Synopsis for The Tantrum
Author Bio for The Tantrum
(this will move to the “Kids are Awesome” page later)
Papa Fleck is a funny guy. He taught the kiddos to say the following. You’ll notice Wachel’s accent; she didn’t get her “Rs” until she was 6 years old.
“SenioWIta, I can smell youw FEEta, a way acwoss da STWEEta!”
If you didn’t laugh much at this, have a child with no Rs say it to you. Listening to them will do the trick!
They say you learn something new every day. Today I learned that some of my books were lacking enough glue to hold them together, causing the pages to come out. They were sent back & just arrived in GA today. Now my once ample personal supply of books is down to…2. The printer I’m working with has been great about it. Hopefully the replacement books will be glued as much/far as they should be. That helps!
I had a HORRIBLE dream the other night (full of stress and pain) that involved our best buddy, Rex, whom we miss terribly. Rex was an English Springer that we were fortunate to spend 12 years of our lives with. He was our “first child”. Our “Old Man” went through God’s other door on September 29, 2008. Everyone who knows him misses him.
Why I have the dreams I do is a mystery – they’re very often all over the map and don’t seem to make any sense. This dream was no different, but I woke up in pain – my heart was “hurting” for lack of a better word.
So I decided to share this story about our special dog, sort of as an antidote? Even thinking about the dream still creeps me out, so I guess I’m doing this not only to share the story, but to make myself feel better.
My moms & dad have all read this, but I haven’t shared it with anyone else, if memory serves. Here goes:
Our Companion
By Stacey Geist
2008
“Are you okay, Sweetie?” she asks me. I’ve been crying in my sleep again. She’s so sad, and is crying. She’s thinking about how she was so lucky to have spent the past 12 years with such a wonderful dog, and how so very human I am. She’s remembering her darkest days, when I would meet her at the door and spend time looking into her eyes and she into mine, and how we would lie on the couch together for a while. She would hold me tight and I would tuck in and snuggle her neck while she cried. After she got through that difficult time she told me over and over through the years how much she loved me and thanked me for saving her life. She often thanked God for sending me to her. Now, in my last days with her and the rest of the family, she is feeling guilty. She wonders if, after the children were born, I got left by the wayside too much. She worries that she wasn’t good enough to me once our lives changed so much. She doesn’t know how grateful I was to have been adopted by such a loving family, and how even though the first toddler was pretty tough on me I looked forward to each of their arrivals. Even amid the chaos, I still felt loved and included.
He is so torn. He doesn’t want his long-time hunting buddy to suffer, but he can’t let go. Not today. Not right now. He’s thinking back to the first day we met. “You were the perfect little pup,” he tells me again. “Still are,” he adds. He remembers me with 4 big floppy paws and matching ears. He recalls how he watched me grow into those paws and become a great hunter. He laughs with me as he thinks about the funny things we’ve been through, like the time I kicked up a deer while pheasant hunting in South Dakota, and how I was so determined to catch up to that buck that I just kept on running. He doesn’t cry much, my owner. Right now, he’s trying hard to focus on those funny stories. Trying to make it through okay. He’s going to miss me, and I him.
We’re nose to nose. He’s only 7 years old, and old enough to know what this all means. He is such a good little soul – so capable of empathy it would break your heart. I’m sorry you’re hurting, Rex,” he tells me. “God will help you soon, though. Don’t be scared.” He looks into my eyes, scratches me behind the ears and thinks about stories he’s been told about times, as a toddler, when he used me for everything from a ladder to a trampoline. There’s sadness, and maybe a little bit of guilt in his eyes. I look at him and see the first little one, whom I welcomed home with a kiss and looked out for with no regrets. I kiss him goodbye.
She’s a sweet little girl. Good down to the core, and very caring. She’s only five years old. She knows I’m in pain, but doesn’t understand everything that’s going on. She doesn’t know I’ll be gone soon. She wants to dress me up again in her red sequined had and purple fur princess wrap to make me feel better. She’s a Godsend. She puts her hands around my neck and leans in for a snuggle, her lips quivering. She feels lucky when she thinks about what a tolerant, loving dog I’ve been. I hope she knows that I am lucky to have known her. To be sure, I gently kiss the tear off the end of her tiny, beautiful nose.
The smallest child is the fifth member of my family. She’s not quite 3, and probably won’t remember me without pictures and stories living on, but I know she has learned to care for and respect animals by loving me. “Good boy, Rex,” she says softly, to match her sister’s mood. She very softly strokes the soft fur on my back, and then gives my old paw a little shake. She’s been smiling at me, but now seems confused and worried as she looks at her sister. She joins the snuggle and pats her big sister on the back. I push in a little bit more.
My family is worried. They’re sad and scared and confused. I understand this, of course. They wonder if they did enough, played enough, were enough. What they need to understand is that they did just fine, and exactly as was planned for my life by God. If I could speak, I would tell them I love them. I would make them see that I am not afraid, and that I am tired now, and need to go home. I would reassure them that I am at peace, and that I am thankful to God. He gave me a good life with people who loved me and cared for me. I wish I could tell them these things. Instead, I do what I’ve always done – I speak my heart through my eyes. They listen, and know. I can see their understanding as they look back into mine.
Now, as I begin to travel home, I hope they can feel peace knowing I had a good life with them, and that I will see them – my family – again.
Sleeping Fawn Resort
Check out the book here: Stromple’s Spot
Check out Sleeping Fawn Resort here: Sleeping Fawn Resort
Be sure to check out Sleeping Fawn’s full list of amenities and area attractions. It’s a fun and beautiful place to spend your time.
An unanalyzed dream is like an unopened letter from a friend.” Edgar Cayce, modern day prophet.
I added a new page today. I named it “Unopened Letters.” I dream in full color & lots of detail. I’m calling this new page my diary.
If you visit the page, please know that I’m actually pretty normal. Pretty much. And I’ve never taken scary mind-altering drugs. I’ve just always been a person who dreams in color most nights and is able to remember my dreams.
They don’t always make sense to me, but supposedly there’s a message in there somewhere!
I just finished listing changes that need to be made to the pages of my SEO website for Stromple and the Super-Huge Temper Tantrum. What a huge task THAT was! Add to that the fact that my computer died recently, forcing me to dig necessary files out of this backup and that, and you’ll understand why I’m now going to reward myself, whole-heartedly, with…
jellybeans.
After that, a hot shower. My head hurts.
I became a fan of vignettes when I first pulled the novella “Seedfolks” by Paul Fleischmann off of the Barnes and Noble bookshelf. It didn’t go back on. It’s enough that it’s masterfully written in a unique style; the fact that it deals with how human needs, weaknesses and strengths brought a previously divided community together to accomplish common goals was what made it one of my favorites. How can you not hold dear in your heart a story where a complete absense of unity in what should be a community changes into a unified effort to create and maintain a community garden, all because of a young girl’s attempt to connect with her deceased father. More than just a garden was created.; a community grew along with the beans and pumpkins, and endured the cold winter to boot.
You may not know tha t I’m a Realtor. Never in my weavings in and out of writing did I forsee a story coming out of a real estate transaction; but, now I find myself with these ideas on paper, and no matter how many times I let them lie to revisit at a later time, I cannot help but be overloaded with plausible ideas for each vignette and be genuinely excited about how I see them coming together. It can’t possibly be this easy, can it? I keep asking myself, “What am I missing?”
I came up with these ideas the day after I had the dream that led me to state that I was in when I wrote down my initial notes for the suspense novel. It was scary enough for me to admit that I was writing a novel in the first place. On my map, it’s completely uncharted territory. Now, am I to say that I’m also writing what I see as a novella?
Well, there it is, I guess. A novel and a novella. Honestly scares me at this point. I need some tools, and guidance, for sure. Please help?
