"Snippet" -- a small piece or brief extract
There was lightning in her eyes on the crisp fall day when oranges and purples lowered the curtain behind Hayley. In her frilly, fall finery, she was ready to gather tricks and treats. One blue eye shining, one brown eye hidden, a testament of Her divergent natures. Dare she give in to her scarecrow side, which drew her to the fields of dirt and roots and mud? Mischief lurked in her smile, hidden behind an autumn leaf, but the leaf she held and the blue of her eye, and the ribbons she wore in her golden hair couldn’t disguise the daughter of earth with dirt under her nails.
1 Comment
This is another possible entry for the fall writing frenzy on Twitter. Feel free to comment on your favorites or let me know which ones you like. Our goal is to write children's stories based on these images. They have to be 200 words or less. :-)
Her first pumpkin pie! Tieren could remember pumpkin pie at every Thanksgiving her whole life. Grandmama had made them, then Mama. This was her first year making it solo. It hadn’t been without its hiccups. The first pie crust she rolled out was beyond repair. She tried 3 times re-doing it and putting it back together before she gave up and started from scratch. Then she got eggshells in the pumpkin mixture. When all was well and the pie was properly put together and in the oven, she forgot to set the timer. If it hadn’t been for Bella, their family dog, barking like crazy, she probably would have burnt it, too. That would have been horrible, since they had never, once eaten store-bought pumpkin pie. The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through the house as it cooled. It was tempting to taste-test, but she didn’t want to mar it before the feast. When the first piece was cut and she heard the first, “Mmm, that’s good.” her heart swelled and she was thankful for family and family recipes. And for extra supplies and grace and barking dogs. “Happy Thanksgiving!” she said as she cut the remaining pieces. Jake, well-known for pranks, thought it would be funny. His class had studied "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." He planned a re-creation of the character for Halloween. Zack provided something that would create cool purple smoke. Jake cut a hole in the bottom of the pumpkin, carved the face, and pulled his all-black outfit together. Unfortunately, the hole was a bit tight for his head. Once he got it on, he couldn't get it off. . . .the purple smoke burned his eyes, nose and throat. Added to the smell of the pumpkin, he thought he might throw up -- disgusting. He knew he had to get out of this pumpkin head. He could dash his head against a wall -- if he could see how to get to it -- it was impossible to see anything except purple haze. Luckily, Katy came up -- also dressed in black -- a ninja? She pulled a knife and cut, freeing Jake from the pumpkin prison. Just in time, as he tossed up the contents of lunch, along with purple smoke and a bit of pumpkin. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, added a black hood, some toy nunchucks and left Sleepy Hollow behind, Katy's hand in his.
Princesses, ninjas, and spooky brides, Scary costumes make you want to hide Witches, ghosts, and scary ghouls, Soldiers, superheroes, and jesting fools, Go a-traipsing on Halloween night, Setting off to give a fright, Pumpkin heads carried in hands, To carry the treats they playfully demand, Dreaming of candy, rich and sweet, Hoping for no nasty tricks, only treats As the night darkens, The children hearken To every scary story heard Hanging fear on every word. Fear, fed by darkness of night, All the fear and the fun of Halloween fright! Alexis sniffled and snuffled, tissue box close by, along with cold medicine. She was still in her pajamas. Even though she was home sick from school, she was tired of being inside -- cooped up! She was tired of her bed and the couch! She missed her friends. She even missed her teachers. It was fall! Her favorite season! She wanted to bask in the briskness of the breeze, twirl with the leaves, enjoy the firepit with her crew -- but the cold she had wasn't letting her enjoy much of anything. She took the cup of hot orange spice tea Mom had made her, the book she was reading for her English assignment -- Pride and Prejudice -- and her favorite blanket out to the porch to at least feel the cool temps and the swirling falling leaves -- a change of scenery. Her favorite comfy socks warmed her feet, the book warmed her heart and the blanket warded off the chill. If being with her friends wasn't an option, she was grateful to have the autumn feelings to keep her company. It wasn't quite S'Mores and a fire, but it was close.
Today was a challenging day. Schools (along with everyone on the planet) are being called on to do some fairly extraordinary things. Stress levels are high and that can bring out our base, selfish, human instincts -- the ones where we look out for ourselves -- and no one else, the ones where we take offense when none was meant, the ones where we throw everyone else under the bus for our personal benefit. There is such a need for compassion and grace -- maybe now, more than any other time in my life. And yet, we tend to gravitate to the opposite extreme in times of stress. I came home venting, eating ice cream, stressed and frustrated, put a dollop of Baileys in my afternoon coffee and came upstairs to my place of solace, and felt more at peace.
