Pumpkin Stories

Yesterday afternoon, our writing group gathered to read our assigned stories on ‘Fear’. You can read my great literary offering on my October 31st posting. Hallowe’en seemed a great time to write about fear. After each of us read our very different stories. Some were based on true incidents. Some, like mine, were complete fiction. All had a different focus on the same topic. Before coffee and goodies, our host gave us a writing exercise to complete in ten minutes. We were to write from the perspective of the pumpkin in the Cinderella fairy tale. Here is my offering ~ pecked out on my cell phone. 

Pumpkin Perspective - in ten minutes

I was sitting alone in a field - well not really alone - because it was a field of pumpkins. Hallowe’en had come and gone. Those of us left were misshapen or too small or not the right shade of orange. We were destined to be fed to the pigs and horses. It was a lovely clear night - quiet and moonlit, fireflies all around. Curiously one of them seemed to be growing bigger, shining with a blue light. Then I felt a poke just at the base of my stem. The next thing I knew I was as big as the farmer’s cottage. I had been hollowed out and decorated more beautifully than any of my friends. And I had wheels. Not just any old wagon wheels but fancy carriage wheels. It was a night to remember. Once I’ve been made into pumpkin pie all my memories will be sweet and spicy mush.

Once home, I realized that I had not opened this 10 minute piece with my planned stem from the word PEACE: Equal differences….  So I have revised and edited this piece to a) start with Equal differences and b) attempt a bit more detail. Here is my revised and edited piece.

Pumpkin Perspective - revised

Equal differences, even in pumpkins, can be found in any old farmer’s field. For instance, when I’m sitting alone in a farmer’s field, looking at all my pumpkin buddies I can see all our differences. Some of us grow lopsided, some stay small only good of decoration, some grow huge and some are just ordinary - but we’re all orange. Bright orange, kind of green or pale. One night, I was sitting alone in a small field of pumpkins. Those of us left after children from the village had come for pumpkins that would become jack o’lanterns were misshapen or too small or not the right shade of orange. Those of us left behind were destined to be fed to the pigs and horses. This particular night turned out to be a really special night. It was just after Hallowe’en on a lovely clear night ~ peaceful and moonlit, fireflies all around. One of the fireflies was different. Curiously one of them seemed to be growing bigger, shining with a blue light. Like most fireflies, it disappeared and at the same time I felt a sharp poke at the base of my stem. The strangest feeling invaded my insides and the next thing I knew I had grown as big as the farmer’s cottage. All of my pumpkin seeds had vanished, replaced by brocaded seats. I had been decorated more beautifully than the jack o’lanterns in the village and definitely more than my field mates. And I had wheels. Not just any old wagon wheels but fancy carriage wheels. It was a night to remember. But my memories are disappearing so pardon if this story has been a bit sloppy. Once I’ve been made into pumpkin pie all my memories are just sweet and spicy mush.

“Revision is one of the exquisite pleasures of writing.”

~ Bernard Malamud, novelist

In the Barnyard

In the Barnyard

Patience stepped forward timidly. She was new to the barnyard and didn’t know any of the chickens, or ducks, or lambs, or any of the bigger animals. She was an urban piglet born in a petting zoo with turtles and goats and bunny rabbits.

Patience had no idea that the day she was born she had already been sold. She really didn’t even know about such things. Every day she would snuggle up to her mom, beside her brothers and sisters, to suckle and grow. She didn’t grow very fast though. She liked the humans that came into the little yard and took care of them. Giving them fresh hay to sleep on, bringing the little family food and toys, and playing with them. Patience loved the smell of her mom and the fresh hay. She liked to root around in the soft dirt. Patience didn’t know why but it just seemed the thing to do.

One morning, a new human came into the yard. Patience wasn’t really surprised. There was often someone new that came into their little yard. This human was little though. He came right over to Patience and picked her up! Then he called out. - ‘Is this the one, dad? I hope so ‘cause she’s cute and I bet when she grows up she’ll have lots of babies.’ Before long, the human ‘dad’ came into the yard with the humans Patience already knew. Patience liked this little human. 

‘OK son, it’s time to go. Get your pig - what’s her name? Get Patience and her blanket and get in the truck. We’ll get home in time for lunch. She’ll be fine in the barnyard while we eat.’ Patience didn’t know what all the sounds meant, but she knew that she was being taken away from her family. She had never felt fear before and didn’t know what it was, but she was glad she had her blanket with her. 

In the barnyard, with all the other animals, there were little baby chicks and great big cows. The only ones she recognized were chickens. The scariest was Bessie, a ginormous horse. She was the very biggest of them all. But Bessie came over to Patience, nickered her welcome and touched Patience gently with her big soft nose. After that, Patience always felt at peace, as long as Bessie was around.

“Kindness is always fashionable, and always welcome.”
~ Amelia Barr

Balance

Patience stepped forward…….

Equal differences……..

Agreeing with each other……..

Committing to tolerance…….

Every day matters……..

“When the power of love overcomes 

the love of power, the world will know peace.”

~ Jimi Hendrix

Inheritance

Inheritance 

It stared at me. Silvered skull hanging on the huge iron gate to the mansion. Its menacing skeleton clacked and danced as the old gate creaked and resisted me. One clawed hand pulled at my red scarf. My stomach knotted. Chills, traced in goosebumps, shot up my arms, the hair at the nape of my neck rigid with fear. Did it want my scarf to match the rose clenched in it’s bony jaws still full of teeth? Perched precariously on the cliff above the oily, roiling lake, an old mansion stood dark with menace. Tall shaded windows cried sheets of rain. Garry oak trees with gnarled and knotted branches creaked in the cold wind that stripped sparse leaves onto a lawn overgrown with weeds and hedges. And still the skull stared, curious about this frightened young woman who insisted on pushing past. Fear dripped from her eyes. What did this old mansion hold for a young woman dressed all in black and red? She stopped. Halfway through the gate her lithe body stiffened. Suddenly she turned. Her red umbrella, wide open, swung viciously. The skeleton was ripped from it’s post. It had hung for one hundred years frightening anyone daring to pass to the mansion. This young woman had shrugged off her fear. Her laughter lost in the storm. “This old mansion is my inheritance and no spooky skeleton will keep me from it.” With that the old gate swung wide without a creak, the wind and rain carved a path in the unkempt lawn to the rotting wood of the veranda. The front door opened and a tall, thin, cadaverous man dressed in black tie and tails stepped out. He held a faintly flickering lantern. In a deep, spectral voice he said  “Welcome home, madame. We have long been expecting you.” 

“We need ghost stories because we, in fact, are the ghosts.”

~ Stephen King, Dance Macabre

Imagining Chronic Pain?

Reading the Huffington Post article this morning from the Umbrella post on Facebook, I was once more reminded of the inconsistent level of care that those with chronic pain experience. It is always a curiosity to me that over the many years of developing health care systems, we seem still to be in the boxes of established medical and nursing specialties. I use both disciplines because we work closely together - sort of. Clearly I can only speak to my own nursing experience and am often frustrated by a seeming lack of understanding about care behaviours needed outside of an accompanying diagnosis. Over fifty years I have worked in the nursing areas of geriatric psychiatry, long term care within acute hospitals, physical rehabilitation - both chronic and acute rehab, and for the past many years, in Detox in hospitals, a treatment centre and now a medical detox.

Those are my qualifications - no degree for the minutiae of chronic pain effects. My nursing diploma is from 1968. In all of that time, I have cared for many patients, with many different diagnosis. And every other nurse has as well. The diagnosis of chronic pain is frequently medicated and unless specifically ordered by the physician, seems to get little care for their chronic pain issues unless the nurses can provide it. What forms of care are needed? Body positioning, cold packs or heat packs to joints and/or muscles, back or shoulder massage (no longer done in many health care facilities), rest breaks, assisting the client to not isolate in their room or at home, nursing assessment of range of motion on all shifts, identifying mobility issues and community supports, raising or lowering the height of a walker when no physiotherapist is available. 

Chronic pain is just that - chronic. Ongoing. Nerve and muscle pain, with involvement of skeletal positions. When someone has had to carry chronic pain, and the cause, for many years, it can appear as though they are ‘just complaining’ about this invisible and daily onslaught. In health care there are forms and assessments for assessing pain. There are pharmaceuticals for pain control. These are only part of the care needed - and a small part at that. The rest of it is not one day at a time care, but often one minute or hour at a time. Those pieces of the puzzle can create an environment where not as many pharmaceuticals are necessary. Those pieces of the puzzle can allow a greater quality of life and care giving for those individuals struggling with chronic physical pain. For nurses, there is little time allowed to support the patient in their very real needs. 

“I often wished that more people understood the invisible side of things. 

Even the people who seemed to understand, didn’t really.”

~ Jennifer Starzec, Determination

Alchemy

A joyous fall display

stretches skyward ~

each leaf gilded by

the chill of autumn nights,

curious about the touch of cold.

“The tints of autumn…a mighty flower garden blossoming 

under the spell of the enchanter, frost.”

~ John Greenleaf Whittier

Shelter

When a great tree falls, roots rip from the ground, crumbling soil 

falls away.

A wonder of homes for bugs, critters and creepy crawly things appears ~ a tangled curiosity of old growth twisted and broken but still sheltering life.

“Happy is the house that shelters a friend.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson