Princess Leah

Herrick Center, Pennsylvania June 6, 2003
"Tasting the summer"

Peering out from under the kitchen table, she scoots first to one side of it's white wooden leg, before moving over to the other. In frozen watchfulness she can see the legs of her mother approaching. She goes so far as to hold her breath when she hears her name. "Leah? Leah, where are you? Come on, just take your medicine and you can go out in the boat". As the legs move closer, Leah slides her lil butt back towards the wall, hoping to somehow escape the sting of the needle that she has come to endure three times a day. If she could curse, she might damn the diabetes that has caused so many interruptions during her day of play. But she's too little to know the words, so instead her mother mentally curses for her, hating to repeat this nasty task she has to inflict anywhere from 6 to 8 times a day.

Suddenly a head pops upsidedown and spots her, "Oh, there you are! Now come on out and be a big girl. It will only take a minute, then you can have a juice and go out on the boat with the boys. Come on". Watching her mother's long sunstreaked ponytail almost touch the floor, Leah sits silently staring at her. Her little heart beating faster in her chest. Despite the coaxing, Janan is forced to fish the 4 year old child, now kicking and screaming, from under the table.

"NO, NO, DON'T HURT ME, NOOOO". Janan's eyes well a bit as she is forced to jam the small needle into her daughter's leg before releasing her. "I'll never get used to this, I swear". Once done, it's over, and the little blonde promptly crawls up on a chair, nursing her juice box close to her chest, sipping it's straw as her cousins and brother scamper about grabbing lifejackets. As the boys head down the well beaten grass to the dock, Leah slides the 1/2 finished box onto the table and slips off the chair, running to follow them.

"Don't forget your swimmies!" Leah on command rushes back to the big box on the porch that holds all sorts of fishing and swimming accoutrements. She grabs two flattened armbands and with her teeth pulls the plastic plug on one, her hair bouncing in the breeze as she runs down to the water's edge trying to blow it up. "Give me that, I'll help". A tall, willowy redhead takes both swimmies as she loads 5 kids into the boat. Blowing up one, then the other, she hands them to the little girl. "Thanks Aunt Clarita". Aunt Clarita smiles. Leah promptly slides the puffy bands up her arms as she clambers over 4 boys to sit in the bow of the boat. She likes to sit at it's point. From there she gets a good view.

As the motor churns a gurgling muddy pool behind them, the boat turns sharply in shallow water and and glides off onto the lake. Janan stands on the shore, waving with one hand and shading her eyes with the other, watching them go. Out past the buoys, Clarita turns the boat parallel to the shoreline. As it slices through the water, it kicks a fine mist into the warm summer breeze. Colliding with crosswaves here and there, the spray lifts a bit higher. Leah kneels in the point of the bow, both of her hands planted firmly on it's sides. With her chin tipped up towards the clear blue sky, she sticks out her tongue. As Clarita glances about to see if all is well, she doubletakes back, looking at the little girl. "What are you doing, Leah?"

Perfectly serious, Leah glances back over her shoulder, smiles and replies, "Tasting the summer".

KiaJana

Alma, Kansas June 17, 2015
"The soul would have no rainbows had the eyes no tears".
Old Indian Proverb

KiaJana. No one pronounces it right the first time. Some say *Ki-a Jane-a* with an emphasis on Jane and 2 short a's. Some say *Ki-a Jan-a*, with the emphasis on Jan combined with another short a at the end. But it's *Ki-a-Ja-nay*, one word, emphasis on Kia that rolls into a soft J like when the French say Jean Paul or Joie de Vie. Most just call her Kia for short.

As she stands with her back to the gas station door, a dry Midwestern breeze lifts loose tendrils that have escaped from her sagging braid. In the soft wind they blow across the striking features of an unmistakeably celtic face. With one shoulder leaning against the dirty white paint chipping off the side of the old building, the other is raised, supporting the hard black receiver of a pay phone pressed tightly against her ear. Her hand shades her eyes from the late afternoon sun as the phone rings twice. She toys nervously with it's cord, waiting for someone to pick up.

Glancing down, Kia kicks softly at the parched earth; pale puffs fluff up, dusting her boot along with the ragged edge of her faded blue jeans. Walks' blue workshirt covers a pregnancy about to spring into full bloom. Passing a hand over her growing stomach she wonders where he is. Her nose wrinkles as she glances up to locate the soon setting sun. As the phone picks up on the other end of the line Kia straightens quickly. Tossing the long, thick braid behind her shoulder she turns to watch the attendant filling her tank. His red highlights glint in the sun.

Almost finished he barely notices her; the afternoon heat has left him tired and ready to head home. While he tightens her gas cap, Kia's tall frame slumps slightly when the answering machine clicks on in the small farmhouse she and Walks had shared with the others since the war took almost everything they owned. No one ever suspected the fighting could have come to these shores, or to have caused such destruction. Dropping her head, this time Kia shades her whole face, listening to a voice that brings a solid lump straight to the middle of her throat.

"Howdy any and all who are calling. If you are hearing this message we are likely out in the meadow. I'd wager Bear is hunting, while Crying gathers the garden's vegetables we are planning for tonight's dinner. I have wandered down to the stream to give the horses a drink. Wild and Anarchy are playing behind the barn, I know this because they are always playing behind the barn. Let's hope they've not also causing the usual trouble they always seem to get into behind the barn. Kia may be resting, the baby sometimes takes a toll on her in this heat. Leave a message at the beep".

At the sound of her own name, and the absence of Walks', Kia leans her forehead against the building and blinks hard. As the tone signals her to do so, she begins to speak, "Gem, it's me, Kia. Listen, I figure by now you have noticed I have not returned from the village. I, uh, I'm not sure how to tell you, but I am.. I am on my way east". Kia looks up across the dry plain, pausing for a moment as she struggles to contain herself. Looking down again she continues, more softly this time, "Gem. I can't come home. I can't stay where Walks isn't. I know it sounds crazy, and I may be for doing this, but I don't know when I will be back. I'll call again the next chance I get". With that, Kia quickly slips the phone into it's cradle and leans back against the building. Her chin lifted towards the sky, tears now take over. After a long moment of looking up at nothing, she wipes her eyes with the back of her sleeve. Sniffling she pushes off her only support and walks towards the gas station doorway.

Coming in, the attendant eyes her as she fumbles with the money she owes but says nothing. Back outside Kia hops into the Tracker and takes a deep breath before keying the ignition. As the engine turns she runs a hand through her hair and then grasps the steering wheel with resolve. Turning onto the road she glances up into the rearview, spotting the attendant leaning casually with arms folded in the doorway.

Jim just watches as the pretty pregnant woman with the sad eyes pulls the small truck back onto the empty road. He watches until it finally fades away, swallowed up by it's own cloud of dust.

She

It's what she's thinkin'. That's what this blog is about. What she's thinkin'. She could be you.. or me. She could be young.. or old. She could be Black, or White, or Brown as deep as the sun has kissed her, but one thing for sure is this. She's always thinkin'.

What might you find here? A collection of life's snippets. Simple things from a simple life. Difficult things from a difficult life. Things that happen to any and all of us, or not. Things about what she thinks because.. she's always, always thinkin'.