STORYTIME TAPESTRY

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

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Oct 8, 2005? 

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Today's Queue Stories
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Good Old Days, number five

Bill Walker

wildbill6807@yahoo.com

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In the good old days, kids had a few toys, some? had a few, while some have more. A lot of poor kids had maybe one or two. Nothing like the kids have today in the way of toys. Some kids was poor, but blessed with a dad that was right handy on making a home made toy.

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I remember peddle cars. A few of the richer class of kids had one of those.?  These things looked like a car, big enough for a 4 to 6 or so in age to set in. Had peddles for the feet to work, depend on foot power to get the thing around the block on the sidewalk. These came in cars, fire truck, and such. I think the fire truck and other types such as, little boy could get his sweetie on the back. Made for slower going, what with the added weight.?  That may have been when boy found out need car to pick up a Dollie with.

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Most kids some time or other had a wagon. Every family needed a kids wagon. Those was handy for lots of things. Wagons are still around, the difference is the wagons then.. Store bought that is was a little red wagon, made by one company, made in the U.S. of A.. They was very tough made. Take a licking and still be there for tomorrow.?  I had one of those for a time, it was my wagon, also fire truck, police car and haul when I could find one, Dollie. Dollies was the same then as now, liked a ride. Little MingToy, she was my main Dollie, she liked a ride.

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Then came the 2 wheel job.?  It too was a fire truck, police car, and a few other things, once I learned how to keep the thing up right. I got a basket put on the front. Could?  go to the store, get a few things for mother.?  Basket also served another reason. MingToy liked a ride too.. Put a towel in the basket, pick her up and get her fixed up. Bill and his litttle girl Peke took many a ride.

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Girls had their dolls, and things dolls need. Buggy, and such. Back in the good old days kids knew there was babies, that was about it. How came all at once we have a new brat is anyone guess.. All we know was here the brat is. I guess some figured it out a while before I did. I was never to smart, still not sure I got it figured out. Guess I will ask one of the smart Dollies one of these days.

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Back years ago there was roller skates. Came with 4 wheels, a strap and a key.?  Took the strap to hold it on your shoes. Had a clamp that took a key to hold it on the toe of the shoe, need that key.?  You stayed on a hard surface with the skates of old days.?  No cutting cross grass or dirt fields with them things. Nothing like today's roller blades. I watched a couple girls fly around the block here while back.?  They was about 16, put them boots on with the built in skates, made them bare legs look nice and long. Talk about flying Dollies, those gals was gone and back in nothing flat.

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In the good old days. There was the wind up toys. Planes, and boats.?  You had a rubber band inside of this toy.? ? Wind the prop up, turn the thing lose, it went a short distance, and crash. Spent a lot of time repairing of plane, also rubber bands didn't last to long.?  Boat was the same way.?  Seems like after so long water came in where the shaft went out the back end.? ? ?  The thing filled up with water and had to be fished out of pond. If you had a pond, you tied a string to it or it was good bye boat. These sold best I remember about a dollar or two. That would be about like 10 to 20 dollars today. Kids didn't cost as much then as kids of today, but who had a dollar or two then?

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Kids of the Good Old Days made do with things, a toy or two, and make up something to go with it. It all depended on the age of the kid what toy was the in thing for the age.?  Get a couple or more kids together. A lot of cops and robbers.?  Didn't take much for that game. I guess it might still be done some. A lot of cowboy and Indians.?  I think that has died out, not many Indians left any more.

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You know as a person gets older and leaves the childhood days behind.?  Those were the Good Old Days.

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Hearts With Soul New BookTinker & Poo, The Boys Write

Bill Walker tinkerpoo2000@yahoo.com
Purchase, "The Boys Write"

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~**~**~? 

? "GIFTS ON A PORCH SWING"
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Swinging with my grandfather on the front porch is one of the fondest memories from my childhood.?  Most East Texas houses in those days had a wraparound porch, each blessed with a swing.?  They were usually made of hardwood, often clear-varnished oak.?  This particular one was painted white like the gingerbread trim on the house and was tucked around the corner from the main entrance - for a bit of privacy I imagined.? 

