What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Memories - by lillian Morpork

Sitting quietly in the darkened living room, with only one candle burning, I look out the window. The storm has been raging now for what seems to be hours, but is really only about half an hour. It is one of the wildest thunder storms I have ever seen. Lightning streaks the sky, dancing on legs of fire over the rooftops of the buildings. There is no more than a heartbeat between flashes, and the thunder growls and crashes continuously. I have seen the CN Tower struck half a dozen times. Sometimes the bolts start at a distance, and then seem to make a right angle turn before they strike. It is a spectacular sight.

As I sit watching, my mind goes back to other times, and other storms. One I remember still makes me laugh. We lived in the country, and my sister and I used to go to the neighbouring farm to buy milk. I was about 13, so she would have been nearly 18, when we were on our way home one night. Laughing and talking, we strolled along in the warm twilight. It was cloudy, but we saw no sign of a storm, when suddenly, seemingly right behind us, a bolt of lightning struck. There were no words, we didn’t even look at one another. Our feet took off, and our bodies followed. I still swear that we were running at a forty five degree angle. By the time we got home, we were running upright, probably even bending forward some. But we must have been a funny sight at first.

Another memory, from farther back. Granny had long white hair, waist length. One evening she went up to take a bath and wash her hair. Just as she stood up to get out of the bath, lighting struck the house. The bathroom ceiling fell in on her. She yelled for help, and Mom went running. Later, she told us “She was still wet, standing in the tub, with plaster dust and bits of plaster stuck to her skin. Her hair was full of it!” We giggled about it. But poor granny - after Mom had got as much plaster off her as she could, and cleaned the tub, granny had to have another bath, and re-wash her hair.

Move forward about twenty years. My sister was married, living in a little house out in the country with her two little ones. They had a medium sized, black dog named Mike, who owned a nice, roomy dog house in the side yard, not far from a big tree. Mike didn’t like thunder storms. One day a storm came up, lots of noise and lighting, and Mike decided he was not going to stay outside! The problem was, he was chained to the doghouse.

This didn’t stop Mike. He ran for the front door, towing the dog house behind him. He went right through the screen but the doghouse didn’t fit. So there he was, chained to the thing, with it stuck up against the doorway, wet, whimpering and cowering. My sister wasn’t in much better shape, she was afraid of the storm, too. She managed to get Mike undone, and he raced into the bedroom and under the bed. There he stayed until the storm was over. My sister said that she would have liked to join him there, but there were the two children to see to.

One more memory - fast forward another twenty or twenty five years. My youngest grandchild was living with me. He was severely handicapped with cerebral palsy, but was a bright little guy. He had the bedroom, with his crib by the window, and I slept in the basement. He liked to watch the squirrels and birds outside. And he loved thunder storms.

One night a storm came up after I was asleep. I always pulled the drapes closed before I went to bed, hoping he would sleep longer. I was wakened by him calling “Aga, Aga” (his form of grandma).  I went hurrying up to see what was wrong, and he was trying to pull the drapes open. He has very little control over his hands, so he couldn’t get a good grip. As I went into the room, I heard the storm. “What is it? Do you want to watch the storm?” I asked. He said “Aye”. So I pulled the drapes open and tied them back, he settled down to watch the show, and I went back to bed.

The storm outside had passed, and all was much calmer when my mind came back to the present. I lit the lights, blew out the candle, and went back to writing. Another storm over, and another memory made. It’s so good to have all the memories to bring out and ponder. Life is so full of wonderful things to remember.

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