Writers Club story sparker.

     How many times did she need to say it? Suppressing the urge to scream at the foolish man, Kelly tossed her auburn hair back and bit the bullet. "Thank you for doing this."
Her pasted on smile did not match the ache in her heart. It had been three years. Three years spent faking; pretending ; lying. She felt as if her head would explode.
     Just because he had given her a gift, like so many times before; did not make the past go away. How could her father not see that his actions had repercussions that would affect his whole family for years to come? Even worse was the guilt she felt in keeping his secret. It made Kelly feel like she also was betraying the very people who trusted and loved her.
    Her father was sitting in his chair watching TV, a glass of whiskey in his hand. She looked at him and for the first time saw not her father but a cruel and vindictive man.  Kelly decided she needed to leave the room to try to come to terms with the rage that was slowly building inside her skull. A walk in the garden might help clear her thoughts. "What to do next? If I tell the truth what would be gained? What would be lost?"
    As she paced the garden paths she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. "I'm just so angry, how could he make me do this? Why did he make me do this? How could this man that supposedly loved me put me through this for all these years? So many questions...
    She sat down on one the wicker chairs across from the pool, scared and also strangely calmed by the realization of who her father really was. She took a look around at the huge estate and all the many things that her fathers indiscretions had bought. Kelly thought about how this secret was slowly destroying her. "I have been bought just like the chair I am sitting in." She needed to do something. Her life had to change. She would take the chance and let the truth be known. It was the only way to save what was left of her sanity. Walking to her car and picking up her cell phone she made the call...

Homework. Why do I write?

Well as you can see by my blog I have not been writing much lately. I have tried but I seem to spend more time deleting and ripping up paper than putting words out there. Don't get me wrong I would love to get my thoughts down and keep them there but what I have to say at this time in my life is too personal or opinionated to let others read. Perhaps I should be an anonymous writer! Maybe soon I will be back in a space where I feel safe writing my words. I hope so. In the meantime I am greedily gobbling up other peoples stories and words. I still love to go to the writers group to hear what everyone is working on and their thoughts. So I apologize for the lack of my words on paper. I have many in my head...

Psychology Homework!

     Sometimes I need a deadline to get things done. So here it is Friday morning and I have a gazillion things to do today but I am madly typing away so I don't look like a bad student to my writers group. These few sentences are the result of that procrastination behavior that is a very big part of who I am. I guess you could call this need to put things off  until the last minute a part of my psychology.
     I found it fascinating to learn that the literal meaning of psychology is breath, spirit, or soul. Psychology is the study of behavior in an individual or group. It can be used in many different contexts and is a subject that is open to scrutiny on many levels. Human and animal behavior has always fascinated me. Perhaps this is why I have left this homework until the last day. I have been looking articles up on line and in books for at least the last two weeks. Next thing you know hours of intriguing reading later I still haven't written a word. Easily distracted must be part of my makeup too. I have also digressed from the first sentence in the paragraph so inability to keep thoughts organized is probably lumped in there also. I think that psychology is just the study of what makes us who we are. I have also finally learned to spell psychology.

Coddled Kids

My sister Glynis and I both recieved this image on our facebook page. She has also blogged about this. My response was to my father who I knew would not see it. "I think we should send those nitwits on the right to the front eh Dad?" I do not understand this next generation and I am scared for them. The sense of ententilment that young people have these days is beyond my scope.
After listening to a radio documentary about coddled children and the number of calls that came in amazed me. Finding out that I am not the only one that thinks this way was a relief. I posted about this on my facebook page. ( I am now taking a "facebreak" because I can be a little too opinionated and people tend to think that I am pionting fingers) This may be the better place to vent...
I raised six children on my own and I had minimal child support for two of them. The other four none. My children always had a roof over their heads and plenty of food.  I managed to buy my first house at twenty four when I had three children. It was tiny but I learned how to build and put an addition on it. I always lived rural and had a huge garden, chickens, house cow or goats but I could not afford the extras. At income tax refund time I was able to buy new bikes or clothes but that was it. My kids always worked since they were old enough to babysit or do chores for the local farmer. My oldest son worked at an auction room and on the farm since he was eleven. He bought his first little honda dirtbike from his wages. None of my children has been without employment of some kind since they were teenagers. I made a lot of mistakes in my life, but I like to think that I passed a few good things on to my children. Work ethic was always important to me and I think they got that too.  The piont of this is..
Why is it that children nowadays seem to think they are disadvantaged if they do not have what everyone else has? Why do they expect it? Why do parents give in to and sometimes go into debt to give them things that should be earned and saved for? Why at such a young age are they allowed to do things that they are not supposed to? I am full of questions...
 If you allow a child to enter the teenage or adult world before they are emotionally equipped to handle it what is next? Rights of passage come with growing up. You can get your drivers license at sixteen, you can vote and drink if you want at eighteen and nineteen. All the laws of society. But what concerns me most is that parents seem to think that it's ok to let children do and have the things that are not meant to be in thier lives at this time. Just because one of their friends has it. Well meaning parents sometimes do not get this. Do they not know that there are laws to be followed. It is for the protection of our children. There are also rules of conduct. In the above image I saw no thank yous' nor pleases or God bless those that gave us the right to demand our wants...Rant finished. I may post this or I may not. That is my chioce. The young men in the left really had no choice. They had to turn from boys to men overnight on the battlefield (my Dad's words) to give those young hooligans on the right to demand...nuff said.

