Knee Deep

When my parents bought out first house, they loved the big back yard, the friendly neighborhood and the proximity to a good school. My brother and I, on the other hand, considered the sunken living room not only the best selling point, but a secret passage to a subterranean culture, and a shelter from an impending global disaster: The Greenhouse Effect. 

If bears had slippers they might never come out of hibernation. Why? Because slippers automatically turn off the alarm clocks inside us. Our circadian rhythms slow when we put on our house shoes, and deep down in our soles, our feet let out a long sigh when are slippers come to rest near us. Therapy dogs beware: in the future you will all be replaced with a good pair of slippers.

We all are products of those voices who took a chance on us, those that saw something bright in our future and taught us what becoming better looked like. In this short story in a week celebrating Martin Luther King’s Jr.’s birthday, the author replays the role of one encourager whose skills were simple, but whose hands were big. To have a dream, one must first be willing to use what we are given.

If you had an art teacher when you were a kid that didn't like your creations, you might be inspired after you read this to get out the old paint set and pick up where you left off. Be careful though! Lurking within every creative process, every art work, is a ravaging imagination, full of quirks and...duh-dum....a large side order of mystery! 

I'm a list maker. So, when it comes to making my New Year's resolutions, out come the 3 X 5 cards. Several authors, however, suggested an alternative to the ubiquitous list, something that feels a little less like a vulture circling overhead, and more like, well, a walk in the park...have a listen here and check into the new year with a new kind of resolve.

Last week I began a story set in Ketchum, Idaho, where several of my buddies and I had taken a leave of absence from college, cowboy hats and all. Living out west was a culture shock but working at the ski resort was no vacation. As Christmas day moved quietly towards us, homesickness crept in. We found ourselves on a desolate hike home after a night of broom ball, isolated, cold and acutely aware that we were being watched, and stalked by wild dogs.

We didn't want college. We wanted adventure. An Idaho ski resort sounded like the ticket for one semester, but as tourists flew in to party for Christmas, we scrapped by as maids at a ski resort, and looked over our shoulders for another more serious threat.