You can check out my website at www.RDLarson.com or you can read my stories FOR FREE after you sign up at www.bookrix.com or you can BUY my book, EVIL ANGEL at Fictionwise.com and at www.Mobipocket.com and at Amazon.com

Something Different

You can read my short stories at Amazon.com. There ar many different kinds of short stories up there for 99 cents or $1.00. From silly detective to sci-fi to Gothic to crime and many others. Two of my books are up there also at paper book prices.

Who am I?  Individualist, Introspective, Indecent, Irreverent, Intentional, Interactive, Inquisitive and
Incessant

I live on an island with my husband and dogs. I walk in the woods and on the beaches. I read. A lot.
I wear hats and jeans. I am pretty much old but still full of spunk and quirkiness . I eat as healthy as I can and exercise as much as I can.
So peek into my mind and see what my stories tell you. Everyone is different and will give everyone a different view.  Some are allegories and some are symbolic.  You would be strange, too, If fifty people in your brain were telling you to write their stories. But hey, It is my job and I love it.

https://www.amazon.com/RD-Larson/e/B002BLUF2O/  Link to my Amazon Page

Also on FB and Instagram.  The Newest STORY just in time for the elections!


https://www.amazon.com/Evangels-Guiding-Light-RD-Larson-ebook/dp/B01LXFD441/

Something Different

You can read my short stories at Amazon.com. There ar many different kinds of short stories up there for 99 cents or $1.00. From silly detective to sci-fi to Gothic to crime and many others. Two of my books are up there also at paper book prices.

Who am I?  Individualist, Introspective, Indecent, Irreverent, Intentional, Interactive, Inquisitive and
Incessant

I live on an island with my husband and dogs. I walk in the woods and on the beaches. I read. A lot.
I wear hats and jeans. I am pretty much old but still full of spunk and quirkiness . I eat as healthy as I can and exercise as much as I can.
So peek into my mind and see what my stories tell you. Everyone is different and will give everyone a different view.  Some are allegories and some are symbolic.  You would be strange, too, If fifty people in your brain were telling you to write their stories. But hey, It is my job and I love it.

https://www.amazon.com/RD-Larson/e/B002BLUF2O/  Link to my Amazon Page

Also on FB and Instagram.  The Newest STORY just in time for the elections!


https://www.amazon.com/Evangels-Guiding-Light-RD-Larson-ebook/dp/B01LXFD441/

READ The whole story on Amazon

Merry Merry and Happy Happy

1

Christmas on Red Dog Road

by

RD Larson

Seamus straightened up, arching his back. He yanked off the battered hat by its rounded crown and squinted up through the new pale nubs of live oaks. The creek ran red, stirred up too much by rains coursing down the banks.

"Matthew! Matthew! Bring me down a pail of water, son, and a piece of hardtack. Bring some for yourself."

Seamus's voice, though gentle and kind, it carried far up the hill. The boy heard his father clearly as he stood in front of the one-room cabin. The dappled sunshine played over his grimy home-sewn shirt. The shirt was much too small, pulling tight over the boy's shoulders. His slingshot was tucked quickly into the patch pocket of the cloth trousers.

He went to the long bench at the front of the cabin, and taking a dipper, filled a small pail with the cool, clean water. Slowly, he untied the rope that held the grub bag high in the huge oak tree. As it lowered, the boy whistled "Amazing Grace" between his two front teeth. Rummaging in the bag, he found thick bread in the burlap and took out two pieces. Matthew went to the bench to set them by the water pail; he returned to the tree to pull the grub sack up again.

Still whistling his mother's favorite hymn he took a clean handkerchief still drying on the manzanita bush and lay it down on the bench. Suddenly, he heard a great crushing sound off to the left of the cabin.

Matthew peered into the dry underbrush. The leaves had blown off during late fall. Yet in the thick brush, he made out the outline of a heavy dark animal. It’s eye’s were looking right at him.

"Pa, Pa!" The boy hollered, grabbing the handkerchief, hardtack and pail as he ran headlong down the hill. "Pa, that bear's back! She looked at me."

Seamus chuckled as he was nearly tossed in to the creek when hit by the hurtling boy. Matthew was so like his mother, with his soft fair hair and emotional nature.

"Son, these bears live here. It surely can't be old One-Ear that Grandma Beebe was telling you about down at the Henley's last summer. She was just telling stories to the newcomers; that's what folks do. They tell stories for enjoyment."

"Well, she said One-Ear would've eaten her alive if it hadn't been for her dog. Can we get a dog, Pa? I mean, may we?" The boy had bitten off half his hardtack and crumbs littered his chin and shirt. In his fast talking he sprayed his father with crumbs as well. Seamus laughed again.

"Now, son, don't worry; that bear won't bother us since we keep food tied up high and as long as we don't bother her. Not unless her cubs are about to be hurt. Right now, Matthew, we need to give thanks to the Good Lord for this food. We thank Thee, Father, for your bountiful harvest in these Sierra Foothills and for your love and forgiveness." Seamus fell silent and they both ate. After a time, he leaned back and looked at his son.

"I've been thinking we'd best hitch Pearl to the wagon and ride into town before the weather takes a turn for the worse. Back home in Indiana it would be cold and snowy. This is like summer still. It‘s bound to be winter sometime soon.. But then a man never knows the future; only God knows.”

