Tag: prompts

Crystal Lake

I knd of miss the old place as it was

I remember Crystal Lake as a summer destination for our Girl Scout troop’s adventures.

By then, it had silted in and about all we could see there were frogs, toads, tadpoles, water striders and maybe a bird or two.

In my Dad’s high school days, however, it had a dance pavilion with bands like Lawrence Welk, ice skating on the pond, as well as picnics, fishing, and boating in summer.

That was after mechanical refrigeration ended the lake’s ice business that filled a large ice house in Hastings and hundreds of train cars with twenty-two by twenty-two-inch blocks.

Today, the lake has been dredged and turned over to the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission and provides picnic and camping facilities next to the site of the Little Blue River dam.

I sort of miss the muddy old place I visited, as well as the bygone gathering place I never saw.

loggerhead shrike
5 Comments

Categories: Non-fiction Our Prairie Habitat

Tags:

Aida

You’ve created a list of New Year’s resolutions for the coming year. They are helpful, practical, and attainable.  You are certain that you can finish them all rather quickly, but every time you try to tackle one, you hear a sweet little voice.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t have to do what? What does that mean?”

You look around. There’s no one there, just a disembodied voice.

A couple of days later, you’re at your kitchen table, checking the employment ads. You’re looking for a new retail job. Maybe you can move up to management.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Where the hell are you? What do you want?” You search your house. There’s no one there.

You shrug and go on about your business. A week later, you’re boxing up all the soft drinks in your fridge, the hostess twinkies, and candy bars. You have to think before you add the chocolate. You grimace, but you’re going to lose ten pounds by taking the sweets out of your diet.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what, dammit? Who are you?” You dump the box in your dumpster—with emphasis.

You’re on your way to the fitness center, gym clothes packed in your bag. On the way to the car, you get the voice. You’re outside next to your car. There’s nowhere to hide, not a tree or a bush. Your patience is shot.

“What in the bloody hell do you want?”

You hear a chuckle. “Get real.”

“Get real?”

“Ten pounds?”

You’re still looking around for the voice. “It’s a place to start.”

“You can do better than that.”

“How much do you think I need to lose?” You open the passenger door and sit in the car, peering under the dash and into the back seat.

“I don’t think you need to lose weight.”

“What?”

“Is that the best you can do? Lost weight, exercise, change dead-end jobs. Is that all you want to do with your life??

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing if that’s all you want.”

“What should I want?”

“Beats me. You want to spend your life selling stuff?”

“What’s wrong with selling stuff?”

“I remember when you wanted to sing Aida. What’s stopping you?”

“What’s stopping me? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get into opera?”

“No. But you do. You want a New Year’s Resolution? Let’s get started.“

“What if I fail?”

“What if you don’t try?”

Categories: Fiction

Tags: