College of the Redwoods

Mendocino Coast
Good Words 30 April 30, 2014
Alice Munro
The constant happiness is curiosity.
Good
Words
30
Good Words 30
Prose & Poetry
By Creative Writing Students
Of The College of the Redwoods, Mendocino Coast
April 30, 2014
Moderated By Norma Watkins
Alice Munro, a Canadian writer who revolutionized the
architecture of short stories, was awarded the Nobel Prize in
Literature in 2013.
Published in 2014
Compiled by Doug Fortier dougfortier@gmail.com

Copyright 2014 by the individual authors
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used
or reproduced in any form or medium; written,
electronic, oral or other without permission of the
author and the publisher.
Contents
Diane Semans The History of the Little Tea Set 1
Annelle Karlstad Memoir 2
Sharon Gilligan The Rally 3
Fauna Perkins December 7, 1941 4
Bob Callan An Irish Tale 6
Alice Bonner Markes 7
Lea Callan Courage of a Kind 10
Mary Shepherd Not a Date 11
Frieda Feen It Was Only a Game 12
The Very Thought of You 13
*
Twenty-Minute Intermission
*
Patty Joslyn Dolly 14
Orah Young The Gnomes Arrive 15
Susan Fisher Live and Learn 17
Carol Rell Conversations With My Mother 19
Bill Baker Snouts 21
Zelda Zuniga 06 Zinfandel 23
Charles Furey The Wedding Ring 25
Robin Koski Good Words 26
Holly Tannen Die Gedanken Sind Frei 28
The History of the Little Tea Set Diane Semans 1
(a love story)
Dad was born in Indiana in 1889, and as a little boy growing up, he loved
his mama with all his heart and wanted to please her. One day he saw an
advertisement in a magazine for a china tea set. He decided to save his
paper route money and surprise her for Christmas. As soon as he had
enough saved, he sent away for the tea set and eagerly awaited its arrival
at the post ofce.
Young Morton walked the two miles to the post ofce each week and,
as Christmas approached, he became fearful his gift would not arrive in
time. The kindly old postman, Mr. Franklin, realized something was
bothering him. What seems to be the problem, son?
Morton told him about the tea set he had ordered for his mama weeks
ago and how he was hoping to surprise her for Christmas. Mr. Franklin
had an idea. He couldnt afford an expensive tea set, but he found a childs
doll-size one at the local trading store. It was delicate, with tiny blue
owers painted on the china, and it was within his budget.
Mr. Franklin bought the tea set, wrapped it in shipping paper and
addressed it to Morton. The next time the boy came in, Mr. Franklin
exclaimed.Look what just arrived in the mail for you, young man. I think
its what you have been waiting for.
Morton grabbed it eagerly, then looked shocked at the size of the
package.
Its so small. Mama will laugh.
Nonsense, son. Your mama will love it because you saved your own
money to buy it for her. Now go on home and wrap it up in some nice
Christmas paper.
Reluctantly little Morton did just that and, when Christmas morning
came, he presented the package to his mama with a kiss. Merry
Christmas, Mama, I love you very much.
When Mama opened the box and took out the little porcelain tea set
with the tiny blue violets painted on the cups and saucers, she beamed.
Oh Mortie, darling, how beautiful they are and how thoughtful of you.
She hugged him and saw how sad he looked.
But Mama, its too small for you to use!
Dont you worry. I will treasure this beautiful little tea set and put it
in a prominent place in my china cabinet, so it wont get broken. One day,
my son, you will marry and have children of your own and I will give this
tea set to your little daughter with a letter telling her what a thoughtful
The History of the Little Tea Set Diane Semans 2
(a love story)
and loving young man her father was to save his money and buy his mama
a beautiful Christmas gift. And Mortie, your little daughter will love and
treasure this little tea set as much as I do.
Sure enough, many years later, Diane Marie inherited her
grandmothers little tea set. She displayed it in her china cabinet for her
friends to see and admire. It came with a letter entitled: The History of
the Little Tea set by Grandma Emma.
!
Memoir Annelle Karlstad
She saw her sisters rushing toward her,
all in white pinafores and Mary Janes.
They laughed and danced, a circle of five young girls holding hands.
Her Mom and Dad called to them.
Everyone ran up the hill to the old summer house.
Warm sun and light breeze brought smells of grass and horses from the
pasture.
Now the first kiss lingered on her lips,
ending in a moan as she gave birth to her first daughter.
Such pain, such joy, such yearning in that moment.
Joe was there, too, looking so strong, so handsome,
Like he was before the war.
They say your life flashes before you when you die.

!
The Rally Sharon Gilligan 3
I must hurry to meet Molly at Washington Square where workers are
gathering. The square is across the street from the Asch Building where
the Triangle Factory burned. I see her on the corner of Green Street and
Washington Place South.
There you are, she says, grinning. I was afraid Adam would talk
you out of coming. He thinks all you need to get ahead is your own
ambition. Come, the speakers are about to start. Theres an important
person here to close the rally.
Why is the meeting outside? It will be very cold if it lasts more than
an hour.
We were supposed to meet at the hall the veterans rent, but when
word got around who was speaking, the landlord was threatened by the
manufacturers association. He could not afford to have them angry at him.
Besides, this place was once a burial ground. Under our feet lie hundreds
of men and women in paupers graves. We rally for them, too.
I glance up at the building where Mama burned up. And the ashes of
many workers still swirl over our head.
The restless crowd grows quiet as the rst man steps up. Our shop on
Richmond Street forces us to put in ten or twelve hours most days. We
must stay or theyll nd other bodies to put in our places. Were afraid to
call out its name because we will lose our jobs.
The second man heaves himself onto the planks. I work in a sh plant
by the docks. One woman had three ngers cut off on the line. They sent
her away with no help. Her friend got her to a doctor. Both were red.
Medical supplies should be available, and workers shouldnt be punished
for accidents. They make us work so fast its hard to avoid slips. The
bosses should help pay if we have to see a doctor or go to the hospital.
The temperature is falling fast. Men with asks stand in small groups
passing them around. The smell of whiskey grows strong. Some of the
women retreat to the edge of the square. Molly stands next to the platform
waiting to speak. Her small frame is dwarfed by the men ahead and behind
her in line.
