Jan Pippins and Henry Darrow have been awarded the 2014 Gold Medal Winner of the Readers’ Favorites Book Award in the Non-Fiction, Biography category for their book, Lightning in the Bottle.
The book can be purchased at Amazon and Barnes & Noble bookstores in several formats.
Please share! Janelle Meraz Hooper
Janelle Meraz Hooper
I’m sometimes asked by non-writers if I ever get story ideas from my dreams? The answer is, sadly, no.
Early one morning, I was describing my latest wacky dream to my husband as he was getting ready for work.
It went like this: I was in marketing and had a group of conference attendees at the bottom of the ocean sitting in a circle in school desks. The water was clear. Little multicolored fish were swimming by…the conference attendees were dressed in their nicest business clothes…when it came time to feed them, I filled the basket of my four-wheeled wheelchair scooter with boxed chicken dinners and drove around and around in a circle on the top of the water dropping boxes to them—but the boxes wouldn’t sink. They just floated on top of the water.
As my husband was leaving the bedroom, he looked over at me and said, “You know what your problem was don’t you? You were trying to serve chicken. You should have been serving fish!” With that he left. No goodbye kiss, no hug. He knew better than to get too close to me with a line like that!
the end
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A little story gift to help children get though our Coronavirus isolation.
One summer, Mr. Hop discovered a big pheasant in his garden. He decided to call him George, the Great Green Gooseberry Gobbler, because he saw him underneath one of his gooseberry bushes—quickly gobbling green gooseberries even though they weren’t ripe!
Sometimes, when Mr. Hop went to the garden, he would get real close to the gooseberry bush. George would sneak around to the back of the bush and peek at Mr. Hop through the bush’s branches.
Mr. Hop began following him around the gooseberry bush, all the time fussing with the hoe, pretending he didn’t see his new feathered friend who was—sneakily gobbling green gooseberries.
Mrs. Hop thought they looked like they were dancing when Mr. Hop would weed around the gooseberry bush, swing his hoe, and sing while George hid at the back of the gooseberry bush, flapping his wings, scratching in the dirt—hurriedly gobbling green gooseberries.
Mr. and Mrs. Hop were so busy watching George with his colorful feathers, they didn’t see the less brightly-colored mother bird hiding in the brush pile while George was—noisily gobbling green gooseberries.
The mother bird didn’t know the brush pile she’d laid her eggs in was going to go up in flames when Mr. Hoop finished cleaning the garden. She thought she’d found the perfect place to raise her babies. Meanwhile, George was—fearlessly gobbling green gooseberries.
At the end of the day, Mr. Hop’s garden work was done and he was almost ready to light the fire under the brush pile. Mr. Hop struck a match. He got closer and closer to the brush pile. Silly George didn’t see what was about to happen. He was—cluelessly gobbling green gooseberries.
But just then it started to sprinkle. The raindrops got bigger and bigger until they chased Mr. Hop inside. George never stopped—hungrily gobbling green gooseberries.
Inside the brush pile, the mother pheasant hardly even noticed it was raining. The brush was so thick it kept both mother and her eggs as warm and dry as if the sun were shining. She didn’t know how close she’d come to losing her home and her babies while George was—greedily gobbling green gooseberries.
Mr. Hop worked in the city all week. The next Saturday, he got up early and looked out the kitchen window. The skies were clear. It would be a good day to burn the brush pile, he thought.
But just as he was looking out the window, he saw something move. Then something else. At first, it looked as if the ground was moving. It was baby birds! Then he saw George, as always—still gobbling green gooseberries.
“Well, I’ll be,” said Mr. Hop to his wife. “I can’t burn that brush pile today, look at the baby chicks!” Mrs. Hop laughed.
Just then, they saw the mother pheasant dart out of the brush pile and chase all of her new babies back inside the brush where it was safe. George didn’t notice. He was—busily gobbling green gooseberries.
Next spring, Mr. Hop said, he’d make the pheasants a special brush pile at the back of the garden, not far from the gooseberry bush, in case the birds wanted to come back. This brush pile, he would never burn.
George, The Great Green Gooseberry Gobbler, could come back every year and keep on—endlessly gobbling green gooseberries!
The end
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“You are my only country now.” Russia House. Sean Connery, Michelle Pfeiffer.
“I never want to kiss you goodbye, Kathleen.” Rio Grande. John Wayne, Maureen O’Hara.
“She had a face like a Sunday picnic.” Phillip Marlowe, Private Eye. Describing a beautiful woman with a fresh face.
“We have no time to catalog our regrets.” The Titanic, 1953. A man to his wife on a sinking Titanic when she tries to apologize about a marital problem.
“My tomorrows are all yours…” Rip to Beth in Yellowstone
Fatigues and Fox-Fur Coats at Christmas
A Snowy Day at the Airport
Janelle Meraz Hooper
I love airports. Years ago, due to a family emergency, I was stuck at a Lawton, Oklahoma airport just before Christmas. Due to a sudden snowstorm, the weather was so bad that none of the commercial flights could get in or out. The airport was near Fort Sill, the Artillery Training Center of the World, and the floor of the terminal was jammed full of weary and worried soldiers hoping—desperately–to get home in time for the holidays.
Just when chances of a flight were at their bleakest, two Lear jets, smaller than commercial aircraft, landed on the airstrip. The door opened and two women in full-length white fox coats, and dripping with diamonds, gingerly tiptoed their way through the snow, hopelessly trying to save their high-heeled shoes. The soldiers watched the beautiful women deplane, then, lost in their own problems, turned their attention elsewhere.
There wasn’t enough seating for the stranded soldiers, so once inside, the women picked a new path through the floor crowded with reclining troops. As they walked, they pointed at each soldier, smiled, and asked, “Where are you going?” When the soldier answered, one of them said, “Go get in that first plane,” or, “Go get in that second plane.” I don’t know why they could fly when the bigger planes couldn’t, but they took two planeloads of grateful soldiers home for Christmas that day.
Like the rest of the civilians, I was stuck in the airport for another six hours or so before the weather cleared and my commercial flight could land. There was no snack bar there at that time, and I survived on a box of stale Crackerjacks and a half-eaten roll of Lifesavers that I had in my purse. But I had a big smile on my face the whole time. Not only would the soldiers get a free ride home, but they’d get there in a Lear Jet. Most of us would never have that experience!
Over the airport’s intercom, I could hear the sound of Christmas music softly playing…God rest ye merry gentlemen…let nothing you dismay…oh, tidings of comfort and joy…
A true story.
The End
Note: The Lawton Airport has now been renamed The Lawton-Ft. Sill Regional Airport.
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Merry Christmas, from my heart to yours, Janelle