Lovely

I came across this poem while researching medieval epitaphs on the Internet one day. No author was listed, but I thought it was lovely and wanted to share it. Enjoy.

Do not stand at my grave and forever weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
I am the ocean's deepest blue
The world is filled with my love for you.

My Windowless Room

You built a windowless room
and put me there
A cold and dark place
but you did not lock
the door
I did

I locked myself in that place
and let the years of darkness
wrap me in the comfort
of consistent misery

I did not long to escape
but found solace in the
emptiness of my soul
laid open by the pain
of loss and the torture
of what might have been

And then one day a single leaf
floated under the door
landing silently at my feet
I lifted it, inhaling spring
and remembered life
before the room

With the leaf in my pocket
I crossed the threshold
stepping out of the safety
of my companions of shadow
and felt the sun on my face

I turned to look,
but the room was gone
and I forgave you for
putting me there
and I forgave myself
for staying

A Song I Love

Do you always trust your first initial feeling?

Special knowledge holds truth bears believing

I turned around

And the water was closing all around

Like a glove

Like the love that had finally, finally found me

Then I knew

In the crystalline knowledge of you

Drove me thru the mountains

Thru the crystal-like clear water fountain

Drove me like a magnet

To the sea

How the faces of love have changed turning

the pages

And I have changed oh, but you...you remain

ageless

I turned around

And the water was closing all around

Like a glove

Like the love that had finally, finally found me

Then I knew

In the crystalline knowledge of you

Drove me thru the mountains

Thru the crystal-like clear water fountain

Drove me like a magnet

To the sea

Crystal-Stevie Nicks

In the Garden

I had the privilege of walking through my mother's garden this weekend. Everywhere there were signs of spring. The daffodils and narcissus were in full bloom, the hyacinths were budding and filling the air with their sweet scent. Tulips bent gracefully in the afternoon breeze and jasmine covered the arbor in a romantic tangle of glossy green leaves and bright yellow bell-shaped flowers. Tiny wild violets dotted the lawn and a few dandelions dared to show their sunny faces. The dogwood trees shimmered in the afternoon light, full of buds, ready to burst. Big fat bumble bees buzzed. Birds made their way back and forth between the cedar trees and the bird feeder, fussing at the squirrels who insisted on stealing their sunflower seeds.

I looked around and thought about my plants and flowers at my own home, suffering from neglect that comes from a person who has withdrawn from the world. Last year, I lost some plants that I have had for years and years, because like myself, I did not take care of them.

I realized that it's time for me to leave this winter behind. Spring is here and I'm ready to get back in the garden.

We Made a Mess

My mother used to always tell us "if you make a mess, you clean it up." I was thinking about this recently, at the 5 year anniversary of the beginning of the war in Iraq.

We (the United States) made a mess. A big one.

I am really struggling with this war. First let me say, I was against it from the beginning. I was never convinced that those grainy spy satellite photos of supposed "weapons of mass destruction" sites were indeed, just that. Once we got in there, and realized there weren't ANY WOMD, it was too late. We had done too much damage to the country's infrastructure. From there, the downward spiral began.

Today they announced that we passed the 4,000 mark, on number of U.S. deaths in Iraq. Four thousand. Some would argue that it's a tiny amount compared to the lives lost in other U.S. wars, but tell that to the parents of those 4,000 dead. And while you're at it, tell it to the parents of the soldiers of the coalition - who aren't Americans and didn't even have a "dog in this fight." Tell them. Oh, and please don't forget the innocent civilians in Iraq, the women and children, who have died. Let's not forgot those who struggle to live every day in a world of violence and chaos.

I really want us to get out of Iraq. I really, really do. I think we are fighting a losing battle. I think as soon as we withdraw, the country will clash in civil war. It's like they're just waiting for us to leave so they can kill each other.

But on the other hand, we made a mess. We have destroyed this country. Sure, Saddam was a madman. Sure, he was a murderer and tyrant. But is this country better off now because the U.S. took this action? Most people would say "no" not by a long shot.

I heard that the U.S. is having a difficult time getting the Iraqi government to take responsibility for even the smallest of duties - like paying teachers. Even though the U.S. is pouring billions of dollars in to Iraq, schools aren't getting built, teachers aren't getting paid, electricity is not coming on, unless the U.S. pays for these things directly. How do we get the Iraqi government to take a leadership position? How do we get the Iraqi government to be fair to all its citizens? How do we fix this mess that WE created?

The five year anniversary of a war that Cheney said "might last 60 days." I really have no idea what the solution is. I do know that the war is creating a huge strain on our economy (unless you're an oil company or military contractor).

I think we owe it to the Iraqi people to fix what we broke. I'm just not sure how we do that - is it fixable? Are we just spinning our wheels? How many more soldiers have to die because of a lie?

Finally, will the world ever evolve in to peace? Why is it so difficult to love our neighbors?

Orchids Bloom

In the Deep

In the

Dark

quiet Secrets

wrapped in promises

shielded by Love

Glimmer

in the Golden Light

of Hope

and

Hopelessness

the Cherry Blossoms

Fall

the Butterfly

Lands

Orchids Bloom

elements combine

and I smell the wet grass

and Feel your Hand

in Mine

Cat Lady

I’ve got a birthday coming up. Not a milestone birthday…more of a “tweener”… between a semi-milestone and a milestone. Figured it out yet? Me either. Nor have I figured out why this birthday is bothering me so badly.

Maybe it’s because I’m alone and don’t have my sweet husband home to forget my birthday and then remember it suddenly and go all out making up for it? Maybe it’s because the reality of my age is starting to show in tiny lines around my eyes? Maybe it’s because I’m hiring people who were born after I had already graduated from college? Maybe it’s because I think about the years left in my life and there doesn’t seem to be so many? Maybe it’s because there are a lot of things I thought I would do by this age that I haven’t done? Humm. Maybe.

I certainly don’t want to make a big deal out of it. I’d like to forget it actually. If any of my friends are reading this, this is not a hint! On the contrary, I prefer to let the day pass unnoticed, in a peaceful, ALONE manner (with a few margaritas to ease any suffering). I ask you to please ignore it! I don’t want to be reminded that I have a better chance of being struck by lightening than EVER re-marrying – at THIS age. Thanks, Mr. Guy-Who-Conducts-Such-Cruel-and-Heartless-Polls. You suck. And by the way, I don’t think I want to date, much less re-marry. I think I’d make a great little old spinster lady with 500 cats.

It could happen.

Come Into My Sleep

Now that mountains of meaningless words
and oceans divide us
And we each have our own set of stars
to comfort and guide us
Come into my sleep
Come into my sleep, oh yeah
Dry your eyes and do not weep
Come into my sleep

Swim to me through the deep blue sea
upon the scattered stars set sail
Fly to me through this love-lit night
from one thousand miles away
And come into my sleep
Come into my sleep oh yeah
As midnight nears and shadows creep
Come into my sleep

Bind my dreams up in your tangled hair
For I am sick at heart, my dear
Bind my dreams up in your tangled hair
For all the sorrow it will pass, my dear

Take your accusation, your recriminations
and toss them into the ocean blue
Leave your regrets and impossible longings
and scatter them across the sky behind you
And come into my sleep
Come into my sleep
For my soul to comfort and keep
Come into my sleep
-Nick Cave

Landslide

Denied

Please do not come here

looking for absolution

and peace
the earth revolves

around the sun

no matter what
so do not come here

seeking

signs of life

and a pat on the back
you seem to be

?confused?

about what this is
I do not blame you
it is easier to think

about other things,

happier things
time passes

but does not heal me
and coming here

will not make you

feel any better
about yourself

or me

Mouse Heart

The blood runs cold

through her empty heart
a heart so badly wounded
though it may one day heal
will be scarred and reformed

tender flesh replaced

with wire and steel
reinforced with iron and ice
beating faintly

like the tiny heart of a mouse
inside a bunker

buried deep

Lost

Winter

The winter vine curls around the post
frosted leaves stretch and shiver
reaching for the distant sun

The blackbirds come in clouds of

ebony iridescent wings, moving and shifting
then landing in unison on the sleeping grass

In front of the fire I sit lost in the flames
wrapped in the quiet of winter’s day
For a moment, I think all is as it should be

Without You

The sun sets in the west
and in the fading light
I see my reflection in the window
another day of my life is over
another day without you

The leaves of Autumn fall
drifting slowly to the wet earth
I look at your photograph and wonder
how many seasons will pass
how many seasons without you

The Flood

When the rain comes and it will come
will the birds sing, will the bells ring?
Who will know that it is done?

Swept away in the churning flood
carried on foam of angry crests
the dark sky rushes overhead
heavy with the black clouds of dread

and the wet trees stand
oblivious on the shore

Tattered Threads

I live in a world full of people
yet I am alone
They move around me

in a blur
as I stand frozen in the shadows
cast by men with cold hearts

Between the world of the living
and the dead I wander
a ghost passing unnoticed
through the eternal dimness
held together by tattered threads

I shout, but no one hears me
lost in the roar of everyday life
they forget the forgotten and
send me the unspoken message
that indeed even God has forsaken me

Today

The green rolling hills flash by

carrying me further away from you

great white clouds hang high

in summer sky of deepest blue

My heart desires not

to travel this road

that takes me far from

where I want to be

but we both know

that the sun will rise

and tomorrow will come

so today,

I

must

leave

In My Dreams

Lost in the dim of twilight waking
I cling to dreams
and search for you

beyond the stars
around the Southern Cross
to the end of the earth

I reach for your hand as
the day breaks
and in the cold light of dawn
I hear your voice and know
I will see you again
in my dreams

Drowning

The rope slips through my fingers
and I begin to sink like a river stone
towards the bottom of the deep blue sea
arms floating above my head
hands waving in the currents
like drifting ocean grass
the light of the sun fading
Darker and colder and deeper
the water becomes
until finally, my feet touch the sand
So soft and quiet is the ocean floor
where the only sound is my own heart beating

Guardian

Bright stars shine in skies of slate
In this place of dreams and whispers
Every wish the dark night offers
Echoes morning’s hopeful song
Love is near. (The forest sighs)
We have been waiting…
all our lives.

Beautiful Wyoming

Just returned from Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Beautiful place. Great people. Clean Air. Peace.

Tiny Angel

Yesterday, I lost a true and dear friend and member of the family. She had four furry little legs, a pom-pom of a tail, and a permanent smile on her sweet tiny teddy bear face. She was my constant companion for ten years, meeting me at the door every day with unconditional love and joy. She was happiest when she was in my lap getting her soft little ears scratched. Her expressions often made me smile, and her snoring made me giggle.

I loved her from the first moment I saw her – all 8 furry ounces of her. Full grown, she was a whopping nine pounds. She was a gentle, good-natured animal who loved everyone. She never bit, or even growled at a single soul. They say all dogs go to heaven. If that is true, then heaven just got a little sweeter. I love you Bama Girl!

Future Unknown

Run with me to the edge of reason
Sail the uncharted waters
Fly the unfamiliar skies
Leap the chasm of faith

Come with me to this strange, exotic place
a realm of foreign mystery, and fear
a land where you will never know,
what

happens

next

Toujours Provence

I'm leaving Wednesday for Provence and will be out of the country for a couple of weeks. This trip will be different from the trip last year, for many reasons. This time, there will be almost 300 people with me.

See you at my journey's end.

December 15, 2006

I carry your memory in my heart
and your death certificate

in my bag.
The women in the hall are
talking about shopping
and I want to scream at them.
I do not want to hear about
their ordinary lives when mine
has been turned upside down.
They can not see these pictures
in my head or the angel standing
next to me, holding me up.
I reach for the memory of that sunny
day in California,

a fast convertible,

and you.
The elevator opens.
Move legs.
Their high heels click on the marble floor.
Hurry,
the sale ends at 10:00 p.m.!
I close my eyes and wish
the world would spin
the other
direction.

Release Me

Release me
from these bonds that tighten
with every breath I take.
You left me imprisoned,
chained to dreams turned dark
and cold as steel.
Unable to move
I am locked forever
in this grey timeless place
Waiting for you
to set me free.

