A Miss Ellaneous Tale - Part One

I'm doing something different this week. I'm going to blog on Monday (today) Wednesday AND Friday and share a story I wrote many years ago. It still tickles me when I read it.

I hope you enjoy it. 

A Miss Ellaneous Tale - Part One

Miss Ellaneous’s hotel sat perched, like some great condor, on a cliff. The bulk of its body clung tenaciously to the rocks and contained a warren of Escher-like stairways. On either side of the “main house,” spread the wings with room after haphazard room in a multitude of different sizes, shapes, colors and decors.

Travelers finding her place were always quite lost, becoming instantly found by the famous Miss Ellaneous, whose reputation for finding lost people was known far and wide. For a modest fee they were supplied with food, a hot bath, and a bed. If they managed to find their way back to the front desk the next day, said travelers were given vague directions that sent them round in ever widening circles until they returned once again to her door. Thus, Miss Ellaneous was supplied with a steady stream of regular customers, all of whom she knew by name.

But now, here was someone new standing at her counter, someone she had never seen before, except perhaps in a few vague dreams she vaguely remembered.

“Where am I?” asked the tall dark mysterious stranger.

“Somewhere,” answered the equally tall mysterious albino.

“What do you mean, ‘somewhere?’ Where is somewhere?”

“Somewhere is here,” she said.

“Here? Where is here?” he asked.

“You’re here aren’t you?”

“Well…yes, but….”

“Then you are Somewhere.”

“Oh, I see,” he mused

“You see what?” she asked

He looked deeply into her pink eyes and discovered to his delight that she was very beautiful.

“I see you,” he replied huskily.

“Will you be spending the night?” she asked, trying to ignore the tone of his voice, while becoming vaguely excited.

“I only stopped for directions to….”

“There are no other hotels for several hundred miles,” she interrupted.

“That many miles?” His lilting British accent was giving her lovely goose bumps.

“That many miles," she purred leaning forward slightly. “Somewhere is the only where with a hotel and this is the only hotel in Somewhere. You’d have to go all the way to Someplace Else to find someplace else to stay.”

“I see,” he mused.

            

“You see what?” she asked. She leaned towards him a bit more as it had become important to keep him.

“I…I see you,” he said.

“Will you be spending the night then?” Her tone changed slightly and her pink eyes glittered beguilingly.

“Why yes…I believe I will.”

“Your name then, please…for the books you understand. You will still remain anonymous.”

As he stood there looking at her long slender nearly transparent fingers holding the pen, he didn’t care whether he remained anonymous or not. 

“Mister E,” he said.

The tiniest of gasps escaped from her exceedingly moist pink lips. “Mister E?”

“I am he.”

“The Mister E?”

“As far as I know I’m the only one.”

Her pink eyes reddened. Her voice got breathy. “Welcome to the Whiskey Alpha Hotel. I am Miss Ellaneous.”

His mouth fell open; a mouth she noticed that seemed just too perfect to be true.

“The famous Miss Ellaneous who loses the found and finds the lost?” he asked. There was a tone of astonishment in his voice.

She blushed at his recognition and nodded modestly. “The one and only,” she replied leaning so far forward it was all Mister E could do to keep from dragging her across the counter.

His heart thumped. 

Outside in the ample courtyard an albino peacock screamed.

“Are you…” she asked breathlessly, “Are you lost, or found?”

“If I was found before I was wrong, because I do believe I have become quite lost. And if I am now lost, and you are the famous Miss Ellaneous, then I have become quite found.” 

“Yes, you are indeed quite found,” Miss Ellaneous assured him. “How long do you plan to remain lost?” she asked hardly able to contain her excitement and desire.

His beautiful dark eyes gazed into her smoldering pink ones.

Barely able to speak he replied, “I suppose until…until tomorrow.”

“Ah yes…tomorrow,” she said dreamily.

He leaned across the counter, his lips nearly touching hers. “Tomorrow which never comes,” he whispered.

Her heart pounded in her breast. She had known it would be like this. But still, even fantasies can seem fantastic.

“Is this not more perfect than we dared to dream?” Mister E asked. Their faces were so close their lips brushed as they spoke.

“Oh yes!” she moaned.

           

They crushed their mouths together. “Oh, Miss Ellaneous, I do believe I have a….”

           

“Say no more, my love. I’ll show you to our room. Then you can help with that damned knothole in my wall.”

           

“It will be ecstasy,” he said. They glided off, arm in arm, whispering vague nothings in each other’s ears.


Coming Wednesday - Part Two!

An Award and Wins!

The cogs of the Universe have been lining up and pointing their WIN signs at me. I certainly don't know why I deserve it, but I'm thankful. 

Carol Kilgore, at Under the Tiki Hut recently gave me the Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award. THANKS, CAROL!

All I have to do is pass it on to 10 or 12 other women bloggers. Easy Peasy. (Or is that eazy peazy?)

Here are my choices, in no particular order.

Barbara at Far Away Series  is a woman who doesn't seem to be afraid to pack up and move when the mood strikes her.

Anne Gallagher at Piedmont Writer  is a perennial favorite. Even though she hasn't been blogging much lately, she's still an inspiration to all of us working to self-publish.

Joy at The Character Depot  is someone I look up to and think of as a Caribbean sister.

Cynthia Chapman Willis continues to inspire and share while doing battle with cancer.

Medeia Sharif is awe inspiring to me because of the number of books she manages to read and review.

Melanie Schulz writes consistently great flash fiction, little mind benders that get you thinking.

Liza at Middle Passages writes lovely descriptive passages about her life in New England often accompanied by stunning photos.

C. Lee McKenzie at The Write Game because I think of her as a good friend and because she knows the value of awards.

Manzanita at Wanna Buy a Duck is an example for all of us on how to age with grace and energy.

Robyn Campbell because you can feel her smiles and good will through the words of her blog. And this, in spite of health challenges in her family.


I was also surprised by two prizes.

Someone, I have no idea who (thank you secret admirer) nominated me for Misha Gericke's  Paying it Forward Awards. When Misha emailed  me to say I'd won I was really kind of stunned. I got to choose from all these fabulous prizes Misha arranged to give away. Because I'm always in need of reading material, I opted for an Amazon gift card. THANK YOU MISHA!

Lastly, for the first time ever, I've won a Goodreads giveaway! Out of 1186 people with 50 books available, I won a copy of The Time Fetch by Amy Herrick.

***

Edward thought he had picked up a rock. He didn’t know it was a sleeping Time Fetch—and touching it would alter the entire fabric of time and space.

Under normal circumstances, a Time Fetch sends out its foragers to collect only those moments that will never be missed or regretted. It then rests, waiting to be called back by the Keeper, who distributes the gathered time where it is needed in our world and others.

When Edward innocently mistakes a sleeping Fetch for an ordinary rock, he wakes its foragers too early, and they begin to multiply and gobble up too much time. Soon the bell rings to end class just as it’s begun. Buses race down streets, too far behind schedule to stop for passengers. Buildings and sidewalks begin to disappear as the whole fabric of the universe starts to unravel.

To try to stop the foragers, Edward must depend on the help of his classmates Feenix, Danton, and Brigit—whether he likes it or not. They all have touched the Fetch, and it has drawn them together in a strange and thrilling adventure where the boundaries between worlds and dimensions are blurred, and places and creatures on the other side are much like the ones they’ve always known—but slightly twisted, a little darker, and much more dangerous.

***

Sounds pretty exciting, yes? Have you won or given away anything lately? Do you have a favorite something that you won?

Constellations

It was Dad's doing. He's the one who put names and recognizable shapes to certain groups of stars. I learned to recognize the Big Dipper (Ursa Major) and Orion early on. Orion is such a show-off, so big and obvious while the Dipper's shape is familiar. Other constellations followed. Torus was a big V, Cassiopeia's Chair kind of like a big W and in between them was a cluster of stars called the Pleiades or the Seven Sisters. But Scorpio eluded me. I just couldn't see it.

One night when, I was maybe 10 or 11, Dad put large black dots on a piece of white paper. Then he took me outside and held up the paper next the constellation and WOW, there it was! 

Scorpio. 

In the late 1950's, up at Gifft Hill, the sky was filled with stars, no light pollution. Sometimes I'd lie outside and stare into the heavens trying to comprehend infinity. I understood, from Dad, that infinity meant it went on forever, that there was no end. My little girl brain couldn't comprehend the idea. I'd lie out there and stare at the sky studded with stars and I'd drift out and out and out trying to find the edge. There HAD to be one. I'd go so far out I'd become scared I'd get lost and never come back to earth. Somehow I'd pulled myself back, feel the safety of the ground under my back, and see warm friendly glow of yellow lantern light through the windows. Infinity would have to wait for another night when maybe I'd be braver.

It still eludes me. 

Though I've never thought of myself as a poet, two constellations inspired "poems." There is, in both of them, the common theme that nothing, not even the constellations, last forever. Everything is finite, ephemeral. Nothing stays the same, everything changes. The first one I wrote in high school, the second one about 10 years later. In a way, they are also poems to my father.

ORION

He is silent, strong,
and patient.
He hunts the bear.
And until Time herself
scatters his stars
he will continue to 
hunt the bear
unafraid, and,
without success.

SCORPIO

And when I gaze 
into the south southwestern sky,
do you see Scorpio as I?
There lies the great sweep,
the curve of tail,
the grand array of stars eternal...
I am reminded of my finiteness,
of numbered days,
but know it is not too late
to relate
the thoughts and feelings 
locked deep within the heart.
And I know too
that Scorpio will have his day,

when all his stars will blow away.

Then he and I 

will understand infinity

and dance 

the cosmic dance

one hundred million million times

as molecules of space dust,

as atoms of ethereal air,

as star, as human,

as all things

both great and rare.

***

Have you ever contemplated infinity? Are you a star gazer?  How many constellations can you recognize? Has your writing ever been inspired by the heavens?

Pet Peeves

I don't have many, as one might discover by the number of posts I've done on the subject. But they do come up.

My latest one has to do with odors. One might think I'm going to say something about odors of the disagreeable kind, but I'm not.

I think our noses are being overwhelmed by odors of the agreeable kind. I think we are numbing our olfactory senses by being overly concerned with smelling "good."

Think about it. Here's a list - probably not complete - of the layers of smells a single human may have on his or her body on any given day.

We usually start the day with a shower. There's the soap, shampoo and conditioner. Each with its own smell. 

We dry off. Maybe we put on lotion, powder, perfume and/or deodorant. Or all of them.

We brush our teeth and use mouthwash.






Women put on make-up and each item has it's own odor. Maybe they take care of something called, "feminine odor."

Men have shaving cream and aftershave.

There's hairspray and hair gel.

That might cover the bathroom.

Now we get dressed. 

Our clothes have been washed in scented detergent and softened in scented fabric softener and maybe dried with a scented drier sheet. Maybe our clothes have come from drawers with a scented sachet or from a cedar scented closet. 

Maybe we powder or spray our feet  our with some kind of anti-fungal stuff or we put Odor Eaters in in our shoes.

If all of that wasn't enough, we walk through our home which probably has carcinogenic room deodorizers plugged in, or we've sprayed with Febreze.

I tell you, we're numbing our ability to really smell. And I think that could be bad thing.

What do you think? Are you tired of walking through certain aisles at the store and coming away with an itchy nose? Or what about walking past the open doors of a Bed and Bath store? The only time I went in one I lost the ability to choose a soap because after sniffing a few I could no longer tell what they smelled like. 

Spirit Trees - Part Two

Last week I wrote a little bit about Spirit Trees, trees that at one time people in the Virgin Islands believed contained spirits. This week is not about Spirit Trees as such. It's about trees that have been around for a long time, old trees that I feel deserve some special attention. If these trees don't have spirits in them, they ought to.

In south east corner of Emancipation Gardens on St. Thomas, grows an ancient casha tree. This particular brand of Acacia (in the Mimosa family) is native to the Caribbean. How it managed to

survive is fodder for a story because these trees have brutal inch and a half to two inch long thorns that can pierce tires and shoe soles. It has lived through a time when the ocean lapped a few feet away, through the making and paving of streets and building of buildings. For some reason it was never targeted as a nuisance tree that should be gotten rid of. Instead, it was allowed to grow and its twisted ropy trunk is a wonder to behold.

Down the street from Emancipation Gardens is a park which dates back to 1764 and was originally called Coconut Square. In  1945 it was renamed Roosevelt Park to honor a visit made by Franklin D. Within the park are two baobab trees, the seeds of which were brought to the islands with slaves. These trees were definitely thought of as sacred because they provided food and shelter. There is one baobab on St. John (click on the link and you can see a picture of it) and another on St. Croix which is about 250 years old. Because these trees are basically filled with water they don't have rings so age is approximated by the diameter of the trunk. I have no idea how the trees are in Roosevelt Park, but they must be at least 200 years old. 

On St. John at Cinnamon Bay - home of the National Park Campground - there is this huge rain tree. They are native to Central and South America and probably came into the Caribbean with the various Indians as they migrated up the chain. That's my friend, Margaret on the left and me giving you an idea of its size.

The lignum vitae, also known as ironwood, is a very slow growing native of the Caribbean. The wood is so dense and heavy it sinks in water. Because it is self-lubricating and so hard it is still used for making bearings. It is the national tree of the Bahamas and Jamaica. They only grow to about 40 feet, but don't let the size fool you. This one at Cowpet Bay on St. Thomas is probably several hundred years old...

...as is this one in Cruz Bay, on St. John. As you can see, they tend to branch out low to the ground and make nice shade. Clusters of very pretty purple flowers bloom in the late spring.

I don't know what kind of tree this one is, but it can be found at Magens Bay on St. Thomas. Long ago a storm blew it over, but it kept right on growing. That's Margaret, demonstrating the width of the roots.

And this is a group of classmates posing on the trunk. I'm second from the left.

All of these trees are, to my mind, Spirit Trees. They have survived hurricanes, floods, earthquakes and human beings.

It seems the more gnarled and twisted a tree is, the more we love it. Certainly the older a tree is, the more we cherish it, respect it, honor it. We can see in those places where it has been scarred by life, and in its very rings, the history of time. Those scars give it character and we are awed by its ability to survive. We like to go to these trees and sit beneath them. We like to hug them. Some of us may even talk to them.

I have often wondered why we do not seem to look upon our elder human beings in the same way. Should not their wrinkles, their gnarled and twisted limbs and the scars they bear be as loved and cherished as an old tree?

Happy Fourth of July, Free Books, and Thanks

GIRLS ON STILTS

St. John Fourth of July Parade.

In celebration of the Fourth, check out these 
FREE BOOKS

Because everybody who reads likes to have books to read, Sarah's Reviews is giving away THREE (3!) of C. Lee McKenzie's books! Hurry on over there and sign up. I've read all three of these books and they are great. If you don't know who Lee is, you might want to check and see if you're living under a rock. Hop on over to her blog, The Write Game and tell her I sent you!

The Princess of Las Pulgas
After her father’s slow death from cancer, Carlie’s mother is forced to sell their cherished oceanfront home and move the family to the other side of the tracks—to dreaded Las Pulgas. At her tough new urban high school, Carlie is nicknamed “Princess” because of her aloof attitude. But what her classmates don’t know is that Carlie isn’t aloof; she’s in mourning for her father and almost everything else that mattered to her. Meanwhile, her younger brother Keith becomes angrier and more sullen by the day, and even their cat Quicken goes missing, sending Carlie and Keith on a search for her in the hidden orchard beside their seedy apartment complex. They’re met by a rifle-toting cowboy who ejects them at gunpoint from his property. But when Carlie finds him in the kitchen having coffee with their mom the next day, having found and returned the cat, she begins to realize that in Las Pulgas, nothing is what it seems.

Sliding on the Edge

A teenager who is a "cutter" and her grandmother are strangers when they are thrown together, each with secrets that stir mutual distrust until saving a doomed horse unites them and gives each a reason to live.










Alligators Overhead

Twelve-year-old Pete Riley thought being suspended from school was bad, but that’s nothing compared to what happens when a legendary mansion reappears after being gone a hundred years.  When the mysterious, haunted mansion pops up next door, the backwater town of Hadleyville is transformed from boring to bizarre. Pete discovers he’s living among a sadly out of practice coven of witches, his Aunt Lizzie is the leader and the Ornorfree alligators are the witches’ familiars. These swamp animals are in danger of extinction if Aunt Lizzie’s Save the Ornorfree Committee can’t find legal ways to stop developers from destroying another chunk of the swamp. He's struggling to make sense of what’s happening around him when he discovers he might have inherited the family tendency toward witchcraft, but his spells aren’t any better than the out-of-practice witches. When they work some old witchcraft spells, they vanish. He’s scared his spells won’t do much better, but he and his one friend, Weasel, are the only hope for the fragile swamp ecology. It’s up to Pete to harness what he’s come to know are his own strange powers, bring back the Hadleyville witches, and stop the bulldozers.

THANKS

Here's to Carol Kilgore over at Under the Tiki Hut who held and interesting contest with the winner getting to pick one of her books. Guess who won? I had to choose between In Name Only or Solomon's Compass. Well, since Carol featured Solomon's Compass during the A to Z Challenge, I had to go with it. THANKS CAROL!

Spirit Trees - Part One

Trees play a prominent roll in our psychology, mythology and collective unconscious. Yggdrasil, of Norse mythology, is the World Tree that supports the heavens. In the Bible we have the Tree of Good and Evil and the Tree of Life. Buddha sat under a Bodhi tree and attained enlightenment. There are oracle trees, wishing trees,  evil trees and sacred trees. They have roles in fairy tales and in modern literature - think of Treebeard, the Ent.

In long ago times in Africa there were Spirit Trees. These were trees under which people sat and told stories, where lovers met in secret, or where those who had lost a loved one went to mourn. They offered shelter, protection and comfort. 

This is a tamarind at Estate Whim on St. Croix. It
must be between 250 and 300 years old.

Among the more beloved of Spirit Trees was the tamarind. Native to tropical Africa, it was brought into the Caribbean with the slaves and is one of the most widely distributed trees in the world. They are slow growing and can reach 60 to 80 feet with a cool shady spread of 40 feet. The brown fruit pod, with delightfully sour brown meat, is used in many foods.

Flowers and fruit pod.

This ancient tamarind is on the trail between Lameshur  and Reef Bay on St. John. At some point in its life it was split in half. The hollow space inside is large enough for two or three people to stand in. In a pinch you could build a roof and live inside it.

It is easy to imagine groups of slaves, after a long day in the fields, sitting under these trees telling stories, passing on oral traditions. I think too, the tamarind may have provided a thin thread, connecting them to a homeland that was lost.

The kapok, or silk cotton tree, was considered magical and housed spirits called jumbies. These trees came into the Caribbean from South America. They can grow to 150 feet with buttress roots supporting their great height. The soft silky "cotton" from the tree was once used to fill life preservers.

I took this picture of the kapok tree at Caneel Bay with my little red Brownie camera when I was eight or nine. I think it's the only picture I took with that camera that has survived the ravages of time.

This is a kapok at Magens Bay on St. Thomas. That's my friend, Margaret, standing amid the roots to give you a sense of size.

Next week Monday, more about large spirit trees of the Virgin Islands.

Do you have any big old trees in your yard or near where you live? Do you hug old trees when you get the chance?