Sandra Boutwell-Falcone's Blog, page 2

Ladies Night

2nd Place Winner Arkansas Writer's Conference 2019

     Karen looked over her itinerary while cradling the phone against her ear. “Yes, Blanch. There are five ladies coming this afternoon. They’ll be here any minute. What do you mean you aren’t coming? I’m not a life coach. I’m just a secretary.” Karen pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ve never taken lead at a team building before. Well, thank you for the vote of confidence but why aren’t you going to be here again? Yes, I have the table all laid out. It looks great. But wait. Are you sure? Okay, but what if...Blanch? Are you there?” She sighed loudly. They aren’t going to like me. They’ll know I’m not really a life coach. They’ll all demand their money back and I’ll get fired! Karen struggled to get her imagination under control. “Deep breath. You can do this Karen,” she whispered to herself.
     She turned toward the door to find an older lady dressed entirely in pink standing just behind her. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear the door.” Karen extended her hand.


     “I didn’t use the door.” The woman looked around distastefully, waving off the offered handshake with a pink-gloved hand.
     A little confused, Karen nervously arranged the napkins while the lady in pink positioned herself at the head of the table. Two young women strode through the door. A tall redhead dressed in shades of green with flowers in her hair headed straight to the planter boxes where large ferns spilled out reaching for the sun. The pretty blonde snagged a cookie from the table and hopped up to sit on the window sill. She moved with feline grace in her tight black pants and leather jacket. Karen smiled widely, about to introduce herself when the door slammed against the wall as it was kicked open.

     “Hello, girls.” A petite young woman dressed in brightly colored tights and a very short skirt sauntered in carrying a baseball bat. There were streaks of pink and blue in her platinum hair. 

     “I can take that for you if you’d like.” Karen offered, reaching for the bat. “We didn’t plan for baseball, but there are several great activities this weekend.
     “Okay.” The colorful nymph surrendered the bat, popping her gum in spectacular fashion.
     Karen leaned in closer. “Your mascara is a little smudged.”
     The girl leaned in closer still. “I like it that way,” she whispered.
     Karen plastered on her best smile. “Oh of course. We are all about choices here. Everyone should have their own personal style.” She glanced at her itinerary again. “We have just one more …” She trailed off as she noticed the elegant Asian woman, dressed all in gray, leaning in the corner. “Oh. Didn’t see you there.”
     “I’m glad everyone made it here. Welcome to Garden Lodge. My name is Karen and I’ll be your guide on this fun and hopefully transformative weekend. We have some wonderful activities planned. You are just going to love it. Now we can begin with introductions. Just tell your name, a little about yourself and what you hope to get out of this retreat.” After a long awkward silence, Karen continued. “I’ll start us off. My name is Karen P., and believe it or not this is my first time to lead a team building retreat. I enjoy cooking and scrapbooking. This weekend I hope to make some lasting friendships. Now, who’s next?”
     “I’ll go.” The colorful nymph spoke up. “My name is Harley Q. I like long walks on the beach and creating mayhem with my Pooky. He’s quite the joker. I wanted to get out of this retreat all together but it is court appointed so, here I am.”
     “And what would you like to accomplish this weekend?” Karen chimed.
     “My shrink thinks I need to learn to bond with other women. I just want to get through this thing without killing anyone. The Doc was really adamant about that. You know, the not killing part.” She blew a big purple bubble and popped her gum loudly.
     Karen swallowed hard. “Ooookay, who’s next?” Her gaze landed on the older lady in pink.
     “I am Dolores U., formerly headmistress at Hogwarts School.” She spoke with a squeaky British accent. “I am an educator and strict disciplinarian. For instance, that gum smacking would not be tolerated if I were in charge.”
     “Good thing you ain’t in charge then.” The cute blonde sitting in the window sill spoke up. Harley laughed, popping her gum in a machine gun fashion.
     Dolores cleared her throat and continued. “I like a good strong spot of tea, all shades of pink, and kittens. I don’t care for cats but I do adore the little ones.”
     The redhead in the back of the room sniggered. “If she likes kittens, what does she do with them when they grow up?”
     The blonde perched in the window bounded soundlessly to the floor. “What’s wrong with cats? I like cats, little and big ones.” Dolores shot her a nasty look.

     Karen stepped up to diffuse the situation.  She turned to the blonde. “What can you tell us about yourself?”
     The blonde turned dismissively from the older woman. “My name is Selina K. I’m here because Ivy thought it would be fun. I like fun.” She raised an eyebrow at her friend. “Better be fun.”
     “And what do you do?” Karen tried to keep the conversation going.
     Selina chuckled. “I’m in acquisitions. I like to acquire pretty things.”
     “And you?” Karen addressed the redhead.
     “My name is Ivy,” she stated dreamily. “I like plants.” She turned from the group to gently stroke the fronds of the fern.  
     “So we have Harley, Dolores, Selina, and Ivy.” Karen gripped the back of a chair so the ladies would not see her nervousness. She looked to the silent woman in the corner. “Would you like to introduce yourself?” 
     “I am Talia A., daughter of the Demon Head and leader of the League of Assassins. I am here to hone my social skills.”

