The prompt for this week is: I understand.
Marge set a white Correlle plate plate on the blue and white plaid place mat. She folded the paper napkin in a neat rectangle, placed it on the left side of the plate. Fork on top of napkin. Knife and spoon on the right side. She checked the pan and it was hot enough for the scrambled eggs. The microwave timer gave the countdown for the sausages. Coffee gurgled in the pot.
Don sat down at the table in his white v-neck t-shirt and pajama bottoms. She said nothing. The eggs were almost ready. The timer went off. Coffee done and poured in a white cup. Eggs and sausage on white platter. Coffee cup brought to his place setting. The familiar clunk of the plate on their old formica table top. She rushed to the refrigerator and brought out the creamer.
She heard the neighbor children playing in the driveway next door. She smiled to herself and thought of happy memories when their children were small like them. She pulled in her chair and waited for him to go first.
"I haven't been working late, Marge."
"You'd better eat your eggs before they get cold." She rubbed her eyes and poured her coffee in her empty cup. She reveled the smell of her coffee.
"Marge. I don't even know how to begin." Don covered his face with his hands and drew them down, as if washing away the night.
"Did you not sleep well? Joe has to go to band practice at 10. Do you want me to give him a ride?"
"You've always been a good wife. You've always tried to do the right thing and I've enjoyed being married to you."
"I hope so. It's been twenty years of that." Marge smiled and sipped.
"You're a good, kind woman, Marge. It's just that. Well, we've fallen into a rut these past years. I don't know. Maybe it's so hard raising the kids. Maybe it's work. I don't know. But things need to change. I get up and go to work. Come home. Argue with Joe or Lizzy. Drive them somewhere. Come home. Fall asleep on the couch. It's so monotonous. Uninspired." Don lifted his coffee and drank a sip. He put it down and filled it with creamer, stirred vigorously.
The blood rushed out of her hands. This is the conversation that she had dreaded for her entire marriage. A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. Where would she go? How would they tell the children? Who would be the one to leave the house first? When would they tell their folks?
"I haven't been working late, Marge. I lied to you and I'm sorry." Don stared at his empty plate. "I've been at the library."
Marge put down her cup on the edge of her plate. It flipped up. She gasped but her cup did not spill. Don rose up but sat down with a sigh. He took one of her cold hands into his own.
"I want to go skydiving."
"Skydiving."
"I've always wanted to do it and I've decided this is the year. I know we should be saving the money, but it's time. I can't live my life in a rut any longer. I need to open myself up to new things." Don kissed her hand and scraped a heaping of eggs on his plain white plate.
"I understand." Marge smiled and wrapped her cold hands around the warmth of her cup.
Showing posts with label Sunday Scribblings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sunday Scribblings. Show all posts
Monday, September 17, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Sunday Scribblings - # 301 Normal
I think that for the potential emotional load, this is one of the most overlooked words in the English language.
What do you think of normal?
~~~~
The teacher put him by the door in the front of the classroom on the end of the row and at the beginning of the first row. He liked it there because he was surrounded by girls and he could concentrate. But he managed to find something else to preoccupy his interest. His pencil. His itchy tag on his t-shirt collar. The blackboard. Anything could distract him from the lesson on fractions.
When he got into the lunch line, he was by himself. They were his buddies when they were younger. Now they couldn't even save a seat for him at their lunch table. At recess he walked around by himself, imagining himself to be the invisible kid or the chameleon kid, blending into the bricks of the building.
They used to talk to him and include him. Now he walked home alone.
Whatever happened to normal?
Copyright 2012 All Rights Reserved
What do you think of normal?
~~~~
Distractions
The teacher put him by the door in the front of the classroom on the end of the row and at the beginning of the first row. He liked it there because he was surrounded by girls and he could concentrate. But he managed to find something else to preoccupy his interest. His pencil. His itchy tag on his t-shirt collar. The blackboard. Anything could distract him from the lesson on fractions.
When he got into the lunch line, he was by himself. They were his buddies when they were younger. Now they couldn't even save a seat for him at their lunch table. At recess he walked around by himself, imagining himself to be the invisible kid or the chameleon kid, blending into the bricks of the building.
They used to talk to him and include him. Now he walked home alone.
Whatever happened to normal?
Copyright 2012 All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Sunday Scribblings # 252
Near Brewer Street in London
Her skirt picked up mud and dirt from the wet, cobble street. She did not bother to lift them. The sidewalks were crowded, including the beggar children. She would not give this evening, even though they called out to her,
"Lady. Please. Just a penny, ma'am, so we can eat."
On normal days, even in the summer when the sun shone low in the sky, Helen knew her surroundings. She was familiar who was coming out of the pubs or waiting in their livery wagons or black hansom cabs. There was an older lady who put away her wares into her store. Sometimes the lady bid her good evening. She knew the sounds of the children laughing and crying from a window above. They were comforting, familiar sounds of her walk home to the tenements.
Tonight she heard footsteps behind her.
She noticed them after she left the master's house for the evening. At first Helen thought that her imagination was running away from her. She stopped to cross the street and heard the steps coming closer. Her shoes sounded harsh and clunky on the cobbles so she tried to walk on the balls of her feet. She tripped a couple of times and almost fell.
She ducked into a small sidedoor of a local hat shop. The footsteps stopped. Helen could tell that the person looked around and came down the alley. But the footsteps went back to the walkway softer and softer. Helen pushed back a hair that had floated near her mouth and peeked out both ways. A couple of delivery boys and all was clear.
The gangway led to her street and with a quick left turn, she was almost home. And then she heard them again. Quick and gaining on her.
She crossed the street without looking.
"Hey, watch out, Miss," the cabbie yelled, but kept his horse at a full trot.
Helen passed by two windows. Then a door. Then another two windows, two doors and a gangway. Finally, she found her place. She knocked on the door. The fire was going so her landlady was home and waiting to let her in. The steps were closer, louder.
"Mrs. McMinn, open the door." Helen used her knuckles to knock quickly. She could see the figure, a tall man, dark, his face hidden, as he came towards her.
"Mrs. McMinn, please open the door. It's Helen." She pounded the door with her fist.
"Excuse me." The voice was deep and quiet.
Helen shook as she turned to see him. She clutched the doorknob and leaned back on the large, wooden door.
"I've been following you for several blocks. I didn't think I would catch you." He removed his hat. His hair was a light brown and he ran a hand through it to smooth the tousles. He leaned closer and she saw that his features were hardened and unfriendly.
"You dropped one of your bags, back there, near Brewer Street. I didn't think I would catch you." The man held up her small black purse.
Helen let go of the knob. "I didn't realize it was gone." She slowly took it from him. The light from the fire cast shadows on his angular face; a handsome but stern.
"What was all that noise? Oh, Helen, yes, come in, child. Oh, am I interrupting? I beg your pardon--" Mrs. McMinn's round face smiled as warmly as the fire in her parlor.
"This gentleman brought me my purse, Mrs. McMinn." Helen stood straight and pushed back the loose strand of hair. "Thank you, sir."
"Well now, please come in, won't you and have some tea?" Helen's landlady opened the door. The man seemed to hesitate.
"No, thank you, ma'am. I best be getting back to work near Air Street. It's getting dark and it's not safe." The man tipped his hat and walked away. "Good night."
~~~~
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Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Magpie Tales Mag # 49
Virginia Min
The Great Aunties
1933
1933
I was mad. I was burning up with the very flames of hell mad. I am surprised that I didn't break something by the way I was handling things. Screen doors slammed. Feet stomped up the back stairs but I knew enough to walk quietly in the house. I had had a switch across the back of my legs; it stung and Mama wouldn't let me swim until it was healed after a few days. Well, I wanted a swim.
I helped Mama prepare the plates. She had pickles out and made sandwiches out of the roast chicken from the night before. Maybe she knew that the Aunties were coming and didn't tell us. We didn't have a lot of money but Mama could make a table look like everything was special. I hinted to her that I wanted to go up to the creek but she wasn't listening to me at all. She was so excited and happy, almost as excited as when Daddy had wired us that he found a job.
I was folding the napkins when I heard a knock at the door. I looked up at Mama, who suddenly looked very young and fresh. She ran to the door and the gaggling began.
Oh, Evvy! Good to see you. Minna, honey!
