Did you sit at the children’s table?
The following is by Writers in the Grove member, Patti Bond.
I enjoyed the time going to door to door saying “trick or treat” as a child. Sometimes my family would go out to eat then Dave and I would have to hurry home and get dressed in our costumes. I really liked dressing up. The only thing I didn’t like was going trick-or-treating in the rain, but that’s what living in Oregon is all about.
I loved the year I was Little Red riding Hood. I was a pretty one that year. I’d be so anxious I would be waiting for trick or treat time, dressed in a cape with a scarf on my head.
That Halloween, after going around several blocks, Dave and I came home and emptied our bags on the living room floor to see what all the neighbors gave us. I remember putting the candy in our piles and thinking “Wow!” My favorites were Smarties, Tootsie Rolls, and bubble gum.
After Dave and I saw our treats, our mother would say, ” Okay, you can have two but you have to put the rest in a bowl and put it in the kitchen.”
We weren’t allowed to have the bowl in our room. Did she think we would eat all the candy at once? If we did, we would get sick, then that would spoil all the fun for next year, as I’d learned in the past. We’re supposed to learn from our mistakes, right?
The following is by Writers in the Grove member, Debby White. She is an active member of the Vernonia Library group in Vernonia, Oregon.
Gertrude blew a strand of hair from her face as she peeled the small mountain of potatoes destined for mashing. She gave a quick glance to the clock on the oven. Ten a.m. The day’s agenda ran through her mind as the peeler continued to work it’s way through the mound. The turkey will be ready in an hour, kids and grandkids should arrive any minute. Dinner rolls should go in the oven in about forty five minutes. Harry, her husband of 30 years, was watching a loud Thanksgiving day football game in the living room, making an appearance in the kitchen only when he needed a warm up for his coffee.
Outside the wind whipped the rain around frequently throwing it against the windows, tree branches swaying as if throwing a tantrum.
“Quite a storm out there.” Gertrude jumped. Harry chuckled behind her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, reaching for the coffee pot to fill his cup for the fifth or sixth time.
Gertrude sighed, “I hope we don’t lose power. The turkey still needs almost another hour in the oven, then there’s the dinner rolls. Lots of food in the fridge that could go bad if the electricity’s out for a long time.”
“Don’t panic, honey,” Harry patted her shoulder. “Remember that’s why we spent all that money on the generator. Out here in the boondocks we lose power at the drop of a hat. With the generator life goes on as usual.”
They both turned at the sound of voices in the entryway. Seconds later they had little grandchildren arms wrapped around their legs. Sadie, their oldest daughter, planted a kiss first on Gertrude’s cheek then Harry’s. “Jack and Nikki drove up behind us,” Sadie said of her brother and his wife. “Nate is helping them carry stuff in.” Nate being Sadie’s husband.
Minutes later the women and children were gathered in the kitchen and the guys convened in the living room to finish watching the football game. Gertrude finished peeling the potatoes and Sadie and Nikki set the table while dodging little Nate and Jillian. Suddenly, everything went black. From the living room a chorus of “Hey, what happened?” was heard as the TV went blank. Gertrude raced into the living room, with a panicked look on her face. “We’ve lost power!” she exclaimed. (more…)
The following is a holiday piece by Writers in the Grove member, Bev Walker.
There’s peas in my apple pie
The spaghetti’s a glutenous ball.
It’s that delicious time of year
My plate overflows with it all.
There’s salad in my pudding
And pudding on my mac and cheese.
And mac and cheese in my jello
And jello in the “What are these?”
Succotash spills into whipped cream,
There’s cream on my sour pickle.
There’s always a “Wonder what that is?”
It could be a cranberry frickle!
There’s mystery in what I’m eating.
Who knows? I could even die! But –
It’s amazing how delicious it all is
Even peas in apple pie!
The following prompt is from one of our Writers in the Grove members for our NaNoWriMo prompt-a-day project for November 2016.
Your prompt today is holidays.
Holidays and what they represent to you, or to your characters. Is there a holiday moment and event in your story?
Check out our list of prompts for even more inspiration.
The deadline for submissions is November 30, 2016.
Check out the guidelines and instructions for submissions in the announcement.
The deadline for submissions is September 30, 2016.
Check out the guidelines and instructions for submissions in the announcement, and we look forward to you taking us on a trip.
The prompt this week was inspired by the concept of the three line poetry, a poem limited to 3 lines. Called a tercet, a haiku-style poem written rhymed or unrhymed as a triplet, a complete stanza in three lines. Three Line Poetry, a part of Prolific Press (bookstore), accepts submissions of three line poetry for publishing in their books.
The prompt was to write a three line poem inspired by gifts, gift-giving, gift-receiving, or the concept of gifts in general.
The following is written by Writers in the Grove member, Patti Bond. She often shares her memories and memories with us.
There was a wildfire near my grandparents’ house this weekend. I heard them telling us to stay away from the fire. But there are too many memories in these homes.
The red house on street, number 2706, is where my dad lived with his three sisters, my Aunt Kathy, Aunt Gayle, and Aunt Marilyn. Unfortunately, or fortunately as the fire threatened, Aunt Marilyn is no longer with us. That’s not the only memory at risk from the fire. My mother grew up in Baker City, the place where her biological father left her with her mother alone, just the two of them.
My mother was very active in theater and drama, and she loved Rainbow Girls. She was also very smart, skipping the third grade as she grew up. She and her mother, Zelene, moved several times, finally meeting Herbert Kelly and marrying him, giving them a place to settle in Baker City. Dave and I spent many years traveling to these homes visiting grandparents. I can remember hearing Daddy say that as long as the grandparents were alive, we were going to Baker City for Christmas. Grandma Kelly would greet us upon arrival every time saying “I hope Old Man Winter would give us a break.”
There are just too many memories in the houses up there, near the fire. Many are pleading for access to their homes to collect their precious memories before the wildfire consumes them. So many legacies remain, and wilt in the hearts of the many people who’ve lived in those houses, including my family.
They say the fires were started by lightning, normal for eastern Oregon. If I had unlimited resources, I would work day and night to save the livelihood and memories of my family’s heritage.
Please Lord put out these fires. Protect our memories and legacy in Baker City.