Queens Write

THE EVENING MY TIARA SLIPPED

2005-10-12T06:23:00.000-07:00

Some may think I’m carrying this “queen” thing a tad too far, but what the hey! We only live once, right?

I’m a middle school teacher who tends to say yes to anyone who asks me to head up a school committee or come up with new and innovative ideas for the classroom or head a fund raising committee…especially if I’m asked in May to chair the September function. It’s really a devious ploy by the requestor who knows by the end of school all I’m thinking about is getting out the door without a serious injury that might interfere with summer vacation. I’m in a weakened mental state - easy pickings.

That’s exactly what happened in May 2005. The last day of school I found a note in my mailbox asking me to meet the principal after lunch. See? After lunch meant I’d be more likely to agree with any request because I’m full, and I’m counting minutes. It worked.

I agreed to chair a Chamber of Commerce fund raising committee composed of faculty members.

“It’ll be so much fun, Lonnye Sue. You are just the person to do this; it’s right up your alley.”

Flattery always helps, too.

“What is it?” I asked wearily.

“It’s an adult spelling bee. Doesn’t that sound like fun? Last year one school’s team dressed up as bumble bees! They were called ‘The Spelling Bees.’ The money goes into the Chamber’s mini-grant fund for teachers. You’ll be great at this! It’s not until September so you have a long time to work out the details. I’ll send all the information to you as soon as I get it.”

By the time school started at the end of August, I’d not heard one word from anyone. To make a long story even longer, I had exactly three weeks to organize a team, decide on a team name, find costumes and, oh, teach. It’s a good thing I’m queenly! I delegate well.

Finally, the evening arrived. My team of six women and two men taught all day before heading to the country club for the event. “Tim and Dean and the Dictionary Divas” arrived wearing jewel-encrusted foam tiaras and feather boas, fedoras and bling-bling out the wazoo, but we paled in comparison to other teams. For encouragement, I gathered my team and told them we would beat the stingers off all those silly-looking people running around in stupid custom-made costumes because we were TIM AND DEAN AND THE DICTIONARY DIVAS, BY GOD! Hoohaa!

The Chamber’s helium balloons hovered over us as we struggled through round after round of excruciatingly difficult words, but we held our own, spelling “egregious” and “inion” and “truculent” and “oblate” and “mulct” in time to ward off the “Killer Bee” who was just itching to pop those balloons.

Three hours later, our tiaras slipping and our boas molting and the bling-bling tarnishing, we were put out of the running when we couldn’t spell “plenipotentiary.” (That’s one I won’t ever misspell again.) Beaten by teams with names like The Bee-52s and Spell’s Angels.

Before Killer could make his way to our table, I stood – regally, of course – took off my Captain’s button, popped every one of those helium-filled monsters and exclaimed, “A diva never gets popped!”

I suppose the more than $20,000 we helped raise was worth the effort, but I had to take a mental health absence the following day. That darn foam tiara gave me a headache!

© Lonnye Sue Pearson, 2005

A Mississippi Delta native, Lonnye Sue Sims Pearson teaches English to eager eighth graders in Wayne County, North Carolina. Her work has been published at http://www.usadeepsouth.com/, where she is Associate Editor, as well as http://www.asouthernjournal.com/ and in the Mississippi magazine Tombigbee Country.Three highly active grandchildren and a neurotic dachshund keep Ms. Pearson busy, but she is sporadically working on her first novel and a humorous cookbook.Contact Ms. Pearson at deltamiss2002@yahoo.com.

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The Royal Order of the Benevolent Society of the Tiara

2005-09-27T17:37:00.000-07:00

Telemarketers are the bane of my existence. I have caller ID and do not answer “unknown” or “blocked” calls, but still they make my phone ring at the most inopportune times.

My daughter and her family recently took time off to visit Disney World. Melanie said she’d call me when they got down the road a bit. Sometimes my caller ID displays cell phones as “unknown,” and since the kids were on the road, I didn’t want to take any chances of missing the call. About an hour after they left, the phone rang. Even though the display showed an unknown caller, I answered just in case. The conversation went something like this.

“Hello?”

“LONNYE?”

Big sigh on my end. I was caught. ”Yes.”

“LONNYE, THIS IS MARK!”

“Who?”

“THIS IS MARK YURICK! HOW IN THE WORLD ARE YOU?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Yurick, but…”

“GREAT, LONNYE! LISTEN, I’M WITH THE ROYAL ORDER OF THE BENEVOLENT SOCIETY OF THE METROPOLITAN POL…”

“Mr. Yurick, have we met?”

“NO, NO!” Insert convivial laughter. “WE’VE NEVER MET, LONNYE, BUT I…”

“Well, then, Mr. Yurick, if we’ve never met, why do you think you have the right to call me by my first name?”

“LONNYE,” nervous laughter this time. “I’M MARK YURICK WITH THE ROYAL OR…”

“I understand that, Mr. Yurick. I happen to be a member of the Royal Order of the Benevolent Society of the Tiara myself. I prefer to be addressed as Your Highness, but for some reason, I cannot convince anyone of that status. Therefore, I will grudgingly accept Ms. Pearson.”

“OH, LONNYE!” Very nervous laughter. “I’M CALLING TO INFORM YOU OF…”

“Mr. Yurick. If you do not stop shouting at me and address me by my appropriate title, I will be forced to consider you a rude and incompetent oaf who must be completely brain dead. In that case, we would have nothing further to discuss, would we?”

“I…I…”

“That’s what I suspected, Mr. Yurick. Please remove my name and number from your calling list. If you will excuse me, I have rhinestones to polish. The Royal Order of the Benevolent Society of the Tiara is having its annual Sweet Tea tomorrow and my tiaras have fallen into abominable disrepair since I had to let my girl go after she pinched a precious faux diamond brooch. I bid you good evening, Mr. Yurick."

© Lonnye Sue Pearson, 2005

A Mississippi Delta native, Lonnye Sue Sims Pearson teaches English to eager eighth graders in Wayne County, North Carolina. Her work has been published at http://www.usadeepsouth.com/, where she is Associate Editor, as well as http://www.asouthernjournal.com/ and in the Mississippi magazine Tombigbee Country.
Three highly active grandchildren and a neurotic dachshund keep Ms. Pearson busy, but she is sporadically working on her first novel and a humorous cookbook.
Contact Ms. Pearson at deltamiss2002@yahoo.com.

http://www.queenpower.com/

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A Woman's Heart

2005-09-18T15:20:00.000-07:00

The heart of your woman is not so easily read
as your girl's. Wisdom and doubt are matched

rings, once a perfect fit, later feel tight, soon will not
slip from your finger, must remain with you

through the night. Once you prayed for his call.
Warmed by his glance you watch him. Balanced high

on a ladder, you twist crêpe paper streamers, tack
them with the heel of a loafer to the boys' gym

wall, a diversion that fools no one. Today, given
roses you hold them to your cheek, revel

in the colors. Coral and Cream. You smell
bruised gardenias from another bouquet.

You have learned, over the years you have learned
to smile with your lips and lower the lids of your eyes.

©Carolyn Howard-Johnson
Queen of Frugal Promotions and Poetry

Tracings from Finishing Line Press may now be pre-ordered. Go to http://finishinglinepress.com/. Click 2005 Releases, scroll to 6th row down. Janet Elaine Smith, author of Pampas, says, "I hate poetry that doesn't rhyme. So why, in a few moments does Carolyn's poetry have me in the palm of its hand? This poetry can work the same magic on anybody!"

How You Can Help Prevent Identity Theft

2005-08-10T13:45:00.000-07:00

Queen Michelle Dunn shares ...

Identity theft can happen anytime, anywhere and to anyone, individuals or businesses.

How can I prevent Identity theft from happening to me?

Michelle shares with us some key tips to help us protect ourselves:

*Never leave your receipt or slip in the ATM or gas pump.

*Pay attention to your habits:
Lockup or organize and file your bills and bank statements.
Shred them using across shredder before throwing them away.

In a recent article in MSN Money, their research showed that 32% of people said they had been a victim of identity fraud by a friend or family, and 13% were victimized by a co-worker. Beware! These people know your patterns and habits.

Some steps you can take to avoid becoming a victim of Identity theft are:
*Get a copy of your credit report from all three credit bureaus.
(For FREE reports as of9/1/05!)
Experian, PO Box 2002, Allen TX 75013 http://www.experian.com/ 888-397-3742
Equifax, PO Box 740241, Atlanta, GA 30348 http://www.equifax.com/ 800-685-1111
Trans Union, PO Box 4000, Chester, PA 19016 http://www.transunion.com/ 866-887-2673

*Opt out of snail mail lists by contacting the credit bureaus above. Opt out by reading the privacy notice that comes with your credit card and following the instructions. Call the national Do Not Call Registry at 1-888-382-1222 or visit http://www.donotcall.gov/. Be sure to call from the number you want to register.

*Do not carry your Social Security Card in your wallet.

*Do not print your Social security number on your checks.

*Do not get your social security number printed on your drivers' license.

*Do not carry your Medicade card with you, Medicade #'s are your Social Security number.

*Do not use your date of birth as a password or PIN.

*Do not give out personal or financial information over the phone.

If you feel you have been a victim of identity fraud, contact the Departmentof Justice, consumer protection division. They offer mediation with identity theft; they also have a hot line for consumers that is available 8-5 Monday-Friday.

About Michelle ...
Dunn has over 17 years experience in credit and debt collection.She is the founder of Never Dunn Publishing, LLC, is a writer, consultantand the Editorial Advisor for Eli Financial Debt Collection Compliance AlertNewsletter. Michelle started M.A.D. Collection Agency and ran issuccessfully for 7 years. She owns and runs Credit & Collections.com a freeonline community for credit and business professionals.She has written 5 books in her Collecting Money Series and is currentlywriting a book for the Streetwise Series, part of the Adams MediaCorporation. For more information on Michelle's services or to order any ofher books please email her at michelle@michelledunn.com or visithttp://www.michelledunn.com/ & http://www.credit-and-collections.com/

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Living on Queen Street

2005-06-21T07:49:00.000-07:00

by Lonnye Sue Pearson

I told my second husband shortly before we married that I was a queen in search of her queendom. He didn’t get it (that’s another story altogether), but he did get the royal boot.

Recently, I bought a piece of property with two houses on it. Appropriately, the property is on Queen Street. After all these years, I have found my domain.

My daughter, her husband and three children live in the “big house,” while I occupy the tiny, lower apartment of a two-story building “out back.” I haven’t lived in such close proximity to family since 1993. At any rate, I’ve discovered something about myself since moving.

My generation wrote the book on women’s liberation…freedom, equal rights, partnerships, etc. Women today should thank us for breaking the mold our mothers, grandmothers and great-grandmothers had to endure. After all, without us, women would still be stuck at home wearing housedresses and aprons and baking cookies for the neighborhood kids. It was my generation that changed the status quo for women in America, that gave women a chance to succeed on their own, that gave women a voice. We are women; hear us ROAR.

Wait a minute! If I’m a product of the generation of women who made a commitment to elevate all sisters out of the pit of Hell, why do I expect certain considerations from my daughter or son-in-law?

Lately, I have discovered latent tendencies toward labeling chores as “men’s work” or “women’s work.” I know, unbelievable, but true. I swear I wasn’t always like this. I used to hang my own pictures, paint my own walls, refinish hardwood floors, repair leaky faucets, replace light switches, mow lawns, patch roofs, raise hogs, cut glass. I even baked bread from scratch, preserved fruits and vegetables, cooked meals, washed clothes, crocheted afghans, cross stitched, and remembered family members’ birthdays. I worked two jobs for many, many years.

However, recently, I have taken a different track…the proverbial “road not taken” previously…and…I think I like it. Why should I mow the lawn? My son-in-law lives forty feet away. Let him do it. Why should I fix the leaky faucet? Jeff can do it. Why should I climb a ladder to replace the cap on the chimney? Son-in-law!

His reward will be homemade bread, gourmet meals and free babysitting…when I feel like it.

Yes, life as a queen has its advantages. Now where did I put my scepter? I need the locks changed on the doors.

© Lonnye Sue Pearson, 2005

A Mississippi Delta native, Lonnye Sue Sims Pearson teaches English to eager eighth graders in Wayne County, North Carolina. Her work has been published at http://www.usadeepsouth.com/, where she is Associate Editor, as well as http://www.asouthernjournal.com/ and in the Mississippi magazine Tombigbee Country.

Three highly active grandchildren and a neurotic dachshund keep Ms. Pearson busy, but she is sporadically working on her first novel and a humorous cookbook.

Contact Ms. Pearson at deltamiss2002@yahoo.com.

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Something More

2005-06-13T08:18:00.000-07:00

by Gwen Morrison

I am no longer in denial: I enjoy change. I have worked as a sales clerk, cashier, telemarketer (for a cemetery!), factory worker, accounts payable clerk, laboratory technician, chiropractic assistant, writer, editor and publisher! I enjoy reinventing myself, to some extent. With my many careers, one thing has sort of led to the other. I love the rush of learning something new, even if it is how to burp a Tupperware container. Oh, did I mention there was a two-week stint where I sold $180 worth of Tupperware to my sister's friends? Tupperware lady I am not.Truth be told my niche is writing. It's in me. Even as I consider giving up the idea of seeking new assignments from unknown editors, I find myself gravitate back to the publishing world. When I was young, I wrote story after story. I dreamed of writing a book. Today, my first novel is due to be published within a year and I'm busy working on my second. Along the way, I may have worn a lot of hats but writing will always be who I am, more than what I want to do.The idea of changing careers though is fascinating to me. Just a small change can create a huge ripple in your life. It doesn't have to be a major career jolt but the idea of inching my way out of the box is very appealing. A good friend of mine once said, "Well, this is just what you're doing for now. There will be something else. A year or two or five; you'll do something else. It's just the way you are."It took me a long time to think of this as a positive thing. Always afraid that people will consider me "flighty" or a quitter, I hesitate every time I am faced with the inevitable decision that I must go on to something more. So, call me flighty, but you just never know where I will end up as I travel through life. Maybe I'll be making lemon meringue pies for weeks on end or mastering the craft of sweater making. Perhaps you'll find me at Home Depot (as I threaten often). I always thought I'd look great in that orange apron they are required to wear. I've come to the conclusion that I can't live without change. Some things, of course will remain a constant-- family, friends and my writing--but I must seek something more every day.This past weekend I saw the movie Monster In Law and a line from Jennifer Lopez's character has echoed in my head ever since, "I never live the same day twice." How cool is that?
©Gwen Morrison, 2005

Gwen Morrison is a writer and mom of four. Her work has been published in national magazines, regional publications, newspapers and online. Her first novel, Ivy: the story of a friendship will be released late 2005. Originally from Canada, Gwen now lives outside Atlanta where she is busy at work on her second book.
http://www.georgialifestylesmagazine.com/
http://www.inetvacation.com/
http://www.gwenmorrison.com/
http://www.lemonmeringuepie.com/

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With apologies to Bill Shakespeare

2005-05-24T08:01:00.001-07:00

Eveline Maedel

I sweep, perchance to Swiffer
and vacuum, perchance to mop
for in that sweeping what thoughts are cleansed
cobwebs blown from dusty corners
problems solved in swift motion
what peace in Saturday
to sweep, to clean no more

©2005 Eveline Maedel

Author of "Heart's Desire" -now available as an e'book
http://www.lulu.com/EvelineMaelel

Read my Blog - Ebenezer Scribe
www.ebenezerscribe.blogsopot.com

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If I Knew Then What I Know Now...

2005-05-16T07:25:00.000-07:00

Dawn Walker

My age has crept up on me. I mean, while I have always been aware of each passing birthday, the actual age of my physical body has crept up on me. I consider myself culturally hip. I will read anything. I will watch almost anything. I will talk about anything. One would think that all of these things equal a mature person. However, this is not to be true about me. I am vainer than I will ever admit aloud. I find myself more aware of my physical image. I know, I know – it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right. No – not for me. While I don’t care what you look like and I only care about your soul, I care about my looks. The skin around my eyes isn’t quite as tight as I remember it being just a short time ago. Another thing, a two piece bathing suit doesn’t actually look as good on me as I think it should. I am also finding that I would rather wear things with a stretchy waist band – do cute clothes even come in stretchy waist band sizes? Am I even too old to worry about cute clothes? It doesn’t help that I am around a beautiful young seventeen year old almost every day. She is a student worker who just went to the prom and is eagerly awaiting graduation (10 days and counting). Her heart is as big as Texas and her brain is on the verge of learning more about the world than she ever thought possible. This sweet soul often seeks my counsel on everything from shoes, her parents, college, and what she is going to be “when she grows up.” I have spent the last few weeks listening to her and aching for her. The world is at her feet and she isn’t even aware of life beyond her graduation night. I have been keeping an ongoing list of the things I want to tell her but won’t because she will learn them soon enough.

~Take care of your skin – all the tanning in the world may look great against the beautiful prom dress, but when I thought that too. I have since had three cancerous “sun spots” removed from my twice her age body.

~ Take care of your spirit. Don’t allow anyone to tear you down or apart now or ever. Grow into a strong woman with a mind of your own and self-esteem.

~ Set a good example for my little girl and all of the little girls who are watching you age. Many will idolize you and emulate your choices just because they love you.

~Of all the friends you have today, there will only be one, maybe two, that you will keep throughout your life. Choose your friends wisely.

~Don’t rush into adulthood. Be responsible but don’t make adult decisions with your body and mind that you aren’t physically, financially, or emotionally ready to live with for the rest of your life. Be young and free just as long as you can.

~Your job, body, home, and many other things may be taken away or permanently change. However, an education is something that can never be taken away from you. Don’t stop with high school.

~Exercise your body and spirit and don’t be afraid of change. There is an old saying that the only thing that doesn’t change is change itself. Believe it – nothing stays the same.

There are probably a ton of other things that I will wish I had told this young person long after she has left my life, just as I wish there are some things my elders had told me. I’m not sure I would have listened – I thought I knew everything at the age of eighteen. Fortunately I still have the same best friend I had at that age. We have each had marriages, children, successes and failures, and we say to each other frequently enough, “if we knew then what we know now…

© Dawn Walker, 2005, all rights reserved

Dawn Walker is a wife, mom, and writer living in Oklahoma. Her first fiction story, Daddy's Girl, was published in October 2004. This book focuses on a character who was sexually abused as a child and seeks retribution from her abuser. Ms. Walker is an advocate against child abuse and is currently researching state laws relating to abused children and children dsplaced from their parents. For more information on Dawn, please visit www.dawnrwalker.net

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The Prayer

2005-04-30T12:07:00.000-07:00

If prayer was a contest based
on choice of words,
the poet would always win;
but the best prayer
is in heart-words,
Simple, sometimes unspoken,
Heart-words,
Assuming the shape of emotion.
Fears, wants, secret dreams,
desires left unsaid,
Finding a home
With the gentlest of heart-holders,
The eternal listener,
Who answers with hope,
Enters the despair,
Sweeping the soul-home clean,
Bringing sweetness to the air,
Answer to the formless prayer.

© Rhonda J. Foster, 2004

Rhonda J. Foster has been writing since she was a child, although life has created numerous diversions along the way. After practicing law for over ten years, she began to write "seriously" and has had articles published. She believes in a lifetime childhood, and finds it difficult to be serious too much of the time.

http://www.queenpower.com/

Why Not Write It? by G. Lumbroso

2005-04-25T19:50:00.000-07:00

When I woke up this morning
the sun didn’t greet me,
and I was feeling too tired
to emerge with much glee.

It was “one of those days”
I could already feel it,
If only pushing “reset”
had been an optional secret.

Then I remembered
that I was a writer
and with paper and pen
I could make things righter.

The morning, I could restart
on a brighter note
The sun could shine
And I could quote

From my heart’s contents
bringing things to the front
that were harbored within
and would surface for want

Of being heard, and uttered
to move and become
my thoughts unfettered,
inspiration for some.

Yes, that was it, that’s
what I could do;
rewrite the script,
and paint a new view.

I love the way words
clothe the imagination’s mullings,
how they conjure up shapes
and give ideas wings.

Why they give us power
to rework our worlds;
no need to just stand there
as if caught in a wind's swirl.

No, writing can make
getting up joyful,
can add sunshine, rain, wind
snow, by the handful...

Write, that is it,
with my pen and words,
I can create anything,
I am now undeterred.

These lines I then dedicate
to all you who read them,
Unleash your muse now
give your ideas freedom!

As I stand here and bow,
before you my public,
let’s give a hand to words,
for they truly hold great magic!

(c) 2005
Gena Hall Lumbroso, lives and works in France, out of an old
renovated French country home where she and her French husband
have set up a translating/writing business. While words are her
tools of the trade, they are also her friends, her brush and
paint. She jumps at every opportunity to use them, to experience
and share their power with others.

http://www.queenpower.com/

Sing Me to Sleep

2005-04-06T15:34:00.000-07:00

from the chemo journals of Queen Ova

Last night when I went to bed, Pain was my bedfellow. I took a pill to ease his hold on me and waited for Morpheus’ arrival. I flicked on the television and switched between mindless programs waiting for his call. For two hours I waited. Pain left me, but I was wide awake. More than simply awake. I was as wired as B. B. King’s guitar in full concert.

I took an anti-anxiety pill and flicked off the television and waited again for Morpheus to beckon me. I closed my eyes and prayed and waited. I didn’t count sheep. I listened instead to night close around me. The fan whirred softly at my bedside. Outside, below and beyond my window, tree frogs croaked out a chorus crying for rain. Had it rained, they would have raised their voices in praise of the fresh, sweet liquid.

Cicadas rubbed their legs together and made their joyful noises to their mates. Funny how things so small—frogs smaller than your fist, cicadas no larger than your thumb—can make so much racket. They blast through the night like a foghorn on steroids. They sing because they’re alive another day. They sing because it’s their life. A life of song. A song that tells me that, right here, right now, "God’s in his heaven. All’s right with the world.”

Wednesday, May 26, 2004
© Diane Stewart all rights reserved

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Someone I Lost by Bonnie

2005-03-30T14:03:00.000-08:00

Here I am searching.
Searching still.
Looking for someone I lost.
Someone I lost a long, long time ago.
Lost and looking.
I search on.
Trying to heal that ache.
The ache that lies way down deep.
That no medicine can cure.
No human can take away.
Searching endlessly.
Seeking what I've lost.
Looking for me.

Bonnie started writing short stories and journaling when she was 10-years-old. She began writing poetry in 1999. Her interests have expanded since September 11, 2001, and she has turned her attention to political science, historical events/past history, philosophy, and sociology. Bonnie’s poems, articles and columns have been published in a variety of poetry sites, business, and writer-related websites.
Find Bonnie on the web at:
http://localbizalliance.com/bkflorea/shadesofgray.html
http://writersandpoets.bravehost.com/
http://writersandpoets.bravehost.com/
She published a collection of poetry, Shades Of Gray, in 2004, and will release her new poetry collection, Uncovering My Eyes, in 2005.
Shades Of Gray may be published at any of her websites, or at:

Shades Of Gray
PO Box 314
Blanchester, Ohio 45107
with a check, or money order for
$6.00+$3.00 shipping and handling.

I Have a Head and a Heart for Teaching.

2005-03-22T19:20:00.000-08:00

In January of 1997, the headmaster of Cruger-Tchula Academy called and asked if I would be willing and able to teach the junior and senior English classes until the end of the school year. I was certain that I was willing—I was newly graduated from college and although I was already working in the schools with an AmeriCorps reading program, I could stand the additional part-time income—but I was not sure of my ability beyond reporting for “duty” each day. I had not had any formal training and my only other experiences included working as a peer tutor in the writing lab at Delta State University and working with the reading program in local elementary schools. Although I had intended to spend one more year enrolled in the teacher certification program, I had instead graduated early so that my husband could take a job in Texas that never materialized. And so, much like the window that is opened when the proverbial door closes, the headmaster of Cruger-Tchula Academy was offering me a chance to teach after all. I walked into that classroom on the first day with a textbook in my hand, a world full of ideas in my head, and a whole lot of love in my heart.

The students at Cruger-Tchula Academy gave me an education; they showed me that I already had two of the most important qualities of good teaching: ideas and love. When I say ideas, I mean that I approached learning creatively; I strove always to bring the knowledge to them in meaningful ways. I asked them to reach, but not so high that they wouldn’t try. I made the classroom a safe space for learning and they came to learn. I reminded them that learning is fun and they had fun learning. I created assignments and projects that challenged them individually and as a group. Then, I loved them through the learning. I encouraged each student to achieve his or her personal best, to improve on an individual scale and to treat him or herself with patience and kindness. I modeled care and concern and encouraged them to create a learning community. Group projects bonded the students together. They learned to use the knowledge of their collective strengths and weaknesses to support each other and ultimately excel. They opened up; they gave, and they received.

