THE CAT’S MEOW
FOR WRITERS & READERS EZINE®
Issue 18, Vol. 06
© May 10, 2006
Published, Written and Edited by Rosanne Catalano, (a.k.a. R.C.Kayla)
Publisher/Editor-in-Chief and Writer/Author
Home of The Cat’s Meow
for Writers & Readers Ezine® and
Rosanne Catalano’s Author Website – www.rosannecatalano.net
Ezine: ISSN: 2237-65
Editor and Proofreader:
Nancy Currie
Editorial Production Assistant/Technical Writer/Author and
Web Designer
PLEASE NOTE: Our subscriber list is NOT made available to others,
including companies. We value every subscriber and respect your privacy. We are
also NOT responsible for web site links that do not work unless they have been
inserted into mine or the editors’ columns; then we are responsible, we
apologize and will correct it as soon as possible.
A LOVE, A LIFE
How did this
happen to me,
How does life
flip over so quickly –
One day here,
one day not
- a love
- a life
What does it
mean?
How many
senseless hours
must be spent –
Isn’t it enough
to be cursed
with the
feeling of caring?
Must I live for
it?
Must I die for
it?
Written by Barbara Ann Hoover on 4-02-1980
Copyright © 1980 by Barbara Ann Hoover
IN THIS ISSUE:
PUBLISHER’S
CORNER
EDITOR’S
CORNER
OFF THE PRESS
COFFEE HOUSE 4 POETS &
WRITERS
(Every Month Highlighting Artistic Talent – New and Established)
FEATURE
ARTICLE
ARTICLES
PUBLISHER’S
CORNER:
Rosanne Catalano – www.rosannecatalano.net
Hi dear readers, as
the days get longer and the hotter weather approaches, I am ecstatic because I
love watching all the flowers blooming, tree leaves renewing and all that’s
involved with summertime activities such as those gardening aficionados who are
busily planting their gardens! My neighbors have already begun getting their front
and back yard gardens ready for the summertime… I normally would too, but this
year there won’t be any ‘flowered’ plants in our garden. The reason? Because I
was extremely sad to see four of my perennials die at the end of last summer, so
this year more permanent plants go in the ground! Ones like Azaleas, English
Boxwoods and Ferns. And, of course, once your garden is all finished, please
don’t forget to WATER AND WEED as I sometimes tend to do when I get too busy
inside!
Let’s also please
not forget about our mother’s on Mother’s
Day, May 14th of this
year, and veterans on Memorial Day,
which falls on May 29th
this year… for Mother’s Day, the greatest gift to give is yourself sitting
across from your mom at a restaurant of her choice; for Memorial Day, if you
can’t march in a Memorial Day Parade, why not cheer them on from the sidelines?
Or consider sending a letter to a man or woman in the military to thank them
for fighting overseas for our freedoms? Just some ideas to pay tribute to all mothers
and veterans -- for without their sacrifices, we wouldn’t have the freedoms we
take for granted…
Great News! -- I recently started blogging as an extension of
this column (and my own writing). My blog can be found at http://thecatsmeowforwritersreaders.blogspot.com,
and I need to warn you that I am a novice at blogging, so the first few posts I
write may not be as informative as I would like my blog to be, but give me time
and I’m sure to get the hang of this blogging stuff :-)
On another subject,
I would love to hear from our readers what
you think of the new look of the ezine which we’re still experimenting with…to
let us know your opinions, please go to: www.rosannecatalano.net/feedback.htm,
and drop us a line to let us know whether you hate it or love it; either way
we’d love to hear what you think! So come on, please don’t be shy … though we do understand being extremely busy,
it should take only a minute or two to fill out the form. Also please stay
tuned for the unveiling of my newly redesigned author web site… coming on June
1st
The gift we gave to all subscribers can now be
downloaded by readers, too, by clicking here! Yep readers, not just subscribers, can also
download and read the all-new talking ebook, “10 Success Habits to Swell Your Bank Account In 2006,”
which was written by Michael Green and
Peter Twist, two very successful entrepreneurs. Their talking ebook is FREE so you have
nothing to lose, but everything to gain! And in case you’re not familiar with
what exactly an ebook is, please go to the article in our March 2006 ezine (Issue
#16, Vol. 06), written by one of our contributing authors, Stephanie Martinez,
in which she explains to you exactly what an ebook is and why they have become
such popular books.
Would
you also like to know how-to live a more positive life for you and your family?
Well then, Dr. Barbara Becker
Holstein, a positive psychologist and happiness coach, tells you
how to be more positive in everything
you do, and how to set goals to live a more positive life. Plus she has
great inspirational quotes, merchandise and books she has written that can be
ordered right on her web site, The
Enchanted Self.com. Her books and merchandise focus on you and
everyone in your life and can be bought by clicking here. Her newest book, “Delight,” focuses on learning to love and
enjoy yourself through life’s special moments, and is filled with emotional and
delightful reminiscences that will charm you. To read more about her book
or to order Dr. Holstein’s beautifully, inspirational merchandise and other
books, please click here. Her web site comes highly
recommended for anyone who wants to live a better life!
Now onward to all
my wonderful contributing authors and writers; some new, some established …who
have written poems, short stories and helpful informative articles for everyone
to read and enjoy… And if you like what you read, please do visit the author’s
web site or let the author know by email.
It warms our
hearts to hear from our readers, and knowing that what we have written has touched
and/or helped you in some way…
Copyright © May 10, 2006 by
Rosanne Catalano
This Issue Is Dedicated To:
Carman Peter Catalano (my
dad), Harold Clinton Welch (my step dad)
and Barbara Ann Hoover (a dear friend)
******************************************************************************************************************************************************************
EDITOR’S CORNER
Nancy Currie – webwriterworx.50webs.com/
Another busy month has passed us by. It seems like there’s hardly enough time in a day to get through all that needs to be done.
I’ll keep this brief. The web site is coming along nicely. Thanks to those who responded to our short survey. We’d like to hear from more of you. Tell us what you’d like to see on the new web site. Is there anything that we’re doing now that you particularly like and wish to see on the new web site as well?
We’re getting closer to our launch date of June 1st! This is an exciting time!
Mark your calendars and visit www.RosanneCatalano.net on June 1st!
In other exciting news, Rosanne has published a story article at AssociatedContent.com. Check it out!
See you next month!
Copyright © May 10, 2006 by Nancy Currie
********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
OFF THE PRESS
Storytime Tapestry Newsletter
The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness
around the world.
Call for Submissions
Easter is beyond us now and the month of May has
approached. We celebrate Mothers Day on the second Sunday of May. I
am now preparing the queue for Mothers Day stories, and I would like your
support to make a great Mothers Day Issue.
For
Mothers Day I will be looking for Stories
about your Mother, grandmother, neighbour, yourself; literally anyone you know
who is a Mother and has been special in a certain way.
Now Mother is a broad term, and as is my custom,
even when voting, is to include a variety of stories not just one kind.
So the broadened definition of Mother for
these submissions will include: an animal such as a cat or dog that has been an
exceptional mother or bad mother, whatever the case may be.
Mother superior in a convent, Mother Theresa,
Mother Mary, the mother of Jesus, mother earth, the mother of invention,
perhaps some special invention has inspired you to write an article.
If you can find a connection for your story
with the word “Mother” it will qualify.
I had originally considered this to be a
contest, when I was planning my scheduling but, it does not look like there is
an interest for contests anymore. So it will be just submissions.
However I will do a poll here… Please write and tell
me if you want a contest yes or no?
The outcome of this call for submissions, whether
stories only or contest, will depend upon the response from the membership at
large.
Thank you for your continued support.
Carol
Roach, publisher and author (Storytime Tapestry Newsletter, 2003 and Picking Up the Pieces: A Woman’s Journey,
2003).
__
****
NEWS FLASH FROM CAROL ROACH, PUBLISHER OF STORYTIME
TAPESTRY ****
Announcing
a Special Project On Behalf of Storytime
Tapestry and writer/author Vance Agee!
Vance Agee, writer, husband, teacher, and devout
Christian, has entertained us at Storytime
Tapestry since the beginning of the newsletter. Vance has written a wonderful
book, a collection of about 150 of his original stories and poems, some of
which have been featured in our newsletter.
He has graciously offered his book as a fundraiser
for Storytime Tapestry and it
is available to you, at the special price of $8.00 (American); please include
shipping and handling (approx $4.00).
The suggested retail price is $19.95 before shipping costs. Vance is offering
this book at wholesale price to his Storytime
Tapestry family.
This is your opportunity to buy for yourself, family,
friends, or launch your own fundraiser for your church or other community
organizations. You will be helping out Storytime
Tapestry, and your own special needs group as well.
But the ministry does not end there; Vance has his
own special cause. You’ll be helping to pay for a double-lung transplant
(see introduction below), a project which Vance is very committed to.
Tell me, fundraiser for Storytime Tapestry, perhaps
your own church or school fundraiser, partial proceeds for a lung transplant,
not to mention that you will be supporting our very precious Vance Agee as a
writer and friend, is there a better way to honour God and his ministry?
Email me at winterose@videotron.ca
with your order. Spread the word, spread the love!
Carol
Roach, publisher and author (Storytime Tapestry Newsletter, 2003; Picking
Up the Pieces: A Woman’s Journey, 2003; Angels Watching Over Me [still looking
for a publishing home!]).
INTRODUCTION BY VANCE AGEE, AUTHOR: This introduction was also published by The Eagles Garden, Publishing Ministry –
Deborah Lynn Haley, www.theeaglesgarden.com,
Edited by: President of The Eagles Garden, Gerald Neal
Henderson, and Written by: Vance Agee.
You just picked up this little book. Well, that’s
obvious, at least to the people around you.
The question now is:
How long will you page through it and will you keep it?
Much of the earnings from the sale of this book will
be given to a benefit fund for a wife and mom of three, who must have a
double-lung transplant! If you buy
this book, you will help one of the many needs around us.
The best other incentive which I can offer you is
that the book is not about someone rich and famous, but someone like YOU and ME;
someone who grew up in a very modest or even poor home, but with a rich
emotional, intellectual and character world; a world in which many family
members could have walked right out of a Dickens’ novel; the world of a little
boy with a great mind and spirit but very humble surroundings. Would you like
to share all that and allow it to blend with your own life? (Hard to relate to
rich and famous, even when you are rich and famous!). If you do, you may email me at VGAgee@aol.com and we can talk. I’ll do my best to get back to you. But
please include your email address, as this is the fastest way in which I can
reply to you. That is what this is all about:
Where Our Spirits Meet!
About what do I write?
About being a very young child (maybe 2 at the
youngest!), about my mom and dad, about my grandma and grandpa, my goldfish, my
first love at six, my favorite holidays, my sad times and the few happy times,
about the mystery of the seasons, about my toy pets, school and church, later
about junior high and high school, about college, and a little about the
disappointments of later times. And about life in general. And time. And God.
Will you join me hand in hand or at least alongside
one another?
Standing there, you are again at a crossroads of
life. My goal is to be a help and a friend to you, in dark and light, in hope
and despair, in dealing with both the good and the bad ghosts of life. Allow our spirits to meet… And here is one of my short poems:
Every word is a poem,
waiting for a poet.
Every word is a world,
waiting for the poet
Just to say, “Let there be?”
Vance
Agee, author (Where Our Spirits Meet, 2006).
Please email Carol Roach at winterose@videotron.ca to order Vance
Agee’s book, only $12.00 with shipping & handling!
__
Cassandra
Daniels, an upcoming author, has published her second and
much-anticipated novel titled, “Caught in the Middle.”
Her novel surrounds 21-year-old Lena Harper, an independent
yet naïve college student, who takes on the risky business of escorting.
“Caught in the Middle” by Cassandra
Daniels, is available at: www.mahonganywritings.com;
ISBN: 978-1-4116-8624-3, $9.78.
__
LOOK FOR Barbara Deming’s latest book, “Growing up Barefoot in the South (Essays by a Southern Writer)”!
She says about her book, “Those of you who know me well understand that this is a book dear to my heart. I always say that I am a Southerner first and an American second--those Southern roots go way, way back and are very deep despite the fact that I now live in California--well, at least it's Southern California. This book will carry you back to a time and place when life was simple, to small towns where the only rule of law was that everyone knew what you were doing--just the place for a tomboy who loved to get into mischief as well as climb mulberry trees to write. Take a trip back to those "good old days" where love for family, country and church were the values learned.”
The book is available at: http://www.amazon.com or http://www.barnesandnoble.com or you can obtain an autographed copy from the author at tejasbabs@aol.com.
Barbara Deming, author (The Quilt Maker,
2003).
