Larry Webb
This page is dedicated to short stories or poems written by other people besides myself. I prefer humorous stories, but that isn't a requirement.
HIS Story
Compiled By: Cynthia Meyers Hanson
It can be purchased via
AMAZON author site https://www.amazon.com/author/mchanson714
or
Angels Among Us
By
Cynthia Meyers-Hanson
When you have a child, as a parent, that baby feels special. After having my first infant, every time I looked at her face, my eyes swore they took in a Heavenly Vista. Divulging this thought to my mother, mom mentioned that she never met a baby like my daughter, “There’s something special in her spirit that shines through her eyes. As a Catholic, I wished for a nun or priest to come into the world via me. I just thought it might be one of my direct offspring.”“You feel it too?” My voice exclaimed, “When my eyes meet hers, I see dusty roads and impoverished people being helped by my humanitarian baby.”“Yes, she’s the one!”“Never tell her,” My soul warned us aloud, “because I want my daughter to make that decision on her own. Being forced into service of God is not a happy way to follow your mission or goals.”Even as she died, my mother never divulged the secret of that conversation to that child- or anyone. After my parents passed, my two daughters started a community service club. The other child was actually the mastermind- not the missionary soul. However, they participated equally.In 1997, when Princess Diana passed away, the world mourned as did my oldest girl. When Mother Theresa followed secular royalty to the grave the very next month, a radio broadcaster screeched, “What is going on in this world? Is God calling all HIS angels back?”My teen-aged daughter spoke from her shot gun position in the car, “Don’t worry, mom! God is not calling all of us back yet; I’m still here!” Her observation startled me even though I still see it in her eyes and life. I dared not say a word about her statement or my feeling about her from birth. However, flabbergasted describes my emotion. As my girls matured, her sister went to Africa first; my baby girl felt compelled to help with their pandemics and orphans. Since mom was in Heaven, we couldn’t discuss if we labeled my first born too soon or if my youngest was the true missionary soul. A year later, my oldest daughter not only went to Africa to help orphans but began sponsoring children from impoverished areas as well as volunteering in service to her community. She took on children in need of mentors in our hometown. As my girls matured, her sister went to Africa first; my baby girl felt compelled to help with their pandemics and orphans. Since mom was in Heaven, we couldn’t discuss if we labeled my first born too soon or if my youngest was the true missionary soul. A year later, my oldest daughter not only went to Africa to help orphans but began sponsoring children from impoverished areas as well as volunteering in service to her community. She took on children in need of mentors in our hometown.Meanwhile, her career path made her an environmentalist; she saves wildlife and nature. One day, she boldly asked, “Are you surprised I want to continue missionary work?”While driving her to the airport so she could do that task in a foreign land, my remark arrived- naturally, “No, I’m just surprised it took you so long because I expected you to be a humanitarian missionary much sooner.”One lady’s essay
See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven
always see the face of my Father in heaven.
(Matthew 18:10)
***
Music to My Ears
Yesterday, all day, my mind thought of my aunt because I missed going to see her before the youngest kid settled back home from her college dorm. Auntie lives close to that child’s university. That older relative had been chronically ill. She is my deceased mom's sister. I thought about her as my daughter ran back up to the campus to sell back her books. However, due to a cold, I wouldn’t be able to go with my kid and drop in on my ailing relative. I hate to make ill people sicker.
We were already late getting ready to go out for my other daughter's 21st birthday celebration. My family celebrated a few weeks early because Jewel would be gone on a college expedition when she hit adulthood. Plus- when she returned, her sister would be gone on a different university trip. So, we decided to celebrate as a family- now- in spite of my horrible cough.
Just before the birthday girl jumped in the shower, she stood talking to her daddy and me in our great room. Nearby, in the foyer to our house sat a wood book shelf full of angels. Some of the statues had built in music boxes. All of a sudden, the three of us heard something in that area. I thought the other two kids were at the front door talking. They were late coming back from pre-checking into a hotel (our surprise gift to the 21 year old). However, the noise continued while no one came through the front door. It was like a scratchy but harmonious sound. It grew louder.
My husband asked, "What the heck is that?"
My daughter warned, "Don't tell me the sound is coming from nowhere. That’s going to scare me!"
I boldly approached our foyer, "Oh, my! It’s this angel statue; it’s singing. It's playing ‘Happy Birthday.’" I picked it up, "Did someone wind it- today?"
"Now, you are scaring me! That music box turned itself on?" My daughter pointed and made a face.
"Yes, this music box angel is playing out of the clear blue sky. It is singing to you."
My husband gestured that I was frightening our kid. "Maybe someone turned it on, today!"
"Probably!"
"I didn't!" Jewel exclaimed.
"I didn't either but maybe your sisters did!" Daddy added.
"This angel was given to me my first birthday after my mom died; it’s from Auntie! See, she holds my birth date in her hands and plays the melody." I explained while toying with it in my hands and examining it as if I was a detective. Then, I twisted the statue to replay the tune.
"Now, I am scared!" My kid added agitated.
"Why, it is only a birthday song from my aunt!"
When the two other girls got in, I asked who touched the angel this week. No one did!
I think it was apropos that the angel turned itself on because that week my girls gave me flowering plants for our new yard for Mother's Day. Their garden selections were inspired by flowers their deceased grandma liked. As we planted my favorite day lily, I remembered that my mom gave me a similar one almost 17 years ago for our previous yard; I wondered what day the single bud on this new plant by the front door would open. To my surprise, astonishingly, it was in bloom as we left for dinner.
It should NOT have amazed me because the birthday girl told me 14 years ago that her grandma promised to visit her from Heaven on her birthday- but then never came. A flower would be left by our front door to prove it was grandma visiting her. Back then, she was a child full of wonderment. From age 7 and for the rest of her earlier birthdays, we all noticed and discussed that a special flower never arrived at our front door for that daughter. Since it hadn’t happened, the child became convinced that she was wrong about that promise. Also, advancing age caused her to dispel all her childish memories and predictions. When my eyes noticed that bloom as we exited for her 21 birthday party, I knew if I brought up that prediction the girls might shudder. Even as I believed that the melodic message was from my deceased mom via God, my decision included not further scaring my daughters. I didn't want to make them more apprehensive than the singing angel statue already did. Instead, noticing the flower, I just smiled inside. I believe God allows these messages to show He cares about keeping all love connections going. Look for the signs of His Love.
P.S. In August of 2007, I moved that angel statue so my first grandbaby wouldn’t break it. One day, when my hand grabbed a picture of that granddaughter to show off her big blue eyes to a friend, I discovered that that angel was in a worse location! My brisk movement inadvertently tossed that statue to the floor where it decapitated and broke off its wings. Sadly, the statue went in the trash. However, its story remains in my memory- forever!
Mother’s witness
Sometimes impossible things just happen,
and we call them miracles.
The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit
that we are God’s children. (Romans 8:16)
***
Mom Wasn’t as Amused
By
Cynthia Myers-Hanson
Sometimes, after making mistakes, I pretend that nothing happened. The attempt is to blend into a crowd instead of sticking out like a sore thumb. For instance, many times, while wearing a light winter jacket that has extra-long sleeves, while in a public restroom, I get tons of water collecting down its sleeves. If the faucet flows too fast, there is so much liquid I can’t nonchalantly empty it before my blunder is discovered.
The very first time a coat made me look ridiculous, it was because I didn’t realize how much H2O accumulated, there. When I reached downward to get a paper towel, my jacket sleeves dropped its huge load to the floor. Acting cool, I trashed the place with paper while trying to clean up my mess as quickly as humanly possible. After succeeding, I turned to excuse myself smirking all the way to a church pew.
Those seats and kneelers were not strangers to my contained and hidden merriment or hysterical eruptions. Many times, I engaged in more obvious outbursts of laughter and inappropriate cheer. In my youth, mom always sat us front row and center; everyone got a clear view of our family’s actions. As a teen, we went to a thousand year old church; it was actually only a hundred plus. The pews wobbled, the kneelers felt as though they’d collapse if used too much more, and the whole place felt like a minor earthquake about to happen.
One Sunday, my sister and I pushed off the kneeler at the same time. That rail with its hip height wall contraption semi-detached flipping forward; we sat down quickly to avoid the crash. Immediately, our seats rocked backward but didn’t topple on the parishioners behind us. We didn’t pretend that nothing happened. Instead, the two of us roared with laughter at our sudden, surprise landing. As was her church tradition, my mom pinched my sister and me to make us shut up.
Catholics like to do their physical exercises during the mass. We sit, stand, kneel, walk, and then do it- again! Each time a new position came up, my sister and I exchanged the ‘all-knowing look’ then giggled- unacceptably. We anticipated the pinch but chuckled louder each time the pew moved.
This reverie went on for an hour. After mass, while leaving our aisle, mom lectured us about having too much fun at church! Why can’t that Sunday activity be fun?
~~M*m~~M*m~~M*m~~M*m~~M*m~~
The Vase
I had a vase; it took the shape of a beautiful flower rising up into a flowing bloom. That piece of art, also, went from crystal clear to smoky white. I loved it.
One Sunday our pastor explained how people are more important than things. He told a brief tale about breaking his mother’s favorite ceramic statue; the saint forgave him immediately simply explaining about being more cautious in the future. No one in his story turned red faced, hollered, or cried. He asked us to consider that example remembering mistakes- just like our sins- are forgivable.
The very next day, my four year old manhandled her Nerf (soft foam) football tossing it at her younger sister as she toddled past. Guess what she hit bull’s eye! I heard the crash, the glass shatter, and her shocked remark, “Ut Oh!”
As I entered the scene, it took all my strength to keep from going ballistic. Counting to one hundred as fast as possible to see if that activity contained my anger, I found myself laughing about her strength and direct shot. ‘Bull in a China shop’ raced through my mind as I forgave the four year old asking her to play catch and fetch outside in the future. That Nerf ball was given to her to protect people and things from her energy turned target practice. It didn’t seem to work but the Sunday sermon did!
The vase was so unique I never found a substitute flower holder but replacing my child would have been harder so I could live with that! Besides- it wasn’t like I’d ever have placed flowers in that unique, ‘nearly one of a kind,’ ‘piece of art’ vase.
~~M*m~~M*m~~M*m~~M*m~~M*m~~
Rolling with It
We went on a jet ski outing for Mother’s Day. It felt more like a Father’s day activity but I rarely speak my mind because I chose my battles. My idea of fun is a nice restaurant but I didn’t plan my festivities.My spouse just purchased our second jet ski; it was a three person, personal, watercraft vehicle. Evidently, it rode more stable than our two person one. No one told me that fact. ALSO, my other family members failed to warn me that our youngest had limited skills maneuvering the original vehicle; I rarely rode with anyone. When everyone wanted to go to the island, that required us doubling and tripling up.
It should have been obvious when two of our children jumped on the three seat jet ski after the baby jumped on the two person one that I was in big trouble if I chose to ride with the sole kid. The alarm should have sounded when my husband suggested that he control our youngest.
She kept suggesting, “Mommy, go with me!” My hubby had already stated aloud that if he joined her that he’d control the wheel. His tone and command made me wonder but I acquiesced and hopped on the Jet Ski with my baby; after all she was a pre-teen and aware of how to drive the thing. We all took and passed the boating course and test.
Halfway into our adventure, she thought she saw a snake, turtle, or alligator. Slamming on the brakes by releasing the gas, the unstable vehicle rolled completely around righting itself in the up position. Somehow, she managed to hold on remaining on the craft. Meanwhile, I launched like a human rocket landing beside someone’s baseball cap. Mystery of the floating object solved!
When the others caught up, my spouse laughed, “Are we having fun, yet?”“Well, this unexpected swim is quite refreshing. I’d say I’m having a dream come true this Mother’s Day!”Not understanding my sarcasm or fully understanding it, my baby added, “Oh! Happy Mother’s Day, mommy! I’m glad it was just someone’s lost hat that scared me into stopping.”
Not understanding my sarcasm or fully understanding it, my baby added, “Oh! Happy Mother’s Day, mommy! I’m glad it was just someone’s lost hat that scared me into stopping.” I chortled while still clearing water from my head, “Amazingly, my glasses stayed on; so I can see what creatures share this water with me!”
“We tried to warn you!” Another kid added, “She threw me in last week; I didn’t want any brain sucking amoeba water up in my nose, today.”
“Yeah, daddy tried to take your place and stop you from drowning!” We all broke into laughter as I mounted the original personal watercraft jet ski as the driver this time.
In my lifetime, I roll with it quite often; maybe, I need to be a bit more cautious about things accepted in my world. That child did do one good thing for me that week-end. She submitted me as Mother of the Year for the local paper getting extremely mad that I only got an honorable mention. I was just glad to be alive!
~~M*m~~M*m~~M*m~~M*m~~M*m~~
Technology & Mom
When I got my first pager, it was dialing or number activated, only. My mom thought it was just a portable answering machine. Instead of dialing her phone number after the tone, she'd talk to it. Then, my mom would complain that I didn’t return any of her calls. Later models worked better for her; they were more like portable answering machines! My mother was delighted when cell phones arrived because there was no wait to speak with me!
***
The fire will test the quality of each man’s work.
(1 Corinthians 3:13)
Reading- My Future
When I met my teacher, she seemed cool. When I’d complain that my sister’s bad deeds translated into my parents being overly protective as well as concerned that I’d turn evil, she’d smirk as if she’d been there, done that, moved on. Overtime, I realized that she was my ‘kindred spirit’ having followed in the footsteps of an ‘out of control’ older sibling.
One day, she finally confessed; “As a teen, I faced my sister’s consequences as if I was just a vile. Our parents took out punishments on both of us; my sister didn’t seem to care as much as I did about being respectable.”
Almost daily, that teacher allowed me to eat lunch with her because we both had that hour off, and she did understand my feelings. She counseled me as well. “The way out is to get a good education and control your destiny. You can then leave your parent’s home and never look back- except to love them in spite of their mistakes.”
As we talked, I found out my situation was a bit different. She had good grades and high goals even in her teens. I took her reading class because I couldn’t pass the state test to graduate high school. My parents warned me that this year was my last chance. If I failed, they’d withdrawal me from school so I’d just get a job. My teacher’s opinion was that a job never gets you ahead and keeps you dependent on parents or others.
“You need a career- a college or vocational school is better than merely a job!”
“I can’t read well enough to pass!” I declared.
“Who says so?”
“My parents, teachers, and myself!”
“You’re giving up?”
“At 18, still in the 11th grade, wouldn’t you?”
“Nothing would stop me but it appears you agree with the verdict.”
“Don’t you?”
“Would I be wasting my time teaching you to read if I did?”
“You have to do your job!” I pointed out.
“I don’t have to do this job!” She smirked, “My husband is rich!”
I believed her. “What can I do to pass?”
“Everything I teach and tell you to do comes from years of experience. I learned from ‘the school of hard knocks’ and can show you the way out of high school and into a career!”
After that, when she said jump, I never even hesitated to ask how high. One day, my mom came to school to withdrawal me without awaiting my test results. My teacher got on the phone with my guidance counselor, “No, I won’t send her to your office to quit school; the girl is 18 and not a minor. She wants to graduate.”
My parents went home angry as Hell; I moved out with a friend’s family. My test results were scheduled to arrive a month later. I felt confident that my passing grade would happen even though my class was two periods long and all of us were expected to fail according to the odds, statistics, and administrator that just wanted some growth to keep their grant.
One day, I could tell by the look on our teacher’s face that our test results arrived. Before we opened our scores, our teacher spoke to cushion the potential blow if we failed the standardized test. “Okay, let’s be honest, you’re expected to rise your scores over last year but not to pass.”
“You calling us dumb after encouraging us to work hard!” We should have said that but mumbled and grumbled instead.
“I’m expecting miracles!” Our teacher answered the undertones in the room.
As Scurry opened his envelop, he declared with a huge grin, “You were right; I can’t pass a test if I sleep through it!” He waved his passing scores in all of our faces flaunting his graduation status. As a senior, his ceremony was a month off- now.
I meekly opened my scores hearing mostly tears and depression from my fellow classmates. Not able to look at my paperwork, our teacher placed her hand on my shoulder and exclaimed, “You’re smarter than you realize!” She meant I could succeed if I set my sights on college. Her tone, also, told me I’d be graduating next year. In fact, four of the dozen of us went from second or third grade scores to the required tenth grade ones, and four more students retook the test that summer after a little bit more encouragement from our patient teacher, and they graduated on schedule.
Sometimes, your angel is your teacher that shows you how to believe in yourself.
An at risk student’s saga
And I will ask the Father,
and he will give you another Counselor
to be with you forever- the Spirit of truth.
The world cannot accept him,
because it neither sees him nor knows him.
But you know him, for he lives with you
and will be in you. (John 14:16-17)
***
SHORT ANGELIC TESTIMONIES
Bellevue
While on vacation in Seattle, we enjoyed an event that was related to a place called Bellevue. Translating from French, belle is considered beautiful. In English, vue means view. We learned more about that name while hiking to Snoqualmie Falls. My mother-in-law and I fell way behind my three girls and her husband. Lagging, we talked about the children, expectations, and goals of the current trip to Washington State.
“I’d like to see the canal between the salt and fresh water system, the farmer’s market, and Mt. Rainier. Most of my girls will vote to visit the mall but ignore them. They can do that back home!”
As we made our way to the fence warning about the falls and danger, the two of us noticed two things. The girls and their male guide disappeared from view, so we were sure they ignored the postings. We saw people on the other side of the lake being created by Snoqualmie Falls; they seemed to be walking behind the waterfall.
“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, “I hope grandpa didn’t take them there the hard way because there is a bridge to that section of the park; it’s a safer way to view the backside of the raging, descending water!”
“If I know my husband, that is them walking behind Snoqualmie!” My mother-in-law pointed out a group but they weren’t wearing the right colored clothing. Thank God.
Suddenly, a man distracted our worried minds. We didn’t remember anyone following us on the trail. Neither of us noticed him anywhere nearby as we stopped at the sign warning people to stay put or go back up the mountain. Regardless of these thoughts, he interrupted, “It’s so picturesque! But- I know where two falls are far more gorgeous!”
Turning his way, his blue eyes penetrated my soul in a strange sensation. I believed Heaven filled his thoughts. He winked without moving physically because the experience felt spiritual. Finally, my feet caught their bearings so my mouth could speak, “Really? Where?”
“I’m from Bellevue; there is a place called Twin Falls. The two cascades are a beautiful vision to behold. You can enjoy them from more than one place on the trail while there!”
Turning to my mother-in-law, I remarked, “We’ll have to see if the girls and your husband want to go there.”
Two of my kids interrupted my comments, “Grandpa and Jewel escaped over the fence ignoring the warning about the lake and falls. They are playing on some rock outcrops.”
Looking back to thank the man while worrying about my brave daughter more than her step grandfather, I noticed the man from Bellevue vanished as quickly as he appeared. There was no sign of him on the path back up to the café and parking lot nor was he passing nearby the lake. My heart and spirit kept reliving his eyes, which felt majestic or angelic.
After waving my kid back to safety and scolding their adult guide, we stopped at that café for lunch. As we sat at the picnic tables enjoying the shaded breeze, I mentioned Twin Falls and Bellevue.
“I think I know where that park is; its near Seattle or Mt. Rainier. Let’s get back on the Interstate and find it. Sounds like another fun hike!” Grandpa took the heat off his misadventure by redirecting us to the next bit of natural entertainment.
We drove to ‘God knows where’ stopping in an area that looked nothing like a state park but our driver swore we arrived at Twin Falls. It could have been the craziest thing we ever did if that stranger at Snoqualmie meant us harm rather than moving us to a beautiful view. As we exited the car, only one other vehicle appeared in the lot. However, I immediately felt safe because I heard the rushing water.
“At the very least, we found a river full of rapids,” Our male tour guide joked as all the females traipsed behind him.
We walked and walked beside the babbling stream. Then, the six of us hiked some more but no fall was in view- let alone two. Plus, the scenery felt generic to the region or nothing like I imagined. In fact, we could hardly see the brook we followed while wandering and meandering parallel to it. Then, the shouting began; it wasn’t the blue-eyed man causing the commotion. It was the majestic spot causing the ruckus.
“Oh, my God!” My youngest raced back to her grandma and me to describe the scene. “There are two falls, and the bridge you stand on to see them is so cool!”
We quickened our steps to meet the real Belle Vue of Washington or Twin Falls. The transient man was one hundred percent right! The two were Heavenly. By that I mean- the man and the falls.
As we exited, it dawned on me that we never saw the owner of the other parked car. Was it his vehicle? Was that guy a messenger of God, an angel, or just a really kind soul? We’ll never know for sure but the beautiful view was worth trusting our instincts and following the whims of the soul instead of giving in to the mind’s fears.
An angel might just be a human
on a mission from God.
God sends angels with comforting words.
My electrolysis described an accident her daughter’s friend had. While awaiting the jaws of death to cut her out, a woman held her hand and comforted her. No one saw her guardian angel besides that young driver but that spirit lady was right. The girl survived the entangled mess.
In my pre-teens, the parish priest asked me to place my hand in the wounded area of a statue of Jesus- to recreate the ‘Doubting Tom.’ He said, “Our savior relives the pain of our inequity each Easter and day; we need to lessen His spiritual injuries and pain by striving for His Perfection.” Standing nearby- my heart, mind, and soul realized that what I feel translates to God because Our Lord witnessed humanness as well as Divinity. Sometimes, He is the messenger as well as the message originator. In short, I feel God feels- too.
A year after my grandmother died, I saw a multitude of angels in our living room. It felt like a wall of angels in our home. When I mentioned this vision to mom, she freaked out because that day was her deceased mother’s birthday. Obviously, God let His agents say, “Happy Birthday- your grandma (or mom) lives with me in Heaven.”
I gave a friend a grief book on the anniversary of his father’s death. It was a tragic loss when that occurred because he was still a child. This (now grown) man explained my deed in relation to his life then asked, “How did you know?” Answering that I was clueless but God must have used me to help him; we praised the Lord- together. Not all messengers are angels because those open to God’s Will deliver other’s good tidings as well.
“They think I’m an angel but I’m human.” Nora frequently says as she helps parishioners.
I stood with a Deliverance Minister joking about dueling banjos. He prayed over some people asking God to relieve them of curses and sins as well as show them the path away from the power of the devil. A mighty wind blew in as he prayed; when some of us gathered looked up a nearby car had a message license plate that read, “Get Out!” Apropos! God uses messengers as well as signs that are the message.
Do you think I cannot call on my Father,
and he will at once put at my disposal
more than twelve legions of angels? (Matthew 26:53)
An enemy, a relative, approached my door to taunt me- once again. That soul dropped everything in her hands when she saw the legions of angels protecting me. Having no idea of the new treachery approaching my home, all I remember of that day was a bright, warm, cuddling light entering my living room; I felt protected.
As a teen, I sat in class listening to gossip about a girl that had an illegal abortion then bled to death. Being ready to puke, my spirit prayed for peace. Suddenly, invisible, enveloping arms comforted me pushing me further from the evilness of my ease dropping. I felt that my guardian angel reset my thoughts to love verses the results of illicit sex.
Before big games, we prayed that the team that worked hard and played as a team should reap the benefits instead of praying to win. Sometimes, our guardian angels showed God and their approval of our unselfish prayer because it seemed as though angels provided their wings as we won against tough odds.
Do not forget to entertain strangers,
for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it. (Hebrews 13:2)
Motivation
It’s easy to be uplifted by another’s tragedy because, as an observer, you suffer less pain than the victim. For the most part, your body and soul experiences the inspirational part of their misfortunate circumstances. Rarely, does the spectator wish to be the suffering soul but the witness gets to live vicariously through the other person’s adversity. These stories are important to share because they help humans keep faith, hope and love alive in their lives. For years, I wrote about others’ deaths, near deaths, and triumphs over trials and tribulations. In comparison, my life felt like a ‘cake walk.’
After breaking my upper arm and getting a partial shoulder replacement, I faced my moment of true faith. After years of writing, compiling, editing, ghostwriting and co-writing others uplifting narratives, where their hardships turned into triumphs, I suffered my moment of trust in God’s Plan for my life.
About thirty days after my upper shoulder replacement surgery, my physical therapist sent me to my surgeon suspecting an infection at the site of my operation. Having a trauma surgeon and it being Friday, I had to enter his world through the emergency room or slowest possible method.
Four to five hours later, the ER doctor excitedly said that if my arm was infected that the apparatus (unspoken= arm) would be removed to save my life. Racing in my room, my doctor’s intern scurried around taking pictures with his cell phone of my swelling; he ordered blood tests and scans to detect infection. The man agreed with the ER physician’s prognosis before disappearing. For hours after the tests, my mind wandered through the ‘what ifs’ of my situation. In the end, all I could do was cling to the end of my rope and pray.
Hours later, my surgeon’s associate came down to the ER. He was visibly and audibly upset but not at my arm. That man seemed livid at the staff for starting antibiotic before the test results warranted them. After explaining himself and my condition to me, that medical associate sent me home without scheduling surgery because my arm was NOT red hot due to infection. Many other things happened in the ER during that more than nine hour ordeal but I left with my left arm still attached as well as facing months and month of rehab. In short, my silent prayers were answered.
As a result of my ER minor miracle and inspiration, this book idea developed. This is a collection of stories from years of talking with people about their relationship with God. It runs the gamut from the power of prayers as well as living life filled with faith, hope, and love. This book contains stories and short prose from various walks of life. It, also, has ‘one liners’ or more text from online chats and discussions.
No author names are used. For the most part initials are inserted in the stories presented because these testimonies were penned by God’s Word then portrayed or witnessed by humans and other beings including angels and saints. It’s not good to eat too much honey, nor is it honorable to seek one’s own honor. (Proverbs 25:27) In other words, no one is special except the source of these accounts- God.
For the most part, these testimonies are small and larger miracles. Their inspiration evolves from the interaction between God and our human spirit. He intervenes when situations appear to have lost all control providing clues that He regulates the outcomes of these events, dreams, and visions. The results include encouraging tales and ‘silver linings’ that attach to those hardships. As a human, our control is our reactions to such harsh conditions. In other words, the soul involved in the drama can find the inspiration that leads to faith, hope, and love or choose an alternate path that may lead to a feeling of abandonment or depression.
Through good and especially bad times, God offers guidance. When accepted, the types of Devine Interventions included in the text of this book reveal the depth of His daily interaction with humans as well as the depth of His caring. Furthermore, sometimes, tragedies startle us enough to promote or reawaken our faith in a Higher Power; they may urge a soul to grow stronger in trust in the Devine Plan of life. The goals of this inspiration anthology are similar. May the reader grow in peace and trust through Faith, Hope, and Love as presented through the undercover witnesses in this compilation.
Furthermore, ‘For it is not the one who commends himself who is approved, but the one whom the Lord commends. (2 Corinthians 10:18)’To be continued next week.
***
These stories and more are in Cindy Hanson's book, It’s a Celebration; the free eBook and read is exclusively @ https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/108154
Spring Sprung into Easter…
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Easter Bonnets
When my youngest daughter was three, I bought my girls boring hats for the holidays; at least, mom must have thought that way. She grabbed the baby’s bonnet embellishing it with all kinds and colors of silk flowers. The hat reminded me of Minnie Pearl on the TV show ‘He Haw.’ It still had the price tag on it just like that whimsical hick would wear. There was no returning that fedora after the decorations were added. To cap it off, mom made my youngest wear it with pride. Mom called people over to admire that Easter bonnet with all those frills up on it. She made us capture it in pictures as well. Due to her age, my little one posed bigheadedly but with innocence!
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FRY (Fri) Day
Being Catholic, I asked mom what she’d give up for lent; she quickly remarked, “Fish!” I reminded her that the season is about sacrificing so you can’t give up things you don’t like and call it even with God. Then, I remarked, “Don’t say you’re giving up your family, either!”
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Egg Hunt
My dad’s club held its annual Easter Egg Hunt. As youngsters, we happily hunted eggs hidden under the shade of Palmettos, palms, mangrove trees, and other native Florida plants. All the colorful flowers made disguising those eggs easier even in some open fields within the fenced property. It was a pretty tame event due to all the parents’ precautions.The coveted egg was announced before the organized mayhem. We searched high in branches of trees and low in grassy weeds to find that yellowish sparkling treasure. Most of us found other colored eggs. Surprisingly, two youngsters found yellow eggs. A boy found the expected prize trading it in for five dollars. When my sister arrived moments later with a rotten egg that appeared yellow where it wasn’t brown, the leader of the contest stood dumbfounded.
She must have found a hobo’s leftover lunch in that thicket just outside the fence. In spite of the fact that she ventured out of the parameters of the contest, an elderly couple marched up to the prize center donating five dollars for her rotten egg.
My sister got a lecture on the way home about leaving the gated area of that club. She, also, got a new record from a new group the Beatles. Their song was entitled “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” That girl repeatedly played that vinyl on our record player! Mad that she was rewarded for misbehaving, I remarked, “I’d never hold your rotten egg filled hand!” I sure showed her how envy works and why Easter exists!
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Plastic Eggs
When my children grew up, we had fair Easter Egg Hunts. They had to stop collecting for their baskets at a certain number of eggs. If they wanted to find more they had to place them in a sibling’s basket.
This taught them not to be competitive with siblings; I didn’t want another Cane and Able on my hands.
Plus, they looked for plastic eggs because I had no intention of handling a rotten egg days, weeks or years later because it wasn’t discovered by them during the contest. With all the ones I put out, it was easy to forget all the hiding places. Plus, those plastic things held most of their prizes so there was no need to give too much out after the contest completed. There was no grand prize, either; their big reward was the fun of the hunt.In Florida, I quickly learned not to fill those eggs with melting chocolates. They had loose change, stickers, and notes about potential stuffed animal or other prizes in them. The messages were traded for anything not able to fit in the plastic eggs.
Then a funny thing happened, we broke all the rules when our first grandchild practiced for the neighborhood Easter Egg Hunt. We trained her how to spot the eggs; this mentoring went on for days until she was ready, willing, and able to do what it took to completely fill her basket. Unfortunately, some eggs had melting chocolates; others carried sweet ants along with their Jellybeans. It smacked of rotten eggs! The moral of this story is, “Be careful the prize may not be worth winning!”
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Egg lessons
My mother-in-law always had plastic egg hunts for the kids. She filled them with dollar bills including the coveted $5 treasure. To be sure each kid got the same amount, each of her grandchildren were given a color to hunt. One could only open blue eggs; one got yellow; and so on. At the end, she monitored that each child had $10 total! No one cheated under her watchful eye. Everyone went home happy with their own treasures.
“You don’t need to usurp others to be happy!” She, also, counseled me to put the same number of gifts for each of my children under my Christmas tree because, “They count the presents at this age. It doesn’t matter the dollar amount. If one got one more gift, you’ll hear their complaints.” She was right on both counts!
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Other Weird Things
I pulled out the old, plastic Easter Eggs to prepare for the hunt. Recycling those shells allowed me to spend more on the prizes. Plus, I was ‘going green’ before it was fashionable.
As I opened those old plastic shells, there were unexpected treasures in them. For the life of me, I could not figure out where those eggs came from. When my family arrived to the room, I asked, “Did you open all these eggs last year?” Knowing that each had money or other prizes, my question was rhetorical and puzzled the kids. You could see their whimsy and amazement in their eyes.
Opening my hand, I showed them my amazing find, which were slips of paper with typed messages. Those eggs were like Easter Fortune Cookies. They held notes about Jesus and love; they held promised of hope and faith. No one could figure out how those note strips got in the eggs that were co-mingled with other old but empty eggs. God does have a handle on mystery.
This year, after being in our house for four years, after staring at the same picture by my computer for at least two years, I noticed another strange phenomenon. The paint by numbers framed art, the inspiration for the cover of my first book, had something unusual adhering to it. That picture of Jesus holding a lamb while caring for a little boy and girl as they stroke a calf was decorated in one corner. I lunged towards it to find some plastic hay from a long forgotten Easter basket along with a strand of tinsel
Where did that stuff come from? The hay might have been from one of my children’s stashes but I have never used tinsel. Reminiscing, my brain traveled back in time to try to make sense of my discovery. I painted that scene holding those weird decorations when my niece was baptized; it hung near my mom’s deathbed. Once my niece moved in with me, that framed art piece stayed in one of the hallways in our previous house. Rediscovered two years after moving here, I pulled it from our garage where it sat gathering dust in an open box. After sprucing the frame, I hung it near my desk.
Years later, after finishing writing two children stories, I looked up seeing the decorations appeared on that frame. One of my books was inspired by my father; he loved tinsel especially draped perfectly on a Christmas tree. God does the strangest things appearing in incidents and things when and where we least expect Him.
Those minor miracles or wondrous experiences always frazzle me at time. Thus, I tend to undo and toss His messages. I try to escape the signs and symbols of God’s watchful eye. However, I never really evade His presence or presents. Thank God! In the end, I wouldn’t really want to be His rotten egg!
***
Diamonds and Rainbows
On my honeymoon in Hawaii, we arrived late at night to our hotel. We were ocean side so the panorama was pitch-black. The next morning, my hubby drew open the curtains to reveal Diamond Head. That was the only landmark I was familiar with before that trip so I exclaimed, “Cool! Diamond Head is right there!”
Later that trip, as we waited to go to a luau, my husband showered as I sat on a chair admiring the ‘mountain meets ocean’ view. We’d put up with scattered showers all day, which caused our dinner to be moved indoors to the celebration hall instead of beachfront. We’d griped to each other about the rain’s impact on our idea of a great luau. As I gazed at the setting sun, I silently grumbled about the sunny, cloudless end to the afternoon wondering why we still had to meet indoors.
“They probably don’t have time to reset the tables, chairs, service station, and stage for the entertainment,” My spouse commiserated with me before he’d left to shower.
Suddenly, it happened. I believed the remnants of the rain caused the effect. Over Diamond Head sat two rainbows. Knowing they are fleeting, I screamed; “Come quick! Come Look!”
As fast as possible, I grabbed our camera shooting the scene. The next day, while dressing for dinner, the colorful arches appeared in that same location. Their appearance had nothing to do with rain; the bows seemed to come from the ocean to the shore daily as the sun kissed Paradise Island goodbye. This farewell occurred every single day we stared at Diamond Head.
On that trip I learned that treasures don’t always come from where you expect them. Keep a watchful eye out for your own rainbows peaking over diamonds!
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Unique Rainbows
I never noticed rainbows in the sky other than before, during, and after rainstorms. Then, one day, I sat outside on a lawn chair as my toddlers played in their sand box. The afternoon sun made the Heavens clear but the balmy breeze kept the day light and airy. As I looked up thanking God for the day, the setting sun cast a shadow- more like a bright spot. It played out in a rainbow of colors that mystified me. In that moment, I thought my eyes had seen it all.
Then, one day, as we struggled to sell a house, I felt at ‘wits end.’ As I drove the curvy road out of our subdivision, dew dripped from trees hanging over the street. My elementary aged kids sat in their car seats murmuring about this and that. While drawing in a deep breath of despair, my van became illuminated by a break in the trees lining my lane. It cast bright rays thru the mist on the windshield.
Suddenly, many rainbows danced into my car. I’d never experienced anything like it. It felt magical.
Our house sold that evening. Wow, talk about silent, moaning prayers being answered. I found the treasure at the end of each of those bursts of color; it was in God’s hands.
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Walking on Rainbows
People sing, write, and talk about walking on sunshine. What about rainbows? Can there be just as much merriment in that moment- if it is even possible? Don’t rainbows remain aloft in the heavens above?
When we entered Yosemite, Half Dome stole my breath making my body tingle in wonder. When my family saw the main falls, I stood in reverence to The Creator of such magnificence. As my spouse, kids, and I entered our cabin by a babbling brook, my soul heard its melody of happiness.
The next day, when we got up close and personal with the tributary falls, rainbows escaped their flow bouncing all over the man-made trail. I danced with their shimmering light as they landed at my feet. There was an awe inspiring moment as I skipped, twirled, and swayed on water sliding through those colorful arcs.
I learned that you can find the end of the rainbow but the ‘Pot of Gold’ is not always obvious; it’s elusive. You know something is simmering and shimmering in your presence but you just can’t quite place your finger on it. Faith is the key. There has to be trust that a Higher Source controls the plan keeping the falls in their right path while the beautiful outcomes of such cascades are in the rainbows just within reach at just the right moment!
***
Rainbow- Treasures in a Job
My husband’s company experienced over five years of layoffs. Anticipating the worst, we sold before the market was flooded with his colleagues’ homes. While in an apartment, his first job interruption occurred. As he carried a box full of personal items to the parking lot, a man he’d promoted witnessed his march to unemployment.
Stopping my spouse, he asked, “Why you?”
“It’s nothing personal just reductions.” My husband had walked his share of people out the door and often told me that he was not paid enough to take that long stroll to HR with the person. “You know they are soon to be without enough to feed, clothe, house, and medically treat their family.”
My hubby had asked around- to bosses that he managed or promoted in the past- wondering if they had an opening he might fill. Some of his closest friends declined his call or never got back to him. Their restraint was the only hurtful side effect of his trek that particular day. Those pals avoiding him felt worse than those guys just saying no.
The man standing with him at the threshold of endings and beginnings explained why he hadn’t called back, “I was out of town in a training seminar when the layoff lists were written, and people were shuffled. I could have laid off three guys to save you back to my group. Give me a week to reverse your situation. Go on vacation while I reinstate you to my department.” That guy made good on his promise.
Months later, we arrived at a party held by an ex-employee, ex-colleague, and friend. It felt good to have an income but sad to see the people grieving at the gathering because many including our host had not found stable employment. His family pulled their hair out from upset over their economic situation. The wife took on a job to help make ends meet. She greeted us whispering, “I made my husband invite all of you to let him see he still has friends who care.” That made my heart sink lower knowing he suffered isolations as well as his loss of a job.
Groups formed at the party- those employed avoided those struggling to find good work. Those laid off commiserated in a corner. It seemed most of the kids played as if nothing bothered them. The wife of the household mingled through all three groups trying to spread the cheer.
Between the pool, playground, and lakeside boating- most people found ways to be entertained as many things were left unspoken concerning economies. The hostess stood near me talking about the skiers ‘bobbing for gators.’ She joked about the possibility if the boats didn’t scare those swamp villains off.
She droned on about the job loss, her mate’s ego deflation, and other things as I politely interjected clichés. “God will provide.” With a bit of guilt for being retrieved from the laid off group, I added, “I’ll pray for you!” The wife of the man that saved my family interrupted to add that her prayer group had been doing just that for a year, now. Even with all those voices petitioning God, the guy relied on his wife’s new job and hit or miss prospects. Our words of concern felt so empty.
As we stood on the water’s edge, a typical- yet unique- event occurred. Afternoon clouds built to thunderstorm levels. Across the lake scrub oak, pine, and palm landscapes disappeared behind a building wall of murky mist. This scene rarely if ever played out in this season because tropical waves make clouds so heavy they released their rain long before caressing the earth. Foggy, hazy rain typically happens in the winter- only. Soon this wall of vaporous water veiled the lake moving close to us as the sun threw tons of light right over our area.
“We need to get in a safe location in case lightning starts,” Mothers repeated while grabbing their children under the covered lanai or inside the house. Moving to safer ground, the hostess, boss’s wife, and I stood on the outer edge of the screen porch discussing how sunny it seemed as that fog rolled in. Soon, a rainbow raced over the top edge of that mist landing so close to us that the homeowner’s face colorfully glowed.
“Weird,” She wondered if we could see the colors blinding her.
“The rainbow is landing on you!” The prayer group member described what she saw.
“I’ve never seen the end of a rainbow before in my life! Wow, what a tremendous message from God. He is looking after you and giving you His treasures- right now!” I blurted out with deep conviction. This odd event ended as fast as it started; the party resumed. Soon after that gathering, the host family did find their way out of their decline and darkness.
Did the ego building rallying of friend help the man out of his slump or was it the rainbow’s effect? At another party, I chatted with the wife. She believed God still cared, which helped elevate her mood leading to a better outlook for her spouse and children from her party day on. Her husband found steady work after that summer celebration.
“Looking back, my husband really treasures the time he had off with the kids as well as his new career!” She giggled as we relived the wondrous moment of that foggy Rainbow. “Until that celebration day, all rainbows and promises felt stuck in the Heavens!”
***
Four Leaf Clovers & Leprechauns
As a child, my dad tricked my siblings and me into weeding the clover out of his St. Augustine lawn as well as his gardens. He told us that a four leaf clover was lucky while holding two three leaf ones in such a manner as to cleverly disguise his hoax. My parent proudly and shrewdly announced a contest. “If any of you finds one just like this clover leaf, I’ll give you a dollar.” Back then, a single bill was treasure only surpassed by a ‘pot of gold’ at the end of a rainbow. We believed those colorful arches remained in the Heavens, while due to dad’s ‘sleight of hand’ trick, the other find felt possible. From the ground, we’d pull out vegetation for hours trying to find the elusive four leaf clover. Our search got us to weed. Cleverly, my father’s manipulation saved him hours of labor. If time is money, he gained riches. His trick did bring him the ‘Luck of the Irish!’ Meanwhile, while racing around trying to find my fortunes in life, I came across a neighbor and friend. She stood staring into a bush. “What is in there?” I wondered aloud while momentarily stopping.“A Leprechaun!” The young girl proclaimed. “At least, that is what my dad says. If you catch him, you get a secret wish.”“Like blowing out a birthday cake’s candles or breaking the wish bone of a chicken or turkey?” I asked for clarification.“Yes, except you have to find and catch him, first!”“Do you mean put him in some sort of prison then demand a favor?” I tried to imagine the scene as if he’d be a ‘Genie in the Bottle.’ “How will you single handedly capture him?” My thoughts pictured a man and a young girl embattled, and the man bigger and stronger always won.“You just have to catch him!” She reiterated her point.“What?”“You catch a glimpse of him then demand he stop short of hiding, again. If you see a Leprechaun, he has to grant your wish.”“Have you ever spotted him?” My excitement level rose because that would be easier than physically detaining a man- even a short green one.“No, but my dad swears he has,” She declared full of faith in her parent’s honesty.Something inside me questioned her beliefs. As I raced off, it felt a bit saner to look for the four leaf clover than to wait for a small but happy soul to arrive from a bush and grant wishes. Some of her idea might have been a remake of a Bible narrative. God has made appearances in burning bushes. Maybe, her parent confused his myth with those tales. I imagine the place she stood would have been better lit and God easier to see if HIS Story was repeating itself. Instead, the dark leaves camouflaged her green-colored, elusive Leprechauns.In spite of my doubt, I snuck back to that brush a few days later. She must have given up hope of finding that green, happy elf or troll because that girl left the vicinity. Nothing but a slight breeze rustled the branches; I noticed a patch of clover nearby and weeded her family’s lawn instead of awaiting a secret visitor from that shrub. After some more research, in other words, I asked my half Irish dad, my mind was less confused. “Do short, ‘green dressed’ men live in plants and grant wishes if discovered?”“Yes, but Leprechauns do NOT live in Florida. They are natives of Ireland!” After that, I envisioned a bunch of midgets or short people in green outfits living far far away in a very foreign land! After that experience, I still looked for the occasional four leaf clover. I never found one nor did I see a Leprechaun anywhere except fantasyland. The lucky clover might be closer to reality than the little, green men.Speaking of men, they think females gossip and make up stories; now, you see how dad’s, which are male, start rumors and legends! Guys, also, contend women are more frequently the cunning manipulators. Obviously, males are just as crafty at children and wo-manipulation.***
The Moose Clock
By
Dave Perry
The End of the Hardware Store Pop sat behind the register, Mom just inside the backroom door smoking a cigrette. "You know we can't smoke in here with the Customers Mom", Pop yelled back to her.
"Like I care". Mom replied. Her standard answer.
"It's against the law now." Pop insisted.
"Throw me in jail" was her response. It's 855am at the Mom & Pop Hardware. For over 30 years they hold this conversation as they wait until the "Hardware Moose" clock moo-ed the 9am hour. Why the Moose clock moo's they had never figured out.
As you may or may not know, Moose actually make a weird noise. its like kinda like a mooo, but then, sometimes then they will growl or something like that. Whatever it is, is sounds absolutely dreadful, a pitiful noise that makes the other animals in the world wish that it would just shut up! Anyway, back to Mom & Pop.... the Clock moo's, or whatever at 9am. Mom and Pop look at each other.
"Well?” Mom demands.
"I'm on my way Woman", Pop snaps over his shoulder, he shakes his head as he heads towards the door and murmers, "she could get up and open the door one time".... Looking towards the door, he slows to a stop. Outside the door where there should be sunlight steaming through, there is nothing but black.
"Get a move on, old man!" - Mom yells as she lights another cig.
Pop finally moves to the door and peers through the window. He is startled by utter complete darkness, black, as in nothing out there, nothing to see, and nothing to hear. Unlocking the door he steps out and is overcome by the dark as again, he cannot see anything and the dark slowly envelopes him. With his hand still on the door, he is able to move quickly back in and out of whatever it is out there.
Shaking, he closes and locks the door. "Are you sure it's 9am Mom?" He yells.
"You heard the Moose, what the hells wrong with you" Mom snaps.
He looks up at the Moose, it's stupid Moose face that smiles at him, It always smiles, but this time he shivers at it's weird smile. It kinda looks real today. "We have a problem Mom" he says quietly.
"What now?" she replies.
"There is nothing but black out beyond the door". Mom puffs away on her cig,
"Nothing but black what?" she asks.
"Just blackness, darkness, I don't know, but it's scary" he says. Pop says this while turning his attention to the window on the east side of the store, it's also black beyond its pane.
Mom steps to the living section of the building and checks the back door and windows...all black. "Yea, I’m getting scared too", she says walking back into the store. For the next couple hours they try the phone a couple times, nothing. They call outside the doors and windows, nothing. Nothing can be heard, nothing can be smelled outside. It's as nothing exists. They are afraid to go out. Meanwhile, the Moose-clock moos at each hour, however, the moo gets louder each time, and longer. This is not normal Moose Clock procedure. At 3 o'clock, the moose moos again, but this time, one single Moo.
"Oh my Lord" Pop yells.
"What dear?"....she had not called him dear in over 20 years.
"The black, it's in here!!" Pop says. The blackness had taken over the front shelving by the door, the ‘Peterson screwdriver’ display was no more and different items were disappearing as the blackness crept slowly towards them.
"What do we do?" Mom cried.
Pop grabbed a shovel as darkness had settled over half of it, it was only half a shovel that he held in his hand. He dropped it and stepped back terrified. Then, he heard it. "Its not only what you can do, the Moose said, it's what I want."
"Who the hell is that?? Pop yelled, looking around the store.
"Um, I think the Moose-clock said it", Mom replied.
"What????"
The Moose Moo-d three times, and said, "You know what I want".
Pop could not believe his ears or eyes. Yes, the Moose-clock talked to them. “Wha, Wha...What, Mr. Moose,” Pop asked, “What do you want???"
"One thing" as the Moose looked at Mom.” You, my lady, know what I want, and Pop wants it too".....as the Moose then moo'd and sputtered. Mom looked down at the cig that had never left her hand today, or any day except to replace it with another.
"This", she asked, you want a smoke??"
"No,” the Moose replied, "and neither do you, but that's not it."
"I have no idea what your talk...” Mom stopped, the blackness had started to cover the store faster now and was heading towards her. "NO! I won't tell!” Mom screamed at the Moose.
"You will,” the Moose continued. "Because if you don't, there will not be a Pop, no MOM & POP Hardware store, no Moose, or anything. There will be darkness forever, and it will be your fault.”
The darkness had enveloped everything completely now, except for the corner where Mom and Pop stood, and of course, where the Moose-clock hung. "It's your choice." The Moose said, and Moo-d the 5pm hour.
"This has to be a nightmare dream". Pop finally said.
"Yea..um, No,” the Moose answered. "And we haven’t' much time. Your store and customers are waiting for your answer.
"Tell me Mom,” Pop demanded. “Are you really going to do what a frickin' Moose-clock says?"
Mom snarled at him.” It’s a clock for heaven's sake!”
"Look around Mom!...there is nothing here!!....please!"...Pop pleaded.
"If you don't tell him, we are done here", the Moose whispered.
"I can't", Mom cried.
"As you wish, the Moose calmly said.
"No wait!!"Pop screamed.
"Oh Pop...I...."...Mom didn't have time to sceam.
The darkness enveloped them all. The red eyes of the Moose blinked for a couple seconds then faded, he then moo'd the last hour of the day. Only darkness remained and the one remaining sound...a pitiful, dreadful sound of a sort of mooo, and, the sound of hooves trotting away.... Pop woke up then....alone.
***
EMPOWER the kids
Thursday, February 7, 2013 11:54 AM
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A book without a reader is like a day without sunshine. In the beginning, I sold or gifted copies of my books to friends or local mourners. Soon, I began trying to find a larger audience. Nonfiction branding is much harder than people think; biographies of the non-famous can be hard to sell. I'm sure that is why many mainstream publishers avoid those book genres- until they go viral. While doing that facet of publishing, I always keep in mind that I need to differentiate myself and books- especially due to the explosion of eBooks and indie authors.
What makes my witness in books unique starts with my sense of humor; I can make light of hideous situations and yet stay real and truthful about the harshness of those realities. My ability to see and convey the light keeps me going- which is remarkable since I was born blind; landmark, eye surgery and tenacity got me to today. I chronicled part of that inspirational tale in my nonfiction entitled The Vision.
Meanwhile, I rarely submit pieces for anthologies announced online or through writer’s societies because their editors are usually looking for fictional short stories or poetry. Recently, a random invite happened; someone offered to add one of my stories or essays to their anthology helping Newton, Connecticut. I heard about the massacre in their elementary school and submitted a story that I coauthored. That tale was steered and illustrated by my grandchild when she was five; she is, now, six. I thought her empowerment storybook might help the struggling people of Newton and elsewhere. However, the editors rejected my entry because they wanted poetry and prose; they compiled adult reading level stories about how it might feel to be a Newton resident.
I appreciated the editors’ candor. However, I was amazed the compilers of that anthology didn’t realize what the children (and adults) of Sandy Hook Elementary might really need to go forward. I thought that town might enjoy rhetoric from kindred spirits. Due to fears and anxieties, I felt that those kids and folks might feel less alienated and alone if they were shown the light at the end of their tunnels. I wanted to find a way to be empower those children while revealing to them a HOPE that things can and do get better. I felt bystanders including health care professionals might enjoy those types of stories, too. After pondering the anthology rejection, I woke up one day as God illuminated my next step. Thinking of three books that I had partial copyrights to, I immediately had the title of an anthology in my mind; it was the S.H.E. Anthology.
After that, I began compiling that book; the compilation is NOT a romance anthology but it was written by all females. In this book, the girls recollected traumas, mostly related to death, that they faced while in elementary school. Their stories reveal their path out of mourning along with many minor miracles that they encountered. Their tales of hope and inspiration are true accounts from those children turned authors. One writer and illustrator is only six; Thai wanted to be a part of empowering children to survive harsh things in life; so, her piece is story number three in this compilation.
The abbreviation ‘S.H.E’ also refers to Sandy Hook Elementary. Isn’t God the best at setting up coincidences? This book is meant to empower Newton as well as others that read it. We hope that this anthology, also, sheds some new light on grief recovery in the minds of teachers, mental health professionals, and adults handling major life changes. The compilation’s royalties will help charities involved in grief counseling or with mental health issues- especially for children therapies for the types of traumas witnessing massacres produce. For example, one local group ‘New Hope for Kids’ (Orlando) will get some of the profits from this compilation because the group that started this organization helped Stacey over 20 years ago.
Speaking of the child, in one part of this anthology, there’s great insight into being the victim of death and childhood loss. Stacey’s Song is an intimate look at a ten year old girl’s personal story about the results of her mother’s cancer death. She, also, deals with the aftermath that includes her dad going crazy and committing suicide. Obviously, tragedies, such as the Sandy Hook Massacre, touch home with her. In her book contained in this anthology, the young girl talks candidly and inspirationally about surmounting her PTSD. Her honesty through writing is only surpassed by the miracles and guidance from those around her including God. Some excerpts in other blogs here reveal how God taps into this young girl’s anger and grief to show her hope and HIS love as HE answers her naïve, childhood prayer. You can read her full story in Stacey’s Song or in the S.H.E. Anthology. An excerpt from a chapter follows.
Hail, What’s Next?
…
Later in another conversation, Cindy told me, “There are a ton of reasons why you need to live. First, you haven’t even seen all the world has to share with you. There are some really beautiful places left to visit.”
…
“I get two weeks’ vacation in December. We can drive into the mountains and find snow for the holidays.”
…
(Her child) Jenny was hospitalized after repeated infections. Her tonsils needed to be removed, and the promised trip was postponed.
…
“I wish it would snow here!” My response arrived.
“Get real! It rarely snows in Central Florida. If it does, it falls in January and never hits the ground. It melts on the way. It sometimes falls just north of us and stays a few hours but nothing close to snowman weather. We can drive to see snow next winter, but we are not flying anywhere this vacation.”
“I’m going to pray for snow within driving distance of our house. I am going to ask for it now,” My style less angry these days converted to belligerent.
“Pray away! But, it isn’t possible,” She added as the other car passengers giggled. At age seven and nine, they realized I could be unreasonable at times.
…
The next day, the front page of the local newspaper pictured the hail storm that happened just south of our home. Hail stones piled into drifts so high that it appeared to have snowed in Florida….
Also, in that anthology, The Evans Terrace Girls give their account of what happened when 7 or more parents died within a year or 2 of each other in a small subdivision of about 110 homes. People started saying their land was CURSED. The children heard those rumors about their subdivision and were scared to death. Then, when a neighbor lost her dad to a blood clot after surgery, the kids felt the need to help. When one of the girls heard the rumor that the mourning family ran out of milk, she setup a traditional solution or lemonade stand. That day, other angels or young children arrived; many of those neighbor kids ran door to door selling half glasses of hot lemonade. They raised enough quarters to buy milk and other perishables. More importantly, they formed a group that became a club and led their neighborhood out of grief. Find out how by reading their story; an except follows.
'Tis The Season
…
One of the boys was just two weeks old and the other was eighteen-month-old when their single mother died in her apartment of an epileptic seizure. These two miracles survived two days with their deceased mother before authorities found them. Their aunt’s family was not well to do but had inherited two cribs for the boys. However, just near Christmas, they needed real beds for these toddlers.
…
There were donations of new jewelry and Christmas items to raffle. We charged a dollar a ticket. On our little table sat our flyer of community services completed and goals to finish this year.
As one guest read the document, she handed us a five-dollar bill whispering to my mother, “What is their goal?”
“At least one bed,” She responded.
“Well, good luck. They probably won’t even raise enough for a mattress,” this woman added.
“I’ve seen them sell one hundred and seventy one dollars’ worth of lemonade and still have over half the original gallon. I bet they can get this bed,” My mother defended.
“Good luck,” The guest reiterated.
“I believe in miracles,” Mom observed smugly. “ ‘Tis the season!”
…
The stranger stopped our movement back to our vehicles, “I’ll let you have both beds for two hundred dollars but only if you can pick them up by tomorrow.”
“Sold!” We all screamed as Laura and Mom flinched. The club was sixty dollars from reality.
…
Did the girls find the cash? What other minor miracles happened when these angels joined forces with others to make wishes come true? Read The Evans Terrace Girls or their section in the S.H.E. Anthology.
By the way, I’m offering an eBook copy of the S.H.E Anthology to anyone reading this blog. Use the link provided: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/278511 . The promotional price will come up as $ 0.00 once you place the coupon code SZ68X in the box on that site’s ordering page. This coupon expires on February 14, 2013 – the day of love. Please, leave favorable reviews if you freely download this book. Plus, feel free to share the eBook data. We hope you’ll love the S.H.E Anthology enough to buy copies of this book in paperback format for others to enjoy or- at least- leave a review. The paperback version comes in BLACK & WHITE on and color on AMAZON.
So, come on buy to be inspired and help grieving children. It’s a WIN-WIN.
By the Way, a copy of this anthology went to Newton’s public library as well.
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***
From Boys, Bumps & Blood by Paul C. Slayback
available in paperback/Kindle on Amazon.comCHAPTER EIGHT
Summer in Orr with Aunt Myrtle
The summer of 1942, when I was five (almost six) my dad sent me to stay with Aunt Myrtle, my mother’s sister, who lived with her husband, Sulo, and son, Raymond Ollela, in Orr, Minnesota.
Sulo, a woodcutter, worked at a sawmill. The family lived in a rustic cabin on the edge of a five-acre meadow backed up against a thick forest of birch and pine. Brown-eyed susans and lupine flowers filled the meadows.
Entering my aunt’s cabin was like stepping into a home of the Minnesota pioneers. The cabin had three rooms framed with rough-cut timber: a kitchen that doubled as a dining room and two bedrooms. Warmed by a wood stove in the middle of the kitchen, it had no electricity, no phone, no radio, and no indoor plumbing. Oddly-shaped lamps with a sweet, oily odor produced good light for reading.
That summer, wild howling right outside my window, startled me awake. Sulo came in to reassure me:
“Grey wolves— can’t hurt you—be gone by morning.” But, I remember he always made sure I was inside after sundown.
Sulo stood six feet tall, a powerful figure—a “woodcutter” with wide shoulders, checkered shirt, square jaw, and calloused hands. His speech: slow and deliberate. His voice: deep and woodsy, rumbling like coming up from the bottom of a barrel. After every dinner, I recall him saying to my aunt, “Good dinner, Mama,” and giving her a pat as he moved around the cabin.
Sulo used machinery at the sawmill but no power tools at the cabin, not even a motor for his boat. Ralph told me Sulo built the cabin with a friend from the sawmill using a six foot push-pull band saw, one man on each end of that enormous saw blade. A real muscle builder.
Raymond, my age, looked and acted like his father—strong, silent, good natured—a miniature woodcutter. All summer, we shared the same bedroom. Our conversations were brief and to the point. I’d ask a question and he’d answer it in short, clipped phrases. “What things you do in the summer?” I asked.
“Nothing much,” he said.
“Like to fish?”
“Yah.” And on it went.
Aunt Myrtle was dark-haired, brown-eyed, rosy cheeks, unflappable, with a sweet disposition. She had a tendency to give everyone, including the dog, a long, affectionate hug. Her English was musical, cheery, with heavy overtones of her Swedish accent. At that time, I never gave it much thought. To me, all Minnesota Swedes spoke like that.
Neither Sulo nor my aunt smoked or drank hard liquor. Coffee pot always on: they drank sweet, creamy coffee with spoonfuls of sugar and ate oatmeal cookies.
One night I woke up wet and embarrassed—I peed my bed. I thought my aunt would be mad. Speaking softly with that soothing accent, “Det är okej (That’s all right), Clarence, don’t ya worry, we’ll take care of that,” she said.
We removed the soiled sheets and carried them outside. I noticed she had large hands for a woman, white, shiny, cracked from detergent and muscled forearms from lifting heavy buckets.
Re-entering the cabin, she placed a large pot of water on her wood stove and, after it boiled, carried it outside to another large, round-shaped wash basin located near their woodshed, added some strong-smelling powdered soap to the bucket, and placed the sheets into the wash basin. After soaking the sheets in the hot, soapy water, she placed the sheets across a scrub-board and, while softly humming a song, went about scrubbing. I saw a pleasant and contented soul, with few of the luxuries of city life ... far out in the north woods of Orr, Minnesota.
Some might think my aunt Myrtle, a handsome woman with a habit of writing short notes with a stubby pencil, led a life of hardship; that she had given up living in the city with its luxuries and excitement; that she had chosen to marry a dull, poorly educated guy.
Don’t feel sorry for my Aunt Myrtle. She had a family who loved her. She lived on the edge of a beautiful meadow. The air was fresh, no pollution, no crime, no bills to pay. The neighbors were pleasant, although some distance away. Less than fifty yards from their cabin was a dark pond about the size of two football fields filled with fish. She had a cow that produced fresh milk, fifty chickens for fresh eggs and fried chicken whenever she wanted, and patches of wild strawberries, raspberries and blackberries.
My aunt also had a shadow. A friendly dog they called Sunny that looked like a mix between a wolf and a black bear that followed her around all day.
One Saturday morning as a buttercup yellow stream of sunlight pierced the pane of our bedroom window, Sulo opened the door carrying some long, bamboo fishing poles. “Boys wantah fish?”
“Whoopie!” I yelled and Raymond smiled. Sulo handed each of us one of the poles. My pole felt light and I liked rubbing my hands over the knobby joints where bamboo shoots once grew.
He handed us an empty coffee can. “Here, get us some worms.” We found two dozen large, wiggly, pink worms. Sulo dropped them in a green metal container that had small holes punched in the top. After a breakfast of eggs, sausage, freshly-baked bread, and milk, we grabbed our poles, bait, fishing gear, water, and chicken sandwiches my aunt made, and piled into the rowboat.
Sulo kept his boat tied to a pine tree on the edge of the pond. With Raymond and me each straining at one of the oars, we headed out. There was nobody else on the pond. It was deep and calm, a clean, bluish-green color.
Sulo waved us over to a spot fifty yards from shore, where we dropped anchor, baited our hooks, attached our bobbers, and dropped them in the water.
Within ten minutes I felt a pull on my line and saw my plastic bobber disappear from the surface. I yanked my pole upward, feeling a strong, squirming draw on my line. Pulling my line backward and lifting my pole, I maneuvered a wiggling, thrashing, and lively four-pound sunfish into our boat. It had marvelous scales of green, blue, silver, and yellow. Sulo placed it on a stringer and I re-baited my hook. Fishing for five hours, we caught twenty fish, mostly bass and sunfish.
On the way in to shore, crows rose in squadrons above the pines and trailed in long black lines across a setting sun, as yellow as egg yoke.
Pouring out of the boat, excited and proud of our catch, we rushed to aunt Myrtle. “We got lots of fish,” I beamed. Raymond smiled. “They did gud,” Sulo said.
“My oh my, what we going to do with so many,” said aunt Myrtle laughing. I helped Sulo scale and gut out our catch. He seemed pleased and surprised. “Yoor dad teach you that?” he said, in his Finnish accent.
“Yeah,” I answered. “We eat lots of fish.”
I grew fond of my aunt that summer. I imagined she talked and acted like my mother. Like my mother, Swedish was her first language. She knew many Swedish songs and sang to Raymond and me, all the words to “Ridda Ridda Runka.” Late one evening, I caught her crying softly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Du ser så mycket ut som din mamma (You look so much like your mother) ... and I miss her,” she said, picking me up, holding me close to her bosom, and kissing my cheek as a river of tears rolled down her cheeks and flowed onto my face. I closed my eyes as she hugged me and thought of my mother.
This is what its like to be loved, I thought. I loved my Aunt Myrtle.
One Sunday, we all attended a “Country Picnic” held at one of the nearby lakes. Arranged by a local church group, each family contributed something to eat. Directing her question to Raymond and me, my aunt said, “Boys, what do you think I should make for the picnic?”
“Potato salad,” I yelled.
“What do you say Raymond?” she asked.
“I like potato salad, too,” Raymond replied.
“Then potato salad it is.”
My aunt prepared a large tub of potato salad for the picnic. It was a big hit—not one forkful remained by the end of the day. Besides the potato salad, I liked the roasted hot dogs, watermelon, Jell-O, and fresh lemonade.
The men played “horse-shoes,” they had a baseball game for both the kids and adults, and some kids flew kites. Raymond and I entered some running contests. As kids of different ages gathered at the starting line, a middle-aged man with thick, dark eyebrows and a sizable belly, rolled up Levis and suspenders, raised his straw hat above his head. “Go!” he yelled, quickly dropping the hat toward the ground.
And off we went. A long-legged teen-ager won the race, crossing the finish line with his hands held high and carrying the finish line string forward across his chest.
Late in the afternoon puffy, grey clouds the texture of cotton candy rose up, and it started to sprinkle. We draped shirts and newspaper over our heads. Laughing, we ducked for cover under trees and canvass awnings.
It was a great day and upon returning to the cabin, we all talked excitedly about the people we met and things we did. Throughout the summer, I enjoyed staying at my aunt Myrtle’s.
A rich, warm beauty enveloped my aunt’s place. It was quiet and peaceful. No one lectured me. No one yelled at me. There was little if any traffic. At the end of August, my aunt told me my dad would be picking me up the next morning. She told me she wanted me to come back the next summer. I promised I would.
That evening, I went down to the pond and looked out over the water. Dark shadows from nearby trees crept across the pond, the surface, as smooth as glass. The calmness was interrupted by the piercing, haunting call of our Minnesota state bird, the loon. I’ll never forget that sound. A sound of something wild, something primitive. A sound that curled the hairs on the back of my neck and caused me to shiver. This unmistakable call of the loon and the chilling howl of the wolf, were my Minnesota lullabies.
After my father picked me up, I never saw my aunt Myrtle again.
***
'Tis The Season
By
Cynthia Myers-Hanson
The holidays are a time to think of or spend time with your family. However, not everyone is fortunate enough to have their entire household alive to share the joys and wonderment of life. For others, those still living may have become a burden rather than a pleasure. These truths kept our club motivated to help those left behind or forgotten. It was the sappy side of us that made us visit a nursing home or look out for an orphan especially during holiday seasons.Around the second year of our club’s existence, we discovered how intricately involved our main chaperone was. As we discussed decorating a local nursing home, time restrictions of our members became apparent rapidly. “I’d like to help make decorations but I have soccer playoffs every day of the weekend and tons of homework on weekdays,” Nicole stated.“Me, too!” Joy added. Since they played for the same soccer club, their soccer schedules usually followed each other.“I have a big swim meet coming up,” Ann added.“Yeah, cause I have extra gymnastics practice for a meet coming up,” Jane giggled.“Why don’t we just buy decorations,” Mia suggested.“Maybe, we should put off decorating,” Tina stated.I felt as if Tina never really wanted to participate. She seemed to take every liberty to find a way to stop a project. My way of dealing with that was to simply ignore her when she took the floor at our meetings.“How about if Kate, Mia, and I make all the decorations? Then, we can just choose a Saturday or Sunday that is good for everyone’s schedule. You guys would only have to help us tape up what we made.”“How many decorations do we need?” Nicole asked. “There are seventy-two doors or patient’s rooms on the first and second floor,” My mother assisted our planning. “I can call your mothers to verify schedules and set a time with the nursing home officials that most of you are available. Actually, taping up pictures never takes that long.” My mother was very reassuring at all these meetings.Within days our chief chaperone had purchased two sketchpads. On each sheet she drew pictures similar to coloring books. There were pumpkins, horns of plenty, pilgrim men, pilgrim women, Indians, turkeys, and any other Thanksgiving objects that could easily be placed on an eight by eleven white sheet of paper. While we were at school, she calculated that if the eight of us colored ten of her creations each we’d have plenty of pictures to accomplish our goal. Each club member thanked my mother for her efforts while taking their allotment of colorless pictures. Some were impressed by her secret talent. I was in awe of her attachment to our goals. She never seemed to tire of our demands unless she had a headache.As we entered the wards, we were escorted by Mia and Ann’s mother, Carol. Their mom had once worked at a nursing home and had a soft spot in her heart for the residents. Our other escort was our ninth member, my mom. On the dementia ward, many patients ambled behind or wandered near us Sometimes, it was hard to tell if they wanted to be our companions or were just mildly curious of our presence. They had very fragile memories. Maybe, we reminded them of someone else that they used to enjoy conversations with. Possibly, they were so lost in their own thoughts that even though they still existed to us; we didn’t exist to them. As we entered the wards, we were escorted by Mia and Ann’s mother, Carol. Their mom had once worked at a nursing home and had a soft spot in her heart for the residents. Our other escort was our ninth member, my mom. On the dementia ward, many patients ambled behind or wandered near us. Sometimes, it was hard to tell if they wanted to be our companions or were just mildly curious of our presence. They had very fragile memories. Maybe, we reminded them of someone else that they used to enjoy conversations with. Possibly, they were so lost in their own thoughts that even though they still existed to us; we didn’t exist to them. As we entered the wards, we were escorted by Mia and Ann’s mother, Carol. Their mom had once worked at a nursing home and had a soft spot in her heart for the residents. Our other escort was our ninth member, my mom. On the dementia ward, many patients ambled behind or wandered near us. Sometimes, it was hard to tell if they wanted to be our companions or were just mildly curious of our presence. They had very fragile memories. Maybe, we reminded them of someone else that they used to enjoy conversations with. Possibly, they were so lost in their own thoughts that even though they still existed to us; we didn’t exist to them. Meanwhile, our adult leader had a tendency to stand at the nurse’s station explaining our club’s goals. On this day, she was joined by a woman that must have been a swim coach in her past life. The life before this nursing home that is. “Come on, hurry up!” This patient prodded my mom. “You’ll be late. The rest of the team is ready. The water is not that cold!”“Go swimming!” My mother announced.“Yes, the team is waiting. Jump in the water! It’s not that cold, today!” The ex-coach continued.At some point, we all gathered around. “I take swimming,” Ann bragged to the patient. “Are you an instructor?”“Yes, now, hurry along. The team needs you to win the race. Jump in the water over there, dear,” Her rambling continued as Ann conversed with her. It was as if we entered her world or tried to drag her back into ours. Many of us giggled but most encouraged this woman to show us where her pond was.Then, Carol added her thoughts to the conversation, “Your hair is lovely.” She spoke to this woman drawing her back to reality. “Who did this sweet pony tail in your hair?”The rambling woman pointed directly at my mother and blurted out,” She did! She fixed my hair.” At which, our ninth member, the closet artist, winked and smirked simultaneously.“It is gorgeous!” Carol kept the conversation in the present even if this patient was out of touch with reality. “Did you used to be a swim team coach?”“Used to! My dear, I am your coach! Now, go get over with the rest of the team. The races will begin, soon,” She reprimanded our chaperone.With the attention span of less than an infant, our coach was gone. She meandered closer to the lake that only she could see. We went about our business of decoration for Thanksgiving.On the next ward, we met more able-bodied patients. They were on this floor due to hip injuries and similar events. However, some were verging on dementia as well; I am guessing. As we exited the elevators arriving at their hallways, a crowd gathered quickly. “Okay, the bus is here!” A very loud, overweight granny announced. “Hurry, we are going to miss going to the mall if we don’t leave, now!”We searched for the bus driver or a nurse. The staff was cleaning up after lunch so it took a minute to find someone without gray hair or baldness to speak to us. The whole time we were searching for the people in charge, we heard, “The bus driver has arrived. Get ready quickly. We are going shopping.”It would have been hilarious except that there was some truth in the chaos. First, this ward did have privileges and take excursions. Second, they were waiting for a bus, and its driver. Thus, their thoughts that my mother or Carol was the expected driver had validity. Since we had just left the dementia ward, we chuckled and began to decorate.Soon a crowd of gray-topped women was escorting us from room to room. They were telling us very clearly their expectations for their day. A nurse stopped us, “These patients are assisted living types. They have more privileges. The truth is they are on their way to the mall in a nursing home van soon.” All our faces, even my mother’s and Carol’s, turned red.“I am the bus driver!” The original patient argued aloud.“You are?” My mother questioned.“Well, I used to be. For twenty years I drove school buses and field trips. I can still drive,” She boasted. “Yes, I am the bus driver!”“The driver for today?” Carol inquired.“No, but I could be!” The woman retorted. “Wait a second let me go find a teacher and see if I am on the schedule to do this field trip.” As quickly as she spoke, she took off to an office door. My mother gave a knowing look to Carol. Obviously, this woman was not completely ready for the ward upstairs. Evidently, her mind was heading that direction. To us, she was comical. While the assemblage of patients greeting us grew, we came up with an idea. Why not take a picture for our scrapbook with some of these more coherent patients. They were delighted to pose. As my mother snapped the picture, their main questions to us were, “Do you know when the bus driver is picking us up?”“I am the bus driver!” Our new friend chattered back each time. Then, we heard, “Smile!” It was easy to smile because a smile is just laughter you can’t hear. We were all giggling about the woman who wanted to get the show on the road by driving the bus herself if she could.After finishing posing for pictures and placing our Thanksgiving pictures on the doors, we took off for our next project. We have a feeling the bus driver arrived soon after we left. If not, we were sure they’d find someone willing to take them to the mall.The holidays seem to make shopping imperative. Being girls, we enjoyed that event just as much as the nursing home women did. However, sometimes, our allowances were needed for more important things than just a new outfit to add to the other twenty- five in our closets. Our club was about to happen on one of those causes.Right before the holidays a year earlier, Joy found out that one of her friends had inherited two cousins. One of the boys was just two weeks old and the other was eighteen-month-old when their single mother died in her apartment of an epileptic seizure. These two miracles survived two days with their deceased mother before authorities found them. Their aunt’s family was not well to do but had inherited two cribs for the boys. However, just near Christmas, they needed real beds for these toddlers. Our neighborhood parents have a cookie swaps once a year during the holidays. The mothers go and exchange sweets while discussing us. We always wanted to be able to attend. This year the club came up with a reason to be invited to this party. We wanted to raffle items using the proceeds to buy at least one bed for these two boys. Nicole’s mother hosted and let us set up a table to sell tickets. There were donations of new jewelry and Christmas items to raffle. We charged a dollar a ticket. On our little table sat our flyer of community services completed and goals to finish this year. As one guest read the document, she handed us a five-dollar bill whispering to my mother, “What is their goal?”“At least one bed,” She responded.“Well, good luck. They probably won’t even raise enough for a mattress,” this woman added.“I’ve seen them sell one hundred and seventy one dollars worth of lemonade and still have over half the original gallon. I bet they can get this bed,” My mother defended. “Good luck,” The guest reiterated.“I believe in miracles,” Mom observed smugly. “ ‘Tis the season!”The next morning as we recounted the cash, it was our turn to gloat. We had raised one hundred-forty dollars for our orphans. Nicole and I had come up with the raffle idea and our pride filled us with joy.The telephone rang early; it was Laura, Nicole’s mother. “Hey, why don’t we go to estate sales, today? We could try to find a nice used bed for the girls to give this orphan,” She suggested to our only adult, permanent member to this club. Along with exhausting and futile searches, they checked the local paper. In the paper, there was an ad for twin beds. Laura made a call to the woman with this item. After hearing the story, the lady agreed to meet us and possibly sell us the bed for a bit less than the asking price of four hundred dollars.Laura made to appointment and took the directions to the self-storage facility. Unfortunately, Nicole’s mother was new to the area and from Brazil originally. Sometimes, these facts lead to communication difficulties. Unaware that we didn’t really know where this storage facility was located, the club members entered Nicole’s and my mother’s van.“Okay, I’ll follow you,” My mother yelled across to the other driver.After a few turns and some meandering, my mother became anxious. We were headed towards the migrant farmer area of town and away from storage facilities. A few more blocks and we’d be past the agricultural area landing in the middle of alligator pods and wilderness. Realizing there was a problem, my mother began signaling with her lights for Laura to stop. The others in that van must have realized we were lost because it didn’t take long for both vehicles to pull off the road to discuss the situation.“I don’t know. This facility should have been sooner,” Laura spoke in her heavy Brazilian accent.“I think we got a turn or two the wrong direction,” My mother agreed.“Well, she says turn right on Airport Road,” Laura read her scratch sheet of paper.“What is the name of the storage place?”“U-Store, I think.”“Hmm, I think I know where we wanted to be. Follow me!”Then without a clue to whether she was heading for the correct facility because this area was big enough for several storage places. Our main chaperone lead on a wing and a prayer. She pulled our car into the location that seemed correct but it had the wrong name. As Laura pulled into a parking slot nearby, our fearless leader jumped out of the car and ran over to her window, “This place has the wrong name but is the only one on this road. Are you sure you have the street name correct?”“Here, I have a telephone number. Maybe, we can call the owner,” Laura offered just as confused.My mom grabbed her cell phone from our car and dialed rapidly muttering, “She’s probably at the storage place and won’t even answer this call.” Then, someone answered and a conversation occurred, “I am at public storage facility on Airport Boulevard, am I at the right location?” After a few nods and frowns, our leader spoke aloud to us. “I think we are lost. The woman on the telephone was the mother of the seller. We’ll wait ten minutes before we give up. The lady says we are at the right spot, maybe.”It seemed like an eternity, “Let’s go. This lady isn’t late! We are at the wrong place!” Joy’s impatience revealed itself, again.Just as we all gave up hope, in came a car with a “Jesus is the magic” sticker. It was truly a miracle that we found one another because we arrived by reversing the scribbled directions, and she was held up in traffic. When she called home her mother told her we were at the wrong location. So, this Christian almost drove home but figured she’d drive by just in case her mother was incorrect.After a good chuckle, we started to bid on the twin beds. They were gorgeous oak and in fine shape. However, we only had one hundred-forty dollars, and it was weeks until Christmas. Thus, our allowances were all assigned to various gifts for our family.“I am sorry! I want to help your cause but these two beds that can be arranged as bunks are less than a year old. I paid a thousand dollars for them before I lost my job. The price of four hundred is already a sacrifice.”“Couldn’t you sacrifice a bit more?” Laura’s mom commanded instead of questioning. “These beds are for some orphans not for some rich family.”“They lost their mom to epilepsy and went to stay with their aunt who already had children to raise. She lost her job to care for her nephews,” Mom tugged on her heart.“Excuse us,” Laura pulled my mother aside. “These beds are too nice, and she has her own sad story. I don’t think she’ll give them to us for less. What should we do keep looking?”“Yes!” Then our leader noted, “The girls only have one hundred-forty. We can’t even meet her in the middle with a bid.”Wandering back over, my mother explained it to us all. At that, the stranger stopped our movement back to our vehicles, “I’ll let you have both beds for two hundred dollars but only if you can pick them up by tomorrow.”“Sold!” We all screamed as Laura and Mom flinched. The club was sixty dollars from reality. However, our leader knew that when we had a goal we’d usually surpass it so both adults remained silent or too stunned to speak. In either case, I called an emergency meeting to find sixty dollars in less than twenty-four hours.As we sat at our kitchen table, Stacey, my cousin and current sibling, overheard the plight of the two orphans. She was five years older than I was, so this sister usually stayed away from my activities. However, this project hit home for her. A few years before this Christmas and a short time before Jane lost her dad, Stacey buried her mother due to cancer and her dad because of suicide. After these four horrible weeks, my cousin came to our house permanently and became our older sister. Thus, she could empathize with the plight of orphans.Wandering back in sight, Stacey tossed ten dollars on the table. “Here, I want to help with my allowance.” She vanished as quickly as the money arrived to the table. “We can use our allowance. If we all gave ten dollars it would be more than enough,” I stated.The next day was rainy. Our leader had arranged for my dad to drive the beds to their new home using his pick up truck. She invited the recipients to meet us at the storage facility and guide us to their home. It poured and drenched all the earth around us as we loaded up the beds and covered them with traps, plastic, and raincoats. Then, we caravanned to their new location. In spite of the rain, the orphans received their Christmas gifts early.Our main adult sponsor has a letter from Jesus that her mother left behind on the day of her death. It talks about talking problems over with Jesus and letting him be your friend or guide. One line in the note says that He feels our emotions with us, and his tears are in the rain. Today, they are droplets of joy; I am sure.“Praise the Lord,” the new mother of the orphans, their Aunt Nora, gasped as she hugged each member in attendance and blew kisses to the rest. Then, she made her two toddler boys smooch each girl and with a loud voice say, “Thank-you!” Before we left, my mother bent over to say good-bye to the boys. The oldest one leaped into her arms hugging her wildly. Our mentor threw her head back laughing. Then, she talked quietly into his ear,Before we left, my mother bent over to say good-bye to the boys. The oldest one leaped into her arms hugging her wildly. Our mentor threw her head back laughing. Then, she talked quietly into his ear, “You are so sweet.”At his young age, he seemed brilliant as he told her loudly, “I see the angels! Right there!”“Where?” My mother giggled not mockingly but just because she was taken off guard.Nora chimed in, “This one is so special!” She grabbed his arm and said, “He sees the angels that took care of his brother and him. I believe him.” She gave the child a peck on the cheek. Then, he made his eyes stay open by using his fingers saying, “When mommy was like this,” the unspoken word was dead, “the angels told me what to do for my brother.”“The angels were with you,” Nora sang hugging the youngest child. “They helped you find food to feed your brother and yourself.”“Yes, I found the cereal. I couldn’t do the diaper.”“That’s okay because your brother was clean at the hospital.”“Yes, the angels helped him.” This youngster jumped from my mother’s arms taking his brother by the hand. They ran off to jump on his newly installed bed. We followed except for Nora and our mentor.“It took two days for the neighbors to realize something was wrong. My sister was dead just after coming home because the baby was still strapped in his car seat. My sister must have gone for her medicine but didn’t make it. The medicine was lying next to her.”“Wow!” My mom listened as I lurked in earshot.“When the neighbors realized that my sister had not been seen in days and the baby was crying too much, they went to her door. It was locked but that little boy,” Nora recounted the incident while pointing towards the bunk beds, “called out, ‘My mom is sleeping too long!’ ”“Sad!” My mom tried to imagine the scene. I did, too.“That boy was only eighteen months old, and he was really being instructed by his angels to know what to say. They put another older child trough an open window. She went into my sister’s apartment unlocking the door for the police and her parents. They found the boys. The oldest was trying to wake his mom up to talk to them.” She mimicked him poking her face to wake her up. “Like that!”“Awe, were they okay? I mean I know the boys lived but were they okay at that point? Was the little girl that opened the door traumatized?”“All the children saw the angels according to her mother. That kept the girl okay,” Nora told her newest children’s story. “They took these guys to the hospital and not one diaper rash out of either of them. Not one bruise or harmful mark! No sign of dehydration or malnutrition! The oldest said it was because of the angels. I believe him.”Goose bumps took over my skin as I believed this story, too. “It makes sense. To last two days unharmed, there must have been angels with them.”“To this day, anyone that helps these boys is blessed. You all are very blessed," Nora added.“Yes, we were to get these beds for you!” My mom gloated.“No, I mean you are blessed forever by these children’s angels.”After that, the oldest boy emerged from his bedroom and leaped back up into my mother’s arms. “Thank-you!” He hugged her. “Did you see them? The angels are here!”My mom nodded and smiled at him.“This one is very leery of strangers, but he loves you," Nora explained. “It is because you are close to his angels. All of you are! God bless you!” The little boy’s sentences were so eloquent for his age that he captured our imagination. His new mother was so sure about the angels that none of us left doubting their miracle story.To the neighbor that played doubting Tom, my mother’s heart winked as she said, “I believe in miracles!” However, sometimes, you have to help God accomplish them instead of just praying and then waiting.
