Total Pageviews

Sunday, March 31, 2013

A is for Age

I am joining in the group  "Blogging from A to Z" .  This is a  a month long challenge to write a short story everyday and each day corresponding to the letter of the alphabet.  I have linked up the site - simply click on the name so that you might read any sort of short story from the huge line-up available.  the stories are supposed to be short so that many can be read, quickly.  Simply a titillation of talent.  Happy reading, and thank you for joining me.  

A is for Age

She looked in the mirror, the reflection staring back was so familiar.  She had seen that face nearly every day for all of her life.  Everyone told her how she seemed to look more and more like her mother every day.  Now it seemed as though she had morphed into the very person. 

Tilting her head ever so slightly, she could almost hear the words.  “Amy Anne, you get in here this minute.  Who do you think you are staying out so late?  Why, the street lights have already lit up!”   Her mother’s words came flooding back, along with the memories of those long lost days.

Dropping the baseball bat, the long legged ten year old scooped up her mitt.  With a wave to her friends, she began what her brother always called her “high tailing it” home.  She knew this was to be an important night.  She should have been home helping her mother half an hour ago.  Guilt spurred her feet to move even faster.

Rushing into the house, Amy Anne flew past her mother standing at the stove, to the wash basin.  After thoroughly scrubbing her hands, she carefully began setting the table.  She and her mother had already eaten.  This was a special meal for her parents and some people Amy Anne didn’t know.  Business people was all she had been told.  It would be a late meal and Amy Anne was to go to her room as soon as they arrived.

But, that was then and this is now.  Her life may have been different, and yet it may have turned out just the same.  Who is to know?  It had been her life and it had changed that day.  A deal had been struck and her life set on the path.  They had arranged the betrothal before she had even begun to think about boys “in that way”.  Her life hadn't been too hard, nor had it been too easy.  She seemed to muck along in the quagmire of the daily grind.  It was life, some days good and some days not so good.  Luckily she was tied to a good man.  Lucky she had been the right age. Luckily they chose her because she looked like her mother.


Wednesday, March 27, 2013



Bessie was a pig-headed cow! 

Bessie loved the neighbor’s petunias and would do anything to get to them.  We strung a barbed wire fence to contain her.  Bessie got down on her knees and crawled under the lowest strand to free herself.  She would sashay (udder swinging to and fro) down the tractor made two track from our barn yard, cut across our back yard, duck under the neighbor’s picture window overlooking the lake, and graze on those fragrant petunias.

Mrs. Coffeen, our neighbor, painstakingly planted petunias around her house every year.  With broom in hand, Mrs. Coffeen chased the dogs from “oiling” the flowers, she set traps for the chipmunks so they wouldn't dig their caverns in her flowerbeds, she even went so far as to set out a plastic owl to keep the birds and the squirrels away from her precious petunias.  So, when Bessie made up her mind they were her most favorite treat, Mrs. Coffeen took much offense!  No amount of finger-pointing at the local deer making their hoof prints would soften her fury.

If it wasn't for her tell tale hoof prints, no one would even know she was the culprit.  She would graze all around the Coffeen’s house, until she hit the low windows.  Then she would strike out for the lake. 

Bessie, a Guernsey cow, loved us.  We were her people.  She was as smart a cow as I ever did meet.  Her soft brown hair accented those huge caring eyes.  I’m pretty certain the term “cow eyes” came from some fella owning a Guernsey cow. 

If you have ever seen a milk-cow swimming, it’s enough to make you take up strong beverages!  She would make two laps around the swim raft then head back up to the barnyard.  If you missed her swimming, she would simply be waiting at the gate, ready to be fed her evening meal and to be milked. 

One morning, shortly after the morning milking, we heard our neighbor, Mrs. Coffeen, yelling at the top of her lungs.  She was yelling so loudly we couldn't make out what she was saying.  Scott, my brother, grabbed his shot gun, I grabbed the baseball bat, and we dashed out to help our poor neighbor who was obviously in mortal terror.  It was Bessie, just cresting the hill to go for a quick dip after her lovely breakfast of pink petunias. 

For the sake of peace in the neighborhood, Bessie soon was living on someone else’s farm.  Life became a little more quiet and a little less fun. 


Sunday, March 24, 2013

In the Freezer

In the Freezer

GBE : 2   Weel #95   In the Freezer

Sitting on top of his cage - left leg gone
He stood, one legged, on top of the dog cage we had eyeing me.  I could tell he was hungry because the cats wouldn't step into the room.  I had tapped cardboard covered with layers of newspaper onto the walls for protection. 

I filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove.  He didn’t move, just stared at me.  He stared at me with those golden eyes.  It felt as though he could see my soul. 
I reached to open the window.  I don’t know if it was too hurried, or in the general direction, but he stirred.  Ruffling his feathers he seemed to dance.  Dancing on one leg was quite a trick! 

I put him up in a tree most days
He came to live with us because of a string of circumstances.  First, a friend found him in the woods.  This majestic red-tailed hawk had been injured and was cowered on the ground, filled with infection and dying.  Out of respect for life, this cautious hunter brought an injured bird of prey to my home. 

With heavy leather gloves to hold, we poured peroxide over the wound, bound it loosely and took him to the local vet.  The vet urged us to tend to the bird.  The vet said the bird would either heal quickly, or it would naturally lose the leg.  After watching the leg atrophy, our red-tailed hawk finally pinched the leg off with one final bite from its massive beak.

I filled the cat’s food and water dishes at the counter, taking them outside so they might eat undisturbed by the large bird.  Feeling it was more safe for both the cats and their food, I let them eat in peace.

Finally, I could see the birds thoughts as though he was writing them in the air.  Finally!  I opened the freezer.  Whoosh!  The bird fell upon the package of venison I had in the freezer just for him.  I had a red-tailed hawk in my freezer tearing at the packing paper on the meat. 

Shooing him out of my freezer, and onto his cage, I unwrapped the venison.  Slicing the meat in various sizes, I tried to make him work the food as he would in the wild and yet I had to make the slices manageable for a one legged red-tailed hawk.  He lived with me for three years and never once bit me. 


Very, Very Small

GBE 2: Blog On
Week #97     Very, Very Small

“August is just a couple of months away.  We have to start getting ready.”  The group of friends nodded agreement. 

“Yep, that means if we meet for coffee, we need to stop getting a doughnut, or coffeecake, or pie with it. That’s going to be the hardest part for me!”  Gayle said as she placed her fork next to the empty plate.  “I just love their raspberry pies.  As much as I want to lose a few pounds, I need more incentive.”

Judy and Cheryl exchanged looks.  “What did you have in mind?”  They knew full well what Gayle had up her sleeve.

“Well, since I have the least amount to lose and will no doubt be the one to keep the rest of you in line, I just think you should all commit to visiting me this winter.  You know, have a girls vacation where it’s warm for a change.”  She had picked up her fork and waggled it at the rest.  “Remember the old measurement we used to use?  Once around the wrist, twice around the neck and three times around the waist.  That will be our yardstick, so to speak.  Whomever can get back to that measurement by the time our class reunion rolls around, I will pay for your plane ticket.” 

“Crap, I don’t know if I’m going to live long enough to get back to that measurement!”  After quickly measuring her wrist and neck, with casino flourish, Leigh spread her hands and declined measuring her waist. 

Rolling her eyes, Cheryl asked, “So, just how small do we want to get?”

“Very, very small!”  simultaneously the rest chimed in. 


Saturday, March 23, 2013


The prompt for this week's writing exercise is Romance.  I have been asked to address Same Sex Marriage and the way it may affect a family.  I am not litigating the idea of same sex marriage, however having known people who did not get married (whether unable by law or by their choice) when the division became necessary, those who were afforded a divorce were far better off emotionally and generally speaking financially.  This is one take on the issue. 


Another long day at work.  Tired, she had dragged herself up the short flight of stairs to their home.  A second story loft overlooking the city skyline.  Facing east, the large windows embraced the morning light warming their souls for the day.  In the evening, the sunset glimmered off the iridescent buildings refracting back into their home again. It was a perfect location to raise a family. Close enough to the downtown area to enjoy the benefits of the arts and far enough away to be just blocks from an excellent elementary School.  The perfect location to start a family.

Laying in bed, she reflected on conversations from the day. 

“I heard Dan and Carl are getting a divorce.  After fifteen years!  That is a long time of history to just abandon.”  Jane hung her overcoat in the entry closet.  “I wonder why, all of the sudden?  Have you heard anything?”

