I’m going to try and focus more on my original abstract and minimalist photography for this particular blog in future posts. Change can be good, in my opinion. Since I’m also interested in psychology, among the arts, I regularly read up on health issues. Therefore, some posts will also be about what we all must face as a world, to care for the human race (in a light way).
Let’s face it, Earth is beautiful, and it’s fun to capture as many puzzle pieces as possible to the mystery of life.
This is an excerpt from my novel, Spectrum, where Caleb, one of the main characters espouses his view on Trump, without taking his social security number:
We went through hell together already, and now we’re getting married. Seem legit? I think so. As long as Donald Trump isn’t standing in for the real officiator, I’ll know there’s no way on Earth that Elizabeth Grange’s spirit won’t be trying to sell real estate in the next life. Because I’m almost certain she’s already possessed some talk show host’s body and planning to have his children in hopes of giving them demon wings. He needs a dog anyhow. Joking aside…
-From Spectrum, novel by Heather Arneson
Anyway, please visit my Photography page to see photos I’ve taken, as well as some of my artwork.
With that, I will leave you with my latest short story. And I can’t stop me! Anonymous, you can’t stop me, neither.
by Heather Arneson
He had a way of inspiring the staff at his company, however, which he and four other colleagues built back in 1972, with only a love of nature and optimism to spare. Pier 45 sold everything from Christmas trees during the holidays, Hanukkah decorations, and an array of garden supplies from February through the summer. It was located near a highway, and experienced a good amount of success partly due to this fact, as well as its quality customer service.
One couple, in particular, named Sela and Jack were a particularly friendly duo of sorts, and frequented the establishment, coming there many times and offering to buy the business, but never buying a single item while they were there. It turned out that they spent their excitement elsewhere, writing checks that bounced around nearby cities, going out of Huntingsville often, while only occasionally paying babysitters who watched their four children.
Artie was a hard worker and always will be remembered as such by those who knew him, that much is true, but he pushed himself so diligently and stubbornly that he had immense anxiety issues. In fact, Tom, owner of “Boards and Steel, Inc.” and known as the town prankster, joked to his best friend Sam at one of Artie’s last New Year’s Eve parties that he hosted in 1987, “Artie’s probably going to dig dirt at his own funeral.” He was quite proud of that joke, and retold it for years to come.
The man was smart to avoid shifty characters during his many years in business. Sela and Jack, who seemed harmless enough initially, were among those that he learned to distrust. Seeing them lurking about the premises only spurred his already wildly beating heart to thump! each time he saw them eye one of his products.
Years ago, he wouldn’t have made a fuss, as everyone was forgiving in the little community, but he knew that they had sticky fingers, and he didn’t want anything stolen from him, especially because he knew the situation would curtail into him becoming a complete emotional wreck. Eventually, he told his manager Will, a tall and stoic young man with ashen dark hair, to ban them from the store. He carried out his supervisor’s order, and they walked away, both wearing matching Hawaiian t-shirts, and a look of embarrassment.
Although, as a human being, he wasn’t impervious to making mistakes, he was used to being a perfectionist most of his life, and wasn’t the type to be uncouth, nor clumsy. One mid-December day in 1990, on his way home to his wife Rhonda, a round and good-natured baker, he became sidetracked. Now, it seemed that from the start his day was doomed to be a rocky one. What he expected to be a relatively routine afternoon developed into him nearly having a panic attack over switched orders and dealing with an employee who seemed to be more burned-out than he was; everyone he worked with agreed behind his back that they didn’t think that was possible. It was a slow progression to feeling not only out of the loop, but not completely knowing why. And it was his own business!
He began to think that he was going to suffer another nervous breakdown, which all of his employees discussed when he was gone on a business trip that he was probably going to have. Will almost broached the subject one day with Artie, but a younger co-worker, Bev, distracted him, as she walked by and flipped her bright blonde locks towards his assigned cash register. He thought to himself that Artie couldn’t handle his opinion anyway, so best to keep his mouth shut. He then retreated to clasping his hands around the bar on top of the conveyor belt, with a frozen expression on his face, and a general feeling of unease.
As he trudged down the path towards the wooden bridge Artie thought to be as sturdy as time itself, it snapped just as he stepped onto it with his chosen pine tree of the season. He and the tree went careening and landed on top of a ledge where he nearly fell on a young raccoon and squirrel peacefully co-existing. Little fluffy flakes of snow dropped down onto his eyelids, and through awestruck blinks towards the auspicious sky, his heart rate decreased. The woodland creatures looked around stunned, but crawled and scampered to safety around a nearby tree. He felt accepted just as he was, even after crashing in on their habitat like a storm, and had a decidedly happier outlook after that day; the staff at Pier 45 agreed about 6 months later, after he left at his normal lunch hour.