Sunday in Sunrise, Chapter 7

by | Jun 5, 2011 | Marty Coleman, Sunday in Sunrise - A short story | 0 comments

Prologue

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapters Ten & Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter 7

I had the most fidgety daughter in the history of church attendance that Sunday. She wasn’t fooled by my attempts to distract her.  She wore her watch for the first time in about a year. She had set her alarm so she could get up and make her final play date preparation.  It was odd because she had many friends and they had come over on a regular basis. She had never invested this much time and effort into their play dates.

Whatever the reasons for her excitement, it certainly made the morning insufferable for me. I was very glad when the doorbell rang at 2 pm on the nose.  Maria was there waiting and the door was opened before the chimes had finished their echo through the house.  Melissa was in a purple jumper, with her hair in pigtails, not dissimilar to Maria’s outfit and hair.  Had there been some conversation about what to wear during their brief time together the week before or had some girl sixth sense taken control of them both? I had no idea. But they could have passed for twins and they were obviously overjoyed at seeing how well they matched. They were both gone in a flash up the stairs before Velma was fully past the threshold of the door.Velma smiled a bit and said, ‘You have no idea what a handful she has been waiting for today.”

“Oh, yes I do, trust me.” I responded.

Velma lost her smile rather quickly and said, “I need to get back, Angus is feeling under the weather. When should I come pick her up?”

“I think they could easily spend the whole afternoon together so why don’t we say around 6. They should be worn out by then.”

Velma smiled again and said, “I reckon that’s a good time. See you then.” She yelled a goodbye up the stairs and we heard a laugh and a bye from Melissa in response.

I didn’t see the two girls again for about 2 hours. I heard them plenty, but I didn’t hear anything break and I didn’t smell anything burning so I left them alone while I caught up on some office paperwork I had been avoiding for too long.

The weekend had been relatively quiet until they started playing because Daria was gone for the weekend, camping with her best friend’s family in Arkansas. Caria had moved out of the house a year before to go to college and was now doing a summer project in Chicago through her school so she hadn’t been around for a while.

I was enjoying the sound of girls playing in the distance, it reminded me of the years all three daughters were young and excited to play together. Daria was now a new teenager, 3 years older than Maria. She wasn’t always amenable to Maria’s pleas to play dress up or build a fort. She was more into experimenting with crazy makeup and asking leading questions about how many piercings I would allow her to get and where. Caria, 5 years older than Daria, would always indulge her younger sisters but once she got her license she just wasn’t around very much.  She had done an excellent job filling in a bit when their mother left, but since I worked from home she never had to take on that role full time.  All the girls were changed by the departure but we had managed well to keep a strong feeling of family intact.

At 4 o’clock the girls bounded down the stairs and announced they were hungry and were going to make a snack for themselves. What that was going to entail I had no idea but Maria knew the rules of the kitchen so I was confident there would be no sharp knives or gas turned on without me being there to supervise.As I heard drawers open and shut, dishes clatter, and more giggles I also heard another sound.  It wasn’t a sound you hear often in Sunrise. When you do it makes you wonder what is happening and to whom.  The sound traveled from east to west, probably coming within a ½ mile of our house before moving away again. The siren sounded like a fire truck.

Sunday in Sunrise, Chapter 6

by | May 29, 2011 | Marty Coleman, Sunday in Sunrise - A short story | 0 comments

Prologue

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapters Ten & Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter 6
Angus and his wife were indeed foster parents. They had been foster parents for more than 35 kids over the years. It looked like they had as many as 7 at one time a decade or so back. “Wow, that’s a lot of kids” I thought to myself. “I have trouble handling three!”  I kept wondering how they would keep all their names straight.
My method for remembering the names of my 3 girls was easy enough. My wife had insisted they all be named similarly. We named our first Caria. She was named after her mother’s great aunt. She was the one who traveled the world and changed her name to Caria from Mildred after a year-long trip to Italy during the 1920s. She left with the name Mildred Smithers and came home as Caria Anastasia. She legally changed her name and would never answer to her old name again.

My wife, Pam, had always loved her great aunt. She had given her trinkets from her journeys, let her play with the incredible clothing and fabric she brought home, and would tell the most mesmerizing stories of exotic locales.

Our second child was named Daria. She was named after a multinational corporation. We went on a road trip vacation to Canada one summer and we found these little bite-sized pieces of chocolate glory called Twigg’s Shortbread Snacks. My wife became addicted to them during the trip. We found out later that she had just become pregnant and it was the first of her many obsessive cravings for the next 9 months.  She would mail order the chocolates once we got home and while the chocolate was from Twigg’s,  the boxes came from a company named Daria, LTD. in England.  So, in true eccentric fashion we named her Daria to rhyme with Caria.  Her nickname was Twiggy.
Our third child was named Maria. She was named to rhyme with the first two. If I ever had to corral all three at one time I would simply yell out ‘CaDaMa, It’s time to go!” or “CaDaMa, Clean your rooms NOW!” It made it easy.About a week later, I was back at the Post Office. I was returning yet another letter that was put in my box to Bettina. This one was a boring business letter and when I handed it to her I said, “You know, if you are going to put wrong envelopes in my box you could at least make them like the colorful one from a few weeks ago.”

Bettina exclaimed, “OH, guess what! That little girl, Melissa, came in just yesterday and gave me the most beautiful envelope to send. She had painted it herself. It was of a sunrise and she was SO proud of it. It was amazing.” I smiled and told Bettina about the watercolor lesson and Melissa’s foster father.

Bettina said, “Yea, I know Angus. He’s been around here forever. He comes across as a crotchety old geezer but he really is a kind man. His wife is even nicer. They have been taking in kids forever.”

“Maria really wants Melissa to come over to play, but I got the distinct feeling Angus wasn’t to hot on the idea.” I said.
“I bet if you talk to his wife she will allow it. Like I said, she is nicer than Angus. He tends to stay to himself and isn’t big on socializing. I am surprised you haven’t seen her before. She comes in every other day around 2:30. Come by then and see if you can catch her.” Bettina suggested.
The next day I was there at 2:30 and Bettina introduced me to Velma Billet. Actually, once I saw her face I realized I had opened the door for her a few times at the Post Office. She had stuck in my mind as having the look of the quintessential farm wife. She was thin on top in a tan work shirt, with a bit of roundness in her jeans below. Her face was tan and deeply lined, made more so by the big smile she always had on her face. She had a rich pony-tailed cascade of brilliant silver hair that fell all the way to her butt.

As we talked she told me all about Melissa’s further attempts at painting. She had gone through 25 envelopes before she finally had one painted the way she wanted. She said Melissa had talked non-stop that first day about learning so much and about the new friend she had made.
Velma loved the idea of Melissa having a playmate and agreed to have her come over later in the week. When I got home I told Maria that Melissa would be coming over on Sunday after church. Maria was beside herself with joy and set about planning their afternoon adventure.

Sunday in Sunrise, Chapter 4

by | May 14, 2011 | Marty Coleman, Sunday in Sunrise - A short story | 0 comments

Prologue

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapters Ten & Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter 4

Maria never saw the old man; she was staring at the redheaded girl with a thousand freckles.  “Hi, come on in.  My name is Art and this is Maria.” I said as I held open the door.  The old man reached out his hand, “Hello.  I am Angus and this is Melissa.” His hand was coarse and strong.  “Melissa, say hello and shake their hands”.  Melissa, still with eyes wide and unblinking, reached to me, then Maria.  Maria smiled and said a simple “Hi”.  I said, “Actually, Melissa and I have already met.  She stole my watercolors at the quilt shop”.  She squinted her eyes and pursed her lips “I did not, I was there first!”  I laughed and said, “Yes, you are right.  You got there first, fair and square, and the watercolors were yours to buy.” She smiled and said, “I am glad I got there first but I am no good at watercolors”.

I escorted them into our kitchen, and asked them if they wanted some tea, both said yes.  As I poured the tea I said, “So, Melissa, I guess you want to learn how to use those watercolors?”  She responded, “Yes, I tried to use them but I made a big mess and ruined everything”.  “What did you ruin exactly?”  I asked.  “I ruined this.”  She pulled out an envelope from the little bag she had with her. There were some bits of color on the edges but for the most part it was it was grey, muddy and quite waterlogged. It was still damp.

“Well, the first thing we might do is let you use some better paper, that’s one of the reasons this didn’t work out so well.” I said.  “NO!” she exclaimed.  “I need to be able to paint on an envelope because I need to send it to someone.”  “Well, we will keep that in mind, but I still think you might learn more if we at least start on some better paper, is that ok?”  “NO! I want to learn on envelopes.” She squinted her eyes again.  “I know pretty paintings can be done on envelopes because of this one.”  She brought out another envelope. It was the one I had seen in my box the week before.

“Actually, not only have I met you before Melissa, but I have met this envelope before”.  “What does that mean?” Angus asked.  I didn’t think he had been paying attention. He had been looking out the kitchen window at our birdfeeder, watching the cardinals and the blackbirds fight for food.  “Well, I have Box 745 at the Post Office and they put this in my box instead of 845.  Of course I noticed how beautiful it was.  I remember thinking that Melissa, whoever she was, was a lucky girl to get such a beautiful letter.  Bettina at the post office really liked it too.  She said it was ‘love in the mail’.”

Angus didn’t show much of a response, but Melissa smiled wide. “It’s from my brother, he lives in Alabama”.  “Wow, that’s a long way away.  What’s he doing there?”  I asked.  Melissa was just about to say something when Angus stirred in his chair and said, “We should get on with the lesson.  I have to be back home in 45 minutes.”  Melissa shrank just a bit.  I took the hint to not ask any more and we went into the studio for her first lesson.  Angus went outside to smoke a cigarette. I could see him through the large north window of the studio. He stood motionless, head down, contemplating the smoke.

Melissa said, “I want to be able to paint a sunrise to send back to my brother. Can you teach me how to do that?”  Maria who had been by my side the whole time, still watching the redheaded girl, piped up, “He can teach anybody anything!”  Melissa looked at Maria and smiled.  “Good!” she said.  I turned to Maria, “Maria, can you go get some envelopes from my office?”




Sunday in Sunrise, Chapter 3

by | May 8, 2011 | Marty Coleman, Sunday in Sunrise - A short story | 0 comments

Prologue

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapters Ten & Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter 3

By the time I arrived home it was time to feed my dogs. I have 2 dogs. One is named ‘Flat’. She got this name when we brought her home from the pound 3 years ago. My precocious youngest daughter, Maria, (which her mother insisted was to be pronounced“MAR e uh”) age 7, asked if it was a boy or a girl. When I said it was a girl she said with a snicker ‘Then where are its boobies?’ I said ‘girl dogs don’t have boobies that show unless they have babies.’ Her deadpan older sister, Daria, in middle school and growing unequally in her various body parts said, ‘In other words, she’s flat.’ The name stuck.

The other dog got its name in similar fashion. We found it roaming the streets in a rain storm. We brought it home and before I could dry it, it shook all it’s wetness off, all over me.  That same precocious daughter said ‘It likes to shower people!’  Its name is ‘Shower’.

After the dogs were satisfied, I noticed the little yellow light on my phone was blinking.  Getting a message was almost as rare as getting mail.  The voice on the other end was gravelly but clear.  The man speaking said he was interested in the art lessons I advertised.  He said his kid wanted to learn how to paint and he couldn’t afford the money or take the time to drive to the museum school in the city 30 miles away.  He asked if we could do lessons on Thursday afternoons as it was his only day off.

I called him back and we made plans for him to bring his ‘kid’ over.  He must have said ‘my kid’ about half a dozen times.  He had that type of voice that you imagined had at least 30 years of cigarette smoke behind it. Right before he hung up he said ‘Oh, the kid wants to learn watercolor stuff most of all. Do you even know how to do that type of art?’. I assured him I did.

Maria, asked if I really was going to give art lessons. I said, ‘Yes, why do you ask?’ She said, ‘Because you are REALLY going to have to clean your studio now!’ I was not looking forward to that.

By the time Thursday afternoon rolled around I had done a pretty good job of cleaning up. I had found 3 sets of watercolors I forgot I had, a broken electric pencil sharpener that I put on the large pile of things to fix on my garage work bench, an apron I had used when I was a waiter and, down in the back of the bottom drawer of my art dresser (where I was stuffing the apron) a very old card I had received from my unwife. Yes, I call her my unwife. She calls me her wasbund.

The card was a first anniversary card.  We had been living in a very small farmhouse in Michigan at the time, close to the graduate school I was attending.  It made me tear up to read how happy she was about our first year of marriage and how excited she was for our future. The painting on the front was of a sunrise.

As I wiped away my tears I heard a knock on the door. Maria ran to the front door first and opened it. Walking up I saw a grizzled old guy in a pair of bib overalls, a John Deere hat and boots with dry, caked-on mud. He had a face that matched the voice I had heard on the phone. And next to him, with eyes as big as an owls, was red headed Melissa.

© 2011 Marty Coleman




Sunday in Sunrise, Chapter 2

by | May 1, 2011 | Marty Coleman, Sunday in Sunrise - A short story | 0 comments

Prologue

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapters Ten & Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter 2

I rode from the Village Mart to Selma’s Quilt Shop.  I was riding a bike, not driving as I usually would. The bike is an old, I mean really old, derailleur type. I found it at a garage sale in the neighborhood I sometimes walk in. The lady selling it told me she couldn’t ride it anymore because a spider living under the seat bit her.  She said it was a nasty spider and the bite had left a nasty scar on her derriere.  Her husband had found a bunch of spider eggs underneath the seat confirming that that was the spider family abode. She said she was afraid to ride it now but it was a good bike. While I felt sorry for her derriere I was happy to get the bike for cheap.

I go to Selma’s because her store doubles as an art store. I get pencils, markers, watercolors and paper there.  Selma is funny and sassy. She wears very thick glasses and very low tops. Imagine a cross between a librarian and a burlesque dancer and you have Selma. She is another who ended up in Sunrise with no idea how she got here. Nobody else has figured out how she got here either.

I needed to check if my little advertisement on her cork board needed replacing.  It was one of those simple ones offering art lessons where you take the little tab at the bottom with the person’s name and number on it. I would get a call once in a while but usually not from people in my town but from the larger town a few miles away. The ad in that town I had to replace more often. The ad at Selma’s only had about 3 tabs ripped off, just one more than had been ripped off last time I came by a month ago.

I was also needing some new watercolors and she usually has a set sitting off in a corner waiting just for me to come in every couple months.  Today, however, the set wasn’t there. It was instead in the hands of a young girl waiting at the counter. She was perhaps 10 years old, maybe 11. All I could see was her shoulder length red hair, flopping down to pretty much obscure her face. The skin on her shoulders was a mottled mix of brown, red, white and tan, as if she had recently peeled from a sunburn. I got behind her and waited for Selma to return from helping a customer find American flag fabric.

I said to the little girl, “You know, you stole my watercolors”. She turned around with big eyes set in a round freckled face and said “Really? but I really need these today.” I said “Sorry, they are reserved exclusively for me and no one else is allowed to buy them.” The girl looked a bit scared but right then Selma returned and said  “Do NOT pay any attention to that man! He thinks he’s the only artist in town but now there is another one and he’ll just have to get used to it!” The girl caught on quick, realized the fun going on and said “That’s right, he will just have to get here before me next time!” I responded “Oh, next time I will be here at sunrise, you can bet on it!” She smiled and paid for the paints. As she skipped towards the door I said “Don’t use too much water with those watercolors”. I wasn’t sure if she heard me as the door closed and she went out of sight.

Selma looked at me sternly and spoke, “You scared the daylights out of her”. “She was ok, I was just about to let her off the hook and tell her I was joking when you came up.” I said. “Yea, well you better be nice to her, Melissa hasn’t had an easy life.” Selma responded. But she didn’t say any more.
I rode my bike back home. As I passed the house of the barking dogs I heard Selma say her name, Melissa. Maybe she is the Melissa of the beautiful sunrise envelope I thought as I speeded up.


© 2011 Marty Coleman



The Oklahoma Tornado Royal Wedding Hat – It’s A Tornado! #5

by | Apr 29, 2011 | It's A Tornado! - 2011, 2013, Marty Coleman | 0 comments

In honor of the Royal Wedding of William and Kate, which I stayed up all night to watch (yes I did) I present you with the one hat you should have seen, but didn’t because Posh changed her mind at the last minute, dag nabbit.  Another chance of fame and untold wealth down the drain.  Oh well.
oklahoma tornado royal wedding hat
Drawing, exquisite design and pithy commentary by Marty Coleman of The Napkin Dad Millinery Consortium, LTD.

Sunday in Sunrise – Prologue

by | Apr 17, 2011 | Marty Coleman, Sunday in Sunrise - A short story | 0 comments

SUNDAY IN SUNRISE – A Short Story

Prologue

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapters Ten & Eleven

Epilogue

Prologue

I am not quite sure how I ended up in Sunrise.  I can tell you the steps I took to get to here, but I wouldn’t be able to show you the path.  Sunrise, Oklahoma is a pretty small town, maybe about 2,000 people.  Some were raised here, but most found their way here the same way I did, unexpectedly.

I don’t know all that many people in Sunrise.  There’s the guy I keep running into at the post office.  I don’t know what he does but he’s friendly and wears an orange vest.  He always thinks he knows me from somewhere, but he doesn’t.  I know the person at the counter at the Post Office as well.  I know her because I have to bring mail that was put in my box by mistake back to her. I usually have to do this 3 or 4 times for the same letter before it ceases to appear again.  She seems a bit hassled at times, but I get the sense that it’s because she has this need to do a really good job.

People ask me why the town is named Sunrise.  There are stories that have been told; convoluted stories about colorful bank robbers in the 1910’s, an oil find in the 1920’s and even farther back, a mysterious Indian settlement in the 1890’s.  They all have some explanation for why this spot was named Sunrise.  But as with many great stories, they only point to the obvious, whether they are true or not.  The truth is it’s named Sunrise because of the sunrise.  The most beautiful, exquisite sunrises you have ever, or will ever see, come up each morning in Sunrise, Oklahoma.

Something small happens every day in Sunrise; very small things, very unimportant things.  That is how most people in town view what it is they do each day. Some, the oldest and youngest adults, can, on occasion, feel a bit of regret at not having gone away to do big things, but they don’t obsess about it.  If they were the type to obsess, they didn’t stay in Sunrise much longer than their 18th birthday.  Those that stayed were happy with their lives, the smallness giving them comfort and security.


© 2011 Marty Coleman
Sunrise while a death occurs

The Difference Between Excuses and Reasons

by | Dec 20, 2010 | Marty Coleman | 1 comment

I was going to make this Jesusmas Week but I had a realization while responding to a post by my friend Crystal Andrus about blame and this quote came out of it.

Think about it, what do you learn when you make an excuse?  You learn nothing.  Excuses are way of getting out of trouble, or explaining away deficiencies & failures.  They are ways of avoiding responsibility.  One doesn’t learn anything from those things.

Here are two different explanations of the exact same event.  One is an excuse; My alarm didn’t go off like it should have, that’s why I was late’.  The other is a reason; ‘I didn’t properly set my alarm, that is why I am late’.  One has a lessen attached; double check that you set your alarm properly.  The other has no lesson, it’s said in the hope of not having someone get mad at you.

To learn lessons from life, both think AND verbalize so you are stating a reason, not making an excuse.

More differences:

The old saying is ‘Everything happens for a reason’ not ‘Everything happens for an excuse’.  

You MAKE an excuse, but you HAVE a reason.

Nobody ever says ‘Reasons, reasons’.

When someone sneezes, they don’t say ‘reason me’.

What are some other differences?
………………………………………………………………………………………………

Drawing, commentary and quote by Marty Coleman of The Napkin Dad Daily

>A Bargain is Something

by | Nov 26, 2010 | Marty Coleman | 1 comment

>

In honor of America’s Black Friday shopping day.
Shop responsibly.
Don’t shop and drive.
Wear your seat belt when you shop.
Make sure your shopping cart tires are properly inflated.
A Twix bar is not proper fuel for a shopping trip.
Let other shoppers in from the entrance ramp.

Or just stay home and create something for a present instead.
Drawing and maxims by Marty Coleman of The Napkin Dad Daily

A Thanksgiving Poem

by | Nov 25, 2010 | Gratitude - 2010/2011, Marty Coleman | 0 comments

It’s day #4 of Gratitude Week

________________

A Thanksgiving Poem

A Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends, family and friends I haven’t met yet, in America and around the planet!  I appreciate you all very much and love you even mucher!


Drawing and poem by me.