Category: Creative writing

Day 220-Christmas Mountain Slide.

Just before Christmas, in 1986, my parents, sister and brother-in-law and myself, embarked on a trip to Ruidoso, New Mexico, to top the mountains of Ski Apache Resort. Little did we know that instead of sliding down the slopes, the more harrowing adventure would be sliding up and down the icy hillside roads to the resort.
On the first day, the drive was not bad because I rode with my parents, who are experienced snow drivers from all the years they went to Colorado, hunting. But even with experienced drivers, seeing the edges of the road so close to the side of our truck, as we slipped along on ice and snow-covered narrow roads made me want to cry. I knew dad knew what he was doing, but that did not make the 1000’s of feet down onto rocks, trees, and who knows what else look any more inviting. Oh, and of course, no guard rail. The opposite side was no better, there you slid into the hillside, large rocks, or into oncoming traffic. Yes oncoming traffic on a road that was so narrow you could barely go one direction and it was going two. The first day, we made it safely.

The next day the fun began. My parents stayed behind to tour, and let us drive their Chevy truck while they drove my sister’s station wagon around for the day. They should have designated a driver other than my brother-in-law, bless his soul; safe driving was not and still is not his strong suit.

To leave the cabins you had to follow a little road across a small bridge and then turn left on to the road towards town. You had no choice but to turn left because there was a snow-covered hillside preventing you from going any other way. Not so with our talented driver, we made an only slightly left skid directly into the snow-covered embankment. Luckily the only damage was to the snow, where we left a bumper shaped deep dent. Which incidentally my parents told us that they knew was from us as soon as they saw it. But thus started our trip up and then back down the mountain that day.

We invented a new word that day, it went something like, “Sloeeeaahck!” It was a terrified cross between “slow down”, and screams of eek and aahhh! I don’t think I have ever seen my life flash before my eyes so much in one day. It was kind of like having instant replay on a football game that you had watched several times before. I had actually forgotten about some of those events though, so at least I had my memory refreshed.

It seemed we were constantly sliding toward our doom, whether that was 1000’s of feet down to our deaths, crashing into the mountain or perhaps a tree or a rock. Quite often it seemed we were hanging just over that edge looking death in the eye as we stared down that ravine in terror just before our truck some how righted itself back onto the road. Of course then we were usually headed for the snow-covered just as unforgiving hillside. We seemed to be the metal ball in a pin ball game bouncing back and forth off whatever obstacle was there to change our course. Pin Ball is an old style arcade game for those of you too young to know.

We created our own road both up and down the mountain that day. It seemed traveling was either going to literally kill us or scare us to death in which the outcome would be the same; sudden death, just days before Christmas. Somehow, by the grace of God indeed, we are all still here today, survivors of this Christmas mountain slide.

PS. No the picture is not from New Mexico, but I didn’t have any available. As you might be able to tell that is Texas Hill Country snow, but to us it is even more treacherous! Haha! Merry Christmas!

Day 214-Christmas Season of Lights (Sestina)

I love to see Christmas decorations,
Because it makes the evenings so bright.
Cheerful, colorful, twinkling lights,
That tell a story of a wonderful season.
A story of a time each year
When mankind is filled with good cheer.

Holiday times and holiday cheer
Can be seen throughout the town, as decorations
Appear all over, at this time of year.
Lights on rooftops, gables and trees shine bright.
Signs are hung proclaiming the season.
Yards and houses glow with colored lights.

But Christmas is much more than decorations and lights.
There is a reason for this season of cheer.
Though many have tried to remove Him from His season.
They have taken away His nativity decorations.
They have taken down His star so bright.
They remove a little more of Him each year.

They want the holiday Christmas provides each year.
They even decorate and hang lights.
Santa stands in their yards next to a tree so bright.
They partake in the season with no reason for cheer.
They don’t understand it’s more than decorations.
They create their own season within His season.

There are some for whom there is not a season.
They do not like seeing Christmas cheer each year.
They would prefer there were no decorations.
They would keep the streets dark of lights.
They are bothered by offerings of good cheer.
For them the holiday is never bright.

But in spite of all this, Christmas is bright.
There is a reason still for this season.
For millions in this world there is great cheer.
And in their hearts they look for it each year.
They need the joy that comes with the lights,
And the Santas, stars, trees and nativity decorations.

So give cheer and make Christmas bright
With decorations and colors of the season.
Christ is here each year in the season of lights.

Here is wishing you all a very blessed and merry Christmas Season. God Bless.

Day 212-Christmas Gifts-A Reflection on the True Gift of Christmas

10But the angel said to them, “Be not afraid; for I bring you good news of great joy which will come to all people; 11for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. 12And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” 13And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of heavenly hosts praising God and saying, 14“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men with whom He is well pleased.”    Luke 2:10-14

Imagine the scene that day on the hills around Bethlehem as shepherds stood by as the skies filled with angels proclaiming the Savior’s birth, and praising the Lord. What fear, awe, wonder, joy, love, and eventual peace must have filled their souls as the words of the angel touched their ears and crept with slow realization into the hearts? The sheer wonder and beauty of the scene would have been enough to bring them to tears, and than this sight was coupled with the magnificent news of their Savior’s birth.

Next, imagine how they must have felt when they realized the honor they had been given by their Lord, when He chose them to be first to know.

We speak often of the gifts given to the Christ child by the three wisemen, but what of the gift bestowed on these lowly, poor shepherds, and then also on the wisemen. Upon them, was bestowed the gift of first knowledge of His birth.

The gift of a Savior had just been given to the world, and the Lord chose these lowly shepherds to give the gift of first knowledge of His birth. What an honor and privilege they were given, first knowledge, and then first to see the new baby. Wow!

The Lord also gave the gift of the star to the wisemen, so that they could be the next to see and know. Even though they came much later than the shepherds, they were no doubt any less important because the Lord literally lead them to His son.

First shepherds, then kings each in their own way given news of a Savior and bid to come and see. With these gifts came a responsibility though, because from there they were charged with going forth and proclaiming all that had happened. They were to go forth and tell the good news. Shepherds and kings alike were to take their gift of knowledge of the Christ child and share it with all around them; with the exception of Herod of course.

We are much like these lowly shepherds and stately kings. Some of us are poor, some of us are well off, or even rich, but we all have a common God-given gift. We too have the gift of the knowledge of a Savior born to us, died for our sins, and raised to new life for our redemption.

We also have the same responsibility to share our gift with everyone around us. Just like God chose the shepherds that very first Christmas to share the gift of a new Savior, we are called this Christmas and every day to share the old, old story, with all those who may or may not have heard of the Savior.

So as we share Christmas gifts this season, don’t forget to share the most important Christmas gift that the Lord gave to each of us, so that we too might give it to others. After all, with out the gift of Christ, there would be no Christmas. Therefore, go forth and give Christ as your most precious Christmas gift to people around you this year!

Day 176-Halloween-The Harpist’s Wife

Happy Halloween! Today I am sharing another one of my ghost stories with you. I wrote this one some years ago as well, but it is all my own.  It was inspired by years of playing in the local cemetery behind my grandmother’s house, with my cousins while I was growing up.  It was published about 3 years ago on  Yahoo Contributor when I was writing for them, before they closed down the site, so there is some chance you may have seen it before. If you have, enjoy it again, if you haven’t, than welcome to the world of:

