Mother-Son Bonding, With Tissues

I grew up a cryer.  I was a very emotional child, and the slightest little change in the weather had me bawling my eyes out.  I cried for two and a half hours after (SPOILER ALERT) Old Yeller died.  It was embarrassing, because it is really hard to be taken seriously when you have a big snot bubble hanging off the end of your nose.  So I tried very hard not to cry.  Of course, the harder I tried to cry, the worse it was, but finally I arrived at a point where I could stay calm in emotional situations without getting teary.

Then I became a mom.  

Zane and I were sitting in the living room, each of us doing our own thing in a companionable silence one afternoon.  It was very hot outside, but the room we were in was cool and dark and comfortable.  I was squinting hard and trying to read an article on my phone, and Zane was determining which of his Lego minifigures needed a makeover. 

"Mom?"

"Yes?"  I gave up on squinting, and looked up at my son. When he was a baby, that expression meant that he was pooping, but now it signaled deep thoughts.

"You know how I'm going to grow up one day?"  Zane said, not looking at me.

"Yes, you will grow big and strong and follow your own path," I responded.

"Well, I'll be on my own, but I won't know everything, and I will still need you,"  Zane finally looked up right at me, his voice tiny. "Will you still be around?"

I pride myself on my ability to remain calm, and I very calmly burst into tears. I took a deep breath that hitched a bit. 

"That's the plan, son,"  I put my arms around him.  "But even if I am not physically here, I'll still be around to help you if you need me." 

At least that is what I think I said.  I was a little blubbery, and may not have enunciated.  But I think Zane understood.  I hugged him until he complained about me getting his shirt wet.  He went back to his Legos and I blew my nose, and the moment passed. 

Except it is still in my heart.   I've been looking at pictures of kittens online, just to get back some equilibrium. 


 www.kittenlady.org

Microstories: Reunion

His grief stopped everything.

Pendulums, covered in opaque stillness,

Intricate gears rusted into grudging quiescence.

Yet

His heart keeps perfect time

The seconds always counting down,

Until she stands before him again,

her eyes radiant.

And he knows

The time is now.

Microstories: The Wrong Door

In your eyes

I can believe

the

blush of true love

implicit in our first kiss;

Heartbeat to heartbeat,
A true marriage
Ageless
Laughter
and Love.

So much more

Than my fantasy

Will

Disintegrate,

Vanish,

If you open that locked door

Tonight.

With a Little Help

I am not an outwardly emotional person, at least in public.  I tend to be rather deadpan about most things, and even as the poop is flying through the air(yes that really happened), my demeanor appears rather placid.  Even with cancer smacking me hard, most people have no idea what is going on inside my head.  That's how I want it.  It's safer that way, to retreat into yourself as you prepare to deal with something pretty scary.  Except the funny thing about friends is that they pay attention to you.  They notice little things about you, quirks that you never even knew you had, and it isn't too long before they "get" you. They just seem to know what you need.

Those friends have done so much to raise my spirits.  My coworker support group has spent hours of text messaging time distracting me with discussions of The Walking Dead, Supernatural, and hypothetically bad horror movies involving honey badgers.  My friend evil Laura has put aside her usual searing sarcasm in our email chats.  My friend Michelle has been sending me articles about supplements that are supposed to help with surviving cancer.  People make positive and encouraging comments to me all the time.  They ask if they can pray for me(yes, I tell them.  I need all the help I can get.).

My friend Andrea, over at Maybe It's Just Me, has sent me postcards and notes and cookies(yum!) and lots of encouragement and positivity.  She's even offered to write letters to the medical companies that have annoyed me!

My friend Kirsten, over at The Kir Corner has sent me lots of hugs as well as reading my rants about everything that is happening.  And right now I have more things to rant about than a Rush Limbaugh- Glen Beck tag team. 

I appreciate all of you.  I carry the notes and cards and letters with me in my purse, and I take them out and read them when I need a boost.  Of course, then I cry, but it's a good cry.  My heart is so full of love that the tears just flow right over the top. 

Thank you.

First Love

The first time I saw

love--

it was in

one small hand,

with

a firm grasp,

held fast

in mine.

That bright smile,

that sweet face,

that trust.

Who could not

feel blessed with

such a rare gift?




The prompt is 33 words plus this: "The first time I saw..."

The first time I saw. . .

The first time I saw. . .

Merry Christmas!!

The stocking is sitting underneath the tree, because we don't have a fireplace. 

The tree is decorated, although most of the lower two branches are bare, thanks to the cats and one determined dog.

But it's all good.  Christmas isn't about being perfect. It's about being our less than perfect selves, and loving each other in spite of it all. 

So Merry Christmas to all. I hope that everyone gets what their hearts desire!

A Little Spice

This continues a story I started here.  I may have been too busy to blog, but I am never too far from a pen and a piece of paper, so I share my doodling with you now.


Granny was waiting for them, they knew. It was time to go home.

That Granny had added an extra piece to her spell, the Wilkerson girls did not know.   She flavored the cauldron with parsnip, lavender, dragon's blood...and a little something else.  It added an extra day to the cooking, this part of the spell, and the fire had to be tended so that the mixture simmered at a constant temperature.  Constant heat meant constant love, Granny knew. 

"Still toiling away?"  Jordan Wilkerson stood in the doorway and smiled at his wife. He was still as gorgeous as the day they met, she realized, although his dark hair was now peppered with gray.  Somehow, he always knew where to find her.

"I'll likely be here all night." Granny stood up, stretching until her bones cracked.  She went to her husband, standing on tiptoe to plant a kiss on familiar lips.  Jordan wrapped her in his arms and held her close.

"You need your sleep, my love," he chided softly.

"Oh, I'll just sleep on the floor by the fire," came the reply.  Jordan shook his head, kissed his wife on the forehead, and left the room.  Granny returned to her task, stirring the pot and chanting.  This time she added basil, inhaling deeply and mingling her exhalations with the aroma emanating from the cauldron. The chanting changed in tone.  Next came apple, almond, and a bit of cayenne for spice.  Granny sneezed.

"Bless you!"

She turned around, startled, to find her husband.  Jordan had dragged a mattress from one of the downstairs bedrooms while she was caught up in her work, and had made up the bed far enough away from the fire to avoid disturbing her.  He lay on his side, naked, glorious in the firelight, and stole the breath right out of her.

Just like the day they met.

"We haven't slept apart in thirty-five years, 'Stanza," Jordan told her, his voice a caress. "We are not about to start now."  He patted the mattress beside him.

"Come here, love."

Granny didn't have to be asked twice.  The cauldron could simmer for a bit, she thought, as she untied her apron on her way to join him.

Later, as Jordan was drifting off to sleep, Granny pulled on her t-shirt.  She watched the love of her life for awhile, a smile on her face.  Then she stood up and moved to the cauldron with renewed purpose.

Her girls were going to come home, and they would bring love with them.  

Heels Over Head

Prompt:  We want you to give us a 33-word example of personification.  Wait.  What?  You forget what that is?  It's the practice of attaching human traits and characteristics with inanimate objects, phenomena and animals (http://literary-devices.com). 


Love marched up one day and smacked Rita May cross-eyed, tripped her up, and knocked her flat on her back,  heels over head, and now won't let her go.

Not that she's complained.

Breakup

Write on Edge prompt:  Write about a face to face meeting which, for better or for worse, doesn’t go as planned. I am not too sure about this one, but I'm tired, and distant family members are sending me pictures of Bigfoot.

