I don’t understand people who don’t use their garage. Or at least don’t use garages for housing cars. It seems you would want to protect your second most valuable investment. To me, a garage isn’t for that old dresser handed down from Grandma Mabel or for furniture period. It isn’t for storing stuff you don’t have room for in your house. It’s not a spare room, it’s a garage. Most garages aren’t even temperature controlled unless you’re a rich car collector, who knows what a garage is for. Garages aren’t a place to keep your dog. I always thought dogs were part of the family. Not to be sequestered in a totally different room, alone and in sometimes dark and uncomfortable surroundings. Our dog sits beside of my husband on the couch and sleeps in her own bed in our bedroom. I’m not one of those people who like a dog in my bed. If you use a garage for storing furniture or holding onto stuff you’ll never likely use, it’s time to have a sale and make room for that other investment. Your car will thank you and so will your kids when they get in a partially warm car when going to school in winter.
My contribution to Loren Eaton’s annual Advent Ghost story telling.
The light’s danced on the prickly spruce as she stared at it, blankly. Presents sparkled in the twinkling lights.
She held the letter in her now shaky hand and downed the strong liquid. She read the words again, “My only true love, if you’re reading this, I didn’t survive.”
“Didn’t survive?” She yelled at the tree as the anger welled.
The figure sat beside her, touching her hand. She was oblivious.
She picked up the pistol, placed it in her mouth. The ghost screamed.
She stepped away from her lifeless body and into the arms of her love.
For a several years now, Eric Douglas, has been posting creepy Halloween flash fiction stories. The challenge is 100 Words. No more, no lesss.… Open to anyone. My answer to the challenge is below.
I felt I was being watched as I walked up the sidewalk and stepped onto the porch. The deep autumn air gave me a chill. The following day I noticed the Halloween display was off. Things had been rearranged. Again, I felt the eyes on me. The jack-o-lantern had been moved. Kids I figured. The day after that orange pieces of pumpkin littered the porch and the chill returned along with that creepy feeling. I stooped to clean up the mess and was unexpectedly grabbed from behind. Terrified I turned, a gloved hand covered my mouth. The Scarecrow.
Worrying. I remember worrying not only as a child, but as I grew into a young adult. Like most people, I worried about things I had no control over and sometimes I still do. Another school year is about to begin in our community and my oldest daughter approached me last night with some worries of her own.
“I don’t want a man teacher, mom.” She complained. “And we have a new Principal too, what if she’s not as nice as Ms. Moore.”
I listened to her then gathered my thoughts. After a while I grabbed my bible and sat her down. This is what I said:
“Sweetheart, I know you’re worried about having a new teacher and Principal, but change is a part of life. Things are constantly changing. The seasons change. Winter changes to spring, spring changes to summer, summer changes to fall, and fall back to winter. As you get older, you will change schools and classes, your friends will change and so will your teachers. As a grown up, your looks will change and you’ll probably change jobs and interests. Change helps us learn and grow. Change can be a good thing.”
I opened my bible to Ecclesiastes, chapter three, KJV. The chapter begins like this: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
We read through the chapter as it talked about change. “A time to be born a time to die, a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted, a time to weep and a time to laugh..”
We stopped after verse eleven:
“He hath made everything beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.”
We can worry about change all we want, but it is a waste of energy and time. It’s hard not to worry about things out of our control, but like the bible says, He will make everything beautiful in his time.
Change is as constant as God himself.
Even though change is sometimes hard, it is often a good thing. We aren’t meant to know what is around every corner and like the bible says, change can be beautiful.
My daughter flipped through the thin pages of my bible.
“The answers are all here.” I told her.
She gave me a tight and lingering hug, like she would never let go and it warmed me.
That, I hope never changes.
A long-faced Lauryn sat on my bed with down cast eyes one evening as I busied around getting ready for the next day.
“What’s wrong sweetheart?” I asked as I put my clothes for the next day on my dresser.
She hesitated then looked up at me with sad eyes and said, “I’m always picked last, last for everything. In class, in gym, everything.”
