Flow of words from the Writers Corner

Bravo writers.

You've done something quite courageous.

It takes moxie to share your work like this, to put it out there for all to read.

There is a ripple effect you should know about.

You've inspired others to do the same. They told us so.

We've also heard from quite a few readers who say they have enjoyed perusing your stories and poems, so we hope you keep them coming.

If you're up for it, when you send in a submission, tell us a little bit about yourself - just a few sentences about what you do when you're not writing, and maybe a sentence or two about why you write.

Send your submissions to Maureen Dolan, [email protected]. You can send hard-copies by mail to Maureen Dolan at The Press, 201 Second St., Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, 83814.

In the words of Louis L'Amour: "Start writing, no matter about what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on. You can sit and look at a page for a long time and nothing will happen. Start writing and it will."

INCREDIBLE FLIGHT

A true story, summer 1975

By Judi Martell, Coeur d'Alene

It was the summer of my 30th year. My friend was a seasoned pilot, and owned a V-Tail Bonanza.

I decided, with his encouragement, to study for my private pilot's license. Topographical maps, aeronautical charts, radio frequencies, a daily challenge. In time I passed the written test, then started to log my hours towards licensing. During the months that passed we started to plan a trip across the United States. I would be navigator, co-pilot, and log more flight time. This was a chance of a life time.

In time, the flight plan was complete, filed, the date set. The anticipation was exciting, and I could hardly wait. We had invited two friends to join us who shared our interest in flying across country. The day leaving Orange County Airport, California, was a beautiful and exciting day. Our destination: Chicago's O'Hare Field. Flying gives a sense of freedom, while watching incredible views of this beautiful earth as it flows by the cockpit window.

There is an old expression, "to fly by the seat of your pants". An experience we gained while flying over Colorado. The generator lost power! No electrical, no lights and no instruments. We quickly approximated our position, made references to the sun, and watched for known landmarks: railroads tracks, rivers, roads, or the writing on barn tops. Little tense there...but with using references, landmarks, we had our position by visuals. We landed safely, repaired the generator and continued on.

The pilot wanted to rest, our two friends asleep behind us, I decided to try my hand at the controls. Checked out on the instrument panel, familiar with the airspeed, vertical speed indicators, the altimeter etc., I took control of the stick, my adrenaline flowing. I was confident that I had practiced several stalls with success. Now I relaxed, flying over and under cloud, soon gained confidence at the controls for the next five hours. Lost in the moment, I did not notice, the dark, cumulonimbus, storm clouds begin to gather!

Suddenly a bolt of lightning flashed in front of me, which jolted me back to reality, waking the pilot, who took over the controls. I was not prepared to fly through the menacing storm that now loomed around us. The searing flashes almost touched our wings as deafening claps of thunder roared. The wind tossed the tiny plane all over the sky. I clung, white-knuckled, to my seat. Telling myself, "keep calm", while I fought fear that ripped inside. Looking out the window, I watched ice pellets peel the paint off the wings, as my stomach turned flip-flops. We yelled instructions over the noise of the storm, as I frantically tried different radio frequencies for information and help! We had to get down!

From Chicago's O'Hare field, a loud voice boomed into the cockpit. Thank God! Someone heard us! We requested to land "IFR" [by instrument instructions]. Soon we had clearance, proceeded to descend. As we broke through the clouds, the bright lights of Chicago airport welcomed us. It was only after I walked away from the storm-battered plane that I began to reflect on what had just happened.

NIGHT TRAIN TO MULLAN

by Mary Winkler, Pinehurst

Young Kurt, an almost nineteen year old graduate from high school, happened in Wallace on this nice warm summer day, looking for a job.

Now, we all know what the economy is, here in this area, with most of our mines not operating, and our logging almost obsolete. However, young Kurt was not aware of these things.

While walking along one of early Wallace's narrow, winding streets, Tarzan's Strip, Kurt was thinking, "Boy! What strange names those old folks had come up with. . . Geysers Corner and Tarzan's Strip . . . why, even some of the business places had some kooky names."

In his imagination, Kurt could see a small hot geyser erupting, causing the name of that street, and he pictured a huge muscled man with unruly black hair, and a terrible temper, as the owner and the operator of Horrendous Harry's Tavern. . . Kurt quickly decides, "I want nothing to do with that place!"

"Ahh. . .now, this is more my style," he thinks as he turns, going into Miniature Mindy's Bar. In his mind, Kurt envisions a petite, blond, very pretty young maid as the owner/operator.

In Miniature Mindy's Bar, Kurt takes a few minutes getting used to the darker interior of the bar from the bright sunny sidewalk, taking note of the thick cigarette and cigar smoke giving everything a blue look.

There are five older men at the bar, giving the fat lady bartender a bad time. She is in a bad mood, and not taking kindly to their teasing.

Kurt saunters over to the bar, takes his billfold out and lays it on the bar. "I'll have a Pepsi, please."

"Just-a-minute, Sonny," she growls over her shoulder.

The door opens, and a man in striped overalls walks in. "Lo, Min," he calls out to the bartender. "How's my favorite mouse, today?"

Instantly, the mood in the bar changes from doom and gloom, to one of cheerful jokes and loud laughter.

The Pepsi is slapped down on the bar in front of him and Kurt takes advantage of the change of mood, asking, "Is there any work in this area?"

At this time everyone starts singing, "Take that Night Train to Mullan; take that Night Train to Mullan, take that Night Train to Mullan. . . and you'll be happy that you did!"

Kurt looks at the man in striped overalls, asking, "Are you the engineer of this night train to Mullan?"

The man doesn't answer.

"What are the people insinuating in their song?" Kurt asks.

The man sort-of smiles, and shrugs his shoulders, slightly.

Everyone in the place breaks out in loud raucous laughter, patting each other on the back, themselves on their knees, while shouting, "We did it again! He fell for it!"

Stunned, at first, Kurt then joined in with the joy-makers, acknowledging, "He had been took."

Then. . .an idea slowly starts forming in his mind . . .

About two months later, young Kurt walks through the door of Miniature Mindy's Bar, again. Instead of his clean-cut appearance, he is in heavily worn work clothes. His hair is long and shaggy, as is his beard and mustache.

He looks around. Lo and behold! The same six men (one of them even wearing striped overalls of the time before) are there.

Kurt joins the other men at the bar, takes his billfold out, laying it on the bar, "I'll have a Pepsi, please."

The fat lady bartender takes her time, and while he is waiting, Kurt takes a leather pouch with gold nuggets and gold dust from inside his shirt, and slaps it down on the bar, next to his billfold, drawing Mindy's instant attention, as well as a quick Pepsi.

"WOW! Look at this, fellas!" Mindy calls out.

"How did you come by all this?!" was the question on everybody's lips.

"I TOOK THAT NIGHT TRAIN TO MULLAN

TOOK THAT NIGHT TRAIN TO MULLAN

TOOK THAT NIGHT TRAIN TO MULLAN

AND, I'M SO HAPPY THAT I DID!"

"I GOT RICH IN GOLDEN NUGGETS

FOR MY GOLD-DUST, I NEED BUCKETS!

I TOOK THAT NIGHT TRAIN TO MULLAN

AND, I THANK YOU FOR THE TIP!!!"

With that, Kurt makes an eloquent bow, picks up his pouch, billfold and can of Pepsi Cola, then exits the place, leaving everyone there with their mouths and eyes wide open in amazement.

As he goes through the doorway, Kurt cannot help but smile. Little did they know that he has been an active member of the G.P.A.A (Gold Prospectors Association of America) for the last five years! "That should teach them to pull a trick on me!"

Once in a city named Camelot

lived a knight who

loved his wife

Pam-alot

But he ate like

a glutton and

popped all his buttons

and soon became

known as

Sir Spam-a-lot!

A logger from

down the Palouse-

Once Rode into town

on a moose-

How'd you do that?

People cried-

to which He replied

I just gave him a

pinch of my "snoose"!

- Glenda Norstrom, Pinehurst

OF ME AND THEE

The monkey in the zoo

looks a lot like you

but I won't tell your mother

that ape could be your brother.

That pig in the sty

reminds me of the guy

who took me to dinner

and thought he was a winner.

We're all related, man and beast

enjoy life, it is a feast

that goes by fast, it doesn't last

such is the future and the past.

- Faith Langstaff, Hayden

EUGENIA T. WOOKERMAN SETS THE RECORD

STRAIGHT IN HER SEMI-OCCASIONAL NEWSLETTER

By Jan Sarchio, Coeur d'Alene

Attention Friends and Others:

I am NOT going through a mid-life crisis. Please disregard any defamation to the contrary you may have heard. Instead, let me tell you about my little adventure.

It seems great ideas come to me when I'm immersed in hot water. I've had insights in the shower many times that have caught my attention and held it way past when I was dry. So it was, on the first day of this grand New Year, while I was washing a day and a half's worth of crusty dishes, that an unusual feeling swept over me. I realized then and there that I was a spiritual being, not a mere mortal woman, but a goddess who had taken a wrong turn.

I have not had much luck with New Year's resolutions. I don't know why I thought it would be different this time. Maybe I was influenced by the death rays emitting from the TV's steady drone of ball games. Maybe it was the peaceful, yet vacant, look on Sid's face as he watched the glowing screen. Maybe it was the thought of babysitting the grandkids again or raking kitty litter. Maybe it was Sniffer snoring into my slippers while I straddled him and reached, all round and short armed, into the dishpan, leaning so my chest rested on the counter and my sweatshirt got soaked. Maybe it was the clammy grease water in my cleavage. Maybe it was everything. Who can say? All I know is in that Celestine moment it was crystal clear that this year would have to be different than all the others, or I'd more than likely open a vein with the genuine Amazing Ginsu steak knife I was cleaning.

You know how it is when you read something or hear an idea and tuck it away as interesting, but you never think you'll do anything with it? Well, all of a sudden tidbits I'd squirreled away rose to my surface. I knew I was having an experience. I told Sid, during one of the half-time beer commercials, that I'd be doing some spiritual questing this year. I think he heard me because he told me to move out of his line of vision. I figured to each soul comes their own vision. So, I got out of Sid's and on with my own.

Having been unenlightened for so long gave me many avenues to explore. My thrill was where to start? Since we are what we eat, I decided to go to the Grocery Co-Op. I bought a cellophane baggie of unsprouted mung beans, some groats and a bottle of St. John's Wort, to rule out the possibility that this change was just another mood swing.

It was as I compared prices of freeze-dried tofu with the floaty kind that I noticed a poster of Yo'mama glowing all rainbowy and transmutational. There she was, resplendent in kimono, moccasins and yarmulke. She had a photogenic look of absolute bliss. Obviously this woman knew something I didn't.

"Isn't she something?" the girl at the cash register asked me.

"I'll say," I said.

"She's coming to the Star Sparkle Center Monday night. Admission's just $14, plus you get a free DVD of her breathing the natural way."

I went. It was perfect. Sid had the 49ers. I had Yo'mama.

I cannot tell you how an evening of deep breathing with a group of bean eaters can alter one's consciousness. Suffice it to say, I will never be the same. Yo'mama touched me. She was the embodiment of the woman I was struggling to get out of my way to become. But, as any truth seeker knows, you can't get it all in one night. Not to worry. Yo'mama had a brochure listing the dates, topics and whereabouts of her workshops. I was drawn to several...

Release the hair ball in the drain pipe of your perfect Universe.

You are the sister of your child within's mother.

Don't listen to all the spooky voices in your head.

And... Fat is cellular wealth.

What did they mean?

I had to know.

I filled the freezer with Stouffer's and got a fresh battery for Sid's remote, then I sojourned. An amazing thing happens once one steps onto the path - they often find they are not alone. In fact, sometimes it feels like rush hour on the Ventura Freeway. Like magic the underground sisterhood appeared, all of them needing a ride to Y'mama's retreat center. I drove while Raintree Forest, Sunflower, Happy Heart and Shirley chanted and drummed. It was a lot like going to camp. It even felt that way when we got there. It had been quite awhile since I'd had the opportunity to sleep on the ground and commune with the elements as closely as Yo'mama had arranged. It was a far cry from the mini-castle pictured on her brochure, the one where she stays. But, one must pay a few dues on the road to enlightenment. For a short while the gongs and prayers and microscopic meals were mighty interesting. Everything was so orderly and costly, so uncomfortable and monotonous, that surprisingly, I began to miss my quality times with Sid. God works in mysterious ways.

I decided to return home even though they say you can't. I knew I'd been forever changed. I was a finer, more glorious woman than the one who'd left. I could only hope Sid was up to the challenge of me. I made the trip back alone since the sisters were still freeing their hairballs.

I was driving along, singing "Om, Om on the Range," when I felt a faint, yet persistent tugging on the steering wheel. I thought my vibes were going cosmic until I realized I had a flat. It was the perfect chance for me to put my new spiritual powers to the test. I sat cross-legged on the shoulder, waiving my arms at passing cars and shouting at the top of my lungs, "FOR GOD SAKE, SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Eventually a tow truck pulled over. The driver asked if I had Triple A, which I did due to Sid's unevolved paranoia about the dangers of highway driving.

At the homestead, my absence had gone undetected until the toilet paper ran out. Sid was pretty miffed when I arrived. It felt nice to be needed. During a Subaru commercial, I asked if he thought I should change my name, take on something more descriptive. He assured me that he had trouble enough remembering my current one, so I decided not to. After all, a rose is still a rose, even if it is a Eugenia T. Wookerman.