tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18968978543724170632024-03-08T04:36:40.240-08:00Pivot PointHere I am, hear me!Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-87499531443753783752014-08-21T21:24:00.003-07:002014-08-21T21:24:50.260-07:00My big fat supid dietI love sugar, especially sugar combined with copious amounts of white flour. I'm giving both of them up for a year, and I already have a bad attitude. This is one of the first things I made in the last week that I actually liked.<br />
<br />
<b>Mushroom Chicken and Broccoli </b><br />
<br />
Heat a T of olive oil in 8 inch skillet. Add 1/2 cup chopped onion, 1-2 cups sliced mushrooms, and a clove of diced garlic. Cook until vegetables collapsed and a little sauce forms. Add a cup of cooked chicken and a cup of frozen broccoli, as well as a can of cream of chicken soup and enough water to make it nice and creamy. Simmer briefly a few minutes, everything is already cooked and you want the broccoli hot but still quit crisp. Yum!<br />
<br />
<br />Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-54941240757738261122013-09-14T15:05:00.000-07:002013-09-14T15:05:47.522-07:00Singing AgainIt's black or white<br />
You do or you don't<br />
Can't stay in the middle<br />
I just won't<br />
<br />
Either you want me<br />
Or your letting me go<br />
Can't have it both ways<br />
Either yes or no<br />
<br />
You're either in or out<br />
There's no fast then slow<br />
Put your foot on the pedal<br />
Or get out of the flow<br />
<br />
It's black or white<br />
That's the way that I am<br />
Won't stand and wait<br />
While you decide if you can<br />
<br />
I'm either all in<br />
Or I'm all go<br />
Or I'm all go.Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-81502736450590810082013-09-11T15:49:00.004-07:002013-09-11T15:49:29.418-07:00Insomniac<div class="Section1">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 2in;">
This is a <i>fictional </i>short story.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 2in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 2in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 2in;">
IN THE MENOPAUSAL MIND </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
It’s 2:17am Wednesday morning and I’m awake again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I followed all of the rules the women’s magazines list for a good night’s rest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I took the TV out of the bedroom. No more late night’s with Leno.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Computer’s in the kitchen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I had a small, satisfying snack at 9:45 and was tucked neatly into bed by 10:00.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I had one 3 mg. Tablet of time-released Melatonin and a Benadryl (for my allergies, of course).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I read one Chapter of Tolkien’s <i>Return of the King,</i>
because it’s a favorite, and there would be no temptation to stay up
reading for hours, like there would have been with the new Evonovitch
novel I have laying right next to it on my night-stand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I felt pleasantly drowsy, and I didn’t even hear Nick come to bed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
My eyes popped open at 1:45 A.M., and here I am.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
My
bones actually ache with a hollow feeling I know is loneliness. Turning
silently, I can watch Nick sleeping on his stomach, silky lashes
closed, breathing softly. I can’t blame this on snoring. He doesn’t do
it. He barely even moves at night, sleeping deeply, and waking up
refreshed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Jerk.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
It’s
completely quiet in the house, except for the soft rustle of the
air-conditioner. I don’t need to check it to know that the thermostat
is set at 68 degrees. The absolute perfect temperature for sleeping. So
why do I feel like I’m being smothered?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I
just have to get up. I push the quilt off and lower my legs to the
floor and stand up without jostling Nick at all. I open the door, step
thru, and close it again. Without making a single sound. I’m getting
good at this.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I
wander through the darkness, slowly making my way to the sliding doors
at the back of the house. I push the sheers back and pull the door open a
foot. There’s a whoosh of sound as the unnaturally cooled air escapes.
