Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 10

X-citement

Would you put these two together? Yeah. Me neither.






Growing up in the great outdoors gave me an appreciation for all things . . . outdoors-y.IE: horses.
But sadly, instilled in me a complete ignorance of the finer points of creating a beautiful home.
IE: embroidery.
My Mom ran a very efficient home.
She cooked, cleaned and organized.
Gardened.
And even, on occasion, helped in the barnyard when the need arose.
With all of that, somehow, she also found time for the pretty things in life.
She embroidered pillowcases and tablecloths.
Runners and handkerchiefs.
Even tea towels.
And did them beautifully.
Unfortunately, the urge to 'pretty' things up had been left out of my makeup.
Or so I thought.
It was merely dormant.
After the birth of my first baby, I was suddenly bitten by the sewing bug.
I had to sew.
A lot.
I started out simply: overalls, pants and shirts for my boy.
Then moved on to more complex: dresses for me.
And blue jeans.
But that is not what this story is about . . .
From sewing practical, functional garments, my next logical progression was to the finer stitching.
My Mom would be so proud.
I got hooked, quite literally, on counted cross stitch.
Pictures.
Wall hangings.
I loved it.
Whenever there was a break in the day's routine . . . and even when there wasn't . . . I was back on the couch.
Stitching.
I should point out, here, that I had always been a 'night owl'.
Preferring the hours after my kids were in bed, to indulge in whatever pursuit was currently consuming me.
Usually reading.
Occasionally watching TV.
Now, my staying-up-in-the-evening time was taken up with those fine little needles and yards and yards of cotton floss.
I made dozens of beautiful pictures and hangings.
Working far into the night to complete some intricate piece.
It was a peaceful moment in time.
Until one evening.
Allow me to describe . . .
It was quiet there in the night.
Everyone in the household was asleep.
All the lights - save the one that snared me and my comfy armchair in a noose of gold - were off.
I worked silently away.
Consulted my pattern.
Switched colours.
Continued on.
Then I started to feel . . . creepy. Like someone was watching me.
I lifted my head. Peered intently into the shadows of the kitchen and hallway.
No one.
Weird.
I went back to my stitching.
Again, that feeling came over me.
Eyes.
Again, I looked.
Nothing.
I was really starting to get spooked.
I tried to concentrate on my work.
I had only put in one stitch when I was nearly overwhelmed by the feeling that someone, somewhere, was silently watching.
I dropped my sewing into my lap and peered toward the kitchen.
Then I turned and looked the other way, into the living room.
And nearly died.
Two eyes were indeed staring at me.
From about two inches away.
I screamed and pressed one hand to my suddenly hammering heart.
It was then I realized that the two large, staring eyes belonged to my son's Bopo the Clown which was standing directly behind my chair.
The eyes didn't blink or move.
They didn't have to.
Just the sight of them staring at me out of the dim light was enough to totally shatter my night.
I did what any normal person would have done.
I 'bopped' Bopo in his large bulbous, red nose.
“Honk.”
I hit him again.
“Honk.”
Sigh. I felt marginally better.
But it was definitely time for bed . . .
The next evening found me back in my chair.
Needle firmly in hand.
And with Bopo turned forcefully to the wall.
Beauty definitely doesn't need a beast.

Apt-lee Named

The Family Lee, they have such funFinding names for everyoneCause they are quite a clever crew, Their names reflect the things they do… There’s one who’s solemn as a stoneAnd Serious Lee, is how he’s knownAnd one who calls meat: carrion,Broco Lee: vegetarian,The one who always shows up lateIs Sudden Lee. You’ll have to wait,Figures of Speech he just can’t see,The cousin who’s named Literal Lee,The one who is always throwing shade,Sarcastic Lee, watch his tirades!Definite Lee’s from shyness cured,He’s the Lee who’s self-assured,The one you always can foresee,What else would he be? Usual Lee!Then Happy Lee. He is so nice,He gets you smiling in a trice!Thereis the cousin in disgrace,Called Shameful Lee right to hisface!Then, the last cousin, Exact Lee,He likes all things done perfectly!
I had such fun with these good folk,They certainly can take a joke!And I will bless with grand espiritThe day I met the Fama Lee!
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Broiled or baked or fried or canned?Avocados next week, we have planned!
Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...
Cousins (July 24) Today!Avocados (July 31)Moonshine (August 7)Roses (August 14)Sea Monsters (August 21)At the Beauty Parlour/Parlor (August 28)Newspapers (September 4)Remembering (September 11)Cheeseburgers (September 18)Dreams (September 25)

