STORYTIME TAPESTRY

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

June 30, 2005  

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

 AUTUMN LAMENT

Gabrielle Nicholls Morgan

It was a clear day when our friends came to call, a day when the air was fresh and the sun added warmth although autumn had begun. 

???How would you like to join us for a walk with the dogs???? they asked.

They had two lovable black labradors who looked up at us expectantly with their tales wagging.  Our dog, Jaz, had sensed their arrival and appeared from the back of the house.  She eagerly sniffed around them and made her presence felt before accepting them fully on her domain.

???We??™d love to come,??? my husband said. 

We all walked down the steep drop of land to our back fence which led us to the grass common.  Jaz ran off to check out her usual haunts close by, her red collar distinguishing her from the other two dogs, who were on leads and stayed with their owners.  It was an enjoyable walk and we chatted happily as we branched off down the dirt track leading to our  jetty.  We strode among the tall gum trees and verdant undergrowth delighted by the wonder of the natural forms. Creepers clung to the tree trunks and giant fungi presented a charmed fairy existence to the mind.

Halfway along this heavenly track I noticed Jaz had not returned to us as she normally did. 

???Where is Jaz????  I questioned the others.

???She??™ll catch up, she??™s probably found some rabbits back there.  She won??™t miss out on her swim, she??™s probably cut across and will be at the water before us,??? said my husband. 

But when we arrived at the jetty she wasn??™t there.  The other dogs bounded into the water and I began to have a sinking feeling.  It was so unlike Jaz not to be with us.  We stayed at the jetty for half an hour watching the pelicans and swans glide by and then headed for home.  Still no Jaz.  It was the first time she had ever strayed away from us.

By now evening was closing in and huge dark rain clouds had appeared. 

???I??™ll go and look for her, she can??™t be far,??? my husband said. 

He came back when it was nearly dark but hadn??™t found her. 

I grabbed my coat realising it would be too late to search soon.

A feeling of dread took hold of me as I clambered down the hill with a walking stick prodding the undergrowth around me in case she was caught.  All sorts of propositions entered my mind.  Was she hurt, had she been bitten by a snake or got caught up down a giant wombat hole, of which there were many, or perhaps she was stolen. 

I searched and called out her name for an hour without success.  I was forced to give up with the light disappearing and the realisation that the undergrowth was so thick I wouldn??™t be able to find her even if she was lying there hurt or dead.

That night it poured with rain.  My husband and I were desolate with despair to think that she was out there, somewhere, and we didn??™t know if she was suffering or dead.   She was so close to us and we knew her every nuance and she knew we loved her.  She spoke to us with her every action, with a devotion beyond compare. 

One month later, it is as if she evaporated in time, or perhaps the undergrowth devoured her, one Autumn day.  Our grief remains. 

Gabrielle Nicholls Morgan
Gabrielle_Nicholls @hotmail.com

About Me:
I LIVE IN A RURAL AREA IN EAST VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA. I AM

MARRIED TO   FELLOW WRITER AND ARTIST, MICHAEL MORGAN. I

BELIEVE IN PEOPLE, IN LOVE, AND IN WRITING I FIND THIS THE

DEEPEST WAY OF MAGNIFYING IT. I LIKE THE GENTLE. I HONOUR

WHAT HAS BEEN PROVEN TO BE OF GOODNESS, QUALITY AND

BEAUTY. THE ANGELS AND SAINTS INSPIRE ME.

Today's Queue Stories
~**~**~**~

The Dental Appointment ??“ Part II

Today was another one of those days for me. I know...I hear you grumbling already...but I'm going to tell you anyway!

First of all, I didn't sleep much last night. I knew that I had a dental appointment early this morning and the thoughts of being cleaned, drilled, filled and made to drool just left me anxious. I know that I should handle the whole thing better but I'm very weak when it comes to my mouth. I know that I've seen some of the same tools the dentist is using in my mouth also used on construction sites where they are building high-rise apartments!

Anyway, I managed to get my tired and overly nervous body out of bed this morning and I strolled into the kitchen for a cup of hot tea. I filled a cup with water and placed it into the microwave just as I always do. I pushed the timer buttons as I always do. I expected to wait one minute and thirty seconds and enjoy my cup of tea, just as I always do. No, the microwave would not function!

First, I checked the circuit breaker box and all was well. I slammed the door of the microwave thinking something might be stuck??¦no luck. Then, I decided that since my crew of well-fed contractors was on the job site and almost done with their breakfast break...Yep, a breakfast break...I would ask one of them to check the microwave for me.