__
“Absolutely the Last Resort” by Rose Anna Schoene is a
novel of romance and suspense, set in the Catskill Mountains of New York, by
one of America’s talented new authors who does double-duty as a medical secretary for an
M.D., and is helping her husband battle cancer right now. Her book publisher, Seaburn
Press says more copies can be ordered at www.amazon.com or you can use the direct link at:
Amazon.com: Absolutely the Last Resort: Books. Seaburn Press, ISBN: 1592320600.
__
BRADY MAGAZINE has launched
the ultimate syndication service for writing-related web sites: the online
publication’s writing news, calls for submissions, and contest listings are now
available for other writing-related web sites to post free of charge!
Launched as a way to help impact the lives of writers by
providing networking opportunities, Brady Magazine’s web site content is
available in three separate feeds; simply cut and paste the JavaScript onto
your writing web site and their information will become yours. Feed content
will automatically be updated on a regular basis as Brady Magazine’s site
updates are completed.
“I don’t feel there is such a thing as competition between
writing web sites, since we all have the same goal in mind,” states Krissy
Brady, owner of Brady Magazine. “What
I am looking to do is reach a wider audience, and what better way to do so than
to network with web sites that have the same passion for the industry that I
do?”
The syndication feeds are available by visiting http://www.bradymagazine.com/content.html,
and cutting and pasting the corresponding JavaScript onto your web site. Once Brady Magazine’s feeds have been added
to your site, contact Krissy and she will gladly exchange links with your web
site. For more information, or for interview requests: Brady
Magazine, c/o Krissy Brady, Editor,
********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
COFFEE HOUSE 4
POETS & WRITERS CORNER
(Every
Month Highlighting Artistic Talent – New and Established)!
I Don’t Know …
Maybe
Written on 01-30-2002 by
Heidi L. Metzger
Copyright © 2006 by Heidi L.
Metzger
I don’t know why I yell
Maybe because I feel like hell
I don’t know why I am here
Maybe because I don’t feel near
I don’t know why I cry
Maybe because I hate that he died
I don’t know why I love
Maybe because he’s my little dove
I don’t know why I hate
Maybe because I know I won’t get thru that gate
I don’t know why I lie
Maybe because I know I will die
__
Dizzy: Version 1
Written on 07-27-1998 by
Heidi L. Metzger
Copyright © 2006 by Heidi L.
(“Dizzy”) Metzger
I am sad
Sad as blue
I am happy
Happy as yellow
I am horny
Horny as green
I am mad
Mad as black
I am love
Love as red
I am alone
Alone as white
I am fast
Fast as orange
I am moody
Moody as purple
I am dead
Dead as gray
I am Dizzy
Dizzy as a rainbow
__
Dizzy: Version 2
Written on 02-17-2002 by
Heidi L. Metzger
Copyright © 2006 by Heidi L.
Metzger
I am blue
Blue as the sea
I am green
Green as the grass
I am yellow
Yellow as the sun
I am gray
Gray as the sky
I am white
White as the clouds
I am purple
Purple as the flowers
I am red
Red as a rose
I am orange
I am Dizzy
Dizzy as a rainbow
__
They Call Me
Dizzy
Written on 03-29-2005 by
Heidi L. Metzger
Copyright © 2006 by Heidi L.
Metzger
They call me Dizzy
and they don’t know why
My head is spinning so hard
it makes me want to cry
But I am lost and confused
plus twisted and used
Can I ever stop spinning?
__
ABOUT THE
AUTHOR:
The author,
Heidi L. Metzger (a.k.a. Dizzy Metzger),
is a poet and the mother of two beautiful sons. She resides in
********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
The Proposal
Written on 03-27-2006 by
Sandra lee Hoynacki
Copyright © 2006 by Sandra lee
Hoynacki
I see the color of ribbon in your eyes
Diamond sparkled tear drop
A cerulean mood that sighs
The shimmer must never stop
A protégé of passion
Haunting looks....with envy green
A vale of reining fashion
The women gaze it seems
A coming out of words now sent
Perhaps a king or two
The most ostentatious of events
This town will ever do
Beau monde in taffeta attire
A stroll on carpet plush
Waiting carriage with hire
His bride will surely blush
A swirling off to heights unspoken
The horsemen grips the rein
My knight of love his token
I now will claim his name
__
The Preachers
Written by Sandra lee
Hoynacki
Copyright © 2006 by Sandra
lee Hoynacki
She sat in church
on her little perch most of her young life.
Daddy was a
fireball preacher man and the children had to be little preachers, too. Sure
didn’t want that for a life, it didn’t seem, but that is how it was.
