The Night I Met the Irish Elk

 

            THE NIGHT WAS BLACK, LIKE A CAT IN A COAL BIN AT MIDNIGHT. A SLICE OF ORANGE MOONLIGHT FILTERED DOWN FEEBLY, RADIATING AN ORANGE GLOW BEFORE AN ENDLESS BEAUTIFUL BLANKET OF STARS. QUEEN CASSIOPEIA REIGNED IN THE NORTHEAST AS MY FRIEND TIM AND I SPED ALONG THE MOUNTAIN ROAD ETCHED INTO THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN. THE ROAD WAS TOO NARROW FOR A TWO-WAY ROAD AND OUTFITTED WITH A LOW 2 FOOT RAILING TO KEEP CARS FROM PLUNGING INTO THE RAVINE BELOW.

SUDDENLY, ON A SHARP CURVE, TIM SLAMMED ON THE BRAKES, GRINDING THE CAR TO A QUICK STOP A FEW FEET IN FRONT OF WHAT LOOKED LIKE AN IRISH ELK MEGALOCEROS GIGANTEUS WHICH WAS IMPOSSIBLE SINCE THE PREHISTORIC BEAST WAS EXTINCT. THE IRISH ELK WAS A MISNOMER SINCE IT HAD RANGED FROM IRELAND TO SIBERIA, ALTHOUGH MANY SPECIMENS OF THE CREATURE HAD BEEN PULLED FROM THE BOGS OF IRELAND. IT ALSO WAS NOT AN ELK, BUT THE LARGEST DEER THAT HAD EVER LIVED. THE HUGE DEER WAS AT LEAST 800 POUNDS WITH A RACK OF ANTLERS 3 METERS ACROSS AND A BODY LENGTH OF 12 FEET FROM NOSE TO TAIL. HE WAS STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD SO THAT THERE WAS NO ROOM TO GET AROUND HIM BY HUGGING THE MOUNTAIN OR BY VENTURING INTO THE OPPOSITE LANE OF TRAFFIC. IF ANOTHER CAR OR TRUCK CAME ALONG IN EITHER DIRECTION, WE WERE DEAD SINCE NOBODY WOULD SEE US UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE.

TIM TRIED BLINKING THE LIGHTS AND BLOWING THE HORN AND REVVING THE ENGINE WITHOUT SUCCESS. THE MONSTER DID NOT MOVE.  MY MIND WANDERED AS I REVIEWED MY 17 YEARS OF LIFE, FEELING THAT IT WAS MUCH TOO SOON FOR IT TO END. WE TRIED SLAMMING THE DOORS AND MOVING THE CAR BACK-AND-FORTH TO NO AVAIL. SOONER OR LATER, OUR LUCK WOULD RUN OUT AS ANOTHER VEHICLE HAD TO COME ALONG THE ROAD. FINALLY, AND AT A LEISURELY PACE, THE HUGE DEER DECIDED TO MOVE OFF THE ROAD, AND HE SQUATTED BACK ON HIS HIND LEGS AND SPRUNG UP INTO THE WOODS AND WAS GONE! WE TOOK OFF RIGHT AWAY, THRILLED TO BE ALIVE AND NOT FAR DOWN THE ROAD, WE PASSED A LARGE LUMBER TRUCK THAT WAS BARRELING ALONG OUR WAY, AND IT WOULD NOT HAVE HAD TIME TO STOP BEFORE HITTING US. LIFE TASTED SWEET THAT NIGHT.

JIM – SEPTEMBER 26’

Looking Up

 

It was so cold I could see my breath up on the roof, each exhale drifting out as a small fog that lingered before thinning into the night. I’d come up there for one reason—I wanted to see the stars. 

The sky was clear, crisp, and impossibly bright. Every star shone sharp and unforgettable, as if someone had etched them into the dark by hand. For a moment, the cold slipped away. Their light didn’t just glow; it rang, a thin silver shimmer threading through the deep blue sky. 

Georgia

Free

 

He wanted to catch the beautiful butterfly

It was not to be caught

Tickled by the breeze

Fluttering, Flitting, Floating

Spreading joyous sunshine with sprinkles of love

Carefree, Peaceful, Happy

Free

Laura M.

The Geese in the Cemetery

 

I live very close to a very old cemetery. Geese live there year-round. Geese are migratory birds, and they’re supposed to fly north in the summer. Not these geese. 

They’ve adapted to life in the cemetery. The manicured lawns provide plenty of grass, and between the old tombstones there are bugs, worms, and everything else a goose could want. They seem quite content there. 

Geese are surprisingly large birds—some can stand nearly four feet tall and weigh around thirty pounds. When you see them walking across the cemetery lawn, they look almost prehistoric. 

Almost every evening at dusk, I see a group of adult geese heading west in a perfect V formation. I don’t know where they go. I don’t know when they return. 

But I do know they have made this quiet cemetery their home. Among the old stones, the grass, and the fading light, they seem to have found a place where they can simply be geese—and live their best life.

 - - Georgia

My Favorite Book

 

The War of Art by Steven Pressfield is my favorite book. I have read it at least a dozen times, and I’m sure I’ll read it many more.

The book is about breaking through the blocks that keep us from creating and winning the inner battles that can stop us from doing what we love.

Pressfield writes about the inner critic, the saboteur, and the doubts that can hold us back. These inner voices can be powerful. They often believe they are protecting us or helping us, even when they are actually getting in our way.

When I’m in the throes of doubt, fear, or terror about my creative work, I pick up The War of Art and read a page or two. Somehow, those few pages remind me that resistance is part of being creative—and that I don’t have to believe everything my inner critic tells me.

Then I get back to work.

 - - Georgia

One with Nature

 

I found a special spot in between Jacob Riiss Landing and Breezy Point that has free kayak lessons along with a supply of kayaks to be used for free on the weekends.  The Park Rangers supply everything.  All you have to bring is a pair of water shoes, sunscreen. and, of course, you might want to wear a bathing suit. 

I went on this adventure alone the first time and I was quite nervous and excited at the same time.  The Park Ranger gave me a life jacket and showed me how it should fit properly.  Then he helped me get into the kayak and gave me two paddles. He instructed me on the correct way to hold and use the paddles.  Then he pushed the kayak off the sand and into the bay. 

It was such an exhilarating feeling, to be floating on top of the water and being rocked by the waves. When the nervousness left my body, I actually felt like I was one with the kayak and the water.  It was so beautiful and peaceful. The sun shimmered and sparkled on the surface of the water, making me think a hypnotist was putting me into a trance. 

There was a small island in the middle of the bay, lush with trees and tall bushes. The leaves swayed in the gentle offshore breeze as I imagined the breeze relaxing me in a comfy hammock.  I most definitely felt like I was becoming one with nature. 

After about thirty minutes, I was called to paddle my kayak back to shore.  That broke my “being as one with nature” spell.  I noticed my water shoes were filled with sand, my nose hurt from forgetting to put sunscreen on it and my arms felt like they were going to fall off from all the paddling I did. 

I lost that feeling of being one with nature and became one with my body’s kayaking experience. 

Ellen G.

Learning to Read

 

I have two memories of learning to read. My first is sitting with the Dick and Jane books—yes, I am that old! I was about six years old and could barely understand the words. I felt frustrated, but I kept trying. 

My second memory came when I was about eight. We were moving to a new apartment, and one of the movers called out to another man, asking for a “dolly.” I stopped and suddenly realized that one word could have two meanings. A dolly could be a little girl’s toy—or a small cart used to move things. 

I was shocked and amazed by this discovery. I felt very smart. It was like discovering that words had secret lives of their own. 

I have loved reading my entire life. I love libraries. I love the minds, worlds, and words of writers from all over the world. My thirst for reading and learning has never left me—and I don't think it ever will. 

 Georgia

Silent Rebellion: A Bird Feeder’s Strategy

 

 For years, I’ve fed the wild birds from my third-floor windowsill, delighting my cat and keeping the birds well-fed. Then a neighbor, convinced I was attracting rats, confronted me on my way to the bus stop. His sudden obsession with my routine left me stunned and speechless. For weeks, he followed me, trying to stop my harmless habit. I later learned he was new at the business across the street, and his complaint stemmed from breadcrumbs littering the sidewalk. Rather than arguing, I found a clever solution: I crushed the bread into tiny crumbs, perfect for the birds but invisible on the pavement. In the end, I fought back quietly—not with words, but with a little ingenuity. 

Georgia

Lighthouse

 

There's a lighthouse on the north side of Roosevelt Island here in NYC in the middle of the massive, dangerous East River. It was built in 1872 and designed by James Renwick, Jr.  

 

There are legends about the lighthouse that say a patient from a nearby Lunatic Asylum built a stone fort on the site fearing a British invasion. The fort was later demolished to make way for the lighthouse. To commemorate the story of the patient’s involvement there is an inscription near the lighthouse that reads: “All ye who do pass by may pray for his soul when he dies”.  

 

In the long distant past when my longtime partner died and he was unceremoniously cremated, I had his remains for a while and during that time his soul was restless. Things would go missing; tragedy struck my life, and nothing was right. I knew it was time for him to rest. While alive he liked to fish and enjoyed rivers and oceans.  

 

As a final farewell I wrote prayers and took my daughters to the lighthouse. The three of us had our own ceremony and released his ashes in the East River. From that moment on peace returned, and his restless soul was in repose. All unusual activities stopped and never returned. 

 

All we have left are memories and a lighthouse on the north side of Roosevelt Island in NYC in the middle of the massive, dangerous East River.

Georgia

THE GUILTY PLEASURES OF A LITERARY CORNUCOPIA OF CATALOGS AND RELATED LITERARY COLLECTIBLES

 

Book Row existed from the 1890s to the 1960s on fourth Avenue between Union Square and Astor Place.

By the 1960s skyrocketing rents had whittled away at the inhabitants of book Row until a few financially strapped survivors were able to limp away from the exorbitant rents to set up their stores elsewhere, while others dissolved into literary obscurity. I would have liked to visit those stores that did not make the cut. One of the survivors was the Strand Bookstore which landed at Broadway and E. 12th St. in the East village. Today it is the only survivor from Book Row. One of the survival techniques used by the Strand was a long series of wheeled book wagons which are parked perpendicular to the perimeter of the store surrounding it and supplying the casual passerby, of meager means, with an extremely wide diversity of reading materials, and all at very low prices.

There are many old books, some practically falling apart, which no self-respecting bookworm would choose to inhabit. There are old periodicals and catalogues of every description and subject. I once purchased an auction catalog published by Sotheby’s, at the Strand, for $.50, an extreme bargain compared to the cost of participating in the actual auction while still owning the objects of your fancy in a sense, although not in possession of the physical objects.

The spending of a few intended minutes can turn into hours as your arms become heavy with the accumulation of literary treasures that you cannot pass up, all the while moving around your fellow shoppers in a choreographed dance through the narrow aisles, while trying not to drop your selections. Eventually, you must enter the store to pay for your newly acquired treasures, wherein the passive- aggressive strategy of the Strand pays off, as you are overwhelmed by the size of the literary world that you have been unwittingly lured into like the webs of Shelob in the Lord of the Rings , laid out for Frodo and Company under Mordor, or the Sirens of Anthemoessa Island in the Odyssey luring the sailors to their ruin. In this case, it is a positive experience and you will be enriched by this experience far beyond the few dollars spent on your purchases.

Jim-August 1, 2026

Bun Bun the Bunny

 In a meadow filled with blooming daisies lived a little rabbit named Bun Bun. He had a kind heart and greeted every creature with a smile—a bee, a field mouse, and even a grumpy old owl. 

If someone needed help, Bun Bun never hesitated. He carried acorns for the squirrels, shared clover with hungry rabbits, gently freed butterflies from spider webs, rebuilt broken birds' nests, helped mice carry seeds, and gathered twigs for the grumpy old owl. 

The forest became a warmer, happier place because his kindness bloomed in every heart. 

Bun Bun knew that kindness grows when it is shared. 

Moral: Kindness has a way of spreading from one heart to another.

Georgia

Look at the Book

 

After thinking about it for a while, I must confess I find great pleasure in collecting and reading through recipe books. What I realize is that I enjoy buying them and looking through all the recipes, but I don’t or very rarely create a dish from one of them and serve it.

Books containing every single type of chocolate recipe makes me go, “oooh,” and “aaah,” despite the fact that as much as I love chocolate I never even tried one delicious recipe.

I also like cookbooks that have two hundred pages of only chicken recipes. I will sit and read through recipe after recipe, yet I will still go back and cook my own tried and true chicken dishes.

I even have a cookbook where each recipe uses all kinds of exotic spices. I broke down and prepared one of these very spicey recipes which contained a large amount of curry powder. I invited my mother and aunt over for dinner so they could try my creation.

I don’t think either one of them ever had curry in their lives. It was obvious by the amount of beer they drank to wash it down. The next time they came over for dinner, they brought take-out!

Ellen G.

Favorite Reads

 

I know it's cheating but when I find a book that may be too long to read, I find it on audio. My favorites are psychology, religion, crime and horror. 

I listened to Speak It into Reality by Napoleon Hill, Buddha by Karen Armstrong, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and my favorite horror book Frankenstein by Mary Shelly.  

I find the audio books from my local library, and I find hearing the words adds a lot of life to the story.  

I have always loved books in any form.  

 Georgia

Two from Georgia P.

 Assignment: July 4, 2026

 Through a Child's Eyes

 

I know kitty understands me when I talk to him. His nose wiggles and his eyes shine. I pet him gently because I love him. Kitty is the best thing in the whole world.

Assignment July 11, 2026

 Dog Days of Summer

 

I am not a summer person. On those dog days of summer, you'll find me happily camped out in front of my 12,000 BTU air conditioner. Wake me up when it's October.

Memories of Imagination

 

IMMERSED IN A SEA OF COLORFUL RIBBONS AND BOWS AND CRUMPLED GIFT PAPER TORN APART CARELESSLY, I STARED IN AWE AT MY BRAND-NEW ROBOT COMMANDO, WHO COULD THROW ORANGE CANNON BALLS STORED IN HIS ARMS AND FIRE MISSILES FROM THE TOP OF HIS HEAD! MY ARMY OF LEAD AMERICAN SOLDIERS WERE NO MATCH FOR ROBOT COMMANDO! WHAT TOY COULD EXEMPLIFY PEACE ON EARTH AND GOODWILL TOWARDS MEN ANY BETTER THAN A MONSTER ROBOT WHO COULD DECIMATE ENTIRE ARMIES WITH A FEW CANNON BALLS AND MISSILES! I WAS IN ECSTASY WHILE MY FINGERS WERE STICKY FROM THE CANDY CANE I HAD BEEN CONSUMING.

THE ELVES MUST HAVE WORKED AROUND THE CLOCK TO PRODUCE ALL THE TOYS NECESSARY FOR THIS BONANZA, WHILE SANTA DELIVERED THEM IN THIS HIS 13TH LABOR OF HERCULES, TO THE HOMES OF LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS ALL OVER THE WORLD, AND IN ONE NIGHT!

THIS WAS THE BEST CHRISTMAS MORNING EVER….

SOMEONE WAS CALLING MY NAME….

“MR. LAPLACE!”

“MR. LAPLACE!”

“COME DOWN FROM YOUR CLOUD, MR. LAPLACE!”

