It Takes A Special Kind of Talent to Write Harlequin

She appeared to be staring calmly out the front room's curtains into the night sky. She was trying to grasp the slightest of breezes from the open window to cool her senses; when he came up behind her. Fog hung dense clinging close to the wet ground.
He was in his bed clothes.
Of course, she would let him stay the night. It was such a long drive home, so late. He had come by with no forewarning.
"What are you looking at," he spoke. He was standing so close behind her she could almost feel the out-line of his body. She wanted to breathe deeper. She could feel the simmering tingle start lightly in her body. She closed her eyes, briefly.
"Nothing," she whispered, for lack of better words to say.
She felt his hand slide up to her left shoulder, fingertips brushing her neck. She tilted her head away from him, feeling his fingers slide from her neck and then back up again as he further reached for her. She let her eyelids drop.
She could hardly stand it.
His hand reached into her hair and she leaned slightly back into him. His hand applied gentle pressure, asking her to turn to him.
And she did.

Travels With Charlie

I love my visits with Charlie. There are a few things to be counted on when he comes over. They are always on Sunday, he always brings something and he never arrives before 11 p.m. (except that whole supper experiment his sick, twisted mind wanted to try).
Charlie and I have only been friends for a few months. We met randomly, as most people do. He made me laugh. He likes the fact he cannot shock me. We have admitted things to each other we do not admit to other people. We are in related fields concerning our career choices. I would like to see him more, but he lives an hour away. It makes our once or twice monthly visits more fun, though. Charlie is a great guy.
He would be upset if I failed mention he is also good to look at. But I thought, nah, why stroke his already over-bearing ego?

Popcorn and a Porn

I remember one my first visits with Charlie. We were talking over Messenger and it was after midnight. We decided he could come over and bring a movie. We joked about what he could bring. He decided porn, before signing out.
Charlie had just a few days before hand come out of some serious surgery. Things were still up in the air, concerning it.
We had touched on his surgery before he had it, but we never talked at any great length about it. We had no history as friends. We did not know what could be tolerated. I knew he was worried. I was, too.
I was happy to see he was still handsome when he walked through my front door. The doctors had cut Charlie from his neck, up into his face.
He sat on my couch, offering me his neck, taking the role of a circus freak with some hideous deformity.
But there was nothing hideous about the pink, pulsating wound and stitches. It was a healthy pink. Charlie was going to be okay.
I took my fingers and lightly traced my fingers along his incision.
Then we settled in to eat popcorn and watch one of Charlie's favorite movies, Joe(1970).
Like I said, he can't shock me.

This past Sunday night, Charlie came over. He brought me the wrong sized coffee and showed me his new party trick. We watched bad comedy and travelled the area for an open fast food joint at two in the morning. He made me order my burger with pickles on it, because he did not want to wait in case they had to make me a fresh one.
I hope we never end up just sending each other Christmas cards.

I've called a few legions, Charlie. There is definitely something going on there.
We are going to have to infiltrate.
For some reason, they all have to call me back.

Reading Grounds

I like libraries. The warm tones and the quietness and the books. I love to people-watch the kind that sits reading or studying. The best time to go to the library is at 7 p.m. But alas, I cannot go there too often. It might result in me getting a library card.
And that is some risky business.
I take out too many books. More than most people can read. More than I can read. Usually. Mostly. And I never take them back on time.
Taking out library books has other little dangers for me. I am a rough and tumble sort of girl. I like getting into things.
And that includes my books. By the end of a good read, the novel usually has coffee stains and a piece of the cover torn. Paperbacks have snapped spines. Some books visit my bath water. A book can age pretty quick being with me. Sometimes it gets really, really old.
There have been many times I have had to replace the entire price of the book to the library.
I will admit this happens if the book was really good and I just want to keep it too, though.
For these reasons libraries miss me. I have paid out so much to them, new ones have been built.
It is just cheaper for me to go to the bookstore.

So, I have a new book in my home. It is not mine.
I decided tonight to have a bubble bath and the book came with me. I stepped into the warm, foamy water and sunk in. I closed my eyes for five minutes. Then I reached for the book. I watched as my damp hands left wet splotches sinking into the black of it's hard cover.
Oh no.
This book has reminded me why I am not comfortable borrowing books from people, either.
I bit my lip. I had to make a decision.
I really want to read this book, even though it is not the type of book I would normally read. The person who owns this book is interesting enough for me to want to know why this book is so interesting to them.
I want to enjoy this book. It's bad enough I cannot dog-ear the pages.
So, I compromised.
I laid back in the water. I opened the book. I started reading. I like being able to get into things.
This is the last time I will treat it like shit.
I promise.

Sharing

I am at the bus stop early in this evening. I want to stretch out on the concrete sidewalk and indulge in the quietness and the sun. I watch lazy bike riders and bored children on front porches. Today the wind would have been perfect had I been kissed the night before.
I am going to a friends house to eat some cold pizza.
I hate pizza. I love my friend.

We sit on her balcony enjoying the breezes and laughing. She pokes herself into her apartment and comes back with a strawberry cooler and two glasses.
"I only have this one, but I thought it would be a nice treat," she smiles.
She opens the cap as she looks across the road at the park. "No one is even there tonight."
"Got a big cup that has a lid?" I ask.
"Yeah," she says.
"Let's go," I say back.

We sat in the grass that was a little too long and yellow in some areas from the constant treading across it.
We lounged and shared the cooler out of a blue sports bottle.
We felt deliciously wicked.
I love my Sunday evenings.

Windex The New Spit-Polish

I swear. I have house-cleaning issues.
I guess maybe they are created for something to talk about briefly, when the girl's first get together for coffee.
You kind of have to create little stories for that.

My house was almost beautiful three weeks a go. And I had just got a new washer and dryer. That I have to say-I was thrilled with for two whole days.
Nothing really out of the normal was going on in my household. Same people dropping by. Same experiments in my sink.
Somewhere along the way, I decided I did not have to do as much cleaning. The basics would be good enough. And if one of those got skipped on one night, I could make it up the next.
Two weeks a go, I do not want to admit what I decided-but there was no rationalization. I stopped cleaning. I pretty much ordered my employee to do the basics. She did.
She also decided to clean spills with my best towels and eat all my chocolate.
But it was worth it. I was sitting on my ass.
I seemed to not notice when my babysitter apparently just started spending her days creating conspiracies against me and stopped cleaning.
One week ago, I looked at my house and sighed.
Six Days ago, I looked at my house and wrinkled my nose.
Five Days ago, I wasn't looking at my house. There were better things to look at.
Four Days ago, I thought oh no.
Where did that laundry pile come from?
Okay, where did all those laundry piles come from?
Little timed bombs waiting to go off in corners.
I was not sure why so much stuff was in closets where it should not be.
And my floors really needed a washing.
I only have a few days to pull this off. My kids will be leaving on Day Two, I thought.
The house must be clean before they go. Who wants to start two weeks minus brats messy?
I got pretty miserable for the next few days. If I am found dead; Cindy did it.
It could almost be claimed as justifiable.
Day Two came, I still had a bit too much laundry, but there was only a few dishes in my sink and only my floors left to do. I did that.
Twenty minutes before my children were due to leave, I closed their bedroom doors and refused them access.
I flopped on my couch after they were gone like I had just put in a life-sentence.
My house was pretty dang clean.
That night I kicked a book under the couch and refused to wash the flower vase I put in the sink.
A house has got to look lived in.

Dear Jean

If I could take it all away, I would. Let me know what I can help ease for you. I love you.
I am so sorry.

Elizabeth

Samantha

FOR MY CHILDREN & THE ONE DOWN THE STREET

Eight Years Old

Tommy sat up in the second branches of the tree. He peered through the leaves to the ground; looking at the brightness of grass grown in the shade. He was scared and could only manage to look up for the briefest of seconds; just a corner of blue covered by cloud.
But Tommy grinned. He had finally climbed a tree!
He breathed deeply and listened to the sounds of everyone else out for their recess. The last reccess before summer started. The air seemed to ride on the waves of excitement that was up in the throats of every child; round like a proud frog.
Tommy longed to feel this sense of excitement, too. Climbing up the tree, he found it.

Tommy sat on the ground at the bottom of the tree. His hands were torn up from trying to clutch bark when he came down. The sting was so strong; it kept away the blood. But small, thick gobs of blood plopped down from the scrape on his nose; deep and burning. His eyelashes were fat with unshed tears.
The recess bell rang and he stood up fast.
He gritted his teeth. He needed to tolerate this pain. He was capable.
Tommy ran. He ran as hard as he could, his faced grimaced, his fists in tight balls, his arms slamming back and forth; towards the school.
Pain ripped through his entire body. It made him run faster.
He reached the wall of the school and put a hand up on the sun-baked, yellow clay bricks. He bent down, breathing hard. His knees shook.
He heard the laughter.
He turned to look at the mass of children clotting the doors waiting to be let in.
The laughter rang louder in his ears.
Tommy's breath shallowed as he disconnected from the sight, and let his eyes see everything swim. He looked down.
His brown corduroy pants were torn.
No, he thought.
His bright orange hockey pajama bottoms shouted out through the shredded, stringy mess.
The laughter was for him.
He sat on the blacktop; head in hands. He stopped hearing.

He heard her sigh first; whispering passed his ears. Sissy, he thought.
He looked up to green eyes and blonde hair bouncing bright from the sun's sudden burst through the clouds.
She was looking at him, moving her lips nervously and shuffling her blue-sandaled feet. A red jewel sparkled from each foot.
"Hi," she breathed.
She was only in Grade One.
"What?" Tommy spit.
She bit hard on her lip. Her nostrils flared slightly, as her eyes narrowed.
She walked over and sat beside him.
"I bring my Teddy Bear to school everyday in my backpack," she said.
Tommy put his head back against the brick wall and covered his eyes. "So what?"
"I do not know what I would do if anyone found out. Especially if it was Andrew. That guy is dumb. Everyone would make fun of me."
He looked over at the girl, hands still to his head. "Bringing your bear to school is dorky."
She widened her eyes and smiled, nodding. "I know."
Tommy smiled at the girl, then covered back up his eyes.
He took in a ragged breath. It was over. Large tears seeped through his hands; leaving their dark splashes on his blue shirt. He gulped in large breaths of air. He stopped his nose from running freely.
He felt the warmth of her hand touching his forearm. Assurance.
"I just wanted to feel home," he choked out at her.

The Bathroom

6 p.m.

