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Am I Dead?
This is a story about an experience I had with the Northern lights and my car breaking down. It really happened!
The Northern Lights have always haunted me and thrilled me at the same time. A long time ago I lived in small town in Alberta, Canada. . It was while living here that I had my first experience with the sightings of the Northern Lights. To this day I love to attempt to capture them on canvas and paper so that I can share their beauty with others.
I would like to share one of my experiences while viewing the Northern Lights. I was driving back home late in the morning. The air was cold and crispy. I had been watching the lights dancing across the sky and thinking of how much I would like to wake everyone up to see the sights they were missing. This was the best display I had seen since I had arrived in Alberta. I was driving a Volvo. I hate Volvo's! and I believe this mechanical creature hated me just as much. I had heard rumours before this night that females were being attacked on the school grounds. As I was approaching the intersection before my home the car decided to go dead on me. How perfect I thought! It had stopped right by the graveyard. I have always been uneasy about being near graveyards late at night.
If you were at this intersection the left side has the graveyard and if you crossed the intersection you would be where the school is and behind that would be my old neighbourhood. On the right side would be the other half of the town and if you were to go past the intersection you would find the woods.
Suddenly the Northern Lights did not seem as friendly anymore. I got out of my car and went into town to use the pay phone to call my ex husband to come and pick me up. I placed the quarter in and called our number. I could hear his voice on the other end but when I spoke he could not hear mine. I became uneasier by the moment. I then thought of the retirement home nearby and decided it would be a safe place for me to go to that late at night.
When I arrived at the elderly home I pushed a button from the phone speaker and heard a man on the other end asking who was at the door this late at night. I told him who I was but he could not hear me. He became very angry thinking someone was playing a game with him. My mind; of course, began to remember stories about people dying suddenly and not knowing they are dead. I waited awhile hoping that in his frustration he would come down to the front door to tell me off. He didn't.
I then started to walk around town looking for signs of someone being awake. I saw one house with lights in the windows so I knocked on the door. No one heard me knocking and the door swung open. I did not feel right about walking in and yelled out that someone was at the door. No answer. No one heard me! I continued to walk down the street becoming more convinced that I was dead.
Finally I heard party type sounds and walked to the house. The man opened the door and I told him my story. He was a kind man and drove me home, but I suspect by the look on his wife's face he was in a lot of trouble for helping me. Now I have to wonder; was this my way of waking everyone up to see the Northern Lights?
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Tough Love
I was speaking with a friend today when I realized that my experience as a mother is an experience that needs to be told. This article is being written for the mother or father that is dealing with a child that is going through difficult changes from young child to young adult. This is being written so that as you search the net feeling like the worst parent in the world, and your heart is breaking, tears are falling from your eyes and your so frustrated that you now need to know that you are doing okay. Okay? Read on!
Usually I do not like commercials. In Canada, recently a set of commercials has become my favourite. In one of them it shows a teenager expressing anger towards how strict their parent is. At the end of the commercial the child says thank you for saying no.
I did feel like the worst mom in the world while bringing my daughter up. We had horrible days and I felt like I failed her because of many difficult events that took place. I cried so many times and felt my heart breaking. Frustrated, could barely be a word that would describe me for many years as she went from young child into adulthood. So many things I was unable to protect her from. I truly felt I had failed her and felt horrible for it. One of the lessons I had to learn then is that we cannot protect our children from everything that is out there. There is quite a story here but it is not mine to tell.
My daughter found the children that were allowed to do as they pleased and so in her mind it was difficult to understand why I would not let her do the same things. I was such a mean mom and I know the words she used were a lot worst. Many of these children came from a home where the parents threw money at them to get them out of their hair, or out of guilt because they were not able to spend more time with them. From the point of view of a young child this is great!
My daughter saw that these kids were having a lot of fun. Drinking, smoking and many were taking drugs. Yes I knew. I did learn that she never touched the drugs but with the way she was acting, I believed at the time, she was getting into them. I think the thing that shocked me the most was discovering that in many cases parents had supplied the kids with the drinks, and was even teaching the kids to steal! Many of these kids were allowed out at all hours of the night. My daughter was grounded several times while attempting to join them. I have learnt, since then that she did get out many times without my knowledge. So many things went wrong that I had no control over so I felt I had failed her as a parent. We kept our rules and I hoped one day she would recognize that the rules were kept because I loved her and wanted the best for her. I always let her know that I loved her, as I never wanted her to doubt this. I felt she did through most of her life. I was wrong.
