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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. |
| Prompt: Tell us about something you think is terribly unfair and explain how you would rectify it. I was treated unfairly, greatly wronged, but could do nothing to prevent the Catholic Sister Patricia Vandenburg, A Holy Cross nun, from being so ugly toward me that I always call her VandenBitch and have wished she faced a similar action, so devastating. I had worked for Chief Executive Officer VandenBitch for two years during which I had checked off each of the five items she wrote to me as "These are the things I want you to Accomplish" in whatever way is possible. The list including 'getting rid' of my assistant who wanted the Executive Director position to which I was hired. Others including ending a fundraising campaign that had lasted too long, adding certain prominent citizens as Board Members, and re-designing the annual Christmas fundraiser. She clearly indicated she wanted to make my position a "Vice President of" position and would soon do so. VandenBitch had been afraid, I guess, to fire the assistant for fear the woman could damage her reputation. When I knew that, I should have cancelled taking the position and stayed where I was making over $10,000 less. Instead, I took the higher paying position because, as a single mother of three, I needed the income. As it turned out, in firing her 'for cause', she did damage my reputation at the Holy Cross hospital. During those two years, I more than completed her five tasks. Most of all, I changed the Christmas fundraiser from a previous annual loss of over $6000 to one that earned $78,000 and was set to raise over $100,000 per year thereafter. At the time I applied to VandenBitch for the fundraising executive director, I had serious joint pain, diagnosed as rheumatoid arthritis, and my feet and hips were very painful, so I wore western cowboy boots. The boots held my foot tightly and my hips at the right angle to reduce the various pain. From the day in the 1970's when nice pantsuits were available for women who preferred to wear pants/trousers, instead of dresses, to church, work and even funerals, I wore pantsuits. I had them in black, navy, baby blue, rose, lavender, and other. They fit my style, personality and desires. And the slacks allowed me to wear the western boots to prevent pain in my feet and hips. So, the day I appeared in VandenBitch's office for the first and only interview, I wore my bright red wool jacket, white slacks and my cowboy boots. I wanted her to know how I dressed and how I would dress if employed by her. At the job, I did my best which was the best among my peers in the state who dubbed me "the Dean of fundraising". How's that for respect. After the second Christmas event was so great, VandenBitch called me in. She knew I had done well at overseeing my new assistant in making the fundraising efforts, the Christmas event, the golf tournament, and all. She knew I had done her five things well. Then she told me, "You don't fit in" and terminated me. No other reason was given. She was a nun who was trying so hard to be equal to the CEO's in the Chamber of Commerce yet didn't know how to dress for a dinner at a CEO's home; women said she wore a print cotton dress for that Christmas event. So what did she know about 'fitting in'? I went on to be a Consultant in fundraising and grantwriting and worked with hospitals and school districts all over the state until retirement. I went back to my office and mailed a letter to all my Board members about her firing me for "not fitting in". After I was gone, many of them resigned from the Board and, as community leaders, they sent me encouragement and gave me hugs when they saw me during following years. They respected me and had seen my successful work personally. She got replaced soon after she terminated me. There is one thing that makes me wonder about the true reason she terminated me for "not fitting in": I asked if it was because of how I dressed; she said "you dress too imformally". I reminded her of how I was dressed the day she interviewed and hired me. She acknowledged that and never mentioned my dress style those two years. You see I was NOT out as lesbian and I never went to a private dinner with VandenBitch, but my assistant did, (I had learned my assistant was niece of the hospital's Board Chairman). She had bragged to me that VandenBitch had "beer and pizza with her". I've always believed both my assistant and the CEO had a lesbian affair going on; thus I was put out of the way so she could give MY ASSistant my job, a higher salary and the title "Vice President." Within three months, she was pulled from that position by either her hospital Board or her nun superiors. I always thought it humorous that her replacement was named "Sister Beverly Ann" because my name is "Beverly Ann". Before and after her, I worked for Sisters of Mercy, nuns who lived their deep faith in Christ-like ways. The one who was CEO hired me twice, once at the hospital where she was CEO and another statewide housing program where she was also CEO. She and I were friends and continued to communicate after I did come out as a lesbian; to me she was a saint although in her true humility, she would say not. I write about her in this paragraph so you, my reader, know I have not been against Catholics during my life. |
I am easily confused when I receive incomplete emails or prompts; when something doesn't make sense to me, I immediately think I've done something wrong or I'm just totally confused, then my emotions get scrambled and I feel really dumb, but I know I'm not dumb/illerate or stupid. But confusion disorients me. Maybe it's caused by my age; maybe old age is starting to create the confusion and nervous response. I hate to think my brain which has been wonderful for over seventy years, is now going to create havoc in my life. I feel shake from head to toes fearful of creeping brain problems. It's a terrible fear to fear your brain may be being attacked by dementia or alziemiers. God, please don't take my wonderful brain away or let it be scrambled and destroyed while my body lives strong and healthy. Know my fear, Oh, God, and please don't let my brain start detioriating now that I am seventy-five. Moments like these are my biggest worry of all of my life. I have told my loved ones that if I am ever diagnosed with Alziemiers, like my grandmother was at age ninety-two, that I will definitely commit