The Offer

Jessica sat on a deserted park bench in shock. She stared helplessly into space; desperately trying to figure out the days events.

“Lovely isn’t it?” A male voice interrupted her tragedy.

“What?” She replied blankly.

“The church you’re staring at.”

She broke her gaze to look at the church. “If you say so.”

“You don’t agree?”

“It is aesthetically pleasing with its 19th century architecture. Someone spent a lot of blood, sweat, and tears building it.”

“That is all you see?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “That’s all I see. A building. A building where hypocrites can ask for divine forgiveness on Sunday but sin their brains out the other six days of the week. Oh; but if they have been really sinful, they can get an extra cleansing on Wednesday.

There was no response. Just the rush of air and the sound of fabric as someone sat down beside her. “Wow,” came a feeble reply.

She turned to face this bothersome stranger. To her embarrassment it was a priest. The damage was done now. There was no need to apologize.

“You don’t see a building built with love, filled with love and hope for all humanity?”

“No. I see a building, stone and mortar, built from money given to the largest organization in the world. I would imagine to honor another human saint.”

“What has jaded you so?” His big brown eyes searched her face for some kind of response.

“Father, I.”

He cut her off, “Joe. There is no need to be formal with me.”

“Jessica,” she sighed. Knowing in 15 minutes they would forget each others names.

“I have never seen you in town before.”

“No, and if it hadn’t have been for a much needed bathroom break. I wouldn’t be here now.”

“There are no bathrooms here.”

“Cute fath..,” she caught herself. “Joe, there don’t seem to be any hotels in Amityville either.”

He snickered, “oooo, that was harsh.”

“The town where I was raised (I thought) is the only town in the U.S. that doesn’t have a hotel. It’s just not right for there to be two.”

“You’re not the lady whose car got destroyed?”

“Yeah,” she scoffed. “I am.”

“I am so sorry. You are welcome to stay at my place.”

“Thank you. I’m not sleeping in a church.” She pointed at the building.

“No,” he smiled. “I live in a house behind the church with 3 nuns who attend to the churches needs.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure what to say. The shock from the days events were starting to settle back in.

“Well?” He asked.

Her head started to swim. Her vision was blurry. She wobbled her head toward him. “Are you safe? There has been a lot of bad stuff about you guys on the news.”

“Safe as a kitten.”

“Bad example,” she stammered.

“Why?”

“I hate cats.”

“Come.” He got up and extended his hand to her. “You’ve had a very bad day.” She wouldn’t accept his hand.

“There is no such thing as ‘the kindness of strangers’.”

“Let us prove you wrong.”

The End

Would you accept his offer?

Winter Season

The card

Esther’s second week in this new place was quickly approaching. She still hadn’t spent her first real night in her house.  But she was taking her time and doing everything right the first time. Getting sick from the Covid booster didn’t help.

Oscar didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to be loving the company. But she knew that.

Oscar had a horrible day at work. He sat in his SUV a long time before ever moving.

What? Did he have a sign on his forehead that said, “me, me – pick me?” Everyone wanted a piece of him today: angry parents, upset students, other teachers, the list went on and on. The only person that wasn’t chewing him a new one was the principal. She was his champion today.

When he finally mustered up enough strength to get out of his SUV, he found a plain brown envelope taped to the front door. His first thought was a hate letter. The card inside had a picture of Chucky’s head on it. His heart sank. It was a hate letter. On the inside was a picture of the sun that said, “I don’t care if you lick windows, eat bugs or occasionally pee on yourself. You hang in there sunshine, you’re special.” Signed, Esther.

Oscar didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. In a roundabout way this card was really cute. When he stepped into the house and knew that he was alone, he cried.

This was the first night since she had been here that they didn’t have dinner together. He clicked his spoon in an empty bowl missing her like crazy.

Esther lay in her bed with a huge smile on her face despite her lack of dinner. She was dead dog tired but it was worth it. The bedroom was just the way she wanted it. Oscar had been really kind to her. But she had to get acquainted with her house. No bed feels like your bed. She had almost forgotten just how good her bed felt.

When she closed her eyes, the sound of her big box fan flooded her ears. She had a really hard time sleeping in complete silence.

That wide smile didn’t fade as she thought for a moment about what happened to her to get her here. But only for a moment, she would not allow herself to linger on that.

The old timey ring of her cell phone drowned out the fan for a moment. Oscar was calling.

“Hi,” her mood was light.

“Are you busy?”

“No.”

“May I come in?”

She laughed, “are you on the porch?”

She could hear him blush, “yeah.”

With no regard to the fact that he was still on the phone, she turned it off before jumping from the bed. She opened the door to find him holding a daisy. She gave him a really big hug.

“Get in here before you freeze your grits off.”

“For you.” He handed her the daisy.

“What’s the occasion?”

They sat in the floor in the living room. He didn’t look at her; only stared at her floor. “You’ve been here two weeks now, the card, just ‘cause.”

“Thank you.”  She watched him for a moment. He seemed lost in another world. It made her smile to think he noticed that she had been here two weeks. You need to say something, she told herself. Speak to him. “Am I going to get a daisy every week?” She teased.

“Would you like one?”

“Have you had any dinner?”

“Changin’ the subject Miss Morrison?”

“Maybe Mr. Patterson.”

“No,” came a direct reply. “I’ve spent the day throwing up.”

“Come,” she quickly climbed out of the floor. “We must get you something to eat? I have sandwich makin’s and chips.” He just sat in the floor. “Oscar?”

He held out his hand to her, guiding her back into the floor. “Can we talk about the other night?”

“I will make you a deal.” She put her hands on his shoulders, “if you eat dinner, we can talk about it.” He stared at her blankly for a moment. She wasn’t sure he even saw her, “please.”

There was a knock at her door. It was Chet. “Howdy.”

“Come in. You are just in time to help me.”

“Oh.”

Winter Season

Waste not. Want not: pans

I think I mentioned in an earlier stanza that the company I work for buys us birthday lunch.

Sometimes lunch is brunch.

I have been given permission to bring the leftover grease pans home to my dog.

I get the benefit of eating the content before. Chico after. Then sharing on my blog.

Some of these pans get cleaned and stored.

Reuse, repurposed, deliciousness galore.

Winter Season

Winter Season

Closet

When Oscar got home from work, Esther was cleaning away. There were a stack of boxes on the porch, some moving blankets and The Rollings Stones were singing their lungs out. He knocked but was sure she didn’t hear him. After several minutes, he knew she didn’t hear him and he let himself in. She was in the kitchen with her back toward him shaking to I can’t get know satisfaction. He could have watched her all day. So he leaned up against the door frame just watching her. She bounced off into the bedroom as the song stopped.

“I knocked,” he called.

She poked her head back out of the bedroom door. “Hey there.”

“Wow! You got a lot done today.” She grinned a big happy grin about her progress. He noticed that she had started in the bigger of the two bedrooms; it was no longer a dirty brown. He assumed it was originally white but time had turned it. But she had painted it beige and had put down dark colored flooring. The smaller bed room had floral wall paper on it. She had stripped all the paper off and painted it egg shell. The original hard wood flooring had been shined. It looked amazing.

“I brought something. Dessert before dinner.”

She smiled, “you know I’m never going to get finished.”

He winked at her, “maybe I like having the company.”

She followed him back to his house. He placed a brown paper bag in the middle of the table, got two bowls, and two spoons.

“Butter Pecan Ice Cream was my dad’s favorite.” He smiled. “Dad only had a top plate of teeth and couldn’t chew the nuts. When he finished his ice cream, there would be a little pile of nuts in the center of the bowl.”

“Thanks for sharing it with me.”

Oscar wanted to kiss her again. But only smiled. Then asked, “where did you get the flooring that you put in the big bedroom?”

“Dollar store.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s clean. It was cheap. And I’m no engineer; but I think it looks good.”

“It looks amazing. What are you going to do with the second bedroom?”

“It’s going to be my closet.” He didn’t say a word only smiled as he ate another spoon of ice cream.

“What no mean comments?”

When they finished, he took her by the hand; leading her to his bedroom. She had noticed a door when she was in here the last time but assumed it was the bathroom. Well she was right, but what she didn’t know was that the bathroom was connected to a huge closet almost the size of his bedroom. It was the most organized closet she’d ever seen. “I have no room to comment on your spare bedroom being turned into a closet.” He smiled.

Winter season

“Comparing yourself to others is the biggest killer of happiness.” Alux.com

Who is a popular author? That makes money at this? Stephen King comes to mind.

“When he first graduated from college, he tried to find a position as a teacher but had no luck at first. King took a job in a laundry and continued to write stories in his spare time until late 1971, when he began working as an English educator at Hampden Academy.

In 1973, King sold his first novel, Carrie, the tale of a tormented teen who gets revenge on her peers. The book became a huge success after it was published the following year, allowing him to devote himself to writing full time.”

“Stephen King actually did throw away his manuscript of Carrie after it was rejected 30 times, but his wife pulled it out of the trash.” Today, it’s difficult to think anyone would reject Stephen King.

In a podcast interview, King said he writes 6 pages of material per day. Wow! Sometimes I can’t write 6 words but I’m not Stephen King.

“Quote the raven, ‘never more’.” I have a soft spot for Edgar Allen Poe. Could be in part due to the fact that I had to recite The Raven in high school. Or “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” is particularly important because it was the first modern detective story. Poe was the first to write about an eccentric genius who solves mysterious crimes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle cites Poe’s character, C. Auguste Dupin, as the literary inspiration behind his character, Sherlock Holmes.” Oh yeah!

“On October 3rd, an election day, Poe was found delirious in a tavern called Gunner’s Hall in Baltimore. He appeared drunk, wearing someone else’s clothes and was taken to Washington University Hospital. For the next four days he was in and out of consciousness, sometimes being alert, sometimes screaming at nothing and no one.  

Edgar Allan Poe died on October 7th, 1849. The doctor labeled his cause of death as “phrenitis” (inflammation of the brain) which was commonly used when the true cause of death was unknown. Because of these mysterious circumstances, and the persona of Poe, there is much speculation about the true manner of his death. There are over 26 published theories on his demise, so far.”

I am not Edgar Allen Poe.

Why I Write

You write.

You share.

But you’re not making any money.

~

You write.

You share.

It helps heal old wounds.

~

You write.

You share.

It cleanses the soul.

~

You write.

You share.

Someone likes your work?

~

You write.

You share.

It lightens your heart.

~

You write.

You share.

Can someone else relate?

~

You write.

You share.

Get it out.

~

Celebrate.

I write.

I share.

~

Today, I’m lighter than I was yesterday.

I write.

I share.

A New Way to Look at Rejection. How “rejection-math” can feed your fire… | by Melissa Gouty | The Writing Cooperative

Poe Biography

https://www.biography.com/authors-writers/stephen-king

Friends

I was talking to someone the other day about this poem and I couldn’t remember all of it. Here is the whole piece.

Reason, Season and a Lifetime


By: Brian A. “Drew” Chalker

People always come into your life for a reason, a season and a lifetime. When you figure out which it is, you know exactly what to do.

When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed outwardly or inwardly. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, or to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally, or even spiritually. They may seem like a godsend to you, and they are. They are there for a reason,you need them to be. Then, without any wrong doing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die, Sometimes they just walk away. Sometimes they act up or out and force you to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilleed; their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered and it is now time to move on.


When people come into your life for a SEASON, it is because your turn has come to share, grow, or learn. They may bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it! It is real! But, only for a season. And like Spring turns to Summer and Summer to Fall, the season eventually ends.

LIFETIME, relationships teach you a lifetime of lessons; those things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person/people (anyway);, and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas in your life. It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant. Thank you for being part of my life…..

https://sarazarrella.com/2010/12/reason-season-and-a-lifetime-poem/

Winter season

Nosy friend?

On his way to work, Chet pulled him over. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m okay.”

Chet got in the car with Oscar. “Look man, I’m only looking out for you okay. Please don’t hate me. I ran Little Miss’s plates. What she said at dinner worried me. She is either in some deep military crap or she is a coal black lar. The curious thing is, I can’t find anything about her in the last two years. It’s like they didn’t happen.”  

“Maybe she’s in trouble.” Oscar said flatly.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

They sat there for a long time. Oscar finally found the courage to speak. “I have been letting her stay in my guest room until she gets her house ready to move in. Friday night she terrified me. She woke me up screaming. I have never heard screaming like that. Not even in the movies. Especially not from a woman.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

“I did, all she would say was bad dreams.”

They set there a long time before either of them spoke. Chet finally said, “please be careful my friend.”

“I will.”

Chet studied his friend. He was staring at the steering wheel the whole time. The only time he made eye contact with Chet was when he first got into the car. He laid his hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He slowly shook his head, yes. Another moment of silence past. “I think I’m in love with her.”

If it would have been possible, Chet would have fallen through the car. “Really?!”

“I’ve never been in love. I don’t think. I think that’s what this is. It could be infatuation, I really don’t know. What does it feel like?”

Chet looked out the window for a moment. “I think it’s different for each person. I’ve never felt like the songs. The Earth has never moved under my feet. I must admit Friday night was the happiest I’ve seen you in a long time.” When Chet turned back around to look at Oscar, he looked so sad and lost. Typical Oscar, he thought.

“How did you know you were in love with Bell?”

Chet sat there for a moment thinking. “When I pulled her over, I was having a piss poor day. You remember Ole Ms Kinger?”

Oscar laughed, “who doesn’t?”

“She had called in a complaint on me. Anyway, when I pulled Bell over. I was pissed. Here was a car with Fayette County tags. Oh yes! I was all jacked when I walked up to the drivers side window. This criminal was going to get it.

“But when she rolled down the window and looked at me. All the sound was gone. I saw her lips move but I had no idea what she was saying. I got so nervous that I dropped her drivers license ‘bout the time a coal truck drove past and blew them under her car. I offered to take her to dinner. We exchanged numbers.” Chet got lost for a moment, “I never did give her that speeding ticket.”

“Esther is like a breath of fresh air, non-judgmental, easy to talk to, great cook. I’m sure there are things that she is hiding. I’d like to hide my family but I can’t. Women in general terrify me. She doesn’t scare me. I feel an ease about her that I’ve never felt before.”

“You never told me that women made you uncomfortable. I just thought you were painfully shy.” Oscar raised an eyebrow. Chet shook his head, “Take it easy today man.”

“You too.”

Winter Season