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Deep Beneath the Stone
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Stories of Old
May 2004
The Mountain's Secret
My Profile
Name: Marie
aka: CityKat
aka: Bubbles
Age: 18 - eek! I'm old...
Birthday: December 13
Zodiac: Sagittarius
Location: The box that is campus.
Loves: RH;MIT, music, friends, the outdoors, all of my hometowns, critters, WAGGGS
Fellow Tin Soldiers
Blog Links
Chicken Soup For The Souless -What goes on in Jesse's brain, nobody knows...
In ThE Tub WiTh SquIsHy -Christina's log, so just keep swimming!.
Lean On Me -Regan's digital and cryonable shoulder.
Manitoulin Wannabe -The heart of the island's where her heart lies.
One Ring... -Ali's blog. Her straight forward is kinda crooked.
Random Thoughts -It’s Jeff! And the voices!.
Searching in the Darkness -Lex's blog, we'll force him to see dawn one of these days.
Somewhere Over the Rainbow -It’s Kuriosity!
Super Spidey -A cookie and a kiss.
The World of Cr0magnus -Tech Reincarnated
Undead and Confused -My favourite Cool Kid!
Moutains and Valleys
Fun Links
Chris's Site -Games, Pics, Jokes... He's got it. And BESS can't get him.
F-Concept! Oi!Oi!Oi! -Leader's only!... okay, and Josh and Bubble!
havesomehats -All I'm saying is; elephants, checkered people, and top hats.
Sinfest -Funny as Hell. Thanks to Lex for getting me hooked.
Too Far North (Awesome)!! -The best band there ever was! (Okay, that might be stetching it, but hey we love you guys!) It consists of a lack of independant brain power and a collective love for music!
Blog Shares -Who's winning today?
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Wakes break against the shore. The moon is reflected in the otherwise calm waters. The lights of high-rises are reflected upon the water’s edge, dancing with the night’s breeze. I hear music and laughter behind me, but I look out. I look out beyond the normal, the real, the present.
I find myself onboard a familiar ship, a pontoon boat. At the helm I remember my Uncle, on the port side my grandfather throws in a fishing line. My little cousins run around merrily, it is one of the last fishing trips that will ever be this peaceful. For a short trip we evade the fights, the jokes, the tears. We evade everything to be together, to be a family. We sail down Buck Bay, waving to my grandmother in her canteen, waving as we pass neighbors and fellow fishermen. I stop to paint this picture in my mind, and all I hear is the soft music on the radio above children’s laughter and the water’s breeze.
The song changes, feet are stepped on as they resume dancing. I still stand in a corner lost in thought. Only slightly aware of my surroundings. I hear the music and the laughter, but they are quieted by my childhood memories. Tears begin to fill my eyes as I remember that one last fishing trips. We were promised another one, “Next time you come, I’ll take you fishing again. Just Grandpa and his little ladies.” He said to us, I was the third oldest, the oldest child, the others – my cousins had grown up years since and were there to simply watch their own children. I was one of his last grandchildren; I will forever remain his ‘little lady’. He always spoke after we left of my bright smile, and those wide eyes that explored the world as if it were a treasure hunt, and happiness was the treasure.
We were hunting for treasure. Grandpčre, Trevor, Jenny, Andy, Josh, Lucas, and myself. We were hunting for the jewel of the West Arm. We were hunting for the perfect fishing hole. Now Jenny and I refused to wait around for those little buggers to bite, but we were the first to grab hold of the slimy bass and unhook it, for it would soon be that night’s supper. While the boys waited on the fish, us girls tossed off our t-shirts and jumped in the lake. Slimy seaweed caressing our feet, it threatened to tangle around our ankles and pull us in. The waves lapped against our little bodies, stronger than the boys in water, we stayed in for hours on end. Forever treading and fighting, avoiding the hooks that soared overhead. We’d finally get out and toss bread to the seagulls that waited patiently for the day’s discards. We were camp girls. We were Grandpa’s girls. After a long day of the boys having caught nothing we never failed to throw in a line and bring at least one fish home to the table. We would never eat our own catch. Instead we left it for Grandpa – it was his favorite treat. Then he’d take us out to the garden and as the sun died we’d pick cucumbers and peas, tomatoes and corn, onions and potatoes from the earth’s breast. The next day we’d have a salad for lunch before we left for home. But ever our hearts would be on that fishing boat with Grandpčre.
I pulled out the glow stick I had stolen earlier that night. It glowed blue, a youthful blue. A blue that reminded me of the smiles, the never ending persistence to catch at least one fish, to outwit the boys in water polo, to never give up. As I stood there leaning over the edge of a cruise ship, the music blasting behind me the present came back into focus. I twirled the glow stick in my hand watching the bubble move slowly up then down, over and around. I never stopped until it had gained the highest point. The soft glow reminded me of the twinkle in Grandpčre’s eyes, he was ever hopeful. The soft glow of hope reminded me that never would I give up.
He came then and wrapped his arms around me. My symbol of hope. The glow stick was simply a reminder; the real thing was now there. I was wrapped in his arms as he scanned the horizon searching for the reason of my gaze. But he was looking the wrong way. I had begun the night looking back on times passed, those people now grown up or dead. And in that moment as he searched the waters, the sky. I found in his eyes the reason for my gaze. He was my hope. I would never forget.
Having found a reason, a new meaning, a new purpose I left. No longer needing the company of the water, the lights grew tired of dancing, others were enjoying the moon’s glow. I set off to my present. I set off to live my life. I set of with hope restored. That glow stick I passed on. Whether or not the one to whom I passed it found the same comfort in it that I did I will never know. But when all hope seems to have faded I will always remember those nights. I will remember fishing trips, and swimming holes. Grandfathers, glow sticks, and Hope. My hope had never left; I had simply questioned it as tears filled my eyes with the thoughts of people passed on. He had stepped up, and proven to me that my hope was still there, that the memories would forever be with me, and that my mascara would run if I dared cry. Not to mention, “My ‘little lady’ should forever wear a smile, not a frown!”
*hugs*
It's that stuff... that you put on waffles... You know! The stuff you pour... - The person... you know, the one that steals stuff... She answers to the name of Klepto...
last modified May 3, 2004, 7:17 p
Add a comment
"alright... where's my bra" Sounds like our room and we didnt even touch the wine... However there were more important things to do, like be lazy. Or go to HMV, or be lazy. Or go to the statue, or be lazy. How about just being lazy.
104288 |
CityKat - May 5, 2004, 12:52 p
That was a great great morning....
"I need one of those things, You know that bar.. that opens stuff..." hehehehe... and to think.. wine is what started it all... wine or.."alright...wheres my bra"
104184 |
Klepto - May 4, 2004, 9:43 p
slowly he comes up behind her and puts his arms around her, and hopes to be a part of her present, that perhaps he too, shall be like a glowstick, a reminder of the beauty of everything around her.
I love you Marie, and I understand how much you miss home. I miss home, and the cruise was a cruelly painful reminder of my home, A place I miss dearly. The sea air, the whales, the icebergs, the tree in my Grandparent's yard, Berg's Icecream (still the best i've ever tasted), and my family...
Alex
104159 |
Biff - May 4, 2004, 6:23 p
That glow stick is probably still in Montreal...
104043 |
Edicius - May 3, 2004, 10:09 p
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