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| << January27, 2007 - Hearts and Humor - Black Forest Cake, Anyone? |
February03, 2007 - Hearts and Humor - The Lady I Spend Lunch With >> |
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Hello my wonderful family of readers. I hope you receive this. Tonight is repeat night. I rewrote a story about my wonderful grandpa aka Sim tonight. I hope you like it. So many are not getting my stories because of spam blockers. If you do not want to receive my stories, please click on the unsubscribe link at the bottom of the post. If that does not work, send me an email – msmith @ nj.rr.com – remove the spaces to reach me. I am so excited tonight. A story in the making has been made. You will love to read this story. I hope to have it together this weekend. If not, it will come the weekend after. I’ve been on a high for weeks about this one. To read or sign up for my stories, go to: http://subs. zinester.com/86758/ Remove the space. I love your comments and include a few in every post. Send then to msmith4@nj.rr.com Sim The first memory of my Grandfather was when I began to call him “Sim.” I was three or four years old. I stood on my his wharf one day and heard his friend ask, “How was the fishing today, Sim?” “Sim?” I asked. “I thought your name was ‘Grandpa’?” He looked at me. “Well, that is my name, but I’m Grandpa to you.” I wasn’t convinced. From that day on he was “Sim.” Sim was a big man who loved to laugh and tease. I was gullible. He teased me constantly. I was at his house one day. Grandpa and Grandmum were eating watermelon and gave me some. I said, “This is good. Too bad we can’t grow them here.” “Sure you can.” Sim said. “Just take the seeds and put them in the ground.” “No you can’t!” I replied. “It’s too cold here.” “Yes you can! When I was a boy we grew them all the time. They were the biggest watermelons you ever saw. They’re easy to grow.” This was big news. I rushed home with a hand-full of the seeds, banged through the door and yelled, “Mum! Mum! I’m going to grow watermelons!” “You can’t grow watermelon around here! It’s too cold!” “I can too!” “Who told you that?” “Sim did. He said he grew them when he was little. They were the biggest melons he ever saw.” Mum visited grandpa and asked him about the melons. She said he laughed so hard tears ran down his wrinkled cheeks. Sim and Grandmum had ten children. Two died at birth. They lived in a three- bedroom house: one for them, one for the girls, and one for the boys. Sim had a big heart but hid it well. He never hugged me, but I knew he used to take me places. The sky was clear and brilliant blue. A weak breeze raised small waves. They reflected the rising sun and blinded me like diamonds under a strong light. A crow cawed from the top of a tree near the shore. Sim leaned into the next stroke. His strong arms pulled the oars. The small waves rattled against the bow as our boat plowed forward. Sim pulled the boat onto the rocky shore on the other side of the lake. We grabbed our fishing gear and lunch and hiked through the woods. He took me to a small lake hidden in the forest. We settled in a clearing at the edge of the lake. “This is a great lake. Only a few people know about it.” Sim said. “Really?” I asked. I was proud to be included into such an elite group. Sim baited our hooks. “We used to catch trout more than a foot long. You could sit here on the shore and see them swimming below your feet.” “Wow!” “There were so many fish, they used to jump right out of the water and land beside you. All you had to do was grab them up and take them home.” “Sim, are you fibbing me?” I asked. “I never fib, Mike. I swear it’s true.” He chuckled. “I saw it happen with my own eyes.” I knew better, but I couldn’t help wonder what it was like to see that many fish. No fish were caught that day, but I wasn’t disappointed. I caught a memory. It is proudly mounted in my mind – a warm sun, Sim leaning against a tree chewing a straw, teasing me with tales of the great fish he caught. Everyone knew and liked Sim. He loved to talk and laugh. In his late years, he sat on his porch and chatted with anyone who passed by. They talked about the decline of the fishing industry or just good ol’ gossip. He worked hard all of his life. I saw him in his 70’s. He carried a 10-foot log several miles. He needed it for his wharf. He never gave up. When he was a young man, Sim developed a blood clot in his leg. He recovered, but every few years an ulcer formed on that part of his leg. It took several months to heal. He was in his 70’s when it struck again. I was worked nights, had my days free, and volunteered to take him to the hospital for his twice-a-week treatments. During those trips, that I learned a lot of family history. Every section of road had a story. The time he came along with his rifle and met several men standing by the road, trying to shoot a deer a great distance away. He took his rifle, aimed, and got the deer. He was known for his shooting skills. I’ve seen his old rifle. The stock and grip were mostly worn away and there were no sights on the barrel. I doubt I could shoot a bottle at ten feet with it. He told of the time he and several friends hunted moose illegally and were caught by the game warden. They gave the warden a hind quarter of the moose and walked away free men. It was a different time and a different way of life. The climate in Nova Scotia is too cold to grow most vegetables. These men fished and hunted to survive, selling just enough to buy the produce they couldn’t get themselves. They had family values and helped those in need. Even though they had little, they were happy. I learned all this on our trips to and from the hospital. Sim was in his early 90’s when his memory began to fail. One day they found him lost and confused. He wandered in the street, trying to find his way home. It was too dangerous for him to be on his own. He was admitted to a seniors home. My wife, two children and I visited him often. During each visit, I could see the change in this once strong, proud man. “You have two kids?” he would ask. “I thought you only had one.” He didn’t remember Justin being born. A few visits later, “You have two kids? I didn’t know you had kids.” Later still, “You’re married now? Is that your wife?” He pointed to Georgia. It broke my heart. Sim was 94 when the first stroke hit him. He could no longer get around, but when nurses tried to help, he fought them like the strong and proud man he once was. At the age of 94, it took two strong orderlies to control him. Not long after, another stroke took his life. A great man was gone. I was in my 30’s. My aunt handed me a picture of Sim in his early years. It was like looking in a mirror. Sim gave me his genes, his sense of humor, and his love to talk. Sim’s not gone. He’s sitting here writing this story. Michael T. Smith Now for some comments from the last few days. In regards to me contest entry: Wow ! What a great story ! Great suprises ! .... So, the movement caught in the reflection in the window was Raggegy Ann returning to Elizabeth's room ! I'll never look at a Raggedy Ann doll in the same way again ! ( ; Maybe I'll check her hands for blood stains / : Thanks, Michael, for another winner of a story ! Sincerely, Corena in N.C. **************** Dark and spooky, is right! Great writing though! Liz Liz is my second mom. **************** Hi Michael: This story is not quite what we are used to it, but it was good. Easy to read and to follow the plot. I hope you win. Even if you don't, it gives you exposure and it helps you to continue to polish your talents.... Keep up the good work, TANNIA May the peace of Jesus Christ be always with you! Tannia **************** Wow. That's all I can think of to describe this one Michael. It was a brilliant story. Well written, horrifying and sad at the same time. I couldn't help but feel a little streak of satisfaction at the ending. They deserved what they got. Great writing! Leeuna **************** Now I would like to ask you to check out my good friend's book. Carol Roach is a freelance writer, and columnist for various newspapers. She is a published author for Picking up the Pieces: A Woman's Journey, Publish America, 2004, and has now completed her second novel, Angels Watching Over Me. She holds a Bachelor's in Psychology and a Master's Degree in Counseling Psychology from McGill University in Montreal. She also manages a successful online newsletter, Storytime Tapestry, showcasing the short stories and poems of over 400 Internet writers. Champion of the underdog, Carol's signature writing is about poverty and the ability to rise about it; giving women a voice through writing. Her writing is poignant and inspirational as she encourages everyone to "let their true heart sing" through the words that they write About the book: Picking Up The Pieces by Carol Roach. ISBN: 1-4137-1921-X My Name is Carol Roach and I am a simple soon to be 50 year old woman living in Montreal, Canada. I grew up poor and in the ghetto living with my grandmother. I had a tough childhood and ended up in a failed marriage. I have been a single parent since my son was three years old. It was hard but I made it. At 37 I went back to school and got a master's in counselling psychology. But I still did not achieve my ultimate dreams in the sense that I am working in a call center due to the fact that there are no jobs in Montreal. But I am picking up the pieces of my life and constantly moving