LBC-Times Remembered!

If you have time and want a good read, check out the other contributions. It always amazes me how people can see the same subject but come up with different interpretations.

  Other Loose Blog Consortimun members are,  ANU, ASHOK, CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GINGER GRANNYMAR , HELEN, MAGPIE11, MARIA, (MARIANNA is on hiatus for a while. ) and RUMMUSER .

TIMES REMEMBERED:

Me, Susan & Larry

 It's Christmas and I'm sitting in the back seat of my Dad's '49 Chevrolet with my face pressed against the window, watching the bright lights flash by as we make our way to Chattanooga, Tennessee.  I keep asking, "Are we there yet?"

At age ten, in 1958, I don't remember my family being poor, but we were.  Mom and Dad weren't able to buy me, my brother and sisters a lot of toys, but, each year, the Saturday evening before Christmas, the whole family, would drive thirty miles to Chattanooga, Tennessee to view the department store windows decorated with Christmas scenes.  My favorite store was J. C. Penney's. It had eight huge windows decorated with different scenes.  While all the windows looked great, only Penney's were automated.  A child's fantasy brought to life.

Our small town had never heard of MacDonald's or a Wendy's.  It was a treat to be able to buy a hamburger, fries and a coke.  The very first stop would be at a Krystals.  The fact that the hamburgers were only fifteen cents never lessened my pleasure in eating one.  To this day, I've never found a hamburger to beat my memory of those Christmas hamburgers.

Once we were through eating our meal, Dad would take us to buy an ice cream cone, while Mom secretly went shopping for a gift for each of us, though I didn't know this for years, we thought the gifts were  really from Santa Claus.  Sometimes the gift would be clothes or a stuffed animal; rarely, would a toy from my Santa Claus list show up on Christmas day.  But I don't remember it being strange that I never received one of my selections. Though once I did ask why didn't he bring a particular doll I wanted.  Her response was that Santa knew what I needed and that's what he brought.  This explanation must have worked.  I'm sure I felt disappointment, but in the excitement of the day, it was forgotten.

After the ice cream we headed for main street and the shop windows.  By the time I reached the street, my anticipation was at such a peak that I literally skipped and danced along the sidewalk.  There were plenty of street lights along the way, casting a yellow brightness as we walked first down one side and then crossing to the other side.

There was a festive feel in the air as other families joined us.  Even though they were complete strangers, there was a temporary bond formed as we walked along.  When our noses became cold from being pressed against the glass, Dad would take us inside a drugstore to warm up and buy a bag of freshly roasted cashews.  There they sat under a bright light to keep them warm.  The aroma wafting up, mixing with the smell of candy.  If I pressed my face against the glass, it would be warm. 

Outside again the air would be crisip and cold with the lingering smell of roasting cashews.  In the background, Christmas music played softly.  Finally, there in front of me was the best display of all, J. C. Penney!  Running to the first window I stood close, facinated by the scene as well as trying to understand how the donkey could raise and lower it's head into the baby Jesus' crib, or how a stuffed Santa could climb down and up a chimney, constantly.  There would be tiny elves pretending to hammer a sole to a shoe or place a wheel onto a firetruck.  Turning to my Dad I'd ask, "Daddy, what makes them move?"

He looked down at me, a smile on his lips, and gave me the same answer each year, "It's magic."

Slowly I would move from one window to the next.  Imprinting every detail into my memory. The colors, the bright twinkling star over a singing angel with her wings outlined in gold.  The flickering fire from the imitation electric logs.  It was a pleasure Mom and Dad allowed us to linger over, knowing the memory would need to last for a year.  They didn't impatiently push us along or pull us away.

By nine o'clock, worn out from the excitement and walking, I was ready to head home.  As I sat in the corner of the back seat, reliving the night, the warmth of the car and the singing tires on the pavement would finally lull me to sleep.

This is one of my favorite times remembered, a Christmas from the past.

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TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-A Ten Year Old Tragedy

"This really feels like home!" exclaimed Anne, sipping her coffee.

She knew she needed to be somewhere, but where?  She stared out the window from the backseat, watching the raindrops slide down the glass, drop onto the door and continue it's path to the road.  "Just like me", she thought, "Sliding down to nowhere".

She glanced up at the back of Marie Sargent's head.  She is in the car because Maria is taking her somewhere.  She knew her name was Anne, because they told her it was.  If only she could remember why and how she had come to live at Heritage House.  Maria told her to take it slowly, after all, last month was the first time she became aware that she existed.  Before she had lived in a fog, unaware of her surroundings or of the people around her.  Though she wondered if that hadn't been a good thing with all the prodding, questioning and tests she had gone through lately.  She knew that it is a miracle she even became aware, after all, she had lived in a fog for ten years, or so they said. They being Maria Sargent and Doctor Stanley.  They were nice people.  You could tell Maria wanted her to continue remembering and Doctor Stanley wanted her well.

She wondered what well meant.  After all she didn't hurt anywhere, sometimes she did pinch herself to make sure she hadn't slipped back into the fog.  Especially when they left her in her room, sometimes it would be so quiet, no sound except her breathing.  There were scary moments when she felt her room became the center of the fog.  Only when someone else entered did she give a sigh of relief, I mean, no one else had ever been in the fog, so if a person stood there, it was the real room.

The day she existed, it began slowly.  The sound, started out as a whisper, as though the fog was being sucked out, then it came racing at her until she saw someone standing in front of her. It wasn't gray anymore, she remembered raising her arms to protect herself from the onslaught of sound, she saw their lips move and heard something that seemed garbled up with the noise of existing. She screamed and placed her hands over her ears, but it didn't stop the noise.  She felt a sting in her left arm, then the fog engulfed her again. Thankfully, there was silence.

The next time she existed, her eyes opened, she heard a noise, but it wasn't loud, the window was open and she heard a bird, then laughter floated in from somewhere.  A click sounded and a beautiful woman stood there.  She had fiery red hair and the greenest eyes ever, they looked like emeralds.  A dust of freckles ran across her nose.  She said, "Hello, Anne.  How are you feeling?"

Anne tried to speak, but no sound came out.  So she shrugged and sat up.  The beautiful woman reached out to study her and to keep her from falling out of the bed.  "My name is Maria Sargent, and I'm your caregiver while you've been here at Heritage House.  Do you remember coming to Heritage

 House?"

Anne didn't try to say anything this time, just shook her head no.  The only thing she remembered was yesterday when she started existing.

In the month since she awoke, she had learned that she had been at Heritage House for ten years, ever since she was a girl of ten .  Maria had been with her the whole time, as well as Doctor Stanley.  They kept asking her questions about did she remember her mother and father.  She didn't even know she had a mother and father or that her mother came every day for a year, while her father came every week.  Over time they had cut back their visits to once a month.  They kept asking about her brother Alan. They even showed her pictures of her mother and father.  They showed her a picture of Alan but it upset her so much they never tried that again.  When she saw his face she screamed and screamed.  Another sting in her arm gave her the fog and silence she wanted.

On the day her parents came to Heritage House, they were allowed to visit her on the veranda, with Maria standing by.  She had been a little nervous, but they were an attractive couple, both with blonde hair, her father's had gray running back along the side of his head, as though someone had taken a paint brush and wiped it across his hair. They were both tall and slim, both had blue eyes which looked at her expectantly, she wasn't sure what they needed her to say or what they wanted to hear.  They were just two people who wanted more than she could give at the time.  Since that day, they started coming more frequently till Anne looked forward to their arrival. That is until this last Sunday's visit.

They were sitting in the house's conservatory, enjoying the scent of the indoor house plants with the sound of a small waterfall in the background. Even though it was cold outside, it had been warm with the sun shining down through the glass. Her mother and father were sharing news from home, talking about her grandmother Mimi wanting to come and see her.  Brooks, the butler and his wife, Adele, wanted to know how she felt about them coming as well.  After all, they had known her since her birth. Then her father said," Adele was the one with her when Alan..", at the mention of Alan's name she jumped up and wrapped her arms around herself.  She paced back and forth a few times until her father put his arms around her and hugged her to his chest. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned his name!" Gently he rocked her back and forth until she quieted down.  Thankfully, Maria came and took her back to her room.

In their session together on Monday, Maria asked her how she felt about her father mentioning her brother. She shrugged and asked, "Why does the mention of his name upset me so much? Why can't I remember anything before the day I existed?"

"Anne, remember we talked about you using the word awoke rather than existing."

Resentfully she thought, "I didn't wake up though, I started existing." Still Maria didn't explain to her why she became upset with the mention of her brother's name, only that at the right time she would remember.

Then Thursday night she had a horrible dream.  She awakened herself with her screaming, her body was drenched with sweat, she was sitting on the edge of her bed flailing her arms from side to side.  Only this time Maria didn't give her a shot to take her back into the fog.  Instead, she made her repeat the dream.  At first she had been stubborn, then as she realized Maria wasn't going away until she told her the dream, she repeated it.

Now they were on the way to somewhere that Maria said she needed to remember. They had been traveling an hour when it started to rain.  The hissing of the water on the road, an occasional blaring of a car horn soon gave way to the hum of their tires.  They hadn't passed another car for a few miles.  Suddenly a sign loomed up on her side of the road, "Home of Roan's World Famous Peaches, stop and enjoy the fresh taste of newly harvested peaches, and try our homemade ice cream."  Then the words beneath which stated "Open from June 1st through September 7th".  Here it was December so we wouldn't be able to stop, yet we slowed and turned onto a side road curving around as they drove along until they pulled up before an antebellum house.  The tall columns held up the balcony that traveled around the second story, with white rocking chairs spaced along for comfortable seating. Three steps curved around the front entrance which widened into a veranda that traveled forever.  She had a flashback of walking along that veranda, she remembered it took forever to go from one side to other.

As she looked at the house, she realized it was decorated for Christmas.  Huge round wreaths adorned the double doors, while Christmas garlands decorated the balcony rails.  There were two Christmas trees out front decorated with white Christmas lights.  The house was beautiful, yet she didn't want to get out of the car.  Her legs wouldn't move, her breathing became erratic and loud.

Maria opened the back door, "Anne, look at me, take a slow breath and relax.  Come on, remember, I'm here with you."

Finally she managed to get out of the car, there were her mother and father standing on the steps, along with an older couple, whom she assumed would be Brooks and Adele.

With Maria's arm around her shoulders, she allowed herself to be guided toward the house.  As each step took her closer to the door though, she wanted to stop.  A fearful dread came over her as she entered the house.  When she looked up he was coming down the winding staircase, then it all came back, the blood, her beloved brother lying at the bottom of the stairs, it had been all her fault.  After this thought, Anne fainted.

She moaned, tossed and turned as she came awake.  Her dead brother was sitting on the side of the bed, holding her hand.  She whimpered, pulled her hand free and scrambled back up the bed.  "You're dead!", she shouted.

"No, Anne, I'm not.  Your young mind saw me fall after stepping on your doll, then the blood you just couldn't handle the shock. Head injuries have a tendency to bleed and since you were never able to handle the sight of blood, the sight frightened you into silence.  You couldn't handle the thought that you might have killed me.  It wasn't your fault, you were a child, it was an accident.  Unfortunately you weren't able to hear us tell you that I'm alive.  I came to visit twice, put you became so agitated, they made me stop.  I'm alright, Annie."

Annie, that was the name he always called me.  He said Anne was such a grownup name for a little girl to carry.  The next few hours we caught up on the last ten years.  Alan is five years older than her.He'd gone to college and as soon as he received his law degree he wanted to go into partnership with their father.  He told about the woman he is dating and hoped to marry.  Finally Maria came to the door and suggested we come downstairs and have a cup of coffee with her before she left to go back to Heritage House.

"Will I be coming back with you?", I asked.

She looked at me, "Do you want to go back or stay here?"

Anne thought a minute before replying, " I want to stay here."

"Then hurry down and see me off."

After Maria left, they all stayed in the livingroom, letting the peace of the evening envelop them as they sat there watching the fire flames flicker in the polished wood floor.  Occasionally, the Christmas tree lights would blink like stars.   "This feels like home", exclaimed Anne, as she sat sipping her coffee, as she sat in the overstuffed white chair. "Why did it take me ten years to come back?"

 Her mother came over, kissed her on her forehead, "It only matters that you're here now. Sometimes there are no answers to our "why" questions."

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    Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Gaelikaa and Judy Harper.  The words are copyright of Judy Harper.  Gaelikaa's story can be found here.   We have MelRoXx back, her story will be found here . Here is Anu's Story

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-Accident or Murder

When I looked in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself.

It had been raining hard all day when I pulled up to William Benson's house. As usual, I had forgotten my umbrella.  I opened the car door to run to the front porch and glanced at my watch, I was fifteen minutes late.

William Benson had telephoned me earlier that Thursday evening to discuss hiring me to do some investigation for him.  The drive had taken longer than I expected due to the pouring rain.  It fell in such a heavy downpour, at times I had to creep along.

After making a mad dash through the rain to the porch, I became so involved in shaking the water off my raincoat, I didn't notice the front door was slightly ajar.  My knock pushed it completely open.  When I called for Benson, there wasn't a reply.  The only sound was the pounding rain hitting the porch roof.  Cautiously I stepped inside.

I searched through several rooms before I found him sitting at his desk in his study.  At first, I thought he was waiting for me to get closer to the desk before he spoke.  It wasn't until I was a few feet away from him that I noticed his pale blue eyes staring vacantly at me.  Those empty eyes told me he was dead, but I walked over to him, lifted his wrist, feeling for a pulse. There wasn't one.

William Benson was a wealthy recluse living in Springville.  His age was somewhere in the sixties.  He'd only been living here about three years.  Just as in other small towns, there was speculation as to what he did with his time, and where he made his money.  Since he never socialized with the  people of Springville, that's all it was, speculation.

After placing his arm back in his lap, and as I turned to survey the rest of the room, the toe of my shoe tapped against something lying on the floor.  It was a man's gold wristwatch.  As I reached down to pick it up, I thought it looked familiar.  Gently I turned it over to see if anything was written on the back.  As soon as I read "Love Forever, Reid" I knew whose watch it was.  Just a week ago I'd given it as a birthday present to my fiance, Derrick Mason, what was it doing on Benson's study floor?

