Posts tagged writing

What Matters Most

 

They hadn’t seen the little stream flooded like that in decades! Eight-year-old Johnny brought his little brother out to the edge of the stream to see the roaring of the muddy water.

“Wow!” shouted little Bobby, as he gazed at the roaring stream . “What happened?” Bobby’s little face gazed at the boiling, debris-filled water.

 

“It’s a flood,” Johnny explained, walking down the edge of the creek, observing the shaking of the shrubs being torn from the banks, as they slid away as the water overpowered the banks, now slick and muddy from the power of the rumbling water.

 

Suddenly, Bobby broke away and ran down to the edge of the bridge.

 

“Bobby, come back, the bank might collapse!” Johnny cried.

 

“No! He cried. The bank was sliding away, carrying Bobby with it.

 

With his last bit of strength, Johnny grabbed Bobby’s’ belt as he clung to a bush with his other hand. He plucked his little brother from the deluge, carrying him back to the trailer on the hillside where they lived.

 

“Oh my God!” cried their mother as she ran down the rotting steps. “What in the world happened.”

 

Tears were running down Johnny’s face as his mom held Bobby tightly in her arms. Johnny was lost for words, all he could say as he sat breathlessly on the steps was, “The bank collapsed, I couldn’t get him!”

 

“No, baby, their mom smiled, you DID get him, you are the bravest boy I know!”

 

They were all crying now, dirty and cold as they sat there watching the rushing water carry away the bush that Johnny had been holding onto.

 

Suddenly, nothing else mattered, the rusted trailer, the old red truck, daddy loosing his job. They had each other. Mother carried little Bobby in to his father, as he sat with his head down on the tattered couch.

 

For the first time in weeks, Daddy smiled. He knew everything would be alright.

 

Comments (11) »

Storm of the Century

We had watched the weather channel for days, awaiting the storm that was predicted to hit on New Years Eve. I started home from the store, with the wind picking up. I knew the storm was on the way. I hurried up the steep mountain road, hoping to beat the beginning of the snow. The kids were both home, I felt tears on my cheek.

The television was still on the Weather Channel, predicting “The Storm of the Century.” The kids, 14, and 17, were excited, as they looked out side. I was not so exuberant. We we were alone and I didn’t have a four-wheel drive. I would be stuck up here for days. I knew the electricity would likely go out and we had only a fireplace and a portable radio for comfort.

 I went down into the basement to get some wood to start a fire. Gathering the wood, I raced back up thee stairs, wanting to get the fire started before the winds got too fierce and we lost power.

 “Mom,” My daughter yelled, it’s snowing like crazy!” The excitement in her voice echoed down the hall.

 Sure enough, the air as filled with huge flakes of snow, already sticking to the ground. I rushed to get newspapers for kindling, and ran to the kitchen for matches. My son lit a candle in each of the main rooms, so that we would not be left in darkness. I was proud of how prepared we were.

 Suddenly, I thought of our elderly neighbor, Mr. Carter, who lived down the hill around a steep curve. He didn’t have a generator and was not able to contend with making a fire or cooking. We had to go get him!

 I yelled at the kids that we had to go find Mr. Carter. It was already dark outside by the time we got ready to go. We loaded up a wagon, in case he couldn’t walk up the hill and started down the road, streetlights still glowing in the snow and stiff wind.

 The wind took on a loud roar as we shivered in the blowing snow. I thought I heard a faint voice in the wind. “Oh, no!” I thought. “Mr. Carter had started up to our house own his own.’

 “Mr. Carter!” I called back. “Don’t go anywhere, we are on our way!”

 I heard a weak voice near where his long driveway started. “I’ve fallen.” he cried out. I think I hurt my leg!”

 Suddenly, the lights went out. We could see nothing in the swirling snow. I shouted out, hoping to hear his voice against the power of the wind. “Mr. Carter!” I cried out. “Can you hear me?”

 Nothing. The forest was silent between whirls of snow and crackling limbs. “Mr. Cater, can you hear me?” I shouted again. The snow fell on as we wandered in the dark, now on a desperate search.

Comments (4) »

Interview with the Modern-day Teen

04290005This interview is with my teen son, a computer geek and my best friend!

What is your favorite subject in school and why?

Son- “Probably Civics, because it is interesting to learn how our country was formed and the changes it has gone through in only 200 years.

What is your favorite video game and why?

Son- “Minecraft- because it is to easy to customize. It is never-ending, you can customize, design, even create animations for it. There is always something new you can add. It doesn’t have “levels’ and such like old video games had.”

Who is the person you admire most in business? Why?

Son: “Steve Jobs, because no matter how many struggles he went through, he always kept going, never let himself feel defeated, even in death.”

Who is your favorite music group?

Son: “That’s very hard-I’d say it is a music distributor called Proximity. They distribute smaller artist and helped them gain popularity.”

What are your ambitions for the next five years?

Son: “I’d like to learn to code all kinds of computer programs and create animations using all kinds of programs.”

How do you plan to use these things to make a career for yourself?

Son: “I plan on going to go to college for Computer Engineering and I hope to create animations for a side job.”

Do you get along well with your siblings?

Son: “ Yes, we connect, have fun, socialize. I am the youngest, so I learn a lot from them.”

Do you get along well with your peers? Older people/ Little kids?

Son: “Peers-yes, we don’t disrespect each other, we find ways to socialize and help each other.”

