It's been a while since I shared anything, so here's a taste of a different character.
- - - -
Karin sat at her customary table in the teacher's lounge. With one hand, she lifted a slice of homemade pizza to her mouth. With the other, she made a series of purple circles on the paper in front of her. She shook her head and looked at the woman sitting next to her. "I don't know why I bother copying those stupid spelling lists each week, Dani. It's clear that no one is looking at them" She tossed her pen down in frustration and gave the pizza her full attention. "Just think of the savings to my budget if I just stopped." She laughed. "And just think of the endless stream of irate calls I would get!"
Dani laughed. "How dare you not supply a word list for my little darling to ignore?" she said in her best snooty parent voice. She pointed her fork, complete with ranch dipped tomato slice, in Karin's direction and continued, "I pay taxes that fund this school. I help pay your salary. I'm practically your boss, and if I say I want extra copies of the spelling list so I can line my bird cage you have to give them to me!" She emphasized her words with a flourish of the fork that sent her tomato slice flying across the room. Karin and Dani dissolved into laughter.
"Seriously, though," Karin said. "My kids are averaging about 63% on their spelling tests lately. I've got to do something. That's just not acceptable."
Her phone began to vibrate in her jacket pocket. Pulling it out, she could see that it was her brother Alex calling. Of course. She'd been home all weekend without a peep from anyone. It was only when she was working, when talking was inconvenient or impossible, that her siblings ever tried to reach her. She glanced at the clock and sighed. With 10 minutes left of her lunch break, she figured she should probably see what he needed.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Another excerpt
Alex's second accident was significantly less dramatic. It had happened a couple of years later just before hunting season. It had been a beautiful summer, and the deer population was thriving on the ample greenery. Despite his vigilance in the falling darkness, Alex was surprised by the buck that flung itself out of the bushes that lining the road. He stomped on his brakes, and flung his arm out automatically to protect the stack of pizzas on the seat next to him. The deer flashed its white tail and disappeared into the woods on the other side of the road. Alex pulled over to inspect the damage. Unfortunately, forward momentum had caused the pizzas to fold themselves up at the front of the boxes. In some cases a traumatized pizza could be saved with some careful maneuvering, but these were unsalvageable.
Alex had called the restaurant to let them know he would be needing replacement pizzas. By the time they were ready to go, Terry had already finished documenting the incident in his file. "You better be careful, Alex," he had warned. "This was your second accident. You've got to make it the next 18 months without an accident, or you're outta here.
Alex made it 17 months, 4 days, and 21 hours.
Alex had called the restaurant to let them know he would be needing replacement pizzas. By the time they were ready to go, Terry had already finished documenting the incident in his file. "You better be careful, Alex," he had warned. "This was your second accident. You've got to make it the next 18 months without an accident, or you're outta here.
Alex made it 17 months, 4 days, and 21 hours.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
An excerpt
Mr. Howard settled back in his chair. "I'm not about to hire someone I can't trust, but I'm also not about to lose a good employee to malicious gossip. How 'bout you shed some light on your side of these stories and let me decide for myself? Let's start with your most recent job. Wasn't that over at the cannery in Marsden?"
- - - - -
The Marsden Cannery had been a disaster. Desperate for some income, Alex had let an old high school buddy talk him into taking a job stacking pallets on the loading docks. He had only been there a few weeks when he overheard Vinnie Henderson, one of the warehouse managers, shouting at another employee.
"What are you, retarded?" Vinnie yelled. "Sometimes I think you must be an ass dressed up in people clothes, 'cause that's how fuckin' stupid you are. How many goddamn times do I gotta tell you to put the red pallets on the right and the green pallets on the left? Fer'chrissake, Big Eddie. Use yer fuckin' head." Big Eddie cowered as Vinnie threw the red pallet he was holding down with a crash and stormed out of the room. Big Eddie stared at the door for a moment before picking up the offending pallet. He looked at it carefully for some time before taking a hesitant step toward the pile on the left. He paused and glanced at the door through which the angry manager had just disappeared.
One look at his furrowed brow and downturned mouth made it clear that he didn't know where to put the pallet in his hand. Big Eddie's distinctively rounded face and upward slanting eyes made it obvious at first glance that he had Down's Syndrome. He came over from the Frost Lake Group Home a couple of times a week to sweep up and help with the pallets. He had been one of the first to welcome Alex to the cannery, and they had quickly become friends. Alex walked around the corner and greeted Big Eddie with a smile.
"Hey, Big Eddie! How are ya?" He slapped Eddie playfully on the back. "Did you catch the Twins game last night? How 'bout that last minute homer?"
Big Eddie's face lit up. "Hi, Alex," he said. "Yes, I watched the game. I always watch the Twins. I was afraid they were going to lose, but then they didn't. Did you watch the game?"
"You know I did," laughed Alex. "I'm just like you. I always watch the Twins." He looked at the pallet that was still in Big Eddie's hands. "You want a hand with that, Big Eddie?"
The frown returned to Eddie's face. "Red pallets on the right. They both start with "r"." There was a touch of defiance in the eyes that met Alex's. "I'm not stupid. I'm good at remembering things."
"I know you are, Eddie. I know you are," Alex said. "You're the only one who knew what Ramirez's batting average was last year, aren't you? Vinnie just got upset."
"I'm not stupid," Big Eddie repeated. "I don't know why he has to be so mean to me. It's not fair for him to yell at me when they're all the same. I am putting the red pallets on the right." Eddie's voice shook slightly.
"Don't worry, Eds," Alex said. Suddenly a thought occured to him. "Hey, Big Eddie, what color are my shoes?"
Big Eddie looked down at Alex's lime green Converse sneakers. "That's a silly question, Alex. Your shoes are red." Suddenly he frowned again. "Aren't they?"
"I think I know what the problem is, Big Eddie. Has anyone ever told you that you were color blind?"
Eddie laughed. "I am not blind, Alex. I can see!" He laughed again at the sheer ridiculousness of Alex's question.
"Not blind, Eds. Color blind. That means that your eyes can't tell the difference between certain colors, like red and green. Lots of guys are color blind. It's no big deal." Alex smiled at Big Eddie.
"It is a big deal! I don't like to be yelled at." Eddie's voice rose. "I don't like when Mr. Vincent says those things to me." At that point a truck had pulled up. Before heading back to work, Alex had assured Eddie that he would come up with a solution. Before that had happened, though, Big Eddie had had another run in with Vincent Henderson, manager extraordinaire.
Once again, Alex had heard Vinnie yelling from the warehouse floor. "Dammit, Eddie. I've had it with your dumbass mistakes around here. I don't know why we let a retard like you in the building. Pick up that fuckin' broom and clean this mess up. Then get the hell out of here. I don't want to look at your stupid face anymore." Vinnie stood over Big Eddie as he fumbled with the broom and dust pan. Eddie widened his stance and bent at the waist, reaching down to push the collected debris into the pan.
Alex tensed as Vinnie, a nasty gleam in his eye, leaned back against the wall. Vinnie slowly lifted his right foot and aimed it at Big Eddie's butt. Everything suddenly seemed to be in slow motion as Alex broke from his hiding place and sprinted the short distance across the floor. He tackled Vinnie to the ground just as Vinnie's foot connected with Big Eddie's behind. All three men went sprawling. Big Eddie landed heavily on his knees in the pile of garbage he had been trying to pick up. The manager flew a short distance before hitting the warehouse floor with a thud. He slid into a stack of precariously balanced pallets which spilled noisily across the floor. Alex landed on top of him.
"What the f...?" was all Vinnie had time to shout before Alex landed a solid right hook on his jaw.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Alex yelled. He was winding up for another punch when he was dragged off the manager. Adam and Frankie held him back while Donovan leaned over Vinnie and pulled him to his feet. A couple of ladies Alex didn't know were talking to Big Eddie and helping him up. "Always yelling at Big Eddie and treating him like dirt. You oughta be ashamed of yourself." He shook his arms free and looked around. "Did you all see what he just did? He kicked Big Eddie." The rest of the warehouse employees looked at each other and shook their heads.
"We were all in the breakroom, Alex," said Adam. "We just came out 'cause we heard the crash."
There were murmurs of agreement from those standing around. Vinnie, having recovered from the shock of the sudden attack, faced Alex. "You are in a whole heap o' trouble now, buddy! You just wait until I write this up. You are gonna get fired so fast, you're head'll spin."
Alex knew that the upstairs bosses would never believe the word of a brand new employee with a questionable employment record over that of a long time manager who also happened to be the big boss's son. "Don't bother writing up your damned report, Vinnie. I'll save you the trouble. I quit. But you can be sure that I'm going to be letting the folks at the group home know what I saw here today, and someday you're gonna get caught. You better watch your back." He tossed his work gloves to Donovan and headed toward the breakroom. "I'm outta here."
After clocking out for the last time, he stopped by the table where Adam and the rest of the guys were finishing their lunch. "Hey, Adam. Do me a favor? Tell Big Eddie that the red pallets have numbers etched into the sides, but the green ones don't."
That was pretty much the end of the story. The next day, he had called the Frost Lake Group Home and told them what had happened. They had thanked him for the information and said they would talk to Big Eddie. About a week later, he had gotten a threatening letter from the cannery's lawyers basically telling him that there was no evidence to back up his story and if he shared it with anyone else they would sue him for slander. They also made a big deal out of how generous they were being by not charging him with assault. Since he had already made sure that Big Eddie was protected, and he couldn't afford any trouble, he had kept silent about it since then.
- - - - -
"Well, son?" Alex snapped out of his thoughts. Mr. Howard was looking at him oddly. "I asked about what happened at the Marsden Cannery. Anything you want to tell me?"
"All I can say, sir... I mean, Jake, is that I had a difference of opinion with one of the managers there. I let my temper get the best of me and I made some bad choices. You can trust that it won't happen again."
"Hmmm." Mr. Howard looked as though he were going to press the issue, but apparently decided to let it go. "Alright. What about the job before that? What happened at the Cub Foods? The owner, Jeff, is a poker buddy of mine. When I asked he said you seemed to think you only had to show up for work when you felt like it."
- - - - -
The Marsden Cannery had been a disaster. Desperate for some income, Alex had let an old high school buddy talk him into taking a job stacking pallets on the loading docks. He had only been there a few weeks when he overheard Vinnie Henderson, one of the warehouse managers, shouting at another employee.
"What are you, retarded?" Vinnie yelled. "Sometimes I think you must be an ass dressed up in people clothes, 'cause that's how fuckin' stupid you are. How many goddamn times do I gotta tell you to put the red pallets on the right and the green pallets on the left? Fer'chrissake, Big Eddie. Use yer fuckin' head." Big Eddie cowered as Vinnie threw the red pallet he was holding down with a crash and stormed out of the room. Big Eddie stared at the door for a moment before picking up the offending pallet. He looked at it carefully for some time before taking a hesitant step toward the pile on the left. He paused and glanced at the door through which the angry manager had just disappeared.
One look at his furrowed brow and downturned mouth made it clear that he didn't know where to put the pallet in his hand. Big Eddie's distinctively rounded face and upward slanting eyes made it obvious at first glance that he had Down's Syndrome. He came over from the Frost Lake Group Home a couple of times a week to sweep up and help with the pallets. He had been one of the first to welcome Alex to the cannery, and they had quickly become friends. Alex walked around the corner and greeted Big Eddie with a smile.
"Hey, Big Eddie! How are ya?" He slapped Eddie playfully on the back. "Did you catch the Twins game last night? How 'bout that last minute homer?"
Big Eddie's face lit up. "Hi, Alex," he said. "Yes, I watched the game. I always watch the Twins. I was afraid they were going to lose, but then they didn't. Did you watch the game?"
"You know I did," laughed Alex. "I'm just like you. I always watch the Twins." He looked at the pallet that was still in Big Eddie's hands. "You want a hand with that, Big Eddie?"
The frown returned to Eddie's face. "Red pallets on the right. They both start with "r"." There was a touch of defiance in the eyes that met Alex's. "I'm not stupid. I'm good at remembering things."
"I know you are, Eddie. I know you are," Alex said. "You're the only one who knew what Ramirez's batting average was last year, aren't you? Vinnie just got upset."
"I'm not stupid," Big Eddie repeated. "I don't know why he has to be so mean to me. It's not fair for him to yell at me when they're all the same. I am putting the red pallets on the right." Eddie's voice shook slightly.
