It is with a heavy heart that I must say good-bye to the lovely writers under the Cuckoo Clock. I wish all of you success in your writing endeavors! I will now be blogging at my new blog, Little Wayward Typewriter (samanthaprust.wordpress.com).
Little Wayward Typewriter
January 28th, 2012 by Samantha PrustLove Me Again
January 20th, 2012 by Fay Ulanoff
Love Me Again
By
F. Ulanoff
Once upon a time there was a plant that had enough light to keep himself alive.
With no other nourishment, not even water, through his whole existence, his soil became dry and crackly.
It wasn’t that the plant was not loved, because he was. His owners would come by and from time to time, stroke his stems. He was sure they adored him.
Except for the times they would approach his pot with a shiny object in their hand, and after coming even closer than he’d expect, a pain pierced through his being and liquid dribbled out where a piece of himself used to be.
He did not know what their motive was for these attacks.
Months would go by and he would feel safe, then it would happen again, the shooting pain and the sap sliding down his side. After a while the plant knew his missing parts would never grow back, because each one of them had begun to grow crusty protections, and he was never the same.
Except for the tiny shoots growing from his center core, his body started to shrink and any bright outlook he had began to get smaller along with his size.
He would sometimes, when the sun shined through the sliding glass doors, where he sat on the kitchen table, imagining that he had all his limbs in tact and perhaps life would be as it was.
Weeks passed and the plant still had a lot of his body in tact but since he was not getting any extra nourishment, nor water, he would soon disappear.
He thought, If only they realized I was hurting. He wondered why they had not noticed his slow diminishing into nowhere.
Until one day he heard them talking in the next room early in the morning. They spoke of a great accident on one of their fingers, and if it wasn’t for him their precious Aloe Vera she might have lost her entire appendage.
What does that mean? He tried to hear a little better by leaning to one side, but being careful not to fall over, because of his frail condition.
“We have to take better care of our plant in there, because by cutting little pieces of his being, we saved my finger and healed so many of our other wounds. I’m glad we finally realized what we had,” the woman said.
“He has been looking a little sad. Why don’t we go and buy some plant food, and maybe then he’ll perk up. Or maybe we should water him,” said the man.
“Oh no remember what they said at the plant store, when we bought him. Never water them because they are cactuses. And I know we wouldn’t want to hurt him.”
The plant felt better just knowing that he was special and no one was out to get him. He felt useful and loved.
Prayer of Serenity
January 16th, 2012 by Phyllis KennemerAlthough the Prayer of Serenity is often associated with 12-Step Programs for addictions, it has practical applications for everyone. These lines are familiar to most of us.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.
That last line is the kicker. I know that I often think that I should be able to change things that annoy me. Upon deeper reflection, I realize that I what I lack is the wisdom to know the difference. Some things are not mine to change.
Then I came across a version of the prayer that applies directly to me.
God grant me the serenity to accept the people I cannot change,
Courage to change the one I can change,
And the wisdom to know that it’s me.
Yes. The only person I have control over is me and that means that I, alone, am responsible for my responses and reactions to others. That is all that I can change.
I’m working on it.
Flying from A to Z
January 6th, 2012 by Shelley WidhalmOn a breezy, rainy Sunday, Tim and I sit underneath the balcony at the Mandolin Café, drinking coffee as we write about what ifs, or what about’s, or some big maybe.
A dog squeals down the street.
“The dog’s singing opera,” Tim says as he writes.
A brown-haired girls plays Pachebel's Canon in D, a smile on her face.
Next to her, a thin woman with sleek gray hair under a beret pens in her journal.
And my dog Zoey sits underneath the table, looking down Fourth Street to where the other dog yips and yaps.
I want to get up and dance, but will words do?
The dog’s squeals start up again, riding on top of the piano notes, echoed by the tap-tap of our keyboards.
The sun slips out and the rain peppering my laptop slides away, as if the clouds are all wrung out.
I imagine Tim’s fingers moving up the body of his Fender Stratocaster as if she were a long-bodied woman. She’s white, cool and slick, this electric beauty that stings the stage with her wide mouthed squeals.
Tim seems to fondle the Fender’s neck as his fingers fly across the scales. The Fender melts with a howl as he swivels the song’s refrain into a furious flinging of movement. A hummingbird flitting around a tulip, this is how his hands look as he turns a song into dancing hands.
It’s his pickup of sound underneath the strings that turns a simple maybe into his dream of Flying V.
For Tim, it’s not a mandolin, a banjo, the piano, it’s this taking of guitar strings like telephone wires that carry sound into whole new meanings.
The Epiphone, the epic of flying from A to Z.
Romance and Other Stories
December 28th, 2011 by Samantha Prustby Samantha Prust
My book Romance and Other Stories is now available at The Write Deal online bookstore. 
From The Write Deal website: "Two young women decide to become prostitutes. A wife can no longer hide a secret from her husband. A daughter confronts her father’s manic depression. A pregnant teenager struggles to leave her reservation. An aspiring romance novelist meets a handsome stranger. In Samantha Prust’s ballsy, finely-crafted collection, characters often feel as if they have “dropped out of the clear blue sky and onto the flat prairie.” The worlds Prust creates are, like the northern hinterlands in which they are set, deceptively empty. Here, vulnerable young women on the edge of maturity walk a razor’s edge. We walk with them, drawn in by Prust’s sensuous and simple language, and by a mysterious, unresolved tension usually the purview of dreams. Samantha Prust was raised in South Dakota. She has an MFA in creative writing from Colorado State University. For over 15 years she has worked as an editor and writer in book and magazine publishing, and is the author of A Sentence a Day: Short, Playful Proofreading Exercises (Prufrock Press, 2007). She lives with her husband in Colorado, where she works as a freelance editor and writer."
A portion of the proceeds from the sale of this book will go to the Association on American Indian Affairs Native Language Program, http://
Benny's Love
December 21st, 2011 by Fay Ulanoff
Benny pushed away his kibble bowl with his paw.
Uncharacteristic of a dog his age, but this was not a good day for him.
In fact this was the worst day of his sad life.
Can a canine have a sad life?
Just ask Benny. He’ll be glad to invite you into it.
He lives down the street from me and I know how it must be for him. In freezing weather, scalding hot summer days and rainy ones, he barks and cries from his yard all day long. Benny is out there. No wonder his life is in the dumps.
As I pass him tied up with a long rope around his neck, attached to a clothesline pole I stop for a few minutes stand behind the fence, then reach over to rub his head. His howling and barking ceases and I smile and I know he’s smiling too. Each time I feel a connection with Benny. I can tell when his paws are aching, because I feel it in my feet.
I also know when he’s thirsty, because my mouth gets dry. On these occasions I’ll pour some water from the small bottle I carry with me into my hand and watch the pleasure he gets from lapping it up.
You probably wonder how I know his name is Benny. Well I could say I heard his owner call out to him, or I can confess the truth. Without words, he told me.
He also told me of having never been inside the walls of his owner’s home for more than ten minutes at a time. My heart hurt for him.
Benny is a beautiful blackLabradorwho doesn’t look more than a year old.
What could have caused this abuse I wondered, sitting in my back yard? Then I sensed his presence again, and it asked for my help, because he was now inside of his house for a few minutes and did not want to go back out. I could hear the sound of strap come down on Benny’s back and eventually a door open and close.
After what I’d just experienced I was compelled to run down to the little brown house, with its giant yard, where Benny lived and kick some butt. At least that’s what I intended to do, until I heard from him again. No please don’t come over. I know what you’re thinking and I must tell you not to come. It isn’t safe. He has a riffle and he’s mad at me.
I tried to heed his warning but my emotions ran deep for Benny. I loved him and needed to save him, no matter what the risk.
In two minutes I had on my sneakers laced and a grabbed a baseball bat for protection, then raced down the street and up the honeysuckled pathway where he lived.
Noticing that Benny was still safe on his leash in back I felt, that in some way I’d be able to help him. If I could just warn his owner that if I ever saw him mistreating his dog again I will call the police, because after all it was a crime to abuse an animal. I’d almost forgotten that Benny was more than that to me.
Then a feeling overpowered me before I reached for the door bell. I see you. Come get me. Untie me. I was compelled to sneak around to the back yard and crawl over the fence to where he was tied up. Right here, I’m here, do you see me?
“Yes my friend. I’ll be right there.
I noticed that he was starting to bark while edging his way closer to the fence. This time I had to verbally warn him of my hopeful rescue. “This way boy, I’ll get you out of here.” After he heard my voice he quieted down and wagged his tail. I carefully followed the long rope to the pole where I untied it. Now let’s get you out of hear.
No please Dolin he’s coming. Save yourself.
I turned my head around and noticed the man with the rifle running around from the front of the door to the back yard, when I scooped up Benny in my arms and found a gate in the back leading to the ally. I unlatched it and ran. I could hear the shouting from the man behind us, and also heard someone else, running behind him; which both Benny and I hoped would be the law.
I took refuge for us on the side of a dumpster and eventually made my way back to my own yard gate .Out of breath I released the latch and set Benny down into my own yard and eventually into my home where he lived with me for as long as I can remember.
And as far as know there was never any notice of a missing dog anywhere; and as far as Benny and I commutating as before. It never happened again. Our connection was that of love for one being towards another and that was enough for us.
The End
Celebrate the Light
December 18th, 2011 by Phyllis KennemerIn honor of Winter Solstice, I invite you to
CELEBRATE THE LIGHT
Come
Everyone
Let’s
Enjoy
Bright
Rays
At
Twilight
Emitting
Twinkling
Halos
Encircling
Light
Inspiring
Glorious
Heavens
Tonight
Re-Finding the American Dream
December 6th, 2011 by Shelley WidhalmIf we could all live out our passions without greed and taking from others, the nation would not need Occupy Wall Street. I grit my teeth when I think about the hedge funds and stockholders that want to take their swipe from the corporate employees (not the CEOs, of course, who now earn rock star salaries).
But enough about politics.
I visited the Be You House earlier this month. Be You is the moniker for the Innovation Lab, an alternative program in Loveland, Colorado, that educates public school students by allowing them to identify, explore and follow their passions as opposed to prescribing their learning according to subject matter and state standards.
The Be You house is a 1910 Victorian home redesigned to fit the program with study, meeting and exploration spaces. I sat in the detox room, which is the starting point for students to let go of what is clogging their inner self, so that they can begin to be who they are.
I think too many of us are not living out who we are. Just drive somewhere and notice the angry, impatient drivers. Or listen to the public conversation about the shrinking middle class and the using up of the working class for fast profits.
Artists already know that they have to have some connection to their Be You-ness. Before creating something, colors, motions, sound and touch have to break the barrier of the skin and be internalized. They have to know what they want and love doing in order to create.
Too many people don’t know who they are, I think, because they are too busy surviving, be it to get the paycheck or to work corporate-demanded Energizer-rabbit hours. I find that when I try to fit into the corporate culture so that I can earn a paycheck, my Be You gets ignored or pushed aside and only peeks out when I start to notice nature or try to deep breathe.
In an offbeat sort of way, I think the protesters, or at least some of them, are tired of working or not working so that they can barely live. They are not living if there is no passion. They are just doing. They are not being. Being Free. Be You. That’s what I would define as the American Dream.
Thanksgiving - favorite fun
November 24th, 2011 by Maryjo MorganThanksgiving is my FAVORITE holiday (next to Valentine's Day) ... it is easy to say why:
√ Weekend off!
√ Gatherings with Family & Friends
√ Weekend off!
√ Good food, good wine, good times
√ Weekend off!
√ No presents required
(that means - sooo thankful here - no shopping,
no wrapping, no brain-racking for the most
perfect thing)
√ Time ... to think, to adjust my attitude of gratitude ...
√ Time ... to list all of the people who populate my life with goodness ...
Every year I am always overwhelmed by the sheer volume of good and abundance in my life.
Yesterday I had fun with Google's Thanksgiving doodle. Mashable and PC World had write-ups about it - and give you more info on how to click n' play. I have to admit, it is fun to sit here clicking and customizing my very own turkey doodle.
PS: you can check out 2009's Snoopy Thanksgiving doodle, and 2010 Dinner-themed doodle complete with a link to recipes.
