Davee Jones's Blog, page 5
April 3, 2017
Tuesday Tales Get My Number
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- number. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
No one asked me about Conner. He walked over beside my mother after our little discussion, increasing the distance between the two of us should anyone try to hook us up in their imagination. But, ironically, he knew many of the people there. He’d lived there for the first fifteen years of his life. He walked among the helpers, trying to find where he should start. From a distance I saw him shaking hands and hugging the friends he hadn’t seen in years.
I kept waiting for someone to look over to me, questioningly, accusingly.
Waiting for the gossip bomb to explode. They had my number.
Where were the sly, sideways glances?
The glances never happened, at least I don’t think anyone raised eyebrows or exchanged wink wink nudge nudge’s.
I could have a friend too, and that was okay.
Getting after the work, we all pulled together, babying these trees and getting them into their new permanent homes. One crew put fertilizer into freshly dug holes, more followed with buckets of water to drench the new roots, settling them into the ground. All day, tirelessly, we worked, taking natural breaks for water, sandwiches, and my mom’s cookies. Our friends circled around my idea, and helped me bring the living memorial to life.
Conner and I crossed working paths every so often. Eventually, he had dirt smudges on his nose, and the appearance took me back-
“We gotta dig these worms if we want bait. My allowance run dry and I don’t think you have any money in your pockets, do you?” Conner kept jamming the shovel into the ground, digging for our fish bait. Usually, he did this job, while I watched. Sweat poured down his hairline, into his eyes, the July sun was unusually strong for that early in the day. He wiped the sweat off with a bare hand, mixing dirt with the trickles. He had mud streaks all over his face. I didn’t laugh, I held the bucket for the wiggly payday when he found one after the other. I better not make fun, or he’d hand me the shovel and make me dig.
He finally stopped when we had about two dozen crawlers in the bucket. “Now, we can go. I ain’t got all day. You did bring the sandwiches, didn’t you?”
“Of course I brought the sandwiches. I even brought some of mom’s cookies.”
“Good deal, let’s go!”
Mom’s cookies, Conner’s unwavering loyalty, our friends’ devotion, Garrett’s memorial…that did it. I finally started to cry. Excusing myself quickly for the truck, I needed privacy. The present was a heavy place to be in, the memories- both good and bad were incredibly suffocating.
It’s been a year, it doesn’t seem possible. You’ve been gone a year, and I’m carrying this grief around like a fifty pound sack of feed. It’s heavy, so heavy, but, I can’t put it down. I haven’t gotten where I need to be.
Why does it feel like such a burden? Nothing about you should be a burden. You were my husband, we have a family. I wish I could shake this hefty sorrow, but, it just won’t let me be. I gulped trying to take in some air.
Mom knocked on the truck window. I sat inside, letting the vents blast me with relief.
“Are you okay, honey?” She asked as I rolled down the window.
“I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed.”
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of number Tuesday Tales Main Page
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- number. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
No one asked me about Conner. He walked over beside my mother after our little discussion, increasing the distance between the two of us should anyone try to hook us up in their imagination. But, ironically, he knew many of the people there. He’d lived there for the first fifteen years of his life. He walked among the helpers, trying to find where he should start. From a distance I saw him shaking hands and hugging the friends he hadn’t seen in years.
I kept waiting for someone to look over to me, questioningly, accusingly.
Waiting for the gossip bomb to explode. They had my number.
Where were the sly, sideways glances?
The glances never happened, at least I don’t think anyone raised eyebrows or exchanged wink wink nudge nudge’s.
I could have a friend too, and that was okay.
Getting after the work, we all pulled together, babying these trees and getting them into their new permanent homes. One crew put fertilizer into freshly dug holes, more followed with buckets of water to drench the new roots, settling them into the ground. All day, tirelessly, we worked, taking natural breaks for water, sandwiches, and my mom’s cookies. Our friends circled around my idea, and helped me bring the living memorial to life.
Conner and I crossed working paths every so often. Eventually, he had dirt smudges on his nose, and the appearance took me back-
“We gotta dig these worms if we want bait. My allowance run dry and I don’t think you have any money in your pockets, do you?” Conner kept jamming the shovel into the ground, digging for our fish bait. Usually, he did this job, while I watched. Sweat poured down his hairline, into his eyes, the July sun was unusually strong for that early in the day. He wiped the sweat off with a bare hand, mixing dirt with the trickles. He had mud streaks all over his face. I didn’t laugh, I held the bucket for the wiggly payday when he found one after the other. I better not make fun, or he’d hand me the shovel and make me dig.
He finally stopped when we had about two dozen crawlers in the bucket. “Now, we can go. I ain’t got all day. You did bring the sandwiches, didn’t you?”
“Of course I brought the sandwiches. I even brought some of mom’s cookies.”
“Good deal, let’s go!”
Mom’s cookies, Conner’s unwavering loyalty, our friends’ devotion, Garrett’s memorial…that did it. I finally started to cry. Excusing myself quickly for the truck, I needed privacy. The present was a heavy place to be in, the memories- both good and bad were incredibly suffocating.
It’s been a year, it doesn’t seem possible. You’ve been gone a year, and I’m carrying this grief around like a fifty pound sack of feed. It’s heavy, so heavy, but, I can’t put it down. I haven’t gotten where I need to be.
Why does it feel like such a burden? Nothing about you should be a burden. You were my husband, we have a family. I wish I could shake this hefty sorrow, but, it just won’t let me be. I gulped trying to take in some air.
Mom knocked on the truck window. I sat inside, letting the vents blast me with relief.
“Are you okay, honey?” She asked as I rolled down the window.
“I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed.”
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of number Tuesday Tales Main Page
March 27, 2017
Tuesday Tales Rolling the Dice
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- dice. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
Conner showed up after supper time Friday evening. I’d put aside a plate for him, tucking it into the microwave. He didn’t get many home cooked meals while he was working. These clinical rotations really took every minute of his time. I heard his car and practically skipped to the front door, holding it open as a welcoming, not just letting him in.
“How are you?” He hugged me tightly with both arms.
“I’m great, been a good day. Are you terribly tired?”
“Nah, I’m okay. I actually got some sleep last night. What about you?” He looked beyond me into the house. “Did the little guy let you get some rest?”
“Absolutely.” Cuddling with Ryan was better than a teddy bear and melatonin combined. However, an image of me and Conner cuddled together gave me a peaceful feeling as well. Suddenly flustered, I gave him a little push inside, away from my wandering mind. “I’ve got you some food, we saved you a little bit of supper anyway.”
Mom walked in, smiling and holding her arms open. “Hey, Dr. Conner, how are you?”
“I’m awesome, Mrs. Blanton.” He pulled her into a bear hug.
“Would you stop calling me Mrs. Blanton? I’m Martha. Where did all this formality come from?”
“Okay, Martha. I guess it comes from being in the city too long.”
“Rachel saved you a big plate, I made sure to cook extra. She said you were coming." She blushed a little. "Well, let's just say she rolled the dice, taking a chance.”
He eyed me, giving me a grin. “Oh, she did?”
“Yes, she did. I think she told me on purpose, to make sure I cooked enough for you. How is your momma?”
“She’s fine. I’ll see her this weekend. That’s where I’m staying tonight.”
Hmm, he wasn’t going to sleep here? What was I thinking? We weren’t having a slumber party.
“Oh, pushaw, you can stay here. I’ll make up the couch in the den. It’s too late and I’m sure you’re tired. Rachel wants to fill you in on her plans for the orchard. You and I both know she’ll talk your ear off when she has an idea. You might not get to sleep until midnight.”
Thanks for embarrassing me, mom.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of dice Tuesday Tales Main Page
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- dice. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
Conner showed up after supper time Friday evening. I’d put aside a plate for him, tucking it into the microwave. He didn’t get many home cooked meals while he was working. These clinical rotations really took every minute of his time. I heard his car and practically skipped to the front door, holding it open as a welcoming, not just letting him in.
“How are you?” He hugged me tightly with both arms.
“I’m great, been a good day. Are you terribly tired?”
“Nah, I’m okay. I actually got some sleep last night. What about you?” He looked beyond me into the house. “Did the little guy let you get some rest?”
“Absolutely.” Cuddling with Ryan was better than a teddy bear and melatonin combined. However, an image of me and Conner cuddled together gave me a peaceful feeling as well. Suddenly flustered, I gave him a little push inside, away from my wandering mind. “I’ve got you some food, we saved you a little bit of supper anyway.”
Mom walked in, smiling and holding her arms open. “Hey, Dr. Conner, how are you?”
“I’m awesome, Mrs. Blanton.” He pulled her into a bear hug.
“Would you stop calling me Mrs. Blanton? I’m Martha. Where did all this formality come from?”
“Okay, Martha. I guess it comes from being in the city too long.”
“Rachel saved you a big plate, I made sure to cook extra. She said you were coming." She blushed a little. "Well, let's just say she rolled the dice, taking a chance.”
He eyed me, giving me a grin. “Oh, she did?”
“Yes, she did. I think she told me on purpose, to make sure I cooked enough for you. How is your momma?”
“She’s fine. I’ll see her this weekend. That’s where I’m staying tonight.”
Hmm, he wasn’t going to sleep here? What was I thinking? We weren’t having a slumber party.
“Oh, pushaw, you can stay here. I’ll make up the couch in the den. It’s too late and I’m sure you’re tired. Rachel wants to fill you in on her plans for the orchard. You and I both know she’ll talk your ear off when she has an idea. You might not get to sleep until midnight.”
Thanks for embarrassing me, mom.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of dice Tuesday Tales Main Page
March 13, 2017
Tuesday Tales and I Love Lemons
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- lemon. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
A few days after the support meeting, I decided it was time to touch base with Kara. Kara initially tried to reach out to me shortly after Garrett died. Then, I really wasn’t in a good place to accept her support. Retreating to my cave may have upset some of my friends, but, I just wanted to be left alone. I realized I needed to make some repairs on our bridge of friendship. “Kara, it’s me, Rachel.”
“It’s wonderful to hear from you!” Her voice held no tone, no sarcasm, and no hidden meanings.
“Can we meet for coffee, lemon pie, or something similar today?” The moment of truth, would she say yes, or wave away my offer like an unwanted insect?
I held my breath.
“Absolutely.”
So, here I was out in public again, surviving, putting one foot in front of the other. I was a little early, I wanted to make sure Kara knew I was sincere. I figured waiting on her was a good start. A few acquaintances waved in my direction, giving me space. I felt like a porcupine, or a skunk.
I guess I was that unapproachable.
Kara burst through the doors of the café, obviously excited to see me. “Hey, you!” Wrapping me in a huge hug, she squeezed me tightly. “I missed you so much.”
“I know, me too. I’m sorry I haven’t been more sociable.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me. I’m here and I love you.” She turned her attention to Ryan. “Here he is! What a handsome little guy.”
“Do you want to hold him?”
She looked at me as if I was on bizarre drugs. “Well, of course!” Without any further prompting, she reached into the carrier and carefully lifted him out. She spent the next ten minutes just fussing over my smiling little boy. “He’s incredible.”
“He’s the center of my world, that’s for sure.”
“I’m really glad you called me. I missed you something fierce.”
“I haven’t been in a very receptive place. It’s been really hard.”
“I know.” She patted my arm, and her touch was peaceful, caring, warm, and most importantly, genuine. We began chatting, and it was like riding a bike. We carried on like high school girls, barely touching our drinks. Minutes turned into hours and the afternoon was a glorious reminder of the life I had in front of me.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of lemon Tuesday Tales Main Page
March 7, 2017
Tuesday Tales - But For a Tree
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- tree. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
I bought out every fruit tree the local nursery had in stock. I’m sure I made the owners day with the amount of money I spent. Today, money was no object standing in the way of what I wanted to do. A tree was the perfect memorial- strong, sturdy, with deep roots holding fast as the important base.
Conner helped me load them all in my dad’s truck.
“Are we going very far?” Eyeing the full bed, he appeared to guage the success rate of getting everything to the site.
“We aren’t going far at all. I’ll drive slowly with the hazard blinkers on. Don’t you worry about me.”
“I’ve never doubted your determination.” Smiling, Conner raised an eyebrow and took off the work gloves.
