Showing posts with label What Scares Me The Most. Show all posts
Showing posts with label What Scares Me The Most. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

The Lady That Scares Me Most...

by Jena Galifany

She was the most beautiful lady ever to sail the ocean. She had class from the top of her four stacks, down to her engine rooms. She was strong. Absolutely immune to disaster. She couldn't be harmed. She couldn't be damaged. She was advertised: "God himself can not sink this ship!" Yet on the night of April 15, 1912, the great lady was mortally stuck but an ice burg, and her beauty slipped into the black depths in less than two hours, taking hundreds of lives with her.

Just because I'm writing about her, I will not be able to go to sleep tonight with much ease. You see, when I was a teen, I was obsessed by the R.M.S. Titanic. I watched A Night to Remember with Barbara Stanwick and a very young Robert Wagner. I've read everything there is to read about her. I ordered the Ship Builders magazine from 1911 through my library to read how the engines were built and dragged through the street by horses to the ship yard where she was being assembled. I knew how many were on board. I knew how many lost their lives. I knew what happened that night as it was remembered by the survivors.


My loving sister bought me a book titled, "Loss of the S.S.Titanic" written by Lawrence Beesley, a survivor, and published in June of 1912, two months after her loss. it has magnificent photographs of the decks, the gym, and the grand staircase. It has a stunning photograph of her sitting at the dock and a regal photograph of Capt. Smith. This book is in mint condition and will remain so since I have difficulty opening the cover. My daughter helped me to take the photos included here and the book has been returned to it's place of honor on my bookshelf.




Centerfold from "The Loss of the SS Titanic by Lawrence Beesley
Somewhere in the years since she was found, I've developed a fear of her. The sound of a ship's horn freezes me in my tracks. I can't help think what it felt like to be on deck that night. I can close my eyes and see the tilting deck, the lights that are already below the waterline and it fills me with  horror. Yes, I feel the fear even now as I write. I was angry when they brought up things from her. To me, it was grave robbing. There were still people alive that lost loved ones there. I felt it should be left alone, a memorial to those who lost their lives. I still feel strongly about that.

I never saw the DeCaprio film and never will. I understand the movie industry did a fantastic job of the movie but I can not face seeing it. I saw a commercial when it first came out and had to sleep with my lights on for three nights. Sometimes, it is a curse to have such a vivid imagination.

"Her Perfect Man", an historical romance, is set in Southhampton, England. It begins in 1907 and ends, well, I think you can figure that one out. I'll leave you with an excerpt from the book. I'll be watching comedies all night until I fall asleep, until the Lady decides to return to the corner of my mind where I keep the things that scare me the most. Enjoy!

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Something made Anna stop. Her hand closed tightly on a gown. It was dark blue satin, shiny and cool with a sheer veiling of silvery blue lace. It was heavy in her hands. She could not turn away as the color drew her in. She shivered with a sudden cold, and clutched the material.
A biting wind slapped her face, as if she moved forward at great speed through frozen air.
The gown came loose.
A cold, wet fog surrounded her. The floor tilted at an alarming angle. Anna slid downward with nothing to hold on to.
As she melted into the surrounding darkness, an icy cold washed over her face. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't hear what was happening around her.
Where had Mrs. Trent gone? Anna tried to call out but could not. Chase? Where was he?
Fear gripped Anna as she tried to free herself from the waves that clung to her face, cold and frighteningly alive. Suddenly the scream of a foghorn sounded.
Bright lights popped overhead. The sound of twisting metal creaked, tearing, as if in the distance. Voices cried out. Hundreds of voices. Silence.
As quickly as it came, it was gone. Mrs. Trent and Mrs. Marlow looked down at Anna.
"What on earth are you doing down there, Anna?" She could hear the embarrassment in Mrs. Trent’s voice. "Are you all right, dear?" Mrs. Trent lifted the gown from her, and straightened the material as Anna struggled to her feet.
"I don't know what happened." She didn’t understand what she'd experienced but felt she should apologize. "I felt very cold, like fog on my face. It was very—strange." She tried to explain as she kept an eye on the gown Mrs. Trent handed to Mrs. Marlow.
Mrs. Trent smiled at the shop owner. "You probably see nervous brides every day, don't you, Mrs. Marlow?"
"Of course, of course," Mrs. Marlow agreed as she handed the gown to her assistant. "There is no more important day in a young lady's life than her wedding day. It is difficult to make everything come together perfectly and," she placed a reassuring arm around Anna, and led her to the bridal area, "it is your day, isn't it? You want to have everything exactly as you have always dreamed it would be, yes?"
"Uh—yes, ma'am." As if anything would be what she wanted it to be. 
 ____________________________________________________ 


Cheers!
Jena

Friday, October 11, 2013

What Scares Me The Most! Baking (gulp) From Scratch!

By Margo Hoornstra

This month, October you know, we are exploring what scares us the most. To be honest, I didn't have to dig too deeply for a topic. While peril, or imagined peril to be more accurate, seems to follow me around like a shadow, the other day, I had an especially frightening experience.

It was my husband's birthday. Family and friends were calling from all over the country to wish him well. With one friend in particular, he talked for a very long time and shared some of their conversation when he got off the phone.

"He asked if you had baked me a birthday cake." An innocent enough query, one could say. Then my Dearly Beloved went on, and I use hockey vernacular here, to drop the gloves, ie he issued a challenge. "I didn't want to embarrass either one of us so I told him you had. If he ever asks, just go along with it."

Well, gees, Louise, the kids had a birthday party for him a couple of days before. A birthday party complete with dinner, presents, singing, cupcakes and brownies.  I bought steak and asparagus for him to--um--cook on the grill for his actual birthday, day dinner. Given all of that, I figured I was off the hook.

Apparently I figured wrong.



Aside from being an avowed non-cook--maybe if I'd had more culinary successes in my life I'd feel differently, but I didn't so I don't--I'm currently trying again/still to lose a few pounds. Cake isn't a part of my current diet regimen. Plus my favorite cake flavor is store bought. Not an option given the aforementioned challenge I was issued. Not to fear,  I quickly decided on a compromise.

Digging into the hall closet--I have a very small kitchen--I came up with a cookbook, a lighter fare kind of cookbook and voila, a recipe for Lower Fat Devil's Food Cake with Chocolate Frosting. I was in business.

If I cut the recipe in half, I'd still have a presentable confection, right? I'm sure there's a candle in the junk drawer in the kitchen somewhere. Calculating half measurements in my head with relative ease--okay, I stumbled a tad over the exact amount of one half of three quarters of a cup, so I gave it my best estimate--I soon had the batter mixed. Then came a complication I hadn't counted on. And I quote: "Once the preliminary batter is mixed, beat two egg whites until soft peaks form, add 1/4 cup sugar (1/8 cup for me, I got it) and beat until stiff peaks form."

Okay, I got through those steps correctly, I assume. What was next?



Baking two nine inch rounds for 25-30 minutes, is the same as baking one eight inch square--relatively speaking--right? That's what I did. Pulling the pan out of the oven when the timer went off, it occurs to me I used both eggs the recipe called for, not one which would have been half. The easiest math calculation in the entire recipe and I blew it.

Oh well. As I recover from that, comes another potential glitch. The just out of the oven cake isn't exactly springing back from my touch as I understand properly baked cakes are supposed to do. Now what? Let's see what happens when the frosting--homemade as well--is prepared and applied.

After all of that, it turned out the cake wasn't half bad, which led someone to suggest I might give up store bought and bake all the cakes in my future from scratch.

I don't think so. It's best to take things slow, when facing, then conquering, our fears.

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd of the month. For more about the stories I write, please visit at My Website or My Blog