Archive for January, 2013

Purple (prompt)

the softness of a lilac bloom as its fragrance wafts through the breeze

the deep delightful sight of springs first violet

sunset over the ocean-a color that purple cannot do justice to

from ground to sky, lilac to violet, purple refreshes our soul

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He struck the match and held it to the kindling underneath the oak logs he had cut last summer.

The fire blazed up, filling the room with a cozy warmth that he badly needed.

They had left that morning after a terrible fight-their first. Both of them had said things they didn’t really mean-things that hurt, that put their whole relationship in danger.

He dreaded her walking in the door as her car pulled up the driveway. What would she say? What would she do.

She walked in, quietly wiping a tear and smelled the smoky aroma of the fire. Quickly, as she walked into the house, she reached into her purse, grabbed the letter she had written at work and wadded it into a tight ball. As she walked into the living room, she turned and tossed it into the fireplace.

“What was that?”, he said. “Oh, nothing.” she whispered as she covered his lips with a passionate kiss.


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Grand Canyon-Over the Edge


I am afraid of heights. The new look out over the Grand Canyon is amazing in it architecture and views.

The programs I have seen with panoramic sweeps of the canyon are amazing, yet It seems to take away from the natural beauty of this unforgettable place when such a modern facility looms over the edge.

It has been 22 years since I saw the Grand Canyon. We were able to drive from look out to look out on our own time, take in the views and study the layers of rock and growth of plants at our own pace.

I think I prefer the Grand Canyon as it was. It could not be made more “Grand” by the hands of man.

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You CAN go home again.

With one last hug, Delila tossed her heavy bag over her shoulder and rushed to board the street car. Soon, she’d be on the train, back on the way the cool, quiet cabin in the Appalachian valley of her home.

Her heart was pounding, as she slung the travel bag down on the floor and slid down into the worn seat, exhausted, yet exhilarated. It had been wonderful to see her brother again. They were adults now, their visits seemed so infrequent, so crowed with activities that there never had been time to just sit and talk, reminisce.

Richard, her older brother had gone off to college in San Francisco, and never returned to the mountains. Delila had always been afraid that would happen. He was a wanderer, never satisfied, always seeking new adventures, places that set his soul on fire with dreams of the future.

She had hoped the big city, rushing streetcars, noisy streets, a tiny apartment, living expenses that were beyond ridiculous would bring him home after a few years working two jobs to pay the bills. As beautiful as the steep, rocky hill and the site of the ocean from craggy cliffs could be, was it really as soothing, as healing as home?

Richard was walking back up the hill to the apartment he shared with a colleague at work, a cat named Shivers and three goldfish. Surprisingly, he was thinking about the things Delia had told him, tears running down her cheeks, as they had sat on the rugged hillside overlooking the bay the previous day.

He opened the window, the breeze fluttering the curtains, and thought of her locks of golden brown hair as she had brushed them from her face, over and over as she told them of Aunt Lou’s last days. Her hair had always been a mess and she wasn’t about to contain it with a chip or clasp-at 11 or 31. It was part of her, as much as her azure blue eyes and long, skinny legs.

“Remember when we were kids and Aunt Lou took us to her “thinking place” up on the mountain?” She had told him as they sat above the rugged cliff, eating pickles and drinking Sprite. He had spread the blanket on a grassy spot and opened the bag lunch they had brought to share on this last day together.filling it with favorites from their childhood. The grasses waving in the swift breeze had brought back memories of the solitude and beauty of Aunt Lou’s hidden refuge. She had always gone there when she was sad, lonely, or perhaps simply needed sometime alone.

Even now, it made Richard smile to think that so many years had gone by before she had even shared this special place with them, her precious niece and nephew, her only living relatives. He reached his doorstep, panting as he climbed to the second floor and looked out the window to see if the street car was still in sight. It wasn’t.

Delila had given it her best shot, she thought as the crowded streets became irrigated farmland. She had reminding Richard of the days the three of them spent in that special place, how Aunt Lou had taught them the name of every flower, tree, mushroom, and insect that she saw as they trudged up that hill, leaves crunching underfoot. They skipped over tiny rivulets making their way down the mountains, laughed when they caught their coats on a briar, or slipped on a muddy creek bank.

“Had it meant anything to him?” she wondered, the trains rhythmic chugging seeming to surround her as the scenery swept by.

