Nov 23
2008

Mr. Wagtail Duckypants

Wagtail Duckypants was a duck.  Not an ordinary duck, mind you, but Hungry Mallard by Steffea very special, one-of-a-kind, wonderful duck.  Wagtail’s father was a mallard duck   and his mother Muscovy Duck by LeahAlissawas a muscovy duck.  Wagtail knew he was very special, because he had never seen another duck like him before.  He had his momma’s bright red beak, but his feathers were tan and brown like his poppa. Wagtail even had his poppa’s fancy blue wing stripes, and he was very proud of those.  He thought they made him look like a soldier in uniform, so when he had to walk anywhere, Wagtail would march proudly, with his head held high, instead of waddling like the other ducks.  And when he was excited, Wagtail would stand straight up tall, hold his head up high, and wiggle his little duck tail.  Momma Muscovy said he looked just like a little puppy dog when he did this, but Wagtail didn’t know what a puppy dog looked like.  Puppy sounded like a fun word, so Wagtail thought puppy dogs must be a lot of fun.

Wagtail Duckypants and Momma Muscovy and Poppa Mallard spent aSunrise at the Lake wonderful summer together. They lived on a lake surrounded by beautiful buildings.  Almost every day, people would come out of the buildings and bring them treats, like bread and popcorn and cereal.  When they did this, all the ducks on the lake would come out to share the treats.  Wagtail would meet the other boy and girl ducks, and their mommas and poppas.  He loved to greet the other ducks, and to play games with the boy and girl ducks.  They would play Splash and Race and Fly, and Wagtail noticed that when a game was about to start, all the other young ducks wiggled their little duck tails, too.

Soon enough, the days began to grow shorter rather than longer, and the nights grew cooler.  Wagtail’s soft yellow feathers began to grow out into long tan ones, with stripes on them.  He thought they looked a little like the momma mallards he saw at the lake, and he was so happy to see his blue stripe like his own poppa.  Wagtail also began to listen to the grown-up ducks at the lake.  He knew that soon, he would have to leave his Momma and Poppa, and get ready to have his own nest.  Only little yellow baby ducks still lived with their Momma and Poppa.  Big grown-up ducks had to make their own homes.  So Wagtail listened to all the momma and poppa ducks at the lake, so that he could learn about finding a good home and making a warm, soft nest.  But when Wagtail moved close enough to the momma ducks, they would stop talking all of the sudden, and they would step backwards.  Did I eat a smelly fish?  Wagtail thought.  He put his wing in front of his beak and sniffed his breath.  No, my breath is all right… maybe my feathers are dirty or messy?  But no, Wagtail’s Momma had carefully watched him preen all his feathers before they left the nest.  Why don’t the momma ducks want to be close to me?

Wagtail shrugged his wings and decided to listen to the poppas instead.  After gobbling up a yummy bit of cereal, he made his way over to the poppa ducks.  They didn’t back away from him, but the poppas did look at him strangely while they talked very loudly about the boy ducks and their games.  Wagtail was excited about this, because he knew that he was the very best young duck on the lake at catching fish.  Wagtail always won when the boys played a game of Catch Fish.  But when the poppa ducks finished talking about Race and Fly, and started talking about Catch Fish, Wagtail heard one poppa duck say, “It’s just to bad about that Duckypants boy.  He would have been great if it weren’t for… you know.”  All the other poppas nodded their heads and murmured agreement.  Wagtail was so embarrassed that he moved back down to the water and swam away from the other ducks.

What’s so wrong with me?  Wagtail thought.  I have a beautiful red bill and a perfect blue stripe.  I have the best of all the ducks on the lake!  But somehow, as Wagtail looked around him at the other young girl and boy ducks, he knew he was different.  All the other ducks had only one kind of parent - their mommas and poppas were both mallards or both muscovies.  They didn’t have one of each.   Momma and Poppa had always told Wagtail that he was the most special duck there was.  And Wagtail had been silly enough to believe them.

That night, when the sun began to set and all the ducks went home to their nests to sleep, Wagtail did not go home to his Momma Muscovy and Poppa Mallard.  Instead, he held his head up proud and high, and he marched out of the lake.  Wagtail marched into the parking lot, where all the people kept their big smelly cars.  The cars were all quiet and still, and Wagtail was glad.  He had seen those cars hit some of his friends, and he tried not to act afraid, but Wagtail didn’t want any cars to hurt him.  He marched to the sidewalk, where the people would walk, and he marched proudly across the street.  He marched past the little stores with their fancy lights and signs, down the sidewalk to a great big store.  Next to the great big store was a little pond.  It wasn’t as beautiful as his lake, and Wagtail didn’t see any other ducks there.  But it was water, and there was grass, and he saw some branches and feathers that would make a nice, warm nest.  Wagtail was tired after his long march, though, so he snuggled down into the grass by a green bush, and he fell instantly asleep.

