Oct 28, 2007

I wrote this one awhile ago...but I wanted to revive it... might be doing that for awhile as I try to find my voice again.

Long ago before the world became so complex. When men still believed in the mysteries that lay beyond their science and understanding. When people were what they were and daily life left no time to worry about the “-ologies” that infest our understandings of the world around us. There was a legend.

It was told one slightly foggy night to Iris before she left the large fire grate and crept up to her warm bed.

“Now they say Lass,” her very old Grandmother began staring wearily into the dancing flames, as though in them she could see the story she was about to tell. “That these was a time when no clouds spotted the sky in all it’s vast expanse. The Prince of the sky was lonely, so they say. Oh yes child, there is a Prince which rules the sky. You see the King of the Heavens, Father Time, had a son and he was set to govern the sky. The The Prince of the Sky was a kind ruler who shepherds the great sun and moon across his fields and paints the beautiful sunsets. The lovely stars in all their glory dance just for him. Yes the Prince cared for his kingdom and it showed forth all its beauty for him. And yet with all that he had, there still remained a great longing inside of him.

Leaving his throne, he descended to the earth to visit the kingdom of the Queen of the World, Mother Earth. For it was known that she had many beautiful daughters. He went to see them one by one, the fairest of them, The Princess of the Forest in her sweeping green gowns, the Princess of the Lakes searching him with her shimmering blue eyes, the Princes of the Mountains so aloof and regal. But none of them would think of leaving her precious Kingdom to follow the Prince to his Kingdom so far away.

At last deciding to return to his home above he went one last time to visit the Princess of the lakes for of all the kingdoms hers reminded him most of his own, save the fish swam and birds flew. Dusk was falling and the lake turned and mysterious gray. Then at the edge of the lake he saw a woman glide across the surface followed by a thin blue mist.

“That is the child. The Princess of the Mists.” The Prince turned to see the Princess of the Lake, her eyes now as gray as the rippling waves and yet they danced in a fond sisterly love. The Princess of the Mist drew closer and bowed shyly before the Prince. She did not seem such a child to the Prince, indeed her smile glowed with the softness of womanly kindness.

At length he stood and bid the Princesses good night and returned to his home, a vague new longing entering into his heart, a longing no longer nameless.”

“Iris,” Her mother’s voice called impatiently. “Stop bothering your grandmother and get to bed. There’s much to be done tomorrow, a rain storm is due.”

“The child’s not bothering me dear.” The old woman chuckled looking at Iris as though she had just remembered her presence there and found it very amusing. Then her eyes floated to the golden flames once more lost in the tale. “He had not been long returned home when he looked down from his expanse and saw little mist staring back at him. Glancing at the sun, sure in it’s course, he quickly ascended to her side. Every day they met at sunset, to glide across the lake together. One day he spoke very softly to her, “My home is very different from yours, but I think you would feel at home there.” The Princess frowned uneasily and said, “I have no home. I roam the forests, skip through the mountains and glide across the lake. My sisters all give me a place among them to bring drink to their growing kingdoms. They need me, were I to leave them their lands would die.”

The Prince nodded solemnly, understanding her concern.

The Princess reached out her hand and touched his check, “I have wronged you by spending all this time with you.” The Prince tried to object but no sooner had she said the words than she vanished into the thick mist that surrounded her.

Knowing he had received his answer. He quickly whispered one last goodbye and returned to his home. For some time he walked his kingdom and governed his kingdom with only half his heart. “What would it be like to roam free with the mist?” “What would it feeling like to have her there with him?” But there were to many fantasies and a real kingdom to care for.

Then one day, as he lead the sun across the sky, he saw her. The Princess of the Mist wondering through the sky and crying as she went. No longer did a thin mist follow behind her but large blowy clouds thick with the emotions that filled her. Running to her, he saw her eyes brighten at the sight of him. And they embraced one another. Suddenly a bright colorful light burst forth and the first rainbow was seen.

Soon they were married and Mother Earth and Father Time gave the Princess a new name, Princess of the Clouds. And they climbed the sky together.

Alas, though she watered the kingdoms from her lofty perch the Princess of the Clouds was not completely happy. She longed for her old haunts and the freedom to move where ever the wind had blown her. Though she did not complain, the Prince could see her eyes linger longingly upon the crystal clear lakes and the forest glades. He told her one day that she could go if she so desired. With a cry of delight she kissed him quickly and vanished.

That night the sky shook with thunder as he wailed her loss. Far away in the meadow she heard his cries. Lifting her gown she wondered across the sky following the sound of his thunderous sorrow, throwing out sparks of light to show her the way. At last she found him and they wept their hellos.

And so they lived. He caring for the sky. She free to wonder as she pleased. Bending low to kiss the morning glories as the sun broke forth its newest rays. Rising quickly to cover his face and lovingly hold him when the day had been too long. When after long separation they embrace the beautiful rainbow bursts forth filling all eye with hope.

And that, my dear, is how the clouds came to roam the skies.” The Grandmother’s eyes left the fire and rested on her pretty granddaughter. “And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” A wrinkled eye winked gaining her a giggle from the little girl. “Now get to bed like you mother said. Before the Prince of Darkness comes to fetch you.”

Iris gave a squeal and ran quickly up the stairs, but quietly stopped at the top, not ready to go to bed just yet.

“Will you not stay mother?” Iris’ mother asked. “He’ll be home soon.”

“No thank you dear.” Came the reply as the rocking chair creaked. “Father comes tomorrow and I long to throw off this frail garb for my new spring gown.”

“And we all long to see you dawn it.”

“Mother!” Iris lept as her father’s voice announced his arrival.

“Hello son.” The old woman greeted him. “Did you shepherd well this day?”

“Ay,” He answered. “All are in their place.” A pause came in which no one spoke. Then her father’s voice mused. “Tomorrow is the day isn’t it? Well then, we’ll all be there. And little Iris will dance in your honor.”

The old woman mumbled her thanks and Iris heard the door open. “Goodnight my children.” She called.

“Goodnight Mother Earth.” Came the unified reply.

Sep 28, 2007

I'm not sure I like the ending....any sujestions?
It's strange I know but I wish I could draw!

A twilight fog resting airily upon the eastern edge of Farmer John’s largest field concealed his stealthy movements. Blacker than the descending night Morticent rarely made a move that others perceived. He was night. He was shadow. Only his eyes, two blazing orbs, shone like a roaring fire, fire fueled by lust, anger, hate. Fire that consumed the lives of those who Morticent stalked, feeding off their weaknesses and providing fuel to enhance them.
Tom the cobbler saw at Moticent’s biding a vague view of dancing women. Anne his wife swathe look in his eyes and burned for days with the continues screams of injustice that Morticent whispered in her head. And Tom listened intently in turn to the cold bitter words of a long growing hate for his “selfish, possessive” wife. And so Morticent never went hungry.
The village children were warned about him. “Be kind to your sister or Morticent will come and get you in the night!” None realized he was currently consuming their own souls.
Tonight though, tonight Morticent was out to catch a new quarry. Farm John had long shut his door to Morticent, filling his home with so much light that there were no shadows to offer Morticent shelter. So, Morticent waited and watched, never satisfied with souls already won. Tonight there was something different. The light was dimmer. The fog drifted closer to the home carrying Morticent with it. Now he could see in the window.
Farmer John sat with his head in his hands, a photo of his lovely bride before him. Two young girls moved about upstairs removing their mourning dresses in preparation for bed.
Yes, now was the time. The shadows grew with each tear drop upon the Farmer’s table.
“Come Farmer, why do you cry?” came the hushed thought as Morticent slipped in the window. “Crying can not bring her back.”
“No.” agreed the Farmer sobbing even more deepening the shadows, allowing Morticent to creep nearer.
“No, nothing can bring her back.” He hissed in a tentatively angry voice.
“She shall be raised in the resurrection.” Came a feeble reply that barely glowed.
Morticent chuckled at this and continued. “Oh yes the resurrection… but what about today? Who will help you raise your daughters? How will you ever be happy again without her? Is there a reason to go on without her?”
“Oh my Love!” Wailed the Farmer. “Why did He take you?”
“How could He take her?” Morticent corrected angrily. “He knew you needed her and He took her anyway!”
Farmer John’s fist tightened and the light all but disappeared, as though squeezed out by that motion. “Why?” he repeated through gritted teeth, his mind focusing on the injustice of it.
“Why didn’t she fight harder?” Morticent prompted again. “She could have made it but she just gave up.”
“She wanted to die.” Farmer John groaned.
“Wasn’t she happy here? Didn’t she love you and…”
“Daddy…” soft voice from upstairs called down. “Daddy, Mommy says it’s time for prayers.”
Farmer John’s head flew up. Morticent leaped forward to quickly squelch the flicker of light he saw in the blood shot eyes. “She is dead!” he hissed. “How could Suzanne make such a joke? It’s not funny!”
“Suzanne that’s not funny!” Farmer John shouted, hardly knowing what he said.
Morticent jumped on the anger and focused it. “She needs to understand she can’t do that. You can’t handle that. She needs to be punished.”
“But Daddy, Mommy said…” came the tearful voice of the four year old.
Farmer John stood up forcefully knocking his chair over. Morticent purposely knocked over the jug of water wetting the bottom of the portrait and cursed. Farmer John repeated the curse and stomped up stairs reaching for his belt at Morticent’s prompting. Morticent himself danced up behind him, drunk on the anger that grew in the devastated man’s heart.
But then something happened. Morticent was thrown down the stairs. Light filled the house leaving no where for Morticent to hide. He fled in confusion screaming his prompts in an effort to be heard but to no avail.
Pure love was the light that bright and strong, pure love so far from Farmer John’s heart as he ascended those stairs. What happened? Morticent would never know. But I will tell you.
Farmer John looked into his daughter’s room and saw the two girls huddled together on the bed crying. In their eyes, their eyes so like their mother’s, was the same fear he had seen on her face. And above them was a picture of Christ. The picture his wife had placed there and told the girls He would always take care of them. That’s when Morticent fell. Farmer John quickly stepped to the bed and gathered his girls up in his arms and prayed mightily. That’s when the angel came and chased Morticent far from the house, the guardian angle that looked just like the portrait on Farmer John’s table.

