Friday, December 28, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Looking back
Author Mike OConnor: Looking back: A new year gives me time to reflect on the one that passed. I had a year without much fanfare, I spent a great deal of time with myself as...
Looking back
A new year gives me time to reflect on the one that passed.
I had a year without much fanfare, I spent a great deal of time with myself as I’m
my best friend. I added hundreds of pieces I had written most to be discarded
in a blog with few readers. I published another book that I wrote as my legacy
for my children and generations to come. I dated a lady for about three weeks,
took that long to see the psycho tattoo. I painted a whole bunch of houses and
kept myself busy doing the things that warm my heart. I attended numerous
school functions as well as sporting activities for my grandchildren. I ate
many Sunday dinners with family and offered my shoulder when needed. I thought
a lot about being a father and grandfather and how trying to set by example can
sometimes backfire.
I had many long-distance
phone calls to my mom who at eighty-six resides in a nursing home. We would
talk for hours remembering the old times when we were all together. She would
sometimes seem happy and other times a bit lost, but she always ended our
conversations telling me I was her favorite son and she loved me from afar. (I
am the only son) I had some health scares last year but all in all, I'm still
able to outwork most half my age. Even though I pay for it dearly. I have stock
in Advil.
Like most people,
I have probably forgotten more than I remember about 2018, but I know I lived
it to the best of my abilities. I am ringing in 2019 with an open heart and
mind and the hope that it brings only happiness and peace to all those I know,
love, and care for. Happy New year to everybody!
Friday, December 14, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: A dash of kindness
Author Mike OConnor: A dash of kindness: I was in the grocery store this evening, and something caught my eye. Very slowly an elderly woman was making her way down an aisle, ...
A dash of kindness
I was in the
grocery store this evening, and something caught my eye. Very slowly an elderly
woman was making her way down an aisle, looking confused and even a bit
frightened. I stopped my cart next to her empty one and asked if everything was
all right? She looked up at me, and I noticed a tear in her eye as she stared
at me probably wondering who I was? Again, I asked if she was all right? In a
voice so, quiet I could barely hear her she said she believed she was lost, she
remembered coming to the store to get baking supplies to make Christmas cookies
for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They all loved her cookies so.
But she couldn’t seem to find the baking aisle. "How about I help you find
it, I asked, and she nodded her reply as we began a very slow walk to the
baking aisle. She told me her mind wasn’t what it once was, and she often found
herself in situations like this. She said it scared and confused her.
Once we reached
the aisle in question, she once again got a look of confusion on her face
slowly digging into her purse and coming up with a very well-worn piece of old
yellow tablet paper.
These are the ingredients for my cookies she told me, and I gathered up the items and put them in my cart." Why don't you let me drive" I asked, and she smiled saying “such a gentleman," I asked if she needed anything else and she just shook her head no. At the checkout I put her items on the belt and watched as she once again searched her purse, this time coming out with a change purse just like I remember my grandmother having. It was even the same color of light green. The cashier said it would be $18.00 and I quickly gave her a twenty and told the old woman it was my treat. She began to weep a little and when I asked her why she just said she hadn’t been treated like this since her late husband of sixty years passed away ten years ago.
These are the ingredients for my cookies she told me, and I gathered up the items and put them in my cart." Why don't you let me drive" I asked, and she smiled saying “such a gentleman," I asked if she needed anything else and she just shook her head no. At the checkout I put her items on the belt and watched as she once again searched her purse, this time coming out with a change purse just like I remember my grandmother having. It was even the same color of light green. The cashier said it would be $18.00 and I quickly gave her a twenty and told the old woman it was my treat. She began to weep a little and when I asked her why she just said she hadn’t been treated like this since her late husband of sixty years passed away ten years ago.
Once outside I
asked her how she had gotten here? She said by taxi and would I be so kind just
once more to call one for her? I shook my head no and wrapped her arm around
mine as we headed for my car. It would be my great pleasure to offer you a ride
home, I felt her grip on my arm tighten just a little as if she was telling me
that would be lovely. We talked on the way to her house, a small cottage type
with a flower garden and a beautiful front porch that wrapped around the entire
house. “My William built this house with his bare hands, I planted the flowers
and tend to them every day." She told me her William built the huge porch because
he wanted a place their kids and grandkids could play on during bad weather and
so that he could dance with his bride all around the house, she said her William
was one in a million.