Fortress

Turn

then

twist

open slowly

and peel

layer after layer

to reveal

the hidden places

tightly

woven

over years

of pain

and loss,

until

fear

has built

a fortress

around

your

heart.

Forgiveness

I wake
to feel the yearnings
of my soul
so long sleeping
far beneath

the stone
that is my heart.
And hear the echo
of hope

once lost
fade into the

deep valley

of grief
from which

I rise.

Out of Town

I'll be out of town traveling on business until January 26th. Thanks for all the positive feedback on "Evangeline" (new readers).

Peace be with you.

Shelter

My Strength
Is
Gone.
Against the Wind
I
Fought.
And only
Now
Do
I
See,
How strong
You
Were for
Me.

If I Could

If I could

paint

your life

anew

I would

paint your sky

forever

blue
and fill your days

with golden

light

and ever

endless

star-filled

nights

Not Home for the Holidays

My daughter and I will be in the mountains of North Carolina for the Holidays.

To my faithful readers near and far (all three of you), Happy Holidays and a Blessed New Year!

xoxo

For Life

The geese of winter
land on the lake.
Silver wings stretched
they break the glassy
surface of the water
and float together
in the morning mist.
Bound for life
they wait for spring
through frost and
winter’s pale moon.
Black necks curved
in grey-feathered sleep.
Rest now, for soon
the journey home.

Fall

On the edge
looking down,
it seems so far to fall
take a deep breath
close your eyes
spread your wings and fly
fly to hope,
tomorrow’s child
waiting on the sun to rise
waiting on a future moon
life will not wait for you

Sand Castle

The sea

has finally washed

away

my carefully constructed

sandcastle,

washed

away

the form of

my

identity,

leaving only infinite

grains of sand

along

a scattered beach.

-unknown author

For BCP

I had a dream last night. I was on a dark beach with you. But you were much younger than you are now, you seemed to be around 6 years old. Your hand felt very small in mine.

There were storm clouds and lightening rolling over head. The wind was warm and fierce. But we stood there and faced the wind blowing our hair back, our jackets flapping. At the edge of the surf, our toes met the lip of foam, growing ever closer to covering our feet, sucking the sand out from under as it retreated.

Overhead, the storm charged the air and lightening descending in crooked arcs aross the black sky, bouncing through menacing clouds, briefly lighting them with bursts of purest white.

We were facing it - head on - knowing that sometimes things are so much more beautiful after the storm has passed, we waited together.

Walt Whitman's poem is about a father and daughter, but it sounds like we had the same dream.
We will make it through. I love you!


On The Beach At Night, by Walt Whitman

On the beach, at night,
Stands a child,
with her father,
Watching the east,
the autumn sky.

Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds,
the burial clouds,
in black masses spreading,
Lower, sullen and fast, athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends, large and calm, the lord-star Jupiter;
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
Swim the delicate brothers,
the Pleiades.

From the beach, the child,
holding the hand of her father,
Those burial-clouds that lower, victorious,
soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.
Weep not, child,
Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears;

The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
They shall not long possess the sky--shall devour the stars only inapparition:
Jupiter shall emerge--be patient--watch again another night--
the Pleiades shall emerge,
They are immortal--all those stars, both silvery and golden, shall shine out again,
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again--they endure;
The vast immortal suns, and the long-enduring pensive moons, shall again shine.
Then, dearest child, mournest thou only for Jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?

Something there is,
Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter,
Longer than sun, or any revolving satellite,
Or the radiant brothers, the Pleiades

Long and Winding Road

I'm traveling for a few days. I'll be back with new content, sometime next week.



Aller avec Dieu.

For Mary Ann & Clifford, Married 55 Years

"Be the captive of Love
in order that you may be truly free-
free from coldness and the worship of self.

Thousands have passed who were wise and learned
but who were strangers to Love.

No name is left to them,
nothing to proclaim their fame and
dignity or to relate their history in the march of time.

Although you may attempt to do
a hundred things in this world,
only Love will give you release
from the bondage of yourself."

-Hakim Jami, Sufi Master, 1492

Wish Upon a Star (or Two)

This weekend brings the return of the famous Leonid meteor shower, which has a storied history of producing some of the most sensational meteor displays ever recorded.

The year's encounter is predicted for 11:45 p.m. ET Saturday.

A lounge chair or blanket, warm clothes, and a snuggle-buddy are all you need. Find a dark location away from city lights, with a clear view of the eastern horizon. Lie back, face east, and scan as much of the sky as you can.

Scientists are expecting between 100-150 meteors per hour during this cosmic event.

That’s a huge opportunity for wish-making, if you’re in need of a few. I know I am.

Some of My Favorite "Deep Thoughts" by Jack Handey

"When I found the skull in the woods, the first thing I did was call the police. But then I got curious about it. I picked it up, and started wondering who this person was, and why he had deer horns."
------
"We like to praise birds for flying. But how much of it is actually flying, and how much of it is just sort of coasting from the previous flap?"
------
"How come the dove gets to be the peace symbol? How about the pillow? It has more feathers than the dove, and it doesn't have that dangerous beak."
------
"It makes me mad when people say I turned and ran like a scared rabbit. Maybe it was like an angry rabbit, who was going to fight in another fight, away from the first fight."
------
"When you die, if you get a choice between going to regular heaven or pie heaven, choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it's not, mmmmmmm, boy."
-------
"When I was a kid my favorite relative was Uncle Caveman. After school we'd all go play in his cave, and every once in a while he would eat one of us. It wasn't until later that I found out that Uncle Caveman was a bear."
--------
"I hope if dogs ever take over the world and they choose a king, they don't just go by size, because I bet there are some Chihuahuas with some good ideas."

Travel Day

I'm getting ready to leave for the airport. It's going to take me all day to get home, if you count the two-hour time difference and the layover in Houston.

I will be so tired by the time I finally land, get my luggage, try to remember where I parked my car, get out of the parking deck, pay the toll, fight the rush-hour traffic, unpack the car, read the mail, walk the dogs, take a bath, and go to bed....

I think I better have a Starbucks Grande or two before I take to the skies.