She thought of him as teen, rebellious, long hair back loosely with a rubber band, his defined chin, perfect teeth. He would sit on Aunt Lou’s porch in the evening, playing Lynyrd Skynyrd songs on his guitar, singing along quietly, shaking his head in rhythm, as if the songs were coming right from his soul.

“ How could he leave that place, his little sister, Aunt Lou?” she thought as the train began to climb up the Rocky Mountains, so stark and foreboding, not like the gently soothing, lush green valleys that surrounded them at Aunt Lou’s.

“There was a liberal arts college nearby, their town wasn’t so small that there was nothing to do, and it was so beautiful there in the mountains of North Carolina. Even more, it had hurt her that he had stayed there all these years, coming home only for an occasional visits.

She thought of how Aunt Lou, widowed at a young age had taken them in when their parents had died in a plane crash when they were seven and eleven. Her memories of her parents were vague, almost dream-like. His memories seemed to bring him more pain, it was if the thoughts of them had festered inside him as he grew.

Delila had always believed that Richard had held some sort of anger at their parents for wanting to go on that stupid trip anyway. Leaving them there with Aunt Lou to go on a trip to the Grand Canyon. It seemed rather selfish to him- he had finally admitted it yesterday, while they were sitting there by the ocean, the waves pounding against the shore.

It would have meant so much to Aunt Lou, as she had struggled through the cancer, to have had Richard with them. Delila often wondered if she would have re-married, had kids of her own. Had Aunt Lou given up her life for them?

Up in his apartment, Richard stared out the window. “Was it too late to go home?” he thought. Nothing would be the same. Somehow, he knew that he wanted to raise a family there in that valley, for them to spend time with Aunt Delila. The thought had  stricken him like a bolt of thunder.

“I can’t run from it forever,” he sighed.. He turned on his computer and began looking at “Accounting Jobs-Walton, North Carolina”. He wondered what Delila would think when he showed up at her door, Shivers in his cage beside him

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Beebeesworld-such as it is.

Has the sun risen, once more amidst the constant storms, clouds, ominous warnings that life will not be easy or fair? Or is this moment just another tiny window, opened only for a microsecond to make me think that for even a moment my life will be like other people’s seem to be-like life should be? I believed-was taught to believe. Afraid not to believe that hard work brings about success more often than failure. Earnest prayers prayed for years and promises I have kept for years are not trashed along with my life and so much of what I have worked for.  For once, have I done something small that will not crash and burn before it even gets off the ground?  Only time will ‘. and I am deeply afraid of the answer, considering the way I have been treated in the past.

Nothing can fix the wrongs I have endure, the losses I have suffered, the pain that is my life, yet, still, I cling to the imagination that somehow, things will at least work better from now on.  That at least my efforts will be acknowledged.  That simply waking up will bring another crisis or closing my eyes in hope of sleep will not bring another nightmare, leaving me waiting for its interpretation and ultimate reality?

I wait, anxiously, fearfully to see, knowing that the scars will still be there, the pain simply part o who I am and must always e. I envy those whose trivial complaints ruin their lives, yet pity them for their ignorance of what life could be.  Beebeesworld, such as it is, continues for now, like a child, still hoping for fairness, honestly a damn break. To be continued-I hope.

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My Apologies-update

Dear readers/followers of beebeesworld- please do not give up on me-I had to get a new computer and am loaded down with messages, work, updates that someone has to help me with , please keep checking fort my work-I will read your work as soon and as much as i can. I enjoy this blog so much and appreciate the loyalty of my readers!

I have found out that my  has a critical issue that even trained techs are having problems with.  I don’t have  either mt broken computer or new one right now. i am just hoping i can retrieve the many precious items on my old hard drive.  Since the people who have looked at my computer are employed in the tech field, I am looking for miracles-that don’t cost  more than I can afford. If anyone has any ideas, contacts, etc. for me I would be so grateful!

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Four Delicious Cookie and Icing Recipes!

Irresistible Peanut Butter Cookies

¾ cup Jif Creamy Peanut butter
½ cup butter flavor Crisco
1 ¼ cups firmly packed brown sugar
3 tbsp milk
1 egg
1 ¾ cups plain flour
¾ tsp salt
¾ tsp baking soda

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Combine peanut butter, Crisco, brown sugar,  milk & vanilla. Blend well with beaters. Add egg. Beat until blended, combine flour salt and baking soda, cream together at low speed. Drop by heaping teaspoon onto ungreased cookie sheet about 2 inches apart. Flatten tops of cookies with a fork dipped in flour to make a fork pattern,  Cook at 375 degrees for 7-9 minutes, let cool about 3-5 minutes and remove from sheet with spatula.

