Category Archives: Collection

Back In Stock: The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry

After more than a month since selling out worldwide The Spider Lady is now starting to be back in stock!

At long last back in stock on Amazon Brazil! R$93,29 Estimativa de envio de 1 a 2 meses.

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The Talisman: Part Three by Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez

Photograph by Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez
From The Talisman
From The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry

Continued from: https://markalbertoyodernunez.blog/2019/11/27/the-talisman-part-two-by-mark-alberto-yoder-nunez/

I returned to the town on the west coast from which I had started before my journeys.  I took a job in the office of an import, export business.  I oversaw the merchandise at the unloading and loading on the docks and kept track of the inventory in the warehouse.

I frequented a restaurant at the harbor.  There was a beautiful, young waitress there who waited on me.  She seemed to give me special attention, always filling my coffee cup.  She asked me if I wanted raisin bread for toast even though she said the cooks did not like her running raisin bread through the toaster.  She said the raisins got stuck in the toaster.  I said yes more to please her than myself.  I was generous to her with my tips since her attention to me was rather flattering.  Sometimes she would give me a glass of orange juice for free.  She was going to the local junior college and studying business. 

I lived in a cozy but tiny apartment in the harbor with a view of the docks and ocean from my window.  I loved to wake up in the morning, drink coffee and look out of the window.  I loved to breathe in the fresh, sea air.  My whole life was in the harbor.  

I decided to take classes at the community college after work.  I took a beginning business class and a creative writing class.  When I told the blonde waitress that I was taking classes at the city college she looked at me strangely. 

It cost a pretty penny to take these classes.  I struggled with my finances.  The students in my creative writing class appreciated my work but the teacher was overly critical.  I tried to satisfy the teacher’s criteria but I felt that he was jealous that he did not have the experiences to be able to tell the stories that I did.  At one point he said words that implied that my stories were too fantastic to be believable.  I suppressed my anger.  I had to remind myself that my goal was to just make it through the class.  To my surprise he gave me an A in the class despite his criticisms. 

I had hoped that by going to the city college I might run into the blonde waitress and actually see her someplace else besides when she was working at the restaurant.  This never happened.  It was a little depressing going to school at night in the winter when it was dark and cold.  When I awoke in the morning all I could do was drink some coffee and try to make it to work on time.  I had to grab whatever snack food I could to make it through the day.  Fortunately the harbor had its amenities.  There was a hole in the wall restaurant close to work where I loved to buy fish tacos.

I told the blonde waitress that I had finished my classes.  She seemed very interested in the things I had to talk about.  She seemed especially interested in my creative writing.  She would ask me questions about it.

After a few more months of working and trying to save money I started to pressure my bosses to let me take two weeks of vacation so I could visit my mother.  They weren’t happy.  Finally they agreed to one week.  I took it.

Soon I was on an eastbound train.  I arrived in the little, land bound town with rolling green hills.  I had spent a lot of time wandering in the woods here all alone.  When I found the house she was not there.  I was told that she had passed away.  I returned back on the train with a little package she had left me.  In it were my birth certificate, baptismal certificate, some report cards from school, honor roll certificates, my baby book and photographs.  I stared out the window of the train at the countryside passing by.  Would I ever pass this way again? 

I reported back to my job on Monday morning.  I was told I was not needed.  When I asked why I was told that my job had been given to someone new.  This was not an answer to my question but the real reason was obvious.  I had dared to stick up for my rights and ask for some vacation time.  When I had previously asked for a raise I had been told that business wasn’t so good.  I knew that this was a lie because I had overheard the owner telling his brother that their accountant had told him that their profits had never been better.  I knew this was because of me and my high level of professionalism.  My knowledge of the import, export business from my years of working the freighter ships was what made me so valuable.  

I went to the harbor restaurant.  The blonde waitress was not there.  I returned to the restaurant the next morning for breakfast.  She was not there again.  I thought this was unusual.  I asked about her.  I was told that she had graduated from school and had gone back to the inland town that she came from.

