Category Archives: Personal

Friday Fiction: Fire

One Minute Writer Friday Fiction Prompt: Fire

She wrapped the quilt around her tighter and sipped her tea.  Her chair was pulled up as close to the stove as she could get without setting herself on fire.  Still cold to her very bones.  Her jaw hurt from teeth chattering so hard that it shook the chair.  The cat had climbed up curious and with a startled cry, landed on the hearth and stared at her in alarm.

She knew she smelled of the dark and not a pleasant smell of moonlight, but of things that can’t be mentioned.  She wished she had never been caught out in it but nothing to do about that now.  The thing was done, the rune carved, now all she could do was wait and hope that the living warmth of the flames would wake up her chilled blood and let her hang on to this life because outside was something else, some place else, and even though she went by choice – she never wanted to be close to that again.

Columbine Ten Year Anniversary

There are events that cause us to remember things in terms of before and after and we remember exactly what we were doing and where we were when they happened.

When J.F.K. was shot I had the chicken pox.  We had a black and white Zenith TV and I lost count of how many times I saw the clip of John John saluting as the casket went by.

I lived in a house with two other girls and had a party when the newpaper headlines proclaimed the end of the Viet Nam war. I had just graduated high school.

I was at work when we got the news that John Lennon had been killed.  I cried.

We were staying at Dale’s parents house, waiting to leave for a pipeline job when the challenger went down.  Dale and his mom were out back planting tomatoes and I ran out the back door and told them to come watch the tv.  My heart broke.

We were in our van with the kids, on our way down to meet my Mom in San Antonio and had just gotten to Austin.  We turned on the little TV in the van thinking that we might pick up some cartoons.  The news about what was happening at Columbine was on every channel.  I called my friend in Littleton from the hotel that night.  They live in the sub-division across the street. It was a quiet little neighborhood with a pretty little park in the center.  We stayed with them for awhile after the pipeline job and then moved to an apartment there in Littleton where we stayed until my son was born.

Kids that knew their daughter came to their house and called parents that day.  The little park took months to get back to normal.  It had been made into a shrine.  Their neighborhood had constant traffic long after the shooting.  People were driving through, looking at the park, pointing, helicopters were flying overhead.

John Kennedy was the first president that made me aware of politics.  The war in Viet Nam was the central theme of EVERYTHING at the time I was coming into adulthood.  The Beatles were the first music that was my own and not my parents.  The space program was just always a part of the background of our lives. We were America.  We were Camelot.  We were rock and roll.

Columbine stands on it’s own.  It was unimaginable.  It should never have happened.

The Phone Call

The prompt at Simply Snickers was actually for poetry so I’m mixing prompts and sites tonight.  This is my attempt at a very short story.  Thanks for stopping by 🙂

The prompt consists of three words cast, confuse, catch
She wrestled with the lock, rattling her keys as she struggled to get in and get to the persistent phone.  She shut the door and raced to catch it before the answering machine kicked in.  As she picked it up she threw purse, keys, and bags on the table next to it.

“Hello?” She said, and then sucked in her breath as the voice on the other end answered.

“Hello, Sarah” he said.

The room was spinning and she shook so hard she could barely hold the phone.  “How did you find my number?” She asked.

“The internet, Sarah.” He explained patiently.  “It wasn’t that difficult.”

“Why now?  Why after all this time?” She was near tears and clutched the phone so tightly it hurt her fingers.

“I wanted to…I just needed to hear your voice” He spoke quietly, almost pleading. “I just missed you.”

It had been six years but her heart was pounding like it was yesterday.  The die was cast and everything had changed forever in an instant.

“Please” she begged, “this confuses me!  It took so long….”

She had moved away, changed everything about her life.  Maybe not enough, she thought.  She couldn’t go back.  She felt it all wash over her again.  “No! No!” she thought “I can’t do this again!”

“I know” He sighed “I shouldn’t have called.  I’ll leave you alone.” He hesitated.  “It wasn’t your fault you know.” He whispered.  He heard her shallow, panicked breathing on the other end of the line.  “Sarah, maybe we could..”

“NO!” She cried “please, just leave it alone. ” She hung up with a sob.

