Trixie Archer's Blog, page 3

On the Flipside

Say YES!

​Today I'm sending a postcard.  On the other side of this correspondence, hopefully, I'm enjoying a stretch of some much needed down time.  During this particular week, my lovelies and I take residence at the family cottage located on a small inland lake along the lower portion of Michigan.  I've been going there my entire life for my dad bought the property when I was just a baby.
 
The cottage, if those walls could talk...I'm certain it would tell of wild parties, intimate moments, love, passion, chaos, family squabbles, making up, friendships, fishing, great food, horrible thunderstorms, injury, sunshine, an American bald eagle circling overhead, snakes, toads-a-plenty, a bull frog resounding in the night, boats that left us stranded, boats that nearly sank, laughter, campfire, guitar, singing, wallets lost in the waters, a Great Northern Pike that showed teeth and fight, a skier who sported a kite on his shoulders to fly around the lake, hard work, lawn care, painting, scrubbing, too many dishes that should ever be washed after a party, dogs barking, dogs that came close to battling each other, mean neighbors, kind neighbors, Irene the great, nap time, hammock reading, shade, heat, white caps on the lake, waters so calm it glistened like glass...the famous sunrise swimmer, thieves in the night, the generosity of strangers, a gas leak evacuation....just to name a few.
 
Each year we roll the dice.  Will lady luck be on our side?  Last year while on vacation the lake association decided to treat the lakefront with their annual weed control.  The only two days it didn't rain, we couldn't swim.  That was okay, we found other things to keep us amused.  We traveled around, we saw the sights, we went to the antique shops...we had lunch in town.
 
I had an uncle once who no matter where they went or what they did he would always say the same thing on his postcard:  "Having a wonderful time, I wish you were here."
 
My daughter worked two jobs throughout college to save money with the goal of having enough to travel to Asia upon graduation.  While she was in Japan several weeks ago, she sent me a postcard that simply read, "Having a wonderful time, I wish you were here."
 
My sentiments exactly...
 
See you when I return.  Hopefully, I'll have some great pictures to share minus the great-great grandchild copperhead from the nightmare I nearly stepped on when I was ten. 
 
~Trixie Archer

Setting the Tone

IF I WERE TO SHOUT AT YOU, HOW WOULD THAT MAKE YOU FEEL?  Maybe your blood pressure would elevate from a surge of adrenaline while you may work to understand why.  The interesting thing regarding anger, no matter how well we shake it off,  a portion seeps in to become a part of who we are.  How we are treated deeply effects how we treat others.  From the top down, from the bottom up...it all ends the moment we shrug our shoulders and move on towards a better day.
 
"Would you please unload the dishwasher?"  Mind you, I've asked my 16 year old to help probably a more than a thousand times throughout his life.  "Sure mom, no problem."  (or)  "Grr, I just started a new level of the Scrape and Dent video game, can I do it later?"  (or) "Dang it mom, you always ask me to unload the dishwasher, unload, unload, unload, who am I Cinder-fella?  Sheesh, you can't imagine how annoying it is, I can't stand dishes, I can't stand putting things away.  I wish you'd stop bugging me!"
 
Three different responses to the same question and believe me, I've heard them all.  Depending on the day of the week, the amount of sleep my son has gotten and if he has eaten anything of substance recently, I can accurately predict by his body language and facial expression which response it will be.  After a few deep cleansing breaths, no matter, my son ends up unloading the dishwasher and all is righted once again.
 
We cross paths with many people throughout our lives.  I remember a fellow worker years ago who carried a million and one complaints up her sleeve.  "Good morning Crystal," I had said, "how are you today?" 
 
Big mistake...a HUGE whopper of all mistakes.  What I did was open the box and it flipped upside down holding me captive until Crystal ended her banter on the dismal reality of life and her existence.  "Horrible.  My tooth hurts for one, traffic was terrible on the way to work this morning, I broke a heel while pulling my dress shoes from my locker, I forgot my lunch, the boss has set an impossible deadline and I'm out of resources..."  Basically I heard her standard "poor me, poor-poor me" rant. 
 
The woman never bothered to ask how I was faring.  In fact, I once wrote a five page response of positive happenings surrounding my life, just in case.  You know, as a sort-of counterbalance.  I kept those notes in my pocket if ever she would have asked.  She didn't.  With some people the world only revolves around them.
 
I remember the great influence teachers carried surrounding my desire to learn.  Enthusiastic teachers rendered enthusiastic students.  I can still tell you that in the fifth grade I learned all about Eli Whitney, the cotton gin and his contribution of interchangeable parts to industry.   Why?  It was all due to the verve of Mrs. Foster our history teacher.  She pushed the desks together and looped a very long sheet of paper into a makeshift conveyor belt.  Then a simple flashlight was disassembled and placed along the paper.  A group of us were asked to assemble while another student moved the paper.  Guess what?  Mrs. Foster held my undivided attention.  We were challenged in a "hands on" manner and we learned.
 
