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 |   Poetry and Prose about life, family, thoughts & Lesbian concerns of heart |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Come in for a visit. I write about my life as a daughter, mom, grandmother, friend and life partnership with my lesbian wife. You may smile, laugh or cry, either way you'll have learned about life in America since 1938. ANN And, my friend, I understand because all my silent years I was so deep into my church and Christian activities and feared 'sin' and felt shame when 'sex' was mentioned. Nobody spoke of the "horrible" sin they would not name (the rape of a child); At the same time, I watched ministers and deacons and Sunday School teachers sneaking around committing adultery, while I desired and lived 'without sin' as I knew sin to be as I was taught. I thought and studied the Bible and realized how today's preachers and teachers condemn only what they don't do or what a church leader has said to condemn; I've seen the woman run out of the church but not the man; I saw enough, and I knew the heart of love within me, from all through my life had its focus; it was never about 'having sex'. ...Heck, I didn't know about homosexuality until my college years; then I understood my heart and there was never a sexual thought associated with anyone before my marriage to the man who 'chased' me three years then almost murdered me 16 years later as my children heard the physical fight. After that I stayed single Mom, never dated, just had many friends and my children. Finally after raising my grandson, and knowing my own heart would never ever seek love from a man, I acknowledged that all my life, all of my relationship experiences and feelings clearly showed I had a heart that was drawn romantically with deep love that I could not ever express. Then I moved to Portland, came out and you know you can read the rest of the story. I know how God created my heart. If I don't believe God created me as I am, how could I live? It has nothing to do with 'doing' anything at all; it is 'being' as my Creator created me. ............................................................................................................................................................................................................ I retired in Idaho then moved to Oregon to show my pride as a member of the latest hated group across America: I am a lesbian and when I came "Out at Sixty", I came with pride and joy that I no longer had to hold the secret or carry the shame thrown at gay men and lesbians. With that same pride, I accept all persons and their right to be who they are and live with joy, peace, and the pursuit of happiness. I took a writing course at age 69 and began to write short stories, poems, essays, Op-ed comps and I found Writing.com where I am an Advocacy Writer, writing as an advocate for every person to have Civil and God-given rights each day as they pursue happiness for themselves and their families. Yes, most of my writing has been about gays and lesbians, however, I believe every person in the world shares the same heart and spirit to live peaceably with all peace loving people; while seeking to change the minds of those who live with anger, hatred, prejudice, racism and such. |
| earth, air, fire and water, which am I? Looking at my life from childhood days, I think I must be earth. The earth is the foundation for living things. It's in the earth where the elements needed are stored, or not stored. Fertile, cultivatable ground gives the basic element needed for flowers to be beautiful, for vegetables to be nurticious and delicious, for there to be any growing thing at all. My father was a weekend binge alcoholic and sometimes he came home, not only drunk, but mean. Those weekends, bad things happened in our home because of one parent's alcoholism. We learn that in a dysfunctional, alcoholic or addictive home, there are roles for the children which they do not necessarily choose. On is like the fire, adding excitement in the form of creating lightning-like events which must be given priority or catastrophe destroys all things. One is like the air and light, changing the environment to positive by trying to moderate the environment with hopes of allowing growth and positive life. One is like the water, replacing the stuffy, fearful situation by creating humor and delight. One is like the earth, adding nutrients by doing what might nourish the life and allow the roots to be healthy. I know there are other ways of describing the roles of the various family members in such a home, but this is my way of thinking about the roles my three siblings and I responded to the possible death of our family when times were rough: when parents were fighting and being destructive, creating an environment where the seeds of their marriage were not developing into something healthy. My sister was the 'fire', creating negative events that often led to her punishment while distracting our parents from their destructive ways. My older brother was the 'air', who would change the atmosphere by trying to stop the parents' actions by verbally, emotionally or physically intervening in their actions...he could stifle the air all by himself so our parents had to focus on him in the moment, take a breath and deal with the boy's actions and words. My little brother was like the water, trying to refresh the environment with humor and antics trying to get the attention in a positive way toward him rather than the anger and fighting. I was the earth, doing what I could to change the 'root' bed of our family by doing whatever could be seen as good and positive. That might have meant, cleaning the mess in the floor from the fighting, fixing things that, as a child, I thought would make either parent be positive, feel good, be happy, forget the fighting, taking care of the overall environment by being responsible and busy. Of course, whatever a child think they are contributing to a better home environment, doesn't work as the child expects and hopes for. Through my adolescence and adulthood, I continued to try to be the 'earth'. At my college dorm of forty people, the 'housemother' saw me as the peace-keeper, the one who could be called in to bring an understanding to BOTH sides in the disagreement she was trying to fix; as a child in rural elementary school, the teacher called on me to, would you believe, to clean up the vomit from the floor when a student got sick from his/her sack lunch not being refrigerated! At church, as an adult, I was often called on by the pastor to help improve relationships by 