“Get in, we’ve got work to do.” I tried to think of this as a routine project, I couldn’t think the word memorial without losing my shit. With the entire truck full of trees, I almost felt overwhelmed. How the hell would we get them all planted?
I hit the gas and off we went, racing at a turtle’s pace for the few miles to the new orchard. I’d never taken Garrett there, and I was suddenly hesitant to share such a personal place. Not knowing what to say, I chose to stay quiet, pretending to focus on my driving.
“Thank you for trusting me to help you with this.” He spoke so softly, I almost didn’t hear him clearly.
“It’s been a hard year, one of the hardest of my life. You’ve been so good for me, it should be me thanking you.”
“I’m your friend, Rachel, you don’t have to thank me.”
Somehow, I did need to thank him, it’s just how I felt. He always showed up, almost at my beck and call. Not many people would do that. “It’s important you know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of tree Tuesday Tales Main Page
February 27, 2017
Tuesday Tales Coming Up for Air
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- air. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
Mom’s cookies, Conner’s unwavering loyalty, our friends’ devotion, Garrett’s memorial…that did it. I finally started to cry. Excusing myself quickly for the truck, I needed privacy. The present was a heavy place to be in, the memories- both good and bad were incredibly suffocating.
It’s been a year, it doesn’t seem possible. You’ve been gone a year, and I’m carrying this grief around like a fifty pound sack of feed. It’s heavy, so heavy, but, I can’t put it down. I haven’t gotten where I need to be.
Why does it feel like such a burden? Nothing about you should be a burden. You were my husband, we have a family. I wish I could shake this hefty sorrow, but, it just won’t let me be. I gulped trying to take in some air.
Mom knocked on the truck window. I sat inside, letting the vents blast me with relief.
“Are you okay, honey?” She asked as I rolled down the window.
“I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed.”
Mom surveyed the work we’d accomplished. The orchard was looking awesome. “You’ve got so much support, Rachel. Everyone loves you so much and wants to be there for you. I’m glad you aren’t mad I asked some of our friends to help.”
“When will I stop being sad?” I felt like a little kid again, asking when the hurt would go away. Mom was supposed to know all the answers. Now, I was a mom and it terrified me that I didn’t know it all yet. Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of air Tuesday Tales Main Page
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- air. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
Mom’s cookies, Conner’s unwavering loyalty, our friends’ devotion, Garrett’s memorial…that did it. I finally started to cry. Excusing myself quickly for the truck, I needed privacy. The present was a heavy place to be in, the memories- both good and bad were incredibly suffocating.
It’s been a year, it doesn’t seem possible. You’ve been gone a year, and I’m carrying this grief around like a fifty pound sack of feed. It’s heavy, so heavy, but, I can’t put it down. I haven’t gotten where I need to be.
Why does it feel like such a burden? Nothing about you should be a burden. You were my husband, we have a family. I wish I could shake this hefty sorrow, but, it just won’t let me be. I gulped trying to take in some air.
Mom knocked on the truck window. I sat inside, letting the vents blast me with relief.
“Are you okay, honey?” She asked as I rolled down the window.
“I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed.”
Mom surveyed the work we’d accomplished. The orchard was looking awesome. “You’ve got so much support, Rachel. Everyone loves you so much and wants to be there for you. I’m glad you aren’t mad I asked some of our friends to help.”
“When will I stop being sad?” I felt like a little kid again, asking when the hurt would go away. Mom was supposed to know all the answers. Now, I was a mom and it terrified me that I didn’t know it all yet. Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of air Tuesday Tales Main Page
February 13, 2017
Tuesday Tales...Ahh, it's Valentine's Day- Are you in the mood for love?
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- love. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to fall in love. Love as I saw in the movies or on TV, you know a devilish, yet compassionate rogue who couldn’t get enough of me. His soft side always glistening in wait just below a steel surface exterior. To most folks he’d appear as a warrior, or maybe a scoundrel biker, gritty, his heart lined with sandpaper. I’d know the truth.That was my husband, the hopeless romantic who made me believe men were kind and compassionate, as well as rugged and protective. He brought my imagination to life in wonderful, astounding ways. When we argued, it was passionate and determined, before we stopped to practice empathy, attempting to see the other’s side. You see, we respected each other enough to know we had strong intelligence and even differing opinions had some common ground from which we could understand each other. We grew as human beings because of our differences and our many talks under the midnight moon, or the warming sun. I became a better person because of him. How often do folks say that? How often do we credit the ones instrumental in our lives? We can’t selfishly believe it’s all us on our own merits. We have folks who shape us, force us to take the leaps which become bounds of amazing miles. My husband did that for me.My husband is gone. He died and I don’t know who will be that coach for me now. I feel so lost. I’m afraid I’m stunted and will never recover and what will that mean for my son?
