Salome and her Cubs

I recently took a fantastic writing class from Dr. Eva Shaw called Writeriffic:  Creativity Training for Writers through ed2go.  We had an assignment to view the Africam that I didn't even know existed and be "inspired" to write a story.  

I viewed the Cam and noticed Salome and her cubs. They have a live Cam where you can view various animals.  The Africam and Hoedspruit Endangered Species Centre are awesome sites to view and learn from when it comes to endangered species of the wild.  I didn't get to view the birth so my imagination went wild from just reviewing the area where they were located and being inspired by Salome.  What a Mom!!  Enjoy my practice piece.  I enjoyed writing it and hope you will enjoy reading it.

The sunset was glowing red in the distant African plain on a hot April night in 2015.  We knew the birth was nearing as we heard the cry of the wild as if to announce a new birth to add to its kingdom.  Suddenly a sense of stillness settled over the plain as Salome the mother Cheetah stretched out along the hay.  She was ready to bring forth the cubs that pulsed within her and introduce them to the waiting world.  

Salome was a captive Cheetah, who not knowingly, was on a mission to helping the world repopulate her species in the wild of Africa.  As she gently turned over in her bed of hay she pushed each of her five cubs gently into her world.

Hoedspruit Endangered Species Centre (HESC) maternity ward volunteers as well as people all over the world that viewed the live camera internet feed cheered her on.  Salome didn’t realize she was suddenly a superstar Mother on the world stage saving her species of Cheetahs!

Two months after their birth there was still no denying that Salome’s cub will eventually branch out into the wild and roam the plains of their African heritage.  Yes, it was a success and Salome is a superstar Mom as she cuddles close to her cubs in the dark of night.  They gently push against Salome and snuggling into her bosom with an expression of love written across their face.

As the sun rises across the horizon, the Cubs are just one more day closer to leaving.  They unknowingly will continue their mother’s legacy and one day their own superstar.

Cerulean Blue by Carol Eliassen

Cerulean Blue

Some call me Cerulean blue. I am a coat of many hues, that range from Cyan the Great, to the depths of the dark deep blue. I’m not really one but many. I sometimes overlay my bluest of friends. I may be dimmer than some, but I can accent anyone.

I love to be the colorful flower swaying in the wind, or the backdrop of the sky as the white fluffy clouds cluster nearby.

My artist friend uses me to be a fragment of the color of a fish in a tropical sea or the background of a pink salmon breed.  I am versatile at best and can be used with all my palette companions, especially sunflower lemon yellow, flaming tomato red, or that outrageous lime green.

I tend to light up the sky behind the tall snow-covered mountains or help that bright frothing white to accent the towering swells that are turbulent in the precarious bay. I have to admit though my favorite place to be is with a vase of other colors swaying in the breeze.

I am versatile at best, not like all the rest. I’m not just blue; I’m also a hue.

The Wine Cork by Carol Eliassen

Making Wine Cork Bears

They aren’t just wine corks.  No, they are versatile pieces of art, and oh, the stories that could be told if they could all talk.  You may think I’m as crazy as a fruitcake on a hot summer day if you are a connoisseur of fine wines, but it is true!  The wine cork is so much more than we normally give it credit for, and let me explain why. 

First, I like to drink the dark red wines.  The red wine leaves a ruby hue of a stain that graces the end of the cork. The cork has had the honor of sloshing around in the glorious wine until it has been slowly pulled out by the forceps of a wine cork remover.  I see something most people don’t when they find a cork that has been blessed with a deep red stain.  I see a wine cork bear.  It’s not just any bear, it’s a Christmas bear ornament.

I don’t drink enough wine to collect all of the wine corks (darn) that I need to make my bears, so I visit the local hobby store and buy them in packages.  The stories these wine corks will tell you.  How?  Well, once I opened a package of corks with the monogram of a California winery and inscribed on the cork with a handwritten message saying, “I love you, our first anniversary 1995.”  My imagination went wild, and I wondered how could they lose such a precious memento? 

Were they young or old?  Did they fall out of love and throw the corks away?  I wanted to believe that they rented a storage, forgot to pay and all their things were auctioned.  Whatever the reason I wanted to believe that love prevailed and they were still together.  I had to believe it.  I couldn’t imagine otherwise.

Were they young or old?  Did they fall out of love and throw the corks away?  I wanted to believe that they rented a storage, forgot to pay and all their things were auctioned.  Whatever the reason I wanted to believe that love prevailed and they were still together.  I had to believe it.  I couldn’t imagine otherwise.

My Christmas bear that year bore their message on his arm.  It was a badge of love as he hung from the Christmas tree with his wine cork arm straight out bearing their words.  His hands and feet were just ruby red stains of what was left of the wine the two lovers shared that night in 1995.

No, the wine cork is not just for wine.  It’s also for Christmas bears and love.

The Harp of Gold by Carol Eliassen

Back in elementary school probably around 5th or 6th grade I wrote about Vietnam.  I remember the substance of the story/poem but can only remember these specific words.  It was about the true love of a girl whose boyfriend or husband was killed in Vietnam.  I think from what I remember it had something to do with a girl running up a hill and opening a gate and then falling down and seeing the harp with the inscription.  I had a wild imagination then and still do.  I just need to write it all down.  

A friend or one I thought was a friend back in elementary school asked if she could borrow my stories/poems ( I had many) so she could copy them and would give them back.  Unfortunately, they are lost forever because she refused to give them back to me.  Maybe that is why I like to publish things online now because they will hopefully always be there!  Hope you enjoy reading.  I'm thinking about using this part I remember and writing an online story.  Check back for more.   

There was a harp pure of gold

A foreign made kind

It said Vietnam

1969

The Day My Father Died by Carol Eliassen

I wrote this right after my Dad died when I was fifteen.  I even turned it into my 9th grade English class as an assignment.  There was a lot more to it but this is all I remember. 

The day my Father died

I knew not what to do

It came and rained

The pain was vain

I knew the sadness too.

I looked upon his bed

And grew afraid to see his face

Or touch his hand as he did lay.

I loved this man you see

But I hid this love from thine beloved

I didn’t know how to show

Because I didn’t know he would go.