Aptly Named

The Family Lee, they have such funFinding names for everyoneCause they are quite a clever crew, Their names reflect the things they do… There’s one who’s solemn as a stoneAnd Serious Lee, is how he’s knownAnd one who calls meat: carrion,Broco Lee: vegetarian,The one who always shows up lateIs Sudden Lee. You’ll have to wait,Figures of Speech he just can’t see,The cousin who’s named Literal Lee,The one who is always throwing shade,Sarcastic Lee, watch his tirades!Definite Lee’s from shyness cured,He’s the Lee who’s self-assured,The one you always can foresee,What else would he be? Usual Lee!Then Happy Lee. He is so nice,He gets you smiling in a trice!Thereis the cousin in disgrace,Called Shameful Lee right to hisface!Then, the last cousin, Exact Lee,He likes all things done perfectly!I had such fun with these good folk,They certainly can take a joke!And I will bless with grand espiritThe day that I met the Fama Lee!
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Broiled or baked or fried or canned?Avocados next week, we have planned!
Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...
Cousins (July 24) Today!Avocados (July 31)Moonshine (August 7)Roses (August 14)Sea Monsters (August 21)At the Beauty Parlour/Parlor (August 28)Newspapers (September 4)Remembering (September 11)Cheeseburgers (September 18)Dreams (September 25)

My BBB's and Me

 It's that time again!When I get to host my amazing blog sisters for Best of Boomer Bloggers!Eeeeeeeeeeee!

First up is Carol of Carol A. Cassara, Writer:

You'veprobably seen those ads for Viking cruises. But are they as good as they look?Over on her blog, Carol Cassara tells you all about her latest Vikingcruise--to Norway. Take a look at her Viking Cruise Review.
Next is Jennifer of Unfold and Begin:

We all have fears, some are big, some are small. But areyou afraid of what other people think? This week, Jennifer, of Unfold andBegin, explores that fear and some steps to take to move past it.

Then Rebecca of BabyBoomster.com
Areyou into needlecraft? Rebecca Olkowski, with BabyBoomster.com was given twokits to try out from a company that has been operating since 1746. Her mother,who was a seamstress, would occasionally enjoy a relaxing embroidery session.Rebecca does not have the patience that her mother had with needlework, butothers who do will enjoy the gorgeous designs offered and featured on theTV reality show “Making It” with Amy Poehler and Nick Offerman. And Laurie of Laurie Stone Writes.com
You think you know a place, even if you’ve never seen it.After all, you’ve watched it on television. You’ve heard the music. You’vetasted the food at the corner restaurant. But you don’t really know a city orcountry until you’ve walked its streets, seen its people, and breathed its air.That’s why traveling, for Laurie Stone at least, changes you in 7surprising ways….

Followed by Rita of Rita R. Robison Consumer and Personal Finance Journalist

What’sbeen your experience ordering items advertised on Facebook? asks Rita R. Robison,consumer and personal finance journalist. Read about her two orders and why she’s unlikely to order from Facebook ads in the future.

Then finally, me! Diane of On the Border:
From the 'Don't Tell My Grandchildren' files...Diane played hookey once.With memorable results.And it wasn't the sneakiness. Or the shopping. Or the amazing trouble she and her friends got into--because they didn't.Nope. It was for the very last part of the day. As they were getting out of the truck...

De-Tangling De Fluff

No
Yes









Remember the 'fashion' dolls of the fifties?The straight-standing, frozen featured, supposedly beautiful dolls?That creative people crocheted or knitted clothes for.Or sunk into cakes.Those dolls.Well, besides being known for arriving 'without wardrobe', they were also known for their pre-styled, fine, beautiful hair.Hair that was not comb-able.That stuck together in a tight ball and defied any efforts at style change.I know that hair well.Because I was born with the same stuff.Fine.Soft.And matted permanently together.Candy-fluff hair, my Mom called it.Okay, 'candy fluff', I loved.Candy fluff on my head?Not so much.Every morning, and several times throughout the day, Mom would come at me with a comb.Or some other implement guaranteed to make my hair behave.None of them worked.All of them . . . hurt.Mom: “Diane, hold still! I'm almost done!”Me: “Waaah!”And so it went.As I grew, my hair . . . changed. Subtly.Oh, it was still fine and soft.But it no longer stuck together in one fuzzy lump.No.Now it stuck together in several fuzzy lumps all over my head.Sigh.Mom: “Diane, hold still! There's just one more!”Me: “Waaah!”Finally, by about age eight, I outgrew the 'fuzzies'.But made another important discovery.Yes, my hair no longer matted together, defying all attempts at style.And it was now longer and straighter.But . . . it still hurt to comb it.Yes. I was a hair wuss.Mom: “Diane, hold still! Your hair will look beautiful!”Me: “Waaah!”Finally, in frustration one day, she uttered the fateful words, “Diane, don't you know you have to suffer to be beautiful?”I stared at her. “Really?”She nodded sagely.Wow.I put it together.If I suffered, I would be beautiful.It was that simple.This went on for several years.Every day, I suffered.Every day, I looked in the mirror.Nope. Same face as yesterday.Finally, at age fifteen, I challenged my mother's hypothesis.Me: “Mom! I've suffered! Why aren't I beautiful!?”Mom (In true 'Mom' form): “Oh, honey, you ARE beautiful!”Right. Waaait. I see where this is going . . .Moving ahead several years . . .I was combing my granddaughter's fiery red, naturally curly hair.ME: “Kyra, hold still! I'm almost done!”Kyra: “Waaah!”Me: “Don't you know you have to suffer to be beautiful?”She stared at me. “Really?”And so the story continues . . .

A Sucker Between Friends

In honour of national Lollipop Day, a story about a...lollipop. So nice! Sigh.I played hooky.Once.For those of you who don't know, 'hooky' is a term coined to describe being absent without leave.In my case, I was absent from school.And I didn't do it alone.I should probably point out that these were the days before the school phoned home "to inform you that your student 'insert name' was absent on . . . yadda yadda yadda . . ."Back to my story . . .We were in grade twelve. For the last semester of my grade twelve year, I lived with Debbie's family, the Joneses, on their ranch, and attended school in the town of Magrath.Our school bus arrived promptly every morning at 7:30.After an hour and a half commute, we would arrive, sleepy and slightly dishevelled at the Magrath High School to begin a day of instruction.One morning, one of us really wasn't in the mood.Oh, she got up all right.Got ready.Endured the bus ride.But, standing there in front of those venerable halls of learning, she balked.“I don't wanna go,” Debbie said.I stared at her. “What?”“I don't wanna go,” she said again.“Oh.” What did one say to that?“Let's play hooky!”“Debbie, we can't play hooky!”“Yes we can! We've never done it and the semester, the year, the school experience is nearly over!”She had a point. Both of us had been exemplary students.Precisely what our fathers expected.“Deb, my dad would kill me!”“C'mon, Diane, it's only one day!”I looked at her. Have I mentioned that Debbie was the only reason I ever got into trouble? Well she was . . .At that point, our friend Leonard, he of the pick-up truck, appeared.“Leonard! Take us to Lethbridge!” Leonard looked at Debbie. Then he looked at me. I shrugged.“Okay,” he said.. . . and she got other people into trouble, too.The three of us trailed across the parking lot and into Leonard's pick-up.There was plenty of room on the wide seat.We settled in for the 12-minute ride to Lethbridge, a city of about 75,000 just to the north of Magrath.For a guy, Leonard had a surprisingly clean truck. No trash rolling around. In fact, the only thing on the dashboard was his brand shiny new 'Western Horseman' magazine.“Oooh!” I said, picking it up. “Is this the new issue?”“Yep. Just picked it up this morning!”“Do you mind if I read it?”“Nope. Just don't damage it.”Leonard took good care of his things. Obviously magazines were no exception.“I'll be careful.” I sat back happily while the two of them chattered all the way to the city.Lethbridge is not a huge place, but one with several malls and lots of shopping.We spent the day going from one to another.And having fun.At one of our early stops, Debbie and I bought large lollipops.Large.On long sticks.We spent the rest of the day . . . ummm . . . licking.Before we knew it, it was time to head back to catch our bus. No sense in proclaiming that we had just spent the day somewhere other than where we should have been.Leonard stopped his truck.“This has been fun!” I told him. “C'mon Debbie, we'd better hurry!” I slid out.At that point, a friend of Leonard's walked up to his window. “Hey, Leonard, where were you today?”Distracted, Leonard turned to answer his friend.Debbie started to follow me.“Oh, my sucker,” she said, turning back.Remember when I mentioned Debbie's name? Entwined with the word 'trouble'?Well that would also apply here . . .Now Debbie had gotten tired of holding the heavy sucker and had laid it down. Not certain of the surface of the dash of Leonard's remarkably tidy truck, she had chosen to lay it down on his copy of the Western Horseman.That same brand new copy he had been so protective of earlier.She grabbed the long stick, only to realize that the magazine came with it. Uh-oh.Not only had the sucker stuck to the cover of the magazine, but it had also stuck the pages together.“Ummm . . .” Debbie glanced at Leonard, still engrossed in his conversation. “We'll just leave that,” she said, and slid out after me. “See ya, Leonard!” She slammed the door.Leonard, still talking, waved cheerfully and the two of us headed for our bus.Leonard never mentioned his sucker-stuck magazine.The one he obviously never got to read.After he had toted two girls all over Lethbridge.Some fellow hookey-players are just plain nice.

