Christmas Eve

The light of the street lamps reflects off the wet, black pavement. Rain drips off my hat and rolls down my trench coat. The cars stream past with a whizzing sound, their tires sending off a fine spray that sloshes down the curb. Last minute shoppers clutch their plastic bags and scurry by with their umbrellas up and their heads down. They mutter about the rain instead of snow, how unseasonable this weather is. They do not see me.

Santa Lucia Day

Santa Lucia Day is celebrated throughout Europe and other places, but it is especially popular in Scandinavian countries. Saint Lucy lived in the 3^rd century during a time of extreme prejudice against Christians. According to one story, she brought food to Christians hiding in the catacombs. In order to free her hands to carry as much food as possible, she fashioned a wreath with candles that she wore on her head to light her way through the catacombs.

(Belated) Sinterklaas Day, The Netherlands

Starting off the December holidays is Sinterklaas Day. I personally enjoy this one because it gives me a chance to celebrate my Dutch heritage, although my family’s celebrations were much more simple than those in The Netherlands. There, the holiday is marked with parades, festivals, and gift-giving. Christmas, on the other hand, is a quieter family affair.

My Apologies

All of a sudden it's the end of November, winter is here, and it's been five months since I've shown proof of life. However, I have now finished my cross-country move, have settled in nicely, and finished up my college degree, so now I have time to breathe. I thoroughly enjoyed a beautiful New England autumn after living spending the last four years in an area where the only seasons were wet and dry. I've let this beautiful season slip by without posting the autumn alphabet acrostics. So that's something to look forward to next year. Instead, throughout December, you'll be getting holiday stories from around the world.

Phoenix (part 3 of 3)

So now there are fourteen graves on the top of the hill. It wasn't easy to get people accustomed to burning their dead to understand why it was so important to me. Carson told me once to make sure he was never cremated. I’m not sure if the others cared. But I did. It had happened too quickly; they were gone too soon. I’d be lying if I said I had insisted for the sake of any other person but me.

Phoenix (part 2 of 3)

We packed ourselves into the Blob, the giant sphere the size of a small moon that contained the miles of machinery necessary to teleport to unknown places without a landing pad. It wasn’t called the Blob officially, of course. It was the USS Bold Venture. But Verzosa was dyslexic, and the first time he tried to read the name he rechristened it the Blob Venture. The name fit so well that even the instructors used it. The orb-shaped craft was huge, bulky and ungainly, built solely for space where aerodynamics isn’t a factor.

Our mission was to go past the edge of the map and make new ones, leaving behind dozens of 'bots, to build communication devices and teleportation pads. Every month we were to jump back into range to send a report. We weren't even out that long. I wonder what they thought on earth, how we disappeared before making our first report. They must have thought we were swallowed by the blackness of space suddenly, and without a single sound.

We had parked the Blob in the orbit of a likely-looking planet, and prepared to land. We shouldn't have all gone, but we were too excited to be held back. Captain Jeppson was the oldest of us and had actually been in the Air Force before our mission. He had agreed before we left Earth that the first planet likely to support human life we could all explore together. None of us could be held back at that moment.

So we all piled into the shuttle, and joked to cover up our nerves as we shook our way through our first successful atmospheric entry, the thick safety harnesses the only thing keeping us in our jostling seats. And we made it through the atmosphere. We were coasting down. We were ready to see what the universe had to offer.

I'll never forget the scream of metal as one of the engines collapsed and suddenly the entire control panel lit up like the 4th of July, all the alarms overlapping in a jangled cacophony. I shot out of my seat and lurched toward the engine room, the shuttle rolling wildly beneath me. I think Captain Jeppson screamed at me to stay put, but I didn't hear any words. By the time I had wrestled opened the hatch of the engine room, I was walking on the wall.

The engine room was crowded mass of metal designed to do everything automatically from a control panel, never meant to have more than two people in it at a time. I had only just reached the seized engine when the shuttle crashed and everything around me exploded into flying metal and wires. One of the loose wires, spelling death in its sparks brushed across the broken engine casing. The shock sent me flying through the crowded space. I crashed into the condenser; smashing my right hip and breaking my arm and cheekbone, too winded even to scream. I fell to the narrow catwalk that passed for the floor, smashing my knee and ankle on my useless leg and spraining both wrists. The condenser fell toward me and stopped six inches above my head, held up by a line of pumps.