It’s like opening a hermetically-sealed can. Standing in the door, I
feel the fingers of the night gently lift my nightgown and mold it
softly to my body. The wind is warm. A delicious shiver of feeling
washes over me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I
take a deep breath and feel myself unwinding as I let it escape. I lift
my arms, lean against the frame and stare out at the lush, black velvet
of the sky.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
The
moon must be almost full: I don’t see it from this window, but it
couldn’t be this bright without it. The grass is wet and shiny: the
automatic sprinklers have already been on and off. And out beyond our
little stab at civility, the desert hills are rolling and the wind is
calling. Nick’s going to put up a fence this summer, but for now, we’re
still wide open.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
The night is a thousand shades of gray, not black and white like you would think.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Beautiful.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds and then exhale slowly. I’m really starting to relax.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
What’s
that? Up above, on the crest of the hill, the shadows twist and turn
and then resolve into the shape of a jogger, running. I watch him for
several seconds as he strides alone. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly he stops, turns, and seems to be staring straight down at me. </div>
</div>
<br />
I’m
startled. I turn and fumble the door closed. Shaking a little. How
dumb is that? It’s time to go back to bed. But I can sleep now.<br />
<div class="Section2">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 3in;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Thursday morning 2:24am. Oh, sigh.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Lifting
the curtain above the kitchen sink, I look out. It’s beautiful again. I
open the sliding door and step through. I try to number the stars, and
then start picking out the individual clumps of sage on the hill.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
He’s there again. Standing still. Before I can get totally freaked out, he turns to leave, lifting a hand in farewell.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Weird.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Friday morning 5:54am. I slept until almost six o’clock in the morning! I feel <i>reborn.</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Saturday morning 1:47am. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
There’s just no justice in the universe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I sit on the couch for a while, the leather cool against my skin, then wander to the door despite by better judgement. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I watch for several minutes, looking carefully across the hills. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
He’s not there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Just me and the crickets. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I
wander over to the couch, lay down and pull the fleece blanket up
around my shoulders. I fall asleep watching the wind play quietly in the
curtains and wake up a moment later to find him standing in the
doorway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I’m on my feet again, standing shocked and still.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I should be afraid. Maybe even terrified! But I’m really not. I don’t recognize him. But somehow, I remember him instead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
He’s
dressed in darkness, a gray cloak floating in the wind like cobwebs. He
smiles and turns toward the night, lifting a hand to me. “Let’s play in
the moonlight.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I don’t stop to even think about it: I grasp his hand and flee across the wet grass and up the dry hills. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
It
isn’t long before I fall behind. The sandy path turns rocky and steep.
It hurts my bare feet. Looking above me, I see him running effortlessly
up the hill ahead. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Wait! Wait for me!” I stumble upward, breathless and crying. Always running. Always behind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Coming
to the top of the hill, I find the moon, big and full. He’s waiting for
me there. I take his hand and he pulls me up against hot skin, under
the cloak. Reaching up, I try to hold him, but the cloak get in the way.
He disappears into nothingness, as the cloak wraps itself tightly
around me, binding me in heat and darkness. I struggle to get free. I’m
being smothered!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I
scream and come awake as I fall off the couch flat on my butt. I fight
my way out of the stupid fleece blanket, stand up sweating and shaking
and...naked?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I
walk shakily into the kitchen and drink a glass of cold water. I walk
back to the sliding glass door. I can see two sets of wet footprints
slowly drying on the cement. Looking down at my feet, there’s a piece of
grass sticking between my toes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Okay, fine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
The
moon is still shining, the wind is still soft. I slide the door shut,
push the lock down, pull the sheers across the glass and turn away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
It’s 2:45am Saturday morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I think I’ll read for a while. </div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /> </span> Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-25441469538865234882013-09-11T15:31:00.004-07:002013-09-11T15:41:14.354-07:00Don't Feel So BadDon't feel so bad, babe<br />
It's not your fault<br />
Don't look so sad<br />
I don't blame you at all,<br />
<br />
It's just a case of mistaken emotion<br />