suicide. I have told them that I will tell them when so they can adjust as they possibly can. I will not leave my family and beloveds go through that years and years of 'goodbye'. I want to know when I am going to die and I'll suffer physically as much as it requires; but I will not be brain dead as alziemiers does to its victims. I have a great desire to live to be a hundred because I love living and sharing my life with friends and family, both those near and those from all over the world, including friends at WDC. But I will not go quietly into the darkness of Alziemiers or serious dementia. I will go in my own time, at my own hand, if necessary. My sweetheart and children know that. Please, God, don't like my brain deteriorate. Please. ~~Image ID# 1925824's Content Rating Exceeds Item Content Rating~~ "for showing yourself,not being afraid to do it: You are inspirational". "Ann:honoring "OUT IN LOVE". You're helping to open the minds against gay's relationships,and supporting those struggling with their sexuality everyday.Keep up the amazing work!"Joy |
| Prompt: Let's play the old game- If you take five things to a desert island, what would they be? Why these 5 things? Now, imagine yourself there six months later. Which things would still be awesome? Which things not so much? It's 1956. I just graduated from high school and, before starting college, I'm going on a fantastic trip. A group of us are going to spend the summer on a boat. We expect to visit a few islands; hopefully, not a deserted one. Everyone in the group has been assigned certain items to bring. I'm smart enough to think through what could happen so am taking five other items not assigned that I just might need. They are: a cigarette lighter even though I don't smoke, A full prescription of my brother's Vicodin which he no longer needs, my brothers Buck Knife with various tools on it, the big fat Christmas candle which is eighteen inches long and four inches wide, Dad's old fashioned kerosene lantern, and the rubber fireman's overalls my Dad no longer uses; they're bulky so I'll have to give up some personal items I'd rather take, like my mirror, Clariol blonde coloring, extra socks and such. ...................................... Two years later: That turned out to be a trip to hell. The guy who was responsible for bringing the lifeboat was an idiot. He was too lazy to check it out and when we needed it, there was a big slash down the middle so it wasn't much good when the shark took a bite out of our boat and we were dumped into the ocean. I had tied a few things, including a change of long trousers and my four other special things, into Dad's rubber overalls in such a way, the bundle was the only floater I had. That special bundle saved my life and allowed me to get the the nearby island. I'm back home now, but I'm sure glad I took the Buck Knife, the lighter and those overalls. The Vicodin survived the whole trip and I gave it back to my brother when I returned. That darn candle was made of something that wouldn't melt or burn so it was useless; couldn't even eat it when I was hungry. Not only did those overalls save me from drowning, but they were great to wear in the jungle-like growth on that island. And, they kept me warm at night. The lantern was helpful as long as it had kerosene in it, but it was too small to help for very long. The lighter lasted the whole time I was stranded and I'm still thankful for the small fires I needed those dismal months. I never expect to be lost on a deserted island again, but I do carry a cigarette lighter every day. Actually, I carry two, a new one and the one that I believe saved my life as a token to remind me just how precious life is. Dad's deteroiating rubber overalls are still a treasure which my grandchildren will keep to tell their grandchildren how they saved my life. |
| Sep 19, 2013 at 10:07pm Sent to members of "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 306: SEPTEMBER 20TH PROMPT Prompt: What was your favorite birthday? My favorite birthday was my eighteenth. I planned my own party. We had moved to our new home, new from the ground up; a miracle for a poor family who left Oklahoma five years earlier and moved to California where my father could make a good living and move us up to America's Middle Class. That was important to millions of American families after World War II. Sadly, too many of those families are no longer middle class since the Bush Depression. I turned eighteen in 1956 right after high school graduation. I had my two brothers, my sister and more than a dozen friends come. One friend brought her heavy portable record player and we danced on the new driveway. Of course Elvis Presley's was the favorite music. "Won't you be my Teddy Bear" was played several times that evening while everyone danced both his slow music and his rock and roll fast wonderful music. My older brother danced with his girlfirend, Evelyn, who was a girl I also had a crush on. My sister had two boyfriends there and danced with the two neat guys who were my friends. My guys were the most handsome; of course, they were just good friends because I never was interested in boys except as friends or study partners; my heart was for the girls, like my brother's girlfriend. I got a few gifts and we had a wonderful birthday cake. The most handsome guy, my friend, posed in the picture taking the first piece of cake from me. At college, later, i was glad to have that picture when the other girls in the dorm would ask about my having a boyfriend. As parties go, it was nice, pleasant, and no booze or smoking. As a teenager, i was one some would call "square" in the fifties because, as we chanted: "We don't drink, We don't chew, and we don't go out with boys that do."  It was a fun birthday. I had another birthday party when i turned sixty. More and older friends but no booze and no smoking and no 'hanky panky' among the many who came. My mother came north from California for that party. You, my reader, probably think I had a boring social life; no, I was never bored, just a calm kind of gal who always followed the rules. Now, however, I wish I had been like my siblings, dared to break a few rules...ANN |