In contrast, I took a drawing class in high school.  I was very excited to learn, I wanted to be there and was greatly anticipating the beginning of school that year.  In addition, my sister M added to my passion by sharing her thoughts on the drawing teacher, "Mr. Pitt is a great artist, I had the best time in his class...you'll learn a lot, trust me."  I'm not sure what happened between the time M was in his class to five years later when he was my teacher but I have never met a more negative and depressing man.  Pitt ranted on and on about how everyone complained never once realizing that he had become exactly what it was he was complaining about.  He zapped all of the want I had to become an artist...zapped it with his whining banter on how dreadful teaching was for him.
 
My point in bringing this up is obvious.  Soon most of us will be faced with a choice...to elect someone for president.  Even if you erase all of the negatives about each candidate, I wonder what sort of energy we will be inviting for the next term?  Tomorrow is bright and we have much to look forward to  (or)  the sky is falling down, gloom and doom?  
 
Attitude is contagious.  Enthusiasm versus a million and one complaints with no possible solution on how to fix a single one of them is our bottom line decision.   Who will help us to thrive and who will push us into a dive?  I'm not going to tell anyone who to vote for, I will say this however,  those who refuse to vote have no grounds to voice outrage later.   
 
We have the ability to make a difference for the better, one vote at a time. 
 
Today I'm using this forum to ask that you make sure everything is in place to exercise your right to vote.  Most states require a valid ID and proper registration ahead of time.  Please help those who have limited access so we turn out in record numbers.  The clear blues skies of tomorrow depends on us all.

Camptown Ladies

In celebration of publishing my latest book, my sister K and her family joined my kids and I on a mini-camping trip.  We traveled to Michigan and stayed at a rather nice campground for the better part of the week. 
 
As I was packing for the trip, I felt stress. Did I forget something important?  What if we somehow became stranded along the way, would we have the means to survive?  Did we pack enough food?  What if, what if, what if....
 
Although camping in the year 2016 is a step towards roughing it, the perils and paths during 1849 was by far more intimidating.  Wagon versus air conditioned mini-van, store bought food transported in a cooler versus raw supplies tossed in a crate that required serious cooking, kneading and chopping.  Elbow grease.  I dared to imagine while writing "A Love for the Taking," but would I really want to live way back when? 
 
I mentioned to my sis that camping was not for the lazy because most everything requires a bit of effort.  Pitching a tent, building a fire or in our case, convincing the camp stove to ignite while our starving kids longed for the instant flame convenience of the gas burners back home.  Unload this, re-load that and dirty dishes with no place to wash them. 
 
Of course it wouldn't have been camping unless we experienced a thunderstorm.  The park rangers instructed us to seek immediate shelter.  Cloud to ground lightning, oh my.  Adrenaline rush as we scurried about.  Tie this down, tarp that, bring the bedding into the van, rush-rush as the wind picked up and the rumble in the distance became amplified.  Say your prayers, this is it! 
 
My daughter complained.  "I think we should say to heck with this and find ourselves a decent hotel somewhere.  Look, I'll even pay for the room.  The last thing I want to do is sit here for the next few hours and wait...and what if this storm just bleeds into another storm?  This is clearly NOT good!"
 
Room service, clean sheets, a rain-proof suite and no worries of being struck down by the temper of mother nature...maybe my daughter had a valid  point after all.
 
As we sat in the car with tree limbs falling all around us, I wondered why we were there and what could we learn from such an experience? 
 
A good question mind you, but I think that camping to me is all about discovering if I've got what it takes...to know that no matter what challenge is just around the bend that I have the gumption to survive.  We did, by the way, survive.  The wind and severe transformed into a lulling drizzle.  Although the floor of both tents took on water, the cots remained untouched.  The only negative happened while we were repositioning the dry bedding in the tents. 
 
Mosquitoes.   Have you ever tried to sleep with those nasty insects buzzing your ears?  They are horrible.  You can hear their miniature taunt and you just know that you'll soon become victim.  They often target the foot or the ankle.  Their fangs breed much anger along with the possibility of disease... and then the itch leads into a scratch while that ignites more itching.  Forget sleep at that point, forget everything else.      
 
Okay, I'll admit it... at 2:30 a.m., I stomped to the car and grabbed some bug repellant to spray away.  The perfume was nasty but at least those monsters retreated.  Sleep, finally... 
 
On the drive home I questioned if our mini-vacation was worth the effort.  I say without a doubt, yes!  The landscape was beautiful.  Singing around the campfire that first night filled us with an abundance of joy.  Ghost stories, s'mores, conversations, hikes through the woods, nature photography, taking pause from the hum-drum of everyday...all of it combined was worth the bug-bite-and thunderstorm inconvenience.   Next year, we'll plan better as we set off for another adventure somewhere new.  Maybe, just maybe, we'll even pack the kitchen sink.
 
~Trixie Archer  

The Answer is in the Question

The first apartment I rented in Chicago was from an older Polish couple. I found their accent charming and their gruff familiar for they reminded me of my childhood.  The manner for which they would shift from English to Polish so as to speak among themselves without my knowing, was of no bother.  I was accustomed to this while growing up around my best friend's family.
 
Wally and Wanda kept a perfectly maintained building.  The place was spotless and fragranced with the clean of Murphy's Oil Soap. The couple lived in the apartment below so I tiptoed around with great consideration. 
 
With much regret I signed a lease that indicated I was to keep the entrance staircase clean at all times.  All I could imagine was scrubbing steps after working forty hours with an aching back and eyelids that were ready to close.  With limited traffic on the steps, "at all times" amounted to once per month.  Not a big deal.
 
Despite an odor of mothballs that permeated the floor, it seemed as if I had found a place to call home.  The hardwood and ornate trim glistened to perfection.  The thing is, there is often a hidden cost especially when all seems too good to be true.
 
I began to notice unusual charges on my phone line.  The same number in Wisconsin showed up each month without fail. The time listed was always during the week while I was at my job.  At first I thought I was imagining things were being moved around in the apartment.  After weighing everything carefully, I suspected that Wally and Wanda were invading my space.
 
I wedged matches in between the door and the molding as a trap.  Sure enough, upon return the truth often was scattered onto the floor.  The landlords were coming in while I was at work.  Needless to say, the lease could not run out fast enough.  After my third month,  I began searching for a new place to live while marking off the calendar in anticipation.
 
In the mean time, Chicago was plagued by a great stretch of 100 degree temperatures.  People with health issues were dying from heat exposure.  Wanda insisted only one window was to be kept open.  She wanted to prevent dust from entering the building.  One window, no air conditioning, no cross ventilation with heat rising to the top floor....with clean being more important than surviving such extremes.  I thought Wanda was being ridiculous.
 
Words were exchanged, angry words, cussing words, fighting words.  Neither parties were happy with the living arrangements...but we were stuck until the lease expired.  In the meantime, a window air conditioner solved all woes.  For $399.00 and a few holes drilled into the window sill, relief.  The apartment cooled down as well as all anger.   That unit ran and ran and ran and I slept and slept well.
 
I made it through that first year while living in the flat above Wally and Wanda.  The next apartment was not quite as fancy but the kindness of our landlord was preferable to the former dictator who was set on a clean perfection.
 
Years later, I met up with the next door neighbor of Wally and Wanda.  She told of how their two flat sold easily after the W's had passed away. 
 
"It's a shame too.  I swear that Wanda kept a ruler and scissors for every blade of grass in their yard never grew out of sequence to the rest.  I've never seen a more perfect home," she declared.
 
"You should have tried living with them," I admitted.  "It wasn't easy.  They were both extremely unreasonable with spot checks and taking liberties with my phone line."
 
The woman nodded.  "Did you know that Wally and Wanda were introduced while living in a concentration camp in Poland during WWII?  Did you know her obsession with clean all began while surviving the most filthy of circumstances?"
 
Suddenly, the entire year I spent living in that flat made perfect sense.  Wanda's obsession with clean, her want to control every aspect of my stay in her building, her spot inspections while I was away, the fight over the window...was all a reaction to an unimaginable past. 
 
When someone steals away your ability to decide, you spend your life with the want to decide on everything.  Imposing power and control would be a certain after effect.  I finally understood the shoes that my former landlords had walked in.
 
I learned a lot from that experience.  The biggest lesson was to ask a simple question when faced with difficult people.  "Why?" 
 
If only we could all become better at this, maybe we could learn to get along and live in harmony.
 
The only real power we have is by changing our attitude towards others.  I believe there is great hope in tomorrow especially if we raise our children to extend kindness towards all.  Peace begins with asking a simple question of why?   I believe the answer might solve most problems in our world today.
 
 

Knock, Knock

I'm proud to announce that my new book, "A Love for the Taking" is now available as a pre-order on Amazon.  By ordering now, you'll have the story automatically delivered to your electronic device on July 13th. 
 
Isn't technology wonderful?  I mean, way back when in order to read the latest book, travel was involved.  Perhaps nothing as dire as a trip to California by wagon, but still a bit less convenient than present day.  With the internet, a simple click or swipe and ta-da instant reading. 
 
As with all of my novels, there is a long process involved with many sleepless nights.  While in the grip of a storyline I'm often haunted until I abandon the warmth of my bed to purge everything onto the screen.  What happens next is nothing short of amazing.  Words form almost as if my fingertips are being controlled by an unstoppable force.  Needless to say, I shuffle through the upcoming months exhausted.
 
