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Margaret, loving called Donnie by friends and family began telling stories at the age of 5. By the time she was 8, her mom complained that she found it difficult to tell the difference between Donnie's truth and her fabrications. Her mom encouraged Donnie to start putting her imagination on paper, including poetry since she seemed to have a talent for it.
Donnie, finally had her first story published. The title is Max and Donnie wrote under the Donnie Harucki. She's had many poems published in various anthologies.
Now being in the senior category of her life, she want to write more and see how far it takes her. That's why she became a member of Biopage. She's hoping you'll read her stories and leave a message.
Thanks for reading about her. She appreciates your attention. Have a great day.
As I look back and open the memory box in my mind, I recall a Halloween night in the mid 1980's. My boys were grown and rather than go “Trick-or-Treating”, they would go to the local park and watch the little kids' Halloween parade. They, too reminisced about when they did the same thing. Through the years while my kids were growing, my friend Anne and I had gotten into the habit of weekly family dinners. We were both divorced and our children were still little. We kept this weekly ritual even after our children were teens and no longer wanted to spend every second with their moms. We'd have dinner, and they'd leave before dessert. Anne and I would laugh as we called them “typical teen”. One night, we were sitting at the kitchen table enjoying freshly brewed coffee. Anne and I became best friends while we were married and comforted each other through our divorces. Each week when we'd get together for dinner, we took turns cooking and visiting each other's house. This time it was my turn to cook. Anne arrived with her son and daughter and we all enjoyed my homemade baked ziti. After our meal, as I brewed a pot of coffee, the kids said their “See ya, later” comments and left. Then it happened. I anticipated something; I just didn't know what or when. I never told anyone fearing they'd think I was losing my mind. Now, there was a witness. My secret was out. How could I possibly explain the situation without losing my best friend? I wondered if any friendship could survive this kind of secret. Anne brought a delicious cake for dessert and I placed it on the table with the hot carafe of coffee. As we sat and talked after dinner, I noticed Anne's half-filled cup of coffee slowly moved towards the edge of the table. I didn't say anything wondering if she saw what I did. She did and became very quiet as she sat completely still and stared at the cup not quite believing what she was seeing. When the cup reached the edge of the table, even slower than before it slid off the edge, stayed verticle, and gently lowered itself to the floor - never spilling one drop of coffee! It was as if it had been guided and yet, if I had tried to do that, there would be drops of coffee splattered everywhere. Anne inched her chair away from the table and almost jumped out of her seat. She backed away from the table and stood behind the chair tightly gripping its back. Her face was pale, almost white with fear. The wild look in her eyes was a mix of fear and confusion. She opened her mouth but at first no words were spoken. Trying to take control of the situation, I tried to explain that this sort of activity happened frequently but rarely in front of visitors adding that other similar events also happened. I told her about the dish cupboard doors rattling; faucets turned on and off on their own; the dog refused to go down the basement stairs and frequently sat at the basement door, growling while showing her teeth. These things and more are events I'd already gotten used to seeing. They didn't bother me and no longer frightened me. I just accepted them. I shrugged and tried to make light of the situation as if all these things were completely normal. They weren't but I didn't want to frighten my friend any more than she already was. Anne said that she found the situation bizarre and difficult to accept as she walked out of the kitchen and vowed to never step one foot inside my house again. Although we stayed friends for the next ten years, she kept her vow. As for our weekly dinners? When it was my turn to cook, I'd prepare the meal and bring it to her house. She was much too traumatized to come back to my house. And while she kept my secret, never again would she enter my house that was inhabited by my uninvited poltergeist.
Twenty-five years ago, I married my second husband. As I did, Rich had two grown children. Christmas gift-giving had to be imaginative and it was a pleasant but curious surprise when I opened mine from my stepdaughter. Kim had given me a card-making program to use with my computer. At that time, the internet hadn't yet been offered to residential areas. There would be no internet surfing, site browsing, or links for informative sites. The writing I did on the computer required snail mailing. Kim thought I could use a break from wracking my brain looking for something about which to write. In addition to writing stories, poems, and essays, she thought it would be a great program for fun. She was right. Not only was it fun to use, but it also sparked another side of my imagination that I never knew existed. Once I began making cards, I never stopped. Five years later, I purchased my first card program that came with its own artwork. While it was great having a set format, I found the artwork to be a bit boring. Yet, finding the art or image I wanted, at first, wasn't easy since this was an entirely new method for me. By this time, the internet was in almost every home but browsing sites created other problems. Google hadn't been created yet so if you didn't know the URL address, using the internet was something you didn't do. Looking for any kind of artwork on the computer, for me, didn't happen. As I said, it wasn't easy until I was out fishing with my husband. The sunset was breath taking and I thought the little island that sat at the edge of harbor looked so peaceful. I grabbed my camera, which was always with me, and took the photo. When I downloaded the photo to the computer, I saw, not just the sunset and the small island in the water, but a lone bird flying to who knows where. I called that photo, “Flying Home” since it seemed as though that's where the bird was going. At first, I didn't use the photo but kept it stored in the computer. After taking many others, my imagination ran wild. I'd found a use for many of the photos I'd taken. I used a photo of a sunrise and wrote something like, “With the rising sun, a new day is yours to enjoy your special day.” I was invited to a birthday party where the honoree was given a beautiful bouquet of red and pink roses. The bouquet was so lovely, I took a photo. I still use that photo to make birthday cards. And the imagination keeps going. A few years ago, I found myself hooked on Pinterest. It's on that site where I discovered 3-D cards. Wow, I thought to myself, I can do that, too! And I did. I know most of the cards on Pinterest are posts so others can imitate them. I'm not one of those imitators. As far as I'm concerned, those cards were the imaginations of others and I have no right to use them, especially since now, I attend many craft fairs. What I do is study the cards I see, then using my imagination, copy the intent but change the look. With so many different colored papers and ribbons, it's easy to change the look of a card. The sentiment inside is always mine since I still write poetry. I've learned to heat-emboss, which is a lot of fun. Between dry-embossing, making cutouts, heat-embossing and using pop-ups, I've gotten many compliments on my cards and have received a few private orders. While it's true that I'll never make enough money to call this is living, it is a hobby that supplies with fun and the ability to demonstrate, or more pointedly show off, my imagination. The few dollars I make, end up buying more supplies for my crafting. Nope, I'll never get rich but I am having fun. My family and friends love receiving my cards and show them off to each other and their friends. When I look back and remember the way all this got started, I always send an email to my “daughter” reminding her of that very first program and thanking her for getting me started on what has turned out to be fun way to spend a rainy afternoon. In fact, I've gotten some of my friends hooked on card crafting and we often get together for a few hours and make cards together. There is a craft fair approaching in the next few days. My friend, Lorraine and will be there sharing a table and displaying our work. It's a day I can definitely look forward to between sharing it with friends and meeting new people. So, again, Kim, thank you for getting me started on this great, fun-filled activity.
