Saturday, November 30, 2019
Author Mike OConnor: SNOWBALL WAR
Author Mike OConnor: SNOWBALL WAR: THE SOUNDS OF SNOW CRUNCHING BENEATH THE TIRES, THE PERFECT SNOWBALL READY TO BE THROWN. THE CAR TURNS INTO YOUR DRIVEWAY AS YOU STAY HI...
SNOWBALL WAR
THE SOUNDS OF SNOW CRUNCHING BENEATH THE TIRES, THE PERFECT
SNOWBALL READY TO BE THROWN. THE CAR TURNS INTO YOUR DRIVEWAY AS YOU STAY
HIDDEN BESIDE THE GIANT PINE.THE DOOR OPENS, AND YOUR DAD GETS OUT OF THE CAR .
YOU LET THAT SNOWBALL GO AND WITH PINPOINT ACCURACY, BAM! DIRECT HIT TO THE
CHEST.
FOR A SPLIT SECOND YOU STAND FROZEN TO THE ICY GROUND AS DAD
DROPS HIS BRIEFCASE AND IN RECORD TIME SNATCHES UP SOME SNOW AND IN WHAT SEEMED
LIKE JUST ONE MOTION, HE LETS LOOSE AND A MISSILE DISGUISED AS A SNOWBALL HITS
YOU DEAD ON YOUR CHEEK.
IT WAS ALL OUT WAR NOW, AND YOU CAME OUT OF HIDING TO GET A
BETTER SHOT, SCOOPING UP SNOW AND MAKING TWO AT A TIME AS YOU INCHED CLOSER AND
CLOSER TO CERTAIN SHOTS TO THE BODY. DAD WAS WITHOUT MERCY AS HE LAUNCHED ONE
AFTER THE OTHER EACH HITTING ITS MARK.
WITH ONE LAST HARD HIT TO THE CHEST DAD PUT HIS HANDS UP AND
CALLED IT QUITS. DROPPING YOUR LAST SNOWBALL THE TWO OF YOU WALKED TOGETHER
INTO THE HOUSE WHERE MOM WAS STANDING AT THE DOOR SHAKING HER HEAD AND TELLING
DAD HE SHOULD NO BETTER THAT ONE OF YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN HURT. HE HIT ME ON
THE SHOULDER AS I HEADED UPSTAIRS TO GET OUT OF MY NOW MELTED CLOTHES WITH A
SMILE ON MY FACE AND A MEMORY I WOULD KEEP FOREVER.
Monday, November 25, 2019
Author Mike OConnor: The sands of time
Author Mike OConnor: The sands of time: The sand was cold on my feet as I walked by the light of a full moon, stars showed brightly in the December sky as the sound of waves cr...
The sands of time
As I walked, my thoughts went back to a time when Christmas
meant shoveling snow on the front walk so guests wouldn’t slip and fall.I
recall When a fire burned in the fireplace and the smell of pine mixed with the
other holiday scents. Now I inhale a deep breath of the sea and let the smell
of the ocean relax and comfort me on my walk.
Up ahead of me I see two young lovers holding hands as they
spend their holiday promising eternity with each other letting the full moon light
their way and their hearts. For some reason I thought him to be a soldier home
on leave and their time together limited as he must return to duty all too
soon.It took me back once more when it was me home on leave and walking in the
park on a cold December night with the one I thought I would spend eternity.
My walk was nearing its end as I stooped to pick up a piece
of sea glass that had been illuminated by the moonlight. It was aqua in color
and smooth to the touch. A gift to the new king, I thought as I put it in my
pocket and wished the world a happy holiday. So many memories, both old and new,
with each step I took on the cold sands of time.
Sunday, November 17, 2019
Author Mike OConnor: Coming into his own
Author Mike OConnor: Coming into his own: He's coming into his own now, just a couple of years on this earth and already someone with a purpose.How well I remember him as a b...
Coming into his own
He is coming into his own now that young man all grown up at
eighteen years old. He wanted to serve his country and explore frontiers un
charted knowing he could make a difference. He would write to me often during
those years, telling me about his adventures and remembering the stories I use
to tell him of my own.
He's found his purpose in life as I proudly watch from a
galaxy far, far away. I've been told he will have a place with me and others he
said good-by to but not for years to come. His purpose in life was something he
knew at a very young age, and he still had work to do.
It wasn’t until I entered the gates of eternity did I
realize that I could talk to him. It's not for me to tell you how,but know that
those voices you hear in your head are as real as life itself.I speak to him
when troubles or pain enter his life telling him to believe in himself and to
keep his faith strong. I know he hears me as a smile appears on his sleeping
face.
Many decades have passed as my special young man struggles
to breathe his final breaths.It won't be long now until he joins us in a place
where all of his pain will vanish, and he will be at eternal peace. As his soul
leaves his body the transition will take less than a second and his real
purpose will be explained.
He stands beside me now that beautiful soul that always had
a purpose. His smile is bigger than ever especially when he discovered his
wings.He doesn’t stay beside me for very long as he hurries from one place to
another, whispering in the heads of
those he left behind, assuring them their seat beside him someday.
My father and mother, grandparents, and generations before
them all stand together waiting for more to join us, knowing that my special
little man will one day serve God in ways only his adventurous mind could have foreseen.
Monday, November 11, 2019
Author Mike OConnor: Going home
Author Mike OConnor: Going home: I went back to my birthplace awhile ago; it hadn't changed much over what seems like an endless period.Small towns do that if the peopl...
Going home
I went back to my birthplace awhile ago; it hadn't changed much over what seems like an endless period.Small towns do that if the people who call it home make certain things remain instead of being replaced. I walked the streets of town looking into the windows of a high-end coffee shop and hair salon that used to be a mom and pop diner and a hardware store. I smelled the coffee, but my mind took me back to the smell of freshly ground beans served piping hot in a mug that said “Just like moms”
The buildings along main street remained the same from a building standpoint and I could name almost all of them as I slowly made my way down memory lane. The jewelry store where I bought my first friendship ring for my highschool sweetheart, the soda fountain that made the best chocolate malts anywhere. A men's clothing store where my dad took me for the first suit that I wore for my first communion. On one corner was what I thought at the time to be the biggest store in the world, it had three floors and an elevator.
A lady's dress shop where my mom took my sisters to shop for easter dresses while dad and I visited the Knights of Columbus for a soda and a beer.I can close my eyes and smell the cigars and cigarettes while frank Sinatra played on the Wurlitzer jukebox. A bit further down main street was a shoe store where sales clerks measured your foot and helped you tie the new shoes I would be wearing along with that first suit.
I stopped in front of a particular storefront that was now a pet store with several cute little puppies pawing at the glass hoping for a new home, but I remember it as the recruiting station where I went at seventeen years of age and joined the navy. My mind raced back in time to those days aboard a ship sailing around the vast oceans every day an adventure.I remember writing so many letters to the folks back home who I missed telling them of my visits to exotic ports and that I couldn’t wait to come back home.
I continued my walk, zipping up my coat as night had arrived along with some light snow. It took me back to when all the stores decorated their windows with the most beautiful holiday decorations, all made by the hands of the store owners. We would spend hours stopping in front of every display putting us in the mood to put up our decorations starting tomorrow.Before going home, we would stop in the soda fountain for some hot chocolate and family conversation. That’s the part I miss the most.
I left my hometown after my visit heading back to the life I chose so many years ago. I left with some fresh memories, a few tears, and a promise to come back sooner, which I knew I would because every kid needs to go back home.
www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
www.michaeloconnorwriter.com
Wednesday, November 6, 2019
Author Mike OConnor: Love and patience
Author Mike OConnor: Love and patience: He laid in bed a little longer this morning, guessing yesterday's workload was more then he realized. Eventually, he got up and star...
Love and patience
He laid in bed a little longer this morning, guessing yesterday's workload was more then he realized. Eventually, he got up and started a pot of coffee to jump-start the morning and pick up where he stopped yesterday. Sitting at the old table he had refinished awhile back he recalled finding it at the curb waiting for the trash collector, but he saw potential in it and rescued it from certain death at the landfill.
