30/30 – 30 | BOO!

My sons rolled their eyes at me as they always did when Halloween comes around.  Luckily, by their viewing at least, I do not go all out transforming the house into a holiday appropriate wonderland as I do for Christmas.  Still, every now and then I get into the I want to carve a pumpkin mood. This was one of those Halloweens were I was in a pumpkin carving, tons of chocolate and other goodies to give away, witches hat wearing mood. Now well into their teens, and knowing they are going to be dragged into it anyway shake their heads as they begrudgingly get into the spirit with me.

Thanks to such cinema sweethearts as Freddy Cruger (Nightmare on Elm Street) and Michael Myers (Halloween) faux bloody masks were de rigueur.  My youngest gets an idea and asks to borrow his father’s full length leather trench coat. Both of us being well aware of his imagination, my eldest and I look at each other part warily, partly with anticipation to see where this is going to go.

My youngest dons the coat and mask, pulls up the hood to the hoodie, grabs the big bowl of candy and when the coast is clear steps outside to stand perfectly still in a corner of the front porch closest to the front door.  He was already six feet tall by this point, thus he cut an imposing figure in the leather and bloody mask.  If any trick-or-treaters want candy, they are going to have to come to the statue to get it.

“Oh this is going to be good!” My eldest grins as we stand by the living room window to watch the scene unfold.  It takes a few minutes, but soon enough there are five or six children standing by the front gate trying to determine whether it is safe to come get the candy just sitting there in the bowl for the taking.  As always with such a group, some poor soul is goaded into being the brave one to investigate.

The little boy opens the gate takes a step in and stops. My youngest does not move a muscle. I cannot see him breathe; nor blink. He is a perfect Halloween statue. The little boy takes a few tentative steps more up the path, but still no movement from the statue. He looks back at his friends who goad him on. He makes his way up the short path to the first step and stops again, trying to gauge the situation. It is taking everything my eldest and I have not to laugh aloud as we watch this unfold.

“Hey, it’s just a statue holding a bowl of candy come up and get some!” The boy yells back to his friends bravely climbing the remaining steps as the friends come running up the pathway.  The boy raises his hand to get candy and the moment his fingers touch…

“RAWRAAAAARGGHHH!”  

The “statue” comes roaring to life and scares the living heck out of the poor child and his friends.  They are screaming, running down the steps and halfway down the pathway, before the combined laughter of my sons and I make them realize they have just been had. My youngest stops laughing long enough to call the boy back and convince them all it is okay to have candy. He gives the other kids a few candies each, but lets the little boy take as much candy as he wants for being the brave one.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

It seemed only fair since tomorrow is Halloween, that I have at least one such story for it.
And with this, the only non-fiction story of the set 30/30 set, I miraculously conclude the 30 Stories in 30 Days Challenge on time.  It has been an interesting romp stretching my imaginative path, I hope you’ve enjoyed the stretch. I now return to my irregularly scheduled blogging.

30/30 – 29 | Ask

I was in Brussels when I received the news Nana Jean (my paternal grandmother) was gone.  My mother is very much alive and a part of my life, but if you ask anyone who raised me, including my own mother, everyone will say Nana Jean.  She was that kind of woman.  Her condemnations as wounding as her compliment as wonderful, she was a piece of work. Yes, I was the near spitting image of my maternal grandmother Nana Kayla, however my spirit was pure Nana Jean.  Though we had known for quite a while that the cancer was in its final stages and it was only a matter of time, the news of her passing still came as a shock.

I called my fiance, Justin, not even five seconds after I hung-up with Mama, but of course he already knew, by the time I reached him.  As always, he had all the right words to say to give me comfort. Still, there I was on the other side of the world negotiating a multimillion dollar deal for my company.  I was barely able to  concentrate on the deal, but I knew all eyes were on me and could not mess this up.  Luckily, I had a fantastic staff with me who immediately picked-up my slack and we got through the deal. I was on the first thing smoking back to the States before the ink was dry.

I had wanted nothing more than to get home as soon as possible, cry on Justin’s shoulders and then be the strong one for the rest of my family.  The only problem was, even once I made it back to the States, I needed to be with my family on the east coast and Justin was on the west coast where we lived. Yes, I have other family and friends who would be there for me, but they would not be Just and that was what I needed.

“How you holding up baby? Still have your curl?” Justin called around breakfast time, not even two hours after my arrival to my parents’ home.

I had spent the entire ride from the airport and the past couple of hours listening to my father and Aunt Tina argue over every little detail of Nan Jean’s arrangements.  I was not in my childhood home ten minutes and I already felt as though my head was going to explode.  Justin’s call was the perfect diversion and medicine for what ails.

