A gift of dreams – a short story for Christmas

I think it’s time for a new Christmas Story to enjoy.

Harvesting Hecate

My food ran out days ago and there’s no prospect of rescue up here at the top of the world. I try to put up my tent, but the arctic wind bludgeons and tears at the fabric. My compass is gone, my GPS is behaving strangely and the whiteout obliterates the stars. I no longer know which direction to walk in. The next time I fall, I stay there, slumped in the snow, ready to give in to sleep at last.

I drift, watching flurries of snow dart past my goggles. The snowstorm cancels out any differences in the landscape. When my eyes close it’s darker, but that’s the only difference, it seems, between being awake or asleep.

There is something tugging me. Something rough and insistent. I try to shrug it off but it gives me no rest. I open my eyes to a blur of dark movement. It…

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The Today They Never Got To Have

Ray V. from Mitigating Chaos shared the following quote:

“Impartiality is a pompous name for indifference, which is an elegant name for ignorance.”
G. K. Chesterton– The Speaker, Dec. 15, 1900

Marc has shown us his own loving-kindness by not only putting names to the victims but by showing us a snippet of what could have been. Too beautiful not to share.

sorryless

Shooting Victims Pic

Today we’ll go about our daily lives as if there is a tomorrow. Same as twenty three other people did. Twenty three people whose only crime was that they were living inside the age of insanity, where lives do not matter as much as rhetoric.

We like to say that tomorrow is not a guarantee, but for some, neither is today. This post is about the today they never got to have.

In Pittsburgh . . .

Irving Younger will grab an umbrella on his way out the door. He’ll leave a few minutes early so he can say how do to the regulars at his favorite coffee shop. He’ll share a funny story or two before making his way to Saturday service, where he’ll be the familiar face that greets Melvin Wax. These two early birds will boast about how they don’t feel a day over fifty, in spirit. Their…

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The Proof In Our Existence

On this 17th anniversary of a darker-than-dark day, I know that if I accidentally turn on the TV and it’s on a news channel, I will be bombarded with images of disaster, of planes hitting towers, of people running to and fro. Played in a loop. I won’t do that. Instead, I shall share this wonderful post by my friend Marc over at Sorryless because it is stories like these that I prefer to share.

sorryless

Firefighters Todd Heaney and Frankie DiLeo, of Engine 209, c

People are inherently good.

We’re raised to believe this concept from the time we’re old enough to get bored during liturgy and choose sides on the playground. Most kids aren’t concerned with empirical validation when the freedoms they hold most dear are threatened; yanno, stuff like playtime and dessert.

Then there was me.

I questioned everything, no matter how convincing the adults were at selling the points. I wanted to believe people were generally good, but I had myriad reasons to be skeptical. Adding to my distrust of the status quo was the fact that I read, a lot. And I observed, everything.

So it was that I questioned the cross stitched tenets of a happy life, which mandated that you go to school, score a good job and get married. Societal conventions read like a manual, and I knew that spiritual complications navigated through so much more than a…

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World Down’s Syndrome Day

I never, ever, ever, ever post three times in one day.  Just not my thing.

However, this is a special day.  For all my friends blessed with children born with an extra chromosome, I share this beautiful video.  Share the love.

 

 

Not So High Fidelity

I love how Gusto TV – a channel reserved for cooking and lifestyle shows reserves Sunday nights for movie night.  It used to be reserved for a “foodie” movie – anything that had major scenes with food (like Big Night or No Reservations) which I love, by the way.   However, last night it was “High Fidelity”, starring John Cusack, Jack Black, Joan Cusack, etc. – no meal preps or grand dining scenes to be found here.  At all.  No matter, I set the PVR because for some strange reason, despite my love for both John and Joan Cusack, I had never seen this 2000 film.  I watched it tonight.

And it got me to thinking.  Why is it I have no particular memories per se (save for a very few) that I can go back to in great detail, bringing forth the feelings and emotions and music and weather and atmosphere of that particular moment and put them to paper, so to speak, as so many fabulous writers do?  I follow quite a few bloggers who have this talent.

Is it because I lack depth?  Do I flit and fly over everything, barely paying attention to the moments, not registering the happenings because I am above it all? Am I going to end up in therapy one day to find out that I have locked it all away until one day I burst?

Why is it my sister Lisa can remember when our sister Tracy started walking?  Lisa would have been close to 4 years old (I assume Tracy started walking around age one) and I would have been seven-and-a-half.  Was I too busy to pay attention?  Did I not care about such things?  This really bugs me.  I know I was probably too busy hanging upside down on the monkey bars at the park with my friends to bother with little sisters and their milestones.  Still.

Am I Charlie?

 

 

Rising

Absolutely had to share this one.
Merril’s poem has as much power as Maya’s
Beautifully done.

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Monday Morning Musings:

“You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise.”

From Maya Angelou, “Still I Rise”

Full poem here.

I.

I rise before the sun,

a woman’s work is never done,

or so the saying goes–

but often yet denied a place

debased, erased

from education, business, science, and the arts

kept apart, or not allowed to start

never mind, we’ve given birth to the human race

created beauty and gone to space,

although harassed and worse,

some want progress gained to be reversed

(believing in mythical pasts and Eve’s curse)

but we move onward, oppose coercion

and being brutalized and minimized–

we advertise and mobilize–

trying not to polarize–

OK, perhaps a bit we moralize

but feeling like we’re pressurized

we rise

again, we rise

I march (again)

with a…

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Home Alone – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday, my Readers!  Sorry I missed last week but the inspiration just would not come to me.  It happens.  I rather skip out then produce dreck!

Thank you, always, to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her fabulous leadership.  This boat would not float without her.  This week, she chose Björn Rudberg’s lovely photo.  Why don’t you try your hand at writing a 100-word story using the photo prompt?  It’s so much fun and quite addictive.  Click on Rochelle’s name for the rules and regs or simply click on the Blue Frog to add your story and check our other interesting takes…

Oh!  And silly me!  For those of you who celebrate, Merry Christmas!  And a belated, well, it is the last day, Happy Chanukah to those who celebrate that!  And Happy Whatever-It-Is-You-DO celebrate!

Get the link

© Björn Rudberg

Genre:  May be a true story (hangs head in shame)

Word Count: Never more, never less than 100

Home Alone

She felt it was safe to leave him home alone while she picked up his brother at school, a mere two blocks away.  He’d had such a hissy-fit; she decided to leave him behind, watching his movie.  There was no danger. She’d be gone 15-20 minutes, max.  She told him to stay put, locked up and left.

She picked up her eldest, turned around to walk back home and there was her little one, boots on his feet, unzipped coat flapping and hat with its pom-pom bobbing, running towards her, tears streaming down his face.

“You left me all alone!”

 

The Culprit