We would sure go
to church near ‘bout every night as Daddy had cleaning night, and then there
was the visiting of all them sick folk. Me and little brother sure enough did
not like that stuff (praying and crying people). All seemed useless at our age.
Well, why couldn’t they just take a drop of that castoria that Mama slid down
brother and me, and just get up and go? But they didn’t, so Daddy prayed and
Mama agreed and we fidgeted.
Then there was
Wednesday night prayer service, and Thursday night was the board meeting and on
and on and on. Sundays were the best days, brother and I thought. Daddy being
the preacher, well, it goes without saying that we got invited home to those
nice Sunday dinners after church, and brother and I would eat and play and have
a great time!
Now Daddy had this
habit of making me sit beside him at the Sunday dinners. When he ate greasy
fried chicken, he would reach under the table and wipe his hands on my pretty
dress. Brother got smart, and he got to move from Daddy, cause Daddy got
embarrassed as brother would let out a yelp, “Stop wiping that chicken grease
on me,” which sure did get at Daddy --- turned red all over and said he
wouldn’t do that.
So time moved me
on through the years of singing in church from the age of three until the age
of sixteen.
It seemed that I
liked to talk in church, and on many occasions (and one particular big day at
church), I just figured that I sure had the desire for Daddy to just carry on
for himself. I would just sit in the back as I might even need to go to the
bathroom at least once or maybe twice. I was surely trying to make up a good
reason to sit way in the back of the church so Daddy could just preach his
heart out to all those sinners that sure ‘nough needed the front seats, but not
me or brother---why we were little preachers too! So I just figured that I
would give up that front row pew for the pitiful sinning folks that others had
invited, and so goes how I told Daddy I needed to sit in the back. Brother just
got wherever and went to the bathroom like a rubber bank… back and forth and on
and on.
So my little
friends and I were just conversing about something really big in our
lives---not boys, as that was a definite no-no for the preacher girl! Maybe we
would sneak a peek at a picture of Elvis, as that was a sin all by itself. Well,
sure ‘nough, out yells Daddy amongst all those sinners and some of those
haughty goody folks! “Well now, seems as my young daughter back in the back has
a lot to say and it must be of some great importance, maybe to us all… seeing
as how she hasn’t took a minute… no sir …ree, to hear a thing I’ve said about
the sins of this world, and all the sinners in it! Lee, tell these here good
folks what it is you speak of there on that pew?” “Nothing Daddy, nothing” I
said, sliding down as far as I could go in the seat.
Well time marched
on and Daddy said no movies for brother and me, none of that jazzed up ungodly
music that would send us both straight down to hell. Why maybe this here very
night we’d go, and neither he nor I was ready to go… to hell, I mean. Daddy had
planned that we would all just go to heaven if Jesus was invited to the house
of our heart. I told brother that our chest was not very big, and I thought
that Jesus was surely too big to hang out in that little spot there. Daddy
said, “Just get down on your knees and ask Jesus to come in, and he will.” That
sounded pretty simple for us, but trying not to sin, we were not sure about, I
came up with this big idea how we could do it. I would sit on the sofa all day
and not move, other than to eat, bathe, go to school, and all those things we
have to do. Brother said that he was not sitting anywhere, and he would just go
outside and do whatever, so I went with him, and we kept on doing whatever kids
do all day long. Time kept on marching on and brother and I kept on trying to
be little preachers ‘cause Daddy said the whole church was looking at us.
I was a pretty
young girl and brother was a handsome kid. We were trying to fit in at the
school, what with the ball games and the dances and all the things that we
really were not allowed to do. Brother had been caught smoking outside the gym
at school, and, as his protector, I saw to my sisterly duties and made sure
that Daddy knew about it that very day when we got home. Daddy didn’t tolerate
smoking or any form of sinning, as we represented the preacher and had to be
preachers too. I didn’t think it so bad that brother got a whipping, as we
didn’t need to mess up that temple that Jesus lived in. The temple was us, and
we had gone down front and prayed, and he had just moved right in with us.
Brother did not need to smoke with Jesus living in there. Why it could make
Jesus sick, I thought, so brother got his whipping so he could get straight.
