Today we are happy to repeat the first Friday story by Writers Forum member Dale Angel. It posted on July 3, 2020. We had not yet titled the feature ‘Fridays With Dale.’  I had planned to run a Dale Angel story every Friday, at least through that Labor Day. And here we are, over a year later. Thank you, Dale, for helping us get through these trying times!

Geo.

Online Class

by

Dale Angel

I’m taking an online class. The subjects are varied and useful for everyday life. The teacher is well-known, educated and comes with credentials and a title. The instructor’s name is Judge Judy.

I personally learned how to dress for the work environment. You need a white lace collar. It made me realize I need the services of the physical landscaping skills of her surgeon. She looks sixteen and last class she showed up with blond hair, the necessary equipment for the job.

She shows us the value of personal worth by refusing to get involved in domestic affairs…what she calls, “playing house with benefits”. She will not divide up the items fought over like the plaintiff’s toothbrush holder and running shoes or the defendant’s rims off her car. She will not unmingle their toys. She’s not using up her life or education over trivias, especially when both want a refund and compensation on their bad investment. We can all learn something from this.

She’s very astute in unraveling who threw the first punch…and she can identify the keys of rejected lovers who used them to damage the cars belonging to the party of the first part. Her work ethics are so creative when one’s spouse sues, and the problem is from the unemployment that brought it about, her advice is ”just gather cans and hire your own attorney”.

She’s fair. She is a master at identifying manufactured disabilities that her bailiff pays his taxes to support so the disabled party has an income…while surfing. The case of the women who sued for back injury and pain and suffering was enlightening. Judge Judy told her to try climbing down off those shoes, see if that helps…next!

Her practical questions are so skilled you see people tattling on themselves. She is very good to youths who have coping problems, who she says, “lie when their mouths are moving”. She is so kind, she never deprives them of consequences. It shows a great deal of experience in this area. I need to know more about things like this, but at present, I’m underqualified. Never do business without defensive receipts-you will need them for decades because someone may come out of the woodwork.

Save all receipts. Good to know.

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Type of Material and Guidelines for e-newsletter and Website Submission: 1.) Your articles on the art or craft of writing. 2.) Essays on subjects of interest to writers. (200 words can be quoted without permission but with attribution.) 3.) Book or author reviews. 4.) Letters to the Editor or Webmaster. 5.) Information on upcoming events, local or not. 6.) Photos of events. 7.) Advertise your classes or private events. 8.) Short fiction 9.) Poetry

The Man with Outlaw Blood

By Dale Angel

There must be a reason for the name Profanity Lane. Do you suppose it’s because it is a street over from Hard Pan alley? The Oaks and Digger Pines love living there; add Manzanita and Buck brush. They make a cozy environment, especially for Rattlesnakes and Poison Oak.

Yet…at the end of the road is a group of pines nestled together creating a micro climate. When you step on the pine needles, it is soft and damp. It smells like pine resin in the heat of summer. I carry with me the conversation of the man who planted them.

He grew up during the Bonnie and Clyde era, the Daltons, and others like Baby Face Nelson. He talked with such familiarity, leftovers from his childhood. Somehow his blood lines were connected to these outlaws. He was a little boy with a severe cleft pallet and was shoved off not to be seen like a mistreated animal (his words).

His Uncle, his only advocate, was kind but he died. He left eighty acres to him. He sold it, put the money in his pocket, and walked to Kansas City. He knocked on doors until he found a doctor to fix his problem. It was as good a job as was available in those days. He was fourteen. His speech was impaired, but his joy in being able to communicate for the first time made up for it.

I teased him, calling him ‘the man with outlaw blood.’  A few minutes spent sharing thoughts made him happy. His humble graciousness made you happy to be in his presence.

He took home free Pines from the Arbor Day and Forestry trees and planted them in the Hard Pan among rocks. He put plastic pipes next to each tree. Every day, especially in the summer time, he put the hose inside the plastic pipes and deeply watered them. The trees began to cover the rocks. Today they tower over his yard. Shade is everywhere.

Profanity Lane and Hard Pan Alley off Keswick have history. I went to check on his project the street signs are no longer there, but his trees are.

A little house sits at the end of the road. In their front yard is a forest that is so wonderful to walk in it. The years have made the trees larger. The Perkins used to live there before they died. We never talked well, but we made social smiles and some transfer of material to share this with you.  Coming up Keswick to a half mile to Lake Blvd the first road right will end in huge trees. It has been built up no one knows this history.

Dale Angel

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Pending Wishes

By Dale Angel

    I wish for an Olive tree with lacy blue green leaves that throw filigree shadows so I can walk under it and feel wrapped in a gossamer gown. …I wish for a Pomegranate tree with wild tendencies and the appearances of unrestrained growth on malnourishment the fruit drips in red sweet nectar.

  I wish for a Persimmon tree that decorates the fall colors in splashes of orange as I walk on the fallen leaves that look like a Persian carpet, their fruit at near death collapses on itself, taste like spongy candied syrup on my tongue.

  I wish for that winter bush that covers itself with yellow flowers as soon as the cool winter rains arrive. The small yellow daisies fill my empty sugar bowl with sunshine…all winter. We are not acquainted by name, they may know mine, but I don’t know theirs…. I may know their family.

  May I have an arbor to hold up the honey colored grapes that look like champagne when the sun shines through them, at the  present time they are living in the tops of the wild plum trees. They moved there to get away from the white flies, who visit every summer…… although, uninvited.

  I want to remove this mourning cape, I’m wearing for the plum tree that had to be euthanatized. I haven’t went through a spring without her blossoms yet, it grieves me to think about it, but not so much, I haven’t shamelessly peeked at new plum varieties from the catalog.

     I may as well be frivolously extravagant and wish for a blooming Orange tree that emits showers of  fragrance through the windows to sweetened the  night air, it makes one weak, add blackberry wine… it’s too late to be strong…

  Pending wishes will have to wait in the shadows…. meantime…I’ll romance the Manzanitas. only hours away till they bloom. Their tiny pink flowers are full of sips of honey. Daffodils are waiting their turn to shout, flinging yellow across new green grass as they parade.  There are new surprises half asleep nestled close to the earth watching in expectation for the sun to spotlight their debut, and display their costumes…for you and me!

Dale Angel

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Type of Material and Guidelines for e-newsletter and Website Submission: 1.) Your articles on the art or craft of writing. 2.) Essays on subjects of interest to writers. (200 words can be quoted without permission but with attribution.) 3.) Book or author reviews. 4.) Letters to the Editor or Webmaster. 5.) Information on upcoming events, local or not. 6.) Photos of events. 7.) Advertise your classes or private events. 8.) Short fiction 9.) Poetry

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The Ride

By Dale Angel

Swirling through foggy filtered sunshine moving across the timelessness of a day or a lifetime over oceans and mountains dressed in snow guide the way through, Sun rises and Sunsets, summer and winter, passing stars and silver moons, we are in a set pattern as colors share their glory alongside of the family of man dying from hunger on an earth that holds enough for all.

 Spring is powerful with life surging to put forth new life as the earth covers herself with a green canopy of every good food among the deliberate destruction as our family fall with vacant pleading eyes along empty deserts weeping as we march toward more inhumanity. Harmony where are you? Wrap us in your arms.

Summer brings anticipation as the nights and days are bathed in warmth, the grain is standing with promise but someone poisoned the land and it is sick.  Fire rains from the heavens as one brother desires another’s bread and is bent to take another’s resources. This magnificent jewel that hangs upon nothing is our home it has kept a dependable schedule bringing our winters and summers on time as we travel in a universe designed for our pleasure.            

The momentum never tires this motion of movement turns days to nights and another rotation is accomplished the colors change defining seasons.  Music plays to how one is affected. Weeping and joy meet and mingle according to where you are and who you are, yet…all are the children of the same family. The whole earth is trembling spilling innocent blood, man is at war with himself.

Our earth is contaminated with contempt. The seasons are so affected great storms of unrestrained violence are beating themselves against an unrepentant world. The rage of a cultivated appetite for inhumanity is felt in common everyday activity.

 Who is safe? History is our bridge.

We walk on the same collapsible weak structure.

My breath is getting shallow my fingers reach for the filmy evening sun rays as I soar on the possibilities, whirling on a merry go round through a few hours of life.    

Outside my window fog falls over the mountains bringing cooling air after the relentless sun the changing scenes are vivid as a rainbow of silky clouds holds me. I bow my head for my wounded family who suffers at the hands of his brothers. We silently swing on our way to another season, the sun becomes obscure. How long can we ride?

Dale Angel

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Rain

By Dale Angel

It wasn’t unexpected, I heard on the radio it was on its way. In the early morning a gentle whisper moved me to up and open the windows to fresh moist air carrying earthy smells of wet dust. The damp wind swirled lightly across the thirsty dry barren land announcing relief from the relentless sun.

The music began, made of raindrops falling softly on the roof, barely perceptible at first, gathering power from the heavens like an orchestra when all instruments get to share their parts. Thunder pushed the whirling sheer clouds toward the east rolling and shifting shafts of blues and grey weaving and separating lavender wrapped in pale black, coming together to disappear over mountain peaks toward a colorless sky.

Water poured  trees swayed, leaves fell. I walked out across the yard wet weeds grabbed my legs sending chills. I opened my mouth to catch rain drops and ran my hands through wet hair. The drought has broken, the drenched earth sighed. ……..and I had raspberries for breakfast.

Dale Angel

Writers Forum is open to submissions for the blog or the newsletter.

Type of Material and Guidelines for e-newsletter and Website Submission: 1.) Your articles on the art or craft of writing. 2.) Essays on subjects of interest to writers. (200 words can be quoted without permission but with attribution.) 3.) Book or author reviews. 4.) Letters to the Editor or Webmaster. 5.) Information on upcoming events, local or not. 6.) Photos of events. 7.) Advertise your classes or private events. 8.) Short fiction 9.) Poetry

Please submit copy to the editor at writersforumeditor@gmail.com . Electronic submissions only. Microsoft Word format, with the .docx file extension, is preferred but any compatible format is acceptable. The staff reserves the right to perform minor copy editing in the interest of the website’s style and space.