STORYTIME TAPESTRY

The Newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world

May 11, 2005

Happy Birthday Charles Glover ??“ May 10, 2005

Happy Birthday Sharlett Hunt ??“ May 11, 2005

I am so happy to announce that Storytime Tapestry has broken the 1,000 membership record now. We have only been in publishing for a year and a half.  I am truly pleased.  It was the best Mothers Day gift I could ever have.  Thank you one and all for making this happen.

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

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

Little People

~Bill Walker~

wildbill6807@yahoo.com

Nope this is not about people as you know them. This is little people. My dogs and others like them. It is just my way of talking of them. I like to think of them as a short time true friend. You see for some reason the life of a true friend seems very short. I don't understand why such a loyal friend can only have so few years.

I have pictures of my friends here to look at.  Some are waiting at the Rainbow Bridge for me. Now most of those so called preachers say that is a no no!   Well, I really don't think they ever read the part in that book they claim to preach from. Where it says the Lion will lay down with the Lamb. And will eat grass.

I once heard of a small boy asking his preacher to say a few words for his little dog that had died. The preacher said the dog was a thing without a soul, so there for forget it. Boy was heart broken. Dumb preacher. Now he could have said well sure sonny we will say a few words. It would have made the little boy happy. I also was reading a reply to someone??™s question about that same thing. By the Dr. Billy G. you know the fellow. He said wrong answer. No one knows for sure.  But maybe when the little boy sooner or later as an old man makes the trip he will find his pets all setting there waiting. So I'm going with DR. Billy.

Now I'm not a great church person. Churches are nice. Guess a lot of people get married at one. Get a few words said when they pass on at the church. Wonder if they hear any of the flowery words either time. First time they??™re in a hurry to get out the door and do what ever. The second time the preacher is in a hurry to get them in the ground and back for the feed. I have never seen a preacher yet pass up a meal.  I can't say much about the marriage deal. Never go to them things. I guess there is a feeding deal there too. Bet preach hangs for it. You can't fill those guys up.

Now little people come in all sizes shapes and colors. Don't make no difference. They just little people. All got a cold wet nose, long tongue to slop you with and a lot of ever lasting love. I know a lady who is on a dog saver deal. These are dogs that are dumped for one reason or other. Now I don't know how she does it. But she must have a heart of gold. While back she got a little Peke. Someone had given up on. She had to go quite a trip to get the little fellow. Seems it never lived but in a small crate or on a chain. It also was a biter. Guess it didn't care for it's life style. Who would??

Well, she got the little guy and put him in her van along with granddaughter.  Off they went. It wasn't long till the little guy wondered up front. The little girl picked him up and petted him. When they got home he got to meet the others.

Happy days are here again, no crates, no chain and some love. He hasn't bit anyone yet. And now he has a home. The people that had this dog made him what he was. Now he is a different dog. He was just fighting back the only way he knew how.

So my thoughts are that a dog is not much different then us big people. We got a lot in common.

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
~**~**~**~ 

THE LIBRARY

Al Batt

I was a senior in high school. It was the first day of the new
school year. I was drifting through life while infected with a
classic case of senioritis. I had a study hall my first hour in
a large room that was used just for study halls.

I thought having my study hall the first hour of each day was a
stroke of good luck. It would provide me with an opportunity to
catch up on some of the sleep I had lost earlier in the day to
milking cows.

I was surprised to discover that the room was overbooked by at
least one. Everyone but one had a desk. Everyone was seated except
me. I stood at the front of the room as the bell rang to start the
school day. I looked at our first-year teacher, replete in a nice
suit and tie, reading a newspaper at his desk located in the rear
of the room. I had not met the teacher before, but was about to
ask him where I should sit.

But before I could do that, a friend, wearing a grin as big as his
face, reached into his pocket and showed me the shiny ball bearing
he had retrieved from it. Before I could say a word, my friend threw
the metal orb towards our teacher at the back of the room. Fortunately
the teacher was protected by a newspaper shield. The ball bearing hit
the newspaper with a loud, "THWAAAAK!"

The room became extremely quiet. The ball bearing dropped to the
desktop, rolled to the edge of the desk and fell to the floor. It
bounced a number of times before it finally came to a rolling stop.

Our new teacher folded his newspaper methodically and placed it on
his desk. He looked at the students in the study hall. Every one of
them was seated at his or her desk with eyes pointed straight ahead.
That is, all except one.

My teacher squinted as he looked through horn-rimmed glasses to
the front of the room where I stood facing him. I looked back with
a crooked grin and the comfort of innocence.

"You! What's your name?" said my teacher.

"Batt."

"Well, Batt, you march right back here and let's have a talk."

I did as I was told. He sent me to the principal's office. I was
assumed guilty because I was unwilling to finger the true culprit.

The first day of classes brought a carnival-like atmosphere to the
principal's office. Teachers were complaining about their schedules.
Students were complaining about their schedules. Parents were
complaining about the teachers and the students.

The school secretary feigned surprise to see me in the principal's
office so early in both the school year and the school day. We
shared a laugh. I'd been to the principal's office before.