I received a letter from my daughter a few years ago through email. Until I read this letter I felt like a full failure as a mother. In this letter she apologized to me for all of what she put me through. She told me how much she loved me and respected me and what a wonderful mom I am. She explained to me that she always loved me and always respected me and was happy that I had stuck to my guns and was the parent that could say no to her. My no, she told me helped her to grow into a person that could respect all people and herself. I made mistakes, don't get me wrong, and she knows it. What is important is the door is open and we can discuss anything. We both learnt from our experience of being together and this has brought a very deep love between us.
When your going through the rough times try to remember this experience I am now sharing with you. Your child will thank you some day for keeping strong and being the adult that says no. Keep in mind that you often hurt the one you love because you know the one you love, loves you enough, to put up with what you need to express. This thought becomes especially true when children are growing. They are testing their limits with you and they expect you to be strong enough to handle it even though they do not realize why they are doing it. So when your child screams at you and says I hate you, or nasty swear words; smile inside knowing they are saying I love you and I know you won't let me get away with this, and give them the discipline that they need for their actions.
To the parent that reads this and says my child is beyond control so I will not have the same happy ending. Yes I have had the police at my door; the principle on the phone, and people thinking my child was a seed of Satan. Remember this last piece of advice, if you remember nothing else; humour and love is what you need when all hell breaks loose.
There is a group called, Tough Love in Canada. You can find books that have been written by this group that I found really handy. It helped to give me the strength to say no, when so many were telling me to lighten up. I have never gone to their meetings or got in touch with them but I am aware that you can find these groups, and get a lot of assistance from them. They even set up safe houses so that the parents and child can get a break that they often need from each other when things are at there worst.
I end this article with a huge hug for the parent that has read this with tears and I truly hope this gives you gives you the encouragement that you need through this difficult time. To the teenager that is reading this I also give you a huge hug because its not easy being a teenager, and yes you will also write a letter, or call you parent when you become an adult with your own children. This is the way of the human race and yes I have made the phone call.
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The Coffee Shop
Molly hated doing the graveyard shift at the coffee shop, but she loved working the drive-thru window. Normally her manager would not be in working on such a late shift, but Ben was really behind in his paper work. Ben waved as he walked past the counter on his way back to the office. He thanked his lucky stars for the day that Molly had walked in to interview to work at the coffee shop. He felt something for her from the very first day, but because he was management he could never let her know.
Molly waved back to Ben as she spoke through the microphone to her next customer. "Can I help you?"
"Yes I would like two, four by fours and two toasted bagels with garlic and herb." The customer yelled through the intercom.
"Will there be anything else?" Molly inquired.
"No thank you."
"That will be five dollars and fifty cents. Please drive up to the second window."
Molly smiled to herself as she remembered her first week work at the coffee shop and hearing the words four by four. That was the slang for 4 creams and 4 sugars. She still shuttered at the thought of so much sugar. It was amusing to her how the customers would often yell into the intercom not realizing that every word spoken in their car could be heard. Molly laughed at many of the memories she had of conversations that she had overheard that the customers did not realize were heard.
Nothing in the conversation that just took place gave Molly any warning about what was about to happen. Just as she reached out of the window with the coffee to give to her customer, her customer started crying. What Molly did not know was that she looked exactly like her customer's daughter that had just been killed by a drunk driver.
Molly heard another voice screaming through the intercom and she quickly told the other customer that she would get back to him as quickly as possible. She glanced at the upset customer and felt her heart stop as she spied several other cars coming up through the drive-thru lane. How was she going to get this customer out of the way without upsetting her more then she already was, she wondered to herself. "I'm sorry. Is there anything I can help you with?" She offered with compassion. The customer just looked at her and started crying even harder.
The thing about drive-thru customers is that they generally do not have a lot of patience for long line-ups, but once they are in line they are stuck and can't get out like they would if they were in a line up inside the store. A couple of young guys in a Chevy were getting pretty nasty about the whole thing and had started to honk their horn over and over.
Ben heard the noise and wondered what the commotion was all about. At first he chose to ignore it because he was used to hearing impatient customers. After a few minutes he noticed it was getting a lot worse and more cars were honking. "What the devil is going on?" he wondered as he got out of his chair and headed back to the front of the store. He walked over to Molly and immediately picked up on what the problem was and went outside. Gently he explained to the customer that she had to move her car, but she just looked back up to Molly and started crying hysterically. Molly and Ben keep talking to the customer softly and with concern until she started to calm down enough that she could speak. "I am too upset to drive!" she wailed. Ben offered to get into the car and drive her to a parking spot and that she could come in to the coffee shop and he would be happy to talk to her. The customer smiled through tears as she shifted over to the passenger side to let Ben drive the car.