     “That’s just wonderful.” Karen gushed. “Now you ladies get acquainted. Help yourself to the buffet. There are mimosas! I’m just going to pop back to the kitchen and make sure everything is ship shape.” Karen pushed through the swinging doors, stumbled past the kitchen staff, and scurried to the storage closet. She fumbled with her phone. “Blanch!” She whispered vehemently. “Voicemail? Pick up, Blanch. I don’t think arts and crafts are going to cut it with these ladies. Call me back!” Karen hissed.
     After their meal Karen showed the ladies around the lodge. “This is where we’ll be sleeping.” She opened the door to a large bedroom with six twin beds. It was nicely appointed with dressers and comfy chairs. The potted plants around the room made it homey and elegant.
     “You expect us to all sleep in the same room?” Dolores’ tone was caustic.
     “Aww, come on Pinky D.” Harley performed a perfect handstand. “It’ll be just like summer camp.” She somersaulted across the room landing with a thump. Ivy applauded. Harley took a bow.
     “Now Dolores,” Karen interjected. “This event is about team building and making connections. That’s why we all stay together. We’ll do everything as a team. Earlier I don’t believe you had a chance to tell us what you hope to get from this weekend. Why did you choose this retreat?”
     Dolores looked embarrassed. All eyes turned to her. Her face glowed the same color as her bright pink jacket. “I had a Groupon.” There was a moment of silence before the chuckling started. Selina laughed out loud. Even the stoic Talia cracked a smile. Dolores was unapologetic. “I like Groupon.”
     After the ensuing laughter subsided Karen remarked. “I love Groupon. And I’m so happy to know that our promotion paid off.”  She continued with the tour. “The dining room is where we’ll have our meetings. There’s a solarium. I just call it a screened porch.” She laughed nervously. “There’s also a hiking trail on the property. It goes through the trees back to an abandoned quarry. That’s a nice place to walk but I don’t recommend swimming there. It’s quite deep and I believe unsafe.”
     “I knew this area looked familiar. I’ve been to that quarry with Pooky. It’s a good place to dump a bod…” Harley hesitated. “There may be stuff in the water. Well, there’s definitely stuff in the water,” she cackled.
     Karen cleared her throat. “After we get our things squared away, I have a surprise for you.” Half an hour later, Karen had the ladies loaded into a van. The driver delivered them to their destination.
     As they exited the van Talia remarked. “This is your surprise? An escape room? You honestly don’t have any idea who we are.” She shook her head at Karen.
     They were escorted into a large room with gothic furniture and floor to ceiling bookshelves. Karen rubbed her hands together. “This is going to be so much fun! Once they lock the door, we have just ninety minutes to find the clues to our escape. We must work as a team to accomplish our goal. There are clues throughout the room. We can start by looking through all the books for clues.”
     Harley opened her sequined purse. “I have a little Semtex right here. I can blow that door with no problem.”
     “I don’t like being locked up.” Selina pulled a bobby pin from her hair. “I’ll pick that lock easily.”
     “For heaven’s sake!” Dolores exclaimed. “This is a ridiculous task.” She pulled a slender stick from her sleeve and waved it at the door. “Alohamorah.” The door swung open.
     The attendant, a pimply faced teen, stood awestruck with a bag of Cheetos in one hand and a Mountain Dew in the other. “Three minutes! That’s gotta be a record.” He peered into the room as the ladies filed out. “It usually takes at least twenty minutes to find the porcelain cat with the key inside.” Ivy ran her long fingers along his collar giving him a gentle shove into the room.
     Selina nudged the door closed. “I wonder if he means this porcelain cat.” She held a blue and white statue up to the light. She gave the feline figurine a gentle shake. Something rattled inside. “Guess so.”
     “Hello? It locks from that side,” the attendant called out.
     “Should we…” Karen took a step toward the door.
     “He’ll be fine.” Talia took her by the elbow and guided her to the van. 
     Harley skipped past the van and ran into the darkness. “See ya later bitches!” she called over her shoulder.
     “Wait!” Karen called out. “We should really stay together.” There was no reply from the darkness. She shrugged and climbed into the van with the rest of her charges. Now I’ve lost a participant. I am so fired. Karen sighed loudly and slumped in her seat. “I haven’t been totally honest with you ladies,” she confessed. “I am not a life coach. I’m only a secretary. The escape room was supposed to take much longer and I’m pretty sure this group is not interested in macramé.” Her words tumbled out.
     The usually silent Talia spoke up. “You aren’t equipped to handle this group.”
     “I know. I know.” Karen moaned.
     Ivy giggled. “No one is.”
     Talia continued. “Look Karen. I really am the leader of the League of Assassins. Dolores is a wand-waving witch. Selina is a world class cat-burglar, and I say that with admiration; and Harley is certified crazy.”
     “Her boyfriend is homicidal psycho, the Joker.” Selina interjected. 
     Karen raised her head and glanced around at the women. “And Ivy?”
     “They call me Poison Ivy. I like plants.” Ivy smiled, looking out the window.
     “Ivy is something else altogether.” Selina stretched in her seat.
     Karen took a deep breath. “There’s an actual League of Assassins?” She looked from Talia to Selina. “Acquisitions. Funny, you know since you … but world class is, well,” she trailed off in a daze. After a moment Karen leaned over the seat to say a few words to the driver before turning back to her group. “Liquor store?”
     Harley parked the stolen motorcycle in front of the lodge. She could hear raucous laughter coming from the dining room. Upon entering, she saw Karen sitting on a table as Ivy wove flowers into her hair. She watched Karen take a long drink from a bottle of bourbon, then hand it to Talia. Harley shouted, “Dang girls! What did I miss?”
     Karen waved. “Harley, you’re back. Look what Ivy did.” She pointed to the back of the room filled with flowers. “I didn’t even know those ferns bloomed.” Then she noted in horror the red stains on Harley’s white t-shirt. “You promised you weren’t going to kill anyone.” Her speech slurred. “Harrely, you didn’t. Did you?”
     Harley glanced at her shirt. “Oh no, no, no. I didn’t. Promised the Doc, you know. Don’t look at me like that,” she giggled. “I had a jelly doughnut. A girl needs a snack, ya know.”
     “And did you bring enough for everyone?” Dolores chirped, daintily sipping gin from a teacup.
     Harley rolled her eyes. “No!”
     The collected ladies glared at her. Selina reached for the dagger in her boot. Talia’s hand went to the sword concealed in her long gray sweater. Harley threw up her hands. “Well, I don’t know who’s doing carbs.”
     “Ooooh.” The ladies nodded in unison.
     “Yep. Makes sense.” Karen agreed. She breathed a sigh of relief.
     “Today is not a cheat day.” Selina purred.
     Talia shrugged. “I’m doing keto anyway.”
     Karen laid her head on the table, giggling. “I like doughnuts.”
     Sunlight filtered through the wall of foliage creeping over the windows. Karen awoke with a start. “Ow.” She moaned softly, cradling her head in her hands. “Never drink again.” As her feet hit the floor she noted the unsettling silence. She blinked to focus. The pounding in her skull made it difficult. On the bedside table was a bottle of water and a stack of papers. After downing half the bottle, she read the note on top.
Dear Karen,
We all agreed that one day was all the team building we needed. (As evidence, we all agreed.) You showed us a good time and we got through the night without any bloodshed. Here are the evaluations for the event. We each gave you a great review.
With fondness,
Dolores Umbridge
Talia Al Ghul
Harley Quinn
Selina Kyle
Ivy
P.S. Ivy says the “botanicals” she put in your water will help with the hangover and should kick in quickly.
     Karen grinned as her head swam and knees buckled. I gotta find a new job.