See you on the other side of the country.

Election Day

I stood in the rain this morning, in a long line that snaked around the corner of the Prince of Peace Catholic Church (my polling place).

Under the circumstances, I was surprised that the turnout was as good as it was. Everyone seemed determined to vote come Hell, or in this case, high water. My feet got soaked. My shoes are probably ruined (how many black pumps does a girl need anyway?).

Besides, it's a small sacrifice to pay for the privledge of living in a democracy that so many have died defending. In spite of some really stupid politicians, America is still a great country.

Please don't forget to vote.

Missing You

Something reached inside my chest today

and squeezed my heart.

It happened when the breeze

went dancing through the trees

and turned their leaves

upside down.

I tilted my face to the sun

and felt the place you used to fill,

now quiet and empty.

Missing you in falling leaves

and the slanted light of Autumn.

I Wanna Go Home

I travel often for work. Some people think it's glamorous, but it gets old. Here's a song dedicated to my fellow Road Warriors.

"Home"
by Michael Buble

Another summer day
Has come and gone away
In Paris or Rome
But I wanna go home
I wanna go home

May be surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel all alone
Just wanna go home
Oh I miss you, you know

And I've been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you
Each one a line or two "I'm fine baby, how are you?"
Well I would send them but I know that it's just not enough
My words were cold and flat
And you deserve more than that

Another aeroplane
Another sunny place
I'm lucky I know
But I wanna go home
I wanna go home

I gotta go home
Let me go home
I'm just too far from where you are
I wanna come home
And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life
It's like I just stepped outside
When everything was going right
And I know just why you could not come along with me
This was not your dream
But you always believed in me

Another winter day has come
And gone away
In Paris and Rome
And I wanna go home
Let me come home

P.S. I'll be in Vegas next week for work. Don't hate me.

Lost Girl

Today is not a good day
Today is a day of dark thoughts
And dangerous moods
Circling fury
Black sand in her veins
Today her heart is a hollow stone
No longer human
She disappears
Without your love
She becomes the darkness

Nature Boy

There was a boy

A very strange enchanted boy

They say he wandered very far, very far

Over land and sea

A little shy and sad of eye

But very wise was he.

And then one day

A magic day

He passed my way

And while we spoke of many things

Fools and kings

This he said to me:

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn

Is just to love and be loved in return"

-Eden Ahbez

Purple Iris

The steam rises in a

curly-cue

from the cup of coffee you sip

as you sit lost

in the Sunday paper.

The golden light

of the morning sun

paints you

in stripes through the window blinds.

The kitchen clock

tick-tocks

the simple rhythm of passing time.

Another second,

becomes a minute

and then you are

just a memory.

A Cardboard City

I moved to a new house. It doesn't feel like home yet, probably because all of my furniture is still in my old house, which is still on the market. I'm living out of boxes and sleeping on an air mattress. I use a tv-tray as a bedside table.

In a way, it's been nice to discover that I can survive without all my material possessions. It's a simplified existence. Without the distractions of these things, I have found more time to read and more time to be creative.

So for now, I am enjoying the minimalistic decor of my new home and relaxing in the chaos of boxes. Because one day soon my cardboard city will be gone.

Evangeline (Part Twenty Eight)

And that’s the end of the story, at least as far as most people know.

Five years later, Evangeline and Tucker have not been found. After a year-long nationwide manhunt and no legitimate leads, the FBI deemed the file a “cold case.” Michael Kent left the FBI, got married, and travels with his wife around the world doing charity work.

Rumors still circulate about what might have happened to Tucker and Evangeline. Some people think that Sal Vanelli finally caught up with Tucker, and that both Tucker and Evangeline are sitting on the bottom of Powhatan Lake strapped to a 200 pound sack of gravel (the Vanelli’s are in the gravel business).

Some people believe that Tucker escaped to Mexico with Evangeline, and that he probably killed her and buried her in the desert. Rumor has it that Tucker is working as a waiter at one of the big resorts in Cancun.

The best stories involve alien abductions or satanic rituals. After all, how could two people just disappear off of the face of the earth without leaving one shred of evidence?

Like Elvis, there have been Tucker “sightings” on the beach in Miami, at a liquor store in Austin, and at the Emmy Awards in Hollywood. But the FBI has never been able to validate any of the claims.

You may be disappointed that this story doesn’t have a happier ending, or at least an ending that makes sense, which takes me back to the beginning and the reason I’ve been telling you this. Before I go to meet my Maker, I want someone to know what I saw on Christmas Eve five years ago. Call me a crazy old lady, but I know what I saw. You can make up your own mind about whether or not it’s true.

It had snowed that night and the moon was full. My daughter who is a nurse at the hospital called to tell me that Pastor and Mrs. Goodman had just given birth to a 7 lb. 6 oz. healthy baby boy. Not a thing in the world was wrong with him - no Down’s Syndrome, not even an extra finger or toe. He was perfect and it was a miracle. All those doctors had been wrong. Mrs. Goodman cried and said it was Evangeline’s singing that had made the baby well. Maybe having their healthy new son would begin to heal their broken hearts.

Anyway, I was so happy to hear the news about the new baby that I wrapped up in my old wool coat and went out on to the front porch to say a prayer of gratitude. The air was pure and crisp and the sky was jet black and full of stars.

I often look up at the sky when I pray. I feel like God can hear me better that way. I lifted my face and was just about to close my eyes when I felt something gently brush against my cheek like a feather. It was a butterfly, in the dead of winter, a beautiful, rare Panacea Prola butterfly indigenous to the Amazon River Basin. It landed on the back of my hand and slowly opened and closed its silver-blue wings.

I was in shock. What in the world was an Amazonian butterfly doing in Virginia in December? Then I realized that there were more butterflies, hundreds and hundreds of them. They began to swirl around me in a kaleidoscope of color, the light of the moon reflecting in their iridescent wings. It was like being inside a rainbow. My heart overflowed with joy.

Then the butterflies flew like a whispering river towards someone walking down the middle of the street.

That’s when I saw Evangeline, bare-footed, her hair a shining mass of perfect curls. There was a light about her, like the glow of a firefly, and the butterflies were drawn to it.

