The Hawk Has Landed

(My girls have been teaching me about “Flash Fiction” or stories of extreme brevity, usually 1000 words or less. Here we go.)

Falconry-the sport of nobles.

Falconry-the sport of nobles.

In another life, Louisa had been a falconer. Now, as leader of the village, falconry was a collaborative effort, left largely to the young and energetic. Still, from time to time, Louisa would canter out to the village green with Desmond, her favorite peregrine on her leather glove. Desmond was an unusually good hunter, and the pair would often return with several rabbits in her game bag.

Today was a beautiful day for a hunt. Louisa rubbed her hand over her neck and cheek, feeling the ropy scars of past battles. No matter, pretty faces were for silly women, she thought as she cantered off.

Louise loved the feel of the wind in her dreadlocks, and the creak of the leather saddle as her horse picked up speed. Desmond took wing, and Louisa could look up and see him keeping pace above. They cantered through the forest and toward the field, and suddenly, Desmond streaked to the ground.

“A catch? So soon? Let’s see! ” Louisa brought a tidbit of dried meat out of her bag and whistled. Desmond rose from the deep grass, dragging a meaty rabbit in his angular claws. Louisa stopped to appreciate the spare beauty of the bird. He had broken the rabbit’s neck cleanly and quickly.

“Brilliant! “Louisa whooped. Desmond dropped the rabbit and Louisa nabbed it mid air. Desmond’s black head glistened in the morning sun as he settled on her glove.

“Desmond, my love, let’s see what else the King of Heaven has in store for us today.” The pair continued the trot to the grassy glen.

Lists, lists, things to do, people to look out for, children to lead, mouths to feed. Louisa’s head slowly began to clear of all of these things as she concentrated on the moment at hand. She and Desmond made their way over to a fallen tree, and dismounted into a patch of fragrant greenery.

“Aha! Wild mint! The ladies and old men will thank me for this remedy.” She smiled inwardly. Louisa had no desire for more childbearing, but the younger women looked to her for guidance, and wild mint soothed female problems of all sorts. Good for the stomachs of cranky old men, too. She began to gather.

Desmond sidestepped up to her shoulder, and clung to her dreadlocks with one brightly colored claw. He was large for a male, most hunters of his breed were smaller than the females.But Desmond was nearly as large as his female counterpart.

Desmond and Louisa

Desmond and Louisa

The hissing was upon them almost before Louisa knew it. A whoosh, a sudden chill in the air, and a violent churning around them. Desmond squawked and flapped, both claws digging into Louisa’s scarred neck. She dropped to the ground instinctually. She cast her arms into the air, in a ‘Fly’ gesture that Desmond usually responded to. They rolled on the ground together, Desmond narrowly taking wing before Louisa accidentally crushed him.

What in the name of the King of Heaven was going on? Louisa rolled onto her back and looked skyward. An enormous black bird, the likes of which she had never seen, was pursuing her falcon. Desmond was an excellent climber and flew higher, higher to get away from his pursuer. The foreign bird was black with an enormous wingspan, so black that he looked like a moving hole in the sky, a tear in the fabric of the beautiful blue sky day.

Louisa bounded to her feet, frantic. What to do? She reached into her boot and withdrew her favorite dagger and turned to throw. A quick judgement told her that they were too far away, so she rummaged in her saddle bags for a throwing star. Quickly, she pulled out two of the deadly rounded pieces of metal and sent them into the air. One of them missed the black bird narrowly, and the other disappeared, as if swallowed into nothingness.

Suddenly another voice started speaking nearby. Louisa couldn’t understand the words, but somehow she felt as though she should know them. Familiar, somehow.

A powerful male voice uttered the words sotto voce, over and over. Louisa kept her eyes on the birds, it was easy to lose a falcon.

“Rex caeli! Rex caeli! Indulgentia! Auferte malum! Auferte malum!   The voice took on a pleading note. The birds drew closer, suddenly another, larger falcon came to the aid of Desmond. First one, then another, then a third. They swarmed the black bird, streaking, diving, clawing. Desmond folded his wings and made a straight dive to the earth, pulling up at the last possible moment, and winged his way to Louisa. She heaved a sigh, and turned toward the voice.

“What did you say? What happened?” she demanded. She looked in the sky again, the three beautiful falcons had disappeared, and the huge black bird was a spot in the distance.

The owner of the voice was a graying, muscular man with an erect bearing. He stood his ground, and looked at Louisa straight on, undeterred by her battle scarred face.

“King of heaven, show mercy. Banish the evil one. ” He turned away, and walked toward his own mount, tethered not far away.

Unexpected aid

Unexpected aid

“Wait!” Louisa whispered.  The Evil one?

 “Wait!” Her voice rose.  “Are you a servant of the Most High too?” Her voice rose again.

The man turned. A peregrine of identical size landed and settled on his own glove.

“Yes. I am. They call me Hawk.”

Sabbatical in a Teacup: Day Seventeen. Grenada, Alhambra, and the ghost of Garcia Lorca. Angels, part Four

The Moorish palaces of Alhambra is over a thousand years old. It stands on the top of a hill here in Granada, and is a series of Islamic palaces built for the last Muslim Emirs of Spain. Several hundred years later the Catholic monarchs overran the place, and then it was allowed to fall into disrepair for centuries.



Islamic poets, artists and architects don’t spend a great deal of time on outward appearances, so the inner courtyards, gardens, and facades are really remarkable. Christians could take a lesson from the analogy of inner beauty, come to think of it.

The outside of the Alhambra is kind of boring. But inside?

Gardens constructed for contemplation.

Water everywhere.

Water everywhere.Picture Moorish princesses  dreaming here.Poetry inscribed on the walls to think about.

Rooms with veined windows for the sunlight to gently illuminate.


It was as if we had traveled backwards in time several months in the calendar. Gardens grew everywhere. We even found roses in bloom.


The palaces are set high on a hill, with views of the city from all directions. It was spectacular to watch the sun set. 

Yet, there is something eerie about the city of Grenada, and the deserted walkways of the Alhambra.

Perhaps echos of a magnificent civilization that is no more? Perhaps the impermanence of things? Garcia Lorca was shot here in the bloody Spanish Civil war here in the 1930s.

Arguably one of Spain’s most important poets and playwrights, Lorca’s murder in 1936 is matter of controversy here as recently as 2009.

At this road, I am anxious to leave Granada, as it is sad and haunted. Looking for the life of Spain, we walked many narrow alleyways to get away from the larger shops and cafeterias. Here we found Mr. Cortez.

Sr. Cortez, holding my new wooden tea tray, with it's precise Moorish geometric wooden tilework.

Sr. Cortez, holding my new wooden tea tray, with it’s precise Moorish geometric wooden tilework.

He and his son run this tiny little woodshop that makes these wonderful patterned applique wooden boxes, trays and tables. They have a single part time employee, and it was difficult to walk around the stacks of well-crafted inventory.

I watched Faith and the Senor have an animated conversation in Spanish, and the life of the city began to glow again. Grenada is to be found here, in the tiny alleyways and lined faces of Sr. Cortez. Garcia Lorca haunts the libraries and universities, and the history is bloody and sad. But the life if the city is where it usually is to be found, in the faces of it’s people.


Chapter Seven: The Coffehouse Angel.

Mom had died earlier that morning. By that time, she needed round the clock care, and thank God she had the foresight to store the funds for such an event.About two oclock that morning, her “awake” care provider heard her make a noise. Not a cough, not a murmur, sort of a noise in her throat. She threw off the lap cover and got off the couch to investigate.

“Carolyn? Are you all right?” April was a gentle soul. She was a widow herself, with several children in their twenties. Truly a unique personality to provide such a service.

“Carolyn? Can you hear me?” She gently tugged on Mom’s nightgown. Mom’s face was still. April ran to the phone and dialed 911. Four and a half minutes later the blazing lights and fire breathing emergency vehicles descended in the driveway. They loaded Mom onto a gurney, oxygen strapped to her face.

The men blazed their way to Saint Marks, a local hospital, where Mom was rushed to through the ER without triage.

Brother John made the terrible phone call.

“Louisa, come to Saint Mark’s. Mom has had a massive stroke” It was three oclock in the morning.

The hollow feeling in my gut reappeared. . This was just to familiar. My sister had made the same same telephone call just eighteen months ago.

“Louisa, Are you awake?Are you understanding what I am saying?”

It was about three thirty by then.

John’s voice broke. “Get in the car now. Mom is on a ventilator, and the doctor’s don’t seem to think there’s much point in doing that, but she can stay on it forever if we want. “ John was openly sobbing now. It’s a terrible thing to hear your brother’s heart break.

I informed the children of what was going on. Thanks be to God they were old enough to stay by themselves.

I gathered them all in my room.

“Children, Nana said for years that she  never wanted anyone to see her when she’s died. She has very likely died now. I am going to the hospital to see her, and I don’t want you to come. “

The girls burst into tears. David Junior sat on the bed, stoic. So sad to have seen so much loss in just eighteen years.

The lonely night was snowy. The road hard, unforgiving. I drove on autopilot.

Nana? Dead? Who would parent me? Who’s the grownup now? Who did I get to go to for support?

Nana was one of a handful of people I knew without a doubt was on my side all the time. Even when I was wrong, I was right. Nana was crochety, opinionated, crabby and full of love for her family from her thinning hair to her arthritic ankles.

I passed a nearby Starbucks.

A ghost of a migraine was forming around my temples. Shit. A migraine. The last thing I needed.

Caffeine! That would help. I pulled in to the store. Thank God it was one of those twenty four hour ones.

I pulled open the door, squinting against the harsh lighting. A bright, cheery barista greeted me. Hundreds of times I had been here, never seen her.

“Hi! What can I I get started for you? “ My gosh, what a greeting so late at night. Or early in the morning. Whatever.

“Grande chai tea, skim milk, steamed extra hot, no water or foam. “

“Great!”She gave me a dazzling smile. “And how’s your day going?”

My day? How’s my day? What to say.  It was four thirty in the morning. Which day?

The truth always works.

“My mother died today.” I could feel my face start to crumple.

The barista stopped what she was doing. Her face took on an unusual glow.

She walked around the counter and put her hands on my shoulders and gave me another beatific smile.“I’m here to tell you something. May I give you a hug? “


“I ‘m here to tell you that you are loved very much”.

For a moment, I wept, comforted on the shoulder of a stranger.

I got my drink, got in the car and continued the lonely drive. Peace started to creep into my soul.

Merry Christmas From Granada! Angels, Part 3.

Snow Angel

Snow Angel (Photo credit: Atelier Teee)

We visit the Alhambra today and the ancient Plaza Nuevo. I’ll show you what I mean later, but Christmas ‘getting’ is everywhere. How about some Chrismas ‘giving’ to start your day? Thanks so much for the positive notes. It makes me happy to think fellow Visitors get a little joy out of these things, Much love,


Chapter 6: Joseph and the New Shoes 

Angel 013

Angel 013 (Photo credit: Juliett-Foxtrott)

 Night had come, and another shift at the college was about to start. The kids were in bed. Mark and Mary were three and five, and Taylor was probably still up, working on something from the office.

 I backed the ATV out of it’s shed and steered it around the grounds. This part of the college was often called the “Mushroom”  because of it’s funny looking dome that overarched the entryways. Still, I found the grounds to be beautiful.

I gathered my things, and strapped on my belt. Gloves, pliers, hammer, screwdriver, plastic bags, other assorted tools to keep this place looking good.

It never occurred to me to be embarrassed about my job, it gave me a chance to think. But things weren’t going well between Taylor and me. She was a research physician, and what she saw in the likes of me, was still a mystery, even after seven years of marriage.

I ran a small music shop for my ‘real job’, my partner and I gave guitar  and keyboard lessons to all comers. In this economy though, music lessons were a discretionary item, to be sure. The flow of students had dropped by nearly eighty percent since the recession began. Who could blame them, really? I mean, if you can’t put food on the table, how can you pay for your kid to learn to play Dad’s old Stratocaster?

It was only because Taylor’s job was steady that we stayed afloat at all. I fought off guilt about that, men are supposed to be the provider and all that. I had taken this custodial job at the  college to contribute more to my self esteem than the family budget.

But Mark and Mary? I wouldn’t trade the time I have with them for the world. Taylor’s first pregnancy had caught us both off guard. We should have known better. Both of us were in our twenties, and had just been careless. Surprise!

So the Catholic in me did the right thing, and proposed. I had never had a regular girlfriend, just a string of meaningless partners. I guess that makes me bad or something. I don’t know, I just hoped God was nice enough to let me off the hook. I didn’t mean to be a user, but it’s exhausting to please everyone, and proposing to Taylor seemed to be a relief.

Too bad it didn’t work out that way. At five foot eight and barely a hundred forty, I never felt like much, and being married didn’t change that.

“Joseph? He’s the little one. Don’t pick him, he’s weak.”

“Girly-boy Joseph? Look at his curly hair! He’s so little! He’s a girl!”

Taunts from schoolmates got so repetitive as to be trite.

“Joey? He just hasn’t gotten his growth spurt. I’m sure he’ll be big and strong some day.” My mother still said that, and at thirty five, I had gotten tired of correcting her.

Years of jokes about my size had gotten under my skin. Secretly, I started to work out, to ride my bike to the shop, and lift the weights I stored in my closet. I was stronger than most people thought.

Had to be, for this job. I filled a five gallon drum with water and hefted it through a wrought iron gate to the children’s garden.

The college had a child care center for it’s students and staff, and a lovely garden that I got to maintain.

“Joseph? Mr. Joseph? Is that you? A hissing through the children’s garden caught my ear.

I couldn’t quite make it out. After ten steady years in this business, I was a little afraid I was losing my hearing.

A small dark figure darted out from behind the flower wagon.

“Mr. Joseph!”

“Tommy! What are you doing here? It must be near midnight! “

Tommy ‘hung out’ quite often at the college.The food was subsidized and no one bother him.

“Please don’t send me home, Mr. Joseph. Dad got drunk and threw me out again. He says I bin dealin’, and that’s just not true! He found some glass in my brother’s room, and Jeremy said it was mine! It just ain’t so! “

The teenager’s teeth gleamed in the starless night. I could barely make him out. His coffee colored face radiated anxiety.

“Well , shit ,Tommy. Sorry. Shoot. Now how would meth get into you brother’s room unless you put it there? You’re the one in high school. What’s Jeremy? Fourteen?”

“How the hell should I know where he got it? “ Tommy’s voice rose to a whine.

“But I know that stuff. We have meth monkeys all over school, with their rotten teeth and twitchy attitudes. Skinny as poles, too. I ain’ t no meth monkey.”

I believed him. Something about his demeanor seemed to ordinary, too sixteen and squirrelly to be drug induced. I walked with him over to the sodium lights in the parking lot.

“You can’t stay here, Tommy. Where are you gonna go in the morning?” Tommy shifted on the pavement, as if it were burning his feet.

I looked down, aghast.

“Tommy! Your feet! What the hell happened to your feet? “

Tommy was small for his age, too. He had the feet of a twelve year old boy, and they were cut and bleeding.

“Have your shoes gone missing?”

“Naw. Dad got the baseball bat. I know when he gets the baseball bat I  better get the hell outta there right quick. “

I sat down, frustrated. What a thing to do to a kid. All the rotten decisions, all the missed opportunities in my life, one thing I was proud of. Two actually, and they were both at home tucked in their beds.

“Get in the car, Tommy.”

Taylor and I would have words, I’m sure. Money was always tight. But there are some things you just can’t let go.

“Anyone you can stay with tonight, Tommy? “ We pulled into the nearby Target.

“Yaw, my cousin lives down the street. She told me any time my dad gets going to come and stay with her an’ her kids. I can go there.”

“Ok, let’s go shopping.”

The Target was still open. Tommy and I trotted to the boys aisle, and slid down the polished tile floors. I used to love to do that when I was a kid, and had on slippery shoes.

One hour and seventy dollars later, Tommy and I walked out of the store, with two brand new pairs of shoes, size seven. Athletic shoes, because what sixteen year old can be on the b-ball courts without good shoes, and ‘fancy shoes’ for school. Just a pair of Dockers, but he promised he would wear them, especially on band days. Tommy loved the trumpet as much as I loved the guitar.

We got back into the car, chattering like children.

“Gotta girlfriend, Tommy?”

“Phht. Not me, Mr. Joseph. Look at me, I’m ugly. It’s easier for me to look mean. That way no one messes with me. What’re your babies doing? “

The boy directed me to a scarier part of town. The houses were run down, and closer together.

“Mark and Mary? Oh, They’re awesome. Growing so fast.”

“Just a little further, Mr. Joseph. Can I use your phone? “ He called a number, said “yeah” a bunch of times, and gave it back to me.

“She says it’s fine. She says you’re the best, and a real angel.”

“Look! There she is now!” A middle aged black woman with wirey grey hair came down the steps, pulling a terrycloth wrapper behind her. She tied the wrap around her, and opened her arms to Tommy before he even got out of the car.

Tommy opened the door and leapt out of the car, before I could bring it to a full stop.

He looked over his shoulder as he ran to the welcoming figure.

“Thank you Mr. Joseph! You’re the best! A real Angel from Heaven!”

Sabbatical in a Teacup: Day Fifteen. On Eze, Nice and Unrequited Love. Angels, Part 2

Living in fifteenth century Eze village must have been hard. It’s a medieval village outside of Nice, about a twenty minute drive toward Monaco. the ruins stand overlooking the sea, next to the Fragonard perfumery. It’s all hewn rock, and the top is like a aerie overlooking the sea.

We walked up to the top of the village, and were treated to this.

The exotic garden at the top of Eze. Filled with ruins, wonderful plants and statuary.

The exotic garden at the top of Eze. Filled with ruins, wonderful plants and statuary.

WHAT a gorgeous place to live. Standing on these rough hewn rocks, the wind in our hair, you wonder about things. It’s all so much smaller than what we have now. The doors in the ancient village are barely five feet, the rooms, which are now shops, of course, tiny little spaces hacked out of rock. Or, enclosed spaces with uneven bricks mortared together against the elements.

But where would you get your water? And imagine hustling up and down all those steps to the baker, the winemaker, or the tanner. Narrow stone corridors everywhere. Now, it’s a stop for Spanish cruise ships. An interesting evolution.

We climbed and climbed, and  got the fun of this. A good place to keep an eye on the bad guys, all the way up here.

The mediterranean from the top of Eze village.

The mediterranean from the top of Eze village.

Keeping the bad guys away from the fortified top of Eze.

Keeping the bad guys away from the fortified top of Eze.

Fragonard is at the foot of Eze, and was fascinating. It’s a lot smaller of a perfumerie than I would have thought, and they employ one single perfumer who works all of two hours a day. The job specs for this position are kind of incredible. This man spent three years training his nose, and can distinguish between several thousand fragrances. After a seven year apprenticeship, he can be a perfumer. He can never, ever smoke, drink alcohol or eat spicy food. Forever. AND his nose is insured for a million dollars. Can you imagine?

We spent hours just doing this.

We spent hours just doing thiUS dollars. Can you imagine? Such commitment!

Part of this sabbatical is also for these children. My goal here is to help them built an experience base, and a comfort with the world.

Such a vast amount of space!

Such a vast amount of space!

It’s hilarious to watch mountain children interact with the ocean. Quote of the day: “Mom, I know this makes me sound stupid, but the ocean is so BIG!”

Nice was a very mixed bag. People ask me if the French are as obnoxious as their reputation, and after barely a week, I like to reserve judgement. However, last night all three of our tour bikes were stolen. They were bolted securely to the railing outside the hotel. We went to dinner , and then made to bring them into the building. All three of the bolts were cut, and sitting on the ground where the bikes were, mockingly. The owner of the bike shop? “I told you to bring them in after dark!” And how would we have gotten home? Hmm, methinks obnoxious stereotypes might have some basis in reality. Thank heaven for insurance.

Thieves in Nice notwithstanding, it was a pleasant stay. The ocean always seems to evoke thought, at least in this mountain dweller.

It also still cracks me up to see the neurons blazing new pathways like this:

The perfect stone is here somewhere.

The perfect stone is here somewhere.

just sitting and gazing.

After a day like today, a movie was in order. Rachael had just finished Anna Karenina, the Tolstoy doorstop. Really, those of you who like Tolstoy, realize that what King Solomon said was true. There is nothing new under the sun. Anna is a  tale of  brainless, obsessive love that ultimately ends in self destruction. Stephanie Meyer was wise not to kill off Bella in the Twilight series, she would not have sold as many copies. But Twilight is a Tolstoy ripoff, and Tolstoy no doubt was friends with Romeo and Juliet. 

Obsessive and unrequited love doesn’t do it for me any more. This part of the trip has been strangely challenging. It’s funny, after two years, I would have thought that the grief of losing a husband would be a chapter now, but it is not so. As I walked through the flower market, and took the kids down a Christmas street, a little achy part of my heart reminded me that yes, it would have been better if Chris were here.

I wrote about it to a friend of mine. Catherine is familiar with loss, this is what she said.

” …wouldn’t we want our loved ones to keep a little token of us in their hearts should the roles have been reversed? Be patient with yourself. You’ll find your feet again, and Chris will have left behind a little legacy in that you will be little more empathetic for others who are going through the same thing. Don’t fight it those sad moments when you think of him. Embrace the fact that he deserved to have someone grieve for him  here on earth.”  

It’s a lovely thought, and true. Were I the one gone, I would want my loved ones to think of me. Not be stuck, or paralysed, just to think of me, and wish I were there. Perhaps he is, somehow.

Lest we end on a completely morose note, here is another chapter of Angels Among Us, fellow Visitors. It is Christmas, after all, the season to give. I hope you enjoy it.

Much love,


Chapter Ten: Layaway Angels Christmas-layaway-1

It was a late night, and I was tired. It had been a long day at work, and dance was just killing my feet. My private coaching time had gone well, but I had never done Quickstep. I was looking forward to it, but it was difficult at eight oclock at night after a long day. Thirty minutes into the lesson I just gave up.

I motioned to my coach. “I’m sorry,Scott, I’ve got to give it up. Long day.”

Scott, ever the understanding coach, sent me home with a warm hug.

“It’s OK! We’ll see you Tuesday! “He went back to teaching the class.

I changed out of my dance shoes and was about to leave when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Victoria! Victoria! Are you leaving? “ One of my favorite dance partners wanted my attention.


“Yes, Randy, I’ve had enough. How long are you staying?”

“Oh, probably for everything. Listen, I was wondering, do you want to go with me to the Mercury Café next week? Thursday is tango night!”

I thought about it for a fraction of a second. Rick was built like a whippet, and enough older than me that he didn’t mind being called a hippy.

But he was an excellent dancer, and made me laugh.

“Randy, that sounds like a lovely invitation! Let me give you my card with my number on the back, and you send me the details.”

“Great! Sounds great! “ Randy went back to quickstep.

Two days later I got an email from Randy. We met later that week and had peanut skewers at Tokyo Joes. Randy was funny, and kept me on my toes, verbally.

We went to the Merc and took over a table.

‘Say, Randy. What do you say. I’m a Christian, right? And we believe in tithing. So I’ve got some extra money in my tithe budget. It’s getting near Christmas, and one thing my husband and I used to love to do was to be ‘Layaway Angels.”

“Layaway Angels?” Randy’s Jersey accent always made me smile. I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“Check it out. This is how it works. I brought three hundred dollars in small bills. Let’s dance for a while, and then before we go home, let’s find the nastiest, dirtiest K-mart in the area. I don’t know this area much, so can you find one? “

“I think so. Then what? “

“Well, you have to find a clerk that will let you do this, because some people get squirrelly about privacy. But, the idea is, you find a clerk in the layaway department who will tell you who has stuff on layaway for small children. It’s getting close to Christmas, so you know if someone has 75$ worth of toys and kid clothes on layaway, and pays like ten dollars a week on it, it’s probably for Christmas. So we go in, and pay the balance, and ‘poof!’ someone thinks they’ve been visited by an angel! Heh, it’s really fun.”

Randy looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

“You do that? Give perfectly good money to someone you’ll never even see?”

“Well sure, Randy! Don’t you ever give anything away? You told me yourself about going to volunteer at the Denver Rescue Mission and the Denver Hospice. How is that any different?”

“Well, it’s money, for one thing. But that’s kind of cute! No, I’m not a Christian, but that sounds like fun. Your money though, right? I didn’t bring any more than I needed tonight, and besides, I’m not sure that’s my cup of tea.”

“Hehheh, It’s OK, Rick. I used to do it with my husband before he died, and since then I’ve just lost the heart for it. But Christians are supposed to help each other, and it really gives me a lot of joy. So, are we on?”

“You bet.”

Randy  and I spent the next two hours dancing to the music at the Mercury Café. It had been ages since I had been there, and I didn’t recognize a soul. Rick introduced me around, the consummate gentleman, ponytail and all.

When the crowd started to thin, Rick and I gave each other a knowing nod. Soon, we were on the road into some of the less affluent parts of Denver.

We found a K mart in the Five Points area. It was past midnight.

“Gah, this is it, Randy. Call me a Nervous Nellie, but I’m glad you’re with me! “

We walked through the flickering light of the sodium lamps and entered the store.

“Ok, “ Randy’s gravelly Jersey voice rasped. “Maybe customer service?”

“Heheh, I think so. “

We went to the back of the store and explained what we wanted to do to one of the clerks behind the counter. She was a tired looking teenager, and blew her bubblegum in our general direction.

“Huh. A coupla do gooders, huh? I guess so.” She went to a different computer.

“Let’s see. Here’s one with a ‘Tickle me Elmo’, a size thirty six month overalls, a pack of socks the same size, and a little dress. Total, 87. 58 , total paid so far, 25 dollars, balance 62.58$. “

I turned to Rick. “Perfect! Let’s do it. “ I counted out the bills.

“Next? “ The clerk seemed surprised. What a pity.

“Ok,” she seemed to be warming to the task. “Here’s one. Matchbox car set, with six matchbox cars and four sets of tracks. Size four overalls, size four tennis shoes, baseball cap. Total, 72.33, total paid, thirty dollars over four weeks. Balance remaining, forty two dollars and thirty three cents. “

Randy chimed in. “Matchbox! I loved matchbox! I used to play with that very same set with my son when he was a kid. This is fun!”

I was delighted that Randy shared the same sense of joy in giving that I had. We continued for a few more minutes until the balance of the money was spent.

Chattering like bluejays, we left the store and Randy walked me to my care.

“Thanks! That was more than what I bargained for, but a lot of fun! “

We exchanged a warm hug, and promised to see each other next Thursday at Scott’s next practice party. I grinned all the way home, happy to recruit another member into the party of angels.


Sabbatical in a Teacup: Day Thirteen. Angels Among Us – Introduction and First Presentation

  • Good evening from the French Riveria, friends. We had a wonderful trip to the medieval town and gardens of Eze, and toured the Fragonard parfumerie beneath. I am working on some lovely pictures for your enjoyment, because we truly had a nice time, and including you folks makes me happy.

But, part of my ‘bucket list’ for Sabbatical in a Teacup was to fiish my National Novel Writing Month book, and it is done. What a relief!

Here’s a little background though, because I’m actually a terrible cheat and poseur. The goal for NaNoWriMo participants is to crank out a 50,000 word novel in the space of one single month.

I’ll let you in on  a little secret: Big goals scare the hell out of me. I cut it in half.

