The Writers’ Exchange is a group of people who enjoy writing. The purpose of this Anthology is to promote the art

and spirit of writing as a pleasure, to share literary ideas and expressions, to stimulate and encourage writing, to consider

publication opportunities and to contribute to the community arts. We invite writers of this area to contribute to this

Anthology and to attend our meetings where we share our works and encourage new ideas. The Writers’ Exchange

meets on Thursday, usually twice a month, at the Pioneer Bank, 200 Miner Ave., Ladysmith, Wisconsin. Our next

meetings are February 8 & 22, 2018, from 2:00-4:00 PM. For more information call Bill Fucik (715) 532-6606

wolfhill@chipvalley.com, or Ruth Ralston (715) 532-6815, slograndma123@gmail.com.

Issue 143 January 2018

Let Every Smile Gary Hetts

Let every smile be indelibly woven in the fabric of your mind. Let every sorrow help you conceptualize joy. May the touch of knowledge be with a gentle hand. May you see joy before the world inflicts its final cure. May the brutal burst of knowledge that is death be hidden until you taste of life.

Quit It! Michael Doran

It begins with a playful pinch,

A teasing tickle, a tug

On the ponytail of the girl

Sitting in front of him;

These forms of mischievous, boyish behavior,

These early experiments in puerile male assertiveness.

If there be complaint, the boy is scolded,

Told to keep his hands to himself,

But “boys will be boys.”

You might catch him raking a finger

Across the frosting of a cake yet to be brought

To the table, or spiking the punch before handing a cup

To his unsuspecting date, or detaining a girlfriend

At her locker by pinning her to the door.

Some will graduate from there to the back seat

Of an automobile liberally applying their hands

To the body beneath theirs, insisting she go

“All the way.” What’s to stop these predators later

From treating themselves to whatever they can grab

In a culture that allows “boys to be boys”

And expects women to accommodate?

“There are worse things a man could do,”

Apologists might say. But shy of being killed

By him, what self-respecting woman would dismiss

Sexual assault as being anything but the worst?

Haiku Ruth Ralston

Soft pillows on couch

Warm sun streaming through windows

Inducing a nap

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Information on the back page.

Monody to a Muskrat Betty Morris

Each time we passed over the little creek bridge we paused to look for him.

Silently, patiently, we waited; and we were rewarded for our patience by a glimpse of “Our Muskrat,” or so we called him.

Sleek wet creature with hairless tail who acknowledged our presence by skimming into his hole under the creek bank.

A canopy of grass and a tangle of yellow flowers hung over the bank trailing their fingers in the gurgling water, hiding the entrance to the muskrat den.

He grew - spring, summer, fall, winter; and spring and summer came again.

It was a pleasant thing to know this bit of wilderness who lived so close to town, such a pleasant interlude to stop and see if our friend was home.

To see where he had been busy here and there along the creek bank, arranging mud and sticks to improve his watery domain. Then - “Oh, no! He got him!” exclaimed my husband, as he turned and sadly walked away from the window that overlooks the creek.

I, too, looked. The behemoth hunter, the brave hero, was walking with his prize held high and club in hand, showing the huge beast to his fellow workers. It was June. His pelt wasn’t even in prime. His dead carcass was good for nothing in this hot weather. He would just decay. The creek gurgles by and the flowers bend and nod. The entry to his den is washed away. He is no more.

A Turkey and an Eagle Janet J. Krings

The family sat around their Thanksgiving table feeling sad. They did not have a turkey to eat. The youngest boy asked,

"Where's the turkey, Mother?"

She replied, "There were none in the store, Son, and no one will go hunting for one."

Grandfather said, "Then we will be grateful for our vegetables and desserts."

Years before, old Benjamin Franklin sat at his table hunting around in his bird book for suggestions for a national bird. He turned a page and saw what he was looking for--the turkey. So humble and common, he thought, a good choice.

Hunting around in the forest the hunter spied a big turkey in a grassy field. He lifted his gun to shoot it for his Thanksgiving meal. Suddenly an eagle flew toward him and landed on his gun barrel. The eagle then proceeded to walk toward him, stopped, and looked him in the eye. At this point the hunter dropped his gun and fled deeper into the forest. The eagle flew away only to become our national bird symbol.

And what of the turkey? He flew to Blacksburg, Virginia, and became the mascot of the Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University. Old Benjamin Franklin would have been pleased to know that the turkey, his turkey, became involved in higher education.

Let the eagle fly with pride for our nation.

Woody and Muscle Mouse Bill Fucik

Incidentally, I was going to title this fun little story as “Anthropopathism,” but that was too esoteric, so I altered it to a more

suitable one.

"Woody" is a part-Siamese cat who lives with John and Mary in their woodland home. Woody is a great hunter. He has vanquished red squirrels, chipmunks, baby rabbits, snakes, shrews, skunks and especially mice. Woody is so proud of his victories he often brings them to the porch door and lays them down for viewing and congratulations. Then he slowly devours them with relish. Not food relish! He especially enjoys the mice -- his favorite.

Well, eventually the word went out across the mouse community. They gathered in protest, carrying signs, "Down with Woody" and "You think you’re the Cat's Meow -- Bah!" The Cat President advertised throughout the landscape, seeking the aid of the great "Muscle Mouse."

As the story goes, one day Woody was stalking through the thick grass. His very sensitive ears detected movement. "Hah! A mouse!" he thought.

His tail slowly fanned the air, he crouched low, and with lightning speed, he pounced toward the mouse. To Woody's great surprise, in a flash, the mouse jumped back, avoiding Woody's extended claws. He was totally surprised.

"You must be the terrible 'Woody' I have been hearing so much about," shouted the little creature.

“Who are you?” Woody asked, displaying a rather smarty smile.

"I'm here to teach you a lesson. The word is out that you have been killing too many of my brethren. They called upon me to make you cease and desist your excessive cruelty to my many friends. I am Muscle Mouse,” he said and puffed up his chest, displaying two large letters on his white furry chest - “MM."

Woody wasn't impressed, and he cocked his head, partially closed one eye and stared defiantly at Muscle Mouse. "So, how are little you going to make me cease and whatever?"

"I'll show you how!" and with a lightning thrust, Muscle Mouse's tiny paw fist caught Woody on the jaw, knocking his head sideways.

Now Woody is not a dumb cat. In the moments to recover from the blow, he thought, ‘Well, that MM is pretty tough -- I'll just play along with him.’

"OK, OK, you win. I'll lay off your mousey guys. By the way, tell some of them to change their diet, they taste awful!"

"Oh, yeah? -- Well, you just leave my friends alone, you understand?" said MM.

Woody took on a pose of holding his head low in a sad position and slowly walking away as if stunned, and dragging his black tail close to the ground. But in his head his thought was, ‘Well, that mangy fur ball was pretty tough, so in the future I'll just make sure he's not around. That MM sign will be easy to spot. I just can't give up those tasty morsels, yum yum!’

As Woody slowly moves away, he hears a loud voice behind him call out ---

"And remember this, Fat Cat -- The meek shall inherit the earth!"

Annoyances Sandra Weiler

When a website doesn’t come up fast enough, that upsets me… When that same website asks for my password and I can’t remember it, that annoys me… When I finally remember my password and I’m required to change it, that irks me… When Windows wants to update and reboot in the middle of my most creative thoughts, that irritates me… When advertisers cut into my research on how to fix something, that aggravates me… When I realize how computer illiterate I am, that exasperates me… But if someone took away my laptop, that would infuriate me!

Quiet Mornings on the Farm Judy Heintz

I wake up early these days, about 5:30 a.m. Seems odd to me because I was always hard to wake up when I was a kid

and had to go to the barn and feed calves every morning before school. When I ran our little Ma and Pa Tavern for fourteen years I was never an early riser. Now I get up before dawn, get a cup of coffee, and sit and read or knit, and enjoy the quiet time.

Quiet really isn't true. The clock on the entertainment center chimes softly. The cat is purring loudly on my lap, demanding I pet him or scratch his neck. As I sip my coffee, I can hear those three cute kittens crying in the garage. They live in the old dog cage I dug out of the old granary. I rescued, more like stole, them from a junk pile by the shed. After I found the furry little babies, I knew surely their mom would move them and I wouldn't see those kittens again until they were wild as sin! We do not need any more wild cats on the farm!

Yesterday morning I fed them warm mashed potatoes and milk. That was a big mistake! Soon all three were covered with mashed potatoes and milk after quickly lapping it up. I had to give them each a bath. After drying them off, I let them stay in a box in the kitchen until I got their cage cleaned up.

A new sound each morning, besides cows mooing and calves “bellering,” is Martha, the donkey. This is one animal my husband always wanted. Martha is a retired basketball player. She is motivated by food, you know. My husband gives her a treat each day of some leftover calf ration we had in the barn. Her sound is not just a “Hee-haw!” like in the cartoons. It starts out like a blow horn and ends up in a mournful “Hee!Haw! Hee!Haw!” that leaves you feeling very sorry for her. My husband can't remember the name Martha, so he calls her “Molly.” She comes to either, especially if you're waving the little white cup!

Oh, the quiet time! Soon the little birdie is chirping. It's my sister sending her “Good Morning Sunshine!” text. I quickly send her my “Good Morning Beautiful!” text right back. Sometimes we will text back and forth for a while about our previous day’s accomplishments or the local news - I mean gossip!

Now the dog is woofing at me. He wants out. I let him outside and grab another cup of coffee before my husband gets up and I'll have to start my day. Those three little starving kittens saw me now and I'll have to feed them soon. I'll do that after one more cup of coffee and knitting one more row of my afghan. Then, hopefully, enjoying a little more quiet time!

Our Versatile Instrument Michael Doran

We have voices to make sound, To cry out and shout, to sing, To blend and harmonize and hum, To greet and chat, whisper and gossip, To pray, to confess and forgive, To scare and scream, whimper and sob, To alert, to accuse, to question, To rage, disrupt and protest, To read aloud, describe and narrate, To introduce, to thank, to lie, To proclaim, to cut, soothe, Scold, harp and bash, To plead, to curse, to bless. How will we use our voices today?

What Annoys Me Audrey Riphenburg

Slowness annoys me. When people are not ready when I drive in to pick them up at a specified time, and they look like they just rolled out of bed, I’m annoyed. When a friend or relative is not at home when I am to pick them up, I’m annoyed. Of course, that is really my problem, as I do not own a cell phone. When it takes several minutes for this person to primp before she is ready, I feel she is testing my patience and maybe our friendship. However, she may not even be thinking about the time I just wasted because of our friendship, so I’m annoyed once again. Please do not annoy me, or you will not look pretty when I get through with you. I’m getting annoyed. Look out, or pay the price.

Memory Joe Willger

He waited patiently by the chair. As a friend waits, a visit each day, To attend, to listen to hopes and despair; Stories, tales of life seeking the way. He looked drab and dull, a suit of gray. Broken, lost, trying to be useful, Longed for his friend to visit each day, A companion to make life fruitful. Grandpa smoked his pipe. He collected tobacco, ashes galore. Grandpa’s smoking, Grandma’s gripe. He faithfully did his task and chore. He was a different type of fellow, I would say. He hid the ash; no one could see. He worked quietly in a unique way. No one spoke of any history. Grandma did not tell me of his secret life. I became curious and began to guess and search. Did he endure cold, heat and strife? What was his journey to this perch?

Did he have stories he could share Of how he served the human race? Did life become a burden full of wear and tear? Did he leave a path for one to trace? I heard he served at table long ago. “Pass the butter, please,” they would say; They wanted sweet butter for their baked potato. Mealtime, he served the family each day. He has memories and stories to share. Stories of truth, sadness and joy, Of people filled with hardship and care. Now silent. No table to serve or stories to enjoy. His life continues hidden away. Brings memories of generations past. Grandpa, Grandma here today. In my mind and heart forever to stay.

Ug Town Marilyn Zielke

Ug was a small hamlet in the outer reaches of Slugland with suburbs of Klug and Shugville.

One fall the Click family moved to Ug. They liked the huggy welcome where all of them became well known and accepted.

There was Dick Click, whose father ran the local seat belt factory called “Click-It”.

The Click’s daughter, Chick, was very popular in school, where friends called her “Chickie.”

Brother Rick was named after his father who was called Ricky. The older brother was Ferdy. Where did that come from? He was named after Great-Grandpa Frederick whose son couldn’t spell very well, so he always wrote his father’s name as “Ferdrick.” He continued to do this when he wrote the family history and no one ever changed it, so “Ferdy” came down through the family names.

Mother Mickey was the entrepreneur type, so she began her own restaurant called “Ug’s Chick Café.” She figured as long as she had to cook for the family she might as well expand on that to make some nickels and it was easier to get the kids to do the dishes when they got paid to do it.

Chickie became a cheerleader. Their favorite cheer was: “Ug will sweep ______ under the rug!”

Ferdie played basketball to the cheer: “Uggie, Uggie,

Chuggie, Chuggie,

______ can’t bug us!”

They are now having a contest to design their mascot – “A Bug from Ug.”

Winter Haiku Bill Fucik

White January Skiing, skating, snowshoeing Old man memories Gray sky curtain hangs Black crows fly over the stage December drama

Winter log cabin Candle light frosted windows Sweet dreams the hunter Cold steel strip of sky High winds fling white snow flies Winter’s outside - good

Snowman making snow Carrot nose, coal black eyes, mouth Children laughing, fun Winter’s frozen lake Skaters arm in arm smile love Blazing bonfire — joy

Party Dress Holly Bertling

“Come on, Mom, you promised to take me to the mall to get a dress for the school party,” Callie urged her mother who was nursing a migraine.

“Do we have to go today?” Teri pleaded, her head throbbing with pain. She really didn’t feel like shopping today but she also knew that it was easier to give in than to argue with her pre-teen daughter.

“Okay,” she said, “but I’ll sit on a bench in the atrium while you shop, and you can come and get me after you’ve scouted the stores. Then you can show me what you found and I’ll decide if it’s appropriate and affordable. Maybe Lexie can come with us so you can have some company.”

Callie happily agreed and called her best friend.

Teri was glad to people-watch in the mall while Callie and Lexie shopped. Even that took more energy than she felt up to. The girls returned after about an hour, and the three of them back-tracked so Teri could see her daughter’s selections.

The first dress was an off-the-shoulder creation that was stunning – for a twenty-five year old super model, but not for a middle school party. The next dress had so much bling that Teri had to shield her eyes. Too short, too tight, too much ruffle, who designs these things? Teri wondered. She was very tired and weary by now and ready to give up.

“Please, Mom,” Callie begged, “just one more store? There’s one I really like, please, Mom?”

When Callie came out of the dressing room wearing the sleeveless teal taffeta dress with a full skirt and wide sash that cinched her waist, Teri knew that the sacrifices had been worth it.

My Dad and the Piggy Bank Karen Wiltrout

When I was about seven years old my Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Frank came to visit. My sister and I were always excited for

their visits and they would bring the greatest gifts!

This year they brought us piggy banks. They were both seven inches long and four inches high. Their bodies were cream colored, their tails were painted pink, with a painted pink bow behind their ears, long eye lashes and a little pointy nose. The slot for the coins was located between the tail and bow. Sad, there was no way, once money was put into the bank, to get it out!! My dad calmed our concerns by telling us that he had a tool that could get the money out.

Aunt Dorothy insisted that we tell her what we would save for. My sister could not come up with an idea that pleased Aunt Dorothy.

In the evenings, my Dad would move the kitchen radio into the living room. There we would curl up on the sofa and listen to the lineup of radio shows. I would save my money for a radio for the living room!

Aunt Dorothy approved of my idea and starting the saving with a dollar. When she wasn’t looking, Uncle Frank put a five-dollar bill in my bank.

On Saturdays, when I received my allowance, I would put some coins into the bank. On Sundays my dad would pick up the bank, shake it and announce how full he thought it was. In no time my bank was full!

Dad and I planned that on his next day off we would open the piggy bank and take all the money to the Gambles store where I would pick out a radio for the living room.

It took forever for Tuesday to arrive! After breakfast Dad and I took the piggy bank to his woodworking shop. There, using a very small drill, he opened a hole in the underside of the bank. I had a shoe box ready to shake the money into. There were so many coins and bills. I wanted to count all the money right then and there, but Dad said no, we would let the salesman count the money. Off we went walking uptown to Gambles, shoe box clutched in my hands. Arriving at Gambles we were met by a salesman who showed me where all the radios were displayed. After asking my dad a lot of questions and looking each radio over and over I selected a brown Zenith with gold lettering and gold numbers.

I gave the salesman the shoe box of money to count. I was very concerned that there would not be enough. He carefully opened the box, smiled as he put his hands into the box and counted the money. It took such a long time. He finally looked up and said there was enough money to pay for the radio with enough left over for two ice cream cones. I had a strawberry ice cream cone and my dad had a chocolate one as we walked home taking turns carrying the box containing the radio.

Years later, I found out that Mom and Dad put most of the money into my bank as it filled much too fast. Dad also arranged with the salesman at Gambles to say there was enough money in the shoe box and he would be back the next day to pay the remaining balance.

I still have both piggy banks.

