When my time has come

Ryan
http://currentripple.blogspot.com/

When my time has come...

when my time has come, and I stop for a moment on my journey to look back over my shoulder to see those who have gathered, I wish to see hands up, I wish to hear voices raised in joyous song, I wish to see smiles and hear laughter... for when my time has come, the days and hours and minutes I was blessed to be,

will be to the exact specification of Him, my Creator...

it will not have been one moment longer or shorter than was precisely planned for my journey...

when my time has come, hold to all the moments we shared with each other and warm yourself in these memories we created... sing the silly songs we sang, laugh at each others human faults, frailties and missteps...

walk the highways of our blended journey and stop to take in all that beauty, drink in the knowledge that we somehow found each other and shared of ourselves...

when my time has come, know that I loved you, respected you and always held you in the highest regard, for that is what you deserve my friend... know that in our times apart, you were always in my thoughts and never far from my heart... allow your tears to come if you must, but use them only to wash away the sadness and morph into sweet thoughts of glorious elation for all that we shared... my dreams for you will always be with you, coaxing, prodding, supporting...

when my time has come, know that I am just over the horizon, walking ahead on to the next adventure for my soul to experience, but I am also as close as your next thought of us together... what we share is never lost, only packed temporarily away until the next time we unwrap the moment and let it touch us again...



good bye's are never forever, just momentary... know that when it is time for you to take your journey, when your time too has come, that I will meet you with outstretched arms, smiles, laughter and tears of joy as you appear in the distance, with each step moving closer to our blessed reunion...
 
http://currentripple.blogspot.com/

With Hope we Cope

klahanie
http://klahanie.blogspot.com/

With Hope we Cope

I gazed out my window. And the rain wept down, tears filled my eyes, as the rain wept down. Yet through those windswept droplets, through my own distorted view, I heard a gentle voice, the voice of my inner child. "See beyond the window. See beyond the rain." And thus, no longer street lamps on a desolate road. The glowing lamps became twinkling stars in a cosmic fireworks display.


There is many a day I wake up and I feel I cannot breathe. Waves and shivers of panic immerse my very being. It's a constant battle with the inner critic and the inner child. I'm struggling. Oh, how I'm struggling. I have done my utmost to maintain a positive environment. An environment that has been attacked by indifferent people who caused such stressful problems. And with the remaining remnants of my dignity, they leave me to pick up the pieces of many a shattered dream.

Yet, I know I must, with every fibre of my positive self, stay strong, stay resilient, stay determined. If you are feeling helpless and hopeless. Alone and isolated. Please know that I am here for you. I have seen beyond the window, beyond the rain. I know that what appears to be a negative, can be reborn and nurtured into a heartfelt positive. It's what our inner child would want. Together, with hope, we cope.
 
http://klahanie.blogspot.com/

Slip sliding away

Nicone

http://justaddyoga.com


http://mylittlesketchbook.com

Slip sliding away

I devote a little time every day in the interest of present- mindedness, but it keeps slipping away from me. On my tiptoes i can catch a glimpse of my life with the kind of inner peace i expect to have once I stop running. - The calmness that will come once I truly stop trying to be someone I’m not. Here’s a poem I wrote a couple of years back which I feel touches on the same subject. Some goals seems to always be hiding in the distance, but we really should recognize what we have achieved and help it manifest and grow.

Windowpane reflections

Passing by I look for myself in the windowpane reflections

But I don’t recognize the person looking back at me

All I see is a woman hurrying somewhere, it looks important

I cannot see me in there



What can be so important that I left myself behind?



Sitting down on a bench I search the thoughts

Flowing lazily through my mind

For some sign of my true presence



Is that me obsessing about work

Or enjoying the sunset before me?



