I had to share this. Cheekie has been so cute this morning. In this picture, he’s waiting on my blackberry dumplins. I was a little worried about giving him some but I read they shouldn’t hurt him.
When I was making them last night, I discovered he likes dough. 😂
1 quart of blackberries 2 cups of sugar ( I didn’t have 2 cups of sugar. There was only a cup and maybe a 1/4th in the container. So I added a teaspoon of brown sugar. 1 cup of water Splash of lemon juice Bring to a boil, lower to simmer for about an hour The blackberries I bought were about the size of your thumb. I used a potato masher to mash them a little. It helped make for a thicker sauce. * I used canned biscuits for the dumplins. (I know I cheated.) Add the second cup of water, add biscuits boil on medium for 15 minutes. Dumplins were not quite done so I simmered them for another 5 minutes. * Caution they might drive your dog crazy.Enjoy. Cheekie sure did.
Caution! ⛔️ This section contains violence and abusive language.
He woke to the violence of a swift kick to the stomach. Three, no four red blobs were kicking at him. Maybe?
“Yeah!” Was followed by a swift kick. “Let’s get him boys.”
Three of them started kicking him at the same time. “Pussy, why are you just standin’ there?” One blog was just standin’ there.
“This is wrong. He’s a person. A human being.” This plea was met with disgust.
They started jeering, taunting. “Pussy. Nancy. Chicken.” Their aggression was soon turned on him.
The soiled, well loved bunny was stomped from his clinched hand only to be crammed down the non aggressive blobs throat.
The familiar blob chased the upright blobs away. He perceived that the light from the running blobs trailed behind them for a split second in waves as they ran away into the surrounding darkness. There was a word for that but he couldn’t pull it out of his mind.
Two blobs were attending to the other blob on the ground.
He woke to a sharp pain in his hand. He drew it into his body. He stirred to see the woman very close to him. She held up bottles. “I’m sorry.” He looked at his hand. It was dirty. Nothing new there. Bleeding. This was new. It hurt. Was sore. With great effort, he tried to wiggle his fingers.
She was offering help. He recognized the shape of the bottles. But couldn’t remember what they were. It was okay. He extended his arm to her so she could treat his wounded hand.
It was only after squealing penetrated his brain, that he saw the familiar blob standing behind the woman. He understood her. But not the blob.
“Boys will be boys.”
“Don’t give me that load of horse crap. You know better Chuck. This was a hate crime.”
“Those are strong words Jaye.”
“What else would you call it?” She gently continued cleaning his hand. This was the first time in many snows that anyone had touched him out of kindness. Even with gloves on, it felt nice.
“They had just won their game. Jacked on adrenaline.”
“I guess beating your son to a pulp was ‘just boys being boys’?” She hissed.
Chuck sat beside her in the grass. “You know. We gotta move him.” He handed her a paper from his back pocket. She lowered his hand into the grass before taking the paper.
“So, old man Napier finally bought the property.” She paused, “30 days. Where is he going to go?”
A high pitched shriek bore through his skull. The pain caused him to hide his face. Though, he left his hand lying in the grass hoping she would continue.
He didn’t see the other blob. “Maybe you should take him home with you?!”
She looked at Chuck, then back at this other person. “What a spectacular idea.”
“What?” Chuck voiced in shock. “That’s a bad idea.”
“You got a better one?”
“Homeless shelter, park, anywhere but your house.”
“I have land. There’s no law saying I can’t let someone camp on my own property. You have a truck. You can take him and his belongings to my house.”
“Jaye.” Chuck pleaded.
She lifted his hand again. “Hi.” She spoke softly to him. “Do you understand me?”
His head hurt from all the squealing. How to say yes? Words had not flowed from his mouth in years. Could he even still speak? Did he want to speak? He needed to tell her that he understood her. All he could do was watch her.
Finally, she offered. “If you understand me, blink twice.” He did. “Fantastic. You can’t stay here.” She lowered his hand before offering him the letter Chuck had given her. Again, he understood a few simple words: you, fine, jail. “I have a big yard. Would you like to come and camp out in my yard?”
