WALTZING MATILDA

by Danna Shirley

Writing assignment: use these words in a story...

Message     Fake     Graze     Scoundrel     Authenticity

Waltz     Discombobulated     Pumpkin

The email message dinged at 2:00 a.m. As a government operative, I could not ignore anything coming in on my Top Secret computer. The email was from Agent James Polk of the FBI. I quickly scanned its contents and learned there was a breach in our system. Further search placed the origination in Brussels.

I returned to my room and showered, packed, and kissed my hubby goodbye. Agent Polk met me at the airport and we were on a plane to Belgium by daylight. The investigation revealed the location of the breach was in the Castle of Groot-Bijgaarden (Bi-jerden). An invitation was highjacked to attend a ball the next evening at the castle. James and I hustled to buy evening wear and then quickly brushed up on our dance moves. I wasn’t the greatest dancer in the world but I could fake it when necessary.

Entering the castle grounds was a vision to behold. The estate was elegantly authentic with ducks and geese padding around a pond while alpacas grazed on the lawn. It seemed all the elite of Brussels were in attendance this night.

James and I arrived and blended in naturally with the other guests. We took the usual champagne glasses and nibbled on some pumpkin pastries as we explored the ballroom. Our host, Isador Van Beveren, walked around conversing with his guests. He was a pompous playboy and a well-known scoundrel of the worst kind,

A waltz began to play and saved us from an awkward greeting and explanation of our presence. We danced our way to the opposite side of the room and exited through the tall doors leading to the garden. Our contact told us the computer room was on the third floor of the castle tower. I had put slacks on under my dress for easy movement.

James and I ascended the back staircase and were in the computer room within minutes. There was no guard on the door but a computer nerd sat at a desk with his back to us. A silent approach and a tap on his shoulder had him discombobulated as to what to do next. I made quick work of getting him bound and gagged while James sat down at the keyboard and did his magic. When all was said and done, no muss—no fuss, we descended the staircase and entered the ballroom without even breathing hard. James waltzed me across the room and out the front door to our limo. We made a great team.

I slipped in beside my hubby at 2:00 a.m. and soundly fell asleep. The alarm went off at six and I heard my Sweetheart in the bathroom showering. I put on my robe and slippers and went to wake the kids. My motherly routine of pancakes and sack lunches and car pooling began. I was no waltzing Matilda. Boy, it was good to be home!

THE GOOSE GIRL

by Danna Shirley
Writing assignment: take an obscure Grimm's Fairy Tale and write your own ending...

Princess Tricity was very lovely and had all the young lads in the kingdom, both peasant and royal, charmed by her beauty. She had now reached the age of marriage and her mother said it was time to take her place beside a prince in a neighboring kingdom.

Marriage was not for her for she still loved the frivolity of riding her gentle steed through the forest. She still loved wading in the pond along the edge of the garden and feeding her beloved geese as they drank water from her cupped hand. And she loved brushing her golden locks and braiding her hair in the cool of the evening.

Tricity was not ready for marriage and certainly not ready to serve beside a King, always wearing royal robes and sitting on a throne. No, her heart was as the goose girl by the pond with her feathery friends. Her life, as such, was happy and carefree.

Her mother was not to be deterred, however, for she invited three neighboring princes to a royal feast. One way or another Tricity would marry; either by her choice of husband or her mother’s,

Tricity rebelled but it did no good, for her mother sequestered her in her room to be watched by her servant, Bekka, and readied for the royal feast. Bekka thought it quite romantic for Tricity to have her choice of handsome men. She heated and poured the royal bath, pressed and hung her gown, and combed and braided Tricity’s hair with jewels and perfume.

She was a vision descending the staircase into the main hall but there was no joy in her countenance. She greeted each prince with a curtsy and an extended hand. Prince Cecil was much older than she, a bit flabby around the middle with a fuzzy beard. She could not fathom even kissing such a face. Prince Milton seemed her age but realizing they were both too young for such a marriage, knew he was being pushed, as she was, into something they would both regret. Prince Oliver seemed exactly right but he showed no enthusiasm for this situation either.

They all retired to the feast, each one conspicuously placed around Tricity while her mother chattered on and on about how honored they were to have such handsome and royal guests. The servants entered with platters and bowls of steaming hot food and the delicious smells permeated throughout the hall. Then the cover was lifted from the main dish and there sat a roasted goose.

Tricity shrieked and ran from the table shouting, "Mother, how could you be so cruel to serve one of my dear friends as food for consumption."

She escaped to her favorite place by the pond. Her little goose friends nuzzled against her hand begging to be petted as usual. Bekka soon arrived relaying that she should return to the castle.

Tricity was so forlorn to even enter the great hall until she noticed Prince Oliver waiting for her by the gazebo. She approached hesitantly not knowing his purpose. He reached out and held her closely, kissing her braided crown.

“My dear sweet Princess Tricity. If you choose to marry me, I promise to never serve goose at our table ever again.”

She lifted her gaze and smiled. As they had their first kiss for a lifetime, her little goose friends surrounded them honking their approval.

SIMPLE PLEASURES

unknown...
* Feeling the sun on the back of your neck
* Dawn
* The smell of bacon or coffee first thing in the morning
* Singing in church
* Hearing your cat purr
* Finding money in the couch
* Eating bread and tomatoes
* Knowing you did the right thing
* Making a new friend
* Getting into a fWhen he does the laundryreshly made bed
* Having all the ingredients on hand when you decide to cook something special
* Getting snapshots back from the processor
* Getting a tax refund
* A great haircut
* Moonlight on the ocean
* Massages, hugs, ladybugs, new shoes, naps, cashmere, making up after a fight
* Knowing you have a full tank of gas
* The smell of fresh-cut grass
* Going home after a bad day
* When the days start to be lighter longer
* Having exact change
* Two scoops
* Having the house all to yourself
* When he does the laundry, the dishes
* Pink slippers
* Shiny windows and mirrors
* Browsing in bookstores
* Fishing with your dad
* Making someone smile
* Coming home from a vacation
* Watching your kids when they're sleeping
* National public radio
* The sound of rain on the roof, especially when you're under the covers
* Walking on the beach in winter
* Licking the frosting bowl
* Wearing something new
* Being excited about tomorrow

SURPRISES by Kathy Scales

Patricia Kathleen Seale Scales is in my Creative Writing class and submitted this awesome writing on November 29, 2017. I share it with love...
Morning mist is kissed by the wild, rosy blush of the new dawn.
As the dew drops dry, the autumn foliage is rustled by a fawn.
Red-tailed hawks spread their wings to glide over a meadow green.
Appreciative joyfulness surges from the hearts and souls of those who have seen
The daily miracles that all the moments of every year magnificently bring.

Serenity is the gift of those who open their eyes and hearts to surprises.
Intensify the praises of my soul into a song that toward the heavens rises.
Guide me each day into a life of adoration and active thanksgiving
For all my blessings, from the small to the giant, that all moments bring.
At all times and in all places, may I, my heartfelt song of praises sing.

THE JIGSAW PUZZLE OF LIFE

by Danna Shirley

I asked my granddaughter recently if the house across the street from her school was for sale, would she want to live there? I thought the convenience would be a plus since her mom drives the roads daily with all their school schedules and extracurricular activities. She said, “No Way! I like my house.”

I pondered all the moves I’ve made as a Navy wife and how miserable I would have been if I didn’t accept each move as looking forward instead of holding back. I told her I’ve learned that wherever I am is home and that keeps me content all the time.

All the moves I’ve made…eight states (CA, AL, MS, FL, WA, NJ, MD, TN) and three countries (Bermuda, Philippines, Japan) since first marrying a sailor in 1968 has confirmed to me we are just pieces in a puzzle, each one fitting into our place to complete a perfect picture there and then we move on to our next destination.

Which brings me to my most recent move. For a few months before going to California I felt God was ruffling my feathers and blowing up my comfort zone. I prayed for a long time whether He wanted me to take my puzzle piece out of Bartlett First Assembly and fit it into a puzzle somewhere else. 

I spoke to my pastor through many tears.Our conversation went well and he agreed that I must follow God's leading. Some may believe leaving a church is because of some great transgression or conflict within the church or hierarchy. Not so! God has a plan and a purpose for each one of us and He places us into His picture puzzle as He wishes.

For me, only God knows the end from the beginning. I recognize this position all too well for He has moved me several times in my thirty-eight years with Him, and with each move, God has given me a new "family."

Last Sunday I visited a much larger church than I am used to but I felt at home right away. Although I usually sit in the back, this time I gravitated to a lone woman in a fifth-row seat and asked if I could join her. Clare navigated me through the weekly activities and where to get my visitor's gift bag.

She and I were able to get better acquainted in the lobby and I learned she is caregiver to her mother who has had dementia for the last eighteen years. I could immediately relate to her since my mother, too, has had dementia for several years. Maybe this move is for me to find Clare. I am excited to see where God will take me in this new family.

