Phoenixfire Part 3

We were in a circle on the floor, as we always were for class. Teacher John sat with us, using a whiteboard to demonstrate a math problem. I tried not to show my boredom. I'd grasped the concept the first time he'd explained it, but I didn't want to be rude. Beside me sat my friends Will and Nick. They had grasped the lesson as soon as I had and were equally bored.

I began to tap on my notepad. The other children had come to assume it was just a nervous habit, but Will and Nick knew better and began to count the taps. Previously, we had created a code composed of various taps to communicate almost silently in class.

Are you two as bored as I am?

The first return taps were hurried, almost blurring together. Of course! I wish we could learn something else. I already understand this. That was Nick. He was always rushing through everything, including his lessons. Fortunately, he was able to think nearly as fast as he was able to move. Nearly.

The next set of  taps were precise, somewhat methodical. Remember, not everyone understands yet. Teacher John has to help them, and we need to be nice. I tried to restrain a sigh. Will was always the reasonable, patient one. He tended to move slower, though his deliberate actions belied the swiftness of his mind. He usually came to conclusions long before Nick or I had considered them, but always allowed us time to think and reason them out for ourselves.

You're right, Will. I just wish there was something we could do. This happens every day. Isn't there another way for us to learn? The sigh I'd been restraining escaped me.

Will grinned. I knew he had an idea, but I also knew he wouldn't share until Nick or I came to the same conclusion. Fortunately, Nick unwittingly obliged.

What if we asked to learn separately?

Will nodded. I pitched in. Let's ask after class.

At that moment, the rest of the class stood up. We'd been so focused that we hadn't heard Teacher John dismiss us. The three of us hurried towards him, but he shook his head. "I can't talk right now, I'm afraid. I'm supposed to talk to someone in just a moment. Hurry along now," he added, shooing us towards the door.

When we were out of the room, Nick sighed, "Well, I guess that idea's a bust. We didn't even get a chance to talk to him." I was inclined to agree. We both automatically turned to Will, who was leaning against the wall, smiling again.

"What is it?" I asked, not wanting him to make us wait any longer.

He sighed. "Did you two look around as he was shoving us out?" We shook our heads. "I thought not. Well, I did. I saw his bag, and there were three folders sticking out, with our names on them. And did you notice how fast he hurried us out? I'd bet anything that whoever he's talking to, they're talking about us." His grin returned, wider than before.

I caught on quickly. "So you think we should listen, so we know what they have planned for us?"

"Exactly." The three of us hunched down by the door, for at that moment, we heard the other door to the classroom opening. We held our breaths, waiting to hear what would be said.

Apology, and minor heroic moment!

First, an apology is in order. I spent some time trying to think of the next entry for the story, but of course, life happened. Instead of whining about how hard college is turning out to be (which will likely drive away any of you that are still here), I decided to tell the interesting story of why I felt like a superhero today.

For those of you in the Lemoore area, you understand why my family buys water to drink. We use those big 5-gallon jugs, the kind that apparently weighs about 40 pounds when full. Mom and I had just refilled the jugs today, but we didn't get one into the machine before she left for class. This, of course, slipped my mind when I got thirsty, and I went to get a drink.

Being faced with an empty machine, I had a choice to make. I could drink the tap water, chock-full of essential minerals like dirt and arsenic. I could just drink some milk, at $1.00 a glass, or somewhere in the neighborhood of that. Or, I could try to put a jug in, spill water everywhere, and probably break bones when I dropped it on myself. (For those of you who think I’m exaggerating, I am still physically incapable of doing a single push-up.)

Don’t you want that arm lifting a huge jug of water, then flipping it upside down?

Anyhow, for some reason, I decided to go with the jug. After strategically moving a chair to balance me, taking the lid off, and having about 10 false starts, I just decided to tip it gently and see what happened. Amazingly, the water just trickled into the container until I successfully upended the jug!

I shouted for joy, then promptly collapsed on the floor. I assure you that it was only to appreciate the beautiful color of our ceiling. It’s not like I’m so out of shape that moving the jug was strenuous or anything…

See, isn’t that a beautiful ceiling!

The view of the completed task from my floor vantage point.

Since no-one in my family besides Dad is usually willing to try to change the jug, I feel reasonably proud.

(I promise next post will continue the story! Hopefully soon!)

Phoenixfire Pt. 2

Lia tucked me into bed, kissing me on the nose. I squirmed slightly under the covers.

"Do I have to go to sleep now?" I looked up pleadingly, hoping to coax her into another hour. "It's not that late, and I'm not even tired!"

She laughed slightly. "It's more than an hour past your bedtime! And you may not be tired, but I am!"

"One story... Please???" I tried, with only partial success, to keep my lower lip from jutting out.

Lia tried, less successfully, to keep from smiling. "All right, just one." She turned to the low shelf that held all my favorite stories. "Which one do you want me to read?"

"Joan of Arc! Joan of Arc!"

She sighed. "You hear that story every night!"

"Exactly! It's my favorite! Please! If you read it tonight, I'll be good all day tomorrow!"

"Fine..." She slid out the thin, well-worn volume, then began.

"A long time ago, in France, a girl was born. Her parents named her Jeanne d'Arc, but we know her as Joan of Arc...

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

"So even though she died, her contribution helped Charles VII keep the throne and eventually become one of France's best kings." Lia closed the book. "Are you ready to sleep now?"

I intended to say, "I guess," but being mid-yawn, it came out "Ah guehh..."

She smoothed out the covers where my frantic hands had tugged and twisted them into a mess during the story. "Goodnight, Joanna."

"'Night, Lia." I hesitated. "Lia?"

She turned around by the doorway. "Yes?"

"Was Joan happy?"

"What?"

"Was Joan happy that even though she died, she was able to help her country?"

She smiled thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know for certain. She's the only one that could answer that. But from what I know of her, I'm sure that she was very happy to give her life for a cause she believed in."

I smiled, satisfied. "Okay. Goodnight, Lia."

"Goodnight, dear."

"I love you..."

"I love you too. Now go to sleep, little one."

A Long Hot Walk

(Or: "Why I am not yet ready to be a parent")

Today promised to be a crazy day. Mom is taking child # 3 and foster brother # 1 to San Luis Obispo to help FB#1 with college stuff, while child #2 has high school registration. Children #4 & 5 were planning on going with Mom, but decided not to. This left me, child # 1, with the task of caring for them and getting to Hanford for an appointment by 4:30.

Cute, right? Try living with them...

Fortunately, my wonderful amazing mother made plans for them to go to a friend's house at 1:30. I just had to walk them there. Sound easy? NO.

We get out the door after I throw child # 4 a pair of really big sandals to wear, and telling child # 5 that he could stay in his pajamas, his friend wouldn't care. About halfway down the block, I decide to give # 4 a ride on my back to speed up the process. (I have a tendency to forget about my faulty back at inopportune moments.) She hands me her bright pink socks to give to her at the end of the walk. I carry her about a full block, then # 5 gets tired and sulky. I have them switch, then we finally make it to the friend's house.

Another interesting note about me: I hate knocking on doors. I get all self-conscious and embarrassed, and I either knock so quietly that no-one could hear it, or so hard that I hurt my hand and scare the inhabitants. So when we realize that the doorbell doesn't work, a little part of my soul starts sobbing. But after knocking a few times (ending with the second option above, in which I try to not show my siblings that their big sister just injured herself yet again on an inanimate object), someone comes into the door and takes the children. I told her she could keep them, but she declined.

Just as I start walking back and think my troubles are over, I do my usual *what is this in my pockets again* check. Lo and behold, it's the pink socks.

The instruments of evil. And my left hand. Ignore the messed up thumb.

So I get to walk them back to the house, shamefacedly hand them to the first person who comes to the door, then hurry home. Moral of the story: I am nowhere near ready to have children of my own. I can barely handle my siblings.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go catch a bus. (Since I've never been on the city bus before, keep me in your prayers today.)

Phoenixfire Pt. 1

(This is the first part of a new story that I'll be sharing with you all on my blog. I hope you enjoy it!)

My first impression was one of overwhelming heat, yet strangely enough, it was very pleasant. I opened my eyes for the first time and saw that I was surrounded by red and orange things, moving rapidly. The word came to mind in a moment: flames. Something in me felt that they were friendly, that they knew and loved me.

A gap in the flames appeared in front of me. I saw a man with short reddish-blond hair and bright blue eyes . Just as I'd known the fire would never harm me, I knew this man was a friend. He leaned forward abruptly. as if seeing me clearly for the first time through the flames. I raised my arms to him, suddenly aware that I had arms.

The man reached into the fire with hands nearly larger than I was. He lifted me from the fire, and I was struck by the sudden cold. My newly discovered legs began to kick until I found myself wrapped in something soft and warm. The man cradled me in his arms for a moment, then whispered, "Your name is Joanna, little one. I'm Patrick. Don't worry, you're safe with us."

I suddenly became aware of another person behind us. She whispered, "Patrick, may I hold her?"
He turned to her and smiled. "Of course you may, Lia." She gently took me from his arms and held me up. My head fell forward slightly (my neck was frustratingly unable to support the weight), and I gurgled, my first noise.

Lia smiled up at me, and I saw that like Patrick, her face was gently lined and filled with some strange light. Her eyes were the same brilliant blue, though her hair was pale blond and fell to her shoulders.

She cradled me to her, saying, "It's good to see you again, Joanna." Confused as I was (Surely I would remember meeting someone as beautiful and kind as she?), I could not dwell on it. I had suddenly realized the identity of the strange light in Patrick and Lia's faces: joy. This emotion was new to me, yet felt intimately familiar.

I tried to say something to Lia, something to show the joy I was feeling as well, but my mouth was not yet prepared to form words. Instead, the joy burst forth from me in another audible form: a giggle.

Lia and Patrick, who had come around behind her, joined in my laugh. She pulled me closer to her, and Patrick wrapped his arms around her. One last word came to my mind as I began to drift of to sleep for the first time: family.