As Jacob gently laid the receiver back on the phone, a single tear made a path down his face.  He lived just down the block where he could watch over her.  The fire that had taken everything away from them, including part of her memory was long over with. The rubble from their house, hauled off with nothing left. He bitterly thought the vacant lot was a metaphor for their lives.  Just empty space where there used to be a family.  Her self-imposed punishment was forgetting.  His was remembering.

Sarah sank to the floor.  She couldn’t breath, couldn’t hear or see.  She didn’t know how long she sat there just staring.  The floor became her bed and the next morning she would awake and wonder how she got there.  For now she let the darkness take her.  She laid her head on the carpet and closed her eyes.  She wished for a second that she could be different, then sleep came.  She didn’t dream.

Earth Speaks

The prompt at Sunday Scribbling this week is Language.

Language. What we use to communicate. Different languages (how many do you speak?), exotic alphabets. Language can be a barrier and it can be what connects us, what elevates us above animals. We use it to tell stories, to profess love, to record events, to function in just about every conceivable way, and even to curse at each other. What do you have to say about it?

Earth Speaks

Crack in the pavement
Tiny green
sun like the tongue of a mother cat
licking the kitten’s face
draws it to itself, upward

like the kitten or a child
tiny green reaches for the sun
birds call to it, singing breathe
in younger times earth called my feet
the song spoke to me
go out and up to the sun
the wind and the sky
took me

I lost the language
though I still hear the music
other feet
now go and I remain
longing not for a place even then
nor leaving
answering the earth to go, to grow
but I remember

Happy Birthday Babe!

And many more happy, healthy ones!  Happy Birthday tomorrow to your kidney donating, police exam passing sister :)  Many happy, healthy ones to her too – without her we might not be having such a happy healthy one!!

I’m not going to get all mushy, weepy or anything – well heck ya I am a little.  We have walked through the valley of death and found out that we can come through the other side and there is a mountaintop and sunshine waiting there. We have learned that while you are walking through the valley, God sends angels in the form of friends and family to hold your hand and walk with you so that even if you are stumbling in the dark, you never truly lose your way.

Happy Birthday to my Austin buddy too (you know who you are – enjoy your dinner tonight!)

🙂

Happy Easter

This was a special Easter for me as our church held our Easter service at the high school where I work.  he last two years it was held at a neighboring school with an auditorium that holds about 650.  Last year some people left because there was no place to sit.

Our auditorium holds a little over 1000 and I was worried that people wouldn’t come because the weather was bad this morning.  I don’t know any exact numbers, but it looked pretty full to me.  That’s just awesome.  It’s encouraging to see that many people, in one place, worshiping together – especially in a community this size.

The service began with the itty bittys singing and it looked like there was about 40 kids up there.  I got so tickled at a little girl in the front who was just about to dance, hopping and raising her hands whenever they would sing “Lord I Lift Your Name On High” – she was so cute.  She was just so excited to be up there.

I was thinking about an Easter before the kids were born when we lived in Littleton.  My best freind and I decided we would go to the sunrise service at Red Rocks which is a natural outdoor amphitheater formed by what they call the “hogback” where the foothills push up at the edge of the Rockies.  The guys had no interest in going so I made us a thermos of coffee and she brought quilts for us to wrap up in.  We left at 4 in the morning because a LOT of people go and it isn’t easy to park.  Even getting there early, we still had quite a hike up to where people were sitting.  It was beautiful and peaceful even in the midst of the crowd.  I found a picture on Flickr – not from back when I went but you get the idea.

This gives just a hint of how big it is.

Hope everyone had a joyous, peaceful Easter holiday.  He is risen! Amen!

My Life As A Computer Program

Scribblesoup for Writers Block has an intriguing prompt this week – your life as a computer program.

#57: Life, programs….viruses
If your life was a computer program what would it be? Are there upgrades, viruses…?

