It was now January, and the weather had turned cold, so I headed to the local Tim Horton’s to get a much-needed coffee and something to eat.
The crowded tables were filled with several customers slowly sipping coffee and writing something in a notebook with a Paper-Mate style pen.
I was now curious about what kind of things they might be writing in their notebooks, but I hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to ask.
Finally, not able to wait any longer, I walked over to a woman who looked about thirty with short blonde hair and dressed in attire for an office and said, “If I’m not being too nosey, would you be willing to tell me what you’re writing about in your notebook?”
The woman looked up at me and said, “Sure. It’s just my journal, and every day when I have my coffee break, I sit here quietly and write about all the things that happened yesterday.”
“So why do you come here to write instead of at home after work?”
“Well, life is pretty busy at my house during the evenings as I have five children and a husband who needs my attention more,” the woman replied.
“Well, thank you for talking with me,” I said, returning to my seat where I had left my coffee and notebook.
That was interesting. Now, I’m even more curious about several others, especially the men, as I don’t believe they would be writing journal entries.
I sat and wrote in my notebook about my talk with the woman, then decided there seemed to be more to this concept. I got up after gaining enough courage to talk to one of the men in the room.
I approached a man with silver streaks in his short, nicely groomed hair and said, “Excuse me, but could I be so bold as to ask what you’re writing about in your notebook?”
He looked at me with a large grin on his face and said, “I’m writing a letter to my wife, who is away on a business trip in Japan for the month.”
Curious now, I asked, “Why don’t you just e-mail your wife or talk to her on the phone?”
“I find it more intriguing to write long letters to her, being able to share all my love in a manner she can see over and over as many times as she wants instead of just a quick casual moment in life,” he replied.
“That’s an interesting way to put it,” I thanked him for his time and honesty.
Returning back to my table I took a sip of my coffee, which had now turned cold. I concluded that people had found a unique way to share their coffee with their ink.
For me, this would be a great way to write down short stories or ideas that I could use to develop a complete story for a book. The bonus is that I get to have coffee and a quiet place to enjoy doing it.
For all who are stuck with their writing or just want to journal or write letters to others, I recommend buying a small notebook and a Paper-Mate type pen and getting to work. I guarantee it will be a rewarding experience.
When Rudolph came to the North Pole, the reindeer had a red nose, which was different from all the others. Comet had never been impressed and seemed a bit jealous of all the attention the other reindeer were giving this one.
Comet was the oldest of the nine reindeer brought to the North Pole to pull Santa’s sleigh on Christmas Eve. In the beginning, things went well, but the weather had changed over the years, making it a challenge to get to all the children.
One night a week before the big day, Comet saw a red light glowing in the distance and went out to check it out. Once he saw that it was Rudolph’s nose with a red glow going on and off, he began to laugh and laugh.
“Are you for real, Rudolph? What is that you have attached to your nose?”
Tearfully, Rudolph told Comet it wasn’t an attachment but his real nose.
“Come on, none of us have noses that light up. I know your nose has always been red but the same color glowing of all things.”
“It just started to do this, and I have no idea what’s going on. Do you Comet?”
Comet walked away laughing and went back into the barn to tell all the others. As he revealed what he had just seen, the other reindeer told Comet he had to be mistaken, and they all walked out to where Rudolph was standing, covered in tears.
They all watched as Rudolph’s nose had a red glow going on and off. Vixen told the others that Santa needed to know about this so he could get the vet to check Rudolph out.
“Come with us, Rudolph, to see Santa. He will get to the bottom of this problem and fix it for you.”
Comet was watching from the doorway and followed the others as they escorted Rudolph to Santa’s workshop, hoping he could fix the problem. Quickly, Comet stepped in front of the others and, getting Santa’s attention, told him that he needed to fix Rudolph’s nose before it caused a problem on the big day.
“Rudolph, come over near me, and we can see what the problem is that Comet is so worried about.”
The youngest reindeer slowly made his way through the crowd of reindeer and stood near Santa, his nose shining a red glow over the entire workshop.
“Santa, please make it stop.” Rudolph cried.
“I see now why when you came to us, you had a red nose instead of the normal color like all the other reindeer. Let’s go and see Dr. Humour. Maybe he can tell us why it’s now glowing and if there is a way to turn it off and on. Everyone else, go back to the barn, and I’ll let you know what we find out.”
Comet stomped away, upset at all the attention the baby reindeer was getting just because his nose wasn’t typical. Maybe once he could find out how to get one like that, perhaps even more significant, he would then be treated special, too.
Santa and Rudolph returned to the barn and told them that this particular reindeer’s red glow was usual. It would be helpful whenever the weather was challenging to see through on our big day.
Comet was not impressed and asked Santa how they all could get a nose like Rudolph’s.
Santa replied, “That’s not possible. You have to be born with this special red nose like Rudolph’s.”
Santa declared Rudolph would be put in the lead on bad weather nights to light their way.
Dora and her friend Max were sitting on the front porch just talking. Dora told him she couldn’t wait for her birthday to come so she could blow out her candles after making a wish.
“Dora, my Mom showed me a different way to make a wish any time we want to.”
“How do you do that, Max?”
He told her that since they were both too young to light matches to light a candle in order to make a wish, his mother showed him a safe way to make a wish any time he wanted to.
“So, How Max? You didn’t say how?”
Max grabbed Dora’s hand and took her out to the backyard. He told her to look for some dandelions that weren’t yellow anymore. The two walked slowly around the yard, going in a different direction with their search. After a short while, Dora yelled out, “Found some Max, come quick.”
Max made his way to where the swing set was and sat on the grass next to Dora, looking down at a bunch of dandelions that had large white tops.
“Good job, kid.”
“So now, what do we do now, Max?”
He instructed Dora to carefully pick one of the dandelions without losing the ball of white stuff on the top.
Dora took in a deep, deep breath as she carefully broke off the stem from its roots and held it in front of her.
“Now what, Max?”
He told her to make a quiet wish and then gently blow on the dandelions white top.
Dora closed her eyes and made a wish. Then she blew all of the white puff balls off the dandelion. She watched as they blew all over the yard.
“Do you think my wish will come true, Max?”
Wait and see. My Mom says it really works. “Now, my turn.”
Hope means to cherish a desire with anticipation or to want something to happen or be true.
The other night, I was having a conversation with my oldest daughter about age. She got into how so many people are living until they are 100 or farther. I told her that I hoped to live at least to 100.
She asked how old she would be then, so I reminded her of my age and how many years I had to then. I told her to take her age and add that number. She decided that wouldn’t be too bad.
I have a lot of things to have hope about. First, that I live a long and productive life. Second, that I accomplish many more things in that time. I know now that I’m mostly healthy and hope for that to remain for many more years.
I have another hope that can happen soon. I want to meet some of my newest great-grandchildren now that they live closer to the Canadian border, and that hope is to accomplish that this summer before the newest baby is born in August.
I hope that this year, there will be a period where I can visit my two younger sisters in Massachusett for a while. I used to take Greyhound buses everywhere, but now they have left Canada for the most part. I did find out that there is one that goes from Toronto to the United States again, so that is good but not great.
I did find out recently that there’s a train that goes from Toronto to New York City, and that is a great discovery. There is also an Amtrack train that goes from New York City to Boston and a few places in between that will help me fulfill my hope to go home for a week or so.
My biggest hope is to find a way to spend time with my daughters, who all live in different places in the United States. I miss them so much, especially the oldest one, whom I would visit every year and who has been going through so many things without me there.
As for my writing work, there is a hope to get back to the pace I had before Covid showed up, as now, for the most part, I have lost my way. I question if this is what I want to be doing or should my path be different. Is there something more for me? If so, I hope that it will be revealed to me soon.
For now, my only hope is to work every day on my current books and make progress in the right direction. I need to go forward with a lot of anticipation for it to become great.
To all of you who are listening to me read this or who are reading this on their own one question. What do you hope for?
When those blue snowflakes start fallin’, Ivan runs up and down the street trying to collect them, but they melt in his hands. He was amazed to see this strange thing happening.
“Marge, come outside quick. It’s magical and somewhat disturbing at the same time.”
Marge opened the front door and saw her crazy husband trying to catch blue things falling from the sky. As she glanced further closer to the stoop, Marge realized what was falling were blue snowflakes. She didn’t get it. Shouldn’t they be white?
“Ivan, what is going on,” Marge called out to him as she put on her coat and went outside.
“I have no idea but isn’t it sad that the snow is blue. I wonder why this is happening. Why is Mother Nature so sad that her tears are coming down blue?”
Marge put her hand out and let some of the blue snowflakes gather on it. They weren’t the same as white flakes since they disappeared as soon as they landed. She tried to push some together on the grass, but the same thing happened. No snowball-making ability was available.
“Ivan, I think we need to send Mother Nature a letter telling her we’re here to help in any way we can to stop her from being so blue.”
“Where would we send it? We don’t know her address.”
Marge thought about that for a minute. “We can send it to Santa and ask him to get it to her. I’m sure he knows where she is since he knows where everyone is located.”
Ivan and Marge sat down and wrote a short letter to Mother Nature asking why she was so blue that her tears were coming down as blue snowflakes. They left all their information so she could respond with how they could help. They addressed the second envelope to Santa with a short note inside asking him to get their letter to Mother Nature as soon as possible.
The blue snowflakes continued coming down off and on over the next two weeks. On Christmas Eve, Santa left an envelope on their mantle for them to find the next morning. When Marge got up, she looked outside and saw it was snowing, but the flakes were white again.
“Ivan, go look out the window quickly. The snow has changed back.”
Ivan sleepily wandered into the living room and looked out the front door window. He pulled open the door to check it out, picking up some of the flakes.
“They are white again. I wonder what made Mother Nature happy again.”
Marge then noticed the envelope on the fireplace mantle with their names in the middle of it. Curious, she picked it up and slipped open the flap. Taking out a piece of paper, she read:
Dear Ivan and Marge,
I received your lovely letter asking what was wrong. I was sad because I wasn’t going to be able to bring joy to all the beautiful children all over the world. There is so much sadness everywhere, and it makes me sad.
I’m sorry my tears turned blue and frightened you. Everything has been taken care of for me to share my time with all the children of the world even though some of them have gone to another place from their homes.
I will try harder to not let my moods influence the proper way that nature happens. Thanks for caring so much and offering to help. Just getting your letter was a big help.
Sincerely,
Mother Nature
Ivan looked over, and Marge had tears running down her face. She convinced him they were tears of joy, not sadness, and handed him the letter from Mother Nature. Kindness is always rewarded from places you would never suspect, so be kind to others.
Sources for story ideas can be found everywhere. As a way to jumpstart our group’s creativity, I thought ‘filling out’ the stories behind obituaries might be a good place to begin. Some were local people, but most were found online. I Googled a few key words like military, immigrant, beloved, humour, and found ten beautiful people who had excelled at life. From there I erased all names, funeral homes and hospitals, leaving blank spaces to fill in with our made-up names.
I encouraged the group to do a bit of research into the history of what was left in our outlines. A woman who fled Eastern Europe, a mother growing up in the south, a Winnipeg orphan and so on. Life was to be added back into our obituary outline.
The results speak for themselves. A journalist meeting a famous Canadian on a kibbutz, a doctor who dedicated his life to restoring sight around the world, a train aficionado ruled by his tomato harvest, a young ambulance driver who met the love of her life in a time of war, and a young woman rescuing her boyfriend from his mother’s claws.
Obituary Stories
Obituary Memory (Madeleine Horton)
Sand was whipping around the bus as Randy Kerr prepared to board. She reminded herself through the stark light that fitfully shone through the sand, that she had wanted an adventure. Her plan, if she had a plan, seemed more and more absurd.
She could see through the shadowy windows the outline of many figures. The bus was nearly full. A couple of soldiers, clearly late comers, stepped back to allow her to board. She stood at the front, quickly glancing at the passengers and the two empty seats at the front. No one would think it strange if she moved to the back and sat in one of the two seats with a single passenger.
She had been here in Israel before. Twelve years ago when she was still an idealistic younger journalist. She had scored a much desired assignment to write a long article on kibbutz life. It had probably been the piece that really ignited her career and set off the stream of prestigious awards that followed. She was here now for a different reason. She had felt for some time that she was coasting, taking cosy domestic assignments, being paid to stay in posh hotels and given unquestioned expense accounts. After all, she was Miranda ‘Randy’ Kerr.
This would change everything. A war had started. The Yom Kippur War they were calling it and she had a scoop. Leonard Cohen was here secretly to entertain troops. That was the payoff from keeping in touch for all these years. A tip from a friend in a kibbutz, a call to the commander the friend knew and here she was boarding a troop bus to the camp Cohen was going to.
Her plan, if she had a plan, was to wander around the camp. If questioned she would show her press credentials and use the chutzpah she hoped she still possessed. She stood at the front of the bus. She was the only woman. No one stared up at her. With her loose beige shirt and baggy cargo pants and long hair tucked under a floppy sun hat, she drew no approving glances. And the dozen more years on her face, middle-aged, she reflected. She knew at once where she would sit. She couldn’t believe her luck.
“I had forgotten the sandstorms. Maybe because I was at a kibbutz, indoors a lot.” She sat down. “Will the sand affect your guitar playing?” she said with no introduction and the presumption she knew who he was.
She had already heard he had called a soldier his brother, cementing his ties to the tribe. It was all they talked about at the kibbutz.
“I called a man my brother,” he said, as if he were reading her thoughts. “He wept and grasped my hands. ‘You, you understand us’ he said. I told him we are all brothers, I have many brothers, across many borders. His hand went limp and fell from mine. I’m not sure why I am here. Forge a bond with those like me….” He looked at her, “May you find what you seek.”
Randy sat in the silence for a long time. This alone could make a sensational piece. More came as she free floated from topic to topic without the questioning she’d heard he abhorred. Later she watched him sing surrounded by men, no stage, no barriers. Such good details for a story.
He was not on the bus she took back. In her room, she jotted quick notes for her story. “I am here and not here.” She thought of his crushed identity, never really to have a tribe, a people. The true artist, always the outsider. And herself, an undercover scavenger gnawing on his torment. She grasped her notes and tore them up.
Obituary Project (Cathy Sartor)
October 22, 1921 – October 7, 2023 – Doctor John Alexander Campbell
A routine “turn around the sun” ended abruptly after 102 rotations which was a goal achieved by “Doc. J” as he loved to be called. He would be especially pleased to know that his passing coincided with the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend of October 7, 2023. John’s mother was a Canadian at birth and she launched the family tradition of celebrating both Canadian and American Thanksgivings which John celebrated throughout his life.
Enjoying life to the fullest and in the face of challenge was a preference John embraced wholeheartedly. His partner in life for seventy-four years was his awesome wife Matty who supported him during his academic years while qulifiying to practice optometry. John and Matty met when they were high school students in Hudson, New York.
John was the devoted father and father-in-law of Neil and Shirley Smith, Robert and Mary Brown, Douglas and Margaret Matthews and Ronald. Adored grandfather of Jacob, Cameron, and Lara. Dear brother of Michael and the late Mary Jones, and brother- in-law of the late Ronald and the late Elizabeth Hewitt, brother of the late James and Johanna Caughlin. Cherished uncle of Peter, Susan, Camilla, the late Judith, and the late Teresa.
In recent years, his love of jazz sustained him while in palliative care. Born in 1921, Jazz was ingrained in his upbringing and throughout his young adult years. Performers like Count Basie, Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong influenced his love of jazz from a very early age. He and Matty enjoyed years of wintering in Palm Springs where he riffed and jammed with many jazz performers that he met during his extensive travels. During his winters in Palm Springs with Matty at his side, Dr. John continued to enjoy and fine tune his jazz repertoire. Sadly, Matty predeceased John. Following her passing and in his remaining years he was able to maintain his well-being and enthusiasm for life by sharing his love of music with fellow long term care friends.
Jazz was not Dr. J’s only passion. Dr. J’s career passion to provide eye care followed him into retirement. With the conclusion of his practice of Optometry, he volunteered travelling into remote areas of Canada providing support and diagnostic eye care for residents living in remote Canadian locations. He was especially proud of his work with ORBIS. Over the past four decades, ORBIS the Flying Eye Hospital has flown world-class professionalsto provideeye care in over 95 countries and has been a call-to-action for better eye care around the world. Wherever ORBIS lands, specialists raise awareness, create change, and ralley support from local governments, global organizations, and philanthropists in an effort to contribute to the global fight of ending “avoidable blindness” particularly in children. (can.orbis.org) John’s enthusiasm and determination to engage will be missed by all who knew him, those he diagnosed and those who may have benefited from his expertise and connections.
The family wishes to thank his wonderful caregivers, Mary, Matthew, Danielle, James, and William for their years of compassion and loving care. Their dedication touched us profoundly. The family is also very grateful to the Palliative Care Unit at the St. Joseph’s Hospital. Funeral service took place from St Peter’s Basilica on Monday, October 9th 2023 at 2pm.
Obituary Reflection (Catherine Campbell)
Obituary – Henry Nichols – Sept 22, 1946 – Nov 19, 2022
It is with great sadness that we announce the death of Henry Nichols on Nov 19, 2022 after a two year battle with cancer. Henry is survived by his loving wife Thea and his sons Brendan (Leslie), Jeffrey (Rachel), Derek (Laura) and daughter Deirdre (John) as well as his loving grandchildren Francis, Serena, Elsa, Daniel, Stephen, Indra, David and Richard. Henry was predeceased by his parents, Andrew and Emily. He was born and raised in Richmond, attended Vancouver College and graduated from UBC. His love of travel began with a backpacking trip through Europe and the Middle East in 1969. Henry was a great provider for his children and coached many of their sports teams – football, baseball, lacrosse and soccer. He began working in Prince Rupert Pulp Mill’s technical department as well as serving in production, marketing, management in various other BC mills.
After retirement, Henry and Thea pursued a life of travel visiting 138+ countries in all seven continents. Travel also comprised of train trips in South Africa, Zimbabwe, Egypt, Morocco, Peru, Europe, India, China and Mongolia. His passion was collecting model trains especially those made for the Canadian market culminating in a published book. He also loved to work in his vegetable garden each year providing great crops for the family. We would never leave on vacation until the tomatoes were harvested!
A Mass of Christian Burial will be held at St. Mark’s. Rest in peace, Henry.
Reflection on a life
Rest in peace, Henry.
Rest would certainly seem to be needed. Filling a couple of paragraphs with a lifetime of activity. Can’t help but look at the selfless presentation and question how it was possible.
I had known Henry in his younger years – ironically he got involved in smuggling. Perhaps that unmentioned past is reflective of his fondness for travel.
Although I hadn’t spent a lot of time with him over recent years I remember his joie de vivre with fondness. Then he packed up and headed out west.
So I headed to googling several of the details in his obituary. Only Henry’s name shows up (not his wife or family) – reflects the uniqueness of his life’s passions.
Henry and Thea certainly didn’t have reservations about a big family and that aspect of the obituary suggests a real family-based life. Let me work it out – Henry’s travel started in 1969. A typical backpacking post university jaunt – 23 years old. Then back to British Columbia to marry, work, coach multiple sports. I am going to assume he retired at 65. And I am going to assume that his children were born in the 1970’s, grew up, went to university, married and produced grandchildren in short order. During this period Henry seems to have taken up gardening (and provided generously) and developed a passion for model trains. He had the time to write a book. I have a friend who is infected with that train passion. It is an intensely time-consuming activity. Without writing a book.
Given his focus was Canadian trains it is surprising all the travel references are elsewhere. Train trips were still a focus. Planning and organizing a series of tours through Zimbabwe and South Africa to see the falls and safaris is time consuming not to mention the actual trips.
All the other locations mentioned for the travel are stand alone. Exotic. Add them up though and the total is a long way from 138 countries on seven continents. Maybe cruising – no suggestion he and Thea chose that mode of travel.
It doesn’t feel credible.
Impose the growing season of tomatoes, the social and sports activities of children and grand-children Henry and Thea must have spent zero time at home during some key events in the years.
Who was this obituary written for or by? No intimate anecdotes about activities with his family, friends, workmates. No memories of coaching the sports teams – winners or losers. Was it written by a grandchild impressed by ticking off the numbers and not missing a relationship with his/her grandfather.
Perhaps the absence of reflections on a deceased’s personality, uniqueness, is common in obituaries. It is uncomfortable to dwell on the loss. But it reads like a Wikipedia post. Cold. Unreflective. No recognition of the deceased’s personal essence.
I don’t care about 138 countries and harvesting tomatoes. I remember the young, vibrant Henry. Laughing over a glass of wine. Talking about the backpacking adventures. Making his friends feel special.
That Henry – rest in peace.
Obituary (Diane Chartrand)
NAMES FOR OBIT 8 WRITING
OBIT PERSON-
Amelia Brook Kirk
HUSBAND-
Noah Kirk
CHILDREN-
Sadie (Daughter) and Christoper (Son)
GRANDMOTHER OF-
Tilly, Pearson, Arthur, Petunia, and Elroy
PREDECEASED BY-
Husband: Noah -Sister: Mazzie – Brothers: Max, Donald, Stuart, Allen, David, Nathan, and Michael
OBIT SCENE FOR AMELIA
A year before her passing, Amelia contacted her remaining family members and asked them to come to the house for a special dinner. She wanted to show them a secret she had been keeping. Amelia just got several copies of the memoir she recently published. She wanted to read portions of it to them.
Amelia selected specific sections and marked each one with a sticky note. Her children Sadie and Christoper knew some of how she had met their father, but Amelia and Noah never talked about their lives in England before and during the war.
In the memoir, Amelia revealed her entire life, starting with growing up in England with her older sister Mazzie and her seven brothers Max, Donald, Stuart, Allen David, and Nathan, who always were her protectors since she was the baby of the family.
There are sections telling about the painful times during the war and her work as an ambulance driver while serving in the Women’s Auxiliary Force of the RAF. Her job was how she met the wonderful man she married in 1946.
Amelia wanted them to each have a copy and read about her life, but she needed to tell them about a special time for her that created the family they have become. It was time her children and grandchildren knew how she had met Noah that terrible day.
After everyone had taken their assigned place at the nursing home dining room table, Amelia brought in a box and set it in the middle of the table, taking her book off the top and sitting down.
“I’ve summoned you all here for a surprise. In my hand is a copy of my memoir that I published. Before giving you each a copy, I need to read a section to all of you.”
“Mom,” said Sadie. “You wrote a book? How did you hide this from us?”
“I had a lot of help from the staff who typed it up for me and helped to get it up to the publishing site.”
Amelia opened the book to the page she had marked. “For years, a story was told about how I met my beloved husband Noah, the father to Sadie and Christoper and grandfather to the rest of you. That tale wasn’t completely true.”
“What are you saying, Mom,” said Christoper.
“Your father and I didn’t want to revisit that terrible time during the war, but now, since I’ve put it in the book for the world to know, I thought it was only fair that you hear it first from me.”
The room was so quiet you could hear the rain hitting the two windows next to the table. Amelia looked around the room and began to read.
As the sound of guns and explosions could be heard, I drove my ambulance to a location given to me. I found a young man lying on the ground with a lot of blood flowing from his chest area. My assistant and I did what we could to stop the bleeding. We loaded the young man into the back of the vehicle and drove at high speed to the field hospital a few miles away. For some reason, I couldn’t leave this patient and waited to see if he’d make it or not…..
Obituary – Lila and the Ladder (Marian Bron)
Process: I first googled Ooltewah, Tennessee to find out its history and if anything, interesting had happened that would affect my character’s life. It was a Union stronghold during the civil war which I found interesting since it was in the traditional south. Her parents are mentioned but not her late husband’s, only a sister-in-law. That gave me a reason for her elopement in October of 1960. I made her the descendant of a rebel, something her mother-in-law could hold against her family. From there I had fun.
The twelve-foot wooden ladder I had lugged from my parent’s house thudded against the second-story windowsill of a white clapboard house two streets over, making more noise than wanted. Wesley Freichuk had always been a sound sleeper, his mother not so much. My luck she would find me standing beneath her pride-and-joy’s bedroom window in the middle of the night and spoil my plans. Squatting next to the leafless lilac bushes beneath the kitchen window, I waited until I was sure she hadn’t heard me.
Wesley’s very manhood needed saving. If Mrs. Freichuk had her way, those apron strings of hers would never be cut. Especially for the likes of me, the great-great-granddaughter of a rebel. But I loved Wesley, and he loved me, so there was no way ancient hostilities were going to ruin my happiness. His sister Melinda liked to joke that those strings were tied tight around her brother’s neck. He couldn’t breathe without his mother’s say so. Mrs. Freichuk was a force to be reckoned with, and I was up to the task.
