“Lost and Found”

By Linda Barnette

Without a voice life is difficult.

It would be easy to retreat into the silence, to become a recluse, to let the world pass me by,

But I am a person of faith and a spirit of adventure.

So I use my voice to write memoirs for my son and grandson and to research and write our family histories; to write for our writer’s group and thus the newspaper.

It seems strange to say, but in losing my physical voice I have gained a stronger spiritual voice, for it is only in the quietness that God and I can talk

“Memorial Day Parade”

Julie Terry Cartner

As the sun breaks through the watery horizon,

And streaks of sunshine pierce the somber sky,

A feeling of reverence inundates the town

While the parade gears up and slowly passes by.

A field of brown, green and blue uniforms, spotless white gloves, and jaunty hats,

Brownies, Girl Scouts, Cub and Boy Scouts,

Some having the honor and privilege of carrying the American flag –

The rules, a severe rejoinder echoing through their minds:

Be serious, hold your grip correctly, and above all, don’t let it touch the ground.

The Ladies Auxiliary, the Volunteer Fire Department,

More banners, flags, and wreaths,

And one fire truck, obligated to pierce the silence with its raucous shout

To herald the annual Memorial Day parade.

Finally, the children, all the town’s children,

Some on foot, others on tricycles, bicycles, or wagons,

Dressed in springtime garb and carrying small replicas of the American flag,

And flowers freshly cut from lilac, rose and forsythia bushes;

Daffodils and jonquils harvested from family gardens,

And daisies, violets, and bachelor buttons often plucked from the headlands beside the road,

Their sweet scents mingling with the tang of salty breezes blowing onshore from the nearby bay.

All gather in the village of the tiny hamlet

To honor America and those who have fallen in war.

With a shout, the parade begins; the serious-faced children march by the townspeople,

And yet, as the parade passes by, the spectators join in,

Walking beside their children, their spouses, their friends,

Until the parade becomes two – one on the street and one on the sidewalk.

But how else could everyone go to each monument to pay respects to the fallen ones?

The Civil War, The Great War, World War II, Korea and Vietnam,

Each honored with a wreath and the playing of Taps

An added stop to carry a wreath to the end of the yacht club dock

Where two firemen throw it in, and all watch as the endlessly shifting tides carry it away.

Finally, a trip to the cemetery to place flags and flowers on the graves

Of each individual soldier,

A yearly reminder that peace comes with a price,

And we owe our everything

To those who died

For us.

“Diary of a Flu Bug”

By N. R. Tucker

Day One. A glorious beginning. My host thinks I’m a cough associated with her allergies. She continues with her daily life, running to and fro, unknowingly getting weaker by the minute.

Day Two, My foolish host went out in public today. By lunch, she realized her mistake, but it was too late. My brethren spread throughout the land. By nightfall, I had unleashed the full force of my arsenal on her.

Day Three. I control the host. Fever, chills, aches, headache, deep cough, runny nose, and the continuous rejection of all stomach contents have resulted in the human’s inability to move without assistance. She responded with fluids of all types, hot tea, water with lemon, even a soda. She is unable to hydrate. Yes, I have total control.

Day Four. Drat. Perhaps I was too successful. The fever is too high and her mate – the host I have been unable to infect – has taken her to the dreaded white coats. Not that they can stop me. Bwah-hah-hah! The fools. They have named me the flu, which is as good a name as any. We have returned to the residence, and she remains reclined on the couch where she continues to drink fluids and moves only to cough,

Day Five. The host woke up with some energy today, but I zapped that quickly enough. Her movements remain restricted to necessary tasks only. I have successfully kept her from all communication devices. She currently lies in a vegetative state while a Stargate marathon unfolds on the TV screen. I may have found the perfect combination to control these hosts.

Day Six. I grow concerned. The Stargate marathon continues, and she still does not move much, but she is able to eat small servings of food. So close. I was so close to total domination of this host.

Day Seven. To any of my brethren who find this record, rage on, my friends. I have failed, and the host’s internal defenses will destroy me soon enough, but learn from my actions. Next time, you will defeat the host, and we shall rule this world.

“Possum and Iggie”

By Sandra Vance

I was sitting there, doing my cross stitch when my cat, Iggie, comes round the corner and says to me, “You need to come into the kitchen because there is nothing in my food bowl.”  Now, I knew I had put food in her bowl that morning, and she is a light eater, so there should be something left.  But, I got up to go look, and there was the food bowl …empty!

“Igg, what happened to all your food?”

She looked at me as if to say,” I don’t know. You are the provider of food, so provide.”   

Well, I filled the bowl once again and returned to my hobby.  About ten minutes later, I heard a strange sound coming from the kitchen, and Iggie came flying around the corner! “Yikes! There is a big rat in the kitchen, and he is eating my food!  Help me!”  I am not fond of rats so I said to her, “You’re a CAT!  Go do your cat thing, and get rid of that rat!” She sat there, not moving. The sound of crunching continued.  “Igg, go get him!”  She looked at me and said,” I don’t think you understand just how BIG this rat is! Go! Look at it!” Seeing that she was not going back into the kitchen, I got up and very carefully walked into the kitchen.

And there sitting very calmly by her food bowl was an opossum…i.e. a possum!  It gave me a look that plainly said, ” I am eating here…go away.” I took a step toward this creature, and it retreated back into the cabinet under the sink.  I slammed the door and said to Iggie, “OK, it’s gone now.”  And I went back into the den.  We had no more noise that night, and I really thought all was well.  HA!                                                                                                                          The next night, I once again heard a strange noise but not crunching this time.  A completely different sound.  A sound of something being dragged across the floor.  My friend Iggie quickly came to me and said, “You need to see this.”  I went into the kitchen to find her food bowl sitting very, very near the cabinet door, and as we stood there, watching, a wee, small paw reached out from under the sink and picked up a chunk of Iggie’s food and pulled it back into the under sink cabinet.  We couldn’t believe our eyes.  That possum had dragged that bowl over near the door to the cabinet so that it could eat in safety!  I told my husband about all this when he came home, and we decided to trap this critter and then take it far away to the other end of the county to set it free.  I am not worried about it finding food.  A possum that smart will have no problem with that.  And, by the way, this IS a true story!!

“You Didn’t Choose Me”

By Stephanie Dean

I reopened the locked door once again,

Traveled back where I’d already been.

And sacrificed up my heart once more,

Found myself exactly where I was before.

I asked God for answers, to show me signs,

Of a changed heart, one that matched mine.

Once again, you expressed your love for me,

Followed by the “whys” it could never be.

I tried to be positive, rallied around your choice,

My deepest desire, a reconciliation, I didn’t force.

I failed to express the truth of how I truly felt,

Disappointed and hurt, the anguish which I held.

A closed door opened, yet you didn’t choose me,

Made expressed depth of love, difficult to see.

Prayed God illuminated the truth, and He did light,

The path I walked, His answer, I didn’t try to fight.

Not to follow, Imposition of my will over His love,

Tested my faith in guidance from my Father above.

But painful as it was, I accepted His will over mine,

Believed in joy and peace, He promised to be mine.

But oh, how difficult the self-discipline required,

Focused on Him, not the pain in which I was mired.

Prayed each night, authentic love found my heart,

And took root, blessed by God, right from the start.