Saturday, November 21, 2009

Wordzzle Saturday

Raven hosts a fun meme. She gives us words, we make a story or paragraph from them. You can choose to use 5 (the mini), 10 (the challenge) or all 15 (the maxi). Then you post yours, link to hers, and visit the other talented writers who have done the same. It's fun, and fat-free, so try it! If you'd like to join the Reston Friends doing so, e-mail us and we'll get you started!

The nature of the beast - can be seen in man,
as forms of emotions - we sometimes express..
When we get carried away - in situations,
that may not be - for our soul-growth best..
It's found in the person - who acts in anger,
letting it control - their every mood..
And may lead to times - of hurt feelings,
leading friendships into - a lifelong feud.
Another form of a - sleeping beast,
may be heard in a - braggarts speech..
With identical thoughts - of only black & white,
the softness of charcoal - is never reached..
For they're so busy - touting their own self,
that true appreciation - is often overlooked..
So, if you ever feel - you're experiencing a beast,
take a vacation - or sit and read a favorite book.

In the country far from the city, the LIBERATION of noise, fumes, and pollution was wonderful. A light snow was falling as we approached the house. We could hear music from inside the home; LOVE IS A MANY SPLENDORED THING by the Four Aces. As we went up the steps, we noticed a wreath made of ORGANIC berries, small brass items with angel SYMBOLS, greenery and ribbons hanging on the door. It appeared professionally done and COSTLY, but one that would last the season. Grandma opened the door and greeted us with a hug only a grandma could give. As we entered, the smell of fresh baked bread filled the air. Heading into the kitchen, on the counter was another loaf RISING awaiting destiny with the oven. There's little that's better tasting than hot homemade bread. Grandpa, a TRUCKS INSPECTOR, must have thought the same. A hunk was missing from the center of the baked loaf, and Grandpa saying ' Hi, Kids!', had a SMUG look on his face. With dishtowel in hand, Grandma gave him a whack and 'the look' in, I told you not to touch it as it needed to cool. Well we all know it's best when hot..not being able to resist, Gary & I looked at one another and reaching over each pulled off a hunk. Umm, with melted butter oozing from the crevices, it can't get better. Oh, how NAUGHTY we were, but it was so good. Grandma looked at the three of us, shaking her head and knowing she could not win this battle, burst out laughing as she reached for her own piece. Can't you just taste it?

BLOGGER: (To see earlier installations, search for Wordzzle in the search box)

The next morning, Danae broke away from her office around ten. As she strolled down the block towards Miz Trent’s house, she noticed the trucks out front. They were from the city inspector’s office and were covered with symbols designed to give one confidence in the officials. She waved to the inspector who was in the yard examining the power and gas hookups.

As Danae went inside she called to Miz Trent, “I’m here, Miz Trent.” It was a pleasure to hear the joy in Miz Trent’s voice as she called back, “in the living room, Danae!” The sweet little old lady was tucked into the recliner listening to music on an iPod. Danae had to smile. “What are you listening to?” she asked. Miz Trent smiled back, “my grand nephew gave me this. He put what he called “old people music” on it. Right now I’m enjoying Mr. Englebert Humperdinck singing ‘Love is a Many Splendored Thing.’” Danae couldn’t decide whether to be smug or horrified that she had actually heard of the singer.

“I can’t stay long today – I’m taking a break from my office. But I’ll be back this evening with some supper for us to share. How about a totally organic salad from the co-op garden? We don’t use any pesticides or anything like that. Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course, sweetie!” answered Miz Trent. “But that means we need to get busy right now so I can tell you about Cecile!” Danae relaxed into the sofa with her laptop to listen and record.

“The winds were rising something fierce. Susanne was frantic. She knew Cecile had been naughty disappearing like she had but at that moment, she didn’t care.

She went up and down the block calling Cecile. She asked all the neighbors. Even the neighbors who had shunned them because of their mixed marriage responded to the plea for help to find a lost child in the face of the storm. But it was no use. She was no where to be found.

