A Creative Mind At Work
You walked into my life
At a time when I expected no one
I looked into a pair of eyes
That left me wondering for days.
The second time I met you
Not different from the first time
I was left with the same feeling
Of wondering what was next.
Months and months went by
There you were again
I stared once more into a pair of eyes
That still kept me wondering.
Today I see you again
Your eyes are a mirror
The wondering from months ago disappears
I see within the real me.
© 2019 Ivy Jade
Grace Atkinson, began work at the old mill when she was eighteen. She worked there for thirty years until the mill closed. Grace had grown up in the small town of Walley’s and had never been out of the county. The population in Walley’s was just over five hundred, and she knew everyone.
The closing of the mill brought a new challenge to Grace. At forty-eight, she was still single and had no clue what to do next in her life. A visit to the local library came the new lease on life for her. A sign called for substitute teachers. But there was the fact she had never gone to college. The librarian told her there was a class that was being held to train teacher aides, maybe she could look into that class.
Grace wanted to be more than a teacher’s aide, so for a year, she took classes online working towards an associate degree. Walley’s had one elementary school, one middle school, and one high school. The rural location made it hard for the schools to get new teachers. For most people, an associate degree took two years, but Grace worked one-year full time on her classes.
Mary Stinson, the elementary school principal, heard that Grace was studying to be a substitute teacher. With the other two principals, they worked together to get Grace certified. At fifty, Grace began her new career. Between the three schools, she worked full time. Being available meant the teachers did not have to worry about being ill or having an emergency.
Ten years passed and Grace decided it was time to retire. She had dreamed of traveling since she was a child. There was a world outside of Walley’s, and Grace wanted to see some of it before she died. She hand wrote a letter to the three principals thanking them for having faith in her and to let them know at the end of the school year, she would be retiring.
She was rarely needed the last day of school, so Grace was surprised to get the call. As she pulled into the parking lot, she noticed there were few parking spaces available. Maybe there was an assembly Grace thought as she entered the building. At the front office, Grace checked in as she had done for the past ten years. The school secretary, Anna Wills, smiled as Grace walked in.
“So glad to see you, Grace,” Anna said. “Good to be here, even though it does feel bittersweet. Do you know which class I will be in today?”
“Oh, I think the art class.”
“Well, that should be fun, since there is not much to do today.”
Grace started down the hall and paused as she heard her name, over and over again. Looking up she saw the students from all three schools lining the hallway. One student who had been in one of the first classes she had ever substituted came forward with a bouquet of roses. He then escorted her to the auditorium. The students filled in behind her.
On the stage was a big banner thanking Grace for her ten years as a substitute teacher. One person representing each of the ten years spoke about her and what they had learned from her in their class.
Finally, a first grader came forth and said, “You always made me feel good about myself.” That was the greatest gift, Grace received that day. She would be remembered long after she was gone.
© 2019 Ivy Jade
ON A DARK AND DREARY DAY THOUGHTS RUN THRU THE BRAIN
OF YESTERDAY, TOMORROW AND TODAY VISIONS CLOUDED WITH THE RAIN.
YESTERDAYS ARE MEMORIES FUZZY AND FADING FAST
LIKE THE RAIN OUTSIDE MY WINDOW HERE AND THEN IT’S PAST.
TOMORROWS ARE DREAMS CLEAR BUT UNATTAINED
WE TRY TO CATCH THE WIND THAT FLOWS THRU THE RAIN.
TODAY IS ALL WE HAVE WE HEAR PEOPLE SAY
TODAY WITH RAIN AND WIND FILL THIS GLOOMY DAY.
Copyright © 2019 Ida Louise Johnson
Sybil held a daisy in her hand and without thinking, she said, “I’m pulling petal by petal off the stem. I am in love yet no one loves me. I want to be loved but where is my love?” Slowly she looked at the ground covered with daisy petals. In her hand was the stem with one petal remaining. With that last petal came her question of the day. What is love?
Looking around at the assortment of flowers in the park, she realized her question spawned more questions. Was love real or just an illusion? And if love was just an illusion, was she chasing an elusive dream. Sybil continued the path and watched the lovers in the park. She wanted to stop and ask if they could explain love to her. She knew at times what she thought was love was a feeling of joy that overwhelmed her when someone or something great came her way. Thinking out loud, she uttered, “Just what have I meant when I said I love you to someone?”
She thought of all the people in her life, past, and present. There were feelings for them, many times she had called those feelings of love but was it really love? Love is a mystery that we must live into, she thought. But it is a mystery that is easily explained or understood. Feelings come and go. What does that say about love? Does love come and go as well.
Sybil watched a couple with their toddler, Yes that had been her dream. She laughed. The line from a movie came crashing on her. ‘Give up your dream, you die.’ She continued to watch the toddler go back forth between his parents. They had chased the elusive dream of love.
Further on her walk, she watched a couple that seemed to be arguing. Where is the love with this couple? Have they lost their way in the chase of what we call love? Or had the love so overwhelmed them, that they lost themselves. Sybil reached back for the many books she had read on the subject of love. Love is to be unconditional. At the end of the dream is love. What about the journey, which is the chase?
A song says, “Love will keep us alive.” A wonderful thought. But of course, we have to find and be found by love first. Sybil sat on the park bench and pulled out her pad. She kept the pad for days like this when the thoughts were plenty, and she wanted to remember them later. She wrote: ‘So, what’s the first step? Do I love me? If I don’t love me, how can I love anyone else or anyone loves me?’
For the first time that day the questions were troubling, and Sybil could not answer those questions truthfully. What did she do daily that said she loved herself? In her position as a caregiver, if she was not taking care of herself, how could she take care of others.
As she sat, an older couple came and sat at the end of the bench. She was amazed as they sat quietly taking in the sights and sounds of the park while holding hands. “I want someone to hold my hand and share this journey we call life.” A chuckle brought her back to the park. “Little lady,” the older man said, “start by holding your own hand.” Shocked Sybil now knew she had said that out loud. More embarrassed than anything, she nodded to the couple. The older woman not to be outdone said, “He’s right, the person you need will only come when you do not need anyone.” “That does not make sense,” Sybil replied.
The woman smiled and said. “When we are so busy looking for love, we miss the love that is already with us. When we love ourselves, then others will love us as well.” “Can you explain love to me?” Sybil asked the couple. They both laughed. ‘Sorry,” the man said, “love cannot be explained, it has to be felt.” “But I feel like I am chasing an elusive dream,” Sybil said.
Sybil looked at the couple, There was a glow and a radiance about them. “How long have you been together?” She asked. “We were together many years ago, but did not understand how to love ourselves, so we went our separate ways, now after thirty years apart, we found each other again.” The woman looked lovingly at the man. “We were chasing that illusion you speak of without seeing the dream within ourselves. Stop chasing and let the dream chase you.” With that, the couple got up and walked away.
Sybil looked again at the one petal on the stem. The lone petal represented her life, and it was time to start the journey into loving herself. She knew without the questions and the honest sharing she will never be found by love.
Kahlil Gibran in ‘The Prophet’ speaks on love and reminds us that we have to be open to love, recognizing that it cuts to our very core but does not leave us bare. As she had stripped the daisy of the petals, there was one left standing, and it was not bare.
Sybil pressed the remaining petal in her hand. “We will always be chasing the elusive dream because we are the dream.”
Copyright © 2019 Ivy Jade
I rushed into the restaurant, late as usual to the grins of my three friends. I am always the last to arrive. Work gets intense, and I lose track of time. That is what happens when you are an accountant and love your work. Anyway, I dismiss the smirks. My friends, Lola, Tina, and Grace, do that every time I am late. They still love me.
As I sit, Grace asked, “And what is your excuse for being late today?” The other two hide behind their menus. “I was working on a project and just lost track of time.” “Well, at least you did not make up an unbelievable excuse this time,” Grace said.
“Ugh, whatever. Anyway, I need to tell you all about this guy.” “A guy!” All three said at the same time. “Wait a minute, you have a guy?” Lola said.
“If you would give me a minute, and stop interrupting me, I will tell you.” I knew they would only laugh and interrupt me again, so I rushed on with my story.
“There is a new guy at work. He’s tall with a somewhat stocky build. Even on casual Friday he rarely wears short sleeve shirts.”
“And what has that got to do with him?” Lola asked.
Without answering her, I continued. “He has blueish green eyes and short brown hair.”
“Wait a minute, you are telling us about some white boy,” Grace said.
“Grace, he is not a boy, well he is younger than us.”
The laughter took over the table. The waiter arriving was the only thing that got the laughter to a small titter from my girls. We all ordered the same thing every time we are at the Toco Polo restaurant, yet we always picked up the menus and studied them as if we would choose something different. The waiter chuckled as he knew us well. Slowly the four orders were given, and I was ready to get back to my story.
“So now you are a cougar,” Tina said with a laugh she could barely conceal. “Maybe I won’t share the rest of my story, since you all are not interested.”
“Come on girl, tell us about the young boy, sorry the young man who has obviously caught your fancy,” Grace said as she giggled.
“Yes, tell us. Personally, I am happy for you. It’s about time someone made you notice something other than the numbers you play with at work.” Tina added.
I took a deep breath. This was the hard part. These were my girls, but maybe even they would not understand, heck I didn’t understand. “He’s sort of shy, but I am aware of him every time he comes near. Just being in his presence touches something deep within me. I can sense him before I see him. Does that make sense?”
“Go on,” Tina said.
“His favorite color is blue. Yesterday he wore a gray suit with a light blue shirt, and his eyes seem to turn a deeper blue. I can tell blue is his favorite color. He looks good in blue. Each day he wears a different blue shirt. Most of the staff have been speculating about him. He is quiet, and does not hang with the staff after work.”
“And…” Lola said.
‘That’s all. I just like looking at him.”
“Here, I thought your big news was that you were dating him. Or at least ready to get some.” Lola laughed.
“Lola, you are gross. I am just admiring him from a distance. Am I a stalker? I just watch him.”
After another round of laughs, my girls all said as one, “Tell the man you are interested and see what happens.”
The lunch continued with the jokes of the week. We always came with one joke to share. Maybe next week the joke will be that I asked the guy for coffee or lunch or for something and he laughed at me. None of them answered my question about being a stalker.
© 2019 Ivy Jade, All Rights Reserved
As they lowered the casket, a woman looked at all of there mourners as she leaned over and asked, “What did they say she died from?” The other woman trying to keep her sobs in check, finally said in a voice cracking as she spoke, “It doesn’t matter what the death certificate says, she lived and died with a broken heart.”
“But no one dies from a broken heart,” the first woman replied. “Ssh, the service isn’t over,” was the reply. Meg stood looking at the casket and began to think back over the life of her friend. “Did she really live with a broken heart and I missed it,” she thought to herself.
They met in second grade. Meg and Tammy had liked all the same things growing up. Meg was the quieter of the two. It was okay for Tammy to be the leader, the one always in charge. When had they gown apart and she not know the sorrow her friend carried inside.
Sue, still curious about what their friend died from asked again as they walked to their car. “I know no one dies from a broken heart, what did her death certificate say?” ‘Sue, why is this so important to you?” Meg asked. Sue’s question was just as troubling as Tammy’s death.
The ride to the cemetery was quiet as Sue realized that if Meg knew what caused Tamny’s death, she was not willing to share that information. Slowly they both got out of the car and followed the others to the grave site. Soon it would be dark. Sue could not understand why the funeral had taken place to late in the afternoon. There were too many questions around Tammy’s death now this funeral.
The final words were said, and the casket was lowered into the ground. Tammy had lived her life to the fullest yet only ten or so people were there to say goodbye. Meg and Sue were the last to leave the cemetery. The ride to Sue’s was quiet with one or two sobs from Meg.
Later that night Sue still troubled about the day decided to research. Was there such a thing as death by a broken heart. She was amazed at what she found. No death certificate would ever list broken heart as the cause, grief so deep could cause someone to die and thus the term broken heart.
Sue sat replayed the life she knew of her friend. She had not known Tammy as long as Meg. She met them in college and had moved back to their hometown. They met once a week for the past six years. It was only in the past month that Tammy had begged off. Her excuse had been she was busy with work. Tammy was an accountant. Her busy months were usually March, April, September, and October. So what was so critical to miss their gathering in July?
What happened in Tammy’s life that we missed? Then Sue corrected herself. Somehow she had a feeling Meg knew but had not told her. My friend was hurting, and my other friend did not let me know. They put me on the outside and kept me out of the loop. Is this how a broken heart begins?
After 30 years as a world journalist Frederick decided it was time to retire. The gift he gave his self was a year-long trip around the world. After years of covering wars in some of the worst places in the world, Frederick wanted to see the beauty that work had never given him the opportunity to observe. He decided on twelve locations. One month for each place would allow him ample time to really enjoy what each site had to offer.
Not sure how to pick the order of travel, he placed a paper on the wall and with all the twelve places listed. Gross as he knew it was, it wadded up chewing gum and threw it at the names. One by one he decided the order of his year-long trip. Then the harder decision: which month would be his first month. So once again paper and gum were the deciding factors. Ironically the first month chosen was September, which was his birthday month.
His visit would be September in Australia, October in Tanzania, November in Indonesia, December in Costa Rica, January in Spain, February in Thailand, March in Dubai, April in Tahiti, May in St. Lucia, June in Denmark, July in Prague and August in Greece. His daughters saw his list and were amused when they learned the way he had decided the place and the month.
Three months and one week into Indonesia, Frederick debated on leaving the hotel for dinner or just eating in the hotel restaurant. He had eaten in the hotel for most of the week. As he made the decision to leave he felt the floor move beneath his feet. Then the items on the desk slid to the floor. His brain registered earthquake before his body could react. He watched the wall of the hotel crumble, and that was the last he remembered until he woke a month later in the hospital. His oldest daughter had come over to see about him. His body was still in the process of recovering. The right side of his body had been smashed under a wall. His lung had been punctured, and he had a broken arm and leg on his right. It would be three months before he was able to travel back to the states.
During his recovery, Frederick thought about the irony of life and his life in particular. He had been in many war zones and never got a scratch. He had visited many places after earthquakes to report on the aftermath, but now retired he had encountered an earthquake and fully understood more than merely writing about the quakes. Once back in St. Louis, Frederick had to learn how to walk and write after months in a cast and also in a bed. The gift he received was his children, the same children he thought he would never have a relationship with. Much like his schedule to travel, his children each took a month and stayed with him. The children he left behind so many years before were now adults, and they rallied when he needed them. Yes, for him irony was definitely at work in his life.
Paula pulled the sheet closer to her body. A shield to ward off the memories of the day before. She stared at the walls of the tiny motel room. Here I sit on Black Friday with no one. The rest of the world is out shopping for bargains that really are not bargains or spending time with their family. Ugh, family.
The quiet room was once in a while noisy with the interruption of the sound of the surf in the ocean. The wind died down, and the motel walls began to speak to her. “I’m not losing my mind.” She said to herself. She grabbed her tablet to read, but the wall wanted to be heard.
‘The people who have stayed here are varied as the flowers in my wallpaper. Some have snored when they slept and kept others awake. Some were alone but couldn’t sleep. I watched them dress, some with great bodies and some not so great bodies. Some slept in one spot on the bed and others all over the bed.”
The ringing of her cell phone interrupted the wall as it spoke to her.
“Hi Arlene, glad you called me back,” Paula said as she answered the call.
“Girl what are doing in Kure Beach, I thought you went to Charlotte.”
“Long story short, they pissed me off, and I left after dinner and came to the beach.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Arlene, I am fifty years old and never been married, so my ancient as dirt aunt asked if I was a lesbian at the table, right in the middle of the dessert. You could hear a pin drop.”
“What… why would she ask that? Never mind I know why. What did you say?”
“I told her if I was it was none of her business than I got up and left before I said anything else.”
“You need me to come to the beach?”
“No, I can hear your family in the background. You stay and enjoy. I will see you on Sunday. Thanks for listening.”
Paula pushed end on the cell phone and automatically the walls began to speak again.
“You know couples made love all night in that bed and others didn’t speak at all.”
At that comment, Paula tried to tune out the walls.
“You can still hear me. I look across the room to the mirror. I am getting drab. But does anybody notice? They come to see the ocean. They don’t care about the room or me. Some burn candles that give the room a better smell than the bathroom. Sometimes the food smells stay long after the people have left. People come and go. Cleaners come and go. The moisture of the sea, however, stays with me. You are alone, you and your tablet. Who will follow you? Will they see me? I’m simply the wall of your room with fading wallpaper.”
Paula put the tablet down and really looked at the walls of her motel room. She wondered if anyone really ever saw her as well.
The scene became the idea for the book. The title followed the scene. For years I lived with that title. I loved that title. I believed it was THE title. So much so, that I had the book cover made before I finished self-editing the first time. Can you imagine where this is going? I had copies made of the book cover to show friends and family. This was my way of gathering interest long before I got it published.
An acquaintance saw a photo of the book cover. My world took the first shift. “You know your editor might change your title.” Stubborn me paused and shrugged off the comment. Why would I worry, I had a great title. No way was my title changing. It said what I wanted to say about my story.
Then it happened. The second shift. I was told the title needed to change. This was throwing out my baby. I sat with the suggestions for far too long. I had to finally admit the title I had lived with for years needed to be changed. How can I explain that to the title? Laugh if you must. A piece of me was being pushed aside, and I needed to mourn.
A new title and now the cover needs to be re-worked. I hope the readers like the new title. In my mind, it will always be the title that started me on writing the story. Here’s to the original title, long may she live with me.