"Don't worry, Eds," Alex said. Suddenly a thought occured to him. "Hey, Big Eddie, what color are my shoes?"
Big Eddie looked down at Alex's lime green Converse sneakers. "That's a silly question, Alex. Your shoes are red." Suddenly he frowned again. "Aren't they?"
"I think I know what the problem is, Big Eddie. Has anyone ever told you that you were color blind?"
Eddie laughed. "I am not blind, Alex. I can see!" He laughed again at the sheer ridiculousness of Alex's question.
"Not blind, Eds. Color blind. That means that your eyes can't tell the difference between certain colors, like red and green. Lots of guys are color blind. It's no big deal." Alex smiled at Big Eddie.
"It is a big deal! I don't like to be yelled at." Eddie's voice rose. "I don't like when Mr. Vincent says those things to me." At that point a truck had pulled up. Before heading back to work, Alex had assured Eddie that he would come up with a solution. Before that had happened, though, Big Eddie had had another run in with Vincent Henderson, manager extraordinaire.
Once again, Alex had heard Vinnie yelling from the warehouse floor. "Dammit, Eddie. I've had it with your dumbass mistakes around here. I don't know why we let a retard like you in the building. Pick up that fuckin' broom and clean this mess up. Then get the hell out of here. I don't want to look at your stupid face anymore." Vinnie stood over Big Eddie as he fumbled with the broom and dust pan. Eddie widened his stance and bent at the waist, reaching down to push the collected debris into the pan.
Alex tensed as Vinnie, a nasty gleam in his eye, leaned back against the wall. Vinnie slowly lifted his right foot and aimed it at Big Eddie's butt. Everything suddenly seemed to be in slow motion as Alex broke from his hiding place and sprinted the short distance across the floor. He tackled Vinnie to the ground just as Vinnie's foot connected with Big Eddie's behind. All three men went sprawling. Big Eddie landed heavily on his knees in the pile of garbage he had been trying to pick up. The manager flew a short distance before hitting the warehouse floor with a thud. He slid into a stack of precariously balanced pallets which spilled noisily across the floor. Alex landed on top of him.
"What the f...?" was all Vinnie had time to shout before Alex landed a solid right hook on his jaw.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Alex yelled. He was winding up for another punch when he was dragged off the manager. Adam and Frankie held him back while Donovan leaned over Vinnie and pulled him to his feet. A couple of ladies Alex didn't know were talking to Big Eddie and helping him up. "Always yelling at Big Eddie and treating him like dirt. You oughta be ashamed of yourself." He shook his arms free and looked around. "Did you all see what he just did? He kicked Big Eddie." The rest of the warehouse employees looked at each other and shook their heads.
"We were all in the breakroom, Alex," said Adam. "We just came out 'cause we heard the crash."
There were murmurs of agreement from those standing around. Vinnie, having recovered from the shock of the sudden attack, faced Alex. "You are in a whole heap o' trouble now, buddy! You just wait until I write this up. You are gonna get fired so fast, you're head'll spin."
Alex knew that the upstairs bosses would never believe the word of a brand new employee with a questionable employment record over that of a long time manager who also happened to be the big boss's son. "Don't bother writing up your damned report, Vinnie. I'll save you the trouble. I quit. But you can be sure that I'm going to be letting the folks at the group home know what I saw here today, and someday you're gonna get caught. You better watch your back." He tossed his work gloves to Donovan and headed toward the breakroom. "I'm outta here."
After clocking out for the last time, he stopped by the table where Adam and the rest of the guys were finishing their lunch. "Hey, Adam. Do me a favor? Tell Big Eddie that the red pallets have numbers etched into the sides, but the green ones don't."
That was pretty much the end of the story. The next day, he had called the Frost Lake Group Home and told them what had happened. They had thanked him for the information and said they would talk to Big Eddie. About a week later, he had gotten a threatening letter from the cannery's lawyers basically telling him that there was no evidence to back up his story and if he shared it with anyone else they would sue him for slander. They also made a big deal out of how generous they were being by not charging him with assault. Since he had already made sure that Big Eddie was protected, and he couldn't afford any trouble, he had kept silent about it since then.
- - - - -
"Well, son?" Alex snapped out of his thoughts. Mr. Howard was looking at him oddly. "I asked about what happened at the Marsden Cannery. Anything you want to tell me?"
"All I can say, sir... I mean, Jake, is that I had a difference of opinion with one of the managers there. I let my temper get the best of me and I made some bad choices. You can trust that it won't happen again."
"Hmmm." Mr. Howard looked as though he were going to press the issue, but apparently decided to let it go. "Alright. What about the job before that? What happened at the Cub Foods? The owner, Jeff, is a poker buddy of mine. When I asked he said you seemed to think you only had to show up for work when you felt like it."
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Writer's Block
They say you should write what you know.
What I know is people. I know deep, multi-dimensional, imperfectly perfect people. I see the outer shell that they share with the world, and I feel the inner workings that they strive so hard to conceal. I understand the fears and joys and struggles and celebrations and mistakes and successes that make them who they are, and I love them for all of it.
I know sensitive, intelligent, real life people who may or may not appreciate me writing about what I know.
I have a story in me. I know that I do. I have a tale to tell that will speak to others and evoke emotion. I have a story about people.
And one day, I hope to be able to write well enough to express the beautiful imperfections of my people in a way that clearly shows how their lives have awed and inspired me. That their mistakes are part of what make them so dear to me. In a way that illustrates just how deep my love for them truly is. I want my people to see themselves from my point of view.
Someday, my word magic will be strong enough to tackle this task.
What I know is people. I know deep, multi-dimensional, imperfectly perfect people. I see the outer shell that they share with the world, and I feel the inner workings that they strive so hard to conceal. I understand the fears and joys and struggles and celebrations and mistakes and successes that make them who they are, and I love them for all of it.
I know sensitive, intelligent, real life people who may or may not appreciate me writing about what I know.
I have a story in me. I know that I do. I have a tale to tell that will speak to others and evoke emotion. I have a story about people.
And one day, I hope to be able to write well enough to express the beautiful imperfections of my people in a way that clearly shows how their lives have awed and inspired me. That their mistakes are part of what make them so dear to me. In a way that illustrates just how deep my love for them truly is. I want my people to see themselves from my point of view.
Someday, my word magic will be strong enough to tackle this task.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
The Visitor - Quick Write 10/5/10
(25 minutes of writing, 5 minutes of editing. The first half of the first sentence was the prompt.)
- - - -
It was late on a Thursday evening, and Janice was just getting home from the gym. It had been a long and frustrating day. She was exhausted and very much looking forward to putting on her pj's, flopping down on the couch, and communing with a bowl of chocolate ice cream. As she fumbled with the key for the outer door, she noticed a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. Resisting her body's initial "fight or flight" reaction, she crouched down on the stoop and peered into the darkness. The dim light above the door was unable to pierce the gloom around the bushes. She couldn't see anything.
"Hello? Is there somebody down there?" Instinctively, she tightened her grip on the key-chain in her hand. If the noise turned out to be something dangerous, she could use a key as a weapon. After several moments of silence, the lure of her cozy apartment overcame her curiosity. She stood up.
There was another brief rustle from bushes, and a tiny orange kitten poked his nose out of the darkness.
"Mreow?" The kitten had clearly been on his own for some time. His ribs were evident along his sides, and the fur on his belly was matted with dirt. His starved body gave him the appearance of a bobble-head doll. "Mew!" Janice knelt down carefully to avoid startling the furry little visitor. She slowly reached her hand out toward him, but resisted actually touching him. The kitten took a quick step backward and huddled closer to the ground.
"Don't worry, little one. I'm not going to hurt you." Janice kept her voice low and calm. The kitten inched toward her, and gently touched one fingertip with his nose. He twitched backward slightly, but held his ground. "Aren't you a brave, little sweetheart?" Janice continued to croon to the kitten until he decided she was safe. Suddenly, he threw his entire body against her hand. He rubbed his bobbley head against her fingers. Looking up, he opened his tiny mouth. "Mew! Mreow! Mew!" She could see his pink tongue and sharp little baby teeth.
Janice swooped the kitten up in her hands and snuggled him to her face. His whiskers tickled her chin as he nuzzled her neck enthusiastically. "Poor baby! You must be starving! Let's go inside and get you some yummy milk. Then we can give you a nice bath and get you all cleaned up." The kitten began to purr loudly in agreement with this plan. Janice retrieved her keys and gym bag from the steps where she had dropped them and opened the door. "What are we going to call you? Such a handsome, orange kitty needs a good name! Hmm... maybe Rex or..." As she and the kitten disappeared into the golden light of the entryway, her voice faded away.
Suddenly Janice was feeling a lot better about her day.
- - - -
I made a conscious effort to write a positive, upbeat story today. I also made an attempt at having a clear beginning, middle, and end. I really enjoy these quick writes, but I think they allow me to get away with lots of build up (something that comes easy to me) while completely avoiding any kind of climax (something that is very difficult for me). These exercises are supposed to be helping me develop my writing, so I'm going to try to make myself stretch a little more in the future. Of course, Mikey says I should just take a page from Stephen King's book and have a giant spider come in and attack everyone. (Has anyone else noticed that a large percentage of his stories end that way?) :)
- - - -
It was late on a Thursday evening, and Janice was just getting home from the gym. It had been a long and frustrating day. She was exhausted and very much looking forward to putting on her pj's, flopping down on the couch, and communing with a bowl of chocolate ice cream. As she fumbled with the key for the outer door, she noticed a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. Resisting her body's initial "fight or flight" reaction, she crouched down on the stoop and peered into the darkness. The dim light above the door was unable to pierce the gloom around the bushes. She couldn't see anything.
"Hello? Is there somebody down there?" Instinctively, she tightened her grip on the key-chain in her hand. If the noise turned out to be something dangerous, she could use a key as a weapon. After several moments of silence, the lure of her cozy apartment overcame her curiosity. She stood up.
There was another brief rustle from bushes, and a tiny orange kitten poked his nose out of the darkness.
"Mreow?" The kitten had clearly been on his own for some time. His ribs were evident along his sides, and the fur on his belly was matted with dirt. His starved body gave him the appearance of a bobble-head doll. "Mew!" Janice knelt down carefully to avoid startling the furry little visitor. She slowly reached her hand out toward him, but resisted actually touching him. The kitten took a quick step backward and huddled closer to the ground.
"Don't worry, little one. I'm not going to hurt you." Janice kept her voice low and calm. The kitten inched toward her, and gently touched one fingertip with his nose. He twitched backward slightly, but held his ground. "Aren't you a brave, little sweetheart?" Janice continued to croon to the kitten until he decided she was safe. Suddenly, he threw his entire body against her hand. He rubbed his bobbley head against her fingers. Looking up, he opened his tiny mouth. "Mew! Mreow! Mew!" She could see his pink tongue and sharp little baby teeth.
Janice swooped the kitten up in her hands and snuggled him to her face. His whiskers tickled her chin as he nuzzled her neck enthusiastically. "Poor baby! You must be starving! Let's go inside and get you some yummy milk. Then we can give you a nice bath and get you all cleaned up." The kitten began to purr loudly in agreement with this plan. Janice retrieved her keys and gym bag from the steps where she had dropped them and opened the door. "What are we going to call you? Such a handsome, orange kitty needs a good name! Hmm... maybe Rex or..." As she and the kitten disappeared into the golden light of the entryway, her voice faded away.
Suddenly Janice was feeling a lot better about her day.
- - - -
I made a conscious effort to write a positive, upbeat story today. I also made an attempt at having a clear beginning, middle, and end. I really enjoy these quick writes, but I think they allow me to get away with lots of build up (something that comes easy to me) while completely avoiding any kind of climax (something that is very difficult for me). These exercises are supposed to be helping me develop my writing, so I'm going to try to make myself stretch a little more in the future. Of course, Mikey says I should just take a page from Stephen King's book and have a giant spider come in and attack everyone. (Has anyone else noticed that a large percentage of his stories end that way?) :)
Monday, October 04, 2010
Billy's Escape - Quick Write 10/4/10
(As usual, the first sentence was the prompt, and I spent about 20 minutes writing and 5 minutes editing afterward.)
- - - -
The poison was coursing through the tall man's veins. He look at Billy in shock and swayed slightly from side to side. The spent syringe fell from Billy's numb fingers. The clatter it made echoed through the cold, concrete room.
