Day 136: Celebrity Dinner

Think of a celebrity you would like to have dinner with.  Write a note that just might catch that person’s attention enough for him/her to agree to dinner.

Dear Mark (Wahlberg),

I would like to go to dinner with you on Friday at the restaurant of your choice here in Helena.  I am very excited about your desire to sponsor a movie about Father Stu.  He made a profound impact on my life through confession, both before and after his death.  I would love to tell you my story and hear your Father Stu stories.  I would also enjoy discussing faith and family with you.

Blessings,

Lisa Nixon Richard

Day 135: Relax

You have two hours to do something relaxing and a budget of $100.  What will you do?

Really, $100.00 is more then I would ever need during warm weather.  I would go for a nice walk around either Spring Meadow Lake or Helena Valley Reservoir.  I would stop by for a coffee.  This is all I really need to relax.  I love being by the water and of course, coffee is a good addition.  I also relax when I am gardening.  Sure, it is a ton of work, but all my problems and worries disappear.

In the winter, I relax a lot while watching movies.  However, my favorite thing is to go do my hair or my toenails.  I do need go good chunk of change for these activities.  I am at an age where my feet crack from the cold, dry weather.  There is nothing better then soaking my feet in hot water and having Shauna do her magic.  I also take a coffee on this activity.

Anytime of the year, I can pick pour a cup of coffee, sit in the recliner, and read a good book.  I actually do this almost daily.  Believe it or not, I also love putting on instrumental music, lighting a candle, and writing.  If the session flows, I am super relaxed afterwards.

Finally, some painting helps me relax.  I love to see something transform before my eyes.  Now, this isn't the painting of pictures type of painting.  This is find a wall and just melt into the motion of the brush.  I love to paint, especially outside.  I am already looking forward to working on painting the eves of the house later this year.

Really, relaxing for me is pretty easy.  Heck, I even relax doing dishes and folding laundry if I am mindful of the task and not the million other things I want or need to do.  Relaxing is a state of mind I strive for all the time.  The more I relax the more my autoimmune leaves me alone and my pain is a lot less.  Besides, relaxing leads to a joy filled day.  Be mindful and have a relaxing day.

Day 134: Hotel Room

Write about a memorable experience you have had staying at a hotel.

Not including a cruise ship room, I would say the most memorable hotel room was in Cancun.  With five of us, we traveled on a strict budget.  We didn’t stay at a ritzy resort like the Hard Rock hotels.  We did tour it.  Someday that would be delightful.  No, we stayed in a cheap resort.

When we walked into the room, we knew we would have to be on our best behavior.  The two beds were single.  Uff da.  We asked for a rollaway.  They brought us a crib.  My husband asked if they would look at our two teenaged boys and our tall ten year old daughter to see which they would prefer us to put in a crib.  They finally brought in a bigger bed.  Now, with the dimension of the room, we had to push the twins together which gave us a foot between them and the wall on the left.  There were two feet between the right and the rollaway which hugged the right wall. We had a three foot path along the far wall to get to the door and tiny bathroom.  Yes, we resembled sardines!

The second to last day of our stay, a water pipe blew.  As we walked to our room, we had to walk through about two inches of water.  I imagined walking into a complete disaster, luggage, clothes, everything wet.  Water spilled out of our neighbor's room but ended at their door.  We opened our door, and everything was dry.  Crisis averted.

I do have a confession to make.  This was our last vacation as the Richard five.  I loved the togetherness of our tiny room.  We had a delightful time jet skiing, snorkeling, visiting the ruins, laying on the beach, playing games, and breaking bread.  Someday it would be delightful to go on another big family vacation.  Until then, we enjoy bigger room with just the three of us.

Day 133: You are What You Post

It has been said, “you are what you eat.”  Rewrite the phrase: “you are what you __________.”

You are what you read.  Hum, here is another one.

You are what you post on facebook.