You have to few, and I have an ocean<br />
So, don't feel so bad.<br />
<br />
They say time heals all wounds<br />
But that's just not true<br />
Not while I cherish<br />
Pain inflicted by you.<br />
<br />
Go on and leave, babe<br />
I won't follow you<br />
I've got some pride<br />
You've better things to do.<br />
<br />
It's just a case of mistaken emotion<br />
You have to few, and I have an ocean<br />
So don't feel so bad. Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-15283405318273295382013-09-09T21:16:00.000-07:002013-09-09T21:16:03.820-07:00Feeling Country-SongishThigh-high in alligators, looking for the boat<br />
Didn't pay attention; please throw me a rope!<br />
<br />
Throw me a rope, let me come in<br />
I picked the wrong day to go for a swim<br />
Teeth in my heart, a bump on the chin<br />
Throw me a rope, baby let me come in!<br />
<br />
<br />I lost my balance, you pushed me in<br />
Those big ol' tears don't match your grin<br />
You're rolling me now, going under again.<br />
Don't want that rope, you'll hurt me again.<br />
<br />
Throw me a rope, baby let me come in<br />
Let me out of the water, I won't swim again<br />
Watching your eyes, there's a noose on the end<br />
I'll chance the water, going under again.<br />
<br />
Teeth in my heart and bump on the chin<br />
Keep that rope, never swimming again. Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-11850812236680609032011-12-31T07:30:00.001-08:002011-12-31T07:39:58.377-08:00Where are we?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">December 31, 2011<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Today my Dad asked me
where we were. It wasn’t the question that got me; it was the tone of voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He is dying and it is a
disorienting experience, apparently. I know that sounds odd, but that is how it
seems. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He had a terrible night,
he was up and down, back and forth to the bathroom. I really don’t even clue
into it usually, it’s an endless circle of exhausting activity. The only
protection I can give my brain is to just take every second as it comes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But sometime in the
very early morning, he went into the exercise room in the dark, closed the door
and fell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom came downstairs to where I was
sleeping. “I can’t find him!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I really thought she’d
gone mental. It’s a very small house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I looked through it as
well, and heard his voice. When we opened the door and turned on the light, he
was on the floor, his legs tangled up in the laundry. I had to pull him into
their bedroom, and then help him stand up to get in bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When he was lying down in
the middle of his bed, we tried to get his c-pat mask back on, but the hose is
broken. I suspect that is why he was so agitated; he hadn’t been getting any
oxygen. We put the regular O2 on and he wanted mom to lie down on one side of
him, and me on the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Let me tell you that was
an odd one. Official end of even pretending to sleep. When it turned light
outside I got up, and of course, he did too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After he went to the
bathroom I followed him back into the bedroom, and tucked him in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Where <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are</i> we, Carla?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“We are at home, Dad.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Well,
okay.” He said it as it made absolutely no sense to him, but he would believe
it if I<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">believed
it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Maybe
he’s right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">aren’t </i>home. Home is pulling at him from
beyond, and some part of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">His
spirit recognizes that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can believe
now that he was a dear friend of mine in heaven, and is<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">going
back sometime very soon.<o:p></o:p></span>Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-84151477004015812022011-12-14T16:23:00.001-08:002011-12-14T16:23:48.639-08:00Ownership<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">You don’t possess anything; it possesses you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">You don’t even own yourself; God does.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The only thing that is truly yours is whatever
amount of the universal truth you allow to sink into your soul, and the love
and ties that you make with other souls that are the very heart of that truth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-67654733125254168302011-12-14T16:06:00.000-08:002011-12-14T16:07:52.186-08:00My lates book: Pivot Point is finished!<br />
<div style="border: 1pt solid windowtext; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-right: 0in; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .25pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 4pt 31pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: currentColor; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 6pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .25pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 4.0pt 31.0pt; padding: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: currentColor; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 6pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .25pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 4.0pt 31.0pt; padding: 0in;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Sans","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Rye was four, he watched his father kill his mother.