Excerpt from MARABELLA, QUEST FOR MAGICS

Marabella visits Castle Mirador.     
     The next morning most of the other guests, including Josef, slept in. Marabella rose early. Prince Merc had entertained her at the gala. He was interesting and kind. He told her that the Moorcat village was a good day’s ride going around the lake. She dressed in her hunting clothes, grabbed her heavy cloak, and stole down to the kitchen. As she reached for a biscuit from the tray warming on top of the oven she was struck from behind with a broom.
     “Hands to yourself, sneak-thief!” The rotund cook brandished the broom like a sword. She raised it for another blow.
     “How dare you strike an honored guest!” Princess Celeste barked from the doorway. “I’ll have you flogged.”
     The cook froze. The color drained from her face as she dropped swiftly to her knees. “Mercy, your Grace. I meant no…”
     “Silence.” Celeste hissed.
     Marabella rushed to put herself between the enraged Princess and the poor cook. “Oh good morn Princess Celeste. Please don’t misunderstand. Cook wasn’t being disrespectful. She was just teasing me. We’re great friends.” She helped the portly woman to her feet as she spoke. “Cook is helping me get provisions for my excursion. I’m going to the Moorcat Village today.”
     The Princess softened, distracted from her ire. “Please extend an invitation to each of the clans. They are, of course, welcome to attend the festivities here at the castle.”
     “I’d be happy to, Princess.” Marabella breathed a sigh of relief.
     Celeste glared at the cook. “You are inappropriately familiar with our guest.”
     Again, Marabella intervened. “That’s my fault, Princess. Being from Common Valley, I’m afraid I am more comfortable with your staff than most of the nobles.”
     “Familiar or not, it is not her place to deny you anything. And to accuse you of thievery, even in jest, is a serious offense.” Celeste glowered at the cook with every word.
     “An unfortunate turn of phrase, your Grace.” Marabella placed her arm protectively around the shoulder of the quivering cook. “Cook has made me feel very welcomed here. Thank you, Princess.”
     The cook managed a smile at Marabella. “I didn’t want you taking old rolls from last night when I have fresh hot biscuits coming out of the oven in a wink.”
     Marabella rubbed her hands together, still addressing the Princess. “I do so love her hot biscuits. Would you join me for one right out of the oven?”
     “No thank you. I must breakfast with the Queen this morning. Enjoy your excursion.” The Princess nodded to Marabella before ascending the stairs out of the kitchen.
     Cook blew a sigh of relief as the Princess disappeared up the steps. She took Marabella’s hand executing a perfect curtsey. “I am in your debt, my Lady. Our Princess is,” she paused, searching for the appropriate language, “strict about castle protocol.” She dropped Marabella’s hand looking at the floor. “I am sorry about the broom. I didn’t realize you were a guest.”
     Marabella laughed. “It’s alright. I’m Marabella, by the way.”
     “I suppose I should know your name since we are such great friends.” Cook relaxed. “They just call me Cook but my name is Essmae.”
     “Essmae. Lovely name.” Marabella sniffed. “I smell your biscuits, Essmae.”
     The portly woman moved with surprising speed, grabbing a pot holder and wrenching open the large brick oven in one swift motion. “Perfect.” Essmae placed the huge pan on a table to the side, brushing the biscuit tops with melted butter from a crock near the ovens. She presented one to Marabella on a small plate.
     Marabella winked at her new friend. “Got any figs?”

Miss Luna Kitty LongtailMiss Kitty &...

Miss Luna Kitty LongtailMiss Kitty                                                                                    March 14, 2019
Christmas...yay.You came to us as a stray that Bessie the Lab chased up a tree. Michael could tell you were pregnant then. “Don’t feed her,” he said. “She’ll go home.” Tough talk from the guy who built a pyramid from a ladder, a chair and a stool to help you get down from that tree.  And indeed it was possible that you were a neighborhood cat. You appeared well cared for so I did as he asked. But you stayed. You’d stroll about our back yard as if you’d already claimed it as your own. You tried on more than one occasion to walk into the house. Five days later I was hanging sheets on the line and you came rubbing against my ankles. Your belly bulged with babies but your hips were beginning to look boney. That was it for me. I sat on the steps and you came over and climbed right up into my lap, rolled over and dared me not to rub that big pregnant belly. Pretty GirlI decided to call you Miss Kitty because we weren’t going to keep you. I didn’t want to worry about a real name. That was the day I put food and water out and made a bed for you in the old dog house behind the shed. It was out of the wind and rains of Spring; so Michael and I decided that you’d be an outside cat. That lasted until the chilly day in April when we came home from the movies and Michael peeked into your little house while he was walking Bessie. He came inside and announced “Miss Kitty had her kittens but I think they’re all dead.” Crossed eyesI raced out to the house and crammed myself in as far as I could. I could see that two of your babies were already gone as they lay cold on the bare boards. Next to you was a pile of tiny bodies. I’m pretty sure this was your first litter because you seemed confused. Then I saw one twitch. “We’ve got a live one,” I called back to Michael. I took each one and warmed it in my hands before putting them with you and your instincts kicked right in. We took you and the surviving kittens into the house. And you stayed. The surviving female kittens were adopted but no one wanted the male. I advertised you and that boy of yours all over Facebook and the newspaper but no one wanted either of you. So you stayed. And you and Chaucer turned me, a confirmed animal lover but avowed dog person, into a cat lover. You never minded not being the favorite. Chaucer grabbed center stage early on. But it was you I could count on to cuddle with me on chilly nights, under the quilt, head sticking out, keeping my feet toasty. Chaucer and Miss KSomewhere along the years I decided that your full name was Luna Kitty Longtail. Luna because your coloring made you seem to glow in the moonlight and Longtail because you had an extra-long tail. You were beautiful and soft with thick fur that ended up on everything. The shedding was bad but you enjoyed getting brushed so you always looked fabulous. Sleeping BeautyYour illness was a rough couple of months. I thought you might get better. Two days ago I knew that you would not. For weeks, we went through the extraordinary measures of giving subcutaneous fluids and force feeding you because you wouldn’t eat. Yesterday I did none of that. I just wanted you to rest and be comfortable.  This morning I took you in to end your journey. You decided “no more needles” and passed in my arms before they could stick you.  I didn’t realize that my heart would break.  Seven years was not enough. I wish you’d stayed.    


