Carefully
concealed behind sport coats and neatly pressed pants trying not to accidentally step
on the perfectly polished loafers, I wait as quietly as possible. My heart pounds in my throat and excitement
has made my mouth dry with anticipation.
I worry that my shallow breaths will be heard, so I try holding my
breath to no avail. Then I hear muffled
voices which reassure me my location will be detected at any moment. Footsteps creep closer and closer. The closet door is quickly opened and we both
shout, “BOO!” My Papa is home from work
once again.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Pals Forever
Born to German immigrants, Raymond Henry Riske took his first breath on Wednesday, August 21, 1918. He grew up in Detroit, Michigan during the roaring 20s and the depression of the 30s. His folks rented homes on Joseph Campau and Hendricks Street, however, unfortunately, neither home has stood the test of time.
His father, Emil, had been a nurse in the Navy during the Spanish American War, and he was a factory man during Ray’s life. His mother, Anna, loved animals especially dogs. There were at least four or five dogs who ate dinner outside their home each night. Bob, who was a German Shepard, eventually became the family dog. Bob had an amazing temperament. He would allow the chickens from the house next door to walk on his back, but he would chase the birds away from the garden.
Ray loved to help his mom with her daily chores, and they would always go to the local theater to see the latest movie. Ray loved movies and he also built his own radio when he was a boy. He listened to shows like The Green Hornet and Amos and Andy, and loved the crooning of Bing Crosby. Years later, Ray would whistle around the house and do a fabulous Bing interpretation as well. In fact, when I was a little girl I decided I would marry Bing (that is after I found out Popeye and Casper were cartoons and therefore not real) but to my chagrin my grandma informed me that Bing was not a nice husband and that in fact he was also dead.
Ray attended Cass Technical School, where he makes certain to add was the only high school in Detroit to have an airplane in the top floor. He also quite often stated, “when I attended all the teachers wrote the textbooks.” In fact, his Chemistry teacher was Mrs. Lindbergh, the mother of famous aviator Charles A. Lindbergh. Even though Ray was never very fond of school, he loved to read books about ships and detective adventures.
Ray could tell one story over and over again: his courtship and love of Ardis Sherman. Even almost twelve years after her passing, Ray would still gets misty-eyed when he heard a favorite song “Every Day of My Life,” by the McGuire Sisters. Theirs was a marriage of true love and happiness right up until the end. Only having one child, Cheryl, Ray never felt he needed more.
In fact, Ray was the most positive and optimistic person when it came to his life and his overall health. He was quick to share with others, “I can’t complain,” when asked about how he was doing. He also was very handy with making contractions and knew how to fix almost anything. I think the most impressive thing he made was a holder for the Atari remote controllers. You could sit and use the controller without stress to your hands. In many cases I believe Ray could have patented his inventions, and helped make the world a more enjoyable place to live.
No matter what Ray was to others, he was my Pal. I will never forget the first day I called him Pal. It was his birthday and my grandma and I were getting the cake ready. She wanted to know what to put on as his name (Ray, dad, grandpa), and I said, “Pal.” I felt that Pal encompassed all the titles he held. And Ray was truly my Pal in every sense of the word. He listened to all my woes, and was always there to share a Coke and eat whatever candy was in the red-room cabinet.
I remember spending mornings after sleepovers asking him to explain how a light-bulb worked, or how pillows were made, or how the energy got from the plug to the TV. I also remember asking him about the olden golden day decorations at our favorite restaurant: The Forge. As we ate crunchy bread sticks waiting for our salads with blue-cheese dressing and our dinners of frog’s legs, Ray shared with me the names and uses of anything I asked about. And honestly, I don’t have a clue whether he knew the real answer or not, but his answers were the truth to me. I remember washing his car, mowing the lawn, shining shoes, sorting nails in his immaculate garage, tinkering at his workbench and finding things in their basement fruit cellar (which was always overstocked with can goods). I loved singing with his dog, Misty, while she begged for a cherry from his Manhattan and dressing her up with Ray’s neck ties. I also remember hiding in the coat closet when he came home from work. I would yell, “boo,” and he would always pretend to get scared.
We always had a close relationship from little on. He even named one of his backyard roses “Michelle” after its name tag got lost. I also remember him patching up boo-boos; especially the one he patched after he let go of the bike when I was just learning to ride. There was a big bump in the sidewalk that I hit on a bad angle. I remember him apologizing time and time again, to which I had already forgiven him for letting go. There was also another time we were all playing with sparklers and my mom had insisted I didn't touch the hot end of the stick. Of course when my Pal came to retrieve the stick I took the hot end in my hand to give him the cool end, because I didn't want to burn him. Boy was that a bad choice.
We spent every summer up at Houghton Lake with my grandparents. Ray used to take a morning walk to get the newspaper, and I would accompany him around the small village. Once my sister, Kelly, was old enough she came along too. The best part of the walk was the spooky old house we all decided we would live in one day. Each summer vacation was not complete without seeing the spooky old house. It couldn't have been all that spooky, because we decided that we would buy the house and each live in a separate area. On one walk we actually went right up to the house and peered in the windows. All we saw were boxes and the like, but we sure got each other scared. The following summer the house was gone; apparently torn down due to the sign that said “CONDEMNED.”
Ray loved music and taught me some really silly songs when I was a kid. My favorites were: The Peanut Song (choo choo peanut butter), Show Me the Way to Go Home (think I had a drink about an hour ago), and Bring Them In (which I had to learn how to roll my tongue to sing the song properly). Ray also had the most amazing record collection and oftentimes let me borrow one to listen to at home. My favorite was Evita because I had a huge crush on Mandy Patinkin and there were pictures in the fold-out album cover. Ray also loved Abba, and gave me the Voulez-Vous album when I was four, “To my No.1 Granddaughter,” it said. He also gave me a 45 of Boy George’s “Mistake Number 3”. We loved to watch The Lawrence Welk Show together, and we would try to tap dance like Arthur Duncan, which usually ended in a ton of laughter. Ray also had an affinity for the Puccini opera “Madama Butterfly.” We watched a video of the Placido Domingo production, which in fact was my first experience with opera. I know he was so proud of my when I was part of the Michigan Opera Theater’s production of Verdi’s Aida.
Ray also loved tape recording stuff. He enjoyed having my sister and I sing or talk into a microphone. Once he decided to tape record himself reading books to my sister and I, because he saw it on a morning show. I can still hear, “Now, turn the page.” He always tape recorded Christmas with my family, from the moment we entered the door until all presents were unwrapped. The laughter, the anticipation, the excitement, and the inevitable bratty selfish behavior from my sister and I that would ensue at some point.
I had a very difficult time with friends and dealing with daily bullying, but no matter what happened at school I always had a friend in Ray. He was always there for a Coke and a candybar. Quite possibly not the healthiest way to deal with sadness, but then again who doesn’t love chocolate? Inspired by a song sung in school, “Love Sidney,” I wrote a song for Ray called, “Pal’s Forever.” And Ray was my biggest fan when it came to singing and performing.
Ray had his own words for things: han-ga-burgers were hamburgers, pis-sketti was spaghetti, and The Corner was the restaurant by his house. He also never could keep names straight and thus was known to call people “Charlie” or “Guy” so not to embarrass himself. He also could not spell and would spell things phonetically. However, since I’m a terrible speller, I hardly seemed to notice.
I spent many evenings watching TV with my grandparents. I just sat there and spent time enjoying laughs and tears. Once I was older and married and once my grandma Ardis passed away, Ray and I continued our life-long friendship. We spent hours shopping at Target and Kmart (two of his favorite stores). However, we would always start with BLT combo lunches at Leons (which included fries and soup) and we would always end the time together with drinks at Starbucks. In fact, I got him hooked on mocha frappuccinos, while I drank my triple venti soy lattes. We talked about everything; from “soup to nuts” he would always say.
In the summer of 2003, Ray took my husband, Jim, and I to Traverse City for a vacation. We spent the time playing cards, talking, and having fun drinking Manhattans and eating out. Ray always woke before us and had the table set for breakfast and had coffee percolating in the background. I never could believe how young he was for someone in his 80s. He walked a mile to see the Sleeping Bear Dunes and he made us laugh by joining Jim and I to watch silly reality TV in the recreational room at the campsite. I will also never forget the wine tasting that left all three of us inebriated, and Ray encouraging me to go in on a case of wine with him. Not quite certain if I’ll ever be able to enjoy raspberry wine again.
Once Zoe came, Ray worried our Friday lunches would be over. But we just brought Zoe along for the ride. He relished in spending time with a baby, and I’ll never forget how he ran up and down the aisle-way with Zoe at Foot Locker while I found a good pair of walking shoes. He even babysat Zoe while I went through my clothes closet, and kept her busy for an hour. Thus, naturally once Eva came we both rolled a cart while shopping. My girls were so lucky to have a relationship with their Papa Ray, who joined us for breakfast and grocery shopping every Friday and enjoyed chocolates and Cokes with us on Wednesday afternoons. When Ray was in rehab, I brought Eva alone on two separate occasions. She showed Papa Ray how she could spell (getting ready for her weekly spelling test) and then played a few songs on the piano by ear. He loved my girls and was so proud of them.
Everyone who came in contact with my grandpa Ray was an instant friend of his - he was just that charismatic. He had friends all over the place (restaurants, Kroger, church, etc.), and his heart was willing to accept more. It is not surprising that this only child (his siblings died at birth) bloomed the moment he was in the center of a group of people. He was fantastic at telling stories about his life - some true and others not so much. But it never really mattered, because his smile and personality sold people every time.
Ray also continued my grandma’s charitable donations to a wide variety of organizations. I had never seen as many gifts as he would receive as thank yous for his donations. Greeting cards, calendars, notepads, stickers, blankets, address labels and calculators only name a few of the many presents he received.
Even up to the end of his Earthly life, Ray never lost his positive spirit. He made certain to let us know he was doing fine and that it was “neat” that we were there to spend time with him. He shared with me a long journey through a beautiful landscape with beautiful blue flowers and lush foliage only a couple of days before his spirit left the earth. Being able to hold his hand throughout this journey meant so much to me; however my special friendship with Ray has been one of the greatest joys in my life. Ray lived each day with gusto, with no regrets, and with the admiration of everyone he met. I hope to be able to emulate that as much as possible as I enter a new year of my life.
