After a long hiatus I have accumulated a number of pieces from our creative writing class.  I shall present them with little or no introduction (not my usual approach.)

Preamble

I have drawn a complete blank looking for a story tied to “The one who loves the most will live the most”.  Therefore I have documented my thought process.

What does “love” mean?  Love equals the opportunity for great joy and great pain.  Exploring that thought leads to a Ben Franklin balance sheet for the act of loving:

_____Plus_____

Reciprocal love

Hugs and kisses

Sharing

Support

____Minus____

Detachment

Illness

Death

Arguments

Abandonment

Betrayal

I thought about chronicling the joys and pains of loving and living with my wife, Evelyn.  This did not work out for several reasons.  First, it is no where near a one page story.  Also, there is neither a crisp beginning nor end.

Then, because the first couple of entries in the plus column remind me of our dogs' response to any show of attention I considered constructing a story around the journey of one of our dogs into and through our lives.  A couple of stabs at this failed to produce the necessary inspiration.  There still may be something here.

Perhaps because I am an engineer-trained analytic individual, previous attempts to create a fictional story have been met immediately with a blank wall.  While it is not likely to help with this current homework assignment, if I can break through this hang-up, it might open the floodgates for posts to my neglected blog.

Let me tackle “The Life of Riley”.

The Life of Riley

Against my wishes my wife adopted a stray dog from the pound.  Riley (she came with that name) was a white Sheppard-mix bitch.  She had obviously been abused.  She had a large scar on her nose and did not take kindly to men and large women.  She always was “Evelyn’s dog”.

Riley and I coexisted under an uneasy truce for several years.  I tried to ignore her growling at me when I came home.  On occasion I lost it and chased her around the house.  Thanks to her agility I never did catch her.

Evelyn retired and it was time to move to our new home in Oregon.  Evelyn was going to drive our car, stopping to visit several friends along the way.  I was to drive our flatbed truck, loaded with furniture and other household stuff.  Riley and our cat, Luci, were to accompany me in the cab of the truck.  Evelyn’s last words to Riley were “Please behave or Daddy will leave you on the I5”.

Nineteen and one half hours later, after six hundred miles of driving rain and many stops to tie down the tarp covering the load and walking Riley, we arrived at our new home.  Riley and I had bonded!  She still was “Mama’s dog”, but we were buddies at last.

There followed summers when Riley barked at and chased, but never caught, chipmunks and squirrels, and winters when Riley romped in the snow.  She waited impatiently for me to dig out through six-foot high snow drifts so she could get out.  Those were happy times.

One Friday evening Riley started flopping around on the great room floor and ultimately fell down the stairs.  I suspected a stroke and called the vet.  Even though it was after seven o’clock on a Friday evening the vet said to bring Riley to the office.  I carried Riley to the car and drove the twenty three miles through snow-covered roads to the vet’s office.  The vet confirmed the diagnosis of a stroke and treated Riley with a sedative and cortisone.   After a few days all signs of the problem had disappeared and never returned.

When we sold our Oregon home and moved to the Coachella Valley, Riley was getting along in years.  A few months after the move, Riley developed difficulty with her hind legs.  Soon she could not stand by herself and often wet herself.  We had to bathe her twice a day, not a fun activity but something she had earned through nineteen years of loyalty.

When Riley lost all interest in eating it was time to have her put to sleep.  It was a very sad and tearful time.  We miss her greatly, but still enjoy pictures and memories of her.

Robert Niel Beatie – November 6, 2012

 

Cleaning out and organizing my Creative Writing binder I came across the following original third line of my "Prayer" piece.
"I would that we had a new Australia where the world could exile the radicals from every color of the religious spectrum, where they could enjoy their hatreds and leave the rest of the world in peace, with respect for one another."
This is a bit cumbersome so you got the shortened version in my recent post.

Here are my contributions to our Creative Writing presentation at Gilda's Club on October 10, 2012.

Medical procedure authorizations

Everything under the sun MIGHT happen.

