Trixie Archer's Blog, page 2
October 28, 2016
Brown Eyed Girl
"Your sister phoned just as I was putting the tea kettle on. She's hoping you'll drive out and have a look at her car before work today. She said the engine's making a horrible racket. I told her that I didn't know if you'd have the time...and that you'd call her back."
"Darn it Lois. You know what my schedule's like...as if I have the time to be rescuing the Taz before work. I'm really tired, really, really tired."
"I'll call her back if you don't want to go. I'll just say she'll have to find someone else's brother to bail her out."
"Don't say that!" I muttered with agitation that my wife of 25 years didn't know the difference between venting frustration and genuine upset.
"I'll go ahead and let you handle it." I could hear the humor in her tone as she stepped away from the door. This sort of banter had been playing in repeat throughout our marriage. She'd ask, I'd complain, she'd call me on it, then I'd back down and help anyway.
"I guess there's no point sleeping that extra twenty minutes," I scuffed. "I'll go ahead and pull my sorry butt out of bed...yep, I might as well considering my day's starting a LOT earlier than needed." I adjusted my voice to loud. "Can you at least fix me a decent breakfast for a change? You know, something that'll stick to my ribs like eggs, bacon and toast? ...oh and pack me an extra sandwich for lunch, would ya? Plenty of meat too with fine slivers of onions...make it taste better than normal...I'm tired of gnawing dry toast with a dollop of mustard."
Lois sighed with exasperation from down the hallway.
I went about getting ready for the day, taking short cuts here and there. I needed to make up time in order to swing by my sister's house to check on her dilapidated clown car.
"Isn't it cute..." she said ten years ago after pulling into my driveway to show off.
"Cute? What the hell happened to the rest of it? This is the bite that full sized cars chomp on when can't nab a full meal. This thing could fit in an elevator or a bathroom stall. It can't be safe..."
"What car is? The money saved in gas is what I was going for."
"You're crazy and if you think that I'll ever fix that joke on wheels, you have another thing coming."
"I knew you'd be difficult Lester but come on..."
"I'd need a magnifying glass to see the engine...and diaper pins for the parts as they fall off along the highway."
With little fuss and bother I found myself driving the familiar stretch down 73rd Street. Farm fields passed, Eli's Boarding stable...and then of course, the Driftwood County Park. The leaves on the trees had begun to change. Soon winter would be upon us. It was all ready cold enough that my breath trailed in steam. I knew Taz would be waiting, coffee in hand, served black and strong in my favorite green mug that she kept on the rack above her coffee maker.
"Here bro, you didn't think that I'd let you go thirsty this morning did you?"
"Naw," I said chuckling. We called Penelope "Taz" because she imitated the Tasmanian Devil from the cartoons we watched as kids. Her temper was fierce and she zoomed from this to that with a similar grace while plowing everything over.
"What's going on with the car? Did you forget to burp it after giving it a bottle?"
"Funny. No. It sounds as if something's wrong with the engine. There's a shuddering too. I noticed this pattern Saturday when I was on the way back from the orchard. Deb and I drove out."
"You waited until now to have me look at this? If a fix is involved...you realize I don't have the time."
"Yeah well I thought maybe you could give me a ride to work if that 's the case."
I sighed heavy. My sister was in true form. She seldom thought of others, it was one of her many flaws. I loved her but dang she was annoying. Last minute Taz with a horrible inability to plan ahead.
"I know, I know...next time, I'll call right away," she announced waving her hand to dismiss my frustration.
"Go ahead and start her up but pop the hood first."
After the latch was released, I lifted the miniature hood, used the prop and glanced inside. Everything seemed to be in order. Then Taz cranked the engine. It almost seemed as if the thing was hacking in protest. If the car were human, the diagnosis would be a nasty head cold bordering on pneumonia.
I pulled a small flashlight from my side pocket and directed the beam near the fan belt. It was then I took notice of something totally unexpected. I jumped back. I couldn't believe what was before me. Eyes. Human. Not attached to a critter, but instead welded into the core of the engine. They blinked a few times and I slammed the hood in response. Taz gazed at me from behind the wheel. Creep show, bad dream, hallucination...a bit of wack-o tobacco ground into my coffee perhaps? ...but no.
"Is she okay to drive?"
I stood there taking pause, trying to collect my marbles that had apparently scattered onto the floor. "What?"
"Is it okay to drive my car to work this morning?"
"Pop the hood again," I demanded. Crazy...without question off the deep end. Eyes watching me from the engine? Troubling eyes, one green and one brown...blinking, seeing right through me...scrutinizing...judging...knowing my deepest-darkest secret. How would it know...how could it possibly figure? I felt it too...sure as sure could be, it knew. The car knew. But the thing is, I was just keeping the customers happy...I merely offered a ride while Liz Benton's car was in the shop. Yep, as part owner, that was my job...public relations. Guilty, I knew it and so did the clown car. Insane. My guilt was taking over, driving all over me. Beep. Beep.
I directed the beam once more and instead of eyes standard 15mm bolts stood in place...rusting, tightly threaded, no eyes, just bolts. I began to chuckle. I was working too hard...how funny...as if the eyes of an engine could really see through me like that. The fellows at the garage would have a field day with this...
"I'm not sure what's wrong with your joke-mobile...you're right though, she doesn't sound good." Taz stared at me intently. "Leave it run a minute. You wouldn't happen to have a doughnut to go with this coffee, now would you?"
Taz grinned from ear to ear. It would be a snow day in July if she didn't have a chocolate doughnut in her refrigerator. She had a passion for chocolate doughnuts that stemmed all the way back to childhood. Chocolate mini-doughnuts, her favorite. "Got to have them cold..." she explained if anyone mentioned doughnuts. "Cold intensifies the flavor as they warm in your mouth."
The moment Taz headed towards the house, the eyes once again appeared to be staring at me. "What the HECK?" I screamed at the engine.
Lips...full and grinning appeared from the rotating belt wheel in an animated way. "So when did you plan on telling Lois?" The voice was deep, too deep to be generated from such a tiny car.
I shuffled back, knocking the coffee onto the concrete floor below. My favorite mug shattered into pieces. Okay, at any given moment Lois would awaken me...she'd say that I was mumbling in my sleep...except I was all ready awake. I knew this as fact. I suffered through every morsel of oatmeal with flax seeds and natural peanut butter. No cholesterol for me, doctor's orders...the darned quack. "We've got to be mindful of your health, after all, you're no longer a spring chicken."
"What the heck is that supposed to mean? I'm fine, honest I am. Fit as a fiddle." I resented Lois on so many levels...bossing me around all the time, nagging that I should be fixing this or mowing the lawn before doing that. Never offering me a moment of peace. If I was set to turn right, she'd call left just out of spite. I love my wife but after all of our years together she is driving me absolutely bonkers.
"The way I see it..." the engine said. "You can either fess up or I'll find Lois myself and have a nice conversation, your choice."
"Shut the hell up! You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh I don't? You don't think the other engines and I don't compare notes? You don't think that anyone else saw or knows what you did? You weren't exactly changing the oil on that woman's car...in fact, I'm told you shared a rather passionate kiss. What the heck were you thinking Lester? That you could just do as you please? Lois is a good woman, she has a decent heart and a kind spirit. Why, I mean answer me that...why would you go and do such an underhanded thing?
"I don't know. I really, really don't know." The eyes were blinking now, feverishly blinking as if they were sending a sort of engine Morse code to the world. SOS, SOS, SOS.
"Opportunity maybe? No one seemed interested until that moment...no one had ever just fallen into my sights like that....in all of the years of eating oatmeal, I wanted a taste of something rich. Besides, Liz didn't nag, she didn't have a grocery list for me to pick up after work. She didn't want anything from me other than to escape life for a few moments. Maybe I wanted that too...maybe I felt entitled to that too. Besides, it was just a kiss."
"WHO are you talking to?" Taz said as she entered the garage. I closed the hood realizing the car was sounding better.
"Um, myself. I was talking to myself. Going through a checklist of things to try." As I stretched the truth, the engine began to rattle and cough but this time a huge cloud of black exhaust spewed from the tail pipe.
"You know what Taz? Maybe you should just drive my truck to work today. I'll take the clown car and have one of the mechanics check it proper. It could be anything. Guilt. Anything at all. It was my guilt festering and the car calling me out for what I did...it was choking on my lies...choking on the black of my exhaust fumes.
"That makes perfect sense. I'll owe you one bro."
As I drove the clown car along 73rd Street, the windshield wiper was stuck on, the horn would toot every once in a while and the door locks clicked repeatedly. When I slowed at the entrance to the garage, the car sped up, took control over the wheel and kept heading in the direction of my home.
"This is NOT cool," I said to the beast within. Ironic how I was being bested by a clown car...what did that make me exactly? A clown?
As we pulled into the driveway, Lois appeared in the window, lifted her hand and waved. I motioned for her to join me outside. She pointed towards her feet and I realized she needed to find some shoes. A few moments later, I stood eye to eye with her. Honesty, truth, honor and commitment, beware. The clown car began to purr as if it had been repaired.
"I have something to tell you babe, you're not going to like it much. All I can say is that I'm sorry...just know how truly sorry I am."
Lois was understandably upset. After 25 years of putting up with my nonsense we both knew she deserved better. Funny, how I didn't realize all that I had until I faced the possibility of losing her. Stupid, stupid, stupid me.
