I Survived the Week-End?!

“Wake up with a smile and go after life … live it, enjoy it, taste it, smell it, feel it”. ~ Joe Knapp

“The miracle is this – the more we share, the more we have”. ~Leonard Nimoy

"There is only one way ... to get anybody to do anything. And that is by making the other person want to do it." ~ Dale Carnegie

Wow It's Monday and I survived the long week-end with the visitors and the children and the friends and everyone.. I'm not even sure how I managed not to loose my temper even once... I wasn't drinking.. I didn't have a nerve pill... My tongue is still in one piece so I must not have had to bite that too much.... I had forgotten how loud people are.. Dave and I are very quiet.. I am almost always at home and when he is at work I am here alone.. Other than the few phone calls each day I am pretty much silent.. Well except when I read poetry aloud to see how a word sounds... or read from a story aloud to see if I need to change a word for a certain effect.. (Yes I know that sounds crazy.. I thought all of you already knew I was crazy?!) I do talk to the birds and chickens as I feed them.. I'll tell them no eggs means soup for supper.. Chicken Soup!!.. Sometimes they cluck and cackle as if they are talking back to me.. But all of my dogs barking and my chickens cackling together aren't as loud as a bunch of twenty year old men and three girlfriends...Two children.. and one more pair of adults...Friday night I wanted a cigarette and I haven't smoked in a long long time.. Thankfully everyone came and saw...and met.. and Saturday was pretty quiet.. Two young fellows came and helped Cooper pack.. Carly gathered things for the new puppy and got her own stuff ready for the trip home.. Dave grilled ...outside... taking Mason with him and I cooked the other things in the oven.. checking them now and then.. and sat down to write down a dream I had a week or so ago.. The writing sorta took over and wrote itself into a story.. a very short story though.. We all gathered around the table and had a wonderful meal together before the guys shoved off to Pursue a female of their own and Cooper and Carly finished the packing and loading of everything and finally around 8pm struck out for home.. <~~~~~~ >New Mexico... way across over there... 25 hours away.. as the crow flies....

I know this is not a usual type of thing for me.. I surely don't write dark stuff very often.. But sometimes I do.. This is one of those times.. Maybe you will enjoy it.. Maybe not.. Maybe you won't even catch on .. either way.. I am sharing it.. I am glad to have survived the week-end without blowing my top.. I am glad Cooper and Carly are home in New Mexico safe and sound.. I am glad my house is silent tonight except for the tapping of my toes and the keyboard keys..I am simply glad.. let me know if you enjoy the story or even if you don't.. I will welcome all comments.. I hope that today you too are Glad about something!..Have a great day!
Patsy


Forgive me Father...

The young Padre lathered his scratched and bruised knuckles.. The rusty red water swirled and slugged into the drain... He reached for the nail brush laying along the back of the old porcelain sink....Thirty nine times he would scrub his hands tonight.. One time for each of them that had gone away.. Mama had taught him to keep his hands clean... Mama had taught him many important things before she went away..

The blond news woman begged and pleaded from the tiny television in the bedroom behind him.. She was speaking on behalf of the family of a missing girl... Cynthia Louise some body... He had called her Diana.. He gave them all new names after they went away.. good clean names... Biblical names... The tiny television was balanced on the end of the bed.. He hated television but he liked to hear the pleas after another woman went away.. The bed was a small bed for a man of his size and age.. Hard.. with only a thin blanket and a worn and ragged pillow... There were no pictures on the walls.. The only adornment in the entire room was the big bible laying open on the oak dresser.. He had never liked fancy things.. Mama had told him fancy things were sinful...

Reaching for the snowy white towel the priest dried his hands and smothered the bruises with lotion.. There was no telling what germs those trashy women had on their bodies.. Diana had bit him and scratched him.. He didn't have time to even think of Mama this time... He had been proud of Mama when she went away.. Not one time did she scream or beg like some of the others had.. She had even looked him in the eye when he might have faltered and snarled at him to finish it!... There had been so many more since Mama....

