Trixie Archer's Blog, page 4

Just Chill

This morning as I stumbled out of bed, my toe fell into the path of the small linen chest we keep near the window.  Even though I was half asleep, some colorful words spilled from my lips.  After the pain lessened, I wondered about what sort of day was waiting for me ahead.    If my throbbing toe was any indicator, I considered going back to bed. 
 
It was no surprise that my son and I exchanged a few heated words today.  Of course I would think something was wrong if we hadn't.  He's 16 after all and like most kids his age he is just trying to assert a bit of independence.
 
"You'll need to wear your jacket this morning, the air is nippy,"  I said.
 
"Mom, it's the end of May.  So what, I'm not going to freeze to death, besides after class it's supposed to be 85 degrees.  Just chill, would you?"
 
Great advice from my son, "just chill." 
 
A walk on the beach, a run through the park with the dog, a cup of tea, bird watching, a nature photography excursion, a hot bath with some candles positioned here and there...just chill, I think I could go for that, thank you very much.  Where's my trusty calendar?  I think I'll have some time for that...um, in about three months.
 
Why not today?  No, there's bills to pay,  two loads of laundry,  we are out of cereal so I'll need to drive to the store, the car needs the oil changed, I must vacuum since my daughter is out of town and I have her cats here as well.  Yes, 4 cats for three weeks with twice as many bowls to fill and hissy fights to thwart. 
 
"Just chill..."  A red sock that fell into our whites and has colored everything pink. 
 
"Just chill..."  A religious sect at the door ringing the bell just as I step from the shower.
 
"Just chill..."  Dog has cornered another squirrel in the back yard.
 
Maybe tomorrow, there is always hope for tomorrow, that is, minus a broken toe and an attitude snagged and unraveling.  Until then, ice tea and a walk in the rain will have to do.
 
~Trixie Archer
 

A Guilty Sneeze

Over the past week, I lost my voice.  I drank plenty of tea, sipped on chicken broth and relied on cherry cough drops to carry me through.  At my best, I spoke in a raspy whisper, at my worse, my lips moved but only hints of frustration spilled forth.
 
I listened more, wrote less...gestured some and then I slept.  Exhaustion overtook me as I nestled in with my favorite blanket.  For the first time in ten years, I called in sick to work.  "Yes, you heard me right..." I said through a whisper.  "You'll have to do without me this week...good luck, you're on your own...I'll be back just as soon as I can."
 
There was a lot of guilt surrounding the act of staying home.  The wondering if I really could have pushed myself or not has followed me ever since I was a little girl and with good reason.  Way back in the day I preferred staying home rather than going to school.  Home was safe, school was not.  The teachers and nuns believed in "spare the rod, spoil the child."  It was an impossible situation and in hindsight I probably would have thrived in a public school...I probably wouldn't have missed a day ever.  In fact, I would have run to class to be the first in line to absorb all that I could.  Unfortunately, my experience was nothing like that.
 
"Mom, I don't feel very well," I'd often say while keeping my line of gaze directed at the floor.  I mastered the I'm near death shuffle into the room.  I'd pause for emphasis as if I were about to collapse at any given moment from dizziness. 
 
Mom would swing her hand to my forehead and peer at me through her I don't believe you for a second  knowing.  "You feel okay to me, maybe you ought to eat a decent breakfast."
 
"Oh that doesn't sound good, no...I feel as if I'm about to yark."
 
Poor mom.  No one could possibly be as sick as I played.  I put her in a most precarious situation.  She didn't want to send me to school ill, but she didn't want to let me stay at home with nothing wrong either.  "Well I don't know what to tell you," she would admit.  I'd visualize my day if she forced me to go.  Stress, stress, stress, yelling and more stress.
 
All I could think about was avoidance.  The unreasonable discipline and abuse.  Of course there was the time that Iron Pants balled up her fist and slugged me in the leg during reading group in response to the boy next to me mispronouncing a word came to mind.  I wondered, "what the heck did I ever do to deserve being struck?"
 
What did any of us do other than show up for school?
 
Yes mom, I was sick...emotionally taxed, wiped out, nearing a breakdown, worn out from holding my breath and walking on egg shells for most of the week.  No one knew what might set off the teacher, no one knew who would be next.  I desperately needed a day off...please...
 
"NO television," my mom would announce to set her rule for the day.  Feeling as if I had been granted a stay of execution, I hurried down the hall to change back into my pajamas.  I pulled out my favorite book and began to read.  I loved to read but because we lived in the county and didn't have access to the library, I kept certain books that worked as a constant re-run.  Most in my collection were hand-me-down books from my older sister.
 
When my eyes began to feel a strain, I'd close the book, unplug the rotary phone from the wall, gather my tools and take apart the phone piece by piece.  The challenge was to see how many parts were removable before figuring out the sequence to put it all together again.  The final hurdle was to replace the spring where the rotary connected.  It was fun to dial only to realize the clip within was offset.  I'd call my brother's house as a test but that was not who answered on the other side.  I tossed a line and the fish that bit was foreign and strange.  "Hall-low?" 
 
"Wrong number, sorry..."  I chuckled before reworking the pieces.  Eventually I figured it out, eventually...
 
I'd draw pictures, bend and fold paper adding just a sliver of tape here and there.  Those creations were a primitive eyesore but it fueled my imagination for stories that were formulating in my brain.
 
The following morning my mom would announce that I was well enough to attend school once again.  "After all, you never vomited, there's no fever....not even a sniffle...so yes, time to go to school!"
 
