Sweet Shweta has offered us the word change.
Positive change doesn’t require erasing traditions.
"Once a pond a time…"
Sweet Shweta has offered us the word change.
Positive change doesn’t require erasing traditions.
Random words generated by randomwordgenerator.net
Here’s my story:
It’s a common occurrence in families. Doctors come from a long line of doctors…teachers seem to be generated within blood lines too. So when Jillian decided to become a water witch she suspected that she was the “fly in the ointment” of her scientific family.
Jillian spent her Thanksgiving reunion in a silent fuddle. Her Dad, the physicist, tipped his head toward her with a raised eyebrow and asked, “So how are those studies going?” He emphasized studies in a way that she was familiar. He could irritatingly infer that she was a kook even when his interest seemed genuine. No one else had been informed of her career choice so the introduction of the subject stung a bit.
She’d spent 6 months in a desert scrubland with no positive results and was beginning to question her skills and whether or not she just might fit the kook label after all. Failure was a hard pill to swallow in her family, especially hard for a deviant from science like herself. She had a dozen successes under her belt. That certainly wasn’t a shabby record. Jillian had stepped in when “scientists” had failed more than once.
Dowsers use divining rods attempting to find water. The practice was ancient and had saved many a farm from dust and despair. Not knowing every reason for a practice certainly cannot preclude it from being scientific. Jillian stiffened her posture.
Dad continued to poke fun, “Jillian, dear, it would be divine if you’d pass the gravy.”
With that, Jillian decided to “come out of her mystic closet”. Dad’s wordplay was getting to her, big time. Suddenly her shame was from hiding her beloved profession.
“So, has everyone heard about my studies? I’m a water witch. A darn good one too!”
Heads lifted. Aunt Barbara condescendingly snickered into her napkin while cousin Frank, the legally blind entomologist, squinted at her through “coke-bottle” glasses. Jillian had always wondered why he didn’t study BIG creatures. What a joke!
Great-grandmother was the only accepting face at the table. She was also the only one who spoke.
“It appears you have a tough crowd to please, Jilly. I’ll bet they don’t know about a fine kinswoman who made her life as a dowser. My great-grandmother worked for Abraham Lincoln himself don’t ya know. She’d be so very proud.”
Every face fell.
Jillian felt redeemed and raised an eyebrow directly at her father.
“Hey Dad, want some humble pie with that gravy?”
Random words generated by…creativitygames.net
sparrow pillow policeman headline hygiene definition
Here’s my story:
Newton was the definition of perfect hygiene. Ever since he was small, he was germ conscious. So when it came to choosing his new pillow, Newton took no chances.
He spent hours, which became days,…and months, choosing the most hygienic replacement for the place his face would rest, half of the time, in each day. Sampling was his biggest obstacle though. How might he give a new pillow a serious try when other customers would have placed their germy noggin upon any prospect? Newt had become an expert in avoiding contaminants in his 22 years and the “pillow problem” was not going to defeat him. So, he devised a solution by covering his head and face with extra-large surgical gloves. It was quite a stretch, indeed. But Newton was determined and the scoffs and laughing of patrons did not interfere in the least.
His inspiration for the “war on germs” was a near-death experience with influenza as a child. Newt vividly remembered struggling for air and the pictures of the doctors faces, sullen and clueless. His mom’s sobbing from somewhere beyond, still woke him out of dreams in a cold sweat. His asthma was a condition not a death sentence, after all.
The term “all natural” had become his signature. “All natural Newt” researched his selection and was thrilled to find a shop which proclaimed everything beyond its door held the desired title. Naturally Nature, a small store next to Organic Offerings, had an ad in the directory and pillows were boldly printed in their inventory list. Newton, armed with surgical gloves, was finally optimistic about finding his new pillow. He made a purchase and his first, direct, contact with his $200.00 gem came that evening.
The headline in the newspaper two days later: Man Killed by Sparrows
The article read: A policeman at the scene, tried to resuscitate Newton Jones who appears to has suffocated. A pillow filled with sparrow feathers was found beside the deceased. Although illegal in this country, sparrow feathers are used in imported products. Apparently, Mr. Jones had a violent allergic reaction to the feathers. When the victim was discovered, foul play was assumed due to the surgical glove stretched over his face. After a brief investigation, it was deemed a desperate attempt by Jones to relieve his symptoms. Coroners claim he suffocated by his own glove…hand.
There is more going on in Nature than natural selection. Natural selection adds polish to a perfection that takes my breath away.That perfection cannot be denied.
An old school friend , once smugly answered a question I had placed online with, “It’s called natural selection.” My question was from an observation about dead frogs. They become more visible to carrion feeders when they die and their white underbelly turns upward. The contrast against the darker colored water becomes another mechanism in the amazing life cycle. While, I do believe that the white under-bellies happened in order to disguise frogs against the silver surface of ponds. Those who could be seen by underwater predators were eaten in greater numbers therefore, “selecting” the white bellies as a helpful genetic trait. This still did not explain how the white bellies also helped the “clean-up” effort. I find these unintended perks very interesting. Of course, as an observer of nature, I notice many perks and find them to be evidence of a perfect order that cannot be categorized as coincidental.
I am not inclined to bring religion into the discussion. Nature herself is an enigma which is tangible to our studies and senses yet cannot be explained by pure science.
Nature can be violent and seemingly unkind from the human view. Ah, even our own senses often betray us. Yet, we refuse to accept our own limitations, often at our peril. The global warming debate, our manifest interest in saving animals from extinction, and our refusal to realize that humankind is part of the natural order are not even hiccups to Nature’s plan. We may have a hand in our own destruction but we are not guardians of Nature.