The principal saw me and asked what I was doing sitting on the
miscreant bench. I told him that the teacher had sent me from the
big study hall. The principal nodded and said that he had heard
that the room didn't have enough desks to go around.

"Go to the library. Tell the librarian that you will be spending
your study hall in the library. I'll adjust your records so the
FBI will know where to find you when they come looking."

I liked my principal's sense of humor. I expected he needed it
in his job. I didn't bother him with any of the details about the
ball bearing throwing incident. I figured he had enough things on
his mind. I went to the library.

I spent every first hour of every school day in that library. I
loved the library and the librarian. I helped her carry boxes of
books and move tables. She gave me first shot at new books and the
daily newspapers. I never caught up on my sleep. I was too busy
reading. It was heaven to a boy who cherished the written word.

The teacher who kicked me out of the study hall would come in each
morning to get the newspaper. He got it, but not until I had finished
reading it. He once asked me what I was doing in the library. I told
him that the principal had sent me there and that I was helping the
librarian.

"Good," said my teacher. "It serves you right."

I don't know if time in the library served me right or not, but I
do know that it served me well.

--?©Al Batt 2004
71622 325 St., Hartland, MN 56053
SnoEowl @aol.com

 ~**~**~  

 Autumn??™s Breath

Kathy Anne Harris

On that autumn morning; when you are taking a walk, looking down the street, or out over open pastureland or fields. There is a bank of mist: autumn??™s breath. Lying low to the ground. Muting the sunlight in its cloudy essence. That wall of nimbus white is a veil and behind the silken fabric of it lies all the yesteryears of autumn. At times there is a tear in the misty fabric and an autumn yesteryear spills through.

Two young boys, ruddy-faced, wearing plaid flannel shirts and worn denim pants. They??™re laughing while raking up leaves into two giant piles in the front yard. The afternoon air is crisp and their breath plumes out as the boys talk and joke. From the kitchen window their mother peers at her sons. She??™s preparing dinner and the delicious odors from her kitchen seep out, permeating the autumn afternoon. Smiling, she disappears from view. The front door is opened and a large red dog bounds out, barking happily. Cheerfully loping towards the boys, the dog jumps and spins, then plows smack into one stack of leaves. Autumn colors fly. Lunging for the dog, both boys scramble to reach him before he sets his eyes on the other pile. In the meantime the trees drop more of their attire...The memory is so beautiful and fresh...you gasp.

Nearly Halloween. In front of the house is a bale of hay. A scarecrow, a pumpkin, and a black cat sit on top. A sign below them reads, BOO! Driving his parent??™s car, the teen-aged boy pulls up in front of the house. It is early evening and the sun is just about to set. Rays of light shoot out from the descending disk and the beams are thick with golden motes. So thick you??™d swear you could rend the glittering, amber swaths by drawing your arm through them. The costume he is wearing covers him from toe to head, and is a bit large on him. He steps into the glowing dusk light and lumbers to the front porch. He knocks. And she opens the door. His date. Fresh skinned and bright eyed she greets him. A chilly zephyr brushes against her smooth skin like a minty kiss. The princess hugs the ???monster.??? The young man pulls off his mask. Her father steps into view and the boy blushes. It is suddenly uncomfortably hot in his Frankenstein outfit. Father and daughter invite him in. He shakes the man's hand, then shuffles through the doorway...You witness this piquant moment...and smile.

It is just after noon and you hear the giggles first thing, then running feet, and the muffled echoes of other children on their way home. She rounds the corner. Her arms overflowing with new books and crisp binder paper. A blush stains her cheeks and the sweetest smile that ever graced a child's face plays across her features. School has just let out and it is the first day of fall. On the sidewalk in front of the neighbor's house the girl's mother is waiting. Upon seeing her daughter, she bends down, arms outstretched and the girl flies into her mother's grasp. She chatters about her day and the mother listens while caressing her daughter's curly blonde hair. She smells the starch, faint now, that she used when she did the laundry. The scent infused with the warmth from her daughter's small frame. She encircles her daughter's shoulders, lifts her off the ground, and hugs her with all the love that she's been saving since her daughter left the house that morning. It is a surprising amount for only half a day, but this is the woman's first child and she wants to tell her girl what her day has been like, too. And not so long away, a half a day will soon turn into a full day. They grow up so fast...You nod your head affirmatively...and sigh.

A wet, cold fog fills the late morning day. Rolling hills of dewy grass stretch out of sight. Sounds are muffled, even the squawk of the crows in the dripping evergreen trees. He threads his way around the memorials, gazing through the gray, looking. Hands clasped under two roses--he spots the tilted stone under a spreading pine tree. Snugging his collar up around his neck, he huddles into his overcoat. Standing above the grave he folds his own hands and bows his head in prayer. The skin of his hands feels tight and brittle. And the tip of his nose burns from the bite in the air. Finishing his prayer he gazes upward, remembering. A tear traces a warm path from eyes overflowing with memories. The scene is so poignant...you cry.

These are just a few of the memories that dance to be released behind autumn's breath...Just a thought away.

