My kids, three of them at least, and their first puppy. I’d forgotten my daughter posted this priceless little treasure. I laugh harder every time I see it . . .
More or less a fact –
Sometimes my son goes on lengthy verbal journeys, generally dragging me along for the ride. We typically walk through his thoughts and ideas at a comfortable pace, enjoying ourselves as we take turns pointing out the scenery. Every now and then, a particular notion will lead us gradually uphill and away from our destination and I will have to convince him to turn back.
Things move much faster when they are rolling downhill.
Like a tumbleweed gaining momentum and gathering debris along the way, his thoughts can become tangled and a little less cohesive as he picks up speed. This afternoon I was invited upon one of his loquacious adventures and soon enough, we began gaining altitude, as I eased him back down to the realm of all things calm and quiet, he uttered a sentence which even made him stop and think –
” . . . but I guess could be considered as more or less a fact. Maybe.”
We decided to stop for a picnic.
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They were the faces of the future
My heart is broken tonight. I do not think it is right, moral, constructive, beneficial, or whatever pitiful reasons are spewed by those who plaster the faces of the innocent lost to hateful war on our television screens, our computers, magazines and newspapers. It’s shameful.
People need to know, I get it. We cannot forget the horrors of war. Report to me of the inconceivable acts man can inflict upon man. Tell me of the innocents lost, of the mothers who will never again hold their children . . . I understand the world needs to know of the atrocities being committed.
We need to feel the loss, sadness, anger, or whatever it is we need to feel for whatever reasons we need to feel it. I don’t really know what we need anymore. This world doesn’t seem capable of learning from the mistakes of the past, we condemn them while we continue to repeat and perfect them.
To see the body of a child, ravished by the unspeakable, should be incomprehensible and yet without respect, their images are shoved before our faces. Those were somebody’s children. Not men or women willingly walking into war, aware of the risks, they were somebody’s children.
There is no honor in using their deaths to show how ugly the enemy is, the young on all sides have been murdered. A mother’s grief should never be exploited, her cries and her tears as she falls to her knees in despair have no right to be broadcast for all to see.
All of the back and forth, hashtag prayers for whatever side your political preferences favor are self-serving. Pray for them all. For us all.
Faces of what should have been the future,
children lost to war, tears of terror-stricken mothers,
images of grief-wrought faces twisted in hopeless despair.
They splash across our screens without warning,
burning themselves into our hearts.
Not to avenge, but to incite, no respect for the lost,
no respect for the left behind.
See this child of our country? See his lifeless eyes staring
into your soul? The blood is on their hands, not our own.
They sacrifice the innocent, casualties of war
dying for political rhetoric and vengeful hate.
Senseless. Selfish. Pathetic.
Children become pawns in the bloody battles of cowards hiding
behind babies, sending them to kill with weapons
to heavy for them to bear, burdens that will bury them.
Sickened by the loss, disgusted by those who see
death and destruction as answers to peace.
Peace means victory to an ignorant beast.
Men without honor, people without purpose, countries without pride.
Mine. Yours. Theirs.
Children are dying while men lament the loss of the battle,
disregarding the lives lain waste to their foolishness.
Online are the faces of their victims, precious children
born into and killed by the vile grudges and grievances of man.
They show them, God help us, they show them.
Their little faces photographed and shared without regard
for the sanctity of who they were or what they may have become.
They deserved better in life, they deserve better still than to be used as
propaganda to perpetuate the purposes of those bent on taking more lives. They were faces that should have been the future.
Crystal R. Cook
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Don’t forget . . .
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Slaying Dragons
Empty promises,
fragments of dream,
pieces of me
lost, missing, stolen.
I no longer
yearn their
return.
Damaged goods
tossed aside,
replaced with
new and shiny
things, filling
the voids they
left behind.
Loss becomes gain
with release of pain,
relinquished angst,
quells fears
once worn like armor.
Still, anxieties preach,
false prophets of doom,
a dragon hard to slay.
A day will come
its lies will cease,
and in that moment,
I will rest in peace.
Crystal R. Cook
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Sir Wetsalot . . . A rainy day writing.
Since children’s stories seems to be my theme for the day, I thought I would share one written with children. My children. My kids are all talented and articulate weavers of words, I read to them while they still nestled in my womb. I’ve always encouraged them to read and write and create.
