Category Archives: Slice of Life – Two Writing Teachers

Minus One

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Two children – a boy and a girl are born seven  months apart. Their respective mothers  were good friends and neighbors a few houses apart. The kids grew up through grade school together, racking each other up, ratting each other out in turns, as kids are wont to do. Forced together due to their parents, a friendship that was sometimes rebelled, sometimes rejoiced, slowly forged as times  goes by.  If they were not in each other’s company, the running joke throughout growing up was they were invariably asked “Aren’t you minus one?”

Daughter: Mama, how did Daddy propose?

Mother: I had started dating Robbie Matthews and when it looked like it might be getting serious it pissed your daddy right off.  How dare I start to fall in love with someone else because he was taking too long? So few days before he is set off to war he shows up for dinner. And as we always went back and forth between his mama’s house and ours we thought nothing of it. He says almost nothing to me the whole meal, a dozen people in the house, it was normal – thought nothing of it. When he, your grandfather and your uncles go off as Mama, Sissy and I clean up – again thought nothing of it. A spell later he walks into the kitchen as I’m drying dishes and tosses something shiny at me. While I scramble to catch it he says “Listen you, so you know I’m heading out on Tuesday. I just done asked your daddy, so put this dang ring on ’cause you know I’m minus one without you and if I ain’t coming back to you, I ain’t coming back. I’m not having it.”  He then turns on his heel and starts walking out the door.  

Daughter: Daddy!

Father: Please! She threw a spoon so hard at the back of my head I nearly tripped. The whole time yelling “And you better come back to me ’cause I’m not gonna be minus one either – you hear me you bastard? Come back to me – I’m not having it!”  In front of her own mama nonetheless! So I picked up the spoon and brought it back to her, got down on one knee, put the ring on her finger, got my kiss and walked out.

He heard her.

It took a few decades, but that same boy and girl build, and live, a long life through a war, a marriage, a house, children, a move from rural to city life, more children and then grand children together.  It wasn’t always easy as they tried and survived each vow, comfort – honor – richer –  poorer – sickness – health. Yet other than the years he served the navy, they were rarely more than a week apart from each other.

Then one morning the boy woke up.

And the girl didn’t.

They had known each other since babies. Nine decades in this world together and for the first time in his life he walked on an earth without her in it.

Two mornings later he joined her.

I was within earshot when his youngest daughter rhetorically asked how he could pass in his sleep two days after his wife. I had the answer:

“He was minus one without her. He wasn’t having it.”

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At the next to the last funeral this week, this was the story I told, more or less, before reading the official obituary.

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It’s Friday – it’s Good Friday – let’s see what’s slicing for this holy weekend…

sol
Slice of Life Writing Challenge Day 25 | Two Writing Teachers

Sometimes…

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…the day gets away from you.

With this week of back-to-back death for me, after work I’ve spent the past couple of days reconnecting with the living around me. Today especially, as my best friend and I carved out some much-needed time with each other.

While I wish I had carved out more time for me to post, even if I had missed it all together, today I would not regret it.

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Hope my fellow slicers had an equally rewarding day…

sol
Slice of Life Writing Challenge Day 24 | Two Writing Teachers

 

Too late…

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In less than a minute from contact the infection took hold of her as nanites crawled from inside her irises to cover her entire body.

He watched in silent shock at the transformation.

Bringing her to the very height of her beauty; the nanites slowed for only the briefest of moments, showing him everything thing she could ever be physically and by God was she stunning! He gasped in awe at her absolute perfection, the cruel, cruel taunt displayed before him as she gave him a glimmer of her classic smile. A smile he inwardly knew was not real, yet he was as mesmerized by it now as he was when she was alive.
Though yards away he started to reach out to her, to touch her, when the vicious nanites true job finally kicked in. Her momentarily perfect eyes implode in on itself as though a fine, blacker than black silt were being sucked into an even blacker than black hole.
Only then did it occur to him to run, before the nanites sensed his own body, when he saw the first hint of blackness encircle the fingertip of his still outstretched hand.
Too late…
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A guy sitting across from me on the train had absolutely filthy nails.  My muse took a wicked flight of fancy as one of his finger tips looked like something alien was slowly devouring it. Amidst my repulsion, and fascination on how a relatively clean looking person can have such crusty nails, this whole scenario above happened in that most dangerous of places – my mind.
Let’s  hope my fellow slicers are having a more benign mental state – check them out…
sol
Slice of Life Writing Challenge Day 23 | Two Writing Teachers

#JeSuisBrussels

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The attacks in Brussels, like the attacks in Paris strike a chord the world over. As a commuter the subway attack in particular frightens me.

One of the several pet names for my hometown is City of Bridges.  Most know at least two of the six major bridges, the George Washington,  Robert F. Kennedy, Edward I. Koch, Williamsburg, Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges.  What most people don’t know or think about, including my fellow denizens, is that for all of those bridges that rise over the waterways, only a couple of them have trains. That means buried deep in the ground under those same waterways are the tunnels of the NYC subway lines.  Thus my daily work commute involves crossing a river at two different points each morning and each  evening.  That’s four times a day a large body of water is above my head. And there but for the Grace, go I. As a person who does not know how to swim, I try very hard to not think about those times when my train is underwater. Thus why when I hear of attacks on subways, a part of me gets frightened.

Even if the terrorists strike on land, what is there to stop the tremors of the impact from  travelling down the length of said tunnel and causing the crack. The small unseen, unassuming crack that becomes the leak, that becomes the gushing river suddenly filling the tunnel faster than my non-swimming legs can run for it. If you have seen the 90’s movie Daylight, with Sylvester Stallone, that is my not-so-secret-nightmare.

Luckily, my lifelong New Yorker status, and my ability to mentally block things I can do nothing about enables me to travel to and fro in peace without (much) of a worry for such things.

Then Brussels happens, so far away physically and yet so close today …

My thoughts go out to the 30+ confirmed deceased, the many more wounded and the countless now scared the globe over as countries debate whether to elevate security threat  levels.

And for a moment my thoughts go to the train I need to take home this evening.

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Let’s go check out my fellow slicers:

sol

Day 22 of the 9th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!  

 

Be Not Proud

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Most of us are familiar with the saying “Death comes in threes”. That nasty coincidence of the moment you learn of a person’s death, two more deaths tend to occur in rapid succession. “Rapid” being relative to the potentially bereaved of corse. Nevertheless, it seems Thanatos’ abacus is a bit off as of late. I mean think of the swath of musicians taken from the earth twit December and January, this past winter. It felt as if Death was working in multiples of three then. Was he bored then? Geesh. Clearly, he was equally as bored these past few days for me.

I sit here this evening trying to wrap my head around the fact that there are six wakes/funerals in my horizon. Between tomorrow and Saturday, six of them.

Six.

I cannot process this plethora of back to back death, I cannot attend all of them for my own sanity. Realistically, for the ones I will not attend, I was not close with the respective families. If pressed, one or two may remember me from one gathering or another, but really no will miss my presence among them,  but me. For the services I will attend. It’s a funeral, can’t really say much else.

Six people who I know personally, have died within the past six days.

It is too much.

Thanatos, seriously dude, get a hobby.

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I’m sure most of my fellow slicers are fairing much better – so go check them out:

sol

Day 21 of the 9th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!  

Spring? Says Who?

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The two major buzzwords this weekend> “Spring” and “Snow”. Since Thursday a lot of conversations wrapped around the hope of the First Day of Spring on Sunday and the despair that it was predicted to snow a few inches on Sunday here in New York City. I understand those who have only lived in New York City a few years to not get the weather patterns. Less than ten years? Okay, the weather my still surprise you. But if you have fifteen or mote adult years here, snow in late March is not something unusual, let alone new. For those with twenty-plus years as an adult here have no excuse.

It snowed on the first day of spring two years ago, I have the video. There was not the  amount of complaints on the day of the snow then as there were in the anticipation of it now. For some reason this year many folks were all in a titter and I don’t understand it.

All things considered we’ve had a decent winter this go around, this past winter. But yes, winter is winter and we’re all sick of the cold and were really spoiled by those 70 degree days we had a week ago. I recall times, not ‘the time’ – times, when it snowed in mid-April. Now that is unusual and worthy of grousing.  However, it’s MARCH, this is what happens in March. I’ve found the everything just shy of actual wailing and gnashing of teeth over this impending snow to be simultaneously amusing and enraging.  Enough that I posted the following on my Facebook:

sheep

This morning was all blue skies and sunshine, as I walked in the door this evening the snow was just starting. It’s expected to snow throughout the night. I’m mentally preparing my world’s smallest violin motion for all the griping I know will occur tomorrow.  The Lion is certainly winning the bout this weekend, sorry Lamb.

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Hopefully my fellow slicers have had more grinning and less griping this weekend:

sol

Day 20 of the 9th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!  

 

Just Enough

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Because I over book myself on occasion and this is one of them, I know if I do not post now it will not happen and that will have to be just enough…

I pray you have just enough sun
        to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the  day  may appear.
I pray you have just enough rain
        to appreciate the  sun  even more.
I pray you have  just enough happiness
        to keep your spirit  alive and everlasting.
I pray you have  just enough pain
        so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear  bigger.
I pray you have  just enough gain
        to satisfy your  wanting.
I pray you have  just enough loss
        to appreciate  all  that  you possess.
I pray you have  just enough hellos
        to get  you  through  the final good-bye.
I pray you have  just enough of everything you need
        so you never know the feeling of having nothing.

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I pray you have more than enough of an enjoyable weekend!

sol

Slice of Life Writing Challenge Day 18 – Two Writing Teachers

Ewww

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With today being St. Patrick’s Day all seasoned New York evening commuters understand the shenanigans entailed with such. We smile and tolerate the over friendly, over inebriated, but otherwise harmless over-celebrants who cross out paths. Sometimes we may have to cuss out those who are not so friendly drunks. On occasion we may snap a picture of the drooling drunk out cold. We get it. I get it.  But no one deserved to get this…

Rush hour coming home on the subway. It’s a little more crowded than usual, and that is saying something, because it’s Saint Patrick’s Day and remnants of celebrants are loudly finding their way home. I am sharing what is typically considered a four person seat, with another woman and a guy who has chosen to sit akimbo, aka “manspreading” so the seat is only holding three people. The largest space is between the manspreader and I, still it is not a lot a space. Only a child or a someone really slim might be comfortable there.

As I am reading my book and listening to my iPod, I notice a shadow crosses my page. I look up and a man stands there, using hand gestures that he wants to sit. I am already up against the sidebar of the seat nearest the door; there is no place for me to move. I look at the space, I look at the manspreader, I look at this guy who clearly cannot fit in that spot, shrug and go back to my book. A moment later I am suddenly squeezed further into the sidebar, he reeked of alcohol and clearly needed the seat as the man has decided he is going to sit in that space, whether he can actually fit or not. Emphasis is fully on the or not in this case as the manspreader lets out an expletive and readjusts the angle of his spreading by some minuscule amount, but does not get up and neither do I. I do not know how the woman on the other side of the manspeader was faring, but this guy could not possibly have been comfortable so squashed in the space, with his arms overlaying ours, totally invading what little sense of personal space possible in such a setting. Knowing my commute, the odds were that I would be on the train long after he left, so I was all set to stand, well sit, my ground when Manspreader started yelling.

“Oh hell no! You have to get up off of me!” Manspreader exclaimed and pushed the guy’s arm off. I quickly looked at my arm. This guys was sweating so much, that in the less than two minutes in which he sat there, his sweat was dripping unto us.

Ewwwww! 

I had on a jacket so I didn’t feel anything, but I could see it. I pulled a tissue out of my bag and wiped my arm. Yup, there was sweat on the tissue and it was not mine. It was only slightly better than Manspreader who had a clear stain on his shirt sleeve that was going to dry there.

Ewww, gross! 

Okay, it is one thing when on the subway and your arm is raised grabbing a pole and everyone can see the sweat stains through your shirt. It’s not the prettiest thing, but it’s par the oft times odious course of mass transit in summer weather. Still there is an implicit code of keep your sweat to yourself. This guy clearly did not get the memo. Sweaty Guy glanced at Manspreader, his lips pressed together as if to keep from speaking, then he looked at me, his body did a sort of jerk move.  I don’t know why, but I stood.

“Don’t give up your seat to this sweating pig!  Why the hell would you squeeze your ass into a spot you know you can’t fit putting your dripping sweat, directly upon complete strangers?  That’s fucking disgusting!” Manspreader was pissed!  Sweaty guy would not respond and that just ticked Manspreader off more as he continued berating the man.

Now here’s a subway fact: I don’t care how packed as a sardine can a subway car may be, when someone starts yelling the way Manspreader was yelling out Sweaty Guy, it’s a Christmas Miracle how space suddenly opens up around you. I was now standing off to the side, more in front of Manspreader than Sweaty Guy, as the train pulled into a station with a sharp jerk.  I saw the Sweaty Guy’s face and knew.

Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Noooooo! 

Everything in my body said “MOVE!”  I grabbed Manspreader by the front of his shirt, yanking him out of his seat while trying to shove backwards through the understandably upset crowd.

And there he blows!

I suddenly had no trouble making space as Sweaty Guy started tossing a couple of factories’ worth of cookies. While I just barely saved Manspreader; regrettably the poor woman who had sat on the other side of Manspreader wasn’t so lucky. The momentum of my pulling Manspreader up caused the two of them to lean into each other’s directions. By the time registered what was happening, she could not move out of the way fast enough as he slide sideways on the seat into her.  She started screaming and those of us closest were backing away from the both of them. One would have thought a murder scene was commencing the way people reacted, running out of the line of fire.

Those by the door closest to Sweaty Guy started running off the train itself as the doors opened, plowing into those trying to get on. Some brave souls in the further corners of the subway car away from Sweaty Guy  were going to stick it out and stayed where they were. Other passengers entering the car, seeing, and smelling, the mess then immediately exiting added to the chaos. Were it not so foul, especially for Sweaty Guy, all that missing was the accompaniment of “Yakety Sax“.

