... are coming into season - yummy! Check out my new article on Examiner.Com.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Posie Opossum’s First Day of School
I recently had someone ask about the stories I used to write for my children when they were little. I used to write all types of short stories for the girls, but I hadn't thought about them in years. After digging through file after file, I found one series of stories about a character named Posie Opossum - there are probably 7 to 8 stories I've written about this character. It has been so long since I wrote them, the only copies I have are the original type written pages. I'm now in the process of entering these stories into a computer program. Here is the first story I ever wrote about Posie Opossum - it was for my oldest 2 daughters - my 17 year old had not been born yet!
(Photo by Victor Fowler)
Posie Opossum’s First Day of School
Posie Opossum was a cute little five-year-old opossum who lived in the woods with her mother, father and two brothers, Opie and Larry.
Today was Posie’s first day of kindergarten and she was a little scared.
“Come along, Posie. You need to eat your breakfast before I walk you to school,” said her mother.
Opie and Larry were already at the breakfast table. Larry was blowing bubbles in his milk again. Opie was talking with his mouth full.
“Yeah, Posie, you’d better eat. All you get at school is bread and water. Ha! Ha!” laughed Opie.
Mother looked at Opie and scolded, “Now, Opie, don’t tease your sister. She’s scared enough as it is.”
“Kindergarten kids are such babies!” said Larry. “They’re always crying on the playground.”
HONK! HONK! The school bus pulled up in front of the Opossum home.
“Boys, hurry up! The bus is here. Don’t forget your backpacks.” said Mother as she kissed them both on top of the head.
“Yuck, mom, I’m ten years old. I don’t need my mother to kiss me goodbye,” said Larry.
“Yeah, mom, neither do nine year olds,” added Opie.
And with that, both boys ran out the door and hopped up the steps of the big yellow school bus. Because the boys went to a school across town, they had to ride the bus. Posie’s new school was within walking distance of the house, so she would be walking to school.
Posie finished breakfast, and then Mother brushed her long yellow hair and put a pretty red bow in it. Posie was dressed in her new “first day of school” dress.
Mother and Posie then went out the front door and headed for school. As they approached the little brick schoolhouse, Posie’s tummy began to feel funny. She hid behind her mother’s skirt. As they entered the brightly colored kindergarten room, Posie clung even tighter to her mother.
“Hello there. I’m Mrs. Sally Foxx. I’ll be your teacher. Welcome to kindergarten!” Mrs. Foxx was the most beautiful teacher Posie had ever seen, even if she was the only teacher Posie had ever seen. Mrs. Foxx had pretty red hair and dimples in her cheeks when she smiled.
“What’s you name, sweetheart?” she asked.
“Posie,” said Posie.
“Well, hello Posie. Welcome to my class. Why don’t you and your mom come in and look around. Maybe you would like to meet some of the other boys and girls?” Mrs. Foxx lead them into the room.
There was a little boy playing on the keyboard. His name was Harold. There was a little girl playing fireman. Her name was Susie. Wanda was playing dress-up and Matt was finger painting.
Slowly, Posie let go of her mother’s skirt. She picked up a feathered hat and put it on her head.
“Hi, my name is Wanda. What’s yours?” said the little girl playing dress-up.
“My name’s Posie. Can I play with you?” asked Posie.
Posie and Wanda began to play house. Matt soon joined them, and before long, Posie was having a wonderful time. She had forgotten all about being scared.
Posie’s mother was talking with the teacher. Finally, she gave Posie a kiss on the head.
“Mama,” said Posie.
“What dear?”
“I’ll never be too old for you to kiss me. Will you be here to walk me home from school?”
“Yes, dear,” replied Mother. “I’ll be here when the bell rings.”
“I love you, Mama,” said Posie, and she skipped back over to the dress-up area and began to play with her new friends.
Collecting Seeds ...
.... not only helps your current flowers, but it gives you a jump start on next year's flowers. Check out my article on Examiner.Com.
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Sunday, July 19, 2009
Kidnapped
This is a new short story I've started sketching out. The working title is Kidnapped, but I'm looking for a catchier title.
KIDNAPPED
Angel looked at the faded newspaper clipping with complete awe and fascination. This could not possibly be right. Who was this little girl? She turned on the desk lamp to see the pale newsprint and reread the words for yet another time.
