Saturday, December 31, 2011
The auctioneer gave a brief description of the tractor. Darren knew all the rest of the details. What if I don't get it. What if I haven't saved enough. I have to have this tractor. For Abes sake. It was his first tractor and I want it to be my first tractor too. So many thoughts went through Darren's mind.
"Where would you like to start the bidding folks?" the auctioneer questioned.
There was silence. No one bid and no one moved. Darren had always been taught to wait and see how the bidding went. Time seemed to stand still. Why was everyone so quiet? Darren waited patiently.
"Do I hear one thousand dollars? This tractor is worth a lot more than that. Come on folks, get your hands out of your pockets and start bidding, " the auctioneer commented.
Darren couldn't believe it. No one was bidding. The auctioneer tried one more time. Again, no one responded. Darren didn't know what to do. He couldn't let the tractor go by.
"Well folks, I'm going to have to pass by this one. It's a shame, she's a beauty," the auctioneer stated with disappointment in his voice.
Darren couldn't hold back any longer. Out of his mouth blurted, "I'll buy it. I'll start the bidding at one hundred dollars."
"We have a bid, " the auctioneer announced. "One hundred dollars. Do I hear two hundred. Two hundred dollars. Two, two, two, two. Come on folks, this is a fine piece of machinery. Two, two, two, two. One fifty, one fifty, one fifty."
Darren looked around in disbelief. No one was bidding. What was wrong? The auctioneer gave one more try.
"I've got a one hundred dollar bid. Do I hear one twenty five? One twenty five, one twenty five, one twenty five, " the auctioneer questioned.
No response came from the crowd.
The auctioneer broke the silence by saying, "Well, I guess I'm just going to have to sell her to this young fella here for one hundred dollars. Going once, going twice, sold to our one hundred dollar bidder. Your number please?"
Darren held up his number, 01. It was recorded by the auctioneers assistant.
"You've got yourself a ..........
Hopefully I get this published and you can hear why no one was bidding.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Brent watched Taylor throughout the entire funeral. She looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. In a sense, she did. Her whole world was about to change. Colin may not have been the best husband but he was a big part of their lives.
As the congregation filed out to the reception, the family went off to the graveyard to say their last good-byes. Taylor came up to Brent with an earnest look in her eyes.
"Brent, please come with us. You are practically family. Please?" She touched his arm. Her eyes looked particularly green today. Maybe because she had been crying for the last few days. Brent met her gaze. Her black, conservative dress hugged her petite frame.
"Of course I'll come along. I'll go grab my truck." Brent dug into his pants pocket for his keys.
"No need. Just come in the limo with us. There's lots of room", Taylor insisted. She turned to go. Brent put his hand in hers. She didn't pull away.
The sun shone as a true irony of the day. Brent was glad he had left his jacket at home. He certainly didn't need it as he walked hand in hand with Taylor. This was where he always wanted to be. But as they got closer to the car, Taylor let go to get in. He silently chastised himself for enjoying their connection. This woman lost her husband; her children lost their father; their squad lost an officer. Now was the time to say good-bye.
Taylor got into the car first, with Brent following her. Calleigh sat with her grandmother, crying on her shoulder. Reid sat quietly beside his grandfather. Taylor slid in beside Reid.
"Nana and Papa are going in their car." Taylor turned to Brent. "That's Colin's parents". He nodded an acknowledgement. Taylor continued, "And these are my parents, Abigail and Walter."
Brent leaned over to shake both of their hands.
"My condolences to you both", Brent said compassionately.
"Thank you", Walter said for both of them.
They all sat quietly for the car ride to the cemetery. As they drove, the smell of coconut wafted from Taylor's hair as Brent sat close to her. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about that but he couldn't help it.
Two things were on his mind. He lost a fellow officer and a friend, even if Colin had been a jerk the last little while. This was part of the job. Officers die every day on the job. They prepare you for this in Police College. You know going into it, it can happen. "No matter how much preparation they give you, it's still not easy", Brent thought.
The second thought he had was Taylor of course. Who was going to look after her and the kids? Was she going to move closer to her parents? He looked at the woman across from her. She sat, eyes cast down, staring at the floor of the car. She had her arm around Reid. She leaned across the seat to rub Calleigh's hand.
Brent's attention came back to the present as the car pulled to a stop. Everyone got out except Taylor and Brent. She turned to him and put her hand on Brent's knee. An electric current shot through him. His eyes met hers.
"Thank you", she said quietly. He put his hand on hers and smiled at her in response. He didn't trust his voice right now. He wanted to keep his hand on hers forever. But he pulled away as she did. Taylor climbed out of the car and Brent followed. She went up to her children and took their hands in hers.
"Let's go say good bye to Dad, okay?", she said with a quivering voice. She began to walk to the grave site but glanced back to make sure Brent was coming. He was only steps behind them.
Friday, December 9, 2011
I thought I would do my homework assignment for this month which is posting something on this blog, so here goes...
I've been doing a lot of thinking about thinking today. It is the beginning of anything and everything ever written or done, yet how often do we really think about thinking? As writers I'm sure we all agree, before pen touches paper, or in this generation, before fingers touch keyboards we have thought about what we would like to say and how best to say it.
Where do these thoughts come from? The short answer, from life. We all have our own personal answers from that point on.
Today I have been pondering the importance of a healthy thought-life. It affects everything we do and who we are. To keep our bodies healthy we need to make wise food choices. To keep our minds healthy we also need to make wise 'food' choices. Are we caring for our minds in the same way we care for our bodies?
My train of thought was sparked by today's devotion in The Daily Bread. 1 Kings ch. 3, the story of God granting Solomon (as a child) whatever he wished for and Solomon asked for wisdom. I wonder what Solomon fed his mind to ask at such a young age for a discerning heart.
Here are some of my...
Thoughts about Thoughts...
Behind our eyes
Is an infinite cell
Simply called a mind
And from it will flow
All manner of thought
Our action will show
What words do not
In every action
In every deed
Whether minute or mighty
Thought is its seed
Do we serve thought?
Or are we its master?
Thought is the forerunner
To success or disaster
I thought I knew a little
But with each passing year
The little bit I thought I knew
Has seemed to disappear
My thoughts are always more beautiful
With you in them
What is the measure
Of one little thought?
Coupled with action
I believe…quite a lot!
Who can know the power
Of the mind at all
By it man becomes great
And by it great men fall
The power of a man
Cannot be defined
By physical attributes
But the strength of the mind
Physical strength, no matter how fine
Is oft overcome by weakness of mind...
What are you thinking about today?
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
I surely don't know everything there is to know about writing - the more I research and listen, the more I learn, too. But I am more than happy to do my part to help where I can.
I really enjoyed this past meeting as we discussed and shared how to write a query letter. The keenness of everyone present spurred me into action.
I thought, as a bit of a resource, I would post some of the notes I shared orally. You might use it as a review or even as a bit of a checklist as you begin to write your own query letters - you can start with your homework assignment - writing a query letter to a potential publisher! Anyone who couldn't make it to the meeting but would still like to do 'their homework' get hold of me and I will send details your way!
A letter or email sent to an editor or agent which details an idea for a magazine, newspaper, book or other publication, along with an attempt to sell this particular idea, along with yourself as the potential writer.
You need to present your ideas as succinctly as possible so that an editor will want to read and buy your article or book.
Read the publication where you would like to see your article!
- Do your homework and never say that you don't really know their magazine. If you don't know much about their magazine the editor or publisher is likely not going to be too interested in looking at what you have to offer.
Don't pretend you know the editor through a friend of a friend's friend. Editors are quite smart and don't take kindly to name dropping to any degree.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
I have learned how keep my life on track.
I have experienced dark days and teary nights.
I wanted to see heavenly lights.
I felt like letting go.
I would tell God to take my soul.
He showed me signs that
told me it wasn't my time.
I am so thankful for the
love and support that is plentiful.
I am not done with this life.
I am going hang onto it with all my might.
Listen to me God as I now say,
you can take me when I am old and grey.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
This is my second trip to Mumbia and I am not looking forward to the heat and lack of adequate facilities in this Indian city. I hear the zoom of the engines as we vie for airspace on this transatlantic flight. My name is A.J. Moss one of the purchasing and product managers for a Canadian aerospace company. Upper management has decided to continue it's investigation into what seems a superior brass hex nut that was used in the fighter plane "the Gnat".