The trauma activated a dormant paranormal gift—with one touch to an object, he
knows the mind of the last person to grasp it. Lust, rage, seduction, overwhelm
him as if he relives the experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: currentColor; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 6pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .25pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 4.0pt 31.0pt; padding: 0in;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Sans","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He doesn’t want it. He’s spent his life hiding from it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: currentColor; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 6pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .25pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 4.0pt 31.0pt; padding: 0in;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Sans","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Everything changes when he meets Mattie. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just the touch of her hand helps channel Rye’s
gift and brings him hope for the first time in his life. But will his strange
gift repulse her? Can he have a normal relationship, or will he spend his life
alone and crazy?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: currentColor; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 6pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .25pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 4.0pt 31.0pt; padding: 0in;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Sans","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Rye finds a body behind the carnival, the police question
him about the murder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: currentColor; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .25pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 4.0pt 31.0pt; padding: 0in;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Sans","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now Rye will have to use his gift to find a
killer before the psycho comes after her, as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-43334511230325149072011-11-24T21:36:00.001-08:002011-11-24T21:41:26.865-08:00How Many?<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today I heard an outrageous statement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some researcher or other reported that people
process a couple of thousand thoughts a day. At first I though no, that number
is too small. Then a little voice said, “No that sounds about right for normal
folks who sleep on a regular basis, without a diet coke habit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That depressed me enough to try giving up the
diet coke. (I said TRY!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then I depressed myself further when I realized a
great deal of the thoughts that I do<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">have are just the same old ones I have over and over: I
need to go on a diet, what should I fix for<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">dinner, did I take the clothes out of the dryer, the car
needs and oil change, and oh, yeah, I need<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">to go on a diet.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">How many of my thoughts are actually something more than
a chore list, a nag list, a future list<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">of lists that I should make in the future? Could I
actually have peace of mind (just a small piece,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">please, I’m not that hungry) if I just went ahead and did
some of the things<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that my brain thinks<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">up for me to do, or would it just make up more?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thinking about all this stuff is giving me a head ache! I
need a diet coke.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-42751564279485520472011-11-20T14:24:00.000-08:002011-11-20T14:25:11.431-08:00Music Made<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I close my eyes and see water running over stones<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Darkening shadows mixed with the light,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Morning rising to break up the night<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Gentle and changing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Like the music made when water runs over stones.<o:p></o:p></span><br />Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-40294690196977610762011-11-17T08:18:00.000-08:002011-11-17T08:18:36.858-08:00Living WaterToday I was going through a stack of old mail, making sure I wasn't throwing away anything important, and I found this wonderful picture of a water mill on a river. It was gorgeous, but it started me thinking: We should all aspire to take a lesson from the old water mill.<br />
A mill sits beside a strong river, it foundation planted on solid ground. But what makes a mill useful is not its location, its asthetic beauty (or not), or how up to date it is.<br />
What makes this building a water mill is the wheel that dips into the water, letting itself be driven, creating the energy it needs to have to do its work.<br />
We all sit next to a river of living water. This water flows strong and constant, always within reach of our paddle. But we have to freely dip our wheels in the current and let it power us.<br />
We must make the choice and allow the living waters of God's love to move us, give us our purpose, and give us the strength we need to do all things.<br />
We can do it, we have the wheel. Let's dip in, drink and be empowered.Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-64787772792034595502011-11-16T22:49:00.000-08:002011-11-16T23:08:05.181-08:00Black and White<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt 1in; text-indent: -1in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></span></o:p><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Today I was watching a show on UEN wherein they show you a picture of a place in color<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">photography, and then the same exact place in black and white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure it’s no surprise to real<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">photographers, but it was really much easier to see the contents in the black and white photo than in<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">the complete true-to-life color photo. To me that just seems like it should work the other way around,<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">but the proof was right before my eyes. I began to wonder if this might hold true in other things as</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">well.