her front door and looked out the window. The street was dark and everything was quiet.

"It's never too late. I have big dreams."

She picked up her son's backpack and hung it on the hook before she went to bed.

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Three Word Wednesday 010610

2010-01-06T20:25:00.005-06:00

Drain
Epic
Nibble

I see toothbrush spray on the mirror and the faucet. On the right side of the sink, against the backsplash, a soap dispenser in the shape of a yellow fish accuses me with his stare. He has spray on him too.

"Don't look at me," I tell it. "My kids did it." The fish continues to stare so I wipe it off. On the left side, the toothbrush holder looks practically clean. The fish and I wonder how that can be.

I do a quick swipe of a rag and rinse it under the rushing cold water. It begins to warm but the drain holds an epic clog. I take out the drainstop but it doesn't help.

Behind our toilet, on top of the tank, I see three plastic baskets. It seemed a good idea at the time. My youngest son's basket, on the far left, is practically empty but for a toothbrush and a travel size tube of toothpaste. The middle basket, blue, has a brush, a comb and a spray bottle; my oldest son's red hair needs a little help before school. The last but not least basket is closest to the sink and crammed with 2 kinds of cleansers, an alcohol free toner, 3 scrunchies, 3 hairbands, 1 large, lilac colored brush, 1 large, orange and black leopard spotted brush, a couple of poofs and a bottle of nail polish wedged in front toward the bottom.

Suddenly, I know whose hair has clogged the drain.

My trip to the grocery store for drain cleaner has yielded 4 shopping bags filled with yogurts, SnackPacks, bread, cereal, a roll of paper towels and a package of lint traps, along with the drain cleaner. Knowing it will take time to work, I dump the bags on my kitchen floor. Dust bunnies run out of my path as I race up the stairs to dump in the cleaner. The stuff on the floor can wait because it will take some time on this.

After 15 minutes, my Draino knock-off has come to the rescue. Again.

I hear the side bell ring at 3:19pm and let the younger two in the house. They talk at the same time, but not too each other. The younger one didn't hold the door open for his sister and she was being mean to him.

The bathroom upstairs was a mess. Harrey, it's your week to clean. And when
were you going to tell me about the clog? Were you waiting for the fish soap
dispenser to jump in and swim in the standing water?

No answer, not even a nibble.

Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

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Carry On Tuesday # 33

2010-01-04T21:33:00.008-06:00

Your prompt for Tuesday January 5th

This week our prompt is taken from a quote attributed to the poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear

Use all or part of it within your poem or prose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tomorrow will bless

I smoothed his dark hair
And he giggled when I touched his neck.
I kissed his smooth, soft cheek
and watched him snuggle into his pillow.

I shut his light off
with a click
and my heavy footsteps
creaked on our
hardwood floor.

I paused
as I shut off
the hall light.

He sat by himself today
Away from his classmates.

He is immature
and sweet,
clumsy, struggling,
and kind.
His road so alike and so different
from his brother.

I held him as a baby
And prayed.
A mother has so many dreams
for herself
for her child.

We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear.
And we pray
that tomorrow will bless
our children.

Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved

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Sunday Scribblings # 194

2009-12-20T18:22:00.004-06:00

From Sunday Scribblings: This seems a close cousin to the prompt from last week, but it's a good one to think about as we look forward to another new year. What have you dared to do this year? How has 2009 dared to treat you? What will you dare 2010? How does dare fit into your life? Have you dared anyone lately?

At the tender age of 47, with two children in grammar school and one in junior high, I went back to school. I had been toying with the idea for a couple of years, but decided that this would be the year and the time to do it. The economy was bad and part time jobs were hard to come by. My goal was to work at the local school but I was told that there were at least 200 people in line for the same job and who needed the money for food.

I spoke with a counselor who told me that I needed three classes to earn an associate's degree. From there I could go to the local university. I took a deep breath and enrolled in a class.

On my way home I almost got a ticket for not wearing a seatbelt. I was in a daze. Thankfully he only gave me a ticket for not having my insurance card in the car and I went to court, with nothing on my record.

I was terrified that I was going to be the oldest one in my class but I figured that having a night class would be to my advantage. My teacher was older than me, thankfully, but I was indeed the oldest one in my class.

My class was "Introduction to Mythology" and I loved the subject. It was so different being in school as an adult rather than a young person struggling to get out of there. I have another friend who took Chemistry and she said she was like a sponge. It's too bad that I wasn't like this as a twenty year-old.

In the coming year, I will have more transitions. I am taking another class, during the day. My husband and I will continue to do music on Sunday morning; at least, that's the plan. I am not sure how I feel about doing music anymore. I am older, heavier and I think they need someone younger upfront. My voice is still ok, but I'm not sure where I belong.

The Bible talks about God speaking to a person in a still, small voice; I have found that it's more like an impression. I feel like that I should be paying for attention to my home. I have tried to spend no time in my house, for many different reasons.

This year will I will dare to love my house. I will dare to bless it and exercise hospitality.

Finals

2009-12-14T13:36:00.003-06:00

I have completed a semester of college. Little, old me.

I loved the class and wish I could take another one. But I only needed one humanities class and Introduction to Mythology was it. I wished now that I had taken one of the science classes that I needed. Oh, well.

I have not written anything, but I'm not sure I can blame it on school. I'm in a blue funk. Trying to find my way in transition once again.

My Scattered Stones

2009-12-04T21:36:00.003-06:00

I found a poem while googling my blog. It is called My Scattered Stones by Mary Anne.

Happy Thanksgiving

2009-11-26T06:22:00.000-06:00

Let's see.

I'm cooking this year. A small turkey (18 pounds) and a small ham for my beloved. Beloved is changing the strings on his acoustic guitar--at last!

Parent/teacher conferences came and went. Youngest is the one struggling this year. I have some ideas about his learning style. He is kinetic/hands on so I'm thinking that the whole lecturing/repitition thing is boring and in his mind useless and impractical. Not an excuse though. We'll see.

My brother and sister in law are driving down from the northside this year for the first time. We always have holidays at their house because it's more than twice the size of ours and it was also convenient for their older daughters to leave and go with their friends. Older daughters are married and one is out of state; they're spending holidays with their new in-laws.

I have not been writing at all, not here or anywhere else. I'll have to start this week. Term paper is due in about a week and a half; it's not a big deal. School is going well.

For all my Multiply friends, have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

The Little Engine that could

2009-11-11T13:31:00.006-06:00

I wonder if all writers are like that. If other writers feel the need to write about not writing. It seems a little perverse.

I use writing to process my life. So many times what I write is conversational and not well done. It doesn't matter to me, but apparently since I am writing publicly it should.

I joined National Novel Writing Month with every intention of losing. I tried outlining and didn't do it. I am not against outlining as some people are, but life got in the way. I understand that this is just another excuse in a long list but I have allowed things to get into the way of my writing.

There. That's not a cop-out; that's truth.

My children are watching a movie while I am in the quiet room of the library. I will bravely face my 400 words. I will tell myself that I can do this and it doesn't have to be completed in November if I don't want to. I will talk kindly to myself because that is how I would talk to another writer.

I know I can. I know I can.

Where in the world is...

2009-09-11T21:32:00.002-05:00

I'm adjusting to school and so are the kids. Things are easing into a routine. I will be trying to write a little next week.

United Friends Challenge # 178

2009-09-11T16:09:00.001-05:00

Caffeinatedjo's Challenge

Write a poem, any style, in which you describe yourself.

You must include a metaphor, a simile, alliteration, and onomatopoeia.

Metaphor: A word or phrase used to have a completely different meaning. Example: Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven" being a constant reminder of his loss and not truly a raven.

Simile: An expression that compares one thing to another using 'like' or 'as'. Example: The milk tasted like pickles.

Alliteration: Starting three or more words with the same sound. Example: The crazy crackling crops.

Onomatopoeia: A word imitating a sound. Example: 'buzz', 'moo' and 'beep'

Fallen from the Tree

I was an apple,

And fell close to the tree.

But I rolled

And tried to get away.

To be loosed.

To be free.

But the apple is never free from the seed inside.

Thnking that it was love,

I shackled myself to my only--

the only one who understood me

The only one who would ever love me--

as a work animal led by its nose,

its hooves weighed down by muck and mud.

The seeds inside tried to grow,

But like a withered winter willow,

They lay dormant

As love died and parted.

Like an abandoned fruit in the middle of a field,

I ached through each day at a time.

But spring came.

It always does.

My Gardener picked me up

And saw something that I could not see.

He planted me by streams of living water.

He tended to me and watched me grow.

He kept the weeds at bay

and supported me when the rains came.

The seasons came and went.

And love came again

And I found I could grow together

and be bound with another

and weather the tippytapping of rain on our leaves

And the cracklecrunch of snow in the night.

More season passed and 3 apples fell

From our branches.

And still, I look to my Gardener

and my life's partner.

The apples don't fall far.

My fruit, Our fruit

Fallen from the tree.

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Three Word Wednesday 082609

2009-08-26T14:53:00.009-05:00

Training Wheels

I made him wear a helmet. I don't care; there will be no skull fracture if I can help it.

We bought him one of those push bicycles but he wouldn't pedal. We tried everything. He liked tricycles at other people's homes but outgrew them before we could purchase one.

We bought him a bike with training wheels. He outgrew it.

We bought him a larger bike with training wheels, but when we took the training wheels off, he still couldn't do it.

It all has to do with upper body weakness and low muscle tone. I read that's part of my son's diagnosis. What that has to do with autism or asperger's syndrome, I'll never know.

We gave up on it or rather, we let it go. My husband and I had tried our best and if he couldn't ride a bike, so be it. There are so many more worse things in life than that.

But that sunny afternoon, my husband called me from our side door and let the screen slam shut. I hate that noise and so does he, so I ran out; my husband does not let a screen door slam for nothing.

I walked to our front sidewalk and there he was. In fifth grade, yes, but riding without training wheels and beaming.

How many prayers had gone up for that small childhood milestone. My husband and I watched him pedal past us and felt a couple of fears lift off our shoulders and vanish.

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Carry on Tuesday # 15

2009-08-25T08:08:00.007-05:00

Your prompt for Tuesday August 25th

Instead of an opening passage, the prompt this week is a line from verse two of Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe.

Please feel free to change the first word to, for example, he, she or they.
'
(We) loved with a love that was more than love
.
Use all or part of it at the start or somewhere within your poem or prose.

Mothers Truth

a Haiku

Tiny hands touch soft

a love that was more than love

Slipping away soon

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Sunday Scribblings # 177

2009-08-22T20:14:00.015-05:00

What are your thoughts on adulthood? What do you want to be when you grow up? Are you scared of being an adult? Have you been forced to be the adult in a relationship? Do you have an adult child who won't grow up? Are you glad to finally be an adult? What do you think?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seasons of Adult

My birthday is in September and I am officially what I consider to be old. I have 3 school aged kids and as I've mentioned I'm going back to school starting Monday the 24th.

I'll be attending night school so I am going to assume that there will be a lot of older adults there compared to younger ones. We are all adults but we are in such different seasons.

When I was young, everything was new and I could afford to be slightly reckless. At least that is what I thought. I made some foolish choices. I dated and married the first person who I was ever serious with, knowing that this man was troubled. I alienated my friends and my parents; I chose this and was encouraged to do so too. True, I was on my own and working, but I had no sense at the start. I had plenty of sense by the time I divorced.

I was alone for a time and then met my current husband. We enjoyed being double income no kids, we had children and life swirled around us as our babies became toddlers became preschoolers became grade schoolers.

My season of adult was not what I had imagined it would be when I was a child. But again, it's better than I thought it would be too. True, there are many who would judge my life right now as boring and meaningless, as we wrap our lives around our church and our children.

But what I have found in this season is the ability to look at small things and be amazed. When my children were small they would see things new, like the grass, bugs, flowers, colors. I would get to see things new through them and I enjoyed them more than when I was young. They are older now, my youngest is in third grade, but I was given that gift of wonder. I still get excited about the first butterfly in the garden and the coccoon that's attached to our hillybilly golf set. I watch for the meteors and saw nothing but the beautiful moon between the trees of our yard.

And I have found myself sitting outside in the early morning with a cup of coffee, listening to the birds and thinking, "This is amazing." I shoved aside thoughts of my father doing the same thing, but then, he also had that gift of wonder.

I hope that I'll be able to pass that on too.

For More creative stories, please click here.