The following tale was written on a rainy, stay home day when my children were in elementary school. Four bored, runny-nosed house trolls need to be kept busy and entertained so we decided to write a story.
They had so many ideas, we settled on our theme and they ran with it, each adding their own adorable voices to what would become one of our favorite memories. What I thought was going to be a miserable day turned out to be a pretty great one.
Sir Wetsalot and the Knights of the Changing Table
Sir Wetsalot and his knights had many grand adventures protecting the kingdom of Cry-a-lot. Their faithful service never went unoticed by the king or the good people they protected. Their deeds and heroics were recorded so future generations would be reminded of their courage and sacrifice. The tale you are about to embark upon is one of the most famous and remarkable stories ever told of the brave souls we proudly called, The Knights of the Changing table.
Our story begins on a stormy night in the kingdom of Cry-a-lot. The wind howled as the knights gathered at the changing table. The King himself had called them to this secret meeting to discuss his fears that somewhere, someone was plotting to steal his most precious belonging, the golden rattle, Exloud-in-ear. The symbol of peace and harmony for Cry-a-lot was in danger and he feared life as they knew it would come to an end if they did not take measures to stop whatever fiend plotted against them.
As they thought of what to do, they remembered the day the King pulled Exloud-in-ear from under a mountain of rubbish and stone. Many had tried before him but none of them had the heart of a true king. The moment the golden rattle was freed the kingdom cheered and proclaimed him ruler and king. Their villages prospered and the evils they had come to fear seemed to vanish.
They were not sure of the exact nature of this new threat, the Kinghad heard rumors of a plot to steal Exloud-in-ear but that was about it. He decided to send out his most trustworthy spies to gather information and find out who was behind the dastardly plot.
As the spies packed for what they thought could be a long journey they heard a noise outside, they listened carefully but did not hear anything so they continued packing. They had lollipops and plenty of bottles filled with juice, they had their blankies and teddies and of course their spy gear. As they packed the last items they heard the noise again. This time is was even louder.
They rushed to the door and peeked out into the dark night, they could barely make out something in the distance, it looked like it was coming closer. They reached into their bags and pulled out their bottles, they aimed and squeezed, covering the intruder with orange juice and apple juice. Wet and unhappy, it disappeared into the city.
They immediately ran to the King and told him all about it. They were sure it must have been whoever, or whatever it was that wanted to steal Exloud-in-ear from them. They made plans to set a trap and catch the thief, they got to work right away. They started to grow sleepy though and their eyes began to close. One by one, they all fell fast asleep.
When they awoke, Exloud-in-ear was gone! Everyone began to panic, it took the King a long time to calm his people. He called on Sir Wetsalot to help him. Now Sir Wetsalot was very smart and very brave. The only thing that ever slowed him down was a full diaper. He came up with a new plan and quickly put it into action.
A fake Exloud-in-ear was made and placed on a table in the middle of the kingdom, it’s gold paint twinkled in the sun. The King, Sir Wetsalot, the Knights, the spies and all the people hid and waited. They waited, and waited and waited. Just when the sun was going down they began to hear noises. They watched nervously as something approached.
The table began to shake and the fake rattle fell to the ground. No one dared move closer to see what was happening. They listened to the rattle sounds growing softer and softer until they where gone. Now it had the fake Exloud-in-ear and the real one! Everyone in Cry-a-lot was sad. The King began to cry, he would not speak at all. He just sat there in tears and sucked his thumb.
Sir Wetsalot could not stand to see his king like this and valiantly went after the rattle. It was pretty easy really, there was a trail of cookie crumbs for him to follow. As he bravely skipped along the path he heard the familiar sound of the golden rattle. He very quietly crept toward the sound. He could not believe what he saw.
There sat his little brother, slobbering all over Exloud-in-ear. He was so mad he started screaming . . . “Mommeeeee!” Sir Wetsalot smiled as his mother took the rattle from the baby and returned it once again. After a quick diaper change and a snack he was on his way back to Cry-a-lot.
Everyone cheered and gave him a heroes welcome when he returned! The King took his soggy thumb from his mouth and jumped for joy! Peace and harmony returned to the kingdom and everyone settled down for a nice nap. While they slept, Sir Wetsalot’s mommy added a safety gate to the entrance of Cry-a-lot and turned out the lights.
Crystal, Wilson, Matthew, Angela, & Michael Cook
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One of the few . . .
