Ashley's Philosophy Corner

    "There is a way around every elemnt of carnal nature."

    --Macy Adams

    "There are no traffic jams along the extra mile."

    --Roger Staubach

Austin's Funnies Corner

    A man was driving down the road with 20 penguins in the back seat. The police stop him and say that he can't drive around with the penguins in the car and should take them to the zoo. The man agrees and drives off.

    The next day the man is driving down the road with 20 penguins in the back, and again is stopped by the same polic officer who says "Hey! I thought I told you to take those to the zoo."

    The man replies, "I did. Today I'm taking them to the movies."

Alex's Random Awesome Corner

    Reminds me of someone I know...except the other people haven't quite figured out how to shoot the bad ideas down as well. :)

Anna's Great Literature Corner

    Ann Rinaldi -an author I have recently stumbled upon, and have found myself astounded by. She is an amazing author. She writes so brilliantly, and her plots are twisted together with such complexities of ideas and characters. She writes historical fiction to let you know, and has this stupendous way of capturing the history and making it something real. Of making it alive. After completeing one of her books, you feel like you know that era/issue like the back of your hand. For instance, her "Wolf By the Ears" and "In My Father's House" do an amazing job of describing hte complications of the Civil War. Then there's "Or Give Me Death", which has this unique and very profound and suprising moral. It's about the wife of Patrick Henry, who apparently was actually the one that inspired the quote "Give me liberty or give me death." If you ever need a good book to read, or an author who has written something that is well worth your time, Ann Rinaldi is who I would recommend.

    

Ashley's Philosophy Corner

    "Oh the tormenting of the souls of those who do not find their niche! The poor children...oh, but the strength that they gain! So much wiser...so much fonder...so much more observant, and so much sharpened in their ability to see into the souls of other. And yet, such a troubled that past haunts them, such a twisted and sad story that eats away. It is not their fault, they did not deserve the part they were given as the odds and ends of the class of kids. And yet they received it...and yet they rose above. For when failure and defeat are the only things there to greet them at the end of the day, you can rest assured that it will not be long before it is triumph that becomes their title. In the end, that it is triumph that marks their wounded being. And isn't that what was meant to be our life here on this earth? You must see the bitter before you can see the sweet..."

--Macy Adams

Austin's Funnies Corner

    Swimmer:  "Are there any sharks in this bay?"

    Lifeguard:  "Not anymore. The crocodiles got 'em."

Alex's Random Awesome Corner

    Trust me, this is one link you HAVE to check out! :)

    This is most truly a website that is the best webiste in the world. Honestly. I saw only the tip of the iceberg, and I am ready to go out and make the world a better place. Don't hesitate, explore! The link commences to the TV commercial homepage, so you can select the one that would be most meaningful to you right then. I personally couldn't stop watching them because they were just so uplifting and wonderful.. It is the most worth it website...

    http://www.values.com/inspirational-stories-tv-spots

Anna's Great Literature Corner

This is a poem of mine, that was chosen to be published by "Creative Communications". I entered it into their contest, and they havne't decided the winners, but they've slected the few out of MANY to go in the book. This is my 'claim to fame'. :)

I Am A Mormon Pioneer

I am fierce and independent

I wonder what lies over the next mountain

I hear the cry of the baby that lies in the cold, hard ground

I see myself resting peacefully on soft grass, taking no thought of our diminishing flour sack

I want with my whole heart and soul to join with Zion

I am fierce and independent

I pretend my feet don’t ache with pain

I feel the coolness of a stream running down my back

I touch the bed I will never sleep in again

I worry for the safety of the children who skip gleefully at the sides of the wagon wheels

I cry to know we must all be broken to reach happiness

I am fierce and independent

I understand why some cannot go on

I say the Lord will carry us through, if we are willing to step into his arms

I dream my sisters gather Morning Glories in a meadow of flowers

I try to keep walking, even when my body tells me I want to stop

I hope that we shall reach the valley soon, and that we will find we are blessed with strength beyond ourselves

I am fierce and independent

Ashley's Philosophy Corner

The joy is in the journey.

