Student Editor

William Bruce Huntsman

Cover: Cheyenne Kavan, Painting by Numbers

The Final NoteSpring 2016

Faculty Sponsor

Patrick Kelling, PhD

I am proud to be the student editor of the sixth volume of The Final Note! I remember when I looked through our last edition I was impressed by the volume and quality of work that was presented, and I thought even then that I would like to volunteer on the staff someday. Here it is our 6th edition and I am the editor! We began the semester with very few submissions, but the call went out and as usual PCC students, staff, and faculty came to the rescue, and we ended up with a very nice publication.

Congratulations to all authors and artists and thanks again to Patrick Kelling and PCC staff and faculty.

Sincerely,

William Bruce Huntsman

PCC’s art and literary journal, The Final Note, is a publication dedicated to strengthening social and academic interest in quality art and literature by showcasing the depth and diversity of our artistic capabilities and by foster-ing a supportive community of artists and writers.

Contents

Rini Beeman, Red Queen 4Dennis Trujillo Johnson , The I-Land 5Christopher L. Spino, First Kiss 6Jill Brown, Untitled 7Nancy Saathoff, Pretty Boy 8Nancy Saathoff, Ice Dancing 9Caitlin Haddan, The Waiting Room 10William Bruce Huntsman, Dichotomy 15Angy Ocasio, Little Swinger 16Charles Zeis, Chupacabra Trail 17Michael Archuleta, tonight 18Andrew Lewis Foster, Grandmother Vineyard 19Dean de Koevend, just a dream 20Marissa Graham, On a Blind Date With a Book 21Ashley Lowe, Chameleon 22Jill Brown, David 24Deborah G. Murphy, My Gnome Garden 25Zachary Thallas, Beautiful Sunset 26William Bruce Huntsman, Self-Portrait 27Susan May Pelto, Joojoo 28Cheyenne Kavan, Something I can Feel 29Dean de Koevend, on the wing 30Morgan M. Kittleson, Gargoyle 31Karen L. Foglesong, Exercise 32Angy Ocasio, Up in the Air 33

4Red QueenRini Beeman

5

The I-LandDennis Trujillo Johnson

The more I say IThe more I realizeThat I am in myI-landAlone.Focused so on IAlone,Seeing I as allThat I can seeImmersed in all IHave and hold.

I will then often realizeThat I am thinkingToo much of I,And I wish to think less Of I and more of Thou,Though often my eyeCannot focus off of ITo see anything else.

I am not a rock, Nor an island, Yet in this I-landI find only myselfWishing for affirmationOf all I believe I amThough do not feel I amWorthy of believing.

I strive to find theRock that can lead meTo stand up to IAnd focus my eyeOutwardAs my true eye can only do, Unless I turn to the Looking glass that only reflects The I.Outward from Isolation and Outward toIntegrationWith all that is notI.

6

First KissChristopher L. Spino

Dense like lead, but as soft as a baby bunny’s belly. My hand slowly curls like talons of a hawk, felling the warmth lick the back of my hand like the flame of a tea light. Slowly, I crawl the backs of my fingers across the velvet of her skin, her pale white face bursts to the shade of a red rose and the heat licks my fingers and I slide my hand across her Adam’s apple and then to the tip of her chin and hold. Her mahogany eyes close, as her almond lips pucker, they shiver like a naked baby in the open window of a winter’s south side. My own strong, firm, large, lips quiver as I lean in and take what is mine my prize, my life’s essence, that in which I derive my life essence. Glory! Glory! And the two satin lumps intertwine and mingle to a waltz of our own and hour after hour the dance went on with new steps added in.

7UntitledJill Brown

8Pretty BoyNancy Saathoff

9Ice DancingNancy Saathoff

10

I sat in the waiting room with my sister, Marian, and Val. My ears filled with the sounds of clicking and the murmur of voices that came from the reception desk. There’s a saying that people use, waiting is the worst part: I don’t know if that is right. Because the thought of why I was here, what I was waiting for made me sick to my stomach and broken-feeling inside. I wanted to sink to the floor and stay there with him. I wanted to run out the door with him in my arms. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. I silently pinched myself on my high thigh repeatedly to no avail. My warm tears trickled down my checks behind my sunglasses. “How had it come to this?” I tried to distract myself. I looked though bleary eyes at the pictures hanging on the bumpy textured walls around the room. One hung about fifteen feet directly in front of me. It was about a sad story of how a dog came to the vet through all stages of his life, right up to his end. I wiped my eyes with the napkin crinkled in my hand. I looked at Val’s beautiful golden eyes and his coat to match. Eyes sad and layered with pain. I stroked his coarse fur, holding onto how it felt. I realized this was the last day I would feel it. My breath caught. I felt like I was drowning from the inside out. “I wish I could take your pain!” I screamed inside my head. The receptionist came over. She had long black, curly hair and a motherly atmosphere. We were sitting in the corner of the room. She sat gingerly next to us. “Would you like his footprint?” She asked in a soft voice. I nodded, unable to form words. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to. My sister, amazing as she was, was there to my rescue. Somehow she had kept it together really rather well. “Yes, how much would that be?” asked my sister Marian.“It will be free, and the vet said that euthanization won’t cost you guys anything either, okay,” said

The Waiting RoomCaitlin Haddan

the receptionist. I stopped listening as I jumped up to grab another tissue. ‘Die... He is going to die.’ How had I let this happen. I should be the one choking on my own blood. He is just 4 and a half, too young to die. Looking back it’s hard to believe how far we’ve come.

*

About 4 years ago now, I was at a horse show in the state fair grounds. I walked my bay horse around the hot and dusty area to calm her down before I came back to the stalls. “You have to see this dog. The people are giving him away,” said Marian. “ We don’t need another dog,” I objected. “I know, but you have to see him, he can be mom’s dog,” she said.I begrudgingly agreed to come see him. When we left the fairgrounds, Marian, mom and I went to see the dog. We pulled up to the spot where the owners stood. A little tan dog lay by their feet, his long legs not quite tucking up into a proper ball like most dogs. He was all gangly and spread out. I got out of the car to see him better. My doubts all but melted away when he sat up at looked at me with piercing bright eyes. “Can I?” I asked. “Of course. He is yours if you want him,” said the guy. I bent down to pet him and he wiggled happily up to my hands as I asked, “How old is he?” “About three or four months,” said the guy. How can he not know how old his own dog is? I thought. Marian started talking to the guy about how he had got the dog from his daughter who had adopted him from a shelter. I picked him up to bring him over to show mom, who had waited in the car. He was all legs, very spindly. “A chihuahua,” said the guy answering Marian’s question that I

11hadn’t heard. “Mom, look how cute he is, and look at his eyes!” Mom crooned as she held him up. “Ooh, why do you girls do this to me?” After a bit, we unanimously agreed that he was a keeper and that he was mom’s dog. “You aren’t going to steal this one?” asked Marian on the way out of the fairgrounds. “I didn’t take Tess. She picked me.” I said. Tess was my second dog. The neighbors next door had given her to us. Marian had it in her mind that she was supposed to have been mom’s dog. “Okay, stop it,” said mom. “What do you want to name him?” I asked. “Valiant, like Prince Valiant,” said mom. Over the next two days, he sat with us at the horse stalls like he had grown up with us. He fit right in—he was great with the horses, good about being tied, and while we ate, he politely sat on a chair next to us like a tiny person. He was turning out to be quite a good little dog.

*

A sad smile touched my lips in the memory of how amazing he was from the start. “I’m sorry,” said the receptionist, when I returned with fresh napkins that wouldn’t last long. She sounded sincere. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking.” “Well... Uh,” Marian said, as she looked at me as if asking if it was okay. She had hazel colored eyes like our father. I gave a small nod. “Uh, well we grow our own gardens, you see, and there was this squirrel that kept tearing up the plants and stuff.” She started to explain. Her stories always had details. If you asked her about something, the answer would never be cut and dry. For instance: “I went to the dentist and they had to do a filling.” With her, it would more like: “I called the dentist to set

an appointment and they said that we can schedule a appointment, so I have to make a appointment to set an appointment. Finally, when I got to the dentist, they put this weird thing in my mouth and did some xrays, actually lots of xrays, then told me that it would be good to get the cavities taken care of. So I set another appointment.” She continued. “So we tried shooting it with a bb gun, but it didn’t do much good. We aren’t very good shots. So then we bought some rat poison and put it on our bunny coop, but we couldn’t stand seeing the squirrel eating the stuff, so... Because also we have chickens and the food keeps getting eaten by the mice, we put the poison in the garage... One of us must of left the door open and Val climbed the dog pen fence when we weren’t home.” I tried to control myself as she told the story. “Anyways, when we brought him here the vet gave us some Vitamin K to try to slow the bleeding.. That was the other day. But it was already too late.” “Yes, that’s what rat poison does. It thins the blood so that they are bleeding internally. By the time there are signs you can see, it is usually already too late,” said the receptionist. “Oh! That’s awful. If we knew we would have never have bought it.” said Marian. I felt like a spectator to the conversation, though I didn’t really need to say anything. Marian voiced my thoughts pretty well. “Yeah, it is an easy mistake,” continued the receptionist. “There are rat and mouse traps that are closed so that only the rodent can fit in them, safe for cats and dogs. That is what I always get.” She got up, “I’ll be back okay. Go ahead and fill out the paperwork.” She left. Marian started on the forms while I slowly stroked Val’s small head. My heart beat weakly. “It was supposed to be ‘rat’ poison, not poison for a rat terrier.” “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered. “You’re not going to be in pain-anymore. You’re going to be okay.” I tried to convince myself .