“ Older people-yes, because the have experience and are a great source of knowledge. I love to hear their life stories.”

“Little kids-most of the time, I can find ways to mess with them, play with them. I have little nephews and nieces I have had to learn to entertain them and laugh at the way they see things and express themselves.”

What do do think our societies main issues should be right now?

Son: “Figuring out a way for Republicans and Democrats to agree on something and stop acting like preschoolers.”

Thanks for being my volunteer!

Comments (5) »

The Meaning of the Word

The sprinkling of soft snow through ancient pines-remember?

The ice sparkling on the lake like mirrored glass-remember?

Your gloved hand touching mine for the time-remember?

Those days seem so close, as if I could reach out and touch them, yet my heart knows that time has passed and life has changed, you are there and I am here, We were young and now are old. Still, somehow, that day, that place that touch will remain with me forever. It truly defines the word-remember.

Comments (6) »

If you could do it all over….

Remember when you were a teenager? Your hopes and dreams all seemed possible-even probable. Time seemed endless, look how long it had taken to get old enough to get your license! Now, you are no longer young. Life did not turn out as you hoped. You had your ups and downs, your joys and tragedies. I’ve had people say to me, if you could do it all over, what would you do ? I wiped a tear, thinking of the hell of my son’s death and my illness caused by it. “I wouldn’t” I said, and walked away.

Comments (11) »

Amidst the London Fog

Young John was quite angry with his brother’s room-mate for pulling such a childish prank on him over a simple remark made in an ale house during the past weekend.

It would seem that someone who had attained a degree in philosophy and was working on his Master’s would have more maturity, especially with his career in the higher echelons of the English Court in jeopardy.

The question was, as John saw it, what his response to the forged letter addressed to and published in the London Newspaper should be.

His anger was definitely interfering with his common sense. After all, many people who read the article which proclaimed him to hold unpopular and possibly damaging political views, would believe the he had, indeed, written it, and held to the views it projected.

What could he do? “Rather,” he sighed, “what SHOULD he do?

With much thought and craft on his part, John decided to make use of the newspaper to get back at George’s room-mate, just as the newspaper had been used against him.

John, an excellent artist, made sure that the comic of the culprit was shown with him clearly writing up the fake letter, while dressed in the outfit of a jester, just different enough in character so as not to project slander. He proceeded in requesting that it be published on a Sunday, when many readers would see it.

John would come out looking bright and intelligent while his nemesis would look like an utter fool.

John smiled as he licked the envelope, stepped out the door in his long black coat and made his way to the Newspaper office, in the thick London mist.

On his way out of the newspaper office, he stopped to buy a newspaper from a young man who was hawking the latest edition with a loud call, “Graduate student found dead in his quarters!”

John placed the coins in the lads hand and opened up the paper to the front page. With horror, he discovered that the dead man was his brother’s room mate and realized that his letter might make him look guilty of committing murder, or at least some sort of involvement in the tragedy. He hurried back to the desk where he had dropped off his letter and was able to retrieve it just as a clerk approached in order to collect the latest contents of the “in” box.

John breathed a sigh of relief as he tore up the letter and threw it into a barrel filled with flames surrounded by a group of vagrants, warming themselves against the cold mist. He shivered as he thought of how the nature of his act of craft had nearly propelling him into the justice system when he had done nothing at all.

Indeed, his speed and quick wit in retrieving and destroying the comic and accompanying letter had been the better craft, after all.

Comments (5) »

One November Day

It is the first day of November, and so today, someone will die. Next year, Dia de los Muertes will become real for us. Always before we have watched, seen the costumes, smelled the food, next year our tears will be real. That day, we remember.

Comments (3) »

Invincible

It would probably be grandma’s last Christmas. Seeing the lights around town had always been so special to her, but her health wouldn’t allow the tour this year. Sue was only 12 years old, but as she told her dad about her plan, he fought a tear and smiled. For a week, while grandma slept, they strung lights, Early mornings, after dark, they worked.

On Christmas Eve, Sues dad bundled grandma up and rolled her out on the side-walk. “Where are we going?” she asked. Sue saw dad’s signal to turn on the lights. The whole neighborhood light up.

Comments (2) »

What You Could Be

What You Could Be

I look at him, same age as you,

when death snatched you out of the blue.

He’s just 15, but teachers say,

that he will make it big one day.

I touch your photo, hold it too,

each time I pass, your place, your room.

It looks just like it did that day

when Hell took you and life away.

I see him grow, a brilliant smile,

when he creates, he dreams, compiles.

The things I wish that you could see.

I wonder, Babe, what you could be?

It’s just so wrong that you aren’t here.

I see your face, your eyes, your fear.

Still, no one knows, but you and me,

The truth about what you could be.

I pray the day will not be long,

When something might take up the wrong.

And somehow just, please let me see.

The beauty of what you could be.

Comments (7) »

A Ruined Debut

She looked beautiful in her solid black outfit. Her skirt was covered with a lacy, low-cut blouse, her shoes, glimmered with glittery shine. It had been so long since she had been out. Her illness had kept her from feeling like being seen in public. She felt like she was making a “debut”’ of sorts.

The bar was noisy and crowded. Then, she saw an old friend across the room and rushed over to him. Suddenly, she felt the string on her skirt being pulled. As her skirt fell down, she screamed at the stranger, “You dirty, underhanded fool!”

Comments (7) »