Watch this until the end. Have patience. It's definitely worth it.

Austin's Funnies Corner

Another Stuidio C.  

I couldn't resist. After all, it is wholesome. 

And of course funny.

Alex's Random Awesome Corner

    So beautiful, so pure.

Anna's Great Literature  Corner

    I don't know if you consider this neceessarily great literature, but it's entertaining enough. Based off of a Harris Burdick picture, it's one of my own. (I am an aspiring novelist.) You have to tell me what you think. (This is a short story by the way.) 

    Also, in case you didn't know the whole story about Harris Burdick: He was a mysterious writer who came to a publisher with a compilation of orginal artwork with captions and titles of short stories that he wrote for each one. He told the publisher he'd be back to talk to him and see if he was interested, and he was. Very interested. So he eagerly awaited the writer's return. But he never came back. To this day these pictures remain mysterious, because the world will never know what the stories really were.

The Third-Floor Suite

           

          We Author’s were proud of our hotel, especially Mats and Pats, (Etsa and Orthwald Author), who’d started it up before I’d even taken my first breath.
Still, they had a way of making it feel like home, not merely a place of work, and not only for their children-me and my brothers-but their guests, as well. That was probably because we lived there, and the guests usually had been traveling for many days, so anywhere with a hot meal and a bed to sleep in was a comfort for them. I loved the hotel, too. How could I not? To me, it was what my life had always been, what it was, and all it would ever be... and now that I think about it, even though I knew Mats and Pats didn’t mean for it to be that way, I don’t think I’ve ever been farther than the clothes-line out back.

         Besides, we liked the way things were. As much as things changed, they always seemed to stay the same. Everything was always just perfect. Not in a sense of everything going according to plan, but instead where everything we needed to live a tranquil lifestyle, filled with contentment in family love, was provided for.

         And then it happened.

         The trouble: it just-came. After thirteen years-all the life I had ever known-the hotel decided to get difficult on us. Particularly a room.

         It all started when someone left the window open, though no one still to this day knows who. Mats was furious. Not because of the window, but because she had received her first complaint from a guest-and not only that, but it was three at the same time who came up to question her. I was immediately sent to see what the matter was, of course, despite the fact I had just sat down to rest my aching feet. It was the third-floor, which was strange, because whenever there was a problem, it was never on the third-floor, and that was something I always made sure to keep track of. But, there I was, dutifully pit-pattering up the stairs, with the bundle of laundry Mats had placed in my arms only moments before that I had yet to put away.

         As soon as I reached the top, the laundry was on the floor. Worry flared up inside the pit of my stomach, and all I could feel or think about suddenly, was heat, as thick and intoxicatingly uncomfortable as someone pouring honey down my back. My face flushed, and my hands and neck began to sweat as I looked wildly around to find the source. The air seemed to be petrified with an invisible fire, and I couldn’t help but trudge, wiping my brow as I went, as I searched the area around me for smoke, even though I knew in my heart there wouldn’t be any. It wasn’t a fire.

         I knew I was in an emergency, because never before had there been a barrage of such intense heat, especially one that seemed to envelop an entire floor. So, irrational and drunk with worry, I was drawn to the room that under normal circumstances I would avoid. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance.

         It was a room we were never drilled into not to enter, like with most things, but it was also one Mats never had occupied, and Pats never mentioned. Not even Ague, our stern, reprimanding cook, ever followed Jig and Jag and I to the hallway it was in to seize us in our moments of childish play. We just…never went inside. No matter what, and no ever knew why. Even so, I had felt no curiosity towards the room prior to my encounter with it, but now that I was there, I was slapped by a wake-up call of such severe wonderment, that I couldn’t help but be caught up in hastiness, and make my decision.

