Total Pageviews

Friday, April 11, 2014

D is for Divine Grace

D is for Divine Grace

Blogging Challenge from A to Z


The words startled her.  Looking around, curious expression on her face, she searched for the speaker.  No one was there.  Shaking her head, she thought “I have got to cut back on the coffee!”

Moments later, the words again. “You shall reap what you sow.” Jumping, in defense she grabbed the only thing near her, a flower vase.  Not a very sturdy vase at that.  However, the art-deco flowers embossed on the sides would put a sizable welt on someone’s head.  No one there.

Creeping as softly as she could, peeking around corners and behind closed doors.  She found no one there.
I guess,” she thought “at least the words aren’t telling me to do
something horrendous.”

Perched in her favorite chair, fuzzy lap blanket thrown over her knees, she began thumbing through her magazine again. 


Sitting as still as she could, she began to understand.  “Getting” the message, being able to hear the words, the gift of feeling the lesson.  She had finally reached that pinnacle.  Reached the spiritual, physical plateau where lessons from beyond were obtainable, and it seemed the knowledge simply poured forth.  Was it beyond?  Or simply beside? Or had she gone to them?


Thursday, April 3, 2014

C is for Crafts

C is for Crafts



Rising from the depths, the glowing orbs illuminated the sea as brightly as the mid-day sun.

The sea had been particularly calm that evening.  Gentle waves lapped at the side of the boat as we watched the magnificent sunset.  Bright oranges, yellows, greens and golds flared across the horizon.  It was an evening topped with good company and a flavorful bottle of wine.

Jelly Fish
We had been saving the wine for just a evening event as this.  Leaning against back in my deck chair, the warm breezes on my face, I truly felt Heaven couldn't be better.  The contented expressions on my companions faces told the same story; contentment.  We had worked hard the past few days, moving this lovely yacht to its new location for its new owner.  We had jotted down all the little “idiosyncrasies” we’d found for the new owner’s mechanic to check out.  Now we had our reward.

The sun’s last ray dipped below the horizon allowing the stars to simply pop.  Leaning back, we took turns pointing out the various constellations.  Their glittering may have been what delayed our noticing the ocean coming alive. 

Red Tide
“Waterway Transportation” is the name of our company.  We have moved everything from small sailing vessels to tankers, up and down the coast.  No, I no longer even own my own water vessel.  (have to be careful, the difference between boats and ships is considerable to my clients) If the vessel is large enough, we load our Harley’s.  If it isn’t we fly back to our base.  Each of us has a different base, it all depends on where your family lives.  That’s base.  But, I digress….
Vampire Squid

The twinkling from beneath the waves appeared to be rising faster than we anticipated and was going to surface all around us. 

Derrek was the first to notice. “Squid.” He said matter-of-factly.  We each took turns guessing at which bioluminescent creature would be rising to the surface to feed.  “Jelly fish” , “Red Tide”, “Atolla”, each of us shouted out something different.  Mind you, we certainly aren’t scientists but after a few years on the water you get so you have seen quite a bit and not too much startles us. 

After a short lull,  Lenny then hollered out, “The elusive pyrosome!”  We all looked at him.  “Just happy I remembered it’s name…”

“What?!”  We each blurted in unison.  Our boat began to rock. The waves became a stronger and higher and the gentle lapping was no longer.  They burst from the water, as a child would blow bubbles through a wand.  Dozens and dozens of them.  We each stood motionless, caught in the moment.  Filled with awe, our mouths dropped open as we watched their ascent.   

It began as a whisper, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” With each utterance it became louder and louder, until Derrek was screaming.  Screaming as he was drawn upward into the now airborne craft.


Wednesday, April 2, 2014

B is for Boo

B is for Boo

Opening my eyes with a jolt to the sound of the early morning alarm was actually a relief.  For weeks now I have been awakened, throughout my nighttime rest, by unknown noises. 