Well, life went on
and I continued to sing in church. Daddy would go to the revivals and preach
his soul right into a frenzy it seemed, as he would just sweat and wipe his
face and look all tired. Never forgot that big church in
Mrs. Williams got
out her fire starter and fired that long white thing right up as my friend and
I watched, and tried to figure it all out. Looked simple to me, and I decided
to give it my best shot. Never in all my almost sixteen years of life had I
ever been so very sick! I was so sick that I knew that Jesus had left that
heart for sure and I didn’t blame him. Yep, this was what Daddy meant! This was
sending people right straight down there, maybe tonight even. I really didn’t
know how to clean up my temple now, but Daddy would surely show me with a bible
lesson or a long praying session or a soul cleaning or even a paddling, I
supposed.
We made our way to
church that night as we had to be ready to sing songs for the Christians and
the sinners. I thought the sinners were sure in need what with them cigarettes
tasting so bad! Daddy said that they were just like a chimney and needed help.
We took our places on the platform as Daddy had us do and waited to sing the
songs that Daddy picked for us. He got up there and introduced himself to all
those folks, and then he called us up too. Well, we sang pretty good most folks
said. As we started up to sing and maybe bless their socks off, as Daddy said. I
never figured out why Daddy didn’t want them to wear socks, but anyway we would
bless them off for sure. Making our way to the podium with all those fancy
people watching us, my garter belt broke and down came my stockings in front of
all them fancy city-people, right down around my very ankles! That was a mess,
and there was not a thing we could do but pray that I could carry on with the
songs. The sinners needed their socks blessed off, and mine had fallen off with
no singing! Guess that was how God blessed me early. We sang and my socks just
sat on my ankles. Nobody said a word, and neither did Daddy.
Time went on…
Daddy continued to minister, and we, mostly I, continued to sing. Daddy always
said that if you bring a child up in the way he should go, that when he is old
he will not depart. Daddy was a very strict man and we never saw a thing at
home that would teach us any thing but what God would have us do. But now
brother and I maintained our innocence all the time as we tried to tell Daddy
that God did not call us to preach, and we just did not want to anymore. Brother had started driving the car some.
Daddy said I just couldn’t be taught and that I was just slinging the
transmission right out of the car! Daddy quit my lessons and had someone else
to do it instead. I figured that their transmissions were better than Daddy’s
anyhow.
The ministry was
growing and Daddy always had these big crowds and the biggest singings, and
dinners on the ground. Things were fun at church most of the time, and the
girls and guys would go skating and out to eat but never to movies as that was
a big sin; so, we skated, ate pizza, had pajama parties, and life went on.
I remember one
Sunday when the little old lady with the bobbed-up hair asked Daddy to do
something special for her. He and mama talked and whispered, and the next thing
I knew Daddy took a trip and we had a new song leader. Daddy had been good all
the years that I could remember, he had gotten up in the middle of the night
and got people out of the bars that were not supposed to be there. He took
dying people the word or prayed before they died. He even got them out of the
worst places, even jail. That was just how Daddy did it all the time, all the
years that brother and I remembered. Now, brother and I really did not want to
start going at night to get folks out of anywhere, but Daddy said, “Well, the
Lord said that you must do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” So,
sometimes, we’d go. Daddy kept on working on the sick folk, the sinners and the
dying; and brother and I kept on telling him that we were not little preachers,
and that he better get some help cause we were getting tired of cleaning that
big old church and pulling all that gum from underneath the pews. Never could
figure that one out! Why pay for all that gum and then hide it under the pew?!
Well brother couldn’t figure it out either, so we pulled and swept and dusted
and decided we would never be a preacher.
Now brother got
quite an enjoyment out of pushing the old country outhouse over. He and the
Deacon’s kid did this a time or two and got into a lot of trouble. I told
brother that it was not so bad, I thought, but he said it was, as old Mr. Jones
was all bruised up on the last pushing. So brother got a good whipping and no
playing for a few days. No more outhouse pushing for him…seemed like a harmless
activity, but it ended. So we went on to church and time moved on. Daddy kept
us in tow as best he could as we kept on being the preacher’s little preachers
that God did not call us to be, only Daddy. Daddy had us learning the books of
the Bible, and we could get in any type of question match, and brother and I
would spout them right off as good as the preacher could. We read and studied
and acted as we should as we could get called at any time to that heaven in the
sky! We did so want to earn our rewards, so we did unto others and treated them
just like we wanted to be treated, as the Bible says. We followed the Ten
Commandments as best as we could, and we even learned to share. We would give
our tithes. We had to earn our allowance by carrying out the garbage every day,
cleaning the yard, doing the dishes and cleaning the church, and on and on. We
always put in our portion as Daddy showed that in the Bible we always wanted to
obey God and give our first fruits to God. I really did not understand the
fruit thing; Daddy never paid us any fruit and sure ‘nough if it were bananas
he just ate them up or Mama made a pudding that he gobbled down pretty
quickly. As time went on, Daddy did
explain the first fruits, the tithes and the reason for it, and so we gave, but
we didn’t want to be preachers!