          I thrust my shaking hand towards the doorknob, gripped it, and hesitated for a moment, because I knew I could very well get in a lot of trouble for even daring to go near it. Finally, I forced myself to throw it open, only to release an outburst of even more heat. After pulling my face back in shock, I registered the sound of a low hum coming from the inside. Without thinking, I stumbled forward and cast my gaze upwards, to see what was making the noise. It was the radiator, and it was on. Who turned it on? I don’t know. All I know is: the room had never been entered.

         

          I collapsed to the floor, and staggered to the other side of the room to turn the radiator off. The closer I got, the more I felt like I was being scorched in an inferno. Clutched with too great a fear for touching it, I got myself up and sprinted back to grab the laundry. I used it as a protective covering, wrapping it around my hand as I reached down to flip the switch, but when I looked, I saw that it was already at the “Off”. I gasped in horror, thoughts swirling through my head of what I was going to do, wishing I would just faint right then and there and never have to worry about it again.

          “Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no! I can’t…how am I going to…?”

          My eyes began to close, and I could feel the unconsciousness flooding into my head and taking over my mind, but then, out of nowhere, there was a click, and the thrumming buzz of the radiator was silent. My eyes shot back to life, and I tore the sheet off my hand, noticing, as I did, the white curtains just above the radiator, that blew up in a billowing motion.

          Billowing curtains. Open window. Rushing wind.

          Cold.

          I leaped onto the radiator, as hard and metal as I knew it would be, and stuck my head out. I cried out for joy at feeling the breeze rushing towards my face, plastering me with a blessed cool, despite the searing heat that stung my knees which were jammed into the openings of the radiator. Ignoring the pain, I shook my head rapidly, and grinned with pure delight, sending my long brown hair flapping up and down on my shoulders. Sighing in pleasure, I-

          “Beelia! Beelia Author!” My mats called. I jerked my head, hitting the pane of the window that had been slid up to be opened as I did. “Where is that girl?” I heard her mutter as she tromped up the last of the ascending third-floor stairs. I closed the window, maneuvered my way down from the top of the radiator, and dashed as far away as I could to the other side of the room, to get out before she could catch me inside. Then, just as fast as I got to the doorway, I composed myself, shut the door as quietly as possible, and began to waltz towards her as she turned the corner of the round-about hallway.

          “Oh, grass there, Mats. What are you doing here?” I asked, nonchalantly. (Grass is “hey” in other lands.)

          “Looking for you. Do you have any idea what kind of chaos it is down there? Pats is working double time trying to fix the leak in the sink and attend to the usual problems, when Jag enters with a bloody lip, right in the middle of making supper, mind you. I try to clean him up, when Jig comes running past me, stops, and tells me there are customers outside with complaints. With complaints! Can you believe that, Beelia?! All these years, and not once have I ever had to-“

          “It’s all taken care of, Mats; don’t worry,” I assured her, astounded at my courage to interrupt Mats the second I finished talking. She froze and stared at me intently for a moment, as if deciding if she should continue on her spew just to make a point, scold me for being rude, or calm down and have a civilized discussion. Thankfully for me, she chose the third.

          “I guess you’re right, Beelia. Three guests lost doesn’t mean we’re out of business. Everything’s going to be fine. I’m just…” she sighed in a tiresome way, placing her hand on her hip for support.

          “Overwhelmed?” I offered.

          She gave a light chuckle. “Yeah, something like that.” Mats turned around and began walking back down the hallway. I followed, assuming we were continuing the conversation. “So what was wrong?”

          Evidently, we were. “Oh, nothing. One of the radiators was on, but I turned it off.” She whirled around to glower at me.

          “Liar.”

          I took a step back. “What?”

          Mats folded her arms. “Only the suites have radiators. And the suite on this floor,” she paused abruptly, her face going dark. “-no one goes in. Not me, not Pats, Not Ague or the boys, and most certainly not you. Now, tell me, did you, or did you not enter the suite?”

          I trembled with guilt. How was I supposed to know it was actually forbidden? “Y-yes, Mats. I did enter,” I confessed.