I was excited to have received a little package in the mail today -- some adhesive tabs for my writing journal. The one I'm using is almost full -- of anything and everything --for the last 4 years. There are some things I want to keep coming back to, so I wanted to mark them. As I settled into the WordSmithery with my new adhesive treasures and my writing journal, I found this poem I wrote 4 years ago as part of the Teachers Write Program with Kate Messner. It spoke to me especially today in the midst of so much chaos in my personal little world -- with talk of a Cat 4 Hurricane coming for part of our country, wildfires raging in another part, yet another part that was devastated by storms over the last few days -- with racial turmoil and upheaval high, with Covid/Corona wreaking havoc on everyone's heart. . . . it spoke to me. Then I spoke it aloud. Now I "speak" it here -- hoping it will speak to you and you will speak it in your heart or aloud, that you will share it and others will speak it and we will change the turmoil into peace by being "only one" . . . I am Only One I am only one, but I am one. Father, help me be one -- That smiles at the one who needs a smile. Help me be one who lends a listening ear. Help me be one who reaches out with a hand of help -- not condemnation. Help me be one who shines with the light of Jesus -- One who shares His vision, One who shares His love for each soul, One who speaks truth with love and compassion, One who is willing to STAND! Stand with those who are alone. Stand for those who are marginalized. Stand beside those who are hurting. Stand firm in truth and justice. Stand up to those who would take rather than give. Stand up to those who glean pleasure from another's pain. Stand up to those who base their judgements on a person's skin color -- or their profession. Stand up to those who divide. Stand up to those who choose evil. Father, I am only one, but help me be the ONE That can make a difference today. Note: This was my entry for last year's NCRA Young Author Project in the "Forever Young" category. The theme was, "The Power of Words" My entry, and others from across the state have been published in an anthology attesting to the power of words.
I am a logophile -- a lover of words. My favorite games are Scrabble and Boggle and Scattergories. I love the song “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” -- (and no, I didn’t even have to look up how to spell it). . . . it resonates with me...having a word that is just right when you don’t know what to say. Words have power. Some have power when they roll off the tongue -- you feel it to the core of your being when you say, “superfluous” or “meticulous” or “serendipity” or “paradoxical” or “zephyr”-- the power of words well-spoken -- just right for the occasion. Some words have power in the meaning -- they are deep and life-changing: love, betrayal, acceptance, loyalty, and trust. The power of some words come from the speaker and their abilities, their charm, their magnetism -- for good -- or for bad. When Hitler spoke -- or Martin Luther King Jr -- people listened to their words -- and there was power in them -- power in words well-crafted, framed and embellished by a powerful speaker, lilted, tilted, and crescendoed at just the right time in just the right way -- eloquence. Poets and authors -- gifted with mellifluous words that drip off the tongue like so much honey -- have long since and will forever more draw us to anger or tears or fear or love -- just by their words. A word, spoken in anger and frustration can ruin a friendship. Another word can just as easily build one. Words are the DNA of life -- the building blocks of careers and relationships and stories, passed down from one generation to the next -- the genes of literacy. Even God used words to create something from nothing -- “Let there be light.” -- and there was light. Such power flows from tongue and lips and teeth. Such power resonates from heart and head. With great power comes great responsibility. That is why the scriptures say to guard our heart -- because everything flows from it. That is why the psalmist says, “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.” I don’t know of any greater prayer. It has been weighing heavy on my heart -- to make my words count -- to make them encouraging and positive. If, indeed, the Creator shared his gift of words with me, the least I can do is to use them in ways that will make Him smile and make a difference for good in this world, because words have the power to do just that! This photo was taken when our house was still in the city limits, being used as a real estate office... major highway out front, gas stations, drug stores, fast food and a Chinese restaurant surrounded her here. In fact, a Wendy’s fast food restaurant now occupies this lot. Last week I shared a bit about our old house. When I set out to write last week's blog, I had originally intended to write about our experience relative to one of my favorite picture books, THE LITTLE HOUSE by Virginia Lee Burton. It wasn't always a favorite book. I only encountered this one as an adult. It has always been one of my husband's favorites, though. Now it is very special to both of us because of our experience with our own "little house". Like both of the houses in question, the book is a classic and nothing new. . . The copyright is 1942. If you'd like the read the biography of author, Virginia Lee Burton, here is a link to an excellent brief bio from an educational publisher. She was an amazing woman who was good at so many things. http://www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com/features/mike_mulligan/biohome.shtml The book begins, "Once upon a time there was a Little House way out in the country. She was a pretty Little House and she was strong and well built." The same is true for our little house. When she was originally built in 1882, my hometown was still