The Harpist’s Wife

It was a cold, dark, rainy, windy, night with lightning flashing and thunder rumbling loudly, and yet we were still there. We were stupid, foolish teenagers. We knew we shouldn’t be there; it was crazy and dangerous. We knew the stories were true, but we just had to see for ourselves. The legend said that if anyone went out to the cemetery on a night like this, one of them would not return from the Harpist’s grave, yet we still went. We had to know for ourselves. Call it dumb, invincible; know it all teen age pride and morbid, curiosity. We were six, when we went there that night.
Legend was that if anyone ventured into the cemetery on a night just like this one, you would see the Harper, hear him play, and watch as once again, he murders his wife, who smashes his harp in a jealous rage. Because the harp truly was his first love, in his will he left his full estate to the harp’s protection. It was to be enshrined atop his grave, in the most shatter proof glass, held together with thick steel, plated with solid gold. Lights shone upon it from either side, that it might shine like a god of the music world, he perceived it to be. He wanted it there, where he was sure, even in death; he could reach up and play it. And many say he plays it often. Many have heard it, and tell stories of reliving the night he murdered his wife with one of its broken strings, severing her throat. But each time there have been new witnesses to this crime, there has also been a new victim. His wife still tries to escape him, but for this there must be a trade, a soul for a soul. She must possess a mortal in order to flee from him.
So there the six of us were, standing in the stormy, dark night with only the light from the harp and the lightning waiting like lambs to the slaughter at the foot of the Harpist’s grave.
The thing about legends is that sometimes there are parts of them that people know, but are too afraid to speak of, so they only tell what they think will scare others away.
At precisely, 2:13 a.m., the harp began to play, and the harpist appeared at its side, an ordinary looking man, slender with shoulder length dark hair. Soon his lovely wife appeared, a vision of beauty with long flowing red hair, which surprised us, because every recounting of this story described her different, but always beautiful. They both were dressed in the finery of the late 1800’s. We watched as they began to fight. The real harp never moved from its shrine, and its music continued to play, as a vision of it fell to the ground. The Harpist scrambled to protect it, as she chopped it with an ax. Several times he narrowly escaped harm himself, crying in anguish as his precious harp broke into pieces.
She stood back weary and exhausted, dropping the ax to the ground, smiling. The Harpist plucked a long thin, sharp string from among the wreckage, and rose to face her. His hands wound tightly around the ends of the string until they began to bleed. Her smile faded, and she began looking for a place to flee for safety, it was then, they became aware of us watching.
She ran toward us wildly begging for protection, for a place of refuge. We scattered in different directions trying to get out of their path. I ran, my heart pounding, I could hear her footfalls behind me and her voice beseeching me to save her. I screamed that I could not help her because she was already dead. I stumbled over a low headstone, and fell and she fell upon me, and then we were one.
I felt her fear and my own, as she urged me to run, but I had broken my ankle in the fall and could only hobble. I cried for help from the others, but they would not come near because they had seen us become one, and they were afraid, but watched from the shadows.
I stumbled away as quickly as I could, but the Harpist overtook me, and I felt the bite of the string around my neck, cutting into my flesh. I could neither scream nor fend him off, though I tried. He over powered me. I felt my blood flowing down my neck, and my life slipping away.
In my head I heard her voice, “Thank you for setting me free, I am so sorry it had to be you.” Then I felt her fade away, and my world went dark.
When I awoke, the Harpist was once more playing his harp as though nothing had happened. My friends and the traveler were crying and screaming as they ran from the cemetery, leaving me behind. I called to them to wait, but they didn’t seem to hear me. As I started to follow after them, my foot caught on something on the ground. It was then that I knew what she had meant. Below me lay the body that once was mine, on the ground.
As I looked up, the Harpist beckoned to me. “Come my dear wife; let the music of the harp bring you peace, at least for a while.” I tried to walk away, but I found I could not leave the cemetery.
This was the part of the legend, no one would pass along. This was why no one described her the same way twice. Because each time she succeeded in freeing herself, she passed on her legacy to the one who took her place. This I now know, because for now until the next legend seekers came to the cemetery, on a stormy night, I am the Harpist’s wife.

Day 138-Focus Challenge 1-Comfort

It was suggested to me that the picture I posted of the hay field shrouded in fog, gave one of my readers comfort. It wasn’t actually a writing suggestion, but I decided to run with it anyway. Thank you, Mary Beth Lindig Kendrick.

When I originally posted that picture, I just liked it, and for me the fog suggested a bit of mystery, or even spookiness, yet beauty. My friend suggested to me that for her, it brought forth feelings of comfort. For her it was a sense of home, safety, and a blanketing of comfort. I had never looked at fog quite like that, but I definitely can see where she sees this, and it got me to looking at it a bit differently.

I began to think of the things we associate comfort with, and what comfort means.

By definition: (according to Merriam Webster)
First in the verb, it means: to give strength and hope; or to ease the grief or trouble of.
As a noun, it means: to be a strengthening support or assistance, solace; or a contented well-being; satisfying or enjoyable experience.

I believe we all understand and can agree on what comfort is in the first sense of comforting one in grief or stress, but comfort as a noun, is where we both agree and disagree. Or perhaps, not disagree, but instead, differ as to what it is or does for each of us.

For this discussion, let’s focus on the definition: as a noun. So the question is, what do we associate with comfort?

There is a wide variety of things that we associate with bringing us that sense of safety, solace, cheer, well-being, and all around stress and grief free feeling, if only for a little while? We use things such as food, clothing, places, activities and people to help us achieve that sought after sense of comfort.

Have you ever thought about what makes you feel comfort? Perhaps it is different things at different times or for different reasons?

Food is quite often a big one for many. We eat things that remind us of better and calmer times, when things were happy. Ice cream, chocolate, desserts, and even candy are often turned to because they were many times childhood rewards or treats for special times and occasions.  Certain dinners or dishes that mom or grandma used to make can also be sought after as comforts.

I like fried turkey steak, home-made oatmeal cookies, coconut cream pie, and red velvet cake with my grandmothers cooked butter cream icing. I grew up eating turkey steak because we raised turkeys my whole life. Oatmeal cookies remind me of hauling hay with our neighbors. Meta would always make a washtub (I kid you not) full of oatmeal cookies, with tea and lemonade for a break when we came to do their hay.  My Oma Birck (grandmother) always made coconut cream pie and red velvet cake for birthdays. They were two of my favorite things she made. Do you have comfort foods? What are they, and why?