In Memorium

This mattress once was new and bright,

But now, it’s not so great.

For under sheets of pristine white

The broken springs await.

And though the bedding’s crisp and new

When I lay me down to sleep,

The mattress hidden from my view

Should be on a garbage heap.

It’s stained and tattered, bruised and torn,

Its springs are snapped and broken.

And I suffer there till dewey morn.

(Harsh words are often spoken!)

With back in spasm, to sleep I cling,

My dreams are few . . . and hazy,

Some tears are shed, my hands - I wring.

I’m slowly going crazy.

Tonight, I’ll drink raspberry wine

A quite indulgent habit,

Then into my blankets, serpentine,

I’ll curl up like a rabbit.

‘Cause you know, the time has come, I’m tired

Of sleeping on a cactus.

I’ll, with the morn, at last retire

My insult of a mattress.

Food Flight

 Okay,this has never happened to me. Honest. I mean, I’ve pretended that food talks—especially when trying to get one of mykids to eat broccoli. But it’s never actuallyhappened. So I have my doubts as to the veracity of this story…
Butlet’s scoot ahead, shall we?Therewas an elderly woman who had never been able to have children.Oneday, she got the brilliant idea to ‘make’ a child.Shegathered: flour, sugar, shortening, eggs and spices, bowls, spoons, bakingsheets. An oven.
Okay,yes, I’m beginning to understand her difficulty at conceiving.Ahem…Usingall of her not-inconsiderable skill, the woman rolled out a fine dough and cutit into the proper shape.Thenshe added some currant eyes, nose and mouth and little raisin buttons.
Her‘child’ was starting to look pretty sweet. In a totally un-child way—if youcatch my drift.Shetenderly assembled the pieces on a baking sheet and slid the whole into theoven.Thensat impatiently and waited for it to come out.
Huh.Whenever my friends told me they had a ‘bun in the oven—Wink! Wink!’ I picturedsomething far different. Was I wrong?Movingon…Soonher little dough boy was ready and steaming happily on the cupboard.Well,ready. I’m assuming the ‘happily’.
Eventhough this little ‘boy’ looked totally delicious in a ‘made-with-flour-and-sugar-and-yumminess’sort of way, I guarantee that his ‘mother’ just had a nice snuggle with her newbaby son in mind, when she reached for him.Whateverher intentions, ‘Ginger’ was having none of it.
Leapingfrom the table, he looked at her and said (I am not making this up!): “I’moutta here!” Well, actually, it was something more along the lines of “Run, runas fast as you can! You can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Man!”
Iwant to mention this, because I’m sure many of you are thinking it: This littlelad was pretty self-aware, considering his lack of years. And the fact that hewas 100% cookie.Bringingthe whole Nature vs Nurture discussion to a new level.
Anyways,he leaped nimbly off the table and dashed head-long out the door.Theold woman dashed after him, but, being somewhat slow and cumbersome due to heradvanced age and lack of speed-running prowess, he soon left her far, farbehind.Sigh.
Idon’t know about you, but I hate it when my food talks back AND makes a runner.Needlessto say, his mother was quite despondent, even questioning her parenting skills.Aswe all do when our child acts in a less-than-exemplary fashion.