Out of everything in Mama's scrapbook, why would she keep a news clipping like this? Who was this little girl? After her mother’s death, it had taken Angel six months to finally have the energy to pack up her mother’s keepsakes, and she had saved the scrapbooks for last, knowing they would invoke painful memories. When she started going through one of the oldest books, the scrap of newspaper had fallen out, apparently left loose instead of being glued to one of the many pages.
Angel looked closer at the paper and blanched when she saw the date: December 26, 1970. If the little girl was two when she went missing, that would make her almost the same age as Angel – they would have both been born in 1968.
Angel thumbed through the other clippings in scrapbook, but there were no other unusual items, only page after page of Angel’s happy childhood. She stopped at a clipping of a little girl of six sliding down the curved sliding board. This had been an ordinary day and her mom had taken her to the park near their home in Springfield, Illinois, which was their habit every afternoon before nap time. This particular day had been the first pretty day of spring, and a reporter from the local paper, The Sentinel Times, had been getting candid shots. Mom had not been happy about having her daughter’s picture taken, but since it was a public park, there wasn’t much she could do. The picture of Angel, without her name, had been in the next day’s paper. Two days later, they had moved to Ohio.
Angel closed the scrapbook and picked up the manila envelope she had found in her mother’s underwear draw. She opened it and pulled out the contents: birth certificate, social security card, and a few other important papers identifying Angel. She held the birth certificate up to the light and that’s when something looked odd. Holding the certificate up closer to the light, she turned it over from front to back several times. There was no watermark on the birth certificate.
Although Angel had been born in Alabama and she didn’t know much about Alabama birth certificates, but she was almost sure that every certificate needed to have a watermark to be legal. Then she started going over the information line by line.
Name, Angel Leeann Whitenack; mother, Connie D. Whitenack; father, unknown. It was true that Angel had never known her father, and her mother refused to even discuss him, saying only that he had left her when she turned up pregnant. Birthplace, Mason, Alabama; birthdate, December 24, 1968.
Wait a minute, mumbled Angel. My birthday isn’t December 24 – that’s Christmas Eve. My birthday is October 6th. This can’t possibly be right.
KIDNAPPED
Angel looked at the faded newspaper clipping with complete awe and fascination. This could not possibly be right. Who was this little girl? She turned on the desk lamp to see the pale newsprint and reread the words for yet another time.
Returning home from her birthday party, Angelina Cooper, who had just turned 2, was reported missing from her South Beach, Florida home. The child was last seen in the car seat of her family’s 1969 Camaro Convertible which was parked at the 7-Eleven on 5th and Forest Street. Susan Cooper had parked in front of the convenience store on Christmas Eve and went inside for a gallon of milk, leaving little Angelina asleep in the backseat. When Mrs. Cooper returned to the car, the back passenger door was open and the toddler was gone. There are currently no suspects or leads in this case. If you have any information about missing Angelina Cooper, contact local police. The child was last seen wearing ......
Out of everything in Mama's scrapbook, why would she keep a news clipping like this? Who was this little girl? After her mother’s death, it had taken Angel six months to finally have the energy to pack up her mother’s keepsakes, and she had saved the scrapbooks for last, knowing they would invoke painful memories. When she started going through one of the oldest books, the scrap of newspaper had fallen out, apparently left loose instead of being glued to one of the many pages.
Angel looked closer at the paper and blanched when she saw the date: December 26, 1970. If the little girl was two when she went missing, that would make her almost the same age as Angel – they would have both been born in 1968.
Angel thumbed through the other clippings in scrapbook, but there were no other unusual items, only page after page of Angel’s happy childhood. She stopped at a clipping of a little girl of six sliding down the curved sliding board. This had been an ordinary day and her mom had taken her to the park near their home in Springfield, Illinois, which was their habit every afternoon before nap time. This particular day had been the first pretty day of spring, and a reporter from the local paper, The Sentinel Times, had been getting candid shots. Mom had not been happy about having her daughter’s picture taken, but since it was a public park, there wasn’t much she could do. The picture of Angel, without her name, had been in the next day’s paper. Two days later, they had moved to Ohio.
