Kansas like many states has experienced a roller coaster of weather over the past couple of months. Today, it is like spring outside. I took Sabrina, my yellow lab, for a walk earlier and enjoyed it. Just a few days ago, the wind chill was -17 degrees.
The up and down weather causes havoc with my joints and fibromyalgia. Another thing that causes havoc is the change to daylight savings time. Several years ago I discovered that if I reset my clocks after lunch on Saturday and live the rest of the day as though the time already changed, I adjust much easier. So while my mom and brother are napping to make up for the hour they lost, I'm up and awake and enjoying 64 degrees of sunshine.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Nanowrimo Time Approaching
National Novel Writing Month is just over a month away in November. I've spent time during the past couple of weeks thinking about possible titles, characters, genres, and settings. I've completed the 50,000 challenge every year since 2006, although not always with something I would like to publish. My 2007 Nanowrimo novel is Baseball Card Hero, which was published in 2009 in paperback and in 2012 as an eBook. I still plan to publish my 2006 Nanowrimo novel, but since a few books were published with a similar theme after I finished it, I've taken my time editing and letting time refresh the idea.
Not long ago I read Water For Elephants, which is a Nanowrimo novel, and recommend it to anyone who likes a good circus adventure.
Not long ago I read Water For Elephants, which is a Nanowrimo novel, and recommend it to anyone who likes a good circus adventure.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Back to the Blog
When I started this blog, I didn't really know what people write in a blog. I've posted short stories and essays I've written. I have since found that many bloggers post tips, ideas, and other things they want to share, but in a step up fashion from Facebook post. I must admit I don't do much posting there, either. I haven't been inside this blog for some time. My main excuse is losing my dad and all the busy lifestyle that comes with adjusting to a new family dynamic, which included moving in with Mom to help her out and preparing to sell my house. The house is finally on the market and almost ready for an open house showing. It's my hope that September will not only bring on a new season, but a renewed focus on doing the writing I love. I'll even do my best to post something on my blog more frequently.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Children’s Books Build a Foundation for Reading as an Adult
By Reaona Hemmingway
February 7, 2012
Tomorrow is my grand-nephew’s fourth birthday. His mother wants him to receive books as presents. I’ll confess that’s not what I got him. I made him a small quilt for curling up with his mother on the couch to read. It’s wonderful that she reads with him when so many parents today sit their kids in front of a TV to provide them entertainment. His favorite books right now are those about dinosaurs and dragons.
When I was growing up households only had one television and ours was often in need of repair once my parents found the money to pay to get it fixed. During our TVless times, we read or played games together. As little kids, we read a lot of Golden Books and other books like one of my favorites, “The Teeny Tiny Woman.” Around fifth or sixth grade, I discovered the Hardy Boy Mysteries. From there, I moved on to books written by Louis L’Amour, Luke Short, Zane Grey, and Max Brand. The whole family, except maybe my younger sister, read these westerns. We often sat in the living room reading different ones and read passages to each other when we came across something funny or dramatic.
After I graduated college and began looking at marriage and having children, I started collecting a few children’s books like Beatrice Potter and a collection of Winnie the Pooh stories. I didn’t read these as a kid and, as an adult, wished I had. As a reader, I’m slow. In school, I tended to read a lot of poetry books in order to fulfill my book reading quotas for school. With the exception of the westerns, through junior high and high school, I only read assigned books. So my intention for collecting children’s books was to read them to my own children. Unfortunately, I never had children, which means no grandchildren to read them to either.
Last fall, I purchased an iPod, which I use as an ebook reader. On the iPod, I’ve downloaded several classic novels. I’m still a slow reader, but I want to read the books I missed reading in my younger years when I spent so much of my reading time on westerns and romance novels.
Don’t get me wrong, I love westerns and romances. They fulfill the need for adventure and love I wish I had in my life. But as they say, “Reading is fundamental.” What you read also makes a difference in how you interpret the world around you. I want the challenge I denied myself when I was younger and avoided the harder to read books. It’s now time to read the books that make the mind think.
As I’m writing this, I’m thinking about writing my grand-nephew a story about either a dinosaur or a dragon for Christmas this year. His mother is laying a good foundation in him by wanting him to have books. Now that I’ve given him a quilt to cozy up with, I’ll write him a story to read while curled up with Mom.
(c) 2012 Reaona Hemmingway
February 7, 2012
Tomorrow is my grand-nephew’s fourth birthday. His mother wants him to receive books as presents. I’ll confess that’s not what I got him. I made him a small quilt for curling up with his mother on the couch to read. It’s wonderful that she reads with him when so many parents today sit their kids in front of a TV to provide them entertainment. His favorite books right now are those about dinosaurs and dragons.
When I was growing up households only had one television and ours was often in need of repair once my parents found the money to pay to get it fixed. During our TVless times, we read or played games together. As little kids, we read a lot of Golden Books and other books like one of my favorites, “The Teeny Tiny Woman.” Around fifth or sixth grade, I discovered the Hardy Boy Mysteries. From there, I moved on to books written by Louis L’Amour, Luke Short, Zane Grey, and Max Brand. The whole family, except maybe my younger sister, read these westerns. We often sat in the living room reading different ones and read passages to each other when we came across something funny or dramatic.
After I graduated college and began looking at marriage and having children, I started collecting a few children’s books like Beatrice Potter and a collection of Winnie the Pooh stories. I didn’t read these as a kid and, as an adult, wished I had. As a reader, I’m slow. In school, I tended to read a lot of poetry books in order to fulfill my book reading quotas for school. With the exception of the westerns, through junior high and high school, I only read assigned books. So my intention for collecting children’s books was to read them to my own children. Unfortunately, I never had children, which means no grandchildren to read them to either.
Last fall, I purchased an iPod, which I use as an ebook reader. On the iPod, I’ve downloaded several classic novels. I’m still a slow reader, but I want to read the books I missed reading in my younger years when I spent so much of my reading time on westerns and romance novels.