Pumping Your Muse 081509

2009-08-21T17:08:00.023-05:00

Pumping Your Muse Prompt
Write a story based on a man or woman obsessed and carrying a flyswatter.
~~~~

The Day of Small Things

"10-4, Karen. I'm at the door now. Over." Pete heard the dispatcher reply and the comforting buzz of other officers in the two way strapped to his shoulder. He knocked on wooden part of the screen door. It looked weathered and original to the woodframe house. In spite of the overgrown bushes, the porch was immaculate. He looked through the gray sheers of the bay window and saw a shadow moving toward the door.

The front door opened and the woman stood with a flyswatter in her hand. It had a white, metal handle with a blue plastic screen that was torn and frayed in the middle.

"Hi, Deb. What seems to be the matter?" Pete looked with concern at the woman staring back at him through the screen. "May I come in?"

The woman pushed the door open and as if on cue, began to cry. The front room was immaculate and inviting; not a lamp or coffee table book was out of place. She sat down on her couch, held her head with one and sobbed. The other hand clutched the swatter white-knuckled.

Pete left her and walked into the kitchen. The cabinets were dangling loose on their hinges, the window was cracked like a windshield. Floors, the counters, the stove and refrigerator were as spotless as the rest of house. As he grabbed a paper towel, he heard a buzz. He noticed a black fly and watched it land, black on the white stove top.

"Deb, that's quite a fly you got in your kitchen. Do you know it circled around me twice? Here." Pete handed her the papertowel and sat on the matching chair opposite the sofa. Deb looked up in horror, wiped her face and stood up.

"Pete, you have to get out of here. Now. Leave. They know you now." Deb ran to the door as she looked toward her kitchen.

"Deb, come on, hon. You can talk to me. We've known each other since high school. You're friends with my wife. It's ok. I'm your friend." He walked to go outside but kept his eyes focused on her.

"Pete, please. Come outside. Please. Outside." Deb whispered hoarsely and wiped her nose. She kept her gaze at the kitchen and opened the door. She walked out but kept never looked at Pete. He walked past her and immediately she shut the door behind them.

"They're here, Pete. It's not a fly. It's--" Deb grabbed his upper arms, the flyswatter near her face. He gently freed himself from her grip.

"Put that thing down, Deb; it's right by my face. Come on. I'll take you over to Dunkin Donut and get you a cup of coffee."

"It doesn't kill them. No. A machine can't be killed, Pete. It disables the ship for a minute so you can get a hammer and crush them. It's the only way. What are we going to do, Pete? We have to call the National Guard. They're here. There are so many."

"Deb. I'm going to call Jim and see if he can get off work a little early. Geez, you're not even dressed. Why don't you throw something on and we'll go. Come on, Deb."

She opened the screen door and stood between the doors as she looked through the window in her door. "Pete, I know it's gonna sound crazy, but you have to listen to me. It's not a fly at all. It's a ship. I've gotten 20 of them. I stun the ships with this flyswatter. I thought they were flies, Pete. I thought I'd hit 'em and that would be the end. They'd just fly circles around you over and over. When you sleep, you can hear them." Her voice deepened. Her eyes looked old and tired. "If you stun them, you can smash them, Pete. But there's always two to take their place."

He took her by the arm and led her to the adirondack chair on her tidy porch.

"Deb. Honey, Caroline has been going through moods like this. It comes with the age. I'll get you the name of her doctor. Since she's been on that bio-identical pill, she's back to her old self, ok? In the meantime, how about I go in and get that little fly for you."

For a moment, he thought that Deb would come at him, but she just stared. She rose up, wiped her nose one more time and straightened her back.

"I'll do it, Pete. Just come in with me and watch."

"Officer Brennan, do you copy?" The operator sounded loud and sane.

"10-4, Karen."

"Pete, Joe's requesting you over on Clifton Park Ave. "

"10-2, Karen. I'll be done here in a sec."

"10-2, Pete." The only other person in the room with any sense clicked off with a button. Pete was moved with pity and sorrow at his friend's delusions. He followed her back in the house and straight to the kitchen.

Deb's flyswatter was up in the air as she ran in her kitchen screaming.

The black fly sat on the white stove top. Deb approached it and smashed the blue net hard on top.

"No more problems, Deb, see--"

"Wait for it."

They stood for a couple of minutes. When Pete would object, Deb would raise her hand to silence him. Out of pity and respect, he waited but nothing more happened.

"Deb, come on. I'm going to call Jim right now. This isn't good. Does he know what's going on?"

Deb began to cry. "Look, Pete. Look at it. I hit it square on. It should be dead. And look. No wings." The black fly quivered and fly directly at Deb. She screamed and swung, but missed. It landed high on the ceiling and then flew at her again, this time land on her hand. She flung it away from herself and it flew out of their sight for a moment. Her hand had begun to swell.

"Deb, let me get you some ice."

"No. No. We have to get them first. Pete, grab the hammer. By the dishwasher, in the drawer."

Pete sighed and got the hammer as the fly circled around his head. He brushed it away with his hand but it came back.

"It is pretty agressive." Pete watched her run around the room and chase the little black speck. She smashed the swatter on the cabinets, then the counter, then back to the cabinets. She was getting more frustrated and hysterical when she finally got nailed it near her phone. Deb grabbed the hammer out of his hand and smashed the fly violently and repeatedly.

Pete took the hammer from her as she stared at it and panted.

"Flies don't bleed, Pete. Flies aren't oily when you kill them. Look, Pete. It's metal. You have to go now. They know you." Pete examined it and tried not to laugh at her face. It was flat as a nailhead with a little bit of liquid that oozed near. Surely a fly has body fluid.

"Deb, come on. Get dressed and you come over. Call Jim and he can pick you up from our house. Ok?"

"Pete--"

"Deb, please do not argue with me or I'm going to have to call the paramedics. Do you understand? Take a shower. I have another call and I'll come back. You can have a nice visit with Caroline. Get the doctor's business card. You'll see. I'll give you some time to get ready. Ok?" He looked at her and saw she was ready to cry. "Deb, do you understand?"

"I do, Pete. Please. You have to go. They know you now."

"Ok. I'll be back shortly. Get cleaned up. Caroline will be glad to see you. Karen," Pete said as he walked out the door. "10-2, do you copy?"

"10-2, Pete. Proceed to Clifton Park. I'll patch in Joe." The dispatcher signed off with a couple of staticky clicks and he descended the porch stairs. For the sake of their friendship, he would not say too much about Deb on the report.

"Pete, 10-2, do you copy?"

Pete got into his car and closed the door. There was a fly that buzzed around his head. He didn't
remember them being in there when he got out of the car.

"10-2, Joe. What's up?"

"Can you give me a hand? I have a resident who's pretty disruptive. Says the black flies are alien spaceships. It must be a full moon." The officer on the radio paused for a moment and said, "Now they're bothering me."

"I know what you--" Pete swatted his fly and got it with his newpaper. He opened his window and shook it off. When he looked at the paper, it was clean. "I know what you mean. 10-2, I'll be there shortly." He pulled the car away and noticed ablack fly perched on his paper.

Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

http://pymprompts.blogspot.com/2009/08/flyswatter-prompt.html

It's pretty sad when I've been thinking about what to write using this particular prompt.

Three Word Wednesday 081909

2009-08-19T15:02:00.006-05:00

Graceful Riot of Decay

The gray sky cheers me
as I walk through fallen leaves.

Transition to dormancy
amid the season of wait.

Even my breath mists
like small clouds rushing past me.

I look to the gray above
and find the graceful riot suspended above.

Colors true
and fragile as they fall.

Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

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If you are visiting, please leave a link so that I can come and visit. Thank you for stopping by.

Wednesday Write

2009-08-19T09:54:00.004-05:00

There is so much to learn.

100 Sentence Challenge

2009-08-16T13:27:00.002-05:00

From Dragon Writing Prompts.

A lot of fun and a lot to think about. I'm using a female character in a story that I've stopped working on. Still, it's fun to stretch my writing, um, skills.

Dragon Writing Prompt 081309

2009-08-15T22:47:00.015-05:00

For each word or phrase write a sentence about one of your characters, old or new.

1. Introduction - She stared at him with round eyes, like a deer caught by lantern at night.
2. Love - Tirzah trembled as his fingers touched the delicate necklace at her throat.

3. Light - The morning sun glistened on her brown hair but glared on her pale skin.
4. Dark - The ground was hard and dry, but it was the sounds of twenty different things that kept her awake.
5. Seeking Solace - When she thought he wasn't looking, she knelt on her knees, clasped her hands and prayed in a silent scream.
6. Break Away - Tirah looked at the man in horror and as she ran into the field, she called for Owain and looked for clues in the tall grasses.
7. Heaven - Owain stood before her, not in fine garments, but in his field clothes, cleaned and surprising.
8. Innocence - Tirzah blushed and took a deep breath; she could contain herself no longer and had to relieve herself, no matter how humiliating.
9. Drive - She stopped calling out and measured her steps; her brows furrowed as she looked for something not quite right.