Finally she steps up with help from a tall, stately woman dressed in a
fur-trimmed coat and a hat with three corners. Women are especially in
danger, Molly says. Our needs go beyond safety and salaries, hours and
re escapes. We deserve respect as well. And I am speaking not only of
the bosses. I raise my voice and my st to the men who work beside us.
Last week a guard pretended to look for stolen property as he put his hand
down a young girls dress. If a co-worker and I had not
The Rally Sharon Gilligan 4
Before she can nish, men in the crowd burst out laughing. One yells,
Good for him. Another adds, Grab it where ya can, boys. Thats what I
say.
Molly stands her ground. We have a right to be safe where we work
not just from re and poor equipmentsafe to earn a living in peace.
Some bosses demand sex from girls who are so desperate for the job, they
cant say no.
More whistles and laughs from men. Two women try to shout them
down. Let the girl speak. She tells the truth.
A hand appears on Mollys shoulder. She is yanked off the speakers
podium. I cannot get to her before more hands pull her to the ground. One
man bends over and delivers a sharp blow across her face. As he
straightens, he says, Thatll teach ya to mind your own business, Jew
bitch. Molly tries to grab him by the trouser leg. He eludes her hand and
lands a hard kick to the side of her head. I recognize Gregors voice. As
he strides past me, he glares. Next time itll be you, meatball. You cant
threaten a mans job. Keep your eyes on your machine or youll be on the
street.
!
December 7, 1941 Fauna Perkins
My twelfth birthday was a month away. The Depression had eased
somewhat, but prosperity remained an illusive word. We often did
something special on Sunday after churchsomething that didn't cost
much. Today, we had gone to the Arabian Horse Farm near Pasadena.
Long lines of cars waited to cross the bridge back into Los Angeles.
The traffic crept ahead and we noticed an unusual number of
paperboys shouting the headlines: Japanese Planes Bomb Pearl Harbor.
Dad bought a paper and scanned the story. My gawd. We're at war.
We depended on the radio for our news, along with newspapers or the
Pathe newsreels at the movies. Those early photographs of Pearl Harbor
became indelible.
Because of the mild weather, grocery stores in L.A. displayed produce
outside. Many Japanese did truck farming and their arrangements looked
like lovely still lifes. Shortly after the war began, the Japanese
December 7, 1941 Fauna Perkins 5
disappeared, sent to facilities where they spent the remainder of the
conflict. Most of them lost businesses and property.
It happened so quietly we hardly noticed they were gone. At this point
in my life, I cringe at my lack of empathy. I've wondered over the years
why the Germans escaped detention. The only answer seems their white
skin.
Men and boys rushed to join the services. Many of them were just
babies, away from home for the first time. The streets were soon glutted
with uniforms.
Those who couldn't fight became block wardens. Windows were
covered with blackout curtains. Homes displayed posters, a blue star
showing how many in their families were in the service, a gold one for
those they lost.
Fashion, food, and entertainment changed. To save yardage, dresses
were barely longer than shorts. If silk stockings got a run, they were sent
to be mended. Women wore leg make-up including a penciled line for
seams, or rayon that took all night to dry and sagged like the skin of an
elephant.
We were issued ration coupons for food and gas. There were lines for
everything. Our mothers saved coupons for sugar to make cookies to send
overseas. In school we sent CARE packages with foot powder, hand knit
socks, warm scarves and V-mail. Meat became a rarity. Our teachers
taught division by explaining how to divide ration coupons for daily,
weekly and monthly allowances of sugar, flour, shoes, and gasoline.
Top movie celebrities joined the Service. Jimmy Stewart joined the Air
Force. Leading men became few, and those left made movies where the
despicable Japanese, German or Italian pilots were evil and gunned down.
Leading ladies sold War Bonds. It was the heyday of Swing and the most
popular orchestra leader, Glenn Miller, went overseas to entertain the
troops. His plane was lost over the English Channel.
Most of the movies were filmed in black and white and our thinking
and propaganda reflected the same lack of color. Anyone who wasnt a
white Anglo Saxon suffered discrimination. With all our troubles, the war
in America was far different from the suffering in other countries.
In the Fifties, I traveled to Europe and saw what those parts of the
world suffered. In England, bombed-out craters remained. In Italy,
December 7, 1941 Fauna Perkins 6
buildings were riddled with bullet holes. The attitude, fortitude,
sophistication and philosophy of the people proved an eye-opener. In my
narrow-minded view, America won the war. We knew more than anyone.
We walked on water. Even Japan surprised me. I loved its beauty. My
understanding underwent a metamorphosis as a result of those trips.
It seems strange to have reached the age that I write about history I
lived throughbut I cannot rewrite it. World War II was a popular war, as
wars go, but the stars in our eyes when it ended deluded us into thinking it
was the war to end war. In retrospect, we've been at war ever since and
peace is only a dream. How very sad.
!
An Irish Tale Bob Callan
Jake O'Keegan had been Liam Riley's best friend since fifth grade at
Brooklyn's Fremont Grammar School, thirteen years ago. It was not a
coincidence that Jake and Liam, as well as Jake's brothers and sisters, all
loved horses. Their father, Sean O'Keegan, was a member of New York's
renowned mounted police force. Sergeant O'Keegan had been a hero,
awarded many decorations for meritorious service. He had found lost kids,
saved lives and apprehended serious criminals.
His horse, Shamus, was held in only slightly less esteem by the
neighborhood children, and it was considered a signature honor to be
allowed to feed oats or the occasional apple to this revered steed.
Unfortunately, there were no nearby stables to house Shamus, so they only
rarely got this opportunity. His home was in the Police Stables at the east
end of Central Park, but this did not hamper their admiration for Shamus
and his kind. Their love affair for these princely animals was kept alive by
the books they read and the Western movies they saw.
Over the years, Liam spent many happy hours in Jake's house. He
admired the framed photos depicting Sergeant O'Keegan receiving awards.
Shamus always appeared in these pictures and often the O'Keegan family
as well. They claimed Shamus was smiling in most of them.
An Irish Tale Bob Callan 7
Viewing the pictures, Liam became less interested in the smiling horse
or, for that matter, the O'Keegan familywith the exception of one. In the
pictures, Molly, the second oldest girl, changed over the years. She grew
from a freckle-faced, carrot-topped tomboy into a beautiful twenty-one-
year-old sweet Irish Colleen.
Molly believed she knew Liam better than did her siblings, who
seemed unaware, or didn't speak of, his many sterling qualities. She
admired his intelligence and his knowledge of the world around him. She
loved his friendliness and his concern for people. All the neighbors were
impressed by his willingness to lend a helping hand when called upon.