Each step forward the following morning carried me back to misery.  Did all kids feel this way?  Did all kids worry about the harsh treatment of the teachers and nuns? 
 
It wasn't until I attended a public high school that I realized learning didn't have to be painful.  We could walk through the hallways without maintaining single file and we could speak to each other in between classes.  The teachers welcomed us along with our unique perspectives.  We were not judged but instead encouraged.  Imagine that...imagine being valued as a student and as a person.  Respect should be earned and not obtained through fear...if only I could have had that all along.
 
So whenever I am really-truly sick and I must step back to heal, my mind always returns to the days of guilt from my youth and faking an illness.  Maybe nothing was solved from not facing my fears but then again, maybe I needed to step back to regain the strength to face the monsters another day.
 
My voice is back now and as I was singing a goofy song this morning, my sixteen year old commented how peaceful it had been without.  All I could do was laugh right along with him and appreciate the sound from of voice as I did.   

Branches for Wings

My baby graduated from the university this week.  I cried.  In the span from climbing the staircase with the other graduates to shuffling forward, she went from eleven months and wearing a red velvet Christmas dress with the frills of childhood to the confident young woman standing proud today.  I felt so much and all at once.  I cried.
 
There were many speeches fueling the auditorium with sentiment.  The colorful robes that most wore distinguished the stature of education.  Daughter asked her brother to tote along his Harry Potter wand so that she could have a photograph in costume since the student apparel bore a great resemblance to Hogwarts throughout.  I understood the connection and her want to lighten the mood.
 
I don't believe many noticed I was an emotional wreck because it was my guess they were feeling it too.
 
From the very beginning I read to my daughter.  There were many trips to the public library, many books lugged to and fro.  We always kept a specific number, 13, so that we'd know how many needed to be returned the following week.  At first I encouraged witches and imagination, but then she expressed an interest in earthworms. 

Earthworms, really?  Wouldn't you rather read a story about...? No?  Okay, earthworms it is then.
 
It wasn't limited to natures best compost machine, her love of science and nature has always been strong.  One year as a gift on her birthday I bought her a bird identification guide and you would have thought I had given her the moon! 
 
Daughter became my "go to" person surrounding nature photography.  I'd shoot pictures because something would strike me as visually appealing.  My daughter had the smarts to tell me why it actually was.
 
The stadium full of graduates was an amazing experience.  Each student carried a unique story of how they reached the finish line.  I can attest especially with my daughter that it was not all flower pedals and harps.  There was one point during her first year that things took a turn for the worse and it seemed as if she was about to abandon her dream.  Yes, there was a boy involved and yes, things could have completely unraveled. 
 
With every step forward the past fell away.  I remembered the wings she and her childhood friend built out of tree branches.  They climbed the pedestal of her swing set and flapped away.  Gravity won, they fell and we laughed.  I lived my second childhood with her and what we shared was an amazing gift...
 
I carried my Nikon and clicked picture after picture.  At first I couldn't locate my daughter so I took cluster shots.  What I did know is that she was late, we always seem to be running late and she texted that she was seated in the back.  Even with a 300mm zoom lens, I wasn't sure who I was photographing.  The lines of repetition were classic...so many faces that were different, so many costumes that were the same.  Graduation...the new chapter on life...past, present and future, colliding all at once.
 
There was a lot of money invested in that room.  Student loans, scholarships, grants, nest eggs and for many the pay schedule with an accumulating interest would begin in a few short months.  To be or not to be, to meet the loan payment or forfeit, to find a job or to not find a job...now that was the question.  Stress. 
 
Paying for an education is very different from when I was in school.  At one point I worked three jobs to meet the financial requirements.  In today's world, such an accomplishment is impossible.  I remember thinking how back in 1987 I didn't have much saved upon graduation but one thing I did have was beginning my future debt free.  In comparison to today's world,  less was more.
 
It really is difficult to comprehend that to get ahead in 2016 most have to take three steps back, wish for luck, close their eyes and jump! 
 
I suppose I was feeling all of that and then some as my daughter walked across that stage.  My Nikon clicked 8 frames per second and I captured the moment we had all been waiting for.  In a simple frame she carried off her diploma...the promise of tomorrow.  I cried.  Earthworms instead of stories, branches for wings, Christmas dress with white lace and leotard socks...pass me a tissue.  I took great pride in her accomplishment...my baby, as she made her way to cross the finish line!~ 
 
 
 

Mouse Trap

In a groggy state I plodded through the house, fumbled with my keys and unlocked the adjoining supply room.  Maybe I should have turned on the overhead lights but I find florescent bulbs off-putting especially at daybreak.  Instead, I used the torch on my cell phone to lead the way.  Everything along the metal shelving is alphabetized.  I am surprisingly organized everywhere else but my office.  Chaos aids my creative process.  When I lifted the box marked, "blog by Trixie Archer," it was empty.
 
What the heck?  I know there were at least three blogs in there last week.  I peered about the small room.  What I found on the tiles below were not crumbs but bitts and bytes from what was supposed to be this weeks blog.
 
There were some really great ideas too, million dollar ideas...but what they were exactly, well, at this moment it all escapes me.  You'll just have to trust me, those extra blogs were amazing...honest.  Okay so I'm winking at the screen right now...ahem.
 
The truth is, my family threw a 50th birthday party for me over the weekend.  I did my best to mention my brother Mike in a speech, I even carried along the fire helmet he gave me when I was a little girl.  As I was speaking, my eyes fell upon that reminder and it struck me as sad that life was moving on, that even though my brother is inching his way towards his old self...it will be a while before he is with us again.  Knowing all that he has been through...I lost it. 
 
(In case you have just tuned into this blog, my brother Mike was in a serious car accident back in January and he has literally been to hell and back.)
 
Time is ever so precious.  I know this.  50 years old, well I remember when my parents turned 50, they seemed so antique.  So, there I stood with balloons, streamers and decorations thinking to myself, wow, where did the time go?  Yes and Mike wasn't there with us to celebrate...my brother...
 
While I was dabbing at my eyes, I'm guessing between that and the makeup I was wearing, I ended up with the most painful sty this week.  Staring at a computer screen was the last thing I needed to do.  In fact, I ended up at an urgent care yesterday for some very effective medicine.  Relief...I see, literally.
 
So yes, my blog box was a bit empty this morning.  If only I could send you a bite of cake instead of bytes and bits.  Yes, that would do fine...calorie free with oodles of frosting.  Delicious in the imagining.
 
So that will have to do for now.  I wonder exactly what sort of critter would consume bits and bytes anyway?  I'm guessing a cordless mouse must have escaped from the bin of computer keyboards and such.  If only I had my son's Mousetrap game from long ago, it might have proven to be the perfect solution.
 
Until next week,
 
~Trixie Archer

Liar, Liar

....and Troy nudged me in the arm, "you remember, while we were walking back we saw... The boys had bb-guns in hand, blowing out the windows and as the glass was breaking everywhere, we ducked low.  We didn't want them turning those guns on us."
 
I peered from my best friend Troy, to the county sheriff who was looking me square in the eye.
 
"Yeah...sure,"  I mumbled.  Did it really happen that way?  I had no recollection of such a thing but still, maybe I forgot, maybe I was somewhere else in my thoughts.  I probably wasn't seeing it the way that he was...so, okay, what Troy said, sure.  I nodded in agreement.
 
"We have a squad at their house and we'll bring them around to make sure we nabbed the right kids."  The sheriff clicked his pen and jotted something down on an official looking note pad.  He closed it with a sweep through the air.  In a simple movement, the notebook slid into his holster next to a very large gun.
 
"Troy," I whispered, "I don't remember any of that." 
 
"Just let me do the talking...just let me speak for the both of us.  You don't remember...that's okay, because I do."
 
I don't remember?  What did I know?  We were in the house eating lunch.  My mom forced me to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  She asked Troy about how his mom was faring after her surgery.  My mother forced me to eat because I didn't wish to take a moment away from playing. I never did.  Lunch was presented as "eat or else" with a side of apple wedges.  Troy ate a sandwich as well, followed by three small glasses of ice cold milk.  I loved milk too, in fact, it was my drink of choice.
 
We ran through the backyard to the hill, made our way through to his yard which adjoined our property.  There were sand burrs, five, that I had to remove from my socks.  There were always sand burrs and I hated their teeth, hated their bite.
 
Troy and I went inside his house, said hello to his ma and pulled out his box of cars.  We played with his matchbox set.  He owned plastic track...something that I didn't.  We built ramps to see how many books our racers could jump.  Troy's older brother Derek came into the room and began teasing us.  He had it in his mind that we were boyfriend and girlfriend, where as Troy and I were little kid friends.  Derek was the perfect reason to run back to my house, so we did.
 
When we climbed down the small hill and into my backyard once again, broken glass was everywhere.  Spider web patterns shimmered through the windshields, side view mirrors, side windows and the rear window of Dex's junk cars.  There wasn't a piece of glass spared from whatever force imposed destruction.   Four cars, classic cars that my brother Dex collected with the intention of restoring one beauty to perfection. 
 
I stood there, mouth agape and in shock.  There was a fragrance lining the air...malice, fear and axle grease.
 
Troy and I sprinted in the direction of my house.  We lived on an acre of property and the junk cars were at the far back. Our little feet couldn't move fast enough.
 
"Mom!  Mom!"  I screamed with panic.  She entered the kitchen and pulled me into an embrace knowing right off that I was upset.
 
"Mom, Dex's cars...something bad has happened!"
"I know.  I called the police and they're on the way," Mom reassured.
I began to cry.
"We saw everything," Troy boasted.
I peered at him with shock.
"You did?"  Mom asked.
"Yeah," Troy proclaimed with a hint of self importance in his tone.
"You'll need to speak with the sheriff when he arrives.  I saw the kids but only as they were fleeing.  I didn't see them do any of it, but most anyone can draw the lines between the guns they were carrying and the broken glass.  I recognized them from a block over.  I think they're last name is Grayson.  Man, will Dex be upset!"
I didn't say much.  I was shaken.  How could anyone do such a thing?  This was our yard, private property...there was no safe, not in the city, not in the county, no safe anywhere in 1971.
 
___________
 
"Troy, I really don't remember seeing those boys before.  Are you sure?  I mean, I remember playing at your house...but by the time we arrived to my back yard...."
 
"Shssssh," Troy whispered.  "Just let me handle this.  You never remember things the way they really happened."
 
Troy stepped forward, pointed his fingers at the boys and spun a fantastic tale.  The sheriff kept writing in his little black book and I couldn't stop wringing my fingers.  The shooters exchanged glances of disbelief.  They all turned in unison glaring at Troy.  It was then I knew my friend had sealed his fate, it was then I knew he had poked the biggest bee hive ever.
 
__________
 
The bb-gun gang had to face the consequences by paying for the replacement of each and every morsel of glass that they had taken aim on.  There was no doubt their parents imposed a much harsher punishment as well.  Whatever that was remains unknown.  The other consequence was in the loss of my friendship with Troy.  Real or imagined he became the target of the angry delinquents.  His family moved soon after, across town to a new school district and to a new life. 
 
I on the other hand, kept to myself and ducked from the bullies whenever I could. 
 
"Liar, liar, pants on fire!"  I heard more often than not.  Troy had told me, "you never remember things the way they really happened."  ...but I disagree for I was the one who really did.
 
 

Maybe Cupid Knows

I pause to wonder about happily ever after existing in relationships...hand in hand, with bells and white doves or for some, hints of love expressed through a constant bickering.  What makes a relationship?  What breaks a relationship?  Exploring the possibility of happily is something I often entertain while writing. 
 
If the truth be told, I look for examples in the everyday world.  What seems to be an ideal fit is unlikely.  The perfect couple is often just a façade, a pretend until the door closes at the end of the day and many warts become apparent.   In real life, if one asks the right questions and observes subtle clues, incompatibility becomes noticeable.    
 
If only the connection could live up to rose pedals and fond memories that last the duration.  There are so many temptations, so much baggage from the past, pressures from work, troubles with family, accidents, belches and blunders.  A hard-knocks life gets in the way...and then we turn, away in bed, the channels on the tv, away from each other, with silence at the dinner table and the spice that seemed favorable leaning towards rancid.  Someday, maybe years into the future we find ourselves standing vulnerable with the hope of initiating honest conversation, except Siggy Other will not power down their electronic device long enough to offer an undivided attention. 
 
Please look me in the eye, please give me some indication that I'm still beautiful to you...but no, life goes on.
 
The harsh reality is that needs are no longer being met on even the most basic level.  When is it time to throw in the towel and walk away?  Promising "forever," is that really possible?  Life may be a long haul and what happens if the coupling turns out to be a mismatched set?  Unhappily ever after.
 
What if by penning a fantastic love story I'm adding to the problem?  What if romantic expectations become unrealistic?  Do we recognize the difference?  Should we bother to explore the fantasy?  Who would read a romance novel if written anywhere close to reality?  Dirty socks, dirty shirts, nag, nag, nag, add bleach to the whites and spin, spin, spin.
 
There are good days, there are bad days, there are moments that fill our hearts with an abundance of love, a joke shared, a funny thing little Eldon said, or a basket overflowing with warmth and connection.  In a snap it all may change...in a snap words calloused and hard fall from Siggy's  lips or we find they are sharing elements of what used to be ours exclusively with others.  We love, we try, we fumble, we cry.
 
The music transforms from soft ballads to harsh explosions of sound.  Pain, agony, regret, rejection, abandonment and you find yourself singing an old Gloria Gaynor tune, "go on now go, walk out the door..."
 
Ah, the breakup.  I've been through more breakups in the past cluster of years than you can imagine.  Not exactly in my own personal life but vicariously.  My daughter and my son actively date and their friends become part of our family.  At first I'm exposed to the running list of why their true love is the greatest thing since buttered bread.  I know the routine, I can mouth their words just as they declare, "this is it, I know it, _____is my forever person...we have common interests, they treat me so well."  You know the script, it's the standard la-de-da at the beginning of most relationships. 
 
I grow attached in a mother-in-law sort of way.  I enjoy the company, I appreciate gaining a new perspective through dinner conversation.  Just when I look forward to the next visit, "sorry mom, that person wasn't for me after all."
 
Is it crazy that I feel more of a loss than my kids do?  Is it crazy that I look at the empty space at the table and think, Dee-dee was fun...I miss that.  My kids, neither of them look back, but instead forward.  They keep a running list of things that worked surrounding  past relationships and aspects they wish to avoid the next time around.  They are willing to continue trying for the perfect ideal, they have set themselves on the path of not settling until the match is just-so.  Someday they'll find it or maybe not...for alone might turn out to be what suits them best.
 
What if miss/mister perfect comes and goes?  Does one ever admit to such truth?  Instead are flaws invented so as to believe they have avoided a bullet?
 
Maybe they did avoid a huge mistake, maybe they didn't...only Cupid knows. 
 
For those of us who closed our eyes, plugged our noses and jumped without any fear of landing, many of us are still free-falling.  There's no real way to tally up until we arrive on solid ground at the final page of our own personal story.  Hopefully, the fond memories will outnumber the rough patches and we can feel justified in hanging in there as a constant.  If we're lucky, we'll sport a pair of matched socks with rows of mending to prove the great journey of loving.    
 
Happily ever after?  I sure hope so...on paper and in real life.
 

Chop-hop 50

Last week over spring break, my son traveled to Florida to perform with his school band.  While he was enjoying 80 degrees, the ocean, palm trees and resorts, I was at home dealing with blizzard-like conditions.  Several ice storms bled into an outright snow with zero visibility.  Just as soon as it accumulated, the white melted.
 
As if someone twisted a valve, this week has been rather pleasant.  I'll graciously accept milder temperatures with a clear blue sky and plenty of sunshine, thank you very much.  The thing is, my lawn is in need of a haircut, but I'm just not ready to mow yet.  I'm just not ready.  I'm just not.
 
My arms have been bothering me.  Maybe the pain is from trimming overgrowth in our yard.  A chain link fence separates the neighbors property from our lot.  A lovely grapevine strings the entire length but mulberries have taken root from below robbing the visual appeal from the vine.  Each spring, I work my loping sheers to reclaim the space but for whatever reason, this year my arms are bothering me in the after.
 
