Little Bit an’ da Rumor


©Jeanne E Webster

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(The way of all rumors follows many trails!)
Scene 1


“Did ya hear ’bout that lil’ ole cheewawa dawg? He done went an’ nipped at Miz Smith’s cat. She had to shoo ‘em away with the broom.”

“Ya don’t say!”

“Yep, he sure ’nuff did. Yes siree.”

“Did he hurt the cat a’ tall?”

“Nah, jes’ scared it a mite, is all.”

“That’s good. I’m going ta tell my maw.”

“Ok. See ya later.”



Scene 2
A few minutes later:

“Hey, Maw, did ya hear ’bout Miz Smith’s cat? It got chewed up pretty good by a shepherd dawg. It dang near bit its head off!”

“Ya don’t say, son! Did it hurt Miz Smith?”

“Don’t know. She rushed the dawg off with her walkin’ stick tho’. I hear she be needin’ a new one.”

“Well, my, oh my. She be mighty brave to do that. I gotta call Sally ’bout this dawg.”

“I’m late for the movie, Maw. See ya.”

“Bye. You take care now, ya hear?”

Scene 3
Phone dialed:

“Sally, you betta be careful when you go down Walnut Lane. There’s a rabid dawg down there, he’s biting folks right ‘n left. He done ate Mz Smith’s cat and dragged Miz Smith clean out to the street!”

“Lord almighty! I’m glad you called. I was jes’ gettin’ ready to go for my walk. I’ll jes stay home, I betta.”

“You do that, for sure. I’m gonna call Darlene and let her know ’bout it. She can pass the word up town.”

“Ok, Becky. Thanks for lettin’ me know. Bye.”

Scene 4
Phone redialed:

“Hello, Darlene. You betta be careful outside now, ya hear? There’s a big brown and white pit bull dawg out in the neighborhood runnin’ loose. It’s done eaten most of the cats round here and dang near made off with that lil’ Johnson boy. You betta pass the word on.”

“Yes, ma’am, I sure will. When my husband gets home, I’ll tell him. He’ll get the shotgun out and hunt it down. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

Scene 5
A while later:

“Gee, Lester, I’m sure glad you’re home. Get your gun out; there’s a big white wolf ’round here somewhere and it’s eatin’ everything in sight! Last I heard it was draggin’ a half-growed steer down the Dry Creek Road, slobbering all the way. Everyone’s run and hid in their house!”

“Settle down now, honey. I’m sure the police are taking care of it by now. Let me call ‘em and see what’s going on.”

Scene 6
Phone dialed:

“Hello. This is Lester Finch down on Maple Avenue. I just got home from work and my wife told me there’s a dangerous pack of wolves roaming around down by the Water Street Bridge. Have you got them under control by now?”

“There’s no report of roaming wolves in town, Sir. When was this supposed to have occurred?”

“A while ago, I’m not too sure when.”

“We haven’t had any calls about wolves at all. This morning early we had a call from Miz Smith down on Oak Street. She got into it with her neighbor’s pet Chihuahua. I guess it nipped at her cat but no harm was done. Everything is all settled down now.”

“Ok, sir. I’ll tell my wife it’s safe to go outside. Sorry about bothering you all. Someone must have made a mistake. Goodbye.”

Excuse Me…

©  Jeanne E. Webster

“Hey, you no da lawd?”

“Huh?”

“Da Lawd, you no him?”

“Who is he?”

“He’s my bes’ frend, dats who.”

“Huh?”

“My bes’ frend!”

“I don’t get it.”

“Ah met him when ah was los’.”

“Lost? When did you get lost?”

“Many a yeer ago, it was.”

“Huh?”

“Ah was a sinner, da worst you ever seed.”

“A sinner? What do you mean?”

“Ah was goin’ to hell fer sure! Ah was bad.”

“No. What do you mean bad?”

“Ah lied, ah stoled, ah hurt peoples.”

“You did?”

“Yep ah did! Ah tole you ah was bad.”

“You aren’t bad anymore. What happened?”

“Ah got real lonesome once and feelin’ bad, an’ ah was walkin’ down da street an’ pass dis church an’ hears dis voice callin’ me. He sez, ‘Come home, come home. Jesus is callin’ you home.’

“So ah walks up da steps an’ rite thru da door…and dere he was! He was standin’ dere wid his arms wide open. Ah takes a sit and listens real quiet like. Ah heard about dis Jesus.

“He loves even lil’ chil’ren. He loves everyone, even me. Even tho’ ah been bad…even tho’ ah hurt folks an’ lie an’ steal. He forgives all da bad stuff and makes me feel clean. Ah don’t ‘member feelin’ so clean, ever. Ah always feel so dirty. But ah heard ‘bout dis Jesus man and he was makin’ me feel good, like ah was somebody.

“He cared ‘bout me and loves me so much. He is God’s son and come here long ago. He let da bad people beat on him real bad. He was bleedin’ so an’ dey drag him thru da street and make him tote dis big wood cross. Den dey stuck him wid dese real big nails an’ stuck him to dat cross til he went and died. Dey put him in a cave an’ shut it up wid a big rock. All his frends was sad an’ afraid an’ dey run off an’ hid out.

“But three days later he come back to life! He done climbed out of hell! He was all better. He wasn’t bleeding anymore. He promised to go back to heaven an’ make houses for everybody who loves him, so dey can live in heaven wid him someday. He promised to come back again too. An’ he will take us home to live wid him an’ God.

“He sed he was God’s only son an’ dat he will forgive all our sins if we let him love us an’ take out da bad stuff.

“Ah want him to take da bad stuff out so ah bowed my hed an’ asked him to take it out. An’ he did! Ah knows he loves me an’ ah loves him too.

“So…do you no’s da lawd? He died fer you an’ he loves you.”

“Ah, er, no, ok…tell me more. Tell me more.”

Soaring on Love

© Jeanne E Webster

 

 

It was a miracle she wasn’t dead; against all odds she shouldn’t have made it this far.   Dragging her tiny body along the jagged gravely ground, she sought immediate relief from the danger.  Her pain and the oven-like heat combined to make her efforts more unbearable.  She couldn’t give up; she was the sole support for her two little ones awaiting her return with growling tummies and parched throats. 

“Where’s Mom?  Why has she been gone so long?” They wondered.   “We’re hungry!”  They hadn’t eaten since early morning and thought of calling to her but knew it would only make things worse.  Mom had taught them early on to stay quiet whenever she was away. 

Life was hard this summer and it was becoming do or die for many a family.  “Maybe we could go for help,” the youngsters brooded together, trying to be brave.  “No, Mom said never to let others know if you are weak.  That’s dangerous.”   Snuggling close to one another, they decided to stay put and wait.  “Mom will be home soon.”  Their home was a small space off the upstairs bathroom.  Though hot in the afternoon, it cooled quickly in the evening; the leaky roof offered some protection from most of the elements. 

Crawling now, she inched her way over the rough terrain, scraping one side and then the other, all the while drawing closer to her goal.  She could almost smell the water as the vapors in her nostrils told her the shallow pond was very near; her strength was almost exhausted.  A few sips and she’d be able to regain enough strength to make it home.  One more lunge and then another, she finally touched the pond.

Softly placing her head down in the warm water, she slowly drew in the life-sustaining fluid.  “Oh my; what sweet water!  I must rest now; I must rest.”  Sliding her aching body into the shallow water, she reclined, soaking for what seemed but a moment and soon she was fast asleep.    Awaking with a start, she felt her vigor returning, her senses stepping out of the fog.  Her first thoughts were of her little ones.  “I must get home; I must get home.  My babies need me.”  With great effort she rolled her tired body from one side to the other in the soothing waters, soaking up every last ounce of moisture for the homeward trek. 

Standing on her wobbly feet she shuddered, her memory returned.  “The accident; yes, I remember now.”  A car had veered in front of her as she was crossing the street.  The forceful blow had knocked the wind out of her and nicked one of her feet.  If she hadn’t dropped to the ground, she would have been killed.  Close to losing consciousness, she had wiggled over into a clump of grass on the side of the street.  She lay there for a long time, knowing she had to find water; the blazing sunlight was dehydrating her lithe body.  She crawled into the brush and headed for a small pool that she remembered was nearby. 

That’s where this story began, a wounded mother scrounging food for her little ones on a blistering hot day, using all her survival skills to recoup from a hit-and-run accident.  Her mind was clearing now and after flexing her body and limbs, she took comfort in knowing she would soon be back with her sweet little darlings.  With uplifted spirits and a joyful heart, she soared home and lived to see another day.  Such was the life of a rock dove in a big city one hot summer day a few years ago. 

(The thought for this story came from a true experience with an exhausted dove floundering in my ground-level backyard bird bath, one hot summer day a few years ago.)

Chicken, Anyone?

