Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Woodpeckers Don’t Get Headaches (Please finish this story!)

January 21, 2012 by kristalynn


 

For years, I haven’t known what to do with this scrap of a story that I jotted down after a dream one night. So I’m posting it here and opening the floor to any and all ideas about who and what this story is about!

**************************************

Where were you last night? I asked myself the question with all the accusation, fear, and judgment that my family or friends would have leveled at me — if I had any family or friends.

I know what you’re thinking, that I’m a drunk. Well you’re wrong. I have a condition. Not that that makes the blackouts any less black, but I thought you should know. There’s enough about me that’s a mystery, no use bringing false assumptions into it.

So, this morning I am in a tent. That’s new. I still have on my sweatshirt, jeans, and Skechers. That’s good. My head hurts like a woodpecker. That’s to be expected.

Actually, woodpeckers don’t get headaches. There was a research study on it at Harvard or some such esteemed institute of higher learning. Don’t ask me how a person can possibly measure that. But I think it’s still a logical analogy.

Of course, if the woodpecker did feel pain and he thought a little deeper, a little more rationally, he would just stop beating his head on the tree. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that neither people nor animals usually take the rational route or bother to think deep.

But the point is that God liked the woodpecker enough to make it so the little guy doesn’t even feel the pain. I know all about that, being numb in the beat up places.

Okay, so I see that outside the tent, I’m in somebody’s backyard. It’s a nice place, too. There is a fence and honeysuckles and an inground pool. Yep, this is definitely the fanciest place I’ve ended up yet.

Mine isn’t the only tent; there must be a dozen others. And look, there’s a bunny rabbit. He must’ve been the brave one, the one that the others pushed out of the hole to see what’s going on. We catch each other’s eye. Watch out, little buddy, I warn him with my imagined animal telepathy, don’t let them bully you, or you’ll end up under a car, and they’ll be nowhere to be found. Trust me, I know. He just wiggles his nose and hops off.

Josie had a pet rabbit. I wonder what ever happened to it. I suppose when we didn’t come home, there was nobody to feed him and he starved to death. That’s why you can’t let anybody lock you in a cage. You’ve got to be able to get out, to take care of your self. You can’t rely on people. I told my folks that. They took it the wrong way. People have a tendency to do that.

**************************************

Who is this person? Where did he or she come from? What is going on?

??????

Oh, and if you’re interested in more about concussions and the woodpecker, here you go: http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/cocktail-party-physics/2011/10/17/what-woody-the-woodpecker-can-teach-us-about-football/

Posted in Original Fiction | Leave a Comment »

The Beauty of Bridges

January 5, 2012 by kristalynn

I don’t love heights, but I love bridges. To me, the middle of a bridge is the most beautiful spot in the world, literally and figuratively. Because bridges aren’t just for getting from one place to the next; they provide a vantage point to see both where you were and where you are going — if you take the time to pause during the transition.

A lot of the most interesting things in physics and in life happen in transitions. The Great Smoky Mountains are named so due to the ever-present mist, which is water suspended in the transition between a liquid and a gas. Who says physics isn’t beautiful? Anyone who’s felt the moment when a friendship turns into More also knows the beauty of a transition.

There is danger in getting stuck on a bridge, especially when on one side there is relief from what you left behind and on the other side is the hopeful vision of what lies ahead. That point in the middle is pure freedom. Moving forward can be hard, because it means crossing over into reality, which rarely lives up to its possibilities.

Of course, not all transitions are great or interesting or even wanted. But that’s when a bridge is also a friend. It’s going to take you from what you lost to whatever comes next, but it will also provide a safe place to rest in between.

Click below to see pictures of breathtaking bridges across the world:
http://www.webdesignerdepot.com/2010/03/the-worlds-most-beautiful-bridges/

 

Posted in Light Menu, Science & Spirituality | Leave a Comment »

Orphans of Destiny

December 26, 2011 by kristalynn

He grew up on stories of rescued children — of Moses, who, in being rescued became the savior of a civilization, and of Jesus, who was adopted by a father who loved him like his own. “You are meant for great things”, the nuns had said. “Saved children have a special destiny. But for now, you must study and be strong and prepare.”