"Why'd God let Ma die?" Matthew hung his head between his legs. It hadn't been six months since his mother had died delivering the much expected baby. They were buried together, the infant girl wrapped in her mother's arms, in a grave up on the ridge under a massive ancient pine tree. Every Sunday Seamus and Matthew walked up there. Seamus read Scripture from his tattered Bible and they prayed. Young Matthew felt the loss and no amount of prayer seemed to help. Seamus, being a minister, found his comfort in prayer. He just couldn't forgive himself, even if God did, for bringing Mary Margaret to this rough land only to die in childbirth without her family, without a doctor, even without him that grim morning.

"You can see the locket again, tonight, Matthew." Seamus knew Matthew was afraid he'd forget what she looked like, although the boy often said how he remembered her laughter and her singing. Matthew would sit with the wedding locket for hours in the beginning; now, it was a couple times a week. Seamus felt the boy would accept the will of God given time.

"Let's check our traps; maybe we caught ourselves a squirrel or a rabbit for dinner. Then we'll get us a good night's rest for tomorrow's journey. Just have to lay in some winter supplies."

Matthew enjoyed the rare trips to town. The rowdy miners, the Chinese, the Maidu Indians, the trades people, and even few women were a sight for him.. The boy always told his father that someday he would write about all the excitement over the discovery of gold so folks would know just what it was like to be a boy in the Gold Country in the year of 1852.

They had their rabbit cooked over the fire with a few gone-soft potatoes and more hardtack. A sudden chill fell with darkness and Seamus lay another oak log on the fire. Then he reached up, taking down the locket from the peg above the hand-hewn bedstead. He handed it to Matthew. The youngster nestled it in his cupped hands for long moments before he opened the heart-shaped, scroll-covered memento.

The boy sat cross-legged on the board floor just out of the dirt in front of the fire place; Pa was going to rock the hearth over during the winter he'd said. Matthew opened his mother's locket and stared into the wedding faces of his mother and father. Pa had side whiskers, not a full beard like now. But Ma looked like an angel, with her pale hair woven up around her face. Matthew looked and looked. Suddenly, he handed the locket to his Pa and stumbled to his corner pallet, asleep almost before he'd taken off his shoes.

Seamus frowned. The boy forgot his prayers again. He did understand and so rose to lay another log on the embers. Going out, he checked Pearl in the lean-to. Although she hadn't spilled her water, she did seem skittery. Seamus rubbed her bony, old nose until she calmed. Seamus sighed and went back into the cabin. After a mighty and fervent prayer on his knees at the side of his bed, Seamus slipped, cold, under the quilt his wife had sewn for them.

You can check out my books at Amazon.com. They are all 99cents or $1.05

I am slower than I use to be and it makes me angry. I sleep more, party less and only write for four hours a day after 20 years of 6 hour days.

Bare your teeth at me and get me moving. Th Scar of the Blood Diamond is almost finished.

It seems much harder since I keep closing one eye to type. Hmm guess surgery will fix that.

Nothing else to say expect the world is in turmoil.  What to do?

Writing isn't a hobby or a game.

From the Wildness a voice calls out

As I get the rights to my work back from publishers, I am putting my stories, short and long, up at Amazon.com in the Kindle format. A couple of novels too. Check back by and leave me a message. When I write this blog I feel like

Matthew 3:1-12 A Voice Crying Out In The Wilderness

This was a man who thus said according to the prophet Isaiah, 'He serves as the voice of one crying aloud in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord, 

So a note from you is much appreciated. Here's one of my Mama Stories.

######

Copyright 2007 RD Larson

The After Church Get Together

by

RD Larson

My Pop wasn't much for going to his church and even less for going to my Mama's. Sometimes though, he would go along and sit in the car reading while she went to church. Sometimes I went in but more often not since I always had a book to read.

My mother liked to go to a church member's house afterward for coffee and fellowship. My Pop always said there were more gals than fellows there on any given Sunday. Mama's minister was a big wide man with whiskers on the side of his face and a voice that went from nice-and-quiet to loud and thundering. His name was Blythe. I know that because it said that on sign by the door and it wasn't a word I knew. My Pop told me who it was and how to say it.

One Sunday my mother said to Pop, “Jo-SEPH, you MUST come in with me this one time. We are planning a dinner for Thanksgiving for all of the members and I want to be a part of the planning. It won't be long.”

Mama had eyelashes that were kind of furry. And big brown eyes. She blinked her eyes. She also could talk my Pop into things.

He looked at her, pushed his hat on the back of his head. “Alright, but, Honey, it's against my better judgment. I think you should go to church and then go on to your meeting.”

“No, no. This will be nice; you can talk to Reverend Blythe while we make the plans.”

I was standing between Pop and the door to the washroom and when he turned to go out, his eyes were buggy. “Okay, then.”

So we went to church. Well, Pop and I stayed in the car. Mama went to church and was out so fast that we didn't much reading done.

“We're going over to the Elliot's on Henderson Street,” Mama said when Pop opened the door for her. She would have stood there all day before she opened her own door. I snorted with laughter but didn't let on that I thought she should open her own door.

When we got to Elliot's we all went in. Mama, Pop and me. Pop sat in a hard-back chair and I stood behind him. Mama sat on the big comfortable couch with two other ladies, dressed in their church dresses. They all had nylons on and it made a swishing sound when they crossed their legs. Two other kids were there, both boys younger than me and two babies. Their mothers weren't much like my mother; they seemed more busy with their babies than anything else.

After coffee was served by “the lady of the house”, Reverend Blythe led a prayer. I stood perfectly still with my hands folded but I had a terrible itch in the middle of my back. It took a lot out of me not to scratch it.

