Childlike Wonder

     I purchased some clay marbles at a flea market last month. I couldn't help myself. It was wonderment at first sight. Years of play (they are from the Civil War era) has left them with such a beautiful patina. The earthen colors drew me in. 

     Holding them in my hands transported my imagination through time at the possibilities of ownership. Black and white images of children crowding around the ground, bent at the waist, some squatting to get a better view, watching, waiting for the shooter to act. Crack! The marbles slam into one another and the children stand and jump, arms in the air, hooting and hollaring. Their neighborhood marble champ has done it again!

     Perhaps they have seen harder times as well. A soldier filling his pockets with the cold, orbital love notes. A gift from his sweetheart as he heads off to war. She knew they were a favorite game of his and she wanted him to have something with him that would make him smile, a good luck trinket he could rub if he were scared or lonely. Perhaps pull out for a game or two if given a chance.

     A grandpa passing his beloved marbles down to his great-grandson proclaiming "I only had a few toys when I was your age. Money was scarce. We made do with our imaginations. But these." He looked longingly into the past, his smile growing youthful with the memory, "These were my treasure. Out of the few toys I had, my marbles were my favorite. I won quite a bit of money playing marbles! I was the town champ!"

     Clay pulled from the earth, formed, glazed, fired. Through the years filled with memory. Worn away from hands of play. Kept in pockets, bags, drawers. Traveling around from owner to owner. Where did they come from? What stories do they have to tell? If you tracked them back to the ground from which they came, what would the earth say? Would it sigh a story of their birth?

     There is something magical about old toys. Made with earthen elements. Wood, clay, metal. Holding amazing energy. All you have to do is hold them, close your eyes, and listen. They are little story tellers.

Fun Little Story by Yours Truly

(This story has two endings. Decide which one you like better. Go with it.)

Joe spent his entire life listening to the angel on his right shoulder and the devil on his left. It was exhausting as they had very different voices and each tried to affect his reaction to life in different ways. The devil pointed out all the bad in the world, taught him negative self-talk and showed him how to wallow in misery. The angel, on the other hand, tried to enlighten Joe to all the gifts bestowed upon him and wanted to teach him that even hard times provided gifts of knowledge and growth if you just knew how to see them right.

Joe's life has not been an easy one. He has seen more than his share of heartbreak and hard times. There were plenty of good times as well, but the difficulties seemed to outweigh them. With so much negativity to work through, Joe had the feeling the devil was taking the upper hand in influencing his thoughts.

One day, at the end of his rope, Joe threw his arms up grasping fists full of hair on either side of his head, and begged the angel for help. "Please! Angel! I cannot take any more of the devil's negativity! His voice is so strong and loud and angry! I hear you singing praise. I hear you whispering loving words of encouragement and positivity. I hear you pointing out the good in everything, yet the devil's persistent anger is reaching a deafening level! Please! I beg of you! Help me beat this devil back!"

Ending #1 - With such a desperate plea for help upon him, the angel acted instantly, hopping over to the devil's shoulder and beat the devil senseless. Joe was thrilled! The angel won!
"I knew you had my back!" cried Joe.
Battered and shaken, the devil could hardly believed what just occurred. After a few shaky minutes he stood up, composed himself, regained his sinister look and said to the angel, "Welcome to the dark side!"
Joe then realized that the angel's quick response to his plea of battle had not saved him at all. His angel had fallen.

Ending #2 - The angel heard Joe's plea and wanted to help but he knew the best thing to do was to take his time and respond appropriately. After some head scratching and halo buffing he had an idea.
"Hey devil!" the angel hollered to get his attention. "I'm starting to understand how badly you want to win Joe over so you can make him miserable forever. I would also love to have Joe to myself to fill his mind with goodness. Well guess what? I just discovered the key to winning!"
"Oh yeah?" the devil hollered back venomously. "What is it?"
"Come over here and I'll tell you!" teased the angel.
Never one to turn down an instigation, the devil hopped over to the shoulder occupied by the angel.
"So what's your bright idea little winged man?" the devil teased.
"There's only one way to win." the angel whispered. "You need some of this."
The angel filled his heart with radiant love and blew the devil a kiss. The devil was not prepared to accept such a gift, lost his footing and fell to his death from Joe's shoulder. It appears love was the answer.

~ Lynn Retzlaff


(changed #2 ending slightly as comments were gently suggesting. thank you for your comments!)