“Only tid-bits, I’m glad they have the ability to get a divorce.  This way the kids will be somewhat financially protected by Child Support.  Carl is taking this very hard.  He has been the stay at home parent since they adopted those two beautiful kids.”  Stirring the pot she dipped her wooden spoon into the sauce and held it out for a taste.  “He is going to have a tough time finding a job to support the three of them.  He has been out of the workplace for a long time.  I am just amazed at Dan, taking up with someone from work and transferring to another state.  Transferring just to get away from his commitments?  Shame.  To top it all off, moving to a state that hasn’t had the sense to “legalize” same sex marriage. There is not a thing Carl can do to go after him, unless he moves back here”.  Rolling her eyes, Carol back to preparing dinner. 

“Isn’t that exactly why we support same sex marriage?  To foster the “Family”?  I mean, I don’t really care, any more than the next person, about that slip of paper telling me to love you.  I want marriage because I want a family, with children.  Family values are very important to me.  I know, I know, you want the marriage for the rock on your finger. Whatever.  Being married legitimizes our relationship.  It allows me to list you as my beneficiary, put you on my insurance through work, and in general seals our relationship.  Marriage means a lot to me, it’s serious.”  Jane’s face began to redden with her fervor.  “I want our children to grow up understanding that family always has your back. I want family values to mean something again.  Not those self-indulgent nit-wits in Washington telling me I’m an inferior person because I don’t live my life the way they think I should.”
“I know, don’t love someone of the same sex, don’t have sex unless you are married, but same sex lovers cannot marry.  Typical double talk.  Overly insecure people have to try to put someone else down in order to make themselves feel good.”

“Oh, I have a funny story for you!”  Carol waved her wooden spoon in the air.  “At the group meeting , Father Flanagan made an observation I thought you might like.  We were talking about the rhetoric surrounding same sex marriage.  Did you know that there are actually some people who think if a child is raised by two people of the same sex, the kid will grow up to be homosexual too.  Ridiculous, I know!  People.  If that were true, then there wouldn’t be anyone homosexual since we were all raised by heterosexuals!  Geez!  Speaking of, your Mother called.  She is coming over for coffee Saturday morning.  I reminded her that it’s her turn to buy doughnuts.  I was thinking I might invite Carl over too.  He probably could use the diversion right about now, and I’d like to see the kids.”

Thinking to herself, “I am the luckiest person in the world.  I live in a community that sees me as an important cog in the wheel of life.  My family is validated, my job is more than fulfilling and pays well enough to sustain my family, I have found the love of my life and we are all healthy.”  Aloud, she turned to Carol.  “In the peak of our romance, I will say to you that there will be no others before me.  In the tumultuous times ahead I will love and cherish you even more than I do today.  Remember this night when we have personal fights and when we must fight for the rights of others, in our home, in our sanctuary, you are all there is and our romance will never wane. Even if the bigots and fearful try to make us believe we are less than we are, we will gather our strength from each other.”   


You Might Better Stay Home

"If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay at home." -- James Michener

Corinne Rodrigues is our host for Writer's Post Bloghop #73

We lay on the beach tanning.  The wind would pick up from time to time, sending miniature siroccos across our blanket spilling sand in our drinks.  The gulls turned and begged from above.  Small wisps of clouds scurried against the bright sun.

Suddenly the sun is obliterated from the sky!  An eerie twilight descended upon our small piece of the tropical island.  The wind died.  The smell of suntan lotion was heady. 

I knew we had chosen just the right spot!  I knew it when we first located the white sandy beach.  Here was our meal, brought to us.  A tourist, all oiled up and ready to cook.  Our meal would be ready in no time!

He turned to me with a pout on his handsome face, “But, this is a local.  Look at how browned they are.  Tough to chew.  I was really counting on a northern tourist”.  He scuffed the ground with his toe as he pouted. 

“Listen”, I began, “You dragged me down here with the promise of a good time.  It’ll be great, all the food you can eat.  Unlimited buffet, you said.”  I waggled my finger at him.  “A great human once said; If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and  avoid the people, you might better stay at home.  I’m telling you, sometimes you are the sorriest excuse for a sand flea this side of the equator!  Now, buck up and dig in!  Dinner is served”!