What major historical events do you remember?
Personal history
Leafing a mark
Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?
Part 7
Bo opened her eyes to see an old man’s profile standing in her open door. Long white hair. Long white beard. Chad stepped into view, nose to nose with this man. “Coward!” He roared again.
The sheriff’s hat bobbed in the background.
“If you are not a coward, tell me then.” Was this man about to break out in tears. He looked into the room, locking eyes with Bo. His thin haggard frame began to shake. Each step toward her was a clumsy mess. He fell in a chair that was near her. Tears streamed down his face. “Are you able to talk to me?”
“Brown blob.” She giggled.
He looked confused toward the men that followed him. Chad pointed at the sheriff. “Oh.” Compassion filled his features as he turned back to Bo. “What do you remember?” He whispered.
Dan; if that was his name, wasn’t as old as she had thought. White hair, white beard, sun drenched skin, but his eyes told the real story. He wasn’t as old as he appeared. Maybe her age? Maybe he was standing at the crossroads of life as well?
“Nothing.” She finally whispered.
He looked again desperately at the other two men. Chad was staring at the floor. The sheriff at Dan.
Chico bounced on the bed, army crawled up to her shoulder and laid his head down. It took massive amounts of energy for her to raise her hand to pet him. “Good boy.” She moaned. “You’re soft.” She hissed, “5 more minutes
*When she opened her eyes, Dan was still sitting in that chair. His chin rested on his chest. No, he had on a different shirt. Didn’t he?
“Hi.” His voice pulled her attention from his shirt to his face. He was no longer angry. “I’m Dan.”
“Bo,” she whispered.
“Chad said your name was Ruby.”
She smiled. Was she able to smile? Smiling took energy. In her head, she was smiling. “I like Bo.”
“How do you feel?”
“Tired.” She thought for a long minute, “sore.”
“I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”
With closed eyes; Bo started humming.
She thought she heard the door open. “Bastard! You filthy bastard.” Was Dan crying? The room was filled with crashing sounds.
“That’s enough!” A very authoritative voice said.
Yes, he was crying. She could hear it in his voice as “you filthy bastard”, rang out again.
Bo opened her eyes to see Chad sitting in the chair sporting a black eye. “Hurt?” She mumbled.
“You hurt Dan worse. That song you’ve been humming was ‘their song’.”
“What song?”
Chad sat straight up in the chair. “What song?! You’ve been humming a tune for days now.”
“Days, NuNu?”
Chad’s heart stopped, “what did you say?”
“5 more minutes.”
Balancing act
Winter Season
The invitation
Ask. A voice inside his head called. Ask. “I…” he stammered looking away from her; “made a large pot of soup and I’d be honored if you’d join me for dinner.”
She was stunned. The two halves of her spoke at once saying hell no and trust him. Should she let down her guard and accept his invitation? Shoot, she’d already spent the better part of the evening playing in the snow with him. “Why not?” She smiled, shoving her hands into her pants pockets.
“There’s no reason why not. Either you want to or you don’t.”
“Oh, you really are an ellic through and thru” She giggled.
At the door, Oscar took her coat, slipped off his shoes, then spread out her coat in front of the fire place. It was soaking wet. When he took his coat off, he was dressed very handsomely. He had on a pair of jeans and a dark gray sweater and a white dress shirt with pink and gray stripes on under the sweater. Very metro, she thought. She had this strange notion in her head that because he lived in God’s Country that he would be wearing Carhart and flannel. Not that there was anything wrong with it. It was just an image she had in her mind.
“Do I need to take my shoes off?” There was a hint of concern in her voice.
“I never ask my guest too.” He studied her face. He could tell this made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t anything like any of the women he knew. The couple women he had invited over to his house had no reservations about taking their shoes off. Odor or not.
“But you prefer them too?”
He gave a slight grin as he lowered his head toward the floor, “yes.”
