Keine Ahnung!

Everywhere. Everyday, this being her tenth.
It was all she saw, darkened skies, like rainy days. Rock and rubble. Wood. Long and thick laying across the streets, smashing into windows. Glass turned grey, even the green.
You could glimpse into people's lives where the buildings had only half fallen.
The only life was the soot and the dead leaves rolling with the winds. Dry. Dead and loud.
She barely noticed the smell anymore. Just when new ones hit and only for a little while.
She was the runner. The two men who had once been there had now been gone for weeks.
She had volunteered, because she was the eldest of the young left and it was to be expected. And because she needed to get out. She needed to see it. More than just across the road.
And so she got to see it.
She was horrified with herself because she had expected more, back on that first day.
It was bad. Her eyes had seen that. But her imagination had seen worse.
And she would enjoy her runs. The feel of fresh air on her face. It was almost like a bath. She had not had one in so long.
She would feel guilty for her pleasures, on the way back. She would vomit then, long thick heaves, more long trails of spit, then anything.

Everything happens so fast, the earth trembling, vibrating, so angry. It is all she knows as she stands on the sidewalk. She cannot remember what happened before this moment and it scares her.
She knows they have been hit. And she has to take cover. She has to. She has to now. She swallows hysteria in one quick, tasteless gulp.
And then she runs, but she does not know to where. She knows nothing in front of her. Things have changed. She slows her breathing. Things become clearer.
She notices rubble, thick and strong with a triangle opening. She takes it.

There is no light coming from inside. The only light comes from the triangle behind her. She is crouched, deep in her heels, but she is tall. She holds her hand out and feels nothing. She takes a few step forward. When her hand still feels nothing, she sits. She is coming out of her shock.
"I am brave," hisses a voice. "Who are you?"
She does not know if it is smart to sit there with her mouth shut tight.
But she does.

We All Scream For Ice Cream

July

Momma ran her hands through her hair. Always uncombed. Always a mess. Her skin looked dry today, hanging on her bones.
The living room window was open. It was so hot. No one wanted to wear clothes.
Tommy sat on the couch in his blue underwear, his brown skin dirty looking. His toes definitely dirty.
The Statler Brothers played from the radio. All Tommy wanted to do was watch TV.
Momma would probably let him.
Except Momma had been staring at the wall for a real long time and it scared him. So Tommy just sat there, staring at his mother.
Sissy started to stir in her room, soft, low. I am awake cries.
She suddenly opened her bedroom door, diapered in a green shirt, rubbing her eyes. She plopped on the floor just outside the door and did not move.
Momma looked up at Tommy, suddenly aware. Her eyes were un-readable.
"Your Father has not sent the money," she whispered. Her eyes were suddenly bright, shimmering, luminous. He watched as a lone tear coarsed through her dry skin, leaving a slow path to her chin.
He said nothing.
"If the money does not come tomorrow, we will be eating ice cream cones for supper."
Tommy could not help but smile.
"Do not smile, Tommy," she sighed. "We have no ice cream."
"I know, Momma," he said.
But he kept smiling. They had raspberry jam in the fridge. There was nothing better in an ice cream cone as far as he was concerned.
"Everything will be okay, Momma."
She nodded her head, slowly at him and turned her attention back to the wall.
Tommy really wanted those raspberry jam-filled cones.
He did not get them.

Suds In The Bucket

Grade Six


Kelli always had perfect nails. They were always filed beautifully. They were red more than pink. Kelli did her nails herself.
Her room was wallpapered with flowers. Part of her ceiling was slanted. There were the horses, the dollhouse and the stuffies covering the entire bed.
Kelli was a girl.
Kelli had lots of make-up.

Mid September

We sit in her backyard with her gigantic purple, plastic case of make-up. We have it open, peering inside.
"Well," she says.
"Well," I say.
"What are we going to be today?"
"Depends on if we are doing a play or music video or something..." I trail off.
"Yeah," she sighs.
We sit in silence.
We had not seen each other all summer.
"Betcha I could make you look like you got punched in the face," I say to her.
"Cool," she replies. "I think I know the colours."
I am not sure which one of us came up with the plan.

Testing Limits

We peer down at Kelli's arm. It is covered in eye shadow. Lipstick. Really a bit of everything.
"I am not sure this looks real," she says. "She will never believe it."
"Kelli," I say. "I went up on the porch. It does not start looking not real until she is half-way to us."
"So, you think it will work?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Okay, you know your lines?"
"Yes," I reply.
"Want to go through them one more time?"
"We have been through them lots," I answer her. "We do not have to do this to her if you do not want to."
"Oh, but I so want to," she replies.
And boy, do we grin at each other.
Kelli opens her mouth.
We nod. And she begins.
Kelli sounds like an animal scared and then hurt and then scared all over again.
Kelli deserves an Oscar.
We watch as the screen door opens. We watch her mother running out.
And I leap running to her.
"What is go-" Kelli's mother shouts.
"Oh my God," I shriek, louder than Kelli, at her. "Kelli is hurt. Oh my God." I stumble in the grass and look at her helplessly. I let my eyes start to well. She looks at me.
This is all she needs.
She is off and running and I go with her.
She is wild. It is in her movement. Her eyes. Her hair.
And Kelli and I cannot help it.
We burst out into giggles. We are roaring in seconds.
We watch her stop and look around. Realization hits her eyes even before she lets them lay on Kelli's arm.
You can see the disbelief. You can see the been one-upped in her eyes.
She stands with feet apart in her brown skirt and runs a hand through her long brown hair.
She lets us laugh. Until we were scared enough to stop.
She points at us both, looking directly into our eyes.
"You should both know, I could beat you right now. But instead I am going back in the house. And I am going to do some laundry."
She turns and walks away.

***Learn Your Lessons

Random Acts Of Kindness

I love the stairwell of the place I go Everyday. Concrete walls painted an off-white. Just stone slab steps painted over and over. Any sound you make echoes.
The stairwell of the place I go Everyday is usually empty. There is an elevator in the building.
I walk up six flights of stairs in an almost-always empty stairwell.
Sometimes I am Rocky.
Sometimes I am Marilyn Monroe.
Once, I was Courney Love.
I pass by three large metal doors along my way up. There are offices behind these large metal doors; with reception areas and people waiting, people working.
When I am wearing my loudest shoes, sometimes I will stop on the landing, then do a happy little jig.
You never know who is on the other side of the door just waiting to smile.

Your Topic: Random Acts of Kindness when you are sharing the stairwell with another person.

Proudest Monkey

I Have Written

1. On paper. 
2. Lines on a blackboard.
3. On windows.
4. Run-away letters.
5. In the sand.
6. Perfect tests.
7. On Post-Its.
8. In Baby Books.
9. On a calendar.
10. The alphabet. 
11. With lipstick.
12. Advice.
13. For Your Eyes Only letters.
14. In a car.
15. Songs with Rob.
16. My Mother's name on absent notes.
17. When I was bored.
18. In a Slam-Book.
19. Only one break-up letter.
20. Sitting on a snowy hill.
21. My own version of In Flanders Fields.  How disrespectful.
22. About a unicorn.
23. My first published poem in Grade Three.
24. Answers to other's scribbles in bathroom stalls.
25. In telephone books.
26. A novella on a one night notice.
27. Red.
28. A cheque only three times.  Cheques might teach me responsibility.  But I kinda like my cash only attitude.
29. Harlequin.
30. In my first journal.  It had The Smurfs on it.
31. Mock love letters with Ian.
32. On a pair of shoes.
33. In all CAPITALS.
34. The Box.
35. The story that passed a friend into the next grade.
36. At The Duck Park.
37. To a Jolly Green Giant.
38. On skin. 
39. A list for for the grocery store.  Many times.
40. Six opinions to newspapers.  Each one got printed.
41. A poem with Aaron.
42. In French.
43. On my front porch.
44. 101 Signs He May Not Be Mr. Right.
45. In Quebec City.
46. The perfect song for Faith Hill.
47. An IQ test.
48. On wet paper.
49. Laid Back Reminders.
50. A website for a boy.
51. Sealed letters to my children.
52. A hundred page book report.  Hey.  I had a lot to say.
53. About John Lennon.
54. A letter asking for money to my Grandmother.
55. On a wall with spray paint.
56. Under my blankets at night.
57. An orange book full of poetry.
58. To someone in jail.
59. Rent receipts.
60. Love letters in a bar.
61. My name on college applications.
62. Notes during class.
63. Underneath Weeping Willow trees.
64. The wrong phone number on purpose.
65. Comments on fabulous blogs.
66. Half a novel until there suddenly appeared a movie so much like it.  Grrr.
67. A letter I never mailed to my cousin Jamie.
68. Most of our Grade Six Newspaper.  The Extra! Extra! ROLL YOUR EYES, PEOPLE! 
69. Porn.
70. One time with friends.  Scandalous.
71. Half a song five months ago.
72. To my Aunt Sue.
73. A letter to the government.
74. To The New Kids On The Block.
75. Me, Cindy and the Pens.
76. On a picnic bench with my house key.
77. About the devil.
78. A speech on sea slugs.
79. In thousands of notebooks.
80. A published poem about a wolf.
81. In Carolyn's yearbook.
82. C.J. Babb's poem in a journal.
83. While I baby-sat.
84. In the covers of most of my books.
85. With too many pens to count.
86. A song about my daughter.  She hates it.
87. Thank you letters.
88. Reviews.  For lots of things.
89. A song to the tune of There Is A Hole In My Bucket with Krista.
90. Poems I have let other people put their name on.
91. Laying on my stomach.
92. In a journal since Grade Two.
93. Hockey Night In Canada.
94. Through other people's eyes.
95. On hospital forms.
96. A really nasty song about my Mother and kitchen sinks.
97. Linear equations.
98. On cardboard.
99. To almost everyone I know.
100. What I have to write Friday and Saturday a million times in my head.
101. Not half of what I was meant to write.

Feel used?

Do not.  I am a writer.

Three Years Old

April

His bedroom light is on every night when he goes to sleep. His room is a harsh yellow. The light bulb works against the colour.
Tommy's bedroom window is large and it makes up for it.

He woke up and felt the tears, felt his red face, felt the screams that no longer ripped at his throat.
He sat on his knees on his bed, his blankets a mess. His pillow on the floor.
His eyes are on Momma.
She stood, staring into the sea-green circle mirror on the wall, her curls a mess that said slept on.
She was applying red lipstick, perfect and puckered.
She wore a black t-shirt. She licked her teeth and she was more hideous than his dream.
She turned to look at him and smiled.
"That was a bad one, hey Tom-Tom?" she asks. "I just can do nothing for you when you are screaming like that. So here I am getting all pretty waiting for you to wake-up."
She reached out for him and pushed him gently back on to the bed.
She grabbed his pillow from the floor and lifted his head to put the pillow beneath him.
The blanket made a push of cool air as it covered him.

Dish Thoughts

...What a good meal.  A sunny day supper on a gray-skied day.  How fabulous...

...Brushing my hair at the kitchen table is my equivalent to a man scratching his balls...

...I am glad Cindy is spending the night...

...Apples...

Every Sky

She stands on the concrete sidewalk, a hand on the navy blue stroller belonging to a child who is not hers. The jewel of her Grandmother's ring is dirty, dulled. An aquamarine gone colourless.
She looks in at the baby and stares at the blue of the Maple Leafs logo pressed on to his t-shirt. The light blue of his summer pants.
She looks over to her son, wearing the colour from his hat to the new shoes she had bought him last week. It was not her who had dressed him today.
She looks up, the sky the hue of freshly-drawn bathwater. The heat of the day lies heavy upon her skin.
She is wearing all blue, too. Her choice thrown in the washer the night before at 1 a.m., tossed hastily in the dryer this morning at the last possible moment.
Her eyes are not sore, but they ache. She feels their weight and sloppiness on her face.
She has always been good at not giving in. She was born with strength.
But some battles are not meant to be won.
She had wrapped herself in her blue blanket this morning and she let herself feel whatever she felt.
She was still born with strength and she knows limits. She knew when to stop.
It was still hard to put on her make-up this morning. Hard to paint a happy face when the eyes are oh-so-sad.
She had forgotten to put on her perfume.
"Here," says a voice. A female. A friend. Wearing all blue.
She takes the coffee offered. She had taken only one swallow of her first coffee of the day, earlier this morning.
A consolation prize.
It had tasted bitter. And she had no reason to feel that way.
She hands over the stroller to the rightful owner.
"Everyone say good-bye!" says the friend, forced cheer.
And she looks at the three of them, thankful for them. She smiles her best smile; then turns, walking away.
Time to catch the bus.

She lives her days on eye contact and smiles.
Everyone is uncomfortable today.
Only three people dared to look for longer than a second into her eyes.
They were all wearing blue.

