Monday, September 21, 2015

Reading and Sharing

            This past Saturday, I was invited with several other writers to visit Ligonier Gardens to read selections from our work to the older generation that reside there and call it their home. It is a clean and beautiful building on the Loyalhanna Creek. The views out the windows were something that draw the eye outside. Mallard ducks waddle through the lawn, claiming the creek as their playground.

            Ten writers shared their short stories and poetry with about twenty residents. They were attentive and seemed appreciative of our offerings. Reading, as well as public speaking takes some getting used to, to do it properly. A few readers were nervous, but after a few deep breaths, they were able to give the audience a sliver of their talented writing.
            It was a pleasure to give back to these people that helped to build and direct our country. I don’t consider myself an entertainer, but I enjoy presenting my creations for others to hear or read. I put my works on display for others.
            One story that I shared, I wrote two years ago for a Christmas display at the Mt. Pleasant Library. It was titled The Voice of an Angel. The tale was loosely based on the last words that my mother spoke. The story tells of my father Carl, at Christmastime decorating the Christmas tree for my mom. She had Alzheimer’s disease and her life as we knew it, ground to a halt and she retreated into a shell of silence.
            What she said still puts a lump in my throat. Even though it didn’t happen at Christmas, it did happen and she said, “Where’s Carl? I love him so.”

            The second tale was a description of my grandparents Miner’s out house. The two seat perch was located behind their old farmhouse. It relived the dangers of splinters from the wooden back porch, the dangers of descending the ice and snow covered cement stairs, and the icy blasts of sitting on the holes during the frigid temperatures of winter’s grip. I described the frantic search through the catalogue “toilet paper” looking for any page other than the glossy ones. I saw nodding of heads in agreement and the occasional laughter at the appropriate times. This was the last reading for the day and felt well pleased that the audience was still awake and listening.

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