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MY MOST PRIZED POSSESSIONS
by Sherry Churchill
Just as the rest of Florida was recovering from Charley and Frances,
Hurricane Ivan was already a strong Category IV storm churning in the Gulf
of Mexico.
When my husband, Larry, looked at me gravely and said, "We need to
evacuate," I was stunned.
Our house is 500 feet from Perdido Bay, which divides Florida from
Alabama. It seemed surreal, as if we had stepped into a sci-fi movie set.
I resented having to uproot our two kitties. Princess was nearly 17 with
health problems and Ling was a 7 year old Siamese recent adoptee who was
already afraid of everything.
We managed to find a hotel north of town that took pets, so we went
there. The hotel was brick, but an older building, and we were on the top
floor with an outside entry. Princess calmly curled up in a corner to
sleep, while Ling, crouched under the bed, wide-eyed and unblinking.
Our power went out around 10pm. By 1:30am, we were in the height of
the storm. We started noticing numerous leaks in the ceiling and did what
we could to catch the falling water. I pointed out a couple puckers in the
wall, but we overlooked the implications. Exhausted, I laid down and was
almost asleep when Larry yelled, "Run!! Run!!" He yanked me off the bed in
time to escape the entire ceiling caving in! I was hit with debris, but
not hurt.
Suddenly, I screamed, "My kitties? Where are my kitties?"
Larry began grabbing and throwing the pieces of ceiling, insulation
and plaster that was covering the bed to get to our kittens. He yanked
back the mattress and grabbed Princess and Ling who were both terrified. I
shoved them into their carriers and we huddled in the 3x5 bathroom,
watching what was left of the roof shake with every vicious gust.
The wind was terrifying. We both were sure we were going to die.
There was debris flying everywhere outside and over 100 mile an hour
sustained winds. The fury of it seemed like pure, angry evil.
After two hours of sitting in the tiny bathroom, I let the cats out to
get some water and use the litter box. Instead, a terrified Ling climbed
through a hole under the sink and down into the wall. I saw her just in
time to grab the last three inches of her tail and haul her out, while
sobbing, "No Ling! Come back!"
Around 5:30am, with the wind still furiously whipping, hotel staff
rescued us and helped us to the lobby, where most of the guests were
gathering with pillows, blankets, dogs and children.
After a couple hours, Larry went back to the room to locate a few
items and take them to our vehicles. Ling, by now, was really restless in
her crate and turned several somersaults, while whining and growling and
ripping up her fuzzy bed. She looked like a cartoon character, with white
fuzz all over her face. I couldn''t tell if she was mad or deliberately
being comical. She made me laugh, but I was so grateful she was alive.
Princess actually went to sleep in her carrier and seemed not the least bit
nervous.
We were finally able to drive home on Friday. Despite the
catastrophic damage all around us, our house stood with hardly any damage
at all.
In the following weeks, I realized I could not begin to list the
things and people whom we are both so very grateful for.
The kitties now act like nothing happened, except that Ling seems to
have lost much of her irrational fears. Even if we had lost everything, as
many did, my most prized possessions are sitting next to me, purring.
-- Sherry Churchill <lshill @ cox.net>

NO GUARANTEES
by Kathy Whirity
You never think it''s going to happen to you.
Last Wednesday began as any other ordinary day of the week. Even
though I work at home and my husband, Bill, works at a nearby school, we
frequently talk on the phone, mostly about trivial things -- what time
would he be home, what we wanted to plan for dinner, etc.
Little did I know that the next conversation we''d have would have the
potential to turn our world upside down.
I called to remind him we needed bread. But the person on the other
end of the line seemed dazed and disoriented. Bill seemed confused, and
couldn''t remember simple words. I immediately called the school secretary
and asked her to check on him. She called back saying that he couldn''t
recognize any of his coworkers and that they were calling an ambulance.
With a playroom full of kids, I flew through the house powered by pure
adrenaline. I had parents to call, family members to notify and a husband
who really needed me. I grabbed anything I thought would be of use. His
prescription bottles, the cell phone, a hand full of quarters... Out the
door I ran with my mother-in-law.
Racing to the school parking lot, I panicked. What if he didn''t
recognize me? It was the first time it actually dawned on me that my
husband of 27 years could be in serious danger.
The ambulance ride was a blur -- only the occasional siren at busy
intersections brought me back to where it was we were going.
It''s funny what goes through your mind in the middle of a crisis.
None of us begin our day thinking we''d be traveling by ambulance heading
toward what could be an unknown outcome.
Down the busy street I noticed life going on as normal -- people
shopping, joggers getting their exercise, and then there was the lady
coming out of the beauty shop. I noticed she made the sign of the cross as
we passed by. I cannot tell you how many times I''ve done that exact same
thing. How I''ve made a simply request in prayer for those in need. I
never anticipated the comfort I would feel when the prayer was offered up
for my family.
After spending three days in the hospital the doctors still aren''t
sure what exactly happened to my husband. They suspect it was a TIA, or a
mini-stroke.
We can''t help but wonder if this episode was a warning of some kind --
perhaps a not so subtle nudge from God to remind us that life can sometimes
take a sharp turn in a direction you weren''t prepared to go.
I will always remember that lady who made the sign of the cross as we
went zooming past. That kind gesture is also a comforting reminder to me
that we are not always the ones giving the prayers. Sometimes we are on
the receiving end when an unexpected crisis wakes us up to the reality that
nothing is ever guaranteed in this life.
I am reminded that with faith, hope, prayer, family and friends,
nothing is ever as bad as it seems.
-- Kathy Whirity <kathywhirity @ yahoo.com>

THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Connie''s grandson Andrew came to stay a couple days. When he arrived,
he announced that he loved coming to stay at her house. "Why do you love
coming to my house?" Connie asked. He looked around and said, "Because I
love your Spiderman webs!" -- Connie Harris of Michigan
Casey, 6 was talking to his grandmother E***h on the telephone. When
he hung up he told his mom, Traci, that Grandmother had a "grouchy" throat.
A few days later he was coughing and he told Traci that his throat was
feeling kind of "grouchy." Traci realized then that he meant "scratchy."
-- Traci Walker of Lebanon. Tennessee
Here''s another story from Traci. She and Casey were playing football.
Casey called a time-out and told his imaginary team to get in a "puddle."
He meant get in a huddle!
Hailey, 4, heard a thunderstorm rumbling overhead and asked her
parents and grandparents to listen to it. After the thunder stopped,
Hailey told everyone to be quiet for a minute and she began to pray and
asked God to stop the thunder and lightning. Immediately after she said
"Amen," another clap of thunder was heard. Hailey looked up towards heaven
and said, "You''re not listening!" -- Clarence Reuter (great-grandfather
of Hailey) of Troutdale, Oregon
When Robyn was 3, she was eating in a restaurant with her parents and
her sister, who was 5. The place was a typical, crowded, family-style
restaurant, and the noise level was very high. Suddenly Robyn chirped
loudly, "I know the difference between girls and boys!" Within seconds,
the surrounding tables were quiet, as all eyes turned in Robyn''s direction
as she proudly announced, "Girls don''t have mustaches and boys do!" --
Linda Strong (mother of Robyn who is grown now) of Birmingham, Alabama
Savannah, 4, saw the firemen going around the car carrying a boot and
asking for donations to be put in the boot. Savannah said, "The fireman
was saying, ''You want a boot? You want boot?'' Get the boot because
someone lost it!" -- Sarah Pickett of Bossier, Louisiana
Gino told his Daddy that he wanted him to get a bike so they both
could go bike riding. He then told his Daddy he had money and he would buy
him one. Kim''s brother said, "You don''t have to do that." Gino said,
"It''s my money. I can do what I want with it!" -- Kim Vessey (aunt of
Gino) of Iowa
Marilee was at the beauty shop one day when her hairdresser told a
little story about her 4-year-old grandson, Joseph. Becky (the
grandmother) had done some cleaning in her yard and had limbs, leaves, etc.
piled up. She decided to burn them on a clear day and she put a little
diesel on the pile to help it ignite. As she burned the trash, black smoke
rose toward the sky. Her grandson looked at her and asked, "Grandmother,
is Jesus getting dirty?" -- Marilee Stone of Alapaha, Georgia
Carson is in third grade. His mother helps out in his class twice a
month. Last week a little girl asked her whose mother she was. She said
she was Carson''s mom. The little girl said, "I really thought you might
be. You''re pretty and Carson is REALLY handsome!" -- Kas Quimby
(grandmother of Carson) of Elma, Washington State
Bree was in the backseat as her grandmother was driving her home from
school. Bree said, "Granny, what is this on my arm?" Her grandmother
said, "I don''t know, Bree. I can''t look right now while I am driving.
What does it look like? When I stop at a light I''ll look and see if I can
tell. Is it something dirty? Did you get something on your arm today?
Did you hurt yourself? Did you write on your arm?" Bree answered,
"Granny, is it fur?" -- Louise Spikes (grandmother of Bree) of Mobile,
Alabama

SINK OR SWIM
by Pam Young
We were gathered in our mother''s assisted living apartment. We were
cleaning it out after her move to an Alzheimer''s/Dementia home.
Even though our mom''s mental health had deteriorated quickly over a
two year period, she was able to keep her cat with her -- until now.
Before we reached this day, my sister and I were afraid that we would
have to put my mother''s cat down because of her advanced age and seemingly
failing health. Moreover, we didn''t know where we would place her.
KC (short for Kitty Cat) had been an only pet her entire life. She
had gone from a pudgy, content cat, to almost skin and bones over a 6 month
period. My sister owns a wonderful but curious and pesky cat who had
already proven he would not stop teasing KC. My brother''s household would
not be appropriate for a geriatric cat either. Moreover, my home would be
the worst place for her since I had 5 dogs, 2 cats and 2 birds.
And, she didn''t like me. I''m a licensed veterinary technician and I
always gave KC her shots and she would always hiss and growl and run away
from me.
However, when I visited mom a couple days before the move, KC was
bright, alert and walked cheerfully around mom''s apartment. I called my
partner, Roberta, and explained I could not put KC to sleep if she was
healthy. We decided that she would be a "sink or swim" case. If we found
she had life-threatening medical problems, we could still decide her
ultimate fate later.
Mom had already moved to her new quarters, so she didn''t have to
witness the breakdown of her apartment and the removal of her beloved KC.
While cleaning out the apartment, I discovered dry food in her litter pan
and moldy inedible food in her bowl. All this after my frequent visits
several times a week to make sure KC''s needs were maintained.
"Well," I thought, "perhaps KC''s weight loss was due to lack of food."
After KC came to live with us, I ran blood tests on her to assess her
medical con***ion. I found she has hyperthyroidism, caused by a benign
thyroid tumor. Thyroid tumors are a common problem in geriatric cats, and
cause weight loss, among other things. Although those tumors can sometimes
be removed, cats can be maintained for the rest of their lives on oral
medication. That is what we did for KC.