He had been thirteen when Mama went away.. he hadn't known it was going to happen.. he hadn't planned for it to happen... Mama had just risen from his tiny bed and went to bath herself.. he had heard her singing hymns in the bathroom as she washed away the proof of their sins... The next thing he remembered mama was laying on the bathroom floor bleeding and he had been standing over her with blood dripping from his hands.. He would have left her there maimed but alive if not for her snarl.. "Don't be a girly boy! You finish what you started!" Three days later the police had shown up at their spotless house and finding him there alone and Mama no where to be found they had brought him here...

Hanging the towel to dry.. the Father glanced at his reflection from the small shaving mirror over the sink.. thirty eight years he had been here.. growing from a boy to a man.. a Priest...thirty eight women gone away.. all of them sinners.. they had confessed the vilest of sins to him.. Many of them seeming to almost enjoy the telling of their secrets.. sitting back in the darkness of the confessional as if he were a close friend who had shared in their wickedness... penance and absolution for the same wickedness over and over.. He chose carefully.. There was Ruth.... He had long since forgotten her real name.. guilty of adultery not once or even twice.. but seventy times.. He had freed her from her sins.. just as he had freed Mama and the others who had tried to seduce him and the other orphanage boys..and sometimes even one of the Priests here.... before he had become a priest himself just as soon as he possibly could.. No more hiding behind the confessional to hear whispered sins.. Now he sat in the comfort of the booth and listened carefully to the wicked confessors..

Sliding the television back into the dresser drawer the Padre smoothed his frock over his slim body and smiled at the small green light that flashed to let him know another sinner was waiting.. he wasn't in any hurry today.. he had a whole year to decide... slipping silently into the darkened closet he sat back and crossed his legs.. he could smell her perfume.. he was almost sure of who she was before he heard her speak... almost eighteen and the worry of her Parents..he had already forgotten her real name..

"Please say you'll Forgive me Father for I have sinned" .. she began... "and I haven't been to confession in at least fourteen days".. she added almost happily....."Ah yes!" he thought to himself with a sad smile.. twisting on his chair.. settling in for a long tale of daring misdeeds.... It was Miriam....

Written By: Patricia Sawyer
8-29-2009

Thinking about the Past!

“The reason people find it so hard to be happy is that they always see the past better than it was, the present worse than it is, and the future less resolved than it will be”~ Marcel Pagnol

“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.”

~Buddha

"There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragrant than ever again. " ~Elizabeth Lawrence

"The older I grow the more earnestly I feel that the few joys of childhood are the best that life has to give." ~Ellen Glasgow



It seems to come around this time of year for me. A pining and wishing for the simple life we knew as children. I well remember us running around the yard in front of the the little white house as dusk settled over the yard. The tall pines Mama had wanted planted around the yards edge standing as sentry's guarding over our home. The azalea's Daddy had planted on a Sunday afternoon scenting the evening air. Someone was hiding scrunched down in those flowers. We knew they were there somewhere. But in the faint darkness they were invisible to us. I can feel the tremors of excitement as we skipped along holding tight to each others hands. Singing out loud ~ " Ain't no boogers out tonight; out tonight~ out tonight! Ain't no boogers out tonight! Granddaddy killed them all last night!" And then with a screech the hider would leap up from the flower bed and away we would all run screaming back to the step where Mama and Daddy sat talking quietly together. Sometimes Aunt Lucy or Grandma Black might be sitting with them talking about grown-up things. They might even be shelling peas or butter
beans in the evening shadows. The porch light casting a golden pool around them. I can see them even now as if I am standing out near the pines looking back through years of time.Tingles of fear racing along my spine. Jimmy is hiding and he loves to scare us as much as he can. He will make us walk and sing forever; building the fear in all of us until he will leap from the shadows with a blood curdling yell as we race to the safety of the golden light around Mama and Daddy. He will cause us to scatter in fear, each running for their own life, afraid to hang on to each other. Afraid to look back.

