The write stuff

Let us share your scribblings with the world.

Send your Writers Corner submissions to Maureen Dolan, mdolan@cdapress.com.

We prefer e-mail submissions, and we ask that you limit the length of your stories and poems. Please include your hometown with your submission.

You can send hard-copies by mail to Maureen Dolan at The Press, 201 Second St., Coeur d'Alene, ID 83814.

And now, we present more poems, stories and essays written by you, our readers.

RESPITE

By Faye Higbee, Post Falls

Sometimes the television's pompous pundits and armchair pontificators rattle my otherwise calm demeanor, and the incessant ringing of the phone jingle-jangles my brain cells. It's a cacophony that merges with the maelstrom of everyday living and it means that it's time to throw up my hands, pitch the dirty laundry on the floor by the washer and prepare to flee to my secret place.

In the last vestige of darkness before the crack of dawn, I nuke a cup of day old coffee, grab the camera, leash up the dog, shove his big white furry behind into the car, and drive off to a spot where life is less about busy-ness and more about quietness.

I arrive at the boat launch by the marshy bay somewhere near 5:20 a.m. The day awaits its debut huddled behind the deep purple clouds of twilight. Red Dog hits the ground running as soon as I open the car door because here there are smells that excite the senses. Tall grasses along the narrow edge of the shoreline rustle softly as the frogs and fish and waterfowl scatter when Red's nose-y curiosity intrudes on their peaceful slumber.

Splat! Woof Woof! A beaver smacks the water with his tail and sets Red off in a barking fit, then lazily swims by to taunt the dog. "Come in, you landlubber. Come in and I'll drench you in marshy stinky water, you overgrown hassock." I can almost hear him as he side-strokes by the edge of the water, watching the dog carefully to see if he will jump.

No luck this morning. Red is too pooped to paddle, so he flops down at my feet to pant from exhaustion. It's a lot of excitement for an eleven year old diabetic dog.

It's then that I notice what I came for. . . above the mountains in the east a parting of the darkness! A slender glimmer of light is seeping through the trees!

The wetlands before me begin to glow with splotches of gold, pink, and turquoise. Dark waters are transforming into mirrors of glory. Grebes and herons soar overhead, whooshing in for a landing on an unseen runaway in the shallow swamp. A golden light bathes the marshland's hidden corners; the retreating shadows awaken all that have slept in the darkness of the night. It's not quiet anymore, but my mind is satisfied. It's time to go.

I stuff myself and Red back into the car, steal one last glimpse of morning beauty, and head off toward home. A respite awaits the longing souls who can drag themselves out of bed before the crack of dawn. Lofts Bay on Lake Coeur d'Alene is the destination I gladly share with you, since someone shared it with me many eons ago. However, you'll have to take your own dog.

Soul Mates

Oh marry me again my dear,

I love your touch and when you're near.

I love the look you save for me,

and how you give abundantly.

I love you when your feet are cold,

and when you say you're getting old.

I worry when you're running late,

for only you could be my mate.

You've come to be a part of me,

since I proposed on bended knee.

So vow again to still be mine,

my life, my love, my valentine.

- Jeff Simonson, Kellogg

WASTING TIME

By Randy Huska

Post Falls

"Passages," a book by Gail Sheehy, lays out a life in clinical coldness. Childhood, teen years, college, marriage, seven year itch, reconciliation or divorce, remarriage, mortgage, mid life crisis, loss of parents, gray hair, sore joints, stiff muscles. Of course during all this you see children born only to begin their own passage. You watch those ahead of you, some have done so much better, some not so. You watch some grow old as you feel your own demise creep up on you. You watch the younger ones bravely, boldly, with a smirk even, taking on life. New parents look so young! Was I that way at 19? Seems like one could sum it all up in a few lyrics of a country song.

My jubilee year came and passed so fast. Yet here I am still acting like I have all the time there is, all the strength and stamina I once took for granted. Still lost in the world of work, accomplishment, denial.

It all happens so fast; I never stopped to see that I was foolishly caught up in the world's trap. Work, spend, borrow, dream, living from one impulse to the next always playing catch up with the guy next door. "Life is too short," he said "do what you want before you're too old". Travel, remodel, business, property, hobbies, anything to kill time. Use up your day as long as it is called today. It's all we may ever have. Then you notice it's been 50 years with no interruptions. But are there none really? Lying in the street paralyzed from the neck down - morning sun on your face. No one around, no traffic on the road. Is this your end? How long is a lifetime stuck in a bed on a respirator? How long is a day in an assisted care home? How long is a summer for anyone alone? You can see the burden of time that cannot be killed. You see it in their eyes. They wait for death to set them free from their prison of time. Old age will put you out to pasture with nothing to do.

While physically and mentally active we earn a buck to support our habits. Amassing treasures that need our care. Insurance policies in case of loss. A new garage to keep off the rain. Paint that needs to be repainted. Carpet that needs to be re-laid. Places and people to see and then revisit again. Movies and music and books that can take us to the other side of the moon. God and His promises that make us feel so right. Feelings don't follow the rules though. The rules say if you step off a roof you break a leg or worse. Living is not as easy as feeling good. Living will many times feel awful.

I have lived past the time when I could play the game. I no longer can ignore the truth. The game hasn't changed, millions are playing it, it simply has entered my past. I've left it behind.

We each have a purpose for being here. It is not to see how much stuff we can collect. How many payments you can make on time all laid out end to end. I have a record now stretching from the age of 14 when I made my first credit purchase, to a mortgage that isn't scheduled to end until I'm 64 years old. That's 50 years of monthly payments...taken out only so I could appear to be farther along on the game board than my labors and steps had actually taken me. 444 months so far, I've never missed a payment. Perfect credit says I can have anything money can buy. Is it a masterstroke to qualify for a 30 year loan when you are 80 years old? Does one beat the system then somehow? I more likely believe you are beaten by the system if you allow it to direct your every step, divert your every thought, and chain you to the plow.

Humans do nothing better than build, no...people do only one thing better than build, and that is destroy. We spend endless toil erecting just to send it crashing down with a cry of war. Then we clean up the mess and rebuild it again.

To say that I have been a part of it is true. To know I must separate myself from it is also true.

To enjoy a nap, a good book, and a deep breath. Watch nature change through the seasons. Stretch a sore muscle, a sip of coffee, morning dew in the sunlight. Having the ability to stand and walk and see and hear. To do it all in a beautiful place like Idaho. Simple things that allow you to use time not kill it, things that make life worth remembering, not something to forget or get through. "Even the nail knows when to stop - it does it by using its head".

That I have been redeemed is spiritually exciting. Connecting more deeply with eternity is part of the maturing of the mind. Paula White said "We get so used to living in the flesh, we often times settle for it", yes "and then when the flesh lets us down, or life becomes too hard we want to end it all."

Eternity is not a place that is far away, my friend Robert says we are only a single breath away.

With eternity in view I believe I have some changes to make, both in my actions and in my thoughts. In my plans and my dreams. Threading the needle of old age with diminished eyesight and fingers that don't respond is not easy, but is possible with a clear goal and patience. I feel like an airplane that taxied on the ground through childhood, took off and flew through adulthood and is now reaching a point where the flight is over. Keeping airborne is no longer easy - fuel and power is ebbing - it's time to find a soft landing. Taxi to a stop in a comfortable hanger, prepare myself for a quiet life on the ground. I care not to be buffeted by the wind or to keep the nose on course. Tired of watching the compass, never really knowing if the course was the right one or even what the destination was.

I think I see a landing strip up ahead. I hope it's smooth, you just never know. I also hope my fuel holds up. I feel like I'm running on empty. The new planes behind me seem to have it all. Many of those ahead of me didn't make it. You'd think someone would have figured it all out by now.

That reminds me of a book titled "Passages".

SOUP KITCHEN

In the wee hours of chilly morn

Blankets, quilt and pillows form

My cozy nest before my quest

To greet the day and do my best

To quelch the guilt for feeling warm

When aching cold and chill's the norm

On mean streets where the homeless dwell

In their own world, their private hell

Ever among us, ever apart

How did they end there? Where did it start?

In our home of the brave, land of the free

Can't help but wonder, could this happen to me.

- Faith Langstaff, Hayden