Shadow

I am my shadow.
When I was little I used to follow me around
I was so big.
I could do anything with such large piece of myself
Beside me.
Now I don't see me anymore.
Have I shrivelled up?
Or do I not see me ?
What happened to that giant girl?

Finding my Faith.

I look around my house...In my kitchen I have a cross with lovely words from the Bible. A picture of an old man praying over his soup and bread. On the window sill over the sink is my favorite brass laughing Buddha hands over his head. Two white nuns and one white Buddha sit on a cupboard. A picture of hands at prayer live on a wicker box beside the rocking chair.
In my living room is a fasting Buddha plus chimes. In there are also my moose antlers and wooden carvings of Canada geese. A kisii stone statue brought back from Kenya of a hawk reside there too.
Upstairs in my bedroom I have pictures of the Madonna. Crosses adorn these walls as well as two rosaries.
But my favorite room is my office...On my bureau I have gifts from my Kenyan friend that includes a crude carved wise man of the village he lives in as well as many wonderful wildlife statues. I have a very old print of a nun and and an angel crowning her with thorns. I bought this when I was sixteen for two dollars at a yard sale. (For some reason she called out to me and I had to turn around) That was forty years ago.  More nuns sit around her. Hindu people sit here also. Above them sit a carving of Quetzalcoatl. A deer antler ,rabbit skin and petrified sharks tooth are part of this too.  On the window sill in this room sit all my marbles plus a witches ball. My many books on Anthropology and religion reside on the book shelves. Beside my computer are words from the Dali Lama ,Einstein and Alan Ashley Pitt. All around these walls are pictures of my children and grandchildren. But my favorite thing is a book called "Talking to God" that shows the people of the world and all religions at prayer. This is where I found my faith. My faith in the vast and varied religions of the world. My faith that we are all looking for the same thing. My faith in our human spiritual sameness. Love and peace.

Scrabble Words

This is my second trip to Mumbia and I am not looking forward to the heat and lack of adequate facilities in this Indian city. I hear the zoom of the engines as we vie for airspace on this transatlantic flight. My name is A.J. Moss one of the purchasing and product managers for a Canadian aerospace company. Upper management has decided to continue it's investigation into what seems a superior brass hex nut that was used in the fighter plane "the Gnat".        I am thumbing through a flashy magazine and see that Akon has arrived in New Delhi for a concert. His song 'I'm coming ova'(sic) is gaining ground on the Indian pop charts. I think to myself "ya suck" and toss the mag back into the pocket in the seat. Time to think. Need a plan of action and a way to get the ideas in my head in line with what the company is looking for. I slip off to sleep with visions of India seeding my dreams.     What seemed just a bit later I wake up in daze. My mind seems to be playing tricks on me. Maybe I should not have had that last gin and tonic... The pilot announces that we are preparing to land. How long did I sleep ? I get through customs and look for my regular driver Mr Mehra who was to meet me at the airport. Not seeing him there was raising the ire of my already foggy disposition.  A man in a faded jute dhoti came over to me and said he was sent by Mr Mehra to pick me up in the auto rickshaw he pointed at. I did not know what to do. My mode of travel in India at the last trip was always in a regular cab. Certainly not in one of those rough rickshaws. Do I try to call a cab or do I trust this man Amir as he called himself. I step into the auto rickshaw.        Traffic in this city is chaotic. Amir maneuvered around as best he could. All of a sudden we were side swiped by a cab ( of the like I should have been travelling in) I had a deep gash in my brow. Amir was frantic and had some of his friends take me to a healer a few blocks away. I had to duck my head to enter the door which had a tigers head carved on it. After my eye's adjusted to the dim light I looked in awe at all the beautiful Hindu art that covered the walls and ceiling.       Sitting on a stool was this old shaman with dread locked hair down to his waist. He was wearing little but a small dhoti and garlands of flowers around his neck. Amir spoke to him in his dialect and the healer whose name I found out was Buti stood and looked at my bleeding head.  After a few minutes of chanting he said he could rid me of the injury. Buti immediately started gathering an assortment of herbs powders and figs which he beat in a small tin bowl. He told me he would slather this potion on my brow with special prayers and all would be well in my life. As he worked on my brow he chanted. I left feeling much better and the gash on my head was barely visible. Amir quickly took me to the hotel where I rested as per shaman's orders. I was filled with wonder at this new old side of India that I had not experienced before.      The next day was my meeting with Rhohit Shah the CEO of the plant. I'm not sure what happened to my head yesterday but it was exploding with grand schemes and my proposal was greeted with enthusiasm. A done deal was made. The bump on the head must have helped or was it something else...