Awakened by silence, Jodie wondered why no sound came from the television. By now she should have been warned by the automatic alarm. Calmly she reached for her cane.

“Dusty, where are you boy?”

Edging off the recliner, Jodie moved the cane from side to side and crossed the living room. Fear was something she wouldn’t give into, until she heard a noise that made her neck hairs raise.

Growling from the hallway meant her guide-dog, Dusty was on guard duty.

“Hey boy, what is it?”

Intense images floated across her mind like a slide show. Just like the stories you hear on the news, Jodie felt scared, as she didn’t want to become another statistic.

Knocking her cane against the wall, Jodie made her way toward the dog. Leopard-like she moved cautiously, careful not to trip over Dusty, even though she knew he’d have moved long before she was ever in any danger.

Maybe it’s nothing, the common sense side of her brain kicked into overdrive, thinking logically. Needless worry, that’s all. Over confident now, she stopped at the front door. Patting the air around her thighs, she at last made contact with her canine companion.

“Quiet now Dusty!”

Reacting to the command, the dog whined one last time, and then remained silent. Seizing courage, Jodie yelled, “Is anyone there?”

“Thank God you’re alright. Undo the lock Jodie and let your dear Mother in, as I bet you didn’t even know there was a power outage in this area.”

Various thoughts passed through Jodie’s mind, while she unlatched the door and opened it.

“Wipe that look off your face and let me pass. X-ray vision is what that dog needs instead of snarling behind the door. You should have heard him growl at me as if I were a total stranger.”

Zany with emotion, Jodie dropped to her knees and whispered into Dusty’s ear, “You should’ve bit her when I opened the door.”

© Patricia L. Atchison, 2003

Enjoy!

He suggests that I am a magnet for others emotions and it is true, I do tend to pick up on  people’s vibrations and energy. The trick for me is trying to find a balance between what my mind is telling me, what my body knows to be true and what my spirit needs – all with the need to reduce stress – either fabricated or real.

My writing has always been a resource for myself to let go. The journal writing I do allows me to take a look at my inner self. Similar to this piece of writing, putting thoughts on paper is a way to let my mind relax, and unload some stress. My spirit has come to expect writing time and if I get caught up in ‘life’ and don’t give myself time to write my thoughts, then I get stressed out and health issues surface.

My friend also suggests that getting caught up in ‘life’ is not the stressful situations that the mind creates, but rather getting caught up in ‘life’ should be the fun things we do, the ways of expressing ourselves, whether it is through laughter, dance, song, creativity and just enjoying activities with family and friends and interacting with nature.

Celebrating by giving spirit what it wants is also part of ‘life’. If we allow spirit to soar and dance, we can appreciate that which life gives us with joy and little stress. Taking care of spirit is unique to each individual. It is important in today’s high-action, fast-paced world that we can differentiate between what our minds fabricate and what our spirit really requires.

Little Blue Penguin by Patricia L. Atchison

Penguin, I never knew that a few years later, I’d have the privilege of seeing penguins once more so close to home.

Although the Calgary Zoo’s Penguin Plunge exhibit (opening February 17, 2012) won’t have the Little Blue or Fairy Penguins that my book is related to, they will have four species from the penguin family including: Humboldt, Gentoo, Rockhopper and Kings. Two, the Rockhopper and Gentoo face serious challenges in the wild with declining populations.

To welcome these special guests, the Calgary Zoo created a Polar Paradise, where as soon as you enter the new exhibit, you will feel a blast of cold air, with the indoor temperature being 7 degrees (45F), which in the middle of the hot summer will feel great! Visitors are surrounded by the playful and energetic penguins within their rocky outcroppings and cold water. The exhibit features holes in the ice where penguins can swim through and a surface where they can waddle with ease. The ice and rock formations provide a natural habitat, while flickering lights of the Aurora Australis create a mood that visitors will be equally impressed with.