10. Breathe Again - Tirzah collapsed in a heap on top of Owain, her legs splayed on the ground; she would have fallen to her death.
11. Memory - Her memories played out in fitful sleep and sweats; he was no better.
12. Insanity - Grief came from the earth under her feet and rose to her throat to choke her.
13. Misfortune - Tirzah wept for her child, for the milk that would not come, and for her pathethic dream for a family.
14. Smile - Owain walked into the fairy ring and she could almost hear him scream; she smiled.
15. Silence - Tirzah stood on the parapet and watched the moon rise over the tributary; she stood alone and felt it in her soul.
16. Questioning - She wanted a family and a quiet life, but Tirzah had never outrun her choice of freedom or service.
17. Blood - Blood coursed out of his arm; he nodded and with a deep breath, she plunged her finger into the wound.
18. Rainbow - The rains passed beyond the shallow caves; Tirzah looked for a rainbow but the sun was just beyond them.
19. Gray - The second day she was tired beyond experience and in spite of the sun, all looked gray.
20. Fortitude - "He's fine and safe," she said and stood just outside the ring; she was so clumsy to step in accidentally. "Let him have a couple of go arounds and we'll see clumsy."
21. Vacation - Rest had freshened them both and Tirzah felt as good as she had ever felt in her life.
22. Mother Nature - Mosquitos bit them without respite and it rained till her skirts never dried.
23. Cat - A cat rubbed her legs under the table and when she reached down to pet it, the cat butted her hand with its head.
24. No Time - She ran until the air scorched her aching lungs and still the giant came.
25. Trouble Lurking - She stopped arguing and watched the moonflower tremble in rhythm to the noise.
26. Tears - Tears poured out so naturally and finally that she could not remember a time when she was not torn in two.
27. Foreign - "Don't thank me," said Fiar Dearg and licked his lips. "Than-" "No, Owain. No. We will take our leave, Fiar Dearg. Come, your Highness." Tirzah fairly pushed Owain away.
28. Sorrow - She handed the baby to the elf and stood with her legs rooted like willows by a stream.
29. Happiness - The dance came to a crescendo, partners changed and she felt a warm hand around her waist.
30. Under the Rain - "Just close your mouth until the morning. I'm tired and I've had my full of your voice for a hundred lifetimes." Tirzah looked at him like an animal ready to pounce.
31. Flowers -Forget-me-nots, Celandine and red campion snuggled up against the castle wall; she smiled and walked to them without a thought.
32. Night - The comforting sounds of muffled voices and music brought her joy of the night.
33. Expectations - She had walked with him through Arawn's Woods and expected a measure of comfort in Owain's presence.
34. Stars - The stars were full and a hazy semi-circle forced a path in the sky.
35. Hold My Hand - He took her hand and it felt warm and familiar and frightening.
36. Precious Treasure - All faded but his face; she placed her hand on his cheek, leaned over and kissed him.
37. Eyes - She hated her eyes, so round and plain.
38. Abandoned - She could feel him in her arms and the warmth of his kiss, after he and the guard were out of plain sight.
39. Dreams - She would marry who she wanted and she would live where the only responsibility would be to raise her children in peace.
40. Rated - Her dress was the most beautiful as fitting, but she could feel the stares of the court watching every move of her head and hand.
41. Teamwork - Ulrich held her waist as she planted on foot inside the fairy ring and caught site of Owain, who looked like a fish trying to swim upstream.
42. Standing Still - She threw the branch and time stopped. A rumble came through the rocks. Her legs once again failed her and she stood as a spectator who watched the goring of a bull.
43. Dying - The contractions had subsided but the bleeding didn't stop. She leaned her head back and said, "At least that you will know how to bury me, Owain."
44. Two Roads - Inescapable. To remain a queen with a large, rested and well appointed army against the forces of Balor or to obscurity and peace.
45. Illusion - She stayed on the end of the bench and did not move. She thought it strange that the cold wind whipped around her, while they sat in the stone cabin, out of the elements.
46. Family - Her mother tried make her well spoken but the red would start from her chest and work its way up to her face.
47. Creation - "And I am sick. No. No. I will not tolerate any more remarks about my faith. I don't lay you bare about your lack of it, Owain."
48. Childhood - She curtseyed when she was supposed to but she was never comfortable with the shallow conversation of the courtiers.
49. Stripes - "Because I'm from the court, I've never born stripes? And being told who to marry isn't a stripe? Never loving someone isn't a stripe? Never receiving the love of a husband isn't ten stripes? Being a doormat of a pawn in some royal political game isn't a stripe? I've been whipped so many times I don't know what a stripe isn't."
50. Breaking the Rules - "I want my own life of my own choosing. I've already married through my parents. If I marry again, I will marry for love or for my own reasons. Or I won't marry at all. Me. I get to choose this time."
51. Sport - Tirzah tried her luck at targets but like everything else, she took some of the skin off part of her arm and that ended that.
52. Deep in Thought - The tributary sparkled with tiny lights, like fireflies in the distance. She leaned against the sandy stones of the tower and took in the night.
53. Keeping a Secret - Her balance was never proper but it was even worse. She tried to find a long stick to keep herself from tripping. Owain finally stopped and made one for her, his eyes mumbled what his voice wouldn't.
54. Tower - Tirzah picked up his gauntlet. He had dropped it on the way out. She stood in the empty room and looked it over, smoothing it with her hand.
55. Waiting - The fairies had brought her round several times and she knew where she needed to go. Once, she had almost grabbed a root that was close to the opening but whirl of the dance was too strong. She would have to wait for the next go around.
56. Danger Ahead - The Seven were hooting and howling ahead of them, while Jack in Irons wept and swung is club behind them. Death she accepted for herself but what about her child?
57. Sacrifice - She said a soft farewell and handed the tiny baby to the Elvish couple. He would live and he would grow and be safe. And her heart would mend but changed and misshapen, like a shattered clay pot.
58. Kick in the Head - "Has anyone not kissed this man?" Tirzah gaped and stumbled back. The entire Dwarf Village and the steady stream of Elves and fairies had stood in line day after day, but she had not tried.
59. No Way Out - Tirzah scrambled under the bridge and picked up large river rocks. She threw them at the seven but the rocks did not go far.
60. Rejection - He let go of her hand and approached two willowy elf maids. She stood still for a moment, then straightened her chin, adjusted her dress and walked into the crowd.
61. Fairy Tale - "I saw a little man. He was standing by that log, with another little man. He smoked a pipe. I saw him."
62. Magic - The old woman tied a red thread in her hair and slowly the village appeared on the shores of the creek.
63. Do Not Disturb - They walked in silence for the rest of the day. She relieved herself and lost him for about an hour before dusk, but saw him lumbering ahead. She said nothing.
64. Multitasking - She was not sure what kind of wood to pick off the muddy forest floor. If it looked a drab gray brown she took it and prayed so hard that she did not hear him call.
65. Horror - The heads around Jack's belt rotted and the stench was overwhelming. The giant ran a greasy hand through his hair and looked through them, not directly at them. Her eyes were large, like a doe ready for flight, but she stood her ground and tried to keep him calm.
66. Traps - Druegar laughed. "Get up and hand me that fire iron." But Tirzah sat and gripped her stone seat. And so they sat until daybreak.
67. Playing the Melody - Tirzah cleared her throat and sang one verse of "The Bonnie month of June, my love" before Owain asked her to stop.
68. Hero - "I can't wield a sword like my lord, but I find that I can fly," called Tirzah from the air. Aurelia laughed and landed, swinging her long, scaly tail.
69. Annoyance - At last he stopped chastising her carelessness. Tears had filled her eyes at first but now her silence was her strength.
70. 67% - "I have kept silent all this time. You belittled me when I went in the fairy ring. You belittled me when I almost plunged to my death our first night in this forest. I will be silent no more, Owain."
71. Obsession - "I am going to anonymity. If I live a life of a spinster, so be it. I will live alone. I chose a life out of the royal court. I chose a life of simplicity and quiet."
72. Mischief Managed - The Seelie Court whirled in circle. It seemed so small when her foot stepped in but now it was large and chaotic. An elf with backwards feet, large ears and a wizened smile gently twirled her to cadence. She nodded, smiled and looked for that large root.
73. I Can't - "I'm not a warrior like you. I can barely walk across the ground without tripping or maybe you didn't notice."
74. Are You Challenging Me? - Aech Urisk stood straight, his dappled chest rippled and glistened in the candle light. His hoof kicked the door shut. She knew that the inn was empty, but she was not in her room. She ran to Owain's belt and unsheathed his dagger.
75. Mirror - It was the first mirror she had seen since she had left the manor. Her face looked flushed and healthy. She touched her own face, the face of a pretty stranger.
76. Broken Pieces - The village was charming and warm but all was gray. All was lost. Her baby was well cared for and would live here. But how could she go back? She would have to go back.
77. Test - "I will restore all, as you ask. But you must find your companion." "Where? Have you turned him to stone? Have you put him in bonds?" "You have until sundown."
