Creation

                                                   

God thought and I was.

In His image He made me.

We are eternal.

Your Most Precious Possessions, One Shelf Limit                                                                  

Genesis 1:1   In the Beginning…

           

            My Kindergarten class picture, there’s old Mrs. Krumpman.  Oh, the thin girl in the front row. I remember her, how sad, she died in third grade.  Something to do with her kidneys as I recall; she was so young; what a shame.

Numbers 11:27   And there ran a young man…

Once again my fingers touch what remains of a pink carnation pressed between sheets of wax paper.  I wonder what’s worse for ware, the carnation, the wax paper, or me?  That’s easy, me.  I sure looked good with that pink carnation on my white sports coat… Oh what a night that was!

 Ecclesiastes 3:8    A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war…                      

Oh wow, my squad, Ramirez, what a piece of work he was. He must have 20 great-grand kids by now.  Ramirez, you were a nut, but when the bullets were flying, I wanted you more than anyone else, close at hand.

Matthew 22:9    Go ye therefore into the highways, and as many as ye shall find, bid to the marriage.

Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Smith are proud to announce the marriage of their daughter Greta Ann Smith …..  Standing before the alter in St. Paul’s, when you raised her veil, and kissed her cheek, then gave her hand to me, you turned the page to open the greatest chapter of my life.  Thank you again Poppa Smith.

“What the hell is taking you so long in there?”

“I’ll be with you in just a minute, keep your shorts on!”

John 11:25  Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life…

            A rose, just one dried rose from not so long ago. The wax paper that enfolds it is still in pretty good shape.  My dear, dear Greta; Once the petals of this rose were soft and moist … You know when I used to tell you that your lips were as soft and as tender as the petals of a red rose from the garden? I meant every word of it.  Every word of it, every time I said it, all through the years.

“Come on Dad, it’s time to go.  We have to sign you in by 2. “

I closed the family bible and slipped it into the canvas tote bag slung over the side bar of my walker.  Personal items are limited to what can fit on one shelf in my, semi-private room.  That room, that semi-private room, will be my new home, where all I will have for company, for the rest of my life, will be a roommate named Jack, and my precious memories… of a life that was once full.

They, Pray, Payday, Replay                                       

By D. E. Allen

Luck won’t you be a lady, and come with me today.

Come dance around my roulette wheel, add magic to my play.

As long as I come out ahead, a few thousand would be okay.

I yearn to see you cast your spell and send good fortune without delay.

Dear Lady play my slot machine a while, and tell me you will stay.

Please bring a thrill to this old man, with his hair of gray.

If you could simply smile at me, it would make my heart so gay.

Yet I know that in the morning, you must be on your way.

Oh you fickle Lady Luck, don’t let my gambler’s bankroll decay.

Must I beg you to come back to me, what Pythian words must I say?

When you come, will you stand by me, or will once again you stray?

Please come and play with me a while longer, and keep poverty at bay.

If I could but put you in a bottle, and squirrel you away

I know that I could face the world, each crisis, come what may.

Like Knights defending Damsels, life’s dragons I would slay.

With you at my side, the world would be mine, served on a silver tray.

A Walk in the Park                                                

I had finally escaped the office for 3 days of hiking in the Okanogan National Forest in my home state of Washington. Just me, my sleeping bag, and a 50-pound backpack filled with all the comforts of, well, maybe not home, but close enough. Half way up the side of the ridge I decided to take the path least traveled, picking my way between loose gravel and broken rocks, I was sure going to give my new hiking boots a good workout.

Once up over the ridge, and down into a hollow I saw a beautiful field of wild flowers. I could not resist. I dropped my pack and grabbed my new 7 mega-pixel camera and tripod. I framed the shot in the picture viewer, and set the delay timer for 30 seconds. Like a little girl I bounded to the spot I figured to be center frame and I stood there counting. Once I was sure 30 seconds had passed I bounced happily back to my camera to look at the picture.

Oh Crap, was that dirt on the lens? No the lens is clean. I looked back at the field and sure enough, about 50 feet behind where I had been standing a Turkey Buzzard had landed to feast on some dead rabbit or something. Oh well, no shot of cute little me in my field of flowers, but maybe some nice nature shots of a feasting buzzard.

I took the camera off the tripod and snapped, and walked, ever so slowly and cautiously doing my best impersonation of a nature photographer. I was about 10 feet away when I could see that the buzzard was perched on a rock … Oh my God, it was looking down on an injured hiker, and getting ready to bite him! I reached down and grabbed a rock and hit the buzzard square in the side, causing it to take off with a loud squawk. I ran over to the hiker, he was still alive, but bleeding profusely from a deep cut on his neck.

Instinctively I called 911. I was told that a Park Ranger helicopter was in the immediate vicinity and I should apply pressure to the neck wound to slow the flow of blood, but to be careful not to cut off the victim’s airway. No sooner had I pushed my clean-enough bandana against the wound, that I heard the unmistakable sound of the helicopter. Mere seconds later the dust and dry grass storm of the landing chopper washed over me, and my unknown friend.

“Miss, I’m EMS, let me get to him.” I pulled back and the EMS tech took over. I caught myself nervously talking a mile a minute about what had happened, but the EMS guy only said, “Get your gear together, we have to move quickly.” So I scurried back for my pack and tri-pod while the Rangers loaded the poor guy into the chopper.