Slipping the watch into my raincoat pocket, I glanced around one more time before going to my car to call the Sheriff's office. On my way out I passed the hallway mirror, when I looked into the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. I stopped and stared at my pale face.

When I had told my brother, the only lawyer in Springville, that I wanted to become a private investigator, he insisted I buy a cell phone and keep it with me at all times, that way, if I needed help or ran into trouble I have a way to call someone.  Personally, I think it's more for his peace of mind than for mine, but tonight I was grateful that I had it to use.

A deep southern drawl came over the line, "Springville's Sheriff's department, Sheriff Adams speaking".

"Sheriff, this is Reid St. Clair.  I'm at William Benson's house, out on highway 280.  I found him a few minutes ago, he's dead."  

There was a few seconds of silence before he replied, "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. You stay put, you heah?"

I started to shiver as I sat watching the bright car lights turn the rain into thousands of raindrop diamonds.  Reaching down I turned the car heater on high, trying to drive away the chill in my bones, that didn't come from the weather.

As I waited for the Sheriff, I thought about the first time I met Derrick Mason.  In three months it would be a year. We'd met at the Springville May Day dance.  Once we started talking it was as if we'd known each other all our lives.  It hadn't mattered, until tonight, that we hadn't known every detail of each other's past.  Each of our lives had begun the night we met.  Or so I'd thought.  I told myself there was a logical explanation as to why his watch was in Benson's house.  I decided that until I talked with Derrick I wasn't going to turn the watch over to the Sheriff.

Sheriff Adam' patrol car was the first to slide into the driveway.  The car tires spit gravel as he slid to a halt inches from my back car bumper.  Two other patrol cars skidded in behind the Sheriff, while another swerved onto the manicured lawn.  Car doors slammed as patrolmen ran toward the house.

As I rolled down the car window, I heard the Sheriff mutter, "Damn", before he yelled, "you men watch where you're running. Y'all could be destroying evidence.  I know this is the first murder investigation you've participated in, so be careful!"

"Hello, Sheriff."

He was a bald, potbellied man who seemed to spend most of his waking hours barking out orders.

"Reid, I know this will be difficult for you, but would you kindly show me where the body's located before these durn fools give me a heart attack."

After leading him to the study, I returned to my car to wait. 

Forty-five minutes later, the Sheriff came down the steps toward my car.  I watched him plod through the drizzling rain, his shoulders hunched over for protection.  As he reached the car, he leaned down to the open window, "You feel up to answering a few questions?"

"Yes", I nodded.  "You want to sit in here where it's warm?"

After he slid in, he held his hands toward the heater as though warming them before a fire. "Why were you out here tonight?"

I told him about the phone call I'd received earlier that evening. "How did he die?"

He pulled his tobacco pouch out of his coat pocket.  Methodically he filled his pipe while he decided on what and how much to tell me.  "It looks as thought his neck is broken. I'll know more when I get the autopsy report back.  Is there anything more you can tell me about tonight?"

"No," I replied, feeling more and more sick to my stomach.  "If you don't need me anymore, I'd like to go home.  I'm not feeling too well." I wasn't lying either.

As I slowly pulled out onto 280, I turned north, the opposite direction from home and headed to Derrick's farm.  I had to know the truth.

His car was parked in the driveway, the headlights still blazing.  First I rang the doorbell, then when he failed to answer, I turned the doorknob.  The door was unlocked.

He was sitting, woodenly, in front of the den fireplace, his hands clasped around a drink.  The fire flames cast a glow around the darkened room.  The firelight flickered across his coal-black hair.  With all the outdoor work he did, his six foot frame was lean and hard.

Without glancing he asked, "You know don't you? How?"

In the short time we had known each other, we had always seemed to be able to sense each others feelings.  I walked over and quietly placed the wristwatch on the oversized chair arm, "What happened, Derrick?"

He sat there for a few minutes, his shoulders weighted down by the heavy burden.  The only sound came from the crackling fire.

"Five years ago, William Benson embezzled a large sum of money from the company where he and my Dad were employed.  The accounting was done in such a way that the blame fell onto my Dad. Eventually he was cleared."

He paused and took a sip of his drink, "Unfortunately, it was too late to help.  My Dad couldn't handle the disgrace, nor the knowledge that after fifteen years, his employers actually believed he would do such a thing.  I think that hurt him the most."

He sat his drink on the end table, "One day I came home from work to find him slumped over his desk, he'd shot himself.  Though my Dad was cleared, there wasn't any proof as to who actually committed the crime.  There were two men suspected."

He leaned forward as he continued, "One of the two men was Benson.  My Dad left me a letter telling me why he thought Benson the guilty man."

Covering his face with his hands, "Tonight I confronted Benson with Dad's letter.  He just laughed!"