ButI digress…Thelittle Gingerbread man ran quickly along the country road, making good time.Well,he would have been making good time if he had any idea where he was going.Anda firm or even a rather vague destination in mind.
Agroup of farmers was just having their lunch when he dashed past.NowI’m remembering my box lunches from my youth and a fresh gingerbread cookiewould have livened them up no end.Nowonder they all jumped up and gave enthusiastic chase.
Butwith a laugh and another “Run, run as fast as you can…” speech, he eluded them.Therewas real Olympic potential in our little sprinter.Ofcourse there’d be a distinct lack of competition in his category, but let’s notsplit hairs, okay?
Thesame thing happened with a group of children, some geese, and one or two more citizens.He outran them all.See?Olympics, here we come!Butwe’ll soon see that youth and skill can always be outdone by old age andtreachery.Truth.
TheGingerbread man reached the bank of a wide, cold, fast river and skidded to astop.Now,lack of brains aside, he was canny enough the know that, for someone made completelyout of dough-like materials: Dry land=good. Rushing water=bad.
Hestood there in indecision for a moment.“Why,little boy! Whatever are you doing out here all alone?” asked a sly voice.Gingerturned and began to spout his now-famous speech. “Run, run…” But he peteredout.Neitherof them were running.
Thefox—for it was a fox—was standing justinside the tree-line. Not quite in sight. But not quite out of it, either.Heknew he couldn’t outrun this little guy if he chose to flee.Hewould have to best him by brainpower.
Andyes, he was fighting an unarmed opponent.“Areyou wanting to cross the river, my fine young friend?”Okay,I know he’s assuming Ginger’s age, but, let’s face it—how long can a cookie live?Inmy house? 0.6 seconds.Lessfor chocolate.
“Ye-es,”Ginger responded.“Well,there isn’t a single bridge or a ferry for miles.”“No?”“ButI’ll tell you what I’ll do. Since I’m going across anyway—I have an appointmentwith my medical professional—I would be totally happy to ferry you across.
“Really?Won’t I be too heavy?”Helooked at Ginger with his clever ‘fox’ eyes. “What do you weigh. Maybe 10ounces? It’s no problem.”“Ah.Well, if you’re sure.”“Oh,I’m sure.”And,just like that, Ginger leaped up on the fox’s back.
Thefox slid carefully into the water.Atfirst, all went well. The fox swam. Ginger hummed happily to himself.Thenthe water started getting deeper.“Ummm…Mr.Fox?”“Ye-es?”"Thewater’s getting deeper.”“You’dbetter climb up on my head. View’s better there anyways.”
Gingerdid and discovered the fox was right! Wow! He could see so much better!Butthe water was still getting deeper.“Erm…”Ginger said, hesitantly.“Sayno more my little cinnamon-flavoured friend. Climb down on my muzzle. For sure that’s not going under!”
Gingerthought that made great sense.Remember,we are talking about a brain of cinnamon/sugar here.Nosooner had he jumped down onto the fox’s muzzle and the sly Mr. Fox had gobbledhim up!Whodidn’t see that coming?Well,besides Ginger…
Thereare several morals here:1.    Cheekiness to one’s parents seldom endswell.2.    When my food talks and runs away, thelast thing I’m going to do is chase it.3.    Ascertaining a rescuer’s motivation ishard. If in doubt, stay off the snout!

Today’s post is a word challenge! Each month one of us chooses a number between 12 and 50 and the others craft a post using that number of words one or multiple times.
This month’s number is: 44It was chosen by me!
Now go and see what my friends have created!
BakingIn ATornado                    Messymimi’sMeanderings

 

Emoji-ing

Emojis, now, are what we’ve gotIf you’re smiling😊. Or if not,😔Because we’re never face-to-face,😙When body language’d be the case💃,Creative’s what we’ve had to get👩‍🎨,Show anger😠, fear😨, joy🥳 or regret😟,And sadness😢, yes, there’s some for that😫,When we’re online and want to chat😛.Thank Japanese (this I confess)😇,That ‘text’ emotions aren’t a guess,🤔Cause ‘e’ means ‘picture’🏞, that’s for sure,While ‘moji’ just means ‘character’🧧,And put together, they compute💻,And give us something really cute😻!But there’s one drawback I do tell…🤫Sometimes they don’t translate too well🤯😱😭,So my advice 🧐from me toyou,Use those emojis🤗, yes,please do,They liven up what couldbe dull🥱,Expression goes to 10from null!🤪😏🥴But say you won’t inthis tech race⛹…Forget talking face-to-face!😊😊😊
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week, 'Cousins', surely yourFavourite relatives, for sure!
Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...
Emojis (July 17) Today!Cousins (July 24)Avocados (July 31)Moonshine (August 7)Roses (August 14)Sea Monsters (August 21)At the Beauty Parlour/Parlor (August 28)