Be aware.

Fret not nor worry.

Hope for the best.

Cross no bridges before you get to them.

Deal with issues as they arise.

-------

May our elected officials abandon their extreme partisanship and start solving our country’s problems.

May our children and grandchildren have a better life than we.

May the world’s religious radicals shut up

And leave the rest of the world at peace with respect for one another.

------

I frequently find myself gritting my teeth and/or yelling profanities at the gross abuse of English grammar on television.  It is as if my language professor father had super-glued the response onto my inner being.  Inevitably such episodes remind me of Fibber McGee’s friend:  “It is I, Digby O’Dell, your friendly undertaker.”

The verb “to be” is followed by the nominative case.

The verb “to be” is followed by the nominative case.

The verb “to be” is followed by the nominative case.

The verb “to be” is followed by the nominative case.

------….

It is important that you share your thoughts and feelings with your partner.  Neither of you is a mind reader so you must speak your hopes, your dreams, your plans, your fears, your complaints, and your praises.

As important as speaking is, listening is even more important. Really listen!  Don’t just remain silent, hoping that she will end this tirade so your can watch the game that has already started.  Listen, even when no words are spoken.

Farming Mentality

Mulling over my childhood memories looking for blog material I came across these two goodies.  Both are from the time that I was seven or eight and Jerry was five or six.

The back yard of our house in Riverside was rather large.  Our father wanted to plant a vegetable garden.  In the way of that activity was a large patch of burr clover, reaching from one side of the yard to the other.  Jerry and I were charged with removing the patch.  This we did by rolling it up like a carpet, pulling up individual roots as they appeared.  The subsequent garden provided vegetables for many dinners.

One Easter Jerry and I received a baby duckling.  That Thanksgiving we had roast duck for dinner.  I am not sure how I did not come to hate life on the farm after that.

Reading Our "Poetry".

The highlight of the most recent creative writing series was the opportunity for each classmate to read several of their works to an audience.  The venue was a luncheon gathering in Gilda’s Club’s main hall.  Attendees were folks who had earlier that day participated in a number of cancer support groups.

Here are my contributions to that event:

                        Love

Meals prepared and shared

Dishes washed

Trash taken out

Beds made

Dogs fed

Hands held walking to the movies

Love is often shown in ordinary ways.

Rising in time for a 7:30 AM departure to the hospital

Sitting beside my bed in pre-op for six hours

Waiting another hour for surgery to complete

Driving home from Loma Linda to Thousand Palms in rush-hour traffic

Love is sometimes shown in extraordinary ways.

            My Latin Wife

Loving Latin wife,

Evelyn showers love on

family and pets.

My Puerto Rican Mama

is the best thing in my life.

Note that, except for the instructor, Ted, I was the only male in the class.  From my perspective the ladies were much more creative than I.  It was a privilege to participate with them.

Bob's Dream (or Nightmare)

It has been a long time since I last posted to this blog. I had run out of inspiration for new posts. Gilda’s Club offered a series of creative writing classes. Hoping to find inspiration I signed up for two of the sessions. We studied right-brain and left-brain functions. We were exposed to word clusters, Chakra, and all forms of Japanese and English poetry. (That is all kinds except the rhyming kind.) I did not find inspiration to continue this blog in the original vein, but I did come up with some material from my homework assignments. I shall share some of them here from time to time.
One assignment was to go through a Chakra meditation sequence, expecting to stimulate a dream. Thus, “Bob’s Dream (or Nightmare)”

Bob’s Dream (or Nightmare)

The dogs are barking.
Someone is at the door.
Lots of people,
some with cameras,
some with balloons,
some with flowers,
Dave Sayers
with Publishers Clearing House
with a big check
for $5000
a week
for life.
Find Food Bank
Mexican convent
Six kids
Taxes
My accountant died
What now?

More later,

Bob

ps: Evelyn, my Puerto Rican Mama, has a web site, www.eviesbabies.com , where she is selling some of her handcrafted rag dolls.