Closing my eyes I can remember the smell of Daddy's cigar and can almost hear the whisper of Mama's laugh at something he said just loud enough for her to hear. We children would run and play until darkness was full upon the yard, then settle on the steps to watch in wonder as the fireflies flashed around over the same flower beds that had only moments before held boogers. Children don't play like that now. Dusk finds them on-line or playing video games or maybe just watching television. They miss so many wonderful things that happen in those moments between daylight and darkness. Nothing in life is simple now. Even small children have cell phones and I-pods and hand held games. I am so thankful for my childhood. I have tried very hard to give my own children a sense of the goodness of living simply. I know that they and their friends have laughed at my fondness for the simple life. I hope that one day, as they stand and look back through time, They too will remember the good times~ the fun~ the sew it up game~ the fireflies over the field~ the railroad hills~ me and my chickens~ The simple life.


Tonight I am going to share with you a story from the past. A story that tells of my love for some more of our childhood things. If there are children in your life, try to see that they enjoy some of the simple things. Maybe share with them a sunrise or a sunset. They may not appear to enjoy it but the time you spend on them will matter. I hope you enjoy the story and I hope you have a wonderful day.
Patsy

A Poor Man's Vacation

Mountain Climbing, river rafting, flying and exploring...we did it all when we were kids! We were sure our plane could fly higher and faster than any other plane ever invented. Made from an old hog chute at an uncle's hog farm and fueled by imagination, that old flying machine could take it's passengers almost anywhere. We would fly over Paris one minute and land in the Australian outback in the next. Sometimes we would fly over to Tibet and climb our own version of Mt. Everest.
Mountain climbing could take us all day once we got started because somehow it was always just as much fun to slide down the clay hills on flattened boxes as it was to climb to the top. Of course we also had to take time out to discuss where the passing trains were going and who might be on board.
After several hours of climbing we would wander along the river bank to the clearing where the Indians lived in their snowy white tepees. These Indians were very friendly. They showed us how to make chicken feather headbands and how to climb the tall scaly pine trees. Sometimes our friends would invite us to share their supper of buffalo dogs. When we cooked them over a small fire and added some ketchup or mustard they were almost like the franks mom would fix. The river was a great place for rafting and exploring. The currents would swirl our craft around and around as we dizzily hung on and rode the rapids. After a while David's arms would tire and we'd drift into the still waters. After a tiring ride down river we'd wander around in the great forest searching the well trodden paths for bits of glass or colored stones that we called treasure.
We really looked forward to going on an adventure with the Big Chief. We would load up in his red windblower and go deep into the forest. behind the river, where we would track down and capture such dreaded enemies as the sworded wild rose and the dangerous dogwoods. The chief would chop around their feet until they couldn't move. He'd hoist them up on his broad shoulders and we'd tie a burlap bag around their long trailing toes so they couldn't crawl away. We would load them into our windblower and haul them back to camp. The Chief would bury their feet and tie them to poles so they couldn't sneak away after dark!
I guess with every day being an adventure I was pretty near half grown before I realized that most people took some sort of vacation each year. I thought they were luxuries reserved only for the rich. I'll never forget the day I sat in class and stared with open-mouthed disbelief as Mrs. Davenport gave her best English teacher smile and the command to write an essay on our summer vacations. I couldn't tell my friends about our family outings. Even our camping trips and trips to the seashore didn't seem good enough. It was hard for me to understand why my parents couldn't take their eight kids on vacations like my friends went on. It took a lot of travel brochures and a lot of imagination to get me through those years.
Now that those Years are passed away and I have children of my own I often feel a longing to visit the places of my youth. The railroad bank mountains aren't nearly so high or hard to climb anymore and the creek river doesn't seem quite as deep. The old flying machine is only a rotting hog chute and the red windblower has long since been traded in on a Ford Escort. The dreaded enemies captured in the forest have become beautiful plants in my parents yard and the bed sheet tepees are long gone.
Now as I stand back and watch my children and the children of my brothers and sisters scramble to the top of the mountain only to come sliding down on red seated britches or cross the river on fallen tree bridges to claim as treasures the pretty colored stones, I feel a sudden urge to join them in the priceless pleasures of a poor man's vacation.

Written By: Patricia Sawyer
1989
Published: Southern Sensations Magazine
October-November 1989!