At Mass yesterday, Deacon Steve expounded on the Gospel reading about how we need to love and do good things for our enemies.  He discussed what enemy means to him.  The definition he gave is a person or thing that takes away his peace. I liked the definition.  I thought about the things/people that take away my peace.  I am fortunate.  Being retired, I really get to pick and choose who I hang out with.  I consistently hangout with my dear friends Toni, Barb, and Paulette.  Every other week, I get to see Pam.  I am with my husband and daughter all the time.  This is about it.  All of these people are a delight to be around and never are my enemies.  Sure, a teenage daughter can cause a lack of peace, but I signed up for that.  So, how does this relate to being what you post?

The biggest enemy in my life is facebook.  Yes, facebook tries to take away my peace.  Friends and family post negative articles with political agendas.  I try to read the first words of all the posts people put up.  However, over the years, I find that the people who post this negative content, I scroll past.  Now, I am probably being harsh saying they are negative and political like their posts, but aren’t they? If I were to open up a discussion on my beliefs, hoping for an open dialog, they would start talking their negative politics which would sap the peace from me.  I have been tempted to unfriend some of the worst offenders.  But, each of these people have come into my life through the years, and I have fond memories of them.  Also, occasionally, they do other posts that are informative about their lives: pictures of children, grandchildren, and vacations.  I love that part of them.  So, I won't unfriend them, and I will continue to do as Jesus asked, be kind.

Of course, now I think of what I post.  Who am I on facebook?  I am a writer.  I publish my blog posts on facebook.  I am sure this annoys some people.  I bare my soul for all to see.  I try to be entertaining with my short stories.  I update occasionally about what is going on in life.  I am an amateur photographer.  During the non gray months, I post pictures of my garden and the Montana countryside.  I love putting up pictures of my travels.  I don’t do many political posts.  I work hard at being positive and not negative.  Unless you pay close attention, you don’t know what I think of any president.  A clue?  The president is the Commander and Chief of the United States Military.  I may not like the politics of a president, but I respect the office!  No ugly pictures of them on my news feed.

Who am I as a reader?  I am a magical, historical, occasionally romantic, classic, with a little psychologist thrown into the mix.

Day 132: Guilty

Write about the last time you felt guilty.

For the most part, this entire winter I have felt guilty.  I have been sick a lot.  Pain has been a pretty consistent companion.  To top it off, the area around my house has been icy and at times frigid cold.  I have a huge fear of falling and breaking something to add to the pain in my life.  Due to all these conditions, I haven’t been taking my poor little beagle out walking.  Yes, I feel guilty.  I pride myself in being a good dog owner.  With beagles, they need walked daily or ran.  They are a hyper dog otherwise.  I will say that we lucked out with Leo.  He is very well behaved, so he hasn’t been acting out.  I still feel bad. I hate seeing him lay around all day.  He and I are both ready for spring when we can go on our daily walks and play in the yard.  I will continue to feel guilt until we can start getting exercise.

Day 131: Experts

What expert do you wish could come teach you what they know?

Wow, I have a list.  My first thought was Monty Don.  He is a British gardener that I have watched a couple of his television shows.  I would love to learn from him. Luckily, I have learned from our local nursery owner just down the road from my house.  Which I will also mention, someday my dream is to go to the Chelsea garden show in England.

My next thought was Ansel Adams.  He is my all time favorite photographer.  I would love to go on a shoot with him. Of course, he died in 1984, so I will have to wait and see him in Heaven.  Yes, I hope to be taking pictures in the afterlife!

After that, I would love to sit and listen to stories of my favorite times in history.  The top two are the War of the Roses and the US Civil War. I was blessed to be taught about both by MSU-Billings’ best history professor, Dr. Moses.  I don’t know if he would be considered an expert, but I enjoyed his classes immensely.  At dinner the other night, my husband mentioned Bruce Catton.  He has written some excellent nonfiction for the Civil War.  He would be fun to meet.  He like Ansel is gone now.  Someday.

Of course, sitting at Jesus’ feet, like Mary, would be the ultimate expert to learn from.

