Tag Archives: Slice of Life Writing Challenge

Not Just In The Movies

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When I posted yesterday I had nothing to slice about, and with no plans for the rest of the day, I honestly thought I wouldn’t have anything. So much for that…

Two hours later my best friend and I are on the road. “Come be my navigator to Jersey. We can ride out, pick up my package and ride back.” It’s a Friday afternoon, don’t have any plans, it’s a quick run, why not?

Did I mention I live in NYC, specifically The Bronx? Getting to New Jersey means getting to the George Washington Bridge which means getting on the Dantean worthy stretch of road legally, but jokingly named Cross Bronx Expressway. The expressway part of the name is a fallacy. Anyone familiar with the CBE is likely already cringing as they read this. Perhaps, at 3am, when there is no traffic, it would be an hour to our destination and back. But no, this is a Friday afternoon at the onset of rush hour, nonetheless.

Any notions for a quick run are dashed with our Waze GPS app politely informing us “There is a twenty-three minute delay on the Cross Bronx Expressway. You are on the fastest route.” I all but heard the sniggering of “Suckers!” from Fate, Karma and the Universe following that. There is going to be nothing express about it. We are looking at an hour just getting there. Okay, radio up, window down, let’s do this.

It’s a sunny late-afternoon in early March. The first hints of spring are in the air. My bestie and I are reminding each other not to quit our day jobs as we badly harmonize with the radio. We pick on New Jersey versus New York drivers. Even with the traffic it’s a smooth-ish drive to our destination. Then there is the return home.

Now we are near the height of rush where even going in the opposite direction is no help because of the George Washington Bridge traffic. At 4:23pm, Waze informs us we should be an home by 5:48pm. Riiiiiiiiiiight. At 6:12pm we have only just cleared the GWB itself to approach the dreaded CBE again. I don’t drive, trust me you do not want me behind the wheel of a two-ton battering ram with my temperament, but I spend a lot of time in cars, taxis, Ubers. If there is one thing I know, it is how to get home. I see the traffic c-r-a-w-l-i-ng ahead at the main East River crossing and nicely introduce my bestie to a work around where even Waze knocked ten minutes from our ETA once we’re over the Alexander Hamilton Bridge. [An aside: For the record I now know I will never be able to read or hear the name Alexander Hamilton and not hear it sung with passion and ending with an orchestral hit, a la the musical Hamilton, for the rest of my days. Thanks Lin Manuel Miranda.]

We are discussing dinner plans because we both have separate Zoom calls and this one hour run, now over two hours, has crunched into our time when we suddenly see rising black smoke ahead of us. Because of the curve of the expressway it takes a moment to realize the even slower snarl in traffic is on our side of the road. As three lanes become one, we see a man alone, backing several yards away from something on the far side of where we are forced to drive up on the shoulder to give clearance.

Then we see why.

Now, I have seen cars with their engines on fire in real life. I have seen vandalism that has badly torched a car. What I have never seen is a car fully engulfed in flames, including the sudden loud pop! as something gave, except in cinema. Until this:

We realize the man backing away must be the owner of said car. He clearly saw what was about to happen, pulled the car to the nearest shoulder and got the hell out. At least he is safe and we sincerely thank his forethought and courage to get the car to the side and as much out of the way as possible before escaping. I imagine the vehicle must have had a full tank of gas for that to happen. I don’t know what happened to the audio in this video, but I exclaim, “You can feel the heat. Yo! You can FEEL the heat!” with awe as we drive up on the raised shoulder, giving the burning vehicle a wide berth as we drove past. The heat being something else you cannot get a real sense of watching it from the comfort of a theater or a home. The driver had no choice but to get far away from it, yet still be in the vicinity as at least three fire trucks that we saw raced to the scene.

And speaking of scene: because I am a New Yorker, and such is a part of life here , I admit I did look to see if there were a movie film crew nearby before my dang sense kicked in and I took my own phone out to record the above. Because I’m honest, I could do nothing but agree when my bestie thanked the powers-that-be in gratitude that we had passed it all before FDNY arrived and closed off the road to handle it. And because I am an idiot, my next thought was and I thought I’d have nothing to slice about(!).

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March Slice of Life 2021 Challenge.

Flash Back Friday

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Today I find my mind thinking about past slices while perusing other blogs in search of inspiration for today. Because as of right now, it looks like a complete blank for something to slice about other than it’s Friday, yay!

This is a lovely that idea I saw on another blogger’s site and it’s one that I want to incorporate into mine: Flash Back Friday. With eleven years of blogging under my belt, I still find that incredible and I’m the dang blogger (!), there are a lot of earlier posts that may not have been seen by newer followers. Or perhaps I’ll find something to remind some of my long term followers of posts since forgotten. So, each Friday I will publish a post I wrote on that exact date in a previous year or the post closest to it if I missed that date.

What about you? Reach back into your own archives and highlight a post that you wrote on this day or on a Friday in a previous year? You can repost your Friday Flashback post on your blog and pingback to this post. Or you can just write a comment below with a link to the post you selected to reminisce upon. If you’ve been blogging for less than a year, go ahead and choose a post that you previously published on this day (the 5th) of any month within the past year and link to that post in a comment.

As it turns out my very first post on this date (March 5th) was in 2012. It also has the distinction of being the very first Slice of Life Challenge I posted which made it a Tuesday. It’s a poignant one in the 20/20 of hindsight.

Him: You will never be as bad as you’d like people to think you are.
Me: True, but I will never be as good as you’d like to think I can be.

Had to “Friend Zone” someone who truly did not want to be there. Worse, by putting him in that friend zone, I may I have lost him as exactly that.

I know far too well how it feels to be on his side of unrequited. Knowing that I’m doing the right thing, instead of the easy one, does not make being on this side of it any easier.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

Unfortunately, as it eventually turned out, I was right; the friendship faded to the wayside never to rekindle now that he’s gone. It’s one of the few times I am not at all happy about being right.

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Two Writing Teachers March Slice of Life 2021 Challenge.

Eat This and Like It, Dammit!

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Busy day of virtual trainings. + Combatant in a passive-aggressive email battle that pretty much went like THIS (I’m the one in bronze in that scenario).+ Set up more classes for next couple of weeks.+Resolving a kitchen sink that decided it wants to drain sssslllloooooooooooowwwwyyyy.+Working on an overdue, by my standards – plenty of time for theirs, assignment.+ A phone call with a friend who is going through some things. = A Raivenne who has subsisted on coffee and a bagel, both of which were consumed before 10am, and is a little beyond a bit peckish.

Nearly eleven hours later my stomach has made its displeasure at its treatment, or more precisely the lack thereof, quite known.

So, do I desire the pork tenderloins, spanish rice and broccoli? Nix. Or the italian sausage and pasta? Nein. Perhaps a not so simple crack monster (croque monsieur for those of you who insist on calling it by its proper name)? Nyet. All of which, and a few other tasty little options, are within easy access of my fridge, my microwave or my oven to satisfy me within sere minutes, but do I want any of it? Noooooooooooooooooo.These taste buds of mine get a hankering for gazpacho of all the blessed things.

Gazpacho? Really? I mean, why on earth should my taste buds be reasonable when I’m hungry? (And on National Pancake Day nonetheless!)

To be fair, the erstwhile spanish restaurant were we last enjoyed gazpacho came up in conversation, so I fully lay the blame there. Still, the idea was planted and that was that. So now what? We’re in the midst of COVID, yes restaurants are open to limited capacity, but everything is reservations only. Even were I willing to drag myself downtown, which I most certainly was not, the establishment in question no longer exists. So what’s a Raivenne to do? It’s gazpacho, not DNA encoding or rocket science, to the Google!

Screen capture of three gazpacho recipe options

I admit it has been a couple of years since I’ve had gazpacho, but if there is one thing I know, it does not take nearly three hours to make. My brain, heedless of my belly went off on a tangent in a fruitless attempt to determine why something that’s not even Best or Authentic, would take so long. And I say fruitless because even with the 15-20 minute options, without moving from my computer, I realize I do not have the have key ingredients: tomatoes, let alone my preferred Romas, and fresh red onions. So, now my taste buds, my belly, and I myself are mad because we all know I am not dragging myself to the 24 hour supermarket because all the local ones are now closed.

I’ll tell you about it over the weekend, I had to begrudgingly force down that absolutely delicious the pork tenderloins, spanish rice and broccoli, washed down with a nice sauvignon blanc. Oh, the hardship (!)

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Two Writing Teachers March Slice of Life 2021 Challenge.

Perspective

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A friend, and colleague, told me how he had the pleasure of being awakened by the US Marshal’s this morning. It was the full POUNDING on the door, though there is a perfectly fine working doorbell, production. There were two at the door, presumably with the warrant, accompanied by several armed officers. To use his words “It was made perfectly clear my fat ass wasn’t going nowhere.” Not exactly what anyone wants to wake up to bright and surly in the morning, Especially when that man being awakened is a Black man in his mid-30s during these times as is my friend.

Clearly, this encountered ended well enough. We spoke via instant message about it and I’m blogging the story. A simple case of mistaken identity. My friend is fine. He said he cracked a joke with one of the officers in the relief of. All’s good, right? I just had one question for him: how did his mother take it when he told her? I know he’s close to her, so I know the first he called was her. He tells me she’s okay, but she is more mad and upset about the incident than he was. And that is where the title of this post comes in.

I asked about her because as a mother of two Black sons, I knew. “I’m just damned glad the first time I meet your mother is not at your funeral.” as I explained to him. She’s his mother, and pre-COVID when we were all in the office, I was, and to some degree still am, Work Mom. She and I know of each other, but we have never met. We are around the same age and have similar mindsets. He’s semi-jokingly terrified at how we’ll gang up on him if we ever got together and he’s likely correct, but I digress.

As he relayed the story to me, I interjected my comments and jokes, but I also felt a bit of panic. My sons are only a few years older than him. I visualized my sons at the door, being thusly awakened at the crack of dawn. I know the deep breaths she took as her child relayed the story. I know how she tried to tell herself it’s okay, he’s okay, it’s alright, and I know how for a long while it did not help. And I know how her son, with the invincibility of youth and the adrenaline of relief of being able to now somewhat laugh about it, cannot understand her quiet panic as she listened.

For him, it’s just a story he gets to tell about how he survived it. And that’s the way it is.

I know for his mother it’s a story on how she could have lost her son. And that’s the way it is.

For me it’s a scratch at that itch we mothers in general, but I feel mothers of black sons in particular, don’t want to acknowledge that no matter how much of an adult they are, they don’t stop being our children and the fear of that call stays with us. Today is my eldest son’s birthday, like my friend, he’s older and has matured where I feel he’ll think first and avoid being a name to remember. But then I remember Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd… so I still worry.

And that’s the way it is.

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Two Writing Teachers March Slice of Life 2021 Challenge.

Yay? or YAY!

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11th Anniversary with WordPress kudos

It’s my eleventh anniversary blogging with WordPress. As I am wont to say time flies regardless of fun, so yay me?

Still blogging after all these years… Kudos to any of you who heard that in Paul Simon’s voice.

When I started this blog some friends joked that this was another step on my path to global domination. I am sure at the time I joked that global damnation was more likely. Well, it’s eleven years later and neither have happened. Part of me is is in the mindset of Meh -whatever for the former and a Well thank goodness for the latter. I’ve looked through my stats and some years were certainly better than others. (Yes, 2020 and its dearth of content, I’m seriously giving you the stink eye.) Overall, I feel a sense of pride and accomplishment that even threw the dearth years I still posted a little something. And as I said yesterday, I’m looking forward to being more active again.

I’m still stepping and I’m still having fun most of the time, and that is always a good thing. YAY ME!

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Slice of Life Challenge 2021 – Day 2

Circle Back

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How is it March 1st again? How?

This has been a year and then some. In these past twelve months of living the life COVID, it seemed to drag for so much of it. Yet, here we are again. I start this year’s Slice of Life Challenge, now my 5th year(!), as I always do, hopeful I will finish, but fully aware some days are going to be a close call, hitting POST with bare minutes to spare. I’ve been remiss on this blog, so I am also hoping this year’s Slife of Life Challenge gets me back into the swing of regular posting again. Also, to reconnect with a few of my fellow bloggers I’ve lost contact with in the craziness of this past year. I do and say this while working on a book of poetry, along with other challenges creatively and professionally. But such is life, no?

Day 1 – Back on the horse – let’s ride

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Slice of Life Challenge 2021

And Now It’s Time…

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🎇🎇 !! WE MADE IT !! 🎇🎇

As always each year I participate I wonder if I will make it through. There have definitely been more just before the stroke of midnight posts than I would have liked this go around, but I made it.

Some may have picked up new people to follow. Some may have reconnected with slices not chatted with since last year’s challenge. Some have kept up with slicers who may be their constants throughout the year, not solely in March. And this year we each did it in our own bubbles of self-isolation as we work through this global COVID-19 pandemic.

👏👏 Let’s give ourselves multi rounds of applause, we deserve it 👏👏

And now it’s time to say good-bye to all our company… As the Mickey Mouse Club used to close each episode. But is it really time to say good-bye? I think it rather fitting that this year’s writing challenge ends on a Tuesday. It is an excellent reminder that we will return to our weekly Tuesday postings. I suspect many of us will appreciate the reminder.

It may be over, but it’s not the end.

It’s the final day of Slice of Life Writing Challenge for 2020.

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Comforts

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It was a rainy day and a Monday. The Carpenters may not have been too keen on a day like today, going by the classic song. Truth be told, it’s not my least favorite cup of tea, either. Overcast skies all of the day. The pitter-pattering of rain usually soothing, but today in a discordant pattern in the wind that was not conducive to calm.

But, today was a good day.

Yes, I’m still self-isolating. Yes, today was eight hours of work from home. Yes, my phone rang with people asking stupid questions, and someone looking for someone else thought it good sport to ring my buzzer for entry in spite of my telling them twice they were wringing the wrong apartment and I was not letting them in. And had the pleasure of hearing when I was called out of my name when the person passed my door having finally rung the correct buzzer and let in.

Still, today was a good day. Today was a Hygge Day.

Hygge (pronounced “hoo-gah”), is a Danish and Norwegian word for a mood of coziness and comfortable conviviality with feelings of wellness and contentment. In short, it’s a way of living that focuses on hunkering down in the winter and creating a safe, comforting and warm place to while away cold, wet evenings, whether you’re at home solo or entertaining and defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as “to cherish oneself; to keep or make oneself snug”.

It’s officially spring, but it is a cold wet day and I could use self-snuggling. Luckily I knew no one needed to see my beautiful face today. It was a scarf, t-shirt and loose jeans type of day, be comfortable day.

It began with instead of my usual mug of coffee, I brewed tea. In a teapot loose leafed mint-ginger. Yes, a stimulant, but I was working after all. I didn’t want to self-snug myself to sleep! For lunch I went old-school with tomato soup and an gooey melty grilled cheese sandwich. Usually a staple, That was something I had yet to do this relatively mild NYC winter. It was perfect. For dinner I had left over seafood paella that could have been fine dinner fare, but I wanted classic comfort food. Thus it was my leftover meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, baked mac and cheese, and greens.

Simple fare for a simple day. It’s called comfort food for a reason. Comfort food, comfort clothes, on a made for comfort day – a perfect sense of Hygee.

Yeah, today was a good day.

It’s Day 30 of the 2020 Slice of Life Writing Challenge. And then there was one.

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Again On Sunday

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I was on the phone with a friend earlier who teased that a day of rest for me is when I’m only doing three things at once. That I was changing my linens while waiting for the just mopped kitchen floor to dry before I can mop-n-go it and took a moment to jot down a couple of plot bunnies that popped into my head even as I spoke with her sort of gave her veracity, but I got her point.

After I’ve spent a couple of hours being Domestic Goddess to my humble abode I decided that a break and lunch were in order. Naturally, I do a little Facebooking while I indulge in more caffeine and think about what is going to be today’s slice. Then I come across a gem in my memories.