I found myself on the same familiar pier again looking at the ships and gazing out to sea.  I found myself once again wandering aimlessly along the narrow lanes of the waterfront.  I came to a narrow lane and looked along it to my right.  There was the curio shop, three shops down, on the left side of the lane!  I wasn’t in a mood to question.  My mind had been sullen.  I walked toward the door of the curio shop.  Inside I saw the oriental carpets, tapestries, silk, carved wooden figurines and beads.  These were things I now knew too well from my travels in the Orient. 

The elegant, Oriental lady was there again standing behind the counter.  Once again I looked at her with her perfect oval face and curious smile with her lips sensuously turned up slightly at the corners of her mouth.  I gazed deeply into her dark eyes.  She did the same with me in response.  I don’t know why but I reached into my inner coat pocket and pulled out the talisman.  I asked her if I could sell it back.  She nodded and said she could only give me half of the original price that I had paid.  I said, “Okay”.  She took the silver talisman from my hands.  As she put the bills and coins into my hand she held the soft skin of her hand against mine for a moment while looking into my eyes.  Then she drew her hand back and said, “It always comes back”.  She smiled and bowed her head a little.  All I could think of to say was, “Thank you”.  She nodded twice and smiled.  She looked off to the side so that I admired the beauty of her face in profile.  I walked away to the door looking back at her over my shoulder.  I went through the door to the world that was waiting for me outside.

To be continued.

Independent Book Stores: Remember to Support Your Local Indie Bookstore

Independent Book Stores Selling The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry across the USA and Canada

Finally back in Stock on Indiebound.Org and all the independent bookstores in its network!

Good Books Make Great Gifts: The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories And Poetry: Worldwide Market Places

Sold out in some marketplaces and with many retailers over the holidays! Some sellers are restocked, some are on back order, some have special order available. There are, also, new sellers.

Back in Stock on Saxo Denmark! Leveringstid 2-3 uger

Back in Stock on Barnes and Noble! Usually ships within 1 week

Now in a marketplace for Switzerland!

Back in Stock on Super Book Deals!

New Retailer in The Netherlands!

Promotion and Publicity: Quotes, Website Referrers and Affiliates

-Truly, freeing oneself in one’s own mind is only the first step on a path of freedom.-

“All evil seems to arise from the desire to dominate others. Most men in our society are taught from a very early age to try to dominate. It isn’t something that they think about consciously. It operates at a subconscious level. They are taught by the adults around them and their peers. Someone dominates them and they in turn try to dominate others. They do it without even realizing it and they do it without even thinking about why. It is without question. In their conscious awareness they may aspire to grandiose ideals but their actions speak for what really motivates them from a subconscious level.”
― Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez, The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry

Publicity

Most sold book January 2020 #78 Meistbestellte Bücher im Januar 2020 #78 The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry https://diebuchsuche.at/mb.php

Most found books in December 2019

Meistgefundene Bücher im Dezember 2019 #14Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez: The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry, EAN bzw. ISBN: 9781543957082, 3120 mal gefunden, 4 mal bestellt, neu um € 7,97 … 30,10, gebraucht um € 11,58 … 86,75 https://diebuchsuche.de/mg.php

Most ordered books in December 2019

Meistbestellte Bücher im Dezember 2019 #98 Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez: The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry, EAN bzw. ISBN: 9781543957082, 3120 mal gefunden, 4 klicks auf “Bestellen”, neu um € 7,97 … 30,10, gebraucht um € 11,58 … 86,75 https://diebuchsuche.ch/mb.php?l=0

Conversation on Social Media in Russia about The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry

Promotion

Affiliates

Website Referrers

McArthur Street: Episode Four

Photograph by Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez
from McArthur Street
by Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez

Continued from:

https://markalbertoyodernunez.blog/2019/09/11/mcarthur-street-episode-three/

Not long after becoming acquainted with Jimmy’s family John’s family next door to them moved away.  The house was vacant for a time.  One day Jimmy asked me to come along with him, his mother and younger brothers to visit with John.  Apparently John’s family had bought a brand new house.  Our neighborhood was that of very simple tract homes that appeared to have been built in the early fifties.  John’s new home was sixties style, fancier and brand new.  The tract of homes was even built on a hill and not on flat land.  He lived at the end of a curving cul-de-sac.  The home was so new that the land around it was dirt.  There was no landscaping yet.  We were taken on a tour of the new, fancy house.

      This was only the second time in my life I ever saw the younger John.  I remembered how cruelly Jimmy had treated him at the last meeting.  Much to my surprise Jimmy now treated John with the utmost respect and friendliness.  Something had suddenly changed.  He seemed to treat me with disdain as if since we had been seeing each other regularly the familiarity had turned to disrespect and contempt.  Very quickly he and John disappeared around a corner leaving me alone, alone outside a brand new house that seemed barren with no landscaping.  All I could do was wait patiently until Jimmy’s family decided to leave.  I wasn’t in a good humor on the drive back.  I was quiet.  I couldn’t wait until we arrived so I could walk back home.

Our yard was not perfect.  It wasn’t like the Miller’s who were a retired couple across the street whose lawn was perfectly green and always cut and trimmed perfectly with its perfect flower beds.  It was weedless all the time.  Our lawn was not dry but was never completely green.  There were always some weeds that needed to be pulled.  At some point my father taught all of his three sons to care for the yard but left it up to us to do so.  There was no pressure.  I think I took up most of the responsibility myself but try as I might I could never make the yard look perfect.  I watered in the evening, pulled weeds, mowed and edged the lawn and swept the walks.  My father collected a lot of nice rocks and cemented them at intervals on top of the low wall that bordered our yard.  Ours was a corner house and even though the corner of our front yard was rounded and not a sharp corner the neighborhood boys would cut across our yard for a shortcut.  Sometimes some of them would push and pull on the rocks until they pulled them out.  They seemed to want to do these things as a sign of disrespect and rebellion against authority.  I had no idea why.  I finally had to confront some of these boys and tell them they couldn’t do that.  They would want to argue and say, “Why not?” but I got them to stop.  I even got them to stop taking short cuts across our yard.

Try as I might our yard was never perfect.  However we had a very tall mulberry tree in our front yard that gave an abundance of fruit every summer.  Lots of neighborhood kids would be in our yard uninvited picking fruit including children we didn’t even know.  Eventually there was even a grown Mexican woman who we didn’t know picking fruit with the children.  My mother who was raised on a farm in Ohio knew how to bake pies from scratch and she would bake us delicious mulberry pies every summer.  There was always a smaller, immature mulberry tree on the other side of the front driveway that as yet did not bear fruit.  It was not planted by design but it looked very beautiful and perfect where it was at.  It was obviously a child of the mother tree.  Between the front sidewalk and the curb grew a Palo Verde tree.  This type of tree was native to the Arizona-Sonora desert.  It had a slender trunk and limbs with smooth, green bark.  The branches hung down with leaves that were thin strands with tiny green, pointed ovals along each strand.  This gave the leaves a feathery look.  At times the tree, also, had tiny, yellow flowers.  People who were driving by would stop their cars in front and tell me that the tree was beautiful.  Another of these trees had begun to grow several feet away.

We had some bushes along the front wall of the house that had small, dark green, waxy leaves.  They grew up to the roof of the house and had a low arch between them.  We called them bird berry bushes because they grew berries that looked exactly like tiny apples that the birds loved to eat.  They were bright red on the outside, white inside and had tiny black seeds just like tiny apples.  We ate them ourselves sometimes.  Sometimes we’d watch the birds go crazy eating them.  My father later told me that the bird berries made the birds drunk.  That’s why they loved them so much.