Don’t get me wrong, I love westerns and romances. They fulfill the need for adventure and love I wish I had in my life. But as they say, “Reading is fundamental.” What you read also makes a difference in how you interpret the world around you. I want the challenge I denied myself when I was younger and avoided the harder to read books. It’s now time to read the books that make the mind think.
As I’m writing this, I’m thinking about writing my grand-nephew a story about either a dinosaur or a dragon for Christmas this year. His mother is laying a good foundation in him by wanting him to have books. Now that I’ve given him a quilt to cozy up with, I’ll write him a story to read while curled up with Mom.
(c) 2012 Reaona Hemmingway
Friday, July 22, 2011
Dog Block
My biggest deterrant to writing is my almost three year old Labrador retriever, Sabrina. Before she entered my life, I was writing three or four novels a years along with several short stories. Life after Sabrina, has caused a dog block in my writing. Having her around is like having a child who always wants attention. I keep consoling myself with the idea that as she gets older, she'll mellow out. She's a Labrador retriever, fat chance! At three, she has the energy of my three year old grand nephew who spent most of our family reunion last weekend running around the park shelter house and full speed.
My brother keeps comparing her to Marley from Marley & Me. She's not that bad, but she does have her moments like last month when she popped the zipper on one of my sofa cushions. While I was taking my shower, she was ripping the foam rubber out of the cushion. I have sense repaired the cushion by cutting out the chewed up portion and inserting a piece of foam I purchased at a fabric and craft store. To keep Sabrina off the sofa, my guitar now resides on top of the cushions thus leaving her no room to lay down.
No long after she was old enough to jump up on the furniture, she adopted my grandmother's antique chaise as her favored place to lie down. I keep it covered with a sheet to decrease the amount of dirt and dog bone mush I have to clean off the cushion. Prior to giving my guitar residence on the sofa, Sabrina would jump from the chaise to the sofa and back again, repeatedly, until I could tolerate the disruption no more and tossed her outside. Sadly, even with just the chaise to lay on, she still hops up, hops down, hops up, hops down until I get fed up and toss her outside.
There are days I get so frustrated with trying to concentrate on my writing that I consider giving her up for adoption. Then there are days when she lays calmly on the chaise, chews on her bone, and lets me work. As she approaches her third birthday in September, I'm hoping those calmer days will increase. I have several unfinished works in progress and several more novels to edit past their first drafts and second drafts. The continuity of the writing would so much improve if my dog block would end and Sabrna would give me quiet times to let my muse flourish while she chews on her bone.
(c) 2011 Reaona Hemmingway
My brother keeps comparing her to Marley from Marley & Me. She's not that bad, but she does have her moments like last month when she popped the zipper on one of my sofa cushions. While I was taking my shower, she was ripping the foam rubber out of the cushion. I have sense repaired the cushion by cutting out the chewed up portion and inserting a piece of foam I purchased at a fabric and craft store. To keep Sabrina off the sofa, my guitar now resides on top of the cushions thus leaving her no room to lay down.
No long after she was old enough to jump up on the furniture, she adopted my grandmother's antique chaise as her favored place to lie down. I keep it covered with a sheet to decrease the amount of dirt and dog bone mush I have to clean off the cushion. Prior to giving my guitar residence on the sofa, Sabrina would jump from the chaise to the sofa and back again, repeatedly, until I could tolerate the disruption no more and tossed her outside. Sadly, even with just the chaise to lay on, she still hops up, hops down, hops up, hops down until I get fed up and toss her outside.
There are days I get so frustrated with trying to concentrate on my writing that I consider giving her up for adoption. Then there are days when she lays calmly on the chaise, chews on her bone, and lets me work. As she approaches her third birthday in September, I'm hoping those calmer days will increase. I have several unfinished works in progress and several more novels to edit past their first drafts and second drafts. The continuity of the writing would so much improve if my dog block would end and Sabrna would give me quiet times to let my muse flourish while she chews on her bone.
(c) 2011 Reaona Hemmingway
Saturday, December 18, 2010
The Little Shepherd Girl
By Reaona Hemmingway
Tall, brown winter grass grew thick in the valley where Samantha, the only child of Orin and Lila, sat watching the family’s flock of sheep. She counted the lambs, the ewes, and the rams. All two hundred and seventeen stood peacefully chewing in the waning sun-light.
Just as she finished counting, a cool breeze filled the valley, making her shiver. She adjusted her headdress and brought the tail end of the cloth around her neck.
“It is unusually cool tonight,” she said.
The sheep bleated in agreement.
“Look,” Landon, her sheep dog, barked. “Maybe that is why the weather has changed.”
Samantha took her eyes off the sheep and watched as the sky took on a heavenly glow. A radiant beam, glittering like gold dust in a stream, touched the earth. She stood up, brought her ram’s horn to her lips, ready to give an alarm. A ball of light descended down the beam. She took a deep breath in preparation to blow, but then the ball of light turned into a boy with wings and a tilting halo. An angel? Not a big angel, but one the same size as her with white robes and carrying a harp.
He reached up and straightened his halo. “Har-hark!” He scratched his head, then plucked a few non-harmonizing notes on his harp while he cocked his head to one side, as if trying to remember something. “Hark! I bring you tidings of great…uh…great joy…”
“Are you lost?” Samantha asked.
His eyes grew wide at the sound of her voice. “You’re…you’re a girl!”
“Yes, indeed, I am. Much to my father’s chagrin.”
He looked around. “Where is the shepherd who tends this flock?”
Samantha took up her crook, which leaned against a tree. She tapped the crook on the ground and posed in an authoritative stance. “I am the shepherd of this flock,” she declared.
“But…but…you’re a girl!”
“Old news. You already figured that out.”
“You can’t be a shepherd.”
“Why not?”
His halo tipped again as he tried to reach for the radiant beam, which was gradually receding back up into the sky. “Hey, come back here,” he yelled. “I’m in the wrong flock.”
“Which flock are you supposed to be in?” Samantha asked.
“The flock owned by Orin, the descendant of Gad.”
“Then, you’re in the right flock. These are my father’s sheep and my father’s name is Orin and my great-great-great-great-and a whole bunch of more greats-grandfather was Gad.”