Tommy sat in the bathtub, staring off with his legs outstretched and sometimes, his toes too. Pretending he was in a race car no longer appealed to his four year old mind.
The summer evening's sun pulsed through the small uncurtained window; warming his naked body. He let the water out over an hour a go, but bathrooms always left his skin feeling damp and itchy if he was in one too long. His toenails were still dirty.
He looked up to see Momma standing in the doorway in her short, light yellow summer nightgown. Her blonde hair was askew and matted. Her skin had tinges of bluing; the look of too much time spent indoors. A cigarette was in her hand and the smoke curled around her face. It did not mask the glossed-over look of her eyes.
"Good morning, Momma."
Her hand came up to shush him and she reached with her other to the medicine cabinet.
"Not now, Tommy."
He watched as Momma fumbled with the bottle of Tylenol, then spread her hand wide to empty too many pills into her palm. She dipped her head under the sink's tap to take a long drink.
She turned, sliding down the bathroom cabinets. She sat with her knees up, spread too far apart, and smoked lazily. She flicked her ashes on the the tiled floor; the colour of stained yellow teeth.
"Momma, I am hungry."
She looked up at him and her eyes opened with sudden awareness.
She whispered, "Tommy, where is Sissy?"

One Fine Day: April 15 2004-Part V

The woman behind the counter looks nice enough. She is a pert, little blonde with a cheery smile. She looks like she wants to do cartwheels.
I am starting to feel bad already at all the work I am going to have to make her go through.
I smile back at her when I reach the counter, apologetically.
"You are so going to wish I was not here in a minute," I say to her.
Her grin was wide. "What can I help you with?"
Okay. Here is the kicker. I recently went through complete I.D. renewal. I own a birth certificate. I am relying on the postal service to deliver the rest.
She looks over my birth certificate carefully. She bites her lip. She sighs. She looks up at me and has transformed into not-so-cheery.
"I have to verify this with my manager," she scowls at me.
God, I think. She sounds like Darth Vadar.
I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe hard through my nose when I see Darth and the manager walk towards me.
"Hello, Elizabeth," Mr. Dobson says with concern. "How are you today?"
Charm, I whisper to myself.
I smile widely at him. "It's a good day. I am so sorry for all your hassle here with me."
"You do not have anymore I.D.?" He questions me.
"I am sure Holly here has explained this unfortunate situation I am in."
He knocks twice on the counter with his knuckles.
"Elizabeth, would you mind stepping back in my office with me?"
I feel a range of emotion from just woooonderful to you have got to be kidding to you are an ass.
I smile wider. "Sure, whatever you need."
Holly comes around the side of the counter with a grim expression on her face. She opens the gate to let me.
"Back this way....Elizabeth," Dobson eyes me carefully before he turns his back to lead me into one of the glass surrounded cubicles.
"Elizabeth," he says, after I sit down. "How can we believe this is you without any further proof?"
"Oh, I have some bank statements here and my cheque book," I offered then out of my large black everything bag.
He sighs loudly as he is looking over the pieces of paper, slowly stroking his reddish moustache. He looks up at me.
"Wait here."
He gets up and strides out of the room taking all my papers with him.

I sit on the little dark green plush and metal chair for over 20 minutes.
Is this being done to make me nervous? Make me sweat? See how long it will take before I get up to leave, looking guilty?
"This is one fine day," I mutter to myself.

Mr. Dobson finally rounds the corner and says with little conviction he is sorry for the wait.
"I am sure you are a busy man," I reply.
"Where did you get these cheques, Elizabeth?"
I look at him like he is insane. "My desk drawer," I answer.
"How old are you?"
Oh, this is getting ridiculous.
I list off every number I know about myself.
"Does that work for you, sir?" I smile. "Oh, and the cheques? In my drawer; they were underneath my phone number book."
Now, Elizabeth-" he begins.
"Listen," I cut him off. "I am sure it must be a slow week and there is nothing better than the prospect of catching some criminal trying to fraud you. But if I was this evil bad person, do you not think I would pick someone with a little bit more than 20 dollars in their account to rip-off?"
He sighs again.
"Come with me," he says.
He leads me back out to Holly. "Issue her a new card," he tells her.
Holly looks at me with suspicious eyes.
"Have a good day, Mr. Dobson," I say. "I am sure sorry I spoiled your fun today."
"You listen to me, Elizabeth," he says darkly. "If you lose one more card, we are going to revoke your privileges to even have one."
I roll my eyes, laugh at him and turn my attention to punching my new pin code into their stupid little machines.

(To Be Continued)

Probably August

Circumstances have made it possible for me to enjoy another self-indulgent walk. This one I get to take at almost 10 o'clock.
It has been raining off and on here all night. Light sprinkles fall from the deepest blue sky as I step outside and although the rain is a bit colder than I normally like, I enjoy the feel of it tonight.
I decide to turn left. It is garbage night. Everyone on the street is so neat. Their is no shame in placing their garbage bags right below the street lights.

It was the summer I was ten years old and my brother was eight. We used to hang "Outback". Daily, we would hop the fence at the end of our two-acre property into a subdivision of houses. Our gang of kids was large and diverse. Everybody played together. At least sometimes.

The day's sky had turned from a light blue to a pale grey. It was an unexpected colder day. We were all suffering in our shorts and tee-shirts but nobody wanted to go home. A parent might suddenly decide a bedroom needed to be cleaned.
Some kids lasted longer than others. But soon, it was only Nancy, my brother and his best friend, Jeff, and I left. It was three in the afternoon.
We decided to walk around the neighborhood to keep warm. It was too cold to ride our bikes. The garbage men had still not made it to the area.
We were two houses passed Jeff's when my brother noticed a large branch cut from a pine tree in the garbage.
"Shit, it looks like a Christmas tree," he said.
We all agreed with him.
We all also agreed to drag the large branch over to the vacant lot down the street and plant it.
"It needs decoration," said Nancy, afterwards. She was a childhood Martha Stewart.
"What would we even use?" asked Jeff.
"We will have to hurry. Those garbage men could come soon," I said.
"No way!" Jeff exclaimed, horrified. "I will get in how much trouble if I am caught."
I rolled my eyes at him. "Just come on."

We took things like bottle caps and newspaper from people's recycling boxes. Nancy grabbed all the plastic ribbing she could find. I decided the tabs off popcans would make great mock lights. Jeff found a make-up Barbie head with gummy blonde hair. Mike found a stash of popsicle sticks in a shoe box.
The garbage man must have been perturbed to find no one had used twist ties on their bags that week in the neighborhood.

We lugged our loot back to the tree.
"We got to get some garland for this tree before we put anything on it," Nancy said.
My brother said "We could split-up."
"Good idea," answered Nancy. "We will meet back here in half an hour."
I watched my brother and his friend run off. "They are just going to take off to do something else, you know."
"Boys will be boys," Nancy sighed.
We decided we would be able to find some nice flowers for the tree up on Marijuana Mountain. We did not know what marijuana really was. We just called it that because all the older kids did. We always felt cool hanging out there. In the daytime.
We figured right about the flowers and came back to our little tree with armfuls.
The boys came back with nothing but the idea that we should go to the cornfield and peel some husks off the corn. It could be tied together for even more garland. Nancy thought it was a good idea and off we went down the block.
Jeff found a stick on the ground. He looked up at me. He said "I bet we can make some real cool stuff if we peel the bark off sticks."
I thought that was a neat idea.

We had fun decorating the tree that afternoon. Nancy kissed my little brother on the cheek in exchange for his hoard of popsicle sticks. And she bravely snuck home for some glue. Jeff and I decided we could make candy canes from bark. It was time consuming and we only did one each.
Nancy made a elaborate star for the top of the tree out of the sticks. Her and Jeff got into a big fight. What else could be done with his Barbie head? It had to be the topper.
The star ended up winning.

We broke-up for supper with the promise to return in an hour. We had decided we would each come back with little presents for each other to open under our tree.

We converged, dressed warmer in pants and windbreakers, each carrying our little plastic garbage bags of goodies. We were full of excitement.
I gave Nancy four Archie comic books I knew she had not read.
She gave me her favorite ring from her costume box collection.
Jeff gave Nancy the Barbie head.

My brother was the smart one though that night. He had raided the cupboards at home. He gave everyone food.
We sat around that little Christmas tree gorging ourselves on pretzels, marshmallows and macaroni noodles.
We did not notice the cold air.
We did not notice anything but each other and our laughter.

"Oh, no," I said looking up. There were so many stars in the sky.
We all looked at each other, dread creeping up our spines and filling our throats. We all knew the when the street lights come on curfew.
My brother and I ran all the way home, our bumped and bruised legs ahead of our minds. It seemed like we had been running forever before we even reached the fence to hop.
I looked up at the black numbered clock that hung above the stove when we burst through the door into the house.
It was almost ten o'clock.

Not one of us kids got in trouble that night.
I'd like to say it happened in July.
But it was probably August.

Saturday Playing

***For Shawn: The names for your playlists are so clever, you inspired me.


I just knew in advance my Saturday night this week would suck.
And it does-my house is trashed. I don't want to be the one who has to clean it.
Besides, last Saturday was fabulous and turn-about is fair play.
I knew I had to prepare in advance.
This afternoon I decided I would put together a playlist of the music that I listened to when I was 13 years old.
It is a little scary.
New Kids on the Block to Jethro Tull.
Vanilla Ice to Conway Twitty.
Rod Stewart to Metallica.

Metallica. Sigh. I have such fond memories of Metallica being my favorite band. They got to remain that way for over 13 years. I often feel guilty I discovered Matchbox Twenty three months a go.
A play list would not be complete without Metallica.
Well-okay. Not true. I have that really geeky all happy songs playlist.
I could not put Metallica there.
Somehow, I feel guilty about this, too.
Gee. I wonder if this is like a bad break-up? Me and Metallica.

Another thing weird I found while making the playlist this afternoon was the whole Jethro Tull thing.
I listened to that band quite a lot everyday for a week when I was 13.
I could not remember one song name when I went to download them. Nor did I recognize one song from the list.
I hope when I listen to the three I downloaded, something jogs my memory.
I have always thought I was cool I once listened to them.

I will be woman enough to admit I loved Vanilla Ice. For almost two whole months.
I even bought a book about him.

And New Kids on the Block. They occupied my teen mind endlessly. It was an obsession. I had all their music. I had posters. I even had a Donny doll. My friends and I used to write notes to each other in class, solely based on The New Kids. I am telling you-it is a good thing most teen girls do not own personal jets.
Or maybe it would be if they did.
There would not be many boy bands if all of them were squished by millions of stalker teen girls having throes of hormonal passion.
I realized when I was making this playlist, I am not fond of boy bands. At all.I still had to limit myself to five songs with NKOTB though.I thought people might think I was creepy if I downloaded anymore then that.
Hey. It's O.K. We all have our limits.

Now Rod Stewart. We have some real history. I was 11 when his Out of Order CD came out. I loved it. But not as much as Chicago. I went back in history with Chicago when I was 11.
Rod Stewart had to wait till I was 13.
13 is when I realize parents sometimes do get revenge.
I liked this boy named Paul. My eyes were probably permanent stars, or something.
All of us kids listened to the request hour on a local radio station a night.
We all requested songs.
And I liked Paul.
And my mother knew it.
And why did I trust her?
Because even then, I liked to make a stir.
She said request 'If you Think I'm Sexy' for that boy you like.
I thought, yeah. It's old. It will be cheesy. I have never heard it. But Mom says it is from way back when....Cheesy.
Well, I was actually mortified when I heard the lyrics.
I will never know quite how I managed to pull myself off as cool the next day at school, either.
I guess because I can make a good stir.
Rod Stewart and me. We have good history.
Even if I had to learn a lot about him quick, I like the fact I thwarted my Mother's revenge.


Conway Twitty. Hmmm. He represents growing up for a lot of reasons.
But that is a whole other story.
Besides, we should all be more concerned with the fact I am still too poor to own a personal jet. Those poor Matchbox Twenty boys.

A lot of thought goes into making these playlists.
Except my "I Like to Swear" playlist. That was relatively simple.
Still, I had an enjoyable time making my "On the Edge of Everything" playlist this afternoon.I am going to go now and listen to it for the first time.
There are ways to make you appreciate even house cleaning.

I Remember

To Whoever you are...
Wherever you are...

The Easter Egg was a beautiful navy blue with ribbons of pink, purple and yellow running through it's foil wrapper. It sat far upon my window's top ledge.
I stood on my tippy-toes, my 4 year old self reaching. I wanted to hold that egg so bad.
But I could not reach it.
Not even when I stood on my bed.
Tears streamed down my face and a fear started to tingle in my bones. It was so horrible to be so small.

I woke suddenly with the sick feeling of my heart racing.
I sat up and peeled the blankets from my warm little body. My nightgown was damp against my skin.
The bedroom was dim as the last of the day's light was being sucked behind a nighttime curtain. I could hear the soft sighs of my little brother's slumber and I looked across the room to see him curled in a ball, sucking his thumb. My own finger was wrinkled from being in my mouth.
I shuffled over to the edge of the bed and dropped down, letting my bare feet touch the cool tiled flooring. I moved close to the window to peer out.
A cool breeze washed slowly over my face, drying the wet spots my tears had left behind.
It had rained not too long before I had opened my eyes. The road was a mix of dark and light where the rain was starting to dry.
Everything was calm and it calmed me.
I could smell the lilac tree, alive and wet. I watched it quivering slightly in the breeze.
I heard the teenage girls before I saw them. There was four of them and they were riding their bikes down the quiet street.
Three rode passed my house.
One stopped. She placed one leg on the road, leaning with her hands resting on her handlebars.
She had spotted me staring out the window.
Her bike was blue and she was in a red shirt and white shorts. She was 16 years old and her blonde hair was up in a ponytail.
She looked up at me from beneath the soft glow of the street lamp.
"Can't you sleep?" she asked me.
I could hear the sound of the television in the living room. Still...
I looked at her and said nothing.
"Cat got your tongue?" Her smile was large and warm.
I looked behind me towards my closed bedroom door and then looked back at her.
She was still smiling when she brought her finger up to her lips.
I smiled back.
"Will you go back to bed if I sing you a song, then?"
I nodded.
Her voice started low, gaining confidence until it was clear, coming from deep within her chest.
Just a lullaby.
My hands gripped the window ledge and I prayed she was not loud enough for my mother to hear.
She paused when she was done, looking at me with the softest smile. "Will you sleep now?"
I nodded again, slowly.
"Go on, then," she urged me.
I raised my hand, stalling and waved a shy wave at her.
"Good night," she whispered.
I hoisted myself back into my bed, wrapping the covers around me.
I listened to the sound of her tires leaving on wet pavement until I couldn't.

A Never Ending List

I See....

I see AJ on a fantastic white wooden front porch after a summer's afternoon rain. He is wearing blue jeans, leaning back in his chair, his bare feet up on the railing. I see wise eyes and a wife with shining ones opening up the front door to join him.

AJ-the gift you gave me today is unexplainable with words. Thank you.

I see Juner in her backyard opening up a freezer bag with her daughter. Amazement runs through their watery eyes at the stench of decomposition.

I see KJB in a room that does not need light bulbs. I see chartreuse walls, red couches and funky posters. I see the widest smile. I can so see her rolling her eyes.

I see The Bard in a quiet room with the glow of the computer screen as the only light, hiding the most beautiful parts about him behind his curly hair.

I see Morgan, my first favorite, searching everywhere to bring truth to his blog. I see him on his hands and knees, looking down the sewers, peering through fences, looking into life a step beyond.

I am not picking favorites here (but you all are). When my picture is complete, you will probably find yourself here, too.
If I have commented on your site, it is because I think you are wonderful and your stories have made me laugh, cry or think. I believe fantastic talent lies within your soul.

Thank you for all the time you have spent with me thus far.

A Porch Over

Church Lady is nutty. Church Lady lives next door to me. She has five teenagers, six cats and three big dogs.
We moved here in December.
Church Lady had reindeer in her garden. Not just any reindeer, either. Beautiful life-size soft reindeer with a pine display of needles and red satin ribbon encasing them. It was breath-taking and would have been better suited to the front foyer of City Hall. You know. Inside.
Now it is summer and her too busy garden has just stayed weird. She still has the reindeer. Minus the ribbon.
She has bird cages she has torn the tops and bottoms from placed around her steps. Things grow in them. There is a gigantic wooden cardinal smack dab in the middle of her garden. The eyes seem to glow at night.
She has a huge blue and white patio umbrella attached to her porch's metal railing. There are no chairs underneath it. Everyday there is four new rugs hanging over the rest of the railing. They are of every description and colour. I think they must cover every last square inch of flooring in her house. Church Lady actually creeps me out.
She knocked on my door the first Saturday we were here. I smiled when I opened the door. She was so cute and plump with her big nose and curly hair.
Then she pointed her finger straight up in the air. Her eyes widened.
"I must talk to you!" she exclaimed in her harsh German accent as if she were Hitler herself.
I took a quick step back.
"Ooookay," I said.
"You. You and your children. You will go to church with me tomorrow. Yes?"
"Umm...no."
"Yes. We will go. All of us together. We will go and have a good time."
"Umm...no."
She covered her chest with her hands. She fluttered her eyes. I think she was pretending to have a heart attack. "You...you...you don't believe in...GOD?" Her loud shout and accusing eyes made me take another step back.
"Umm...uhhh...yeah."
"Then we go to church!" She spread her arms out and smiled at me.
I thought she wanted a hug so I took another step back.
"Umm...it was nice to meet you. I-yeah..okay..I am going to close the door now."
Afterwards, I thought maybe I had been too rude.

The following Saturday there was a knock on my door.
"I must talk to you!"
My eyes followed the finger. If you are up there, help me, I thought. "Hello to you, too."
"I am taking you to church tomorrow. You and your beautiful children."
"Umm...no."
"We will raise our arms. We will praise da Lord. You. Me. And your beautiful children."
"Umm...no."
"You do not share beautiful with your children?"
"Umm...uh...yeah."
"So church we go!"
"Umm...I...ok, I am going inside now."

Yes, she came the following Saturday. And the Saturday after that. She is here every Saturday.
Nothing stops her.

My son was playing outside a few months back. My front door slammed open quite suddenly. I jumped up from my chair. My friend Wendy gasped.
"AHHHHHHHHH," a man screamed. "AHHHH..OH MY GOD...HELP...OH HELP."
"What?" I hissed out, glued to my spot.
"MY WIFE...." he sobbed.
My front door opened again and there was a very pregnant woman standing there covered in blood.
"Attacked. She has been attacked. A dog. Next door. Help."
I grabbed my cordless and dialed 911.
"Wendy, get that woman sitting down. Grab some towels. Where has she been bit?"
"The arms. Oh my god. She is a hemophiliac."
I am suddenly scared she will die in my house.
Wendy led the shocked woman into my living room.
"Get her in the kitchen," I choked. A trail of blood followed them.
I was on the phone with the 911 operator when Wendy came running from the hallway. She had my children's first baby blankets in her hand.
"Are you crazy?" I hissed again as I ran back to the closet for towels. I felt bad when I entered my kitchen and took my first real look at the woman.
She was huddled on a kitchen chair, whimpering. Her eyes were back in her head.
I did not pull back her coat. I did not know what I was doing. I just tied one of the towels around her arm and squeezed for all I was worth. I instructed Wendy to do the same with the other arm.
I looked over at my stove and noticed I had turned on the wrong burner again and the front coil was burning hot.
My son was a few feet from me staring, wide-eyed. He would not have left if I had asked, this I knew.
"it is going to be okay," I said to him.
He looked me in the eyes and nodded.
"I can't stop the bleeding," Wendy whispered to me as the husband shouted at his wife, trying to get her to talk.
"Mister," I said. "Sit down." The bleeding has slowed considerably on the arm I had a hold of.
"We will trade," I whispered back to Wendy.
I heard sirens approaching. An older paramedic walked in my door. He surveyed the room calmly. His eyes were squinted. He pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket. He slowly put them on.
I looked down at my own hands soaked in her blood.
"You have done a good job here," he said as he pulled back the shredded coat on the arm Wendy had been holding.
There was a gaping wound running up most of her arm. It looked six inches deep on all sides.
I could feel myself going faint and I turned my head.
The lady was shaking and I grabbed my winter coat off the back of the chair and wrapped her in it.
Everything became a blur. Reality sunk in.

Her name is Monica. She is fine. So is her new baby boy. She was lucky.

One of Church Lady's dogs had lunged passed her when she had opened her front door to this couple. This couple who decided they would like to attend her church.
Church Lady locked her doors that night. She turned off her lights. Sirens were blaring in my driveway and she never came over.