12 You and I together, we are a team, remember. I thought this, but when he looked at me, it seemed that he understood. All the small moments begin to flash by my eyes. Val jumping up and down on the pen gate to see me when I stepped out back. Him playing in the park, running around me in a bunched run . In winter, Val eating up the snow like ice-cream. His spindly legs kicking me when he rolled in the grass. Stacking so expertly in practice and preparation for the show. Val wearing his new pumpkin Halloween costume that was too short on him, not quite reaching down his long back. The costume that he would never wear come Halloween... My breath came in small huffs. I was dying with him, or so my heart made me believe. Maybe it was just this part of my heart that was dying. My sister stood up and gave the lady receptionist the papers. “Okay, thank you. It shouldn’t be too long,” she said with a nod. Those damn squirrels. We would never have got that stupid poison if it were not for them. I murmured only loud enough for Marian to hear me. “If it wasn’t them, it would have been the mice.” She said slow and calculated. “I know. It’s just so... dumb,” I said weakly. Then asked, “Do you think that it was because of me?” “Why, because you left the door open? No, I don’t think so, because if he didn’t get in the garage then, he would have eventually. He is always climbing out of the pen,” Marian said, putting her hand on my back. I swallowed, trying to find my words. “Because—he had been bleeding on Saturday,” I cracked, “And I... I thought that he just had bit... his tongue!” I croaked out. “You didn’t know, and even if you had known, it was the weekend, the vet was closed. There was nothing you could have done.” She sounded wise, I thought. “I should have known,” I said feeling a bit better, though the guilt held fast to my gut. I hugged Marian:

“I am so glad you’re here.” I whispered into her hair. I knew I could not have been here without her. She gave me a small squeeze with her hands letting me know that she cared. We let go of our embrace. I looked down at Val, and with my thumb and fingers I stroked his silky ear. “Why did you have to get out boy? You never used to.” I knew that was a lie once I said it. He used to be tied. For a while he had stopped getting out of the pen, and I guess I had got too relaxed. “I think he got used to not being left behind,” said Marian. “Yea,” I said, numb with the realization: Was that the source of all this awful ordeal? I had given him attention and then took it away. He being accustomed to it, got bored and climbed out of the dog pen. If I had never showed him attention, he would not have known what he was missing. Or maybe that is what I convinced myself, but it didnt matter if it was just wishful thinking I believed it. This is all my fault, I thought. If there was a way to change it, I would. Where did it all go wrong? Then I knew. When it all changed, the start of a chain reaction. I could have saved two with one stone, as it were. If only this was a nightmare, I would wake up and fix what was messed up. I believe it started with this one event that changed everything.

*

It was a warm day in April: Today was an important day. It was my day off of work and was just two weeks until the first dog show of my last 4-H year. I washed Cinnamon. She is a German-Shepard, Border-Collie, Husky, Australian-Shepherd, Rottweiler mix. It’s a mouthful, I know. Most people say she is a mutt. I don’t like that term, she is nothing inferior. If you don’t know the breed then a Heinz-57 or an all American dog will do just fine. After I washed Cinnamon, I was towel drying her in the living room. “Mom, I am having a thought! You want to go for a drive?” I asked mom.

13Mom and I were the only ones home that day. Marian was at work. It was a perfect day for a drive, not too hot. We loaded the dogs into the car. Cinnamon, Val, and Tess jumped up in the back and off we went. Sun was shining in the horizon, the breeze was lovely. “The res?” Mom asked as she drove. “Yea!” I said eagerly. We laughed, talked, and enjoyed each others company. We talked about what we might have for dinner since it was just us. When we got there, mom pulled up to the ticked booth. No one was there. I hopped out to grab a sticker for the windshield. We drove on down a pretty tree lined dirt road. “I’ve never been down this way,” I said. “It’s beautiful,” said mom, driving slowly. “Breathtaking,” I agreed. We turned left, then some deer appeared in out path. “Oh! I need a picture,” I said as I pulled my camera out. “Hurry, “ said mom, “someone is behind us.” “I am so happy I got that Mom!” Mom smiled as she drove on and parked in a empty lot. The surrounding area was filled with trees. There was one grassy field off to the right, I stood in it watching the sunset. It was perfect for an evening hike in the woods with my babies. Not after one minute of being there, someone pulled up. I just had let my dogs out to stretch. “Excuse me?” came a firm female voice. “Uh, yes?” I turned to see a park-ranger. “You can’t have dogs off leash,” she said in a cold stern voice. “I thought out of the city limits it is okay?” I said to the woman. “It’s not, unless it is on your own land,” said the woman. That’s not right... I thought, but I knew there was no arguing with her. “Can you get them on leash now?.” I called them and put them back in the car. “Thank you,” She said curtly as she went back to her car and sat there

