STORYTIME TAPESTRY

April 23, 2005

Happy Landmark Birthday for our dear writer David Wainland . Today we share in his birthday celebration by reading his wonderful stories.

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

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

Memories Are Made Of This

Bill Walker

wildbill6807@yahoo.com

Memories are made of this, was a song of quite a few years back.  It was done by a group called the Ink Spots. I was thinking of the different kinds of memories we all have.  Old timers have a lot more then young timers. 

We all have happy memories, those we should recall often, those are what makes a sad time better.  One may think at times the sad times out number the happy ones. Well only if you let it happen.

Memories of the happy day I had when I brought Tinker home, little fur ball.   That was a happy memory.  One knows full well when they bring a fur ball into their life, there will be that day, hope it is far off, when they will have to pet the fur ball for the last time.  Which memory do you keep?   I think you keep both. You think back, you remember the good times, the silly things and times, you laugh about those times.  Memories

I remember the snowy day Tink and Poo took a walk, got lost.  How upset I was trying to find them, thinking the worse all the time.  At last I found them.  There was heart ache till I found them.  Then joy, which is some of what Memories are made of.  I don't think they forgot that either.  I think both were looking for a swat on the butt, Instead they got back home.  Memories

I think of the places we went together.  Their ways of things, we have gone so far, isn't it time for a rest stop?  There are trees out there, that need us. Isn't it about lunch time?  Memories.

Be getting ready to go somewhere, put them out in the back, come in the house and go back to put them in the car. Poo would trot right to the car; Tink would look at me, and almost say now?  I just remembered I got a tree over there that needs me. Memories.

I remember the day I got Poo, put him in the car with Tink. Tink looked at him and almost said who is this guy?  A few days and they had become buddies.  They needed one another. Any thing go wrong, and I would say who did this.  They would never tell other wasn't me.  Memories.

They would go see the Vet.   The minute would get in the door, Tink told them we are here. Poo never said a word.  I think he was looking for a way out.  After they got taken care of Tink let them know what he thought of the service, Poo still never said a word, may have still been looking how do we get out of this place, where they do mean things to a poor little guy.  Memories. 

Then there was the last trip.  That is a sad memory. It still is a memory. One we don't care for, but it is a memory.  If that was all there was and we harp on that, then it washes out all the good ones.  I will keep all the memories, I will try to remember the good ones makes up for the one I wish had never happened.

This is life, it has Memories.

There also is a song.    Can't remember the title.   The song is about the two of us.  Someday there will be just one left.  Memories will get you by.  Remember the good Times. Memories.

About Me:

Well I??™m a story teller, not a writer. Never learned the art of fancy English. I

happen to live in Nebraska, but I??™m still Missouri. Never married, all the Dollies I

ever took a second look at was too smart. Now at 74, just turned that other day, I

figure they all home safe. I love Doggies and Dollies in that order. Lost my two

true friends this year, that be Tinker and Poo. So I found me a new one. This

time a little girlie Peke. She is a normal female. Got a mouth, talks all the time.

She will never be a great writers of stories like Tinker and Poo. They have

about 50 stories on HWS. And now writing back from Rainbow Bridge.

I just try to write about people, places and things best I remember. Have something

over 250 stories on HWS. under three names.   

Today's Queue Stories
~**~**~**~ 

Birth of My Twilight

By David Wainland

            My wife and I were living in Andalusia Pa., a town on the outskirts of Philadelphia. It was 1969 and I was working for a hardware company that manufactured propane torches. One morning we decided to take a ride to a little town just north of us on the Delaware River that was becoming famous as an art colony and being visited by thousands of tourists. It located North of Washington Crossing Park was a delightful little place filled with boutiques, art galleries and cafes.

We had an enjoyable day and were preparing to leave when we entered one last craft store. It was there that I made an observation that changed my life forever. Inside a craftsman was busy making little figurines out of welded cut nails. He was using an oxygen acetylene torch, a tool I was very familiar with. Each grouping, whether a profession or just sport poses, caught my fancy. I then muttered a phrase that I would hear and become all too familiar with through the years, ???I can do that.???

I was already familiar with how to use a torch, I had worked for my father for many years using one in the fabrication and restoration of chandeliers and I was also an amateur artist. As a hobby I painted, cartooned and had done work in clay and woodcarving.

I resolved to attempt welded metal sculpting upon my next visit to my dad??™s shop. It wouldn??™t happen until 1972 when I lost my job. My wife was pregnant with a second child and living alone in Massachusetts while I was in New York once more working with my dad.

During my spare time I played with his torch and welded odd pieces of metal together into abstract forms. Next, I moved into braising, a different art form using the torch, but with brass instead of Iron. Little animals began to take form from the odds and ends that littered my father??™s scrap brass barrel.

After showing some of them to friends I was invited to share a booth at an outdoor art festival on Long Island. My friend did photographic work and since all we had was one eight-foot bare-wood table we split the top, half for her pictures and half for my brass turtles, cows, horses etc.

I sold out except for the lone bull that still decorates my curio cabinet and a new career was born.

That was my first show.

Thirty-three years and hundreds of expositions later my work has evolved into yet another and different style.

And now I have done my last show.

On the first, second and third of April at the Delray affair in Delray Beach Florida I setout my pieces for the final time and after the sun set on that Sunday evening I ceased to be an outdoor trooper. My sculptures, displays, tools and tent were folded and stored for the last time. My work has been displayed at this show every year since 1988 and I said goodbye to some old and dear friends. Each year the group of artists I began with grows smaller and my circle of talented friends are diminished by their loss. Some of these craftspeople I worked alongside of just once a year and only at this particular show. Though we have spent a mere fifty-seven days together over the course of seventeen years, I count them amongst my closest compatriots.

We have endured rainstorms, the wind, unbearable heat, bitter cold mornings and tornadoes together. Our children have grown by year long jumps. Some of us have been party to divorce, illness and even death. Yet we remain a small cluster of devoted craftsman producing unique art forms that do not make us famous, but we hope brings joy into the homes of thousands.

No more, ???I??™ll be back,??? ???I don??™t have the room,??? ???It cost??™s how much,??? ???You do this for a living???? ???My Uncle Joe makes these,??? and ???What ever you want dear.???  Though also, no more smiles of appreciation, no more, ???I have to have that??? and the sundry other compliments that makes our day and forms the basis of our lives. The reasons why we have endured for so long,

With the final folding of my tent at the age of sixty-five I enter the ???Birth of my twilight???, the years that I will spend visiting the shows, renewing old friendships, traveling and joyfully remembering the years I loved and looking forward to the coming years I will learn to love.

As for the future I intend to write until my fingertips wear out and then I??™ll learn to dictate.

~**~**~  

THE ENVELOPE PLEASE

By David Wainland

            It arrived towards the end of January and I had a vague idea what might be in it, a plain white envelope about four by six inches. I was tempted to open it, but decided to wait for a calmer moment. There are very few calm moments in my life. As an after thought I shoved it in my ???Get to it soon drawer.??? Ooops, big mistake, I never get to the things in my ???Get to it soon drawer.???

            January moved into February and dribbled along, as February is prone to do. Towards the end I realized I was missing something I desperately needed and decided to go through my ???Get to it soon??? drawer. We have a bar that looks out over the pool and stream in my back yard and I find it a wonderful place to work. I do most of my sketching in that same spot.

            I??™m not good at making a long story short and I tend to make a short story long, however that being stated I dumped the drawer unceremoniously on the tiled surface. It??™s a frightening feeling staring down at piles of things that had to be done almost right away and realizing they hadn??™t been done. Most of it I blame on my wife, ???When did you put this in my drawer Jamie???? She knows better and just ignores me.

            Sorting the ???To do??™s??? in separate piles and then reviewing the piles is usually how I work. That day was no different, (At the end almost half goes back in to be attended to next time) and I reluctantly dove in. The large envelope, perhaps because of its size, was the first to jump into my hand. Now I knew it was important because it came from the U.S. Government so I gave the envelope it??™s own spot on the bar.

            Well, after a bit, my head kept turning in that direction, I lifted the envelope up, held it next to my head and shook it. That usually is compared to kicking the tires in a new car show room. It was on the heavy side and felt like a booklet or something like it.

            Finally, holding my breath with much the same trepidation I had felt when that letter from AARP arrived congratulating me upon becoming eligible. I applied for the card, but went two years before I was willing to show and use it.

            The envelope was marked with a return address for the Social Security Administration. Uh oh. What now? Were they going to lower my payments? I have been collecting since sixty-two. Did they catch me doing something wrong? No, I am not the cheating type.

            ???All right, open it.??? My inner mind was shouting. Knife in hand I plunged in.

            There was a booklet, paper work, explanations and a red white and blue card with my name and Social Security number on it. My Medicare card had arrived. I was born on the 23^rd of April 1940 and it clearly stated my benefits would begin on the 1^st of April. Uncle Sam had just informed me that starting at the beginning of my birth month I would be classified an official Senior Citizen.

            I didn??™t feel different or look different, but suddenly I was different and I am proud to be different. I have survived, endured, overcome and generally, with some major exceptions, enjoyed my life and look forward to whatever lies ahead.

            Gentlemen the envelope please.

David Wainland
David @ DavidWainland.com

About Me:

I am a professional artist and metal sculptor known as

Sculptoons and I??™m the creator of custom tabletop items.

I paint as well as cartoon. My work is displayed at art

festivals in Florida.
My passion is writing and I have completed two novels,

Matecumbe Key ?©, about the 1935 Labor Day Hurricane and

Red Absinthe ?©, a murder mystery set in 1926 New Orleans.

When I am not working on my art I write stories, poetry

and essays about life.
I??™m married and the father of two. My son passed away in

July of 2003 and left behind a beautiful daughter. Just

one of my three grandchildren. My daughter and her family

live in New Jersey

~**~**~  

Warning this submission may not be suitable
for all readers, it may contain some graphic scenes or
course language.  Readers are to take that into
consideration and decide accordingly:

Wonder if I could win "My Most Embarassing
Moment"  with this?

Nap By The Roadside Park     By; Mark Crider

While hunting between Durango, a college town, and
Cortez Colorado I had this very unpleasant experience.
I'd been working the first ridge and the second canyon
off the highway in the shin oak brush. My hunting
partner had been working the second  ridge and the
third canyon.
We would talk with portable CB radios each half hour
to see if one or the other had spotted any mule deer.
We had seen some small bucks with does, but nothing
we wanted to fool with that early in our trip.
It was getting nigh on to 11AM and five hours climbing
up, down and around in that canyon through sometimes
virtually impenetrable shin oak had worn me out.
I radioed him that I was climbing out to the roadside
park on the highway and would wait there for the rest
of the group to come pick me up. I told him I may watch
the canyon from below the park in case someone spooked
a deer by and to honk so I could climb out to the top.
The park had a low rock wall around the canyon side of
it for people to sit on. The terrain rapidly dropped off
to the south and was covered with blue spruce and shin
oak brush.
It was a cool bright day and the sun shining on me was
near like a sleeping pill. I unslung my rifle and pack, took
off my heavy coat and crawled up under a giant blue
spruce in the shade. I spread my coat out, got my lunch,
water and snacks out of my pack and placed the pack near
the collar for a pillow.
I leaned my rifle against a low limb next to me and layed
back to enjoy myself and take a nap after I finished eating.
The hum of an occasional car going by above on the
highway just added to the tranquility. A camp robber and
a jay were squawking and chirping at one another. No doubt
challenging each other for scraps that people had left behind.
There I was dozing away when I heard a car pull into the
park close to me. Laughing, talking and then a big blanket
hit the ground by the outer limbs of the tree that were
nearly touching the ground. I heard them scrape the rocks
of the wall as they climbed over it and slid down to where it
was kind of level where I was laying under the tree.
They never knew I was there. My camo blending into the
shadows, plus they never expected anyone to be napping
six to eight feet from them. I had never expected to have
company either, especially two college kids stripping to
naked as fast as the buttons and zippers would work.
Being at a total loss as to what to do, and they, already
reclining on the blanket contortioning around, I decided
to just be still and maybe they would get it over with,
leave and I would just continue waiting on my hunting
buddies to show up and we would go back to camp.
They may have been undergrads, but let me tell you, they
were Ph.ds when it came to a "roll in the hay".  Believe
me, I got my Ph.d in sexuality and sesuality by the time
they lay panting and petting in the afterglow of their
endeavors. OH! For a tape recorder.
I had a camera in my pack, but didn't want to take a
chance on interupting their encounter in the heat of
their moment.
I had heard of some of the things they did, but it was
always in jokes or inebriated camp conversations. I
never in my wildest dreams thought people really did
those things  Stupid me, been in "Hicksville" all my life.
Course this was in the sixties and I would run/walk by
a bed full of beautiful nymphos to go on a hunting trip.
Guess cause there were beds of them everywhere you
went. Kinda' like oyster beds back then in the bay.
All the," OH NOs", OH YESes" and "OH! OH! OH!
OHHHHH!!!!s" really captivated the attention of the
ravens, camp robbers and blue jays. They perched in
the limbs above,  their heads turned looking down with
single concentrated eyes at the gyrating humans
entangled on the blanket below while I had a gophers
eye view from six feet away.
The hum of the truck with a horn blowing and crunch
of gravel approaching the wall startled them. They
laid very still, looking up to the top of the wall.
I quietly reached over and retrieved my rifle. Jacking
a shell into the chamber I started to pick up my coat
and pack. The girl screamed, scrambling to get a piece
of clothing over her privates.
The guy just kneeled there in shock, I guess. I wanted
that cartridge in the chamber because I didn't know
what kind of reaction I would encounter from them.
It did keep them frozen in place as I climbed up the
incline thirty or so feet to the rock wall where my friends
were looking over by that time. I handed my pack and
coat to my friend whose mouth was agape with the
others as I went over the low wall. There he was still
kneeling with his previously regal equipment now
standing at ease and his mouth wide open. She with
her blouse, hunkered over trying to cover her pubic
hair and breasts with the same small piece of fabric.
As we were leaving I turned to them and said, "Young
lady, you have a large mole on your thing that you have
probably never seen. If you continue to expose it to the
sun as you have this afternoon, you may need to have
it checked for possible cancerous changes in it by your
gynocologist. And you sir, you also have three that you
have never seen that have the same possibilities.
Goodbye and hope you continue to vigorously enjoy
your relationship as you have today."
TALK ABOUT EXPLAINING AT CAMP THAT NIGHT.
To this day we have chuckles around the campfires with
this story.
Mark Crider

Mark @cccoating.com

Poetry Section

                                                         ~**~**~

           Writers Feedback

Thank you Candida, I thought it was funny too, so I sent it to Carol.

She put it on the site, not knowing, as though I wrote it, however I didn't. I had it in a file I had for ten or more years.

My wife and I always spend a few days at the Copthorn Inn outside of London when passing through or spending a little time in England. Do you live near there?

Their on site lakes and grounds are gorgeous with the white swans and the dining is so elegant.
My regards to you.
Mark Crider

candida adams wrote:

Hi Mark,

I've just read your tax poem.  Brilliant :) Sadly very

apt around the world I think (I'm from UK)

Candyda

I am so pleased everyone liked my story!  I guess this is what happens when you just write without thinking about it.  I will try to do that more often, just write what is in my heart.  God bless.

I loved your island love story.  It was beautiful and the way I want to feel someday. want to study psychology.  I have a few hours at Community College and loved it!  That is another dream of mine that I will realize.  Thank you for your lovely words!  God bless, Sharlett

Bill Walker??™s Diamond story: was amazing. What a great contribution to this tapestry newsletter. I loved it so much I passed it on to people I love very much which included a few friends, my daughter and my Mom ... my Mom is the best.

Dina Dimato

I really liked the Springtime story. There area couple of people I know who suffer depression pretty crazy style, and I have been trying to help them to see the positives in all of everything, and it was strange to have sent this one person an email who is down today with reasons to be happy and I had it all wrapped around it being Springtime, and then I get this little story by Bill Walker. I passed it on. I liked it a lot. Thank you Bill!
Peace,
Dina Damato

Beautiful story Carol, wish I was sitting at the ocean now...

Have a blessed night,

Barbara

Announcements

Seeking pastors and writers to submit articles for a monthly Christian newspaper, which will begin Jan. 2006. Stories pertaining to the intervention of God's hand in people's lives and uplifting the Lord Jesus Christ. E-mail james4436@charter.net

Prayer Requests

To all;

My cousin Joyce has just recently lost her husband and is having trouble

running the business by  herself, Please pray that the good lord will

show her how to run the business and get to doing better.

She runs a stretched Limo service, Thank you all in advance for your

prayers for her.

God bless you all

Richard & Jackie Sims

SENIOR WRITERS

Agee, Vance;  Apted, Violet;  Baker, Kathy;  Batt, Al;  Berry, Nell;

Boda, Ginger;  Bryant, Sharon;  Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.;  Crider, Mark; 

Deming, Barb; Goodier, Steve;  Harris, Kathy Anne; Hunt, Sharlette; 

Jacobson, Gary;  Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Jenkins, Pamela;

Liles, Norma;  Mazzella, Joe; Ojeigbe, Georgewaters;

  Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan;  Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam;

Walker, Bill;  Walker, Joe; Warner, Gorden K;

Whirity, Kathy;  White, Robert;

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