50,000 words is around 200 pages, or a normal novel. I figured if I could crank out 25,000 words in a comprehensible story, I’d be doing pretty well. So I did. A little more, actually, not quite 26,000. It’s about a hundred and fifteen pages.

So here’s a chapter. The premise is based on Psalm 91:11, the verse where God promises to “give his angels charge concerning you”, and the Skillet song I referred to in a post a few weeks ago. (Looking for Angels -Skillet, 2008, I think)

Now, since Chris died, angels have been a source of interest to me. I do believe they exist in the spiritual realm, heck, I think there’s a lot more going on in the spiritual realm then most people, even Christians, care to acknowledge.

But I also think that angels can manifest in a more concrete form, mainly you and me. This first chapter is lightweight, and actually happened. You have to get the visual here, to truly get the magnificence of the action. So read along, if you will, and picture with me.

Angel Babies

Baby Cuddler Wanted

Baby Cuddler Wanted


Larissa was only nine months old. She had just mastered the ability to sit up, and was reaching nicely with her hands for objects. She cried when Mom left the room, and smiled and stretched out her arms when Mom or Dad  came back.Erica was only a month younger. Their mothers were friends, college buddies, even. They had been pregnant together, given each other baby showers, even took vacations together.

Now, their baby girls were in the same preschool together, sharing the same schedule, and the same nursery.I was their teacher, if you can call it that. I had spent nearly nineteen years in a pediatric oncology wing, and that was way more than most. Finally, I had had enough of watching the smallest victims of this terrible scourge of childhood cancer.

Infant development had always fascinated me though. So when the local preschool advertised a ‘Baby Cuddler Wanted,’ I jumped at the chance.I didn’t need the money. Larry and I had plenty of pension cash every month, but I was beginning to get a little bored. But gonzo twelve hour shifts as a charge nurse? I think not.

Today was an easy day, and I sat both of the girls down in the fine motor play area. It was soft, lined with pillows, special seats to hold developing infants, and baskets of toys appropriate for little hands to dig through.

The “Bumbo” seat was a special, molded chair for infants like Erica. Shaped roughly like an inverted bowl, the idea was to sit the infant in a deep, pliable well, to support the developing stabilizer muscles. This left the hands free for reaching and grasping.

I sat Erica in the Bumbo, and placed Larissa a short distance away. A large part of my job with these children was watching. I used my professional eye to document these kids’ activities during the day, and gleaned a lot simply by watching how these children interacted with each other.

Erica started to cry. Larissa turned her head and noticed. Larissa looked at me, as if to ask “Aren’t you going to do anything about this state of affairs?”

I smiled encouragingly at Larissa. Aha! The green giraffe!

Erica loved that stuffed green giraffe. She loved to sleep with it, wave it around, gnaw on it, and now, couldn’t quite reach it.

She strained from her Bumbo seat. Strained and strained, but couldn’t quite figure out how to tilt her torso just a little bit to give herself the extra bit of reach.

Larissa watched this with interest. She rolled over to her side, and using her newly learned crawl, started to crawl over to Erica. Slowly, slowly, she inched her way over to her friend.

I leaned over to pick up  the green giraffe and give it to Erica, but something stopped me. Just wait a minute.

Larissa continued her determined crawl as Erica’s crying escalated.

Just give her the giraffe, part of me said. She can’t reach it yet!

Larissa finally reached the giraffe. Laboriously, as if telling every part of her tiny body what to do, she sat up next to the toy. Carefully, she picked up the green giraffe with both hands. Erica got even more angry. Larissa had her precious toy!

Larissa got a good grip on the neck of the stuffed animal, and very deliberately, handed it to Erica.

Erica’s cries stopped as if by a switch. Here eyes widened and she smiled at Larissa, and made happy cooing sounds. She grabbed the prized giraffe, and stuffed it in her mouth.

Larissa smiled next to her friend, and put her hand on the seat, as if satisfied. Mission accomplished.

(PS, My devoted readers, please don’t send me any Bumbo recall notices. I know, and I use them on the floor, and only around pillows, and with the strap. It’s all good. ) 

So there we are. Part of a series of loosely woven episodes. Mostly true, some explainable, like this one, some not so much.

Thanks SO much for getting to the bottom of this. Do me a favor then, if you liked the writing of this, would you hit the “like” button? I’d like to know what you think.  Authors can never tell if their own work is dreck, or pretty interesting. Thanks!

Look forward to hearing from you.

Eze and Nice are next.

Much love,


The Good Samaritian, Revisited

Author’s Note: Sometimes it’s fun to fool around with stories like these. A lot of you have told me you like a different take on things, and I hope you enjoy this one.


There once was a famous warrior named Louise. She was a princess from a village called Dunburna, a land where peaceful men of great strength and bravery fought beside their women to defend and include others in their cause.  Many years ago she had a partner, a prince named Christopher, which meant Christ-bearer.  Christopher was killed in a terrible battle over land rights, as were many others in their royal entourage.  Princess Louise fought valiantly beside him until hope was lost.

She was insensible for weeks after this terrible loss, until the ministrations of the local healer caused her to sit up one day. Her village rejoiced. “It’s time,” said her village.  “It’s time to mourn the lost and rejoice with the new. Babies have been born, spring is here, the lambs are in the meadows, and life is back again.” Princess Louise stretched out her hands to find the work that was in front of them. They were good hands,hands scarred with years of stringing a bow and wielding a broadsword or dagger.  But they were also gentle hands. Hands that had borne sick children and given careful aid to the faint of heart. Hands that had made music, brought life into the world, and dispatched life quickly.

One day the princess rode out of the village.  She went on a journey to  Meredune, a neighboring village, to propose a hunting arrangement that would be good for both. To get to the village, she had to cross through the dark and rust-colored forest. It was filled with brigands and bandits eager to steal what they wouldn’t earn. She carried textiles and blades in her bags as gifts, as her people were weavers and smithies.

Louise slowed her prized mare to a trot upon entering the forest. She drew her dagger to have at the ready should trouble take her by surprise. The trail was little more than a beaten path, and Louise hoped to remedy that by the increase of trade between the villages. Darkness fell quickly, and Louise was nearly out of the forest when she heard the branch break loudly above her.

She looked up just in time to guide her mare away from the falling branch, and straight into disaster. Several pairs of hands appeared from the hedgerow beneath the tree. The branch fell crashing to the ground, and Louise realized she had fallen into a trap. She was yanked by her blonde dreadlocks to the ground.

“Well! What have we here?” A deep voice rumbled above her. “Get the saddlebags, boys!” Her horse whinnied in alarm as it was stripped of her goods. They were unceremoniously dumped on the ground, and her saddle was taken from the horse. “Go through what she has, boys! She looks important, so give the horse a slap and send her home. They won’t dare come into the forest!”  He cackled raucously and turned to the loot.

