I invite you to step into my world during the past holiday week. Henry waits for me on the sofa while Daisy plays the gymnast over and under the table and chair legs, causing me to occasionally jump up and rescue her from a tight corner.

THE HOLIDAYS ARE A BUSY TIME

The holidays are often a busy time for everyone, which means more cars on the road and more people in the stores. I don’t have a nine-to-five job or have children at home, but my week was full of activity. On Monday, I juggled two volunteering jobs, with shopping in between, while trying to be ahead of things at home with the two dogs. Walking a feeding takes time, especially with Daisy, the seventeen-year-old pup. Tuesday, the contractor was here to finish putting in a new door; there were all the things to move out of the way and back again afterward. I did manage a walk with a friend in the morning, but it was tight.

On Wednesday, it was doggy daycare for Henry. Time for myself, you might think? Not that day, I picked up eight bags of compost and did two and a half hours of gardening for someone else. Afterward, I did some shopping for someone in Whole Foods; it was the only place without a long line. Then I went home for Daisy, dropped off the shopping, picked up Henry, came home again, and sunk into the sofa in front of the TV for a few hours. Later, I prepped for Thursday’s Thanksgiving and went to bed.

Thanksgiving Day went according to plans. I had five friends and myself for a lunchtime dinner. Daisy was very cooperative in taking her nap the whole time we ate. A great time was had by all. My friends left, and I filled the dishwasher for the second time before relaxing with the two dogs. The next day, I went to Seattle for a family gathering of cousins and stayed over. Taking Daisy away from her accustomed surroundings isn’t stress-free, but it worked out. She did well, except for being surprised and possibly indignant to see another little dog wearing her jacket and in her bed. Her yowls had me rushing up the stairs, believing she was trapped in a corner or had her foot caught in something. Instead, she was staring at the mirror, looking very alert.

She was glad to see me and accepted me picking her up and giving her a cuddle. She was also willing to eat in an unfamiliar place, coaxed with a small amount of cut-up smoked turkey mixed into her regular food.

I thought if I got home early, I might do a little writing on my computer, but it was not to be. It was a beautiful sunny day. The northbound freeway was an easy and stress-free drive, but it left just enough time for a lovely walk in the park with Henry before the sun set and it turned cold. By the time I had sorted the dogs back into the house and settled Daisy in the bedroom after the drive, it was time I had a little supper and headed for bed.

BACK AT HOME AND IN MY GARDEN

This morning was cold and white with frost. I felt sorry for Daisy’s tiny feet on the frosted grass as she hopped and wobbled outside to go potty. Later, Henry and I had a lovely walk down to the beach and back. The tide was still out enough for me to collect a bag of stones, and by the time we were heading back up the hill to the house, I was actually hot. I planned on spending the rest of the day in the garden, which I did.

Gardening is never finished, or so it seems. I thought I would blow away a lot more leaves than I did. But I also filled in the bare spots with my collection of stones, moved a large pot into a space where I had removed an azalea, and pruned the quince tree. All the leaves are down now from the quince, the apples, and the pear tree. It was a rewarding day.

LAST WEEK’S PROMPTS

Using the picture above as the starting point, here are two short stories written by Jane Hilleary and Debi Hanuscin, members of the Blue Bottles Writing Studio.

JOHNSON CREEK by Jane Hilleary __  http://janekopperhilleary.com

Johnson Creek flows gently into Puget Sound. From there, it empties into the Pacific Ocean. It has always done so since the beginning of time, it has done so. It is a lovely, peaceful spot. Snow-peaked mountains line the background. Cedar, fir, and aspen spill down the mountainsides. In spring, larkspur and daisies sprinkle the scene with color.

Over centuries, deer and cougar have sipped from its sweet waters. Lovers and families have picnicked at its edge. Children have sailed their tiny boats in its gentle flow.

And years ago, Edna and Richard discovered it. They fell in love with it and hauled their old Adirondack chairs down to the water to sit by its shore. Sometimes, they built fires in the fire pit and roasted things. Sometimes, they just sat and enjoyed the beauty.

The chairs still sit there, but they are empty now. Visitors have stopped coming. For at the top of the hill, a sign has gone up. It says in dark, bold letters: ‘PRIVATE! NO ADMITTANCE!’.

The site has been sold. An oil refinery will be built here. It will provide jobs for the community and a much-needed industry to process oil being piped down from the north. ‘Vital’ say members of the industry. ‘Beneficial to all,’ say community leaders.