Today, I’m offering an eBook copy of ‘the S.H.E Anthology’ to anyone reading this story. Use the link provided: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/278511 The promotional price will come up as $ 0.00 once you place the coupon code SZ68X in the box on that site’s ordering page. This coupon expires on February 14, 2013 – the day of love. Please, leave favorable reviews if you freely download this book. Plus, feel free to share the eBook data. WE hope you’ll love ‘the S.H.E Anthology’ enough to buy copies of this book in paperback format for others to enjoy or- at least- leave a review.
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the S.H.E Anthology is in color format @
So, come on buy to be inspired and help grieving children. It’s a ‘WIN WIN.’
A copy of this anthology went to Newton’s public library as well.
***
Meat Me In East St Louis
By
Jon Garfield
After charging 100 mph up and down mountain express ways through the Ozarks with one dad, one dog, our luggage and an eight foot pickup truck bed full of parts (including an entire transmission, a pair of cylinder heads) and not to mention the last 1996 Firebird Formula Trans Am Firehawk Comp T/A assembled, all in tow, it seemed the worst was behind us. The look on the faces of other drivers as we passed each one of them was priceless. Especially if they were hogging the left hand passing lane and we went by on the right. Nothing like roaring past an overloaded minivan, sagging down in the rear from too much luggage and people that didn't know when to say when to instant gratification or type 2 diabetes. Admittedly, it's one thing to see a 1970 "Kermit the Frog Green" GMC C20 going triple digits, but when it goes by you at a high rate of speed, with another car on a trailer, I suppose a few lesser hardened sphincters might wince a bit. Sweating from the posterior could be and should be considered a problem is what I am saying. If you don't like the idea of this in broad daylight, then forget climbing on board with a real long hauler.
I always tow at night for a few reasons:
One: traffic is much lighter, which mean less probability of dealing with idiots on the road around my prized silver steed. Not to mention what was then my mean looking GMC I lovingly named after it's color and the attitude it brought out of some drivers. "The Green B-word." It rhymes with "twitch" for a clue to the last word.
Two: it was much cooler at night. The heat in the desert is not good on a transmission or anything else while towing- especially when I had not yet installed the external cooling unit.
Third: I like listening to AM radio and have always been a bit of a so called night-owl. AM comes in better at night, or at least it used to. Honestly, I have no idea how much there is to listen to on it these days and where I live, most stations are long gone. I miss the days of falling asleep to a good radio show. Maybe because part of my childhood didn't include a color tv let alone one in every room like today? I didn't even have more then a digital (hey, it was a big deal to me) clock radio in my own room until I bought a boom box with birthday money (or some "entitlement" like that). This was not until I was probably 11-12 years old. Already digressing, the point is I miss the way news came out with well spoken, often over punctuated words and the same for sporting events and just what ever was being discussed of interest. Some of the shows even had and still have a decent "creep factor" full of paranormal pseudoscience for the paranoid and lovers of crazed or geeked out assumptions. Which is also perfect for someone who maybe finds all sorts of information and especially Banana City type human behavior to be endlessly fascinating entertainment.
This particular trip was unusual because it was not just my road dog Shomer ( Show-meir: he's a purely inbred "American White Shepherd"), and not even a close friend, but my dad along for the first time while towing and literally burning the midnight oil; or in this case the highest test gasoline we could find or inject with additives to keep the 400+ horse power small block from making any combustion process out of character to it's tune. Dad is into cars, but not what I would call a real "gear head." He's more of a "car guy." He worked for "factory" companies as we aftermarket guys would refer to them. We make fun because we would modify existing parts beyond any factory tolerances, and purchase or produce much better replacement parts for a fraction of the cost of a so called well engineered factory item. This is also done all over by companies producing in much lower volumes. Don't worry, this isn't a lesson in business- I won't put you to sleep with it.
It started in the parking lot of one of the worst kept apartment complexes in the country, one of the worst run towns in the country: Tucson, AZ. By now, dad had been taught, repeatedly, by more then one person, how to watch the nose of the car as I slowly crept it up onto the trailer. "Your OK, Your OK" is all he said as he stared at apparently nothing. I came to a stop as the nose of the car made contact with the ramps. The boards were not in the right position to raise it up enough, which of course you should know if you say, ever judged a show car let alone headed a field of judges like he has. So much for that eye for detail I had beaten into me. He was also repeatedly questioning everything I had repaired or modified- meanwhile it had been decades since he had any experience what so ever in the matter of towing, or building vehicles with his bare hands, if he ever had. I'm not sure if he ever towed anything in his life. Note to the wise: Nit picking someone's pride and joy is not a good way to earn your way back into their graces after a life time of neglect and abuse. Just something to soak in for the more pampered eyes and virginal ears. Life is not a joy ride people, unless you are one of those real privileged types with "small" businesses you started all by your loan-sum.
After we went about 100 miles or so, he noticed that I was still getting 13-15 miles a gallon, with no overdrive, pulling about 4000+ lbs. He then started to ask questions, and better yet, he started to listen. I taught him about head and intake match-porting, volumetric efficiency, and even the tire size chosen for the gear ratios, including the final drive being a 4.10:1; which for those who might not understand is very tall and can cause high revolutions of the engine internals at higher rates of speed. Normally that truck would get about 19 mpg at 75-80 mph, which is very good considering the power, weight and gearing. Modern trucks barely do better then this now with 6 speed automatic transmissions, and a bit less hp still, not to mention the GMC had a whole lot more torque.
I followed the weather information to a tee. Not one drop of rain hit us while we drove, and I was able to cover the car on the trailer at night. It's not really good to tow with your vehicle covered, especially with the cover I have due to wind and wanting to keep the paint shiny. We made it across almost 5 states with not so much as a rush to find a rest area. Hey, shit really does happen and you better realize not all rest areas have a place to have it happen. Some are also 100+ miles apart with not so much as a drainage ditch or tall weed to hide behind.
Finally we made it out of the Ozarks and the nerve racking hills with only a few curves left to go through. After that we would be out of the St Louis and East St Louis area. Then we would be into Illinois where it became boring and flat which just happens to be perfect geography for towing (even if the roads are a in bad shape there). But not so fast. As we came within a mile to getting of I-40, a 4th generation V6 Camaro came up on us at a very high rate of speed, and then passed us in the left lane with no incident as I was in the right. But, I needed to get over to exit. "No biggie" I thought to myself, "only one nut at 3 am in the morning is nothing to complain about." Then I saw the other pair of headlights come barreling towards us.
These were dim, round, old style lights on a wide, long car. Something from the 60s or 70s. Something heavy, with bad handling, terrible brakes, and all of us in it and it's driver's pathway. I had already moved back into the left lane to exit, but dad was panicking, and panicking me. "Get over get back over." I tried like an idiot, but this person was coming too fast for their own good. Who ever it was didn't pay attention to my signal, or movement, or anything it seemed for that matter other then the object of his or her desire. Darting from one lane to the other realizing far too late we were in the way.
The antics took the car, and driver, from the left lane, to the right, and back again. As this happened he locked up all four brakes and tires and came skidding, slightly sideways, towards the trailer which of course was attached to the GMC which we were occupying. I sped up as fast as I could without going off the road myself. I seemed certain that the driver would steam right on into us, but then the front tires suddenly bit into the pavement and the car made an extremely abrupt right turn into the cement barrier. At a rate of speed fast enough to pop an entire body out through the windshield, like a big sack of dough, lifeless onto the hood of the car. There was literally no where to stop on this raised expressway or the off ramp but I was already trying to dial 911. My whole body shaking. My dad was a bit disconnected and didn't seem to understand what had happened. I explained in short that a human being mostly likely just died and we just witnessed it. Maybe had we stayed in the left lane he would have only flipped over, but I don't think the car would have stayed on the road at that speed and was no match in the corners for the much newer car, and who ever the now limp driver was chasing. I drove down the off ramp, and we drained out into a more run down then usual part of East St Louis, which has no nice parts that I know of.
We were in a small dark parking lot, but I thought maybe if I pulled into the well lit church parking lot which could be seen from where we were, that it would be a safe place to call the police. Keep in mind, this was about 3 am, and as luck would have it, it turns out apparently there is no moral ground. One fella there of slightly better character then most watched out for us as we explained what happened and waited for the police to return our 911 call. During this call we were told to get the vehicle back on the road, in other words out of the neighborhood we were in. I asked if I was needed as a witness, and they said they would contact me if so. Strange to me that no one ever did. Then others started waltzing over our way to which our compatriot then pointed out: we had better go as soon as possible, we were attracting too much attention. I didn't argue because I am not that into debate. The police took the report, in detail, and we got back onto the road. But as soon as I was somewhere better lit, I pulled off again and just sat there, shaking like a leaf. It had only been about a year since I was rear ended in a heavy car wreck and my body was already failing me. Enough death and destruction for a life time. I suddenly didn't care what so called life style these people had, or lack of one for that matter. I was sorry to see one wasted over what was probably something not worth it. I came to the realization of possibly witnessing the moment and events of someone's very lone and apathetic death on the hood of car. Makes one appreciate being alive a bit more knowing it can all be gone in split moment.
***
Giving ME the Business
AKA Are You an Idiot?
By
Cynthia Myers-Hanson
Surreal Meal
One time, our waitress quit just as we sat down at her station. Later, while taking our order, her manager assured us it was nothing we did; the trouble started long before we arrived. That wasn’t the weirdest restaurant story in my life. Once, at a very busy place, the following happened.
We waited an eternity or shorter period of time as staff breezed past us without acknowledging our presence. “I do not think that waitress is ever going to take our order. Let’s leave!” Cathy spoke up.
Dianna waved the direction of the hostess that seated us. “Excuse me!” She hollered as loud as the cranes outside. “Are you our waitress?”
“I could be,” She mysteriously smiled.
“Can you come take our order, then?” Cathy prodded.
About then, a lady emerged from the kitchen. I recognized her as a waitress that spent her time taking orders from patrons on the wraparound outside porch where tables, also, serviced guests. She had three plates on her arms. Placing food in front of us, she abruptly exited to the kitchen. She returned with our drinks as Dianna mentioned, “Good thing I wanted this stuff for breakfast because I do not recall anyone taking our order!”
“Strange!” Cathy agreed. “But, it is what I was going to order.”
They played with their forks almost afraid to place a bite in their mouths. Then, our waitress spoke up, “I took your order while you were chatting. This place is so busy and our other girl called in sick. To save time, I placed your order when I took theirs,” She pointed at a couple behind us.
“Oh! Okay!” Dianna responded half convinced.
“What if we didn’t tell each other what we really wanted? What if you overheard the wrong thing?” Cathy expressed our thoughts.
“Is the order wrong in any way?” The lady debated her.
“I guess it is okay,” Dianna conceded.
“I am hungry,” Cathy changed her tune.
A few minutes passed, and they managed to devour most of their meals without needing paramedics, I consumed my muffin and fruit plate. “Delicious,” Cathy responded while paying the bill to our hostess.
“Have a good day, ladies,” The woman that could be our waitress but wasn’t ended our stay at that café with those words.
Who Is Stupider?
One day, recently, I went to a brand new store; it opened days earlier. Thus, out-of-town management was still ‘in house’ lecturing staff by the front door. Finding my goods rather quickly, the cashier checked me out during that gathering. While standing there in the middle of the employees, I noticed their main guy showing off the ‘state of art’ hidden cameras; he explained how they match face to Driver’s License pictures. He bragged that the placement of the spy equipment was scientifically done. He practically advertised their locations to more than his colleagues.
Meanwhile, my household goods were heavy items and my bad shoulder caused me to decide to take the cart to my car. I attempted to avoid the camera above me. While exiting, I wasn’t looking up. Plus, I was thinking he was so stupid to have pointed out the ‘eye spy you shoplifting’ device; he told the world or current customers how to avoid face recognition!
As I’m outwitting his equipment in my mind, my eyes failed to register that my cart had a pole that kept it in the store. Clothing, shoes, and more commonly purchased items are lightweight, so most people don't need that item once they finish at the cash register. Keeping the carts in-house cuts down on lost revenue- right?
As a result of my failure to view my full surroundings, I rammed the pole right below the exit’s hidden camera, and it captured my mug shot. I’m sure my startled appearance and my mistake looked stupider than his bragging seemed. My profile may even match my Driver's License picture. In other words, who looks stupid, now?
Old Boys
In the olden days, in the 1980, women were not taken seriously in certain roles especially in the ‘Good Ole Boys’ arena. Computer programming and telephony were not used to women with math and logic skills. Being one of the unexpected few females to join a company, I quite often got referred to as the secretary of the group especially in the beginning. After building a new protocol against all odds, the guys in my group all got raises. I was told by a ‘very old,’ ‘upper management’ type that I didn’t get the same salary boost because I was not the ‘bread winner.’
After consulting a lawyer and my husband, I did NOT sue the company because of personal reasons. In a different division of that same corporation, my husband was a fast riser making management in record time. Thus, my spouse wrote and filed my resignation while telling me his position would limit mine even further. My close male colleagues told me they were shopping other jobs in better companies due to the way I was treated. That information was secret. Even as I did my last two weeks training them, I knew they would NOT be taking my position in our group. As I walked out my highest boss, the biggest jerk of them all, asked if I had fully trained my staff. Looking him in the eye with a poker face, I answered, “YES!”
A few months later, we went to an upper level celebration. Two bosses finally summoned the nerve to ask me if I knew this guy, that fellow, and the other one just quit. One even asked, “Did you know the guys you spent your last weeks training had no intention of doing your job after you were gone?”
Dropping my poker face, I stood up from my seat. Waving my hand towards them in a stay calm nature, I turned my back on those 'good ole boys.’ With a loud but excitedly happy voice, I raised one knee towards the arm on that same side then jerking those limbs towards one another, I slowly but merrily exclaimed, “YES!”
Yes, my peers knew what the company lost the day my raise was denied; I’d like to believe some bosses understood my position as well. I lived with one that did!
Work it Out
I wrote the original DOG book, which stands for digital office guide. Years after I left, they still employed and updated it.
One number of your area code or zip code can sometimes be contained in a byte of data in a computer. In some computers languages a byte is referred to as ‘short’ because it is a smaller piece of information or data. If it is a more complicated piece of information, it may require a larger storage unit sometimes called a ‘word’ or a ‘long.’ What is important to remember is you can store a ‘short’ in a ‘long’ but not the reverse without overflow or a potential program crash, error, or corruption. My programming partner had done that huge mistake and had messed up a whole bunch of data about people’s phone numbers. A week later, our boss asked me to take over his mess and figure out why we kept loosing data for billing telephone calls. An hour later, I reported the ‘long word’ was being stuffed into the ‘short byte.’ When my boss scratched his head asking if it was really that easy, I jested to break the tension of money lost that week, “Yeah, that’s about the long and short of it!”
I quit my programming job training my replacement. The very last day on the job, a computer system crashed. My boss, Bob, came rushing over to me and the other guy; he asked us to quickly fix the problem occurring in a live telephone switch. That manager was milking me all he could to get the site back up and running. I obliged after asking my colleague, “Is his name Bob or boob? Because, I could just as easily make this software worse then leave!” I didn’t sabotage the company but someone thought I might. After I left, another supervisor deleted large pieces of my last work. A year later, my husband gained that department, and he fired all the boobs in the very next layoff.
I had an office mate in the days when vomiting was colloquially stated as ‘to ralph.’ When my male companion suggested I do or say something to one of our office visitors, I’d joke “Don’t Make me, Ralph!”
When a problem in communication or telephony was being assessed as well as fixed, if their end of the wiring and data links were good, the guys always remarked, “Trouble left here fine!” While wiring a facility, I cut that cable three times but it was still too short! Guess what I said!
TThis story is expanded in the WORK IN PROGRESS to be released in the future as a paperback or Kindle entitled "WorksOut" @ AMAZON @ http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_5?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=mchanson714 or @ SMASHWORDS @ http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714
Follow the release dates and other writing by this author on her book site @ http://mchanson714.weebly.com/
***
The Educational System
and other Learning Curves
By
Cynthia Myers-Hanson
Not so- UNHAPPY
My Kindergarten aged daughter had homework; she expressed her desire to complete it with an adult’s help. My agnostic husband stepped in. I heard them from a nearby room. “Okay, it says here the happy face is yes. The sad face means No. Do you understand?”
“The smile means good and the frown means No,” She kind of got it. “We do it like that all the time,” My husband felt comfortable with her response.
“Okay,” He read her story to her; it was about Adam and Eve. Knowing he had fallen away from religion, I moved closer- in case they needed my guidance. “It says here to answer the questions yes meaning smiley face or no…”
“The frown,” Our daughter showed she’d been attentively listening.
“Adam and Eve ate the apple, yes or no?”
“What?” My daughter asked for clarification.
“Adam and Eve ate the apple is that right or wrong?”
“Unhappy face,” My daughter answered.
“No, honey,” His agitation began. “Did they eat the apple or not?”
“Yes!”
“Then, we color the happy face,” My husband explained.
“Nope, the frown!” His baby girl declared refusing to color the wrong face.
“I don’t know what your religion teacher is teaching but I remember that they ate the apple so you color yes or the happy face,” His anger came through his aggravated tone.
“No, I color the sad one because- daddy- it was a very unhappy day when Adam and Eve broke God’s rule and got thrown out of Paradise.”
“She’s right; the question structure was wrong,” I commented as my totally frustrated husband noticed my presence followed by my giggling.
“You can finish with her; she’s making me mad!”
I did. Eventually, that child started his conversion back to faith. Thank God for her innocence.
What You Already Know
A preschool teacher told my child’s class, “The door is red, the board is green, the sky is blue, and clouds are white.” She turned to my kid asking, “What color is the sky?”
My daughter stared at her- quizzically.
That teacher stopped me to explain the dumbfounded look and wondered if my daughter was slow or something. Once home, I asked my kid why she failed to answer the teacher. She remarked, “That lady already knows the answer so why was she asking me, which color it is?”
When the teacher heard that explanation, we both laughed about that bright observation, and she changed the way she questioned my child.
Will Work for Food
When my children were younger, I became a ‘stay at home mom.’ Having a degree in math and computer science, I volunteered at their school as a Math Superstars and computer mentor. That led to a substituting job. It’s hard to walk into a room full of kids glad to see the potential chaos or day off while their teacher is gone. I only took that babysitting job in the classrooms I knew for that reason.
One day, on my way into the Math Superstar’s quizzing session, I mentioned the buzz in the halls.
“Someone is blowing a whistle hard and often!”
The clinic person peeked her head out of her chamber, “That’s been going on all day!”
“Why?” I dared ask.
“You know subs. At the county offices, they train them to bring and blow a whistle whenever a kid is out of control.”
Having been through that training, I laughed, “They mean if you feel a life is in danger; they don’t say to use it to ‘cry wolf!’”
“You are headed her way!” The Vice Principal interjected. “Maybe, you can stop her because we have been ignoring her since lunch!”
“It’s one hour until the end of the school day!” I naively pointed out.
“We’ve decided to enter her room only if the whistling stops!” They all laughed as the principal added,
“Which means she’s really in trouble!”
I guess- after a day of hearing it- they were punchy. I walked down to that room to find the class clown flying through the rafters. The arrogant self-absorbed girl led a gossip group in a corner. Another group was clapping erasers well after they were clean. Their substitute looked red faced as she blew that whistle hard. It appeared she’d give up soon- including subbing.
Standing in the door, I glared at the girl’s first as one tried to appear on the outskirts of the controversy as she tapped the lead gossiper on the shoulder. They scurried to their seats. Enjoying a good laugh when appropriate, the clown and his audience came next. They found their cold seats. Aloud, I finally interrupted the clappers, “Those erasers are to be cleaned outside in case people have allergies- like me!” As they tried to comply, I blocked their path motioning to the board and then their seats.
“I’m so glad to see you,” The only one happy for this break spoke up.
“Obviously, that whistle is useless!” My wide smile greeted her frown.
Turning to the students, I sobered up, “How unfair of you to disrupt other classes all day!” Not skipping a beat, my words flowed, “Looks like we are all doing Math Superstars, today!”
“But, that is for the smart kids not us!” The clown tried to dissuade me.
I thought they were all pretty smart that day- smart a#$@s- that is! My response was, “I’ll keep it at grade level, today.”
When I became a teacher, weekly my reminder came, “If I’m ever out of the class and you have a substitute, you have two choices. A treat when I return based on great reports of your behavior or a pop quiz.” I spent a bundle on treats. Kids will work for food even if it is a granola bar or raisins.
Know You from Somewhere
In college, I had an instructor he asked, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?’
I answered, “In your dreams!” The class laughed; I mean, they roared.
A week later, he saw me at the local meat market; we were in line to buy lunch products such as ham and Swiss cheese. The next class, he made sure his students knew he wasn’t delusional. What a weird thing for a philosophy professor to worry about.
That Funny Math
Over the years, I learned to contain my inappropriate laughter and jesting. SOMETIMES! I can cause ill-timed laughter, too. One day, in college, my statistics teacher explained a clock resetting function done to keep the world on schedule, “They turn the clocks off for a few seconds to artificially reset the time.”
I brazenly asked him, “If the clocks are off, how do they know when those seconds have passed?” My fellow students chuckled- some quietly- others just as boldly as my comments.
That instructor gave me points for my astute observation! He also responded, “Touché!”
Need an Art Class?
One day, while driving past an arts and crafts store, I thought about my past talents. In my teens, I painted nature scenes. If I made a mistake, a bit of black and brown color hid my error behind a rock. I once created a secret garden or hidden oasis! In the center of that picture stood a mountainous stone with the occasional palm branch or other greenery poking out from the sides.
Many volcanic islands in the ocean took care of hiding everything from boats to cruise ship depictions. In fact, one of my masterpieces shows the Titanic with its life boats saving people. My painting reveals the true disaster of that ocean liner. It encountered black and brown boulders instead of an iceberg.
In other master pieces, as I created scenery- a gray, stormy sky hid less than angelic birds in flight. When the colors on the birds’ wings dripped and looked less than perfect, the Heavens changed from baby blue to darkness with an outpouring of hail as big as boulders camouflaging my errors.
Recalling my artsy side while passing the craft store, I completely blended in those rocks and boulders in my memory. After realizing my talents might not be painting, I switched my artistic endeavors to writing like Hemingway. Honing that skill was easier because I, already, cussed like a sailor each time I inserted a typo into text.
Grave Experience
As a teacher, I knew the administration’s rules had to be orally delivered to the class even if I thought some of them were bizarre. After a poorly conducted fire drill where the teens used the time to mingle and chat, we had some new rules to highlight. While reading that school wide e-mail, I explained it to my students. “That rule means that once we are down in the parking lot you MUST check in so I can take roll. If you do NOT make sure I see you face to face, then, I will have to write you a detention when we return to the classroom.” After a pause, I continued. “We do attendance while outside. If there was a catastrophic event, we know who got out of the building alive. In other words, we have ‘a clue’ what to tell your parents.”
“What if we died in the fire?” A smarty pants asked. “Do we still get a detention?”
“It says here, there are no exceptions. “ Winking, I knew that question was meant to be silly, “I guess I’d deliver the paperwork to your parents at your funeral. Delivering your detention paperwork to that ceremony would be a grave event!”
The kids that got the joke’s double meaning or that it would be not only sad but happen at the grave site laughed. Many of the teens had ‘no clue’ what any of this conversation meant; thus, that next fire drill included some detentions.
Field Trips
Each Friday, due to the distance between the cafeteria with adjacent teacher lounge and my class, if my students were good, I escorted them to that area early to beat the crowds. When it first started, I asked, “Who wants to take a field trip- right now?” Without question most of my ‘At Risk of Dropping Out of High School’ students wanted to do anything but study. Without worrying about anything, they packed up to leave the room.
Suddenly, on our way down the stairs, one girl protested that her mother had not signed a form to allow her to go. Laughing, I told her not to worry that we were not leaving campus. “We are going to lunch early!” She was relieved, and her classmates were just as happy.
One day, as we exited through the two story structure, my students spotted a girl skipping their class. They immediately surrounded her telling the proper administration employees to, “Get her!”
The girl that initially worried about our weekly excursions called out to a vice principal, “Her mama did NOT sign her field trip form!”
After her in school suspension, the skipper still chose two lunches instead of my class. Daydreaming at our window, some students spotted her in the atrium of our building. “Hey, she is taking an illegal field trip, again!”
I called the dean to send out security to trap her. He asked me to go get her and bring that student to him because security was busy with lunch duty. When the kids heard the administration was reluctant to help, they screamed, “Field trip!”
On that Wednesday, minutes before their lunch bell, we took yet another campus tour. The exit down the stairs was less orderly and very loud with chatter about helping me catch the cheater. We did. That year, those kids acquired knowledge of one thing if nothing else; they learned how to help their reading teacher.
Plus, they acknowledged that there were societal rules. As they matured, I bent those guidelines as their reward. The school administration required students work from bell to bell. I modified that idea. If they got their work done at a ‘B level’ or higher, they could use the last minutes of class enjoying life. If they turned in ‘A’ graded work, they earned a game day here and there. During one of those fun times, my students detected administration in the courtyard and headed our way. The class looked in disarray even though we had just finished a hard topic. That day, most of my class exhibited excellent behavior, so I allowed the low hum of conversations off topic as we awaited the bell.
A street thug and his pals noticed my boss arriving. Their leader grabbed a pile of newspapers quickly distributing them to his peers. When the whole class noticed the door open, even the ornery ones acted as if we were discussing what we just read in those papers. I responded to their sometimes unclear questions and thoughts as if I understood the topic they just pretended to read.
Clearly, the administrator did NOT notice the actual headlines because the lady commended me and my students on our very advanced discussions of current events- then, the bell rang ending our caper; those kids got extra field trips after that day!
More of My Ex-Students
Two of my previous students come to mind when I reminisce. Speedy Gonzales was a member of the class next door but he left that area often. As he evaded security on a nearly daily basis, he’d race through my front door and out the back. The short, Spanish boy took pride in outpacing the older men as well as being able to quickly crawl under their legs when necessary. Due to his hatred of his teacher and her similar feelings, speedy was transferred to my class.
Apparently, he told the dean that liked me. That explained his daily visits?
One girl lost her dad to street crimes. Her mother died of complications from diabetes. She lived with her mother’s mom until she passed away from old age. The girl went to live with her father’s mom. That lady expected her grandchild to succeed and get out of the poverty that took her parents too young. She believed her son should have stayed out of organized crime and her daughter-in-law should have learned better nutrition. The stately and well-dressed woman explained those expectations at a parent-student- teacher conference.
I did my best to focus the girl; that teen preferred to sing at the expense of her fellow students. One day, as I reprimanded her about her noise level, my words were, “Yes, you have a beautiful voice but this is silent reading time!” She told me that she had just about enough of me and if she ever saw me again it would be ‘too soon.’ I felt the same way by that point in the school year. The next two years, she returned to my class begging to be back with me. When she wrote her college essay, she brought it to me to proof read.
I guess she never learned the definition of ‘too soon!’
Exploring Language
When I began teaching, while in my forties, one day, I showed my ‘At Risk of Dropping Out of High School Kids’ just how silly their language and I could be interpreted. “When does hot mean cute, temperature, or mad? Think about it! English lends itself to humor in a way that stimulates us in a positive way as a culture! However, we have pages and pages of prefixed words in our dictionary that tell us NO! It’s no wonder we get weighed down.”
To make my point clearly, we did an exercise using the abridged dictionaries in our midst; I instructed them to count the number of pages with words that are negative especially those with ‘no’ indicated in their prefix or suffix. After the kids counted the pages with words that started with ‘ab,’ ‘il,’ ‘in,’ ‘un,’ ‘‘dis,’ and so on prefixes; someone called out the magic number or thirteen.
“How unlucky!” I continued, “While you know to ‘dis’ someone is bad, you probably didn’t realize how much negativity there is in your everyday language.”
I continued showing them ways that English is hard to learn and interpret if the person doesn’t find the full meaning in the written context or complete statement where that word arrives. “For example, if ‘dis’ means no, not, no longer and so on- then, when I say dismiss, do I mean no longer a single woman or the bell just rang so I dismiss you?” The bell had NOT truly indicated that the class could leave. In the time remaining, we came up with a short list of dual meaning words; it wasn’t exhaustive nor is all my silliness contained to this area.
Ever wondered why blast can mean explosion, which usually a horrible; or blast can indicate an activity is really fun as in ‘having a blast’?
Why do we say ‘heads up’ when we mean duck, look out, or hide?
And ‘get down’ can mean dance, fall to the ground, or become sad.
‘Free for all’ has multiple interpretations as well such as ruckus or FREE for everyone.
Though both things refer to physical action, ‘blow out’ changes its imagery between breathe or dislocate a joint.
I’d love to keep ‘eating good’ when that means yummy junk food but doctors are usually referring to healthy meals.
‘Hush puppy’ is a food or possibly something a dog is warned to do.
My French teacher heard, “Look out!” She raced to the door to do so!
Dingy is a boat or dumb but can it ever be a dumb boat?
The EPA advises us to water less because we are going waterless.
I hope when people tell me to ‘kick the bucket’ that they are referring to the use of my feet on a pail not that I’m looking so pale I may be eight feet under soon. In the same thought wave, ‘bought the farm’ can mean death or a place to breed new life after your purchase.
Consider the difference between one space change in a sentence and voice tone when the next two things are spoken. What’s that ahead in the road? What’s that a HEAD in the road?
Aftermath might mean the reaction to showing my parents my poor test scores after Math tests.
Rank means level in the military; and it means a foul smell in some cases. Or, both cases?
Something can be less than heavy or light; or I can shed some light on subject to help you understand my thoughts.
Plastered can mean drunk or the finish on a house.
Trails refers to paths and sidewalks or the person meandering behind a group of people. He trails.
A cherry picker could be a farmer’s worker doing their job. During a game, people refer to the player taking all the setup shots to victory as the team’s cherry picker By the way, the cherry picker gets some undue accolades; so the term is a slur about that player getting all the credit for their team’s work.
Cross walk usually means that pedestrians have a safe passageway through traffic; it could mean an angry style of walking.
I write fictions, anyone can, it’s easy! Fictions begin with an f and the end is an s in between comes the letters i-c-t-i-o-n.
You get the idea!
Follow the release dates and other writing by this author on her book site @ http://mchanson714.weebly.com/
This story is expanded in the SOON to be released paperback or Kindle entitled "My Warped Tours" @ AMAZON @ http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_5?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=mchanson714 or @ SMASHWORDS @ http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714
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Kids, Grandkids, & Parents--Part 3
Is it Truly Genetic?
By
Cynthis Myers-Hanson
Floundering as parent
We have vacation video of my reprimands to prove my levelheaded behavior as a mother. In fact, there is one tape of my children; they were nearly teens. On that tape, the kids are decked out in life vests because we were boating near the Gulf of Mexico. My husband allowed them to go overboard near a small island. In knee to ankle deep water, I required the vests remain on because a sign- just off camera- read, ‘Beware of Dangerous Rip Currents!’
In the film, you see the kids frolicking and splashing as I repeatedly and loudly warn; “Don’t go too deep!”
Later that trip, in other shots, we are happily riding tandem bikes. The biking was good except for one thing. I’m riding on the back of the two seats with my youngest. We pedal right in front of a Mack truck; he stops short; we don’t. Obviously, oblivious, my blonde kid and I kept riding while smiling as if nothing just happened. I don’t even remember the incident but it’s captured on tape. Both parts of that vacation footage make us roar with laughter! For better or worse, that film, also, shows my mothering skills!
Rolling with It
We went on a jet ski outing for Mother’s Day. It felt more like a Father’s day activity but I rarely speak my mind because I chose my battles. My idea of fun is a nice restaurant but I didn’t plan my festivities.
My spouse just purchased our second jet ski; it was a three person, personal, watercraft vehicle. Evidently, it rode more stable than our two person one. No one told me that fact. ALSO, my other family members failed to warn me that our youngest had limited skills maneuvering the original vehicle; I rarely rode with anyone. When everyone wanted to go to the island, that required us doubling and tripling up.It should have been obvious when two of our children jumped on the three seat jet ski after the baby jumped on the two person one that I was in big trouble if I chose to ride with the sole kid. The alarm should have sounded when my husband suggested that he control our youngest. She kept suggesting, “Mommy, go with me!” My hubby had already stated aloud that if he joined her that he’d control the wheel. His tone and command made me wonder but I acquiesced and hopped on the Jet Ski with my baby; after all she was a pre-teen and aware of how to drive the thing. We all took and passed the boating course and test.
Halfway into our adventure, she thought she saw a snake, turtle, or alligator. Slamming on the brakes by releasing the gas, the unstable vehicle rolled completely around righting itself in the up position. Somehow, she managed to hold on remaining on the craft. Meanwhile, I launched like a human rocket landing beside someone’s baseball cap. Mystery of the floating object solved!
When the others caught up, my spouse laughed, “Are we having fun, yet?”“Well, this unexpected swim is quite refreshing. I’d say I’m having a dream come true this Mother’s Day!”Not understanding my sarcasm or fully understanding it, my baby added, “Oh! Happy Mother’s Day, mommy! I’m glad it was just someone’s lost hat that scared me into stopping.”
Not understanding my sarcasm or fully understanding it, my baby added, “Oh! Happy Mother’s Day, mommy! I’m glad it was just someone’s lost hat that scared me into stopping.” I chortled while still clearing water from my head, “Amazingly, my glasses stayed on; so I can see what creatures share this water with me!”
“We tried to warn you!” Another kid added, “She threw me in last week; I didn’t want any brain sucking amoeba water up in my nose, today.”
“Yeah, daddy tried to take your place and stop you from drowning!” We all broke into laughter as I mounted the original personal watercraft jet ski as the driver this time.
In my lifetime, I roll with it quite often; maybe, I need to be a bit more cautious about things accepted in my world. That child did do one good thing for me that week-end. She submitted me as Mother of the Year for the local paper getting extremely mad that I only got an honorable mention. I was just glad to be alive!
Pearls of Wisdom?
When my youngest daughter was three, I bought my girls boring hats for the holidays; at least, mom must have thought that way. She grabbed the baby’s bonnet embellishing it with all kinds and colors of silk flowers. The hat reminded me of Minnie Pearl on the TV show ‘He Haw.’ It still had the price tag on it just like that whimsical hick would wear. There was no returning that fedora after the decorations were added.
To cap it off, mom made my youngest wear it with pride. Mom called people over to admire that Easter bonnet with all those frills up on it. She made us capture it in pictures as well. Due to her age, my little one posed bigheadedly but with innocence!
Later in life, I was on a cruise ship with wealthy clientele. On the formal night, being ready too soon for dinner and pictures, I roamed the ship looking for the photographer area to select past photos to purchase. Returning to my room, my hand brushed the price tags on my garments. I was an unsuspecting Minnie Pearl. Now, that’s embarrassing!
Technology & Mom
When I got my first pager, it was dialing or number activated, only. My mom thought it was just a portable answering machine. Instead of dialing her phone number after the tone, she'd talk to it. Then, my mom would complain that I didn’t return any of her calls.
