A Breath of Fresh Air

I love going outside after a rainfall, when the air still feels fresh and moist. I'll breathe in deep and let out an audible sigh as the dampness that signifies a good washing down permeates my nose. I love to open a window on a warm day and feel the coolness a breeze brings. It refreshes as it delights. We all need a breath of fresh air don't we?

Speaking of fresh air, I want to share with you a delightful website that is all about a breath of fresh air! Yes, that is the name of the website: Breath of Fresh Air Press.It's a little publisher with a lot of heart, to quote from the website. BOFA is a Christian Publisher of encouraging, inspiring, fun fiction and non-fiction. I first learned of BOFA through my participation in Faithwriters, an online writing experience, where I entered weekly writing challenges. Because of the writing challenge, some of my short stories received the coveted Editor's Choice award, which were then selected to be published in anthologies. It's been awhile in coming but, the first of many (29 I believe) has at last been sent to the printers and are now available in the online bookstore at Breath of Fresh Air Press. 

I am SUPER excited to share this news with you because..... uh-huh-hum. One of MY short stories is in it!!! The book is called Mixed Blessings; Simple Pleasures. I will be having some of my stories appear in more books which will be coming out over the next several months. 

For someone who has been writing stories since she was about 10 years old, to have something published is really quite amazing, not to mention, such an honor! 

I hope you will take some time to check out BOFA's website and consider purchasing the book. You are sure to be blessed by the uplifting, fun, eclectic collection of simple pleasures!

Field of Screams

"Put that snow ball down! I’m serious! Don’t you dare—"

Too late! The snowball makes impact with the side of my head and small particles of icy slush trickle down the unprotected gap between my hat and my coat collar. 

I shriek. I squirm. This only makes it worse as the snow continues to wriggle its way down my back. I scoop up my own slush ball and throw it like the girl that I am. It falls pitifully short of the goal and now he stands there laughing harder.

I scoop another and charge at him, with all my might. His laughing face turns to surprise as I run full blast with no sign of stopping and no sign of lobbing my slush ball. To be honest, I don’t know what my plan is, other than to convey my displeasure at his juvenile attempt at humor.

Full body contact happens before either one of us is prepared, and now we are a tangled heap in the snow. I realize just how much of my body is touching his. But my attempts to push off and stand fail as my boots slip and now I am flopped on top of him once again. I gasp.

He pushes me off but he is still laughing and I am panting. Getting up will take too much effort. I roll over onto my back and stare up at the sky. We are content to stay horizontal for just a second. Just long enough to feel the biting cold penetrate. He stands first, and now, all about being a gentleman, offers me a hand.

I shouldn't trust him. He is up to no good. But his face is sincere and he waits patiently for my mitten-clad hand to enter his open bare one. I accept his outstretched paw and the gentle tug he gives me tugs my heart as well.

And he lets go. I knew it! I can’t believe I fell for his trick! My shrieks equal that of a muffet on a tuffet with a spider dangling close by.

Then I am silent and I lay still, eyes closed no sound except for that of my breathing. He leans over me. “You okay?” 

Oh sure, now he wants to act sincere again. I refuse to acknowledge him or his stupid question. He leans closer; I sense his nearness. I can feel his body shifting as he drops to one knee, his face coming closer to mine. 

"Nina? Are you—OH!—"

Splat! I have delivered my surreptitiously gathered ammunition directly between the eyes! I give some extra smoosh action to his face. Oh- ho-ho! Who is laughing now? I am on my feet, whooping, doing my victory war dance around him as he struggles to stand. The gleam in his eye warns me and I turn to run.

Slipping across the surface, we lope. He is right on my tail and I am once again shrieking. I hear him yell and I turn to see him fall. I stop. Should I be concerned? He rises as far as his knees, and then in feigned defeat, hangs his head low in shame.

“Truce?” I say. I can be gracious.

“Truce.” He agrees.

Side by side, we walk towards the cabin. His arm goes around my shoulders and I lean into him, contentedly.

From the porch, we can hear the sounds of our audience: the disgusted groans of our children intermixed with the delighted laughter of our grandkids. Yes, the old folks are at it again. Will we ever learn to act our age?

Bookworms and Blueberries

“Mom, what does ‘i-dee-lick’ mean?” I looked up from my bread dough to meet the chocolate brown eyes of my youngest daughter. Slightly confused by what could only be incorrect pronunciation, I requested she spell it.

“Idyllic.” I said. “It means peaceful or calm, pleasant.” I paused, thinking. “I spent an idyllic afternoon in the hammock.” Satisfied, Tessa returned to her book and I, to the pounding of the dough.

Tessa was a reader. While her older brother and sister were usually found outside chasing butterflies or playing catch, I could count on finding Tessa curled up in a chair, book in one hand, the other one twisting a lock of hair.

I certainly didn’t mind! I was an avid reader myself. Todd and Tara were too, but they much preferred the outdoor activities of the farm and helping their dad during the day. Save the book reading for evenings when daylight was gone, or the weather too unpleasant to play in. 

Ours was a good life, this one my husband and I had carved. Country kids, both of us, when the McGregor Farm came up for sale, we couldn’t think of a better place to raise a family. We doled out chores along with discipline and manners. It was the way our parents raised us and their parents had raised them.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched my eight year olds mouth work its way around another unfamiliar word. My heart surged with pride for her independent streak that would not allow her to ask for help until she had exhausted her own efforts. Sure enough I saw her face alight with comprehension and she sank deeper into her little world.

I moved the bread dough to the warming oven and wiped my hands. “Tess, tear yourself away from your book a minute and come take a walk with me.”

She groaned but obeyed. While I was glad she loved to read, I worried that my little bookworm wasn’t getting enough physical activities. As we made our way down the worn path to the garden, I looked closely at Tessa. In the sunlight, I noticed the dark circles under her eyes and wondered how long she’d stayed awake the night before, reading under the covers. I circled my arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to me. Instantly she stood straighter.

It had been a busy productive summer as usual and perhaps I had been too busy to really pay attention to my quiet compliant child. With a rowdy thirteen year old son and a precocious eleven year old daughter clamoring for my time, Tessa was the easy one. Maybe too easy, and too often overlooked with all these things demanding my attention. I resolved to spend some extra time with Tessa before school resumed next month.

We had reached the blueberries and we knelt together as I handed Tessa a bucket that rested against the fencepost. For some time we picked berries in companionable silence, enjoying the plinking of plump ripe fruit as it landed in the buckets. The sunlight danced across the burnished red of the blueberry bush. The cooing of a dove lulled us.

“Mom?” Tessa’s voice broke the stillness. “Is this an i-dyl-lic moment?”

Sitting back on my heels, I studied her small face for a moment, brushing a strand of hair so I could see her eyes better. A memory floated to the surface like a picture from a storybook. I was a child picking vegetables from the garden with my mother. It was a memory awash in sunshine, fragrant and rich. Tessa grinned at me. A wave of love rushed over me, a love so fierce, so pure. I wished I could freeze frame this moment.

"Idyllic? Yes, Tessa, I believe it is.”

* this story will soon be appearing in an upcoming publication, "Mixed Blessings, Simple Pleasures" a series of anthologies brought to you by Breath of Fresh Air Press. For more information on Breath of Fresh Air Press please like their Facebook page or look for them on the Faithwriters website.