July 20, 2019 – “Not yet!”

         That is what I used to say all the time when asked if I had zip-lined or jumped out of an airplane . . . . “Not yet!”

         Recently I realized it has been a long time since I had uttered those words. I started to do some soul searching and fell over a recent writing prompt:

Name one thing, large or small, that could make your life closer to complete – What is keeping you from doing it?

         Then I realized I am using a new phrase saying, “It is what I want and I am going to have it!” while thinking, I am not sure how, but I will figure it out.

         I’ve moved from wishing to having.

         Two examples:  First my footwear.

         My first break through was Trotter flats that feel delicious on the feet, but are expensive as H_____ - no easy way to say that.  They are leather, they are stylish classic, and they have a perfect arch support for my foot.

         I’d gotten my first pair of Trotter’s only a few years back when a shoe store was deciding to no longer carry the Trotter brand.  I tried on and grabbed a couple pair at half price.  Up until that day, I had felt they were out of my price range as I’d never had the courage to even try that brand on.

         WOW, my feet were HAPPY, HAPPY

         But, why should “out of my price range” stop anyone from not having what they want or actually need?  For years it did for me. Now the fog is slowly lifting.

I realize I am beyond the half-way mark in life and there are things I have always wanted and never had due to trying to be frugal.

         What has frugality gotten me so far in the shoe department?

               Sore feet.

               Shoes that wear out.

               Shoes that are unstylish.

         Is that being frugal?  No.  That is being miserable; miserable for years.

        

         People look at my feet – Yes, they do and I can tell when they are admiring what I have on my feet or not just by the look on their faces. 

         [Yes, I do get the tip to toe look all the time – no I am not gorgeous – everyone is merely assessing me in their path.] That is why I try my best to have a “good hair day every day” and proper footwear – not bedroom slippers in the grocery story.

         It is my vain habit of deflecting the “first impressions are a lasting impressions” that was drummed into me as a young women by Mom and  Dad.  They were right; people guess who you are by how you dress. And, they treat you like how you are dressed – that is my working opinion and yes it is snobbery.

         But, what surprises me is the snarky remarks that are not meant as compliments.

         “My mother had shoes like that . . .”

         I simply press a smile on my face and wonder why I am getting a slam for being a) comfortable, b) stylish and c) appropriately dressed, as in shoe color coordinated with my outfit – why use the word had?

         If that isn’t an upside down compliment – explain it to me. If I can currently purchase such shoes from several different locations – why use the word had ?  Maybe they just don’t have command of the English language.

         I have concluded – it is not me – it is them.  Moving on -

         Second example:  My dream of a beautiful walkway and driveway for my home.

         Why?

               Increase the value of my home immediately through curb appeal.

               Ease of sweeping or blowing leaves in the fall.

               Immediately improve the look of my gardens.

               No longer ruins my shoes stepping into mud or standing water.

               Decrease the sand, gravel, dirt tracked into my home saving me housekeeping time.

         I am about half-way done on my dream driveway.  This broken foot has set me back 6 weeks – maybe a few more.  I might have to do it slower due to the mid-summer heat and the healing of my foot, but it will get done.

What thing, large or small, have you never done, but still could 

that would make your life feel a little closer to complete?

                             

What’s keeping you from doing it?

July 19, 2019 - Pen mightier than the sword

This is a shorter writing to a picture prompt.

Yesterday I posted a long one and a day or two before the Writer's group meeting I found a topic that I could squeeze under 600 words.  The picture will be at the end on this one.

And, of course, this is fiction - except for the pen - that is real.

Enjoy

The pen is mightier than the sword.

         “Amazon delivered a package for you today,” my wife, Angela said as she pushed it across the center island. She was peeling carrots, looked up at me curiously, and took a double slug of red wine.

         “That was fast, I only ordered it on Monday,” I answered noticing the wine bottle already half-empty. Pouring myself a glass, she’d have less to drink.