"I must talk to you!" I opened the door that following Saturday to Church Lady. I cocked an eyebrow at her.
"We must get you to church!"
"Umm..no."
"We have a beautiful church. You would love it."
"Umm..no."
"Why? Why do you say no? Do you not love God?"
I could have went on a rant. I could have asked where she was after her dog mauled a pregnant women. I could have said her church was teaching her nothing. I could have told her I had never been more disgusted by a human being in my life.
But truth of the matter, she had probably been scared out of her wits, too, by the horror of her dog. What was the point of judging her?
Truth of the matter, the only reason I refuse to attend with her is because someone had once given me the finger from the back window of her church's bus while I was walking down the street.
So what I said was, "Umm...uh...yeah."
"Then I will be here to get you in da morning!" She beamed at me.
I beamed back.
"See you next Saturday," I said as I closed the door.

Tommy

Every time he saw the old lady, she was wearing her velvet zippered green housecoat. She rarely had her teeth in and the sunk in places around her mouth gave him the creeps.
He felt comfortable visiting there until she came out of her room.
Thank God, is was rare.
She always came slowly to him, her boned hands outstretched. When she finally reached him, the smell of death would take his breath away like the smell of Aqua Velva did.
Her weak arms would wrap around his shoulders. Her body would push close up against him and he would feel her thin limbs and the surprised softness around her middle.
She would pull away to brush her lips and breathe her lifelessness on his cheeks. It would take everything inside him to hold back his tears of disgust.
He could taste the bile, thick as stew, every time he heard the words, "When will your Mother be coming? I am almost dead."

I am Not All Peaches & Cream

As Always:To Moon
The broad who put a hex on me when I stole her stolen idea.
I can't stop making lists...

Things That Annoy Me(I might get loud when annoyed)

1. My computer.
2. People who are always late.
3. Or too early.
4. Other people writing in my notebooks.
5. No coffee filters.
6. Someone knocking at my door. People I like just walk in.
7. Favor-askers hinting.
8. Anything I cannot open with my hands or teeth.
9. Not long line-ups...slow cashiers.
10. Weeds.
11. Anything breaking I like.
12. A horrible movie.
13. People louder than me.
14. Someone pointing at me when they are angry.
15. Telemarketers calling when I am busy.
16. People trying to borrow books before I have read them.
17. Fingerprints on walls.
18. The three-way stop in front of my house.
19. Easter bunny shopping.
20. Uncomfortable clothes.
21. Beehives in my tree.
22. Singing the wrong lyrics.
23. Tuesdays.
24. Getting tickled.
25. Mary-Kate and Ashley.
26. Richard Simmons.
27. Sally Fields.
28. Paige Davis.
29. Un-tangling anything.
30. People who spit for no reason.
31. White trucks. They just look wrong that colour.
32. Interrupters.
33. People not returning borrowed items.
34. Too many toys in the living room.
35. Polka dots on clothing.
36. Garbage day.
37. Animal poop.
38. The colour blue in my couch.
39. Not knowing the score of last night's ball game.
40. Most loud rap music.
41. Stupid storytellers.
42. Finding someone already did half the crossword.
43. Knowing only the answers they did.
44. Someone sticking their finger in my drink.
45. People who move my couch blankets.
46. Templates.
47. The radio announcer never telling me who sang that song.
48. 100 watt lightbulbs.
49. Only finding Salt and Vinegar chips in the cupboard.
50. Bumpy bus rides.
51. No Miracle Whip left.
52. Three's Company
53. Wet children running through my house.
54. <---- that number.
55. Purple nail polish.
56. Tense moments of quiet.
57. Screwdrivers.
58. Wrenches.
59. Any tool not a hammer.
60. Shopping carts.
61. Ruffles.
62. Little candles.
63. Missing clothes-just not socks.
64. Finding 27 windows of Dynomite open on my Desktop.
65. My telephone company.
66. Always buying the wrong cold remedy.
67. The wrong CD in the case.
68. Dark resturants.
69. Leather seats.
70. Google needing to update their search engine pages dedicated to me.
71. Glass tabletops.
72. Two-story bright blue recycle boxes.
73. My budgie's "outings".
74. Counseling my cat because she knows she can't eat the budgie. I hope.
75. Yes! My pets are annoying me right now.
76. Watching movies during the day.
78. Boring answering machine greetings.
79. When music is not provided when you are on hold.
80. The Pink Panther.
81. Having cold feet.
82. People trying to get me to eat squash. I do not know why people are always trying to get me to eat their squash. But they are. Must be from some other weird hex-giver I have encountered in my life.
83. The fact I took up more than two lines for an annoyance.
84. Strobe lights.
85. Not normal coloured candy canes.
86. Stubbing my toe.
87. Or my nose.
88. Sticky candy.
89. Whipped topping in a can.
90. New sidewalks.
91. That I have still never riden a horse.
92. Cleaning the bathroom.
93. Getting delivery.
94. Chicken Noodle soup as Soup of the Day.
95. My son's Tornado Game.
96. Folding laundry. There is just no fun game to do with it.
97. Wicker.
98. Peach skin.
99. Non-bubble blowing gum.
100. This list. Bad mood inducer.
101. The pounding headache I got to end my weekend with.

Tonight

I am going downtown tonight with the air I am a serious college student, who volunteers at the college's library once a week. On Saturday mornings. This is not who I really am. I go with the attitude it is 1983. I comb and style my always messy hair so it will messily none-the-less, flow..
My nose got a little sun today. This is where the idea originated.
It is 7 p.m. when I go.
I have freckles.
That is my attitude.
This is what happens:

Downtown feels weird. It is quiet here. I do not know this downtown.
People are in various forms of dress. Been here all day or Going to be here all night. But all the clothes are casual.
There is a light breeze. Car windows are open.
The usual bustle of downtown has transformed itself into a small town downtown.
I go to my usual coffee shop.
It is closed. Surreal. Closed?
Well, there is another one a few blocks over. I can take many different ways to get there. I just follow the feel of little town until I get there...

I decide to sit and drink some of my coffee on a planter. A woman and a man soon almost join me on the other one. They are on a date but they have known each other for awhile.
Still, she is telling him too much.
Doomed.
Besides, she has an earring in her chin. He never will...

I am on a set of steps when a 45 year old man walks up to me. I do not have the cigarette he wants.
We start talking. It is about religion.
It is a good conversation.
He is a man who is really just a smart drunk who has spent a long time thinking about AA. He will be a success story when he finally goes.
When he walks away, I think about my convictions...

I am on a bench at the market across from the new entertainment centre. I have my camera in my hand.
A teacher-ly type man is leaving the market.
I point across the road.
A new large TV screen has been put up in front of the centre.
"Look at our mini Times Square," I say to him.
We chat for 15 minutes.
I shake my head at the TV screen.
Culture for the new millennium. I do not find personal beauty in it.
But the group of 15 year old boys sitting on another bench across the road watching it do...

I am walking down the main street and I cannot believe my eyes!
I see an old friend I have not seen in years standing outside a small bar, having a cigarette.
We both cannot believe it.
We decide to go in and we have a quick drink.
We reminisce about old times.
About who we have seen. Who we have not.
We laugh.
After half an hour, I decide to let her get back to the friends she has come with.
It was nice seeing each other and we exchange numbers, but know we will not likely call...

I step outside the bar and realize this is the time I should be heading home.
I can feel a pen in my pocket. I look down and reach to get it. The pen has leaked and there is a bit of ink on my jeans. I smile.
I am such a geek...

It Has Remote Control

I am thrilled. I am so lucky. I am beside myself.
Unexpectedly, I have no children all weekend long.
It comes at a shock at 5:30 p.m. I just do not even know what to do with myself. I have had no time to plan!
I decide I will plan tonight, maybe write, and blare the music full blast until 4 a.m.-because I can!!!!
But because I am home anyway, I will do a load of laundry.
Except here we go again with the no-power to my basement appliances.
I start to feel like this is punishment for being so happy to be without children for the week-end. Now I will have to find someone to help me.
Cindy has fixed this before. But she had time to plan for her Friday evening. She is not going to be home.
My mind begins to race. I know so few people who even have knowledge of this kind of stuff. Or maybe everyone has knowledge of breaker systems and I am just under some assumption you have to be a brain surgeon to get them.
Ian.
I will call Ian. He is afterall, a man. Men usually know more about this stuff.
The phone rings six times.
I can hear the annoyance in Ian's hello.
"Hi Ian," I say in my happy-chirpy-crazy me way.
I know he is rolling his eyes. Sigh. "Hi, Beth."
"How you doing? What's new with you?" I say.
"Just bought a new fan."
"Oh, yeah?" My mind races. Man. New fan. "Does it have a radio in it?"
"No, but it has a remote control!" Ian exclaims.
"For real? That is too cool."
I ask Ian for his help and he agrees. He will be right over.
And he is. In twenty minutes.
"Come on," he says to me when he gets here. "I am going to show you how to use the breaker box."
I trot along down my stairs behind him. Cool! I am all for today's lesson on how to be a boy.
"See the list?" he points to a long white one.
"Uh-huh," I say.
"See how it says kitchen, and it is marked with a 1? This one says master bedroom and it has a 2 beside it?"
"Right," I say.
"And this one says basement. It has a number 6. All you got to do is find the number 6 on these black switches and flick."
"Uh-huh," I say again. "I have been down here before. How do you know that list is right?"
"It is."
"But how do you know?"
"I don't-but it is."
"See? Even you have doubts," I accuse him. "I am going to go upstairs now. Fix this please, Ian. And if the whole house blows up, at least I didn't do it."
"Fixed," Ian says a few minutes later when he meets me up in the kitchen.
"You wanna drink?" I ask, already pouring him a glass of pop.
"Yep."
Ian and I sat around talking for two hours.
In a pause, Ian says, "It stands 36 inches high."
What? Oh, that fan, again. It is the fourth time tonight he has brought that thing up-
Oh, jesus.
"Ian, I am a horrible friend. Go home and play with your new toy. I really want to get to my music cranking, anyway!"
"Thank god." he says, laughing. "Gimmie a hug."
I oblige and as he has me wrapped up in his bear hug he says "Remote control. Amazing."
I shake my head at him as he lets go. "Thanks Ian, for fixing my power issue."
"You got it," he points and winks and is gone.

If one more person can manage to not blow up my house, I will believe breaker 6 really is for my basement.

Dish Thoughts

...the moral ramifications of downloading porn on a computer not-your-computer...

...Celine Dion: when she sings, her eyebrows do Broadway...ok...off-off-off Broadway...

...I am so pissed my budgie had to recently learn Survival Tactics...
A big adjustment in this house...my pets might be taking over...!

...why men can't say "Listen, Bob.." instead of doing things like throwing each other off the backs of moving trucks...