The truth is, I'll be turning 50 in a few short weeks.  That number rolled from my fingertips with little trouble but to speak this truth from my lips, that's a whole different story.  I know logically I should embrace this monumental year.  I've survived many ups and downs along the way...but still...what happened to my youth?  In a blink I've landed right here, right now...ready to cross the threshold to the older side.
 
I wonder if this is when my body will start to protest all of the unkindness that I've put it through?  So, you want to trim trees, lift this and lug that?  I'll show you!  Pain, aching, throbbing, dull...all rising up in a formation set to overthrow.  Bing, bang, boom...tossing and turning at night, too sore to sleep this way, too annoyed to turn that. 
 
The calories count...with a collection of sweets gathering around my hips and thighs.  Just a taste and there goes my waist.  Was that cake worth the sacrifice?  I happen to believe, chocolate is always worth the sacrifice.
 
Tears of joy or are they just tears?  A sad commercial on television, my daughter phoning just because, son leaving me a thank you note for sponsoring his trip for band...the river flows and I'm sniffling like a baby...and in a flash, I'm hot.  My face turns flush and everything feels out of control.  Power down, take off my shoes, remove my socks until it all passes.  It does, eventually until the next round.
 
50.  Help.
 
It's just a number...and now you've got mine.  I've fallen and I can't move past the opposite of puberty.  Menopause.  Stand back, duck, incoming, outgoing, over-the-hill, through the woods and I am grandmother, maybe not yet, but see my house?  Two cats, a dog, and crazy art everywhere.  Oh, to travel back in time for a re-do.  Seriously, no thank you.  Onwards to the next chapter titled, "This IS Life."
 
A choppy blog that makes no sense?  Maybe so but that's what you get once you twist the valve on the weather and my age.  Winter, spring, young, old...snow, sunshine...and now my blog is done.  Back to work, back to the finishing touches regarding "A Love for the Taking."  Did you think I forgot about my latest work?  Senility?  Not quite yet...tomorrow maybe, but not quite yet. 
 
Until next time.
 
~Trixie Archer
 

The Wishing Wheel

With a simple twirl in my dad's office chair, the neighboring cornfields stood far and wide.  I stopped rolling after Derek Ferguson sailed the chair he deemed blue comet through the finish line.  That stretch of country road was no place for such mischief, but since neither of us could ever back down from a race, the washboard pavement would suffice.
 
The immature stalks appeared scattered and few since the weather remained set on drought.  Plants grew in clusters resembling old biddies who paused long enough to share gossip along their trek to the store.  There was something calming about the breeze, as if all was right in the universe. 
 
My attention locked onto a solitary cloud as the sunlight became diffused.  A rainstorm?  No.  I cupped my hand to use as a brim with the hope of understanding why.  Derek Ferguson muttered words of caution, but the meaning fell just outside of my grasp.
 
Pops came into view, he was towering over me.  The great cornfield 500 was all but a dream.  "You'd better get out of bed RIGHT now and tend to those hedges.  I trimmed them, now you're to clean up.  AND I mean NOW, we can't have that mess in our yard, so get moving!"
 
His tone conjured much upset.  The needle was scratched along the classical tune and my inner vinyl was flustered.  Pop was in a mood, he was often in a mood, unless of course he was drinking which brought on a predictable melancholy. 
 
If I minded my tongue and cooperated, my Saturday morning could be restored in an hour or so.  However, if I moved the wheelbarrow left instead of right, overlooked a single leaf to be collected, pops would tack more onto my list of chores.  Dear ol' dad wanted everything a certain way and there was no point in argument, just hard work.
 
I quickly dressed and darted through the house allowing the screen door to thud in my wake. 
 
"Hey girlie!"  Mom called.  "Are you gonna come back and eat some breakfast?"
 
"No time for that," I shouted back.  I held my breath hoping she wouldn't demand otherwise.  Sometimes the power play between mom and pops worked in opposite.  Mom held her clenches on one hand, pops on the other...and they'd tug.   I was the poor ragdoll whose stitching was sure to unravel at any given moment.  I sensed their battle of wills had nothing to do with me what-so-ever and I believe my perception was absolute.
 
Smitty's grandson next door stood at the fence, his face appeared crinkled in a distortion from the morning light overhead.  Red hair stood askew and it was only then I realized I had failed to make myself presentable as well.
 
"Your dad's at it again, isn't he?  Ya poor thing, the way he works you and your brother."  I did my best to ignore him, after all, one look at their house and the obvious neglect contradicted all complaint against my dad and his work ethic.  Their home was a clutter-keep with old cars, plastic toys, piles upon piles of empty containers everywhere.  There were massive collections of tin, aluminum and steel ready to be exchanged for a little bit of nothing at  Rooney's Scrap Your Metal and Collect the Cash.  The piles next door seemed to grow with their clan too overburdened with laze's which made me believe the only thing that would change in ten years was the size of their mess.
 
Some of their collections would gain lift on a windy day.  The refuse would congregate on different sides of their property in hope of finding a gap in the fence.  If I lived there as junk, I would surely long for a clever escape as well. 
 
Mom was always hoping they'd pick up the mess and when she'd offer polite encouragement to Tess Smitty over the fence, her promise of "tomorrow" came as no surprise.
 
Two years ago Red pulled out a ladder to help his grandpa with a loose shingle on the roof; to this day, although rusty, the hammer remains near the ledge and the ladder fell to the ground back at the end of March where it has remained ever since.  The grass has rooted in strong around the rungs.  Eventually, the earth will stake claim and it'll just become another casualty of who cares.
 