Sep 27, 2007

The King Returns

Quick comment: I wrote this awhile back and forgot to post it... I need to work on the last post so don't stop giving critiques... I need them. Thanks :)

Here's the story...

In the dim twilight no one saw him enter. The man in the shadows seemed like just another dancing branch of the willow tree, dark against the brilliant lights of the party. They continued their revelry, watching, laughing, singing, dancing, and he remained unnoticed as he moved toward the refreshment table. Now it must be understood that it was very late and everyone had long ago given up watchfulness. They were all drunk with the time and the energy it took to revel.
There were, however, in the very back of the crowd a row of men and women who bleary eyed scanned the crowd and watched the entrances. Some even dozed off only to be tapped awake again by those sitting next to him. They had been watching for so long and yet the party grew more boisterous and the revelers more prevalent and they less heeded. Their invitation has said how the party was to go. Yet the Lord of the house still had not returned from his long absence. And those who continued to wait for him to start the party were left sitting while the party seemed to take place without them. And those who sat in the row waiting had long given up trying to remind them, for the music was too loud and the revelers too drunk.
The servants of the house brought out more food. The music band played gaily whatever the rioting crowd requested. And the people forgot why they were there, and in who’s garden they danced.
He watched from the shadows for some time, his eyes ablaze with feeling. How much he had to share with them if they had but waited!
A loud crash sounded out, stopping the music cold. Laugher sounded hollowly and choked to a stop as all eyes turned to see him. Standing in His glory with the table over turned. Each one sobered instantly as realization dawned. How came he to stand in the mist of them and they not notice it? Those who had been waiting leaned forward now completely awake again and ecstatic for his return. But the revelers? They stood in fright. Some at the edge of the crowd turned to flee. Others hung their heads and walked quickly by. None could meet his eyes, so filled with hurt, pity and righteous anger. None could continue to revel when suddenly they remembered all they had not done.
At last the garden emptied, leaving only he and they who had waited. Till now they had said nothing, just watched the frightful event. Now he turned to them and smiled. He signaled the servants and the party began.
The best fruit had not been touched for it had been saved for his return. The sweetest music had not been played for the riotous group knew not what to request. And to those who had waited he told his tale. Of all the knowledge he had and the kingdoms he had gained for them.

May 28, 2007

Discusion with my Pen

To write, to write upon a sheet of milky white. Why seem you so daunting? Once you and I, Dear Pen, were friends of many and various climbs. Exploring and adventuring through other’s lives and ideas of seemingly great purport. And yet I do to you what I have in store for all my talents. A nicely packed away place where you shall only be touched if eternity be within your grasp.
It is not the lack of reading as I have once told myself. “If only I were reading more my fingers would be inspired as before.” But alas this is not so. For a reader may read only that which she is inspired to read and I feel at the same loss for reading. Picking up a book and setting it down just as quickly.
There is so much to do! To think of doing! The future is looming up before me begging to be solved and accomplished. Things of the Kingdom are screaming for my attention. What have I to do with a pen who can only write things which have no eternal importance?!
And yet though they scream to me my hands seem tied and I am not free to do anything but remain sitting bound by my thoughts of all I want to do.
In a time when time is short on all sides and nothing is free but sacrificed for I must write! I must share this passion which spoken words and expression have such difficulty revealing of me. They must not say as they lay me in the grave. “She was sweet and kind. She was always pleasant yet never really fought for anything.” They must KNOW there is a fire that burns within me which will not let me hold still. It calls me by night and day “Be better, Be prepared!” for great work, no matter how small, must be placed at my Master’s feet with the enthusiasm of a child who has helped in such a tiny way her Father in His Great and Eternal work. I long, I strive, I must help build His kingdom!
And so Pen, if you want a place in my life, must you.

Another Rebelous speach.

“Happiness is fleeting.”
So they say. And who are “They” that they can tell me how long I can keep my happiness? Oh sure circumstances chance quickly. But what does that have to do with my state of happiness? Are these the same “they” who say I must suffer through the majority of my life to get to the good part? I mean really! Who put such negative people in charge of saying what life is like? Did they EVER get to the “good” part? And why do we not only listen to them but adapt their philosophies into our lives and then wonder why we’re not happy? “They” obviously weren’t either. Is it possible they are right?
HECK NO! I say we rebel! I say “we” become the “They”s for our children. So our children may say “They say life is wonderful. And so it has become.”

Apr 18, 2007

It's a Girl!

What magic to feel
Your insides reel
To know that she is REAL
How fun to see her poke and kick
How beautiful to know
She so presious now to me
Is still more presious to Him

Not my best poem ever but I wrote it just now so there.
I love my little girl... I know she's been in my life since atleast last september... though probably much longer. And I am grateful for her. She is kicking me now and it doesn't feel as funny as I thought it would. It is nice to know that the Lord led me here many years after I had wanted it... and yet not a moment too late. Because back in September I felt she would come in August or Sept... I had just hoped it ment she would be concieved then, but she didn't come till it was her time. IF I had been married any sooner to anyone else... she might not have been mine. I am glad of the wait.

Mar 30, 2007

I have to speak out!

They are all liars!
They've been sold on the same masochistic lie that their parents were sold on!
The Lord never ...anywhere... said "Life sucks. Deal with it"
No he said, "men are that they might have joy". He said that man's labor is to bring him joy...not something which he must suffer through to get to the good stuff.
So why should men have to accept working in misery... getting pot bellies from STRESS? That's not what I think the Lord had in mind!
If you aren't happy... wouldn't the Lord provide as way out? Even if it's just an aditude adjustment or learning a higher principle...or in really bad cases leaving it.
THAT much of your life(40 hours, if your lucky, a week. for minumim of 40 years) should NOT be spent in misery!