One Fine Day: April 15th 2004- Part IV

The line-up is eight people dense at the bank. Normally this would make me a little antsy but I am not really looking forward to this part of my day. A little drag does not bother me. Besides the daylight is shining through the windows just right. I can handle this line-up.
Still, I do not envy the rush of people who come in just after I do.
Two college-aged boys are standing right behind me. The one is cute in his modern take on 70's clothing. His friend is just the other side of pleasant chubbiness.
"Can you even believe Randall and that new dog of his?" Heavy asks, incredulously.
"The benefits of puppies. Woman-folk cannot resist," Hunk replies.
"Yeah. But man, it is not like he is good-looking."
"Well, it's not like he has gotten a date out of it yet," says Hunk. "Makes me wonder what kind of puppy he would need to get one. Actually, it makes me wonder even more what kind it would take for your ass to get a date."
"Shut-up," laughs Heavy.
"Hmmm...A Jack Russell would work."
"You think?"
"As long as you named him You've-Got-Pretty-Eyes."
I think this is funny, but keep my laughter to myself.
The Four Tops come on the radio over the loud speaker, deeply intoning I Can't Help Myself.
Hunk starts to sing along. He appears to know every word.
Heavy looks at him, strangely.
"What?" says Hunk. He starts to shake his hips as he plays over-zealous drums. "Sometimes you just gotta boogie."
"Yeah," Heavy rolled his eyes. "Sorry, I am just not digging it with you."
Hunk throws his friend an irritated look, then keeps on singing with a little smile on his face.
It makes me happy witnessing his little piece of happiness for the day. It was not likely a memory he will keep. It is just one of those moments in time when you do something enjoyable for yourself to keep you going from day to day.
But it was a memory I will keep for him and that is cool in itself.
I am such a bogart.
"Can I help you?" calls a teller from behind the long desk.
I look up to see where the voice is.
As I start walking towards the lady, a sense of dread washes over me...

(To Be Continued)

My Favorite Songs

1. Welcome Home(Santitarium)-Metallica
2. Long Day-Matchbox Twenty
3. When You Say Nothing At All-Alison Krauss
4. Unkind-Matchbox Twenty
5. Blackened-Metallica
6. You're So Real-Matchbox Twenty
7. Runaway Train-Soul Asylum
8. Broken Wing-Martina McBride
9. Who Put the Bomp-Me First and the Gimmie Gimmies
10. Sweet Caroline-Neil Diamond
11. Only Hope-Mandy Moore
12. Living Room-Tegan & Sara
13. St. Elmo's Fire(Man In Motion)-John Parr
14. Girl All the Bad Boys Want-Bowling for Soup
15. Perfect-Sara Evans
16. Dead Skin Mask-Slayer
17. Faith-George Michael
18. Crime of Passion-Ricky Van Shelton
19. I Love It Loud-KISS
20. Seek and Destroy-Metallica
21. Bright Lights-Matchbox Twenty
22. Somebody Like You-Keith Urban
23. Ten Thousand Angels-Mindy McCready
24. You Give Love a Bad Name-Bon Jovi
25. Thank the Lord for the Night Time-Neil Diamond
26. More Than Words Can Say-Alias
27. Hello, I'm Gone-Trisha Yearwood
28. People Are Strange-The Doors
29. Moving On-Rascal Flatts
30. Now and Forever(You and Me)-Ann Murray
31. This Love-Pantera
32. 3 A.M.-Matchbox Twenty
33. Wrapped Up In You-Garth Brooks
34. Blonde and Blue-Headstones
35. Hells Bells-AC/DC
36. Cherry Bomb-John Cougar Mellencamp
37. We're So Good Together-Reba McEntire
38. Monkey Business-Skid Row
39. Blow At High Dough-Tragically Hip
40. Two Out of Three Ain't Bad-Meatloaf
41. I Said a Prayer-Pam Tillis
42. Girls Night Out-The Judds
43. You Sexy Thing-Hot Chocolate
44. We Built This City-Jefferson Starship
45. New Sensation-INXS
46. River Deep, Mountain High-Celine Dion
47. Glad Girls-Guided By Voices
48. The Way You Make Me Feel-Michael Jackson
49. All I Need-Matchbox Twenty
50. Concrete Angel-Martina McBride
51. Tell Me Lies-Fleetwood Mac
52. Lady Fingers-Lucious Jackson
53. Burnin' Bridges-Slaughter
54. Out of My Bones-Randy Travis
55. I'm a Bitch-Meredith Brooks
56. Forever Young-Rod Stewart
57. Lonely, Needin' Lovin'-Kenny Chesney
58. Alive-Pearl Jam
59. This Love-Maroon 5
60. Sylvia's Mother-Dr. Hook
61. Shimmer-Fuel
62. Just What I Needed-The Cars
63. Don't Go Away Mad(Just Go Away)-Motley Crue
64. Bullet in the Head-Rage Against the Machine
65. My Maria-Brooks and Dunn
66. The Flame-Cheap Trick
67. I Used to Love Her-Guns n Roses
68. Disposable Heros-Metallica
69. Empty-Terri Clark
70. That Summer-Garth Brooks
71. I Saw Him Standing There-Tiffany
72. The Difference-Matchbox Twenty
73. Stick to the Girl-Loveless
74. Country Road-Dolly Parton
75. Ship of Fools-Robert Plant
76. Here Comes Horses-Matchbox Twenty
77. Making Love Out of Nothing At All-Air Supply
78. Talk Dirty to Me-Poison
79. Thank God for You-Sawyer Brown
80. Willing to Wait-Sebadoh
81. Born Again in Dixieland-Jason McCoy
82. Summer of 69-Bryan Adams
83. I Learned That From You-Sara Evans
84. Are You Gonna Be My Girl-Jet
85. Sonny Came Home-Shawn Colvin
86. Weeping Willow-April Wine
87. Kiss 'Em All-Lace
88. Something More-Train
89. Jeans On-Keith Urban
90. Rag Doll-Aerosmith
91. I Can Love You Better-Dixie Chicks
92. The Reason-Hoobastank
93. Followed Her Around-Jimmy Rankin
94. One Thing-Finger Eleven
95. I Love Myself Today-Bif Naked
96. For What It's Worth-Buffalo SPringfield
97. Solitude-Black Sabbath
99. White Lies-Slik Toxic
100. Mother-Pink Floyd
101. Back 2 Good-Matchbox Twenty

The Box

My whole family had converged at my Grandparent's home. It became the main base. Where we all ate and slept; waiting for my Grandmother to pass away. She was in the hospital, sleeping. She was never going to wake-up.
It was 3 in the morning on my first night there. Being the last to arrive and the youngest, I got the pleasure of sleeping in the rec room. On the fold-out couch. As far back as I can remember, no one ever wanted to sleep on it. The mattress was thin and lumpy, the coils had long since all sprung. Under the best circumstances, I do not think sleep would have came anyway.
It had been a long time since I had been down in that room. I stared up at the pictures covering the one wall. A detailed history of my family in mostly black and white photographs. Some people I only know through these photos.
My Grandfather was in a lot of them. So handsome. So proud. Even in black and white you can see the contrast between his dark hair and blue eyes. I could not believe the beauty of him in his younger days. I smiled to think how lucky my Grandmother must have felt to win his heart.

I was six years old when we moved back to the small town I was born in. My Grandparents owned a few acres in the middle of town. There was two houses on the property, one that used to belong to my Great-Grandparents. That is the house we moved into.

A large racket woke me the first morning there. I remember looking out my window and seeing my Grandfather sawing long pieces of wood into smaller pieces.
I ran outside in my little pink nightgown. "What you doing?"
"Go on, Bethie, you will see soon enough," he answered me.
My little brother and I ended up spending a good portion of the day sitting in the driveway watching our Grandfather as he sawed and nailed and painted.
We watched as the poles went up. I do not remember the moment we figured out it was a swing set. I do not remember saying thank you, although I am sure our Mother ensured we did.
What I do remember is the hours spent on that swing set with my brother. We would pump our little legs to get as high as we could before jumping from the seats, seeing who could fly through the air the furthest. It became our transport truck and we would take turns being either B.J. or Bear. It was the place where we plotted our days. It was the place where I would bend myself backwards to look up at the clouds whizzing by. It was the place I went to cry. It was the one place where my brother and I were best friends, just not siblings.

My Grandfather was a quiet man. He was always in the rec room on family-dinner Sundays watching "the game". We were never to bug him. I remember peering down the stairs a lot. Seemed to me he was always sleeping.
My Grandfather had a garage full of carpentry tools. He would be in that garage all day somedays. But I never really paid much attention to what he was doing in there.
He built things out of wood. It was a passion given to him by his father and my Grandparent's home was full of things he had built with his own two hands.
My Grandfather also owned a huge yellow chainsaw. Whenever he got bored, another tree in the yard would come down.
He was always on the riding lawn mower cutting grass.
He was boring.

I remember when I was 13 and I knew everything.
It was a family dinner night. My Grandfather was on a rant about people with AIDS. He said everyone one of them should be shipped off to a country all of their own. I was mortified.
"They are people! What if it was me, Grandpa? Would you ship me off?"
"You are 13. Your opinion means nothing at this table," he said to me.
"Well, I am a member of this family and you are wrong, Grandpa. And I am ashamed to even call you that right now."
His plate went forward and his chair slammed back. "I will not sit at this table one minute longer with the likes of you," he seethed. He was up and downstairs before I could say another word.
"Jesus Christ, Bethie," my Grandmother whispered.

I remember when I was 14 and I knew everything. I was three days late for curfew when my mother and Aunt finally caught up with me. I was dragged back to my Grandparent's home.
"Where were you?", "Who were you with?", "What the hell is the matter with you?", "Are you on drugs?"
My Mother, Aunt and Grandmother blasted me with questions. I sat at that kitchen table and stared at them. I did not say one word.
My Grandfather pointed at me.
"You belong in reform school," he said.
I pointed back.
"And you belong in hell."

My daughter was only a few months old when she got admitted in the hospital for an uncontrollable high fever. No one could make a diagnosis.
It was a Sunday. I knew where my Mother would be. I called my Grandparent's home and she answered. I just started crying.
"Mom-I am so scared."
"Your Grandfather is dead," she said.
My daughter was in the hospital for the next five days. I never left her side. I never made it to my Grandfather's funeral.

A week later I was sitting in my mother's living room.
"The paper put together a nice, little article about your Grandfather. I bought a copy of it for you," she said as she handed it to me.
The little article was half a page long. As I was reading I began to realize my Grandfather had been a very important person in the town I grew up in and he had done many wonderful things. Over 600 people went to his funeral.
I looked up at my Mother, with tears in my eyes. "I never knew..." I cried.
"Of course you did not," she said. "He was Grandpa to you."
"All the awful fights we would get into," I cried harder.
"Oh, Beth," she said. "Your Grandfather loved the fire you lit under him. No one in this family has ever had the balls to talk back to him."
I looked at her helplessly. "But I do not know him."

Looking up at all those photographs on the wall in my Grandparent's basement, I felt that same helplessness. I saw so many faces and I had no clue who they were.
Sometimes, magic happens.
Sometimes when you ask, you receive.
I was wiping my eyes when I caught sight of a wooden box on a shelf high above the TV.
I pulled it down and wiped away a thick layer on dust. There were two compartments inside. I opened the first one and there in pencil were the words written by my Great Grandfather stating he had repaired this box when he was 73 years old.
Inside these compartments were letters and receipts dating back as far as the 1850's. Some were so old and brittle they could not even be read. Others looked liked they had been penned the day before. There was a receipt for the shares my Grandfather had bought in the Co-Op. They were purchased just a few days before his first daughter was born.
The original deed to the property I had grown up on was in there. The property was bought on July 11, 1933 for three hundred and ten dollars.
I found a journal from the 1860's. It was full of thoughts and poetry from a family member who had traveled the world by boat. No one in my family understood my need to write. Maybe this man had sent his gift through the years to me, I hoped.

No one in my family had any need for that box when my Grandmother finally lost her battle for life and died the day before my Grandfather's birthday.
It now sits above my TV. I still do not know all the people who are contained inside of this box. The knowledge left with my Grandparents. I have researched and managed to get dates of births and marriages for some of them.
But in that box, there are stories. Little pieces of the life these people led. Their personal triumphs and tragedies.
Sometimes I feel like I know more about them than the man who I lived next door to be for over 10 years.
I wish I had sat in that garage, watching his large hands run over the wood he loved to work with, building more than just memories with him.

I hope he knows how much that swing set has always meant to me.

His name was Gord.

:(

Good Game, boys.
Congratulations Tampa.

The Grade Six Cup

It probably has to do with all the beautiful days and nights we have been getting lately; these memories I recall with such fondness.

There is nothing in the world quite like being 11 years old. Many of my most favorite memories come from the year I was in Grade Six.
You remember it, too.
It was the last time boys and girls were allowed to be 'just friends'. You were excited to be off to middle school the following year. And it did not hurt you were part of the "Kings" on the playground. Every other kid in lower grades hated you and yet could not wait to be you. You know this because you were once them. You have paid your dues. It was the first time you experienced power at your fingertips and it was yours alone to decide what to do with.
There was an imposed soccer league at our school that all the Grade Four, Five and Six's were forced to participate in.
I was one of the kids thrilled to. My Uncle Jack had taught me lots over the years about soccer in the backyard. I could stop most of his hardest shots.
Rene was another kid who was thrilled to be playing soccer. He had a history steeped rich in it and his father and him watched games on TV together. He became captain of the team I was on. He was also a fellow classmate.
I might have fought his authority more, had he not let me be goalie for the first half of all games.
He was surprised when he realized I was so good.
Rene was a top scoring player. I never let in a goal all season. We never lost one game. Together, Rene and I helped create "The Team". We were fought over by other kids for recess battles.
We shared the glory well. We handed out tips to younger players and helped many of the less soccer -inclined win a few recess games.

It was the end of the school day when teachers stopped the first Championship game. It had been going on for over an hour. I had been in goal the whole time.
The other team had lost only two games all season. They were pretty tough. We had not had the chance to go up against them since mid-season when they were still finding their groove.
The game was halted with a 0-0 score.
The teachers decided the game could continue the next day after the last recess.
It started to hail 20 minutes into the game. The teachers let us play for five minutes longer, hoping the hail was enough of a disturbance for someone to score.
It was not to be and with hail the size of pinballs, the teachers once again halted the no-goal game.
It was then decided by the teachers the game would resume the next day after lunch break. It had now become apparent to them the obvious stamina of excited youth. They decided to give us enough time to wear ourselves ragged. Someone would get sloppy. They hoped. They were getting bored of watching us.
Lunch hour broke the next day and we fought hard for the next hour and twenty minutes. I was not as tired as Rene. He was doing an awesome job at keeping the ball away from our net for almost a full hour before my job really kicked in.
The teachers sighed and decided we could all use the break for recess.
Collectively, both of our teams collapsed in the shade and did not move for the next 18 minutes.
The teachers then decided on a shoot-out. You could see the annoyance in their eyes.
Each player on each team would get a chance to score on a goalie from the opposite team. It would go in 'baseball innings'. Who ever ended up on top after both teams got their chance would be the winner.
Our team was up first. We did not score.
I remember Rene nodding at me when I took net. I knew all the years of backyard practice would come in handy now. I nodded back.
I did not let in one goal. The teachers were rolling their eyes.
I was pumped as I stood in line waiting for my turn.
I wish I could say the moment I kicked the ball, everything slowed down to slow motion. I did not. But that ball hit net.
I scored.
Me.
The goalie.
Rene actually slapped my ass as he met up with me to talk new strategy while the other team was lining up for their turn.
"I am going in goal," he said. "I am the captain."
I looked at him carefully. He was worn out. But we had shared the glory all season long.
I had scored.
I nodded.
"Let's win this fucking thing," I whispered to him.

Rene ended up letting in two goals. I do not know what would have happened had I been in goal. I might have let in more. I may have let in none.
Rene had chose to wield his Grade Six power at the wrong time. But that is okay. Grade Six is about learning from your first stumbles towards adulthood.
Besides, I still walked away from it with the achievement of not letting in one goal all season.
I bet that is one record still not broken.

Tonight is the night, boys. You have the power to achieve Stanely Cup victory.
Canada waits at the edge of our seats...

Perfect

7:30 p.m.
Cindy is here. Her shift will start early tomorrow and it was just easier for her if she could spend the night in my home. Sometimes I get so tired of seeing her.
Then I remember all the little treasures that also come with friendship(the treasures like 'my no power to the downstairs appliances' she already fixed tonight).
With the kids snug in bed, and two hours of daylight left, I wanted to spend it outside.
I said to Cindy, "Wouldn't it be nice if Terri came down for a coffee?"
"Sure," she replied.
"Why don't you play on my PC while I go get her?" I said. "It will only take me a few minutes. It is a nice out on the porch evening."
"Alright," she says, not caring, her mind already on what she can do on the PC while I am gone. She loves my computer. I know she hopes I will take my time on my walk.
I step out in my runners, that I just do not wear enough, and I start heading up the 12 or so houses to Terri's.
It has been awhile since I have been out for a walk on a beautiful evening at 7:40 by myself. I am double lucky because tonight is one of those comfortable is a pair of jeans night. I am so glad my Sunday evening is going to be wonderful(the power issues kept me wound up all day).
I pass by my lawnboy's house and he is outside, on his porch enjoying his evening with a 7-Up. I shake my head at him in wonder and say "Of course, you would have the most wonderful lawn on the block. I am so lucky I have you to do my mine."
He grins at me. I have noticed he does my lawn, while not as good as his, better than he does for anyone else. It's because of my sunny disposition. But truth of the matter, I am thrilled I have him to cut my grass. It is one less thing I have to make time for.
It was nice to see him tonight.
Up two house from Lawnboy's, Little Pudge, who has played with my son on a few occasions, stops me by screeching the brakes on his bike. About half a foot from hitting me. He gives me a wild grin and says "Hi! How are you?" He is 6.
I grin down at him. "Hey, buddy."
"Where ya going?"
He knows Terri. She has lived here for 5 years.
"Terri's," I say.
"Today I got stung by a bee."
"For real?" I gasp at him. "It hurt or what?" The whole time he is riding his little red two-wheeler beside me.
"Oh, man!" he rolls his eyes, then he looks up at me and shrugs. "Yeah, but not too much. See my finger?" He offers up his pinkie. It is covered in the classic brown Band-Aid.
"Maybe you should stop trying to catching bees," I say to him, as I walked up Terri's driveway.
"I got bored of spiders," he says from the sidewalk.
I knock on Terri's door. One of her daughters answers the door.
"Oh, is your mom not home?" I smile and shake my head.
"No, she just stepped out."
"Alright," I say. "Tell her I was here."
I step down the stairs and notice Little Pudge is still on the sidewalk.
"You wanna walk me back as far as your house, kiddo?" I ask him.
"O.K." he says, gallantly.
"Thank you," I smile down at his round little head.
"One time, last summer, I caught a toad," he breathes out.
"How long you have him for?"
"Oh, wow!" his eyes open-wide. "Hours and hours!"
"Oh, goodness," I act like I am shocked. "What did you keep him in?"
"A pail. I put grass and everything in there for him. Mom would not let him in the house. He ran-away when I went in for supper.
I wish I could catch another toad."
I smile at him as we reach his house. "You will catch many more. Wow! You got lots of toys! Don't forget to pick them up. Your mom would like that."
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, jumping off his bike.
I turn back to look a few steps later and he is picking up his toys. Good. His Mom really will be happy.
I grin and shake my head in awe again at Lawnboy, now fussing over his grass as I pass by him. Before I know it, I am climbing up my own front stairs.
I poke my head in the door.
"Cindy. Terri was not home. I am going to sit on the porch and write for a bit."
She does not remove her eyes from the computer screen.
"Okay," I am certain she said. She grumbles something and the only word I hear is coffee.
"Pardon?"
"I will make you a coffee and bring it out in a minute."
I grin. She knows I will stay out longer with a coffee. And this is good because I want to stay out longer.
I take a deep breath and let my thoughts collect. I just start writing when Cindy brings out my coffee. I see the steam rising from the cup and I cannot wait to take a drink.
"Cindy-you rock!" I thank her.
"Yeah, I know...I am going in," her hand is back on the front door handle.
"See ya," I am already writing.
The door closes behind me and I stop writing.
I think I can get back to it after I spend three seconds enjoying the first swallow of coffee on this out on the porch with a coffee evening. With or without people.
And I do enjoy it.
I have had the most interesting thoughts today and I want to get them put down. I pick back up my pen and begin again.
"You bellowed?" calls a voice from the edge of the sidewalk; after I had wrote about half a page.
I look up. I clap my hands.
What a fantastic evening! Terri has come for coffee!

All because I sometimes get tired of Cindy.
Friendship can be so strange...

My Last Hockey Sigh

The more I think about that hockey game last night, I realize it was really more like a bad movie that went from theatre to the video store in three months. And no one noticed.

