STORYTIME TAPESTRY

April 10, 2005

Happy Birthday Tennie Winter from your friends at Storytime Tapestry.

 As I celebrate my 52nd birthday which is the day I choose to be thankful for all my blessings, my family, my friends and my
God.   My life would not be the same without you in it.
It is an honor and a privilege to know you.  I know in my heart you
have prayed for me at one time as I have prayed for you.  I am so blessed.

Thank you for being my friend.  I am the one who was blessed the day we
met.  I hope to be the friend you need when you need a friend.

This is not to put the focus on me but you. This is the time of the year
I express my appreciation to you for sticking  by me all these years.  I
am grateful.  I am thankful.
I am blessed.

Sincerely,

Tennie

Now on to the good stuff..........

Animal awareness series endorsed by Shiloh and Hank our mascots; all stories must receive their approval.

Daham the Fierce Protector

Abraham Bin Assi

We kept an incubator of chicken eggs, in our house in Basrah.  We had a large space to house them.   My late father had a great passion for incubating eggs of foreign chickens from all over the world.  We had chicken from Japan, China, Siam, India, Lakehorn, Harrati; each species with its own peculiarities and looks.  From the small ones which were the size of Cornish hens to the large ones which stood up to the height of a sheep and weighing over thirty pounds.  One s rooster that we had was a cross between a white Lakehorn and a Mexican fighting rooster.  He grew to over five feet in height, and was as white as snow.  But Daham, as we called him, had the mannerism of a fighting rooster coupled with his very tame tendencies towards us. He used to sit lovingly in our laps, and he would sit next to us if we couldn't handle his weight. 

Daham was very protective of us. He was also very protective of his own space. He had the run of the entire house with all its gardens and backyards.  The garbage man had to ring the bell so that we would keep Daham at bay while he came into backyard to collect the garbage.  Otherwise, he would be chased out by Daham, flying overhead; aiming for the garbage man??™s forehead, while flapping his wings and squawking army tunes.  No one could push us or play with us kids as Daham would ruffle his feathers and charge at whoever he thought was doing us harm.   We had many years of joy with Daham before he died of chicken pox.

About Me:

I was born in Basrah, Iraq. I am of Arabic and Jewish decent. I studied in England and finished my university degrees in Montreal, where I have lived for the past 35 years.  I am an accountant who still finds the time to enjoy writing and painting. I am a member of a Montreal artist association and have sold many of my paintings.  I would be glad to show you my painting portfolio. You can reach me through: winterose  @videotron.ca

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Today's Queue Stories
~**~**~**~ 

Life Meaning the Search For

Roger Dean Kiser

Roger Dean  Kiser

I guess there comes a time in every person's life when things begin to change. Well, maybe "life" itself really does not change at all. Maybe it is we, ourselves who begin to change and we tend to look at life a bit little differently.

My vehicle is not as important to me as it once was. Of course I want it to be reliable and I want it to get me from here to there. But I no longer care about the fancy chrome wheels or the big wide tires. There was a time when I just had to have the large three inch lettering on the tires which let the world know that I was some how related to a tiger.

"Was it I who spent almost $750.00 to buy a Holly Carburetor for a car that looked like a piece of junk?" I thought to myself.

Once-upon-a-time my beautiful sunken living-room was the pride of my being. Now it is just another step that I have to take in order to get from the living-room to the hallway. What a pain that one upward step has become as I age.

"Now, this here shirt is as good as any". I say to myself, as I reach into the closet.

As I take out the shirt I notice a long sleeved western style shirt, with fancy pearl style snaps, which I have not worn for some thirty odd years.

"That was a really good shirt when I use to be a cowboy". I said, as I stood there thinking about my past.

The thought "You weren't ever really no darn cowboy", Came to my mind.

I grabbed the shirt and I threw it into the garbage.

As I look down at the closet floor I see the sharp pointed Italian shoes that I wore many years ago. Evidently there was a time in my life when I wanted to look like a circus dwarf, or a leprechaun.

"Was I ever really "cool" when I dressed like that back in the early eighties?" Sure never got me any dates". I said to myself, as I smiled.

I picked up the shoes and I pitched them into the garbage also.

Some things change as one gets older. Things that were once really important to us do not seem as important any more. Even money is still nice to have but it is almost better for us to have it in the bank, as security, rather than spend it on fancy trinkets.

Have we grown up? Is it that we have learned that we do not have to impress other people any more? Does the day come when we begin to realize that we are not going to live forever? That we had best make good use of the time that we have left on this earth?

Maybe the time comes when we start to realize that "our time" has passed. That it is now time for our children, and grandchildren, to be a little crazy and free spirited.

As we age do we tend to look inside ourselves to see if it is, in fact, our spiritual being that is really the important aspect of our lives? That time may be short and we have a urning to fully understand the true meaning of life before we depart this earth?

I have yet to see The Scooter Store offer a model which has a four-barrel holly carburetor, seventeen inch tires and fancy chrome wheels with big white letters on the sides. Of course this is still the early 2000s.

I am sure that The pharmaceutical companies are working to develop a pill which will extend our lives another fifty to one hundred years. Thus allowing the Scooter Store to have these supped-up models on the market before the year 2010.