Angel closed the scrapbook and picked up the manila envelope she had found in her mother’s underwear draw. She opened it and pulled out the contents: birth certificate, social security card, and a few other important papers identifying Angel. She held the birth certificate up to the light and that’s when something looked odd. Holding the certificate up closer to the light, she turned it over from front to back several times. There was no watermark on the birth certificate.
Although Angel had been born in Alabama and she didn’t know much about Alabama birth certificates, but she was almost sure that every certificate needed to have a watermark to be legal. Then she started going over the information line by line.
Name, Angel Leeann Whitenack; mother, Connie D. Whitenack; father, unknown. It was true that Angel had never known her father, and her mother refused to even discuss him, saying only that he had left her when she turned up pregnant. Birthplace, Mason, Alabama; birthdate, December 24, 1968.
Wait a minute, mumbled Angel. My birthday isn’t December 24 – that’s Christmas Eve. My birthday is October 6th. This can’t possibly be right.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Button, Button, Who's Got the Button ....
.... check out my article on one of my favorite Kentucky native plants, the Button Bush, at Examiner.Com.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
THE STRANGER
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THE STRANGER
“Hello, stranger. Is there something I can help you with?” Martin “Grubby” Holmes was walking up the sidewalk to his home and there was a stranger sitting on his front porch, gently swinging in the old porch swing.
“I’m sorry to intrude, but my legs were tired and I needed to sit a spell. Your swing looked so inviting,” the stranger stood up, “I just thought I’d sit down. I’m sorry to be trespassing.” He stooped over and picked up his backpack.
“No need to run off so quick. Sit back down.” Grubby pointed at the swing and then he took a seat in the old iron chair near the front door.
“What brings you around these parts?” Grubby asked the man.
“Well, I lost my job about six months ago, so I’ve been struggling to live off my unemployment. But when that ran out, the bank took my home. I’ve been walking from town to town trying to find work.” The stranger ducked his head in an embarrassed way and Grubby could tell the man was having a hard time.
“My name’s Martin Holmes; my friends all call my Grubby. Have you had anything to eat today?” Grubby looked at his watch; it was after 2:30 in the afternoon.
“I had a large breakfast at the homeless shelter back in Carter City, but my tank is empty again. I was really hoping to find some work in your town, maybe a hot meal and a place to sleep the night. My name’s Chester, Chester Waterfill. I’m originally from Louisville.” He started turning his ball cap over and over again in his hands.
“Well, Chester Waterfill from Louisville, it’s nice to meet ya.” Grubby stood up and offered his hand to the man. “Come on inside and let’s see if we can rustle up something to eat. My tank’s a little empty, too.”
THE CRYSTAL
This is the beginning of a new short story entitled, THE CRYSTAL
(Photo by Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixels Narratives)
Annabella lived in the middle of the bluegrass state of Kentucky with her older brother, Kyle, who was a horse trainer, and his wife, Stella, who was a stay at home mother to two year old twins, Darius and Emmett. Their home was old, built by pioneer ancestors in the late 1880s. Downstairs there was one large great room with a large chimney and hearth, and a smallish kitchen off to one side.
Kyle and Stella had a bedroom downstairs with two cribs for the twins and Annabella was upstairs in the loft. Although the loft was one big open space covering half the depth of the house, Annabella felt safe and there was a colorful crazy quilt hanging from the ceiling near her bed, which offered her some privacy.
Because the house was old, there was no central air conditioning or heat, but there were large ceiling fans in the great room, the bedroom and the loft. During the cold months, a cheery fire was always burning in the fireplace, giving adequate warmth to the family.
When Annabella stood on the wide tin covered front porch and looked around, she could see the thick, heavy woods on one side and the green open pastures on the other. About a dozen horses were roaming in the pasture and the large horse stable was visible in the distance.
The pastures had once resembled the woods, but many years of hard work by ancestors Annabella never knew had cleared away the trees and shrubs to allow grass to grow and sustain the livestock. The lumber from clearing the pastures was used to build the house, stable and barn, which was located behind the house. The lumber was also used to make miles and miles of fencing on the property.