          She inhaled sharply, opening her mouth wide enough to begin another lecture, but then stopped, as if she was confounded. “I guess, well, there isn’t really anything wrong with entering, is there?”

          I hoped she was talking to herself, because with Mats, having talked to herself was much more normal than her actually asking for my advice, and her going crazy right then was the last thing I needed.

          “Beelia, you know how there are places even in your own home, that people just don’t go?”

          “...yes”, I said slowly, not getting what she was attempting to say.

          “Well, they may not be spoken-out-loud-forbidden, but they’re sort of just kept away from. Like they put off a bad vibe, or something of the sort. That’s what the third-floor suite does. It just seems so strange that you would actually go inside. Ever since it’s been built, no one ever has.”

          “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” I apologized, tucking my hair behind my ear.

          “You weren’t prying. It’s not a set rule.”

          “Right. Of course.”

          I began to wonder if I should tell her about the radiator. I didn’t want to worry her any more than she already was, but at the same time-

          “Well, supper’s ready, and the boys are getting anxious.”  Mats turned around again and began to casually make her descent down the stairs, which was another thing she never did. I went along after her.

          While devouring our supper that night, things only got worse. Jag was complaining the entire time about his lip, and Jig couldn’t stop trying to get attention by mocking the guests who’d had the complaints.  Then there was Pats who was unusually silent, and Mats who kept looking up and glaring at random objects like she was possessed or just plain in a bad mood. I was thanking good fortune for allowing my feelings to be spared up at the third-floor, when there was a knock at the front door.

          Jig/Jag stopped talking, and everyone looked up from their plate. Pats was the first one out of his chair, and Mats the next. I strained my ears to hear their hushed voices, but at last couldn’t stand it and clambered out of mine, too, in attempts to get in better earshot.

          “Grass! No fair!” Jig shouted in protest, flying around the table to chase after me. I turned around to shush him, but Mats and Pats were already on their way back.  Sighing in aggravation, I plodded on back to my seat. Jig did the same, except that he ran, stamping his feet the whole way and completely blowing my cover before I had the chance to step on them to make them silent.

          “Inspector’s coming,” Pats announced as he and Mats sat back down.

          “What? Now? Here?” I nipped, worriedly, completely forgetting about my frustration with Jig.

          Pats was clearly taken aback at my sudden interest. Hotel inspectors had never been uncommon. “Yes, here. But not now. He’s coming in two days,” Pats explained.

          I stared aghast at my food, then at Pats.

          “We have a problem,” I blurted out. “It’s the third-floor-suite. The radiator was on. By itself. It heated the entire floor like a slow-baking oven. Then it turned itself off and…”

          “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. The third-floor suite? But we never use the third-floor suite,” Pats argued in that easy-going way of his.

          “The guests had to have left for something, Orthwald. And I know Beelia wouldn’t have entered had there been no reason for her to,” Mats defended.

          “True. So what’s this about the radiator?” Pats questioned.

          “I don’t know. What I do know is there’s something about that room.” I didn’t want to mention exactly what, so I moved on. “And when the inspector comes, well…we better make sure he doesn’t go in.”

          “That shouldn’t be hard. They never do,” Mats encouraged.

          “Yeah. They don’t usually ever even sleep past the second suite,” Jag piped in.

          “Well, either way, you’ve got to fix it, Pats,” I concluded.

          “Fix a room? I don’t think that’s possible. We could have Mats refurnish it, but that doesn’t sound like the type of problem you’re describing.”

          “Then fix the radiator. Or do something!” I exclaimed, exasperated.

          “Beelia, calm down. Pats knows this hotel like the back of his hand. He’ll know how to handle the room. And I’m sure it’s not as backwards as you make it out to be,” Mats reassured me.

          “Maybe not, but still,” I said, soberly.

          “Well, anyway, we ought to start preparing. Two days notice isn’t very long, but I guess they did that on purpose,” Pats interjected, as he scoot his chair out and began to clear up the plates. “Ague! We’re done!”  He called. Ague scurried into the dining room, cleared the rest of the food, and retreated back to the kitchen.       

