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Lonely River Village

March 13, 2017 By admin

hunanpalaceF I C T I O N   The last thing Lili expects to do this sunny day is take a two mile walk. She is comfy sitting on the edge of her bed and staring at her precious feet. They are the feet that have earned her a place in one of the best homes in Lonely River, a village in the Hunan Province of China. But they are not likely to carry her far from home because she can barely balance on them and when she does stand for more than a few minutes they begin to cause pain that starts at her toes and slowly travels all the way up to her hips.

Her feet are little more than three inches long, having been bound and broken so perfectly by her mother when Lili was six years old that the soles, all bent and cured up on themselves, resemble a lotus flower. It is not because of her lustrous black hair or smooth skin, but because her feet are so beautiful in the eyes of men that Lili was married to one of the richest, most important men in the village. And because she continued to keep her feet bound — did not loosen the cloths that wrapped them tightly at night as some women did once they had secured a good marriage — that she has been married now for ten years. And not cast aside, either, when a concubine joined the family two years ago.

Lili lets her eyes move slowly around the room, her own bedroom, that she occupies on the nights her husband does not call her into his room. She sees the elegant wooden dresser with the silver handles on the doors, carved with what she always imagines are scenes from life in the imperial palace. The curtains on the windows are of the finest brocade, colored in vivid reds and yellows. Even the chamber pot is beautiful to her eye. It has been painted by a fine artist with scenes of children picnicking in the lush Chinese countryside.

And at the foot of the bed is her favorite item of all: a huge travel trunk, exquisitely carved also, with a clasp as big as Lili’s fist. Folded on the chest is a beautiful bed cover, embroidered by Lili herself. The symbols she sewed around the edges hold a secret. They are not just a pretty design. They are Nu Shu, the secret writing of the women of Hunan Province.

Excerpt from Lonely River Village

Norma Libman is a journalist and lecturer who has been collecting women’s stories for more than twenty years. You can read the first chapter of her award-winning book, Lonely River Village, at NormaLibman.com.

Filed Under: FICTION

I’ll Give You A Driveway Moment

February 21, 2017 By admin

drivewaymomentF I C T I O N   You want a driveway moment? I’ll give you a driveway moment. No, it’s not some sad, uplifting, or enlightening story I’m listening to on NPR. And it’s not a favorite golden oldie on WWAM. Nor am I out here in the car contemplating the theory of relativity.

I’m sitting in the car that is parked in my driveway because I don’t want to go inside my house – at least not yet. Because when I walk through that door I have to be an adult who worries about my spouse (who thinks I take our marriage for granted), about my grown children (who won’t leave home), and about my parents (who may soon need to go into a home), and about planning for retirement (a train that has long since left the station).

Driving home from work I was able to find respite from all these wonderful topics, but now that I’m in the driveway, the only thing between me and the boogey man is the sanctity of my car. It may be old and have over 150,000 miles on it, but the seats still smell leathery and I am comfortable behind the wheel. I know everything about this car. The new tires on the back, each of the disc brake rotors I’ve had replaced, the new radiator hoses, it’s all documented in my mind. Really, when I think about it, I realize I have replaced 50-60% of the car by now. But the sound system is still A-1 so I can listen to some soothing classical music while working up the courage to leave the comfort of my “cabin.” Might as well put the seat in the reclining position to see if that will lessen the throbbing sensation in my frontal lobe. That’s working. I can already feel my heart rate slowing down, my hands have stopped clenching, and the damp brow is drying off.

I feel transported to a better place – a place where no demands are made of me. When I’m hungry, food appears. When I’m drowsy, a soft bed is there for me. Everyone speaks softly and we are gentle with one another. The sense is that everyone is solicitous without verging on obsequious. This is good – very good.

A loud rapping noise on my window shatters the reverie into a thousand tiny pieces. My son is staring at me through the fogged up window and mouthing some words. I’m confused – I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me. He makes a motion that I should lower the window, and I comply.

“Can you move your car so I can get mine out?”

No hello. No how are you. Doesn’t ask if I’m okay. Just stands there looking idiotic wearing a backward ballcap, waiting for me to move on, so that he can move on.

Fine. Until tomorrow then. This driveway moment is over.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. He’s written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.

Filed Under: FICTION Tagged With: boogey man, driveway moment, fogged window, NPR

Talk to Me

February 7, 2017 By admin

F I C T I O N   talkingpasteachother“Dad and I are buying a condo near Boulder.”

“Why?”

“So we can all be together on the weekends.”

“And do what?”

“You and Huston and Lola can board; Dad and I will ski.”

“Mom, I’m not into Boulder yet. Why are you jumping on Colorado? Remember my applications to Tulane and Miami? Where’s my flannel? I threw it in the laundry room yesterday. Can’t find it. I’m meeting up with Guy and Finn in thirty. Can we move on this? Chop, chop.”

“Don’t be disrespectful. I’m at the end of my rope….and prescription.”

“Chill mom. What prescription? I thought you were in a twelve step; sounds like not!”

