Alice asked.....TAKE CARE. Domenic is at play.

ss

Very good domenic.

Many times I stop in front of this beautiful house.
Inside are happy things.

There are chilren laughing, eating and playing.
There are beautiul mrriors, wall paper and sumptious drapes .

The table is elegantly set. Upon a heavy lace tablecloth are custom made dishes resting on gold charger plates.
Sterling silver and fine crystal complete the look of elegance.

There is a wonderful smell in the air. On the counter in the kitchen are fat loaves of freshly baked bread.

Two Christmas trees are in the house One nine-foot tall, green one with cones and covered with heirloom decorations from many spots in he world--including Alaska, Scotland, Switzerland, England graces the living room.

Another pure white, pre-lit with white lights tree is against a bright red wall in the rec room.

This is the only house I like to go in, because it is clean and fun and there is a handsome man named Dave there, whom I have liked and loved for many years.

I don't know who I am and don't care where I am --just as long as Dave is there.

Well someone could have at least given me an F+ for trying.

I don't expect Lane to be impressed. I guess I have proved I ain't domenic! Also, ain't a wordsmith.

For crying out loud--after all I went through to write that--it does beat all, I will not enter it in the WIP section.

Mr. Planemaker appreciated that, for an eight-year-old boy and an almost seven-year-old girl, it was quite a burden to ask them to hush up all the time. This thought was on his mind as he fell asleep and began to dream.

In his dream, two small children, a boy and a girl, were trying to find a house at the end of a long garden path that was bordered on both sides by a sea of pale blue and violet flowers. As the two children reached the front door, they were startled because the whole house became invisible. They immediately turned around and ran back to the gate at the end of the path leading to the house, but before they opened the gate, they heard a loud THUD! as the house reappeared.

The first time this happened, the two children laughed and ran back along the path towards the front door but the house disappeared again.

When they reached the gate a second time, they heard another THUD! as the house reappeared.

Whenever the children approached the house, it disappeared. They were no longer amused by the time the house had vanished three times, and they began to look a little anxious and lost.

Suddenly, a man appeared in the dream with a key in his hand. As the man beckoned to the children, the small girl called out, “The house keeps disappearing.”

At the same time, Mr. Planemaker could hear someone calling gently. He recognised the voice―it was his little daughter saying, “Daddy, are you asleep?” . . .

. . . That night, Mr. Planemaker tiptoed into the bedrooms of his two children, who were in bed fast asleep, and was captivated by the angelic faces of his innocent son and daughter. Holding back a tear, not of sadness but of joy at such a lovely sight, his heart filled with love as he gazed at each child.

Minutes later he was lying in bed, drifting into a deep sleep with a picture of the two sleeping babes in his mind. He began to dream about the vanishing house from his afternoon nap.

The man with the key was looking for the two children who had wandered off through the garden gate, away from the house. Unable to find the youngsters, he’d decided to approach the front door to see if the key would fit the lock.

Before he reached the door, a smartly dressed, very well-groomed lady suddenly appeared on the doorstep. She had sleek, chin-length, dark brown hair, and she was wearing a charcoal grey, pin-stripped, designer trouser suit with an open-necked white blouse. Her make-up, which was immaculate, neither too little nor too much, accentuated her dark eyes and high cheekbones.

The man was wondering if he should say something when the smart young woman said, “Hello.”

As she extended her right hand towards the man with the key, he could see that she was holding a gold-edged business card, which the man took and held in his left hand. At the top of the card, the company’s address:

Dream Homes Incorporated,
Heaven’s Gate, Land of Angels,
Principality of Just Rewards

was printed in gold letters. The name in the centre, Ann R. Keytect, was printed in embossed black type with the words “Member of the Angel’s Guild of Chartered Surveyors and Architects” printed immediately below in the same gold lettering as the address. She obviously belonged to a very well-respected, professional organization.

While he was still looking at the card, Ms. Keytect added, “Welcome to the Dream House. I hope you like it. I designed it especially for you.”

“You designed this house for me?” the man asked as he looked firstly towards Ms. Keytect then towards the house and finally to the key in his hand.

“Is this the key to the house?” he enquired.

“Yes,” she replied. “But it will only fit the lock if you know the secret number of the house.”

“Oh, I don’t know anything at all about the house. I found the key in my toolbox. I hadn’t seen it before and I’d no idea where it came from. As I touched the key, this house suddenly appeared. Two children were trying to open the door but the house kept disappearing and they’ve disappeared, too.”

“Don’t worry about the children, they’ll come back again. Children usually do reappear, even when they run off for a short while.”

“Yes, they do. They’re like boomerangs. They run off in one direction and return from another!” the man said in agreement.

Holding up the key, he added, “This is of no use to me. I don’t know the number of this house.”

“Do you remember the number of the house in which you were born?”

“Yes,” replied the man.

Ms. Keytect stood aside to allow the man to step forward as she invited him to try the key, saying, “Insert the key in the lock and whisper the number of the house of your birth.”

Even though the man was a little unsure, his natural curiosity urged him towards the door. He put the key in the lock and turned it as he whispered a number. His face was crestfallen. Nothing happened. Although the house didn’t disappear, the door didn’t open either.

When he tried to remove the key, which remained stubbornly in the lock, he wasn’t strong enough to pull it out.

“I can’t budge the key. It’s stuck in the lock,” he said, adding, “should I just leave it for someone else who knows the secret number?”

“Ah, this is a very special key. Try again. The number you whispered is correct. Except, this time, turn the key anti-clockwise and repeat the number,” suggested Ms. Keytect.

The man grasped the key with his right hand, turned it anticlockwise and whispered the number again.

Immediately, the door didn’t just open―it disappeared completely.

He heard Ms. Keytect ask, “Do you remember my name?”

The man replied, “Yes, you’re Ann R. Keytect.”

However, when he turned towards her, she was gone―completely invisible.

Mr. Planemaker was still half asleep when he eventually woke and heard the bubbling sound of two young children laughing, intermingled with an adult’s voice issuing orders about school bags, woollen hats, mittens and all the paraphernalia associated with a Monday morning. . . .

. . . Within a matter of weeks, Mr. Planemaker had completely retired from full-time employment in a thriving business. Had he not been feeling so permanently tired, he would’ve regretted the decision. As it was, he accepted, without argument, that life would be much easier in the future.

Nowadays, time did sometimes stretch out and seemed to last much longer than it did when he was working. This extra time to reflect led to thoughts about involving himself in some kind of project.

Everything that came to mind seemed to require too much effort, and even just thinking about some of the things tired him out.

Today, during his light breakfast of cereal and fruit juice, he was giving some more thought to how he should set up something worthwhile.

For the rest of the day, he considered any number of projects that might be within his ability. Eventually he gave up because none of them was exactly what he was searching for. By the time he went to bed he was completely worn out.

When he started to think about a plan he hadn’t previously considered, he was so tired he immediately fell asleep and began to dream.

The same man he’d dreamed about previously was standing in front of the Dream House wondering whether he should walk inside, because there was no longer a front door to the house, only an opening into the dimly lit hallway.

This dark entry wasn’t very inviting and the man was unsure if he should make his way into the house when, before he could move, a tall, thick set man, dressed in workman’s clothes appeared in front of the doorway and said, “Hello, I’m A. W. Dare. I don’t use my first name. My second name is William but everyone calls me Bill. Bill Dare. How do you do?” he enquired as he held out his hand and shook the man’s right hand
firmly. “I see you managed to open the door.”

“The door disappeared,” the man replied.

“Oh the door is still there even though you can’t see it.”

“If I tried to walk through the door, would I feel it?” asked the man.

“No,” grinned Mr. Dare. “But it’s a good question. Walking into a solid door would be pretty painful!” he laughed.

“Why did the door disappear if it’s still there?”

“Well,” said Bill Dare as he scratched his balding head, “You can’t see the door, so you’ll be able to walk straight into the house. The folk, who can see the door, won’t be able to walk through a solid door, will they…makes sense doesn’t it?” he laughed again.

Although this seemed like a riddle, it did make some kind of sense.

Even so, not enough sense to satisfy the man, who asked, “Do the people who live here leave the door open permanently then?”

“No one lives here,” was the quick reply.

“No one has ever lived here,” confirmed Mr. Dare.

The man was mulling this over, when he suddenly remembered Ann R. Keytect saying that she’d designed the house for him, which prompted the next question, “Have you met Ms. Keytect? Ann R. Keytect?”

“Sure I have,” replied Mr. Dare. “She designed the house for you and I built it.”

“Oh you’re a builder!” the man exclaimed.

“I am indeed. I’m Bill Dare the builder!” Mr. Dare exclaimed and then added, “Well now. Would you like to see inside the house?”