Only one thing bothered her: like most Irishmen, he talked too much.
At twenty-four, Liam held a job as an accountant for Air Lingus. Partly
through his intervention, Molly was now a flight attendant for this same
company. Flying for an assignment in Ireland, Liam arranged to be on a
flight with Molly, but there was little opportunity to talk privately on the
plane. So the day before their return, he called her cell phone to invite her
to a party on the coming Saturday at Belmont, the New Yorks race track.
He was counting on her love of horses to influence her acceptance. To his
delight, Molly agreed to the date.
For her part, Molly had always admired Liams Irish good looks. If
only he didn't talk so much. After hanging up, she thought about his
penchant for long monologues. But, hey, she laughed softly: I can take
care of that because I know how to shut him up.
!
Markes Alice Bonner

The young woman screamed. You cant stop me from getting my
education.
Please stop yelling, I said. The orientation program started thirty
minutes ago. Youll need to come back in two weeks.
I had never encountered a student who was angry because of being
denied an education. I wondered if I would see her again.
Markes Alice Bonner 8
I worked as college and career advisor at Olympic High, a large
continuation school in northern California. I organized bi-monthly
orientations for new students. If students were in danger of dropping out
and all other interventions failed, they were referred to Olympic. It was
our job to find ways to motivate and encourage them.
Most people thought Olympic was the place for losers. We considered
ourselves lucky to work at an alternative school, where a unique
curriculum and long relationships helped students otherwise turned off.
Many issues prevented our kids from being successful: homelessness,
addiction, boredom, mental illness, being unloved or learning disabled.
Their skill levels ranged from second grade to college. They had only one
thing in common: they were significantly behind.
Staff members at Olympic loved these kids. Teachers tried to find
ways to make learning interesting and the students valued. Administrators
and staff were understanding, yet firm. My job was to give the kids hope:
they could not only graduate on time but could do anything they wanted
with the rest of their lives.
Two weeks after our first encounter, Markes came to orientation on
time. We explained how the program worked. Students earned credits
based on the amount of work they completed. If a student worked hard
they could fast track, catch up and graduate.
Markes was respectful. As people left after orientation, I went to her.
Im really glad to see you. I dont want to keep you from getting an
education. We will will do everything we can to help. I smiled and stuck
out my hand.
Markes slowly reached out. Her huge grin was contagious. Im sorry,
Ms. Bonner. I was just so mad that day. I knew I was late, but I really
wanted to get into school.
Come see me when you get settled. You can earn credits working
with me.
At Olympic, class sizes were small, and we spent as much time
counseling as teaching.
Markes was motivated, independent and bright. She was open about
her family situation. Her father had ten children by four different women.
Her mother was in prison. Markes and her one full sister spent much of
their growing up years in and out of the foster system. Markes currently
Markes Alice Bonner 9
lived with a couple who took in strays. It was as close to a family as
shed ever had.
Despite the challenges, she had a dream. She loved animals and
wanted to become a veterinarian. But first she would be a nurse, so she
could put herself through vet school. I encouraged her to make a plan and
begin to take small steps.
Shortly before graduation, I asked Markes to stop by my office. How
would you like to visit the veterinary school at Davis?
Her bright brown eyes opened wide. Youre kidding!
My brother knows dean of the school. I set up a visit.
Ms. Bonner, you are my angel.
Times like this made my job worth the difficulties of dealing with
flaky, angry, depressed teenagers. Markes and I drove to Davis the week
before graduation. A student walked us around the large animal clinic. We
watched a horse undergo eye surgery. I didnt know whose eyes were
bigger, the horses or Markes.
*
Eight years later Markes pursues her dream. After graduation, she
moved to Phoenix where housing and education were cheaper. She worked
three jobs to save money. She found a good job in a hospital, she has a
loving family, and she is ever in charge of her life. We keep in touch on
Facebook. Heres a recent posting.
Resume:
College graduate
Same job 5 years and counting
Homeowner
Proud mother of beautiful, intelligent, healthy, smart, and spitting
image of her mommy!
In a happy relationship with my best friend of 6 years
God fearing
Blessed, healthy, educated, financially set, well taken care of
Everything bought and paid for, in my name... Started from the bottom
now I'm here.
!
Courage of a Kind Leatrice Callan 10
My husband, Bob, and I had booked a room on North Uist, an island some
sixty miles off the northwest coast of Scotland. From there we hoped to
visit the small, uninhabited island of Heisker, twelve miles west of North
Uist where his father was born. We were delighted when our landlady
Mrs. MacCuish, told us she had run into Donald MacDonald, who was
sailing to Heisker to sheer sheep and would take us along.
We arrived at Solas, our point of departure, at seven in the morning. A
small shing boat was anchored in the bay. I asked a man standing on the
pier if we would be ferried over from the shore. "Nay, lass," he said. "Now
why would we be doing that? We've all this bit to load." He pointed to a
large motor and piles of other gear, as well as what appeared to be fencing.
"And these lads are going as well," he said, indicating two men, two teen-
aged boys and a black and white dog. I wondered how on earth all of us,
along with the equipment could possibly t into the modest craft.
Even as we spoke, Mr. MacDonald was bringing the boat around.
When it was snuggled up to the pier, I leaned over to see a dark iron ladder
that looked a hundred feet long, slanting from the boat to the pier. I don't
do well with heights.
When all the equipment, the crew and Bob were on board, it was my turn.
Alistair, the man I had spoken to earlier, instructed me take hold of the two
vertical bars stuck into the pier at the head of the ladder. My hands must
have been noticeably shaking, for as I stepped down onto the rst couple
of rungs, he kept assuring me that I was doing ne and to just take it slow
and easy. As long as I could cling to the vertical bars, it wasn't too bad, but
when it came time to let go and take hold of the ladder, I lost heart. I think
I moaned, "Oh, dear.' I must have looked terried because he hunkered
down and put his hand on my left shoulder.
"You're doing just ne, lass," he said, as he gently began prying the
ngers of my right hand from the vertical bar. "Just let go of the bar and
take hold of the ladder. I won't let you fall. He tightened his grip on my
shoulder. I was left with little option but to grasp the ladder with my free
hand. It was wet from the morning mist and incredibly cold, but solid. All
right. I could do this. "That's it," Alistair said. "Good, now the other hand.