About the story....meet Rachel Warren.  The poor thing is stuck in a family of rough and shady.  Her brother Nathan and adopted brother Abel partner along with her in an underhanded sort of family business.  This has more to do with necessity as opposed to want and Rachel would do just about anything to better her situation.  This is 1849 and aside from marrying or becoming a teacher, there are limited choices for women....unless of course, fate intervenes.
 
Meet fate.  Aka, Esther Tucker.  The woman appears capable on the outside but within, she's a mess.  She is trapped in a state of emotional disrepair.  The past has teeth and has bitten her without mercy.  What happened to her and how she end up crossing paths with Rachel Warren...well, I'm not one to spill the soup.
 
This book is a journey that carries ironic dips, twists and subplots.  So far, I've been told "thumbs up" by my editing crew.  Should I believe them?
 
The truth is, putting my work out there is very nerve racking.  I've been writing stories for as long as I can remember, mainly for my own entertainment and a way to survive a life of chaos.  When the opportunity arrived to self publish on Amazon, I had just completed "Falling Whispers" and I thought, why not?
 
The only way to realize a dream is to actively pursue that dream.   At first I believed it would be as simple as pushing a button and allowing Amazon to do the rest.  The thing is, that's only a fraction of what is involved.  Marketing...marketing for yourself...marketing....well, I was taught that it was in poor taste to boast or brag.  That's exactly what this feels like to me.  It's almost like I'm saying, "look at me, look at what I did...please-oh-please...try a sample!"
 
Years ago when I was in campfire we had a yearly candy sale.  They'd hand out a box that had an emblem on the side and a slanted roof with a carrying handle.  Like it or not, if we wanted to be a part of that group it required going door to door.  "Would you like to buy some Campfire (girl) Candy?"   Some people would notice my shaky legs, my tense posture and my awkward voice.  They'd smile kindly and hand over $1.25 for a box of mints and then I'd be onto the next house to face the selling all over again.  Of course there were some rude experiences....like a door slamming in my face or someone encouraging their dog to run me off their property.
 
Sometimes I'd have my best friend accompany me.  She was the outgoing-not-gonna- take no fuss or bully kind of gal.  I'd knock on the door and she'd give it her best.  When we'd walk on to the next house she'd boast, "see, I had to convince them how delicious the chocolate was and why they couldn't live without three boxes!" 
 
We sold candy.  We danced like silly fools from house to house.  We made up outrageous songs and planned what trouble we would get into after we had finished for the day.  We even attempted to TP a neighbor because the woman was so rude for our asking.  My best friend while growing up, was a barefooted rebel rouser and my partner in crime....but yes, we sold candy.
 
So, I guess this blog is all about knocking on your door with the new story being my own brand of confection.  I hope that it proves to be a most delightful surprise. 
 
Escape with me now to 1849 from the comforts of your home, with central air conditioning, a microwave for snacks and electric lighting shimmering overhead.  No matches necessary and no horses to feed...unless of course you prefer roughing it.  If you choose primitive accommodations, make sure you have enough battery to carry you through from beginning to end . 
 
Yes, I'm peddling today, a story to entertain, a candy for the soul...."A Love for the Taking."  (To be released July 13th but be certain to order your copy from Amazon today!~)
 
~Trixie Archer
 
    

Take 5

Five minutes.  Think about the short span of 300 seconds...no big deal, right?  Whoa, not so fast.  It doesn't seem like a great chunk out of the day but I can think of a few occasions where tick-tick seemed to linger on forever.
 
For example, there was the time back in the eighth grade that I was caught skipping school.  Sister Mary Claw-and-choke phoned my mom and ol' ma sold me out.  It was no surprise when I was escorted back to face the consequences.  The few minutes on that bench outside of the principals office seemed to drag on forever.  While anticipating the worst, I was snickered at by most passing by.  One girl in particular, stared at me, smirked, cupped her hand and whispered something to her friend.  She probably said, "the poor thing's in trouble...I would not want to be in her shoes right now...look at how scared she looks!"
 
Yes, five minutes.
 
By the way, I lived through that ordeal and was taught a valuable lesson.  You'd think it was not to skip school ever again but instead, I learned the art of not getting caught.
 
Fast forward to the time when my daughter was little.  We had adopted a Maltese named Slipper.  During our vacation at the cottage, daughter tried fishing with scraps of steak.  Not thinking, we left the meat on the hook and brought her fishing pole onto the porch.  We deemed Wednesday our official sleep until noon day, however, there was quite a ruckus with chairs toppling and knickknacks crashing that sidestepped that want. 
 