I think that's when the shuttle stopped moving, but I couldn't tell for certain because my head was spinning like I was caught in an enormous gyroscope. I tried to get to my hands and knees, but my wrists gave out in a fire of agony and I collapsed. I managed to turn my head in time to throw up before blackness swooped in from the corners of my vision and overwhelmed me.

Time happened, slipping all around me in my unconscious state. When I came to, I was lying on the ground thirty feet outside the wreck. People had come to pull me from the wreckage and had patched me up. Someone saw that I was awake and forced a horrible spicy drink into me while others carried the bodies out one at a time and laid them in a neat line.

That’s when I felt time freeze, when I saw them lying there. People I'd worked and lived with for three years, people I had competed with fiercely and worked together to learn real teamwork. My second overcrowded, mismatched family. And they were gone. I never got to see their faces, never got to see anything more than their outlines in the dimming light as evening came. I was too far away, and by the time I managed to sit up, they were already being wrapped in great long lengths of suffocating cloth.

Phoenix (part 1 of 3)

Fourteen graves lay quietly on the crest of the hill overlooking the creek. The markers are plain, just a line of wooden posts already weathered gray. A fast-growing creeper vine has spread from the line of old trees nearby and is overtaking three at the end. I shift my cane to my left hand jangling the chain link necklaces, then yank at one end of the vine clumsily and fling some of it back to the shade beneath the trees. After a few more attempts most of the vine has given up for now, but a few stubborn ends lurk just beyond the posts in the grass. I slowly rub the accumulated dirt out of the engraved names. The letters are carved deep into the wood, but not as deep as the list of names has been carved onto my heart.

The Three Billy Goats Gruff

Just a little fun thing that popped out. Enjoy!

"Aaahh!" Clyde slipped off the footbridge and splashed into the very cold stream. "That's it! That is the last time I cross that slippery bridge."

Sarah (part 4 of 4)

Sarah sat on her porch, watching him leave, grateful that he had never once wondered about the happiest day of her life, had never even implied that she should somehow choose between her two wedding days.  She was both excited and nervous about tomorrow, and tired after a day of battling mixed emotions.

She was about to walk inside when Mrs. Whemper came up to her porch.

“Why, hello there!” she said in a voice that sounded falsely sweet.  “I thought that no bride should be alone the night before her wedding.”  She plopped herself on a chair, though Sarah remained standing by the door.  “And how are you feeling?  Are you all right?  Some of us other ladies were wondering if maybe you were a touch nervous, because after all, you barely know the man, but I said, 'Ladies, our Sarah know what she's getting herself into', and they...”

“Yes,” said Sarah, unwilling to continue the conversation.  She had spent the day mourning her husband and looking forward to being remarried.  All the emotion had drained her, physically and mentally, and she was too exhausted to try to smile through an unwelcome speech.  “But it was good of you to be thinking of me.  You needn't worry about me, Matilde.  I'm feeling quite happy.”  Sarah felt a great rush of elation to realize that she was happy.  Nervous, yes, but happy.  “Are you?”

Mrs. Whemper's mouth opened and closed as if nobody had ever asked her so blatantly whether or not she was happy.  Before she could think of an answer, Sarah went inside.

She was getting married tomorrow, and she was happy.

And so it was that on a fine summer day, Jacob Micheael Hadley married Sarah Morgan Harrison, and they spent nearly fifty years together.  They had three beautiful girls, Jessica, Melissa, and Julia, and one boy, Morgan, who looked just like his father.  They found happiness growing from the midst of sorrow.

Sarah (part 3 of 4)

The sun passed noon as Sarah sat lost in the memory.  A wind blew up around her, and for a moment, Sarah imagined she could feel the ghost of an embrace and the memory of whispered words.  She remembered William on their wedding day.  After they kissed, he had picked her up and spun her around, right there in the church, his face radiating pure joy. 

Sarah smiled at the happy memory.  “Thank you, William,” she whispered.  “I will always love you.”

As she was leaving, she stopped at her father's headstone.  “I am sorry you will not be there, Papa, even though I'm not your little girl anymore.  I wish you were still here to lead me down the aisle once more.  You would have gotten on well with Jacob.  He's like you.  I wish...”  She paused, then walked on without finishing.  What did she wish?  That the fire had never happened, and William had not left her?  Yes.  But...then she would never have met Jacob, and she loved him, too.  Even wishing wasn't easy.

On her way down the hill, she met Jacob, coming to look for her.  He bowed in greeting and offered his arm, steadying her so she wouldn't trip.  They walked awhile without speaking.  Sarah felt her thoughts slip from William to Jacob.  She was getting married tomorrow.  It seemed so strange to think of it.

When they reached the winding lane at the foot of the hill, Jacob spoke.  “Did you tell William?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sarah said.  That was one of the things she loved about Jacob.  He didn't mind that he was second, that she had loved and married another before him.  He understood her need to mourn their wedding day as no one else could have.”

“Mrs. Whemper was telling Mrs. Garner that it's a complete scandal,” Jacob said conversationally after another empty minute.  “Especially the part where I'm moving to your house.”

Sarah shrugged.  She had good farmland, and Jacob was renting a room.  It made sense this way.  “She thinks it a scandal that you've only been here three months, practically a stranger, and were engaged.  She thinks it's a scandal that I'm getting married at all, so soon after 'that tragic incident'.  But last year was saying that I had no right to continue mourning, and that it was high time I remarried.  Other peoples' business is her hobby, especially now with her daughter grown and moved away.”

Jacob nodded.  “I can't decide whether to dislike her or pity her that she has no friends.”

“Oh Jacob,” Sarah sighed, “only you would be good enough to like someone who's as impossible as she.”

“Nobody's truly impossible,” he said.  “Only very difficult.  I think Julia would have loved it here,” he said, changing the subject.

Jacob's sister and only family, Julia, had died in Nebraska.  Today, they were both mourning for their lost loves who could not share their happiness.

“I wish I could have met her,” Sarah said.

“I do too,” Jacob said.  “She would have made you laugh.  She had a laugh that made the whole world want to laugh with her.”  Jacob sighed.  “And Julia always wanted to have a sister.”

They were each quiet then, remembering yesterdays, and wondering what tomorrow would bring.

Later that afternoon, Jacob walked Sarah home.  He kissed her hand as he turned to leave.

“I love you, Jacob,” Sarah said, and was glad that at that moment, she felt no remorse for what might have been.

“And I love you, Sarah.  And tomorrow will be the happiest day of my life.”

Sarah (part 2 of 4)

The summer sun was high in the sky now.  Sarah removed her hat and felt its rays on her dark hair and her face.  She would burn, of course, and tan.  But she never seemed to get very dark, for all the time she worked outside.  Not like William.  His skin would be browner than the wood of their home by the end of the summer.

Sarah was silent for a long while as the sun climbed steadily higher in the sky.  At last she said, “I'm getting married tomorrow, my William.”

Again, Sarah didn't speak for several minutes, and when she did, her voice was quiet.  “To Mr. Jacob Hadley.  He's a good man.  He's nothing like you.  He's more quiet and solemn than the pope, but he has a pleasant smile.  He's new here.  We only met three months ago, but don't go saying that's too short a time, for then you shall sound like Matilde.”

“He makes me happy, and William, I haven't been happy since you died.  I know you're in heaven with our little Henry, and I will always miss you, and I will always love you.  But I know you'd want me to be happy.  It's been cruel living without you these five years, and I don't know why we were only allowed such a short time together.  Maybe you could ask God, when next you see Him.”

Sarah lapsed into silence, lost in memories.  She didn't need to tell William about the fire, how to this day no one could figure how it started on such a wet spring day.  How the barn had burned to the ground while the house was barely scorched.  How Rev. Phillips had said that it was an act of God, and she thought it hateful of him to say that, even if there was no other explanation.