Well, brother and
I got older. Daddy still preached and Mama went along with all of the things
preacher’s wives do. I must say that brother and I both had a streak of
rebellion in us… I got married at the age of 16, and brother went out a few
times and sowed a few wild oats. I sure was sowing more than enough oats to
feed an army double helpings of oatmeal.
In the years to
come, I departed from the upbringing of my parents for quite a span of time but
am thankful to say that when you are brought up as you should be that when you
are old you will not depart. Yes I did depart for the few years of rebellion,
and needless to say I am sorry for this and had to learn the hard way that the
parents who teach their children the God-fearing way are richly blessed, and
should be on their knees in prayer thanking God for that type of parent. When
you make your bed hard, you will lie in a hard bed as I, and many others that
thought we had all the answers, are. My brother is currently out of church and
has been for years, but has a Godly wife that prays for his eyes to be opened
once again.
We still are not
little preachers!
__
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR:
The author, Sandra lee Hoynacki, lives in “the hurricane
state” with her second husband, who, along with her four grown children and two
grandchildren, is her very life. She is a retired nurse, who retired from the
nursing profession to take care of her elderly mother, diagnosed with
Alzheimer’s Disease, but still finds the time to write. Because as she, herself,
has said: “I love writing, and hope to write for many years to come!” This very busy, new published author also
attended The Institute of Children’s Literature at night and graduated. To read
more of Sandra’s poetry, please visit her web site at www.PoetryPoem.com/poetic2050,
where she recently won twice for Best Poet for her poems titled, “Dedicated to My Mother This Day”(published
in our March 2006 ezine) and “The Proposal” (published above). Sandra can also be reached via email
at sandylh@cox.net.
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The Painting
Written by Usman (Leo)
Farouqi
Copyright © 2006 by Usman
(Leo) Farouqi
Back home I knew
an artist who was mediocre, unknown and poor. He was in his late 30’s with an
awkwardly drooping and unkempt moustache. His skin was rather pale. His eyes
would always look beyond you. I could never figure out if he was searching for
something from my very soul or into the nothing beyond… From his appearance and child-like smile, you
could imagine him anything but an artist. He was always cool and calm, and even
hummed or whistled faintly while painting. His paintings were seldom sold.
He used to say, in
a dreamy voice, “I don’t paint for money. I only use paint and canvas to
express my thoughts, my feelings and my urges and cravings that keep haunting me.
Or better yet, my works are not that I culture in my mind and then paint. No.
My works take shape in my soul and, in a trance-like confusion, I reflect those
shapes and shadows onto a piece of canvas through the colors of my brushes.” It
was understandable; who would buy dry philosophy in the shape of a useless
piece of canvas with scattered paints on it?
But, amazingly, when he tried to explain a certain painting through the
clouds of his cigarette smoke, one could feel the earth and everything on it stopping.
One could hear music, hear thunder and hear verses of Khayyam.
The first time he
arranged an exhibition of his art, he personally invited me to be there on the
opening day. To encourage him, I took a few friends along with me and showed
keen interest in his works. I noticed that he does not belong to one school of
thought. His paintings conveyed different insights. He liked to paint
landscapes at one time and portraits at another, and so on. But one thing was
very clear and common in each of his paintings, that whatever he painted, you
could see maximum details in it with a harmony of aesthetic color combinations.
That, in my opinion, made him better than most of his contemporaries. He loved
Salvador Dali and could talk about his Melting Clocks and Cannibalism for
hours. He was far away from surrealism or cubism because he believed that every
‘ism’ is based upon propaganda and, according to him, painting and propaganda
were two different paths that could and should never meet.