My life as a computer program

  1. I would probably be one of those time wasting games that is fun but not particularly useful.
  2. I would be a beta version (forever)
  3. There are no cheatsheets – you just have to learn as you go
  4. There will be spam and lots of it
  5. There is a virus and it periodically slows everything down – it can be partially cleaned but never completely removed (guess I’m a PC LOL)
  6. There are hotkeys that set off certain sequences of events (see number 3) and forget the undo button – it’s disabled
  7. It WILL occasionally freeze up and nothing will work except to reboot (hope you saved – now I know I’m a PC)
  8. Some parts of the program are poorly designed and while they serve a purpose, they could have been written much better.
  9. There are “easter eggs” but you have to really hunt for them (if you don’t know what an easter egg is go here)
  10. There is a manual but you will have to study it your whole life and you still won’t “see” until you die.
  11. I will interact with other “programs” but not always well and often with unexpected results.
  12. I won’t always do what I’m supposed to do, but sometimes I will do even more and better!
  13. Sometimes you will click all the right buttons and I still won’t do anything.
  14. There are upgrades but they are costly and don’t always get the desired result 🙂 (warning – they may not be compatible with the old system)
  15. I will use a lot of resources and won’t always start when I should.  There are NO menus )see number 3)

Scribbling Prompt – Scary

The Sunday Scribbling prompt this week is Afraid.  What are you scared of?

A lot of things scare me.  Bees and wasps, snakes, pain, Fiddle Head Ferns (I know but they always made me think of aliens), saying the wrong thing (which I DO frequently – you would think I’d be over it).  There are things I worry about but I think those are a different category.

If I really search for the things that can keep me awake – I am afraid of time.

There have been crystal pure moments in this life, where time stopped and I stepped outside of it, barely breathing. I saw everything at once, heard every laugh, smelled the sun, and knew without a doubt that if I was asked at that very moment, where I would like to be, I would have chosen that time and place.  Every color, intense and perfect, feeling complete and peaceful joy.

I don’t mean the big events like births and weddings. Those things are marked by the calendar.

I mean the small, seemingly insignificant times when for some inexplicable reason, it felt as if God’s finger tapped me on the shoulder and whispered that I should look and remember, take it with me. I mean a time when I wasn’t just there, but I was truly present – in that moment.

As a Christian, I know I have the hope of heaven. I believe that Jesus Christ paid the price for my sins.  I believe that God loves me more than my human self can possibly imagine.

My human self can’t imagine anything more beautiful or joyful than those moments. This is a paradox and my most confusing sin.  We are not supposed to be tied to this world – and yet we are given these gifts of moments that make me love this world in a way that goes to the very heart of me.  Oh, I know there are terrible things in this world.  You’ve only to turn on the evening news to get bombarded by violence and tragedy.  We see evidence of how little humans care for other humans every day.  But when I think of how a person’s mind works and through little lines and sounds that form words and how we make leaps of imagination, form relationships, paint pictures, and create music and love, I am in awe.  When I think of the small every day miracles when someone does the right thing for no reason or when someone makes a small gesture of love without being asked it makes me want to hug the world!

But those moments, oh those moments.  They hold me as much as I hold them.  I fear them stopping.  I fear not being here.  I fear not feeling that connection to another human being.  Will I take those moments with me?  Will I remember?  Will I be remembered?

At the same time I’m curious to see what comes next.  In Mark 9 we find the short but oh so meaningful prayer – “Lord I believe, help my unbelief” That sums it up for me. Am I flawed or do others have this doubt?  If we are to love God and desire to be in His presence, is it wrong to have this love for His creation?  Can we love the Creator but hate His creation?  If it’s wrong then why is creation so filled with beauty?  Is it part of learning to trust?

It’s Easter weekend and it’s scary to me to even post this.  This is a time of celebration.  The tomb is empty, Jesus conquered the grave.  I know these things but I want to know them MORE. A friend told me (teasingly I think) that I’m nosy.  I am, it’s true.  More than nosy – I like to KNOW things.  I like proof of things. I like things to make sense.  I love it when a bible teacher explains something that makes the Bible make sense.  I love the mystery and mystical”ness” but the logic and proof make me enjoy that part more. When I learn something that proves the gospel, it doesn’t all of a sudden make me start believing.  It’s more like YES!  I knew it!

Sooo, I hope I am not judged too harshly for doubts.  Isn’t that what faith is about?  We keep walking because we trust God to guide us, even when in and of ourselves we know we are lost?

Grandma and Faeries

I took a break from writing from prompts today and spent some time journeying back in time.  Here are some memories and stories to share.