The Freichuk house was locked tighter than Fort Knox. There were no spare keys hidden under flowerpots, especially since flowers were sentimental wastes of money according to Mrs. Freichuk, and no windows cracked open to catch the mountain breeze. Since no lights came on, I started my climb up my father’s rickety ladder, avoiding the rotten third rung. The seventh rung was also a bit punky. I stood on the tenth and tapped on Wesley’s window.
He slept on.
I tapped a bit louder.
Still, he slept on.
The window wouldn’t budge. Knowing, Mrs. Freichuk she had nailed her son’s window shut to preserve his chastity. No gold-digging princesses were going to get at her boy and ruin his virtue.
I tapped louder yet.
The window one room over flew open. I pressed myself against the wall.
“Lila?” Melinda whispered. “What the blazes are you doing?”
“Shh!” I whispered, finger to my lips, almost losing my balance. “Your mother will hear you.”
She shook her head and shut her window. Moments later, Wesley’s window opened.
“The dope’s still asleep.” She tip-toed to his bed and plugged his nose.
His eyes whipped open in a panic. He looked from his sister to me at the window. Melinda put a finger to her lips. He nodded in understanding.
“You are crazy,” was all he said as he started to dress. He filled a paper sack with clean underwear and socks. The family’s only suitcase was in Mrs. Freichuk’s bedroom closet.
Before her brother could climb out the window, Melinda said, “Wait.” She slid from the room and came back moment’s later with the keys to her brand-new Chevy Bel Air. “Don’t scratch it and don’t eat in it.”
“Thanks Sis,” Wesley said as he pocketed the keys and kissed her cheek.
The seventh rung snapped under his weight, and he crashed through six and five on his way down to four.
“Shh!” Melinda and I hissed in unison.
He rolled his eyes and reached for the third rung with his foot. He crashed to the ground, taking two lilac branches with him.
He dusted himself off. “Who knew eloping with you would be so dangerous? I take it that is the reason for all this subterfuge?”
“Well, it’s nice, but a bit bright for someone my age.”
“Your age? You look to me like someone who loves to show off your car.”
“Well, yes that’s true.”
“Check out the engine. I think it sings and purrs like a kitten.”
Melvin turned the key and listened for a bit and turned back to the car. “Actually, it sounds a little rough to me.”
“Rough man! You have to be joking. I think that I’m just what you’re looking for. Smart looking, a few years older, and sounds content.”
Melvin walked around the car again. He could agree that it seemed better than all the other ones he looked at so far.
“I have one more perk for you.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“I come with an eight-track player and a CD player. Now, where else can you get that. I think all the new ones on the lot have gone to just a radio. Please say yes sir. I will always be faithful to you and never let you down.”
Melvin called over the salesperson. “I’ll take this one if I can drive it away today.”
After all the paperwork was done, Melvin climbed into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and said, “Okay sweetheart, the wheel is yours.”
As I was drifting off a thought came about. Maybe in a different life. A world appeared with a young high school girl. She was popular and smiled all the time. As I looked closer I could see that girl was me.
I was taken through her time in high school and then to university where she became a teacher. She, that girl, was me. What a wonderful happy life was happening right before my eyes.
The other me was happy, accomplished, and had so many friends. Somehow my dream cycle was now doing a comparison of the current me and the different life me. What was it trying to get me to see?
My time went back to watching a life of joy, fulfillment, and moving forward. There was love, marriage, and a couple of children now growing up in a happy environment. I felt good there and hoped that maybe that could be my life now.
How can I swap that one for the one I am in now. I did ask but no one answered any of my questions. I now knew that we could have and experience a different life but only in our dreams. The life we have is the one we have, or maybe, just maybe I can do something to make changes and fulfill myself with what I saw and experienced in that different life.
Abruptly, I jumped up in bed shaking. I took a drink of water and calmed myself now being able to remember what just happened and where it took me. The rest of the day my head kept telling me, “Do it, do it, you can do it.”
Needing a distraction, I rolled open a blind and looked out the window into the dark night. It was two in the morning, and all was quiet in the complex. I woke up with so many thoughts and worries going on in my head and couldn’t get them to stop.