Writer's Helper

Review: Mann in the Crossfire by R. Weir

I had the opportunity to beta read the new Jarvis Mann novel for R. Weir. It is a another wonderful story of the smart mouthed Private Investigator with a knack for trouble and an eye for the ladies. 
Coming soon!
 
     Mann in the Crossfire by R. Weir offers another installment in the life of our intrepid hero, Jarvis Mann. Jarvis juggles two cases at once with the help of some friends and former associates. As usual, Jarvis finds himself at odds with powerful forces, both known and unknown. He risks it all to find out what happened to his former associate, Rocky. Jarvis battles LA gang members, Chinese mobsters, and his own worst impulses with only partial success. With the assembly of an unlikely team, even Jarvis can’t predict the twisty outcome.
          R. Weir continues to deliver interesting situations for his hero. As a fan of the Jarvis Mann series from early on, I am impressed with the way each story reveals a richer and more complex character, building on the previous novel. I love the way he uses minor characters from previous stories, fleshing out their backgrounds and pulling us further into the world of Jarvis Mann.      A fantastic read! 

1st Place Winner Carolyn Sanders Memorial Award WHITE COUNTY WRITER'S CONFERENCE

              This entry is a true story documenting one of the last days of my lovely sister-in law, Dorinda.  


Stormy Night


     “I’ve got her all set. She’s had her meds, so she should be comfortable. Try to get her to eat something and make sure she keeps drinking water.” The hospice nurse gave last minute instructions. “Watch her oxygen tubes. She should be fine until morning.”
     The house was quiet except for the droning of the AC unit pumping cool air and keeping the hot, Louisiana summer night at bay. In the master bedroom, the soft hum of the electric oxygen generator lulled all into a false sense of security.
     Roy escorted the nurse to her car and hurried back to his charge. The frail figure in the hospital bed barely resembled his beautiful wife of over 40 years. Cancer had ravaged her body for almost a decade. She had her lung removed and endured chemo and radiation. She’d fought and won at one point, going into remission for over 6 months. It seemed a cruel joke. Just as Dori regained her strength and resumed her life, the cancer returned with a vengeance. Now she struggled for every breath. Tumors ravaged her body, crowding her single lung, liver, and abdomen.
     “What can I do for you?” Roy’s sister San asked, standing by the bed.
     “My skin is so dry it hurts. Can you find some lotion that’s unscented? I can’t stand the smell.” Dori croaked from under the covers.
     “I have some unscented face lotion for sensitive skin,” San spoke up. Let’s see if you can tolerate this.” San held the open bottle under Dori’s nose.
     “Yeah, that’s okay,” Dori mumbled.
     San lifted the light blanket to reveal Dori’s emaciated legs. Carefully, so as not to disturb the life-giving oxygen tube, she rubbed liberal amounts of lotion into Dori’s dry skin. It absorbed the lotion like a sponge. “The nurse said you need to eat. What would you like? I’ll make you anything you want.” San spoke softly as she massaged Dori’s bony feet.
     “I don’t think I can eat.”
     “I’m here to make whatever you want. Isn’t there something, anything you think you could hold down?”
     “Ok. How about some dry toast. No butter.”
     “Dry toast it is.” San scurried to the kitchen while Roy propped Dori up on a mountain of pillows. A rumble of thunder announced the approach of a summer storm.
     San quickly returned bearing a paper plate with two pieces of dry toast. Dori smirked. “You didn’t cut the crust off.”
     “I didn’t know you wanted it all fancy.” San’s comment dripped with sarcasm.
     Dori grinned, looking like her old self for a moment. “You should know I like everything fancy.”
     It was an accurate statement. Dori had always been well-put-together; her flaming red hair coiffed, nails manicured, make up perfect. Her long, delicate fingers were typically adorned with sparkling rings. Roy enjoyed buying jewelry and Dori loved wearing it. Rings, gold chains, bracelets, pendants of precious and semi-precious stones, and earrings in all shapes and colors occupied her large jewelry armoire. Presently, Dori’s only adornment consisted of a paper hospital band around her thin wrist.
     A flash from outside drew their attention. “Wow. The storm’s getting closer.” Dori reacted to the lightning. The following clap of thunder sounded louder than before.
     “What are you girls gabbing about?” Roy entered with Dori’s water mug. “All filled up.” He smiled and took his wife’s gaunt hand. “Think I could grab a shower while you two talk?”
     Dori waved him off. “Go ahead. We need to catch up anyway.”
     San nodded to her brother. “We’re good. I’ll holler if I need anything. Take a shower.”
     San watched as Dori struggled to draw the liquid up the straw. “Having a little trouble?” She reached over to loosen the top of the mug. “Try that.”
     “That’s much easier. Thanks.” Dori whispered.
     “I heard that your brother Bob came for a visit today.” San propped herself up on the bed next to Dori’s hospital bed.
     Dori frowned. “It was awful. He just sat by the bed trying not to cry. I felt like I had to carry the conversation and I just don’t have the energy. He’s depressing.” She chuckled, in spite of the graveness of the situation. “Talk to me San. Tell me about the book you’re working on.”