We prepared a transition home for KC using a large dog crate. She had
every comfort, with her own litter pan, sleeping pad, food and water. She
even had a carpet-covered "cat tube" where she could hide from snoopy
visitors. Her home was placed in the living room, where she could
participate in the household without being forced to interact with any of
the other pets. For at least 3 months, KC lived there, with occasional
times out to be held. Remember, KC didn''t like me, and likewise for my
partner!
Next, we moved KC to a smaller cat cage. At first, we kept her in
there with the door closed to ensure her comfort and safety. After about a
week, her door was opened, and the only time it was closed was when she was
fed. And that was to make sure our other animals wouldn''t steal her food.
Even with the door open, she spent most of her time safely inside. Slowly
she moved to lounging just outside her crate, only to run back inside when
she felt threatened.
We moved slowly to ease KC into our home and always provided her with
an escape. Initially she was overwhelmed with all the animals trying to
see and smell her. As the novelty of the new cat wore off, KC was able to
watch the cats and dogs moving around our home normally. I was concerned
she would "freak out" at all the over-stimulation of all of the animals,
but she took it all like a displaced queen. She maintained her regality at
all times.
Here it is a year later.
My mom passed away about 6 months ago. KC is still alive and still
living with us. She no longer has any protective barrier except for her
feeding area. She lounges wherever she would like, and occasionally has a
spat with our other girl cat, Millie, who, with her brother Eli, love to
occasionally tease her.
As for the dogs, she rules them with a stern look and an "iron" paw.
We own exuberant Border Collies and a Sheltie, and even though KC is
declawed, they back off when she swats them! If there are raised voices or
loud barking, she is right in there with "that look" and ready to swat the
culprit.
She sleeps near the bedroom area where we sleep with all the dogs, and
just last week she spent the entire night in bed with us and 2 dogs! She
approaches me and Roberta and purrs and sits in our laps. She talks to us
and begs for McDonalds raspberry shakes and bacon, which she dearly loves
(and gets, in moderation)!
Not bad for a "sink or swim" chance we took on a now 15 year old cat!
-- Pam Young <WinsomeBC @ aol.com>
DIVE BOMBER!
by Sandy Whitaker
This is a true story I recently told to one of my granddaughters. It
was of an ancestor she had never met.
My grandpa West, her great-great-grandpa, used to live on a farm in
White Church, Missouri. He always walked out the back door to do chores or
run errands.
One spring day, he opened the screen door and while walking down the
steps he was attacked by a bird. It started pecking him on the head. He
ran to the barn and the bird left him alone.
The bird dive-bombed him every time he went outside. This bird would
hit his head with his beak, sometimes drawing blood.
Strangely, my grandma would walk in and out of the same door and the
bird would never bother her. In fact, guests and family never had a
problem. Some didn''t believe my grandpa until he showed the scratches and
scabs on his head, which was mostly bald.
When he started covering his head with a cap, he discovered the bird
acted frustrated and even followed him around trying to get to him.
Hollering and swatting at the bird didn''t seem to do any good, so
eventually Pa started using the front door. Eventually, the bird left him
alone.
One day, my grandma discovered a bird''s nest in a bush next to the
back door. Inside was a happy, proud, mamma bird caring for tiny, newborn
babies.
She had lined the nest with soft grey hair that she had worked so hard
to remove from my grandpa''s head weeks earlier!
-- Sandy Whitaker <whitacre @ socket.net>
Sandy is a mother-grandmother living in rural Missouri. She enjoys horse
breeding, rock art painting and writing humorous stories of familes, kids
and pets.

FULL CIRCLE
by Jaye Lewis
I was feeling my age that morning as I limped from the parking lot up
to the Physical Therapy Building.
I was pushing fifty. I was crippled and I was feeling like a failure.
Thankfully, I was happily married. However, health problems had cut short
my dreams of finishing my education. Gloomily, I couldn''t recall a thing
that I had ever done that was important.
My thoughts became more disheartened when I noticed the middle aged
man limping in front of me -- his long gray hair blowing in the wind. I
just knew I''d be stuck in the waiting room with him. I was in no mood for
a conversation. I knew I was in for a long and painful wait.
By the time I reached the hallway, one of the two chairs available was
occupied by the gray-haired man. Reluctantly, I took my seat next to him,
hoping that I could bury myself within the pages of an outdated magazine.
My bubble of protection was immediately interrupted by his curious
stare. I looked up with a sigh. He gave me an uncertain smile as our eyes
met.
"I know you," he said.
"No you don''t."
"Yes, I''m certain I know you."
"I''m not from here," I insisted.
"No. I''ve met you someplace before."
"That''s impossible. I''m certain we''ve never met."
"I feel that I know you from long ago," he said, with conviction.
In spite of myself, I was intrigued. We played "twenty questions,"
and we finally got around to the Vietnam War and San Francisco.
He had served in the Army. He''d been wounded in battle, and he was
darned proud of it.
"I didn''t do anything important," I said. "I served stateside, as a
U.S. Navy WAVE, at San Francisco International Airport. I married way too
soon and I was discharged when I became pregnant," my voice trailed off.
Suddenly, the man became very excited.
"I remember receiving help from a young WAVE," he grinned, "with red
hair just like yours! It was in the spring of ''67, when I came back
wounded from Vietnam."
He continued.
"I''ve never seen anyone like her, before or since. She moved heaven
and earth to make sure that I was well taken care of. She was a tiger, all
right. I was badly wounded, barely dragging on crutches. She got me into
a wheelchair, and she literally ran after a local bus, making them stop.
