Valentine Surprise © by Janet Creighton 1-31-2013

Marcie was not in good humor and it was quickly noticed by her mother who was contently sipping her coffee and reading the mornings news at their kitchen table.

“We out of tea bags?” Grumpily remarked Marcie as she searched the appropriate cabinet in a rude manner which allowed for some obnoxious clattering of spice jars.

“No. Check the stove top. I set the box out for you already. Who put a tack in your shoe?” asked her mother humorously.

“Have you ever seen so much hoop and holler over nothing in your life?” Marcie flopped down sideways in a kitchen chair. Already she had forgotten about fixing tea. She was that upset.

“Over what? Don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Valentine’s Day! That is today.. and still its nothing but a money maker … and they can’t just leave it at that. Its.. ‘Perfect gifts for your Valentine. Sweeten her heart with chocolates. Did you forget? It isn’t too late.  All over the internet.. on the TV… probably in that paper you are looking at.. Valentine gifts for that special person…. And pictures of happy couples and even dogs who get gifts today… it’s like a virus!”

Marcie moaned. “And it won’t be over tomorrow either… my so called friends will be showing off their bears, and jewelry, and talking about how many boxes of candy they have but can’t eat.”

She jerked her sweater sleeves down to the tip of her fingers. “It’s disgusting!”

“Oh,” replied her mother. “So, you don’t have a boyfriend, at this particular time of this year. It isn’t such a big thing,” said her mother. “You’ll survive. Go talk to your friend, Roselyn.”

“Oh yeah… my good friend, Roselyn, who also happens to have broken up with her Valentine last week, just proudly informed me  she has received three Valentine gifts from ‘secret admirers’…. And had the nerve to ask me how many I had received.”

A Valentine Gift for Mrs. Groseing ©

Feb 1, 2013 by Janet L. Creighton

a short story, fiction

 

The Central Union Hospital Gift Shop owner had patiently stood at the end of the glossy red counter while waiting for the couple to decide what to buy for their special neighbor, Mrs. Groseing, who had been admitted several days previous due to a terrible bout with the current flu.  He watched the couple shake their heads, point and discuss, and then they moved farther down the counter. He sighed.

Mr. and Mrs. Wrangler had decided to get a loveable cushy stuffed toy animal that Mrs. Groseing could hug and smile at.  Although Mr. Wrangler preferred candy and flowers on Valentines Day, he finally had to give in to his wife since she argued that a stuffed animal is more of a companion and it is snugly, which was a big plus for a woman alone in a hospital.

They moved down the counter toward the homeless companions where, un-noticed by them, a curious black shadow began to take shape on the upper top shelf, right at eye level to Mr. Wrangler.

Mrs. Wrangler was making a big fuss over a golden brown bear who was holding a small plastic yellow bowl of vanilla ice cream. “Ohhh, he’s so cute! You would expect honey but he prefers ice cream!” Mr. Wrangler started desperately eying all the other options; for some reason he just couldn’t picture his eighty-two year old neighbor hugging an ice cream-loving bear. His eye fell on a black cat. He couldn’t believe it, but there it was.

He leaned across the counter, picked up a median sized slender solid black cocky appearing cat, held it out at arms length, and exclaimed, “Doesn’t this look just like the cat that she calls, ‘Mr. Cat’?”

“Yes…. It does,” replied his wife as she touched the soft short thick black hair. Wonder whatever happened to him?”

“She recons he’s a neighbor’s cat… who gets loose and comes to visit her.. What.. like twice he’s spent a day with her? She seems to think mighty highly of him.”

Mr. Wrangler turned the cat over on its back and cuddled it in his arms. “Fits just like Mr. Cat too. Let’s take him to her. What you say?”

“He’s perfect. She said she had no one to be with on Valentine’s Day. Now she does.”

They glanced down toward the store attendant who was perched on a stool with his back leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. They grinned and  walked down toward him;  Mr. Wrangler leaned across the counter and loudly whispered, “Sir, we have a purchase to make.”

The owner’s eyes popped wide open. Mr. Wrangler offered him the black cat, “How much is this?”

“Oh.. well.. let me check.”  The man searched behind ears, under legs, around the tail, under the belly, and under the chin. No price ticket could be found and he did not recognize the style of this particular cat. He silently decided he wasn’t going to announce his findings to the customers. “Let me check my inventory… seems the tag has come off.”

He scrolled down his computer file and found nothing to compare to this finely made black cat.  He decided that he would give them a price that came from one of his better products. He wasn’t going to lose a sell.

“It comes from my ‘ToyClitch’ line and it cost $44.29.” He felt a small sharp prick on the inside of his hand where he held the cat with its legs crunched up under its belly. He dropped the cat on the counter and examined the red, now slightly bleeding, small cut on his hand.

“Christmas Eve Miracle for Mrs. Groseing” ©

“Christmas Eve Miracle for  Mrs. Groseing” ©

By Janet L. Creighton 12/09/12

She turned the water off, sighed, opened the shower door, and easily stepped out while holding onto the hand rail that her husband had lovingly attached to the shower door so she could enjoy her showers without any fear of losing her balance.  Mrs. Groseing’s eyes swelled with tears; her husband’s skillful attention to detail was everywhere in her small cottage home. She could not escape it and did not wish to. She just wished that he was also still with her. It had been eight months since she whispered ‘goodbye’ to him at the cemetery. Eight long lonely months.

She quickly dried off, got dressed, plaited her long white hair and secured it with a red ribbon to match her long faded red dress.  She was finished with nothing else to do except to face that uncooked thawed turkey that she had foolishly bought. Why did she do that? She wondered. Nothing would heal the raw loneliness she felt on this Christmas Eve. Not even the warm moist smell of an herb seasoned finely baked turkey.

She thought about her first attempt at baking a turkey which she and her husband had named, Bessie, and after cooking it, he had teased her that  the turkey must have been a ‘Thomas’,  because it turned out far too tough to have been a female. He had cocked his head and winked at her; an action that became his trademark whenever he wanted to tell her, ‘I love you’, without actually saying the words. Tears again rimmed her eyes.

She tightened her grip on her cane, and marched to her front door. She needed cold fresh morning air. She determinedly stepped out on her small porch; the piercing coldness gathered in silence around her. A thin layer of shiny ice had captured the bushes, the few parked cars, the ground, several small trees, and even the one step of her porch. Several youthful neighbors were scraping the windows of their cars. Mrs. Groseing did not know them or any of her neighbors anymore. As the years had sped by,  her few friends had passed away. The effort to meet the constantly changing new residents of her neighborhood had been too much; she and her husband had gradually accepted their isolation. They watched the older homes turn into apartments where strangers energetically moved in and out. Today though, she wished she knew someone to wave to or to say, ‘Merry Christmas’ to.

Enough, she thought. This is too cold for me. She quickly glanced up the street toward the house on the corner where  the bus stop was and sure enough, the decorations were lit up. The people who had moved in seven years ago always set up brightly lit angels who stood over a small nativity scene, a smiling shaking Santa Claus, a turning wheel of flashing white lights, Rudolph with his nose so bright, scampering deer with lit up harnesses, smiling elves, and white tiny lights strung out over the front of their two story house.  Mrs. Groseing and her husband had made it their tradition to walk up to view the sights on Christmas Eve after it got dark.

Not this year, she thought. She took one more look at the icy scene and turned back into her home.

The Virginia forecast called for a high near 45 today, so said her TV as she moved through her living room into her kitchen. Good, she thought. The ice will melt soon.

She lifted the turkey out of the refrigerator and moaned at the weight of it; why do they grow so big she wondered. Seventeen pounds and mostly bone had been her experience for the past few years. Somehow the breast had gotten thinner and the legs full of muscle and the bones larger. Maybe it was just her faulty memory; maybe she should just forget it. Waste not, want not. She could not bring herself to ignore that precious warning.

After thirty minutes of tugging and struggling, she had the ‘thing’ prepared, in the roaster, and ready for the oven which had been properly preheated. She was already wore out. The oven door leaned outward, ready to accept its part of the chore. Mrs. Groseing tried several times to pick up the heavy roasting pan; she couldn’t do it. She knew she would drop it. Again she needed her husband who so much had enjoyed sending the turkey to its destiny. She looked at the oven and at the turkey; such a simple task, there must be a way. Maybe she could scoot the pan onto a chair and slide the chair up to the over door. No. She still would have to bend way over and pick up the pan and place it on the over shelf. Her back was already complaining.

The tears flooded down her face; she sobbed out loud.

Outside the sun was teasing the shinning ice by allowing it to drip while still clinging to hope that its silvery grip will not be totally lost. Mrs. Groseing’s next door middle aged neighbor who lived in the first floor apartment had stepped outside to welcome the sun. He was pleased the snow storm had moved more North of them. He couldn’t see the hedge in front of Mrs. Groseing’s house where a black spot seemed to move; two pale green eyes opened wide; a long black tail flipped upward and two front long black thin legs stretched outward as if rising from a restful nap. His ears cocked; he heard the neighbor using a garden spade to strike the melting icy covering on the sidewalk.  The cat opened his mouth wide and yowled as if his heart was breaking; he ran across the cold wet ground and right up to the alarmed neighbor who realized that either he or that black cat was in trouble. The cat stopped in front of the confused man, raised up on his hind legs, and started to softly mew.

Postal Service – You Got Mail !

Americans, your Postal Service needs you.  How many times have you received mail that brought you joy? Remember the pleasure of receiving a letter from a relative or friend; remember receiving a ‘Thinking of You’ card, or Holiday cards. Through rain or snow or hot sunny days, your Postal Service man has made his rounds… placed your mail in your box. He/she has walked many a mile back and forth over sidewalks both smooth and rough; they have drove carefully up to your roadside box and left your mail and carefully closed the lid.  They have delivered your important mail and your bills and your beloved letters and your Valentines.

When buying stamps or mailing packages, they have stood behind their counters and patiently answered questions and carefully directed your mail to the right direction. You sometimes stand in line but remember they are standing also… for your benefit.

Our Postal Service system has been the best in the world. It was created as a separate unit of our government… meaning that it had to maintain its own system. It had to make enough money to pay all its own expenses. It is not supplemented by your tax money. Your letters and packages keep the system going…..  don’t let them down.

The following paragraphs are from:   http://www.nbcnews.com/business/postal-service-reports-record-15-9-billion-loss-1C7099554

“The Postal Service, an independent agency of government, does not receive tax money for its day-to-day operations but is subject to congressional control.

The Senate passed a postal bill in April that would have provided financial relief in part by reducing the annual health payments and providing an $11 billion cash infusion, basically a refund of overpayments the Postal Service made to a federal pension fund. The House, however, remains stalled over a separate bill that would allow for aggressive cuts, including an immediate end to Saturday delivery.

It remains unclear whether House leadership would take up the postal bill in its lame-duck session, due in part to resistance from rural lawmakers about the impact of closures in their communities. While urging quick congressional action, the Postal Service in its legal filings on Thursday assumed a 2013 financial outlook in which Congress fails to act on any legislation, acknowledging the political uncertainty of the situation.”

Halloween Special for Mrs. Groseing

by Janet Creighton,  10/2012

She took each step cautiously, making sure that both feet were square on the acquired step before attempting the next one. The bus only had two steps down to the sidewalk that welcomed bus customers but each step for her was painful. Her hips felt like they had raw flesh entangled in her hip sockets, or whatever it was that used to move like waxed runners on finely made dresser drawers. She used to love to walk, to feel her strength glide through the air, her feet barely feeling the pavement; no concentration had been required except to enjoy the sights along the walk. Now, every move had to be stubbornly contemplated and endured. She tapped her oak cane on the concrete and then finally settled both feet on the gum soiled sidewalk. The bus groaned as if relieved of a tiresome burden; she knew the remaining passengers were happy to see her go. Well, she was pleased about it too, as far as she was concerned it was a mutual relationship. She hated getting on and off a bus.

The air was chilly, allowing a rude wind to force the coldness down the collar of her coat; she had not thought the need to wear a neck scarf, since her knit hat came down over her ears.

The bus heaved forward slowly down the street, leaving Mrs. Groseing facing the 1 ½ blocks she still had to walk to get to her home.  She gripped her partially full cloth shopping bag in her left hand, patted her coat pocket to make sure her bill folder and keys were still intact, and with her right slightly gnarled hand holding her rubber tipped cane, she started down the sidewalk. Bending her head downward to navigate the sidewalk cracks took all her concentration. All her life she had obeyed the wisdom of her grand mother, and not stepping on a crack surely kept her from breaking her mother’s back although she did not think it would matter now since her mother had passed away some 30 years previous; Mrs. Groseing still could not in any shape or fashion, step on a crack.

After progressing about one half a block, she paused, raised her head, sighed, and glanced down and around her neighborhood. It certainly had changed in the past sixty years. What once had been  comfortable and well kept homes, were now mostly old neglected houses turned into apartments; except her little cottage which appeared even more out of place  now than it did when she and her husband had built it. It was their little dream home. She could barely see it now. The evening darkness had gathered faster tonight due to flat heavy dark storm clouds that brooded over her; the wind was gaining strength. Her face became lined with sadness as she remembered the large oak and maple trees that used to line the street; they were now long gone and would not be able to dance with the wind tonight. Nothing but a few glaring city lamp posts would greet the storm. She lowered her head and with determined steps hurried forward. Tonight was Halloween and she needed to get home behind the safety of her closed door.

Another half block and something black gracefully passed right in front of her. Little black feet. She stopped and raised her head to see a black cat casually sniffing the grassy edge of a yard that extended beyond the sidewalk. He appeared to be investigating the contents of the grass right before he circled and then sat down on his haunches. As if the spot was acceptable to him.

Mrs. Groseing was horrified; a black cat had crossed her path. Was he all black, she wondered. He looked up at her and raised his chin to see her better and to reveal that yes, he was all black.  She could not see a white spot no where on him. What to do? She could turn back and circle the block; no, she couldn’t do that; she was not able to walk the extra steps.  She could step onto the grassy area and walk around him. She noticed the lumps and uneven rises of the yard; no, she would lose her balance and trip and maybe break an arm.

She needed her husband; if he was here, he would know what to do. He would probably stomp his feet and force the black cat to re-cross the sidewalk which would undo the ‘crossing of her jinxed path’. She couldn’t do that; she would surely lose her balance and fall. She looked down at the cat and to her horror he was slowly approaching her feet. She stood frozen as he sniffed her heavy black laced up walking shoes, then glanced up past her long old fashioned dress dipping below her shorter coat, and into her eyes.  His big green eyes seemed to smile at her; was he enjoying her displeasure? Did he actually know? Then he turned and walked back to his grassy spot where he sat down again, as if to wait for her to continue her jinxed journey.

Obama health care is Unconstitutional and Dangerous

If you have even considered that Obama’s health care program is a good thing, then you must read this important article. If you are on medicare or Medicaid or have elderly parents on medicare, then you must read this article.

Obama’s health program has a hidden clause that will allow our trusted medicare program to e taken over by private corporations.

Please remember that corporations are ‘profit-making’ machines; they will not have your health care as their first priority…. once they get control of America’s health care programs, then they will begin to insure their higher profit-margins and gains. They will increase your co-pays, reduce your coverage unless you pay an additional premium, or restrict your use of insurance, force you to use their brand of generic medicines  …

please read this article

https://willyloman.wordpress.com/2012/07/04/new-neoliberal-marketing-slogan-aca-as-bad-policy-but-constitutional/

God, Souls, and ….. Demons?

I am a Christian, raised as a Lutheran…  tempered with age and internal questions.  Many religions believe in one God but worshiped through a different ‘name’ and they use procedures, rules, and traditions that are strange to me. Strange in a way that I just was not taught their way, it is not strange to them. Some people do not believe in any God. Some people pretend to believe, but do not; it is a political  or social convenience for them. Long ago, some people believed in many gods…some thought that the sky,  earth, fire, and the seas were alive with  desires and revenge. Humans recognized a need for God; animals did not. Why is that?

Ghosts or the visiting dead were feared, revered, and written about all through the history of mankind. Why?

If you believe in God, then you know you have a soul. Have you seen one? If you have, then you know that it is almost taboo to speak of it except in a joking manner. Isn’t that strange? Why is that?

Many religions believe that souls do not visit the mortal earth after their host body has expired; a soul that is seen is considered a ‘demon’. So who wants their beloved mother, father, child, brother, sister, friend, husband, wife to be considered a ‘demon’ or a restless spirit?  Everyone is supposed to go  to heaven or hell or to limbo or to a deep sleep that will awaken when called by God.  I don’t know where we go; I believe no one really knows.  No one church is completely right or wrong; we are still learning about our universe and God. We need to listen.