It took another hour before Molly had the line back to normal and no one had to wait any longer than what is normal. She kept glancing over at Ben as he talked to the upset customer. A few hours later the customer left. When Molly's shift was over she looked for Ben to find out what had upset the customers so badly. She remembered the first day she had come for this job and had never wanted to admit to him that she had feelings for him because of the company's policy. She knocked on the office door. Ben opened it and immediately pulled her into his arms telling her how much he loved her. After hearing the customer's story he knew he did not want to waste another moment that he could be spending with the woman that he loved. Now it was Molly turn to cry, but her tears were tears of joy.
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The Typewriter
Warning this is a Horror Story that I would rate with a PG 13
I do agree that I do ask the strangest questions but my questions usually have interesting answers. That is how it came about that I asked this question that will amaze you and haunt you for a very long time.
Jimmy was pounding away on the keys on the keyboard with one of his latest brilliant ideas when I decided to ask him this question. "Why are writers no longer using typewriters?"
He looked at me and glanced around before he answered in a very low voice, "Have you never heard of the story of Hell has no Fury like a Broken Typewriter?"
"No seriously," I laughed, "Why are writers no longer using typewriters?"
He trembled slightly as he responded, "I see you have not heard the story," and his face paled as he knew I would want the details. He glanced around the room again with fear in his eyes. We were in a room full of other writers. Each writer had his or her own little cubical space with a computer and keyboard on a desk. Jimmy seemed uncomfortable about saying another word and I knew I would have to push him.
"Come on Jimmy you can't stop now. You know I want to know the whole story," I said while I batted my baby blue eyes at him.
Jimmy could never resist me and he waved for me to follow him as he went down the hall. We had a lounge that we could use when we needed to take our breaks. Luckily for me no one was in the room at the moment, which I silently said a prayer of thanks. I knew by the way he was behaving that he would not say another word if someone was there.
"Are you sure you want to hear this story," he questioned me as he continued to say, "because once you have heard it you will never be comfortable with writing ever again."
I was too far-gone with curiosity now to have the common sense to tell him that perhaps this was one story that was best unheard. "Of course I want to hear it or I wouldn't have followed you into this room." Besides, I thought to myself, nothing could make me uncomfortable with writing. How foolish us writers can be! Perhaps at this point I should caution, you the reader, that you might be best not to hear this story either. Jimmy's warning is wise but I suspect if you have read this far you too need to hear the truth; despite, the possible discomfort you will gain with this wisdom.
Jimmy proceeded to tell the story and to this day I wish I had, had the good sense to walk away.
It all started back in the early 50's. Sheila was an inspiration writer with one slight draw back. She had a horrible temper. In those days there was no computers like we have today, and most writers worked on typewriters or wrote their work by hand. Perhaps it would have been better if the typewriter had never been invented but, invented it was. Sheila had just bought a used typewriter from a yard sale on the weekend and was excited about giving it, its first test run. Her long fingers gently glided over the keys testing each key carefully until she was fully satisfied that the typewriter was in good condition. Now she was ready for some real creative typing and she started her children's story about the Golden Pumpkin. At first everything went smoothly but as she continued to type one key or another seemed to get stuck, and she would loose her flow as she was typing. The more it happened the angrier she was becoming. The next thing that happened was the ink in the ribbon ran out and when she tried to replace it with a new one, the new one seemed to get jammed into it and wouldn't work correctly. Shelia picked up the typewriter and smashed it to the floor and it felt so good to her that she picked it up again and again while smashing it back on the floor. She laughed as she went into another room to get one of her other typewriters.
When she returned to the room with another typewriter she froze with horror as she saw what appeared to be red energy flames flowing from the typewriter and she shook her head and closed her eyes and looked again before she could believe what she was seeing. The typewriter was laughing a very evil eerie laugh. Two keys were now the eyes glaring at her in their hellish appearance. Q and P no longer seemed to exist and the space bar appeared to now be its lips. The laughter became louder and louder and seem to surround Sheila where she stood. Terror touched her soul as she ran from the room. From behind her she could hear the typewriter screaming at her, "Cursed is the writer who has used me and thrown me away." Sheila was found dead a few days later missing both of her eyes and her lip. In place of her eyes were what appeared to be keys from a typewriter with the letters Q and P written on them and her mouth was sewn shut with the spacebar from the same machine. Her body was slouched over the typewriter with the missing keys.
A panic broke out all over the world as writers from all over were being found dead in this same position and appearance. Soon it was whispered through the writing community that a new way had been found for writers to do their work safely. A writer now works either on paper or on the computer but, it is rumored that occasionally a body is still found with the keys from the keyboard and they are slouched over it. It is a wise writer that treats his or her computer with the respect that it demands. It is also rumored that deep in a publisher's building is a room hidden from public view were a typewriter sits with missing keys and a sign on the door that says do not enter.
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