Visiting my grandmother was always an adventure. She lived in Hamilton, Ontario which was about a two hundred mile journey.  I just looked up the distance this morning.  It’s funny, but I remember it seeming much farther. I know my brother and I must have asked “are we there yet?” at least a thousand times.  I don’t even remember what most of the scenery looked like – I was usually buried in a book.

Grandma lived on the very end of Aberfoyle Avenue, at the base of the mountain brow, across from King’s Forest, which had very few trees – just rolling hills and meadow.  There is a little road running out to the middle called Whitehouse Road.  Back then it was actually the driveway to a lonely, faded and peeling, two story white clapboard house.

My favorite place was a very old tree that was growing out of the side of a hill in such a way that one of it’s roots was out of the ground and formed a natural bench, sheltered by the branches.

I would take an apple and my sketchbook and sit looking out at that old house.  I imagined there was a girl locked upstairs, peering out from behind the curtains.  I would try to think of ways to sneak closer and see if I could catch a glimpse of her.  I had just read Jane Eyre and I’m sure was feeling the influence.

With the city behind me, a mountain rising to my right, and the horizon stretching on forever, the place had an edge of the world feel to it.  Throw in a cloudy day with a little bit of fog and you had the perfect scene for a Gothic novel.

I’ve since learned that Aberfoyle Avenue, the name of her street, is also the name of a village known as the Faerie capital of Scotland.  It was named appropriately.

visitaberfoyle has this to say:

The village of Aberfoyle sits astride the Highland Boundary Fault Line, which separates the Highland from the Lowlands of Scotland.  There is a strong magnetic field found on this geographical line.  It is in such an area that the mythology of the Celts is at it’s strongest and the activities of Celtic Faerie People are most evident.

The Fairy Minister

He heard, he saw, he knew too well
The secrets of your fairy clan;
You stole him from the haunted dell,
Who never more was seen of man,
Now far from heaven, and safe from hell,
Unknown of earth, he wanders free.
Would that he might return and tell
Of his mysterious company!

And half I envy him who now,
Clothed in her court’s enchanted green,
By moonlit loch or mountain’s brow
Is chaplain to the Fairy Queen.

ANDREW LANG

The Rev. Robert Kirk was the minister (Episcopalian) for the parish of Aberfoyle from 1685, when he succeeded his father in the post, until his mysterious disappearance in 1692, following publication in 1691 of his book,  “The Secret Commonwealth of Elves and Faeries”.

Of course I’m all grown up and I know that fairies don’t exist.  Kings Forest is now a ski and golf park and my grandmother is long gone.  She came to Canada from Glasgow which is only about forty miles from Aberfoyle, Scotland.  She probably heard the stories and legends and I can imagine her believing in fairies when she was a girl. Life was hard in Scotland and I  picture the Scots shepherd in the Highlands with nothing but sheep and a good dog for company.  Cold and tired with the mists playing tricks on his eyes, it would have been easy to let his imagination turn to give name to the outside influences on his daily life.

A Gaelic lesson – the phrase Woman of the Fairy Mound – bean-sìthe (in English – banshee and pronounced very similar)

A Long Day In Shreveport

Dale’s sister had surgery today.  It was scheduled for 10:00 and they didn’t actually take her to surgery til 1:30.  They removed two vertebrae from her neck and replaced them with bone and also cleaned off some bone spurs.  she has been fighting pain from this for years and it had gotten so bad that he arm and part of her hand was numb.  We stayed long enough to see her after the surgery and know that she was doing ok and will go back Friday.  Now she gets to spend 3 months in a rigid collar.

This surgery is last resort kind of stuff when you have pain that can’t be fixed any other way.

Pam is Dale’s oldest sister and has worked harder than most guys all her life.  She has always had a beautiful garden.  She hunts, sews, cans, landscapes, antiques, paints, and more. She isn’t very big but I don’t think she has ever been afraid to tackle anything.  Except maybe this, which is totally understandable.

She was swollen and in a little pain when we left, but considering everything, I thought she looked great. Please say a prayer for her.  She has a rough time ahead – three months of not being able to work in the yard, pick up the grandbabies, and a lot of other things she usually does.

