tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38210223010859284932024-03-01T00:39:33.816-05:00Tales from the TapestryMonthly posts to Tales from the Tapestry are written by Author/Storyteller/Playwright Linda Goodman. Linda is the author of Daughters of the Appalachians, which has been performed around the country both as a one-woman show and a play. She has been a professional storyteller since 1989. She is a Virgina Appalachian Mountain native of Melungeon descent.Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.comBlogger210125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-10629417478797342042021-09-13T16:32:00.000-04:002021-09-13T16:39:37.354-04:00<p> <b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jesus Rules the Rain</span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">©LindaGoodman 9/11/2021<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jesus rules
the rain<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jesus rules
the wind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jesus calms
the storm <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And makes us
safe again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Put your
faith in Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He’ll take
of you.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He’ll be at
your side in all you say and do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jesus loves
the children.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He loves
their moms and dads.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His light
will guide your hearts <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Through both the good and bad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Give your love to Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He’ll be
true to you.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He will give His blessing to all you say and do</span>Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-46716393009914369432019-12-23T14:41:00.000-05:002019-12-23T14:41:10.145-05:00Angels
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Angels<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>©Linda Goodman 12/21/19<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Little Children, have no fear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Last night there were angels here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Here to praise a tiny boy; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Flesh and blood, not plastic toy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Here to make the darkness light,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Filling the world with beauty bright.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Now I come so you will know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">NOW GO! Tell others who don’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Amen! Hallelujah! May God be praised!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">For giving this miracle to us this day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-75746047427137106512019-10-29T15:00:00.000-04:002019-10-29T15:41:44.029-04:00Nickels for Dimes<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "script mt bold"; font-size: 18pt;">Nickels for Dimes</span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
By Linda Goodma</div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
© Linda Goodman 2007</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p> <em>If you are familiar with my stories, you have already met Brother Lee. I am sad to say that Lee left this world on September 20, 2019. Alzheimer's Disease showed him no mercy. Lee is a big part of my story Nickels for Dimes. I am posting it in his honor. You can watch the video of this story on my website on the "Hear Linda Tell tab."</em></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In August
1961, on an oppressively hot and humid day (made even more oppressive by my
having just played four innings of kickball), my nine-year old body lay
stretched across the bed in the room that I shared with my five-year old sister
Evelyn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was trying to get cool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there was no air conditioning, and the
fan just circulated hot air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In my hand
I held a nickel, my allowance for the week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Believe it or not, in those days a nickel would buy an eight ounce
fountain Coca Cola with chipped ice or a one-scoop ice cream cone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What it would not buy was both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Therein lay my problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could not decide which one I wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would it be the cold energy of the Coca Cola,
or the cool comfort of the ice cream?<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was just
about to let a flip of my nickel make the decision for me, when I noticed my
baby sister Evelyn’s money jar on her side of our dresser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was really just a pickle jar that Momma
had washed out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daddy cut a slit in the
lid so that she could use it as a bank. That bank was filled almost to the top
with nickels, dimes, and quarters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unlike my brothers and me, who spent our nickels as soon as we got them,
Evelyn put all of her nickels in that bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And when relatives came to visit, they would put dimes and quarters in
there because she was so cute. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As I stared
at that money jar, I thought to myself, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">if
I take just one nickel from that jar, Evelyn will never know.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, I wouldn’t even know if there was a
nickel missing from that jar, and I was the smartest person I knew!</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If I took a
nickel from that jar, however, that would be stealing, and the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bible</i></b>
said that stealing is a sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of course,
the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bible</i></b>
also said, “Thou shalt not store up treasures on this earth,” and Evelyn had
quite a treasure stored up in that jar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That meant she was sinning, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I figured her sin cancelled mine out.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bible</i></b>
said over and over again that we should always help those in need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There I was in dire need of a Coca Cola and
an ice cream cone, and my baby sister had not even offered to help me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That meant she had two sins to my one, and I
figured that entitled me to a free one.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I got off
the bed and walked over to the dresser, but just as I started to reach for that
jar, my baby sister Evelyn walked into the room!</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hi,
Sissy!” she greeted me.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hi,
Ev…Evelyn,” I stammered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was just
admiring your money jar. Why, it’s almost full!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I know,”
she squealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can’t wait for it to
get all the way full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I can start a
new one.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Suddenly, I
was possessed by an idea. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You know,
Evelyn, I can help you with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See
this nickel I have here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s about
twice the size of a dime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you give me
a dime out of your jar, I’ll give you this nickel and your jar will be that
much fuller!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Really?”
she innocently asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You would do that
for me?"</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I nodded my
head and said, “Uh huh.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She walked
over to the dresser, opened the jar and took out a dime. And as we traded my
nickel for her dime, she put arms around me in a big hug and said, “Oh,
Sissy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re the best sissy in the
whole wide world!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ten minutes
later, I was sitting at the counter of the Highway Pharmacy, ordering myself a
vanilla ice cream cone and a fountain Coca Cola with chipped ice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as I walked home licking that ice cream
and sipping that Coke, I thought to myself, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boy
am I smart!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What other nine-year-old
would even think of trading nickels for dimes?</i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Soon I
passed the ball field, where my brother Lee (who claimed to be in training to
be a major league pitcher) was playing catch with his friend Roy Allen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to mess with him.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey, Lee!”
I hollered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your glove is on the wrong
hand!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That
startled him and he dropped the ball. “Get outta here, goon face! You’re
messin’ with my concentration!” he sneered.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I just
laughed and kept on licking that ice cream and sipping that Coke.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The next
morning our neighbor, Mrs. Oliver, asked me to go to the little store around
the corner and get some bread and milk for her, because she didn’t want to
leave her new baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did as she asked,
and she rewarded me with a shiny new nickel.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Immediately
I went to find my baby sister Evelyn, who was in the back yard under a tree,
having a tea party with her imaginary friends.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Look,
Evelyn,” I purred, “I have another nickel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Want to trade for another dime?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She ran
into the house, lickety split, and came back with a dime. And as we traded my
nickel for her dime, she put arms around me in a big hug and said, “Oh,
Sissy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re the best sissy in the
whole wide world!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ten minutes
later, I was sitting at the counter of the Highway Pharmacy, ordering myself a
chocolate ice cream cone and a fountain Coca Cola with chipped ice. And as I
walked home licking that ice cream and sipping that Coke, I thought to myself, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I must be pretty close to being a
genius.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I keep this up, I’ll be a
millionaire by the time I’m ten</i>!</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>About that
time I passed the ball field where, once again, my brother Lee and his friend
Roy Allen were playing catch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey, Lee!”
I hollered, “Where’s that stick?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Lee turned
with his hands on his hips to look at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“What stick?” he questioned.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That ugly
stick you got beat with!” I laughed spitefully.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He just
shrugged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You got no room to talk,” he
said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re so skinny, if you turn
sideways and stick out your tongue, you look like a zipper.” <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That
hurt!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been sensitive about my
weight ever since I had passed out in school, and the principal had sent me
home with a note saying that I could not return until I had seen a doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thought I was starving, the note said.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I was
not about to let Lee know that he had gotten to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got right in his face and starting taunting
him, “COKE AND ICE CREAM! COKE AND ICE CREAM! COKE AND ICE CREAM!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then with a
big gulp, I swallowed the rest of my coke, and with a gigantic bite, I devoured
the rest of that ice cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then I
started to run, but I tripped over my shoe lace, which made Lee and Roy Allen
start laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t laughing, but I
wasn’t crying either, because there, right on the ground in front of my face
was ANOTHER NICKEL!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I scooped it up and
ran home as fast as I could</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of course,
the first thing I did was to go looking for my baby sister Evelyn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found her in our bedroom, changing the
diaper on her Betsy Wetsy doll.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Look,
Evelyn!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I announced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have another nickel!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Want to trade for another dime?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
couldn’t get to her money jar quickly enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And as we traded my nickel for her dime, she put arms around me in a big
hug and said, “Oh, Sissy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re the
best sissy in the whole wide world!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The next
afternoon, I was sitting at the lunch counter of the Highway Pharmacy, ordering
myself a vanilla ice cream cone (there were only two flavors in those days) and
a fountain Coca Cola with chipped ice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And as I walked home licking that ice cream and sipping that Coke, I
thought to myself, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God is behind me on
this!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wants me to trade nickels for
dimes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, nickels are appearing
miraculously everywhere</i>!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As I
approached the ball field, I noticed that Lee and Roy Allen were not playing
catch this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were sitting on
the curb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as I approached, Lee stood
up and walked over to meet me.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You know,
Sis,” he began, “I’ve just been sittin’ here, wonderin’ about somethin’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For three days now I’ve been seeing you walk
past here with an ice cream cone in one hand and a Coca Cola in the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what I want to know is, how can you get
ice cream AND Coca Cola three days in a row, when you get a nickel a week for
allowance, just like me?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Lee,” I
retorted, “you might be five years older than me, but I’m WAY smarter than
you.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re not
as smart as you think you are,” he informed me, “if you think that I’m gonna
believe that you all that ice cream and all that Coca Cola on just a nickel as
week allowance.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
bristled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I got my ways.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I know
that,” he nonchalantly replied. “And I know exactly what your ways are,
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See, the way I have it figgered,
Mr. Gilliam, the man behind the lunch counter at the Highway Pharmacy, feels
real sorry for you because you’re so ugly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So he gives you ice cream and Coca Cola for free.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That not
true!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I insisted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I paid for all my ice cream and Coca Cola!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ignoring my
agitation, Lee continued, “I figger that Mr. Gilliam gives you that<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ice cream and Coca Cola as soon as you walk
in the door, ‘cause he wants to get you of his store quick, before you scare
the other customers away.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now I was
really mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s not true!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paid for every bit of ice cream and Coca
Cola I got!”</div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He didn’t
believe me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ain’t no way you could have
bought all that ice cream and all that Coca Cola when you’re only gettin’ a
nickel a week.”<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
what you think!” I exploded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve been
trading our baby sister Evelyn, nickels for di…..” suddenly I realized what I
was telling him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“…uh oh… and…and you
could, too, if you wanted,” I whined.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I can’t
believe it!” Lee exclaimed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can’t
believe you’ve been cheatin’ our baby sister! I would never do that for any
amount of money!</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I named a
trade,” I reasoned frantically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She
agreed to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t name that
cheatin’”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
cheatin’, all right,” he sneered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And
I’m gonna make sure that Momma knows about it, too!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If you
tell on me, I’ll tell on you!” I threatened.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He was
indignant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What are you gonna tell on
me?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I pointed
at Roy Allen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m gonna tell that
you’ve been makin’ fun of me in front of you friend yonder!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Lee shook
his head. “I don’t care what you tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
ain’t lettin’ you cheat my baby sister no more.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As I walked
home after that confrontation, I savored every last lick of that ice cream and
every last sip of that Coke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew it
would be a long time before I got either one again.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sure
enough, as soon as Lee got home, he pulled Momma aside and whispered in her
ear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her eyes widened and her nostrils
flared as she turned towards me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Linda!” she ordered, “I want you to go to your room and think about
what you’ve done!</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I went to
my room, but I did not think about what I had done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was too busy thinking about what my momma
was going to do.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She let me
stew for a couple of hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she
came into my bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hands on her hips,
she cocked her head and said, “Linda, you sure are a smart young’un.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wonder how it is that a woman like me, with
just a sixth grade education, mind you, gave birth to a young’un smart as you?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I smiled
sweetly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“God blessed you, Momma.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He surely
did,” she responded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He blessed me with
a maid for the rest of the summer.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My baby
sister got my nickel allowance for the next three weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were just enough to fill her jar so that
she could start a new one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I spent the last 3 weeks of summer
vacation dusting, sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, washing, and polishing. Momma
passed that time lying on the devinette, eating bonbons and watching her
stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every once in a while, she
would look at me, point, and say, “You missed a spot.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It wasn’t
too hard a punishment. I could take it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What I couldn’t take was my baby sister Evelyn’s reaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came up to me and said, almost
apologetically, “Momma won’t let me trade you nickels for dimes anymore,
Sissy.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she whispered in my ear,
“She didn’t say anything about quarters, though.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I couldn’t
help myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put my arms around her
and gave her a big hug, and with tears in my eyes, I declared, “Oh, Sissy,
you’re the best sissy in the whole wide world!”</div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-66140706014852136992019-06-30T14:29:00.001-04:002019-06-30T14:29:53.477-04:00Linda Goodman's New Normal<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_5d18fbdd0fcc91c18359844">
A few months back I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, and it is taking its toll. It has affected my memory, my speaking, my eye sight, my balance, and my movement. I have good doctors, and we are working hard on improving my health. I am cancelling all my storytelling engagements for the time being.<br />
<br />
I will continue to post on my blog:<br /><a data-ft="{"tn":"-U"}" data-lynx-mode="hover" data-lynx-uri="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Flindagoodmanstoryteller.blogspot.com%2F%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR1tqH1YUEC2v1EzyfV8hVu-T4xEg3AlAwlwj7pO41SpK3WQm6DfOljoNrA&h=AT3oUEt-Tv6AOB3fwU-05zF_0kuFo7Kr5hmqgnUBypVO6O4D6PdEnPdZgVKlM-OE0uicHcVYzD79SokCHxS9XFOGiVO0mCqaC17RtKi8GVXCuiQ0GvibI4ZQWAAmjxcNqw7VlJKgtgI1o3kJV6YdRowZn5A" href="https://lindagoodmanstoryteller.blogspot.com/?fbclid=IwAR1tqH1YUEC2v1EzyfV8hVu-T4xEg3AlAwlwj7pO41SpK3WQm6DfOljoNrA" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://lindagoodmanstoryteller.blogspot.com/</a><br /> I am not sure how often.I will post. My stiff fingers make for SLOW typing. <br />
<span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span><div class="text_exposed_show">
I am in good company. Neal Diamond, MIchael J. Fox, and Linda Ronstadt also have this disease. <br />
<a data-ft="{"tn":"-U"}" data-lynx-mode="hover" data-lynx-uri="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.bing.com%2Fvideos%2Fsearch%3Fq%3DLinda%2Bronstadt%2BCBS%2BSunday%2Bmornng%2B6%252F16%252F2019%26view%3Ddetail%26mid%3D29E542212649E274557229E542212649E2745572%26FORM%3DVIRE%26fbclid%3DIwAR3BLEPZmyKrqIARFu3VPsOAWOVrXTc6Vl-VrX5DewedFmypG5CEklugWcw&h=AT1XVUXubGM59A9pRMsUe5xucqD7o3Xs4NvGzZKjbmSo30BdemSTlgalgWLGDANjG0Me8ltMcwrsGPJM1MYNZ2ORh7_uQWPHub1nX9uvQNxG8-235yNZn8rgBf4STljnxyaw_qzXeIL1mw10vm5D-FfTFqA" href="https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Linda+ronstadt+CBS+Sunday+mornng+6%2F16%2F2019&view=detail&mid=29E542212649E274557229E542212649E2745572&FORM=VIRE&fbclid=IwAR3BLEPZmyKrqIARFu3VPsOAWOVrXTc6Vl-VrX5DewedFmypG5CEklugWcw" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.bing.com/videos/search…</a><br />
<br />
"You don't die FROM Parkenson's; you die WITH it." Linda Ronstadt<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKseU5Ck4ADwN758GQ5Dk8mYPs6qF6o1CWAW3nghHTEu7BWlfY33UInGhs3LSGXmKtApBoV5MXRKPmYlPjzimVpjkDxYgtpSdtf9Fjcp9YBvfoxyuyXx1h6KjCmufEtcIo5FhKSqE-MQxg/s1600/bobbypinscd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="393" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKseU5Ck4ADwN758GQ5Dk8mYPs6qF6o1CWAW3nghHTEu7BWlfY33UInGhs3LSGXmKtApBoV5MXRKPmYlPjzimVpjkDxYgtpSdtf9Fjcp9YBvfoxyuyXx1h6KjCmufEtcIo5FhKSqE-MQxg/s320/bobbypinscd.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-85686272957670120042019-03-30T15:56:00.002-04:002019-03-30T15:56:37.828-04:00Two Ordinary Days<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Two
Ordinary Days<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">©March,
2019 Linda Goodman<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Recently I was standing in front of the
local Mall, when I noticed an attractive young woman walk out of the anchor store
and head to her car, which was situated in the back part of the parking lot. As
she walked to the car, I noticed a white truck driving slowly towards her. The
driver pulled up beside her and uttered something that I was unable to hear.
Suddenly the woman started screaming, "I know you! I can see your face!
You are not supposed to be here!" <br /> Suddenly I realized what was happening. The man was trying to get the woman
into his truck against her will. I ran quickly toward the truck, yelling
"Free ice cream cones! Come and get 'um! Free ice cream!" Others who
were in the parking lot turned their eyes toward us. It was a hot day. The
truck burned some rubber as it sped away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> A couple of teens walked up to me and requested
their free ice cream. I explained that there was no ice cream; that it was just
a ruse to get folks headed in my direction so they could scare off the fleeing man
who couldn’t take no for an answer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The following day as I was leaving my
doctor's office, a young woman walked over to me. Her skin-hugging clothes were
way too tight, and her teeth had not been brushed in a while. She seemed harmless,
though, as she exclaimed over my purse and how something so pretty could be so
useful as well. <br /> Then she said, “My niece has allergies and the doctor won't give me her
medicine because I don't have the $10 co-pay." <br />
"I'm sorry," I
said."I wish I could give the money to you, but I don't carry cash on me
when I go out." (I really would have given the money to her if I had had
the money on me.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The glass elevator stopped in front of us.
We both got on it. As the glass door closed she looked at me with a now sinister
look in her eyes. "Do you feel safe with me in this elevator?" she
asked. <br />
"Sure," I said. "Why
shouldn't I?" My radar was warning me to stay cool. I was about as far
from cool as you can get.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
"Do you really feel safe with
just the two of us in this elevator?"<br />
"It's a glass elevator," I
reminded her. "People can see us." The short elevator ride came to a
halt. She stepped off the elevator, and then looked back at me. "You're
okay," she said "But I think you really were afraid of me. And with
good reason, if you really want to know.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I giggled nervously as I watched her walk
away and get into an old black pick-up truck. She waved as she pulled out of
the parking lot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Thank God for glass elevators.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"> Just
two ordinary days.</span>Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-10548104682540554692019-02-01T16:12:00.002-05:002019-02-01T16:12:23.781-05:00BlogFYI: I will not be posting a blog for the month of January 2019.<br />
<br />
Thanks!<br />
<br />
Linda Goodman<br />
Author/Storyteller/PlaywrightLinda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-75288164103072488092018-12-21T15:30:00.000-05:002018-12-21T15:30:50.512-05:00Christmas Memories<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">By Linda Goodman, Storyteller</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">These memories are nuggets waiting to become full blown family Christmas stories.</i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>Christmas
Memories 1979, Portsmouth, VA</i>.
Seven year old Melanie and I celebrated Christmas for the first time since her
birth. I remember how excited she was to show her friends our first Christmas
tree. Bought at People’s Drug store, it stood 24 inches tall and came in a box
with ornaments and lights. I placed it in the center of an end table. Her
friends were speechless. They could not understand why Melanie was so happy to
have such a small tree.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>Christmas Memories 1982</i>
Melanie’s first new bicycle! Phil and I were engaged at the time, and he
thought Melanie should have a bike that wasn’t rusted. Melanie opened all her
presents, and she was happy with all of them. She didn’t think there were any
more to open. Phil sent her into the kitchen to get him a glass of water. She
came back with the water and asked, “Whose bicycle is that?” You should have
seen the look on her face, an amazing mixture of delight and surprise, when
Phil told her, “It’s yours.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>Christmas Memories</i>
Every year I waited to hear my bother
Allen’s Super Baby stories on Christmas Eve. Super Baby could do anything! He
saved Christmas every year as he battled the likes of Ebenezer Scrooge and the
Grinch. My mother made us go to bed at 6:00 pm on Christmas Eve. Of course, we
couldn’t sleep that early; but we weren’t bored. Allen’s stories kept us
entertained. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Christmas Memories <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">1969
- My brother Lee's first Christmas after coming home from Viet Nam. I remember
all the horror etched upon his face; but we were happy because he was home and
safe. We were certain he would bounce back quickly, surrounded by the people
who loved him. We had no idea how long that war would be fought in his head. We
had no clue what horrors he had witnessed. We were just relieved to have him
with us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Christmas Memories 1983 Christmas in Bay City, Michigan brought about
3 firsts: our first Christmas as a
family (Phil and I had gotten married in May); our first trip to actually chop
down a live tree at a local Christmas tree farm (which served hot apple cider
and popcorn balls to everyone looking for a tree); and our first white Christmas.
We also visited the little town of Frankenmuth, which was a cozy winter
wonderland at Christmas time. It took my
breath away. I have never had such a perfect Christmas. <a href="http://www.frankenmuth.org/things-to-do/christmas/">http://www.frankenmuth.org/things-to-do/christmas/</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0in; text-align: left;">
Christmas Memories <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">1958-1970
Christmas Eve services at Asbury United Methodist Church on Deep Creek
Boulevard in Portsmouth, Virginia. At the age of 6, I started out as an angel
in the chorus or our Christmas pageant and worked myself up to narrator by age
10. At 12 years of age, I was invited to join the junior choir, which
participated in the Christmas Eve Service every year. Whenever I was at that
church, I felt like I had dozens of parents and hundreds of brothers and
sisters. The people not only talked about the love of Christ, they lived it.
Asbury was closed in 2014, and I was able to attend its last service. That
church and its members will always live in my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i>Christmas Memories</i>
1970s Visiting Coleman's Nursery's Winter Wonder Land in Portsmouth, VA. The
long lines of people began this yearly ritual on the day after Thanksgiving and
did not let up until after Christmas. It was Santa's workshop brought to life,
with a special place of honor for the Nativity. Melanie and I would spend hours
there, studying each of the many scenes. Sadly, a fire destroyed this much
loved Christmas landmark. Later, the parts that could be salvaged were put on
display in downtown Portsmouth, but it was not the same. Now all that's left
are the memories.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Christmas Memories 1998-2012 Christmas dinner with my niece Sandi
Lowery's family, my sister Evelyn Wright, and my niece Rachel Davis. They dined
with us every Thanksgiving & Christmas while we lived in Richmond.
Sometimes my daughter, Melanie Goodman Deal, and her family were able to join
us. Today I am missing them all. I can't even look at the green beans (Phil's
special recipe) without choking up.</div>
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Christmas Memories 1999 Richmond, VA Due to religious convictions, I raised my
daughter, Melanie, to believe that there was no Santa. She resented that. In fact, when she grew up
and had a child of her own, I walked into her hospital room, my arms reaching
for my new granddaughter, Morgan, and Melanie clutched her baby close, growling,
“This child <i>will</i> believe in Santa
Clause!” What could I do but play along?
And I must admit that when I awakened on the Christmas day that Morgan
was three years old, the first year she was aware of all the hoopla, I was
thrilled to hear her sit up in bed and loudly call out, “Did he come?” Then I
watched in awe as she walked downstairs and entered the wonderland of toys that
her pawpaw and her daddy had assembled for her.
She went from one to the other, hugging her new doll, playing her new
keyboard, unpacking her tea set….. Finally laughing in delight as she spotted
the empty plate and glass that had held cookies and milk for Santa. She was
speechless when she found the letter that Santa had left for her. She was
smiling and crying at the same time as her mother read the letter to her. I
must admit that I shed a few tears of my own as I watched her big blue eyes
widen with wonder. </div>
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Christmas Memories 1962 Opening presents around the tree with my
family. I rarely ever got what I wanted, but I still felt blessed. My two best
friends had been abandoned by their fathers. Their mothers had to go on welfare
until they found jobs (that paid much less than was needed to support their
families). I, on the other hand, had two parents who loved their kids and each
other. I also had been taken in, along with several other children in my
neighborhood, by a church that treated kids who attended church by themselves
like family. Without the examples set and the love offered by my family and my
church, who knows how my life would have progressed. God made sure that I ended
up in the right place. There are no coincidences. </div>
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Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-30840270929309640102018-11-29T17:15:00.001-05:002018-11-29T17:15:58.354-05:00A Different Kind of Guest<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">By Linda Goodman<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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(From Luke 7:36-50)</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Good
morning. My name is Rachel and I am the daughter of Simon the Pharisee. My
father is a well respected man, who often invites other important men to be
guests at our table. Last night, however, was different. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pharisee </i>means <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">separate</i>.
The name serves us well, as Pharisees to not like to keep company with people
who are not Jewish, or Jews who do not follow the same practices that we do.