I'm not saying pops was a saint, he was far from it...with an explosive temper that carried a short wick, but he did teach me to have pride in our home and how we lived.  I hated the effort it took and the help he demanded.  Most kids my age had better things to do come Saturday morning.   Cartoons, breakfast, homework, chit-chat on the phone, that is if Mrs. Klosinski from down the block wasn't tying up the party line.  Her husband was a salesman who toted pet supplies throughout the state.  Ma would plead her defense, "she's just catching up with her mister and we need to be kind, after all, he's gone for most of the month."
 
Oh how we begged to have a private phone line.  In 1972, private lines were becoming more popular but my mom refused to pay the extra $2.25 for such convenience.  We were stuck with Edna Klosinski and she was stuck with us.
 
My brother Stew would often click the phone to the song "Jingle Bells" taking great pleasure from annoying Edna.  She'd mutter something in Polish followed by the word "brat."  This made Stew laugh in hysterics.  My brother knew I was the one set in her crosshairs of blame.  Often when I'd catch her eye at mass on Sunday, she'd narrow her brow and scowl conveying exactly what she thought of me.  When Stew would notice, he'd fight an outright laugh.  
 
"Good morning Mrs. K," Stew would say to her.  My brother, a senior in high school, the star football player and small town hero to most, walked on water.  He was untouchable and he relished his position.  Edna would never suspect that he was the mad-hat-clicker...nope.  That was how my childhood became tainted with one false assumption after another. 
 
With all of that said, fast forward many years into the future.  High school, college, marriage, kids, a house, a lawn of my own,....all leading to last Friday at 2:45 p.m. when the local police rolled into my driveway. 
 
Officer Bette was driving an animal control vehicle with a paw print above the shield on her side door.  I peered at my dog knowing full well that she was indoors with me for most of the day.  "Now what on earth did you do and when did you do it?"  I questioned.  Duckie raised her head from the pillow as if to convey, I don't know,  then a moment later, returned to a relaxed position.
 
I met the officer in my driveway, just in case one of the neighbors had voiced a complaint about the shrill of my dog's bark.  She was a mighty whiner...thirty nine pounds of yap-idy-yap.  I did my best to be considerate to those around me, but still, I knew from growing up in small town U.S.A., that most neighbors sported two faces.  One they'd use to say "good day," the other to call in a formal complaint to the local authorities. 
 
The officer stood, clipboard in one hand, a click-pen in the other.  She gazed over to the car I had parked in the shade next to the driveway.  Pop's old car, a shiny 1990 Chrysler New Yorker...the last reminder of him in his days of good health.  Soon after he handed me the keys, a brain tumor claimed his life.  My daughter had driven it until she went to college.  Because she didn't need the added expense, it stood in wait for her return after graduation. 
 
My son and I had taken to washing the beast once a month.  After all, my pops had raised me to take pride in everything...to always keep up appearances.   With his old car being a final tribute to him, I did it too.
 
The officer carried more than her ticket book, she carried the air of authority.  Apparently, cars being parked on the grass in our town was not allowed.  Officer Bette adhered an impound sticker to the window.  I had 72 hours to find the beast a new home or else the city would tow the memory of my dad away...and it would cost me.  The warning said, abandoned.  Even though I held a title, there was no arguing with Bette for she was the law.
 
"But the car runs....my daughter drives the beast...she's currently away at school.  I charge the battery so that I can mow beneath...and I do.  There is no issue with tall grass around the edges, see?"
 
Bette remained stone faced and cold.
 
"My daughter will be graduating in a few months and then the car will be in use once again.  Can I have some time to figure this out?"
 
"You'll need to go through emissions, plate it and park it somewhere else...you have 72 hours to make that happen or else."
 
"Suppose I lay some paver bricks to convert this lawn to a parking space?"
 
"Nope.  You must have a poured driveway."  Bette coughed in a pattern of three.  "72 hours..." she warned again.
 
I peered at the car.  I imagined pops sitting in the drivers seat gazing back at me.  Although he was a major pain in the neck throughout my childhood, the car offered a bit of comfort.  I carried imaginary conversations with him as I checked the mail each day.  The beast was my direct line to the great beyond. 
 
I remembered him applying wax, shining the chrome, telling me stories of the many jalopies he owned throughout his life.  The New Yorker was his favorite and then it became my daughter's first car.  Somehow I believed he was keeping watch over her from the afterlife.  Look out for that fellow over there, he might not stop in time...do you see that bump ahead?  You've got it, nicely done, a little less braking next time, you don't want to wear the pads...
 
I phoned my daughter at school and we made the final decision together.  The car would need to go.  72 hours from Friday at 2:45 landed us at Monday at 2:45.  Such a short time constraint didn't offer too many options.  It was time to bid farewell.  Pops and his car would be forced to drive on. 
 
I searched for a worthy charity.  Wheels for Wishes, a division of the Make a Wish Foundation seemed like the perfect choice.  In honor of pops, someone who was having a very rough time of it would be granted a final wish.  I had to believe my dad would appreciate that.  The Bully named Bette who wore badge number 6356 would not break our spirits or our hearts after all.   
 
On Monday a tow truck arrived to carry the beast away.  Yes there were tears and yes my pops would have been annoyed that I allowed his car to ruin the patch of grass beneath.  I waved to him as the vehicle was toted away. 
 
"Goodbye pops..." I mumbled under my breath. 
"Here's the key," my dad offered....  "Take good care of her when I'm gone...." and in that we always did.    
 
 
 
 

Hey Little Sister

Guilt.  I was born with an extra dose.  I was the caboose in my family and having to follow those before me was far from simple.  Would you mind, could you, it'll only take you twenty minutes, come on, please, after all I've done for you, really....
 
I learned early on that when I said no, it meant those around me would simply try a different approach.  On the positive side, I believe I've seen it all and can pretty much identify what sort of manipulation others are using in order to have their way. 
 
With that said, Thursday morning is blog day.  Normally I prepare my 16 year old a high protein breakfast since he is as thin as a rail and burns calories faster than anyone I know.  Even at four years old he darted through the house, "I'm hungry, feed me, hungry mom, feed me!" 
 
I would offer him a huge lunch and just as I sat down to finally have a bite of my own, he'd be at my side eating every other morsel from my plate.  I've never met anyone with bottomless stomach before.  Our food bill, well let's just say we could have a summer home with what it costs to feed little Jaws.
 
....but Thursday morning, he's on his own.  I need a bit of solitude to compose, I need a moment of peace so as to put one word in front of the other.  It is my hope to offer a bit of sunshine to brighten even the most dismal of mornings.  
 
I said as much today....  "It's Thursday and if you'd be so kind, could you please find something on your own?"
 
Without batting an eye he replied, "sure mom, if that's how it is, but it seems to me, I'm the only person who loves me enough..."
 
Guilt. 
 
"Just on Thursday's dear, you know the routine."
 
"Okay, if you're going to make me fend for myself then."
 
Of course it was all said with humor, but still...guilt.  The ultimate control tactic.  He know it works so why would he use anything else?  This has been proven time and time again.  No means try harder until mom buckles and responds more favorably.
 
I once sold candy at the entrance of the Lambert Grocery Store on behalf of my sister M.  She felt it was beneath her as she convinced me to be her stand in.  "After all of those times I helped you with your math homework and you can't do this small favor for me?" 
 
With an embarrassed expression lining my face, I tried to explain why someone in grade school was pitching candy for the high school glee club.  My sister was all about looking "cool" and being in such a position was quite the opposite.  To be honest, I didn't accomplish much that day....but I waved the candy bar as customers entered and exited the storefront regardless.  "There's a coupon inside of every bar and it really is an excellent deal...come on, for the glee club!"
 
Guilt.
 
On another occasion my sister M convinced me to babysit her three children on a Sunday evening so that she and her husband could attend a wedding reception.  She promised me that she'd be home early enough so that I would be well rested for work the following day.  Initially I said no, I mean who has a wedding reception on a Sunday evening, but she was a master of spinning things...and yes, there was plenty of guilt mixed into the conversation.
 
9:30, 10:00, 10:30, 11:00.....1 a.m., 2...  I found myself driving home, eyelids ready to close all the while haunted by Monday morning and what I would need to focus on.  A mountain of bids that held tight deadlines.  Numbers, percentages, costs, retail, sale, inventory, special orders...it all danced before me in the headlights of passing cars on the expressway.  I survived the experience but wondered if other people fell into the mode of surrender as easily as I did.
 
Forget my ability to say no to my bosses at work.  I often received a call on my day off that someone didn't show up for their shift.  "Would you mind filling in?"  No was never part of my vocabulary.  What was the point?  If I said no, I'd second guess that decision and forget any peace of mind.  Hair askew, make-up half applied, I shuffled in and that was that...7 1/2 hours that could never be refunded. 
 
One day a co-worker pulled me aside and said, "did you ever wonder why it is you're asked to work on your day off...that you're the first person management bothers?"  I shrugged my shoulders in response.  "Because they know you're too agreeable...you never say no...but you should...really now, you really should."
 
On the positive side, my evaluations were always pristine.  I was all about being a team player...I carried the polish and offered the shine with tremendous elbow grease and personal sacrifice.   While I worked, I maintained a great optimism.  Why not, I mean I had to be there anyway...doom and gloom just wasn't part of my soul.
 
Well, I hear my son upstairs singing an old Billy Idol tune.  I suppose he managed just fine today preparing breakfast on his own.  Did I mention he's taken up the electric guitar?  Quiet time is now a thing of the past.  That's okay, I'm all for the free concerts.  I picked up old red  and a practice amp years ago intrigued by yet another mode of self-expression.  When JD wanted to play, we had everything on hand so why not? 
 
....besides, how could I say no to him or to anyone....guilt.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Fang-xiety

I couldn't sleep.  Everything weighed heavy on my mind.  There was a running list of things that needed to be done and most held a deadline of yesterday.  The stress was taking a toll.  Reality was a horrible agitator.  My insides twisted in a never-ending spin cycle after soaking in warm water throughout the day. 
 
I deemed my Kindle, Kindle Corn.  Giving my tablet a nickname was a stupid thing, I realize that...but still, it was the only midnight snack that could help me past the mind clutter preventing sleep.  Solitaire, reading a book, watching something that I've seen a million times, normally it all worked like a charm...normally...
 
Padding out to my easy chair in the main room, I was careful to not awaken my boy.  Reggie was sound asleep after a long evening of geometry homework.   The task was rated two grumbles as opposed to four.  The boy had my sympathies since math was never my strength either. 
 
The mechanism in the chair was noisy.  No matter how I tried, it always mocked me in the same way.  Fast, slow, no foot pressure on the platform, heavy footed...squeak...or rather SQUEAK, full volume!~
 
I held my breath hoping that Reggie wouldn't awaken to find me.  I wasn't up for any sort of conversation.  I just needed to unwind, to gain some peace of mind and then rest would come.
 
Power on.  Why did such moments seem like hours when Kindle Corn was booting up?  I held my breath, I squinted, maybe, just maybe I'd find a bit of relief from the burden on my shoulders.
 
We were tapped out financially.  Tax time often did this to us.  "Just write a check," my accountant said.  IF she only realized what we owed was a sum greater than what we could afford.   Adding to that we had other things that went amiss all at once.  The car needed brakes, tree roots invaded our sewer line...and of course there were various supplies to be purchased for my mother's surprise birthday party.  When my sister phoned,  I agreed.  I said "sure" before knowing what my financial situation was.  Horrible planning on my part.  I was guilty of a heart of gold and a wallet overflowing with pocket lint.
 
Kindle Corn smiled at me, she opened her eye as light glistened throughout the room.  "What will it be tonight, what will it be?"
 
I'm not sure why but I'm touch-screen-challenged.  My fingertips lack coordination.  I often reach for one thing and the heat from my finger will open that.  It's okay though, I've learned patience...except on this occasion, I accidentally launched the camera.   
 
The front view clicked on.  As I slid my finger to rectify the situation, to change the app to read a book or watch a movie....that is when I gasped with disbelief.  My own face appeared lined with worry but there was something else, or rather someone else looming in full view.
 
I froze.  Every hair stood on end.  Someone opened the curtain and I realized there was a haunt lurking in wait.  His face was putrid:  wrinkles, bulging eyes, a smirk that was all superior...I knew right away he projected malicious intent.  How long was he locked onto me in such a way?


I swung my head to confront the creature eye to eye.  I needed to face my fears once and for all.  There was blackness surrounding me.  Silence. 
 
"Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!"  I whimpered.  My heart was racing, an adrenaline rush.  I knew ugly, but this was unimaginably disturbing.  I closed the lid to Kindle Corn.  I closed the leather case hoping for everything in that moment to be erased.  The room fell dark and in a notch just above my racing heartbeat I heard the raspy sound of breathing.  His breath; onions, garlic, rotten soil and yesterday's coffee grinds all in one.
 
Sleep was the furthest thing from my mind now.  The list of worries simply fell away.  I was in the grip of doom...and I believed the sun would never rise again...not for me.
 
What did I see exactly?  What did I see?  Did my worry conjure a face?
 
Maybe with the help of a front view camera I was privy to what had been following me all along.  What if....I mean, goodness, the unhealthy way I carried my troubles, maybe, just maybe, there was more to it than a lack of coping.  Fangs, the creature had fangs...he was the shadow no one would ever admit to, and yet he was.  He was mine!
 
I was alone in my torment, I always had been...or so it seemed.  "You fret too much," my mom told me as a girl.  "The sky is not falling down, everything will work out for it always does..." yet, not always mom, not always...ask him.   
 
I've been a day late and a dollar short for most of my life.  I've often forgotten details, I've spent when I should have saved, I turned left when I should have gone right.  Some people have it, I never did...no instinct to guide me. 
 
Fangs....fang-xiety.
 
My left hand went numb.  The creature grasped my fingers to lead me away.  My body lifted as I began to rise towards the ceiling.  This was freakin' crazy, I know...c-r-a-z-y.  My arm was lifted straight above my head as my hand disappeared into the plaster above.  I looped my right arm so as to brace myself there.  My feet remained dangling below.  I began to sprint in mid air.  My brother Keith used to lift me when I was little and I'd run...we'd share a laugh as my feet scampered without traction, except, I wasn't laughing now.  I was petrified. 
 
"Let me go!"  I demanded through a breathy whisper.  As illogical as it seems, I didn't want Reggie to be awakened.  He needed to be well rested for school in a few hours.  No one said I was rational...I mean something was attempting to haul me off to lord knows where....and I didn't wish to disturb Reggie?  Stupid.
 
Fang-xiety released his grip.   I plopped down from the ceiling back into my chair.  There wasn't much noise, just a creek below my posterior.  I wanted to stand, I wanted to dart from that room, to the kitchen...to throw on the lights and regain my bearings.   I couldn't move.  My body was limp. 
 
"Just you shut your mouth...shush......"  I knew the lyric...I felt the beat...what the heck?
 
 A moment later, my eyes adapted to the dimness.  The only explanation was that I most likely dozed off.  Kindle Corn was in my grasp.  A movie was playing.  I had fallen asleep and my fingers opened this and clicked on that.  Finally, a logical explanation.  Everything was real and yet it wasn't.  Real on the screen, just not real to what was happening to me in the front room.
 
I sighed a great relief as I closed the tablet to return to bed.  The burden was gone, it vanished into the night.  My feet slid into the sheets.  There was something comforting about the coolness on my toes.  I smiled in slight as I surrendered to exhaustion.  Just a mere dream. 
 
As far as my worries, I'd figure something out, I'd sell something of value.  Reggie and I would be okay...we'd be okay.  Just do better the next time around.  Learn from this...plan for the rainy day.
 
I never heard the footsteps in the attic above.  I never considered how the creature was real...not until the very next morning as I sipped my coffee and opened up Kindle Corn to check the weather.  On the screen before me the camera remained fixed on the final image that was captured in the night.  My face was frozen in a nightmarish scream.  Eyes wide, terror...  and lingering above was fear...ugly, putrid, grotesque, in perfect detail and rare form.  There was no movie after all, the creature was my reality.
 
When I glanced again, the screen fell blank.  The proof had vanished. 
 
Today's forecast:  Sunny with a high of 70, a slight breeze from the south...clear skies, a perfect day.
 
Hope for better was a good thing.  I lifted my pen to map the day for what was ahead.  Clean slate.   My problems seemed less now...my problems dissolved into the great attic overhead...until next time.  Fangs.
 
~Trixie Archer