Louise jumped up, her leathers in place. “Odd,” she thought, “Why am I  still allowed clothes in company like this?” She swung a fist at her nearest captor and felled him like a tree. Another grabbed a handful of dreads and she kicked him hard in his male parts. He curled up on the leafy floor, moaning. “Idiot. ” She fumed. “Think of me when you try to have children with that wench in a cave somewhere.” A kick to the head laid out a fourth. Another came to her from behind, and with a cudgel to the back of the neck, Princess Louise knew no more.

Prince Meinhart of Meredune rode out of his village toward Dunburna.  Messengers had come to say Louise was going to propose some sort of trade arrangements today, and he wanted some time to think it over with her before presenting it to his village. He woolgathered as his steed loped along, in no special rush. He had never met Louise or Christopher, but had heard of the loss to the village, and mourned with them.

Meinhart was a mighty warrior in his own right. What he lacked in height he made up for in the twin characteristics of geniality and ferocity.  He would often be seen bending low to lend a kind hand to the lowliest cripple, or be found sparring in the lawn with the giants of the village, usually sending them sprawling, giving no quarter even in games.  His village loved Meinhart, he was a natural leader. His military bearing  was organized and forward thinking, and since he came to power, his village had prospered.

He had loved a woman once, a beautiful heiress from a village once visited as a young man. He petitioned her father for marriage, and it was granted. The delightful union produced three children, but one day Meinhart came home to find his wife missing. Where had she gone? No one could answer. Not the children, who were close to adulthood by then, not the villagers, no one. Not a trace of her was to be found. It was as if she had never been. The mystery tore at Meinhart’s soul. He carried the weight with him to this day, and could often be seen brooding, distracted in a private moment.

Suddenly, he felt an urge in his heart he knew all to well . Meinhart of Meredune was also a son of the King of Heaven, and would often feel the tug of the Spirit. Pay attention, it would say, Something is going to happen. Use what I have given you.

“Oh.” Louise felt the back of her head. Her hair was a bloody, sticky mass. She tried to get up, to no avail.

“Just think.” Her mind ran over her body. Head, too painful to reckon. Ribs, several broken, breathing like a raggedy old man. Flat on her belly, she tried to move her legs. Barely a twitch. She moved her arms to brace herself and sit up, and her world spun back into darkness.

Meinhart scanned his surroundings. He was about to enter the forest which separated the villages. He generally avoided this place, preferring to leave the woods to the dregs of society.

Well, there was no use putting it off. Waiting for Louise to appear would seem fainthearted. He spurred his steed onward.

He clattered through the hardened path, the sound of his horse muffled by the dense forest. Look left, right, forward- Meinhart was on total alert to the forces around him. None dared to appear-so far.

Meinhart passed Louise before he realized what he had done. A sodden heap of leaves in the ditch was what he thought he saw, until a dreadlock glinted in the setting sun.

“What have we here?” Inwardly, Louise groaned at the repetition of the question. Just let me die alone, she thought. Why come back and hurry me along?

Meinhart dismounted, and squatted beside Louise. She was filthy and unrecognizable, still clad in tattered black leathers.

“Did someone get tired of you, good lady? A bit rude to be thrown in the ditch like so much garbage!” Meinhart was a powerfully built man. He picked Louise up and draped her over his horse. He drew his dagger in one hand, and with the other led his horse along the path.

“At this rate, it will be past dark when we get to Dunburna. Methinks we will put their hospitality to the test.” He walked along, largely talking to himself, occasionally asking questions of the figure on the horse, and getting no reply.

“Did you come from Dunburna? You must have, as you seemed to be going from that direction. Do you know your leader, Louise?  I am told she is something to be reckoned with. Our villages would be better off combining forces. Sort of a ‘total force’ concept when we deal with our enemies. Your village has talented smithies and weavers, we have strong builders and renowned hunters. An agreement would have many benefits for all.” On and on Meinhart chattered.

Finally, the pair exited the wood. The lights of the Dunburna were blazing. Meinhart wove a path through the huts.

“Heigh-ho! Meinhart of Meredune, come in peace!” Heads popped out of opened doors. He continued to walk.

“Louise of Dunburna! I seek Louise!” The villagers slowly emerged to the walking path.

“Well, you won’t find her here, she left hours ago.” An elderly man with a walking stick approached.

“Yes, we’re worried sick! She left to meet leaders at Meredune. Some sort of arrangement to be made.” A bent woman with a basket of apples added. “In fact, she said something about you! Meinhart, you said? Have you seen her?” The elderly woman’s voice quavered with anxiety.

“Not me, good woman. I rode out to meet her on the path, with the thought of a private word before speaking to both of our villages. But she never appeared. I come bearing a gift though. ” He chuckled as he turn to the wounded figure on the horse.

“Where is your healer? I found this one in the wood, beaten within an inch of her life.”

“His hut sits on the northern edge, just a short walk from here. But really, we don’t have the resources to help every tattered wench who lives in the forest, Meinhart. What were you thinking?” The woman scolded him.

“Now, now, what would our Lord and Leader have me do? You know that! I’m sure your kind soul would have done the same.” He turned north.

He knocked on the wooden door of the hut. A grey bearded man of later years opened the door.

“How can I help you, young man? I am Bale the healer.  It’s terribly late. Have one of the babies started to arrive?”

“No, no. I have something else for you to look at. ” Meinhart pulled Louise off the horse and carried her into the hut.

“Gently, gently,” the healer remonstrated. “Put her on the pallet over there.”

Meinhart did as he was told. He carefully straightened Louise’s limbs and wiped some of the grime from her face.

“Not too hideous, this one. In fact, their’s something different about her face. I’ve seen some of the forest dwellers, and they truly look like animals, sometimes.”

The healer had his back to the pair, busily arranging a tray.

“Here, take this kettle, and go out and heat some water over the fire. Get me those rags, and some of that balm in the pot on the table there.”

Meinhart sat by the fire as the water heated. His began to doze as the lateness of the hour and the heat of the fire sapped his will to stay awake.

“Soldier! Come here at once!” Meinhart snapped awake. “Go get the village council, the first three huts at the southern end, pound on the doors if you must, and bring all the inhabitants that you find. Now!”  Meinhart strode off.

The first hut was dark, and Meinhart pounded on the door until candlelight shone under it.

“Awake! Bale the healer wants to see you now! Which are the other members of the town council? ” The door opened and a man of younger years appeared, his wife behind him, concerned.

Meinhart gathered the other members of the council as instructed. The couple from the first hut, and elderly man who lived alone in the second, and a three brothers who lived in the third. All strode purposefully to the the southern edge of the village.

“Bale!” said one of the brothers. “What’s this about?”

“You better come in.” muttered Bale. “The rest of you stay out, it’s too small in here for all of you.” Bale closed the door.

Meinhart stood apart from the crowd as they murmured their puzzlement. Finally, exasperated, he resumed his place by the fire. He noticed the warming kettle was gone. He had about nodded off again when the door creaked open.

Bale stepped outside the hut.