Mar 27, 2007

Ms House

Drooping less than gracefully from age and time and weather the porch roof clung steadily to the pillars, which had supported it for so many years. The tar slats the had once so effectively shielded each of the Bakers in turn, now were torn and worn, if even still there a all. So the rain dripped heedlessly through onto the rotting planks below that dismal afternoon. Faraway, down the drive, Lonely House heard the occasional swish of a car as it hurried by on the slick road. None stopped. None hesitated at the drive to reminisce with her of better days. All the Bakers were gone. They had come when old Mr. Baker had slipped and hurt his hip one day. They had come home! But the visit was brief, long enough to hurriedly pack old MR. Bakers things and him into the car and drive away. Not long there after a moving van came and left Lonely House naked and desolate.
“They will come back when MR. Baker gets better.” she comforted herself. Year after year she waited, longing for someone to fix her roof, to lift her foundations, just to smile at her and remember when she was Loved House.
“Ok Jake Honey!” sweet young Mrs. Baker cried. Her belly bulged slightly in a way that New House had never seen before. “It’s perfect! I’ve never seen a more lovely house in all my life!”
New house stuck out her chest a little more and quickly checked to make sure her chimney was stand up straight.
“Now Dear, let’s look inside before we decide. The floor plan is more important than the exterior.” Said Young Mr. Baker.
“But Love, don’t you feel like we’ve lived here always? Can’t you feel this house was made for us?” Young Mrs. Baker laughed pleasantly and walked up the porch.
` “I do not. And don’t talk like that in front of the realtor.”
New House put on her best face when the realtor came and opened her pretty door with the etched glass window. Even young Mr. Baker grunted with approval when all was seen.
Soon New House became Loved House as young Mrs. Baker brought tables and sofas, lamps and bookshelves and filled Loved House with things that made her a home. Soon little Tommy Baker was brought home. Loved House was so excited! She tried more than ever to keep the cold out and make the little blue nursery room shadier. Young Mrs. Baker loved Loved House so much she kept her clean and spent hours within her walls singing. Little Tommy Baker grew up but Little Mandy Baker was soon brought home. Little Mandy Baker grew up but Little George Baker wasn’t far behind.
How kind Not-so-Young Mr. Baker had become. He fixed her leeks and put a pretty swing on her porch. When little George Baker was playing ball with Little Tommy Baker and broke her pretty glass window in the front door, Mr. Baker chastised them a bought her a new door. As little Tommy became big Tommy, he mowed her lawn and trimmed the tree branches so they didn’t fall on her roof. Big Mandy Baker planted flowers below her porch and helped Mrs. Baker decorate Loved House with pretty new thing that were in fashion, so that when their friends came Loved House heard them exclaim “What a Lovely House!”
When Big Tommy brought home Amy Jones, Loved House’s porch sheltered them from the rain as he kissed her and proposed. When Big Mandy Baker had her wedding and became Mrs. Smith, Loved House opened her doors for many parties and watched as they were married in her yard beneath the trees. Then Big George Baker was left. How Mrs. Baker and Loved House cried when he left, dressed in a smart brown army uniform.
MR. Baker and Mrs. Baker were never lonely. Sometimes Tommy and Mandy came to visit with their children. Sometimes George would come with his pretty dark headed little wife. Sometimes they would sit all alone in the twilight and hold each other’s hand as they swung on the porch.
Loved House liked these times the best. Mrs. Baker would sigh and touch one of Loved House’s pillars tenderly saying “This house has been good to us, hasn’t it Love?”
“Yes,” Mr. Baker would agree. “I never wish to leave it.”
But no one can have all their wishes. One day Mrs. Baker got sick and went to the hospital. She never came back and Loved House cried with Mrs. Baker. It got harder for Mr. Baker to take care of himself but he fought to stay with Loved House and yelled when his children asked him to leave. But then he could hold out no longer and Lonely House watched as they drove away saying “I wish you could have stayed forever.”
Yes, Lonely House was very lonely. She had been alone for so long, even her “For Sale” sign was faded.

The sun came out and warmed her tired eves. Then she started. Someone was coming up the drive.
“Oh David! It’s perfect!” cried a pretty woman. “It needs SO much fixing up… but I’ll bet we can do it!”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” smiled David as he put his arm around her and looked up at the house. “My Grandparents lived here. Dad grew up here. I visited it when I was little. It has a lovely floor plan.” Lonely House looked hard at the man and saw he looked like Tommy Baker. “It’s ours if you want it Love.”
“Oh yes!” she responded twisting to look up at his face. “Don’t you feel like we’ve lived here always?”
Lonely House smiled her Loved House smile and thought with gratitude “The Bakers have come home.”

I need a name for this one...any ideas?

