To confuse the issue of the story more, a continuation of Blends...

Mom had been delighted. They hadn't had Vegemite in the house since Kraft had tried to introduce it in California without really telling anyone how to use it.

That was when Anne learned to like it, licking it off the bread, and holding the bread back for more. It never quite worked, but it had been worth a try.

Yellow flower

Yesterday, as I was walking with several friends out of the church parking lot to the road to catch an auto home, I spied a fallen flower. It was bright yellow and just the size to slip onto my finger, which I proceeded to do. It felt smooth and silky.

Memories flooded through my head. Milky white sap. A parent's injunction to not suck the ends -- this flower was poisonous. Yellow flowers on a bush in a place filled with diffused light and round pebbles.

As I took the flower off my finger and stared down, noticing a small disk of five at the base, I pondered -- did we ever play with them?

I can't remember.

What is home?

"The foxes have dens, birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head."

Why do I complain that "home" is scattered around the world and I have never seen the place my family lives now?

I am not alone.

I love it here, but I hate it too.

[For] I know that this is only temporary 

and soon time will come again [to leave].

Excerpt from Elain's journal written during Writing Time

It's nice to get letters from my brothers and to see how to pray for them. I need to pray for them more. Jonathan wrote. Some girl gave him a white feather and now he wants to enlist.

He's only fifteen!

He doesn't want to confide in either Aunt Irene or Uncle Paul because he knows they will forbid it outright. I wonder why he wrote me. We've only been to visit his family in Wales once.

"...but is it my duty?"

No! Not from what Alan and James have been writing. No lad should ever have to go through that. But what do I tell him?

Honour your parents.

Children, obey your parents in the Lrod.

They already have three sons in the war. Uncle Paul needs him. He can't do all the farming on a game leg.

Writing

It's in me.

Must I? she pleads, afraid of the road.

See my road,

the response comes

a melange of all the sunday school images she

has ever seen

-but...

-I am with you

-Please help Lord

Slithering

Slithering into the darkness was not the easiest thing Jenna had ever done. Getting back on a horse after she she had broken an arm when the horse threw her was harder. Climbing to the top of the Training Academy Climbing Wall, reputed to be two feet taller than the world's tallest known climbing wall, was one of the hardest.

Still, this ranked right up there with them. For one thing, it was extremely narrow. And it was extremely dark. Although she knew it was just Jakin ahead of her, she kept flinching, expecting something to slither out and attack her.

_____________________________________________________________________

Quick undernote to figure out what is hard:

harder: going to the dentist to have a getting shots, clambouring to the top of the Training Academy -- which is reputed to be two feet taller than the tallest known climbing wall.

Blends

The girl squatted under the mango tree and pulled out her snack. It was butter and the salty tang of Vegemite, spread thinly over the soft chewyness of a baguette slice. She smiled happily and bit in, remembering how Dad had smuggled the five kilo bucket of Vegemite home for her mom's Christmas present.

School had been good -- well mostly. Math was still really boring. She could count up to fifty now. In fact, she was finally understanding most things. It was nice though, how the teacher drew pictures on the board of the words that they were learning. It made it easier to learn what they meant.

Purpose

I teach a wonderfully creative group of seventh and eighth graders.

I have given them the challenge to write daily, and wish to write alongside them, and to offer them the opportunity to comment on my writing as I comment on theirs.

Student or no, you are most welcome in these adventures in writing.

Miss Jackson

Why "Armed with Ink"?

When I first set out to create this blog, my first thought was to continue the theme of the adventure of writing. To me, writing is a chance to create portals to other worlds and places. It is a sort of map-making, so others can follow along on your adventures. Sometimes it is easy. Other times, it is like hacking through the thickest jungle with your machete, or slogging through a swamp.

Words are magical. With them, I can take you to the joyous green of rainy season, as children dance with joy in the cool refreshing rain, or the heat of the Sahara, where a boy screams, running barefoot around the house on the hot sand.

They are also powerful.

Words have started and ended wars. Properly used, they can inspire and encourage. Improperly used, they can twist and destroy, while hiding behind a facade of delight.

The realms of the real world and imagination are large, with many places to explore. Armed with a bit of ink, I can create maps for others to follow, and draw pictures of the worlds for them to see.

I hope you enjoy the adventures.