Tag Archives: brothers

Random Post in under 5 minutes

So, I have literally been swamped. I will have family visiting/staying with us, some of which whom arrived yesterday, until July 28. We are excited to have everyone here, but having so much family coming into town meant lots of cleaning. Which is the reason I haven’t been writing much. I have been scrubbing, scouring, and organizing – believe me, I would much rather have been writing.

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I am back to working on my children’s novel again. I finally dug it out, dusted it off and have officially begun the editing process. Most of the major bugs, such as time-line and incongruencies, have been worked out, and I know what sections I need to work over and add. Woohoo! It feels good to be making progress on it again.

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Paul’s bro arrived last night and his two cousins came down as well for a fun family gathering – 17 kids in the house and a mass of fun. At one point we had a jam session with all the kids on rythm instruments while I played the piano. It was a hoot, and defening to boot – it was so loud I could hardly hear myself play. ūüôā We had such an awesome time.

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While James was waiting for me to feed him yesterday, Jacob pulled up a chair and began to entertain him. When I saw what he was doing I had to snag the camera and snap a few:

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The plan for today is to head to OMSI and baby is beckoning…. seems he thinks he should eat… or something ūüôā

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Filed under Family, Jacob, James, Writing

Of Bikes and Bullies

Bicycle

 Inch
          by
              inch
                   I creep, a snail
                             carrying his house
                                          upon his back,
                                              up the steep incline.

With sheer determination I pump
forward, relentless,
finally cresting
the
peak.

Whoosh!

I soar with the birds,
wheels spinning wildly,
peddles pumping franticly,
adrenaline rushing through my metal frame.
The wind roars past, drowning
out the sheer squeal of delight from my rider,
bringing on its tail
a cacophony of all the scents of spring.

-J.H. Schmidt 

Ever since I first learned how to remain semi balanced I have loved riding my bike.¬† My brothers and I would ride for hours in the Pennsylvania country.¬† I had really short hair then, shorter than I do now, and was often mistaken for a boy, but that never bothered me.¬† There were so bmx trails near town that we enjoyed biking on and seeing how much air we could get off the jumps on just a little ‘ole bike.

¬†I would bike into town frequently too, the 2 mile ride was nothing, and I usually had some pocket change in my pocket for some Bubbalicious Bubblgeum.¬† The ride was safe, and it didn’t seem like we had to worry as much about crazies then as we do now.¬† There was this one boy though – one of the biggest bullies I ever faced in my childhood…

“Hey! You can’t pass by here,” a fierce voice called as I watched a freckled arm shoot out and grabbed hold of my handle bar, jolting me to a halt.¬† It was all I could do not to crash completely. Filled with dread I staggered on my feet and eyed the boy trying to concentrate on one of the many freckles splayed across his nose.

“Leave me alone, I can go where I want,” my voice didn’t sound nearly as tough as I wanted it too and I despised how whiny it sounded in my ears.

The boy still hadn’t let go of my bike. He ran his free hand through his red hair, “You have to pay a toll.”

“No I don’t!” I squeaked.¬† I was angry, and scared.¬† I saw him eyeing my brand-new watch Mom had given me for my birthday.

“You can’t leave until you give me you watch,” he growled, lunging for my wrist and breaking the clasp free.¬† He hung it in the air exultantly out of my reach . “Thanks,” he laughed as he headed toward his home.

I fought back the white hot tears that threatened, there was no way I was going to let that jerk see me cry.¬†¬† I couldn’t hold the flood for long as I turned back home, my trek for the coveted Bubbalicious Bubblegum forgotten.¬†

My brother (Paul – yeah I know, wiered, my huby’s name is Paul too) was the first one I came across, and before lone I found myself pouring out my broken heart to him about the nasty bully.¬† The boy wasn’t just a bully to me, but to most kids, and he was my brother’s age too – 2 1/2 years older than me.¬† To say my brother was angry was an understatement.

“I’ve got a plan,” he whispered in my ear. “I want you to get back on your bike and ride down there….”

I was more shaky on the second trip as¬†I pedalled along, half hoping the bully would emerged, and half dreading it.¬† I rounded the corner and sure enough the was the boy, standing with his arms crossed.¬† Once again he reached his hand out and jerked my bike to a halt.¬† He didn’t get to far though, for flying around the bend hot on my trail was my big brother.¬† I don’t know that I have ever seen anyone execute such a spectacular bike to ground while in motion jump as he did.¬† I watched his bike continue past me before it fell to the ground.¬†

Paul hauled the boy into the nearby bushes, and I didn’t witness the exchange.¬† But I heard words, and knew that Paul punched him.¬† A minute or two later¬†my brother¬†came out triumphantly carrying my¬†brand new¬†watch, as the boy slunk back to his house.

I never had a run-in with that boy again – and I never forgot the day one of my big brothers became my hero.

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Filed under Farm Stories, Poetry, Writing

Remedy

Weekly Anamnesis #10

If you were to stand on the road in front of our farm you would look across a large field where sheep were grazing, a yard where kids were most likely playing, and your gaze would come to rest on our home. To the right was another pasture stretching from the road back a long ways to where the dilapidated wood gate swung lazily at the entrance to the wood. In the middle of the right field was lump. A hill really, and old foundation where a barn or some other structure had once been. It looked like a large dumpling floating on a sea of waving grass. There were trees scattered around the lump and it had become a favorite place to play and battle dragons alongside King Arthur’s Knights of the round table.

At one point my sister, Heidi, owned a horse. The horse however had fallen from grace and was not liked by much of the family, being of an ill temper (my sister may disagree at this point, but I felt it had an ill temper). Having thrown me at a young age, kicked my brother in the head, and thrown my sister (breaking her arm) I was very nervous around the beast. Happily though, my dislike for the horse didn’t deter me from my much loved romps through the fields.

My brother Kimball and I were playing in the field, at what I don’t quite remember. I just remember the hoof beats. My gaze settled on the horse galloping through the pasture, headed as it seemed, right for me. I panicked.

“Kimball it’s gonna get me!”

I am sure if I were an elder brother I would not be able to pass up the marvelous opportunity either, and thus he gave the remedy, “Run! Run as fast as you can so it won’t eat you!”

Panic and desperation fueled my feet as I tore through the field aiming for the lump. I could almost feel the hot air from the horse’s nostrils breathing down my back.

“Faster J, faster!” Kimball cried. I was too busy running away from the man eating horse to notice the mischief in his eyes and the grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he ran along my side.

“Quick, climb a tree so it won’t get you!”

I heartily took his advice and launched myself into the first tree I came too. Being rather young I had not devolved the art of skillfully climbing and could not attain much height.

“Higher J, higher!”

“I can’t get any higher! Will it still eat me?” I bunched myself into a ball, probably looking much like a misshapen apple to the horse, but it decided that giant human apples were not desirable and gradually meandered away.

It was then I saw it, that grin and tomfoolery playing at his face and he burst into laughter. As mirth is the best remedy, I too collapsed into a heap of giggles and the man eating horse became a favorite object of play.

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Filed under Anamnesis, Farm Stories, Humor, Personal History, Writing