Author Unknown

I found the following story on the internet this morning but was unable to find the author. To the person who wrote this, thank you.

“Why are you crying?”, a young boy asked his Mom.

“Because I’m a woman,” she told him. “I don’t understand,” he said.

His Mom just hugged him and said, “And you never will, but that’s O.K.”… Later the little boy asked his father, “Why does Mom seem to cry for no reason?”. “All women cry for no reason,” was all his Dad could say… The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry.

Finally he put in a call to God and when God got back to him, he asked “God, why do women cry so easily?”

GOD answered…

When I made woman, I decided she had to be special. I made her shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world, yet, made her arms gentle enough to give comfort…I gave her the inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that many times will come even from her own children.

I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going and take care of her family and friends, even when everyone else gives up, through sickness and fatigue without complaining…I gave her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all circumstances. Even when her child has hurt her badly…

She has the very special power to make a child’s boo-boo feel better and to quell a teenager’s anxieties and fears…I gave her strength to care for her husband, despite faults and I fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart…I gave her wisdom to know that a good husband never hurts his wife, but sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside him unfalteringly.

For all of this hard work, I also gave her a tear to shed. It is hers to use whenever needed and it is her only weakness.

When you see her cry, tell her how much you love her, and all she does for everyone, and even though she may still cry, you will have made her 

heart feel good.

© Lynn Retzlaff

Spoons

Do you (or someone you know) suffer from a debilitating condition?

Do you (or someone you know) suffer from chronic pain?
I have a story to share with you.

You'll have to follow the link as I did not request permission to post and it is copyright protected.

Go ahead. Take the time. It's worth it.

I'll be here when you get back.

The Spoon Theory

Great! You're back!

That story was shared with me by a wonderful online friend.

She knows I suffer from fibromyalgia and knows I have good days and bad.

My initial reaction to the story was, "Wow! I'm not alone. Someone gets it!"

I felt relief and understanding.

The story has stuck with me. I have shared it with many people.

It has given me a new way to look at my condition and my life.

It has taught me to take care of myself and pay attention

to the amount of energy I use and how I dish it out.

More recently, it has inspired me to make a new piece of art.

After finishing the piece and finding pleasure and satisfaction in it,

I have decided to do a "Spoon Series".

More to come...

A Stormy Week

The weather this past week has been very interesting.

We have seen blazing sunshine, hail, high winds,

massive downpour associated thunderstorms,

humidity, cold nights and more.

Up the street from us sits a little house.

At that little house they had a little sale.

Many days before, during and after that sale,

in all that crazy weather,

sat a little fish on a big dresser.

He survived a week of severe storms and hot sun.

The kids and I felt quite bad for the little fella.

He was for sale without a buyer.

They had named him Butthead.

Now he was literally homeless.

He was going to be sent off to a pet store

when they got around to it.

Every day the kids worked on me.

"Mommy, it's sooooo sad."

"Honey, Mommy doesn't need ANOTHER animal to take care of."

"But mommy, he needs a home."

"I know but maybe someone will come and save him."

"Mommy, it should be us."

"Ugh! I feel awful, but it's not a good idea."

--------------

Yesterday I woke up to a campaign to save the fish.

I had tucked the kids into bed the night before

thinking they went straight to sleep.

Now I know otherwise.

I headed down the stairs and found this.

UGH!

As I headed toward their room I saw this...

I arrived at their bedroom door to find this...

On their floor was this...

They must have hit a point of exhaustion

as the sign was not finished or hung.

I credited them for their care and creativity and got them ready.

Off to school with my fish militia.

Great. Now they've got me.

I dug through my purse and found $10.

I marched up to the house, knocked on the door,

woke a man covered in tattoos and made my offer.

It's all I had.

"No thanks" was the answer I received.

Kids came home from school.

I told them it was a No Go.

Second born scrounges another $5 of his own money.

Heads back up to the house.

Perhaps he hit their magic number.

Perhaps they fell for his pleas.

Perhaps they thought it would save them a trip to the pet store.

Whatever the reason, the mission was a success.

Into the bathroom with this fella.

He was in desperate need of house cleaning.

Yup. He's in there.

Look far left.

We found some extra food in our supply.

Cleaned him, fed him, found him a spot in the boy's room.

Meet Stormy (a.k.a. Storm)!!!

I am such a sucker!

Good Things Come In Two's

 -1-

I would like to introduce you to my daughter's blog. She is seven years old and itching to share her art with the world. I have shared some of her pieces (along with her brothers) over the years and now she has a place to call her own. A place for her to express, to inspire, to feel proud. I know she would be tickled to have some followers (besides her mother).  Introducing...

Paper Magic Maker

-2-

I love to write, rarely share, and never delve in fiction. My normal genre for reading and writing is non-fiction or poetry. Lately I have been back in the saddle of devouring fiction books and studying the art of fiction writing. Writing is something I have been in love with since I first put pencil to paper. It is also something I don't allow myself the time to do. From this day forward, I vow to allow myself time to write and the freedom to share.

I joined two amazing blogs to help me gain confidence, knowledge and practice in the art of writing. The blogs are The Magpie's Pen and The Red Dress Club. I am sharing a piece of my writing below. The prompt was given by The Red Dress Club and will be revealed in green at the end of the piece. Thanks for reading!

p.s. the piece is currently untitled.

 untitled

I can’t believe I made it to Friday. Getting through the past week has been a nightmare. Attending the funeral of my best friend last Saturday was the hardest thing I have done in my life. Cassie was young and beautiful and always so full of life. She was one of those free spirits who floated effortlessly through life. How could such a vibrant and inspiring young person be taken out so prematurely? It left me pondering some of life’s biggest questions.

What is the purpose of life? If Cassie, who was always helping people and had such a promising future could be taken out of the game of life so early, why am I still here? My life is boring, simple, monotonous. The parts that Cassie didn’t touch, that is.

How can life be so fragile? Cassie was here one minute larger than life, then gone in a mere instant, reduced to meager memories.

Perhaps the biggest question of all, how could anyone possibly think her fall from the window of her art studio be anything but an accident? Suicide? Cassie? No way! That’s the way the report was written and that’s the way it was confirmed. Suicide. Death by intentional fall.

The funeral was beautiful. Her favorite flower was lily-of-the-valley and the funeral parlor had placed gorgeous potted arrangements and cut flower bouquets everywhere. As loved ones walked in they were given a single sprig of lily-of-the-valley with a white satin ribbon tied around the stem. Encouragement was given to go up to a mic at the front of the visitation room and share memories of Cassie. The casket was closed due to the nature of her demise.

I had known Cassie for fifteen years. We met in fourth grade when she moved to our tiny Minnesota town from the warm and glamorous Los Angeles. She walked into the classroom so sure of herself. Not an ounce of fear in her. She was dark haired, sun tanned and had the most stylish clothes. Everyone in the classroom was whispering and pointing but Cassie just walked in, head held high, bright smile on her face and sat confidently in the only available chair, which as fate would have it  was directly in front of me.

Fifteen years of friendship. Fifteen years of girlish boy crushes and shared secrets to the more adult experiences of college and career. How could she be gone? More importantly, how was I supposed to function without her? She was the one who gave me confidence. She was the one who taught me to dream, to live life to the fullest. For the past week I have been left to wallow in loss and self-pity.  

This afternoon I arrived home from work and trudged out to the mailbox to retrieve today’s mail, most likely consisting of bills and junk mail. As I pulled the mail out of the box, I grabbed at the post the box is perched upon to keep from falling over. There was a pink postcard at the top of the stack of mail. It was addressed to me in curly, fancy writing. The “i”’s were topped with little hearts where dots were normally placed. There is only one person in my life with such happy and artistic penmanship. Cassie.

How could it be? Perhaps the suicide theory was correct as stated and this was her last goodbye. The card must have been lost in the mail. How else would it have taken so long to travel across town?

After gaining my balance and my emotional footing I flipped the postcard over. The back contained one simple sentence. “I'm not dead. Meet me tonight at Guido's Pizzeria. Tell no one.”

Overwhelmed with happiness I fled as fast as my stocky legs could carry me and burst through the front door heading straight to the counter to snatch up my purse and keys. I gleefully patted my cat Charlie on the head, slammed the front door and hopped into my VW bug. Reminding myself to drive the speed limit, I headed to the pizzeria.

Could it be? Could it really be? Cassie is alive? Boy does she have some major explaining to do!

Prompt: One week after attending the funeral of a close friend, you receive a postcard in the mail with the words, 'I'm not dead. Meet me tonight at Guido's Pizzeria. Tell no one.'