Day 130: The Skull Reader Part 4

Dust glittered in the warm sunlight that streamed through the window.  All morning, she cleaned for the arrival of the king’s servant.  The last eleven skulls lined up with the rest.  During the readings, she gleaned nothing new about the battle.  The history recorded simply stated the birth, death, cause of death, marriage, children, parents, and function in the army.  The country cared little for any of the personal history.  When the skulls returned to the library, a family member could request a reading, but the expense was too high for most citizens.

Hille finished sweeping the floor when a knock sounded on the door.  The dog ran to greet whoever came to visit, his butt wiggling in the excitement of company.  She hadn’t heard a wagon pull up, so she suspected Ole stood on the other side.  For two days, she practiced what she would say to him.  Ushering him into the living space, while keeping Thor inside, she explained the reading revealed nothing about his ancestor.

"I don't understand," Ole slammed the palm of his hand down on the table.  "We had fifty of our villagers at that battle and not one skull that I have unearthed has been read from them."

Hille stared into his eyes without flinching.  "You will remain calm in my home or you will no longer be welcome."

Glaring at her, he wiped his face with his hand.  "I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I am so tired of seeing me and mine being treated so horribly.  We don't deserve the contempt.  I know my grandfather was a courageous man, not the coward they claim him as.  But you have to admit how none of this makes sense.  How many skulls have you read for me?"

"Fifteen, which really isn't that much.”  She reached down to scratch behind Thor’s ears to distract him from bothering Ole.  “One hundred were read originally and I have been through the histories, and they are consistent with the story."

"One hundred skulls from the royals, the city garrison, and the northern section of the country.  None of those skulls came from our village.”  He shook his head no, not accepting what she told him.  “How can a history be complete without the stories of all who perished?"

"Ole, I understand your frustration.  But what of the eyewitness account of old man Gullingsrud?"

"You know as well as I that he came back rattled in the head with battle sickness.  In your report after he died, you said his memories were too confusing to make a valid judgment."

Relenting this point, she nodded her head in agreement.  The hardest reading came from those who lost their wits in the middle of the battle.  She never told Ole about the one reading she found in the library of an alternative history.  At the time, she reasoned that at the end of the soldier's life he saw a two headed monster tear a chunk of his stomach out as he lay on the battleground dying.  He was obviously hallucinating.  Those histories are still written, but with no supporting histories from other skulls, the stories are deemed inconsistent.

In the silence, she broached her thought.  "Have you considered ending your search?  You spend too much money on these readings."

"I can't have you give up on the family, Hille.  I know the answers are on that field."  The anger in his eyes faded to be replaced with a deep sadness.  "My poor Anna is mucking out pig stalls of the Olsen's because no one will buy her sewing.  Work that is so fine she should be in the city.  You have said as much.  I worry about her so because that man himself is a pig and has tried a number of times to have his way with her.  I think it is just a matter of time before he violates her."

Touching the lace on the collar of her dress, her plan to tell him no more skulls unraveled in front of his despair.  She grew up poor with no prospects.  For three years, she worked for a family with eight small children.  The husband made advances towards her daily.  The wife caught him on top of her in the barn and threw her out.  Running in fear of being punished, for adultery was a crime punished by branding, she found a skull washed up in an ancient battlefield.  As her fingertips touched the bone, the visions leapt into her sight.  This saved her.  Anna had no such way to save herself.  Anna’s only hope was in the readings if any came to reveal what really happened at the battle.  Hille sighed.  "Have you considered a wider search?  Maybe some of the enemy soldiers from the west."

Ole's words spoke true.  None of their village men had been found on the field.  No enemies had been found either.  The puzzle intrigued her just enough that she let herself be drawn into the mystery, again.

"But you know the histories of the beaten are never used as evidence to clear a family's name."

"True, but they may point us in a different direction to look."  She shrugged her shoulders, hating to see Ole in despair.

"Hille, even I know the law that a reader is forbidden from reading the enemy's skulls.  If the king found out, you could be hung for treason.  I can't let that happen to you."