The ultimate goal of the Calgary Zoo is, “To leave visitors with a love of penguins and the inspiration and knowledge to do what they can to help them. Interacting with the animals, showcasing their natural habitat and sharing the challenges penguins currently face are all part of the plan for the facility.”

Fairy Penguin, photo credit Copyright iStockphoto / Sky Creative

When I wrote Little Blue Penguin, about a penguin ‘stuffie’ who co-incidentally gets lost at the zoo, I never thought that the Calgary Zoo would one day be hosting penguins. Not one of the four featured at the zoo, another species of penguin is the ‘Little Penguin (Eudyptula minor)’ or ‘Fairy Penguins’. This breed is the smallest species of penguin. They grow to 40 centimeters (about 16 to 17 inches) tall and weigh around 1 kilogram (2.2 pounds). They are found in the Sub-Antarctic regions south of New Zealand. Also called ‘Little Blues’, these small burrow-nesting birds have indigo-blue and slate-grey coloured feathers.

The Little Blue Penguin book is about a favourite stuffie friend to a little girl named Becky. Little Blue Penguin’s emotions shine colourfully when a journey from the toy store takes him to a new home and into Becky’s arms. His world is happy and loving until an outing at the zoo finds him lost and alone. As Little Blue Penguin faces different emotions, he shines different colours, thus allowing the reader to learn their colours.
For ages two and up, this book has become a favourite amongst playschool-aged children and is a good night-time read.

Be sure to visit the Calgary Zoo’s Penguin Plunge and see penguins in action as they play and entertain throughout the day. If you are looking for an entertaining children’s picture book be sure to visit Wood Lily Publishers for more information.

The times of sorrow and dismay
A life of play

Gentle breeze tickles my legs
The ocean crashing its waves
Changes occurring each second
The memories they beckon

This time to ponder and reflect
Of life and all its effect
The joys, the sorrows,
The ups and downs

My life today is not a frown
More a smile wide and reaching
Of the view that’s life teaching

Me to be aware
Of life’s pleasure as I stare
With the ocean as my view
I ponder life with renew.

© December 29, 2011, Patricia L. Atchison

Today I am the explorer seeing a different life, wanting to spread my wings and fly over the ocean. Today I shall be a seagull allowing the wind to push and shove me over the tides. My eyes scan the water for morsels of food. I am drawn to the motion and the treasures galore that the water of earth sends to shore. Each churning wave ruffles the sands of time allowing new treasure to be unearthed.

I am the water now, full of energy and a force to be reckoned with. Surging with life, I follow the rhythm of wind and earth shuddering great waves of energy. Flowing tides speak language centuries old, cutting a path of least resistance, breaking down lava that stands in my way. I can be calm, but for now I have power. I am strong, relentless, changing with each moment, churning, rushing, rising, crashing, and slashing. I am the water, the ocean.

The two meld, the seagull and the waves. Each giving and taking life, following the natural rhythm of nature. It’s perfect, being an explorer. (December 29, 2011)

Dr. Peterson reached for a small plastic heart mounted on a rod stuck in a piece of faded chipboard. He bumped it. The heart fell off its perch and skidded across the desk dropping onto Laura’s lap.

“Ugh!” She stared at the cold plastic, seeing her own heart beating instead and shoved it away.

The doctor caught the fake heart just before it touched the floor. He set it back on the desk and pressed a button on the side of it. It snapped open, showing several red and blue colored valves inside. Dr. Peterson pointed to a blue tube in the middle of the heart.

“You had an operation to fix this valve when you were a baby. Now you’re ten, your heart works really hard as you grow older. We have to do the operation again because your heart isn’t working properly.”

Spittle flew from the doctor’s mouth. Laura watched it splash onto the desk. He rambled on explaining what would happen to Laura once they traveled to the children’s hospital in Toronto. Ignoring Dr. Peterson, she grabbed Mom’s hand, squeezing it. Mom sniffed, smiling at her.

“Laura?” Dr. Peterson’s deep voice made her jump. “Do you understand what’s going to happen?”

Laura nodded. Locked inside her ribs, her heart thumped loudly. Bump. Bump. Bump. Bum-bity-bump. She knew the rhythm of her heartbeat wasn’t quite right.

At the airport the next morning, Dad got a wheelchair. “Okay young lady, have a seat,” he said opening the car door.

“No Dad. I’ll walk,” said Laura.

“Sit!” Dad commanded pointing at the chair, his eyes gleaming wickedly.

“Okay! Okay!” Laura groaned.

The tiles on the floor whizzed by as he pushed her through the airport terminal. He parked her against a wall close to the ticket booth and then stood beside Mom in the long check-in lineup.

Laura played with the wheels, making them turn left and right while watching the travelers come and go. She noticed a commotion down the hall. A group of ladies were laughing and joking together, bumping into each other in the crowded hallway.

Laura stared. They wore vests covered with teddy bear pins, teddy bear brooches and bear patterns. Many of them carried baskets and bags decorated with teddy bear pictures and drawings. Some even had teddies in their arms. They stopped close to Laura, chattering and visiting. One bear lady placed a shopping bag right next to Laura’s chair.

“Back in a moment,” she muttered.

Twinkle Bear, Teddy Bear

“Wait!” Laura cried, but the lady had already turned away. Laura looked into the bag. A little beige face with soulful eyes stared up at her. She blinked. Had the teddy bear’s eyes twinkled at her? Must be the light, Laura thought. She reached down to touch the teddy. Its soft and cuddly fur made her insides all cozy and warm.

The lady returned with a cart full of luggage. Laura quickly pulled her hand away from the bear.

“Many thanks for watching this,” said the bear lady. She picked up the bag and dumped it on top of the loaded cart. When she swung it around, teddy flew out and skidded across the floor, landing face down.

Laura leaped out of the chair and rushed to pick up the small bear.

“Ma’am,” she yelled, but the lady had already disappeared into the crowd.

Laura felt a sharp pain in her chest and stepped back into the wheelchair. She wiped her sleeve across her brow to remove the moisture that suddenly appeared. She breathed slowly trying to calm the wild beating of her heart. Laura dusted off the bear, sitting it on her lap so that it could watch the people too.

Mom and Dad walked up holding their boarding passes. “What have you got there?” Dad asked as he moved the chair away from the wall.

“A lady dropped him. We have to find her and return it!”

“There must be a tag on it.” Mom took the teddy and turned it around.

“We’ve no time left,” Dad said, glancing at his watch. “Do you see her anywhere?”

Laura shook her head.

“Hold onto it for now. Maybe one of the flight attendants can help,” suggested Mom.

Laura took the teddy from Mom with open arms and cuddled it. The soft fur warmed her chest and she breathed slower, relaxing.

Dad pushed Laura at lightening speed toward the boarding gate. Cool air stung her cheeks and she laughed. She looked back to see where Mom was.

“For goodness sake Gerald, slow down!” Mom gasped, running to catch up.

Laura looked up at Dad. He had a huge grin on his face. She giggled.

When they boarded the airplane, Dad carried Laura to a seat at the front. The attendant was so busy making sure passengers were settled, that there was no time to hear about the bear, so Laura kept teddy nestled tightly in her arms.

As they flew into the sky, Laura yawned and leaned against Mom’s soft shoulder. She closed her eyes. Teddy’s fur tickled her chin but it didn’t stop her from falling asleep.

Laura struggled to wake up when Mom nudged her, saying they’d landed. They went directly to the hospital where the nurses commented how much they liked her teddy bear.

“But it’s not really mine,” she argued. They just looked at her funny. She stared at the beige teddy. “I guess you’re all mine now.” Laura smiled at her new friend.

Just before the operation, the nurse gave Laura a needle to make her sleepy. She squeezed the soft bear. His eyes twinkled up at her. Twinkle, that’s what I’ll call you, thought Laura. Her eyelids were so heavy. Suddenly, Twinkle disappeared from her arms. She struggled to keep her eyes open and see where he went, but it was hard.

“It’s time.” Mom kissed her cheek.

Laura held her breath. Her heart seemed to pause a little longer than usual.

“You’ll be all right.” Dad’s palm cradled her cheek. He placed a huge kiss on her forehead.

She tried to wave, but her hand lay limp on the bed. The last thing she remembered was Twinkle, staring at her, his eyes shining like two bright stars in the night.

“Twinkle, twinkle little star…” Laura heard someone singing. No! It’s supposed to be Twinkle, Twinkle Little Bear. Laura couldn’t make out her confused thoughts. She couldn’t remember where she was.

“Laura … Laura ….” Mom’s soft voice touched her thoughts. Laura struggled to open her eyes. When a pain shot up her chest they popped open. The hospital room surrounded her, as well as several bundles of balloons and flowers. There sat Twinkle on the bedside table.

“You’re still here.” Laura said to the bright-eyed bear.

“Of course we are dear,” Mom laughed.

“The operation is over. You’re going to be just fine.” Dad gently squeezed her hand.

Over the next few weeks, Laura healed beautifully and it was soon time to go home. She picked up Twinkle.

“Can’t forget him,” The nurse teased, pushing a wheelchair into the room. Mom and Dad were right behind her.

Laura crushed the teddy bear against her chest. It didn’t hurt so much now. She climbed into the chair.

Dad took control of the wheelchair and raced her down the hallway leaving Mom far behind. At the entrance he left her for a moment and went outside to find a taxi. Through the large windows Laura watched a young boy being taken out of a car. His pale face made him look like a ghost. An orderly helped him into a wheelchair and brought him into the hospital, placing him next to Laura.

“Okay kid, let’s go home,” Dad returned and grasped the wheelchair. He jerked it accidentally and bumped the boy’s leg with the foot extension. Twinkle went tumbling to the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” Dad apologized.

The boy leaned over and scooped up the small bear. Laura saw beads of sweat running down his face. He wheezed when he sucked air into his mouth. Fascinated, she watched Twinkle’s eyes shine up at the sick child. His hands shook when he held the bear out to Laura. She stared at it for a moment.

“No, you keep him,” she said firmly, “His name’s Twinkle.”

Mom came up just then and both her parents pushed Laura slowly toward the exit. She looked back and saw the boy hugging his new teddy bear.

“Take good care of him little Twinkle Bear,” Laura whispered.

Copyright 2002, written by Patricia L. Atchison

In my blog, aboutwritingandpublishing, I recently wrote about using profanity in stories. I have a moral obligation to my readers, especially when they are young adults and teens, to the type of writing I present to this age group. I have always been in conflict when presenting topics, themes and types of genres to young adults – say ages fifteen and up. Sometimes I think authors candy-coat social situations and issues that happen daily in real life. We present ‘good’ stories, with a hint of sadness.

Are we doing a disservice to the young adult reader, or are we presenting them with a world that although hints at tragedy, still provides a safe haven, which ultimately is a relief from the hardships they face on a day-to-day basis. They can escape to the character’s world, get bashed, scraped and bruised, but not feel the true pain that accosts some of them every day in their lives.

I guess if an author wants to write a ‘real-life’ story that includes profanity, terrible social issues such as abuse, rape, bullying, gangs and drugs, which includes teen characters, then this type of publication could always be destined for the adult market. This becomes a safety net for both the author and publisher, because even though many teens do turn to adult novels because they provide the realism of a true-life story, there are no implications to those who produced it.

I haven’t read many e-books yet to see if there have been changes in the writing of books for young adults and teens. A lot of e-books are self-published, so if there is no ‘corporate’ publisher to set rules and guidelines, then anything could be a go, depending on who is publishing the story and how they are marketing it.

It would be interesting to hear thoughts from young adults and teens on what they are looking for in books, as to what seems real-life and what is too candy-coated for their own good. Do they mind profanity when it enhances or goes along with real-life issues and situations?