As I apologized for wronging her, the clown car began to beep in appreciation. "What's that all about?" Lois wondered.
I shrugged pretending to be oblivious to the truth of the car. In the end I was grateful...grateful for the nudge to do right, grateful that Taz bought a clown car as opposed to a monster truck. I could only imagine the wrath of a monster truck with, fangs, bite and oversized tires. Such fury would be something to be afraid of.
Happy Halloween!
~Trixie Archer
"Darn it Lois. You know what my schedule's like...as if I have the time to be rescuing the Taz before work. I'm really tired, really, really tired."
"I'll call her back if you don't want to go. I'll just say she'll have to find someone else's brother to bail her out."
"Don't say that!" I muttered with agitation that my wife of 25 years didn't know the difference between venting frustration and genuine upset.
"I'll go ahead and let you handle it." I could hear the humor in her tone as she stepped away from the door. This sort of banter had been playing in repeat throughout our marriage. She'd ask, I'd complain, she'd call me on it, then I'd back down and help anyway.
"I guess there's no point sleeping that extra twenty minutes," I scuffed. "I'll go ahead and pull my sorry butt out of bed...yep, I might as well considering my day's starting a LOT earlier than needed." I adjusted my voice to loud. "Can you at least fix me a decent breakfast for a change? You know, something that'll stick to my ribs like eggs, bacon and toast? ...oh and pack me an extra sandwich for lunch, would ya? Plenty of meat too with fine slivers of onions...make it taste better than normal...I'm tired of gnawing dry toast with a dollop of mustard."
Lois sighed with exasperation from down the hallway.
I went about getting ready for the day, taking short cuts here and there. I needed to make up time in order to swing by my sister's house to check on her dilapidated clown car.
"Isn't it cute..." she said ten years ago after pulling into my driveway to show off.
"Cute? What the hell happened to the rest of it? This is the bite that full sized cars chomp on when can't nab a full meal. This thing could fit in an elevator or a bathroom stall. It can't be safe..."
"What car is? The money saved in gas is what I was going for."
"You're crazy and if you think that I'll ever fix that joke on wheels, you have another thing coming."
"I knew you'd be difficult Lester but come on..."
"I'd need a magnifying glass to see the engine...and diaper pins for the parts as they fall off along the highway."
With little fuss and bother I found myself driving the familiar stretch down 73rd Street. Farm fields passed, Eli's Boarding stable...and then of course, the Driftwood County Park. The leaves on the trees had begun to change. Soon winter would be upon us. It was all ready cold enough that my breath trailed in steam. I knew Taz would be waiting, coffee in hand, served black and strong in my favorite green mug that she kept on the rack above her coffee maker.
"Here bro, you didn't think that I'd let you go thirsty this morning did you?"
"Naw," I said chuckling. We called Penelope "Taz" because she imitated the Tasmanian Devil from the cartoons we watched as kids. Her temper was fierce and she zoomed from this to that with a similar grace while plowing everything over.
"What's going on with the car? Did you forget to burp it after giving it a bottle?"
"Funny. No. It sounds as if something's wrong with the engine. There's a shuddering too. I noticed this pattern Saturday when I was on the way back from the orchard. Deb and I drove out."
"You waited until now to have me look at this? If a fix is involved...you realize I don't have the time."
"Yeah well I thought maybe you could give me a ride to work if that 's the case."
I sighed heavy. My sister was in true form. She seldom thought of others, it was one of her many flaws. I loved her but dang she was annoying. Last minute Taz with a horrible inability to plan ahead.
"I know, I know...next time, I'll call right away," she announced waving her hand to dismiss my frustration.
"Go ahead and start her up but pop the hood first."
After the latch was released, I lifted the miniature hood, used the prop and glanced inside. Everything seemed to be in order. Then Taz cranked the engine. It almost seemed as if the thing was hacking in protest. If the car were human, the diagnosis would be a nasty head cold bordering on pneumonia.
I pulled a small flashlight from my side pocket and directed the beam near the fan belt. It was then I took notice of something totally unexpected. I jumped back. I couldn't believe what was before me. Eyes. Human. Not attached to a critter, but instead welded into the core of the engine. They blinked a few times and I slammed the hood in response. Taz gazed at me from behind the wheel. Creep show, bad dream, hallucination...a bit of wack-o tobacco ground into my coffee perhaps? ...but no.
"Is she okay to drive?"
I stood there taking pause, trying to collect my marbles that had apparently scattered onto the floor. "What?"
"Is it okay to drive my car to work this morning?"
"Pop the hood again," I demanded. Crazy...without question off the deep end. Eyes watching me from the engine? Troubling eyes, one green and one brown...blinking, seeing right through me...scrutinizing...judging...knowing my deepest-darkest secret. How would it know...how could it possibly figure? I felt it too...sure as sure could be, it knew. The car knew. But the thing is, I was just keeping the customers happy...I merely offered a ride while Liz Benton's car was in the shop. Yep, as part owner, that was my job...public relations. Guilty, I knew it and so did the clown car. Insane. My guilt was taking over, driving all over me. Beep. Beep.
I directed the beam once more and instead of eyes standard 15mm bolts stood in place...rusting, tightly threaded, no eyes, just bolts. I began to chuckle. I was working too hard...how funny...as if the eyes of an engine could really see through me like that. The fellows at the garage would have a field day with this...
"I'm not sure what's wrong with your joke-mobile...you're right though, she doesn't sound good." Taz stared at me intently. "Leave it run a minute. You wouldn't happen to have a doughnut to go with this coffee, now would you?"
Taz grinned from ear to ear. It would be a snow day in July if she didn't have a chocolate doughnut in her refrigerator. She had a passion for chocolate doughnuts that stemmed all the way back to childhood. Chocolate mini-doughnuts, her favorite. "Got to have them cold..." she explained if anyone mentioned doughnuts. "Cold intensifies the flavor as they warm in your mouth."
The moment Taz headed towards the house, the eyes once again appeared to be staring at me. "What the HECK?" I screamed at the engine.
Lips...full and grinning appeared from the rotating belt wheel in an animated way. "So when did you plan on telling Lois?" The voice was deep, too deep to be generated from such a tiny car.
I shuffled back, knocking the coffee onto the concrete floor below. My favorite mug shattered into pieces. Okay, at any given moment Lois would awaken me...she'd say that I was mumbling in my sleep...except I was all ready awake. I knew this as fact. I suffered through every morsel of oatmeal with flax seeds and natural peanut butter. No cholesterol for me, doctor's orders...the darned quack. "We've got to be mindful of your health, after all, you're no longer a spring chicken."
"What the heck is that supposed to mean? I'm fine, honest I am. Fit as a fiddle." I resented Lois on so many levels...bossing me around all the time, nagging that I should be fixing this or mowing the lawn before doing that. Never offering me a moment of peace. If I was set to turn right, she'd call left just out of spite. I love my wife but after all of our years together she is driving me absolutely bonkers.
"The way I see it..." the engine said. "You can either fess up or I'll find Lois myself and have a nice conversation, your choice."
"Shut the hell up! You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh I don't? You don't think the other engines and I don't compare notes? You don't think that anyone else saw or knows what you did? You weren't exactly changing the oil on that woman's car...in fact, I'm told you shared a rather passionate kiss. What the heck were you thinking Lester? That you could just do as you please? Lois is a good woman, she has a decent heart and a kind spirit. Why, I mean answer me that...why would you go and do such an underhanded thing?
"I don't know. I really, really don't know." The eyes were blinking now, feverishly blinking as if they were sending a sort of engine Morse code to the world. SOS, SOS, SOS.
"Opportunity maybe? No one seemed interested until that moment...no one had ever just fallen into my sights like that....in all of the years of eating oatmeal, I wanted a taste of something rich. Besides, Liz didn't nag, she didn't have a grocery list for me to pick up after work. She didn't want anything from me other than to escape life for a few moments. Maybe I wanted that too...maybe I felt entitled to that too. Besides, it was just a kiss."
"WHO are you talking to?" Taz said as she entered the garage. I closed the hood realizing the car was sounding better.
"Um, myself. I was talking to myself. Going through a checklist of things to try." As I stretched the truth, the engine began to rattle and cough but this time a huge cloud of black exhaust spewed from the tail pipe.
"You know what Taz? Maybe you should just drive my truck to work today. I'll take the clown car and have one of the mechanics check it proper. It could be anything. Guilt. Anything at all. It was my guilt festering and the car calling me out for what I did...it was choking on my lies...choking on the black of my exhaust fumes.
"That makes perfect sense. I'll owe you one bro."
As I drove the clown car along 73rd Street, the windshield wiper was stuck on, the horn would toot every once in a while and the door locks clicked repeatedly. When I slowed at the entrance to the garage, the car sped up, took control over the wheel and kept heading in the direction of my home.
"This is NOT cool," I said to the beast within. Ironic how I was being bested by a clown car...what did that make me exactly? A clown?
As we pulled into the driveway, Lois appeared in the window, lifted her hand and waved. I motioned for her to join me outside. She pointed towards her feet and I realized she needed to find some shoes. A few moments later, I stood eye to eye with her. Honesty, truth, honor and commitment, beware. The clown car began to purr as if it had been repaired.
"I have something to tell you babe, you're not going to like it much. All I can say is that I'm sorry...just know how truly sorry I am."
Lois was understandably upset. After 25 years of putting up with my nonsense we both knew she deserved better. Funny, how I didn't realize all that I had until I faced the possibility of losing her. Stupid, stupid, stupid me.