When the prayer was finished, all the ladies talked at once. Nobody decided anything. Finally, Reverend Blythe boomed out about hot dishes A through L and desserts M through Z. I tried so hard to think of a family with Z as the first letter of their name that my eyes crossed and I sneezed. Sometimes when I sneeze it is so loud that people stop talking and look at me. “'Scuse me,” I mumbled.

The ladies went on discussing and discussing things like decorations and so on. The two babies got all cranky and cross. One of them could walk but the other one looked like Sweet Pea, Popeye's baby, and crawled around on the floor eating things I couldn't see.

My Pop started to fool with the babies. He rolled his eyes out and stuck out his tongue like a cow. Those  silly babies thought he was very fine. They came toward him at snail's march. When they got to him, he picked them up. Their mothers and my mother kept on discussing.  Reverend Blythe tried to talk to my Pop about baseball but my Pop didn't know anything about baseball. He went hunting and fishing; he was also busy with the babies.

First he jiggled them up and down until they giggled. Then he jounced them up and down until they had hiccups. I laughed silently behind him because it was so funny. My Pop didn't know anything about babies; he couldn't even remember when I was a baby. One baby, the one that crawled, opened it's little mouth and threw up a huge puddle of old milk.

My Pop doesn't like throw-up. It makes him sick. So he threw up on top of the baby's throw-up.

My Mama jumped to her feet. “Oh, dear, I'll get a cloth.”

She ran toward the kitchen and so did the lady of the house. Their two fannies jammed in the kitchen door. I nearly died from laughing. I couldn't stop the tears from running down my face. The two of them un-jammed and went into the kitchen. My Pop handed both babies off to their mothers.

Mama and Mrs. Elliot came back with rags. The baby's mother was very upset with the mess that her baby and my Pop had made.

“You shouldn't have shaken them up and down,” she said standing up one chair over from my Pop.

“I was playing with . . .”

She didn't let him finish before she said, “Surely, you know better than that, Mr. Berry.”

My mother did what my Pop called “flying off the handle” and getting her dander up.

“Listen here, Missy, if you'd been watching your own kid, this wouldn't have happened. Now you just clean up and keep quiet.” Mama was very POLITE but she didn't take kindly to other people picking on Pop because he had a low amount of manners.

“Now, ladies this is just . . .” the squawking women drown out the Reverend.

“Mrs. Berry, you just mind your own business,” the younger mother of the throw-up baby said.

“Oh, hell,” said my Pop just as my mother grabbed a coat hanger off the door knob.

“If you don't behave yourself, young lady, you will answer to me,”  said my mother in her very low but also very loud voice. Her eyes looked just like those olive we had at Christmas. Black and shiny.

My Pop said, “Nice to meet all you nice folks, but I gotta get home to look after my cow. Thanks for the great . .. um. .. meeting. See ya, Reverend."

He grabbed Mama around the waist and lifted her off her feet and swung her toward the door. Then he started moving fast.

“Bye, bye,” I shouted as I ran out after them. We got into the old blue Plymouth and for the first time ever my Pop drove Mama's car. I sat in the back seat and watched them settle their difference all the way home. It was better than the Saturday matinée at the Rialto Theater.

 

All of my available work is now up at Amazon.com Kindle. I continually add stories written over the last ten years as I get the rights back.  Some are short and some are long. All are different since I write without formula. I live on an island with my husband and dogs. I like to wander into the woods and think. I don't mind rain or wind or bad weather but I love summer, too. I grew up in a similar place and so I feel at home.

Here is one of the stories I wrote about my Mama who was born in Virginia.

My "books" are  at Amazon.com for 99 cents and sometimes free.

Here is how I write.

I write everyday. I write about things that matter and things that don't matter. I write about women's anger and men's control. I write about feelings of rage, of love and of atonement.

If you want to write, you have to just do it. Don't think about format or layout or anything like that. Don't worry about misspelled words and weird paragraphs. Just write. Write words that flow out of your mind as fast as you can.  You can fix it later. Writing is a blood and guts job so be prepared to suffer. You will be exposed and criticized. You will have to bear it. You will have to have another job, maybe two. You need to write stories that your readers will be part of the characters and part of the scenery. You have to get it all down.

Then you have to rewrite it and correct it. Then lay it out as a story line.  Rewrite it. Get somebody to proof it for you because you likely won't catch all your mistakes. Read it aloud. Or get your laptop to read it to you will it speak. Imagine how is going be heard in the readers' mind.  Give it your all and don't whine. It is hard work.

My work  (short stories) are at Amazon.com

This is the newest story:

http://www.amazon.com/Face-the-Rain-ebook/dp/B00EL74A4K

Father's Day Jokes

Okay, you all know what kind of kid I was. Father's Day was a big deal to me. Pop taught me a lot. Like how to string barbwire and how to throw rocks like a boy. He taught me to punch in the nose when someone disrespected me or my mother. One time Gerald said my mother wore Army Boots. I said, politely enough, "No she doesn't. She wears peep toe heels in red or white or black."

"Nanannaaaaaaaaaaaaa, your big fat mother wears Army Boots," said Gerald. I looked at him as mean as I could.

"I told you what she wears. Peep-toe heels. And she isn't fat. She is just fleshy." I knew that is how she referred to herself. Either fleshy or chunky. Never would she approve of being called fat. So I punched Gerald in the nose.

Wonder of wonders, both me and my Pop got called on "the carpet."  That is a nice way of saying the teacher, the principal and my mother had words with me in the principal's office. My  Pop came too, in his work clothes and boots. He nicely took off his fedora and laid it in his lap.