developing. We had a courthouse near our little house, so she would have been part of a small town of the times. She was a Victorian farmhouse, built for a family. In the book, the city begins increasing and encroaching on the little house, and the same happened to our little house as the population and the town grew up around her. Pretty soon, she is surrounded by buildings that blot out the sun, and she missed her country life of bygone days. Our own little house was surrounded by traffic and buildings as well as she sat in one of the main thoroughfares of our still-small-but-not-as-small-as-she-used-to-be town .. . . Then the book reaches a major turning point, "Then one fine morning in Spring along came the great-great-granddaughter of the man who built the Little House so well. She saw the shabby Little House, but she didn't hurry by. There was something about the Little House that made her stop and look again." When we found OUR little house, she was serving as a real estate office, and in fact, had so served throughout my years in high school. Although I had been inside maybe once or twice, I think, that day after it was placed "for sale to be moved", just like the great-great-granddaughter, I saw something in the house that was special. Then, in The Little House, the granddaughter and her husband inquire of the Movers if she could be moved. They said, "Sure, this house is as good as ever. She's built so well we could move her anywhere." And the same was true for our little house as well. So both houses were jacked up and put on wheels. In the book, the Little House moves hours away. In our case, it was only about 8 miles, but it was still quite the adventure! The book ends with her re-establishing herself in the country, getting a facelift and enjoying her new quiet, peaceful life in the country. She is painted a "lovely shade of pink." We chose lavender instead :-) And while it's been long in coming, and there is still much work to do for our little house to be everything she can be, I hope, like the Little House, she is smiling happily, watching the seasons come and go, being lived in and taken care of. If you don't know this book, you are missing out on a classic. Yet, no matter how old the book or the house are, they still have an intrinsic value that in unparalleled and I am thankful to have the book -- and the house -- as a part of my life. You can listen to a read aloud of the book here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7D-UnakYw7A OR, you can Purchase the book from your favorite independent bookstore, or here: https://www.amazon.com/Little-House-75th-Anniversary/dp/132874194X/ref=asc_df_132874194X/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=312680791333&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=12870730653959576604&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9010090&hvtargid=pla-527476992433&psc=1&tag=&ref=&adgrpid=62255331975&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvadid=312680791333&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=12870730653959576604&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9010090&hvtargid=pla-527476992433 This was when they situated our house onto the lot on the farm. By this point, the roof had been restored, foundation was complete and we had pressure washed/scraped and were just getting ready to start painting. You can see a bit of the lavender on the upstairs dormer.
1992 -- the house we now call home was up for sale to be moved. We had only been married 3 years. Financially, we were struggling. It was not the time to buy a house. It was certainly not the time to buy a fixer-upper that had to be moved. It was definitely not the time to buy a fixer-upper that had to be taken apart to be moved -- and then put back together.
However, as sure as we were in love with each other, we fell in love with this house. Built in 1882, she was sturdy and full of character and beautiful architectural detail. She had 2 floors and was being used for a real estate office. She was just around the corner from the library where I was working. Shane met me there during lunch maybe? I honestly don't remember. I do remember when I opened the door, I had visions of Christmas. . . .the door opens directly into the stairway and the living room, so when the door opened, I could see (in my mind's eye) -- beautiful garland cascading down the mahogany stair rail. And as the stair wall angled to the left to carry one up, it left a beautiful angled wall that begged for a piano. It was perfect (in my mind's eye. . .) A huge kitchen and big bedrooms, a gorgeous room with a bay window would make a perfect library. . . .Shane was just as smitten as I was, and the cost? A mere $2,000!!!!!! This was the fodder of dreams! My parents came and looked at it and tried to talk us down with all the talk of hours of work and labor and hardship and idiosyncracies of old houses -- with the talk of cost of moving the house and putting it back together and so much more. We were not to be talked down. We were in love -- with each other, with the house and with the bright future that was waiting on us. Young, naive, and idealistic -- yes, that was us. Shane's aunt had us pegged to receive about a $20,000 inheritance when she died, and she was in her 90s at the time. So dear Aunt Earle gave us our inheritance early so that we could purchase this home of our dreams. Dreams became nightmares over the next 3 years as we strove -- largely unsuccessfully -- to put the house back in working order. They had to literally take their chainsaws and cut the whole upper half of the upstairs off. They also used chainsaws to disconnect my kitchen from the rest of the house! She was roofless and in pieces. . . . When they moved the house it was rainy season and the house literally bogged down in the field that would become our yard. The corner of my sweet house sat jutted into the road for a few days until it dried