To Live “Above.”

The activity of writing the Tin Cup Clan books and short stories has been a blessing. The work as a whole means more to me than one could say in mere words. However, there are certain scenes that strike more solidly at my heart than others, “The whipping” scene, “The Fight” scene, And the scenes involving “Mr. Bill,” stick out above the rest.

A recent visit with my Oncologist brought some aspects of the stories into a different light, and I realized the significance of a few scenes I had never thought of until now.

After a fight of some 61/2 years, I have at last been classified cancer-free. Big news? Yes. But what do I do with my life now? I have been so busy “not dying “that I ended up “not living.”

I informed my doctor that I hadn’t planned on being around this long.

What do I do now? I asked.

Learn to Live Above, was her reply. Above the chatter and noise of life, find yourself. Climb above, learn to live, and you will find yourself there.

Quite surprisingly, the tree-house scene came to mind. I didn’t know it at the time, after all, I had written that part five years ago in the midst of my second of four cancer battles. The tree-house was written as the boys’ point of escape. A place of solitude away from the pain and abuse, away from death, depression, and poverty. The old tree-house was in fact, their place to “Live Above.”

 I went back to that section in the book and rewrote it, this time savoring its significance and power, and I found myself there right alongside them. That simple little scene now means much more to me than when I first put pen to paper. Below I share it for all of you to read, and hopefully grasp its importance and simple meaning.

They are just a group of young boys enjoying a space that is their own, just a platform of used and decaying planks nailed high in the limbs of an old tree and known only to themselves, allowing them to, “Live Above.”

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 Excerpt: THE TIN CUP CLAN (Mystery of the Leech Cemetery Witch)

Once you pass the barns and cross the fence, you run into the woods, The trees and Mountain Laurel are so thick they seem to go on forever. It’s a magical place, full of enough sights, sounds, and smells to boggle the mind. We got a couple of tree houses out there. Well, not houses really, more like platforms high in the branches. We’ve spent a great deal of time and effort putting together old scraps of lumber brought to us by his Pa. When he finds a spare board or two, he’ll load them up and bring them to us. The rest is what we’ve found by the tracks or roadside. We keep adding, and the tree houses keep growing.

The four of us have spent many a night planning, dreaming, whining, and complaining high amongst those branches. Life and the Grey seem afraid to infect things that far into the trees, and that absence of infection gives the air a crispness causing your Soul to feel lighter in your shoes. Most nights we’re content with just laying there, staring up into the night sky, desperate to be the first to spot a shooting star, (which everyone knows, gives you the right to the wish). When one streaks across the black we would all point, close our eyes, and escape these Grey hills.

That is…until we leave the woods.

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