What frightens you most

 

Christ and His Angels 

During this Memorial Day weekend, the scheduled television programs/movies are expected to be monstrous about monsters, not about heroes.

How about King Kong movies--lots of versions?  Sharknado movies, all 8 of them? 

The meaning of "scary monsters" is some kind of something that doesn't have a beginning and evokes terror when discovered. But, what monster scares me? Unless you know my disdain for standard horror flicks, you would not know the answer.

On Dr. Who has given us all so many strange monsters and evil things that it was a buffet from which to choose one that scares me.  (You might be or not be a fan of Dr. Who.  We have enjoyed him since the 1980s. The most recent Dr. Who was worthy of being ignored.)

The Weeping Angels

                  YouTube, about 4 min. long.  Watch it, okay? It still scares me.

Can you see why they scare the daylights outta me? So many questions of "Why didn't you..." to the characters make perfect sense to me. 

Why look at their eyes ? How about looking at their teeth?  Crawl along the ground, looking down  the entire time? Cover your face with clothing that is somewhat transparent? Run like hell? Why didn't you have a torch/flashlight? It is a dark cavern, with no electricity ?

 This is one scariest parts:  "you told me my fear would keep me alive, but you were wrong. I died alone, afraid, and in pain."

YouTube, about 2 minutes

 

 I will be watching The Longest Day, Saving Private Ryan, Windtalkers, Iwo Jima, Battle of Midway, Pearl Harbor....I love the classics. 

Where I Am From....

A delightful blogger, Molly Bawn has challenged me to write my own take on her wonderful poem/prose about her life story.  You must read it!

 Molly writes with an Irish flow. Delores writes poetry that brings tears. Arleen has wry humor and perspective.  Joanne connects past and present seamlessly.  Dee brings introspection and wisdom with her writing. My own writing is that of a Midwest story teller.  

That said, here is a lengthy post:  

The road home

Take that straight road, the one over there.  Road flows past maple trees, now yellow, bright like birthday candles.  Go on past the corner where the old school house used to be. A mound of crumbled red bricks mark where children once played.

Stay on this road, but not too fast.  Just gaze at those cornfields to the west.  

Good crop this year, tassels are dancing in the breeze, the tangled silk is spilling out the shy ears tightly wrapped  like a present.  Like strands of gold running down the stalks.

Good full corn.  Silk is almost ready to brown.

A row of battered mailboxes are on the left, all people I once knew. Names of people long gone are streaked off.  Strong farmers and patient farm wives.  Good people.  Their paths crossed mine time and again.


That big barn, covered with vines?  Old couple lived on that patch of ground, but their house is almost gone, chewed down by creeping ivy and violent weeds.  Like fingers from the ground wrapping around the wood frame and pulling it into the soil.  

Stretches of field after field drift on across flat land.  Stand of corn over on the right is strong, tall this year.  A parade could hide in the rows.  But the beans on the left?  

Creek flooded its banks, covered the field in knee-deep creek water. Beans turn yellow when saturated roots drown.  Too much water this year, not enough next year.

This angry creek pours it muddy waters out over the fields every spring, but farmers continue planting. "Maybe this year will be better..."  Never is, but farmers stake their lives in hope.

The road will fork off, but a dirt road goes on straight over a quiet creek and by the bluffs.  A rusty old bridge stands astride this wide welcoming creek.  Traveled that road so many times.  

Did my share of splashing in that creek on steaming July days.  So did my folks.  So did their folks.  Life is lived to the fullest in a cold creek on a hot day.

But don’t take the dirt road, although you could, but it’s a long stretch of bumpy back road. It will rattle your bones loose.  And it won't take us where we must go.

Swing over to the road to the left, follow its wide curve like a bow.  Let the road take you slowly, or you’ll fly off into those bean fields.  Don’t want to get stuck out there—that clay mud will suck the car down to the fenders. Seen it happen.

That road will glide over a new wide bridge, put in twenty years ago over angry creek.  Follow the rise to a big house and a mud-splattered truck.  

From there, oh my! from there your eyes will want to rest a bit.

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Gaze at rolling land, rich and green.  Fields and cows, barns and houses, trucks and tractors, families with lots of children. 

The Land is everything. Land remains.

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So much life! Awe will steal air from your lungs.  

Take your time, look.  

Source

Your eyes may want to race over the velvet land.  Land does not give up its secrets with ease, or let you study footprints stamped deep in the earth.  

Ancient stone arrowheads lie just beneath growing wheat, bones beneath corn.  
Old nations crossed over this plain, dwelt on this land, and faded sadly into mists. 

Wagons once rattled along hunting trails. Houses appeared, disappeared.  

Flash, flash.  

One generation to another builds and leaves.  Always shifting into mists in the west.  

The land stays, but people move on.

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Wait!  Now, there. 

That is where I am from, that farmhouse right there!  See it?  Two stories of windows, white paint, green roof?  Turn in at the mail box. The name is almost faded out, but it is still a ghost on the tin.

Quick! The north porch, see it?  The begonias are bursting out of their pots this year.  See those boots?  That means Dad is inside, and Mom is watching out the kitchen window for us.

Look now.  The barn over there? The trees made for climbing?  

Run, hurry inside and don’t blink.  

‘Cause if you do, this will all vanish.  

An older post about "Home" can be found here.