That is why I was surprised when my father announced that Jesus would be a
guest in our home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Jesus
of Nazareth... .have you heard of him? He is a vagabond who keeps company with
the rabble; the peasants, tax collectors and women of ill repute. Our guests
are usually great men who wear the finest clothes and have servants to attend
their every need. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">When
Jesus entered our home he was dressed in the garb of a simple peasant. I
expected that, but he was not even clean! He was covered with dust from his
head to his filthy feet! He looked as though he had walked miles through the
wilderness without bathing for days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My
father was so disgusted that he refused to offer Jesus the simple courtesies
that were normally afforded our honored guests. He did not have Jesus’ feet
washed, as was the custom. Neither did he give him the expected kiss of welcome
that would have been followed by the anointing of Jesus head with olive oil. My
father merely said, “This is Jesus of Nazareth, who has gained quite a
reputation of late. Let us sit down at the table.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
servants were just beginning to bring us our meal, when a strange woman walked
through the front door. Many of the lower class pass our home when we have
important, or, in this case, infamous, guests. None, however, would dare to
enter our home without an invitation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My
mother gasped when she saw the woman, and when I looked at the woman’s face I
understood why. This woman was the town harlot! Whenever I saw this woman
walking down the road, I would cross to the other side and look away. One must
not keep company with, or even acknowledge, such a vile being!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No doubt she did very well plying her chosen
trade, for she wore scarlet robes made of the finest silk, and her sandals were
studded with pearls and rubies. In her arms she carried an exquisite alabaster jar
that was filled with sweet perfume. She must have paid a fortune for it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">She
took no note of my family. She ran straight to Jesus, where she knelt at his
feet and began sobbing. She cried so hard that her tears, like rain, washed
over Jesus feet, turning the dirt to mud. Horrified, she undid her long hair, all
the while begging, “Please forgive me, Lord. Please forgive.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wiped Jesus’ feet clean with her own
hair!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she kissed his feet and
poured the perfume from the jar on to them, gently massaging it into his skin.
And Jesus let her do these things!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My
horrified father muttered under his breath, “And I thought this man might be a
prophet! He does not even know what this woman is!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Jesus
must have excellent hearing, for he heard every word that my father said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Simon,
I wish to tell you a story,” Jesus announced. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I
know a banker,” Jesus continued, “who was owed money by two men. One owed him
fifty silver coins. The other owed him 500 silver coins. Neither could pay his
debt, and the banker decided to forgive the debts of both men. Which of these
men, Simon, do you think was more grateful to the banker?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I
do not see what that has to do with anything,” my father retorted, “but I would
judge that the man who owed the banker 500 coins would have been the more
grateful of the two.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“You
are correct,” Jesus told him. “Those who have been forgiven more are more
grateful than those who have been forgiven little.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Jesus
turned back to the woman and placed his hand on her head as he continued
speaking to my father. "Simon, I am a guest in your home, yet you did not wash
my feet. You did not welcome me with a kiss or anoint my head with olive oil.
This woman, on the other hand, has washed my feet with her tears and dried them
with her hair. She has <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>kissed my feet
and anointed them with sweet perfume.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
could see my father’s face turning red with rage as Jesus told him, “This woman
has sinned much, and she will be forgiven much. She will be more grateful for
that forgiveness than any Pharisee would be.” Then Jesus said to the woman,
“Go, woman. Your sins are forgiven.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">After
Jesus left our home, my father and the others laughed. “What makes him think
that he has the power to forgive a woman like that?” they roared. “He must
think he is God!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
did not join in the laughter. I did not laugh because I had seen that woman’s
face as she left our home. I saw serenity there, and a peace that I cannot begin
to understand in one so damaged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
want that peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tomorrow I will go find
this man Jesus. You are welcome to come with me if you like. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-7547874391822921872018-10-28T16:12:00.002-04:002018-10-28T16:12:55.337-04:00Straddling the Fence<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Straddling the Fence</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">By Linda Goodman</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVg51ljacEuApc7y5lenkCMV-JoW3R8DWUtgzfmIjdf0cjsxlCVhpF9Yt__ApVf_ZWg7E3IEYrPJknIprxUJ2OezRX2PzkI3VSbnuL9th8alTrexUYsNzL4Ds6xf7skJelux4HQ7M_LPMK/s1600/Linda+Book+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="759" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVg51ljacEuApc7y5lenkCMV-JoW3R8DWUtgzfmIjdf0cjsxlCVhpF9Yt__ApVf_ZWg7E3IEYrPJknIprxUJ2OezRX2PzkI3VSbnuL9th8alTrexUYsNzL4Ds6xf7skJelux4HQ7M_LPMK/s200/Linda+Book+2.jpg" width="178" /></a>©Linda Goodman 2012</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Recently an
old friend sent me an article on <span style="mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">building confidence through
storytelling</span>. As I read it, my mind rewound to my childhood, when my own
crisis of confidence was reaching a boiling point.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In 1958, my
daddy accepted a job at the <span style="mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">Norfolk Naval Shipyard</span> and moved our
family from the ultra-rural <span style="mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">Appalachian Mountains</span> of <span style="mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">Wise County, Virginia</span> to Williams Court, an urban slum in <span style="mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">Portsmouth, Virginia</span>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many
of the Mountaineers who had migrated to the <span style="mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">Tidewater area of
Virginia</span> settled in Williams Court, so we were among our own kind, for
the most part. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I thought
that Williams Court was grand! The apartments had running water, which meant
that outhouses and long walks to springs (to fill water buckets) were no longer
necessary. Because we were no longer living in isolation, I had lots of other
kids to play with. I learned to excel at <span style="mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">kickball</span> and <span style="mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">hopscotch</span>. I decided that city living was paradise.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>School,
however, changed that idyllic metaphor. I heard other kids in my class talk
about how they were not allowed to go to Williams Court. When I asked why, they
said that Williams Court was always in the newspaper, in the crime section.
Their parents had read them articles on murders, robberies, and “nasty stuff”
that went on there. Parents followed the article readings with a stern warning:
“Unless you want to end up dead or worse, stay away from Williams Court!” They
made Williams Court sound like Dodge City, from the television show <span style="mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">Gunsmoke</span>, where you were just as likely to get shot as to get
your supper. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I decided
to keep where I lived a secret. When my classmates asked where I lived, I
either evaded the question or lied about living out in the country, where my
rich daddy had a butler who drove me back and forth to school every day. I
pretended not to know the kids who were my neighbors.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Like most
secrets, mine was eventually exposed. During my third grade year, when a triple
homicide in my apartment building made the front page of the <span style="mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">Virginia Pilot</span><span style="mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">,</span> the article was accompanied by a photo of my apartment building
with what was clearly my face, eyes staring out into the explosion of light
that shattered the dark night, pressed against a front window. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was
screwed. The friends that I had made in school had no use for me now, except to
ask morbid questions to get details of that awful night from me. For about a
week, I was a celebrity. After that week, I was a pariah. I felt like one of
the lepers I had studied in Sunday School.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My life at
home was not much better. The friends who had once good naturedly challenged me
to a game of hopscotch resented the way I had “put on airs” as I wooed
“stuck-up” kids in school to be my social brethren.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a pariah to them as well. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My brothers
thought I had gotten what was coming to me. My sister felt sorry for me. My
momma said, “This, too, shall pass.” Daddy told me this experience would make
me stronger and smarter. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I did not
feel stronger or smarter. I was straddling the fence between two worlds,
neither of which wanted me as a citizen. The only time I felt like I belonged
anywhere was when my third teacher discovered that I had a knack for
storytelling and began to ask me to tell stories to the class during those rare
times that she ran out of work for us. I told stories that I had heard my daddy
tell, as well as fairy tales and myths that I had read. I always made the kids
laugh, and for the rest of the day I would feel like I had added something
special to our dreary classroom. I was careful, however, to keep my secrets
close.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Years
later, when I was chosen Valedictorian of my high school class, I had the
opportunity to speak about serious matters during the graduation ceremony.
Instead of a speech, I shared a story that began with that awful shooting that
took place during my third grade year. As painful as my school years were, I
concluded, I had grown stronger and smarter because of that pain, just as my
father had predicted so many years earlier. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After my
story had ended, my teachers and my classmates, both inside and outside my
neighborhood, surrounded me. Some shook my hand; some held me tight; most just
shouted hurrah! </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Through
storytelling, I had shared my shame and had been applauded for it. I sat on the
fence no longer. I was whole. </div>
<br />Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-61726739975870032122018-09-30T15:10:00.000-04:002018-09-30T15:10:12.468-04:00Eyes of God<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">©Linda Goodman September
29, 2018<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Matthew 25:40 (NIV)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Truly I tell you,
whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine,
you did it for me.”</span></i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I could not help
but notice her when she came into the room. She was a thin older woman whose
hair had been bleached blonde. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What
made me notice her, though, was her eye makeup. Her dark black eye liner had
been applied heavily all the way around both her eyes. She looked
like a raccoon. Her husband was with her, and they walked to the back of the
room and took seats there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ever
since my husband and I had moved to Richmond, Virginia in September, 1998, I
had wanted to teach my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Storytelling In
the Ministry</i> workshop at the Virginia United Methodist Assembly Center
(VUMAC) in Blackstone, Virginia. In 2000 I sent in a proposal to the powers
that be, and my workshop was selected to be one of the classes available to
students attending the February, 2000 Lay Speakers School. I was informed that
at least six students must sign up for the class in order for it to be a part of
the weekend. I asked that class membership be capped at twenty students. This
was the number that would ensure that each student would be allowed enough time
for some deep storytelling work during the three day workshop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
twenty seats in my class filled up quickly. Those whose did not get into the
workshop were put on a waiting list, in case someone had to drop out. I was on
cloud nine! My bucket list was one bucket shorter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
class covered three types of stories: Bible stories; traditional stories with
Biblical themes; and personal (testimony) stories. I had made my reputation as
a skilled storyteller by writing and telling personal stories around the
country. My stories were carefully crafted, and I told them straight from my
heart. This was why so many had signed up for the workshop. Everybody had a
personal story to tell, and I heard incredible stories that weekend; stories of
miracles; stories of heartbreak; stories of joy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
last person to share a story that weekend was the woman with the raccoon eyes.
As she stood up in front of the class, I again wondered why she had applied her
makeup in such a gaudy way. I just knew it was going to take away the power of
her story. The others students would most likely be so distracted by her eye
make-up that they would not be paying the needed amount of attention to the story.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
woman introduced herself to the class in a shy manner. She also introduced her
husband and publicly thanked him for being her driver for the weekend. She had
not driven since she had retired several years earlier from her job as an ER
nurse. The story she planned to tell had occurred while she was still a nurse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Her story began:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
was just beginning my shift, when three people were rushed into the ER,” she
explained. “On the way to visiting their family, there was an accident. A
thunderstorm had erupted suddenly and caused the man, who was driving, to run
into a tree. Upon reaching the ER the man who had been driving and the woman
beside him (his wife) were pronounced dead. Their six month old baby was still
living, but the doctors examining him were convinced that the baby would not
live long.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How horrible! I</i> said to myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leaned forward so that I could see her
better. Her facial expressions and graceful movement drew me deeper into her
story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
woman continued:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“One
of the interns did some quick research and was able to discover the names of
the family members. Further research resulted in the names and phone number of
the baby’s grandparents. The doctor went into his office to call them. When he
came back into the ER he told us that the grandparents were several hours away
and could not possibly get to the hospital before the baby died. I asked him what
I could do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
doctor looked at me and, with a grim smile, told me that the grandparents had made
just one request. They wanted their grandchild to leave this world wrapped in
love. They wanted someone to hold the baby until it passed. ‘Nurse, do you
think you can do that?’ the doctor asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
tried to explain to the doctor that if I held that child as he asked, I would
be haunted by nightmares for years to come. I could not do as he had asked me
because I was scared. Already I was feeling shivers creeping up and down my
spine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
doctor said he understood, but would like me to give it some more thought. After
all, the grandparents had asked for just that one thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
did think about it. I felt guilty. I felt helpless. But in the end, I agreed to
hold the baby, as its grandparents had requested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
sat down in a rocking chair in a dimly lit room. The baby was brought to me and
laid on my lap. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I snuggled it gently in
my arms. I ran my right hand through its soft, white hair. I waited,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
held the child in my arms for what seemed like hours; but in fact, only a half
hour had passed when I felt the baby shiver. I looked down into the child’s
face. ITS STEEL BLUE EYES WERE OPEN! THEY WERE LOOKING INTO MY EYES! They seemed
so deep; so calm; so holy as the child’s spirit left its body. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like I was looking into the eyes of
God.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At
this point, the story was over. The woman raised her head from the invisible
baby she had been tending and looked out into the audience with her steel blue
eyes. That raccoon makeup made them look iridescent. They were so deep; so
calm; so holy. I felt like I was looking into the eyes of </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">God. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<a h="ID=Serp.1,5010.1" href="https://www.facebook.com/BCRC.VUMAC/" target="_blank"><img data-bm="36" data-th="A4dwRRpIlLyeaQg480x360" src="" /></a>Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-81007687297812400892018-08-19T16:20:00.000-04:002018-08-20T14:38:34.736-04:00Beauty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 16px;">©Linda Goodman Aug/2018</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJ4SUaYSXOw5zHsBQdHqLDj0r_COEUIh5NSCBpOWqZ3_TDBoukwcOmY49rayCcNoOY7w7hzSAAHq5D95ojb8GPMzqkp-oKOZlDX0dEdpNIM3HKwFf6cRTzreoaGqCSQ4X_XLD84NxPsot/s1600/Linda+and+baby+sister+Evelyn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="323" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJ4SUaYSXOw5zHsBQdHqLDj0r_COEUIh5NSCBpOWqZ3_TDBoukwcOmY49rayCcNoOY7w7hzSAAHq5D95ojb8GPMzqkp-oKOZlDX0dEdpNIM3HKwFf6cRTzreoaGqCSQ4X_XLD84NxPsot/s200/Linda+and+baby+sister+Evelyn.jpg" width="189" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My baby sister Evelyn and me in our middle teens</div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I have
always loved my baby sister, Evelyn. She is beautiful inside and out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was six years old, Evelyn
was three. At that age her thick, straight golden hair hung to the middle of
her back. Sometimes our mother would plait Evelyn’s hair, or use rubber bands
to make two pony tails, one on either side of her head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Evelyn’s eyes were the purest
color of blue. Their color was deep, but there was a silver glint to them, or
so it seemed to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Evelyn was a happy, healthy child
who played outdoors all day long when the weather allowed it. As a result, her
skin took on a rosy hue. Sometimes she would get a bit of sunburn on her cute up-turned nose, and it would peel; but even that did not distract from
her beauty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My best friend Carole also had a baby sister. Her sister’s name was Ann, and she, too, was a beautiful little
girl. She was the same age as Evelyn, but her hair was pearl white, not golden.
Her eyes were emerald green, and she had a bridge of freckles across her cute,
up-turned nose. She spent the summer outdoors wearing nothing but her underpants.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I couldn’t believe her mother let her do
that</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One day, Carol and I were
sitting on the cement steps in front of my apartment building. We were watching
Ann play in the sandbox my daddy had made. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Don’t you think Ann is
beautiful?” Carol asked me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“She is very beautiful,” I
assured her. “I think she is the second most beautiful girl in this neighborhood.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Second?” Carole was
astounded. “Who do you think is more beautiful than Ann?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My baby sister Evelyn, of
course,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Carole was starting to get
mad. “Take that back!” she yelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You
know that Ann is the most beautiful! Look at her! She has pure white hair. Just
like an angel”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Bible</i></b> doesn’t say
what color angel hair is,” I informed her. “Besides, my baby sister has golden
hair. Golden is more beautiful than white.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Your baby sister’s hair is not
gold. Her hair is the color of a graham cracker,” Carol insisted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“That is not true,” I barked
back at her. “Evelyn’s hair is so golden that every six months we take her to
the beauty parlor to get it cut. The beauty parlor gives us $100 every time
they cut Evelyn’s hair, and then they make wigs out of it. Those wigs
sell for $500.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“So what?” Carol replied. “Your
sister’s nose is always peeling. You can’t even enter a beauty contest if your
nose is peeling.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘That’s not true!” I told her.
“I watch the Miss America Contest every year, and over half the contestants
have peeling noses. I already talked to the president of the pageant about it,
and they have already signed my baby sister to be in the pageant in 1968! My
daddy has a contract!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You are a liar,” she accused
me. “Nobody makes wigs out of your baby sister’s hair, and you don’t know
anything about the Miss America pageant except that your baby sister isn’t
going to be in it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Carole stood up and started to
walk away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I stood up and hollered loud
enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, “At least my baby sister doesn’t run
around the neighborhood in her underpants all summer!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Carol turned back to face me.
She shook a fist at me and seemed ready to rumble, but suddenly a big, goofy
smile came across her face. The smile turned into a laugh. She was laughing so
hard she could barely breathe. So were neighbors who had been paying attention
to our argument. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I turned around to we what was
so funny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There stood my beautiful baby
sister Evelyn…. wearing nothing but her underpants. I started to yell at her,
but I lost control and started laughing along with everyone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Evelyn paid no attention to
the laughter. She stepped into the sandbox and started playing with Ann. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My sister is the smartest girl in the whole neighborhood,” said
Ann. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“That’s not true,” Evelyn
insisted. “My sister is even smarter than her.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-69004552428518841042018-07-31T15:47:00.002-04:002018-07-31T15:47:11.782-04:00Tige<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 8.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 7;"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 8.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">TED<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>LEE WRIGHT, 17 FEBRUARY 1999</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey Plowboy, what’s up?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m going home tonight, Doug.” said Tommy. ”I’m gettin’
all my gear together & gettin’ ready to check out. Yep, goin’ home tonight.
I can hardly wait.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You sure you want to leave the Corp? It can be a great
career, Plowboy. Why not re-enlist, I’m going to.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tommy Wilson got the nickname “Plowboy” because he lived
on a large farm in Nebraska. Almost everyone in the Marine Corp had a nickname
of some kind. Tomorrow was special day for Tommy, after 3 years & 5 days,
he was leaving the Marines. He had made it through Vietnam with several wounds
but still hadn’t received his Purple Heart.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No, don’t think I will. I like the Marines but I have to
get back & help mom with the farm. She’s kinda countin’ on me to keep it
running. Besides, I like farming even better. Another thing, I can’t wait to
get home & see ol’ Tige.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ol’ Tige? Who’s that, your girl?” laughed Doug.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Very funny. Ol’ Tige is my dog. We’ve had him almost 10
years. He’s 70 years old in dog years.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You sure that’s not your girl?” said Doug, picking at
Tommy. ”That sure sounds like one of those country names. Hee, Hee, Hee,
Hee...”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tommy glared at Doug. They had been friends since
bootcamp. They had a great relationship & would constantly joke on each
other.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We got Tige when I was 8 years old. When I was 10, Tige
saved me from an enraged bull that gored my dad to death. After it trampled
dad, it turned on me. Tige jumped in & got that bulls’ attention, giving me
enough time to escape. Tige wound up with a few bumps & bruises but he was
OK. After my dads’ funeral, mom depended on me to keep the farm going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were doing OK until the Army was going to
draft me. I didn’t want to join the Army, so I enlisted in the Marine Corp.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, you made a good decision there.” said Doug, ”Hey
Plowboy, I have to get back in the field. If I don’t see you any more, good
luck with your farm. I really mean that, Tommy. And tell ol’ Tige that Doug
says hi, OK?” said Doug, extending his hand to Tommy.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tommys’ eyes were beginning to tear up. This was one of
the few times that Doug had called him by his given name. They had been through
bootcamp & infantry training together. Leaving infantry training, they were
sent to California for more serious training. From there, it was a short hop to
Nam. They were split up but were reunited once they reached the states. Both
had made sergeant while in Nam.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Doug,” said Tommy, ”I’m afraid a handshake just won’t do
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Both men grabbed each other, hugged & patted each
other on the back. When they parted, there were tears in their eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Doug took out a handkerchief & wiped his eyes. ”I
better get my gear & let<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">you finish packing. No
telling what the Gunny would say if he came in here & saw <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">us blubbering like babies.
You take care of yourself & look after your mom, the farm, & ol’ Tige,
you hear?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I will, Doug. And good luck to you in your Marine Corp
career.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Tell you what, I’ve got your address. How ‘bout around
Christmas, if I come & visit you for a few days? I’m sure my folks wouldn’t
mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What about your girl?” asked Tommy.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh, I can see her anytime. Besides, we won’t be getting
together that often. With the Corp keeping me busy & the farm keeping you
busy, when are we going to find time, right? So, Christmas will be our last
time getting together.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re right, there.” replied Tommy. ”But you’re welcome
to visit any time you get the chance.” Tommy winked at Doug & smiled,
”We’ll<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>keep a light on fer ya.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, you do that.” replied Doug, smiling. ”You just
wait. In about 4 or 5 years, I’ll be an officer. Hey listen, plowboy, you keep
your nose clean & take real good care of everyone.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No problem, I will.” replied Tommy, waving to Doug, as
he left the barracks. Tommy looked around. The barracks was empty. Morning
muster had been made & everyone scattered to their jobs. Tommy was left
alone to pack his gear. The First Sergeant & Gunny had come in earlier to
wish him good luck. All his barrack mates talked him before they had to leave. Tommy
had finished packing & got his signout papers. By 4 PM, he had made his
various rounds & got the needed signatures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The recruiting officer tried to get him to re-enlist, promising him 30
days leave & staff sergeants stripes. Tommy turned him down.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Here he was at the bus station waiting for the Greyhound.
It was 6 PM & the bus wasn’t due until 7. Between waiting & changing
buses, it would be between <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">2 AM & 3 AM before he
got home. Once he got off the bus, Tommy had several miles to walk before reaching
home. He didn’t mind that at all. He’d walked all his life. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When Tommy was younger, he & Tige would take long walks
in the woods. They would lie on one of the many flat boulders & look at the
stars. Out in the country you could see the stars more clearly. In the city,
all the lights prevented this. When it got deep into the country, it got dark.
The cities were lit 24 hours a day. Tommy preferred the farm, his mom, &
especially Tige, his faithful dog.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At each bus
stop, if Tommy wasn’t reading a book, he’d be talking about Tige with anyone
who’d listen. Finally at 12:30 AM, he caught the final bus. He’d be home in just
a few hours. Tommy sat back in his seat & closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept
for 2 days. He was excited that had gotten his final orders:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Homeward bound!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As Tommy
slept, he dreamed that he was back on the farm. He was surrounded by bears
& mountain lions. They were ready to pounce when Tige came bounding in
& fought them off. Tommy kneeled & rubbed Tige. He was glad that he had
Tige...he was Tommy’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>best friend.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Son....Son....” Tommy felt someone gently shaking him.
He opened his eyes & saw the bus driver standing beside him. “I think this
is your stop, son. I’ve put your baggage on the platform. You be careful on the
way home, it’s pitch dark out there. You can hardly see your hand in front of
your face.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“OK, thanks.” said Tommy wiping his face & combing
his hair. At this time <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">of night, Tommy knew that
his mom wouldn’t be here. Actually he never wrote to tell her he was coming
home. He wanted to surprise her. Tommy stood for a few minutes, trying to get
his bearings. This was the darkest that he’d ever seen it. It was like being in
a room with the lights out & no window. Tommy bent down to get his bag
& felt something wet touching his hand. In the darkness, he could barely
make out what it was....it was Tige! Tommy wondered if his faithful dog had met
the bus every day. He reached over to pet Tige & he bounded out of Tommys’s
reach. He picked up his bag & looked towards Tige.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“OK fella, you go ahead & I’ll follow. You can find
the way better than me. Now, don’t you get too far ahead of me. It’s kinda dark
out here & you sure blend in with it.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tige would stay just within seeing distance of Tommy. At
one point, Tommy heard water lapping at the edges below. If it hadn’t been for
Tige, Tommy would have fallen into the deep water. He searched his mind &
remembered reading that they were suppose to build a dam where the old road
was. Tommy was really lucky to have Tige with him. They inched this way &
that, when finally they came to a straight road. In the distance, Tommy saw the
outline against they sky. He was home! From here he could see the porch light.
They always left it on in case of emergencies. Tommy watched as Tige bounded
away & waited for him on the porch. He could see Tige laying on the porch,
waiting for him.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tommy knocked several times before his mom came to the
door. After opening the screen door, he gave his mom a great big hug &
kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Honey, why didn’t you tell me you were coming home? I
would’ve stayed up & waited for you. Your girlfriend, Sharon, is really
going to be surprised when she comes over tomorrow. We usually talk about you
& those letters you send us. Tommy, I’m really glad you’re home. You
must’ve got my letter about the dam being built because I see you made it here
safely.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No mom, I didn’t get your letter. You really didn’t have
to worry about me though, because ol’ Tige met the bus. If it hadn’t been for
him, I’d be as good as dead. He stayed right beside me as we wandered along that
trail. He really saved my life tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tommy reached down to pet Tige but he wasn’t there. He
looked towards the screen door & saw it was still open. Tommy smiled and
turned his attention back to his mom. There was a strange look on her face.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What is it mom? What’s the matter?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I hadn’t planned on telling you until tomorrow, but now
you have to know. When you left, it broke his heart. Tige died.......3 years
ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>“Tige, you were faithful, faithful to the
end,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tige,
how I loved you, you were my best friend.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Based on a song sung by Jim Reeves<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Story Written by
Ted Lee Wright<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-73469913696933314462018-06-28T17:00:00.004-04:002018-06-28T17:00:49.618-04:00First Kiss<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">©Linda Goodman
6/28/18<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was an eight-year-old second
grader when I saw the moving truck pull up to our apartment building. The
apartment below ours was empty, so we could stomp on our floors without
worrying about the noise we made. We were going to miss that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I watched as the moving men
brought all the furniture into the apartment. Once the movers had finished unloading,
the family that would be occupying the apartment arrived. The father was skinny
and tall and wore a tee shirt that said <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">FOLLOW
ME TO JESUS </b>on the back. The mother was plump and happy. Her thick eyeglasses
looked like they had been made by the Coca Cola Bottling Company. Between the
parents were three boys. The youngest one looked to be about my age. Just one look
at that boy made my heart pound. I had never been interested in boys before, but
that was about to change. He looked at me through bright his hazel eyes and I knew
right away that I was a goner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The next afternoon, Brother Lee
and Brother Allen invited those boys to go to the baseball field with them and
play some catch. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All three of them went.
When they got back home in the late afternoon, they looked tired and happy at
the same time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That evening, I asked Brother
Allen what the boys’ names were. He said, “Tommy, Danny, and Mikey.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Trying not to appear too
inquisitive, I asked, “Which one is the youngest?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That would be Mikey, and he’s
too little to play baseball,” Brother Allen complained. Suddenly his eyebrows
shot up and he said, “Wait a minute. Are you in love with Mikey?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I ain’t in love with nobody but
Jesus,” I insisted. But that was a lie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The next morning as I was
walking to school, I saw Mikey, walking all by himself. I ran to catch up with
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hi, Mikey. I’m Linda,” I told
him breathlessly. “Why are you walking by yourself when you’ve got two
brothers?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“They think I’m too little to
walk with them. I can’t keep up,” he explained, then asked, “How do you know my
name?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Brother Allen told me. My name’s
Linda.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I must have been bolder than I remember,
because, without hesitation I blurted out, “I want you for my boyfriend. “<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He looked at me like I was
crazy. “My mama says I can’t be a boyfriend until I’m at least 14 years old. I’m
only eight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What she don’t know won’t hurt
her,” I protested. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It don’t work that way with my
mama. She knows everything,” he replied. Then he took off running and howling
like he was being chased by a banshee. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was not about to let him get
away with that, so I started running after him, yelling, “Mikey, I am going to
catch you and kiss you!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He just ran faster, and I could
not catch up with him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The following morning, I watched
out the kitchen window until I saw him walk out of our building. Immediately I
ran down the stairs and out the door chasing after him. Once again, I yelled,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mikey, I’m going to catch you and kiss you!”
Once again, he started running and left me behind in a cloud of dust. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They say that the third is the
charm, but that was not true in my case. I chased that boy to school for two
weeks, and never even got close to kissing him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once cool, brisk Monday morning,
however, I woke up with a runny nose, a sore throat, and watery eyes. I also
had a hoarse cough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mama said I should
stay home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was tempted, but I could not
even imagine a day without Mikey. “It’s just a cold,” I said. “I’ll be fine,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I began my day as usual, finding
Mikey and running after him, arms opened wide so I could grab him when I got close
enough to kiss. As always, he ran faster than me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Suddenly, I stopped. I
remembered that colds are contagious, and I could not bear the thought of cute
little Mikey, my almost boyfriend, getting sick because of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started walking to school at my regular
pace. That kiss would just have to wait. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Imagine my shock when I realized
that Mikey had stopped running. He wasn’t even walking. He was standing still,
waiting for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You give up too soon,” he told
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Before I realized what was
happening, he wrapped his arms around me and gave me a big, sloppy kiss on my
lips; but it was a long kiss, and I could not breathe through my stuffed up
nose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I struggled to get away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When the kiss finally ended, he
said, “Wow! I must have really turned you on. You couldn’t even catch your
breath.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The next morning Mikey had a
cold and stayed home from school. I guess girls are tougher than boys.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> As for me, I did not chase him anymore. Kissing was not what it was cracked up to be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<o:p></o:p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bZLSBATedNQV3HBi-eMnqyB2lVJfzCN7iCCQZ_VpeAcacdY4BD-3A5WBhf2afC7UWPxF9eUFlHnVdPna-L8AlmC3ZwXYFvqmbzKPUpkg7d5ANOcTOX2y7aOJnqu6K86Sj4u861tY_h-3/s1600/Linda+1962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="396" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bZLSBATedNQV3HBi-eMnqyB2lVJfzCN7iCCQZ_VpeAcacdY4BD-3A5WBhf2afC7UWPxF9eUFlHnVdPna-L8AlmC3ZwXYFvqmbzKPUpkg7d5ANOcTOX2y7aOJnqu6K86Sj4u861tY_h-3/s320/Linda+1962.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-13607361437777446662018-05-09T15:37:00.000-04:002018-05-09T15:39:43.687-04:00On Graduation<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; mso-outline-level: 3; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; mso-outline-level: 3; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In honor
of Morgan Leigh Deal’s Graduation from the University of South Carolina <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; mso-outline-level: 3; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">May 11,
2018<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; mso-outline-level: 3; tab-stops: 249.0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">©Linda Goodman, June 1970<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
said, “There’s a cold, cruel world outside.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Please
listen to us and try to abide by our rules. Stay Inside.” <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So we
did.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
some met failure, and some knew success,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
some didn’t bother; they couldn’t care less.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
now the time’s come. We’ll be sheltered no more.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt; tab-stops: 350.25pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We’ll run to be free.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We’ll
unbar all the doors.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
we’ll take our ideals,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
we’ll take our false gods<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
try to work miracles where others have trod.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
we’ll say we want peace, yet we’ll follow the road<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Where
God is the plotter and Man is the mold.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
when we’ve worked hard and achieved to our best, <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
our souls have grown weary and ready for rest, <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
we’ll remember these fast flying years <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.85pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">With
laughter and wonder and warmth and tears.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br />Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-72202679106401554142018-04-30T14:29:00.002-04:002018-04-30T14:56:50.954-04:00Evvie Miser<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
This story was written to honor Earth Day (April 20)</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Copyright Linda
Goodman 1994<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllHRVvOncVewRiJEw0GFcL4rrr7NRqPUy-7CEsYuEmyAPmIjQ9CoANW4uDNhuraiwyMsfxtfiol9CNCRXTYtdsjvvrJ6nAxk-q-E7A5lX9Evj5ZF4PehoBngWOZGPmw7h71MLe6wLPyiW/s1600/Starburst+Photo+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="740" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllHRVvOncVewRiJEw0GFcL4rrr7NRqPUy-7CEsYuEmyAPmIjQ9CoANW4uDNhuraiwyMsfxtfiol9CNCRXTYtdsjvvrJ6nAxk-q-E7A5lX9Evj5ZF4PehoBngWOZGPmw7h71MLe6wLPyiW/s200/Starburst+Photo+1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Evvie Miser was the meanest person
in the town of Cleanville. Some people even said she was the meanest woman in
the world. She did not care about her neighbors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did not care about animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she for sure did not care about the environment!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
But Evvie Miser was also the
wealthiest person in the town of Cleanville.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She owned the big paper mill that was responsible for all the pollution
in town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its smokestacks belched out
black smoke that filled the air, and Evvie Miser thought nothing of dumping her
mill waste in the nearby river. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Once, a town councilman tried to
get a law passed that would require Evvie Miser to buy new, environmentally
friendly equipment for her mill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he
forgot that half of the town worked for Evvie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She called all her employees together and told them that if that law
passed, she would close the mill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
had no intention of spending her hard earned money on new equipment when the
equipment she already had worked perfectly fine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Naturally, all the people who
worked for Evvie Miser were afraid to vote for the law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They did not want to lose their jobs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so they voted against it, and the law
did not pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That town councilman was
voted out of office at the next election, and the air in Cleanville got more
and more polluted, until you could not find a man, woman, or child who did not
wheeze and cough.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
One morning, Evvie Miser got to
work nice and early.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She walked right
past her secretary, Miss Hoper, without saying a word, as usual, when she
noticed something in the office had changed!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Miss Hoper had two wastebaskets sitting beside her desk!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What is the meaning of this?”
Evvie Miser demanded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Did I authorize
the purchase of an extra wastebasket?”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“No, Mrs. Miser, you didn’t.” Miss
Hoper replied softly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But it cost only
three dollars, and I thought it was time we started recycling here at Miser
Paper Mill.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Well think again!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evvie Miser waved her hands over her head and
stamped her foot in anger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You either
return that wastebasket or I will deduct it from your paycheck, and you will be
relieved of your duties here!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recycling
takes extra time, and I don’t pay my employees to waste time.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Yes, Mrs. Miser,” Miss Hoper
whispered as she gently wiped tears from her eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re the boss.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“And don’t you forget it!” Evvie
Miser retorted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
That afternoon, as Evvie was
driving home in her gas guzzling SUV. She stopped at the Burger Doodle for
dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She threw a fit when the girl
behind the counter gave her a hamburger and French fries wrapped in paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she got even madder when her coffee was
served in a paper cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What is the meaning of this?”
Evvie demanded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That hot food and drink
will burn my hands through that paper!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What happened to the Styrofoam that you usually serve your food in?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s the only reason I eat here!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The girl behind the counter had
never seen Evvie Miser so mad!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Paper is
better for the environment, Mrs. Miser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Styrofoam is not biodegradable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We have decided to run a green business here at Burger Doodle. We use
only recycled paper now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Biodegradable, schmiodegradable!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I can’t have my food served in Styrofoam,
take it back!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I refuse to get third
degree burns just so you can feel good about the environment!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evvie Miser complained.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The girl behind the counter got
some left over Styrofoam containers and cups from the back of the kitchen, and
she took Evvie Miser’s food out of the paper wrappers and put it in a Styrofoam
box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she poured Evvie Miser’s
coffee into a Styrofoam cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please
come back, Mrs. Miser,” She pleaded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We
want your business here at Burger Doodle.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“That’s more like it!” said
Evvie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she ate her food and drove
home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When she got home, it was
dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So Evvie Miser went to bed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
At midnight, she was awakened by a
strange noise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sounded like tin cans
banging together!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She turned on her
light and there beside her bed stood her dead husband’s ghost!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was covered with garbage! He smelled
rotten, and he was dragging a long line of tin cans behind him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Wharton,” she smiled timidly,
“what are you doing here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re dead!
And why are you covered with garbage?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I am wearing the pollution I
caused in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is my fate,”
Wharton wailed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It will be your fate,
too, Evvie Miser, if you don’t change your ways.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I have no intention of changing my
ways!” Evvie Miser protested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My ways
are perfectly fine!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Her late husband continued speaking
as though he had not even heard her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“At
the stroke one, you will have a visitor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then another will come at two and another at three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pay heed, Evvie Miser!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pay heed!” And then he disappeared.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Evvie rubbed her eyes in
disbelief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I must have gotten a bad
hamburger,” she mumbled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is just a
bad dream.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she went back to sleep.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She was awakened again when the
clock struck one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She could feel the
presence of someone else in the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Who’s there?” she demanded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Then she heard a tinkling laughter
coming from a glowing light in the corner of the room. Evvie looked closer and
saw an attractive woman dressed in a stylish housedress, just like the one her
mother had worn when Evvie was a little girl.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
‘Momma, is that you?” asked Evvie.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“No,” the woman replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am the spirit of the environment past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come with me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Before Evvie could object, she
found herself standing beside the woman in a beautiful little park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the park Evvie had played in when she
was a little girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How she had loved
spending time in that park!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
remembered watching the fish swim in the clear water of the pond, smelling the
many different flowers that bloomed there, and lying on her back in the soft
green grass, staring up at the clouds.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“This park is giving you happy
memories, Evvie Miser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can see them in
your eyes,” said the spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t you
think that other children deserve to have a nice, clean place to play, too?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What do I care!” snapped Evvie. “I
don’t even have children, and I don’t have time to waste strolling in a
park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What has this got to do with me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Just then Evvie awakened again in
her bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was I dreaming again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am going to sue Burger Doodle!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
But in that moment, the clock
struck two, and another woman stood in her room. She had her hair back in a bun
and wore black rimmed eyeglasses. She was dressed in a black business suit and
wore sensible black shoes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I am the ghost of the environment
present,” the woman announced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Come with
me!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Once again Evvie Miser found
herself in the park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it looked
different this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The water was so
cloudy she couldn’t even see the fish!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And there were no flowers at all and very little grass.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What happened to this place?”