Although she enjoyed watching the horses frolic in the fields, Annabella enjoyed the forest even better. There was always something to do or many treasures to find. Annabella was a collector of rocks, leaves and sometimes wildflowers.
The rocks were her favorite and she had many different kinds, from the native limestone to large round geodes to sparkling minerals that looked like jewels. Here favorite was a sparkly emerald about the size of a golf ball and Annabelle always carried this gem in a pocket of her faded jeans.
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Annabella lived in the middle of the bluegrass state of Kentucky with her older brother, Kyle, who was a horse trainer, and his wife, Stella, who was a stay at home mother to two year old twins, Darius and Emmett. Their home was old, built by pioneer ancestors in the late 1880s. Downstairs there was one large great room with a large chimney and hearth, and a smallish kitchen off to one side.
Kyle and Stella had a bedroom downstairs with two cribs for the twins and Annabella was upstairs in the loft. Although the loft was one big open space covering half the depth of the house, Annabella felt safe and there was a colorful crazy quilt hanging from the ceiling near her bed, which offered her some privacy.
Because the house was old, there was no central air conditioning or heat, but there were large ceiling fans in the great room, the bedroom and the loft. During the cold months, a cheery fire was always burning in the fireplace, giving adequate warmth to the family.
When Annabella stood on the wide tin covered front porch and looked around, she could see the thick, heavy woods on one side and the green open pastures on the other. About a dozen horses were roaming in the pasture and the large horse stable was visible in the distance.
The pastures had once resembled the woods, but many years of hard work by ancestors Annabella never knew had cleared away the trees and shrubs to allow grass to grow and sustain the livestock. The lumber from clearing the pastures was used to build the house, stable and barn, which was located behind the house. The lumber was also used to make miles and miles of fencing on the property.
Although she enjoyed watching the horses frolic in the fields, Annabella enjoyed the forest even better. There was always something to do or many treasures to find. Annabella was a collector of rocks, leaves and sometimes wildflowers.
The rocks were her favorite and she had many different kinds, from the native limestone to large round geodes to sparkling minerals that looked like jewels. Here favorite was a sparkly emerald about the size of a golf ball and Annabelle always carried this gem in a pocket of her faded jeans.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Harry Potter Fever
You must excuse me for my lack of words this morning, but Christine and I went to a midnight showing of HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE last night. We must have been mad to venture into the mob at the cinemas - it was showing in all 8 auditoriums at the cinema we went to in Danville, Kentucky.*****I guess I should say - SPOILER ALERT*****
But it was worth the wait - this was probably the best movie so far. That is, if you can get past all the changes from the book and the unnecessary additions. Oh, and not getting the HUGE fight scene inside Hogwarts at the very end.
Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie and it makes a great stand alone movie, especially for people who have never read the books - and if they haven't read the book, they must live under a rock. The Weasley twin's joke shop was more awesome than I had imagined in my head and the emotion of Hermione's heartbreak over Ron's relationship with Lavendar was heartfelt. Luna was brillant in the few scenes she was in - you've gotta love Loony Luna. The cave scene was cool, much more scary than I imagined, and the death scene was overwhelming. I didn't think I would cry, but I did.
What I didn't like about the movie was the unnecessary interaction between Harry and a girl working in a coffee shop at the very beginning. Where did that come from? And of course, the Dursleys were totally cut from the movie - Dumbledore picks up Harry at the afore mentioned coffee shop.
And as I mentioned earlier, I was waiting the entire movie for the huge fight scene at the end of the movie. The scene on the astronomy tower was great, but instead of showing the fighting and chaos inside Hogwarts, the action shifts to Harry chasing Snape toward Hagrid's cabin. I wanted more interaction between Snape and Harry, but alas, it didn't come. Now I see why this movie was rated PG instead of PG 13 like the last two, the violence was at a total minimum. Not that I'm advocating violence, but the 6th book was much more violent than the movie.
The one thing I did love was the growing relationship between Ginny and Harry - it was tastefully done and reminded me of how young love is supposed to be. Ginny (Bonnie Wright) has blossomed into a beautiful girl and her loyalty to Harry is amazing. Makes me anxious for the next movie.
Or should I say, next two movies. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS will be cut into two movies. I realize they want to cram as much as possible into the last of the franchise, but was it really necessary to have Part 1 and Part 2? Only time will tell.