Two Cruger-Tchula students, in particular, stand out to me. One, Beth, gave me a gift—literally and figuratively. She gave me a newer edition of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books than the one I had regularly read to her class from. She had enjoyed the stories and started reading them on her own. In this book, she had found one of the opening quotations to be meaningful in relation to the two of us. She highlighted it and told me in a note to be sure to read it: “One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers, but with gratitude to those who touched our human feeling. The curriculum is so much necessary raw material, but warmth is the vital element for the growing plant and for the soul of the child.” (Carl Jung) Another student, Pam, had suffered the loss of her young husband and father of her unborn son shortly after graduation, but had persevered and made a new life for herself. A couple of years ago, I searched the web to see if Cruger-Tchula was still operating and came across a posting by Pam, looking for former teachers. I replied, and we have been in contact since then. One of the first things she told me was that she still had the magnet I had given her that said: “Never place a period where God has placed a comma.” She lived by that rule. I think these students stand out to me because they remind me that teaching goes both ways and is much more than conveying subject matter.

Teaching is hard work. In “real life,” it rarely sounds as light and airy as my experience suggests; however, I do not believe that any great teacher does not feel light and airy on the inside when she thinks about what teaching means to her. Teaching is a human art, and, by definition, there is beauty in art—in its creation and it its fruition. I am a human artist with a head and a heart for teaching.

© Nicole Williams
all rights reserved

Shades of Gray

2005-03-05T13:03:00.000-08:00

Bonnie Florea shares . . .

If you dealt with life more openly,
Would it be clearer?
If conversation was discussion,
Would there be less misinterpretations?
If the earth were dark more then it were light,
Would you think of people in color?
If there were no rules to guide you through life,
Would chaos reign, or would temptation have no strife?
Strange are the ways of black and white
That make the many shades of gray.
Drink the water that is clear, dash the pollution away,
Smell the scents that are sweet as nature designed.
Kiss the fear away.

© 2005 Bonnie Florea

The Bus Ride

2005-02-26T13:48:00.000-08:00

Jean Madigan, Queen Serena, shares more with us ...

Abruptly, the crowded Lake Street bus lurched to a screaming halt. Furious, the burly driver turned to face the back of the bus. Petey, and his friends sat, sprawled, and relaxed, from the joint they’d just passed to each other.

Peter Simonovich the Third looked up just in time to see the driver glaring at them, so he nudged the sleeping Frankie, who was seated next to him. He in turn poked Rick. Almost in unison, they yelled derisively, "Hey, Macho Man, get this sled moving!" Then they collapsed into convulsive laughter at the look on the enraged driver’s face.

In a flash, he was out of his seat, and with a huge, meaty hand firmly gripping a surprised Petey’s collar, pulled him out of his seat, and marched him like a puppet on a string to the rear bus exit.

Stumbling on the last step, Petey quickly looked around, hoping that no one witnessed his hasty departure from the bus, which had already pulled crazily away from the curb. Feeling someone’s eyes on him, Petey looked straight ahead at the deceptively smiling face of Marcia Root, his probation officer.

© 2005 Jean Madigan

The Gourmet

2005-02-25T16:16:00.000-08:00

Jean Madigan, Queen Serena, shares ...

"Oh no!" Quince exclaimed, clapping a pudgy hand to his forehead. The pungent odor of molasses permeated the air.He walked to the oven and flung opened the door to check on his baked beans. Careful inspection revealed that they were almost done, but just to make sure, Quince grabbed a wooden spoon, dipped it into the mixture and scooped out a tiny portion.A smile wreathed his face. He stirred them with another spoon and noted with satisfaction that they were the right consistency. He breathed a sigh of relief; his culinary reputation was intact.

The recipe made him famous in St. Paul and was deceptive in its simplicity. All he did was take four big cans of prepared baked beans, add a cup of molasses, a smidgen of catsup, some brown sugar, and an eighth of a tablespoon of lemon juice, and put the mixture in a big casserole dish. Then he set the oven temperature to two hundred and fifty degrees for thirty minutes. The result was a delight. "They don’t need to know that I didn’t soak Great Northern beans overnight and make this dish from scratch.”

Quince’s sharp brown eyes darted over the attractive food display. Besides the beans, he’d prepared deviled eggs mixed with canned ham and sprinkled with paprika, potato salad topped with his secret dressin, barbequed chicken, overnight fruit salad, and pineapple upside down cake decorated with maraschino cherries stuck to the cake with toothpicks to a thin layer of glazed cake.

He glanced at his watch and swore. The staff should have been sitting down already and enjoying the sumptuous feast he had prepared. Quince allowed that some last minute affair had held them up. There was always some dumb dog and pony show that they just had to attend. They rarely had the opportunity to meet socially; it only happened when someone got a job at a different hospital and a celebration ensued. Why did they have to be late today, he fumed, walking through the hospital kitchen, slamming cupboard doors and fussing over the beans. He put on a pair of oven mitts and lifted them out of the oven, setting them on a hotpad in the middle of the table. He sat down on a chair.

Quince thought about his reputation as a gourmet cook. It earned him the position atNorthern Hospital as chief cook. Heaven knew he enjoyed every morsel of food he put into his mouth. Quince would go into ecstasy over the fare offered at The Boston Sea Party and became delirious with joy at the prospect of cutting into medium prime rib at Tinucci’s. Ah, when he closed his eyes, it seemed like only yesterday that he was cutting into it. Here was paradise! Yes, he thought, that meal was perfection, it was fantastic. The baked potato, which he pronounced
"padaydo,"" was cooked just right. He liked the way the butter made little rivulets in the white meat of it.

Then his mind switched to the dessert. Tinucci’s served strawberry shortcake that day. He remembered that he wanted to dip his finger into the snow white whipped cream.

Slamming doors jolted him back to the present and Quince sprang to his feet. He heard the counseling staff joking and laughing as they exited their meeting room and burst through the dining room door.

" Quince, old boy, lemme at them beans; I’m starved," said Bill, the senior counselor. "I’m starved!" He rubbed his palms together.

Quince watched them file into the dining room and sit down. Mary Ellers, the family counselor, took a deviled egg, mashed it up and put it on top of her helping of potato salad. Quince grimaced. "Why do you do that, Mary? I went to a lot of trouble to make those eggs look perfect."

