WHERE I LIVED WHEN I WAS 12 YEARS OLD

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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

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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

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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.”

SPRING IN THE PARK

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Here is my post for Day Eight in Writing 101: Death to Adverbs
Today’s Prompt: Go to a local café, park, or public place and write a piece inspired by something you see. Get detailed: leave no nuance behind.
Today’s twist: write an adverb-free post.

I walked through the park, green with life. As the weeks have passed since the calendar said Spring was here, I have watched life being birthed on the trees. Some have remained leafless in the middle of April, but it was a joy to see buds turn to leaves on many of them. Daffodils lined the path that led through the park and when I passed the playground, I smiled at the presence of mothers and fathers pushing children, who begged, “Push higher!” The sun beamed on everyone striding on the path. Some stopped to play hopscotch on the diagram drawn on the sidewalk. Dogs on leashes danced down the path in front of their owners. All in all, it was a day to enjoy Spring and the warmth of the season. Rain may fall, but winter is done, and the sun is smiling.

CAT AND DOG

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The Writing 101 challenge for Day Seven: Give and Take
Today’s prompt: Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else. Today’s twist: write your post in the form of a dialogue.

CAT AND DOG
“What is a dog doing are?” Cat laid his ears back as he stood in the kitchen door.

From the next room, Dog tipped his head and took a step toward Cat. “My family left me here—“

“What? In my house?” growled Cat.

“What’s wrong? I’ve been here before. And I’ll only be here a couple days.” Dog took a step forward.

The hair on Cat’s back stood up. “Hold it, big fella. Stay away from me.”

“Hey, I just want to be friends,” Dog said.

“Me and you? Are you kidding? You better just out of my way. My claws are sharp and I can bite.”

“Well, if that’s the way you want it,” Dog said. He turned and went to lay down by Don’s chair. “Dumb cat. Thinks he could beat me up, does he?”

Cat watched Dog lay down. Then with watchful eyes, he made his way to Gayle’s chair on the other side of Don’s chair. He jumped up beside Gayle. For a few minutes he stood on the arm of the chair.

“Well, Miss Gayle,” he meowed. “What’s the idea of the dog?”

Gayle reached up and scratched Cat’s head between his ears and said in a soft voice, “Come on, Kittie, lay down. Don’t worry about Dog.”

“Humans sure are dumb,” Cat said. “They don’t understand a word I say. I’ve told her not to call me ‘Kittie.'” With a sigh, Cat lay down on the arm of the chair as Gayle went back to her needlepoint. “I guess I will just have to keep that Dog in line myself!”

MEETING MARY ANN

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The new challenge for Day Six from Writing 101: A Character-Building Experience
Today’s prompt: Who’s the most interesting person (or new people) you’ve met this year?
Today’s twist: Turn your post into a character study.

I only knew Mary Ann’s name until she became a widow late last year. She and her husband had no children and the only family she had were those in our church. Having been through the loss of my husband several years ago, I knew her special loneliness because although I had family and children, they were far away. My support came from those in my church. I made an effort to befriend her. What a pleasure she has been.

Mary Ann is short, only about five feet tall. Her soft white hair frames her round face and her eyes twinkle with her ready smile, always making me feel special. She laughs easily. Even in her grief, she exudes a deep seated joy that she says comes from Jesus. She has an acceptance about her life that gives her strength as she navigates being single and taking care of things her husband always did. But Mary Ann doesn’t give up; she has a strength that asks for help she needs and is quick to express gratitude when others reach out to her.

Our pastor’s wife gave a luncheon for widows in January. We were to introduce ourselves and share a little about our journeys alone. As Mary Ann began to share, her tears came. It had been about a month since her dear husband died. She seemed almost ashamed that she was crying, but I knew it wasn’t because she was afraid to let others know she was grieving; being with people fueled her spirit and her tears waited until she was alone. As we encouraged her that we understood, she took a tissue someone offered and continued her story. She had been at her husband’s side throughout his illness. He was her world and she was his. Her faith in Jesus Christ was helping her through her journey. Now several months later, she still grieves, but she has taken life by the tail and does what she needs to do.

Mary Ann is a joy to know. In reaching out to her, her sweet spirit has reached out to me. I am glad to call her my friend.

FORGIVENESS

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Here is the story finish for the Blog Event, Finish It #9. Thanks, Author S B Mazing for another chance to write a story from your prompt. It has been a great experience and great fun.

The prompt: Sitting on the rock, his feet dangling in the water. It was the place he could relax, where all the pressure was lifted off his shoulders. He wished he could share it with her though. While his eyes scanned the ocean, he wondered where she would be right  now, what she was doing and whom she was with. To be continued:

How often he had come here since she had left him. She told him she wanted a divorce. It hit him hard. He thought they had overcome the problems and come to a new understanding and they could rebuild and be happy.

“I’m sorry, Josh. I . . . just don’t love you anymore,” she confessed. “I thought it might work between us, but it hasn’t.” Within a few hours, she was completely out of his life.

He had prayed. It hadn’t seemed to work. She didn’t come back. Sometimes he thought he saw her in a crowd but it wasn’t her. Thoughts ran through his mind as he gazed into the water lapping at his feet. We used to share these moments of relaxation. But no more. Who’s she with? Who’s taking care of her?

His pastor told him he needed to forgive. That didn’t mean what happened didn’t count. It meant he set himself free from anger and bitterness, the very thing that would destroy him. His anger couldn’t hurt her. But to forgive her is too hard, he argued with himself.