Millionaire Athletes and Their Lost Cause

by Sylvia Thompson

Enough with the Victimhood:

I must admit I have never in my life purchased a ticket to a sports event. I am not a sports enthusiast. But I am an American black citizen, and I have had it up to the gills with black people who embrace victimhood. I also highly resent my being expected to do the same in order to affirm my "blackness."

Black victims these days, for the most part, are the product of decades of Black Americans being used primarily by white progressive leftists to advance an anti-American agenda.

The current brouhaha surrounding the despicable behavior of NFL athletes toward the National Anthem and the American flag is a prime example of what the Left has done to my race.

One must assume these players and their guilt-conflicted white coaches and owners (and victimhood-inflicted black coaches) are being manipulated by the Left, because no intelligent, thinking people would deliberately cut themselves off at the knees. Essentially, what these young misguided mostly black men are doing is ensuring the demise of their lucrative paychecks. Further, I would wager that if these teams consisted of all white athletes, none of this idiocy would be allowed. We are witnessing this travesty because the vast majority of players are black and can whine "oppression" if appropriate action is taken against them for their unconscionable behavior.

The twisted reasoning that claims these protests are to highlight "injustice" and "police brutality" is a laughable crock. What they do in fact is dishonor valued symbols of this nation's heritage and cover over truth about black crime.

Black males bear the brunt of police encounters because black males commit disproportion-ately more crimes. Police encounters with black men are so often confrontational because so many of these men, especially the young, don't think "compliance" applies to them. They foolishly assume they are above the law and disrespect for police officers is an act of honor.

These young blacks, sadly, took much of their direction from racists Obama and Eric Holder during Obama's destructive, eight-year regime and Holder's corruption of the Justice Department. These two men, abusing their federal powers, gave young blacks the impression they need not heed the law, because laws are somehow unjust when they are applied to black Americans. The NFL lot, and any other athletes taking a similar stance, are also influenced by Obama's and Holder's disdain for law and law enforcement.

I am not familiar with one case where a black suspect to a crime was not proven legally to have caused the behavior against him, particularly in cases where the police officer involved was exonerated by facts. Michael Brown of "hands up, don't shoot" infamy is one good example. Blatant lies were spread to cloud the truth about Brown's case.

Back in the day when I was growing up in the racially segregated South, the opposite prevailed in many cases. There was much injustice particularly toward black men, but not today. Today, too many blacks have been fed the notion that it is now "pay-back" time, and they can flaunt their lawlessness because some whites flaunted theirs during an earlier time in our nation's history.

Although Obama and Holder no longer wield power in this country, some of their minions continue on the pernicious path of "paying back" American whites for wrongs, real or imagined. But as the saying goes, there is a new Sheriff in town and he is not guilt-conflicted. He expects fair play under law and tolerating pay-back is not part of his agenda. Black Americans, when they break the law, can no longer claim victim status simply because they are black. Those days are over.

American laws and law enforcement personnel will be respected in America, again; our traditions and values will not be impugned in America without consequences, again. Anybody unsettled about this turn of events is welcome to leave this country. I suggest all the black players try a country in Africa, and see how successful they will be at making millions playing games. They will all soon learn what oppression really means.

Some self-directed, independent-thinking blacks (and there are many of us) have offered that if these millionaire protesters want to tackle some real problems, they might consider the thousands of black children killed in abortions annually (by the progressive Left), or perhaps the many, many young blacks murdered routinely on inner-city streets by other young blacks (in cities run by progressive, leftist Democrats), or the downright criminal state of education of black inner-city children, orchestrated by the progressive leftist National Education Association (NEA). The NEA's aim is to produce unintelligent pawns to feed the cause of progressivism.

I am annoyed by the expressions of "sincerity" gracing the faces of the NFL protesters-as if to convey the "hallowedness" of their cause. In actuality, they provide a picture of grown men allowing themselves to be made fools of by the progressive Left. I don't doubt, however, that some of these men have been coerced into compliance with this lost cause, either through threats of violence or shunning (from coaches and players). Alejandro Villanueva of the Pittsburgh Steelers and former Army ranger is very likely a victim of such threats. He was publicly castigated by his leftist coach for his patriotism. The coach demanded unity behind an ignorant cause.

And finally, this issue has nothing to do with First Amendment rights. President Trump's speaking out against the clownish behavior of the athletes, on behalf of the majority of American citizens, does not mean he can or would stop any of these misguided people from making fools of themselves. To restrict them, as a government entity, would indeed be a violation of the First Amendment... But their employers, if they were to develop even a modicum of testicular fortitude, could and should fire them for doing major damage to the bottom line of the business. The rest of us non-millionaire "Joes" would certainly be pink-slipped by an employer if we dared to be so clueless about the necessity of profits and so disdainful of the sensibilities of customers.