I could smell earth and sweat from where I sat on the red stool in the corner facing out. I could smell my mother's Evening in Paris. The teacher and the principle smelled like school chalk and Clorox. I chewed on my braid until Mama jerked it out of my mouth.  Pop's blue eyes twinkled at me and his lips curved up ever so slightly.

"Why did you hit this boy?" My mother stood up in front of me and I couldn't see my Pop, the teacher, or the principal.

"I can't tell you. It would hurt your feelings." I said as bravely as I could. Heck, I knew she didn't care a whit what anybody thought about her but it was for family honor.

" I will chastise you until you tell me." Her finger jiggled in front of my nose. "You must not hit anyone."

"What if they are mean and rude? Should I just let them get away with it? Somebody has to stop them." I sort of stood up, but she gave me a shove and I landed on my butt with a thunk.

The teacher spoke ethereally from behind my mother. "I am sure she didn't mean it. She must have misunderstood."

The Principal hawked a booger out of her throat and growled. "I will not have figthing in this school!"

She kind of bumped my mother over. And there they were -- two big old hens all beaky and bright-eyed.

I started to worry a bit for my immortal soul since it was starting to sound like a major crime. "Look, I didn't hurt him. At least not much. He only got a bloody nose. I get them all the time."

"Listen to me, missy, you better start behaving or else . . . "

My heart sunk to my toes. I had been bad. When I meant to do good. How did that make sense? I kind of blinked as I heard my dad's chair scrape back.

"Now, here, here ladies, let see what the girl has to say in own behalf." He stood up and peered over and around the three women. They were all of a generous size. The kind of ladies my pop noted as being "seven ax handles across."

"Pop, he said Mama was fat," I screeched. "Fat! Gerald callled Mama fat."

The ladies all talked at once. Then they all stopped at once when Pop held up his hand.

"I think Rosie here," pointing to me he continued, "was defending her mother and we all understand how much kids love their mother. I think it is a waste of time to pursue this incident any further."

His voice rumbled around in my stomach and gave me a hiccup. Then I sneezed.

"Well, don't do it again," said the Principal.

"Keep your hands to yourself," said the teacher.

My mother sighed and said, "Oh, Baby, don't you remember about sticks and stones? If I have told you once I told you a thousand times .  .  ."

She was winding up for long throw to home plate.

"Well, I am sure Rose will make a good apology to Gerald as soon as he apologizes for calling the wife fat."

That was like a rock on a still pond. He reached over and around the women and picked me up. As we were going out the door, I could hear his chest laughing while the beaky hens were discussing my bad side.

So, Pop, after all these years, thanks for saving my butt all those times. You were a great father and if you weren't passed away I would tell you. Again.

Mama Takes the Bus

Mama Takes The Bus

Mama always took the Greyhound Bus to visit her sister, my Auntie Edna and to visit my Uncles and all the rest of her family. Pop thought this was funny.

"That's what the car is for, getting around and going on trips," he would say to Mama as soon as she started talking about taking the bus here or bus there.

Her whole family was the same way. They took the bus to visit relatives. No matter what. And Pop always said, "Take the car, it's easier to get where you are going."

Uncles Louis, Homer, Leon, Lester and Auntie Edna disagreed. They all said, and I heard this my self point-blank from each of them "We don't take cars to visit family because they all have their own cars." Even I knew that didn't make any sense at all.

So the deal was that Mama went to visit on the bus and Pop stayed home with the car, the animals, Candy the dog, and the garden. The rest of us went visiting on the bus.

Every summer we went to San Jose to visit my Auntie Edna, her husband, Uncle Joe and their four kids. My cousins were awful. It was boring there because we had nothing to do. Getting there on the bus was the worst part. It was a long ride.

I met some interesting adults on the bus rides, but Mama was the most interesting of all. People riding on buses never seem too dressed up to me. But Mama got all done up nice for the long ride. She always wore high heels, nylon stockings that buttoned to her girdle, one of her beautiful slips, and a new seersucker dress that she made for the visit. Seersucker is kind of a bumpy striped cotton cloth that doesn't get messy in hot weather. It feels cool because it doesn't stick to you too much. Every spring just before Easter Mama would go to Penny's and buy six yards of seersucker in navy and white. She bought pink flowered cotton for me. I hate pink. She also bought yards of other cloth for spring dresses.

One spring as we planned to visit Auntie Edna's house there was a birthday party for Uncle Homer just after school was out. It was supposed to be a secret party, but he must have known about it since it was his birthday. That year I went with Mama on her annual shopping trip to buy seersucker. It was awful. Or worse than awful.

When we got to JC Penny's I started to whine, beg, and plead for a "no pink" dress. I said I was too old for pink. I told Mama it made my eyes look pink like one of the rabbits, because of my white hair and all. She was thinking only about her dress and never heard a word.

It was March and the wind was blowing from off Humboldt Bay like a son-of-a-gun. Pop always says that, so I learned to say that, too, because that is just how the wind blows. It blew me nearly over. Mama grabbed me by the hand and we both blew right into Penny's.

The cloth was in big round bolts laying on tables. All the different colors were neat to look at, but after an hour while Mama looked at the big books about patterns of dresses, I was pretty bored. She went through McCall's and Singer Books. The pictures were of women with their dresses already sewn together. Not one picture showed anyone that looked like Mama. They were all bony and had sad faces.

There were stairs to the men's department. Sometimes Mama let me go up and down the stairs to keep me busy. One time I got in one of the cupboards where the cloth was saved. That was fun until she started calling me, thinking I was lost.