I studied the Valdez Oil Spill, once upon a time. It was a horrible event with much destructive force. Our scientists rushed to help.Helping and doing is an honorable endeavor. The scientists developed enzymes and “soaps” to break down the oil. When the horrors of the event faded it was found, and not as widely reported, that the “soap” impeded the natural bacteria which took over and cleaned up the environment twice as fast. Individual wildlife suffered…Nature recovered. Nature recovered in spite of our well-intended cures not because of them.
When an animal, humans too, experiences severe bodily trauma, they go into shock. Shock can be a deadly condition but it also is a Natural reprieve from pain and worry. Folks who survive shark attacks seldom pause to relive the pain endured while losing the limb. They have pain during recovery but talk freely about pulling the unwhole body part away. Their natural response was not inhibited by overwhelming pain but was directed by adrenaline and the interest in surviving. I find this amazing. Even our bodies are kinder to us than we realize.
There are many ways to look at our world. Often we defer to experts when problems arise. I think Mother Nature is the quintessential expert when it comes to environmental issues. Our job is to care not to waste and destroy but it is arrogant to assume we can manage “her”.
Random words generated by creativitygames.net
Here’s my story from random words.
It appeared that the bloody sandals were all that remained of the unknown victim. The grizzly discovery was near the dumpster of the Dunkin’ Doughnuts that occupied the corner opposite the new Starbucks. It was 7:45 am so crowd control was a nightmare. The police officers had been stopping on their usual rounds of the coffee shops. A stereotypical event for sure.
There had been a wave of panic in the small city after it had been shaken to the core with two murders in two days. Officer O’Malley (yes stereotypical) barricaded the area with his 260 pound , mostly muscular, body. He waved at civilians, some in pajamas, and shouted for them to keep their distance. There was great power in his baritone voice.
“This is a crime scene folks! Stay back!”
In the meantime, the workings of the coffee shop continued unabated. Even the screams of the elderly bag lady who discovered the shoes had not risen above the din of fans and pans in the bake shop. So when Maurice swung open the back door with an armful of junk, he visibly jumped from the start that the scene gave him.
Officer O’Malley appeared beside him.
“Maurice, you’ll have to stand back inside. We have detectives about to arrive. ” He pointed to the ground a few feet away. The sandals had already begun drawing flies. They were sticking to the coagulating redness.
Maurice pressed on. He had work to do. They danced from left to right until Maurice took an opportunity to dip beneath a bulky arm.
After depositing the junk in the dumpster he scooped up the sandals. He raised them to his nose as a collective gasp and one wretch of nausea came from spectators.
He tossed the sandals back to the ground and re-entered the shop abruptly slamming the door behind him.
A taxi blaring an impatient horn was the only sound for miles. Then pockets of snickering ending with a back slapping roar as the misunderstanding became clear.
About 20 minutes passed before O’Malley, still red-faced, sauntered to the counter on the inside. Maurice shouted, “The usual 3 strawberry cremes and a decaf?”
The officer looked at his shoes as he whispered,” Make it a croissant today, will ya?”
My mission is to create a story in one brief sitting from random words.
Random words were generated by creativitygames.net
Here’s my story:
The feud between our families had gone on since before I was born. The Helmann family and my own family, the Wells , had disputed the right-of-way adjoining our properties on the quaint and quiet Maine lake. Both occupied part of the unused parcel and had become so comfortable, that they each felt entitled to it.
In Maine, folks hang their trash cans on chains with bungee cords. This keeps the “bandits of the night“,raccoons, from dumping the contents and creating the mess that most tourists find in the morning.
On one particular morning, my father came in to our cabin all red-faced with the morning paper tucked under his arm.
“Gosh darn ’em! Merle Helmann is up to his tricks again. There’s garbage all over the car port. Tin foil everywhere!”
“Chase, why would Merle do such a thing?” My mother always played the peacemaker.
“That trash can could not have been taken down by coons unless they have started using a parachute to get at it!”
“How do you know that Merle did it?”
“There was one of those fancy imported sardine cans in the pile…that’s how. Helmann left it as a calling card. I’ll fix him.”
Dad stormed out with his Yankee cap pulled so tight that I couldn’t see his eyes. THIS was a bad sign. Merle Helmann was a Red Sox fan.
Merle denied any messing with garbage cans and called Dad a “kook”. Dad was silent all day but went to bed with an evil grin on his face.
Very early the next morning, I was awakened by a fist pounding on our back door. There stood Merle in his boxer shorts and Red Sox cap.
“Chase Wells…you SOB! I’m going to report you to the government! Putting garbage in a mailbox is a federal offense. I know it was you ‘cuz the JC Penny flier had your name on it!
There came a screech from the car port that same instant. At first, I thought ole Merle had finally flipped his lid.
Dad and Merle both ran wide-eyed to the scene. I remember it was funny to see them running in identical blue plaid boxers.
They found a raccoon caught in our new trellis. Dad had put it up beside the garbage can for the clematis that I’d given Mom for Mother’s Day. Our garbage can was on the ground and yesterday’s trash too.
In the excitement, the animal broke free and raced off.
Dad apologized to Merle for the misunderstanding but I know he didn’t mean it.
“Well, now we know how the raccoons beat the bungee cord. Sorry Merle. Maybe I can stake out your yard with you tonight so we can figure out how they managed to get into that mailbox.”
Home of Monty Vern
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