Minna. Why Evvy, how beautiful you look!
Is that Viriginia Min? Look how big she's grown
Little Kenny? Well, he certainly isn't little any more.
And on and on like that. Hugging. Kissing. It was pushing noon in August in St. Louis. The moist heat weighed down a body's skin. Auntie Cora was the youngest and she was a large woman with a round face and magnificent steel gray hair set in a bob; it made her blue eyes sparkle with life. Aunt Zonie was quieter, with dark hair. Then there was my Granny, the oldest; the shortest one with a little square face and an imposing jaw.
"I thought we would sit outside under the tree. It's so sticky in the house." Mama pointed the way through the kitchen out the door. I helped carry two plates of pickles and watermelon rinds. I noticed that Kenny carried one little plate: the butter for the bread. He wasn't clumsy. He could have carried the plate of bread but he made Auntie Zonie carry it.
Mama had set out our little kitchen table in the yard under beautiful honey locus. The little, light green fronds let dappled sunlight through and let the hot, sweaty breeze tease us with a promise of relief. The white sheets flipped limply on the line. Hurricane force winds could not cool us in the August noon in St. Louis.
I don't remember what they talked about. I ate a pretty finger sandwich and a couple of pickled melons. But when the pink glass pitcher got low, I carried it up the wooden steps, through our wood screen and back out and then did it again as the ladies wiped themselves with their handkerchiefs. Kenny sat and squirmed and slumped in his chair. Well, that's what he got for only bringing out one plate of butter.
I set the glass pitcher on the table and took my place between Auntie Zonie and Granny.
"Kenneth Stevenson, sit down in that chair." Granny leaned forward and dabbed her neck. Kenny was sliding out of his chair next to Mama; his legs and knees were in the grass and his body was draped across the seat.
"Oh, Min, he's just a boy and hot, isn't it, honey?" Auntie Cora giggled as she watched him melt down into the grass, right himself and sit down in the chair with a scowl. "It's such a hot day. I'll bet you'd like to go take a swim in a creek." Auntie hit her arm; although they loved the dusk, a few desperate mosquitos hunted in the heat.
"There's a creek not too far from us. My friends are all there." Kenny's voice had a little catch in it. He could lay on the pity when he tried.
"My friends are there too, Kenny," I growled and sat back in my chair with my arms crossed. The sweat ran down the crook of my arm but I didn't care. Better fold my arms than give a good pinch to my little brother in front of relatives.
"Aw, Evvy. Let the boy go to his friends. Kenny, you've eaten so nice and you've been so quiet. Evvy." Auntie Cora took a long drink of water and dabbed her upper lip.
"Cora, it is his mother's decision, not yours." Granny fixed that jaw of hers and sat ramrod straight.
"For pity's sake, Min, he's a little boy and he should be out running around." Auntie Cora looked away with her nose turned up slightly into the air.
"He can sit still a few minutes with his great aunts." Granny leaned forward and stared a hole into Kenny. "The great aunts that he hasn't seen in good while."
"Look at the poor dear, Min. He was always as cute as--"
"Yes, as a bugs ear. We've heard that before, Cora. The boy can sit."
"But he's so hot--"
"We're all hot."
"It's fine, Mama. Kenny, go on." My Mama stood up and poured out the last of the water. He was gone before the last drop in Auntie Zonie's glass.
"I'm hot, too," I pleaded with the aunties.
"You sit down, Virginia. You're a girl and one day you will be a woman. You will have a nice sit down with us." Auntie Cora smiled and sat back in her chair.
And then the talk about the old days in the hills of southeastern Missouri. The endless discussions about people and relatives I never knew and would never meet. Births. Deaths. The scandal of a cousin who married her aunt's husband, left him, had a baby and then died of tuberculosis. On and on. Eternity on a hot, summer afternoon.
"Would you be a love and bring your Auntie more water, angel? Thank you." Auntie Cora picked up the pink pitcher and handed it to me. I looked at Mama who smiled so I took it into the house with a sigh.
I let the door slam and put the pitcher on the counter none too gently. The door slammed again and my Auntie Zonie appeared, holding the two plates of pickles.
"I thought I'd bring these in and help you, Virginia. I brought a picture that I wanted to show your granny but I think you'd probably like to see it first." Auntie Zonie had a soft, kindly look just like Mama or maybe Mama had a look like Auntie Zonie. I followed her into our front room. It felt like a hot, stifling oven with no breeze coming through the windows. She set her purse on the dining room table and pulled out an old black and white picture. There were three young women with ice skates hanging over their shoulders. The snow was deep from the looks of it and their clothes were old fashioned.
"This picture was taken in Fredericktown when we were young women. See your granny? She was small but she was so pretty. There's Cora. She was so stylish. See the stripes on her coat?"
"Is that you on the end, Auntie?" I asked as I examined the picture and pulled it close to my nose. Her face was blurry but even then she had that kind, gentle look that Mama had.
"We had a lot of fun that day. It wasn't too long after Min met a handsome young man named Leroy." Her face turned serious for a moment. A hot breeze blew the cotton curtain. Auntie smiled again. "Your grandfather."
"What was he like?" I smiled back at her and pushed my sweaty hair behind my ear.
"Well, it wouldn't be right to hear it from just one person and the quietest one of the girls. Let's go outside and ask my sisters, Virginia." She smoothed back my hair. It felt nice. Familiar. Loving. I've never forgotten that gesture, even though I'm an old woman. How I miss her. But that afternoon I was 9 years old and it was a hot summer day. I wanted to go to swim in the creek with Kenny but Auntie Zonie had just sweetened the pot.
"Are you thirsty, Virginia?" she asked. I nodded. Without a word, we got up and went into the kitchen.
~~~~
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Monday, January 3, 2011
Sunday Scribblings # 248 Progress
Under the Canopy of the Queen
"Tell me about our home, Muhktar." Aliya looked up at the queen, the mother tree of the apple forest.
"We will not live in a tent. You will not stoop over a metal tub to clean the dishes or wash the clothes or wash your children."
Alilya giggled, but Muhktar took her hand and kissed it, all the while he stared at the canopy of the forest.
"You will not hang your clothes on a stoop or your rags on a string. No, Aliya." Mukhtar circled around the large trunk and never looked at her. Aliyah looked up and did not know what he saw in the sky.
"We will have a house someday. A real one, like the ones in town. Perhaps we will have make it out of mud bricks like the old ones but one day. Someday. We will have a proper house made out of wood. With steps and wooden floors. They will creak when you walk on them." He stopped and held her in his strong arms. Aliya melted in them and took in his fragrance of earth and dirt and smell of outdoors. His wool coat was beginning to unravel at a seam and she played with the thread. Tomorrow morning she would mend it while she had a chance.
"I will miss you." She felt his head lay on top of hers. "I will remember this moment always."
For several minutes they stood without words. The birds called to each other and landed indecisively on upper branches. They could not make up their minds and flew away; their song, though farther away, lingered with the dappled sun. A cool breeze blew through the summer leaves and joined the bird's chorus. It sounded soft and gentle under the shade of the queen.
"What time will you leave for University?" Aliya tugged at the loose thread on his jacket. The hole was in the shoulder and would be easily mended.
"Tomorrow morning, before midday." Mukhtar tightened his embrace.
"Midday, Mukhtar? It doesn't leave much time. I must mend your jacket right away." Aliya pulled back. They kissed.
"Aliya, I will be wearing a new jacket. My uncle bought me one for my trip. I cannot wear this one to the city." He took her hand and they walked leisurely away from the large tree. "They will already know that I am a farmer from a small village. They will see me as backward. They will--" He stopped and looked down.
"Mukhtar, you will be the smartest one there. And you will return to me and you will put all your ideas into place." Aliyah's round cheeks glowed as she smiled. Mukhtar looked straight ahead even as she kissed him.
"I will give you electricity, out here. We will have the wires come right to the house, Aliyah. And you will have cold and hot running water in your house. For your children." He tripped a little over a small root which stuck out of the ground.
"The shade is nice in the forest. They say that the forest is being cut down and pretty soon it won't be here anymore."
