::My Writings::

[GoldenSpice]

My new thread for my writings,late night ramblings, short stories, poems, and all kinds of words. Critique is welcome, but please limit to one post, and no need to be rude.I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them all.

[GoldenSpice]

Heartbeat
When his heartbeat returned to normal, David slowly sat up and fumbled for the switch on his bedside lamp. He clicked it on, the string rattling against the hollow base. The lamp cast a warm orange glow over his blue bed sheets. He slipped out of bed and quietly walked to the bathroom down the hall. He looked in the small overhead mirror. The bags beneath his eyes were growing with every sleepless night. He splashed cold water over his face. “It’s just a dream David. Get over it.” He muttered to himself before switching off the bathroom light.
“Who are you talking to?”
“Ah!” David gasped and whirled around, posed to attack or make a hasty retreat.
“Whoa, David it’s just me.” Gracie said, gently taking his hand, which was clammy from the nightmare, his forehead still beaded with sweat. “Still having those nightmares, huh?” David nodded.
“She’s not coming for you David; she can’t get out of a high security prison.” David nodded again and shook her off. The “she” Gracie was referring to was David’s crazy ex-girlfriend, Athena. She had first stalked David, and had then never left him alone for longer than an hour. David had a restraining order placed on her, for he began to fear her clinginess. He had a good reason to be wary, because as soon as Athena received the letter for the restraining order, she was enraged and threatened to kill David.
She was put in prison on threat of murder charges and David thought he would never have to worry about her again. But then the nightmares started.
“So explain it again to me, in your dream she…breaks out of jail, hunts you down, and when she finds you, right as she is about to attack you.. You just... wake up?” Gracie asked, pushing hair from her forehead.
“Yes,” David said, sighing.
“Maybe you should go see a therapist.” Gracie suggested, raising an eyebrow.
“No. I don’t need to see anyone,” David said, sternly.
Gracie shook her head and went silently back to bed, her brows furrowed.
The next morning David awoke and went through his usual morning routine. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair. He put on his usual khakis and polo shirt, before heading downstairs for coffee. He picked up the daily newspaper and began to scan the front page. It read:
“Criminal Escapes from High Security Prison: Be on the Lookout.”
And below the caption, an enlarged black and white photo of Athena. David’s coffee cup shattered on the floor as he fell to his knees. Gracie came rushing in, seeing him lying on the floor. She picked up the paper. And it all went black.

[GoldenSpice]

Why did you have to break it?
Shatter it,
Crush it,
Smash it
Into a thousand pieces, scatter it
Until the only thing that remained
Was the fleeting memory of it?
Why did you feel the need
To take what was mine
And make it yours?
Why did you have to break me?



(I may be editing or adding to this later..my first attempt at poetry.)

[GoldenSpice]

I feel like I'm drowning, like there is a sand in my chest, throat and mouth, chaffing against my heart and pushing me away from all the things and people I love.
I feel like my mind and body are in a constant fog of fear and worry. I'm sinking, the pain and words pulling me in like tidal waves.
The earth is closing in now over my head and all I can think is how much I want it all to end.
But I can almost see a pinprick of light, through all that dirt.
A small hole through which sunlight seems to be reaching down and grasping me by the hand, pulling me to surface where I can finally breathe again.
Yes, I'm still gasping, and yes, I'm still a little dizzy. But I'm breathing.

[GoldenSpice]

Still Smiling
Strong. Webster’s defines it as an adjective, “having the power to move heavy weights or perform other physically demanding tasks,” or “able to withstand great force or pressure .”Everyone has struggles and trials in their life.But the challenges we face do not mean we can’t go on. They simply mean we must discover how we truly handle stress. Then we change because of what we have accomplished. But the only way to get through these rough times is to not only stand firm in what we believe but to also be strong in who we are.
I sit by my mother’s bedside, the dim light of the bedside lamp giving off an eerie light in the dark of the night. My grandmother leans over my mother, carefully and gently washing the stitches along her spine. I turn my eyes to my mother’s face. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her lip is caught between her teeth as she breathes quickly.I was sure she would cry; I surely would. Having surgery on your spine to fix two discs and then to wake up and find you had nerve damage due to a doctor’s slip of the hand, would have left me in a puddle of my own tears. I look away. She doesn’t make a sound, but I know she wants to.
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “A woman is like a tea-bag, you can’t tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.” Roosevelt was right, in many ways, however not only women are like tea-bags. All people naturally keep a barrier between themselves and others. We use this “wall” to keep ourselves from entering situations that make us uncomfortable or puts us in danger. But what happens when someone or something breaks that wall, and you’re left exposed? This is what Eleanor was referring to as the “hot water.” The hot water is any powerful or intense situation that requires you to show your true self and how much you can withstand. Each person’s threshold is different.
My grandmother moves and begins to help my mother sit up, often a lengthy and tearful process. Tonight I move to help, putting one arm gently under my mother's side and waiting. I watch as she takes three deep breaths, and then holds the fourth as she begins to move. My grandmother and I steady her, and help her to a sitting position on the bed. She breathed heavily, clutching the bedspread as her life support.
“Strength doesn't come from what you can do, it comes from overcoming the things you once thought you couldn't,” stated Rikki Rogers. Strength isn't always defined by how many bench presses you can do, or how much weight a person can lift. Sometimes being strong means getting through the rough times, like losing a loved one or getting in an accident. Strength can come from the little things in life too, like finishing a paper you never thought you would, or getting an A on a math test you were sure you failed. All of these things, although they are tough to endure, make you stronger in the end.
My grandmother holds my mother’s hand, steadying her as my mother slowly stands. Her hand grips my grandmother’s like a vice, her fingers wrapped so tightly around her hand, I wasn't sure if she was cutting off circulation. Slowly, they walked towards the bathroom, my mother limping and stopping every few steps to catch her breath. But my mother never stopped trying. She kept pushing forward in the coming months, getting better day by day. As Mary J. Blige said, “There’s so many things that life is, and no matter how many breakthroughs, trials will exist and we’re going to get through it. Just be strong.”

After a year, I noticed my mother smiled more often. Somehow she still smiled after all she had been through. She still limped, and she could no longer work at her job at the hospital. But her outlook on life did not change. She still loved her garden, and she continued to bake every day. She didn’t let a setback in her life stop her from living. She picked up from where she left off, and she made do with what she had.She showed me what it meant to be resilient; she defined strong.

[GoldenSpice]

Sweet Remembrance
The 1940’s through 1950’s can be described as a time of conflict and excitement. The early 40’s started with World War II, the most devastating and destructive war to that date. 16 million military troops were killed, and 30 million civilians were killed in China and the Soviet Union alone. (“World War II”) During the war, the American public was still pushing onward, and in 1946 the first digital computer was formed, and introduced at the Moore School of Electrical Engineering in Philadelphia. It was 30 by 60 feet, and weighed 60,000 pounds. Some popular movies included “Going My Way”,”Gaslight”, and “Meet Me in St.Louis”.In 1947, Jackie Robinson joined the Brooklyn Dodgers and began a new era for African-Americans in baseball, and the microwave oven was invented. In 1948, Leo Fender invented the electric guitar, and people were watching “The Snake Pit”, and “Red River” for movies, and the new Polaroid camera developed pictures in one minute. In 1949, big band music dies and is replaced by bebop, or bop.(“The 1940’s Decade Timeline”) But in 1949, another very important event happened. On August 21, 1949 Barbara LaMaster was born in Fairfield, Iowa at the time a town of 6,773 people. (“Total Population For Iowa’s Incorporated Places:1850-2010”)
Barb LaMaster sits down across from me, a large wooden table in between us. She carefully slides two photo albums into the middle of the table, her white hair shimmering under the overhead light. She looks up, her blue eyes set on a face of progressing years, but still youthful in their depths. She smiles and says “I brought up some old photo albums, if you wanted to look through them; I suppose we should just start from the beginning.” She flips open an album and I am faced with memories of a Silent Generation woman,.She carefully points to a faded picture, it’s edges worn. In it stands a woman, a slightly taller man, with his hand resting on her shoulder, and three children. Two girls at their feet, and a young boy in the mother's arms. “That’s me,” Barb says, pointing to the middle child, with brown curls.
“And that’s my family,”she says sliding her finger back for me to see.
Barb sits down with her parents, sister, and brother for supper. Her sister Joanne, who is 3 years older, sits across from her, and her younger brother Dennis, who is 5 years younger sits next to her. Her father, Everett sits next to her mother. He was a mechanic, and thankfully always had work in these tough times. Due to the production interruptions of February, 1942 for most automobile producers, Everett had his hands full keeping what cars were on the road, running.. It was blessing, but it was hard work. Their mother, Jeanette laid out the glass plates, cups and dishes as she set the table for them to eat. She had collected beautiful rosepoint etched glass, of varying reds, pinks, and greens over the years. Her mother reached over to the stove top and grabbed the pan of cooked pork fat, a common part of their meals these days. They always had big gardens, and used everything they could, nothing went to waste. Meal times, like now, were still meager however. Her mother fixed pork fat often for meals, as it was all they had.
Barb flips to another page in the photo album. She stops at a picture of a church, its white boards standing out in the old photograph.
“This is where we went to church,” she says, smiling.”It’s called the New Sweden Lutheran Church, and it’s still standing. They have service there twice a year.” She brushes the picture lightly, remembering something.
“So are you Swedish?” I ask, glancing up from the picture to catch her gaze.
“Yes, my ancestors came over from Sweden. We still have family there. In fact, all of my family has been buried at that church, and I will be too.”
Barb’s family links their hands together around the table and bows their heads to pray. They were a devotedly religious family and made sure Christ and the word of the Lord were a major part of their lives. They attended New Sweden Lutheran Church, where she was baptized, and so were both her siblings.
“Come Lord Jesus, be our guest, and let these gifts to us be blessed, Amen,” Everett prayed over their as they did before every meal, and then they began to eat.
Barb stops on page filled with pictures of her childhood, laughing.
“I remember this day,” she says, still chuckling. She points to another sepia photograph, and in it is a picture of young Barb, playing in river, with no bathing suit.
“We went to the country that day, and I didn't have suit,” she says, the smile still on her face as she pulls the photograph out of the album to give me a closer look.
The next day, a Sunday, was hot, and it was mother’s chance to relax, and Everett’s time to be with the kids. He said, “Okay, what do you guys wanna do?” Barb and her brother and sister didn't have to think for a moment. “Let’s go to the country, oh let’s go to the country!” It was particularly hot today, so Barb’s brother made an extra request. “Let’s go wade in the creek.” Their father quickly agreed and soon they pulled out of town up to the small creek. But Barb quickly realized she didn't have a swimsuit along, but it was so hot, she didn't want that to stop her. She quickly took off all her clothes and jumped in the soothing cool water of the creek. Her brother and sister laughed, and she smiled as her father pointed the camera her way and snapped a picture, her brown hair framing her face.
Barb sighs as she finishes telling me of that day at the creek.
“So what did you do as you got older?” I ask. Barb smiles and nods at me for a moment before answering.
“I always wanted a family, to be the stay at home mom, and have my own children to care for. But before I did that, I decided to go to college and get my degree in Music Education. That’s where I met Dave, you know.” Her eyes look far away as she remembers something and I ask,
“How did you meet Dave?”
Barb walked across campus to Messiah rehearsal for the Augustana Choir practice freshman year of college. Dave was at seminary and notices a bright young women with dark hair from a distance at Messiah rehearsal.After a few days he decides to ask one of the girls friends who she is. He learns her name is Barb, but she is already seeing someone. Fast forward a year, and Barb is no longer dating her boyfriend. Barb sat down and wrote out some postcards to parents and friends back home, and went down to the student union to mail them.Quickly distracted by her friend, she sets them down without a thought on the counter, and leaves with her friend. Later that night, her phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Barb?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“This is Dave, I was in the student union tonight getting coffee, and I found some of your postcards on the counter. Don’t worry, I mailed them for you.”
“Oh! Thank you so much.”
The next night, Barb attends a dance with her friend, and sees Dave. After talking for awhile with friends she heads out, but as soon as she gets home, her phone rings again. It’s Dave.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Barb?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“Hi, it’s Dave. The one who found your postcards.”
“Oh yes, I remember you!”
“Well… I was wondering if you would like to go on a coffee date with me?”
Barb laughs. “That was fate. He really had an in with finding those postcards, and he had wanted to ask me anyway.” I nod, smiling too.
“So what did you and Dave do after college?”
Barb laughs again. “Well we got married, our senior year of college. I knew I was gonna get a diamond that day, too. My car wasn’t working, and he offered to drive me to my service where I played piano for three services, and along the way he wanted to stop at Vandeveer Park, to see the swans. When we got there, he got down on one knee, and proposed.” I laugh at this too, not because it is funny, but because it is so sweet.
“That is wonderful isn't it.”I say. Barb nods.
“After that, we started our church work.”
Barb hurries to pull on her coat as she goes out the door for Sunday service. Dave is busy teaching confirmation and directing a choir at their local Presbyterian church, while she was busy playing three services each Sunday, while helping him get ready for their move to Phoenix, where they will be planting a congregation.
Fast forward. Barb scoots back in her chair, relaxing after the long day. They have finally settled down here in Phoenix, Arizona, and Dave has established a fairly strong mission congregation.Dave had knocked on doors, but since this was a brand new area of the city, with many transplants, there were a lot of people looking for a church. With her two babies to look after, as well as her duties at the church Barb had been staying very busy.She has been helping with secretarial duties, and has established a women's group. She also played the organ and directed a children’s choir on Sundays.
Barb glances at the clock.
“Yes, that was a busy time. But it was also a good time. We were there until the end of 1969. Then we decided to come home.”
I look up as I finish my last word on my full page of notes. “Thank you Barb, you did great,” I say, as I pick up my things and tuck them away in my jacket. I stand to go, and as we say our farewells at the door, I notice the shimmering glass in the cabinets, Jeanette’s glass. Now it’s Barb’s glass, for her family to enjoy. But it wasn't so much the glass itself but the memories that came with it that truly made me smile as I walked out that door. Like William Cowper once said, “Happiness depends, as Nature shows, less on exterior things than most suppose.” (Fitzhenry)

[Ranger of the North]

Wow, I really like these!
I hope you don't mind me posting?

[x__x]

beautiful
<3

[GoldenSpice]

Hey Guys! I'm sorry I've been gone so long, I finally got logged back in!! Thank you for the kind words, I hope I'll be writing more soon.

[GoldenSpice]

They say I’m a traitor. Maybe I am. All I know is that I did what I had to do.

5 Months earlier

I scrub the plate furiously, letting the bubbles and water splash out of the sink and onto the counters and floor, pooling underneath my bare feet. My tears run down my face, and drip off my chin into the water. But I don’t notice any of this. I’m trying to forget.
Walter was a businessman for Charles Hughes, and although I never approved of the long hours and [censored] timing, the pay was good, and Walter seemed to like his job. He was dedicated and said Charles really needed him to keep the business afloat. I didn’t really understand what my husband did, or why he often came home with cuts and bruises. He always said that the machinery was awful at work, but when I questioned why it was never fixed, he always hurried onto a new topic.
Meanwhile, I was working at the local bank, dishing out money to old folks and helping pawn teens into checking accounts they would probably overdraw from in the next month. I had okay pay, and decent hours. I never worked holidays or weekends, and never late. I came home that fateful Monday evening at five thirty on the dot, and as usual I set about making dinner, that night a heaping amount of spaghetti and some garlic bread. As the noodles boiled, and the bread baked, I slipped into the bathroom, and washed my face. I looked into the mirror, and almost didn’t recognize myself. I was 23 years old, and newly married. My dark brown hair was almost always in a ponytail now, and my blue eyes were often hidden behind glasses instead of shining in contacts like my teenage years.

(I'm really stumped where to go from here, I forgot I even wrote this! Any help?)