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• The Falls

  Posted at 1:39 pm by writergherlone, on January 9, 2018

  

  *No Part of this story may be published or reproduced without the written consent of the author

  **This story was originally published by Wild Women’s Medicine Circle Journal. To see this story and  similar works in print, visit Wild Women’s Medicine Circle Journal Blogspot. You may also order on Amazon.

  The Falls

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

   

  She pauses to listen halfway into the ascent.

  The forest speaks to her in a language that is not at all foreign. She has grown accustomed to its dialect, but on this day, she cannot trust her own ears. They have been poisoned by hateful words.

  She is alone. The solitude amplifies the words. Foraging squirrels sound like approaching demons. Dark thoughts fill her head.

  Her heart beats out a rhythm of warning. The partridge drum in succession, alerting to a battle that is not their own. There is danger here. There is danger everywhere, but rarely here. She finds solace in the dark places of the wild. Perhaps it is she that is the danger.

  The world sways. She drops down and covers her head. Her throat draws in shallow gulps and her hands grow numb. The still air comes to life. The trees sway back and forth in a violent dance. Dust devils swirl into the valley, scattering dead leaves and bending branches as they whistle through the pines. “Go back,” they howl. “It’s not too late.”

  She buries her face into the pulpy green moss and waits, her breath hitching. The wind subsides as does the imminence. It becomes stifling, threatening to suffocate her where she rests. She’d let it happen, but she wants the final say.

  She jumps up and begins again, ignoring the feeling that she may have gone too far. Today there will be no such thing as too far.

  The trail is steep and tricky. Her legs are weak, but she keeps moving. Keeps climbing.

  The low shooshing of the falls finally touches her ears.

  Painfully she gasps, breathing in the enveloping fragrance of the forest. Tangy pine and damp earth fill her nose, washing out the scent of her own perspiration.

  She turns to look out over the vastness. Fir waves sweep through, gathering among the tree tops. They resemble an old quilt. She is reminded of her grandmother.

  Her eyes turn upwards. The sky is azure so high aloft, like an ocean to dive through. A passage to heaven.

  Will there be a heaven for me? She wonders.

  She closes her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers into the valley.

  The tears come and spill over onto the scree. “I’m tired,” she says, “just tired.”

  Her shoulders shake as she turns her back on the landscape one last time.

  The mountain comforts her with a lullaby. It sends her the songs of the warblers and thrushes. Cicadas awaken, their high-pitched rubbings echo through the land.

  She steps back onto the trail and makes the final push to the top. To the falls.

  She can fully hear them now. Thunderous and booming, they drown away any lingering doubts.

  The sight of them quiets her like nothing ever could. They are familiar. She has drawn on their image continually. She always knew it would end like this.

  On the edge, a buck drinks from the pools. He senses her presence. His head snaps up. Water cascades from his antlers. They stare at one another, neither of them ready to speak first.

  “I..” she begins.

  The deer’s eyes widen. His nostrils flare. He stomps an accusation before taking flight into the brush.

  She feels guilty, but has made up her mind.

  She sits on a boulder and removes her pack. Cool mist sprays her cheeks as the water roars down the towering gray columns.

  She unzips the top and fishes around until she finds the medicine bottle. She unscrews the lid and examines the contents. She has been saving for a long time. Countless nights of torture so she could have such a moment.

  She dumps the entirety into her hand and pops the fistful into her mouth.

  She waits, hoping for quick relief. She does not wish for a final showing of her life. Her anxiety riddled brain has already replayed it many times.

  She stares at the water. A trout flips half in and half out of the shallows. Its red underbelly heaves as it sucks air. She slides down the rock and goes to release it. A final act of kindness.  She stands at the bank and watches it swim away.

  A warm and heavy feeling rushes into her chest. Soon it will make its way through her veins and settle inside of her head.

  She sits right there on the shore.

  “Samantha!” A voice pierces the uproarious motion.

  Startled, she whips around. The movement makes her dizzy, but she sees his form through the haze. He beckons to her with outstretched hands. Her heart soars.

  “I’m sorry,” he mouths.

  “I am, too,” she mouths back.

  She gets up and dives into the chute.

  End

   

   

  

  

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged depression, despair, desperation, flashfiction, nature, solitude

• A Very Sassy Christmas-Starring Sassafras Gherlone!

  Posted at 7:17 pm by writergherlone, on December 24, 2017

  

  A Very Sassy Christmas

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

  

  “Is Santa real?” Sassafras asked her mama on Christmas Eve.

  “Of course he is,” her mama answered. “He used to visit me every year when I was a little girl.”

  “I’m glad he’s real, but you’re a person and I’m a duck. What if Santa doesn’t bring presents to ducks?”

  “Don’t worry, sweet Sassafras,” her mama smiled. “If you believe in him, he will come. Why don’t you write him a note, asking for something you would like.” She suggested.

  

  “That’s a great idea! And I can leave him some milk and cookies and carrots for the reindeer.”

  

  “How is this?” Sassafras asked.

  “It looks great! I’m sure he will love it. Don’t forget to hang your stocking!”

  

  Sassafras hung her stocking on the fire place. “There,” she said. “I’m all ready for Santa. I really hope he comes tonight!”

  “He will come but not until you’re asleep,” Sassafras’s mama said. “You’d better hurry to bed.”

  

  Sassafras climbed into bed with Teddy but she was too excited to sleep. She kept listening for Santa.

  

  And kept getting out of bed to see if there were any presents in her stocking.

  

  Finally she fell asleep.

  

  When she woke up Santa had come! “Look mama! You were right! Santa does visit ducks! He left some worms in my stocking!”

  

  “And he drank all of the milk and ate the cookies, too!”

  “He did indeed,” Sassafras’s mama laughed. “I think I see a present under the tree with your name on it.”

  

  “I think I do too!” Sassafras cried with excitement. “It’s right here! I hope Santa got me what I asked for.”

  “Well, open it up and see,” Sassafras’s mama said.

  

  

  “He did! He did! Santa brought me just what I always wanted!”

  

  Sassafras was so happy. Now she had someone to play with, even if it was just pretend. She shared her worms with her new friend.

  

  And they played dress up.

  

  And had a tea party.

  

  “This was the best Christmas ever! Thank you Santa and mama!”

  Merry Christmas everyone!

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged christmas, familyfriendly, friends, pekinducks, picturestory, santa, shortstory

• Magazine Submissions: Advice from Someone Who is Not an Expert, but Knows a Little

  Posted at 3:19 pm by writergherlone, on December 1, 2017

  

   

  Magazine Submissions: Advice from Someone Who Is Not an Expert, but Knows A Little

  By Kristy Gherlone

   

  A couple of years ago, I didn’t know anything about the writing world. I knew I wanted to be a writer and I had a lot of ideas, but that was about it. As a child, I expressed the desire to become a writer, and it was met with a great deal of criticism. It probably didn’t help that I also wanted to be a ballerina, a singer, a figure skater, and an actress. My dreams were always dismissed as foolish, wasteful, and not very realistic. My mother had me late in her life and held on to old-fashioned ideals that a woman should get married and raise a family, but despite that, I did go to college and took my first writing class. The class was called Written Critical Expression. I wrote a piece that received high praise from the Professor and earned me an overall A in the class. I was so proud! The Professor encouraged me to write more. I thought I might have a chance to make one of my dreams come true, but I ran out of funds after two years, and had to drop out of school. I got married and had children, just like everyone expected me to.  The idea of becoming a writer did seem unrealistic for me at that point. I was up to my neck in diapers and had to work three jobs, at times. I still had all kinds of writing ideas, but never could find the time or the energy to jot them down.

  Finally, when my children were grown, I turned on the computer and began to write. I didn’t know where it would take me, but it didn’t matter. I was finally writing!  I completed my first novel and by that time, I knew a successful writer well.  I reached out for advice and assistance and was surprised when I didn’t receive a whole lot of encouragement. This is what I was told:

  1. Writing is a tough, competitive business.
  2. Everyone thinks they can be a writer, these days.
  3. Most people don’t make it.
  4. There’s a lot to it.
  5. You’re better off trying to figure things out on your own, like I had to.
  6. I don’t have time to read your work.

  I was stricken. I didn’t want to give up, but I didn’t know how to achieve my goals.  Like I said, I didn’t know anything about the writing world.

  Since I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my abilities, especially after that advice, I didn’t even try to submit my novel to a traditional publisher. I found a local publisher and did it that way. I received some fantastic feedback and sold quite a few copies. It boosted my self-confidence a bit and I was happy until that same author dismissed my success by saying that I had cheated by using a “vanity publisher.” After that, I had to admit that a part of me did feel like a cheater. My success didn’t feel real to me. I didn’t feel like a real author, so I did some research to find out what the “real” authors were doing. I found that most of them had started their careers by publishing in magazines. Everyone has to do what they feel is best for their own careers and for their own confidence levels, and I decided that what I needed for me to feel better, was to give that a try. Easier said than done!

  I wrote some short stories and began submitting to magazines. My early attempts were all rejected dismissively, harshly, and unapologetically. I began to question whether I had any real talent at all.

  It turns out that I just wasn’t doing it right. Now this is where I want to point out that I am definitely not an expert. Most of my submissions are rejected and I have yet to make it into the “top” 50, but I have received 10 acceptances in less than a year. I’m proud of every one. I have been in some beautiful magazines. If you only submit to the top 50, you are missing out on being part of some truly wonderful journals, and the chance to get your name and work out there.