Evvie Miser asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Pollution!” cried the spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The smog produced by your mill has dirtied
the water and killed the flowers and grass. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself,
Evvie Miser?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Certainly not!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evvie Miser declared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have to make a living, don’t I?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“But at what cost?” the spirit
implored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In just a few years this park
won’t be fit for man or beast to frolic in!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What do I care?” laughed Evvie
Miser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m an old woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll be dead by then!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Suddenly Evvie found herself again
in her room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The clock was striking
three, and a large, ominous figure in a black robe was standing beside
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As mean as Evvie was, she was
frightened now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Who…who are you?” she stammered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The spirit said nothing, and before
Evvie knew what was happening, she was back in the park again, standing on top
of a trash pile. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Get me out of this garbage!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I demand that you get me out now!” she
screamed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The spirit said nothing, but
pointed to two figures, a grown-up and a child, who were wearing what looked
like space suits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The grown up was
saying, “Son, I remember when these anti-pollution suites weren’t necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember when I could breathe the clean,
fresh air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And just look at the
park!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s too much trash for
children to play in it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“How did the park get to be so
awful, Daddy?” asked the little boy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“It was Evvie Miser that caused all
this,” replied the man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She never cared
a lick about the environment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since she
was too powerful for anyone to fight, everyone else just stopped caring,
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a big celebration when
she died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was buried right there in
the park, underneath all that trash that she was responsible for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good riddance, I say!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What’s that?” cried Evvie Miser.
“People celebrated when I died?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
buried under this trash! That can’t be!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Slowly the third spirit pointed to
a big pine box sticking out of some trash in the corner of the park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evvie ran to the box and dug through the
trash with her hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There on the top
of the box was a metal plate that said, “Her lies Evvie Miser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May she never find peace!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“No, spirit!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>screamed Evvie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This can’t be!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to be buried in a trash
pile!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell me what I can do to change
this?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Suddenly Evvie was back in her
room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She squinted at the sun shining
through her window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was morning!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Evvie Miser looked around the
room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The spirits were gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had they all been dreams?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Evvie looked at her fingernails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was garbage underneath them!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When Evvie Miser got to work that
morning, she went straight to Miss Hoper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Miss Hoper,” she said, smiling
meekly, “I’ve changed my mind about that extra basket. You were right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We should be recycling here at Miser Paper Mill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get the basket back, and get everyone else an
extra basket, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I am going to
give you a big bonus for thinking of it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Miss Hoper did not know what to
think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had never seen Evvie Miser
smile before.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“And get that town councilman on
the phone, “Evvie continued. “You know, the once who lost the last
election?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to hire him to get
modern equipment in this mill, equipment that won’t harm the environment.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Yes M’am!” beamed Miss Hoper as
she picked up the phone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
That evening, when Evvie Miser
stopped at the Burger Doodle on her way home, the girl behind the counter
served her food in Styrofoam. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’m sorry about last evening,”
Evvie apologized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please put my food in
paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You were right to go green her at
Burger Doodle.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
After eating her meal, Evvie Miser
went to the car dealer and traded her gas guzzling SUV in for a small,
economical hybrid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She never took the environment for
granted again. And if you should take a trip to Cleanville today and mention
the name Evvie Miser, the folks will sing her praises. After all, they say, she
cared more about the environment than anyone who has ever lived in Cleanville. </div>
<br />Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-85558836945396375192018-03-31T15:24:00.002-04:002018-03-31T15:28:18.981-04:00The Misfit<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 66.75pt; text-align: center;">
©2/1969 Linda Goodman<br />
<br />
<i>This poem was written long ago, but it still haunts me.</i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 66.75pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They said that she was different.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was stylish, it is true.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it was said her attitude was at fault.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I passed her many times,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And while she often smiled, she never spoke.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But she did not know my name. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They said that she was pretty.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But pretty is as pretty does.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was the height of sophistication.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saw her gazing in a mirror once.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She seemed not to be looking at
herself, but through herself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But she did not know that I saw. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They said that she was unhappy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her friends, though loyal, were
few,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And resentment for her was not
secret.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I heard her crying once.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her tears were light, but they
were there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But she did not know that I
heard.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now she is gone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some say she married.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some say she is lost in a world
outside our own.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saw her at the terminal one day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She looked at our town with pain
in her eyes,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As if she loved something about it,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet knew that it held nothing for
her.</div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But she did not know I was there.</span>Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-73731828126712470702018-02-15T12:59:00.000-05:002018-02-15T12:59:02.373-05:00Journey<br />
This poem was written some years ago by my brother Allen Wright. I think it <span style="text-align: center;">holds meaning for today. In the photo below, Allen is the boy in the white shirt. Standing beside him is my brother Lee. That's me with the glasses and Evelyn with the stuffed animal on the left. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrudlhFor75DRdMj8TWpqJmVc-VfcWTRPa3cZn0B_dheX99E9qNPwgU_aqXglHDpRfrG2OxLWS4q5USlx3yPOpeKmoOvle-TZTgCpcCqboa5QhhDfgUdIOaoHiBJbh-t2DnVTSwdXoZmB/s1600/Easter+1963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="556" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrudlhFor75DRdMj8TWpqJmVc-VfcWTRPa3cZn0B_dheX99E9qNPwgU_aqXglHDpRfrG2OxLWS4q5USlx3yPOpeKmoOvle-TZTgCpcCqboa5QhhDfgUdIOaoHiBJbh-t2DnVTSwdXoZmB/s200/Easter+1963.jpg" width="189" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>JOURNEY </b><br />
<br />
<i> by Allen Wright</i><br />
<br />
Is Life really living?<br /> Is Death really dead? <br /> Do random thoughts really<br /> Just enter our heads?<br /> We are the same<br /> as the things we see,<br /> A pile of atoms<br /> In shapes such as We.<br /> Where do We come from?<br /> Where do We go?<br /> It's not for the Living<br /> Nor the Dead to know.<br /> Atoms to atoms<br /> And dust to dust.<br /> Is this the Fate<br /> For all of Us?<br /> We will be born again<br /> As the Sun does rise,<br /> To warm those around us<br /> And brighten their eyes.<br /> So We strive to rise<br /> For an unseen goal,<br /> To met our Savior <br /> As eternal Souls.Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-71285090836871471182018-01-28T20:51:00.002-05:002018-01-28T20:51:29.765-05:00Spelling Bee<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">©Linda Goodman 1/27/2018<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After I passed the fifth grade at
James Hurst Elementary School in the Cradock section of Portsmouth, Virginia, I
enjoyed a lovely summer vacation. I savored every minute of it, as I knew that,
come fall, I would be attending sixth grade at Cradock Jr. High School. Brother
Allen warned me that the sixth grade would be hard. He reminded me that Brother
Lee, my oldest brother, had failed the sixth grade and had to repeat it. I
cried when I heard that. I would have died if I had failed a whole grade. I
assumed Brother Lee had been as upset as I would have been in that situation (I
later discovered that it did not bother him at all.).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sixth grade was strange compared to
fifth grade. In elementary school, students had one teacher all day long in one
classroom. In the sixth grade, I had four teachers who rotated from class to
class. My sixth grade English teacher, Mrs. Mabry, took a shine to me. She
admired my taste in books (we both loved Charles Dickens).She also discovered
that I was writing a book, and she asked me about it every day. She knew how to
nurture her students without being sappy. “Be proud of what you have achieved,”
she told me at the end of the school year. “And here is my advice to you: think
positive. Whatever task you are given, no matter how hard it seems, just repeat
to yourself <i>I think I can. I think I can</i>, and you will always be at the
front of the pack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sixth grade was not so bad after
all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the seventh grade, my English
teacher was Mrs. Mancuso, and she, too, enjoyed my writing. “You write so well,
and you always use the correct grammar,” she told me, “And I have never seen
you misspell a word. In fact, I think that you should enter the school Spelling
Bee.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had never heard of a Spelling Bee.
Mrs. Mancuso explained that it was a contest where students competed to see who
was the best speller. “I know you can win it,” she assured me. “You just need
to have faith in yourself. Positive thinking can accomplish anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So two teachers that I loved thought
I could win the Spelling Bee! That was good enough for me. I picked up the
official Spelling Bee practice booklet and spent hours studying every word,
except the small ones. I already knew them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Some of the words
were so hard that I had to memorize their spellings. But I had two teachers who
had told me to say, <i>I think I can. I think I can</i>. I told myself that,
too. And then I started telling my classmates, but by then my mantra had
changed from <i>I think I can</i> to <i>I know I will</i>. I convinced myself
that I could spell better than anyone else in my school, and I thought the more
I staked that claim, the more positive I would be and the greater chance I
would have to win that Spelling Bee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Finally the big day
came. I, along with nine others, sat on the stage of the school auditorium in
front of every class in the school as we waited for the contest to begin. Each
of us wore a number pinned to our chest. I was number two. Three judges, one
lady and two men, sat at a table to the right of the stage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once all the students were settled
in their seats and quiet, the woman judge stood up. “Number 1,” she announced,
and my friend Maureen stood up. The woman sternly looked at her and said, “Your
word is <i>nicotine</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Maureen nervously spelled out the
word: n-i-c-o-t-i-n-e.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Correct,” the woman announced. “You
may take your seat back on the stage.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How easy could this get? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“ Number 2,” the lady said as she
turned her attention to me. I stood up and she announced, “Your word is <i>across.</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What? That was a baby word! Why was
I being given a baby word?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The woman cleared her throat and
once again said, “Your word is <i>across</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was grinning from ear to ear. I
would win this contest in no time at all. I stood up tall and spelled
a-c-c-r-o-s-s.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That is incorrect!” the woman
announced. “Please take a seat down in the auditorium.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was shocked! Had I really spelled
it wrong?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A baby word?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could not believe it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I felt like I was on a walk of shame.
As I went down the steps to join the student body, I heard my classmates mates
giggling all around me, saying “She bragged to everyone that she was going to
win, and then she misspelled her very first word!” Cecil Boudreau, my classroom
nemesis, started laughing so loudly he had to be escorted out of the auditorium.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I hung my head low.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My classmates kidded me for a few
weeks, but they got over it. I carried the hurt and humiliation, however, for
months. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was Mrs. Mabry who set me
straight. “Being positive is good, but you should understand that
over-confidence can make you look like a braggart. The good news is, you can
always try again next year.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I took that little nugget and filed
it in the deep recesses of my brain. It has served me well. To this very day,
though, I cannot spell a word out loud in front of others. In the end, my humiliation made me humble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-36971683133209767012017-12-19T14:41:00.000-05:002017-12-19T14:44:06.929-05:00A Special Christmas<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">A Special Christmas</span></i></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqC63XybwASwpcZQKof_LHzzBlF3dBdkdcdQ2JYht4An8n6pd9gWIbhAHY7f8P8qNrYQuTNHxVY1jeFW92BSmd9GETqS0WNPucC_mvGkWkeTxnjrY2lPtfMgWMc-UTMQGKM5mHF6k8W3uO/s1600/stereomel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1105" data-original-width="1600" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqC63XybwASwpcZQKof_LHzzBlF3dBdkdcdQ2JYht4An8n6pd9gWIbhAHY7f8P8qNrYQuTNHxVY1jeFW92BSmd9GETqS0WNPucC_mvGkWkeTxnjrY2lPtfMgWMc-UTMQGKM5mHF6k8W3uO/s320/stereomel.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></b></div>
<b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">©Linda Goodman 12/1983<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> My very favorite Christmas was in 1983,
when we were living in Bay City, Michigan. Phil and I had just gotten married
that May, and our daughter, Melanie, was eleven years old. It was our first
Christmas as a family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Not far from us was the tiny village of Frankenmuth.
Visiting that scenic little town was like taking a trip back in time. After 25
years of living in the mild winter climate of Portsmouth, VA, Melanie and I
were having our very first white Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> For the first time, I was able to buy
Melanie everything on her Christmas list (not always a good idea). For myself,
I had asked only for a plush, fluffy robe to keep me warm during the cold winter.
I got what I asked for, but its color was PURPLE! That was not like Phil at
all, as he likes muted colors. I had fantasized the robe as being emerald green
or turquoise. I must admit that I was rather miffed, as Phil knew what my
favorite colors were. Still, my mother had taught me to appreciate whatever
gifts I was given, and I made a fuss over that robe like it was the most
beautiful thing in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I'm glad I reacted as I did. After my faux
demonstration of delight, Melanie shouted, "Dad let me pick it out!"