Later models worked better for her. Pagers were more like portable answering machines! However, my mother was thoroughly delighted when cell phones arrived because there was no message to leave or wait time to speak with me!
Mom Wasn’t as Amused
Sometimes, after making mistakes, I pretend that nothing happened. The attempt is to blend into a crowd instead of sticking out like a sore thumb. For instance, many times, while wearing a light winter jacket that has extra-long sleeves, while in a public restroom, I get tons of water collecting down its sleeves. If the faucet flows too fast, there is so much liquid I can’t nonchalantly empty it before my blunder is discovered.
The very first time a coat made me look ridiculous, it was because I didn’t realize how much H2O accumulated, there. When I reached downward to get a paper towel, my jacket sleeves dropped its huge load to the floor. Acting cool, I trashed the place with paper while trying to clean up my mess as quickly as humanly possible. After succeeding, I turned to excuse myself smirking all the way to a church pew.
Those seats and kneelers were not strangers to my contained and hidden merriment or hysterical eruptions. Many times, I engaged in more obvious outbursts of laughter and inappropriate cheer. In my youth, mom always sat us front row and center; everyone got a clear view of our family’s actions. As a teen, we went to a thousand year old church; it was actually only a hundred plus. The pews wobbled, the kneelers felt as though they’d collapse if used too much more, and the whole place felt like a minor
earthquake about to happen.
One Sunday, my sister and I pushed off the kneeler at the same time. That rail with its hip height wall contraption semi-detached flipping forward; we sat down quickly to avoid the crash. Immediately, our seats rocked backward but didn’t topple on the parishioners behind us. We didn’t pretend that nothing happened. Instead, the two of us roared with laughter at our sudden, surprise landing. As was her church tradition, my mom pinched my sister and me to make us shut up.
Catholics like to do their physical exercises during the mass. We sit, stand, kneel, walk, and then do it- again! Each time a new position came up, my sister and I exchanged the ‘all-knowing look’ then giggled- unacceptably. We anticipated the pinch but chuckled louder each time the pew moved. This reverie went on for an hour. After mass, while leaving our aisle, mom lectured us about having too much fun at church! Why can’t that Sunday activity be fun?
Parent’s in Decisions
We only stayed a year in my uncle’s ‘neck of the woods.’ Many factors led us back to Florida. The first time it snowed, mom concluded that we needed to return south for the winter and year round; she spoke of the sign or omen within a raging tempest. That day turned out to be my comic relief.
The flurries started about lunchtime as people at the fast food restaurant made their observations based on history, “I believe this snowfall will turn into the blizzard of 19 and something!”
“I believe it is best to scurry home because the wife heard it has so much moisture it will dismantle trees and power poles.”
“The weatherman said we’re in for a major snow storm.”
In my native state- people used the phrase ‘I think’ to explain situations. That showed rationalization skills. What struck me when I first moved to this new area was an individual’s ability to believe, which showed their deep faith that things happened as they should being orchestrated above them in the Heavens even if their discussion was simply about a storm brewing. However, their beliefs set in facts evaded my mother and me as we left to our next task.
Having lived through major hurricanes such as Donna, mom and I convinced ourselves to move on to the bank before it closed. The building stood upon a windy hill on the backside of a major highway. That was the good news. We raced inside as the snow got a bit thicker. With cash in hand, we marched back through growing wind shear to the car.
“It’s like torrential rain hard to see through but I’ll just keep driving slowly to get us home!” My statement convinced mom to enter the vehicle and trust my maneuvers.
Ever since birth, my eyesight caused me to over react because things weren’t always in perspective. Living with irrational relatives, my family enhanced my ability to exaggerate making unwise decisions at times. As I matured, this happened less often. The first oncoming traffic my eyes met made me swerve a bit to avoid hitting them; my foot activated the brakes as well. They locked, and we slid backwards down an incline. My decision to hit the brakes may have come from my coordination problems with my eyes and correct distances but the snow flurries thickening helped blur the lines between necessary evasion and my overreaction.
As a result of becoming stuck roadside, my mother decided to get out of the car. She wanted to survey the damage and guide my next move. As a very young child, she watched her dad drive on icy roads. Her knowledge made her more the expert than my Florida Cracker knowledge. Although each day my independence grew, I allowed her to control this situation.
Looking in my rearview mirror, she waved me into a better position. Then, my mother slid and raced further downhill- unexpectedly. Parking the car in a nearby driveway, I exited and ran to her. While lifting her back to a standing position, my joke leaped from my mouth, “I say we sell everything and take a winter break up north!”
“Okay, but once it snows, let’s say we sell everything- again- and high tail it back to the marshland.”
“Like the swamp people we are!” My silly comment agreed while laughing until my side hurt. Luckily, no other permanent, physical damage occurred.
Not in the Cards
Our parents played cards every Saturday night. One time, I stood behind mom and joked, “10 K 2 A!”
My brother corrected me, “No, dummy! It’s AA KK Q J in mom’s hand!”
I looked at him with disdain responding, “I knew that! I was trying to help her bluff!”Needless to say, the adults started that deck over.
A Grandchild’s Simple Solution
I've been to Salt Spring in the Ocala Forest a few times. Once we stayed in a nearby village in a permanent trailer; we were with a group of friends fresh out of college. That trip I learned that dumping alcohol on a fire pit may cause forest fires; luckily, not that time! We didn’t hang out with that group much after that week-end.
The second time I stayed in the region, a family feud with my sister-in-law was just one of the bad experiences. I opted to take one of my young daughters and leave even though it was after dark. On the way home, we almost hit a black bear or very big dog.
There was no cell phone service. When I took a wrong left turn out of the Ocala Preserve, I was not out of the woods. However, even while lost, one thing I knew for sure was geography and Florida. I assured my kid, “Eventually, we’ll hit an ocean or Georgia. However, if I drive too many hours without an ocean breeze, I'll stop at one of those bars to ask for directions!”
All we saw for miles- besides the forest- was pasture and the occasional home set further back than the local beer outposts. It was night; I had no intention of bar hopping or any stop option. Instead I drove until we finally found our way out of the woods. The trauma of being lost in the dark was now in my rearview mirror; we made it home!
They say three is a charm - but is it lucky or not?
Recently, my husband went camping with his step dad to Salt Springs in the Ocala Forest region. In the daylight, I figured I could take the granddaughter there for the day. I knew they’d have fun fishing in the river. Due to it being spring weather, they might even swim the boil of that spring.
All the way there, I told the three year old- MISS Chatterbox- that I need to read directions at red lights and memorize them to remember where to go next. She replied, “There's cows grandma; remember there is a horse right, there. You can do it grandma! You can do it! You can get us to swim with grandpa!”
An hour into the 1 1/2 hour drive, she spoke out, again. “Grandma this is boring!”
When we got there, she played, fished for minnows in grandpa’s bait bucket; she used his net. They swam. We had a bon fire with marshmallows.
When we left for home, grandpa explained EASIER directions home; I memorized his idea. He left out one turn. Years later, there was still no cell service in the Ocala Forest area, and I was LOST. When I grumbled about no phone service, the grandbaby offered, “If your pink phone doesn’t work, maybe, you can get a green or blue one. A red one might work!”
I finally got phone service calling my grown daughter; years ago, at night, she was lost with me on that same road. We laughed-then- she called her other sister. I pulled over to keep the cell tower as she got her sibling to MapQuest my location based on the signs I’d read and things I noticed around me- other than forest, pasture, sparely located homes, and local watering holes (bars). The moral of my story follows. “In the future, use MapQuest instead of my hubby's memory; he may leave out one very vital turn! You know how men are with directions!”
Smarty Pants
After babysitting our preschool aged grandkids, before we left for home, my husband and I took turns saying goodbye to the oldest child. She busied herself in the den also known as their toy room. I went in to find the five year old sorting books. She mumbled, ‘Lame and not lame,’ as she tossed titles into various piles.
“What are you doing?” I asked for clarification.
“I’m putting these books in piles. These are the lame ones; this pile is the not lame ones.” I watched as she concentrated on her task. She very smartly tossed one non-fiction into a pile loudly declaring her intention, “LAME!” The book was entitled Skinny Bitch. Smart Chick!
By time grandpa arrived, she was in a frenzy sorting those paperbacks and hardcovers. When he asked for a hug, she responded, “Not in the mood!” Smart Allec?
100% Genetic?
My dad used to punctuate a problem with a phrase: For crying out loud- why did you let so and so do that? For crying out loud- what possessed you? For crying out loud- why does this always happen to me (you or them)? For crying out loud- you get the picture?
Sometimes, his utterances were funnier. One day, he walked into the local bakery. My parents loved ‘Hole in the Wall’ or ‘ma and pa’ establishments. They liked home cooking. Since mom’s father was professionally a French chef, it’s easy to see why she felt that way. Living with my mom’s kitchen skills, I had no idea why dad believed in home cooking because my mother didn’t get the chef gene.
In spite of that, they loved the home cooking and baking going on for a fee in town. Each Sunday, they stopped for their treats taking most of those goods home for the week ahead. They were good; better than mom’s version, anyway.
One Sunday, dad was weary from overtime and the Christmas rush. He raced to the front of the line at the local pastry joint before his favorite Danish disappeared in the hands of another customer. When the clerk acknowledged his presence, the question was posed; “How can I help you?”
Mom broke the silence first, “I want half dozen French Horns!” The new cashier didn’t follow her request asking, “What?”
Pointing directly at the French curls, she rephrased it, “Give me six of these here twists in a box to go!” The girl placed them in that container.
Dad’s request had an unexpected twist. He stammered and stuttered, “I’d like the Danish in the widow, weirdo.” Pointing at his favorite treat, he restarted his wish; “I really want the breakfast roll in that wind, I mean wid- widow, I mean!”
By then, he chuckled with each stammer and mom laughed hysterically. Mom attempted their recovery,
“My husband wants that breakfast roll in the widow!” She made her comment directly and unashamedly until she realized she didn’t say window.
The clerk never broke a smile almost moving on the next customer in line. That’s when my dad, finally, got his correct request in a comprehendible sentence. “I want that Danish in your window!”
Lucky for all of them, there was only one breakfast treat being displayed. As my parents left still giggling about their miscommunication, my dad turned back announcing, “Besides WINDOW- I can, also, say door!” My folks laughed through it.
They were punchy because they’d worked all week-end to move us to our new home a subdivision away from our old one. My parents had to take possession of the house before New Year’s Day to claim Homestead Exemption. Meanwhile, it was the height of the holidays; dad was a mailman, which means he was in overtime mode.
The night before, mom tried to explain the fatigue with her infamous line, “Every ache in my body bones!” She meant to say, “Every bone in my body aches!” That laughter occurred privately- in front of family members only.
I made speech errors, too. I think it’s genetic! As I handed my mother her gift, my words tumbled from my unplugged brain. “Here eat it!” I should have said, “Here unwrap it!” It was mom’s favorite candy. Quickly my joke arrived, “I can, also, say, ‘It’s from candy! I mean Sydney!’” We laughed until we cried or did other things!
One evening, mom decided to spend their bonus at a fine restaurant. It had limousines as well as yachts pulling up to it. She wanted to go there once in her lifetime.
Mom bought a small, mink stole for that occasion. She dressed upscale making dad do the same. I heard their tale later but can imagine the scene. As the host walked them thru the place and closer to the kitchen than their regulars, mom’s small animal coat caught the edge of a different table’s chair. Before she realized it, she pulled it along a foot or two. When she tried to release the end of her outerwear the chair crashed to the floor.
Dad immediately jested, “At least she didn’t topple the nearby desert- I mean dessert- cart.”
“He can, also, say pastry!” Mom enjoyed their recollection of her fumble as well as his bumbling behavior at the local bakery!
Big Apple
One year, my daughter tried out for the NYC Rockette; I accompanied her. While in line awaiting her group to go inside for their audition, she talked about the year before; it brought over seven hundred hopefuls. It seemed to me that the same amount of girls stood outside the Radio City Music Hall that day. To amuse myself because homonyms do not translate well into the spoken word, I internally jested
“I herd seven hundred dancers showed up for this auditions! I mean heard! No, herd is a better description!”
The next day, we checked out of our hostel but had plenty of time before our flight home. I wanted to see Staten Island. Due to time factors, we thought bringing our suitcases would save time. You can get a taxi to that area but they don’t stop at rush hour to pick up people with suitcases that are obviously airport bound. She called her hubby for advice. He suggested she hail the taxi without the baggage or me in sight. Then, once the guy commits make him go to the airport.
Exhausted from hailing taxi after taxi, my kid cornered a driver that stopped by Subway, the sandwich shop, to get his meal. She was not taking no for an answer; so, he told us he’d eat first. She got him to open his trunk for our luggage; before he changed his mind; then, we sat in the back seat of his car waiting for him. We waited a long time in that car including in traffic that barely moved due to the time of day and number of fender benders as well as other accidents scattered along the way to the airport!
Good thing we didn’t waste more time returning to our hostel to collect baggage from their locked closet; I amused myself, only, with that delusion.
Literally- Really?
My friend was very short. When she wanted to be taller her shoes helped out. The girl hated to go to walk in theaters because she could not see over the crowds. That friend told me that she’d join me at a matinee but she’d have to wear her high heels to enjoy the movie. Chuckling, I asked her if she’d be placing those shoes other than on her feet to gain height while seated!
That same friend hated waiting for red lights to change. If she could she’d make right turns just to keep her car moving. One day, I asked her if she was taking us home via New York!
Happy Child
Santa used to arrive in our town on the local fire truck. For years, every time she’d hear a siren, my niece would head towards the sound all excited to catch candy or whatever that man would toss to the crowds. She totally related a potentially sad sound to happiness. She eventually changed her mind!
Her cousin, my kid knew the merry sound of the ice cream truck. It came through her grandmother’s neighborhood. One evening, grandma gave her and her peers cash for treats. She headed towards the sound of sweets! We had to send out a search party for the three year old when I discovered her missing; her uncle found her two blocks away at the truck flashing her dollar bill.
Not Even a Mouse
As a teenager, my mother trusted me to decorate with her at the holidays. In fact, as she sprayed fake snow on our Florida, picture windows- she invited me to take tempera paint to finish the scenes. Some of the stories were painted on plywood boards. The pictures were things such as: a Nativity, reindeer, Santa, Frosty, or whatever came to mind with a seasonal backdrop. One year, before leaving out of state to find snow, I painted a candle stick with a mouse sleeping in its Victorian holder. Near the handle, I wrote the phrase, “Not even a mouse!”
We lived in the Sunshine State of Florida on what I thought was the edge of the Everglades. It was swampy behind us. One time, a huge poodle ambled out of the sparse but piney forest into our yard. Before he got in range, my eyes swore they saw a black bear. Many times, we met up with black runners and other snakes. Lizards were plentiful as well as field mice. We, also, had domestic animals in our lives including bunnies and a dog.
While we were out of town hunting snow, which we found- our pets had a person coming in to feed and water them. Upon arriving home, we entered our foyer to something scurrying past. Turning on more lights, the confusion made the rodent race in circles long enough to be identified.
Jumping on a kitchen chair, I wailed, “Mouse!”
I’m guessing that he was stirring because it was New Year’s Eve, or we were gone too long so he needed to come out of hiding to eat. Either way, my mother recommended I choose my window illustrations more carefully in the future, “I wouldn’t mind coming home to Santa but this mouse has got to go!”
Dad obliged. I’d like to tell you he did it nicely but mouse traps were involved!
The moral of my story is: “Be careful how you depict or imagine your holidays or any days because you might find yourself up on a chair screaming for help!”
Playing Chicken?
Mary’s and my daughter met in Kindergarten. I met that mother that same year because on a field trip there was a petting area at the farm. The sign read, “Do NOT put your fingers in the cages. We bite!” The little one still relied on grownups to read. As her chaperone, I didn’t get to her in time to stop her from poking her fingers into the cage as she hung on doing a balancing act. One of the birds snapped at her finger breaking the skin. The guide rushed over explaining Chicken Fever; we had to warn her parents about the potential of that outbreak. Lucky for me and her, nothing came of her finger tear.
In spite of that incident- which became an inside joke- her mom and I became friends as did the girls. After a series of birthday parties, I invited this new friend to join us to ice skate at Disney’s outdoor rink. My girls had skated similarly indoors but the outside adventure excited my car loaded with my daughters, their friend, and the other mother. We enjoyed the skating as much as the decorations Mickey’s pals provided. While sipping hot chocolate an idea brewed. “Why don’t we do this again next year?”
That next December, we decided to try something new; we ate closer to home. Then, the girls enjoyed sightseeing including going down Main Street to see the best light display in our area. As we drove, I put on ‘Alvin and the Chipmunks;’ they sang carols. A few years later, my adult companion knew all the words to those songs; she’d clap and join in the merriment.
As the girls in the back seat of that limo and many years my SUV matured, they laughed less at the carols the passenger riding shotgun shot out of her mouth; they ducked more. In fact, one brave soul recommended we shut the windows so that the melodies didn’t interfere with other people’s joy and cheer in the surrounding cars of an intersection. The girls were definitely middle school age.
One of my girls moved away to the other coast far from Florida; she lives in California. She told me to set up our yearly ‘get together’ with our pals. Meanwhile, I have a CD instead of a tape of Alvin’s tunes. Due to the illness of one of my girls, we had to eat healthy; thus we chose Dandelions, a local vegetarian café. When we arrived in separate cars, I still had the other parent in mine; my California daughter drove with us, too.
As we exited to the eatery, my friend got excited about the ‘Hippie Place.’ She was enamored with the style of the establishment that we’d chosen. As we munched healthy snacks then meals, each of us relished memories bringing up those included- here. Amazingly, we’ve kept this tradition alive but none of us can remember the exact year it started.
“It was the first year Disney hosted the ice skating event so we can probably look it up,” I suggested as we posed for pictures at the ‘Hippie Joint.’ Months later, visiting San Francisco to see my California kid, on a ‘girls only’ trip, we were in Haight-Ashbury, a true hippie joint, where free spirits smoked up the joint!
Your Mom was a Hippie
My friends and I were entering a mall from the wrong doors. We used the ones marked exit. A lady remarked about our reading skills; I reacted by explaining that it really didn’t matter which doors people used as long as they didn’t hurt each other swinging them into unsuspecting souls.
As we left, we went out any set of doors nearby reminiscing about the earlier chastising done from afar by that lady. As we chattered, another woman took her elderly man by the arm remarking, “Watch out for the Hippies, my dear!”
That’s one way of describing a group of teen girls walking through the wrong set of doors!
Help, Please
We were at a theme park; due to the position of my grandkid and my shoulder replacement, I could not lock the seatbelt of the truck we planned on riding through live animals. I kept asking the attendant to remedy my situation, “Can you buckle this? I have a bad shoulder!”
Looking at me quizzically, he remarked. “How does your black shirt prevent you from buckling your own seat belt?”
“It doesn’t but my bum shoulder does!”
Making Lemonade
I had a rough life so am pretty good when it comes to lemonade. One day at a sub shop, I asked, “Can I get some extra napkins? I have kids with me!”
As we sat down, I spilled my entire glass of lemonade. My kids raced to the counter, simultaneously explaining, “Can I get some extra napkins? I have our mom with us!”
Meat?
My dad used to describe stingy portions at restaurants the following way. “Where's the beef? Hiding under the potato!”
If the waiter or host was really haughty, after they asked, “How did you find your steak?”
Dad pointed while explaining, “I found it hiding under this very small baked potato!”
When I became a parent, my daughter was obsessed with chicken not beef. We went on a trip to the West or cattle country. She often asked the waiters and managers of restaurants, “Where’s the chicken?” Life changes and stays the same.
Aint Misbehaving
As a near teen, my mom told me that sometimes trees and bushes grow better if you ‘top them.’ She gave a quick explanation, “You cut most of the top leaves off!” I went outside to my sickly kumquat tree with three leaves on it removing them all. Three is a charm, right? Not for that tree.
As a kid, while unpacking our car trunk after camping, I noticed a pillow smoldering due to a short in the tail light. Instead of tossing the item out to the driveway and stomping the fire out, I raced in the house to get a cup of water while calmly explaining my actions, “There is a fire in the trunk.”
As a youngster, I wondered, ‘When is a riot funny?’
As A child, I wondered why we applauded while chanting, “Hail to the Chief!’ Did we want him pelleted with ice balls? Was that a good thing deserving of our happy clapping?
When we were looking for a house, we complained about the cost. One day, while in the car, my daughter spotted a ‘for sale’ sign. She arrived at a solution to our woes. “They are selling greenhouses for only $1,000. We can buy one and just change to color by painting it before moving in!”
I got a call from my neighbor about four blocks from my home. It seemed my five year old and some friends were Trick or Treating in broad daylight in July. They had quite a stash!
When my second daughter was born, her sister overturned the bassinet on purpose; she was a bit jealous. The two year old then raced to me, “Ut Oh! Ut! Ohhh! Baby’s on the floor!” I turned to show her, the new baby was in a papoose carrier and with me. Since her new sister was safe, that toddler decided to do some art work; she drew me wallpaper in the dining room. AH! The joys of motherhood!
I tried to sterilize a thermometer in water in a container in my microwave. I naively left the area as the mercury boiled and smoked. When I returned, my kid calmly watched the potential fire while counting down with the timer, “10, 9, 8...” That emerging fire didn’t get to one.
When I hated a vegetable, to be excused from the table, the item was shoved in my pockets then tossed in the potty as soon as possible. I don’t recommend doing this maneuver with mashed potatoes.
My daughter must have been the clone of Evel Knievel; she hauled her tricycle up the ladder then drove it down slide! After seeing adults do it, she invented her version of bungee jumping putting a chord on a ladder and a helmet on her head. She just did it! Later in life, when she rode her two-wheeled bike, she’d move to the handle bars and let her hands wave freely in the wind. Plus, she surfed in our pool. I survived those years; so did she!
I lost my kid at Disney; their staff held her safe. When we went to Universal Studios, I added her grandma and my nanny to our outing. I assigned each child an adult guardian. That same child wandered away; when I got to her, people were questioning her, “Did you lose you mommy?” She declared, “No, my grandma!”
An in-home 24 hour daycare had a sign outside, which read; ‘Pit bulls for sale!’ Talk about things that make you go, “Hmm!”
My sister got into mom’s makeup; we were NOT allowed to use it until age 16; she was about five. Thus, she feverously tried to remove it all before a parent caught her activity. My brother asked, “What are you doing?” He heard that she was using that bottle of FINGERNAIL remover to remove things before she got caught. He wondered aloud, “You have to take your whole fingernail off?”
One day while babysitting, I sat on the kid’s newly sharpened pencil. It broke off in my pelvis just missing my spine. When dad came to help, he joked; “Let’s go to the hospital!” When I walked too slow, he added; “Get the lead out!” After chuckling, he added, “You know as in pick up your pace!”
When I was a teen, at church, we made military care packages for the Vietnam soldiers. We had way too many combs but I threw them all in the packages. We got a thank you letter; it read; “A special thanks for a few items you sent me. I CAN really use all the combs; they come in handy with my crew cut and all!”
My husband went strawberry picking ONCE- only. He recalls, “My mom duped me! I thought they grew on trees like oranges. I had to crawl to get them!”
When I ran out of money, my kid naively said; “Just go to the ATM and get some more!” If it were that easy, right?
We were fishing with smaller fish; a young boy thought we were trying to catch minnows instead of fishing with them!
We took the grandchild to a theme park wearing her out. As we put her in the car, she asked how long until we’d be home. We told her two hours. On the drive home, she snored and snorted. When she woke up a block or two from home, she asked how far we were from home. When we answered, ‘two minutes,’ she thought we lied to her. I explained she slept through most of the trip but she insisted, “I was not sleeping; I was faking it!”
Our parents wanted a picture of our day at the park. They asked, “Wave at camera!” Literally none of us turned our faces into the viewfinder; we failed to turn heads! The picture of our profiles and hairdos says it all; we waved with our backs to the photographer- dad.
April 1st, my daughter- a sports team’s professional dancer sort of like a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader- went to practice. Their choreographer made up a new crazy, silly, and embarrassing routine. Straight faced, their mentor made the girls repeat her moves as they were taped. They always videoed their routines to make sure they polished the numbers. My daughter giggled but kept up with her coach’s harebrained moves. She found out as they viewed that tape that she was one of two ladies doing the choreography with their leader. Before my kids could reprimand that group of dancers, she found out it was all a well-orchestrated April Fool’s joke.
I visited a friend. Her child was helping dad light the BBQ and then decided he’d show off with the dining candle. As my friend and I watched, the young man lit the candle then blew out his match still centered on that object. Both went out. He repeated his mistake, which is when his mom whispered, “Reminds me of the ‘Keystone Cops.’” I giggled.
On a vacation, a nervous stomach gave my kid bad gas. When we stopped for petroleum, without realizing it might sting my child, I joked; “We already have enough gas in our car!”
My brother made balls from his white bread and spit; my sister overpowered him for his stash. After she ate a few bites, he laughed, “Did you enjoy my bread balls? Even my spit?” She gaged.
When my daughter was two, we bought her a Helium Disney balloon on way out of that park. The kid whined, fretted, and cried that it might pop. We were real careful especially on the monorail. When we got to our hotel room, it popped. My husband said, “Next time, let’s buy the balloon and pop it on the spot to save all the aggravation we just went through!”
As we drove from Florida to Tennessee for the first time in our lives, my sister swore, “When we get to the mountains, I want to pet Smokey the Bear!” A crowd gathered roadside to see a black bear; my dad suggested we leave the car to see that animal. EXCITED BY THE SIGHT, my sister actually ran- away- from that beast!
My husband hated to change diapers. I’d arrive home and shout out, “I smell her!” One day, after she started walking, our daughter brought him a handful of something, which he thought was Milk Duds. He wondered where she found the candy before the smell let him know in his hand was poop. He learned to change diapers more quickly after that incident.
In elementary school, my daughter suffered headaches nearly every afternoon. The doctor tested her sinus passages; he, also, looked for allergies and brain tumors. She suffered through dyes to trace her nasal development, needles to detect allergies, MRIs, and CAT scans. After many medical tests, finding no cause for her suffering, I sat drilling my child about her pain. Her head hurt everyday about two hours after lunchtime. After a lengthy inquiry, I discovered that she rarely ate the school provided meal since, in her words, it was, “Yucky!” Her gym was in the afternoon. Her desk sat right under the air conditioner vent. To my amazement, those things were the source of her problem; she was cold and tired as well as hungry. I packed her lunch after that day saving money all the way around! Her teacher, also, moved her seat for us.
My husband took our daughter fishing for the first time. She caught a keeper right away. For the rest of that day, she excitedly asked, “Can we eat the fish, now? Can we eat it; can we?” When it came time to clean and heat that thing, she refused to eat it. Something about killing it and slimy replaced her insistence on eating it.
At her first Christmas, when my daughter could crawl, her main present was a doll. All cuddly and cute, it cried, “Mama!” When I showed her its talent, she cried the same way lunging in my arms while swatting her competition aside.
The one year old baby began backing up; she decided to warn us saying, “Beep! Beep!” Pointing while laughing, her mom remarked that the child’s daddy plays entirely too many car, video games.
I went to dinner with my aunt and my cousin’s family; we are Anglo-Saxons. Late in life, my cousin and her husband adopted a child. As the host seated us and our waitress arrived, my ‘nearly eighty year old’ relative pointed and spoke candidly, “This is my niece. This other lady is my daughter; that’s her husband. The young girl belongs to them; she’s adopted. In case you can’t guess, their daughter is Chinese!”
When we were robbed, they got toddler items in a box that was originally for our computer. We went to the police station to identify the stolen goods. Our two year old spotted her potty chair identifying it correctly. I jested, “They thought they were getting a computer but all the got was shit!”
My daughter went to practice for a big soccer event. When she came home tired, she asked her little sister, “Do you know how long 4 hours is?” The baby answered that it was 8 TV shows!
My grandmother kept the bread in her toaster too long. She called that toast her burnt offerings.
As a teen, I thought being a Bag Boy at the local grocery would be great. When a cute guy came in with his parents, I’d remark, “Hey, I am the Bag Boy! Can I bag your boy?”
This story is expanded in the SOON to be released paperback or Kindle entitled "The KNOT" @ AMAZON @ http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_5?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=mchanson714 or @ SMASHWORDS @ http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714
Follow the release dates and other writing by this author on her book site @ http://mchanson714.weebly.com/
***
Spouses or Love Life—Part 2
By
Cynthia Meyers-Hanson
Crash Locks
New safety codes caused our tact home builder to install crash locks on all outside doors. This feature allows those trapped in a house during a fire or other emergency to race outside without even stopping to unlock the door. When we moved in, going out to get the mail or some other benign activity left me locked outdoors. Luckily, I never stepped out without my toddler on my hip. Each time I made the mistake of locking myself out, which was twice, as I sat at a neighbor’s house awaiting my husband to arrive home from work, my mind would place a ‘note to self’ into its memory banks, ‘Place key to house in safe place outside!’
Before I got to a hardware store to make a key, I went to church without my child or husband. As I sat in church, a violent tropical wave rushed overhead complete with roaring thunder and shock waves of lightning. Glad I was indoors in a pew, it never crossed my mind that my family might be less safe.
Arriving home, it felt eerily quiet in my home. “Hello?” I called out. As I turned the corner into the family room, on the floor curled up by the sliding glass door my daughter slept. ‘That’s strange! Where is my husband?’Soon, the front doorbell went crazy ringing up a storm. Nervous pounding followed at that door as well as in my chest. Before asking for the person acting strangely on my stoop to identify themself, my husband hollered, “Let me in!”
He quickly explained how he stepped out back to check out the oncoming storm. Our toddler stood just inside by the glass doors. He slid them shut so she’d keep from wandering out into the yard already being lit up by the approaching lightning. That’s when he heard the clank of her placing the broom handle in the track, which we used to keep intruders out of our home.
“I kept trying to tell her how to let me back in but she just pressed her face on the glass screaming for me to save her from the storm; she was scared of all the noise from the thunder- and the lightning made her back away from that door. After crying forever, she fell asleep.”
“Where did you go during that storm?”
“I tried to get in another door but had to ride out the worst of it across the street at our only neighbor’s house.”
“Poor baby!”
“We need to hide a key outside!”
“Agreed!” I added, “I locked myself out but our kid was with me! Another reason to make that extra key and hide it!”
On the way to the hardware store, I stopped at church to drop off paperwork. It was high noon. Placing our child back into her car seat, she kept trying to manhandle the car keys dangling from my mouth. Hot and bothered, I tossed them to the dashboard. Force of habit, I locked the door slamming it shut. All the doors locked as the realization hit me. For a minute or two, I pointed at the door handle knowing the car, also, had crash locks. If she pulled that handle, we’d be able to hug each other. She pounded the dash and car door but never pulled it open.
When the fire department guys arrived, no one had a Slim Jim, “Do you have a second set of keys at home?” I did but they were safely behind crash locks, too. And, I was on my way to get that key to hide outside. I explained it all as they decided to break a window to get my child to safety. The noon sun in August was causing her to show signs of onset heatstroke, so there was no time to spare. “Which window can we break?”
“Any one!” Upset showed in my poor decision, “The smallest one because it will be easier to replace. They broke the opera window on the other side of my baby then one of them grabbed a handle on those crash locks freeing my child. That’s one time those locks came in handy! By the way, opera windows are the hardest and most costly to replace. Next time, we break the windshield because in Florida, your insurance company pays for that repair!
My mistake made the local newspaper; my husband’s error missed that public arena. I heard about it in church the next Sunday. No one is perfect! That same day, my husband watched our kid with a key hidden outside.
What’s Behind that Door?
While sleeping I kept dreaming of our next house. It had water in the front as well as water in the backyard. That home appeared to be in a rural area. I, also, envisioned a wall of cabinets in the kitchen that were clearly visible from the great or living room. This foreshadowing vision happened several times until it felt real.
Soon, my husband mentioned a potential layoff that made us address downsizing our home while still employed. This decision would keep us from panic selling. It worked so well that we ended up in a townhouse apartment for a year.
In that time, we searched high and low for a new home. Each time, we gravitated towards town only to discover the house we liked was sold or would be built in a less desirable area. On a wild goose chase, we drove to one of those places to see what we’d get for our money. I could not believe that homes were so expensive even in the location bad parts of the megalopolis of Orlando.
We walked into a new floor plan that quickly explained the draw. As I stood sizing up the living area pleased that a bar opened the kitchen to the family room, my husband wandered to the master bedroom. We’d always envisioned a reading space in that room but our larger, executive home denied us that space.
Quickly scoping out that space, he excitedly hollered, “Come see this room!”
He smiled from ear to ear as I mentioned the window area, “I have always wanted a bay window in my home!”
“It gets even better!” He excitedly remarked!
We’d seen homes with full walk around showers and two shower heads. While house hunting, we’d seen dramatic displays of Jacuzzi tubs. All those cool features were in million dollar ‘Parade of Homes’ or fantasy viewings. We never imagined a cookie cutter house might have those features. There it stood as large as most children’s bedrooms. The tub sat in the center of it all!
As my husband decided to purchase that house that very day, I pondered. The builder’s realtor sent us to look at three potential lots, “We will not build that model side by side; it’s our most popular home! If you want it, you need to decide fast.”
My spouse had already decided. Now, we needed to choose the lot; one without a premium because we were downsizing. In front of us, when we stopped the car, was a corner lot. It sloped to the back and had a lake across the street. Those building sites were thirty thousand higher or out of the question.
As we walked our lot, my husband called out, “It has water in the backyard!”
“What?”
“It will have a pond view in the backyard! The people next door are situated on that water!”
The deal was done. There we sat in our apartment hoping the house would finish before the lease.
From the moment we decided to buy our house, we had issues with flooding. A tropical storm flooded the area moments after our home began rising from the ground. I wondered if the lake and pond would join up in our yard. They didn’t.
As the workers completed our future home, we came out daily. We noticed that someone broke the water main; it was quickly welded back to useable. After moving in, the telephone line was cut into our side yard. The workers damaged that water main, again. This time it was live but the nick was so small it went unnoticed as they tossed soil back into their ditch.
I never went back outside once those guys left or I might have noticed it. Water was bubbling up like a mud spring and racing downhill around the lake into drainage pipes. We have no idea how many gallons spewed in the two hours before my husband drove in our driveway wondering what was going on in his new yard.
He raced in to warn me, grabbed a monkey wrench, and turned off the main. He called the phone repair number blasting their incompetence. They sent a crew immediately to weld the water line. That company did not offer to cover our water bill.
That made me the most mad!
My mother always said three is a charm. She never explained if that was a lucky or unlucky trio.
Later, I was doing laundry in an indoor room off the garage. I, always, shut the door for noise reduction because it was right off the great room or TV area. That day, I spent hours writing in the den at a different corner of the house. Then, I spent time on the patio petting our bunnies before replacing them to their outdoor cages.
When I walked by the laundry room, a strange sound rocked the door. I’d just been chatting to someone about poltergeist or ghosts swearing they didn’t scare me even if they did exist. My heart skipped several beats as I opened the door. Out raced water. It went the length of my living room as I opened the garage door to redirect the flow, pull a monkey wrench out of the tool box, and turn off the main valve. As I’m bailing water towards the open garage door and racing to the water meter, I managed to dial my cell phone. Winded, I’m screaming, “Which way do I turn this thing to make the flood stop!”
My husband was being casual but concerned that the telephone break has ruptured, again. “Is the line broken in the yard?”
“No, it’s the washer; it overflowed.”
“Just turn it off then!”
“Thanks for stating the obvious!” I defended my intelligence. “It’s a flood, and I need to turn off the main line!” In the time we frantically exchanged words, I managed to cut the flow; he managed to race home seconds later.
The official problem, dirt in the lines probably had corrupted the mechanism that tells the washer to stop demanding water. It had cycled hundreds, if not thousands, of times before I let my phantom poltergeist loose to the floor flooding most of the main rooms as well as the hall down to the kids’ rooms.
Fixer Upper
“One Sunday, I left for church alone as usual. My husband’s dad always stayed home to prepare brunch with eggs and the whole ‘shebang.’ My love got the impression that church was for moms and the children, which were brought there while kicking and screaming. We were newlyweds and in our first home. It was an easily manageable fixer upper; I thought. We’d already changed the master bathroom carpet to tile and painted it. In fact, most of the rooms had new paint due to our young energy.” As I listened, this storyteller moved on to the bigger issue with their new home, “I felt a small leak in the kitchen’s pipes should be done professionally; we awaited the right time or paycheck to call one in. A bucket under the sink was not capturing too much water to concern me; I do freak out easily.” She explained the sight upon returning home that day, “As I walked in from church, my husband greeted me with a wild story. While I was away, he found a hardware store open. He felt confident that he could manage the sink’s issue because as a kid his dad showed him how to do it. My spouse knew exactly what to buy including a monkey wrench. This tale is going where you expect if realize that my husband trusted his logic too much.”
Her story remained mild and tasteful, “Without checking where the main shutoff valve might be, my spouse got under our sink as the handyman. He cranked the pipe with his tool; due to its age, it ruptured immediately. The sink handles being above the situation didn’t work to shut off the water flowing out of the bottom cabinet like a cascade. Evidently, he rushed out the sliding door as the flood raced behind him and outside as well. My husband raced around the house looking for that ‘hidden by underbrush’ faucet’s main valve.”
She chuckled so loudly I swear she snorted, “The moral of my story? Turn it off- first!” She laughed while describing the drenched kitchen dining set and flooded patio. “Don’t worry I called a plumber willing to restore our water usage on a Sunday but he charged twice his normal rate. I resisted the urge to ask,
‘What’s his normal rate?’ We found out too soon the answer is not cheap!”
Wetting the Bed
A friend told her story about our weekend warriors, “We’d just finished an addition to house for my niece after her parents died. The construction crew messed up an outside, garden spigot. That faucet was covered in cement and barely turned on. My husband grabbed his old, trustworthy, monkey wrench and acted like a baboon- maybe- not that smart.”This lady backed her statement with more data, “On the Sunday of Labor Day week-end, my man didn’t know his own strength. Luckily, my hubby did know where to find the main water valve. That information came in handy as the new piping snapped inside the wall allowing quick seepage into the newest bedroom and onto the child’s brand new bed. Once in control of the flood, to our amazement, that new sleeper was not drenched; it received minor surface damage! Plumbers charge three times the price to race out on a holiday week-end; that is not even close to being cheap!”
No Alligator Dining
At a party, making idle conversation, I asked, “Like a fine wine, do husbands get better with time?”
“I’ve been married twenty years- mostly to the same man.” I’d never heard her confess to her first fiasco while in a big group. My friend wed briefly after high school but that marriage was annulled. That union only lasted a week because her parents found out and undid the whole thing. She was seventeen; Susie married Rick four years later; that marriage lasted twenty years longer than the first.
“My second husband and our first year together, I almost lost it!” The woman continued her tale. “My husband and his pal were fishing with me in a tiny John Boat. We were in an alligator infested area, Lake Jessup, when the anchor line got caught on something heavy arguing with the two men. They made me move to the other side to sort of balance our weight!”
Another in our group interrupted her flow. “Those two men implied your weight equaled two of them!”
