PatternSeeker86

She wore a purple dress, a prairie style she liked. Her hair was long and curly, held back by a tied bandanna. She stepped lightly, dancing first with her brothers, then with friends of her brothers until someone else invited her to dance. He led her in the dance in a swing style, turning her and spinning her in and out, holding her close. She laughed with delight and blushed from the exercise. After the song ended, he left her with her brothers. He returned, offering her a cup of cold water while he drank from another cup. She put her hand on his arm, saying “That was kind. Thank you for thinking of me.” Her brothers turned toward the one who got their sister’s attention.

Women he met were loud and brassy, aspiring to marry rich workaholics who would worshipfully support them. Even though his matchmaking computer made him wealthy, it did not deliver his soulmate. His “matches” repelled him in his mortal need for quiet. He examined the program until he found a mistake, so he made a crucial positive sign into a negative. It was obvious, his opposites did not attract him.

The disabled car alerted 911 services, after the driver did not respond to automated questioning. Driving in the night, he got an alert to assist at the scene of the accident. He responded and took the next exit from the freeway onto the spur climbing over the ridge to another highway. The bypass brought development and construction to overgrown hillsides. Construction was beginning on large mansions with valley views. He slowed down at a barricade of illuminated service trucks and patrol cars. An officer in rain gear waved him through, pointing up the hill to other patrol cars. He saw a medical helicopter descend. Three paramedics attended two bloody adults, secured on gurneys. An attendant in the red helicopter secured the gurneys in the rear compartment. The woman on a gurney was crying and pointing back to her car, yelling “My children!” muffled by an oxygen mask on her face. The attendant calmed her by speaking and pointing to an approaching ambulance. The trooper parked

The Friday-most Friday of the year, boring work run amok There was an obvious pause between every tick of the clock The bonuses were all distributed, and the annual reviews complete The winding down of the year until the next one came on little feet Little work was done, every effort seemed undoing what went before Here it was forever moments draining slowly at a quarter ‘til four. This is this year’s Christmas story I could not hurry to a work stop I suddenly realized it was like Xmas, where X marked a timeless spot.

My best-ball scramble golf outing yesterday re-informed me of my golfing skills, or lack thereof. If someone's team needs the opposite of a ringer, I volunteer, like ballast in an old sailing ship. I keep the team low in the water. If my skills fit a category, call it sub-amateur. I have not missed an opportunity by avoiding golf. I now understand it should be pronounced "Gol--ffffff!" I suggested to the Chamber of Commerce organizers that they might make more money if they had swear jars on every tee box, fairway and green. Our team got the highest score of the teams, of those unwise enough to submit their score at day's end. The best team had half the strokes of ours, people who play that arduous course every day. Half or more holes on the course were par 5. One hole had a nearly semi-circular fairway, between houses built on both sides of the fairway. We got bogey or par on most holes. I assume teams with lower scores live by golfing. Who builds their house on a golf course?

The contest was not much to speak of, but to my grandmother and her neighbor, thereupon rested bragging rights to being the most able gardener. I helped weed, and mowed the lawn with a push mower, and grandma was careful with the seeding, weeding, feeding, compost and soil chemistry. It all mattered very much because it was about mastery of agricultural acumen. All through the summer these women talked over the back fence and my grandmother would say, “Anyway…” which was the cue for them to separate in their frequent bouts of vegetable verification. It did not matter to me, because my grandmother would pick the fruit of our labor and make a meal for me. Sometimes it was strawberry shortcake after a pan of fried green tomatoes and okra fresh from the garden. To me it looks like it was a game, because the women competed to see who could grow what and cook it to their satisfaction. I never tasted the neighbor’s cooking, so I am no judge of the outcome. However, my memory of my

You cannot take all with you, But when you are gone Something is taken Your presence, your joy of life, your laughter and the sound of you Your side of future conversations All the bonds of earth The consequence of your daily attention Like removing weeds from the garden or Gathering flowers, trimmed in a vase, Gathered herbs, tended in beds, season after season, That touch and hand at recipes with loving focus on the detail that made difference transcending anything like it. Memories shared and renewed, or revived, and connections between you and others In all our frailties and minor strengths What makes you that one "you" that lingers in memory Changing and shifting through time Drifting and turning in the season’s winds, no more That which and what you cherished and shared in your unique way Now we remember, now we will forget. Let you be the grand memorial of all that went before Celebrated with loving thoughts, laughter echoing and contagious to us all. Wonder

At apogee, escape was complete, putting the microchip-sized probe into position to activate a drive to fold space, so it instantly escaped the sun’s heliosphere. Billions of people watched in expectation, attentive to the spectacle of humanity’s next great leap outward. Communication was sustained, and in the control and observation spaces, data dumped to recorders and the monitor screens. Directors and their staff cheered and hugged, happily applauding the effective culmination of decades of research. Echoing across the tarmac, noisy mechanical sounds came from the launch tower, readying the next package to be projected into greater outer space. Frames of data cascaded through analysis systems. Gigabits of video, flowing in from probe links, showed vast armadas of alien-looking spacecraft, awaiting beyond clouds of dust and noisy interference from our sun. Humanity did not appear to be alone in the universe, yet it was not included in the business out there. “Ignored or

Fire begins with the smallest spark in tinder Ends in glowing embers then whiting cinder The substance going away in smudges of smoke rising Between these sights is that leaping flame That illuminates with a glow and anything before the fire casts shadows and is warmed on the side facing these dancing sports of heat unless turned and the wood stirred All around Bask in the warmth Take cheer from the light Breathe deep the sweeter scents And bear the ash away So the hearth is clean for another day