Tag: Husband

Microfiction Challenge: The Innocent

Published on by annwjwhite5 Comments

https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2016/12/16/microfiction-challenge-27-rescue/#respond

There was a time when innocence walked the world. With all of the magnetism usually given to heroes, she walked among us drawing the animals and children to her. What was most unusual was the lack of pretense she had  of her own value. Adults in the village thought her simple and childlike. They preferred to ignore her and her gifts. But the children understood that if they stood quietly enough, they would see a miracle. So they stood at her side and waited. Soon a fawn, or mother cat with kits, or a fox would come and sit by her side. When she smiled at the children and bid them welcome, the animals would rise and greet them as if they were equals. Sometimes they would allow themselves to be petted by children.

Rumors of her ability to see the simple but exquisite left the village and found the ears of a merchant. He came to the village and brought her gifts of magnificent beauty. He begged her to marry him, but she refused. Angered by her decision, the merchant went to the town’s mayor and demanded that the woman be given to him. The mayor, ignoring all that the children had gossiped about her, agreed that it was well past time for her to be married, as a single woman was a danger to the balance of harmony in the village. Sending a group of elders to the woman they demanded that she comply with the mayor’s orders. Again she refused. The merchant left, angry and full of lies. These lies spread through the country. Lies that told of her possessing the souls of children and animals. Lies that called her a witch or sorceress, lies that gave her power over the divine, and lies that gave her the power of ensorcelling an entire village spread like wildfire.

Eventually the king heard of the woman, and believing a village in his domain was at risk of demonic possession, sent a squadron of trained soldier to arrest her and bring her back to be tried for her crimes.

They found her in her home, the fawn and mother cat by her side, and bound her arms and legs. They slew the animals. The children screamed and cried, they protested the cruel treatment of their friend, but no one paid heed to them. Those that cried the loudest were also bound hand and foot and were taken to the king to show how the innocent had stolen their souls. The parents of the children now cried out in terror, fearing for the lives of their children. They were ignored as hysterical. If the soldiers had any qualms at all it was because of the innocent’s stillness. For she made no cry or complaint, only turned to the children and told them she loved them.

On the trip to her trial, she waited calmly, sure that no one could find a complaint against her. She was wrong. Arriving at the capitol city, she found that a pyre had been erected in advance, her guilt assumed. The trial began immediately. No time was given for her to freshen or eat. No kindness was extended to her or the children. The chief witness against her was the merchant who spoke of how she had refused his marriage proposal. He spoke of how she had so ensorcelled the town that even the mayor’s orders were not obeyed. He said he only wanted to give her the protection a married woman needed, for no woman was complete without a husband.

The children were called to testify, but were to terrified to do more that speak of her friendships with the creatures of the wild. They spoke only of her kindness and sharing. Enraged, the merchant called out. How dare they speak of something they were too young to understand. Surely the judge must see that they were under a demonic curse, that they were possessed. The judge was a wise old man, kin to king, and of a noble house greatly revered.

“Let the woman be led into the forest with myself to guard her. Let us see what she does to free herself.”

The judge led the woman and a squadron of soldiers to a clearing in the nearby woods where it was rumored that one of the great tigers lived. She was tied to a pole and a cut was given to her arm. Bleeding, she sobbed that she had done nothing wrong. But she was mistaken, she had done one thing she didn’t even know she had done. The blood pouring from her arm was pure of evil and malice, and it drew the tigress from her den where her young ones were growing.

Tigress smelled the blood and was drawn to it like a moth to candle. She entered the clearing, ready to kill this scent, for it was like a forbidden wine and she must have it. Finding the sobbing woman, she paused.

“Why do you sob and bleed the tears and blood of the innocent?”

The woman didn’t reply, but she also didn’t fear the great cat. The cat, coming close, tasted the blood flowing from the woman’s arm. The woman stopped sobbing, and did something unexpected.

“You must go, Tigress, for there is a squadron of soldiers hiding in the bush watching and they will kill you. Flee for the life of your children. Roar at me and run. I am doomed as it is. A man has made false charges against me and I can not prove my innocence for I did refuse him.”

“I am not afraid,” answered the tigress. She continued to lick the bleeding arm until the bleeding was staunched. Then she bite through the ropes that held the woman, freeing her. At once the judge jumped into the clearing.

“Take her now and kill her for she has captured the soul of the tiger.” And on that command, soldiers burst into the clearing fearing not the tiger but that innocent who had no protector to stand before her. Intent on killing her, they did not see the whirl of the tigress and she turned and used her claws to strike down the first soldier. They ignored the death of a second soldier, thinking that the woman controlled the tiger. As the third soldier fell, a spear point stabbed the woman in the abdomen and she crumpled to the ground. Enraged, the tigress stuck right and left until at last only the judge stood before her. He cowered, crying out, “Leave me be, I am a righteous man. It was a fair sentence.”

The tigress was disgusted. How had all of the adults missed the sign of a goddess on earth in human form. She turned to the woman who was dying. The last thing she expected was about to happen.

Opening her eyes for a final moment, the woman blessed her and her offspring. “Thank you for your protection. I will be with you in the afterlife to protect you and all of your species for your kindness. I ask only one thing. Please escort the children who were stolen from their homes to a place of safety. Make them part of your litter and care for them as  you care for your cubs. Children deserve wonder in their lives and should not be deprived of it. My mistake was to let others know that kindness was a virtue. Forgive me, Tigress.”

She died, as all true heroines must. But the tigress having heard her words, called  upon her people to join her in taking the children from the soldiers as they were being returned home. Striking with great violence, the children were liberated and given tiger back rides to the forest where they met their new brothers and sisters. No one saw them again, but it is said that if you wander into the woods and sit still and listen, you can hear the shouts of joy as the young of both species played together with great respect for each other and with kindness to all they met.

Innocent died but others came that taught over and over that kindness was a virtue. The tigress still waits for us to learn that lesson.

Birthday! Geburtstag!

Published on by annwjwhite6 Comments

Yesterday was my fifty-ninth birthday. It was also my happiest birthday, besides being born (thanks MOM).

My children decided that the best way to celebrate my birthday was to spend it with me. What mother could resist that? They have such busy adult lives that normally we have a brief conversation over the phone, a sandwich brought by so I don’t have to cook, or a pat on my head. Their lives are so busy that in past years they haven’t had time to affirm that I was getting grayer, or whiter, or that time was ticking past at a tremendous pace. But this year we had the hospital scare which mobilized both of my dears to become more involved in my life again. It was a lovely outcome to a scary time.

My day yesterday started with a breakfast wakeup call. My daughter and her husband had arrived with pancakes, eggs, hash browns, biscuits and bacon. They set the table and giving a cheer to bring us down the stairs, presented me with this feast. It took another call up the stairs to bring my husband down. My daughter used the “Dad, he’s poking me again” line which has become a family joke. My son came in and announced that his sister has surprised even him with the early morning roll call. He encouraged us all to eat and then to dress warmly because the day had just begun.

“Just begun?” Could it be that the day was just beginning? Normally weekends are days spent cleaning house, grocery shopping, and organizing for the next week. Taking time away from those things was unusual. Did they mean a game day? We have days when we invade each other’s territory to spend the day with unusual games that call out to us to play them. My son in law Chris was the one to encourage days like that, but this time, it was not what was intended.

I was ushered into the car, and we sped off after my daughter and Chris, at a respectable 35 miles an hour, strictly following the speed limit. There is a vendor of trees, each Christmas season, at the end of our neighborhood behind the Wawa convenience store and overlooking Neabsco Creek. Every year we wander to the vendor a day or two before Christmas and pick a tree that we hope will last into January. This year we were suddenly ahead of schedule. My son had given us a new TV for Christmas this year at Thanksgiving. Now the two kids had delivered a tree, an eight foot all Frazier Fir, and let me pick it out. We were twenty days ahead of schedule. Maybe, as Merlin thought in White’s A Once and Future King, we were moving backwards in time. No, we were moving forwards. The tree was placed in Chris’s truck as Derek opened his wallet exposing the tree fund to light and U.S. currency and homeward we went.

At this moment, door number two opened. Yes, we got the contents of door number one and two at the same time. Derek began pulling out the lights, not just for the tree, but for the entire house. Since he moved home, there has been a sense of normalization that he’s brought. Halloweens must be celebrated with decorations, and so too with Christmases. But as he set out to do the lights, Chris and my husband Eric set the tree into water, and Genevieve ushered me inside.