Time stood still for an eternity.
Finally, the tall man reached out his right arm and tried to take a step toward Billy. His left leg gave way, and he crumpled to the floor, his arm still outstretched. Billy stared down at the long, lifeless body that for so long had controlled his entire world. He knew he should run, get away, put as much distance between himself and the brutal events of this place as he could, but his feet refused to move. The tall man seemed to be controlling him still. Billy felt as though he would be frozen here, next to the tall man's body, forever. Eventually, the tall man would be missed - at work, if not at home - and the police would be called. They would find Billy here, discover what he had done, and lock him away in a deep, dark cell forever. Just like the tall man had always said would happen.
"NO!" Billy jumped at the sound of his own voice shattering the unnatural stillness. That slight movement was enough to break the tall man's hold on him. He had been through too much to give up now. With his own shout still echoing after him, Billy turned and fled.
Daylight was just beginning to fade as Billy burst through the entrance of the building. He glanced around without slowing and veered off to the right. He circled around the enormous building and lost himself among the abandoned junkyard, boarded up metal shops, and dimly lit warehouses that were so prevalent in this area. He ran until he thought his lungs would burst.
Just when he thought he couldn't force his legs to take another step, he spotted a familiar corner. Within minutes, he was climbing the rusted chain-link fence surrounding the old, forgotten playground where he had so often sought refuge from the tall man's temper. He climbed up the ladder of the splintered climbing equipment. Panting in equal parts exhaustion and relief, he threw himself into the nest of newspapers and leaves he had so long ago made for himself at the top of the slide.
No one ever came to this park. Billy figured that everyone had forgotten all about it as the industrial park had slowly devoured the housing tracts that used to occupy these blocks. Comforted by the isolation and lulled by the hum and rumble of the few factories that were still struggling against their inevitable demise, Billy closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
- - - -
I'm starting to think that I spent too much time in my youth reading Stephen King and Dean Koontz. Every story starter seems to suggest horrific events and terrifying people. I am glad I don't have to write the rest of this story because I am afraid to find out what horrors the tall man inflicted on our poor Billy.
- - - -
The poison was coursing through the tall man's veins. He look at Billy in shock and swayed slightly from side to side. The spent syringe fell from Billy's numb fingers. The clatter it made echoed through the cold, concrete room.
Time stood still for an eternity.
Finally, the tall man reached out his right arm and tried to take a step toward Billy. His left leg gave way, and he crumpled to the floor, his arm still outstretched. Billy stared down at the long, lifeless body that for so long had controlled his entire world. He knew he should run, get away, put as much distance between himself and the brutal events of this place as he could, but his feet refused to move. The tall man seemed to be controlling him still. Billy felt as though he would be frozen here, next to the tall man's body, forever. Eventually, the tall man would be missed - at work, if not at home - and the police would be called. They would find Billy here, discover what he had done, and lock him away in a deep, dark cell forever. Just like the tall man had always said would happen.
"NO!" Billy jumped at the sound of his own voice shattering the unnatural stillness. That slight movement was enough to break the tall man's hold on him. He had been through too much to give up now. With his own shout still echoing after him, Billy turned and fled.
Daylight was just beginning to fade as Billy burst through the entrance of the building. He glanced around without slowing and veered off to the right. He circled around the enormous building and lost himself among the abandoned junkyard, boarded up metal shops, and dimly lit warehouses that were so prevalent in this area. He ran until he thought his lungs would burst.
Just when he thought he couldn't force his legs to take another step, he spotted a familiar corner. Within minutes, he was climbing the rusted chain-link fence surrounding the old, forgotten playground where he had so often sought refuge from the tall man's temper. He climbed up the ladder of the splintered climbing equipment. Panting in equal parts exhaustion and relief, he threw himself into the nest of newspapers and leaves he had so long ago made for himself at the top of the slide.
No one ever came to this park. Billy figured that everyone had forgotten all about it as the industrial park had slowly devoured the housing tracts that used to occupy these blocks. Comforted by the isolation and lulled by the hum and rumble of the few factories that were still struggling against their inevitable demise, Billy closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
- - - -
I'm starting to think that I spent too much time in my youth reading Stephen King and Dean Koontz. Every story starter seems to suggest horrific events and terrifying people. I am glad I don't have to write the rest of this story because I am afraid to find out what horrors the tall man inflicted on our poor Billy.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
How They Met - Quick Write 9/30/10
(I did my writing bright and early this morning! The first sentence was the prompt and I gave myself 20 minutes.)
- - - -
The old man walked along the long slow curve of the highway, whistling to himself. Thunder rumbling in the distance warned of a coming storm. Somewhere in the miles ahead, he'd have to find some shelter, but for now he was content to make his way slowly on, his worldly possessions safely tucked away in the worn, old army green rucksack he had slung over his shoulder. He half-heartedly stuck out his thumb as cars zoomed past.
"Nobody stops for hitchhikers anymore," he thought to himself. "It's a sad state of affairs when everyone is too darn concerned with their own busy lives to worry about an old man walkin' along the road by his lonesome." He shook his head sadly and continued on his way.
His faith in humanity was restored, at least temporarily, when a light blue Mazda with Nevada plates pulled over to the shoulder just ahead of him. He jogged up to the passenger side door and peered inside. A skinny kid, dressed entirely in black, peered over his sunglasses and grinned.
"Hey, man. You need a lift?" The old man smiled back gratefully.
"Like peanut butter needs jelly!" he said. "Mind if I throw my rucksack in back there? I swear it gets heavier with each mile." He tossed his rucksack behind him and settled into his seat. "So. Where we headed, son?"
The kid laughed. "I thought maybe you would know. I've kinda run out of people who will answer my calls, y'know? I was drivin' along wondering what I would do, where I would go, when I saw you with your thumb out. I thought that I'd see where you needed to go and head there myself."
"Well, now. I guess between the two of us, we can make a plan of some kind," the old man replied. "I've always wanted to try my luck at deep sea fishing. Whaddaya say we head toward the Gulf and see if we can find us a fishin' boat that will take us in for a spell?"
- - - -
This story turned out much friendlier than I was expecting. When I first saw that old guy walking along, I was sure that he was going to get picked up by a serial killer. Or end up being a serial killer himself. You can see that in the "at least temporarily" bit I threw in. Thought I was giving a little foreshadowing, but it turns out they're both just normal guys who are down on their luck. Who woulda guessed? Also - dialogue is fun! :)
- - - -
The old man walked along the long slow curve of the highway, whistling to himself. Thunder rumbling in the distance warned of a coming storm. Somewhere in the miles ahead, he'd have to find some shelter, but for now he was content to make his way slowly on, his worldly possessions safely tucked away in the worn, old army green rucksack he had slung over his shoulder. He half-heartedly stuck out his thumb as cars zoomed past.
"Nobody stops for hitchhikers anymore," he thought to himself. "It's a sad state of affairs when everyone is too darn concerned with their own busy lives to worry about an old man walkin' along the road by his lonesome." He shook his head sadly and continued on his way.
His faith in humanity was restored, at least temporarily, when a light blue Mazda with Nevada plates pulled over to the shoulder just ahead of him. He jogged up to the passenger side door and peered inside. A skinny kid, dressed entirely in black, peered over his sunglasses and grinned.
"Hey, man. You need a lift?" The old man smiled back gratefully.
"Like peanut butter needs jelly!" he said. "Mind if I throw my rucksack in back there? I swear it gets heavier with each mile." He tossed his rucksack behind him and settled into his seat. "So. Where we headed, son?"
The kid laughed. "I thought maybe you would know. I've kinda run out of people who will answer my calls, y'know? I was drivin' along wondering what I would do, where I would go, when I saw you with your thumb out. I thought that I'd see where you needed to go and head there myself."
"Well, now. I guess between the two of us, we can make a plan of some kind," the old man replied. "I've always wanted to try my luck at deep sea fishing. Whaddaya say we head toward the Gulf and see if we can find us a fishin' boat that will take us in for a spell?"
- - - -
This story turned out much friendlier than I was expecting. When I first saw that old guy walking along, I was sure that he was going to get picked up by a serial killer. Or end up being a serial killer himself. You can see that in the "at least temporarily" bit I threw in. Thought I was giving a little foreshadowing, but it turns out they're both just normal guys who are down on their luck. Who woulda guessed? Also - dialogue is fun! :)
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Going Home - Quick Write 9/29/10
(I didn't do my quick write until after work today, and I can feel the difference in my focus and creativity. Gonna have to make sure I do my writing in the morning from now on.)
- - - -
I hadn't seen Jackie in twenty years, yet there she sat.
"Girl, you are a sight for sore eyes!" she said as she engulfed me in a bear hug. "Where have you been keeping yourself? What are you up to? Sit down here and let me take a good look at you!" Setting her knitting aside, Jackie thumped the cushion next to her.
She looked just like I remembered. Her curly, black hair drifted loosely around her plump face as she gazed up at me. Her fingers sparkled with several gaudy gemstone-filled rings - probably all paste unless she had made some dramatic changes to her income lately - and any number of chains in varying sizes and styles encircled her comfortable neck. Her housedress was a grass green field scattered with tiny pink roses. I could picture her standing on the front stoop, calling me in for supper, in this very same pattern, although it seemed that the field had increased some in acreage over the years. Her feet, clad in matching green slippers, were tucked demurely under the edge of the loveseat. She was such a perfect match for my fondest memories that I wanted to climb into her lap and rummage through the pockets of her housedress for hard candies as I had when I was 5 years old.
"Well, what are you waiting for, dear?" she asked. "Come over here and tell ol' Jackie what's what in your life." After everything that had happened, I was finally home. I realized I was finally back where it was safe to let down my hair, open my heart, and reveal my sorrows. I didn't need another invitation.
"Oh, Jackie!" I wailed, throwing myself into the empty seat next to her. "I just don't know what I'm going to do!"
- - - -
I thought this was a great beginning sentence, but it took me most of my 20 minutes to figure out who Jackie was talking to. That's why so much of this writing is focused on Jackie's appearance. That was my way of stalling until the other character decided to reveal herself. I have no idea what the dramatics are about... kinda curious about that, actually.
- - - -
I hadn't seen Jackie in twenty years, yet there she sat.
"Girl, you are a sight for sore eyes!" she said as she engulfed me in a bear hug. "Where have you been keeping yourself? What are you up to? Sit down here and let me take a good look at you!" Setting her knitting aside, Jackie thumped the cushion next to her.
She looked just like I remembered. Her curly, black hair drifted loosely around her plump face as she gazed up at me. Her fingers sparkled with several gaudy gemstone-filled rings - probably all paste unless she had made some dramatic changes to her income lately - and any number of chains in varying sizes and styles encircled her comfortable neck. Her housedress was a grass green field scattered with tiny pink roses. I could picture her standing on the front stoop, calling me in for supper, in this very same pattern, although it seemed that the field had increased some in acreage over the years. Her feet, clad in matching green slippers, were tucked demurely under the edge of the loveseat. She was such a perfect match for my fondest memories that I wanted to climb into her lap and rummage through the pockets of her housedress for hard candies as I had when I was 5 years old.
"Well, what are you waiting for, dear?" she asked. "Come over here and tell ol' Jackie what's what in your life." After everything that had happened, I was finally home. I realized I was finally back where it was safe to let down my hair, open my heart, and reveal my sorrows. I didn't need another invitation.
"Oh, Jackie!" I wailed, throwing myself into the empty seat next to her. "I just don't know what I'm going to do!"
- - - -
I thought this was a great beginning sentence, but it took me most of my 20 minutes to figure out who Jackie was talking to. That's why so much of this writing is focused on Jackie's appearance. That was my way of stalling until the other character decided to reveal herself. I have no idea what the dramatics are about... kinda curious about that, actually.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Tabby Goes Out - Quick Write 9/28/10
(The first sentence was provided as a writing prompt. The rest was written in about 25 minutes with about 5 minutes of editing/rewriting following. Again, my goal is quantity, not quality at this point.)
- - - -
Carl was his name, and sailing was his game. At least, that's what he told anyone who asked. In reality, he worked in the little booth at the end of the pier where tourists could book whale watching tours and rent those ridiculous yellow paddle-boats by the half hour. Tabby's friends either didn't realize this, or they figured that she was more likely to go out with him if they didn't tell her. She was betting on the latter. They were always telling her that she was too picky, although she preferred to think of herself as discerning.
He showed up at the door flourishing a handful of slightly wilted daisies. Daisies were Tabby's favorite flower (apparently her friends had no qualms about sharing her secrets with him), so this would have worked in his favor, except that she recognized them as being hastily pulled from the flowerbed of her neighbor 3 doors down. Mrs. Granger was going to be ticked! Tabby, not wanting to start the date out on a sour note, thanked him, put the flowers in a vase, and made a mental note to send Mrs. Granger an apology. She grabbed a light jacket and followed him down the step.
Things only got worse from there. Carl's vehicle was less a "car" and more a "pile of rust trained to take car shape". Tabby could feel the evening air swirling up through the holes in the floorboards. She tried desperately to stop her brain from picturing all the ways this car could kill them on the short ride to the theater: failing brakes, poisonous fumes, just plain falling to pieces as they scooted along at top speed (which, thankfully, was about 45 mph). As Carl awkwardly tried to parallel park in a spot that wasn't quite big enough, Tabby realized she had been holding onto the door handle so tightly her hand hurt. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She took a couple of calming breaths as he walked around to her side.
She waited for him to wrestle her door open, and they walked toward the theater. Her heart sank when she saw the movies listed on the marquee. There were 2 children's cartoons, a horror flick, and a documentary about the indigenous peoples of South America. Which of these gems was this guy going to pick for their very first (blind!) date? She quickly scanned the board, looking for the shortest movie. That way if he asked her opinion, she'd have a reason for picking one.
Carl didn't ask her opinion, though. He sauntered up to the little window and purchased two tickets for the documentary. At least there was the chance she'd learn about some South American dart poisons. Then she'd have a way of dealing with her friends at work tomorrow. Tabby found a couple of only slightly crooked seats together (near the emergency exit) and settled in. She was trying to ignore the way her new pumps were sticking to the floor when Carl returned from the concession stand. "It was much cheaper to buy one extra large soda and popcorn rather than getting 2 mediums of each," he said. "I didn't think you'd mind." He grinned at her and held out a glistening tub of popcorn as big as her head.
Tabby sighed. It was going to be a long night.
- - - -
I was totally freaked out by this beginning sentence because I don't know the first thing about sailing. Suddenly, I realized that Carl was just as ignorant about sailing (and apparently women) as I am. I kind of thought this was going to turn into a romantic comedy, but something tells me that these two aren't going to have a second date. :)
- - - -
Carl was his name, and sailing was his game. At least, that's what he told anyone who asked. In reality, he worked in the little booth at the end of the pier where tourists could book whale watching tours and rent those ridiculous yellow paddle-boats by the half hour. Tabby's friends either didn't realize this, or they figured that she was more likely to go out with him if they didn't tell her. She was betting on the latter. They were always telling her that she was too picky, although she preferred to think of herself as discerning.
He showed up at the door flourishing a handful of slightly wilted daisies. Daisies were Tabby's favorite flower (apparently her friends had no qualms about sharing her secrets with him), so this would have worked in his favor, except that she recognized them as being hastily pulled from the flowerbed of her neighbor 3 doors down. Mrs. Granger was going to be ticked! Tabby, not wanting to start the date out on a sour note, thanked him, put the flowers in a vase, and made a mental note to send Mrs. Granger an apology. She grabbed a light jacket and followed him down the step.
Things only got worse from there. Carl's vehicle was less a "car" and more a "pile of rust trained to take car shape". Tabby could feel the evening air swirling up through the holes in the floorboards. She tried desperately to stop her brain from picturing all the ways this car could kill them on the short ride to the theater: failing brakes, poisonous fumes, just plain falling to pieces as they scooted along at top speed (which, thankfully, was about 45 mph). As Carl awkwardly tried to parallel park in a spot that wasn't quite big enough, Tabby realized she had been holding onto the door handle so tightly her hand hurt. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She took a couple of calming breaths as he walked around to her side.
She waited for him to wrestle her door open, and they walked toward the theater. Her heart sank when she saw the movies listed on the marquee. There were 2 children's cartoons, a horror flick, and a documentary about the indigenous peoples of South America. Which of these gems was this guy going to pick for their very first (blind!) date? She quickly scanned the board, looking for the shortest movie. That way if he asked her opinion, she'd have a reason for picking one.
Carl didn't ask her opinion, though. He sauntered up to the little window and purchased two tickets for the documentary. At least there was the chance she'd learn about some South American dart poisons. Then she'd have a way of dealing with her friends at work tomorrow. Tabby found a couple of only slightly crooked seats together (near the emergency exit) and settled in. She was trying to ignore the way her new pumps were sticking to the floor when Carl returned from the concession stand. "It was much cheaper to buy one extra large soda and popcorn rather than getting 2 mediums of each," he said. "I didn't think you'd mind." He grinned at her and held out a glistening tub of popcorn as big as her head.
Tabby sighed. It was going to be a long night.
- - - -
I was totally freaked out by this beginning sentence because I don't know the first thing about sailing. Suddenly, I realized that Carl was just as ignorant about sailing (and apparently women) as I am. I kind of thought this was going to turn into a romantic comedy, but something tells me that these two aren't going to have a second date. :)
Monday, September 27, 2010
Bob's Brain - Quick Write 9/27/10
(This is what came of a 20 minute quick write. The highlighted portion was my starting prompt. I did minimal editing afterward, as I am mostly working on increasing productivity at this point.)
- - - -
The neurologist pointed him into his office. Bob slouched past him and threw himself into the same overstuffed chair as always. Every Tuesday was the same. He plopped his steel-toed boots up on the coffee table on top of the same old scuff marks and tilted his head back. The same water stain, rust colored and shaped like a horse's head, gazed calmly down at him. Just like always, he fought the urge to grab the uniformly sharpened pencils out of the doctor's pencil jar and fling them, one by one, at the little white spot that marked the horse's eye. He closed his own eyes and took a deep breath.
"So, they tell me you're having a hard time this week, Bob," Dr. Pritchard said. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Bob opened his eyes just enough to peek at the doctor. The view was hazy, and his eyelashes looked as thick as tree trunks. He imagined the doctor lost in a darkening, fog-covered forest. He pictured a cloud of insects hovering over a shallow puddle. Moisture collected on the leaves overhead before dripping onto the forest floor. A gentle breeze swirled the fog, and a single bird call pierced the silence. The snap of a branch underfoot was the only indicator of the wild things that crept closer and closer...
"Well?" the doctor's voice snapped Bob back to the cluttered office and the overstuffed chair. "You know, you're going to have to talk to me eventually, Bob."
- - - -
As always, your comments and constructive criticisms are encouraged. I always work harder when I have an audience. :) Personally, I think I may have gone a little overboard in trying to show the repetition Bob was feeling. I am happy with the imagery of the forest, though.
- - - -
The neurologist pointed him into his office. Bob slouched past him and threw himself into the same overstuffed chair as always. Every Tuesday was the same. He plopped his steel-toed boots up on the coffee table on top of the same old scuff marks and tilted his head back. The same water stain, rust colored and shaped like a horse's head, gazed calmly down at him. Just like always, he fought the urge to grab the uniformly sharpened pencils out of the doctor's pencil jar and fling them, one by one, at the little white spot that marked the horse's eye. He closed his own eyes and took a deep breath.
"So, they tell me you're having a hard time this week, Bob," Dr. Pritchard said. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Bob opened his eyes just enough to peek at the doctor. The view was hazy, and his eyelashes looked as thick as tree trunks. He imagined the doctor lost in a darkening, fog-covered forest. He pictured a cloud of insects hovering over a shallow puddle. Moisture collected on the leaves overhead before dripping onto the forest floor. A gentle breeze swirled the fog, and a single bird call pierced the silence. The snap of a branch underfoot was the only indicator of the wild things that crept closer and closer...
"Well?" the doctor's voice snapped Bob back to the cluttered office and the overstuffed chair. "You know, you're going to have to talk to me eventually, Bob."
- - - -
As always, your comments and constructive criticisms are encouraged. I always work harder when I have an audience. :) Personally, I think I may have gone a little overboard in trying to show the repetition Bob was feeling. I am happy with the imagery of the forest, though.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Good Grief
I would love to be telling you about all the emotional and spiritual growth that has happened in my brain recently, but I can't because there is no time and when there is time I am too tired to stop my sentences from running on and taking over the world.
I would also love to finish the really, really, really long post that is only about 1/3 of the way written about Mia, how she came into my life, and her recent adventures. See above excuse.
I have approximately 11 minutes before my brain turns into a pumpkin, so here's the highlights...
1. Mia is still healing wonderfully. So wonderfully, that she thinks she's all better and should be allowed to wander unsupervised all over the house in search of cats and garbage cans. These are magical Inside Things that she has never before had the pleasure of experiencing.
2. My car is STILL in the shop, although the guy swears it will be ready tomorrow. Or the next day. It has been nearly a month (honestly, I don't even remember when we started this adventure), and I blame the car (not the guy) for the on-going troubles. She's one ornery little automobile.
3. We had a rental car for a while, but it wasn't worth the $12/day insurance we were paying to make sure we weren't blamed for the mud, dog scratches, etc. I don't think I'd buy a Sebring. It had get-up-and-go, but I don't think the designers had ever had to drive a car. The blind spots were enormous.
4. Mikey had to report to the Murrieta courthouse for jury duty last week and narrowly missed being placed on a murder/child abuse case. FYI - living off two not-quite-1/2 incomes, having a sick dog at home, and ridiculously large vet bills is enough to get the judge to excuse you for financial hardship.
5. I have a cough that I can feel in my lungs, and I'm not at all surprised. After the insane couple of weeks I'm surprised I didn't get sick earlier. Let's just hope it passes quickly.
6. Mikey's business has been taking off like wildfire this month. I'm insanely proud of him. Go to Hamumu.com and check out his games. They are very good.
That's not all, but my brain turned into a pumpkin 3 minutes ago. Time for bed. 'Nighty-night.
I would also love to finish the really, really, really long post that is only about 1/3 of the way written about Mia, how she came into my life, and her recent adventures. See above excuse.
I have approximately 11 minutes before my brain turns into a pumpkin, so here's the highlights...
1. Mia is still healing wonderfully. So wonderfully, that she thinks she's all better and should be allowed to wander unsupervised all over the house in search of cats and garbage cans. These are magical Inside Things that she has never before had the pleasure of experiencing.
2. My car is STILL in the shop, although the guy swears it will be ready tomorrow. Or the next day. It has been nearly a month (honestly, I don't even remember when we started this adventure), and I blame the car (not the guy) for the on-going troubles. She's one ornery little automobile.
3. We had a rental car for a while, but it wasn't worth the $12/day insurance we were paying to make sure we weren't blamed for the mud, dog scratches, etc. I don't think I'd buy a Sebring. It had get-up-and-go, but I don't think the designers had ever had to drive a car. The blind spots were enormous.
4. Mikey had to report to the Murrieta courthouse for jury duty last week and narrowly missed being placed on a murder/child abuse case. FYI - living off two not-quite-1/2 incomes, having a sick dog at home, and ridiculously large vet bills is enough to get the judge to excuse you for financial hardship.
5. I have a cough that I can feel in my lungs, and I'm not at all surprised. After the insane couple of weeks I'm surprised I didn't get sick earlier. Let's just hope it passes quickly.
6. Mikey's business has been taking off like wildfire this month. I'm insanely proud of him. Go to Hamumu.com and check out his games. They are very good.
That's not all, but my brain turned into a pumpkin 3 minutes ago. Time for bed. 'Nighty-night.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
I Love Love.
Valentine's Day had me thinking about love. Thinking about love led to thinking about past loves. Thinking about past loves led to thinking about the things I have learned about love over the years. And you know I love to share what I've learned...
My first love was also my best friend from kindergarten through elementary school. It was a love built around pulling pig-tails, playing King of the Hill, and being in the same class year after year. From this love I learned:
My first love was also my best friend from kindergarten through elementary school. It was a love built around pulling pig-tails, playing King of the Hill, and being in the same class year after year. From this love I learned:
- Drama is a waste of time. Say what you mean. Mean what you say.
- Love is worth the risk of cooties.
- Boys can be sensitive. Sometimes you have to let them win.
- Loyalty is important.
- Love is about sharing. Your thoughts. Your feelings. Your science homework.
- Even the toughest guys are afraid of something.
- Nothing smells as good as your boyfriend's jacket.
- Picking a 3 hour drama for your first movie date is a mistake.