She visits the library on a whim. Standing with both feet on the same step on the escalator. She has always taken up two steps.
This is a new feeling.

She wishes she had not spoke a word when he came today.
She wishes he had not been wearing all blue.
She wishes she had looked at his face, instead of everything else.
She had liked his shoes.

Everyday is different. Remember something from every one you can.

A Wrinkle In Time

10 Years Old

I am sitting in my Grandmother's backyard.  I can feel the wind race through me, but it is a hot day and the wind had been warmed by it.  I am sitting in a lawn chair.  Yellow, ribbed through aluminum.
The sky is blue and a few puffy white clouds race through it smooth.  I am facing the sun, it's rays are not burning, but I still have to squint to read my Archie comic book.  I am listening to Bon Jovi on my black and red walkman.
I look up and into the large backyard, watching the grass just starting to turn yellow, dance with the wind and the long blows she is offering us today.
I look around.  The colour of the sky does not make sense with the wind.  I have never been to a day like this yet.
I feel the wind and her power and I feel like she is running into and through me, leaving some of herself behind in me.  I feel power that is not mine.
But I pretend the wind has chosen me.  I am ten years old and want to know why.
Why has she chosen to make me so aware of her?
I look at the earth I can see.  I am proud she has chosen me.   Whatever her reasons.
My ten year oldself smiles.
My Grandmother interrupts my thoughts with a tap on the shoulder.
"Bethie, you sound awful," she says.
I had been singing.  Raise Your Hands.  My least favorite on the album.
"I know, Grandma," I reply.
She walks away, with her broom in hand and I roll my eyes.
She tells me I sound awful all the time.

Every day is a different day.  Remember something from every one you can.

Justifying Insomnia

I came home tonight, later then when I usually do.  It was dark.
I floundered around my house for a bit, doing mindless things.  Mindless things can be a lot of work. 
It is 1:00 a.m.  So, of course, I decide I deserve a bath. 

It is a pretty good thing I took that bath.  My horror could have sent me over the edge had I not.

I open my bedroom door.
Flying Things.  Everywhere.
And oh my god.
One of those dark black Things.  Those big Things. Those evil Things.     
It was The Drunk Thing.  The Drunk Thing made me once...

...sit on the porch with my daughter, 8 months old, at midnight for an hour...

I lost my keys a few days ago.  I had to break-in to my house.  It could have never been done without my daughter.  She has been my hero for days.
The screen came off my bedroom window for this break-in.  I have not got around to putting it back on.
The first night, I slept with my window closed.  The second night, I opted for the couch.
The third night, it was 3:30 a.m. and I was all not scared of the world and tired.
I opened that bedroom window and breathed in the air. 
And I fell asleep.

 
But now I am now standing in a green bath towel, staring at my bedroom window, wide-open.
That I left wide-open.
And Flying Things.
But Someone has done a stupider thing.
There would not be so many Flying Things if  Someone had not left the bedroom light on.
Surely that Someone was not me.
You are an idiot, says The Voice.
Fucker, I am going to prove you wrong, I reply. 
I feel bad.
I am sorry I called you Fucker, I say.
I then squint my eyes and assess the situation on hand.
Ducking quickly, with heart pounding terror, as The Drunk Thing flew towards me.
You ain't one uppin' me again Bitch, I say to The Drunk Thing.
And I do not feel bad.
Because I have a plan.
Yeah, I say to The Voice.  I got a plan already.
I turn off the light as I walk back out my door, closing it.
I have an hour to kill.

An hour later, I open my bedroom door and quickly turn on the light.
There are about five Flying Things left.  With no light, they took off to find it.
The Drunk Thing is gone.
Not too bad for my first Flying Things Infested Room, I say to The Voice.  If you would allow me the time of one more hour, the rest shall be gone.  Un-harmed.
I shall allow it, The Voice says.
I close my bedroom window.  I turn off my light.  I leave my door open.
And turn on the light by my front door.  No others.

I am so confident an hour later, I brush my teeth.  I walk into my bedroom and grandly, turn on the light.
There was one bobbling Stupid Fly left.  He reminded me of The Drunk Thing.  Only smaller.  And stupider.  I do not like Stupid Fly.  Flies are usually smart.
HaHa, says The Voice.
Oh, you are going to tell me Stupid Fly made good conversation? I ask.
I watch as Stupid Fly bobbles out of my bedroom.  I close my door.
The Voice sighs.
Oh, shush.  I say as I turn off my light.  Talking to flies is beneath you.  Haven't you got someone else to do that?
Aren't you tired yet? asks The Voice.

Punks-Before The Beginning

Sacrificing to the Gods

Minnie was 14.  She liked bright red lipstick and getting high.
There was a handsome boy, hair cropped close to his head, with a genuine smile who lived in the apartment building at the end of her street.  He was 22.
He was a drug-dealer.

She waited one day at dusk.  She knew she would not have to wait long.
He came out the doors.
"Hey," she pointed at him.
"What are you doing?" he looked at her, confused.
She dropped her hand and barely smiled. "Waiting for you.  You are going to help me out."

She would knock on his door after that only in the morning, before his girlfriend got up.  Before the other buyers would see her.
It was the only reason he continued to sell to her.
"What is your name?" he asked one day.
"I do not know yours," she replied.  "I like it that way."

Minnie had to get home, she barely had enough time to grab some chips and pop for her night from the variety store.
He was walking up to the store.
"Hi," he said.
"Can you help me right now?" she asked. 
She was pretty sure he never carried.
"I can't right now," he said. 
"I have to baby-sit my kid brother and sister tonight.  They are in bed by eight."  She ran her hand down her arm.
"Yeah," he said.  "I'll drop by around 8:30."
She closed her eyes and smiled big.  Opening them up, she sighed, "Thanks."
She walked by him, down the blacktop of the sloped parking lot.

She smiled when she opened the door to him and he smiled back.
"You got enough time to come in and smoke a joint with a kid?" she asked.
"You're no kid," he said.
"Then come on in," she replied.

"Downstairs," she said.  "My parents never go down there."
He followed her down the stairs.  It was a large cleverly disguised room.  But it was definitely the room in the house she slept in.
One lamp lit the room, dimly.
She sat on the brown couch and so did he.
She looked up at him, with clear eyes, innocent.  She blinked once.
He rolled a joint on the coffee table.

Bob Segar played in the background.  He knew all the words.
He leaned in and kissed her.  Her lips were soft, feeling never kissed.
And then she bit his lip.  His hand went into her hair. 

Her breast were small.  So white.  So young.
Her eyes were so trusting.  This kind of sex had only happened once in his life.
He slid his hand down her pants.

"You are so wet," he whispered in her ear, he had to tell her.
She said nothing, just looked in his eyes.
"Has a boy ever tasted you before."
"No," she whispered.
"I want to taste you," he said.
"Take off my pants then," she stretched her arms over her head.

He dropped a gram of pot on her table, after he did up his pants.  She sat with her t-shirt over her knees.
He wanted to look at every part of her.
"What is your name?"
She rolled her eyes.  "I do not know yours," she sighed.  "I like it that way."
He thought he was in love with her.
"That is on the house," he said, pointing to the table.
"Thank you," she said.
And she smiled.
She had spent the last of her allowance at the variety store.

When Was The Last Time You...

1. Read one of my lists?
2. Rolled your eyes?
3. Chewed the inside of your mouth? 
4. Read a newspaper?
5. Burnt supper?
6. Bought a hat?
7. Sat in the grass?
8. Talked to the most annoying person you know?
9. Danced?
10. Jumped in a puddle?
11. Didn't do the dishes?
12. Drank Root Beer?
13. Saw a horse?
14. Swung on a pole?
15. Swore?
16. Gave something away?
17. Listened to The Beach Boys?
18. Bought The 4 Pieces Toaster!!!???  I am still thinking about it.
19. Went on a ride at the fair?
20. Used tape?
21. Looked at your elbow?
22. Bought flowers?
23. Watched a John Travolta movie?
24. Went out for supper?
25. Found the perfect cure?
26. Spoke out of turn?
27. Received a package in the mail?
28. Wanted to throw your arms in the air?
29. Bought something used?
30. Sucked on a mint?
31. Walked anywhere?
32. Dusted your house?
33. Played hopscotch?
34. Did your favorite party trick?
35. Fed a squirrel?
36. Hung your clothes outside to dry?
37. Were in a plane? 
38. Broke glass?
39. Told a secret?
40. Tied shoes?
41. Called the wrong number?
42. Changed a diaper?
43. Thought about Christmas?
44. Had no doubts in yourself?
45. Cleaned out THAT closet?
46. Ate potatoes?
47. Let yourself feel sad?
48. Threw a baseball?
49. Peed outside?
50. Figured it out?
51. Made sand castles?
52. Had the flu?
53. Watched an Awards show on TV?
54. Woke-up late?
55. Snapped your fingers?
56. Ran from the bathroom to the bedroom naked?
57. Peeled an orange?
58. Giggled.
59. Jumped off a dock?
60. Drank a glass of wine?
61. Changed a light-bulb?
62. Had a bath at someone else's house?
63. Listened to Matchbox Twenty?
64. Squealed your tires?
65. Drew a picture?
66. Fixed a leaky faucet?
67. Wore make-up?
68. Hit all the green lights on the way home?
69. Went to a parade?
70. Ate liver?
71. Felt your heart beat in your chest?
72. Cleaned your ears?
73. Leaned on a wall?
74. Sat on a pillow?
75. Touched a bug?
76. Bought something brown?
77. Tickled someone?
78. Did something illegal?
79. Read the same line in a book more than once?
80. Hung curtains?
81. Bought new underwear?
82. Tried to lift something you could not move? 
83. Used the microwave?
84. Could not sleep?
85. Ate a Gobstopper?
86. Screamed at someone?
87. Were on a hi-way?
88. Saw a butterfly?
89. Played a video game?
90. Did it :
91.  for love?
92. out of hate?
93. for the money?
94. out of shame?
95. out of generosity?
96. out of resentment?
97. out of pride?
98. out of the blue?
99. to benefit yourself?
100. in a good way?
101.  Didn't know what to say?

Crumbs!

I once had A Toaster.  Silver and black, the kind from my childhood.  It had a sticker with different levels of orange on one of it's sides.  It only had one setting left.  Perfect.
Little golden pieces of heaven would pop out of that baby. 
But it got increasingly ugly.  I hid it away from people's stares.  It became annoying to pull it out and put it away all the time.
I stopped enjoying toast.
I bought a New Toaster and threw away my old one.  The new one was 40 years old, metal.  Vintage.  Cool.  Everyone said so.
The New Toaster hated me.
It made horrible toast. Only if I made it or it was meant for me.  Burnt along one whole side, half of it!  Perfect along the other side.
Every time.
But I missed toast, so I ate toast until I got sick of toast.  The New Toaster still looked cool. 
Until I was always washing it down and it was never used.  It was heavy.  It just sat there.
And I missed toast.
But not enough to eat toast from it.
So, I bought Another Toaster.  White.  Wider opening slots for bagels.  Pretty on my counter.
But it ended up being just Another Toaster that hated me.   Another Toaster producing yin and yang toast.  
And I could only eat a few slices of bad toast this time.
I wanted to weep bitterly, until I figured it out.
The Voice.  The Voice is doing this.  Talking to my appliances.
The Voice must be crazy.
Or is this what The Voice has been up to on breathers?
I am on to you, pal.

I am sitting here debating on whether or not to buy a Different Toaster.

Playing in the Big Leagues

Wal-Mart makes me smile.  There really is something I want in every aisle.  I never leave without buying myself something.  My favorite shampoo, I can only find there.
So, without a doubt, when Jean asked yesterday  if I would like to go with her to the most fabulous store in the world, I agreed.  Even if I had to bring the two kids in tow.
Jean is a shopaholic.  Jean gets everything she wants.  Jean knows where the deals are.  Jean is patient.  Jean has a sixth sense. 
And I love Wal-Mart.  I match her wits there.

My son also needed a new pair of running shoes, his last suddenly passed worn.  I had been forcing him to wear sandals for a week.
Wal-Mart is great for shoes. 
And these do not have to be great shoes, to boot.  School starts back up in a month.
But Someone smiles on me, because there is a SHOE SALE!!
And I get to thinking, my daughter needs a new pair of cute sneakers, too.  She is a girl, afterall.  I tell the kids to have a look around.  Mostly so I can, too.  
Even though I am not buying myself any shoes today.