78. Drink - She bent to drink from the clear water when a long branch came towards her. But it was not a branch at all.
79. Starvation - "I would eat duck. I would. But how can I? Look at them. Look at him and his mate." Tirzah wept. "There must be something. I'll look." She waded into the marsh but he held her back.
80. Words - "I've never been good. With words. I--" Tirzah handed him the gauntlet. "I was going to bring it to you presently. You dropped this."
81. Pen and Paper - Her Steward brough her pen, ink and paper and she sat what she perceived as the better part of the morning. Wiping her eyes, she wrote, "How much time we have wasted." She folded it, sealed it with her signet and asked it be rushed to the prince.
82. Can You Hear Me? - "I am tired of the sound of your voice. I am tired of your demands. I am tired of your bullying and your unending lectures." Tirzah walked closer and lowered her voice: a voice she had never heard. "Shut. Up."
83. Heal - The bath was as good as she would ever have again. She put on a clean garment and braided her hair. She viewed the world outside her body as she walked to the bed.
84. Out Cold - Tirzah laid down and sniffed the pillow; it smelled of fresh air and sunshine and lavender in the spring. She closed her eyes and sniffed again. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.
85. Spiral - She was on her second pass around the ring when she noticed something by the root. It was brown and familiar. As she danced closer, she could see it was a long boot and there were arms by it. Tirzah looked up with an open mouth and saw Owain reaching for her.
86. Seeing Red - "No more, Owain. Right there you have said too much. I will perish in this God forsaken wood before I hear you speak again."
87. Food - Tirzah sat at the head table with Owain beside her. The Stewart brought her the main dish in a covered platter. Rabbit. Tirzah nodded politely and sent it away while Owain roared with laughter.
88. Pain - The contractions grew stronger and she began to cry. "Stay with me, Owain. I know at least you will know how to bury me properly."
89. Through the Fire - The baby was small but alive. His little fingers curled around her finger like gossamer thread. She was bleeding. So she would live to see him but both of them would die in the night apart from her parents.
90. Triangle - Tirzah saw him glimpse at her as she danced with Aech. Aech was a fine figure of a man, except for his unusual hair. Shaved on both side with a narrow strip of long hair that flowed down his back.
91. Drowning - She stripped and didn't care who saw her naked, dying body. The bogey with long slimy green hair and skin stretched tight over a skull swam noiselessly to her and pulled her beneath the clear waters of the pond.
92. All That I Have - "My mother gave me this necklace. It remains the only thing that is completely mine."
93. Give Up - The bogey pulled her to the rocky bottom and Tirzah looked at her without emotion. She closed her eyes and let her breath rush out of her.
94. Last Hope - "If you do not stay. If you choose not to remain queen, they will find another to rule. It will be Balor, for this kingdom belongs to his family. If you stay, you will have a rested, trained army who knows Balor's tactics. You choose."
95. Advertisement - Tirzah stepped off Auralia. "I am Queen of the Dyffed Cliffs. Now, Auralia." The Dragon threw her head back and laughed, fire shooting high in the air.
96. In the Storm - She panted, each step painful and slow as the cold rain soaked her skirts to her skin.
97. Safety First - Aech whinnied and galloped out of the room and down the hall. She held the dagger, blood dripping and stared and trembled. Her mouth moved but no sound came out. She walked to Owain's belt and sheathed the blade.
98. Puzzle - "You're thick around the middle, yet you don't eat. You're not a large girl but you're thick. There. It's too bad. You're not a bad looking woman."
99. Solitude - She rose early and walked the quiet streets of the village. The sky was a faint gray and the dwarf mothers swept their steps and nodded. Her strides were long as sure as she walked up the path that followed the creek.
100. Relaxation - The path went up until the little last house bordered the woods. She was free from being chased by the Seven. She was free from the relentless prodding of Owain. She was free from the royal courts. She hiked up her skirts and plunged her feet into the cold, rushing water.

This has been floating around Deviantart for a while, now residing as Variation 1 at 100 Themes Challenge and credited to AngieChild who says she got it elsewhere.

Most people use the themes as art challenges and they're very cool to see!

Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

United Friend Challenge # 170

2009-08-15T22:29:00.003-05:00

Sumax's Challenge

There's an empty room with a smashed plate on the floor and food dripping down the wall near the door.
In a short story, tell us what might have happened ... and don't make it the obvious wife/husband or sibling argument..

First Home

Pamela Merczyk jiggled the key and opened the front door. Her two inch heels were pinching her baby toes but she gritted her teeth and smiled.

"This is a new listing. Um, three bedrooms, two baths, kitchen, dining room, unfinished basement. Attached two and a half car garage. And it's empty. Move right in." Pamela moved into the middle of the frontroom and let the young couple roam.

The young woman walked to the bay window and ran her fingers of a few of the 16 panes. The young man looked up at the ceiling and then around the baseboards. "Only two outlets. That's the problem with these older homes." He sighed and strolled into the kitchen.

Pamela winced and took a deep breath; this was the last showing of the day. Those shoes would come off in the car. She waiting for the young woman who was looking at the gentle arches by the front door and the stairs. She understood this young woman after years of experience in real estate. Those little features like the arches, the four paned double hung windows, red oak flooring, fired her prospective sale's imagination. Pamela smiled and joined the young man in the kitchen.

"The former owners put in new cabinets and Stainless Steel appliances." Pamela opened the freezer door and looked inside. "Only two years old."

"It's a short sale, isn't it?" The man's blue eyes accused her, but she was not sure why.

"Yes. Newer floors, in good condition. The place is immaculate and it's priced to sell."

From the other room, they heard, "Hon, let's look up here." The man ignored her and went upstairs. Good sized rooms, a bathroom, more oak floors that were in pristine condition. She spent a lot of time up there looking out at the large backyard and the pool. Pamela went downstairs into the kitchen and took off her shoes to wiggle her toes.

In the empty home she could hear them talk or rather argue in muffled tones. He sounded angry and Pamela heard the words "bloodsuckers" and "forget it." The wife was shushing him and whispering. The wife had fallen in love with the place. Good school district, big yard, pool and large bedrooms: all the things that she had wanted. It was not a surprise when they walked down the wooden stairs. She pushed her sore feet into those dreaded Nine Wests and leaned against the countertop.

They trudged down into the basement and stood by the stairs in shock. In the middle of the floor was a broken plate. Food, spaghetti probably, dripped down the wall to the floor. Some of the sauce has splattered on the door to the half bath that was not in the listing. The man shook his head.

"I don't feel right about this, Annie. We're buying off the misery of others. I'm sorry, Ms. Merczyk. I'm not ready to buy today. Sorry to bother you." The young man stormed up the stairs and out the side door. The wife gave her an apologetic look and ran up the stairs.

Pamela sighed, kicked off her heels and dialed the office. Someone would have to come and clean up the mess.

Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

For more creative stories, please click here.

Waiting

2009-08-12T23:51:00.005-05:00

I write because I must. It's a like a little itchy something in my brain. A compulsion, perhaps.

I've been writing since a child. Poems that no one will ever see. Journaling, something that I hope my kids will look at when they have grandkids someday.

And fiction. I knew when I was in junior high that I could write well or at least had the potential.

I never pursued it because drama and theatre took hold of me. But I still wrote in the quiet watches of my teen angst.

I gave it up when I married a writer who was abusive. I was abusive too in my own way; at least, I didn't help matters by my loyalty to him. I had to give up everything, friends and writing to be with him.

But after the divorce I went back to it. Here and there, on bits of paper or notebooks. Little scribble scrabbles of my imagination and pain translated into words.

Years went by and here I am.

I went to a conference and learned a lot from the last session that I attended. The woman talked about writing and how not everyone there was meant to be a writer. And that's ok. That some are meant to write for themselves and that it is enough just to do that. That God is satisfied with "only" that.

It hurt me, this conference, because I was not ready or prepared or ready. I have so much to learn.

And I don't know that this is my calling because I'm guessing that I would not be so alone in all this. Perhaps I'm wrong because in the end, the act of writing is to be alone, physically at least.

Where does God figure into all this? That's the thing. I don't know.

Dragon Writing Prompts 080609 - Twisted Description

2009-08-10T22:54:00.004-05:00

Describe someone in positive terms but then add a negative twist.

Also describe someone in negative terms but add a positive twist.

From Dragon Writing Prompts

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His confidence made him handsome but the scar tore across his face from his brow to his chin.

Lady Adelle nodded in agreement and held her hand; the glint in her blue eyes chilled the queen's heart.

He had the kind words of a saint and the cold detachment of a bird of prey.