Carolyn was waiting for Jason when he wandered into the cafe. He was late, and he had his head down, his phone in one hand, thumb flying over the letters.  Carolyn wrinkled her nose in disgust, impatient to have his attention and get this over with. She had heard the rumor about Jason breaking up with her, and she was going to be the destroyer, not the recipient.  Carolyn had been rehearsing in her mind all morning; Jason, this isn't working out.  As he meandered over to her table, Carolyn was irritated.  How had she had ever thought that this boorish behavior was 'fun'? 

"Would you put that damn phone down and look at me?" Carolyn hissed as he finally sat down.  Jason's head snapped up, his smile frozen, his blue eyes suddenly intensely focused on her.  He slowly placed the phone face down on the table.

"Is that better?"  His voice carried, a gentle wave, across the table.  Carolyn still loved that chocolate sort of voice.  She nodded, unsure of her own voice, and continued to stare at him.  He was so beautiful.  She would miss this, sitting in the cafe together, staring into those blue eyes.  A waiter came by and deposited menus without interrupting.

 Jason cleared his throat, leaning across the table to take her hand in his.   Carolyn shook her head and took a deep breath, ready to begin the end.

"Carolyn--," Jason blurted, gripping her hand.   "I love you. I have for some time."

"Jason, this--wait. What did you say?" Carolyn was was sure that she had misheard.  Her eyes were suddenly blurry with tears.

"I love you, Carolyn," he repeated.  "I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"B-b-but--"

"Will you marry me, Carolyn?"  Jason was on one knee before she realized it, and he was offering her a ring box.  All she had to do was reach out and take it.

Commitment

My husband and I were relaxing the other night, watching The Daily Show and The Colbert Report. One of those commercials came on, with a lovingly compensated couple crooning about the wonderfulness that is their partner. We rolled our eyes.

"Yeah, we'll see how loving you are when you have to hold her hair while she's barfing on you!" I hooted.

We laughed together about the absurdity of those match-up commercials as we went to sleep. I'm not knocking these websites specifically. I just think that they portray love in a very distorted way.

There's so much more to a relationship than that goofy initiation phase, and I get very tired of having that kind of love in relationships emphasized over and over. It sets a bad example, you see. People(aka impressionable teenagers) see that version and think that that is what romantic love is all about, 24/7. On television and in the movies, couples are either madly in love or they hate each other. Reality is very different. Reality is about making a commitment to each other.

My husband decided that he loved me when I quickly downed a bottle of beer and then burped louder than him in the parking lot outside the bar.

But his commitment was sitting in the ICU while I was in a coma and he didn't know if I would ever wake up. I, in turn, held his hand throughout his cancer diagnosis and treatment. That is what commitment means: sticking around during the bad parts.

Life happens, and things can get ugly. Messy. People fart. People snore. People scratch themselves in embarrassing places. Sometimes they do all this in close proximity to you. At those times, love is not really the word that may describe your feelings, unless you are really weird.

It is in the trenches of the relationship that you forge a relationship, not the peaks. 'For better'...that part of the vow everyone remembers, and that is what those dating websites are selling. It's the 'for worse' that nobody thinks about before walking down the aisle. If you're not willing to stay with your partner during the 'for worse' times, however, you're not as committed to the relationship as you may need to be.

Red Writing Hood: Whatever Comes

Red Writing Hood prompt: You or your character find a forgotten letter or card from someone important in your life--whether good or bad. What does it say? How does it affect you or your character? What is done with it? This is fiction!

She found the note the day she finally found the strength to begin emptying the drawers and closets of her husband’s clothes. Jake had been dead and in the ground for a year. Slowly, oh so slowly, she got used to the horrific idea that she was alone. Her husband would never again step through that door, grab her around the waist and kiss her until she felt dizzy with love. After the funeral, her very bones seemed to be leached of the energy to face anything anymore, and she thought that it would be okay if she simply turned to dust sitting in Jake’s chair by the window.

The idea of alone was relentless, however, and the day came where she finally came to accept where he was, and where she was. Then it was time to move again.