Which of the seven deadly sins are you most likely to commit? I can't remember all of them. Isn't 'gluttony' one; that's enjoying food too much, isn't it? Then there's greed, always wanting something more, right? And there's horniness, one about enjoying sex too much, isn't there? I suppose theres one about murder, thievery, conceit, judgmental (should be one since this is a constant sin for too many people), lying, speeding (I know the Highway Patrol thinks this one's a deadly sin.), I really don't study sin and, of course, I don't do sin; so it's difficult to answer this prompt today. My sin is growing old too fast. Surely it's in the list and it's one most people commit. We just keep on keeping on, determined to live past a hundred having a happy, glorious life, maybe writing some, loving those who love us and even loving some others as long as it's not adultery. From the first day we were sure we had become adults, we started sinning; yes, we started growing old too fast. We've let time pass faster than 365 days a year; by the time we're seventy-five, like me, we grit our teeth and push harder than ever to keep growing old. Our determination revs up and we take each day with a big smile, actually a belly laugh knowing we're getting old faster and faster. This sin always turns out to be "deadly"; there's just no other way for it to end. Right now, my mind is speeding up, reaching out to grab another hour, hold onto it so nobody else gets it because it's mine, all mine. I'll be damned to hell if I let anyone grow any older faster than I do; and I'm doing that as fast as I can. There's no end in sight if I just keep pushing forward day after day, year after year; unless it shows up suddenly without my expecting it. For now, it better not get in my way because I 'will' that I will grow another day older, an other year older, a decade more; I'm aging as fast as I can for as long as I can. Yes, that's my deadly sin; and I have no doubt it will end in death. I just hope Heaven awaits me when this race to oldest possible year, is over. I'm getting tired but I'm rushing on toward older. And that's my deadliest sin. ann ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
for showing yourself,not being afraid to do it:You are inspirational.A.J. Lyle:Ann:honoring "OUT IN LOVE". You're helping to open the minds against gay's relationships,and > supporting those struggling with their sexuality everyday.Keep up the amazing > work!"Joy |
| Prompt: Do you know the meaning of your name, and why your parents chose it? Do you think it suits you? What about your childrens names? Born in 1938 and named Beverly Ann, I was told by my mother that my paternal grandmother had chosen my name for me. She said she thought the name "Beverly" came from the name of Beverly Hills, California, made popular by the many homes of movie stars. Perhaps my grandmother just liked the melodious sound of the name, or she hoped I'd grow up to live in Beverly Hills. Initially, I was called "Beverly" by my mother but she changed it to "Ann" for two reasons. My paternal grandparents called me "Bevvy" and my brother, a year older, called me "Bebbly". I'm glad she called me Ann. It's a very good name and so easy to spell when you have to write it on hundreds of school documents. I named my first child after a name I liked of a television detective. My second child, a daughter, was given the name of the eighth grade girl whom I first loved, that 'girl crush' has never left me and I see her at class reunions. I've even told her that she was my first heart's love long before I knew I was a lesbian. My third child carries the name Beverly and her middle name was chosen by her father. It seems he named her after his high school girlfriend whom he left behind when he joined the Navy then met me and forgot Jeanne. Often, I wished he had gone back to his Jeanne, instead of trying to win my heart for the four years I was in college. Our dovirce came for reasons not related to my later coming out as a lesbian. Even so, he didn't want our friends to know he had tried to kill me so told them the divorce came because I was a lesbian. No reason to say that for it had never been discussed between us. Names are family and to remember names is to remember family members of the past. |
| Prompt: As Autumn approaches what is your favorite part and why? Autumn, she's my granddaughter who also carries my name, Autumn Ann. Oops! I'm not supposed to write about my beautiful, precious granddaughter. I'm supposed to write about the beautiful season, Autumn; a time of beauty as the world changes around me. The air becomes cool. The leaves turn gold, orange and brown. The flowers lose their colorful blooms and prepare for the long winter's sleep. Children return to schools; schedules, no longer the days' freedom. Autumn means change to my life. As a child, during the summertime, I loved the long days. They gave me time to do many chores as well as time to play, to read, to meditate. Yes, I was often carrying a book out to sit under the maple tree and have summer adventures all over the world. I was a full participant with my parents work in the garden. I helped hoe the corn to get the weeds out, de-tassel sweet corn in huge fields, pick cotton day after day dragging a canvas bag until it was full, then fill it again and again, as I worked alongside my mother and three siblings in the Oklahoma sunshine. As a teenager, I spent my summer days picking apricots and peaches until age sixteen then worked in the cannery, paid more money. By the time autumn came, I was anxious to return to the wonderful schedule of school, later college. Autumn, as a time of transition, has always renewed my energy and presented me with the beauty of changing colors as the world prepares for cold, dreary winter days. Living in Oklahoma, later in Idaho and Oregon, I knew winter would be cold and usually dreary days, so I breathed in the sweet air of autumn and loved the changing of the season, especially summer to autumn. Living in California, autumn lasted until spring; seldom very cold in the gentle climate of the Central Valley. I love having four seasons, not just three, so moved to Idaho, then Oregon, where I could experience four wonderful seasons, phases in life that now pass too quickly. Living in the late autumn of my life at seventy-five, I cherish each season more than ever and have learned to never 'wish away' the autumn days because they turn into years much to fast. The Changing Scene The scene from my window has changed. In September there were reds and golds and browns In December the lawns and roofs were white, the trees bare With God in nature, nothing can compare. The scene from my window changes. In April new life appears on flowers, lawns and trees In July alll is green and bright, cooled by a breeze. The grandeur, The beauty, The glory of God Are evident as I watch through my window. An early poem written in 1961 as I looked at the changing scene through my kitchen window. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "for showing yourself,not being afraid to do it: You are inspirational". "Ann:honoring "OUT IN LOVE". You're helping to open the minds against gay's relationships,and supporting those struggling with their sexuality everyday.Keep up the amazing work!"Joy |