Purple, I recalled, was <i>her</i> favorite
color. I had once told her that purple was the color of kings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> "You're a queen now!" she
exclaimed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I wore that robe until hot flashes began
to visit me, just 11 short years later. The robe is still hanging in my closet.
Whenever I see it, I remember how blessed I am to be married to a man who loves
my daughter as much as I do, and treats her with tenderness and
great respect. Phil adopted Melanie on October 31, 1984, when we were living in
Baltimore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
would love to hear about your favorite Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-16531459217853810232017-11-29T16:48:00.001-05:002017-11-29T16:48:44.549-05:00The Trotters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: center;">© November 29, 2017, Linda Goodman</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4vzTmx0pPU6_6JrmNWh4dtFr-tagpUJuP1tWrhZdHm_kBEKbCtfdYbcvxknBzLmY73H-_2e-gYzT0nrkWsUB8ANFnwknEjgrqBKPvKWguDYD-YgwUyV1Vlg3FqRtoWr45GDjPNF2tA4q/s1600/Linda+1962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="396" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4vzTmx0pPU6_6JrmNWh4dtFr-tagpUJuP1tWrhZdHm_kBEKbCtfdYbcvxknBzLmY73H-_2e-gYzT0nrkWsUB8ANFnwknEjgrqBKPvKWguDYD-YgwUyV1Vlg3FqRtoWr45GDjPNF2tA4q/s200/Linda+1962.jpg" width="162" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One summer Sunday afternoon in 1961, our
friend Terri spent the afternoon playing with my baby sister Evelyn and me. We
were having a lovely time sharing Barbie clothes, playing Go Fish, and telling
stories on our neighbors. Terri confessed that she was having so much fun that she
did not want to go home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Do you think your mommy and daddy would let
me spend the night here at your house if it’s okay with my mommy and daddy,”
she asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My sister and I both laughed. Neither of us
had ever spent the night out before. Mommy was adamant that spending the night
out was not an option for her children. Neither were we allowed to have someone
else spend the night with us. “Parents get enough trouble from their own young’uns,”
Mommy said. “They don’t need other young’uns thrown into the mix,” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Terri and Evelyn declared the situation
impossible, but I decided to play Devil’s advocate. “I think that if we use our
smarts, our talent, and our creativity, we can get Mommy to say okay,” I
insisted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“How are we going to do that?” Terri wanted to
know. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I thought for a few minutes, until I came up
with an idea. “I think we should make up a song to sing to her. And we could
dance, too,” I proposed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“How are we going to do that?” asked Terri.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“First we have to think of a name for our
group. Do either of you have a name you like?” I inquired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Terri thought <i>The Singing Girls</i> would be a good name. I told her that would not
work. Why, in no time we would have to change it to <i>The Singing Women</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Evelyn liked that name <i>Three Little Kittens</i>. I told her that sounded more like a nursery
rhyme that a singing group.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I could see clearly that I would have to think
up a name myself. I examined each of us thoroughly and noticed that all three
of us were wearing Trotters, black flat shoes with pointed toes. Every girl in
school was wearing those shoes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I think that we should call ourselves the
Trotters,” I announced. Terri and Evelyn thought that name was a winner, and so
they agreed to it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I wrote an introduction and a song in seconds,
and for the next two hours we rehearsed. Our costume was our Trotters, a white
tee shirt, and blue short-shorts; the only articles of clothing that all three
of us had. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">That evening, after supper, Terri, Evelyn, and
I went into the bedroom and put on our costumes. Then we marched downstairs
from our second floor apartment to the front of the building, where all the
women on the block gathered together at the cement porch to discuss the day’s
activities and solve the world’s
problems. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Terri, Evelyn, and I began dancing the Twist
in front of them, all the while singing the introduction I had written:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We’re the Trotters, Trotters, Trotters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We’re the Trotters: Trot, trot, trot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We’re the Trotter Gang, Trotter Gang, Trotter
Gang.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We’re the Trotter Gang; that’s us!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The neighborhood women were delighted by our
witty and unique presentation. They wanted more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“We only have one more song at this time,” I
told them. “And we are going to sing that to my sweet mommy. But you can all
listen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Terri, Evelyn, and I began pumping our arms up
and down, all the while dancing the Pony as we sang our song:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oh, Mommy! Oh, Mommy!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oh can Terri stay<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Overnight with us<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Until Monday!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">That
is tomorrow</span></i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This time the women responded with a
thunderous applause. “What a great song!” they agreed. “You will have to write
more!” they insisted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Why did you sing the song to me?” Mommy
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Because you are the only one who can answer
the question,” I explained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What question?” Mommy wondered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The one in the song,” I told her. “Can Terri
spend the night with us?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mommy looked shocked and perplexed, as the
women around her began murmuring about the situation and whether the question
warranted a yes or a no answer. Some were taking bets on what Mommy would say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Finally Mommy spoke. “Linda, you know I don’t
allow my young’uns to spend the night out or others to spend the night in,” She
reminded me. “I got four young’uns, and that’s all I can handle. I do thank you
for the song, though. It was real nice. Maybe you can record it one day. Maybe
Loretta Lyn will sing it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Loretta Lyn never did sing that song. Today it
exists only in my mind and on my blog. Not too long after that, though, I did
get to spend the night out. But that’s another story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-3033597945805651422017-10-29T15:44:00.000-04:002017-10-29T15:44:30.234-04:00Ax Man<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">©Linda Goodman 10/28/2017<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></i></div>
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</div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This is a true story.
Names have been changed to protect privacy.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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This photo of my parents was taken in 1972</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4TmQ1zM8rFOc7IgAa-No8K47Epd0MTdnXevZsInvxIJun3eacWoau79qKSNaPLTIGbbzTBlxHeGuQFGY_WWBFyF5KMkIppqc8dt2joY-4IDiM2mYAHHs-Ohh-u3RnG4NX0fctZ-e8pxM/s1600/Dad+and+Mom+1972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="653" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4TmQ1zM8rFOc7IgAa-No8K47Epd0MTdnXevZsInvxIJun3eacWoau79qKSNaPLTIGbbzTBlxHeGuQFGY_WWBFyF5KMkIppqc8dt2joY-4IDiM2mYAHHs-Ohh-u3RnG4NX0fctZ-e8pxM/s200/Dad+and+Mom+1972.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I first became aware of Malvie in 1974, when I
was on a visit to the little cottage that my parents had moved into after the
apartment project they had been living in had been condemned. Malvie’s husband, his left side weak from a
recent stroke, was trapped between his car and the car door. Malvie was
repeatedly opening the car door and slamming him against the car with it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> His
cries of pain did not deter Malvie one bit. She kept on slamming that door with
a vengeance. “What an awful woman!” I said to myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> During
our visit, my parents told me about their neighbor Malvie. She seemed to hate
everyone. She was especially nasty to my parents, who had the misfortune to
live in the cottage directly across from hers. When they opened their front
door to pick up the paper each morning, they would see Malvie’s frowning face
staring at them through the window in her front door, just six feet away, as
though they were infringing upon her territory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Whenever
one of my siblings or I would visit Mama and Daddy, Malvie would take my
parents to task. The rental office did not allow the cars of non-residents to
park beside the cottages, she insisted. My parents, however, did not have a car. My
siblings and I, Mama explained, were merely parked in my parents’ usually
vacant space. Malvie complained to the rental office, but they took my parents’
side. That just made Malvie madder. She cussed my mother out on a regular
basis, never giving a clue as to why Mama was being singled out for such fierce
invective. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Daddy,
of course, looked out for Mama. He told Malvie that he prided himself on being
a gentleman, but he would not stand for his sweet wife being continually
insulted. At that, Malvie picked up a big gob of mud (it had rained the night
before) and threw it smack into the middle of his face. He took his
handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the mud away. He shook his head at
Malvie as though she were a young, bad-mannered, mean child. Then he took Mama
by the arm and escorted her into the cottage. My parents did not spend much
time outside after that. I am sure that made Malvie happy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Things
changed on the evening of October 31, 1975. Daddy had just come in from the
front porch after giving out all of the Halloween candy that he had bought. He
loved seeing the smiles on young faces when they were given their Halloween
treats. “Too bad that Malvie had to spoil those young‘uns fun,” he growled. “She
screamed and yelled like a banshee every time somebody knocked on her door. A
good many of those children left crying, she scared them so bad.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
heard her out there,” Mama confided. “I woulda called the police if we had a
phone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> A
few minutes later, my brother-in-law Donald, came by to borrow some of my
daddy’s tools. As Daddy was getting up from his chair to go to the tool shed, a
blood curdling scream came from the cottage across the way, Malvie’s cottage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What
in tarnation is that woman screaming at now?” Daddy asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Don’t
pay attention to her,” Mama advised. “She is just having another one of her
fits.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Just
then the blood curdling scream came again. “He’s gonna kill me!” Malvie screamed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Without
hesitation, Daddy and Donald swiftly ran out the door and shot across the way
to Malvie’s. There she lay, curled into a ball on her cottage floor, pinned
down by a man who was wielding an ax over his head. The man was swinging hard,
but was too drunk to actually strike his target. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Daddy
and Donald got the man off of her and pinned him down, though he tried very
hard to get away. He was crying like an outraged baby. Malvie got up from the
floor and ran to call the police, who came and took the man away. Malvie went with
them to give a statement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Donald
was livid. “She didn’t even say thank you,” he fumed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
didn’t ask her to,” Daddy replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
next morning when Daddy went out to get his paper, he found a plate of hot
cinnamon buns waiting for him. The buns were accompanied by a note from Malvie.
“I would not have been alive to bake these buns if not for you and that young
man. I promise I will be good to you and your family from now on. I will
cherish our new found friendship.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Two
weeks later, Daddy and Donald went to court to testify against the would-be ax
murderer. The whole story came out during the trial: mistaking her house for
his friend’s place, the drunken man had knocked on Malvie’s door. Malvie
repeatedly insisted that his friend was not there. When the man wouldn’t accept
that answer, Malvie had forcibly pushed him off her porch. She had gone back
inside thinking that was that, when the man came crashing through her front
door and grabbed the ax that was hanging on her front wall. He had knocked her
to the floor and was ready to give her a whack, when Daddy and Donald arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
man was found guilty, but walked away free and clear because the judge believed
that he was too drunk to actually know what he was doing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Daddy
decided to stay for the next case, which involved a bad check that had been
written by a young woman who had no money in the bank. She was found guilty and
sentenced to six months in jail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Afterwards,
one of the court newspaper reporters asked Daddy for his thoughts. “I believe
that if I ever decide to commit a crime, I will get drunk and kill somebody
before I will write a bad check,” Daddy stated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Malvie
was true to her word. She treated my parents like gold after that. She was
always baking them sweet treats, but when she found out that Mama was diabetic,
she started cooking healthy treats for her. “I could not bear to lose such a
dear woman,” Malvie said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Years
later, in 1987, Malvie comforted Mama as Daddy lay dying from bone cancer. A
year after that, Malvie shed tears when her husband accepted a new job that
took them to another state. After that, since Mama still had no phone, they
could communicate with each other through letters only. They wrote back and
forth until my mother’s death in 1989. After the funeral, Malvie gave me a lovely pot
of yellow tulips, Mama’s favorite flower. I have not seen or heard from Malvie
since.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
never did learn Malvie’s back story. She would not talk about her life prior to
living in her cottage. Many who knew her speculated that she was possessed by a
demon. That does not matter now. In the end, the angels won her over to their
side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-70570080382020840852017-09-15T16:10:00.002-04:002017-09-15T16:10:36.052-04:00Heimlich Maneuver<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
©9/14/2017
Linda Goodman</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<h4 style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcRz01Aq753GL5f-e4ocnh2qZbtTPNHmp-2rFnBk6WjQ_-bRIWkKNdXV20k111tX1CkTr9UyskGP-6CB-3AlFVs3YBTxJjNGRPRKOjjcctfSDL43lwRD_Ol4xZ_VuwLqN_3N6eJiQMZ8/s1600/Heimlich+Maneuver+for+all+ages.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for heimlich maneuver" border="0" class="mainImage accessible nofocus" data-bm="18" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcRz01Aq753GL5f-e4ocnh2qZbtTPNHmp-2rFnBk6WjQ_-bRIWkKNdXV20k111tX1CkTr9UyskGP-6CB-3AlFVs3YBTxJjNGRPRKOjjcctfSDL43lwRD_Ol4xZ_VuwLqN_3N6eJiQMZ8/s320/Heimlich+Maneuver+for+all+ages.png" tabindex="0" title="View source image" width="320" /></a></h4>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A decade ago my husband, Phil, and
I were having dinner at a restaurant in Chester, Virginia. I was about halfway
through my salad when an elderly woman came running to our table crying, “Please, please, help my husband! He’s
choking, and he can’t breathe!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Phil immediately stood up from his chair,
rushed over to the man, picked him up out of his chair, turned him around,
wrapped his own arms around him, and administered the Heimlich Maneuver. On the
second rapid squeeze, a huge (<i>for one
swallow anyway</i>) piece of steak came flying out of the man’s mouth and
landed on the floor. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The quite shaken woman thanked Phil
profusely, and the man even offered to pay for our dinners. “Nonsense!” Phil
told them. “You could have approached anyone in this restaurant, and they would
have done the same.” We left the restaurant without leaving our names. Nor did
we get their names. I felt extremely proud of my husband. He acted like it was
nothing, but he had saved a man’s life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A week ago, I myself had the
opportunity to administer the Heimlich Maneuver for the first time. Because of a problem with my well, I was doing
laundry at my daughter’s house. I was in her bathroom when I heard her choking.
