From Our Writers

Taxi to the Airport

The following is by Lorelle VanFossen and is based upon the Prompt: Hero, Villain, Victim. The image was of a young business woman sitting in the back of a taxi, little or no expression on her face.

The whirl of the city whizzed by the taxi as it turned off the highway toward the airport, slowing down to join the long line of other yellow, black, and orange insects carrying passengers to the first destination in their long trip. The traffic thickened to a crawl as the airport approached. Heat rose off engines and pavement in the last of the summer sun. She took a deep breath and let it slowly hiss through her teeth.

Relax the shoulders, she reminded herself. It’s another job well done. The meeting had gone better than expected. The client capitulated quickly to her proposal, a well-crafted and honed pitch. Another notch added in the belt, a thick leather strap once used for threats of family punishment now scarred and missing chunks. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers across the imaginary leather, feeling each notch, each representation of the things she’d accomplished. She worked hard to avoid the belt growing up, the supreme punishment for stealing, lying, and breaking curfew, lessons well learned and used through school, university, internships, job advancements, and now contracts negotiated with Fortune 500 companies like this. I earned this belt, she acknowledged with a slight smile. The pride of another job well done.

A burst of honking made her jump. Another taxi elbowing its way next to them joining the merge as the four lane road narrowed to two as arrivals slid to the left on the lower deck and departures rose above to the right. She rolled up her window, shutting out the stink of the fumes mingled with the end-of-day-heat asphalt. A glance at her watch, a Portuguese Hand-Wound watch simple and elegant and well-deserved after her $1.3 billion contract negotiated in 2012, assured her that the slow down in traffic would not impede her Portland Airport ritual. She took another deep breath willing herself to let go of the stress as she chartered her course through security to her favorite juice bar to fill up on freshly squeezed apple and carrot smoothie blend, then a saunter to the tiny ice cream shop by gate 16. Her father introduced her to this hidden and tasty cold treasure buried among the throng of passengers coming and going, suitcases clunking along behind them. When they were young, he would pick up handmade chocolates for her and her sister and lick his way through homemade vanilla ice cream in a light waffle cone as he waited for the call for first class. When he took her on those first business trips, they’d arrived early to ensure time for those chocolates and ice cream licks before boarding. She could taste the cold cream and unconsciously wiped her chin.

The movement shifted her purse, spilling pens and passport to the floor of the back seat. With a sigh, she pulled her long legs to the side, pressed against the seat belt, and reached for her belongings.

This saved her from the concussive force of the explosion in the airport arrival area, blasting the glass windshield into the face of her driver, killing him instantly.

When Pigs Fly

Bev Walker, a long-time member of Writers in the Grove, contributed this poem. Bev specializes in writing stories and poetry with a bright and lighthearted spirit. an accomplished painter and writer, she’s published books on her family’s history and genealogy, and contributed to many anthologies. She is currently working on a memoir.

There once was a man most curious
who went from silly to serious
when the town he was happily in
was met with a great big wind.
He went up in the might swirl
of a hurricane – and with a girl.
Round and round in terrible weather
Went cow, pig and house all together.
Said the man to the spinning sky,
“Oh, oh, my, look! Pigs can fly!”
They came down in a far off land
set down by a gentle hand.
Man and girl married in a jig,
fixed the house, milked the cow, styed the pig.
And because of their whirlwind romance,
Everyone knew how to dance.
And it never caused a moment’s stir
that they never knew where they were.
So don’t fret if your life is a jumble
one day it will land all a tumble
in a haven where all things come right,
and even pigs dance with delight.

Seeds of…Volume II: Anthology of Pacific Northwest Writers

SEEDS OF…Volume II: Anthology of Pacific NW Writers (Volume 2) is the latest collection of writers from Writers in the Grove and community writers from around the Pacific Northwest published by Tawk Press.

Complied, edited, and published by Writer’s in the Grove leader, MaryJane Nordgren, the anthology features a wide but cohesive collection of stories, poems, and prose that will delight you and keep you reading page after page, even out loud to friends, family, and strangers on the bus.

The publisher’s description on Amazon describes the book best:

This second collection of essays, stories and poems by writers from Oregon and Washington varies in outlook and philosophy, in form and style as widely as does the Pacific Northwest community.

Diana Lubarsky leads off “Coping” with a hilarious crisis in the lives of her characters from Dante’s Angels. Mark Thalman reminds of the fragility of the line between life and death. Ross Hall, Lois Akerson and Bunny Hansen grow from loss. In a letter to Dorothy, Fred Melden contemplates where we are after life’s experiences. Joe Schrader follows poachers from Minnesota who are little better off hunting in Oregon. Mitch Metcalf engulfs us in a disaster in the North Sea. “Relating” brings Roger Ritchey, Rebecca Robinson, Hannah Kolehmainen and Matthew Hampton in touch with Nature. Beverly Walker and G.A. Meyerink rely on love of animals to bring out the best in people. Charles Pritchard, Joan Graves and Everett Goodwin define self in relationship with another. Joan Ritchey is reminded of generations of love by the family mantle clock. Bill Stafford’s humor wrings joy from plays on words beginning with ‘O.’ In “Finding Self,” Jessica Morrell’s planned escape to Nature becomes a lesson in tolerance and the joy in giving. Nel Rand, near the end of life, returns to what has mattered most. Paula Adams’ fearful tadpoles ponder one of their own who reaches beyond the known.

Rosemary Lombard, Barbara Schultz and Susan Munger reach into foreign settings. Karen Hessen, Eva Foster, Sarah Hampton and Gerlinde Schrader grow from difficult childhood challenges. Julie Caulfield and her brother’s inability to swallow at the dictate of their father brings challenges to their mother. Sandra Mason’s heart is beside the Pacific, but her roots are deep in the Midwest in “Remembering.” Susan Schmidlin wrestles with the hitches in farm maintenance. Susan Field and Muriel Marble remember life changing in a hurricane and a war. In “Reflecting,” Marilyn Schmidlin leans on and learns from a strong tree of life. Phil Pochurek and Wafford Tornieri explore humanness in the cycles of season and the moon. Alisa Hampton and M.J. Nordgren ponder the interconnectedness of seen and unseen.

These thirty-nine authors scatter wild and domestic seed abroad into the far-flung, fertile soil of imagination. But uniting them all is the love of the strength, beauty and challenge of Pacific Northwest area of the country.

Seeds of…Volume II is available in print on Amazon.com as a paperback.

Her First Camel

Due to a technical glitch, the final paragraphs were not published of “Her First Camel” by Susan Munger in “SEEDS OF…Volume II: Anthology of Pacific NW Writers (Volume 2)” by MaryJane Nordgren, an anthology representing many members of Writers in the Grove including Susan, we publish the full version of the story here. Our sincere apologies to Susan, and gratitude for this wonderful story.

Aysha stretched her thin, bony back for a moment, willing the long, hot day to be over, wishing the wind would stop whining through their stall, wondering if she would ever get enough to eat. As Aysha returned to bending the tiny wires in and around the small golden beads, her father Azam, seated next to her, continued to shape and solder the heavier frame of the next camel.

They sat cross-legged on a thread-bare carpet in a cramped and dim corner of the marketplace, doggedly working their trade from first light to dusk. Every now and then, Aysha would have to pause and hand the camel back to her father for further soldering. No words were exchanged; the rhythm of the work made talk unnecessary.

Aysha’s father worked over a tiny fire, using a soldering iron that had a block of copper pointed at the tip to provide just the right amount of heat, uniting the solder to the wire. He knew just how much to apply, having learned this skill from his father before him. Aysha’s older brother studied every move and practiced making a stylized camel frame on which the wire and beads would be attached. It was his destiny to someday take over this role while Azam sat home resting and smoking in their scrap of a tent. For his efforts, the son earned a small fee out of the day’s take. It wasn’t much, but it was more than Aysha got, which was nothing. Nothing, that is, but her meal. Even that was pitiful, but it kept her eight-year-old body sufficiently sustained for another day of work. And another. This had always been the way. (more…)

Because

By Writer’s in the Grove member Patti Bond inspired by the July 4, 2015, prompt “Because.”

Because I want to achieve
Because I want to change
Because I want to get better
Because I need to
Because I want other people to like me
Because I want to be proud
Because I want to gain respect
Because I am special
Because I want to meet goals
Because I want to be me

Celebrate and Be Thankful

The following is by Liz Winston, a guest to Writers in the Grove Monday workshop. She wrote the following and shared it with us with permission to publish based upon the 4th of July prompt. Liz is a singer specializing in jazz and gospel in Seattle and also works retail during the day.

Another day
Full of fun,
Family, friends,
food, and faith.

A time to celebrate and
Be thankful for a chance to
Choose to make a positive
Difference in life.

Whether I face emotional,
Physical or mentally challenged,
Being thankful for past
And present progress
Things that have molded me into
The person you see today.

Being thankful
For another year to
Celebrate life whether
I feel ready or not.

Boom, bang, pop, sizzle,
Oooh, awwww, wow, oooh
As the lights are bright in
the sky tonight.

Together on the Fourth of July

This week, the prompt was 4th of July. A guest visiting the Writers in the Grove Monday workshop gave us permission to publish her prompt. Her name is Susan Siverson and she is proud mother of 4, lives in Seattle, and is a former bank manager now working at Seattle Pacific University in the Education Department.

That’s not fair – I have rights
But where do your rights end and mine begin?
Will you keep pushing the boundaries
Blind to your selfishness?
Could you be oblivious
Or do you just not care?

Then I think, and wonder –
Were you taught manners?
Or did you grow in
An environment of pain and uncertainty?

Yet today these differences fade
As we shift focus to a single theme
To dine, laugh, watch
Mesmerized by moments of light
Predesigned to enchant.
Speechless and awed together.

Being in The Moment

Based upon the prompt from the Mark Thalman workshop in June 2015.

I’m listening to wise words I want to hold in my head.
Husband pings. His flight just landed in Indianapolis.
Love.
A dog growls on the sidewalk outside. The owner scolds.

The speaker makes a point that might change my life. Realign my thinking.
Phone flashes. Neighbor calling. Answer or not.
Not.
Police siren whines in the distance. Coming close? Moving away. Breathe.

Confirmation is spoken. I’m not alone in my way of thinking. Reassured.
Beep. Transcription of message arrives.
WTF.
“This is Max up with you on the screen and island of me…Boston yo case firm up…”

“Study your craft,” he continues. “Watch, listen, learn.”
Husband says luggage still in Atlanta.
Brilliant.
Motorcycle passes, snorting out its muffler.

“Sometimes the moment is given to you to take…”
Husband whines he can’t get the rental car he wants.
Crap.
“…other times you have to slug it out and fight for it.”

Inspiration: Life Observed Through the Radio

From the prompt on where do you go for inspiration.

The volume of the street notched up the decibels, radios drowning out traffic noises, voices lowered for a moment, ears tuned in, heads tilted toward the nearest plastic speaker box.

Top of the hour. I glanced at my watch to confirm, quickening my pace. I was still two blocks from my destination and now late.

The ability to tell time by the top of the hour started long before I came to the unholy land called Israel. For me, it was natural, keeping me in touch with the world around me as I traveled through its vastness. But never had I been around an entire culture obsessed with the news on the hour.

They had to be. Each 5 minute news summary dictated where you did your shopping, how you commuted back home, and where to avoid as you traveled through town and country as terrorism dictated our paths. (more…)

Inspiration

Inspired by a prompt on where you find your inspiration, Writers in the Grove member, Diana Kay Lubarsky wrote the following.

Where do I go to find inspiration for my writing? Good question.

When seeking inspiration I tend to go to the darker corners of my life. The black hole of unresolved issues, unwiped tears, fears and longings, or embarrassing situations. Old thoughts, long forgotten memories gleefully swim to the surface of my mind eager to be set free. Surprisingly, not all of the stories emerge as sad. Moments of social maladjustment often morph into humorous ditties. Like the one about my husband’s cane. (After years of yelling at my husband to use his cane he finally picked it up only to use it as a pointer and promptly knocked over a prized vase.)

My writing takes two forms … that which I share, and that which I don’t. I’ve never categorized it like that before, but it is true. The writing I do not share is comparable to a child’s temper tantrum, filled with the angst of not getting my own way. While that which I do share tends to be kinder and more tolerant and encouraging. But always, the inspiration comes from within.

Surrounded now by kindred writers every Monday morning in the ivory covered halls of the Forest Grove Senior Center, I am learning how others seek inspiration from the outer world, which I find fascinating. This wonderful group share the most marvelous inspirational tales … about Rosemary’s turtles, and Beverly’s flush toilets, from Susan’s farm happenings to Lorelle’s imaginings. I am learning to look outward.

Perhaps someday soon I will be inspired by buttercups smiling in the field. But for today the inner images still sing most loudly in my head.

DKL 6/8/15