<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Do I complicate relationships, problems and the logistics of my life by trying to color everything with<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">more detail than I need to? What if I just stuck to the basic black and white issues? Wouldn’t it be<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">easier?<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">There is definitely a place for the full range of the color wheel, but sometimes I think I should stick to</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">the plain black and white.<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Color: Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I made Christmas outfits for all my grandchildren?<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">That would be such a keepsake for them, I could save their parents some money, everyone would</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">know what a creative and generous person I am, ect.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Black and White: Sewing for long stretches of time kills my back.<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Color: No matter how I feel, I should always teach my Sunday school class, everybody is busy, I don’t<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">want to cause any trouble, I don’t want to be flaky.<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Black and White: You have the flu, dummy!<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Something for me to think seriously about. Or maybe not! Stick to the black and white.<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Most of the time.<o:p></o:p></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></span></span></div>Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-87060125715583455022011-11-04T09:25:00.000-07:002011-11-04T09:25:08.943-07:00I have recently began joining in different on-line writing groups and I have noticed a theme of dissatisfaction running through many of them. There is a sense of frenetic urgency about publishing, as if the stamp of approval from these other people was the only way of being satisfied.<br />
Well, I...I was just about to go off on that one, but its true; we all want to be published. Dang!<br />
So what if it never happens? No fists full of money, no public approval, no TV interviews. Would it still be worthwhile?<br />
For me, writing is fuzzy slippers, jammies and hot cocoa. I'm happy and content. Trying to get published is like wearing your fuzzy slippers and pj's to the front door to get the paper; you open the door and spy your news-wrapped comics lying just beyond reach. You take a step outside and hear the ominious little click as the door closes behind you. You raise your head from the ground, clutching all your hopes in hand, to find yourself standing in front of yard full of well-dressed and intelligent people who can tell, with just one glance, you are not "their sort." Sorry, your books does not fit our needs at this time. Good luck placing it anywhere else.<br />
Sigh.<br />
Does it have to be that way?<br />
Writing is satisfaction that I have never received in any other manner. I've learned things about people that I don't think I would have ever known without spending the time I have writing about it. So, Cheers! Let's celebrate ourselves and our writing. It's wonderful to the only person in the world you have to account to: Yourself.<br />
And there's always another revision.<br />
<br />Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-14582907509488419352011-10-09T20:01:00.000-07:002011-10-09T20:01:04.906-07:00What have I missed?The little car I have been driving reached a milestone today: it turned over 111,111 miles. I missed it, though. I looked down and it was at 111,114 miles. <br />
Okay, this is not really a big deal. But it started me thinking: What else am I missing because I'm not paying attention? Am I missing <em>important </em>details, as well? Am I glossing over the once-in-a-lifetime experiences that I should be thankfully celebrating?<br />
Time to start being fully present, eyes wide open and brain cells engaged!Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-7744594927380532482011-09-20T11:55:00.000-07:002011-09-20T11:55:42.146-07:00Loose LipsLoose lips, sink ships. That's what they say anyway. What does that even mean, though?<br />
I could understand if they said, loose lips sink relationships, or loose lips sink plans, or even loose lips sink surprise parties. But ships? Where did that ever come from?<br />
<br />
I don't have to worry about it. Nobody ever listens to me anyway.Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-50850317384964234852011-02-08T19:33:00.000-08:002011-09-20T11:38:24.370-07:00What do I feel like reading today?Today I'm reading the second in the Skulldugary Pleasant Series by Derek Landy, <em>Playing With Fire.</em> I love humor. I'm definitely a fan. September 20, 2011Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-47904122909331690312011-02-08T19:28:00.000-08:002011-02-08T19:28:24.410-08:00Thought for the day...Each day is a poem you hear only once in your life; enjoy it!Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-65945067772256940102011-01-10T18:51:00.000-08:002011-01-10T18:58:25.375-08:00Oil of JoyIn Isaiah 61:2 it speaks of having the “oil of joy.” It’s another of those archaic sayings that sounds cool but it a bit hard for the modern mind to understand. At least mine. I had to sit and think about it for a while.<br />
<br />
At the time when this was written, and maybe even now, oil was much more precious than the actual fruit it came from (mostly olives). It is the distillation of the pressing of the fruit. It contains the amino acids and the basic goodness of the fruit, but it can be stored and kept much longer than the fruit. <br />
<br />
It is also much harder to get than the fruit. You can’t just go out and pick oil off a tree, you must pick the fruit off just to begin the process. Then it must be picked over, gathered in large amounts, and then pressed. It takes a great deal of fruit to make a small amount of oil.<br />
<br />
So in order to have the “oil of joy”, all our living experiences would have to be picked over¸ gathered up, and then pressed by all the trials and troubles and just plain life that it takes to have a good life, and then the oil of joy can be collected. <br />
<br />
