Wanda C. Rogers, Writer

08/04/2017

This photo goes with the short story, "The Return" I posted on February 7th. If you haven't read it you can scroll down and see the connection.

05/04/2017

Have been saving this short story for a while and now seems like a good time to post it. This story takes place the last time we were "forest dwellers."

The Hitchhiker

I’m one of those people that believe everything happens for a reason. Evidently I needed a reminder about what is important and New Mexico has a way of clearing away the rubbish and getting down to the basics. Overlooking the Moreno Valley with ten miles of view to Eagle Nest Lake and the Colorado mountains in the background, my husband and I built our retirement home at 9,000 feet in Angel Fire, a place people go to escape. From our deck a bird could fly approximately one mile and be at the ski slopes and a half mile in another direction to the golf course. Ninety percent of America would look at me and think I’m suffering from Affluenza. I must admit it’s easy to get used to a comfortable life style, although I don’t think of myself that way. We moved to “the Boonies” to get away from a hectic, materialistic urban existence in Houston, wanting to be close to nature, peace and quiet and a simpler lifestyle. Our transportation, a 1996 four-wheel drive Tahoe with aggressive looking snow tires, took us safely through the frequent snow anywhere from two inches to four feet and over dirt roads which lead to home with a two-hundred-fifty feet driveway with forty-five degrees slope, which made life feel like an adventure everyday.
Consequently, my husband did most of the driving down the mountain twenty-four miles to Taos to the nearest grocery store or other necessary trips, like a doctor visit. This particular day, an early summer day with no worries of snow or ice, I was allowed out alone to drive myself to Taos. Feeling like a lamb that just lost its’ winter coat (I take my long underwear off in May) I did a few errands and started the return path home up the mountain. Approaching the turn to the mountainous stretch home, I see a woman standing on the side of the road holding a sign, Angel Fire- dentist. For some reason I thought, going to the dentist, that may be important, since my dad was a dentist. Spontaneously, I knew that she was waiting for me to pick her up. I turned the corner and pulled over. Between pulling over and before the woman got into my car, I panicked. My logical brain started bombarding me, Why? You should never pick up a hitchhiker, what if she has a weapon, wants the car or my purse? What if she is violent and hurts me? There was no time for answers, I only threw my purse in the back seat and she opened the door. She was dressed in well-worn clothes with work boots, a brown jacket that looked like it had seen better days and a floppy sun hat pulled down over short brown hair. She climbed into the front seat and pushed her backpack under the dashboard and let her walking stick rest between the seat and the door.
As the Tahoe shifts into a lower gear and moves forward, she breathlessly begins to talk before she is settled in her seat. “I’m so happy you stopped. You see, I left Tres Pieadres this morning before sun-up to hitch-hike over here, thirty-five miles. You know it’s getting harder and harder to hitch-hike and make any progress. People are afraid to pick up people anymore, and I can’t say I blame them. There ‘re thieves and murderers and rapists who ruin it for us honest hitch-hikers.
“I nervously laugh, “I’m glad you are one of the honest hitch-hikers. I don’t ever pick up hitch-hikers, but something told me to stop, you must be special.”
“Well, I am special in a way. This is a very important day for me. Today I get my new teeth at the Angel Fire dentist. I’ve been wearing these so long and they don’t fit well anymore. Plus, since you’re giving me a ride up the mountain, I may get back down the mountain by three and get my new leg too. If not, I’ll have to sleep somewhere and get it tomorrow.”
Shocked, all I can say is “My goodness, I hope it works out for you. Where would you sleep?”
“Oh, I can find a place at a picnic area or if I get to Taos, I know someone there. Also, I know where the homeless hang out. I recruit homeless teen-agers to come to my farm. I give them a place to sleep in the loft of my barn and they tend to my horses and I teach them how to exist off the land and off the grid. My horses are my only transportation and farming help. They pull my plow and take me where I need to go when it’s safe for them. It’s a valuable education for these kids, some of them even go back home after living at my place, just can’t hack it.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. Do you grow your own food?”
“Of course. So if the youngsters come we just grow more food.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“As long as I can remember. Probably started seriously after my motorcycle accident when I lost my leg and teeth, more than fifteen years. I wasn’t sure how long this trek would take me, so I left out enough food and water for the horses that will last for three days and just hope I’m back by then. But, enough about me, how long have you been around here?”
“Just going on three years. My husband and I retired here after living in Houston for twelve years.”
“Don’t think I’ll ever hitch-hike to Houston.”
“No need. We left as soon as we could.”
“What did you do in Houston?”
“I was an art teacher.”
“Wow, we’re sisters! I’m an artist, too. I make sculptures out of found objects and sell them at different locations along the roadside near my home. You’d be surprised at how many people stop and buy something. It helps pay for things.”
We go over the crest of the mountain and begin the decent into the Moreno Valley. The little woman in the passenger seat smiles broadly and I imagine her smile with new teeth. Her brown leathery skin wrinkles around her eyes, forehead and mouth, looking older than her years, but her unfathomable spirit is amazing. She is a true example of the American pioneering spirit, a hang-over from the nineteenth century. As we approach the end of her destination, I turn into the parking lot at the dentist’s office, she looks at me and smiles.
“Sure do appreciate the ride, if the dentist can see me soon, I might make it home tonight.”
“I certainly hope you do, and it’s been my pleasure; I truly enjoyed the conversation.” I looked at her as she hustled her things and scrambled out of the car.
Looking back at me, we made eye contact and she said, “Good luck to you, Sister.” Slamming the big door, she smiled and waved good-bye. That was my first and probably only hitch-hiker and the funny thing is, I hated to see her go.

05/04/2017

Hi Friends, Just an update. Mid January we put our house on the market. Had a contract by Valentine's Day and moved into our new location March 24th. Consequently, we have been too busy to communicate. We are now in Brevard, NC. and once again "forest dwellers," which we love. It is so peaceful and beautiful here.

02/07/2017

I'm posting this story now because I wrote it 12/14/16, wanting a creative distraction since we were leaving town for Christmas. I was recuperating from having some hardware taken out of my ankle and needed a distraction. The story touches on a premise that I have been pondering for a book. As you are probably aware, the movie THE PURPOSE OF A DOG is out or coming out soon. You might say that is ironic that my dog story has a similar theme, but I have another theory which I may share later, along with some other related stories that I'm pondering. If you have any opinions or theories related to this coincidence, please share.

The Return

It’s nearly time. Seems like forever since the small soft hands lightly touched my back, caressing and fluffing, running fingers between and under my coat, setting off a chain reaction of shivers and shakes and quivers. My whole body trembles in excitement as I see her human form, eyes wide in search of the familiar, slowly walking, a misty fog backlighted by the intense light that guides the transition. Carrie was so small that fateful day, not even four years old and Jeffrey was just two. If you put those two together, all four hands and arms that wrapped around my big furry chest and two faces that nestled in my neck, two bodies that straddled my back and rolled over me like a play thing on the carpet, we probably equaled in size. Still, there are two of them and I am the focus of their loving play.
Anxiously sitting in wait for her eyes to catch mine, I stare at my human who’s changed in twenty-two earth years. What if she doesn’t remember me? I look the same except for my enhanced perceptive abilities which she’ll notice when our eyes meet. She’s wandering, looking for a sign, guidance, and meaning to this place where she finds herself. Now it’s my turn. Standing, assuming my English Sheepdog stance, looking fluffy and shaggy as sheepdogs do, I start by wagging my short cropped tail that eventually reverberates into my hips, body and shoulders until my front legs are dancing up and down and my head is bobbing so my fur just vibrates. I yip and woof and bounce back and forth like a Quarter horse. I bow down in front, with hind quarters up and bouncing from one hip to another as my back legs pound a fast short rhythm. All of my contorted movements attract her eyes and she sees me. Eyes connected, I freeze. My whole body quivers and a surge of energy runs down my spine, momentarily paralyzed. As if electrocuted I shoot forward bounding down the hill, stretching longer my stride and gaining speed, my fur flying in the wind like I could leave it behind. I run in circles around her, gradually moving inward like any good sheep dog. Carrie is standing in the middle, her expression changing from confusion and wonder to knowing awe and excitement. She falls to her knees opening her arms wide, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. I move inward, bump her down and stand above licking her face. Carrie giggles and cackles and laughs like a child. She grabs my neck, pulls me down beside her, arms wrapped around my chest. We both lie there, tall soft grass and rolling hills around; Carrie releases her fear and apprehension in tears and I lick them away. Sitting up we both assume our familiar positions, upright with Carrie’s arm around my shoulder.
I tell Carrie my thoughts, “I’m so sorry about that day, I wanted to stay and be with you as you grew up.” As if looking through a window, suddenly the past replays itself. Carrie and Jeff are hugging my neck and trying to tickle my ears with their small fingers, until I shake my head vigorously, ears flapping. Carrie and Jeff roll over on their backs laughing. This day is different; when I shake my head again, my tooth catches Jeffrey on the forehead. Suddenly blood is flowing. I try to help as Angie runs to tell Mom, “Simon bit Jeffrey and he’s bleeding.” Mom and Angie take Jeff to the Emergency Room for stitches. Meanwhile, Daddy learns what happened and I am hauled back to my original home 20 miles away, before Mom or Jeff or anyone can come to my defense. The whole family is upset and I sense it, I know my people want me. My homing sense takes me through rolling countryside until I reach the Interstate. Turning homeward I run and run, my heart in my stride, until, until I’m here. Now, after our happy reunion, I can take another mission as Simon, the bear chasing Golden Retriever of New Mexico.

07/28/2016

Hello strangers, I know I've been absent for a long time. Sorry, but I've been distracted by another book. I stopped querying for literary agents last year in February when I decided this journey needed a change of course. I haven't given up on The Unintentional Journey but put it on the back burner for now, because it was written from my viewpoint, the only one I could relate to at the time. I realized if I told the story from Carrie's viewpoint, more people would relate to her and that is my ultimate goal: understanding, tolerance and respect for the mentally ill. The new book is titled The Puppet. Stay tuned for more info soon.

01/23/2015

Please read my recent article in the Greenville Journal and share: http://www.greenvillejournal.com/opinions/in-my-own-words/4004-real-help-for-the-mentally-ill.html

01/23/2015

In my own words, please read and share:Link: http://www.greenvillejournal.com/opinions/in-my-own-words/4004-real-help-for-the-mentally-ill.html

Bronze sculpture, oil paintings and prints by contemporary artist Wanda C. Rogers,from the Land of Enchantment,Angel Fire,Northern New Mexico, Bald Head Island.Her works include oil paintings,limited edition figurative and pear bronzes,contempory still-li

10/30/2014

Bald Head Island,image, oil,painting,Wanda C. Rogers,artist,crossing,over to the island (Contemporary Painting)

07/09/2014

Carrie and Jeffrey, best buddies back in 1981 on Bald Head Island. This was before lights on the beach and cookouts were banned for the nesting Logger Head Turtles.

06/01/2014

This watercolor painting is titled Old Baldy Lighthouse and Smith Island Museum of History " Old Baldy" , which I painted back in the early 80's on Bald Head Island. I sat outside and did this one in the Spring, not many people around then and you can see the trees' leaves are not thick.

05/21/2014

This is a picture of Carrie in her "Underoos", being Wonder Woman, which carried over into her adulthood, in many ways, other than just being physically fit in the gym.

05/21/2014

Carrie always was Wonder Woman, The Pioneer Woman - Ree Drummond, she and Jeffrey were always playing in their "Underoos." Interestingly, it carried over into Carrie's adulthood, she worked very hard, being physically fit and even was a personal trainer for a while.