A piece of clothing or a blanket may also create good feelings of comfort. Growing up in an old rock house, I was always cold because it held the cold in, so I was usually wrapped up in a blanket or six. Because of this, even in the heat of summer I don’t sleep well unless it is cool enough to be under at least a sheet and preferably a light blanket. But ironically summer clothes are my comfort clothes, because though I love my blankets, I don’t like being bundled tightly in anything especially not heavy clothes for winter. Shorts and beach dresses are my comfort clothes.

The beach, Enchanted Rock State Park, and the waterfall on our creek are some of my comfort places. Before E-Rock was a state park we went there on a regular basis to climb, run around, and play so it is a big childhood fun time memory place for me. When ever my family didn’t have time for big vacation trips which by the time I came along they were few and far between, we would go down to the beach and play around for a few days. The sand, the waves, and the sea shells are the best source of comfort and peace I know. They just seem to reach into my soul and relax me. The waterfall on our home place is a spot filled with family and friend memories throughout my life. We swam, bathed, picnicked, played, fished,and just hung out there. Often it was a good place to escape to think, write, cry and relax alone as well.

And to add to this list there is one place I love and that is Disney World. I have only been twice in my lifetime, but I found it fun and fascinating each time. If I could afford to go often and take my family it would be a comfort place as well, because it represents the best parts of life which is the magic of youth and imagination, where you can just have fun, be silly and ride the same ride five times in a row if you want to, before moving on to the next adventure.

Where are your comfort places? Do you still go to any of them? Why are they special?

Other things that give me comfort, are many of the beauties of the natural world, put there by the Lord for all to observe. Sunsets, sunrises, fields of flowers, large bodies of water, fields of hay, most baby animals, and my children, all inspire comfort and joy in my heart and soul.

Stop for a moment and reflect, what are your comfort things?

 

Day 134-Focus on a Writing Challenge

Focus is sometimes the hardest part of writing. I often sit down to write and end up with nothing because I have so many things on my mind that I would like to write about that I leave the page blank in indecision.

Part of my problem is simply not wanting to be like so many others I see. I don’t want to get on here and tell you my life story all the time. I don’t want to use this a place to rant and rave about problems, people, and day-to-day things that irritate me. Trust me the temptation is there quite often. I don’t want to complain or say things that would cause any grief or backlash to any of my friends or family. That is hard quite often too, because sometimes I have a very valid gripe and maybe even an idea of how to better things, but know that voicing these things would only make things worse because the people involved simply don’t think they are allowed to be questioned and would take it out on others.

I am not a “politically correct” person, I prefer to say what I think, albeit in as polite but straight forward way that I can. The problem with this, is also knowing when to speak and when to perhaps wait for a more appropriate time. This is an even harder point, because those of us that like to speak our mind honestly, usually don’t like to have to hold our tongues, but necessity is sometimes just that.

I prefer to stay out of all things political, frankly because that seems to be all I see, hear and read right now, and I just don’t want to add to it, or argue about it with anyone. I do my own research, make my own choices, talk to people on occasion about it, but my views are my views and I don’t want to debate them on here.

I want to write interesting things, although this one may not be, but sometimes you just have to write your way through what you are thinking in order to create a subject to focus on. That is what I am doing today. I have so many things going on in my life that I would love to vent about, but it wouldn’t be wise, so then I have trouble focusing and coming up with an actual subject.

I have considered the idea of allowing my readers to pick subjects and ideas for me to write about. I am mostly a creative writer so I like fiction. It is fun and freeing. I have done plenty of non-fiction as well, and even a little history, tons of poetry, some community interest pieces, short, long and in between.  And now I blog,  where the subject matter is less organized and more spontaneous, which is good and bad. I had intended it to be more daily so that I would write more, but then my favorite subject (ie. rockets) only has big news a few times a year, so I have to find other things to write about.

As you can tell, I can be long-winded, but I have finally come to the Focus of this blog piece. I will continue to write what I want as the mood strikes, but in order to keep me writing on a more regular basis, I would like to entertain the idea of letting people who read this blog, suggest story ideas for me to contemplate and possibly  use. What I will probably do is continue to title my blogs with the blog day # like I do, but then on days that the subject is picked by a reader I will call them Challenge Stories and they will have an assigned # and Title. I will also occasionally write a blog giving the latest ideas and highlighting the ones that I plan to use. Now this will just be for fun but if I use an idea I will reference the  person that suggested it. Be creative, adventurous, and fun.

I guess I will see if anyone really reads this now won’t I?  if no one sends messages with ideas I know I am only writing to entertain myself, which if that is the case, at least I know my audience, don’t I?

If you are interested, just comment on the blog, or on Facebook  under the story, or m or message me with your subject idea. Let’s have fun…….