She stopped right beneath the first street light and turned to look at me. She smiled and raised her hand as if to wave hello, then reached right through the air and parted it like a curtain.

Then she stepped through and was gone. I stood motionless, not believing my very own eyes. The butterflies turned a glistening white, became snow flakes, and softly fell from the sky, covering Evangeline’s footprints.

I walked out on to the street and looked up in to the heavens and realized Evangeline was home at last.

The End

Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Hebrews, Chapter 13:2

Miles to go Before I Sleep

Back on the road again. Patience is a virtue.

Peace.

Evangeline (Part Twenty Seven)

Michael Kent looked at his watch and prayed that they had found the place in time. Using the clues Stacy had given him, Michael had been able to find the bunker on an old county survey dated 1949. Someone had been expecting Russia to drop a bomb.

Now, surrounded by a full S.W.A.T. team and a few dozen state police, ATF agents, and FBI, it was easy to see why it had been difficult to spot from the air. Sheltered by a thick grove of pine trees, the tiny shed that covered the bunker would not have stood out as an anomaly, especially with a thick blanket of snow on the roof.

The S.W.A.T. team slowly tightened the circle around the shed. Michael motioned for the captain in charge to move in. Suddenly, the quiet forest exploded with the shouts of the men on the S.W.A.T. team, “FBI! Put your hands in the air!” as they descended the wooden steps of the bunker in a rush of body armor and assault rifles.

For a long moment, Michael’s heart was gripped with fear. What would they find? He thought about Stacy and how if it hadn’t been for her –

“Agent Kent,” someone shouted over the radio, “Get down here right away. The area has been secured.” Then another voice crackled through the state police two-way urging someone to, “Call an ambulance” and his heart sank.

He made his way down the wooden steps. There, lying on her back on the floor was Prissy Montgomery. Her neck was badly bruised, and she was unconscious, but she was alive. One of the S.W.A.T. team members had taken off his goose down jacket and covered her as the room was like a walk-in refrigerator.

Michael began to look around. It appeared as though someone had recently pressure-washed the walls. They were perfectly white like freshly poured concrete. There was nothing else in the room. No furniture. No food. No Evangeline. No Tucker. Nothing. Not a speck of dust or a bit of debris or a strand of hair. The room had been sterilized.

Michael reached for his cell phone and hit the re-dial button. He had promised Stacy he would call when they had breached the bunker.

Stacy answered without saying hello. “She’s gone Michael. It’s over.” Michael felt the stress of the last few days suddenly overpower him. His knees grew weak and he sat down on the floor to keep from falling. He had failed. One girl alive. One girl dead. That’s the way it would end after all. Stacy was never wrong. If she said she was gone, then Evangeline Goodman was most certainly gone. And when Stacy said “gone,” she meant “dead.”

“Michael,” said Stacy gently. “I’m coming down there. I will be there tomorrow. I will help you find the body. I will help you.”

Michael closed his eyes and remembered her face and suddenly all he wanted was her arms around him.

Evangeline (Part Twenty Six)

Tucker felt the vibration before he heard it. He could feel it in his chest and in his teeth. He tightened his grip on Prissy’s delicate neck. Her eyes grew wide with confusion, then with anger, and then fear as she began to realize that Tucker was indeed trying to kill her.

Prissy grabbed Tucker’s hands and frantically buried her fingernails in to his skin, scratching and clawing at his cold grip. This only made him angry and he squeezed harder. Prissy’s face was a deep, purple-red. Her eyelashes fluttered as she gasped for air. Tears spilled out of the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks in tiny rivers of pain.

The vibration grew stronger. Tucker could hear it now. Like a faraway swarm of hornets, a low buzz that tickled his ears. He glanced over at Evangeline and realized the sound was coming from her. She was humming, her eyes closed as in prayer, the long piece of duct tape still covering her mouth.

The room began to grow darker. The buzzing grew louder. Tucker felt dizzy and nauseated all at once. He could feel Prissy’s knees buckling under her. She was almost dead, if he could just stop that buzzing.

“Shut up!” he screamed at Evangeline. “Stop that noise right now, or you will be next!” he threatened.

Tucker’s mind began to reel. He saw tiny flecks of light and heard the sound of a choir humming long slow notes, “O Come, O Come Emanuel.”

Evangeline slowly opened her eyes and the room filled with butterflies. Only to Tucker Shaw they were razor blades, with wings.

Evangeline (Part Twenty Five)

Stacy Garcia was halfway between Chesterton, Indiana and Chicago when her cell phone startled her back from distant thoughts. She glanced at the number and her heart began to race.

It had been five years since she had heard from Michael, but in spite of everything, she still thought about him every single day and wondered what his life was like without her in it.

Michael was a man who believed in facts, science, and evidence. Stacy believed in things that couldn’t be proven. She had a gift that Michael couldn’t understand and eventually, it had become a wedge between them. He was determined to climb the ladder in the FBI, and there was no way he would succeed with a wife who could see the past, and sometimes the future.

Like her grandmother, Stacy had the “gift”. And even though law enforcement was always skeptical whenever her services were enlisted by some desperate detective, she had been extremely successful in helping to solve difficult cases. Now, she rarely aided the police. The more she opened her mind to “seeing” the crime, the more it affected her health. It was as if the gift came with a price.

Before she answered the phone, images began to appear before her mind’s eye. Two girls…concrete walls….and death….it was near. She was solving Michael’s mystery before she even heard his voice. Her connection to him had always been strangely powerful.

She answered without saying hello.

“Two girls. They’re in a small, dark, room. One of them is bound to a chair. The walls are concrete. They’re in grave danger Michael.”

Michael paused for a moment. He had forgotten how much he loved Stacy’s voice. It gave him a rush and he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath and summoned the most professional response he could muster.

“Hello Stacy. I hope you are well. The FBI would truly appreciate your assistance. Can you give me any other details of the scene?”

Stacy pulled the car over on to the emergency lane. The images were coming fast now. She could feel the cold dampness of the bunker. The room had an underground musty smell. Then she was looking in to a pair of cold green eyes and her throat began to tighten.