'being friends' with both sides of an argument. In my own home, I divorced the husband who attempted to kill me three times so that I had more control of the home environment for my three children to grow up in; as a single mom of childlren ages 11, 12 and 4, I was responsible for nourishing my home and children to have the elements in the environment to become as successful and happy as they are today. Now in my elder years at 75, I continue to nourish my home's environment to allow all of us who live here, two adults and many pets, to have the basics of a healthy and happy home. Because I 'married' an alcoholic fourteen years ago, I have focused on my lifelong role of being the earth...and I've done that successfully because my wife has been sober and healthy for five years. (I've written about the "Unexpected Path..." that brought me into this marriage....for the Christians who read this, I want you to know it was a definite result of her parents years of praying!! Yes, God put me in a marriage with my precious wife; otherwise, my falling in love with her couldn't have happen because as the child of an alcoholic, I knew the pitfalls, but God had the lead." If the earth is not nourishing, arable and of the right texture, a plant will not grow even if there is air, water and light, if the earth's soil itself is not conducive to life, nothing becomes or grows. I know of the many ways I nourish my family today and also in days past, to make the basis of my family and relationship better than it otherwise might have been. My children recognize that, as does my sweet wife. I know there are other ways of defining earth, air, fire and water, but I have described the way I believe they work together in the creation of human life and family. ANN |
| What are some things you've always wanted to ask about a different country? Have Fun and Happy Blogging! When I was in college 1956 to 1960, I formed many friendships with friends from other countries. Even today, I wonder if my friends from Brazil, Iraq, Iran, Turkey, Germany, India, Pakistan, Japan, and other countries have become part of their national governments. I learned so much about the ways of life, and the religions of nations around the world. Still today, I enjoy taking advantage of opportunities to interact with people around the world. I enjoy reading about life in African nations, Muslim nations, Europe, the Far East, Southeast Asia, so many places in the world are here on Writing .com. What a wonderful privilege we have here. I ask people of different countries: Tell me about a typical day in school or college? Where do you worship? How are women treated, what rights do they have or what rights are they denied? Can women serve in your government? Do women as wives have any authority in their home? How do you feel about your government? What would you change about your rights as a citizen? What do you fear? How are elderly family members treated? I believe, the more we know and understand our international friends here at WDC and in our home towns, the safer and more interesting the world becomes. ANN |
| Prompt: Invent a character to go along with the classic Clue characters. For a list of the classic characters, go to "Clue Characters" Minnie, the milkmaid, becomes the new Clue character. As the milkmaid, she takes the milk to the kitchen where she hears all the chatter about the people living in the house, the guests who stay overnight or for a meal, all of the employees who work there. She has best friends, and individuals she can hate and possibly frame for a murder she would commit. She may have good cause to kill off the oldest son or the man of the manor who sneaked upon her in the barn or when she was resting behind the house. Such men might deserved to die. As the milkmaid, she's not necessarily a slender young beauty; she may be a plump, dull, mean old lady, or a younger, strong lesbian who has heard many caustic remarks about herself f from any member of the family, staff, visitor or others. I think many scenarios could be built around Minne the Milkmaid. Hate Crime Prevention Act George Bush would not sign, a law to stop crimes of hate. Barak Obama pushed it through so Justice could be served of late. The law was named for two, one was gay the other black. America needed the law for hate wasn't dead, it was back. Some states are not willing to convict criminals who kill with hearts filled with hate, something worst than 'ill will'. Recently in a Florida town a man who hated a black boy, George Zimmerman, he was. He shot a gun for fun, as a toy. The Hate Crime law says men of hate who lie, can be judged again when state laws don't apply. Across the world are folks knowing his words showed hate, who want him judged again to let justice be done, not too late. |
Prompt: If you could switch blogs with any of your fellow BCOF bloggers, who's would it be and why? : NONE, that's my answer. I don't like topics that are so personal to us as a community; I don't covet my neighbor's wife nor the place designed by any WDC friend. Each of us has our own style, unique to our personality. I wouldn't switch with anybody in the world; I make my own way, my way, good or bad, right or wrong, both here and in my world. At the same time I admire other bloggers and writers here. I don't covet them nor 'wish' to be them or like them; I believe God made each of us different for a reason and we made our own path to this blog. Would a prompt be: would you change places with Trayvon Martin's mother? Never. And nobody would. She has great suffering because her son was murdered by a racist who got out of his vehicle, patted his gun and followed her son whom he called ugly names, and then said "it was God's plan'. Hell no, it was not God's plan; God doesn't send thugs to kill the innocent. To change the tone of my words, I'm sharing my latest poem, for you to giggle as you read: MY PET TURKEY I have a pet turkey Her name is Sweetie; actually it's Sweet Tee. I had another turkey Her name was T Bird; methinks she was a nerd. Turkey talk is great. They stand at the gate talking to you until late. If the turkey doesn't like you, be careful, she can chew, or peck a bite that might turn blue. A turkey who likes you will say, I hope you never go away, or an egg, for you she will lay. My turkey shows love a special way. If she pecks with her beak any day it means she loves and wants to play. Long ago, Ben Franklin was right When he said turkeys are very bright, they show intelligence day and night. |