~~~~

His hand, cold and gray from the grave, reached down and picked the blade of grass, as in rememberance of warmth and sunshine.

She rocked back and forth in pain and made her decision to continue.

Her silver white hair was yellowing, but her mind was sharp and strong.

This was a lot harder than I thought it would be.

Carry on Tuesday # 13

2009-08-10T16:44:00.005-05:00

Welcome to Carry on Tuesday

Your prompt for Tuesday August 11th.
'
The prompt this week is the opening sentence from The Story of a Marriage by Andrew Sean Greer

We think we know

the ones we love.

Use all or part of it at the start or somewhere within your poem or prose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

We think We Know

We think we know the ones we love

Like a book upon a shelf,

Until the day your child declares,

"I can do it by myself."

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If you've come by, please leave your link--I'd love to come visit!

United Friends Challenge # 169

2009-08-10T16:40:00.000-05:00

Potashtam's Challenge

An animal that you know, or your pet, learns to talk.
Describe how they learnt and a conversation you then have with them.

I got out of bed after I had a hot flash and heard my husband getting ready for work. The sun was peeking through the houses behind us and seemed to beckon me to come outside. I grabbed a hot cup of coffee, my bible and went outside to read and meditate.

I got a nice chair on the deck and revelled in the quiet until I felt something fall on my head.

It was a half bitten green tomato, from my garden. I looked up and saw a squirrel. It swished its tail back and forth and stared at me.

"A bite? Just a bite? Why couldn't you just eat the whole thing? Now no one wants it."

"It was delicious but I'm full now. I had other things to do. I have to see what else is around. Do you tomatoes? I do, especially when they're nice a crunchy. That watermelon was delicious too, but the problem is, there's so much. I can't finish it. Do you like watermelon? I do."

My mouth fell open as this squirrel talked to me.

"How--I can understand you."

"Lycopene. Do you know lycopene is very healthy for humans? It helps with blood pressure and helps with brain function. That's why you hear me. Because of lycopene."

"I didn't have any tomatoes this morning."

"No, But I did. In squirrels it helps us to talk."

"Well, since we're talking, leave my garden alone."

"Why?"

"Why?! You're eating all my vegetables. One bite and that's it. The whole vegetable is ruined."

"I only needed one bite and then I was full."

"It's a waste."

"Not to me. It's delicious!"

"I'm growing it for my family."

"I have a family too and you have so much."

"Can't you eat the whole thing instead of wasting it?"

"I don't need the whole thing and I'm not wasting it. I'm a squirrel, it's too much food. I take what I need and leave it. You would do well to heed this advice. This conversation is boring. Good bye!"

With that, the squirrel climbed up the tree and into its nest. I looked at my lawn and saw another large half green, half red, half eaten tomato.

"Leave my tomatoes alone," I called.

So much for peace and meditative quiet.

For more creative stories, please click here.

Carry On Tuesday # 12

2009-08-07T18:48:00.010-05:00

.
Welcome to Carry On Tuesday
.
Your prompt for Tuesday August 4th
.
Our prompt this week is the opening sentence from The Open Door by Elizabeth Maguire
.
.
The story is in the journey,
not the destination
.
.
Use all or part of it at the start or somewhere within your poem or prose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kersen's Journey

He finally was used to the smell. A yellow smoke poured out of the living mountain and clouded his view of the stone. Only for a moment. He bent over and heaved the long rock into his basket.

The wind blew the smoke long enough for him to see Doni just down the hill. Kersen took a long drag off his cigarette and lifted his pick. It felt small and light, but in his hands, it did the job of chipping away just the right size of rock. Maybe it was the tool. Maybe it was the man.

After an hour of more of the same, Kersen lifted the pole on his back. Both baskets were full. Doni looked like he was finishing up so he put the pole down. No reason to carry it a second longer than he had to. Three hours journey up the slippery stones to the nearest kitchen. Then a couple of rests on the way. A quick meal and back down to the yellow vents.

Then one more trip to the kitchen and to cash. Double what the factory workers make.

One day he would be free of the mountain and pursue his dream, if his wife was true to him. And frugal. A typewriter, a table and chair, paper and stories of the men on the mountain.

It is said that the story is in the journey, not in the destination. Kersen's journey begins up and down the living mountain, one painful step at a time.

Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

For more creative stories, please click here.

I am new to Carry On Tuesday. Welcome to my little blog. Please leave a message and a link to your story, because I would love to come visit.

And for the record, this is a fictional man and worker but the job and the moutain are real in Indonesia.

United Friends Challenge # 168

2009-08-06T18:26:00.000-05:00

Qwith's Challenge

From Barbara DeMarco Barrett's book "Pen on Fire" - Chapter 101 Compassion p. 160

1) Pick someone to write about who really bothers you, - perhaps someone who makes a nuisance of themselves--a brash teenager who speeds down your block playing (loud) music...,your next-door neighbor whose cigar smoke wafts through your open window, a woman in your condo...who lavishes attention on her cats, but just about runs you down if you happen to cross in front of her car.

**Keep in mind these are examples only.**

Write a description of this person and

2) Do it without turning them into a caricature. Look beyond the surface. You could try writing from their point of view, if you like.

Privacy Sheers

She wiped the dust off her cherry dining room table, the one they only used at holidays. The children were not allowed to come into that room at all with special exception for homework and then only one child at a time.

Joan then ran a dust mop over the white oak hardwood floors. White oak was not as desirable as red oak, but it stood out from the other homes on her block. The windows in the formal dining room faced west and the afternoon sun poured through the sixteen paned window. Her 60 year old house needed lots of work when they moved in, but these windows was one thing that stayed, inefficient as they were.

She checked her watch as she put the mop in her tiny hall closet. She had a few minutes before she had to pick up her kids from Sacred Shepherd. The girls would stay after for Girl Scouts and her son would come home.