I helped her
inside with her packages, and she offered me a nice cup of tea which I said no
but thanks, I had to be running along as my wife would be wondering where I was.
She asked for my address which I thought at the time meant a thank you card
would be coming my way, so I jotted it down and said goodnight. I looked back
as I walked to my car at the frail little lady standing in the doorway that her
William built waving to a perfect stranger that didn’t even know her name, Time
passed, and I went on with my life sometimes wondering how she was getting along?
Arriving home after work one night not long ago there was a package in the mail
which I opened and found a plate with tin foil on top and a note that read,
“Dear sir, I didn’t get your name the day you so kindly went out of your way to
assist an old lady, I hope you receive this small token of my thanks and hope
even more that the postman knows who you are based on the address I put on the
package, I smiled as I read the address "Very kind gentleman with a wife
and two children who drives a white four-door car at 115 seamer street
Summerville Idaho.
I removed the
tinfoil and looked at a plate of the most beautiful Christmas cookies I had
ever seen, and I could only imagine that her mind was somewhere back in a time
when she baked them with her children, and her William would come into the
kitchen and grab a couple hot out of the oven giving her a kiss on her cheek as
he quickly left the kitchen, I sat down with my wife and children with tall
glasses of milk and we shared the plate of cookies while I told them about the
day I helped her find the baking aisle. A tear formed in my eyes and my
thoughts of her were those of both sadness and joy. The next day we decided to
take a ride and visit her, but upon arrival, we saw a moving van in the
driveway and a small group of people sitting on the huge porch. A lady in her
fifties greeted us asking if we had known her grandmother? I explained how we
had met and a smile formed on her face as she told us she had spoken of me
quite often and how I had made her feel like a person and not just some
forgetful old woman, She passed away a few days ago sitting on the porch her
William built She passed quietly in her sleep with a mountain of cookies on her
kitchen counter.
Thursday, November 29, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Gentle breeze
Author Mike OConnor: Gentle breeze: The days aren’t so bad, but the nights can be quite lonely. It wasn’t always this way when she was here. There was laughter and funny mo...
Gentle breeze
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Tuesday, November 27, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Pink knitted gloves
Author Mike OConnor: Pink knitted gloves: Her hands were covered with pink knitted gloves her mother made for her last birthday. They fit perfectly in his leather gloves like...
Pink knitted gloves
Her hands were
covered with pink knitted gloves her mother made for her last birthday. They
fit perfectly in his leather gloves like a ball in a catchers mitt. They held
hands like they always did wherever they may be. Covered in the cold, sweaty in
the heat but perfect every day. They discovered the meaning of true love at the
tender age of sixteen. Each kiss like a sweet soft expression of feelings being
unleashed for the first time. Every touch gentle and exploring always finding
new and different ways of showing each other the wonders of new love. He would
walk her home from school dances, and football games then return home smelling
his upper lip, the scent of her kisses staying with him on his journey home.
The first time they made love took hours as they both knew it would remain with
them for as long as they breathed life, and neither wanted to let that time
ever be forgotten.
Time and
circumstance drew them apart as their teenage years flew past them, but the
memories stayed as vivid as the times themselves. She passed at a very young
age of a disease not yet understood back then, and a part of him died with her.
He went on with life, marrying and raising children, always remembering the
tenderness of their first love and stolen kisses under a mighty oak snow mixing
with her tears of happiness. He goes back home every year around the time of
her birthday taking flowers to her grave and gently touching her headstone with
a gentleness only she understood. He's old now and the visits not as frequent,
but he speaks to her often knowing that one day not too long from now she will
greet him with an outstretched hand in pink knitted gloves.
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Author Mike OConnor: Frozen words
Author Mike OConnor: Frozen words: Pulling the tattered blanket closer to his chilled body, the man continued behind the typewriter with cold keys. Frost gathered on h...
Frozen words
Pulling the
tattered blanket closer to his chilled body, the man continued behind the
typewriter with cold keys. Frost gathered on his window sills forming tiny
crystals with unique designs that distracted him momentarily, but he soon went
back to the story he was desperately trying to finish before his thoughts
melted like the snowflakes, never to be seen again. The room was dark except
for the two candles in a jar that grew dimmer with each passing hour. Soon he
would be straining to look at his words and would rely on his memory of the
keys he had been banging on for time unknown. His cat whose age was also
unknown sat on his lap creating a warm spot that he was grateful for and showed
his appreciation by softly rubbing her behind the ears which she very much
enjoyed, showing her pleasure with soft low purrs.
Well into the
cold night he worked, the words mostly coming to him quickly but at times he
had to reach deep into his thoughts and hope to retain it as another piece of
the puzzle he was writing. Outside the wind had picked up creating a kind of
chaos within him but allowing for a much-needed break. Grabbing on to the glass
jar he made his way to the fireplace that had all but burned itself out. He had
to pay more attention to the real world and climb out of his typewriter. Piling
a few logs onto the embers, it didn't take long for the warmth to return to
both the room and to himself. Taking a seat in his favorite chair directly
across from his typewriter, he lit his pipe and stared at the box of memories
just sitting there waiting for him to return and resume the rat a tat tatting
of the keys. But his mood had been shattered for this night, all his words
remained prisoners of his mind remaining there in the darkness.
Tomorrow would
show up with freshly fallen snow and crystalized windows. His cat would eat a
hearty breakfast then settle into her favorite chair waiting for him to sit
down, pull the tattered blanket closer to his cold body and once again start
the soothing sounds of the old typewriter keys banging out memories as fresh as
that fallen snow.
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Friday, November 23, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Mall Santa
Author Mike OConnor: Mall Santa: The elderly man in a Santa suit prepared himself for his first day on the job as the Milton Valley mall Santa. He excelled at Santa s...
Mall Santa
The elderly man
in a Santa suit prepared himself for his first day on the job as the Milton
Valley mall Santa. He excelled at Santa school developing a boisterous “HO-HO-HO”
along with the patience of a saint. He had always dreamed of playing Santa, but
his life seemed to always get in the way, and his dream was put on hold. The
day he retired from the Union Pacific railroad his wife asked him what he was
going to do with his time? His first and immediate response was “Going to Santa
school” She smiled, patted his bald head and wished him luck, adding he may
want to consider putting on a few pounds and growing a beard. The beard was
easy but eating more took some doing as he never in his adult life tipped the
scales more than one hundred and fifty pounds.
Eight months
later he was ready for school, his hair had grown, and his beard now long and
snow white just like Santa himself. And, he had managed with the help of his long-time
bride to pack on a whopping sixty pounds which he proudly displayed with a “HO-HO-HO-
from the bottom of his big belly. He had ordered a Santa’s suit from the best
costume shop anywhere each detail was flawlessly created just for him, and the
result was indeed a vision to be seen. That first day at the mall found him
sitting on a massive throne of a chair, behind him a winter wonderland of
lights and sounds of Christmas. The children were lined up to sit on Santa’s
lap telling him their wishes and him asking if they had been good little boys
and girls the past year? At days end with the last child walking away turning
her head for one last look, he winked, and she disappeared into the crowd.
That night he
reflected on the day and the children’s wishes. It surprised him how many little
ones asked him to please bring their mommy or daddy home for Christmas as they
were off at war and probably couldn't come home. He spoke to them softly
telling them their mommy or daddy were giving the whole country the greatest
gift anyone could ever give, the gift of freedom. He told them he would see
their mommy or daddy on Christmas Eve no matter where they might be, and he
would be sure to tell them how much they are loved and missed. This seemed to
brighten their moods as they kissed his cheek and climbed off his lap a candy
cane in hand and hope in their little hearts.
He spent seven
weeks representing Santa, every day better than the last. He saw the kindness
in children he didn't know existed at such an early age as well as the pain
they kept inside knowing full well the meaning of war and separation Once his
job was over, and the Santa suit dry cleaned and put away for another year he
sat down, lit his pipe and began the long task of reading letters to Santa care
of Milton Valley mall. He had a hunch he would be there for many years to come.
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Thursday, November 15, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Choices
Author Mike OConnor: Choices: You could hear a pin drop as he walked into the dark kitchen. He didn’t need a light, he has walked the route from bedroom to kitche...
Choices
You could hear a
pin drop as he walked into the dark kitchen. He didn’t need a light, he has
walked the route from bedroom to kitchen so many times before. He reached into
a cabinet above the sink and filled a glass with water. Reaching out in front of
him, he pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat in darkness drinking
the not quite cold water. There was a basket on the table, and he reached
inside feeling his way around the contents until he found a pack of smokes and
a lighter. He never smoked in the house except for the nights he couldn't find sleep.
Sitting in darkness, the red glow of the smoke lighting up a few inches of the
room, the crackling of the burning paper a soothing sound to a man who didn’t
fear the darkness, just that devilish red glow of doom. He finished his drink,
snuffed out the smoke and headed back into the darkness of night all the while
thinking to himself that when daylight came, he would throw those damn smokes
in the trash but why not just leave them in the basket because he was sleeping
better these days Yea that’s what he would do.
QUITTING SMOKING
IS A PERSONAL CHOICE. ITS DIFFICULT AND WILL TAKE AN EMOTIONAL TOLL ON BOTH
MIND AND BODY.NO GOOD HAS EVER COME FROM SMOKING NO MATTER WHAT YOU MAY THINK.
IT'S-A CHOICE, MAKE THE RIGHT ONE.
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Tuesday, November 13, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: The box
Author Mike OConnor: The box: He pulled the box from the bedroom closet, almost spilling the contents as his once “Guns” were now more like flabs of fear. Setti...
The box
He held other
pieces of their time like a movie stub to "Gone with the wind" and
another from "It's a wonderful life" She spilled coke on her favorite
blouse at that movie and cried. He assured her he would get her another just
like it. There was a picture ID of her on a red cross volunteer badge she
proudly wore as she helped those in need. He loved her for that, and so many
other qualities she possessed. There were a few snapshots of them together at a
county fair her holding a huge helping of cotton candy, and another of them
holding each other at Niagara Falls on their honeymoon so very long ago. He
finished going through his memories and replaced the box in the closet until
the next time he had to see her face, smell her sent and remembers just how
lucky they were to have had each other.
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Sunday, November 11, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: The end of words
Author Mike OConnor: The end of words: He sits at his desk trying hard to be creative, but the only words in his head were those of a time when all he had to do was look a...
The end of words
He sits at his
desk trying hard to be creative, but the only words in his head were those of a
time when all he had to do was look at a blank slate and begin. Those words
were used up, he thought to himself. Were there any new words, or combinations
of words he hadn't used before? Every day he came down the stairs anticipating
a day of writing, exploring new ideas and reaching deep inside of himself to
find that perfect story. A story that would make the daily paper that so many
depended on to start their day. His words are seeping into their heads as they
sipped the first cup of coffee. Some would circle his work, so they could
return to it when more awake. Every day for the last fifty some years he joined
thousands of people for breakfast, now he ate alone. He sat down at his desk
and sipped a cup of coffee waiting for the words that would once again join him
and so many others for breakfast. I suppose a writer is just like others in
most phases of life, but most people don’t realize without words, a writer is
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Friday, November 9, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: A child
Author Mike OConnor: A child: Nothing can pierce your heart more than a child who has grown up so quickly that he stands six feet tall but still needs help gettin...
A child
Nothing can
pierce your heart more than a child who has grown up so quickly that he stands
six feet tall but still needs help getting his shoes tied the right way. A
child lets you discover things he is doing for the first time and you get to do
it again. A child makes you angry, but you always forgive because you realize
you screwed up along the way too. A child’s laughter can make you laugh even
though you have no idea why he’s laughing? A child’s path is one you hope will
be without pain and sorrows, but you know he will experience these things and
you try and let him know gently they are coming, be ready. A child will test
you to the very limits every chance they get but that’s ok because little do
they realize you’ve played all the games and even made a few of them up. A
child is a reminder of what we once were and seeing yourself in the things they
do and say is more gratifying than anything else I can think of. A child will
always be that tiny person who needed you for everything but grew up way to
soon leaving you to close your eyes and remember everything your mind will
allow so you never miss a minute of all they have given to you. A child is the
definition of “Love”www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
Wednesday, October 31, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Trick or treat?
Author Mike OConnor: Trick or treat?: It was Halloween and finally time to put on the scary costumes and scare everything that lived and breathed. This year’s mask would make s...
Trick or treat?