So he learned reading and math, then science and history and politics and religion.  He would be ready when his saviors came. His friend told him the stories were just fairy tales for orphans. She had been in nine foster homes, and there was no Mary and Joseph, she said. He had to rescue himself.  

Year passed by year, until he turned 18 and had to accept that he would never be the child of legends. So he became a teacher, helping other children to prepare. He taught them history, and told them they could be pioneers in the wilderness of humanity.

But he never knew if his message was heard. They took their tests and handed in their papers and went on to their futures, each wave of students graduating without a lightning bolt of change.

So he left teaching and traveled around the world feeding the poor, himself starving for a call to his destiny. Hundreds took  bowls of nourishment from his hands, but he never felt the spark. Perhaps his purpose was to strive, and in striving he would be an example to others. That’s what he told himself, but he never quite believed it.  

Finally he returned home, studied the stock market, earned his fortune, and gave it away, for education and hunger and adoption. His searching had become hollow. The  world was the same as it had always been. There were still abandoned children struggling for identity, meant only for obscurity, it seemed. Maybe he should have fostered a family himself, maybe he had missed his calling. But now, he was just so tired.

He wasn’t surprised to learn he was dying. He accepted his fate and lay in the hospital bed, waiting for his unremarkable passing. The nurses tried to stimulate him, telling him he still had time. They turned on the television as though he should care.

One day the screen showed a former student speaking to a crowd. “We can do better than the past. We have history to guide us,” she said.  The man shivered. It was not such an original sentiment after all.

The reporter explained that the student was the founder of Orphans of Destiny, a network that connected those who feel small and alone yet meant for more. ”We are rescuing each other,” the student said. She introduced her founding partner, who had been abandoned at three in a country of poverty and now had her college degree.

“A man traveled halfway around the world to feed me. Through his journey, I could see a road from there to here.” She had already reimbursed the donations that funded her adoption and her scholarship and she was herself funding many more.   

With failing strength, the man looked up the website:  From the suffering of the world’s children, a culture learns what it values, holding its own a little tighter, deciding what caring requires. We are the village and we are pioneers.  This site exists so none of us dies alone in the wilderness.

With wavering eyesight, he read the rest: Live as though you were destined for greatness, and the greatness will follow where you lead.

As his vision narrowed to a pinpoint, and the last breath left his body, the man saw a light brighter than lightning or any spark he had imagined, and the last words he heard were,     “Well done.”

 

 

 

Posted in Original Fiction, Science & Spirituality | Leave a Comment »

The World by a 6-year-old

April 17, 2011 by kristalynn

 I started this blog with my niece, Keara, in mind, and have used it as a place to work out some of my thoughts and observations about the world. Today I’d like to share some of Keara’s thoughts and observations, through a collection of her poems — spelling intact.

POEMS ONLY by Keara

Kids
Kids are
small or tall
smart or dum
there kids

Sunny Rainny
Sun Rain always fine
you see it out your window
look outside and then
thats your day

Lolipop
a beautiful rainbow
on a stick

Tirewheel
rolling fast
in a hurry
can not stop

Plant
a lot of dirt on the ground
but when you see a plant
it could be as tall as a tree
or as small as an ant

Sky
a blue distance
way up high

Fireflys
Fireflys
buzzing by
got to go
good bye

Posted in Light Menu | Leave a Comment »

A Shadow Dog’s Promise

March 29, 2011 by kristalynn

     Tonight would be the final test. A perfect night of distractions. Gretchen stirred her batch of special cookies, sure to tempt the town’s children who were gathering on the dock. Shadow balanced on his hind legs with his great, black paws on the cabin windowsill as he sniffed at the darkening dusk. Gretchen had promised Shadow a child, and tonight held their opportunity.

     Another dog would have been agitated into pacing by the escalating commotion outside the boat and the aromas wafting from the kitchenette, but Shadow was still. He was trained to focus.

     Even so, many things could go wrong. One inappropriate bark, a disturbing stare, or a rumble in his throat, and their work over these many months would be for naught.

     A high-pitched whistle spiraled long in the night. Gretchen stopped to watch Shadow’s response. He had one eye on her and one eye on the crowd, and his ears were perked. He knew something was about to happen, but not what.

     Then–BOOM! The sky exploded, and the trees on shore lit in a flash of red and blue and silver and gold. The leaves fluttered and the sky went dark. The children screamed.

     Shadow didn’t move.

     Gretchen put her last batch in the oven and crossed the cabin to pet the Newfoundland pup. “Good boy.” His tail waved slightly in reply.

     While the fireworks continued, Gretchen propped open the cabin door, and Shadow pushed back from the window and trotted out to the deck of the boat. He waited attentively for the party to come to him; people could never resist his big, furry head. As planned, when the fireworks ended and the town’s festivities drifted inside from the chilly autumn air, the teens stepped onto Gretchen’s deck first. A pet for Shadow, then it was so easy to lure them into the cabin with her peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, deliciously forbidden under the town council’s “Guidelines for a Healthy Homecoming”. She needed as many kids as possible to confuse her real purpose for the evening.

     The music blared from the other boats, and the kids were loud. Louder than Shadow had ever experienced. He twitched his ears and moved in from the deck. Gretchen watched him shuffle from position to position as his paws were stepped on and his thick coat was petted, poked, and pulled. Any hint of a growl might scare the kids away, and tonight’s opportunity would be lost. Gretchen realized she was holding her breath.

     But she needn’t have worried. Shadow moved with intention; he was focused on the girl. The girl who lived in the mansion on the lake. The girl whose parents would pay a fortune for her safety. It was the first time Shadow had seen her at the boat. He weaved his way through the legs of the other children, and Gretchen eased into the cabin to watch more closely.

     Shadow wasn’t just looking for a familiar face; he sensed something. Gretchen’s heart beat fast. She hadn’t counted on this happening. Shadow was zeroed in on the girl, impervious to all distractions now. What did he sense? A sweet smell, a tinny taste, a faint ringing that no one else could hear? He reached the girl and nudged her leg. She moved away. He followed. She pushed his head with a laugh. He stepped on her toe. The girl stepped back. He was now between her and the other kids, and her attention was on him. She thought he was playing. He maneuvered her toward the sleeping quarters. Gretchen crossed the room in two strides, pushed the girl onto the bed, and shut the door behind them. The girl let out a small gasp of surprise before she started to convulse. Gretchen passed the device across her chest and triggered an electric shock. The girl went limp. A half-eaten cookie fell from her hand. Shadow stretched alongside her on the bed and pinned her in place with a large paw. Gretchen said, “Good boy,” as she dialed the phone.

     “We have your daughter. Come to the dock.”

     By the time the girl’s parents arrived, the party had relocated to another boat. Gretchen was holding Shadow by a leash when she met them at the door. “Where is she? Is she alright?” The mother pushed past Gretchen when she saw her daughter sitting on a chair in the cabin. The father handed Gretchen an envelope. “Worth every penny,” he said.

     A few minutes later, the family left the dock with the dog on the leash between them. “Mom, Shadow knew I was going to have a seizure, and he told me! Gretchen used my nerve stimulator to stop it, and nobody else even knew! Can you believe I went to a party all by myself?” The girl knelt down to hug Shadow. “You’re going to help me do lots of things from now on, aren’t you, boy?” His tail wagged heartily in response. Her parents exchanged a teary, grateful glance and looked back at Gretchen. Through the cabin window, Gretchen returned a wistful smile, for the puppy she had trained, who had passed every test, and who was now on his way to a new home with a child of his own.

 

Read more about seizure dogs at the Epilepsy Foundation website.