Ray was a jack-of-all-trades and touched many lives in his 95 years. However, he is and always will be my Pal Forever.
His father, Emil, had been a nurse in the Navy during the Spanish American War, and he was a factory man during Ray’s life. His mother, Anna, loved animals especially dogs. There were at least four or five dogs who ate dinner outside their home each night. Bob, who was a German Shepard, eventually became the family dog. Bob had an amazing temperament. He would allow the chickens from the house next door to walk on his back, but he would chase the birds away from the garden.
Ray loved to help his mom with her daily chores, and they would always go to the local theater to see the latest movie. Ray loved movies and he also built his own radio when he was a boy. He listened to shows like The Green Hornet and Amos and Andy, and loved the crooning of Bing Crosby. Years later, Ray would whistle around the house and do a fabulous Bing interpretation as well. In fact, when I was a little girl I decided I would marry Bing (that is after I found out Popeye and Casper were cartoons and therefore not real) but to my chagrin my grandma informed me that Bing was not a nice husband and that in fact he was also dead.
Ray attended Cass Technical School, where he makes certain to add was the only high school in Detroit to have an airplane in the top floor. He also quite often stated, “when I attended all the teachers wrote the textbooks.” In fact, his Chemistry teacher was Mrs. Lindbergh, the mother of famous aviator Charles A. Lindbergh. Even though Ray was never very fond of school, he loved to read books about ships and detective adventures.
Ray could tell one story over and over again: his courtship and love of Ardis Sherman. Even almost twelve years after her passing, Ray would still gets misty-eyed when he heard a favorite song “Every Day of My Life,” by the McGuire Sisters. Theirs was a marriage of true love and happiness right up until the end. Only having one child, Cheryl, Ray never felt he needed more.
In fact, Ray was the most positive and optimistic person when it came to his life and his overall health. He was quick to share with others, “I can’t complain,” when asked about how he was doing. He also was very handy with making contractions and knew how to fix almost anything. I think the most impressive thing he made was a holder for the Atari remote controllers. You could sit and use the controller without stress to your hands. In many cases I believe Ray could have patented his inventions, and helped make the world a more enjoyable place to live.
No matter what Ray was to others, he was my Pal. I will never forget the first day I called him Pal. It was his birthday and my grandma and I were getting the cake ready. She wanted to know what to put on as his name (Ray, dad, grandpa), and I said, “Pal.” I felt that Pal encompassed all the titles he held. And Ray was truly my Pal in every sense of the word. He listened to all my woes, and was always there to share a Coke and eat whatever candy was in the red-room cabinet.
I remember spending mornings after sleepovers asking him to explain how a light-bulb worked, or how pillows were made, or how the energy got from the plug to the TV. I also remember asking him about the olden golden day decorations at our favorite restaurant: The Forge. As we ate crunchy bread sticks waiting for our salads with blue-cheese dressing and our dinners of frog’s legs, Ray shared with me the names and uses of anything I asked about. And honestly, I don’t have a clue whether he knew the real answer or not, but his answers were the truth to me. I remember washing his car, mowing the lawn, shining shoes, sorting nails in his immaculate garage, tinkering at his workbench and finding things in their basement fruit cellar (which was always overstocked with can goods). I loved singing with his dog, Misty, while she begged for a cherry from his Manhattan and dressing her up with Ray’s neck ties. I also remember hiding in the coat closet when he came home from work. I would yell, “boo,” and he would always pretend to get scared.
We always had a close relationship from little on. He even named one of his backyard roses “Michelle” after its name tag got lost. I also remember him patching up boo-boos; especially the one he patched after he let go of the bike when I was just learning to ride. There was a big bump in the sidewalk that I hit on a bad angle. I remember him apologizing time and time again, to which I had already forgiven him for letting go. There was also another time we were all playing with sparklers and my mom had insisted I didn't touch the hot end of the stick. Of course when my Pal came to retrieve the stick I took the hot end in my hand to give him the cool end, because I didn't want to burn him. Boy was that a bad choice.
We spent every summer up at Houghton Lake with my grandparents. Ray used to take a morning walk to get the newspaper, and I would accompany him around the small village. Once my sister, Kelly, was old enough she came along too. The best part of the walk was the spooky old house we all decided we would live in one day. Each summer vacation was not complete without seeing the spooky old house. It couldn't have been all that spooky, because we decided that we would buy the house and each live in a separate area. On one walk we actually went right up to the house and peered in the windows. All we saw were boxes and the like, but we sure got each other scared. The following summer the house was gone; apparently torn down due to the sign that said “CONDEMNED.”
Ray loved music and taught me some really silly songs when I was a kid. My favorites were: The Peanut Song (choo choo peanut butter), Show Me the Way to Go Home (think I had a drink about an hour ago), and Bring Them In (which I had to learn how to roll my tongue to sing the song properly). Ray also had the most amazing record collection and oftentimes let me borrow one to listen to at home. My favorite was Evita because I had a huge crush on Mandy Patinkin and there were pictures in the fold-out album cover. Ray also loved Abba, and gave me the Voulez-Vous album when I was four, “To my No.1 Granddaughter,” it said. He also gave me a 45 of Boy George’s “Mistake Number 3”. We loved to watch The Lawrence Welk Show together, and we would try to tap dance like Arthur Duncan, which usually ended in a ton of laughter. Ray also had an affinity for the Puccini opera “Madama Butterfly.” We watched a video of the Placido Domingo production, which in fact was my first experience with opera. I know he was so proud of my when I was part of the Michigan Opera Theater’s production of Verdi’s Aida.
Ray also loved tape recording stuff. He enjoyed having my sister and I sing or talk into a microphone. Once he decided to tape record himself reading books to my sister and I, because he saw it on a morning show. I can still hear, “Now, turn the page.” He always tape recorded Christmas with my family, from the moment we entered the door until all presents were unwrapped. The laughter, the anticipation, the excitement, and the inevitable bratty selfish behavior from my sister and I that would ensue at some point.
I had a very difficult time with friends and dealing with daily bullying, but no matter what happened at school I always had a friend in Ray. He was always there for a Coke and a candybar. Quite possibly not the healthiest way to deal with sadness, but then again who doesn’t love chocolate? Inspired by a song sung in school, “Love Sidney,” I wrote a song for Ray called, “Pal’s Forever.” And Ray was my biggest fan when it came to singing and performing.
Ray had his own words for things: han-ga-burgers were hamburgers, pis-sketti was spaghetti, and The Corner was the restaurant by his house. He also never could keep names straight and thus was known to call people “Charlie” or “Guy” so not to embarrass himself. He also could not spell and would spell things phonetically. However, since I’m a terrible speller, I hardly seemed to notice.
I spent many evenings watching TV with my grandparents. I just sat there and spent time enjoying laughs and tears. Once I was older and married and once my grandma Ardis passed away, Ray and I continued our life-long friendship. We spent hours shopping at Target and Kmart (two of his favorite stores). However, we would always start with BLT combo lunches at Leons (which included fries and soup) and we would always end the time together with drinks at Starbucks. In fact, I got him hooked on mocha frappuccinos, while I drank my triple venti soy lattes. We talked about everything; from “soup to nuts” he would always say.
In the summer of 2003, Ray took my husband, Jim, and I to Traverse City for a vacation. We spent the time playing cards, talking, and having fun drinking Manhattans and eating out. Ray always woke before us and had the table set for breakfast and had coffee percolating in the background. I never could believe how young he was for someone in his 80s. He walked a mile to see the Sleeping Bear Dunes and he made us laugh by joining Jim and I to watch silly reality TV in the recreational room at the campsite. I will also never forget the wine tasting that left all three of us inebriated, and Ray encouraging me to go in on a case of wine with him. Not quite certain if I’ll ever be able to enjoy raspberry wine again.
Once Zoe came, Ray worried our Friday lunches would be over. But we just brought Zoe along for the ride. He relished in spending time with a baby, and I’ll never forget how he ran up and down the aisle-way with Zoe at Foot Locker while I found a good pair of walking shoes. He even babysat Zoe while I went through my clothes closet, and kept her busy for an hour. Thus, naturally once Eva came we both rolled a cart while shopping. My girls were so lucky to have a relationship with their Papa Ray, who joined us for breakfast and grocery shopping every Friday and enjoyed chocolates and Cokes with us on Wednesday afternoons. When Ray was in rehab, I brought Eva alone on two separate occasions. She showed Papa Ray how she could spell (getting ready for her weekly spelling test) and then played a few songs on the piano by ear. He loved my girls and was so proud of them.
Everyone who came in contact with my grandpa Ray was an instant friend of his - he was just that charismatic. He had friends all over the place (restaurants, Kroger, church, etc.), and his heart was willing to accept more. It is not surprising that this only child (his siblings died at birth) bloomed the moment he was in the center of a group of people. He was fantastic at telling stories about his life - some true and others not so much. But it never really mattered, because his smile and personality sold people every time.
Ray also continued my grandma’s charitable donations to a wide variety of organizations. I had never seen as many gifts as he would receive as thank yous for his donations. Greeting cards, calendars, notepads, stickers, blankets, address labels and calculators only name a few of the many presents he received.
Even up to the end of his Earthly life, Ray never lost his positive spirit. He made certain to let us know he was doing fine and that it was “neat” that we were there to spend time with him. He shared with me a long journey through a beautiful landscape with beautiful blue flowers and lush foliage only a couple of days before his spirit left the earth. Being able to hold his hand throughout this journey meant so much to me; however my special friendship with Ray has been one of the greatest joys in my life. Ray lived each day with gusto, with no regrets, and with the admiration of everyone he met. I hope to be able to emulate that as much as possible as I enter a new year of my life.
Ray was a jack-of-all-trades and touched many lives in his 95 years. However, he is and always will be my Pal Forever.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
On the Other Side of the Fence
People show us what they wish to show us, no matter how close of a relationship. What might seem like a perfect life, in fact, can definitely be less than perfect. A beautiful rustic ranch in the hills, a nack for vintage decoration, and a smile to light a million candles hid a life that I never imagined to be true.
A sweet friend of mine, Jennifer, was murdered by her husband and found early Sunday morning after not coming into work. Then her husband committed suicide after the murder, and I have read that he may have sat and contemplated his actions for a few hours before killing himself as well. This amazingly unique and loving woman's life extinguished in a shotgun shell. Her life was so boldly lived and so quickly ended.