This is one of the few child themed pieces I’ve written I actually considered a success. It brought smiles to the faces of my children, they giggled and squealed and wanted to hear it over and over again. They would squinch up their little eyes and try to dream of silly animals, they would fall asleep with a smile . . .
Something very strange happened late last night,
I began to hear odd noises, so I turned on the light.
You won’t believe what I saw, you won’t believe what I heard,
I hardly believed it myself, it was simply too absurd!
There where mice in my slippers and hamsters in my bed.
Fluffy bunnies on my dresser and a kitten on my head!
There where roaring lions scratching at the door,
and I could see two crocodiles, but I’m certain there where more!
Birds where busy flying, some were singing too,
I could hear a barking dog and I think I heard a moo!
Turtles slowly traveled across my bedroom floor,
while slithering snakes slid quickly underneath the door!
There was a zebra in the corner who didn’t make a sound,
and a dozen little piggies where running all around!
A great big pretty parrot flew up above my head,
then some silly chipmunks started jumping on my bed!
The closet door was opened up, just a little bit,
it must have been too small for the hippopotamus to fit!
They all made so much noise it soon woke up my mom.
She ran into my room to see just what was wrong.
Her mouth fell right open and her eyes got very wide
when she opened up my door and saw the animals inside!
She called out for my father and my little brother came in too,
who jumped up and started shouting “Yay! We’ve got a zoo!”
An owl hooted softly and then an elephant appeared,
followed by some monkeys and an ape who had a beard!
The house was filled with animals, now what would we do?
Every single minute our zoo just grew and grew!
Mom was in the kitchen and so where all the goats,
Dad was in the closet getting bats out of our coats!
My little brother was in the bathroom filling up the sink
for a line of thirsty penguins waiting for a drink.
“Oh what will we do?” I heard my mother call.
“We really must act fast! There’s a giraffe out in the hall!”
It was completely up to me to rid us of this zoo,
I thought for just a moment, then I knew just what to do!
I politely asked the polar bear who was sleeping in my bed,
if he could find another place to rest his sleepy head.
I thought maybe if I fell asleep I could dream them all away.
The animals where fun, but I knew they couldn’t stay.
So I pulled up all my covers and shut my eyes real tight,
hoping that my dreams would make everything all right.
I slept for just a while and then thought I’d take a peek,
everything was calm and quiet, not a single peep.
The monkeys where all gone, and the elephant was too,
I guess it must have worked because there was no zoo.
No more birds where flying, and no more lions roaring.
The animals where gone and everything was boring.
But I knew how to fix it, I knew what to do!
I’d just go back to sleep and dream about our zoo.
So I pulled up all my covers and shut my eyes real tight,
and when they opened up, I saw such a funny sight!
There where hippos and rhinos, cows and kangaroos,
I couldn’t help shouting “Yay! We’ve got a zoo!”
It used to be hard to fall asleep most every night.
I would pull up all my covers and close my eyes real tight.
Then I’d toss and I’d turn and I’d never get my rest,
I’d think all sorts of things, I’d try my very best.
But now each and every night when I get into my bed,
I just close my eyes and dream of animals instead!
Crystal R.Cook 1994
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Out of the shoebox . . .
I used to imagine myself writing for children, I seemed to always come up short in my efforts though. I decided to take a course dedicated to writing for children. How hard could it be? For me, very. I could never find my voice in the realm of children’s literature, it wasn’t for lack of trying.
Frustrated by my futile attempts, I enrolled in a children’s writing course. I floundered. My instructor praised my every effort without providing me with much instruction, constructive criticism or critique. I’m embarrassed to admit I didn’t finish the course.
Sifting through my shoeboxes again, I came upon the first assignment I submitted. A simple little story which took me weeks to put together and left me feeling like a dismal failure. Every now and then, I still try to eke out a story for the little ones, Each time I do I’m reminded I am better at writing about them instead of for them . . .
Oct. 24, 1992
# ED75006
Roberta’s Secret Ingredient
Roberta Rabbit awoke early to prepare for the big pie contest. She wanted to start her pies before the other pie makers. “I just know I’m going to win a blue ribbon today.” she mumbled to herself as she slipped out of bed. Roberta was still sleepy. She stayed up most of the night thinking about the contest.
“No one can top my recipe for sweet carrot pie!” thought Roberta as she made her way to the kitchen. She cheerfully began gathering her ingredients while singing a little tune, “Eggs and sugar, flour and spice, are some of the things that make my pies so nice. The sweetest of carrots grown with rain from above, all mixed together with a spoonful of love. A pinch of this and a dash of that, then my secret ingredient…” suddenly, Roberta stopped singing and was no longer very cheerful. As a matter of fact, she was quite upset.
Before she went to bed she’d placed her secret ingredient on the cupboard and now it was gone! She searched everywhere, but it was nowhere to be found. Roberta was so busy running about the kitchen she almost didn’t see the little mouse who was eating the last little bit of the secret ingredient.
“Little mouse!” cried Roberta, “I needed that for my pies!” The mouse just looked at her and scurried away. “How will I ever win now?” she sighed.
Hoping to find more, Roberta decided to go to the market. She put on her hat and coat and began her walk. As she rounded the corner she almost ran right into Mrs. Grumble Bunny. “Excuse me,” said Roberta, “I’m in an awful hurry, I’m so sorry.”
Mrs. Grumble Bunny frowned, “Well dearie, I’m in a hurry myself, I have a contest to win. Good day Roberta.” and she continued hopping down the lane.
Roberta continued on her way. When she reached the market she quickly found what she was looking for. She was so relieved she began singing her song again. Roberta heard a voice behind her. Startled, she turned around to see Harriet Hare.
“What are you singing Roberta?” she asked.
“Nothing in particular.” replied Roberta.
“I thought I heard something about a secret ingredient. Is that your secret there?” said Harriet pointing to the jar in Roberta’s hand.
Roberta was too nervous to answer, she was worried she’d given it away. “Are you entering a pie today Harriet?” she asked.
Harriet smiled, “Of course I am, my recipe is sure to win! See at the contest!”
Roberta waved goodbye and hurried along to pay for the secret ingredient. She rushed home and began baking her pies. Once again, Roberta was cheerful and happy. When the pies were finished she set them out on the window sill to cool, She plopped down in her comfy chair and watched carefully for the little mouse. As she sat there, she nodded off to sleep and dreamed of her pies and the blue ribbon she hoped to win.
As Roberta rested, her pies were drawing quite an audience. The wind carried the scent of her sweet carrot pies throughout the neighborhood. Roberta awoke to find the whole town outside her window.
“What are you doing out there?” she asked.
“We could smell your wonderful pies, we came to see if we could have a taste.” one of the gentlemen replied.
Roberta gave it some thought, “Of course, come inside.” Everyone sat down as Roberta served the pie.
“This is the best pie I’ve ever tasted!” said someone.
“You really must give me your recipe,” said another. Even grumpy old Mrs. Grumble Bunny was smiling.
Harriet Hare went to Roberta, “You deserve to win this contest, I’d sure like to know your secret.”
“Sorry,” replied Roberta with a big grin, “I can’t give away my secret but I’ll bake you a pie anytime you like!”
“It’s almost time for the contest.” said Roberta, “We’d all better get going if we don’t want to be late.”
“Wait!” yelled a voice from the crowd, “All the judges are here and we’ve decided if it’s alright with everyone, we’d like to award Roberta with first place right now!”
There wasn’t a word of protest from anyone. Roberta was given the most beautiful ribbon she’d ever seen. She was so happy she gave everyone another slice of pie. When they’d all gone, Roberta hung her ribbon where she could always see it, she was very proud of having won first place.
After that day, Roberta always sang her song whenever someone asked for her secret. “Eggs and sugar, flour and spice, are some of the things that make my pies so nice. The sweetest of carrots, grown with rain from above, all mixed together with a spoonful of love. A pinch of this and a dash of that, then my secret ingredient…” but she’d always stop before finishing the tune and walk away with a smile on her face.
Crystal R. Cook
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How to ask Mom a question.
Son: I have a question for you, you’re probably going to say no, but . . .
Me: I can’t stand it when you assume what I am going to say by beginning your questions with, “You’re probably going to say no, but – ” I want to say no before you even get to the question.
Son: So basically, you’re saying I am almost guaranteed a no by saying that?
Me: It’s a possibility.
– Later –
Son: Question . . . I’m pretty sure you’ll say yes, so . . .
Life with the Cooks.
The Qwiet Muse 