The Newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world
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Oct 1, 2005?
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A very special birthday wish goes out to Neal Hartselle, the husband of our moderator Thelma Hartselle here on Storytime Tapestry.
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Now on to the good stuff..........
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Today's Queue Stories ~**~**~**~
Oranges and Lemons
Margo Fallis
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'Twas on the Isle of Capri that I found her, Beneath the shade of an old walnut tree, Oh, I can still see the flowers blooming 'round her, Where we met on the Isle of Capri.
She was as sweet as the rose of the dawning, But somehow Fate hadn't meant her for me, And tho' I sailed with the tide in the morning, Still my heart's on the Isle of Capri.
By Ray Noble
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? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? They say that when you fall in love while on holiday, especially in a foreign country, that it will never last. I can assure you that statement isn't true, at least it wasn't for me.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Several years ago I traveled with my mama on a month long
tour of Italy. While I found the whole country magical and inspiring, no place touched my heart as did the Isle of Capri.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? On the last leg of our journey we spent the night in Sorrento, on the south west coast. I stood at the window looking out on the Mediterranean Sea. The sunlight sparkled as it danced on the gentle azure waves. The scent of lemons, oranges and olives filled the air, so thick I could nearly taste it. ???Mama, come on. We'll miss the boat.???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Mama came out of the bathroom. ???I don't
feel well this morning. Why don't you go without me. I'll sit here on the balcony and read a book.???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???Oh, Mama. I know you want to see the Isle of Capri. Can't you come???? I noticed the pale color of her face.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???No, angel. You go without me. I'll be fine.
Look at this view? How could I not be????
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? I didn't argue with her any further. I grabbed my bag and headed down to the boat. As it chugged out of the harbor, I looked back at the houses built up on the steep sides of the mountains. A rainbow of color displayed between the trees; each building painted pink, yellow, white and blue. Once we were out on the sea, I looked forward, watching the rock mound in the distance draw closer. ???Capri!???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? The boat docked and we piled out. Fishing nets, drying in the sun, lined the dock. Pleasure craft bobbed up and down on the rippling swells rolling from docking boats. I took the funicular to the top, where the town of Capri lay. I wandered down the narrow, winding streets, full of vivid colors, fragrance and mystery. A man stood on the corner selling gelato. ???I'll take one.???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???What flavor would you like???? The elderly man pointed to a list.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???May I recommend baci.??? A deep voice from behind me spoke.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? I turned and gasped. Dark brown eyes, the color of wet earth stared into mine. His thick hair, the color of cocoa hung around his well-chiseled face. I caught my breath. ???What
flavor is baci????
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? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? He took my hands in his. ???Chocolate with hazelnut. You will enjoy it.??? He slipped some money from his pocket and paid the man. ???I'll have one too.???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???Why thank you. I can pay for my own.??? I felt the color rush to my cheeks.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???All I ask is that you allow me to walk with you while we eat the gelato.??? He winked and a grin spread across his suntanned cheeks. ???Pardon me. My name is Neroli. My mama named me that because when I was born all the orange blossoms in Napoli were in bloom. That is where I was born. And your name is????
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raced. Here was this gorgeous man flirting with me, an Italian man at that, and I couldn't remember what my name was. ???Uh, my name is, Annabella. Most people call me Anna though.???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???Anna. The name is as beautiful as your chestnut colored hair and dazzling smile.??? Neroli nodded. ???Let's walk. I want to show you something.???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???Are you flirting with me, Neroli???? I batted my eyelashes.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???I only tell the truth.??? His grip tightened on my hand and he pulled me along.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? I thanked the gelato salesman and followed Neroli. When I saw him lick the melted gelato from his fingers, my heart fluttered.? It took all my concentration to lick my own cone.
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sauntered through gardens while I listened to Neroli tell me the history of the island. I marveled with wonder, thinking of Caesar Augustus and Tiberius walking these same paths. We stopped at the edge of the cliff. The Mediterranean spread out like blue fan. Boats dotted the sea and birds flew overhead, cawing and squawking in a cacophony of melodic tunes.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???Down there is the Blue Grotto. They say it is inhabited by witches and monsters,
but I find it a place of serenity and peace. The water is brilliant blue. The sun's rays shine through an underwater cavity. It is enchanting, as you are.??? Neroli stared into my eyes. I felt my legs turning to rubber. ???You are bellisimo.???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? I couldn't utter a sound. As his lips lowered to mine, I felt myself tingle from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. I could have sworn every strand stood up on end. My arms slipped around his neck as I savored the long lasting kiss.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? When he pulled away he smiled again. His dimpled cheeks, rosy and adorable, jiggled as he laughed. ???I've gotten gelato on your chin.??? His sinewy finger wiped it off.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? I giggled like a pathetic teenager, enjoying the moment, which seemed to freeze; I hoped for eternity.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? We walked into the town center and sat at an outdoor cafe and feasted on succulent shrimp, smothered in lemon sauce,
chilled mussels; neapolitan onion and beef ragu, and an orange tart with layers of sliced oranges on top of a creamy, tangy filling. Neroli introduced me to limoncello di Capri and I knew the lemons must have been grown right there on the island. He stayed with me all day, showing me flower gardens bursting with bougainville and roses. We explored ancient ruins and stopped in every little shop. Neroli purchased a small ceramic jug with lemons painted
on it. ???This is for you, so you'll remember me.???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? As the afternoon passed, we made our way down to the dock in Marino Grande.
People started boarding the boat back to Sorrento. I knew I'd have to get on soon. Neroli gazed at me.
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? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???Annabella, Anna, I thank you for one of the best days of my life. Although we live in different worlds, you will always own a piece of my heart. Ciao bella, Anna. Grazie and arrivederci.??? He kissed me on the cheek and walked away.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? I climbed into the boat and sat, watching this man, who had captured my heart and taken me on an adventure of a lifetime,
walk away. I didn't know if I should cry, knowing our paths would never cross again, call out to him and beg him him to let me stay with him forever, or thank the Roman gods for bringing him into my life for this one, treasured day. My eyes stayed riveted to the island as we sailed away. A smile came to my heart, filling it with a hopeful peace.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Mama waited for me at the hotel. ???Well, Anna, how was your trip to Capri? Did you find it as
enchanting and magical as we thought it would be????
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? I sat on the chair next to hers and looked out at the sea. I put my jug on the table next to the lemonade.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???I see you bought a souvenir. Is that all???? Mama ran her fingers over the painted lemons.
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I laid my spreading fingers over hers.? ???Oh, Mama, do you know the song, Isle of Capri????
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???Yes.???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ???Sing it with me, Mama.???
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? We sang, Mama with gusto, myself, with tears, especially during the last line and I knew that forever a piece of my heart would stay on the Isle of Capri.
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Margo Fallis margofallis @ yahoo. net
Margo Fallis, born in Scotland, spends a lot of her time traveling. Most of her stories come from experiences she's encountered during a journey somewhere. Margo started writing at age 10, when she wrote a play for her 5th grade class in California. Writing for children is her number one love, but she also loves to write
short stories and is working on three novels. Margo is the mother of five children, seven grandchildren, and is married to Thom, the love of her life. They live in Atlanta, Georgia.
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? Writing
Saskia Nienna Streidel
What is writing for you? What is it for me?
If I write, I feel the power of life running through my vanes. Fantasy moves my muscles. The pen in my hand follows. The pen is like my heart. The heart beat creates my world, the pen writes it down.
If I write, I can free myself. No trouble, no pain. The pen spits it all out on the white paper. And it is just black blood on a white innocent paper. It is gone, like the illness after the fever. It is burned out.
I also can share my feelings while I
am writing. I share all my Inside with the world, because right now, as I am writing, the paper is the world. The audience is everything, everybody, even the table I am writing on, even the lamp over my head and the cup of tea next to my writing hand. Everything is here, with my, right now.