I remember reconnecting with her on Facebook a few years ago. She was so happy. Her love of photography and animals transcended into a career with dogs and cats, and a Rockabilly lifestyle. She spoke fondly of her husband, Matt, to whom she had met on Match.com. They seemed to have it all - or so it seemed on the surface.
I was never in Jennifer's close circle of friends. However, I had gone to high school with her and worked with her at the Eagle Tavern in Greenfield Village for a few years. Our work relationship trickled into the rest of our lives as well. Her exuberance for life was truly admirable. A few years later I found out Jennifer moved to California with her then boyfriend, Bob. I was so jealous of her sense of adventure and courage to make it in another state across the country. When they broke up, I know Jennifer was very hurt; however, she persevered and reinvented herself in another state: Tennessee.
In the last year our friendship strengthened again, as I was tickled when she invited me to join her Facebook group, Rockabilly Is For Lovers. I felt so privileged to have a deeper look into her fascinating lifestyle. I was so jealous of her beautiful tattoos and her gorgeous pin-up pictures. I also found myself sending her articles to Readers Digest and on one occasion sent her the entire magazine so she could read the article about two of her favorite Hollywood stars: Elvis and Ann-Margret. What I viewed from this closer look at Jennifer was that she definitely became more beautiful inside and out as the years have passed.
Upon reading the news of her senseless death, I was immediately angry and disgusted that someone could kill such a beautiful creature. In fact, I had hoped it was a cruel joke. Two days later, I am still working on inner peace but will continue to be very heartbroken that a light so bright was extinguished so brutally. However, I am forever grateful to have known such a unique and compassionate person.
A sweet friend of mine, Jennifer, was murdered by her husband and found early Sunday morning after not coming into work. Then her husband committed suicide after the murder, and I have read that he may have sat and contemplated his actions for a few hours before killing himself as well. This amazingly unique and loving woman's life extinguished in a shotgun shell. Her life was so boldly lived and so quickly ended.
I remember reconnecting with her on Facebook a few years ago. She was so happy. Her love of photography and animals transcended into a career with dogs and cats, and a Rockabilly lifestyle. She spoke fondly of her husband, Matt, to whom she had met on Match.com. They seemed to have it all - or so it seemed on the surface.
I was never in Jennifer's close circle of friends. However, I had gone to high school with her and worked with her at the Eagle Tavern in Greenfield Village for a few years. Our work relationship trickled into the rest of our lives as well. Her exuberance for life was truly admirable. A few years later I found out Jennifer moved to California with her then boyfriend, Bob. I was so jealous of her sense of adventure and courage to make it in another state across the country. When they broke up, I know Jennifer was very hurt; however, she persevered and reinvented herself in another state: Tennessee.
In the last year our friendship strengthened again, as I was tickled when she invited me to join her Facebook group, Rockabilly Is For Lovers. I felt so privileged to have a deeper look into her fascinating lifestyle. I was so jealous of her beautiful tattoos and her gorgeous pin-up pictures. I also found myself sending her articles to Readers Digest and on one occasion sent her the entire magazine so she could read the article about two of her favorite Hollywood stars: Elvis and Ann-Margret. What I viewed from this closer look at Jennifer was that she definitely became more beautiful inside and out as the years have passed.
Upon reading the news of her senseless death, I was immediately angry and disgusted that someone could kill such a beautiful creature. In fact, I had hoped it was a cruel joke. Two days later, I am still working on inner peace but will continue to be very heartbroken that a light so bright was extinguished so brutally. However, I am forever grateful to have known such a unique and compassionate person.
Monday, August 19, 2013
A snip-it from Through Her Eyes
There were three odd jobs my mom always requested of my sister and me: 1) watch for KMart or Sears commercials for a particular photo package, 2) keep an eye out for The Fuller Brush Man, and 3) look for Wandering Jehovah’s Witnesses. My mom had us watch for commercials from Sears or KMart photo studios, and I still have the package memorized: 1 8x10, 2 5x7s, and 16 wallets. Usually twice each year there were sales on that package, and the commercials often came during the breaks on PBS. I remember Amyre Makupson talking about the upcoming 12 o’clock WKBD news, and then we were blessed with a commercial for the desired picture package. It was always a fight between my sister and I to whom reached my mother first. Quite often my mom would not have seen the commercial and thus she would not have the phone number necessary to make the appointment. After awhile I would memorize the phone number as well, so that I could tell my mom where to call. I truly loved commercials. Sometimes ask me to recite the Lee Press-On Nail commercial from the 1980s.
My mother also loved having a visit from The Fuller Brush Man, as he always had new room fresheners, or special brushes, and sometimes she would sharpen her knives. He was a novelty to my sister and I, because he pushed a cart down the block calling, “Fuller Brush Man!” The only other service that made us known of their presence was the Ice Cream Man, however, in that case it was a rowdy rendition of “Pop Goes the Weasel.” However, none was as mysterious as the wandering duos of Bible-carrying Jehovah’s Witnesses. Even though they weren't selling pretty brushes, nor taking our picture, these people were fascinating just the same.
My mother also loved having a visit from The Fuller Brush Man, as he always had new room fresheners, or special brushes, and sometimes she would sharpen her knives. He was a novelty to my sister and I, because he pushed a cart down the block calling, “Fuller Brush Man!” The only other service that made us known of their presence was the Ice Cream Man, however, in that case it was a rowdy rendition of “Pop Goes the Weasel.” However, none was as mysterious as the wandering duos of Bible-carrying Jehovah’s Witnesses. Even though they weren't selling pretty brushes, nor taking our picture, these people were fascinating just the same.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
The Knights of Bedford Street
My Grandpa Brown is turning 90 next week. My father (and his siblings) decided that because my Grandpa had pretty much everything, a book with letters from his friends and family would be a perfect gift.
I decided to write a short essay about a game my cousin and sister used to play in my Grandparent's basement. Here is the finished version submitted to the book.
I decided to write a short essay about a game my cousin and sister used to play in my Grandparent's basement. Here is the finished version submitted to the book.
The Knights of Bedford Street
In
the Medieval dungeons of Bedford Street, Sir Kelly the Kind, Sir Matt the Militant,
and Sir Michelle the Musical are once again on the search for an elusive
dragon. After years of battling these
flying beasts, the three knights continue on the quest to rid the villagers of
the disastrous foes.
Their
first stop is the Table of Colorful Orbs.
These powerful orbs foretell the color to which the enemy will
appear. Sir Matt is first to roll the
one called Black as Night. The ebony
colored orb immediately eliminates four options. Sir Kelly is next to roll the Black as Night
orb. Five more orbs meet their fate in
the dark pits of the table. Sir Michelle
is last to roll the Black as Night orb.
After completing her turn, the three knights breathlessly look at the solid
orange orb left on the Table of Colorful Orbs.
They look at each other, knowingly, and proceed to find additional
knowledge in the Star Gazer.
The
three knights approach the Star Gazer and ask it to show where the evil dragon
will be hiding. Quickly the Star Gazer
indicates the dragon with orange scales will be found in the celestial being of
Taurus the Bull. The three knights look
at each other and begin to fear that this dragon will be the worst foe they
have ever fought.
But
like any good knight, Sir Matt, Sir Kelly, and Sir Michelle forge ahead to the
den of the orange scaled dragon under the celestial being of Taurus the
Bull.
The
fire-laden pits of the enemy are no match for the bravery of the three
nights. Each approaches the quest as
their last. And it may have been, had it
not been for the Wizard of Imagination calling the three knights to dinner.
Grandpa,
Thank you for your imaginative and
adventurous character. You definitely
were a huge influence on the fantasies of my childhood and even still today as
an adult. I have always admired your
ability to write not one, but two autobiographies. Your true stories encouraged me to write my
own (true and fictional), and your Lion Hunts remain to be unmatched in my
heart and mind. You no longer live on
Bedford, and the dungeon has been replaced by a jungle, however, your
creativity lives on. Today the knights
are jungle explorers, my daughter’s Zoe and Eva, but your magic lives on.
Happy 90th Birthday you
Wizard of Imagination!
Friday, September 21, 2012
A Night At PineHurst
Below is the entry Jim and I wrote and submitted to Children's Writer today:
“Good evening. My name is Miranda Witsworth. I am coming to you from PineHurst Mental Institution. Originally called Pennsylvania’s State Institution for the Feeble-Minded and Epileptic, PineHurst went under scrutiny in the 1970s and finally closed its doors in 1987. Since closing, people have spoke of hauntingly strange happenings on the campus. My friends and I will be spending the night within its walls, and filming our findings. Our hope is to put to rest, once and for all, the urban legends surrounding this place...”
“Friend,” I sighed under my breath. Just her friend. Miranda, the most beautiful girl at school, and me her equipment carrying friend. Thankfully, Pete tagged along to make the situation less awkward.
“So what did you boys think?” Miranda asked sweetly. “Do I sound like a real reporter?”
“You bet!” Pete exclaimed. Miranda had that effect on everyone.
“Max? Max? Max! What did you think?” Miranda called out to me.
I desperately wanted to answer, but I was frozen in fear. My body was covered in prickling goosebumps and I couldn’t even utter a pathetic squeak. The ominous graffiti on the cracked and crumbling walls was everywhere. But the one phrase completely paralysing my mind and body was, “G.O.D. isn’t here.”
“Max, what is it?” Pete shook me.
“That,” I said pointing to the etched graffiti.
“Why are there periods after each letter in God?” Miranda questioned.
“Always the detective,” I thought.
All of a sudden there was an eerie almost disembodied laugh coming from down the corridor. “Guys, did you hear that?” My voice had barely returned.
“Did you hear a ghost Max?” Pete teased. “Did it say ‘‘booooo!’?”
“Max, we’ve only been here less than a half...” Miranda was abruptly cut off. There was the sound again; the sound of a little girl laughing. I was grateful that Pete and Miranda both heard the voice this time too.
“Is there someone here with us?” Miranda exclaimed. But the only answer was ghostly laughter. “Well I guess we need to investigate boys,” Miranda asserted. “Roll the camera Pete!” “Oh brother,” I thought.
We began walking down hallway after hallway following the laughter only pausing briefly to catch our breaths or avoid an old discarded item in our path. We would have continued had we not been abruptly stopped by a door with the words “G.O.D. isn’t here” etched below the epithet “Stairs To Tunnels”.
“Are you sure you guys want to continue?” I said with trepidation.
“Well, it’s the only way we’ll ever find out who or what is making that noise. And I for one need to get to the bottom of this for our viewers.” Miranda said while looking professionally poised for the camera. “Come on!”
We quickly descended the stairs and waited for the laughter to dictate our direction. But we couldn’t hear it anymore. Miranda called out, “Little girl where are you?”
Then everything went black.
I woke up in darkness, the back of my head throbbing in dull pain. As I began to become more aware of my surroundings, I realized there was a constant sound of soft sobbing to my left. My tongue felt dry and heavy as I said the first name that popped into my head.
“Miranda”, my voice sounded odd and alien to me.
The sobbing stopped and there was silence for what seems like an eternity; then a voice answered, “Is that you Max?”
“Yes”, was all I could manage as an answer. I was vaguely aware of my voice being louder now, and that it was echoing oddly around me.
“Keep your voice down” Miranda replied, “if they hear you they will come back!” I still couldn’t see her, but I thought I heard panic in her voice. I was trying to remember what had happened and how we had gotten here. I was drawing a blank.
“Was it ghosts?” I asked weakly. There was a pause before Miranda answered and I became aware of a clicking noise echoing from what seemed to be far off. Miranda’s voice started to shake when she answered. I could tell she was on the verge of crying again.
“I don’t know where they came from,” she sobbed. “We had descended the stairs and I called out to the little girl hoping to hear another giggle. Then all of the sudden they were all around us. I suppose they must have been hiding in the rooms. They knocked you and Pete out and then turned to me”. Miranda began to sob. “Pete... he’s down here too... I’m not even sure if he’s breathing”.
I tried to process all of this. It seemed like a bad dream. So I did what anyone in this mess would do - I closed my eyes and pinched myself to wake up. I slowly opened my eyes, but lost all hope when my surroundings hadn’t changed.
It was at this moment I realized the clicking sound was getting closer and it wasn’t just one click, but many clicks. I tried crawling closer to Miranda, but my limbs were rubber. My eyes began to adjust to the darkness and I realized it was lighter above us. I could only see a dim outline of Miranda as she slowly crawled over to me. I put my arm around her, and the two of us sat huddled together in desperation.
Above us, shadowy figures were lining the edge of our prison. I could see the walls faintly now, and I could make out a large, spray-painted 10’ symbol. “This must have been a diving pool at one point,” I thought. The clicking sound had faded now and the pool was completely surrounded by people. I couldn’t see any of their faces, but their clothes were filthy and in tatters. Some held canes or rested on crutches. “The clicking,” I thought. Suddenly the darkness was broken by a blinding light; someone was shining a flashlight into our faces.
A voice, slow and slurred, began to speak. “Why have you come to Home?”
Miranda spoke before I did, her voice a flurry of fear, “Please we are really sorry we didn’t know anyone was here and we didn’t mean to trespass if you let us go we swear we will never come back and never talk about it if you just let us go please”. There was barely a breath in there and the stream of words broke down into sobs. She ended with, “I just want to go home”.
My eyes were adjusting to the light now and I could see the faces of our captors. They looked haggard, and in many cases deformed. There were eyes that were too far apart, noses bent to one side, and mouths hanging slack. The only thing I could think to say was, “Who are you?”
The one holding the flashlight answered back in his slurred voice, “We are the people who live here. This is Home. We were always here. Once there were other people, the ones who hurt us. They called themselves Guard, Orderly and Doctor. Then they told us that Home was being shut down. They left and told us we had to leave too, but we had nowhere to go, so we came back. We will not leave Home.”
“We didn’t know you were here,” I yelled. “If you let us go, we won’t tell anyone you are here.” Through the pain and exhaustion, I tried to sound as assertive and angry as I could. “If you don’t let us go, someone will come looking for us and they will kick you out of here!”
There was a chuckle this time before the voice began to speak. “The men in the car with Blue and Red lights were already here. They didn’t find you. They don’t like to come down here. They will find your car and cameras down by the river. They will stop looking for you.
Miranda’s sobbing grew louder and my heart sank. My only response was, “Why? What do you want with us?”
There was a soft fluttery sound that ended in a dull thud as a packet of cloth landed next to me. One landed by Miranda, and another by Pete. I picked up the one closest to me. It was a guard uniform. Miranda held up a pair of scrubs. I could barely make out what seemed to be a lab coat next to poor Pete.
“You will put these on,” the voice said. “Tonight is the anniversary of when the Guards, Orderlies and Doctors left Home. These people hurt us, so on Anniversary, we remember them and the the hurt they would do if they came back.”
Miranda was hunched over holding her costume sobbing, not even looking up or responding anymore. I looked at the people above and realized they were all holding large rocks in their hands. That was the moment I realized there are things much scarier than ghosts.
“Good evening. My name is Miranda Witsworth. I am coming to you from PineHurst Mental Institution. Originally called Pennsylvania’s State Institution for the Feeble-Minded and Epileptic, PineHurst went under scrutiny in the 1970s and finally closed its doors in 1987. Since closing, people have spoke of hauntingly strange happenings on the campus. My friends and I will be spending the night within its walls, and filming our findings. Our hope is to put to rest, once and for all, the urban legends surrounding this place...”
“Friend,” I sighed under my breath. Just her friend. Miranda, the most beautiful girl at school, and me her equipment carrying friend. Thankfully, Pete tagged along to make the situation less awkward.
“So what did you boys think?” Miranda asked sweetly. “Do I sound like a real reporter?”
“You bet!” Pete exclaimed. Miranda had that effect on everyone.
“Max? Max? Max! What did you think?” Miranda called out to me.
I desperately wanted to answer, but I was frozen in fear. My body was covered in prickling goosebumps and I couldn’t even utter a pathetic squeak. The ominous graffiti on the cracked and crumbling walls was everywhere. But the one phrase completely paralysing my mind and body was, “G.O.D. isn’t here.”
“Max, what is it?” Pete shook me.
“That,” I said pointing to the etched graffiti.
“Why are there periods after each letter in God?” Miranda questioned.
“Always the detective,” I thought.
All of a sudden there was an eerie almost disembodied laugh coming from down the corridor. “Guys, did you hear that?” My voice had barely returned.
“Did you hear a ghost Max?” Pete teased. “Did it say ‘‘booooo!’?”
“Max, we’ve only been here less than a half...” Miranda was abruptly cut off. There was the sound again; the sound of a little girl laughing. I was grateful that Pete and Miranda both heard the voice this time too.
“Is there someone here with us?” Miranda exclaimed. But the only answer was ghostly laughter. “Well I guess we need to investigate boys,” Miranda asserted. “Roll the camera Pete!” “Oh brother,” I thought.
We began walking down hallway after hallway following the laughter only pausing briefly to catch our breaths or avoid an old discarded item in our path. We would have continued had we not been abruptly stopped by a door with the words “G.O.D. isn’t here” etched below the epithet “Stairs To Tunnels”.
“Are you sure you guys want to continue?” I said with trepidation.
“Well, it’s the only way we’ll ever find out who or what is making that noise. And I for one need to get to the bottom of this for our viewers.” Miranda said while looking professionally poised for the camera. “Come on!”
We quickly descended the stairs and waited for the laughter to dictate our direction. But we couldn’t hear it anymore. Miranda called out, “Little girl where are you?”
Then everything went black.
I woke up in darkness, the back of my head throbbing in dull pain. As I began to become more aware of my surroundings, I realized there was a constant sound of soft sobbing to my left. My tongue felt dry and heavy as I said the first name that popped into my head.
“Miranda”, my voice sounded odd and alien to me.
The sobbing stopped and there was silence for what seems like an eternity; then a voice answered, “Is that you Max?”
“Yes”, was all I could manage as an answer. I was vaguely aware of my voice being louder now, and that it was echoing oddly around me.
“Keep your voice down” Miranda replied, “if they hear you they will come back!” I still couldn’t see her, but I thought I heard panic in her voice. I was trying to remember what had happened and how we had gotten here. I was drawing a blank.
“Was it ghosts?” I asked weakly. There was a pause before Miranda answered and I became aware of a clicking noise echoing from what seemed to be far off. Miranda’s voice started to shake when she answered. I could tell she was on the verge of crying again.
“I don’t know where they came from,” she sobbed. “We had descended the stairs and I called out to the little girl hoping to hear another giggle. Then all of the sudden they were all around us. I suppose they must have been hiding in the rooms. They knocked you and Pete out and then turned to me”. Miranda began to sob. “Pete... he’s down here too... I’m not even sure if he’s breathing”.
I tried to process all of this. It seemed like a bad dream. So I did what anyone in this mess would do - I closed my eyes and pinched myself to wake up. I slowly opened my eyes, but lost all hope when my surroundings hadn’t changed.
It was at this moment I realized the clicking sound was getting closer and it wasn’t just one click, but many clicks. I tried crawling closer to Miranda, but my limbs were rubber. My eyes began to adjust to the darkness and I realized it was lighter above us. I could only see a dim outline of Miranda as she slowly crawled over to me. I put my arm around her, and the two of us sat huddled together in desperation.
Above us, shadowy figures were lining the edge of our prison. I could see the walls faintly now, and I could make out a large, spray-painted 10’ symbol. “This must have been a diving pool at one point,” I thought. The clicking sound had faded now and the pool was completely surrounded by people. I couldn’t see any of their faces, but their clothes were filthy and in tatters. Some held canes or rested on crutches. “The clicking,” I thought. Suddenly the darkness was broken by a blinding light; someone was shining a flashlight into our faces.
A voice, slow and slurred, began to speak. “Why have you come to Home?”
Miranda spoke before I did, her voice a flurry of fear, “Please we are really sorry we didn’t know anyone was here and we didn’t mean to trespass if you let us go we swear we will never come back and never talk about it if you just let us go please”. There was barely a breath in there and the stream of words broke down into sobs. She ended with, “I just want to go home”.
My eyes were adjusting to the light now and I could see the faces of our captors. They looked haggard, and in many cases deformed. There were eyes that were too far apart, noses bent to one side, and mouths hanging slack. The only thing I could think to say was, “Who are you?”
The one holding the flashlight answered back in his slurred voice, “We are the people who live here. This is Home. We were always here. Once there were other people, the ones who hurt us. They called themselves Guard, Orderly and Doctor. Then they told us that Home was being shut down. They left and told us we had to leave too, but we had nowhere to go, so we came back. We will not leave Home.”