"Nonsense. Look how it goes on and on. This apple forest goes on for miles. How can we use it all up? Aliyah, push those thoughts aside. Dr. Dzangaliev, he is a Russian and an alarmist. What can possibly happen? Besides, we need to grow and to expand. I want you to have wooden floors, Aliyah. I want you to have hot and cold running water. I want you to have electricity. I am going to the university but I will be back to build you that house."
They walked their well worn path under the uplifted arms of many fruited trees. They stopped under a familiar one and took as many apples as they could carry in their pockets. Aliyah spread out her apron to carry some for their parents. Mukhtar polished one on his shirt and took a bite. He stood a little taller and his jaw looked a little harder and straighter.
"Midday. Tomorrow." Aliyah stared at the clearing ahead of them. The heat of the day was looming before them, without shade, without the canopy and away from the queen.
"We are young, Aliyah. We have the future. We must have progress. The world awaits."
Aliyah leaned back a little to hold the weight of the apples as Mukhtar strode ahead.
~~~~
Monday, October 18, 2010
Sunday Scribblings #237
As I sat looking out at a beautiful autumn day, I asked my husband what the prompt this week should be and he said, "harvest." A perfectly seasonal prompt, (at least for those of us in the Northern hemisphere) this week please tell us what you think of: harvest.
Autumn Thoughts
Autumn sun grows short
as shirts and shoes grow tall, long.
Harvest comes so soon.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 235
The prompt for this week isn't one you've seen before, but I hope that it is one that will help you remember!
It's flashback time!
"Mrs. Arnswald, Tiffany will see you in a moment. Thank you for waiting." The young secretary turned and typed on her computer. Even though she sat across the room, Nancy could see she was on Facebook.
The room was decorated in a retro avocado green on one wall with some type of largish, hanging light fixture that looked like it was bought from Ikea. Very trendy and modern. It reminded her of something her mother would have picked out when she was a girl.
The phone hadn't rang since she came at 10:30, half an hour before Nancy's appointment. There were two people ahead of her, both of them younger. Tiffany, who was conducting the interview, was cordial and polite to the first one; a black man who appeared to be in his late 30s. He looked a little overweight but seemed poised and a little grim. That interview was quick. The next interview was with a much younger girl, probably just out of college. Tiffany remarked that she had the same shoes at home; it was now 11:30pm.
The secretary turned off her computer, got her purse and walked out of the room. Nancy took out her Blackberry to check for messages, leaned her head back on the white wall and closed her eyes with a sigh.
Thirty years ago she was as young as that secretary and just out of college. She was gorgeous, with great billows of dishwater blonde hair, styled just like Jaclyn Smith. She wore a navy power dress complete with shoulder pads and large, white button earrings. Her first interview at the law offices of Beloit Haskell and Seins went quite well. She had sex with one of the junior partners who hired her on the spot.
Nancy let the affair come to its natural conclusion and the two of them got along quite well. They attended each others weddings and baptisms of children. Nancy organized soccer practices from the office; after he made partner, she stayed with him and served as a patient go between him and his first wife.
She remembered when he introduced her to his girlfriend. Nancy had seen her many times before at various events and knew that she was trouble. This girlfriend was sweet as sugar to her face but she knew her time was up. Girlfriend had been a secretary. Her boss gave her a pretty good severance package; it was guilt money. According to her office friends, new wife now sat outside her husband's office.
Nancy heard the door open and sat straight. No reason to give Tiffany any more reason not to hire her. She knew she was going through the motions when she saw the two of them laugh and pause at the open door to get each other's e-mail.
The young woman did not look her in the eye as she left. Tiffany smiled, cordially and politely. Nancy stood up, smiled back grimly and entered her office.
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It's flashback time!
The Interview
"Mrs. Arnswald, Tiffany will see you in a moment. Thank you for waiting." The young secretary turned and typed on her computer. Even though she sat across the room, Nancy could see she was on Facebook.
The room was decorated in a retro avocado green on one wall with some type of largish, hanging light fixture that looked like it was bought from Ikea. Very trendy and modern. It reminded her of something her mother would have picked out when she was a girl.
The phone hadn't rang since she came at 10:30, half an hour before Nancy's appointment. There were two people ahead of her, both of them younger. Tiffany, who was conducting the interview, was cordial and polite to the first one; a black man who appeared to be in his late 30s. He looked a little overweight but seemed poised and a little grim. That interview was quick. The next interview was with a much younger girl, probably just out of college. Tiffany remarked that she had the same shoes at home; it was now 11:30pm.
The secretary turned off her computer, got her purse and walked out of the room. Nancy took out her Blackberry to check for messages, leaned her head back on the white wall and closed her eyes with a sigh.
Thirty years ago she was as young as that secretary and just out of college. She was gorgeous, with great billows of dishwater blonde hair, styled just like Jaclyn Smith. She wore a navy power dress complete with shoulder pads and large, white button earrings. Her first interview at the law offices of Beloit Haskell and Seins went quite well. She had sex with one of the junior partners who hired her on the spot.
Nancy let the affair come to its natural conclusion and the two of them got along quite well. They attended each others weddings and baptisms of children. Nancy organized soccer practices from the office; after he made partner, she stayed with him and served as a patient go between him and his first wife.
She remembered when he introduced her to his girlfriend. Nancy had seen her many times before at various events and knew that she was trouble. This girlfriend was sweet as sugar to her face but she knew her time was up. Girlfriend had been a secretary. Her boss gave her a pretty good severance package; it was guilt money. According to her office friends, new wife now sat outside her husband's office.
Nancy heard the door open and sat straight. No reason to give Tiffany any more reason not to hire her. She knew she was going through the motions when she saw the two of them laugh and pause at the open door to get each other's e-mail.
The young woman did not look her in the eye as she left. Tiffany smiled, cordially and politely. Nancy stood up, smiled back grimly and entered her office.
~~~~
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Thursday, September 30, 2010
Magpie Tales Mag 33
Sunday Scribblings 234 - Love
Virginia Min
part 2
Granny Matkin
I soaked in that tub until my fingers and toes were pruny and the water was tepid. It felt so good to sit in that water. I imagined myself as Joan Crawford or Greta Garbo, exotic and detached from the triviality of the mundane.
"Are you done yet? Mama said it's dinner time and to come your hair 'cause Granny Matkin's here." The urgency in Kenny's voice was gone. I figured he must've gone behind the garage, but all that didn't matter one bit.
Granny Matkin was having dinner with us tonight. My blood ran cold. I knew that Mama wanted me to run a comb through my hair, put a ribbon around my head, put a dress on and be on my best behavior. I threw a towel around me, ran to my room and shut the door behind me. My toes looked like gorgeous, glamorous gems that gleamed on my little braided rug. Even so, I knew I better get some socks on because Granny would not approve.
Now, my Granny Matkin was a tiger. She was about as formidable as a Grizzly Bear Mama against a pack of wolves. I was scared to death of her when I was little. She wore her thick black hair in a large bun behind her head. Her face was wrinkly and wide. I think of her now and I can see that she must have been a knockout when she was young. But on that hot day, she was the embodiment of a hungry bobcat, a thorny switch, just waiting to come across someone's backside.
I hurried and put on a clean dress. I figured Mama wouldn't mind, considering Granny was here. I found a pretty ribbon. I had never noticed how soft and satiny it looked until I stood there with my fancy feet. Kenny yelled up the stairs again and I knew I needed to fly.
I ran down the stairs and quickly sat at the table.
"Good evening, Virginia Min," said Granny Matkin. If she'd've cracked a smile, her face would have shattered into pieces.
"Hi, Granny." I sat up straight and looked up at Mama, who was placing the food on the table. She looked so pretty tonight and she had a soft, kindly look on her face. Kenny looked like he had been rolling around in dirt all day long, except for his face. It was brown, certainly, from the sun, but it was scrubbed clean.
"Let me see your fingernails, child," Granny told my brother. He sat straight and held out both hands, palms up. Granny pursed her lips and stuck her chin in the air. Kenny slumped a little and turned them over. His nails were short and they were black. "You go in the kitchen and scrub them good, you hear me?"
"Yes, Granny," he murmured and flew out of his seat. The food smelled so good. Mama must have known all along that Granny would be coming because we had a whole chicken, green beans and new potatoes. It was like a Sunday dinner during the week.