It was Halloween and finally time to put on the scary
costumes and scare everything that lived and breathed. This year’s mask would
make satin himself cringe with horror at its grotesque and vile appearance. He
waited until darkness finally arrived just after dinner was done. Mom was at
the kitchen sink looking out the window as she did every night washing dishes
and softly singing to herself the songs she loved as a young girl. Silently he
crept along the outside of the house coming to the kitchen window where he
heard his mom singing and the clanking of dishes being washed. He pulled the
mask over his face, counted to three and sprung up yelling at the top of his
lungs. His mom took one look, one horrified look and fell backward passing out
right there on the kitchen floor. He was frozen, couldn’t talk, or move,
nothing. It was like slow motion as he saw his dad run into the kitchen taking
his moms hand and speaking to her in words he couldn’t make out. Finally, he
got the courage up to run into the house. He looked on in disbelief as his dad
wept and his mom's lifeless body lay in a heap of bubbles from the sink where
it looked like she washed her last dish. He couldn't help himself as he openly
cried and cried knowing he had killed his mom, his mom! Just as he was about to
call 911 on himself his mom sprung up like a jack in the box, her face was
hideous with two black holes for eyes and lips are sewn together like a puppet.
She groaned and pointed to him as his dad yelled out a scream as he had never
heard. The kid joined in, and the screams filled the house that is until one
turned to laughter. Not being able to take any more of this his mom took off
the mask and smiled at her son who was curled in a ball and probably soiled
himself more than once. "Well I guess its safe to assume this years best
Halloween prank goes to "MOM" They spoke of that night for many years
to come but never again did a scary mask appear at the kitchen window where mom
washed her dishes and sang songs from her youth, never….
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Sunday, October 28, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Writers block
Author Mike OConnor: Writers block: Writing has become lost to me, and I don't have an answer as to why? It's not for lack of trying, as I have burned through g...
Writers block
Writing has
become lost to me, and I don't have an answer as to why? It's not for lack of
trying, as I have burned through gallons of midnight oil but with little or no
success. There are times when I ask myself why more people don't read my work,
and why do I try to keep putting it out there to lay dormant and unread? I
often thought if I didn't have writing I would be a lost soul never really too
concerned that I would someday hang up my spurs and go quietly into the light.
Writing to me is
like a bowl of mom's chicken soup, it can cure anything that is ailing me,
soothe my nerves and make everything seem better. I never thought the day would
come when the words wouldn't, but it appears that day has arrived, and I am as
lost as I have ever been. Will the words come back? Will my memories and my
thoughts once again entwine creating stories that give my readers the emotions
they haven't felt in a long time? I can only hope they do, that something
awakens the writer in me and my words once again flow like sand through an
hourglass.
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Thursday, October 25, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: True partners
Author Mike OConnor: True partners: His eyes watered these days, guess getting old things begin to leak from a lot of places. He wiped them with a tissue and pulled up ...
True partners
His eyes watered
these days, guess getting old things begin to leak from a lot of places. He
wiped them with a tissue and pulled up a chair to his writing desk, a piece he
had bought in a thrift store many years ago. The old typewriter was like an old
friend that had been around for as long as he could remember. He tried once to
use something his granddaughter called a “Tablet," but it wasn't for him.
He liked hearing the keys click and the single bell that sounded when the paper
ran its course and had to be manually pulled back to start another line. He
didn't have an office per say, but rather a corner of the dining room hidden
from view by one of those Asian room dividers with colorful floral designs. His
wife had brought that home years ago and its been that way ever since. He was
comfortable in his little space behind the divider. There was a window looking
out at their back property that went on for about five acres. He saw many
different animals over the years, but none touched him like the deer. They
would quietly approach the house as he watched in silence and awe. So beautiful
and harmless, he never understood why they were hunted when all one had to do
was take a ride to the supermarket.
