Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

Feb 22, 2007

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Today’s Stories

~**~**~

THE INTRUDER

 Louise Nomani

There is screaming in my back yard.  The screams reverberate in tones of desperation, and there is a clear message.  DANGER HERE, BEWARE!   Oh my God!  I race to the window and look and look but see nothing.  The yard is empty; and now the quiet is eerie, frightening almost in its vacuum. There is nothing and my imagination makes me anxious.  What is going on?  What is happening?  Where is the danger? I fly from window to window in my worry.  Is one always drawn to the fire?

 There he is.  I have spotted him. He isn’t even hiding in his arrogance.   I have seen him before when he trespassed. I think he tries to impress me with his good looks.  I can’t help it.  I am always drawn to him.  I am unable to take my eyes off him.  He looks at me and I watch him.  He is a dangerous one I know.  He has a reputation for killing, and I shudder to think of it.  Where does justice rest?  My mind and emotions are in turmoil.  It is   like being in love with a man even when you know he’s no darned good.  Where is the law when you need it? This guy is just too handsome though, and I am soft hearted and weak willed.  I can’t take my eyes off him. I would be putty in his grasp. The cold fuels my compassion. My word it is cold!  It was fifteen degrees below zero at 6 AM.  Is he warm enough in that coat, I wonder?  Should I invite him in?  Sanity returns to my mind.  I am indignant.

  This intruder has no right to have a killing orgy in my peaceful place!  I will not tolerate it.  There is a shotgun in the closet. I have never used it.  Could I use it?    It was my mother’s, and the stock is hand carved and hand rubbed and burnished in soft washes of umber. The wood has a soft luster and feels warm in my hands.  It is beautiful even with the threat it carries. 

I hate him, this intruder. I hate that he even makes me think of violence. His face is dark in shadow, but I can see the cold killing piece of him in his eyes and manner. He is intimidating and sly.  He is clever, but clean and neatly dressed.  He is so handsome, and I stay by the window to watch his course and admire his beauty. He looks huge in this frigid cold with his down filled coat that is fluffed and adding inches to his substantial frame.  He hides his head in the warmth of his coat from time to time just as I do when I need the warmth of my breath to warm my cheeks and thaw my lungs. No, I must not humanize him.

All my feathered friends are gone, long gone.  They heard the alarm and passed the word.  I think sadly, however, that there is at least one in the neighborhood that will not make it home for lunch.  I look at the intruder and see those talons that, like fingers, easily grasp the branch of the Spruce. Those talons are huge and cruel, and he sits on that branch with an easy elegance pretending to be Royalty in all his finery. He watches me watching him, and it is a bit disarming for he knows me too well.  He knows that I could not harm him.  I return the shotgun to its proper place.

Well, my intruder owns that big Spruce.  He sits near the top of the tree.  He owns the tree and the neighborhood too if all the little creatures have been paying attention... He watches all and sees all.  Now, he is watching the bird feeder----- just like a hawk.

 I wish he would leave even as I am drawn to him.  I am captivated and impervious to any danger for I cannot resist his allure.  What a beauty!   His feathers are layered in waves of red and tan and cream, but his breast is pale, nude colored and somehow hinting of an innocence that is not real. He is wearing a turtleneck of rich reddish plumage, and the fabric looks lustrous and soft and warm.  It is also fluffed in this cold air. His tail is long, square ended and substantial.  It is tan, or is it red?  It carries ribbons of cream and smudges of black.  He is a piece of art, and I frame him in my mind.  I should frighten him away, but I think of the good he does with rodent control and hope that excuses him from my wrath.  I would love to make a pet of him if I could change his bad behavior.  I know though, that like a man, I can’t change him; I can’t train him.  So I stand here and drink my coffee wondering if the intruder would satisfy his appetite with an ounce of meat.  I am just betting that this guy is not so high minded that he would refuse a tender piece of steak.  What man could?  . 

Logic assails my mind.  I realize that even that poor bribe would not be sufficient to change his bad behavior. Good manners start in kindergarten, and he and I are both too old.  But, I am watching him watch me, and we are a mutual admiration society.  That will be enough reward this cold

Short story by Louise Nomani    Jan. 07

windmill@tdstelme.net

~**~**~

Saying Good Bye

Sharon Bryant

"Get that phone for me," I said to my friend who was visiting for the afternoon.  My hands were in the dishwater at the time.  She picked up the phone and said, "It's for you, it's your mom."

"Hello," I said.  "Well gal, got some bad news to tell you.....I have the big C."  My heart started pounding so loud I thought it would burst from my chest.

What do you say to your mom when she calls and tells you she has cancer?  What CAN you say?  You have a lump in your throat so large you can't speak.

"Mom, are you sure?" I asked.  "Yes, I'm sure.  They want to operate immediately but I want to wait until the Holidays are over."

In my heart, I knew we shouldn't wait.  I knew each day counted.

We waited at mom's request and the doctor telling us a month wouldn't make much difference, until two days after Christmas.  Mom wanted to wait until New Year's had passed, but we couldn't. 

Mom lost her battle with cancer a year later, on December 23, 1982.

I can never forget her battle.  I can never forget her strength.  I've always said if it ever happens to me, I hope I'm as strong as she was.

Then it happened.  I got the dreaded call from my doctor's office.  "We have some bad news, you have cancer."  It hit me like being punched with a huge rock in my stomach.  "Be in my office tomorrow morning at 9:00," my doctor said.

I think that night was one of the hardest I've ever had to deal with other than losing those that I love.  I think I slept maybe an hour.  My mind kept asking a million questions.  How long did I have?  What stage was I in?   Would I have to take chemo? 

Most of all, would I want to take chemo.  I'd seen what it did to my mother.  I heard her say, "Enough, I can't go on like this."

The next day I sat in my doctor's office.  They were sure they could get it all with surgery and I would be spared chemo.  I told him I needed a while to think.  He told me I didn't have a long time to think, that the surgery had to be done immediately.  I was scheduled.  It took a total of four surgeries to get all the cells.

My husband had Hodgkin's in the 70's.  He had to take chemo for 10 months.  The doctor told him then if he followed everything he told him to do, he could beat it.  He has beat it.

I know the fear of being told you have cancer.  It is a feeling that is hard to explain.  It is fear.

As I write this, I have two friends who are battling cancer and one aunt.  Two friends have ovarian cancer, my aunt has breast cancer.  My heart goes out to them.  I know the fears they are living with every day of their lives.

When my sister-in-law was diagnosed with cancer of the stomach almost seven years ago, she crumbled.  I had to be her rock.  I knew hers was worse than what I had to go through.  I walked that long road of battle with her.  I was with her in the end when we both had to say good bye.  Saying good bye is the hardest thing we ever have to do.

I live every day knowing my cancer can return.  I wake up every single morning and when my eyes open I say, "Thank you God for giving me another day."

Sharon Bryant

1946@bellsouth.net

~**~**~

Poetry Corner

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For All The Sad Songs I Have Sung

Linda Ann Henry

Take me away from the beating and the pain

Let me sing the sad songs again

Do not let him in the house anymore

I have tried, but it is hard to walk out the door.

For all the sad songs I have sung today

Help keep me safe in every way,

Love is my only crime

I married a man who was not kind

Take away the bruises I have

Do not look, you may become sad,

For all the songs that I have sung to be free

Help me and my children find peace.

Can I sing of what was once mine

Will the police come back another time,

I will give it my all, I stay in the hospital

With no one to call.

Please care a little, for a lost soul

I will not die, I will give my life,

To the doctors and nurses who care a little

Understand me now, a sad song I sing

I am the one who can bring it to an end

I will be strong, I will not be beaten again.

Linda Ann Henry

Do you remember me

The people's poet

linda11231949@aol.com

For the women who do not know how to get out

of a very bad relationship

I hope this poem will help someone

be saved from the beatings.

"Hope will sing of faith for a new dawn."

~**~**~

Readers Feedback

This is wonderful.  I was not aware of this.....Cynthia Groopman is a wonderful poet. 
Thanks for sharing this marvelous story with us.  She serves as an example
to the rest of us.......................carol

Carol,

What a nice way to honor one of our own!  Congratulations, Cynthia, for this feat!

Yours truly,

David Fox

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