He loved working with his hands and discovered he was pretty good at it.His dad had taught him how to work with wood, patiently showing him how to cut and sand and above all to put himself into every piece he worked on.Many nights and weekends, they would spend in the workshop a father teaching his son and a son trying his best to make his dad proud.
When the war began he joined up like so many other young men, leaving behind families and girlfriends to travel thousands of miles away to fight for the country they all so dearly loved.He was one of the lucky ones and returned home unharmed, at least physically.He didn’t sleep very well and spent a lot of time in the workshop making furniture and selling it to local stores who always praised his craftsmanship and attention to detail. It was at one such store he met the girl of his dreams, and they married six months later.
Years passed, and they built a life together making and selling furniture that eventually became well known and in demand across the country.His workshop was five times the size of his dads who passed away only seven years after he returned from the war.He used his dad's tools to build the way he was taught making sure each finished piece was one he was proud to sell. He often wondered how many goodnight stories and warm summer nights sipping ice tea were done sitting in something he built?
Now he is alone in the workshop, his wife and best friend went on to the lord a few years back. Things were never the same, and he was tired.It didn’t take long to sell the business to an eager buyer with his own big dreams, and financially he guessed he could do whatever he wanted to do.It was hard for him to say goodbye to the home they had built and his beloved workshop but that day did come, and he settled into a small cabin on a peaceful stream where he built a small workshop
His bones ached most days, and it was common to find him sleeping mid day in one of the chairs he built. He still used his dads' tools that always reminded him of his youth and his dads' love and patience. Tomorrow his great-grandson would stop by to learn the family trade. He would learn with the same tools and be guided by the same love and patience as his great, great grandpa once used.But it wasn’t all about making chairs; it was sitting with each other at an old table that was once thrown away by one and brought back to life by another. It was his favorite place in the whole world.
www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
www.michaeloconnorwriter.com
Monday, November 4, 2019
Author Mike OConnor: Let them be heard
Author Mike OConnor: Let them be heard: There are always stories to tell, yarns to spin always words to share but, what if there weren't? I can and do usually write some...
Let them be heard
There are always
stories to tell, yarns to spin always words to share but, what if there
weren't? I can and do usually write something every day. I am drawn to the
paper like a moth to a flame, never doubting my ability to come up with
something uniquely compelling.
I believe sharing
words is as natural as a conversation with another person the only difference
is when you write you are having that conversation alone.I also think that when
I have a terrible day the stress I feel stops me from writing anything worthy
of sharing.Those are the times I write something dark and toss it after reading
it back to myself, usually.
I am not ashamed
to admit my life is kept in balance through the use of prescription drugs. I
suffered silently for years before I spoke to a VA doctor who enlightened me on
a couple of issues I had that could be greatly helped with the right balance of
medication.Its been a long time now and the meds are a part of my daily routine
that I take without even thinking about it.
Recently I somehow
let my prescription laps, and within a few days, I was back into the darkness I
had escaped from so long ago. Fear was the star of my show accompanied by
anxiety. I couldn’t face crowds of people or be surrounded by loud noises. I
didn’t want to be around anyone preferring my own company to that of anyone
even the people I loved the most.
During this time, I
wrote about the dark side, and many of those snippets ended up being published
in one of my books.After getting back on schedule with my meds I re-read those
pieces and was amazed at just how sinister and troubled my mind was. It's scary
seeing a side of the mind that presents itself when darkness is set free.
However, I am still
of mind that all people retain that dark side somewhere buried deep in their
mind and will never set it free. Is that a good thing? I don’t have an answer
for that, but in some way I think if I hadn't traveled to that world then maybe
I would have never written some of my best work.Someone once said that if not for
the darkness we would never be able to walk into the light. Wait, I wrote that.
Writing is a gift
that defines you as a dreamer, a storyteller, and someone not afraid to march
to a different drummer. Above all, to be a writer is someone who can call out
to the voices of the unknown inviting them to speak to the one who lets them be
heard.
Mike
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)