Her children had offered to take care of the clearing, cleaning, and removing of their father’s effects, but Maisy knew that she had to do this job herself. It wouldn’t seem real to her, she thought, if she came home one day and all evidence of the love of her life had been swept away like dust under a rug. And so today, she pulled all of the drawers and closets open, and began going through them one by one.

Old ties. Dress shirts of various professional colors. Dress pants, suit coats. Those were easy to let go of, as Jake wore these rarely, if at all. He was never comfortable wearing them, so she was glad to be rid of them. Same with jeans, socks, underpants, undershirts, and shoes.

The t-shirts and the flannel one were a little more difficult. M. They smelled like Jake; like the very wind itself, blowing through the air after a summer storm. That smell would always bring a feeling that Jake was just behind her, waiting to wrap his arms around her and hold tight.

As she pulled the last t-shirt from the drawer, she saw a small white card in the bottom. Maisy leaned over and picked up the card, turning it over in her hand.. Jake’s handwriting was on the front. Maisy recognized the card immediately. Jake had given her this care the day he asked her to be his wife. She knew exactly what the card was going to say, but she opened it anyway, as tears began to weigh down her eyelashes and slide down her cheeks.

Maisy,
Whatever comes, we share. Before God , man, and beast. When the sun rises and when it sets.No matter our troubles or joys. Whatever comes, we share.
All my love,
Jake

“Oh Jake!” Maisy stopped trying to keep her tears inside and just let them flow. “

I can’t share this with you right now, my love.”she whispered. “

But I will be with you one day. “

Nerd Love

I am an old school nerd. Not an OG, of course, but I remember back before computers pretty well. Nerds are/were defined by their love of pens(and D&D, but that's for another time). The most obvious of us out there were willing to wear pocket protectors and thus suffered the scorn of the masses. What most people didn't understand is that those brave souls were wearing pocket protectors to protect the PENS, not the shirt.

I love pens. I love looking at them. I love holding them in my hand and twirling them a bit to feel their balance. I love that first time picking up the pen and writing, when you discover the flow of the ink on the paper. When the ink glides smoothly across the page, all is right with the world. I will sit there with my pen and just write or doodle(does anyone else 'doodle' by writing the names of all the Presidents in chronological order, or is that just me?) and listen to the pleasant sound of the pen as it writes. This is how Nerds enter the profound meditative state so aptly labeled 'Nerdvana' by Dogbert from the Dilbert comics.

I don't buy cheap pens where the ink flow is an iffy proposition. I buy the gel ink pens with the rollerball tips. Not a major expense. That would be excessively frivolous in these economic times. Just enough of an expense so that I feel a little decadent using the pen, but no completely hysterical if I lose the pen. I have a small phobia that I'll fall in love with a pen and it will be discontinued, so I will buy that pen in bulk. My purse weighs 50 pounds because of all the pens I've crammed into every possible place. You never know when you might run out of ink and need a new pen!

I go to a lot of meetings in my chosen field, and at the conclusion of these meetings, when all parties have reached consensus, we sign our name to a piece of paper to indicate that agreement. Inevitably, someone at the table will 'borrow' my pen to sign their name. They will admire my pen...and then they will try to walk off with MY pen. This is a serious offense in my book, because my pens are the Precious to me. Every. Last. One. I have followed people out of the meeting room because they've walked off with my pen, and have even chased offenders out to their car to retrieve my pen with the single-minded focus of Gollum.

I know this love of pens seems a bit off to other people. I don't care. Pens are deserving of adoration in my opinion. The pen made it possible for EVERYONE to write whenever they wanted, wherever they wanted, however they wanted(that last part still gives English teachers fits). It was no longer necessary for a person to memorize everything. If you could think it, you could write it down. If someone else said it, you could write it down. Isn't that great? (All my fellow Nerds out there are now glassy-eyed, some drooling, thinking fondly of their pen collections. Now would be a good time to check their pockets for chocolate, if you are so inclined.)

Pens are awesome. You should have some. Really.