- Giving your friends too much influence over your relationships is a bigger mistake.
- Those 80's movies starring people like Molly Ringwald and John Cusack in which couples break up over misunderstandings but then end up back together as the music swells at the end of a montage showing how miserable they were apart are a bunch of crap. Romantic, misleading crap.
- Balance is essential in a relationship.
- Pity is not a good reason to be with someone. Nor is it a good reason for someone to be with you.
- What comes around, goes around.
- Love can make you act like a crazy person in a great many ways, all of them embarrassing to think about after the fact.
- There are still some true romantics out there.
- Sometimes good things come to an end.
- From the inside a relationship looks very different than it does from the outside.
- It isn't called compromise if one person is making all the sacrifices.
- Loyalty is REALLY important.
- I am a hell of a lot stronger than my high school self would ever have guessed.
- The difference between "a love" and "The Love" is immediately obvious.
- It is possible to know you are in love with someone without ever having seen their face.
- Keeping two completely different people, each with their own backgrounds and personalities and issues, rowing together smoothly isn't impossible, but it takes a whole lot of practice.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Siblings, part 3
*So it turns out that knowing where you want a story to go and getting it to go there are two very different things. This is what I got from about an hour of very distracted writing. Meh.*
Chapter 2
They drove in silence. Sam wasn't sure if his mother's silence was because she was wrapped up in her own thoughts or out of respect for his own, but he was grateful for it either way. He stared out the window, watching the lights from the equalizer reflected in the glass. As the the green and red dots darted along the dirty snowbanks lining the narrow streets, Sam remembered how Karen always used to pretend those lights were her Guardian Fairies, pacing the family car the way the Secret Service would pace the president. “Nothing bad can happen to us while my Fairies are out there,” Karen would say. Sam sighed. “At what point in my life did the Fairies stop paying attention?” he wondered.
Looking back, it seemed that his college years had been just as pleasantly uneventful as his childhood. Very little drama or tragedy, just one normal day following another. In those days he could answer the phone fearlessly.
(to be continued)
Chapter 2
They drove in silence. Sam wasn't sure if his mother's silence was because she was wrapped up in her own thoughts or out of respect for his own, but he was grateful for it either way. He stared out the window, watching the lights from the equalizer reflected in the glass. As the the green and red dots darted along the dirty snowbanks lining the narrow streets, Sam remembered how Karen always used to pretend those lights were her Guardian Fairies, pacing the family car the way the Secret Service would pace the president. “Nothing bad can happen to us while my Fairies are out there,” Karen would say. Sam sighed. “At what point in my life did the Fairies stop paying attention?” he wondered.
Looking back, it seemed that his college years had been just as pleasantly uneventful as his childhood. Very little drama or tragedy, just one normal day following another. In those days he could answer the phone fearlessly.
(to be continued)
Monday, February 15, 2010
Sophia Sisters
I have shared just about everything I am about to write with pretty much every living being who has crossed my path since August, but I want to document it here for my own sake.
My extended family is, well, quite extensive. I come from several pretty long lines of pretty amazing people. And I say that with absolutely no bias what-so-ever. :) This past August, I lost one of my beloved aunts after a lengthy battle with cancer. Her name was Kate, and she was my father's youngest sister. Even as a child, she was the kind of person who went out of her way for others. I have heard stories of her coming home from school, baking cookies, and handing them out to local homeless people. She was the person who would double back on a crowded freeway in a snow storm on Christmas Eve to help complete strangers. Even while battling her own illness, she was the embodiment of the Prayer of St. Francis:
Although I learned a remarkable number of things during that difficult week, there was one thing I couldn't stop thinking about. Kate was surrounded by love during her most trying times for two very important reasons:
1. She cared openly about the individuals she came across on a daily basis. She wasn't afraid to wear her heart right out on her sleeve. She didn't shy away from the risks involved in relationships.
2. She made an intentional effort to strengthen the connections she had made. She took the time to reach out.
Upon returning home, I couldn't stop thinking about Kate and the way she lived her life. I have never been good at socializing. Although my close friends might describe me as gregarious, I am painfully uncomfortable around people until I get to know them. I enjoy talking on the phone, but hate making phone calls because I am sure that my call is interrupting something more important. I tend to wait for others to reach out to me, whether to begin a relationship or to maintain it. Genetically, I am predisposed to live "in the moment". Like my father, my mother, and much of my extended family, I tend to forget about holidays and important events until they are happening. Even though I am often thinking of my family, I fail to follow through on providing evidence (sending cards, making phone calls, etc) of such thoughts on a regular basis.
Because of these traits, it has always taken me a long time to develop meaningful relationships. The connections I manage to make are often woefully neglected whenever distance becomes involved. Although I would count just about all of the 70-some students who went to high school with me as "friends", there were only a handful who knew the real me, and I haven't seen a single one of them in almost 15 years. In 4 years of college, I managed to cultivate exactly ONE lasting friendship (and even that was only renewed recently thanks to FaceBook). I have lived in the Temecula area for nearly a decade, and until this past year I could count the people who had made it past the "acquaintance" stage on one hand. I would watch movies about friendships that spanned lifetimes and wish that I could be so lucky. I longed to belong to a group with all my heart and eagerly awaited the day when that group would magically appear.
Watching Kate's Sophia Sisters come together for Kate and family, I realized that I was waiting for something that wasn't going to just happen. The beautiful, meaningful relationships that surrounded her and supported her weren't the result of sitting around wishing for something to happen. Kate built them, slowly and carefully, just as her father, a carpenter, built spiral staircases. With empathy and honesty as her hammer and nail, she could turn the briefest of encounters into a lasting friendship. If I wanted to have what Kate had, I was going to have to pick up my own tools and put them to use.
I have challenged myself to consciously create more meaningful connections to those in my life. One way I am doing this is by working harder to recognize important events in the lives of others. I am trying to send birthday cards on time, make phone calls more regularly, and provide tangible evidence of my feelings for friends and family. The other thing I did was to call up some of the wonderful women I am surrounded by and create my own Sophia Sisters group. We meet on a monthly basis with the intention of create a support system for ourselves while collectively working to support the less fortunate our community. These intentional efforts at empathy and openness are already paying off. As I am honest and caring with those I meet, others are becoming more honest and caring toward me.
I'm going to wrap this up now, because I know that I am rambling... My thoughts on this topic tumble over one another like puppies outgrowing their birthing box, and consequently my words do the same. I could save this and put it away in the draft folder to revisit another day, but I am more interested in getting my thoughts out than in making them perfect. So, I will resist the urge to re-read this yet another time. Instead I will leave you with a message that came to me via a student this evening and seems to fit the mood of this post perfectly:
My extended family is, well, quite extensive. I come from several pretty long lines of pretty amazing people. And I say that with absolutely no bias what-so-ever. :) This past August, I lost one of my beloved aunts after a lengthy battle with cancer. Her name was Kate, and she was my father's youngest sister. Even as a child, she was the kind of person who went out of her way for others. I have heard stories of her coming home from school, baking cookies, and handing them out to local homeless people. She was the person who would double back on a crowded freeway in a snow storm on Christmas Eve to help complete strangers. Even while battling her own illness, she was the embodiment of the Prayer of St. Francis:
Oh, Master,While saying my last goodbyes to Kate, I had the opportunity to see how her kindnesses were returned to her ten-fold. One of the things Aunt Kate did as she faced her own mortality was to gather a group of like-minded women for regular meetings during which they would talk about life, family, spirituality, and all the other things that are important. They called themselves the Sophia Sisters (sophia being the Greek word for wisdom), and Kate's sisters were there for her though everything. This group of women (along with their families) made sure Kate and her family had hot meals, renovated her kitchen, and made sure the planters on the front stoop were filled with beautiful flowers to greet her many visitors.
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
Although I learned a remarkable number of things during that difficult week, there was one thing I couldn't stop thinking about. Kate was surrounded by love during her most trying times for two very important reasons:
1. She cared openly about the individuals she came across on a daily basis. She wasn't afraid to wear her heart right out on her sleeve. She didn't shy away from the risks involved in relationships.
2. She made an intentional effort to strengthen the connections she had made. She took the time to reach out.
Upon returning home, I couldn't stop thinking about Kate and the way she lived her life. I have never been good at socializing. Although my close friends might describe me as gregarious, I am painfully uncomfortable around people until I get to know them. I enjoy talking on the phone, but hate making phone calls because I am sure that my call is interrupting something more important. I tend to wait for others to reach out to me, whether to begin a relationship or to maintain it. Genetically, I am predisposed to live "in the moment". Like my father, my mother, and much of my extended family, I tend to forget about holidays and important events until they are happening. Even though I am often thinking of my family, I fail to follow through on providing evidence (sending cards, making phone calls, etc) of such thoughts on a regular basis.
Because of these traits, it has always taken me a long time to develop meaningful relationships. The connections I manage to make are often woefully neglected whenever distance becomes involved. Although I would count just about all of the 70-some students who went to high school with me as "friends", there were only a handful who knew the real me, and I haven't seen a single one of them in almost 15 years. In 4 years of college, I managed to cultivate exactly ONE lasting friendship (and even that was only renewed recently thanks to FaceBook). I have lived in the Temecula area for nearly a decade, and until this past year I could count the people who had made it past the "acquaintance" stage on one hand. I would watch movies about friendships that spanned lifetimes and wish that I could be so lucky. I longed to belong to a group with all my heart and eagerly awaited the day when that group would magically appear.
Watching Kate's Sophia Sisters come together for Kate and family, I realized that I was waiting for something that wasn't going to just happen. The beautiful, meaningful relationships that surrounded her and supported her weren't the result of sitting around wishing for something to happen. Kate built them, slowly and carefully, just as her father, a carpenter, built spiral staircases. With empathy and honesty as her hammer and nail, she could turn the briefest of encounters into a lasting friendship. If I wanted to have what Kate had, I was going to have to pick up my own tools and put them to use.
I have challenged myself to consciously create more meaningful connections to those in my life. One way I am doing this is by working harder to recognize important events in the lives of others. I am trying to send birthday cards on time, make phone calls more regularly, and provide tangible evidence of my feelings for friends and family. The other thing I did was to call up some of the wonderful women I am surrounded by and create my own Sophia Sisters group. We meet on a monthly basis with the intention of create a support system for ourselves while collectively working to support the less fortunate our community. These intentional efforts at empathy and openness are already paying off. As I am honest and caring with those I meet, others are becoming more honest and caring toward me.
I'm going to wrap this up now, because I know that I am rambling... My thoughts on this topic tumble over one another like puppies outgrowing their birthing box, and consequently my words do the same. I could save this and put it away in the draft folder to revisit another day, but I am more interested in getting my thoughts out than in making them perfect. So, I will resist the urge to re-read this yet another time. Instead I will leave you with a message that came to me via a student this evening and seems to fit the mood of this post perfectly:
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
~ A Noiseless Patient Spider, by Walt Whitman
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Dear Giant Corporate Competitors,
I had a 30 minute telephone conversation with a prospective client today, and at it's conclusion this parent made a comment that was something of a revelation to me. "I'm looking forward to starting. Just talking to you has made me feel so much better. It wasn't like this after talking to *Big Name Company*. Thank you."
I suddenly realized that it's not my ridiculously low prices that make parents decide to come to my tiny little business. The majority of parents are going to do what it takes to get help their child, and if that means paying $50/hr, so be it. It's not the advertising we do or our semi-successful attempts at looking like professionals, either. Parents trust the recommendations of friends and teachers over fancy fliers and color coordinated furniture sets. It can't be our experience or academic knowledge that does it, although we have plenty of both. I know you have the budget to hire as many qualified teachers as you can get your hands on. There is one thing, and one thing alone, that makes us stand out from the crowd.
When parents call to us, they are treated as one-of-a-kind rather than one-in-a-million. When I answer my phone, I am 100% focused on what they need and how I can help them get it. I listen to their situations, and I validate their emotions. They hang up knowing that their fears and frustrations have been heard and that they have a new ally in the fight to overcome them. In short, I give my concerned parents the same personalized attention that I plan on giving their kids.
It is amazing how immediately parents respond to this. Our entire relationship is built on the foundation laid in that first interaction. From that point on, my parents know that I am going to do my best for their children. They know they can trust me to treat their children with respect and understanding. This relationship of trust means that I can raise the level of expectation. Even when I'm asking them to make difficult changes or try challenging new things, my families trust me. They know that my praise is honest and my concerns are legitimate. We all work harder for each other and my kids progress faster as a result.