There now, you're on your way. Slow and easy."
I managed a nervous smile of thanks and began carefully descending. I
was relieved to nd that the ladder was straight up and down, not leaning
inward.
Courage of a Kind Leatrice Callan 11
The men below must have become anxious about my ability to hang
on because they kept calling up words of encouragement and praise for my
progress. One of them even ascended the ladder part way. I began to feel
quite heroic.
When my feet were nally on the ships railing, several pairs of hands
helped me to the deck, and I was assisted to my seat beside Bob on a
bench built into the stern of the boat.
Our voyage to Heisker had begun.
!
Not A Date Mary Shepherd

Its not like its a real date, Jill rationalized. After all he cant really be
interested in someone like me. Look at me. Im forty, dumpy, and have
two disabled adopted children.
I just want to see The Jerk, and he was interested, too. Thats all. Dont
expect anything to come of it.
Jill continued to get ready for her non-date with Karl. He was nice
enough, nothing to get excited about, though. His shaggy beard hid most
of his face, so she wasnt sure what he really looked like. All she could see
were the blue green eyes under his bushy eyebrows. Jills girls popped into
the room.
Hes here, they chimed. Susie had a reserved smile, but Abby was
bubbly with anticipation.
Jill gave last minute instructions to Susie. No TV until youve both
finished your homework. No phone calls. If anything comes up, call Trish
up the street. Shes knows youll be home alone. Abby, remember, Susie is
in charge. Do as she says, and be good.
The girls nodded, as they trooped into the living room to stare at the
man. Karl stood there in his oversize jacket, blue workpants, and white
tennis shoes. Jill noticed he had tried to comb his shoulder-length brown
hair, without much success. With a final farewell to the girls, she and Karl
left.
The people at work assured me Steve Martin is funny in this, Jill
said. I hope theyre right. She was nervous about being with this
unknown man on her own. Up to now, she had only seen him at the
weekly singles club volleyball game. She kept up a running prattle to hide
Not A Date Mary Shepherd 12

her shyness. He answered in monosyllables. This is going to be a long
night, she thought.
As they parked his ancient Jeep pickup, Jill had a panicky moment.
Since she had invited him, should she offer to pay? Were they going
Dutch? Was he treating? Oh God, what to do? I havent been out with a
man in years. What are the rules? Karl escorted her to the ticket window,
and before she could say anything, he said, Two, please.
That took care of that, she thought. Wonder if he wants any popcorn.
But they walked past the refreshment stand and entered the show. The
second feature had already begun. Jill and Karl stood for a moment letting
their eyes adjust to the dark.
Jill froze. The second feature, Animal House, had already started. They
had come in on the scene of the freshman lying in bed with his passed-out
date. A tiny devil on one shoulder was urging, Fuck her. An equally tiny
angel on the other shoulder was piously telling him, No, No.
Jill didnt know what to do. Should she suggest they leave? Do they
find a seat and get settled? Should she apologize for getting him to go with
her? What must Karl think of her for choosing this movie? She opted to
find a seat and burrow deep within the cushion.
Animal House ended and The Jerk played. It was funny, but, after the
initial shock, Jill enjoyed Animal House more. At the end of The Jerk,
Karl said, Lets see the beginning of the first movie to see how that scene
fit. Jill expected to watch it until the fucking scene, but they stayed for
the entire film.
They left the theater laughing, and stopped at Baskin and Robbins for
a cone before heading home. Jill relaxed. This non-date wasnt so bad

!
It Was Only A Game... Frieda Feen
After detention, one of the older looking guys went to the packy and
bought wine.
Using papers soaked in hash oil, they rolled a fat joint grown from
seed Schenk brought back from Nam.
It was a Tuesday; her mothers canasta night, her asshole Fathers late
work night with Joe. They could go to her house.
It Was Only A Game... Frieda Feen 13
Jimmy brought his fathers gun and some bullets, the only novelty of
the evening. He opened the chamber, put in one bullet, spun and shut the
chamber.
How bout a little roulette? You put the gun to your head, pull the
trigger, pass it on. Pretty good odds, four of us, six chambers, one bullet.
Jimmy handed the gun to John, John held it and passed it to Jason,
Jason put the gun to his head crossed his eyes stuck out his tongue. The
guys laughed.
Jason gave her the gun. She held it, felt the familiar sensation of lead
coursing through her veins, the connection between the bullet and her
despair.
Slowly, she willed the tonnage of her hand to her temple, pulled the
trigger. A click. Nothing.
She turned the gun and fired a perfect round hole through the sheet
rock.
Dead center into her Fathers pillow.
The Very Thought of You Frieda Feen
The very thought of you
She cast a coy sideways glance,
Makes my heart sing
below the frame,
her hand slides slowly up his thigh.
The touch of your hand is like heaven
A black velvet curtain away from the carney crowd,
the flash
catches his shy surprise.
I give myself in sweet surrender
The throb of promise,
in black and white.
My one and only love.
!
Dolly Patty Joslyn 14

I found the doll's head in what I was thinking would be the silverware
drawer in the house Id just bought. It was a red head. Wild, curly locks. I
wondered about her body, if, and when I might find it. The small head I
held in the curved palm of my hand, thinking maybe I should bury it. After
all, this was a new beginning. I could offer it the same respect I gave to the
silver Saint Joseph Id buried upside down in the yard I left behind. The
doll looked as if she had once worn lipstick, almost a red. Before burying
her, I thought I should offer her a haircut, tame her down before tamping
her down under. I had a tiny pair of scissors in my overnight bag. They
belonged to my grandmother, and were so worn I could see through the
eye of the bird they were shaped as. She used them to mend.
When I grabbed onto the head to make the first cut, something in the
house seemed to shift. It was a weep. There was no other word for the
noise until it got a bit louder. I put the head down and walked into the
front room, the room I thought would be become my library. Great light
and a window seat covered in a pink and green winding ivy pattern. The
cry seemed to come from the south-facing wall. I looked outside and
thought, cat. I went back to the head and my project. It jumped in my
hand, and I dropped it. The whining wail started back up, and I wondered
if the cat had a name and a home. Maybe I could it make it mine, leave
some tuna on the porch and hope for the best.