Lot of work. Well worth it.Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-80391844716644657372010-12-31T14:03:00.000-08:002010-12-31T14:09:43.201-08:00New Year?Tonight we celebrate New Year's Eve. Tomorrow we will celebrate the start of a NewYear: 2011<br />To me it seems like the new year shouldn't start until the first day of spring. Tomorrow will be another cold, beautiful winter's day. The same as before. It doesn't seem like the begining, but more of a continuing. Now spring is a start to something new! Alas, I am not in charge. Probably a good thing.Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-37289019014849971512010-05-22T23:26:00.000-07:002010-08-22T15:52:32.915-07:00Note to self....I love writing. I've had a million hobbies, but writing is the one that fills the holes (or maybe I should say, wholes). I can take a thought, or story, carry it around for a bit, and let it grow.<br />It changes, and evolves, all by what I am living at the time that I'm carrying it. It's very organic.<br />It's the closest thing I've found to having a child. Okay, that's not exactly true; more like a a very self-sufficient pet who is incredibly loyal.<br />It starts out as nature, but changes because of the passage of time, the ordeals you put it through, and ends up being nurtured. I love it!Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-41083248036585333942009-08-04T22:09:00.000-07:002009-08-09T10:47:32.235-07:00Emergency MessageThis is a test<br />This is only a test.<br />If you fail to pass this test<br />Another one will be provided.<br />If you do pass this test and<br />endure it well<br />Another one will be provided.<br />If you have any questions<br />please contact the management<br />at 1-800-PRAYERSCarlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-32490302433955025732009-07-24T13:48:00.000-07:002009-07-24T13:50:07.033-07:00Migration<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Hope is hovering in my heart</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Like a flock of birds</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Gathering silently.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Circling slowly</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Growing steadily</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Wandering gradually</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Finding the warm drafts of air</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That lift them up</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And guide them with invisible fingers</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Sweetly on there journey</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Home.</p>Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-22335045293082345752009-07-24T13:38:00.000-07:002013-09-11T15:48:13.584-07:00Insomnia<div class="Section1">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 2in;">
This is a <i>fictional </i>short story.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 2in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 2in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 2in;">
IN THE MENOPAUSAL MIND </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
It’s 2:17am Wednesday morning and I’m awake again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I followed all of the rules the women’s magazines list for a good night’s rest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I took the TV out of the bedroom. No more late night’s with Leno.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Computer’s in the kitchen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I had a small, satisfying snack at 9:45 and was tucked neatly into bed by 10:00.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I had one 3 mg. Tablet of time-released Melatonin and a Benadryl (for my allergies, of course).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I read one Chapter of Tolkien’s <i>Return of the King,</i> because it’s a favorite, and there would be no temptation to stay up reading for hours, like there would have been with the new Evonovitch novel I have laying right next to it on my night-stand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I felt pleasantly drowsy, and I didn’t even hear Nick come to bed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
My eyes popped open at 1:45 A.M., and here I am.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
My bones actually ache with a hollow feeling I know is loneliness. Turning silently, I can watch Nick sleeping on his stomach, silky lashes closed, breathing softly. I can’t blame this on snoring. He doesn’t do it. He barely even moves at night, sleeping deeply, and waking up refreshed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Jerk.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
It’s completely quiet in the house, except for the soft rustle of the air-conditioner. I don’t need to check it to know that the thermostat is set at 68 degrees. The absolute perfect temperature for sleeping. So why do I feel like I’m being smothered?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I just have to get up. I push the quilt off and lower my legs to the floor and stand up without jostling Nick at all. I open the door, step thru, and close it again. Without making a single sound. I’m getting good at this.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I wander through the darkness, slowly making my way to the sliding doors at the back of the house. I push the sheers back and pull the door open a foot. There’s a whoosh of sound as the unnaturally cooled air escapes. It’s like opening a hermetically-sealed can. Standing in the door, I feel the fingers of the night gently lift my nightgown and mold it softly to my body. The wind is warm. A delicious shiver of feeling washes over me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I take a deep breath and feel myself unwinding as I let it escape. I lift my arms, lean against the frame and stare out at the lush, black velvet of the sky.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
The moon must be almost full: I don’t see it from this window, but it couldn’t be this bright without it. The grass is wet and shiny: the automatic sprinklers have already been on and off. And out beyond our little stab at civility, the desert hills are rolling and the wind is calling. Nick’s going to put up a fence this summer, but for now, we’re still wide open.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
The night is a thousand shades of gray, not black and white like you would think.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Beautiful. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds and then exhale slowly. I’m really starting to relax.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
What’s that? Up above, on the crest of the hill, the shadows twist and turn and then resolve into the shape of a jogger, running. I watch him for several seconds as he strides alone. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly he stops, turns, and seems to be staring straight down at me. </div>