OH NO, IT WAS NOT CHRISTMAS MORNING. I WAS IN THIRD-GRADE HOMEROOM WITH SISTER M*** X*****!

“MR. LAPLACE, I AM SORRY TO INFORM YOU THAT WHILE YOU MAY FIND THE TIMES TABLES BORING, THERE WILL COME A TIME IN YOUR LIFE WHEN IT WILL BE NECESSARY TO KNOW THEM. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION AND SEE ME AFTER CLASS TO PICK UP A NOTE FOR YOUR PARENTS!”

OH NO, NOT ANOTHER NOTE HOME AND ANOTHER BLOT ON MY PERMANENT RECORD, NEVER TO BE EXPUNGED AND DRAGGED BEHIND ME FOR THE REST OF MY MORTAL LIFE, LIKE THE CHAINS AND LOCKBOXES OF JACOB MARLEY, ALWAYS THERE TO BE FEARED AND EXPLAINED AWAY ON JOB INTERVIEWS AND WHEN MEETING MY FUTURE IN-LAWS SOMEDAY!

THE NOTE I RECEIVED

Dear Mr. and Mrs. LaPlace,

Good afternoon, I am sorry to bring you more grave news, but your son James is persisting in drifting away with a lack of mental discipline on imaginary flights of fancy. Please try to control your son as we all know that nothing good can ever come from displays of imagination.

Sincerely yours,

Sister M*** X*****

MY SENTENCE ALSO INCLUDED A WEEK OF CLAPPING ERASERS.

JIM-JULY 26’

Untamed to Tame

 

I was a very unruly, wild, and untamed little girl and teenager. As a matter of fact, I was still pretty wild up until my mid-twenties. How untamed was I? So much so that when I was a teenager, I put myself and two friends in harm’s way.

It was an unbearably hot and humid day with temperatures reaching the high nineties even after the sun went down. There was a public pool called Cypress Pool on Jamaica Avenue. The pool was locked up for the night but I got the idea that all three of us should climb the fence and go swimming. We all agreed. It was so hot outside we didn’t care if we jumped in with our clothes on.

As soon as we jumped in the pool and started splashing around, we heard dogs barking and people talking loudly. All these sounds were getting closer and closer to us. Two large German Shepards reached the edge of the pool and they were growling, snarling, barking and showing their teeth. We thought we were going to be attacked by them.

Owners of the pool, this older couple, called off the dogs and told us to get out of the water immediately! We thought we would be arrested for trespassing. We got out of the pool and we were told to get on our way and never break into a public pool after it is closed for the night again.

The confrontation with the two guard dogs and the couple who owned the pool really tamed me. I kept wondering what if the couple wasn’t there to call the dogs off? No matter how hot the nights of summer got after that, I never tried to break into and go swimming in a public pool.

Ellen

Tamed

 

I once believed I was the one who cared for my cats. Over time I realized the truth. The small rituals of caring and moments of silence and companionship melted into a trust that tamed my heart. 

Georgia

Dinosaurs

 

In my childhood home we had a small backyard, and it had a huge rock that seemed older than everything around it.  My friend Billy and I would climb onto the rock and invent stories of giant dinosaurs that walked over it millions of years ago. We would lie beneath the stars and imagine what it would be like to live with dinosaurs and in our minds this ordinary rock transformed our imagination and wonder led to endless possibilities. 

Georgia

A Perfect Gift

 

Appreciation, admiration, adulation, adoration, attachment, amatory, all words of love. What is a greater perfect gift than love? All a perfect gift from my feral Tabby cat. He is a stray, street cat who has fallen in love with me and the feeling is totally mutual. Sure, you say, Why shouldn’t he love you? You feed him. ” Wrong!!! My husband feeds him. But I’m the one who pets hm, fondles him and cuddles him. The romance I have with Tabby Boy (I named him) is recent and amazing. I have already written 3 negative complaining, critical essays about this “nasty, ferocious, terrible Tabby.” This, my fourth is a whole turnaround about my delicious, adorable, lovable pussycat.

 

In the past, I had always felt mournful to have this pet that I couldn’t pet. Instead, with his extended sharp claws he would swat anyone who came too close causing torn hems and bleeding ankles. He appeared in my backyard one spring day last year as a fully formed adult feral tabby cat. He looked healthy, with his white bib and white shoes and stockings, well groomed. Where had he come from? Did someone feed this outdoor cat? Did he ever belong to someone? Where does he go when it rains, when it snows, when it is freezing cold? His clipped ear tells me that he was neutered. How did anyone get near this rascal?

 

What changed this feral feline into his gentle, delightful lovable perfect gift? It all was a slow development, with all the action initiated by Tabby Boy. With the advent of summer weather, I spent much of the day in my backyard. Tabby always chose to be present and slowly he began rubbing up against my ankles. He set the pace and his curiosity led him to explore the effect of his rubbing against a human. Shortly, he allowed me to rub his head, his neck, his back. When I moved down to a step close to the ground, he then rubbed my arm, my hand. The rest is history. Now he felt trust and totally allowed cuddling. This appreciation, admiration, adulation, adoration and attachment are a mutual perfect gift; a mutual taming.

 

Ethyl Haber

The Key in the Lock

 

As a senior in college, I wanted to make sure that going into the social services, in the field of mental healthcare, was something that I could be effective at. When I became aware that there was an opportunity to do a 1000- hour yearlong externship of volunteer work at QUEENS CHILDREN’S PSYCHIATRIC CENTER on the grounds of CREEDMORE PSYCHIATRIC CENTER, working with autistic children, some who also had multiple brain damage, I jumped at the opportunity to do something constructive and gain real- world experience before investing additional time and money into this field. The program consisted of working four hours per day, five days per week, for a 50-week year and being incorporated into the curriculum for these children. It included writing up progress reports and attending case- worker meetings as a member of the team for each assigned child.

B.F. Skinner was a professor at Harvard University who used behavioral modification to teach and alter behavior in patients, but he was criticized for his use of negative reinforcement for poor behavior. In the application of his techniques that we were to use, only positive reinforcement would be implemented to teach basic concepts such as identifying colors, basic mathematics, vocabulary and other elementary concepts. Praise, art& crafts, or treats such as favorite cookies or candy were employed to elicit a correct response depending on the preferences of the child. Progress was extremely slow, and most of the time it was statistically insignificant. It was difficult to come to work each day fully intending to accomplish something positive to improve the lives of these institutionalized children that I cared for when the desired outcome was rarely achieved. After a while the skeleton key that I used to enter the ward would alert my children of my arrival and they would come running down the hallway to greet me in their own way.

Over time and in different circumstances, I observed that many of the professionals who worked with these children seemed burned-out, physically present and completing their work, but without an emotional attachment. I’m sure that they had gone into this line of work with the best of intentions, but the daily grind had ground them down like an emotional gristmill. This must have been a sad realization after dedicating their lives to this work. I completed the program and received my certification at a dinner in our honor, although I had already decided that this line of work was not for me.

Ten years later, as a young father, I came home from work one day and put the key in the lock of our door and I heard my children running and yelling Daddy is home, Daddy is home! and as I opened the door and was assaulted by my army of little tykes I

realized in a moment of epiphany how my children from all those years ago had viewed my arrival on the ward each day. Those children entered the age of majority many years ago and most likely entered the adult population. The building is gone now, but I still wonder sometimes at how those unfortunate children fared in their challenging lives.

Jim -June 26’

Writing Assignment: The Devil's Dictionary"

 

Street Sweeper; an odd shaped vehicle that pushes leaves and trash from one side of the street to the other but never picks it up

 

Blender an electrical appliance that flips its lid without a moment's warning

 

Drone mechanical busy body having no regard or respect for the privacy of humans

 

Ellen G.