There's no place like hom
08-06-2013, 09:46 PM
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There's no place like hom
A BIT OF DUST
(C) Vickey Stamps 8-6-13
The small bit of dust was tired of the same thing day after day, and in a final display of rebellion had decided to do something about it. All his life, it had laid on this bit of land upon which the school rested. It wasn't that he didn't like the children. He did. He enjoyed the laughter and the mild shaking of the earth beneath their feet, as they ran here and there in play. He didn't even mind the weather in the small community in which it lived. It was just all so boring. Yes, that's what was the matter! It was boring. He stomped his short dirt feet in a show of protest. It was time that something was done about it. It was time to act on the impulse. Yes it was. The bit of dust knew the grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins ....all of them, wouldn't be happy about it, but his mind was made up. He was going to run away and discover what lived beyond the gates of the schoolyard.
Timothy hadn't joined the children this day in their games upon the playground. He had a lot on his mind. He'd leaned against the old oak tree , that shaded in part a bit of grass beneath it. In just two days it would be his mother's birthday. He'd saved a little money but not enough for more than a card. He and his dad had each gotten their cards last week-end, and he knew his dad would pay for a gift for him, but he'd wanted to do something all by himself. After all, he was almost eight ....almost a man already.
As he was thinking, the bit of dirt climbed up onto his shoe right where the walking part met the leather. He wrapped his arms and legs tightly on the stitches that held it together. The school bell would ring soon and the children would have the last lesson of the day, and go to their home.
Before one could say, flippidygee, gollywobbles, green cows and purple alligators, the bus had opened its doors on Timothy's street. He had jumped off, and was running home. He'd found the answer to what he could do for his mother's present. The dirt held on as hard as it could, thinking any moment, it would lose its hold.
Timothy could hardly sit still long enough to have the snack his mom always had ready for him. He'd asked her if he could go to Mr. Mottinger's house, and help him pull weeds. Timmy knew he did that every afternoon when the weather was nice enough. They grew flowers everywhere. They had roses as well in every size and color to be seen. His mother called and asked Mrs. Mottinger if it was okay for Timothy to stay a while. As she had expected, he would be welcome. The elderly couple loved him. They called him Timmy or Tim. Their own grandchildren were far away, and they had told her and Mark more than once that their son was like a breath of fresh air.
He gathered up all the words into his mouth he wanted to say, and now they burst forth, gushing out in a great rush, as he knelt beside his friend, imitating him in pulling out the weeds as best he could.
"Can you give me a job please Mr. Mottinger. Please. Please. Can you, huh? I don't want money, but your pretty roses got petals all fanned out and some of them are falling on the ground. Can I work for you enough to get a jar full of them for my mama, for her birthday. I only got two days, sir. Can I please?. We could put a lid on it and my mom could open it whenever she wanted to, and smell the petals for a long time. Wouldn't that be nice? Oh Mr. Mottinger, can I please?" There, now, the words were out.
Mr. Mottinger leaned back on his heels, and said
"Well, young Mr. Tim, let's go see what you're talking about." Hand in hand they went to the rose arbor. He had been right. Many of the roses were ready to drop their petals and rest for another season. He smiled as a thought came to his mind. Asking Timmy to make himself busy, while he thought out how much work he'd need him to do for such a grand gift, he took himself off and into the house. Elizabeth would know what to do. He'd go ask her about it. Before he could hardly turn around twice, she'd found and washed out a canning jar. She had a lid saved and would put a pretty lace decoration around it, putting it in place once the petals were inside. Across its front, she'd have her sweetheart tape a red rose for Tim's mother to have for her hair.
As Timothy worked as hard as he knew how, to pull the weeds away from the flowers, he smiled. Boy, would his mama have a wonderful surprise. Mr. Mottinger finally told him he was plumb tired out watching him work, and maybe they just better sit in the porch swing with a glass of milk and cool down. He was an old man and needed his rest. Timothy helped him up the stairs and onto the swing, before climbing in beside him and leaning against his shoulder. It was decided, that since they were both sure more weeds would be there tomorrow, and, if he worked extra hard for an hour after school one more day, he'd earn the birthday gift he wanted for his mom.
As Timothy had worked that day, moving from one place to another, the bit of dirt had carried on quite a conversation with the Mottinger dirt. It spoke to him of all the places it had been, before coming to this place. It was part dirt and part something else, dug up, mixed and packed into smelly old bags, and put to sell in gardening stores. They told the bit of dirt of all the dreadful places some of the dirt was to go, and how lucky they were to come and live with these fine people here. Some of their dirt friends had not been near as lucky as them. The bit of dirt began to feel quite ashamed of himself. It wondered what its family was doing this day in the special places around the schoolyard where they lived. It hung its small dirt head down and fought back the tear it knew would turn it to mud.
Tomorrow it would go back to the school with Timothy, It could hardly wait. He would make it up to them somehow for being so rebellious. He would apologise and tell them over and over "There's no place like home!"
It would think on Timothy's mother and her birthday and Timothy's wonderful gift for her, with its smell and beauty. He would think of how the pretty red rose would look in the mama's hair. "Yes, indeed" He thought to himself "There's no place like home."