She smiled.  "I can always say the skull was missed in the great sorting.  The crime is not in the reading, it is in the telling.  No one would have to know but you and me.  Bring two and we can see what we discover."

Standing up, she could see him wrestling with the idea.  Truly this man did not deserve the shunning of the village.  Even her Torger didn't work as hard as Ole.  Granted, the stigma didn't taint Torger’s family.   They could afford to relax without proving their family strength.  She watched as Ole walked to the door.  Without turning around, he rested his head against the edge after he pulled it open.

"I will never put you and Torger in danger.  The two of you are the only ones to give all of us the benefit of the doubt.  But I do ask you to read the next skull from the field."

"I would be honored to continue in the quest."  She wondered how many more skulls would have to be read before he finally gave up.  "Please give Malvina my best.  And tell her the tea is always warm."

He turned.  "You are a fine lady.  I thank you."  He slipped out the door.

Torger would be spitting angry when she told him that she would read more skulls for Ole.  The story of Anna would soften his resolve as well.  After the death of their own girl, he held a soft spot in his heart for her.  In fact, he insisted Hille buy all her lace from Anna.  Besides, he would just have to realize that sometimes friendship trumped the rest of the world.

Day 129: The Skull Reader Part 3

Torger found her hours later sitting in the same spot in the middle of the room, the light fading with the setting sun.  The shake of her shoulder brought her out of the memories of Henric.  Torger took her hand and pulled her up.  Her legs tingled and hurt from being in one position for so long.  Leading her into the kitchen, he helped her sit down.  He pored her a small glass of honey wine and set about making their dinner.

Sipping the sweet drink that burned as it trickled down her throat, she gathered her thoughts.  How much could she tell Torger?  How could she hold any of the information from him?  Yet, she didn't want to make any decisions without him. 

She watched him rummage through the vegetable bin for three big potatoes.  His sleeves rolled up to show a tan line at the wrist, forearms bulging from the many hours of handling a team in the fields.  The trousers he wore were patched upon patches.  He hated spending the money she received from the king.  Though he relented last summer and allowed her to buy him new leather boots.  The sole was too thin to sew.  He pushed the light brown hair from his eyes.

She sighed.  "Ole stopped by just before lunch."

"I assumed," he placed a frying pan on the stove.  He waited patiently for her to continue.

The room grew warm as the fire came to life.  She fidgeted with the glass until her nerves felt like they might snap.  Lifting the glass, she gulped the rest of the wine down and stood up to pace the room. 

"I read an exchange between two soldiers that frightens me.  It could change the fate of the entire village."

"Would this information clear Ole's family from shame?" his calm voice helped steady her nerves.

"No, but…," she hesitated, knowing the old argument by heart.

"You are paid to help his family, not tell the complete history or interpretation of a single life.  He pays you for definitive proof to save his family.  Does the memory hold that proof?"

Torger’s logic cut deep.  She wanted to help Ole and his family.  She slumped down in the chair.  "With that line of thinking, he might never get that proof from a single skull." 

"Exactly, I have always thought his search flawed.”  He sliced potatoes on a cutting board.  “One person's memory will not be more valid then all the histories already recorded."

"Yes, but if enough skulls agreed with this skull, it could reek havoc for all of us,” Hille countered.

"True.  However, how many are enough?  And will you continue that long to save one family?”  Sizzling interrupted him as he tossed the potatoes in the warm pan.  “I thought you were going to tell him you were finished reading for him."

She sighed heavily.  "I planned to, but my curiosity stepped in the way."

"I believe your hope to help his family also was a contributing factor."  In another pan, he placed a steak.

"Shouldn't I help those in need with the gift I have been given?"

Torger poured more wine into her cup and placed to plates on the table.  "Are you helping them for their own sake or to be the heroin in your own story?"  He went back to the stove to stir the potatoes.

"What?"  Hille's voice cracked.  "You think I do readings for common people to be a heroin?"  She waited for a reply, but he didn't look up from his task.  "Even after all these years, you are jealous of Ole.  How many times must I explain, we three have always been friends?"

