All posts by busy lady

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About busy lady

Once upon a time I was retired. But I came to live with my younger daughter and homeschooled her oldest son for two years. He went to school for 8th grade and now is in high school. I get to spend lots of time with my other three grandchildren. I write poetry and enjoy making books of them. I don't live with my daughter now; I have my own apartment which I love, and my own little kitty, which I named Shere Khan. However, unlike his name sake, he is not a brave, mean kitty. But I like it that way! I live only a few miles from my daughter and her family. I wish my other daughter was closer, but two hours away is not bad. Her three boys are all teenagers now. Its fun to be a grandma! My life is good.

LINK WITH THE PAST

Last assignment of Writing 101 is for Day Twenty: The Things We Treasure: Today’s Prompt: Tell us the story of your most-prized possession. For this final assignment, lead us through the history of an object that bears a special meaning to you. Today’s twist: We extolled the virtues of brevity back on day five, but now, let’s jump to the other side of the spectrum and turn to longform writing. Let’s celebrate the drawn-out, slowly cooked, wide-shot narrative. You can go with a set number — 750, 1000, or 2000 words, or more (or less!)

I looked down at the item in the box that my sister Gayle put in my hands. I hadn’t seen it for years. What memories it brought back of the fun of looking at three dimensional pictures.

These memories began with visits to Aunt Laura’s house, a small home that this widowed lady had stuffed with many things. Aunt Laura was the oldest sister of my mom’s father, born sometime in the late 1870’s or 80’s. We loved Aunt Laura and she always seemed glad to see us. However, her house was not a very exciting place for two youngsters, five and six. Aunt Laura had the answer. She would bring out her “Holmes Stereoscope” and this “machine” would bring the world outside alive to my sister and me. With great anticipation, Gayle and I would argue about who got to see it first, but at Aunt Laura’s urgings to share, and my mom’s warnings about putting it away, we would share it. As we put a card in the holder and moved it backward or forward until the picture was in focus, magic appeared before us. The double images on the stiff cardboard rectangle before us blended together in a three-dimensional picture and the walls around us opened to the waterfall cascading over the cliff; or a mother in her kitchen, baking; or a small boy and his dog kneeling beside his bed, saying their bedtime prayers. One of us would look and soak it in, then pass it to the other to enjoy, trying to wait patiently until it was time to put another card into the card holder.

Stereoscope
“Holmes stereoscope” by User Davepape on en.wikipedia – Photo by Davepape. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons –

We loved it so much that after a later visit, Aunt Laura said she wanted us to have it. We gasped in delight. The fantastic 3-D machine would be available whenever we wanted to use it.

And now, I held the precious machine. Its rickety state showed how much my sister’s children and grandchildren had enjoyed it. I knew it would never make it through more children unless I was there to oversee the process. I wrapped it up carefully, wondering what the value of a well beloved stereoscope was. I looked up stereoscopes on the internet and found that they were fairly recently still being made! Our stereoscope would remain a sentimental item.

3-D card
3-D Card for the stereoscope

Later, I wondered, would my grandchildren appreciate this old picture viewer? Would the pictures I remember be as wonderful to them as they were to me? Technology has improved things, even those things that to me are not so old, like eight track and cassette tapes.

There are other items classified as stereoscopes, among them the View-Master made in 1939. In the 1960’s and years following, they were a favorite toy of children, who like my sister and I, enjoyed the world around them reaching into their lives. They were great, but the pictures on the cardboard disks were never as nice as those on my stereoscope. But progress changes things and View-Masters were easier to use than stereoscopes.

View-master for 3-D viewing
1962 View-Master

Having the stereoscope goes beyond the fun of seeing those pictures as if I was looking at the real scene, it is about having something in my possession that links me to my grandparents and the time they grew up in. It makes me wonder what Aunt Laura thought about new inventions, like electric lights and telephones, to say nothing of cars and airplanes!