| PROMPT:Tell us about the last time you had a real, deep, crying-from-laughing belly laugh. I need one of those 'my stomach is hurting, my side is hurting, I can't keep from crying' moments of laughter right now. I had almost finished this Blog Entry when I accidentally hit a wrong key and lost all of it. My 'far too short and slow to work' memory does not bring to my mind the last time I had such a wonderful 'belly laugh'. I know it was between me and my sweet wife and it was about something simple that happened which put our tickle bones into high gear. I remember holding my sides and saying "I can't laugh anymore, it hurts too much." Trivial, unimportant happenings can trigger the belly laugh. Now I remember! There's a wonderful advertisement on television where children are being asked, 'If you could do if you had a changing machine?" One little girl says I'd change my brother into a puppy. When asked "Why?" Her answer was, "I could then take him to show and tell and say 'this is my puppy brother'. The words were funny, but one little girl who heard those words, gasped, then had a wonderfully funny look on her face, her mouth opened as her chin dropped and her eyes widened. She was so darn cute, Molly and I laughed and giggled. When we see it again, we still laugh. Children's expressions can be amazingly wonderful and funny. As a person who has dealt with clinical depression most of my life, I take my medication and get plenty of exercise which help the physical-medical condition. I have learned that one of the best medicines for depression is a good, hard belly laugh that stirs the endomorphons and serotonion in the brain; thus, helping the brain and body deal with the medical condition. I need more of those laughter moments. I wish one would happen every day. My sweet Molly and I have laughed together that way hundreds of times in our thirteen years together. It was her great sense of humor that drew me to her. She's good for my mental health. Sometimes, I think we need to get some of the world's political leaders in a group every week just to see and hear funny things until they are in the deep belly laughs;maybe then, they would agree on far better ways to have peace in the world for all people of every country. Let's laugh a lot today. |
Prompt: would you like to be able to converse with animals? I already converse with animals. When my little doggie stands in front of her empty water bowl and quietly barks, I say, "Sure, Indigo, I'll refill your water bowl." When my little blind doggie stands on his bedding and whimpers, I say, "Sure, Galileo, I'll take you outside to go pottie." After he finishes, I say, "Nice doggie; good boy, Galileo." He comes to me knowing I'll lead him back into the house. When my pet turkey, Sweet T Bird, stands at the back door each evening and shouts in 'turkey talk', I say, Yes, T , I'll feed your unique friend now. Thank you for reminding me." Then, I find Unique, the hen with abnormal beak, carry her inside and feed her with a syringe, then take her to the back door, let her loose, and tell T, "I fed your friend. Here she is, all full and happy." She turkey churtles at me and I know we've communicated. Every day I converse with my sweet pets and we clearly understand each other. Of course, it would be even better if I could be a DR. Doolittle and talk the language fluently with each of my pets. If so, I would know when they are happy about something I didn't see happen, sad when one of their friends got hurt and I didn't know about it, scared when they saw a possum kill one of their friends. Already, I know their moods and think I guess correctly what is creating their emotions. Our previous turkey pet, T Bird, a lovely Burgundy Heritage turkey, conversed with people all day long for five years. Neighbors would stop at the gate, talk to her, then she would talk; she kept silent and looked directly at the neighbor, then spoke her thoughts for a moment, then let the neighbor talk to her. Everyone loved having their conversations with that dear turkey. She died of a heart attack and was replaced with a grayish white Sweet T Bird. If I could talk to the animals, I think I would always be sad because so many bad things are happening to animals across the world. Too many are being lost to poachers who kill beautiful family elephants, rineocerous and other animals for horrible reasons including money, money, money. Such ugly people are maiming and killing people of Africa called 'albino' because of their lack of normal color. How horrible they are. I wish all of us could talk animal talk and converse so we could maybe find out who the horrible killers are. We could ask the other animals in the group to help us track and know them so they could be properly punished. Maybe if we pray hard and long enough, the Creator of the wonderful animals would give a few people the gift of conversing with animals to help solve the problem. If I could have talked "o'possum and racoon" earlier this week, I could have told them I knew a forest where I could take them so they could live out their lives in such a wonderful forest instead of on the streets and among the houses of Portland, Oregon, where the only prey they can find are the pets that belong to people like me. Instead, they find what they can to survive and raise their babies; and, sad for me, sometimes they kill my wonderful hens. So far they've killed: Hillary, Peeper, Blondie, Brunette and Chelsea. Each of them had special personality traits and were pets who laid eggs. We miss them and hope Golda, Red and Peeper II will survive. I would like to tell the possum and racoon to let me take them to the forest so my sweet pets could live. |
| Now for the prompt: Prompt:Pinpoint a moment in your past where you had to make a big decision. Write about that other alternate life that could have unfolded. As my readers know, I came out at the age of sixty as a lesbian. If I had not made the decision to come out and be known as a lesbian, my life would have continued as any mother and grandmother in retirement. I would have continued to live in the same house in Idaho, planted the same garden, visited my children in Idaho, Colorado and Washington, and I would have to continued to hold the secret that I had held since the age of sixteen. The hardest part of that ordinary life would have continued to be 'keeping the secret in my heart', knowing I ached deep inside every day because being a lesbian was considered something terrible by everyone around me. So many times, all my years, I wanted to speak my secret, to be friends openly with gay men and lesbians. I held that secret when working for a Catholic hospital even after being accused of being a lesbian by a malicious gossipping, openly Christian, bitch