He thought about her words. Would he get beaten up again? Would dogs use the bathroom on him? Would blobs shriek at him? Once he watched a family of skunks walk in front of camp. He remained quiet and they kept on walking. All creatures were greater than him. Even the ants on the offerings. This was a trick. A trap. Had to be.
“When can you help us, Chuck?”
He took a deep breath, defeated he answered, “Saturday morning.”
“We will be back. You and everything you own is coming home with me.”
Home. God, home. Abstract concepts? What was home? Where was home? He had no memory of where he had been before this. Where did the word God come from? He thought he understood home. This pile of rags had been his home (he guessed) for so many snows. He lost count. He knew snow, cold, rain. But what of God and home. He could read the word God. Recognized it from the Bible tracks. But what of God? He prayed thanks when the familiar blob brought him coffee. Was that right?
He watched her talk to the familiar blob. She went one way. It the other.
A slight tremor woke him. The woman hopped out of the back of a truck. She was all smiles. Two blobs walked from either side of the vehicle. One was the familiar blob. The other was the blob that had gotten beaten up the other night. They put on gloves as she explained everything they were doing.
With his belongings pack, he rode in the back of the truck with her to a new place.
“This is my home.” She showed him a tree that flood waters from a small creek hadn’t touched. About 6 feet from the tree was a bush with pretty pink flowers. He slowly touched one. It didn’t wilt. Why would he think that the act of touching this flower would kill it? The flower just kept smiling at the sun. This is where he chose to pile his rags. She gave him 2 new tarps. Showed him where to put his trash. Pointed out where the neighbors were.
“I have a dog that I bring out on a leash. He will bark at you. Might even scare you. But I won’t let him hurt you.”
Again he was alone. He fixed his nest, using the 2 new tarps. A moment of panic raced through him. He thought he had lost his prize possession, that small stuffed rabbit.
I’m gonna veer off topic – ish. Part of my spirituality is being grateful. It is easy to be grateful when things are good. Got a raise. Made it home safely on a bad weather day. What about the bad things? How do you find that silver lining in a pile of poo?
Today, I had a wardrobe malfunction on a brand new pair of pants. They have come apart from the crotch to the knee. They are palazzo pants. Palazzo pants are a style of roomy, broad-legged trousers. Thank God for that. The legs are wide enough that you can’t tell the seam is gone. Thought I had a sewing kit in the car but sadly I don’t.
Had an appointment this morning, so no going home to change on my lunch break.
Thank God for Palazzo pants. 🙌🏻 It’s a good thing I set for my job.
All he could hear was distorted sounds. Sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Scraping, squealing sounds. If these noise was words, not one syllable was recognizable. And they hurt. He thought his ears were bleeding but they never were.
He uncovered one eye to see two figures standing before him. Tall creatures. Most of them were tall when you’re lying on the ground. Red skin. Red glowing eyes. Out of fear, he covered his eye.
The big one was familiar. The big one brought him coffee. Coffee kept him warm. Alive.
That simple act of uncovering his eye lowered his body temperature, he estimated 2%. Shivering, he wrapped himself back in his nest.
“I don’t understand.”
With a huff; instead of saying, ‘you’re an idiot child’. Chuck softly said, “Wayne, he’s a human being.”
“But he stinks. In the heat of summer you can smell him ah mile away.”
“Wayne.” Chuck scolded. He bent over and placed a cup of hot coffee close to the bundle of rags under a weather beaten tarp.
“Why do you do that?” Wayne pointed at the cup.
“Why not?”
“Ah good cup of joe will cost you at least $3.00.”
“We’re cops. Coffee’s free.”
“But why waste good joe on,” he hesitated, pointing, “that?”
“Son, you’re young. You’ve gotta lot to learn.”