“Yes, I still have it.” I couldn’t help but smile.  He knows me all too well, gently calling me out as the liar he knew I was, while I guiltily released the curl at my left temple that somehow always winds up twisted around my index finger whenever I was really upset or really bored. He jokes that if I kept doing so, I was going to twist it off one day. So every now and then he asks if it’s still there as way of teasing me and getting me to stop the bad habit.

“What was it about weddings and funerals that bring out the absolute worst in people anyway?” I finished my litany of family woes and whines. “You just don’t know, I feel like crap and a half right now.”

“Well, what would make you feel better right now, this instant?” He asks.

“You, just you.  You giving me a good hug and a kiss.” I said without hesitation, but with a little tinge of sadness knowing he’s on the opposite coast and that hug is not likely to happen for a few days.

“Ask and it shall be given,” He says ominously.  “All you have to do is open a door.”

Before I can say what the… the doorbell rings.

No…! I mentally gasp, running to the door, flinging it open.

Yes! Justin stands there smiling, arms wide open.

I flew into them basking in the strength of him pouring into me, and yes, I felt better.

30/30 – 28 | Beach

I am leaning against the balcony railing enjoying the warm sun, sipping mimosa.   I am on vacation with the family and there is absolutely no reason for me to be up so early.  Everyone else is sound asleep, but as I watch the rising sun slowly inch across sand and seas, I am so I had a chance to enjoy this.  Combined with the perfect cool breeze, it already tells me it is going to be a beautiful day.

In the distance, I spy two lovers walking along the shore heading in my direction.  As I am watching and smiling as they laugh, clearly enjoying each other’s company, stopping every now and then to embrace, lovers really is the only word to describe them. A part of me is just the tiniest bit envious as I see him take her in his arm and kiss her passionately.

They both feel this kiss deeply as hands travel bodies. They stop suddenly, remembering where they are and laugh.

After a moment, the woman suddenly takes off running.  As they get closer, I realize they remind me of a couple I know and I rack my brains trying to remember which of my peers behave like that lovingly toward each other.

The glass of mimosa nearly slips from my hand when the answer comes to me about five seconds before they see me on the balcony and wave.

My husband appears behind me, kissing me on my neck. I turn and give him a good, deep kiss in greeting.

“Well good morning to you!  Where’d that come from?” He grins, happily taking me in his arms to return the kiss.

I point to the couple on the beach, now within clear sight and wave back.

“My parents.”

30/30 – 25 | Thursday

Thursday

Gerri is unusually content for a Thursday. Normally Thursdays are her drudgery days. Her oh thank heaven tomorrow is Friday, I don’t think I can take it anymore day. She was about to stand in her usual spot  on the train, when she spots it; spots the anomaly.

The train is reasonably crowded, a couple standers, and ninety-five percent of the seats filled.

Ninety-five percent.

Yet , way off on the end she sees a whole row of three-seaters with only one person sitting in any of them.  He did not look homeless. There was no smell, no puddles. No, it can’t be, an empty seat?

Really?

Really!

A high-schooler takes one of the seats and she quickly takes the other. There is no jockeying for space. Everyone is comfortable, Wow! It even smells, well, clean.  It was not some chemical cleaner to the hilt, not someone drowning in a perfume, just a pleasant neutral clean scent.

The water sparkles beyond the trusses and lanes of the bridge.  The views of this side of downtown, as the train ascends from one tunnel, then the river and then the side of downtown before descending into the next tunnel are unusually breathtaking. The streets shine in the morning sun, drying from the recent rain. The river sparkles, sunlight dancing in myriad prisms on the waves.  She couldn’t remember the last time everything looked so lovely. Then again, Gerri couldn’t remember the last time she looked through the window to really notice.

The next station had a ton of people waiting on the platform for the train. Oddly enough, they were all waiting for the local train and she was on the express, where only a few people get on.

A young couple, disgustingly in love, sat across from her.  Were Gerri encased in flames while pirouetting, they would not have noticed.  All they had eyes for were each other and for once of their lip-locking did not want to make her roll her eyes. However, the old man standing by the door with his arm up to his elbow picking his nose did make her happy her station was next.

As she’s leaving Gerri notices a young cutie entering the train.  He’s so busy staring at her, his foot hit the small gap between the train and the platform causing him to stumble into the train. It takes everything she has not to look back as those on the train respond to him.

If you have to be temporarily encased in a steel coffin several days it’s nice to walk away smiling from it for once she thinks, grinning as she walks away.

Cycle

Gleam in His eye

A Memory
Ashes to Ashes
Longevity?