at work. She was finally fired for her hurtful gossip about me, but the damage to me, my life, the promotion to Vice President that even the Personnel Director knew I should have had, and the looks and 'distance' from the many people there who hated homosexuals and their lives. The heartache of not being free to just say the words, "I know I am a lesbian" was daunting. When I did come out, I felt free. The kind of freedom that comes with saying who you are, is unexplainable because it feels so wonderful. The first time I went to a book discussion where gay people were, I felt free. The first time I sat in a gay bar having my cherry coke and talked to the person across the table, I felt so free and at ease within my being as I told her "I am a lesbian. This is the first time in my sixty years, I've had the freedom to say those four words." They were words of freedom in the greatest sense; my heart could finally relax and smile. Throughout my life, whenever homosexuals were written about when arrested or bashed, beaten and killed, or when a cousin was whispered about as a 'homosexual', my heart went to the person. I knew the person, man or woman, was innocent of unjust crime and criticism. I always had a heart toward the homosexual because deep inside, I knew I was one. I knew it when I was sixteen and my father talked to me about it, asking me to keep it private until adulthood; and I knew I had a 'girl crush...love" for a certain girl at that time (I still love her sixty years later). My father said that if I spoke up, people would hate me, my church would excommunicate me (Sothern. Baptists),or I could not become a school teacher, my mother would disown me, and I could be assaulted or murdered as was happening to other homosexuals on the streets of our town and other cities. So, I stayed quiet during the next fifty four years, was a good church member, taught school, was respected in every area of life, as I would have continued to do if I had never come out. Today, as I look back, I'm glad I came out publicly as a lesbian. I didn't just tell my family and friends, but I wrote my coming out in an op-ed piece in the local newspaper, Caldwell, Idaho. In that 8 inches by 11 inches column, I parodied the "Christians" who had been writing letters to the editor condemning gay men and lesbians while quoting the Bible. I used their Bible verses, my pride in who I was and am, my knowledge that through my work and church, hundreds of people had actually known a lesbian whom they liked and respected, me. I wanted people to know that we live around them and we as homosexuals do touch their lives in so many ways. My news was accepted by my family except my mother was fearful I was 'going to hell'. My dear Catholic friend, Sister Mary Terese Tracy, a Sister of Mercy, continued her kind correspondence and blessings. If I had not come out, the most significant decision of my life, my life would have been incomplete and my heart would have continued to be troubled day after day with feelings of hypocrisy and constant personal criticism of my character inside my mind and heart. Because I came out, I was able to be who I truly was as a person, in my character, as I followed my heart, the way my Creator God designed me while I was still in my mother's womb. Some decisions are small; some are magnanimous, and make a difference both in one life and in the many. Courage is a strong character trait; I'm glad I proved I had courage to be and live in the freedom I have enjoyed since that day I decided to come out and be the lesbian, the woman, the American, the mother, the grandmother, the social service worker and neighbor who I am. Ann |
| The forest or the city? The beauty of a forest, is for better than that of the city. I love being in a forested area where the silence is "green", 'golden'. If I don't step on a limb that cracks the silence, I can almost hear the trees growing with a silent groan, the cheerful sounds of the birds, the flutter of the birds' wings, the cracking of a nut by a hungry squirrel, and the myriad of other forest sounds. They can only be enjoyed at the level of the soul as if they are music, not 'of the spheres' but 'of the forest'. "Being still, I can know'" the music of the forest, and I can hear my own breathing or sounds of my heart beating in the same rhythm of the forest sounds. I can hear my inner voice speaking as I think. I may be thinking about the sounds and silence of the forest or of a sad event, a happy happening or an unanswerable question; perhaps about how God created such a perfect place for humans to listen or to contemplate. Portland, Oregon, is a wonderful place because the early political voices recognized the special contribution which a forest would bring to the city, therefore, they declared the forested mountains above the city as "Forest Park", the largest city-owned park in the world. Each day, there are hikers and bicycle riders in the park on the trails.There are families, lovers, children and their friends, all taking part in the pleasures of the forest. If a person does not wish to be among the crowd, two or more forest graziers taking a walk, the person can quickly move into the silence of the forest to enjoy the true forest sounds that have been heard for eons. The scenes are among the most beautiful, the sounds pleasurable, unlike all other places on earth. Sit under a tree and contemplate the forest itself and its Creator. No city, regardless of how clean, busy, and happy, can hold a candle to the forest. The contrast is too great. Give me the forest any moment, and I can feel at one with the universe and within myself. The forest is my refuge when I need quiet moments. It is my joy when I wish to hear the birdsongs. The trees are my giants when I need to find my place in God's beautiful universe. Ah, the forest is made for mankind, people like me. Being there gives me peace. The Creator of the Universe gave the forest as a gift to one person at a time. A short walk in a forest soothes my spirit and adds wings to my soul |
| Am I musical? Well, let's put it this way: when my grandkids got old enough to understand music, they would ask me, "GranMoM, please don't sing." Figure that one out. 7/6 |