If I write, I have also the power to forget myself for a moment. Run away. If I want I can just run away. Or why running? Running is boring. I am a writer, so I am everything. I could fly away like
a bird, like an angel, like a dream. Because that I what I am.
If I write, I create the world how I want it to be. And nobody can tell me: This is not possible. I want to be younger, older, smaller, prettier, richer, better. Well, I can have all. I create my world. There is no NO, except I want it to be there. If I want fairies guiding me, then there they are. If I want a dragon carry me home ??“ here it is. This is my world.
I created a lot of worlds.? I dreamed a lot of dreams. They changed with time and did not change a bit to the same time.
I spit a lot of pain out ??“ black blood on white paper.
And? I feel free ??“ almost.
But there is still so much more to come out, so much more to say. It is never OVER.
My name is Saskia Steidel, I am born the? 17.10.1981 in Germany. I live in a small? village in the middle of the woods and love to write. Right now I study learn therapy and music therapy and I just quit my job as a ticket manager in the administration of an soccer club, to have more time to study and to write and to work as a Nanny, what I really love. So far I published poems and some other pieces in different books and published one book called "Am Ende der Nebel". Right now I am writing on a children??™s book.
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As Big as the Heart Can Hold
by Sherri Hosieni
Shades of Seattle gray, in the sidewalk, clouds, and raindrops, greeted Olivia as she strolled through the brick building lined streets of Pioneer Square, stopping at ???Susie??™s Posy Shop??? to buy a bouquet of daffodils for her desk. Turning left at Cherry Street, she walked up the steep hill to City Hall, where she worked as a legal assistant in the City Attorney??™s Office.
Repugnant urine stench met Olivia??™s nose as she entered the building. An older man, with sunken eyes and blue veined, transparent skin stood in the corner of the lobby. Filthy, tattered clothing draped his emaciated frame. Olivia hurried past the security desk and sprinted into the first open elevator, hitting the ???close??? button before selecting her destination. She thought aloud, ???I agreed with the decision to use the lobby as a nighttime homeless shelter, but sometimes it scares me.???
Angry citizens reporting barking dogs on Capital Hill and a sleep inducing planning meeting for the expansion of the law library made the morning pass quickly. The hands
of the clock struck , prompting Olivia to think about a lunchtime visit to the free art museum up the street. Immersing her mind in the permanent collection of mostly nineteenth century German landscapes had become a ritual pleasure.
Jackhammers crunched the sidewalk on the north side of Cherry Street as Olivia walked out of City Hall. She always walked on the north side of the street, avoiding the south side??™s long line of smelly, dirty people streaming out of a church basement food bank, like rats scurrying from a garbage heap.
???I??™m going anyway,??? Olivia sighed, as the pull of the museum??™s tranquil spaces overcame her revulsion at walking through the ragtag, food bank masses.
She walked slowly up the south side of the street toward the overflowing line of people, picking up her pace as the line grew closer. Salty, hot sweat dripped down her forehead and into her eyes as she walked faster. Olivia turned the hungry people surrounding her into faceless obstacles, ignoring their very presence by focusing only on the cracks in
the sidewalk, and noticing small gray pebbles and stray weeds at the edge of the grass.
Breathless, about midway through the line, Olivia stopped. Fear and panic shook her body. Her heart raced. A gentle hand touched her shoulder. She whirled around wildly. A grandmotherly voice said, ???Are you alright, dear???? An elderly woman, holding the hand of a tiny, brown haired girl asked again, ???Are you alright, dear????
Wiping the sweat from her eyes and breathing hard, Olivia answered weakly, ???I??™m fine, thank you. I??™m on my way to the museum. I was walking a little too fast and needed to stop for a minute.???
???I??™m glad you are okay. Enjoy the beautiful paintings,??? the woman responded.
Olivia ran to the door of the museum, set down on the steps and held her face
in her hands. Hot tears streaked her cheeks. She reflected upon the man in the lobby that morning and the kindly grandmother in the line just minutes before. She thought, ???Drug users and alcoholics are the poor and homeless. I don??™t understand this.???
She stood up and walked back toward the food bank. An old man, wearing duct taped shoes; a younger man with one leg; and a woman holding a crying infant represented those in the long line. The man she had seen that morning in the lobby sat on the lawn outside of the church trying to chew on a crusty loaf of bread, even though several of his teeth were missing.
Olivia mustered her courage and walked into the church basement. A tall, young, African American man, wearing a nametag that read ???Walter??? greeted her. He smiled warmly
and said, ???Would you like some bread????
???Oh, no,??? she replied. ???I walked by here on my way to the museum. I decided to learn more about what you do. May I volunteer for the rest of my lunch hour????
???We can always use extra hands,??? he said kindly. ???It??™s not glamorous, there is no pay, but the rewards are always as big as the heart can hold.???
???What do I do???? asked Olivia shyly.
???Mark!??? the young man called out, ???We have a new volunteer.???
An older man walked toward Olivia and said, ???I??™m Mark. It??™s nice to meet you. What??™s your name????
???I??™m Olivia,??? she replied. ???I only have about 45 minutes. Is that enough????
???You bet it is,??? Mark said. ???Follow me and I will get you a name tag and an apron. Then you can join a group already
filling up bags of rice.???
Olivia joined a table of five people pouring two cups of long-grain, white, rice into plastic bags and tying them shut in assembly line fashion. The minutes flew by. She headed back to work, vowing to return soon to help more.
Once a week, for the next three weeks, Olivia walked up the hill to help out, holding her head high and saying hello to everyone she met. Bouquets of daffodils, tulips and sweet peas, donated by ???Susie??™s Posy Shop,??? filled her arms on each visit. They adorned the front desk in greeting of the now very visible food bank clients. She sacked rice, cut up loaves of bread, and sorted donated canned foods onto shelves.
On the fourth week, Walter greeted her at the door and said, ???I think you are ready to handle the front
desk.???
???I don??™t know about that,??? Olivia hesitated.
???I do,??? said Walter. ???Remember, no one is ever turned away. No questions are asked. We greet everyone with a smile, a kind word and dignity.???
Olivia??™s heart raced. She had found these people disgusting, ignoring their very presence. Now she would face them directly.
A silver haired man, leaning on a scratched wooden cane, walked through the door. Olivia said, ???Hello sir, how are you today????
He didn??™t speak, but motioned for a pad and pencil. Olivia placed them in his hands. He pointed to a tracheotomy in his neck and wrote, ???I??™m fine. It is good to see a smiling face. I can??™t speak since they poked this darn hole in my throat. The doctor tells me that I??™m going to die soon. The cancer is
growing fast. At least I won??™t starve to death.???
Olivia gasped loudly. She saw the breathing device in his throat. Walter saw her reaction and said, ???Hello, Mr. Jenkins. We are pleased to see you. I have something special for you today.??? Walter gave him a package of nutritional drinks, a bottle of multivitamins, and a variety of smooth soups, specifically selected for his needs.
Mr. Jenkins winked at Olivia and wrote, ???I hope I see you soon. Thank you.???
Olivia operated the front desk each week and grew to love interacting with the people. Stories of illness, job loss, domestic abuse, and fear filled her ears. She also heard about free dental clinics, new jobs secured, and children??™s birthdays. Olivia always anxiously awaited Mr. Jenkins arrival. He chatted warmly
with her via the note pad, telling her about saving a small child in the Korean War, showing her pictures of his long dead parents, and providing strong opinions about the politics of City Hall. Olivia noticed that each week he looked thinner and his skin more ashen.
On an unusually bright sunny day Mr. Jenkins did not show up. Olivia prayed for him as she helped the other folks in line. The man Olivia had first encountered in the lobby of City Hall walked through the door, placed a small wooden box on the counter, and whispered, ???He died. He was my friend.???