Sarah's two nephews, Matthew and Stuart had been visiting that week so their mother and new baby sister could rest.  Sarah was kneading the dough for the bread when she heard them screaming that the barn was on fire.  She ran at once, without even taking the time to wipe her hands on her apron.  William was already there when she arrived, leading a cow out of the burning building.  Sarah took her and lead her to the yard while William had gone in for another.

The fire had made the animals skittish and stubborn, and Sarah was silently screaming at how long William was spending in the smoke and the flames to get them out.  It seemed an hour before he was finally able to move both horses and all the cows.

He had just pulled the last heifer to the door when a timber, weakened by the fire, collapsed.  Sarah, waiting anxiously by the door was knocked down and pinned to the ground by the burning wood.  The dough that was still on her hands melted and she screamed from the pain.  William had tried to pull it off of her, but breathing the smoke was sapping his strength.  Both of their clothes were on fire, and Sarah could feel the blisters erupt on her skin. 

Just then Neil, their nearest neighbor had come puffing up, closely followed by Matthew, both of them out of breath from running.  He and William had wrenched the fallen timber off Sarah, and he had pulled them away from the inferno, patting out their burning clothing.  The rest of the town arrived, and formed a bucket chain to keep the fire from spreading, but it was not until early afternoon when a light shower came had the fire died.

Sarah had been told that part later.  She was barely conscious and gasping in the haze of pain as the doctor tried to tend her burns.  She had ultimately been saved by her several layers of clothing.  William's burns were much worse.  He only lived through the night.  With the dawn, he regained consciousness and looked over at Sarah, lying next to him.  He had tried to give her a smile, which Sarah's heart ached to see on his face burned red and black.  He moved what was left of his lips, but no sound came out.  Sarah knew what he had meant to say.  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

Then William had closed his eyes and died.

Sarah could not attend his funeral.  She didn't leave her bed until Henry was born.  Even after the labor, her father and her brother-in-law had had to help her to the cemetery as they laid her son's tiny body next to her husband.  It was months before she was recovered physically, and even then, she would wake up in the middle of the night, sobbing from horrible nightmares, with no one next to her for comfort.

Sarah (part 1 of 4)

Sarah stared at her reflection in the mirror.  Brown hair, brown eyes, and today, her black dress.  Nothing too terrible to look at, nothing too special.  The mirror itself was large, over three feet tall with an ornate frame of dark wood.  It was the most elegant thing in the house, out of place in a simple farmhouse in the Oregon territory.  Her father had brought in over the plains for her mother as a wedding gift, and it had been presented to Sarah in turn on her wedding day.  More than seven years ago.

Out of the corner of the mirror, Sarah could see the bed.  Most of the time, Sarah preferred not to look at it.  The great bed was too large for one person, and its emptiness only reminded Sarah of her loss.

In the five years since William had died, Sarah had stopped wearing black, had given all her energy to keeping her small farm, had learned to live with the ache.  But she had never really stopped mourning.  And today she was wearing her widow's garb again.

Sarah finished pinning up her hair, put on her bonnet and began to walk to the cemetery.  The little township hadn't existed above three generations, but already the cemetery had seen too many deaths.  So had Sarah.  Her single black dress was starting to gray, seeming as tired and world-weary as she did.  She had been to too many funerals in it, funerals crossing the prairie, funerals on the frontier as people struggled to make a living.  Friends and family and her father.

Sarah's legs started to burn halfway up the steep hill.  The location for the cemetery was chosen because no plow could get up there.  Any land that could be farmed was.  The dust stirred up from the trail.  She started to lift her skirts, but decided not to.  Let the dust cling to her dress and cover the color.  She concentrated on the rhythm of climbing, feeling her muscles work, her heart beating the blood to her legs.  She felt alive.

Sarah came to the top slightly out of breath and took a moment to recover before moving on.  On the far side of the cemetery were two markers.  William and Henry, her husband and son.  William had not lived to see his child, and Henry had never known life.  Grass had grown over the plots, long and high.