         “What is it,” she asked tumbling the carrot chunks into the roast pan around a huge chunk of beef.

         “Something for work.”

         I eased myself onto the bar stool across from her. After the kids were old enough for school she’d not gone back to work. Her MBA degree is wasted supposedly playing tennis with her friends.  Still a beautiful and smart woman, she is more a stranger now to me with her dramatic mood swings.

         “Open it, I want to see.”  She shoved the roaster pan into the oven and turned around with her hands on her hips. I knew that demanding stance all too well. Dinner would be late; she knew I hated to eat late.

         Opening the package, I slipped a silver pen out of the box showing her.

         “A pen? You own dozens of pens. What’s so special about this pen?”

         “It’s a magic pen, it’ll make you disappear.” I slipped it into my shirt pocket.

         “Tom, that’s stupid.”  She swilled her wine and emptied the rest of the bottle into her glass.

         “It’s a gravity pen – writes at all angles, even upside down,” I said nonchalantly.

         “Just what every engineer needs.” Angela said sharply turning on her heel and leaving the kitchen.  I escaped to my den to watch the news. That was what my life was upside down and I didn’t know why.

         A few days later during lunch with a couple fellas from work, the server bounced my plate of enchiladas off the table edge which overturned onto my Khaki pants.  Apologies ensued.  I brushed myself off the best I could and told everyone I’d see them later.

         At home, I unlocked my front door and galloped up the stairs to change.  Half way down the hall, I heard murmured voices.  Seconds later, I stood in the door way surprised, but then again, not really surprised.

         I reached to my shirt pocket and double clicked my pen. Bare-assed, brazen Angela frolicking in afternoon delight with the tennis pro. Infidelity – in my house – in my own bed.

         It took courage to remain calm. I leaned against the door jam and mentally counted the seconds. They were oblivious to my presence . . . 76, 77, 78, 79. Suddenly Angela and Alex, the tennis pro scrambled.

         “What is the point covering yourself with sheets Angela, I’ve seen you naked for years.” I called.  Alex reached for his clothes on the side chair.

         “How long has this been going on?”  No answer.

         Pulling on his clothes, he skirted the room making his way to the exit.

         “Alex, you live over on Ridgecrest still?”

         “Yeah, what’s it to you,” he snarled.

         “Just wanted to know where to serve papers.”

         Angela having pulled on clothes came at me with her hands on her hips saying,

         “You’ll do no such thing.”

         “I don’t see why not, this little scene is being videotaped.”

         “Where’s the camera?” she sassed me.

         I tapped my shirt pocket.

         “Records 2K HD video at 30 frames per second with night vision and a 65 degree angled lens.  I told you this pen would make you disappear.”

Note:  camera pen sold by Hammacher - link below

https://www.hammacher.com/product/superior-camera-pen?promo=search&query=tk%2094813

July 18, 2019 - Behind Door No. 1 -

This is the results of a writing prompt for my once a month Writer's Class.

A while back, while I was waiting in the parking lot behind Smith's Drug Store while my husband was getting a prescription, I happened to notice the back of a building.  It caught my attention, my writer's imagination.  I took a snap of it thinking it would be great inspiration for my super sleuth to break into the WAGY office at night for something needed to crack a case. 

I added it to the "idea" folder and moved on until I got the email prompt for my July writer's class.  Pick a photo and write.

This is what I wrote - it is fiction - mostly.  The location is spot-on.  Those who live in Forest City will tell me one day how close I got to capturing Forest City.

Of course it is way over the 500 words that the writer's group prefers, but then, I never do like to write short.

I've honed it and honed it, but I simply have not figured out how to get the "I" out of it.  Writing backward sentences doesn't seem to help me.  If anyone has any tips on how that is done - let me know - I need a lesson in first person without all the "I"s popping up like danger flags.