I am grateful for your business-oriented environments and your factory model approach to teaching because it makes my little company look even better by comparison. I would have to work much harder to stand out if the rest of you were to realize that parents aren't looking for more of the same old thing. They need something different, and thanks to you, I'm one of the few providing it.
Some day, Escuela del Sol will be a household name. And on that day, I will remember the phone conversation I had today, and I will continue to make every single family feel as if they are my only clients.
Sincerely,
Sol
I suddenly realized that it's not my ridiculously low prices that make parents decide to come to my tiny little business. The majority of parents are going to do what it takes to get help their child, and if that means paying $50/hr, so be it. It's not the advertising we do or our semi-successful attempts at looking like professionals, either. Parents trust the recommendations of friends and teachers over fancy fliers and color coordinated furniture sets. It can't be our experience or academic knowledge that does it, although we have plenty of both. I know you have the budget to hire as many qualified teachers as you can get your hands on. There is one thing, and one thing alone, that makes us stand out from the crowd.
When parents call to us, they are treated as one-of-a-kind rather than one-in-a-million. When I answer my phone, I am 100% focused on what they need and how I can help them get it. I listen to their situations, and I validate their emotions. They hang up knowing that their fears and frustrations have been heard and that they have a new ally in the fight to overcome them. In short, I give my concerned parents the same personalized attention that I plan on giving their kids.
It is amazing how immediately parents respond to this. Our entire relationship is built on the foundation laid in that first interaction. From that point on, my parents know that I am going to do my best for their children. They know they can trust me to treat their children with respect and understanding. This relationship of trust means that I can raise the level of expectation. Even when I'm asking them to make difficult changes or try challenging new things, my families trust me. They know that my praise is honest and my concerns are legitimate. We all work harder for each other and my kids progress faster as a result.
I am grateful for your business-oriented environments and your factory model approach to teaching because it makes my little company look even better by comparison. I would have to work much harder to stand out if the rest of you were to realize that parents aren't looking for more of the same old thing. They need something different, and thanks to you, I'm one of the few providing it.
Some day, Escuela del Sol will be a household name. And on that day, I will remember the phone conversation I had today, and I will continue to make every single family feel as if they are my only clients.
Sincerely,
Sol
Monday, February 01, 2010
True Story
Hubby: I'm going to go read the words of my book in order.
Me: What order? Alphabetical?
Hubby: Probably left to right following the page numbers. Alphabetical might be challenging.
Me: How boring.
Hubby: It would take a long time to get ready for that. You'd have to go through the whole book first.
Me: Yeah. The first several words woul be "A", "A", "A", "A", "a", "a", "a", "an"...
Hubby: It wouldn't go to "an". There would be words like "about". And "abate".
Me: Really? You think you'd find the word "abate"?
Hubby: I wouldn't be surprised.
Me: I don't think "abate" is in that book*.
Hubby: Now I'm going to search the whole book just to prove that "abate" is in it.
Me: I dare you.
Hubby: I will find it. I'm a master-abater.
Me: I'm so blogging that.
*He's reading Under the Dome by Stephen King, in case you were wondering. He has requested that you post the page number if you happen to find the word "abate" in that illustrious text.
**Update**
As I have been writing this, he has been reading and announcing each "a" word he finds. "Affairs." "Almighty." "Ability." "Acting." My husband amuses me so.
Me: What order? Alphabetical?
Hubby: Probably left to right following the page numbers. Alphabetical might be challenging.
Me: How boring.
Hubby: It would take a long time to get ready for that. You'd have to go through the whole book first.
Me: Yeah. The first several words woul be "A", "A", "A", "A", "a", "a", "a", "an"...
Hubby: It wouldn't go to "an". There would be words like "about". And "abate".
Me: Really? You think you'd find the word "abate"?
Hubby: I wouldn't be surprised.
Me: I don't think "abate" is in that book*.
Hubby: Now I'm going to search the whole book just to prove that "abate" is in it.
Me: I dare you.
Hubby: I will find it. I'm a master-abater.
Me: I'm so blogging that.
*He's reading Under the Dome by Stephen King, in case you were wondering. He has requested that you post the page number if you happen to find the word "abate" in that illustrious text.
**Update**
As I have been writing this, he has been reading and announcing each "a" word he finds. "Affairs." "Almighty." "Ability." "Acting." My husband amuses me so.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Siblings, part 2
A couple of notes first:
- I have changed the main characters name to Sam. I was torn between Tom and Sam in the beginning. I decided on Sam originally, but because I was writing on my tiny iPhone screen in the middle of the night, my sleep deprived brain switched part way through. Anyway. It's been changed to Sam.
- I have given it a (lame) working title so that I don't have to keep calling it "Story".
- You can find part 1 here.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sam gathered his sweatshirt and his backpack as the plane taxied toward the gate. He powered up his cell phone as he joined the slow rush to the front of the plane. Up the jet-way, through the halls, across the lobby, down the escalator, through the sliding glass doors and past the cluster of bundled mid-westerners waiting patiently for their loved ones to appear. Since moving to California a decade ago, Sam had followed this path dozens of times. It always felt like coming home.
After grabbing his single piece of luggage from the carousel, Sam found a quiet corner and checked his phone. He wasn't surprised to find a message from his mother.
“Sam, honey, I'm going to be a little bit late. The traffic must be bad today. I left right at 3 o'clock, but I'm still about 20 minutes away. I'm sorry. I'll be there soon. Start thinking about where you want to go for dinner. Love you.” Sam checked his watch with a sigh. 4:36. If Mom said she was 20 minutes away, it was surely more like 30.
waiting inside. call when you get here. He sent the text to his mother and flipped his phone shut. It didn't make any sense to stand out in the cold waiting. He didn't see any open chairs, so he sat on the floor, propped up against his suitcase. He leaned his head back against the wall and idly watched the stream of people trickle by.
In his travels, Sam had come to realize that although people were largely the same everywhere, it was the details that set the regions apart. He figured he could identify the airports he frequented most often just by observing the beings who populated it. Vegas had the college kids and the retirees, both equally enthralled by the siren call of the slots. Denver had scuffed cowboy boots and worn jeans, much like Houston, but without the barely concealed defiance of the Lone Star State. Los Angeles had the movie stars, both real and imagined, shielded from the masses by their wrap around shades and their Ugg boots. But it was in Minneapolis where Sam found his people. There was something about these folks with their Scandi-who-vian stoicism and their flannel-lined barn jackets that resonated with him, no matter how long he was away.
One little girl, perhaps 3 years old, caught Sam's eye. She leaned forward slightly as she clung to the hand of the woman next to her. Her eyes were riveted on the top of the escalator. Although she stood perfectly still, the air around her seemed to crackle with potential energy. A man in a tan overcoat appeared at the top of the escalator, and she exploded into motion. “Dad-dy! Dad-dy! Dad-dy!” she chanted as she raced circles around the woman's legs. Perhaps it was the little girl's long, dark hair, or maybe it was her enthusiasm, but something about this little firecracker made him think of his sister.
As a small child, Karen could dominate any room. In a family of tow-heads, her dark, eastern European looks drew you in, but it was the radiance of her personality that captivated. Thick eye-lashes framed eyes that sparkled with untold jokes, and ruby lips curled into a perpetual grin. Her sturdy toddler limbs never ceased their quest for adventure. Even in sleep she moved endlessly, flailing her limbs in response to dream stimuli. Sam remembered being exhausted following afternoons of "baby-wrangling" while his parents worked in the garden.
Sam was startled from his reverie by the buzz of his cell phone. “Hi, Mom,” he said. “Where are you?” He gathered his bags and headed toward the exit. An icy breeze swept over him as he stepped through the sliding glass doors.
“Hi, Sammy. I'm just pulling into the pick-up loop. Are you ready? 'Cuz you know how much I hate it when those security guys wave their flashlights at me.”
“Yeah, Mom. I'm ready.” He bit his tongue to stop himself from commenting on exactly how long he'd been ready. “Look for me at baggage claim 2. Are you in the Tahoe?”
“Of course, sweetie. What else would I be driving? Oh! I see you!” The line went dead in his ear as a maroon Tahoe pulled up to the curb in front of him. He waved to his mother through the windshield and opened the door to throw his bags into the back seat. He climbed into the passenger seat and leaned over to give his mother an awkward hug over the center console.
“I'm so glad you're here, Sam. I don't know what I'd do without you.” His mother held on to him for an extra beat and then let go abruptly. She grabbed the steering wheel and turned to check her blind-spot, but not before he noticed that she seemed to be blinking back tears.
“Well.” She said, emphatically. “So, are you hungry?”
“I could eat,” Sam said. “What do you feel like?”
“What about that Italian place I told you about? Some of the girls at work were raving about it again yesterday.” His mom paused. “But we'll need to make a quick stop first. I asked Karen to join us for dinner.”
The knot in Sam's stomach pulled just a little tighter.
(to be continued)
- I have changed the main characters name to Sam. I was torn between Tom and Sam in the beginning. I decided on Sam originally, but because I was writing on my tiny iPhone screen in the middle of the night, my sleep deprived brain switched part way through. Anyway. It's been changed to Sam.
- I have given it a (lame) working title so that I don't have to keep calling it "Story".
- You can find part 1 here.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sam gathered his sweatshirt and his backpack as the plane taxied toward the gate. He powered up his cell phone as he joined the slow rush to the front of the plane. Up the jet-way, through the halls, across the lobby, down the escalator, through the sliding glass doors and past the cluster of bundled mid-westerners waiting patiently for their loved ones to appear. Since moving to California a decade ago, Sam had followed this path dozens of times. It always felt like coming home.
After grabbing his single piece of luggage from the carousel, Sam found a quiet corner and checked his phone. He wasn't surprised to find a message from his mother.
“Sam, honey, I'm going to be a little bit late. The traffic must be bad today. I left right at 3 o'clock, but I'm still about 20 minutes away. I'm sorry. I'll be there soon. Start thinking about where you want to go for dinner. Love you.” Sam checked his watch with a sigh. 4:36. If Mom said she was 20 minutes away, it was surely more like 30.
waiting inside. call when you get here. He sent the text to his mother and flipped his phone shut. It didn't make any sense to stand out in the cold waiting. He didn't see any open chairs, so he sat on the floor, propped up against his suitcase. He leaned his head back against the wall and idly watched the stream of people trickle by.
In his travels, Sam had come to realize that although people were largely the same everywhere, it was the details that set the regions apart. He figured he could identify the airports he frequented most often just by observing the beings who populated it. Vegas had the college kids and the retirees, both equally enthralled by the siren call of the slots. Denver had scuffed cowboy boots and worn jeans, much like Houston, but without the barely concealed defiance of the Lone Star State. Los Angeles had the movie stars, both real and imagined, shielded from the masses by their wrap around shades and their Ugg boots. But it was in Minneapolis where Sam found his people. There was something about these folks with their Scandi-who-vian stoicism and their flannel-lined barn jackets that resonated with him, no matter how long he was away.
One little girl, perhaps 3 years old, caught Sam's eye. She leaned forward slightly as she clung to the hand of the woman next to her. Her eyes were riveted on the top of the escalator. Although she stood perfectly still, the air around her seemed to crackle with potential energy. A man in a tan overcoat appeared at the top of the escalator, and she exploded into motion. “Dad-dy! Dad-dy! Dad-dy!” she chanted as she raced circles around the woman's legs. Perhaps it was the little girl's long, dark hair, or maybe it was her enthusiasm, but something about this little firecracker made him think of his sister.
As a small child, Karen could dominate any room. In a family of tow-heads, her dark, eastern European looks drew you in, but it was the radiance of her personality that captivated. Thick eye-lashes framed eyes that sparkled with untold jokes, and ruby lips curled into a perpetual grin. Her sturdy toddler limbs never ceased their quest for adventure. Even in sleep she moved endlessly, flailing her limbs in response to dream stimuli. Sam remembered being exhausted following afternoons of "baby-wrangling" while his parents worked in the garden.
Sam was startled from his reverie by the buzz of his cell phone. “Hi, Mom,” he said. “Where are you?” He gathered his bags and headed toward the exit. An icy breeze swept over him as he stepped through the sliding glass doors.
“Hi, Sammy. I'm just pulling into the pick-up loop. Are you ready? 'Cuz you know how much I hate it when those security guys wave their flashlights at me.”
“Yeah, Mom. I'm ready.” He bit his tongue to stop himself from commenting on exactly how long he'd been ready. “Look for me at baggage claim 2. Are you in the Tahoe?”
“Of course, sweetie. What else would I be driving? Oh! I see you!” The line went dead in his ear as a maroon Tahoe pulled up to the curb in front of him. He waved to his mother through the windshield and opened the door to throw his bags into the back seat. He climbed into the passenger seat and leaned over to give his mother an awkward hug over the center console.
“I'm so glad you're here, Sam. I don't know what I'd do without you.” His mother held on to him for an extra beat and then let go abruptly. She grabbed the steering wheel and turned to check her blind-spot, but not before he noticed that she seemed to be blinking back tears.
“Well.” She said, emphatically. “So, are you hungry?”
“I could eat,” Sam said. “What do you feel like?”
“What about that Italian place I told you about? Some of the girls at work were raving about it again yesterday.” His mom paused. “But we'll need to make a quick stop first. I asked Karen to join us for dinner.”
The knot in Sam's stomach pulled just a little tighter.
(to be continued)
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Obama in Baltimore: Gut Reaction
1. Maybe it's just because it was so painful to listen to Bush, but I love listening to Obama's speeches.
2. I have heard lots of people either celebrating or freaking out over the "smack down" that was delivered at that conference. I'm sorry, but I don't see it. Sure, I was impressed by the way Obama stood in front that whole group and attempted to answer their questions. Given today's political climate, I have to imagine that took some guts. But he didn't seem overly confrontational or aggressive to me. I dunno. I guess I was expecting more after the hype.
3. That being said, I LOVED this line (and it could be applied to congressional members on both sides):
"We have to close the gap between rhetoric and reality."
He spoke about political leaders' habits of "demonizing the other side". That demonization is exactly why I can't have a political conversation with my father-in-law. His understanding of what is going on has been so colored by rhetoric and talking points that it's impossible to find the real issue underneath it all. And I'm sure he thinks the same about my point of view. We're just a specific example of what is happening on a national level, and nothing is going to get done unless we can overcome that obstacle.
One last comment:
Toward the end of the speech one of the audience members interrupted with "You're lying to us now." (or something close to that...) Seriously, guys. Don't you remember the uproar that happened the last time one of you did that? Not only are you setting yourself up for another media spanking, it just makes you seem like you have the self-control of a toddler. C'mon. Grow up.
Watch the video or read the complete transcript for yourself.
2. I have heard lots of people either celebrating or freaking out over the "smack down" that was delivered at that conference. I'm sorry, but I don't see it. Sure, I was impressed by the way Obama stood in front that whole group and attempted to answer their questions. Given today's political climate, I have to imagine that took some guts. But he didn't seem overly confrontational or aggressive to me. I dunno. I guess I was expecting more after the hype.
3. That being said, I LOVED this line (and it could be applied to congressional members on both sides):
"We have to close the gap between rhetoric and reality."
He spoke about political leaders' habits of "demonizing the other side". That demonization is exactly why I can't have a political conversation with my father-in-law. His understanding of what is going on has been so colored by rhetoric and talking points that it's impossible to find the real issue underneath it all. And I'm sure he thinks the same about my point of view. We're just a specific example of what is happening on a national level, and nothing is going to get done unless we can overcome that obstacle.
One last comment:
Toward the end of the speech one of the audience members interrupted with "You're lying to us now." (or something close to that...) Seriously, guys. Don't you remember the uproar that happened the last time one of you did that? Not only are you setting yourself up for another media spanking, it just makes you seem like you have the self-control of a toddler. C'mon. Grow up.
Watch the video or read the complete transcript for yourself.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Story, Pt 1
"Excuse me, sir," the flight attendant said apologetically, "but you're going to have to turn off your laptop for landing."
Tom glanced up from his computer. "What? Oh, sure. Sorry. Just... one second..." His words trailed off as he resumed typing.
"Sir. I really must insist that you turn your computer off immediately. The captain has already begun his descent." The flight attendant's voice held the slightest hint of frost now. "Tray tables and seat backs should already be returned to their fully upright positions and..."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Tray tables. Seat backs. Carry ons. I'm on it." Tom hit the save button one last time and clicked the laptop closed. After tucking his computer safely into its case and stowing it dutifully under the seat in front of him, he leaned back against his fully upright seat back and looked out the window. Here and there, wide expanses of white had replaced the lakes that dotted the landscape in warmer months. "You could almost believe there really are 10,000," he thought to himself.
In the deepening gloom, I-35 sparkled with diamonds on one side and rubies on the other. He wondered if one of those diamonds was his mother, on her way to meet him at the airport. Knowing her, it was much more likely that she was still 30 minutes away, and he would have plenty of time to deplane, collect his luggage, and freeze nearly to death while he waited. She just couldn't seem to remember that it took 2 full hours to get to the airport from home, and he couldn't seem to remember to pack a warm enough coat for waiting comfortably. This was why he preferred to visit during the summer months.
The landing gear rumbled below as the ground rushed up to meet them. The voice on the overhead speakers ran through the usual litany of connecting gates and formulaic thanks, but Tom barely heard it. Despite having his glorified word processor banished to safe storage, he was once again consumed with his composition. "The counselor said to keep it short," he reminded himself. "Use 'I' statements. Be specific."
As he tried to recall what he had already written, the lump returned to his throat. Fear again threatened to overwhelm him, just as it had when he'd hung up after the first of a series of increasingly desperate phone calls from his mother. "Please just let her be okay," he muttered under his breath. "She's the only sister I've got."
Tom gathered his sweatshirt and his backpack as the plane taxied toward the gate. He powered his cell phone on as he joined the slow rush to the front of the plane.
(to be continued)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tom glanced up from his computer. "What? Oh, sure. Sorry. Just... one second..." His words trailed off as he resumed typing.
"Sir. I really must insist that you turn your computer off immediately. The captain has already begun his descent." The flight attendant's voice held the slightest hint of frost now. "Tray tables and seat backs should already be returned to their fully upright positions and..."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Tray tables. Seat backs. Carry ons. I'm on it." Tom hit the save button one last time and clicked the laptop closed. After tucking his computer safely into its case and stowing it dutifully under the seat in front of him, he leaned back against his fully upright seat back and looked out the window. Here and there, wide expanses of white had replaced the lakes that dotted the landscape in warmer months. "You could almost believe there really are 10,000," he thought to himself.
In the deepening gloom, I-35 sparkled with diamonds on one side and rubies on the other. He wondered if one of those diamonds was his mother, on her way to meet him at the airport. Knowing her, it was much more likely that she was still 30 minutes away, and he would have plenty of time to deplane, collect his luggage, and freeze nearly to death while he waited. She just couldn't seem to remember that it took 2 full hours to get to the airport from home, and he couldn't seem to remember to pack a warm enough coat for waiting comfortably. This was why he preferred to visit during the summer months.
The landing gear rumbled below as the ground rushed up to meet them. The voice on the overhead speakers ran through the usual litany of connecting gates and formulaic thanks, but Tom barely heard it. Despite having his glorified word processor banished to safe storage, he was once again consumed with his composition. "The counselor said to keep it short," he reminded himself. "Use 'I' statements. Be specific."
As he tried to recall what he had already written, the lump returned to his throat. Fear again threatened to overwhelm him, just as it had when he'd hung up after the first of a series of increasingly desperate phone calls from his mother. "Please just let her be okay," he muttered under his breath. "She's the only sister I've got."
Tom gathered his sweatshirt and his backpack as the plane taxied toward the gate. He powered his cell phone on as he joined the slow rush to the front of the plane.
(to be continued)
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Monday, January 25, 2010
Open Letter to the Universe
Dear Universe,
Each morning for the past week I have awoken physically refreshed but mentally exhausted. My dreams have been long, mundane, and repetitive. In one, I spent hours digging through my closet trying to find the right outfit for some occasion. In another I was trying to complete a series of simple chores that just wouldn't get/stay done. The sun comes up, the alarm goes off, and I feel like I need a nap before I've even gotten out of bed.
I'm sure that these mildly anxious dreams are a product of the mildly increased stress in my life over the past couple of weeks. I know they are my mind's way of blowing off steam. But I've gotta tell you, it's NOT helping.
So, dear Universe, I am making this humble request of you... Could I please, please, please have a confidence building dream one of these nights? A dream in which a beloved family member comes to me with words of praise or encouragement? Or perhaps a dream in which I successfully accomplish my task on the first try? I'd even settle for a dream in which my teeth stayed in my mouth, my eyes opened on command, or my clothes stayed on my body as I walked on stage to perform in a play for which I was fully prepared. Any one of these things would be quite welcome.
I thank you in advance, dear Universe, for giving me a break and sending a dream that leaves me looking forward to my day.
Sincerely,
Sol
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Each morning for the past week I have awoken physically refreshed but mentally exhausted. My dreams have been long, mundane, and repetitive. In one, I spent hours digging through my closet trying to find the right outfit for some occasion. In another I was trying to complete a series of simple chores that just wouldn't get/stay done. The sun comes up, the alarm goes off, and I feel like I need a nap before I've even gotten out of bed.
I'm sure that these mildly anxious dreams are a product of the mildly increased stress in my life over the past couple of weeks. I know they are my mind's way of blowing off steam. But I've gotta tell you, it's NOT helping.
So, dear Universe, I am making this humble request of you... Could I please, please, please have a confidence building dream one of these nights? A dream in which a beloved family member comes to me with words of praise or encouragement? Or perhaps a dream in which I successfully accomplish my task on the first try? I'd even settle for a dream in which my teeth stayed in my mouth, my eyes opened on command, or my clothes stayed on my body as I walked on stage to perform in a play for which I was fully prepared. Any one of these things would be quite welcome.
I thank you in advance, dear Universe, for giving me a break and sending a dream that leaves me looking forward to my day.
Sincerely,
Sol
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Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Conversations with Firefox
Me: I heart you, Firefox. You're much better than Explorer! <3
FF: Yeah, I'm great. In fact, here's an update!
Me: Super.
Update is downloaded. Time passes.
Me: Thanks for your help, Firefox. You can close now. *clicking the X*
FF: OMG! Something is wrong! Firefox has closed!
Me: No, no. It's okay. I clicked...
FF: OMG!!1!! What should we do??
Me: No, really. I wad done...
FF: Do you want to sent an error report??
Me: ...
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FF: Yeah, I'm great. In fact, here's an update!
Me: Super.
Update is downloaded. Time passes.
Me: Thanks for your help, Firefox. You can close now. *clicking the X*
FF: OMG! Something is wrong! Firefox has closed!
Me: No, no. It's okay. I clicked...
FF: OMG!!1!! What should we do??
Me: No, really. I wad done...
FF: Do you want to sent an error report??
Me: ...
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Post MLK, Jr. Day Post
I can't help but wonder if kids today question why adults make such a big freakin' deal about skin color. They have grown up in a much more accepting and blended world. Their friends are different colors and nationalities. Their experiences are much more varied than ours ever were. Thanks to today's far-reaching media, they have been exposed to cultures and beliefs from around the world during those early, formative years when "normal" is defined.
Don't get me wrong. I know that there is still plenty of hatred and racism out there. I know that there are still kids being raised (intentionally or otherwise) to fear that which is different from themselves. But if you have LIVED with an open mind from the beginning, instead of having to LEARN it later in life, wouldn't it seem silly to make such a big deal out of open-mindedness?
Please don't take this to mean that I think we should stop celebrating MLK, Jr. or the progress that has been made. I'm just hoping that our remembrances don't stagnate to the point that future generations can't relate to them. We can't spend so much time patting ourselves on the back for not remaining in the past that we forget how much further we have to go in the future. Or something like that.
Don't get me wrong. I know that there is still plenty of hatred and racism out there. I know that there are still kids being raised (intentionally or otherwise) to fear that which is different from themselves. But if you have LIVED with an open mind from the beginning, instead of having to LEARN it later in life, wouldn't it seem silly to make such a big deal out of open-mindedness?
Please don't take this to mean that I think we should stop celebrating MLK, Jr. or the progress that has been made. I'm just hoping that our remembrances don't stagnate to the point that future generations can't relate to them. We can't spend so much time patting ourselves on the back for not remaining in the past that we forget how much further we have to go in the future. Or something like that.