"You have never gone to these lengths for others."

"I have never denied a villager.  No one has asked me to go to this length, but I would."  She jumped from the chair and placed her hands on her hips.  "I have done for you as well.  I have risked the anger of the throne by staying here."

"You wanted to stay as much as me," he combated as he turned the steak onto the other side.

"Precisely, I love you and I know what the land means to you.  I love the land and the village myself.  I don’t see how you can question my love for you.  I would not have stayed for Ole."

"Do what you want to do, Hille.  You always do.  You say that you want to quit reading for them.  But I believe you say that for my account only.  You don't plan to stop going down this foolish road."  He grabbed his plate from the table.  With a big scoop of potatoes, he strode to the door.  "I am going to the barn."

Hille jerked the door from his hand as he tried to shut it as he crossed the threshold.  "I do my job for the truth of history." 

The creak of the door sounded soft compared to the echoing of the slam as she closed the door with all her might.

Ole spent the night in the barn.  In the morning, earlier then normal, he slipped into the house for breakfast, not coming into their bedroom to say good day or kiss her goodbye.  All morning, she failed to read the royal skulls.  In two days, she needed to hand them over for full pay.  By lunch, she decided to apologize to Torger.  He was a good husband and should come before all others.  The village needed to come before Ole.  She must stop reading for her childhood friend, but how was she ever going to tell him?

Day 128: The Skull Reader Part 2

The cold meat seasoned with rosemary burst in her mouth as she chewed on the sandwich.  Holding the meal in one hand, she put the food away and wiped the counter with the other hand.  No sitting at the table this afternoon, she was anxious to get to work.  Through all the readings, she always hoped to find a shred of evidence for Ole and his family.  They were good people, treated unfairly.  But without proof, the people's memories lasted over seven generations.

Back in her work room, she finished the last bite of her sandwich, washing it down with a fresh glass of tangy goat's melt from the morning chores.  With the flame of a single lit candle, she placed lavender above to catch it on fire.  She placed it in a bowl to smolder.  The herb kept the decay smell at bay and helped to relax her for the reading.

Next, Hille put on her work gloves.  With them she couldn't read the skull.  A few times the readings caused her to drop a fragile skull shattering it to pieces.  Reading other bones or parts of a shattered skull distorted the history she witnessed.  Without the gloves, just a slight touch of the skull could start the reading.  While taking off the helmet, her reading could cause her to drop the skull.  She always had to be very careful. 

Torger constructed a table that stood taller then most and stood next to the window.  She placed the skull and helmet on the flat surface that came to her upper waist.  With her right hand, she picked up a small hammer and with the left a miniature metal pick with one side flattened.  Placing the point in a jagged line on the helmet, she tapped ever so lightly.  A piece fell to the table.  Around the helmet she worked, flakes of metal piling all around the skull.  A side section fell.  A length of black hair drifted down.  The man had been younger.  She jiggled the skull.  A crack reverberated through the room.  To her relief, the rest of the helmet broke in half.  The skull remained intact.

In the middle of the room, a soft blue carpet lay on the floor.  She placed the skull in the middle and sat down in front of it.  Pulling the gloves off, she tossed them up on the work counter.  She steadied her breath.  Her ultimate hope was the skull would be that of her grandfather's cousin who never came back from the battle.  None of their village came back from the village.  She was sure if he could be found; the truth would be revealed.

Breathing deeply, her long slim fingers wrapped around the grey skull.  Colors flew by in a rush, like butterflies of various colors.  Flitting back and forth, she grabbed at the first hints of green, collecting them into a pile.  One by one, she looked at the memories representing his environment.  His mother showing him to friends as a wee baby in a community building, the name Henric on her lips.  Another scene with him looking back on his little village as he and his father drove a wagon full of potatoes east to the city for market.  She sighed realizing he haled from a different village then their own. 

Grumbling about missing lunch with Torger, she plunged further into the skull.  This time she gathered the colors of red and black, the hues most associated with rage and death.  Chuckling, she lingered in a memory from his childhood.

A young Henric, wearing overalls that only reached the top of his ankles, stood in the heat of the day.  Off in the distance the flutter of white in the breeze from his shirt laying in the field caught her attention for a split second.  His booted foot pushed down on the metal lip of a shovel.  Up came a pile of potatoes, he tossed them to the side.  Hille felt the rush of cold water as it pored down his body.  Henric turned around in shock as a girl, a head taller then himself, in a soft pink dress, laughed at him.  Both his and Hille's right hand curled up in a fist.

"Henric, don't even think about hitting your sister," a warning cut through the air.  They looked at the wagon, at the older man dressed like his son.  "Now, no more fooling around.  Get the potatoes in the wagon, Ingrid."

"Yes, Papa."  She bent down with her black hair being pulled by the wind.  The potatoes plunked as they were tossed into the bucket.

Hille pulled away from the memory, smiling.  The relationship of siblings remained the same over the generations.  The next memory she pushed away when she saw Henric leaning over the pine box looking at the same young girl.  A small tear trickled down Hille's cheek as her own memory of her daughter's funeral came to her thoughts.

Finally, she found what she was looking for in his memories.  The last hours of a battle intrigued Hille.  Memories passed through a soldier’s mind in jumbled confusion for her, the reader.  They never flowed in a chronological progression.  Nor were the ones she needed always red and black.  She allowed the memories associated with the rolling green battlefield to flow through her fingers, like a piece of yarn as she worked on a scarf for the winter.  A speck of gold caught her attention, the negative representative of self-righteousness. 

Henric sat underneath an aspen tree, resting in the shade and watching the battle before him.  Soon his unit would be called to engage the enemy from the right flank.  He turned when he heard a twig snap to his side.  Coming in his direction, his leader huffed and puffed with a red face.

"The damn villagers of Hinsfield are refusing to join the battle.  We will be on our own.  Gear up and make piece with your life for surely we die on this field."

"Damn southerners think themselves too good for the land.  At least they aren't fighting for the other side."  Henric stood.  Off in the distance, he saw the duke riding towards them.  Their time had come to fight.

Hille felt the thrill of battle mingled with the fear of death as she pulled herself from the memories and removed her fingers from the skull.

The exchange between the two men confused her.  The entire village refused to fight?  Never had she heard this story.  In reading the histories, the fault of cowardice always sat with Ole's family, not the village.  The reading of the skulls he brought to her also held the the whisper of a single coward being dealt with, which she assumed to be Ole's grandfather.  Now there was an accusation of the entire village being afraid.  Or had they rebelled?  She always thought the fact that not one person lived through the battle, an oddity, or that a skull was retrieved from the field from the village of Hinsfield. 

If the village unit never engaged in the battle, why didn't they come home?  Throughout the histories, a few times rebellion happened in the army.  In these cases, an inquiry would be made, and a sentence doled out to either the rebels or to the leader if his orders were detrimental to the army.

Fear crawled up her spine.  Ole would be excited about this news.  But to use this information would doom their entire community.  Instead of his family being shunned, the village would be cut from all incoming and outgoing commerce from the country.  The king would make her cut her ties from her home and bring her to the city.  However, instead of living in the palace, she would be sent to the slums and no longer paid for her work.  She would become his slave.

Day 127: The Skull Reader Part 1

The ticking of the clock faded into the distance as Hilleborg Nilsdatter worked at the wooden oak desk the king gave her when he employed her fulltime.  For years, his steward brought her work, grumbling at the twenty-mile distance between the little village she lived in and the castle.  With each request of work, an offer of housing in the city accompanied the task.  Three years ago, the king finally gave up on trying to get her to move and sent a desk in show of his acceptance, along with enough work to keep her busy for a year. 

She wore a navy-blue dress with a brown apron over the top to protect the material from dust and steal particles.  A long dark brown braid with streaks of grey coiled up at the base of her neck to stay out of the way of her work.  Her feet remained free of shoes and stockings.  