My friends and I
were trying our best to look like lovers-of-art who understood and enjoyed the
intricacies of art and each stroke of a brush. There was one painting, however,
that really impressed me in particular. It was a simple painting with nothing
fancy about it. It described a pedestrian path in the middle of fields with a
scantily clad, and very tired, young woman sitting on the path and resting with
an old beat up milestone. The first impression that I got from that painting
was as if the milestone was urging the hungry and tired young girl to get up
and capture the world! That was very
unusual, very strange but the painting haunted my thoughts and I used to feel
as if the milestone was urging and persuading me also to get up and capture the
world, for this is not what you are here for – this is not your destiny, it
would say in my thoughts.
Soon after his
exhibition, the painter was murdered. My busy and demanding lifestyle kept me
and my memories away from the painter and the painting. Then after some time, I
came across the painter’s widow and told her of my interest in buying that
particular painting. The widow’s eyes beamed for a fraction of a second, and
then closed as if trying to gather her thoughts. And then, to my surprise, she
told me that a millionaire’s wife had come to the exhibition and had wanted to
buy the painting. It was surely an honor for any painter to sell a painting to
a rich, pretty and famous lady like her.
But the painter
had refused to sell the painting because, according to the rich lady, the color
combination of the painting would match and enhance the overall look of her
living room. The rich lady was not used to hearing a “no” from anybody, as is
what the painter told her when he heard about the painting enhancing her living
room! She felt her ego being shattered
at the painter’s “no!” Her voice rose in
rage and thus, in order to save her injured pride, offered a blank check for
the painting. Which was again refused by the painter. “I cannot sell my
paintings to anybody who considers them as decoration pieces! They are not
lifeless pieces of junk. They are my own flesh and blood, and for anybody who
has the inner insight and can see my soul in them!” the painter raged at the
rich, pretty lady. The widow ended her tidbit by telling me, “I had never seen
my husband so hurt and furious.” Then she stopped, looked up at me, and dabbed
at the tears on her cheeks.
The widow,
recalling more, went on with her story. Within less than two hours of that
annoying and hurtful incident, the painter saw a poor, young lady standing in
front of the painting, sobbing and trying to hide her tears with an old cheap,
but clean, handkerchief. The painter saw the personification of his masterpiece
and sold the painting to the young lady for $5.00 since that was all she could
afford.
I’m still not sure
who was happier? The young lady, who understood the meanings of life through
the persuasion of THE PAINTING, or the painter who, all of a sudden,
experienced a novel serenity of rainbow in his thoughts and feelings, oozing
and creating with each stroke of his brush, or the widow of the painter for
once being the wife of a man she loved without even knowing him. I could never
understand the destiny of the Painter… was he a poet, a musician, a painter or
all-in-one, a human being?
__
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
The author, Usman (Leo)
Farouqi, says he is not a writer but considers himself a lost soul, because
when he was a young boy in Pakistan he was a sportsman who loved to play games
such as Cricket, Tennis and Badminton, which he feels he was good at but could
not stick to. He also loved to read and write poetry but in his mother-tongue
only. English is his third language and because of a stroke a couple of years
ago he has lost some of his English vocabulary, and now struggles with
selecting the right words in English… because of this it takes a lot of time
for him to finish anything that he writes, such as the above short story. When
Leo is not writing, he is the owner of “Future Footwear,” a manufacturer/exporter
of shoes, in
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I See Heaven
Written by Michelle A. Obie
Copyright © 2006 by Michelle
A. Obie
I see heaven
but heaven can’t see me
I hear the rain
and the children playing hide-go-seek
I see heaven
but heaven can’t see me
I hear God calling my name
I don’t see nothing but
You and me
__
Remember the Good
Old Days
Written by Michelle A. Obie
Copyright © 2006 by Michelle
A. Obie
I’ve been afraid to move on
Because I’m sitting here thinking about
the good old days
The days when we used to climb trees
and playing kickball in the middle of the street
Riding our bikes around the neighborhood
and during the middle of the night
And the police officers escorting us back home
I’ve been afraid to move on
Because I’m sitting here thinking about
the good old days
The days when we all used to sit in
the middle of the floor pigging out on candy
I remember being friends,
Growing up going to the same old school
When we all grew apart
Our friendships ending, we never said goodbye
We never said hello
We never talked until we see each other in the store
We say a few words but never say enough
We say a little
until something
bad happens to one of us
Remember the pack
When we were kids we said
We will always be there for one another
I wonder, does this pack still stand now?
__
What Happened to
You Yesterday?
Written by Michelle A. Obie
Copyright © 2006 by Michelle
A.Obie
What happened to you yesterday