| Prompt: If you could permanently ban a word from general usage, which one would it be? Why? Since the 'f' word was allowed in the movies, young people of that day and those of today use the four letter word instead of speaking intelligently. The word for the generations who chose to use the word have limited language ability to express themselves, thus all of them have become more ignorant than any generation before the word was used instead of normal language. eddie murphy and chris rock both have used the word a million times instead of acceptable language on stage or in any movie they've been in. While the word has a known definition for which there are many acceptable words, it has been used by people who looked intelligent until the word popped out of their mouths; then their brain turned to f...'n mush. How sad for humanity. ANN |
| Your blog prompt: Who did you idolize growing up? This prompt really made me think, and wonder. Who did I idolize while growing up? Maybe it was my mother because I tried so hard to please her, somehow believing that if I could make her happy, she wouldn't be as sad as my father's drunkeness made her. But I know that wasn't 'idolizing'; it was fear in action. Maybe I idolized cowboy movie star and singer, Gene Autry. I loved his voice and his singing and wished he was my father. A child's daydream for how her life could be happier. Then I realized I idolized certain girls, especially in high school and even college. Certain friends in my class, just very certain individuals, I idolized and wished I could be her very best friend. Now, though, I know the "idolizing" was lesbian love; my heart desired something warm and wonderful from Anne, Barbara, Nancy and Evelyn during those adolescent years. Today, I know it was my lesbian heart that desired their friendship and love; but I didn't know that then. I have never forgotten them nor moments with them whether on the playground in fifth grade or on the sports field or church pew or classroom desk. I remember my moments with each of them even though I'm now 75, I still remember how dear they were to me. ANN |
| The prompt asks my opinion vampire writings. I hate them. As an adolescent reader of "every book in the school library" I tried then quit reading about vampires. They deal with pure evil more than any other writing. It's a way for a writer to work on his or own evil thoughts. I do like other fantasy stories. THE DISAPPEARING Amy opened her jacket pocket and took out her ticket to the County Fair. She had saved her babysitting money all summer so she could have fair fun. She went through the iron gate and waited for her friends. Amy was excited, jumping up and down, waiting for the other girls. "Come on. What's taking so long," Amy murmured to herself because they were delayed for some reason. "What's wrong? Hurry up." Her friends never entered the gate. After fifteen minutes, Amy went to the ticket collector. "Did you see two girls come through here? Sharon was wearing a light jacket with a rose embroidered on the lapel. Darlene's slacks were brown with a stripe down the leg. Did you see them?" The ticket collected looked at her. "You're the only teenager to come through here tonight. You were allowed in because you're here to be the victim at the Funhouse." His answer confused her, especially when called to someone behind her. "Hey, Big Top Charlie, take this girl to the Funhouse. She's been chosen tonight as the victim. Don't let her get away." Amy started running to stay away from the clown. "Oh, my God, what's going on. I can't get away. My friends are gone. I just wanted to enjoy the County Fair." Big Top Charlie, dressed as a clown, with a white face and big red mouth, caught her. "You're at the Science Fair. At midnight, you'll evaporate into nothingness. Amy screamed all the way into the Funhouse where it was very dark except for some twinkling lights. Crying and screaming, she was put into a cage. At midnight, Big Top Charlie sat on a high ladder, yelled "hocus pocus" and Amy felt her body shimmer, then disappear. Scared, Amy awakened from the nightmare, shivering. |
| Prompt: Have you ever been in snowball fights? Were they good or bad experiences? Have Fun and Happy Blogging! Here is my snowball fight story; I was one of nineteen who took the paddling  SCHOOLMARMS AND SNOWBALLS One snowy day during the morning recess, in 1947, at the small, rural school near Paoli, Oklahoma, called Moore School. Some of the girls took refuge from the cold by going into the girls' 4-holer outside toilet. Led by Bill DeArman and my brother, Larry, the older boys decided to throw snowballs over the outer wall of the girls' outhouse with hopes of scaring the girls. Jo Whately and I joined the boys and threw just as many snowballs as they did. From inside the small building, our sisters, Anne and Linda, along with "Toady" DeArman, led the girls in throwing snowballs back over the wall at us. Soon, it seemed like everyone joined in the escapade. Snowballs and students filled the sunny winter playground until both teachers heard the laughter and yelling and saw what was happening. While Mrs. Randolph rang the big school bell, Mrs. Sterling herded everyone inside. Unfortunately, all the students who were not throwing snowballs lost out on recess time along with the rest of us. Later, when the guilty snowball fighters were asked to raise their hands, some of the innocents raised their hands too. They must have thought it was a badge of honor to be included. I remember overhearing both teachers while they stood in the doorway between the classrooms and discussed the punishment for the guilty snowball fighters. They finally decided that all of them must either take a whipping or write 200 times: "I will not throw snowballs at school." They also decided that Mrs. Sterling would use the wooden paddle and Mrs. Randolph would oversee the writing. My little brother, Ray, chose to write those 200 sentences. Anne, Linda, Toady, Jo and I, along with the older boys, chose the whipping. The paddles were to swing after school that day. Mrs. Sterling paddled the boys before four girls, Linda, Toady, Anne, Jo and I, had to bend over her desk. After the defined number of blows, we joined the many students outside the schoolhouse, who were applauding all students when they walked out the door. Most assuredly, Mrs. Sterling had an aching arm that evening. |