An Interesting Journey

I was gone from Blogland last week.

Did you miss me?

It was a difficult and trying week.

End result - all is good.

Thank you to my two very special bloggy friends for your support.

You know who you are and I love you!

The Journey

Yesterday we (the family and I) decided to go for a drive.

We were only minutes out of town.

We turned down a road we have traveled before

but took it further than we ever had (which wasn't far).

We saw a road. 

We turned again.

The first address we passed held mature landscaping

and what appeared to be a home ripped off its foundation.

 

A bit further down was another home.

Big and beautiful

and boarded up.

 

 Next to that, another.

This one with windows and screens broke out

where the boards were on the inside rather than the out.

 

 

 At the end of the road

(opposite side)

was the biggest house of all.

When we first pulled up there was a hawk

perched at the tip of the garage.

Each home had a sign posted at the end of the driveway.

NO TRESPASSING

 

It was a short road along water.

Nothing but the few boarded up homes and empty fields.

A bit spooky actually.

As we left we wanted to know the name of the road.

Someone had stolen the sign.

The road remained nameless to us.

What was the story with these big beautiful homes?

Could it be contamination that drove the owners out?

Could it be the economy?

Failed development?

We decided to head back out.

Just yards down the road we passed a small turn-around and pulled in.

There was a stairway leading down to a lake

where a ghost of a tree lay silent.

 

Near the path we discovered more death.

 

We decided "That's enough of that!"

and piled back in the van. 

Within yards we came upon another (much older) community.

Some of the houses were run down yet inhabited.

Others appeared abandoned.

 

 How strange.

The home was left with half the roof torn off

and a tarp remaining to cover. 

It had obviously been a while since they decided not to finish the job.

 

 On closer inspection, it appears as if someone has broken and entered

and forgot to close the door behind themselves.

Or perhaps it was the ghost owners peeking out at us

as we peeked in at them.

 

The whole experience was so intriguing and strange. 

We drove a few more yards and came upon a curve in the road.

At the height of the curve is this mysterious farm

with its mysterious tree trunk fencing

and more NO TRESPASSING signs

assuring us that this was not the place to drop off the kids

for cookie sales!

 

The whole area was so mysterious and odd and intriguing.

What's the story behind it all?

What a cool low budget film hubby and I could make

heading back at dusk with our camcorder and imaginations!

Too bad we're both chicken shits!

My mind is still running wild with possibilities and stories.

The kid were intrigued as well.

I thought about nosing around to find the history on the area.

Then I thought of how the truth would take all the fun out.

How about you? 

Does it get your storytelling juices flowing?

Gratitude Attitude - Day 15

(28 days to an attitude of gratitude - learn more here)

I was at the craft store today. As I was heading back to my vehicle, I passed a small sheet of notebook paper on the ground in the parking lot. So often I pass something that piques my curiosity and I continue on, wishing I would have picked it up, wondering of the story it contained, it's origins and how it ended up where it did.

Today was no different than any other. I was walking, I spotted the note and I passed it. It was apparent it had been there for some time as it was faded and well traveled upon. I continued on as I did not want to seem odd to others picking up some random piece of another shopper's litter.

Was it a shopping list? Perhaps a note declaring someone's undying love for another? I walked on bothered by the fact that instead of acting on my own spirit and curiosity, I was instead caving to the insecurities of worrying what others might think of me as I picked up the dirty note. Then again, it was litter and why should anyone ever let litter lay?

A conscious choice was made today to turn around, march back the 20 yards I had proceeded and pick up the note. It was so satisfying to go with my heart rather than my ego. I clutched the note and smiled all the way to the car.

As you can see by the scan above, the paper contained directions. Who's directions? Where was the person going? Where did they come from? What was the reason for their travels? Did they ever reach their destination without their carefully planned directions? Or were these directions simply an afterthought of a trip already taken just waiting to be discarded from the floor of the car by a foot rushing out the door?

I love objects that cause one to think and imagine. Would you like to take a stab at the story contained within the note? Leave it in the form of a comment. Turn it into a book. Write it in your journal. Ponder it over coffee.

I have spent time on a magical website in the past that caters to just this sort of find. Care to indulge in a little fun? www.foundmagazine.com

I am grateful for my bravery of battling ego today. I am grateful for imagination, curiosity and mystery.