This recipe can be doubled.  If you double, you can use 3 eggs. A recipe makes about 2 ½ to 3 pans of cookies.

Oatmeal Raisin Cookies the recipe I printed before said
Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookies)

¾ cup Butter Flavor Crisco
1 ¼ cups firmly packed light brown sugar
1 egg
1/3 cup milk
1 ½ tsp vanilla.
3 cups Quaker Quick Oats
1 cup all purpose flour
½ tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
¼ tsp cinnamon
1 cup raisins
1 cup walnuts if desired

Heat oven to 375 degrees. Grease baking sheet-or spray with Pam. Combine Crisco, brown sugar, egg, milk & vanilla in large bowl. Beat at medium speed with electric mixer. Combine Oats, flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon and sugar. Stir in Rains ( and nuts if you use them)
\Drop rounded tablespoons of dough 2 inches apart onto baking sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 10-12 minutes. Remove from oven when lightly brown and leave on pan to cool-they continue to cook as they cool.

Remove to paper towel on counter. Recipe can doubled. Makes about 2 dozen

My Aunt Phyllis’s Chocolate Icing

1 cup sugar
2 tbsp cocoa  (you can use 1 tbsp of dark chocolate cocoa and one of regular or 2 tbsp of dark chocolate cocoa)
1/3 cup milk
¼ cup Crisco
1 tsp vanilla
Pinch of salt

Mix ingredients and bring to boil in medium sized pan. Boil for one minute (I bowl it for several minutes). Beat with a fork as it cools. Ad vanilla. Add powdered sugar until the icing gains some thickness, You can pur it right onto a cake baked in a 13 x 9 pan and smooth in quickly to edges.  You may also add a little more powdered sugar and ice a cooled two layer cake, putting icing in between the layers.  This recipe can be doubled for thick icing or a large cake.  It can even be poured into a buttered pan and used as fudge! Delicious!

Mary’s Chocolate Chip Cookies

Preheat oven to 375 degrees/
Mix in a bowl-
1 cup shortening
(Butter flavored is ok too)\
¾ cup white sugar
(brown sugar can be used as well)
1 tsp.vanilla
½ tsp water
2 eggs

When thoroughly mixed at low or medium speed with mixer, add almost a teaspoon of baking soda and almost a teaspoon of salt.

Slowly mix in two heaping cups of plain flour. Add 12-14 oz bag of semi sweet chocolate chips. Stir in and spoon by heaping tablespoon onto cookie sheet.
Cook at 375 degrees for about 10-12 minutes. Let cool a few minutes, remove from baking sheet with spatula to a paper towel. Makes 3 dozen big cookies.

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A Tale of Two Losses

ImageI have lost a child, a teen with his life and future ahead of him.
It broke me-my body, soul and spirit.
And then there was you-mom.
When my son, I lost what I dreamed of,
With you, I lost the chance to really know you.
You were private, you kept things to yourself.
You had just began to tell me the things
that made you who you were-
I keep thinking that if you had told me, sooner,
it would have saved me so much pain.
Never-I loathe that word. Never again.
Today I put flowers on two graves -yours and his.
I am sickened by what my life has become.
It has never been as I dreamed,
And often been nearly unbearable.
It seems others take loss and go on with life.
I don’t understand it and never will.
How can others go on with what made life a joy?
When I am  forced to exist without what made me live at all.


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Violin Magic

I know these are Violas, Cellos, or Basses but once my daughter wrote a poem for school where you had to use adjectives as the first word-I can’t find it but will go with that theme.

Inside an aging locker
Beneath my azure sweater
Within an aging case
Cuddled against black velvet
My violin waits-
Anxious to sing it’s tune.

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The Ocean Awakes!

As the sun set, they gathered on the deck of the schooner.  How beautiful it was, the silver crest of gentle waves, the unimaginable colors of the sunset. Even with the radio broken, the captain wasn’t worried.  Nothing in the last flicker of light indicated a problem.

The small group gradually left the deck and retreated to their cabins below, listening to the whistle of the wind, the splash of water on the side of the ship.

In the sleepy hours of early morning, not even the thundering of the rogue waves awoke them-until the tilt of the schooner threw them onto the floor-the ceiling, the deep.

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