As I apologized for wronging her, the clown car began to beep in appreciation. "What's that all about?" Lois wondered.
I shrugged pretending to be oblivious to the truth of the car. In the end I was grateful...grateful for the nudge to do right, grateful that Taz bought a clown car as opposed to a monster truck. I could only imagine the wrath of a monster truck with, fangs, bite and oversized tires. Such fury would be something to be afraid of.
Happy Halloween!
~Trixie Archer
October 20, 2016
Late
For the life of me I couldn't find my glasses. I searched high and low... I did. Retracing my steps from room to room, I was hoping to recall.... Coffee table, no. Kitchen window sill, bathroom shelf, on the nightstand in my room...no glasses, no luck. Out of focus, clumsy, I stubbed my toe as curses fell in a natural outburst of pain.
In the end, I opened the clutter-catch drawer and found an old pair. One of the bridge guards appeared missing so the metal pushed into my skin.
There was much to do with little time remaining. I had two hours until everyone would return home. Loren just began a new job at the local pizzeria and her shift ended at five. Toby was playing bass in a garage band down the block...and Paul, after a week of overtime would soon arrive exhausted and desperate for a hearty meal.
I'm not sure what happened to the day. The last I remembered it was nine in the morning and I had just poured detergent into the washing machine to run a load through. My hands stung at the recollection...sparks, spills, suds and fumes. There was a metallic taste in my mouth and the world began spinning in a way that invited more confusion. Was it the world or the spin cycle on the washing machine itself?
The list that I had printed the evening before was in the outside pocket of my handbag. It was Friday afternoon, rush hour at our local grocery store. There was certain to be a crowd of last minute shoppers. I planned to go earlier in the day but there was no other option now.
For the life of me, I couldn't locate my purse. Without a moment to spare, I doubled back to the kitchen and lifted the coffee tin from the back of the cabinet beneath the sink. My mom had offered the container as my very own emergency stash just in case. From a roll of mostly singles, I took enough to hold us over until I could shop proper.
Whatever was on the actual grocery list fell away from memory. I rushed through the house, to the door and headed towards the driveway. There was no use taking the car, after all, the keys were in my purse. I lacked concern about my hair, my clothes or my shoes. "As is" would have to do.
Walking down Main Street at that hour, I passed many students on their way home from school. Teenagers. They congregated near Tony's Pot-or-onie Pizzeria...where big crust meets a pot of pepperoni. If you could say "pot of pepperoni" flawlessly fifteen times, they took three dollars off every pizza ordered. I knew the stories for Lauren told how foolish people were in their quest to save a buck or two. There was always something silly when tongue twisting left falls short of right.
Tony's had been Lauren's favorite hangout and once she began college the owner offered her a job. Part time around her schedule and of course, weekends.
I peered into the window hoping for a glimpse of my daughter hard at work. All that I noticed were many cars on the street reflected behind me. I didn't realize there was a key element missing from the cityscape and that would be the woman who was walking to the store, hair disheveled, vulnerable to those she met along the way.
After counting 572 steps, I arrived at the grocery entrance dismayed when the doors refused to open. I stepped onto the pad but nothing. I even strolled back and forth before jumping up and down. I peered about and shrugged my shoulders accepting how the mechanism must have been in disrepair. Except others...as they darted past and through, the door opened with great invitation. I decided to follow them in.
How strange. I know I lost a few pounds with the latest diet but this was ridiculous.
I began to wander through the store...the same establishment that I had frequented thousands of times in the past twenty years. The layout had been changed. Who on earth reorganized this place and when?
As I reached the meat department, I chose a family pack of hamburger...then retraced my steps to locate an 8 pack of buns before surrendering to the long wait at checkout. People stood with a zombie-like persona. Although they shared the same space that I did, their thoughts were focused on a small rectangle in their hands. There was no talk about the weather, politics, the escalating prices of food, no, not a single word of polite conversation. Flat-line, emotional disconnect, the lights were on but nobody was home. I paid no mind to them as I scanned the many tabloids surrounding me. Gobbly-gook-sensationalism...smiles, frowns, she did, he said, before and after featuring nip and tuck, the shocking Denton divorce, marriage, baby born with an ancient Egyptian bracelet on her wrist and no one can explain how...diet, weight, exercise...fabulous fads.
I placed the meat and buns onto the checkout belt. Turned and eyed the many choices of colorful packages on display. Candy. Beautiful. Delicious. Candy. Chocolate. Caramel. Nuts. My mom used to say, "a moment on the lips equals a lifetime on the hips." Normally I would push myself away but not this time. I tossed the yellow package onto the belt. When my turn finally arrived, I peered at the woman, grinned and said, "Good afternoon."
"Are these groceries yours?" She asked the man in the red t-shirt behind me.
"No. They materialized there....no rhyme, no reason. I thought maybe I was seeing things...but obviously, there's one for the books!"
"Funny," I said. "Great joke." I tossed the money onto the belt and the clerk shuddered in fear. "Did you see that? Oh my gosh, did YOU see that?"
In no time I found myself bagging my own groceries.
Since when did customer service fall to the wayside? This was crazy...you spend good money on groceries and the thanks implied is don't let the door hit you on the backside on your way out.
I toted the paper grocery bag retracing my steps down Main Street. Unlike before, people gasped and stepped out of my path. It didn't occur to me at the time how crazy the teenage boys were dressed. Pants hung low...down to where their undergarments stood in plain view. If they were expected to run, they would have tripped over themselves. How could their parents allow them out of the house like that?
"Hey, why don't you pull up your pants? No one wants to see your unmentionables."
Oblivious.
When I returned home, I noticed someone had changed the number plaque on our home from ordinary to brass and fancy. I cursed myself under my breath for I had neglected to lock the house. As I stood in the entryway I realized nothing was as I left it.
The decor, the furniture, the color scheme...all of it had changed into the soft hues of a golden sun. When I entered the kitchen, it occurred to me, I was in the wrong house. How could this be? How could I possibly forget my way home?
Then it happened again... I awoke in the laundry room wondering what had become of my glasses and the day. I felt worried about dinner and I had a strong need to dart to the store. Nothing was in focus, the aura seemed foreign. I wanted to find my glasses and my purse, I set my sights on the store...as instinct took over.
There was something near my feet...a weight, a dead weight. I tripped as I stepped forward. Darn that pile of laundry...darn! As I took hold to lift myself from the tiles, my hand gripped around something cold yet familiar. Squinting I was finally able to recognize, the shirt, the pants, the hair, the face...of me. My transparent hand was wrapped around the cold arm of what used to be...mine.
I had fallen into the land of in-between with no place to go and no where to hide. Dinner would be late from that moment forward...and so would I...late.
~Trixie Archer
In the end, I opened the clutter-catch drawer and found an old pair. One of the bridge guards appeared missing so the metal pushed into my skin.
There was much to do with little time remaining. I had two hours until everyone would return home. Loren just began a new job at the local pizzeria and her shift ended at five. Toby was playing bass in a garage band down the block...and Paul, after a week of overtime would soon arrive exhausted and desperate for a hearty meal.
I'm not sure what happened to the day. The last I remembered it was nine in the morning and I had just poured detergent into the washing machine to run a load through. My hands stung at the recollection...sparks, spills, suds and fumes. There was a metallic taste in my mouth and the world began spinning in a way that invited more confusion. Was it the world or the spin cycle on the washing machine itself?
The list that I had printed the evening before was in the outside pocket of my handbag. It was Friday afternoon, rush hour at our local grocery store. There was certain to be a crowd of last minute shoppers. I planned to go earlier in the day but there was no other option now.
For the life of me, I couldn't locate my purse. Without a moment to spare, I doubled back to the kitchen and lifted the coffee tin from the back of the cabinet beneath the sink. My mom had offered the container as my very own emergency stash just in case. From a roll of mostly singles, I took enough to hold us over until I could shop proper.
Whatever was on the actual grocery list fell away from memory. I rushed through the house, to the door and headed towards the driveway. There was no use taking the car, after all, the keys were in my purse. I lacked concern about my hair, my clothes or my shoes. "As is" would have to do.
Walking down Main Street at that hour, I passed many students on their way home from school. Teenagers. They congregated near Tony's Pot-or-onie Pizzeria...where big crust meets a pot of pepperoni. If you could say "pot of pepperoni" flawlessly fifteen times, they took three dollars off every pizza ordered. I knew the stories for Lauren told how foolish people were in their quest to save a buck or two. There was always something silly when tongue twisting left falls short of right.
Tony's had been Lauren's favorite hangout and once she began college the owner offered her a job. Part time around her schedule and of course, weekends.
I peered into the window hoping for a glimpse of my daughter hard at work. All that I noticed were many cars on the street reflected behind me. I didn't realize there was a key element missing from the cityscape and that would be the woman who was walking to the store, hair disheveled, vulnerable to those she met along the way.
After counting 572 steps, I arrived at the grocery entrance dismayed when the doors refused to open. I stepped onto the pad but nothing. I even strolled back and forth before jumping up and down. I peered about and shrugged my shoulders accepting how the mechanism must have been in disrepair. Except others...as they darted past and through, the door opened with great invitation. I decided to follow them in.
How strange. I know I lost a few pounds with the latest diet but this was ridiculous.
I began to wander through the store...the same establishment that I had frequented thousands of times in the past twenty years. The layout had been changed. Who on earth reorganized this place and when?
As I reached the meat department, I chose a family pack of hamburger...then retraced my steps to locate an 8 pack of buns before surrendering to the long wait at checkout. People stood with a zombie-like persona. Although they shared the same space that I did, their thoughts were focused on a small rectangle in their hands. There was no talk about the weather, politics, the escalating prices of food, no, not a single word of polite conversation. Flat-line, emotional disconnect, the lights were on but nobody was home. I paid no mind to them as I scanned the many tabloids surrounding me. Gobbly-gook-sensationalism...smiles, frowns, she did, he said, before and after featuring nip and tuck, the shocking Denton divorce, marriage, baby born with an ancient Egyptian bracelet on her wrist and no one can explain how...diet, weight, exercise...fabulous fads.
I placed the meat and buns onto the checkout belt. Turned and eyed the many choices of colorful packages on display. Candy. Beautiful. Delicious. Candy. Chocolate. Caramel. Nuts. My mom used to say, "a moment on the lips equals a lifetime on the hips." Normally I would push myself away but not this time. I tossed the yellow package onto the belt. When my turn finally arrived, I peered at the woman, grinned and said, "Good afternoon."
"Are these groceries yours?" She asked the man in the red t-shirt behind me.
"No. They materialized there....no rhyme, no reason. I thought maybe I was seeing things...but obviously, there's one for the books!"
"Funny," I said. "Great joke." I tossed the money onto the belt and the clerk shuddered in fear. "Did you see that? Oh my gosh, did YOU see that?"
In no time I found myself bagging my own groceries.
Since when did customer service fall to the wayside? This was crazy...you spend good money on groceries and the thanks implied is don't let the door hit you on the backside on your way out.
I toted the paper grocery bag retracing my steps down Main Street. Unlike before, people gasped and stepped out of my path. It didn't occur to me at the time how crazy the teenage boys were dressed. Pants hung low...down to where their undergarments stood in plain view. If they were expected to run, they would have tripped over themselves. How could their parents allow them out of the house like that?
"Hey, why don't you pull up your pants? No one wants to see your unmentionables."
Oblivious.
When I returned home, I noticed someone had changed the number plaque on our home from ordinary to brass and fancy. I cursed myself under my breath for I had neglected to lock the house. As I stood in the entryway I realized nothing was as I left it.
The decor, the furniture, the color scheme...all of it had changed into the soft hues of a golden sun. When I entered the kitchen, it occurred to me, I was in the wrong house. How could this be? How could I possibly forget my way home?
Then it happened again... I awoke in the laundry room wondering what had become of my glasses and the day. I felt worried about dinner and I had a strong need to dart to the store. Nothing was in focus, the aura seemed foreign. I wanted to find my glasses and my purse, I set my sights on the store...as instinct took over.
There was something near my feet...a weight, a dead weight. I tripped as I stepped forward. Darn that pile of laundry...darn! As I took hold to lift myself from the tiles, my hand gripped around something cold yet familiar. Squinting I was finally able to recognize, the shirt, the pants, the hair, the face...of me. My transparent hand was wrapped around the cold arm of what used to be...mine.
I had fallen into the land of in-between with no place to go and no where to hide. Dinner would be late from that moment forward...and so would I...late.
~Trixie Archer
October 8, 2016
Not A Walk in the Park
I wrote two blogs this week and refused to post either one. Once again, the jalopy I was driving broke down along the way. I believe there was an issue with heart, no gas, no throttle. I'm usually flowing with ideas, but this time, most everything I did was forced. It was a stressful cluster of days. My world has been invaded with both kids underfoot, but I continued forward, pushing on, hoping to place my words "just right."
"Hold the press for an extra slice of onion, no tears, no kidding."
My son and I have set a promise to take a walk each day. His schedule at school has been adjusted so we've been putting one foot in front of the other. For most of this week the weather has cooperated, but on Thursday, pouring rain.
Instead of wearing rain slicks we joined the morning walkers at the local mall. The opportunity was most appreciated too. In the hours before the stores opened, we circled the perimeter. Mannequins stood guard from the many window displays. There's something rather eerie about their stiff silhouettes minus spotlights above. They were perched in shadow seemingly ready to pounce. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw, no, that would be nuts. Um, did th-thing move? Gee, I certainly hope not. "JD, did you see tha..? Nope, forget it, that would be crazy."
A simple walk through the mall and the whole thing transformed into a horror flick. If I were to name what followed, "The Morn of the Plastic Heads" would have nailed it.
Locks throughout clicked us in. Trapped. The overhead lights faded out as the music above began to play a horrific tune full volume... Eli's coming hide your heart girl... except it wasn't Three Dog Night, but something far worse, elevator muzak. The sound in itself was frightening.
We gazed at the others as they scurried from door to door hoping to find a means for escape. Panic. Plastic mannequins with gnarling teeth and stiff body movements shuffled into the flow. Most of the walkers began to scream and I joined them. What else was there to do? Unfortunately, our voices drew attention from those whose lips could not move. Many with hinges turned their heads. That in itself was a strange sight...the latest fashions crinkling beneath such attempts...eyes that were painted gazed at us with dislike. I wanted to scream, "JD, run for your life!" I couldn't for there was no place to run and no where to hide....an no words to make sense of the scene as it played out before us.
Someone began to demand coffee.
What the heck? Coffee?
Yes, that was exactly the word used, not help, not call 911 but coffee! Was it a final request before the mannequins imposed their will?
The team of plastic figurines started a chant..."COFFEE, COFFEE, COFFEE..." over and over again. Their voices were muffled as if someone had stitched their lips closed but that did not stop their clamor. They became so noisy, the overhead music was completely drowned out.
One of our group hurried to Del's Coffee Hut and began to fiddle behind the counter. "Does anyone know how to use a commercial brewer? Come on, anyone?"
There was great hesitation as the mannequins folded in and around the stand. "Please, this is a coffee emergency...someone surely must know how to run one of these contraptions."
A moment later, "I do," became audible. "Just let me see if I can help," an old woman said as she weaved her way forward. Unfortunately, she toppled one of the irate figurines along the way. The clank on the floor was something I would never forget...nor would anyone there. A mixture of pain and plastic with an undeniable scream echoed throughout the mall. This seemed to anger most of the herd. I noticed JD gasp as if he sensed our impending doom.
"Why you look like..." the woman behind the counter declared. The older woman interrupted... "Mrs. Olsen the Folger's representative from the coffee commercials, 1972, right? I get that a lot. Coincidence, I assure you."
Coincidence, then why was the Mrs. Olsen-look-alike carrying a wicker bag with a full can of Folger's coffee inside?
In no time, the pots were fired up and a rich fragrance wafted throughout. The mannequins seemed to calm as they anticipated the first sip of morning brew. "Cream or sugar?" Mrs. Olsen wondered as she began to distribute the steaming beverage.
I for one, felt relief as the flock of irate plastics transformed into human store clerks once again. It must have been the poor lighting overhead that offered the illusion of sinister. "I declare, good to the last drop!" One person said as she tossed the empty cup into the garbage bin nearby, fumbled with keys as she proceeded to unlock the entryway to Sear's.
"Did that just happen?" I asked with dismay.
"Yep, as it does every morning just before the mall opens," a man with neon shoes replied.
As we left for home, I told my son, "tomorrow, rain or shine, we return to the park to walk outdoors. That was just too much drama this early in the day."
"Mom, on the way home can we stop for a cup of coffee?" Son had been acting rather peculiar and when I gazed at his left arm I realized he had caught a rash of plastic.
Ugh, time to appreciate the other side of life caffeine free.
Until next week,
~Trixie Archer
"Hold the press for an extra slice of onion, no tears, no kidding."
My son and I have set a promise to take a walk each day. His schedule at school has been adjusted so we've been putting one foot in front of the other. For most of this week the weather has cooperated, but on Thursday, pouring rain.
Instead of wearing rain slicks we joined the morning walkers at the local mall. The opportunity was most appreciated too. In the hours before the stores opened, we circled the perimeter. Mannequins stood guard from the many window displays. There's something rather eerie about their stiff silhouettes minus spotlights above. They were perched in shadow seemingly ready to pounce. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw, no, that would be nuts. Um, did th-thing move? Gee, I certainly hope not. "JD, did you see tha..? Nope, forget it, that would be crazy."
A simple walk through the mall and the whole thing transformed into a horror flick. If I were to name what followed, "The Morn of the Plastic Heads" would have nailed it.
Locks throughout clicked us in. Trapped. The overhead lights faded out as the music above began to play a horrific tune full volume... Eli's coming hide your heart girl... except it wasn't Three Dog Night, but something far worse, elevator muzak. The sound in itself was frightening.
We gazed at the others as they scurried from door to door hoping to find a means for escape. Panic. Plastic mannequins with gnarling teeth and stiff body movements shuffled into the flow. Most of the walkers began to scream and I joined them. What else was there to do? Unfortunately, our voices drew attention from those whose lips could not move. Many with hinges turned their heads. That in itself was a strange sight...the latest fashions crinkling beneath such attempts...eyes that were painted gazed at us with dislike. I wanted to scream, "JD, run for your life!" I couldn't for there was no place to run and no where to hide....an no words to make sense of the scene as it played out before us.
Someone began to demand coffee.
What the heck? Coffee?
Yes, that was exactly the word used, not help, not call 911 but coffee! Was it a final request before the mannequins imposed their will?