As I moved towards the mayhem I couldn't imagine what was possibly happening.  Slipper had decided to eat the steak, hook and all.  The scene before me was troubling.  The poor thing scampered from here to there with a fish line connected to his mouth.  I ran for the phone book to locate the nearest vet.  I could only imagine the five minute drive to save our pooch...would he live to bark another day?  As luck would have it, when we peeked inside the dog's mouth, he didn't swallow the hook after all, it was wedged between his front teeth.  We simply lifted the hook and he was free!  That had to be the longest five minutes indeed.
 
I'm also reminded of the storm to end all storms.  We had just moved into a basic starter home after renting a flat in Chicago.  The tiny house was built on a three foot crawl space.  I detested the dungeon below for there were plenty of spider webs and yuck spread throughout.  Three bedrooms, a bath, a kitchen, a living room and a laundry/utility room gained us equity until we could afford better. 
 
One afternoon as I was scrubbing the kitchen floor, our weather radio blared.  A funnel cloud had been spotted and we were in the path of it.  I grabbed the car seat, my daughter's bicycle helmet, (she was a toddler at the time) and the radio.  We headed to the only room at the center of our home with no windows, the bathroom.  Daughter was placed into the tub, car seat and all with her little bike helmet fastened securely into place. 
 
With only five minutes left to the warning, the civil defense siren piped in...the tornado had touched down and was spotted a few blocks away.  I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak.  Panic.  My daughter gazed at me with her beautiful eyes and all I could think  was this is it...and then the lights went out.  The battery on the radio offered us a bit of normalcy until the siren on that channel taunted, this is the end of you.  Just as the announcer was about to report the specifics, his voice shifted to static...the local radio station was gone.
 
We escaped that storm without any damage to us or to our home.  A miracle.  For as dark and grim it all had seemed, within five minutes the sun was shining once again.
 
Of course there was an hourglass dropping slow grains as I waited to have my wisdom teeth extracted years ago.  With a "People" magazine shaking beneath my nervous fingertips, I just knew suffering was just around the bend.  My dad had accompanied me for the procedure.  As it happened, he had just retired and was willing to drive me.  I somehow made it through but only after dealing with five minutes of let's not and say we did jitters.
 
Did you know that after grilling or pan frying meat, if you place it under a cover for five minutes the juices will work through?  That particular I can't wait to eat because I'm starving but I'm better off  for the wait renders a most delicious outcome.
 
Which lands me at the ultimate five minute countdown...the time it took to write this blog, five minutes, right?  Not quite.  My process is slow but sure, which leads me to mention, "A Love for the Taking" is finally completed to the best of my ability.  I know  I've made that claim before, but I needed to have one more set of eyes double check for errors...and so I did.  Now all that remains is to find the courage to upload the story onto Amazon and push "submit."  Nervous stomach, shaking hands, inner tornadoes, gulps, and yikes.
 
All I can do is all I can do.  My objective is to entertain, to explore human connection, to introduce characters that I find interesting and circumstances that are unique.  Win, lose or draw,  here we go!~  ...and so, the plot thickens in just 5 minutes, really...
 
Until next time,
 
~Trixie Archer
 
 
 
 
 
 
       
 
 
 
 

Framed

I took a wrong turn.  I'm not exactly sure how or when, but I did.  My grandson was supposed to help me drive but his focus was on his smart phone.  The text messages he was exchanging with his new girlfriend was of more interest than cows and corn fields.  In his defense the landscape passed in a way that reminded me of an old cartoon.  Flat, dull, uneventful and never ending...Indiana.
 
"I think we're lost," I said in a way to be heard over his music blaring.
 
"What?"  Drake answered as he pulled one bud from his left ear.
 
"I think we're lost," I said once again.
 
"Oh, now isn't that great?  Really gran?  How could you get us turned around?  The route is a straight shot from mom's to your house."
 
"I have no idea.  I don't recall turning off the highway but we obviously did because nothing what-so-ever looks familiar."  I paused for a moment.  "Why don't you try the GPS on your phone?  Maybe we're only sort-of lost."
 
Drake began to fiddle with the touch screen.  "GPS isn't working here."
 
Not working?  All of a sudden I felt panic.  Not only were we lost but there were no people to ask.  Farm houses were few and far between.  Even passing cars were a rarity...it almost seemed as if we had landed on a different planet or something.
 
"Gran, why don't you just turn around?"  Drake suggested.
 
I nodded in agreement and at the next service road between corn fields I eased our car in and backed up reversing our direction.  In no time we were on our way...speeding forward except the sun was positioned in the exact same place as it was moments ago. 
 
"Drake, something really strange is happening... Drake?"
 
"Just keep driving gran, we'll eventually move past this...right?"
 
"I hope so."
 
Fifteen minutes later we arrived at a thrift store.  "Second Chance Resale" was hand painted in faded lettering onto a sheet of plywood.  Gaping holes drilled into the wood allowed a rope to loop through tying the plank to rusting chairs that leaned into the sun.  The primitive sign matched the condition of the building, ramshackle and all.
 