Then she nearly carried me on board, giving the driver careful instructions
to make sure that I arrived at the hospital, safe and sound. And then she
called to see how I was!
"I didn''t see her, again, until four months later, when I was heading
home, still on crutches. All I saw was this WAVE fighting like a wildcat,
trying to get away from some drunken sailor."
Chills crept up my spine as I remembered the wounded soldier who had
rescued me.
"I just couldn''t let that girl be ill-treated, after all she had done
for me. I threatened that sailor with one of my crutches and he finally
put her down. I escorted her back to her desk..."
"And then you went and got the sailor," I choked on the words, "and
you made him apologize to me."
Tears streamed down my cheeks, as I remembered that day, and him.
How could this happen? My rescuer from 1967 was sitting next to me,
twenty-five years later and half a continent away. Our lives had come full
circle, and there we sat -- thanking each other for a mutual kindness, long
ago.
We talked for a long time, and then we parted. I learned some
important truths that day.
First, people are seldom what they seem to be, at first glance.
Second, kindness is its own reward. It changes the lives of both parties.
Last, I learned that though my time was short, I had served my
country, simply by serving those who had sacrificed everything.
I continued that day a happier woman because I understood that a
kindness given will often return to bless you again.
-- Jaye Lewis <jlewis @ smyth.net>
STILL STANDING
by Angela Potter, Woodbridge, Virginia
as seen in MountainWings
I''m only 15 and don''t know much but I hope this story can help someone
like it did for me.
I just got back from vacationing in Florida last night. I was staying
in a rented house in Clermont for about a week, and I was there during
Hurricane Charley. Luckily, no one I knew was killed or injured, but I am
sorry for those who were.
I remember the next morning, going outside and seeing everything the
hurricane had destroyed. There were trees that had been torn out from the
ground; some even were turned upside down. Some cars, houses, and trailers
had been dented and smashed. Even billboards and signs were laying in the
middle of the road.
But there was one thing that I thought was weird.
Almost everyone in Florida has a pool, with a screen-like thing around
it, to keep out bugs I''m guessing. These screens look pretty flimsy and
like they would fall down in an instant, yet none of them were messed up at
all.
I thought it was weird how this level four hurricane could destroy
huge things like trees, cars, and houses, yet these little screens around
the pool could stay up.
I later asked my dad how could they stand the hurricane while the big
things couldn''t, and he said it was because they basically let the air
through them, since there are many holes.
What my dad told me also relates in the real world too. If people
won''t budge at all (like the cars and trees) then they''ll get blown away
and destroyed. But if people would act more like the pool-screens, they
could survive the "hurricane" of life.
Instead of always having it your way, compromise with the wind. That
way you''ll stay standing.

THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Danyelle, 5, reported to her Papa, "Mema had a flu shot. Otherwise
she might fly away!" -- Sally Morris (grandmother of Danyelle) of
Wellington, Florida
Here is another one from Danyelle: "I pledge allegiance to the flag of
the United States of America... DALMATIAN under God..."
This was the conclusion of Mary Paige''s bedtime prayer one day last
week: "...And please help Jacob not to throw up in school tomorrow and
stink up the whole classroom like he did today. Amen." -- Melva Brown
(grandmother of Mary Paige, 7) of Oxford, Ohio
Carly, 3, is already comparing how handsome each of the Disney princes
are. She thinks Prince Eric of The Little Mermaid is "the handsomest of
all." Carly''s daddy got a Halloween mask that scared Carly. Once her
daddy took the mask off, she got up into his arms, looked him in the face,
and said, "Daddy, you don''t need a scary mask -- you need a handsome mask!"
-- Debbi Armstrong (friend of Carly''s family) of Orlando, Florida
Shae, 3, said to his mother the other day: "Mom, I smell something."
His mother didn''t smell anything, and she told him so. But Shae insisted,
"Mom, I smell something. I smell pretzels in the bag downstairs in the
pantry." -- Anne (grandmother of Shae) of Cherry Valley, Illinois
Recently Dart''s beloved dog Sheltie died. Waverly, 9, has mounted an
impressive campaign to get a new puppy. Dart keeps saying, "No, my heart
can''t take it when they die." Amberlyn, 3, heard the "I want a puppy"
conversation and she asked what will they would name the new doggy. Dart
said, "I don''t know, we aren''t getting another dog right away." Amberlyn
said decisively, "I know, we''ll name him Ringo." Waverly and Dart looked
at each other and she said, "Ringo? Ringo! Actually I like that!" Dart
agreed that it''s a nice name and added that it reminds her of the drummer
from the Beatles, Ringo Starr. Waverly said, "Yeah, I remember her!"
Amberlyn said, "No! It''s like this... ''There was a man who had a dog and
Ringo was his name!''" -- Dart of San Diego says, "I''m still saying no dog,
but I know it''s only a matter of time until a Ringo comes to live with us!"
The other day Denise and her 6-year-old daughter were going down a
tarred road that later turned into a dirt road. They came upon a sign that
said "Dead End" and the 6-year-old asked, "Mom, is that where you go to
die?" -- Denise of Pillager, Minnesota
Love is not love until you give it away... Jonah kissed a girl at
preschool the other day. The next day as he prepared for school, his
father Neil reminded him, "No kissing!" Jonah reacted with a scowl, so
Neil continued, "Mommy and Daddy will give you all the kisses you need."
Jonah replied, "Yes, but then I have to give them away!" -- Neil Grepke of
Kendallville, Indiana
Vern is the 68-year-old grandfather of eight. About five years ago
when their youngest daughter was living with them, their 5-year-old
grandson brought Vern one of his electronic toys that had quit working. He
told Vern it needed batteries. Vern noticed that the battery compartment
had a small phillips screw holding it securely closed. He reached into his
shirt pocket and pulled out a small screwdriver that was reversible. The
straight slot side was sticking out so he pulled the shaft out and reversed
it revealing the number "O" phillips tip. After opening the compartment
and installing two new AAA batteies, Vern had the toy going in minutes.
Jonah stared at the screwdriver and said, "That''s amazing. I have never
seen one of those!!" Vern said, "Jonah, you are only five years old.
There are a lot of things that you haven''t seen!" -- Vern Burke,
Chesapeake, Virginia
Every Friday Beverly has the pleasure of the company of their
granddaughter, Phoebe, 4. One day when Beverly was knitting, Phoebe asked
what she was doing. Beverly explained that she was knitting a scarf.
Phoebe immediately asked: "Is it for me?" Beverly replied that it was for
(her other granddaughter) Becky''s 15th birthday. Phoebe thought for a
moment and said: "I like that color. I don''t think we have a scarf in that
color at my house!" Of course, she does now! -- Beverley Ellis of Hackham
West, Australia
Miggy Boy, 3, was playing with his mother. Suddenly he pointed at her
breast and said, "Mama, what''s this?" As a mother who doesn''t encourage
baby talk, she said, "It''s my breast." With the innocence that only a
child has, he asked, "What''s inside?" -- Nina Pascual (mother of Miggy
Boy) of Singapore
Dave always said every morning as he left for work, "I have to go to
work and make money." When Celeste was very young she had visitation with
her father. He asked her if she knew what he did at work. She said, "Yes,
you make pigment for paint." Then her father asked her if she knew what
Dave, her stepfather, did. Celeste said, "Yes, he makes money!" -- Sheila
Herdman (mother of Celeste) of Bluffton, Indiana
When Celeste was 16 and a new driver she was very excited about her
first trip by herself to the mall in the big city. Her mother meticulously
wrote directions about how to get there. About three hours after she left,
Celeste called home and said, "Mom, you forgot to give me directions on how
to get home!"

EVERLASTING FRIENDS
by Roger Dean Kiser
It was late afternoon when I arrived in Gainesville, Georgia.
Two other friends and I had driven over six hours to see our orphaned
brother, Wayne. He and I had been roommates when we were kids living in a
Jacksonville, Florida, orphanage.
About fifteen minutes into our visit I opened my briefcase and took
out about twenty black and white pictures that had been given to me by the
Spring Park Elementary School. All of the orphans living at the orphanage
home had attended Spring Park.
As Wayne sat silently looking at the pictures, I noticed his eyes were
starting to glass up. Slowly he got up from his chair, turned his back to
the group, and leaned his head down onto his arms against the refrigerator.
"You ok, Wayne?" asked Randy, another friend who was there.
"You guys just don''t understand. You just don''t understand," he said
out loud, as his voice started to break and crackle.
"These are my brothers and sisters. These kids are my only family,"
he said, as he once again began to shuffle through the pictures.
I walked over to where Wayne was standing and I took the pictures from
his hand. I looked through the pictures until I found the one that I was
looking for.
"Who is this?" I asked him, as I pointed to a sad looking little boy
who was sitting in the front row of the third grade class picture.
"Oh, God. That''s me," he said.
Tears began to fall onto the picture as he stood there staring at
himself. This was the first time that Wayne had ever seen a picture of
himself as a little boy -- a picture showing him as he looked almost fifty
years ago.
Once again Wayne turned his back to the group and covered his face
with his hands. The three of us just stood there not knowing what to do,
or say.
"I''m ok, now," said Wayne, as he wiped his face on a paper towel.
"It''s not seeing myself as a little boy that makes me sad," he continued.
He held the pictures out toward me.
"Look at the pictures and tell me which are orphans," he asked.
I took the pictures from his hand and I slowly began to look through
each one of them.
"I really can''t tell," I said.
He reached over my shoulder and began to point out each and every one
of the boys and girls who lived in the orphanage.
"Can''t you see that it''s summer time? That all the kids in each class
are dressed in summer clothes except us orphans? Can''t you see that we all
have on flannel clothing?" he asked.
Again, Wayne walked away from the group and covered his face.
"God! How I hated being made fun of when I was a little boy. It was
because of what we had to wear," said Wayne, as he tried to gain his
composure again.
I looked through the pictures and saw Wayne was correct. Each and
every orphan, though it was mid-July, was dressed in flannel clothing.
That was all that we were ever given to wear at the orphanage. Most of the
clothing was torn and ragged.
Randy and his girlfriend got up from their seats and walked outside so
that Wayne and I could have a minute or two together.
Wayne walked over to where his dog was and picked him up. He wrapped
his arms around the dog and hugged him as tightly as he could.
"I love you, boy," Wayne said to his dog, as he sat down on the couch.
I think that was the first time in my life that I had ever seen Wayne
cry and say the word "love" at the same time.
Then Wayne whispered to his dog. "If you die before me, then I will
have someone bury you with me when I die. We will be together forever," he
said as he kissed his dog on the top of his head and hugged him even
tighter.
Not being loved as a child became unimportant to us after we reached
seven or eight years old. A child can only scream against the wind for so
long. Then, they finally give up and begin to seek love from something
that will truly love us, no matter what -- our everlasting friends, our
pets.
-- Roger Dean Kiser <trampolineone @ webtv.net>
COOL CATS
My friend Margot called me yesterday to tell me about her new kitten.
Actually it is her son Matthew''s kitten, but Margot and the kitten
have bonded in a big way. She was cooing to it while it played on her lap
as we spoke. Then she told me the story of what happened a few days ago.
She said she suddenly heard the kitten howling with dismay. It
sounded so distressed that she hopped up to see what the problem could be.
Margot kept trying to locate the source of the cries, but the sound was
muffled and she thought it sounded like it was coming from the walls.
After a panicky search she went and got her son up from his nap to
help her figure out where the cries were coming from. They kept their ears
to the wall trying to trace the sounds.
Finally, one of them opened the refrigerator and there was the kitten
right next to the meatloaf!
"She might have suffocated, but she wouldn''t have starved!" Margot
said with a laugh -- the kind of laugh that shows relief after a disaster
has been avoided.
The same thing happened to our daughter Leslie, when Zoe was a kitten.
Leslie was gathering up her things to go to work when she noticed her
other cat Bella staring intently at the refrigerator. She was so intent
that Leslie felt uneasy and opened the refrigerator. There was Zoe!
Leslie was so upset.
"What if I had just gone on to work without noticing Bella? I''m not
sure that she could have survived a whole day."
We were all glad that we didn''t have to find out. I wonder how often
this sort of thing happens? It has happened two times in just my immediate
circle. I''m thinking that it must happen more often than we would think.
It is at least a situation that cat lovers should be aware of, and cautious
with our curious felines.
-- Annette Haltom <bberrycrk @ aol.com>

JACKNAPPED
by Joe Walker
Without a doubt, it was the finest Halloween jack-o-lantern I had ever
seen.
A gift from an art major from Texas whom I had been dating, it was
clear it had been created with special care. It was tra***ional and yet
innovative, comical and yet frightening, beautiful and yet ghoulish,
festive and yet strangely intimate. It was a work of art, and I was proud
to display it in my otherwise Spartan dorm room.
At least, until it was jacknapped.
When it came right down to it, I wasn''t all that surprised when my
artistic jack-o-lantern disappeared. Dozens of dorm-mates had dropped by
to "ooohhh" and "aaahhh" over its devilishly delicate carvings and fiendish
frescos. Some had been audacious enough to ask if they could buy it from
me -- as if you would sell a David, a Mona Lisa, a Whistler''s Mother or a
Dogs Playing Poker if it came into your possession.
So when I walked into my room after class one day about four days
after I received the gift, I noticed that my jack-o-lantern was gone.
In its place on my desk was a note, typed in the distinctive type of a
new Corolla Selectric. (Hey, I was a journalism major. I knew about stuff
like that.)
The note read:
"Here''s our trick, now it''s your turn to treat. Bring
a large pepperoni pizza to the cafeteria at 6pm.
Leave the pizza on the back table and leave immediately
and your pumpkin will be returned to you. If not, you''ll
never see your pumpkin in one piece again."
At first, I thought it was pretty funny. A jacknapping, complete with
ransom note. But the more I thought about it, the more it aggravated me.
Someone had come into my room and taken something of value to me, and now
they wanted me to pay the price of a large pizza in order to get it back?
That just wasn''t right -- Halloween or no Halloween.
So I flicked on my own Selectric and typed a reply: "No tricks, no
treats. Bring back my pumpkin or I''ll make your face look like a pepperoni
pizza."
Actually, I wasn''t prone toward violence. But I assumed I was dealing
with an underclassman, and I had to speak a language he understood.
I put the note on the designated table and waited to see who would
appear to read it. Nobody showed, so I returned to my room fully expecting
to see my jack-o-lantern back in place. Instead, there was another note,
in the same familiar typeface: "You were warned!"
Suddenly, I heard the soft plinking of pebbles against my window on
the five-floor dormitory''s second floor. I opened the curtains and peered
into the darkness just as a flash of orange hurtled past my window in its
rapid decent to the sidewalk below. A sickening splat made my stomach
churn and my blood run cold. I looked down. Pieces of what was once my
beautiful jack-o-lantern littered the sidewalk, fresh evidence that
veggiecide had been committed!
Although I never found out who turned my jack-o-Rembrandt into a
Pumpkin Picasso (the way I see it there had to be at least three
jacknappers -- one above, one below and one on the grassy knoll), I did
learn a few lessons from this experience.
I learned to lock my door. I learned to take ransom notes from
jacknappers seriously. And I learned not to become too attached to
Halloween decorations.
Art or not.
-- Joseph Walker <valuespeak @ earthlink.net
''TWAS HALLOWEEN EVE
by Kathy Anne Harris
''Twas Halloween Eve and all through the block,
little people were scheming to scare and to shock.
The costumes were selected with great thought and care,
the sacks brightly colored for Halloween''s share.
The little ones anxious and eager await,
for the gathering of goblins on this ghoulish date.
I, with a book in my chair snuggle down,
while moonlight and shadows descend on the town.
When out on the porch there arose shrieks and laughter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Taking care to be wary of what was in store,
I flicked on the porch light and threw open the door.
And what should my questioning eyes behold,
but a miniature vampire and a devil most bold.
A shaky voice from under a sheet
with outstretched bag, saying, "Trick or Treat."
A faceless goblin concealed ''neath a hood
joined in the chant, and I understood.
I went to the kitchen, where in the cabinet is placed,
a supply full of goodies to delight the taste.
Throughout the evening they came and they went,
and not a sack was left empty this frightful event!