My flat may never featured on a home decor periodical, but today it is clean. I still have dinner to make between loads of laundry and a few other things. So, it amused me to see this eleven year old post concerning Sundays and days of rest being anything else coming full circle. And that even then a friend knew that a day of actual resting was not likely going to be the case with me.

I’m not sure if this is a good thing or not. Is my definition of rest that different from many of my friends? Do I really don’t know how to rest unless I’m exhausted? Perhaps I’ll think about it later while I start backing up my computer while configuring my laptop as I catch up on the last couple of episodes “Outlander.” See? Only three things, and one includes semi-binge TV watching – it will be restful(ish) 😁.

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It’s Day 29 of the 2020 Slice of Life Writing Challenge – come see how others are slicing it up this Saturday.

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Not My Baby Anymore

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Last night I participated in a wonderful group where we got to share stories based on the subject “The Wild Unknown.” When I was invited to speak I had recently spoken with my youngest son. At some point in the conversation between the now very adult and I, I was reminded of when I realized he was not my baby anymore and what an oddly emotional blow it was.

I remember I was sitting on the front porch as my youngest son, then in his mid-teens, was walking up the block from school. I noticed his walk had changed. It used to be something of a bop, this bouncy gait as he used to just short of walk on his toes. This young person coming towards me now had what could only be called a swagger. This was not the walk of the carefree. This was a strong, measured stride with purpose. This was a man’s stride.

“Man! He walks hard!” My eldest son who was on the porch with me apparently noticed this change in his little brother brother as well. Though they are only eighteen months apart physically, there was a subtle, unspoken my baby brother is growing up touch of pride to his assessment. Yet, all I could think was…

What broke my baby?

Both of my sons are very much like me. It had been their chagrin most of their young lives that I was sometimes one-up on them, able to predict some of what could get them in trouble and put a stop to it. It was generally my chagrin when they did something I missed and though I knew exactly why it happened, because it was something I did or would have done as a kid, I had to disciple them regardless. Sometimes I let them make mistakes, because it really is the only way to learn some hard lessons. But this did not fall into one of those categories.

My eldest took it hard when my mother died. Very hard. I knew the loss of the woman that tried her best to spoil him rotten, had broke him and changed him. I saw it happen and did my best to guide him through it and he was much better by this point, but I was cognizant of that change. I felt I had dropped the ball with my youngest as I watched him approach.

How did I fail to protect him? Where the fuck was I, who saw him every single day, while whatever this was was going on that it hurt him, broke him, and changed him without my noticing? What the hell had happened in his young life that ripped his spirit, his innocence to the point it had changed his very walk? What else have I missed? Could I find out? Should I find out?

I found myself once again into the wild unknowns of parenthood. Yes, there are guides and plenty of people who can give advice, whether you asked for it or not. There are some givens we all go through as children and as adults raising them. In the end, each child is unique and wild unknown and how one raises that child will be unique to that child.

I realized, they both were of the ages where the shift in dynamics of how we relate to each other changes. They will always be my children, and though they were not yet men, they were not in fact children. It felt like just last year I was teaching them to tie their shoes and only last month we had the condom talk, not a few years ago. I was losing them into the men they were going to be, another wild unknown…

When he saw his brother and I sitting on the front porch, he broke into this beatific smile (both of my sons really do have great smiles), and greeted us. More perceptive to my moods, than I had been to his, he looks at me at questioningly for a moment.

“What?”
“You okay, Mommie?”
“I’m fine baby boy, you okay?”
“I’m GREAT! I’m having a great day!”

He then proceeds to regale us on just how great his day was. Naturally, with two teenage boys, the conversation eventually segues to video games and smack talk reigns.

I listen to and watch the both of them, but mostly my youngest for a long moment. Tall, though still a couple of years from his eventual 6’3″ height, his once high-pitched voice now very much a tenor. My silly little boy was very much still in there, but this man-child, now bounding up the stairs with his big brother, was anything and potentially everything, but he was not my baby anymore.

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It’s Day 28 of the 2020 Slice of Life Writing Challenge – come see how others are slicing it up this Saturday.

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