Olivia took a deep breath and lifted the top from the box. Inside, a note scribbled in familiar hand writing said, ???Dear Miss Olivia. The doctor said I won??™t see tomorrow. You were so kind to me. I take your smile with
me and leave my smile with you.??? A small, yellow, 1960??™s style smiley face button sat in the box.
Tears fell freely from Olivia??™s eyes. She walked around the counter, hugged the man, and said, ???I??™m so sorry. He was my friend too.???
Olivia rubbed the smiley button with her fingers and pinned it to her blouse. Walter noticed her tears. ???Mr. Jenkins passed away, didn??™t he???? he asked, placing his arm around her shoulders.
???Yes, he did,??? Olivia whispered and pointed to the button. ???He left me a gift as big as my heart could hold.???
Sherri Hosieni
Sherri_AH @msn.com
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Here is a short bio:
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Sherri lives Utah.? She has a degree in Political Science and worked for several years in city government in Seattle, Washington.? She is greatly inspired and motivated? by? people from all? religious traditions and ethnic backgrounds, who follow their dreams, build bridges of hope to? each other,? live their best lives? and make the tapestry of our complicated world a better place.
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Poetry Section
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In meadows
Christina Hymes
In meadows she lays on her back, looking at the clouds passing by.
In Meadows, she reminisces on life, how each day she learns something new.
In Meadows, she cries for a love, which has broken her heart in two.
II. In Meadows, the sky is blue, the horizon purple, and I sit and think of you.
In Meadows, the grass moves like ocean waves, saying "Hello" and "How are you?"
In meadows, beneath the oak tree, we carve our names, where I found you. The moon
The moon rises through clouded sky waves. Saying 'Goodnight' to the earth, below bats leave their nest to say
'Hello' to the inviting unknown.
At night dark shadows sing of forgiveness, prayers flow like streams above us. Hopes haunt our dreams. Nothing is ever as it seems.
At night, when the outlawed ambassador visits your home, you scream but the sounds are muffled by pillow tops, scream but they won't be heard.
What is not seen cannot be accounted for. The moon is masked in the sky and clouds, his posse marches by. -- Christina Hymes CDRC Marketing Assistant hymc0001@unf.edu ?
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Put Away
Christina Hymes
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Put the shame away On the mantle, Between two books. Pick it up and read it later, Then shred the pages. Forget about it.
Put the guilt away. In storage boxes, In the attic, collecting dust. Then move them downstairs, And burn them.
Put the blame away. In the kitchen, Let it get cold
in the fridge. Thaw it out, and chop it. Then sear it on the burner.
Put the despair away, In a metal box, dump it in the ocean. Say goodbye, let them go.
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Mystery Rhyme
Christina Hymes
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Candle wax drips slowly, like crimson blood flowing from an innocent soul. A murderer??™s truth unfolds
Pink sneakers, golden locks Blue jeans, angry red socks. Feet trample, passing by, Mother sits down, has a healthy cry.
Older brother lashes out, Younger sister sits and pouts. Father is missing, where? No one knows
Opening the door, papers spread On a table filled with bread. Guns in the cabinets, two bodies lay dead.
Christina Hymes was born in Bethesda, Maryland on March 4th, 1986.
She grew up with her older sister, twin, and younger sister. In 2002, the family moved to JacksonvilleFlorida where upon she finished high school in 2004, eight in her class. She now attends the University of North Florida and will be majoring in Nursing and minoring in English. Christina writes on her free time. Her work is a collaboration of poems that deal with her life and the events around her.
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Writers Feedback
Carol,
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Normie knows that I just love all that she writes.? She is tucked into a corner of my spiritual heart.
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Joseph Walker's "A Lesson in Honesty" was warmingly touching.? That father and child was faced with what many parents have had to deal with.? I enjoyed the calm, caring way both the father, the clerk and the writer handled the situation.