          “Boys, go out and refill the people’s water. Beelia, did you get that laundry delivered?” Mats began as she tied her apron back on.

          “No. I’ll go do that.”

          “When you’re done, come back down and wait on the guests. After that, the tenth floor needs to be cleaned. None of it's occupied, but there’s already four reservations for tomorrow -and Jig, you can help her.”

          Jig pulled a face at Jag’s smirk.       

          I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Mats.”

          After that, everyone scattered themselves about the hotel to continue with their work, leaving the family dining table empty. I once again made my way up to the third floor, to gather the laundry I cringed to remember was in the suite.

          When I got inside, I made up my mind not to let any curse that started up in the room spread to the rest of the floor, so I closed the door, knowing very well that, that didn’t stop it last time. Wanting to relive the same grand feeling I had, had before, I walked over to the window and opened it to let in the fresh air.  I turned back, only to see the sorry sight of the laundry all wadded up and wrinkled. Sighing, I knelt down to re-fold, thinking about how disappointed Mats would be if she knew I was going to return mussed up laundry to people’s rooms.

          While in the process of straightening out one of the sleeves, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. There on one of the room's partitions that was covered with fancy wall-paper, and littered with pictures of doves, I saw the tip of one of the wings lifting up. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was seeing things correctly, but when I opened them again, I saw another bird doing the same thing. Then, one at a time, they were all doing it! I stared in disbelief, as the first one popped its entire wing off, then its entire body, and began speeding towards me like a bullet whizzing through the air. I screamed and ducked as I heard it whoosh by with a coo and fly out the window. Shielding my body what little I could with my arms and what was left of the unfolded laundry, I listened as the entire flock of doves came soaring out, all cooing in happiness as they went. A minute after the commotion had stopped, I got brave enough to release myself from my little protective shell, and look at the wall to see if there were any birds left.

          Yep. It was empty all right. I had just seen wallpaper fly out the window.

         

          The next day, I didn’t dare venture into the suite again.  Besides, I was much too busy with my work to even have the time had I tried. Mats made sure of that, and Pats, too, who was demanding the usual “Let’s really get our act together today, because the inspector’s coming tomorrow!” gig. He started it up every time, though, and Jig/Jag, Mats, and I were used to it. We figured when you’re the owner of a country hotel, and you’re a man with dignity, you’re pretty likely going to get uptight about making everything just right so you can continue to hold a respectable reputation. 

          I didn’t bother to tell anyone about the doves, either, because like Pats had said at supper the day before, what can we do? Nothing, except for deal with it. And that’s exactly what I tried to do. But I couldn’t forget the feeling of terror that hearing all the doves flying right above my head brought. Nothing could ever compare.

          That night, I dreamt that the inspector fell in love with me when he arrived, and that he was begging to have my hand in marriage the entire time instead of inspecting. Also, Jag was a rabbit. I don’t know where either came from, but the invading of the inspector’s arrival even in my sleep, definitely added another drop of anxiety to the ever growing lake clogging up my brain, and of course to my overall countenance when I awoke. Apparently, everyone else must have been invaded by him in their sleep too, because when we ate breakfast, I scanned the faces of my family, and everyone looked sullen and anxious. Jig and Jag included. And when the expected six consecutive knocks came that signaled the inspector, we were all jumping up and smoothing  out our hair, ready to make first impressions.

          Since Pats was the owner, he got to open the door. We leaned forward with eagerness. 
          It was just a lanky teenager, with scruffy light brown hair and freckles. Jig and Jag resumed their normal dancing around stance, Mats gasped, and I laughed out loud,(covering my mouth immediately after, of course), because he really could fancy me -age wise, anyway.

          Pats was the only one who stayed calm enough to say hello and shake his hand. He had a sack full of belongings slung over his shoulder, making him look more like a hobo than anything. But he was as formal as the rest of them, and enthusiastically stepped inside. Mats motioned for me to take his sack, and I obliged right away.