“But the shepherd of this flock’s name is Sam.”
“Uh-huh. Sam is short for Samantha, daughter of Orin, who, by the way, is totally beside himself that his one and only seed that produced a child begat a girl.”
A frown creased the angel’s brow. “But you can’t be a shepherd.”
“Why can’t I be a shepherd?” Samantha asked, sounding a bit miffed.
He ignored her and raised his arms toward the sky. “Please come back and get me. I can’t bring good tidings of great joy to a girl.”
Landon sniffed at the angel’s feet and growled.
“Hey, get away from me,” the angel said as he backed up a few paces.
“You sure don’t seem to know much about being an angel,” Samantha said.
“He sure doesn’t smell like an angel, either,” Landon barked.
The angel scowled. “How would you know? You’re just a dog.”
Samantha patted Landon’s head. “Being a dog must rank right up there with being a girl.”
“Better a dog than an angel that doesn’t smell like an angel,” Landon barked.
The angel plucked out some more discordant notes on the harp while staring up at the sky as though he expected something to happen. When whatever he was waiting for didn’t happen, he sniffled and ground his foot into the ground. “I wish I was a shepherd instead of an angel,” he muttered.
“What’s your name?” Samantha asked.
Landon growled again. “Answer her.”
“Okay, okay. My name is Thomas. I-I thought I was going to be a shepherd like my father, but then I got sick and when I woke up I had angel wings instead of a shepherd’s crook. This is my first angel assignment and I’ve already messed it up. Now get your dog away from me.”
Although Samantha felt sorry for Thomas, she was still upset that he didn’t want to give his message to a girl. “Well, Thomas,” Samantha put one fist on her hip, “if you can be an angel, then I can be a shepherd. So there!”
Thomas turned his back to her and started counting sheep like an experienced shepherd. “Gabriel says this flock has two hundred and seventeen sheep. I bet you don’t even have half that many.”
“Okay. What do you want to bet?”
His eyes scanned the flock. “Uh…well…I could…”
Samantha’s smile confused him. “If there’s two hundred and seventeen sheep, then you have to give me your harp and the message you came to tell.”
Thomas looked at his harp and looked at her ram’s horn. “If I win, I get your horn and I don’t have to tell you the message.”
Samantha stuck out her hand. “Deal!”
With a shaking hand, he shook hands over the bet. “Deal!”
The angel turned and started counting again. Just as he reached two hundred and seventeen, a ewe gave birth to a little lamb. “Ha! There are two hundred and eighteen. I win!”
“No you don’t,” Samantha said.
“Why not?”
“You said you bet I don’t even have half of the two hundred and seventeen. So I won because they’re all here including one more.”
Thomas frowned. “I did say that. Didn’t I?”
Landon barked in agreement.
With a frown and a tear in his eye, Thomas handed over his harp. Then he took a deep breath and recited his message. “Hark! I bring you tidings of great joy for unto you is born, in the City of David, a savior who will be king of all the earth and bring salvation to every man,” he eyed the shepherd girl and took a deep compromising breath, “and woman. I say to you, go to Bethlehem and witness the Messiah who is Christ the Lord.”
Samantha smiled and gave Thomas a kiss, which turned his cheeks bright red. “Thank you, Thomas. Where do I find this child in Bethlehem?”
He pointed to the brightest star, which appeared only a few days ago. “Follow the star, which shines by both day and night. You will find the child wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”
“You did that very well, Thomas,” Landon said. “But I still say you don’t smell like an angel.”
“Yes, he did do it well,” Samantha agreed, as she held the harp out to him. “You can have this back. Any angel worth his salt needs a harp.”
He fingered the ram’s horn hanging from a strap across her shoulders. “Could I have your horn instead?”
Samantha considered his request. She looked out upon the sheep. Only the ram’s horn could be heard across the distance from the valley to the house. If she had the harp and there was an emergency, her father would not hear the alarm.
“No, it’s best you keep your harp. In order to be a good shepherd, I have to be able to sound the alarm in case a wolf comes or one of the sheep strays too far away from the flock.”
Thomas nodded, and reluctantly took back his harp and plucked a few awkward notes. As the last note twanged, the radiant beam appeared to take him back to heaven.
“You are right,” he said with a sad nod. “God has given us each a gift and what we need to be His servants. Maybe when I’m older and become a better angel, he’ll let me have a ram’s horn. Then I can be what I really want to be, a shepherd of his heavenly flock.”
“Goodbye, Thomas.”
He smiled at her. “You’re not too bad for a girl, I guess.” He pointed a finger at her. “Now, don’t forget to go to Bethlehem.”
“I won’t. I’ll take the flock to my father and tell him I’ve been sent on a mission to witness the birth of our savior, the Messiah, Christ the Lord.”
As Samantha waved farewell, Thomas ascended on the radiant beam back into the realm of heaven. As he floated upward, a tear fell from his cheek and landed on the palm of her hand. She rubbed it against her cheek and made a promise to speak to the savior about Thomas.
When the sky turned dark again, Samantha whistled to Landon. “Come, let’s get the flock home, so I may begin my journey.”
Five days later, Samantha and Landon entered the stable and saw the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in the manger.
Mary smiled at her. “You have come to see the son of God?”
“Yes, and to ask a favor.”
“You may ask.”
Samantha knelt down beside the manger and let Jesus wrap his little fingers around her pinky. “Can you ask God, your father, to give the little angel, Thomas, a ram’s horn to blow instead of a harp? He really isn’t much good at plucking the harp strings and I think he’d be a much better angel with a horn and a flock of sheep to watch.”
Jesus squeezed her finger and smiled.
“Your wish has been granted, Samantha,” Mary said. “Now go back to your own flock. When the time is right, God will send down his blessing upon you.”
Samantha did as she was told. Seven years later, when she was of age to marry and still watching her father’s flock, which now number six hundred and three, Samantha looked up into the heavens and asked God if he’d forgotten about giving her His blessing. A loud thunder answered her query. Silver rimmed clouds filled the sky.
“Oh, God, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
The clouds soon parted and Thomas descended from the heavens, carrying a golden ram’s horn. The moment his feet touched the earth, his white robe turned to brown wool and his wings disappeared.
“Thomas, is that really you?” she asked.
“Yes, and I want to thank you for asking God to make me a shepherd of his heavenly flock.” He took down his halo, which shrank to the size of a wedding ring. “As your promised blessing, God has sent me to be your groom,” he said, as he slid the ring on her finger.
Samantha looked up to the sky with joy in her heart for no boy would take her as a bride because she worked as a shepherd and never learned how to cook. “Thank you for your blessing, Lord God. I shall work beside this husband you have sent me and bear him many children to worship your son.”
Thomas took her in his arms and held her close. “And I shall work beside this wife you have given me and spread my seed upon her womb to produce many believers who will spread the words of your son Jesus throughout the land.”
Landon sniffed at Thomas and grinned. “I never did think you smelled like an angel.”
(C) 2009 Reaona Hemmingway. All rights reserved.
Tall, brown winter grass grew thick in the valley where Samantha, the only child of Orin and Lila, sat watching the family’s flock of sheep. She counted the lambs, the ewes, and the rams. All two hundred and seventeen stood peacefully chewing in the waning sun-light.
Just as she finished counting, a cool breeze filled the valley, making her shiver. She adjusted her headdress and brought the tail end of the cloth around her neck.
“It is unusually cool tonight,” she said.
The sheep bleated in agreement.
“Look,” Landon, her sheep dog, barked. “Maybe that is why the weather has changed.”
Samantha took her eyes off the sheep and watched as the sky took on a heavenly glow. A radiant beam, glittering like gold dust in a stream, touched the earth. She stood up, brought her ram’s horn to her lips, ready to give an alarm. A ball of light descended down the beam. She took a deep breath in preparation to blow, but then the ball of light turned into a boy with wings and a tilting halo. An angel? Not a big angel, but one the same size as her with white robes and carrying a harp.
He reached up and straightened his halo. “Har-hark!” He scratched his head, then plucked a few non-harmonizing notes on his harp while he cocked his head to one side, as if trying to remember something. “Hark! I bring you tidings of great…uh…great joy…”
“Are you lost?” Samantha asked.
His eyes grew wide at the sound of her voice. “You’re…you’re a girl!”
“Yes, indeed, I am. Much to my father’s chagrin.”
He looked around. “Where is the shepherd who tends this flock?”
Samantha took up her crook, which leaned against a tree. She tapped the crook on the ground and posed in an authoritative stance. “I am the shepherd of this flock,” she declared.
“But…but…you’re a girl!”
“Old news. You already figured that out.”
“You can’t be a shepherd.”
“Why not?”
His halo tipped again as he tried to reach for the radiant beam, which was gradually receding back up into the sky. “Hey, come back here,” he yelled. “I’m in the wrong flock.”
“Which flock are you supposed to be in?” Samantha asked.
“The flock owned by Orin, the descendant of Gad.”
“Then, you’re in the right flock. These are my father’s sheep and my father’s name is Orin and my great-great-great-great-and a whole bunch of more greats-grandfather was Gad.”
“But the shepherd of this flock’s name is Sam.”
“Uh-huh. Sam is short for Samantha, daughter of Orin, who, by the way, is totally beside himself that his one and only seed that produced a child begat a girl.”
A frown creased the angel’s brow. “But you can’t be a shepherd.”
“Why can’t I be a shepherd?” Samantha asked, sounding a bit miffed.
He ignored her and raised his arms toward the sky. “Please come back and get me. I can’t bring good tidings of great joy to a girl.”
Landon sniffed at the angel’s feet and growled.
“Hey, get away from me,” the angel said as he backed up a few paces.
“You sure don’t seem to know much about being an angel,” Samantha said.
“He sure doesn’t smell like an angel, either,” Landon barked.
The angel scowled. “How would you know? You’re just a dog.”
Samantha patted Landon’s head. “Being a dog must rank right up there with being a girl.”
“Better a dog than an angel that doesn’t smell like an angel,” Landon barked.
The angel plucked out some more discordant notes on the harp while staring up at the sky as though he expected something to happen. When whatever he was waiting for didn’t happen, he sniffled and ground his foot into the ground. “I wish I was a shepherd instead of an angel,” he muttered.
“What’s your name?” Samantha asked.
Landon growled again. “Answer her.”
“Okay, okay. My name is Thomas. I-I thought I was going to be a shepherd like my father, but then I got sick and when I woke up I had angel wings instead of a shepherd’s crook. This is my first angel assignment and I’ve already messed it up. Now get your dog away from me.”
Although Samantha felt sorry for Thomas, she was still upset that he didn’t want to give his message to a girl. “Well, Thomas,” Samantha put one fist on her hip, “if you can be an angel, then I can be a shepherd. So there!”
Thomas turned his back to her and started counting sheep like an experienced shepherd. “Gabriel says this flock has two hundred and seventeen sheep. I bet you don’t even have half that many.”
“Okay. What do you want to bet?”
His eyes scanned the flock. “Uh…well…I could…”
Samantha’s smile confused him. “If there’s two hundred and seventeen sheep, then you have to give me your harp and the message you came to tell.”
Thomas looked at his harp and looked at her ram’s horn. “If I win, I get your horn and I don’t have to tell you the message.”
Samantha stuck out her hand. “Deal!”
With a shaking hand, he shook hands over the bet. “Deal!”
The angel turned and started counting again. Just as he reached two hundred and seventeen, a ewe gave birth to a little lamb. “Ha! There are two hundred and eighteen. I win!”
“No you don’t,” Samantha said.
“Why not?”
“You said you bet I don’t even have half of the two hundred and seventeen. So I won because they’re all here including one more.”
Thomas frowned. “I did say that. Didn’t I?”
Landon barked in agreement.
With a frown and a tear in his eye, Thomas handed over his harp. Then he took a deep breath and recited his message. “Hark! I bring you tidings of great joy for unto you is born, in the City of David, a savior who will be king of all the earth and bring salvation to every man,” he eyed the shepherd girl and took a deep compromising breath, “and woman. I say to you, go to Bethlehem and witness the Messiah who is Christ the Lord.”