Copyright ?© 2003 by Kathy Anne Harris

kathap @angelrays.biz

kathyanneharris@spirit-soul.com

RELATED LINk:
http://www.spirit-soul.com/BeyondTheBridge.html
My websites:
http://www.spirit-soul.com/BeyondTheBridge.html
http://spirit-soul.com/ToShareWithYou.html

I am a social worker by day, a writer by life. I live in
California's San Joaquin Valley. My works have been featured in:
2TheHeart, StoryTime Tapestry, Starfish, Driftwood, Cat Tails,
Petwarmers, Heartwarmers, Insight of the Day*, and Moments of
Reflections. I am also a weekly columnist for the publication "Frank
Talk" which is distributed in three counties in Michigan, USA.

 ~**~**~  

Bottom Half Only Moon

By David Wainland 

It??™s after midnight and I am taking my Greyhound for a walk. This is the best time to think and review the day. Venus, as usual, is the brightest star in the clear sky and on it??™s way to a rare alignment with Jupiter. ???A Bottom Half Only Moon??? has reached its apex throwing just enough light to find my way through he empty streets. The only sounds are the gentle noises of the dark and the pliff-pluff of my dog??™s paws as she passes through grass swales and the clickety-click of her nails on the rows of asphalt driveways.

This is a special night for me because I have just renewed my vows with my wife of forty years. We sipped wine, ate with gusto and danced ???till the music was over. About a hundred of our friends and family partied and feasted with us, celebrating the occasion with more enthusiasm then I remembered of the first time.

My two granddaughters, only six months apart the oldest only two, were dressed like twins, though simply cousins and they danced along with the adults never quitting or complaining through the long evening.

I have had a life of tragedies and triumphs, no different then most I suppose, although the loss of my son brought me to my knees. There were times my wife and I thought we could not survive and yet here we were dancing, singing and embracing life once again. How did we pass through that awful time? Well, certainly not without friends, family, a huge support group, doctors, psychologists, medication, my wife??™s overwhelming belief in God and my wonder at what the next day would bring.

So for a year and a half we have moved forward one step at a time. Left foot, right foot, sometimes backwards but most often towards the future.  Our daughter, her family, our daughter in law and our son??™s baby girl pulling us and giving us the reasons we needed to face the mornings and the solitude of the night.

My first submission to Storytime Tapestry was ???It??™s not what happens, it??™s what you do about it that counts,??? that is no less true today then it was during that terrible drive home in July of 2003.

I recently read a quote by Mother Teresa and even though we are Jewish it says everything there is to say.

???I know God will not give me anything I can??™t handle, I just wish He didn??™t trust me so much.???

Isn??™t it amazing how much you can see by the light of a ???Bottom Half Only Moon????

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

Writers Feedback 

The story by Kay Seefeldt ,  Honoring Anna Jarvis, touched a place in my heart like no other Mother's Day story could do :) Maybe that's because, Kay and I have both seen Mama and her broom in action!  Most likely that is why Kay and I were so good at jumping rope!LOL

Broom aside, our mother was a lady who loved us with a vengeance and allowed us to have a happy and carefree childhood.  We didn't have much in way of material blessing but the love far out weighed that lack.

Good job, Kay, huh, didn't the writing of this story kind a make your behind smart with the memory!LOL

My Island, My Love, and Me ??“ Carol Roach - No wonder I love your e-zine so much.  This piece is breathtaking.  I love your style and your use of subtle alliteration!  

Debra Shiveley

My Metaphorical Journey ??“ Carol Roach - I finally had the time to read this.  Beautiful! Wonderful!  I drank in every word! 

Debra Shiveley

The Mother's Day issues have been wonderful. Thank you so much. By the way, Anna Jarvis was also from West Virginia and I'm very proud of that!

Hugs,

Dianna

What a wonderful interview with Barbara Weymouth!

Dear Carol,

Thank you so much and I thoroughly enjoyed Barbara Weymouth's interview!  She tells it like it is and that is great!  Love NormaLee Liles xo

Hi Carol- great compilation of pieces for Mother's Day tribute. All very different and wonderful.  Thanks --Kay

Announcements

I would like to introduce you to Phil Evans and his business known the world over as People Stuff
Phil Evans produces PeopEmail - a FREE weekly inspirational e-newsletter and you can subscribe by visiting his website - going to Subscribe to FREE PeoplEmail button in the main menu - and following the simple steps.
There is also a virtual library of inspirational 'stuff' to be found by going to www.peoplestuff.com.au and checking it out.

Phil sends his love and good wishes to all.

Hey everyone if you have the time please help out a fellow member who is starting up

his own newspaper. 

Carol,

Just letting you know I have a website explaining the upcoming paper, should anyone ask. Thank you for running the ad for it.

www.christianlink.com/publish/mwwj

Thanks again, Jim

Prayer Requests

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;

STORYTIME TAPESTRY STAFF

Publisher: Carol Roach-founder

Moderator: Thelma Hartselle-co founder

Moderator: Clara Westerfer

Send all inquires about the newsletter including submission requirements: