M. Jean Pike's Blog, page 12

The Box… and The Gift

Remember my box of unpublished and unfinished stories? It also contains the ones I did send out into the world. The Gift was one of my very first published stories. It appeared in About Such Things Literary Magazine in the spring of 1999. It has not seen the light of day for twenty-six years I thought I would share it today because I feel like its message is still, if not more, relevant now than ever. For those who live with and love a person who struggles with mental illness, every good day, every good hour, can seem like a gift…

The Gift

…when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold. Job 23:10

The first thing James Spencer does when he gets to work in the morning is to straighten up the wallpaper sample books. It is a quirk he has- a striving after some small measure of control. Disorder makes him uneasy these days – nervous, almost unable to function. He plows through the stacks of books that are scattered across the tables. Fabric-backed and satins. Contemporary and miniature. He separates them into piles and painstakingly slides them into their appropriate slots. Kitchen. Children’s. Bed and Bath. Mondays are always the worst.

“James?”

Steve, the office manager, is standing in the doorway. “You’ve got a call on line one. It’s your wife.”

A simple statement, but it fills him with dread. He feels the fear, a rock-hard fist thrust in his stomach. It’s only 9:30. When he’d left the house- not more than forty minutes earlier – Rebecca had been sitting in the breakfast nook, buttering her toast and saying something about October’s bright blue weather. Forty minutes ago, she’d been fine.

He hurries past his co-workers and into Steve’s office. As his hand hovers over the blinking red light above line one, he whispers a prayer that he was not remiss in his judgment. That she was all right. That this time, she still is.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

His ear, sensitive as a safecracker’s, listens for the tiniest of changes, the merest inflection. “What’s the matter, baby?”

Nothing is the matter, she tells him. She’s feeling good this morning. She’d like to take the bus into the city. She’d like to treat herself to a hot oil treatment, and maybe a trim.

He listens- like a robin with its ear to the ground listens for rhythms- for movement beneath the surface. He listens until he’s satisfied that he’s hearing nothing more than the simple words she speaks.

At 10:00 she stands before him, lost in one of his old sweaters. Her auburn hair is damp and curling at her waist. He thinks how vulnerable she looks, how childlike. He smiles and pulls his wallet from his pocket, flips it open. For a moment his eyes rest on the picture, the one taken six years ago, on their wedding day. She wears a white cotton dress and carries a spray of daisies. Her eyes are bright with innocence and promise.

He pulls out the fifty he’d intended to use for an oil change and hands it to her. It is safer than turning her loose with the one credit card he still keeps for emergencies.

“Rebecca?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ll call me when you get home?”

She smiles. Turns to leave. “All right.”

“Rebecca?”

She turns back.

“You won’t have it cut short, will you?”

She shakes her head. No, she will not have it cut short.

In that moment she is the girl in the picture and his heart breaks She kisses him, lightly on the cheek, tucks the bill in the pocket of her jeans and walks from the store. He watches her leave, like a mother watches her child leave on the first day of school.

Also watching her as she departs are the customers. And Steve and Bob and Mike, his co- workers. They follow Rebecca with their eyes until she is out of sight, then glance back at James- much too thin these days and already balding at twenty-eight- as if in disbelief that Rebecca is his. James sighs, certain that none of them has even an inkling of what he lives with. Or maybe they do, and what he perceives as envy is merely a figment of his imagination.

He returns to his customers. They are looking for something to brighten up the mud room. A stripe, perhaps, or maybe a plaid. Something to match the priscilla curtains and the green-on-green flecked tile. He pulls a book of samples, recommends vinyl for easy cleaning, He is professional, mechanical, a salesman through and through. He rests his hand on his stomach and tries to calm the sickness that will build until she calls.

It used t be good with Rebecca, but that seems like a long, long time ago. She used to grow vegetables and religiously tended her little herb garden. There were vases of wildflowers all through the house, pots of homemade soup on the kitchen stove. Loving her was easy then.

By 1:00 she still hasn’t called. James pictures Rebecca lost in the city, lost in herself. She hasn’t driven in over a year. Not since the onslaught of medications began. Not since her hands began to shake and her vision began to blur. She isn’t familiar with the bus routes. Maybe he shouldn’t have let her go alone.

He hangs up after getting no answer, tells himself it’s early, that she met up with friends and stayed in the city for lunch. He digs some coins from his pocket and drops them in the Coke machine. He tries to forget that Rebecca doesn’t have friends anymore. He never should have let her go alone.

He met Rebecca his first year at Brockport. Eighteen and away from home for the first time, he’d been lonely. Rebecca had been his salvation. As self-assured as he was self-conscious, she had been his first lover, and he’d loved her fiercely. He hadn’t cared about her family history, about the blood and chemistry that raged in her veins and made her what she was- or rather, what she wasn’t. He’d loved her. That seemed like enough.

Anymore, he never knows. He might go home and find the Virgin Mary. On those nights he lies, frustrated and silent, beside her, unable to touch her night after night after night. On other nights he might as easily go home and find a street walker. And then it’s worse. She greets him at the door with a box of mail-order toys and wants him to do and say things that sicken him. But he does them- God help him- because he never knows when the pendulum will swing again.

At 2:00 a young couple comes into the store. The girl is glowing, her belly bulging. They want to know about nursery paper, whether he stocks pin stripes, polka dots, Winnie the Pooh. He directs them to the pastels, the solid sheet vinyls, because the salesman in him knows they will pay the price. For their first offspring, they will spare no expense.

The vasectomy is just one of many secrets he keeps from Rebecca now. He made the decision six months ago, when she was six weeks late. When her lateness turned out to be the result of a change in medication, Rebecca became obsessed, talking morning, noon and night of babies. He wandered through the empty bedrooms, the reason he’d bought the rambling old Victorian in the first place. He listened to her talk, sharing her dream of children which he knew, in good conscience, he could never allow her to create.

At 3:00 he tries again to call her. Jenny the secretary brings him a sandwich from the deli across the street. She tells him he’s too thin, that he needs to eat. Her intentions are clear as water, and he knows how easy it would be to have her.

He thinks about it sometimes, when things get really bad. He sometimes lies next to Rebecca in the coldness of their bed and thinks how Jenny’s love would warm him. Then he mouths the words of Job and prays for forgiveness. And prays for strength to love his wife.

By 4:00 she still hasn’t called. His stomach rages like the Atlantic at high tide. He pictures Rebecca, head shaved and naked on a street corner, pounding her Bible and screaming scriptures. Rebecca, wandering the city, lost in herself again. Why had he let her go alone? Dear God, why had he let her go alone?

By 4:30 it has broken him. He rings out his cash drawer and walks past the sample books that are scattered across the tables. Steve the office manager looks at his parchment face and agrees that James is very, very sick.

Home is a ten minute drive but it takes an eternity. There is music on the car radio but James can’t hear it. All he hears is his own voice screaming in his head, pleading with God to let her be home. To let her be all right.

Oh that I knew where I might find Him! That I might come even to His seat.

When he pulls in the driveway he knows instinctively that she is home. On the porch, he hauls in a breath, braces himself. For what? For scathing, scalding retribution? For silence? For Rebecca, huddled on the floor, eyes closed, moaning, crushed beneath the weight of a sorrow she cannot name. He braces for the worst, because he never knows.

I would know the words which He would answer me and understand what He would say unto me. Will He plead against me with His great power? No, but He would put strength in me…

The house is quiet except for the hum of a distant radio. His footsteps echo on the hardwood planks as he follows the sound of the music. It takes him to the kitchen doorway.

But He knoweth the way that I take; when He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold.

She stands at the stove, her back to him. He sees her hair, imperceptibly shorter, gleaming in the fluorescent light above her head. He sees the table set for two, the last of her daisies and black-eyed Susans arranged in a Mason jar in the center. Beside the jar lies a crumpled ten-dollar bill. Sensing his presence, she turns.

“Oh! You’re early.” Her smile fades with a look at his face. “James, are you all right, baby?”

“I…I…” His voice cracks. “I thought you were going to call me.”

“Was I? I’m sorry. I guess I forgot.” She brightens. “Wait right there, I got you something.”

She leaves the room, returns moments later, carrying a flat cardboard box. Through the cover he sees a wallet. Cheap imitation leather with a Velcro strip. She hands it to him. “ I noticed your old one was getting a little ratty.”

He pulls her into the circle of his love. He smells the jasmine they used in her hair, the fresh air and sunshine on her skin. He hold her close, fighting tears—disproportionately grateful for the gift.

A walk in wonderland and some puzzles

My sister and I are in charge of getting the flowers for outside of our church. In fall, it’s pots of candy corn mums, and in spring it’s geraniums. We like to support the local greenhouses, so we take turns getting them at different places each time. Today we chose Four Mile Greenhouse. If you are ever in Southern Ohio, you have to check out this wonderland of plants and flowers. Tucked away on a country road, it is the county’s best unkept secret. The owner told us they sold over 700 ferns yesterday on Mother’s Day!

They have so many beautiful things there. And so, so much to look at. To be honest, a busy Saturday morning there can be a little overwhelming for an introvert, but an overcast Monday morning, the day after a big-ticket holiday, was perfect!

And the staff is so friendly and laid back

We got our geraniums for the church and I also got a flat of mixed petunias for my planter boxes. I’ll post about those separately. We took the geraniums to the church and set them in place.

My beautiful sister!

With the flowers taken care of, I popped over to Marge’s house for coffee — and puzzles! A friend had gifted her 200 puzzles and she let me have first pick

I found some beautiful 300 and 500-piece countryside scenes that I know will bring me a lot of fun and relaxation this fall and winter.

It almost makes me want to get my puzzle table out now. But it’s not puzzling season in my house, it’s flower season!

So, so blessed

Me again. I don’t usually post more than once a day, sometimes not more than once a week, but my heart is so full right now. Does it seem to you that when you start counting your blessings God tips the bucket and starts pouring out more?

Today our church ladies group, Sisters in Christ, treated us to a catered Mothers, Daughters, Sisters and Friends banquet. My mom is celebrating Mother’s Day in heaven, I don’t have a daughter and my beautiful granddaughters are five states away. But that didn’t stop me from enjoying a delicious baked chicken dinner with sisters and friends

Complete with a yummy dessert!

Our guest speaker gave the loveliest talk about growing up in the foster care system without a mother of her own, and all the women who stepped up to be mothers to her over the years.

I even won a door prize this year!

Yesterday I mentioned my poison ivy dilemma to a coworker in passing. She often hikes with her children and told me she’s unwittingly walked through gobs of it and never had a problem. This afternoon this angel in a black Jeep pulled in my driveway to take care of it for me. She is a garden ninja! Within moments every trace of that hated enemy was gone from my flower bed

I am feeling like one blessed girl today!

Grumblings

I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m not a positive person by nature. Truthfully, sometimes I have to work pretty hard at it. Sometimes the weight of things overwhelms me; perceived injustices, slights, things in my life that need fixing that I am powerless to fix. Sometimes they build up to the point that I lash out. Usually though, I just grumble about them. I can grumble with the best of them. On a bad day I can grumble up a storm. But the other night when we met for our ladies Bible study the lesson opened my eyes to what grumbling really is. When I grumble about a situation or a person, it’s the same as saying God, you are not doing things the way I think you should. It’s sobering when you stop to realize that every complaint you make is heard in heaven.

Sometimes everyone needs to vent. I get that. But there’s a big difference between going to God with my laments and grumbling to my coworkers. I heard it said that to grumble is to leak darkness. I sure don’t want to go around leaving a trail of darkness everywhere! So I’m going to do better. I’m going to look for the positives in each day, in each moment, and leave the rest with God. I told Him that before heading off to work yesterday, and asked for His help in opening my eyes to the blessings all around me. I walked in to this beautiful display of flowers we got in for Mother’s Day.

A lovely explosion of roses in red, pink and the softest cream. I got to enjoy their beauty and fragrance the whole day for free. This is what I felt God speaking to my soul:

God’s fingerprints are everywhere once you start to look for them. I’m going to be looking a little harder from now on

Choose gratitude…

Happy Friday, friends. It’s a brand new, beautiful day, and it can be as good, or as bad, as you decide it will be. Choose gratitude!

Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

1 Thessalonians 5:16

The Choice and a challenge

I was a short story writer long before I was a novelist. Sometimes I still write them. I start with a scene and see where it leads me and what it wants to be. Sometimes the scenes become chapters in my novels, and sometimes they don’t become anything at all. I wrote this one several years ago. It’s been hanging out in a box with some others that for whatever reason I never went any farther with. Writer friends, do you have a box like that? I know you do and I’d love to see what’s in it Consider yourself challenged!

The Choice

It was nearly 5:00 when I arrived at my last job of the day. I was more than an hour late, which probably meant I wouldn’t get a tip. Which wasn’t good. My gas gauge was on empty, and I’d hoped to stop off for a beer after work. Tess and I had gotten into another screaming match that morning and I was in no hurry to go home. My glance moved over the tidy, white house with its green shutters and rose bushes. Not the fanciest place, but cozy looking. The kind of house Tess dreamed of owning.

Tess was a teacher’s aide. Between that and my job at Home Remodelers, we managed to pay the rent and keep the lights on. But we could never seem to save any money, and that was the main reason for the fights. Sighing, I collected my ladder and my supplies and headed toward the house.

My knock was answered by an old lady wearing a lavender pantsuit and pink lipstick.

“Good afternoon.” She was soft spoken, slightly southern. “You must be from the remodeling center.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful. I’ve been expectin’ you.” Inside, I saw that she’d filled vases with roses from her garden. They gave the simple room a subtle elegance. “The guest room is this way.”

The room was small and square. I calculated the job would take a half hour at the most.

“It’s really a walk-in closet,” she said. “But I’m trying to make it as comfortable as I can. My granddaughter is coming to stay for a few weeks. Do you think this will work for the space?”

She unrolled a wallpaper border, an old-fashioned pattern with butterflies and wildflowers. The vivid purples, blues and golds were a striking contrast to the cream colored walls, and I told her as much. She smiled. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Let me know if you need anything.”

I set up my work space, then measured the wall, cut my strips, and mitered the corners. I’d just climbed up the ladder when a voice boomed from behind me, almost causing me to fall.

“Hello there, young fella!”

An old man stood in the doorway, his brown pants pulled up to his chest, tufts of white hair springing wildly from his head. “Afternoon,” I mumbled, hoping he’d go away.

“I used to be a handyman myself,” he said.

“Really? What sort of work did you do?”

He stared at me with a blank expression. “We’re getting the room all fixed up. Someone’s coming to stay. Can’t think who.”

“Your granddaughter.”

He continued to gaze at me with his watery eyes. The woman appeared in the doorway. “Let’s let the young man work, Harold. Come on, your soup’s ready.” She took his hand, and he reluctantly followed her from the room.

I hung my first strip and smoothed the wrinkles. The woman returned. “You’ll have to excuse my husband,” she said softly. “Harold is a wonderful man. He just gets confused sometimes.”

“Oh, no problem.” I immediately thought what an idiotic thing it was to say.  Of course it wasn’t a problem. Not for me. I’d be out of here in twenty minutes. I was finishing up my last strip when from the corner of my eye I saw him return. He hovered in the doorway like a small, sad shadow, clearly wanting some guy talk.

“Used to be a bit of a handyman myself,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” I smoothed out the strip and wiped away the paste. “What sort of work did you do?”

He was quiet for a long time, and I didn’t think he’d answer.

“I did outdoor work,” he finally said. “I built decks and fences. Yessiree. If there’s anything I don’t miss, it’s trying to please people. People can be a real pain in the tushee sometimes.”

I grinned. “Ya think?”

He grinned back. “Darn tootin’.”

I was packing up my supplies when the woman returned. “Oh, what a difference. Isn’t it lovely, Harold?”

“Lovely.” He echoed. “Someone is coming to stay. I can’t think who.”

While the woman went to get her checkbook, I waited in the living room with the old man. I noticed a table filled with pictures, representing some fifty odd years of living. Weddings. Holidays. Old black and white photos of family vacations. One photo showed the couple as a much younger version. The old man sat behind the wheel of a convertible. The woman sat in the passenger seat, a red scarf tying back her hair. They were just beginning their journey then. If she’d known where the road would take them, would she still have gone along for the ride? Somehow, I felt like she would. The picture made me sad. Would Tess and I be together long enough to fill a table with photographs? Not likely, I thought. Married just two years and already we were in trouble.