On the Road Again

I'll be traveling on business the next few weeks. Keep checking back for the final few chapters of Evangeline. She's almost home.

Evangeline (Part Twenty Four)

Tucker retrieved the message off of the internet voice mail box. The Feds were unwilling to commit to making the deposit until they talked to the girls to ensure they were still alive. They were insisting that Tucker speak with their negotiator. Guess he would have to kill Prissy today.

He turned off the cell phone and headed back to the fallout shelter through the fresh blanket of snow. Time to show the Feds he meant business.

He climbed down the steps into the shelter and winked at Prissy. “Everything’s going as planned,” he said with a smile. Prissy hopped up and threw her arms around his neck. “That’s wonderful Tucker! I am sooooo ready to get out of this dungeon!” she whined.

You mean your tomb. He thought to himself.

Evangeline was bound to a folding chair. Her ankles and wrists secured with duct tape. Tucker had also made sure to put an extra long piece over her mouth. The last thing he wanted was to hear her singing. He shuttered at the thought.

With her arms still around his neck, Tucker began to ponder how to kill Prissy. He could always shoot her. But maybe strangulation would be more fun? He could just imagine the look on her face when it dawned on her that he had tricked her, lied to her, and used her.

He slid his hands up to cup her face and gave her a long kiss on the mouth. “Ewww, Tucker,” Prissy groaned, “You need to brush your teeth.”

He smiled and slowly moved his hands down around her delicate neck, his thumbs making little affectionate circles so as not to alarm her.

Evangeline (Part Twenty Three)

Special Agent Michael Kent sat alone in his office in the mobile command center listening to classical music radio. He needed some time to figure out who Tucker Shaw was. As a profiler for the FBI, it was his job to create a personality framework of the kidnapper in order to assess his determination, motivation, and proclivity for violence. This would help them to understand what kind of person they were dealing with.

It had been a long day waiting for Tucker to reply with the go-ahead. The state police had combed the county, but a midnight snow had covered all the tracks and they had been unable to find a trail. Winter had finally come to Virginia.

Agent Kent put his feet up on the desk and took a deep breath. He knew the more time that passed, the less likely the two kidnapped girls would be released alive. It was just a statistical fact. He closed his eyes and tried to piece together the last few sections of the profile in his mind – prior crimes – family background – incarceration – drug abuse. It did not bode well for Prissy and Evangeline.

Suddenly a familiar melody filled the quiet space in the office. It was Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2. The music reminded him of a time and a place long ago, before he had chosen duty over love. A deep sadness squeezed his heart and memories poured over the wall that separated work from his personal life. He turned the volume up, put his head in his hands, and let himself travel back through time to a beautiful day with the love of his life.

By letting her go, he had done the right thing, hadn’t he?

Evangeline (Part Twenty Two)

The Tabernacle church was surrounded by flashing blue lights. There were county sheriff’s cars, state police cars, and a couple of black SUVs with dark tinted windows and small blue lights on the dashboard. The FBI had made it to Sommerville from Richmond in record time. After all, kidnapping is a serious crime that requires highly-skilled law enforcement, not hick town sheriffs and their deputies.

Inside the envelope that Tucker had left with the pastor’s wife was a simple note written with a dull pencil.

To the town of Sommerville:

Wire $1,000,000 in to account # 00098970653 at The Swiss Credit Bank in Zurich by 5:00 p.m. on December 21 or Evangeline Goodman and Prissy Montgomery will both be killed.

Call the following voice mail box and leave a message to let me know you have received this message by 5:00 pm tomorrow night, or I will kill Prissy Montgomery just to show you I mean business. The number is 999-708-7675.

Once I know you have received this message, I will call with further instructions.

Don’t piss me off.

Tucker was a good listener and had learned a few things about new identities from his cellmate in prison. He’d also learned a great deal about Swiss bank accounts from Prissy Montgomery. He could disappear in to a big city in the u.s.a. for a while, laying low and living simply for a year before sliding over the border.

He had a new California driver’s license, social security card, veteran’s i.d, and a Swiss Credit Bank ATM card. Soon, Tucker would become just another California beach bum. All he had to do was get to the Standard Iron train depot and hitch a ride in an empty box car.

According to his internet research, the train ran straight across the country to the port in San Diego. On foot, he could be at the depot in twelve minutes if he cut through Saunder’s Dairy, climbed the fence behind the loading dock, and zig zagged through the stacks of iron pipes to the waiting train.

Tucker had timed himself three times before the kidnapping, always making the journey in the darkest hours of the night to avoid being seen. Two of the three times he made it in twelve minutes. Once he made it in 20, only because he twisted his ankle and had to hop the remaining 100 yards, so that time didn’t count.

Evangeline (Part Twenty One)

Tucker and Prissy discovered the hideout completely by accident. Hiding their relationship from Prissy’s father had forced them to look for secret meeting places. On one such adventure, they stumbled across an abandoned fallout shelter.

At first they thought it was just an old garage, but once inside, they found a door in the floor that opened to a 10 x 10 concrete room, complete with musty old cots and a few rusted tin cans.

The hideout was deep in the woods behind Grandma Shaw’s farm. At one time, there had been a house on the property. But now, only the crumbled outline of the foundation remained.

Tucker pulled Prissy’s car in to the garage, making sure to leave room to open the door in the floor. The garage was so overgrown and surrounded by thick pine trees that it would be almost impossible to see it from the air. Tucker’s only worry was that someone may have seen him turn on to the old logging road. His tracks would be fresh.

Prissy and Tucker had stocked the fallout shelter with enough food, water, beer, and toilet paper for about two weeks. Prissy had also insisted on new blankets, oil lamps, bug spray, folding chairs, and a large mirror to hang on the wall (to make the room look larger). She couldn’t imagine being down in that hole for two weeks without a shower, so Tucker had rigged up a small camp shower behind the garage, on the promise that she would only shower at night, in the dark, and no more than every three days. Prissy reluctantly agreed.

Tucker had also been thoughtful enough to hang a blanket across one corner of the room and had designated it as the unisex bathroom, complete with a portable potty (he couldn't wait to tell Prissy it was her job to empty it).