When the sun rose, Wagtail stretched his long neck and flapped his big wings.  He looked up at the sky and then down at the pond, and he remembered the momma and poppa ducks at the lake.  Well, thought Wagtail, it’s time for breakfast!  I wonder what the people bring to this little pond!  He marched down to the water and started to swim, enjoying the feel of the cool morning water on his feathers.  As the sun rose higher, Wagtail grew hungrier.  He saw people driving up to the store in their scary, smelly cars, but none of them approached the pond with treats for him.  Wagtail’s tummy started to rumble from emptiness.  He decided to do something.  Aha!  Instead of waiting here in the pond for the people to come, I’ll go to the people instead!  So Wagtail marched out of the pond, shook his feathers dry, and marched over to the great big store.

The people were walking into the store and out of the store, stepping out of their cars and back into them.  But none of the people saw Wagtail there.  He tried to walk in front of them, sure they would see him and give him treats.  But the only people who did see him laughed at him.  “Go away, you silly duck!  Get!  Go back to your lake!”  Wagtail didn’t understand.  People had always given him treats before!  His feet were getting tired from marching on the hard black ground, and he wanted to go back home to the lake, to his momma and his poppa.  But he didn’t want to have to face all the other momma and poppa ducks, and all the other boys and girls who thought he was different.

Then he saw a car drive up.  It was a red car - the same color as his special muscovy beak!  Wagtail marched close to the car, and he saw a girl person step out.  A boy person stepped out the other side, and he called the girl person Momma.  Wagtail’s beak opened all by itself; he never knew that people had mommas and poppas, too!  He saw that the boy person was even taller than the momma person, so Wagtail knew that this boy person would have to make his own nest soon.  The boy person was just like him!  Wagtail closed his beak and marched up to them.  He marched right up to the momma person’s feet.

“Oh, Sean, look at the duck!  He wants some food, but I don’t have any!”

“Momma, don’t be silly.  We have to buy our groceries.”

Then the momma person knelt down and looked Wagtail in the eye.  “It’s okay, Mr. Duckypants.”  She knew his name!  “I’ll bring you some nice food.  You just wait right here, okay?”  Wagtail watch as the momma person and boy person walked into the store.  He was so hungry, Wagtail didn’t think he could make it back to the pond without food.  So he tried to snuggle against the wheels of the car, and he closed his eyes, and he waited.

Wagtail didn’t know how long it had been, but it felt like his whole life before the people came back to the car.  They had a cart full of bags, and the boy person began to put them into the back of the car.  The momma person took out a bag of bread.  She tore off a little piece and offered it to Wagtail.  He reached out and took the bread right out of her hand.  He was so hungry!  And the bread tasted so wonderful!  He wagged his little tail, and the momma person laughed.  “Look, Sean!  He wags his tail just like a little puppy dog!”

The boy person finished putting the bags into the car and then looked at the momma.  Wagtail was happily eating bread from her hand, and even let her touch the feathers on his back.  It felt nice, just like when Momma Muscovy helped him preen and straighten his feathers.  He closed his eyes and leaned against her, wagging his tail faster than he’d ever wiggled it before.

“Sean, I want to take him home.”

“Momma, you can’t bring a duck home!”

“Why not?  Look at little Wiggletail!”  Wagtail was too happy with the bread and the feather stroking to correct her.

“Momma, it’s a wild animal.”

“Oh, Sean, I’ll just put Mr. Duckypants in the back yard.  He’ll be fine.  And his wings are okay, so he can fly to the lake or to the pond any time he wants!”

Wagtail opened his eyes and watched as the momma person put a piece of bread inside the car.  He paused for a moment to think about it, and then he jumped up into the car to eat the bread.  The door closed behind him, and for a moment, Wagtail was afraid.  It was all closed in around him, and he couldn’t see the sky!  What was he going to do?

Just then, the momma person got into the car and spoke to him.  “It’s okay, Duckypants.  I’m going to take you to a nice place.  You’ll like it!”

They were only in the car a moment, and it moved much faster than Wagtail could march!  Then the car stopped and the momma person got out.  She opened the door next to Wagtail, and he hopped down onto the ground.

“Follow me, little ducky,” the momma person said.  She dropped a piece of bread on the ground, and Wagtail Back Yardmarched right up to eat it.  “Look at him, Sean!  He marches like a little soldier duck!”  The momma person kept dropping bread, a few steps further ahead, and Wagtail followed her.  Then she stopped.  “Look, Wiggletail.  This is our back yard.  Right there are lots of bushes, and I’ve seen string and feathers and other things inside them.  You can make a warm, safe nest here.  I’ve got corn and seeds and lots of treats.  I’ll take very good care of you.  You’re such a special, beautiful little duck!”

Wagtail marched into the bushes and looked around.  The momma person was right!  This was a perfect place for a safe nest.   He popped his head back through the bushes to quack a thank you to the momma.  She smiled at him, and then went back to her car.  Wagtail happily gathered branches and strings and leaves to build his nest.  He was warm and safe, and he snuggled down eagerly into his very own nest.  This is my home now, Wagtail thought.  My very own home!

The next morning, Wagtail’s new Momma  came outside to see him.  She brought cracked corn with her, and she sat on the ground to watch as Wagtail munched happily on it.  Momma laughed to see his tail wiggle and wag with pleasure, and Wagtail made sure to show off his beautiful red beak and his perfect blue stripe for her.  This is how Wagtail spent the winter, all snuggled up in the bushes behind his new Momma’s house, eating the food that she gave him and making her laugh happily by marching like a soldier and wagging his tail like a puppy dog.

Then the days began to grow longer again, and Wagtail wondered about his Momma Muscovy and Poppa Mallard.  Were they back in the nest again?  Would they have another baby duck this year, or maybe a bunch of them like the other mommas and poppas?  He wondered how all the girl and boy ducks were, and which ones were nesting together.  And then… he saw her.  In the back yard next door stood a duck.  She had a red beak like his, and tan feathers like his.  But her feathers had black stripes in them, like the momma mallards at the lake.  She didn’t  have a blue stripe like Wagtail and PoppaMallard did.  He called to her.  “Hello!  My name is Wagtail!”

“Oh!” the lady duck cried out.  “My name is Redbill.”

Wagtail said, “Your bill is very pretty.”

Redbill laughed a little, and said, “You think so?  All the other ducks at the lake said I was funny-looking.  It’s because my momma is a mallard and my poppa is a muscovy.”

“So you’re special!”  Wagtail replied.  “Just like…. me!”

“That’s what my momma always told me, but the other ducks at the lake–” Redbill shrugged her wings.

Wagtail’s head lowered.  “I know.  The other ducks at my lake said the same.”

“Have you lived here all winter?”  Redbill asked.

“Yes,” Wagtail said.  “I have a nest under the bushes.  I miss the lake sometimes, but it’s warm and safe here.  Oh!  And there’s a momma person inside that house!  She loves to bring me food and watch me wag my tail.”

“You wag your tail, too?”  Redbill exclaimed.

“Of course!  Doesn’t everybody?”

“Silly Wagtail!  None of the other ducks at the lake did.  At least, not so I could see.”

Wagtail looked at the ground for a moment, and then looked back up at Redbill.  “Would you like to come see my nest?”

“I would love to!”

As Redbill marched into the yard — and Wagtail was so excited to see her marching proudly, with her head held up high! — Wagtail looked up, and saw the momma person watching them from the house.  He gave a special tail wiggle, just for her, and then turned to show his nest to his new wife.

Mar 20
2008

A Story for Holy Week

 

“Michael!” the angel called. “Michael, where are you?”

 

Michael paused in his drill, his sword halted in mid-swing. “What is it, Gabriel?”

 

“It’s Jesus, Michael. You have to come see.”

 

Michael sighed and put up his sword. He didn’t have to physically put it away, but the archangel found it such a satisfying feeling to put away his sword after working out. He knew it was a strange affectation, like the humans would do, since all he had to do was visualize his sword where he wanted it, and it would be there. But still, the ching that the sword made sliding into its scabbard, and the solidity as he hung it on the wall, always comforted him. “I’m coming!”

Gabriel was standing at the gateway to the Kingdom, and his mouth was gaping. “Brother, you look like a fish,” said Michael. “What on earth is wrong?”


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Feb 20
2008

Time Travel

 

Trudging through the sand, kicking rocks, I saw the sky is slate metal steel gray - not pretty dove grey, not snow sky grey - but plain old gray, harsh and a little scary. The ocean was dark, roiling and churning, darker than gray, but not quite black. The wind whipped my hair across my eyes, and I thought I saw - but I wasn’t sure - I thought I saw something sparkle in the sand ahead. I quickened my step, and then stopped. Bending down, I knew that this was not something to be picked up and held. Gently I brushed the sand from the surface. It was a shell, scalloped and curving and pink around the edges. It was larger than most shells I had seen in Virginia, bigger than my hand, even with all my fingers outstretched. And in the centre, it was polished to a high gloss. In it, I could see the sky, the clouds scudding past, and my face, barely distorted in reflection. My fingers reached unbidden, and just barely brushed the smooth, warm surface.

Another face appeared in that polished surface - not mine! - and I jumped. I looked quickly over my shoulder. Did someone approach behind me? In this wind, with the roar of the ocean, I would never hear another. But no, nobody was there. I looked back into the shell, and the face was still there. I thought it was a man, but his face was rather lumpy and misshapen. And yet, I could not call him ugly. Homely, perhaps, because in the midst of the lumps and bulges, his eyes sparkled and the corners of his mouth turned up, as though he was trying to conceal a grin. There was beauty to him, hidden behind that mushed-up face.

“Can you see me?” The words tumbled from my mouth, before I could think of something appropriate to say.


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Sep 25
2007

The Saga of Super Sleuth and the Butter Tarts

I was expecting a visit from a dear friend in August. He’s from Ontario, where butter tarts are a favorite treat, and I live in Virginia, where nobody has ever heard the words butter and tart put together that way before. I wanted to surprise him by having butter tarts for him when he arrived, a taste of home, and something I know he could very well eat at (if not for) every meal in the day. :-) But I didn’t know what kind he liked best. Raisins? Nuts or no nuts? If nuts, what kind - pecans, walnuts?


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Aug 28
2007

Yard Art Bear

Once, long ago, there was a Yard Art Bear.
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Aug 12
2007

Story Snippets for Sunday

Since it’s Sunday, and since I’ve just written two pieces on the Transfiguration, I thought that this week, I’d share some story snippets about transforming moments along my journey.

The first memory I have of a brush with the infinite was when I was almost-four or just-turned-four, when we were living in Army quarters in Indiana while my dad finished college. It was a summer afternoon, and I remember swinging on a swingset. The sky started to turn that strange pink color that it can get just before a thunderstorm, and the air felt electrified, expectant. The world seemed enormous around me, grass stretching out on all sides to the woods far away. And I knew a monster was coming. Godzilla, to be precise. I was frightened, and I ran inside. Mom wanted me to take care of some chore or other that required me to go outside, only a little ways, but still outside. I refused, huddled by the window to watch and wait for Godzilla, shivering with fear.


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Aug 10
2007

Down from the Mountain

It was hot and dusty. It’s always hot and dusty in these mountains, young John thought. He and James had lugged water with them on the long trek up the harsh mountain, but now the skins were much lighter. Too light, he thought, gently shaking one without feeling the comforting slosh of liquid within. We’re going to regret this tonight. We should have brought more water. Peter’s always so greedy, drinking more than his share of the water. I know he doesn’t eat much, but I wish he’d leave more water for the rest of us.

John looked over at his brother James and tried to catch his eye. But it looked like James was very carefully keeping his eyes on the ground right ahead of him. John wasn’t surprised by this. He had needed some time to think about it all, too. But James always needed more time to think about things than John did, and he would get really nasty if John tried to talk about something with him before James was ready. And after today - well, John didn’t want to make James angry. What had happened up on the top of this mountain was like nothing they’d ever seen before, and John felt so many different things welling up inside him. He didn’t know where to begin.


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Aug 7
2007

Transfiguration

Molly trudged up the mountain. Sweat rolled down her back as the humidity of a Virginia August combined with the work of hiking uphill, toiling after her trim mother and her mountain goat of a little brother. Christ, but I hate these trips! Molly thought. I could be playing Sims, or on MySpace with Jenna. Hell, I’d even rather watch The Wiggles with Lucas than be here climbing this blasted mountain!

Molly knew better to say any of this. She knew how Mom felt about her spending time on the computer when she could be outside riding bikes or playing soccer or doing anything that would make her hot and sweaty and tired. Molly couldn’t wait until April, when she would turn 16. She was already signed up for the behind-the-wheel class at school in the fall, and she planned to be first in line to get her license the day she turned 16. Then she could pack up her laptop and go to the library or the sandwich shop or the coffeehouse, and she could do whatever she wanted. But until she had a car, she was stuck going where Mom drove her, which was never anyplace fun.


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Aug 6
2007

Convention Under the Bridge

OK. It’s time to call this meeting to order. A voice squawked and tried to hush the crowd, because there was business to be organized and carried out. Could I have the executive up here with me, please?

In the crowd, one guy leaned over to his neighbour. Give a guy some power, and he starts sounding so prim and proper! “Could I have the executive up here with me-e, puhleeze?” he ended, in mocking imitation of their leader, as the executive formed an orderly single-file row on the makeshift stage in contrast to the disorganized group below them, where there was stumbling into each other, and some were being struck by their neighbours–purely accidentally, of course, and people hopping over each other to get where they wanted to stand.

Why do they always drag us out so early in the morning for these meetings, somebody asked his friend standing next to him.

The only reason my manager ever gave me was some line about the early bird getting the worm or something like that, came the reply.


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Aug 5
2007

Sunday Story Snippets

My son first cussed when he was about two-and-a-half. He didn’t realize that cussing was a bad thing, or that he was saying something he shouldn’t. He was just mimicking his (naughty) parents. He toddled into our bedroom from his room and announced, “Oh s**t, there’s monsters in the hallway!”


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