Peace for a Friend

In March of 1999, NATO launched air strikes on Yugoslavia, and for months after this was what was in the news. I've never pretended to be an expert in world politics, nor have I ever put any great effort into writing about political topics. I remember, however, at that time reflecting on what I heard on the new and considering it not so much from the perspective of a country at war, but from the perspective of the people living through it. This essay, written in May of 1999, was borne from that perspective, the reflections of the mother of young children that I was at the time. 

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I am just a mother of three from small town America. I spend my days caring for my family, cooking meals, doing laundry and cleaning my house. Most days, I eke out time to pursue my dream of writing. I have no great claim to fame that gives me credibility when it comes to having political views about world events, so what could I possibly have to say that is of any importance about the happenings in Yugoslavia? Nothing but these words that echo from my heart to the hearts of all the mothers who currently live in the devastation of that war-torn land. This message is directed to you….

I rise from my bed in the morning and am greeting by familiar sights and sounds. It is nearly summer now, and the morning sun comes through my window, carrying bird songs and soft breezes. The first thing I see is my four-year-old son sleeping peacefully beside me where he settled in the earlier morning hours. I gaze at his beautiful face and hear his rhythmic breathing. I drink in this moment of calm, as I know that soon he will be awake and alive and unstoppable in this familiar world where he lives.

But you, across the seas and continents…where do you wake up? Is it in your own bed, or does your bed not exist anymore because you’ve had to leave it behind in a hasty quest for safety? Do your children sleep peacefully near you, where you can watch them breathe in the morning light without questions flashing through your mind about the certainty of their future—and yours?

In this way, I am blessed. But for the grace of God I might be in your place. I pray now for your safety, your future, and that of your children.

I go about my day, dusting, sweeping, washing clothes. I find myself frustrated knowing that it will all only need to be done again tomorrow. But you, how many times a day do you try to brush away the dust of war? The physical and emotional debris that scatters as the bombs strike to shake your homeland? Does it ever seem clean enough to you? Will it ever be that way again? 

My children get dirty as they play. Yours get dirty merely from trying to live. I pray for a clean start for you, a renewing of your circumstances, a halt to the destruction of your yesterdays and tomorrows.

Here I am, so safe and content in my country, my home. I can look out my windows and see the same view that was there yesterday and last week and last year. But that isn’t so for you, is it? Your view has been distorted without your permission, without asking your opinion. Your landscape is at best rearranged, at worst, destroyed. The images are staggering from far away. How much more unreal they must seem up close. Will it ever be rebuilt? Can it be possible? Perhaps bricks and mortar are in supply, but it is the landscape of your heart that will never be the same. The craters left in the ground, the buildings torn apart…these are nothing compared to the shattered dreams and broken lives that you and your children must now endure.

For this I am so sorry. In my political ignorance, I do not know who is truly to blame, except that man does this to man, country to country. For this, I pray that you may experience restoration in your life...that God may rejuvenate you and grant you some semblance of normalcy once again.

I do not know you or your children, but we are not so different, I suspect. We live and love, hope and dream, laugh and cry, fear and pray. Our surroundings differ, but our hearts are of a common thread. If I could, I would have you over to visit. We would sit and have tea, our children would laugh and play together and we would be friends.

For this, my friend, I pray for you…peace.

Photos - 3

These were some shots I took while hiking the Laurel Highlands Trail in Novebmer 2009. That's one of my favorite fall activities, and it was exceptionally warm that November, making it a great time to hike. The first three shots are sort of a study on perspective. The last one I'm including just because I like it.

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And yes, I did take this shot while squatting down in the center of Rt. 30 at the summit of the mountain and lived to tell about it.

Snippets - Control and Revenge

In my files I have a lot of what I'd call "snippets." They are scenes from novel ideas I had, but I did not start writing the novels chronologically. Instead of beginning at the beginning, I would write out certain scenes that I could clearly see in my mind, with the intention of going back and writing the rest of the story around those bits. Unfortunately, that latter part rarely happened, which means I have a lot of these snippets floating around. I refuse to give up hope that I will one day finish the stories. In the mean time, I'll post some of the snippets here. The two below were for a story that I was calling Control and Revenge that I wrote around 2008. The first is an earlier scene in the story, the second a later one. Miraculously, I still have a vague notion of where I was going with things in between.