The wind began to howl through the old garage as the three descended the creeky wooden steps in to the darkness. Tucker’s flashlight threw a halogen beam into the black velvet of the fallout shelter, highlighting newly spun cobwebs and their own reflections in the cracked mirror on the wall.

The plan was in motion. Too late to turn back now.

Evangeline (Part Twenty)

Piece of cake, that’s what it was.

Evangeline and her mother had been so startled to see Tucker and Prissy and the gun that they’d stumbled in shock to Prissy’s car without resisting. Tucker made Evangeline get in the back seat, all the while pointing the gun at her mother’s head.

Prissy quickly tied Evangeline’s hands, stuffed a rag in her mouth and placed a flour sack over her head, tightening the cotton draw strings just enough to be uncomfortable. Then Tucker shouted at Evangeline to lie down.

Mrs. Goodman was handed a large envelope with the words “Instructions for Ransom” scrawled across the front in black magic marker.

“Take this to Prissy’s father,” Tucker hissed, “if you ever want to see your daughter alive again, make sure they give me what I want.” With that, Tucker and Prissy jumped in the car and left Mrs. Goodman, still shaking in a cloud of dust.

"I am a genius!" Tucker shouted. Prissy nervously looked over her shoulder at Evangeline's flour-sack covered head. Evangeline glared at her through the loosely woven fabric, and although Prissy could not see her eyes, she felt them. A feeling of dread settled in to her stomach causing the acid to rise in her throat. Prissy closed her eyes and prayed to whoever would listen for a speedy and harmless resolution to the kidnapping.

All she wanted was Tucker and an engagement ring. Was that too much to ask?

Evangeline (Part Nineteen)

Tucker was on his sixth beer.

Prissy held her hand up to the sky. She parted her fingers so that the golden fire of the setting sun was between her middle finger and ring finger. If she squinted just right, it looked like she was wearing a huge diamond ring, the kind she expected to receive from Tucker. It would be so romantic to be married on the beach in Mexico. She smiled and let out a happy sigh.

Tucker glanced at her before he opened the car door. “I gotta piss,” he snarled. He slammed the car door and staggered behind a big blue dumpster. Prissy rolled her eyes and wondered how she would ever teach the boy manners. “If he doesn’t stop drinking beer, he will be peeing all night” she thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pastor Goodman’s white station wagon coming up the alley. Her heart began to race in her chest. Tucker peered out from behind the dumpster and held his finger up to his puckered lips to indicate that she needed to be quiet. Prissy sat motionless while sweat began to trickle down between her cleavage. “How can it be so hot in December?” she wondered.

From her vantage point, she could see that Pastor Goodman was alone. Where were Mrs. Goodman and Evangeline? The Pastor seemed preoccupied and hurriedly unlocked the back door to the church without glancing Prissy’s way. After the Pastor was inside, Tucker bolted back to the car and slid in behind the steering wheel.

“Where in the hell is his wife and daughter?” Tucker shouted at Prissy.

“I don’t know,” Prissy whined. “They must have decided to drive separate cars for some reason. And don’t you dare yell at me Tucker Shaw!”

Just about that time, Prissy spotted Evangeline and Mrs. Goodman walking around the corner of the back of Higgin’s Pharmacy. They were smiling and enjoying what appeared to be a chocolate milk shake. Higgin’s Pharmacy makes the best chocolate milk shakes in the entire world. Prissy’s mouth watered at the thought.

“This is perfect,” Tucker muttered. “It will be easier to grab her without Pastor Goodman around. I might not even have to use my gun.” Tucker caressed the cool steel of the pistol and winked at Prissy. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

Prissy and Tucker stepped out of the car and headed down the alley towards Evangeline and her very pregnant mother.

Evangeline (Part Eighteen)

The back door to the Tabernacle Church opened up on to a narrow alley. Across the alley was a very small grassy lot where the pastor parked his car. Tucker Shaw had driven up and down the alley several times, figuring out the best way in and the best way out. It was the final preparation for his ticket out of town. He was ready to get the show on the road.

Prissy picked Tucker up at 5:00 pm and they headed to the spot he had chosen to hide the car, one block from the back door of the Tabernacle Church. They sat and waited as the sun went down for Pastor Goodman and family, to arrive at the church for the Christmas Pageant rehearsals.

Prissy was very unhappy. Tucker had only allowed her to bring one small bag. Did he realize how difficult it was to choose only two pairs of shoes? And what about all her expensive clothes, and makeup, and accessories? She sat and fumed, unable to look at Tucker. How could he be so cruel?

Tucker was oblivious to Prissy’s mood. His mind wandered to long stretches of beach, warm ocean breezes, and a caramel-skinned Mexican cutie bringing him frosty beverages. He couldn’t wait to get there – especially knowing that any day now, Sal Vannelli & Company would be showing up looking for blood. He felt the cold fingers of fear clutch his heart and he tightened his grip on Sal Vannelli’s Colt .38 Special.

Evangeline (Part Seventeen)

As Mrs. Goodman approached her seventh month of pregnancy, her doctor put her on bed rest. Evangeline began to do even more around the house to help out, including cooking the entire Thanksgiving Dinner.

The closer she got to her due date, the more anxious Mrs. Goodman became about the baby. Evangeline could sense her mother’s anxiety and began to sing to her as often as possible. Mrs. Goodman said that when Evangeline sang, she could feel the baby turn, as if to position its head closer to the sound of Evangeline’s voice.

The baby was due December 28th, right between Christmas and New Year’s, so Pastor Goodman and Evangeline planned to do all the decorating and cooking for the holidays. They were also very involved with the Christmas Pageant, so things were a little crazy around the Goodman household.

It was about a month before Christmas, when Evangeline noticed that Prissy Montgomery had suddenly become very interested in her. Prissy actually spoke to Evangeline when she passed her in the hall at school, and she made it a point to personally invite Evangeline to her private Christmas party at the country club. All this seemed a little odd to Evangeline, but being the kind of person she was, she assumed that Prissy had matured, buried the hatchet, and realized that life was too short to harbor old feuds.

Evangeline could not have been more wrong.

Evangeline (Part Sixteen)

The plan was simple. Kidnap the creepy girl with the cash-generating vocal cords and demand a million dollar ransom. Tucker believed that there were just enough “Jesus Freaks” around Sommerville who would be more than willing to pony-up the money. He got the idea from Prissy, who claimed that Evangeline’s voice had brought in hundreds of thousands of dollars in offerings to the Tabernacle Church.

With the holidays approaching, Evangeline would be performing in the Christmas Pageant. The whole town would suffer if she wasn’t around to add her angelic voice to the traditional production. After all, people drove from neighboring states just to hear her sing “O Holy Night.” This brought in a great deal of extra revenue to Sommerville. The gas stations did better. The restaurants did better. The shops along Market Street did better. Sommerville’s Christmas Pageant had become a tourist attraction.

Tucker knew he had to act fast and grab the girl in time to paralyze the town’s holiday plans. He believed it would be motivation enough to force them to pay quickly. The sooner they paid, the sooner they got their song bird back, and Christmas could go on as usual.

Meanwhile, he would be soaking up the sun in Cabo with some sexy senorita. Tucker needed Prissy’s help to implement the plan, but he had no intention of taking that spoiled Daddy’s Girl to Mexico. It would be “adios” Miss Montgomery as soon as he had his hands on the cash.

Evangeline (Part Fifteen)

The phone call came the same day we had our first snow of the winter. Grandma Shaw hung up the phone with a puzzled look on her face. She then informed Tucker that someone named Sal Vannelli had called from Chicago asking if Tucker lived there. The minute she said “Sal Vannelli,” all of the blood drained from Tucker’s face and he dropped his spoon into the gigantic bowl of Captain Crunch he was devouring.

Yes, the father of Tucker’s former (pregnant) girlfriend Sandy back in Chicago, had tracked him down. Tucker knew this could only mean one thing. He did not have long to get out of town. If Sal Vannelli knew where he was, that meant the whole Vannelli clan did too, and if the Vannelli clan knew, Tucker was as good as dead.

Tucker needed money, lots of it, and he needed it fast. He called Prissy and asked her to meet him at their rendezvous spot. Two hours later, they had devised the scheme. With enough cash, they could head for Mexico and disappear. Tucker always wanted to go south of the border, and he certainly was a big fan of tequila.

Evangeline (Part Fourteen)

Speaking of love, from the moment she saw him, Prissy Montgomery was “in love” with Tucker Shaw, much to her father’s chagrin.

Prissy never intended to annoy her father, but for some reason, she seemed to find ever more creative ways to displease and exasperate him. Tucker was 21 years old and Prissy was sixteen. The age difference was unacceptable to Garrison Montgomery and he forbade Prissy to have anything to do with Tucker Shaw. But of course, that only made Tucker much more mysterious and interesting to Prissy. So she ignored her father’s instructions and continued to rendezvous secretly with Tucker.

It was about the same time as Prissy’s infatuation with Tucker began, that very bad things started to happen around here. There were robberies. Lots of guns were stolen. Drugs began to show up in the high school – something that had never been a problem before. There was vandalism. Windows were broken. Mailboxes were crushed. Empty beer bottles littered the road sides. Yes, something dark was happening in Sommerville.

Evangeline (Part Thirteen)

I believe true love comes along once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. I had such a love a long, long time ago. There is no way to explain that kind of love. I could write for the next 20 years about him, but never come close to understanding or illuminating the profound depth of our connection. They say true love is the heart’s recognition of its counterpart in another. To this day, my heart beats faster at the very thought of his name.

Branden was a soldier. His duty was to his country. So when his country called him to Korea, he went. Six months later he was reported Missing in Action. His body has never been recovered. Sometimes duty requires us to do the opposite of what our heart wants us to do.

When I sit on the porch late in the afternoon, I like to imagine him walking down the street, coming home to me, arms open wide. Branden always looked so handsome in his uniform. I saved all of his letters to me, every one. It is all I have left of him.

When the person you love the most in the world is gone, there is nothing that can fill that space in your heart. And neither time, nor distance, nor other love can lessen the pain of losing it. It is an abyss, an immeasurable void in my life. The older I get, the deeper it becomes.

I eventually married a good man and moved on with my life. But the love I have for Branden was, and is, the only absolute I’ve ever known.

Evangeline (Part Twelve)

Grandma Shaw was indeed surprised by Tucker’s sudden appearance in her driveway. But Tucker was her only grandchild, so she did what any grandmother would do, she took him in. He seemed to her to be a little lost and down-in-the-dumps, so Grandma Shaw was exceptionally patient. Yet after three months of sitting on the sofa watching television all day while eating her out of house and home, Tucker’s grace period ran out.

Grandma Shaw inquired around town about work and discovered that Garrison Montgomery (Prissy’s father) was looking for a handy man/gardener/errand boy. She went straight over to the bank and struck a deal with Garrison. Tucker would work five days a week from 9:00 am until 3:00 pm and would basically do whatever it was that Garrison Montgomery needed done. Tucker would earn $10 an hour. His lunch would be provided. A pretty good deal for a recently-released ex-convict (although Grandma Shaw forgot to mention that minor detail to Mr. Montgomery).

Tucker was not happy when Grandma Shaw told him the news, but the more he argued, the deeper she dug in her heals, and eventually she wore him down. After all, he had learned a few skills in prison such as painting, basic carpentry, and ceramics, although that last one might not be very helpful.

So began Tucker’s first real job on the first Monday of summer vacation. Prissy slept in until noon that day then lazily made her way down to the kitchen for something to eat. Through the big windows of the kitchen that looked out onto the back lawn, Prissy saw him. He was on a ladder with a bucket of paint in one hand and a paint brush in the other. He had taken his shirt off and was precariously perched as he strained to reach the top of one of the round columns on the back veranda. The muscles in his chest and arms caught her attention, but it was the tattoo that gave her a sudden rush of excitement and danger and adventure. It was a dragon. The tail formed a circle around his belly button, and the dragon’s body rippled vertically up the middle of Tucker’s chest, the flames from its mouth forming a circle around a small black heart.

Prissy Montgomery smiled. This was not going to be another boring summer.