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Archive for July, 2021

The Ugly Mood Storm, Fantasy with a Dose of Real-Life

Posted in book review, inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , on July 30, 2021| Leave a Comment »

The Ugly Mood Storm

Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

The problems Chase and his friends face in The Ugly Mood Storm, mimic difficulties the pandemic has highlighted. Distrust. Closed minds. Misinformation. The fantasy was ready for publication just before the disease exploded across the planet. Unfortunately, a distanced world where author and reader could not meet, was not the time to introduce a new book. The paperback and eBook are now available. The lexicon is manageable for fourth to sixth grade students.

In the Ugly Mood Storm, no ordinary storm has hit Bench Springs. It’s evil. Its job is to make town citizens destroy one another. The Malefics have created a constant, magical, thunderstorm. It forces residents to stay inside the town’s limits where they fight among themselves. Logic is lost someplace inside an unopened dictionary.

Fights arise about nothing, flip-top phones, or the only downtown traffic light. A busy League spirit hides bullets from all the guns in town. The sun never rises. Chase and his Star League friends need to tackle the untouchable, the impossible, and the foul. Ugly moods affect every man, woman, and child who needs air to breathe. It is poisoned by the unnatural rain.

The Malefics sit back, relax, and watch. Let the people destroy themselves. Yet, the Star League kids know there must be a flaw in the plan. Somewhere. They must find a win for the Star League because the series ends on the last page. With truth. In a solid-story form.

The complete tale begins with book one, The Curse Under the Freckles, where Chase learns that only he can remove the curse that holds his magical powers hostage. But the fight does not involve weapons. It asks for much more.

The adventure continues with Stinky Rotten Threats as Pitch Hardside, kid Malefics member, makes his move to become a stronger and more grownup vicious leader. Pitch isn’t at big-time-curse level yet, but he creates a well-placed stink that could keep Chase and friends from entering their own safe quarters. Not bad for a preteen. Also, not the end of his story.

Now, during the last pages of the journey, a strong dose of truth appears. A tangible kind of honesty. May it leak into the real world.  

(Cover art by Philip Rogers)

 

 

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A Leaf-filled Heart, Nature’s Miracle

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on July 24, 2021| 2 Comments »

leaves shaped like a heart

You can be a victim of cancer or a survivor of cancer. It’s a mindset. (Dave Pelzer)

Debby and nature know one another. She celebrates it and doesn’t take blue skies and artistically shaped branches for granted. I love Debby’s lack of pretense. It comes naturally. She grew up on a farm and recognizes the innate virtue of the living world.

As a child Debby had a pet skunk. Scent weaponry disengaged. At an early age she could accept the soft beauty of a maligned animal. Debby recognizes goodness in the light-and-shadow natural world. Therefore, when she developed cancer and needed a spiritual sign, nature provided the hope she needed.

Fear is a normal reaction. Pain. Severe post-treatment nausea. Then, came the result of any trauma—waking in the morning and knowing the previous day wasn’t a dream. It touches anyone who has walked through hell.

Therefore, nature knew what to do. It created art for her in a unique form, one she could see from her window. Dried leaves formed the shape of a heart on the roof of a neighbor’s house.  Dried and crumbled oak. Cracked brown maple. Unidentified stems.

As new winds approached, the pattern remained. For weeks. Hope healed Debby’s spirit. Spirit filled her body, and the cancer did not stay.

Eventually, wind scattered nature’s artwork. It erased the leaf-heart. The message wasn’t needed anymore. Debby’s beating heart was going to be enough. She had purpose. She would survive.

The original photograph of the neighbor’s roof isn’t much larger than a postage stamp. The enlarged version, like life, isn’t as clear as I would like it to be. However, a little sun color highlights the miracle celebration. The unspoken possibilities.

The story of Lazarus claims he was raised from the dead. However, the rising wasn’t permanent. It didn’t put him in front of anyone in line at a grocery store. Imagine how many lines in his face he could have by now! His second burial didn’t make much of a story. His life in between? That could be another matter, possibly not exciting enough for added scribbled pages. Most of the good we do isn’t dramatic.

I am grateful for Debby. Her healing. Her presence in my tiny spiritual community. Her friendship.

Peace to all. May gratitude grab this moment, whether it be inside a place of struggle or a moment of triumph.

 

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Treading Water, Touching Wisdom

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , on July 17, 2021| 1 Comment »

pool_LI

If you chase two rabbits, you will catch neither one. (Russian proverb)

Two loads of wash in the hall. A bathroom that needs cleaning. An over-scheduled week. My husband suggests we go to the Y. Relax. Maybe when I get back, I will actually do one thing at a time. 

Buoyed by eleven feet of water, I tread from one side of the deep end to the other. Heat may fill the air, but I am surrounded by coolness. And a vague sense something special is about to happen. I smile at a young gentleman swimming close by. He smiles back.

Soon Randy and I engage in a long conversation. Well, he talks. I listen. “My heart stopped beating last March and my wife revived me with CPR.” My ears are open.

He introduces me to his wife. I hear their stories. They include meditation, music, a recording studio, a computer enterprise. Enthusiasm. A bi-racial couple with an incredible story to tell. Whether the husband or wife carries more sun-protective melanin doesn’t matter.

The point of this story has less to do with outside features than internal qualities. I see no wrinkles on my companions but recognize plenty of experience. I wonder if the couple has hit 40 yet.

I know I want to meet Randy and his wife again.  We met on a spiritual level. The ideal in any gathering. Buoyed by hope, I forget about a schedule that seemed impossible a few hours ago. One breath at a time. One slow kick after another keeps me moving in the water. Today. This moment. It doesn’t need to be perfect to be beautiful.     

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LAST VISIT TO THE HOUSE I CALLED HOME, a Poem

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , on July 10, 2021| 1 Comment »

Our past offers us two choices … live IN it or live FROM it.  (Brittany Burgunder)

One of our upstairs room has been a storeroom. For things. Too many things. For years. Oh why was I born with a creative mind instead of one made of neat everything-has-a-place compartments? With loving help the space is now a playroom. For grandkids. As I go through old photo albums, the next chore, I see pictures of my parents. In a side closet I find my wedding dress again, fifty years after I slipped it into its protective bag, closed the zipper and lived the unexpected life that followed.

I find a poem, written after exploring my father’s house after he died.

wedding dress

LAST VISIT TO THE HOUSE I CALLED HOME
           
Dust encases the old homestead.
Encyclopedias from 1963,
boxes of unused pencils,

skeins of yarn with faded fifty-cent
mark-down stickers,
a broken clock.

Most of the saved items are gone, 
Dumpster and shredder items wait.
Bags of cancelled checks

on Mom’s closed account.
She died years ago. 
Dad’s will to maintain dissolved, too.

In the back yard his loss leaked
into the naked, open space
leaving it flat, withered.

Before the property grew sullen, 
I planted seeds for annuals that sprouted into
a tiny-stemmed miniature garden.

They dwarfed next to tomato vines 
Dad tied to hand-cut posts.
Sunlight coaxed 

white blossoms into green and then red fruit.
Inside the house Mom made soups that 
took all day to blend the chicken 

with onions, carrots, celery
into a fragrance that filled every nook.
I try to recall an ancient, lingering scent

but it was taken for granted
too long ago. I find my wedding gown 
in an eaves closet,

zipped in plastic.
I had changed my name and moved on.
The yellowed department-store receipt

remains attached to the wire hanger.
I wipe off the grime and carry what-was-me 
into what-is-me now.

The door locks for the last time.
The sun leaves a sliver of itself 
on a pink horizon,

a visible color beyond reach,
like memories, both dark and light,
locked inside things left behind.

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A Final Conversation with My Dying Microwave

Posted in humor, inspiration, tagged , , , , , , on July 2, 2021| Leave a Comment »

 

Life does exist. It’s the purpose that counts. (Toba Beta, My Ancestor Was an Ancient Astronaut)

Me: What is wrong with you? Ten minutes ago, you turned bacon into the crisp treat my granddaughter loves. Now you have the power of a second-hand toy microwave, the kind with parts that aren’t made anymore.

Microwave: You really want to know.

Me: Yes, I really want to know. STAT. I have guests for brunch.

Microwave: STAT. That stands for Some Time After Therapy. Extensive treatment. You warmed that coffee long enough to mimic molten lava. Did you really think that would coax me into action? If I suddenly rose from the dead, whose tongue were you trying to burn?

Me: Okay. Okay. I was desperate. Wait a minute. You are dead?

Microwave: Not completely. You need to pull my plug.

Me: Literally.

Microwave: Yes. I’m an appliance. You don’t pay for my healthcare. Electricity was all I needed. And an occasional cleaning. I can deal with a garbage-pickup burial. I wish you warm leftovers with no spillovers. May my replacement last as long as I have.

Me: Your timing stinks, you know.

Microwave: And you think you will be planning your demise?

Me: You’re mighty clever for an appliance. No. I don’t think I will jump into a casket on purpose.

Microwave: Well, your son has taken over the stove. Quite well. He’s not staring at a dying appliance for help. Time to face facts, human. You are mighty lucky to have something like me. Gratitude? Yeah. For what you have. For what you can do. Your son is calling you now. Your meal is ready. Celebrate. I’ll wave at you from the curb on pickup day. Well, I’ll wave metaphorically.

And by the way, nothing is wrong with me. Not in the larger scheme of things. You don’t blame a battery for wearing out. Or a day from turning into night. I did what I was meant to do.

Now, you do the same.

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