Write again. Write again! It was long past time. But no voices called as long ago to be placed down on blank white paper; longing, pleading to be brought to life. No scenes lingered insistently in her mind until their beauty and realty were captured in ink.
Instead there lived in her mind questions. Questions demanding answers she couldn’t find couldn’t even rightly look for on her own. Now that she shared her life with the man of her dreams, her dreams were finding they had to be adjusted. He no longer stood in the shadows of her imagination conforming to the mood and dream of the hour. Now flesh and blood had dreams of his own, exciting dream that added depth and breadth to her own dreams with out stealing them away. No, he was not the problem. He was the hope.
It was her old nemesis, the same enemy, which had afflicted her with confusion and befuddlement her whole life. Reality. Call it circumstances, call it life, the true name is Reality. Life, not as we perceive it should be, but as it is. Reality flitted through her mind taunting her to solve the mystery of what it would throw at her next and what would be the wisest response no matter the challenge. And so reality laughed as it lead her to think, not of reality itself, but of thousands of imaginary future realities and never got her anywhere.
But no more! No more! The pen in her hand she knew if she could but call to life something that was not, Reality could be left far behind her for a time. Freeing her to explore a world she completely understood. Allowing her to see Reality more clearly when she returned to it. Allowing her to wait till he returned and held her hand as they wondered the wilderness of possibilities together.
And yet… yet nothing came. Her pen moved. Ink in delicate lines spread across the paper forever robbing it of anything but the possibility she then granted it. Words formed, sentences developed… And yet, all that appeared was Reality.

Jan 25, 2007

The Incident

Two men stood in the shadows that night. Two men never found nor identified. The participants were too busy participating to take notice and only a few vaguely recalled the figures standing just out of sight.
The police had a fun time sorting things out. The whole town thought The Incident, as it came to be called, no more than a lark. In the end no one knew quiet who had started it or why it had gown to such a furry in so short amount of time. All that was known was that there was a meeting…