Feeling depressed about my limited scope

Recognizing only issues

I lose myself in the scenery

The sky and the sun painting their watercolor palette

Dissolving into the lush green forest,

Diving into the cool embracing waters



Taking in the whole picture

The ever present, ever changing, beauty of it all

I discover myself

…



Feeling fulfilled and rested I get up to go

Slipping away from the present moment

Going on to search for myself

In windowpane reflections



http://justaddyoga.com


http://mylittlesketchbook.com

Hold my Hand and Count the Miles

Maureen Blaseckie


Sudden Alarm of Donkeys

"Hold my Hand and Count the Miles"

As a child I was terrified of lightening storms. On the prairies this meant just about every summer evening I would end up huddled under my covers, crying.



And then my grandfather, Gagah, came for a rare summer visit.



I have since learned he was a cantankerous, no-nonsense kind of father but, apparently, grandchildren changed him for the better. I only knew him as a kind, patient man.



Anyway, while he was a visiting a real corker of a storm rolled in. He caught me as I was fighting the dog for the furthest corner under my bed. With the promise of keeping me safe as houses, he took me out to sit with him on the front steps.



Now, girl, how high can you count...past 10? past 20? Good. Now, next time you see lightening we’ll start counting until we hear the thunder.

Look there, 1-2-no a little slower-5-6- that’s it-8-9...ah, hear that? it’s still pretty far away, 9 miles. Now is it coming closer or going further away?



Before I knew it the rain started and the storm was rolling on to the next town. We sat in the cold, fresh evening air, holding hands, in the dark, waiting a little longer just in case there was one last rip in the black velvet sky. Finally mom poked her head out the door and it was time for me to go to bed.



Now, I can’t wait for lightening season to start. Electric storms are regrettably rare here on the west coast. At the first distant rumble I hurry out to the steps to watch the precious show roll in over the water.



I must have counted at least a million miles since Gagah’s summer visit but whenever the storms begin, he is right there beside me.


http://suddenalarm.blaseckie.ca/

Calling long distance.

Antony Waller

http://antonyjwaller.wordpress.com/

Calling long distance.

Rachel had only caught a brief glimpse; she was more intent on grabbing the now empty table. A slightly dishevelled man somewhat out of place on a warm day wearing a worn tweed jacket with the collar turned up and a striped yellow silk scarf wound tightly round his neck. It was his eyes as they passed. Dark eyes, blue and deep, yet bright and twinkling had held hers for a moment. He smiled, released her gaze and then was gone.

It was only after she dropped her shopping bags by her chair she noticed the phone half covered by a paper serviette. He must have left it. An unusual looking object small and silvery grey in colour. Rachel jumped up hoping she could see him. But she was too late and the street was thronged with people, a sea of hustle and bustle, and he was nowhere to be seen. She sighed and turned her attention to the phone wondering if it would yield any clues.

It felt cold in the palm of her hand when she picked it up which seemed at odds with such a hot day. She turned it over and then over again. It was completely smooth, thin too with no obvious way to open it. Suddenly the palm of her hand tingled and the phone glowed and became a translucent rainbow colour. A face appeared and Rachel saw those same blue eyes smiling at her.

“Hello Rachel. Thanks for picking my phone up. Stupid of me to be so careless. Can you keep it safe till I come back tomorrow?”

What! How did this complete stranger know her name and why did he think she would be back there tomorrow. Why tomorrow. Where was he? Perhaps she should get up right now, walk away and just leave it.

“Please, Rachel, don’t do that. Don’t walk away and leave it. Rachel. No, wait!”

Rachel was half way out of her chair and reaching for her bags. The tone of his voice made her stop and freeze. The woman at the next table stared at her distracted by the noise of the chair scraping on the pavement.

“I didn’t mean to shout, Rachel. Please sit down and listen. Then leave if you feel you must, but I know you won’t.”

Rachel looked at the phone in her hand again and at the stranger’s smiling face. A warm engaging smile and those eyes, almost hypnotic, twinkled even brighter. She plonked down into the chair.

“Thanks, Rachel.”

Not daring to raise her voice Rachel hissed into the phone, “How do you know what I’m doing? Where are you? How do you know my name?”

“Rachel, don’t be frightened, please let me explain. My phone, it’s special. Let’s you contact people by thought, anyone, just by thinking of that person. So I can hear you thoughts, know what you are doing. Know your name. Look, I have to go. See you tomorrow. Your office. Promise.”