| Prompt: Take the third line of the last song you heard, make it your post title, and write for a maximum of 15 minutes. GO! "SO DEAR TO MY HEART" I looked at this prompt just as I finished watching a 1949 wonderful movie. I remember seeing the movie when I was eleven years of age; and have never forgotten it. Thanks to restoring of films and a television station that runs the golden oldies, I saw it again today, more than sixty years later I've just seen it again. "So dear to my heart, that "Decembery" day when the first touch of frost and snow, had painted each tree, in the wood so dear to my heart. I can still picture the flowers in a shower, and that picnic hill; and I still treasure each and every hour of those years that had to fly. They're locked into my heart while I still hold the key; as long as I live, they will be so dear to my heart." Those are the first words of the song I just heard while I watched the movie, "So Dear To My Heart". The delightful movie was the story of a young boy living with his grandmother and the little black lamb, one of twins. The other lamb was white. Nobody liked black wool directly from the sheep, not even Granny who spun the white wool into yarn and made quilts. The black lamb was not fed by its mother so the little boy was determined to save it. He loved the lamb and cajoled Granny into helping him take care of the adorable little thing. After the lamb caused plenty of havoc on the little farm. The day came when it won a special award at the county fair. The boy, his grandmother and their close friends shared their joy, both for the black sheep and for the boy's dedication to it. "So Dear to My Heart" was a delightful and heartwarming movie. The song touched my heart back then in 1949 and now, 2013. Good things that touch the heart, are never forgotten. I've always remembered my years growing up in rural Oklahoma before 1950. Times were hard for my mother but she never complained of the work required nor of the care of four children; each just a year older than the other. We had so much good clean fun living in the country. No sidewalks, no lawn around the tiny house where we lived when Daddy was serving in World War II. We were happy with the places where we lived, the school just up the hill, the creek for wading and catching crawdads and minnows. Not knowing all the pleasures of living in town, we were happy, even on the long winter days when it wasn't practical to play outside in the mud or melting snow. Our school was special in those days. In those two classrooms, joined by a wall, students in eight grades studied side by side. During the war years, I started first grade in a room with grades one to four. My teacher was a beautiful lady, Mrs. Thomas. Her husband taught grades fifth through eighth. He had once been my young mother's teacher. When I was in fourth grade, Mr. Thomas was so impressed at my ability, he wanted to motivate his older students, so he had me read in front of his students. I can still hear him shame them, for allowing a younger girl to read better than they could. Hmmm, I wonder if that was the reason my older brother always resented me; in a way that was good, because he wasn't mean to me like he was our younger siblings. I went to Sunday School with my mother and siblings at the schoolhouse every Sunday. I still remember our morning service on a cold snowy winter day. Everyone sat around the huge wood or coal stove trying to keep warm and the missionary who had spent years in China, told us about her experiences. She showed us a pair of tiny shoes worn by women, because their feet were bound tightly so they wouldn't grow. In the 1940's when a political change led to the end of that terrible custom, they found they could never remove the bindings around women's feet, because the removal of the pressure cause horrible pain. I remember my sadness that little girls did not have the freedom to walk and run with the freedom I did. Yes, life in those years when people would say we were 'poor', was rich and wonderful and "dear to my heart." My life experiences of those years, gave me wisdom and personal strength, I still enjoy today. |
| Prompt: What was your worst subject in school? During high school, four years of college, a masters in counselling program and numerous other post-graduate courses, I loved learning, therefore, found all my subjects interesting, worthwhile and helpful. But there was one class which was the worst! It was the year I took typing I and II as a senior in high school. Every day was difficult and complicated. I struggled those months. I had only one exercise that was decent enough to brag about: One day I typed thirty words per minute with no, zero, errors. Yup, that was the best day in my worst class in all my years. I struggled to get ten fingers and my brain to do what those typing keys required. Five days a week, the last hour of school, I struggled. It was tormenting because I had never had difficulties in any subject before, nor since. Nothing wrong with the teachers. For the first semester, she was older and near retirement and I often smiled as I realized she was teaching from 'rote', from memory. How many times could she say "j u j, j u j, j u j,..." and all those other simpleton chants that pounded the paths in student's skulls until they could type. Who would have thought I would be using the skill she taught me in 2013 as a writer, spending hours a day using a keyboard? I didn't. I only took the class so I could type my college term papers. The second semester I didn't do much better. I dreaded seeing my report card at the end of that year. I had never gotten below a 'B', even got a 'B' in the first semester but still don't know why unless that dear teacher graded 'effort' because I tried so hard. As it happened, seniors received their grades two weeks before the end of the year. When I handed her my report card, I expected to get a "C"...Surprise! Surprise! She gave me a "B". I could have hugged her. Knowing I would need a typewriter for college, when the high school sold and replaced those old typewriters that year, I purchased one. It's still in my possession as a "collectable", The early 1950's Royal typewriter served me well. When my children started using it, they added labels to name all the keys. You see, those days, there were no letters on the keys; your mind just had to learn them. Thank You, God; I did. |
