Did the world
sigh
with regret, remorse?
Did the animals
know
the secret
the magical redeeming essence
Or was it
just another day?
Was it
still
on earth while
heaven waited
with anticipation
for you
to burst out
to bring life
to deliver us
from evil
forever?
Or was it the same
as yesterday?
What did your heart feel?
What raced through your mind?
Did you want to explode with excitement?
Or were you mischeveously quiet
and then, like a crazy prank
you showed up?
Did you want to wear
a funny hat
or a clown nose?
Did it feel like you were
celebrating everyone's birthday?
Did you love watching the
surprised faces?
Did you hug your Father
for a moment
then return
to hug us, too?
Did you go to Hell,
slap the devil in the face--in his shocked face--
and then race to meet your Father
with open arms
wide spread and reaching?
Did you fall down laughing
with glee
rolling in plush grass
dandelions and butterflies
bright blue sky
magic marker colors blazing
and angels, puppies, and children
joining in the joy
of your Truth made real
of your Love given freely?
What did you do the day before
you conquered death
and
set us
free?
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Plums
I was recently asked to be a storyteller at the Black Warrior Storyteling Festival. What an honor it was to be asked! What a blast it was to share my story!
This story is true, but not completely. It is a puzzle of pieces put together to create a story...
Every person I meet is a character--a possible victim, criminal, inspiration, catalyst….someone that makes a difference.
Every story is a moment in time--captured in my mind to replay by choice or by certain randomness….
every day is a journey through a story….that story may be mine, or it may be someone else’s…
but it has merit.
It has a purpose. It has an essence that makes me pause…
and then it causes me to grow….
bit by bit…
And through it.…change.
That’s why I love stories. I love writing them. I love reading them. Most of all, I love experiencing them.
My stories usually center around small things…something that seems insignificant, but brings a new perspective…a way of thinking…
Today my story is about plums.
I bought some last night in the grocery store. They weren’t too expensive and really I hadn’t had a good plum…in a long time. It was pretty good…but plums are not just another fruit to me.
Plums represent a time in my life when the stakes were high and a challenge was fierce. There were definite good guys and bad guys and I knew which side I wanted to be on. Plums were the bounty, the prize for the one who was fast enough and bold enough to face the greatest enemies: Mr. Paul and his evil rat terrier Roscoe.
It was the summer of 1978 and I was at my grandparents’ farm. It wasn’t a big farm…one with a few cows, chickens, pigs…and I was helping out in the garden with my sisters. We were all in stair step, me being the youngest. There were four of us--Tina, the oldest, Amy, the ring leader, Tonya, the snoop and challenger to Amy, and me…tagging along with whomever had some kind of adventure going on.
This day I think everyone was looking for something more than picking squash.
That’s when Amy had the bright idea of raiding Mr. Paul’s plums.
Oh, we had snuck a few from the tree only to be chased by Roscoe.
But this time we wanted to have enough to eat for a week. We knew even if we got that many, we’d have to hide them from our parents. We didn’t have any plum trees nearby or on my grandparents’ farm…only Mr. Paul had the plum trees in the closest proximity.
Amy had it all worked out. She had snuck some paper grocery bags out of my grandma’s kitchen. She knew we could get more loot that way.
She had also snagged some leftover meatloaf from the kitchen to keep Roscoe occupied.
So we made a plan. We would sneak to Mr. Paul’s trees while my grandfather went into town. My grandmother would be busy putting up corn and peas in the kitchen.
Tonya would keep watch in case someone was coming. She could do a great hoot owl call. Amy would keep Roscoe interested in food. Tina and I had the job of climbing the trees, snagging the plums, and racing out of there before Mr. Paul caught us. And trust me, it was a lot harder than it sounds.
So my grandfather’s truck pulls away. The screen door slams on my grandmother‘s house.
That’s the signal. Amy pulls out the bags and the food. Tonya takes post at the fence. Tina and I carefully climb the fence to get to the plums.
We spot Roscoe snoozing in the sun. Amy positions herself to get his attention if he wakes up. Tina and I sneak around to the trees.
And there they are. Giant juicy plums so big and plentiful that the limbs almost touched the ground. It was as though the trees were just begging us to take the plums, to give it some relief from the weight of so many plums.
And so we did. We grabbed and stuffed plums in the bag. It was full…running over full. It was so full that we started putting plums in our shirts, our shorts, even our bras. If there was a nook or cranny, we put a plum there. We had a hard time walking, but it was possible..Slow but possible. We had enough plums to last not just one week…but several weeks.
We had done it. At least we thought we had. Suddenly, a shotgun blast rang out. Tina screamed and flung the bag of plums in the air. The plums were everywhere. It was like it was raining plums. Tina, who didn’t want to do this in the first place, took off.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Except Tina. I just saw blur of her as she leapted the fence like a track star and disappeared.