-- Kathy Anne Harris <bluebelliedlizard @ earthlink.net

HUMBLE PIE
by Jaye Lewis
MeowMeow is anything but a complicated kitty.
She''s friendly, hungry, and not terribly bright. Every morning she
wakes me up with a yowl.
She wants two things in life. The first and foremost is FOOD! Yours,
mine, hers, the dogs, anybody''s. She doesn''t care, just as long as it can
be chewed and swallowed. She doesn''t care if you leave, just as long as
you leave food.
MeowMeow''s second priority is to find that perfect place to relieve
herself, after the food. You see, she believes that we move the cat box
from room to room, and she is there to tell us where we should have put it.
Each time, it should have been someplace else, and part of MeowMeow''s
assignment is to inform us of our mistakes.
On the day after our anniversary trip, where my husband and I spent
three days convincing each other that we were no more than twenty, MeowMeow
unveiled her most special assignment.
My husband and our youngest daughter were setting up her classes at
the University, so I knew that I would have the entire day to do some
writing and e***ing on my book. I was still feeling rather
twenty-something, and as the day progressed, I was becoming really
impressed with my e***ing skills. That was the time that my sweet, yellow
tabby chose to put me in my place.
MeowMeow was busy ignoring the perfectly clean cat box and looking for
the perfect place to relieve herself!
"Good gosh!" my daughter, Jenny, exclaimed. "Someone went in the bathtub."
"Well, it wasn''t me!" I called out, merrily.
"MeowMeow!" cried Jenny, as the little trickster scuttled under my bed.
"Oh Gosh, Jenny! Do you want me to clean it out?"
"That''s okay. I''ll do it," Jenny answered, without enthusiasm.
"Great! Thanks, Hon!" I was glad for her capitulation, because I was
busy being the writer and thinking that I was pretty special.
Hours passed, as Jenny went off to her summer job, and I continued
e***ing. Finally, I admitted that I needed a break. So, I prepared to
take a shower -- totally forgetting that Jenny had cleaned and bleached the
tub, leaving the hand shower dangling.
Still in my flannels, I gathered my shower things and plodded into the
bathroom. Reaching into the tub to turn on the water, I replaced the hand
shower, precariously, into its holder above my head. When the cold water
was running, I turned the shower knob to the "high" position.
Suddenly, the nozzle jumped out of place!
The ice-cold water hit me in the face, drenching my hair, the walls,
the floor, and my clothes. Instantly my fifty-eight year old bladder
responded.
Quickly, I managed to kick off my shoes and hop into the shower
without breaking my neck. There I stood, fully clothed and blind, under a
frigid waterfall, waiting for my bladder to finish emptying, while I
struggled to turn off the knobs to my bathtub.
For a flicker of a second, I was really ticked-off! I couldn''t make
up my mind whether to get Jenny or my cat. That''s when I started to laugh,
and I just laughed and laughed until I nearly cried.
There was a lesson here. MeowMeow went in the tub. I went in the
tub. You might say that we grew into a new understanding.
As I went ahead with my intentional shower, the writer in me couldn''t
resist the thought of what a hilarious story this would make!
After all, MeowMeow had fulfilled her special assignment, keeping this
writer humble.
-- Jaye Lewis <jlewis @ smyth.net>

THE FIVE AND DIME
by Diane Dean White
I don''t see them very often nowadays, but most baby boomers remember them.
They were located on the main street of most towns and in each city.
They went by a variety of names, but they always appealed to us for one
reason on another. They may have been known as the Ben Franklin Store,
S.S. Kressge, Woolworth''s or just the drug store on the corner.
They often had doors that were large and hard to pull, or more often,
the kind that revolved and one person at a time went in. They were a place
where young children could buy a small turtle or a gold fish for ten cents
and carry it home in small white cartons.
Teens gathered to try on some neat sun glasses or glance over the
latest shades of lipsticks. Most trips ended at the soda fountain over a
cherry Coke or a hot fudge sundae.
The main idea was that so many items were sold for such a small price
and you could get a variety of things at the Five and Dime. Mothers would
come in and check over the yard goods and look through Vogue, McCall''s and
other books with patterns. One area displayed a variety of favorite
magazines. It was a time when we knew the store manager or owner, and we
always said hello and acted polite, because the store owner also knew our
Mom and Dad.
Often the Five and Dime had a counter with stools and sometimes booths
where we could order fries, a cheeseburger and a shake. They also had a
daily special, for working men who would frequent the Five and Dime. Women
in starched uniforms and aprons would wait on the customers. Their hair
was done up and covered neatly with a hair net. The booths with the large
seats were big enough for three girls on one side and three guys on the
other.
We''d opt for the booths over the swivel stools at the counter, or the
heavy straight chairs at a table, because each booth had a small juke box
with the favorite selections.
When the Thanksgiving holiday came we knew where the decorations were
kept, as harvest scenes with pilgrims and turkeys and pumpkins were placed
in a central location for all to see. Very often, a large box for canned
food donations was placed for customers to remember those less fortunate,
and people back then always did.
We never saw a Christmas decoration until the first week in December,
and we could hardly wait to see the toys and items that were so popular
that year. Usually there was a manger scene with a bright star over it,
and Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus were set up as a welcome display. A
real Christmas tree would be covered with lights ten sizes larger than the
ones we see today. Some tinsel and an angel on top would complete the
decor.
The special town tree would be located exactly where it grew, and that
might be anywhere along the main street, away from the parking, but in view
for all to see. On a special night, the store might stay open a little
later to invite customers to shop a little longer. The smell of freshly
made popcorn, peanut brittle, hot chocolate and coffee would remind us that
the time of year for being extra good was here.
We''d look at a special pair of skates or see a train set with a
whistle tooting, as it made stops along the tracks, while in the background
a record with Gene Autry would play, as he sang Rudolph the Red Nose
Reindeer.
In the late 60s land developers began to visualize a compact shopping
experience, where customers could go into a variety of stores. After
parking their car, they could go from one end of a mall to another, being
able to purchase everything from clothing, to bath and bedroom linens, with
a maternity shop, jewelry store and often a few small specialty shops.
By the mid 70s they were going up all over, and the small Five and
Dime Stores were beginning to become a thing of the past.
When we pass through a town today and I see a Five and Dime, or what
used to be one, I often ask my hubby to stop because I know there are so
few left.
There is something nostalgic about a visit back to the 50s where so
much fun and great buys could be found at these places.
"Honey, do you want to go over to the mall and look around?" my
husband will ask.
And I think of how much we have lost to progress, while my mind goes
back to a simpler time and memories of a juke box playing Mr. Blue, and all
the great things found at the corner Five and Dime.
-- Diane Dean White <thelamb212 @ aol.com>
NOTE: Diane''s story is wonderful. Here in Western New York, home to
Heartwarmers, we still have an operating Five and Dime. Here is their
website: http://www.vidlers5and10.com/ Haha. How times have changed! A
5 & 10 with a website! Do you have any 5 &10s in your area?
___________________________________________
Diane is a former newspaper reporter and freelance writer. Her work has
appeared in numerous magazines, books and publications. She and her
husband are the parents of three grown children and two grand-gals. Diane
is the author of the book Beach Walks, a compilation of heartwarming short
stories, and a novel, Carolina in the Morning. You can visit Diane''s
website at: http://www.dianedeanwhite.com/
___________________________________________
NOT MY DAUGHTER!
by Al Batt
I wouldn''t work for just anyone.
I had standards. I''d only work for someone who would actually hire me.
I was just out of high school. I was barely housebroken, but deemed
trainable. I worked at Bird''s Eye in Waseca, Minnesota. It was a plant
that processed sweet corn and peas, as well as manufacturing Cool Whip. I
worked from 11 at night until 7 in the morning. People called it the
graveyard shift.
It wasn''t a bad job and the company treated me well. My job was
working in the compressor room. The compressor room was a large room
filled with mammoth freon and ammonia refrigerating machines. These
mechanical monsters were responsible for cooling all of the products that
needed cooling.
The compressor room was a noisy place. The telephone was hooked up to
a loudspeaker that caused a ring to be loud enough to raise the dead. The
compressor room was an odoriferous place. All of the ammonia made it smell
like Mr. Clean had had an accident.
When I first started working there, I apprenticed under a wily veteran
-- a fellow over twice my age named Eddie. He was a good guy and I enjoyed
working with him.
One night, we were on a lunch break. I had just devoured a couple of
baloney sandwiches on white bread and a little lemon pudding. Life was
good. My supervisor, Eddie, with a full tummy after inhaling leftover
hotdish, took a nail clipper out of his pocket and began to clip his
fingernails. We''d been working together for a few weeks and I figured that
was long enough for us to bond. We had become buddies to my estimation.
Eddie finished clipping his nails and prepared to put the clipper back
into his pocket when I asked him if I could use his clipper. I told him
that I didn''t have one of my own.
"No, you may not use my nail clipper!" was his curt reply. Wow! I''d
even said "please." So much for taking courtesy for a spin.
"Don''t bite my head off," I thought. I didn''t say anything. A
remarkable achievement for a mouthy me. We had to work together.
Later in the night, after we had done the better part of an
overhauling job on an ammonia refrigeration unit, I decided to bring up the
subject of the nail clipper.
"Say, Eddie, why wouldn''t you let me use your nail clipper? I thought
we were friends. All I wanted to do was to eliminate one little hangnail.
I wasn'' t going to keep your nail clipper. Is it a special one given to
you by the President of the United States for meritorious service in the
field of refrigeration?" I was a bit of a smart aleck in those days.
Eddie gave me a hard look and said, "If I had let you use my nail
clipper, you and I would probably start sharing a lot of things. We''d
trade lunches and give each other advice. We''d start hanging around
together after work. We ''d go fishing. I''d most likely even let you use
some of my prized fishing tackle."
"Is this story going somewhere?" I asked.
"Well, you seem like a nice fellow. Not too smart, but nice. I''d get
so I''d enjoy your company rather than just putting up with it like I do
now. I''d get so I really liked you and when I like someone, I invite them
over to my house for dinner. So I''d invite you over for dinner and you
being the poor, starving wretch that you are, you''d accept my invitation."
"I don''t see any problem here so far."
"Well, if you came to my house for dinner, you''d probably meet my
daughter. She''s the same age as you are. She''s beautiful and she has some
of the same interests in books, music and nature that you do. She''d like
you since she can find some redeeming value in everyone. You two would get
to talking and you''d probably ask her out. She, lacking some in common
sense, would agree to date you. One thing would lead to another and you
two would fall in love. You would fall for her beauty and she would feel
pity for you. She''d be sure that she could change you. You would date for
a while and you''d become engaged. Then you two would get married and you
would be my son-in-law."
"I''m lost," I said. "Where does the nail clipper come in?"
"The point is that I don''t want any daughter of mine marrying some guy
who can''t even afford his own nail clipper!"
-- Al Batt <SnoEowl @ aol.com>