The other gal simply continued her story; “I knew right away trouble would surface and hoped that it would not be in the form of an alligator!” She giggled, “Then- those two guys yanked so hard and with so much power that they nearly flipped us into the swarming beasts. My spouse and his friend acted so dingy!”
What’s Up, Dock
“My husband always wanted lakefront property. We finally bought a place on the water.” My friend giggled though her story making it unclear where her description was headed, “My hubby made a makeshift dock. When I say makeshift, I mean he put some leftover cinderblocks from the shoreline out a bit into our lake then placed leftover plywood on top. He knew it rocked.” She clarified, “I don’t mean it was great; it wobbled. So, my man knew to take it easy on that structure.”
She described the worst part of that pier, “The problems with his structure did NOT arrive until guests did!” She laughed as she depicted the scene. “We had company; one of the older children asked to fish. He got his pole and tackle box maneuvering out of that contraption. Immediately, that child met the muck, muddy water, and weeds!’ Her laughter grew to an all-out hysterical rhythm. “Good thing we didn’t give that boy a whistle as he raced to that HOBO dock.”
“Why would he need a whistle? Your story makes no sense!”
The lady proceeded to explain her comments. “Earlier, that same kid drove on the back of one of our watercraft. When I gave him his lifejacket, I pointed out the whistle saying, ‘If you capsize, blow it so other drivers know you are in the water. Do it until you are back on a boat or the shore!’ When his Jet Ski being driven by his uncle rolled, that boy took me seriously blowing that thing until the adult got him safely back to his mom- who swooned on our shoreline during the whole episode!” All the guests felt the drama and amusement of that story as she finished.
“I bet if he had that whistle when he unwittingly dove into the mud pond, we'd have heard more about it!”
What’s Up, Doc
After a colon scan, I wanted to wash my clothes to get any potentially harmful germs out of my house, immediately. I was pretty groggy from prescription drugs when I tossed my new cell phone in that load. That phone was only months old, so I could not replace it with a nearly-free, new one for about two more years.
After confessing my mistake to my husband, he asked, “Why did you wash clothes?” My spouse pointed out, “The medicine clearly states, ‘don’t operate heavy machinery!’”
I defended my position saying it means like use cranes or drive cars! I felt that I intelligently defended my decision to clean house while recuperating from that scan.”
My husband snidely asked, “Can you lift the washer?” I refused to answer on grounds it might incriminate me!
By the way, I washed my cell, again, that year. It was not medication making me so careless. It was just how well my pants pocket hid it! My spouse remarked, “Two strikes, you’re out!” A new rule went into play; I could NOT wash what I wore for two days; that’s plenty of time to realize I left my phone in my slack’s pocket.
Rocky- Horrible Picture
I live on a short dirt road of about seven houses; it’s a private road, which means that it’s not maintained by any governing group. To slow erosion, some neighbors started adding gravel in front of their driveways out into the roadway. My husband decided to do same.
Our load of recycled, crushed cement arrived in the late afternoon. Our son-in-laws promised that they’d help spread it in the morning. One commented that he'd bring his truck along with a wood pallet. He thought the pallet could be rigged to drag the gravel distributing those stones along the roadway. My husband and I rolled our eyes but were glad he'd come by to help. Sometimes, men get a glimpse of themselves but they seem to think they are exempt from the idiot behaviors of their sex.
When our other son-in-law arrived, he’d brought his kids. That gave me the task of keeping track of the babies instead of their counterparts, the men! The rock pile was as tall as me and just as broad; actually, it was wider. Picture a whole Mac truck full of stones; it looked like a huge hill in front of our driveway.
The wood pallet idea actually worked as long as my husband, who chose to drive the truck instead of pushing that contraption, maneuvered very slowly. They attached the aid to the back of that pickup using a large rope. Then, the two son-in-laws put their weight on it causing rocks to be scooped into the grooves. As it moved along, they’d let off the pressure while being pulled willingly down the short street. Most of the time, our ex-football player relative did it alone as the other young guy took wheel barrels full of gravel to tidy up the edges of the road. He only rode the scooping tool when goaded into it by the other relatives. It didn’t seem to matter because the football playing in-law had that pallet in a rhythm.
His idea worked; he proudly kept the reins of that job. Sometimes men’s ‘hair brain’ ideas do work!
Eventually, their racket caused many of the neighbors to arrive on site to shovel stones into wheel barrels dumping loads along edges of main work being completed. Their children and my grandchild followed that idea steering clear of the truck’s main action. Then, it happened; the men thought they lowered that rock pile enough to start on the other side. Instead of going around that hilly mess, which was now about waist high and just as sprawling as in the beginning, my husband thought the two younger men could ride that pallet while pushing down gravel from that mountain as he maneuvered over the top of that rock quarry. It was like driving over snow piles.
My husband lived most of his life in Florida; and he never drove in slushy conditions; he had no clue how to ride in fresh snow, on iced roads, or on gravel hills. That man should have driven around that stone mound. Instead, he chose to master that peak stopping halfway through it, which was not a good decision. However, he slammed on the brakes; that was definitely not the way to go over that mountain.
He dug in- literally!
All the men tried everything to free the spinning wheels that tossed stones in directions where they were NOT needed. Quickly, the women cleared the little helpers out of the area. I looked back once in a shielded area witnessing my husband; he stayed in that truck looking like the king of that mountain!
I’m too used to my hubby and these types of endings to a perfectly good idea! I laughed so hard I nearly wet my pants as I got my cell phone out in case we needed to dial 911!
After the truck was up to its bed in gravel, one of the other neighbors came up with a solution. He suggested his four-wheel drive to pull the pickup out of that mess. It worked! That SUV owner took over driving while my son-in-law continued to maneuver his pallet deep into the stones to spread them down the road the other direction.
A few minutes later, another funny thing occurred. One of the neighbors has a guy that does piano lessons in their home. He arrived on our half dirt and half gravel road. The workers motioned him around because the middle was still treacherous for other than four-wheel drive vehicles. The males kept yelling at that man as well as doing hand motions pointing at my front yard as his alternative route.
That old man waved back while smiling then drove like anyone used to snowy conditions should; he coasted right through the mole hill of gravel. At one point, that guy was headed right towards a pile of shovels tossed there when the other men started waving and screaming nicely, ‘NO! NO! NO! GO AROUND!’ You know how well men take directions while travelling!
Lucky for everyone, the driver stopped short or just before his front wheels tire hit the shovels causing one or more to go erect from its grounded position. That old man simply waved and smiled as my husband tossed all the shovels to safety. Somehow, his car kept its traction; so everyone sighed in relief realizing the pile was, now, low enough to be spruced up and called DONE. That old guy just had a hunch; he had ESP...N! You know good sports
Earlier in the day, my hubby and I stopped rolling our eyes at our son-in-law's bright idea. An all day job took three hours. The previous truck load took the other neighbors with shovels, wheel barrels, and hired help about two days to complete. As a matter of fact, when those households used my yard as their alternate route to their week-end errands, they smiled and poked fun at the work ahead of the men. Since they missed all of our fiascos, they had nothing left to tease about when they returned home in the early afternoon. The job was complete!
The Landing
Some physical jobs need to be left to the professionals. Years ago, we ordered a refrigerator. My husband decided he and his father could deliver it to save a whopping $50 fee. So, my spouse borrowed a dolly; I don’t mean Mrs. Parton; my mate secured a contraption for moving heavy objects!
My hubby and his dad unloaded the fridge from our pickup. They got that appliance nicely to that dolly and up our sidewalk. They all made it safely to the front door where tile awaited. My father-in-law backed in with part of their load. As he pulled it through the door, someone forgot to control the thing; and it slid on the slippery tile. The appliance landed in a less than desirable position; the thing wedged between the door jam and a different part of that dolly.
Instead of thinking it out, my father-in-law started rocking that appliance, which was not upright but on its side. Then, he yanked that dolly a few times but it stayed wedged by the weight of the toppled appliance. My spouse, finally- emerged from a garage detour commanding, “Stop! Stop wiggling it! Just stop!”
Then, my man sized up the mess telling his father, “You can’t dislodge the dolly unless I lift up the refrigerator, first!”
Eventually, they pushed the appliance into the upright position. Those two guys maneuvered it back onto the dolly, again! Remaining a while in the foyer, I examined the tile because something made a cracking or breakage sound during the initial impact. Fortunately, the damage was contained to our new, ‘top of the line’ refrigerator. Once in the kitchen, I saw two things. The freezer door wouldn't close; the crash landing bent its hinges. Lucky for us, the box remained intact or not fractured. However, the side not covered by walls or cabinetry received a long scratched indention during the fumble at our front door. My father-in-law tugging and rocking the dolly caused that marred surface on my brand new, expensive appliance.
The old man simply and less than contritely said, ‘That’s no big deal! People buy scratched and dented things cheaper all the time!’”
We paid FULL price minus delivery charges. A few days later, we paid the repair price of $50. The hinge repair cost equaled the delivery charge. The side of that refrigerator left me a bit bitter and skeptical about saving money by doing things by our self!
Later in life, we moved to a new house and his family helped again! It was the same thing but different! We had to put a wine rack on wall to distract the eye from the fact that our cabinet over refrigerator didn’t line up with that appliance. I added a silk grape vine on the rack to keep people from noticing that wine holder also had issues; it was slightly crooked. When I complained about these issues, my spouse commented, “The problem is we need a bigger fridge so that problem would be solved!” I insisted that if we hadn't use a brother’s company, my spouse would have more readily dropped ‘the perfection complex’ that allows him to believe that his family does no wrong. We’d have already called for rework of that cabinet’s spacing!
Keeping in mind we rarely drank at home so we had no bottles for that rack on hand, his mother brought over some wines she collected for us. She thought the thing was a decoration as well as utilitarian. Trying not to be mean, knowing she suggested we use her other son on our new place, I just smiled unsure which relative did the most damage to our marriage and life!
Space Cadets
In Central Florida, the space shuttle makes a boom boom sound if it goes over your area while landing. One morning, the shuttle was due back to Kennedy’s Space Center; I slept in thinking all was well with the kids, hubby, and world. I forgot my husband was going to take down a tall but thin pine tree or two at the break of dawn.
Being military brat, my spouse always greeted the sun before it rose. Over the years, I trained my spouse to be polite and await the dawn- at least. Being ex-military, his dad had no trouble arriving here at that hour of the day. There would be a problem!
Too early for most of the world, I detected the buzz of a chainsaw outside and heard the boom boom noise thinking the shuttle landed. Then, I heard the correct shuttle sound. It dawned on me that I better go check the two guys taking down a pine tree near our house. They did this job to save money, again! A professional wanted $200 per tree!
Just in case you were wondering, the men didn't get hurt taking down that tree. However, some of the limbs landed on the roof! They didn’t fully poke a hole but we lost some shingles! Arriving outside, I saw my hubby on the roof chopping wood. His dad stood on the ground with his back to his son. They had already cut the bottom part off of that pine. The older man was leaning over that wooden trunk with the saw pruning it up and making logs.
The funniest part was that my in-law kept his back to the precariously dangling top half of the remaining trunk while my spouse tried to push it to the ground. If that part of the pine tumbled with or without my husband in tow, his dad would have known it because he was perched just below the top part of that tree. Meanwhile, his dad feverously worked with his rear to his kid and our roof; that old guy seemed ignorant to his proximity to the approaching danger. With his face down, obliviously sawing, my in-law remained in a position that might have gotten him pruned as well.
Quickly, I screamed out that relative’s name, “Get out of the way!” He looked up just before my husband freed that top part of it. No one got hit or hurt!
When I retold this tale to a friend, she joked, “I’m going out on a limb but I bet you never let dear old dad help, again?”
It was never my idea to let him help in the first place!
Spiders & Snakes
While my husband was away on business, I experienced a creepy event. In our bathroom, a reptile peeked at me from the drain. Believing URBAN legends about gators and other creatures in plumbing and sewers, I socked towels around the quickly, closed door. It was a good thing that we had two bathrooms. Luckily, it never dawned on me that if a reptile had access in one room that he could escape from any part of our plumbing!
My husband came home a day later to my towel trap. He laughed at me wondering how late at night I had my nightmare. Entering our master bathroom, he turned on the faucet; that varmint flushed his head out. My spouse screamed almost like a girl- due to his shock. Then, more like a man, he decided the head of reptile looked nonpoisonous; my hubby ran water ready to grab the ‘SNAKE HEADED’ creature when it fully emerged. It turned out to be a frog! It may be urban legend that snakes and gators travel thru sewers to the plumbing but frogs definitely do!
This reptile was NOT my nightmare- at least not sleeping one.
Make Up Something
My expertise is making the best of a bad situation or pretending to let mistakes roll off my shoulders! Once, at a gas pump, I pull out a plastic card to pay. The machine read, “TRY AGAIN!” I did with the same card. Sometimes, if you rip one through too fast, it can cause similar errors. That was my thought process at that moment. The machine kept demanding a retry. I obliged several ways. I placed the card up, down, and sideways; I raced it through up then down. I put it through the slot slowly and swiftly as well as moderately fast.
Aggravated, I kicked that pump thinking the worst thing. What if I was the victim of identity theft and my card company had locked my account! It happened once to us; it was possible and probable. Promptly, I called my husband via cellphone. As he picked up, I notice that in my hand was my plastic driver’s license not my credit card. Quickly, I came up with a lame excuse for my call; I told him that I pocket dialed him by mistake.
Crazy Talk
One day, at the dinner table, my husband said a worker does crazy talk. I imagined disjoint silliness, senseless words and phrases, or bizarre sentence structures. Thus, I demanded clarification. My spouse explained his version of irrational conversation. “You know, he talks aloud to himself about stuff!” I pursued what that colleague chattered about. My hubby responded, “You know- while working, he blurts out job related facts!”
My rebuttal was, “Most people call that thinking aloud -not crazy talk!” I keep my husband ‘cuz he makes me laugh even when he thinks he is being smart!
2 Blondes
One day, my mother and I telephoned my father about a ‘brain fart.’ We were done shopping at a store; earlier, we drove dad’s truck because it blocked the car. Returning to the place mom thought she’d parked, we both stood there in shock. You can guess the first question. “Where is my car?”
“It should be right here! “ I remarked. “Maybe, we are off by a lane!”
That’s what we imagined while wandering one parking row each direction then landing back at our original space. Mom repeated versions of ‘I feel certain we left my car right here!’ My mother finally spoke of the dreaded solution, “I better call daddy. My car is the most stolen vehicle in the nation and especially this region.”
Unbeknownst to us, we were standing directly in front of our truck, as mom explained our predicament to dad. He asked, ‘Are you looking for your car? It’s in our driveway!’ He chuckled so loud I heard him through the phone; he correctly envisioned the scene adding, ‘Maybe, look nearby for something that looks like my truck!’”
He enjoyed our misery! He told us to turn around because we were probably standing right in front of his car as mom jested, “Two blondes!” That joke became our inside one! In reality, my dad and I are blonde. Mom’s a brunette but we gave her an honorary title, that day.
Getting Directions, Right
You have to let your man know you need him! My husband went on a business trip; I drove him to the brand new airport. When it was time to retrieve him, I brought my mother along because his flight came in near midnight. I didn’t like driving alone at night. We left early with plenty of time to make it to the passenger pickup lane. Then, we circled and circled because that new facility had poor and no signage.
Soon, my mother pointed out the obvious; “Haven’t we already seen that building?’”
It was on the third try that we found my husband pacing because it was pre-cellphone era, and he worried about my whereabouts! Immediately, he demanded, “Why are you late?”
After admitting we got lost my mother provoked, “How do we keep the myth alive that only men get lost and won’t ask for directions when you just admit to doing the same?”
Ignoring her outburst, my hubby asked, “You don’t know where the airport is?”
Quickly, I recapped our journey, “We found the airport; we just couldn’t find you. There are no signs up- yet! We circled a few times before we found the arriving passenger lane.”
Before he fully digested our story, my mother merrily chimed in, ‘Three is a charm!’”
My mom believed a good relationship meant you should never let him see you sweat. You’ll never live some of your mistakes down if he figures out you are tittering on the brink! So, chuckle and jest instead of fighting life. When these things happen to go wrong just laugh and poke fun!
Down’s Syndrome
I volunteered to help a charity run a temporary car wash. The group helped children with Down’s Syndrome. Actually, that foundation asked the members of my professional sport’s dance team to help out at their event that week-end; our coach signed us up to do duty at the event. The female members were expected to hold the signs to attract customers off a local highway. Before leaving, I enlisted the help of my spouse; he’d be washing cars alongside some children with the syndrome.
Once at a car wash, the dancers attracted mostly male customers. The children tried to clean the vehicles but were slow and unorganized, so many of the men washed their own cars donating to the cause, anyway
My husband did his fair share of moving cars through the wash picking up the slack created by the kids. One of the customers stood ‘side by side’ with my man finishing up his vehicle. As that guy handed my spouse the cash donation, he patted my hubby on the shoulder while observing, “We make a good team, right buddy?”
How Slow?
My daughter danced from ninth grade through college; she even led the football halftime dancers as captain her senior year. In response to Hurricane Katrina’s devastation to New Orleans, her dance team participated in a talent show fund raiser on her college campus. Meanwhile, we’d heard of this boy she met at church; crush describes her feelings towards him. Thus, she invited him to the show while warning us not to let her new friend know she was secretly crazy about him.
After the event, she invited her family, her team, and friends to go share a pizza at a local university hangout. She drove in our car reminding us to not be parents but to play it cool when he arrived. Barely acknowledging his presence, he sat at our end of the large table as she ended up at the other end as well as surrounded by her dance friends. It was awkward talking to the young man since we were supposed to act detached.
What do you ask? What is small talk; and what would indicate you already know some details of his life due to her previous conversations at the family dinner table?
As we waded through ideas treading softly on various topics, her sorority sisters walked in. Due to dinner and other chat, they knew instantly our daughter’s dream boat sat near us. One girl got so giddy and loud that she nearly gave away the crush secret. We had to run interference for our kid. Days later, we learned that the young man had been stalked by a previous flame; thus, he kept future suitors at bay. The demonstrative girl nearly scared him off. However, he seemed genuinely interested in our child.
A few weeks before the show, he’d tried to ask our daughter out for coffee to discuss their future. He had a long list of questions to discover her intentions and her level of mental stability. She called that meeting, “The Interview to date him!” That day, he told her that if they went out it was not dating until a few weeks passed; he’d stop asking her out if he saw no future for them. “Why waste time?” His comment explained his plans. Even if they dated a few weeks, he let her know things would move very slowly, and they would not be girlfriend and boyfriend for quite a while into dating.
A few weeks after the pizza party, we invited him to dinner. In the middle of the meal, her older sister with her husband’s approval announced their first child was on the way. Our daughters jumped up hugging, dancing, and making happy sounds. In front of the slow moving date, our kid stated, “I’m so excited for you! I want kids so badly!” My eyes locked on her date; he seemed untouched by the announcements from both girls.
Speaking of food, the molasses rate of speed increased a few weeks later. That boy told our child the crush had been mutual from the start. He fell ‘head over heels’ for our girl. Before her senior year of college ended, as her niece greeted the world, that guy already met with my hubby to ask for her hand in marriage. Her father only required that his daughter finish college- married or not!
Faux Pas
At a wedding, I went up to my best friend’s parents and a guest. I told one of the old men that I recognized him from driving me around as a teen. Her dad- not the man I addressed- held out his hand to thank me for remembering how he escorted us teens to be sure we arrived here and there safely. Good thing old age blinded him.
I’m not sure if you’re a fun guy or a fungi.
My Valentine’s Day card had a monkey substituting for Cupid. Meanwhile, due to high seas on our cruise, the port at Roatan was skipped by our captain; we’d missed an excursion to a preserve full of Howler Monkeys. So, I added some text to that card; “I can fill in for the Howler Monkeys; I’m willing to jump on your shoulders and steal all your valuables!”
My dad said his marriage to mom was a childhood romance. She was the child, and he was the hood. They married on her birthday and due to her devout Catholic beliefs she could NOT return or exchange him for a better gift.
When we married in February, I chose any date but the 14th because my intention was NOT to ruin a perfectly good holiday if our romance did NOT work out.
This story is expanded in the SOON to be released paperback or Kindle entitled "The KNOT" @ AMAZON @ http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_5?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=mchanson714 or @ SMASHWORDS @ http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714
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Spouses or Love Life Part 1
Since the Two Become One,
Isn’t This Like Laughing at Yourself?
Marriage Advice I learned to Ignore
How to get out of the laundry: bleach his shirts giving them a tie die look.
How to get out of preparing food you don't prefer cooking: burn it. This stunt may take a couple of times so he will dread the smell and even stop craving that food.
If he turns over barbequing to you: set the grill ablaze by ignoring the fire and meat.
How to get out of picking up his undies: leave yours in plain view of guests making sure they are your least sexy ones. If it takes more than that to teach him a lesson: when people notice the panties pretend, they're his in a joking fashion. As soon as he denies ownership, tell guests that they could have been his because he always leaves his hanging out. Add to your explanation the following line, “In fact, hope none of you are sitting on a pair right now!”
Other Marriage Moments to Forget?
I never really drank booze because my parents were tea party people. When I drank champagne on my honeymoon, we discovered I am a sleeping drunk. My husband nicknamed me ‘The Crash Out Kid!’
My husband says he doesn’t need to go to church because he married me, and I will save him. He calls his state of being ‘Heaven Adjacent!’ I had to explain theology to him. If he remains Protestant, the place he is at is called Hell because it is one or the other in that Christian group. However, if he converts before his death to my version of Christianity or Roman Catholic, he’ll be in Purgatory. Of course, from his secular point of view, living with me is like being right beside Heaven!
When we were newlyweds, Florida suffered a drought and forest fires. There was a burn ban on July 4th. In spite of that, from our 2nd floor balcony of our apartment, my husband and a friend shot off fireworks towards the complex’s pond. Falling short, they set the lawn on fire. I raced to fill soup pots with water to contain that blaze; my husband raced to stomp it out. He never confessed to other residents that he started that fire.
My boyfriend was tooling around town because he was a tool!
My husband got a new watch; it had a message, “cool!” It indicated the temperature. My spouse thought it was complimenting him.
Soda Jerk
I thought having a summer job might be fun. Babysitting didn’t pay enough cash. Thus, I took a position as a soda jerk making ice cream cones for happy families and all kinds of people. It felt good to be a part of their memories.
The bad news included that I had to work on the Fourth of July. While everyone sat on blankets and lawn chairs across the street in the city park, I worked at warped speed filling all the orders before the fireworks started. All staff arrived to man their stations that day. I made the sundaes, only.
When a cute guy called out that he wanted a second hit of the hot fudge, I turned to clarify his order.
“What?” came out of my mouth as I inadvertently hit the second push of that machine. Due to my position, the hot lava-like substance hit my wrist. I followed my short question with a loud, “Ouch!” Quickly the sundae went to counter as my body lunged at the sink for cold water.
When I finished his ice cream dish handing it to him, that boy apologized profusely for interrupting my task. I smiled drinking in his deep blue eyes. He was worth my agony; however, I never saw him- again. He must have been in town for the holiday.
The Pledge
When the girls went to college, their daddy gave them a piece of advice. “You hook the tuna, and I’ll real them in for you!”
What he meant was find the man of your dreams, and I’ll help you land him. Dad offered up fishing and sports games for the bait along with what I put in the bait bucket. I taught our girls that marriage is not their ultimate goal; self-sufficiency is the goal of college. We, also, taught them good morals; I brought them religion as well.
Meanwhile, God offered up the rest giving our girls good looks, good minds, and His good sense. They chose wisely! When two of our three girls had their fish- I mean future husbands- on the line- their dad grabbed the family net helping drag them into our boat. Later in life, he even bragged about his and his daughters’ good sense and skills in front of the men!
We have one to go but she is a free spirit leaning more towards her mom’s independence ideal. Like me- she sees marriage as a partnership not as the only or ultimate goal of a female.
Donut Do It
Our youngest girl liked to be daddy’s princess. She looked the most like him, which is why of the two girls she owned his ego. Many times, she manipulated him into doing things he didn’t really want to do.
One day, she pleaded while flirting, “Daddy, I’ll be your friend forever if you buy me my favorite Dunkin Donut!”
After complying, it became a joke. Every time she manipulated him I’d jest, “And- will you still be friends forever?”
Dad did funny things – so did we!
I do?
My husband and I knew each other from class at college as well as the computer lab, there. We got better acquainted at work after I recommended him for his job. We developed our friendship and professional bond as our feeling manifested into respect, friendship, and then love.
What first attracted me to him was the following conversation. I was in charge of orienting the new hires. One complained, “Our trainer checks on us all the time making sure we are doing our work right!”
“She’s doing her job!” My future spouse defended.
“Yeah, but is she patronizing us?”
“I don’t think so. I actually think she is very smart but really tries to bring her explanations, of how to complete our tasks, down to our level- without appearing condescending.”
“I have trouble with women teaching me!” The other guy finally admitted. I overheard the whole conversation. In spite of breaking the ceiling in the telephony and communications field, I hadn’t made as many inroads as imagined because my male underlings felt the need to have their discussion. However, the man that realized I worked hard not to be overbearing, bitchy, or negatively assertive caught my attention.
Many thought of me as the group’s secretary but he was the beginning of the new generation that would break up the ‘good old boys network’ the same way the government was chopping at AT&T’s monopoly; we were challenging status quo.
I realized that he felt a bigger attraction to me when he expressed it in a joke or statement. His jesting revolved around paychecks. I delivered them to our group on behalf of our boss. When I handed him his enveloped copy, that guy handed it back saying, “Here, take it back!”
“What?”
My failure to comprehend his gesture led to his explanation, “I figure that is what happens. The wife takes all my checks!”
At the time, we were not even going out together. He, also, asked what the ‘J’ on my check stood for. I told him my middle name; he candidly remarked, “That’s a pretty name.”
“I like it more than my first name. In fact, one day, I might call my daughter it.”
“I think my future little girl might have that name, too.” He stood up with a Cheshire Cat grin, “That’s it! We need to get married!” He amazed me with his spunk because we still weren’t even dating.
He tried to ask me out but had no idea how to get a yes out of me. He asked me to the company picnic at a water park. “I have an extra ticket, would you like to go?”
I clarified my rejection of that notion. “I’m not going; I don’t wear bathing suits in front of people I work with!” He brought a buddy instead.That poor guy tried, again. He asked if I wanted to go canoeing or on a picnic. Since our department often did things together, I thought it was a group invitation. I agreed to go extending his offer to others; many colleagues tagged along. He began to give up on me.
Going back a month or two, before he was hired, when my boss asked, I gave him a good recommendation. Finally, a joke changed things, “When you taking me out for getting you your job?” I jested.
He wasted no time agreeing to repay me, “Friday night!”
We dated then decided- for various reasons- to elope.
After our private ‘I dos,’ we went to lunch. Having leftover sodas, we brought them with us. Next, the two of us drove to our honeymoon suite; he checked us in. As I sat there in his car, the reality of our ceremony sunk in. How was I going to be with him for twenty or more years? My parents fought often. His folks were divorcing. Would we become miserable- too? What was I thinking eloping like this?
He’d placed his drink on the dashboard before leaving me alone in that running car. Returning with the key to our room, he proved his mind was not on the same things as mine. Jumping in the car, he flipped it into reverse squealing the wheels. He punched the brake to maneuver better and the drink flew all over us- mostly on his lap. Hysterical explains the scene. I laughed until I cried. He was frantically upset asking me to stop making fun of his mistake. I couldn’t help it; he was a drenched puppy.
What he didn’t realize was- his actions helped God explain how to survive marriage or any relationship and life. Rely on a good sense of humor to get you through tough or embarrassing events- and even in the good times! From day one, humor made hard times as well as the good times better.
When we returned to reality, many people and family members felt our relationship would not last because we eloped. We were both in our twenties not teens running away from home. Or, were we? For the record, I made him wait until he turned twenty before we married. I know what you’re thinking; I got him young and trained him right!
Other people that witnessed us together held a different point of view than those closest to us. For instance, a lady walked up to us at a home improvement store. She asked, “How do couples like you do it?”
“Do what?” We simultaneously questioned her inquiry about our relationship.
At first, we had no idea what she meant. Just before she approached, my husband picked out some lighting that I didn’t care for. Instead of saying no, I told him where to place those lights if he purchased those items. “Put those things where the sun don’t shine!” I meant they’d end up in a dark corner of our garage or unused.
“I fully intend to put them where the sun don’t shine; that’s what lights are for!” He jested back.
We laughed at my unexpected innuendo. Thus, as she approached, she saw the humor we exchanged, which over the years had disintegrated many potentially harsh arguments.
She clarified, “How do couples like you do it? Stay married for years and still appearing content with each other?”
There were hard times; for instance, on our thirtieth anniversary, some sad things were going on. His mom was at Hospice, so we didn’t even realize it was such a big anniversary. We thought it might be the perpetual 29th or something. Celebrating our day with dinner out; the next day we stood at his parent’s bedside, again.
On our 31st anniversary, two more strange things occurred revealing our relationship. Our cards matched; we got each other the exact same one! We thought alike in so many ways; we were in sync. Secondly, some friends came by for dinner talking about their 30th anniversary cruise. I spoke first,
“When will it be our 30th?”
After a pause to do the math, my mate remarked, “Oh my! It was the year mom died!”
“That’s right!” I realized. “She died just days after that one, which is why we forgot to do the math!”
There had been better anniversaries. On our tenth, he finally could afford (and wanted to) buy me a diamond ring. Once, he brought me to a concert that I wanted to see and secured a nearby luxury hotel instead of driving home late that night. Another time, he sprung for tickets on River Ship Romance, which is a dinner buffet on the St. Johns. Many times, he brought me to a luau; I’ve been to every one hosted in Orlando including Disney, Sea World and Universal Studio’s Polynesian Hotel as well as some in Hawaii- itself. In fact, our special event the year he lost his mom was a luau dinner because my husband loves the islands as much as he did his mom- and does me.
About a year later, on New Year’s Day, just before our 32nd anniversary, while I sat at the breakfast table enjoying my coffee, my mate sat opposite of me trying to get sugar out of its sprinkling container. The humidity had hardened the crystals together. He began pounding the plastic carton on the table. Then- fiercely- he shook it. He repeated as needed. Luckily, neither of us had a hangover!
Suddenly, the granules that were loose exploded out of the lid. Larger chunks of sweetness followed. His aim was so good that most of it fell all over me. Some landed on the table. I immediately sang Def Lepard’s hit, “Pour some sugar on me!”
In thirty plus years, he went from dumping sticky stuff on himself to tossing it my direction. He’d learned to share!
I related to Def Lepard in another way, it had been about eighteen months since my trip that took part of my left Humerus bone but not my funny bone. During recovery, thirty days after my initial surgery, due to possible infection, I almost lost my left arm. It felt apropos that my spouse’s banging on the table and waving the shaker left me covered in sugar. As is my tradition, I found the humor and laughed until our next anniversary.
Laughter is the medicine and the main ingredient sustaining those marriage vows
Ouch
My husband likes to repeat that silly phrase, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!” Let me tell you what really happened in Vegas! We went to meet the in-laws; they were traveling in a trailer at the time. There is a place about a mile outside town to ski. My husband and kid learned to do it that holiday. My spouse and daughter went up that mountain with an in-law after the bunny slopes became boring.
Later in that same day, the other relative came down the hill to warn me that my child and spouse would be with a sled dog. She was okay; he badly twisted a knee. Our child is an avid skier to this day; she tags along with the in-laws to get her fill of that activity. My spouse gave up skiing on day one saying, “What happened in Vegas; stays in Vegas! I’ll never do that, again!”
Last birthday card
What I learned the first Christmas married to my husband follows. His birthday falls just after it. I tend to recycle but I learned the hard way; don't go green with wrapping paper because he will call it a holiday package you forgot to deliver. Even if I got the item after the 25th, whatever happened, I needed to avoid going green on the wrapping paper or I’d never hear the end of it. Pointing at the packaging, he’d state; "Here's the proof that this was earmarked for Christmas, and you held back on me!"
I found out another rule or two. Don’t buy his gifts early even if the item goes on sale. Instead, wait for after holiday sales because that present, if still in stock, may be cheaper. Plus, my spouse would claim as he looked at the receipt, "You kept one of my Christmas gifts aside like my mother used to do. Then, you snuck that purchase in as my birthday present!" If the sales receipt is pre-December 25, I always lost that debate. After thirty plus years, on his last birthday, I came up with a silly gift plan; my prank follows.
Backing up a smidgen, one year, he lit my cake with candles that cannot be blown out. The kids tried to help me feel less winded. One of our daughters decided to reach for a candle to hold it close while breathing on it. As its flame reemerged, I screamed, “No!” Plus, I demanded water to eliminate those flames. At that point, her older sister spit enough to help but hinder, too. Her moisture hit the cake as I snidely asked, "Whose dumb idea was this?" Unfortunately, it was not my spouse's crazy idea but our oldest child's joke gone badly with the help of her dad. Thus, during my prank gift giving, my husband, also, opened flicker battery operated candles; on his card I noted, “Won't blow out! Cannot set fires! Won't burn children or adults; well maybe you!” I jested as he read and opened each individually wrapped item, “Feel the burn!”
It’s, also, important to know, my spouse loves The Keys in Florida. As he grew older in The Sunshine State, his mom went to the beach often including there; we spent many holidays seaside. In spite of being the child of a surfer and delusional beach bum, I loved to watch the waves but was not a beach bunny at all. Even so, we spent many breaks at Key West. All that considered; I wanted a change in scenery especially after his mother was no longer doing her ‘Bali High’ wave beckoning us to visit her and her travel trailer just south of my Miami. In other words, we started seeing more than just one place on this Earth after she passed.
Meanwhile, every year, from Thanksgiving to Christmas, I made celery stuffed with cream cheese as a tradition passed down from my side of the family. While birthday shopping on the 26th or soon thereafter, I found a key lime dessert packet that said just add cream cheese. I was thrilled since we had that food leftover in the fridge at home! I mentioned that cost reduction in my note to my husband, as well. To the package, I did add premade key lime cookies. My goal wasn’t to be mean; it was to make a point- humorously.
Continuing the explanation for his last birthday gifts, at Christmas, we got too many boxes of fine chocolates such as Godiva goodies. Many cookies arrived as well including homemade varieties made in our kitchen because my husband channeled his deceased mom. When I gave away some prepackaged sweets, my spouse complained that those cookies were too good to share; he planned on eating ALL of them. I retorted, “That's why I got them out of here; neither of us needs more on our waste line!” When he baked for Christmas, he borrowed the cookie cutters from our daughter to bake with her youngsters; as a joke, I bought him his own tools. I shopped for them the days after the holiday receiving 50% off that purchase. My card declared that bonus of learning to do his birthday purchases after the 25th. In my notes to him, I thanked him for forcing my price savings!
I tried to find him a metal monogram of his first name's first letter but found a ‘W’ in the picked over ornaments instead of the sought after ‘M!’ My comment written in his card was, “Turn your world upside down; and that trinket gift should work for you!” I added that the item ONLY cost $1 because it was on sale at 90% off. Still jesting, I thanked him for teaching me to shop properly for his birthday.
As he read about why he got a W, I winked at my ‘formal oriented’ daughter, “Everyone needs one thing or another monogrammed, right?”
Laughing, I watched him attempt to be a good sport about his presents and my comments. After all those gag gifts, I showed him a receipt for his true birthday present. It was a smoker bought that very day. He deserved the ribbing as well as the steak, brisket, and other things we planned on eating once he learned to use it properly! We had a good laugh because I was smoking hot in a humorous way and breezed through his last birthday shopping!
Valentines
On a trip home from the hospital and a seemingly one-sided visit with grandma, one of our kids was in the car, too. We stopped at Cracker Barrel for a meal. All of a sudden, we realized it was Valentine’s Day.
“Wow! Is this how we are celebrating the day of love?” I joked as we sat down to our table.
“Only the best for you, my love!” He jested back.
“Can I get anything I want on this menu?”
“Yes, you deserve it!”
I ordered the steak, which was tasty.
Sometimes, we got serious. For example, on the drive home, my husband confessed to our kid, “I will miss my mother but I bet she is glad I met your mom.”
“Really?” My question tempted fate.
He kept talking to our daughter, my namesake, as though I was mute, “I believe that without your mom I would have been less and had less in my life!”
“Less humor, maybe!” I was floored.
Loser Magnet
In front of our adult and oldest daughter, we were discussing all the girls that chased after my husband. The ones that got away or that he got away from. After a few, our kid interrupted the banter, “OMG, daddy, you were a real loser magnet!”
I laughed adding, “Not sure how to put this next thought. If you father was a loser magnet than does that make me a loser?”
“No, he got lucky you came along!” She giggled.
“I dodged the bullet until you came along!” He jested letting us know it was his choice- in most cases- to stay free of those past suitors.
The Honeymooners
At Marine Land, on our honeymoon, my spouse and I stood at the dolphin’s swim tank discussing how smart those mammals are in comparison to humans. “Their intelligence is a myth perpetrated by ‘Flipper’ and the media,” My husband expressed his sentiments. After speaking his opinion aloud, a surfaced dolphin splashed him. I blamed it on his belief about that species. When he, again, doubted that mammal’s intelligence in earshot- that animal used his flipper to set the record straight! My husband was a little wet behind the ears among other places.
Later, at the beach, my husband put a floater on his brand new, prescription sunglasses then entered the Atlantic Ocean. One good wave made him wave goodbye to his eyewear! It caused a spectacle for nearby dolphins to watch, too!
Wine Cooled Her
Things go wrong in the best of marriages! Starting with our honeymoon, this story is rated ‘R’ if that stands for riotous! After living together, we wanted a special and romantic first night as a married couple. The couple never gets enough to eat at the reception because they are too busy with pictures, mingling, and chores such as the cake and bouquet. So, we ordered drinks and food. Of course, we ordered a red dessert wine as well as strawberries and cheese with crackers.
When it all arrived, we place the wine cooler near the bed making a picnic area with the down comforter. Each of us had a plate of food and drinks to enjoy! As we enter the area from opposite sides of the bed, my husband gets his first glimpse of my new nighty, which causes him to enter the feasting area too quickly. Men are that way- always moving too fast! As a result, our wine goblets tip pouring all over the blanket. I laughed until near tears as he mopped up his mess. He kept repeating that he should have gone with colorless champagne as his face remained beet red. We had ‘sweet but wet dreams’ in that bed that night.
Take a Gander
I was out of town and my husband went in and out on business trips. While on my journey, he called to ask me if there was a spare memory card for our camera. I had it with me.
When I returned from my trip with our kid, my spouse explained how he thought people were siphoning gas but he never caught them. I pointed out that his many flights in and out of town required a forty-five minute drive to the nearest airport; that might have caused the gas gage to drop. He dismissed my opinion to explain his purchase of a camouflage, night vision camera that he’d bought at Gander Mountain. We took a gander at what ‘his two hundred dollar purchase’ found in the middle of the night in our driveway.
He got a great exposure of his face and tail before he left with one of those body parts between his legs. The kids and I had a great joke about his purchase UNTIL we got e-mails from neighbors asking if anyone else was being hit by the gas bandits. We never caught the thief but my husband is very happy with his purchase.
Don’t Tell Him Show Him
Years ago, my whole family went through mono. It’s not just the ‘kissing disease.’ My family physician made that perfectly clear, “Casual contact spreads it just like the flu. If your immune shields are down, you can easily contract mono!”
My husband had been working double shifts on extremely important software releases. He fell asleep at a car dealer, which is when I made him see the doctor. Soon, we discovered that I contracted it as did our children. I’m sure we passed it while kissing one another. So, it is the ‘kissing disease!’
Since we went down with the illness in a skewed fashion, my husband felt better before me. In the weeks the doctor put us on complete bed rest, my parents brought meals in on to our home on a daily basis. Thanks God!
Being a bit bored, my husband dreamed of how he’d spend his bonus from the project completed on schedule. Doctor bills never crossed his mind. Since he earned the extra cash, my spouse went out and purchased the big red truck- alone.
That vehicle had an extra-long bed. It could seat five to six people being complete with a back seat for the kids. “The whole family can use this truck!” He explained his thoughts to cushion the blow of my reaction.
“When?”
“On vacations or just to go out!” He felt sure his sole purchase was his greatest exploit.
He manipulated while I was down and out suffering my illness while tending to our kids. Before I stewed too long, he slyly added; “It’s really your new car. The SUV kept breaking down on you and the kids.” Being more like a station wagon, I never complained about that truck purchase; I guess he felt I’d be just a pleased with this one.
I wasn’t! To make him eat his words, I took the keys to my new truck! It was just what I dreamed would replace my ailing vehicle- NOT!
I have eye vision issues including depth perception, sometimes. Needless to say, I had to park way out in lots at stores making sure no cars were nearby that I could mar or ding. Backing up was a nightmare especially when our four and two year old children were ornery and distracting me.
My husband had a rule; the newer vehicle always got the garage. Since I usually drove it; I agreed with that rule. With the garage door opener, I could maneuver to a sheltered location, close the door, and safely move the kids and packages into the house.
Except- the big red truck barely fit length-wise, so my depth perception issues caused bigger problems. I’d jump in and out of the truck deciding if that overhear door would close on cue. One day, feeling sure I knew the spot to stop, after days of rocking the truck into position, I tapped the gas. I hit the wall, literally.
It was only crunched with a small dent but it looked huge to me. I tried to fix it. Being a new home, the builder was still in the neighborhood. Trying not to laugh at my skills, he suggested the remedy. “Don’t feel bad; the length of this truck is too long for this garage. It barely fits!” I nodded as he added, “My house down the street had worse damage and for a stupid reason!”
He burst into the laughter withheld earlier, “That wife jumped in her car, popped it into gear, and rolled into her closed door. She forgot to hit the garage door opener! They had to order a new door!” He chuckled then added, “At least, you have a reason for your mess; your husband bought way too of a big a tuck for you to drive!”
‘I am sure he bought it for himself,’ I thought. ‘I nipped his future tricks in the bud!’ In doing so, I clipped the wall in our garage, too!
I turned over that truck to its rightful owner after the next incident. It involved an embarrassing moment and strangers. I went to price a photo shoot; at the time, I did wedding photography on week-ends to make petty cash. The couple’s house was in the middle of a trailer park; it was trash day. I maneuvered those cans precariously set on narrow roads on the way to their aluminum home. My huge truck barely fit in their short driveway. However, I managed to rock and roll it in; this time, my control of the gas pedal helped overt catastrophe. I thought!
On my way out of that subdivision, a car behind me kept honking and gesturing to me. I feared some sort of ‘road rage’ might be starting. From my rear view mirror, I noticed the passenger nearly falling out of the car as he leaned pointing at me. I wasn’t sure if I noticed him giving me the finger. After they passed me waving and laughing, I pulled over to a rolling stop. My ears detected the ‘Ker plunk’ sound.
It wasn’t ‘road rage’ causing their reaction and my distraction. I picked up someone’s empty, plastic, trash can in the huge wheel well of ‘Big Red,’ my truck’s nickname. It fell free landing beside my vehicle. I wasn’t sure where to return it but tossed it in the bed. Slowly driving back to my potential customers, I stopped more quietly placing that can near their front yard while still not sure who really owned it.
That day, upon arriving home, my husband got his new truck! Before my surrender, my husband only drove Big Red when we went out as a family or he needed stuff from the handyman store.
As promised, my spouse took us on an impromptu vacation in that thing to prove his point about its versatility. We drove on a whim in our new truck to see snow. Without proper weight in the back, our extended cab truck fishtailed in ice on the dark side of a mountain. Hovering precariously over the edge; I prayed this cliff hanger would end well.
When my young daughters suggested we exit the truck, my fear kicked in; “Don’t move! Don’t even breathe! Leave your seatbelts on, too!”
Cars wedged and skid past us while oncoming traffic pushed them too close to our vehicle as I prayed. After ten scary minutes awaiting a crash down the mountainside, our ordeal ended with another Florida vehicle with ‘four wheel drive’ maneuvering in front of us, linking our two cars with chains, and towing us to safety. Thank God!
One of our kids must have never gotten over the embarrassment of that truck. Whenever dear, old dad drove her to middle school, she made him drop her two blocks away and drive away like he didn’t know her! That particular daughter’s husband has a 'Big Red' truck of his own; she has been seen as a passenger in it. Funny how life changes!
This story is expanded in the SOON to be released paperback or Kindle entitled "The KNOT" @ AMAZON @ http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_5?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=mchanson714 or @ SMASHWORDS @ http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714
Follow the release dates and other writing by this author on her book site @ http://mchanson714.weebly.com/
***
God’s Humorous
By
Cynthia Meyers-Hanson
My cousin thought duct tape was the remedy for every disaster. He died young while still in his twenties. At his sister’s wedding reception, the strings of little, white lights kept falling off their stands. We looked all over for a solution finding only duct tape to securely hang them. Her brother was there! God let us know on that day of love how loving He is by allowing us to memorialize that cousin with the use of duct tape.My father-in-law was a fireman; he died in a blaze right before my wedding. At the ceremony, the smoke detectors in the church randomly went off. The pastor apologized but we all smiled because my husband’s dad was there. God is good to reveal that thought in that sign.I had an aneurism. I felt the migraine during mass especially when they rang the chimes. The bell ringing experience alerted me to rush to the doctor; that saved my life. Unfortunately, my window view after surgery was a cemetery full of monuments to death. God has a sense of humor.Oh, you want to read about holidays; I confused you with holy days! Keep reading, then!
Birthday Traditions
After going to Rome, my kids wanted me to relish the good times rather than remember my back wrenching experience while in that country. I took on too much luggage and lost that battle. For my next birthday, they set up a meal at a local Italian cafe that boasts specialty rooms. They got me into the Pope’s Room to commemorate my other Italy experience. I got in last minute to the Real Pope’s Wednesday audience.
Over the years, in my extended family, if they went out somewhere special for their birthday, someone always got doused with a drink by the server at a restaurant. Before that day in the Pope’s Room, the liquid never landed on me. I sometimes wondered, ‘Was my day not special enough or was the restaurant staff that good?’ That day in the Pope’s Room, something went right or wrong! I was flooded by the water pitcher that once sat in the middle of our table. While my in-laws profusely apologized for their part in that mess, I just laughed!
Sometimes, you just gotta laugh out loud and not take life so seriously!
There Goes My Hero
When my daughter was five, she wanted an outfit that made her look like Madonna- not Jesus’s mother but the other one. I told her no- not because it was revealing or inappropriate but due to the price and size. It was not cheap; although it was stretchy material, it already fit snug.
“I told her no,” I explained cutting her off at the dinner table as she tried to plead her case to her father.
“Anything for my princess,” He ignored me answering her concerns.
After the meal, they raced to the store since it was on the clearance rack. It was definitely a cute ensemble. She wore it to her sixth birthday; I have video of that party. When the camera is on her dancing and having fun- it, also, shoots a clear view of her pulling and tugging especially near her rear.
I was right! More importantly, men need to be more aware of being manipulated listening the women trying to protect their wealth and well-being.
St. Moritz & a Friend
After completing college, some pals and I backpacked through South Europe. Others in my group planned on continuing on to other parts via the rail system but I met my mother to share my continuing adventure with her. A friend suddenly found herself disconnected from our original group, so my mom smuggled her into our hotel room. She did this until that friend found a new bunch of young adults to complete her journey. While together, we hopped on a train from Zurich to St .Moritz. The scenery of the Alps was as magical and picturesque as one might imagine. Many of the enclaves or small towns looked like a winter wonderland or toy land villages as we sped past.
Mom, also, carried a Ziploc of sealed packages of granola, crackers, nuts, and other healthier snacks. That girl and I led the frugal life for six weeks, so my pal was famished. I was underfed as well but looked forward to my parent’s comfort and care. Plus, I knew a secret; we planned on surprising my friend with a great meal because it was her birthday. During that long ride, we discussed how our other traveler would leave my parent’s adult care to finish three more weeks of touring, soon. While with us, that girl decided to take my mother up on her offer of eating anything in the junk food bag; my pal even smuggled some into her purse for later. That clandestine act revealed how hungry we were! When we noticed her actions, we snickered, whispered, and laughed. That girl knew our rambling was all about her and wondered what we thought of her actions. Our looks and murmurs made her very self-conscious but we had no idea of her comfortable level. Later, she disclosed that, for a moment, she felt ill at ease around us.
Once off the train, we made a beeline for cafes checking the menu. More uncomfortable with the prices, the girl tried to leave us while we ate. That’s when we sung in unison, “Happy Birthday, our treat!” Actually, it was mom’s treat.
Quickly, we learned my travel buddy thought we were sneering at her rather than planning her good meal; “I wondered why you kept looking at me so strange as I ate!”
“You were devouring so much that we feared it would ruin this surprise meal!” Mom explained.
“Believe me, weeks of hostel life made me so empty inside that I could eat for hours and not be full!”
The surprise was on us!
As we traveled on, that girl attempted some independence. She went to the Nice or Monaco area of South France as we went to Venice, Italy. The plan was to meet back at Milan. She called our cell phone to verify the reunion details. “We will be on the train arriving at 11PM,” I informed her.
She responded that her train expected to pull in to the station at 11PM as well. Our rail ran South West; my friend would be travelling North East as she arrived to central Italy. A blonde moment followed that data exchange, “So, we will be on the same train since we both get in at 11PM.” I repeated her conversation for the sake of my companion. Before responding to my friend, the laughter broke out of both ends of the phone line. Mom got the jest of it smiling broadly. “Let me guess, she’s having a blonde moment or a ‘messed up geography’ brain fart!”
Four Leaf Covers & Leprechauns
As a child, my dad tricked my siblings and me into weeding the clover out of his St. Augustine lawn as well as his gardens. He told us that a four leaf clover was lucky while holding two three leaf ones in such a manner as to cleverly disguise his hoax. My parent proudly and shrewdly announced a contest. “If any of you finds one just like this clover leaf, I’ll give you a dollar.”
Back then, a single bill was treasure only surpassed by a ‘pot of gold’ at the end of a rainbow. We believed those colorful arches remained in the Heavens, while due to dad’s ‘sleight of hand’ trick, the other find felt possible. From the ground, we’d pull out vegetation for hours trying to find the elusive four leaf clover. Our search got us to weed. Cleverly, my father’s manipulation saved him hours of labor. If time is money, he gained riches. His trick did bring him the ‘Luck of the Irish!’
Meanwhile, while racing around trying to find my fortunes in life, I came across a neighbor and friend. She stood staring into a bush. “What is in there?” I wondered aloud while momentarily stopping.
“A Leprechaun!” The young girl proclaimed. “At least, that is what my dad says. If you catch him, you get a secret wish.”
“Like blowing out a birthday cake’s candles or breaking the wish bone of a chicken or turkey?” I asked for clarification.
“Yes, except you have to find and catch him, first!”
“Do you mean put him in some sort of prison then demand a favor?” I tried to imagine the scene as if he’d be a ‘Genie in the Bottle.’ “How will you single handedly capture him?” My thoughts pictured a man and a young girl embattled, and the man bigger and stronger always won.
“You just have to catch him!” She reiterated her point.
“What?”
“You catch a glimpse of him then demand he stop short of hiding, again. If you see a Leprechaun, he has to grant your wish.”
“Have you ever spotted him?” My excitement level rose because that would be easier than physically detaining a man- even a short green one.
“No, but my dad swears he has,” She declared full of faith in her parent’s honesty.
Something inside me questioned her beliefs. As I raced off, it felt a bit saner to look for the four leaf clover than to wait for a small but happy soul to arrive from a bush and grant wishes. Some of her idea might have been a remake of a Bible narrative. God has made appearances in burning bushes.
Maybe, her parent confused his myth with those tales. I imagine the place she stood would have been better lit and God easier to see if HIS Story was repeating itself. Instead, the dark leaves camouflaged her green-colored, elusive Leprechauns.
In spite of my doubt, I snuck back to that brush a few days later. She must have given up hope of finding that green, happy elf or troll because that girl left the vicinity. Nothing but a slight breeze rustled the branches; I noticed a patch of clover nearby and weeded her family’s lawn instead of awaiting a secret visitor from that shrub.
After some more research, in other words, I asked my half Irish dad, my mind was les confused. “Do short, ‘green dressed’ men live in plants and grant wishes if discovered?”
“Yes, but Leprechauns do NOT live in Florida. They are natives of Ireland!”
After that, I envisioned a bunch of midgets or short people in green outfits living far far away in a very foreign land! After that experience, I still looked for the occasional four leaf clover. I never found one nor did I see a Leprechaun anywhere except fantasyland. The lucky clover might be closer to reality than the little, green men.
Speaking of men, they think females gossip and make up stories; now, you see how dad’s, which are male, start rumors and legends! Guys, also, contend women are more frequently the cunning manipulators. Obviously, males are just as crafty at children and wo-manipulation.
Smaller Events
At a relative’s birthday, at restaurant, the staff offered to sing his birthday song traditionally or backwards. He asked for their backwards version. The waiters and waitresses turned their backs on their guests to sing!
One youngster arrived through the barrage of hauntingly frightening sound activated ghosts, goblins, and grave sites. We’d left out my welcome statue with God’s hands holding a dove; it read, ‘He’s got the whole world in His hands.’ The toddler pointed at that one thing- and one thing only- commenting,”Oooo, scary!”
The dollar store had long lines at Christmas so I had time to comment on our situation. “Look on the bright side- the cashiers don’t get slowed down by price checks.”
This story is expanded in the SOON to be released paperback or Kindle entitled "The KNOT" @ AMAZON @ http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_5?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=mchanson714 or @ SMASHWORDS @ http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714
Follow the release dates and other writing by this author on her book site @ http://mchanson714.weebly.com/
***
Dark Energy Revealed
By
Ben Drobney
Any mass rotating around an axis generates centrifugal force. The amount of force is determined by the speed of rotation, the distance from the axis, and the quantity of mass in motion. A bucket of water can be swung in a circle at arm’s length without spilling a drop. Centrifugal force easily overcomes gravity. Astronauts and fighter pilots are subjected to many times the force of gravity by the use of simulators mounted on booms rotated around a central axis. A change in the direction of a moving vehicle causes a similar phenomenon due to inertia, pulling passengers to one side.
The moon's orbit around the earth stops them from crashing together, as do the planetary orbits around the sun. At those distances and quantities of matter, tremendous forces of attraction are overcome with only a fraction of the angular velocity of the previously mentioned examples. It takes a full year for the earth to complete only a single revolution around the sun, yet it involves trillions of tons of force. Star systems remain suspended within galaxies by similar means, though their relative motion is nearly unnoticeable. Only the swirling patterns and spiral shapes reveal their underlying momentum.
On an even larger scale, a smaller degree of relative movement is required to repel vast conglomerations of bodies, such as the galaxies, themselves. As they all move away from each other with such consistency, as shown by Hubble’s Constant, some lateral motion also exists to equalize distances, while they continue to move away from a central point in the universe. Their interconnected gravitational bonds and that ever increasing lateral motion combine to create centrifugal force, which overcomes the inward pull of gravity. This is supplemented by the remaining outward pull of gravity by the masses and particles that have reached greater distances from the central point, some of which scatter directly outward, escaping local orbital bonds and increasing the radius of the universe at the speed of light.
***
THE BIG FIZZ
(AS OPPOSED TO THE BIG BANG)
By
Ben Drobney
The Simplified Mechanics of a Complex Universe
An Independent Report to Illuminate the Validity of an Abandoned
Theory, And Offer the Potential for Further Evidence
Descendant of Mankind 2012
The Steady State Theory, proposed in 1948, by Bondi, Gold, and Hoyle, was eventually rebuked, and ousted from the scientific community, but it was closer to reality than its opponents would like you to believe. The alternative Big Bang Theory relies on the breakdown of physical laws, while the Steady State Theory comes close to fitting observations and known phenomena. A slightly modified version of this model, which would render its name unfitting, actually coincides with physical reality and maintains mechanical functionality. Recent evidence continues to support the theory, and more, still, is potentially available. The Universe has been found to be accelerating in its expansion, showing that it is not actually a steady state, as such, but the rate at which the expansion occurs can be limited to such a degree, it is nearly so. The Big Bang only “passed by winning ugly”, according to a study at UCLA, by Edward L Wright (http://www.astro.ucla.edu), requiring fabrications to justify the discovery of new data, and the Steady State Theory may have been stifled by misinterpretation. The Big Fizz asserts that the Universe is a tremendous explosion, much like the Big Bang, but the process continues, as in The Steady State Theory, and we are amongst the activity of the scattering debris, like riding a speck of dust swirling around a spark within the blast.
Implications are tremendous, as this theory proposes the continuation of the production of matter in an ongoing process, and consequently; a different birthday for nearly every planet and star. The evidence is tremendous, as well, and it will only grow, as images and positions of heavenly bodies are analyzed and documented. Telescope technology and computerized space logging systems make possible a new kind of cosmic forensics that is opening up a whole new view. Larger patterns of motion are beginning to emerge, as our time segment of observation grows with each passing year. Our picture of space is becoming clearer, too, as a multitude of new images is added to our data bank every day. Vast quantities of data and images now exist through which to explore space, so one has not to own the lab to see the specimen. Enough information exists to piece together the big picture.
The argument that eventually put to rest the Steady State Theory, was in connection with the discovery, and assumed sources, of the mysterious radiation emanating from outer space. A survey of sources of radio waves in the late 1950’s, and early 1960’s led scientists to believe that one of two team’s interpretations were correct. One of them put us in a less dense region of the Universe, while the other said the sources were more abundant in the past (Hawking, 1988). They were assumed to be from galaxies, though not all could be associated with specific ones. “Either explanation contradicted the predictions of the steady state theory” (Hawking, p63). They could not see why distant signals were so much more abundant, but they were caught up in a specific way of thinking. No one extended the possibilities beyond the Universe, but that would explain the imbalance. More recently, in March of 2012, NASA released a report announcing the discovery of nearly 500 more sources of extremely high energy gamma rays, about a third of which are a complete mystery. Some of the known sources include massive black holes, or blazars, and hypernova explosions (http://science.nasa.gov). On October 18, 2011, they stated that “FERMI (a specialized space telescope) sees gamma rays coming from directions in the sky where there are no obvious objects likely to produce gamma rays”. They also described gamma rays as “heralds of great energy and violence”, but said they seem to be coming from empty space (http://science.nasa.gov ).
Electromagnetic radiation, such as radio waves and gamma rays, keeps going in empty space, with nothing to slow it down. It only gets weaker, as it is dispersed over a greater area, or changes frequency with respective movement of its source, as compared to the point of observation. It is capable of travelling unlimited distances, as long as the source is strong enough, so it could even travel from one universe to another. It would not be restricted from the borders of our own Universe, so it would come right in, and any arrangement of multiple universes would facilitate a higher concentration away from ours. Only a limited number could be close by, relatively speaking, but many more could exist at great distances. Such a scenario would explain the high concentration of distant sources observed in the past, as well as the multitude of unexplained sources discovered more recently. Other universes would be nearly steady states, too, and should bear a similar signal to our own. They are still giant explosions, but they may behave differently than one would expect. Small scale models do not always apply to large scale physics.
We tend to think of an explosion as being instant. A firecracker goes “pop”. A hand grenade goes “boom”, and a hydrogen bomb goes “KABOOOOM!”. What if you multiplied that by millions, though; or billions, maybe? What would you have then? It would be enough to blow up the world, right? (Maybe even the Sun). The Sun is a large scale gas explosion, though, being comprised of 74% hydrogen, 24% helium, 1% oxygen, and only 1% other elements (http://moonphase.info ). Things on that scale take a lot longer to occur; and don’t even look the same as what we are used to. That daily blast of light and heat, which man has pondered since his beginning, is what an explosion looks like at that size. A blast big enough to involve the entire Universe could not be expected to take place in an instant. Larger stars do exhaust their fuel supplies more rapidly (Hawking 1988), but energy and particles can only travel within the limitations of physical laws. The sum of all matter and energy in the entire Universe could be expected to take much longer to disperse than the energy of the Sun (only a tiny portion of it). That’s longer than billions and billions of years. That was no Big Bang: That is closer to a Steady State. We just failed to see how it worked. We had not yet identified the pressure that still exists, so it seemed like a past event. All of the matter in the Universe seemed to be drifting away from a single point, driven on by momentum alone, but there remains a mechanical connection between the masses. Gravity can reach through space, but other forces we are familiar with, like friction and sound are only local. Gravity enables negative pressure at intermediate scales, while positive pressure still exists at smaller and larger ones.
This negative pressure between attracting bodies is possible because of the centrifugal force of the orbiting systems, and maintained by the thrust exerted at the core of the Universe on bodies being jettisoned there from. If particles continue to expand into matter near the center, as tightly compacted particles find room to form orbits, and it grows beyond its physical capacity, it must break apart, as more is produced within a limited region. It needs to occupy more space, but the physical volume of matter is limited. Systems are catapulted outward, but their interconnected patterns of motion limit expansion. Intense positive pressure at the core, due to expansion, coupled with the super- gravity of remaining ultra dense substance, like that found in black holes, is capable of generating more subatomic orbits (to absorb energy inward), but the pressure is converted to negative, as expelled matter finds resistance in the gravitational attraction of the other emerging systems, diverting them from their linear outward paths. Some still expanding chunks could even be blown off, like multi-stage fireworks, explaining active galaxies: galaxies that are sources of excess radiation, usually radio waves, X-rays, gamma rays, or some combination(http://www.nrao.edu), as well as the jets extending from the centers of some galaxies.
Much of the resistance to the expansion of the Universe is internal, as matter makes its way outward, in its strictly limited dance, created by the tendency of matter in motion to follow paths of least resistance. It seems to find points of relief in the patterns allowed by the physical conversions that occur at various scales, as the Universe reaches them during its expansion. These naturally occurring pressure thresholds leave concentric patterns of rotation of the moving matter within, forming orbits at specific scale sizes, as they become possible.
The intricate paths tiny particles must follow, as they orbit their way through the systems, cause delays so noticeable, the sum of their activity creates the world we know, where some things don’t even seem to move at all. All things we see are, of course, in motion, on the larger scale of the planets, and the smaller scale of the subatomic orbits within them, but we generally don’t consider the connection between those. Light’s rate is the physical speed limit of all things; big and small, so even those tiny orbiting particles must abide by it. Their interaction creates lengthy paths of travel, and further internal resistance, as they make their way outward, on a grander scale. Galaxies are the sum of their motion, so all momentum is eventually transferred to one direction, but it is far from direct (see figure 1, pg. 10).
At greater scales, light speed is relatively slow, so delays are substantial, as matter and energy make their way across the expanses of space, maintaining an overall positive pressure. Within the Universe, the growing quantity of matter toward the outside must add to the negative pressure. A higher level of mass near the edge of the Universe is a mathematical necessity in order to maintain a nearly uniform density of galaxies where the volume occupied is increased. At the outskirts, increasing levels of light and particles escaping at top speed, probably add to the acceleration of bodies and systems, gravitationally, while the mass of the core continues to decrease (See fig. 2, pg. 11).
We tend to think of planets as solid objects, like big balls, but they are really intricate machines, locked within larger relationships. A gyroscope models some of this effect, taking extra effort to alter its path or change its position. Matter consists of multiple, compound, and interconnected gyroscopes, constantly in motion, so the expansion of the universe is limited from within. It accelerates as it can, but particles and bodies must continue to follow paths determined by patterns previously set in motion, keeping movement strictly limited. Some flux is certainly allowed between phases, but the sum of all activity in one body creates only a small element of the next scale. When the Universe began its expansion, without surrounding matter, particles probably traveled almost directly outward, filling space, and accounting for remaining CMB (Cosmic Microwave Background) radiation, as described in (Wikipedia)
A constant, extreme thrust is now required to maintain acceleration. Another mystery of space; dark energy, strangely provides this thrust, but can also be explained by these phenomena. If the exploding core continues to generate fragments at an increasing rate, as it is allowed by external resistance, it would continue to fuel the expansion. Further physical and forensic evidence is potentially available through analysis of data, revealing age groups, patterns, and successions of star systems and heavenly bodies, using existing images, and through a newly focused effort intended to extrapolate on the concept. The distance between observable galaxies grows at an equalized, accelerating rate, according to Hubble’s Constant (http://www.astro.cornell.edu ), but they are not all moving away from us (Hawking, p.22). If distance between most galaxies grows equally, and continues to accelerate, that fact alone shows an overall pressure of the Universe. It is the physical pressure of the bodies of matter moving in an outward direction, resisted by light speed; the physical limit of the motion of matter, but it does not apply directly to our scale, so we fail to recognize it as pressure. The indirect paths particles travel within the matter, as well as the specific interaction of the orbiting bodies and swirling systems, create negative pressure on an intermediate scale within the Universe. The flux between these scales is demonstrated by the waves, or “bounce”, observed in the speed of the expansion, plotted over time(Wright, E. L., 2010), as determined by variations in the CMB radiation.
The depth of our Universe is another clue. Bodies are not moving away from the center in a single layer, like a shell, but filling all the space between. For this to occur, either they must be travelling different speeds with respect to the origin, or continuously being produced as time goes by. If they are simply travelling at different speeds, the uniform acceleration remains a mystery. If they continue to be pushed apart by projectiles from the center, however, where more are being produced, and pulled by denser configurations near the edges, multiple mysteries are suddenly satisfied.
Black holes should be more common around the outside, too, where galaxies are older, and have had more time for their orbits to decay. The lack of orbits within black holes may also allow them to travel through space at a higher rate of speed, towing ordinary matter gravitationally, and contributing further to the expansion. As with subatomic orbits and those within galaxies, momentum of the elements may accumulate in a common direction to increase total velocity as they enter black holes.
Verification should be systematic, as current technology provides more observations, documentations, and access to high resolution imaging by average citizens and highly trained professionals, alike. One must only look broad mindedly to see the truth. A mysterious source of pressure existed, or exists, to account for the formation of matter, at the same time a mysterious force pulls the Universe apart. The two problems ultimately cancel each other out, but they must first undergo conversion of scale and form. Simplification is required to recognize the energy transfer, so complex and detailed analysis has been unfruitful.
Modern developments in technique and technology have made it possible to measure changes in the relative positions of the galaxies, so they are being surveyed and documented on a regular basis. Only a limited number of them have been found to be blue shifted, or moving toward us (http://ned.ipac.caltech.edu ), which further supports the Big Fizz Theory. The Andromeda Galaxy (M-131) is the most local and well known of them. The official explanation is that the Andromeda and the Milky Way galaxies are so close together, they are attracting gravitationally, but they should have already met their fate since the ‘Big Bang’, and joined the others in their interconnected consistency. If, however, the process continues, the direction from which the majority of them travel may indicate the center of the Universe. They have likely undergone some directional shifts, due to gravitational interaction with other galaxies, but still may indicate the source direction. The situation is consistent with the mechanics of a Big Fizz, and defies those of a big bang. It is but one of many factors that support an ongoing process, as opposed to a single, isolated, instantaneous event.
Many mathematical formulas and scientific theories have been developed to support the Big Bang scenario, since it was introduced, but most of them require the contemplating party to abandon logic and experience at some point, in order to accept the information being presented or deduced. One must understand that not all things are as they appear, but one must also be mindful of realism, and wary of misguidance. If the basis of the entire theory was inaccurate, many calculations related to it would also be inaccurate, but contradictory hypotheses would be limited to those who regressed beyond that which is considered general knowledge. A standard has been established, but it may have resulted in an overwhelming majority of false information, on which most recent works have been built. It becomes especially difficult to debate a concept after it has become a standard, but physical laws do not change. It is only our understanding that evolves over time.
Trends can break down under extreme conditions, but in most cases, we can find clues, examples, or indicators to help us see a point of transition, or at least that one has taken place. Calculations concerning the Big Bang lead to a singularity, which is a physical impossibility, yet scientists keep trying to make it work. “It must work”, they think, “the numbers lead right to it”. The numbers all came from a common period, though; after the development of the factor in question. Stephen Hawking, himself, “firmly believes that naked singularities are an anathema” (a very strong word)”and should be prohibited by the laws of classical physics” (The Universe in a Nutshell, 2001). Advancement traditionally accompanies science, so regression is rare, but advancement is impossible if the information being considered leads in the wrong direction.
Light and other forms of electromagnetic radiation, as well as heat, travel freely through space, transferring between stars and planets, and dispersing outward, past the expanding matter of the universe, possibly escaping the limitations of its elements, but still not exceeding light speed. That would mean the whole Universe is losing energy by this means, and yet another factor has presented itself, in the need for a driving force, to explain the expansion. The gravitational link between galaxies, illustrated in Hubble’s Law suggests that a collective attraction extends around the circumference of the entire Universe, and throughout its structure. This web of force must be pulled and stretched as the structure grows. There seem to be many factors resisting the acceleration, while science is still at a loss to explain its cause. The Big Fizz Theory can do just that, and paves the way for a plethora of other new theories and understandings that would be implied by its ramifications.
Upon analysis, it has become clear that our understanding of space and time is limited, and some currently accepted theories are no more than products of personal pride, and competition for dominance and respect. Experimental evidence is required to influence public perception, but ideas become internalized, and scientists can become biased and defensive. People do not like to be wrong, and that is especially true for dominant personalities, which is a fitting description for many high profile scientists and researchers. Debates can become fierce battles of will, with facts as weapons, cutting through falsities of the competition, while landing blows to self respect and self confidence.
Occasionally, one is filled with confidence, based on a glaring truth, but many can be discouraged from trusting themselves, robbing them of the proverbial wind in their sails. You, the reader, have probably experienced some skepticism, due to your confidence in documented science, but do not let prejudice cloud your judgment. Utilize your resources, and look at the facts. They exist separate from theories, and support some more than others, but can be interpreted differently. I am not asking you to take my word over that of Albert Einstein’s, but I do challenge you to seek the truth. Even geniuses can make mistakes from time to time, and he was known to have made others. What conclusions would he draw from all the information available today? They probably would not be the same. Much of it is built on his work, but technological advancements have made observation a much larger factor. His theories were sound, and his calculations were amazing, but his resources were limited.
You, personally, have access to more detailed information and images than he ever did. Use it. See what you can see beyond the opinion of others. Consider your sources, and anticipate biases, but do not be discouraged. You could even make an important discovery, yourself. The field is wide open, and evidence is abundantly available, so some new names are likely to appear in the popular fields of cosmology and astronomy. One of them could be yours. The variation in the time of formation of heavenly bodies is one of the most profound factors of this scenario, and should be one of the easiest to confirm. Even the planets within our own solar system would be affected by it, so specialized tools are not even a necessity to make an important discovery, or construct a significant theory.
The internet has spawned a whole new age of information, so we can all have access to seemingly unlimited data. New mathematical theorems are being written by students, and corporations can analyze consumer trends to a frightening degree. Regular people can now look at the latest images produced by the infamous Hubble telescope, and average citizens can investigate highly advanced subject matter. The internet provides a source for in depth investigations, and this concept is only the ‘tip of the iceberg’. After it gains momentum, ‘mountains’ of data are likely to compile, and genuine scientific advancement will become possible. Until then, however, we are stuck with unsolvable mysteries and unexplained information.
Figure 2
Simplified Diagram of the Expanding Universe
***
San Francisco Treat
By Cynthia Meyers-Hanson
As my daughter drove us to the Ferry building, I kept thinking she was saying fairy like an angelic creature, a magical being, a twittering Soul, or other things. She meant like a port where the boats that take people and their vehicles across waterways.
While in that city, we didn’t catch on to their recycling right away, so I threw all my junk in one trash can. My California kid corrected me for my next disposal. Once in Height Asbury, my travel companion made similar mistakes with her trash. A delusional homeless lady that thought she was a Hippie corrected our friend less than politely. We saw many crazy people roaming those streets. Early Hippies usually had a cause not just a bong. In some cases, they had the zeal to change the world. In other words, early Hippies of the sixties usually had ‘a social cause’ or an establishment they wanted changed; their existence did NOT solely revolve around a bong. Some of the newer residents roaming this side of the city were OLD Hippies, curious tourists, and street people ‘living the dream’ or their daydream.
After checking in to a new hotel, we planned on going to Fisherman’s Wharf where you can see Alcatraz in the distance. I secured a room for my kids while Mary checked us two older ladies into a different room using a different clerk. For some odd reason, my lady made four keys. She knew the room was for my two girls; we all stood there shocked by her mistake. Was she as tired as us; most of us were still on Florida time or jetlagged. The incident threw me for a loop. Thus, as that hotel staff handed me those four keys, I asked, “Which two keys are for their room and which are for mine?”
The lady laughed, “Oops, they are all for your daughters’ room!”
As we laughed, Mary stated that we could party with the best of them and were not too old or tired to travel with these young ladies. I interrupted, “Speak for yourself; I am too tired!” Then, my question arrived, “Where are our room keys?”
Mary placed them in her hand that was under her purse; they were resting on the counter. Digging through her bag, she leaned back to the male that did her paperwork, “Excuse me, where are my keys?” Not correcting her, he made her two more. As she reached for them, we discovered the other two keys were hidden in that other hand. Due to her previous insistence that she still had it in her to party, I roared with laughter.
Quickly, I explained the source of my amusement; “I get it, if they get four keys to their room -so do we!” I added for onlookers, “We haven’t even made it to the wine country sampling sessions- yet!”
As we exited the elevator, we were on the same floor but not in the same room. The girls were up the hallway, and we were near the elevator for disability reasons.
Later, at the San Francisco Warf for dinner, I mentioned that on a previous two week car trip, from Florida to California, I forgot my hotel room number. “My problem remembering began in El Paso continuing through Tucson. If I left the room venturing outside to breakfast or for another reason, upon returning to the general area of my suite, I’d slide my key into doors quietly. If the light turned green, I’d enter. It happened at least twice to me. After Arizona, I came up with a better method of remembering my exact room number; I wrote it on my hand.”
That night, at The Warf, everyone at my table swore that none of them would get quite that tired on this trip. I was the only one expressing our vulnerability, admitting to human frailty, and laughing about the possibilities.
The next day, my California kid arrived to breakfast laughing while confessing. She explained that she had no idea which door was hers after leaving the room the night before. So arriving to the vicinity, she used my trick slowly putting her key in and out of doors. “Which of the four keys were you using,” I teased.
We left San Fran through the Golden Gate Bridge; surprisingly there was no fog. “Every time I saw it in the past, it was socked in. You’d have to await a breeze to catching part of the red structure.” Joy spoke my thoughts aloud. The other two in the car were excited to be here for the first time. We jumped out with cameras in hand. We all raced to click; we took shots for each other. When we decided to take a foursome, some of us put their purses down on a bench behind us.
During the picture, I noticed a stranger’s hand reaching for one bag and stopped it. My outburst was something like, “Where are all our purses? Someone just tried to take one while we posed; I grabbed it back.”
In all the excitement, someone in our group (not naming names) THOUGHT she lost her bag. The hunt for a missing satchel began. After the calamity, the racing around, the second guessing, and exploring the restroom that had been used previous to that photo- our driver ran to her car finding the pocketbook on the floor in her locked car. Tragedy averted!
That day, as we arrived to Sonoma, we noticed tons of limos and people dressed to the Hilt. Without a pass, the official opening of wine tasting season was closed to us at big wineries. Joy drove us to Preston’s, a green wine producer. By that I mean sustainable management was in place to respect the land and water life while producing wine. The owner hosted us, personally. When he realized we were all wine cooler connoisseurs and not into dry wines, the man decided to wave our fee for that tasting. Joy was sure he didn’t recognize her but one of her environmental projects took her to his vineyard. Joy called his establishment a ‘fish groovy winery.’
We went on to Cloverdale, which reminded my friend of the TV show The Gilmore Girls. She clapped and excitedly spoke, pointing to our driver “You are Rory; your mom is Lorelei!” Addressing my other daughter, “You are the blonde friend, Paris!”
“I am not that mean!” My kid took offense asking to be the Asian friend instead.
“But, you are blond like Paris!”
“But- I am too nice to be her!”
The friend of the family moved the conversation on, “Look, that café is just like Jake’s Diner!” More thrilled, she added, “Look a town BBQ! This is where Rory grew up! Now, my friend lives here!”
Her cell phone rang interrupting her silliness; it was her husband. We tasted very little wine but she exclaimed, “It’s like The Gilmore Girls here except I am tipsy. I drank wine, today. Can you tell?” She paused, “Yeah, it made me tipsy! I drank four or six sips!” The rest of us chortled in the background.
After putting our luggage at Joy’s house, we went to dinner near Healdsburg; it felt like a western town as well as similar to Winter Park, Florida because both cities are Ritzy! I, also, thought that the California place felt “claustrophobic!” I added, “They even fenced in those Redwoods; those trees must feel suffocated, too!” We went to a nearby town to eat at Johnny Garlic’s restaurant. I loved their bread.
The next day, we went to Hopland after a home cooked breakfast. That town is where my daughter’s office was. One of their experiments was with sheep; there really was one black sheep. I made a silly remark, “Yes, he does have wool!”
After heading back, we stopped at a tent where ‘Tie Die’ apparel was sold. My pal exclaimed, “We found the Hippie joint!” On this tour, we found it, again, in Sebstabol; the artsy town- was unique. Most residents had huge lawn ornaments that were handmade art pieces. They, also, had places nearby selling medicine weed. There is, also, a nearby sign stating, “VACATION Wonderland!” I had to agree. Plus, now, I know why the residents of North California think they have happy cows in that area!
The next day or our last full day, we tried to fit it all in fast. Thus, we went to ‘In Out Burgers,’ which was contrary to rumor or advertising because it was amazingly slow. Next, we found Peets (coffee) for one last love affair at the Ferry Building. Also, we rode the trolley but the thing dropped us in town or not anywhere near our metered car; the clock was quickly ticking off to a parking fine. “Oops! Run for the car! They take towing serious in the Bay Area!” The two young women made the mad dash as my friend and I waited near the wrong trolley stop.
For dinner, Joy brought us to a gluten free café in the Mission area. She showed off the local murals and graffiti calling this the ‘Up and Coming area of San Francisco’. I cracked a smile as I thought about what I thought it looked like. Crack comes to mind! In spite of the street activity, the café was good; I’m not judging; I am just saying ‘up’ can mean two distinctly different things; it may mean moving up in status or getting higher! Maybe, that means the same thing in that district.