I was a mess when I met her. She was pretty and sweet, and I couldn’t believe she wanted to go out with me. I was already an alcoholic by then. Tess was a Christian and her mission in life became to straighten mine out. Lost and afraid, I gladly turned over the reins. And things got better. I found God. I found my footing. I got a job and we got married. Three years into our relationship, though, Tess can’t stop trying to fix me. Like an overprotective mother, she can’t let me make my own choices. And like a spoiled child, I can’t ever seem to say I’m sorry. But there’s one thing I know. My life would be empty without her in it.

The old woman appeared with a check made out to the store for the amount of the job and a twenty-dollar bill for me. “You did a lovely job. God bless you.”

Back at the store, I turned in the paperwork and the check. Then I got in my car and headed across town. Three blocks from my favorite tavern, I pulled into a mini mart. I put ten dollars in my gas tank. With ten left, I could afford to stay out until Tess gave up on me and went to bed.  Beside the counter there was a rack of fresh flowers. A sign read: Ten dollars, your choice.

At the register, I put my twenty on the counter.

“Ten in gas?” the cashier asked.

“Yep.”

“That all for ya?”

I thought of the old couple, the woman doing her best to honor her vows. For better or for worse. I thought of the cold beer that would be on tap at the tavern and weighed it against the lifetime of regret I would carry if I let my marriage slip through my hands. And I knew if I wanted that table full of pictures I would have to meet Tess halfway. Ten dollars. My choice.

“Hang on.” I grabbed a bouquet of pink roses from the rack. “I’ll take these too.”

I knew that one thoughtful act wasn’t going to fix me and Tess. It would be a long, rough road ahead. But more than anything, I wanted to take that ride. So, I prayed.

God, help me be a better husband. From now on, help me make each day, each moment count.

Because at the end of the day, it’s the small, shared moments that add up to a lifetime together. Holding onto that thought, I laid the bouquet on the seat beside me and headed home.

Favorite brands

I’ve never done any of the writing prompts before, but this one looked like fun. What are your favorite brands and why?

Growing up, our kitchen cupboards were filled with generic food items. Back in the day, they came in such eye catching black and white packages, lol. With four small children and one income, my parents had to make every dollar count. But I do remember the bold, blue cans of Maxwell House, the little coffee cup logo, and the words, Good to the last drop! When I buy coffee by the can, it’s usually “Max.” I love the memories it evokes of my parents enjoying a cup of coffee together after dinner.

I am a generic shopper through and through, making every dollar stretch as far as possible. I don’t eat fast food and a visit to a coffee shop is a rare indulgence. But I do love my Dunkin’ and McCafe coffee pods. They are fully twice the price of the generic pods, but a girl’s gotta spoil herself a little bit now and then

I’d love to hear about your favorite brands!

Morning walk

Reading through some blog posts this morning, I came across one from a man who runs every morning at 3:30. He is training for a big race next month. I admire his dedication. This morning he was having some pain in his shins. The weather was not ideal. He went anyway, knowing that once he got started, his outlook would improve.

I set a goal to do more walking this month. I wasn’t planning to go this morning. The weather, though not horrible, is not ideal. Overcast and chilly. I have to go to work in a little while. My sciatic nerve is giving me trouble. I’m certainly not planning to enter any races in the forseeable future, but that post inspired me. so I did my stretches, got out Miss Emma’s leash and headed out for a walk. You know what? My outlook improved

I loved these pretty yellow wildflowers growing just because they can. Splashing a little beauty into the gray morning.

We had the park to ourselves at first. I don’t know my trees very well, but I love the solidness and strength of this one. I love its silver bark. I imagine it has been a tree for nearly as long as our town has been a town.

I love that the city planted an apple orchard in the park. It will be fun to watch it grow!

It felt good to get out and walk this morning. To get some fresh air, enjoy the scenery, and talk with God about the day ahead.

So thankful

A blogger I follow puts up a post most every day about the things she is thankful for. She makes even the smallest things seem like something to celebrate. I don’t do that enough. So I want to do it today.

