For Memorial Day

     For Memorial Day I thought I would share an excerpt from my recently completed novel, because it is the story of  an American war veteran, just one neglected veteran, and how all of society loses when our veterans are not cared for.  Feedback most welcome.

     An excerpt of Holy Buckets, by Tammi J Truax

     Her rayon skirt rippled with the strong spring wind and made her think of the flag that her tired eyes were fixed on. Old Glory, the American flag, was draped across the casket that entombed her Uncle Jimmy. Somehow it had been pinned securely to the casket though the wind wanted to take it. She noticed that the blue field of fifty stars lay at the head of the casket, and it made her mind wander to the crown of stars mentioned in Revelations.  Sarah felt somehow relieved that the flag was there. As if somehow it comforted her uncle lying therein. As if somehow it offered some protection, for him, for her. She was painfully uncomfortable here. She hadn't been to a funeral since her mother had died two years ago, and this occasion was bringing back all the memories of that loss, as if they were as fresh as the flowers blossoming in bunches all around the cemetery. June flowers though, are a soft touch. The searing loss Sarah had experienced at the loss of her family one by one over the course of her twenty-four years of life was a harsh reality that couldn’t be softened, only accommodated and tolerated, like the freckles on her face. It was part of her person, and she felt it was visible to anyone who looked at her, like her freckles and her curly auburn hair or hazel green eyes. Now she was here burying her last local relative. Her father’s brother, Uncle Jimmy, a quiet old Korean War veteran and life-long bachelor that she had never been able to really get to know. And now it was too late. He had passed away, as quietly and unceremoniously as he had lived. Sarah was surprised at the degree of guilt she was suddenly feeling.

     Standing at the back of the small crowd gathered at the burial, a young man named Richard caught a glimpse of sweet white thigh as a girl's skirt fought the wind in the front near the casket, and managed to show no reaction to it on his face, though he did have a reaction. He turned his face away, standing at attention as his body was still accustomed to doing, while the retired US Army chaplain stepped to the front of the small gathering and silently commanded everyone’s attention.

     Richard Morang had known Jim Kelley for just a couple of years since the younger man had returned home from Iraq and taken a job as a laborer in a trucking warehouse where Jim had been employed since he had been discharged from the service himself, and was now a supervising foreman. The guy had always been decent to him, clearly understanding the challenges of reintegrating into civilian life after doing combat duty. He had been just about the only person Richard had been able to talk to about his experiences, both overseas and since coming home. Jim had been a good listener, and Richard had come to the funeral service today to pay his final respects. Richard didn't have a lot of friends, wasn't a very outgoing guy, but he thought of old Jim as a friend. He would miss that man, though he regretted how little he had bothered to really get to know him. And now, thoroughly distracted by a brief flash of leg, he was surprised at the degree of guilt he was feeling.

     He turned his attention to the chaplain, who because he did not really know the deceased man either, began to give a traditional talk about the thirteen folds of the flag; ...

            

On Walden Pond

     Took a wonderful literary road trip with BFF Barb Z. to Concord, Massachusetts a few days ago. On an absolutely perfect May day we toured Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House. I controlled myself in the gift shop and bought only one book! Hospital Sketches, Louisa's account of her experiences as a civil war nurse. I was unfamiliar with it, and it will serve as research for my current novel which is set in the same era. After a lunch break on the porch of the Concord Inn, we explored Author's Ridge in the local cemetery and found the graves of a great many literary giants. It was rather sweet to see the Alcott sisters side by side, a line of little women.    
     With a touch of guilt we read the notes a pilgrimage of men had lately left for Thoreau, all thanking him for what he had done for them. It piqued my already strong interest in going to see the site of Thoreau's cabin, which was our last stop. It could not have been more lovely. Walden Pond is still peaceful and quiet and calm, even with the endless parade of people paying homage to the spot that was all about being alone. The hike out to the site, along the waters edge, is still breathtakingly beautiful. The water surprisingly clear. I wanted to stay, to camp out in the woods, for just one night, to see the stars from that very spot, . . . to get up with the birds and bathe in the pond,. . . and then climb in a canoe and paddle out to the center of the pond, to the very pupil of "Earth's eye". . . to sit there a spell, in silence.  . . and then to go home, . . . and go confidently in the direction of my dreams, to live the life I've imagined.

Getting Stuff Done

      Finished another manuscript this week!! This time for a children's picture book that I've been working on for a couple of years. I just finished uploading it on Inkubate. I'm going to ask one local subject-matter expert to read and review it, and hopefully write me a blurb, before I begin sending it out.
     In other big news, I was accepted into a grad school program. No more excuses for procrastinating on getting that done now, though between pimping out my manuscripts and working and going to school part time, actual writing time is becoming alarmingly scarce...