He Shared With Me His Sunshine

In the course of working with my manuscript of Silver Morning Song, wanting to issue a print edition of the book, I came across this poem I wrote long ago and completely forgot about.  Have you ever had that happen? Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy it.

He Shared With Me His Sunshine

by C. Goodnough

One dreary, rainy morning
the rain was drizzling down
I chanced to pass a gentleman
while walking through the town.

He must have seen me frowning,
and thought me quite unwise.
He offered me a cheerful word
with sunshine in his eyes:

“Thank God for rainy weather,”
“it makes the flowers grow,
it brightens up the greenery–
and better rain than snow.”

“You’re right,” said I, “and thanks, sir.
You’ve brightened up my day.”
He passed to me his cheerful grin
as he went on his way.

 

 

 

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Hugged By A Stranger

Have you ever been hugged by a complete stranger? Someone you’ve never laid eyes on before?

Well, I did barely lay eyes on his person as he hoisted himself from behind the steering wheel of his car and stood to his feet, and sort of laid eyes on him as he passed by the window in front of me. I didn’t know him from Adam – but he wasn’t an Eve, that much I could see.

Really my eyes weren’t focussed on him at all, but were fixed on something dark that had fallen to the ground as he stood up. Something that looked suspiciously like…

Oh, dear. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start again.

I was sitting at a table in a small corner of a bookstore, this corner they have set up as a coffee bar. I’d finished my coffee and was idly gazing out the window beside me when I saw this grey car drive up and park facing the store right in front of where I sat.

As I said, I saw this man get out of this car and stride purposefully toward the store next door. I saw something dark hit the icy asphalt when he stood up, so I jumped up and went out to see, because I thought it may be something quite important – like a wallet.

It was a wallet. I stuffed it into my pocket and hurried into the Dollar Store next door, looking for someone about his size, brownish jacket. I scanned the aisles and saw a good match but I wasn’t certain, so I approached him and asked, “Do you drive a grey car? Did you just park next door?”

“Yes,” he replied, looking puzzled.

“Did you lose something?”

He gave me a blank look, then slapped his back pockets. “My wallet!”

I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to him. He moaned once and thanked me for it, then, in front of everyone in the store, he threw his arm around me and gave me a hug. Me, a complete stranger, someone he’d never laid eyes on before.

Can you imagine?!  😉

First published Aug 18, 2013

Those Old Autograph Books

“Lest old acquaintance be forgot…”

Writing my Nanowrimo story in November, the main character being a girl turning twelve and the setting being the summer of 1957, I was researching various interests and hobbies of the late 50s. One of these was autograph books, so I gave my main character one for her birthday.

I wonder how many of you readers remember the autograph books we passed around among our family and friends so we’d have a memory of them for our old age? I’m afraid this bit of social fun has been forgotten in this texting generation — though I’d be delighted to know I’m wrong and some children still have one.

I had one myself, and so did my husband, and I signed many a friend’s autograph book. The idea was to write some sort of good wish, verse, quote, bit of song, and then sign it.

Flowers poem

This poem was written by one of Mom’s siblings:
“How nice it is to have a friend
who always plays the game,
knows all the faults that you possess
and loves you just the same.”

This bit of wisdom, maybe a forerunner of the “How to eat an elephant” line, has often encouraged me when I feel overwhelmed by many To-Dos:
“Little and often makes a heap in time.”

This advice was given to Bob by his Dad:
“A little said, and truly said,
can deeper joys impart
than hosts of words that touch the head,
but never reach the heart.”

Here’s another encouragement my third-grade teacher wrote for me:
“May your life be like a snowflake;
leave a mark, but not a stain.”

Verses could be silly, like these written by two of my friends:
“I saw you in the ocean; I saw you in the sea;
I saw you in the bath-tub. Oops, pardon me!

“Two in a hammock waiting to kiss
all of a sudden they went like…”
The writer turned the book upside down to write “this…
She drew a little illustration to go with this, a hammock between two trees.

And someone was sure to turn to the last page and scribble these lines:
“By hook or by crook,
I’ll be the last one
to sign in this book.”

To write this article I went scrounging through my box of ancient papers, thinking I could find my or my husband’s autograph books — and didn’t. What I did come across was two sheets of notebook paper on which Bob’s mom copied all the writings in her autograph book, which she’d kept for years. Mom was born in 1908, so autograph books have been around a long time indeed!

Here are a few more from her book:
“There is a pale blow flower that grows
around the shepherd’s cot,
and in the silence of the night
it softly breathes ‘forget me not’.”

“May your life be like arithmetic—
friends added, joys multiplied,
sorrows subtracted, enemies divided.”

“When the golden sun is setting
and your mind from care is free,
when of others you are thinking
will you sometimes think of me?”

If you think of some autograph that’s stuck with you through the years, please share it in a comment.

Meadowlark + quote

A Basketful of Bargains

A Basketful of Bargains
Life on Victoria Square #2

by Lorraine Bartlett

The book blurb says:
Iris Drake is an odd duck. She knows everyone at Artisans Alley arts-and-crafts arcade, but nobody knows her. When she walks into Gilda’s Gourmet Basket on Victoria Square, she’s a stranger there, too—but not for long. Yet she hasn’t to come to Gilda to buy her wares—she’s there to sell some of her own. All goes well until Iris’s secret is exposed. Should Gilda step in to make things right, or walk away from an unpleasant situation?

My opinion:
I just finished reading this neat little novella. Listed as 33 pages, it’s a quick read and well worth the effort. An inspiring story of the merchant who takes note of and befriends this strange lady with no money to spend and seemingly nowhere else to go. Totally out-of-date fashion-wise, it’s obvious Iris needs a friend. One day an incident in the store reveals why Iris seems so distant.

Books: Stand In The Wind

Something Old, Something New — Part A

This book has been around a long time, but is well worth reading:

Stand in the Wind
© 1975 by Jean Little
Puffin Books

Martha, the protagonist of the story, wanted so badly to go to summer camp and be with her friends. However, she’s an impulsive girl. A mad dash into the kitchen, followed by a sudden slip and bone-cracking fall, puts an end to her plan. The camp won’t accept her with a newly broken arm.

Then she and her older sister Ellen, find their plans change drastically. They were supposed to go to the city with their parents and younger brothers to hang out with the daughters of their mom’s best friend. But in a sudden flip, they find themselves stuck at the family cottage entertaining these two other girls. Snooty Rosemary, the elder, and her mousy baby sister Christine — or Kit, as her Dad calls her — couldn’t be more different from each other, or from Ellen and Martha.

The first day together is a total flop as the four of them realize their differences are too great to ever be friends. So now what? they decide to stick it out for three days. “Just until Wednesday,” they remind themselves, then their mothers are coming back to get them and end the icy silence.

Meanwhile, the girls make attempts to bear with each other. There are fireworks at times but little by little they loosen up and let their hair down. This book details their adventures and disasters as they cope with each other and with the circumstance of being without parental supervision.

Jean Little has penned a number of winning children’s books and this is one of them. Well written, well told, very believable, and a satisfying conclusion.

Free Book: Rescuing Finley

I have great news for readers who like an inspiring contemporary fiction story. Dan Walsh is one of my favorite writers and I see that his book, Rescuing Finley, is FREE today on Amazon.

Here’s my review of Rescuing Finley

Amy Wallace was a recovering meth addict, who lost her job and needed friends. Sad to say, two “friends” had in mind some shoplifting: they wanted to steal an expensive ring from a department store’s jewellery section. And they had in mind Amy should be the one to pocket the goods. Which meant Amy was the one who got caught and sent to prison.

Ever since he finished high school Chaz wanted to sign up with the Marine Corps. His mother protested angrily when he told her, “I signed up today. It’s for two years — but they’ll go fast.” She needed him to help her survive. And what about Finley?

Chaz was Finley’s whole world, the one human who loved him. Chaz’s mother barely tolerated Finley in her small apartment. We understand through his eyes how abandoned and confused he was when Chaz left — and never returned. Finley couldn’t know his master’s life ended on a battlefield, but he knew something was very wrong. Lost in her own grief Chaz’s mother couldn’t deal with a dog — especially a huge one like Finley. Feeling guilty but desperate, she dropped him off at an animal shelter.

Chris Seger’s life as he knew it also ended while on a mission in Afghanistan, when he stepped on a land mine. A permanent ticket home — minus one leg. Stateside, after months of therapy, he found work with an understanding and flexible employer, but he wrestled constantly with PTSD, depression and the nightmares. Then a pal suggested he look into this new program: service dogs for the disabled.

Dan Walsh does an excellent job of taking us through Chris, Finley, and Amy’s lives as they struggle to start again. Then he brings them together in a winning story of forgiveness and healing. At the same time he walks readers through a great program where prisoners work with dogs, training them as companions for veterans with PTSD.

I found this a terrific, heart-touching book and shed quite a few tears as I watched the story unfold. Five stars from me.

Old Steel Forges Chains

Better late than never, here I come with my bowl of stew to add to the Friday Fictioneers buffet. I didn’t think I’d be able to cook up anything this week—too many other irons in the fire— but my Muse has been bustling around in the kitchen putting things together.

Our witty Hostess and Toastess for this pot-luck is Rochelle. She serves up blue frog links to anyone who wishes partake of the meal; these you can find over at her blog, Addicted to Purple where you’ll usually find her seasoning her words. (I’m feeling very metaphoric tonight. Is it full moon?)

Photo prompt © Claire Sheldon

Enough Steel Forges A Chain

“You’re trying so hard to run from the past, you’re going to miss your future.”

“I’ve made mistakes, Jeff. Major ones.”

“He hurt you bad, now you’re scared to let anyone get close to you. Scared of being trampled on again.”

“I have some important lessons to remember.”

“And you’ve piled up bad memories like these old staples.” Jeff grabbed the cup and trashed the clips. “Out with the old.”

Vonnie glared at him.

“A pile of steel can forge a chain, Vonn. And God knows you don’t need any more chains.” He smiled and held out his hand. “Still friends?”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

This hasn’t been the most upbeat I’ve lived through. I started cleaning up my sewing room Monday and all the “To Finish” projects coming out of the closets threw me into a mini-depression centered on my main character flaw. Add to that Tuesday’s sudden appearance of outdoor bebittes in our bathroom, creepy-crawlies that needed dispatching. Ah, summertime!

I don’t handle multi-mess well; it tends to tower over me menacingly until I can’t see any light at the end of the tunnel. I wrote a short story yesterday in response to the prompt, but it felt as gloomy as I did. Still, I may use it some other time. But I dealt with some pressing tasks today and tonight while making supper this opening sentence came to mind. It seemed like something I might use in a story sometime.

I munched and mused, letting the rest of the story sort itself out. The paperclips might represent something undesirable stored up too long. Painful memories. I thought of those of us who have endured some abuse in our childhood and have had to — or are having to — deal with dark memories, yet not let them damage our future. I’ve left it open as to who gave Vonnie those painful lessons, but I think Jeff might help her through. Do you? Or will she fish the paper clips out of the garbage as soon as he’s gone?