I picked up the head and noticed small round circles penciled around
the thin neck. I looked at it closer and I swear I saw a tear fall from her
faded plastic eyes. My own face now wet with fear. The circles, on closer
look, were tiny beads. Magenta and turquoise. Wrapped tightly around her
neck, too tightly was all I could think. I had a strand very similar. They
were from a visit to New Orleans. It was the week after Mardi Gras so
things were on sale and I thought the beads would make great gifts, but
when I got them home they held a smell so rank I had to throw them away.
Now, as I held the head, this old and terribly familiar smell filled the
kitchen. I looked down into the tiny face and asked myself what I should
do? Since I talk to myself out loud, the words sat in the room with me. I
thought, throw it out. This was right before she asked me my name. I
looked down at the tiny hollow thing and a chill ran down both my arms.
She felt it and shivered.
The space where her teeth should opened, and she let out a cry so old
Dolly Patty Joslyn 15

and pure I wrapped her in a dish towel and put her in my pocket thinking
to warm her up. This before I had time to think the one word: crazy. She
sounded muffled and alone, so I took her out and put her back in the
kitchen drawer. I closed it and walked out on the front porch. I rang the
doorbell, my doorbell, and waited for someone, anyone, to let me in.
!
The Gnomes Arrive Orah Young
From The Old Woman, Chapter 10
A crash coupled with a phosphorescent flash awoke Adi. At the center of
the incandescent room danced three little men singing, We did it, we did
it.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her mouth open in astonishment, her
eyes adjusting to the brilliant light.
There, in the bright beam danced the three Gnomes wearing brightly
colored felt wool shirts, brown leather jerkins, short trousers, long striped
socks and pointed leather shoes with silver buckles. No more than three
feet tall, each sported a ponytail and a long, stiff dark beard.
The three gnomes halted, smiled at Adi and then broke into a dance
again. They stamped, slapped each others hands and chortled, We did it,
we knew we could, were the best, the brightest, the most Abruptly,
they stopped and turned back to Adi, who was still sitting on the edge of
her bed, too astonished to speak.
Hello, Adi, how are you? How do you like the jewels we sent you?
But Adi was too dumbfounded to respond.
We thought you might enjoy them. Even though youll have to give
them away soon so Josh can pay for the invasion. But never mind, well
get you more.
Invasion?
Yes, thats what is going to happen pretty soon.
All three little men talked at the same time, their words tumbling over
each other.
The Gnomes Arrive Orah Young 16
From The Old Woman, Chapter 10
At last Adi managed to assemble her thoughts. Who are you and how
on earth do you know whats going on here?
Oh, Witch Tuatha and Wizard Deosil are our good friends, they keep
us informed. Theyve been following your journey for quite some time.
We know all about you and Bart.
Adi became more surprised by the moment. And how did you get
here?
Telekinetic transportation, they cried in unison.
Telewhat?
How do you think we get your jewels to you?
Just then another bright white light illuminated the attic and a pile of
sparkling diamonds seemed to grow out of the wooden floor.
All three Gnomes cried in unison. Here they are and about time too.
How did you do that? Adi thought she must be dreaming.
Simple enough - Telekinetic transportation, replied the Gnomes in
unison. Thats going to give Lash Dart a thing or two to worry about.
The three little men started laughing and dancing again and slapping
their thighs.
Their noise awoke Bart, who sat up wide-eyed.
Well hello Bart, cried one of the Gnomes. Welcome to our
celebration.
Who are you? asked Bart
Im Wollin, this is Thelin and thats Scott. Were a firm of jewelers to
kings and queens and opera singers. You may have heard of us, were
quite famous.
At least we were famous once, muttered Thelin.
But now we are free, well be famous again they said together.
They began to laugh and dance and slap their thighs again.
Whats an opera singer? Bart whispered to Adi who had crossed the
room to sit next to him.
Ill tell you later.
The bright light now concentrated itself entirely within the mound of
diamonds, casting a rainbow of colors on the walls and attic ceiling.
Adi placed her hands over her ears and closed her eyes.
The Gnomes Arrive Orah Young 17
From The Old Woman, Chapter 10
Stop, I need to understand what this telekinetic thing is all about. And
please talk one at a time. I cant hear myself think.
The Gnomes stopped dancing and stood in a row before her. Ill explain
everything, said Wollin. Before we were captured by Red Thunder we
were a part of a guild of magical jewelers. Guild jewelers are trained to
harness gems natural energy. We use that energy to transport them
telekinetically.
Scott continued the explanation. Thats the way we send jewels to our
customers. But, we also send them at no charge to people like you, Adi,. as
a reward for doing good deeds. Since we were captured weve been trying
to find a way to transport ourselves the way we dispatch our jewels. We
thought that since we sent you some of our finest jewels you wouldnt
mind if we sent ourselves to you. You dont mind do you?
!
Live and Learn Susan Fisher
You're not dying again, are you? I knew I could pray and beg, but I had no
control over this piece of crap, always conking out at the worst possible
time.
Mama, I need a new computer. Its shutting down again and I have a
lot to write over the weekendIve got a paper due Tuesday. It was worth
a try to guilt her out, but shes a hard nut to crack.
Emily Jones, cut the whining. You know Im saving money for a new
one, but you have to get through this semester. Go to the library and use
one of theirs. She talks to me as she scrubs the old Formica counter in our
minute kitchen. Shes a woman who never sits down, who never stops
moving. Its exhausting to watch her.
I hate the nasty long route to the New York City Public Library. My
school is very demanding; they take great pride in turning out Brearley
Girls. We are supposed to be intellectually fearless, destined to become
Live and Learn Susan Fisher 18
thought-provoking creators and leaders of tomorrow. If I work like the
devil and believe in myself, my teachers tell me I can become anything I
want to be. My mother is sure its true. I try to visualize my future and
keep moving forward, but sometimes I wish I could go out dancing, or
stand on the corner joking around with friends like my neighbor Liza does.
No time for that.
On the subway, a young metrosexual scrunches his slim haunches into
the small space beside me. Hes wearing skinny jeans, perfectly scuffed
boots, and a leather jacket topped by a beautiful woven scarf wrapped
around his neck a couple of times. His curly hair is just the right amount of
messy and his jawline sports a touch of coppery stubble. I picture him in a
magazine ad with his arm draped over my shoulder, my eyes huge and my
lips as red and moist as berries.
Are you okay? he asks. You look like youre about to tip over.
Im fine. Thanks for asking. And they say New Yorkers dont pay any
attention to their fellow menor women.
Yeah, sure. He takes out his iPhone and becomes one with its screen.
At the library, I get into the zone. My notes and my rough copy
magically transform into a coherent and convincing paper on
Shakespeares use of supernatural elements in his plays. I wonder what it
would be like to see the ghost of your dead father, or, much worse, the
ghost of a man youve murdered. Would it be helpful to have old hags
reveal your future? It didnt seem to work out well for Macbeth, so maybe
not. Some days Id give the world for a hint of my life to come. Id like to
know if all the work I do, and all the effort my mother makes on my
behalf, are worth it. No one can accuse either of us of demanding
immediate gratification. But are we suckers, slaving away for a future that
cant be known?
I think of poor Edgar Allen Poe. Of Aubrey Beardsley. Of every tragic
person I can recall who met a quick end because of bad habits, or bad
health, or accident, or war, or by their own hand. There is nothing certain
in this world. Maybe nihilism is the way to go. Eat, drink and be merry,
for tomorrow we may diethis is apparently not a genuine quote.
The metrosexual is in the subway car on my way home. Hes reading a
book about Kurt Cobain this time. I feel as if I sort of know him now, so I
Live and Learn Susan Fisher 19
ask, Do you think its worth it to live a tortured life like Cobains? Does
writing some nice songs make up for unhappiness?
Youre a funny kid. Are you serious?
Yeah. What do you think?
I think the only things that gave him happiness were his music and
his baby.
Youre saying the things he worked hard on were worth it even if they
didnt give him contentment?
They gave him the most contentment he was capable of.
Thanks.
For what?
Your perspective.
When I walk into the apartment, my moms asleep at the dining table,
head cradled on her forearms. Next to her is a basket of folded clothes, and
I smell soup simmering on the stove. Her face looks sweet, like a babys. It
occurs to me that she isnt an unhappy person. Not rich, not much time for
relaxing, living far from her homeland in a small apartment with a grumpy
teenageryet not unhappy. And never doubting for an instant that she can
change our situation for the better, or that Im capable of a meaningful life,
a life worth living. Shes no nihilist. I choose not to be one, either.

!
Conversations With my Mother Carol Refell
Good morning. How's my favorite Scotswoman today?
You're late. It's past ten. I was worried.
Traffic on the Beltway was backed up.
You should have called.
I did. You have the phone off the hook.
Hmm. What's in the bag? Apples? Make sure they are fujis. The
ones you brought me on Thursday were a bit mealy.
Conversations With my Mother Carol Refell 20
These are fine. Did you like the wool I sent? I see the black and
silver skein in your basket.
It would make a nice scarf.
It's difficult to knit withscratchy. You left the price tag on. They
really saw you coming, didn't they? The box cost twenty dollars. I saw the
postage.
Well, I sent you the nightgown and Mendocino chocolates, too. You
love those.
Don't send any more. I ate two and I was in the bathroom all night.
All right. What are you knitting?
Another scarf for poor children. I can't remember the patterns I used
to do. Do you remember the sweaters I knitted for James and Morgan
when they were bairns?
I do. They were beautiful. Remember the snowsuit you knitted for my
teddy bear because you said you might never have grandchildren, so he
was it? A year later, James was born.
What do you think of the scarf?
Um, it's colorful. How many different wools did you use?
I'm just using up remnants.
Well, I hope some child wants a kaleidoscope of a scarf.
Hmph. There's that smell from the kitchens. Fish for dinner tonight.
Always fish or chicken, chicken or fish. For dessert, it's cake. White cake,
yellow cake, brown cake. It's terrible. Thank goodness for ice cream.
What's in the fridge? Jello? Bananas? Sugar?
This place is so expensive. I take extra, just in case.
In case of what? Oh, never mind. You know I'll bring you anything
you need. Speaking of that, I have a present for you.
A what? Oh, present. Not like the flowered nightgown you sent in
that awful plummy color.
You know, Ma, you are not easy to give presents to. You don't like
anything and you are too blunt about it.
I'm too what?
Blunt.
That's not true. Give me the perfect thing and I'll like it. Speaking of
that, James sent me some strange soap for Mother's Day. It's cubes in a
Conversations With my Mother Carol Refell 21
tiny box. Your son has strange ideas. I phoned him and said thank you, but
save the money next time. Do you want it?
No. Keep it and give it to some other unsuspecting victim.
Give it to him? Who?
A victim, not him. Oh, never mind.
Well, it's eleven o'clock, so I have to walk to the clinic and get my
pills. Get my walker. I have to hurry. The tennis will be on soon. I want
to see Andy Murray playing at Wimbledon. It's a pity you never played
tennis. You will need to go soon. It would be easier if you lived down the
street and visited every day. I miss you, lovey.
Mmm. I know. Careful, don't hit the door.
I know how to manage my walker. I'm not senile like some old ladies
around here.
True, but aren't you old at ninety-five?
Alive? Of course I'm alive.
No, ninety-five. Never mind. By the way, how's your humidifier? I
hope I fixed it.
My what?
Humidifier. Hu-mid-i-fi-er.
Your what's on fire?
Silence. We look at each other. We laugh until tears come to our eyes.
She dies two months later.
!
Snouts Bill Baker
Snouts? I said.
Snouts. You got a banana in your ear, sonny? Venture capitalist Dr.
Elmore Gawking, CEO of Elmores Mufflers, squinted at me. Now I
recognize you: Sam Spud, Financial Advisor to the Rich and Gullible?
You look fatter and a lot more honest on TV, Mr. Spud. He grinned and
winked. Honest or not, you were right about the pork futures market. I
made a killing, thanks to you.
Snouts Bill Baker 22
Youre most welcome, Doctor. Basic commodities deserve a place in
every portfolio. But each client is different, and Im looking forward to
working you over personally. We shook hands like old friendsa good
beginning. What could possibly go wrong? Tell me about your pork belly
success, Doc.
Not much to tell, Sam. I checked out bellies. Too many whiz kids at
the table, so I went for snouts, with an opening bid of one penny. I got the
entire production for 2014. The first shipment of 17,000 pounds of fresh
market snouts arrived this morning.
I cant say Im familiar with snout futures. I can call research.
No need. They run it out of the back of a shipping container on Pier
38, across from the sea lions. I am the king of pig snouts, and I can use
every dang one of them. I slip one over the exhaust pipe of any vehicle,
yank the zip tie tight, and youre on your way. My shops will install the
first all-organic, free-range snout muffler, with a lifetime guarantee, for
only $99.95.
Now what you want to be doing is stop advising and start selling.
Steer your investors to me, and sign them up for shares of the IPO: only
$99.95 a share. I do love round numbers, dont you?
Who doesnt? Ill shop it around for you, Doc. The usual 20% sales
commission?
He didnt blink at twenty, double the usual ten. I wondered, was he
trying to hustle a hustler? Not a dime of my own money was at risk. What
could possibly go wrong?
Sales were slow until Public Health, Food and Drug, Interstate
Commerce, and the FBI began investigations. My clients figure any
venture that violates so many laws and regulations must be highly
profitable. Orders for hundreds of shares were coming in. I had to
subcontract a phone bank in Bangladesh.
On Friday, I stopped by with the weekly duffel bag of cash. Doc
greeted me with big red weepy eyes. Im so sorry, Sam. You heard about
Dearborn Lakes, Minnesota?
Never heard of the place.
And you wont, ever. Gone, wiped off the face of the earth. Turns out
when snouts desiccate from exposure to exhaust, they ignite at plasma
temperatures.
Snouts Bill Baker 23
The survivors?
No survivors.
Thats terrible, I said, but whats that got to do with me?
In the sales prospectus, you personally guaranteed the safety and
product utility of the snouts.
I did?
You did. You take the bullet for all of us. This morning the Feds froze
your commission account, which I need as collateral to bring the holes
into full production to save us.
The holes? What holes?
The freeze-dried miniature black holes, Sam. Take a look at this
model. I dont have time to explain it in 600 words or less, but believe me:
this little device will trap every atom of pollution and send it where the
sun dont shine. Its all theoretically possible.
He gripped my shoulders and shook me like a bobble-head. Say you
believe me, Sam.
Of course. What choice do I have? Besides
We said it together: What could possibly go wrong?
!
06 Zinfandel Zelda Zuniga

It's as simple as a bottle of 2006 Edmeades Zinfandel with no one to share
it with.
Saved for a celebration, a party for two, a reconciliation or new
meeting. You'd wow him with this bottle; we'd celebrate this win or that
recognition. It's a bottle to rejoice with, or just to make a time special.
You'd open with him, the '06 Zin. You bought it years ago, saving it for the
special day in your dreams.
I live alone. Eat alone, hike alone, ride my bike alone. All alone, and
whilst I enjoy my days, wake up with a smile; sometimes, I think, if I
finally meet "him", life would be all the mo bettaas they say.
I met with a volunteer group at our local gardens this morning, worked
for five hours. We planted dahlias and begonias, enjoyed witty banter and
A Bottle of Zinfandel Zelda Zuniga 24

roughhousing, teasing, relentless teasing, as if in competition for the
wittiest and deadliest verbal wounds.
I went to the harbor for lunch: fish and chips with my favorite obscure
bourbon-brewed stout beer on tap. It was sunny and warm outside near the
water with their repurposed spool tables. A warm fire blazed in a large
section of sliced old pipe. An occasional fishing boat floating by, coming
in from the day. I wondered what they caught, how fruitful was the time
at sea.
Afterwards, I had a meeting about a real estate purchase and consulted
as an investor. It was a short meeting, for then I met with a friend, a fellow
writer, to discuss a book we were thinking of writing.
When she left, I got on my mountain bike, a goal I relished and rode a
few miles as the day wound down, next to the headlands of the Pacific
Ocean, cirrus clouds reaching high into the skies. Stopping by a friends to
return a dish she'd left behind at a recent party.
Sun setting behind scattered cumulus clouds, I rode the headlands
again, wondering what the tourists thought of this day. Realizing how
lucky I made it, to wind up living here. The lighthouse shined its warning
every 21 seconds.
My pause was at the headlands, as the sun laid down for another day.
Red crimson, the clouds turned, spattering the entire sky to the west in
ribbed coloration, folding with the clouds, lighting up in the east to a
salmon color. I turned on my rear red light and sped home, breathing hard,
a chilly air caressing my lungs, challenging each gear to be the last as I
pumped hard up the hills, thighs burning.
I returned to a chilly house. I neglected to bank the fire and no one to
share that task with. I started the fire, then went outside to bask in the
growing garden, to do that what an hour a day could accomplish. I put on
my gloves. It's twilight dark, but I could see enough to weed or plant or
mix soil. Iris's bloomed, thread-leaf maples were leafing, dahlias peeked,
rhododendrons flowered in magnificent shows of huge round pedals, their
bewitching colors bewildering enthusiasts. Frogs croaked, the stream
babbled, ferns were the freshest color green.
As darkness overcame the dusk, the crescent moon was visible. I
couldn't tell the weeds apart from the plants so stopped. I sat in the
hammock chair I'd hung from a tree branch under the magnolia, now
A Bottle of Zinfandel Zelda Zuniga 25

blooming, the scent from it and a nearby beronia wafting in the air.
I opened the bottle of '06 Zin.
!
The Wedding Ring Charles Furey
He is fascinated by the gold rings on the nurses fingers. There, she says,
plumping his pillow, tucking in the corners of the blanket. Youre all
sorted out and ready for the day. He doesnt respond. He is already living
in a different time, remembering another golden ring.
The thin band lies on the tablecloth among the bread crumbs and corn
flakes. She picks it up, twirls it on her finger and puts it down again. Why
wont you have a wedding ring, too? she asks. Afraid youll scare the
girls away?
I dont want any girl but you, he says. Its just that I dont like
wearing a ring.
What about me? she says. Maybe I dont care for rings either.
Girls are different. Girls are supposed to like rings. I dont mind.
Once its over, do anything you want.
Dear God. she says, jumping up. Look at the time. She runs
toward the bathroom to scrub her teeth, brush her hair. At the door she
pauses for his kiss, then dashes for the stairs, topcoat flaring, purse
swinging from her shoulder. Halfway down she calls, See you at the
church. And dont forget the ring.
Bemused by her perfume, her kiss, and his memory of waking beside
her at dawns first light, he forgets her warning, clears the dishes from the
table, folds the cloth neatly by its corners to keep the crumbs from
spilling, carries it to the window and, in one smooth flourish, shakes it out
into the breeze. Its only as he spreads the cloth onto the table again that he
remembers the ring.