She looked at him and said, "Big deal!" Quince slunk to a corner of the dining room and sat down. He’d garnished those perfect eggs with paprika and bacon bits and she had to go and spoil hers. She never noticed or commented on how smooth he’d made the filling.

He grumbled. "Some people have no appreciation of good cooking." No one looked his way. They busily filled their plates. The new intern counselor, Larry, walked up behind Quince and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Quince, your barbequed chicken was delightful. I’d love to have the recipe for my wife. How did you make that coating?”

Quince turned around with a beaming smile on his
broad face. He confided to Larry, "It’s all in the spices, m’boy, all in the spices. I’m glad you appreciate the intricacies of my cooking, not like some of these other animals here," he glowered, "but I won’t give you the recipe. The ingredients and their amounts are a matter of culinary judgment."

Larry nodded his head. "I understand, Quince," and he started walking away. Quince grabbed his sleeve.

"Hold on, Larry. Tell you what. I’ll fix you another dinner this Sunday at my home. We’ll have ham this time and I’ll add raisin sauce for an extra fillip. You know, the golden plump kind."

"Why thank you, Quince, that’s mighty nice of you. We’ll be there. Don’t go to all that trouble, though."

The older man looked at Larry and said, "Never you mind, Larry, it’s my pleasure." They shook hands and Larry
left.

Quince already had a plan in his mind, about how to prepare the meal for Larry and his wife. Thinking about the raisins he would use for the sauce on the ham, Quince thought about the feel of them in his mouth. They were so soft and juicy, he felt almost sacrilegious about biting into their flesh. Truth be known, Quince would rather eat and cook than do anything else. When it came time for him to die, it would happen in the middle of some restaurant like Pracna On The Main, and he would probably be finishing off a four course dinner.

When Quince did something, he went all the way!

© 2001 Jean Madigan

Inspiration Will Come

2005-02-17T12:53:00.000-08:00

Stacey-Ann Cole shares ...

Aspire, even higher
Taller than the loftiest palm tree
On a beach of the sea
Let no one convince you to descend
Stay up there and the words you apprehend
Will come to you, easily
They'll flow, pleasingly
Your creativity never left
It was stifled by your doubt
So breathe and believe
Inspiration will come

© 2005 Stacey-Ann Cole
http://www.creativesque.co.uk

Unconditional Love

2005-02-17T12:49:00.000-08:00

Bonnie Kay Florea, Queen Quilter of Words shares ...

I have opened my heart to you.
Ever silent, ever true.
Can you fathom the love I give freely?
This is not a pretense to fashion,
but a true intense revolution,
of free will and true openness.
You may not return this free love that I so display.
Just know its here and goes your way.
Quietly waiting for you.

© 2005 Bonnie Kay Florea
www.writersandpoets.bravehost.com

Say YES to Success

2005-02-09T15:51:00.000-08:00

Queen Marie shares . . .

Say YES! to Life

It's time to make a commitment to start saying YES to life.

Say YES to Self Care!

Let's start taking better care of ourselves. Why do we as women, who are great caregivers just seem to neglect ourselves? Sure, once in awhile we may pamper ourselves, but how often do we take care of ourselves. We remember everyone else's doctor's appointments, but we tend to overlook our own. Stop worrying about that lump, the cough that won't go away, your unexplained fatigue, your chest pain and go see your doctor. If you're suffering from depression, stop waiting for the blues to go away and get some help. Make commitments to eat healthier, exercise and be more proactive in your health care needs. Keep this in mind, you can't do much for your family, if you're not feeling well. Read http://www.nncc.org/Prof.Dev/take.care.self.html

Say YES to Self-Love

Love yourself. Stop chasing the man who doesn't return your phone calls, only calls you when he needs something, is living with his mother, has 3 kids with 3 different women, doesn't have a job, isn't motivated, has low self-esteem, doesn't want to marry you, doesn't support you emotionally, doesn't have a divorce. It's time to put yourself first. You can not fully love someone if you don't love yourself first. A healthy self-interest is essential in developing healthy relationships. Love the gifts that God has given you. Love the skills and talents you have. Love what you have to offer to the world. Love yourself unconditionally. Forgive yourself for past discretion. Reprogram your mind to believe that you do matter in this world. Yes, you are important!

Say YES to Self Respect

When it's all said and done, the only thing you'll have when you're old is your self-respect. You may lose your teeth, your beauty, your Social Security, and your money, but you can always have your self respect. Instead of looking for ways to get people to notice you, find ways to make a difference in the world. Volunteer, speak up for injustices, be about something. You don't want your mark in this world to be a skid mark. Stand up for yourself, for your children, for your family. Stop practicing harmful and unhealthy behaviors. You're only hurting yourself. Here's a fun test to determine your self respect. http://www.queendom.com/tests/minitests/fx/self_respect.html

Say YES to Happiness

When was the last time you were so happy that you basked in its wonder. If you can't remember, it's time to create your happiness. You will not find it in someone else, but within yourself. What fills your heart, makes you feel complete? Are you making the right choices in your life? If you can't feel happy, what is the source of your discontent? Find it and let it go. Life is too short to be miserable. Unhappy people tend to want to spread the misery. Why waste your time with those people? They'll only bring you down. Take action, get moving, make yourself happy. Here's a resource for you: http://www.thehappyguy.com/

Success is not a bad word. So why do so many people treat it as if it were a disease? Some might think that they are not worthy of success. Others believe that they will never attain success. There are those who chase success, but never catch up. The point is you can be successful. Chances are, the only thing getting in your way is yourself. The choice is yours, you can stay in your dead end job, or you can make the choice to improve yourself and find something better to do with your life. Remember, success isn't going to chase you. Here's another resource: http://gsn.us.com/

At first, it may seem difficult to say yes, but after awhile, you'll get the hang of it. Take it day by day and pretty soon, you'll only say "NO" when you really need to.

© 2005 Marie Magdala Roker

Marie Magdala Roker is an Academic and Personal Development Coach who helps parents, teens and young adults say "Yes" to living an authentic life. You can find her on the web at http://www.smartbeecoaching.com/ or http://www.successfulchild.com/

Insight

2005-01-26T13:01:00.000-08:00

Queen Rhonda J. Foster shares . . .