Now if you'll excuse me, I think it's time for a nap.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Queen Anne's Lace
Read my article on Queen Anne's Lace at Examiner.Com. This is one of my favorite wildflowers.
Monday, July 13, 2009
One-Minute Writer - DAY
Today's One-Minute Writing Prompt: Day
My favorite day of the week changes with the seasons. During the winter, Friday is normally my favorite day because I get to spend the evening with my hubby after a long work week.
During the spring, summer and fall, my hubby works on Friday and Saturday nights, so Sunday becomes my favorite day. I like nothing more than spending lazy Sunday afternoons with him.
What day of the week is your favorite, and why?
My favorite day of the week changes with the seasons. During the winter, Friday is normally my favorite day because I get to spend the evening with my hubby after a long work week.
During the spring, summer and fall, my hubby works on Friday and Saturday nights, so Sunday becomes my favorite day. I like nothing more than spending lazy Sunday afternoons with him.
My Empty Nest is No Longer Empty ...
... and my baby is finally back home from the Governor's School for the Arts. Christine is now a 2009 graduate from GSA!
Here is Christine at the beginning of her final performance. She is reading one of 3 letters about "Dan's Beard" - Dan was her DA (disciplinary assistant) and at the beginning of the session, he had a full beard. After writing the first two letters, he shaved his beard and head - so the 3rd letter is a suicide note from Dan's Beard and Hair.
Three new friends - Jordyn Rhorer, Maddey Gates and Christine.
Dan Bernitt (minus Dan's Beard) and Christine.
Christine with another good friend, Nichelle Green
Christine with her Residence Assistant (RA), Rosalynne Duff
Christine with fellow Mercer Countian, Christian Marnon - they were the only 2 students accepted into GSA from Mercer County.
As you can see, Christine made some wonderful new friends and mentors. She tells us she had a marvelous time and learned many new things. Just from the reading she did on Saturday, I can tell she has finally found her voice.
I am so proud to have a daughter who enjoys creative writing as much as I do. With her permission, I hope to be able to share some of her work with you. She published her first chap book, WE'RE ALL MAD HERE, during her time at Transylvania.
Here is Christine at the beginning of her final performance. She is reading one of 3 letters about "Dan's Beard" - Dan was her DA (disciplinary assistant) and at the beginning of the session, he had a full beard. After writing the first two letters, he shaved his beard and head - so the 3rd letter is a suicide note from Dan's Beard and Hair.
Three new friends - Jordyn Rhorer, Maddey Gates and Christine.
Dan Bernitt (minus Dan's Beard) and Christine.
Christine with another good friend, Nichelle Green
Christine with her Residence Assistant (RA), Rosalynne Duff
Christine with fellow Mercer Countian, Christian Marnon - they were the only 2 students accepted into GSA from Mercer County.
As you can see, Christine made some wonderful new friends and mentors. She tells us she had a marvelous time and learned many new things. Just from the reading she did on Saturday, I can tell she has finally found her voice.
I am so proud to have a daughter who enjoys creative writing as much as I do. With her permission, I hope to be able to share some of her work with you. She published her first chap book, WE'RE ALL MAD HERE, during her time at Transylvania.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Free Flowing Friday
Sorry I've been so absent this week, but I've been under the weather and haven't felt like writing. Of course, with a few extra minutes on my hands, my Free Flowing Friday thoughts have been on the poor family of Michael Jackson.
I truly enjoyed MJ's music when I was a kid - what child growing up in the 60s and 70s didn't? I also realize it was his decision to put himself into the public eye and he garnered fame and fortune by being a celebrity superstar.
But in his family's moment of grief, why can't the media leave him alone? When my sister died 4 years ago, my grief was almost unbearable. If I had been subjected to her presence on every news channel in the world every time I turned on the TV, I would have gone insane.
And now the media is pulling those poor children into this mess! Give me a break! These little kids only know MJ as their father - nothing more. Who cares if they were conceived with a sperm donor? Who cares if the mother gave up her rights? These children didn't ask for this. And to continual roll the footage of his little daughter in her greatest moment of grief - it is despicable. The news channels keep rolling this footage over and over and over.