          “How do you do, inspector? I hope you had a safe journey,” I greeted politely as I took the sack. He gazed at me for a second, before realizing we were all silent and waiting for his reply.

          “Oh, yes, hello,” he said, quickly.

          My heart stopped when I realized he had been staring at me a second ago.

          “I feel like I’ve seen you before. How funny, I think…I think I saw you in my dream last night.”

          I swallowed so hard, I choked, turning away so he couldn’t see me mouth agape.

          “Oh, really?” I fussed with my hair as I looked back to face him. “That’s…interesting.” I couldn’t meet his gaze any longer, so I gave him a decorous smile and scurried out of the room to collect myself.

          “Wait! Beelia!” Mats called after me. I stopped and turned reluctantly around, half-dragging myself to the front entryway where everyone stood in an accidental semi-circle. She spun back around to face the inspector and attempted to smooth things over. “I’m sorry, inspector. Do tell us your name, and what kind of room you would prefer.”

          “I’m Dell. And anything would suit me just fine-wait.” We looked at him expectantly again, my cheeks burning as I cowered behind Pats. “Do you-would you mind if I had a look around, first?”

          “Of course not.  You may have any room you like, as long as it’s not already occupied.”

          “Thank you.”

          “Beelia, why don’t you follow him and tell him which one’s occupied and which one isn’t? Then you can carry his things to the right room without having to search him out,” Mats suggested.

          “Oh, it’s all right. I can carry my own sack,” Dell insisted, trying to be a gentleman.

          “No, no. It’s fine. I’m paid to do it,” I lied, knowing very well my labor was and would forever be for free.

          “Oh, then I wouldn’t want to take your job away from you.”

          There was an awkward pause.

          “Well, I’ll let you get him settled, Beelia. I hope you find everything to your satisfaction.” Pats finished with a smile, allowing the rest of my family to leave.

          “This way,” I told Dell in the dullest tone I could muster, as he followed me to the stairs.

          “So do you have any unusual rooms?” He asked, innocently.

          “Unusual?” I raised an eyebrow, my hands beginning to sweat.

          He was asking all the wrong questions.

          “Well, there is this one-“

          “Take me there,” he demanded excitedly, leaning in closer to me.

          “Of course, inspector,” I complied, trying to keep things formal, even though both of us knew very well we were just a couple of kids.

          “Please, call me Dell,” he said. He must have been athletically inclined, because he was taking the steps two at a time while I hurried to stay in the lead. “And, you’re Beelia?”

          “Yes,” I replied simply. “We’re going to the third floor, by the way.” I knew it was bad idea to take him to the third-floor suite, but I was too numb to talk myself out of it.

          “So, that’s pretty weird that you were in my dream last night, wasn’t it?”

          If I didn’t know him better, which wasn’t much, I would have thought him a simpleton for asking such an obvious question. “Oh, yes. Very odd,” I agreed, trying not to offend him. I stopped climbing, and he looked back at me after passing me with his two steps.

          “What?”

          “Would you consider it strange that you were actually in my dream, too? Except, I didn’t see your face. I just knew you were the inspector, and…”

          “And I was in love with you,” he finished.

          My swear heart stopped for a good three beats. “Um, well, yeah…” I fumbled, feeling like I was in yet another dream.

          “It’s okay; I know it’s…rather outlandish. You have no reason to be embarrassed. I’ve just barely met you! How could I be in love with you?”

          I sighed inside to finally hear him talking sense.       “Yes, of course. It is really strange that we both had the same dream, though.”

          “Definitely.”

          By now, we were at the third floor, and I was guiding him down the round-about to the suite.

          When I got to the door, I couldn’t help but hesitate, and question myself once again about if showing him the room was the right thing to do. Who knows? Perhaps he could help me figure out why it was acting up so weirdly, or why it was even acting up at all. Or maybe I would rancid our reputation and bring shame to my family.

          “I have to warn you. There have been some bizarre occurrences in here, lately,” I said finally, hoping to change his mind.

          “Even better.” He gave a determined grin, melting my heart with its handsomeness.

          I stepped aside, and let him open the door himself. He did, and went straight in and shut it behind him. I pressed my ear to the door, to see if I could hear what he was doing. His feet were stomping loudly on the floor, and I guessed he must have raced immediately to the other side. A guest passed by, gave me a nervous glance, and turned the corner. Biting my lip sheepishly, I pushed my weight in towards the door even harder. It sounded like he was opening the window.

          Silence.

          “I FOUND IT!” He exclaimed. Then there was more feet, coming closer and closer, getting louder and louder, until-

          I knew it was coming, but there wasn’t time to react. The door swung open, causing me to lose my balance and come tumbling in. He caught me, stood me back up, and gave me the happiest expression I had ever seen in my entire life.

          “Beelia! Beelia! Do you know what this means?! I’ve searched and I’ve searched-all over Waine, just for this room! I have visited every hotel on the map! And now…I’ve found it!”

          “What? What?!” I cried, as he let go of his grasp on my shoulders. Mats, Pats, Jig, and Jag came rushing in.

          “Grass! What’s going on?!” Jag shouted.

          “Dell, what’s the matter?” Pats asked, clearly concerned for his well-being.

          But he just looked at us with his eyes wide and his grin as broad as ever. “This room…this room…it’s-it’s the one! Waine Air! You’ve never heard of it? Everyone thought it was just a legend, but I believed it! They say there’s a magic in this land that affects certain places, so that when the open air reaches it, it turns enchanted, and becomes…well, alive. See for yourself.” He motioned for them to come in the suite, and pulled me gently to his side. They did, their curiosity at what they might find in the room growing by every breath they took.

          The boys oohed and ahhed, Mats and Pats were silent, and I gasped, finally turning to see what he was all worked up about. The dresser drawers were open, the spare clothes in them dancing. (Dancing? Yes, dancing!) The top of it was like a colored light projector, reflecting a story with moving pictures on the wall of two knights fighting a dragon to win the princess who was trapped in a castle-all the stuff from fairytales. The corner next to it had turned into a small forest with doves flying, perching, and gliding in and out of the window. In the middle of the floor was a pond, and to the left, where the bed was, the covers were suspended in air, swinging side to side like a giant, self-moving hammock. The ceiling was an open sky, with puffy, white clouds visible, and shaped like race cars. Then there was Dell, standing in the midst of it all like he belonged there.

          Mats turned to me with a smile on her face, and I returned it. “Beelia, how would you like to be promoted to Assistant Manger? So you’re second in command to me?” She inquired, with an enticing twinkle in her eye.

          Mats had chosen a time for my promotion in such a degree of randomness, that I almost gave an instant no. But nevertheless, the job sounded promising, so without any real thought on what she had just said, I accepted right away. Meanwhile, Jig was already splashing in the pond and laughing at the birds while Jag took a turn in the hammock. Pats stood mesmerized by the picture show, and all Mats could do was watch in awe, as if she had completely forgotten about that she had just promoted me.

          I felt so queer, finally knowing the mystery behind the room. But still, I just didn’t feel satisfied with it. It still felt like something was just not right…

    

    

          Okay, maybe I mixed things up a little. Yes, I did get promoted, but…

          

          It could be that the third-floor suite was actually an often occupied room that people entered all the time. It could be that I’m married right now with four kids and am trying to tell the story of how I met my husband, who was once an inspector at my family’s hotel. And it could be that he met and married me because he came to inspect and fell madly in love with me the first day. And it’s possible we both strangely had the same fantastical dreams about some magical room on the third-floor, and that it was actually Mats and Pats creating a disguised arranged marriage like what Grandmats and Grandpats did on my mat’s side, that brought him there. And maybe Mats was never turning crazy. Maybe none of it ever even happened.                                       

          Maybe I’m crazy.

Ashley's Philosophy Corner

"The saddest tale we have to tell is most often the tale that was never told."

Fighters of Our Inner Self, Seekers of Our Inner Peace 

What do we have

To offer to the world

That the world could never accept? 

These memories, these passions
Hidden away in the crevices of our soul

...Dreamt of, remembered
With a flash of pained expression 

Or a flitter of spectacular and angelic emotion
Like a cloth caressed with melted shavings of white soap
Sweeping and washing over the surface of our skin
So smoothly and soft, a legato feeling...

Can they not see? 

Can we not tell? 

Why is it we feel we must hold back so much?
Such a flood
Such a dam

For truly it is these that speculate who we are today

What is it that prods our dear spirits to turn away?

To continue to hide, to weep so hopelessly, in those dark 

And desperately alone spires of night, 

To look so often, wistuflly,
Up and away
Into the clear blue sky, and pale, rising sunlight

During walks of clear-minded haste

And refreshed sate of mind

Perhaps it is that we have realized the sacredness of it all

Touched them all
So that they have become real to us

For how could they not? 

So close to our hearts, they move and breathe
With our hearts
They live and breathe with us everyday

So that we comprehend
That letting go

Letting it seethe into the minds and hearts of others, would break us

Or would it free us?

Austin's Funnies Corner

    "What's orange and has green spots, eight legs, and one red eye?

    "I give up. What?"

    "I don't know, but there's one crawling up your back."

     Polygon. A deceased parrot.

    What's the best way to tell a kitten from an elephant?

Try picking it up. If it's too heavy, it's surely an elephant.

Alex's Random Awesome Corner

You've got to admit, this sketch comedy is pretty clever, not to mention funny. :)

Enjoy!

Anna's Great Literature Corner

    "What is wonderful about great literature is that it transforms the man who reads it towards the condition of the man who wrote."

--E. M. Forster

Ashley's Philosophy Corner

   "To read the "greats" and gain intelligence makes you smart. To read the "greats" and gain perspective gives you heart."


--Macy Adams

Alex's Random Awesome Corner

Inspiring and true. 

"We are daughters of our Heavnely Father, who loves us and we love him..." 

Austin's Funnies Corner 

    Farmer: "You know, the people in my little town are smarter than the people in your big city."

    City Feller: "How do you get that?"

    Farmer: "We know where LA is, but you don't know where Podunk is."

    What's the differnece between an elephant in Africa and an elephant in India?

    Several thousand miles.

 Anna's Great Literature Corner

The Highwayman

BY ALFRED NOYES

PART ONE

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.   

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.   

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,   

And the highwayman came riding—

         Riding—riding—

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,   

A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.

They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.   

And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,

         His pistol butts a-twinkle,

His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.

He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.   

He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there   

But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,

         Bess, the landlord’s daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked

Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.   

His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,   

But he loved the landlord’s daughter,

         The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.

Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,

But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;

Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,   

Then look for me by moonlight,

         Watch for me by moonlight,

I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,

But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand

As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;   

And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,

         (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)

Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

PART TWO

He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;   

And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,   

When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,   

A red-coat troop came marching—

         Marching—marching—

King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.   

But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.

Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!   

There was death at every window;

         And hell at one dark window;

For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.

They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!

“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—

Look for me by moonlight;

         Watch for me by moonlight;

I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!

She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!   

They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years

Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,

         Cold, on the stroke of midnight,

The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.   

Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.   

She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;   

For the road lay bare in the moonlight;

         Blank and bare in the moonlight;

And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;   

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?

Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,

The highwayman came riding—

         Riding—riding—

The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!   

Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.

Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,   

Then her finger moved in the moonlight,

         Her musket shattered the moonlight,

Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood   

Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!   

Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear   

How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,

         The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,

Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky,

With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.

Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;

When they shot him down on the highway,

         Down like a dog on the highway,

And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

.       .       .

And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,

When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,   

When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,   

A highwayman comes riding—

         Riding—riding—

A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.

He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.   

He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there   

But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,

         Bess, the landlord’s daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.