| Prompt: Do you prefer soups or salads? Aaah.. Hot soup on a cold winter day, wonderful. The thought reminds me of my childhood days during World War II. After Daddy joined the Navy in Oklahoma, Mother loaded us four kids, six years and under, onto a crowded train with other mothers, wives, children and men in military uniforms, and we took that slow train to Oklahoma where extended family lived. She rented a small house, a very small house even with living room, dining area and kitchen as one room. Her bedroom was by the living room and somewhere else were two tiny bedrooms; one for the boys and one for the girls. The house sat on a hillside with the east side resting on the hill and the west side on a stack of odd=shaped rocks. It rocked and rolled in windy storms. We could tell how much by how frantic the kerosene in the lamps sloshed back and forth. On winter days, Mother made hot soup with cornbread. Crackers cost too much back then. I can still see her and my siblings around the table as we enjoyed what we had to eat in the semi-darkness of the kerosene lamp. After dinner and the dishes were washed, Mother called us to sit in a circle at her feet and she read from the Bible Story book. When my older brother learned to read well enough, he also read. By the time the war was over, I was also reading parts of the stories. After I grew up, I found salads to be more than hot soup any day. I guess us kids didn't like salad dressings so had raw vegetables like carrot sticks, celery, slices of tomatoes instead of salads. Now, I enjoy salads of all kinds and I know they are the best nutrition I can eat. |
| Prompt: What was the last lie you told? Why did you tell it? If you're up to it, write a short story about it. I don't lie. That said, sometimes I say nothing at all. When we were kids back in the 1940's, our mother used a washrag, plenty of soap and washed our mouths out. That happened to me once and I learned my lesson. My brother took his lies a bit too far one day just after Daddy had returned from World War II. Larry was helping Daddy build a new outhouse. The old one we used while he was in the war was coming apart; something you didn't want to have happen. Besides rebuilding the outhouse, minus a quarter-moon, the project included digging a new hole over which to put the new outhouse. Worse, the old hole had to be covered with lime then filled with the dirt from the new outhouse. (We did not have indoor bathrooms until I was thirteen when we moved to California from rural Oklahoma.) Well, at some point in the afternoon, Daddy couldn't find his pack of Lucky Strikes. He asked each of us. All four of us said we did not know. So, Daddy told us to start looking for that small pack of cigarettes. We looked around the yard, no lawn anywhere. We looked around the barn, in the cow-lot, along the gravelled road, around the house, in the house, into the pasture and down by the creek. We looked everywhere. Three of us had no idea where the cigarettes were. When it was too dark to look, we went inside where Mother had dinner on the table. Before we sat down to eat, Daddy said, "No dinner until the cigarettes are found." He lined us up youngest, Ray, to oldest, Larry. "Starting now, I will spank from the youngest to the oldest until I know who took my cigarettes when the pack fell out of my shirt pocket. And, when I do learn who took them, that person will get a spanking with my belt as many times as the other three combined. Are you ready to tell the truth or to count?" Well, Larry knew the gig was up. Time to spill the truth. "I know where they are, Daddy. I took them when you dropped them." "Go now, Larry, and bring them to me." Larry went to wherever he had hidden the pack and returned with it." Daddy told the rest of us to sit at the table and start eating. He told Larry, "Well, Son, since you want to smoke. Here, take one. Now, light it." Looking bewildered, Larry struck a few matches and finally got it lit. Then he stood there smoking while we were eating dinner with Daddy watching his every move. When he smoked it short, he put the cigarette butt in the ashtray and started to sit down to eat. "No, Larry, have another cigarette." Slowly, my big brother, all of eight years old with dark hair and eyes, took another cigarette from Daddy's pack, lit it with the second match, and began to smoke it. His face was turning whiter and whiter; his hand was on his stomach. You could say, "He was turning green." Sudden, everything that was in his stomach, was on the floor in that really small house where we lived. He had to clean the floor. Of course, he didn't feel like eating dinner. Even the lie and getting caught with Daddy's cigarettes, did not prevent him from doing both in future years and he smoke until cancer took him at age seventy-two. On the other hand, my sister and I had learned about cigarettes when we were just four and five. We, my little sister actually, took two of Daddy's cigarette butts, went out back and lit them and sat there by the house smoking. We hadn't noticed that we were sitting below the kitchen window and mother was in the kitchen. "Uh,oh." Daddy came around the house, gave us a lecture then he made us eat the butts. Yuk! My sister smoked all her adult life and I started smoking when I was sixty. So much for cigarettes and lies. No, I truly don't tell lies. I learned when Mother washed a lie from my mouth by the time I was six. |
" It's a secret but I know I can trust you..." Lillian told Jonathan. "Little Brother, we've always shared our secrets. Right?" She reached out, put her hand on the back of his neck and ruffled his collar. "And, we've cared about each other since we were kids." Jonathan grinned at his sister. "Yeah. I was just thinking, it's been a long time since you told me one. What is it?" Lillian crossed her legs and sat on the ground then he sat beside her, leaned backwards and leaned on both hands. "Jonathan, by the way I've always loved your name. It has class. That's why I've never called you 'John' like Dad does. I haven't told anybody what I'm about to tell you. I don't know when or if I'll tell Mom and Dad. It's that big of a secret. Can you handle it?" She looked straight into her brother's eyes. Keeping his blue eyes on her matching blues, Jonathan drew a cross over his chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die if I ever tell anyone. No, Sis, I'm your confidante." Lillian looked around the trees lining the trail they had been following that day. She pointed to the tallest building, the bank's rose-colored building along Portland's skyline. "Jonathan, I'm a lot like 'Old Rose' there; different than most all the others in town. There are others like me and they're not easy to find either in our family, our church or among our friends. Even in college, I didn't know where to find them. I wanted to, but was scared to ask my friends. I felt alone in a big woods." She began to fiddle with a couple of small rocks then picked them up. Jonathan waited in silence. He knew something big was on the way. His sister was too serious for it to be something trivial. "Jonathan, I've been thinking something for years but wouldn't let it settle in my head. I didn't want it to be true. But it is. I realize that now." She tossed one rock at a time and hit the tree she was aiming at. "I,...I...I'm a lesbian. I know it; but it scares me because of what I've heard at church. Even worse, I've heard what Dad says about homosexuals. If he hates anything in this world, it's the gays and lesbians." Lillian, with her knees up near her chin, and her arms on them, looked over at her brother. "Now, you've heard my secret. What are you thinking?" Her brother held his breath. He didn't want to sound like the preacher or his father. He'd been through some disagreements with him before; and knew he could be mean. He had a couple of scars on his buttocks to prove it. He looked at the ground, at his sister, then back to the ground where he started drawing 'stickmen'. "Sis, I believe you. I guess I'm not surprised. I'm aware of the facts that you never dated in high school, never even went to the Senior Prom. I wasn't with you in college, but you never brought a guy's name home or went with Martin Black when he asked you out." He looked sideways at her and grinned. "Yeah, I knew you turned him down. He told me so before he started dating Sandra Irving." Lillian laughed and tossed a twig at her brother. "So?" "So, you're not telling me anything new. I'm just glad you've told me now. But can you tell me how you know? Everybody thinks gays and lesbians are always horny after each other. You know, she wants her and he wants him. I know that's not true. I know the difference in how I feel about Norma. It's a gentle feeling inside me, in my heart, and it's got nothing to do with 'ooggling' after everything in skirts. I know what love is." Tears filled Lillian's eyes. "Thanks, Jonathan. You understand. It's the heart; that part of us above the waist, that's attracted to a certain person. It doesn't have a darn thing to do with below the waist." She paused, then added, "I have a reason for telling you now." "I'm listening." Her brother turned and leaned toward Lillian. "I've met someone. We're the same age, knew each other in college, but didn't know we were both lesbians until I was at Embers, a gay bar on Broadway a few weeks back. I couldn't believe it when Janice walked in." She smiled. "We've been together every day since then. I love her and we want to move to Seattle where we can both be out. We don't want to have to hang our heads and hearts in shame. I'm happier than I've been in years, Bro, in years." Jonathan put his arm around his sister's shoulder. "I like it when you call me Brother or 'Bro' like you just did. I think you should follow your heart and go to Seattle with her. It should be easy to get a transfer to Seattle with the bank." He stood up. "Heck, you may even get a promotion. That'd make Mom and Dad happy. Maybe just say it's a promotion. I'll back you all the way and stand by you. Whatever you want of me, let me know. Promise?" Lillian put her arms around him and while sharing a hug, she said, "I promise. I'm so glad you're my brother." They continued their walk down the trail to the car. Lillian smiled all the way. |
| Hi all, For those older members of BCOF you may know that the prompt that Lyn sent out (I'm loving her enthusiasm-- how about you? ) is a duplicate from the Valentine's Day Challenge. Since it has been several months, and some people are newer, they may wish to write to this prompt. However, for those who have already answered this prompt, here is an alternative. Prompt: Dentists. What are your thoughts on them? I'll take this prompt about dentists; that first kiss is memorable for the wrong reason: I didn't know how to kiss back! "DENTISTS ARE OUR FRIENDS" I grew up at a time when nobody went to a dentist until a tooth was broken or jaw pain was too great. In every family there was an uncle, maybe an aunt, who was willing to cause the pain that comes when a tooth is yanked out by a pair of pliers or a string attached to a hand that nearly yanked your head off whether or not the tooth followed the string. Kids were never taken to the dentist, just to the uncle or aunt. My Uncle Wesley was also the one to go to when suffering the pain of an infectious 'boil'; he'd take out his pocket knife and slice the ugly thing thing dig around to get to its 'core'. I have a scar on my little finger from one of his surgeries. So, I didn't go to a dentist until I was nineteen and two wisdom teeth, not much wisdom there, had broken off. I can still see his face as he used those noisy tools to grind and push and pull until all four wisdom teeth had been removed. The one thing I remember in his simpleton face was the absence of a chin. I wondered if his chin quit growing after he pulled his teeth as a little boy. As an adult in my twenties, I don't think I ever went to a dentist. When I was thirty-one with painful, reddened gums, a friend suggested I go see her friend who was just starting his dental practice. When I got to his office, I saw it was a regular home, rezoned to business and transformed into a 'homey' dental office. He was near my age and a very handsome dude. It was always pleasant to look into that gorgeous face while he drilled and probed with quiet, modern tools, and medication to keep the pain low or not at all. Best of all, he was one of the early graduates from Dental School after their curriculum included "preventive dentistry'. He saved my teeth that year because i took his recommendations seriously, not only brushed but flossed more than once a day. Today I thank Dr. Terry Gustavel of Boise, Idaho, for guiding me so well that I am now the only member of a family of seven at age sixty, who still had healthy, though many had been 'filled' when cavities appeared, original teeth. My gums are still healthy and none of my teeth have ever loosened at the age of seventy-five. After Dr. Gustavel and I retired, I had to find a new dentist. I always have good thoughts about the dentists to whom I have given my confidence because I find out the first time if they practice preventive dentistry. |