"Are you gonna stop?"  Drake wondered.
 
"I really don't see a choice.  Maybe someone in the store can help me find the highway once again.  It's odd.  I mean, I grew up in the area and this is one road that I've never traveled before."
 
After parking the car, I followed Drake indoors. 
 
The lighting inside consisted of a half dozen 40 watt bulbs scattered here and there.  Fans without safety cages hummed as they shifted off balance.  Having them set on the highest speed made them appear to be doing a quick hula.  They were positioned everywhere but the air flow didn't seem to make a dent on the unbearable heat.  Flies were in abundance and the buzz overpowered the din from the fans.
 
"Excuse me?"  I called to the first person I found.  A small hunched over woman stood behind the counter.  She gazed at me with surprise, as if there hadn't been a customer in some time.  Then something shifted in her expression making it seem as if I had met her in the past, years before maybe.  I was elderly but this woman was ancient.
 
"Can you tell me how to get back to the main road?"
 
"What's that?"  She called while cupping her hand near her ear as she turned her head for a clearer understanding.
 
"The main road, we've sort of lost our bearings...."
 
"Sure, but it'll cost ya."
 
I opened my purse and the woman began to shake her head no.  "You'll have to buy something see..."  With a simple lifting of her fingertip she tapped a sign that read, "directions offered for paying customers only...no exceptions."
 
Drake and I hurried our way through the many aisles.   There were all sorts of things strewn about...needful things, useful things, things that had a purpose years ago but were no longer relevant, things that were easily lost or forgotten...baskets, bows, bizarre artworks including a clown with wings, clothing, shoes, tennis racquets...did anyone even play tennis in this day and age?  Handbags, furniture, dishes, a roasting pan, toys, nightgowns, tins, and bin after bin of rusting farm tools. 
 
I hurried to the side and took hold of a picture frame.  I had seen one similar while browsing at the mall the last time. I think I had been on the fence as to whether it would match my furnishings or not.  In the end I had put it back but now, it seemed like destiny.  Leaf patterns surrounded a five inch square representing the change of seasons.  The ceramic finish glistened even in the absence of light.  The frame was heavy and durable.  What attracted me more than the other items was usefulness and purpose.  If I had to buy something, it was better to go small rather than something that took up space and was plagued by ugly. 
 
After I paid for the frame, the old woman instructed me to remain on the service road behind the store until it intersected the main highway.  I wondered aloud how I possibly could have driven off my route without knowing.  I could not recall even blinking for longer than I should.  I suppose Drake and I getting lost would always be an unsolved mystery.
 
What would have normally taken us an hour and fifteen minutes, ended up being five and a half hours.  Drake hurried to the guest room as I unpacked the car.  The final item was the picture frame.  I carried it indoors and to the kitchen sink.  I pulled the disinfectant cleaner and sprayed a few shots onto the square.  In no time, sterile was formally introduced.
 
Whose photograph would I place into the frame?  My daughter Peg, my grandson Drake, Markus and his family?  For the time being, I positioned the empty square onto the mantle of my fireplace.  My dear Charles was there waiting from his own portrait, smile on his face...the way that I always remembered him...god rest his soul.  His picture was taken just before his farewell party.  Jensen and Son's would add him to the great wall of those who had retired before him.  The boss offered him a copy of his portrait, a gold watch and a bonus check of appreciation.  Two months later, Charles suffered a heart attack and he was gone.
 
I extended my finger and brushed his cheek remembering him with great fondness.  "You old codger.  Why didn't we do more?  Why didn't we take the time to smell the roses?  Work, work, work, save, save, save and all for what?  We never took that vacation we always talked about...Hawaii.  There was always some excuse, always some road block, the pipes broke, the roof was leaking, the transmission on the car went kaput.  We should have...darn it!  AND then after working long hours all you wanted to do is sit in front of that set...night after night watching how other people lived and never quite dipping your toes into the warmth of our own pool."
 
I lifted the picture of Charles and turned it face down.  "Heck yeah I'm mad!" 
 
After making a couple of sandwiches, I called Drake to the table.  Conversation was limited but it was nice having some company regardless.  I had asked him most of my standard questions on the drive in...and with great reluctance, he pulled his ear bud each time to answer as if his words had not been restocked since the last sale.
 
After dinner, Drake excused himself then hurried off to bed.  When I finally hit the pillow, I fell into an immediate slumber.  The out like a light  was nothing like I had ever experienced before.  When I was younger and helped Charles dig a trench to provide a water run to the garden, I slept hard but that seemed like a catnap in comparison.
 
I landed on the other side...onto a beach with the most remarkable sunset outlining palm trees.  The grit of sand was apparent between my toes and on my legs.  My beach towel never seemed to be quite long enough. 
 