  I want to share with you a few tricks in the hopes that I might make things easier for you. I want to give you encouragement, where I was given none. Here’s what I learned:

  1. Get an editor. I can’t stress this enough. I use The Letter Works and my talented husband. It doesn’t cost as much as you think. Your submission will be rejected for spelling mistakes and bad grammar most of the time. You might think your work is mistake free, but a good editor can point out where your work can be improved, plus they are immersed in the business. They know what’s going on out there. I have learned a lot from mine. Even still, my work will never be mistake free. There is still too much I don’t know and the rules are always changing. This document is probably full of mistakes because I didn’t let my editor edit it. Haha.
  2. Do the research. I mean that. Don’t just skim through the magazines you want to submit to. I’m embarrassed now that I sent what I did to the “top” magazines. I never had a chance! The magazines usually tell you, right up front, what they like and don’t. If you send a romance to a Sci-Fi they will reject you. Go figure. Also, check the word counts of the material they usually publish or ask for. If they are prone to publishing 2, 000-5,000 word stories and you send them 500, they might not take it. The same in the reverse. Don’t send a novelette to a flash fiction mag. Check the style of writing they publish. Are they contemporary, genre specific like non-fiction. What do you write? Does your writing fit in with what they have already published? Doesn’t mean they won’t take your writing, but it’s less likely.
  3. Keep your cover letters simple and on task. Sometimes, if you are lucky, the magazine will tell you what they want you to write in a cover letter. A few do want flashy, creative cover letters, but I have found that most don’t. They don’t have time to read it, so they just want the facts. And don’t be showy. If they ask for a past publishing history, give it to them, but only if they ask.
  4. Do simultaneous submissions. Don’t just send one piece of writing to one magazine unless the one magazine you’re submitting to does not allow simultaneous submissions. (Again…do the research into the magazine you’re submitting to-this could make or break your career) You will have a greater chance for success if you send your story to a few magazines at a time, if allowed. And keep track! This is very important. Keep a log of every submission, every rejection, and every acceptance. You will need this information to withdraw, if you get accepted somewhere else and for a thousand other reasons I can think of. Keep careful track.
  5. Have realistic goals. Very few people just starting out get in to the top 5. Not to say that you won’t, but try smaller and work your way up. But only if you want. If you really need that top 5, keep writing and improving and keep trying. It could happen and it does to some people. But like I said, you’ll be missing out, in my opinion, if you hold out for only the top rated.
  6. Don’t give up. You need to keep writing and improving.
  7. Be yourself. You don’t have to write with the trends to be accepted.
  8. Celebrate your victories but then keep moving, unless one acceptance is good enough for you.

  So did I achieve what I wanted to? Yes and no. I guess because I’m an artist, I still feel like a fraud sometimes. It comes with the territory, I’m told. I did ditch my worries about using a “vanity publisher.” Who cares as long as you’re happy and doing what you love. Do whatever it takes, just don’t give up.

  That’s all I have for now, but look at how much I have learned in such a short time! Just by doing research!  I’m here if you have any questions. I’ll do what I can to help you achieve your dreams.

  And whatever happened to that “successful author” with the wonderful advice? I don’t know. I didn’t need that kind of negativity in my life.

  Also, here are some good sites to look at to find who is requesting material and when:

  1. New Pages

  2. Entropy

  3. Subscribe to Submittable

  4. Simply google “literary magazines seeking fiction 2017” and you’ll come up with a bunch

  Good luck!

   

   

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged advice, dreams, encouragement, goals, magazines, publishing, shortstory, success, writer, writing

• Pie, Oh Pie Did I Do This?

  Posted at 1:06 am by writergherlone, on November 23, 2017

  

  Thanksgiving is a going to be a little tough for me this year, as most of my family is feuding. Anticipating some depression about missing dinner with my children and grandson, I almost booked a cruise. Sailing into the sun, reggae music playing in the background, and a Pina Colada in my hand sounded like just the thing to cure my blues. However,  I decided to take my best friend up on her offer and join her family for dinner this year. We haven’t been able to spend Thanksgiving together for a long time and I’m excited to have the opportunity. As kids, we often shared the holiday and one of our favorite past times was eating pie for breakfast.  So, I told her I would come and I even offered to make the pies.

  Like any good, respecting Mainer, when we offer to do something, by God, we’re going to do it! I looked up some ideas online and set to work today. Hours later, I’m exhausted and not entirely pleased with my efforts. Pie art is probably something that could be improved with practice and maybe I’ll get there, but it’s doubtful since I rarely make pie. When I have, I have always made traditional pies with an occasional cut leaf here and there for decoration. Nothing to this extent. It was a learning process, but I did come up with some ideas of my own for next time.

  It did occur to me, about halfway through, when I was sweaty and swearing, that I had given myself this challenge to keep my mind off my troubles. It worked. I should have known! Writing, painting, and apparently pie art are all great activities for relaxing the mind and soul.

  Anyway, no matter what you are doing for Thanksgiving, I hope you have a wonderful day. I wanted to share my pies with you and my story. Family issues are brutal during the holidays, so I can only pray that you and your family are together and thankful to be so.  I hope next year will find me in a different circumstance, but in the meantime, I am going to enjoy spending time with my best friend. I am so blessed to have her and I’m grateful for her generosity.

   

  

  

  

  

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged family, familyissues, feuds, holidayblues, pie, thanksgiving

• Who Are You Today?

  Posted at 1:47 pm by writergherlone, on November 17, 2017

  

  Who Are You Today?

  By Kristy Gherlone

   

  I have been our Nation’s President and a street sign.

  I have been the rain and a pile of dead leaves.

  I have traveled through time and I have lived the life of a Nazi war criminal.

  I have climbed mountains and have thrown myself into The Falls.

  I have been witness to atrocities and miracles.

  I have been a whupping boy and a psychic.

  I have been autistic and an abused little girl.

  I have been abandoned and I have been the neighborhood comedic hick.

  I have been sought out by the government and killed by a prisoner.

  I have killed myself over and over again, but I have lived through a million words and at least a hundred lives.

  Today, I am the Pastor of a small Baptist church.

  My life is exciting because I write it that way.

  Who are you today? Where are you? What can you see? What will you be tomorrow?

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged amwriting, microfiction, questions, stories, whoareyou, writer, writerslife

• Winter

  Posted at 8:47 pm by writergherlone, on November 13, 2017

  

   

  Winter

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

  There are knives in the eaves.

  There are shards of glass in the streets.

  There is a serial killer just outside my window.

  I’d complain further, but there’s a heart attack in my driveway.

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged ice, microfiction, snow, story, winter

• Cracked

  Posted at 8:46 pm by writergherlone, on November 6, 2017

  

  *Unfortunately, to date, the following story has not made it into the literary pages. It is an old-fashioned story in feel, but a particular favorite of mine, so I thought I’d share.  I hope you enjoy it too! While this one won’t be seen in the magazines, I do have three more that will. “The Forest Fire,” will appear in Edify Fiction on December 29, 2017. “No Parking,” will appear in Fiction on the Web on December 11th, and my new story ( a comedy), was just accepted by Defenestration Magazine. I’ll announce the date for that one as it gets closer. Also, my story, “The Falls,” is now available in print through Wild Women’s Medicine Circle Journal and you can find it on Amazon, if you are interested.

   

   

  Cracked

  By Kristy Gherlone

   

  There were cracks in the driveway. Deep, ugly grooves that marred the surface of the inky pavement.

  Janice cried out in shock. It wasn’t so much the cracks that bothered her. It was that the cracks had weeds growing in them.

  “Honey? Better get those paver fellows to come back. We have cracks…”

  She set her purse and coffee down onto the top of her car, and plucked a lime green shoot from a crevice.

  In disbelief, she held it up to her eyes, squinting as she rolled it back and forth between her fingers. “What in the Sam holy old hell? How is this even possible?” They’d only just had the driveway done a couple of days before.

  She shook her head and threw it down. She crushed it under the heel of her shoe for good measure.

  “Make sure you call them today, too! Those scamming little bastards are not going to get away with this. We paid good money for this driveway, and they’re going to fix it or we’ll sue!”

  She opened the car door. “Did you hear me? I’ve got to get to work. I’m late!” She jumped in and tore away.

  Later that afternoon when she arrived back home, nothing had been done about the driveway.

  I bet Jack didn’t even call, she thought, fuming.  That man is as useless as tits on a boar hog.  If Tommy was home, he would have made sure they’d come right back over.  Such a good kid, Tommy… nothing like his father.

  She sat, holding the keys in her hand, and wondered about her son. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d left for his cross-country trip to college out in Utah. She was beginning to worry that something was wrong. It wasn’t like him not to call.

  Suddenly, there was a rap on her window. She jumped and whirled around. The afternoon sun had dropped below the horizon! It was nightfall!

  “Who’s out there?” she cried.

  “It’s me, Mrs. Sanborn. Your neighbor, Ted Gatsby.”

  “Who?”

  “Ted Gatsby. Don’t you remember me? Is everything alright?”

  Janice felt foolish. Relieved, but foolish. She rolled down the window. “Of course I remember you. How could I forget? You must think I’m some kind of nut, sitting out here like this. I was tired after work. I guess I must have dozed off for a minute.”

  “I was surprised to see anyone over here this morning. I tried the front door when I saw a car in the driveway, just now. I knocked but no one answered. I was about to leave, but then I saw you sitting inside. You scared me half to death. I thought…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

  “No, no. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” She rolled up the window and opened the door, “Jack didn’t answer when you knocked?” She scoffed, struggling to get out of the seat.  “That man, I swear to God! All he does is sit in that chair and watch television. I have to light a fire under his ass to get him to do anything.” She swung one of her legs out, but couldn’t go any further.

  “Jack? You mean your husband, Mrs. Sanborn?” Ted asked, bewildered.

  “Of course my husband! Who’d you think I was talking about?”

  Ted’s mouth fell open. He didn’t know what to say.

  “Never mind. Give me a hand, will you? I can’t seem to get out of this thing.” Janice laughed, embarrassed.   “Imagine a forty-year-old woman having so much trouble.”

  Ted chuckled awkwardly, but reached in to take her by the arm. Gently, he pulled and managed to get her out. Her legs quivered beneath her as she stood, clinging to his arm.

  “Is there someone I should call for you?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

  “Call? Heavens, no! Who in the hell would you call unless it’s those damn pavers? Did you see my driveway?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “A kindergartener could have done a better job!”

  “But…” Ted stammered.

  She rolled her eyes and waved him away. “I’m fine. Just a little unsteady. I don’t know what’s gotten into me today, but I’m sure it will pass.   Probably just a bug or something.” She started for the house, but stopped and turned back around. “What did you want, anyway?”

  “Want, Mrs. Sanborn?”

  “Yes, why did you come over?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ted said, suddenly remembering the reason for his visit.  “I thought, maybe, since you were back, you could use some help fixing the old place up again. I could put a coat of sealant on that driveway for you. I have some left over from a job I did over in Chickory. It might keep the weeds from sprouting up.”

  “So that’s why you’re here?” Janice cried, insulted.  “There is nothing wrong with this house other than that blasted driveway. Old place, indeed! What a thing to say! Our house is the nicest one on this block and you know it! I bet you’re in cahoots with those pavers, aren’t you?”

  “I…well, no! Of course, not,” Ted stammered.

  “I’m not an idiot, so don’t take me for one,” she said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I happen to know a thing or two about contractors. Never met a single one I could trust.”

  “Mrs. Sanborn, please…I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that it’s been a while since anyone…you’ve been gone…”

  “Well you can forget it,” she snapped, cutting him off. She turned on her heels, “I paid good money for that driveway not even a week ago, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay you too. They are just going to have to come back and fix it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a husband to attend to.” She stormed into the house and slammed the door behind her.

  She threw her things down onto the table and stalked into the den. Jack was sitting in his chair. The television was blaring.  Janice walked over and turned it down. “Can you imagine the nerve of some people? You’d think you could trust your own neighbors! Ted Gatsby thought he was going to con us into paying him for something that should have been done right in the first place. Well, I’ll tell you! It’s a good thing you’ve got me around. I set him straight. And where the hell were you when all of this was going on? Sitting right here, just like always. You know, I’m sick of doing everything by myself. I have a good mind to take Sal Eames up on his offer to run away with him.” She smiled smugly and went off to make dinner.

  The next morning, when she stepped into the shower, she noticed the tiles right away. They were cracked. Not all of them, but quite a few. Splintery cracks feathered the delicate flowered porcelain.

  It wasn’t the cracks that bothered her so much. It was the black mold peppering the rubbery grout that baffled her. She scraped some off with her fingernail. “Jeez Louise!” she muttered.

  “Jack!” she hollered over the rush of running water. “What on earth happened up here? The tiles are cracked! I bet you busted them up when you were trying to replace that shower head, didn’t you? I told you to be careful. If water gets in behind those cracks, we’ll have a mess on our hands for sure. There’s already mold growing. Replace them today while I’m gone, will you?”

  She finished with her shower, dressed, and grabbed her lunch out of the fridge. “Well, I’m off. Don’t forget about those chores,” she told Jack before stepping outside.

  She started down the walk, but something on the side of the house caught her attention. She whirled around and froze.  There were cracks in the foundation! Deep fissures ran all the way from the bottom edge of the siding to the ground. Gaping, jagged edges of concrete. Lush green moss clung tightly to the rough gray surface. It was unsightly. Horrified, she dropped her lunch.

  “Jack? Jack! Get out here! We have real problems.”  Stunned, she staggered over to the foundation and dropped to her knees. She began pulling the moss out in clumps. “Did we have an earthquake?  Did you see anything about an earthquake on the news?”

  When Jack didn’t answer, she got up and went back into the house. “Jack?” she yelled, going from room to room.  “Jack?”

  She found him in the den.  “I’ve been shouting for you. I should have known you wouldn’t hear me over that stupid television.”  Exasperated, she snapped it off. “Don’t you ever do anything else besides watch TV?  Did you hear me? I think we’re going to have to call the insurance company. I think we’ve had an earthquake. I’ve got to get to work. Make sure you do it today and get an estimate.”

  She hurried back outside.

  “Mrs. Sanborn?” A voice called to her.

  Janice’s head snapped up. She shielded her eyes from the morning sunlight.

  “It’s just me, again, Mrs. Sanborn,” the voice said, getting closer.

  Janice recognized the voice as Ted Gatsby’s. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she snapped. She hurried over to her car, opened the door, and threw her purse inside.

  “Mrs. Sanborn, I called Gloria. Just sit tight, okay?”

  “Gloria?” she croaked, her anger momentarily forgotten. “My Gloria? Whatever for?”

  “Yes, your Gloria. Your daughter! She was glad to hear that you’re okay. She was very worried about you.”

  “Worried? What on earth for? You didn’t drag her into our spat, did you? You had no right! She needs to be studying instead of worrying about what’s going on here. Why don’t you just mind your own business, Mr. Nosey.” She scowled and got into the car.

  All the fuss and bickering made her tired. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. A few minutes later, she felt herself falling and nearly toppled out of the car. “What on earth!” she bellowed.

  “Mama! Oh, mama! You can’t imagine how sick I’ve been with worry,” Gloria wailed. She grasped her mother’s shoulders, and tried to right her again.

  “What?” Janice demanded, confused. She looked up at the sky. The position of the sun told her it was late afternoon! She’d fallen asleep again!  She shook her head, “Gloria! My God, girl, what are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry mama. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s just that when Ted called…” she began to cry, “I’m just so glad to see you.”

  “For crying out loud! It’s only been a couple of weeks since daddy and I dropped you off at school. The way you’re carrying on, you’d think we hadn’t seen each other in years. Well, never mind. Give me a hug you foolish girl.” She rolled her eyes, but smiled as she let Gloria help her out of the car.  “I can’t believe you let Ted Gatsby talk you into coming home from college for something so ridiculous. Well, daddy will be glad to see you anyway. Let’s go in and say hello.”

  Gloria sniffled as she led her mother up the walkway. “Mama, I think we should talk,” she said, helping her mother inside and onto the couch in the foyer.

  “You didn’t flunk out already did you?” Janice tsked. “Is that what all this blubbering is about?”

  “No mama. I…”

  “Something worse then,” she pursed her lips and frowned.  “Well, go and get your father. Whatever you have to say, he should probably hear too. God! I hope you’re not pregnant,” she huffed, clutching her chest.

  Gloria searched her mother’s eyes.  “Please tell me you remember about daddy, mama. And Tommy. You do remember, don’t you?” She reached up to cup her mother’s cheek.

  “Remember what? What has gotten into you today?” Janice said, pushing her hand away. “You just go and get your father, like you’re told.”

  “Mama,” Gloria began gently, “Daddy isn’t here. He’s been gone since the week after Tommy left us.

  “Gone? What are you talking about? He hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s right in the den.” She got up and started down the hall. “Jack! You get out here and see your daughter.”

  “He isn’t here,” Gloria said again.  She got up too, and hurried after her. “He couldn’t be.” She caught up and reached for her mother’s shoulder, trying to stop her. “Daddy’s been dead for nearly thirty years.”

  “What?” Janice yelped, pulling away. Her face flushed scarlet. “Why would you say such a thing? Have you gone mad? He’s watching television, the old fool.” She made it to the entrance of the den. She stopped and thrust a finger towards her husband’s chair. “See?” she said. “He’s right there.”

  Gloria followed her in. She walked over to the chair. She held her breath, and turned it around. Other than an old drop cloth, it was empty!

  “What in the world?” Janice cried. Her eyes were frantic as she searched the room. She ran around, opening all the closets, and checking behind all the furniture. “Jack? Don’t play games now! Your daughter is here and wants to see you.”

  “Mama, stop. Please, just stop. Daddy isn’t here. He’s gone. He died of a heart attack. And Tommy died in the accident on Route sixty-six on his way to college.”

  Janice’s hand flew to her mouth. “No! That’s not true! You’re lying,” she rasped.

  “I’m so sorry, but it is true. You have to believe it. You have to remember!”

  Janice began to shake. A flood of horrible memories rushed into her brain, though she tried to push them out. “No!” she wept. “I don’t want to remember!”

  “You have to. I need you! Your grandchildren need you”

  “No, no, no,” Janice shook her head. Her legs gave out and she sat with a slump onto the couch.

  Gloria went and sat next to her. “I thought when Ted called and told me that you were here, that you were starting to remember again. Was I wrong?” she asked.

  “Here? This is my home. Where else would I be?”

  “At the center, mama. We had to take you there after daddy died. You’ve been there all this time.”

  “It can’t be,” Janice said with horror. “It just can’t be.”

  “But it is.  They called when they couldn’t find you yesterday. They didn’t know where you’d gone. We’ve all been so scared. You can’t imagine my relief when Ted called. I thought, then, that you were starting to come back to us.”

  “Come back to you?”

  “Come with me mama.” Gloria got up and held out her hand.

  Janice hesitated, but finally took it and followed her out into the hallway. Grandma’s antique mirror still hung crookedly on the wall, next to the back door.

  “Turn around, mama. I want you to see yourself.”

  “See myself? I’ve seen myself a million times,” she said, but turned towards the mirror anyway.  The woman she saw starring back at her was old. An old woman with crazy, deranged eyes!

  Frightened, she took a step back. Her hands reached up to feel her face. Deep cracks and creases lined her cheeks and forehead. Her lips were dry and puckered. Crinkles erupted next to her eyes as she stood there grimacing. “I’m old,” she whispered. “I can’t be this old. I was just forty a few months ago…”

  Gloria reached over to rub her mother’s back. “It’s been thirty years since you were forty, mama. You’ve been gone a long time, too.”

  “Am I back now?”

  “I hope so, mama. I really hope so.”

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged age, family, fiction, grief, illness, loss, mental, shortstory

• Hidden Gems in Maine

  Posted at 1:04 pm by writergherlone, on October 24, 2017

  

  Not too far from the border of New Hampshire, on the Maine coast, there is a town called   Ogunquit.  It is truly one of my favorite southern Maine spots to visit.

  It is a small coastal town that draws in thousands of visitors in the summertime. People come from all over the world to spend time on the gorgeous, lengthy sand beaches, for the shopping, excellent dining choices, boating, fishing, surfing…you name it. There is plenty to do.

  

  When I was a kid growing up in northern Maine, I didn’t know anything about Ogunquit. No one ever talked about it. When people made the three hour trek to the ocean, they went to Old Orchard Beach or to Acadia National Park in Bar Harbor. I often went to Bar Harbor, and of course, I’ve been to Old Orchard. Who didn’t when they were a teen? Families love Old Orchard for the amusement parks and side attractions. You can walk the “strip” in Old Orchard, or the pier, get a dough boy (or funnel cake, or fried dough..whatever you call them from wherever you are on the map; in Maine it’s a dough boy) a cotton candy, a cheap bathing suit, some plastic beach toys, and go on an array of carnival rides that will make you throw-up your dough boy.  In Bar Harbor, you can visit Acadia. You can hike, ride horses, sit at the beach, or do the side attraction like the Acadia Zoo in Trenton. Don’t get me wrong, they are both fun places to visit, but when I first saw Ogunquit, I was hooked!  It is a bit more of an upscale, adult- oriented beach town. Hot sun, lazy beaches, casual attitudes, upscale shops, and nearly every restaurant has lobster or some type of delicious seafood on the menu. To me, it has that Florida, I’m-on-vacation-don’t-bother-me feel to it.

  This is what I like to do when I get there:

  1. Walk Marginal Way
  2. Take one of the trollies back to the square.
  3. Eat at the Footbridge.
  4. Shop in one of the many, many gorgeous shops-clothes, jewelry, art, antiques..etc.
  5. Eat again!
  6. Go to the beach for some sun and relaxation
  7. Eat again
  8. Book a cocktail cruise on Finest Kind cruises
  9. Look at the lighthouse at Nubble and the moon over the ocean
  10. Sleep peacefully with a smile on my face

   

  The walk (Marginal Way)  is a little over a mile one-way with gorgeous waterfront homes on one side and incredible ocean view on the other. The people who own the homes there, landscape their lawns beautifully. There is always an abundance of flowers and butterflies along the way, even this late in the season.

  

  

  

  However, as I have said, the town does draw in visitors. Too many sometimes. Summertime is bustling and busy. It’s hard to find adequate parking and it’s hard to move around with all of those elbows and strollers.  The wonderful people there have all kinds of advice about where to eat, what to see, where to stay, and what to do. I have found some gems in the years I have spent there. I want to tell you about two or three, to save you some trouble.

  The Colonial Inn. It is not right on the ocean, which makes it seem less desirable. Everyone wants something right on the water but if you don’t book a room at the Colonial, for that reason, you are missing out. This is what it looks like:

  

  

  

  So yeah, it’s gorgeous. It’s not on the water, but does have an ocean view. The staff is incredibly attentive and often do extras to make your stay even more special, like this:

  

  Having an anniversary? They will surprise and delight your spouse with something like this. They also do weddings and special functions. I’ve never seen any other hotel go through so much trouble to make you happy.

  They are also a bit cheaper for not being on the water, but it is beautiful hotel. Relaxed, but fun. Elegant, but economical. I love it and the staff. They are in the middle of the shopping and very close to the entrance of Marginal Way.

  Where to eat? For a fancy restaurant on the water, try MC Perkins Cove. Good food, good ambiance, and excellent service…but if you don’t care what the place looks like as long as it has good food, you can’t beat The Footbridge Lobster. I don’t really like to eat anywhere else, unless I have to dress up and be fancy…then it’s MC.

  

  

  For one, they have the absolute best lobster stew and crab rolls I’ve ever tasted. I literally dream about their food all year long. The staff is pleasant and attentive and that’s amazing considering how busy they usually are. There is usually a line out the door! I would gladly wait in line an hour or more for a crab roll from them! So yummy!

  

  And if you are thinking, ‘Ogunquit doesn’t sound like a good place for families’, you would be wrong. York’s Animal Kingdom is right down the road. My grandson loves it.

  

  You can pet goats, see tigers, lions, and maybe even some bears!  Plus Ogunquit has a couple of toy stores, and an arcade for the kiddos, pizza shops and those cheap beach toys that Old Orchard has. There are also plenty of places that have kids menus, as well. And what kid wouldn’t like to ride on a trolly?

  Anyway, I wanted to share what I know about Ogunquit so that when you visit, it can be just as wonderful as I know it to be. I’m not much of a travel blogger, but I do travel a lot; to Ogunquit, more than any other place. I love it and I hope you’ll find my suggestions helpful.

  

  

  

  Enjoy!

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged beach, dining, eat, familyfriendly, lobsters, maine, ocean, ogunquit, restaurant, seafood, shopping, thecolonialinn, thefootbridge, trollies, vacation

• Sassafras Makes a Jack-o’-Lantern

  Posted at 12:12 pm by writergherlone, on October 19, 2017

  Sassafras Makes a Jack-o’-Lantern

  (story and pictures by Kristy Gherlone)

   

  

  “May I try on my Halloween costume and can we make a Jack-o’-Lantern?” Sassy asked one October morning.

  “Hmmm,” Sassafras’s mother smiled, noticing that Sassafras had already put on the costume, and had already gathered the pumpkins. “I guess it is almost Halloween. I suppose so. Let me get a knife and the things we’ll need.”

  

  “I can get the knife!” Sassafras offered. She was excited and eager to help.

  “No. You’d better let me get that,” Sassafras’s mother said. “Knives are sharp. You should never carve a pumpkin unless there is an adult around to help you.”

  

  Sassafras’s mother got the knife and stuck it into the top of the pumpkin. Sassafras began to cry.

  

  “What’s the matter Sassafras? Why are you so sad?”

  “I didn’t know you were going to kill the pumpkin!” Sassafras wailed, quite upset.

  “Aww, it’s okay,” Sassafras’s mother said, giving her a hug. “This pumpkin is not alive. I promise, I’m not hurting it at all.”

  “Are you sure?” Sassafras asked, still sniffling.

  “I’m positive. Pumpkins are vegetables. People grow them in their gardens for food and decoration. They are not like people and ducks.”

  “Oh. Okay,” Sassafras sighed with relief.

  

  Sassafras’s mother finished cutting a hole into the top of the pumpkin and Sassafras helped to remove the seeds that were inside.

  

  “These seeds are slimy, but they taste kind of good,” Sassy said.

  “Don’t eat too many,” Sassafras’s mother cautioned. “You’ll get a bellyache.”

  

  “I think there are more on the bottom.”

  “You are doing a great job. Make sure the pumpkin is nice and clean,” Sassafras’s mother said. “If you leave too many of the fibers inside, the pumpkin won’t last very long.”

  

  “I think that’s the last of them,” Sassafras declared. She had created quite a pile of seeds and fibers on the plastic bag.

  “We can roast some of the seeds later, after they dry out,  if you like. I think you will like those,” Sassafras’s mother said.

  “Yummy!” Sassy cried happily. Roasted pumpkin seeds sounded delicious.

  When Sassafras and her mother were finished carving the face on the Jack-o’-Lantern, Sassafras helped to carry it onto the porch.

  

  “Our Jack-o’-Lantern came out nice,” Sassafras said, proudly. “And now everyone can see.”

   

  I hope you enjoyed my story.  Sassafras is a wonderful pet and has a lot of patience for my nonsense. She is always paid for her participation in the form of worms and hugs.

  This was last years costume.

  

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childrensstory, costumes, ducks, familyfriendly, fiction, Halloween, pekinduck, pumpkins, shortstory

• Doorways

  Posted at 12:55 pm by writergherlone, on October 14, 2017

  

  Doorways

  by Kristy Gherlone

  Under the glow of a waning harvest moon, enveloped in the scent of decaying leaves, and to the din of feasting coyotes, earthly beings light fires to steel themselves against the frosty autumn air. They unwittingly open doorways to hell, allowing entrance to demons that rule October nights. On All Hallow’s Eve when Satan begs their return, they gather their captured souls and spirit them back through the entrance, slipping unnoticed through the safe passage we have created.

  Sleep tight, everyone!

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged autumn, campfire, creepy, fiction, Halloween, october, shortstory

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