According to Wikipedia, this Holmes Stereoscope was created in 1861 by Oliver Wendell Holmes. “He created and deliberately did not patent a handheld, streamlined, much more economical viewer than had been available before. The stereoscope, which dates from the 1850s, consisted of two prismatic lenses and a wooden stand to hold the stereo card. This type of stereoscope remained in production for a century and there are still companies making them in limited production currently. It is primarily American, although it is often named ‘Mexican stereoscope.’ ”

COMING UP IN THE WORLD

Day Fifteen: Your Voice Will Find You. Today’s Prompt: Think about an event you’ve attended and loved. Imagine you’re told it will be cancelled forever or taken over by an evil corporate force. How does that make you feel? Today’s twist: While writing this post, focus again on your own voice.

The County Fair. What a neat place to spend the day with my daughters. We would get there early before the rides began, have hot chocolate and then wander through the exhibits to see what people had made or were selling. My girls were small then so they enjoyed everything, even the commercial exhibits where they could spend a little money on one of the million things being offered for sale! We would visit the animals: the rabbits, the chickens, the guinea pigs, the cows, the sheep, the pigs, the llamas, dogs, cats, horses. One year we even saw a camel! If we timed it right, we got to see the 4-Hers do their routines with their animals. There was a grandstand, but we were more interested in the small entertainment stages throughout the fairgrounds. We would take a break and get a delicious milkshake from the Dairy Booth. And when the rides were open, my girls rode a few of the kiddie rides since they were too young for the big ones. It was a wonderful day, out in the country, looking at interesting things.

As my girls grew, the visit to the fair took on different aspects. They both got involved with 4-H and were busy with the dog, cat, and rabbit projects. The days of coming for hot chocolate and wandering through the exhibits with my little girls was over, but I still enjoyed all the sights and sounds of the county fair.

And then, it changed. The county commissioners built a large building for all the exhibits, commercial or otherwise, out of the heat and weather in a nice air-conditioned building. They were planning ways to separate the animals and 4-H events from the rest of the fair; it was becoming sanitized; a place that lost its country feeling where you could buy cotton candy or elephant ears, and wander through the exhibits or into the places where the animals were. Or see, tucked in the back of the fair, farm machinery from the past or a man making animals out of a small sheet of metal. We could walk through one exhibit hall back to the outside where you could buy a piece of jewelry or a scarf, and with your gems in a bag provided by a political booth, go through another exhibit hall and out to a small entertainment plaza, surrounded by grass sitting to watch someone, or group, sing, dance or be a comedian.

The country fair was giving way to the city. I along with others felt betrayed by those who ran the county fair and decided it should come up in the world.

MY LETTER

Day Fourteen writing assignment for Writing 101: To Whom It May Concern. Today’s Prompt: Pick up the nearest book and flip to page 29. What’s the first word that jumps off the page? Use this word as your springboard for inspiration. Today’s twist: write the post in the form of a letter.

Dear Lord, You always know what to send to add cheer to my life. You are so good to me. Thank you for the beautiful red bird that fed at the bird feeder outside my window. You give me many gifts to enjoy. I always want to have a thankful heart.

Your servant,
Me

NIGHTMARE

Thanks to Author S B Mazing for her Blogging event: Finish It. Here is her opening:

Her hands were shaking. Her heart was racing. Enough! She had enough! He would no longer hurt her! She could feel the cold metal in her hand slowly adjust to her body’s temperature. She had her back in the corner of their bathroom, the door locked and outside of it footsteps approaching.

Please continue…

He began to beat on the door. She thought the banging on the door would cause it to collapse and he would come raging in to beat her as he had in the past. This time he might kill her. Why did he have to drink? He was kind and reasonable when he hadn’t been drinking. But when he drank . . .

His drunken voice filled the air around her. “You . . . better come . . . out!”

She lifted the gun and pointed it at the door. She was trembling with fear. What if she misses? Or it doesn’t stop him? What if she kills him? She gritted her teeth. She couldn’t going to put up with him anymore.

The door gave way. Her husband moved toward her, drawing his arm back. She pulled the trigger. . . .