In the meantime Kenny plunked back in his chair, but straighted as he saw Granny across the table. Mama smiled and had just sat down when we heard a knock at the front door. She opened the door and I saw Pete Kauffman, who held his hat in his hands.
"Thank you, Evelyn. Good evening, Mrs. Matkin. Min. Kenny. I am sorry to disturb you at supper time." Pete looked down at his shoes, but he didn't leave and come back. He stood his ground, God bless him.
"Pete, you look hungry, won't you sit and join us? We have plenty tonight." Mama pulled out a chair for him to sit opposite her, in Daddy's chair. Granny cleared her throat and looked away. Pete just stood there.
"Well, now, go on and sit down, Peter Kauffman." Granny seemed to glare at him. Pete glanced up at her, nodded his head and sat. We all bowed our head and Mama said grace. I sure was glad that she said a quick prayer because I was ready to eat.
Even in that hot dining room, I was hungry and I ate my fill. We all did, Pete included. In fact, he ate like he'd never had seen food before he came in our house. I saw him catch himself after a third piece of chicken. He wiped his mouth and put his napkin down on his lap, his eyes still averted.
"Go on, now, Pete. Here's another piece." I couldn't believe my eyes, but Granny put a whole chicken breast on his plate and a heap of potatoes. He nodded and ate.
"Have you seen Harry?" Mama put a spoonful of carrots on her plate and ate one little medallion at a time.
"No, ma'am. I heard that he's on his way up to Effingham to see if he can find some farmwork there." Pete wiped his face and hands before he dug into that pile of creamy, mashed potatoes. "It's bad out there, Evy. I've been to every town and farm within 10 miles and I can't find--that is, I been trying real hard-"
Pete put his fork down and stared down in his lap. I must have been staring at him because Granny kicked me under the table.
"I'm sure you have been. Work is scarce right now. When the harvest comes in, I'm certain you'll find something." Granny sat ramrod straight in her chair, her chin hard as granite.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry--that is, I've already eaten so much." Pete pulled his chair back and stood, still looking at the floor. Mama quietly withdrew into the kitchen.
"Mama, can I have more potatoes?" Kenny asked.
"No, you may not. That's all you've eaten and your Mama spent all that time preparing all this good food. Have some turnip greens." Granny plopped down a spoon of greens on Kenny's plate. He sat back in his chair and frowned; he'd have to eat the whole thing before he was excused from the table. "Virginia Min, please take that plate into the kitchen for your Mama."
I got out of the chair and to my horror I looked down and saw I was barefoot. I grabbed the serving plate and walked into the kitchen just as fast as I could. Mama was putting food into a paper bag. I think it was bread from the morning.
"Granny told me to give this to you, Mama." I held the plate up so that she couldn't see my feet.
"Evvy?" Granny called from the next room. "I suppose you should give him a piece of that pie I brought. You could wrap in paper for him."
Mama smiled, cut that pie quick, wrapped it up and put in that bag. It would be a nice meal for tomorrow. I put in the another chicken breast and we closed the top. Mama handed him the bag and touched his arm.
"You take this. It'll keep for tomorrow. Oh, and Kenny, run and get an apple for Pete, would you please?"
Kenny darted into the kitchen and I know why. It was to get away from the greens and Granny Matkin. Granny sat quietly in her seat and ate her greens, a little bit at a time. Pete, in the meantime, accepted the bag, but never looked up. I saw tear drop from his face and on to our floor. He was so embarrassed and hungry. Kenny bounded back in and dropped the apple on the floor. It rolled by my foot.
"Mama, Min hurt all her toes. They're bleeding," he cried, pointing at my feet.
Now then. I love my brother. He's one of the best men I'll ever know but so help me, at that moment, I could have smashed a brick in his brown, freckled face.
Everyone was looking at my feet. Granny Matkin got up to take a look.
"Virginia Min Stevenson. Painted toes. What is next, child? Evvy, I don't know, but you are too indulgent with your children. Nothing good will come of this." Granny gave me a withering look. I looked up at my mother and her eyes were about as big as our plates. Pete, too, stared at me with an open mouth, shocked at my depravity. So I did what any nine year old would do. I burst into tears, ran upstairs into my room and slammed the door shut.
I wept on my bed. I sobbed into my pillow and thought I would never be able to show my face in public again. I would live upstairs in my house, a spinster, for the rest of my life, while that old buzzard of a brother of mine would become a bastion of commerce and live in a big mansion with bushels of money. After some time, the mattress sagged by me and I felt a warm hand on my back.
"Virginia Min, I wish you would have told me. I wouldn't have yelled. Well, now, I might've but not as much as you think." There was a smile in her voice but I didn't look at her. I laid my head on my arms and involuntarily sobbed.
"Virginia Min, do you know what your Granny did when I cut my hair? She was mad as a hornet and told me that I was a brazen hussy and that nothing good would come from me getting my hair bobbed." Mama was laughing. "Granny means well. She's, uh, set in her ways. Now I don't approve of little girls like you painting your toes. And I can only guess that you girls took that paint without permission, right?"
How in the world did she know? I didn't say a word. I got up and my arms were all red and marked from my candlestick spread. I was ready to got outside and get a switch. Tears streaked down my face. Mama looked at me with a face full of love and I melted into her arms. She kissed my head, took my hand and led me to her room. She turned on her little light and showed me a little perfume bottle.
"Grandpaw Matkin gave this to your granny when they were young and newlywed. She passed this on to me when I got married, but-" Mama whispered in my ear- "I don't care for it. Maybe you will." She opened the top and held it to my nose.
The fragrance was heavy and exotic. In my head I saw visions of lipstick, Hollywood and Garbo. I liked it. Mama let me put a little on my finger and I dabbed it behind my ears.
"You go downstairs and give your Granny a hug and kiss. It's time for bed. You've had quite a day."
I kissed her on both her cheeks and ran down the stairs. Kenny's plate still had the greens on it. Granny was sitting at the table playing solitaire. She said nothing, didn't even acknowledge me; she gripped a card in her hand and stared like a hawk. I jutted out my chin, just like her and went right over to her and hugged her.
She put down the card and hugged me back, tight. I was so surprised that I kissed her cheek, delicate and soft like crepe paper.
"You smell right nice, Virginia Min. Good night." She kissed me roughly and went back to her game.
On the floor by our radio, Kenny had dropped Mr. Winkie. Mr. Winkie was his bear and he could not sleep without it. In fact, I could hear him whining and crying in his room. I thought about dropping it into the trash. I thought of taking scissors and cutting each limb off in front of him while he watched. I even thought of putting through the butcher's meat grinder. That'd teach him. I grabbed Mr. Winkie and walked upstairs. Mama was coming down. She stopped me and kissed me on my head one more time.
So much had happened that night. Everything would be different in the morning. And the same, a little too.
"Min, have you seen Mr. Winkie?" He sobbed, a lonesome, lonely sob. I remembered how upset I was early that evening. I remembered how sweet and kind Mama was to me.
I took Mr. Winkie and I threw him at my brother as hard as I could. He protested and called for Mama. I went in my room and slammed the door shut.
"Are you done yet? Mama said it's dinner time and to come your hair 'cause Granny Matkin's here." The urgency in Kenny's voice was gone. I figured he must've gone behind the garage, but all that didn't matter one bit.
Granny Matkin was having dinner with us tonight. My blood ran cold. I knew that Mama wanted me to run a comb through my hair, put a ribbon around my head, put a dress on and be on my best behavior. I threw a towel around me, ran to my room and shut the door behind me. My toes looked like gorgeous, glamorous gems that gleamed on my little braided rug. Even so, I knew I better get some socks on because Granny would not approve.
Now, my Granny Matkin was a tiger. She was about as formidable as a Grizzly Bear Mama against a pack of wolves. I was scared to death of her when I was little. She wore her thick black hair in a large bun behind her head. Her face was wrinkly and wide. I think of her now and I can see that she must have been a knockout when she was young. But on that hot day, she was the embodiment of a hungry bobcat, a thorny switch, just waiting to come across someone's backside.
I hurried and put on a clean dress. I figured Mama wouldn't mind, considering Granny was here. I found a pretty ribbon. I had never noticed how soft and satiny it looked until I stood there with my fancy feet. Kenny yelled up the stairs again and I knew I needed to fly.