“None of your business. I hope you never have to deal with three little whiners. The last time you even said ‘thank you’ was when we gave you the Beemer on your birthday. Now, nothing! No ‘please,’ no ‘thank you’ just a bunch of demands that make me crazy. One year of college for you, not to mention the other two kids, is going to cost more than I spent on Dr. Steinmetz all of last year. Botox isn’t cheap and if you add in the spa trips…well it’s a lot!

“Mom, get it together. Find my flannel so I can get going. I need your card, out of gas.”

“Take the Amex Black but don’t tell Dad. He’s so freaked out about everything these days. No humor, nothing. He’s thinking of selling the winery because it’s running at a loss. I told him, “Winery? Are you crazy? You only drink Scotch and what the hell do you know about wine? The Brownleys are a bad influence hon and just because they like wine doesn’t mean you had to buy a winery! God, you’re such a doormat. To be honest, you’re way too nice to Drake and Gina. Did you see that rock on her finger at the club last night? I wonder what she had to do to get that! Fake, fake, fake and I hope that diamond’s fake too. Would serve her right!”

“Mom, calm! Don’t beat Dad up! I’m outta here. Screw the flannel…later!”

“Text me, Linden, and don’t forget to pick up Huston at practice. Did you see my phone?”

“On the table, Mom. It buzzed. Gina.”

Kim Kohler writes on the uncertainties of living in a liberal hot spot where everybody has an opinion, every opinion counts and nobody uses turn signals.

Filed Under: FICTION

One More

December 2, 2016 By admin

resonator_biscuit
F I C T I O N    We needed another song for the set, and I wanted it to be a waltz and also wanted to feature Cookie’s vocal. We had already spent some time arranging a cowboy tune, something about heroes and belt buckles- you have to start somewhere- and the obstacle, as always, is getting and paying for the rights to record somebody else’s songs. On this project we have partially skirted the issue by using material from the Public Domain. Another option could be to write our own song.

All I had to do was sell Cookie on the idea and then write the song. I was reassured by the idea that neither one of us was happy with the “heroes” arrangement. It’s a well-crafted tune, but it’s not a perfect fit with the rest of our material except that it is a waltz, and Cookie sings. Can we agree that there is an advantage in using one of our songs? Why not let our polish time be spent on something that we have written?

I gave myself an assignment to start a song in three-quarter time in the key of G using the waltz I learned from Cookie as a starting point. In many cases I begin with a title but in this instance the first line popped into my head along with a thousand other rejects, and it felt a good start to me.

There is a lot of satisfaction in saying what you mean and getting it to fit in the words of a song or a story. Once there is a structure then everything you hear or think you hear becomes another stanza or a verse or hook. Off I went listening to the progression from my “source song” in my head: three-quarter time starting on a G major chord. It’s a small step, but a big change, to think in six-eight time, then it’s already a new song. I like to write familiar but fresh.

The first line was easy, two pick-up notes and then:

(There is) Nothing original under the sun
Although it might not be true
What happens next is as big a surprise
To me as it must be for you

The tune is familiar, the chords are the same, aren’t they?
(Oh) Where have I heard that before?
On Top of Old Smokey? No, Down In the Valley, or
You are My Sunshine for sure.

Harpeth Rivers is a New Mexico transplant from all over who has in the last year written songs about isosceles triangles, played bass guitar in a band, and declared himself “Retro-eclectic.” His novel-in-progress is entitled Last Year.

Filed Under: FICTION

What Cattle Do At Night (or Until the Cows Come Home)

November 30, 2016 By admin

cattle_herdF I C T I O N    Another in a continuing series of articles about what exactly animals and marine life are up to, that you always wanted to know.

We’ve all seen it. About an hour before sunset the cows come home. If we’re talking milk cows, they head for the barn because there’s food there and a place to get out of the wind. But what about cattle on open grazing land? Where are they heading? How do they spend their nights?

First of all, we’ve all heard the expression “herd mentality” and when it comes to cattle, there are always some dominant animals that decide where and when the herd moves. They are after all prey animals, so there’s safety in numbers. So after a hard day of grazing, cattle will seek out some lowland out of the wind and elements and find bedground for the night. You would be surprised at how much body heat an 1,800 pound cow can generate and they do have a whole lot of insulation, so I would not get too hung on whether or not they are cold. Ask a rancher in North Dakota how low the temperature has to get before a cow freezes.

There’s usually a lot of gossip about who saw what (Did you see that rusty old pick-up truck go by?), how much forage everyone had, and some of the goofy things the calves were up to that day. There is a lot of talk about the quality of the forage, so much like humans, cattle will drone on and on about where the best forage was, or complaining about the scarcity, or how long it took to chew cud.

Cattle are very social, so it’s not unusual for some of the better storytellers to break out a story that’s been handed down for generations for the listening pleasure of the rest of the herd. On some rare occasions, the herd will come across some Jimson weed and on those nights the cattle have a riproaring time getting high as kites (perhaps not the best comparison when you’re talking about an 1,800 pound animal) and having some really wicked hallucinations. If you’re wondering what kind of hallucination a cow might have, one of the most common ones is that a cow will think that the ear tag is some kind of radio controller that’s following every move the cow makes. Creepy yes, but not out of the realm of possibility.

So the next time you see cattle making their move around sunset, you’ll have a pretty good idea that the party is about to get started.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. He’s written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.

Filed Under: FICTION

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