I see the most darling shoes cheap, cheap, cheap, almost right away.  I grin at my will-power to walk away. 
I meet up with my daughter in an aisle over.  We point at the same shoes at the same time and giggle.  She picks them up.
But my son?  That boy can be no fun.  He smiles cute as he tries on every single pair of shoes in the store, do not get me wrong.  But the longer we stay in the area of this SHOE SALE, I cannot get those cute little brown shoes three rows over out of my head.
I decide to appease my guilt for not buying them by going to look at them again.
"Try on a few more pairs, buddy," I say to my son. 
"I will help him," says my daughter.
"Fantastic."
I cannot resist picking up the shoes this time.  They are really cute.
Do not buy these shoes, Beth, says The Voice.
O.K., I won't.  
Put them down.
They sure feel nice.
Do not!!
I put on a shoe.
Hmmm.
Do not buy the shoes, Beth, says The Voice.
I bought the shoes.

We are 50 feet away from Wal-Mart.  And I am on the ground.  No warning.  I was Tripped.  And one cannot sue The Voice.  The Voice thinks it is funny.  In the Grand Scheme Of Things, The Voice is right.
I sprained my ankle.

It is late last night when I take a bath.  I need one.  Spraining an ankle is hard work.
I come out and see my new pair of offending shoes.
They are still so cute!
I am naked and I put them on.  Squeezing a swollen foot in, anyway.  It will make me feel better to get on with life.
I grab a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and drink from it, bringing it over to my computer desk.  I sit down.
I admire my new shoes.  I really like them.   And I have never sprained an ankle before.  A totally new experience.  This has not been that bad of a day.   I have to pee.  I prance down the hallway in my new shoes.
I guess The Voice thought I was making fun of him, turning his joke into one I could laugh at.
Which is probably why when I opened the bathroom door, it caught as I stepped forward and I received a bloody nose.
So, I decided to put on a T-shirt.
But the shoes stayed.
Even when I noticed quite suddenly, the shoes looked a little bit like bowling shoes.  I do not own anything I can wear with bowling shoes.
A little jab for ya, laughs The Voice at me.
Shut-up, I am going shopping for new clothes tomorrow, I retort.  And I am smug.

I woke up to an un-extraordinary day and it continued until I was on the bus, heading closer but not quite to home, yet.
And I have officially lost my keys. They are not in my bag.
I locked my door on the way out today.  They are so not lost in my house. 
The Voice says Haha! They are gone for good!
I can break into my house.
I cannot break into my CD cabinet.  I like it.  I would wreck it.  It is always locked to keep the doors closed.  The key for my CD cabinet is on my ring.   Gone forever.
I know!  Haha! says The Voice.
Matchbox Twenty is sitting on my computer desk, I tell The Voice.  I can deal.
I am not careful about how wide my shit-eating grin is.
Tickle, tickle, I poke. 

It has been quiet so far tonight. 
Aw.  Someone had to take a breather.
Haha, I say.  Hahaha.
I can HEAR you, says The Voice, exasperated.
And I hear you smiling, I return, affectionately.

asor olucric le

She could not believe she was standing here.   A movie scene.  It took her breath away, the water so close to the grass and the woods.  The grains of sand beneath her feet making her toes curl.
The moon was full, big and high.  The coolness in the breeze was just enough to make the waves more audible then usual as they lapped at the shore.  She wished she was wearing white.
She had scoffed at those who said the beach was romantic.
He spread out the blanket.  "So much for the stars tonight.  They tell a beautiful story," he called out to her.
She turned to him and smiled.  He was just more appealing than the scene before her.  She walked, dragging her feet through the cool sand, to him and the blanket.

She jumped to her feet suddenly, startling him, the blanket sliding beneath her feet. "How spooky do you think that little forest of trees are right now?"
She took off before he could answer, running towards them.   She stepped behind a tree.  Engulfed in darkness, like a mirage, she disappeared.
She poked her head back out and laughed; then was gone.
He did not know if she was mocking him or enticing him.  A smile barely crossed his lips but he wore it like a grin.  Slowly, he stretched out his legs fully, before he stood.

He stepped into the thicket and his senses were overcome with the darkness.  He stopped his movement to find his footings and bearings.
He listened for her breath.  He hardly caught it.  He thought maybe it was more instinct then sense.
He was quiet, not stealth.  He wished now he had practiced better.

She did not go far in; she had never been here before.  She was not even sure if not so far in was almost the end to the whole woods. 
But there was a big trunked tree.  So round.  It was not majestic so much a gnarled and old.  She knew she could keep up the game, circling it for awhile.  She was fast.  And liked to taunt.
She chose a part of the tree, sliding her back against it; watching the area he would be coming from first, then on to the others.  She knew he was a smart boy.
She felt charmed, like she had always been part of the woods.  She wished she was wearing green.

He was a smart boy.  He knew when he was close to her.  He turned to make a wide arc in his path.  He knew she would choose the tree.  He had been here before, a walk through the woods one day a time a go.  The tree had reminded him of what he would be one day.
He still did not expect to catch her by surprise, but he knew, smiling to himself, it was a large trunk.  She would let him chase her forever.  In that moment, she captured his heart.

The tree had a soft, grainy texture.  Dust remained on her hands when she pulled them away.  It made her wonder if this tree would eventually just disappear by way of the wind.  She suddenly thought it an honor to be there. 

He caught the faintest flash of her arm, how he was not sure, but he knew she stood with her back to him.  He decided to move in quickly.  He was lucky to not make a sound.
She moved away, just rippled like silk, an inch before he reached her.
"Daresay, I think there is a wolf in the woods," she said, scandalous.  She was just far enough away, he could not feel her breath.
"I cannot see you," he replied.
"My eyes are dancing."
She slipped away, around the tree.

She was good, not stealth.
It was her wicked words that sometimes gave him the pause she needed to keep away.
He caught her because of tree roots.

He waited so long, the sound of his breath whispering different stories.
Her lips were parted when his arrived.

She did not care what would catch in her hair.  The tree appeared to know to create a comfortable ground beneath her branches.
His hand reached up her side, his fingers sprawled, leaving warmth behind.  He captured her breast.
They were only wearing skin.
She merged with the earth, taking him with her.

Punks-The Beginning

July

Minnie was 14. She liked bright red lipstick and getting high.
Tommy liked getting high, too.
It was a sunny Sunday afternoon. It was the end of the weekend and they were poor. They had walked all around the downtown and had even played teen-aged hide and seek at the public library. Stolen, secret kisses.
Tommy flipped the hair out of his eyes, looking into hers.
"Billy-Boy? Oh, do we have to go there?"
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "If you want to get high."
Tommy sighed, too. "Fine, nothing better than a day spent with..."
"Like I ever actually hang out with him. I will get us out of there quick, silly," Minnie interjected.

Billy-Boy's Mom was fat and stinking when she came to the door in her burnt yellow gown.  The tiny pink flowers enhanced her girth.  She had her brassy orange curls up in a purple hairclip.
She clapped her fat hands together once and smiled her brown grin. She shouted back into the little green house, "Billy, friends for you!"

They settled in beside a grey dumpster at a near-by apartment building. The sun radiate off the blacktop of the parking lot.  Billy-Boy pulled a joint out of his cigarette package.
"You never came back Wednesday night," he looked at Minnie.
She stretched a leg out, watching it as she brought it back up to her body.  She rested her chin on her knee and stuck out her tongue.  "Mom's are bitches."
Tommy looked at her, queerly.  They had been together Wednesday night. 
 
Smoking pot with Billy-Boy was never fun.  He always left the joint wet.  Minnie smiled, her eyes half-closed when she handed Tommy the joint.  She leaned forward, placing an hand on his upper thigh, letting her fingers slide up closer than she should have.  Her red lips were slightly parted and she looked in his eyes.  She had captured him.
"Billy-Boy has the most amazing comic book collection," she smiled bigger.  She did not even look over when she said, "Tell him, Billy-Boy."
Tommy did not like comic books.  He sighed.  And she just kept smiling.

Summer

Four and A Half Years Old
 
Tommy looked out the window at the darkening grayness of the day.   He was glad it was not a damp night.
He would have to work fast with Sissy if he was going to get her to sleep.  He hoped he could pull it off.  Staying up all night with a two year old was not easy.  He would be clumsy with her by morning, if he did not sleep enough.
He looked over at her, finger in mouth, watching the TV.  Wheel of Fortune.  He liked it, too.
But he went over and shut it off.
"Come on, Sissy," he put out his hand.  "You need a clean-up."
She pulled her finger out of her mouth, whiter than her other fingers and took his hand.  Tommy was all hers, as far as she was concerned.
He took the orange washcloth to her face, warm and gentle.  She never fought.
"Do you want to sleep in bed with me tonight, Sissy?" he asked brightly.
She clapped her hands, eyes alive.  "O.K.!"
Then she stopped.
She frowned.
"Bedtime now?" she asked.
"Yeah, Sissy.  Bedtime now."
"Tommy," she pouted, her baby voice scratchy.
 
He curled up under the blue blanket with her, closing her off from the edge of the bed.  She was turned, staring at the wall.   Her hair was full of blonde curls and snags at the back.
Her eyes remained open.
He rubbed her back.  "We can eat cookies for breakfast if you want, Sissy," he whispered to her.
She turned her head, eyes to the corner of their sockets.  "O.K."  She settled back.
Tommy did not say another word, but continued to rub her back.  Soft.  Fast.
If he did not stop, she would go out soon.  He hoped his hand would not cramp. 
Soon, her breathing deepened.  Low, soft sighs. 
He carefully perched himself up on his elbow and leaned in close to her in the fading light.   His blue shirt brushed her naked back.   Her eyes were closed.   He collapsed back on the bed fully,  in relief.  He would sleep, too.
"Tommy," she suddenly spoke loudly.  His heart stopped.  "Where Momma?" 

On A Very Personal Note

1. Thank you, Mom, for everything.
2. Thank you, Dad, for pointing out the chipmunk.
3. Thank you, Jean.  Wait until you see your new house.
4. Thank you, Grandma, for pretending to like Metallica.
5. Thank you, Grandpa, for the box.  I think you knew...
6. Thank you, Mikey, for Hound Dog on the guitar.  Before you smashed it over my head.  Brothers are jerks.
7. Thank you, Pappy, for the change.
8. Thank you, Brenda, for always coming at the right time.
9. Thank you, Jenny, for the card 3 months late.  It is still my favorite one.
10. Thank you, Mrs. Houting, for the poster in your Grade Two classroom with the word empathy on it.  Thank you more for never pointing it out. 
11.  Thank you, Michelle, for playing road hockey with me.
12. Thank you, Scott, for friendship before we even knew.  Wow, man.  We could make a movie.  Love you, Big Bro.
13. Thank you, Carrie, for being such a girl.
14. Thank you, my friend in Iowa, for day or night.
15. Thank you, Adrienne, for sitting behind me in Seventh Grade.
16. Thank you, Miranda, for allowing me some time.
17.  Thank you, Kelvin.  I miss you.
18. Thank you, Nancy, for the cheques.  I loved your kids.
19. Thank you, Marlene, for hand signals.  We were un-stoppable.
20. Thank you, Aunt Ruth, for the world's best Kool-Aid.
21. Thank you, Don, for the dance.
22. Thank you Janet, for the cinnamon buns.
23. Thank you, Rob, for being my first chosen music dealer.
24. Thank you, Penny, for the black blazer.
25. Thank you, Stephanie, for swinging higher than me.
26. Thank you, Aunt Sue, for letting me idolize everything about you. 
27. Thank you, Mark, for letting me ramble. And ramble. And ramble. And ramble.
28. Thank you, Diane, for My Pet Monster.
29. Thank you, Alisha, for being that brave in class.
30. Thank you, Tanya, for the best sleep-over.  Ever.
31. Thank you, Uncle Jack, for the $50.
32. Thank you, Kelly.
33. Morgan.
34. Heather.
35. Grade Six freaking rocked.
36. Thank you, Ian, for letting me not even have to ask if I can use your name.
37. Thank you, Al, for the ride home.
38. Thank you, Cousin Jamie, for Robot.  Like I am actually thank you for this?!?!?!  That is insane!  It was great fun in the moment.  I think just because it involved you.
39. Thank you, Krista, for Practically Perfect Punctuation.
40. Thank you, Kim, for our gerbil story.
41. Thank you, Cheri, for singing.
42. Thank you, Cindy, for being here everyday.
43. Thank you, Angie, for smiling through it all.
44. Thank you, Jerry.  It was always a pleasure to play cards with you.
45. Thank you, Chris, for the bubble gum.
46. Thank you, Mr. Arthur, for singling me out.
47. Thank you, Cheryl, for letting me be a teenager.
48. Thank you, Faith, for caring twice.
49. Thank you, Eric, for Super Nintendo.
50. Thank you, Marsha.
51. Thank you, Aaron, for the poem.
52. Thank you, Jenn, for letting me copy off you in French class.
53. Thank you, Jim, for walks to Tim Hortons.
54. Thank you, Kelli, for summer fur coat fashion shows.  We were fabulous.
55. Thank you, Rick, for Billy Ray Cyrus.
56. Thank you, John, for things never changing.
57. Thank you, Mrs. McCrea, for just rolling your eyes when I boarded you school bus.
58. Thank you, June, for being a teenager with me.
59. Thank you, Tammy, for the whole Jimmy, Jimmy dance.
60. Thank you, Terri, for Papa Smurf.
61. Thank you, Dallas, for tough words. 
62. Thank you, Jamie, for knowing when to walk away.
63. Thank you, Scott.  I enjoy every conversation we have ever had.
64. Thank you, Natalie, for the vest.
65. Thank you, Tom, for being the best baseball captain in the world. 
66. Thank you, Russell, for just laughing.
67. Thank you, Jen, for Meatloaf.
68. Thank you, Vanessa, for your apartment.  It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
69. Thank you, Mary-Ann, for not being a "tree", like other people we knew.  Sigh.
70. Thank you, Jay, for the drawing.
71. Thank you, C.J., for being there when Desert Storm broke out.
72. Thank you, Les, for being "the weirdo singing outside for you".
73. Thank you, Kerry, for the beer.
74. Thank you, Reese, for the Stephen King conversation.
75. Thank you, Ross, for always coming, no matter how long we did not talk to each other.
76. Thank you, Mr Stead, for fairness.
77. Thank you, Aunt Debbie,  Those boots made me feel fabulous.  But not as much as The Cat.
78. Thank you, Tara, for letting me borrow those wonderful jeans.
79. Thank you, Albino, for taking the beating.
80. Thank you, Wendy, for still not coming to get your left-over furniture.
81. Thank you, Nora.  You made me an authority on the topic.
82. Thank you, Matchbox Twenty.  Hello!  You rock.  I love you.
83. Thank you, Patrick, for helping me pick out my web cam.
84. Thank you, Lisa, for telling me I was the funniest person you knew.  Hey IS for horses. Hay?  How should this be typed?
85. Thank you, Carolyn, for not really getting mad about the whole Three Musketeer thing.
86. Thank you, Larry.  Where would I be without you?  And for Crazy Eights, man.
87. Thank you, Charlie, for inviting me out to California.
88. Thank you, Amber.  Don't we look fantastic?  We sure do, baby.
89. Thank you, Paul, for grass slides.
90. Thank you, Lynn, for telling me about it.
91. Thank you, Dave, for phone calls from the mall.
92. Thank you, Vicky.  You made the Quebec trip.
93. Thank you, Brian, for letting me change your name.
94. Thank you, Anne, for letting me show off last week.
95. Thank you, Jesse, for grey day walks.
96. Thank you, Shonda, for asking.
97. Thank you, Dale, for knowing I would not ask during The Game.  And for knowing everyone else would.
98. Thank you, Danielle, for making life real.
99. Thank you, Bill, for noon hour every Friday.
100. Thank you, to YOU.  Some of you keep coming back here.  Even sometimes, daily.  Thank you for stepping into my world.  I love stepping inside yours.  You have given me a most beautiful gift.  Bigger than you can possibly know.
101.  Thank you.  You did not think I would forget you, did you?

My Day Off-A Journal-Part Three

Back to July
 
Cleaning my house today is not fun.  I am finding things I have not seen in awhile and it is surprising me.  Like little hand prints.  On lots of things.  Crumbs under my couch. 
Dirt.  I see dirt.
Two weeks vacation.  I have forgotten how to clean again.
It is a good thing to have a Day Off so close to my vacation.  I have catching up to do.
 
I am glad when everything messes up horribly for Cindy's move.  The Movers just cannot make it until dark.  So, instead of mini-helper mover I get to just be Aunt Beth, the baby-sitter.
But I feel bad for being happy I do not have to help her lift heavy things, so I tell her to get lost.  To go do something fun until it is time to move.
"For real?" she says.
"Yeah," I say.
"I am so outta here," she jumps up and down.  "Thanks, Beth!"
If I was not sick of listening to her whining, I would have made her stay.
 
Two weeks of only feeding myself, has also turned me into a lackluster grocery shopper.  We have crap.
I peer in my fridge and my daughter comes up behind me.  "I want corn with supper."
"Alright," I agree as she walks away.  I continue rooting around until I discover there is nothing too suitable to eat with corn.
"I want noodles," my son runs by on his way out the door.
"Fabulous!" I yell after him, looking down at the baby.
"Cup," he says, holding it up to me.
"You are going to have to get a little more difficult if you wanna make it around here," I say to him.
"Kitty," he squeals suddenly as my cat enters the room, his hands way out in front as he runs after her.
"No way, you little bugger.  We are not eating Misty," I mutter.
 
We eat noodles.  And corn.  And just about anything else I had in the fridge.  With a can of diced tomatoes.  It was pretty good.
The baby likes it best in his hair. 
 
It is My Day Off.  I put the kids to bed at eight o'clock.  I say to them "Not a peep." 
And actually get it.
I take the longest bubble bath.
I sit on my porch with a coffee and my journal.
I want chocolate.  I do not have any.  But there has got to be some sort of edible treat in the house.
Except, there is not.  My kids have really crappy taste in treats. 
I want chocolate.  I pout.
 
I sit for awhile at the computer, writing, but not really.  I decide I can eat cheesies.  I do not really want to.  But I feel like a snack.
I reach up, stretching further than I think I am really allowed to, so I can reach the shelf they are on.  I am too lazy on My Day Off to get a chair.  I slide the bag forward with my fingertips, ready to let it fall when something else does.
Thwack.  It lands on my stove.
A lone granola bar in a white package.
With chocolate chips.
WooHoo!
 
My TV is turned down when I walk back into my living room.  A movie is on.
Steel Magnolias.  Right on.  I am a girl. 
I curl up on my couch with my favorite pillow and blanket and settle in for a feel good cry.
 
I wake-up to the first rays of sun, poking through my living room curtains.
My neck is sore and it is a few minutes before 7 a.m.  On a Saturday.
But no one else is up.  It is quiet.
I notice my front door was left wide-open the night before.  I feel a moments shock.
It goes away.  It is not like anyone tried to come in.
And if I am quick, I can sneak in a coffee before the kids are bleary-eyed, whining for breakfast. 

My Day Off-A Journal-Part Two

Downtown Mark
 
It is March.  The last Friday of the month.  Which is always My Day Off.  My babysitter and I pretend we do not realize this.
 
A 50 year old man leans over towards me, on the bus.  "What are you writing?" he asks.
"Just my journal," I reply.
"What about?"
I look up at him.  "Where I would be going if I was wearing something different."
He nods.  "Where are you going?"
"Dowtown.  That much I know for sure.   I will figure the rest out when I get there."
"I am going downtown, too.  Got a few things to pick up.  My books.  And my picture is finally ready."
"Oh, I was just at City Lights not too long ago," I smile.
"I love that place.  But that is not where I am going."
He tilts his head and looks in my eyes.
"You want to come with me?"
"You bet," I smile.
 
"This way," he says, pointing down the street when we get off the bus.
As we head off, I look over at him.  "You gotta name?  Wait let me guess."
"Okay," he says.
"Mark!" I exclaim.
"It'll do," he replies.
 
The bookstore is in an older part of downtown.  It is in a century home.  The inside is all wood, with beautiful antique lights and the original fireplace.  Everything is so old, but it is in perfect condition. Everything old looking new.
Creepy.
To be honest, I do not like the store and I was glad when we left.  But I did agree to join him on a bit more of his day.
 
"Is Nirvana still cool," he asks me in the used CD store we go in.
I crinkle my face.  "I do not think so, but who knows?  I am not cool."
He laughs.
"Oh, yes, you are."
"And you are old," I laugh back. 

Everything is African.  The shop is dark and alive.  It is ancient and calm.  Every piece tells a different story and there are so many to look at. 
In the music room, Mark puts a drum on order.
 
We are looking closely at the emeralds the man behind the counter is showing us.  Mark would like to have an emerald earring.  He thinks.
This is a custom shop.  They make anything according to what you want.  The jeweler's eyes shine.
"Do you love your job?" I ask. 
A soft sigh escapes his lips.  "When I am holding the perfect rock in my hand..." he stops, a smile spreading across his face.  He shakes his hand and head.
"I wish I knew the words," he finishes.  "But I am glad you asked."
 
Mark and I are sitting on my favorite planter.  He is just as fascinated by it as I am.  I am drinking coffee and he is drinking green tea.
"I shall call you Queenie," he says to me suddenly.
"I was starting to wonder if you would ever call me anything," I smile. 
 He stands and offers me his hand "It would be an honor if you continued this journey with me.  It is time to pick up my picture."
 
Our new Market is high class.  All the normal stuff is there.  But just better of it.  Chocolate, shrimp, coffee.  
We travel to the core where there is a little table set up.  Two Indian men are sitting behind it.
 I am barely aware of my hand reaching out and scooping up a rock from the table as I look at the other's spread out.  They are breathtaking.  Animals are painted on them and glossed to a high sheen.  The spider is the largest one.  Beautiful things are written on the back.  Protection, creativity, honesty.
I feel the coolness of the rock I am holding in my palm. 
"How much?" I ask the Indian with darker eyes.
"Five dollars," he replies.
I hand it over.  He does not smile, but looks at me.
"Go on," he says.  "What is yours?  Take your look now."
It is a goat.  I turn it over.
SCAVENGER.
I take a deep breath as disappointment washes over me.  This is not something beautiful.  I look back up into the man's dark eyes.
"Oh, no, honey.  It is right.  You are just reading it wrong."
And I suddenly know he is right.
"Queenie, this is Moses.  You two are going to really enjoy our stay here," he turns to look at the man.  "Let's see what your mind created for me.  Where's my picture?" 

My Day Off-A Journal-Part One

Cindy spent the night last night.  She is moving today.  Her old house is closer to my house than her new house. She has to start at the old house.   She spent the night here.
I like when Cindy and I have a sleep-over.  She does not care if we talk and laugh all night or if I simply ignore her to concentrate on my multitudes of writing.  This is fabulous.  But what is even better, Cindy will let me sleep until the last possible moment when she spends the night.  An extra hour of sleep can leave a shit-eating grin on your face all day long.
Except, I had to be up really early on My Day Off.
Because I had to make a brief hour long appearance where I normally go Everyday.  Not fun.  But still, an hour for the whole rest of the day?!  So, worth it.
Except, remember how I said Cindy is moving today?  Yeah, that's right.  I knew I had the day off before she knew when she was moving.  I still opened my Big Mouth and offered to help.  Even when I instantly regretted it, but still knew I would do it, anyway.
I do not back-out even when I learn Cindy has a Go-With-The-Flow type mentality about moving.  She still has one or two boxes that need to be packed(Definition-Half the House)while the Movers are loading other stuff.  Whenever they show up, that is.  They are her friends.  Friends means discount.  Friends means whenever they can squeeze you in.
So, I do not really have time to have some fun before running home from where I have to go Everyday even on my days off.
But, a bus comes every 15 minutes.  And what if I just happened to miss just one?  Not much.  I sit on my favorite planter and watched how the usual store owners operate and gossip at 10 in the morning.  I write.  Drink coffee.
My favorite busker just happened to be there, too.
 
I come home and at first, did not understand the mass destruction that had happened in such a short time while I was gone.  Oh, poor Cindy.  I am starting to understand what two kids and a 20 month old, all day must be like.
I start to feel sorry for Cindy.
Until I see her sitting on the couch, wide awake, eyes glazed, watching talk shows.  Wrapped up in my comforter.
As I stand there, I suddenly want to take the remote control and shove it...
"Cindy!  I am home," I finally exclaim at her.
Her head moves slowly towards me.  Her eyes do not lose there glaze.
"I hate moving," she whimpers, looking me in the eyes before slowly turning back to the TV.  "What the hell am I watching?"
I hate moving, too.  And I suddenly feel sorry for Cindy again.
But not enough for me to sit and listen to her whine.  I am going to blog.  My kids are gone for a swim.  On My Day Off where I get to do nothing I want, I am going to take this time to do what want.  It might only be for 15 minutes. 
So I do take the time.
And Cindy decides to go get us coffee. That makes it even nicer.
Except for when the baby takes a 20 minute freak-out.
But  I decide to listen to a Cult song really loud on my headphones.  It makes it nice again. 
 
It is 3 in the afternoon and Cindy still sits here, waiting without patience for the phone to ring.  I can be found wearing headphones still.
My son would like a freezie, he says when he gets my attention from The Distillers.
I put my headphones back on after I agree, watching him run for the basement door. A moment later a flurry of skinny arms and a wide smile comes in my line of vision.
"Where is the freezie?" I ask.
"Look, Mom!  Your rock!  I found your rock."
His little six year olds palm, pink with life, opens and there is my rock.
"Oh, buddy..." I trail off.
"Gimmie a hug," he grins.  

A Never Ending List

C.E. reminds me of my hometown every time I visit her site.  Thank you for more than that.
 
Most people read the other blog.  I read this one.  cbeck your talent amazes me.
 
I wish it was Me who wrote this.  Every post makes you grin.
 
You should all know Varinbird by now.  If not, here is your chance.
 
The Author.  For sure.
 
 
Just Plain Weird 
  
There are no words.  Just read it.
 
ACK!  They are everywhere!
 
WTF?!? 

Rosy Cheeks

My son's circle and lined wall, created with the permanent red marker, became something he liked to show-off. I guess the other kids who come here liked it, too.   I guess he wanted to show-off more.
That is one of the many hypothesis I have about how the Map of Africa came to be.
I just keep hoping my kid is some kind of odd little genius. 

On the morning I discovered the map of Africa, I was not speechless and I could breathe.
"What is this?" I demanded. And loudly.
My son shrugged his shoulders.
"I like it. It's nice. Took a long time."
He had chipped paint off the wall. His walls are white. That morning, it was discovered his room used to be beige.  
And it was starting to look like a room in an abandoned house.
I thought to myself that maybe this look would be the in thing  20 years from now and he could make millions. He could be a visionary.
It was a good enough excuse for me to leave the room. I used it and went to do some laundry.

I sat my little boy on the couch that night, before his bedtime.
"Buddy, what can we to make you stop...Well...Destroying your room?"
He looked mildly shocked by my accusation. He raised his hands up, an almost shrug.
"Geeze, if you would just paint my room red..."
He paused to sigh at me and I took the opportunity to interject.
"Deal," I said, holding out my hand.
Later on, I thought, maybe I should not have let him watching Trading Spaces daily with me, back when I was addicted to it.
Maybe I could get him to agree on a light blue...

He went to Wal-Mart two days later with Jean.
When they walked near the paint section, my son ran off towards it.
"This is it!" he exclaimed to Jean, when she caught up with him.
"What is?"
"My Mom is painting my room red," he grinned, holding up his chosen colour.
"Sure she is..."
He handed me that paint chip the minute he ran in the door.
"When you come back from vacation, it will be done," I said to him.
"Okay," he nodded at me.

This past Saturday, I painted my son's room. Red. Crimson Red to be exact.
Since I had left the painting until the last possible moment of the two week vacation, I just piled everything in his room in the middle of the floor.
The paint smelt real bad. It looked fuschia in the can. I discovered I owned nothing tall enough to make me tall enough to be able to reach the ceiling to tape it up. His bed had to keep getting moved, depending on which wall I was on. And I had to use a chair to be able to reach the top of the wall with the roller. I had to move the chair every two minutes. For 12 hours. I looked like a shot-gun victim. My hair rolled along with the roller twice. It hurt.
It was also an awfully hot day.
My son loved his room. He spent practically two whole days in there, playing. He gave me extra hugs.

Tonight, my son stayed up, quietly playing in his room after bedtime.
He knows if he remains quiet, I will let him away with it for an hour or so. There is nothing better than being up when you are not suppose to be. 
Around nine o'clock this evening,  I went down the hall to tell my son it was officially bedtime.  When I walked in, I caught a flash of white, out of the corner of my eye, near the dresser.
I turned slowly. Oh, my God...
The red paint had definitely been chipped. I stood, my eyes transfixed upon this...this what?
I sighed.  It looked like a large hawk flying through a red sky. Kind of spooky.
"Is this a bird?" I really did not know what else to say to him.
"Yep," he nodded.  "A hawk."
"Yeah..." I smiled weakly at him.

I stepped in that damn paint tray three times on Saturday.

The Best Part of My Day

It is 10:39 a.m.
It is a rainy cold day.
I get to wear my brown shirt.
Yea!

The Table

I always seem to have too much laundry.
It piles up in weird places. Almost daily, I will notice a pile at the end of the hall and then another little one in the bathroom.
Bathroom little piles do not bother me. People who come over, can see a small laundry pile in there.
But in case they do come over, I take the time to fold it all. Instead of just throwing it down my basement stairs.
I can find more piles in my room, the kids room's and the living room. Although clothes in my kitchen do happen, it is a very odd and rare occurrence. I always have to think about why the clothing is in the kitchen. Even if I did it. I am always puzzled to see it.
I keep these piles around my house, and will even create some, on purpose.
In case I need a breather. I need these at least once a day. For one of a thousand different reasons.
I will grab one of these laundry piles and take it downstairs.

A few months ago, I got the thrills of lending my basement to my friend, Wendy, for storage.
Now, I am a nice friend. I did not charge her a penny.
And I did real well for about a week. I did not go down there to look at her stuff.
But there comes a point in time, where if you do not do something, someone might be getting a free large pizza for taking you into the local psychiatric ward.
I went to take a look. A good one.
The next day, there was a man at my house and I ordered him as to what I wanted brought up. A beautiful glass and wooden cabinet and a half moon, behind-the-couch-in-the-soap-operas table.
I stole her bath mats, too.
Then I called her.

"Hey, Wendy," I said.
"Hey," she answered.
"So, I brought some of your stuff upstairs."
"Oh?"
I told her.
"Well...," she sighed. "Don't wreck it."
"Shut-up," I laughed. "It is too nice to be sitting in my damp basement."
"If your basement was damp."
"I am free storage," I threatened.
"You are my friend."
"I am nosy and I liked it."
"Don't wreck it."

I have since offered her money for her stuff. I have also tried to bribe money from other people so I can offer her larger sums. She really likes her stuff.

On a laundry trip to the basement, back a few months ago, I noticed Wendy's kitchen table. I pulled two of the wooden chairs from the table top and sat with my feet up. And it felt good.
I went back upstairs.
I started to do it all the time.

Suddenly, I experienced an increase in laundry and I was not too happy. With myself.
That damn kitchen table.
I wanted to sit there so bad, I just started throwing the laundry beside the washer on my way through.
One time, I caught myself down there five times in one day. Not doing laundry.

Wendy came two weeks ago to move her stuff. She was moving 45 minutes away. I had spent the night before saying good-bye to the glass cabinet and the half-moon table. They were so beautiful. And so not mine. It was breaking my heart.
When the basement became almost empty, Wendy came up to me. "We will have to come back for this stuff upstairs and the fish aquarium after we drop this off."
"Okay," I said.

"Beth," Wendy called a few hours later. "We are all too tired to come get the rest of the stuff tonight. We have agreed here, to do it in a few weeks."
"For real," I said, excitement in my voice. Yea! A few more weeks to think of ways to con these wonderful pieces out of her!
"Yeah, because, well...Thanks for letting me keep everything there so long."
"I enjoyed it," I said.
"I know," she said.
"You still coming next week for the night?"
"Yep."

I was in the basement the next day, with a load of whites in my hand looking at my basement. Wow. It was big.
And I had nowhere to sit. I tried my grey steps. Oh, they sucked so bad.
I got up and did a load of laundry.
Sigh. Silly me. I had been saying good-bye to the wrong things.

I miss you, Wendy.

The Best Part of My Day

Different Things to Think
About in the Rain

Cindy and me, drinking coffee, sitting on my porch steps, on my nicest couch blanket, so our bums and feet do not get wet, because it has rained hard recently. It is barely misting.
Cindy is sewing.
I am writing.
We are talking about books.
It lasted 7 minutes. It was bloody cold.

Because It Was So Much Fun The First Time

1. If you are rolling your eyes again at me, fantastic!
2. If you are my friend, I love you.
3. If you have something better to do, you already know I do not want you here.
4. If you aren't taking the hint, I am happy to tell you to screw off.
5. If you cannot breathe, I hope it is only for a minute and something wonderful has happened.
6. If you do not want it anymore, you might have upped it's worth.
7. If you are Phoebe, thank you.
8. If you have to walk up a stairwell alone, do it with some sex-appeal.
9. If you do not learn to be selfish, you will never be good at giving.
10. If you are hurt by someone, but not brave enough to speak up, get over it.
11. If you spilt it, clean it up.
12. If you think you can do better, is there someone else who thinks you are the best?
13. If you have a dog, I bet he would like a surprise walk or car ride right now.
14. If you have a $1.55, you better buy me a coffee before you walk through my door.
15. If you are in my Favorites List, I visit you at least twice a day.
16. If you are Julia, you would be surprised what I learn from every five minute conversation I have with you.
17. If you are the only one laughing, just pretend everyone else is stupid.
18. If you have hairy legs, sigh, you are not the only one.
19. If you ask, do not get mad at what you hear.
20. If you are never satisfied, you are not trustworthy.
21. If you are always satisfied, you are not trustworthy.
22. If you finally remembered to buy dish soap, but forgot laundry soap, welcome to my world.
23. If you have not been there, go there.
24. If you qualify and you are surprised, it is a scam.
25. If you turn a blind eye, who might not see?
26. If you lie to yourself, you lie to everyone.
27. If you spot someone else writing on the bus, share.
28. If you do three things a day for yourself, you will smile more.
29. If you think you do not have the time, you are wrong.
30. If you are driving down the road, go ahead and pick your nose. Just use a Kleenex.
31. If you do not remember someone's name, remember something else.
32. If you feel fat, do not wear it.
33. If you want to know where the bargain is, ask Jean or June.
34. If you are hung-over, try Kraft Dinner for breakfast.
35. If you are stuck, figure out what kind of glue was used.
36. If you could not be there, do not forget you should have been.
37. If you are Donna, the red and yellow lollipops were the best part of my 7th birthday.
38. If you feel like it, take the day off tomorrow. I dare you.
39. If you do, I hope you will tell me about it.
40. If you cannot take the day off, get up and watch the sunrise.
41. If you praise no one, you are not letting them know their strengths.
42. If you want to feel loved, remember your favorite kiss.
43. If you live in the moment, you might not be prepared.
44. If you plan your whole future, you might end up awfully bored.
45. If you want my body and you think I'm sexy...lalalalala...
46. If you tip your hat, people will think you are a gentleman.
47. If you are expecting a baby, congratulations.
48. If you like math, I could use the help.
49. If you are ashamed, make sure you should be.
50. If you want something, allow for some anticipation.
51. If you are disappointed, you may have allowed too much anticipation.
52. If you want something from the kitchen, go grab it.
53. If you don't take the chance, you may never get the opportunity again.
54. If you do not take a second chance, then you are the fool.
55. If you have never sneezed in your entire life, I wish I knew you.
56. If you love someone, remind them.
57. If you ain't got pictures, you ain't got proof.
58. If you fill in every blank, it leaves little to mystery.
59. If you are Mr. Sparks, thank you for letting me hate you for my whole Eighth Grade year.
60. If you give-up, sometimes it is the best solution.
61. If you do not start soon, you may never.
62. If you want to, sleep-in Saturday.
63. If you are annoyed with someone, stop to think before you make them annoyed with you.
64. If you have thought of something better to do since you began reading this, I hope you are still not here.
65. If you get shampoo in your eyes, it hurts.
66. If you think David Spade is kind of cute, me too.
67. If you have a favorite article of clothing, wear it tomorrow.
68. If you can believe it, Blogger lost half of this post and I am re-writing. Again. Damn If You lists...
69. If you have been listening to a lot of Kenny Loggins lately, thank you for the email. If Blogger was not so messed, I would already be writing you back.
70. If you want your cake, make sure you have earned the right to eat it.
71. If you are proud of yourself, look someone in the eyes for a minute and tell them.
72. If you want to go to McDonalds without your children, this is an acceptable form of revenge.
73. If you are missing someone, think about who might be missing you.
74. If you think about it, you might have a few phone calls to make.
75. If you do not have one, do you really need it?
76. If you are Aunt Sue, I remember Dixie Cups. And shot glasses of Pepsi.
77. If you want a new perspective on yourself, carry a camera all day tomorrow. Take pictures of what captures your eye.
78. If you cannot see them, it does not mean they are not there.
79. If you know all the parts, you can figure out the whole.
80. If you think The Adventures of Ford Fairlane deserved an Academy Award, at least we can both be wrong together.
81. If you are not honest with someone, which of you are you hurting more?
82. If you are sweating, I hope it is not because it was hot today.
83. If you type 'If you' in a search engine, you get things like...
84. ...If you like paper...
85. ...If you are biorythmically compatible with celebrities...
86. ...If you vote liberal, I will strip...(wtf)
87. ...If you do screw
the baby sitter, you may benefit from our other book ‘Making Marriages Work' ...
88. ...If you drop your food on a floor that does
contain microorganisms, the food can be contaminated in 5 seconds or less. ...
89. ... If you are not a legal adult...
90. ...If you are male, nature gave you a severe problem...
91. If you demand something, make sure it is not always just for yourself.
92. If no one is complaining, why start?
93. If you are Inanna, your words have made me think the most this past week.
94. If you forgive, you do not have to forget. But make sure the other person thinks you have.
95. If you wish upon a star, make that wish for someone else tonight.
96. If you know the words, say them.
97. If you do not, take a minute to find them.
98. If you still cannot, let your eyes talk for you.
99. If you do not know, do you want to?
100. If you cannot remember the best part of your day, take time to remember now. Mine was my favorite busker winking at me downtown before he started to play TWO Neil Diamond songs. Woo Hoo.
101. If you have something to say, it does not have to be to me.

My Summer Steps

I have sugar cones in my house. I did not buy them because I am not particularity fond of them. But I remember always wanting one every time I was out for ice cream as a child. My Mother never bought sugar cones, either.
My house felt packed. Three adults and three kids running inside, then outside.
And I got to thinking ice cream sugar cones would be a fabulous treat. We could eat them on the steps. Where everyone would be outside. On my steps.
So, us adults start the line. Amber is the collector. I am the scooper. I let Aunt Cindy receive the excited thank yous and smiles of the children. She misses her own kid today.
The ice cream is hard, coming from the deep freeze. I dig in with my scooping anyway, using hot water freely. I find myself annoyed by the fifth cone. I have wet ice cream sticking down to my wrists.
My son is almost done his cone by the time we are all sitting on the steps and this annoys me further. So much for my perfect little picture of laughing, smiling, ice cream-eating people on a porch.
Sigh.
A child has spread a green blanket on the front lawn. Let's sit there, I announce to everyone. It's my house, so of course, everyone agrees.
I am still bummed out, but the ice cream does taste good.
Did I mention these are cheap sugar cones?
The cone gets soggy and I can feel myself start to smile. The cone was always soggy when you were a kid by the time you got to it. Adults just eat cleaner and faster.
I tell everyone.
Which leads into music from the eighties and we start to sing, just as a neighbor and her son show up. Amber can never hit the tune right, so it is a guessing game guessing her songs. Cindy and I laugh at her. The kids think this is boring, so we break out in Disney Songs and a loud rendition of the Scooby-Doo theme song.
Which leads into "Down By The Bay." Most of the kids are not good enough for this game yet. It makes me remember...

...the chilly night out on the sands of the trailer park. By a large body of man-made water. The lights from the trailer burned brightly 50 yards from us. The sky was pitch black, the stars bright and my father had made a bonfire. Of course there was marshmallows, the only reason to even start a fire while children are still awake.
There were four kids and two adults, and it seems we sang that song for hours...

And I wonder now how my father had put up with it so long. It is annoying by the third verse. I make sure all eight people get two turns, before I say ick.
My daughter demands a game of charades. I would never choose this game.
The kids are easy.
Frog.
Old man.
Cat.
Amber gets up at her turn and start parading around, little finger flutters, tiny steps. Then she stops and itches her crotch.
Everyone is quiet. And staring.
She rolls her eyes and throws up her hands. "I am a transvestite."
The adults start to laugh. We laugh hard, on the verge of tears.
My daughter waits until the laughter ebbs. "Mom, I am 9. I know what that is," she says.
The laughter starts again, this time we are wiping our eyes.
The kids, suddenly bored of us, run off into the backyard.

Four In The Afternoon

Seven Years Old

Momma's shirt slipped from her shoulders as she leaned over trying to concentrate. The sunshine from the window hit her hair just right, sending a halo of pure white around her head. As she sat at the kitchen table, she almost looked beautiful. If only her bones did not appear so sharp.
"Hold still Sissy," she said, annoyed. The red nail polish coated thick on the little girl's fingers, wet and sticky on her skin. Small bubbles of it splattered the yellow Formica.
"I am," whined Sissy, but she really wasn't. It was not too often she caught Momma's attention and it excited her.
Momma reached for her drink with shaky hands. Tommy watched the sweet brown liquid spill and trail down her arm, a long thin stream. Momma raised her arm a little higher and tasted her arm, licking it all off in one quick moment with the tip of her tongue.
"Waste not, want not," she brought her head back up.
"Momma, I am hungry," Tommy spoke.
She turned to look at him, nostrils full of annoyance. "Tommy, hold on. Can't you see I am busy doing your sister's nails?"
"Yeah, so can I have one of the apples Aunt Lynn brought over?" he asked, quieter than he had spoke before.
"Tommy, just wait," she sighed.
But Tommy was getting mad. He had been getting madder all day.
"Momma, I have not had anything to eat since last night."
Momma snapped her head up, fast with anger. "Will you give me a fucking minute?" she said.
Tommy looked his mother in the eyes, until she turned away, back to Sissy's nails.
Tommy walked over to the refrigerator, his shoulders high, his footsteps firm.
He took a red, red apple from the crisper.
He leaned on the table between his Momma and sister, with the apple up to his lips.
As she started to raise her head, Tommy took a large bite, crunching, letting the juice and spit slightly coat his fingers.
Her lips pulled back and her arm reached out fast.
She slammed Tommy's face into the edge of the table.
There was so much blood.
Sissy started to scream.
Tommy brought his head slowly up. He was not crying. He breathed normally. He stared at her until finally she wiped her mouth with her pale, colourless hand, then raised her face to him. He looked deep into the depths of her eyes, so he would never forget.
"I will not remember your birthday, either, Momma."

I Missed My Kids

Heard, But Not Said To Me

My Daughter: Sometimes my Dad buys me some really ugly dolls. But I cannot tell him that. Instead I put her on my dresser with my other ugly dolls and next time he comes in my room, I say to him "Look, Dad, doesn't she look beautiful there?"

Take it Easy

My son is wiggling his dirty little toes in his sandals.
He curls up his lip. "Look, they're growing," he almost growls out.
He means his toenails.
"I like these better. I can bite them off," he holds up his fingers and looks so serious.

If You...

1. If you are here, thank you for stopping by.
2. If you are my friend, I love you.
3. If you have something better to do, go do it. This list will be here when you get back.
4. If you have nothing better to do, I am honored.
5. If you are happy, let others know. Smile.
6. If you are wrong, be careful where you lay the blame.
7. If you are crying, do not be mad.
8. If you are scared, that is okay.
9. If you are sorry, so is someone else.
10. If you cannot decide, check out what is behind Door #3.
11. If you take a walk, say hi to a stranger.
12. If you miss someone, let them know.
13. If you have a hobby, schedule it in.
14. If you need help, pick the right person.
15. If you want to eat a fly, it will not kill you.
16. If you can do it, why aren't you?
17. If you are Brenda, I miss you.
18. If you take a fall, you can learn from the sting too. Just get back up.
19. If you care, listen.
20. If you have a story, tell it at the right time.
21. If you need to scream, do it alone.
22. If you cannot live without someone, who are you then?
23. If you want to watch Pokemon without your children in the room, send them to the park.
24. If you want to get in a good mood, download Hippy Hippy Shake-Georgia Satellites
25. If you are not happy, who makes you smile every time?
26. If you care what other people think, just make sure your opinion is the deciding factor.
27. If you keep forgetting to buy dish soap, your kitchen starts to look scary.
28. If you begin something, be honest about when you are finished before you start.
29. If you need change, change something. Anything.
30. If you are a mother, watch your children sleep tonight.
31. If you are a father, bring out the baseball.
32. If you know it, you know it.
33. If you have to do it, do it on your own terms.
34. If you care about something, you are human.
35. If you do not care about something, you are human.
36. If you feel used, what was in it for you?
37. If you come to an open door, you can walk through it or close it. Do whatever works best for you.
38. If you have something to say, think about how the other person hears.
39. If you can laugh at yourself, you are more enjoyable to be around.
40. If you are AJ, go kiss your wife.
41. If you argue with yourself, you probably have a high IQ.
42. If you need to feel loved, write your own love letter.
43. If you go to the park, go down the slide. Everyone does the swings.
44. If you are good at something, that is money in the bank.
45. If you judge, so do others.
46. If you cannot sing, who cares?
47. If you do not like something, speak up. Accordingly.
47. If you pee in the shower, it goes down the drain as long as you have the water on.
49. If you lose it, did you choose to?
50. If you indulge in your quirks, you have found the Secret of Life.
51. If you find it is not working, what is the cost of the bill to fix it?
52. If you hate, learn tolerance.
53. If you want to clap your hands, clap them.
54. If you want that geeky SURVIVOR shirt, buy it and wear it on Thursdays.
55. If you do not know your limits, do not do it.
56. If you love someone, do something silly for them.
57. If you take offence, there is a reason.
58. If you have a dream do not make yourself a nightmare in the process.
59. If you enjoy the smell of yourself after three days of not bathing, stay at home. But do enjoy!
60. If you forget it is only okay if you really did.
61. If you are Krista, remember collect calls to China.
62. If you find someone mad at you, what are you neglecting?
63. If you cannot sleep, neither can I.
64. If you like to talk, make it interesting.
65. If you still like your opinion better, that is okay, they still like theirs better, too.
66. If you eat Mushroom Soup out of the can cold, I so want to hang out with you.
67. If you have to bribe someone, make it worth their while.
68. If you say the word thank-you, only use it when you really mean it. Thanks works just fine most of the time.
69. If you want your turn with the Hula Hoop, take it.
70. If you are bitchy, something will make you smile soon.
71. If you thought I would mention Matchbox 20, you thought right.
72. If you think it is right for you, it might not be for someone else.
73. If you build it, they will come. If you use the right materials.
74. If you think something sucks, make fun of it. You might grow to like it.
75. If you notice at 1:10 a.m., your TV is still on the cartoon channel, turn it off. Unless Pokemon is on.
76. If you like ice cream, who else do you know who does?
77. If you are The Author, I think your writing is fabulous.
78. If you give it away, you cannot ask for it back.
79. If you can taste it, savor it.
80. If you catch your children swearing, remember how much fun it used to be for you. If they are in the backyard, walk away.
81. If you are laughing, make sure you know why.
82. If you think The Dangerous Lives Of Altar Boys by Chris Fuhrman is the best book ever, I agree with you.
83. If you accept debts, you are dealing with the wrong people.
84. If you get a good gift, give one back.
85. If you give a bad gift, make up for it.
86. If you think they are out to get you, they will. You are letting them.
87. If you are insecure, you can create resentment.
88. If you want to dress up for Halloween, act like a kid all night.
89. If you take someone's hand into yours, you do not have to speak. They know.
90. If you have Beliefs, believe in them. Be careful how you use them.
91. If you are Amber, I am glad I met you on the bus.
92. If you can't see it, who can?
93. If you think life is like a box of chocolates, it's nice to know you are happy.
94. If you create beautiful, it will follow you.
95. If you wish up on a star, do not forget to daydream afterwards.
96. If you appreciate, you will be appreciated.
97. If you knew I completed this list, then Blogger lost it on me-would you think me nuts for simply sighing and starting over again?
98. If you pay attention, you are your best teacher.
99. If you do not take the risk, how will you know?
100. If you are sick of my lists, you lie. Go on. Roll your eyes.
101. If you have something to say, it is your turn.

Mary

May

In The Kitchen

She raised her hands high above her head in a big stretch, joining her hands together. She twisted her neck, rolling it around. She had to get some life in her. She had things to do.
She looked out the window, seeing the beautiful blue sky and was looking forward to the day.
Her eyes set upon the small glass apple dish sitting on her window ledge. She looked away.
And then looked back.
She was slightly puzzled. She suddenly realized she had not noticed her wedding rings that sat in that dish for a long time. She tried to think back to the last time she had seen them.
She remembered, thinking back to an angry day doing the dishes, when she had glared at them-but it had been like a blizzard outside that night.
Surely, she had noticed them since?
But she could not recall.
She picked up the rings and slid them into the pocket of her jeans.

Stepping Outside

She could not believe how cold it was out. Oh, it was nothing like the month before when it had still been snowing. But she had truly believed Spring had fully sunk itself in. The chill in the air was a blow to the system. The wind was just a bit too angry with her hair. But when the wind took its breaks, the sun shone wonderfully, and warmed her. This made up for it all.
Today just felt like a good day to her.

At The Pawn Shop

She smiled at the man behind the counter. He had smart blue eyes and a bald head.
She slid the rings across to him.
"I'll take thirty bucks", she said.
The man looked up surprised, startled. He could not hide it.
"Oh, Ma'am, I cannot do that to you-"
She looked him square in the eyes and smiled larger.
"I said I'll take thirty bucks."
He opened his till and handed her the money.

At The Pop Machine

She stopped along her path to the mall's grocery store. Pop seemed like a good idea and she fished in her pocket to see if she had enough change.
She did.
She put her hand up to start depositing the coins when she stopped to look at the change.
Why this was the last of it, she thought to herself. She blinked her eyes rapidly. It had only been two days.
What had she spent thirty dollars on? She had stopped for lunch, bought a few coffees, even lent five dollars to someone she saw everyday. But that had not totaled up to even close to thirty dollars.
Hmmmph, she thought. Imagine that. I cannot remember.
And she did not feel guilty.
She just felt happy.

Dish Thoughts...

...How did that bag of pretzels explode in my downstairs freezer...

...How come my dreaded red pen has an endless supply of ink...

...The red paint is pink. I have 24 hours. I do not want to explain pink to a six year old...

...Why do I forget to take out garbage and buy things like more dish soap...

...YOUR MAJUSCULE...

One Two Buckle My Shoe

10 Years Old

Tommy could lose himself for hours in the arcade, and often did. It was so dark, the air filling with the sounds of pip, pop and bling. The lights flashing mesmerized him. Hot, sweaty bodies and greasy hands mingled with stale and fresh cigarette smoke. Everything but the game would become hazy.
He had been so caught up in pumping quarters into Donkey Kong, he was surprised turning around to notice the window to outside mimicked inside. He had gotten pretty good at the game. He had only come with four dollars.
"Oh, shit," he whispered, moving quickly towards the doors.
"Jesus, Tommy," Freddy spoke up from behind the counter. "What are you still doing here? Your Momma is going to be worried sick. It's almost 10 o'clock."
Tommy ran his hands through his hair and bit on his lip.
"I am going," he replied, listening to the bell as he swung open the door.

Tommy ran quickly through the streets, passing the dimly lit-homes with curtains drawn, trying to stay merged in the shadows.
He was not scared of the dark. Plenty of times, he could remember when his house did not have lights. Plenty of times, he could remember climbing out his window and walking the streets for hours. Anything to escape. He had never been caught.

The lights burned brightly at his house tonight. He approached carefully although he did not have to. Judas Priest shook the windows and it made him happy.
Momma was probably not even aware of anything at this point. It would make sneaking in easier.
He scampered low to the ground, the smell of nighttime grass thick in his nose, along the edge of the house to the back door.
He reached up and turned the handle. The door did not open. He tried again. Locked.
He slammed his hand into the door. He had never tried to sneak back in through the front door before and the thought made him panic slightly.
He climbed the front porch steps slowly, trying to keep himself hidden from the big living room window. The green curtains were not pulled all the way across and the breeze in the air was making them billow.
The front door was locked, too.
He crouched low on the porch, bringing himself to the window.
He was sure he would find Momma passed out.
He heard low moaning sounds as he approached the window, barely audible under the sound of the loud music. Momma must be getting sick again, was his first thought. He cursed under his breath.
He was not prepared to see Momma with her pale legs stretched, resting on the coffee table as she laid back on the tan couch, a man between her legs. His hairy body pushed himself up and away from Momma, one meaty hand wrapped deep in her blonde hair. His nose was large and his body gleamed with sweat, making him look dirty. Momma's arms laid at her sides, her nipples erect, her eyes rolled back in her head. The room was littered with beer bottles, the ashtray over-filled. Smoke hung in the room like a heavy fog. The TV with no sound played the news. Sports.
Tommy reached and leaned over the side of the porch.
He vomited.

A Cat Tale

Weird things happen to me. All the time.
It was back maybe 8 years ago now, Ian and I decided to take a trip to the beach. The sun was bright and the air smelt fresh. It was not the hottest day of summer.
Geared up with our suntan lotion and sandals and the windows rolled down we headed out into the wind of the high-way. I love the feel of it whipping and tossing my hair anyway it wants to.
We cranked the tunes, bopping our heads to Beastie Boys because Ian said "No freaking way" to Ricky Van Shelton.
I had my feet up on the dashboard while he drove.

We were out in the middle of cornfield on all sides when it happened.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flash of white.
"Oh, Ian!" I yelled. "Stop!"
"Wha-," Ian shouted, as his reflexes just automatically pushed down hard on the brake.
But it was too late.
It was a sensation like pushing your finger into butter when we ran over that cat. It had the sound of squishing too much silly putty between your hands, moist crackling sounds of bones and blood merging.
I sat up-right, hand to mouth, gagging.
"Oh, Ian-," I looked at him through watery eyes. "Stop. The. Car."
"I guess it is not a good time to say 2 points, eh?"
That is when we heard the siren.

Ian looked up at the Officer as he leaned into the open window, resting his thick, hairless forearms on the door. I could see my small reflection in his silver-mirrored sunglasses.
"Hello, officer. What can I do for you?" I had never seen Ian so polite and serious in my life.
"License and registration," the Officer growled.
Ian reached over into the glove box and quickly pulled out the information.
Without a word, the officer took what Ian handed to him and ambled back to his cruiser.
"For fuck," Ian muttered.
"Cat-Killer," I said.

"You realize you hit something back there?" the Officer asked, opening up Ian's door.
"Uh-yes, sir," Ian replied.
"And were you planning on pulling over and going back there to see what you could do about it?"
"Uh-yes, sir, just about to."
He motioned for Ian to get out of the car with his head.
"Oh, good then, I will accompany you. Let's go. The both of you." He smiled sickly at me.
"Oh-I do not want to," I pleaded with my eyes to him.
"Let's go. Now," he replied back evenly.
I slowly opened the car door and put my shaky feet on the gravel shoulder of the road. I took a deep breath and stood.
As we passed by his car, he stopped to unlock his trunk.
Ian and I watched with wide eyes as he pulled out a shovel and white garbage bag.
"Oh," I said.
"What is that for?" Ian asked.
"Boy, do you not know the law? You got to clean-up your own roadkill."
"Oh, uh, alright," said Ian.
"But this here, this is a special case," continued the officer, as we started our small trek back to the cat. "When it appears what you have killed is a pet, you are to make every attempt to find out who the animal belongs to. Failing that, you must take the deceased animal to the local Humane Society and fill out a report about the incident."
"I ain't ever heard of that," said Ian.
"$1500 fine, otherwise," the Officer arched an eyebrow at him.

The cat lay in a bloody mass, pink intestines seemed to squiggle against the hot black road. It's eyeballs gorged out of his flattened skull. The tip of it's tail was the only black on it's white body.
"Nice job you kids did here, huh?" asked the Officer.
"Jesus," I whispered.
"Here you go," the Officer said to Ian, holding out the blue handled shovel. "I will hold the bag open for you."
I looked away. The metal scrapping on the road traveled right up my spine, through my bones, leaving gooseflesh rising on my arms. I looked down and rubbed my neck with both hands, trying to block out the sound, feeling the stirring deep in my belly.

The only house to be seen was a little red one, less then a hundred feet away.
"We go there," the Officer pointed, handing Ian the little white bag.
"Come on, man," Ian begged. "This is crazy."
"I know you are not mocking the law," the Officer peered over his sunglasses into Ian's eyes.

"You can knock on the door, there, Miss," he said to me when we approached the house.
"Me?" I squeaked. "What did I do?"
"Does it look like I am here to play games?" the Officer questioned me.
I turned and knocked on the glass of the white screen door.
A Little Old Lady with curly grey hair, barely standing five foot approached the door and opened it. She was in a green and orange flowered nightgown.
"Oh!" she sputtered. "Can I help you?"
"Go on," said the Officer to Ian.
"Uh-well, do you own a cat?"
"Oh, sure I do. Little Tootsie is around here somewhere. Why?"
"Uh...uh..well...ummm..." Ian was at a lost for words.
The Officer, annoyed, grabbed the bag from Ian's hands and the Little Old Lady stepped outside.
"Ma'am. We do hate to trouble you, but it seems these kids ran over a cat just a bit ago. Do you suppose you could take the time to ID this cat so we know if it belonged to you."
Her hand came up to clutch her throat, torture started to brew in her blue eyes. "Oh, it can't be Tootsie. I just saw her-." The Little Old Lady's voice cracked and stopped.
"I am sorry, Ma'am. It is procedure."
"Of course," she whispered. She closed her eyes, quickly opening them. "Let's get on with it then."
At arm's length, the Officer held open the bag and the Little Old Lady peered in.
"Oh," she moaned as she took a step back, tears formed in her eyes. "Oh. Oh. Tootsie. Not Tootsie. My Tootsie."
"Ma'am, I am sorry to have to put you through this," the Officer said curtly.
"I am truly all alone now," she covered her eyes with her hands. "She was all I had left in the world. Tootsie." She leaned back against her door. Her body started to shake, her upper arms jiggling, her breasts heaving.
I looked wildly at Ian.
"What do we do?" I whispered.
Ian looked at me, pale-faced. "I have no clue. Oh my God."
I jammed my hands in my pocket, feeling the twenty dollar bill I had brought with me.
The Little Old Lady was sobbing loudly.
"How much you got?" I hissed at Ian.
"Huh?" he asked.
"I got twenty."
Realization dawned in Ian's eyes. "Give it to me."
I handed it over as he fished into his own pocket.
"Ma'am?" Ian spoke.
She slowly looked up at him.
"Ma'am, I feel really bad about this. I did try to stop. It was just...just too late. I know I cannot bring Tootsie back, but I have $50 here. I know it is not much, but maybe it will buy you another cat."
"Another cat?" she asked, aghast. "No, I do not think so. But I will take that money."
Ian held it out to her and she took it with her pale, veiny hands.
The Officer rushed forward, pulling the Little Old Lady's hands behind her back, snapping on the handcuffs.
"What the hell are you doing?" I screamed.
"I am arresting her," the Officer seethed at me.
The world started to spin as I choked out "Oh, my God! What for?"
Calmly, the Officer pulled off his sunglasses and looked me square in the eyes. He licked his lips and opened his mouth.
"For selling pussy."

Back in the Real World-A Journal-Part Three

I was 14 years old. Bill and I were thick as thieves. He lived in another town, but we spent hours on the phone daily and made plans with each other every weekend. My boyfriend was one of his friends and I was not to fond of his girlfriend. Nor was she of me. It mattered little to us. We had great fun together.
Even during the whole Pizza Grease Fiasco.
Bill was a wild child with his mane of thick orange hair that hung to his shoulders. He was only a few inches taller than me, with freckles splattered on his face, pale blue eyes and a wonderfully wide smile. He was also a bad boy.
His mother would often call me in the middle of the night, saying she could not find him. I would make my round of telephone calls until I found him. Then I would call his Mother back and rat him out. He never once got mad at me for this.
I remember the day I called his home and his Mother said he could not come to the phone. His father was dead.

Bill's Dad had been in a car accident. He was drunk. He hit another car. He took off from the scene and hid out in his home. When he heard the police were looking for him, he thought it was because he had killed someone. So he killed himself. Bill found him.

Bill came out a week later for the first time and he came to me. He was wearing a maroon jogging outfit and his brown workboots. It was my first glimpse at heart-wrenching sadness and I hugged him. And he hugged me. It was the most awesome hug I have ever had. But it was full of too much everything. Too much for any teenager to have to feel. Bill cried that evening. He laughed, too. And I did it with him. He was my best friend.

Years pass by and time can drift you apart. Life changes.
I was living in Tillsonburg and was on the phone with my older brother one day. We reminisced. We talk about the parties and the people and the tragedies and The Aud.
There were so many Bill stories to tell. I had not seen Bill in almost six months and had not talked to him in three.
"I am going to call him, get him to come over tonight," I said to Scott. And I had no doubts he would. We had always dropped everything for each other.
I didn't end up calling him.
I hung out with another friend, instead.

Almost Noon

"Beth, Bill's dead," My brother's voice blurts at me as soon as I say hello into the phone the next morning.
I laugh. "Fuck you."
"Beth, he is dead."
"Shut-up."
"Beth, turn on the TV. It is going to be on the news in a few minutes."

Bill had been one of four passengers in a little pick-up truck. They were all pretty drunk and knowing Bill, high, too. They were speeding along the little backroads in the country when a police officer spotted them.
The driver decided to play chase. I know Bill was having a blast. I can see his face split wide-open in grin, cheering the driver on.
They crashed.
Bill went through the windshield.
The other three were lucky.
Bill died.

I was 16 years old and I had not called him. I never went to the funeral. I was so filled with shame for letting life get in the way. I did not think I could look his Mother in the eye. We had done so much in the past to protect him.
I felt like I had failed.
I heard they played Black Sabbath at the church for him.
I did not notice there was a Real World for a few days.
But even still, I know to this day, Bill is still my best friend.

And I am sure glad you are okay, Charlie.