Lateral thinking
is a nimbleness,
Lateral thinking
is a mental tool.
Options fly before me
like typeface on a page,
Characters scroll by on computer screen,
Seconds clicking on a watch
I will not wear.
All the cerebral flexion,
movement,
highbrow gymnastics,
Running the maze of the Riddle of Being,
Finding the way of wisdom,
Has still left me stuck
in the middle of life.
The collected scholarship of the world
does not equal
one moment of insight
by the heart.

© 2005 Rhonda J. Foster

Living From Within

2005-01-22T08:22:00.000-08:00

Queen Marie Magdala Roker shares . . .

"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do."
-Eleanor Roosevelt

What exactly is Living From Within?

It's living a life in which you are satisfied and content with your life. Living from within means that you have gained insights from your failures and are confident enough to cheer on your successes.

When you think about yourself, do you focus on your strengths or your weaknesses? Too often in life, we look back on all the mistakes we've made and yet don't look at what we've learned from them. We all have endured unfair circumstances in our lives, but it's not about how courageous we were in the time of difficulty, but how we have overcome and matured spiritually, emotionally and mentally.

When you bounce back after a misfortune, you are fueled with the knowledge that failure is success in disguise. Perhaps, you didn't get that job you had hoped for or married the person you loved, but did you learn something about yourself in the process. Was that job ideal for you or was it replacing some other need you needed to fulfill? Would your life really have been happier with this person? Or did you need to hold on to a relationship because it was the right thing to do? Let go of what's holding you back. Chances are, you are the only one getting in the way of your success.

It's time you embraced what's wonderful about you. You have unique talents, gifts and skills. Your sense of your self-worth is important in all aspects of your life. Don't allow childhood wounds, and other sources of pain to control your life. Let that pain be a source of motivation for you to love yourself and enjoy your life.

If you are having a hard time with relishing in your self-worth, seek spiritual guidance. Even if you don't know how great you are, God knows it. Stop hiding behind your past and look to the future. If you don’t share your greatness with the world, no one will ever know it.

© 2005 Marie Magdala Roker

Marie is an Academic and Personal Development Coach. You can find her on the web at http://www.smartbeecoaching.com/ or check out her blog at http://smartbeecoaching.typepad.com/live_learn_grow

Spirit Voice

2005-01-21T16:20:00.000-08:00

Queen Cathy Fowler shares . . .

Each judgment you make about others
Is a steel bar you
Place around yourself

###

The ego controls
Life with
Thoughts that
Really don't matter

###

The
ultimate
God-given
gift
Is
A
Choice

###

@ 2003 Catherine Cooper Fowler

What I've Learned . . .

2005-01-15T13:12:00.000-08:00

Bonnie Florea, Queen Quilter of Words, shares . . .

I've learned that you are responsible for you.
When times get rough, I am tough.

If you step on me, I can walk away from you.
If I own it, I can over come it.

What I've learned is:
I can love.
I can be loved.
I can get mad.
I can cry.
I hate lies.

I've learned,
Life is unfair and it is up to me to balance life.
When demons come a knockin, I can slam the door.
When opportunity arise's, I have a choice.

What I've learned is:
We all are born to live a life, for a time.
I can believe in God, and you can believe in whatever.
If I write for me, it doesn't matter who likes it.

I've learned,
Once the curtain is closed shut, life is just beginning.
Love comes with a price,
but that hate has a higher price.
Experiences are the learning tools in life.

So as I lay down to sleep each and every night.
I know that day.
I have learned another thing.
In the class of life.

© 2005 Bonnie Florea

Writer's & Poet's http://writersandpoets.bravehost.com/

Clothing Monster

2005-01-14T09:11:00.000-08:00

Christine Hohlbaum, PR Diva Queen, shares . . .

There is no doubt about it. My house is haunted. We don’t have the regular kind of ghosts with rattling chains and a white sheet. I wish we did. I have heard normal ghosts don’t reaarange the furniture or take out board games without putting them away later, and they certainly don’t litter. In fact, they are rather transparent and are more apt to slam doors on windy October nights than to breach the domestic organization I hold so dear to my heart.

No, no! We have a different kind of goblin in our household. It is the kind that requires me to cull through the closets on a weekly basis. We seem to amass more textiles in our household than any loom in India can create in one year. Our spirit strews clothing about the floors and onto random chairs. If I see a lone sock hanging off the chandelier, I know who did it.

At first, I thought it was my family. Gingerly approaching my two kids, I asked how their pajamas landed in the middle of their bedroom floors, almost simultaneously and without explanation. They peered at me with blank eyes and shrugged.

“The clothing monster again, huh?” My motherly gaze pierced their innocent stares, and they nodded grimly. “I knew it!” Without a word, my two kids picked up their pjs and put them in their proper places.

Given the scientific nature of my husband’s mind, I tried a different tactic with him.

“Have you any idea how your jeans and three pairs of dirty underwear got onto my grandmother’s white wingback chair?” I asked gently. I dared not remove the offensive items lingering stinkily on their perches. It was best that my husband see to that.

The same blank look my kids had given me rested on my husband’s face. He hadn’t a clue how they got there. Biting my lower lip, I thought about how best to handle my quandry. The next day I had a brilliant idea.

Propping up a video camera, I decided to catch the clothing monster on film. With 120 minutes of tape time remaining on my digital camera, I knew I could catch him in the act and prove to my family that I am not as crazy as they think. Following the adage that a watched pot never boils, I took a walk for an hour, then a bike ride. When I returned the film had just finished. Or so I thought. The light on the camera was not illuminated. When I checked it, it had not recorded a single second. As I turned around, I suddenly noticed how clean the house was. No discarded bathing suits were left wet and rotting under the coffee table. No shoes had been kicked off aimlessly to block foot traffic in the foyer.

No musty bath towels were hanging from the wooden dining room chairs.

My husband wore an apron and a tired smile. The kids’ rooms were spotless, and the children were quietly playing a board game in the living room. Bags of used clothing were stacked neatly in the foyer for the church’s annual clothing drive. I dried a tear as I gave my husband a squeeze. Something told me my family had chased the clothing monster away for good this time.

© 2004 Christine Hohlbaum

To find out more about Christine, our very own PR Diva Queen go to:
www.queenpower.com/queens.html

Song of Venus

2005-01-13T16:20:00.000-08:00

Donna Warner, Queen Camellia, shares . . .