As stood up to go, a vivid memory flashed before him. He had been a difficult teen. He had stolen money from his single mother. He remembered how disrespectful he had been to her when she was trying so hard to support them. Then, something involved him in church and his life changed, inside and out. The hardest thing he ever did was to go to mother and ask her to forgive him—advice from his pastor. His mother had folded her arms around him, her tears falling on his neck. “Of course, my boy. Of course.”

He looked up to the sky. “Lord, it is too hard in myself, but you can help me.” Gritting his teeth with determination he continued, “I forgive her.” With that, he dried tears that had filled his eyes. A new light seemed to flow around him. He knew the sadness wouldn’t dissolve immediately; he would have to repeat the words when he the hurting seemed unbearble. But with the words had come a new freedom. He turned toward his car, then turned back once more. “Dear Lord, I let go of her. Take care of her.”

THE LETTER

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The next challenge for Writing 101, Day 5: Be Brief. Today’s Prompt: You stumble upon a random letter on the path.You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter.

Today’s twist: Approach this post in as few words as possible.

Dearest One,
I’m so sorry for what happened. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If I don’t hear from you, I will know it was too hard.
I still love you.

PETS Part 1–Mr Goatley

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ASSIGNMENT FROM WRITING 101: SERIALLY LOST
Today’s Prompt: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more. Today’s Twist: Make today’s post the first in a three-post series.

Brush cleaner
Our “pet” Mr. Goatley

Mr. Goatley came to us from friends of my mother-in-law. They lived not too far from a large grocery store, surrounded by newer houses, yet their property was situated in such a way that it looked like country. Mr. Goatley was a large five-year-old wether goat. He lived on their weeds and grass, with some hay and oats thrown in. To keep him from going “to town,” they kept him on a chain attached to a collar.

But Mr. Goatley was very resourceful. A few times he managed to escape his collar and visited the grocery store. Well, the manager wasn’t very happy with the situation and finally Mr. Goatley’s family decided they had to give him up. We lived on five acres with lots of trees and brush. When spring came, the brush would grow tall and was hard to keep under control. We welcomed Mr. Goatley. My husband built him a shed where he could spend the winter and eat hay and oats to his heart’s content.

Our new “pet” loved the brush. When the winter weather cleared enough to leave him outside all the time, we led him to the brush near the house. His eyes would grow big and his tail would wag and he would hurry to eat. And eat he did. Until his sides bulged. Then he would lie down and digest, then get up and eat more! He was a wonderful brush clearer! I would have a bucket of water near him and check him a couple times during the day to be sure he had water and that he wasn’t hopeless tangled. There were times when he was under trees that I would have to untangle him so he could eat and drink. He would plant his feet firmly and refuse to move. I would talk to him, telling him he would be close to his water and more delicious weeds and then pull the chain. He finally would give in and follow me.

Darla and Mr. Goatley
Darla playing with Mr. Goatley
Heather and Mr. Goatley
Heather playing with Mr. Goatley

Our girls loved Mr. Goatley. They would put their hands on his head and push or let him push them from behind . He loved the game. My younger daughter had to be really careful because she was smaller; if she wasn’t, he would swing his head and hit her and knock her over. He did that once to me while I was giving him oats and while I didn’t go over, I felt as if he knocked my head off my shoulders!

One day when my girls and I had gone shopping. We came back a couple hours later to find our goat was loose, and had gone to the clothesline where there were a few pieces of clothing hanging on it. The girls thought it was hilarious that a strap of one of my bras was wrapped around his neck. They wanted me to take a picture, but I was embarrassed. I should have taken the picture; later I realized the incident was as funny as the girls thought it was. I was very careful to check his collar from then on to be sure he couldn’t escape again.

Mr. Goatley was a dear. How I missed him when he got sick and died a few years later. Our “yard” missed him, too.

THREE SONGS

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THREE SONGS
Assignment for Writing 101, Day 3: Commit to a writing practice..

The three most important songs in my life. Mostly Christian songs. I guess the first one is How Great Thou Art. George Beverly Shaw, in his wonderful deep voice, made it popular at the Billy Graham Crusades. It is a reminder of God’s greatness as I look out at the sky, the clouds, as I look at the mountains—or used to when I lived in Washington State, when I see a beautiful flower, or the trees leafing out in spring. They reveal a Creator, a mighty One who loves beauty. The second stanza reminds me of what Jesus did on the cross; what His Father did—He gave His Son. That would be a hard thing to do—to ask your child to die. The third verse reminds me that the One who died and rose on Easter is coming back. And I will go to be where He is when He comes to take me home. What a glorious thought.

The second one I have come to love is Immortal, Invisible. Again, it is thinking of a God who rules the universe, whom we cannot understand, who is beyond our thoughts and ways. If I could understand Him, He wouldn’t be God. But I can trust Him. The song reminds me that He gives life to all people, to every living thing. It is a song of praise and He is worthy of praise. The last verse talks about His being hidden by light from our sight. He is “unresting, unhasting, and silent as light, nor wanting nor wasting, He rules in might.” Actually, that’s from the first verse, but I wanted to add it because it sends a powerful message about who our God is.

And another song is The Old Rugged Cross. That’s a very old one, but still makes me grateful for what God has done. “On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame.” I think of the Son of God, giving His life in a shameful death for each of the world’s people.

Sometimes we have the wrong picture of God. He seems to be out there to beat us when we do wrong, but He is there in love. He is so patient. I see it in my life when I have done something that hurts other people. He is not happy about that; but His speaking to my heart is conviction. He wants me to ask forgiveness of those I’ve wronged, and He is fast to forgive me when I come to Him in confession.