From the second story window he sees no glimmer on the bricks
below, no glint among the tangled ivy and drifts of ailanthus leaves. There
are two entrances to the enclosed yard. One is through the cellar door, to
The Wedding Ring Charles Furey 26
which he has no access, the other by a locked gate in the alley fence, for
which he has no key.
Its too late to search for it anyhow. His biology lab begins within the
hour and he cant miss another session in that most onerous of his studies.
Theres only one possible solution. The moment class ends, race
downtown, buy another ring, that must now cost less than the previous
wedding band, rush for the subway, ride to Lindley Avenue, hope hes
lucky enough to catch a J bus. And reach the church on time.
Robert Burns had it right when he wrote, The best laid plans o mice
an men gang aft a-gley. By the time he has the new ring safe in his
pocket its too late to gamble on the subway. So he hails a cab, praying all
the while he has enough money for the fare, and if he gets to the church by
one oclock, a decent tip for the driver.
!
Good Words Robyn Koski
You wrote a timeline on the blackboard: 10,000 hours to be a master. You
said we are all on that timeline somewhere. I passed that 10,000-hour
mark ten years ago in my profession as owner of a frame shop. With
writing, I am about 100 hours in. At my current, accelerated rate, I should
be able to produce a great story in twenty years, by my 78th birthday.
You give prompts every week--a type of writing and its rules. Rules
can be broken, Ive learned, but youll have a hard time getting past an
editor. I begin to learn the class rules: we must be helpful and considerate
and we must be kind above all else.
You tell us, Stories are never finished; theyre abandoned. That scares
me, so I choose to continue a story that has haunted me for a decade. A
fellow student remarks that doing the prompts will lead to being a better
writer, but I dont have time. I must continue until this is done, again.
This is the slow time of year at my job, the only time I can afford the
time taken away from the calculator, order books, razor blades, choppers,
invoices, and goods. Normally I work with my hands and with exacting
marks on a ruler. I work with color, design and dimension. I dress
Good Words Robyn Koski 27
windows and keep my mind attuned to the pulse of the marketplace. This
is different.
Accustomed to waking at 8 am to do paperwork and bookkeeping at
my home office before going to work, I find 6 am will be the new
beginning of my day if Im to reach my 20-year goal. I move my alarm
clock across the bedroom and up on a high shelf, to give myself a fifty-
fifty chance of getting up.
When I do, the two hours of writing feels round and whole, like a good
start to the day--A good page, paragraph, or sentence is like putting the
paper on the back of a finished frame--done, contained, beautiful.
In class, you let us read a few pages a week. We get edited, sweetly,
carefully, by classmates. You edit and give it back the next week. This is
slow going. We must forge ahead, alone, without proper tools.
Then theres the reading: A friend said she moved a chair ten feet
across a room the first time she read aloud. Im told I must stand, and
worry whether my frightened knees will hold my weight. You have mercy
and allow us to sit and read, if we read loud enough. Thats a little better
because theres a desk to hold onto. I am embarrassed when my voice
wavers. I choke up easily. I am impressed with my classmates bravery. I
am moved by my classmates kindness. Im beginning to love them all.
You give us tools. Tell exactly how many. Write numbers this way.
Cut out hads. Get rid of dialogue tags if there are only two people in the
room. Dont write dialogue the way its spoken. Shorten it and get to the
point. Show, quit telling. You remind us to take out all lywords, and
every very should be replaced by damn. I try. Damn, damn, damn
there are a lot of damns in my piece. Then you tell us to remove all the
damns.
You tell us to move things along with dialogue to quicken the story and
add excitement. I write dialogue. It sucks, and also, I learn, it is
impossible, since Im writing memoir. Duh, I finally get it and my cheeks
turn pink. Okay, Ill take it out there and add it somewhere more fitting.
Then you relentjust tell it, you say to us memoir writers. You are
kind. You want us to quit beating around the bush and get it out.
I move along, rewriting each week with whatever new tools Im given.
My house is filling with writing booksupside down on the coffee table,
on the kitchen counter, by my bed. I read a page and get lost again. I worry
Good Words Robyn Koski 28
when I learn stories cant start with a dreamover used and boring. My
story hinges on a dream. Is that okay? Its a true story, but Im learning
that doesnt matter if it isnt plausible.
I should be cleaning the house today. My twenty-six-year-old
daughter, whom I get to see a scant twice a year, is coming for a visit and
were taking a weekend trip up to see my dad. He has an aneurism below
his heart. Hes known about it for years. I cant show him the story Ive
been obsessed byit skewers him. It tells a kind of truth that triggers
aneurisms.
I should be doing the end of the month bookkeeping. I should be filing
sales tax for the quarter. I wanted to make Easter wreaths for the store and
my siblings. I need to cut the lawn. I have to go to the market.
Instead, I am writing.
!
Die Gedanken Sind Frei Holly Tannen
Translation - Author unknown
Die Gedanken sind frei was rst printed in Germany around 1820. Set to
music, it became popular as a drinking song among student fraternities. It
was banned in Germany after the failed 1848 revolution.
In 1935, the guards at Lichtenburg concentration campordered
prisoners to stage a performancein celebration of Hitler's 46th birthday.
Hans Litten, a Jewishlawyer, recitedDie Gedanken sind frei.
I heard it sung in English by Pete Seeger. I couldnt bring myself to
sing My thoughts will not cater/To duke nor dictator, so I decided to try
my own translation.
Die Gedanken sind frei.
My mind is my treasure
Die Gedanken sind frei.
My thoughts give me pleasure
Die Gedanken Sind Frei Holly Tannen 29
Translation - Author unknown
No scholar can map them
No lawyer can trap them
No one can deny
Die Gedanken sind frei.
Die Gedanken sind frei.
My mind gives me power.
Die Gedanken sind frei.
My thoughts freely ower
Though critics may blame me,
Deride me and shame me
My conscience decrees
I think as I please.
Though they put me on trial
And cast me in prison
My thoughts all the while
Give voice to my vision
Obeying no orders
Respecting no borders
My spirit shall y
Die Gedanken sind frei.
!
Good Words 30

Diane Semans
Annelle Karlstad
Sharon Gilligan
Fauna Perkins
Bob Callan
Alice Bonner
Lea Callan
Mary Shepherd
Frieda Feen
Patty Joslyn
Orah Young
Susan Fisher
Carol Refill
Bill Baker
Zelda Zuniga
Charles Furey
Robin Koski
Holly Tannen