Thoughts on Being Sick
I don't get sick very often. I remember being sick a normal amount when I was a kid. Between the germs getting passed around at school and the germs my mom would bring home from the clinic where she worked, I would get the flu or strep throat fairly regularly. As an adult, I have rarely caught anything worse than a mild head cold, despite spending most of my working hours surrounded by miniature germ factories. I have never been paranoid about germs (I HATE that antibacterial hand sanitizer crap), and I honestly think that my willingness to be exposed to them now and again has helped me build up a kick-ass immune system.
That being said, I caught something this past weekend that kicked my butt in a big way. It had some head cold-y like symptoms; sneezing, runny/stuffy nose, watery eyes, but the worst was the complete exhaustion. I had to spend a significant amount of time resting to prepare myself for a walk from the bedroom to the living room. I spent the majority of 4 days doing nothing but lying down. I barely moved at all, thanks to my darling husband and his excellent nursing skills.
I'm feeling much better now (Thanks for asking!). On Monday morning I was able to get up and return to my regular schedule, feeling 100% normal. This leaves me with one question:
How does my body know the difference between me lying around for 4 days sick and me lying around for 4 days because I'm a lazy bum? If I had done that much sitting on the couch voluntarily, my joints and lower back would be in an uproar. If I spend 1 Saturday lounging in front of the TV, my knees complain about it for the rest of the week. But not a single joint had one word to say about my lack of movement while I was sick. What's up with that?
That being said, I caught something this past weekend that kicked my butt in a big way. It had some head cold-y like symptoms; sneezing, runny/stuffy nose, watery eyes, but the worst was the complete exhaustion. I had to spend a significant amount of time resting to prepare myself for a walk from the bedroom to the living room. I spent the majority of 4 days doing nothing but lying down. I barely moved at all, thanks to my darling husband and his excellent nursing skills.
I'm feeling much better now (Thanks for asking!). On Monday morning I was able to get up and return to my regular schedule, feeling 100% normal. This leaves me with one question:
How does my body know the difference between me lying around for 4 days sick and me lying around for 4 days because I'm a lazy bum? If I had done that much sitting on the couch voluntarily, my joints and lower back would be in an uproar. If I spend 1 Saturday lounging in front of the TV, my knees complain about it for the rest of the week. But not a single joint had one word to say about my lack of movement while I was sick. What's up with that?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The Curse of Imagination
I have a pretty active and vivid imagination. Often, like when reading a good book, this is a talent that comes in handy. I have seen many a movie on the big screen of my mind. And those showings are pre-first run, baby!
Unfortunately, the ability to present oneself with a full color, real as life image has its drawbacks. Like when I'm driving and someone does something stupid in front of me. My over-active brain deftly follows the path that DIDN'T happen. You know, the one where the guy didn't pull back into his own lane in time and we crashed head on and my car spun and flipped and ended in the ditch with me pinned... well, you get the idea.
Sometimes, I go with these imaginary images, just to see how I react. What does it feel like? Who do I turn to? What do I do next? It is an interesting study in who I am at any given moment. And what better way to experience these things than in the safety of my own imagination, where I can turn off the images and restore reality with the flick of a switch (once I imagine it into being, of course).
There is one thing, one vision, that sneaks up on me and knocks the wind out of my sails every single time.. One that I can't shut off fast enough. One in which I always fall apart, no variation. That is the alternate reality in which something happens to my husband. My own death, the end of the world, anything is easier for me to imagine than the idea of losing Mike.
Unfortunately, the ability to present oneself with a full color, real as life image has its drawbacks. Like when I'm driving and someone does something stupid in front of me. My over-active brain deftly follows the path that DIDN'T happen. You know, the one where the guy didn't pull back into his own lane in time and we crashed head on and my car spun and flipped and ended in the ditch with me pinned... well, you get the idea.
Sometimes, I go with these imaginary images, just to see how I react. What does it feel like? Who do I turn to? What do I do next? It is an interesting study in who I am at any given moment. And what better way to experience these things than in the safety of my own imagination, where I can turn off the images and restore reality with the flick of a switch (once I imagine it into being, of course).
There is one thing, one vision, that sneaks up on me and knocks the wind out of my sails every single time.. One that I can't shut off fast enough. One in which I always fall apart, no variation. That is the alternate reality in which something happens to my husband. My own death, the end of the world, anything is easier for me to imagine than the idea of losing Mike.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Techno-savvy!
I am blogging from my iPhone! Is there nothing this lovely machine cannot do?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, January 07, 2010
The Greatest Lie
A large group had gathered. The high school students crowded together, jocks next to chess geeks next to stoners, having forgotten, if only for a moment, the sin of mingling with someone of the wrong clique. The woman scanned their faces. Some had already grown bored with the proceedings, their own personal dramas reclaiming their attention. But the ones she had come for, the ones who needed to hear her message, were still watching. She saw confusion, fear, and sympathy in the eyes of a few of the students, but the majority of them still held the defeated, disinterested gaze of people who know that their lives are going to go on, as mind-numbingly monotonous as ever, as soon as this brief interlude was over.
Time was running out. As the guard grabbed her arms, the woman made eye contact with a girl in the crowd. One eye stared back, thickly outlined in black. The other was obscured by a lock of limp, blond hair. The girl was an almost perfect picture of indifference, the only betrayal of emotion her teeth nibbling on her plum-colored lips. The woman struggled against the guard and stretched toward the girl.
"It isn't true," she said. She raked her gaze across this gathered pack of teenagers. She could see frustration and anger swirling around them like a pre-dawn fog. She could smell the insecurities oozing from their pores. She could practically taste the fear that they worked so hard to hide, posing and posturing like strange dogs vying for the alpha position. She struggled harder and raised her voice.
"They will tell you that high school is the best time of your life. It isn't true." The guard renewed his iron grip on her arms and began hauling her toward the door at the end of the hall.
"It gets so much better than this!" she screamed, desperate to connect with as many of these confused, conflicted individuals as she could. "They are lying! It gets so much better!"
The girl with the black eye-liner watched the guard half-pull, half-carry the screaming woman away and turned to the tall boy next to her. "Huh. That was weird."
- - - - - - - -
I am driving to work with my iPod set to shuffle, as usual, when Sheryl Crow's "All I Wanna Do" comes on. "And he's plain ugly to me. And I wonder if he's ever had a day of fun in his whole life." Suddenly I am struck by the memory of a dream. It is as vivid in my mind as the asphalt in front of my car. For the remainder of the journey, I compose "The Greatest Lie" in my mind.
I remember being a high schooler, hearing some adult say how much they longed to return to their high school years. "Those were the greatest days," they told me. Although I don't remember the rest of the conversation, I do remember my exact thoughts. "God, I hope not." I am almost 32 years old now, and I have many fond memories of my high school years. But I have never once wished that I was reliving them. To this day, I cringe when I hear people tell teenagers how good they've got it. I tell my students, "You think life is good now, but you just wait. It gets even better."
Time was running out. As the guard grabbed her arms, the woman made eye contact with a girl in the crowd. One eye stared back, thickly outlined in black. The other was obscured by a lock of limp, blond hair. The girl was an almost perfect picture of indifference, the only betrayal of emotion her teeth nibbling on her plum-colored lips. The woman struggled against the guard and stretched toward the girl.
"It isn't true," she said. She raked her gaze across this gathered pack of teenagers. She could see frustration and anger swirling around them like a pre-dawn fog. She could smell the insecurities oozing from their pores. She could practically taste the fear that they worked so hard to hide, posing and posturing like strange dogs vying for the alpha position. She struggled harder and raised her voice.
"They will tell you that high school is the best time of your life. It isn't true." The guard renewed his iron grip on her arms and began hauling her toward the door at the end of the hall.
"It gets so much better than this!" she screamed, desperate to connect with as many of these confused, conflicted individuals as she could. "They are lying! It gets so much better!"
The girl with the black eye-liner watched the guard half-pull, half-carry the screaming woman away and turned to the tall boy next to her. "Huh. That was weird."
- - - - - - - -
I am driving to work with my iPod set to shuffle, as usual, when Sheryl Crow's "All I Wanna Do" comes on. "And he's plain ugly to me. And I wonder if he's ever had a day of fun in his whole life." Suddenly I am struck by the memory of a dream. It is as vivid in my mind as the asphalt in front of my car. For the remainder of the journey, I compose "The Greatest Lie" in my mind.
I remember being a high schooler, hearing some adult say how much they longed to return to their high school years. "Those were the greatest days," they told me. Although I don't remember the rest of the conversation, I do remember my exact thoughts. "God, I hope not." I am almost 32 years old now, and I have many fond memories of my high school years. But I have never once wished that I was reliving them. To this day, I cringe when I hear people tell teenagers how good they've got it. I tell my students, "You think life is good now, but you just wait. It gets even better."
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Uninteresting Entry
I have nothing of any value to say. You should probably stop reading now.
Still here? Fine, but don't complain to me about the keyboard marks on your face from falling asleep 1/2 way through...
Here we are, midway through the first week of the new year. The new decade*, even. Personally, I can only hope that the rest of the year goes this well. I have managed to stick to my new schedule (about 97% successful), I have eaten healthier foods (not hard since I was starting from "popcorn and jalapeno poppers make a complete meal, right?"), and done some things I'm proud of already. So far, I'm taking names and kickin' butt in twenty ten.
That's what I'm calling it, by the way. "Two thousand, ten" is too clunky. I don't have the time or patience for that many syllables. "Saying 'Aught Ten" makes me feel like I should be wearing a bonnet and churning my own butter. Not to mention the fact that I think it's grammatically wrong. Wouldn't that mean 20010**? So I'm going with the short, sweet, and stunningly accurate "twenty ten". Has a nice solid ring to it, no?
Here's where I am tempted to wax poetically about all the things going on in my life, but since there's no reason why anyone but me would care, and since all I really want is a brief reminder of what was happening when I look back on today through the benefit of eagle-eyed hindsight, I'm going to just to a quick bullet point list and leave it at that.
See? Lots of good. Not much bad. Throwing up lots of gratitude in the direction of the universe and reveling in each minute of Happy while I can. Here's hoping that your year is showering you with goodness, too.
* Screw that "the decade really starts at '01 because of there was no year zero" crap. My relationship with numbers is shaky enough without getting all technical about it. So there.
** Except with the verbiage. Then I'mma get all technical on you. That's just how I roll.
Still here? Fine, but don't complain to me about the keyboard marks on your face from falling asleep 1/2 way through...
Here we are, midway through the first week of the new year. The new decade*, even. Personally, I can only hope that the rest of the year goes this well. I have managed to stick to my new schedule (about 97% successful), I have eaten healthier foods (not hard since I was starting from "popcorn and jalapeno poppers make a complete meal, right?"), and done some things I'm proud of already. So far, I'm taking names and kickin' butt in twenty ten.
That's what I'm calling it, by the way. "Two thousand, ten" is too clunky. I don't have the time or patience for that many syllables. "Saying 'Aught Ten" makes me feel like I should be wearing a bonnet and churning my own butter. Not to mention the fact that I think it's grammatically wrong. Wouldn't that mean 20010**? So I'm going with the short, sweet, and stunningly accurate "twenty ten". Has a nice solid ring to it, no?
Here's where I am tempted to wax poetically about all the things going on in my life, but since there's no reason why anyone but me would care, and since all I really want is a brief reminder of what was happening when I look back on today through the benefit of eagle-eyed hindsight, I'm going to just to a quick bullet point list and leave it at that.
- managed to get the diet back on track - frustrating to have to re-lose all the poundage I lost over the summer, but that's the price you pay for stuffing yourself like a Thanksgiving turkey and a Christmas goose all rolled up into one.
- gained even more students on top of the ones we got prior to the break - YAY.
- muscled through 3 masters essays - making this a serious priority and actually following through
- lined up several fun and exciting socializing events - D's retirement, K's job change, Sophia meeting, and the 4th annual Groundhog's Day extravaganza are all in the works
- followed through on my commitment to do good deeds
See? Lots of good. Not much bad. Throwing up lots of gratitude in the direction of the universe and reveling in each minute of Happy while I can. Here's hoping that your year is showering you with goodness, too.
* Screw that "the decade really starts at '01 because of there was no year zero" crap. My relationship with numbers is shaky enough without getting all technical about it. So there.
** Except with the verbiage. Then I'mma get all technical on you. That's just how I roll.
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