Autumn sat up, startled out of sleep by the nightmare. Her heart was beating hard and her breathing was fast.

“Autumn? You ok?” her husband asked in a sleepy voice.

“A nightmare. I think it was brought on by the news report last night of the woman who killed her husband because he kept beating her up,” Autumn replied.

Dan sat up. “Sorry, sweetheart.” He started rubbing her back. “Want some tea?”

“No,” she said, “just keep rubbing, please. It’s relaxing me. Maybe it will help me go back to sleep. Dan, there are advocates who help women in the same situation as this woman. Tomorrow I’m going to look into it. I found a site that deals with this kind of advocacy on the internet yesterday while I was looking for something else. I will call them.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Dan replied.

Finally, she leaned over and kissed him. “Thanks for the back rub. I think I can sleep now.” She lay down and began to pray quietly for whomever she was dreaming about and for guidance to do what she could. She couldn’t do everything, but she could do something.

If you want to join the storytellers, you can find the rules by clicking here.

FOUND

Writing 101 Day Thirteen: Serially Found. Today’s Prompt: write about something you found. Today’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second installment—loosely defined.

I’m told to share

one thing I’ve found

and so I tell

three things to share.

Car keys laying

on the seat.

Wedding album–

lost is found!

cell phone hiding,

I have it now.

But greater still

than all those things—

not what I found,

but what found me

and took me as

I was with all

my foibles, failures,

emptiness.

I know that if

you measured me

in spirit, soul,

I could not stand.

But Jesus’ blood

upon the cross

covers me

and now I live.

His joy is mine

and peace and hope.

Yes, I am His—

for God found me.

2015

THE CONVERSATION

Writing 101 , WordPress: Day 12: Dark Clouds on the (Virtual) Horizon
Today’s Prompt: Write a post inspired by a real-word conversation. Today’s twist: include an element of foreshadowing in the beginning of your post.

Mama and I sat at the table, eating breakfast. At 91, she knew her life was coming to a close, but concern for me, a widow, and her dog, companion for fifteen years, made it difficult to let go. I think her concern came partly from the death of my brother, her only son, a few months earlier.

“Who will take care of Rascal when I die?” she asked, offering her Rascal a bite of her peanut-butter toast.

“Oh, Mama, I will care for Rascal. I love him, too,” I answered.

After a moment’s pause, she continued, “Don’t you want to get married again? Have someone to take care of you?”

I smiled. I’d been a widow for seven years and my life was busy taking care of Mama. “No, Mama, not now. I’m fine. I really am happy the way things are.”

Mama gave Rascal another bite of toast. She looked at me again, anger flashing in her eyes. “Why did your father leave me? Why doesn’t he care enough to come back?”

I’d answered this question so many times. Daddy had passed away fifteen years ago. Now, in the last few weeks, this had become her question. They had been married almost fifty-six years. I knew that because of her dementia it wouldn’t matter what I answered; she would ask that again and again. She wouldn’t accept that he was dead. The chaplain said perhaps this was easier to think about now than his death. I tried a different answer. “Mama, he has been called to a mission. The Lord wants to use him. You’ll see him when his job is done.”

She added, still angry, “And why doesn’t Wayne come back to visit me? Doesn’t he care about me?”

“I think he will when he can. Why don’t you take your pills now? I know there are a lot of them, but the doctor says you need them.”

She complained a little about the pills, but took them.

There was a knock on the door. Our friend, Margot, was at the door. I had to go out and Margot from church had come to be with Mama while I was gone. Margot was ten years younger than Mama and in good health. She and my mother loved each other.

“Margot!” Mama exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Want me to turn the TV on?” I asked Margot.

My friend shook her head, smiling. “No, we always have lots to chat about.”

I cleared the table and put my shoes on. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.” Margot nodded and she and Mama sat down on the couch close together, Rascal at Mama’s feet.

I went to do what I needed to do and when I came home, they were engrossed in conversation, mostly Mama sharing the past and Margot listening.

“Thank you, Margot,” I said as she got up to leave.

Mama got up and gave her a big hug. “Come back again, please.”

Margot smiled. “I will. I love your mom,” she said as she returned Mom’s hug.

The time came where Hospice came to help with Mama’s last days. We put a hospital bed in the living room. A couple weeks before she passed away, she stopped asking what would happen to Rascal or if I wanted to get married, or why Daddy and Wayne didn’t come to see her. Rascal got sick and I took him to the vet, but we lost him. I didn’t want to tell Mama; she didn’t say much about him these days unless she saw him, which didn’t happen often because she couldn’t see him when she was lying in the hospital bed.

One day after I had taken him to the vet and he passed away, she asked, “Where is Rascal?”

“He’s sick, Mama. He’s at the vet’s.”

Finally, after her question and my answer several times, and consulting with my sister about it, I decided to tell her, expecting a very emotional response. I sat down beside her. “Mama, Rascal died. He was very sick.”

She simply wept a few tears without saying anything and never mentioned Rascal again before she died. When she lay sleeping that last week, she seemed to be holding on; my brother-in-law took her hand and said, “Your girls will be okay. You don’t have to worry about Darlene. We’ll take care of her.”

Within less than two days, Mama went home to be with Jesus. Her concerns were behind her. She was at rest at last.

THE AGE INSIDE

The years go by, but deep inside
my brain says I am still sixteen.
And though the face denies it’s true,
and gray replaces brown in hair,
the age inside can’t be denied.
But as I look back down the road
and see the two that came from me
and seven more who came from them,
I find that I don’t really mind
that I am so much older than
my soul would have me to believe.
Heaven’s door is closer now,
to dwell with Jesus Christ my Lord.
And when my days on earth are done,
my life continues to be lived
in those that I have left behind.
So while my brain says I am young,
and mirror says that I am old,
I’ll smile at inside trickery
and let God fill my life with joy.

2015

WHERE I LIVED WHEN I WAS 12 YEARS OLD

Challenge for day 11 for Writing 101: Size Matters (in sentences). Today’s Prompt: Where did you live when you were 12 years old? Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences as you compose your response about the home you lived in when you were twelve.

The Sonora desert. Usually it isn’t considered a beautiful place. At 12, I did not think about Tucson, Arizona, being beautiful, but  I grew to love it, including heat, tarantulas, scorpions, and all the other things that inhabited the desert. We had moved there because of Mama’s asthma. We had lived in Michigan. The doctor said, “You need to move to a dry climate if you want to live.” So my family of six moved. And Mama grew well there.

In Tucson, we enjoyed 350 sunny days a year. We were surrounded by five different mountain ranges: Tucson, Santa Catalina, Rincon, Santa Rita and Tortolita. They ranged in heights from over 4,000 feet to over 9,000 feet high. It was amazing to look outside and see these majestic mountains towering all around.

Saguaro cactus
Saguaro cactus, Arizona

 

Our family spent more than one afternoon having lunch in the foothills, surrounded by the cacti that reminded us of sentinels, guarding the road and mountain,

looking down Mt. Lemon
Tucson from Mt. Lemon

 

 

 

Or stopping on the drive up one of the mountains in the chain to view the city far below.

How I missed the desert and those lovely mountains when I moved. I’m not glad my mother was sick.  I am glad her illness took us to Tucson, Arizona.

SAFETY

Thanks to Author S B Mazing for the prompt for Finish It #10. Here is her beginning of the story:
He looked in her eyes. He could see the sparkle in them, something that always had fascinated him. She had the most beautiful eyes, eyes that seemed like windows to her soul. No matter what he felt, when he looked in her eyes, he immediately relaxed. She smiled at him and he had to smile as well. What a wonderful person she was. Smart, strong, loving and so so pretty. They hugged and again he felt her love, the warmth. A feeling he got whenever they hugged. It was strange but she made him feel safe. How could she make him feel safe? He was supposed to make her feel safe.
Please continue…

He gazed into the campfire. Soon, the church group campfire would break up and everyone would go home. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to stay like this forever, in the night air by the warmth of the campfire, looking into her eyes and seeing her smile.