Rachel was struggling to understand. It all sounded preposterous. She had never heard of such a phone and if anything she was confused and now more than a little frightened. Tomorrow, at the office. How? It was at times like this Rachel thought about her Mum and wished she was here. Suddenly her hand tingled again and there she was, her face beaming. Instantly re-assuring.

“Hello, Rachel. What a nice surprise.”

Rachel was overcome by an overwhelming tide of emotion and her eyes filled with tears. It was over two years since she had lost her Mum.
 
http://antonyjwaller.wordpress.com/

Lost in a book

Glen Staples

http://www.glenslife.com/

Lost in a book

The rain clattered against her window, hurled hard against the glass by the howling winds of a Lincolnshire Autumn night. The sound of yet another strong gust outside distracted her for a moment, but all she did next was to pull the covers further up her shoulders and smugly cuddle into them.

The very finest luxuries in life can’t be bought in Selfridges or any shop, as far as Sally Johansson was concerned, they were right here at home. The safety and heavenly opulence of being warm in your bed and lost in a book was everything she needed. All her worries and fears were far behind her as she dipped in and out of the fantasy world before her. The double glazing would hold the rain back as much as the heating would keep off the cold, but the Kindle in her hand gave her so much more than just warmth and shelter, it gave her hope.

Hope is possibly the biggest luxury of them all.

So, snuggled deep into her duvet, Sally pressed the button and turned the page. It was late, very late. She should have been asleep an hour ago, but no matter how hard she tried Sally just could not switch the Kindle off. Every page sucked her into the next, never once providing closure. “One more page” Sally told herself earnestly, before once again being dragged callously back into the story.

Each line demanded that she read the next, the paragraphs wrapping themselves around her brain like a mother’s cuddle. Sally had to keep reading, had to know whatever the next page would tell her.

A crash rang loudly in her ears, followed by a car alarm squawking like a deranged parrot on helium. The Kindle was thrown aside as Sally jumped out of bed and threw open the curtains. Already people were running around in dressing gowns assessing the situation. A tree in her neighbour’s front garden had fallen and landed on their car. Everyone was safe, if somewhat vexed. Sally watched as her neighbour reached out and gave his wife a bear hug, which worked well, even if only to soak up her sobs.

The cries of frustration and anger died quickly into the laughter of relief, as the realization of how truly lucky they were not to have been hurt kicked in. The car can be replaced, their lives clearly couldn’t. In Sally’s mind she suddenly felt a warmth towards her neighbours that she had never felt before. They had everything they would ever need, right there in each other’s arms and Sally understood that completely.

As she closed the curtains the bed moved and a sleepy voice asked for details. “Go back to sleep love, I’ll tell you in the morning” was all she could say before giving him a gentle kiss to aid him on his way. Her hand hovered over the light switch before the Kindle caught her attention.

Hmm, well maybe one more chapter wouldn’t hurt. So Sally picked up the best Christmas present she had ever been given, and flipped it back on.

In seconds she was back where she had been a moment ago, reading Matrimonial Dyslexia, by Glen Staples.

Smiling once more, she snuggled backwards into her sleeping husband, and lost herself deep into the book.

http://www.glenslife.com/

In the distance

Scott Riddick
http://atypicalread.blogspot.com/

In The Distance

I have been trying to break into publishing for some time now, writing novels (yes, plural), writing blogs (breaking all the rules of blogging in the process), and submitting very little to wait seven months to be told; “thanks, but your submission does not fit into our current theme”. I have battled a trying marriage for almost a decade (10 years next month!), trying to understand the woman I love and mother to my only child, while understanding what the hell it is that Scott wants out of life. I have broken against the unruly winds of change with my family for even longer, curtailing the efforts of a vengeful mother, living without my father (running away before I took my first breath), preparing for the moment my beloved grandmother passes away (which looms ever closer to the horizon), and forcing myself to accept the small unit of people I have as family; separate from the immediate family I continue to build upon daily. At work, I have spent many hours learning alone how to survive in a corporate world, absorbing the political bullshit thrown at me, fighting the urge to scream and shouting at myself under a cold shower in the evening; “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Everything, it seems, is my fault. In the distance, a doorway beckons to me.