The team of plastic figurines started a chant..."COFFEE, COFFEE, COFFEE..." over and over again. Their voices were muffled as if someone had stitched their lips closed but that did not stop their clamor. They became so noisy, the overhead music was completely drowned out.
One of our group hurried to Del's Coffee Hut and began to fiddle behind the counter. "Does anyone know how to use a commercial brewer? Come on, anyone?"
There was great hesitation as the mannequins folded in and around the stand. "Please, this is a coffee emergency...someone surely must know how to run one of these contraptions."
A moment later, "I do," became audible. "Just let me see if I can help," an old woman said as she weaved her way forward. Unfortunately, she toppled one of the irate figurines along the way. The clank on the floor was something I would never forget...nor would anyone there. A mixture of pain and plastic with an undeniable scream echoed throughout the mall. This seemed to anger most of the herd. I noticed JD gasp as if he sensed our impending doom.
"Why you look like..." the woman behind the counter declared. The older woman interrupted... "Mrs. Olsen the Folger's representative from the coffee commercials, 1972, right? I get that a lot. Coincidence, I assure you."
Coincidence, then why was the Mrs. Olsen-look-alike carrying a wicker bag with a full can of Folger's coffee inside?
In no time, the pots were fired up and a rich fragrance wafted throughout. The mannequins seemed to calm as they anticipated the first sip of morning brew. "Cream or sugar?" Mrs. Olsen wondered as she began to distribute the steaming beverage.
I for one, felt relief as the flock of irate plastics transformed into human store clerks once again. It must have been the poor lighting overhead that offered the illusion of sinister. "I declare, good to the last drop!" One person said as she tossed the empty cup into the garbage bin nearby, fumbled with keys as she proceeded to unlock the entryway to Sear's.
"Did that just happen?" I asked with dismay.
"Yep, as it does every morning just before the mall opens," a man with neon shoes replied.
As we left for home, I told my son, "tomorrow, rain or shine, we return to the park to walk outdoors. That was just too much drama this early in the day."
"Mom, on the way home can we stop for a cup of coffee?" Son had been acting rather peculiar and when I gazed at his left arm I realized he had caught a rash of plastic.
Ugh, time to appreciate the other side of life caffeine free.
Until next week,
~Trixie Archer
September 29, 2016
Paper Igloo
I'm stuck in the middle of a blizzard. All I see before me is a bright nothingness. A cursor flashes...Morse code. I'm confused on what the message reads. SOS, help, send me a working GPS? Does anyone know, if in fact, a cursor has the ability to navigate a writer through a blank-page-sort of blizzard? Brain fog, writer's block...snap me awake, give me a shock.
The wind is blowing. The overhead fan is set on high speed with dehumidifiers adding to the artificial gusts. If I had a bit of actual snow I would build an igloo. Could I use wadded paper from the extra copies of my last manuscript? Maybe with the aid of a garbage compactor I might improvise with recyclable bricks. I should build a fire too, except I'd burn down my house. Not such a good idea. I'll just accept a bit of imagination and a pile of flashlights instead.
It's been two weeks since I've posted a blog. That is a huge no-no because I'm committed to this project. You may be wondering what happened. Okay, fair enough. My son needed my undivided attention. Sorry everyone, family comes before writing...family comes before everything.
The ice melted and we were able to cross the highway to the other side. The sun did come out tomorrow and there is a bit of calm this week. Thank goodness...bet your bottom dollar too!
I'm trying to decide on a writing project to carry me through winter. I have two stories out there which could invite a second book...I have many stories in here, that may need to be told as a first. Should I spin the wheel and see where it lands? And the winner is...
Cursor blinking...Morse code...that's all I have. Try again, tilt, snow day, creative flat-line, call your mother, take the dog for a walk, count the paperclips in the jar, dismantle the home phone, bake something chocolate, detail the car, or, or...take a nap. The wheel has screeched to a halt as the story goes white.
Until next time,
~Trixie Archer
The wind is blowing. The overhead fan is set on high speed with dehumidifiers adding to the artificial gusts. If I had a bit of actual snow I would build an igloo. Could I use wadded paper from the extra copies of my last manuscript? Maybe with the aid of a garbage compactor I might improvise with recyclable bricks. I should build a fire too, except I'd burn down my house. Not such a good idea. I'll just accept a bit of imagination and a pile of flashlights instead.
It's been two weeks since I've posted a blog. That is a huge no-no because I'm committed to this project. You may be wondering what happened. Okay, fair enough. My son needed my undivided attention. Sorry everyone, family comes before writing...family comes before everything.
The ice melted and we were able to cross the highway to the other side. The sun did come out tomorrow and there is a bit of calm this week. Thank goodness...bet your bottom dollar too!
I'm trying to decide on a writing project to carry me through winter. I have two stories out there which could invite a second book...I have many stories in here, that may need to be told as a first. Should I spin the wheel and see where it lands? And the winner is...
Cursor blinking...Morse code...that's all I have. Try again, tilt, snow day, creative flat-line, call your mother, take the dog for a walk, count the paperclips in the jar, dismantle the home phone, bake something chocolate, detail the car, or, or...take a nap. The wheel has screeched to a halt as the story goes white.
Until next time,
~Trixie Archer
September 15, 2016
Drop Box
It was just a story. Really. A wild fire, spread. She said, I did and then it landed on the internet. Click, click, click...comments took off, a spinning top of opinions, shooting sparks, a half truth. "Jail, I can't believe she ended up in jail." Me either, believe me.
Sitting idle I overhear things. People conversing on their cell phones with shrill voices set on loud. With it difficult to understand the other end, the talker speaks up. Cell towers near, cell towers far, with buildings erected blocking the way. 2G, 4G, gee-oh-gee it's still impossible to hear. Move, stand still, on your toes, crouching...speak up! Tower, tower, a metallic flower of bad reception. Those around exchange glances of disbelief when terrible happens, a bit too much personal information, hush now...bring it down a notch or two, please.
We learned where they hid the drop. In a shoe box marked with an X, tucked near the back of the men's sandals at Fenmore's Department Store. Size 12 1/2, near the bottom. Why are you telling all from your cell phone in the middle of the park with an audience? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? It seems reality television is way out of control. Pan in, zoom out, adjust the audio.
A drop, not dew, or tears either...a drop, most would interpret as money...in exchange for what? Drugs? A hit? A gun? ...or worse. That sort of thing only happens in the movies, I think. This is the real world in an average sized Midwestern town. Tuna-fish, Michigan, pothole street, minion park, high noon. The last interesting thing happened earlier when Lucille dropped her chocolate ice cream on her mother's left shoe as they stepped into their SUV. Small town excitement! I laughed, as did most who noticed Lucy's disappointment and her mom react to her expensive designer shoes sporting a waffled horn. "RUINED," was declared, rolling her R just before the doors slammed and they drove fast and furious. With that said, dropping things must have been in the air, but money, now, that was curious.
When the woman with the eyebrow piercing clicked off her phone, she began to walk at an accelerated pace in the direction of Fenmore's. MYOB, my pops used to say. "Whatever she's into, you stay out of." Great advice, the perfect reasoning for my focus to lock onto the book before me once again. I glanced towards another park dweller, he had an angular face with kind eyes. He shrugged his shoulders at the same time I did as if to say, it takes all kinds.
I adjusted my book, something that I had read years ago, "Lightning." I was hoping to find the place where I left off when honk-honk, tires squealing and a thud sliced through the air. The woman, cell phone-brow-pierced woman, was plowed over as she was crossing the street in front of Fenmore's. The scene was gruesome and just from the sight of it, a stander-by screamed at the top of her lungs. Horror movie screams held nothing to this reality. People ran from the park to the accident, but I sat there, frozen by the idea of how one minute you're talking on your phone, the next "bam."
In no time the landscape was flooded with sirens and flashing lights. Police, ambulance, the fire department...chaos enlisted to control chaos. Order on the streets!
"That poor lady," someone said as they hurried past. The park had cleared with most drawn into the storm of misfortune. I sat for a long while under the maple tree, book in hand, paralyzed. I was more sensitive than most with my imagination clouding my ability to cope. Things came to mind, stupid things, like that moment of pause cell-phone-woman must have faced when she realized she was about to experience impact first hand. Where was her mind in that instant? Did she recall her favorite song? Did she regret the last time she spoke to her mother and it ended in a squabble or did she simply think hell no?
I didn't go in the direction of Fenmore's Department Store, at least not at first. I opted to walk home using the street one block over. My nerves were shot and dealing with the accident site before it was cleared was not for me. As I passed someone buffing their rather sleek classic 50's convertible I thought nice. The stereo was blaring mixing sound into the chrome and baby blue, "Money for Nothing." I remembered that song, Dire Straights.
You know how it is sometimes, when a tune becomes stuck in your mind, well, that is exactly what happened.
"Excuse me miss, do you have change for a ten?" The question was posed by a little old man who stood all hunched over. "I'm sorry, I don't have my wallet on me. Maybe try at the convenience store at the corner." As I glanced in that direction, the retail posters all transformed into dollar signs. What the heck? It didn't just end there, street signs, house numbers, license plates...$$$$$$$$ everywhere.
By the time I reached the landing of my apartment, I felt troubled. Suppose I was meant to buy a pair or men's size 12 1/2 sandals that day...the pair with an X marked on the box. What if by not, I was turning my back on fate?