| Prompt:What historical events happened the year you were born? The same year that Adolph Hitler was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize, I was born. 1938 was a tragic year in Europe's history, because the Nazi leader was terrorizing countries there, while in the small town of Pauls Valley, Oklahoma, a happy baby girl was born to a young couple under the ages of twenty. People of peace throughout the world would have been shocked if the dictator who demanded the deaths of more than six million unarmed people had been granted the world's most prestigious award. He was nominated by Erik Brandt, a member of the Swedish Parliament. Hitler was TIME magazine's "man of the year, because he was so bad, the worst of Satan's antics on the earth's history Even today, my dreams, the bad ones, and my thoughts about the year I was born, are on Hitler and the horror he brought onto the world scene. I hate that and all his atrocities; so I have lived to speak up and stand as tall as possible, for individuals and the rights of all persons. I will let TIME's writers tell more about the worst things that happened the year I was born: Greatest single news event of 1938 took place on September 29, when four statesmen met at the Führerhaus, in Munich, to redraw the map of Europe. The three visiting statesmen at that historic conference were Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain of Great Britain, Premier Edouard Daladier of France, and Dictator Benito Mussolini of Italy. But by all odds the dominating figure at Munich was the German host, Adolf Hitler. Führer of the German people, Commander-in-Chief of the German Army, Navy & Air Force, Chancellor of the Third Reich, Herr Hitler reaped on that day at Munich the harvest of an audacious, defiant, ruthless foreign policy he had pursued for five and a half years. He had torn the Treaty of Versailles to shreds. He had rearmed Germany to the teeth— or as close to the teeth as he was able. He had stolen Austria before the eyes of a horrified and apparently impotent world. (See pictures of Hitler Exhibit in Germany.) All these events were shocking to nations which had defeated Germany on the battlefield only 20 years before, but nothing so terrified the world as the ruthless, methodical, Nazi-directed events which during late summer and early autumn threatened a world war over Czechoslovakia. When without loss of blood he reduced Czechoslovakia to a German puppet state, forced a drastic revision of Europe's defensive alliances, and won a free hand for himself in Eastern Europe by getting a "hands-off" promise from powerful Britain (and later France), Adolf Hitler without doubt became 1938's Man of the Year. Most other world figures of 1938 faded in importance as the year drew to a close. Prime Minister Chamberlain's "peace with honor'' seemed more than ever to have achieved neither. An increasing number of Britons ridiculed his appease-the-dictators policy, believed that nothing save abject surrender could satisfy the dictators' ambitions. Among many Frenchmen there rose a feeling that Premier Daladier, by a few strokes of the pen at Munich, had turned France into a second-rate power. Aping Mussolini in his gestures and copying triumphant Hitler's shouting complex, the once liberal Daladier at year's end was reduced to using parliamentary tricks to keep his job. (See pictures inside Hitler's bunker.) During 1938 Dictator Mussolini was only a decidedly junior partner in the firm of Hitler & Mussolini, Inc. His noisy agitation to get Corsica and Tunis from France was rated as a weak bluff whose immediate objectives were no more than cheaper tolls for Italian ships in the Suez Canal and control of the Djibouti-Addis Ababa railroad. Gone from the international scene was Eduard Benes, for 20 years Europe's "Smartest Little Statesman." Last President of free Czechoslovakia, he was now a sick exile from the country he helped found. Pious Chinese Generalissimo Chiang Kaishek, Man of 1937, was forced to retreat to a "New" West China, where he faced the possibility of becoming only a respectable figurehead in an enveloping Communist movement. If Francisco Franco had won the Spanish Civil War after his great spring drive, he might well have been Man-of-the-Year timber. But victory still eluded the Generalissimo and war weariness and disaffection on the Rightist side made his future precarious. See "YouTube's 50 Best Videos: Hitler's Downfall." See pictures of Adolf Hitler's rise to power. Read more: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,760539,00.html#ixzz2XSmgQX00 PEOPLE OF GERMANY by best4writing-Peace2AllLesbians (100) Rated: 13+ | Poetry | Cultural | #1939128 My thoughts every time I learn something more of the reign of Hitler as allowed by Germans I PEOPLE OF GERMANY The horror of it all! The people of Germany in every era and age must never be allowed to forget the atrocities of the Reich when they loved the devil himself and worshipped him as a god while over other people he trod. Where was the humanity of the German people when the smokestacks poured forth the smell of Jewish bodies at Birkenstock, Auschwitz and other places of German Hell? What did they think, nothing, while closing their eyes and ears? They must have known something ugly was happening when Jewish neighbors were loaded on trains to disappear or when thousands were marched across Germany and loaded on a ship sent into the Channel for planes to bomb? They closed their minds to atrocities. Why did the people of that land pretend they were chosen to be served by everyone not of their descent, carrying German-ness in their blood; the Jews, the gypsies, the homosexuals, their neighbors across borders and in their midst? The world must never let them forget. The Germans led destruction in the first "great war" then the next without conscience, with stupid pride in their German-ness, although venom in their veins let them rejoice at atrocious suffering at their hands and the poison of conceit in each heart applauded destruction in Poland, Netherlands, France and all of Europe. The Germans after World War One were furious they had not won but lost in every way to count a war as thousands died needlessly, just to blow up their conceit as if they were still a 'master race' what they wanted to believe so they loved the Hitler face. To the little man, the people gave power beyond the unthinkable to build an army waving the ugly sign as if the man was greater than God then let him lead them to their fall for which they were and are responsible. Most who followed the horrid man are still alive to face their hearts. How can the heart of any German man or woman of any age, give excuse to those before who followed and loved the Fuehrer man in deepest worship. They chose to believe the lies, and to accept the days' horrors thinking they deserved good lives at the expense of millions. No, the shame after that first war caused by Germans who turned away and pretended nothing was happening to millions of Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, mentally ill, Poles, and other folks with kind hearts and motives. The German people, every generation, must take responsibility in turn. The world must never forgive the 'master race' whom they believed they and their children were, so above all others in God's world who died of torture, were slaughtered day after day while German families swam in pools, laughing, spending, avoiding any truth of what was happening; yet they knew. Is the ugliness in the soil itself there in a land called Germany? Why did its people for a century pretend they deserved the best while trampling, torturing, laughing, and cheering with joy, what Hitler did, while never taking responsibility for it. I say to them, to the world you must forever submit. . |
| prompt; do you prefer showers or baths? Let's just say that I've never liked being sprayed with water, whether on a sunny day when my brother grabbed a hose and sprayed the rest of us with cold water, to the days when bathtubs and showers were NOT in rural homes and Dad would build a summer shower with four poles and a sheet of canvas topped with a bucket with holes in it THEN when my sister and I stood inside naked, he would take a bucket of COLD water from the big watering tank below the windmill that pumped water for the cattle and horses to drink from, and he'd reach high to fill the bucket atop us, then we had to freeze first, then soap up so he could do it again to rinse the soap off of us. That long sentence is about misery. Enough said. Ann |
| Prompt: Describe a memory or encounter in which you considered your faith, religion, spirituality — or lack of — for the first time. The final four words of the prompt confuse me...not all of us can remember that long ago...75 years of memories? No way can I remember those 'first times'. I believe the prompt is asking if you've ever had an encounter that proved the reality of one's faith or that proved 'the lack of faith' as the reality. One evening, my nine year old daughter, so loving and sweet, was climbing in her bed when she stopped, pointed her foot in the air, and with a worried look, asked me, "Mommy, See that wart behind my big toe? It hurts when I'm wearing my shoes. Mommy, you can pray and God will take it away." I smiled at her loving face, and dared my heart to believe the precious little girl's faith could really give her what she asked for. Would God answer such a prayer? I truly didn't know. She stuck her foot into the air and onto my hands, then bowed her head and closed her eyes. A test of her faith, and mine, was at stake. Every parent knows God doesn't do miracles like that for a normal llittle girl sitting under the blue canopy of her bed, looking up at her mother with loving eyes, believing the God she knows, would do what she asked, when it was so easy to prove if he didn't answer that prayer. If God couldn't answer her special, simple to-her prayer request, would she ever trust Him or her mother again? So many questions. For such questions, much faith is required; not just a word or two of prayer, but truly believing with the child for that obnoxious wart to be removed. I put my hand on her foot, closed my eyes and let my heart and faith reach toward Heaven. "Dear God, You love my little girl very much and You've promised that if we ask for anything in Jesus' name, it will be done. She's asking, and I am too, asking for You to remove this wart from her toe because it hurts her when she wears her shoes. Thank you that she can wear shoes, and run and play with her friends. She and I believe your Word so we are asking, In Jesus Name, that this wart disappear from her foot forever. Amen." "Thank you, Mommy, she said as she hugged me, then crawled into bed. For the next four days I forgot about the wart. The fourth evening, as she was getting into bed, she held her foot up. "Mommy, the wart's gone. God took it away." Today she's forty two and tells her nine year old girl about how God healed her toe. I continue to be thankful. ANN |
Your prompt is: "You're braver than you believe." Do you believe this too? When was the last time you were brave? I agree, people are braver than they believe. We've all read stories about individuals who forget themselves the moment they see a child in danger, a grandmother who didn't see a car moving too fast, a small boy facing a big bully, a tiny kitten that didn't see the skunk. People who care about people show bravery when they didn't have time to think about themselves. As individuals, the brave ones don't usually see themselves as brave nor do they brag about what they did. I have no story about my bravery. If I ever jumped into a deep swimming pool and was then able to get back to the top and swim to the dock, I'd think that was a brave event. I've never be able to get over the fear when, at the age of eleven, I ventured too deep in my grandfather's cow's watering pond, was saved and given the kind of artificial respiration used in 1949; but still fear going into deep water. I know that's caused me to miss out on lots of fun, but I'm not brave enough to believe I can swim to shallow water from the deep end of the swimming pool. At the age of fifteen, I did something brave that had nothing to do with swimming. My drunken father was beating on my little mother from the kitchen, down the hall and closed the door to their bedroom while she was still crying and he was hurting her. Silly me, while my big brothers did nothing, that time I went down the hall, swung open the door, saw my father's rage as he looked up at me, and I so bravely interrupted his beating of her; I simply said, "Are you having fun?" What a silly thing to say. He looked into my face, immediately got up and left the house. (He was gone for six weeks during which time, my mother stayed angry at me....you see, usually after beating her, he would be 'sorry' and for the next six weeks, he treated her perfectly nice and loving. My intrusion to help my mother, cost me her love those six weeks. How silly of me to be so brave and challenge my drunken father. Each day, I will respond to ALL reviewers of my writing; In seven days I will write seven short stories above 2000 words and five poems, thoughtfully written; I will proofread 20,000 words of my Collection of Lesbian Romance storiies which I am preparing for EBook publication (I have 400,000 words written in eight collections of 50,000 words each..........the onlly thing I need to start posting them as EBooks, is the money for covers and ISBN numbers; am on SS so money is always short and not available for WDC and covers for the Collections; I will proofread my 20,000 word entry and post it in the 20K contest. I will enter five contests during the next week; I enter to support other writers here who take time to have contests; Writers Cramp and Flash Fiction are my favorites. I didn't start writing until age 69 so know my writing years are limited; that's why I set high goals for me. |