Her statement took me back to my own elementary school days, as I remembered those awful feelings of inadequacy.
So what! I wanted to tell her and go on a tirade about how those miserable kids in her class don’t know how wonderful she really is, but I didn’t. A grown-up view with grown-up words about how one day it won’t matter are not the kind of thing an eight-year-old wants to hear or can even comprehend. This rejection is her world, she lives it every day. To her, it’s not about the future it’s about the right now. I know she thinks she is only person who feels this way. I know I was.
She slides off my bed and I kneel in front of her. We are the same height. I look at her, smile a little smile and take her hands in mine. Her soft eyes meet mine.
“You know, when I was your age I was picked last all the time too. I know it makes you feel lonely and unwanted.”
She lifts her head slightly, realizing someone else understands how she feels. Lauryn is studious and serious. She has big dreams for an eight-year-old; lofty goals.
“I’m not sure your classmates fully understand you, sweetie.” I tell her. “You write papers in class about being a Chemist someday. You have a love for learning and reading while they day dream about being on the playground. Be proud of who you are and hold on to your dreams. Try not to let their choices get you down. I know it’s hard to understand, but this is temporary. You won’t be picked last forever. I promise; I know it. Remember, you are loved more than you know and you are first in a lot of people’s hearts.”
There is a verse in the bible, Matthew 20:16, that talks about the last being first and the first being last. I tell her about this and some of the heaviness lifts.
She gives me a tight hug and a sly smile and says quietly in my ear, “Poppy always says I’m number one.”
I give my parents first grandchild a wink, knowing she is feeling better and she skips toward her room.
The long face long gone she gets ready for the next day too.
Welcome to Advent Ghosts 2014, the sixth annual shared storytelling event. Every year, a group gathers to celebrate the old Anglophile tradition of swapping spooky tales on Christmas Eve. We shake things up just a little bit, though. Rather than writing lengthy pieces, we compose 100-word stories — dubbed “drabbles” — and post them the weekend prior to Christmas. Here is mine:
“Where you going kid? Nobody wants to see you. Remember, you only get tonight.” The voice said, trailing after him as he walked toward the street.
He stood under the porch light looking at the worn door.
He went in unnoticed and silently watched and listened. His mother’s gaze went around the room.
When it came to him, he held her stare for a moment. Her smile grew, tears welled in her eyes. She placed her hand on her heart.
After making his way through the familiar streets, he heard the well-known, taunting laugh then disappeared among the headstones.
Lindsey and I stopped in Kroger’s the other day to pick up few things. When we got in line to check out there was an older lady in front of us. She appeared to be in her seventies, I don’t really know for sure. The clerk gave the lady her total, forty dollars and some change. She swiped her card, as I put my items on the counter.
“There’s only twenty-one dollars on your card.” The clerk told the lady.
The older woman was befuddled and looked at the clerk blankly.
“What? What’s the most expensive thing?” She asked.
“Well, the produce.” The clerk told her
“Can you take that off?” The lady asked.
The clerk did, but still the lady was short.
“She doesn’t have enough money, Mommy,” Lindsey said quietly, standing in the buggy, watching everything.
Feeling embarrassed for the women and having been in her situation, I looked at Lindsey, then the clerk.
“Don’t take anything else off. I’ll pay the difference.” I said.
The woman turned to me and said, “But I can’t pay you back.”
“I don’t want you to pay me back. I’m happy to help.”
She moved over while I paid the clerk. She offered me a couple of bucks, which I refused.
“Thank you,” she said, looking in my eyes then shifting her gaze to the floor.
“You’re welcome,” I said smiling. “It’s not a big deal.”
She gathered her bags and left.
“That was so nice of you Mommy.” Lindsey announced proudly as she patted my shoulder, her smile wide.
It’s the little things that matter. Something so small as to help a stranger can make a huge difference in the life of another and not just for that stranger. I said it was no big deal and it wasn’t, but in the eyes of a five-year-old, helping that lady was as big as the sky.