Samantha smiled and gave Thomas a kiss, which turned his cheeks bright red. “Thank you, Thomas. Where do I find this child in Bethlehem?”
He pointed to the brightest star, which appeared only a few days ago. “Follow the star, which shines by both day and night. You will find the child wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”
“You did that very well, Thomas,” Landon said. “But I still say you don’t smell like an angel.”
“Yes, he did do it well,” Samantha agreed, as she held the harp out to him. “You can have this back. Any angel worth his salt needs a harp.”
He fingered the ram’s horn hanging from a strap across her shoulders. “Could I have your horn instead?”
Samantha considered his request. She looked out upon the sheep. Only the ram’s horn could be heard across the distance from the valley to the house. If she had the harp and there was an emergency, her father would not hear the alarm.
“No, it’s best you keep your harp. In order to be a good shepherd, I have to be able to sound the alarm in case a wolf comes or one of the sheep strays too far away from the flock.”
Thomas nodded, and reluctantly took back his harp and plucked a few awkward notes. As the last note twanged, the radiant beam appeared to take him back to heaven.
“You are right,” he said with a sad nod. “God has given us each a gift and what we need to be His servants. Maybe when I’m older and become a better angel, he’ll let me have a ram’s horn. Then I can be what I really want to be, a shepherd of his heavenly flock.”
“Goodbye, Thomas.”
He smiled at her. “You’re not too bad for a girl, I guess.” He pointed a finger at her. “Now, don’t forget to go to Bethlehem.”
“I won’t. I’ll take the flock to my father and tell him I’ve been sent on a mission to witness the birth of our savior, the Messiah, Christ the Lord.”
As Samantha waved farewell, Thomas ascended on the radiant beam back into the realm of heaven. As he floated upward, a tear fell from his cheek and landed on the palm of her hand. She rubbed it against her cheek and made a promise to speak to the savior about Thomas.
When the sky turned dark again, Samantha whistled to Landon. “Come, let’s get the flock home, so I may begin my journey.”
Five days later, Samantha and Landon entered the stable and saw the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in the manger.
Mary smiled at her. “You have come to see the son of God?”
“Yes, and to ask a favor.”
“You may ask.”
Samantha knelt down beside the manger and let Jesus wrap his little fingers around her pinky. “Can you ask God, your father, to give the little angel, Thomas, a ram’s horn to blow instead of a harp? He really isn’t much good at plucking the harp strings and I think he’d be a much better angel with a horn and a flock of sheep to watch.”
Jesus squeezed her finger and smiled.
“Your wish has been granted, Samantha,” Mary said. “Now go back to your own flock. When the time is right, God will send down his blessing upon you.”
Samantha did as she was told. Seven years later, when she was of age to marry and still watching her father’s flock, which now number six hundred and three, Samantha looked up into the heavens and asked God if he’d forgotten about giving her His blessing. A loud thunder answered her query. Silver rimmed clouds filled the sky.
“Oh, God, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
The clouds soon parted and Thomas descended from the heavens, carrying a golden ram’s horn. The moment his feet touched the earth, his white robe turned to brown wool and his wings disappeared.
“Thomas, is that really you?” she asked.
“Yes, and I want to thank you for asking God to make me a shepherd of his heavenly flock.” He took down his halo, which shrank to the size of a wedding ring. “As your promised blessing, God has sent me to be your groom,” he said, as he slid the ring on her finger.
Samantha looked up to the sky with joy in her heart for no boy would take her as a bride because she worked as a shepherd and never learned how to cook. “Thank you for your blessing, Lord God. I shall work beside this husband you have sent me and bear him many children to worship your son.”
Thomas took her in his arms and held her close. “And I shall work beside this wife you have given me and spread my seed upon her womb to produce many believers who will spread the words of your son Jesus throughout the land.”
Landon sniffed at Thomas and grinned. “I never did think you smelled like an angel.”
(C) 2009 Reaona Hemmingway. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
The Centerfold
By Reaona Hemmingway
The night clerk watched Janet Wharton enter the convenience store. His hand hovered over the silent alarm button. She didn’t blame him. Not every customer wore a trench coat and sunglasses at one o’clock in the morning. He expected her to rob the place. Instead, she grabbed all the plastic covered magazines from the top shelf and hurried to the counter.
“How many?” he asked.
“Eleven.” She slid a hundred dollar bill into the tray beneath the bullet proof glass while he rung up the sale. As soon as he gave her the change, she grabbed the magazines and left.
Nine stops later, Janet’s trunk contained every copy of For His Eyes Only’s November issue, except one. With the election five days away, she couldn’t afford to have those pictures hit the streets. Thankfully, Mitch worked for the delivery company Lindmeyer Printing contracted to distribute the magazine to convenience stores in town. Thankfully, the magazine’s owner was arrested for drug trafficking three hours ago, which meant no reprints.
Mitch waited in the garage when she arrived home. As soon as she parked the car, he hit the garage door button.
“Mom, you look terrible,” he said as she climbed out of the car.
She bent down and looked at her makeup in the side view mirror. Mascara was streaked and smudged from where she rubbed her eyes several times during the night.
“Not as terrible as I’d look tomorrow if you hadn’t let your hormones get curious and bought one of those magazines halfway through your delivery route.” She grinned at how red his cheeks turned. It wasn’t every college sophomore who opened a nudie magazine to find his mother the object of male lust. “What did you do with the rest?”
“They’re in my closet. I sure hope my boss doesn’t fire me when he finds out I didn’t deliver the rest of them with the other magazines on my route.”
“Just tell him you were protecting his reputation after hearing about Lindmeyer’s arrest on the radio.”
His face lit up with a smile. “That might work. Are you going to tell Dad?”
“I have to. Hell, he’s the one who took the stupid picture. That’s how we met twenty-five years ago. I went to a fraternity party, drank too much vodka spiked lemonade, and agreed to let him take my picture in the buff. How Sly Lindmeyer got hold of the negatives, I’ll never know. I watched your father destroy all the film and photographs from that frat party years ago.”
The door to the kitchen opened and Gerald Wharton walked into the garage. “What’s going on out here? Why aren’t you two in bed?”
In his blue silk pajamas and plaid flannel bathrobe, he didn’t look much like the randy photography hobbyist who seduced her into taking her clothes off in his bedroom at the fraternity house. He looked like what he was, an overworked district attorney up past his normal bedtime.
Janet opened the trunk and grabbed a magazine. “We were just discussing when to hold the bonfire. Your job tomorrow, Mr. D.A., is to find a way to get the proofs, negatives, and printing plates from Lindmeyer Printing without raising suspicions.”
She watched the confused look on Gerald’s face change to one of horror when he opened the magazine. The color left his face and his hands shook. “How the hell?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Janet said, patting him on the arm. “Your bid for District Court Judge is going to get broadsided if we don’t keep these pictures off the streets between now and next Tuesday. Like I said, if you don’t come back with every last remaining copy of my picture, you can kiss your career goodbye.” She stifled a yawn. “As for me, I’m going to bed.”
Within minutes after entering Lindmeyer Printing’s establishment, Gerald Wharton found the galley proofs, printing plates, negatives, and thirty sample copies of For His Eyes Only’s November issue. First, he carefully removed the centerfolds from the magazines and then, using skills learned during his college poker playing years, slipped every image of Janet inside his briefcase.
As District Attorney, it wasn’t difficult convincing the Chief of Police to allow him to accompany the investigating team on this evidence search. His participation would show his constituents how serious he was about punishing criminals from either side of the bench.
“How’s it going, Mr. Wharton?”
Startled, Gerald looked up to see a police officer standing in the doorway of the storage room. “Fine. Have you found anything significant yet?”
“Not much. Clancy found some receipts for chemicals, some of which are used in making methamphetamines. Other than that, we’re running dry.”
Gerald flipped another page in the November issue’s file and blinked. Did he dare mention what he just found before completing his search through the file? He didn’t have a choice if he wanted Lindmeyer to stay behind bars.
“Tell Clancy and Ingman that I just found evidence of child pornography.”
After the officer left the room, he pulled the picture from the file. His stomach felt raw with knowing the identity of the sixteen-year-old girl. Sure enough, when he flipped open the magazine he found the same picture on page sixty-two. How on earth was he going to explain the thirty missing centerfolds or why his wife bought up every retail copy without confessing what he’d just done to protect his campaign?
He shuffled through the file as fast as he could and felt relieved when he didn’t find any further copies of Janet’s picture. He stacked the photographs, negatives, and printing plates for page sixty-two on the table next to the stack of magazine samples.
“What you got there?” Clancy asked when he entered the room.
“Nude photographs of Sandra Mandrake that were published in the November issue of For His Eyes Only,” Gerald said, pointing to the stack.
Ingman slapped him on the shoulder. “Nice work, Wharton. You’ve ensured that sleaze ball Lindmeyer stays in prison until he’s wearing false teeth and knocked your opponent off the judicial ballot all in one swoop.”
Gerald shook his head. “We’ve got to keep her identity out of the papers.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“She’s sixteen and obviously needs counseling. Knowing the way kids think, this was probably her way of getting her parent’s attention. Ruining Mandrake’s run for the bench won’t solve her problems. More than likely, it will make them worse and ruin the kid’s future entirely.”
Clancy nodded his agreement. “As always, you’re right. Under the safeguards of child protection, we can charge Lindmeyer with child pornography without dragging Mandrake’s name through the press.”
“I want to go with you to break the news to Mandrake,” Gerald said, as he nervously watched Ingman flip through a copy of the magazine. “With the way we’ve been at each other’s throats on legal issues during this campaign, I want to make sure he knows any leak won’t come from my direction.”
Ingman bagged and tagged the evidence along with one magazine copy before they headed out the door. “If you ask me,” he said, “it’s not much of a nudie magazine. Heck, it doesn’t even have a centerfold.”
Gerald sat quietly in the back seat during the ride to Mandrake’s office. Clancy skimmed through a copy of the magazine while Ingman drove the unmarked police car.
“Something sure seems odd about this rag,” Clancy said. “Not only does it not have a centerfold, the page numbering is all messed up.” He held the magazine open to the center. “Look here. Page thirty-eight is facing page forty-three.” He flipped back a few pages. “And page twenty-six is facing page thirty-three.”
“Sounds like Lindmeyer got the pages out of order,” Ingman said. “Kind of makes you wonder if that sorry son was high on his own meth when he sent the fool thing to press.”
For the first time since walking into the garage and learning about the centerfold, Gerald felt like he could relax. If Lindmeyer printed and bound the pages out of order, maybe no one would question the missing centerfolds. Now all he needed was for no one to question why the magazines weren’t on the store shelves.
Donald Mandrake’s secretary did her best to protest their intrusion into the attorney’s office. Flashing his badge, Clancy opened the heavy oak door and led the way inside Mandrake’s private sanctum.
The criminal attorney who lost the district attorney’s race three terms running to Gerald jumped to his feet. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked as he pushed a remote control button.
Gerald glanced at the video screen and felt his stomach flop around again as he viewed a blurry image of Janet wearing a trench coat and sunglasses while standing at a convenience store’s checkout counter with a stack of magazines.
He studied Mandrake’s reaction as Clancy explained how Gerald found Sandra’s pictures in the magazine. The furry in the man’s coal black eyes burned holes right through Gerald’s already stressed out stomach.
“Just say the word, and I’ll have some uniformed officers confiscate every available copy of For His Eyes Only from the magazine racks in town,” Clancy said.
Mandrake stared right into Gerald’s eyes and laughed. “You don’t need to. Janet Wharton already beat you to it.”
Everyone stared at Gerald. It took every skill he learned in high school drama class to appear innocent.
“She is your wife, isn’t she?” Mandrake asked, pointing at the video screen.
“Yes.”
Ingman grabbed the remote and rewound the tape to where Janet entered the store. “What’s going on here Wharton?”
Gerald rubbed his forehead. “Mitch was making magazine deliveries last night and bought a copy. He called Janet when he saw something in the magazine that upset him. Then, without my knowledge, they secured nearly every copy Lindmeyer sent out for retail sale.”
“So that’s why you wanted in on searching the printing press?” Clancy asked.
Gerald nodded. “There’s been enough mud-slinging in this campaign. Right now Mandrake and I are even in the preliminary poles. Something like this would put an uncontrollable spin on the campaign. I don’t want that. What I do want is to see Lindmeyer prosecuted to the full extent of the law. If we do this properly, no one has to find out the sixteen-year-old in the photograph is Sandra.”
“What if Lindmeyer’s attorney insists on putting Sandra on the stand?” Mandrake asked.
Gerald studied Mandrake’s face. The man knew he was hiding something, but refrained from challenging him in front of Clancy and Ingman. “Like Clancy said earlier, Sandra’s a minor, we can protect her.” He grabbed the magazine Clancy carried and held it out to Mandrake. “But only you can intervene and get her away from sleaze balls like Lindmeyer.”
Tuesday night after the voting poles closed, Gerald’s cell phone vibrated against his leg. He pulled it from his pocket and walked to the quietest corner of his chaotic office. “The tallies aren’t in yet, so you better not try gloating.”
“I just wanted to thank you,” Mandrake said. “Sandra and I are making real progress. I think everything’s going to be okay.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I also wanted to let you know that Janet was one fine looking college coed. Never saw a better looking Miss November. The way I figure it, paying my computer geek buddy to destroy the computer files of her picture makes us even. And, as an added bonus, if Lindmeyer gets convicted without Sandra’s name getting mentioned, I’ll mail you the last magazine copy.”
A cheer went up as the election tally showed Gerald the winner by a thousand votes.
He rubbed his stomach. An appointment with his doctor was the first thing he planned to put on his new judicial agenda. He was certainly going to need some heavy duty antacids.
(C) 2010 Reaona Hemmingway. All rights reserved.
The night clerk watched Janet Wharton enter the convenience store. His hand hovered over the silent alarm button. She didn’t blame him. Not every customer wore a trench coat and sunglasses at one o’clock in the morning. He expected her to rob the place. Instead, she grabbed all the plastic covered magazines from the top shelf and hurried to the counter.
“How many?” he asked.
“Eleven.” She slid a hundred dollar bill into the tray beneath the bullet proof glass while he rung up the sale. As soon as he gave her the change, she grabbed the magazines and left.
Nine stops later, Janet’s trunk contained every copy of For His Eyes Only’s November issue, except one. With the election five days away, she couldn’t afford to have those pictures hit the streets. Thankfully, Mitch worked for the delivery company Lindmeyer Printing contracted to distribute the magazine to convenience stores in town. Thankfully, the magazine’s owner was arrested for drug trafficking three hours ago, which meant no reprints.
Mitch waited in the garage when she arrived home. As soon as she parked the car, he hit the garage door button.
“Mom, you look terrible,” he said as she climbed out of the car.
She bent down and looked at her makeup in the side view mirror. Mascara was streaked and smudged from where she rubbed her eyes several times during the night.
“Not as terrible as I’d look tomorrow if you hadn’t let your hormones get curious and bought one of those magazines halfway through your delivery route.” She grinned at how red his cheeks turned. It wasn’t every college sophomore who opened a nudie magazine to find his mother the object of male lust. “What did you do with the rest?”
“They’re in my closet. I sure hope my boss doesn’t fire me when he finds out I didn’t deliver the rest of them with the other magazines on my route.”
“Just tell him you were protecting his reputation after hearing about Lindmeyer’s arrest on the radio.”
His face lit up with a smile. “That might work. Are you going to tell Dad?”
“I have to. Hell, he’s the one who took the stupid picture. That’s how we met twenty-five years ago. I went to a fraternity party, drank too much vodka spiked lemonade, and agreed to let him take my picture in the buff. How Sly Lindmeyer got hold of the negatives, I’ll never know. I watched your father destroy all the film and photographs from that frat party years ago.”
The door to the kitchen opened and Gerald Wharton walked into the garage. “What’s going on out here? Why aren’t you two in bed?”
In his blue silk pajamas and plaid flannel bathrobe, he didn’t look much like the randy photography hobbyist who seduced her into taking her clothes off in his bedroom at the fraternity house. He looked like what he was, an overworked district attorney up past his normal bedtime.
Janet opened the trunk and grabbed a magazine. “We were just discussing when to hold the bonfire. Your job tomorrow, Mr. D.A., is to find a way to get the proofs, negatives, and printing plates from Lindmeyer Printing without raising suspicions.”
She watched the confused look on Gerald’s face change to one of horror when he opened the magazine. The color left his face and his hands shook. “How the hell?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Janet said, patting him on the arm. “Your bid for District Court Judge is going to get broadsided if we don’t keep these pictures off the streets between now and next Tuesday. Like I said, if you don’t come back with every last remaining copy of my picture, you can kiss your career goodbye.” She stifled a yawn. “As for me, I’m going to bed.”
Within minutes after entering Lindmeyer Printing’s establishment, Gerald Wharton found the galley proofs, printing plates, negatives, and thirty sample copies of For His Eyes Only’s November issue. First, he carefully removed the centerfolds from the magazines and then, using skills learned during his college poker playing years, slipped every image of Janet inside his briefcase.
As District Attorney, it wasn’t difficult convincing the Chief of Police to allow him to accompany the investigating team on this evidence search. His participation would show his constituents how serious he was about punishing criminals from either side of the bench.
“How’s it going, Mr. Wharton?”
Startled, Gerald looked up to see a police officer standing in the doorway of the storage room. “Fine. Have you found anything significant yet?”
“Not much. Clancy found some receipts for chemicals, some of which are used in making methamphetamines. Other than that, we’re running dry.”
Gerald flipped another page in the November issue’s file and blinked. Did he dare mention what he just found before completing his search through the file? He didn’t have a choice if he wanted Lindmeyer to stay behind bars.
