Saturday, December 28, 2019


A new year is upon us. And with it will come many beautiful things.

The beauty of seasonal changes can leave us breathless. This becomes clear in . . .


Nature’s Colors

Color my world
     with your brush.
Let your strokes
     show me the way.

Drape my heart and spirit
     with your rich tones.
Let your seasons bless me
     with a canvass of color.

Play with me in winter white,
     dance with me in summer gold.
Let me bask in the splendor
      of an array of spring colors.

Delight me with the magnificence of autumn,
     the season of change.
Let me bathe in the colorful leaves
     falling around me.

Brighten my days
     with a sunrise of dreams.
Let my soul rest
     with a sunset of peace.


Copyright © 2008 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Tuesday, December 24, 2019

When you lose someone special in your life, it makes it difficult to celebrate Christmas. With a heavy heart, you try to get through the season.


What you need to do to make this happen is unclear. However, you may discover the answer in . . .


The Brown Suede Glove—A Christmas Miracle

     With Christmas only seven days away, I hoped the weather would clear up. We’d had five rainy days in a row. It was driving me crazy. But today, my wish came true and my world glowed. So much so, I could hardly handle the bright sunlight. It made me teary-eyed.
     I’d been cooped up in the house with absolutely nothing to do. The coming of Christmas was almost invisible—a naked tree stood in the middle of the living room. No decorations or lights hung anywhere else. My mom, Lydia, sat on the couch watching TV. She stared at it, but I didn’t believe she saw anything. Her eyes were vacant. Since losing my dad, Marcus, thirteen months ago, she appeared to be lost in a world of despair.
     Dad, an avid walker, was walking home from the shopping center, two miles from our house. He had gone there to buy a Christmas gift for my mom, his beloved wife. As he neared the golf course entrance, a few blocks from our house, a car swerved out of control knocking him almost five feet away into the bushes. He was rushed to the hospital, but died two days later. No gift was found at the scene. Guess he didn’t find one good enough for the woman he loved. Nothing has been the same since his death.
     Crash! What could that be? It was so loud I couldn’t stop shaking. Mom jumped up off the couch and raced to the back door.
     “Ollie, stay here. I’m going to find out what happened.”
     Since I don’t always do as I’m told, I slid off the chair I lounged in and followed close behind her.
     “Ollie.” I said, “STAY.”
     But I didn’t.
     Opening the slider, she ran into the yard, moving her head from left to right and back again, surveying the area to see what might have happened to cause such a ruckus. Not seeing anything or anybody that could be the culprit, she turned and went back into the house, leaving me in the yard.
     Okay, now what? I thought. I wandered over to the back gate, which had been left open. I figured this was an omen, so I pranced through it and down the block to the corner. I started to turn, when I heard someone call out to me.
     “Hey, Ollie, it’s me, Maggie,” she yelped.
     My heart began to beat out of control. Maggie was the love of my life, the girl of my dreams. What she was doing out alone puzzled me. But no one was accompanying me either, so it must be fate. I wiggled my butt, as I walked toward her. I rubbed up against her, quivering as I did. This was ecstasy at its best.
     “Hi, handsome. I’m so happy to see you. You make me tingle all over,” she said.
     “Hello, babe. I’ve missed you,” I responded,
     “I’ve missed you, too, sweetie. . . . What do you want to do now, Ollie?”
     “Just hang out, I guess. I didn’t have any plans when I left the yard and still don’t.”
     “Okay. Let’s go over that way, towards the golf course,” she said in her soft poodlish manner.
     “Sounds good to me. You lead. I’ll follow.” And off we went—two kids in love with each other and passionate about all life had to offer. As we approached the entrance to the course, Maggie stopped in her tracks—her body frozen stiff.
     “Maggie, what’s wrong? Answer me. Please, you’re scaring me. Say something.”
     “Uh, Ollie, there’s something awful lying on the curb. And it’s pointing its finger at me.”
     “What are you talking about?”
     “The brown thing. It’s a . . . a . . . hand, I think.”  
     “Brown thing? What brown thing? I don’t see a brown thing?”
     “Forget the color? Look on the curb, Ollie.”
     “Okay. Oh, my! Maggie, it’s moving.”
     “Ollie, I’m frightened. Let’s get out of here.”
     “Not before I find out what it is. Come on. I’ll protect you.”
     “You’re crazy, Ollie. It’s going to get us. My mother will fall apart if she loses me.”
     “You’re blowing this out of proportion, Maggie. Just stay here. I’m going to check it out.” I moved cautiously in the direction of the hand, as it slid slowly toward me.
     “Please, Ollie, don’t do this. It’s going to get you,” Maggie yelled.
     “No it’s not. Keep quiet. You’re going to scare it.”
     “Uhhhhhh, I don’t know about this.”
     As it got closer, it appeared to be wet, muddy, and slimy. It was a hand, or . . . a glove—a leather glove—like Dad wore. I turned my head back toward Maggie and muttered, “Maggie it’s a glove. Your mom probably has one like it.”
     “But this one’s moving, Ollie. It’s alive. And gloves aren’t alive.”
     “Calm down, Maggie. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” And so I did. For I mustered up all the courage I could and brazenly ran toward it. Grabbing it in my teeth, I pulled it up and ran with it hanging from my mouth to Maggie.
     As I approached her, she screamed, “Ollie, something came out from under the glove when you grabbed it. It’s coming after you. Run, Ollie, run!”
     “It’ll be all right, Maggie. Just stop yelling.” I turned and saw the cutest little mouse. It must’ve carried the glove from the rain-soaked mud under the bushes to the curb. I dropped the glove on the sidewalk. “Maggie, it’s the mouse that was making the glove move. The glove’s not alive.”
     “Are you sure, Ollie?”
     “Yeah, I think so. It doesn’t seem to be moving anymore.”
     “Ollie, the glove spit something out when you dropped it on the ground.”
     “Stay back. I’ll get it.”
     “Watch out. It could be dangerous.”
     “I don’t think so. It’s shiny and pretty.” I picked it up. It had a chain attached to it. Then I dropped it back on the ground to get a better look at it.
     “Ollie, I want to go home. This whole thing has freaked me out.”
     “All right. Let’s go.”
     I grabbed the thing’s chain in my mouth. Maggie looked surprised. “Why are you taking it with you. Ollie?” she asked.
     With the thing dangling from my mouth, I mumbled, “I need to show it to Mom. Maybe she can make some sense out of it.”
     “Fine, but I’m going home. I need my mom to cuddle me and make things better.”
     When we reached the corner of Addison Way and Lodge Avenue, Maggie went one way and I took the other path to my house.
     Arriving home, I trotted back through the open gate, crawled through the doggie door, and went into the kitchen, where I heard the banging of dishes. I barked as best I could, with the thing in my mouth, to get Mom’s attention.
     She turned away from the stove and looked into my eyes. “Well, it’s about time. I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. The neighbors were helping me. I was just going to call the “police” to find you, but, thank God, you’re home now.”
     Oh, no! They’d arrest me for running away and send me to prison. I’m so glad she didn’t do that, I thought.
     “What do you have in your mouth, boy?”
     I swung it back and forth. She leaned over and took it from me. Then she moved it around in her hands and stared intently at it. ”Where did you find this, Ollie?”
     Not expecting an answer, tears began to flow from her eyes. I got as close to her as I could and rubbed my furry schnoodle body against her leg, as she read from the tag hanging on the chain, “My darling Lydia, you are always in my heart. I will love you forever, Marcus.” Tightly embracing it against her chest, she strutted into the living room and hung it on a branch of the Christmas tree.
     She turned toward me and smiled—a warm, loving smile I hadn’t seen in a long, long time. “Ollie, its time to put up our decorations.”
     In a way, I would never fully understand, Dad had mysteriously come back into our lives. It was, indeed, a Christmas miracle.


Copyright © 2018 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Sunday, December 22, 2019


My wife and I met over twenty-three years ago. It was a wonderful time for both of us.

Over the years, we have become closer and our love has blossomed. I’d like to share a very special poem I wrote two years ago. I titled it . . .


The Magic Of The Holidays

Twenty-one years ago we celebrated our first Christmas together and           
     delighted in the magic of the holiday.
We did not know one another well, but we basked in the light of the      
     promising journey we would take in the future.

Many Christmases have come and gone since that first Christmas and our 
     lives have become more entwined.
As we have learned about one another, we have come to appreciate           
     what each of us brings to the relationship.

Even with aging bodies and senior moments, the love we feel for each other 
     has not diminished.
When you smile, you light up my life and warm my heart. There is                
     nothing I would not do for you.

The holidays allow me to be there for you, doing my small part in                 
     decorating the house and sharing in your Christmas spirit.
And you have helped me not to lose sight of my heritage by making sure the 
     Hanukkah menorah is filled with candles and ready to be lit.

In this joyous season, may the lights of Christmas and Hanukkah brighten our 
     lives and ignite our spirits.
As the magic of the holidays graces our life together and fills it with warmth, 
     laughter, sharing, and caring, our love only deepens.


Copyright © 2017 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Saturday, December 21, 2019


What would be the perfect holiday gift for a brother who taunts you, whenever the opportunity arises? You know he cares about you, but his behavior makes your life miserable.

It is Christmas time again. You call your mother and out of nowhere comes a 
gift idea that is . . .


Picture Perfect

     “It’s alive,” I screamed.
     “What’s alive, Thomas?” Reuben asked.
     “The thing,” I replied.
     “The thing?”
     “Yeah, the thing. It fell out of my book onto my lap and then crawled down the side of the sofa.”
     Reuben rolled out of the plush leather armchair to the right of the sofa. “Which side of the couch?” he inquired.
     “That side.”
     He dragged his tired body passed me to the left side of the sofa and bent down. “Don’t know what you saw, but there’s nothing there.”
     “But it’s got to be there. It crawled across the cushion and over the left arm of the couch.”
     “Well, it must have been a bug of some kind. It’s gone now. So let’s just go to bed.”
     “Ugh, a bug—a slimy insect. I hate bugs. They’re yucky. They terrify me—creep me out.”
     ‘“Hell, you’re not going to die from a stupid little bug crawling over you.”
     “How do you know?”
     “I know little brother. I am wise beyond my nineteen years,” he stated, while laughing right in my face.
     Reuben is my older brother, by one year. He has taken care of me, whether I like it or not. Sometimes he can be a real pain in the ass. But tonight he probably was right. So I grabbed my book, Spiderman’s Revenge, and followed him down the hall to our respective bedrooms.
     He and I share a small two-bedroom house, owned by our parents, on the east side of town. We attend East Armitidge Community College. I’m a Psych major and Reuben, well, he’s still searching. Says he has plenty of time to decide what he wants to be when he grows up. That is, if he ever grows up. 
     The grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight, the signal telling me I should have been in bed an hour ago, because I needed to be on campus at eight o’clock sharp. So I wiped thoughts of my wonderful big brother out of my mind and got ready for bed.
     After washing up in the bathroom, I went into my bedroom, put on my pajamas, and shuffled over to the bed. As I pulled back the covers, I let out a loud scream. For there, under the blankets, lay a picture of the ugliest insect I’d ever seen. This turn of events pissed me off. I raced out of my room and down the hall to Reuben’s hideaway, yelling at the top of my lungs, “You idiot! You unfeeling, uncaring jerk!”
     I crashed through his door. Reuben stood there with a smirk on his face. “I found your bug little bro. Nice pic, don’t you think?”
     I stood there speechless. Nothing I could think of seemed to say what I wanted to say, so I kept my mouth shut. Back in my room, my stomach churned as I thought, I’ll get him. I’m not going to let him get away with this. He’s such a creep. And with Christmas just a few weeks away, I’ll find the gift to get back at him—the one he will never forget.
     As my head hit the pillow, I drifted off into an uneasy sleep. I dreamt of bugs crawling all over me. I twisted and turned trying to rid my body of them. My only escape was the buzzing of my alarm clock signaling the arrival of a bright sunny winter morning. However, my anger toward Reuben hadn’t diminished one iota.
     I left the house without confronting him, jumped on my bike, and peddled the two short blocks to campus. Chaining the bike to the rack in front of Brambling Hall, I entered the building and headed into my Psych class. The first words out of the prof’s mouth, “Misery loves company.”
     This sounded so right to me. I was miserable and Reuben wasn’t, but I was sure he should be. So how could I pull this off?
     The rest of the day, I couldn’t get my mind to focus on my classes. All I could think of was how I could get back at my brother. So I grabbed my phone from my jacket pocket, as I sat on a bench on campus in front of the Hamilton James Library, and dialed my mother.
     I needed to get information from her about my brother without arousing her curiosity about why I was asking her questions about him. The best way to do this, I believed, was to lie. The phone rang once, twice, three times. I started to hang up, when her melodic voice sung out, “Hello.”
     “Hey Mom, it’s Thomas.”
     “Oh, Tommy, it’s so nice to speak to you.”
     “Mom, I want to ask you some questions about Reuben.”
     “Okay, . . . but what for?”
     “You know he’s been very nice to me. He looks after me.”
     “Yes, I know.”
     “So I’m thinking of getting a few guys and gals together for a party to celebrate his life over the holiday.”
     “Sounds like he died,” she gulped.
     “No, he’s alive and well. This will be my special Christmas gift for him. I need to find something funny about him to both toast and roast him at our get-together. You know like . . .
     “I know just what you need. Come over to the house for dinner and I’ll show you. But don’t bring Reuben. Make up some excuse for coming alone.”
     “Oh, I won’t, and if he asks where I’m going, I’ll just, uh, bend the truth a bit.”
     “Good. I’ll see you for dinner around six.”
     I clicked my phone off and wondered what in the world my mother had in mind. She could be weird at times, so I had no idea what to expect.
     My parents live just six blocks from my house on the other side of campus. So I mounted my bike and headed toward their home. When I arrived, Dad had just pulled into the driveway. He got out of the car as I drove in. I parked and started up the driveway.
     “Hi, Dad,” I shouted out.
     “Hey, Tom, boy,” he replied. What’s up?”
     “Got an invitation for dinner from Mom.”
     “Great, but where’s Reuben?”
     “Uh, he’s busy—going to a friend’s house or something.”       
     “Sorry he couldn’t make it. You know how I love having both of you here together. Reminds me of all our good times we had as you guys grew up. I couldn’t separate the two of you. If I had one, the other always was close by. But that’s fine. Let’s go in.”
     I followed Dad into the house. “Hey, honey, guess what I brought home from work,” Dad yelled to Mom, as she exited the kitchen and approached us.
     She gave Dad a quick kiss and wrapped her arms around me. I struggled to get loose as she planted a kiss on my cheek. “It’s so good to see you, Tommy,” she chanted.
     “You, too, Mom.”
     “Get washed up,” and meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes for dinner,” she commanded.
     I went into the guest bath, as Dad went into the bedroom to get out of his suit and tie. Ten minutes later, we met each other in the hallway and entered the kitchen together.
     There Mom stood holding a huge two-feet by three-feet framed picture of Reuben, dressed in his “birthday suit,” and it wasn’t a baby picture. “I found this stashed away in the attic when Dad and I sorted through stuff this weekend for Goodwill,” she chanted. “I’d never seen it before. It says, ‘Happy Birthday, Sweet Sixteen’ and it’s signed, ‘Love, Leah.’ Do you remember, she was Reuben’s girlfriend at the time?”
     “Sure, I remember. She was a bit odd, but nice. Wanted to be a photographer.”
     “Yeah, you’re right,” Mom said. “That’s probably why she took the picture. And since he wasn’t wearing any clothes, he hid it in the attic, with our other forgotten junk, so it wouldn’t be found.”
     I stared at it. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The picture of Reuben’s scrawny body and skinny legs, at age sixteen, certainly was something he would want to hide from the world. I wanted to laugh, but held it back. This will be the best payback ever—a holiday gift that will leave a lasting impression, I thought.
     Mom looked at me and asked, “Is this what you were looking for?”
     Overwhelmed, I stated, “Yes, it’s ‘Picture Perfect.’” 


Copyright © 2014 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Wednesday, December 18, 2019


Have you ever had rude and obnoxious neighbors you wished would disappear? You didn’t know them well and saw them on rare occasions, but the sounds that came from their house made you sick to your stomach.