She took her shoes off right beside his. Nail polish! He thought. Nail polish? He disappeared into the house. As she looked around the room, she noticed the coffee table covered with papers. Some had big red grades on them. Other’s didn’t.
“School teacher?” She asked as he walked back into the room.
“Yes, high school science.” He handed her a pair of socks.
She blushed, “thanks. I packed all of mine up. Silly me didn’t lay a pair out to wear.”
“It happens.” He picked up her shoes and put them as close to the fire as he could get them before toddin’ off again.
She sat down in the floor between the coffee table and the bay window looking out toward her house. She couldn’t help but notice that the entire living room was oriented so that he could look out the window. But as she studied the room, it was a logical choice unless he wanted to stare at the fireplace.
For a man, his living room was well put together. His couch was chocolate brown with tan pillows; two overstuffed recliners were tan with chocolate brown cushions. The fireplace was behind the couch. It seemed a little odd that the back of the couch was toward the fireplace. But what was oddest of all, no t.v. There were a couple framed prints on the walls and several live plants. The room was neat and very tasteful, except for the papers around and covering the coffee table. She figured he was either metro sexual or gay.
He sat two cups beside her in the floor before he sat down. “Hot chocolate.”
She took the warm cup, nuzzling it to her nose. “If you don’t mind me saying, all the men I know,” she breathed in the heat from her cup as she corrected herself, “knew that enjoyed hot chocolate are gay.”
“The straight ones don’t know what they’re missin’.” They both laughed. “Thank you.”
Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?
Part 6
He put his hand under her head. She was so groggy. “5 more minutes.” Bo bemoaned. She could feel herself being lifted but could do nothing to stop it.
“Ruby,” hands held her face. “Ruby?” His voice was laced with anguish. When he put his hands on her shoulders, her head wobbled backwards.
“Boss, did you find her?!” Bo thought she recognized this voice. But from where? Pancakes danced through her thoughts.
“Ruby?” He steadied her head.
“What kind of drug is she on?”
She opened her eyes to see a fuzzy Chico sitting happily near her.
“Ruby?”
“How’d … you know….!”
The anguish softened, “it’s on an envelope in your front seat.”
She moaned then whispered, “call me Bo.”
When she opened her eyes, there was a patch of bright light with a brown blob in the center. After a few blinks, the bright light was an open door. The brown blob was a person. A cop? A gold badge glittered with the rise and fall of his chest. He was talking to the door frame? Of course not. That would be silly. He nodded toward her. Her breakfast companion came into view. Both men walked into the room.
She weakly giggled, “brown blob. Brown blob.”
Her breakfast companion smiled, “how are you feeling?”
“5 more minutes.”
“Seriously; what kind of drug is she on, Chad?”
“Did Chico find anything?” Chad asked.
She heard a deep sigh, “no.”
A very gruff voice filled the darkness of her mind, hurt spilled from it. “It’s happened again.”
“We don’t know that.”
“What do you know? That’s always your story. You know NOTHING!”
“Dan, go home. Calm down.”
“Chad!”This new voice screamed. There was a moment of silence. “Walk away, coward!”
Waste not. Want not: dented cans
This poem is being written in stages to highlight the things I do toward frugal living.
My contents are still delicious you see.
I’m bent. Beat up. But not broken.
There is a way to tell if I’m still good. Here it’s spoken;
at the same time, push on my ends.
If I don’t pop, or given in any fashions, eat my contents all up. Your hunger pains, mend.
Let’s write
Winter Season
Let’s play
“This might be a small town but we still have crime.”
She bounced, bounced he told his shocked mind through the yard to shut the door. He had turned away from her looking up the street thinking about where to show her around too. This adventure would take about thirty minutes at best. It would take longer to get to town than it would to show her around it.
Something pelted him on the back. He turned to see a clump of snow behind him. “What the?” She was bent over in the yard making another snow ball. Automatically he formed one from the snow on her jeep. They had gotten just enough snow to cover the grass. When she rose up he hit her on the shoulder.
“You,” she hissed. “How could you? I’m a girl.” She pouted as if she was going to cry.
He was shocked, hadn’t she just hit him? Did he not have the right to fight back? He thought for a moment almost getting defensive. “You started this. I’m just defendin’ my honor.” He turned his nose toward the sky. A snow flake landed right in the middle of it. He smiled in spite of himself before hurling another snow ball at her.
She started laughing. It was the greatest laugh he’d ever heard. It was deep and pure, coming from somewhere that he wasn’t sure a laugh could come. Before long he was laughing and a six year olds snowball fight ensued.
They played for hours; neither keeping track of the time. She went running through the yard and fell. His heart skipped a beat. “Are you okay?”
She started laughing, “yeah, I’m fine.” When he walked over to her, he found her making snow angels. He lay down beside her and did the same. Her laugh grew stronger, “aren’t we just neotenous?” She sat up, “have you always lived in that house?
“No,” he answered setting up as well. “My aunt and uncle lived there. I spent most of my summers living with them. When I came back from college, I lived with them until they passed away and they left me the house? Why do you ask?”
“When I was ten, my grandparents brought me to a family reunion here. I wanted to stay in the house and be where the adults were. But gram wouldn’t let me. I sat on the porch watching all the cousins play. I just felt out of place with kids my own age. A sandy haired boy from that house,” she pointed across the street, “came over and asked me if I wanted to play?”
“Oh my stars, I remember that. We played hide and seek ending up at the lake.”
“I remember you couldn’t swim.”
“Still not very good at it.”
“Wow that seems like a life time ago.” She lay back in the snow.
“It was.” Snow had started gently falling again. When Oscar stopped to look up, it was dark.
She noticed the expression on his face. “What?”
“Notice anything?”
“Oops,” she giggled. “It’s dark.”
“Yelp and the dollar store is closed.”
She got up as did he, “don’t ja have ah Wal-Mart?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Ellic,” she grinned.
He dropped a hand full of loose snow on her head. “Point?”
“So you admit that you’re an ellic?”
“Whole heartedly. My mother says sarcasm is my only characteristic.” He couldn’t help but stare at her through the pale glow from the pole light. Her nose and cheeks were quite red from their hours of playing in the snow.
Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy: it’s all HER fault.
I just finished listening to the book and it upset me greatly. Before I start, allow me to say that yes, this book was written in a different time. But gee.
So here’s the low down. The local preacher tells Tess’s dad that they are descended from a wealthy line of people. Tess’s branch has changed the spelling of their last name. Her mother talks her into going to introduce herself to the wealthy side of the family. Instead of meeting the mother, she meets the son. The son ends up raping Tess. She has a child. And this is all her fault. When the child gets sick, her dad will not let the preacher be called. It would expose HER sin.
The wealthy son falls in love with Tess. But she wants nothing to do with him. She falls for a different man and they get married. On the wedding night, he’s confessing his sins to her. He’s messed around in his youth. She forgives him. So she confesses about her past. He will not forgive her. She ends up going back to her mother’s.
Enter wealthy son. He convinces Tess that her husband has abandoned her so they have an affair. Husband comes back. Forgives her. She kills wealthy son. Runs. They get caught. She talks her husband into marrying her younger sister.
In the end, Tess gets hung for murder. Her widowed husband is running through a field with her younger sister.
Is this supposed to be a Victorian romance? Did Hardy just get his heart broken and poured out his hate on Tess? There are some scenes in this book that are romantic and touching. But overall; IT’S NOT HER FAULT. Yes, she should have been more vigilant. Oh my stars and garters! It’s not all her fault. Rich son should have kept his loins in his pants. This is for sure how you tell a girl that you love her, rape her! NO!
“Oh Tess, I love you so much I could never marry your sister.” BULL!
If the mark of a good writer is that they invoke emotion in the reader, well done. This book sure invoked one.
Shakespeare would be proud.
Poetry & More 