"This really is nice and I'm glad we finally took this trip."
 
I peered over baffled by how Charles' voice caught me off guard.


"Oh Charles, I'm sorry for carrying so much anger.  It's just we never did what we set out to do...and then you were gone and it was too late.  We always said tomorrow but that day never came."
 
"It's not too late now.  Look at that sunset, would you?  Just look at it!"  Charles took a deep breath and grinned from ear to ear.  "The wonders of life, the moment to just stop and appreciate.  THIS is what it's all about Maggie."
 
The splash of the wake sprayed us with a fine mist.  "All that time...I was chasing the want for more...I thought having a lot in the bank would prove my manhood...that my efforts would provide for you.  I needed to show you my worth and gumption...but I missed the point....all along I missed the point and I'm sorry."
 
I nodded at him and as I reached my hand over, he lifted the soft to his lips.  It was then the feel from the extra pillow in my bed woke me up. 
 
"You old codger,"  I mumbled.
 
For breakfast I scrambled some eggs and fried a package of low sodium bacon for Drake and myself.  I set the table and poured freshly squeezed orange juice.  I called my grandson and to my surprise he responded in quick.  I think the smell of bacon was the perfect motivator.  Drake's hair was askew as if he had been chasing zombies in his dreams. 
 
The boy pulled the headphones from his ears to be respectful of my house rules.  He grinned at me.  "I really like the picture you chose for that old frame.  I thought you and gramps never made it to Hawaii...at least that's what mom always told me."
 
I peered at the boy puzzled by his words.
 
"We never..."
 
Drake jumped from his seat, hurried to the mantle and retrieved the frame.   Sure enough,  Charles was leaning in as he kissed my fingertips, just as he had in my dream.  The sunset cast romantic hues against the horizon.  A intimate moment shared...the greatest pause of life that seemed to magically erase the regret that I'd been carrying since he passed.
 
I fought the tears as they gathered.  I studied every speck of emulsion in that glossy capture.  Just as I was about to glance at Drake, Charles became animated, winked at me, then returned into the frozen stiffness within the photograph itself.
 
No regrets...just life as we did our best to share for 1/60th of a second at f32...on the other side of heaven or what others might recognize as the Hawaii of our dreams.   
 

Chop, Chop

The air was leaking out from my writing.  There must have been a tiny puncture somewhere in my tube.  Words were trickling forth, streaming into the air and my mind was falling flat. 
 
I must admit, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed.  School was out for the summer and my sixteen year old was underfoot.  The boy was no trouble really, but I needed an adjustment period.  For one thing, the kid could eat like there was no tomorrow.  When he had exhausted all of his resources, he'd find himself at my door and then I'd hear his familiar want, "mom, I'm hungry can you help me find something good?"
 
In the story...I was penning... and without further reflection he lifted the knife, closed his eyes and... "mom, I'm hungry can you help me find something good?"
 
That was exactly how it happened, honest.  So, I plodded up the stairs, down the hallway and to the kitchen.  I pulled this and grabbed that closing the refrigerator in my wake.  The frying pan sizzled and after two shakes of spice with a topping of cheese, wal-la! 
 
"Here you go!  Find something to drink for yourself and please load everything into the dishwasher."
 
As I headed down the hallway, our cats, trouble one and trouble two arrived at my feet.  "Meow, Meow...meow (a bit softer) me-ow."  I clicked on the light in the room where they stay,  I poured some food and refilled their water.  Happy cats.
 
I headed down the stairs, to my office and closed the door.  Finally, I'm back...now where was I?
 
I started at the beginning to read what I had in the chapter so far.  (I generally aim for one chapter per day.)  Oh yeah...not bad. 
 
....and without further reflection he lifted the knife, closed his eyes and...  Scratch, scratch...woof, woof...followed by a shrill squeal.  My dog Monkeyshine, she was at the window beckoning.  "Really?  You couldn't ask to come in before I sat down to write again?  Okay, okay, one minute pooch.  I'll let you in...what the squirrels went home for lunch and you have no one to play with?"
 
I plodded through the house and stopped at the door to let the wild thing inside.  Dog tore in and through as if someone had fueled her jets with nitro.  Her tail whipped, it didn't wag, it whipped, appearing as if she might take flight. 
 
"Here comes the dog!"  I warned my son.  "Mom, before you go back to writing, I'm still hungry...do you have any ideas?"
 
The shingles from our gingerbread house.  The doughnut tires on our bakery car.  How about gnawing on a few greenbacks from my wallet because that's where most of the cash we have is going anyway.  Let's cut out the middleman or rather the grocery store, shall we?    They say a person needs to have more green in their diet anyway, well that works for me.    
 
"Let's get creative here..."  "How about cheese popcorn?  I'll get the pan, you find what cheese to melt from the fridge..."
 