High Tea with the King Pegeen Snoeyenbos

Many people these days are fascinated by television home improvement shows and I’m no exception. But amid the shiplap and sheetrock, the replumbing and repainting, one curiosity has caught my attention. We Americans seem to be divided in our housing preferences between the open concept, in which everything in the main living area occurs in one huge space, and the ultra-small, in which people choose to live in the tiniest square footage possible for human comfort, sometimes even carrying their “tiny houses” from one location to another. And it’s the idea of the tiny house that got me reminiscing about my own childhood tiny house. Well, mine and my cousin Penny’s. This magical little house was built by my grandfather and my dad as a playhouse for Penny a few years before I was born. Gramp was a builder, so he knew how to construct a well-built house, and Dad was an able assistant. When it was completed, the house, which was located in my grandparents’ back yard, was about eight feet square, with a proper wooden front step, a wooden floor, two framed glass windows, and a functional set of tiny cupboards. The outside was covered in large, multi-colored shingles and there was a green shingled roof. All exterior trim was painted white. After construction was complete, Dad went to work on the interior. Although he never made a career of it, he was an excellent artist and illustrator, and the walls of the playhouse were the perfect venue for his talents. With the tales of Mother Goose as his inspiration, he covered the walls with a series of large, colorful illustrations that couldn’t fail to produce a smile from anybody who came inside. And, always one who loved to play with words, his finishing touch was to erect a wooden sign over the playhouse door proclaiming it “Penny’s Playdium.” My cousin enjoyed her playhouse for several years before moving with her family to New York. And then it became “Pegi’s Playdium” when I was old enough to hie myself up the front step and toddle inside. For the next several years the Playdium was my hangout and refuge. I could go there and imagine myself riding on the back of the cow as she jumped over the moon, cheer Jack on as he tried to get over that candle stick, and have high tea with Old King Cole, while his fiddlers three provided background music. Sometimes friends would join me for tea parties and later I was joined by Moppet, our cocker spaniel, who also thought the playhouse a fine daytime retreat.

I was tall for my age and after a few years it became apparent that I wasn’t going to be able to fit inside the Playdium much longer. So Dad tore it down and built the world’s greatest teeter-totter in its place, which I enjoyed with my friends for many years. But I never forgot my wonderful playhouse and the flights of fancy that were possible within its walls. London, England, may have its Palladium, but Cousin Penny and I had our Playdium, where we laughed, imagined and had tea in the company

of royalty.

The Spirits are Back Char Lovely

The spirits are back and keeping a very low profile; I wasn’t sure until I found

my cup of coffee in the refrigerator! I had been feeling their presence for some time but it was just that I felt like someone was looking over my shoulder. I guess I have to admit that I missed them; living alone like I do it was nice to have the company, even though there was no conversation. I enjoyed trying to guess where they were and what they were up to.

I had kind of forgiven them for taking my warm bootie after I found they had returned it at some time that I was unaware of - when I had gone to turn on my laptop in my office and found it under my desk. I don’t go in there every day, but often enough so that I know it had probably only been there a day or so, long after it turned up missing. It would be more fun if I could know sooner just what they are up to and catch them when they are moving my things around so that they are not where I know I put them. They seem to really enjoy that so if that is what it takes to keep them here, I can live with it just for the company. I think they know they went too far when they took my warm bootie and seem to be just having fun now.

Winter Will Come Marilyn Zielke

Right now I shiver

With aversion At any consideration

Of ice and snow. Soon I need to find

Someone to plow away Those beautiful crystals Inconsiderately gathered

On my driveway. When will I feel

Free to safely drive - Even after the driveway

Is cleared again? Tomorrow my car

Visits the trusty fix-it guy To get its yearly

Winter preparation. I need a mental fix-it

To adjust my preparation.

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Edith Apron Betty Novesky

I should be ashamed of my Edith Apron; it is so old and stained beyond redemption from years of wear and cooking messes. I have had it for decades. My kids named it after a character in the popular sitcom, "All in the Family,” Edith Bunker, who was the long-suffering wife of Archie. It is a full coverage apron with arm holes which I don like armor and tie in the back. In it I have prepared many meals, baked endless treats and wiped gooey mouths, children’s tears, and, yes, sometimes my own.

One afternoon as I was up to my elbows in meatloaf, I received a frantic call from my daughter stating she forgot her gym bag with her basketball uniform that day, and they were loading up the bus to go. I sprang into action, raced the two blocks to the high school like Mario Andretti and was greeted by a frazzled looking coach and a running bus. As I awkwardly sprinted out of the car to hand off her gym bag, she looked at me with that look of mortification that only teenagers can master. In the heat of the crisis I had forgotten to take off my apron.

Usually all is forgiven when the turkey comes to the table or a platter of cinnamon sticky buns appears.

Modern girls must be neater and less cluttered. They surround themselves with dazzling chrome and polished granite. I, however, am suspicious of neat kitchens, immaculate ovens and barren countertops. As holidays loom on the horizon, once again I look to my talisman... things just turn out better with Edith.

Janus Ruth Ralston

January may be the most appropriately named month. Janus was a two faced god who looked toward the past and the future. He represented war and peace and the gates between. He opened up his temple to warriors so they could march through and when they were gone, he could close the doors when peace was declared. This presents a decision. As January approaches, what do we expect? Should we look to the past for our decisions or to the future? Will our gates be open or shut?

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