She finally found a pattern to make her dress and yards of navy stripe seersucker. And she didn't buy pink with flowers. She bought yellow with white flowers. I really wanted blue, but felt fairly lucky that I wouldn't have another stupid pink dress.

Back at home, Mama began to stick the pieces of tissue paper all over her cloth. This way and that way. Of course, this was on the kitchen table.

When I came in from chores, I had to help her lift the cloth over on the couch and after dinner, lift back it back on the table. After the pieces were all cut out, sides and sleeves and backs and stuff, Mama laid all the pieces in order on her sewing machine top. She kept all the scraps because who knows when they might come in handy?

The next day after Pop went to work, and we kids went to school she would sew all morning. She had an electric sewing machine that went like he double toothpicks. She'd step on the pedal, give it the juice and, whee, sewed straight or curvy or, however, it was supposed to be.

I know how hard it is to even sew straight. I was supposed to make place mats for Auntie Edna for her birthday, one for her, one for Uncle Joe and four for my red-haired cousins. NOT one of the six places mats had a straight seam. I did try. Honest. I got so mad at the sewing machine and mad at me, that I had a nosebleed. Mama said she couldn't figure out why I couldn't sew straight and neither could I.

Anyway, when I got home from school the next day, there was my dress, hanging from the door top in the kitchen. It was a soft yellow with white flowers, tiny little apple blossoms maybe, and a white collar and wide ties. Some times she sewed a button in the tips of the ties to make them hang right. She always found pretty buttons. So up the middle of my back marched yellow pearl buttons that I couldn't see when I wore it and stuck into my back when I leaned against a hard chair back. I couldn't wear it until Easter and then on the bus trip, but I had to put it on so my mother could make it the right length. Mama always made wide hems in the bottoms of my dress skirts so she could let them down when I grew.

"Oh, Baby Rose, you look like a candy angel, yes, you do," Mama said, twitching at my hem. I could sort of see myself in the window. I didn't look anything like candy angels.

"Now, you can't wear this until Easter and then the bus trip, so don't you grow too much, okay?" She teased me. "I better not give you any cake on Sunday."

"Cake will me grow out, not up." I said trying to forget cake and Sunday was three days away.

I did forget all about the yellow dress until Easter. And after Easter, I was busy with the new baby animals and spring and all the things that country children do when the grass gets so green. I have a rule. When the grass gets that green, I have to roll in it, over and over. It's called "the rolling in the clover rule" because that's the kind of grass I like best.

School was suddenly out. The bus tickets were bought. My noodle brother went to stay with Gran and Granddad because he was "helping" them paint their house. I had to go on the bus with Mama. Away from the wonderful green grass, the baby rabbits and the baby chicks, and the new baby calf that our milk cow, Lulubelle, just had given us.

I cried until my eyes swelled shut but it didn't help. I had to go with Mama on the bus. As we pulled out of the bus station I waved at Pop, but he didn't wave back. He just sort of nodded like he did to strangers. I couldn't cry anymore. I just sat there.

Mama getting herself settled was something I don't ever like to miss, even when I'm unhappy. She had to set herself on the seat just right, with her skirt tucked around her crossed legs. She had to have all her bags and her purse and her movie magazine all fixed just so. She always sat on the aisle side to keep me in line, she said.

She took up most of the seat. I always said so but just to myself.

See, there was no armrest between the bus seats like in the movies? So she just didn't know her side from my side. I sat watching her silently while she fussed with her stuff and spread around. Finally, I looked out of the window and watched my hometown of Eureka, California passing by. I knew I'd never be back. When would I ever get home again? I missed Candy, my black Lab dog and my best friend already and we weren't even out of the parking lot yet.

In the end we started and I stared at the houses and then the fields until I fell asleep. But I didn't cry again. I almost never cry.

I woke up when I heard Mama groaning. Outside the bus window, the world's tallest trees whizzed by. I looked at Mama. She was kind of an icky color. She was carsick. She always gets carsick. Even on short trips to Fortuna, a town not far from Eureka. I watched in horror as she stood up in her seersucker dress and red high heels. She staggered down the center of the bus. Holding the seat backs and nearly falling on people, she stumbled up to the bus driver.

"You must stop the bus," Mama cried.

"Ma'am, what's wrong?" the driver asked, glancing back through the bus in his big mirror. Everyone on the bus was looking at us. I closed MY eyes.

"Stop this bus now!" screeched Mama. "PLEASE."

"Okay, the next stop is the Drive-Thru Tree. We'll stop there. Please sit down," he told Mama. So she did, right on the floor next to the bus driver. Now, I did hide.

"Don't worry, little girl, your mother will be better soon." The lady across the aisle in the other seat said to me. That was when I started gagging in sympathy with Mama. The lady leaned way back. Afraid, I guess.

"It's okay, I never throw UP unless I WANT to." I told her as soon as I could talk. I could tell by the look on her face that she thought I was not telling the truth.

Mama, meanwhile, was starting to pray.

"Oh, Jesus, take me with You, Lord," Mama cried out.

Some of the people around looked sort embarrassed 'cause they weren't use to out loud prayers. When Mama was sick or anyone else was sick, Mama always prayed. Out loud. Very loud.

"Oh, yes, Lord Jesus, come and take this dying woman to her glory," Mama went on. We couldn't get to the Drive-Thru Tree soon enough, I thought.

Just as she was starting to get ready to pray harder, the bus made a switcheroo swerve into the parking lot. My mother was up and at those weird sucking doors before the driver had a chance to pull the handle to open them. Wham!

I saw her through the window running straight into the bushes. Thimbleberry bushes and dogwood trees parted as her high heels went hoofing off. Somebody on the bus laughed.