watching us. “That’s a lie!” Mom said when I told her what the woman said to me. “It doesn’t matter, mom, What are we going to do, she won’t believe us,” Both of us annoyed, we drove out of the area, the park ranger followed not far behind. We stopped at the city park. I was very annoyed at this point. I can’t believe that woman! She basically escorted us out of the park. I was thinking, enraged. I let the dogs run lose. Normally it was fine. They came like the champions they were. This time I wasn’t paying attention for a moment: a moment is all it takes. One second I am walking along staring at the trees. The next, the dogs all take off after something that I realize is a squirrel that is heading across the road. In one second, I see the van traveling fast right for them. I scream “Cinnamon!” and “STOP!” at the Van. They didn’t even slow. She was in the road at that point. I froze, unable to move. Do something! My mind yelled inside, but I stood there dumbfounded, rooted to the spot for an eternity that was really only a second. In slow motion, the van ran into Cinnamon; she flew like one of those test dummies you see in the movies. Turning mid air and landing on the curb behind the van. In a second, my life changed.

*

The receptionist came over to sit with us again. “I’m sorry for the long wait, I know it’s just awful for you girls!” she said. It had been over half an hour that we had sat there. “Do you know how much longer?” asked Marian. “I don’t believe it will be that much longer. He was in surgery. If you want, we can get someone else.” “No we can wait,” said Marian. She looked at me and we both thought the same thing-- we had an arrangement with that vet. “Thank you,” I said, giving her a hug, and I meant it. She didn’t have to

14go out of her way to be nice to us. She returned my hug warmly. “You’ve been so kind.” I said when I pulled away. “Aw, you’re welcome. It’s the least I could do, honey.” “Well, not everybody cares, and I am so grateful that you do,” I said, finally voicing one of my thoughts. “You’re welcome,” she said again. The office phone rang, taking away the receptionist. I stroked Val’s ear and my mind wandered. Cinnamon went to the vet. She could have lost her life, let alone her back leg, broken in three places. Miraculously, she eventually walked again, if never the same. Two weeks later, the first show kicked off with Val, who took up her place in the show ring. He had a knack for the spotlight. Showmanship was tricky, but he placed third runner up. Rally and Obedience he came in first place, and overall Grand Champion. I could not have been prouder of the little man. We started practicing daily. It took us awhile to figure out our flow together in showmanship; though like he had been with everything, he was a natural. Each show he got a higher score. We went to a show in Rye in early summer. I still remember what the judge thought. She told me that it would take a long time before Val and I worked together as well as Cinnamon and I had, and by the time we did, I would age out of 4-H, according to her. I was determined to prove that he was just as capable to be just as incredible. Though time was not on our side, we only had this last year of 4-H left before I aged out. To show him properly, I had to first learn more about his breed and how they show. Rat Terriers range from 8-14 inches for miniatures, to larger breed standards at 15-18 inches. He stood at 15 and a half inches. He was cow hocked. Because of that, he would never be able to show in a professional confirmation ring outside of 4-H. Over the summer, through 9 dog shows, two class practices a week, and countless workouts, we improved our techniques. The State Fair came faster

than years past. Perhaps it felt that way because this was our last. Val and I were called into the show ring for senior showmanship three times before the day’s placing. He came in second overall Grand Champion. Grand Champion in Rally beginner, Tess, my dog who was also there, earned Grand Champion in Rally excellent. Val accomplished what it took others years to do in less thAn 6 months. Not only achieving the goal, but becoming the star, that year ended quite literally wrapped in a bow.

*

“Val,” a voice came from at the end of the room. The woman was blurred from the steam behind my sunglasses. It’s time, I thought, losing what little self control I had left. My eyes stung, my breath came in little gasps. I grasped my sister’s hand tightly in mine. “Here,” I squeaked out, letting her know we were present. I fumbled in gathering up my stuff, then we proceeded out of the waiting room.

*

Val’s footprint sits on the shelf along side a ceramic dog and an angel. Outside, a glass plant holder made into a fox looks like him. I don’t always believe in Heaven, but when I look there I can feel his presence; he is there waiting for me. Sometimes when I close my eyes and open them, I see him in the corner of my eye, wagging his thick beaver tail, with his glowing golden eyes. Val and Tess’s baby lives with our neighbors. When I visit, I can see the resemblence of Val in his daughter’s eyes, and I know at least a part of him lives on, watching the world.

I prize the memories that we made together and I would never change them, but at that time I believed that if I could change one event, Cinnamon being hit by the van, would have somehow saved Val as well, and who knows? Maybe it would have. All I know is memories are all we have in the end.

15DichotomyWilliam Bruce Huntsman

16Little SwingerAngy Ocasio

17Chupacabra TrailCharles Zeis

18

tonightMichael Archuleta

My tribe follows the paved black river,under the aligned fluorescent moons. With nomadic thoughts the destinations differ,with the help of the nights iridescentreflections.

In steel animals of no soul or features, on our journey they rely on us as the teachers. The dark and light start to blur,as beasts without legs start to stir Different blood same litter. In the pale moonlight, none roam alone To places where we only hear the wind purr We don’t look to the world; we offer our own sights;Tonight.

19

Close your eyes and imagine running through fields of wild-blossom daisies. The day is long and the night much longer, but now it’s time to rest.

Close your eyes and dream one last time of sunshine and wild-blossom daisies.The wind is warm like my voice in your ear, and it should remind you that you are loved. Stand again, and have no fear in your field of wild-blossom daisies.

Close your eyes and smell the air, sweet and fresh the garden grows. The sun it glows in western skies, orange and gold and blue, of Eden soon you’ll know…

Of endless fields of wild-blossom daisies.

Grandmother VineyardAndrew Lewis Foster

20just a dreamDean de Koevend

21

I want to know your destiny, but I don’t want the conversation to end.At first, it’s easy to judge you by your cover. You’re somewhat predictable. I like to think that I know what I’m getting myself into.

I lean into you as you peel back your layers. Running my fingertips across you brings me back to reality. My eyes are pierced on your lips. My heart hangs on to your every word. I crave closure, a sign, SOMETHING. It’s evident that I’m into you, but the reality is the more I know, the less there is to learn.

Slowly I lose interest but then you call me and I’m reminded of your charm. You capture my attention and suddenly I’m in the same dilemma as before,

I want to know your destiny, but I don’t want the conversation to end.

On a Blind Date With a Book Marissa Graham

22

There I was, sitting in my deep purple room, with the phone number dialed on my phone, but afraid to push the “call” button. I’m fifteen years old, yet I feel like I’m twenty-five, an adult. I pushed the “call” button. The numbers on my cell phone key pad transformed into incessant ringing; the anticipation grew as my thoughts were shuffling into uncertainty— what am I going to say? What am I supposed to say? Ringing. My thoughts were screaming at my actions, as if my brain grew a pair of hands, grasping my head, shaking it, exclaiming, “Ashley, what are you going to say? You really think they’re going to take you seriously?” I looked around—boxes. My circumstances were telling me different: I said to myself, “you need to do this.” More ringing. … I hate this, I hate this house; everything that happened here. I hate boxes. Gosh. I’m starting to hate this purple room. I remember when we painted it years ago. I could smell the potent chemicals of the freshly glazed paint for days after. It made me feel so happy, enamored, at home. That was the first time I ever painted my own room. It felt like it was my own, a piece of myself, my sanctuary. I guess I just— hate leaving. I think I might even hate her. “Hello? Hello?” “Oh. Oh, hello.” I cleared my throat. “This is Jones-Healy Realtors, how can I help you?” “Uh—um, I saw that you guys had this rental place up on Bellflower Drive. The name on the sign was—Kim? I think … Well, the sign there said that you had to call this number and—” “I’ll transfer you to Kim.” Tacky instrumental music flooded my cell phone speaker, as I skimmed through my copy of the informational pamphlet that was left on the “FOR RENT” sign for interested tenants. My sister drove me there last Tuesday after school, and we peered at the little place. “I think it looks alright. It’d work for us and dad.” I grabbed my copy of the pamphlet and on we went. “This is Kimberly, how can I help you today?” “Hi, this is—uh, Ashley, I—um, was wondering if I could see this rental place on Bellflower Drive? We’re looking for a new place.” “Of course, I can arrange a date for us to meet and I’ll show you around the place. Let me check my calendar, one second.”Does she really think I’m an adult? Wow, I’m getting good at this. See, we’re going to be just fine without her. “How about this Friday at two o’clock? I’ll meet you there.” “Oh—um, cool, yeah, sounds good! Thanks.” “See you then, Ashley.” My cell phone speaker clicked as she hung up the phone. Wow, I did it. We’re going to get a place, this place. I knew we’d be just fine without her. I gazed around at my purple room. I wonder if they’ll let me paint my room in our new place purple, like this …

ChameleonAshley Lowe

23

*

I remember going to the Home Depot to pick out our paint colors with my mom. We sorted through the color palettes one by one, until we found the perfect shade—and boy, was it perfect. It was perfect for a while. Then things changed. The paint faded away from time. And so did they—they faded. My mom faded away from my dad, my trust faded away from her, my hope faded away from everything. When I was little, I remember asking my mom what her favorite color was. She always said that she loved all of the colors of the rainbow. She couldn’t just decide on one. So I went to school the next day and came home with a paper rainbow. She’s always been a chameleon. I never knew if she’d be happy one day or sad the other—pure as white one day and then dark, cold as black the other. I look back to that day, when we went to pick out our paint, sorting through the endless color palettes and shades, and I wonder why she left us. I wonder if she just couldn’t sort through her own color palettes. I wonder if she just couldn’t find the right shade, if none of them felt right for her. And most of all, I wonder every day, every waking moment, every second of my life, when I see my friends with their mothers, creating an even greater bond than they already have, or when Mother’s Day comes around and I celebrate nothing, I wonder why she had to leave to find herself. Twenty-eight years they were married. And then one day she was done. All that was left was the eviction notice. Two weeks to get out. My dad had no money. And we had no home, nowhere to go. But now we did. I pretended to be somebody else for a while, and now we have another place. I stared at the call log on my cell phone. I just called a realtor. My room never felt the same. I never found the comfort in that deep, rich purple again. I don’t want to. I’m afraid to. At that moment, I grew up.

24DavidJill Brown

25

Well, hello there! Are you enjoying your walk? It is a beautiful day for it. I noticed you were looking at my little Gnome Garden, as I call it. Would you like to come into the yard for a closer look? It is interesting, if I say so myself. I love working in my yard but that garden is my favorite section. We, I mean, I am constantly working on it seeing how to make it better. It attracts a lot of different creatures, like butterflies and such. I’m glad you like it. You like gnomes and fairies, too?!? How wonderful! You have always hoped that they were real? Can you stay awhile and visit? I would enjoy the company while I work on the garden in a moment, and you can help if you like. Shhh! Listen very carefully! Can you hear them? Watch carefully! Can you see them? Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not. Here, sit down beside me. We have to be real still and you have to believe as you said you wanted to. Garden gnomes are real….. They are very shy and will only come out if they feel safe. They won’t talk to us, at least not directly. When they feel comfortable with us being here, they will come out and just start working. It is really fascinating to watch! I love sitting here and watching them. The non-believers can’t see them. While we wait for them, would you like to hear how I first met them? You would?!? Great! Well, I was working in my yard on a beautiful spring day and decided to clear out the small corner area by the back porch As you can see, it isn’t very big. I couldn’t really do much with it, but I decided to try to plant a few flowers in it. First, I had to clear out the miscellaneous garden tools and pots that seemed to accumulate in it. When I started to move a broken clay pot that was upside down, out of the corner of my eye I saw something run at me! At first, I thought it was a small lizard running on its hind legs. Then I realized it was only about two inches tall, and it wasn’t a lizard! It was a little man! Well, a kind of man. He had on a little red pointed cap and was wearing a blue shirt and pants. It was a garden gnome who had come to live in my garden! He was running at me to keep me from moving the pot because it was his home. I then saw under the pot what you could call furniture. The gnome was very clever making his furniture from things he found in my yard. He was using an old wooden thread spool for a table and a bottle cap for a chair. He had shaped twigs into a bed and covered it with pieces of cloth. He was using

My Gnome GardenDeborah G. Murphy

a small seashell that my daughter had left in the yard to hold some nuts and berries. When I saw all of this I carefully put the pot back the way it was. The gnome just stared at me as if he couldn’t believe I didn’t destroy it. I wasn’t sure how to explain to him that I meant him no harm, that he was welcome to this small area in my yard. I had always believed in garden fairies and gnomes. I was so happy to finally see one and have him live in my yard! It was funny when he realized that I could see him! He was ready to run and hide. I didn’t want him to leave! So as not to startle him, I very slowly sat down on the ground and put my hands in my lap. I figured by putting my hands in my lap he would know I wasn’t planning on grabbing him. I wanted him to understand I meant him no harm. Even though I wasn’t sure if he would understand me, I spoke very softly telling him that he was welcome to that area for as long as he wanted to stay. When he seemed to understand what I was saying I then told him I would like to clean it up for him. Watching his reaction, I carefully moved out all the junk. He didn’t seemed concerned with anything but that old clay pot. He then allowed me to plant some flower seeds along the wall. I know he cared for them because for the first time flowers actually grew in that area! As a way to thank him, I decided to make him a new home that would protect him better during bad weather. I covered a flower pot with tiny stones with a green moss roof. I made a little wooden door and windows of colored glass. I didn’t move his furniture into it. I just sat it in the corner of the garden to see if he liked it. I guess he did because I noticed he had moved himself into it the next day. For fun, I put some tiny outdoor furniture and some colored stones for a walkway in his “yard.” It seems he enjoys them because they are being used. Before long, another gnome came to live in the garden and help out. Then I noticed we had a garden fairy, also. Well, time to make another house for our growing population. This time I made a ceramic mushroom complete with a door and a window. The fairy claimed that as hers. She seems very happy in it! The happier they are, the prettier my yard is becoming. Oh! I can see by the look on your face that you hear and see them! Aren’t they wonderful?! Yes, of course you can stay longer! You are welcome any time to come and visit us.

26

Beautiful SunsetZachary Thallas

Playing out in the distance is a beauty many see, but forget to marvel at, Large puffy blackish grey clouds wash in over the mountains dancing with the dark pink sky. Under this marvel a simple man sat, Just fixated on the beauty that most men will come by. But with a different eye, and a different mind, This sight to him was like no other. This wasn’t another simple beautiful sunset to him, because of the meaning it enshrined. Because for him as the clouds danced through the sky, memories danced through his mind, And each and every second that passed brought out one memory after another. And underneath this marvel above, sat a different kind of wonder. There sat a man lost in his past, Playing out his favorite bits. And all these memories were amassed, From one simple beautiful sunset.One’s memories of past occurrences. Bring out the marvels on this earth. And to some people the memories that occur are disturbances, And because of this most people don’t see the worth. So the next time you see a beautiful sunset. Do as the man did who was happy with what he saw. Because to be happy with what you are looking at ahead of you, you must not forget: To look at the times that gave you the best memories, instead of looking at every flaw.

27Self-PortraitWilliam Bruce Huntsman

28

JoojooSusan May Pelto

He waited for Joojoo in the food court without the usual anticipation. They had had their fourth date just a few days ago. She was cute, and fun, and he wanted to find out more, so he’d asked her what her idea of a romantic date was.

“Shopping for jewelry,” she had replied. Whoa. Not wine and cheese and fireplaces or mountains and picnics and crystal clear streams.

His friend Marvin was blunt. “Dude, she’s hinting for the ring. Women can tell after the third date, according to that movie anyway. It might be true.”

“Stevie!” she cried as she rushed up to him. Did she own anything without sequins? She threw her arms around him and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re right on time! Let’s start at Bella Aurum.”

Clutching his arm, she swept him through the busy corridors to the biggest jewelry store in the mall. Also one of the ritziest. Customers had to ring a bell and be buzzed in.

“Good afternoon, I’m Lance. How may I help you today?” said a smiling salesman pouncing from halfway down the store. “Engagement ring?”

“Good grief,” he thought. “He looks like a Hunger Games party guest.”

“We’re just out shopping, today,” chirped Joojoo. Wait, did she just bat her eyelashes at Lance, the Hunger Games extra? “I like things that are fun.” Now she was giggling. Up until now, he’d always liked the way she giggled.

“We have some really fun brooches and pins over here, perfect to wear on jean jackets and sweaters…” Lance cocked his eyebrow at Joojoo with an inquiry.

“My name’s Jewel,” said Joojoo. “My friends call me Joojoo.”

“How precious!” gushed Lance, staring into her eyes. Steve rolled his eyes and as they swept across the store, met those of a young woman shopping with a gray-haired man.

Joojoo and Lance were giggling and laughing over a tray of sparkling...whatever they were. He backed away, feeling left out, but not particularly sorry about it.

A voice came from near his right shoulder. “She’s your…?” It was the young woman from across the store. Her face was wonderful. Not pretty, exactly, but interesting.

“My soon-to-be ex-girlfriend,” he answered. “And he’s your…?”

“Dad. We were getting a little present for Mom’s birthday.”

“Oh, Stevie!” trilled Joojoo as she came up. “Lancie goes on break in half-an-hour, and I’m going to have coffee with him. Maybe he’ll give me a discount!” She giggled and turned back to Lance.

“Enjoy!” he replied. “I hate being called ‘Stevie.’” he muttered.

“Me, too,” said the young woman. He looked into her eyes for a moment.

“If I’m not being too personal, would you tell me what your idea of a romantic date is?”

“Spending time together, not money.” She had a great smile.

“I’m thirsty,” he said as he held the door open for her. “Where would you like to go?”

*

“So, my friend,” asked Marvin, “do you think you’ll be getting a ring for this one?”

“Maybe. The little present for her mom cost her dad ten thousand dollars.”

29Something I can FeelCheyenne Kavan

30on the wingDean de Koevend

31GargoyleMorgan M. Kittleson

32

ExerciseKaren l. Foglesong

Wonder/ing The highest skill

Claimed differentiation Celebrated

Disdained

Too much creates exclusion Too little loses function Practice needed yet lazy dazes abound A muscle not used becomes unfound

Superstition unclear The fear of foolishness creates the fool I, me, am so much…too much

To hear Another’s, other’s, any – Clipped wings… Mediocrity made the bar No thought, no flight. Less is best? Wisdom branded wicked Simply…unfathomable. The miracle of omnipotence… Embedded spark – passed on To create… a need Yet, only temptation? Labored suppression No reason - pacification – control Accepted – few exceptions Envied even… clichés multiplied

of …

u no – like – um – yeah that – wot she sed No interest

- no flight – stagnation.

33Up in the AirAngy Ocasio

34

Michael Archuleta was abandoned as a baby in Ural Mountains but was fortunately found and raised by a pack of wild albino pugs. Need we say more?

Jill Brown will graduate May 2016 with two degrees: AA/AAS-Visual Communications. Her drawing titled David was her first attempt at art after not picking up a pencil in 30 years. The drawing Madame Butterfly is a study in color and design. Jill considers herself a positive resource to those in need. After graduation, she will be attending the University of Northern Colorado where she will pursue a Bachelor’s and Master’s Degree in Business Management.

Karen Foglesong is a multi-media artist who also enjoys helping others to reach their creative potential. She currently teaches in the Humanities Department at PCC.

Andrew Foster: This was written as a eulogy for Andrew’s grandmother. You can find more of his work on his tumblr blog: thedreadpirateglitterbeard.tumblr.com. Andrew has always had a passion for writing and reading and is currently studying Philosophy and English at Pueblo Community College.

Marissa Graham is someone who looks at the glass as being half full but having no filter.

Caitlin Haddan is currently attending PCC as a full-time student and work-study. She is a vivacious, driven, aspiring writer. Caitlin spends her free time showing her dog, reading and writing stories, and volunteering. Her passion for writing and her love for pets contributed to the memoir The Waiting Room.

Biographies

William Bruce Huntsman is a Western Kentucky native and 16 year resident of Colorado. He was a member of the printing and publishing industry for many years. Now retired, he is living a lifetime dream of pursuing his love of painting and fine art as a student at PCC majoring in Studio Art.

Dennis Trujillo Johnson sees himself as a teacher, and his poetry is one way that he shares his insights with others. He has been previously published in The Final Note. Mr. Trujillo Johnson has been an employee at PCC since 1992 in the Student Success division and has been a part-time instructor in English and Psychology since 2001.

Cheyenne Kavan is an art major who is passionate about portrait painting. She is inspired by travel and people’s eccentricities.

Ashley Lowe is a student at Pueblo Community College pursuing an Associate of Arts degree. She plans to transfer to Colorado State University-Pueblo in the fall to earn a Bachelor’s degree in English. She is aspiring to be a secondary-level English educator and wishes to share with students her passion for literature and the art of writing.

Deborah G. Murphy is attending PCC along with two of her children. She will be 60 years young when she graduates in 2017. Her favorite class is ceramics where she enjoys making houses for her gnome garden.

Angy Ocasio is a mixed media artist who has worked with acrylics, ceramics, printmaking, photography, videography, and digital editing. Her goal is to have experience with as many mediums as she can in order to be able to combine them within her work. Angy is currently working with jewelry and sculpture/three dimensional work at Pueblo Community College.

35

A Pueblo native, Susan May Pelto majored in English at the University of Northern Colorado and minored in Theater Arts and Educational Media, graduating magna cum laude. She has had two plays produced, winning the New Rocky Mountain Voices competition with one. She believes that all fiction must contain some truth or it won’t resonate with the audience. Some of her favorite authors are C.J. Cherryh, Lois McMaster Bujold, Tom Clancy, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Bernard Cornwell.

Nancy Saathoff is a photographer, artist and musician.

Christopher L. Spino is a full-time student at PCC and enjoys botany and warm days in the sun.

Zachary Thallas is currently pursuing an Associates of General Studies degree with an emphasis in Computer Information Systems. Upon graduation, he plans to transfer to a university and major in Computer Hardware Engineering and minor in Mathematics. He loves math but also loves to write in his spare time.

Charles Zeis is an oil painter and fine art photographer who lives, works, and studies in Southern Colorado. He specializes in oil paintings and archival digital images of people and other subjects that use non-traditional color schemes and wavy brush strokes to express nature in a metaphorical way. He expects to receive the AA degree in Studio Art from Pueblo Community College within the next year.