Now something you need to know about that money. Susanne and Reynaud had had some serious disagreements about it. She wanted to use it to buy that farm away from the port. She knew that the sea would always have some call on Reynaud and that in town, as a black man, Reynaud would always be treated like hired help. But Reynaud wanted to keep the money hidden away for what he called his ‘liberation’ day. He told Susanne the money was ‘liberation’ for her if something happened to him. After one particularly angry argument over it, Reynaud told her he was going to hide the money where she’d never see it again and so she might as well stop talking about it. That ugly argument had occurred that morning right before Reynaud had been called out to help. Cecile couldn’t have helped but hear it.

You can imagine that Susanne, with her husband gone and her child missing and a hurricane bearing down on her was distraught. She finally decided to go down to the dock to see if Cecile had gone that direction to find her papa. Fighting the wind and the driving rains, Susanne headed toward the port area. As she got near 4th Street and Winston, she could barely see anything. Debris was flying around, and she was in great danger. Crossing the intersection was treacherous because of the water and wind trying to push her off her feet. There was no traffic, and she didn’t see another soul.

And then all of a sudden she saw a figure trudging through the darkness towards her. As the figure grew closer she saw it was a man carrying a bundle. With her heart in her throat, she knew this was Reynaud and Cecile. He didn’t say a word or even stop. He just went by her, carrying his bundle. Susanne turned and followed him back to the house.

When they got inside, he laid Cecile down on the sofa and went back outside to finish hammering the shutters on the house. Susanne knelt down to the little figure and started unwrapping the all-weather cloak wrapped around her. Susanne gasped when she saw what the child had clutched in her arms. It was that cursed money. The young mother took her child in her arms and began to sob. Eventually Reynaud came in and sat down and put his arms around his wife and child. They sat like that, all three together, until the storm was over. Then they buried Cecile, with the money still wrapped in her arms, in a secret place in the house so that she would always be with them, but so they would never be tempted to let the money divide them once more.

They eventually had many other children, and the story of Cecile was passed down. By the time it got to my husband’s generation, no one really knew where the money was anymore. Until your workers found her, Cecile’s resting place was secure.”

Miz Trent paused. “Danae, do you think there’s enough of that money for us to give Cecile a proper burial with her momma and daddy over at Spring Street Cemetery? And maybe enough for me to be buried with them when it’s time?”

Danae blinked back tears and answered gently, “Miz Trent, I’m sure of it.”

Next Week NO WORDZZLE! And everyone, enjoy your Thanksgiving! Remember also that the library will closed THURSDAY AND FRIDAY (26th & 27th).

And for your listening/viewing pleasure, a very young Englebert Humperdinck:


Raven said...

Three excellent contributions. Wonderful poem as always from Kit, and Charly's holiday story painted a wonderful, warm picture. Wish I could have had some of that warm bread. And, last but not least, what a lovey (and a little sad) ending to the mystery of the body in Miz Trent's closet. Well done all.

Argent said...

The poem was up to its usual high standard - it's all too easy to be caught up in one's own emotions and we all need a break from ourselves at times.

Reading about the freshly made bread at Grandma's house made me sooo hungry. This was such a heart-warming pictures and so well painted.

And at last, we find out about the money. I've really enjoyed this story over the weeks.

All three were so well-crafted this week that I forgot to look out for the words. Well done and happy Thanksgiving to all.

Fandango said...

Kit- We think our dragon poem was as good as yours. Not better mind you but as good.
Charly- Dragons love fresh bread too, covered with turtle butter. Great little story.
Blogger- You had all the dragons crying the story was so sad.

Akelamalu said...

Great poem and yes, I could taste that bread! :0

Three fab stories!

bettygram said...

Sorry I am so late but I was ill.
I am glad I did not miss reading these this week. So true about the Nature of the Beast in Kit's poem.
Lovely picture of the family holiday gathering.
The ending to the mystery of the body found.A very sad ending

Argent said...

I see from the many post that you're quite busy. I'd like to wish Blogger, Kit and Charly a very happy Christmas and a peaceful new year. Hope to see you chaps in the Wordzzle room again soon!