Could these vulgar people learn to respect others and live in peace in the neighborhood?  Or was this impossible? To find out, you might have to be a “fly 
on the wall” in . . .


The House On Loverly Lane

     Bright Christmas lights decorated the eaves, entrance, and front windows of the sprawling, late-model ranch house at 335 Loverly Lane, in the upscale neighborhood of Benson Heights. The lights danced around the arches of the entry inviting all to enter, yet belying the intrigue within.
     The occupants of this Loverly Lane home, however, were no mystery to their neighbors. They had to put up with this loud, crude family of misfits, prone to yelling and using foul language in the presence of others. At times, the vulgarity streaming from the home’s open windows caused neighbors to cringe as they walked by the house. Some even held their hands over the ears of their “innocent” children to protect them from the awful outbursts.
     At three hundred pounds, Jonathan Beastly was the family patriarch. Brash and rowdy, he ruled the clan with an iron hand, which, on most occasions, held something edible. His wife, Betty, a loud, vulgar one hundred seventy pounds draped over a five- foot-two-inch frame rambled from kitchen to dining room, with food in hand, to keep the family fed. Twelve-year-old Garrett, lewd beyond anyone’s imagination, small in height for his age, at four feet nine inches, yet weighing one hundred and forty pounds, fell out of his jeans, which hung below his hips and showed off the crack in his well-developed posterior. His fourteen-year-old sister, Cara, an obnoxious, raunchy, one hundred and sixty-five pound “beauty,” at least in her own eyes, pranced around the house semi-naked.
     The Beastlys had one common interest, treating themselves to the pleasures of life, in particular, eating lavishly and devouring everything in sight. As Christmas approached, decorated cookies, chocolate cakes with sugary frosting, fruit pies of every kind imaginable, and a wide variety of puffy breads adorned almost every table and counter of the house. Family members dragged their hefty bodies past the food displayed and with outstretched arms grabbed the nearest treat in reach and stuffed it with great force and quickness into their mouths, leaving the remnants of this endeavor smeared on their faces.
     Loud belching and farting dominated the holiday sounds heard throughout the Beastly home each day and each night of the “Twelve Days of Christmas.” If others had been present, they would have been driven to escape through a door or window in an attempt to find a source of fresh air.
     The family possessed great wealth, as they had received a two million dollar inheritance upon the death of Uncle Cyrus, almost two years ago. With an unlimited source of funding available to them, the Beastlys, having no sense of style or knowledge of interior decorating, hired a specialist to decorate and furnish their home. The outcome of this professional’s efforts created a stark contrast between the beauty of the home’s furnishings and the “beasts” in residence.
     The great room, where the family lounged on the furniture in the midst of the splendor of pastries and other goodies, served as the their central gathering place. Prized possessions included Jonathan Beastly’s throne, a brown leather recliner, stationed in the center of the room facing a 70” LED television; Betty’s plush leather chair and ottoman; Garrett’s striking nine-foot couch; and Cara’s golden, leather loveseat.
     Now having nice furnishings didn’t mean they treated these belongings with respect. The abuse the furniture received was savage. A barrage of profanity and hitting and kicking of these “prized possessions” took place on a regular basis. This constant mistreatment would not have been tolerated, if the furniture had the means to confront its attackers.
     Christmas week approached. Garrett, somewhat uptight because of having to serve detention at school the Friday before vacation, entered the great room and dove onto the couch, hitting his head on the arm and twisting his neck. He screamed, “You damn couch. Can’t you do anything right.” Punching its arm with all his might, he took out his frustrations on this poor “soul.”
     Hearing the yelling, Cara came running into the room ranting, “You woke me up. What the hell is going on in here?”
     “Aw, the stupid couch hurt me.”
     “So, hurt it back. Watch what I do.”
     Cara strutted over to her lush loveseat and begin kicking it, with a force so strong dents appeared in its body. “Now, that’s how it’s done, Garrett. You can’t let the furniture control you. Remember, you are the master. You rule.”       
     “Yeah, I rule,” Garrett wailed.
     However, as Christmas neared life became calmer and a relative peace characterized the Beastly home. Then Christmas Eve arrived and with it a Beastly dinner celebration. Betty placed dish upon dish of sumptuous food on the dining room table, so much so, the table appeared to sag at its middle.
     A thirty-pound turkey, with dressing pouring from every crevice, took center stage. A gallon bowl of mashed potatoes, dripping with melted butter; three plates of sweet potatoes; an overflowing cast iron pot of mac and cheese; a tin dish filled with spaghetti covered with Alfredo Sauce, seasoned breadcrumbs, and parmesan cheese; and two baskets filled with buttery biscuits, strawberry scones, and blueberry muffins sat with pride around the spectacular bird.
     Looking at the huge feast before her with great delight, Betty sneered at the table and sputtered, “Muscle up you ungrateful creature. You gotta last through Christmas.” She licked her lips as she gazed at her sumptuous creations and squealed, “Come and get it.” 
     Like a herd of elephants, first Garret, then, Cara, and finally Jonathan, “Big John” Beastly, bolted into the dining room, pushing and shoving to secure their places at the table. Betty trudged in behind them and flopped into her chair.
     All now seated, Jonathan in a loud, melodic voice delivered the traditional family prayer. “Hand to hand, then into the mouth, suck it up, chew it with gusto, and send it all south. Thank you, Lord. Amen.” The family members then gorged themselves until they could no longer move and breathing became difficult.
     Pushing himself away from the table, Jonathan stood tall and groaned, “Everybody into the great room. Come on. Get your tails moving.”
     With food dripping from his mouth, Garret mumbled, “Good dinner. Can’t eat no more.” He tried standing, but fell back into his chair. Then he growled, “I’m the man.” And mustering his energy, he lifted his body out of the chair and headed toward the great room.
     Entering the room, Jonathan moved toward his recliner and crashed his well-endowed behind into it causing the recliner’s seat to buckle around him. Then Garrett catapulted onto the couch and landed with a brutal, loud plop. Following behind them, Cara scrambled into the loveseat, kicking her feet into its right arm so hard the leather crinkled up making a weird crackling sound. Then Betty swaggered into the room and swung her body over the arm of her chair, landing on its cushion with such force the air was driven from it. She plunged her feet, clad in heavy, black boots, into the top of the ottoman leaving scuffmarks on its surface.
     There appeared to be nothing the furniture could do to avoid the severe punishment received. Each had become an innocent victim of this menacing family. Christmas Eve lingered on and the torturous actions of the Beastlys persisted, as they anxiously squirmed in their seats while watching It’s a Wonderful Life on the large-screen TV.
     “Damn, this movie is good,” Jonathan hollered, as he smashed his fists into his leather recliner.
     The recliner absorbed the impact and gasped, Whoooosh.
     Betty sung in a high-pitched voice, “I will lasso the moon for you, cause it’s a wonderful life,” as she banged her boots in rhythm up and down on the ottoman, causing it to bounce on the floor.
     Garrett belched and farted creating a musical backdrop to his mother’s lyrics. Then he yelled, “Yes, yes, what a wonderful life,” as a fart, sounding like a bomb, emerged from his behind.
     Cara groaned, “Why can’t you all shut up and let me watch the movie?”
     But then, to the relief of the furniture, the film concluded. All the obnoxious sounds subsided and the evening ended with the exodus of the family members to their respective bedrooms.
     Peace and quiet descended upon the great room. But then something quite unusual happened, interrupting the calm of the night
     Huuuuuuh, the leather recliner breathed a sigh of relief.
     The plush chair spoke in beautiful, but strong tones, “My friends, those terrible people have taken advantage of us for too long.”
     “Yes, you are so right,” replied the golden loveseat. “We must gain our freedom from those awful beings. No longer shall we be prisoners in our own home.” 
     “But how do we do this?” moaned the ottoman.
     “Our plan needs to be well thought out. To accomplish this we must act as a team and act with expedience, for morning will come all too soon and we have to be ready,” stated the nine-foot couch.
     “Get off me, stay off me, or I’ll make your life miserable," yelled the leather recliner. “That’s what I must say.”
     “Maybe so,” said the plush chair. “But I think we need to engage in a swift, but silent attack.”
