Ordinary Life

The toy store looked like a cuckoo clock from the outside and from the narrow doorway, as we entered single-file, it appeared we had found Gepetto’s workshop.  Brightly colored wooden letters, puppets on strings and puppets on springs gave the impression that the tiny cottage overflowed with hand crafted novelties, but we saw soon enough that all manner of fun diversions made up the walls of the place. There were toys from other countries, wind up toys, trendy toys and toys from days gone by.  I have always been in love with toys.  I visited each bustling room and lingered over all of the toys left out to try.  I was trying to remember how to start Jacob’s Ladder when  I heard an exclamation and saw that I was being stabbed in the heart with a knife.  It didn’t hurt, it was just  a plastic, blade-retracting toy knife.  And my husband was just playing, after all.  Wasn’t he? 

Two decades should be long enough to know someone, at least a little bit. Two decades should qualify as long-suffering enough, too. I am not sure if I’ve ‘run a good race’ or ‘fought a good fight’ I only know I am tired of running and fighting. A finish line - one drawn in shifting sands- has been crossed. There are no winners here. Dim hope; miraculous restoration. Of course, but oh-so-very dim. We tried it already, I went all in. You call it your biggest mistake, I’m not sure it will stick again. Remember that post-it note analogy? That was a fair and accurate warning. For a long, long time - too long, my dear-  I’ve been living by this law you wrote: Prove me wrong, or I’m right. Withheld pearls makes for suspicious swine. But I am trampled every time. “You live a secret, double life. You’re a fraud.  No longer my wife.” As you wish. Today, I repent my my intentional duplicity, lay down my brush for silver lining . You be you, no gloss added. The windows and doors are open,...

You cannot bring yourself to say “My imagination took off when that guy complemented your eyes.” Instead you say “You’d have to have his brain injury to be interested in you.”  “I’m sorry, I was wrong” is just something you can’t do. In my early childcare days, my favorite little boy to teach would toddle up and bite the back of my leg to let me know he wanted to be picked up.   And it worked.  I swooped him up every time.   He loved to be high in my arms, zoom around like an airplane and just be held close.    Should I find, some twenty years later, that Christopher is still biting people to get their attention, it would no doubt be as a news feature or column in the police blotter.  Christopher is not a cat, he should have outgrown biting and there are at least three of four better ways to initiate conversation that I am aware of.  Perhaps it is the way you learned to be picked up, held close, but it is time to stop biting me now. You are not a ...

Sometimes that Sunday Morning sermon releases homing pigeons... https://youtu.be/NB2CNr692RE I put this clip here a handful of Sundays ago as a placeholder, for it contained an exact quote from someone very close to me - one might even say, part of me - and I hadn’t known what to do with that conversation. Now, I think I do. 

My mom doesn’t like you. My dad doesn’t like you.  My brother doesn’t like you. I’m trying to think of anyone who likes you.  Nobody likes you. 

I didn’t know then, I guess seldom ever do It would be the last kiss between me and you Fate or irony, a twist in the stars In twenty years time, your best by far Walking in to dinner, under a cloud of stars We made a deal as we left the car A kiss from me whose depth you choose In exchange for wearing my too-tall shoes First man in heels I’ve kissed, quite probably my last Thanks for the laugh. But I didn’t consent just to make you my fool or save sore feet Rather to create a space where pain and grace meet Then: Beseeching prayer from your lips, “End this drought.” Like Moses seeing the Promised Land, before God took him out One step toward you, forgiveness... again The next several hours: what might have been Let’s stay the night, let’s stay together Under our old palm tree, reclaim forever We drove back home instead No reason but cheaper beds In the morning, call me fake And the biggest mistake You Ever Did Make All Hell breaks loose from those praying lips, angry lies you wish me ...

I  believe I can succeed in this course...as long as I get to make my own rules. 

WHEW!  I had several story ideas based on articles  (which I may continue to develop) but I ran with this one that came from a homework session at my local MIDTOWN DELI. Each section of the day's paper was at a different table and being read by a vast array of characters. Yet we were all under one roof, reading about what was happening in our little town...  Initially I had 700 some odd words. I let it cool and fought dismay as my word count initially went up, not down.  Two painful character cuts later, I made the 300 mark.  I am submitting that version and then returning to my drafts to invite those two characters back into my diner while I shine the tables up a bit. ::ASSIGNMENT POSTED BELOW:: THE MILLCREEK MALLARD: SATURDAY EDITION   Sports & Weather  lay abandoned on the table nearest the window. Grant had placed the paper over his laptop like some kind of theft deterrent when he left to reckon with the coffee he’d been drinking all morni...

Assignment : “Think of your Censor as a cartoon serpent, slithering around your creative Eden, hissing vile things to keep you off guard. If a serpent doesn’t appeal to you, you might want to find a good cartoon image of your Censor, maybe the shark from Jaws, and put an X through it. Post it where you tend to write or on the inside cover of your notebook. Just making the Censor into the nasty, clever little character that it is begins to pry loose some of its power over you and your creativity.” I chose to sketch (and paint) my inner censor, then use its description as a writing prompt .  My rough draft (because I’m working on getting okay with sharing them):  I imagined my Censor as a many armed thing. It wears my wedding ring on one tentacle, a watch on another. In the grip of one flange is a bottle of bubbles and in that bottle the mom I’m supposed...the mom I want to be.Perhaps there is a mop in one tentacle and a set of car keys in another. Two weigh the difference betwe...

To my right: an accordion (& trumpet...& cow bells!).  To my left: a young man with autism named Odin.  The seating was communal, the meal was German. Odin and his mom were about the business of building happy memories in the wake of deep and recent loss. Odin said to us “Something terrible happened to my grandpa- he passed away.”  With Odin there was no pretense, when he needed salt, that’s all he needed and he sought it out with determination. When he thought the candles would be fun to blow out, he blew them out. We smiled and wished we could be that free, too. Sharing a meal with O was an extra scoop of joy.  Odin’s mom is made of strong stuff, yet she remains uncalloused. She leaves any excuse to be overwhelmed on the table and instead invests in the lives of her son and many others.  Jannik was our golden waiter. From a foreign land and eager to fill our cups, he was more than hospitable, he was truly kind. Employing Odin as his sidekick in the que...