©Jeanne E Webster

It’s been a most unusual couple of weeks here.  It all started when the neighbor’s chickens crossed the road and came to breakfast at our birdfeeder.  All 10 of them—eight hens and two roosters—cleaned up the stray bits of bread crumbs and seed set out for the sparrows, juncos, titmouse, woodpeckers, and such.  No, the blackbirds were not allowed…no way!  It is a posted area.  I’d show you the sign but can’t seem to find it anywhere.

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The chickens had their way with the breadcrumbs and scurried back across the road.  The owner lives at their residence but seems to be absent a lot at the moment.  Don’t know if he is saving on electricity, hiding, or what.  We just don’t see much activity over there…except for the chickens.  Anyway, my husband spoke with him one day and told the owner that I had been feeding his chickens.  He thanked us and said he would gather some eggs for us in return. 

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A few days went by and Thanksgiving Day arrived.  I was busy with dinner and all the fixings when I noticed an egg crate by the back door.  There sat 18 brown eggs, large at that.  So I brought them inside and showed them to my husband.  We were delighted.  Shortly thereafter we saw the chicken man out in his yard, going at his 4-wheeler and readying to go off deer hunting.  So I quickly gathered a leg from off of our roasted turkey, most of one breast and an enormous slice of apple pie I had made that morning, wrapped them in foil and sent my husband out to give to the fellow for giving us all those good eggs.  The man was tickled pink and asked my husband if we liked venison, to which my husband replied, “Sure.”  The fellow said if he got a deer, he’d give us some of it.  I guess he didn’t have any luck, as it’s been a couple of weeks now and no deer meat at the back door.

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 The chickens continue to run the roads of the neighborhood, always stopping off to chomp up whatever is left over from the little birdies.  Their number is down to nine now, as one of the brown hens didn’t make it across the road fast enough.  I don’t think it was Henny Penny, as she was the fastest in the bunch.  Yes, I had gotten to calling them names already.  Makes it sort of personal, I guess.  I’m sure those black old buzzards had a heaping big breakfast that morning.  Not much left now ‘cept for a few leg bones and a feather or two.  I’ve heard the age-old question, “Why did the chicken cross the road,” a hundred times but didn’t really know the answer.  Well, now I know…to fix breakfast for the buzzards! 

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It’s funny…the neighborhood sparrows have come to hang out in our boxwood shrubs out front.  They hide in those shrubs til the chickens are gone then the lookout peeks its tiny head out of the green branches, does an about-face and gives the all clear.  The air just hums as they all come zooming out of their hiding places and fly over to the feeder again.  I was telling my husband, I hope they haven’t come to take up residence.    I love birds, but enough is enough. 

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 Well, I must get to checking the crockpot for the country pork stew I set out this morning.  It’s almost suppertime.  You all have a good day now…ya heer?!

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Once Upon a Story

 
 

© Jeanne E. Webster

Ask writers to comment on the challenges of their craft, and, depending on experience, education, and events in their lives, I’m certain you will receive mixed reviews.  Motivation, creativity, mastering the basic writing tools, smooth compilation of the piece and patience are the main challenges.  Motivation is a huge challenge, as it’s the igniter that fires up the thought process. Transforming thoughts into written words and formatting them into readable, interesting material is the art of writing. 

The following paragraph is an example of the challenging mishmash facing a writer prior to creating an article:  “think up a gud topic to writ abot. An Praktise Gud Grammer. Chek Yur speling,bone up on proper punkuation,recersh yer topik wit the writing aside a few days than return an pruf read agin . Ef yer article luks gud submitt it to a publicker,than cross yer findgers an hope fer the best.’

Challenge met:

“Research your topic, use good grammar, check your spelling, bone up on proper punctuation, proofread, set the writing aside a few days, then proofread again.  If your article looks good, submit it to a publisher and hope for the best.”

 In other words, offer your submission in an eye-catching package wrapped up in shiny paper with a huge red bow as the topper.  And smile!

 

I’ve Got a Story

Rosa Celeste: Dante and Beatrice gaze upon the...

Image via Wikipedia

  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve got a story

Story with a purpose

Purpose is to preach

Preach about Jesus

Jesus is my Lord

Lord of my life

Life is eternal

Eternal home in heaven

Heaven filled with glory

Glory hallelujah

Hallelujah, amen!

 

(This is my first “concatenation” verse, where the last word or phrase in each line is taken for the beginning of the next line.) 

 (jew)