Derrick suddenly stood up, "He said there was no way I could prove he was responsible.  He sat there puffing on his cigar, a smug satisfied look on his face.  It was as though all the rage I felt exploded."

Derrick turned to face me, his arms stretched out towards me, "I charged at him across the desk, knocking him back against the wall.   I heard the smack of his head as it hit the wall, then he slumped to the floor."

He let his arms fall to his side,"At first, I thought I'd only knocked him unconscious.  When I realized he was dead, I panicked.  I don't remember much else.  The next thing I knew, I was home."

I pushed the uneasy feeling I had to a forgotten corner of my mind.  Kneeling beside the chair, I gently clasped his are, looked sadly into his eyes and asked, "What now?"

Silence pervaded the room as Derrick walked to the phone, "You and I both know what I must do. I've just been sitting here putting it off.  Now that you're here, there isn't any reason to prolong the inevitable."

I shook my head from side to side as I mutely watched him punch in numbers, "Yes, I want to confess to a murder.

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 Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Gaelikaa and Judy Harper.  The words are copyright of Judy Harper.  Gaelikaa's story can be found here.   We have MelRoXx back, her story will be found here . Here is Anu's Story

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-A House Of Memories

I walked around the house snapping pictures, thinking how the house had fallen into such disarray. I felt so sad as I have such fond memories of this house.  As I walked around I thought that it doesn't look as large as I remember.  I glimpse a bit of the old veranda that wound around the outside.  As a child of four or five, I remember playing out here, and it seemed to take forever to walk from one side to the other.

When the house was built, it came with a wide hallway down the middle with the bedrooms on one side, while the kitchen, dinningroom and livingroom were on the other. The hallway allowed wind to blow through and keep it cool during the summer.  In the winter, it was easier to heat the side were the family ate and stayed during the daylight hours.

This was my Grandma and Grandpa Turner's home, my mother's parents.  I remember my Grandpa as being a quiet man.  He sat around whittling.  He never created anything, he'd start in the morning with a stick, he just sat there taking his knife and slowly drawing it along the stick, a shaving would curl than drop.  He'd start again, curl and drop.  By the end of the day, the stick would be gone and on the ground would be a pile of thin wood shavings, beautifully curled so that it looked like a huge bloom on a flower. I would pick up one of the shavings and stare at it.  You remember the old hand cranked pencil sharpeners? As the pencil was sharpened, the wood would come off in a curl.  His shavings were similar.  Before he retired, he worked at a grist mill and a saw mill.  A grist mill is where they ground grain to make flour.

I loved my Grandma.  She was a stocky woman, not fat, just the right size for a Grandma.  She had strong arms, I guess from working in the fields and washing clothes by hand.  We lived with them for a while.  She smiled and laughed a lot.  I remember many days in the fall of riding on her cotton picking sack.  You ever seen a cotton picking sack?  They're about six feet long, with one end completely sewn together and the other end open with a strap attached.  She would place the strap across her head, down to her shoulders.  Once she had picked enough cotton to fill the bag half full, she would let me sit on it pulling me along as she walked down the row, pulling and stuffing.  They would empty the cotton into a small wagon, then unload the wagon onto the porch.  Once there was enough cotton to fill a larger wagon, it would be taken to the gin and sold.  I use to love to lay in the piled cotton, smell it and roll on it.  It smelled so clean and raw, yet be soft and fluffy. I could lay there in the cool of the day, look up at the blue sky and try to find clouds as fluffy as the cotton.  Sometimes the clouds formed objects. My brother and I would lay there guessing what they were.

Grandma and Grandpa had eleven children, with my mother being the youngest. Grandma had my mom when she was forty-one.  I heard my aunts and uncles talk about mom being a surprise.  It had been six years since the last child was born, my Aunt Jazzey. There were twenty-nine years between mom and her oldest sibling.

There were so many secret places and wonderful objects in the house.  On the mantel Grandma had this all clear domed clock, about twelve inches tall.  Inside the dome a dial with a large and small pointer to show the time.  At the bottom of the dial, a gold wheel spun first one way and then the other.  On the hour, a chime sounded, like a tiny bell.

Of course, there was a piano and an old pump organ.  I would sit on the floor pumping the foot pedal so my brother could play, then it would be my turn.

Grandma waxed her floors with melted paraffin, then buffed with a cloth until it glistened like ice. And when there weren't any adults looking, we would run and slide across the floor in our socks. Many a summer day we would sit on the swing hung from the ceiling of the veranda, shucking corn or stringing beans and peas.

At night as we nestled in feather beds, the windows would be open, the chiffon curtain swaying in any breeze they caught.  The moon silver as it shone across the floor or bed. I could hear the crickets and tree frogs. An occasional voice would drift across the hall, a reassuring sound as I drifted off to sleep.

