Every beginning starts with an ending and the late Mr. Richard Chandler’s daughter is no exception. As funerals go, his was quite typical for the sleepy community in Northbrook, Oregon. Traditionally mourners will emotionally cling to the deceased and their family until their carnivorous need for attention is satiated or a generous bribe is offered, the true spirit of Last Wills and Testaments. However, in defense of Northbrook’s vultures, Mr. Chandler was an eccentric local celebrity worthy of their morbid curiosity. After his first wife committed suicide, an exquisitely executed high dive into the hydrangeas from a three-story roof while their child watched wide eyed from the swing set below, his latter second wife left him after only a year of marital bliss claiming irreconcilable differences, “He talks to his first wife more than me!”
Survived only by his twenty-two year old daughter, Vashti, Mr. Chandler was expected to leave her a comfortable sum and their home. Instead of the expected estate, Mr. Chandler left explicit instructions with his attorneys; Vashti must choose her inheritance, either her father’s small fortune with the home she knew or a letter from her belated mother and a deed to some wilderness property in Northern California. It was Thursday when the attorneys stated her father’s will and she had three days to choose between her dead parents.
only an envelope with a sobering note, a deed to their mother’s home in California and his library.
Michael and Vashti Chandler were more stunned by their father’s sudden death than their new financial perils. Michael was twenty
“When will they leave?” Vashti’s blond curls hung over her face, hiding a stormy glare. Michael took a deep breath and crossed his arms.
“You’ll be polite Miss. Vashti and a proper hostess. Take this tray out there and bring back that empty one.” Bronagh, the Chandler’s housekeeper and commanding general of public affairs,
The surface above shimmers as emeraldine ripples flash shadows across me. Movement, casting illusions of life. Sinking deeper, I allow the current to softly sway me downward, to and fro.
I really thought there'd be more fish.
My pockets full of stones, I drift gently with eyes open and arms outstretched to embrace the letting go. Here, where colorless green ideas sleep furiously, I've come home.
Dawn stanzas Kecky stanzas ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ Your breath cool as silk on my neck Tracing incantations down my spine, You pull away, daring me to ask...
You pull away, daring me to ask I tease you with my racing pulse How long til inhibition sets you free?
How long til inhibition sets you free From your religious mediocrity? We're impetuous creatures, you and me...
We're impetuous creatures, you and me Passions in balance crying for more Give me your heart and I'll close my eyes
Give me your heart and I'll close my eyes Together we'll explore our possibilities, Whips, chains, and other accessories.
Cracked limbs train a tree Blossom through adversity- So winter hails spring.
* "Golden Lilies" is the term for women's bound feet. In old China, women either had their feet bound or were sold as a daughter-in-law (domestic slave). 1 out of 10 girls died from foot binding. Perfect lilies were 7 centimeters in length.
I normally do not do landscapes but this has been on my mind for quite some time. Ever since my gran knew I had the gift, she dropped hints that she would adore a painting of Mt. Shasta. I recently received some things she left me, it's been nearly two years since she passed, and this memory struck me. She asked to that her ashes be scattered in this mountain's wind... so I'll try to paint this. It seems that much more difficult but important... ( canvas sketchCollapse )
I had found the perfect man, at least for me; he was fun, considerate, endearing, and a little sexy. We spent a lot of time together and sort of became an item. He remembered little details and surprised me with things I liked and he listened whenever I really needed him to. I can't remember if we worked together or how we met. There was only one dark cloud; he loved another woman and everyone still talked about her. I'm not sure how long ago she died but it's been since before I knew him and we've known each other a good while. ( Mas...Collapse )