I called and asked if there was anything wrong, but there was no answer, just
more choking. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Without a second thought, I ran
into the kitchen. Her face was a drink crimson, and she was gasping for air. I
ran up behind her, put my arms around her, and squeezed for all I as worth; one
time; two times; three…..nothing….she continued to choke.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Don’t worry,” I hollered. “I’m
going to call 911.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I picked up my cell phone and started to dial,
but I was so frantic that I could not remember her street address, or even the
name of the town she lives in. I thought it was all over; that I was going to
lose my only child because I could not remember her address. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Suddenly the choking stopped. She
was still gasping, though the air was now getting to her lungs. Deep sobs wracked her body. “I thought I was
going to die,” she cried, once she was in control of her breathing again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
It turned out that she had not
needed the Heimlich Maneuver at all. She was having a throat spasm, one of the
many symptoms of a chronic disease that she is fighting. This was the worst
spasm she had ever had to deal with. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Still the situation made me realize
that I need a refresher course on CPR and the Heimlich Maneuver. I figure that
if I review these procedures over and over again, I will have the confidence I
need to be able to perform them when necessary. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I also make sure that my address
book is with me and up to date at all times. A daughter is a precious thing. I
will not lose mine because I cannot remember her address. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i>(Now
that this whole incident is behind me, and I have had time to process it, it
makes me think of the movie <b>The English
Patient</b>. Kristen Scott Thomas’ character died because the man she loved had
a name that was too difficult to spell. Details are important</i>.)</div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-4695588338440051262017-08-08T18:12:00.000-04:002017-08-08T18:12:13.434-04:00Heartfelt Memories<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">By Linda Goodman<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">©Linda Goodman August 8, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Today I attended a funeral
for the sister of one of my fellow church members. As part of the service, the minister asked for
those who knew the deceased to share a memory about her. Some lovely, heartfelt
moments came from those memories. They warmed my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpf0N6_NbdG-l9iveWWwlRUbiHHHooaP3RRnNgXlktfjyhS9Z7pCOo01LdAwCnrEAU0w1OUJkCMv-SHO44YfjXfA1KPFDUOi5d0F55JBQ-39hbe8pxQujlYqhktLS827M8FLdy58PIfzy/s1600/Daddy+and+Evelyn+1959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="557" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpf0N6_NbdG-l9iveWWwlRUbiHHHooaP3RRnNgXlktfjyhS9Z7pCOo01LdAwCnrEAU0w1OUJkCMv-SHO44YfjXfA1KPFDUOi5d0F55JBQ-39hbe8pxQujlYqhktLS827M8FLdy58PIfzy/s200/Daddy+and+Evelyn+1959.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">When I was 13, my baby sister
Evelyn’s best friend, Ann, lost her father to a heart attack. I escorted
Evelyn, who was 11 years old at the time, to the funeral at the Methodist
church that was just across the street from our house apartment building. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Besides Ann and the woman she
lived with, Evelyn and I were the only ones there. Ann had been taken from her
mother after her mother had gone on a drunk and had set her own bed on fire. Rather
than take Ann in, her father paid a women to take care of her. Ann lived in the
woman’s home. Her father picked her up every Saturday morning and brought her
back to the woman’s house just after dark. Often he invited Evelyn and me to spend
the day with them. He told my father that he had no idea what to do with a
child, and that having Evelyn and me along for the day took a lot of pressure
off of him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Ann’s Father would always buy
us lunch. Afterwards we might go to a movie or a ballgame, but usually we just
spent the day in the bowling alley, where beer was served freely. Before he
took us home, he bought us chocolate milkshakes and treated himself to one more
beer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I cried when no one came to
his funeral, but I was crying for Ann; not him. He was Ann’s only family, and Ann
loved him more than anything else in the world. I knew she was scared. I was
scared for her! Did her daddy have a fund set up to take care of her? If he did
not, how would the woman who cared for Ann get paid? Would she still take care
of Ann if she did not get paid? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I also knew that Ann was
devastated that no one, other than Evelyn and me, had come to his funeral. She
thought that her daddy had lots of friends at his work. She was so distraught
that I could not help but feel her pain. I made a vow right then and there that
I would do everything in my power to go to the funerals of the people that I
knew. I would go for their families, assuring them that their loved ones were
special people who would be remembered with honor, respect and love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">When my own father died, my
biggest fear was that no one would come to his funeral. On the evening of
August 10, 1987, the hospital had called me at my parents’ apartment to let me
know that my father, who had suffered from multiple myeloma for 11 months, had
passed away. I called my brothers and my
sister. We all gathered together with my
mother, trying to imagine our family without its anchor. Tears flowed freely at first. All we could see was darkness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I need not have worried about
people coming to the funeral. The chapel in the funeral home was full. This
surprised all of us, as my father was not one to socialize. I did not think he
had a lot of friends. Then something amazing happened: the minister extended an
invitation for those in attendance to
share stories about my father. I heard stories about my father that were
completely new to me. Neighbors told about good deeds that he had done on their
behalf, never mentioning his good works to others. Co-workers told stories of
his integrity and kindness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Then the family chimed in. My
brother Lee told the story about how my father had once gotten his foot stuck
in my mother’s favorite coffee pot. Then
I told the story of the time that Daddy thought the preacher was the Fuller
Brush man. My brother-in-law Donald told
about how he and Daddy had saved a neighbor woman from an ax murderer. My sister
Evelyn told about the day Daddy had just walked right on into the wrong house
to wait for my brother Lee to come home. My brother Allen told about the time
Daddy had made delicious biscuits, but had not checked the measuring cup
first. Our biscuits were filled with
screws, nuts, and bolts. Suddenly the tears were replaced by laughter, and the
image of our father suffering in that hospital bed was vanquished. The stories enabled us to celebrate the
strong and vital man that he had been, the man whom we were blessed to call
father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I will continue to keep my
vow and give comfort and support whenever someone I know loses a loved one. I
pray that you will do the same. No one should have to be alone when a loved one
is taken away. A kind word is always appreciated. Heartfelt memories are
golden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-35428892163057623212017-07-30T16:29:00.001-04:002017-07-31T16:02:21.723-04:00Intruder<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">(c)Linda Goodman July 30, 2017 <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> In the
spring of 2013 I went grocery shopping and returned home with a car full of
bright blue, plastic Food Lion grocery bags. My husband, Phil, and I had just
moved to Waxhaw, North Carolina a few months earlier, and we were enjoying our
peaceful home in the woods. We lived on a one-half mile long street that
had only ten houses on it. All our neighbors worked for businesses in Charlotte
or Monroe, so they were not home during the day. My husband, however, was
retired; and I worked my storytelling business from home. Sometimes the dead
silence felt creepy. As I got my groceries out of the car I thought to myself,
if a wild animal (coyote, bear) were to attack me, no matter how loud I
screamed, no one would hear me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Carrying
several bags of groceries, I walked up the sidewalk on my way to the front
door, when I glanced at one of our garage windows and noticed a man dressed in
black, wearing a wide brimmed black hat, walking across the garage. It took a
minute for my internal bells to sound the alarm. SOMEONE WAS IN MY
GARAGE! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> I looked
again, but saw no one. Was my garage door locked? I couldn't remember.
That man could be in my house at this very minute, I realized. He could
be waiting in a closet or behind a door to rob me, or worse! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Take it easy, I
told myself; don't let your imagination run away with you. THINK! My husband
was fishing with our son-in-law that day. Neither of them would be of any help
to me. My cell phone was in the house. As usual, I had forgotten to put it in
my purse before I left for the grocery store.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> I
considered that I could get back in my car, drive to the convenience store down
the road, and call the police. That was probably the smartest thing to do; but
I did not act smart. I panicked. I took my key out of my purse and opened the
door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> "Phil,
honey," I yelled, "I think there is someone in the house. Get your
gun out of the car."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> I was
hoping that this would scare the man into running out the back door, but
nothing happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
"Whoever is in here, you better leave," I shouted. "We
have a gun and we know how to use it. My husband has a sharp-shooter medal from
the Marines!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Nothing
happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> I lowered
the register of my voice and did a fair impression of my angry husband, "We
are going to leave and come back in 10 minutes. If you are still here when we
get back, I'm going to blow your head off!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> I deposited
my grocery bags on the front porch and went back to the car. I drove to the
convenience store and got myself a half-and-half ice tea. After hearing my
story, the store clerk convinced me that I should call the police. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Ten minutes
later, I stood on my front porch waiting for the police to arrive. When they
got there, I unlocked my front door. As they searched my house I mourned the
ice cream bars that had surely melted by that time. This was not turning out to
be a very good day. No one had ever invaded my home before. I would never feel
safe in this house again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> The two
policemen took their time and did a thorough search. They found no one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> "He
must have run off while I went to the convenience store," I advised them.
"He was probably scared of my husband's invisible gun."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
"Ma'am, there was no one in your house," the younger of the two
policemen insisted. "There was no sign of forced entry, either. Did you
leave one of the doors unlocked?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
"Impossible," I said. "I am adamant about locking my
doors. I check them over and over again before I go anywhere."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> "Where
did you say you saw this man?" the policeman asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> "He
was walking past the garage windows," I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> The
policeman's brow furrowed. "Was he walking on air?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> "What
do you mean, was he walking on air?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> "Well,
Ma'am," the policeman explained, "while we were searching the garage,
I noticed that the garage windows were seven feet off the ground. The man would
have had to have been very tall for you to have seen him walking past those
windows."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> That had
not occurred to me, but I had to admit that the young policeman was right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> The older
policeman decided to add his two cents, "It was probably old Sully,"
he said. "Old Sully had a fit when he found out that homes were going to
be built on this land. It was land that was taken from him to pay back taxes.
He took to wearing black after the building started. He was in mourning for his
land."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> "Well
that proves that I saw someone," I concluded. "The man I saw was
wearing black. Are you going to arrest this Sully person?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> The older
policeman shook his head. "We can't arrest Old Sully, Ma'am. He died about
three weeks after the construction of these homes began. You're not the first
person on this street to get a visit from him. Reckon he is still mad about his
land."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> After the
police left and I had put my groceries away, I went through everything in the
house to make sure that nothing was missing. Early that evening, while I was
reading on my back deck, I saw a black flash streak through the woods behind
our house. "Bye, Old Sully," I called out. "Don't come back.
It's my house now."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> I never saw Old Sully again.</span></div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821022301085928493.post-91509350902004392302017-07-30T14:00:00.001-04:002017-07-30T14:00:18.644-04:00Tea In Tripoli: Book Recommendation<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">By Bernadette Nason<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Pulblished by Brave Bear &
Company<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Recommended by Linda Goodman<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I know that I have read a good
book when (1) I am hooked from the first word, (2) I put off
watching television shows and movies that are promising because I cannot
put the book down, (3) I go into mourning when the book is over, and I cannot
get it out of my head. Bernadette Nason's memoir, </span></strong><em><b><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Tea in Tripoli</span></b></em><strong><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">, meets all
three criteria and then some. This story of a young woman who believes that she
can escape her troubled past by leaving her home in Winchester,
England to take a job as an oil company secretary in Libya has it all: humor,
angst, danger, and heartbreak. Nason is a first rate narrator who is not afraid
to expose her own weaknesses. In doing so, she finds her strength</span></strong><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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To find out how you can get your copy of <b><i>Tea
in Tripoli</i></b>, email Bernadette at bnason@austin.rr.com,</div>
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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16910249.Bernadette_Nason</div>
Linda Goodmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10351953614534980830noreply@blogger.com0