forward. Please do pick up your copy at www.publishamerica.com. I guarantee that you won't be disappointed. My childhood dream of writing is now a reality. My book is a testimony to the fact that even we little people can dream and can succeed in our own little way. At last it is here. You can now purchase my new book - Picking Up The Pieces: A Woman's Journey at www.publishamerica.com. just go to the following url: http://www.publishamerica.com and search Carol Roach and the book will come up. or you can visit www.amazon.ca and and do the same thing. You may also order the book from your local book store. Don't miss out, get your copy now. Starting out in life practically an orphan and living in the ghetto, poor as a church mouse, I survived. I survived through a failed marriage. I struggled as a single parent but I survived. I beat the odds. I went back to school to obtain two university degrees and I run a newsletter. My story is the testimony of how even the simple people in life can achieve their dreams if we only allow ourselves to dream. Book Review: I finished it--though some parts were painful. I know it must have been so difficult for you to write some of these words, chapters. Review of "Picking Up the Pieces - A Woman's Journey" by Carol Roach. Carol Roach introduces her book of survival with the most honest sentence she could have chosen for such a tale: I grew up poor in a dysfunctional family. Thus begins her story, a saga that begins long before the author was born and didn't end until Carol Roach courageously ceased to be a victim. As in many memoirs, Roach begins by giving us a glimpse of the background history of the family. Unloved women, alcoholic men, abandoned children. Generations of pain. In spite of it all, the author was the lucky one. She ended up with her grandmother, a woman with her own problems but one who took this lonely child to her heart when nobody else wanted her. This book of painful, harsh, and then joyous memories covers everything from the loss of family, racism, prejudice, discrimination, love, loss, birth, death to the day a cycle of lost women ended. It shows us friendships and relationships, the highs and lows, the misery and the healing, and the acceptance of a higher power who loves us in spite of it all. Pet lovers will bond with the stories Roach shares of her pets. These animals give solace to a girl who always felt different; they now fill a special place in the "new" life of this extraordinary woman. Who could help but admire a person who breaks the housing rules to give a home to a poodle she named Tammy Twinkles? In a section she titles, "The Next Generation," Roach carries us through her marriage, \the birth of her son, divorce and the death of her beloved- angel grandmother. The son, Steven, comes to live full time with the author and is traumatized by the upheaval of his life--the father is on the fringes of the boy's life, the grandmother is gone forever, and there are behavioral problems. Through it all, Roach makes sure this loved child never suffers the same pain as the mother. And she works hard at making a life for herself and her child that will not take them down the same road as the past. If you only purchase one book this year, make it Picking Up the Pieces. If you have never lived such a life, you will know how blessed you are. If you are going through such times, Roach will offer you the promise that you can survive. She carries us along with her, shares her guardian angels, and reaches out to support people who need her understanding. For Carol Roach lifted herself up, earned college degrees in spite of a learning disability, and created a life she could finally call her very own. She continues to touch readers with the beauty of her poetry and the wisdom of her prose. This book will bring each of you, no matter what the circumstances, hope to build on the precious things in your life. Barbara Deming You can also join my daily newsletter and meet the fabulous writers that pour their heart into their writing and have a burning desire to share their work with the world as much as I do. This newsletter is a daily labour of love jam packed with wonderful stories and poems from the internet's finest. Some writers are new to the world of words and some are seasoned veterans but we are a tapestry of writers from all over the world who are dedicated to providing you with reading pleasure. Join now at: http://subs.zinester.com/98907 You can purchase Picking up the Pieces: A Woman's |
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| << January27, 2007 - Hearts and Humor - Black Forest Cake, Anyone? |
February03, 2007 - Hearts and Humor - The Lady I Spend Lunch With >> |
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