Mercy’s Sake

Deception makes fools of us all. Yet sometimes the truth hurts so much that we hold back for mercy’s sake. Our human journey can be a treacherous one to be sure.

It’s snowing now, very cold, and more snow and lower temperatures are on the way. Our woodstove pipe slipped a couple of weeks ago, sending the carbon monoxide monitors into hyper mode. Thank God, they worked! But since then, we’ve been trying to get the pipe replaced and, of course, it has been a challenge since the 8-inch pipe we need hasn’t been available in the usual places.

I thought I was clever and wrapped the thing in tinfoil, only to find out that burning tinfoil is about as dangerous as carbon monoxide. Sheesh, but there are a lot of ways to mess up in this world.

Even when I try my darndest to do the right thing, there are multitudes of conflicting realities to consider.

A case in point is whether or not to tell my dad that his youngest son, my brother, died recently. The obvious answer is yes. He has every right to know the truth. But, when I consider the fact that at ninety-two, my dad has lost much of his mental facilities, including his memory, then I have to wonder, what I am doing? Am I simply fulfilling the letter of the law, reasonable as it sounds, but sending my father into grief he won’t understand? He’ll comprehend the fact that Tom, his youngest son, died. He will “get” that fact. He just won’t remember five minutes later, though the grief inside will linger. He won’t understand why he’s so sad.

When my older brother died a few years ago, I told him the truth. I figured he had a right to know and could handle the facts. He was very grieved. But shortly after, he didn’t remember that Dave had died. He grew very sad, but he couldn’t understand why. No healing or mutual support possible.

Since he doesn’t believe in God, perse, he hasn’t been open to the hope of Eternal Life—perfect justice joined with perfect mercy. Since Dave died from an overdose, likely in part done to self-medicate from an infection related to his diabetes, there was no easy platitude to offer. It was complicated, no mistake.

My father wasn’t a good father. He failed in many ways. Though I have forgiven him repeatedly through the years, I know too much truth about his failures as a husband and father to simply whitewash the reality with “It’s over now, forget it.” Forgiveness isn’t blind. It’s honest and often extremely painful, a death of sorts. Real forgiveness involves wanting the best for another person despite the fact that it is not truly earned or deserved.

Is there a statute of limitations on the pain and suffering we cause others? Especially considering the generational suffering that compounds injuries from parents to kids?

In reviewing Church related failures, I have to ask myself what right I have to forget? Forgive, certainly. I wish no ill will to anyone. Even those who have hurt me personally. But the sins of the past have repercussions and feed into a cycle of abuse today and tomorrow.

So, should I, in a spirit of honesty, let my father know that his son died? Would his grief be part of the price he must pay as a father? Or is mercy, letting him live is last years (months maybe) in sedate ignorance, the higher road to take?

So far, I have chosen mercy and kindness. I choke over our weekly conversation not mentioning the realities that plague my quiet moments and wakeful nights—Fr. Tom’s unaccountable death. I chatter on about the weather and school instead. Lame? Yes. Weak? Perhaps.

I know only a part of my own failings. It’s hard to face them all and impossible to realize the long-range repercussions of sins of commission and those of omission. Things I did—things I should have done.

That’s what Lent and our human journey are all about. We’re not in heaven. Not yet. We’re striving for a veiled glory, a perfect reality beyond our sight.

In the meantime, I’ll go fix the stove pipe.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In Production)

OldEarth Melchior Encounter (In Production)

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Short Stories

It Might Have Been—And Other Short Stories https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

Encounter Science Fiction Short Stories & Novella https://amzn.to/3dq6q5l

Inspirational Non-Fiction

My Road Goes Ever On—Spiritual Being, Human Journey https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/sunset-tree-silhouette-dusk-lonely-3156176/

I Lift My Gaze

“That’s what we storytellers do. We restore order with imagination. We instill hope again and again and again.” ~Walt Disney

When I heard Walt Disney’s quote in the movie Saving Mr. Banks a few weeks ago, I knew that he had hit upon a powerful truth. Little did I realize at the time how much I would need to believe that it was the truth, clinging to hope beyond my human sight.

Since January first of this year, I have been hit with a series of personal losses. My brother, closest in age to myself, died unexpectedly at fifty-eight. The next week, my father-in-law passed away. One of our most faithful dogs, Sheba, died the following morning.

Death is part of the human cycle. I know that. Everyone knows that. But how we die can change everything for those left behind. And how we face life without them, either makes or breaks the order of our universe.

My mother, my childhood friend, my husband, nor my two brothers realized that they would die when they did. Each had plans, things to say and do the next day. But reality took over, and their will was not done according to their plans. Those left behind had to deal with what the situation offered, painful as it was.

Sometimes, it’s a matter of accepting tragic reality. So many things should have happened—but didn’t. Forgiveness and love should have softened hearts. Despair and pain should never have the last word. Too many times, a peaceful death is mere illusion, and we suffer sunderings that rip and tear, rather than breathe new life into our spirits.

So, what then?

Do I fashion a new ending? Write a happier, though fictious scene?

God created human beings with incredible imaginations. Based on His own, surely. Free will still reigns, a powerful force in a world full of ironic caprice. Restoring order, for me, is not about writing a better story despite a sad ending—it means becoming a better person, knowing that I can’t see the end.