 

 

Posted in Original Fiction, Science & Spirituality | Leave a Comment »

Everyday Utopia

March 8, 2011 by kristalynn

My 6-year-old niece announced one day, “Whatever is good for Krista is good for everyone.” If only that were true…

   – Everyone would know how to swing dance.
   – We’d only say please and thank you and sorry when we meant it.
   – Each political party would assume the other party is moral, too, and listen from there.   
   – No kid would go to school in fear — of other kids, of teachers, or of learning. 
   – The soft bigotry of low expectations would be eradicated.
   – There’d be no onions in the potato salad.


What would be part of your everyday utopia?

Posted in Light Menu, Politics & Government | 2 Comments »

To Potential Employers on Behalf of Part-time Writers

February 27, 2011 by kristalynn

If you’ve ever agonized about telling a significant other those three big little words, then you know what it feels like every time a writer pulls words from her heart and sends them out into the world — deciding whether or not to say it and imagining all possible reactions, the sickening wait while your confession travels on a sound wave, and the obsessive rehashing of the moment in your mind, analyzing the details of the response.  Except for a writer, instead of confessing to one person, publishing an essay or story means forwarding her I Love You e-mail to all of the friends on her contact list, her judgmental Uncle Bob, and a variety of strangers.

It also means exposing her soul-bearing thoughts to potential employers and clients in the non-writing world. Because for the vast majority of authors, writing is necessarily just a part-time gig. It’s no wonder so many authors choose to write under a pseudonym. (However, as this article about blogger teachers indicates, anonymous is not synonymous with unidentifiable.)

I made a conscious choice to write this blog under my own name, because I think very hard before I speak, in person and on paper. But I can’t say that I realized all of the ramifications before I began. No matter how carefully you word an essay, if it is worth thinking about, there are going to be people out there with a different opinion — and those people may judge you professionally based on their personal interpretations without ever talking with you. That’s the risk you take when you write.

I never write anything I wouldn’t show to my mother. But while I don’t mind my mother thinking about me in a fictional conversation with my boyfriend, do I necessarily want a recruiter, my boss, or human resources to think about me in that context? No. But that’s the risk you take when you write. 

A web search is a fact of the professional background check these days. So beyond rehashing what was said in an interview, a part-time writer also has to wonder what effect his or her public writing will have on his or her “real-world” career. So below are a few things I’d like to share with the people whose job is to judge my professional (non-writing) capabilities, to keep them from jumping to the wrong conclusions:

  • When I write about the voices in my head, it’s okay; I’m just referring to my characters. I can tell fiction from reality.
  • My cats write my blog sometimes, but don’t worry; they refuse to go to meetings in my place.
  • The characters’ actions in my stories do not necessarily represent what I would do in the same situation. In fact, they are often exactly the opposite; I think of something I would never do or say in real life and let my characters try it and see what happens.
  • Just because my character advocates it, it doesn’t mean I advocate it. I write fiction from inside their heads, not my own. (Refer to first bullet.)
  • My essays are just one perspective at a point in time, a snippet designed to provoke thought and conversation; they are not my entire world view set in stone. 
  • Just because I say it on this blog doesn’t mean I will say it in the boardroom. Politics and religion aren’t appropriate subjects for the dinner table, either.
  • If you disagree with the viewpoints or beliefs in my essays, it doesn’t mean we can’t work together. Likely half of your best teammates share my point of view; they have just never said it out loud in your presence.
  • I write under my real name so that I am accountable to everything I say. So you can rest assured I will also conduct myself with accountability and integrity in your organization or on your project.
  • If you ask me in an interview what is the biggest risk I have taken, I will tell you it is publishing my book and exposing my words to the public. Was it worth it? Yes.

Posted in Integrity | Leave a Comment »

Spreading the Wealth

August 21, 2010 by kristalynn

A man is standing on his rotting porch looking across the street to his neighbor’s immaculate three-story home with the security system. The man’s car has almost 200,000 miles on it; his neighbor has a new SUV. The man has a wife and four kids but no health insurance. His neighbor is unmarried and has a pure Alaskan Husky that she pays someone to groom. The man’s job is hourly, and he’s constantly worried that he will lose it. They’ve never been on a family vacation. His neighbor works from home or from the motor home that she frequently takes out for a week at a time. The man knows she has at least $250,000 in her safe.