Finally I arrived back in my office.  I closed the door, turned off my cell phone, unplugged the home phone...  The dog was upstairs with my son, the cats were fine, son was fed (for now), my windows were open and all that I could hear were the birds chirping in the trees above. I needed to get serious.  I began to read the current chapter from the beginning and then "it" happened.  The next door neighbor fired up his lawn mower.  The thing backfired twice before an annoying engine grind echoed throughout the land.  The smell of freshly cut grass began to fragrance the air.
 
The neighbor's yard was rather large and why he needed begin outside my window was beyond me. 
 
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and shook my head as I stood from my desk.   I give up.
 
There was a direct line from my office to the family room sofa.  I took a flying leap and fell into the pillows.   A nap was the only solution.
 
With my eyes closed I imagined the chapter before me.  I was no longer confined to words on a page for it evolved into a movie with subtitles playing out in my mind's eye.  The characters were real to me, the costumes, the setting, the lighting, I could hear their voices...rich and deep, there were feelings mixing in all around them.  Yes, this was exactly what I needed to do...to step back a moment, to rest, to gain a fresh perspective.
 
My eyes felt gritty for I had been up since three in the morning.  I surrendered, I surrendered my life and dove head-first into the story.  When I finally woke up, I was on the other side.  It was dinner time and my son was calling from the door wanting to know what was on the menu.
 
I had no plan, I didn't even have a completed chapter...what I did have though was a finished musing for the story I was writing.  ...without further reflection he lifted the knife, closed his eyes and began to chop fresh parsley for the stew.  Chef was cooking by candlelight and by instinct.   No one dared ask how it was he became a master in the kitchen for necessity is often the mother of invention. 
 
"So JD, what will you be making us for dinner tonight?"
 
My son peered at me, grinned, then replied in quick, "funny you should ask."
 
Forty minutes later, the stew was ready and we've been eating well ever since.
 
  
 
 
 

Please Forgive Me

I make up stories, I always have.  Delivery is everything, setting a scene, painting a picture...making claims without so much as a blink...
 
Today I told a tall one.  I mentioned on social media how there was an artist who resembled the actor who played Elf and for $48 he'll reenact the "You're my dad" scene from the movie.  I said I was thinking about doing this for my best friend's birthday. 
 
My main objective is to make people laugh...to add a light shake of humor onto their mashed potatoes of ordinary.  Most who know me realize there is a BS meter that is often leaning towards full.    
 
So after the post, I received three instant messages asking for the website of this singing telegram artist for hire.  I'm not sure what to say.  For now I simply answered, LOL.  What if I'm asked at point blank?  What if I meet up with one of my friends and have to admit my BS eye to eye?  If it happens that way, I'll just tell the truth.  What else can I say? 
 
The ability to redirect my imagination onto paper has been a life saver for me.  In the real world, I can tell a made up story so well, that people can not determine if it's fact or fiction.  My mom used to accuse me of "fibbing," in fact, there was one point she had reached her limit. 
 
"They're just stories."  I replied.  They were just stories too, with the main characters being people that I knew and variations of real events as they happened.  I could take mundane and do a rewrite to make it fun and entertaining.
 
"You're going to confession!"  Mom announced one Saturday morning.  "Someone needs to keep you in check...and by the way, you're way out of control.  When you told the neighbor that your dad hooked up an old bicycle to a generator that powered the washing machine and she believed you...well, I didn't know what to say.   I finally had to tell her the truth.  It was embarrassing...she thought your dad was very, very cheap."
 
So, I entered the dank confessional that reeked of wintergreen oil.  The priest slid the screen open and I stared at the blanket of emptiness before me.  I wasn't sure what to say.  The truth was, I couldn't stop myself...I just couldn't. 
 
"My mom thinks that I've lied on multiple occasions...but I wouldn't call it lying exactly."
 
The priest responded, "oh, why don't you elaborate."
 
For the next thirty minutes I spun some creative whoppers.  Each chuckle led to more stories.  It all just took flight.  The priest fell into a barrel roll of laughter...so much that a huge line of impatient sinners waiting outside began to wonder if they were holding place for confession or a comedy club.
 
"So, as you see, I have a chronic problem with the truth..."  I admitted near the end.
 
"Ah..."  Priest said as he coughed his way back to reality.
 
"I can't stop myself...my imagination takes over and then no one knows which end is up."
 
"It's fun, right?"
 
"Yes sir."
 
So he suggested the standard penance of ten Hail Mary's and I was supposed to return every few weeks to report my progress as such.  I was always asked to elaborate, I was always given "ten Hail Mary's" to set things right again.   
 
In hindsight maybe having such a struggle is not such a bad thing.  An Elf singing telegram... I can't think of a more light hearted scene on a Thursday afternoon...so, please forgive me!~