We, also, had two plum trees on the other side of the yard past the car port.  They grew right up next to the backyard fence.  These small, dark, purple and green trees gave fruit every summer.  In the same area was a small palm tree that was only a few feet high and the pond, a small concrete pond that my father had made.  It was bordered by large rocks that were good for sitting on.  The pond was only filled when one of my brothers or I filled it with a garden hose.  After the two rainy seasons in Tucson we would bring tadpoles from the desert in jars to put tadpoles in the pond.  The cats would come and lick some of them up from the pond to eat them.  We watched the ones that were left grow hind legs and front legs.  Then they would lose their tails.  Eventually they became little frogs hopping around the pond until they got bigger and hopped away.

And these were the treasures of the front yard!  In back there was a patio where on summer days we would eat breakfast outdoors since it was already seventy degrees even early in the morning.  We would eat cereal and cantaloupe.  There was another fruitless mulberry tree that was a good climbing tree.  Here is where we built a tree house in it of scrap wood.  The mulberry tree, instead of growing fruit, grew yellow flowers.  My mother just called it a fruitless tree.  Later in life when I thought back on this it became obvious to me it was the male tree that pollinated the fruit bearing mulberry tree in the front yard.  There was a lawn there and next to the redwood slat, back yard fence was the clothes line where my mother hung clothes to dry and sometimes lots of diapers.  I often helped my mother with the laundry.  We had an old fashioned, washing machine in the back yard with a wringer to wring the excess water out of the clothes.   I loved to run through the lines of cotton diapers on the clothes lines when they got dry because of the fresh smell.

Next to the wall of the house in the flower beds was a peach tree.  The mother of this peach tree was in a small patch of dry lawn on the other side of the patio.  Every summer the peach trees were heavily laden with fruit.  The younger peach tree was once so heavily laden with fruit that one of its branches broke from the weight.  My mother would make us peach pie, peach cobbler and peaches with whipped cream for dessert.  She made the whipped cream from scratch.  We often had peach slices with our cereal in the morning.

Then there was the weeping willow tree on the other side of the back yard driveway.  The entrance to the driveway had tall, wooden gates that my father built into the redwood slat fence that encircled the back yard.  The tree grew from a square made of low, red brick walls.  Its gnarled roots filled the earth inside the brick enclosure.  Its long, thin branches hung down low over the roots with its long, green leaves.  In the spring it was not good to be under the tree’s branches because the caterpillars would be spitting out green junk that would fall on us.  Later came the beautiful butterflies as they emerged from the cocoons that the caterpillars had retreated to after having their fill of eating weeping willow leaves.  For a short time butterflies covered the hanging branches before flying away.   Then there was the summer when the tree would achieve its full, lush greenery and glory.  It was nice and cool in the shade behind the green curtains of the weeping willow tree branches.  I felt a sense of peace hiding in there on hot summer days.

In the back yard behind the weeping willow tree was a fallow area of dirt.  At times we grew watermelon there, potatoes and carrots.  My mother gave me packages of seeds and my father taught me how to grow things.  We were able to grow some corn but the stocks of corn did not get really high like on my grandfather’s farm in Ohio.  We tried to grow sunflowers and were successful but the birds ate all the sunflower seeds.  The birds went crazy eating the seeds from the big, yellow flowers.  At times it was hard for us to even get close to the plants because of the crazed birds.

We had a kid goat for awhile as a pet and then a desert tortoise.  My sisters were afraid of the goat so my father sold it back to the feed store he had bought it from.   The tortoise kept digging under the fence to escape out to the desert.  He finally got too much of a head start on us so we couldn’t find him.  Then we got a little dog and this patch of dirt became his potty area.

The weeping willow tree was not a great tree for climbing.   It was not like the huge mulberry tree in the front yard.  The mulberry tree had thick branches that separated at a low level on the trunk.  It was easy to climb and there was a place high above from which I could look down on the world below.  I could even look down on the roof of the house.  It was a natural place where branches cradled me.  I could recline there.  It was a place I would go to when the noise of my brothers and sisters became too much for me.  When I got upset I would climb up to my high spot in the tree to think and have peace of mind.  It was a place where my imagination was set free from the troubles of life.

Continued on:

https://markalbertoyodernunez.blog/2020/01/14/mcarthur-street-episode-five/

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