“Come to order! Come to ORDER!” Judge Ponsies commanded, smashing his wooden mallet viscously down onto the small table at the front of the room where he alone presided. His round face was puffed out as though a symbol of his believed power. A hush finally fell but snickers and faint whispers continued to ripple. These town meetings had always been something of a joke to everyone but Ponsies but they continued to happen for entertainment. And, to Ponsies chagrin things had gotten out of his control again. “That’s right.” He blustered taking advantage of the relative silence. “Now, we’ll get no where talking out o’ turn.” He folded his arms and glared across the large group of men as though daring them to speak up. “We have a problem. And no one’s denying it. A family out of house and home, yes. But what’s more, an eyesore! Aint nobody who comes into this town an miss it. And nobodies going to buy property in that area so long as it’s there. They have to be evicted and the house must come down.”
“Now Ponsies,” Came a voice from the crowd. “What are the Macs going to do? Their the poorest family in town. They’ve no where to go.”
“Let them find another eye sore in another town.” Called a harsher voice from the other side of the group.
“Aye! Let them take those bare footed brats down the river where they belong. We’re an upstanding town. The lazy have no place here.”
“Toddy you know they aint lazy. A widow and her aged mother can’t be expected to be anything but poor.”
“So what are we supposed to do? Feed them and house them ourselves? I have a family of my own!” With this the whole group exploded again, hands motioning voices rising. Ponsies smacked his wooden mallet down and stared silently as the crowd hushed once again.
That’s when things got funny.
He nodded suddenly as though agreeing and said “Do I have a second to that motion?” This time true silence fell. No one had proposed a motion. “Very well” he nodded again. “All in favor of making a trip to the place say ‘Aye’.” There was a momentary pause Then all at once a unanimous “Aye” rang out. It seemed like the thing to do though even Ponsies could never remember just who had suggested it.
They filed out of the building down the main road toward the river docks. Each one laughing at the lark and assured his point would be seen upon arrival.
The only light by the river side came from an aged Mansion. Once it had been the pride of the town but now even in the twilight it looked sad and tired. The men congregated outside the once white picket fence and fell silent. The single light came from the dinning room where a scene of some tenderness was being played out. The soft voice of the young widow called to her unruly boys while the older woman elegantly placed herself at the head of the table. She had been the Mayor’s wife and was the daughter of the founder who had built the town as well as the mansion. Her daughter, who carefully placed the small pot of soup on the table, looked tired and harried. Everyone knew she bore much. Once the bell of the town, delicate and proper, she was now the town seamstress and not a very successful one. She only received commissions of charity from former friends who knew her plight, for she had no talent with a needle.
Three wild and unruly boys burst into the room, the eldest about the age of ten. Their mother beamed as she watched them calm under their grandmother’s glare. Each one held a piece of the man she had loved and each one was her own special treasure. That is perhaps why she spoiled them, or perhaps because three boys were a lot to handle when your whole life was consumed with how to provide for them. They were after all very strapping and intelligent boys, like their father, but no one ever took time to notice their need of guidance.
This all became oddly clear to each of the men standing there that night. Some stared at their feet and kicked at the dirt like naughty boys who had been caught. Some allowed tears to run down their cheeks, unsure where the strength of emotion had come from but unwilling to check it.
“And why not?” Shouted Pete softly. He had been the widow’s husband’s best friend and now owner of the lumberyard. He had wanted the land to expand his operation despite his kindly feelings toward the widow herself. No one answered for they weren’t sure what he was referring to, though Sam would latter declare he heard someone suggest they rebuild the place. “Why not?!” he shouted again, this time announcing their presence to those inside. “I’ve got a shipment of lumber that’s just come in and goodness knows I didn’t order it. I’ve no need of it. I’m sure there’s enough to replace the fallen and the rotting boards on the house.” He paused looking around. “Sam, aint there a goodly amount of paint left over from the government buildings? We could make her look nice again.”
Sam nodded vigorously and quickly left the group. Another voice piped up. “I’ve got a bunch of nail left over from fixing my roof, and shingles for that matter!” Soon everyone was shouting something they had to contribute and dashing off to fetch it.
The women inside had gathered the boys into a back room and called the police. They knew there had been talk of evicting them but they had not expected a lynch mob.
By the time the police arrived men were returning carrying their offering. In the commotion many were smacked by carelessly swung wooden planks and hammers were dropped carelessly on darkness shrouded feet. Finding no leader and making no sense out of the madness of moving, shouting, excited men, the police had arrested them all.
They returned the next day to finish what they had started with many of the police officers joining them. For a month the mansion became the social gathering place. Women would meet inside to work on upholstery and linens, while the men hammered away at the outside. When it was done the whole town was so proud they declared it a historical sight and paid the widow to take care of it. The older Mrs. Mac married Judge Ponsies, as he found her quiet knowledgeable and useful in all things political. She latter helped him run for Governor and win. The young Mrs. Mac became to head of the social scene once more, for there was no prettier place to spend the afternoon or evening than the mansion you helped build yourself. And her true talent as a mediator and wise counselor made her well loved of all the women. Her sons were now given the proper attention for she had time to make sure they went to school. All three became leaders of the town and under their guidance the town became known for its generosity and charity work.
But that night no one could have known these things. And that night as a lone raft floated away down river carrying a younger gentleman and an older politician, no one could have guessed what a profound difference love could engender.

Jan 24, 2007

7 wierd thing about me....

Well I love being weird and I think that to be normal is horrible... I mean have you seen what's normal?? No tatoos for me thank you.
But let's see....
1: I actually like doing the dishes... Because it's something I know how to do and people like it when I do it, so I consider it one of my talents.
2: I married a rocket Scientist,literally, which anyone who knows me knows that's pretty wierd.
3: I maintian that I was a unicorn but they de-horned me when I was sixteen and claimed it was cancer cause they couldn't come up with anything else... it's a horn hello?
4: I like to talk to trees... I maintain they whisper stories on the winds, some thousands of years old. And I teach children how to build fairy castles and duel dragons.
5: I enjoy following my husband around everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. I even snuck into an Airospace Convention, without paying, just to hang out with him.
6: I adore fashion and beautiful design, but you would never know it to look at my clothes as they are all hand me downs and don't fit my body or my style, but I'd rather where them than be uncomfortable in something that looks beautiful.
7: I studied Home Ec so that I could be a good mother and discovered I don't like cooking, sewing, laundry, tracking the finances, or anything else that traditional mothers do. But my life's ambition is still to be a great mother and wife.

Ummm so as to sending this to other people... well the other people I know were already tagged... so... here's the deal...
TAG you're it
That is if you havn't done it already.
The Rules are each player of this game starts with the 7 weird things about you. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 7 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 7 people to be tagged and list their names. (What if you don't KNOW 7 people??? I guess don't worry about it then!) Don't forget to leave a comment that says "you are tagged" in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

Then End