LIFE WAS GOOD
(C) Vickey Stamps 8-6-13
The small bit of dust was tired of the same thing day after day, and in a final display of rebellion had decided to do something about it. All his life, it had laid on this bit of land upon which the school rested. It wasn't that he didn't like the children. He did. He enjoyed the laughter and the mild shaking of the earth beneath their feet, as they ran here and there in play. He didn't even mind the weather in the small community in which it lived. It was just all so boring. Yes, that's what was the matter! It was boring. He stomped his short dirt feet in a show of protest. It was time that something was done about it. It was time to act on the impulse. Yes it was. The bit of dust knew the grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins ....all of them, wouldn't be happy about it, but his mind was made up. He was going to run away and discover what lived beyond the gates of the schoolyard.
Timothy hadn't joined the children this day in their games upon the playground. He had a lot on his mind. He'd leaned against the old oak tree , that shaded in part a bit of grass beneath it. In just two days it would be his mother's birthday. He'd saved a little money but not enough for more than a card. He and his dad had each gotten their cards last week-end, and he knew his dad would pay for a gift for him, but he'd wanted to do something all by himself. After all, he was almost eight ....almost a man already.
As he was thinking, the bit of dirt climbed up onto his shoe right where the walking part met the leather. He wrapped his arms and legs tightly on the stitches that held it together. The school bell would ring soon and the children would have the last lesson of the day, and go to their home.
Before one could say, flippidygee, gollywobbles, green cows and purple alligators, the bus had opened its doors on Timothy's street. He had jumped off, and was running home. He'd found the answer to what he could do for his mother's present. The dirt held on as hard as it could, thinking any moment, it would lose its hold.
Timothy could hardly sit still long enough to have the snack his mom always had ready for him. He'd asked her if he could go to Mr. Mottinger's house, and help him pull weeds. Timmy knew he did that every afternoon when the weather was nice enough. They grew flowers everywhere. They had roses as well in every size and color to be seen. His mother called and asked Mrs. Mottinger if it was okay for Timothy to stay a while. As she had expected, he would be welcome. The elderly couple loved him. They called him Timmy or Tim. Their own grandchildren were far away, and they had told her and Mark more than once that their son was like a breath of fresh air.
He gathered up all the words into his mouth he wanted to say, and now they burst forth, gushing out in a great rush, as he knelt beside his friend, imitating him in pulling out the weeds as best he could.
"Can you give me a job please Mr. Mottinger. Please. Please. Can you, huh? I don't want money, but your pretty roses got petals all fanned out and some of them are falling on the ground. Can I work for you enough to get a jar full of them for my mama, for her birthday. I only got two days, sir. Can I please?. We could put a lid on it and my mom could open it whenever she wanted to, and smell the petals for a long time. Wouldn't that be nice? Oh Mr. Mottinger, can I please?" There, now, the words were out.
Mr. Mottinger leaned back on his heels, and said
"Well, young Mr. Tim, let's go see what you're talking about." Hand in hand they went to the rose arbor. He had been right. Many of the roses were ready to drop their petals and rest for another season. He smiled as a thought came to his mind. Asking Timmy to make himself busy, while he thought out how much work he'd need him to do for such a grand gift, he took himself off and into the house. Elizabeth would know what to do. He'd go ask her about it. Before he could hardly turn around twice, she'd found and washed out a canning jar. She had a lid saved and would put a pretty lace decoration around it, putting it in place once the petals were inside. Across its front, she'd have her sweetheart tape a red rose for Tim's mother to have for her hair.
As Timothy worked as hard as he knew how, to pull the weeds away from the flowers, he smiled. Boy, would his mama have a wonderful surprise. Mr. Mottinger finally told him he was plumb tired out watching him work, and maybe they just better sit in the porch swing with a glass of milk and cool down. He was an old man and needed his rest. Timothy helped him up the stairs and onto the swing, before climbing in beside him and leaning against his shoulder. It was decided, that since they were both sure more weeds would be there tomorrow, and, if he worked extra hard for an hour after school one more day, he'd earn the birthday gift he wanted for his mom.
As Timothy had worked that day, moving from one place to another, the bit of dirt had carried on quite a conversation with the Mottinger dirt. It spoke to him of all the places it had been, before coming to this place. It was part dirt and part something else, dug up, mixed and packed into smelly old bags, and put to sell in gardening stores. They told the bit of dirt of all the dreadful places some of the dirt was to go, and how lucky they were to come and live with these fine people here. Some of their dirt friends had not been near as lucky as them. The bit of dirt began to feel quite ashamed of himself. It wondered what its family was doing this day in the special places around the schoolyard where they lived. It hung its small dirt head down and fought back the tear it knew would turn it to mud.
Tomorrow it would go back to the school with Timothy, It could hardly wait. He would make it up to them somehow for being so rebellious. He would apologise and tell them over and over "There's no place like home!"
It would think on Timothy's mother and her birthday and Timothy's wonderful gift for her, with its smell and beauty. He would think of how the pretty red rose would look in the mama's hair. "Yes, indeed" He thought to himself "There's no place like home."
LIFE WAS GOOD
Last edited by wordpaintervs; 08-06-2013 at 10:03 PM.
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