Tonya began hooting like a deranged owl…yeah, a little late now, Tonya…She kept looking around and finally hopped off the fence and ran into the corn field. I knew where she was because the stalks kept shuffling. Roscoe, fully awake and obviously irritated from being disturbance, took off after Amy, who had dropped the food when the shotgun blasted….and Roscoe had more fun nipping at her heels as she tried to climb the pecan tree. He would scurry up the tree and then slap his jaws together. Sometimes he would just gnaw at the tree like it was a chew toy. I think he was part alligator.
And then there was me. Plums stuffed in my shirt, my shorts,….and I was facing a crazy old man with shotgun running out after us, firing his gun into the air.
I took off, running, running like mad….we were seen…but not caught….I made it to the fence and started climbing over it. I was on my side of the fence when suddenly twine arms wrapped viciously around me and yanked me to the ground. I fell with a thud It hurt. I have always felt sorry for cattle since then.
I opened my eyes and looked up and there she stood, my little smidge of a grandmother. She had lassoed me and pulled me to the ground. Now, my grandmother is all of 5 ft tall, maybe 100 pounds. But she proves the adage that size does not matter.
“You girls have had the devil’s hands today!” she shouted.
I looked around and there stood Tina and Tonya. Amy was sitting down, her face red from crying…I wasn’t sure if it was from the whooping she knew was coming or the bandages around her ankles from an obvious encounter with Roscoe in which she lost to this 12 pound Pit Bull wannabe.
Mr. Paul, leaning over his fence, was laughing. Roscoe, by his side, seemed to be smiling.
And we all knew, we had lost and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
That summer I learned all about plums…how to make wine with plums, how to make plum jelly, plum pudding, plum cake, plum preserves. Every day we had to harvest those plums and then basically do whatever Mr. Paul wanted us to do with those plums.
Amy, she had the honor of feeding and bathing Roscoe. She had to check him for ticks and remove them, too. Tonya had to guard his corn field every morning and make her famous noises to keep crows away.
But we also learned a lot about Mr. Paul. That mysterious man whose wife died in a car accident when she was only 30...he had lived in that house alone and Roscoe was his only real companion. We learned that he served in the Marines, that he could play a mean harmonica, and sometimes he wrote poetry…
After that summer, Mr. Paul would let us pick some plums for ourselves and of course, we’d use most of them to make something he liked--some wine, some jam or preserves.
He eventually had to move into a nursing home and he passed away a few years ago. Roscoe lived with Amy for a while before he died….it wasn’t a week after Mr. Paul died that Amy found Roscoe dead, too. I guess best friends are never really separated….in life or in death.
That was a long time ago. My grandparents are long gone now…my grandmother tried to teach us how to lasso, but I never really got the hang of it. The farm land was passed on to my parents, but there’s no farm there….just a lot of trees.. The other day I was walking through the land, taking my sons on a hike, when we came upon a tree. I couldn’t believe it. It was a plum tree. And there were flowers on it. I guess Mr. Paul or my grandparents…someone…had planted that tree. And there’s going to be fruit.
Majestic, beautiful, plums.
You see, even in the smallest most insignificant things… a story comes.
In a time that seems to be so long ago….a memory comes…and stays awhile…like a good neighbor with some good wine and maybe even a harmonica by his side.
This story is true, but not completely. It is a puzzle of pieces put together to create a story...
Every person I meet is a character--a possible victim, criminal, inspiration, catalyst….someone that makes a difference.
Every story is a moment in time--captured in my mind to replay by choice or by certain randomness….
every day is a journey through a story….that story may be mine, or it may be someone else’s…
but it has merit.
It has a purpose. It has an essence that makes me pause…
and then it causes me to grow….
bit by bit…
And through it.…change.
That’s why I love stories. I love writing them. I love reading them. Most of all, I love experiencing them.
My stories usually center around small things…something that seems insignificant, but brings a new perspective…a way of thinking…
Today my story is about plums.
I bought some last night in the grocery store. They weren’t too expensive and really I hadn’t had a good plum…in a long time. It was pretty good…but plums are not just another fruit to me.
Plums represent a time in my life when the stakes were high and a challenge was fierce. There were definite good guys and bad guys and I knew which side I wanted to be on. Plums were the bounty, the prize for the one who was fast enough and bold enough to face the greatest enemies: Mr. Paul and his evil rat terrier Roscoe.
It was the summer of 1978 and I was at my grandparents’ farm. It wasn’t a big farm…one with a few cows, chickens, pigs…and I was helping out in the garden with my sisters. We were all in stair step, me being the youngest. There were four of us--Tina, the oldest, Amy, the ring leader, Tonya, the snoop and challenger to Amy, and me…tagging along with whomever had some kind of adventure going on.
This day I think everyone was looking for something more than picking squash.
That’s when Amy had the bright idea of raiding Mr. Paul’s plums.
Oh, we had snuck a few from the tree only to be chased by Roscoe.
But this time we wanted to have enough to eat for a week. We knew even if we got that many, we’d have to hide them from our parents. We didn’t have any plum trees nearby or on my grandparents’ farm…only Mr. Paul had the plum trees in the closest proximity.
Amy had it all worked out. She had snuck some paper grocery bags out of my grandma’s kitchen. She knew we could get more loot that way.
She had also snagged some leftover meatloaf from the kitchen to keep Roscoe occupied.
So we made a plan. We would sneak to Mr. Paul’s trees while my grandfather went into town. My grandmother would be busy putting up corn and peas in the kitchen.
Tonya would keep watch in case someone was coming. She could do a great hoot owl call. Amy would keep Roscoe interested in food. Tina and I had the job of climbing the trees, snagging the plums, and racing out of there before Mr. Paul caught us. And trust me, it was a lot harder than it sounds.
So my grandfather’s truck pulls away. The screen door slams on my grandmother‘s house.
That’s the signal. Amy pulls out the bags and the food. Tonya takes post at the fence. Tina and I carefully climb the fence to get to the plums.
We spot Roscoe snoozing in the sun. Amy positions herself to get his attention if he wakes up. Tina and I sneak around to the trees.
And there they are. Giant juicy plums so big and plentiful that the limbs almost touched the ground. It was as though the trees were just begging us to take the plums, to give it some relief from the weight of so many plums.
And so we did. We grabbed and stuffed plums in the bag. It was full…running over full. It was so full that we started putting plums in our shirts, our shorts, even our bras. If there was a nook or cranny, we put a plum there. We had a hard time walking, but it was possible..Slow but possible. We had enough plums to last not just one week…but several weeks.
We had done it. At least we thought we had. Suddenly, a shotgun blast rang out. Tina screamed and flung the bag of plums in the air. The plums were everywhere. It was like it was raining plums. Tina, who didn’t want to do this in the first place, took off.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Except Tina. I just saw blur of her as she leapted the fence like a track star and disappeared.
Tonya began hooting like a deranged owl…yeah, a little late now, Tonya…She kept looking around and finally hopped off the fence and ran into the corn field. I knew where she was because the stalks kept shuffling. Roscoe, fully awake and obviously irritated from being disturbance, took off after Amy, who had dropped the food when the shotgun blasted….and Roscoe had more fun nipping at her heels as she tried to climb the pecan tree. He would scurry up the tree and then slap his jaws together. Sometimes he would just gnaw at the tree like it was a chew toy. I think he was part alligator.
And then there was me. Plums stuffed in my shirt, my shorts,….and I was facing a crazy old man with shotgun running out after us, firing his gun into the air.
I took off, running, running like mad….we were seen…but not caught….I made it to the fence and started climbing over it. I was on my side of the fence when suddenly twine arms wrapped viciously around me and yanked me to the ground. I fell with a thud It hurt. I have always felt sorry for cattle since then.
I opened my eyes and looked up and there she stood, my little smidge of a grandmother. She had lassoed me and pulled me to the ground. Now, my grandmother is all of 5 ft tall, maybe 100 pounds. But she proves the adage that size does not matter.
“You girls have had the devil’s hands today!” she shouted.
I looked around and there stood Tina and Tonya. Amy was sitting down, her face red from crying…I wasn’t sure if it was from the whooping she knew was coming or the bandages around her ankles from an obvious encounter with Roscoe in which she lost to this 12 pound Pit Bull wannabe.
Mr. Paul, leaning over his fence, was laughing. Roscoe, by his side, seemed to be smiling.
And we all knew, we had lost and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
That summer I learned all about plums…how to make wine with plums, how to make plum jelly, plum pudding, plum cake, plum preserves. Every day we had to harvest those plums and then basically do whatever Mr. Paul wanted us to do with those plums.
Amy, she had the honor of feeding and bathing Roscoe. She had to check him for ticks and remove them, too. Tonya had to guard his corn field every morning and make her famous noises to keep crows away.
But we also learned a lot about Mr. Paul. That mysterious man whose wife died in a car accident when she was only 30...he had lived in that house alone and Roscoe was his only real companion. We learned that he served in the Marines, that he could play a mean harmonica, and sometimes he wrote poetry…
After that summer, Mr. Paul would let us pick some plums for ourselves and of course, we’d use most of them to make something he liked--some wine, some jam or preserves.
He eventually had to move into a nursing home and he passed away a few years ago. Roscoe lived with Amy for a while before he died….it wasn’t a week after Mr. Paul died that Amy found Roscoe dead, too. I guess best friends are never really separated….in life or in death.
That was a long time ago. My grandparents are long gone now…my grandmother tried to teach us how to lasso, but I never really got the hang of it. The farm land was passed on to my parents, but there’s no farm there….just a lot of trees.. The other day I was walking through the land, taking my sons on a hike, when we came upon a tree. I couldn’t believe it. It was a plum tree. And there were flowers on it. I guess Mr. Paul or my grandparents…someone…had planted that tree. And there’s going to be fruit.
Majestic, beautiful, plums.
You see, even in the smallest most insignificant things… a story comes.
In a time that seems to be so long ago….a memory comes…and stays awhile…like a good neighbor with some good wine and maybe even a harmonica by his side.
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