Soon we will be coming out of a terrible situation, and where I go next haunts me. As I keep looking out the window, I realize it’s not what I see in front of me that is dark, but I am personally experiencing what is known as ‘Dark Night.’ It’s listed as an internal condition where you become lost to the world you once knew.
As my eyes adjust, I see in front of me my worries all lined up farther than the eye can see. The first one that approaches me is uncertainty. It reminds me of all the risks that are out in the world if I go out there. “Yes,” I say. “But, at some point, I’ll have to venture out and try to find the person I once was so many months ago.”
Uncertainty just shakes its head and walks away.
Next in line is ego. I am reminded about all the things done just to please him. I don’t want to be that person anymore who relies only on ego. I want to be someone who does things with a purpose in mind, not what I can gain only for myself.
“I’m done with you and your reckless ways,” I say.
Ego just laughs and reminds me that everyone always comes back because it’s the way of the world. He bellows out as he disappears, “All for one and more for me.”
I lean my hand on my chin. My mind is lost and empty. Where did I go? Where did my ability to plan my future go? Having spent so many months at home all alone has caused me to lose myself.
Joy stands in front of me with a happy face plastered on her chest. “I am your every day and night, so smile, “ she says.
“Sorry, Joy. You are no longer a part of me, and I have no idea how to get you back, so leave.”
Joy tries over and over to get me to smile, but nothing causes me to do that, and she leaves.
Several memories started to emerge from my past—the birth of my children, bad marriages, learning for new careers, and hundreds more. Unfortunately, none of them impressed me. All of those items from my life are so far behind me and no longer important.
The final thing in line said, “Hi. I’m your new path.” She handed me a blank page with New Path written at the top.
“So, what am I supposed to do with this?”
“Write on it anything you want to do from this moment on.”
“I don’t know what exactly I want to do going forward, but I am sure it is nothing that I have done so far.”
“Maybe start at the top with I want to and then just write what is in your soul.”
I backed away from the window and sat down with the paper in front of me. I kept telling myself, you can do this, just start. Then I took up a pen and wrote at the top as New Path instructed.
Life has been so grim since March 2019, causing Brianna to stop dwelling on now and envision what is to come in her future.
She closes her eyes and lets her body relax, focusing on what she can see in her mind. The first thing that comes up is the downtown core with people walking around and talking to others they meet. No one has a mask on or standing far apart. They at times hug or kiss.
The next thing that comes up is Brianna sitting at her computer creating a video for her next book to be published. In the past, it was possible to go out and read portions of your book to a crowd of people or go to conventions to promote a new book.
She sees herself signing copies of her book in several local bookstores. The line is long and goes on forever all the way out the door, and someone said even down the street.
Tired from signing her name, she now looks further in the future to a vacation. Water lapping on the shore and a cool drink in her hand as she watches the surfers maneuver the waves. Yes, this is the future she wants.
Opening her eyes, Brianna now knows the direction she will be taking for the next couple of years. First, she will finish the two books already started and arrange with the local bookstores to have signing events and meet her fans.
Next, she will give herself that vacation she has always wanted to Hawaii, where she can sit on the beach with a special drink in her hand and watch everyone with joy. Then, she would visit the volcano and maybe all the other islands before going home.
Brianna can now see an ending to all that has depressed her over the past months. Once everyone is safe and unable to transmit the virus, she will be free to have a future. Unfortunately, she has gotten to the point that the only place she can experience a future is in her mind, but it will all become real one day.
Going again to work at the library, visiting family who are far away. That is the future she seeks, and she knows that it will all happen with a plan. Won’t It?
She knows that planning a future is the only way to get through the now and move forward. Pleasant thoughts, happy places are all there in the future, just to spend time with and breathe.
She knows taking precautions now will give everyone a future. Yes, it will probably be a different one than everyone imagined a year ago, but it will be a future.
Brianna knows in her heart that everything will get better and all her visions will happen. She just has to believe that in order to move on. She will put everything that has happened over the past year and just focus on her future plan.
As like Brianna, we all need to look to the future and plan what we want to do or accomplish when we get there. So everyone, pick up a notepad and start planning what you want to do in your future—Good Luck from Brianna.