In a daze, I did what I had to do. Keys, door, "Lightning" tossed onto the side table, purse, door, keys, lock, run...yes, I was running in the direction of Fenmore's. Pushing, shoving, past people, through people, around people. Rotating doors, slippery floors, elevator, escalator, women's apparel, men's apparel, shoes, plastic feet, displays, black, white, neon, green, fancy, cheap.
Finally, I stooped to the bottom shelf and took one box out after the next placing the entire stock of sandals onto the floor. I built an organized tower. At the far back, just as described was the box marked with an X.
I felt a surge of adrenaline as I reached forward. My hand grasped and pulled. Jitters, with Christmas, my birthday and the lottery all rolled into one. Just as I placed the rectangle on the floor before me to embrace my fate, someone slid in and lifted the drop away, lifted me away. "I'll take that and you must come with us now."
I was surrounded by the undercover police and it seemed as if I were in a heap of trouble.
No one said what was inside that box exactly. Does it matter? It was a drop, a fools gold, my drop away from life. Plop-clank into the clink, a box marked jail. Freedom erased.
Dire Straights had it right, Money for nothin.'
Until next time,
~Trixie Archer
Sitting idle I overhear things. People conversing on their cell phones with shrill voices set on loud. With it difficult to understand the other end, the talker speaks up. Cell towers near, cell towers far, with buildings erected blocking the way. 2G, 4G, gee-oh-gee it's still impossible to hear. Move, stand still, on your toes, crouching...speak up! Tower, tower, a metallic flower of bad reception. Those around exchange glances of disbelief when terrible happens, a bit too much personal information, hush now...bring it down a notch or two, please.
We learned where they hid the drop. In a shoe box marked with an X, tucked near the back of the men's sandals at Fenmore's Department Store. Size 12 1/2, near the bottom. Why are you telling all from your cell phone in the middle of the park with an audience? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? It seems reality television is way out of control. Pan in, zoom out, adjust the audio.
A drop, not dew, or tears either...a drop, most would interpret as money...in exchange for what? Drugs? A hit? A gun? ...or worse. That sort of thing only happens in the movies, I think. This is the real world in an average sized Midwestern town. Tuna-fish, Michigan, pothole street, minion park, high noon. The last interesting thing happened earlier when Lucille dropped her chocolate ice cream on her mother's left shoe as they stepped into their SUV. Small town excitement! I laughed, as did most who noticed Lucy's disappointment and her mom react to her expensive designer shoes sporting a waffled horn. "RUINED," was declared, rolling her R just before the doors slammed and they drove fast and furious. With that said, dropping things must have been in the air, but money, now, that was curious.
When the woman with the eyebrow piercing clicked off her phone, she began to walk at an accelerated pace in the direction of Fenmore's. MYOB, my pops used to say. "Whatever she's into, you stay out of." Great advice, the perfect reasoning for my focus to lock onto the book before me once again. I glanced towards another park dweller, he had an angular face with kind eyes. He shrugged his shoulders at the same time I did as if to say, it takes all kinds.
I adjusted my book, something that I had read years ago, "Lightning." I was hoping to find the place where I left off when honk-honk, tires squealing and a thud sliced through the air. The woman, cell phone-brow-pierced woman, was plowed over as she was crossing the street in front of Fenmore's. The scene was gruesome and just from the sight of it, a stander-by screamed at the top of her lungs. Horror movie screams held nothing to this reality. People ran from the park to the accident, but I sat there, frozen by the idea of how one minute you're talking on your phone, the next "bam."
In no time the landscape was flooded with sirens and flashing lights. Police, ambulance, the fire department...chaos enlisted to control chaos. Order on the streets!
"That poor lady," someone said as they hurried past. The park had cleared with most drawn into the storm of misfortune. I sat for a long while under the maple tree, book in hand, paralyzed. I was more sensitive than most with my imagination clouding my ability to cope. Things came to mind, stupid things, like that moment of pause cell-phone-woman must have faced when she realized she was about to experience impact first hand. Where was her mind in that instant? Did she recall her favorite song? Did she regret the last time she spoke to her mother and it ended in a squabble or did she simply think hell no?
I didn't go in the direction of Fenmore's Department Store, at least not at first. I opted to walk home using the street one block over. My nerves were shot and dealing with the accident site before it was cleared was not for me. As I passed someone buffing their rather sleek classic 50's convertible I thought nice. The stereo was blaring mixing sound into the chrome and baby blue, "Money for Nothing." I remembered that song, Dire Straights.
You know how it is sometimes, when a tune becomes stuck in your mind, well, that is exactly what happened.
"Excuse me miss, do you have change for a ten?" The question was posed by a little old man who stood all hunched over. "I'm sorry, I don't have my wallet on me. Maybe try at the convenience store at the corner." As I glanced in that direction, the retail posters all transformed into dollar signs. What the heck? It didn't just end there, street signs, house numbers, license plates...$$$$$$$$ everywhere.
By the time I reached the landing of my apartment, I felt troubled. Suppose I was meant to buy a pair or men's size 12 1/2 sandals that day...the pair with an X marked on the box. What if by not, I was turning my back on fate?
In a daze, I did what I had to do. Keys, door, "Lightning" tossed onto the side table, purse, door, keys, lock, run...yes, I was running in the direction of Fenmore's. Pushing, shoving, past people, through people, around people. Rotating doors, slippery floors, elevator, escalator, women's apparel, men's apparel, shoes, plastic feet, displays, black, white, neon, green, fancy, cheap.
Finally, I stooped to the bottom shelf and took one box out after the next placing the entire stock of sandals onto the floor. I built an organized tower. At the far back, just as described was the box marked with an X.
I felt a surge of adrenaline as I reached forward. My hand grasped and pulled. Jitters, with Christmas, my birthday and the lottery all rolled into one. Just as I placed the rectangle on the floor before me to embrace my fate, someone slid in and lifted the drop away, lifted me away. "I'll take that and you must come with us now."
I was surrounded by the undercover police and it seemed as if I were in a heap of trouble.
No one said what was inside that box exactly. Does it matter? It was a drop, a fools gold, my drop away from life. Plop-clank into the clink, a box marked jail. Freedom erased.
Dire Straights had it right, Money for nothin.'
Until next time,
~Trixie Archer
September 9, 2016
Half Cup Truth
It's Friday. In case you didn't notice, I missed the deadline for my blog this week by one day. My apologies. Honestly, moving my daughter home has been a very taxing experience. She was living in a 5 bedroom two story for the past three years and expanded her collections. What we need is a furniture compactor to transform everything into bite sized cubes. Yes, just add water would be most helpful right about now.
I've been hanging shelves and working on downsizing the clutter in my own home to accommodate. Last week when my neighbor, Delores Dempsey stopped in, I had run to the hardware store for another crate of L brackets. DD is a character and I appreciated how she swung in to lock up my house...appreciated her efforts until I realized my house key was on the hook near the interior door.
After someone driving past noticed a prowler crawling in through the front window (me), I had to explain to the police, why it was I was breaking into my own home. A blog, last week was impossible so it was a good thing Delores was in true form and like it or not took over. A mention to the world that I was still alive and well somewhere in between would have been nice, but it felt like my boat was sinking and I was set in a constant bail.
My daughter found a good home for one of her cats, M&M Peanuts. Having 4 cats here full time would have been a bit much. The feline that she kept, meshed in well with our elderly meow masters. M&M however, was a dominant-pushy-push. Over the summer while I was cat sitting, she became the twisted sister, chasing, shoving and claiming exclusive rights to the food bowls. Her hiss was something fierce too! Now, she has her own condo that reminds me a lot of Harry Potter's first room under the stairway. She's in a home with a built in swimming pool, plenty of space to explore and a wonderful new adopted parent. The beauty is, we'll still be able to visit M&M while we are in town.
Although my daughter moving home is a temporary situation, it is pleasant to have her back. We laugh, a lot. Yesterday after a doctor's appointment, we took a detour to check on her brother while he was practicing with the marching band in the school parking lot. When he noticed us waving at him, he grinned from ear to ear, not missing a step. It was fun, really, his expression of what the heck, my crazy family!
Well, that's all until next week. Hopefully, things will slow down a bit now so I can begin a writing project that will carry me through the winter months. I'm ready to put the lawn mower away and surrender to the beauty of hibernation.
~Trixie Archer
I've been hanging shelves and working on downsizing the clutter in my own home to accommodate. Last week when my neighbor, Delores Dempsey stopped in, I had run to the hardware store for another crate of L brackets. DD is a character and I appreciated how she swung in to lock up my house...appreciated her efforts until I realized my house key was on the hook near the interior door.
After someone driving past noticed a prowler crawling in through the front window (me), I had to explain to the police, why it was I was breaking into my own home. A blog, last week was impossible so it was a good thing Delores was in true form and like it or not took over. A mention to the world that I was still alive and well somewhere in between would have been nice, but it felt like my boat was sinking and I was set in a constant bail.
My daughter found a good home for one of her cats, M&M Peanuts. Having 4 cats here full time would have been a bit much. The feline that she kept, meshed in well with our elderly meow masters. M&M however, was a dominant-pushy-push. Over the summer while I was cat sitting, she became the twisted sister, chasing, shoving and claiming exclusive rights to the food bowls. Her hiss was something fierce too! Now, she has her own condo that reminds me a lot of Harry Potter's first room under the stairway. She's in a home with a built in swimming pool, plenty of space to explore and a wonderful new adopted parent. The beauty is, we'll still be able to visit M&M while we are in town.