After all the jammed packed sightseeing, we decided to print our boarding passes in the hotel lobby. There were two terminals. My travelling child hopped on one; I took the other one. “Help!” My kid disturbed me as I read the instructions and tried to concentrate on my plane ticket.
“I’ll help you in minute!” Somehow, she got to the end and hers printed but mine didn’t. Impatiently, I hit print, again. My other kid took a turn hitting the print button. The child with her ticket wandered towards my terminal and hit print, again. At that point, there were four attempts at securing a copy of my flight information.
My friend tired of waiting on me; she moved to the recently abandoned computer screen. She joked, “A computer person and you can’t get a boarding pass? Let me show you how this is done!”
Soon, printing began. It was my first pass. Then, my second! “Oh man!” I explained, “I must have been on a ‘slave machine’ so my terminal had low priority printing!” After my four passes printed, as I roared with laughter and a hotel employee wandered over to help; my friend’s impatience earned her more paper than I printed. We quit counting her mistake after four.
Meanwhile, I kept jesting, “Oh, my gosh! It’s like our room keys? I would like four or more, please!”
My laughter continued through the lobby as my travel companion added, “I deserved that crack!”
Excerpt from Humor US Copyright 2012
Author site: http://mchanson714.weebly.com/
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***
"Death of a Chair"
By
Steve Uptegraft
The old chair sat on the bare porch
alone
waiting…
waiting…
waiting…
like an elderly lady
watching for a visitor
that’s never going to come
The old chair’s paint aged in the sun
fading
paler…
paler…
paler…
like an elderly lady
in tired, worn out makeup
put on with weary, ageing eyes
The old chair’s joints rusted away
weaker
stiffer…
stiffer…
stiffer…
like an elderly lady
trying to open a jar
losing to her arthritis
The old chair rocked in the cold wind
creaking
moaning…
moaning…
moaning…
like an elderly spirit
waving a final goodbye
to a world that forgot her
The old chair was taken away
buried
forgot…
forgot…
forgot…
like an elderly lady
ignored in her later years
by those who claimed they “loved” her
"HISTORY"
By
Steve Uptegraft
History is an inevitable snowball
rolling down a steepening hill
GROWING…GROWING…GROWING
moving faster…faster…faster
trying to catch up to me
while I run on tiring legs
hoping not to let it
overtake
and
collect me.
***
Don’t Tell Him Show Him
By: Cynthia Meyers-Hanson
Years ago, my whole family went through mono. It’s not just the ‘kissing disease.’ My family physician made that perfectly clear, “Casual contact spreads it just like the flu. If your immune shields are down, you can easily contract mono!”
My husband had been working double shifts on extremely important software releases. He fell asleep at a car dealer, which is when I made him see the doctor. Soon, we discovered that I contracted it as did our children. I’m sure we passed it while kissing one another. So, it is the ‘kissing disease!’
Since we went down with the illness in a skewed fashion, my husband felt better before me. In the weeks the doctor put us on complete bed rest, my parents brought meals in on to our home on a daily basis. Thanks God!
Being a bit bored, my husband dreamed of how he’d spend his bonus from the project completed on schedule. Doctor bills never crossed his mind. Since he earned the extra cash, my spouse went out and purchased the big red truck- alone.
That vehicle had an extra-long bed. It could seat five to six people being complete with a back seat for the kids. “The whole family can use this truck!” He explained his thoughts to cushion the blow of my reaction.
“When?”
“On vacations or just to go out!” He felt sure his sole purchase was his greatest exploit.
He manipulated while I was down and out suffering my illness while tending to our kids. Before I stewed too long, he slyly added; “It’s really your new car. The SUV kept breaking down on you and the kids.”
Being more like a station wagon, I never complained about that truck purchase; I guess he felt I’d be just a pleased with this one.
I wasn’t! To make him eat his words, I took the keys to my new truck! It was just what I dreamed would replace my ailing vehicle- NOT!
I have eye vision issues including depth perception, sometimes. Needless to say, I had to park way out in lots at stores making sure no cars were nearby that I could mar or ding. Backing up was a nightmare especially when our four and two year old children were ornery and distracting me.
My husband had a rule; the newer vehicle always got the garage. Since I usually drove it; I agreed with that rule. With the garage door opener, I could maneuver to a sheltered location, close the door, and safely move the kids and packages into the house.
Except- the big red truck barely fit length-wise, so my depth perception issues caused bigger problems. I’d jump in and out of the truck deciding if that overhear door would close on cue. One day, feeling sure I knew the spot to stop, after days of rocking the truck into position, I tapped the gas. I hit the wall, literally.
It was only crunched with a small dent but it looked huge to me. I tried to fix it. Being a new home, the builder was still in the neighborhood. Trying not to laugh at my skills, he suggested the remedy. “Don’t feel bad; the length of this truck is too long for this garage. It barely fits!” I nodded as he added, “My house down the street had worse damage and for a stupid reason!”
He burst into the laughter withheld earlier, “That wife jumped in her car, popped it into gear, and rolled into her closed door. She forgot to hit the garage door opener! They had to order a new door!” He chuckled then added, “At least, you have a reason for your mess; your husband bought way too of a big a tuck for you to drive!”
‘I am sure he bought it for himself,’ I thought. ‘I nipped his future tricks in the bud!’ In doing so, I clipped the wall in our garage, too!
I turned over that truck to its rightful owner after the next incident. It involved an embarrassing moment and strangers. I went to price a photo shoot; at the time, I did wedding photography on week-ends to make petty cash. The couple’s house was in the middle of a trailer park; it was trash day. I maneuvered those cans precariously set on narrow roads on the way to their aluminum home. My huge truck barely fit in their short driveway. However, I managed to rock and roll it in; this time, my control of the gas pedal helped overt catastrophe. I thought!
On my way out of that subdivision, a car behind me kept honking and gesturing to me. I feared some sort of ‘road rage’ might be starting. From my rear view mirror, I noticed the passenger nearly falling out of the car as he leaned pointing at me. I wasn’t sure if I noticed him giving me the finger. After they passed me waving and laughing, I pulled over to a rolling stop. My ears detected the ‘Ker plunk’ sound.
It wasn’t ‘road rage’ causing their reaction and my distraction. I picked up someone’s empty, plastic, trash can in the huge wheel well of ‘Big Red,’ my truck’s nickname. It fell free landing beside my vehicle.
I wasn’t sure where to return it but tossed it in the bed. Slowly driving back to my potential customers, I stopped more quietly placing that can near their front yard while still not sure who really owned it.
That day, upon arriving home, my husband got his new truck! Before my surrender, my husband only drove Big Red when we went out as a family or he needed stuff from the handyman store.
As promised, my spouse took us on an impromptu vacation in that thing to prove his point about its versatility. We drove on a whim in our new truck to see snow. Without proper weight in the back, our extended cab truck fishtailed in ice on the dark side of a mountain. Hovering precariously over the edge; I prayed this cliff hanger would end well.
When my young daughters suggested we exit the truck, my fear kicked in; “Don’t move! Don’t even breathe! Leave your seatbelts on, too!”
Cars wedged and skid past us while oncoming traffic pushed them too close to our vehicle as I prayed. After ten scary minutes awaiting a crash down the mountainside, our ordeal ended with another Florida vehicle with ‘four wheel drive’ maneuvering in front of us, linking our two cars with chains, and towing us to safety. Thank God!
One of our kids must have never gotten over the embarrassment of that truck. Whenever dear, old dad drove her to middle school, she made him drop her two blocks away and drive away like he didn’t know her! That particular daughter’s husband has a 'Big Red' truck of his own; she has been seen as a passenger in it. Funny how life changes!
Excerpt from Humor US Copyright 2012
Author site: http://mchanson714.weebly.com/
Free eBook @ http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714
This author’s Books & eBooks are, also, @
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=mchanson714
***
100% Genetic?
By: Cynthia Meyers-Hanson
My dad used to punctuate a problem with a phrase: For crying out loud- why did you let so and so do that? For crying out loud- what possessed you? For crying out loud- why does this always happen to me (you or them)? For crying out loud- you get the picture?
Sometimes, his utterances were funnier. One day, he walked into the local bakery. My parents loved ‘Hole in the Wall’ or ‘ma and pa’ establishments. They liked home cooking. Since mom’s father was professionally a French chef, it’s easy to see why she felt that way. Living with my mom’s kitchen skills, I had no idea why dad believed in home cooking because my mother didn’t get the chef gene.
In spite of that, they loved the home cooking and baking going on for a fee in town. Each Sunday, they stopped for their treats taking most of those goods home for the week ahead. They were good; better than mom’s version, anyway.
One Sunday, dad was weary from overtime and the Christmas rush. He raced to the front of the line at the local pastry joint before his favorite Danish disappeared in the hands of another customer. When the clerk acknowledged his presence, the question was posed; “How can I help you?”
Mom broke the silence first, “I want half dozen French Horns!”
The new cashier didn’t follow her request asking, “What?”
Pointing directly at the French curls, she rephrased it, “Give me six of these here twists in a box to go!”
The girl placed them in that container.
Dad’s request had an unexpected twist. He stammered and stuttered, “I’d like the Danish in the widow, weirdo.” Pointing at his favorite treat, he restarted his wish; “I really want the breakfast roll in that wind, I mean wid- widow, I mean!”
By then, he chuckled with each stammer and mom laughed hysterically. Mom attempted their recovery,
“My husband wants that breakfast roll in the widow!” She made her comment directly and unashamedly until she realized she didn’t say window.
The clerk never broke a smile almost moving on the next customer in line. That’s when my dad, finally, got his correct request in a comprehendible sentence. “I want that Danish in your window!”
Lucky for all of them, there was only one breakfast treat being displayed. As my parents left still giggling about their miscommunication, my dad turned back announcing, “Besides WINDOW- I can, also, say door!” My folks laughed through it.
They were punchy because they’d worked all week-end to move us to our new home a subdivision away from our old one. My parents had to take possession of the house before New Year’s Day to claim Homestead Exemption. Meanwhile, it was the height of the holidays; dad was a mailman, which means he was in overtime mode.
The night before, mom tried to explain the fatigue with her infamous line, “Every ache in my body bones!” She meant to say, “Every bone in my body aches!” That laughter occurred privately- in front of family members only.
I made speech errors, too. I think it’s genetic! As I handed my mother her gift, my words tumbled from my unplugged brain. “Here eat it!” I should have said, “Here unwrap it!” It was mom’s favorite candy.
Quickly my joke arrived, “I can, also, say, ‘It’s from candy! I mean Sydney!’” We laughed until we cried or did other things!
One evening, mom decided to spend their bonus at a fine restaurant. It had limousines as well as yachts pulling up to it. She wanted to go there once in her lifetime.
Mom bought a small, mink stole for that occasion. She dressed upscale making dad do the same. I heard their tale later but can imagine the scene. As the host walked them thru the place and closer to the kitchen than their regulars, mom’s small animal coat caught the edge of a different table’s chair. Before she realized it, she pulled it along a foot or two. When she tried to release the end of her outerwear the chair crashed to the floor.
Dad immediately jested, “At least she didn’t topple the nearby desert- I mean dessert- cart.”
“He can, also, say pastry!” Mom enjoyed their recollection of her fumble as well as his bumbling behavior at the local bakery!
Excerpt from Humor US Copyright 2012
Author site: http://mchanson714.weebly.com/
Free eBook @ http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714
This author’s Books & eBooks are, also, @
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=mchanson714
***
Frank and Pete and Joe
As told by Ricky Lee Goins
-by Steve Uptegraft
©copyright 2012
A lot of folks and places like to lay claim to terms like redneck, hillbilly and good ol’ boy, but it don’t matter none. If you was to look at Frank and Pete and Joe bein’ themselves, and not be able to see the license plates on their pick-ups or sort out their accents, then you would be more than satisfied that they fit the definitions.
Frank and Pete and Joe were all born in the year nineteen and twenty-nine…a few years after my dad, who told me all bout them. They growed up together chasin’ frogs, catchin’ fish and huntin’ just about anything huntable. But they ain’t southern boys like you might suspect. The truth is they was raised up in the north about five or six miles outside Cadillac, Michigan in humble homes what ate more poached venison and other out-of-season meats as they ate what was legal and store bought. Course durin’ the Depression a lot of folks survived with the help of whatever they could catch, shoot or pick, no matter what time of year it was. Franks and Pete and Joe’s families were just ahead of the curve in that respect. Anyway, I think its pretty clear that these boys was just as much rednecks, hillbillies and good ol’ boys as anyone from down South.
Frank growed up to be a wizard of anything that run on gasoline or diesel. If it was broke, he could fix it better than new with just his ears, hands and fewer tools than most folks have in their trunk. If it was already running good, he could make it run better. Just about every vehicle that won a stock car race, motorcycle race, boat race or any other kind of race in the Cadillac area had his fingerprints on it.
Frank was the tallest of the three, but none of them were particularly tall or short. All three of them had brown hair. Frank was blue eyed and wore glasses, while Pete and Joe had brown eyes and no glasses. All three were of normal weight and build, but Joe was the most wiry, while Pete was the huskiest.
Pete was a home fixit man. There is nothin’ about a house, farm building or store that Pete couldn’t build, repair or renovate. He learned his trade honest enough. Between him, his daddy and granddaddy, they prolly painted, papered, roofed or fixed sumthin’ up on just about every house within twenty miles of Cadillac.
Now Joe was a bit different. He could cook anything you brought to him and make it taste like a gourmet meal from one of them fancy restaurants on them TV cookin’ shows. Cookin’ got him through the war without carrying a gun while Frank and Pete were out gittin’ shot at. After the war he worked at near every restaurant within twenty thirty miles of Cadillac, mostly cookin’ way below his talent fryin’ up eggs, burgers and other diner foods. But his real aspiration was becomin’ a country music star cuz he could play anything with strings.
Joe was just good enough of a musician to keep himself near broke most of the time from thinkin’ he was better than what he was and that his big break was just a couple of gigs in the right place or the next band away. If he would have just applied that thinkin’ to his cookin’, he might be a famous chef with a fancy restaurant in the big city.
The thing that kept them connected all their life was their love of huntin’ and fishin’. All one of them had to do was mention goin’ out after some game or fish and the other two were already in the truck waitin’ to go before you could finish the thought. Their guns, fishin’ rods and tackle boxes were always in their trucks, ready to go anytime the opportunity came up. Pete had a kennel full of prized beagles in case they wanted to go bunny huntin’. His wife and kids were often jealous of the treatment he would lay on his pups. Their livin’ quarters were a monument to his skill with a hammer, saw and whatever wood he rounded up at the time.
Almost all of their huntin’ and fishin’ was done in the woods and lakes around Cadillac. If there was one thing Cadillac had a lot of, it was places to hunt and fish. They had started out spearing frogs, rowin’ round catchin’ fish, shootin’ at squirrels and jumpin’ on brush piles and thickets to chase out rabbits. From there they grew up learning huntin’ and fishin’ skills and lore from their daddies and uncles. They figger some of them huntin’ skills helped all of them make it through World War II without gittin’ hurt or killed.
All three of them had several sets of antlers hangin’ on their walls. Frank had a monster pike he speared and a bear skin up over his fireplace. Pete had a couple bass and trout hung up along with a bobcat skin from a cat he claimed he kilt with a baseball bat…course no one believed that cuz no one seen him do it. Pete’s best trophy was a turkey beard he claims was over sixteen inches before his dog bit it in the car on the way home. People think he is stretchin’ the beard and the truth a might, but at near fourteen inches it is still impressive.
Now a person would think that with all this bountifulness around them they would be satisfied and not feel the need to stray too far off from home. But that ain’t how boys like this are wired. They was always listenin’ to stories bout other places and dreamin’ of adventures.
One time in the spring of nineteen and fifty-five, they was in East Tawas smelt dippin’. This was an annual event for all sorts of folks like Frank and Pete and Joe in the early spring time.
For those of you that doesn’t know bout smelt dippin’, it goes sumthin like this. You load up your campin’ gear, metal dip nets, waders, a few Coleman lanterns and some coolers full of beer. You drive to a place like East Tawas, set up camp, start emptying the beers into a convenience place like your mouth. Once it is dark, you put on yer waders, light your lanterns and wade out into the river and hope the smelt come. If they do, you take a few dips and fill yer cooler up with hundreds of silvery fish. Iffin they don’t come, you drink more beer. Then you go home.
Anyway, the dippin’ was good and everyone had all the smelt you could want in nothin’ flat. Since they got them so fast, they decided to clean them there instead of takin’ them home to clean in the mornin’. They dragged over a picnic table, set up the lanterns, pulled out a three pairs of scissors and started snippin’ and strippin’. Before long they had been joined by several other dippers and commenced to finishin’ off the remaining beers to make room for the cleaned smelt in the coolers while cleanin’ and swappin’ tales.
Pete told a story bout Frank and Joe running into the shore on Frank’s snowmobile to get more minnies for their tip-ups a couple months ago. Seems there was a big crack in the ice they hadn’t noticed hid in the snow. They was most of the way back when Frank dropped a ski into the crack. Well, the boys, their minnie bucket and the snowmobile was spread all over the ice. In the process Joe dumped all the water in the bucket into his lap, leaving the minnies flopping round in the empty bucket. They was scared the minnies would die iffen they didn’t get some fresh water on ‘em, so they got the snowmobile upright and running, and made a mad dash for Pete.
It was bout zero degrees out and Frank was prolly hittin’ near eighty miles an hour. When they got there ol’ Joe’s lap was already startin’ to freeze up, but they managed to git water onto the minnies before lightin’ out for shore. Joe looked mighty funny accordin’to Frank waddlin’ into Hanson’s mutterin’ and sputterin’ bout his man parts being frozen. Course he couldn’t git much sympathy, but a few shots seemed to soothe his spirit.
Once Joe was finally dried out they headed back out to see what Pete was up to. On the way they took time to examine the ice crack that tipped’em up earlier. Turns out it was near six inches wide and rounda bout a hunnerd yards long. Now the boys was feelin’ pretty spritely from the time drying Joe’s clothes. The next thing ya know they’d got a diddle rod and went back to the crack where they commenced to trollin’up an down the length of the crack. They didn’t catch anything, but they sure got more than their share of attention from the other folks out on the lake. Once they got tired of trollin’ they went back out to where Pete was at.
Now everyone got a good laugh at Frank and especially Joe’s, but Joe couldn’t stomach Pete gittin’ away with makin’ fun of them. Once the boys got back to their fishin’ spot they noticed ol’ Pete had been hittin’ the schnapps pretty hard. He was ready for a little funnin’. Frank kept Pete busy while Joe snuck out to one of Pete’s tip-ups. He pulled up the line and pulled off the minnie. Then he tied their big ol’ skimmer spoon onto the line and stuck it back down the hole. He walked back over to where Frank and Pete were sittin’ on a couple five gallon plastic buckets with their diddle rods for a pull on the schnapps bottle.
Joe waited a couple minutes, then he yelled, “Tip up!”
Frank and Pete looked around. “That’s mine!” hollered Pete.
Pete jumped up and fell down. He got up, took a few runnin’ steps and fell face first into the snow. “I got it! I got it!” he shouted, scrambling the finally fifty feet on his hands and knees.
Stone drunk as he was, Pete still knew how to handle a tip-up. He eased it up out of the hole and started feedin’ up the line until he felt a bump from comin’ tight on that ol’’ spoon. He waited for the fish on the end to start runnin’ again, but nuthin’ was happenin’. He gave the line a couple light pulls to see if he could git it goin’. Feeling the resistance of the spoon, he gave a jerk to set the hook and the fight was on.
The spoon spun like a backward propeller against his pullin’. The harder he pulled, the faster it spun.
“Holy cow! It’s a biggun. I got a biggun, boys”
By now a few of the other guys were a hustlin’ over. They all figgered Pete was about to land him a wallhanger. Pete was fightin’ that ol’ spoon like he was tryin’ to haul in Moby Dick. Everyone was just a starin’.
“Grab the spud, Frank! Grab the spud! We might need to make the hole bigger for this’un,” cried Pete, fightin’ for his prize.
Just then that skimmer spoon came a shootin’ up out of the hole and whacked Pete right ‘tween the runnin’ lights. There was a stunned silence for a few seconds, then there was a roar of laughter you could prolly hear all the way back into town. Bout then Pete realized he’d been tricked. There was a lot of foul and vulgar language I can’t repeat mixin’ in with all that laughin’. Course, there was a lot more in reaction to the story from all the smelt cleaners.
A few of the other guys shared a few similar stories whilst they finished up cleanin’ the smelt and drinkin’. One guy told bout fillin’ the whole trunk of a thirty-nine Ford coupe right to the top with smelt one year and takin’em back home to sell. He ended up havin’ to sell the car on a cool, dry day cuz he couldn’t git the fish smell out of it.
One guy told bout fillin’ the whole trunk of a thirty-nine Ford coupe right to the top with smelt one year and takin’em back home to sell. He ended up havin’ to sell the car on a cool, dry day cuz he couldn’t git the fish smell out of it.Just about the time they finished another guy told everyone about a place he found to go fishin’ up in Canada. It sounded like heaven to Frank and Pete and Joe…just the kind of place they had always dreamed about goin’ to. By the time everyone was finished and ready to call it a night Frank had written down all the info to contact this place.
Frank got hold of the place after they got home and they sent him all the necessary information bout goin’ up there. The boys talked it over and made a reservation for the first week of August. They figgered the black flies would be gone by then and maybe the skeeters would be dyin’ down. There was plenty of both around Cadillac durin’ the late spring and early summer, but they had heard horror stories bout them up in Canada.
They spent the rest of the summer preparing for their adventure. No one in any of their families had ever been outside the country other than when they was in the military. None of them had ever been to Canada. This was gonna be a grand adventure.
Accordin’ to the guy who told them about the place, and the information they got in the mail, there was all the smallmouth bass you could catch, there was monster pike, plentiful gray trout, and lake trout in a nearby big lake. There was also all sorts of wildlife from squirrels and rabbits, to deer and moose, to black bears and wolves. What you wanted to hunt and fish only depended on when you wanted to go there.
The boys organized all sorts of fishin’ gear so they’d be ready for every kind of fish. They had a bunch of casting rods and reels, spinnin’ rods and reels and, trollin’ rods and reels, the works. They got a Buss bucket and filler cuz they heard there was no worms to be had up there. Every time it rained they was out with their flashlights shinin’ up angle worms and nightcrawlers. They had a real passel of squirmy bait by mid-July. They were a hard workin’ and diligent lot when they were focusin’ in on a goal.
As the day of leavin’ approached Frank got his pickup and camper tuned-up and cleaned-up into tip-top shape. Frank and Pete both had pretty decent trucks, but Frank had a camper and Pete didn’t. Joe’s truck, on the other hand, looked like a bird tryin’ to take off when it got out on the highway cuz of the way the rust was eatin’ away at the rear fenders.
Now all of ya need to consider takin’ a trip like this wasn’t as easy as it is today. There weren’t no interstate highways in nineteen and fifty-five. This whole trip was going to be on ol’ fashion two-lane highways full of slow drivers and not much passin’. Then they was gonna need to take a ferry across the Straits of Mackinac and another ferry across the Ste. Marie river into Canada at the Soo.
Friday before leavin’ came. The boys got Frank’s truck all loaded up ready to go. The next morning they had a big breakfast and hit out on M-55 towards Houghton Lake. The way they figgered it, it was best to get onto US-27 as soon as possible. It was one of the top highways in the whole country back in the fifties. It ran all of the way from Sault Ste. Marie to Miami, Florida…imagine that.
Most people don’t know that Michigan was the top tourism state back in the days before interstate highways and airplanes flyin’ people everywhere in the blink of an eye. In the summer, the highway going north on a Saturday could be a jam packed affair. But they made pretty good time across M-55 and got onto U-27 North ahead of most of the downstate traffic.
Travelin’ on a fifties highway like US-27 in northern Michigan was a lot different than travelin’ on a modern interstate. There weren’t any fast food places or fancy rest areas. There was also all sorts of tourist traps along the road. You could see all sorts of this or that, even a giant man killin’ clam, pet real, live wild animals, see a man handle poisonous snakes, git yer picture taken with a real Indian or see a giant Paul Bunyan and the Indian River Catholic Shrine that is now known as the famous “Cross in the Woods”. Fuelin’ was at an old fashion filling station with people pumpin’ yer gas, cleanin’ yer winders and checking the air in yer tires and everything under the hood. Eatin’ was at a family restaurants with real people cookin’ real food. Some might say it was better then.
The boys skipped all the tourist traps, especially the one with the snakes. None of them were particularly fond of snakes. There weren’t any poisonous snakes in northern Michigan, but they had all had a run-in or two with a cranky snake at one time or another. One day they were fly fishin’ out on Clam Creek when Frank felt a tappin’ on his leg. He looked down and saw a big ol’ water snake bumpin’ his creel, tryin’ to get at the fish inside. He started movin’ away and the snake came after him. He kept movin’ and the snake kept comin’. Finally he had to get clean out of the river and toss the contrary snake as far as he could with a long stick. Pete and Joe got a good laugh at seein’ Frank runnin’ like a little kid from it.
They pulled into Mackinaw City about one-thirty in the afternoon. They had fueled up in Wolverine, so they had plenty of fuel for the wait for the ferry, which according to the vendors workin’ the line of tourist was about four hours long. Two of the boys walked into town for some food, which led to some drinkin’. Pete came back a while later to relieve Frank. Then Joe came back to relieve Pete. By the time they was set to be on the next ferry, they were pretty well snockered. They planned to get across the straits, knock off the ninety miles to the Soo, get dinner and sack out in the camper.
The ferry crew led Frank onto the ferry and into position. Frank and Joe leaned back to rest off a little of the beer they had drunk in town. Pete decided to roam around and see what he could of the boat and the straits.
It was a bit windy up out on the straits, so Pete decided to look below deck. He was never one for followin’ rules or common sense. He saw a door with stairs leadin’ down, so down he went. Next thing he knew he was standing in the boiler room watchin’ a big, burly guy shovelin’ coal into the fire.
Pete managed to get the guy talkin’ instead of kickin’ him out of there. He asked the guy about the boat and what it was like to be down here shovelin’ coal all day. Before long he was lookin’ at the fire wantin’ to try coal shovelin’.
Henrik thought about it a moment, then told Pete to go ahead. Pete picked up the shovel, which was heavily worn in the grip area and blade, probably from years of Henrik usin’ it to toss coal into the fire. Pete gripped it and scooped up a generous scoop of coal. It was heavier than he anticipated and he felt a twitch in his knees and back. He reeled back and tossed it, shovel and all, right into the fire.
Henrik looked at Pete like he had tossed one of his children into the fire. This shovel was probably almost family. Now Pete was still pretty drunk, but he could reason out that he’d better run. He shot up the stairs and towards Frank’s truck. He yanked open the camper door and dove in. A few second later Henrik was stalkin’ through the vehicles in search of Pete. All he saw when he looked at the truck was Frank and Joe snoozin’, and Pete never poked his head out till they pulled off the ferry into St. Ignace.
The boys made it the rest of the way to the Soo unscathed. After a good night of sleepin’ they got up early and lined up. The ferry trip was without incident thanks to keeping Pete in check. They got off in Sault Ste. Marie, Canada and were directed into customs. It was a mostly friendly, welcome to Canada affair, but they did ask Frank to come inside for a minute.
They directed Frank to an office where a fairly large Canadian customs officer was standing beside a desk. On the desk was Frank’s Neptune trolling motor
“What’s this here thing?” asked the officer.
“It’s my trollin’ motor,” replied Frank.
“Trolling motor, eh. Looks like it belongs on a toy boat. You aren’t planning to put it on a real boat, are you, eh?”
“It’s got a lot more power than you think.”
“Power, eh?” laughed the big officer. “ I’ve got more power that that little egg beater. You could start that and I could hold that propeller still with my hands. That thing probably can’t stir pancake batter.”
‘I’d like to see that,” said Frank, feeling a challenge to his Neptune and his ability to make it perform.
The officer latched onto the propeller and said,” Start it up. Let’s see what this little thing can do, eh.”
Frank stood up on a chair because the engine needed to be upright for the fuel to flow. He gripped the shaft in one hand and pulled the starter cord. The engine chugged to life on the first pull. Remember Frank’s wizardry with engines. Frank engaged to drive and there was a momentary look of success as the officer held firm and Frank resisted the torque coming from the non-turning prop. The officer grimaced, strugglin’ to hold on. Then the prop broke free from his grip and before Frank could stop the engine, it chewed it was from one side to the other on top of the desk like a bucktoothed chainsaw.
The officer was totally irate, but he knew he had more than his fair of responsibility in the matter. He hustled Frank and Pete and Joe into the truck and sent them on their way. He prolly had a lot of splainin’ in front of him. By now the boys were famished and decided to get some breakfast before heading on to their date with the fish.
They found a restaurant and ordered up some bacon, eggs and pancakes. When it arrived, they were confused. It looked like they’d all got thin slices of ham instead of bacon, and it appeared to have cornmeal around the edges. The waitress explained it was Canadian-style bacon. By the time they finished breakfast they were in love with it.
With breakfast finished and a quick lesson in exchange rates, they were ready to hit the road, but not before a grocery stop. They picked up some perishables, including a generous supply of Canadian-style bacon, now that they had room in the beer coolers.
The first part of the trip was following the Trans-Can Highway east through a variety of quaint villages on the north shore of Lake Huron to the village of Iron Bridge. Iron Bridge was so named for the big trestle train bridge crossin’ the river as you entered the village.
In the center of the village was an intersection with a road headin’ north for fifty-one miles accordin’ to their information. It was labeled five-forty-six. They took the turn. This is where they was to leave the main roads and head north into the Canadian wilderness.
For the first several miles five-forty-six was pretty much the normal country road. There were fields, pastures, lakes, woods, an occasional farm, nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually a sign announced the end of pavement and they were on a gravel road still moving north. Now creatin’ in a large brown cloud of dust.
The gravel road was pretty well maintained at first, but its quality deteriorated as the miles added up. The potholes got bigger and more frequent. The width of the road narrowed and got more and more irregular. Finally they encountered the end of the maintained road and a big sign.
The sign announced that from here on they would be traveling on a two-track logging trail and it was also their obligation to remember the last turnout and back-up to it posthaste if they heard a truck horn announcin’ the comin’ of a truck full of logs. Loggin’ trucks didn’t stop.
The road had also met up with a river and was now followin’ it on and on through the woods. The landscape was marked with rugged rocks. Trees were growing out of the cracks and crevasses. The boys were used to two-tracks. The woods around Cadillac were full of fire trails and loggin’ roads. They drove on, enjoyin’ the beauty of the woods, half-listenin’ for loggin’ trucks. The road crossed the river on occasion by way of World War II surplus Bailey bridges. It was while crossin’ the second bridge the saw a loggin’ truck all wrecked up down in the river where it had run of the road, prolly from goin’ to fast to make a turn. From then on the listened a fair might hard from oncoming trucks. They saw two more truck just like it before they got to the lodge.
The two-track wound on mile after mile. There were several hairpin turns around points of rock. They were amused that there was always a sign tellin’ them to sound their horn before goin’ round it.
They finally made it to the lodge without meeting a truck, but they did have a different encounter bout an hour back down the road. Even though they were travelin’ a loggin’ trail, there were people livin’ up in these wood and usin’ these trails to get to town on occasion. Just before Skunk Creek they came face-to-face with a beat-up old car. They could see a turnout just back up the road behind him. The last turnout they had passed was about a mile back.
The boys waited for the other vehicle to back up, but it didn’t move. Finally, the boy got out to talk to the other driver. The other driver kind of unfolded up outta his car. He was a very large Indian-lookin’ fella. He stood beside his car lookin’ kinda like the Paul Bunyan statue they had seen back in St. Ignace.
They talked for some time with the big guy refusin’ to budge. Frank finally just jumped in the fella’s car and started backin’ it up himself. The big guy just stood there alookin’. Turns out he didn’t know how to back up a car. He had never done it in his life. He had always used his size and stubbornness to buffalo the other guy into backin’ up. After he told them that they all started laughin’ They shared some beers and moved on their respective ways.
Frontier Lodge stood out like a giant, orange box in the middle of the green wilderness as they rounded a corner and saw it standin’ in front of them. Five-forty-six ended right in the parking lot.
They parked and walked toward the lodge to find the owners. A woman who identified herself as Eileen greeted them as they came through the door. After the basic check-in stuff she said she would find Stew to show them to their accommodations.
A few minutes later a man who looked custom made for the job of bein’ the proprietor of a remote fishin’ lodge in Canada walked in. He was wearin’ well-worn work boots and pants, a faded t-shirt and an old, plaid Mackinaw cap. He was every bit a classic backwoodsman.
W-w-w-welcome to Frontier Lodge, g-g-g-g-gentlemen. I’m Stew. F-f-f-follow me and I’ll show you your c-c-c-cabin.
Stewart told them to follow him to their log cabin. There was a ol fashion gravity pour gas pump where they could buy gas for their motor or car sittin’ beside the lodge As they started down the hill he pointed out the ice house where they could git ice for their icebox and store fish they was plannin’ to take home.
When they got to their cabin they saw an icebox sittin’ on the porch next to an old rocker. Round the side was a two-hole outhouse. Across the road was another cabin with a couple young boys runnin’ round.
Inside was all the basics…a fireplace, an old couch with a table on each end, a dining table and chairs, a wood stove and plenty of shelves for stackin’ their supplies. Off to one side was a bedroom with three sets of bunk beds and a table for each. On the ceiling of each room was a solitary light bulb. Accordin’ to Stew there was only electricity for the lights from dusk until bout eleven o’clock. He would flash the light three times rounda bout eleven. One minute later he would be turnin’ them off for the night.
The electricity was mostly for the bar in the lodge. He had the only liquor license in a fifty mile radius, and that brought him several customers on a nightly basis. He had a big ol’ war surplus Delco generator that he powered up at dusk and ran until he closed up the bar. While it was on the rest of the lodge and cabins also had some electric lighting. Once the lights went out it was all about the kerosene lamps that sat on every table.
Next Stewart took them down to the dock. It was a T-shaped wooden affair with several green, wooden boats. He explained they got the free use of one of them along with their cabin. He also mentioned that the other lakes up over the hill also had green boats they could use at the portage points. The two boys they had seen earlier had gotten into one of them along with their fishin’ gear and were rowin’ out into the lake.
“How is the fishing?” asked Pete.
“G-g-g-good. There are b-b-bass, pike, trout and w-w-w-whitefish out there. The b-b-b-bass and pike like the trees,” he said, pointin’ at the trees and stumps that extended about fifty feet out into the lake.
“You just g-g-g-g-gotta find them.”
Stewart had somehow gotten logs, big branches and stumps hauled out into the lake to make fishin’ habitat. The fifty foot wide perimeter ran several hundred yards up both sides of the lake from its start on both edges of the beach and dock area. The outer logs were chained together to keep the rest from floatin’ out into the center of the lake.
“We’ll find’em,” said Joe, swattin’ a skeeter. “Dang. “That’s a big ol’ skeeter,” he said, lookin’ at the smashed bug on his arm.
Stewart laughed. “That’s just a b-b-b-baby. The b-b-b-b-big ones don’t come out till d-d-dark. You should see the really b-b-b-big ones in the spring. One or two of them g-g-g-g-gits shot every spring b-b-b-by some tourist during the spring m-m-moose hunt. W-w-w-wouldn’t happen if the idiots c-c-c-c-ould count. Skeeter g-g-g-g-got six legs, n-n-n-not four.”
The boys got a good laugh outta that. They could see Stewart was their kinda guy. This was gonna be a good week.
“You shoulda b-b-b-been here last week,” said Stew matter-of-factly. “I w-w-was w-w-w-workin’ on the b-b-b-boats when I saw a d-d-doe and a f-f-f-fawn swimmin’ across the lake ab-b-b-bout a hundred yards out. I w-w-w-watched a b-b-b-bit then went b-b-back to workin’. S-s-s-s-suddenly I heard a splash. I looked up and th-th-that fawn was g-g-g-gone.”
Three sets of eyeballs popped wide open. Then three light bulbs popped on over their heads. The boys looked at each other and started laughin’ cuz they knowed they’d been sucked in.
Stewart stood there lookin’ at the bunch of them. “So m-m-mind yourself w-w-w-w-when you’re out fishin’. D-d-don’t be d-danglin’ your feet or hands in the w-w-w-w-water,” he said dryly. The boys near fell down laughin’.
Frank and Pete and Joe looked out at the lake. The boys in the row boat was pokin’ round the logs on the left side of the lake. Stewart said he had to git back up to the lodge. They walked back up toward their cabin.
“That ol’ boy can tell a story,” said Frank. “You gotta watch everythin’ he says. He’s the best storyteller I ever heard. And that stutter. It only makes it all better.”
The boys unloaded their gear, takin’ most of it inside, but stackin’ six ol’ fashion longneck beer cases next to the icebox. They noticed the lady across the way eyeballin’ the beer cases, prolly thinkin’ they was full of beer and her neighbors was a buncha drunks. Truth is they was full of campin’ and fishin’ gear. They took the beer inside, fillin’ the cooler after Frank brung back a block of ice.
“Someone’s gotta split some firewood for the cook stove,” said Joe. “I need all of it bout as big round as yer thumb. If I am gonna do a good job cookin’ I need it all the same size so I can hold a steady heat.”
Pete picked up the hatchet next to the fireplace and walked out to the woodpile. Joe wadded up some paper and grabbed some of the kindlin’. He fired the stove while waitin’ for Pete to return with more wood. Fortunately for all of them Joe had learn wood stove cookin’ at one of his former cookin’ job. It is not just anyone who can handle an ol’ fashion wood cook stove.
Pete was back sooner than expected. He had an arm full of unsplit wood.
“Them woods are coming alive with skeeters,” said Pete, slammin’ the door. The sun was starting to set and that was apparently the signal for the skeeter to attack.
Pete split up some wood over on the fireplace hearth. And Joe got the stove ready for cookin’.
Frank lit some of the kerosene lamps while Joe started fryin’ some taters and cuttin’ up some smoked sausages to mix with them. Pete opened a couple can of corn and put it in a pan. Then he opened a couple cans of fruit cocktail and poured them into some small bowls.
Dinner went well. Pete picked up the plates and Frank grabbed a pot to get some water from the spring to do the dishes. Pete had hardly got the dishes picked up when Frank came back in wavin’ his arms and cussin’.
“Skeeters!!! I ain’t never seen so many skeeters.”ranted Frank. “You can hardly breath they’re so thick. You can hardly see light comin’ through the winders.”
Frank wasn’t exaggeratin’. Skeeters do most of their skeeterin’ from dusk until about an hour after dark. Same goes in reverse in the mornin’. This was prime skeeter time.
Frank rummaged round their gear and found the 6-12 mosquito repellent. He rubbed the bar on his hands and then rubbed his hand all over his exposed skin. He put on a hat and jacket, then left for another attempt to get a pot of spring water. This time he was successful.
After cleanin’ up they decided to play some card before turnin’ in. They had a lot of important fishin’ to do tomorrow. They ended up playin’ Shot the Moon and Hearts cuz they only had three players and they didn’t have any poker chips. These were the only three-person games they all knew.
