Stories of Life
As we play and work our way through life, stories write themselves on our hearts.
Join our authors and share life with us.
Charlie in Charge
I never wanted to go through it again; however, as I listened to my daughters reminisce and then finally plead, my resolve weakened. So when they returned from the farm where they had spent the better part of a day playing with a new litter of lab/border collie puppies, I felt that I was ready to re-visit puppy hood.
"He's going to let us know when it's time, mom," they said. The call came late in March and off they went with the soft puppy cushion that Melanie had sewn.
Adventures in Thailand
Quick, insert the card. The green light flashes. The door opens. We're in. We both head to the bed and collapse, exhausted. Thank goodness the room is large, luxurious, clean and cool. Everything that Chiang Mai isn't. We are in the north of Thailand having just completed a temple tour. This huge, new modern room with its king-sized bed seems to inhabit another world than the one outside our hotel window.
The volunteer lay flat on the ground, attempting a smile as he eyed the towering mass. A curt command and the long nimble trunk swung into action for an intensive massage of the most vulnerable area of his anatomy. The audience, especially its female members, shrieked with laughter. The volume amplified as the trunk retreated to be replaced by an enormous paw held motionless in the same tender location. As he emerged unscathed from his experience, we marveled at the control and training that this elephant exhibited.
I say it’s unlikely that anyone who reads this account would be able to describe a pet so totally eccentric and zany as the one we adopted twelve years ago and named Dinah. Perhaps, more appropriately, she should have been named Dinah-mite. There’s a lot of energy packed into her seven and a half pounds. She is light beige, a champagne colour. Picture a little round face which is a shade of darker brown.
The Turtle Learns from the Hare about Friendship
On a cool windswept autumn day in the hills of Farmer Brown’s meadow, the sun was shining brightly and the leaves rustled. This was a sure sign that the seasons were about to change. There was a movement somewhere not too far off in the distance. It was a slow-moving turtle by the name of Ferdinand. Slowly he moved up the hill, at a pace that resembled a snail’s. Forward he struggled. Moving with true turtle determination, he plodded his way up the steep hill. He was fully determined to find some food to eat. He was hungry! He had a plan. With the winter close at hand, he would set some food aside so he could have a supply when he awoke from hibernation. Turtles like to hibernate in winter.
Ridley-roo and Zelda-lu Get Ready to Leave
I looked over and spied my mate Zelda-Lu peering out from her cute little hazel coloured eyes as she awoke. “Hey Zee-Lu” I called, “ guess what? You should have seen what I saw!” Zelda-Lu blinked her little cat eyes while looking back at me with a funny expression as she asked, “What, what did ya see, Ridley-Roo?”
It showed a bloody pulp where fingernails should have been. I remember running from the picture, an artist's sketch, to trace the familiar ridges and cracks. Yes, they were all there.
He never talked about it much. I mean, it wasn't as if he wouldn't. If someone asked a question, he answered. I knew, of course, that he had once talked about it in great detail. The two page article in the magazine was proof of that.
The story had traveled across time and space all the way from the tiny village of Grates Cove; where a small cluster of colourful frame houses still perch defiantly on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. He was born there, at the very edge of the new world, close to where Cape Spear reaches as far as it dares into the North Atlantic.
It was a harsh existence, even before polio struck at the age of three; the same year his father died.
Even then, everyone knew that you had him murdered. He was a husband like many others; given to drinking and hunting with his buddies with an aversion to work especially the work of the state. I stood outside the opulent palace where it happened, amid the exquisite fountain-laden gardens on the Gulf of Finland, full of admiration. It was, after all, a time when a wife could be banished to a convent or worse for displeasing her husband even if she was married to the emperor.
The Funnel Cloud
I already knew him. He sat behind me, at the end of the row in grade seven. Every morning, as we stood to parrot in unison, "Good morning, Miss MacElvride," he took a step closer as he delivered his own version. "Good morning, Miss MacElbags." I tried not to turn my head or smile. That would ensure the full force of the teacher's glare. A glare that promised an array of dire consequences; but it did prompt me to steal furtive glances over my shoulder as we were expected to work in silent solitude. His notebooks, no matter what the subject, were always lined with intriguing sketches and doodles, so unlike my own pristine versions. This continually enraged Miss MacElvride. I cringed as she held mine aloft for comparison. Catching his gaze through the corner of my eye, I noted an odd mixture of distain and amusement.
How to Write
Information and Inspiration