We always spend Christmas eve cleaning the family room of a year’s worth of crafting and lack of energy on my part by cleaning and getting the area ready for a tree. It can be a daunting task. Once we lacked the funds for a tree, and my kids went out into the backyard and brought back a bough from a white pine, with the perfect curl to it that would have fit in Jack Skeleton’s setting or Charlie Brown’s Christmas. They wrapped the bottom of the tree with a blue Linus blanket, and set one ornament on the tree at the pointy end of the only branch the tree had. Our dear friend Ana arrived on Christmas Day and added one additional ornament to the tree, a Charlie Brown Christmas ornament celebrating the simplicity of the season which is often overwhelming for me. Another time, the cleaning was finished at midnight, and the tree remained undecorated, but well loved. Christmas always arrived expected, but never quite prepared for, just like babies.

So I was convinced that my duty was to let people help me. Chris, Eric, Genevieve and I sorted, moved furniture, ran up and down stairs (I only handed things that needed to be relocated) and we achieved a new landmark. We had a clean tidy organized Christmas room early. We also had a ficus in the corner that now bears handmade ornaments that look like the ones that Grandma Boonie had on her tree. (Just a sign perhaps, but this Thanksgiving Genevieve, my mother, Laura and I created the ornaments to help us celebrate her life. My mother had also created ornaments using the same techniques that had decorated my parent’s trees. We never lacked for a love of Christmas, even when there was no money to be found.) So we used the ornaments we had made at Thanksgiving to decorate the ficus.

Off went Genevieve, Chris and Eric they soon had the tree in the stand. Derek and Eric brought the tree in the house lifting it over all of the things that hop out into the way when you want to transport something, successfully missing all of the obstacles, and the tree was placed along the west wall of the family room. Then began a call for directions to straighten the tree, which was amazingly close this year to true from the beginning, and we ran a relay of water so that the tree wouldn’t dry out.

Then we fell over, and Derek arrived with the ingredients for fancy grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. He had four types of cheese, including the American cheese that I get teased for my infatuation with, two types of sausages to be sliced and added to the cheese and Campbell’s Tomato soup. He whipped up dinner for us all, taking orders like the short order line cook at a good deli. By this time we had listened to Hamilton, the original soundtrack, Christmas swing music by the Glen Miller Orchestra, and we were ready for something to go with a quick meal. So out came The Grinch, which has my father in law in it, just check the section of the first singalong where the Who wearing the glasses and the trimmed beard is shown, followed by Charlie Brown’s Christmas. That gave us enough to time recover our blood sugar levels and the lights arrived for the tree.

Genevieve has taken over that job. Her dad used to do it, but with his schedule giving him less time to do it in, he had to pass that tradition on. Derek has done it several times, but he was still finishing the outside of the house. We run a string or two of lights up the middle of the tree, generally using the largest bulbs we can find, and cabling several light strings together until we have fully lighted strings to use. Then we swirl small lights around the tree. Each year we put together the leftovers of the years before until we arrive at the tree lights we think of as perfection. The pineapple ornament, the symbol of hospitality, goes on the very top, and this year has two 9 inch ornamental angels in full gold and white dress, holding candles (fake candles, the ones using electricity) are directly underneath the pineapple. It almost looks like the beginning of an angelic chorus. As we added ornaments, the tree opened up beautifully. I decorate the inside of the tree as much as the outside. It’s always amazing to me how many ornaments a tree can hold.

We put in twelve hours of getting ready for Christmas on my birthday. It’s not many people who can say they have been given Christmas as a birthday present, but I can say that. I was exhausted but really happy by evening. When my daughter and Chris had left for home, and Derek had gone to get ready for bed, Eric and I sat and watched the tree. He remarked that we “have some great kids”, and I added “and they are remarkable adults.” He asked if I was happy and I am. I’m also really proud that they recognize that time with them is the most important gift I could have been given. Christmas as a present gave them a way to show how much they cared and let us share a lot of memories. And, it’s not even Christmas yet.

Flâneur: A Stroll in the Mind

Published on by annwjwhite13 Comments

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/discover-challenges/flaneur/

I love walks. Being out in the fresh air gives me hope that I’ll have many days to stroll. When I walk I’m not the only one who goes along. My husband comes to ensure I will not fall of cliffs (yes, I have tried. Not intentionally, but the brain picks its own method of self destruction.) He’s been keeping me from falling off things for 36 years, so he does have some experience.

The leaves have just begun to change. In the back yard, the London Plane trees went from green to brown to on the ground in a new record this year. My maples are just starting to change their color orientation, with or without Mother Natures’s permission. The gum tree, in back of the magnolia which started at five feet tall and now is taller than the house in the 24 years or so we’ve been here. I have three magnolias. All have the dreaded seed pods that attack when you attempt yard work. The mocking birds and robins seem to relish the bright red seeds and have mock battles with the squirrels. No one wins or loses in their combat. I believe it’s mostly for the noise and excitement, like humans, there is charge to their world if chaos reigns.

