Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

September 26, 2007

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Today’s Stories

~**~**~

Pearls in the Dark

Peggy Ann Doak

It is twelve past ten, Thursday night, August 12, 2007. A thunderstorm just came over the island taking the electricity with it when it left. This is not my idea of a good time. Fortunately my computer is a mobile laptop so I do have a little over an hour of time to type. I do not dare go online, because the storm may be hovering, just waiting for me to plug the phone line in so it can destroy my modem. They do that you know. Storms. And if they have your number, forget about a normal life. Rarely does the electricity stay on during any form of storm that hits Mount Desert Island. And where I live, which is where the townies or the working people live, we are the last to see our power turned back on.  The road I live on is one of the VERY LAST roads on the backside of Mount Desert Island to be restored to  power. Why? I thought you would ask that. But I have already answered it. Storms have my number. 'They Know'.

Since the day of my birth, December 3, 1954, I have been an irritant to all that surrounds me. My family, the weather, the neighbors, mechanical things. Animals are the only item in this world with free will when it comes to choosing who or what to like. My three dogs are hanging out with me in my 'can't see my hand in front of my face' bedroom except for the brightly lit, battery supported, computer screen.

My Mother named me Peggy. Not Margaret. Peggy. Now Peggy is a Celtic name that means pearl. Thus, here is the root of my problems and the bane of my existance. The process of making a pearl into a pearl?

It starts out as a grain of sand or something of that sort. And then it proceeds to irritate the hell out of the oyster it is in. The oyster, in order to be able to sleep at night, puts out some form of goo that covers the sand piece, encasing it so that it will not irritate. Except that only works until the goo dries. Now the sand, encased in goo, get's bigger as the goo dries. This goo is sort of like our phlegm. Snot, if you will. So you could say that a pearl is a booger. Dried goo creates a pearl. Dried snot creates a booger.

And so the pearl basically irritates its environment until the environment 'in the pearls case, an oyster' snots on what irritates. Kind of makes me wonder if oysters sneeze. Like we do, or the dogs or horses do when we get dust particles up our noses? Interesting thought.  For me anyway.

What am I leading to? Well some of you who know me, or know some of my story, are aware that if a weird situation is going to blow into town, it will stall at my house. I can't hide from it. Sitting in the dark, with all of the flying beasties in the house and barnyard who see the light on my computer find their way to my bedroom and are whirling around the screen. If I have typos, blame it on the blasted June bug. If it even allows me to finish this story without knocking me out first. Those bugs are icky.

Ok. My Mother names me pearl. Already I am an irritant. I immediately get colic. Chronic Colic. She gets no sleep so she goes to the family doctor and he gives her something to calm down my stomach and as my Mother put it, though she denied it when asked with other people around, "She slept for six months." That is me she is talking about. What do they give children who have belly aches? Well in the olden times it was Laudenum. An opiate. When I was young but older than a baby she gave me Paragoric, another opiate. As a baby I am quite certain that I got something close to Laudenum. For six months. So it is not odd that when my appendix ruptured at my age of fifteen, the first shot of Morphine took me to a warm and safe place.  No more pain and I felt safe.  Of course eventually I began to fake pain,  not right away, as I didn't need to fake pain with a ruptured appendix. But after I healed, I learned ways to get my opiates.

Ahhh, a connection here also that helps to illustrate a pearl. After my appendix ruptured, probably because I irritated the hell out of it, my body went into action drawing all the toxins into a muscle-like sac in my intestinal area, and then enclosing the poisons like a zippered pouch. It was a big abscess. But that doesn't really work for the Pearl creation story, so, let that one go. I would delete it, but I find it witty, in the dark, on an island with large flying beasties pinging me on the head or flying into my computer screen.

Well, pull this story together, and what have you got? The beautiful coveted pearl, is created through irritating its surroundings, causing the surrounding soft oyster belly to basically snot on the piece of sand, to stop the pain.  As soon as the oyster snot dries,  the sand begins to grow into a pearl and it becomes bigger. A cycle has been created. Every time the snot dries the pearl gets bigger and irritates it's host even more, so it is snotted upon again and again and well, the really big beautiful pearls? They have been snotted on for a very long time.