In the distance, the door calls to an impatient soul, offering me a chance to change the course of my life. In the distance, fear waits for me to come closer so that I can have one more damn thing to consider. One more problem on top of an already leaning tower of honey-do list, reports, unfinished degrees, unedited novels and, of course, a mountain of diapers to contend with. In the distance, something smells to high hell like trouble; because of this, it must be something really exciting and unknown ahead.

Today I interviewed for a supervisor role with my company. (In the distance that door is looming closer) I am partially qualified and full of gusto to make sure I exceed in all avenues as I have with my current position, but, aside from the increase in pay and career advancement, what about the lone writer stranded among his unfinished stories? In the distance opportunity is knocking. More money would take less stress off of my wife, earning me that missing link in our marriage, the respect a man deserves when he provides for his family. Now I can provide. In the distance, the writer places all of his work into a folder and tucks it beneath his arm. There is real change well within my grasp all I need to do is take it. I need to come to terms with my passion and the fire burning, recently stoked into a raging wildfire of excitement and confidence that has breathed new life into the dying writer within. In the distance, the writer stands alone a beach, the warm breeze against his face, the sounds of seagulls passing overhead, the rush of ocean spilling onto the sands and tickling the bottoms of his feet. The position is not official and anything could happen between now and then, but I feel good about it. For the first time in my life, I feel good about being me. There is a real sense of accomplishment now, where so many red penned rejections lay. In the distance, a boat drifts along the horizon. It offers a way off the island, a chance to be free and live among civilization after so many years spent in solidarity. I was told by my director that he was glad that I had applied. My own manager took me aside and offered advice. First the first time in a very long time, someone, other than me, spoke pleasantly about me, acknowledging my achievements and praising my work. No red pens were used, but black and blue marks on high notes of my accomplishments with the company. I could not help a sneak, eyes quickly drifting towards the pad, “Approved”. I don’t know what this meant, I assume my message was received and approved- politics.

In the distance, a ladder unfolds at the feet of a writer who is asked to come aboard, but leave all of his belongings behind. There is a long uncomfortable pause. A sign on the side of the boat reads; U R Opportunity. A second sign just below this one says; this is not a dreamboat. Pfft, politics. You cannot avoid them even on remote islands it seems.

In ten minutes I am due for my HR interview. I have never had one of these before. I suspect I will need a passport or something to verify my intent, or maybe a pinky swear to never do anything bad that might cost the company whatever fees a future settlement might have. I am nervous, but anxious to get it over with. I need to feel something other than the constant nudge of rejection, be it from family, my wife, my work, or the occasional themed editor with a rubber stamp in his or her hand. In the distance, a boat sails into the horizon, leaving in the foreground a folder of dreams that will eventually wash out to sea, along with the rest of the washed up hopes of writers who stood on this same familiar island before and long after the ship has sailed.

http://atypicalread.blogspot.com/

In the distance

Kathy Combs

http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com/

In the distance

It was a hot sultry summer day. The humidity was high and the air heavy making it difficult to breathe. I had volunteered to drive my mom to dialysis because it was obvious she wasn’t feeling well. She accepted my invitation without any fuss which was unusual for her. Usually she demanded to drive herself. I could ride along, and she preferred I did…but it was her car, her appointment, and she was perfectly capable of getting there on her own power thank you very much.

Today was different. Not a good day, but she would never admit it. I was in my early 20’s at the time and simply loved my little Dodge Shelby Charger. In my younger days it was my habit to crank the tunes and floor the gas pedal. On this particular day, I also cranked the air conditioning. We made it to the kidney center without incident and my mom did her time on the machine. Amazingly enough 4 hours always passed pretty quickly. I often would lose myself between the covers of a good book, or would take along my latest crochet project to work on. It was also fun to roam the corridors under the hospital taking the dark eerie passages up to the sunny cafeteria where the food was better than fair. One little girl who always was in the waiting room made a constant practice of grossing me out with the doll she was never without. It was one of those “Baby Alive” dolls that when fed poops. This kid loved performing dipstick checks on this doll hoping against hope that some of this doll’s fake poop would come out on her finger. Disgusting!! I vowed then and there that if I ever had a daughter, she would never own a doll that pooped.