He envies her. He thinks it isn’t fair that she has so much and he has so little. He thinks she shouldn’t be sitting on so much money when he can’t scrounge together enough to pay his mortgage. He considers his options:

- It is against the law to go to his neighbor’s house and take money from her safe.
- It is against the law to hold a gun to his neighbor’s head while she takes money from her safe and gives it to him.
- It is against the law to threaten to embarrass her with some real or made-up secret if she doesn’t give him money.
- It is against the law to hire someone or a group of people to do any of the above for him.
- It is against the law to accept money that has been obtained by doing any of the above.

Unless the extorted money is laundered through the IRS.

Because it is legal for a group of people to decide that this man’s neighbor has more than enough money and to threaten her with jail time if she doesn’t give over a certain percentage so that it can be used to help her neighbor refinance his mortgage or trade in his clunker car. This group is called Congress. Policies designed to distribute the wealth are instituted under the auspices of the Constitution and “the common good”. It’s unfortunate if your life is uncommon.

It doesn’t matter to this woman’s neighbor that her dog groomer will lose his job because it is a luxury that she will forgo after higher taxes. It doesn’t matter that the top two stories of her house have to be secured and immaculate because they are used as storage space for the art she buys and sells. It doesn’t matter that she needs the SUV to transport the art, or that she spent twice as much for a hybrid because she cares about the environment, or that she drives her motor home to art shows so that she can save money on hotel costs. It doesn’t matter that although she could make $10,000 on a single sale, she can also go for months with no sales at all, but because she is self-employed, she pays twice as much in social security taxes and isn’t eligible for unemployment benefits. Her neighbor doesn’t care that the $250,000 in her safe is a nest egg she has been building for years toward the dream of hiring two assistants with health benefits to run the business, focusing only on helping new artists achieve their dreams, while she sculpts full time to achieve her own.

So when the wealth gets redistributed through the government, her neighbor sees rich people just getting fewer luxuries like expensive art. She sees dreams withering on the vine.

Posted in Health Care, Integrity, Politics & Government | Leave a Comment »

Pieces of Life: A fictional sketch of Jaycee and Donnie Raye

July 24, 2010 by kristalynn

 
I was pretty sure my dad wasn’t thrilled when I started dating Donnie Raye in the 11th grade – 21-year-old Donnie Raye. But Dad didn’t say so outright; he was big on freedom of choice. He used to tell me that we have to be free to choose how we spend our time, because it’s too big of a decision for anyone else to make for us. He said every hour is a piece of your life. So, when I came home one Saturday at 2:00 AM after spending the night hanging around the parking lot watching Donnie and his friends drink beer, my dad just asked me one question: “Jaycee, was that worth a piece of your life?”

I’m also pretty sure my mom and dad both would have rolled over in their graves to find out that three years later, Donnie and I had not only got married but got divorced. I never intended to get divorced. I never intended to be a single mom. But I also never intended to be an orphan at 18 and taking care of my kid brother, so sometimes life doesn’t exactly work out.

After my parents’ accident, when my kid brother was so angry, Donnie was really good with him. I realized later it’s because he knew a little something about anger. When I left Donnie, my relationship with my brother just wasn’t the same, and he moved out the first chance he got. He would have beaten Donnie bloody if I ever told him what really happened, so I never told him.

Donnie was like those big cats at the zoo that pace and look irritated even though, if there weren’t any cages at all, they’d just be sleeping anyway. I don’t mean Donnie was lazy. It’s just that sometimes it’s not about getting three square meals; it’s about the freedom. He told me about one morning after the night shift at the factory when the owner’s son had come in and given them all a talking-to about some problem that wasn’t even their fault. Donnie said he felt really mad and helpless when he looked around and saw that everyone was so beaten down that they just took it like they weren’t worthy to stand up and say anything. I guess he never stood up, either. Maybe he should have hit that owner’s son instead.

The last time I saw Donnie, he was hanging out with the guys. Our eyes met for a second, and I didn’t even recognize what was in his. That was the saddest thing for me, that I could love somebody so much that I had to divorce him because I didn’t trust myself to stay away, only to find out that he was just another stranger in the parking lot. When I found out about the baby, I sent word to him. To tell the truth, I was scared to have him help, but I thought he should know. It didn’t matter anyway, because next I learned he went to Alaska to work on a fish boat.

I was happy to hear he was in Alaska. It suited him. I almost wish he had figured it out before, when I could have gone with him. But I guess it would have been bad to be stuck on a fish boat when his temper finally got the better of him. I can’t say that I feel bad when I look back, because the truth is, we had a good relationship right up until then. It was worth a piece of my life.

I never even told my best friend that Donnie hit me. To tell the truth, I was embarrassed about the whole thing. Not because I thought it was my fault; I’m adjusted enough to know that it isn’t my fault when my husband hits me out of the blue the first time. But everybody knows, because Oprah has told us a hundred times, if he hits you once, he’s going to hit you again. Yet I still gave him another chance. I just knew he was sorry the minute it happened. He actually had tears in his eyes, and he promised to get it figured out. I thought I would always regret it if I didn’t let him try. Plus, I believed him. He believed himself. So when it happened the second time, I stood there kind of shocked, and so did he.

He went to a counselor after that, but it only took a couple of sessions before I could see it was making a big temper stew. My idea about counselors is that they’re a lot like marriages; you have to have the right relationship for it to work, because they’re messing around with a person’s deepest most parts. And Donnie clearly did not have the right relationship.

It wasn’t like there were a lot of counselors to pick from in our little town, and I was kind of nervous the whole time anyway. So I told Donnie one night that it just wasn’t going to work. He said I didn’t even give him a chance. I said I had given him two chances, actually. As he stood there trying to figure out how to respond, I could see the red heat rising through him like a thermometer. Then I saw his fingers curl under with the effort, and I waited until I caught his eyes and then just slowly drew them down to those clenched fists at his sides. He dropped his head, and his fingers fell open, and we both knew that if we still loved each other, it had to be over.

I still believe he loves me. Else he wouldn’t have gone all the way to Alaska to keep himself away from me and the baby. That’s why I’m not mad that he doesn’t send us help from his fish boat money, because he probably needed a clean break, too.

I know a lot of people will judge me one way or another for the way I handled the situation. But I don’t care what anyone thinks, not even Oprah. You have to be free to make your own decisions when pieces of your life are at stake.

Posted in Original Fiction | Leave a Comment »

Live your life already

June 16, 2010 by spunkandteddy

Krista is having some sort of existential crisis, so we thought we’d take this opportunity to make an observation. Okay I, Teddy, am doing the observing. Spunk is taking this opportunity to take a nap.

So, here’s what I see: Aside from an occasional fleeting lapse in judgment, cats don’t ponder the meaning of life. When I see a mouse, I chase it; when I feel a ray of sunshine, I roll in it; when I smell edible food, I eat it. When Spunk happens upon an unsuspecting hand, he rubs his head against it – not really my thing, but to each his own.

We don’t spend time wondering how we can use our talents to better feline kind. For example, I can climb higher and run faster than Clunk over there, and he can sleep like there are a million tomorrows. So I climb and he snoozes, because it makes us happy. Feline kind seems to get along fine doing the same. What’s more, Krista’s kind seems to derive pleasure from us just being us. Puzzling, but true.

So all I’m saying is that I think humans make it too hard. Maybe your gifts don’t exist for you to use on each other; maybe they really are just presents – to you. Maybe doing what makes you happy is what you’re “supposed” to do, and the benefit to others will follow in ways you don’t understand.

But hey, what do I know, I’m just a cat.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a Comment »

Older Posts »

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.