creative writing

Peas and Broccoli

/ wvfurandroot / 2 Comments

My name is Gus.  Gregory named me.  Gus.  No last name.  Gregory is only 3. He’s not up to speed on the concept of last names.

I’m a superhero accountant and Cheez-Its bring out my powers. I wear them in a pouch around my neck. I can climb like Spiderman, but I can also fly.  I am often blamed for not eating the mushrooms when they’re served.  Gregory does not like mushrooms. His parents insist he try them each time, but he doesn’t have to finish them. Gregory so hates mushrooms that even a taste makes him shudder. He tells his mom and dad that I will just spit them out. I wouldn’t. That’s bad table manners. So, Gregory spits them out.  Well spits it out. He will find the smallest one put it in his mouth with a grimace, wretch, and then spit it out.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

His parents think he is overreacting. He is not. Gregory simply cannot abide the texture. 

Gregory likes Miss Rachel on YouTube and his life-sized Cody doll. Cody is very soft and squishy.  Apropos of nothing, Gregory will holler, “Peas and broccoli” and then collapse into peals of giggles. It always makes his parents laugh. Me too. 

Gregory loves me.

I do not make his parents laugh. They think I’ve gone on too long.  They are concerned.

I think it’s unfair that they try to shoo me.  I’ve done nothing wrong. I am Gregory’s friend. His best friend. His only friend. Maybe when he starts preschool or daycare he will be done with me, who knows.  I hope not. He is my best friend too. 

During nap time, we whisper to one another in our secret language.  This really concerns his mom and dad.  It’s clear that it’s a secret language and it’s clear that we use it to keep the adults out.

Even Grandma isn’t allowed to know the secret language either and he tells Grandma everything.  Even about me. She knows there is a language, but Gregory will not translate for her.

“Peas and broccoli” in the secret language is a phrase of complete exasperation. Oh for peas and broccoli. You get the idea.

But when I’m not around, Gregory doesn’t use the secret language.  At those times, the phrase is just nonsense.

I love Gregory, but he will soon be done with me.  I have served my purpose.  I am similar to his dad, but I always have time for Gregory.  No household tasks or homework to interrupt our time together. His mother is just a lost cause.  She is so stressed.  Trying to keep the home neat and orderly. Trying to get a promotion at work.

Perhaps they are right to be concerned.  They are blowing it. There is only this one time that Gregory will be three. Will believe in me and my ability to climb skyscrapers or fly from one to another. Will make me spit out mushrooms and holler Peas and Broccoli.

I am David.

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The Philistines are upon me.  A great army across the valley taunting and tormenting my peaceful village.  I am afraid.   They are big, they are evil, and they want our peace of mind.  Our happy spirits.  They want to trample us in the mud and take our lives. To leave us as carrion on the valley floor.

Photo by Jianxiang Wu on Unsplash

Oh where is my David?  Where is the sling and the five smooth stones?  I need to triumph over the Philistines coming for me. Coming for us.

Their largest, Goliath, heaps insult upon me.  His very presence is a storm cloud over me and my heart is heavy, my mind churning, and my body trembling.  He can do so much damage to me and mine. 

Deliver me from this Philistine.

Oh, Lord, hear my prayer.

I drop to my knees and see that the daffodils have buds.  The wheel in the sky is turning.  Spring comes.  I feel hope in my chest flutter like an awakening bird. Not the peaceful dove, but the avenging hawk.

There is no David.  There is no sling.  There are no five smooth stones.  There is just me and my travails.  Just me and my scant courage. Oh Lord hear my prayer and give me the strength of the daffodils.

The strength to emerge victorious in frightening conditions.  The strength to outlast adversity.  The strength to blossom in deep snow.  Do not let this be a false spring. 

Bring me the peace of knowing that I am enough.  That I can lead a victorious life.  One that is free of the Philistines that would steal my tranquility and ravage my happy home.

If David can be unafraid and face the threat in the knowledge that he is enough, I can too. 

I am David.

Goliath will not be my nemesis.  I alone can defeat the peril with the sweet spirit of a shepherd protecting what they have been charged to watch over. 

Oh Lord, hear my prayer. Shepherd me through this perilous time.

The Secret West Virginia Writers Spring Conference

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The West Virginia Writers annual conference, always in June, always at Cedar Lakes Conference Center in Ripley, WV is one of the writing world’s best-kept secrets. Where else can you see a lineup like this (including me!) for $125 for members and $150 for nonmembers. Lodging, on-site, is reasonable as is the cafeteria food plan. You can give yourself a stellar writing retreat for not much moola! Info here.

West Virginia Writers, like the people of West Virginia, are very welcoming. You needn’t worry about coming alone, you will leave with friends. Find your writing tribe in Wild and Wonderful West Virginia.

Call to Prayer

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On the wings of a snow white dove, let your heart soar and glide through life like water over rocks filling a lagoon of blue tranquil peace and serendipity. Take a moment to pick up the universal phone and call in your order of good wishes and a bright future. Embrace it all.

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

Life is good.

Let the sun shine warm on your back as you cross the rocks to step into the azure water where coral wafts and waves, colorful fish weave infinity in the shallows, and the Creator gleams in pride at all that emerged from the primordial nothing of the Zen mind.

On the wings of a snow white dove, spread love and joy. We are not broken, we are perfect and whole — in tune with the frog percussion. and the trill of songbirds in the canopy of majestic trees – the ancient beings.

Love west to the mountains, east to the ocean, north to the colorful lights and south to the equator. Revel in all you’ve been given.

On our deathbed, we will all long to do it again. Everyone has. Everyone does. Everyone will.

It’s a potluck, a smorgasbord, a feast of such intensity that we can be blinded by it. Don’t. Keep your eyes open, put on the rose-colored glasses, and sally forth in harmony with your neighbor, with your enemy, with that person you don’t know. Love one another as I have loved you.

The desiderata – you are a child of the universe – oh, yes, I am. Born of stardust and the creative energy of millennia. I am. I will.

It’s what makes us human but long for creature comforts. We are sentient, but we are also just one of many life forms. Let us all live together as we forage our way as hunters and gathers of love to our inevitable transformation back to stardust and creative energy.

On the wings of a snow white dove, let us inspire those who come after us to fix the damage we cause and to enjoy the perfection of life in balance.

Oh Lord, hear my prayer.