For the sake of this letter, I'll just call the guy Bubba. He strolled in with his flannel shirt and worn out blue jeans like he had done this a million times before. He must have thought he was so sexy that I couldn't hold myself back. I mean, who wouldn't be lusting over a 275 pound, 4'5" tall man with hard-toed cowboy boots and smokeless tobacco lining the shape of his lips? He reached behind the microwave and pulled out one plug and plugged another one in.

"That'll do her there for ya!" He said in a proud voice that beckoned me to ask him to do something else.

Apparently, someone had unplugged the microwave to plug in the mixer! Duh, sometimes I feel so blonde! He stood there with his arms folded and I said, "Thank you," as I gave him the look that said, "this is all I needed, please leave now." (Okay, so I felt guilty about that but I couldn't help it!)

He started out the kitchen door and just as he stepped onto the landing a chipmunk came running past him and into the house. He turned around, took one look into the house and said to his co-worker, "Weasel, you better come this time, I ain't gonna fit 'hind no furniture."

In came poor little Weasel, a man that looked like his family had deprived him of ever eating at McDonald's and enjoying a good cheeseburger! As he stepped inside, his head tilted backwards and he took a big sniff of air. Like a hound dog, he was quickly on the trail of the poor chipmunk. Sable came running through the house at the same time and together, she and Weasel managed to chase the poor critter back outside.

I gave up on the tea and got myself dressed for my trip to the dentist. I always feel so cheap when I go there. I have on casual Khaki slacks and a light brown blouse with just simple earrings to accessorize. The dentist strolls in with two diamond rings that could buy my whole house and a gold chain that makes M. C. Hammer look like he's wearing a piece of tinsel around his neck.

"Dianna," he said, "I'm glad you're back. Let's see what we can do for you today."

"For starters, doc," I replied, "you can take off that darn logging chain around your neck. If that thing hits me in the face it will break my nose."

He smiled at me and said, "I think Dianna should be numbed for this procedure."

Me and my big mouth! The nurse came at me with a needle that I swear was six inches long, if not longer. Before I could say anything, she had poked me in the gum with that thing and I could not feel anything, including my tongue, within seconds.

I made it through the procedure and let me just say, no one should put off a cleaning for fifteen years.

Before I could leave, he had set me up with follow-up appointments that should carry me though my 70th birthday with no problem. Of course, I managed to set him up, too! His wife was in the waiting area as I left. The nice thing about small town America is that nearly everyone knows everyone else. His wife and I had attended school together.

"Hi, Deborah," I said. She used to be Debbie but since she married a dentist that was beneath her. "How are you these days?"

"Hello, Di," she answered.

I quickly cut her off with, "Oh, it's Dianna, I abhor having my name shortened."

She stammered, "Of course! I know exactly what you mean."

I said, "So when are you and Andy taking that trip to the Bahamas?"

"What?" she said in a tone that was more than excited. "Do you know something that I don't?"

"Oops, I bet it was a surprise! I saw the two tickets lying on Dr. Andy's countertop in the room where I had my procedure done. I was nearly green with envy!" I said in a whispered voice.

She was standing proud and feeling cocky now! "Oh, he loves to surprise me like that, you know! He doesn't think anything is too good for me!"

"What a lucky woman," I said. "I'll see you around, I have to get moving."

Just wait until she starts planning a trip and there isn't one! Even better, she might decide that there were really tickets but she wasn't the one going on the trip! Do I do paybacks right or what?

I came home to find the little girl I watch sitting in the middle of my dining room. She was covered in magic marker ink of varying colors and my rug had a pattern of marks with the same colors. Crystal was supposed to be keeping an eye on her with the help of her best friend. In all honesty, I guess they did watch her; they just didn't stop her! I had to use bleach to get all of the stains up and the poor child was still looking like a mutant when her mother came to pick her up.

Luckily, there was no crisis after dinner so I was able to sit down here and write to you!

Aren't you glad?

Dianna Doles Petry

Dianna59@charter.net

Proud founder of:
Women With A Unique Soul
www.womenwithauniquesoul.com
Webmaster of Short Stories
http://diannapetry.tripod.com
Webmaster of Poetry From Life
http://www.geocities.com/diannawv/
Poems By Dianna
http://members.tripod.com/~poemsbydianna/PoetryofLife.html

  ~**~**~

Fingers And Thumbs

Sharon Bryant

Remember the story about the little boy who stuck his finger in the hole of the dike and saved his town.  His name was Hans Brinker.