I ran down the stairs and quickly sat at the table.
"Good evening, Virginia Min," said Granny Matkin. If she'd've cracked a smile, her face would have shattered into pieces.
"Hi, Granny." I sat up straight and looked up at Mama, who was placing the food on the table. She looked so pretty tonight and she had a soft, kindly look on her face. Kenny looked like he had been rolling around in dirt all day long, except for his face. It was brown, certainly, from the sun, but it was scrubbed clean.
"Let me see your fingernails, child," Granny told my brother. He sat straight and held out both hands, palms up. Granny pursed her lips and stuck her chin in the air. Kenny slumped a little and turned them over. His nails were short and they were black. "You go in the kitchen and scrub them good, you hear me?"
"Yes, Granny," he murmured and flew out of his seat. The food smelled so good. Mama must have known all along that Granny would be coming because we had a whole chicken, green beans and new potatoes. It was like a Sunday dinner during the week.
In the meantime Kenny plunked back in his chair, but straighted as he saw Granny across the table. Mama smiled and had just sat down when we heard a knock at the front door. She opened the door and I saw Pete Kauffman, who held his hat in his hands.
"Thank you, Evelyn. Good evening, Mrs. Matkin. Min. Kenny. I am sorry to disturb you at supper time." Pete looked down at his shoes, but he didn't leave and come back. He stood his ground, God bless him.
"Pete, you look hungry, won't you sit and join us? We have plenty tonight." Mama pulled out a chair for him to sit opposite her, in Daddy's chair. Granny cleared her throat and looked away. Pete just stood there.
"Well, now, go on and sit down, Peter Kauffman." Granny seemed to glare at him. Pete glanced up at her, nodded his head and sat. We all bowed our head and Mama said grace. I sure was glad that she said a quick prayer because I was ready to eat.
Even in that hot dining room, I was hungry and I ate my fill. We all did, Pete included. In fact, he ate like he'd never had seen food before he came in our house. I saw him catch himself after a third piece of chicken. He wiped his mouth and put his napkin down on his lap, his eyes still averted.
"Go on, now, Pete. Here's another piece." I couldn't believe my eyes, but Granny put a whole chicken breast on his plate and a heap of potatoes. He nodded and ate.
"Have you seen Harry?" Mama put a spoonful of carrots on her plate and ate one little medallion at a time.
"No, ma'am. I heard that he's on his way up to Effingham to see if he can find some farmwork there." Pete wiped his face and hands before he dug into that pile of creamy, mashed potatoes. "It's bad out there, Evy. I've been to every town and farm within 10 miles and I can't find--that is, I been trying real hard-"
Pete put his fork down and stared down in his lap. I must have been staring at him because Granny kicked me under the table.
"I'm sure you have been. Work is scarce right now. When the harvest comes in, I'm certain you'll find something." Granny sat ramrod straight in her chair, her chin hard as granite.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry--that is, I've already eaten so much." Pete pulled his chair back and stood, still looking at the floor. Mama quietly withdrew into the kitchen.
"Mama, can I have more potatoes?" Kenny asked.
"No, you may not. That's all you've eaten and your Mama spent all that time preparing all this good food. Have some turnip greens." Granny plopped down a spoon of greens on Kenny's plate. He sat back in his chair and frowned; he'd have to eat the whole thing before he was excused from the table. "Virginia Min, please take that plate into the kitchen for your Mama."
I got out of the chair and to my horror I looked down and saw I was barefoot. I grabbed the serving plate and walked into the kitchen just as fast as I could. Mama was putting food into a paper bag. I think it was bread from the morning.
"Granny told me to give this to you, Mama." I held the plate up so that she couldn't see my feet.
"Evvy?" Granny called from the next room. "I suppose you should give him a piece of that pie I brought. You could wrap in paper for him."
Mama smiled, cut that pie quick, wrapped it up and put in that bag. It would be a nice meal for tomorrow. I put in the another chicken breast and we closed the top. Mama handed him the bag and touched his arm.
"You take this. It'll keep for tomorrow. Oh, and Kenny, run and get an apple for Pete, would you please?"
Kenny darted into the kitchen and I know why. It was to get away from the greens and Granny Matkin. Granny sat quietly in her seat and ate her greens, a little bit at a time. Pete, in the meantime, accepted the bag, but never looked up. I saw tear drop from his face and on to our floor. He was so embarrassed and hungry. Kenny bounded back in and dropped the apple on the floor. It rolled by my foot.
"Mama, Min hurt all her toes. They're bleeding," he cried, pointing at my feet.
Now then. I love my brother. He's one of the best men I'll ever know but so help me, at that moment, I could have smashed a brick in his brown, freckled face.
Everyone was looking at my feet. Granny Matkin got up to take a look.
"Virginia Min Stevenson. Painted toes. What is next, child? Evvy, I don't know, but you are too indulgent with your children. Nothing good will come of this." Granny gave me a withering look. I looked up at my mother and her eyes were about as big as our plates. Pete, too, stared at me with an open mouth, shocked at my depravity. So I did what any nine year old would do. I burst into tears, ran upstairs into my room and slammed the door shut.
I wept on my bed. I sobbed into my pillow and thought I would never be able to show my face in public again. I would live upstairs in my house, a spinster, for the rest of my life, while that old buzzard of a brother of mine would become a bastion of commerce and live in a big mansion with bushels of money. After some time, the mattress sagged by me and I felt a warm hand on my back.
"Virginia Min, I wish you would have told me. I wouldn't have yelled. Well, now, I might've but not as much as you think." There was a smile in her voice but I didn't look at her. I laid my head on my arms and involuntarily sobbed.
"Virginia Min, do you know what your Granny did when I cut my hair? She was mad as a hornet and told me that I was a brazen hussy and that nothing good would come from me getting my hair bobbed." Mama was laughing. "Granny means well. She's, uh, set in her ways. Now I don't approve of little girls like you painting your toes. And I can only guess that you girls took that paint without permission, right?"
How in the world did she know? I didn't say a word. I got up and my arms were all red and marked from my candlestick spread. I was ready to got outside and get a switch. Tears streaked down my face. Mama looked at me with a face full of love and I melted into her arms. She kissed my head, took my hand and led me to her room. She turned on her little light and showed me a little perfume bottle.
"Grandpaw Matkin gave this to your granny when they were young and newlywed. She passed this on to me when I got married, but-" Mama whispered in my ear- "I don't care for it. Maybe you will." She opened the top and held it to my nose.
The fragrance was heavy and exotic. In my head I saw visions of lipstick, Hollywood and Garbo. I liked it. Mama let me put a little on my finger and I dabbed it behind my ears.
"You go downstairs and give your Granny a hug and kiss. It's time for bed. You've had quite a day."
I kissed her on both her cheeks and ran down the stairs. Kenny's plate still had the greens on it. Granny was sitting at the table playing solitaire. She said nothing, didn't even acknowledge me; she gripped a card in her hand and stared like a hawk. I jutted out my chin, just like her and went right over to her and hugged her.
She put down the card and hugged me back, tight. I was so surprised that I kissed her cheek, delicate and soft like crepe paper.
"You smell right nice, Virginia Min. Good night." She kissed me roughly and went back to her game.
On the floor by our radio, Kenny had dropped Mr. Winkie. Mr. Winkie was his bear and he could not sleep without it. In fact, I could hear him whining and crying in his room. I thought about dropping it into the trash. I thought of taking scissors and cutting each limb off in front of him while he watched. I even thought of putting through the butcher's meat grinder. That'd teach him. I grabbed Mr. Winkie and walked upstairs. Mama was coming down. She stopped me and kissed me on my head one more time.
So much had happened that night. Everything would be different in the morning. And the same, a little too.
"Min, have you seen Mr. Winkie?" He sobbed, a lonesome, lonely sob. I remembered how upset I was early that evening. I remembered how sweet and kind Mama was to me.
I took Mr. Winkie and I threw him at my brother as hard as I could. He protested and called for Mama. I went in my room and slammed the door shut.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 230
Sunday Scribblings # 230 Faith
Do you have faith in the future, faith in your friends or family, faith in your car starting, the floor being there in the morning, or in a religion or religious figure? Is there someone in your life named Faith? Do you have faith in humanity or goodness or animals or superheroes or simply that the sun will rise tomorrow morning? Is faith something we all need in some way or another? What do you think about faith?
I know what my faith is and what it is in. My faith is trust, but it's more than trust. It's a certainty, beyond a shadow of a doubt. There is a Bible verse in the old King James Version which says:
My faith is in Jesus.
I do not have faith in institutions, such as denominations. Nor do I place my faith and trust in leaders, such as pastors. They are men, nothing more. Some are corrupt and perverse; we hear it all the time. Some are wonderful people who devote their lives to what they believe in. But I cannot put my trust in such a person because I know that they will fail me. Seen it too many times.
I have put my faith in my family. I love my family but it would be foolish--no, insane--to put all my hopes and dreams into them. They will fail my hopes and dreams because they have their own journey and their own dreams. It would not be fair to them to do that.
I have chosen to put my faith in something and Someone far beyond my limited capabilities.
Do you have faith in the future, faith in your friends or family, faith in your car starting, the floor being there in the morning, or in a religion or religious figure? Is there someone in your life named Faith? Do you have faith in humanity or goodness or animals or superheroes or simply that the sun will rise tomorrow morning? Is faith something we all need in some way or another? What do you think about faith?
I know what my faith is and what it is in. My faith is trust, but it's more than trust. It's a certainty, beyond a shadow of a doubt. There is a Bible verse in the old King James Version which says:
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Heb. 11:1
My faith is in Jesus.
I do not have faith in institutions, such as denominations. Nor do I place my faith and trust in leaders, such as pastors. They are men, nothing more. Some are corrupt and perverse; we hear it all the time. Some are wonderful people who devote their lives to what they believe in. But I cannot put my trust in such a person because I know that they will fail me. Seen it too many times.
I have put my faith in my family. I love my family but it would be foolish--no, insane--to put all my hopes and dreams into them. They will fail my hopes and dreams because they have their own journey and their own dreams. It would not be fair to them to do that.
I have chosen to put my faith in something and Someone far beyond my limited capabilities.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 229
Please click here to see more creative entries
I thought we might go somewhere a bit more dangerous this week. What do you make of that?
4 Times
If all journeys start with one step,
And I know that journeys are always fraught
With danger and dangerous characters,
I refuse to let it bother me
that I have hit the snooze button
4 times.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 228
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The prompt this week is: view. What's the view from your window? What's your view on life? On the current world situation? What's the best view you have ever seen? Had? What's your dream view? Have you expressed your views?
A Fork In The Road by *intao on deviantART
A Room with a View
Most times I sit and type my blogs in my front room. It is a gateway to several places in the house. My bedroom, bathroom, dining room and up the stairs. From here I can listen to my children complain about homework. Or watch them post things on Facebook, since our computer is centrally located in our frontroom, thank you very much. I can watch my hard working husband crash on the couch. I can get the front door. It's a very good view of what is going on in our little home.
I am in my last semester at the local college and will need to make a decision about what to do beyond my associate's degree. I don't even know that it matters. I'm doing this so that I will have some type of paper to show that I have education to do a job--that doesn't exist anymore. I will be taking classes that will go towards the old Liberal Arts degree but they've titled it different. If I don't do this, then I will have several years of extra classes to take and I'm not sure I want to do that.
I'm older now. I am approaching 50 in a couple of years or so. The dreams I had when I was young stayed there and new ones took their place. But dreams don't pay bills or feed a family.
My view is one of transition and stability. It seems that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I am a stay at home mother who is available for her children. I am guiding my children to become more independent and self reliant so that when the time comes, they will fly. Some people embrace this but I chafe at the very thing I like. Stability.
The other view is one of transition. I am getting older and it cannot be escaped. The options that were open to me in my 20s and 3os are no longer feasible. I am a dreamer from way back and I suppose I always will be. Responsibilites and age are clouding my view.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 226
#226 - I'd like to thank...
This week you are going to write your acceptance speech. Whether it is your Oscar's speech, the dedication page from your book, or some other award, make sure it is for the award that is the most important one you can think of. In that moment of accepting your prize, who are you going to thank and why? What would you like to say to the people in your life who have helped you get this far? Who do you need to acknowledge?
A Thank You Speech
Dear Jesus, my loving Heavenly Father, and sweet Holy Spirit;
I have thought many times of how to thank You for awarding me not one, not two but three children.
I remember how hard it was to try to have children and wait. I remember the agony of each month, hoping and crying when that hope was dashed. I remember my co-worker asking me every Monday morning if I was pregnant and how humiliated it made me. I remember the doctor visits, the poking and prodding in places reserved for intimacy and privacy.
And I remember seeing the little heart beat. It was nothing but a blip; he was only 2 weeks from conception but his little heart was strong.
Two more times I was able to carry a child to full term. Through all the sleepless nights, the exhaustion, the nursing, the crying and changing and wiping and demands, You brought me through it all. It was so difficult but You, God, You helped me.
But today, that's not why I am here to thank You.
You see, Lord, I thought that I had faith. And I did. I thought that I was a faithful daughter and servant. I did many things, like sing at shelters and at Spred Group. Like visit the elderly once a week. Like become a chaplain to hand out coloring sheets. I did a lot of things and You helped me grow.
But nothing prepared me for the award You were to give me.
I don't have a lovely statue or a trophy as my award. No, You have given me so much more.
Through my son's diagnosis of asperger's, you have given me compassion, patience and tolerance. You have helped me be comfortable with people and families with special needs. That was a precious gift that I didn't know I needed.
Through my children being rejected, I learned to be an encourager. There were some days I needed it so badly that I thought my heart would crack my chest open. But it was through that pain that I became even better aware of another's pain.
Through my children's music, I was able to hear with my heart and set aside imperfections.
Through my youngest's physical struggles, I am learning endurance. And strength. And courage. And perseverance. And I am learning these things not from within but from my youngest son as he faces these difficulties.
Through my marriage, I have learned that I am capable of love beyond the surface of the skin. You have taught me the humor, the sorrow and the gracious acceptance through another human and Christian. I thought that the fires of love would die and grow cold. You taught me that the embers of love can burn for a lifetime.
Therefore, most gracious Lord Jesus, my loving Heavenly Father and Holy Spirit, I thank you for my many awards that You have sought to bestow upon me.
I thought that they were trials and sorrows. They were but they were lined with gold.
~~~~~~~~
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 216
Sunday Scribblings #216 - dragon
I know we don't very often go fantasy here at Sunday Scribblings, and this doesn't have to be if you don't want to go there. It is inspired by this J.R.R. Tolkien quote: "It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him."
I know we don't very often go fantasy here at Sunday Scribblings, and this doesn't have to be if you don't want to go there. It is inspired by this J.R.R. Tolkien quote: "It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him."
This is a piece I wrote about 3 years ago. I reread after a couple of years and I still like it. Would love some good feedback on this one.
Farewell
by C. Deanne
Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved
by C. Deanne
Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved
Pragmatism, child. I have taught you since you played as a hatchling in the trees.
Yet another harvest, my daughter. And still, you do not listen. You will see for yourself if I am right in so teaching you.
This stone shelf is warm. The sun loves it here, high on the mountain, above the trees. Your bones and flesh will warm on this smooth stone well into autumn. Keep it clean, my child. It does not belong to us, really. Lord Arawn has not come here in many good long years but he will one day. They always do and out of politeness and regard for their courtesy, you must keep the shelf clean. He and his people have never once hunted you or your brother. For that matter, they have never bothered me, your father or any of your sires; that means something. Do not forget. This is their holy place.
There are many things that I will miss. I have many memories here, most of them are good. Just the few bad ones from my youngest days. I befriended a little girl at the root of one of the mountains. Her hair was gold, like armor on your chest and she was sweet as ripened berries in summer. Many a fine talk we had when she was a little one and I a dragonling. We walked the tree line. We hid, or we thought we hid, from her mother. Her mother said nothing, bowing her head towards me; she never said a word to me. And the little girl—what was her name, it's been so long? She used to run to me, her curls bouncing in the summer fields when the wildflowers were in bloom. So pretty she looked, so pretty that I forget how sick I would get from the flower dust.
The winter was particularly harsh that year and their days from the Flood were young. Their hovels were dirty and drafty and a fair one could become sick. Quickly. Like a sudden wind from the North, blowing the leaves away. No more bouncing curls. No more little walks. Her mother's vacant stare. She wouldn't look at me. Even when she was bent with age.
And now listen to me, daughter. You are your father's daughter. I try to spare you such pain. It has never left me, after all these long years. The hot summer sun should comfort my old bones, the fields swelling with grass and I still catch myself thinking about a mother's loss when I was a dragonling.
I have cleaned the ancestral home as best as I could. I put all the dried bones in the privy. The tunnels are smooth from many sires. You would do well to keep them tidy. The tunnels are smooth from many sires; will you remember them? They had all gone before and many of them had left by the time you hatched. Now there are the three of us and now, there will be only two of you.
I have tried to reason with your brother but he is lusty with greed. Balor has promised him the Jewels of Arawn and he listens. Perhaps he will listen to you. Understand me. He will die if he holds to this promise and maintains the covenant. For what has Balor to offer him that he does not have already and more? His hoard is ten times what Balor offers. Greed. It has been the bane of many of my cousins. Many more left and crossed the great sea; more moved to other mountains and other kingdom. The spring wind blows from the waters but I feel their presence no more.
Balor will cause you trouble, but not the way that you think. He will not dare to defy you or gather your blood. He may be blind, but he is cunning like a snake. Like us, I suppose. He offers jewels and riches that he does not have. He seeks to regain glory; glory that he never had. He claims that the land belongs to him and his people. Bah! His people were starving to death before the outsiders. He taxed the outsiders, bullied the peasants, and gave them earls that couldn't grow a clover in the middle of a field. Who didn't know the land. Who forced those poor people to grow wheat crops in hardened clay. Stupidity. And the lowlands, where the water remained, they left untouched. Better they had raised cattle and sheep instead of scratching weeds. Better for us, aye? Ha. Yes, of course, better for us.
Balor will cause division. I have seen him go back to the henges. I have heard rumors for the jackdaws. He has started the sacrifices again, but he is smart. He uses the children of his enemies because he says they are pure and will be raised by the goddess. Did he even ask her if this is her will? He asks the fickle moon; she changes her mind at every turn. Foolishness.
The outsiders bring the cult, as they call it. The New religion. Mother and Father, Lord Arawn, we worship the same Chreawdwr and have for time forgotten. His Lordship comes to this very spot to summon our God; if I remember correctly, God will answer him right here. You might remember the last time. It was just before Balor wiped out the Nemedians. Arawn asked for guidance, if he should be involved. Fool. He asked too late and could not, would not wait. Bloodshed everywhere and our kindred flew in from all parts to feast. Balor killed many of them, dear friends, draining their blood and storing it away. My brother, your uncle wouldn't listen; he fell and I felt his loss deep in my heart. The Nemedians are gone and those that survived sailed the Western Shores. They weren't all bad. No. But they are all alike, my daughter, all of them; they are like the cornflower and speedwells blooming in the summer and perishing in the new moon of fall. You must protect your golden heart from them or it will be broken.
These past months I flew the length of the Range and back. I glided the turgid currents until I thought my wings would fold in the air. I built up my strength, daughter, for my long journey.
We knew this parting would come for it is part of who we are. We may linger for an age and there comes a time inside us to leave and forsake. To push the memories and the past behind and soar to the new. I am going to your father and his people. I feel his presence yet, strong and vital. They have strange ideas, being from the west. He had a keen interest in relationships with men and women, particularly with children. He enjoys helping them and serving them. I always admired that their brevity never scarred him as it has me. Perhaps admired isn't the right word. Respected. Yes. I respected your father's pragmatism.
The winds between summer and autumn will go with me so I must leave now. You may visit anytime you wish. You will not, of course, but you are always welcome to fellowship with me. I will feel your presence during this time of year; you have only to send your thoughts to the wind and I will hear them as you will hear me in the early spring.
Ah, daughter. You are beautiful and strong, wise and kind. How proud I am of who you have become. How proud your grandsires would be. In my heart, I feel they are proud of you even now.
One more thing. The jackdaws are our friends; they will bring you news from all over the realm and from Dyfydd and Rheged. Their constant chattering can be irritating but they are good company and loyal. Do not forsake them in their time of need.
Your father told me when you were a dragonling that his home was so different. He lives in the water and makes his home in caves beneath them. He once told me, though, that caves such as ours dot their mountains. Still, he told me his land is harsh, with taller mountains and few meadows. As beautiful as they are and as many painful and pleasant memories they bring, I will not miss them. Every spring, every year I become sick.
I haven't forgotten anything. I thought I would. Only heed my words. You are a dragon and you are long lived. Pragmatism will keep you alive; do not trust your heart to men. They do not live long and each time you love one of them, your heart will be crushed. The Chreawdwr blessed us and punished us with long life and strong memory. Take heed.
How proud I am of you, my beautiful child with the golden heart.
Farewell.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 215
#215 - recipe
With all of the foodie blogs out there, sometimes I get full just looking at the internet. With deliciousness in mind this week, I thought I'd suggest something a little different. The prompt is: recipe. Do with it what you will!
With all of the foodie blogs out there, sometimes I get full just looking at the internet. With deliciousness in mind this week, I thought I'd suggest something a little different. The prompt is: recipe. Do with it what you will!
My Scattered Mind
(results and ingredients will vary. This is a good, basic recipe)
For this recipe, you will need the following ingredients.
1 - redheaded boy with a social skill problem
1 - 11 year old girl with braces, zits, hormones and low blood sugar
1 - 9 year old boy with the attention span of a fly
1 - tired husband, who is no longer afforded the luxury of overtime, unless authorized
3 - churches: one for the family; one for the daughter; one for the boys
5 - personalities
1 1/2 bible studies: one you could only attend in the fall; one you can attend regularly
2 - semesters of college; more if needed
5 gallons/yards/gross of music, homework and chores
a dash of dreams
a pinch of crabbiness, PTA, anxiety
guilt
imagination
hope
love
faith
Preheat the summer air in Chicago to 90 to 100 degrees F. Add moisture, if the atmosphere is not saturated already.
Add first four ingredients and let them go. Either tread carefully around them or step out of their way.
Stir in churches, personalities. Simmer gently. Carefully add Bible studies and then college. If you reverse the order, the husband will fly off the handle and you will have a mess on your hands.
Transfer into the music. Stir often so that practicing, chores and homework do not get mushy or stick together.
Add the dreams, along with the crabbiness, PTA and anxiety. Be careful that you don't add too much PTA because it can overwhelm the recipe.
Sprinkle with guilt liberally; in this recipe, there is never enough.
It is easy to walk away from this recipe because it takes a long time until it is done. In fact, it takes a lifetime. While you are stirring, add imagination, love, hope and faith; without them, the stirring is useless and your results will be ruined.
Best served on a cold November day with hot chocolate, blankets and the Three Stooges on Saturday night.
For more creative entries, please go to Sunday Scribblings
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 214
Note: I took this from another prompt but it fits Sunday Scribblings' prompt as well.
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Training Wheels
I made him wear a helmet. I don't care; there will be no skull fracture if I can help it.
We bought him one of those push bicycles but he wouldn't pedal. We tried everything. He liked tricycles at other people's homes but outgrew them before we could purchase one.
We bought him a bike with training wheels. He outgrew it.
We bought him a larger bike with training wheels, but when we took the training wheels off, he still couldn't do it.
It all has to do with upper body weakness and low muscle tone. I read that's part of my son's diagnosis. What that has to do with autism or asperger's syndrome, I'll never know.
We gave up on it or rather, we let it go. My husband and I had tried our best and if he couldn't ride a bike, so be it. There are so many more worse things in life than that.
But that sunny afternoon, my husband called me from our side door and let the screen slam shut. I hate that noise and so does he, so I ran out; my husband does not let a screen door slam for nothing.
I walked to our front sidewalk and there he was. In fifth grade, yes, but riding without training wheels and beaming.
How many prayers had gone up for that small childhood milestone. My husband and I watched him pedal past us and felt a couple of fears lift off our shoulders and vanish.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 210
A minute before midnight
She read the last lines of her Elizabeth Gaskell novel:
Miss Barker hovering about us with offers of help, which, if she had not
remembered her former occupation, and wished us to forget it, would have been
much more pressing.
The pages of the paperback pressed into her thumb and left a small red mark. She placed a cross stitch book mark to keep her place and put the book on her bedside table, next to her alarm clock. The sheets were clean and crisp because it was Sunday, when she changed her sheets. It was like a fresh start to the new week. Normally she would turn off her light and snuggle into the white eyelet pillowcase, but not tonight.
Tonight Amy wished she had a television in her bedroom to keep her company. The silence in her condominium seemed a judgmental. She turned her light off and lay on her back. She had to straighten out her cotton nightgown against the cotton sheets, flip her hair out her face and smooth the blanked over her. Her eyes were stubborn that night and she could not get them to shut, even after reasoning with herself.
The top of her ceiling gave no sympathy and pressed down from the heights in a shadowy gray and black. The shadow from the fan looked like a spider ready to silk down on top of her. She turned the other way and had to adjust her gown again, which made her turn the other way and of course, she had get up, fix her gown and go back into the bed.
Amy turned on the light with a sigh and picked up her book.
11:59
Tears filled her eyes. Soon it would be midnight and she would miss her deadline. She smacked the book on her bed and covered her face with her hands.
She had gone to Carson's because they had a sale on black Aerosoles. When the sales clerk had gone in the back to find her size, she looked down on the floor and there it was. A perfect, white baby bootie. Just one, which told her that the baby had the other one on her foot. It was a her because she would never dream of putting a lovely thing like that on a boy. She picked it up. It was hand done, she was sure, and it was so soft, with a dainty satin ribbon to close it around a little ankle.
She asked the clerk if she remembered the mother. Maybe she was still in the store and she could give it to her. Surely she would miss it. But the clerk didn't know. So, Amy kept it and did not take it to lost and found like she said she would. She turned her head.
12:00
Amy broke into long, gasping sobs. Her deadline would pass and she would not be pregnant. The long, lonely decade of thirty something had begun.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 209
Taken from Sunday Scribblings
Have you had a mentor in your life? Would you like one? For what? Have you been one? How? Everyone could use a little more help in their lives, can you see where you could be a mentor now?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I want a writing mentor. I do. I want to be able to contact a more experienced writer and ask the dumb questions without worry. Questions like:
I don't need someone to edit. I need a sounding board for writing. But from the looks of these questions, I need a therapist.
I have mentors and peers in other areas of my life. God has blessed me with peers and mentors in the autism community. It took a long time and it came in an unexpected place, namely the internet. But I appreciate my community and try to be encouraging to others.
The last question made me laugh.
If I were a better Christian, I would say that God is my mentor and He teaches me all things. That is absolutely true and I know that He will continue to do so. To paraphrase something I heard elsewhere, I would like God to send me a mentor with skin.
Have you had a mentor in your life? Would you like one? For what? Have you been one? How? Everyone could use a little more help in their lives, can you see where you could be a mentor now?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I want a writing mentor. I do. I want to be able to contact a more experienced writer and ask the dumb questions without worry. Questions like:
I am having trouble with my plot. Is this common?
Do you think I'm being too hard on myself because I want to rewrite this
chapter a 6th time?
Can you talk me out of throwing this away? I'm almost finished but I think
it's a complete piece of...um, work.
I don't need someone to edit. I need a sounding board for writing. But from the looks of these questions, I need a therapist.
I have mentors and peers in other areas of my life. God has blessed me with peers and mentors in the autism community. It took a long time and it came in an unexpected place, namely the internet. But I appreciate my community and try to be encouraging to others.
The last question made me laugh.
"can you see where you could be a mentor now?"I am a mother. I mentor all the time, in the car, in the store, in the house, in the yard. All I seem to do is mentor. I'm not the best, but right now, it's my calling and God is helping me.
If I were a better Christian, I would say that God is my mentor and He teaches me all things. That is absolutely true and I know that He will continue to do so. To paraphrase something I heard elsewhere, I would like God to send me a mentor with skin.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 208
Sunday Scribblings #208 - Alchemy
I thought I'd inject a little magic into this grey March afternoon. What's your take on alchemy?
I thought I'd inject a little magic into this grey March afternoon. What's your take on alchemy?
Glimmer of Gold
The coals in the fireplace gave a little, patient warmth by his feet but no light.
He heard rather than saw a drip from the heated glass into its sister beaker, almost as large. Without looking, he reached for and grabbed a small, open bottle. There was just enough light for him to see the rim of the beaker. He forced opened his bleary eyes and poured a drop of tincture of nitre.
No puff of smoke. No sweet aroma or heady taste of smoky oak in back of the throat.
Paton tapped the bottle on the marble table. He was tired. His body ached from sunlit hours slouched over a cobbler's block. For the first time all day his thoughts turned to the room at the end of six small stairs. The faint glow of a candle peeked under the closed door at the top of the stairs and he heard a quiet knock.
"Paton? Are you there? It's time for bed." His wife's voice was the same, worried and kind.
With a short sigh, he poured in the entire contents of the bottle into the beaker. It didn't matter because he knew it wouldn't work. He walked the few short steps to the door and opened it. Even in the lamplight she was beautiful. She opened her mouth to speak but he kissed her. He touched her face.
"Sence." He put his hand behind her neck. "Sence. There is so much that I cannot give you. You deserve a beautiful home in the country. A barn, a couple of cows. Sheep."
"Sheep, Paton." She smiled.
"And chickens, Sence. Fresh eggs, every day. And we could sell them."
"It's a lovely dream. Someday."
Paton nodded. He pulled away and turned to pull the knob behind him. He thought he saw a glimmer of gold in the beaker. He drew a deep breath and shut the door.
Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Sunday Scribblings # 206
#206 - The book that changed everything
Is there a book that you read at a particular time in your life that changed everything for you? Is there a book you think should be written that would change everything? Words have an incredible power if they are read/ heard by the right person at the right time. What collection of words has been powerful for you?
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Is there a book that you read at a particular time in your life that changed everything for you? Is there a book you think should be written that would change everything? Words have an incredible power if they are read/ heard by the right person at the right time. What collection of words has been powerful for you?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It Changed Everything
I worked at a bank with a pastor's daughter. She was so free spirited. It bugged me because I was trapped in an abusive marriage, which was falling apart.
I began to go to her father's little church and to read the bible. In all my years of Sunday School, Lutheran Elementary School and confirmation classes, it never occurred to me that God loved me and forgave me of my sins. Sitting at his kitchen table, the pastor showed me otherwise.
The book was part of what changed me 22 years ago.
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Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday Scribblings 204
Her waist was thin and her hair long and silky. She waited for her audition along with 50 other men and women. It was her first time downtown alone and she was frightened. But the challenge and excitement gave her confidence and stars in her eyes. It didn't matter that she didn't have experience. It didn't matter that there was no part for her. It didn't matter that this would be one in a series of many disappointments. She knew but her dreams were big.
She clutched her portfolio in her hand and leaned against the wall. The red carpet was dirty. The walls were dingy and needed paint. She wished she would have brought a book or a magazine like some of the others. As she stared at the black pattern in the maroon pile, she smiled.
Soon she would be working and doing what she loved. She would leave the safety and security of her parents' home and move to the Northside. Theatre. Great shops. Beautiful apartments. Art. Creativity. It was all before her.
~~~~
Sitting at the kitchen table, she remembered. She smoked her last cigarette and let the warmth flood her inside. The smoke billowed around her head, like a gray scarf.
The irony was not lost. She was heavy now, with three kids, and a husband who worked his fingers black in grease and oil. Back in her old stomping ground, where she swore she would leave. Back to the home where she grew up. Back to the neighbors who never believed she would get anywhere. Maybe they were right all along.
She crushed her smoke, got up and turned off the light. Tomorrow was coming faster each day. But in her heart there was always that hope. Even when she put on her uniform to go to work. One day, she'd go back and audition again. Let those old neighbors shake their heads. Let her husband roll his eyes.
Maybe she could get another portfolio and audition. The parts would be different but she didn't care. She double-locked her front door and looked out the window. The street was dark and everything was quiet.
"It's never too late. I have big dreams."
She picked up her son's backpack and hung it on the hook before she went to bed.
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