Helen Lewison PDF: 1 to 8 of 8 results fetched - page 1 [kb]

Zoolz is the only cloud solution that keeps your data even when you disconnect your drives
Now you can translate your PDF documents automatically to dozens of languages.

Butterfly Chronicles

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/butterfly-chronicles-1...
Butterflies are fragile and almost defenseless creatures but rely on a variety of strategy to protect them, blending into their environment so well it is almost impossible to detect them. I learned about pain and loss but my ability to take wing b

I Forgot to Get Old

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/i-forgot-to-get-old-1...
I have always prided myself on having a good memory but suddenly I looked in the mirror and saw a woman with white hair. Who was she? She looked familiar, but was she someone I knew? Internally, I am still this nubile creature anxiously awaiting a

I Forgot to Get Old

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/i-forgot-to-get-old...
>

The Waco Kid(S)

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-waco-kid-s-1...
Growing up in a warm weather city is one of the best things a child could possibly want. I went barefoot most of the time and when school beckoned, I sadly had to encase my happy feet in shoes.I remember rain; wonderful rain that left pudd

I'm a Noodle, You're a Noodle Will You Marry Me

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/i-m-a-noodle-you-re-a-noodl...
Long ago I had a book of poetry and one of the poems started or possibly ended with the lines Im a noodle, youre a noodle. Will you marry me? I had read and reread many of the poems during my very young life. When we moved so many years ago, my bo

Butterfly Chronicles

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/butterfly-chronicles...
Butterflies are fragile and almost defenseless creatures but rely on a variety of strategy to protect them, blending into their environment so well it is almost impossible to detect them. I learned about pain and loss but my ability to take wing became my major defense. My father, an intellectual, arrived as a young man from Austria with a portfolio of plays, poetry and short stories. He spent his life in search of a dream to become a great writer that did not materialize. My quiet small mother was born in a small village in Hungary and she gave me the freedom to explore the world. Her warmth was my mainstay. In her eyes I could do no wrong. My silent melancholy father rarely talked. I grew up in h a home where conversation was restrained and I found myself doing all the talking. It became norm but I desperately needed to hear a sound even if it was only coming from my own lips. My brother, Morton, was an intelligent, composed gray eyed boy who also had a dream but death at the age of fourteen killed the dream and left me to grow up alone and lonely. I remember visiting Morton in the hospital as he lay foaming at the mouth in a coma. My life was never again the same. I was ten years old. I was friendly but had no real friends. I was lonely but did not spend much time alone. The beginning of my life was with no road map, no directions only following the scent of excitement, adventure and love. Watching a butterfly zigzag aimlessly across the meadow on a sunny morning, it could easily be taken for nature's most carefree vagabond - unhurried, unburdened, and even a little ditzy. But butterflies are purposeful, aggressive, sexually driven and smarter that most people think. When I was very little somebody asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up. I answered quiet emphatically; I want to be a dancing girl." Where it was luck, chance or karma, one way or the other I did become a dancing girl, dancing literally and metaphorically through life. Oh, how love played an ext

The Waco Kid(s)

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-waco-kid-s...
Growing up in a warm weather city is one of the best things a child could possibly want. I went barefoot most of the time and when school beckoned, I sadly had to encase my happy feet in shoes. I remember rain; wonderful rain that left puddles in the soft sandy loam that was the street in front of my house. I would go out when the rains stopped and sit on the curb holding handfuls of the sweet smelling moist earth to my face. The scent of fresh cut grass came in second best. I inhaled the scent of Waco. I remember the Cotton Palace. Waco is in the heart of cotton country. A fair was held once a year and I would wander up and down watching snake charmers, dancing girls, strong men and of course, cotton candy. A large machine filled with wonderful toys was there for 5 cents to manipulate a claw and if luck was with you, you were a winner of some wondrous object. The only object I ever snared was a pencil clip and I remember that distinctly. I remember Juan. He sold tamales out of a box hung by a leather strap around his neck. The inside of the box was lined with shiny metal. The smell and taste of those steamy tamales still makes me sigh with pleasure. I remember W. Lee O'Daniels and his hillbilly band. He was running for governor and the crowd loved him and his music; he became governor. I remember downtown, Goldstein, Miguel - the largest department store in town. It had a small café that served blue plate specials for 25 cents and just about everything else you wanted to buy. The best place of all was the ice cream parlor "Palace of Sweets" long marble counter, ice cream chairs and tables for the big people and the little people. I remember walking with my mother on summer nights on long strolls past Baylor University, the oldest college in Texas, which has the world's largest collection of the works of Robert Browning. I remember going for ice-cream cones with my brother one day a week when cones were two for a nickel. I would slowly savor

I'm a Noodle, You're a Noodle Will You Marry Me

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/i-m-a-noodle-you-re-a-noodl...
Long ago I had a book of poetry and one of the poems started or possibly ended with the lines "I'm a noodle, you're a noodle. Will you marry me?" I had read and reread many of the poems during my very young life. When we moved so many years ago, my book didn't make the journey. However, over the years the words "I'm a noodle, you're a noodle" have haunted me. They make me smile and remember how delighted I was reading from this magical book. I found among my belongings notebooks containing many poems I wrote in the '40's and '50's starting when I was in my late teens. I now find them quite remarkable in their psychological search for the meaning of life, my life. Some are humorous, some are quite sad but mostly I wrote randomly never expecting them to see the light of day. As I reread some of them, I thought they deserved a place in a book. Or to paraphrase, I'm noodling around and trying to weave the rhythm of my words into a pleasing word picture. The first few pages include poems I wrote at the age of 9, 10 and 11. They are not necessarily noteworthy but I thought I should include them. The old saying is that writers "write" and I started early and returned to writing about ten years later with more poetry and then much later with short, short stories, a journal, a book and another book.
[1]