I am a pearl, according to my name. I irritate my surroundings just by being me, and I get snotted on. Over and Over. Now how does a pearl stop being snotted upon. When a fisherman finds the oyster with the big pearl and removes the pearl, or when the oyster dies. The pearl remains a pearl inside a dead oyster until the oyster goes back to nature, or rather is composted and the pearl is free!

But how does that pertain to me I ask. When will I stop being snotted on, and then can enjoy being a big gorgeous Pearl? At this rate, in this life time, I will have to be a Pearl of Wisdom, because at fifty two, I am holding, but....nature has it way. And as far as I know, the oyster isn't dead yet. The scene is still grim and snotty. I guess this must be God's way of making me into a rather spectacular Gem.

Oh thank you God. When we meet up again? We really need to talk. Really talk.

Peggy Ann Doak

pdoak333@peoplepc.com

~**~**~
  

Poetry Corner

~**~**~

Whom Shall I Turn To
Cynthia Groopman

Many times, thoughts float rapidly in my mind,
and I am deep in contemplation.
Sadness with her mask of gloom, opaques my smiling face,
and I begin to ask,
whom shall I turn to,
when days are lonely and nights are long,
when grief's griping power is so mighty and strong.
Whom shall I turn to when I need a helping hand,
as I walk slowly across a lonely sojourner's land?
Whom shall I turn to when there is a void in my heart,
and only a comforting word is what I needed from the start.
Well, the answer to this question, is found in prayer,
because I feel God's loving reassuring presence everywhere.


Cynthia Groopman
Cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net
Copyright ©2004 Cynthia Groopman

~**~**~

Why
Cynthia Groopman

Only, a three letter interrogative word,
That asks questions that are meaningful, sensible or even absurd.
Oh, why do I constantly ask,
As in a state of contemplation, I bask.
My thoughts swirl with confusion,
As questions are indeed an intrusion.
I am not fearful to ask why,
And I shall not retreat in my corner and cry.
Unfortunately many of the answers to my why questions,
I shall never comprehend,
And I shall never assume and being all knowing,
I shall not pretend.
The answers to my questions are unfathomable to the mind of man,
Because they are locked away dwelling in the mysteries
of the powerful Divine plan.
For, I must realize that to everything there is a definite reason,
And only God above knows the true reason.
I shall always ask why, my friend,
But for advice, possible answers and understand,
upon the all powerful Lord, I shall rely.


Cynthia Groopman
Cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net

Copyright ©2004 Cynthia Groopman

~**~**~  

What is Joy all About

By Cynthia Groopman

What is joy, all about? It is expressed

in a child's gleeful shout.

As the wind tickles the musical chimes,

Joy is found in memories of treasured happy moments and

times.

As children run and play,

Joy adds zest and happiness to each day.

The robin's first appearance in spring,

Is God's gift to us of what joy the new season will bring.

A warm hug and a gentle kiss are expressions of love and

joy,

sorrow and anxiety, they do destroy.

Each note of music being played on a piano,

Is melody's joyful glow.

For joy must be given and received,

Pain suffering, worry and sorrow, joy will relieve.

Cynthia Groopman
Cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net

~**~**~

Wonder
Cynthia Groopman

When I was a child, wonder was so much part of me,
each day was full of surprise and my heart danced and sang with glee.
At the awesome sky I would gaze,
admire the stars and wonder about the fog and early morning haze.
God's birthday cake of candlelike twinkling stars was a wonder for me,
to which I would stare pensively.
Everything had an element of newness and elegance,
as I was awed by the sun's glorious heat and radiance.
At night, the moon was smiling and sang a lullaby,
while the sandman would ease me into slumberland,
but all of this I did not understand.
For life was a source of wonder, and yes, it still is,
like a seltzer bottle full of fizz.
For although I am fifty-five,
Life is full of wonder as I'm inspired by all the flourish and thrive.


Cynthia Groopman
Cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net
 
Copyright ©2004 Cynthia Groopman

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