Back In the Real World-A Journal-Part Two

I go into my kitchen and actually cook for myself tonight. It does not matter it only takes 10 minutes to make. I have not cooked in a week. You have to get back in the swing of things slowly, sometimes.
Amber comes over and we play a game of Revenge, laughing hysterically the whole time. She is great. We have to wipe our eyes a lot.
It has felt like October all day long. And there is nothing I enjoy more than October. We decide to take a lazy walk to Tim Horton's to grab coffee. We must look odd not moving fast.
We stop to talk to Gord briefly on the way back.
Then we go in her house. We play The Cat in the Hat on her new X-Box, for about ten minutes. It is hard to play something that looks like a movie. Sigh. I am getting old.
We gab girly and laugh through a box of her favorite stuff.
I walk through my front door after 11 p.m. and I guess I just did not see it.
I think I might blog. I wonder if I have anything to really write about.
So, I stall. I go pee. I clean up Tim Hortons cups. I turn on my media player and I still have no clue what to write about. Today was average, right?
I play I Believe In A Thing Called Love-The Darkness first. That guy is a freak. He is wonderful. But I want to sing along all freaky with him and this is not giving me any ideas for a blog.
Maybe someone is on Messenger. Sometimes, creative has been known to come from my list.
Shawn is online. That makes me smile. He is a pretty smart guy. And I haven't talked to him in 5 days. And of course, we have a good conversation. I also decide to leave an experiment in the window for a few days to see what happens, during this time.
Charlie comes on Messenger. He asks if I got it. Got what? The coffee he left on my porch. Charlie did decide to come over! I feel bad I was not home.
And he thinks I should.
He was in a car accident not too long after he stopped knocking on the front door I never opened tonight and although both him and the car are fine and he had himself towed on home, he would like to know how I would have lived with the guilt had he died out on that horrible hi-way in pitch darkness, all alone(run-on sentence-wink*).
The sad part is, I do not know if I could have.
I already have Bill.

To Be Continued

Back In The Real World- A Journal-Part One

***I had to see, AJ.

Today was amazing. I thought I would find that in the week I took off from everything unless I wanted to do it. And during that time, wonderful things did happen. But nothing compared to today.
It started out simple enough. I still haven't any children here, so I sleep in until the last possible moment. Then I sit at the keyboard and decide I can squeeze in a few minutes of writing. This ends with me rushing around, spending too long finding my missing door key, leaving me pissy and almost late. But it is cold and I get to wear my brown shirt. I am, after all, serious about getting back into the Real World.
I catch my bus and I am downtown before I know it. I stop at my coffee shop and I leave a bigger tip than usual. The woman behind the counter screws up my coffee, but she is doing her best to be pleasant on this Monday morning after a long weekend.
I have never bought a stamp in downtown London before and I do not recommend doing it. I have to go to four stores, two with long line-ups filled with Mary-Kate and Ashley stuff. This journey back in the Real World is starting to suck, I am thinking to myself.
Finally, I get to where I need to be.
And I was productive when I needed to be.
Then I left.
I decide to walk up a few bus stops since I have no set time to be home. I meet up with Andrew. He is in a pretty good mood, considering what he has been through lately. He offers me a coffee and I think it would indeed be nice to catch up. We drink coffee and go to a music store, checking out custom posters for Matchbox 20 and record albums. We laugh at all the geeky music. We have a nice time.
On the way home, the bus is jammed-packed. I have to stand and I am not so good at the whole balance thing. But it is funny I keep stepping on the man beside me. A bunch of us joke and laugh. It is Monday, remember? And explains this.
I come home to emptiness. Charlie is on Messenger and we talked until he was ready to go out on his experimental date. Charlie let me know I was not retarded tonight. That was nice of him. It is not often he is.
I say to him "Come over after." But I always say this and do not expect him to show.

To Be Continued (I am tired)

My Week of Everything

I...

1. Listened to Matchbox 20.
2. Bought toilet paper.
3. Tried a new kind of chips.
4. Had phone issues.
5. Left my door unlocked and left.
6. Burned tea lights.
7. Did a cartwheel.
8. Wore make-up.
9. Watched fireworks.
10. Ate nachos with Charlie at 3 a.m. and not on a Sunday.
11. Drank too much Tim Hortons coffee.
12. Did not use my coffee maker once.
13. Did not buy milk.
14. Laughed until I had tears streaming down my face when there was an episode of "When Birds Attack" taking place in my home. Four year olds do not like to be laughed at.
15. Picked out the charges the police would lay for weird crimes.
16. Got funny email from Brenda.
17. Lost my favorite brush.
18. Went to the bank.
19. Ate a strawberry and banana trifle.
20. Put batteries in my toothbrush.
21. Told my best joke and did not screw it up.
22. Had movers in my house.
23. Had a conversation with a real surfer "dude".
24. Bought red paint.
25. Wrote to Bill.
26. Learned the basics of putting together model cars.
27. Almost got suckered into a new kitten.
28. Languished on my couch by myself for a whole afternoon.
29. Ate Dairy Queen Ice Cream cake.
30. Played Euchre with Shawn on Yahoo!
31. Shaved my legs.
32. Read the newspaper with Jean.
33. Flirted.
34. Went to the Dollar Store.
35. For a garbage pail, a pack of gum, new notebooks and bubbles.
36. Sat under my front yard tree with Cindy and Terri blowing bubbles.
37. Watched A Pyromaniacs Love Story. We should all be so lucky to have the bigger the better.
38. Peeled an apple.
39. Learned dance moves from Katie-Q and David.
40. Did two loads of laundry.
41. Got Silly-Stringed by Spider-Man.
42. Forgot to buy cat food and had to feed my cat tuna one night. She did not mind.
43. Watched The Ties That Bind and American Beauty.
44. Went for coffee at 3:30 a.m.
45. Got two new shirts and borrowed one.
46. Ate peanut butter cookies.
47. Wrote in pencil.
48. Got kissed on the hand.
49. Hugged Wendy.
50. Didn't buy a new shower curtain.
51. Slept on my couch twice.
52. Once without pillows.
53. Started a new journal.
54. Ate steak.
55. Made faces with a baby.
56. Hung out with a 50 year old Rocker from Foreigner Wanna-Be.
57. Painted my toenails.
58. Had the best fun dancing to It's Oh So Quiet-Bjork
59. Laughed about a college project tale of Ian's. Consensual Massage Party.
60. Met someone who lives in Chicago.
61. Narrowed it down to navy blue or purple. But I still like that one green.
62. Burnt a CD.
63. Got an 'I am Canadian' t-shirt for free. So I guess that is three new shirts.
64. Added definitions to A Dictionary
65. Ate chocolate brownies with Amber.
66. Played soccer with Bradley.
67. Gave out the best cure for diaper rash.
68. Drank Pepsi.
69. Watched TV in a car.
70. Got a new bus pass.
71. Wore my Wicked Witch of the West shoes-a lot.
72. Didn't notice it rained until after.
73. Bought Dove soap.
74. Picked a rose.
75. Made three new friends.
76. Cried.
77. Downloaded Britney Spears.
78. Scrubbed my bathtub.
79. Watched three episodes of Saturday Night Live.
80. Started wearing t-shirts to bed again.
81. Inspected a dead June Bug.
82. Let my printer run out of black ink.
83. Slept in one day until 2:09 p.m.
84. Ate a Mr. Freeze.
85. Talked to Gord about politics.
86. Got back 18 dollars in loonies for change from the store.
87. Let them jingle loudly in my pocket on the way home.
88. Forgot to take out my garbage.
89. Continued The Search for Orange Socks and got tired of looking.
90. Took pictures of children playing with a shopping cart.
91. Played with a rabbit.
92. Ran out of Miracle Whip.
93. Only answered my phone when I had nothing better to do.
94. Sat on my favorite planter.
95. Tried a new shampoo.
96. Slept with my curtains open.
97. Got the best present ever from Terri.
98. Felt bad I kept getting interrupted writing AJ's email.
99. Forgot to call Juner.
100. Had a fantastic full house all day today.
101. Really did a whole lot of nothing.

Summer Whites

At least once a summer, I get it into my head I will spend the day outside on a blanket, reading and tanning. I get a lot of reading accomplished, anyway.

My sun was hot today. And of course, I get tricked by it.
I drag out my green blanket, my notebooks, my coffee and a good summer novel. Desperate for a tan, I apply baby oil, sighing, knowing the futility in it. My skin remains white all year round.
I watch the thick trails of baby oil move slowly down my legs, leaving behind it's shine. If my skin was golden, this might be kind of sexy. I pout.
I spread out on my blanket feeling the heat sinking it rays deep, deep, deeper into my skin.
My neighbors behind me are playing Tom Jones. I find myself immersed in the abyss of his voice, suggestive and sexual. It seems to roll with the waves of heat touching my skin. I am lucky a cool breeze periodically washes across my warm body.
At least I get to pretend I am not wasting away my afternoon.
I watch as bees stir around me, tricked, thinking my legs are pollen. They spring away quickly at the stickiness.

Four Years Old

I remember standing in the front yard, marveled with my legs. I had pulled my yellow dress to the top of my thighs, slowly twisting my leg.
I looked up to see the old neighbor lady walking by with her cane on the sidewalk in front of me, cool in her summer whites. Her hair, the whitest shade of all.
I pushed a flip-flopped foot far forward. "My legs are so very long, dontcha think?" I asked her.
"Oh my, yes," she agreed. "They look very strong."
I smiled and said thank you watching as she slowly make her way up her driveway.

My little brother and I used to sit on the front porch of her pale green house. She would invite us over for bread and butter. It was always a welcomed treat, sitting quietly, eating around the pad of butter she would place in the middle of the white slice. How satisfying was the last bite of thick sweetness, clogging the mouth. It would long after leave it's after-taste and coating on our baby teeth.

I had never been in her house, until one day she was just not there anymore.
There was an Open House, endless amounts of people trailing in and out in the summer heat.
My brother and I finally worked up enough nerve to climb her front porch steps, ignoring our Mother's words to stay away.
The rooms were filled with flowered wall paper and hardwood floors. There was nothing else. I could not even detect a hint of smell.
We traveled upstairs.
Nothing was different there, either. Room after room of flowers.
Except the last bedroom.
It is a stark white and the happiest room of all.

A Never Ending List

I see some people getting emails lately. And they are the kind I prefer. Words chosen carefully, not simple forwards. This kind of email takes a lot of work my friend AJ recently told me. They are so worth it.

I see Trinkaten and I still see more.

I see Jennifer recently celebrated her anniversary and a fabulous haircut. Congratulations on both.

I see Silik is still wickedly witty and creative. He is out of this world. Thank God.
I hope your hair is brown.

I see Jake. Everyone should.

Thank you for letting me enjoy you all.

The Backyard

Four Years Old

The backyard was caked with patches of dirt between the yellowed grass. It scratched and dug at their tender legs. She had given up running off; the sun blazed just too bright. They both needed a drink.
Pink peonies snuck through the rusted chain-link fence surrounding the yard. The only thing vibrant to be seen. Their life was unnatural.
Sissy was tired.
She began to whimper, low and soft like a disgraced dog. Her eyes unfocused like Momma's and Tommy thought his heart would wrench right out of his chest; he felt so guilty for being annoyed with her.
He dug his heels into the dry earth extra hard so as to not slip. He raised the lower half of his body up and pulled a yellow pack of matches out of his back pocket.
"Look, Sissy. Wanna see the lights?" He had watched Momma do this a hundred times.
He struck quickly across the black and held up the light brown stick in careful fingers. He watched the pale orange light give off it's wavy rays.
Sissy's head bobbled slightly before she recognized the match.
"Oh," she sighed. "Happy Birdday, Tommy."
She leaned forward, fingers spread deep into the grass between her legs.
Her lips curled and she blew. Tommy watched the spit dropping from her baby pink lips, landing wet and cool on her leg.

Shawn

Sometimes, people do annoying things in my home. Sometimes people forget to take off their shoes or leave the toilet seat up for me.
Others try things like mind-control.

Shawn was over the other day. He is not so fond of my cat and bird. But I guess since he is my house, he is going to make the best of it.
Misty, kill that bird and other morbid things come out of his mouth. I tell him my cat is too dumb to listen and secretly pray she is. She has only jumped for the bird once and that was on the first day of the all-day outings.
And Misty really is stupid. She keeps jumping on Shawn. She does not get he is doing everything in his power to tolerate her. Her insistence would be amusing, but Shawn just keeps programming my cat. Eat, rip, die, tear.

It is a loud flurry of sound and wings when Misty catches the bird out of the air suddenly.
Luckily, the bird is still smarter and escapes, shaken.
This is so not funny, I think as I turn to look at Shawn.
And the guy is wearing the cockiest grin.
Misty was suddenly at his feet, looking up at him.

It did not get creepy until he told Misty to go play with her ball and she did.
I could not help smiling when Misty caught the bird again briefly this morning.

On Too Other Things

It was like she was seeing him for the first time, yet she had seen him before. Even exchanged words, but he always left her feeling uncomfortable. He radiated good; so why, she never knew.
The people in her home moved about their ways. All comfortable, except for her and him. Their eyes had glanced over each other's far too often.
The room was full of awareness and confusion. It was thick in the air, but no one else seemed to notice.
They were alone suddenly in the room for the briefest of moments.
He sat down beside her. She felt a shield of numbness surround her body.
They talked. She does not know what.
He was close enough to touch. And she wanted to.