I choose where to focus my gaze. Whether I scream at fate or hug a wounded inner-child, no one leaves this world in perfect shape. Scourged by hurts, pierced by grief, alone in confusion, there are plenty of reasons for giving in and giving up.

But what good would that do?

Lessons are learnable: Excessive drink and drugs destroy the body. Isolation and silence tear a soul to pieces. Loneliness is depressing, and despair is deadly. Evil acts bear bitter fruit.

I choose to believe that the end is not the end. I revel in the Grace that animated the positive aspects of those I loved. Gratitude is more than an attitude; it heals wounds so that we can grow new lives in glorious form.

When faced with death, I lift my gaze from the grave and remember the good, noble, strong, decent, kind, and beautiful aspects of the person I knew. I forgive. In my imagination, I do not refashion an idealized version of their lives. I learn from mistakes and hope that through the grace of painful lessons learned, that others (and my future self, perhaps) may be spared a few griefs at least.

The moon now shines through a cloudy sky, highlighting the bare branches of our winter woods. Crusty snow and icy cold made it too risky to go out today. But it was not a wasted day. It was a blessed day. Because I chose what to make of it. And despite sad realities and night falling, this is not the end.

I will hope again tomorrow.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In Production)

OldEarth Melchior Encounter (In Production)

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Short Stories

It Might Have Been—And Other Short Stories https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

Encounter Science Fiction Short Stories & Novella https://amzn.to/3dq6q5l

Inspirational Non-Fiction

My Road Goes Ever On—Spiritual Being, Human Journey https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Photo https://pixabay.com/illustrations/faith-love-hope-clouds-sky-hand-4880805/

Together Again

Charles would never be able to look his sister in the eyes again. He stared at the slumped form in the cage and whistled low. It can’t be. But it was. Dead.

Once he had cleared out a nest of mice from the garage, so the irony of failing as a hamster caretaker struck everything but the funny bone.

Three years ago, Robin had been diagnosed with cancer, one that might prove fatal or might go into remission forever. A chancy thing that Charles could not understand even after researching it online till his eyes ached.

This last hospital stay meant that someone had to take care of Henny.

He had said he would.

And he had meant it.

But life got in the way, and he forgot.

Now Henny lay like a petrified rock before an empty feed bowl. Dried crust rings adorned the empty water dish.

Mom’s voice raced up the stairs. “Charles?”

He had to answer. He was in Robin’s room. Mom wouldn’t ask about Henny. Never cross her mind. “Yeah?”

“Dad and I are going now. The hospital said that one of us could pop in for a visit if we get there in the hour.”

No explanation needed. He knew all the restrictions and why he was not on the short list of visitors. “Fine.”

“Bye, honey. Keep an eye on the chicken in the crockpot.”

The front door shut with all the force of a late winter wind behind it.

Charles sighed. He opened the cage and did the needful. Despite the frozen ground, he’d give his sister’s pet a decent burial. It was the least he could do.

~~~

Online classes set Charles’ nerves on edge. There were so many more interesting things he could be doing with his time. He googled hamsters and discovered that there were a few within his price range. No one would know…except Robin, of course. She had a mama-bear’s sensitivity. One whisker out of place, and her eyebrows would rise sky high.

He sighed and drummed his fingers on his desk. How on earth could he replace hamster-love? Clearly, with her frequent hospital visits, another pet wasn’t a good option. A game? How about a craft they could do together? She liked nature walks—he could take her to the park every week. Or a boyfriend? He could set her up with— Charles shook his head. She was only twelve, for heaven’s sake. What am I thinking?

His phone buzzed, and his stomach tightened. Either his teacher or his mom. Nether a welcome distraction. He checked his text messages.

Hey, Sweetie! Great news. They’re letting us take her home today. Just got a few things to finish up, and we’ll all be together again🙂

Surprise!!!!!

Get the chicken ready, and Dad will pick up some dessert on the way to celebrate.

Hearts and smiles,

~Mom

If a national emergency had been declared, and he was being sent to the front lines, Charles’ heart could not have pounded any harder.

~~~

From the sound of boots stomping into the living room, hearty laughter, and voices chattering way too loud, Charles knew something was off. He had cleaned up the remains of Henny’s house; her empty cage stood in the corner of his closet, out of sight. He hoped out of mind.

He had changed his dirty shirt and finished his biology assignment—one focused on rodents—only adding to life’s cruel fate.

He sucked in a deep breath and marched down stairs.

Mom was bustling every direction, humming some ridiculous tune in the kitchen, and Dad was helping Robin get settled on the couch. Lots of pillows and extra blankets.

Oh, God.

Twelve? She looked eighty. Her sunken eyes peered at him as a smile quivered on her lips. Brave but doomed. He knew it. She knew it. And now she knew that he knew it.

Henny’s slumped form flashed before his eyes, and a lump rose to his throat. He forced it down, strode to the couch, and plunked down beside her. In his fifteen-years on earth, it was the bravest thing he had ever done.

He nudged her shoulder.

She nudged him back. Her smile widening and real this time.

“So, you’ve come back to plague me with song requests, I suppose? Twenty new tunes you want uploaded?”

“Only seven—but I found a game we can play. You just have to set it up.”

Huge, long-suffering sigh. He nudged her again.

Mom called from the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready!” with all the practice of a spring lark. All hell could be breaking loose, but as long as she had dinner ready, cheerfulness reigned supreme.