Today, if we had a swing and a front porch and tried to apply the same use, I suppose it would be called "hanging out."?  Back then it was the center of family get-togethers.?  But no matter how many other relatives gathered with tall glasses of sweet tea in the high-backed wooden rockers and straight chairs brought out from the dining room, Daddy Joe and I always claimed the swing.
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The aunts engaged in discussions of their children's progress in school, summer vacation plans and the latest family gossip - voices lowered, of course, because as they said, "Little pitchers have big ears."?  Uncles talked about their jobs in Houston, the new Pontiac someone purchased, and deer season beginning in October.?  I was Daddy Joe's first granddaughter, maybe that's why we could talk about things that the other adults didn't seem to be interested in.?  Maybe it was because we both shared a love of fishing.?  Or maybe it was just that we enjoyed being together.?  The talk around us could be funny or serious but we ignored most of it.?  Daddy Joe and I spoke of more important matters . . . such as work.
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On Saturday visits I "worked" for Daddy Joe in his country grocery store.?  First he taught me how to properly sack groceries for his customers.?  That was fun for a few years but I soon wanted a "promotion."?  It was more fun putting penny candy (always more than a penny's worth as per Daddy Joe's instructions) into a small brown paper sack and into a child's hand, or to wrap up the sliced bacon in pink "meat" paper.?  Later I graduated to listing charges/payments in a daily ledger while seated in the chair on rollers at his big oak rolltop desk at the back of the store.?  On those Sundays seated together on the swing we talked about sales, the cat chasing mice in the feed room, colored folks slowly moving their mule-driven wagons or old beat-up trucks up the alley.?  And we always spoke of fishing.
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That porch swing was the staging area for those weekend trips to White Rock Creek where we camped and fished.?  It was at the water's edge that Daddy Joe taught me to put a wiggly worm on a hook, caste out the line on a cane pole and land sun perch on the sandy bank.?  Looking back, I think he received as much pleasure from watching me fish as he did with his own catch.
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At Daddy Joe's, sunny mornings or rainy afternoons, the fun was on the front porch.?  When I was a child you created your own entertainment.?  Girl-cousins set up imaginary houses for their store-bought paper dolls.?  The boys "flew" their folded-paper airplanes with appropriate whining sounds of prop engines and the kaboom of bombs falling.?  The swing, that important piece of outdoor furniture, had been there for generations whatever the games . . . it had once even served as the cockpit of our uncle's Navy Avenger as we reenacted the Battle of Midway.?  Or you could just sit there . . . reading, writing, thinking . . . or just talking.
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There are things you can say in a porch swing that you can't speak of anywhere else.?  I remember Daddy Joe listening to me, offering advice that I could somehow find a way to accept when I was growing up.?  Parental discipline, sibling disagreements, boy troubles - Daddy Joe would hear me out, nod or shake his head, seeming to always know the right words to steer me along life's proper path.
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There were times when we just sat in silence, enjoying the sound of mockingbirds perched in the pecan trees.?  Maybe Daddy Joe would be reading the Sunday newspaper while I paged through his collection of Life or National Geographic, lost in another world, one foot tucked beneath me, the other on the floor to keep the swing in slow motion.?  As the eldest of five children, I looked forward to these quiet times when neither of us felt we had to speak in order to be the center of attention.? 

The stillness, the lack of words in some mysterious way drew us closer.? 

When I was twenty, it was on the porch swing that Daddy Joe talked to me about his future.. Looking at the dark sky he shared his thoughts. "I've spent many a night out here, BJ, looking at the millions of stars up there. Wondering, hoping, there really is a God in the hereafter."?  He laughed, a little shaky sound like none other I could remember hearing from him.?  "I reckon this old swing has saved me many a dollar not spent on doctors, psychiatrists, or lawyers.?  It was here I made the hardest decision I guess I've ever had to make."

With my head on his shoulder, hugging him for what turned out to be the last time, I cried as he went on to explain that the store must be sold and how he'd be making a move to Uncle John's in Houston for his last days.? 
"BJ, it bothers me that I have nothing . . . no money, no property, nothing of value . . .for you to inherit."
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I tried to reassure him.?  But how could I make him understand that his legacy would be the love and wisdom gladly dispensed for so many years to a gangly grand-girl-child??  There on that porch swing he had given me peaceful security, taught a work ethic that I carried into the working world throughout the years, and instilled in me the courage to face life's ups and downs.?  It was a precious gift.
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Even now I can close my eyes and hear the creak of the chains, feel the sway as feet set it in motion.?  I can hear the eager voice sharing the excitement of the day's happening.?  I can feel the warmth of arms hugging me close as I nap, dreaming of the fish to be caught and pan-fried.?  And my hope as I dream of those days from my past is that somewhere there are other little girls sharing their secrets on a porch swing with a special grandfather.? 
tejasbabs@aol.com

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? Bio: Barbara Deming lives, volunteers and writes in San Marcos, CA. Her next collection of stories, "Pink Poodle Pie (and Other Tales of How Women Get Even) will be released soon.

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Soul Fire
By Chief K.Masimba Biriwasha

The fire in my centre looks like a butterflies fluttering in the wind
towards a grove of purple blossoms. It rises with a delightful spark till it
fills my Soul with Light. The fire in my center knows no boundaries. It is
unhibited by Time and Space. The fire in my centre revels in the freshness
of the moment. It's crisp as moonlight, and flaps its luscious wings freely,
joyfully with the passion of a morning songbird. The fire in my centre looks
like seven heavens awakening to their bliss, like the ascent of a new moon.
It blows smooth as October's blessings. It's bright. It's majestic. It's raw
as sunrise, it paints watermelon sprouts across the horizon of my being.
Sometimes, I crouch round my Soul's blazing hearth and imbibe its glowing
light. Afterwards, I'm refreshed-drunk with passion. I'm new. I rise again,
lightning-like, in search of the sky of my endless possibilities.

As dawn's arrows pierce the expansiveness of my wings, I awaken to my centre
and marvel in its blinding light that urges me to resist old cobwebs. So I
tend my fire. I stir it till it gows larger and larger revealing mountains
and rivers, stars and moons within my bones.

I'm released. I'm born again from the fire within.

And now, I carry this torch of consciousness - watching over it, nursing it
like a newborn - so that it can also rise to brighten the pathway of my
tribe.

The fire at my centre is not mine alone. When I care for it, it illumines
the moment - that hidden gem which untites me with the echoses of the
ancestors.

O, my fire.

I'm free now. Free to dance with the tongues of my centre's flames.

The flames gather me into their arms, and lead me into a cave.

The walls of the cave are painted. I marvels at the paintings but I have no
time ...

The light at the end of the tunnel beckons me to walk faster.

I reach the end of the tunnel. A woman with a face of light greets me and
leads me on.

Chief K.Masimba Biriwasha
154 Samora Machel
BelvederHarareZimbabweAfrica
Tel: +263 4 700832/795337/775520
Email: mbiriwasha@zan.co.zw
Website: www.zan.co.zw
Postal Address:

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Poetry Section

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BREATH OF THE EVENING

Sandra Van Nocker

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In the breath of the evening
As the moon shines overhead
Stars glisten in the sky
Beauty is seen.

In the breath of the evening
The day coming to a close
A time of reflection
Gratitude is heard.

In the breath of the evening
Darkening of the sky
Quieting of the Earth
Solitude is felt.

In the breath of the evening
One more day's end
Prompts another beginning
To shine anew.

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Sandra Van Nocker

SamV678@msn.com

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PATH OF LIFE

Sandra Van Nocker

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Life moving forward

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Pieces of time left behind

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Questions unanswered

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Directions altered

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Paths intertwined.

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Continually changing

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Possibilities crystallize

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Dreams born

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Life unfolding

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Strengths realized.

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Gratefully accepting

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These pieces combined

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Created my life

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Perfectly

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Precisely

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Intentionally

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Here and now

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Mine.

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SamV678@msn.com

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GIFT OF DREAMS

Sandra Van Nocker

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I envision my dreams

In the hands of the Divine

Carefully molded desires

Created over time.

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As my dreams expand

The Divine hears my request

Finesses the mold

Matching my every wish.

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For the mold is unique

Absolute perfection

Made with love and

Exquisite attention.

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A gift from the Divine

Dreams from my soul

Blessings from above

I now behold.

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SamV678@msn.com

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I live in Lansing, Michigan and am a mother of three boys.?  I just write when I'm inspired, so I have no "formal" bio.

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Writers Feedback

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Thanks, sweetie.?  And I just read "First Date, First Kiss" and have already had several comments on it.

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"The Prom that Never Was" brought so much mail.?  I was really surprised that it seemed to hit a note of memory for many people.?  Your newsletter makes us all famous, Carol.

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Love,

Barb Deming

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Diana, a very moving account of your "Mother's World."?  I agree with you, I can't understand people who never visit their parent in a nursing home.?  My aunt suffers from this with her children.?  To be with strangers at the end is so hard for them.? ?  Lovely thoughts.? ?  Gabrielle Morgan.

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? What a wonderful daughter you must be. I never got the chance because I lost mine at a very young age God Bless you

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Prayer Requests and Updates

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My son has been hospitalized with a serious illness and was released this past Monday. He is still undergoing many tests as an out patient. They don't know if we are dealing with Crohn's or Ulcerative colitis but he was bleeding out through his colon and nearly died. He's lost a lot of weight, from about 145 to 119 pounds and he had very little blood left in his system.

Please keep us in your prayers!

Love,

Dianna

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

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To all;

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Thank you all for your prayers for Jackie, God really did answer them all. Jackie

went back to the doctor's office? and he released her? to go back to driving again

after having the surgery, she is having very little pain if any at all and she isn't

taking any pain pills.

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The doctor thinks it was her herina that was messing up her gallbladder, she

is not having any more trouble with it now, praise the good Lord for that!!!!

Thanks again for all of your prayers for Jackie

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God bless and be with each and everyone of you always!!!!

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Your Brother & Sister in him

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Richard & Jackie Sims? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?  Online Prayer Warriors!!!!

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? SENIOR WRITERS

Chief Writer: Sharon Bryant

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

Boda, Ginger;? ? Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.;?  Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark;? 

Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria; Goodier, Steve; Halley, Ellie Braun;

Harris, Kathy Anne;? Hunt, Sharlette;? 

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

Liles, Norma; Lock, Joyce; Mazzella, Joe;? Ojeigbe, Georgewaters;

?  Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan;?  Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan

Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe;? Warner, Gorden K; Walsh, Sue

Whirity, Kathy;? White, Robert;

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STORYTIME TAPESTRY STAFF

Publisher: Carol Roach-founder

Moderator: Thelma Hartselle-co founder

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