THEY say there are no flying saucers
and no life on other planets.
THEY say maybe there are.
THEY send out radio waves anyway.
Maybe a trillion light years from now,
after the sun has shouted its last orgamsic cry,
consumed this world and all her sisters
in conflagration,
and—puff—
contracted in on itself,
some three headed android
on Iris 115
will be watching “I Love Lucy.”
Who can understand an alien tongue?

In my youth I brushed my hair, pulled on bell bottoms,
concocted potions with browned chicken, rice
and an array of exotic spices.
The creature turned,
dropped by for a visit,
settled in for a life time.
I won.

Now I stand on the cool bricks, stare into space
and wonder about lives I’ll never live.
Twinkle, twinkle little star.
Why bother?
Surely even in the distant folds of the universe
age recognizes
all flaming hearts burn themselves out.
So what is this still whisper
for more?

© 2004 Donna Warner

http://www.beinginamerican.blogspot.com

Popping the Question—A Bride's Proposal Story

2005-01-13T13:19:00.000-08:00

Elizabeth Blair, Queen Elizabeth, shares . . .

It was a typical Tucson winter day, cool and sunny. I met my boyfriend for lunch at a sandwich shop near the college I was attending. We had limited time so we ate quickly. Jeff had to get back to work; his afternoon would be busy. Before parting, Jeff asked if I wanted to go to Happy Hour that evening. I agreed and we kissed goodbye.

That afternoon biology class was dismissed early. I jumped into my car to drive home, change clothes, and freshen up before our date. As I headed up the ramp to the freeway, my cell phone rang.

"I'm off early. Had to go to the post office and bank," Jeff explained. He was in his car only minutes ahead of me.

"Isn't this great! We have plans and we both got out early!"

"Where are you?" Jeff asked.

"Still a couple of miles behind you." I gave him my cross streets.

Jeff suddenly interjected, "I'm sorry I haven't been very romantic lately."

"No, I guess you haven't." I shrugged. "But we've been busy, it's okay."

"Valentine's Day is coming up. I promise to do something romantic, at least get you a card."

"That's a start."

"Where are you now?" He asked, more impatiently. I looked at the street signs and read them off to him. "Well, hurry up. I want to get to Happy Hour."

We had plenty of time. Why the hurry? He was acting so strange.

"I can meet you at the restaurant if you prefer," I suggested. "Or, if we meet at the house we can ride together and catch up on our day." He agreed, and we hung up again.

My cell phone rang again.

"Beth, I just got home. What happened to the garage door? Did you break it this morning?" The garage door was our main entry to the house.

"It was fine when I left. Maybe your automatic opener isn't working?" Minutes later I pulled beside Jeff's pearl white Acura in our driveway. I repeatedly pressed the button on my garage opener. Nothing. With a shrug, I walked up to the front door and turned the knob.

As I stepped into the living room my jaw dropped and my eyes grew big. A camera flashed.

I was swimming in a sea of balloons. Balloons on the floor. Balloons on the ceiling. Dozens and dozens … hundreds of colorful balloons. Jazz music played in the background.

After my eyes adjusted, I saw Jeff was sitting on the couch, camera in hand. He said, "You said I wasn't very romantic, so I decided to whip something up."
Still in shock, I trudged through the balloons to hug him. I felt like I was in slow motion.

Jeff nodded toward the coffee table. "You have something to open." There sat a bucket with a champagne bottle on ice, two crystal champagne flutes, two candles, and a blue ribbon … tied around a little blue box.

I picked up the box and slowly pulled the ribbon. Inside was a ring box. I lifted the lid and found … a gold stickpin? I looked at Jeff with raised eyebrows.

He folded his arms across his chest, settled back, and grinned. "It looks like you have some popping to do."

"What? " I looked around the room. "Oh!"

Not wasting a moment, I grabbed the pin and began sticking balloons. Laughing all the while, I searched for "the" balloon. But there were so many, I finally started shaking them and throwing them to the side.

"Don't forget there are balloons on the ceiling," Jeff reminded me. I looked up.

"How am I ever going to find it?"

After an eternity, I shook a red balloon. Something rattled! When I poked it with my gold stickpin, shiny heart-shaped confetti cascaded around me. A blue ring bag fell to the carpet.

Trembling, I tipped it open until a ring fell into my hand. Jeff gently took it and urged me to sit on the couch.

"You know me. I have to do this the traditional way." As he lowered himself to one knee, his brown eyes gazed into mine. He asked me to be his wife and slipped the princess cut diamond on my finger.

After my eager "Yes!" and many kisses later, Jeff said, "Oh … and … by the way … we are not going to Happy Hour."

Reprint. Formerly published in Chicken Soup for the Bride's Soul.

Elizabeth L. Blair is a wife, mother, and freelance writer living in Tucson, AZ. You can visit her website at http://www.bethblair.com/ or write her at elblair99@yahoo.com.

Time Is Fleeting

2005-01-05T11:30:00.000-08:00

Sandra Bennett, Queen of Thistle Cove Farm, shares . . .

Time is fleeting and I'm not waiting to wear purple,
Or red or kiwi or orange or magenta or any other color.

I'll spend my time sitting under the sunflowers,
while the mares snuffle my hair and kittens play in my lap.

Today I'll take my knitting to the pasture,
and chance a wet bottom when I sit on the ground.
Samuel and Carly will nuzzle my pockets for treats of corn,
while the other sheep bleat at their boldness.

My needles will lie quietly as I watch the birds float on unseen columns of wind.
The barn swallows and goldfinches and robins and even the buzzards will bring me joy.

Tonight at midnight, the dogs and I will walk in the pasture.
I'll whisper secrets to the horses and sheep.
I'll look for fallen stars and the dippers,
and will nail Orion's belt with the north star.

I'll drink good wine and strong beer and sweet water.
I'll eat chocolate for breakfast and pastry for lunch.
Mix cream in my flavored coffee, and
turn up my nose at powdered milk and ill mannered people.

Tomorrow, I'll give compliments to perfect strangers.
Speak to people on the street,
just to watch their reactions as I grin at my silly self.

I've worn hats for over thirty years and see no need to stop.
I'll not waste happiness on tomorrow but spend it willy nilly today.
Time is fleeting and I'm wearing purple now!

© 2004 Sandra Bennett

Visit Sandra (www.thistlecovefarm.com)