I wrote this for my young adult child. (yes an oxymoron but ….sometimes it fits) permission is granted for parents to substitute the name of their child in place of the final "that"
This is the second part of the story of Reiko, the 2nd grader who had to learn how to use a grenade in August 1945. Again the names were changed but the story is as I heard it. This is a Great BR 100-100 entry under odd stories.. 533 words.
"She cried when they gave her the hand grenade" The hand grenade phrase caught my ear as it was told to me. Reiko's name is fictional. The story is as I heard it is true. This is in the "I didn't understand" category. 7 year olds usually didn't. 532 words
Hanako means “Flower Child”. Upon entering school at 5, my mother was given the name “Hilda” a name of German origin meaning “battle” or “battle maiden”. This was the general practice of the territorial education system to help assimilate the children of the Issei. The house burning occurred during one of the plantation strikes in the early 1920's. This reflects both the "small kid time" and "growing old" themes. 203 words.
Senryu on Borders’ Demise Bright lights, Bright banners Contrast the sad empty shelves My bookstore closing! eyk 8/14/11 Why I Like Bookstores Roving through the bookstore Hunting for fresh dreams I breathe the scent of opportunity In every aisle I weave. A history novel beckons ‘Come hear my tale and thrill’ A language primer calls…
This one is a BR 100 story entry under the theme “the lonely one” and has 490 words. The story, as originally told to me, caught my ear because of how a small, seemingly insignificant but symbolic act can tip the balance in a person's life. I also do believe, that there is something in this land that draws people back.
I just spent a few days in Waimea where the wind is constant. I learned a Hawaiian proverb about Waimea
"Waimea is like a spear rubbed by the wind, as cold spray is blown by the kipuupuu rain"
My mother is 95 and no longer can cook. In going through her place to set it in order, recipes tumbled out from everywhere we looked. I knew they were once important to her but did not feel the whole significance until I sat down and realized that they reflected a passion.
Why I Like Bookstores Roving through the bookstore Hunting for fresh dreams I breathe the scent of opportunites In every aisle I weave. A history novel beckons ‘Come hear my tale and thrill’ A language primer calls ‘Explore new worlds and speak!’ Ten thousand different stories A thousand different skills I inhale the breath of…