New Christmas Shoes
Clayton Anderson Bell
It is odd how one’s mind wanders back to little things that meant so very much when one was young.
For instance, ordering from the Eaton’s catalogue.
It was early December and at school the teacher was making plans for the annual Christmas Concert to be held in the town hall. A play was to be put on by our class and I was chosen to play a part. I was to be a business person who sat at a table and discussed the buying of Christmas presents during war time in Canada.
That was all well and good except for one thing. I did not have a pair of shoes that a business man would wear. Both Grandpa and Grandma Anderson said, "Now, we must look in the Eaton’s catalogue and send for a pair of dress shoes".
I can still see the page with all the pictures of new shoes.
At this stage in my life it was runners, rubber boots, work boots, felt socks and just plain barefooted. What a time we all had to pick out the right pair!
It was done. The next day I took the letter to the mail box on the highway. Well, if you think mail can be slow today, nothing could compare to the length of time it took for that letter to go into Winnipeg, order filled and the parcel returned.
Christmas drew near and no parcel. Grandma said it was because so many people were sending in orders at this time of year that it would take a bit longer for our parcel to arrive. Finally it arrived.
What a pair of shoes! They were shiny black and had hard leather soles. I tried them on and they fit perfectly. Even though they were a bit too big I was not going to say a word, other than they felt "just right".
The night of the concert it was cold and crisp outside as Grandpa hooked up the team of horses. We all headed for town, me wearing my felt socks and rubbers and clutching my new shoes under my arm.
When our play started I walked out onto the stage in my new shoes. At every step I could hear the soles click against the stage floor. Looking down the shoes were spotless and shone like two polished lights. I just knew that everyone in the hall must be aware of my new Christmas shoes.
The concert was over, Santa arrived, and home we went with sleigh bells ringing, and my new Christmas shoes held tightly under my arm.
MERRY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY NEW YEAR to all!
Boyhood
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
An Ode to the Emerald Isle
THE GREEN OF THE SHAMROCK
Clayton Anderson Bell
Lupines bloom in the valleys of Shannon,
Roses of red carpet vales of Tralee,
Memories of Ireland hold me forever,
The green of the Shamrock beckons to me.
Come, the wee ones are patiently waiting,
Waves washing gently on Galway’s lea,
I hear the flutes and drummers a’ playing,
The green of the Shamrock beckons to me.
Great hills of Wicklow, songs from Killarney,
Cross o’er the mountains, cross o’er the sea,
Then hold to the heart of Ireland forever,
The green of the Shamrock beckons to me.
Peat crops and shanties now in the offing,
Emerald fields colored clearly to see,
Once more I return to my Ireland forever,
The green of the Shamrock beckons to me.
Clayton Anderson Bell
Lupines bloom in the valleys of Shannon,
Roses of red carpet vales of Tralee,
Memories of Ireland hold me forever,
The green of the Shamrock beckons to me.
Come, the wee ones are patiently waiting,
Waves washing gently on Galway’s lea,
I hear the flutes and drummers a’ playing,
The green of the Shamrock beckons to me.
Great hills of Wicklow, songs from Killarney,
Cross o’er the mountains, cross o’er the sea,
Then hold to the heart of Ireland forever,
The green of the Shamrock beckons to me.
Peat crops and shanties now in the offing,
Emerald fields colored clearly to see,
Once more I return to my Ireland forever,
The green of the Shamrock beckons to me.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
South of the King ranch in Texas
RIO RICO CAFÉ
Clayton Anderson Bell
Dust creeps under the loose fit door,
Cowboy tracks across its floor,
Coffee hot and beans on boil,
Welcome all who sweat and toil.
Saddle horses tied by on rails,
Mop and bucket and spittoon pails,
Cups and saucers cracked by time,
Aprons soiled from white to grime.
Smoke hangs heavy, fans move slow,
Shuffling in and shuffling go,
Feet of the western land so dry,
Weather too hot, no tears to cry.
A Quarter horse, a dun, a black,
An old Ford pick-up out in back,
Standing proud upon Texas clay,
The sun scorched Rio Rico Café.
Clayton Anderson Bell
Dust creeps under the loose fit door,
Cowboy tracks across its floor,
Coffee hot and beans on boil,
Welcome all who sweat and toil.
Saddle horses tied by on rails,
Mop and bucket and spittoon pails,
Cups and saucers cracked by time,
Aprons soiled from white to grime.
Smoke hangs heavy, fans move slow,
Shuffling in and shuffling go,
Feet of the western land so dry,
Weather too hot, no tears to cry.
A Quarter horse, a dun, a black,
An old Ford pick-up out in back,
Standing proud upon Texas clay,
The sun scorched Rio Rico Café.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Dedicated to all related to Albert and Thea Anderson
My Room-Mate
Clayton Anderson Bell
My room-mate was 101 years old, she was my great-grandmother, the world was at war, and I was alone. I was only eight when we became room-mates and at that time my roommate was 94 years of age.
My roommate was a tall, slender, very regal looking person, strong of limb and quick of mind. We shared a rather large room on the third floor of a very old farm house. Roomy’ s bed was against the south wall and my bed was against the north wall and in between us we shared a table, two chairs, a coal oil lamp and a four drawer chest. Roomy had three drawers and I had one. Being younger my drawer was the bottom one as I was more able to bend down...and so we started our life together.
In the summer, when the room became very warm, I would open the window and often wave a small fan over Roomy. In the winter, when the room became very cold, Roomy would come over and cover me with an extra blanket. I loved Roomy dearly and Roomy seemed to love me in return. It did not seem to matter to either of us that Roomy only spoke Norwegian and I only spoke English. I do not ever recall a time when language presented a problem.
When I first teamed up with Roomy I was very young, very alone and very afraid of the dark. It was Roomy who would sing to me when the dreaded darkness came.
As the years passed, we both became a bit older, Roomy a bit slower and I a bit faster.
One night, for whatever reason, a doctor came into our room. Grandpa and Grandma came in as well and both were crying softly. It was becoming late and evening shadows gathered. The lamp on the table was lit and I could see the doctor draw the blanket up and cover Roomy’s face. He then came over to me and said that Roomy had died. All left the room.
Some how it seemed only right that I sang to her as the dreaded darkness came.
Clayton Anderson Bell
My room-mate was 101 years old, she was my great-grandmother, the world was at war, and I was alone. I was only eight when we became room-mates and at that time my roommate was 94 years of age.
My roommate was a tall, slender, very regal looking person, strong of limb and quick of mind. We shared a rather large room on the third floor of a very old farm house. Roomy’ s bed was against the south wall and my bed was against the north wall and in between us we shared a table, two chairs, a coal oil lamp and a four drawer chest. Roomy had three drawers and I had one. Being younger my drawer was the bottom one as I was more able to bend down...and so we started our life together.
In the summer, when the room became very warm, I would open the window and often wave a small fan over Roomy. In the winter, when the room became very cold, Roomy would come over and cover me with an extra blanket. I loved Roomy dearly and Roomy seemed to love me in return. It did not seem to matter to either of us that Roomy only spoke Norwegian and I only spoke English. I do not ever recall a time when language presented a problem.
When I first teamed up with Roomy I was very young, very alone and very afraid of the dark. It was Roomy who would sing to me when the dreaded darkness came.
As the years passed, we both became a bit older, Roomy a bit slower and I a bit faster.
One night, for whatever reason, a doctor came into our room. Grandpa and Grandma came in as well and both were crying softly. It was becoming late and evening shadows gathered. The lamp on the table was lit and I could see the doctor draw the blanket up and cover Roomy’s face. He then came over to me and said that Roomy had died. All left the room.
Some how it seemed only right that I sang to her as the dreaded darkness came.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Sometimes this will help.
Let the Wind Blow
Clayton Anderson Bell
When sorrow swarms about you,
Gripping you fast in its spell,
When tears flow like raindrops
And no one near you to tell.
When there is no end to nighttime,
Dawn seems never to show,
Go for a walk in the great outdoors,
Just let the friendly wind blow.
Blow away the sorrow and tears,
Bring back joy to your heart,
Smile a smile of happiness,
Be ready to start a new start.
Grasp the hand of your neighbor,
Wave to one and all as you go,
Hold firm to family and future,
And let the friendly wind blow.
To my cousin Ferne.
Clayton Anderson Bell
When sorrow swarms about you,
Gripping you fast in its spell,
When tears flow like raindrops
And no one near you to tell.
When there is no end to nighttime,
Dawn seems never to show,
Go for a walk in the great outdoors,
Just let the friendly wind blow.
Blow away the sorrow and tears,
Bring back joy to your heart,
Smile a smile of happiness,
Be ready to start a new start.
Grasp the hand of your neighbor,
Wave to one and all as you go,
Hold firm to family and future,
And let the friendly wind blow.
To my cousin Ferne.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
A Special Thank you
... to Heather, who has the knowledge and patience to teach me the art of blogging. She is one very talented lady. Heather, I shall goof up from time to time as I fumble thru this maze, but with your help all will come out just right. Thanks again, my favorite blog teacher.
... to Glenda and Harry, without your talents in the writing field I would be totally lost at times.
... to my wife Nelda, who is so patient and knowing. Time after time she reads and re-reads my work, only stopping when she feels it is the best I can do. A most talented lady.
... to my blog readers who take time to comment, thank you.
... to all I have forgotten to thank, thank you.
... to Glenda and Harry, without your talents in the writing field I would be totally lost at times.
... to my wife Nelda, who is so patient and knowing. Time after time she reads and re-reads my work, only stopping when she feels it is the best I can do. A most talented lady.
... to my blog readers who take time to comment, thank you.
... to all I have forgotten to thank, thank you.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The Chokecherry Tree
Clayton Anderson Bell
Alone now, this magnificent tree,
Holds memories of slender boughs
Where we, as children played;
Parched mouths, stained.
Prairie symbol, berry pickers,
Pails hung on belts, sun hats,
Cherries clustered in bunches,
Pancake syrup, wine, jellies.
Standing silent, nature’s tree,
Birds nest, birds rest, and birds feed.
Fruit, dust covered and washed by rain;
Forgotten, standing alone.
Still, this childhood tree of
Laughter and friendship,
A providing tree, biding place;
Forever will be our tree.
Alone now, this magnificent tree,
Holds memories of slender boughs
Where we, as children played;
Parched mouths, stained.
Prairie symbol, berry pickers,
Pails hung on belts, sun hats,
Cherries clustered in bunches,
Pancake syrup, wine, jellies.
Standing silent, nature’s tree,
Birds nest, birds rest, and birds feed.
Fruit, dust covered and washed by rain;
Forgotten, standing alone.
Still, this childhood tree of
Laughter and friendship,
A providing tree, biding place;
Forever will be our tree.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
The Beginning
As a first time blogger, along with being a basic computer unwashed, I hope to master all within my lifetime. I shall welcome all comments regarding my writings.
Books that I have published are far from best sellers but they were fun to write. Later I hope to be able to show a front page of Little Charley Chickadee (stories) and Chickadee Chirps (poems) for children. Both are available from the Flin Flon Public Library or from myself. E-mail me and I will be sure you get a book, each sells for $18.00 plus postage.
Poetry and story telling are of great interest to me and I hope to be able to share some of my work with you. I am however not schooled in the art of writing so both poetry and story telling often leave a lot to be desired. Take from them only what you enjoy.
Books that I have published are far from best sellers but they were fun to write. Later I hope to be able to show a front page of Little Charley Chickadee (stories) and Chickadee Chirps (poems) for children. Both are available from the Flin Flon Public Library or from myself. E-mail me and I will be sure you get a book, each sells for $18.00 plus postage.
Poetry and story telling are of great interest to me and I hope to be able to share some of my work with you. I am however not schooled in the art of writing so both poetry and story telling often leave a lot to be desired. Take from them only what you enjoy.
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