With blessings well aged
With blessings well saged

A many decade writer
Hopefully equal giver and receiver
Always a friend
And of course a Diva

At the beginning of my world-travels
Patient when a holiday light unravels

A Home Owner
An Amorous Wife
Luckily better at inciting passion
Sometimes the cause of strife

Professional at Work
Part-time Jerk

Occasional Fighter
Mother of another
Mother
Poetess

A Daughter
Alive
Me

Gleam in His eye

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: Self-Portrait

Perfect

Dawn the first light to sparkle on the water

Breaking apart the morning mist
Drying dew drops that gather in the night
Doing their part to add to the mystique
They land on top of the fine fronds
Of the snowy milkweeds
Turning them into small diamond bursts
In search of the rising sunlight

For three days I’ve tried to capture this
For three days I’ve failed miserably
Technical and yes, user difficulties
But today, today feels like the day I won’t blow it
Still, I pull out my rabbit’s foot and give it a smooch
Then my Nikon to check the aperture settings

And with one last kiss, I snap the shot…perfect!

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Hyde Park Poets Rally Week 75

The Serenade

Joann Bishop - The Guitarist

In the courtyard with his guitar
On a warm and starry spring night
Standing near the glow of lamplight
And sings of love so near, so far

He sings of longing as a scar
A deep wound of internal bleed
A wound of perpetual need
Soft chords wrapped tight in notes blue
A testament his heart is true
Love eternal in every deed

She knows it’s her he’s singing to
She hears each note that bear his pains
Within the blood of her own veins
His longing sears her through and through

For it’s a love long overdue
She’s never known the like before
As it’s his heart that makes hers soar
His tender words gently hold sway
Her heart she’ll give to him always
Lets him and love into her door

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub |  OpenLinkNight Week 67

I’ve Got The Look…

All mothers have a certain look in which their children instinctively comprehend to mean  stop and desist NOW.  I do not care how “no mannered”, “fresh”, “no home-trained” et cetera the children may be, all instinctively understand the most powerful wrath short of the Lord Almighty’s is about to reign down upon their little souls and behinds should they continue with the offending activity.

There are the mothers whose look will only work on their own progeny. There are the mothers in which the look not only works on their children,  but other family members’  children and sometimes the neighbors’ children.  And then there are the mothers. Those special mothers who can utilize the look with such force, that even the children of complete strangers will take heed.  It does not happen often, for I realize I have to be in a certain mood and the child involved must have seriously crossed my invisible line of intolerance for it to be at maximum force, but I am definitely among the last group.

That being said, while all mother are capable of that look, not all mothers have the ability or the desire to use to its full potential and that is a shame. Mothers who cannot put the fear of Mom unto their little darlings at a very early age are soon victimized by the tiny terrors they’ve brought forth unto this world.  I ran into one of those unfortunate types this morning.

I heard the mother already pleading with the child the moment the subway doors opened.

“Sweetie won’t you please sit down.”
“You’re going to hurt yourself!”
“Didn’t I say sit down, Sweetie?”
“You’re going to get a pow-pow.”

The mother did not say “Sweetie” I’m using it  instead of the child’s actual name to protect the little hellion more so than the parent.  I also cringe when parents of young children use cutesy names for things. If you are about to discipline your child, the child should fear it. It is not a “pow-pow” it is a “spanking”.  Children do not fear the cute, especially when spoken in that sing-song sugar coated speak most adults reserve just for young children. Sweetie was not that young and I’m guessing having heard such idle threats all his young life, this child was no exception.

I partially read my book, partially listened to my music and partially watched as I sat across from them.   The little boy climbed up and down from the seat, swung on the pole and yelled back at his mother in turns. Several people were giving the mother the stink eye as Sweetie ran among them nearly causing one passenger to spill her coffee and causing another to trip. Mother would apologize, yell at her child, the child would be still for all of two seconds and then the boy was off again.  Even as the train became crowded he still misbehaved, just contained his mini-mayhem to a smaller area.

At some point a woman who had had enough touched Sweetie on the arm and nicely suggested that perhaps the child should sit. Sweetie turned around, screamed at the woman from the top of his lungs on how she is not his mother and hit the woman with the plastic bat he had in his hands.  The mother grabbed the bat from him and apologized to the woman. This was twenty minutes after I first embarked and now even I had had enough. I took off my ear buds and put my iPod and the book I’m reading in my purse and stood just as Sweetie turned around and started to run.   Right on cue Sweetie accidentally ran into me. He spun around and raised his hand as though to hit me and I’m guessing that was the moment it happened.

The Look had made its appearance.

I raised an eyebrow at him and whatever he was thinking about doing, he rethought it as his hand slowly came down to his side.

“Say ‘I’m sorry. Excuse me.’”  I looked down on him.