Dad sprang into action, his arm ready, his hovering presence all that Robin needed to get to the kitchen table.

Eating wasn’t difficult. It was impossible. But Charles managed it anyway.

A Netflix movie—a Jane Austin romance that made Charles and his dad exchange eye-rolls every other scene—and evening prayers completed the night.

Sweating bullets every time Robin offered an inquisitive glance his direction, Charles prayed that she’d forget about Henny until tomorrow.

No such luck.

Ascending the steps, she clutched her dad’s hand and hit Charles square between the eyes. “How’s Henny been? I feel bad, leaving her so long. But I’m sure you’ve taken good care. She’s so silly.”

What does silly have to do with it? She wasn’t a silly hamster. She was a rodent. Nothing to shed tears over. His vision blurred. “Can you wait till tomorrow? I’m really tired tonight.”

She nodded. “Me too.” She slipped off to bed.

Laying in the dark, facing the monsters chasing him down the corridors of his imagination, Charles knew his days were numbered. He couldn’t live through this. He didn’t want to.

~~~

After a night of dreams skewered by nonsense nightmares, Charles swallowed each bite of cereal in the same way that a camel manages with cactus leaves. Ignore the prickles and force it on down.

Dad, his protective armor on, patted Charles’ back as he strode into the kitchen. “You doing okay?”

There was no good answer, so Charles simply shrugged.

The phone buzzed. A loud conversation upstairs, Mom’s laughter, and then Mom skittering down stairs with the phone held out. “Jason has everything set, but he wants us to there to make sure it’s what we want. Then he’ll bring it over right after he gets it loaded.”

Apparently, the message made sense to Dad. He nodded, grabbed his coat, and snatched his keys.

Mom leaned in to Charles. “She’s still sleeping. We won’t be gone long. If she wakes up, get her something to eat so she doesn’t try to take the stairs, okay? We’re getting the bed the doctor recommended, so she’ll be more comfortable.”

After an affirming nod, they were out the door.

Silence pervaded the house for the next fifteen minutes. Then the shuffling steps of a very old or very sick person padded overhead.

Charles trotted upstairs and rushed to his sister’s room. But she wasn’t there. He glanced at the bathroom. Empty. His heart thudded as he approached his room. There she stood, the closet door open, Henny’s cage pulled out, empty and forlorn.

“I’m sorry. It was all my fault—”

Surprisingly strong, Robin’s voice warbled across the room to the doorway. “She was three years old—that’s ancient for a hamster.”

But you’re only twelve. Tears stung Charles’ eyes.

She turned and faced him. “I was thinking…maybe you could walk outside and take pictures, text ‘em, then call me, and describe stuff. Then—well—I won’t miss spring completely.”

Charles nodded.