     “Oh no. We have to get our revenge,” the loveseat cried out. “And we don’t need to be quiet doing it.”
     The plush chair and ottoman sung out in unison, “We’ll join together to crush the ‘enemy.’”
     As the night wore on, plans fell into place and the furniture came to believe they could achieve their goal. They each began to feel stronger, empowered. Then, this team of conspirators chanted as one, “We will regain our home.”
     Christmas Day provided the opportunity to avenge the torture forced upon them. The family would gather in the great room to open gifts. At that time, each piece of furniture would rise to the challenge and play its part in achieving the team’s objective of conquering the evil beings who brutalized them.
     Morning came and the sun peeked into the great room, illuminating the furniture and the gifts placed below the tree. A peaceful silence pervaded the room, but not for long. For terrible grunting sounds could be heard throughout the house, as the Beastlys awoke and lumbered toward the great room to celebrate Christmas.
     Each family member rambled in, blind to the presence of the others. Jonathan crashed with a mighty thud into his recliner. “Uhffffffffff,” he gasped. And then the recliner lurched forward sucking him into its midsection, as he disappeared from view.
     Garrett lunged toward the couch and flipped his body onto its surface. “Oh, crap,” he yelled, as he felt his torso being absorbed by the cushions. Then a swallow, followed by a gurgle, and nothing more could be seen on the couch.
     Cara tumbled onto the loveseat. But, as she landed, the loveseat’s soft, plush cushions engulfed her. She moaned, “Uhhhhhh, I can’t breathe,” and vanished, leaving no evidence of her existence behind.
     When Betty entered the room, she saw no one. She ambled toward her chair, but found the ottoman in her path.
     “I got you,” the ottoman snickered.
     Stunned by this unexpected remark, she tripped over it. “Oh, you idiotic piece of junk,” she screamed as she lurched forward grabbing for the chair that managed to move out of reach. Hitting her head on the end table, she fell backward onto the ottoman and dropped out of sight.
     Quiet again fell upon the room. A glow surrounded the furniture, as if each piece had a smile upon its “face.” The Christmas gifts remained unopened under the tree.
     Days passed and all embraced the ringing in of the New Year. The countdown toward midnight began and with it came the dawn of a new day. Abused no more, the furniture welcomed a time of peace and contentment. But then a key being placed in the lock of the front door rattled the tranquil environment.
     “What’s happening?” whimpered the plush chair. “Have ‘THEY’ returned?”
     The furniture trembled. Could the uncaring Beastlys have figured out a way to come back from the depths of where they had been banished? they thought.
     Then the door began to open. Noise could be heard—beautiful, melodious utterances. Delightful, joyful voices filled the house.
     “Come, come, my wonderful family. We have a holiday to celebrate,” Jonathan chortled.
     As he entered the great room, followed by Betty, Cara, and Garrett, all seemed to have changed . . . in a pleasant way. Happy and caring, they removed packages, with their names inscribed on the attached tags, from under the tree and sat in genteel fashion in their seats to open them. Warmth and love could be felt throughout the room.
         It was a blessed time. A new year and a new day had begun, as Jonathan, Betty, Cara, and Garrett Loverly opened their presents, sang Christmas songs, and brought peace and joy to the neighborhood.


Copyright © 2012 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

December is a very special time of the year. Warmth and caring prevail.

During this holiday season, we need to think about the blessings we can bestow upon others, now and all year round. We can do this by . . .


Reaching Out

As I walked by the railroad tracks one morning,
I saw an old man in tattered clothes coming toward me
He had a slight limp,
swayed in a peculiar manner
and shuffled his feet as he moved.
My first thought—
avoid him,
but it didn’t seem right.
I approached
and extended my hand
in a gesture of friendship.
He paused for a moment
and stared
at my outstretched arm.
Had it been too many years
since he felt
the warmth of a touch?
He looked
at me
with pleading eyes.
My heart
filled
with tenderness.
He grasped my hand—
chills
ran through my body.
Not a word uttered,
but a clear message
conveyed.
I am a man worthy of recognition
and for your kindness
I am forever in your debt.


Copyright © 2011 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.