Minda Webber's Blog, page 11

From Pride & Prejudice & Daughters Grimm

“Where you developed this lurid fascination for such demoralizing subjects such as ghastly villains, ghosts, werewolves and vampires is beyond me.  I just know it comes from your father’s side of the family.  Certainly, my family members are too delicate in constitution to dwell on monsters or depravity.  How your father can let you read that tripe is beyond me.  But then, he does read all that awful Latin nonsense.”

Greta shared a smile with her father.  He had taught her to read that “awful Latin nonsense” as well.  She could quote Cicero with the best of them.

Baroness Grimm complaining to her daughter.

Pride and Prejudice and Daughters Grimm (Excerpt from book)

Countess DeLuise continued, her substantial voice growing stronger with each word.  ”Ja, I must speak now!  I can hold the forbidden secret no longer.  The news is grave, very grave.  One of you is a vampire.”

Coming in two to three weeks at Amazon.com

A story that will grab you if you don’t watch out

My sister and I were talking over Christmas, about old friends and odd events with old friends and/or odd events with odd friends.   It reminded us of this story.  When I was in high school, we used to go swimming at the river.  It wasn’t the Red River in name, but in deed.  It was a funny, muddy red color and we wore cut-off Levi shorts and white t-shirts to swim in.  When you’d get out your shirt would be red and so would the light spots in your Levis.  I mention this, so you’ll know, the visibility of the water was bad.  Several times while swimming, I would feel something nudge me hard and I even got tugs on my tennis shoes, with little red marks on my feet, once the shoes were off. I would look over in the water, and swear I saw eyes watching me, near partially sumerged logs.  I used to tell my friends that it was an alligator.  Of course, I’m the girl who saw the spagetti-headed monster and the werewolf, so my firends took this knowlege with a grain of salt, and basically ignored me my warnings.  I quit swimming in the river and switched to the pond, which was marshy and farther to walk, but no alligator, if you know what I mean.  Well, about eight years later, my sister and I were talking about swimming at the pond and I asked why they never wenr to the river?  She said, “Are you kidding….what about the alligator there.”  See, I’m redeemed.  I might have a wild imagination, but an alligator is an alligator, anyway you look at it.

Post note:  People at that time were buying pet alligators (a pet alligator-yeah, I know…what a pet right.  One that bites the hand that feeds you).  Of course, these were babies at the time.  And babies are cute, even ones with big teeth.  However, the problem arises when they outgrow the fish tank or bathtub, or wherever alligator people keep their green, mean little pets.  Then the owners, not wanting to kill their pets would dump then in sewers or rivers or lakes.  I assume the owners never thought about the continued growing alligator in its new home and all the swimmers and fishermen in the area.  Of course, I can see their viewpoint on the sewers, who care if a few rats go missing.

The Long Regret

This one  was done in 1974…..wow…talk about a blast from the past.  I was probably sitting by the river.  (It was in Texas and it was acutally Red.  Permian red beds-iron in the soil…lol.   I used to teach Earth Science).  I would have been watching the currents drift past, under the shade of oaks and mesquite trees, mourning my love life.  Little did I know what came down the road three years later in my love life.  But that’s another poem or two.  If I had been in California, I’d probably have been sitting on the dock of the bay.

April’s apples blossomed to Auturm’s leaves.

January’s shadows turned to July’s Eve.

Spring’s love changedd to Winter’s hate.

You came a minute before me,

and I came a second too late.

Life’s Journey

Last week or so I wrote a poem about Child of the 70s.  I got responses that people really liked it.  So I thought I’d do some of my poetry.  I started writing short scary stories in fourth grade and fifth grade.  My teacher’s used to read them to the class.  I started writing poetry in 7th grade, and have never stopped.  When I was sad, happy, feeling blue, marveling at nature, thinking of past loves, God, friends, family, pets….I jotted down words on napkins, envelopes and sometimes even paper.lol.  Most of the poems have been lost to the years, but last night I found a file of poems from 40 years or work.  Few in number, but some of the better ones.  I thought I’d share them sometimes, if you like.  This poem was done in Oak Creek Canyon, AZ, with the majestic reddish and tan mountains standing tall, and the pines and junipers trees gracing the roadway, sunlight glittering off their branches.

We are but wounded and hopeful souls, traveling along life’s great journey.  Sometimes, all we ask for is a peaceful place to rest and ease our way.