Moving Day

Sally and Mort are away, filming.And Peter’s job has kept him out of town for the past week.Needless to say, the household has been (apart from Ivy Jean—sheof the gargantuan lungs) abnormally quiet.I’ve been thinking…Sally's and my Dad was a wildlife biologist, specializing in allcreatures cold. You know…penguins and polar bears and stuff. His studies kepthim at one pole or the other.Until I came along, Mom went with him on his adventures.After me, Mom simply kissed him and sent him on his way to explore alone.Okay, it probably wasn’t that simple. I’m quite sure therewere expressions of sadness, etc.I do remember some of the farewells. Cause we (Sally and I)were six when he left on his last mission.Before the ship he was on sank in the Antarctic somewhere.I remember Mom being really sad and watching out the windowa lot and jumping when the phone rang.I know Sally and I missed Dad. But, as we had only ever seenhim irregularly, Mom was our whole world.And as long as she was there, Sally and I were content.Two big changes that did manage to seep into our little girlawareness were the facts that Mom had to go to work. And we had to move.Yes. We noticed those.The house we moved into was smaller than the one we’d beenliving in, but comfortable. With a tiny garden and a streetful of kids to playwith.Moving into it was an adventure in itself.Of course, Mom and I had realized earlierthat Sally had a penchant for getting into trouble.I think ‘moving day’ just cemented those suspicions.In a large way.Let me tell you about it…The moving truck had disappeared down the street in a swirlof gas fumes, leaving Mom and us girls to unpack the boxes the two rather burlymovers had parked in our new house.Sally and I were having fun opening said boxes.Until Sally realized they were just filled with all our oldjunk from our old house.Then she lost interest.I’m quite sure you’ve realized by now that a bored Sally is an unpredictable Sally.A small group of kids came to the open door and peeked in at us.The biggest, a girl, spoke to Mom. “Hello! I’m Vivian! Canyour girls come out to play?”Mom smiled at her, then looked at the two of us—me, stillopening boxes, and Sally…not.“I’m quite sure they would love it,” Mom said. “They need abreak!”I straightened from the box I was currently exploring andstarted toward the door, but Sally beat me toit. “Hi! We’re Sally…” she put a hand on her chest, “…and Gwen. We’re IrishTwins. We’re six. Our Dad died.”Trust Sally to get the important stuff out in the first tenseconds.“Oh,” Vivian said. “Well, I’m Vivian and these guys areBlaine, Todd and Choteau.”Sally looked at the third boy. “Choteau is a weird name.”“I’m named after my sixth great-grandfather,” the boy said, proudly. “Agreat explorer. I’m going to be just like him!”For some reason, my mom looked up at that.Sally joined the others and the five of them disappeared.“Aren’t you going with them?” Mom asked me.I shrugged. “I think I’d rather stay with you.”Mom smiled. “Well, I do appreciate the help!”The two of us went back to work.I use this term lightly. Because 'work' on that day consisted of unpacking a bit...Then fishing Sally and her new friends out of one scrape after the other.Mom grabbed the lot of them just as they were starting across the street wearing the unpacked boxes.And no, none of them could see.And yes, there were cars passing.Mom confiscated all boxes into perpetuity.Then they somehow managed to shut one of Mrs. Ames' (yes, this was the first time we met her) cats into the closet.With spectacular results.Mom then forbade all cats into perpet-- you get the picture. Finally, things seemed to quiet down.I don't know about you, but that's when one should really start to worry.Both of us were in the upstairs bedroom thatwould soon be Mom's. She straightened, stretching her back. Then she cocked herhead to one side, listening. “What is that?” she asked.I frowned. “Ummmm…”Muffled voices from the first floor. Then shrieks andgiggles.Mom pushed open the window and looked down at the frontentryway.I heard a cry of triumph, then a thump.Mom gasped and headed for the bedroom door.I followed.If I knew Sally—and I did—something momentous was about tohappen…The stairway in our new house was tricky. It was builtalmost entirely into a box. Walls on either side and a third wall at thebottom. The only escape routes were on either side at the bottom.Mom blasted down that staircase like a pro, grabbed the cornerof the wall to her right and shot out into the living room without even slowingdown.It was kind of amazing, really.I was justifiably slower and arrived just in time to see Mommake a grab for…I think it was Todd…as he leaped off a chair and swung toward the frontdoorway.Using our front-room curtainsas a rope.Two other kids, notably Sally and Vivian, were alreadyoutside, standing in what would eventually be Mom’s flower bed, obviouslyhaving successfully completed the same maneuver.Mom missed and Todd sailed through the doorway.Sadly the curtains--and wall--not used to this form of abuse, chose that moment to effect a wholesale release.The entire section of dry wall from the window to the ceiling, along with the now-mangled curtain rod paraphernalia, sailed out the door with him.Or would have.If we had a bigger door.The resulting crash was truly spectacular.“Wow!” Sally said. “That waseven better than mine!”What should have been--in Sally's eyes--Todd’s triumph was dimmed somewhat by Mom charging towardthem, through the pile of debris that now cluttered her front doorway.I was behind her, but I could guess at the look on her faceby what was reflected on Todd and Vivian’s.“What are you kids doing?!” Mom said in her ‘usually-reserved-for-hollering-at-Sally-and-me-when-we’ve-done-something-naughty’voice.Sally shrugged. “Playing pirates.”“With my curtains?!!” Mom’s voice has risen dangerously.I was ready to run and I hadn’t even been involved.“Hey! We didn't get a turn!” a voice said, plaintively.Mom had started scraping the heap of rubble outside with her feet--like an angry bull.She spun around and pointed at the other two obviously disappointed boys, “OOOOOOOUT!”Their eyes on Mom, they quickly joined Sally and the others out front.Mom slammed the door.She looked at me. “Most of the boxes are still packed," she said, almost to herself. "We can justkeep moving.”Then she shook her head. “Nope. She’d just find us." She sighed. "If anyone needs me, I'll be under my bed. I have a headache."
Use Your Words is a writing challenge!Each month, I exchange words with our intrepid leader, Karen of Baking in a Tornado.Neither of us knows what the other will do with her words.This month, Karen gave me: headache ~ twin ~ door ~ curtain ~ wowThank you, my friend!Care to read more?
BakingIn ATornado