He wrote a piece
once about a deer with questioning eyes, a sad tale but one that needed
telling. The response was harsh, and he imagined it was hunters who disliked
that piece. Today was the opening of deer season, but the small herd that
walked his acres were safe from the hunter’s guns and bows. He had spent the
better part of a week walking his property line posting warning signs, and so far,
his little heard have roamed around free of worry. He loved writing about the
beauty outside his window, never tiring of all it had to offer. He wrote about
the winds blowing through the trees, the changing of the seasons, blankets of
autumn leaves and winters snow. Squirrels and rabbits forging for food and
birds of many kinds some coming to rest on the window sill as if this man behind
the glass had something to tell them. His was a wonderful life and the ancient
typewriter his call of the wild. When he passed, his granddaughter packed his
things and gave most to his favorite charity, but the old typewriter she kept
as a reminder that her granddad not only turned words into stories, but he did
so with a machine that he became a part of over time and together they were
true partners, true storytellers right up to the final chapter.
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Saturday, October 13, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Scared
Author Mike OConnor: Scared: One day you’re buying bottled water and batteries joking with the cahier about people acting like the great ending is drawing near. Y...
Scared
One day you’re
buying bottled water and batteries joking with the cahier about people acting
like the great ending is drawing near. You go ahead and top off the gas in the
car and even talk your other half to put up some plywood, so you feel safer. The
two of you watch the evening news and wonder if your decision to ride it out
was the right one to make? It came in the middle of the night when most good
souls are fast asleep dreaming of fancy dresses and fishing equipment. It
happened so fast neither of you were prepared for what came knocking.
The roof creaked
and groaned as it became separated from the rest of the house leaving the night
sky visible and filled with flying debris of every kind imaginable. You thought
you heard screaming but maybe it was just your own? The moment became a scene
out of the tornado movie with terror in every second that passed. Then the
water came, a mountain of water pounding through what was left of your house
and carrying it blocks away coming to rest in the parking lot of a seven eleven.
Through the grace of god both of you survived by clinging on to your kitchen
counter top that acted like a surfboard and landing you safely on the lawn of someone’s
home.
Few things in
life will scare you to death, but the events of this storm truly challenged
that statement. What I write here is fiction but for those that did ride out
the monster known as “Michael” I’m sure some of what I wrote hold true to their
stories. My prayers and the prayers of millions are with all those who lost
everything and feel alone. Please know that people around the world have seen
and feel your terrible losses. We pray and hope, pray and give and know that
even though all seems lost right now, it is not. You will rebuild and go
forward to a full life, a good life, and a life that you are blessed to be a
part of. You survived the monster known as “Michael”
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Sunday, October 7, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Tins of time
Author Mike OConnor: Tins of time: Slowly his eyes opened to a new day. He had no reason to get out of bed at such an early hour. Taking a few minutes to adjust back f...
Tins of time
Slowly his eyes opened to a new day. He
had no reason to get out of bed at such an early hour. Taking a few minutes to
adjust back from the world of dreams, he stared up at the movie screen that was
his ceiling. He could look at it and watch it come alive with memories giving
him smiles and tears he had forgotten for so long. He could watch thrillers,
love stories, action, and every other piece of his life spliced together and
showing exclusively on the ceiling above his bed. Today's clip stared him in
the lead role of father. The projections coming from his memories and shining
brightly on his screen were so real and so vivid, he couldn't help but shout
out their names as they looked straight at him and smiled mouthing the words
"We love you daddy" Much like the days of projection movies, his days
are numbered and each film he sees, he stores back in the tins of time, the
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Friday, October 5, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: The seasons
Author Mike OConnor: The seasons: It won’t be long now, and the blazing heat of summer will bow to the colors of autumn. The scents of the forests will change to a...
The seasons
The sounds and
smells and visions of the holidays can only be captured in the minds of
children and those who never wanted to grow up. A glorious time of the year when people seem
more courteous to each other when church pews are full and to
much food is made and shared among family and friends. Thousands of Christmas
trees give their lives to adorn the homes of countless families and traditions
are carried on with hopes they always will. Children try and sleep, dads cuss
at toys that need assembling, and mom puts the finishing touches on the hanging
stockings not forgetting to lay out a plate of cookies and a few carrots.
The morning
brings screams of joy and happiness as we sit and smile at the momentary
pleasures we were able to provide.
The new year is brought in with the falling
ball and kisses of hope that the new year will bring with it good health and prosperity
to all we love and care for. That signals the end of the holidays and the
beginning of the long road ahead where next Christmas is already being thought
of, and secret funds are stashed in a coffee can to grow throughout the year. Spring finally comes after the frozen
ground opens and a re-birth begins. The sights and sounds of rain pounding on
the roof quenching the thirst of tiny buds and saplings soon to bloom in a
multitude of colors only an artist could truly capture. Rivers flow once more,
and the bounties it produces feeds the masses as it has been done for centuries. The re-birth of the land is a
re-birth of the human spirit.