He could smell the coffee. He waited until they had left before he pulled it inside his rag cocoon. Ahhhh, coffee. Despite the bitter cold, it was still warm. Delicious coffee. He thanked God for the coffee. And asked him to take care of this nice blob. Was that right? It felt right.
He didn’t understand where all the blobs came from. There were small ones. Tall ones. Big ones. Little ones. Slender ones. But they all shrieked. They all were red with glowing red eyes. When he looked at his hands or feet, he didn’t look red. Why was he different? Is that why the blobs were mean to him?
Winter came and went. He was still alive. How? Why? Had he not paid for his sins, yet? Sin? What was sin?
Spring brought rain, storms, and wetness. Birds were singing. He opened his eye to see a woman sitting on the ground not far from him.
A WOMAN! Not a red blob with red eyes. A woman. He was numb. His mind recognized another person? This was a person? She was smiling.
“Hi.” With gentle motion, she placed a styrofoam box close to him. “Happy Easter.”
He looked at the box. When he looked back in her direction, she was gone.
The box was real. His stomach did summersaults as he inhaled deeply at its contents: ham, potato salad, broccoli casserole, rolls. A little bag of jelly beans. A couple decorated Easter eggs. A small stuffed rabbit. And a hand full of Bible tracks. He cried. Real tears. He couldn’t stop crying.
Blobs brought him offerings from time to time. He was a little afraid of the blobs. Many times he would let natures creatures taste it before he did. If the ants didn’t die; then he theorized, it wouldn’t kill him. He would brush the insects off in a pile, give them a hunk of whatever he had before consuming the rest.
But this offering was different. He wasn’t afraid of it. Plastic utensils were in the box for an Easter feast. What was Easter?
There were 4 Bible tracks. The pictures, he thought he understood. After opening one; a handful of the words were recognizable . The, I, Jesus, a, God. Words a child could read. The rest of the words were a mixed up mess of scribbles and symbols.
Every night he cuddled with the small rabbit. It reminded him of her.
“Parents remember your childhood better than what it was. Children remember their childhood worse than what it was. The truth is somewhere in the middle.”
Chico’s Mom
Thank y’all 💕 so very much for your love. For reading a story that is very close to my heart.
Oscar hadn’t had this dream in a long time, he was outside in the snow. His senses were flooded with joy. He stretched his arms out allowing the snow to hit every inch of him that it dared. The urge to strip off all his clothing over took him and there he was lying naked in the snow.
A voice called to him. It was a sweet sound filling his ears; whispering his name. Or did it? He rose up out of the snow, looking all around. There was no fear in him that someone would find him lying there. It was curiosity that compelled him to try to find the voice. After he realized he was hearing things, he closed his eyes and laid back into the snow. A warm touch froze his heart. As he looked around, he saw a knee on either side of him. The experience was intoxicating. He had never been drunk but could only imagine this was what it felt like. His vision was blurry and his head was spinning.
Warmth crawled up his back like he’d never known. He relaxed allowing the flood to overtake him. That touch. Where was it coming from? Did he really even care? He lay back as deep as he could. Enough to know he wasn’t on the ground. His ears pounded to the beating of his heart. Louder and louder. He couldn’t breathe properly. Each gasping breath was filled with the sweet taste of honeysuckle.
That touch. Those hands. The pounding in his ears became louder and louder still.
He opened his eyes to the silence of falling snow. There on either side of him were those knees. The warmth crawled up his neck. What was this? He moaned as he laid his head backwards. Every fiber of his body was on fire. Each snow flake melted before it reached him.
The pounding resumed in his ears. However, this time it was different, stronger, and more desperate than before.
Warm hands glided up his chest. Was this real? He thought his vision was blurry. The effort to focus on the landscape around his house wasn’t worth it. He just wanted to feel this.
It wasn’t an earthquake? Movement occurred under him. Fingers traced the inside of his thighs before enveloping him with gentle force. This had never happened in his dream.
“Ess,” he panted.
She took his ear lob into her hot mouth, teasing his ear with her tongue before whispering, “Merry Christmas.”
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