Before she got in the car to get Jared, she went through the house one more time to make sure everything was perfect. The dishwasher was running, the dryer was running, bathrooms spotless and she would start dinner when she got home.

She walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She touched her blonde hair and pushed it back behind her ear. The bags under her eyes looked bluish in the florescent lights. She looked tired. She was tired. She closed her eyes and sighed, gripping the counter.

Tonight was Cub Scouts. She had forgotten.

She would have to see that woman, the mother of one of the boys. There was something about that woman that got under her skin. Maybe it was the fact that she was overweight. Maybe it was the fact that her house needed work and that they lived on her block.

Joan drew a deep breath and stood straight. She checked her teeth and brushed her hair. She lifted her chin and as she did the bags under her eyes were not quite so bad.

As she walked to her kitchen, she grabbed her Kate Spade bag and grabbed her sunglasses. They would hide her eyes. As she put them on, the door bell rang.

She ran to the dining room and hid behind the privacy sheers. It was that woman and her daughter. The public school got out earlier than private. And the daughter was selling cookies. The girl must have seen her shadow through the sheers because she rang the bell again.

She should open the door. She should be nice to the girl--it wasn't her fault her mother was low class and lived in a middle class neighborhood. Her son was getting out of school and she had to pick him up. Of course, it was only three blocks away, but she was home. Why should he walk?

Joan watched the little girl walk down the step and then quickly drew away. If she hurried she could get in the car and they would never know the difference.

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Creative Challenge # 64

2009-08-04T16:00:00.000-05:00

Mirage

a Memoriam Stanza

The road goes ever on ahead

You said you'd love me while you were there.

I heard you say you would always care.

It wasn't quite all that you said.

For more creative entries, please click here.

A quiet Monday

2009-08-03T08:12:00.000-05:00

It poured today on my side of the city and we didn't have any plans, which is good for Monday.

I had my first nightmare about school last night. It's a variation of the same. I was in class with one of my instructors from my writing conference. It was my turn to do my presentation and I couldn't find my book or the instructor's guidelines. I was looking through papers and my work couldn't find it anywhere.

I think it was a combination dream. Part about going back to school and part about how I feel about writing/my lack of ability.

Ronn and Hermionie had to go to the orthodontist this week. Ronn will be getting his braces off shortly.

We've been lollygagging all morning. Time to get some work done.

For Tita Aquino - Haiku

2009-08-01T17:49:00.001-05:00

Tita Aquino - Haiku

A dress in yellow

Widow Mother then Leader

Fresh Air to a torn nation

Rest in Peace, Corazon Aquino

United Friends Challenge # 165

2009-07-29T16:16:00.000-05:00

Please note:

There are quite a few components to this Challenge so please read it carefully to ensure that you meet ALL the criteria.

Northernpat's Challenge

Winning The Game.

Your character in the story is entering a competition.

Of these, the choice is yours:-

Any sport

Quiz Show

Beauty Contest

Cookery Competition

Whatever happens, they are going to win at all costs.

Write a short story about the competition, the opposition, and the tactics and strategies used for winning.

(They are allowed to cheat if necessary)

Today He Played With Cleats

Julian came to practice early that morning, full of good intentions. He had a sense of such accomplishment as he fastened the shin-guards on himself. Filled with a new sense of independence, Julian stood in line for scrimmages. His coach blew the whistle and he ran, head high, to the orange cones and back to the next one in line.

Next, he was first in line to kick the ball in front of himself. He felt such glory when he got the black and white ball and kicked it across the field. Julian half listened to his coach.

Today he played with cleats.

The other team, Maroon, assembled at the other side of the field. He saw his friend from school was on defense and his friend's mom had a whistle. He decided that he would say hi but not let it distract him.

The whistle blew for the first quarter and they were upon the ball. Julian kicked and so did his teammate Tim. Maroon kept right in there so that it was hard to tell where the leg started and the ball ended. White and black finally broke free and Julian ran towards it.

A Maroon player stopped it and tried to kick it back but in a flurry of legs and shoes, the ball seemed to pause at that little spot. Julian kicked but the ball merely bounced in the air and came down with everyone vying for a turn.

It was the same for the rest of the four quarters, except for the bathroom and water breaks. Julian heard his coach say that they were tied and to try not to let the other team score in the net.

He pondered this advice in his heart as he took his defense postion. The Maroon player who had tried to monopolize the ball for the entire game stood opposite of his position. Suddenly, Julian knew what he had to do.

The whistle blew and Julian ran to the net to assist his teammate Nick. The teams were in a solid pack and the ball was lost in the tangle of legs and shins. Suddenly, though, that ball was headed straight towards the net.

He remembered what the coach said. He thought about his team and how important it was to keep the ball from going into the net. He braced himself and stood in front of the net, blocking an end. Several of his other teammates followed suit and together, as a team, they stood in front of the net. As the kicking mass approached, someone, whether Maroon or Kelly Green he didn't know, someone kicked the ball towards the net.

The black and white ball stopped. Julian took a chance and kicked the ball. It went half way across the field. He took a deep breath and ran as fast as he could toward it. The grass was slippery and he saw both Maroon and Kelly Green slip and fall. He focused on the ball and came to it. He kicked it to the net.

His buddy from school blocked it but in doing so, he kicked the ball into his own net.

There was a cheer from the crowd. His buddy started to cry. His buddy's mom ran to her son and gave him a hug.

As they stood in line to say good game, he heard his coach laugh and say, "I love 4 year old soccer."

I am a Stay at Home Mom

2009-07-28T17:36:00.000-05:00

I am a Stay at Home Mom.

I drive a minivan, yes. It's paid for and it's 13 years old. That's right, it's a 1996 and it still runs. It's not the nicest car in the world, but it takes us where we need to go. Our other car is literally 20 years old. This car is paid for as well. I like to see the beautiful Sports Utility Vehicles that other people drive and I love riding in them. But we are content with what we have.

I am a Stay at Home Mom.

I live in a simple house. In my neighborhood there are many professionals and they have gorgeous homes. I am happy for them. They have gorgeous landscaping and beautiful furniture. Ours is definitely not as good as theirs, but we are willing to do a little at a time.

Our furniture is well loved and when we buy new, you better believe it's out of dire necessity. My dining room set is from a thrift shop and it has served us well for 10 years. It's not gorgeous but it works.

I am a Stay at Home Mom.

My children wear hand me downs. They are neat, they are clean and they are new to them. I buy them a couple of new things each season and that seems to be sufficient for them. My daughter has learned to accessorize to make herself very stylish; she is learning creativity.

I am a Stay at Home Mom.

I don't have nice clothes. I have useful clothes, which are neat and clean. If I gave any thought, I suppose I could make them more stylish. But because I am at home, I am running one to band and two to swimming in between and then pick them up at take them home, all within two hours. Sometimes I'm running other children besides my own. Sometimes I'm lucky if I've brushed my teeth.

I am a Stay at Home mom.

When a working mom can't get her child in time, she calls me. When a working mom has to leave early, she calls me. I do not look down on her for her choice because I know that she is contributing to my family just as I am. Working Mom is my sister and I am proud of her.

I am a Stay at Home mom.

There are 5 major grocery stores in my area and I can tell you which store has the best buy on what item. I use coupons. I shop sales. I wait to buy things until they are on sale and I have a coupon. My Working Mom sister does this too, but I remember when I worked and how I didn't have time to go to several different stores. I do now so sometimes I might save a little extra money and we don't use name brands; I do this as a contribution to my household.

I am a Stay at Home Mom.

I am involved in my children's schools. I do this not to put a guilt trip on my sisters at work; I do this because this is one of the prices I pay to be at home. I bake cookies. I help with the Book Fair. I am a room parent and I take pictures to share with other moms who wish they could be there. I understand. We all do what we can.

I am a Stay at Home Mom.

I cannot understand why there are some Working Moms who look down on my choices. I cannot understand why some of my other Stay at Home sisters look down on their working sisters. We are all working toward the same thing, which is taking care of our family.

The Feminist movement does not bother me. I embrace it as my own, as I was a child when the movement started. One of their points was that a women should have the same choices as men, when it came to careers and pay. I am a Christian and I am thrilled to have a choice of whether to go back to work or stay at home.

I made my choice, or rather, my husband and I decided it together. We decided to live a very simple lifestyle. We decided to forego some luxuries. It would be nice to go out to a fabulous restaurant and wear gorgeous clothes and painful shoes. Nice, but like many things, those dinners will have to wait.

I am a Stay at Home Mom.

One day I will probably go back to work. Maybe I won't. I've been told that my Working Sisters wish that they were at home at 3pm when their teenagers got out of school. That scares me.

And because I've been out of the workforce, I wonder if I'll even be able to get work. And I know and love many of my Working Sisters who are keeping their families afloat. I don't know how they do it; they are so strong. I try to encourage them when I can.

So, let's not put each other down. We are mothers and we should be pulling for each other, no matter what the circumstance. I respect my Working Mom sisters; I wonder if they respect me?

I am a Stay at Home Mom.

United Friends Challenge # 164

2009-07-25T20:10:00.000-05:00

Caghs' Challenge

In 25 words or less, write a poem about a war hero/war heroes.

Nurse

I held their hands, wiped their brows.

Never once renounced my vows.

To apply the gentle arts to heal.

Heart of mercy, Spine of steel.

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Encouragement

2009-07-25T10:20:00.002-05:00

There is a room inside my heart
Dark
No windows
A small light above
A little door that lets me in and out.

I sit alone there
in the darkness
without sound
listening.

I venture out the door
to give
to serve
to meet needs of others.

I have been told
that I have
the gift
of encouragement.
of lifting up the fallen.
of bolstering a sagging spirit.
of taking a hand and holding it.

It is more blessed to give
than to receive.

I sit in my silent room
and I wait
for a gift
that never comes.

Copyright 2009 All rights reserved

# 173 - Where in the World?

2009-07-24T21:15:00.006-05:00

Have you ever stood still and scratched your head and said, 'Where in the world?' Is there somewhere in the world you would love to go? Are you looking for someone or something or a place that makes sense to you? Where in the world are you?

This is my first ever post for Sunday Scribbles. Welcome and please leave a link if you are participating so that I can visit.

I scratched my head this summer. My children are in school full time and I am still at home. I have volunteered at PTA, at Bible Studies, at church, at Girl Scouts. I've volunteered to serve my time at the concessions stands for several seasons of baseball and softball. My life has revolved around my family.

As well it should. I prayed for years to have children and thank God my husband and I have three. But I stood at the crossroads, wondering which way to go. On one hand, we could always use the extra income for things, but in this economy there would be no work available in the hours that I need. I have no back up, no relatives, no mother or father or in-laws to get the kids.

So, my undiscovered country is school. I would have loved to see the sandy stones at a Welsh castle but it will have to wait. I will pursue a degree, a mother among the dream-filled young.

My steps will be cautious in the new world. I wonder if I will be able to live and thrive there. I am afraid that I will not be able to keep up with the school work and worry that I will not be the role-model that I would like to be for my children.

A role model who does her homework diligently and does well.

Where in the world am I? At the beginning of a new adventure, a step off my door sill.

For more creative stories, please visit Sunday Scribbles

Creative Challenge # 62

2009-07-24T18:21:00.001-05:00

Marvin's Pond

An eight hour ride

to my father's childhood home.

Blazing heat, moist air,

No television, one radio with one station,

And the lonely only-me.

How I hated those trips to the boredom

of nothing,

when all I had to do was to read poetry all day,

to walk the gravel road in the heavy summer air,

to hear the crickets and bees and bob whites whistle.

Then to toss and turn as the frogs called each other

into the night filled with stars.

I am a mother now

and wish that I could bring my children

back to my uncle's farm

and sit in the quiet summer days

fishing in his pond.

For more creative entries, please click here.

Writer's Digest Prompts

2009-07-13T19:24:00.000-05:00

I thought I'd try it. My entry is very different from everyone else's!

http://blog.writersdigest.com/promptly/CommentView.aspx?guid=60E933A1-B407-431F-BE51-4847B51D3B9D

United Friends Challenge # 160

2009-07-11T23:53:00.002-05:00

Desnath's Challenge

Write a story, starting with this:
" I was sitting in my favourite chair, watching my favourite television program, when ......."

Asbestos Tile

I was sitting in my favourite chair, watching my favourite television program, when I heard a loud thump from my ceiling. My daughter's room was above me so I went upstairs to investigate.

I should have known that something was different because the stairs felt soft under my feet. The stairs in my house are hardwood oak. I went through the hallway to check on her but found the room was empty. It wasn't that my daughter was in the bathroom. Nothing was there; the room was completely empty. And the sun was out

The floor was that ugly green and green asbestos tile, the walls were still real knotty pine panels and there were no curtains or blinds on the wall. I walked to the window and looked outside. The tree from my childhood was in the front lawn, for my daughter's room is my old childhood room.

When I turned back, the room was furnished with the things of my past. My old table. My old typewriter and stand, with paper. My dresser that my daughter uses now. Posters of Donny Osmond, Randolf Mantooth and Sean Cassidy and a big poster W.C. Fields were on my walls and door.

I walked to the typewriter to see what I had written. Things long forgotten and tossed away. A story. I pulled out the old wooden chair. It made a hollow, familiar noise on the golden rug; that rug had followed my parents from their first apartment in the city, near Michael Reese Hospital where my mother was a nurse.

I ran my fingers across the cold keys and thought of all the things that I had dreamed. I turned back and the walls were bare, but the room was filled with stuff. When I turned back the typewriter was gone and I could barely stand for all the clutter.

When I married my husband, we stored a lot of things in this room. I remember how stressed I was because this room needed to be cleared out for our son. I laughed when I thought how I had to really put my foot down about this. I looked down at the rug and it was a pale shade of blue.

When I looked back up, the nursery was set up. I smiled and walked to the white crib that held my first and second child. I turned towards the window and saw a twin bed in the corner with a guard rail. My little son gave up his crib to his baby sister.

I walked over to the bed and sat down at the foot. I thought of all the memories and the little board books that we read over and over, and then again to his sister. And again to his brother.

I turned again and saw three beds in this small room. We had the floors redone and they had to share a room for a month or so and my daughter got to keep a room all to herself. She was so afraid that first night, but she got used to her own things very quickly.

I stood up and walked to the door, having to move over to avoid bumping into the bedframes. When I turned back, the room was darkened and my daughter was sound asleep in her bed. But one of her books was on the floor. The bump I had heard downstairs.

I picked it up and placed it on her bedstand. I smoothed her curly hair, kissed her cheek and went back downstairs.

Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

To read other creative entries, please click here.

Mission Statement

2009-07-11T23:47:00.002-05:00

The mission of this blog is to present my writing challenges, warts and all, to review and promote Christian Fiction, specifically speculative, to use this to encourage other writers by promoting their works and to share my heartaches and triumphs as a writer.