I guess the search for "the true meaning of life" will once again be extended.

Roger Dean Kiser

trampolineone @earthlink.net

Roger Dean Kiser is the author of the
book "Orphan, A True Story of
Abandonment, Abuse and Redemption."
Roger also writes non-fiction short
stories which he displays on his
website "The Sad Orphan" located at:
www.rogerdeankiser.com
Roger's short stories have also been
published in: Chicken Soup, Heartwarmers
Heartwarmers of Love, A
Cool Collection I and II (Israel),

"The Bully" was made into
a short film by Nicholas Delfino
and has been entered into several major
film festivals in the United States.

~**~**~

Zoe Ann Worden, Sage

Bill Walker

I was talking to a lady - well ladies do talk to me once in a while.  And all I know, is ladies - even those that live in Texas.  Those, I guess you could call my ex girl  friends. They fall in the Witch class. One lived at San Antonio.  The other lives near Dallas, I think she should live in Dallas. She is there most any day. There is one Dollie that lives near Houston.  She loves collies, you know. Now she is a Dollie. Just ask her Collies.  I guess one out of three is about par for the course.

Now all that hot air aside, this lady said something that sparked a brain cell. I recalled a person out of the past, Mrs. Worden.  She was my 6th grade school teacher.  I remember Red Skelton talking about a teacher he had. Red called him a sage.  Mrs. Worden I think may fall in the sage class.  You do know what a sage is?   That is a smart person, one you can learn things from.  Like my friend Keith, he is a sage.  No sage brush about it, or sage bush.

She made an impression on me.  I always liked to read anyway, but she really made me want to read even more.  Every day, she had a book to read a few pages from. That is she read it to the class.  She would only read about 4 or 5 pages a day. So a chapter might take 3 to 5 days. She had, I think, 3 books, all written by the same man. She read every one of those books to the class, year after year. The author was Albert P Terhune., and he wrote about his champion collie dogs.

Now looking back, I think she did this for a number of reasons.  The books were good books, not trash. They were based on truth. At the end of the time for reading, you wondered ???I want to know what, and how did Laddie handle this mess.??? You had to be tuned in tomorrow, same time, same station. Those books were a teacher??™s tools.  They were well written.  You picked up a taste for a few things. I learned a love for dogs. Not that I needed that. One thing I think was that you learned there were good people, and yes a few bad apples in the human race.

Mrs. Worden drove a old Chevy.  It was in good shape.  It just had some age. 
During the war years, a lot of people had cars that were getting a bit gray.  I think she got a later one after the war - about a ???46 model.  It was one that brother-in-law Ed the barber found. Now Ed was a friend of the Logan boys. That would be Paul the, ???I sell you a Studebaker???, or George, ???I put you in class, a Caddy or Olds.???

So I know Ed had something to do with her getting a bit newer car. After some thought on things said,  It comes to me these all were related in some fashion. Maybe, and again maybe not been.  I know they all talked about one another..  It was nice talk, not bad except when Paul and George didn't click to well.  I later learned that was an act.  Both worked together, helping the other in any time of need.  I know if you were looking for a car on George's lot, George might not have one to suit you,. It wouldn't be long till you found one on Paul's lot.  Now how did this come about?  Have you heard of a thing called a telephone?  Also in a round-about way you might get an idea the other had a car for sale like you would be looking for. So I think I would be right in saying this - car came from one of the two places.

We opened the station up and here she is (Mrs. Worden). Same as always, still the same laugh. One day she pulled in, had her sister with her.  Nothing real new, both stuck together like glue.  Ed was still chopping hair, and telling stories. All of this bunch was walking talking history books. They liked telling of the good old days.  The best stories would be about one another. Like the day the shot gun went off in Paul's like new Chev.  George still got the bird. Chev had a nice hole in the top. I got that story from all four, Zoe,  Ed,  Paul, and after a bit from George. The words just changed a bit to suit who ever was telling it.

This day they had been on a ride about town, both yapping a mile a minute. One of the yeps was we been up by your house.  "Those old fashion roses on the fence are something. Why, that is the most beautiful thing we seen."  They had to know the whats and wherefores.  I think Dad said, well that was his wife??™s deal, just started them and they took off.  He said the kids next door were complaining about the thorns. Zoe said well maybe if they keep the hands to themselves, it would be no problem.  Again the laugh.  I can't remember the words as spoken, but it was along those lines.  A bit of wisdom came forth.  I told you she fits  the sage class.  She said something about, how often is nice things, and pretty things,  those come with thorns of some kind.  That part of living, and learning.

One could always spot her car.  No matter what make or color. Simple, the plate read 3-4000. I wonder who has that number now?  Well it would be 3-A 4000.

There is a 3-B 4000 also. 

Zoe Ann Worden the sage,  I remember,  the old South School of Beatrice.  She is Gone.  The school building is too.  Oh there is a new one now,  it has a fancy name. I wonder why it wasn't named Worden.   Maybe  she wasn't important enough, but  to me she was very important. I never knew who Dr. Stoddard was. To tell the truth I could care less.  I knew a real sage. Zoe Ann Worden.