Richard is disappointed. But Edna is furious.

“Don’t make trouble,” Richard urges her.

“Trouble!” says Edna, “They’ll soon learn about trouble!” And Edna goes to work.

Edna is old. Her many friends are old. Most of them live now at Tranquil Trails Home for the Elderly. And Edna has soon worked them all into a lather concerning what is about to happen to this magnificent place of beauty.

Tranquil Trails’ manager stands in his office doorway and wonders what’s happening. Wheelchairs roll past, residents bent over walkers, thump past. The few elderly residents that can walk are mixed in, Edna leads. They pour out the front door and down the street.

‘Wait! Wait!!’ nurses call out. “Where are you going?” But the little band doesn’t seem to hear them, and it marches on. At a sign that says, “PRIVATE! NO ADMITTANCE,” they turn in.

And at the bottom of the hill, that lovely scene appears before them. Wheelchair brakes are applied, walkers are set aside, and the residents plant themselves down on the sandy shore. A silent, determined band of old people has taken possession of the area.

Pleadings and threats have no effect. They are not budging!

“Never have we experienced such obstinance,” claims the mayor. “Notify the police,” demands a community leader. “Call your senator,” the new buyers suggest. All to no avail.

From her seat on the damp sand, one of the elderly women says her son-in-law’s parents live next door to a man whose uncle works for CNN, and the ball starts to roll. MSNBC learns of this unusual happening. The situation explodes on all the major channels. Environmentalists are all over it, and finally, it seems, anyone who can read or hear knows about this little band of old people who have taken possession of a beautiful piece of land at the mouth of a peaceful creek, soon to be turned into an oil refinery…and the tide turns.

Edna and Richard are back in their Adirondack chairs. Lovers and families are picnicking there once more. Tiny boats sail in the creek’s gentle waters. …All thanks to Edna.

THE BEACH by Debi Hanuscin

It was her first time camping on Sucia. She had taken the ferry to Orcas Island, walking aboard carrying her pack, then the smaller boat service—the only way to get to and from the park. It was late in the season, but she had hoped to cross this one off her bucket list, so she had booked the trip while ignoring the little voices inside of her head telling her about everything that could go wrong.

When she had first disembarked that morning, there were plenty of people mulling around the place – hiking on trails, gathering by the shore, but slowly the crowd had decreased, and she hadn’t seen anyone while getting in some trail exploration before sunset. That was OK – she liked her privacy.

As she headed to the waterfront campsites where she had left her own gear, she noticed a campfire from afar. She strengthened her resolve and reminded herself to be friendly—how hard was it to say ‘hello’ to other people? For her, pretty hard, but she was working on that. She took a last sip from her water bottle to soothe her mouth—which suddenly felt dry with the thought of conversations, and turned toward the beach to greet her camp neighbors.

She noticed the shovel poking out of the sand next to two beach chairs and a well-built fire blazing against the gray twilight sky—but didn’t see anyone around. Surely, they wouldn’t leave a fire unattended. She glanced right and left, then ventured, “Hello?” waiting anxiously for a response. Nothing, maybe they’re off relieving themselves, she thought and decided to give them some privacy. She hiked on to her own camp, just about 15 yards away.

When she got there, she realized that she could barely make out the flames of the neighboring campfire through the trees. She settled in with her snacks—she hadn’t been able to carry firewood in her backpack, so she had brought food that didn’t need to be cooked—and reached for her Kindle. It took up way less space than a book, and she could read it without her headlamp. Perfect camping companion!

She was reading a murder, a mystery probably, not the best choice for entertainment when camping by oneself, but she was already hooked and desperately wanted to know whether she had guessed the right character as the perpetrator. She was all consumed in her reading when suddenly there was a loud scream—an animal? A person? She couldn’t be sure what had made the noise, but she did know it had come from the direction of the now-dwindling campfire. She peered through the trees and spotted what looked like a flashlight panning back and forth in the darkness. Then, suddenly, the light fell to the ground—she could still see the beams of light. She waited, but it stayed where it lay. Had somebody dropped it? Fallen? Surely they would pick it back up—but despite her patience, it didn’t move. She felt a growing panic in her chest as she considered investigating—but her body seemed paralyzed, unable to get up from her camp chair.

That’s all for now, readers. Hope you have enjoyed the time in my world and a few more stories written from a photo prompt. Always love to hear your comments.

E J P

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