“We didn’t know you were here,” I yelled. “If you let us go, we won’t tell anyone you are here.” Through the pain and exhaustion, I tried to sound as assertive and angry as I could. “If you don’t let us go, someone will come looking for us and they will kick you out of here!”
There was a chuckle this time before the voice began to speak. “The men in the car with Blue and Red lights were already here. They didn’t find you. They don’t like to come down here. They will find your car and cameras down by the river. They will stop looking for you.
Miranda’s sobbing grew louder and my heart sank. My only response was, “Why? What do you want with us?”
There was a soft fluttery sound that ended in a dull thud as a packet of cloth landed next to me. One landed by Miranda, and another by Pete. I picked up the one closest to me. It was a guard uniform. Miranda held up a pair of scrubs. I could barely make out what seemed to be a lab coat next to poor Pete.
“You will put these on,” the voice said. “Tonight is the anniversary of when the Guards, Orderlies and Doctors left Home. These people hurt us, so on Anniversary, we remember them and the the hurt they would do if they came back.”
Miranda was hunched over holding her costume sobbing, not even looking up or responding anymore. I looked at the people above and realized they were all holding large rocks in their hands. That was the moment I realized there are things much scarier than ghosts.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
The Picture Box
My favorite summer memory actually spanned over the course of many summers. It all started when I was seven years old
I loved spending time with my mother's parents: Grandma and Grandpa Riske. Summer visits were always peppered with many long talks on the front porch while consuming numerous Cheez-its and bottles of Coke-a-Cola. Sometimes we would sit next to an oscillating fan playing rousing games of gin rummy. But other times, if I truly begged, I was allowed to look at the picture box.
The picture box was from J. L. Hudson's. There was always such anticipation as I slowly removed the white cardboard top with the fancy green "H". Upon lifting the lid, I would find many photographs: Daguerreotypes, tintypes, carte de visites and more - snapshots of my relatives. I would pick up each picture, hold it, and ask my grandparents to share the story of the person or people in it. No matter how many times I heard the wonderful stories of years gone by, I would sit and listen for hours. The most amazing thing was how my grandparents never ceased to tell me the stories.
I especially enjoyed making up my own names and events for the mysterious people of my past. Oftentimes, I hoped that if I stared long enough the stoic subjects would crack a smile. Such a different time, but such a true experience of history and family.
Every summer (and sometimes during the school year) I journeyed back in time with the picture box. In fact, I continued the tradition throughout my childhood and into my adult years. It has been over 10 years since my grandma passed away, and the same amount of time that I have not opened the picture box. I suppose I cannot imagine experiencing the past without her present. However, this year I plan to share the tradition that began 30 years ago: I am going to bring out the picture box and make summer memories with my own girls.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
A Joke for Wednesday
I was listening to my two daughters, ages 4 and 6, while they were playing. The oldest says, "So what do you want to be when you grow up?" The youngest replies, "A Mommy by day and a Ninja by night." The oldest exclaims, "You can't be a Ninja at night! When will you sleep?" The youngest states emphatically, "Ninja's don't need to sleep!"
Friday, February 10, 2012
A Joke for Friday
Here is my most recent submission to Reader's Digest.
I was in the process of making my daughter's favorite lunch: grilled cheese and pickles. This time she wanted to add the cheese to the bread. She was very quiet and contemplative. Then she exclaimed "Mommy, can boys eat girl-cheese too?"
I was in the process of making my daughter's favorite lunch: grilled cheese and pickles. This time she wanted to add the cheese to the bread. She was very quiet and contemplative. Then she exclaimed "Mommy, can boys eat girl-cheese too?"
Monday, January 23, 2012
The Silver Frog - Magazine Version
As promised, here is the version of The Silver Frog that is appropriate to send to magazines. Most have a 1000 word limit on articles and stories. Enjoy!
The Silver Frog
(998 word count)
In a quaint village a young boy lived with his mother in a small, but comfortable cottage. They only had one another, and even though they did not have a lot of riches their hearts were richly full of love.
The boy loved to go down to the brook each morning to fish and look for treasures. And every evening he would return home with his overall pockets full of found items and a fish or two for dinner.
One day, the boy was fishing when something caught the corner of his eye: a shining silver glow underneath the water. At first the boy thought the sun’s reflections were playing tricks on him, however, the boy realized it was not the sunshine, but rather a treasure in the muddy bottom of the brook. So he reached down, and brought out what felt like a stone but had the appearance of a small bullfrog.
He knew this treasure should accompany him on his journey home, so he stuffed it into one of the pockets of his overalls. The silver frog accompanied the rest of the boy’s found treasures: a crumbled piece of brown paper, three stones, a slippery snail and a spool of thread.
Quite exhausted and hungry, the boy returned home after a long day of treasure hunting and fishing. After a hearty meal, the boy changed his clothing and went to bed. However, as he often did, the boy forgot all the treasured items in the pockets of his overalls.
A few days had passed and it was the evening of laundry day. The boy’s mother was in the middle of her weekly search through the boy’s pockets. The mother quickly retrieved the stones, the thread, the paper, and then noticed a silver frog in her palm. She was immediately intrigued by the pretty treasure, and began to rub her thumb across the frog’s smooth back.
Then she heard a voice croak, “Hello!”
“Did you just talk?” asked the frightened mother.
“Yes,” croaked the frog from beneath a shirt. “For I am a wishing frog.”
The mother brought the silver frog closer to her face,and replied, “A wishing frog, eh?”
“Yes, kind woman. And I have decided to grant you three wishes.”
The mother looked sceptical, but said, “Okay then, I wish for a big, beautiful home and all the money I ever would need.” And just like that the mother was in a ball gown in a huge manor home.
The mother was so caught up in the moment, she barely heard the frog croak, “What is your second wish, my good woman?”
Astonished, she quietly said, “Well, I don’t quite know. May I ask for my second wish at another time?”
The frog croaked, “Yes, of course, good woman. Place me on a high shelf so no one can find me. When you are ready for your second wish take me down, stroke my back, and state your heart’s desire.”
So the mother put the silver frog on the very high shelf in her dressing room, knowing it would stay safe there.
Time passed at the beautiful manor home. The mother became increasingly bored because her unending supply of money had bought everything she could imagine: maids, cooks, tutors for the boy, as well as every delicacy known to man. However, the one thing she was missing was a husband.
So the mother returned to her dressing room , reached for the silver frog, and followed his directions. She said, “I wish a handsome prince would ask for my hand in marriage.” With that, a knock came at the front door of the manor. Moments later a servant brought a most handsome man into the hall.
In her haste to see who was at the door, the mother forgetfully left the frog sitting out on her vanity.
As the mother entered the hall, her servant stated, “A prince is here to see you, madam.”
Without warning, the prince immediately fell to one knee, took the mother’s hand, and simply stated, “I wish for you to be my wife.”
The mother was so elated, she immediately cried, “yes!”
Now time had also passed for the boy. He no longer was able to fish or search for treasures, he had a prince as a father, and even worse he hardly ever saw his mother anymore. The boy simply wished for things to return to the way they were.
The boy began to cry, and ran to his mother’s room hoping to find her there. She was not there, but a light on the vanity caught his eye. When he wiped away his tears the boy realized the light was coming from the silver frog he had found many months ago. He walked over to the vanity, and picked up the silver frog, and without thinking began rubbing the smooth silver.
The silver frog croaked, “Hello. I am a wishing frog.”
“Why hello, little frog,” said the boy.
“Hello boy,” croaked the frog.
“You are a wishing frog?” questioned the boy.
“Yes, I am,” croaked the frog. “And I have one wish left to grant.”
The boy knew that his mother had only wished for riches because they had lived on so little. So without anymore thought, the boy cried out, “I wish I had never found you!”
And in a blink of an eye, the boy was back at the brook, fishing and searching for treasures. He suddenly had a bite on his hook! The boy reeled in the biggest fish ever, put it in his bucket, and started for home. As the boy rounded the corner to the path up to his home he saw the quaint and comfortable cottage and beamed with anticipation.
He approached the door, and before he could knock the door opened his mother stood waiting. From this day forward he knew things would be different. For they didn’t need magic to give them happiness and riches; they only needed each other.
(998 word count)
In a quaint village a young boy lived with his mother in a small, but comfortable cottage. They only had one another, and even though they did not have a lot of riches their hearts were richly full of love.
The boy loved to go down to the brook each morning to fish and look for treasures. And every evening he would return home with his overall pockets full of found items and a fish or two for dinner.
One day, the boy was fishing when something caught the corner of his eye: a shining silver glow underneath the water. At first the boy thought the sun’s reflections were playing tricks on him, however, the boy realized it was not the sunshine, but rather a treasure in the muddy bottom of the brook. So he reached down, and brought out what felt like a stone but had the appearance of a small bullfrog.
He knew this treasure should accompany him on his journey home, so he stuffed it into one of the pockets of his overalls. The silver frog accompanied the rest of the boy’s found treasures: a crumbled piece of brown paper, three stones, a slippery snail and a spool of thread.
Quite exhausted and hungry, the boy returned home after a long day of treasure hunting and fishing. After a hearty meal, the boy changed his clothing and went to bed. However, as he often did, the boy forgot all the treasured items in the pockets of his overalls.
A few days had passed and it was the evening of laundry day. The boy’s mother was in the middle of her weekly search through the boy’s pockets. The mother quickly retrieved the stones, the thread, the paper, and then noticed a silver frog in her palm. She was immediately intrigued by the pretty treasure, and began to rub her thumb across the frog’s smooth back.
Then she heard a voice croak, “Hello!”
“Did you just talk?” asked the frightened mother.
“Yes,” croaked the frog from beneath a shirt. “For I am a wishing frog.”
The mother brought the silver frog closer to her face,and replied, “A wishing frog, eh?”
“Yes, kind woman. And I have decided to grant you three wishes.”
The mother looked sceptical, but said, “Okay then, I wish for a big, beautiful home and all the money I ever would need.” And just like that the mother was in a ball gown in a huge manor home.
The mother was so caught up in the moment, she barely heard the frog croak, “What is your second wish, my good woman?”
Astonished, she quietly said, “Well, I don’t quite know. May I ask for my second wish at another time?”
The frog croaked, “Yes, of course, good woman. Place me on a high shelf so no one can find me. When you are ready for your second wish take me down, stroke my back, and state your heart’s desire.”
So the mother put the silver frog on the very high shelf in her dressing room, knowing it would stay safe there.
Time passed at the beautiful manor home. The mother became increasingly bored because her unending supply of money had bought everything she could imagine: maids, cooks, tutors for the boy, as well as every delicacy known to man. However, the one thing she was missing was a husband.
So the mother returned to her dressing room , reached for the silver frog, and followed his directions. She said, “I wish a handsome prince would ask for my hand in marriage.” With that, a knock came at the front door of the manor. Moments later a servant brought a most handsome man into the hall.
In her haste to see who was at the door, the mother forgetfully left the frog sitting out on her vanity.
As the mother entered the hall, her servant stated, “A prince is here to see you, madam.”
Without warning, the prince immediately fell to one knee, took the mother’s hand, and simply stated, “I wish for you to be my wife.”
The mother was so elated, she immediately cried, “yes!”
Now time had also passed for the boy. He no longer was able to fish or search for treasures, he had a prince as a father, and even worse he hardly ever saw his mother anymore. The boy simply wished for things to return to the way they were.
The boy began to cry, and ran to his mother’s room hoping to find her there. She was not there, but a light on the vanity caught his eye. When he wiped away his tears the boy realized the light was coming from the silver frog he had found many months ago. He walked over to the vanity, and picked up the silver frog, and without thinking began rubbing the smooth silver.
The silver frog croaked, “Hello. I am a wishing frog.”
“Why hello, little frog,” said the boy.
“Hello boy,” croaked the frog.
“You are a wishing frog?” questioned the boy.
“Yes, I am,” croaked the frog. “And I have one wish left to grant.”
The boy knew that his mother had only wished for riches because they had lived on so little. So without anymore thought, the boy cried out, “I wish I had never found you!”
And in a blink of an eye, the boy was back at the brook, fishing and searching for treasures. He suddenly had a bite on his hook! The boy reeled in the biggest fish ever, put it in his bucket, and started for home. As the boy rounded the corner to the path up to his home he saw the quaint and comfortable cottage and beamed with anticipation.
He approached the door, and before he could knock the door opened his mother stood waiting. From this day forward he knew things would be different. For they didn’t need magic to give them happiness and riches; they only needed each other.
The Silver Frog - Book Version
Today I sent two versions of my latest children's story, The Silver Frog, off to publishers. This is the long version of the story. I'd like to think it could be a book with gorgeous illustrations. I will post another blog with the magazine story (which had to be 1000 words or under).
The Silver Frog
(1929 word count)
In a quaint village a young boy lived with his mother. They lived in a small, but comfortable cottage nestled beside a lush forest. The mother and her son only had one another, and even though they did not have a lot of riches their hearts were richly full of love.
The boy was very inquisitive. He loved to go on long journeys through the vast forest, where the cool breezes from the babbling brook would blow through his brown, curly locks. The sounds of nature contained the boy’s favorite melodies, as he would oftentimes hear beautiful symphonies on his walks. The orchestra was comprised of the sounds of nature: the birds were flutes, the leaves were strings, the tree branches were reeds, and the brook was percussion.
The boy loved to go down to the brook each morning to fish and look for trinkets and treasures. And every evening he would return home with his overall pockets full of found items and a fish or two for dinner.
One day, the boy was fishing when something caught the corner of his eye: a shining silver glow underneath the water. At first the boy thought the sun’s reflections were playing tricks on him, as they often did at this time of day. However, upon further inspection, the boy realized it was not the sunshine, but rather a treasure in the muddy bottom of the brook.
The boy took a few steps on the rocky ledge, and made sure to balance himself to get in the proper position. Then he reached down into the murky liquid, grasped the object, and brought out what felt like a stone but had the appearance of a small bullfrog. The boy inspected the frog from all angles, noticing its beautiful silver luster. He knew this treasure should accompany him on his journey home, so he stuffed it into one of the pockets of his overalls. The silver frog accompanied the rest of the boy’s found treasures: a crumbled piece of brown paper, three stones, a slippery snail and a spool of thread.
Quite exhausted and certainly hungry, the boy returned home after a long day of treasure hunting and fishing. After a hearty meal prepared by his mother, the boy changed his clothing and went to bed. However, as he often did, the boy forgot all the treasured items in the pockets of his overalls.
*******************************************************************************************************
A few days had passed and it was the evening of laundry day. The boy’s mother was in the middle of her weekly search through the boy’s pockets. She picked up the fraying overalls, shook her head at disbelief of their condition, and proceeded to searched the contents. The mother quickly retrieved the stones, the thread, the paper, and then noticed a silver frog in her palm. She was immediately intrigued by the pretty treasure. Studying the object further, she began to rub her thumb across the frog’s smooth back.
Then she heard a voice croak, “Hello!”
The mother was startled, and dropped the silver frog to the floor in the laundry room.
“Ow!” said the frog, thankfully saved by a pile of dirty laundry.
“Did you just talk?” asked the frightened mother.
“Yes,” croaked the frog from beneath a shirt. “For I am a wishing frog.”
The mother knelt down, carefully brushed aside the dirty shirt, and slowly picked up the silver frog. She held it in her hand and brought it closer to her face to inspect it further. Finally she replied, “A wishing frog, eh?”
“Yes, kind woman. And I have decided to grant you three wishes.”
The mother looked sceptical at the silver frog, but out of curiosity she said, “Okay then, I wish for a big, beautiful home and all the money I ever would need.” And just like that the mother was standing in a beautiful, sparkling gown amidst a ballroom under an exquisite chandelier.
The mother spun around the room while trying to grasp what had just happened. Her gown was made of the finest silks and satins, and her shoes were velvet and felt like a cloud underneath her tired feet. And for once she felt truly clean. The mother caught her reflection in a nearby mirror and noticed her hair was pulled up into a chiffon and adorned with jewels and gems. She was so caught up in the moment, she barely heard the frog croak, “What is your second wish, my good woman?”
The mother was too astonished to think of another wish, since her first wish was granted beyond her wildest dreams. So she looked down into her hands and quietly said, “Well, I don’t quite know. May I ask for my second wish at another time?”
The frog croaked, “Yes, of course, good woman. Just place me on a high shelf so no one can find me. When you are ready for your second wish take me down, stroke my back, and state your heart’s desire.”
So the mother put the silver frog on the very high shelf in her dressing room, knowing it would stay safe there.
********************************************************************************************************
Upon waking the next morning, the boy was surrounded by a fluffy bed with many large pillows and silk sheets. He was shocked to find his room had changed so dramatically. But he decided that it must be a glorious dream. And if this was a dream, he would run down to the brook and catch the biggest fish ever. However, after searching and searching his room, he could not find a pair of overalls that he liked to wear when fishing. The boy decided instead to put on one of the new, clean and pressed outfits from his closet and worry about the overalls later. After all, there was a big fish waiting to be caught.
Just as he was about to leave his room, the door opened and there a strange gentleman stood. “Ah, master, you are awake and ready for your studies I see.”
The boy was very confused. “I do not understand what you are talking about, sir. I am on my way down to the brook to fish and look for treasures!”
“I am sorry, master, you must be mistaken,” the gentleman laughed. “Today we are going to study conversational Latin as well as the History of the World up through the 1400s”
The boy knew he was defeated, so he slowly walked to a table in the room and sat listening to the gentleman talk.
********************************************************************************************************
Time passed at the beautiful manor home. The mother became increasingly bored from having nothing to do. Her unending supply of money had bought everything she could imagine: maids, cooks, tutors for the boy, as well as every delicacy known to man. Since the boy was occupied with tutors and the like, her days were very dull. She no longer had to play the part of a mother, but one of a very wealthy lady in high society. The one thing she was missing was a husband, someone who would share her newly attained riches. However, she could not wish for just anyone, she would wish for the most amazing person imaginable: a prince.
So the mother returned to her dressing room and reached for the silver frog who sat high above on a shelf. She did exactly what the silver frog had told her. As she was rubbing his back she said, “I wish a handsome prince would ask for my hand in marriage and come live with me at my beautiful home.” With that, a knock came at the front door of the manor. A few moments later, a servant brought a most handsome man into the hall.
In her haste to see who was at the door, the mother forgetfully left the frog sitting out on her vanity.
As the mother entered the hall, her servant stated, “A prince is here to see you, madam.”
Without warning, the prince immediately fell to one knee, took the mother’s hand, and simply stated, “I wish for you to be my wife.”
The mother was so elated, she immediately cried, “yes!”
*******************************************************************************************************
Many months had passed since the boy found the silver frog in the brook. Life as he knew it had changed completely. He no longer was able to fish or search for treasures, he had a prince as a father, and even worse he hardly ever saw his mother anymore. She was too busy with society meetings, buying new clothing or frivolous items for the home, or throwing lavish parties to celebrate her union with her new husband: the prince. The boy simply wished for things to return to the way they were.
After his studies were done for the day, the boy began to cry. Tears poured from his eyes, and he ran down the hall and into his mother’s dressing room hoping to find her there. Not surprisingly, his mother was not in her room. He sat on a padded bench and began to cry even harder. Then something caught his eye. Through his tears the boy saw a light shining on the vanity. At first he thought it was a ray of sunlight hitting the mirror. However, when he wiped the tears from his eyes he realized the light was coming from the silver frog he had found at the brook many months ago. He walked over to the vanity, picked up the silver frog and sat back down upon the bench.
The boy knew he had not been dreaming and that something had altered his life. But it wasn’t until this moment that he knew exactly from where it had come: the silver frog. The boy wiped away more of his tears, took a deep breath and began talking to the frog, begging for it to respond. At first nothing happened, but eventually the boy rubbed the smooth back and the silver frog croaked, “Hello. I am a wishing frog.”
“Why hello, little frog,” said the boy.
“Hello boy,” croaked the frog.
“You are a wishing frog?” questioned the boy.
“Yes, I am,” croaked the frog. “And I have one wish left to grant.”
The boy knew that his mother had only wished for riches and fame because they had lived on so little before. He knew his mother must also be sad just like him, for they were both so far removed from what their life used to be. They may not have had much, but they had had each other. The magic of this silver frog had caused this unhappiness, he knew it. So without anymore thought, the boy cried out, “I wish I had never found you!”