After dialysis, the heat seemed just as oppressive and I could see my mom was not feeling well at all as I cruised onto the interstate, floored my little car, and headed toward the sanctuary of home. All of a sudden I noticed the traffic behind me falling back and a tire bouncing away from my car into the distance toward the ditch. Oh Lord!! That was my tire!! I was going 85 miles per hour and struggled with the wheel as I let the car cruise to a stop alongside the road. Traffic zoomed past as I came to a stop and looked with panic at my mother who was looking a little green under the gills. What to do?? I glanced in my rear view mirror and spotted a police car with lights flashing cruising to a stop behind my car.

I can honestly say I have never been so happy to see a police car with flashing lights stopped behind me before or since!! The officer was very kind, and as soon as I explained the situation about my mother’s condition and the tire which was pretty obvious, he volunteered his assistance. He arranged for a tow truck, helped me get my mom into his air conditioned squad car and drove us home. The thought of being stranded alongside the road with my mom who was sick didn’t bear thinking. After my tire bounced off into the distance, a police officer appeared to save the day. It seems objects really are closer than they appear in the distance.

http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com/

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

Well, perhaps not exactly the Founder’s keyboard if you want to be exact. It’s a little less exciting than that.


Think of it as like being told George Clooney is coming to open your local KFC, but it turns out to be a look-a-like, or Piers Morgan. Word hits you that they are giving away free ice-cream next to where you work, but when you run out to collect it, you discover that it is actually frozen yoghurt.

I’m thinking that is the level of disappointment you probably feel right now, because this is not Avery writing here, or for that matter anyone who even owns a thesaurus. It’s me, Glen, the one with the penchant for lager, pizza and generally getting told off by my wife.

Yep – him.

Avery, for those of you who don’t know, usually spins around like TAZ the Tasmanian Devil getting all your posts sorted and posted. Generally re-editing them, after I’ve made my usual cock up of doing it the first time (I really do need to buy a thesaurus – maybe I should hint to the kids for Christmas, but then I also need a new pair of slippers so maybe not). My boss here is always putting in so much time to keep this place ticking over, that it is just plain scary. I for one will never know for sure how she does it, but I suspect she cheats by being a woman and therefore slyly multi-tasking. I’m genetically prevented from such activity, so I simply can’t squeeze that much time in.

Anyway, to get to the point, Avery has had a nightmare of a month where she has had to cope with, and help, her Mum who has been very ill indeed, at the same time as moving house. Now when Avery moves house she doesn’t do it like I do, where you have to decide if you need to get a van or simple throw your stuff in a wheelbarrow – oh no. She up-sticks and moves half way across the planet (possibly a slight exaggeration but America is a bloody big place). Please click here to go and find out just exactly what she has been coping with – NOT YET, at least let me finish – and then you will understand why it is that I’ve been covering for her last month and again, here in October.

So I’m afraid you don’t get the 5* editing, or the extra touches of pictures and drawings to illustrate your work – you just get me.

Not that you need it.

I’ve read this month’s submissions and all I can say is YES!! Talk about making it easy for me. You lot are, quite frankly, the dog’s knackers (Which, I’m fairly confident you will find, is the very first time that phrase has ever been used in this segment – and probably the last, somehow I can see Avery politely never letting me write this forward ever again). You are though.

Well done you lot – I really do believe in RBU, you may have already spotted that from my emails, if you are already members. It’s all about US. Not as in America, but us – all of us.

Now, please go and read Avery’s post and leave her some love, because she deserves it.

Happy reading – ‘In the distance’ is October’s theme and personally speaking – I’m really impressed with what’s coming.

Especially mine.

Yours – er – cordially?



Glen Staples from Glen’s Life.