~~~

All through February and deep into March, he sent pictures of Snowdrops, Crocus, maple buds, early, eager bees, and the first Robin to come bob-bobbing-along. She responded with hearts, googly-eyed smiling faces, and other ridiculous emojis that made him laugh out loud.

~~~

After the last thaw in mid-April when the temperatures finally rose again, he tread across the slushy grass, box under his arm and a spade in hand. He stopped before the fresh mound. It might take years for grass to grow over the site. He clasped the stained container and, with the aid of his spade, made a small hole at the foot of the grave. He placed the box front and center, then covered it with all the care of an operating doctor finishing a procedure. He patted the earth and leaned on the spade handle.

“Together again, best I can arrange it. Dumb mistake to forget Henny…but sometimes, it’s hard to see stuff.”

A red-breasted Robin hopped close and cocked its head.

Charles knelt on the muddy ground and lifted his hand. They stared at each other for a long moment.

Then it fluttered its wings and flew away.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In Production)

OldEarth Melchior Encounter (In Production)

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Short Stories

It Might Have Been—And Other Short Stories https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

Encounter Science Fiction Short Stories & Novella https://amzn.to/3dq6q5l

Inspirational Non-Fiction

My Road Goes Ever On—Spiritual Being, Human Journey https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/robin-bird-on-branch-in-the-garden-818126/

A Future I Can Count On

Forest, Lake, Boat, Trees, Fantasy, Cover, Landscape

The future bewilders me. I never know what’s next. I should be used to that by now. But no. I make a plan and then watch it swirl into oblivion shortly after my first sip of morning coffee.

Since I’m off much of social media, I have more time. So, I create more projects. Fun stuff. I’ve done some rather inventive cooking, started reading the works of Thomas Aquinas, strolled about the landscape, and learned to edit pictures I’ve taken around the homestead.

I’ve also read chapters of my novel Last of Her Kind to upload on Audible, only to discover that I had some of the settings wrong. Frankly, I’d rather wrestle a hyena than a computer. My sons attempted to untangle my techno-mess, hoping to maintain my delicate grasp of sanity. They did so, laughing at my handwringing fright that my work would slip into a cyber blackhole. It didn’t. But I’m firmly convinced it could have.

In the process of trying to comprehend the Audible world, I somehow put my book up for narration, and I got an audition notice almost immediately. Surprise!

At first, I thought, rather huffily, I’d just plead short-term insanity and let the narrator know that I screwed up and added my book by mistake.

Then I took a shower. And heard a voice. “Do both.”

Sure.

It took a while to decipher what my brain, the Collective Unconscious, or the Voice of God was telling me.

Now that I am beginning to see the Audible light, I can narrate my books correctly. But rather than finish Last of Her Kind, perhaps I’ll start with something simpler, one of my non-fiction books or my short stories.

I decided to listen to the audition. It was pretty good. Back and forth, the narrator and I emailed, and then we had a conversation on the phone. I soon realized that there was more to this whole thing than a book narration. Human interaction changes everything.

Today’s to-do list outlined teaching, writing, making dinner, and a walk in the woods. That was the plan.

Real life involved conversations centering on Royal family dysfunction (Not mine!), discovering the possibilities of a new electric griddle a friend sent our way, a surprise editing assignment, a conversation with a woman who is now my book narrator and no longer a stranger, possibly a friend. No walk, though I did sneak a peek at a poem and read a short story to my youngest daughter that made my heart swell with the power of words to reclaim my scattered, disorganized soul.

A new mom texted that her whole life is now centered on her baby girl and making her home her little church. I just put a few humble Christmas cards in the mailbox. One of my daughters made a delicious dinner, and the kids and I chatted about nothing much around the table.

It’s dark now. I have a hot cup of chamomile tea at hand, the woods stove sends heat swirling about the place, a ladybug is doing aerobics on my computer screen, and life has definitely not gone according to plan.

But then I realize; all I really wanted to do was love my way through the day.

Now, there’s a future I can count on.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In Production)

OldEarth Melchior Encounter (In Production)

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Short Stories

It Might Have Been—And Other Short Stories https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

Encounter Science Fiction Short Stories & Novella https://amzn.to/3dq6q5l

Inspirational Non-Fiction

My Road Goes Ever On—Spiritual Being, Human Journey

https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings

http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Photo https://pixabay.com/illustrations/forest-lake-boat-trees-fantasy-4890416/

Come Out of the Cold

Stupid mistakes left Trix cold. Her own especially. Who on planet Earth was responsible for spelling? And could she find a legal precedent for killing the nameless perpetrators outright or would it have to be a clandestine affair? Though surely, she’d had a good portion of the world’s fifth-graders in her corner.

Was it her fault that few human beings could state her name without topping it off with an “ie,” turning her name into a bunny meme, or that grey was spelled with an a on one side of the Atlantic and with an e on the other? What demon-possessed people to care—much less sing-song their way through a quarterly review, insisting that she better shape up or—

The words had been left hanging. Just like that. An unspoken doomsday “Trix End.”

Trix stomped through the grocery store, huffing through her mask, which only fogged up her glasses. Lord have mercy. Would the trials of the year never end?

Head down, shoulders at ear level, she maneuvered her cart through the seafood aisle, blinking at the prices. She mumbled to herself, though visions of serving shrimp with some-kind-of-undetectable-poison-and-watching-her-bossy-boss-slip-to-the-floor-dead flashed through her mind.

“Hey, Trixie!”

Glowing lava rocks exploding from an active volcano had nothing on Trix at that moment. She grimaced, keeping her eyes wide so that as far as anyone reading a masked expression could figure, there was a smile under there somewhere. She faced Brenda, one of the homeschooling moms who sat behind her at Mass. She had polished a small mittened-hand wave to good effect. “Hey, Brenda.”