I will wait patiently for the true sports enthusiasts to vent their rage by simply boycotting the games. It will be sweet revenge to witness the slain goose cease producing its golden eggs.   

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Reprinted from: https://barbwire.com/enough-victimhood-millionaire-athletes-lost-cause/  

Sylvia Thompson is a black conservative writer whose aim is to counter the liberal, leftist spin on issues pertaining to race and culture. Ms. Thompson is a copy editor by trade currently residing in Tennessee. She grew up in Southeast Texas during the waning years of Jim Crow-era legalized segregation, and she concludes that race relations in America will never improve as long as the voices of many are stifled by intimidation from the few. She believes the nation needs resounding voices of opposition from true patriots and Bible-oriented Christians, to stem the forces that would transform this nation into something it was never intended to be.

PRESTON SCHOOL OF INDUSTRY

By Danna Shirley

Fictional story based on fact. 

It looked like a castle when we first pulled up. I didn’t know what to expect here but at least I was out of Folsom Prison. I shouldn’t have been put in with those old men anyway.

My first experience was to have my head shaved and dunked full body into a chemical bath to kill any lice or bugs. It also killed my dignity. Oh well, at least I’m getting three squares and a roof over my head; better than living on the outside and doing what I had to survive. So, what’s this Preston School of Industry, anyway?

I was assigned a room with another guy my age, Eddie. He’d been here a while and showed me around. Eddie and I had a fireplace in our room and across the hall, Earl and Clyde had the toilet. We would share back and forth. Made sense to me. We all worked in the garden, weeding and harvesting food for the cook. I was glad to be outdoors most of the day.

I had it pretty good. This place really was like a castle; 46,000 square feet, 77 rooms, 43 fireplaces, 257 windows overlooking the foothills of Ione, CA on 330 acres. If I played my cards right, I could graduate to one of the cottages that surrounded the castle.

My thoughts of escape subsided. They were going to teach me the ropes as an auto mechanic. Now I would learn to fix jalopies instead of hot-wiring them. If I kept my nose clean and didn’t make waves I could play tennis after my work was done or lounge in the library. I’d never had a book of my own but reading helped me escape to all kinds of adventures. I could see myself as Tarzan wrestling lions in the jungle or Frank Hardy solving mysteries. These stories took me away from the reality of the depression and the incarceration at The Castle.

I learned the real bad apples were in the Company B dormitory. I thought I was a pretty tough kid but I didn’t want to tangle with any of them. Since I was grateful to be here, I couldn’t understand why they would try to escape. When one went missing, a horn would sound and a manhunt would begin. Whoever returned the kid got a $10 reward. I heard some horror stories of the brutal punishment waiting for them; severe beatings with two-by-fours, solitary confinement, and in some cases, the offender died.

Although we were all around the same age, mostly teens, I was here as a “youthful offender” only; some of the other boys were here as criminals. Some came with addictions to opium, alcohol, or heroin. Some were very sick with TB. I heard the flu epidemic of 1918 wiped out half of the staff and about a third of the boys. From the tower I could see their graves surrounding the property. The infirmary was pretty busy with heat stroke, or broken bones from fights, or the punishment given out to those boys who tried to escape. I suspected not all of the graves on the property were from that flu epidemic.

I came to Preston at age fourteen and stayed four years. I learned a good trade and had read as many books as I could from the 7,000 volumes in the library. I did what I was told and obeyed all the rules. I left a better person than when I came; however, some of the boys went on to become hardened criminals with longer incarcerations in state prisons. 

                                       

Famous alumni successes of Preston School of Industry

Rory Calhoun (actor)             

    

Merle Haggard (singer)

 Lee J Cobb (actor)

 









Pancho Gonzales (tennis player)

 








Eddie "Rochester" Anderson (actor with Jack Benny)

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https://www.sacbee.com/entertainment/living/travel/sam-mcmanis/article25499146.html

Visiting Preston Castle (July, 2018) was a sad experience.  I wanted to write a positive story of one of the boys. Even though it is fiction, I hope and pray there were some successes to come out of Preston Castle.
     To see such a beautiful and majestic structure and then, by contrast, hear all the horrible details of severe treatment that took place inside, was hard to imagine. It's a wonder anyone came out of that environment intact.