“Meinhart of Meredune, come here.”  Meinhart stood. “We thank you for bringing back Louise to our number. She has many broken bones, but appears to be retreating from the edge of death. She would have been sorely missed, and we are grateful to you for your helping hands. Let us pray and ask that the King of Heaven complete her healing.’ The people’s heads bowed.

Louise? Meinhart’s sleepiness vanished. The tattered figure in the woods was Louise? He edged to the corner of the hut, and peered in through the door.

“I have given her a sleeping draught, young man. She won’t wake for hours, and can’t hear any of us. Do you want to see her before you go? ” Bale smiled graciously.

“Certainly. ” Meinhart sat upon the offered stool. Louise’s face and hair had been washed, and her bruised and wounded hands had been carefully cleaned and bandaged. A leg had been wrapped tightly against several straight tree limbs, as if to keep it still.

Meinhart was fearful to sit next to the wounded woman, as if the act of sitting with her would somehow inflict more injury.  He drank in her features though, marvelling at the difference between the woman before him and the battered human he had carried through the forest.

Bale touched him on the shoulder.

“Go with the three brothers tonight. You can sleep there, and return to your village tomorrow. ” Meinhart rose and went to the men.

” Many thanks, Brother!” The crowd clapped him on the back. “May the King of Heaven bless you abundantly for your kindess!” The council murmured in affirmation.

“We can take it from here. But truly, we thank you for your effort. We would have been lost without her. Our children would have missed her the most. ”

Meinhart entered the hut of the brothers, and settled on the pallet appreciatively. He pulled the finely woven woolen blankets up to his broad shoulders, and dropped into the deep, restful sleep of the righteous.

Victoria’s List of What Makes a Real Man
1. Someone who treasures me more than himself. One might almost think that’s Biblical.
2. Courage. Take heart. Never, never give up.
3. Must Love Kids.  The greatest strength is shown through gentleness. Jesus himself had a special place in his heart for children.
4Cheerfulness!     Make me laugh, and I’ll follow you anywhere.
5.Be a true Warrior Prince, Son of the King of Heaven.  
6.A HeroNo matter how human or flawed.

Tom Seedroff Died Today

“Tom. Tom. Get up. Tom.”

I felt a gentle shaking at my shoulder.

“Tom! Come on! It’s time to get up!” Cautiously, I opened my eyes. I was flat on my back, and a familiar figure slowly came into focus.

“Chris? Chris Lierheimer? What?…..” I felt around me. I seemed to be lying on grass.

“Come on , buddy, it’s time to get up. We have things to do.” I took a deep breath. Water. I could smell water nearby. I heard the sound of  a gently flowing brook. I sat up and looked at Chris.

“Chris! I barely recognize you!” I stared in amazement. My friend was barrel chested, vigorous, with a full head of curly brown hair. I looked more closely, and could barely see a finely wrought circlet worked into his hair. Tiny jewels seemed to glisten from it.

“Ha! You should see yourself. Come here.” He pulled me up and over to the brook. The sun was so bright I had to squint against it.

“Look at your reflection.” I leaned over the water. Someone unrecognizable goggled back at me. I put my hands to my chest. I felt my abdomen. The figure in the water did the same.

“Chris. What is going on here? Look at my hair! Look at my face! And my gut! I don’t have any holes in my gut!” I pulled up my shirt. I was dressed in linen, so white it sparkled in the sunlight. I looked down at my stomach and chest. I had lived with the openings there for so long, I had forgotten what my stomach looked like before I got sick.

Actually, it looked better than I’d ever seen it. The last time I had six-pack abs was running track in college!

“Chris! This is incredible! Does my hair look like yours?”

“What, are we a couple of ladies now, fixing our hair? Of course it does! There’s no chemotherapy here! Now come on, there’s people I want you to meet.” He bounded over the grass ahead of me and was nearly out of sight before I realized it.

I stood up. “Wait! Wait! I’m , um, hungry.”  Inwardly I cringed at the thought. Food had been such a trial. I have been so hungry, so terribly hungry, but my cancer had prevented the food from going very far. In fact, every time I ate something, most of it ended up on my shirt. I had to reach for the word, that’s funny, but I think it was called a ‘stoma’.

I took a few tentative steps, then a few more. Unbelievable! I felt great! I started to run after him. I bounded over the grassy field, my legs eating up distance on the banks of the river. I ran faster, faster, and finally began to see him in the distance. We both were dressed in dazzling white, and he was running toward a what looked like an enormous gate to a city.  Outside the gate was a green, glassy pavilion.

An enormous table was set, and people were gathering all around it. I ran faster.

“Look at him go! Welcome Tom! He’s here, everyone! Meet my friend, Tom Seedroff!” Chris raised his hands in salute. “Tom, if I introduce everyone, I’ll have a mutiny. Everyone, take a seat, and let’s thank the Maker of the feast!” He raised his hands toward the city.

“Oh Lamb of God, and Light to the Holy City, we thank you for providing this marvelous feast, and friends around the table! Amen!” A chorus of “Amens!” swirled around the table.

“Dig in, everyone! Tom! Sit beside me. Let me introduce you to a friend of mine.” A tall, smiling figure with salt and pepper hair stretched out a hand.

“Ron Powell, Tom! Glad to meetcha!”

“Ron’s a sort of father figure around here, Tom. He’ll take you hunting later.”

I sat at the table and reveled in what I saw. Glistening plates heaped with all kinds of fruit. Mounds of sweet potatoes, whipped to peaks. Heaps of what looked like steaming turkey meat. Platters full of asparagus, coated with melted butter. Baskets of bread, followed with smaller platters of butter.

And the drinks! Pitchers full of thick, chilled juices. One golden brown, seeming to give off it’s own light.

“That’s meade, Tom.  It’s a fermented drink made out of honey. We have some the best beekeepers around. Drink up!”

I put a small spoonful of everything I could reach on my plate. Fearfully, I took a bite of pineapple. The taste exploded in my mouth! Amazing! I hadn’t tasted anything like that in months! ”

Laughter reached my ears. Chris was laughing at me, and some of his friends were chuckling.

“Tom, the Bible was pretty clear on this one. Don’t you remember? The part where it says that the ‘perishable body’ will be clothed with the ‘imperishable’ one? You are imperishable now! But hey! All this food isn’t. You gonna eat all that turkey?” I passed him the plate in a daze.

Slowly, not trusting this body just yet, I ate a little of everything on my plate, and felt my hunger start to wane, for the first time in months.  I almost dropped to my knees in thankfulness, right there.

I became aware of a light pressure on my head. What? I touched my forehead, and put both hands up to investigate. I pulled a circlet of metal off my head. It was beautiful! Finely wrought gold surrounded darkly flashing pieces of ebony and onyx. Could those be rubies? Katie and I spent all our money on children, not things this majestic. Was it mine? I scrutinized the faces of my other table mates. Yes, they all had the same sort of thing, set lightly on their heads.

      Katie! Oh no! Where was Katie? A flood of memories nearly knocked me over! Katie! Gavin! Nora! Lilah! Evan! Where was everyone? How could I leave them?

“Chris! Chris!” I ran over to my friend. “My family! Where is my family?”

He put his kindly hand over mine. ” Shhhh. Listen for a minute. We’ve all had the same experience, at this table. Shhh.” I listened.

Slowly, I could hear it. The sound nearly broke my heart. Weeping, sobbing, the sound of soft crying. Over and over. Tears began to run down my face.

“Tom. Tom. You need to hear what the Lamb is saying to you, and to them. Remember?”

5 Those who sow with tears 
   will reap with songs of joy. 
6 Those who go out weeping, 
   carrying seed to sow, 
will return with songs of joy, 
   carrying sheaves with them.

Psalm 126:5

 14 “I will deliver this people from the power of the grave; 
   I will redeem them from death. 
Where, O death, are your plagues? Where, O grave, is your destruction?

Hosea 13:14

They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4 ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’[b] or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” Revelation 21:4

 For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. 53 For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. 54 When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”[h]

 55 “Where, O death, is your victory? 
   Where, O death, is your sting?[i

Slowly my tears subsided. I understood. “But who will take care of them, Chris? You understand, your family is almost as big as mine! ”

“Tom, have a little faith. Remember what James said is ‘true religion?’

27 Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

“There’s a lot of flim-flammery in American Christians to be sure. Victoria is learning a lot about who is serious about their faith. But she’s putting it together.”

“Katie has a huge cloud of witnesses around her, people who want this ‘true religion’. People will look after both of them, and all 9 of our kids,  until they get here, and then non of that matters anymore, it’s all about Jesus.”

Slowly this began to sink in. Slowly, ever so slowly, my fear for my family dissolved. In it’s place stood a sense of urgency.

“Chris! We have so much to do! They’ll be here any minute! What’s next?”

“That’s my boy! ” He clapped me on the back. Hard. It didn’t hurt a bit!

“I don’t have the slightest idea. But let’s go visit the Lamb, he’ll give us our marching orders. Race you to the gate!” Off we went!

12 Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him. James 1:12

1 The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing. 
 2 He makes me lie down in green pastures, 
he leads me beside quiet waters, 
 3 he refreshes my soul. 

Victoria’s List of What Makes a Real Man
1. Someone who treasures me more than himself. One might almost think that’s Biblical.
2. Courage. Take heart. Never, never give up.
3. Must Love Kids.  The greatest strength is shown through gentleness. Jesus himself had a special place in his heart for children.
5. Be a true Warrior Prince, Son of the King of Heaven.  This is probably the reason I’ll die single. Where are all the warrior Princes? Where have all of you gone? How many of you could have fought the battle like Tom, and won?
Much love,
Author’s note: Tom Seedroff was one of the first people Chris met after he was diagnosed with cancer. Tom had a form of stomach cancer that obstructed food absorption from the stomach to the GI tract. He feels much better now. -V

The Girl at Home


I met a pilot a short time ago who had also experienced a terrible loss. Sometimes you have to work at remembering the good stuff, and also just take a darn break!

It is insanely difficult to write like a man, especially a lovestruck one. This first draft got a smile out of the pilot. What do you think, men? Have you ever thought something like this?

Much love,


The Girl at Home

Sheee-it, Jacobs, look at those gate lice. Thick as ever. Don’t  they have anyplace to go?”

“Language, you idiot. And zip it, someone might hear you.”

Esau Jacobs settled his face into a pleasant ‘fly with us!’ expression as he strode out of the jetway and into the crowded terminal. Twelve hours in the air, and still nowhere near home. Sigh. People think pilots had it grand, couldn’t ever see past the uniform. He was tired as hell and anxious to get back to the girl at home.

Jesse Adams worked to keep up with him, uniform rumpled and tie askew. The beginnings of a pot belly bulged over his belt, and Jacobs ribbed him about it.

“Maybe a little less sushi and a little more workout, Adams?” Jacobs flexed his meaty hands, as if lifting again.

“Whatever. I know what you’re thinking about. All you want to do is get back!”

“Darn right. Twelve days is too long, and I miss her terribly.” He thought about the girl he had left back home, and wondering what she was doing right now. Nineteen years they had been together, and a blessing, every one.

They strode down the terminal together, purposeful, looking for a reasonable dinner in a sea of greasy fast food and alcohol tonics for anxious fliers.

“Let’s get a burger and go to the pilot lounge.”

“Not if I wanna look like you. I have an hour twenty before I have to go back to Dallas. I’ll look around for something actually edible, and do a few laps up and down the concourse, get the kinks out.’

“Twelve hours out and you still want to work? You’re crazy!” Adams staggered off toward a nearby burger joint.

Crazy as a fox, thought Jacobs. A fox who wants nothing more than his den.  Thoughts about the girl back home intruded into his walk. He stretched his  broad form forward, each stride eating up territory, as if sheer force of will could transport him back to Dallas.  Wonder if she had to work today? Damn! I missed a performance too. She’ll kill me when I get back. I’ll never hear the end of it.

He thought about how long they had known each other, and what a great relationship they had. His friends had kidded him endlessly when they first met. She’s just a slip of a thing! Just wait! Women are nothing but trouble!

He had been set up for months, eagerly wanting to meet her. Other, more experienced friends egged him on- She’s just right for you. Your life will change dramatically. This is the right decision!

He remembered the first time he held her, the feel of his hand against her gorgeous chestnut locks. She smelled like summer.

Her hands were so delicate. Over the years he marveled how well they fit into his. Her brown eyes, so lively and bright every time they talked. Not that everything had been perfect. As the years had gone by, the relationship had a distinct ebb and flow. Sometimes they felt inseparable, that together they could tackle any problem that came up. Other times, he would feel her drifting away, and pray fervently that she would come back to him.

“American flight 267 to Dallas, This is your Final Boarding Call”

Yeesh, had he really spent all that time mooning away? He hustled toward the gate.

“You actually bought a ticket, Captain?” the gate agent was amazed.

“No delays this time, Sherrie. I’m determined!” Jacobs ran his hand through his curly red hair in a fruitless attempt at order.

He gained his seat and smiled politely at his seatmate, an elderly gentleman in flannels and jeans.

“What’s your name, fella?”  the older gentlemen inquired.

“Esau. Like in the Bible. Yours?”

“Bob. As in For Apples” the two men chuckled at the feeble humor.

“Headed home?”

“You betcha. Not sure what I’ll find there after twelve days in the air, but looking forward to it just the same.”


“Oh yes.” Jacobs spent the next three hours telling the man all about the girl at home.

“Heh, well I’ve had more than  a few of those myself young man.   All the best!”  The plane gingerly  came to a stop as the gateway extended.

Jacobs bounded out of his seat as soon as the light was off and the plane was still. His large frame and uniform parted the sea of humanity, and he was off the plane in short order.

Where, where, where. His eyes scanned the faces outside the jetway. Where could she be? Surely not late. Twelve days!

Ah! There she was. Relief and elation flooded over him. Nineteen years and she still had that effect. What a marvel.

“Daddy!  I’m so glad you’re home!”