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Control and Revenge (Early snippet)

Her steady gaze held his.

“How can you be sure that my intent isn’t to kill them both?” She asked, slowly walking past him, breaking her gaze only at the last possible moment. She sat on the bed.

Without warning, he was in front of her, pushing her backward, pinning her down. His face was only an inch from hers.

“If killing them is your plan,” he growled, an eyebrow raised, “perhaps we can work together in all of this after all?”

She considered for a moment the eagerness in his face before letting out a laugh.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you so excited. I have no intention of killing either of them. In fact, I intend to do all I can to keep them both alive.”

At that, Marc backed up a fraction, frustration passing across his face for an instant before regaining his composure. “Are you sure, love? Death is the best revenge.”

“No, I don’t think so. Death? You’re gone. There is nothing else.” She narrowed her eyes and stared through Marc and continued. “But…revenge, revenge in the form of suffering? Now that’s something else.” She returned her eyes to his and smiled.

“Well, if suffering is your goal, then we can be on the same team. What say you?”

Without waiting for Ana’s reply, he dipped his lips to hers, only to have her turn her head before he made contact.

He responded with a quiet, knowing chuckle and removed himself from atop her. She kept her head turned but met his gaze, saying nothing as he strode to the door and left the room.

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Control and Revenge (Later snippet) 

“She needs medical attention,” said Marc.

Van waved his hand in disgust and turned away. “Let her die.”

“No!” Marc surprised himself with the vehemence he heard in his voice. He took a second to regain his composure and spoke again. “No. That would be pointless. Besides,” he added, glancing back at the pale figure on the bed, “she still has her part of our bargain to live up to.”

Van spun around and sneered. “Do you really believe she is going to lead us to him? Think about it! Since she’s been in this land, she has spent most of her time defending him! Protecting him! And now you think she is going to turn her back on her very reason for being here and help us take him? Your gullibility sickens me.”

Marc stood up from Ana’s bed side. “I will not let her die,” he stated without waver. “She has not served her purpose for me—for us. You are reacting in haste.”

 “Fine,” Van snorted as he stalked toward the door. “Do as you will. I think you’re a fool. Besides, just where do you think you’ll find medical care for her out here? Back in the village? You think you can just walk in to the clinic and drop her off, with no one noticing who you are? You’d never get out alive.”

Marc turned back toward Ana now, again sinking onto the low stool next to the bed. “No. Of course I won’t take her back there.” He grazed the back of his hand over her forehead, paused momentarily to wonder what instinct caused him to do such a thing. “There is another option.”

“Such as?”

Marc stared hard at his partner, as if offering a challenge. “We can take her where she was intending to go in the first place.”

Van gaped at him but said nothing. Marc continued.

“Kato is there. He’s the one she needs to help heal her. She said so herself…before…”

Van walked slowly over and stood in front on Marc. “You have lost your mind,” he said, shaking his head. “Take her to Kato? Kato? Taking her to him is to take her to Marron. You won’t be saving her life! You’ll be sacrificing it once and for all. Not that I care, mind you.”

Marc stirred as if to respond, but Van continued. “And if you haven’t noticed, we do not know where Marron or Kato are, which is why we agreed to this deal with your girlfriend here in the first place!”

“Quit being dramatic,” Marc snapped. “She’s not my girlfriend. She is…a business interest. As much yours as mine.”

“Right. A business interest,” mocked Van. “The interest you’ve paid her the past few nights has not escaped me. There’s been nothing businesslike about it.”

Van had pushed Marc as far as he dared and he knew it.

“Whatever. Do what you want with her. But I’ll tell you this, if she becomes a hindrance – more of one than she is already – I’ll cut her loose myself, dammit.”

Suddenly, Ana took in a ragged breath and moaned. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw the two men towering over her. She tried to sit up, but she was too weak and simply fell backward to the mattress that was damp with her sweat.

“Get ready to go,” said Marc. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Photo - 2

This is a collection of shots I took of the saw mill that is on my in-laws' property. I love photographing old rusty things. Taken April 16, 2006.

Photo - 1

Waxing Moon, July 8, 2009

Some Things Never Change

In my files, I have a number of holiday oriented stories, all of which have a dark or depressing theme. I'm not sure what that's all about, but this is one I wrote in December 2008.

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Some Things Never Change

It was the Christmas party that everyone looked forward to attending. Cindy Warren was a hostess in the truest sense, not because she wanted accolades for her beautiful home or amazing buffet, but because she loved to give their friends the opportunity to leave behind them, just for one night, the troubles of their lives, to spend a few hours being treated as the most important people in the world. Thanks to her husband’s successful business ventures, Cindy needed to spare no expense in order to perform this annual holiday miracle for those she loved.

This year was no different. It was nearing ten o'clock, and the party was in full swing. An ornately decorated Christmas tree towered under the vaulted ceiling of the Warrens’ spacious foyer, tonight turned into a miniature ballroom. Cindy wove through the party to spent time with each of their guests, her smile bright, her long, golden hair wound elegantly behind her, pinned low at her neck, and her silver dress shimmering as it clung to her svelte form, its iridescent beads reflecting the soft lights around her.

In the corner opposite the tree, a three-piece ensemble began to play a dreamy version of Silent Night. Cindy smiled. It was her favorite Christmas carol. She glanced around the room, taking it all in...the lights, the sounds of the music and the people. Everything hummed, content and perfect. Cindy loved this night. 

From behind, she felt Robert wrap his arms around her. He softly kissed her neck before turning her toward him, embracing her again and leading her into a slow sway.

"I think this may be the best one yet," he said, kissing the top of her head.

She nestled her cheek against his and closed her eyes. "You say that every year," she teased.

"Well, that's because it's true," he kissed her again. "Some things will never change."

Cindy looked up into her husband’s eyes. "I love you," she smiled.

Suddenly, from seemingly nowhere, a cold wisp of air touched Cindy’s bare shoulders. She shivered. Pulling back from Robert a little, she looked to the front door, but it was shut. No one appeared to have entered or left. She felt the cold air again. She looked around quickly to see if the guests noticed it, but everyone continued their dancing and talking and conversations, seemingly unaffected.

Cindy looked back to Robert, but his smile from a moment ago was gone. In its place, there was a pained look. "Sweetheart?” she asked, “What's wrong?"

"Mr. Warren?" a woman's voice said. "It's ten o'clock."

Confused, Cindy looked around, trying to identify the woman who was telling her husband the time. She saw no one.

"Robert? Honey?" she said again, now with a hint of panic in her voice. But Robert didn’t answer.

Cindy stood rooted to her place on the dance floor while her guests continued to glide around her, almost in a blur. The music sounded different now. Tinny, artificial. The lights appeared to dim and Robert, her love, was moving slowly away from her. She wanted to go after him, to cry out, but she couldn't move, and no words would come. So she simply stood there, as the party whirled around her, a mawkish parody of what it had been just moments before.

"Mr. Warren?" the woman said again.

Robert took his eyes from his wife and glanced at the familiar face of the gray haired woman dressed in white. Today she was wearing a small Christmas wreath pin on her sweater. 

He nodded.

"We'll call you…if there's any change," she offered softly, trying to ease the man's pain.

"I know,” Robert sighed. “Thank you." As he bent over to kiss what seemed only the shell of his beautiful, beloved Cindy, he knew he would not get that call. In all these months, it had never come. "Merry Christmas, Marie," he said, giving her shoulders a small hug, "But some things will never change."

As Robert left the room, Marie wiped a tear from her eye before it fell. Thirty years as a nurse hadn't managed to harden her from things like this. She needlessly tidied the blankets of Cindy's bed.

"Merry Christmas, dear," she said to Cindy, and then turned to leave so she could check on her next patient.

And so no one was there to see the tears as they began to stream from Cindy's closed eyes.