Although my daughter moving home is a temporary situation, it is pleasant to have her back. We laugh, a lot. Yesterday after a doctor's appointment, we took a detour to check on her brother while he was practicing with the marching band in the school parking lot. When he noticed us waving at him, he grinned from ear to ear, not missing a step. It was fun, really, his expression of what the heck, my crazy family!
Well, that's all until next week. Hopefully, things will slow down a bit now so I can begin a writing project that will carry me through the winter months. I'm ready to put the lawn mower away and surrender to the beauty of hibernation.
~Trixie Archer
September 1, 2016
Delores Dempsey was Here
Has anyone heard from Trixie Archer today? I'm Archer's neighbor Mrs. Dempsey. I live four houses down. My place is the one with light pink trim and a stone wishing well in the side yard. Last year I rigged a fountain and now I have all sorts of birds to watch. Most consider my decor gaudy but to me it's splendid.
On occasion I'll stop in to see Trixie for a bit of tea and conversation, but today Ms. Archer is no where to be found. The front door was left wide open too. Can you imagine? The overhead lights were on in the front room and her dog was in the kennel in the backyard. No Trixie though.
I know she's been reorganizing this and moving that since her daughter will be returning soon. I'm pretty sure the move is due to happen in a few short days. In fact, Trixie has been working in the family room going through things to donate so as to clear up space. I took a gander through the house just to make sure Trixie wasn't injured or something. The ceiling fan was on in the family room but otherwise the place was still.
It's not like her to run off and leave her home unlocked. I can only guess as to why...
On my way out, I intend to lock up for her and leave a note to mention that I was here. I'm just not sure what to make of this. She's normally home.
I know what my husband Orland will say...he'll call me Mrs. Kravitz from "Bewitched." Orland often teases me about being the sort that has my nose in everyone business and he claims most go out of their way to avoid me. Really, I'm not that bad. I just care more than most. I'm really the best neighbor anyone could ever ask for. I'm the go to person in our subdivision.
Well, if and when I find Ms. Archer, I'll post it here...and if you happen to see her in the mean time, please mention I stopped in for a visit.
Oh the mystery....
~Delores Dempsey
On occasion I'll stop in to see Trixie for a bit of tea and conversation, but today Ms. Archer is no where to be found. The front door was left wide open too. Can you imagine? The overhead lights were on in the front room and her dog was in the kennel in the backyard. No Trixie though.
I know she's been reorganizing this and moving that since her daughter will be returning soon. I'm pretty sure the move is due to happen in a few short days. In fact, Trixie has been working in the family room going through things to donate so as to clear up space. I took a gander through the house just to make sure Trixie wasn't injured or something. The ceiling fan was on in the family room but otherwise the place was still.
It's not like her to run off and leave her home unlocked. I can only guess as to why...
On my way out, I intend to lock up for her and leave a note to mention that I was here. I'm just not sure what to make of this. She's normally home.
I know what my husband Orland will say...he'll call me Mrs. Kravitz from "Bewitched." Orland often teases me about being the sort that has my nose in everyone business and he claims most go out of their way to avoid me. Really, I'm not that bad. I just care more than most. I'm really the best neighbor anyone could ever ask for. I'm the go to person in our subdivision.
Well, if and when I find Ms. Archer, I'll post it here...and if you happen to see her in the mean time, please mention I stopped in for a visit.
Oh the mystery....
~Delores Dempsey
August 25, 2016
A Case for Books
Last Saturday my daughter Andy was in town. In a few short weeks, she will be moving home and searching for a job. Fingers crossed. While we were out and about, I realized that I had left my cell phone on my desk. At first, I felt a bit out of sorts, but then, something amazing happened, I felt a wonderful sense of freedom.
There were no text messages coming through to interrupt our conversation...there were no phone calls to ask me a question or emails to request a favor. For approximately four and a half hours, I surrendered to the moment and appreciated some peace of mind.
Andy and I have been shopping for bookcases. The girl loves books, which has been a constant ever since she was little and I would make a weekly trek to the library to satisfy her hunger for learning. She has always carried a fascination with nature...bugs, birds and flowers...no plot, no story, the great circle of life, just add water.
At one re-sale shop we were very lucky and I picked up an all-wood bookcase for $12.00 but that will not even begin to house Andy's massive collection.
So, I must sigh off for now...with phone abandoned...I will be looking high and low for the next deal of the century. Maybe someday if I can land a decent publisher, Andy will add an autographed copy of my work to her collection. Until then, on the nightstand next to her alarm clock, my books shall remain in the most compact form on her Kindle...words compressed into bits and bytes, just waiting to power up and the characters to spark alive.
Until next week,
~Trixie Archer
There were no text messages coming through to interrupt our conversation...there were no phone calls to ask me a question or emails to request a favor. For approximately four and a half hours, I surrendered to the moment and appreciated some peace of mind.
Andy and I have been shopping for bookcases. The girl loves books, which has been a constant ever since she was little and I would make a weekly trek to the library to satisfy her hunger for learning. She has always carried a fascination with nature...bugs, birds and flowers...no plot, no story, the great circle of life, just add water.
At one re-sale shop we were very lucky and I picked up an all-wood bookcase for $12.00 but that will not even begin to house Andy's massive collection.
So, I must sigh off for now...with phone abandoned...I will be looking high and low for the next deal of the century. Maybe someday if I can land a decent publisher, Andy will add an autographed copy of my work to her collection. Until then, on the nightstand next to her alarm clock, my books shall remain in the most compact form on her Kindle...words compressed into bits and bytes, just waiting to power up and the characters to spark alive.
Until next week,
~Trixie Archer
August 19, 2016
Zig-zag
On my way towards writing my blog yesterday, life got in the way. First there was a phone call from my sister L. She announced that she was driving over to hang out for a bit. Then, as fate would have it, during the pouring rain, our cellar room at the front of our home flooded. What an absolute mess!
Mop, mop, mop and bail. By the time everything was under control, big sis helped me with some gutter repair...which of course led to trimming the Maple trees above the porch. In between, there was lunch to fix and then dinner to prepare for my family.
Have you ever had one of those days, you know the sort that feels like a zig-zag approach to life? Well, yesterday fell into that category.
Before too long my daughter will be moving home. We seem to have three zillion things to do and time is tick-ticking. Sifting through years of clutter is a great challenge to me. What to keep and what to throw away, now there is the question.
I've figured out a great strategy to thwart sentimental attachment. It involves technology and the use of a digital camera. I'll take a picture and then the item lands in a donation bin. One, two, three...snap, snap...clean, clean. I'd love to adopt a more clutter free existence. Living with less is easier all around. With less there is more.
The thing that has frustrated me throughout the years is how when I manage to clear out a space for the ease of an open area, one of my other family members will bring home ___________ because, "can you believe they were going to just throw this away?"
It often feels as if I'm in a swimming competition. I see the wall ahead...kick, kick, kick, arm stroke after arm stroke, I'm three feet from accomplishing twenty five laps but someone grabs hold of my left foot and pulls me all the way back to the starting line. Over and over and over again...
The pistol then fires for a new race and I jump. I know I should be swimming except by then, I'm out of energy. Part of me just wishes to take a moment, to submerge myself to the bottom of the pool, cross my legs and just sit there until I can't hold my breath any longer. There is something very peaceful from the floor of the pool. Life is happening, people are kicking, they are moving in a slow motion ballet...there are no unreasonable demands, just the sound of water bubbling intermingled with the echo from the high pitched ceiling above. When I finally resurface, the world seems to have changed. The shift is not anything monumental but when you study everything close enough, the evidence is there.
By the time I gave up last night, I lost the oomph to finish the short story I was penning. I do believe my eyes were closed by the time I reached my pillow. Water, trees, sister L, meals and the malice of Mother Nature, who could blame me?
That is all for now. Until next Thursday, that is, if fate is on my side...
~Trixie Archer
Mop, mop, mop and bail. By the time everything was under control, big sis helped me with some gutter repair...which of course led to trimming the Maple trees above the porch. In between, there was lunch to fix and then dinner to prepare for my family.
Have you ever had one of those days, you know the sort that feels like a zig-zag approach to life? Well, yesterday fell into that category.
Before too long my daughter will be moving home. We seem to have three zillion things to do and time is tick-ticking. Sifting through years of clutter is a great challenge to me. What to keep and what to throw away, now there is the question.
I've figured out a great strategy to thwart sentimental attachment. It involves technology and the use of a digital camera. I'll take a picture and then the item lands in a donation bin. One, two, three...snap, snap...clean, clean. I'd love to adopt a more clutter free existence. Living with less is easier all around. With less there is more.
The thing that has frustrated me throughout the years is how when I manage to clear out a space for the ease of an open area, one of my other family members will bring home ___________ because, "can you believe they were going to just throw this away?"
It often feels as if I'm in a swimming competition. I see the wall ahead...kick, kick, kick, arm stroke after arm stroke, I'm three feet from accomplishing twenty five laps but someone grabs hold of my left foot and pulls me all the way back to the starting line. Over and over and over again...