As for MJ being a child molester, I know the court of public opinion thinks he is guilty, but he was proven innocent in a court of law. I have my own thoughts about his guilt or innocence, but it doesn't matter what I think - a jury of his peers found him innocent. Period.
Now we are being subjected to all his possible medical problems and drug addictions. I personally feel someone's medical history should remain private. As a RN, I know the value of the privacy laws - I just wish everyone would quit speculating on what was wrong with him. We know there are corrupt doctors all over the country who cater to the rich and famous - we've already been through this with Anna Nicole Smith and Heath Ledger, just to name the recent ones.
My point in all of this is to be empathetic to the family and let them grieve in peace. Not matter if your rich or poor, black or white, or male or female - everyone should be allowed to grieve the loss of a loved one without it being fodder to grab ratings.
**Free Flowing Friday is a regular post I do on Rightmyer Rants every Friday. It is normally a collection of my thoughts throughout the week.**
I truly enjoyed MJ's music when I was a kid - what child growing up in the 60s and 70s didn't? I also realize it was his decision to put himself into the public eye and he garnered fame and fortune by being a celebrity superstar.
But in his family's moment of grief, why can't the media leave him alone? When my sister died 4 years ago, my grief was almost unbearable. If I had been subjected to her presence on every news channel in the world every time I turned on the TV, I would have gone insane.
And now the media is pulling those poor children into this mess! Give me a break! These little kids only know MJ as their father - nothing more. Who cares if they were conceived with a sperm donor? Who cares if the mother gave up her rights? These children didn't ask for this. And to continual roll the footage of his little daughter in her greatest moment of grief - it is despicable. The news channels keep rolling this footage over and over and over.
As for MJ being a child molester, I know the court of public opinion thinks he is guilty, but he was proven innocent in a court of law. I have my own thoughts about his guilt or innocence, but it doesn't matter what I think - a jury of his peers found him innocent. Period.
Now we are being subjected to all his possible medical problems and drug addictions. I personally feel someone's medical history should remain private. As a RN, I know the value of the privacy laws - I just wish everyone would quit speculating on what was wrong with him. We know there are corrupt doctors all over the country who cater to the rich and famous - we've already been through this with Anna Nicole Smith and Heath Ledger, just to name the recent ones.
My point in all of this is to be empathetic to the family and let them grieve in peace. Not matter if your rich or poor, black or white, or male or female - everyone should be allowed to grieve the loss of a loved one without it being fodder to grab ratings.
**Free Flowing Friday is a regular post I do on Rightmyer Rants every Friday. It is normally a collection of my thoughts throughout the week.**
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Laughter is Not the Only Medicine
Besides laughter, what is the best medicine?
LAUGHTER IS NOT THE ONLY MEDICINE
The unconditional love of family and friends
My wonderful homemade chicken soup
Quiet evenings spent with my honey
A refreshing 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep
Man's best friend curled up at my feet
A lap full of purring cats
Knowing my children are healthy and happy
A mental health day watching episodes of Dark Shadows
Laying in the middle of the backyard enjoying nature's beauty
An apple a day, a spoonful of sugar and everything covered in chocolate
Monday, July 6, 2009
Yarrow - A Great Herb for Accident-Prone Kids
Check out my article on the many uses of Yarrow at Examiner.Com. This herb is great for stopping minor bleeding problems like skinned knees.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Muddy Boots Cafe
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(Photo by Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixels Narratives)
MUDDY BOOTS CAFE
Claudette continued to pedal the ancient bicycle up the tiny incline into town. She had been on the bike since early morning just as the sun came up and it was now well passed the noon hour. She was tired and hot and she had burned off the last of her breakfast energy a few miles back. Hopefully the hole in the wall town she was now approaching would be modern enough to have a McDonalds or Burger King - maybe she would be able to enjoy a burger and rest in the cool air conditioning.
She had taken on the challenge of cycling across the great state of Indiana in an effort raise money for leukemia research. Claudette's beloved niece had been suffering for 16 months with the horrible disease, and the family was losing hope that a cure would come in time to save little Abigail. Abigail was only 9 years old and she had her whole life ahead of her. Even though Claudette was 21, she had organized this bicycle trek with her college buddies at Indiana University.