And in a blink of an eye, the boy was back at the brook, listening to the magical orchestra of the forest. He was in his old, fraying overalls, fishing and searching for treasures. He suddenly had a bite on his hook! The boy reeled in the biggest fish ever, put it in his bucket, and started for home. As the boy rounded the corner to the path up to his home he saw the quaint and comfortable cottage and beamed with anticipation.
He approached the door, and before he could knock the door opened. His mother, in her plain brown dress, white apron, and hair every-which-way was standing with her arms open wide. The boy dropped his fishing pole and pail and embraced his mother. From this day forward he knew things would be different. For they didn’t need magic to give them happiness and riches; they only needed each other.
(1929 word count)
In a quaint village a young boy lived with his mother. They lived in a small, but comfortable cottage nestled beside a lush forest. The mother and her son only had one another, and even though they did not have a lot of riches their hearts were richly full of love.
The boy was very inquisitive. He loved to go on long journeys through the vast forest, where the cool breezes from the babbling brook would blow through his brown, curly locks. The sounds of nature contained the boy’s favorite melodies, as he would oftentimes hear beautiful symphonies on his walks. The orchestra was comprised of the sounds of nature: the birds were flutes, the leaves were strings, the tree branches were reeds, and the brook was percussion.
The boy loved to go down to the brook each morning to fish and look for trinkets and treasures. And every evening he would return home with his overall pockets full of found items and a fish or two for dinner.
One day, the boy was fishing when something caught the corner of his eye: a shining silver glow underneath the water. At first the boy thought the sun’s reflections were playing tricks on him, as they often did at this time of day. However, upon further inspection, the boy realized it was not the sunshine, but rather a treasure in the muddy bottom of the brook.
The boy took a few steps on the rocky ledge, and made sure to balance himself to get in the proper position. Then he reached down into the murky liquid, grasped the object, and brought out what felt like a stone but had the appearance of a small bullfrog. The boy inspected the frog from all angles, noticing its beautiful silver luster. He knew this treasure should accompany him on his journey home, so he stuffed it into one of the pockets of his overalls. The silver frog accompanied the rest of the boy’s found treasures: a crumbled piece of brown paper, three stones, a slippery snail and a spool of thread.
Quite exhausted and certainly hungry, the boy returned home after a long day of treasure hunting and fishing. After a hearty meal prepared by his mother, the boy changed his clothing and went to bed. However, as he often did, the boy forgot all the treasured items in the pockets of his overalls.
*******************************************************************************************************
A few days had passed and it was the evening of laundry day. The boy’s mother was in the middle of her weekly search through the boy’s pockets. She picked up the fraying overalls, shook her head at disbelief of their condition, and proceeded to searched the contents. The mother quickly retrieved the stones, the thread, the paper, and then noticed a silver frog in her palm. She was immediately intrigued by the pretty treasure. Studying the object further, she began to rub her thumb across the frog’s smooth back.
Then she heard a voice croak, “Hello!”
The mother was startled, and dropped the silver frog to the floor in the laundry room.
“Ow!” said the frog, thankfully saved by a pile of dirty laundry.
“Did you just talk?” asked the frightened mother.
“Yes,” croaked the frog from beneath a shirt. “For I am a wishing frog.”
The mother knelt down, carefully brushed aside the dirty shirt, and slowly picked up the silver frog. She held it in her hand and brought it closer to her face to inspect it further. Finally she replied, “A wishing frog, eh?”
“Yes, kind woman. And I have decided to grant you three wishes.”
The mother looked sceptical at the silver frog, but out of curiosity she said, “Okay then, I wish for a big, beautiful home and all the money I ever would need.” And just like that the mother was standing in a beautiful, sparkling gown amidst a ballroom under an exquisite chandelier.
The mother spun around the room while trying to grasp what had just happened. Her gown was made of the finest silks and satins, and her shoes were velvet and felt like a cloud underneath her tired feet. And for once she felt truly clean. The mother caught her reflection in a nearby mirror and noticed her hair was pulled up into a chiffon and adorned with jewels and gems. She was so caught up in the moment, she barely heard the frog croak, “What is your second wish, my good woman?”
The mother was too astonished to think of another wish, since her first wish was granted beyond her wildest dreams. So she looked down into her hands and quietly said, “Well, I don’t quite know. May I ask for my second wish at another time?”
The frog croaked, “Yes, of course, good woman. Just place me on a high shelf so no one can find me. When you are ready for your second wish take me down, stroke my back, and state your heart’s desire.”
So the mother put the silver frog on the very high shelf in her dressing room, knowing it would stay safe there.
********************************************************************************************************
Upon waking the next morning, the boy was surrounded by a fluffy bed with many large pillows and silk sheets. He was shocked to find his room had changed so dramatically. But he decided that it must be a glorious dream. And if this was a dream, he would run down to the brook and catch the biggest fish ever. However, after searching and searching his room, he could not find a pair of overalls that he liked to wear when fishing. The boy decided instead to put on one of the new, clean and pressed outfits from his closet and worry about the overalls later. After all, there was a big fish waiting to be caught.
Just as he was about to leave his room, the door opened and there a strange gentleman stood. “Ah, master, you are awake and ready for your studies I see.”
The boy was very confused. “I do not understand what you are talking about, sir. I am on my way down to the brook to fish and look for treasures!”
“I am sorry, master, you must be mistaken,” the gentleman laughed. “Today we are going to study conversational Latin as well as the History of the World up through the 1400s”
The boy knew he was defeated, so he slowly walked to a table in the room and sat listening to the gentleman talk.
********************************************************************************************************
Time passed at the beautiful manor home. The mother became increasingly bored from having nothing to do. Her unending supply of money had bought everything she could imagine: maids, cooks, tutors for the boy, as well as every delicacy known to man. Since the boy was occupied with tutors and the like, her days were very dull. She no longer had to play the part of a mother, but one of a very wealthy lady in high society. The one thing she was missing was a husband, someone who would share her newly attained riches. However, she could not wish for just anyone, she would wish for the most amazing person imaginable: a prince.
So the mother returned to her dressing room and reached for the silver frog who sat high above on a shelf. She did exactly what the silver frog had told her. As she was rubbing his back she said, “I wish a handsome prince would ask for my hand in marriage and come live with me at my beautiful home.” With that, a knock came at the front door of the manor. A few moments later, a servant brought a most handsome man into the hall.
In her haste to see who was at the door, the mother forgetfully left the frog sitting out on her vanity.
As the mother entered the hall, her servant stated, “A prince is here to see you, madam.”
Without warning, the prince immediately fell to one knee, took the mother’s hand, and simply stated, “I wish for you to be my wife.”
The mother was so elated, she immediately cried, “yes!”
*******************************************************************************************************
Many months had passed since the boy found the silver frog in the brook. Life as he knew it had changed completely. He no longer was able to fish or search for treasures, he had a prince as a father, and even worse he hardly ever saw his mother anymore. She was too busy with society meetings, buying new clothing or frivolous items for the home, or throwing lavish parties to celebrate her union with her new husband: the prince. The boy simply wished for things to return to the way they were.
After his studies were done for the day, the boy began to cry. Tears poured from his eyes, and he ran down the hall and into his mother’s dressing room hoping to find her there. Not surprisingly, his mother was not in her room. He sat on a padded bench and began to cry even harder. Then something caught his eye. Through his tears the boy saw a light shining on the vanity. At first he thought it was a ray of sunlight hitting the mirror. However, when he wiped the tears from his eyes he realized the light was coming from the silver frog he had found at the brook many months ago. He walked over to the vanity, picked up the silver frog and sat back down upon the bench.
The boy knew he had not been dreaming and that something had altered his life. But it wasn’t until this moment that he knew exactly from where it had come: the silver frog. The boy wiped away more of his tears, took a deep breath and began talking to the frog, begging for it to respond. At first nothing happened, but eventually the boy rubbed the smooth back and the silver frog croaked, “Hello. I am a wishing frog.”
“Why hello, little frog,” said the boy.
“Hello boy,” croaked the frog.
“You are a wishing frog?” questioned the boy.
“Yes, I am,” croaked the frog. “And I have one wish left to grant.”
The boy knew that his mother had only wished for riches and fame because they had lived on so little before. He knew his mother must also be sad just like him, for they were both so far removed from what their life used to be. They may not have had much, but they had had each other. The magic of this silver frog had caused this unhappiness, he knew it. So without anymore thought, the boy cried out, “I wish I had never found you!”
And in a blink of an eye, the boy was back at the brook, listening to the magical orchestra of the forest. He was in his old, fraying overalls, fishing and searching for treasures. He suddenly had a bite on his hook! The boy reeled in the biggest fish ever, put it in his bucket, and started for home. As the boy rounded the corner to the path up to his home he saw the quaint and comfortable cottage and beamed with anticipation.
He approached the door, and before he could knock the door opened. His mother, in her plain brown dress, white apron, and hair every-which-way was standing with her arms open wide. The boy dropped his fishing pole and pail and embraced his mother. From this day forward he knew things would be different. For they didn’t need magic to give them happiness and riches; they only needed each other.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
A Joke for Wednesday
I promised myself I would start to write more each day - even if I was writing a short joke for Reader's Digest. Just to write and be able to say, "I am a writer." So, today I decided to finally submit a joke story to RD. It is a true story that happened about 2 years ago (maybe less), and I have wanted to submit it for awhile. I am really proud of myself!
My mother was playing Noah's Ark with my two daughters. They were matching up animals 2 by 2. My oldest was doing most of the matching, and my youngest was simply happy to watch. My mother could not seem to find the toucan birds, so she asked the girls, "Can we look for the toucans?" My youngest pulls a bird out from under her leg and says, "Well, here's one can grandma!"
My mother was playing Noah's Ark with my two daughters. They were matching up animals 2 by 2. My oldest was doing most of the matching, and my youngest was simply happy to watch. My mother could not seem to find the toucan birds, so she asked the girls, "Can we look for the toucans?" My youngest pulls a bird out from under her leg and says, "Well, here's one can grandma!"