It was March 1955 that the world changed for me.  Grandma became ill and died.  I remember one of my boy cousins teasing me about Grandma dying, making me cry.  Grandpa had to give up the house and move in with my Aunt.  Sometimes on our way to visit him, we'd drive by the old home place to see how it was doing.  Then in 1973, my Grandpa died and we stopped going by to check on the house as it was sold and no longer ours.

Here it is 2007, and the house is abandoned and so empty looking.  Such a sad demise for a formerly loved place.  It seems lonely and wishing for those old days.  Slowly I turn and get in my car, driving away with a glance in my rear view mirror.  In a way, I too wished for those old happy days, with Grandma smiling as she raised her arms in greeting waiting for us to run to her. Then she would wrap those arms around us, giving us a big old hug and showering us with kisses only a Grandma will give.  I signed as the last glimpse of the house disappeared behind a hill.

 Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Gaelikaa and Judy Harper.  The words are copyright of Judy Harper.  Gaelikaa's story can be found here.   We have a new addition today, Anu welcome aboard, her story will be found here

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-Pictures

(1)-Manisha had loved Aadi, why did he die, could she now marry Bhakati, as her parents wanted?

(2) She had to keep running, she could hear his steps behind her.

(3) It once was a beautiful house, with a veranda winding itself around. 

(4) "Grace, why have those humans stopped to stare at us?"

Here are the pictures to choose from for the Tuesday Morning Writing...If you want to add your sentence to a picture or all pictures, just leave a comment and the picture number.  If you want to write a story to contribute, it needs to be posted by 8:00 AM Central Standard Time on Tuesday!

LBC-A Journey

There are all kinds of journeys.  A journey through life, a journey from point A to point B, a journey through time. It was difficult to decide about my journey. I'm going to talk about a journey that if I had made the wrong turn, it would have made such a difference in my life.

I think I've mentioned that I come from a very small town in Alabama.  That I wanted to be a doctor, but didn't quite make it. That I joined the Air Force and left my roots for a foreign land. This journey turned into a fantastic adventure with the good events and bad events.  A journey I wouldn't want to exchange for anything.

Imagine someone that wasn't a social butterfly, who wasn't allowed to date until she was sixteen and had to take her brother with her on her first date and made the mistake of letting him sit in the backseat of the car, another story. A person who wanted more than eating at a family restaurant to celebrate a special evening.  Who wanted to learn about life and the world from someplace besides reading a book. Just think about how her senses reeled when traveling to another state hundreds of miles from Alabama, let alone to Okinawa, a land totally foreign to anything she had known up to that point in her life.

The minute I stepped off the plane onto the ground at Kadena AFB, I met a fierce wind blowing, it whipped my clothes around my body, forced me to take a step back and almost blew my uniform cap off before I could grab it.  The island was preparing for a typhoon to hit! My welcoming Sargent whisked me away to my dorm as my plane was the last one allowed to land as all the other planes had to left for Japan to wait out the storm to prevent any damages.  Debris rolled across the road, palm trees bent with the wind.  I saw street signs made from cement, later I realized the purpose of this.  It kept the signs from bending and having to be replaced after each storm.

The storm lashed the building I was assigned to for three days.  Food was brought to us as there were concerns for our safety.  Now I know I should have been afraid, but listening to the wind and getting to know my other roommates was exciting!  I didn't feel afraid.  Finally,the wind stopped leaving such a silence that it was as deafening as the roaring wind.  Opening the door to the outside and stepping out into the aftermath it was a scene so different from any I had ever experienced back in Alabama.

My assignment on Okinawa was that of NCO (Non Commissioned Officer) of the Immunization Clinic.  My job was to be sure all military personnel had their shots up to date, especially the pilots who flew back and forth from Okinawa to Viet Nam.  They needed their shots up to date so that if they were shot down over Viet Nam and landed in the jungle, they would be protected against certain diseases.  It was also the clinics duty to be sure the families of the military people and civilians working on the air base had their shots up to date too.  You've never really experience fun until you have to give a screaming, kicking pilot  child their shots.

There was an episode where a commercial plane ferrying military personnel from Viet Nam to the United States had to make an emergency stop over at Kadena for a Gamma Globulin shot.  They had come into contact with someone at the Viet Nam airport who had Hepatitis, therefore, the military felt the commercial pilots as well as the flight staff needed these shots.  Now Gamma Globulin is a thick solution.  Think of how thick a milk shake is just as it's starting to melt.  You have to give the shot slowly, and it's painful.  I don't know if Gamma Globulin is still that way today, or if that's how Hepatitis is treated, but in 1968, that was the solution.  Needless to say, I was not a favorite person when they left.

I won't verbally say that being a non commissioned officer I enjoyed the moment of having an officer come into the clinic.  I didn't have to salute and I stuck a needle in his arm.  End of subject, I mean after all, they were risking their lives flying into a war zone.

Okinawa is an island.  The island had three columns supporting it, that is, it did have three columns.  I was told that two weeks before I arrived, there had been an earthquake destroying one of those columns.  Now it didn't occur to me to question this until years later.  I still didn't take the time to find out, but at the time it made me nervous.  The reason I mention this is because two weeks after I arrive, I'm awakened in the night by my bed being moved across the floor by a vibration, I heard several loud bangs.  My first thought, " Dear God, I can't swim!" Like swimming in the middle of the ocean , while being sucked under by the draft of a sinking island is going to help me.

It turned out not to be an earthquake though.  It was worse.  A B52 had been sabotaged.  As it traveled down the runway, the front wheels, which had been loosened by two Okinawan maintenance crew, came off. There were seven crewmen aboard.  Five immediately were able to leave the plane.  The gun operator had trouble releasing his safety belt, so another crewman stayed behind to help.  They were late leaving and took the blast of the exploding plane.  The plane was loaded with bombs to unload over Viet Nam.  One had 80% burns over his body, while the other's body was 60% burned.  I would give them shots of Morphine, which didn't help as their bodies were burned so bad the medicine couldn't travel.  The one with 80% burns lasted twenty-four hours, he left a wife with a newborn son, a son he had never gotten to see.  The other lasted three days.  One of the most helpless feelings is hearing someone cry for relief and not being able to help.

The exploded plane left a crater the length of a football field.  To understand the depth, it was deeper than a car.  This event led to militants showing up on the island.  For a week, there were sniper shootings at personnel.  We had to travel to and from work, and to the cafeteria, by a bus especially outfitted with armor bolted across the windows to prevent bullets coming through.  We didn't sit near windows at the dorm or walk along the streets.  It was a week before he was caught.

At the time I was there, most everything was imported with very little exported.  One thing I missed when I came back to the States were the beauty shops.  On any block, there were three to four shops.  I could have my hair washed and fixed for 75 cents.  Can you imagine paying that today.

I went to nice restaurants.  This one night, our meal happened at the same time as business men who were taken care of by Geisha's.  The Geisha's were very beautiful.  One played a long necked stringed instrument.  The music produced was similar to a banjo played slowly. We were pretending to eat while watching what went on out of the corner of our eyes.  It was a beautiful night.  After we ate, we walked around and at times just ran because we were young and on a life's adventure.  Do you remember feeling that way?  Exploding with the excitement of being young and alive.

My roommate was a girl from Birmingham, Alabama.  What's the chances of that happening on a regular basis?  She worked in the eye clinic.  While I was quiet, shy and a homebody, Janet was bubbly and outgoing. She never met a stranger.  One night she came racing into our room, "Judy, get dressed you're going on a date."  It turns out this guy she wanted to date, wouldn't go unless his friend also had a date.  Therefore, I was chosen.  It was the night I met the soulmate of my life, or at the time, I thought so.

Coming from Henagar, Alabama, the only men who wore suits were men who had died and lay in a casket, the pallbearers or some preachers. Can you imagine the effect of a tall, handsome man with hazel eyes walking in wearing a three piece suit?  He was from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He spoke with an accent I wasn't use to.  This was during the time of Naru Suits.  In Okinawa, it was so inexpensive to have clothes made.  He had a white silk Naru suit made, which he wore on the night he purposed to me.  It was on the tenth of December 1968, at ten o'clock at night.  He later told me if it had been the twelfth of December, he would have purposed at midnight. Sounds so romantic doesn't it.  This will have to be another story as I find that I have written a long post.

This has been a journey in time.  A journey of memories to last a life time, one that can be looked on with fondness and one that a lot of people never get the chance of doing.  I hope y'all have enjoyed taking this journey with me. The reason I say if I had made other choices, my life would have been different is that if I had stayed in the small town, I would probably have married and had three children by the time Okinawa happened to me. I think I would have always wondered "what if", and been so completely discontented with my chosen life.  I'm grateful that even though I was shy and easily pointed in directions I didn't want to go, I had the inner ambition to push leaving the known for the excitement of the unknown.

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-Forever And A Day

Here

She rummaged through the shelf looking for the book. It had to be here! She knew she had placed it here, felt that it would be safe!

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Sabrina hurried up the library steps as she glanced over her shoulder to see if the two men were still behind her.  She wanted to be sure she wasn't followed, no, they must have turned north at the Market Street intersection.

Clasping her library bag, she walked around to the employee entrance.  She quickly locked her personal items into her locker, then hurried out to the desk to relieve Joyce, who worked from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon.  Sabrina worked from three o'clock until closing, which was nine in the evening.  On Saturday and Sunday they rotated. One weekend Joyce worked from nine until two, then it would be Sabrina's turn.