</div>
<br />
I’m startled. I turn and fumble the door closed. Shaking a little. How dumb is that? It’s time to go back to bed. But I can sleep now.<br />
<div class="Section2">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 3in;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Thursday morning 2:24am. Oh, sigh.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Lifting the curtain above the kitchen sink, I look out. It’s beautiful again. I open the sliding door and step through. I try to number the stars, and then start picking out the individual clumps of sage on the hill.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
He’s there again. Standing still. Before I can get totally freaked out, he turns to leave, lifting a hand in farewell.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Weird.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Friday morning 5:54am. I slept until almost six o’clock in the morning! I feel <i>reborn.</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Saturday morning 1:47am. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
There’s just no justice in the universe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I sit on the couch for a while, the leather cool against my skin, then wander to the door despite by better judgement. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I watch for several minutes, looking carefully across the hills. </div>
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He’s not there.</div>
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Just me and the crickets. </div>
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I wander over to the couch, lay down and pull the fleece blanket up around my shoulders. I fall asleep watching the wind play quietly in the curtains and wake up a moment later to find him standing in the doorway.</div>
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I’m on my feet again, standing shocked and still.</div>
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I should be afraid. Maybe even terrified! But I’m really not. I don’t recognize him. But somehow, I remember him instead.</div>
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He’s dressed in darkness, a gray cloak floating in the wind like cobwebs. He smiles and turns toward the night, lifting a hand to me. “Let’s play in the moonlight.”</div>
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I don’t stop to even think about it: I grasp his hand and flee across the wet grass and up the dry hills. </div>
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It isn’t long before I fall behind. The sandy path turns rocky and steep. It hurts my bare feet. Looking above me, I see him running effortlessly up the hill ahead. </div>
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“Wait! Wait for me!” I stumble upward, breathless and crying. Always running. Always behind.</div>
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Coming to the top of the hill, I find the moon, big and full. He’s waiting for me there. I take his hand and he pulls me up against hot skin, under the cloak. Reaching up, I try to hold him, but the cloak get in the way. He disappears into nothingness, as the cloak wraps itself tightly around me, binding me in heat and darkness. I struggle to get free. I’m being smothered!</div>
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I scream and come awake as I fall off the couch flat on my butt. I fight my way out of the stupid fleece blanket, stand up sweating and shaking and...naked?</div>
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I walk shakily into the kitchen and drink a glass of cold water. I walk back to the sliding glass door. I can see two sets of wet footprints slowly drying on the cement. Looking down at my feet, there’s a piece of grass sticking between my toes.</div>
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Okay, fine.</div>
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The moon is still shining, the wind is still soft. I slide the door shut, push the lock down, pull the sheers across the glass and turn away.</div>
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It’s 2:45am Saturday morning.</div>
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I think I’ll read for a while. </div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-22232161659649554302009-07-18T21:23:00.000-07:002009-07-18T21:54:49.669-07:00An Empty BottleRecently I was hiking around one of my favorite places in the Uintahs, Stewart's Bowl. It's a wonderful little valley on the Boneville Shoreline Trail. I say hiking, but anyone who knows me knows that what I mean is...walk, stroll, meander, that sort of thing.<br />I sat down on a rock and was watching a hawk playing on a thermal, just floating in the air. Every once in a while, the wind shifted, and he would just adjust to maintain his position, just dancing there in the air.<br />I had been sitting there for several minutes. It's a great place to listen to the quiet. The breeze was cool, tickling through the sweat on my head when I realized I had been listening to a song for several minutes, the wind singing behind me. It was lovely, but the moment I realized it was a real sound and not just in my head I had to turn around and try to find where it was coming from.<br />I back-tracked along the trail, and then rustled noisily through the weeds (yes, I've seen the snakes, I'm careful) for several yards.<br />I finally tracked down the maker of that lovely, other-worldly music: There was an empty and broken bottle sitting in the weeds, and the wind blowing in and through it was creating a symphony for me.<br />I sat down and just listened for several minutes, eyes closed, awed by the fact that the wind could make something so beautiful out of something so ordinary.<br />When I opened my eyes, the dancing hawk was gone, the music began to stutter, and then they were both gone.<br />I had two thoughts, one after the other: First, timing really is everything, but its important not to rush things. The wind will sing to you if you put yourself in a position to hear it.<br />Second, if the wind can make music out of litter, then Heavenly Father can make something beautiful out of me if I keep myself in the right place.Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1896897854372417063.post-15296477890274219472009-06-12T05:59:00.000-07:002009-06-12T06:05:11.120-07:00WeaverThere are tiny, little moments in life that sparkle like gems in your memory.<br />The best thing I have found to do with them is to pick them up instantly and weave a little basket of words to carry them in. In this manner they can be saved in the treasury of your soul.Carlajohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15836432533065034910noreply@blogger.com0