I stood up and glared all around. No one looked guilty. I frowned, about to hit somebody if they laughed at my mother again. Then all the people started getting off the bus, one after the other.

Dang. I picked up Mama's two-ton purse; I knew better than to leave THAT thing lying around. I waddled as I carried it into the little restaurant and gift store. A black sign on one door said "Pointers" and a sign on the other said "Setters". For a minute I couldn't remember which was which. Then I saw the woman who was so nosey pointing at me to go in the "Setters" room and I followed her.

I put Mama's purse between my feet while I waited my turn. I felt very grown-up.

"Well, why do you suppose they don't have more toilets for women?" I said this politely to a lady next in line. She looked nice, not nosy.

"I don't know, kiddo, just the way things are," She told me, scratching her backside over her dress. When she stopped scratching, her dress stuck up on her fanny kind of like a flag. I snickered.

"Well, I'm going to write the President. Then, there'll be heck to pay." I am very knowledgeable about politics, my Pop always says.

"You go ahead, kiddo, I can wait 'til after you," the lady said as a stall door opened and a lady came out.

"Thank you kindly, Ma'am," I said to her, tipping my imaginary cowboy hat and hauling Mama's purse into the little room after me.

When I was finished, I quick washed my hands and went out to the store. I was thinking that Mama's purse was stretching my arms out even longer.

I saw that there was a glass case over the candy so I went to check on the Mounds bars. Yep, they had them, both kinds, with almonds and plain, my favorite. I looked around. No Mama yet. I stayed where I was and started reading all the signs.

"Own a Redwood Burl!" was the sign over a bowl carved from the knots cut off a redwood tree. I guessed people would buy them and then find out it took at least two hundred years for it grow up to be even a baby redwood tree.

Another sign said "Horoscopes" and one that said "Fresh Roast Coffee" and a stand-up sign on the counter. I leaned closer.

Travel Sickness?

Nausea?
Peeples' Dramamine
cures the nightmare of
TRAVEL UPSET
only 89 cents for 10 doses

What an idea! This is it. I'd fix up Mama and be a hero. I sat right down on the floor and took off my shoe. I felt in the bottom of it. Nothing. Took off my other shoe. Nothing again. Then, I remembered that I had put my emergency dollar in my sock. I pulled off my sock. Yep, there it was.

"I'll take one of these," I said, handing the little travel sickness packet to the man behind the counter. "My mama is feeling sick and this is sure to help her."

"Snake oil, huh?" He said to me. I quick looked around. No sign of Mama. If it had anything to do with snakes, she wouldn't get near it. He gave me the change and the packet. It was smaller than a pack of gum. I put it in my pocket with the change.

"Thank you," I told him. I sat back on the floor to put on my sock and my shoes. I saw Mama's legs through all the grown-ups standing around. Her red high heels clicked out of the "Setters" door without a waver. Something that someone said made her laugh. I could hear her talking.

"Just fine now, thank you for asking," Mama said, and her laugh went its way all around the room. I tied my shoes and stood up.

"There you are, Baby Rose. Mama is all better now." She waved at me. OF COURSE, all the people turned to look at the big baby. My ears got hot.

She came over to me and said, "How about a candy bar? Just don't eat it where I have to smell it."

"Why not?"

"Because, I'm not quite well," Mama told me in whisper. She took her purse under her arm and I was greatly relieved of its weight and responsibility. I sighed as my ears cooled off.

"A plain Hershey bar, please. And could I get some ice water in a paper cup and a nice cup of coffee?" she asked the man behind the counter. I hoped he wouldn't tell her about the snake oil. He handed her the ice water. And then he set down the paper cup of black coffee. She took one look at the coffee and couldn't take a drink.

"Mama, listen, I got this wonderful stuff that keeps you from being sick. I bought it with my emergency dollar, but it says it works." I took the packet out of my pocket and started to read it to her.

"Ladies and Gents, now boarding for San Francisco, San Rafael and points south," the bus driver called. Mama looked up, her paper cup of water sloshing a little over the edge.

"You want more, Mama?" She handed it to me and swayed toward the bus. As she waved her hand at me, I knew exactly what she meant. Get the water and get on the bus.

I took the water over to the man. "Could I have a refill of my mother's water?"

"She is sure one sick lady. How come you don't get sick, too?" He laughed. He filled the glass and handed it back.

"I don't have time, and thanks again," I nodded to him, just exactly as Pop had nodded at me in the bus depot four hours earlier.

I ran outside with the paper cup. The people were lining up to get in and find their seats. I took a drink of water. Then I held the cup in my teeth while I tore open the packet. The pills fell out into my hand. I turned the paper packet over, "two every four hours" I read to myself.

I held the paper cup in one hand. I glanced around to see if I was being watched, and seeing the grown-ups were all busy with their getting on the bus, I dropped two of the pills in the ice water. I shook it a little, hoping it would be like Alka-Seltzer. But I could see trails of milky pills stuff still in there. I stuck my finger into the cup and stirred it a little.

"Uck," I said out loud, after licking my finger. It tasted awful. Would she drink it?

It was finally my turn. Boy, were people slow. I like to hurry. That's just me. I finally went down the aisle, hoping I wouldn't spill the medicine water on somebody.

When I got to our seat, Mama was lying back, her eyes closed, her lips perfectly red and her face sort of green. I looked to see if she had gills to get green. Nope, not yet green to the gills Laughing at my own joke, I padded my mother on the shoulder.

"Mama, Mama?"

"Oh, dear, I feel sick still. And so dry. Parched as a desert toad." Mama sat up, grabbed the cup and drank down the water. I blinked.

She moved her legs aside to let me in. Very careful not to step on her toes, I slid past. I struggled with my conscience about to tell her or not to tell her about the pills in the water. Then the bus started. Before I could completely figure out what to do, the big old Greyhound Bus was humming down Highway 101 again.

"Leave the driving to us," I sang under my breath; it was the TV commercial about the bus. "Take the bus, leave the driving to us."

Too late now. I looked at Mama. Her hair was nicely combed, her seersucker dress tucked around her, her purse clasped by her round arms on her lap.

As I watched her, her eyelids flickered and she started to snore. And drool sort of got started in the corner of her mouth. I did laugh then.

The rest of the trip was long; finally, I had to crawl over Mama to use the bathroom at one of the stops. The lady across the aisle went with me, just to be sure, she said.

"Sure of what?" I asked, trying to smile nicely. After all, she was a grown-up.

"Well, to be sure nothing happens to you and that you don't get lost or miss the bus. We're getting close to the city now.,” she said, showing me her teeth.

I ran for the bathroom. OF COURSE, there was a line of ladies. The lady from across the aisle asked me if Mama always got sick on bus trips.

"Umm, hmmm, don't know, for sure, maybe you should ask her," I said, knowing Mama wouldn't like strangers asking about her throwing up. I finished my business and didn't wait for that lady.

I ran straight to the big silver bus. I was glad we were getting close to Auntie Edna's. I was hungry and could have eaten a whole chocolate cake. Usually, Mama had sandwiches, like peanut butter, but they were in the cupboard over the seat and I couldn't reach them unless I stood on Mama.

When I got back to my seat, there was a big man sitting in it. He was asleep, too. Snoring, too. I stood there. Gawking. What could I do? The lady came back. Then to me, she said, "Oh, dear, I'll move over by the window and you can still sit by your mother, only across the aisle. Here, honey." She patted the seat.

"Thank you. It's very kind you, but Pop told me to look out for Mama." I told her. I scratched under my braid. I chewed on the end of my braid. The bus driver started the motor.

"Well, honey, they're just napping. I am sure it will be fine."

I know for a fact that anytime anyone calls me "honey" I'm going to regret it.

I sat on the very edge of the seat, turned toward Mama. What else could I do? Just keep my eyes on her. My eyes started watering from staring at Mama and that man so hard.

All of a sudden, we were starting over the Golden Gate Bridge. I jumped up to see down into San Francisco Bay and see the ships. It was the best part of the bus trip.

The bus swayed and I bumped against Mama. Then, I fell, yelping, backward into my seat by the lady. Mama's eyes popped wide open. Her mouth went big and then shut tight, turning down. She sucked up her drool. Then she looked at the man.

"Sir," said Mama to the sleeping man, "I'll have to ask you to lean on your own breakfast, Mister. Up, sir, up!" She poked his chest with her long red fingernail. Poke, poke.

I couldn't stop laughing at the look on the man's face when he woke up. He looked like he'd stepped in a cow pile. He said sorry a whole bunch of times to my mother. Then, he and I changed seats so that the nosy lady could just take care of him instead of me. I slipped past Mama as she smiled at me.

"Baby Rose, I had the sweetest dream, all about being a butterfly, Baby, do you want to hear it?"

"Yes! Mama, yes!"

I was so happy that I just didn't tell her about spiking her water with Dramamine pills. Well, okay, I didn't tell her until we started home from Auntie Edna's. I had to tell her then and give up the remaining eight pills. I wish I had given them to Uncle Homer for his birthday since he gets sick on all his bus rides, too.

Pop says it runs in their side of the family.

spring thingy with flowers and dogs

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Today was a nice day. The white lilacs are almost finished but I can bear to cut them yet. The smell so sweet. And the columbine is nearly ready to bloom. Tomato (been out doors all this cold time) have blooms. Best of all my huge purple dahlia from last year is growing again big and strong. It felt very like spring, We sat on the deck in our chairs and pretended to be old people surveying their estate and animals. It was very homey time. Is homie a word or is homey? suggestions appreciated.

What kind of stories do you like? Do you like short stories or long stories? Books or series? Well, let me know

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Bitter Poetry

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 I am too bored to write anything interesting. I will write something soon. So read this until:

Bitter

by

RD Larson

She wants to leave,

He begs her to stay; He says he's sorry.

She knows he lies.

He weeps and groans; His face is red.

She longs for peace,

He agrees to try; He says he's wrong.

She wishes she were dead.

He pleads with child-like eyes.

She knows the walk.

She's walked before; she wants to quit.

She knows she's stupid.

Her heart is broken and diseased.

He can make her give.

He always could; He knows her guilt.

He knows her sin.

He knows she loves him in his sin.

It won't end until one dies.

He could free her; She could run.

She's his fool, He knows her, too.

He knows she hates the sin but loves the sinner.

Jell-o gardening

I have stories and books under my name at Amazon.com and at Fictionwise.com under my name:
RD Larson

Today is not a normal day. It is really like a spring day because I planted (okay, Larry planted) my flowers and pretty soon I will plant seeds. I love to plant seeds. It is just so amazing to watch them grow. I am going to try something new this year. I am going to stir them into green gelatin and then place the globs exactly where I want them. Then over the top I will sprinkle potting mix very gently. And then sprinkle water also gently. And sit back to watch my babies grow. I might try to grow some moss on my rocks. I tried before with hot glue and it wasn't exactly a suck-sess. I am going to try green gelatin with my sunflower seeds in a perhaps futile attempt to foil birds from making off with the seeds before they sprout.