From where the man was standing he could just about see through the open doorway and not much further. The poorly lit hallway looked very eerie and uninviting―enough to send a shiver down the man’s spine.

“I’m not sure,” he said nervously.

“What are you afraid of?” Mr. Dare asked.

“I don’t know. Something seems to be holding me back. I’m not sure that I’m ready to step inside this house,” the man tried to explain.

“Well maybe today isn’t the right time for you. One day soon, I dare say it will be. But then again I would dare to say so. I’m Bill Dare,” he said, full of laughter.

Mr. Planemaker could hear the laughter although he was no longer dreaming. The sound of laughter came from his two children, Emmelisa and Dylan, who were busily putting together all their school stuff ready for the car journey to Leafy Lea Primary.

ss

Very nice Shelagh, Alice, and Domenic. All your writing was beautiful and meaningful.

My northwoods house is my dream house. My grandson was looking at a painting in the guest room of a log building, a driveway, and lots of maple trees. He said, "Is that your house?" I purchased that painting in the early 70s from an artist who was selling paintings in her backyard. We built our house in the woods in the late 90s. I don't go to the guest room often and forgot about the painting there. That home is my safe place.

I am writing about this house and will put a WIP on it. There is magic involved, like the fact my father and his family rented a cabin within a half mile of our property in the 30s. I did not know that when we bought the property. My husband and I spend a lot of time there. It is not near family, but they come and visit. Lots of people have visited. Each year over 50 people have visited.

Carol

I agree with Carol.
I suppose that's why we can call ourselves "writers."

Thanks Carol and Abe! There's something about dream houses isn't there?

I wll give Shelagh an A+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++.

Domenic can have a B+++++++++++++++++++++.

I will have an E for effort.

Carol's grade is to be determined. Just now it is an I for Incomplete.

Alice wrote:

Well someone could have at least given me an F+ for trying.

I don't expect Lane to be impressed. I guess I have proved I ain't domenic! Also, ain't a wordsmith.

For crying out loud--after all I went through to write that--it does beat all, I will not enter it in the WIP section.

Alice, I give it an A.

It is very pretty and gave me a good feeling.

And Dave is probably one happy dude.

Thanks Jo Elle!

I am now up to a C

Jo Elle,

You are so right--I am so glad that you see that.

No one should feel defined by their childhood. They had no control over it.

More on this topic. Your childhood has nothing to do with you.

You did not choose to be born,

You did not pick your parents.

Abe told a horrendous tale of when hiis brother ran away from school.

He said times have changed. I am glad.

Our son ran away from school. I got home and there was Dan.

"Why are you here?" I asked ," School is not out yet."

"I ran away." he said.

"What, You better go back."

"I won't go." he said.

I called Dave at work." Dan ran away from school," I said .

"Yes," said Dave "the school called and told me "

He continued , "I asked how he and Mrs Meanie had gotten along and they said about like usual. "

Other parents and children were fed up with this teacher.

We talked Dan into going to his spring school program that evening and we saw him receive a hero's welcome.

One mother said, " Good for you Dan, You ought to go kick her car too."

It was the teacher's fault and we laughed that she was frantically looking for him and he was down in the public library reading.

I did not attend my final parent-teacher conference with her, as I had nothing to say and did not wish to hear her remarks.

We had a far better teacher the next year. in fact that is the good thing the good outweighed the bad.

ss

Alice, my son ran away from school too ... well, not exactly.

My husband and I helped him broke into the school and rescued him.
We began homeschooling him in middle school.

domenic Pappalardo wrote:

People tend to seperate from others. You are part of all you touch, and they a part of you. No one is solo.

People may belong to societies.
People may belong to families.
People may influence and/or have an effect on others.

But we can choose how we allow others to influence and effect us.
Ultimately we are each just one individual and we are our own biggest influence.

Alice wrote:

Well someone could have at least given me an F+ for trying. I don't expect Lane to be impressed. I guess I have proved I ain't domenic! Also, ain't a wordsmith. For crying out loud--after all I went through to write that--it does beat all, I will not enter it in the WIP section.

Had I been here to comment, I would have. But I wasn't, so I won't.

Aw Phooey!

We once had a dog that ran away TO the school. He actually found the room of my son and was looking in the windows.

Carol

Carol,

I like that dog.
He was probably making sure the teacher was nice to your son.