The humming birds have left. Their stroll takes them south to a mystery place. I never told you but I had a humming bird sit on my head month ago. I don’t know which of us was more surprised. I was reading on the back steps while the pups did their sniffing routine. It was cruising the neighborhood. There was a soft breeze on my head, a light weight, and I was motionless. The experience? Priceless. It stayed for only a few seconds, I believe it was a humming bird equivalent of a nap. As it took off, it hovered for a moment in front of my eyes, just there and then gone. I guess off on its own stroll.

The bald eagles hover up in the air, surveying my path. They watch and wait for someone to drop a fish, snake or other loathsome falling from the sky. They are the royalty again now that the osprey have headed to Costa Rica. Funny how the smaller birds keep the eagles from getting too cocky. We have a murder or two of crows here as well. One species is the fishing crow with its nine inch body. Then there is the family of George. I call them that because my father always called the crows he met George. When I asked why, he told me it was a good name. They are larger, louder and will work with the sparrows to chase the owls at first light. Poor owls just want a nap by then. I guess it’s payback for the lack of sleep some of the smaller birds have at night.

Last night a different species of owl arrived, a different call identified it as “Not the Usual” barred owl. It was much more sophisticated in its lunacy. Barred owls have an insane cry, especially at four in the morning. It’s a hoot, hoot, and a scaled digression that sounds like a turkey gone bonkers. Even the wild turkeys around here look up when they hear the cry, not out of fear, but wondering if crazy old Aunt Loopy has arrived for November’s visit.

I think constantly as I walk. I write poetry on invisible sheets of paper which blow away before I can get home to write them down. I see a list of words, or my husband says something out of the blue that demands I use it, or the dogs bring me things. I’ll give you an example: red leaf, blue sky, mushroom cities, blue birds, raucous cry, diving, heron, snap, slip, fern, caught, kiss, toy wand, treasure. Pretty random, yes? But I take the list and within five minutes this is what happens.

A heron, diving with its magic wand, lands,
Slips upon the red mud, catches itself,
as blue birds and eagles snap their fingers in
Appreciation for the performance.

Blue skies filled with mushroom cities,
Far above our red leaved trees, ferns,
Delight in the loud and raucous cries
From starlings resting for just a moment.

Caught by audience and unable to move
Without creating a scene, I watch
Time creating a masterpiece of unmatched
Performances. Nature gives me a kiss.

A kiss upon my lips, my ears, my eyes,
What treasure is provided for us,
Beneath chilly sunning mornings starting
With the red skies of adventure at dawn.

Yup, that’s what I do when I walk. I lose almost all of the poems to reality, as it snaps me back into focus. You know, things like “Dogs approaching, manners must be initiated.” That means taking my beasties off the trail and making them sit, so the oncoming dogs can pass without a scene. Or things like a branch falling just out of the path, so I have to become aware of the present in a larger venue. Then there is the husband’s comment, “So, what do you think?” That’s the dangerous one. It means I dreamed through the conversation, again. Again, and he knows it. I hit the mental rewind in my head, load the last couple of things he said, and guess at the possible meaning. From this I construe an answer with enough details to pretend I was listening and offering him further time to explain. He counters with “What’s that your thinking? Your eyes have changed.” That means I’m busted.

I don’t need to be anywhere special to be possessed by the spirit of the stroll, it comes to me easier than breathing. I just wish I could walk and type at the same time.

I had a best friend once. Brian O’Malley of the O’Malleys related to the pirate Grace O’Malley who was more of a sharp business woman with a passion for being independent. He said that listening to the conversations in my brain caused him mental whiplash at times. I think that was probably the most accurate description of my thinking processes. I wish he had realized how important such feedback was and not wandered off when I went through dark times. No, it wasn’t a romance. It was someone who thought I was “entertaining?” He was a muse of mine for a bit.

My husband takes all of my mental vacation in stride. He’s not threatened if I wander into new territory, meet people, find unknown paths among the white matter of my brain. He’s a muse of mine as well. He keeps everything I scribble, on anything but food, and pours it back into me when I need a refill of words. I can use them over and over if they are good words.

If you send me a list of words that you collect on your walks, I can make poems for you. I’d like that. Perhaps you will be entertained as well. One caveat, don’t fall off cliffs collecting the words. It hurts if you hit the rocks below.

Ann