My mother could grow anything and I couldn't really grow ANYTHING until I was 50. I wonder why. Got any ideas? Sometimes I remember how she would dig a little hole and pop a "slip" from a friend's garden and it would grow. She even grew carrot heads at one point because she wanted to use them to sit in front of the bathroom window. For privacy, she said. We were in the middle of the farm so I think it was because she loved their lacy look. I remember some white flowers too. Could they have been Paperwhites?  Too late this year but maybe next year.

My dogs love flowers. They nod at the daffodils and smell the rosemary. They drink elderberry tea, too. Well, no but it is such a nice thought.

Spring is so    so   so refreshing.

Pets are People Too

Spring is later than I want it to be this year. It could  be because I was sort of laid-up for 12 weeks with surgery and chemo. I am back at it again, wanting to walk my country road, roam in my flowers and play with my dogs. I do wish I had another dog or two. However, it is hard enough caring for the two we have. It is expensive. They have to have food, shots and teeth cleaning. I bet a lot of folks don't think about the expense when they get a dog; the bigger the dog the more expensive. More dog poop too.

 Although I have had big dogs (Lab and Wolf & Husky mix, and Dane& Wire-Haired Terrier) I now have Chihuahuas who are feisty and smart but also loving. If you are an older person a dog is a great friend. The dog needs you to move around and take them for walks; no sitting around! If you are a kid, you will learn (sort of) what it is like to have a baby or a child. You can't forget to water a dog or feed because it would die. What kind of horrible person would do that? I was a kid once and I always put my dogs first before me. My dad trained dogs in the Navy and could get almost any dog to do what he wanted. I am not that adept but I am not bad.

If you get a dog, remember he is will be your friend for the rest of his life so think about it. You cant just dump them. You have to take care of them. If I hear of people not taking care of their pets, I want to turn them in for animal cruelty and I do it.

 Cats are not that different from dogs; lots of nice folks talk to their kitties. Cats can be a loving and kind friend; they are more independent than dogs and can make do better in a crises. A cat I knew about got stuck in the house and had to tear open a bag of bread to eat while his people were absent.  Tut-tut!

Here's the deal with pets, namely dogs and cats. If you want one and you want to take care of it, it will make a big difference in your life. Our pets are more than something to pet; they key into our emotions and our hearts. You will be a better person because of your dog or cat. Here is a picture of my dogs.

As you can see, they sleep ON my bed and have a dog door. (please note: this is the body of a two-headed dog but two heads belonging to TWO dogs.

How to stay the same weight and live longer

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If you are young you are probably healthy. I hope so. If you are not, stop eating junk food and eat right. You will be old a long long time. Say you are old at 40 you could live to be 90 and suffer the ills of bad diet for all those years. That is a long dang time to suffer.

Eat vegetables and fruit -- organic if you can afford them. Eat chicken, organic and wild fish if you can. Try not to take any medicine if you can help it. Only eat until you are barely full. To eat more will waste the nutrition; you have to think about everything you eat as in "What will this help my body to do?"

Sugar, booze, pop, pastry, cake, candy: these will kill you.

Honey, cinnamon, lemon, blue berries: these will help you live

Eat nuts, berries, fruits, vegetables.

Sleep always six to seven hours a night. And if you can't sleep lay there, softly and quietly.

I stayed the same or very near the same weight for 35 years.

What makes every day a different one from the day before? I like to think that each day has its own mark in my mind. I like to think that I cherish each day. Tomorrow is my 49th Anniversary with Larry. I can hardly remember when I didn't know him but every day with him I cherish as though it was the very first day. I feel so lucky that we found each other among the millions of people on the planet. I know the love we've carried for each other has strengthened ourselves and our children and hopefully our grandchildren and their children. Long time love is not easy to find or to keep. We work at it but we love working at it. We both are happy. So I am saying Happy Anniversary to my sweet husband for these many years. He knew me when I was young and so was he. Now he knows me when I am old and so do I know him still. There is something beautiful just knowing that. Love can last.

I'm going to write about what is important in life. It is vital to have a pet. Either a dog or a cat. If you don't want to be so encumbered than you are not ready for a relationship. Maybe you are a go-it-alone type person. Most people like animals to some degree. I am not a feelly, touchy person; I touch dogs and cats more than people. I feel at risk with a person because they don't know how hard to hug or where to hug and even where to pat or not. Dogs and cats know exactly what is wanted and give it; to be fair you have to have empathy for your pet in order to touch it correctly. I think with people it maybe the same way. If you go around touching people I imagine after awhile you know exactly how hard or soft to hug. When I was little I had uncles who loved my hair; it was a white then as it is now. My mother called me a toe head and I spent many hours in the bathroom on the stool trying to see the toes in my hair. Much later I learned that "tow" was a sack into whichcotton was picked. TJ, my friend at school, said that if I had pink eyes I would be an albino. We had albino rabbits and I loved them. Anyway, back to having a pet, if you can get along with a pet, remember to feed them and think of them before yourself, you would make a good pet owner.

You can read my stories FOR FREE after you sign up at www.bookrix.com or you can BUY my book, EVIL ANGEL at Fictionwise.com and at www.Mobipocket.com and at Amazon.com

I haven't been up much for writing as I have had other things to do. That doesn't mean I don't think about it. I do. I want to finish Broken Angels very soon. I have Sue Collado that is helping me edit and I greatly appreciate that.

I will soon put up Flora's House of Decore at Amazon to see who likes it. Let me know okay? Best of everything to you.

RD