Blue Dreams

Today’s prompt comes from Simply Snickers – three words blue, bright, and bring

Blue is the color of my true love’s eyes

and nose, and ears, and hair

Blue is space where our fearless hero

Flies his ship through the air

Blue is the ocean he sails upon

A pirates life he leads

Be it through clouds or o’er the waves

A bright blue streak of speed

Blue is the color of the endless sky

Green is the jungle cool

Bravely he stalks the mighty lion

And swims the alligator pool

Blue is the quilt on a sleepy bed

Bright are the stars in the sky

A kiss on the head his mama brings

As our hero closes his eyes

thanks to Pink Sherbet and C@rlJones for the beautiful photos

Celebrate

I was not in a celebratory mood this weekend so when I saw the prompt from Sunday Scribblings was Celebrate I was dismayed.

A stressful week and then not feeling well physically had me kind of shut down.
We are still in Ephesians at church and as I opened my bible, it fell to the page that contained the following scripture.

Ephesians 14

Therefore He says:
“ Awake, you who sleep,
Arise from the dead,
And Christ will give you light.”

Once again I’m reminded of how easy it is for me to forget that light.  We sleep, and anger creeps in.  We are spiritually dead, and self becomes all important.  How much of my time is spent “sleepwalking”.  God is faithful and calls me through His Son, to awake to the light and to celebrate that gift by letting that light shine through me for others, so that Christ can draw people to Him.  I mess up.  I close my eyes and sleep.  Today I celebrate the light that Jesus gives us all, and once again am humbled that though I sleep, again and again, He doesn’t let go of me and gently wakes me up to see that the light never leaves – I just need to open my eyes.

We’ve been sleeping for so long
Living in the dark alone
He has called us with HIs song
We remain His very own

We celebrate the light
Rejoicing in the Giver
We open up our eyes
And look to Him forever

Amazing how God knows what we need to hear, even when we are asleep.  Thanks Sunday Scribblings for this prompt

Saturday, Headache Day

I had good intentions about writing today – I had been looking forward to it.  Unfortunately, I felt bad yesterday and last night and then I woke up with a headache.  I helped out at the district uil meet and kept the headache all through that into tonight.  It has finally backed off a bit but it has completely worn me out.

The whole past week was frustrating and as much as I love technology, it is not fun when it doesn’t work.  I’m going to go read my book, go to sleep, and start over tomorrow (and pray for NO headache).

Checking In

It’s been a long week and tonight I’m huddled up in jammies, robe and blankets. I have a chill and feel yucky.  Hopefully I’ll feel better in the morning.  I wanted to spend some time writing but my brain is fuzzy and I’ve taken an Alka Selter Cold and plan to curl up with my book and go to sleep as soon as it kicks in.

I wrote a haiku earlier this week and found the comments interesting.  I need to work on clarity.  My first two lines meant one thing to me and something else to readers.  I wrote Smoke and mirrors lie, giving form to hopeful thoughts.  To me, the hopeful thoughts already existed.  The smoke and mirrors created an illusion that made them seem more solid.  We turn away now meant we stop looking because if we look too closely at an illusion, we see through it to the uncomfortable and often unwanted reality.

Writing poetry is different than my usual blog posts because I can usually explain and clarify as I go along.  The poem, once written, is just thrown out there.  It hangs on the web all by itself and because of the nature of writing from a prompt and hooking it to poems and comments by others that I don’t know and who don’t know me, it’s a bit unsettling.  It’s a little thing and I will be writing more.  I will write for the practice and just to see what I might have in me.

I still plan to continue blogging about everything else. My life, my work, how to do simple things on the computer and I plan to explore this too.  It’s incredibly fun for one thing.  I read a quote that spoke of writing as using words to express a feeling and the reader reads the words and feels that same feeling – becomes infected.  That is the clarity I want.  To paint a word picture that evokes a feeling, even if it isn’t exactly like the feeling that I started with – that’s joy.  I know I need to educate myself on the mechanics.  I have good people I can go to for that as well as books and the internet.  The comment section would be a wonderful place for assistance with that (hint hint).

What a wonderful thing to have the internet.  To write and have the opportunity for immediate feedback.  I want to give as much time as possible to commenting on the work of others because they will teach me.  I’ve read some amazing things this week and am in awe of the voices and the courage that puhes them to write and then just throw it out there, not knowing if it will be loved or come home bruised and broken. I think losing myself in something like this is a perfect cure for a disease I didn’t know I had – if I have the guts….

It’s been a long week and I’ve written more than I intended, so goodnight world.

One Minute Writer – Inspiration

One Minute Writer prompt for Tuesday was  Inspiration
How have you inspired or motivated someone else?

When I think about inspiration amazing hymns, stories with impact, uplifting art all come to mind.  When I recall the times I have truly been inspired I think about times when someone has expected me to rise to their expectation without necessarily saying the words.  Isn’t that what inspire truly means?  Something or someone that breathes life into us and makes us be better than we thought we could be.  Little nudges from people along the way.  May we all pay that forward.

My Mother’s Hands

My Mother’s Hands

The writing prompt at Sunday Scribbling was Aging

Well, we’re all as old as we have ever been, and we’re all at different stages of considering the aging process. What thoughts do you have on the subject?

As I thought about the prompt, I kept seeing my mother’s hands in my mind.  My mother had the most beautiful hands in the world.  Slender fingers that tapered to small oval nails.  They were graceful and talented.  I remember those hands pinning a hem on a dress as I stood, complaining and whining about how long it was taking.  I remember them peeling and chopping whatever she was canning at the moment.  Her hands would be red and chapped from hanging clothes out on the clothesline in the winter.  It would be so cold that the clothes would freeze and when she took them off the line they would be stiff, in the shape they were in when she hung them.

Mama’s hands could feel your head and tell if you had a fever, pop you on the backside when you needed it (and there were plenty of opportunities for that) and yank the hairbrush through my tangled, fly-away hair as I fussed, telling me “you have to suffer to be beautiful”.  I should have listened.

I remember wondering one time how she could do everything she did and still have such pretty hands.  I know now, that I was seeing her hands through eyes that loved her and were in awe of her.  As I look at my own hands now, I know she saw the same things I see now.  A scar that wasn’t there, wrinkles and discolored spots, where there once was smooth, pretty skin.  My nails are chipped and short where I have broken them or, I’m ashamed to say, peeled them down to nothing when I was nervous.

Will my daughter look back and see mama’s hands?  Did mama look back and see beauty in Grandma’s hands?  So much of the good that’s in me comes down through the women in my family.  Whenever I create something special, whether it be food, or sewing, or painting, it’s mama coming through.  Whenever I do “the right thing” even when it isn’t the easy thing, it’s mama nudging me on.  Whenever I do something that is adventurous and out of my comfort zone, it’s grandma’s courage that takes me there.

If you are looking at your hands now, wondering how they got to look so old, and how they look worn, where they once were pretty as they wore a wedding ring for the first time.  Remember how your mother’s hands looked the first time they helped you guide a shoelace around the tree and through the rabbit’s hole.  Remember how your mother’s hands felt, the first time they brushed a tear away from your face when your heart was broken. Remember how they held your first baby and how you knew at last what it felt like to be her.

Aging is all about what is taken away from our outside.  Inside, more and more is added so that our hearts grow, as our bodies shrink.  We are able to hold so much more.  More love, more memories, more patience, and hopefully more wisdom.  I hope my daughter is able to look back and see what a gift the women who came before have given her.  How God shone through them, and how His hands lived in their hands.  I pray that His hands have moved mine, and that all that is good and right and beautiful in me, is Him working through the women before me to make me who I am to be mama’s hands for her.

One Minute Writing

I discovered several blogs today that give a daily or weekly writing prompt and then let you either post in comments or post on your blog and link back.  I thought I’d play a bit at OneMinuteWriter and I found out just how little I can write in one minute!

There is a timer on the site – you Just click and start writing.  These are the instructions:

1. Read the daily writing prompt.
2. Push “Play” on the timer on the right side of the screen.
3. Spend 60 seconds or less writing a response to the daily prompt.

The prompt?

Friday Fiction: Time
Write a brief, creative, fictional piece about time travel.

This is what I wrote

I kept my eyes shut for a moment until the nausea passed. It didn’t seem as bad this trip so maybe I’m finally getting used to it. After a moment, I open my eyes to the light and as I look around I know instantly where I am. I’ve been here before. I glance at the clock and as the hands click I run, knowing I have only moments….

Either I type slowly or some people don’t actually limit themselves to one minute 🙂

It seems like a good way to get ideas and practice.

The actual post is here