Pete mentioned that he saw a copper belly snake while gettin’ the wood for cookin’. It wasn’t a big one, but considerin’ the way the boys all felt about snakes, it got them talkin’ bout them. There was stories about snakes in their houses, garages, trucks, snake that crawled up on them when they were sittin’ huntin’ and fishin’, and the snake that chased Frank out of the river.
The lights flashed signalin’ the end of electricity and Frank jumped up to light a kerosene lamp. Joe said he was tired and gonna lay down. Frank and Pete said that was a good idea and that they would clean up an hit the rack, too.
A few minutes later Frank walked into the dimly lit bedroom. “Pete! Git in here!” he called out. “There is sumthin’ wrong with Joe.”
Pete came a runnin’. What he saw was Joe lyin’ on his back in his sleepin’ bag, eye wide open, but he looked for all the world like he wasn’t movin’ or breathin’.
“Joe! What’s the matter? Joe!” hollered Pete.
Joe blinked his eyes and looked down at his feet.
“What’s wrong?” said Frank.
Joe kept a blinkin’ and lookin’ down. Finally, in the softest whisper you ever heard he said, “There’s a big ol snake in my sleepin’ bag.”
“What?” said Pete. “Did you say there’s a snake in there with you?”
Joe’s eyes got as wide as a hooty owl and he whispered, “Yes.”
“What are we gonna do, Frank? What can we do?”
Frank and Pete talked it over while Joe laid there paralyzed. Finally they hit on the only plan possible. They would slowly unzip the sleepin’ bag. Then Pete would slowly pull it off Joe until they could see the snake. Then Frank would pitch it off him with the broom handle of the broom in the corner of the room.
They explained it all to Joe. He laid there, not daring to move. Pete started slowly unzipping the sleepin’ bag. You could practically hear each set of teeth comin’ apart. Frank stood by with the broom. They were all hoping that it was not some kind of poisonous Canadian snake they’d never heard of.
Down and down and down went the zipper. It was so quiet you could practically hear the skeeters buzzin’ outside the winders. Sweat beads were on everyone’s foreheads. Finally Pete reached the bottom of the zipper. It was time to peel back the sleepin’ bag and face their nemesis.
“Can you still feel him, Joe?” asked Pete.
“Yes, he keeps a slitherin’ back and forth cross my legs,” whispered Joe.
“Where is he, now?” asked Frank.
“Tween my feet,” came the weak response.
“Are you ready?” asked Pete. “I’m gonna start pullin’ off the top.”
“Okay.”
Pete started to slowly pull the sleepin’ bag off Joe. Sweat was runnin’ down Joe’s face and drippin’ off Frank and Pete’s brows. Any second they was prepared to come face-to-face with some kind of beady-eyed, fork-tongued, Canadian serpent. They was all hopin’, especially Joe, it wasn’t the poisonous type.
When the top of the sleepin’ bag was three-quarter off. Pete asked Joe, “Can you still feel him?”
Joe gave a feeble “Yes”.
“Are you ready, Frank?” asked Pete.
“I guess so,” said Frank, pointing the broom handle down close to where they expected to find their slitherin’ intruder.
“Okay, here goes,” said Pete. “This is it.”
Pete pulled the top of the sleepin’ bag off the rest of the way in one smooth motion. There it was, lookin’ up at them all beady-eyed and menacin’ and furry. Joe’s snake was a little ol’ mouse.
Joe couldn’t see what Pete and Frank could see. He was just lyin’ there still paralyzed, waitin’ for Frank to toss it up outta there. Pete started to laugh a might. Frank poked at the mouse and it ran up Joe’s leg and across his chest. Joe let out a little girly soundin’ squeal before he realized what was happenin’. By then, both Frank and Pete were laughin’ like fools.
Joe got all indignant, claimin’ it coulda been a snake. But nothin’ was gonna calm down Frank and Pete. They were beside themselves laughin’ and so relieved it was over that nothin’ Joe said was gonna matter. Finally, Joe started laughin’, too. They all knew this story was gonna be around for a long time.
The next mornin’ the boy got up early. A pair of loons were takin’ to each other out on the lake. Joe cooked up some pancakes, eggs and some of that new kind of Canadian bacon they had bought at the store after havin’ it in the Soo. They got down to the dock amidst the morning skeeters and mounted their regular boat motor, a light green, three-horse Johnson that Frank called Orville, onto a boat. Then they loaded in all their gear for the day and headed out into the lake.
Their luck over the mornin’ weren’t terrible, but it was nothin’ special. Just before lunch they had eyeballed a monster pike cruisin’ by, but they could entice it. At least they knew there was some real bigguns in the lake.
They caught three smallmouth bass and a two-foot pike over the mornin’. After eatin’ their lunch they went clear out to the narrows that divided their end of the lake from the much larger west end. They caught a couple more smallies and a nice whitefish. It was enough to call the day a success, but not near what they was expectin’ when they got here.
When they got back to the dock the two young boys they had seen yesterday were tyin’ up a boat. They had been out pokin’ round fishin”.
Joe stepped up out of their boat with a couple poles, a tackle box and the stringer with their catch.
“How’d you do, boys?” asked Joe as Pete follow him with more gear and the gas can. “We got a few.”
“We did okay,” replied the boys, the bigger liftin’ up two stringers loaded with smallies, two and three to a clip, all about ten to fourteen inches. They totaled at least thirty fish.
Frank and Pete and Joe’s jaws all dropped bout a foot. These boy was surely some kind of fishin’ machines. “Where’d you git all of them?” asked Pete.
“Just out in the lake.” said the bigger boy.
“They like worms,” said the smaller one.
About then Frank started to step out of the rear of the boat where he’d been finishin’ cleanin’ off the motor. Now the boys had been sippin’ a few beers over the course of the day and they were all used to slidin’ their boats in and out from shore, not using dock. Frank no more than got one foot up on the dock and the boat start movin’ away. Two seconds later Frank was flounderin’ in the cold lake water with one leg stuck through one of the rubber tire bumpers on the dock. His tackle box was floatin’ next to him and his poles was scattered back in the boat.
Everyone was just a roarin’. “Wait while I git my camera,” said the bigger boy, like Frank had any notion of hangin’ round in that cold water.
“The camera!” said Pete, gittin’ an idea. “You boys wait right here.”
Pete scrambled up the hill to their cabin while Frank climbed outta the lake and started shakin’ off. A minute later Pete was back with their camera. “Here’s fifty cent, boys. Let us take a picture of your fish.”
The boys eyes lit up. Fifty cents was a decent amount of money in nineteen-fifty-five. In no time Frank and Pete and Joe was just beamin’, holdin’ up the stringers with their fish and those of the boys while the bigger boy snapped a couple pictures.
Bout then Stew came walkin’ down to see how the day went. They talked a bit while he looked at the catch. Frank told him about the monster they had seen. “…it must have been five feet long and six inches between the eyes.”
“B-b-b-b-bull!” stammered Stew. The boys had already figgered out his stutterin’ got worse the more excited he got. “There ain’t no g-g-g-g-god d-d-d-d-damn allig-g-g-gators in my lake.
Stew was used to bein’ the tale spinner, so this was as much about that as the size of that fish. Anyway, everyone was a laughin’ about all that.
Frank and Pete and Joe had also been thinkin’ about trollin’ for some gray trout. They understood how to do it. They just needed to know where they could get some shiner minnies and where to go fishin’. They had a minnie trap. Pete asked Stew where the best place was to trap some. He explained where they could find an ol’ mill pond that had plenty of them.
They got their Minnie trap, some bread, and jumped into Frank’s truck. Sure enough, the pond was right where Stew had said it was. They baited the trap and tossed it out into the water.
As they was walkin’ back to the truck Joe said, “Lookit all the berries.” Sure enough, they were surrounded by bushes just burstin’ with huckleberries and blueberries.
Being’ country boys, they couldn’t resist pickin’ some. They got an empty pail out of the camper and went to work. They had been well-trained by their mamas on how to strip berries. Even with all their eatin’ they soon had most of a bucket full.
“What’re we gonna do with all these berries?” asked Pete.
“Well,” said Joe. “We can eat’em, I can put them in pancakes, or I can make muffins or a pie if I can get some flour, cinnamon and sugar from the lodge.”
“I think we got more than enough for all of that,” said Frank, swattin’ a skeeter. “Let’s git going before the skeeters really come out. That’s when the saw the bear.
They had all seen bears before, even hunted them. Cadillac has its share of bear out in the National Forest. But this is the first time they had encountered one armed only with a bucket of berries.
The path back to the truck was around a small tongue-shaped hill. Frank and Joe lit out down the path. Pete decided to go up over the hill. Unfortunately, the hill was so thick with ripe berries that Pete came slip slidin’ back down on crushed berries before he made it halfway up. He tried again with the same result. After the third try he lit out down the trail. Fortunately, the bear was more interested in the berries and went back to eatin’. When Pete finally got to the truck he was as purple as a ripe plum. It was gonna take a lot of washin’ to clean him up. The clothes were probably a lost cause.
They made it back to the lodge and met up with Eileen inside. Joe showed her the berries and she told him to give them to her. She would bake them a pie tomorrow in return for the rest. He kept a small amount for pancakes in the morning.
The rest of the night was routine. Joe made dinner and they played some more card. Every fishin’ and huntin’ camp worth is existence has a fart story and purple Pete silently submitted an entry for this trip that had all of them ready to go out with the skeeter to escape. Frank lit the kerosene lamps in self-defense.
Once the air had recovered, Pete said he better go out the outhouse before turning in. He figgered the skeeters had calmed down for the night and he might stand a chance of getting some relief without getting eaten alive.
He picked up the flashlight, quickly exited the cabin and hustled up the path to the outhouse. Frank slipped over to the side winder and slipped it open bout and inch. All the winders had screens, so they was still safe from the skeeters.
Pretty soon they heard Pete’s quick steps comin’ down to path…clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp. Frank was countin’ on Pete still havin’ that bear fresh in his mind. He leaned down to the crack in the winder and said, “WOOF!”
There was one more big CLOMP and Pete was standin’ inside the door. His eyes wide wide open and he was pantin’.
“There’s a bear out there,” he gasped.
“Woof,” said Frank.
Joe bout fell outta his chair. There coulda been a tussle after that, but there wasn’t. There was a fair bit of cussin’ mixed in with the laughin’.
The next morning Frank and Pete took off to see if they had caught some shiners while Joe started on breakfast. They pulled out the trap, which had round a dozen nice shiner minnies in it and put them into their minnie bucket. They was hopin’ for more.
“I bet we could catch these faster than we can trap’em,” said Frank.
“Maybe,” said Pete.
Their fly rods were still in the camper. It did look like there’d be any fly fishin’ on this trip. Frank grabbed his and got it together. He tied on his tiniest fly and flipped it out. Bang! He had a fat shiner. He dropped it into the bucket and flipped the fly back out and Bang!, another nice’un. Pete had his rod in a flash. Bang! Bang! Bang! They was goin’ to town catchin’ bait.
Pete just naturally had to cast out farther than Frank. BAM! He had something that was fightin’ a lot more than a shiner. Jumpin’ up outta the water came the prettiest speck he ever seen. They didn’t have a net for landin’ a trout, so Frank ended up usin’ his ball cap.
The fish was about nine inches of delicious beauty. Within about fifteen minutes they had nine more just like it. They decided they better get back before Joe started wonderin’ what happened to’em.
They walked back in just a beamin’
“Did’ja get the shiners?” asked Joe. “I was beginnin’ to wonder what happened to ya.”
“Ya, we got the shiners, and better than that,” said Frank as Pete set a bucket down with the specks in it.
“Holy crap!” Where’d you get them?” exclaimed Joe, lookin’ at the bounty. Frank and Pete had already field dressed them. The flesh was reddest pink you’d ever seen. .
“That mill pond,” replied Pete. “It’s full of them, and they’re so hungry they’ll hit anything.”
It was too late to cook them for breakfast. Frank wrapped them up and put them in the icebox for later.
The boys polished off Joe’s breakfast. The blueberries in the pancakes were delicious with the real maple syrup they had bought. Frank and Pete got the gear ready for the hike up over the hill to the lake with the gray trout while Joe cleaned the dishes.
The mile between the lakes started off with a sturdy climb up a hill. From there, it was a fairly level walk. Frank was carryin’ the Neptune and the trollin’ rods. Pete had the gas can and a tackle box. Joe had the minnies, lunch and some other gear. Each of them also had a floatation cushion.
When they got to the next lake they found a buncha green boats just like the ones at the lodge. There was also a couple of canoes and other boats that prolly didn’t belong to the lodge. They picked a good lookin’ one, loaded their gear into it and slid it into the water.
Frank gassed up and fired up the little Neptune. The weight of the wooden boat, the boys and their gear was a lot for the little motor, but it managed to push them along. Isaac, that old Indian fishing guide at the lodge had told them to go left away from the portage through the narrows. Once they came out of the narrow and passed a little island, they should go to the right and troll about seventy-five feet down along the high banks.
It took a while, but the little Neptune got them there. They baited their hooks and ran out their lines. Joe was the first to get a strike. Frank and Pete reeled in as fast as possible to avoid tangles. Before long they had a twenty inch or so trout in the boat. Things went well from there. Before long they had ten fish to their limit of fifteen.
They looked up at the blue sky as they paused for a lunch break. A big ol crane was flyin’ high overhead. Suddenly they saw something that looked like a rope droppin’ outta the sky near the crane.
“What the heck is that?” asked Pete.
“I don’t know,” replied Joe. “Looks like that crane musta been carryin’ somethin’ he didn’t want like a piece of rope.”
“Or a snake,” said Frank.
It fell and fell and fell. Pretty soon the boys began thinkin’ it was comin’ their way. Frank fired up the little engine and started to turn away. The boat moved, but not very fast. The rope kept comin’ then splat. A fifteen foot white stripe of crane poop hit the water no more than three feet from the boat.
“Holy crap”, said Joe, recognizing their near miss. “What’s the matter with that bird.”
“Damn,” added Frank. “That was too close.
They finished their lunch and rounded out the limit. It was just comin’ onto three o’clock when the strolled back into camp. The two young boys were up near the lodge with their mother. She was rubbin’ somethin’ on the younger ones back and arms.
It turned out he had been walkin’ round out on the trees is the lake. He was prolly fifty feet off shore when he jumped from a log onto a stump. Seems that stump was also a bee hive. What’s the chances of that way out there? Poor little guy got bout fifteen stings before he could jump into the water to hide. Eileen made a paste up outta laundry bluing for the stings. The boy would later report it worked real good.
Frank and Pete and Joe talked with the boys and their mother for a few minutes. Their group was a mom, dad, the two boys and their two grandmothers. Both of the grandfathers had passed on. They were from downstate Michigan near Lansing. Seems they had been avoidin’ the guys because of all the beer cases on the porch. They thought the boys was just a buncha drunks. Now the boys do enjoy their beer, but they are all responsible folk and not drunks. Everyone got a laugh after they explained those beer cases were full of gear. Back then beer cases were returnable just like the bottles and really sturdy. They were great for carrying all kindsa stuff.
The boys took Frank and Pete and Joe down to the lake and showed them another pair of stringers full of smallies. They were prolly hoping for more money for picture takin’, but the fellas had their prizes for the day. Still, they were anxious to learn the boy’s secret. They knew they were using worms and fishin’ the log structure, but what was their magic. The boys wouldn’t give up their secret.
Frank and Pete decided to go out and see if they could find all those smallies. Joe said he was going to put the gray trout in the ice house and see if Eileen had made their pie. As they moved up the left side of the lake they could hear the waterfall Stew had told them about while showin’ them round on the first day and the river comin’ down from the lake with the gray trout. They couldn’t see the river flowing in, but they could hear it. They were sure this was the boy’s spot, smallies like cool river water, but their worms only enticed a couple.
These were the days before fish finders. They were blind compared to today’s fishermen. The boy’s secret seemed destined to remain a secret. They finally decided to call it quits and untied from the log. As they were turnin’ to head in they could see ol Isaac, an Indian fishin’ guide they had seen at the lodge earlier, sittin’ on the dock with the older brother. All of a sudden there was a commotion with the boy fightin’ a fish. They could tell it was a good’un, prolly a pike, from the bend in the rod. Isaac was helpin’ fight the fish.
As they motored back toward the dock, hangin’ back so they didn’t interfere with the catchin’ of the fish, Isaac got the net and scooped out the prize. It weren’t no pike. It appeared to be a bass, and a biggun at that. When they got docked they got a good look at it. It was a fat-bellied smallmouth round twenty inches long. Frank and Pete hollered up Joe and the boy’s family. They all walked up to the lodge where Stew put it on an ol set of scales. It weighed in at seven-and-a-half pounds. It was the biggest smallie any of them had even seen…a real wallhanger for sure.
Joe fried up the specks with some taters and a couple cans of green beans. They were the best fried trout ever. But the star of the meal was Eileen’s blueberry pie. Instead of cinnamon she used nutmeg. It was awesome. The whole pie disappeared in one sitting. Joe said he had learned a new cookin’ secret.
After cleaning up the boys set down for their nightly card game. Joe went out to the outhouse before they started to play. When he came back, swattin’ at mosquitoes as he came in, he said he thought he heard some kind of animal out there. That suited Pete fine.
A little later Pete got up and headed out to the outhouse. He was gone a little longer than one might expect considerin’ the skeeters. He also mentioned hearin’ somethin’ when he was out there, but at least the skeeters were settlin’ down.
The card game went on until Stew flicked the lights. Pete lit up a couple kerosene lamps. Frank picked up the flashlight to go out to the outhouse before goin’ to bed. As Frank left, Pete grabbed Joe and said sit here for a bit. There might be a little action in a minute.
A few moments passed. Then, all of a sudden, there was a hellacious whoop. The front door flew open and closed and Frank was standin’ there with his pants around his ankles and eyes buggin’ out. His chest was just a heavin’.
“There’s a bear or wolf or some big animal out there,” he gasped. “It was a lookin’ right at me with big yeller eyes. They was too big for a coon or a possum.”
Seems he had just settled down on the seat and was just idly shinin’ the flashlight round when he saw a big ol pair of yeller eyeballs glowin’ back at him. They wasn’t movin’, just staring like some kinda demon. He hollered and jumped up, makin’ it to the cabin in about two steps with his pants round his ankles.
There was a mix of laughin’ and concerned looks at the predicament and Frank, what with his pants round his ankles and the idea that there was some kind of big animal lurkin’ out by the outhouse.
The boys decided it was best to just pack it in and go to bed. It was safe inside. They could look around to try and figger out what it was in the mornin’. They all, especially Joe checked their bags for snakes, mice and other vermin, and turned in. The next mornin’ they had another good breakfast. They planned to go over to the gray trout lake again. They could legally take home another limit, so they decided to get a good cooler full of frozen trout for their trip home.
“I’m gotta hit the outhouse,” said Frank, headin’ toward the door.
“Be careful. We still don’t know what was out there,” said Pete, remindin’ him they hadn’t determined what was lurkin’ last night.
A few moments later Frank came back in slammin’ the door. He had an ornery look on his face.
“You rotten, low down #&(#@ (^@^ #$@s!!!”
“What?” said Joe with a clueless expression.
Pete was snickerin, and Frank picked up on it. “I found the yeller reflectors you stuck on that stump you ^%$&* *@!#$%!” he shouted, lookin’ straight at Frank. “Your day is comin’.”
The fellas cleaned up and got their gear together. They made the trek up over the hill to the next lake. Before long they had the boat set and were movin’ out into the lake as fast as the little Neptune could go.
As they started through the narrows they saw somethin’ movin’ in the water. It turned out to be a bear takin’ a shortcut across the lake.
“Steer over by it. I wanna see it.” said Joe.
“Are you nuts?” said Frank. “Thatsa bear.”
“It’s in the water,” answered Joe. “What’s it gonna do?”
It was against Frank’s better judgment, but it turned toward the swimmin’ bear. As they got upside it Joe reached out and dunked it with one of the canoe paddles that were always in the boats. The bear popped back up lookin’ kinda mad, so Joe dunked it again. This time the bear came up fightin’ mad. It locked its eyeballs on Joe and started swimmin’ hard at the boat.
“Git us outta here!” shouted Joe, suddenly realizin’ the err of his dunkin’ fun.
The bear started clawin’ the side of the boat tryin’ to git ahold of it so he could climb in and have a little meetin’ with Joe. Pete grabbed the other paddle and started help Joe poke it away.
“I’m already wide open” yelled Frank. “You know this thing ain’t got the power to just go speedin’ cross the lake.
Between the pokin’ and Frank turnin’ the boat they got a bit of separation. Pete and Joe switched to paddlin’ like they was in a canoe. After a minute the bear gave up and changed course back toward the other shore.
“That was a stupid stunt,” Frank said looking at Joe. Joe just sat there with his head down, knowin’ it was best to just be quiet. A few minutes later they all had a beer open and it was time for laughin’ and trash talkin’. Funny how you get braver after a little beer and time.
The fish were hittin’ pretty good and they had their limits in time to eat lunch on the way back to the portage. They cleaned the fish and started back to the cabin.
As they passed the fork in the trail leadin’ to the waterfall Pete said, “Let’s check out those falls. Stew said they are bout twenty-five feet tall. I’m feelin’ pretty ripe. Maybe we could take an outdoor shower.
Frank and Joe kinda liked the idea since none of them had done more than hand and face washin’ since they got there. They dropped their gear and got their hand washin’ soap outta their tackle boxes. By the time they got to the falls, they were really lookin’ forward to getting’ clean.
The waterfall was everything they hoped for and more. It was about twenty-five high and twenty feet wide with a solid flow of water. They stripped down and waded up the shallow stream. The water was a might chilly, but it felt real good poundin’ down on them. They was in hog heaven soapin’ up and gittin’ clean.
Suddenly Frank caught something out of the corner of his eye. It was the two boys from the cabin across the road stand up on the rise laugin’, and OH NO! two girls of about the same ages they had never seen before.
Frank hollered at Pete and Joe, and then at the kids. They got mighty low tryin’ to sneak back over to their clothes. The kids lit outta there before the guys could git dressed and chase after them.
By the time they were dressed and headed back to their gear they were laughin’ bout the whole thing.
“Guess it was better than another bear,” said Pete. Everyone agreed.
The boys stopped at the icehouse as they walked into camp. They wanted their new trout froze up solid when the headed home Saturday morning. They saved out a couple for dinner and headed down the hill to their cabin. Just as they got there they noticed the boy’s grandmas down on the dock. One of them was hangin’ to on one the big ol fiberglass cane poles they had seen leanin’ against their cabin. From the bend in the pole she appeared to be tusslin’ with a sizeable fish.
The boys set down their stuff and walked toward the dock. From the looks of things they might need to help out.
“Lookit that rod bend,” said Pete. “The ends of it are touching together. She must have a whale on.”
The other grandma had picked up a net and was standin’ by ready to net the fish. As the boys stepped out onto the dock the fish came to the surface. It was the biggest pike any of them had ever seen.
“Thatsa monster,” said Joe, lookin’ at Frank. “It’s bigger than the one on yer wall.”
“I know,” said Frank. “It’s thirty pounds if it an ounce.”
“I’ll bet it goes closer to forty,” said Pete.
The boys walked side-by-side out onto the dock. They were just about to volunteer their help when grandma number two stepped up to land the trophy. She wasn’t quite as fishin’ savvy as the grandma wrestlin’ the monster. She came at the fish head on with the net. That big ol pike took one look at the net and gave a mighty lunge downward snappin’ the leader. The grandma with the pole lurched backward, the cane pole snapped upward, and the prize was lost.
“DANG! exclaimed Frank, turnin’ to Pete. All he saw was Joe. “Where’d Pete go? He was just here.”
They both looked at each other, then back up he dock. Where was Pete? Then they looked down.
Pete was lying on the dock lookin’ like he’d been hit by a truck. There was blood runnin’ from a cut between his eyes up on his forehead. Red and white pieces of plastic were everywhere.
Apparently, when the leader broke the cane pole snapped up launchin’ her two-inch red and white bobber like a rock comin’ outta David’s sling in the Bible. Pete was walkin’ in zactly the right spot to catch it right twixt the eyes at prolly two-hundred miles an hour just like ol Goliath. It dropped him so fast Frank and Joe never saw it happen.
Pete finally started comin’ round blinkin’ his eyes and rockin’ his head. “Wh-wh-what happened?” he asked groggily.
“You just got cold cocked by a kamikaze bobber,” said Joe.
Frank and Joe got Pete up and dusted him off. They explained what happened as best they could. Pete said he needed a beer to ease the thumpin’ in his head.
The rest of the day passed without major incident. Tomorrow was their last day. They told Stewart what a good time they were havin’. Stew told them he would take them back to his rustic lodge on the big lake if they wanted to see it. There weren’t as many fish in the big lake, but the ones that were there were real monsters. One guy caught lake trout that was over fifty-five pounds. It had scales as big as quarter. There were pictures of it up in the lodge along with other bigguns caught by folks at the lodges. The boys jumped at the chance.
They met Stew the next mornin’. He had a high clearance on his International four-by=four pickup so they had the luxury of a ride to the first lake. The four of them hopped into a boat and motored across to the portage to the next lake. It was a pretty level path, so it was not very strenuous. Before long they were motoring toward the portage to the big lake.
The portage to the big lake was another easy walk. They saw a moose with a huge set of antlers that were more than big enough to hang in the finest of establishments. When they got their first glimpse of the big lake they were already sold on hittin’ it for some trophy trollin’.
The lake was eight-and-a-half miles long and a mile or two wide accordin’ to Stew and mighty deep. The one side of the lake had cliffs over a hundred feet high runnin’ right down to the water. Stew said the lodge was bout halfway down on the north side.
Stew steered them over toward a small island as the headed cross the lake. “That’s t-t-t-T island,” said
Stew. I w-w-w-wanna show you something.
They pulled up to the island and got out. It was mostly rock with just a few strugglin’ trees on it. It wasn’t much bigger than an average size house.
“How much line have you g-g-g-got on t-t-that p-p-pole?” Stew asked Pete. Pete had brought a pole and tackle box just in case.
“Hundred yards minus a couple feet or so.”
“P-p-p-put a b-b-b-big sinker on the end and c-c-come over here,”
Pete snapped a one ounce bell sinker on the leader and walked over to Stew.
“W-w-w-watch this,” he said motion Frank and Joe over. Hold it out as far as you c-c-c-can and let it g-g-g-go.”
Pete stretched out and released the bale. The sinker hit the water and kept going. After a few seconds he looked over at Stew.
“J-j-j-j-ust let it g-g-g-g-go.”
The line kept feedin’ and feedin’ and feedin’. It was a good thing Pete had tied the end onto the spool cuz it finally hit the end of the line without hittin’ bottom. Frank and Pete and Joe’s eyes bout popped outta their heads.
“D-d-d-deep, ain’t it,” Stew said with a laugh.
“Damn deep,” said Pete, reelin’ his line back in.
There was only bout a hundred feet between where they was standin’ on the island and the mainland. But there was a lot of water.
“I w-w-w-was standin’ over t-t-there f-f-fishin’ one day,” said Stew. I h-h-h-hooked into the b-b-b-b-biggest fish I e-e-e-ever felt. I f-f-f-fought it f-f-f-for least an hour p-p-p-pullin’ and fightin’. My arms was g-g-g-g-getting’ w-w-weak and my legs were t-t-t-tremblin’. I still c-c-c-couldn’t g-g-g-get it up where I c-c-c-could see it. The f-f-fight w-w-w-went on and on.
I w-w-w-was shakin’ like there w-w-w-was an earthquake. I w-w-w-was about ready to p-p-p-pass out and still hadn’t seen the f-f-f-fish. Then b-b-b-bang, my line b-b-b-broke and I f-f-f-f-f-fell over b-b-b-b-backward right in the w-w-w-water….right there,” pointin’ at the water where they was standin.”
The boys looked at Stew, not gittin’ it. The they looked at each other, and then it sunk in bout how Stew was claimin’ the island got out there in the lake. They started laughin’ so hard they all near fell into the lake.
They all got back into the boat. They were extra careful loadin’ up cuz they was all thinkin’ bout how deep the lake is. A few minutes later they were pullin’ up in front of the lodge. There was no dock in the shore. The shore as a quick scramble up a rocky slope made of rocks from a couple inches to a foot or so in diameter.
“H-h-h-harder than h-h-h-heck to p-p-p-aint these b-b-boat,” said Stew, lookin’ at the boat which appeared to be freshly painted with the same green as all of the lodge’s boats.. “Ain’t g-g-got a dock here, and they are t-t-t-to heavy for me to p-p-p-pull out b-b-by myself. I had to swim under all of them to p-p-p-p-paint the b-b-b-bottoms.”
The boys all cracked up. Frank choked on the sip of beer he was takin’ till he near passed out
“We gotta bring you down home someday,” said Frank. “There’s a few guys that need to meet you. There is some storytellin’ needs to be done down there.”
The lodge was truly rustic. It was a cook stove, a few pots and pans, dishes and a table hooked up with a few rooms that had cots, small tables and kerosene lamps. There was no frills, caretaker or anythin’. You would really be on your own. Along with the big fish in the big lake there was also three lakes close off the end of the lake accordin’ to Stew. You could paddle a canoe through a wooded marsh to the one lake, which was sposed to have the best fishin’. The boys told Stew they just might be comin’ back to fish the next year.
Frank and Pete and Joe and Stew got back to the main lodge in the early afternoon. The two girls that had been in on spyin’ on them while they were showerin’ at the waterfall were there. They were hangin’ back snickerin’ a lot. Turned out they were up there with their folks for a bit.
As they walked down to their cabin they saw the two boys out fishin’ up along the left side of the lake. One of them was tusslin’ with a fish. As they watched, the other boy caught another fish.
“I gotta know their secret,” said Frank. “This just ain’t natural the way they are killin’ them bass and we can get in on the action.”
When the boys finally came in they walked down to see how they did. They had their standard stringers full of smallies.
“How are you doin’ it?” asked Joe. “We know you are usin’ worms, but we tried’em too and never caught fish like you guys. C’mon. What’s the secret? This is killin’ us. We’ll give you both a dollar if you let us in on your secret.”
“We’re just fishin’ where the river comes into the lake,” said the older boy, lookin’ at his brother.
“We saw you out there. The river doesn’t come in where you were at. It comes in over there, doesn’t it?” said Pete pointing to the area where they had tried fishin’ before.
“No it don’t,” said the younger boy.
The boys knew it was the last day at the lodge for all of them. They took Frank and Pete and Joe for a little hike round the lake. It involved some tightrope walkin’ on the logs and stuff out in the lake. It was an interestin’ little adventure.
Turns out the river comes down over the falls and out toward the lake. It gets within bout twenty or thirty feet of the lakes and makes sharp left turn. Then it runs about a hundred yards or so parallel up the shore, then dumps quietly in up where they saw the boys fishin’. The boys and their family had been comin’ up here every summer for a while. They had discovered this secret a couple years earlier.
They paid the boys and promised to keep the spot secret once they got back to the dock area. A few minutes later they were in the boat and headed over to the boy’s secret bass fishin’ spot.
Within a couple hours they had knocked down all the bass they cared to catch. They only kept the bigger ones. Might as well let the small ones grow up was the thinkin’. It was a fittin’ end to their week.
Frank and Pete and Joe had fresh cold water bass for dinner. They gathered up all the non-essential stuff and loaded it into the camper. Tomorrow mornin’ would be breakfast, gather up their frozen bounty and head for the Soo. They spent the rest of the evenin’ playin’ card and reducin’ the amount of beer they would need to tote home.
The next mornin’ they were on their way about nine-thirty. They had only been there for a week, but it felt like longer. They were goin’ to miss Stew and his stories. He was about the best, funniest guy they’d ever met. His stories could match the best storyteller in Cadillac, and his stutterin’ made them even better. Stew, Eileen and their granddaughters waved good bye to them as they pulled out of the parkin’ lot.
The trip down the loggin’ trail back to Iron Bridge went pretty smooth ‘cept for a stop to wait for a contrary moose to decide to share the road. He seemed just as stubborn as the big Indian they had met on the trip up. None of them was interested in steppin’ out to reason with him.
They made it back to the Soo fairly early and fueled up. They loved that Imperial gallon cuz they got almost a quart more gas per gallon for just about the same price after the exchange.
The ferry line back to the U.S. was shorter than the line on the way up. The made it through customs without any trollin’ motor incidents. The only slowdown was while they checked all the fish to make sure they didn’t have any mountain trout mixed in. There was rules against catchin’ them and bringin’ them back at the time.
It was long passed eatin’ time by then. They checked into a hotel and found a place called Antlers. They and ordered up a meal of pasties and beer. They would handle the rest of the trip home tomorrow.
The next morning they made it onto the ferry at the straits without too long of a wait. Pete kept a low profile just in case Henrik was there and remembered him. Once they got off in Mackinaw City there was just a hundred a fifty miles of highway between them and home.
Frank and Pete and Joe walked into Hanson’s just as the Tiger’s game was ready to start on the radio. The Detroit Tigers on TV wouldn’t come to northern Michigan until 1958, so gatherin’ at Hanson’s for the radio broadcast was the Sunday afternoon ritual. Dizzy Trout was settin’ up for the first pitch. Plenty of the boys were there havin’ a beer and waitin’.
“Well, looky here!” hooted Louie. “The might fishermen have returned.”
“How was the fishing?” asked Harvey. “Let’s hear all about it.”
“Let us git a couple beers,” said Frank.
“Ya,” added Joe. “We got plenty of stories to tell you about the fishin’, the lodge and ol Stew the owner.”
The boys made a few more trips up to the lodge, but those are different stories.
***
Calvin Shepherd’s Bronze Star.
By Wayne Zurl
Copyright 2006
An outtake from A NEW PROSPECT. Published January 2011 by Black Rose Writing.
(Inspired by an actual incident. North Bellport, Suffolk County, NY, 1974)
(Fictional character, former NY detective turned Tennessee police chief, Sam Jenkins narrates the story)
We finished at ten-minutes-to-five. I should have gone home and poured a stiff drink. Instead, I walked into my office and sat down, wondering what I’d do next. I sat back in my chair, put folded hands over my mid-section, and leaned back with my eyes closed, letting things run through my mind. I envisioned the famous New York detective, Nero Wolfe, in that posture contemplating a difficult case, his lips moving in and out; his faithful assistant, Archie Goodwin, waiting patiently for the genius to come up with a foolproof plan. Junior Huskey interrupted my thought process.“Sam . . . you busy?”I opened my eyes. “No, kid, I’m just thinking. Sit down, what do you need?”He sat in a guest chair in front of my desk. “I jest wanted ta git back ta my question.”“You want to know what schlep is? Okay, here’s my best answer and advice. You schlepped through that job just fine, but don’t ever be a schlep, that’s not good. Understand?”He looked more confused than before. “No, sir, I meant the question I asked ya the other day, about why you took the job here. You didn’t git a chance to finish yer answer.”“You actually listened, didn’t you?” He nodded, and looked at me patiently. Bettye walked in. I looked at my watch. It was five o’clock. I assumed she’d be ready to leave for the day. “I just came in to say good-night,” she said.
“Thanks. Have a good evening. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m going to answer Junior’s question and then leave myself. We’ll be right behind you.”“I heard what Junior asked. You mind if I stay and hear what you have to say?” Oh great, my past will be an open book.“No, I don’t mind, if you don’t mind getting bored with my story.”“Sam, so far you’ve been anythin’ but borin’.” She smiled, her hazel eyes twinkled, and she took the second chair next to Junior.“Well . . . as I was saying to Junior . . . about needing a purpose in life—what made me think of that, happened about thirty-five years ago while I was working. I knew this middle-aged black man who gave me the idea.“My sector car partner and I got a call to his house. We didn’t know any more than some neighbor called in a disturbance or altercation. I found my friend sitting on his front stoop, not looking too happy. “I’d known him for the couple of years I worked that sector. Calvin Shepherd was a hard-working man—had a good job with the Long Island Railroad, and was a World War II vet, a paratrooper with the all-black 555th Infantry. He once told me he won a Bronze Star over in Europe. They weren’t easy medals to come by in the second war, especially for a black soldier.”My audience waited patiently for the punch line. “Most everyone called him Shep, but he was about my father’s age, and I thought calling him Mr. Shepherd would be more respectful. Anyway, he always called me Mr. Sam, so it seemed like the right thing to do.”Bettye interrupted. “Did you work in an all-black area?”“I guess about ninety-eight-percent black. The community built up just after the Korean War—a place with cheap housing for the returning veterans. After a while it became mostly black people who stayed.” She nodded and looked anxious for me to continue. Junior remained attentive.“I asked Calvin why he called and he started by saying, ‘Mr. Sam, I work ever’ day. I bring home a paycheck ever’ two weeks. I keep my house nice, and on Sundays I like to sit back and rest.’” I told the story using my version of Ebonics to give the performance an authentic atmosphere. “Then Calvin pointed to the house and said, ‘She tol’ me I ain’t got no purpose. Said to me, a man’s got to have a purpose. I axed her, how’s you get food on this table if I ain’t got no damn purpose? ‘Mr. Sam, she cussed at me like no man should have ta hear. A man don’t got to take that if he make a good livin’ an’ he bring home honest money an’ don’t drink it away. I only hit her once an’ she do this to me.’I switched back to my own voice and continued. “Shep moved his hands away from his stomach. The unbuttoned jacket he held pressed against his body swung to the side and blood showed on his fingers. His shirt was torn apart and soaked red. I should have seen it before. He showed me a wound made by taking both barrels of a twelve gauge shotgun, loaded with birdshot, square in the midsection. He was having a hell of a time keeping his intestines from falling out of his hands.”Bettye winced at the thought, and Junior sat forward.“I yelled to my partner, who told the dispatcher to contact the medics. Louie, the guy I worked with, ran over with the first-aid kit. We did as much as we could, packing the wound with the biggest trauma bandages available. The ambulance arrived quickly and took Calvin away.” Bettye and Junior made the best audience I can remember. Both waited silently for the ending. “I went into the house and found Mrs. Shepherd standing in the kitchen washing dishes. I asked her why she shot her husband, and she denied it. “I found a shotgun propped up against the wall behind the front door. It smelled of cordite and I found two spent shells in the breech. “The evidence technician who responded for me did a Harrison test on her hands and found gunpowder residue. She still denied it.”Time to end my story and head home. “So folks, I figured I had better take this chief’s job and get me a new purpose in life lest somebody might do something bad to me. Besides, all the tension I’ve built up over the last fourteen years will probably dissipate as soon as I can rip off some bad-guy after a high-speed chase. Know what I mean?”Neither Junior nor Bettye responded to my late attempt at humor. “Did Mr. Shepherd make it?” Junior asked.I shook my head. He followed up with, “What happened?” “He held on for a couple of days, but then finally passed away.” “Oh, Lord, what a shame,” Bettye said.“A couple of weeks later,” I said, “they received a phone call for me at the precinct. His daughter—I had never met her—lived in another part of town and wanted to see me—something about Calvin’s will. “My partner and I drove to her house. I went in and told her how I knew her father, thought he was a stand-up guy, and how sorry I felt when he never recovered. “She handed me a cigar box. Calvin left me his Bronze Star, three campaign medals, jump wings, combat infantryman’s badge, and a photo of him in uniform with two other soldiers. “She said her father didn’t know my last name. He just left those things to Mr. Sam from the 5th Precinct.”