June 26th, 2022 here's the pic: How did you get here?

 

BY: Ryanne Leavitt

    What led me to this field surrounded by flowers and not another soul in sight, you might be wondering, though, I suppose you might not be and that is ok too…but alas you will be subject to the story anyway…I do love a captive audience after all, though since i don’t actually see anyone, this might be my first foray into madness, but I will indulge me anyway.

You see, I had been fed up with being bogged down with the demands on my time.  The mountain of laundry just kept growing, the house refused to clean itself and the yard work was beyond needing done….it was turning into a jungle of overgrown grass and weeds taller than me.  It seemed like everything and everyone needed my attention, or time or talents and it was leaving me feeling drained.  I just wanted it all to poof out of existence, and the next thing I knew I was waking up here.  

That really sums up the why I got here, now do you want to explain to me, the how?  Like the real how? Are you a wizard? I really do need to get back home!  Did you realize these flowers, though beautiful they may be, are killing me?  Why didn’t you poof me to the Ocean?? I loves the ocean and the sand under foot, but no, you brought me to my worst nightmare, a field filled with things that cause me great suffering!  Do you see these tears?? They aren’t ones of joy,!  This pollen is KILLING me!  AH man!  Look into my eyes, oh wait you can’t, they are swelling up!  ACHOOOO! ACHOOO! AAAACHOOO!  Achoo achoo achoo! Oh, sorry did I get a little snot on ya, yeah, that is what allergies do ya know!  Could you at least poof my medicine here so I don’t die?  Is that too much to ask?

Turns out when you yell at the unseen and expect a response, you may be disappointed!  Seriously, if there is someone out here, can you please poof me back…turns out I would rather face that mountainous pile of clean clothes than this!  

Since you don’t seem to be listening to me, I guess I will just lay down where I first woke, and peacefully die!  

Ugh!  Why am I still here? Wait, what is that over there….my medicine??? So, you are hearing me…what do you want!  Uh, and maybe a bottle of water, I don’t swallow pills well with out…great thanks!  So, I can get meds and water, but you aren’t sending me home, or to an ocean at least?  This feels like an unending day!  Am I stuck in some sort of alternate reality? Maybe I got sucked into your universe, or maybe you brought me here for some grant purpose, but this is getting old and I am tired of it, as if you get it, you aren’t listening any way…I am gonna just  start walking towards that sunset, kind of like the cowboy who rides off into one, and maybe this dreamscape nightmare will finally come to an end! 

This is madness I tell you!  Wait, what is that?  Is that you?  

Fwamp!  Oooh, that stings!  Did you jwust hwit mewe wiff swomptwing? Wook awat awll thwose….

Story Slingers

June 26, 2022

Myrna Flynn

SUNSET FIELD of FLOWERS and LIFE

Marcella Reynolds, nee Johnson, set alone on her favorite chair, reminiscing. She was soon to turn 100 and all but 35 years of her life had been spent in this rambling house.

She always called it rambling because it started as a small log cabin and it grew and grew over the years and evolved, with much remodeling and renovation, into a 2 story mansion, with all the comforts and luxuries of life. The original cabin was still part of it. It was a rather strange, but intriguing looking house.

The cabin was in the middle and the wings spread out in both directions. The 2 sections were joined by an elevated walkway over the cabin.

the left wing was where most of the living went on. The ground floor was the kitchen, pantry, family dining room, family roman utility room with its separate door. The second floor had a formal dining room. There was a elevator so food could be delivered and served without running up and down stairs.

The right wing second floor was bedrooms for the family and bedroom suites, for guests. Each room had its own bathroom. The ground floor had a recreation room, TV room and theater. In the early years there was a stage where the family put on plays, and sometimes hosted community theater performances.

Marcella brought herself back to now. Her thoughts turned to her life and her love of the field of flowers, which was the family business. It did not start out that way, it was first a regular family farm.

The Hannah, her grandmother, began thinking how much she loved flowers and began to wonder if they could grow flowers to sell. It was a struggle for several years, but Marcella's mother and her siblings turned out to be good at convincing townspeople and travelers to come see the field. Inviting them to come at sunrise and sunset when, the rays of light, reveled their true beauty.

Although her family flowers became known throughout the USA, it still remained a family business. That would change now, Marcella was donating the property to the county she lived in. The restrictions were that it would become designated and registered as "Johnson's Field of Flowers Park" never to be broken up for residential or commercial development. 

A short bio of Marcella's personal life. When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7th 1941, Marcella volunteered at the USO, where she met Jason Reynolds. It was not long before he was drafted into the Army and trained as a medic. They corresponded throughout the war. When he was back and released, they set their marriage date, August 23, 1945. Jason went on to become a General Practitioner and opened his practice in Marcella's hometown. They lived 35 years together. They had 2 children: Hannah Marcella and Justin Jason.  Marcella was sure that she would die long before them, but that did not happen. Hannah dies in 1995 and Justin dies in 2010.

Now here she was in 2022, still alive and extremely lonely. All of her friends and family were gone. Her four grandchildren: Marcie Lynn, Savanna Louise, Jerald Jason (called JJ1) and Jesse Jason (called JJ2). Jerald was killed in Vietnam and Jesse in Desert Storm. Marcie in childbirth in 2008 and Savanna in 2020 during her heart surgery to fix a heart defect.

Marcella was born August 23, 1922. She died , sitting in her favorite chair watching the Field of Flowers slowly starting to fade away as the sunset was slipping below the horizon.

Slingers Prompt

wake up in a field of flowers

June 25, 2022

Daren Flynn

FLOWERS, FLOWERS AND MORE FLOWERS

He was flat on his back in the middle of a field of flowers and he was having a panic attack. He was dizzy. He was sweating like crazy and had the chills. HIs heart was beating like a race horse and he could hardly catch his breath. 

He woke up from his recurring nightmare with the same result as before. Nausea!

He made a mad dash for the bathroom and got there just in time. Again! Flowers! Why did he have to dream about flowers? It was bad enough that he had to see them everywhere when he was awake. Every time he got close to flowers, even just one flower, he experienced the same terrible, sickening problems caused by that horrible dream.

He was five years old the first time he had the dream. It was the night after him grandpa's funeral. About all he remembered about the funeral was looking in that box and seeing a fake plastic man, not his grandpa, and flowers.... everywhere, and feeling sick and wanting to throw up.

From age five until he left home at 18 after graduating from high school, he had been put on a plethora of allergy medicines, non of which had any effect on his violent reactions to flowers.

Shortly after leaving home and striking out on his own, he met and began dating a girls whose father was a psychologist. When he picked her up for a date and saw the flower in her hair, he went into panic mode and the date ended abruptly right at her doorstep as he bolted and sprinted to his car holding his hand over his mouth.

She stood there on her front porch, shocked at his behavior. Then she turned and went back in the house.

After a few minutes, he was able to gain control of himself. He then used his cell phone to call her and explain that he was violently allergic to flowers and the one in her hair had caused his weird actions. He apologized and drove home, thinking he would never see her again.

Her parents asked what had happened so she explained his reaction to her flower. Her father said he was sure that his violent reaction to the flower was no an allergy, but something else entirely. He said, "I'm pretty sure he has anthophobia. Tell him to come see me at the office. I'm sure I can help him overcome his afflictions."

Long story, short. He did go see the girl's father and underwent treatment and eventually overcame his fear of flowers, married the girl and lived happily ever after.

Awake in a Field of Flowers

Carrie Keiser

I feel the warmth of the sun on my face and come awake with a start. I know the sun cannot normally reach my face from my bed, the window is on the other end of the room. Before I open my eyes to greet that sun, I think back to the night before and wonder how I could awake with the sun in my face. I take a deep breath, the familiar unappealing stale air of my bedroom has been replaced with the fragrance of wild flowers.  Something very strange is going on here!  I know that last night I climbed between the freshly laundered sheets of my bed. How in the world have I awaken in a field of flowers with the sun beating upon my skin?

I reach up and rub the last remnants of sleep from my eyes and slowly open them.  My senses have not failed me, I am indeed lying in a field of flowers as the sun begins its climb from the east. At least I know the directions, perhaps I can find someone and figure out just exactly where I am. 

I sit up to take stock of my surroundings, all around me are purple and yellow flowers and I appear to be in a small valley.  Closing my eyes again I reflect on the night before. I had just returned from a week long renaissance fair. I threw all my outfits in the wash to be ready for the next fair, grabbed a snack of Pringle’s and gummy worms, snagged my book off the table and headed to my room to unwind and sleep.  I remember nestling into my pillows and cracking the cover on the book, but the rest of the evening is a blank.  This is not good! Maybe I’m still dreaming, yes that’s got to be it! Gently I lie back and will my self back to sleep hoping against hope that when I reopen my eyes I will be in my bed laughing at these ridiculous thoughts.  

After several minutes, I crack open just the left eye and cross my fingers.  I’m still in the field, Dang! Might I have been sucked into my book like in Inkheart?  Or could I have fallen into a wormhole and spit me out across the country? Or the universe? Am I still on earth? Maybe I’ve been kidnapped by aliens.  

In my mind I hear my grandmother’s voice, “Get it together girl!  You’ve got quite the imagination!  You know that you’re perfectly fine.” My grandma has been gone many years, but she had frequently told me this.  I try to take her advice, breathe deeply and tell myself that it’s just my imagination, I’m still in my bed in my room.  I repeat this mantra for about 3 minutes and then I open my eyes only to see the flowers still. Exasperated and a little fearful, I stand to explore this new world, hoping that something, anything will trigger my mind and I remember how I ended up here.

Golden Vance’s driver’s license 

BY: Cary Holmquist

At the Golden and Arleen (Norcutt) Vance family reunion, 17-19 June 2022 in Choteau, Montana, a story began circulating.  It started with a photo of Golden Vance’s 1967 Montana driver’s license, which was displayed in a slideshow of ancestors who were attending the reunion in spirit and photos.

Those who told this story said they had heard it from Golden or one of his children.

Evidently Golden was driving his car on the Crowe Highway (officially known as First Road South) and he had run the stop sign at the intersection of the westbound Crowe Highway and curving westbound U.S. 89, known locally as “Keith’s Corner.”  

For the benefit of those who have not driven this route frequently,  running this stop sign was fairly common. The stop sign is set up at the west end of the Crowe Highway and is supposed to halt vehicles before they enter the westbound traffic flow of US89, preventing collisions if there were vehicles in that lane at that point.  The two roadways run nearly parallel toward the intersection and so drivers in vehicles moving west on one and west on the other can look over and see each other for hundreds of yards before the intersection at the race-track-style banked curve of US89.

The practical fact is that experienced drivers on the Crowe Highway can see the US89 traffic and judge well enough how to regulate their speed before entering the intersection.  So they can easily turn the Stop into a functional Yield, such that they do not have to slow much or stop at all and then can “enter at turnpike speed,” much like an on-ramp entering an interstate highway.

More to the practical fact is that the traffic on US89 is usually spare enough that there are no vehicles nearby anyway, so coming off the Crowe Highway can be done with an easy double-check glance to the left and glide past the stop sign at near turnpike speed, no collision to be considered.  We all do it after a little experience….

Only rarely a law enforcement officer may be passing there or be staking out, in sight of the intersection, knowing that this running-of-the -stop-sign was a frequent maneuver of local drivers.  An easy tally mark for their quotas of stops and tickets.

This had happened before to Golden and on the occasion of this story he was pulled over and stopped by the patrolman, who came up to Golden’s rolled-down window and requested his driver’s license, to which Golden obliged in his quiet way.  The officer looked at the license for a long moment and then asked Golden to step out of his car.

This was an unusual procedure for a simple traffic stop and Golden asked what the matter was.  

The officer said he just wanted to see someone who was eight-feet, five-inches to stand up, because he had never seen anyone that tall before….

Other renewal versions of Golden’s driver’s licenses placed his height at five-feet, eight inches.