Hockey Night In Canada

I settled on to my couch in my pink bath robe right when the players took to the ice. I timed my bath just right. Nevermind, I had the help of the TV turned up extra loud so I would be able to hear it in the bathroom.
The game started almost too quiet and the playing was destined to remain on the cautious side for the whole first period, I predicted. I watched until the clock on the screen said there was 8:56 left in the first period.
That's when I looked down at my bath robe and adopted a 'Why am I sitting here in this?' attitude. I mean really, who wants to jump around in a bathrobe if Calgary wins? I need a pair of jeans.
The other night when I was also in my bath robe, deciding I needed to be dressed, I devised a new game. I call it "Deer in the Headlights."
I have a rather large living room window. My curtains are fairly close to completely see-through.
This game pretty much consists of me being able to get fully dressed in my living room, ensuring at all costs, there is not one possible way of me getting caught naked to anyone outside.
Of course, I am a wimp. I have decided to only play this game at dusk and with no lights on. But regardless, even if a car drives by outside and has even the slightest chance to see me naked-that is consider a "caught" and the game is done.
I start by going to pick out a shirt in my bedroom. The jeans I want to wear are in the dryer downstairs.
I sit back on my couch. With the largeness of my window, it is very easy to see what is coming from the left. From the right, there are plenty of blind spots.
I know I will have to be careful.
It is almost two full minutes before I feel safe enough to throw off my bathrobe and throw on my shirt. I was pretty thrilled by my swiftness with such little practice.
Next I had to get to the door that leads downstairs. The living room window is in full view of this door all the way there. This is a tough part of the game and where I was "caught" the first time I played. I am a little nervous.
I slink close to the wall and manage to get all the way down the hallway. A swish of relief washes over me as I shut the basement door behind me. I lean against the door, slightly fainted. I shake it off and grin.
I think I have the confidence to pull it off this time since I have successfully pulled past my first game. I am after all, a quick learner.
I peek out the door carefully on my way back to the couch with my jeans. I am glad I had enough common sense to close it on the way down. There is suddenly so much traffic outside!
After five minutes, I slouched down to a sitting position on the top stair and start thinking about the people in the cars, 'Un-patriotic Bastards! Go home!'
After seven minutes, there was an opening and I went for it, sliding back on to my couch, throwing my housecoat back over to cover me just as a blue car drives by. Oh, yeah! I am awesome.
I slide my ankles into my jeans. I am daring. I take a quick glance to the left and right and stand.
Just at they are pulled up to the top of my thighs, a white truck appears from the right side. Caught.
Shit.
I do up my jeans and flop on the couch a little sad the game is done.
It is in-between periods on the hockey game. Don Cherry is on the screen trying give an inspiration speech to all Canadian youth. He is pretty bad at it.
And I had been right. No one had scored in the hockey game.
The second period did not start out so good with Tampa scoring. I saw when it appeared at the 11:06 mark Calgary gave up a perfect opportunity to score, when suddenly Clark came out of nowhere, and scored to tie the game.
I watched as the skating continued. The dirty refs seemed to hand out a penalty to Calgary's Conroy pretty fast after Clark's goal. That is, if you believe the refs are dirty. That was the official turning point of the game, for me, anyway. I was predicting a loss for Calgary.
Suddenly the game was 2-1 for Tampa.
I was bored. I went out to the kitchen to play a game of Dishes.
I did not even run in to my living room when Nilson tied it up with 2:11 left in the period.
I lost my stacking game tonight.
And I am never really interested in hockey until the third period, anyway.

***Don't worry, boys. We'll bring it home from Tampa instead.

Bigger Sigh

2nd OT?? This game is getting to be like a Made for TV Movie...

Sigh

I hate over-time. Now this game has the makings of becoming a story too well told. Blah.

Fernando

*** To Jeff and Jay-I hope he is what you saw.

Fernando was three months old, when a gopher got in the house. No one knows how it got in. Why it jumped in the crib. Or why it bit Fernando.
All they do know is that gopher is now stuffed and sitting on a table in Fernando's parents house to this day.
Fernando had a lovely silver three wheeled bike when he was six years old. He had an orange flag attached to the back of it. He would do anything to be able to ride that bike all day.
Adults started sending Fernando on errands. Up to the store or to drop something off to someone down the street.
The children of the neighborhood caught on to this and started sending Fernando, too. And Fernando did not mind riding two blocks over to sneak in the backyard to take a few nails from Mr. Watson's tool shed. Or to steal flowers out of Mrs. Amble's garden for Steven. Steven wanted flowers a lot. He was a love-sick boy handing them out to even the girls in Grade Three.
Fernando could do anything or get anything. Fast.
He learned to be quiet. And stealth. He learned to blend. He taught his fingers to work fast. He learned bubble gum helped him concentrate on the job. When his mind was racing, the methodical up and down champing on it calmed him. He could never chew gum just walking down the street. It always threw him off-balance.
Fernando's nickname is Gopher. No one is quite sure when it started. Most people do not know his real name and he even gets surprised when he hears it sometimes.
Fernando is 31 now. He has a silver Lexus instead of a bike. He keeps a little orange flag in his rear window. He can still can get anything. Even faster.
He sits all the time on his front porch with his legs spread apart and his hands on the back of his head. Smiling about all the money he keeps pumping into his over-seas bank account.

If I had a story to tell right now, I would tell it all in this colour. Just to be annoying. Just to make your eyes start to itch and water.

Writers Block-Ugh

Red

It is such a romantic notion, she is aware even at six.
She sits thoughtfully at her desk while the other children dig into writing their letters. Her words have to be chosen carefully. She wants to say the right things. The ones that will get a response.
She hopes her letter is found in a more difficult place to find and reach. She wants the person who reads it to put in the effort. That way if her words are wrong, they will remember how they got it and appreciate her effort.
She takes her pencil to paper and she finds the words that leave her satisfied.
The letters are attached to balloons. The whole school of children first creates a sea with their bodies on the front lawn and then in the sky when they release the 500 balloons.
She has seen this on TV. It does not compare to standing there, watching it.
Hers is one of only three letters answered. It was found on a beach, half-buried in the sand amid a plain of driftwood among the rocky sides of a cliff. The man said his eyes barely caught the colour of red.
I have ever since left things where they might be found. Some much more obvious then others.

Lights

I am awoken from the deepest sleep. The night world is a blur in front of me. I know I am in a white van and I know who is driving. I am five.
My mother leans over me. I can smell her breath and the heat from it leaving a damp patch on my cheek.
"Look at the lights," her whisper is low and urgent.
They are just street lights. But they go by in such a rush, the trails running off them almost creating daylight.
I sit up beside my mother, watching until we left the outskirts of whatever town we were in.

On A

***Thank you to the Bard for brainstorming with me and as always, to Moon who allowed me to steal her stolen idea.
I am sorry all, for my addictions. The list thing WILL wear thin.

1. On a mountain range, I would of course, do the echo thing.
2. On a set of porch steps, I would have my most honest conversations.
3. On a raft in a pool, I would still be drinking coffee.
4. On a skateboard, I would fall off.
5. On a tire swing, I would pretend it was a unicorn again.
6. On a cover of a novel, I will find my name.
7. On a kitchen counter, I will swing my feet.
8. On a jailbreak, I am too loud and caught.
9. On a riverbank, I would think of an old man and the stories he would have to share.
10. On a plate, I do not want to see bacon.
11. On a hunch, I am always right.
12. On a chilly day, I want to be outside.
13. On a game of SURVIVOR, I would place in the top three.
14. On a cloud, I would definitely hope my man-servant was there.
15. On a podium, I would give my acceptance speech for my Academy Award, for directing the movie based on my book.
16. ...Or my Grammy for writing Song of the Year.
17. ...Or my Noble Peace prize.
18. On a bus, I am the watcher.
19. On a fridge, I want to see pictures.
20. On a Trip through Favorites, I hope more people have added to KJB's The Never Ending Story Blog
21. On a rooftop....Ah..Who am I kidding...I would not go on a rooftop.
22. On a new CD, I hope to find hidden treasures.
23. On a doorstep, I want to find the front door open.
24. On a starless night, I would feel despair.
25. On a train, I am a stow-away.
26. On a long and winding road, I hope the leaves in the trees are orange.
27. On a bender, I am the loser home by 8 p.m.
28. On a wall, I still hope to not find spiders.
29. On a TV, I want to see Judging Amy.
30. On a picnic table, I would stomach hot dogs.
31. On a branch in a tree, I would close my eyes.
32. On a new street, I pause to get the feel of it.
33. On a cloudy day, I take more pictures.
34. On a baseball diamond at first base, I would ask the umpire how he was.
35. On a baseball diamond at third base, I would tell the coach I had new ideas for hand signals.
36. On a hot summer's day, I want to garden.
37. On a walk, I am up for going anywhere.
38. On a pogostick, I would fall off.
39. On a spot marked with X, I would sit on the X before I dug.
40. On a deadline, I wait until the last possible moment. I like pressure.
41. On a day out with Scott, I would show him when to step out of the shadows.
42. On a Broadway Stage, I would sing! And love it!
43. On a hardwood floor, I slide down the hallway in my sock-feet.
44. On a ladder, I would force myself to climb to the top, but then I would climb right back down. Fast.
45. On a late Saturday night, I wake my daughter up for goofy movies or Playstation.
46. On a webcam, I look like a Smurf.
47. On a bulletin board, I hope to find interesting to read.
48. On a toilet, I go to the washroom.....jeeze! What did you think I would say?!?
49. On a patch of grass in my backyard, I would do a cartwheel.
50. On a car ride, I hope there is someone entertaining with me, for when I am done entertaining them.
51. On a balcony, I am hoping I am not as high up as any rooftops.
52. On a couch with Brenda, I hope Will and Grace is on.
53. On a tangent, I hope people will be angry with me.
54. On a pool table, I am reaching across to sink balls with my hands because I so suck at pool.
55. On a cake, I hope to see jube-jubes, even though I do not like them.
56. On a winters day, I am cold.
57. On a child's face, I hope to find wonder.
58. On a grown-up's face, I hope to find contentment.
59. On a senior's face, I hope to find a job well done.
60. On a messenger window, forming a fake company, I learned I had a new solid friendship.
61. On a search, it is not always about what you are looking for.
62. On a camel, I think I would get bored fast of going slow.
63. On a PMS day, I am only nice when you do whatever I want. And I might change my mind a lot.
64. On a coat, I like zippers better than buttons.
65. On a golf course, I might like wearing those little vests women do. The gloves are pretty cool, too.
66. On a blanket, I hope to find a plaid print.
67. On a ferry boat, I am almost to Prince Edward Island.
68. On a good night, everything is good.
69. On a fantastic night, everything is fantastic.
70. On a Friday, I hope to see Jean.
71. On a big screen, I want to watch The Transporter again.
72. On a sidewalk, watching your feet can sometimes be fun.
73. On a kitchen table, I hope to find a game of Balderdash.
74. On a bench outside of A&P, I heard the best stories ever.
75. On a horse, I would pretend I was Joan of Arc.
76. On a shelf, I want to see books.
77. On a cat, I prefer stripes.
78. On a car hood, sitting, I hope the car has not ran in awhile.
79. On a hill, I would hope for strong wind.
80. On a floor, I hope to see it clean. It seldom is.
81. On a rainy day, I would wash my hair.
82. On a Saturday Night Live episode, I laugh hysterically through The Prince Show.
83. On a tractor, I would smell manure.
84. On a dance floor, I would look silly.
85. On a Christmas tree, I only want to see white lights.
86. On a stretch of ocean, I would think of that song by George Strait.
87. On a motorcycle...Yeah, I would fall off.
88. On a patch of ice, too.
89. On a bedside table, I have a gum wrapper.
90. On a leash, I would knock the walker on their feet.
91. On a trip of Route 66, I still sat and wrote in my journal.
92. On a trip of Route 66, I still had good conversations.
93. On a bar stool, there was still only one thing missing.
94. On a dose of Advil, my headache is cured.
95. On a dare, I would suck on that Lifesaver that came out of the pocket of the shirt that came from the vintage store(I did).
96. On a feeling my gut has, I will fight for what it says.
97. On a picture, I want to see passion.
98. On a piece of paper, I can create anything.
99. On a keyboard, I am finding I can, too.
100. On a whim, anything can happen.
101. On a Wednesday in June, I had nothing better to do then this list on the bus.

Black

I have the most fantastic black shirt.
It is woolly. And a turtle neck. It has two discreet zippers that sometimes become noticeable. They are placed along the bottom of the shirt, facing upwards against my hips. This shirt is so from the early 1990's. I am un-hip.
It's sleeves are long enough, I can bunch my fists up in them. I feel wonderful in this shirt. It's my "maybe we can be friends" shirt. I meet the most interesting people on a day to day basis wearing it. I found it at Value Village.
It is almost summer. I miss my wool shirt. I was thrilled yeserday was cool enough to wear it.
I have another shirt. It is pink. I hate pink. But pink looks nice on me. Pink and I have made a compromise. As long as I do not have to look at it in my house, I can wear it.
This shirt was not my style. I almost did not want to put it on. Such disappointment. But I had to know.
The shirt was my style. I was immediately comfortable in it. But I felt a little sexy, too. I loved the fact the little cuffs at the end turned up. And it looked good with jeans!
This is my "maybe you think we could be more than friends, but I doubt it" shirt.
Today I created a new outfit based on a shirt.
I sent my daughter across the road on the weekend with a $1.85 in change squeezed in her hands, to a yard sale. She is 9 and a yard sale junkie. She spends fast though. I have tried to teach her patience. She is picking up slowly.
I guess the yard sale must have been closing up. She came home with a purse and new sweater for herself. A robot for her brother. A stand-up metal ashtray. And two shirts for me. I got to admit, the one was pretty cool. The other was brown and a turtleneck. And polyester. Great. Thanks, kid.
But today I pulled on my striped socks and my favorite jeans that I recently discovered looked nice with my brown shoes. I did not know what shirt I was going to wear when I pulled that brown dustrag out of the dryer.
Today I created the "What a balding man in his 40's would have worn in the 80's" outfit.
It looks fabulous.
How is it, three months a go I found a little black shirt and it turned my whole world for a loop?
Who knew I liked clothes?

Car

She is new to this country. She feels like she is opening her eyes for the first time in her life. She is eight years old and everything around her is bright and cheerful, lively, not blank.
The music is beautiful. Business signs are alive during the day and the night. Different cars have different sounds.
Her favorite walks to school so far have been the early spring frost mornings. They exhilarated her. The pain of the icy breath piercing her lungs was just right to be pleasurable.
And people have arms! Sometimes attached to all kinds of sleeves, sometimes bare. It seems almost naughty when she is caught staring too long.
Her parents have chosen a quiet community, over the dense populated cities where most immigrants go. They are well-educated, with the money to be able to do this.
Her parents do it for her. They know Toronto and Victoria could make them maybe millions as the professionals they are. Small towners make less. Mom is still not working. Their wealth permitted them a house in a small town, not for the opening of practices. They researched communities before they came to our country and from the list of what sounded best and what had job offerings, they went with their gut.
They feel delighted about their choice since the first day they moved here. Their daughter smiles and her classmates find her most interesting. She is still a quiet girl, but her eyes are so bright.
There is not one doubt in their mind they have saved her from a lifetime in their old country. They know they have given her the best chances in the world for her dreams to come true all because they were lucky enough to choose a small town in Ontario, Canada.
They have done everything for her since she was born.
They used to be young and reckless. They were alive with life. Then they became comfortable and married. When she came along, she reminded them to fight.
They took a look at their world again through their new eyes and saw the same things as when they were college students. Hatred. Oppression. But this time they had money.
This time, they saw a chance to stay and fight it. Or they could flee it.
They love her and thank her for this gift of re-opening their eyes. They flee it. So she will never have to fight. It is their thank you.
Their world is hers.
She is outside playing now.
It is time to get back. Even though it is early. The coming rain will make the night appear quicker. She is around two corners from home.
She is skipping down the side of the road with her new pink and yellow twine skipping rope.
She sees the weeds poking out of the cracks in the curb. They amaze her and she looks for every one along the way. She can smell the rain coming. It will be a soft drizzle, she knows already, the smell. She would never forget the first time she was aware if it.
Something makes her look up.
It is that yellow car. She has seen it before in the deep reaches of her mind, back so long a go, she does not know when.
But she knows why it is here today.
She looks up at the grey clouds, wishing they were dark enough for a thunderstorm if this was to be her last moment. She has never seen it before.
She smiles softly to herself and decides the electrical wires attached to their weathered poles against the concrete sky are just as enjoyable. They have never been seen in this light.
She closes her eyes.
She was beautiful.

One Fine Day: April 15th 2004- Part III

A Few Pennies for My Thoughts?

I con 5 dollars out of my babysitter when she gets to work for her shift. Lovely, borrowing from my employee. That has the makings of a wonderful head huncho of a major cooperation.
Whew. Good thing I have no plans of doing that.
I just really think I deserve to have a coffee on the bus today. Besides, to be honest-is it really called borrowing if she will have no use for it while I am gone?
When I finally step out my door, I feel fantastic. We are starting to get many more nicer days than nasty ones.
I almost wish I had not put on any perfume. The birds are loud and surely flirting. The trees still look sad and are mostly bare, but with no leaves; the sky is opened-up more and gets a much deserved chance to show off the colour he looks best in. Today, everyone will be smiling.
I think to myself, 'Spring should be an emotion. It would be one of the purest.'
I get to the coffee shop and stand in line rummaging in my book bag for the free muffin I have won from the store's spring contest.
One extra-large two cream, four sugar and a banana nut muffin. This would be my last meal request if I was a death-row inmate.
The line-up is long, but I make it to my bus stop with five minutes to spare. I am happy to sit with my own thoughts.
I see the bus approaching and I reach for my bus pass inside my bag. It is not usually where it is. I only sigh, because it is not usually where it usually is, anyway. I start sorting through the bag with fruitless results.
The bus doors swing open, I stomp my foot. I am annoyed. I am also thankful for my employee. I approach the doors. I drop my coffee. The whole thing.
I stand there, motionless, mouth agape at the growing puddle of beige spreading through out the crab grass and dirt. I look up into the bus drivers eyes.
"Did you see that?" I speak, helplessly.
He nods. He understands the personal tragedy.
I fish in my jeans and pay to get on the bus.
I sit in my seat, counting out the remaining change only to realize I am 7 cents short for another coffee.
I root in my book bag for my pen and journal.
The first thing I pull out is my bus pass.
"Shit."

( To Be Continued )

So What If I am Nosy?

A car slows down just as it approaches your home. It drives slowly past your home and then two more. Then it screeches and the tires smoke and it tears out of there. Why?

I Used to Wear Eye Glasses Too

I shut my eyes in order to see.
-Paul Gauguin 1843-1903


I have some severe issues with eyeballs. They seemed to follow me around everywhere I go.
My issues started when I was about 7. I walked into the living room on a sunny spring day and my mother and brother were sitting on the beige couch that had a brown and orange stripe up the middle.
"You could use an ice cream scoop!" My brother giggled.
"Or you could drill into it," my mother said.
"What are you talking about," ever-curious me wanted to know.
"Ways to remove an eyeball," my mother said, matter-of-a-factly.
My own eyes widened. Immediately sickened, I left the room.
But I guess this was fun for my mother and brother and for the rest of my life in that home, you could find them periodically talking of the removal or odd loss of an eyeball.
Who knows where neurotica begins. All I do know is I have never been able to watch people stick their fingers in their eyes or flip their lids back.
I have only heard of the lady who can pop out her eyes.
My brother was 5 when all this began. It was also around this time he learned to lie. I noticed very quickly the changes in his eyes when he was. I had to! I was always getting in trouble for things he did. Like I would have enough nerve to steal the riding lawn mower to drive around!!!! Christ, there has been four generations of non-driving women in my family..And if we go back that far, cars were not invented before that.
And even though my brother got better at the art of lying, with the early exposure I had to it, I have ever since been able to tell when he was. My brother's job now is that of shady character. He gets away with most things. I am still the only one who knows when he is lying. I know when most people are by looking in their eyes.
I gauge people's moods through their eyes. If you pay close attention, you can tell when the person who says they are fine is really sad, lonely, edgy or more than fine. I am good at giving people what they need, if I am in the mood to do so.
I think I have an amazing pair of brown eyes. They are my most favorite thing about me. They are so dark, they sometimes look black. I have learned to mask emotion by watching other people's eyes. I used to do that a lot. I do not do that so much anymore. I appreciate everything I feel now.
Everywhere I go there are people with stories. If you catch my eyes, I am hoping I will be able to catch yours. Sometimes, I take the inspiration from your eyes and use it for my writing. Other times there is something else to be found in your eyes and I want to know for sure. I will talk to you.
I will forever be grossed out by things like eye snot, but even I know, eyes can give you so much more than seeing just colour and awaring you to danger.
Just open them up for a look-see.