How could she ever consider moving to the city?  Her and dear Torger, her husband of twenty years, could never leave the land.  Torger inherited the farm his family lived on for eight generations.  He never lived anywhere else.  And in their home, they raised five children.  All of them now laid to rest in the family cemetery in the pecan orchard.  No, Hille would never leave her children.

The desk sat a few feet from the large picture window she bought from the earnings of the crown.  The light helped her to see as she wrote down the histories for the great library.  The room used to be her daughter's.  Candles sat along the window frame and were lit when the sun went down.  A large lantern rested on the floor.  This she placed on the desk to add to the candle flames when the natural light faded over the horizon.

On the shelves to the right of the desk held a doll that the child played with along with carved horses and soldiers the boys created stories from when they were young.  The items kept her children near.  Also, on the shelves, the completed histories waited to be taken to the city for cataloging.  On the shelves on the other side of the room that ran the entire length of the room, skulls lined the ledges with tags displaying the name of the person, date of birth, and date of death if the skull had been read.  Those without tags still needed to be worked.  In the latest batch, she still had eleven more to chronologize before the steward came to retrieve the work.  Of course, he would bring her a fresh batch of skulls.

Hille laid the the quill on the wooden holder Torger carved for her when they first married.  Blue and black ink stained the pine wood in blotches where the tip rested.  Flexing the stiff fingers of her writing hand, she stretched her arms over her head and yawned.  At her feet, her little dog sat patiently waiting for their morning walk into the fields when she took Torger's lunch to him.  Little Thor's black tail with a tip of white wagged in anticipation of chasing rabbits.

In the kitchen, she prepared herself a sandwich from ground scraps of cooked meat from the cow they slaughtered in the fall.  A knock sounded at the door.  Though the snow thawed, the roads were still treacherous to travel over with all the mud.  She hadn't expected the king's steward so soon.  After wiping her hands off, she tossed the rag in the basin and walked to the door.  She pulled the iron latch with a screech and swung the hulking door open.  Torger needed to oil the hinges.

On the river rock step, a tall man with oily black hair filled her entrance with his bulking shoulders.  He wore leather trousers and jacket, worn from years of hard work.  His green eyes sparkled as he lifted a burlap sack.  Her nose wrinkled.  A fowl odor of death clung to him.  His rough hands reminded her of the dog's front paws after digging in the moist earth for a mouse.

"Hello, Ole," she greeted with a smidgen of irritation.

"I know what you're thinking.  But, I feel it in my bones that this is the one."

"You say that every time."  She placed her hands on her hips.  Each time he came, she planned to send him away.  With determination, she frowned at him.  "This will not be the one.  They are never the one.  You have to let this go for your own good."

With two long strides, he walked past her to the table.  He opened the sack to pull out a weathered skull with a helmet still attached to the head.  Despite herself, she reached out her hands.

"Where did you find this one?  Usually the skulls are white from the sun bleaching them."  The danger of reading in the presence of others kept Hille from directly touching the skull.  Instead, her fingers grasped the helmet she would need to take off once she went into her workroom. 

"I knew it would interest you."  His faced beamed.  "There are still hundreds of skulls on the battlefield.  I have taken a sample from all the areas.  Yesterday in my search, I skirted the outer edges.  A small grove of trees caught my attention for the first time.  I never looked there because of the sacred land, but I felt a pull.  Under a rotting log, I found him.  Will you read for me?"

Her resolve broke.  They grew up together as friends.  His stupid eyes brought back to many fun memories of the two of them and his dear wife, her best friend.  "Yes, I will.  I am close to finished with the king's work and they shouldn't be here for another week.  Come back in three days."

"You are good to us."  He gathered her up in his arms and squeezed.  "Malvina will make your favorite rhubarb crumble."

She laughed as he skipped out the door.  The crumble wouldn’t come for a couple of months after the rhubarb grew in the warm late spring days.

In a matter of moments, she regretted her decision.  Now she couldn't have lunch with Torger.  She finished making the sandwiches.  Two she placed in a rucksack of sorts and called to Thor.  He pranced over with the white tip of his tail flashing in the sunlight as he waited for her to strap the bag on his body.  She kissed the top of his head and opened the door.

"Find Torger," she called as the dog dashed down the lane.  "Blast it!  I forgot to write him a note." 

Calling back the beagle, she knew would be useless; for once he was on a trail, all reasoning and training left him.  Torger would understand.  She became forgetful while on the hunt of an intriguing history.  In fact, he would be grateful she even remembered to send his lunch.

Day 126: Recent Gift

Write about the most recent gift you gave someone.

I swear I wrote about this gift a while back, but I will write about it again.  I loved the gift. I loved the gift so much that I bought it for me as well.  Originally, the gift came to me first, and she bought one for herself.  A bit complicated.

Two years ago, my sister, her friend, and I went to England.  With my health issues, I usually rested in the evening while they wandered.  In London, they went to Harrods.  Now, I had never heard of the store until our trip.  I was educated that this was a famous department store.  Since I didn’t go, my sister bought me a key ring and a really nice pen.  She bought herself a pen as well.

Now, both of us fell in love with this pen.  For over a year, we used them.  No one else was allowed to use them.  They fit the hand perfect and the ink is just the best.  They are a thin sleek black cylinder with Harrods written on the side.  At the top is a silver crown with a “diamond” inside the crown.  This summer my sister announced the death of her pen.  I panicked.  Mine would be next.

In November, I went shopping online.  You guessed it.  I found the pens on the Harrods website.  I ordered more for both of us.  I also ordered us some shortbread.  Sure, I would have preferred to fly over and shopped in person, but this was the next best thing.  The joy on her face was priceless when she opened the shortbread to find two new pens inside.  The gift was well worth the extra shipping.

Day 125: Caring for the Sick

Describe a time you cared for someone who was sick, or someone cared for you.

Last weekend, I cared for my daughter when she was down with the flu.  I made sure she took her meds.  I made sure she ate.  Simple, regular tasks to care for the sick.  One day later, her dad was sick.  He still went to drill until he couldn't handle being there.  He then came home and slept.  Last but not least, I was out for the count.  In the end, Jerry did the brunt of the caring.  He drove Madelle to and from school for the first two days of the week.  He went to the store for things more meds and food.  Finally on Wednesday, I came out of the haze just enough to take over driving Madelle, so he could go back to work.  I believe we are slowly on the mend.  Right now, I would love some true vitamin D from seventy degree weather to burn the rest of the sickness out of me.

Day 124: No Driving

Write about a time you said no.

Three times in my military career, I said no.  The first time was on a hot day at the end of our two-week summer camp.  We were outside of Boise, Idaho at Gowan Field.  The trouble started the day we left for Idaho.  My co driver informed me she didn’t have a Montana driver’s license. She had never driven in her life.  I notified my chain of command numerous times, and I was ignored.  What a long trip to Idaho!!!

I needed a break from driving, so I thought I would give her a chance.  She almost drove the ambulance off the highway going into Dillon.  Later, she almost rear ended the ambulance in front of us as we pulled off the interstate.  One of the other ambulance drivers’ and I came up with a plan. Three of us would rotate driving the two vehicles.  The plan worked, and she never touched the steering wheel again.

When the rest of the company arrived from the airport, I let the chain of command hear all over again the issue, along with the story of two potential wrecks.  They said it would get fixed.  Right, and I made enough money on that AT to put me through school for a whole year.  Get real!

After nothing was said about a new co driver, I went to my platoon sergeant and told him I would no longer be an ambulance driver.  I was taking the plane home.  He said I had to drive because there were no other drivers.  I told him, no.  I was sure there were quite a few people on the plane home who had a Montana driver’s license.  He wasn’t happy with me.  I didn’t care.

In the end, I did drive the ambulance home.  But I still won.  My platoon sergeant had to give up his seat on the plane to the girl who didn’t know how to drive.  He and I had a nice long drive together, and I didn’t fear for my life when he took his turn to drive.