“I-I’m sorry, excuse me.” He echoed contritely, taking a step back.  I heard someone exclaim “Daaaamn!” as I pointed at the boy and then at the seat next to his mother. Without another word exchanged, he picked up a toy that was on the floor and sat down close to his mother looking at me penitently.  The mother looked at me balefully as though she was about to say something and I looked at her waiting for it.  She thought better of it also, putting a protective arm around Sweetie as I returned to my seat.  There was a small bout of applause as I sat down, put on my iPod and returned to my book. The man sitting next to me looked from me to the kid and back “How’d you do that? And can you please teach my wife?” I just smiled, shrugged and returned to my reading.

A chapter or so later I realized it was still quiet. When I looked across the aisle from me Sweetie was fast asleep. The mother still looked like she wanted to do me bodily harm, but I was not worried about her. A few stops later, she and Sweetie disembarked.

Someday, someone is going to be there when I give some unfortunate soul “The Look” and have his or her cell phone camera ready to capture the moment. Obviously, I have no idea what I look like when I use this unique expression, but it apparently has some mystical power in it and I would really like to see it for myself.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Weekly Story Challenge

30/30 – 11 | Three Litte Words

I’ve rehearsed it all in my head for days now. I still wasn’t ready to face her. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have an idea of what her response would be. It is just three little words to the most important woman in my life.

Carla D’Scalia – the world knew the single mother, put herself through college, achieved her masters and then her doctorate all the while raising two children. Now an ordained minister, she was well loved and respected in her church. But I knew Carla D’Scalia the woman. For instance, I am one of maybe three people maximum who know, reverend or not, she can cuss up a might fine blue streak in the privacy of her own home, to relieve tension on those rare occasions she gets majorly upset. My love for her and all that she has done for herself, her children and her community, knows no bounds, yet I’ve been ducking her for a while now and considering how close we were she’s understandably confused and upset by the distance I inexplicably put between us.

But I can’t do this any more. I need her in my life. I had to be honest with myself, with her, that this is the path I wanted / needed to take. She knows how I feel, I know she knows, but I still need to say the words aloud. And once I do – well, that’s on her. After nearly six weeks of being chicken shit, I finally called her up for dinner at my place. Ate some serious crow to get her here, but I had it coming.

So here we are sitting on my couch face-to-face. The only sign of her nervousness of the moment is the rapid tapping of her pinky against the stem of her wine glass as she patiently waits for me to get on with it.

It’s just three little words I had to say right? So I take a deep breath and say them…

“Mama I’m gay.”

30/30 – 10 | Picture

He stares at the spot on the wall.

All around it, empty geometric shapes, where the sun had faded the wallpaper, marked where photos, plaques and knick-knacks once were.

He stares at the spot on the wall.

Somewhere subconsciously, he acknowledges movement around him as the remaining odds and ends of their life are carted out of the house. He knows he should be helping; doing something constructive. Hell, doing anything other than what he was doing at the moment.

He stares at the spot on the wall.

His sister, passing by the doorway at the time, thought she may have seen it, but the now familiar melancholy that had become his normal expression of late was back in place so fast she was sure she was mistaken. She let him have a quiet moment alone and walked away.

He stares at the spot on the wall.

When she returned twenty minutes later, he still had not moved. She entered the room and stood next to him as he stared at the spot on the wall or more precisely at the sole remaining picture on any wall in the house.

The framed oil landscape, not more than a few inches square, was in that exact spot when he and his wife first moved into the house. He thought it was the most hideous thing paint was ever wasted on. She, of course, loved it. She joked about it being removed over her dead body. In the beginning he felt she kept it just to spite him. After a while it became just a part of the décor. They occasionally forgot neither had purchased it in the first place when asked about it. Since both liked the wallpaper that was there when they moved it, neither had touched the walls in five years. It dawned on him that it was highly possible that neither of them had ever touched the painting except to dust around it.

His sister shook her head in confusion and made a move to take it down. He grabbed her by the shoulder, a little more forcefully than he intended. It all showed in his expression as she backed away from it.

She watched as he gently took the painting down. He felt something unexpected on the back of it, turned it over and burst out first in laughter, then in quiet tears. He peeled the yellow paper from the back of it before handing the painting to her. She returned the picture to its spot on the wall. Let the new owners decide. With a long deep sigh, he handed her the note he had removed from the painting.

I had better be so dead if you’re taking this down babe! read the Post-It Note.

She smiled a bittersweet smile; it was so like her sister-in-law to leave such a note.

She gestured towards the front door and he nodded, picking up the box with the last of the belongings as they stepped out. For the minutest span of time it felt like the very first time they opened the door as the new homeowners and the first thing he saw was the painting on the wall. He took one final sad look around, the painting being the last thing he saw before closing the door and stepping over the yellow and black tape of the police line.
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