Missing Thongs

It is still Friday though the morning has passed. I am terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I was unable to get a thing written while I was out of town. I didn't even get NEO out of his case. I racked my brain however and came up with a story to post. You may think it a little strange when you read it, but then I was only 7 years old at the time. I hope you find that my writing has improved somewhat.:) And don't laugh too hard. And by the way, Amber, Angela and I didn't actually write these, we dictated them to my mom who wrote them down. I will try to do better next week.

And by the way, if you are longing for the next part of "Meleah's Western" just talk to Meleah. I won't write the next part until she has read the last one and asked me some more questions. :) After all, it is her story.

Chapter 1
The Runaway Thongs
by
Amber

One day Rebekah and Angela and Amber were playing outside. They were playing in the sandbox. They put their thongs by the side on the sandbox.
Then their thongs started sneaking away. Then Lassie went and saw them walking away. Then they walked around the block. Some people that were riding bikes saw them. They said, “Look at those thongs walking away! We had better go and try to catch them.”
Then they said, “We can’t catch them. We’ll have to run over them.”
“Now we can’t run over them. They are fast shoes! I guess we’ll have to go on our bike ride.”
Then Rebekah, Amber, and Angela got out of the sandbox to put on their thongs to go play inside. But they did not see their thongs. So they went inside and saw if Bekah had some more shoes in the shoe box. But Rebekah didn’t have anymore shoes. Then they asked Mrs. Morris if they could go and walk around the block. Then they saw their thongs. They ran after their thongs! Their thongs ran faster and faster! Then their thongs ran and ran and ran, and ran across the street and they couldn’t catch them. So they went inside. Amber and Angela had to leave.

Chapter 2
The Thongs Are Lost!
by
Rebekah

One day the thongs were missing. Amber, Angela, and Rebekah were trying to find them. They looked by the sand box. They weren’t there. Since they weren’t there they looked by the swing set. They weren’t there. They looked by the little tree house. They were not there. They looked on top of the little tree house. They were not there. They looked by the big tree house. They were not there. They looked all around the yard. They were not there. They looked in Lassie’s doghouse. They were not there. They looked on top of Clover’s cage. They were not there. They looked under the porch. They were not there. They looked in the mailbox. They were not there. They said, “Hhmm - Where could they be?” They didn’t know what to think. “Our thongs, the only one’s that we have!” said Rebekah. “They disappeared,” said Amber. They were about ready to give up. After a few more minutes they gave up.

Chapter 3
Amber, Angela, and Rebekah Find The Thongs
by
Angela

One day Amber, Angela, and Rebekah went to look for their thongs. When they got outside they went to the brick church. When they got to the parking lot they saw one of Rebekah’s thongs walking to them. Rebekah put it on. Then they saw one of Amber’s thongs and one of Angela's thongs. They put them on their feet. Then they walked around the block.
When they got to the corner they saw Angela’s other thongs. It was sleeping. They carried it. When they got to the brick church again, they saw Rebekah’s other thong running away. They turned around and went the other way (Amber, Angela, and Rebekah did). Then they saw Rebekah’s thong laying in the sun. Rebekah ran up to it and stuck it on her foot. Then they saw Amber’s other thong sleeping. Then Angela’s thong woke up. Angela put in on her foot. Amber carried her sleeping thong. When they got back to the house Amber’s other thong woke up. She put it on and went home. Angela did, too. They went to bed when they got home.

THE END

I told you I had improved.:) At least I hope I have! (Just a note for those of you who don't know what a "thong" is, it is a flip-flop.)

My Speech

I forgot today was going to be Friday already, so I didn't get a story ready to post. I have been writing, but not a lot this week and then only on my book. Don't worry, I do have something I can post. I will try to get another "calendar story" written for next week, though we will be out of town most of it. Hmmm, I'll see what I can do.

For those of you who are wondering which version of the story got entered in the contest, it was the 2nd. It was so funny watching the votes come in. First the 2nd story was ahead, then the 1st one past it. Then the 2nd again. Next I knew they were even and I was nearly in a panic because I didn't want to decide myself! That was why I asked you all. At the very end however, the 2nd version pulled ahead by 3 votes. So that is the one I entered. I'm not really expecting anything to come from it all, but it was good to try. Thanks for sharing your thoughts on both stories.

If any of you have something you wish I would either write about or post that you know I have written, I would love to hear about it. But here I am just rambling on and on. (I'm starting to sound like "Emma" from my book.) I'll post my poem which I wrote several years ago and then lost for months.

My Speech

Lord, make my speech with Scripture a-line
And make my words to edify.
Lord, make my words be Your’s not mine
That You alone they glorify.

Lord, make my speech to minister
Your grace to all who hear me speak
And make me, Lord, a comforter
And give me words for those who seek.

Oh Lord, my words with wisdom fill
That they exhort my fellow men,
And use my words and speech until
You’re pleased to call me home, amen.

I hope you all have a wonderful day!

"Home Fires of the Great War"

Wow! Thank you all for taking the time to read and vote on which story I should enter in the contest. They are both really close which wasn't exactly what I thought would happen. If you haven't voted, go to the next post and and leave a comment saying which one you like best. Sorry, the poll I put up isn't working right, so I have to count every vote myself. I'll let you know which one gets entered, but then we'll all have to wait until October 15th or there abouts to find out what happens in the contest.

And now, it is Friday again and I should post something. What should I post? I think I'll have to post some of my book as I haven't been working on anything else except that and the contest stories. I only have 10 more "letters" to write before I do a ton on reading and writing about the war. Then I'll put all that info into the "letters," write the background and send it all to those who are will and wanting to read it for me. So, if you know you want to be one of my "test readers" let me know and I'll put you on the list. I am trying to get three "letters" a month done which I have been able to do so far. But here is a bit of the book.



. . . Daddy couldn’t be . . . I just wouldn’t let myself think it. He couldn’t be! Though the tears coursed down my cheeks, I couldn’t cry, not yet. Someone might hear me, and then they all would know. Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and Kirsten said,
“Emma, its time to go.”
“I’m not going,” I managed to say without crying.
“But, Emma,” Kirsten begged, “You have to go. We’re going to get Mama, and the babies and David.”
“Kirsten, “ I implored, “just go on. I can’t go and that's final. I have to make supper.” I added the last as an afterthought for it struck me that Edmund might come up if I had no apparent reason for staying. I fairly held my breath as I listened to her retreating footsteps. Oh, how I longed for them to leave so that I could cry without notice. Unknowingly, I crushed the telegram in my hand and tried to choke back the sobs that rose up. Then, just when I expected to hear the wagon leaving, I heard someone running up the stairs three at a time. It was Edmund. Why did he have to come up? Anyone else wouldn’t be likely to notice the tears in my voice, but I wasn’t so sure about my twin. A sharp rap sounded on the door.
“Emma, its time to leave.” I bit my lip to keep back the sob that seemed to almost strangle me. “Emma, come on.” he ordered as I didn’t reply.
“I can’t come. I’m staying here.”
“Are you sick?”
“No.” Why wouldn’t he leave me alone?
“Then I don’t understand at all. You didn’t say anything last night about staying home. Why won’t you come?” He seemed bent on knowing the reason, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t tell him.
“Never mind why,” I almost snapped. “Just go away or you’ll be late.” There was silence then and after a minute I heard him turn and go slowly down the stairs. I wanted to run after him, to beg him to understand and to forgive my impatience, but I didn’t move. I just buried my face deeper in the pillow for the sobs would come in spite of all my effort to keep them back.
Finally I heard the longed for sound of the wagon rumbling down the lane with the shouts and laughter of the children. I was alone at last. Letting go of the fierce check I had held on my emotions, I cried as I had never done before. Great tearing sobs shook me, and tears soaked the pillow. All the pent up emotions from the last half hour, the weeks and months of nameless fears that had been suppressed for so long came forth. In the midst of it all, I suddenly caught my breath, someone was knocking on the door!
“Lucy,” Edmund called. “Open the door.” Why was he here? How was he left behind? Why didn’t he go with the others. I wouldn’t open the door. “Lucy, what’s wrong?”
“N . . . n . . . nothing,” I stammered. I knew it wasn’t true, but there was nothing he could do, for I wouldn’t tell him.
“Emma, something is wrong. Now open the door,” his voice was quite firm.
“Please, Edmund, “ I implored, “just go away and leave me alone! I won’t open the door. There isn’t anything you can do.” The last ended in a sob. Edmund said no more, and I heard him walk down the hall to his room Why did he have to stay? Why did the telegram have to come at all? Why did Daddy have to go fight? Why was there a war anyway? Why? Why? Why? Tortured by all the questions, my mind was in a turmoil and the whole world seemed crashing down around me. There was nothing to hold on to. I couldn’t even pray except “Help, Lord!” and He did.
Right then, in the depths of my despair, someone sat down on the bed beside me, and a hand was laid on my shoulder. “Emma, what is it?” Edmund’s voice was gentleness itself, and for a minute all I could do was cry. “Lucy,” he pleaded, “won’t you tell me?” . . .

For the rest of the story, request your "test readers copy" today.:)

Help Wanted

I need YOUR help. I am going to enter a writing contest but I want you to help me decide which version of the story I should enter. Here are a few things you must know first. The story had to be for children ages 3 - 8 and be no more than 500 words. I can not be a published author, nor be in the process of getting a book published. (I haven't even written it yet.) I can not have won any national writing contest (haven't even entered) and I have to be 18 or older. (I think I qualify there.) The story will be judged for the following criteria:

*Appropriate story/content for children 3 - 8
*Emotional connection
*Writing quality
*Uniqueness
*Read-aloud potential

And keep in mind that there are no pictures. If the story wins, it will be sent to a children's book publishing company. I think someone will do illustrations then.

Please read these stories with all this in mind and then vote accordingly. And please do this quickly as I have to enter the story soon. Thanks!

The Notched Stick
by Rebekah Morris

“What’s the matter, Robbie? Hard day at school?”
Robbie plopped down on the porch step. “Brian keeps picking on me, Grandpa, and I’m getting tired of it. He just won’t leave me alone.”
“I know a way to stop it.”
“Really! How?”
“Wait here a minute.” Grandpa stepped inside the house to return with a smooth, well polished walking stick.
“You want me to hit Brian with that?” Robbie was clearly puzzled.
Grandpa laughed. “No. Do you see these notches?”
“Yes, there are three of them.”
“My father told me it takes three things to make a bully into a friend, so he made notches reminding me.
“The first notch is for smiling. The next time Brian isn’t kind, smile at him and see what happens.”


“Grandpa! I did it. Brian was saying mean things, and I smiled at him!”
“What did he do?”
“He said I was crazy, but then he left me alone.”
“Good. The next notch means to praise him for something, like telling him how good he played, or how great his school project was.”
“But Brian isn’t good at anything.”
“Everyone is good at something. It may take a while, but you can find it if you really look. And keep smiling.”


“Go! Go!” The coach urged his soccer team. “You can do it!”
Robbie watched as Brian kicked the ball passed the goalie to win the game.
“Hey, Brian, you were great making that goal.”
Brian didn’t say anything, but he looked a little puzzled.


“Brian scored a goal today in soccer, Grandpa.”
“Did you praise him?”
Robbie nodded. “He didn’t say anything.”
“That’s okay. This last notch is to do something kind for him.”
“Like what?”
“I think you can find something to do for him. Little opportunities are always coming if you are ready for them. And don’t forget to keep praising and . . .”
“Smiling.”
“That’s right.”


Several days passed before Robbie found the chance to help Brian.
“I can’t find my crayons! I have to have them tonight for homework!” Brian’s grumble reached Robbie’s ears.
He thought a moment. He had extra crayons at home, but they weren’t the special new ones Mom had gotten him. He could let Brian use his new ones. But suppose they got broken? Robbie knew he wouldn’t be able to get more.
“Brian, would you like to borrow my crayons until we can find yours? I have some more at home.”
Brian looked surprised, then embarassed. “I don’t have any more crayons, and I didn’t know how I’d get the homework done. Thanks. And Robbie, I won’t be mean to you anymore. Can we be friends?”



“Grandpa! Grandpa! It worked!” Robbie ran panting up the porch steps. “It really worked. Brian and I are friends!”
“I am so glad, Robbie. And now, I want to give this stick to you so that you will always remember to--”
“Smile, praise and help.”
“That’s right.”
“I love you Grandpa.”

The Notched Stick #2

by Rebekah Morris

“What’s the matter, Robbie? Hard day at school?”
Robbie plopped down on the porch step. “Brian keeps picking on me, Grandpa, and I’m getting tired of it. He just won’t leave me alone.”
“I know a way to stop it.”
Robbie sat up quickly. “Really! How?”
“Wait here a minute.” Grandpa arose from the creaking porch swing and stepped inside the house to return with a smooth, well polished walking stick.
“You want me to hit Brian with that?” Robbie was clearly puzzled.
Grandpa laughed. “No. Do you see these notches?”
“Yes, there are three of them.”
“My father told me it takes three things to make a bully into a friend. Each of these notches is one thing.
“The first notch is for smiling. The next time Brian isn’t kind, smile at him and see what happens.”


“Grandpa! I did it. Brian was saying mean things, and I smiled at him!”
“What did he do?”
“He said I was crazy, but then he left me alone.”
“Good. The next notch means to praise him for something, like telling him how good he played, or how great his school project was.”
“But Brian isn’t good at anything.” Robbie gave a push which set the porch swing in motion.
“Everyone is good at something. It may take a while, but you can find it if you really look. And keep smiling.”


“Brian scored a goal today in soccer, Grandpa.”
“Did you praise him?”
Robbie nodded. “He didn’t say anything.”
“That’s okay. This last notch,” Grandpa rubbed his finger over the stick’s smooth surface, “is to do something kind for him.”
“Like what?”
“I think you can find something to do for him. Little opportunities are always coming if you are ready for them. And don’t forget to keep praising and . . .”
“Smiling.” Robbie answered grinning.


Several days passed before Robbie found the chance to help Brian.
“I can’t find my crayons! I have to have them tonight for homework!” Brian’s grumble reached Robbie’s ears.
He thought a moment. He had extra crayons at home, but they weren’t the special new ones Mom had gotten him. He could let Brian use his new ones. But suppose they got broken? Robbie knew he wouldn’t be able to get more.
“Brian, would you like to borrow my crayons until we can find yours? I have some more at home.”
Brian looked surprised, then embarrassed. “I don’t have any more crayons, and I didn’t know how I’d get the homework done. Thanks. And Robbie, I won’t be mean to you anymore. Can we be friends?”



The sun shone brightly on Robbie as he ran panting up the porch steps. “Grandpa! Grandpa!” Robbie’s face beamed with delight. “It worked! It really worked. Brian and I are friends!”
“I am so glad, Robbie. And now, I want to give you this stick so you’ll always remember to--”
“Smile, praise and help. I love you Grandpa.” And he gave him a big hug.

ABC's of Twenty Years

I guess it is a Friday, isn't it? I was going to post last week, (was it really last week?) but I forgot. I don't know what I would have posted as we didn't have our computer in KC, just Sarah's. I am so mixed up on days right now that it could be almost any day of the week for all I know. Anyway, I thought since it was so late and I have been busy with other things, that I'd post the poem I wrote commemorating the 20 years that we have been friends with the Cov's.:) It is hard to believe it has been that long! But, here is the poem. Enjoy!

The ABC’s of Twenty Years
by Rebekah Morris

A is for Asking “Can we go play
Out with the Cov's (or M's’) today?”

B is for Baking muffins galore
Crystal and Sarah just kept making more!

C is for Catalpa tree house so high
Playing for hours up there in the sky.

D is for Digging out in the sand
Searching for treasures long hidden from man.

E is for Eating staying outside
Together for supper the Moms might decide.

F is for Friendship twenty long years
Joy and sorrow, laughter and tears.

G is for Games in parking lot or yard
Soccer, spud, whiffleball, we did play hard.

H is for Handwork needlepoint, knitting, crochet
We’d work for a while and then we’d go play.

I is for Imagination creative I’ll say
The things we pretended lasted all day!

J is for Jehoshaphat Jimmy was the king
And in the Sissy Choir the rest of us did sing.

K is for Kitchens dirty pans and pots
We’ll never finish washing ‘cause there's lots and lots!

L is for Learning together with friends
All the States on the sidewalk, the song never ends.

M is for Mothers best of the best
For so many years we gave you no rest.

N is for Neighbors right down the street
Borrowing, playing just can’t be beat!

O is for Outside those were the days
We spent play-day together in various ways.

P is for Prairie best place to go
We studied and loved it as pictures now show.

Q is for Quiet a very rare thing
For our pastime of playing would make the air ring!

R is for Reading and roller-skating too
Riding bikes and remembering no rainy day blues.

S is for Sledding, sewing and swings
Secrets and sleeping and so many things.

T is for Tire swing, teaching and trees
Triplets and talking most important of these.

U is for United at many an event
Birthdays and parties that’s where we all went

V is for Voices inside and out
Talking and laughing and giving a shout!

W is for Walking “Its time to walk!”
Around and around we’d go on the block.

X is for neXt things events yet to come
We know of a certainty they won’t be humdrum.

Y is for Yesterday the days now past
The memories we cherish are the things that will last.

Z is for Zero trips to the zoo
Perhaps some future day we’ll go there too.