As a child, when I heard the story, I tried to imagine what it was like, and what a hero he turned out to be in the end, saving his town.

Today I sort of knew how he felt.  Hans was the only thing that kept my sanity earlier today.

In the shop I work at, there is an ice cream display counter.  Attached to it is a little mini sink to clean the ice cream scoop between dipping into different flavors. A water line is attached to the sink with a shut off valve.   Health department rules are that while the shop is open, the water has to be continuously running into the sink.

Hubby had left the shop before me and headed home as I was getting ready to close up.

I noticed the valve was leaking water when I shut it off.  I had my purse on my shoulder, a bag of groceries to take home, and luckily I'd laid my cell phone on the wooden table next to the ice cream counter.  I reached down to tighten the valve when the valve blew off and water gushed from the hole.  The water pressure was so strong, it just blew all over the place, covering my fudge trays, the counters, cups, ice cream cones, etc.  I grabbed the hose the valve was on, but there was no slack in it to pinch the hose.  I pressed my finger over the hole.  The pressure blew my finger back.  I grabbed it again and pressed my thumb over the hole and it held.  I was on the floor as the valve is half way down the ice cream display case.  I was soaked at this point.  The pressure kept trying to blow my thumb off but I squeezed as hard as I could.   I knew I needed someone to help me.  I managed to get half turned as my fingers barely reached my cell phone.  I radioed my husband, who had just got to our house, and I yelled, "HELP" into the radio.  He came back on saying, "What did you say, you're all garbled."  "HELP, HELP ME, we have a broken water line in the shop," I yelled.

"Hang on, I'm heading back there," he replied.

Meanwhile my thumb was getting really tired and the pressure was tough to hold back.

I was not a happy camper.  The thought, "Things happen for a reason" came to mind.  And I thought, WHAT reason is there for THIS to happen?  And suddenly, the story of Hans Brinker came to my mind.  I kept telling myself, "Hey, if that little kid could hold back water from a dike, surely you can hold back water until hubby gets here."  I was doing great until I noticed my thumb turning blue.  The muscles in my left hand, which is NOT my strongest hand, were at the max they can go.   I was not holding that hole as tight as I wanted to.....the water still kept running.  I watched as the floor became flooded, and again, I thought of Hans.  What was he, seven or eight years old or so when he did his heroic thing?

I kept pressing the button on the radio yelling, "How far are you from the park?"  Hubby kept yelling, "Hey, I'm doing 70 mph in a 45, I'm trying to get there as fast as I can." 

"HURRY, I can't hold on much longer," was all I could say.  I told him to turn the water off even before he came into the shop.

I'm not what you'd call a "spring chicken" anymore.  More like an old chicken.  The angle I was at was putting pressure on my leg, my back, and my blue thumb.

Finally hubby ran through the door, and at that moment, I felt the pressure begin to release on my thumb.  He said, "Let go of it now."  I did.  That water line burped one last time and still spit water in my face.

Hubby took one look at me, soaked to the gills and said, "Man, what happened?"

I replied, "I'm Han's sister and I just wanted to know what it was all about."

His eyes told me he didn't understand.  There I was on the floor, hair plastered against my head, my jacket was dripping water, my jeans were soaked, and I started laughing.  He looked at me like I'd lost every marble I ever had. 

Hans Brinker might have saved a whole town, but I saved cases of dry goods today. 

But I know one thing.......I bet his finger was blue when help finally arrived!  Mine sure was.

 Sharon Bryant

1946 @bellsouth.net

About Me:

 I am Sharon Bryant, 59 years old and reside in Alabama.

I lost my child in 1977 when he was five and I write
articles on bereavement often.

I am a chocolate/candy maker and also a wood crafter and knitter.

I am married to a wonderful man, and have two remaining children, a daughter 25,
Amy, and a second son, Randy, age 22.

My main goal in life is to help those who
have lost a child. My website is: www.angelsremembered.tk

Hans Brinker

 The oldest version of the supposedly Dutch story, known as the legend of Hans Brinker, is in English and goes like this:

The Hero of Haarlem

Many years ago, there lived in Haarlem, one of the principal cities of Holland, a sunny-haired boy of gentle disposition. His father was a sluicer, that is, a man whose business it was to open and close the sluices, or large oaken gates, that are placed at regular distances across the entrances of the canals, to regulate the amount of water that shall flow into them.

The sluicer raises the gates more or less according to the quantity of water required, and closes them carefully at night, in order to avoid all possible danger of an oversupply running into the canal, or the water would soon overflow it and inundate the surrounding country. As a great portion of Holland is lower than the level of the sea, the waters are kept from flooding the land only by means of strong dikes, or barriers, and by means of these sluices, which are often strained to the utmost by the pressure of the rising tides. Even the little children in Holland know that constant watchfulness is required to keep the rivers and ocean from overwhelming the country, and that a moment's neglect of the sluicer's duty may bring ruin and death to all.

[...]

One lovely autumn afternoon, when the boy was about eight years old, he obtained his parents' consent to carry some cakes to a blind man who lived out in the country, on the other side of the dike. The little fellow started on his errand with a light heart, and having spent an hour with his grateful old friend, he bade him farewell and started on his homeward walk.

Trudging stoutly along the canal, he noticed how the autumn rains had swollen the waters. Even while humming his careless, childish song, he thought of his father's brave old gates and felt glad of their strength, for, thought he, 'If they gave way, where would Father and Mother be? These pretty fields would all be covered with the angry waters - Father always calls them the angry waters. I suppose he thinks they are mad at him for keeping them out so long.' And with these thoughts just flitting across his brain, the little fellow stooped to pick the pretty flowers that grew along his way. Sometimes he stopped to throw some feathery seed ball in the air and watch it as it floated away; sometimes he listened to the stealthy rustling of a rabbit, speeding through the grass, but oftener he smiled as he recalled the happy light he had seen arise on the weary, listening face of his blind old friend.

[...]

Suddenly the boy looked around him in dismay. He had not noticed that the sun was setting. Now he saw that his long shadow on the grass had vanished. It was growing dark, he was still some distance from home, and in a lonely ravine, where even the blue flowers had turned to gray. He quickened his footsteps and, with a beating heart recalled many a nursery tale of children belated in dreary forests. Just as he was bracing himself for a run, he was startled by the sound of trickling water. Whence did it come? He looked up and saw a small hole in the dike through which a tiny stream was flowing. Any child in Holland will shudder at the thought of a leak in the dike! The boy understood the danger at a glance. That little hole, if the water were allowed to trickle through, would soon be a large one, and a terrible inundation would be the result.

Quick as a flash, he saw his duty. Throwing away his flowers, the boy clambered up the heights until he reached the hole. His chubby little finger was thrust in, almost before he knew it. The flowing was stopped! Ah! he thought, with a chuckle of boyish delight, the angry waters must stay back now! Haarlem shall not be drowned while I am here!

This was all very well at first, but the night was falling rapidly. Chill vapors filled the air. Our little hero began to tremble with cold and dread. He shouted loudly; he screamed, 'Come here! come here!' but no one came. The cold grew more intense, a numbness, commencing in the tired little finger, crept over his hand and arm, and soon his whole body was filled with pain. He shouted again, 'Will no one come? Mother! Mother!' Alas, his mother, good, practical soul, had already locked the doors and had fully resolved to scold him on the morrow for spending the night with blind Jansen without her permission. He tried to whistle. Perhaps some straggling boy might heed the signal, but his teeth chattered so, it was impossible. Then he called on God for help. And the answer came, through a holy resolution: 'I will stay here till morning.'

[...]

The midnight moon looked down upon that small, solitary form, sitting upon a stone, halfway up the dike. His head was bent but he was not asleep, for every now and then one restless hand rubbed feebly the outstretched arm that seemed fastened to the dike - and often the pale, tearful face turned quickly at some real or fancied sounds.

How can we know the sufferings of that long and fearful watch - what falterings of purpose, what childish terrors came over the boy as he thought of the warm little bed at home, of his parents, his brothers and sisters, then looked into the cold, dreary night! If he drew away that tiny finger, the angry waters, grown angrier still, would rush forth, and never stop until they had swept over the town. No, he would hold it there till daylight - if he lived! He was not very sure of living. What did this strange buzzing mean? And then the knives that seemed pricking and piercing him from head to foot? He was not certain now that he could draw his finger away, even if he wished to.

At daybreak a clergyman, returning from the bedside of a sick parishioner, thought he heard groans as he walked along on the top of the dike. Bending, he saw, far down on the side, a child apparently writhing with pain.

'In the name of wonder, boy,' he exclaimed, 'what are you doing there?'

'I am keeping the water from running out,' was the simple answer of the little hero. 'Tell them to come quick.'

It is needless to add that they did come quickly.

The legend of the brave Dutch boy - by others thought to be named Hans Brinker - who supposedly put his finger in the dyke to prevent a flood, was actually a literary invention by the American writer Mary Elizabeth Mapes Dodge (1831-1905), who was born in New York.