STORYTIME TAPESTRY

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

June 26, 2005  

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

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

Morning Reverie

Debra Shiveley

It is early morning; the ???tender??? part of the day, a time when curling strands of ethereal mist float above the lake, the quacking of ducks and honking of geese can be heard and scores of birds begin their morning serenade.

The house slowly wakens.  Layla, the Timneh African Gray begins her day by calling ???Christopher!  Christopher!???  Our cockatiel PippinOz is singing the ???Andy Griffith??? theme and his cage mates Bilbo and Arwen prepare for a day of loving: preening, snuggling, chattering together in their own ???tiel??? language, the kind devoted husbands and wives develop over time.

Hubby is safely off to work, replete from fried egg and toast.  It??™s just turning light when he leaves.  We go through our 18 year routine of saying good bye:

???You??™ve got a job to do!???  ???What??™s could that be????  ???You??™ve got to take care of the Chrismeister and the Kelly Belly too!???

???I will!???  ???You??™ve got a job to do.???  ???What??™s that????  ???You??™ve got to drive safely and get back home to Boobla Ville!???

???I??™ll do it!???

The scripting never alters, except for the addition of our son Christopher and the changing of the dog??™s name from Merribuck to Kelly.  It??™s our good luck charm that brings members safely home.

An hour passes.  The ducks and geese have quieted and the predominant sound in the house is the tapping of my computer keys, a sound which will echo through the kitchen off and on most of the day.

Morning advances and the mist lifts.  Sweet, golden sunlight streams through windows thrown wide.  Now the sound of fountains can be heard as I stop my writing to watch the brightening of the day.  I walk to our floor-to-ceiling windows and enjoy my private ???cathedral,??? thanking Creator for the loveliness and goodness of the world laid before me.  I gulp the streams of sunlight; drinking them in; making them my own.

I hear Chris??™ bedroom door open.  It squeaks and I remind myself, yet again, to oil its hinges.  I hear Kelly, our yellow lab mix, first.  Her progress is slow.  Old age is advancing and her knees aren??™t what they used to be.  But, she trudges on and finally makes it to the bottom stair.  Tail wagging, she comes straight to me for ???pets.???  She??™s white and shaggy and her black and pink spotted nose is wet and cold.  She wants to be scratched behind the ears so I oblige.  It??™s a small favor for a good friend.

Fast behind her is the sound of my son??™s gamboling footsteps.  Christopher does not descend the stairs, nor does he walk down them, or even run.  He plummets their length as only a thirteen year old can.  He is already singing, eager to start yet another glorious day.

The TV blares!   Chris runs into the kitchen for a bowl of ???Cherrios.???  ???Hi, Mama!??? he exclaims and lunges to give me an awkward, teenage boy hug.  He dances around the kitchen as he prepares his bowl of cereal.  Chris is a happy child.  Always laughing, singing or inventing something.  He likes to cook and returns to the kitchen to work on one of his ???creations.???  Today it is ???Tuna Aglio e Olio??? a pasta dish consisting of angel hair pasta, garlic, olive oil, fresh parsley, tuna, sea salt and pepper flakes.  He digs in with relish, slurping the noodles in spite of Mama??™s admonition ???Bite down!???

Chris is enamored of his prodigious appetite, convinced that it is the harbinger of pubescence.  He longs for puberty!  A swimmer, he cannot wait for the muscles of a man to appear: the broad chest, bulging biceps, strong, broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist.

I watch him while he eats.  Such a sweet and beautiful child.  I still have my little boy - for a short while longer.  His arms are smooth and round, his shoulders boney; the body of an active child gone from chubby and babyish to the coltish build of the adolescent who likes to fish, bull frog hunt, run with his dog.

Christopher??™s hair is a luxuriant, shining brown.  His eyes large and luminous: today green, tomorrow, perhaps a dove gray.  His forehead is broad and high, but not overly so, his skin a smooth ivory, his brows clear cut and slightly arched. His face is beautiful in spite of his birth defect: the severe clefting of the lip, gum and hard and soft palates, now repaired.  The surgeons have done their work well.  His upper lip is plumping out and the hint of a cupid??™s bow is beginning to manifest.

Chris looks up and smiles, gives me the ???Love you!??? in sign and bolts for the door, Kelly close on his heels.  I call out to him jokingly: ???See you in five minutes!???   He will play outside until his just-turned-teenager stomach bids him return to the kitchen.   

As a child you have taught me patience,
Generosity, faith and truth.
You've taught me the art of selflessness,
And the right paths to choose.

You have raised me even higher
Than I ever thought I'd be.
I am by far a better person
Since I held you close to me.

You are my life, my treasure;
My hope, my heart my joy.
You are my wellspring of happiness,
You are my Beautiful Boy.

I am alone.  I sit and a ponder the shape of my life today and I wonder what I did to deserve all of this.  What great thing did I do that I should have been blessed with my husband, my home, my precious boy?  How did I come from a childhood of violence, poverty and turmoil, starvation and loneliness to this Shangri-la?

Copyright D. E. Shiveley 2005

D. E. Shiveley
Merribuck @merribuck.com

About Me:

Hello, my name is Debra Welch.  I'm 52 and the very proud mother of a soon-to-be 13 year old son named Christopher.

Christopher is adopted, so I have some writings on the subject, and he was born with a moderately severe unilateral clefting of the lip, gums and hard and soft palates.  He is beautiful!  Chris also has learning differences: ADD, Dysgraphia, and Executive Function and Working Memory Deficit.  He is the joy of our lives.

I have been writing since age nine.  My father came to visit and plopped down a pad of paper and a pencil.  "Write me a poem," he said "and call it 'Poetry Problems.'"  This is when I learned that my father and great grandfather both wrote poetry.  I was being tested.

I have just finished co-authoring a novel with my cousin titled "Jesus Gandhi Jetta Mae Adams," a murder mystery set in Columbus, Ohio and am starting my second novel.

Today's Queue Stories</p>
~**~**~**~

For No Reason At All

Roger Dean Kiser

The two of us had not eaten for almost three days. Generally the restaurants would dump their scraps into the dumpster, located in the alley-way, at the end of each shift. But for some unknown reason there was nothing to be found.

We had been on the run for two days. We had left the orphanage at about seven o'clock Friday evening. He and I planned to head out for California as soon as we raised enough money to start hitch-hiking. Wayne Evers had just turned eleven the week before, and I was a few months younger than he. We were use to the streets of Jacksonville, Florida. We had run away many times and we never had a problem finding food or raising money. For hours we wondered from restaurant to restaurant looking in the garage cans in search of food.

As we past a large, red brick church on Park Street we noticed a man standing behind a restaurant peeling potatoes. We watched as he peeled each one and then threw them into a large metal tub. We must have stood there for five minutes just watching, neither one of us saying a word. We automatically knew that dinner was close at hand. Once the man finished peeling he reached down, grabbed the water hose, and he began washing the potatoes. With eyes opened wide we watched as he cleaned up the peelings and packed them into a large paper bag. As he was about to throw the skins into the garage can he looked up and saw us staring at him.

"Can I help you boys?" he yelled out.

"Were just looking," Wayne yelled back at him.

"You two boys might as well head on down the road. You are not getting these here potatoes," he said, in a somewhat gruff sounding voice.

"We was gonna ask if we could have those4 peeling skins," Wayne said.

"You ain't getting them either," he said, as he opened the door and sat the bag inside.

"Ain't you just gonna throw'm away anyway. Ain't that what you was gonna do?" I asked.

"You two get out of here before I call the police. You hear me?" said the man.

"But were hungry. Can we please have the peelings?" I begged.

The man stood there for several moments and then he said "I'll tell you what. You boys clean up all these papers and hose down this back are and I'll give you the peelings."

"That's a deal," hollered Wayne, as we began running around the small lot picking up the papers and trash.

Within 30 minutes the area was totally clean. I turned on the water and I began to hose down the cement for as far as the small hose would reach. When all was done we walked up to the back door and began to knock. After three or four knocks the door jerked open and there stood the man with a very angry look on his face.

"I thought I told you little tramps to get the hell out of here," he screamed.

"But you said..," I started to say.

"The police are on their way. You had best get your little asses on the move," he said, as he came walking toward us.

Wayne and I backed up as the large man neared where we were standing. He and I stopped when we reached the sidewalk.

"That's not a fair thing to do," said Wayne.

"And were hungry," I blurted out.

"I don't give a rats ass if you little bastards starve to death," said the man, as he looked down the street to see if the police were coming.

"But we wasn't asking for something for free. It was something that you was gonna thrown away anyway. And besides we worked for it," I hollered at the man.

"A couple of stupid fools is what you two are," he replied.

"But don't you care if we is hungry?" Wayne asked the man.

I reached over and slapped Wayne on the arm when I saw a police car pull up to the red light and stop. He and took off running between the lage building. We did not stop until we were at least ten blocks away from the restaurant.

It is strange how that incident affected my life. Each time that I peel potatoes I alwys think about that man and how hungry Wayne and I were. But more than that I will always remember how cruel people can be to one another, and for no reason, whatsoever. I understood being mistreated in the orphanage. But why would anyone in the outside world be cruel to another human being for no reason? That I have never been able to understand.

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.

  ~**~**~

?©Precious Memories Of My Grandma

Barbara J. Weymouth

Forward:  I received a story not too long ago by email; it was an ode to the lengths women in the history of America were forced to go to keep their families clothes clean and washed.  When the story got to the part where women finally had the luxury of the old wringer type washing machines, well, my memories took me back to my grandma??™s back porch in Monte Vista, Colorado.  Monte Vista is located in the San Luis Valley of Colorado. B.J. Ervin-Weymouth

Grandma??™s back porch was quite large and wonderful it was always bright with lots of light.  The light would filter in from her large back yard.  Her back porch was enclosed and had several large windows.  These windows provided the perfect view of grandma??™s beautiful flowers and large vegetable garden.  She used her back porch for many different activities and projects.  One I remember vividly is Grandma making homemade chunk pickles, My-Oh-My, they were the best pickles I had ever tasted.  She would can them in pint size canning jars and store them on the shelves of her pantry.  We would have these wonderful homemade pickles when we would go on our many picnics.  I always looked forward to going on picnics when visiting Grandma??™s house and getting to eat some of her delicious pickles.

Grandma also had an in-door clothesline on her back porch, usually there were flowers from her garden that she was drying for bouquets and arrangements.  I remember one of the things that I could always find hanging on this clothesline and this was her sunbonnet. 

Now, as I??™m writing this story I am looking back to a time when my Grandma would be sitting on her stool in her backyard, cleaning the fresh vegetables she had picked from her garden that day and she would always be wearing her sunbonnet.  She looked just like the photos of the women you??™ve seen crossing the prairies by covered wagon.  They always wore a sunbonnet to protect their skin from the harshness of the many hours of walking in the sunlight, day after day as they crossed the prairies making their way out west. 

Sunbonnets are designed with a visor portion to protect you face from the sun and also a flap of fabric hanging down to cover the back of your neck, they were always tied in a bow under your chin.  I remember my grandma??™s sunbonnets well.  I remember because I have kept that special memory of her in my heart over the years.  Her sunbonnets were a nice blue or red checked gingham plaid or a soft floral pattern some even had a lace trim.  As my thoughts are traveling back to this time, I feel very warm inside recalling these wonderful precious memories of my Grandma.  These times were precious and few as we lived in California and Grandma and Grandpa in Colorado.

I also remember all the wonderful dinners Grandma would cook.  She would load the table down with the best food you ever tasted all homemade and fixed just right!  I remember the presentation of the food was always wonderful too.  I also remember polishing Grandma??™s 1847 Roger??™s Silverware for Thanksgiving dinner.  She was so proud of her silverware.  My Momma had purchased it for her, one place setting at a time, during hard times. I now have my grandma??™s silver and I can??™t bring myself to use it; I hope to have a reason one day!

Having things as nice as they could be was always important to my Grandma.  I remember Momma telling me when she was growing up that grandma would embroidery cotton flour sacks when they were emptied and make place mats for the table.  Sometimes she would even piece them together to make pretty table clothes.  You see, there was no extra money for store bought extras (as they said in those times), but Grandma always said just because you??™re poor doesn??™t mean you can??™t make things look pretty and she always did and she always insisted on everything being clean; including her children.

Now, Grandma??™s need for cleanliness brings me to the memory of her bright white, Maytag ???wringer washing machine???. It was kept on her wonderful back porch along with the other wonderful things I??™ve mentioned.  I remember how proud grandma was of that wringer washing machine.  She told me many stories of how she used to wash the families clothes in two tubs of water, one to wash and one to rinse.  The wash and rinse water was heated by a wood fire outside in the yard.  She would place and old fashioned rubbing board in one of the tubs and add some homemade lye soap (yep, homemade soap) and she would begin rubbing the clothes on the board.  She was washing clothes for a family of eight children, sometimes at the end of the washing her hands and knuckles would bleed. Grandma would then have to put the clothes in the next tub of hot water to rinse and wring them by hand.  I can only imagine the pain my grandma??™s hands must have felt. Momma said their was never a complaint from Grandma, she just took it all in stride and would then go cook a big dinner for the family.  You see, my Grandma was one of the, ???Good Ol??™ Girls???. 

My grandma also loved to fish.  Her favorite thing to do was to go down on Beaver Creek near, MonteVista, Colorado and fish for trout with her best friend, Ma Miller.  Ma owned and operated the local diner, it was called, Ma??™s Place.  I never got to go fishing with Grandma and Ma Miller, but she would write us and tell us all about her fishing trips.  I remember my Daddy saying, he could just smell and taste those fresh trout frying on the stove. 

I did get to visit Beaver Creek, and I do remember the water being cold as ice.  Grandma said she would catch her limit and then put them on a line and keep them in the cold water till her and Ma were ready to head for home.

Grandmas and Grandpa??™s are such a vital connection in a child??™s life.  My memories of them; I will keep in my heart forever. 

My name is Barbara J. Ervin-Weymouth; I was born and raised and still reside in the beautiful state of California, USA.  I am a Christian and a proud mother of one son, Eric who is married to my daughter-in-law Dawn, together they have given me two beautiful gifts from God, I call my grandchildren. 

I have one very spoiled Staffordshire Terrier, Rosie, who doesn't know she's a dog, shhh!  I have worked in public education for 26 years.  After 22 of them I decided to become an Adult Education Teacher.  It has been the realization of a life long dream. I have been substitute teaching for the past five years.  I??™m still praying for a classroom and students of my own.  I am truly blessed beyond measure. 

In my spare time I enjoy writing true-life short stories and poetry and trying my hand at webpage design:  Short stories and poems: http://snicklefritzmuffins.tripod.com/

Email:  Weymouth@cwnet.com

I am published on the following E-Sites:

Storytime Tapestry

Starfish (ripplemaker.com)

SFPNN

Hearts With Soul

Pearlsoup.com

Women With Heart

Poetry.com

http://skywriting.net/

~**~**~

Television Commercials

Sharlette Hunt

What is up with those TV commercials today?  While I am sitting back in my easy chair enjoying a good movie when suddenly, it is time for another tasteless commercial, advertising anything from Viagra, to enhance a man's sex life, to hormone replacement therapy for the ladies.  I can't even see a female in a bathing suit without thinking she is either having her monthly cycle or suffering from herpes because of seeing these ads.

  Nothing is a mystery anymore!  Maybe I am from the old school but I really didn't want my children seeing the kinds of things they openly show on television today.  I am a middle aged woman but the kids today can teach me a few things, I'm sure.

  Though the ads that refer to the anatomy are disturbing enough, there is a couple that are even more obnoxious.  One is the "pink in the sink" commercial, advertising toothpaste.  In it, a model is talking about brushing her teeth, apparently spitting pink (blood) in the sink.  That is stomach churning!  It isn't something I want to hear while eating or anytime for that matter.  Another is the nail fungus commercial, in which grubby little mites are depicted as cartoon characters and can be seen burrowing their way under a nail and having the time of their life.  This hurts my toenails every time I see it.  I am very leery of a product that shows that happening.

  Whatever happened to the old commercials like Polygrip, showing a nice senior citizen biting into an apple, the Palmolive lady, or Morris the cat?  I am so sick of watching beer commercials with tanned young people frolicking on the beach drinking beer, making it seem like so much fun but failing to warn our youngsters of the dangers of alcohol.  They took cigarette commercials off the air and for good reason but look what they replaced them with.

  I guess that's progress! 

Sharlette863 @aol.com


About Me:

I was born in Alabama, the middle of
seven children. At about age four we moved
to Central Florida and I have lived here
most of my life. I am a Viet Nam Era
Veteran. I have always enjoyed writing
and as I get older it seems to come more
naturally to me. I believe
everyone has many stories inside them and
some are blessed to be able to share them.