She was beautiful with her long, gently curled, brown hair hanging down softly just below her shoulders. Yet, her pale blue eyes always seemed to hold a hint of sadness and fatigue. I remember the few times when I peeked in her room and found her crying. As a child, I never understood why. Her hair, cut a bit shorter, reached just below her delicate earlobes. She still wore no jewelry but for the wedding band she received from her husband, my father, so many years ago. Some of the sadness has gone and her eyes seem a bit more alive than in years past. As a teen, I never understood why, nor did I care. She wore her hair in a shorter crop, just midway down her ears and it had begun to turn gray at the temples. In addition to her wedding band, she wore a small locket around her neck – another gift from her beloved husband for their 25th wedding anniversary. At times she seemed happy but beneath that glimmer, if you looked closely, you saw the unmistakable hint of wear, worry and fatigue. I didn't understand as I was a fairly new wife and mother, I was too busy to notice. Her hair now has turned white and she wears it as short as possible. Her pale blue eyes emit more sadness than imaginable. So sad. Such a faraway stare. No longer able to see, but for the memories in her mind. Her jewelry, throughout the years has never changed but with one exception, one new addition – a larger gold band that she wore on the middle finger of her left hand – right next to her own. As an adult, I understand. I finally understand!
I find myself losing patience Whenever I hear the phone ring Mom's voice is on the other end. But, it's always the same old thing. “Hello, dear, I'm just checking in; Wanted to make sure you're ok.” More than once, I'm tempted to scream: “Mom, I'm the same as I was yesterday!” I'm not as young as I used to be Where patience was there to spare. And too, Mom is older, she needs to hear That her daughter will always still care. I answer her many questions That she's asked many times before, I hold the phone tightly and fight back a tear And tell her I love her much more. I knew a day would come to pass When Mom would awaken no more; Each day, I saw she grew weaker, I knew she was near Heaven's door. The day arrived with an angel Who took hold of my mom's hand, Eased her soul from her body And took her to God's precious land. Mom's now with dad up in Heaven And the angels rejoice and sing. Yet, my heart is broken for I never again Will lose patience when I hear the phone ring.
I began feeling a dull ache in the base of my left heel. Picture a horseshoe on the bottom of your heel. That's exactly where I felt the ache. After ignoring it for a few months, the pain increased to the point where I needed to see the doctor. He had an MRI done and the result was a large heel spur that was pushing against my tendon. It needed to be removed. He warned me that once the surgery was done, I wouldn't be allowed to walk for about 8 weeks. In order to remove the spur (knows as Haglund's deformity), he'd have to cut the tendon off the bone. That's what take the longest to heal. My husband rented a wheelchair to enable me to move around the house. Leaving the house was more awkward sine we have a few steps to master. My friends know that being confined to the house, I'll go stir crazy. Our friends who know my husband know that he doesn't know his way around the kitchen. In order to make things a bit easier for us, they took turns bringing dinners for us to enjoy. Saying “thank you” won't even come close to showing my appreciation. The goodness of people, though, didn't stop there. I belong to a dance group that meets three times weekly with another section (the PC group) that meets in another town weekly. We often interact rehearsing for shows and holiday parades. I have been very blessed to become good friends with most of the PC group. A few days following my surgery, I received a call from one of the women. She asked how I felt and said, “We'd like to come see you. We'll bring pizza. Oh, and tell your husband he's invited to our pizza party.” I was awed. As I said, we are all in the dance group, but they are in the other section and I don't get to see them every week so when they volunteered to bring dinner and spend some time with me, I was beyond thrilled. The women arrived; we all had our share of pizza; we played dominoes. The night flew by and they left laughing. It was quite a night. One I certainly will never forget. While I'm still in the wheelchair, once my foot is healed and I'm back to walking and dancing, my plan is to treat all those wonderful women to lunch. It's the least I can do for friends who went out of their way to keep me company during my recovery. I also intend to make a habit of attending their dance class a few times a month. As of today, September 2, 2019, I am two weeks away from having the cast removed. For a few weeks afterwards, I'll be in a post-surgical boot but at least, I'll be walking. For those who have had any type of extensive foot surgery, you know how I feel and how enthusiastic I am to get my life back to normal. My friends, all of them, will be around to help me celebrate. They are wonderful people on whom I know I can rely. They also made me realize that you can never take friendships for granted. I know, I never will again. There is nothing like friendships.