We carry hidden scars, which despite being old and worn, still hurt.  Sometimes , all we can pray for, is a bit of grace, to  appreciate the beauty of the view.

Maybe we have taken paths best left unexplored, yet we climbed high and safe when we could have fallen.  Sometimes, all we want is a bit of faith to warm us on a frosty winter’s night.

Willingly, unwillingly, we have walked a million miles, seen and done things which have forever altered our perspective of our world.  Sometimes, all we desire is a strong shoulder to lean on before we take the next fork in the road.

We are but shadows of who we once were, yet we are now with our experiences, as enduring as the rocks we have climbed.  Sometimes, all we need, is for someone to share the laughter, the adventure and a smile.

We may now be the worse for wear, yet we are the better for the footsteps taken, and the twisting turns of a thousands roads traveled.  Sometimes, all we ask for, is a bright summer day of long ago, before our hard won wisdom became both a blessing and a burden.

Isn’t this a great quote

Madden lived with ghosts.  They came to him in dreams: men he had known in the war, some of them friends, others no more than dimmly remembered faces.

This is by Rennis Airth from River of Darkness.  Great English Mystery novel

V.J. Frankenstein’s diary

Hanging with a vampire isn’t easy (especially when they are in bat form), yet add to that dating vamp royalty, and you’ve got a mess.  And I don’t mean blood and guts, although if you’re kissing a vampire, you do usually get a little nick on your tongue or lip.  What I do mean, is that the Dracula line, has all these protocols and some of them date back to ancient times, at least the 1700s.  French Revolution and all that stuff with “off with their heads” and “let them eat cake,” of course the vampires weren’t the ones asking for the cake, just the heads.  

Anyway, dating Dagan Dracula Jr. has be minding my “Ps” and “Qs” and if that isn’t bad, what is?  I mean, never have I ever used such old fashioned language, but hey, the old royal pain-in-the-neck Dracula, is rubbing off on me.  Next thing I know, I’ll be wearing poodle skirts and a beehive hairdo, or at least a scarlet ribbon around my neck.  But I guess it’s true love.  Yep, I’m in love the baddest of bad vampires, Dracula’s grandson.  So that means next week I’ll be riding in a coach and buggy, no kidding, around Central Park to celebrate “Taking a Bite from the Big Apple’s Population.”  It’a a vampire royal affair, complete with dress costumes like big white wigs, crinoline’s as big around as a small car and lots of black capes and flashing, but fashionable fangs.  Hope to see you there.   

Thought I’d do an entry from the main character in

Dating Dracula Jr.

Been ill

Hi.  Been sick so still feeling a little behind the weather.  Luckily off for school break.  Hope you guys are outdistancing the flu.

THERE CAME A CHILD

In days of old when Rome ruled the world, there came a child.  He was a child of light, of hope and of love.  A special child born to a background of war, hatred, famine and the heavy yoke of enslavement.

But this child would show that  the world is more than we know, and that the courage, sacrifice  and faith of one man can change the world.  He lived his life in a way that let us believe that love can be unconditional and should always be shared.

Happy Holidays guys and gals

Child of the 70s

I was young ,so young and  filled with promise.  I was fearless…the eagle flying high, grasping life.   The golden days of my youth were known for Smiley faces, faded jeans and pet rocks,  and good guys win in the end.  Carole King and James Taylor  would be playing on the radio, their words filling my thoughts of highways and byways, and the ways of friends and lovers. Rarely foes, for the world was sweet, and innocence a birthright.  Yes, then my story was an open book…the pages yet to be marked.

I was young in an age, where freedom and love, were in the air.  And my future was glinting like golden pennies along the way .  Every road looked to be an adventure for the intrepid explorers, wet behind the ears.  For those were  the days of rebellions of  the spirit and the spirit of the times.  It was riding high with Jerry Jeff  Walker and riding the stars, to suddenly touch the earth, like butterfly wings. Then skim the heavens once more.  We knew, we believed, with all our hearts, that we could be anything, do anything.  It was our time, and our possibilities were as infinity…dancing across the universe, we thought…forever.

So long ago, and far away, in an age that vanished, like leaves in the wind.  Like my youth, which is now faded, like billboards on the highway, torn and worn in the by-gone days of summer.  When I look in the mirror, are you still there…my sweet child of the 70s?