After a long, hard stretch of work days I had today off. The sky has been grumpy for most of the day, but even so, a day off is always something to celebrate ! And I’m thankful in advance for the May flowers today’s showers will no doubt bring

I am not a shopper and have put off buying new work pants to the point that the ones I have are pretty worse for the wear. I found the energy to head to Walmart this morning and get a couple of pairs of black pants.  (That should hold me for the next year or two, lol. ) I also picked up a couple of packages of wax melts, lovely spring fragrances that make my heart sing. I came home and popped them into my melt pot and did a little cleaning and decluttering. I am a minimalist, and I don’t have a lot of possessions but living in a small space, the clutter can really add up if I don’t stay on top of it. I filled two bags and put them in the trunk of my car. On my next day off they are going to the thrift store!

I got a really good deal on ground beef at the grocery store last time, so I am celebrating that with a pan of bar-b-q meatballs. With the way prices keep going up, any time I can get meat on sale is cause for celebration. (And are any of my fellow coffee drinkers feeling  alarmed at the price of coffee these days??)

I was also able to spend some time catching up on your blog posts today.  You are all such lovely people I love your poems and your stories, your photos and your book reviews. I love the places you have traveled to and your daily adventures with your families and your fur babies And to all who take the time to read my little mish mash of thoughts here, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your likes and comments mean the world!

What are you thankful for today?

In the books

Another April is in the books. Speaking of books, I am on track with my Goodreads goal of reading 60 books this year. I read five in April.

My April reading did not start off very well. My first read was so poorly written that I won’t name it. I picked it up at a library book sale last year. Sometimes even my tried and true method for selecting books fails. It had a pretty cover and a great premise but it was poorly executed. I couldn’t connect with the characters (I tried!) I finished it, but just barely.

My second read was  Sweet Girl by Travis Mulhauser. Great characters and an interesting plot. Parts of it were a little gritty for my taste but I enjoyed the story.

Third was Olive, Again by Elizabeth Strout. It took some doing to get this book read, lol. A Kindle malfunction about a third of the way through had me scrambling to my local library to borrow a copy. After a two day wait I finally got my hands on it and was able to finish it. I loved almost everything about this book!

Next up was a very nice Christian Romantic Suspense title, Dangerous Detour by Gail Pallotta. Lots of action and a sweet romance with a strong faith element.

I was treated to an ARC by one of my favorite Christian Romance authors. I love getting these early previews! Dr. Mallory and the Undercover Dog Dad is a fun romance with a splash of suspense. A solid five star read. I would not have expected any less from Erin Stevenson.

Between the rain and a lot of back pain (which are probably related) my plan to rack up some walking miles at the city park did not pan out. Miss Emma and I walked just ten laps for the whole month – about two miles total. I am hoping for better weather and many more laps in May!

On the writing front things are looking much better! I completed my final galley edits for Superheroes and am waiting for my ARCs. Release date is set for August 22nd!

I also received a contract for this year’s Christmas novella. If you like sweet romances, unexpected snow storms and wise and wonderful service dogs, you’re gonna love Chester’s Miracle! It releases in November

(The real Chester!)

I had to put Blackberry Summer on hold again, but my first draft is about half finished. I’m still super excited about it

Despite some hungry, naughty deer, I have some good things going on in the garden. They don’t seem to like my columbine which makes me very happy. I like them enough for everyone!

I started with three or four slips of Lily of the Valley five years ago and now they are taking over the flower bed! They are so lovely and sweet, I have forgiven them for being a bit pushy. I gifted some to a friend but I do have a bit more thinning to do.

I noticed that some poison ivy has started to get a toe hold in one of my flower beds I have had some bad experiences with that hateful vine in the past. I don’t plan to try and pull it out, though that is the best way to get rid of it. I have learned that no matter how careful I am, the smallest encounter with it can lead to days and days of misery. With all the birds, bunnies and other critters, not to mention the flowers, I don’t use chemical weed killers. I found out about a natural week killer that combines salt, dish soap and white vinegar. Supposedly it will do the trick. I will let you know.

So that’s how my April shaped up. I’d love to hear about yours