For months, students pounded the pavement finding research donations all over the state, and when the time came for Claudette to begin her journey, there was $45,000 riding on the trip. The route had been planned out so Claudette would be near a town or city each night in order to rest and recuperate. Although the tiny town of Nashville, Indiana was not on her list of nightly stops, she thought this would be the perfect resting spot before the afternoon ride began.
Coming into town, Claudette was impressed with the two-laned, tree-lined streets and the large homes located along the main drag of town.
"Something tells me I'm not going to find a McDonalds in this town," she mumbled under breath. So much for a quick meal and a cool afternoon rest.
As she came around the last curve leading into Nashville proper, a quaint brick building on the left-hand side of the road caught her attention.
MUDDY BOOTS CAFEThe front porch of the cafe was decorated with corn shocks to celebrate the upcoming fall season. There were large hydrangea bushes on each side of the porch, hanging full with balls of white flowers, already aging into a cream color that found make a wonderful dried flower arrangement. Cute iron ice cream parlor tables and chairs were lined under the front window, and a few patrons were enjoying lunch in the cool afternoon breeze.
But the thing that appealed most to Claudette was the ancient Coca-Cola machine near the front door. She had loved Coca-Cola since she was a toddler and just the thoughts of an icy cold drink, urged her to park her bike and third wheel trailer on the utility strip between the street and the sidewalk. Attaching her lock through the bike's front wheel and the loop of an old horsehead hitching post, she rummaged through the trailer to find her purse and then headed toward the Muddy Boots.
"That machine's more than decoration," said an elderly lady dining on the porch. "75 cents will buy you a nice cold bottle of Coceee-Coooola." Her accent sounded more downstate Georgia than Indiana.
"Really," replied Claudette? "I've been riding a long time, and Coke sounds good right now." She dropped three quarters into the slot, then opened the door and pulled out a bottle. Using the bottle opener on the side of the machine, she popped the top and took a long drink, draining almost half the bottle in one slow drink.
"Oh my! That hit the spot." She pulled her hand across her mouth in a very unlady-like fashion.
"If you're going into eat, the catfish is fresh from a local pond - Benji can fry it or grill it, whichever you like," said the woman.
"And Billy Jean's meatloaf is to die for," said the woman's male companion.
"Thank you, the both sound heavenly." Claudette took another swig of Coca-Cola and then pulled open the door to the cafe.
Inside the Muddy Boots Cafe, Claudette was transformed back in time to the early 1950s ...................
(To be continued ...........)
Friday, July 3, 2009
Jade's First Meal
One-Minute Writer Friday Fiction: Meal
JADE'S FIRST MEAL
Although Jade had been experimenting with human food for many months before her mission, having to actually eat human food while on Earth was not something she looked forward to. The taste and texture of solid food was revolting and the thought of three meals a day was the one thing she dreaded about her mission.
All the inhabitants of Jadocon received their nourishment in the form of liquid protein, normally only ingested once in a 24 hour eon. Jadocon was a dry, desert-like planet, so growing and raising food had been banned several million eons ago. Jade never realized there was such a thing as "food" until she began training for her 10 year Earth mission.
Picking the shiny red apple off the tree, Jade turned it around and around in her hand. She knew it was an apple, but she was reluctant to bite into it, even though she was running low on protein liquid. The Elders had allowed her to bring several days worth of liquid protein with her, but in order for Jade to blend in unnoticed, she would be required to eat the human food.
She held the apple up to her nose and sniffed. It smelled good, like sunshine and water. Finally she could put it off no longer and she bit into the crispy apple. Working the bite in her mouth, she was surprised at the sweetness and juiciness of the apple. She had been expecting something hard and sour. It took her many attempts to be able to swallow the small bite. When you've been used to drinking liquid all your life, swallowing a bite of apple can be a bit difficult.
For the next 45 minutes, Jade continued to work on the apple, taking small bites and chewing for long minutes. She was surprised to see the pretty white flesh of the apple start turning brown after a few minutes. She had no idea what was making the white turn brown, but she knew it wasn't affecting the taste.
When she was finished with the apple, she felt a little better, a little more energized. She hadn't realized how tired and hungry she actually was. Now, if only her stomach would tolerate the unusual nourishment, maybe she would be alright.
When she stood up, Jade picked a few more apples and put them into her backpack. Then she slung the backpack over one shoulder and headed out of the woods toward the nearest Earth town.
Write a brief bit of fiction involving a meal.
JADE'S FIRST MEAL
Although Jade had been experimenting with human food for many months before her mission, having to actually eat human food while on Earth was not something she looked forward to. The taste and texture of solid food was revolting and the thought of three meals a day was the one thing she dreaded about her mission.
All the inhabitants of Jadocon received their nourishment in the form of liquid protein, normally only ingested once in a 24 hour eon. Jadocon was a dry, desert-like planet, so growing and raising food had been banned several million eons ago. Jade never realized there was such a thing as "food" until she began training for her 10 year Earth mission.
Picking the shiny red apple off the tree, Jade turned it around and around in her hand. She knew it was an apple, but she was reluctant to bite into it, even though she was running low on protein liquid. The Elders had allowed her to bring several days worth of liquid protein with her, but in order for Jade to blend in unnoticed, she would be required to eat the human food.
She held the apple up to her nose and sniffed. It smelled good, like sunshine and water. Finally she could put it off no longer and she bit into the crispy apple. Working the bite in her mouth, she was surprised at the sweetness and juiciness of the apple. She had been expecting something hard and sour. It took her many attempts to be able to swallow the small bite. When you've been used to drinking liquid all your life, swallowing a bite of apple can be a bit difficult.
For the next 45 minutes, Jade continued to work on the apple, taking small bites and chewing for long minutes. She was surprised to see the pretty white flesh of the apple start turning brown after a few minutes. She had no idea what was making the white turn brown, but she knew it wasn't affecting the taste.
When she was finished with the apple, she felt a little better, a little more energized. She hadn't realized how tired and hungry she actually was. Now, if only her stomach would tolerate the unusual nourishment, maybe she would be alright.
When she stood up, Jade picked a few more apples and put them into her backpack. Then she slung the backpack over one shoulder and headed out of the woods toward the nearest Earth town.
Plantain
Check out my article on the many uses of Plantain at Examiner.com.
Noxious weed or miracle plant? You be the judge.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Reflections
Today's Picture, Poetry and Prose prompt:
Suggested prompt...Reflections - use it creatively in your writing today.
(Photograph by Lynda Lehmann)
REFLECTIONS
Reflections of my past flow freely through my mind
Happy childhood, miserable teenhood, skittish adulthood
All jumbled together in the melting pot of memories
Never really showing my past by outward means, but simmering slowly in my thoughts and dreams
Rippled memories like the ripple of waves
Skipping across the decades of time
Not unlike a skimming stone as it lights on spontaneous musings and perceptions
With no control over where the cognition begins and the flights of fancy end
Why is it older brains will always reflect the past
While newer brains are only interested in jetting to the future
Don't they know that time is fleeting and you should not wish it away
'Cause in the blink of an eye, the future is gone and all we're left with is the past
One-Minute Writer - Trait
Today's One-Minute Writing Prompt: Trait
My horrible, horrible temper! I don't get mad very often, but when I do - Katie bar the door! I've been known to rant and rave, in addition to being a telephone abuser (slamming the receiver down over and over and over again)!
Unfortunately, my two oldest daughters have inherited a combination of my temper and their father's (my ex) temper. They are more like me in that it takes a long time to get really mad - but I've seen them throw some really hellacious fits!
Fortunately, my youngest takes after her daddy (my hubby) and is very easy going and mild tempered. I honestly don't know how the two of them put up with me!
If you have children (or plan to have children, or can imagine having children), what trait do you have that you want to make sure you don't pass on?
My horrible, horrible temper! I don't get mad very often, but when I do - Katie bar the door! I've been known to rant and rave, in addition to being a telephone abuser (slamming the receiver down over and over and over again)!Unfortunately, my two oldest daughters have inherited a combination of my temper and their father's (my ex) temper. They are more like me in that it takes a long time to get really mad - but I've seen them throw some really hellacious fits!
Fortunately, my youngest takes after her daddy (my hubby) and is very easy going and mild tempered. I honestly don't know how the two of them put up with me!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
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