“So, are you going to the Winter Fun Event on the town square on Sunday?”

Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Trix mentally consulted her calendar. She had to teach school all week, an editing project was due on Thursday, her dad had slipped on the ice, so she wanted to drop off some chocolate panaceas on Friday. Saturday, she’d charge into battle against the encroaching spiderwebs, dust bunnies, and household scum that managed to accumulate when her back was turned. Sunday remained her shield against overwork and flippant insanity. “Well, I’m not sure. I’ve got a lot going on. And besides, is it safe?”

Attempting to avoid a maniacal expression, Trix hid her grin behind her mask. The “Is it safe?” comment usually stopped every conversation cold. She glanced aside at the rows of frozen foods. A suitable location, indeed.

Even behind her they-all-look-alike mask, it was obvious, Brenda’s face fell. Her eyes dimmed. Her joy-spark snuffed.

Geeze! Who cares about Winter Fun? I have my sanity to keep track of! Isn’t that more important!

Trix tried to cool the use of mental exclamation points, but her heart sank to her chilled boots. If Old Scrooge could see her now, he’d embrace her as a fellow frozen-soul.

Good soldier and honest Christian lady who kept faith with all sorts of happy thoughts, Brenda squared her shoulders and drowned whatever sorry-reality haunted the depth of her eyes. “No problem. I was just asking. You’re right to be careful. Just sometimes, you know—” She glanced aside, definitely not seeing the delightful array of frozen yogurts. “You’re doing well. That’s all that matters.”

Trix’s icy heart started to drip.

Her mistake hit Brenda like a bullet train. She burst with contrition. “Oh, I forgot. I said Trixie—and you hate that. Sorry. I mess up names all the time, so I use those stupid mnemonic-things to remember. But I still manage to—” Gripping her cart with dejected humiliation, she aimed for the meat and cheese aisle.

Her cheeks flushed, Trix swallowed a chunk of ice. She stopped Brenda’s cart. “I’m heading to the candy aisle to find something chocolatey for my dad. Want to come?”

As they turned into the next aisle and at the sight of Brenda’s tear-filled eyes, Trix snatched a box of cocoa off the passing shelf. “You want to stop by for a cup Sunday afternoon? We’ll both need warming up.” She grinned right through her mask.

It was good to come out of the cold.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Oldearth Melchior Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

My Road Goes Ever On—Spiritual Being, Human Journey https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/adventure-ice-cave-cold-exploration-1850094/

Head for Shore

The lake before me runs at an even pace with ripples breaking against the rocky, wooded shoreline. November trees adorned with crumpled, brown leaves shiver in a cold breeze. Evergreens standout, their pine branches waving as if to salute distant friends who never get any closer.

This should be a forlorn landscape, but I sought it out. It’s too muddy to take my usual walk, but my soul craves the sympathetic poetry of natural beauty. Fishermen aren’t crowding the pier this time of the year, though a red car just pulled up, and a man heaved a pole and a bucket from the backseat.

I recently disconnected from my main social media sites. A death of sorts, pulling the plug on a life support that often drained more than fed. I pondered this move long and hard, making several weak attempts to control my online habit with organized lists, determined parameters, and even a few complete breaks. But like a dysfunctional relationship, I kept going back in the hopes that things would be different. Not this time.

Mists of rain turned to heavy drops, and the red car just drove away. Undeterred birds chirp with wild abandon. Crows caw their raucous opinion. Whatever the matter might be, I haven’t a clue. Territory issues? Food source contestants? Perhaps they’re just trolling as they fly by.

2020 has proven to be a heck of a year on many levels. It started out weird when two of my boys, acting as altar servers on New Year’s Eve, fainted on the altar. No explanation. They just fell faint twenty feet apart, at nearly the same moment, for no known reason. They were embarrassed; I was worried; the congregation was confused. Not an auspicious beginning to the year. But it proved accurate. I’m still worried, and now the whole world is confused.

COVID, shutdowns, national divisions, an entangled world, environmental concerns, massive debt, 61+ million aborted humans, 39% divorce rate, (Give or take, depending on your source) relationship dysfunction, collective guilt, heated controversies, out of control rage, and no-end-in-site-isolation, make for an anxious population and an uncertain future. God knows what 2021 will bring.

And there lies the reason that I’m sitting in a cold car on the lakeside, facing a bare woods in late November. The same reason that I disconnected from my social media sites. There is more to life than the clickbait that bots are determined to show me or the hurt, fear, and frustration of a world slipping wildly out of control.

I have to stand on a firm foundation in order to step anywhere. I need nurturing soil to grow. I’ve been thrashing about in the deep end of madness for a weary length of time. God has been generous enough to hold me up, but I suspect that he’d like me to head for shore.

Rain patters on the car roof, a comforting sound, as long as it doesn’t become a deluge. It’s only noon, and though the clouds make for a dim view, I can still see through the tangled woods and across the rippling waves.

My human existence is more than making online “friends” and connecting through a few words before moving on. My brain wasn’t made to filter so many images, the cacophony of opinions, a swirling sea of conflicting realities. My heart doesn’t beat well to the tune of ghost relationships, scammer fakes, or an inundation of offerings. I can’t enjoy any post when I’m drowning in a raging sea of alerts, dings, calls, texts, all flashing pay-attention-to-me notices throughout the day.

God. Family. Home. A rolling lake. Strolling through a November woods. Falling rain. A beautiful poem. Heartfelt words. A couple of inspirational biographies. Sitting in the living room, knitting. Sharing meals with friends and family. Stories enlivened with kids’ laughter. Quiet moments in prayer and gratitude.

There is more to life than online social media.

I’ve decided to live it.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Oldearth Melchior Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

My Road Goes Ever On—Spiritual Being, Human Journey https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/lake-ontario-canada-hdr-fall-1581897/

The Me I Want to Be

Martin, dressed in jeans, a light sweater, and his running shoes, stood on the edge of a gaping hole where his home was supposed to stand and realized that the earth beneath his feet could give way at any time. He stepped back. When the pressure of solid earth penetrated the soles of his feet, he stopped.

Taller than her brother, with long black hair rippling down her back, her body wrapped in a winter coat, yet still shivering, Jacquelyn meandered close and clasped his frozen hand. “You need to forget it. Let it go.”

His snort, bitter and abrupt, left no doubt about his feelings on that score. “It let me go! It left me without a foundation for my house.”

Jacquelyn hugged his arm. Words were of no use now.

With a sigh, he turned away. “There’s nothing to do but abandon the whole thing. Chalk it up as a learning experience, though I can’t say I learned much. What’s a sinkhole supposed to teach me? That my hopes, like my marriage, can drop into the abyss at a moment’s notice?”

Jacquelyn pulled a thick strand of hair from her face. “You’ll find a better place and another—”

Heat flushed Martin’s face as his heartbeat ricocheted through his tense body. “Good God, if you say I’ll find another wife, I may never speak to you again.”

Tears filled Jacquelyn’s eyes.

With an apologetic shake of his head, Martin grabbed her hand and hurried to his truck. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold, and you’re just getting over that ridiculous flu.” He opened the passenger door to his Ford truck and helped her climb in. Then he jogged to the driver’s side, slapping his hands to regain feeling in his fingertips. He slid into place, started the car, and backed out of the makeshift driveway.

A few trees still sported burnt orange and yellow leaves. As dark clouds bundled in the west and the wind picked up, only the hardy oaks held fast. The rest would be stripped bare before the week was out. With a sinking feeling, the image of his wife, soon to be ex-wife, describing the house she wanted and all the fun they’d have filling it with adorable children, stabbed his gut.

He turned the truck onto the freeway. “You feeling okay?”

Jacquelyn shrugged. “Dad didn’t know who I was on my last visit. Jay got laid off, so I’m trying to pick up another online teaching job. Amy hates her biology teacher, and me half the time, but she’s getting through. Our family stubborn streak comes in handy.” She flashed a smile, though her face didn’t reflect it.

His eyes on the road, Martin pressed her arm in a gentle squeeze. “Sorry. I’m not the only one going through stuff.” He sighed. “You’re right. I got the land cheap, and I’ll find another place to build. Sandra only married me for my good looks, charm, and oodles of money. Guess it served her right to discover the frog under her prince, eh?”

Jacquelyn peered out the window, her tears gave way. “She doesn’t know you, or she’d never have left.”

“She knew. She just wanted something else. Someone else.”

“She wants to be someone else.” Jacquelyn shrugged. “Easy mistake to make.”

Martin took the right lane and followed it to the exit. He curved with the road, checked the quiet intersection, and pulled onto Main Street. Going a modest 30 mph felt like crawling.

A group outside the Famished Farmers café waved as they passed.

Martin waved back.

Jacquelyn imitated an Egyptian mummy.

With a tilt of his head, Martin frowned. “Wasn’t that blond with the spike heels your friend from—?”

“She made some comments on my peer review…pretty harsh. I’m staying out of her way.”

“Oh.”

“Her husband had a crush on me and well…”

Martin winced. God, when did life get so bloody complicated?

As he wound his way through town, Martin picked a safe topic. “Still taking your medicine?”

“Only if I have trouble breathing. Been doing well the last few days.” She glanced aside. “And you? Still taking that anti-depressant?”

Martin wanted to slam his head against the steering wheel as he picked up speed along the country road. “No. I had lots of reasons to be depressed, but it isn’t the end of the world. I just need to figure out how to get undepressed.”

A hound chasing a rabbit dashed out in front of the truck.

Martin swerved, hit the brakes, and skidded to abrupt stop inches from a deep ravine.

As they sat there, stunned, Jacquelyn exhaled a long shuddering breath.

Martin swiveled out of the truck, not even bothering to slam the door shut. He strode around, stared at the tires peeking over the edge of the gorge, and waved at his sister. “Don’t move!”

He sped to the truck, slipped into place, and slowly edged the car backward. Then he started to sob.

Jacquelyn rubbed his back in a large, slow circle. “Catch your breath, Marty.”

Martin rested his head on the steering wheel. “After the accident, I thought I’d be strong. Mom died so quick. But no matter what I do, Dad’s slipping into senility. Despite the fact that my wife found a guy she likes better, I still planned to build the house, and then the ground sinks from under me, literally. And now, I nearly drive us off a cliff.” Martin lifted his head and stared at his sister. “You think someone got me mixed up with a guy named Job?”

A tired smile ghosted across Jacquelyn’s face. “Life is hellishly hard, but we hang in there anyway.”

Martin’s mind drew a blank. “Why? It’d be so much easier to give up.”

Jacquelyn dug into her purse and pulled out a wallet. She snapped open a small picture album and wiggled out a photo. It was a long-legged, longer-haired Martin, age twelve. She held it up.

Martin leaned forward; his jaw dropped open. “What’re you doing carrying that around? It should be burned! I’m wearing bell-bottoms for Heaven’s sake! It could be used against me in a court of law.”

Jacquelyn snatched it back and pressed it to her chest. “It’s mine. When I have a bad day, I pull it out.”

Martin shook his head, confusion rising like late-summer fog.

“This was the year that guy I loved dumped me for my best friend, I got that awful perm, and I failed algebra. Mom was working evenings, dad started drinking, and I hated everyone.”

“You were fifteen.” He pointed to the picture. “Why are—”

“You took me out for ice cream, and I punched you, splattering chocolate sauce on your good shirt. Made a big stain on the front, you can still see the mark.” She tapped the picture.

A smile spread across his face, reaching his heart. “You were a bully. What’s new?”

“I tried to apologize by ordering you to wear a clean shirt, but you said that you’d know people by what they saw. Either they’d see a stain or they’d see you. Later you gave the shirt to Rosco so he’d sleep in the doghouse without barking all night.”

Martin ran his fingers through his hair. “Color me confused.”

“When I look at the picture, I see the me I want to be. I don’t see a stain. I see possibilities.”

Martin tilted his head, put the car into gear, and pulled onto the road. “You think I could turn a sinkhole into a basement or something?”

Jacquelyn laughed. “Make it a family room, and I’ll help you build it.”

Martin dropped Jacquelyn at home and then headed to the worksite. He was back on solid ground.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Oldearth Melchior Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

My Road Goes Ever On—Spiritual Being, Human Journey https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/cave-hole-landscape-blue-sky-sunny-555727/

Opportunities

Every now and again, an opportunity strolls up and shakes my hand. Over the years, my response has changed from over-exuberant my-life will-now-be-so-much-better fantasy to a take-it-as-it-comes-live-in-the-moment reality, saving me a great deal of disappointment and offering me a whole new take on life.

Recently, I connected with two podcasters, Dick and Jay, who manage a show called Bad Science Fiction Read Poorly. https://open.spotify.com/show/71rrN3aHQpU0oFs7KQ86fe

A few weeks ago, Dick emailed and asked if I wanted to be on their show. The old me would’ve read the title and shied away. The new me investigated, listened to a podcast, and realized that with their down-to-earth sense of humor, I might have some fun. So I took a chance and, on Sunday, I wrote a short story from their prompt, got online, chatted with them about science fiction characters, books, the writing process, and even read Jay’s story out loud. Good golly, I did have fun!

I didn’t spend a minute beforehand trying to imagine what the process was going to look like. I didn’t spend quality brain space on what might be, should be, or futuristic could be. What a relief.

The show should air next Monday, and I have no idea what it will sound like, but I’m confident that the final product will reflect nothing less than fellow human beings’ passion for a good story, no matter what the title.

During the week, an online friend, Anne DeSantis, invited me to create a podcast describing God’s mercy in my life. Once again, the old me would’ve balked at the whole idea of creating my own audible podcast. The new me figured that if I could learn how to text without causing inter-planetary disturbances, I could learn this without risking human extinction. I did manage to record my story, and Smart Catholics https://smartcatholics.com/ now have an A. K. Frailey podcast on their roster.

So many people have written to me from various places and online sources that I can’t possibly keep track. I’m happy to read a book, reflect on a story, answer a question, or simply wish someone a good day. The old me would try to keep records, arrange future chats, attempt to sell my books, or micro-manage every situation. Not possible these days. And that’s been a blessing.

One memorable evening, years ago, I was eating dinner with my husband at a diner on the way home from visiting my Dad in Kansas. We had five young kids at the time, but they were well behaved. (The food stayed on the plates anyway.) A lady stopped by on her way out and congratulated us on our parenting skills. My husband practically glowed. Though, what I remember most was her parting comment, “I don’t know how you do it. I simply don’t have that much love to spare.”

I’ve thought about that comment through the years. Personally, I believe that love and opportunities have a great deal in common. Neither likes to be over-managed or stuffed into a box. The old me managed every detail and loved as safely as possible. The new me understands the difference between organization and a straight jacket. The old me thought I knew what the future held. The new me laughs a lot more.

In fact, I’d say that when an opportunity approaches these days, I don’t size it up with a critical eye. I just take its hand and love it.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Oldearth Melchior Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

My Road Goes Ever On—Spiritual Being, Human Journey https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/people-woman-travel-adventure-trek-2591874/

What Will Humanity Choose?

Abbas inhaled the bittersweet scent of the dying season, fully conscious of the vitality of his young companion.

Noman paced at his side through the spent garden, his gaze searching, though his lips remained stiffly in place.

They both knew why he had come.

Noman shook his head and waved toward the silent mounds where flowers, bushes, and fruit trees had once bloomed. “I’ve never understood your obsession with seasons. You know perfectly well that it’s just a repetitive cycle.”

Stopping under a gnarled tree radiant with autumn foliage, Abbas smiled through his discomfort. “Stages, even repetitive ones, have much to teach us.” He pointed to three milk-white moons rising in the light-green evening sky. “Everything is a part of a larger whole. We cannot live in isolation.”

Noman tilted his head and stared at the golden sun sinking onto the horizon. “If we are going to survive — much less thrive — we must choose soon.”

Abbas plucked a scarlet leaf off the tree. “Home is where the heart is.”

His tone bitter, Noman snorted a laugh. “You love riddles and poetical expressions, Abbas, but reality faces us with stark choices.”

A soprano note rose over the sleeping landscape, arresting the two. They stopped and listened as the voice danced, rising and falling, whirling with words until the singer burst through the gate at the end of the pathway.

She stood luminous, her long black hair fell past her shoulders, golden eyes sparkled in mischievous fun, and her lips twitched with unspent laughter. A long blue dress caressed her upper body and fell into gentle folds at her feet. A garland of late-season herbs crowned her head.

Abbas’s gaze darted to her rounded tummy, seeing in his mind the life curled on contentment within her body. “Angela?”

Noman’s perfect composure stiffened, a cord stretched to its limit.

Abashed, the laughter on Angela’s lips died. She swayed forward, her gaze slipping from Abbas to Noman. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean — ”

Abbas lifted his hand. “You are always welcome, my love. Any news?”

A fluttered sweep over her tummy, she smiled and nodded a polite salutation. “All is well.” She glanced into the sky. “I pray the same can be said for those under our watchful eye.”

Straightening, Noman scowled, a pedagogue forced to impart a hard lesson. “A time to choose is upon us. They have no intrinsic value other than in service to the greater good.” Noman glanced at Abbas. “I wish you could teach your husband to see with your vision.”

A flash of irritation sped over Angela’s face, quickly replaced by her usual serene unconcern. “My vision only extends to my own sphere. I make no pretense of managing the larger universe.”

Abbas gestured to the arched gateway leading to a magnificent castle, resting on a mountaintop surrounded by a pine forest. The stone structure with myriad exalted towers, round and rectangular windows on every level, and a domed central roof dominated the landscape. “Let’s return and enjoy our evening together.” He nodded at Noman. “We can discuss your concerns in more depth after a good meal — ”

Tapping his thigh, Noman’s agitation spread to the air around him. “There is little to discuss. I simply wanted to know if I had your support.”

Pained, Abbas dropped his gaze. “You have my support but your plan does not.”

His face tightened into a frozen mask, Noman nodded. “What I expected. Though I am disappointed. My mission is now clear.”

Angela sucked in a breath, her hands clasping her middle. “What do you plan to do?”

Noman waved her question away with a formal salute. “Nothing you need concern yourself with.” He turned to Abbas. “I will take my leave. Humans must face the greatest conundrum of their existence. Either they are slaves or masters.” He shook his head. “The council will see, I’m right. It’s a pity, really. You could have saved us all a great deal.” He shrugged. “But it’s no matter. The truth will come out.” He bowed low. “I must be on my way. The sooner I get this over with, the better.”

Angela nodded, her eyes clouded, her forehead furrowed in knots of concern.

In a blink of the eye, Noman disappeared. Only his footprints in the soft soil testified to his presence a moment before.

Angela sighed. “Why is he so angry? And why take it out on a primitive race that has never done him any harm?”

Dread filled Abbas, a gut-wrenching certainty that boded ill for many. “Noman was not created like us. Despite his intelligence and abilities, he lacks fruition.”

Angela swallowed, fear filling her eyes. “But why — ”

“For all of their limitations and failings, humanity can reproduce. A privilege denied him.”

“But he has his own glory. Can’t he see that?”

Abbas sighed and took his wife’s arm. “When we refuse the good in others, we often destroy it in ourselves.”

Angela jerked to a halt, her hand clasping her stomach. “He kicked!” She laughed. “It’s almost as if he could hear you and wanted to respond.”

Abbas lifted his eyes from his wife to the dim horizon, onto the first twinkling stars. “We best get home. Night is falling fast, and we don’t have much time.”

Angela patted his arm. “Don’t worry, my love. We’re protected here, and Noman will do as he pleases, in any case. He always does. What happens out there isn’t our responsibility.” She stepped away and beckoned with laughter. “Let’s enjoy our night together.”

Abbas let her go ahead and stood alone in the dark, his grief rising at the thought of his son inheriting such a universe. He shook his head. Slave, master, or honest service to all. Tears filled his eyes.

What will humanity choose?

Books by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Oldearth Melchior Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

My Road Goes Ever On—Spiritual Being, Human Journey https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Photo: https://pixabay.com/photos/fantasy-land-castle-monk-way-3558581/

Put Your Mind in a Better Place

Entertainment for Life

“Temptations prove thee.” A line from a prayer book I read this morning stopped me in my mental tracks. I had been talking the night before with my daughter about the value of professionalism in our world and how important it is to apply the concept to our thoughts as well as our actions. The words struck a chord, reminding me of the value of intentionally directing myself rather than being swept along by roaring currents.

Now at the end of the day, as I listen to the frogs’ chorus, the rustle of wind across the dried cornfields, note the silence of kids gone to bed, and join in a peaceful moment of solitude, reflecting on a day of off-road paths, I realize how many times I was tempted to react rather than put my life in proper order. Not because it would have been good but rather because it would have felt so natural.

I have come to the conclusion that my life is a trial. Seriously. A try-out for something that I can’t see yet. The person that I could be. The life and home I long for. The love that every human desires in the core of his or her being. Free will is the name of the game. And transformation is the goal.

As spokespersons, media personalities, politicians, Google search engines, bots, and a host of realities nudge me through the highways and byways of my online world, I sometimes forget that I make the choice of what I hear, what I see, what I pay attention to, what I react to. I don’t have to get hot and bothered by commentaries. I don’t have to seethe, live in terror, or seek a particular end to someone else’s trauma drama. I can choose my mood and make productive even the oddest moment.

From unexpectedly having to get tires checked this morning, I was able to have a humorous chat with the service guy who proved that a gentleman doesn’t make a lady feel like an idiot even when her ignorance of auto operations should glare with flashing neon lights. I was tempted to feel stupid but decided to be grateful instead.

A surprise call from my sister who is dealing with health problems led to her offering me insight and advice with my own health challenges, drawing us beyond a dark past into a supportive present. I was tempted to end the call early but instead allowed her to be the big sister she longs to be and relaxed in her enduring love.

When a collaborative effort with a voice actor on one of my projects didn’t pan out, I could have been hurt and annoyed. But as the situation remained not only professional but also pleasant, we were able to recognize the situation honestly and wish each other the best and move on.

There are times when the trials of life enmesh me in idiocy, and I need help to break the fear and “What if—” cycle. Conversations with friends, classical music, a prayerful book, a walk in nature, efforts to seek out good, beautiful, and noble realities—even in stories—break the vicious cycle and redirect my mind as well as my feet.

Ultimately, I—and everyone sharing the planet with me—are works in progress. I don’t see all ends. I’m lucky if I see the road a few feet ahead. Flexibly meeting the day while constantly reaffirming my priorities—toward what bears healthy, holy fruit makes every day a good one—no matter how tempting.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Oldearth Melchior Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

My Road Goes Ever On—Spiritual Being, Human Journey https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Photo: https://pixabay.com/photos/book-flowers-life-basket-read-1210027/