The subway car had to empty out once it became evident Sweaty Guy had purged from everywhere possible.  I will spare you further details other than to say it was not pretty. Worse we were at a station without transfer points. That means nothing else was coming up that track  until Sweaty Guy was taken care of.  I’m still a good half hour away from home. What to do:

  • Do I go back downtown to transfer to a train on another line, which would likely add another hour?
  • Do I exit the train and take the bus uptown, which would likely add another hour?
  • Do I take a cab?
  • Do I wait it out?

The poor woman who caught Sweaty Guy’s cookies ran out of the station. Manspreader was standing at the door switching between berating Sweaty Guy or general bitching about the situation. Other passengers who were stuck were either debating their options or complaining about Sweaty Guy with each other or on their cell phones. Because that’s what people do when in such a situation.

Yes, it’s St. Paddy’s day and it’s all part and parcel  of being a mass transit commuter. Still, on any day grown people allowing themselves to get that drunk, and thus that sick, to then get on the sometimes slightly less jostling than bumper cars, that is a ride on a NYC subway is a recipe for disaster guaranteed to generate a less than stellar moment in one’s life and be the cause of the following notification email…

MTA - sick

n/b 2 and 3 trains are running with delays, due to a sick passenger at ——. Allow additional travel time.

…which I received while still standing on the platform waiting for Sweaty Guy to be attended.

Throughout this Sweaty Guy is lying on the floor in his own filth, dry heaving and sobbing.

Sobbing.

I actually felt a little sorry for him. But only just a little. As my cousin is wont to say “You brought this on yourself!”

Yeah, I’m done waiting – it’s taxi time.

End scene…

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sol

Slice of Life Writing Challenge Day 17 – Two Writing Teachers

Where? There!

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As I run amok in my home town I am wont to randomly photograph any architecture and various works of art, that capture my attention. On occasion they are easily recognizable icons of New York City – the Empire State Building, the Prometheus sculpture at Rockefeller Center. Mostly, I like to capture items the even fellow denizens may not be aware exist unless they frequent the area.

The rules, such they’re not, are simple enough. Anything under “Where’s Raivenne?” is somewhere in New York City. I post the picture and you guess the location.  The first person to guess the correct location generally wins. A more exact location, even if it appears after a correct response, will trump a more generic description.  For example this photo:

Where's Raivenne

Click for larger image

The person who responded with the lyrics to the song “Downtown” was technically correct. I was in downtown NYC. She won my heart because I do love that song, but “downtown” is too vague to win the game.  Two people responded with the correct answer – City hall Park. the person who responded first “won”. The only answer that would have trumped it is if someone had said answered something like”The fountain at City Hall Park facing Park Row”.

The rules are very loose and winners receive nothing more than the accolade of knowing they’ve guessed correctly.

Some guess more than others, some get them right more than others, some of my of fellow denizens get none of them right.  I also give extra points for creative answers, that are blatantly wrong, but make me laugh. Sometimes I even stump myself. Such as when I once  I posted a picture while I was drunk and had no idea where I was the next day. It took two years and pure happenstance that I walked past the exact place again to answer my own query.

Every now and then I toss out technicalities just to mess with people. Hey, my games – my rules, but it’s all in fun.

I post them on my Facebook page under the heading of “Where’s Raivenne?” The tagline to the album states:

You may not know where I’m going, but you might know where I’ve been…

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Let’s see where my fellow slicers are taking us today in the challenge:

sol

Slice of Life Writing Challenge – Day 16 – Two Writing Teachers

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries:I Said Duck!

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If you’ve read my About Raivenne page then you know of my proclivity to drop a salty word or two. If not let me say it in plain language, it’s my blog and every now and then I will fucking cuss if I feel like it.  That being said, if you have followed this blog for a while then you also know, I really don’t curse all that much. At least not here. Everyplace else however is a different story. Suffice it to say my auto-correct, whether on my computer, my tablet or my phone gets quite the work out in changing all the french I speak, which has nothing to do with the lovely language spoken in France.  (Why do we call that -cursing-  speaking french anyway?) Thus when a friend posted the following on Facebook I was highly amused:

duck it

 

My comment and true story:

Oh my autocorrect must have become annoyed at my always correcting its tendency to offer a more feathered suggestion when I am demanding a more carnal one. I swear the one time I was actually texting duck confit, it switched it to the cuss word in revenge.

I probably should make more of an effort to curtail the fowl language – then again, duck it.

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We are officially at the halfway point! Whoo-hooo! Let’s see how others are slicing through this Tuesday and 15th day of the challenge:

sol

Slice of Life Writing Challenge – Day 15 – Two Writing Teachers