Which three of these skills are the most important for success in life? Why? Patience, common sense, humor, courage, creativity, resourcefulness, work ethic, organization, integrity, responsibility, compassion, self-control, pride, flexibility, obedience, love, kindness, independence, discernment, wisdom, initiative, friendliness or wit. Before I can choose three of the skill and traits "are the most important for success in life", I need to know the particular definition of "success in life". If "success in life" is having a professional or other salaried position with a guaranteed income to support a family, home, recreation and the "good things of life" for one's family, then I have to choose, resourcefulness, work ethic and responsibility as the most important for life's success. If "success in life" is to marry someone who has financial success in either job or inheritance, where a person does not need to hold a job outside the home, then the formula for success would be patience, integrity and love. If "success in life" is like mine, provide a reasonable living as a single mother for fourteen years without financial assistance from anyone, then the skills, traits, would be resourcefulness, work ethic and love. If "success in life" is to be a good mother and wife, not working outside the home, then I would choose love, patience and kindness. Love is definitely an integral and important part of being a successful human being. From the day we are born, every person needs love, which has many aspects depending with whom the love is shared and given. To grow in wholeness as an adult, the baby and child needs love of parents, as an adult the need is love of the one, and most of all, the person needs to have a heart of love to share with parents, the one and only, siblings, and friends. To become an adult who has friends, a person should have some level of love in the heart. Responsibility is important in life, at home, at school, at work, with friends, as a citizen; in other words, every aspect of life demands that a person take responsibility for being and doing the correct and right thing. Those people who are irresponsible will fail in relationships, personal care, business and even recreation. Every day of life, responsibility is called for so it is critical for 'success in life. The non-responsible people are addicts, in prison, wandering the streets, sitting around with a cigarette dangling, and cannot raise responsible and loving children. Integrity, being honest in all matters and relationships of life, is critical. If a person cannot be trusted, he cannot find or give love, maintain a marriage or employment and might do almost anything whether it's criminal, negligence, harmful to others, and all things in relationships to others and all things they desire to do. I believe if a person can have love, be responsible and live with integrity, all good things will come to him/her and he/she will respond to the wourd in good ways. All peoples of the world would be successful if they had love, resourcefulness and integrity as the primary skills, traits, of their life and personality. |
| Sep02: Tell us about the best birthday present you've ever received! The best birthday present I ever received was exactly fifty-two years ago down to the minute, 10:00 Pacific Time. The birth of my son, my first baby, was a gift to me that hour in 1961. That morning I awakened after a week of teaching "Creative Writing" to eighth graders in Ceres, California. It was just another normal morning until about ten when the first labor pain signaled the baby was on the way. I called my doctor to be sure of his instructions as the labor progressed then went about doing laundry, the weekly house cleaning, and made a few telephone calls. One to my husband and one to my parents so they could plan their day. At four in the afternoon, I checked in at Memorial Hospital, Modesto, California, and was placed in a room to await the increase in labor pains and have the nurses checking to be sure my blood pressure and everything was going right. I read a book; now, I wish I had spent the day writing the details so I would have more data for this essay. In those days, all babies born in a hospital were delivered when the mother was unconscious in the delivery room. (It wasn't until the late 1970's that birthing centers were created so the mother would be awake and help with the delivery and see her baby immediately. I was working at Mercy Medical Center, Nampa, Idaho, where I raised money for Idaho's first hospital birthing center and my last grandbaby was born in that center.) Eventually, I was wheeled into the Delivery Room, had a mask put over my face and told to count backwards from one hundred. I think I only got to ninety-five before going unconscious. I did not know all the activities going on in that room for the next hour, more or less; in fact, I remember nothing about the delivery. When I opened my eyes, the bright lights were still above me and the doctor announced, "You have a baby boy" while he was adding many stitches to repair the damage done to me when that precious six pound nine ounce baby exited the womb into the world of light. I don't know if the doctor spanked him the next moment after the bright light blinded him. The nurses congratulated me. I glanced around just in time to see a nurse carry my baby out the door to see the pediatrician. When I was wheeled to my room, several people were waiting to congratulate me. They included my husband, my parents, our minister and the doctor who was also a friend as our church Music Director. Soon, the nurse ushered them out of the room "so the patient can rest." Later, my little boy was delivered into my arms. I named him Tracy, a name I liked from the detective television show, "Hawaiian Private Eye", and fed him his first taste of milk. Yes, I counted his fingers and toes, too. The other mother in the room had a baby boy twice as large as mine. Hers was over eleven pounds. Poor woman. I didn't ask how many sutures she needed after he left the womb. The way I had announced to my parents seven months earlier that they were going to be grandparents was special. I invited them for Sunday Dinner then at dessert time, I gave Mom a wrapped gift in which a note "Due September 2" and a tiny baby doll was packaged. They enjoyed the way they learned. I am truly proud of my son who was born that day. He grew up to be a fine man, served in the United States Air Force for twenty-six years and received every possible promotion. He continues now as a consultant contracted to the Air Force to deal with secret projects in the world. Yes, he was my best birthday present, on his birthday, not mine. |
| no prompt for Sept 1, Sat. |
| PROMPT: I don't know about you but when someone wakes me up in the middle of the night to talk, I tend to speak nonsense and in the morning wonder if I was dreaming or did we really talk. Share with us one of your midnight conversations. Was it with a good friend or sibling? How much did you really remember the next day? If you haven't had the pleasure of a midnight conversation, try to imagine what one would be like and with who. I don't remember nighttime conversations to write about; just the times I'm in a nightmare, yelling not just in the dream but loud enough to wake up the dogs and my wife. Then, I'm so wound up emotionally and thirsty, there's no conversation. One of those middle of the night conversations, was on PBS Masterpiece television, "Scott and Bailey". It seems that the team was having difficulty finding the murder weapon and diary kept by a murderer over the years of killing. The detective team had scoured every house the killer had lived in from the date of the first murder. One evening Detective Bailey drank a bit too much wind on an empty stomach. You can guess what condition she was in when the Taxi dropped her off at her house that evening. She stumbled and fell as she made her way inside to her bed. The next morning, she went to work with a terrible headache and stomachache and nobody gave her much compassion; after all, it was something she brought on herself, foolish woman. Her Supervisor called her in. "Thanks, Detective Bailey. You were right. We've already found the murder weapon. It was exactly where you said he probably had buried it." Detective Bailey looked quizzically. "What do you mean? When did I do that?" "Last night about three-thirty a.m.. You called me and said we'd find it in his mother's grave. Don't you remember?" Bailey shook her head, then turned to walk away. "Thank you." I guess, being awakened in the middle of the night can even have something positive happen. (Don't miss "Scott and Bailey" when it's on again next season.) |
| writing to 'push the limits" THE LADDER TO GOD Little Janie Mitchell put her finger to her chin, looked up at the cloudy sky, then smiled as a thought came to her. She stood up and walked over to her brother, Kenny. "Kenny, I think I know where to find God. Do you want to go with me and see if I'm right?" She reached her hand, hoping he'd say yes. Kenny shook his head back and forth. "No, Sister. I want to play here some more." The five year old boy was much smaller than his sister. He returned to digging a hole in the sandbox. Janie put one hand on her hip and began to march down the sidewalk. She slapped one foot down, lifted her knee high, then slapped the other foot down; all the time, a big smile filled her face. When she got to the corner, Janie turned and saw the same ladder she had seen earlier that day while in the back seat when her father drove to the grocery store. She continued to march toward the ladder. Looking up at the ladder, Janie could see it was higher in the sky than the roof of the house where it was leaning. She was unable to see the top of the ladder; even so, she was sure it went high enough in the clouds to take her to God. Janie reached high, grabbed a rung and pulled herself up until both feet were on the first rung. Then she pulled herself up again, and again. When she got to the roof of the house, Janie could see the ladder went much higher, even into the cloud above her. Undaunted, she kept pulling herself higher and higher. From high on the ladder, Janie looked toward her home and saw Kenny still digging in the sandbox. She smiled and climbed higher. Soon, when Janie looked down, she could no longer see the roof of the house nor Kenny. She realized the ladder was getting more narrow with every step. Finally, the ladder was too narrow to go any further so she held on and looked around. She could see the mist of the cloud around her. Looking upward, Janie began to talk aloud, believing God could hear her. "God, I remember hearing Bible stories in Sunday School. I like the story about how you created the earth and everything. My favorite story is the one about Baby Jesus being born in a manager. And, I liked how he talked to his friend Lazarus who had died and told him to come out of the grave. Lazarus did because he was alive again. I think you can do anything; that's why I came up to find you. I don't see you with my eyes but my teacher said I can see you with my heart." Jainie waited a while, hoping to see God. Then she became tired of waiting. "God, please help me get back down. I guess I have to tell Kenny I couldn't see you after all." She started to step down, missed the step and was suddenly off the ladder. Janie felt like she was floating then felt something catch her. In the whiteness of the cloud, she thought she saw a face smiling at her. "Hi, God. I see you now." "Jesus said, bring the little children to Me" was the subject of the minister's eulogy of the seven year old girl. |
| Prompt: Many cultures have stories that describe the creation of the world. As a writer, write your own original account of how the world began. There was a beginning Of this earth of we share. The Beginning was Creative Power Not the kind that melts and turns sour But that which the human voice cannot define Creative Power began to move over all the space Followed by light and substance which then changed. Soon Creative Power stopped to see all that was following And saw a magnificent universe of light, planets, stars Floating in a pattern with purpose but something Was missing, for Creative Power sought Relationships, communication, love So came human hearts To share in love. |
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