I recently read a quote on a blog (sorry wish I had a name), that suggests as teens we want to be adults and hear, do and see adult things, and when we reach adulthood, we want to go back to the innocent days of childhood and make everything rosy and sweet again. If only… My challenging moral obligation continues to do what I have to, to protect the innocence of youth while continuing to provide a great ‘real’ story. (I welcome your thoughts, comments and suggestions.)

Cycle Of Life, An Upward and Downward Spiral

Our lives go in circles or what I like to think of as spirals – up and down movements. The cycles have to do with the things we do in our lives, what we feel, how we react, and events that run out of control. ‘They’ say we have seven year cycles. Our blood recycles its self. Our bones regenerate after a number of years. Remission from illness makes us healthy again. Good and bad luck comes and goes. Slumps happen. I guess this is what life is.

I think my life is in a cycle change. I’ve lost a few loved ones over the past several years. I’ve been through some personal issues and physical things, but I am healed now. These injuries and the changes they caused lead to depression and anxiety. I’ve come to recognize the feelings associated with what happened and definitely do not want to go down that road again if I can help it.

During these past downward spiraling events, I lost myself for a bit. I wasn’t that happy, nice, giving person that everyone knew. I know this brought negativity into my world and more downward spiraling. I lost touch with people I thought were important to me. It has been an upward climb, but I am getting there.

I make choices everyday when I wake up. I determine that today is going to be a good day. I’ve renewed my faith in God, and I am asking questions and learning to listen for the answers He sends. I’ve met wonderful people who have helped me succeed in changing the downward spiral I was in. I’ve learned to listen and be aware to that which is happening in my world and take heed from its message.

Some of the tools which helped me gain momentum in my upward spiral have been: renewing my faith in God, writing and journaling, exercising daily, eating well, volunteering with animals (so very precious), giving more of myself – little bits of my time and energy to family and friends, allowing myself to let my anger out by talking about my wants and needs (no matter what the outcome), thinking of others besides myself, and becoming aware of my feelings – letting grief come when it needs to, but not drowning myself in it.

‘They’ say change happens for a reason, so that we can learn what it is we are on this earth to do. But, I have yet to learn what some changes mean and why they come about at any given time. Perhaps as life evolves and the spirals come and go, one can look back and say, “Oh, so now I get it”. May be it isn’t up to us to get it. May be we are just meant to ‘be’, to continue to strive to be better, loving people.

When I see the world today, I see so many people wrapped up in their own upward and downward cycles, spiraling out of control. You can feel it in the different types of energy in individuals, groups, cities, even countries. Something usually happens though which causes us pause, a time to reflect, and a time to regenerate again, a time to become aware of that energy and make a change for the better.

For today, I am listening, I am aware. I guess that is all I can ask for of today, other than to be happy.

Muskeg Mama, Quadding Fun!

The men grunt as they off load the ATV’s from the trailer. “Urrrgh, Urrrgh.” You know the ‘Tim Taylor Tool Man’ grunt. The kids are squealing with exuberance while playing Kick the Can in the semi-dark. The women are readying the trailers. And me, I am my kid’s Mom, my husband’s soul mate and a city kid turned forest ranger for the weekend. Whose idea was it to go camping the long weekend in August? Doesn’t everyone know that garage sales are in abundance this weekend! Everyone settles around the fire as the darkness engulfs us. It’s a clear night, one of the first this wet and cold summer of ’93. I look at the ensemble. Seven children, four adults, one dog and six, lean, mean man machines. All Terrain Vehicles. ATV’s. Known as quads to some. Four-wheeling, squealing, roaring man machines. Now they sit quiet, menacing, waiting for sunrise. Waiting for me. Yes, that’s right. Tomorrow, bright and early we hit the outback. The men grunt, “Mud bogging, Urrrgh, Urrrgh.” Up one cutline, down the other, throwing up the mud, chewing up the earth. I shudder at the thought.

The next morning when I open my eyes sunlight streams across the bed. As I’m stretching like a cat I hear it, the rumble of a quad being turned over. It spurts and coughs. I would to if I was forced into action so early on a Saturday morning. The machine coughs again and dies. Good! One down, five to go. But no, what is that sound? The rumble is unmistakable. The quad is running! I peak out the window. Four kids clamber onto the thing and after five pokes at the gears, it rumbles, farts and disappears down the road, dust and smoke left in its wake.

I slump against my pillow and groan. If the kids can do it, I guess I can too, or look like a wuss. That was the creative word around the campfire last night. I recall the ringleader saying, “We’ll have no wussies in this camp.” Then came the grunts. It must be a guy thing. Women of the 90′s unite; let’s get back to petite-point and croquet.

I emerge into the daylight, only because I don’t want to be dubbed the ‘sleep-in queen’. The men start gearing up, gloves and helmets appear. We dun our oldest and grubbiest clothes and runners. The fire is stoked so that we can use it to dry out when we get back. I question this logic. How are we going to get so wet? Laughter greets me.

All too soon, it is my turn to mount up. I suddenly wish that I only condo camped. As I step gingerly over the seat, I hit a piece of dried mud with my finger. Damn! I broke a nail. I try to repair the damage and nearly end up on the ground at the back end of the quad. Hubby gives me no warning as he fires the beast into gear.

We are underway. The first root catches me unawares and I jerk to the left. I feel my back snap. Mental note to myself, “Book a physio appointment on Tuesday”. Then we hit the edge of a bog. A muskeg bog to be exact. Did I forget to mention mud? I see lots of it. Every where.
The guys are quick to dismount. They help each machine move through the mire one by one. Then it is our turn. Soon we are stuck deep in the thick of it. Muscle power pushes at us from behind. I am given the look. You know, that, “get the hell off there and push” look. I slip off the side of the quad. It starts suddenly under the direction of my husband. Mud spurts from behind and covers my face. I groan and then gingerly pick my way through the marshy area sticking close to the outer edge.

The guys continue to fight with the beastly machine just ahead of me. I try to reach the quad to help push it the rest of the way. Oh No! I am sinking. I freak out when my thighs disappear, shrieking at the top of my lungs. My elbows rest against the scummy muskeg. I try to pull my leg up. No movement. My shrieks finally reach a decibel louder than the roaring engine of the quad. Hubby and his buddy look up in surprise. Is that shock I see for an instant in their eyes?

They climb over to me and reach for my arms, pulling me forward. The suction is tight, but soon I am up and out, resting on my knees. I still have both runners on, but when I squeeze my toes the sludge oozes between them. I stop my mind from wondering what other manner of microorganism might be down there, or on the rest of my lower torso for that matter.

I find myself questioning the meaning of life while crawling on my hands and knees in the middle of the forest, green slime squishing between my fingers and around my knees. I look up at the sky for it is far better than watching my friends laughing at me. I thank the Lord, for there above is the bluest sky and the brightest sunshine. At least once this summer it isn’t raining.

Back at camp, as darkness settles, we all crowd around the campfire. The ringleader declares there are no ‘wussies’ in this camp. Several jeers and grunts emit from the crowd. He singles me out and identifies me as being special. Everyone looks at me. All seven kids, four adults, the dog, and those dirty-faced, lean, and mean man machines, smirking in the darkness.

They dub me ‘Muskeg Mama’. It’s a name I’m sure will take many years to live down, and one that not too many city ladies can claim. Now show me a garage sale, I want to find a used quad. Urrrgh! Urrrgh!

Author’s note: I wrote Muskeg Mama originally in Fall 1993 for a contest entry to The Calgary Herald regarding the wettest summer on record in the Calgary area. Then in 1998, I entered it, and became third place winner for the Calgary Writers Association Sunshine Sketches Award for Fiction Writing.