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Begin anew
It astounds me how often as a society we make a list of resolutions or "things to do" each new year. I used to be part of that crowd, but this year I wanted to make lifelong commitments: resolutions that mean something. So I have decided on the following each day:
To Write:
I will Blog, write an Article or Story, Compose a Song, or write a Letter or Card to a loved one
To Gift:
Give something each day - based on the book 29 Gifts by Cami Walker
Acknowledge at least 2 gifts received each day by using the One Thousand Gifts phone app
To Health:
Eat Right, Exercise Physical and Mental, and Keep Emotions in Check
I am not doing the 52 books challenge, nor did I set a weight goal. I am simply going to find JOY in my life by following the above three items.
To Write:
I will Blog, write an Article or Story, Compose a Song, or write a Letter or Card to a loved one
To Gift:
Give something each day - based on the book 29 Gifts by Cami Walker
Acknowledge at least 2 gifts received each day by using the One Thousand Gifts phone app
To Health:
Eat Right, Exercise Physical and Mental, and Keep Emotions in Check
I am not doing the 52 books challenge, nor did I set a weight goal. I am simply going to find JOY in my life by following the above three items.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Book Signing Tomorrow
A little while ago, I had a post called A Journey To the Past. Journey is a short story about Dearborn, the city I was born in and the city I now reside. It was selected to be part of a larger work that is debuting tomorrow.
I will be signing copies of the above book with other authors. I am blessed to be part of a historical city like Dearborn, and I am excited to see my story in print. Hopefully not too many changes were made, since I no longer own the rights.
If you are interested in purchasing a book for a special Christmas gift (and autographed by yours truly), stop by:
Andrew A. Mazzara Administrative Services and Conference Center
I will be signing copies of the above book with other authors. I am blessed to be part of a historical city like Dearborn, and I am excited to see my story in print. Hopefully not too many changes were made, since I no longer own the rights.
If you are interested in purchasing a book for a special Christmas gift (and autographed by yours truly), stop by:
Andrew A. Mazzara Administrative Services and Conference Center
at Henry Ford Community College
5101 Evergreen, Dearborn, MI
5101 Evergreen, Dearborn, MI
I look forward to seeing some of you there!
Saturday, October 15, 2011
A Journey to the Past
Here is the story I wrote for the Museum Guild of Dearborn project. Hope you enjoy!
A Journey to the Past
Michelle Martin
I love history. Next to music, history is a huge passion of mine. There is no denying my fascination with people and places of the past. This love of history has definitely been enhanced by living in Dearborn, a city richly painted by time. I have lived in Dearborn most of my life. Even though I could write many stories based around my education in Dearborn Public Schools: Snow Elementary, Stout Junior High and Edsel Ford High School and then at Henry Ford Community College, or about my time working at Dearborn establishments: Crowley’s, Greenfield Village, and Ford Motor Company, I will instead focus on one evening spent searching out the locations mentioned in William Nowlin’s book, The Bark Covered House.
One October evening in 2000, my mom (another lifelong Dearbornite) and I took a journey in and around locations described in The Bark Covered House. We had both read the book numerous times, but I wanted to go beyond the story and its pages. We assumed the actual buildings no longer existed, but that did not stop us from immersing into the adventure. I brought along my point and shoot camera, two thermoses full of coffee, and the book with a sticky-note on its map.
Our First stop was The Ten Eyck Tavern, which a historical marker has stood since 1950 on Michigan Avenue. Conrad Ten Eyck was such a character in the story of The Bark Covered House, and he definitely deserved a stop on our journey. Mr. Ten Eyck came to life in the pages of The Bark Covered House, as did other early Dearborn pioneers: Nowlin, Pardee and Snow to name a few. Dearborn now boasts many schools, buildings and roads named after these important men.
My mother and I spent some time picturing what Michigan Avenue would have looked like in the 1800s, and how unfortunate it is that the tavern was not preserved. I imagined it must have been similar to the Eagle Tavern from Clinton, Michigan, which now resides in Greenfield Village. Interestingly enough I worked there from 1993 until 1996 dressed in period clothing depicting 1850.
The next stop on our journey was the location of the Dearborn Arsenal. William Nowlin’s father, John, worked for the government and helped build the arsenal in Dearbornville. Today all that remains is the building Dearborn Music resides and the Commandant’s Quarters. The Commadant’s Quarters is a beautiful mansion built by Leiutenant Joshua Howard, the first commandant of the Arsenal. Luckily the building is still intact. We were not able to tour the building, as it was past business hours. However, I have been able to tour the building many times and did so once again the week after our journey.
Our third stop was to scope out the location of the Nowlin Castle, where William’s parents spent their golden years. Even though it was not much of a castle by today’s standards, the home meant so much to William Nowlin and his family. It stood at the corner of Monroe and Madison, which interestingly enough was next to where I was living at the time: Oxford Village Apartments. I also began to call Monroe, Hardscrabble road, as depicted in The Bark Covered House. Imagining a time when Monroe Boulevard was a dirt road is very exciting, though some of my friends at the time found calling it Hardscrabble a bit strange.
Our fourth stop took us to the site of the Bark Covered House itself. Located by Monroe Boulevard and north of the Ecorse River (which now flows under the roadway), stories surrounding the hard and determined life the Nowlins spent at the homestead are very captivating and engaging as a reader. I also realized I had lived a block from this location for a few months a year prior to this trip. My life in Dearborn had basically been experienced in and around The Bark Covered House, without my even knowing it.
Our fifth, and final stop, brought us to the Nowlin Cemetery located on Van Born Road in what is now on the boarder of Dearborn and Taylor, Michigan. Originally on the southwest corner of the Nowlin farm, the cemetery sits amidst businesses and homes. It was closed, as we expected. However, unlike the other locations that have been plowed over and reassigned, the cemetery still stood. The eternal home for this pioneering family of Dearborn, and the resting place of many of their relatives. At the time, I tried to get access by calling around local organizations that might have entry to the cemetery. However, my hope was never to be.
After moving nine years ago to our current Dearborn home, unintentionally only a block from Nowlin Elementary School, I misplaced the photographs from our journey to the past. I now have two little girls who love to visit The Henry Ford and the grounds at Fair Lane, Henry Ford’s Estate. They love looking at old pictures that illustrate books I have of Dearborn and its history, and when they get older I will encourage them to read William Nowlin’s book. As a teacher and parent, I hope to inspire children to take journeys that are rich with history and imagination. Maybe one day I’ll have the privilege to journey to the past once again.
A Journey to the Past
Michelle Martin
I love history. Next to music, history is a huge passion of mine. There is no denying my fascination with people and places of the past. This love of history has definitely been enhanced by living in Dearborn, a city richly painted by time. I have lived in Dearborn most of my life. Even though I could write many stories based around my education in Dearborn Public Schools: Snow Elementary, Stout Junior High and Edsel Ford High School and then at Henry Ford Community College, or about my time working at Dearborn establishments: Crowley’s, Greenfield Village, and Ford Motor Company, I will instead focus on one evening spent searching out the locations mentioned in William Nowlin’s book, The Bark Covered House.
One October evening in 2000, my mom (another lifelong Dearbornite) and I took a journey in and around locations described in The Bark Covered House. We had both read the book numerous times, but I wanted to go beyond the story and its pages. We assumed the actual buildings no longer existed, but that did not stop us from immersing into the adventure. I brought along my point and shoot camera, two thermoses full of coffee, and the book with a sticky-note on its map.
Our First stop was The Ten Eyck Tavern, which a historical marker has stood since 1950 on Michigan Avenue. Conrad Ten Eyck was such a character in the story of The Bark Covered House, and he definitely deserved a stop on our journey. Mr. Ten Eyck came to life in the pages of The Bark Covered House, as did other early Dearborn pioneers: Nowlin, Pardee and Snow to name a few. Dearborn now boasts many schools, buildings and roads named after these important men.
My mother and I spent some time picturing what Michigan Avenue would have looked like in the 1800s, and how unfortunate it is that the tavern was not preserved. I imagined it must have been similar to the Eagle Tavern from Clinton, Michigan, which now resides in Greenfield Village. Interestingly enough I worked there from 1993 until 1996 dressed in period clothing depicting 1850.
The next stop on our journey was the location of the Dearborn Arsenal. William Nowlin’s father, John, worked for the government and helped build the arsenal in Dearbornville. Today all that remains is the building Dearborn Music resides and the Commandant’s Quarters. The Commadant’s Quarters is a beautiful mansion built by Leiutenant Joshua Howard, the first commandant of the Arsenal. Luckily the building is still intact. We were not able to tour the building, as it was past business hours. However, I have been able to tour the building many times and did so once again the week after our journey.
Our third stop was to scope out the location of the Nowlin Castle, where William’s parents spent their golden years. Even though it was not much of a castle by today’s standards, the home meant so much to William Nowlin and his family. It stood at the corner of Monroe and Madison, which interestingly enough was next to where I was living at the time: Oxford Village Apartments. I also began to call Monroe, Hardscrabble road, as depicted in The Bark Covered House. Imagining a time when Monroe Boulevard was a dirt road is very exciting, though some of my friends at the time found calling it Hardscrabble a bit strange.
Our fourth stop took us to the site of the Bark Covered House itself. Located by Monroe Boulevard and north of the Ecorse River (which now flows under the roadway), stories surrounding the hard and determined life the Nowlins spent at the homestead are very captivating and engaging as a reader. I also realized I had lived a block from this location for a few months a year prior to this trip. My life in Dearborn had basically been experienced in and around The Bark Covered House, without my even knowing it.
Our fifth, and final stop, brought us to the Nowlin Cemetery located on Van Born Road in what is now on the boarder of Dearborn and Taylor, Michigan. Originally on the southwest corner of the Nowlin farm, the cemetery sits amidst businesses and homes. It was closed, as we expected. However, unlike the other locations that have been plowed over and reassigned, the cemetery still stood. The eternal home for this pioneering family of Dearborn, and the resting place of many of their relatives. At the time, I tried to get access by calling around local organizations that might have entry to the cemetery. However, my hope was never to be.
After moving nine years ago to our current Dearborn home, unintentionally only a block from Nowlin Elementary School, I misplaced the photographs from our journey to the past. I now have two little girls who love to visit The Henry Ford and the grounds at Fair Lane, Henry Ford’s Estate. They love looking at old pictures that illustrate books I have of Dearborn and its history, and when they get older I will encourage them to read William Nowlin’s book. As a teacher and parent, I hope to inspire children to take journeys that are rich with history and imagination. Maybe one day I’ll have the privilege to journey to the past once again.
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