Francy's New Morning

            With two kids graduating, I was bound to have a few sentimental moments. Of course I hide this from my humorous husband. He’d laugh, which I totally don’t get. I learned of his strange reaction to my tears after watching Forest Gump together for the first time. It’s the unsaid, unexpected sweet moments of human kindness that twist my throat into a knot. Forest meets his son for the first time, and I have to hold back, take deep breaths, and control the sniffles. If it’s on again, I may leave the room to go blow my nose.   I was fine watching Aaron march down the Middle School track to his seat on the field, was fine during the first two speeches about setting goals in high school…but when the class president spoke about how challenging it was for the kids after super-storm Sandy wrecked their homes and school, my eyes filled. From the top bleacher, I saw a community that shared the same trial, got through the worst of it, ...

                                                                   1st year Tee Ball                                        All County Award                                         age 5               ...

                                                                (A Father's Day Story) Slivers of sunlight reached through the vertical blinds and warmed my legs as I rolled over. Spring crickets sang their overture and the scent of blueberry pie wafted over me before the . . . smoke? My eyes popped open like a toaster. “It’s okay.” Jill rested her gentle hand across my chest and stopped me from bolting into the kitchen. “The girls are making you breakfast in bed . . . so don’t move. I’ll check on them.” “Smells like we should call the fire department.” “Just a little burnt toast, I’m sure. Happy Father’s Day, honey.” She kissed my cheek and left t...

Every day at lunch break, I indulge in my favorite addiction: a Starbucks Skinny Vanilla Latte—extra hot or extra cold. The bubbly workers ask if I’d like my “usual.” If I’m feeling wild, I may venture out and try a Café Mocha or Mocha Light Frappuccino. Then I wiggle onto one of the high seats that make the average adult feel like a toddler—my feet swing and can’t reach the ground. I try to read and write and not watch the other customers…but sometimes I can’t help but scan the place for possible characters ideas. Somehow I connect with every customer because we all decided to go to Starbucks at the same time on the same day. Who knows? Maybe God wanted me to cross paths with these strangers so I’d pray for them. And I do. One drained lady comes in every day to order a brownie…just a brownie; if they don’t have any, she leaves without her goody bag. Does she have a family? Does she eat anything else? Why? All I know about this lady is that she lives close enough to walk, and sh...

                That Pesky Dragon is another favorite, worth fighting little tykes for at the library. Kidding, of course; as a grown adult you can grab it faster than a child and won’t have to fight. But be sure to have your child pretend he/she found it.     “Izzy’s dad had a farm. And on that farm there was a herd of cows…a flock of sheep…some chickens…two dogs…three cats…and a dragon.” The fire-breathing dragon causes chaos on the farm; his breath hard-boils eggs and turns their cow’s milk to yogurt. And he won’t go away.   Julie Sykes’s writing is delightful and yummy; like Izzy, I want to meet this dragon that Grandpa calls too dangerous. I want to turn pages. The vibrant color and style of the illustrations is perfect for the story. Melanie Williamson captures the animals with simple shapes and fun details to hunt for, like the cow juggling milk cartons.   Don’t be surprised, if at the end...

(In honor of those who served and sacrificed their lives for our freedom) What do I know of war? Battleships babysit the ocean and merge with the horizon, guarding, protecting from bully attacks.   I kneel on sand, not powder soft, but crunchy sometimes, sharp sometimes, exploding with life sometimes, as a sand crab scuttles out of hiding, as a boy digs deep trenches around a sand-dripped fort.   I kneel on sand, and waves charge at me... unsuspecting—I am submerged; cold water numbs my limbs, applies seaweed bandages. The undercurrent tugs at my ankles like a child at her mother’s side, demanding attention. Water wants to tow me in, but I’m stronger and win the battle. I kneel on the sand in peace.   What do I know of war? Letters written to lovers, black and white hazy photos, gruesome films, stories told of soldiers fighting with numb hearts from trenches, jungles, caves, deserts, hiding in tanks like turtles crossing at...

(written for Faithwriters.com weekly challenge) He parts two rows of blinds, Bent from overuse, and leans in to look, Presses his forehead to the cold metal …As she rattles down the street.   He wonders if she sees him Watching, so he steps back a bit; She might think him A creepy old man, But he’s not that old And not that creepy Just curious.   She passes by every day at this time, As the sun crawls across his roof And warms his den from where He peers. The neighborhood dogs know her; They shout barks in turn …As she rattles down the street   Tossing bottles, remnants of wine, Emptied good times For quarters.   The wheels of her cart screech over cement; Sharp, angular notes slice the air, like raining glass, …As she rattles down the street   If you'd like to read the rest click here or see My Stories page http://www.faithwriters.com/wc-article-editors-previous.php?id=45779