The Park Ranger Pilot was on the radio with the police as I was put into the front seat next to him, and the EMS trained Ranger got into the back to care for the injured hiker. Just 10 minutes by air and we were at the Hospital landing pad where the chopper was met by a pack of scurrying medical professionals, and I was met by the Police.

“Miss, please come with us, we need you to make a statement.” It was creepy as all Hell to be in the back seat of a police cruiser for the first time, and I almost wet myself when they put me into an interrogation room complete with that one-way mirror you always see on TV. My mind was blank and numb at the same time when Sergeant Perci asked me if he could look at the pictures in my camera.

“Yes, go right ahead.” I had nothing to hide, but still should I be asking for a lawyer or should I just be cooperative? Sergeant Perci left the room and returned a few minutes later.

“So, Miss Cooper, correct?”

“Yes.”

“What happened out there?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but a buzzer sounded and a voice on an intercom said, “Sergeant, one moment, right now.” Sgt. Perci left the room for an eternity, or so it seemed. When he returned, he was still wearing the same medium gray suit, but he was not wearing the friendly expression on his face that he had left with.

“Miss Cooper … our John Doe Hiker … didn’t make it. Do you care to tell me for the record what happened out there?”

“Do I need a Lawyer?”

“Depends on what you have to say.”

I put my faith in the power of truth, and I told Sgt. Perci my entire story. Then the damn buzzer went off again. “Sergeant, we have something you better look at on the camera.”

Not long after leaving for a second time, Sgt. Perci came back and escorted me to a viewing room where the picture of me in the flower field was blown up on a large movie screen. With a series of mouse clicks the police technician zoomed in on the corner of the picture. There in the tree line on the far side of the flower field, was a man dressed in camouflage, with a big knife in his hand, watching me.

“Miss Cooper, you are one lucky lady. That man is an escaped murderer. Here’s my card. If you plan to leave the state you must contact me. You may also be contacted by a police officer or an officer of the court in a few days. This Patrolman will take you back to your vehicle, and escort you home. Goodnight Miss Cooper.” That was it. My bizarre adventure was over.

I got to ride in the front seat of the police cruiser on the way back to my car.  The Patrolman was kind of cute, and single.  He gave me his number and said “If there’s anything I can do, or if you just need to talk…”  Maybe I’ll give him a call and we’ll chat over coffee in a few days.

August Harvest                                                                                   

Picking, grab and pluck

Tomatoes ripe and juicy

Dream of B.L.T.s

Playing hide and seek

My green beans seem camouflaged

Obscured by their leaves

Cucumber salad

How much can one person eat?

Did I plant all these?

Zucchini man comes

Dropping off green baseball bats

Here he comes again!

Mosquitoes and weeds

Join together to fight me

I must acquiesce

What a drudgery

I’d rather write haiku

Well now, wouldn’t you?

Oppressively hot

Stifling humidity

Good for tomatoes!

Cool wind starts blowing

Flag tearing at its lanyard

Ominous dark clouds

Thunder booms above

Nimbostratus darkened sky

Rain suspends my plans

Bring my cup of tea

As I watch natures power

Lightening flashes

Cat jumps on the table

A green squash is her pillow

How cute is that?

Thank you all.                                                                                                                            

I have been reviewing my Blog Audience Tracking Statistics.  I’d like to thank my North American and United Kingdom audience for their fantastic level of support. 

Now for a most welcome surprise.  I extend a special thank you to my foreign readers who have embraced me and have been reading my English Language Blog.  A Special Shout Out to my many readers in TAIWAN, FRANCE, VENEZUELA, GERMANY, SOUTH KOREA, NORWAY, UKRAINE, NETHERLANDS, IRELAND, RUSSIA, JAPAN, AUSTRALIA, and PAKISTAN.

Please share my blog with all your friends.

Thank you world.

Sincerely, 

Donald E. Allen

A Handful of Wildflowers                                   

By Donald E. Allen

I saw you in the park one day, and lost my heart in your blue, blue eyes. 

I asked you to a dance, and when you said yes, I knew I’d love you … evermore.

I had no box of chocolates, no roses could I afford, but I had for you a handful of wildflowers, as I knocked upon your door.

Our courtship was mostly innocent, long talks, quiet moonlight strolls, shared dreams about tomorrow, and yet, dare I say at times, our courtship was spiked with lust.

We kept our romantic dining simple, some cheese and bread, some wine, oh, and wildflowers on the table were a must.

Your mom and three sisters sewed and sewed for months.  Never had there been a more beautiful dress, never had there been a more beautiful bride. 

You had no expensive brides bouquet, just a handful of wildflowers; a symbol of our love as we stood there in the presents of God, side by side.

Our babies all grew to call you Mother Dear.  Johnny, Eric, and Paulette; she has my eyes and her mothers sweet, wonderful smile.

Paulette made it so very clear how much she loved us both when she carried a bouquet of wildflowers on her wedding day, as I walked her down the aisle.

Johnny went to Princeton, Eric … died in the war.  We saved for years, and went to see that far away field where Eric left this earth. There in an endless rolling sea of green grass, a small patch of wildflowers grew.

We were drawn to them, across that hollowed ground, and when we reached those wildflowers we stood in silence and prayed.  Don’t ask how we were so sure this was the exact spot where Eric had died, Mother and I, just knew.

Now alone I climb the grassy knoll behind the church, as I have done so many times before. I’m much older now but I must go on; to your love I’m still a slave.

I’m out of breath while I seek your name among the silent stones.  Of course, I carry a handful of wildflowers, to place upon your grave.