The Gum Ball

Tags

Adventure, family, Fiction, Kids, Kindness, Parenting, short story

“Yes! This thing is huge! And it’s my favorite color – Red! Oh Boy! I can’t wait to eat this thing! Should I eat it now, or should I eat it later?” His mouth was watering, contemplating when to partake of the preposterous candy. As he stood there rolling it in his sweaty hand, his little sister came up to him. “What are you looking at?” She asked quizzically. “My gum ball.” He replied dreamily. ”Ooooo, can I have one?” Suddenly the boy realized when and where he should eat it, and took off. “I want everyone to see me eat my gum ball!” He hollered, smiling wide, and ran to the spot where the neighborhood kids hung out.

“Hmmmm, school doesn’t let out for another 20 minutes,” he realized, looking at his hand-me-down watch. “I don’t know if I can wait that long.” But then he imagined their faces, when he slowly pops his bright red gum ball into his mouth. Their envious stares were worth the wait.

After 25 minutes or so there were about twenty kids organizing their play: soccer, jump rope; one group was throwing around a half-deflated football. No one seemed to notice the boy standing still, watching them. Then, suddenly all eyes were on him, as he slowly pulled the bright red gum ball from his shorts pocket, and gently placed it into his watering mouth. “Whoa! Check out the size of that gum ball! Hey kid, you have any more?!” They all began to walk closer to the boy who was chomping down on a candy too big for his mouth; red juice began running down his chin – he bashfully wiped it with his shoulder. “Nope, sworry,” he mumbled. Suddenly, the crowd began to part, and a large boy angrily approached him. “Hey. Gimme that gum ball,” the boy demanded. “Mmwhat?” The boy muttered, with a confused look. “I said gimme that.” “No.” The boy defied, about to turn away. This was not what he had planned. Without a word the large boy punched him in the stomach, and the half-chewed gum ball flew out of his mouth and into the trampled grassy field. “Ewwww!” The boy and other kids yelled, and all ran off laughing, resuming their games. The boy stood staring at the ground looking for his candy. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he stopped them before a single one fell.

For some time he searched, long enough for the other kids to be gone the next time he looked up. “It’s got to be here somewhere.” He groaned. Suddenly, he heard a hundred tiny voices. “It’s over here!” Startled, he turned toward the strange sound. “Yeah, over here!” They said. A few steps to his left he saw his chewed up gum ball, covered with dirt, grass and gravel. Oddly, it seemed to jump up at him slightly. When he crouched down to pick it up, he saw a bunch of ants holding it up over their heads. “Here!” They said. He took it. “Wow. Thanks.” He managed to say. As he looked it over, he realized it was unedible and was about to throw it over his shoulder. “Wait!” The army of ants yelled. “We know where you can wash it off – follow us!” The boy, amused and curious, followed them to the edge of a small stream. He was able to wash off most of the dirt and pick out the rocks, but the grass was permanently stuck. Not caring, the boy popped it back into his mouth cold and wet, and quite satisfying.

The next day his sister woke him up in her usual way: smiling and ready to play. “David, I gotta show you something.” She whispered. Up the stairs she led him, and looking around to make sure their parents didn’t see, they went into their parent’s closet. “Look up there!” Grace whispered, pointing to the top shelf. David looked up and saw a big plastic container, full of colorful gum balls, with a bow on top and a card stuck to the side. “Christmas is in two weeks; do you think they’re for us?” Grace’s eyes were wild with excitement. Quietly, they shut the double doors to the closet and left. Every day for two weeks the siblings would secretly look in the closet, to see if the gum balls were still up there, and they were, undisturbed and quiet as a rainbow.

At long last Christmas arrived: songs were sung, prayers were prayed, presents were opened, lots of hugs and kisses were given. When lunch was finished and the house cleaned up, the kids were ready to go outside to play. As they put their shoes on, their Mom and Dad silently stood in front of them, with the container of gum balls. “Here’s one last present. It’s for both of you.” Their Dad said, smiling faintly. After tearing off the ribbon and reading the card which said, “To whom much is given, much is expected. Put these to good use.” The two jetted out the front door together. “Whats it mean?” Grace asked, mouth watering as she waited for a gum ball. “Common, I know what to do,” David said with a glimmer in his eye.

At the lot there were lots of kids, playing like usual; a couple kids had new balls, but for most of them it was just another day. David and Grace stood still with the container of colorful gum balls. “Christmas Gum Balls!” David shouted. “Single file please.” Peeped Grace. The kids came running with looks of unbelief on their faces, then smiles when they realized it was for real. One by one the kids reached in and took a ball, some greedily took two; at the end of the line was the big kid. “Take two,” David said kindly, “You’re a big guy.” The big kid lifted the corner of his mouth a little in a semi-smile and said, “You’re alright kid; come play a game with us sometime.” Then he took a couple balls and walked away. After talking to a few of the kids for a while, David and Grace turned for home; but glancing over his shoulder, David saw a toothy, crooked smile on the big kids face as he chewed.

As they walked, the siblings looked into the bucket and saw 4 gum balls left: 2 pink, 2 red, big as can be. Walking up to their parents, who were sitting on the porch swing, their Dad asked, “You put those to good use son?” David smiled with a red mouth full of gum and said, “Mmmhmm.”

The End.

Shy Miracle

I found this saved in my WordPress file box from 6 years ago!  Might as well publish it.

First, can I just say how much I miss WordPress, and writing in general?!  I’m rather surprised that I haven’t drafted a story or checked-in for almost four months.  Shame on me.  But before you turn your cyber-nose up at me, I have a pretty good reason for not checking in, and some miraculous news.  I’m pregnant.  Four months pregnant to be exact, or as they say in the world of obstetrics – 16 weeks, which is another way of saying I’m in my second trimester.  Why is this all so miraculous you ask?  Well, I’m 42 years old and I have never been pregnant.  In fact, I thought God had determined that I would not have children at all.  I was an aunt, godmother, sister, cousin, friend and daughter, which are all blessings in themselves.

In truth, I have always wanted children, ten to be exact.  I’ll never forget the day I told this to my boyfriend (now husband) as we discussed our future.  “You want ten children?!”  Sure, why not?  I love kids, always have.  He opted for just one.  “That’s because you’re an only child,” I said lovingly.  Granted, I was only 21 when I wanted as many children as I have fingers, and I had yet to discover the heartache of not being able to conceive one child, let alone ten.  As I look back at that young, bright-eyed girl, I can’t help thinking, why ten?  Perhaps I wanted to make my own family and leave behind the hurtful clan I’d been born with.  Of course this is not God’s plan and I can honestly say (now) that I’m grateful for the family I was born into, and especially for the Mom He gave me.

After several years of being married, attending numerous family and friends’ baby showers and praying God would bless us, He chose not to.  So we upped and moved North to Oregon and away from Alameda, CA to start a new life with our two Boston Terriers.  My husband was totally fine not having children.  He liked it being just the two of us, but after 15 years of marriage I still couldn’t give up on my dream of being a mother and loving a little baby of our own.

When blood tests showed that I had ample pregnancy hormones, and my husband was told he could be a “donor,” I finally decided to try adoption.  But first, I did what I was taught, reading about the Old Testament prophets – I completely prostrated myself on the floor of my closet, door shut, and cried out to God!  In my tearful prayer I made a hasty promise; (those of you who read scripture know this is not a wise thing to do) I promised the Lord that if He blessed me with a child, I would raise them up in the Lord with all my heart.

A couple of months went by, and out of nowhere my sister, who lives in TN, asked if we would foster her youngest daughter until she could get back on her feet.  At first I thought this was God’s answer, but something inside of me (the Holy Spirit) said no.  Still, we wanted to help them both, but things got ugly when my older sister stepped into the scene and decided she wanted C.  Also my husband, who is a peace officer did not like the fact that C’s mom was using, and was afraid she would pop up one day and dramatically take her daughter back.  Hypothetical fears and drama plagued his mind, and since he was not at peace with it, we asked if we could adopt my 2 year old niece instead of fostering, and was told maybe. This brought my Dad into the scene, and he expressed his thoughts.  Although his words felt cruel, he was right. We were wanting it all or nothing.  After praying about it and struggling some more with family, the Lord changed things.  My TN sister was going to allow us to adopt.

All this time I was openly discussing things with C’s social worker, telling her everything that was going on.  She was great.  A woman of faith who’s heart was truly for the best interest of the child and cared for all involved.  She told me rather surprisingly that my older sister had ‘serious issues’ and was not an option for C.  She understood our concerns about my TN sister wanting her daughter back, and also our desire for a child of our own.  In her sweet TN accent she said, “Let’s just do the paperwork for adoption and see what happens.”

She sent us a picture of C sitting on a chair in the social workers office, holding a teddy bear. It was like a heartbreaking adoption add, with my own little niece as the subject.  A niece I’d never met, but loved.  My heart broke for her.  I just wanted to bring her home and love her and protect her and give her a good life.  So we began the arduous process of adoption with joyful vigor.

Two weeks of being ill with a mysterious bug, I was working what would end up being my last Brookings farmers market.  I had made my piece de resistance – rum raisin brioche rolls with French custard, when I felt that God had decided it was time. I was pregnant.  My husband and I and our doggies were driving to Alameda, to work on our Pearl Street home when I shyly told Tony my feelings.  He didn’t believe me. Arriving at the house he made me take 2 different brands of pregnancy tests and I laughed and praised God through them both. They were positive. He was scared, but happy. I was elated!

After the ultrasound showed twins it was my turn to be shocked, and a little scared.  When I excitedly told my Mom then Tony’s Mom, and I heard the thrill in their voices, I realized how far away I was from them – and all of our family.  It’s impossible to move back now, I thought (limiting God big-time), so I tightened my bootstraps and prepared to do it all by myself, with just the help of my husband.  Yet again, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be (later I would suffer physically because I ‘did it on my own’, instead of trusting and obeying God).

Talking to C’s social worker about everything, she congratulated us then asked, “Are you still wanting to adopt C?” Of course, I answered without even a thought.  She paused.  Then I asked her why?  She sent me another picture of C, a more recent picture.  Apparently she’d found a pair of scissors and cut off all her hair and suffered cuts as well.  Then she told me that she had ‘serious issues’ – violent behavior was making it difficult for her to foster.  Abuse and rough living made it difficult for her to speak normally for her age.  Well, I thought, God can do all things (Philippians 4:13).  He can heal her issues, he healed mine!  The social worker was gentle yet adamant.  “Just have the babies God has blessed you with.  Don’t risk their well-being and take in a troubled child who could possibly hurt them.”  I was torn.  Of course my husband agreed completely with her, but I loved and wanted to help little C.  So I prayed about it and He told me through the story of Joseph to let her go.  He was with C and He would never leave her or forsake her (like I felt I was doing).

Spoiler alert: She is now happily living with her sweet Mommy, who is recovered and living her life for Jesus.  God is truly merciful, always!  He uses our trials to bring us back to Him, if we’re truly His; and the fruit or proof of this, is love.  When I last spoke to my sister in TN she was so loving and humble and grateful to God that she has her C again, and I’m so happy too!

After the smoke has cleared and the long-distance family trouble has died down, the Lord continues to give me peace.  I am so excited to be a mother at long last!  I do wish I lived closer to family, but God will give me strength and wisdom to be the best Mama to His little blessings.

A New Creation in Christ Jesus

I was going to start a new WordPress page and ditch this old one, but I chose to ‘keep it real’ as my husband likes to say, and keep it.  Plus, I love these old stories!  They’re fun, and they show me how much I have changed, yay.   In 2017 the Lord shook up my life pretty dramatically, and made me realize that even though I was a “Christian,” I had never understood the importance of making Jesus Christ LORD.  He was more a permanent figure in my life, like a Dad, that I knew loved me and wanted me to be happy.  Making Jesus Lord simply means being obedient to His Word, the Bible, and loving Him with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength, which is only possible to do with His Spirit – the Holy Spirit.  Through His Word He revealed my lukewarm heart, and even though I was “saved” at 14, meaning I asked Jesus to forgive my sins and to come into my heart, I never honestly put Him FIRST in my life (Deuteronomy 6:5).  Another truth I never understood, because I had never experienced it, and He has mercifully shown me is, that despite agonizing pain and suffering – His grace truly is sufficient (2 Corinthians 12:9).

I am extremely grateful to my Lord for His incredible patience with me, His forgiveness, and His faithfulness.  In truth, the only reason I am reopening this page is to “like” the writing of a woman in my new hometown.  So thank you Lord for Kris! whom I have never met (hope to soon), but talked to on the phone one early morning about the homeschooling community here.

Who knows? (God knows) Maybe I’ll take up writing again.  But be warned, the stories will be very different or little like the previous posts herein; a lot has happened since living in Brookings.  One day, God willing, I will put it all out there, piece by piece, like a giant puzzle.  For now, I’ll just say that “God causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him (and “hate everything else” – Luke 14:26), to those who are called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28).  

How an Old Chihuahua Stole My Heart

Tags

birds, cats, dog, funny, housesitting, humor, petsitting, short story

Just this past winter our buddy Norm asked if we could feed his three cats while he and his daughter went away for 12 days. Sure, no problem, have a great time. Then the day before they left, Norm called to ask if we could also feed his ex-wife’s dog. Otherwise, as Norm put it, “I’ll have to leave him in the garage all day with the cats.” Animal abuse was the first thing that came to my mind. Cats are one thing, they’re kind of naturally independent, whereas dogs are more like people; they can’t be fed and then left alone all day, they need human companionship too much. “Oh yeah,” Norm continued, “We also have a parrot and two fish tanks.” “Oh, okay,” was my husband’s kind reply. “The more the merrier!” I’m afraid my response to the situation was less gracious.

You see, I would be doing the feeding and the watering and the walking and the visiting, not my sweetie. He has a job, while I have become a homemaker by proxy. This makes me available for all sorts of odd tasks. It’s all good, the dog’s name is PT, he’s an ancient Chihuahua with a 2.54 centimeter black tumor in-between his eyes and foul breath. When we arrived the first morning and opened the kitchen door that led to the garage, PT sprang out rather stiffly with his feline brothers and sisters thinking we were his family. After realizing we were strangers, he showed us his yellow fangs and stood his ground near the front door. I tried talking to him sweetly but he snapped at me, twice. When he did this my husband picked him up, held him close and tugged his neck skin while saying, “Hey, PT, it’s okay,” in a kind, but very alpha-male tone of voice. Just like that, PT was fine. While he was doing his “business” out back, Tony and I straightened up the garage (I forgot how rank cat boxes are!), fed the cats, the parrot and the fishes, then we let PT back in, fed him and left. Later that afternoon I was to come by to take PT for a walk, but to be honest, my first impression of him was not great.

When I opened the front door at around noon everyone greeted me: The parrot screeched like crazy, the cats meowed and swirled around my feet, even the fish splashed about at the tops of their tanks. PT, however, was sitting in the middle of the living room looking away nervously. “Hi PT!” I chirped. He didn’t move. As I approached him I heard a guttural growl, much stronger than I ever imagined could come from such a little dog. I tried my husband’s trick – using an alpha-male tone of voice, but it came out too deep and he lunged towards me with all his might. Shocked by his response, I fell over one of the cats and landed on my butt. “PT!” I protested, but instead of keeping his distance, he came in for the kill. As I sat there holding myself up with my hands, watching to see what he’d do, I started laughing. Then he bit my finger. It wasn’t a very hard bite, but it surprised me. That’s when I pulled the bacon out of my pocket.

For lunch I’d made a BLTA sandwich and saved the bacon crumbs in a paper towel, specifically for PT. I had a feeling the lack of Tony’s presence was going to give him airs, and it did. The power of bacon never ceases to amaze me. It can awaken a snoring household from the deepest slumber, bring a smile to a hungry man’s face, and appease the most disgruntled animal. Within minutes PT was my best friend, and we were to have the greatest 12 days together.

On our first walk PT showed me all his haunts, which were many, but the best was an abandoned field about three blocks from his domicile. This field had fewer trees than the rest of the neighborhood, which gave one a birds-eye view of the Pacific Ocean and the tiny houses below. After a long pause at this spot I tried to continue our walk, but PT’s little skeletal frame fought my tug relentlessly. He must have liked the sunshine, or perhaps the view, so I sat down on the grass and put PT in my lap. Together we watched the fishing boats float past and various wild animals do their routine. All the while, the sun’s rays beat down on us and we soaked it in graciously. We were to perform this little ritual every day, unless it was raining. On those days PT didn’t really want to walk, so he’d do his “biz” out back, then we’d sit together in a heavily padded swivel chair. I would either read my book or write in my laptop and he would curl up next to my hip and groom himself. That’s when I noticed how stinky he was.

Unfortunately PT’s missing several teeth, and the ones he has are on their way out, so his breath is pretty foul. Grooming himself merely spreads the funk all over this coat like butter. When Tony came home from work, I asked him to assist me in giving PT a bath. After all, I wasn’t sure how the old dude would react, but I was pretty sure soap and water were a foreign concept to him. I needed Tony to hold while I lathered. Surprisingly, PT took it well. It probably felt good! After we blow-dried him completely (Didn’t want him to catch cold), we set him down on the floor and to our surprise he danced around as if to Haircut 100’s Boy Meets Girl! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2cat4kykzI It was awesome.

Since Norm doesn’t live too far from us, I stopped by to visit PT and his siblings quite a bit – three, sometimes four times a day. It was kind of fun over there with all those creatures. I didn’t know the names of the cats, so I gave them my own: There was Cry Baby, a corpulent, light orange tabby with a tear duct issue. Fats, a podgy black cat with tiny eyes and a skittish nature, and Tiger, a silver tabby who ran from Tony as if from the Plague, but loved me. Every night Tiger cleverly eluded us by hiding behind one of the gigantic fish tanks, which meant he never had to sleep in the garage with the others. PT and Cry Baby were very simpatico. They rolled around together a lot, and PT would let the cat bite him rather hard on his neck. Fats didn’t like anyone, and she was always hungry (of course); she’d even eat PT’s food if I didn’t watch her. The fishes were…fishy, not a lot of personality there, and their tanks made the whole house swampy, which I think pleased the parrot.

The parrot was the only creature that drove me nuts. He was loud, he bit, and he repetitively “dominated” his wooden ladder while I was there. It was disturbing. Plus, he liked the door to his iron cage open, so he could jump down amongst the cats. That was a bit nerve-wracking, watching three felines circle him like prey, but Norm said not to worry about it, so I didn’t. Actually, I was secretly hoping they’d eat him while I was gone, but each morning he screeched at me at the top of his lungs until I fed him or sprayed him with water. He liked that.

Through it all, PT remained his same congenial self, and I honestly began looking forward to our time together each day. It was like hanging out with a seasoned, elderly man – they always make you feel welcome and the conversation is great. When the day came for me to relinquish my duties it was with a sad heart. What started out as a burden had become a complete joy. It’s funny how attached we become to these furry little creatures, and I don’t even like Chihuahuas.

About three weeks after Norm returned from his trip, Tony stopped by his house to fix something on his motorcycle. I thought I’d tag along. Of course Tony knew that I wanted to see PT. As we walked into the open garage, and before Norm could say a word, I asked, “Where’s PT?”

“Who? Oh, Petey? Uh, he’s outside in his house I guess.” Norm said. Petey! Oops. I gave Tony a reproachful glance and he shrugged innocently – PT/Peetie, same thing. After saying hello to Norm’s daughter, I opened the back door to see the little dude. I wasn’t sure if he’d remember me, but the moment we clamped eyes on each other he did his little Boy Meets Girl dance and ran towards me. It goes to show, you can’t always trust first impressions.

Sleeping With Electronics

Tags

8-tracks, cd's, dvds, environment, humor, iPhone, landfill, records, vhs, writing

Just…one…more…search.
photo courtesy of foxnomad.com

I’m going to admit something that I’m not very proud of. For the past three nights I’ve been sleeping with my laptop, and my cellular phone.  Both items have been accompanying me to bed every night while I’m away from home and my sweet husband. I guess you can say these two electronic devices are similar to those very special friends that you don’t see very often, but when you do, you easily pick-up where you left off. Usually when I’m home my laptop sits coldly on the kitchen table, and my cell phone is dead somewhere in a long forgotten jacket. The moment I leave home however, I treat them with the utmost respect, making sure they are properly charged and sleeping snugly on the pillow next to me. Fickle woman.

My cousin LOVES her iPhone possibly more than good wine, good conversation, and our Elvis Christmas album. Could this happen to me?

Now, perhaps if I had an iPhone, I wouldn’t be so hot and cold, but I’m terrified of getting one. I think I’m afraid I’ll become obsessed with it and turn into one of those people who are constantly taking pictures of humorous labels at the grocery store. Gasp. Still, deep down inside I know that one day I’ll cave. I did with the DVD player. Of course, it took me years to accept this electronic device, because I was happy with VHS, still am. I see very little difference in picture quality and sound, and we watch a lot of movies. A good story is a good story, no matter how you dress it up or present it on the screen. For example, I can watch The Maltese Falcon on VHS and I’m instantly enthralled. Watch it on DVD and I’m just as caught-up by the story, not the clarity. Then again, I am due to have my eyes checked. It’s been three years.

Remember those 80s mixed tapes? Yes, I still listen to mine. photo courtesy of broken20.com

Frankly, I’m grateful to be with a man who doesn’t take stock in such things as DVDs and gigantic TVs. Still, I’ll never forget my husband’s face when he opened his Christmas present in 2001 – a new Sony DVD/VHS player and a Sony 19” screen TV – he was ecstatic. Little did I realize the consequences of my actions, as ever so slowly we started replacing our perfectly good VHS tapes with DVDs. Next thing we’ll be expected to replace our DVDs with BluRay, then BluRay will be replaced by something else. It’s a vicious cycle that doesn’t give, but takes: your time, your money and the environment by storm.

A mountain of VHS tapes. Photo courtesy of treehugger.com.

Landfill – which once swallowed up vinyl records, then 8-track tapes, then cassette tapes – is sighing, as it swallows up VHS players, VHS tapes and CDs. And what about Don Johnson’s cell phone and the millions like it? Or Samsung phones. Landfill. Wow, I’m ranting now. What’s my point? Oh yeah, that one day I’ll cave in and get an iPhone, and truthfully? I can’t wait! Gasp.