I know my mother came to see me several times after she physically died. She was not a demon; she was not restless; she was just visiting and smiling and trying to tell me something. We do have souls; they do visit sometimes. God is real. I do not understand why some things are allowed to happen. I do know that miracles do occur and some times prayers are answered and sometimes it happens immediately. And sometimes is takes time. I don’t know why children are murdered. I ask, ‘Why’?  Why are so many starving and others allowed to steal and destroy?

Obama says YOU have no rights to your property if you disagree with him.

Guess I have to post another political important article; you must read this.

http://willyloman.wordpress.com/2012/05/17/obama-executive-order-blocking-property-of-persons-threatening-the-peace-security-or-stability-of-yemen/#comment-35926

Calling all earth bound freedom loving spirits, please read the above article for information about how your beloved country is becoming a prison controlled by demons (what else can I call them?).

H.R. 4133

Sorry, this is not a political blog, but this new law is so outrageous .. I felt I had to post a link to information about it. Everyone should be made aware of what OUR Congress is trying to do.

http://willyloman.wordpress.com/2012/05/14/h-r-4133-one-tattered-lie-after-another-and-it-passes-in-the-house-of-representatives/

Please read the above link story.

True Ghost Story

This actually happened to me and my mother during the early 80s  in Virginia. I had a dream about a thin elderly man, wearing white bottom and top… looked like pajamas or very casual day wear. The dream started with me standing out side the front of a large wooden framed white building that had a wide roofed front porch with tall columns reaching up to the second floor and a span of maybe ten lengthy steps that led up to the porch floor. And everything was white.  Then I was going through the front double doors and moved (as like floated) toward the front counter. Behind the counter was a glass partition that seemed to separate the front from a huge room filled with white cots all lined up in rows. Again, everything was white.

Then I was inside the ‘cot’ room and every white cot was occupied with thin elderly men dressed in white; one of them got up and walked toward me. His pale blue eyes strained to see me as he spoke to me. He said, “Come see me, come see me.”  I remember feeling surprised at seeing him.

Then I woke up. I told my mother (we lived in the same house) that morning about the dream; she was curious about everything being white but other than that, we just forgot about it. She enjoyed hearing about my dreams and some times we could connect everyday events to them. In this dream we found nothing.

The next night I had the exact same dream but the ending was sightly different. I was not surprised… I ‘thought’ (in my dream) that the man was my grandfather. Then I woke up.

That morning I told mother and we both wondered why would I dream about a  man I had hardly known and who had been deceased for many years.  After taking it over, we decided to drive down to Red House and Phoenix (small rural  areas not too far from Lynchburg, VA) where she had lived during her early years and where her grandfather had raised his family. Her mother and father had stated out in that area. She had cousins that still lived in the area. Maybe we could find her grandfather’s house.

It was a beautiful early summer day; the small country roads were glossy with new life and mother had me driving up and around many twists and turns…. it was fun. She finally recognized her cousin’s home. He welcomed her with hugs and questions about the family.

After hearing about our quest, he offered to show us where the old homestead was. The house where mother’s grandfather raised his family.

The small two story wood frame house sat on the back of a large grassy yard that faced the road. A shed leaned sadly at one end of the yard. We knocked at the door although it was plain that the house was probably vacant and had been so for a long time. No one was around to ask questions; we could not go inside and really did not want to.  A strange hush hung over the house.

I always took my little camera with me. I used to do watercolors and drawings; my camera gave me many pictures of interest.  So of course I took pictures.

A week later, I got my pictures and mother and I prepared to look at her cousin and our trip pictures. We saw more than that. In the top front window was a likeness of her grandfather… the window pane glass had a glare going through the middle but you could see his face (dark hair, mustache, eyes, nose) in a side view.. and his shoulders and his arm going downward.. he was  wearing a white long sleeved shirt.  We both saw it at the same time and we both uttered something in surprise. Yeah, we were awed and surprised and excited.  And it looked like his dog in the bottom corner.

Yes, we went back the next day. Why? To take more pictures, to see if it would happen again and to look at that window to see what it looked like.