I anticipated some creaking and groaning from my newly acquired home.  I had expected the normal foundation settling could make some of the first nights restless.  Even the sounds of the roof flexing with the sun can make noises.  But these mid-night awakenings were far beyond that.

The second morning, after awakening six times during the night to loud bangs, I walked the perimeter and found a couple of places needing the attention of a handyman.  The third morning, I called a roofer.  The fourth morning I called an exterminator.  It’s now been six weeks.

Six weeks with little to no sleep.  I look like I could pack the bags under my eyes for a month long trip! Dark circles sagging skin all point to sleepless nights.  I haven’t dreamt in a very long time. 

Meeting for coffee, strong coffee, my friends comment on how much work I must be doing in my new home.  After my quizzical look, they all turned slightly away saying how tired I look. 

Jan was the first to say it. “It’s really there isn’t it.” Her words were a statement not a question.  Pursing her lips she stared accusingly at me.  “I told you the history of that house!  I told you what the previous owners said.”

I just don’t believe all that nonsense.  Ghosts, spectral beings, aliens…..come on.  Get real.  They just don’t exist anywhere but in the fantasies of the gullible.  The weak minded are generally being lead around by some “guru” for whatever money or other asset can get pumped out of them.

That being said, I allowed my friend Jan to make the call.  Jan had lived on that side of the city for a very long time.  She knew the best pizza joint, the easiest in and out coffee bistro, which salon had the best stylist.  Overall, she had this side of town down.  She knew everyone, and pretty much everyone knew her.  She could get the lowdown on any place, any thing, or on any body!  She made the call.

Our “spectral” retriever was to swing by my house the upcoming weekend.  In the meantime, I walked the perimeter of the house checking for “critter access”.  I went over the bills from the exterminator, no bugs/bees/rats or raccoons.  No trees leaning on the rooftop. 

Tired of looking at the house, I decided to calm my unreasonable nervousness with a nice cup of tea. Sitting on the front porch, sipping my herbal tea, I felt the hand touch me.  Whispers in my ear….”BOO..I know what you’ve done and it won’t stop me”.


Tuesday, April 1, 2014

A is for Airborne


Bloggingfrom A to Z

When I checked today I am number 1455 out of 2215 writers - feel free to check out as many as you can! My sister, Vicki Paulus, is number 1454. 

We ran down the hill. No, that’s wrong.  We galloped down the hill, slipping and tumbling as though the sands of the hillside were mud.  End over end, down the steep hill.  Mouths wide open gulping in as much of the gritty sand as air.   

Blue skies overhead erupt as the fly-boys from Kincheloe  scream overhead breaking the sound barrier with a deafening boom.  The sound reverberating off the hill sides.  Hurriedly we clap our hands to the sides of our heads, covering our ears.  

Somewhere nearby another flyer is heard, a large bird of prey screams at us.  We have, once again, disrupted it’s hunt.  Several rabbits take advantage of our distraction and scurry to cover. 

It’s late spring, nearly summer.  School will be out and we will have three glorious months.  Soon enough the hot sun will beat the sides of the sand-pit, turning the moist, pliable, soft sands into baked hard crust.  But for now, the tumbling is fantastic.  The sands have just enough moisture to cling, but not enough to make sludge. 

From the top, running as hard as we can.  Arms pumping, lips pursed in concentration, dodging the blackberry bushes on our freshly made path, feet pushing off the ground….out, out, into the air. Airborne, just like the fly-boys.  For just a moment…that one elongated, may last forever moment, we are airborne.  We can fly.

Our flying contest is marked, not by where your behind fell, or where you rolled until you could finally stop, but where your feet dug into the sands.  Your landing gear is what counts here, not the fuselage, not the wings. 

Brushing the sand from our hair, off our clothes and somewhat off our faces.  We give one another a knowing glance.  It will take days to get the sand out of our ears and nose and any other crevice it will have worked its way into. We laugh and trudge back up the hill to do it all over again.