enough to continue the move. As a 2300 sq foot house, she was not designed as a mobile home, and she had already been moved once when she was a much younger house. We barely had enough money to purchase, move and get the roof back on the house. We struggled over the next few years, making improvements as we could afford to -- which was negligible. It was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. There were so many challenges. October will make 28 years ago that we bought this beautiful old home and made her ours. The struggle has been so long and so real. This spring brought the pandemic and stay at home orders. It brought the cancellation of a few trips for us. It brought stimulus checks. It brought anxiety and stress, but it also brought forced time at home and extra money in our bank account. So we have spent the Spring and Summer and all the money we didn't spend in gas and travel and eating out in addition to the stimulus money and we have gotten so much done. It has felt so lovely and promising and this is the first time in 28 years that our upstairs will be a finished living space instead of unfinished storage. There have been moments -- and hours and weeks and years when we wished we had done things differently. There have been challenges right and left (You can read about some of them in my earlier post about keeping a level head). It has been hard on levels that Mama and Daddy didn't even KNOW to tell us (in addition to all the ways they were right. . . .) It is not the path most would have chosen. It has not been an easy path -- more like one of those winding, climbing mountain trails where you have to fight for every step and help each other along. There is still more work to be done. It may very well NEVER be finished. It will perhaps always be a WORK IN PROGRESS. However, through it all, I think I still would have chosen just the same -- for all its unlevelness, idiosyncracies, character flaws, and challenges, I would still choose this sweet house that we have made into a home, because that is what LOVE does. It chooses -- over and again -- in spite of difficulty -- in spite of hardship. It chooses to love every day in spite of it all. Marriage isn’t easy. It requires a lot of you, and it takes a lot out of you. But in my experience it gives back all that and more! There’s nothing like someone having your back no matter what. There’s no better feeling than coming home to a house that you have created together. There’s nothing like being held by someone who knows you inside and out.
It takes a couple of things to make a marriage successful. It takes GRIT, and it takes GRACE! In psychology, grit is combining passion and perseverance to achieve a long-term goal, and I love this simple definition of grace from Paul Zahl, “Grace is unconditional love toward a person who does not deserve it.” If your marriage doesn’t have grit and grace, it will never make it! You have to be willing to persevere -- that is why the vows state, “for richer or poorer,” “in sickness and in health,” “forsaking all others” -- those phrases show that marriage requires GRIT! You have to combine perseverance with passion. Some people go into it with lots of passion, but no perseverance. It requires effort -- it can be hard. People who want their relationships to be free of chaos and conflict probably shouldn’t get married. There will be times of conflict and times of chaos. We’ve had times where Shane slept on the sofa while we were working through some really challenging issues. We’ve experienced multiple miscarriages. We’ve had health issues and conflict with in-laws. We’ve gotten 2 undergraduate degrees and 3 post-grad degrees while married. . . talk about conflict and chaos! It’s life, and you have to persevere. You’ve got to have grit. Grace is unconditional love toward a person who does not deserve it. We’ve all been there... those days when I’m the one that doesn’t deserve it. Days when I’m unloving and unloveable, when I’m quick to get my feelings hurt, when things don’t go my way and I don’t handle it very well. . . . Those are the days I need his grace. There are other days where he is grumpy and tired, when he’s having a temper tantrum, when he takes everything personally. . . . Those are the days he needs my grace. We must be willing to love when it’s hard and undeserved -- if our marriage is going to work and be successful. This week, Shane and I celebrate 31 years of grit and grace! 31 years. 372 months. 1,612 weeks. 11,315 days. Honestly, not all those days have contained equal measures of passion, perseverance and pure love. Sometimes, it’s been more like the grit inside the oyster shell. Others, it’s been like the “grace” before a meal (like my friend Randy says, “Lord, please DO something with it.”) Some days when I needed his grace, he chose not to give it. Some days, I chose not to. Some seasons, we had grit and some seasons, the grit of life had us. But, thankfully, marriage is a marathon, not a sprint. And grace can cover the past as well as the present and the future. And thankfully, the oyster uses that grit to make a beautiful pearl. I hope we can do the same in our marriage. It’s been 31 years of richer and poorer. 31 years of sickness and health. 31 years of forsaking all others. I pray we get 31 more years before “til death do us part” takes its toll, and I pray that God will help us continue to show grit and grace for the next 31! |
AuthorI've been a teacher of K-3 students for over 20 years; I'm also a writer of poems, short stories, devotionals and picture books. I'm wife to an amazing husband and mom to Sparkles, Mocha, and Rusty -- our feline fur babies . I love reading, writing, singing and listening to music. I enjoy nature, Bible study and spending time with friends and family! Sign up above for a periodic newsletter (monthly or less) and updates to Snippets and PBJamz.
Archives
September 2023
Categories |
Proudly powered by Weebly