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of love Tuesday Tales Main Page
February 6, 2017
Tuesday Tales and Heavy Metal
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- metal. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
“Did you ever wish your heart was made of metal?” The feeling of cold steel in the center of my chest remained a gloomy reminder of the loneliness and emptiness. Hollow, like the center of an oil drum, my heartbeat even echoed sadness. Thump, thump…pause thump… there, it started again. Maybe my heart would stop.
Maybe I should stop thinking that way. Fuck all these maybes.
“You mean like the tin man in Oz?”
Seriously, did she not remember the tin man had no heart? He was the lucky one. “No, the tin man needed a heart, big difference. He should’ve been grateful.” Why does anyone need a heart? I’ve learned the heart leads to more pain than happiness. I’m not sure I’d ever be at peace again.
“I was trying to envision a comparison, I’m sorry. No matter what I do, nothing ever helps you. Honestly, I don’t know what to say that won’t upset you.” Her face flushed, her eyes welled with tears bubbling her normally calm expression.
I felt like an asshole. “I’m sorry, mom, I’m being ugly. I just don’t know what to do with all…this” I waved my hands around my body, trying to exacerbate my crumbling wholeness. I’m sure it was visible to anyone, it had to be.
“I don’t know either, sweetheart. I’m your mom and should fix your pains, all your scrapes and bruises. I can’t tell you how much it hurts that I can’t make you feel better.”
My attention abruptly shifted from my broken heart to my mom’s. Empathy became a cruel assignment in humanity. I took on not only my heartbreak, but, my mom’s heartbreak too. She crumpled like a dandelion in my hot, tightly squeezed hand. How many times had I given her dandelions? Skipping across the yard in the spring, the grass under my toes, those bright yellow weeds disguised as flowers seemed a perfect gift from a six year old to my mom. I never noticed how short they lasted from the time I picked them, until I gave them to her. Suddenly, the act of picking wildflowers and weeds became a cruel and unnecessary punishment to both human and earth. Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of metal Tuesday Tales Main Page
January 30, 2017
Tuesday Tales on Track
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- track. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
It was then I realized I hadn't selected a focal point. During the classes, my mom and I chose something readily available at the time. I don't know why I hadn't selected something specific. Details became lost in my sluggish attempt at getting through each day without crying. I wanted something that would inadvertently soothe me, and take my thoughts somewhere pleasant. Spontaneously, a recollection appeared of Conner holding up that paper bag. I knew then my focal point needed to be an item from a happier time. I needed that little plastic Chewbacca.
The next time the nurse came into the room, I asked her to retrieve it. "Would you please get into that top drawer for me? I need my focal point for my breathing. I'm going to go with a toy."
Chuckling, the nurse complied. "I used a stuffed animal when I was in labor. My best friend brought a Care Bear for me to use. I guess it was comforting."
She relieved some of my self-consciousness when she admitted to using a toy as well. "Thank you, sounds like you get it."
"Labor is a challenge, one of the most rewarding challenges you'll face. You're going to get through this. Remember your breathing and everything you learned from the classes and your books. Where would you like me to put this little guy." Holding up the little brown action figure, she looked around the room.
I appreciated she didn’t mention Garrett or my horrible situation. She treated me like a run of the mill woman giving birth and I valued her for it. "I think on my tray table next to the bed will be fine. If we need to move it later, we can."
Anticipating I wouldn't stay in the same position for very long, I'd knew I'd need to move around a little bit, especially when these pains got worse. By then someone would be there to help me. Someone better be my coach, my mother. "Will you hand me my phone? I think it's charged enough now I can call my mom."
The nurse handed me the phone, leaving the room to give me some privacy. When mom didn't answer, I left a voicemail, also sending a text message. Settling back into the pillows, I listened to the rapid beat of my child's heart is monitor speakers. I checked the time on my phone to get an idea of how far apart these contractions were. I guessed seven minutes was an average as best I could tell. The monitor was keeping track anyway. A little sleepy, I closed my eyes hoping for a little catnap before the rolling pain struck again.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of track Tuesday Tales Main Page
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- track. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
It was then I realized I hadn't selected a focal point. During the classes, my mom and I chose something readily available at the time. I don't know why I hadn't selected something specific. Details became lost in my sluggish attempt at getting through each day without crying. I wanted something that would inadvertently soothe me, and take my thoughts somewhere pleasant. Spontaneously, a recollection appeared of Conner holding up that paper bag. I knew then my focal point needed to be an item from a happier time. I needed that little plastic Chewbacca.
The next time the nurse came into the room, I asked her to retrieve it. "Would you please get into that top drawer for me? I need my focal point for my breathing. I'm going to go with a toy."
Chuckling, the nurse complied. "I used a stuffed animal when I was in labor. My best friend brought a Care Bear for me to use. I guess it was comforting."
She relieved some of my self-consciousness when she admitted to using a toy as well. "Thank you, sounds like you get it."
"Labor is a challenge, one of the most rewarding challenges you'll face. You're going to get through this. Remember your breathing and everything you learned from the classes and your books. Where would you like me to put this little guy." Holding up the little brown action figure, she looked around the room.
I appreciated she didn’t mention Garrett or my horrible situation. She treated me like a run of the mill woman giving birth and I valued her for it. "I think on my tray table next to the bed will be fine. If we need to move it later, we can."
Anticipating I wouldn't stay in the same position for very long, I'd knew I'd need to move around a little bit, especially when these pains got worse. By then someone would be there to help me. Someone better be my coach, my mother. "Will you hand me my phone? I think it's charged enough now I can call my mom."
The nurse handed me the phone, leaving the room to give me some privacy. When mom didn't answer, I left a voicemail, also sending a text message. Settling back into the pillows, I listened to the rapid beat of my child's heart is monitor speakers. I checked the time on my phone to get an idea of how far apart these contractions were. I guessed seven minutes was an average as best I could tell. The monitor was keeping track anyway. A little sleepy, I closed my eyes hoping for a little catnap before the rolling pain struck again.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of track Tuesday Tales Main Page
January 23, 2017
Tuesday Tales in the Pictures
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to a picture prompt. We have 300 words to get your attention. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.Enjoy!~
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of this picture prompt Tuesday Tales Main Page
January 16, 2017
Tuesday Tales Taking the Train
Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- train. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.
Enjoy!~
Walking to me, dad brushed sweaty clump of hair off my four head, then kissed my cheek. "I'll be right outside in the waiting room if you need anything. You've got a good team here to help, so I'm gonna get out of their way."
"Yeah right, you're just squeamish." Smiling back he needed to understand I was kidding.
His smile broadened, and his eyes even got happier. "That's my girl, you know me very well."
Even though I'm sure it took forever, it also seemed too soon that the labor pains intensified, and they seemed almost on top of each other. My endurance wasn't just thin, I had none left. And I knew that anytime I spoke it probably sounded like I was barking orders or bitching incessantly. I still felt the joy – joy that the kid would be out soon in all this pain would be over with. I wanted someone to talk, and break the silence, and halt the freight train running through my head. "Somebody tell me a story." Maybe a distraction would help, since my other strategies were starting to give out.
Neither of them said anything right away. The beeping tapped against my four head like a type of water torture, and I felt the urge to grit my teeth and scream. His voice began before I had to do either of those things.
"Remember when we were little, and I had that cat?"
"I don't want this to be a dialogue. I just want one of you to tell me a story without my input."
"Anyway, you and I were always thinking of new things to do for entertainment. But Mrs. Blanton, I want you to know, we never hurt any person or animal. I need to clear that up before I went on. We had been swinging from a rope on a tree in my yard, taking turns to see who can swing the highest without falling off."
"Is that how she really broke her arm?" Mom's voice caught an edge of frustration in the question.Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of train Tuesday Tales Main Page