Summer arrives
with its own brand of colors and sounds, firefly's in grassy meadows, welcome
shade from a weeping willow tree and a warmth that covers our bodies that turn
a shade of brown. Lazy Sundays by the lake and homemade potato salad and
ice-cold lemonade are the perfect compliment to the hotdogs and burgers cooking
on the grill. Summer passes much too quickly, but for those of us who welcome
every season, we only think ahead to the wonders of autumn heading our way in a
few short weeks. And so, the circle goes as we replace bikinis with sweatshirts
and then arctic wear all the while thinking about the lake and the smell of the
fall fair with visions of sugar plums dancing in our heads.
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Thursday, October 4, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Cadence
Author Mike OConnor: Cadence: Tiny droplets of water rolled down the window as he sat drinking his morning coffee. He glanced over at the coat hooks to make sure ...
Cadence
Tiny droplets of
water rolled down the window as he sat drinking his morning coffee. He glanced
over at the coat hooks to make sure his winter jacket was there, as surely his
old bones would get chilled on his way into town. Looking at the calendar, he
assured himself this was Wednesday the twenty-third day of December then
returned to his coffee swallowing every
drop. It was a slow process for him getting ready to go outside, but he was in
no hurry, those days had long passed him by.
His rubber boots scrunched on the fresh snow
reminding him of military cadence when he was in basic training a hundred years
ago. Funny how he still remembered the drill sergeant shouting out the words to
the rhythm of their boots. He was wrapped from head to toe in woolen warmth
only his eyes exposed to the frigid cold that was December in the high country.
He reached the
small town and went inside the florist where the owner greeted him and set his
order on the counter waiting for him to remove his gloves and retrieve his
change purse from deep inside his pocket. He smiled and thanked her telling her
he would see her in a month. The walk-through town was pleasant as Christmas
decorations could be seen in every store window taking him back in time when he
and his Mrs. Would take slow walks stopping in front of every window to admire
the beauty that was Christmas.
He proceeded up a
small hill just on the outskirts of town and entered the cemetery where his
beloved wife of sixty-two years was laid to rest four years ago today. Brushing
the snow away from her headstone, he set the flowers on it and took a seat on
the bench just a few feet away from her. He told her about the decorations and
how he knew she would have loved them as she once did. He told her he still
made a lousy cup of coffee and was having a hard time remembering days and even
months. He wiped away tears before they froze to his face remembering
everything he was because of her and how much he missed her.
He figured he had
been there a good hour, so he said his goodbyes and placed a kiss on his hand
and placed it on her headstone. It was a slow walk back to the house they
shared for so many years, his rubber boots keeping cadence but at a much slower
pace.
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Wednesday, October 3, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: The writer
Author Mike OConnor: The writer: He struggled every day to put words on paper that reeked of whiteness. The rest of the world only saw the finished product all wrap...
The writer
He struggled
every day to put words on paper that reeked of whiteness. The rest of the world
only saw the finished product all wrapped up in a colorful cover and smelling
like drying ink. They didn't see the endless hours of digging back in time
trying to awaken the memories that only appeared in fragments and an occasional
smell. The
readers flew through the pages absorbing just what their minds let them do, not
always seeing the whole thought.
The days of no writing to him were unbearable as he strutted around his study
believing he had lost the gift, pouring himself into a bottle and passing out
hoping to dream the next chapter. Days became weeks and then months as progress
continued tearing at his heart and the search for words that once flowed so smoothly. He did finish the book after
twenty-seven months of joy and tears losing a part of his mind that spoke then
died. A Book is only as good as the reader who takes the time to taste each
sentence and either savors it or spits it out forgetting it forever. He placed
the book on a shelf with others he had written alongside a picture of himself
as a young lad of twelve. He was holding a book in the photo with a caption
that read "Local boy publishes first book "He knew at the flash of the
camera his days of being normal had vanished into the vault of memorieswww.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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#raw emotions
Monday, October 1, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: First time
Author Mike OConnor: First time: He had never been anywhere outside of the town he grew up in. Now at eighty-seven years old, he boarded his first plane ride. Nev...
