Posted in ML Auto Bio, Writing 101-Blogging University

Non Accidental Events Lead to Intentional Good-True Story

Non Accidental Events Lead to Intentional Good

by: Ronovan

Sometimes you just don’t know how you ended up where you are. I’ve been in many ‘places’ over my many years and somehow they end up being connected in one way or the other. Oh, I don’t mean by actually connected in the sense that one thing knew the other but in that there was a reason one happened and ended and the next began.

Light at the end of the tunnelI had an interesting life growing up. I was born of two people who were picking oranges in the groves of Florida during a time of free love, or maybe at the end of that era really. My father from Tupelo, MS. who was a drummer, guitar playing singer who drove a truck and recorded at Sun Records in Memphis, TN. Yes that Sun Records, and yes, that’s where Elvis recorded. And no, he wasn’t Elvis.

He was also part of the Southern Mafia which led me into a few interesting situations. Ever been 3 years old and been chased down dirt roads in Florida by a man with a gun? No? I didn’t think you had. How about being back home in Tupelo, MS and having to be slung around in a truck doing a 180 because of some ‘men’ that had blocked the road to stop your father? No? Well then you didn’t get shot at and the windows shatter either.

There were other things that happened as well, all in the span of the years up to my 2nd grade in school. That’s when I ‘arranged’ for a girl on the playground to see the black belt mark across my back and run to the teacher. I had made a promise not to tell, and I was a good boy and kept my promises. I didn’t ‘tell’ anyone. After the police and social workers finished with me that day I never saw my bio father again. He and my mother were divorced anyway, so no great loss.

But through that and a series of not accidental events, because I know that all things are used for the good of life, I ended up in a situation where I worked with young people and helped many with home lives that were rough. Even the arrangement of time to work with them was an obvious non accidental event.

Even today, being here in the blog world and meeting new people, encouraging and being encouraged has been another non accidental event out of a life changing event. Good comes out of everything, no matter how bad it is, it only remains a negative influence on me/you if you let it be such.

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-2014

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Posted in ML Auto Bio, Writing 101-Blogging University

Church Playground Memories

Church Playground Memories

by: Ronovan

 After I came home from the hospital even I knew something was missing, but I didn’t know what. I just felt incomplete somehow. For a person suffering from amnesia that probably doesn’t sound unusual, but this was something that I just knew was missing, I could feel it.

But I only had the feeling when I went to the doctor’s office, or some type of testing. My clothes were laid out for me. I had my wallet, keys (although not allowed to drive), a 10 dollar bill, and a pen. Apparently I always carry a pen.

My belt was in place, all of my clothing was the way it should be. It really bothered me though. I put it down as possibly my not driving. Maybe I just wanted to be the driver since I always drove everywhere. Perhaps I just was not accustomed to being on the passenger side of the car looking around.

Then one day it hit me. There was a burning in my pocket. I noticed each time I left the house, not actually my own house, that my right pants pocket felt lighter than it should. There was a spot that didn’t feel right. Even looking down at my pocket when seated there was something odd about how it appeared.

A flash of yellow came to me. And that made me think of the word, ‘pecan’. I wasn’t able to speak yet but I quickly wrote it down and shoved it toward the driver. She looked at it.

“Do I have a pecan?”

“Yes,” she said.

I held my hands out and shrugged.

“I don’t know where it is,” she said.

I quickly scribbled down my flash.

“Yellow toy box.”

“Yes. I know what you mean, beside your chair.”

A few days later it arrived.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a pecan before. They are oblong and pointy on the ends, but not this one. This one glows and looks like polished wood. When the light hits it there is character and grooves you don’t see in a normal pecan shell.

When I touched it for the first time again, the smoothness of the shell was comforting and familiar. I instantly held it to my ear and shook it. I could hear the rattling inside.

My eyes closed and I ran my finger tips around the shell slowly and could feel the ridges that you normally didn’t realize were there. Maybe they normally weren’t. Then I slipped it into my pocket and the weight was right. My balance was right. Just a few ounces but it was right. When I sat down, the sight was right.

My mind tingled with it with me again.

“For you, Daddy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I found it for you.”

Of course the smile crossed my face and a big hug was given. “Then it goes right here and never leaves,” I said. I slipped it into my pocket. The smile crossed his face.

A pecan as a prized possession may sound a bit odd to some, but six years earlier my little son had walked up to me with a smile from the church playground and given it to me. To him it may have been just a find that day.

The grey shell had turned into polished brown like the finest piece of furniture. But this hadn’t been done by a machine. This had been done by years of being in my hands through the day, and living inside my pocket forever being polished.

My Pecan - Copy

Now that I had it back I was more at ease. Every night he comes to me and asks “Do you have your thing?” “Yeah.” “Okay.” He now knows how special it is to me. He knows I remembered it. He knows I know him. He knows I don’t want to lose it.

Some prized possessions may have monetary value to them, even family heirlooms, but for me, a moment of innocence that can never be captured again . . . that’s my prized possession. The pecan is a reminder of it, but the real possession is the memory of it. That’s what I have, that memory. Memories of your children can bring you back to life. That’s what happened to me.

Maybe you have a memory. Perhaps riding along with your child in your lap in a golf cart, or smiling up at you with such love in their eyes at an ice cream parlor, or giggling when you tickle them. Those are prized possessions.

Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites©.wordpress.com-June 27, 2014.

Posted in Writing 101-Blogging University

Bursting Balloons

Bursting Balloons

by: Ronovan

Popping Balloon

Giving advice is kind of like playing Russian roulette. You load up and put that bullet out there and there is always that chance someone is going to pull the trigger and the bullet is going to come back at you.

 

Today I reblogged a piece from my friend at InsideTheLifeOfMoi regarding letting go of those things inside that hurt you. She used a piece of advice she had received about putting your hurts in a balloon and the letting it go. The POINT of the article was to Let Go of your hurts and pains caused by others.

 

Someone responded about how dangerous releasing balloons is to wildlife. You see, my purpose for reblogging the article was to help my friend Amanda out who has been on vacation for two weeks. I wanted to keep her articles circulating here and on Twitter where I would Tweet her articles along with her handle.

Continue reading “Bursting Balloons”

Posted in Flash Fiction, Writing 101-Blogging University

Lemon Squares and Stupid Boys

Lemon Squares and Stupid Boys

by: Ronovan

 Lemon Squares

“What’s wrong, Becky?”

“I don’t get it, Jonesy.” I kept my eyes on the people across the street. “Why would Old Chubs kick Mrs. P out? She’s lived here longer than anyone else.” 

“Your dad said her sons won’t help her pay the rent since Mr. P died.”

“Ugh! Boys are so stupid and mean!” 

“Really?” Jonesy asked. 

I glared at him. “You don’t count. You know what I mean.” 

Brown eyes stared at me.

“Besides, who is going to make us lemon squares now? Mom can’t make them. She pretty much sucks at those.” I thought for a moment. I thought so hard my brain hurt. “Wait! Maybe she could sell lemon squares and make money for rent.” I jumped up.

“Sit down, Becky,” Jonesy said. “It’s too late. They’re bringing her out now.” 

I watched a policeman help Mrs. P down the steps. Chubs stood on the sidewalk, and looked up at the window of the apartment. The flowerbox was full and overflowing with purple and yellow somethings. 

“I hate him,” I said. 

“Hate’s one of the biggest little words there is.” 

“Hush up, Jonesy.” I wasn’t in the mood to hear what was right and wrong. I knew people had to pay bills and stuff, I just hated that her sons were so stupid. Six sons and they couldn’t put in a little each to help her with bills? “She did all the nasty stuff for them when they were babies. They should do something.” 

The door opened behind us. “Becky, it’s time for lunch.” I looked up at Mom. She glanced at Chubs and frowned. “Make sure to clean Jonesy’s feet off before he comes in and hang his leash up. You keep throwing it on the floor. He’s yours remember, so you have to do things right.” Mom closed the door.

I looked down and scratched Jonesy’s golden head. “You better take care of me when I get older, Jonesy or no more hotdogs for snacks when Mom isn’t looking.” 

Jonesy licked my face. “Eww … Jonesy, I know where that tongues been!”

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites©.wordpress.com-June 25, 2014.

Posted in Humor, Writing 101-Blogging University

A Laugh in a Crowd

A Laugh in a Crowd

by: Ronovan

 

“So I went into the mall and there were all of these people just staring at me with blank expressions on their faces. I don’t know maybe it was just me. The never even blinked. I felt like I was at a Sinead O’Connor benefit concert or something. All the women were bald but they were well dressed. I still don’t understand why they had the price tags on their clothes.”

 

“You’re an idiot!”

 

“Hey, I’m talking up here. This is my time to be an idiot, you don’t have a copyright on it, sir. Where was I? Oh yeah, I hate crowds, I can’t stand them.”

 

“Then why are you here, you moron?”

Continue reading “A Laugh in a Crowd”