Transporting Myself and You to Where I Love

Anywhere but here?  Where would I go?

I read the topic for the assignment on Writing 101 and my first thought was to my grandparent’s cabin in the Sierra Nevada mountain. Up the creek to where the water tanks are. To a world where the water tumbles down pink granite into eddies and pools and fountains of slippery, cold mountain water. Where the water has worn away the granite so perfectly it looks like a fine stone mason has been smoothing and carving away to make perfect dips and holes in the rock for the water to slide over in a constant rippling, tumbling motion. Where moss grows on the water’s edge and long stringy and slimy strands of green algae make its home.  Where caddis fly ‘shells’ are buried in the sand and water skeeters (striders) skip across tranquil ponds.  Where the sun shines down bright and hot from a sky so blue it could only be made up. Where the heat bakes the Jeffrey, Ponderosa, and Sugar Pines till all you can smell is cold water and hot, hot, sweet resin. Burning to a bright red in the sun, but cooling off in icy mountain water. A water feature that could never be created by man.

I can smell the pine and mountain air that is only caught high up there. The smell is burned into my mind and I miss it every year.

But I would also go to my favorite bookstore.  Bookends is a small town bookstore where the owner Mia Brooks has a bell above the door that jangles the moment you step inside. Then you hear the music she has playing and you see her standing at her large wood counter right there in front of you. And she has gorgeous wood shelves behind her filled with her store supplies. On the counter she has an antique cash register she only uses for the most important clientele (the children). To the left is an L-shaped staircase that leads up to her office and the adult books, and you can see this as there is this balcony slash gallery above the shop; open to the store below.  Also to the left is the way to the coffee shop next door that is accessed by french doors. and in the L-shape to the right of the stairs is her wood stove with a gold screen around it to keep little hands from burning themselves.

To the right is a large opening to her reading room, which is elegant and all Mia since this room houses Mia’s private collection of books. You can’t buy the books from here, but you can ‘borrow’ them, pulling them off the shelves to read while you sit back in one of her leather arm chairs, though I prefer the Queen Anne chair covered in antique rose brocade. The wood floor is covered in gorgeous Persian rugs and all the shelves are built in walnut. Dark and full of old and new books, but mostly old. The chairs sit next to large windows looking out on the small town.

Travel back from the main counter, behind the wall of her shelves, you find the rest of the store filled with sections of books.  And you can’t forget the room she has behind the wall of the front. This room is where she stores her music. A small room that has a very high end stereo system, including a record player.  You can play anything you like and the music will be piped into the store. She listens to everything, though her tastes match the seasons. She loves to play The Nutcracker Ballet in December.

Her store is a world unto itself…. Partly because her store isn’t real. Well, it’s real in my mind. This store is created for Mia as I try to write her story. Since I can’t seem to get her story written, at least she has her store to continue working in while I figure out what I want to say about her.

Bookends; a store that is real but unreal.

Those two places are where I would go if I could.


A World Of Worlds – Flash Fiction

She fell down through the sunshine sea. Down through the
Paradisiac Picture
bubbling water. The waves,waves,waves, down, down, down. Until

she fell through the snow lit sky of Paris. Till she landed

feet first on the frosted rooftops. Till she stood in her

bathing costume. In another world below. She looked up and saw

the sun through the ocean. So far away. Just a little pinprick

in the wintry sky. She was far away now. And to go home was

much further than just up.

This picture just grabbed me and there you have it. I feel I could run with this thought, but not sure. Who knows. Sometimes the little things are much better.


The Miner Who Was Eaten By A Shark

But are you really ever going to be in this much danger?

Recently I read an article in the Discover magazine, (okay, scanned the picture captions), about the fears people have.  Mostly on how they fear the big things; shark attacks, airplane crashes, etc., but never mind the lung cancer, car crashes, heart attacks….  Apparently people are more afraid of the things that while big, rarely happen.  1 in 3,943,110 for a shark attack, too small for the Discover to even calculate on the chart they showed.  Yeah, not terribly common.  Heck, in 2007 (according to statistics Bill O’Reilly mentioned the other day) bee and wasp stings were the most deadly animal killers for the US.  There were 57 deaths.  No shark deaths.  Not one.  And yet, people are afraid of it.

So picture this.  You have this guy working in a mine in West Virginia or Pennsylvania.  Every day he goes deep into the mine and is hammering away.  And what is he more afraid of?  he’s not thinking about black lung that could kill him in ten years, or that the mine will cave in crushing him and his fellow miners.  Not some dynamite that might explode trapping him and his crew in the mine where they die a slow death of oxygen deprivation.  No, instead, every day the miner thinks about that one day there is going to be a crack in the wall of the mine when he takes his hammer or pick to it.  the crack will widen and suddenly water will start to spew out of the fissure.  The water will widen the crack until the wall crumbles and water will gush in.  the mine will fill with water.  but will the miner be afraid of drowning?  No.  No, what he will be most worried about is that that great white shark is going to come in with the water and eat him!

Those sharks are scary...

It doesn’t matter that the miner doesn’t live by the water and will probably never see the ocean, but he’s afraid of sharks.

Now, I’d love to take credit for this analogy/story, but I can’t.  I guess imagination runs in the family because this was my father’s idea.  Of course he also spit off about this same miner sitting at the bar with his glass of beer when all of a sudden this giant shark comes out of his glass and eats the miner before going back into the glass where you see this tiny shark swimming around……..

Yeah, imagination definitely runs in the family.

The point is that in some ways, the Discover article is a bit misleading because, really, are people that focused on the bizarre things that may or may not happen?  Car wrecks are much more likely to kill you than a shark attack.  My father says he thinks about the wrecks every time he drives.  Which is also why he is one of the most careful drivers I know.

Moral to the story?  Not really.  I mostly just loved the idea of the miner who’s afraid of dying by shark attack.

Signing off


Christmas Tree Magic

She sat in the glitterning darkness of a sparkling Christmas tree.  The white lights were like little fairies come to rest, the blue balls shown like the night sky. Icicles dripped from the branches adding a graceful elegance to the already delicate boughs.  Snowflakes winked in and out among  cranberry balls.  Here and there were sparkling red snowflakes. Drenched in red glitter they were etherial.  The whole tree was a confection to the eyes. One filled with delight and magic.  One could just picture Santa coming to  tuck presents beneath the boughs.

There was a enchanting sensation  to the room. Decorated to the nines, one could not help feeling that they had entered either a winter wonderland, or Saint Nick’s own abode.  The mantle held garlands of fragrant pine.  Red bayberry candles, with their yellow flames, flickered in and out of the greenery.  Plush red stockings hung by cheerful snowmen, santas, and reindeer.   Tables were layden with  overflowing bowls of candy.  Red and green M & M’s filled a chubby Santa’s sack; candy canes hooked over square glass cubes, filled to the brim with holiday kisses.  Caramels, fudge, and toffee.  It was a child’s paradise. 

It was perfect for her.  She sat with her mug of hot chocolate.  Curled up on a sofa, snuggled in a warm wool sweater and socks, it was the epitome of Christmas. One couldn’t ask for anything better.



Signing off


P.S. This was just me in an inspirational mood. I have a glorious tree this year and it’s quite magical.