The pistol then fires for a new race and I jump. I know I should be swimming except by then, I'm out of energy. Part of me just wishes to take a moment, to submerge myself to the bottom of the pool, cross my legs and just sit there until I can't hold my breath any longer. There is something very peaceful from the floor of the pool. Life is happening, people are kicking, they are moving in a slow motion ballet...there are no unreasonable demands, just the sound of water bubbling intermingled with the echo from the high pitched ceiling above. When I finally resurface, the world seems to have changed. The shift is not anything monumental but when you study everything close enough, the evidence is there.
By the time I gave up last night, I lost the oomph to finish the short story I was penning. I do believe my eyes were closed by the time I reached my pillow. Water, trees, sister L, meals and the malice of Mother Nature, who could blame me?
That is all for now. Until next Thursday, that is, if fate is on my side...
~Trixie Archer
August 12, 2016
The Candidate
"Lead in pipes, tainted water...let's talk about universal at-home testing, drinking trust and the need to demand the highest of standards," Megs asserted.
It wasn't the first time I held audience to her banter but it was probably the last. In a confident sweep, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and tilted the left corner for alignment. That moment of pause made her seem believable, that moment of pause would become her famous trademark someday.
The woman spent most of her time fighting the pull of gravity. Bulky frames were sported only when her contact lenses became dry and unbearable. Behind those specs, however, Megs was the kindest soul that I had ever met with a contrasting ability for telling it like it was. She would have done well as a stand up comedian with her impeccable timing and bluntness, but her heart was set on making a difference in another way. Politics. Megs was answering a call to change the world. The dorm room mirror aided her as she perfected her banter while I crammed through my notes for final exams.
"We've lost our pride... somehow, somewhere, abandoned...pride in country, pride in self...pride in drinking water. Somewhere along the way, we've surrendered our souls to the big corporations of this world, deep pockets with big mouths...we've offered naysayers more time and attention than they deserve. Why? Because they make the most noise, because they have more influence? They have become the squeaky hinge plated with 24k gold... "
"I assert there are two sorts, those that can and those that can't. The can't-s conveniently adopt a platform of nitpick and complain in opposition to common decency...they accuse, they abuse the rules...they support toxic waste throughout our government while the cans, simply roll up their sleeves and do."
"I hear you!" I declared while grinning from ear to ear. I began to clap with enthusiasm, as if I were one of thousands packed in an auditorium. Meg's allocution was hypnotic. The slight grin that fell upon her lips was the only visible sign that she knew. Megs held a great power.
"Yes, those who lack imagination instill fear, those that hold great vision, work hard for a better tomorrow. Pure water, a simple drop...the elixir of life now tainted...absorbed into the teardrop of the common voter. Those tears must become the magic potion to transform our government."
"You should run for office!" I declared half joking.
"I might just do that...someday perhaps." Megs began to chuckle while adjusting her collar. Her stance was surefooted, folding into a destiny that was all hers to claim. She was the president of our mirror and that reflection would carry her. Practicing, always practicing for the next opportunity to speak. She was the perfect candidate running for office, ready to lead us into the future.
That was fifteen years ago, just days before we graduated from college. Megs...who gave the most wonderful speech at commencement, Megs who was applauded with a standing ovation. In the hours after was the last I'd see of my pal. She went her way and I went mine. East coast to west coast with a lot of distance in-between. At first there were letters and a few phone calls, but then life happened and our friendship deflated.
When I learned Megs was running for senate I wasn't surprised. She had always been set on doing, she was an organizer, going the distance for the cause...and of course there was her special brand of candor that served her well. Through her keen choice of words and the snap of I get it, I get you, delivery was everything...and she knew how to chop and slice with precision to motivate a crowd. Senator was her third wrung up. I couldn't help but wonder how far her ladder would extend someday.
After Megs gave mention of me as her long lost friend on national television, I should have anticipated a reporter showing up on my doorstep. Knock, knock, knock. The baby is fast asleep...please, I'm coming...hold your horses. No phone call? Shame on you. I smiled anyway, I pretended anyway. "Hello."
Megs and I were inseparable in college, a mismatched set of life experiences. Megs was born into money and she basically coasted along. I, on the other hand, went into debt for my education. I worked three jobs while she enjoyed the free wind blowing through her sail. Unfair maybe, the luck of the draw maybe, old money versus blue collar, abundance versus scavenge for every crumb on my plate.
"Yes, I knew Megs back in the day..." Odd, in that moment, I thought not of my friend but of my hair. The strands wouldn't cooperate that morning and I stood with a mop of horns sprouting in all directions. Three clicks of a shutter and I was frozen. I would forever be known as Meg's friend Medusa, a most pitiful sight.
I had been working on painting the spare room a soft violet when the doorbell interrupted. My university t-shirt was tattered, a painter's uniform. I smiled anyway, I stood proud anyway...because of the admiration I held for my best friend from way back when. Megs.
"Thanks for your time," the chap said as he hurried down the walkway after. I smiled, then waved, shuddering in disbelief. My best is when I'm at my worst for strength of character is not what we wrap ourselves in, but instead proven by how real we are...warts and all...or in my case, horns, blisters and lilac paint.
On the other side of the mirror across many miles of country, Megs stood with great anticipation, as ready as I had always known her to be. She was a woman destined for leadership...a friend to me and if everyone could see through the political mudslinging and vote in her favor, a friend for us all.
It wasn't the first time I held audience to her banter but it was probably the last. In a confident sweep, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and tilted the left corner for alignment. That moment of pause made her seem believable, that moment of pause would become her famous trademark someday.
The woman spent most of her time fighting the pull of gravity. Bulky frames were sported only when her contact lenses became dry and unbearable. Behind those specs, however, Megs was the kindest soul that I had ever met with a contrasting ability for telling it like it was. She would have done well as a stand up comedian with her impeccable timing and bluntness, but her heart was set on making a difference in another way. Politics. Megs was answering a call to change the world. The dorm room mirror aided her as she perfected her banter while I crammed through my notes for final exams.
"We've lost our pride... somehow, somewhere, abandoned...pride in country, pride in self...pride in drinking water. Somewhere along the way, we've surrendered our souls to the big corporations of this world, deep pockets with big mouths...we've offered naysayers more time and attention than they deserve. Why? Because they make the most noise, because they have more influence? They have become the squeaky hinge plated with 24k gold... "
"I assert there are two sorts, those that can and those that can't. The can't-s conveniently adopt a platform of nitpick and complain in opposition to common decency...they accuse, they abuse the rules...they support toxic waste throughout our government while the cans, simply roll up their sleeves and do."
"I hear you!" I declared while grinning from ear to ear. I began to clap with enthusiasm, as if I were one of thousands packed in an auditorium. Meg's allocution was hypnotic. The slight grin that fell upon her lips was the only visible sign that she knew. Megs held a great power.
"Yes, those who lack imagination instill fear, those that hold great vision, work hard for a better tomorrow. Pure water, a simple drop...the elixir of life now tainted...absorbed into the teardrop of the common voter. Those tears must become the magic potion to transform our government."
"You should run for office!" I declared half joking.
"I might just do that...someday perhaps." Megs began to chuckle while adjusting her collar. Her stance was surefooted, folding into a destiny that was all hers to claim. She was the president of our mirror and that reflection would carry her. Practicing, always practicing for the next opportunity to speak. She was the perfect candidate running for office, ready to lead us into the future.
That was fifteen years ago, just days before we graduated from college. Megs...who gave the most wonderful speech at commencement, Megs who was applauded with a standing ovation. In the hours after was the last I'd see of my pal. She went her way and I went mine. East coast to west coast with a lot of distance in-between. At first there were letters and a few phone calls, but then life happened and our friendship deflated.
When I learned Megs was running for senate I wasn't surprised. She had always been set on doing, she was an organizer, going the distance for the cause...and of course there was her special brand of candor that served her well. Through her keen choice of words and the snap of I get it, I get you, delivery was everything...and she knew how to chop and slice with precision to motivate a crowd. Senator was her third wrung up. I couldn't help but wonder how far her ladder would extend someday.
After Megs gave mention of me as her long lost friend on national television, I should have anticipated a reporter showing up on my doorstep. Knock, knock, knock. The baby is fast asleep...please, I'm coming...hold your horses. No phone call? Shame on you. I smiled anyway, I pretended anyway. "Hello."
Megs and I were inseparable in college, a mismatched set of life experiences. Megs was born into money and she basically coasted along. I, on the other hand, went into debt for my education. I worked three jobs while she enjoyed the free wind blowing through her sail. Unfair maybe, the luck of the draw maybe, old money versus blue collar, abundance versus scavenge for every crumb on my plate.
"Yes, I knew Megs back in the day..." Odd, in that moment, I thought not of my friend but of my hair. The strands wouldn't cooperate that morning and I stood with a mop of horns sprouting in all directions. Three clicks of a shutter and I was frozen. I would forever be known as Meg's friend Medusa, a most pitiful sight.
I had been working on painting the spare room a soft violet when the doorbell interrupted. My university t-shirt was tattered, a painter's uniform. I smiled anyway, I stood proud anyway...because of the admiration I held for my best friend from way back when. Megs.
"Thanks for your time," the chap said as he hurried down the walkway after. I smiled, then waved, shuddering in disbelief. My best is when I'm at my worst for strength of character is not what we wrap ourselves in, but instead proven by how real we are...warts and all...or in my case, horns, blisters and lilac paint.
On the other side of the mirror across many miles of country, Megs stood with great anticipation, as ready as I had always known her to be. She was a woman destined for leadership...a friend to me and if everyone could see through the political mudslinging and vote in her favor, a friend for us all.