The picture:

 

Behind Door No. 1 - Chapter 1

I turned left off the quaint town’s main street.  Little had changed to the buildings since the 1920s when Forest City, North Carolina was in its heyday. I glanced at my dashboard clock, fifteen minutes to six.  I’d made perfect travel time on my commute home.

I darted into a diagonal parking place in front of Daylight Donut Shop.  In the wee hours of the morning, they made their fresh donuts.  Each day within a few hours of their 5:30 a.m. opening time and no specific closing time, they  sold out.  I’d been unsuccessful on three occasions to buy their celebrated donuts.  After 20 years in this town, their donuts remained beyond my grasp. I’d only heard of their legendary deliciousness.

In the early darkness of daylight savings of mid-November, the streetlights illuminated the Town Hall’s huge iron planters still spilling flowers that had miraculously escaped the late frosts.  Across the street, my destination was the unadorned two story square brick building [circa 1930] that housed a telecommunications call center and WAGY 1320 A.M. and F. M. radio station on the upper floor and unknown to me occupants or businesses on the ground floor.

         An alley ran along the building to Smith’s Drug Store drive-up window and then opened up to a sloping public parking lot that serviced the downtown shopping district.

The building showed battle scares where drivers had poorly gauged the turn into the alley over the decades.  There were visible chunks of brick missing on the corner and spiraling cracks between the bricks highlighted by mismatched mortar repair work.

I remembered the uneven doorstop where the metal and glass door met the sloping sidewalk as I once applied for to a job at the telecommunications center a few years back.  I jerked the door ajar and had to use my entire body weight to open it enough to slip in. The door’s strong return mechanism almost knocked me off my feet, typical old building - hard to open, and too quick to close doors.  I stood in the dimly lit lobby assessing the eight-foot wide metal staircase interrupted by a landing midway to the second story offices.

Step-by-step I rose in the center of the building. I noted years of accumulated grime never swept from the far corners of the treads.  I felt the unevenness of the well-worn olive green linoleum treads under my feet.  I wouldn’t need to work out on my stair stepper anymore if I got this job.

I paused at the landing to catch my breath.  Gosh I was out of shape. I don’t want to walk gasping into this interview.  I needed this job.  The increased gas prices for my lengthy commute were just about bankrupting me.

I paused again a few steps below the top landing to catch my breath.  It had to be nerves. The landing above had a grouping of four 1960’s orange chairs as a make shift waiting area, in the corner a fake philodendron tree layered with years of dust. I chose the door with the radio station call letters painted on the frosted glass.

I pressed on my winning smile, adjusted my shoulder bag and knocked on the door and turned the handle calling out cheerfully,

“Hello, it’s me, Misty Green.”  I opened the door as if I’d already landed the job.

My sweeping gaze took in two battleship grey desks and a couple of half glass cubicles along one wall.

An older man in a brown wool vest and Tattersall shirt rose to meet me. Surprisingly he looked at this watch.  From my calculation, it was probably seven minutes before my 6:00 p.m. appointment time.

“Good, you are punctual.”

“Nice to meet you.”

We shook hands briefly.  He waved to a chair in the lighted glass cubicle and I eased into it.  He didn’t walk behind the desk, he took the chair beside me and crossed his legs leaning back casually.  I tucked one foot behind my ankle and folded my hands in my lap.

“I imagine your current commute is a drag on your finances,” he opened the conversation.

“Exactly,” I nodded with a soft smile.

He pulled a manila folder from across the desk closer to him, opened it, and picked up my resume.

“You’ve varied skills.  I like across the spectrum job experience.”  He looked up and waited for an answer.

“Having worked in large as well as small entities, I’ve learned how to roll up my sleeves and get the work done.”

“We run a small concern here.  We are one of six stations in the county, devoted to true Oldies Rock & Roll broadcasting, 1000 watts days and 500 watts nights, 24/7.  We just lost Fred Hamrick; he died two weeks ago.  He did the weather, farm report and swap and shop.

Also, Janet Hodges is on temporary leave caring for her aging mother.”