| Which are more important in the world: writers and thinkers or scientists and inventors? Wtiters provide information to keep us informed of our history and how people live. Thinkers come up with wonderful ideas. They, we as writers, and all the thinkers of the world help us understand things we'd never know about otherwise. While writers and thinkers are important to cultures, past and present, it's the scientists and inventors who have led to changes that improve lives, prevent deaths, and move our cultures forward toward greater things. A thinker might have had ideas about fire, wheels, dynamite, computers, wiping out disease and saving lives, but it's the scientist, the inventor who did something to make fire useful, to create wheels that changed the world, dynamite used in construction and war, medicines and preventive medicine to heal or prevent diseases and plagues. To me, there is ample evidence that it's the people who put their thoughts to "the plow" and tried many ways to turn the thought into a way to help humankind. Hands down, they win when the matter of helping humans survive and have better lives than they ever could otherwise. In the 1950's, children and adults were spending their lives in 'iron lungs' or crippled beyond the capacity to have a good life. Then a scientist, Jonas Salk and his colleagues found the way to prevent polio. Millions of people owe their lives to Dr. Salk and others who focused their scientific minds on that terrible disease. I was one who survived the epidemic and my baby was the first generation to receive vaccine that protected them for the remainder of their lives. I am thankful for our writers and thinkers, but I am far more thankful for our inventors and scientists. {/font} |
| PROMPT: Can people change? (did you change; views, philosophies,routines,countries etc) Yes, people can change. We become who and how we are within a family. Sometimes we strive to become, when we're adults, everything opposite to what we were within our family. Often, to make a change, it takes a period of counseling and determination to be different that we grew to be within our family. I grew up in a family where my father came home from World War II, an alcoholic. He and his brothers often got drunk together then he would create trauma in our home. On the other hand, my mother became a Baptist and gradually latched on to the millions, it seems, of criticisms taught and preached among Baptists and other evangelical Christians. I learned in that family environment to never become alcoholic, and am grateful I did not. On the other hand, I became critical like my mother was. As an adult, I recognized what I had brought with me from that early home life, and I didn't like what I saw in me, the critical 'mother' while I was grateful I had not become the alcoholic. I determined to change; I did change. I quit being a Baptist evangelical Christian always criticizing others' way of living. I wanted to be more like the positive qualities I found in my father; no man had as much compassion for his fellowman than my father did. Yes, I have changed. Every person can change. They can quit hating and being prejudicial toward people of other races, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and other differences which are God-given to human beings. They can find ways to help those whom they previously criticized for being who they are. They can give up hurtful habits that harm their children, neighbors, other people, and themselves. They can change their views that espouse hate and anger toward other groups of people. They can change basic beliefs that can or have harmed other people. This world would be a far better and safer place, a happier place, if the prejudiced, hateful, angry people would change their thoughts and ways and if Christians practiced the Golden Rules in their Bible: "Love thy neighbor as thy self." and "Do unto others as you would have done unto you." |
| Prompt: Are you a complainer or one of those people who doesn't let anyone know you're annoyed? First, I wouldn't believe anyone who says they NEVER complain, everyone does even if they show annoyance with a 'roll of the eyes' or a 'shrug of the shoulders'. Humans are not perfect. Second, I take this prompt to mean for the writer to indicate their usual, most of the time way of being when something annoys them. I'm not an eye-roller nor a shoulder-shruger, but I do sometimes let my opinion be known. Anyone who reads my writing knows I do call attention to things that have bothered me, even traumatized my life. I do not believe that is 'complaining' but it is a method of creating the memory of the event, observing it to learn from it, then understanding what the remembering and acknowledging, have taught me. Ages ago, when I was a teenager sitting at the round oak table talking to my father, he taught me something about 'seeing the negative' then judging or complaining about a person. I loved those few late night conversations with my Dad. He was wise beyond his years. Thankfully, he knew I was as well, and would know how to apply his observations and suggestions in my life. That night we talked about the weaknesses of human beings and how other people view them. Dad was not a Christian but, I'm sure, he read the Bible through more times than my dear Christian mother; he also read for leisure, the set of encyclopedias and such. That night Dad told me, "Ann, when I see another person who doesn't measure up, whose way of being is criticized strongly by many other people, who has a handicap of any kind, I think, "But for the grace of God, there go I." Yes, that sentence is in the Bible, but it was in my father's heart. He was a binge drinker, an alcoholic, and I'm sure he hated that addiction, a medical condition when it is so powerful over a person; so Dad knew he didn't measure up and that mother and others complained about him all the time. He understand that complaining about the weakness or ill habit of another person served no purpose. {size:4.5}Like my father, I know complainers gain nothing, no insight into themselves and others about life as it is. None of us are perfect, so why complain and criticize those things in other that annoy us. Instead, I try to remember the Serenity Prayer when I am tempted to complain or criticize: "Give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; Courage to change the things I can; and Wisdom to know the difference." With those words in my mind, I cannot complain with my mouth. |
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