She had to remove the book tonight as the library would be closed for repairs and remodeling for a week starting tomorrow.  Jamison had sent her the book a week ago tomorrow.  His message had been cryptic, "Hide in plain sight, but away from inquiring minds. Be aware I'm in danger, and so could you!"  The next day, she had been notified her brother, Jamison, died in a freak car accident. Now what?  Then the phone call last night, the voice of a man who sounded like her brother, who said he is her brother. Then who's body had burned up in Jamison's car when it ran off the cliff?  Actually, the police reported that witnesses said another car rammed his to make it go over the cliff, then raced off.  The car was later found at the bottom of the hill, abandoned and of course it had been reported stolen.

Jamison was or is her older brother.  There are ten years between their ages. She had been a surprise to her mother and father.  They thought they were unable to have any more children.   There was a special bond between them, so much so, that when their parents died in a plane crash when she turned ten, Jamison raised her.  He went to college during the hours she was at school to earn his business degree.  Then opened his own antique books and art gallery, named Forever and Day, which became a success.  After she graduated from college, she began working in the shop.  This enabled Jamison to travel around the world collecting rare artworks to sell.  The business became internationally known, with collectors from all over coming and calling on the shop for their needs.

Usually he would travel for a month, then stay home a month to work up the inventory he had purchased.  Lately though, he had spent a lot of time in Egypt. Though what he was doing there she didn't know, as it certainly wasn't purchasing items.  There hadn't been any shipments received in over two weeks.  The next time he arrived home, she had planned on talking with him about that.  Unfortunately, he was reported killed before she could. 

She kept glancing at her watch until nine o'clock finally arrived.  Once she announced closing, she canvased the room and did all of her usual closing tasks.  Finally, she hurrid to the shelves in the middle of the room,  a section of reference books relating to the art of tye dying.  She felt pretty sure that wouldn't be something people today would be interested in and being in the middle of the room, she could keep an eye on the book.  Pushing the mobile ladder over she climbed and reached for the book.  It wasn't there, she rummaged through the shelf looking for the book. It had to be here! She knew she had placed it here, felt that it would be safe!  Leaning her head against the shelf, she tried to think, she went back over the week.  Suddenly, the ladder began to move, slowly at first, then she felt someone give it a push, glancing down, she saw Jamison standing there holding the book up, he smiled. Her last conscious thought was, "Why?"

Slowly she opened her eyes and tried to look around, but it hurt to turn her head. She realized she was in a hospital bed.  Her left arm lay in a cast across her chest, when she looked down her outstretched body, she saw her legs lying there.  Wiggling her toes, she breathed a sigh of relief, they worked.  She tried pushing herself up with her right arm, but quickly fell back against the pillow, her head pounding. She thought she heard someone slide out of a leather chair, opening her eyes, she stared up at one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.  "I've died and gone to heaven, thank you God!", was her instant thought.  Then her second thought came, "if I'm in heaven, why am I in pain". 

"Miss Barton", are you alright?", came from the the man standing there.  "Do you need for me to call for the nurse?"

Well, that answered the heaven question, she started to shake her head, then remembered her pounding head, she whispered,"No. Who are you?"

From his suit jacket pocket, he pulled out a badge, "I'm, Derek Huges, with the custom's office.  We've been investigating your brother over the last few months. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?"

It seems Jamison became involved with a smuggling band on one of his trips to Egypt.  There had been a discovery of a new hidden tomb.  The tomb hadn't been reported found because they were stealing artifacts and trying to sell to collectors who didn't mind how they were found, only in the fact that they could be proven to be real.  One of the items turned out to be a book of names, recipes and daily details.  Sort of like a woman's daily journal only a few thousand years old.  This was the book mailed to me.  It seems that Jamison had gotten into finanicial dificulties by purchasing the stolen goods.  He knew that with me around, he wouldn't be able to secretly add items to the inventory.  He desperately needed the additional cash.  It was he who had forced his car off the road.  He had paid a poor homeless man from Egypt to drive the car to the coast to supposedly be shipped back to the United States.

Derek apologized for not arriving on the scene before Jamison had the chance to almost kill me.  I just couldn't believe that my brother tried to kill me.  I still couldn't accept that, or didn't want to accept it.  It hurt too much!

"Where's Jamison now?", I asked.

"He's been arrested and is waiting extradition back to Egypt.  He'll be prosocuted and tried there, since that's where the artifact came from.  If convicted, that's where he'll receive his punishment."

"What about the shop, what will happen to it?"

"Once we take inventory and are assured that the items there are legal, it will be turned back over to you.  It's my understanding that he had moved all his assets to your name when he started his smuggling.  That's one of the reasons for his panic, he didn't know how to get you to sign it back to him without raising your suspicions."

I shook my head sadly, "You know, I would have, if only he had told me the problems he was having.  After all, he raised me.  He is my only family. I would have done anything for him."

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 Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Gaelikaa and Judy Harper.  The words are copyright of Judy Harper.  Gaelikaa's story can be found here.   We have a new addition today, Melroxx, welcome aboard, her story will be found here