He put the folder down and continued, “We are pressed rather thin right now, I’ll l need you to fill some air time. I don’t happen to see that you’ve been on the air, only note you’ve generated advertising copy.  How do you feel about air time?”

I smiled trying to think of something to say then I blurted out,

“WOW, what a great opportunity,” I said buying time to squeeze something out of my racing mind that gave me an inkling of “on-air” experience.  I took a breath and launched into a reply.

“At one of my first jobs, I was a receptionist in a large manufacturing plant.  The building was sprawling with different wings like an octopus. We had an old fashioned intercom system that blasted throughout the complex and I used to page staff.”  I paused.

He waited for more.  I launched into my paging mode and said,

“Doug Lloyd please dial 44, Doug Lloyd, please dial 44.  Sam Perkins please report to the loading dock, Sam Perkins, please report to the loading dock.”

He leaned back and a genuine smile opened on his face.

“We are a hometown entity.  You will do just fine.”

He offered me the job, we set a start date and then he said, “I need you to fill out these papers for the gal who handles the personnel stuff.”

I leaned forward, pulled a blue pilot pen out of my shoulder bag.  I noticed my hand suddenly covered with blue ink.  I quickly filled out the two sheets of paper work and declared,

“I’ve an exploded pen,” holding up my hand for him to see.

“We’ve a wash room – that door there – end of hall.”  He said.

I handed him the paper work covered in blue smudge marks.

We both stood, he said, “I’ll see you on the eighth at 8 a.m.  Just let yourself out. There is a door from the hall into the staircase.  My wife is been holding dinner for me.”

“Thank you for this opportunity,”  I said motioning to shake his hand but then raised my blue stained hand and waved instead. 

We both chuckled.

I stepped through the frosted door into the hall.  Within a few steps, I noticed he already shut the office lights out. As I walked toward the end of the dingy hall, I heard him close the office suite door, his jaunty steps receding down the central staircase.

I found the washroom at the end of the hall; propped open the door with my foot locating the light switch.  The half-century old chunky sink was a clean as possible considering its age.  No soap dispenser.  Under running water, I rubbed my palms together which did nothing except smear the blue ink from one palm to another.  I turned off the faucet and found no paper towels in the dispenser.  I gingerly lifted up my suit skirt and was about to pat my wet hands on my white slip, but then I lifted my slip and patted my wet hands on my panty-hosed thighs instead.

I shut out the light, and walked down the hall picking a frosted window door midway along the hall.  I turned the handle, another heavy door.  I braced my shoulder against it for leverage and stepped over the threshold.  My shoulder bag dislodged and fell to my forearm. I paused to pull it up to my shoulder as the heavy door nudged me in the butt and slammed shut.

It was dark, I felt a cold breeze air on my face. I looked around. 

I was outside the building standing on a 3 foot x 4 foot ledge surrounded by a rusty railing.  I turned and tried the door, locked. I turned back looking down into the dank parking lot at the back of the building across from Smith’s Drug store drive-through window, now closed.  I looked over the edge, it had to be at least 25 feet to the pavement and mechanical equipment below. A rusty escape ladder was affixed to the building beside the door from the railed ledge to the ground.

Not a person in sight, no visible traffic.

The corner security light spread its conical beam straight down away from the building’s corner, away from illuminating me on a threshold to nowhere, standing in my suit and best high heels.

July 17, 2019 – Book Review – Justice on Trial

         I’ve been a fan of Mollie Hemingway for some time now, seeing her mostly on Fox News.  I love the way she nails a controversy with the shades of Charles Krauthammer’s clear voice and logic.

         Mollie Hemingway and Carrie Severino have generated a landmark book, entitled Justice on Trial, The Kavanaugh Confirmation and the Future of the Supreme Court.

         BUY it and READ it.  What the American people watched unfold on TV is nothing compared to this book.  It is behind the scene details of what actually happened.  The book arrived on Tuesday afternoon.  I inhaled this book – I couldn’t put it down.  So well written – it simply pulls you in by the scruff or your neck and doesn’t let you go for a moment.

         Not often do I stay up until 2:00 a.m. to read non-fiction – but this book will make you reach for extra strong caffeinated coffee so you can finish it.

         Of course it is a best seller – it is fascinating - a must read before our next judicial nomination to the Supreme Court.

         An absolute eye-opener of our judicial system – currently and through recent history.

         Buy it, read it, pass it along - every grassroots Constitutional loving American needs to read this and then pass it into the hands of those living in the fog so that they can become aware of what is actually happening in American politics.

 July 16, 2019 –  Easy peasy lemon squeezy

         I am a put-things-together type person. When I noticed Big Lots had a store wide 20% off sale coupon on entire purchase in the weekend paper – I jumped at it.  I had been looking for a little rolling bin with drawers and the newspaper had two or three to choose from in my cheapskate price range.

         It was my first shopping excursion with the air-boot since breaking my right foot.  I had my husband drop me close to the entrance, and I boot walked with the aid of Daddy’s cane for balance.  In a no-nonsense way I asked the gal at the cash register near the front of the store,

         “Where is this 4 drawer rolling bin – I don’t want to walk all over for it?” 

         She understood and directed me down the exact aisle that landed me directly in front of the display.

         I didn’t see many boxes left as the store had opened earlier and we were rather late in the day.  Of course, a black one and an aqua one were on display and I wanted the black one.  I saw one box that was the black, but I wanted two of them.  I stood guard with my trusty cane ready to beat other shoppers away from my quarry – I am only joking – but I felt powerful with a cane to poke at the box and to point to things.  I especially liked “pointing” with the cane attitude it got my husband’s complete attention. Poking around more, we found a second black one. Lucky us.

This morning I put two of them together in a “heart-beat” a Southern phrase that is spot on for the situation.

         I merely pulled the pieces from the box, and within 10 minutes the first one was together and within 5 minutes the second one was together.

         I highly recommend them as they roll freely and you can take the plastic drawers out and wash them if you need to.  Small, space saving.  One I sorted all the tools my husband had in a tool bag.  He could never find anything as he wouldn’t dig down 5 inches to where the wanted items resided.  This way, he at least has four levels to look in and he can roll the cart to the project and tuck it away when done.  Its new home is shoved in a small space in the mudroom.  Handy.

         Mine will be for my gardening junk – you know the seeds, gloves, and sundry stuff I take out to the garden. Maybe even put my garden shoes in the bottom bin – perhaps that will keep the dirt off the floor. Tuck it away when not in gardening season.

         If you are on the ‘hunt’ for a little rolling bin with removable drawers, I highly recommend it.  Even someone with two left thumbs can put this item together. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

        

July 15, 2019 – Gomphrena – wonderful flower for drying

         Gomphrena globose – Globe amaranth is one of my favorite annuals here in the South.  It can take the heat and sun and is rather drought resistant once established.  The plant can grow up to 24 inches high, but usually mine are shorter because I clip the blossoms for dried arrangements.  It is just the thing for full sun.  I prefer purple because it gives a “pop” to the flower gardens, but this year I could only find lavender and it is lovely as well.

         I snip the freshest, roundest inflorescences and use them in my heart shaped holder that hangs above my doorway between the kitchen and mud room.

         Later in the season, I snip more to dry on a tray and later detach the flower head from the stem and toss into potpourri for color.

         And, several years ago I snipped smaller flower heads and shoved them in a heart shaped bottle, added liquid glycerin, and corked the top.  It makes a charming objetd’art, that collects many queries and comments. The blossoms drowned in glycerin last years before the color fades – even then – still pretty.

         So far I haven’t tried them from seed, but seeds are easily obtained from a multitude of seed companies.

         Gomphrena is a real trooper in my garden all the way into fall frosts.