“Tell Clancy and Ingman that I just found evidence of child pornography.”
After the officer left the room, he pulled the picture from the file. His stomach felt raw with knowing the identity of the sixteen-year-old girl. Sure enough, when he flipped open the magazine he found the same picture on page sixty-two. How on earth was he going to explain the thirty missing centerfolds or why his wife bought up every retail copy without confessing what he’d just done to protect his campaign?
He shuffled through the file as fast as he could and felt relieved when he didn’t find any further copies of Janet’s picture. He stacked the photographs, negatives, and printing plates for page sixty-two on the table next to the stack of magazine samples.
“What you got there?” Clancy asked when he entered the room.
“Nude photographs of Sandra Mandrake that were published in the November issue of For His Eyes Only,” Gerald said, pointing to the stack.
Ingman slapped him on the shoulder. “Nice work, Wharton. You’ve ensured that sleaze ball Lindmeyer stays in prison until he’s wearing false teeth and knocked your opponent off the judicial ballot all in one swoop.”
Gerald shook his head. “We’ve got to keep her identity out of the papers.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“She’s sixteen and obviously needs counseling. Knowing the way kids think, this was probably her way of getting her parent’s attention. Ruining Mandrake’s run for the bench won’t solve her problems. More than likely, it will make them worse and ruin the kid’s future entirely.”
Clancy nodded his agreement. “As always, you’re right. Under the safeguards of child protection, we can charge Lindmeyer with child pornography without dragging Mandrake’s name through the press.”
“I want to go with you to break the news to Mandrake,” Gerald said, as he nervously watched Ingman flip through a copy of the magazine. “With the way we’ve been at each other’s throats on legal issues during this campaign, I want to make sure he knows any leak won’t come from my direction.”
Ingman bagged and tagged the evidence along with one magazine copy before they headed out the door. “If you ask me,” he said, “it’s not much of a nudie magazine. Heck, it doesn’t even have a centerfold.”
Gerald sat quietly in the back seat during the ride to Mandrake’s office. Clancy skimmed through a copy of the magazine while Ingman drove the unmarked police car.
“Something sure seems odd about this rag,” Clancy said. “Not only does it not have a centerfold, the page numbering is all messed up.” He held the magazine open to the center. “Look here. Page thirty-eight is facing page forty-three.” He flipped back a few pages. “And page twenty-six is facing page thirty-three.”
“Sounds like Lindmeyer got the pages out of order,” Ingman said. “Kind of makes you wonder if that sorry son was high on his own meth when he sent the fool thing to press.”
For the first time since walking into the garage and learning about the centerfold, Gerald felt like he could relax. If Lindmeyer printed and bound the pages out of order, maybe no one would question the missing centerfolds. Now all he needed was for no one to question why the magazines weren’t on the store shelves.
Donald Mandrake’s secretary did her best to protest their intrusion into the attorney’s office. Flashing his badge, Clancy opened the heavy oak door and led the way inside Mandrake’s private sanctum.
The criminal attorney who lost the district attorney’s race three terms running to Gerald jumped to his feet. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked as he pushed a remote control button.
Gerald glanced at the video screen and felt his stomach flop around again as he viewed a blurry image of Janet wearing a trench coat and sunglasses while standing at a convenience store’s checkout counter with a stack of magazines.
He studied Mandrake’s reaction as Clancy explained how Gerald found Sandra’s pictures in the magazine. The furry in the man’s coal black eyes burned holes right through Gerald’s already stressed out stomach.
“Just say the word, and I’ll have some uniformed officers confiscate every available copy of For His Eyes Only from the magazine racks in town,” Clancy said.
Mandrake stared right into Gerald’s eyes and laughed. “You don’t need to. Janet Wharton already beat you to it.”
Everyone stared at Gerald. It took every skill he learned in high school drama class to appear innocent.
“She is your wife, isn’t she?” Mandrake asked, pointing at the video screen.
“Yes.”
Ingman grabbed the remote and rewound the tape to where Janet entered the store. “What’s going on here Wharton?”
Gerald rubbed his forehead. “Mitch was making magazine deliveries last night and bought a copy. He called Janet when he saw something in the magazine that upset him. Then, without my knowledge, they secured nearly every copy Lindmeyer sent out for retail sale.”
“So that’s why you wanted in on searching the printing press?” Clancy asked.
Gerald nodded. “There’s been enough mud-slinging in this campaign. Right now Mandrake and I are even in the preliminary poles. Something like this would put an uncontrollable spin on the campaign. I don’t want that. What I do want is to see Lindmeyer prosecuted to the full extent of the law. If we do this properly, no one has to find out the sixteen-year-old in the photograph is Sandra.”
“What if Lindmeyer’s attorney insists on putting Sandra on the stand?” Mandrake asked.
Gerald studied Mandrake’s face. The man knew he was hiding something, but refrained from challenging him in front of Clancy and Ingman. “Like Clancy said earlier, Sandra’s a minor, we can protect her.” He grabbed the magazine Clancy carried and held it out to Mandrake. “But only you can intervene and get her away from sleaze balls like Lindmeyer.”
Tuesday night after the voting poles closed, Gerald’s cell phone vibrated against his leg. He pulled it from his pocket and walked to the quietest corner of his chaotic office. “The tallies aren’t in yet, so you better not try gloating.”
“I just wanted to thank you,” Mandrake said. “Sandra and I are making real progress. I think everything’s going to be okay.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I also wanted to let you know that Janet was one fine looking college coed. Never saw a better looking Miss November. The way I figure it, paying my computer geek buddy to destroy the computer files of her picture makes us even. And, as an added bonus, if Lindmeyer gets convicted without Sandra’s name getting mentioned, I’ll mail you the last magazine copy.”
A cheer went up as the election tally showed Gerald the winner by a thousand votes.
He rubbed his stomach. An appointment with his doctor was the first thing he planned to put on his new judicial agenda. He was certainly going to need some heavy duty antacids.
(C) 2010 Reaona Hemmingway. All rights reserved.
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