First time
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Saturday, September 29, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Just a number
Author Mike OConnor: Just a number: I don’t walk like I did a ways back. I kind of shuffle hearing each step so I don’t trip and fall. I keep my hands deep in my pock...
Just a number
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Thursday, September 27, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: The last tear
Author Mike OConnor: The last tear: He didn’t recall the moment he got old. He only saw his reflection in the mirror and thought it was his dead grandfather playing ga...
The last tear
He didn’t recall
the moment he got old. He only saw his reflection in the mirror and thought it
was his dead grandfather playing games again. Inside he was still a lad growing
up on the streets of Dublin where survival meant being tuff and full of Gods grace.
He learned to fight from his grandfather under the watchful eye of his dad, who
also was taught by granddad. Mom didn’t like the fighting and got her fair
share of time picking bits of gravel from fresh wounds. It was a rough life
back then as he walked away from the reminder of age. He lived here all his
life and saw wars against brothers who shared different values and beliefs,
never knowing when and where they may meet up again exchanging blows and
eventually gunshots. Like most things, time heals but never to the very core as
some beliefs we take to our graves. He lit his pipe and had a seat on the porch
looking out over the land he fought for and the land that would consume him
when the last tear fell from his face.
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Sunday, September 23, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Sleep can wait
Author Mike OConnor: Sleep can wait: Sleep can wait as I still have minutes to fill. Closing my eyes only brings darkness and my wish is for the light. I am tired, but...
Sleep can wait
Sleep can wait as
I still have minutes to fill. Closing my eyes only brings darkness and my wish
is for the light. I am tired, but most are when age runs past you so quickly you didn't notice.
Now is the time when all I want is to see my babies grow and listen to their
wisdom as they listened to mine. I’m not much of a late person anymore, but I
can remain awake long enough to watch a movie with a small hand holding onto
mine. My slightly shaking hands can still throw a ball or remove the training
wheels from a hand me down bicycle that so many happy moments were made on. My
steps are slowing, but they haven't stopped so I look for chances to take a
slow walk with the young ones who still look up to me.
Yes, sleep can wait there are minutes to be filled, walks to be taken and love
to be shared in stolen moments in the light.www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Saturday, September 22, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: In the cards
Author Mike OConnor: In the cards: Some moments in life can’t be measured by how good they were, or how bad. Some just have to stand alone and be remembered as a once i...
In the cards
Some moments in life can’t be measured by
how good they were, or how bad. Some just have to stand alone and be remembered
as a once in a lifetime feeling.
He saw her
standing at the bus stop on a dreary winter day. She was shivering, her small
frame no match for the bone freezing winds that almost toppled her over. She
had a scarf around her neck that covered half her face only leaving her eyes
exposed with frozen lashes. He sat in his warm car stopped at the light wanting
so badly to go to her rescue, but he knew that wasn’t in the cards.
Sitting at the
light on a beautiful summer day he saw her again standing at the bus stop. She
wore a colorful dress with red high heels. Her hair was long and pulled back
with a ribbon of blue. There was no scarf hiding her face this time, so he saw
how beautiful she was and how deeply he wanted to offer her a ride but knew how
foolish that would be. It wasn’t in the cards.
Today he stood at
the bus stop as his car broke down and it was going to take days to repair. He
had taken a little extra time this morning making sure his clothes were clean
and his face shaven. He wanted to make a good impression. He looked at his
watch every few seconds it seemed, but she was nowhere in sight. His heart sank
a little as the bus approached and people filed in. He was last to climb on
board looking one last time, but he guessed it just wasn’t in the cards.
It was a Saturday, and he usually didn't work but a large project was
coming due, and he decided a quiet day at the office was what he needed.
It was a beautiful Autumn day, and he decided to walk to the bus stop and let someone else do
the driving. He was in no hurry, so before going into the office, he stopped at
a small café for a coffee. It was busy for a weekend with quite a line waiting,
so he decided to try the next café down the block a bit. Entering he stopped
dead in his tracks, it was her. Standing behind the counter was the girl from
the bus stop. She smiled at him asking for his order, but words wouldn't come
to him, not yet anyway but they would, it was in the cards.
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