July 13, 2019 – Elvin McDonald – legendary garden editor & author

         Better Homes and Gardens had a one-page lesson in plant history, design and charm in their May 2019 issue, page 74, by Diana Dickson about Elvin McDonald.

         In brief, he has written and taken photographs for more than 75 books and spent 30 years as garden editor in various magazines.

               He uses pine needle paths in his gardens – I like that – simple, pretty, natural, easy to refresh – gives me an idea that!  I use them as mulch, I like the look.

               He doesn’t plant in his garden the same plants he sees driving around town – I get that.

               I had a big chuckle to one question and his answer:

            Question:          Any lessons for new gardeners?

Answer:             Sometimes when gardening you can become too focused on one spot.  It’s important to stop, walk away, and look at it from a new perspective.  If all you do is merely take a step back, you risk stumbling over the wheelbarrow.

         He must have seen me in my garden two months ago, getting a fresh new perspective of my garden as I was suddenly on my butt struggling to get up from the mountain of weeds I found myself in when I stepped backwards, knocking over my wheelbarrow. I thought I’d just take a look at what I’d just weeded. – I didn’t know he was in the area critiquing gardens and gardeners.

         What did my husband say?

         “You don’t get worker’s compensation working in your own garden. Be more careful.”

July 12, 2019 – I miss the simple things in life. . .

         . . . like padding bare foot to the bathroom in the middle of the night to go pee in the dark. 

         Later, when dawn wakes me, slipping out of bed quietly and padding barefoot to the kitchen pulling the drip coffee pot and porcelain filter forward on the countertop.  It is a simple thing enjoying the process of grinding coffee beans, measuring the scoops into the filter and pouring steaming water in swirls in the drip unit. 

         As the strong brew dribbles into the coffee pot, I swish open the floor to ceiling drapes on the kitchen slider scanning the back lawn for a glimpse of wild rabbits munching clover in the early morning mist or noting the new batch of feral kittens piled up in communal sleeping on the back patio.

         Since June 16^th, I've been unable to do any “simple living” things.  Everything is a difficult process or long drawn out procedure to get from here to there or to get something to eat or drink since I can’t manage to fix coffee or easily prepare food from the knee scooter and now the air-boot. 

         I have been at the mercy of my caregiver husband and his level of “care” or “food” or “comfort” is on the other end of the spectrum of my idea of care, food, or comfort.

         Almost a month into this episode of a broken right foot, with checkup last Monday and instructions that I can now start walking in my air-boot this week. I am not to overdo it, of course, and then in two weeks the doctor wants to see me in an athletic shoe.

         The word athletic sounded foreign to me each time he said it.  I counted three times he used it. I use the word sneakers for such type shoes and most of my sneakers are red-clay filthy and worn out.

         I ordered a new pair of athletic shoes yesterday through Amazon and they will be delivered to my door step, as I am not going to “boot” walk half a mile through Walmart to try to find a pair.  Hopefully, what I’ve ordered will fit – if not, I have another week to get a new pair of athletic shoes.

         Monday I went to the doctor. Today, I was chauffeured around tending to a few errands.  It is not comfortable sitting in the car with the air-boot on – hurts my ankle and mentally I am exasperated.  My husband, the chauffer, drives in a circle to go a straight line. 

         The few days I have been trying to get a little air-boot walking in, I’ve discovered the round bottom air-boot tosses me out of balance and is much like walking in high heels with one shoe missing a heel - up, down, up, down.  All this air-boot walking is tossing my back and hip out of kilter and pains me.

         I can hear you all – what are you complaining about – it’s just a broken foot – get over it. Since it is the first serious injury of my life – it is all new to me and I am not coping well.

         I miss a freshly made bed. I miss clean floors. I actually miss folding and putting away my laundry. I miss the mundane things like taking out the trash, grocery shopping, walking to the mailbox to get the mail. .  .

          . . . I miss the simplicity of life’s simple things, which one doesn’t realize until one can no longer do them.