“It is so nice here,’ she said. “It is a wonderful night for a campfire.” She giggled. “And toasted marshmellows.”

He didn’t want to get up, away from the safety of presence, but what she wished was his command. “As you wish, m‘lady,” he said, rising to get a marshmallow.

“Oh, you are wonderful,” she said as he stuck the marshmallow on her stick.

“What’s more, m’lady, I will toast it for you. All for a smile.”

She giggled again. “Oh, my Sir Lancelot. And here is your payment.” She flashed a smile.

He put the marshmallow in the fire and let it catch fire, then blew out. He didn’t like his blackened, but he knew she loved hers that way with the gooey inside. He handed the stick to her and sat back beside her.

She bowed her head slightly. “You are a most worthy knight,” she teased.

“At your service.”

“Delicious. Just the way I like it,” she said as she licked the remaining marshmallow off her fingers. Before he could say anything, she looked at him without her smile. “I feel so safe with you. I have never felt that way before.”

“You feel safe with me?” He tried to sound nonchalant. He never expected her to say what he had been thinking about her.

“Mm, hmm. You are always so kind and caring. We’ve known each since childhood and you have always been that way, not just to me; I’ve seen it with others. I trust you.”

The group leader spoke up. “Well, gang, time for one last group song and then closing prayer. Hope you’ve all had a great time.”

As the group sang the last song, he thought about what she said. Perhaps the feeling of safety was reciprocal when two people cared about each other. He joined in the singing, with more understanding of what it meant to love someone.

TEARS IN HIS EYES

Here is Day 9 from Writing 101: Point of View. Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene. Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

From the man’s point of view:
He was so glad to be here in this place at this time. His feet seemed not to touch the sidewalk as they walked the path through the park. Flowers were not his thing, but today, he noticed every one of them. And the sun. Bright and cheerful, it improved his day. But could it be better?

He glanced at her fingers, clothed in the engagement ring she had accepted moments before. He smiled, remembering her tears as she said yes and hugged him. What a moment! He promised himself he would never forget it.

The bench where the old woman sat, knitting the red sweater caught his eye. The memory of a day in his past interrupted his joy. Tears filled his eyes as he remembered texting while driving and looking up to see the old lady in the red sweater in the crosswalk. He had swerved, but not far enough and his bumper brushed her. He saw her fall in his review mirror. He had run, but not far enough. Caught, he paid the penalty with time in prison for hit-and-run.

He brushed the tears from his eye and struggled to keep walking, not wanting to let her know something was wrong. What if she found out about his past? Would she still want him?

From the woman’s point of view:
What a glorious day! Her fiancé was such a wonderful guy; she had hoped for months for him to say the words, “Will you marry me?” She glanced around the park. Flowers bloomed, branches of trees waved in the breeze, the sun warmed the earth. It felt so good on her face. And the engagement ring. It felt so good. And it was beautiful! She smiled at the memory of his proposal. A single red rose offered as he bent on one knee and asked, “Will you marry me?” There was no answer but “yes” that she could give!

She looked up at him, wanting to take in every eyelash and every strand of hair that lay on his forehead. She saw him glance at the old lady on the bench, knitting the red sweater, and then brush tears from his eyes. Bet she reminds him of his grandmother, she thought. I’m glad he is a sensitive guy. That will be good in our marriage.

From the old woman’s point of view:
The old woman stopped knitting for a moment to examine what she had done. Should fit my little grandson very well, she thought. It it so much fun to knit for him.

She looked up and saw the young couple walking down the path, holding hands. They look so happy. Wonder if they are newlyweds? She watched as he wiped tears from his eyes. Hmm, I hope everything is okay. Life is so hard. They look so happy, but it is hard to know if all is okay. “Don’t give up,” she whispered as they passed. “Keep settling quarrels and let love reign. It worked in my 50 years of marriage.”