Sarah cleared a place and sat down, grateful that no one, especially not Mrs. Whemper, was around.  She would have said it was a sin, and disrespectful to the dead.  Matilde Whemper said most things were a sin, though somehow she never seemed to come to gossiping when naming her list of evils.  But that was unkind, and Sarah did not come here to think about Mrs. Whemper.

She knew William would not mind.  If she could talk to William now, he would probably make of it a joke.  William was always laughing at one thing or another, and she had been forever trying to get him to be serious.  Even on his last day in this life, with his skin badly burned and still coughing from the smoke he had breathed, he tried to smile as he told her goodbye.

Sarah had been burned herself, though not as badly.  She was still recovering two months later when her child was born.  The labor had nearly killed her, giving birth to her stillborn baby boy.  She named him Henry like William had wanted, and buried him beside his father.

In the months following, Sarah had learned to live again, like a child learns to walk.  She worked the farm herself, as much as she could.  The neighbors had plagued her to let it go, but she ignored them.  William had loved this land, had given it so much love that it almost seemed to love him back.  Certainly Sarah felt that the land loved her.  Her farm should have failed every year of the last five.  Sarah knew she had neither the strength or skill to keep it. 

She never told anyone how the farm seemed to grow crops itself.  It would have been dismissed as superstition or blasphemy.  Sarah couldn't see what was blasphemous about a loving God blessing her when she needed so much help, but Reverend Phillips tended to believe more in a just God than a loving one.

Sarah gazed at the headstone, remembering the day of the fire. 

“Thank you for saving my life, my William,” she said at last.  “I know for years I was angry with you for it, for leaving me here when you went on ahead.  But I am grateful now.”

I Wrote This For You

You may not think that I wrote this for you, and that's okay. You might think that you found this by accident, and that the person for whom this was really intended has long since read it or missed it in a universe of words. Either way, they've moved on. And now you've come across these words. That's okay. I just wanted you to know that I really wrote this blessing for you.

May your broken heart be healed.
May the sorrow you've kept quietly in the corner of your mind be washed away.
May you find comfort in the knowledge that you are not the only person with joys and sorrows too tender to be shared with the world, and that working through intimate emotions by yourself does not mean that you are alone or misunderstood.
May you have the strength to realize that when you are misunderstood, it is by people who also have feelings to deep to share with the world.
May you have patience with yourself and others.
May you be able to understand the things that are said outside the shape that words can give them.
May you have all the light and hope that you need.
May you be blessed with the knowledge that even you feel weak, alone, impatient, tired, and thoughtless that you, yourself are enough.
May you be yourself.

Homecoming

Homecoming

Day’s far gone now, it’s past twilight

The new-made stars are heaven’s bylight

To the lights coming on in the homes of the town ahead.

The day’s been long, the journey grand

The joy of wandering ‘cross the land

But now it’s time to return to my home and my bed.

The gravel crunches beneath my feet

I’ve gone so far, done many feats

And now I’ll take my well-earned, cool, gentle rest.

In all my travels, one thing I’ve found -

Elsewhere the wonders and treasure abound

But the return from the journey remains the part that is best.

Can't

Can’t

I can run across the world in a second

I can jump from star to star

I can fly to the end of the universe

But I can't walk to where you're sitting

Cross-legged on the summer grass

I can lullaby the ocean to sleep

I can laugh with comets as they burn their way

I can talk to butterflies with the voice of the wind

but for you I cannot open my mouth

To tell you that I love you.

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - Z

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - Y

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - X

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - W

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - V

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - U

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - T

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - S

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - R

 

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - Q

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - P

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - O

 

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - N

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - M

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - L

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - K

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - J

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - I

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - H

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - G

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - F

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - E

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - D

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - C

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - B

Alphabet Flower Acrostic - A

Anansi and the Sky-Blue Story Box (part 5)

Anansi climbed down from the tree. He picked up the sticky tangled mess of doll and unseen creature, being careful to carry them away from his body. Then he went home and collected the other items Nyame had asked for. He checked that the leather pouch and the gourd were tied securely to his belt. He made sure that he had a good grip on the log and that the molasses doll had a good grip on him.

Anansi and the Sky-Blue Story Box (part 4)

After a time, Anansi heard a rustle in the trees and a creature came forward. He couldn’t see it because it was on the other side of the doll, but he heard it speak.

“Cream and honey, that looks delicious,” it said in a squeaky breathy voice. “May I please share some with you?” it asked.

Anansi jerked the string and the doll nodded.

Anansi and the Sky-Blue Story Box (part 3)

“Now to catch a rainbow python,” he said to himself.

“Simple,” said his wife without looking up. “All you need is a log and a length of rope.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” said Anansi, hurrying off to get the items.

Anansi and the Sky-Blue Story Box (part 2)

The first item was easy. Anansi returned to his home and dug a large, deep pit next to his front door, just off the path. He covered it with palms and long grasses until the hole looked the same as the ground around it. Then he invited his friend Leopard over for a drink.

Anansi and the Sky Blue Story Box (part 1)

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, before people would sit around the campfire and tell stories in the evening, Anansi the Spider-Man lived in the heart of Africa.

Anansi was such a character. He was bold and brash. Whenever he tried to trick people – and oh, he was a trickster! – he would be found out and hide his face in the corner in shame. His shame would never last long though, and soon he would come up with a new reckless idea.

Random Poetry - Fireplace

Fireplace

Soft, red embers glowing

only warmth in early dawn.

Flickering throughout the night

with the occasional yawn

Not until the sun creeps

over the windowsill

through a gap in the curtains

and begins the room to fill

with light and life and daybreak

do they at last sleep.

Steadfast guardian of the dark

the vigil they will keep

Random Poetry - The Jar

The Jar

I store my old dreams

in an applesauce jar

At the back of the third shelf

with some scraps of paper

and a few faded photos

So when I need them

I can take them, dust them

patch a tear and polish off

the apple smell to use them again

My second-hand dreams.

Random Poem - Dream Fragment

Dream Fragment

Do you remember that thought

on the edge of consciousness

when you woke up this morning?

Do you remember, please don't forget. 

Not all the way. 

Because that was me

calling in your sleep to say

I love you, I miss you,

and I'm sorry I left you behind.

The Fisherman and His Wife part 5

The fisherman went back to the castle, but it had changed. The rough stone had been replaced by smooth, polished, white marble. Imperial legions drilled flawlessly. The servants went about their tasks with such grace and perfection that they seemed to Fraco to be dancing about their work. King and queens paraded stately down the hallways.

The Fisherman and His Wife part 4

Though Fraco had a hard time adjusting to nobility, Liberelle took right to it. Everything went perfectly well for nearly a week until they received an invitation from the king. He wanted them to come to court and meet all the other nobles.

The Fisherman and His Wife part 3

The old fisherman walked the same path he always had, but instead of ending up at his little home by the sea, he found himself standing in front of a great mansion in the nicest part of town. He stared in amazement at seeing his cozy little house transformed into something so elegant. He approached a bit cautiously, and jumped when the door was opened for him by a prim, plump butler.

The Fisherman and His Wife part 2

The next morning the sun was shining and the sea was reflecting back the sky in a deep sparkling blue. The fisherman stood on the beach and called across the calm water:

“Flounder, flounder, prince of the sea,

my wife Liberelle, whom I love very well,
has sent me to ask a boon of thee.”

The Fisherman and His Wife part 1

            Once upon a time, an old fisherman, Fraco, and his wife lived in a tiny shack on the edge of the ocean. Each day, the old fisherman would walk down to the beach. Working with his net and trusted old fishing rod, he would spend all day waist-deep in the tide catching fish. Whenever he brought a fish home, his wife would fry it up in their single lopsided frying pan, and they would eat their dinner together, sharing their single fork between them. When the fisherman caught some extra, he would sell them in the town a few miles away and buy other food, like thick bread and some twisty carrots. On days when he didn’t catch any fish, they went to be with empty stomachs and hopes for a better day tomorrow. Life was simple, and though they didn’t have much, what they had was enough for them.