I am thumbing through a flashy magazine and see that Akon has arrived in New Delhi for a concert. His song 'I'm coming ova'(sic) is gaining ground on the Indian pop charts. I think to myself "ya suck" and toss the mag back into the pocket in the seat. Time to think. Need a plan of action and a way to get the ideas in my head in line with what the company is looking for. I slip off to sleep with visions of India seeding my dreams. What seemed just a bit later I wake up in daze. My mind seems to be playing tricks on me. Maybe I should not have had that last gin and tonic... The pilot announces that we are preparing to land. How long did I sleep ? I get through customs and look for my regular driver Mr Mehra who was to meet me at the airport. Not seeing him there was raising the ire of my already foggy disposition. A man in a faded jute dhoti came over to me and said he was sent by Mr Mehra to pick me up in the auto rickshaw he pointed at. I did not know what to do. My mode of travel in India at the last trip was always in a regular cab. Certainly not in one of those rough rickshaws. Do I try to call a cab or do I trust this man Amir as he called himself. I step into the auto rickshaw. Traffic in this city is chaotic. Amir maneuvered around as best he could. All of a sudden we were side swiped by a cab ( of the like I should have been travelling in) I had a deep gash in my brow. Amir was frantic and had some of his friends take me to a healer a few blocks away. I had to duck my head to enter the door which had a tigers head carved on it. After my eye's adjusted to the dim light I looked in awe at all the beautiful Hindu art that covered the walls and ceiling. Sitting on a stool was this old shaman with dread locked hair down to his waist. He was wearing little but a small dhoti and garlands of flowers around his neck. Amir spoke to him in his dialect and the healer whose name I found out was Buti stood and looked at my bleeding head. After a few minutes of chanting he said he could rid me of the injury. Buti immediately started gathering an assortment of herbs powders and figs which he beat in a small tin bowl. He told me he would slather this potion on my brow with special prayers and all would be well in my life. As he worked on my brow he chanted. I left feeling much better and the gash on my head was barely visible. Amir quickly took me to the hotel where I rested as per shaman's orders. I was filled with wonder at this new old side of India that I had not experienced before. The next day was my meeting with Rhohit Shah the CEO of the plant. I'm not sure what happened to my head yesterday but it was exploding with grand schemes and my proposal was greeted with enthusiasm. A done deal was made. The bump on the head must have helped or was it something else...
|1 comment||8/4/11||by Rosemary|
Sunday, August 7, 2011
So the highlight of this past meeting was to listen to the fabulous creations of our Scrabble Rousers! Just to give a brief background - those who were at the June meeting played Scrabble. The resulting words were to be used in a story / song / poem / or in another creative manner and were then to be shared at the next meeting. I think we all enjoyed hearing what everyone had to offer. We are encouraging all Scrabble Rousers to post their creations here. Thanks Janet for starting us off (and thanks for including the list of words after your story!) Here's my offering:
Saturday, August 6, 2011
I gaze in awe at the setting sun
Like faded tigers sprawled across the west
I slip my plan to He who knows me best
Life can suck the dreamer dry
I had a bit of dream once, in my eye
Beat the drum low, with gathered brow
Dreams are the ire of dust, ya’ know…
But He who plants the hills with ore
And paints His art across earth’s shore
His way is perfect, pure and just
He sees our dreams slather the dust
His art now tints nut tree and moss
It glows with crimson, like the Cross
Where we can rid ourselves of guilt
Because of perfect blood He spilt…
His way is upright and astute
He bends the will of iron or jute
I grasp His love in humble daze
A gnat cannot escape His gaze
The ova of the devil’s hex
Seeks to torment me and vex
Me with the seeding of a lie
Good and evil seem to vie…
…for fruit upon my trembling lips
Can a thistle tree bear figs?
Clouds of dark fore-boding zoom
To sic their evil lies of doom
But then I lift my tortured eyes
To the Painter of the skies
His glory bathes a sin-cursed land
The Healer stretches forth His Hand…
Here is a list of required words to use..
If anyone reading here is interested in joining, check it out!!! Our next meeting is at the Studio Factor in Drayton on Sept. 9.There's is just one thing you need to be there....yourself!...oh, and one more thing about us...we are having WAY too much fun:)) Hope to see you there!