     Often berated for her gift of gab, San launched into an animated description of the fantasy novel she was writing. Dori commented from time to time as she nibbled on her toast, even laughing at San’s antics. After a few minutes, a shirtless Roy appeared in the doorway.
     “It’s nice to hear her laugh.” He commented to his sister while pulling on a t-shirt. Lightning cracked outside, immediately followed with a boom of thunder that shook the house. “The storm is getting worse. Let’s hope it blows over.”
     Dori yawned widely. San rescued the water mug as her head sagged. “Let’s let her get some sleep.” She motioned to her brother.
     They tip-toed to the living room. “She probably won’t sleep long.” Roy collapsed into his recliner. “You might want to get some rest while you can.”
     “Oh, you know me. I can stay up all night.” San clicked on the television. The blue screen indicated a lost satellite signal. “The storm,” she sighed. Rain pelted the windows. Flashes of lightning lit up the night. The old house trembled with the resonating thunder. The lights blinked. San looked to Roy with raised eyebrows.
     “I’d better find a flashlight, just in case…” Roy’s shoulders slumped when the house went dark. “Shit.” He sprang from his chair. “I’ve got one right over here.” He fumbled in the dark for a moment, finally coming up with a flashlight. “There’s another one in the kitchen.”
     San edged her way to the kitchen in the darkness. Roy followed with the light. They rummaged through the junk drawer to find a second flashlight.
     “Roy.” Dori’s feeble call was barely audible over the din of the storm.
     Racing to the bedroom, they found Dori gasping for breath. “Dammit. The oxygen.” Roy rushed to Dori’s side.
     “Up,” she gasped. “Can’t breathe.”
     He punched the button on the hospital bed. “Dammit. There’s a manual crank under here somewhere.” San reached out to pull Dori forward as Roy stacked pillows behind her. While he searched for the crank, San found a small battery-operated fan. She placed it on the rolling table to blow directly into Dori’s face.
     “Better.” Dori croaked. “This hurts.”
     “I can’t see shit.” Roy’s fear and irritation was showing.
     “I’ve got a camp lantern in my Jeep. I’ll go get it.” San started for the door. “You okay for a minute?”
     “Yeah. I gotta have some light.” Roy nodded.
     San burst out the front door into the storm. Two steps off the porch, she was soaked. She ran to her vehicle, retrieving the lantern. In less than ninety seconds she was back, dripping on the carpet. The lantern lit up the room, but Dori was clearly in pain.
     Roy held Dori up. With San’s help, he found the crank to adjust the bed but it did little to alleviate Dori’s distress. Lying back, Dori couldn’t get enough oxygen for a breath. Pulled or propped forward, she could catch a breath, but leaning forward compacted the tumors amassed in her body. She was in a lot of pain. To make matters worse, Dori began vomiting.
     San held Dori in her arms, pulling her forward to get a breath, wiping her face with a cool washcloth. Dori could only remain in that position for about thirty seconds. She took a couple of breaths, then nodded for San to lower her back down. After about a minute in recline, San had to lift Dori again to get another breath. They soon found a rhythm. Thirty seconds up, then down. While Dori reclined, San cleaned the dark stains from her shirt front. The humidity and temperature began to rise rapidly.
     While San tended to Dori, Roy was on the phone with the hospice nurse. She was an hour away, in fair weather. The massive storm would triple that. He fumed and fussed but was ultimately appreciative that she was coming back.
     Dori’s vomiting spell only lasted a short while. She didn’t have much in her stomach, after all. Roy took over for his sister. Lift forward for thirty seconds, lower for one minute, lift for thirty seconds, lower for one minute. San fanned furiously with her notebook to stir the air. In a few minutes, she was drenched with sweat, adding to the damp from her dash into the storm. Perspiration dripped off the tip of Roy’s nose as he lifted and lowered his ailing wife.
     The temperature in the house rose to a sweltering, sticky ninety degrees. Lift forward for thirty seconds, lower for one minute, lift for thirty seconds, lower for one minute. For ninety minutes Roy and San took turns helping Dori breathe. Lift for thirty seconds, lower for one minute.
     The storm lashed the old house with wind and driving rain for what seemed an eternity. Eventually, the rain ceased and the rumbles of thunder rolled into the distance. There was little conversation as Roy and San continued; lift for thirty seconds, lower for one minute, lift for thirty seconds, lower for one minute.
     Finally, the lights blinked on as the power was restored. The hum of the AC was a welcome sound but the soft drone of the oxygen generator was a gift from God. Roy placed the cannula back on Dori’s face. She visibly relaxed as she received the oxygen. With San’s assistance, he changed Dori’s soiled shirt. They turned on three fans to stir the air and cool Dori’s room as quickly as possible. When the hospice nurse arrived, a full three hours after Roy called, San hugged her.
     The nurse administered nausea and pain meds to make Dori comfortable. Once Dori was settled, she eased into the living room to get a full accounting from Roy and his sister. The nurse found them both asleep, San on the sofa and Roy in his recliner. Exhaustion had overtaken them.

Honorable Mention - Take Me Away Award WHITE COUNTY WRITER'S CONFERENCE

Journal: Portland Trip
May 11, 2000


    
     In May of 2000, I set out on an adventure. I loaded two suitcases into my S10 truck and left Little Rock bound for Portland, Oregon. A new job opportunity awaited. My husband, Michael would follow with our remaining possessions and pets in July. I made the trek over half way across our vast country alone, leaving in the early morning hours of the 11th. I had my first cell phone for safety. There was no GPS or Siri to guide me. I had to depend on the ancient method of using a paper map. My trip was well planned, having studied and marked my route carefully with the aid of my oft-traveled mother. Along the way I scribbled down journal entries to document the journey.
     Thursday, May 11, 2000. 7:30 am - Leaving Arkansas – laughed and shed a tear crossing the state line, unsure when I’ll be back. Celine Dion’s, The Power of Love playing on the radio – “headed someplace I’ve never been”.  NO FEAR!
     12:49 pm. Had a long stretch and a short walk just east of the Texas line to loosen up the kinks in my body. Still shooting for Albuquerque. Crossing Texas on the interstate is a long boring drive.
     Made it to Albuquerque! Sixteen hours on the road was grueling for my body but my mind is still wide awake. The flats of Texas and Oklahoma were pretty boring until just before New Mexico. The rolling plains, the plateaus with their beautiful reds and browns with green bushes are stunning. I could just imagine herds of buffalo dotting the landscape black.
     The craggy mountains surrounding Albuquerque are beautiful. The city seems tucked away, hidden in the midst of a group of rocky giants, lounging in the shadows.

     Friday, May 12, 2000. 6:30 am - Today is my vacation day. I want to cover some miles but I also want to see the Grand Canyon.
     7:30 am – New Mexico is beautiful. Sometimes the view is so overwhelming, the tears just stream down my face. The red, dusty colors differ so much from the South.   
     12:25 pm – Arizona stretches out before me like a great pink blanket. The vibrant colors of New Mexico give way to the pastel pinks and yellows. From here it looks like this country goes on forever.

     1:50 pm - I’m standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona.
     3:40 pm – Made the Grand Canyon! $20, But now I’m here. It doesn’t look real. The colors are so southwestern (imagine that). It’s a bit hazy because of the fires that have closed the north ridge, but it is awesome. The vastness, the enormity of the canyon is dizzying. It takes my breath away. The Colorado River looks too small from here to have carved this magnificent abyss. Rather it was the finger of God. He must smile at how easily impressed we are with His handiworks. Even with all the tourists, there is a stillness and a quiet as if the very air holds a reverence for the majesty of this sight.

     So many people. So many languages being spoken. So many children, smelling of Coppertone and Juicy Fruit. The Gift Shop has a fabulous view but the windows are dirty with the fingerprints of hundreds of tourists. They come by the bus load and pack the warm, stuffy Observation Station.    
     What in the world was I thinking? What made me think I could take in the Grand Canyon in a couple of hours? I could sit here all day. Alas, I cannot spend the hours I’d like and I lament I shall not be here for sunset. It would bring me to tears, I’m sure.
     The desert was beautiful. So many times I would like to have stopped and written my thoughts about the desert with the mountains looming in the distance. The sky even changes color. Over the desert it is crystal blue. The white clouds hang over the mountains, and on the other side it is hazy. Driving through the mountains was lovely but a little frightening at times. I still like Arizona and New Mexico better than California, but now that I’ve entered wine country, I may change my mind. It is getting prettier all the time with the vineyards and lush vegetation. (They water the roadsides in town to keep it that way.) I wish I had been able to stop and take a shot or two of the great windmills on the mountainsides. It was hard to even look at them as I was flying down the mountain at 70 with people passing me the whole time. California drivers, yikes! I’m outside Bakersfield now with a hell of a long way to go.

     Red Bluff, California. Another Days Inn. The bed is hard but the carpet is clean and there’s a huge claw-foot bathtub. I’m just a few miles outside Redding where I take 299 to 101 and the Pacific Ocean. Tomorrow is going to be a long day if I’m going all the way to Portland. I should sleep great after swimming in that big ole’ tub.
     Sunday, May 14, 2000. California Hwy 299 is a twisting, turning mountain pass winding its way through God’s handiwork. At every turn there’s another jaw-dropping vista. Whisky Lake is serene. The tree covered mountains wear every hue of green with bursts of yellow wild forsythia dotting the landscape. The steep rocky hillsides along the road are covered with wild purple sage. It’s hard to drive because I want to look at the scenery, but the road is dizzyingly curvy and it’s beginning to rain.

     The clear waters of Indian Creek bouncing, rushing over the smooth stones, the picturesque cabins, tin roofed Pool Bar, deer munching their morning away; all these things overwhelm me so much I have to stop and get it down lest I forget one moment. This little cutoff is a blessing.
     In Weaverville, two young mule deer casually trotted across the street right in the middle of town. This could take a while, because I keep stopping. Portland may have to wait another day.
     Even though some sort of mining scars part of the mountain, the variety of flowering vegetation is amazing. I don’t recognize them all. There’s peach and purple on the hillsides, all shades of yellow and small deep purple blossoms by the roadside. I’ve seen amazing Fuchsias and white Dusty Miller growing wild. Low clouds hang in the trees like they’re stuck there. Sunlight streaming though the higher clouds ignites the mountain in color. Again and again, I am overwhelmed.
     I’ve stopped at Tom’s Small Fry. It’s a store and café. I’m going to have a real breakfast for the first time in several days. I tried to call Michael to share this with him but my phone won’t work. We really must come back here. I could spend a week just staring at the river and mountains.
     What a great breakfast. All the backwoods country charm Michael would hate and I could live with forever. From the old man waiting tables and the two old guys sitting at the counter talking news and neighbors to the bored teenager sitting at the table outside, this place is adorable. There’s even what appears to be a bar of homemade soap in the single restroom.
     299 was an adventure. The adventure continues. The Pacific Ocean, oh my! I called Michael from Clam Beach, the first one I came to. The phone died and it began to rain. The sun was shining when I finally found another beach. I took off my shoes and walked in the icy surf. Got wet to the knees but it’s not like I don’t have dry clothes. I miss Michael. I wish he was here to share this. 

     The ocean is magnificent. White-capped waves crash into the shore. The foam chases me up the beach. Wow! Even when the water is just over my ankles, I can feel the power of the icy surf trying to pull me in. I could sit and stare at the waves all day but 101 is slow going and I have no idea where I’m staying tonight.
     My last night on the road: The hotel in Newport is the funkiest yet. No air! Radiator heat. Just a shower complete with mildew, but the sheets and carpet are clean and I have an ocean view.  As funky as the Willer’s Motel is, there is a big bunch of Calais lilies growing by the laundry room in the gutter run-off, like we’d do elephant ears back home. They provide delicate beauty to an unlikely location.  Beautiful.

     I’ve felt the presence of my guardian angel on this trip. At every turn, whatever I needed appeared. And the amazing landscape has reminded me that we live in a wonderful, vast and varied country. Tomorrow, Portland.

Arkansas Writer's Conference 1st Place Winner

A Day in the Life of a Serious Author
(Based on actual events. Names were omitted to protect the annoying.)


    
     If you are reading this, you are a writer. You know. Whether you write in your spare moments or full time, you’ve heard the comments. For some reason, those who are not writers seem to think that if you have an hour to write, it means that you sit down at the computer and type, non-stop, for an hour.  The uninformed say the silliest things.   
  “So, you’re a writer. It must be great working from home. How nice to have all that free time.”
     “How’s that book coming along? You still haven’t finished? How long have you been working on it?”
     “Can you run a little errand for me? It will only take ten minutes. You have plenty of time to get it done.”
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 “You can dog sit for us for the next few weeks, right? It shouldn’t be more than a month. What else have you got to fill your time?”
     While it is true that my schedule can be more flexible than the average nine to five workday; working from home is fraught with pitfalls and stumbling blocks to productivity. An average day often goes like this:
     I get up, walk the dog, let the cats out, and begin getting the husband off to work. After breakfast and a brief discussion of the morning news, I kiss my spouse and hand him his lunch as he walks out the door. The cats come in. I feed the cats, turn off the television and turn on my laptop. After a brief run through of my email and a quick glance at FaceBook, I find that it is noon. I let the cats out, step into my shoes and walk the dog. I ignore the sink full of dirty dishes and the overflowing laundry basket because I am serious about my craft.

     I open the word document that will become the novel I meant to finish two years ago. Reading through the last few pages, I find myself editing. The insistence of the meowing feline outside drags me from my chair. I let the cat in. It only takes a moment to throw in a load of clothes. (Even serious writers need clean underwear.) I get back to my desk. Staring at the blank space on the screen, I try to form the sentences to write the story I already know.
     After what seems an eternity, I’ve written four words.  The cat leaps onto my desk. I ignore him because I am a serious writer. I ignore him until he reaches out with his little paw to poke me. (He’s a poker.) I let the cat out. The other cat comes in. I spend another eternity staring at the blank screen. I write three sentences, delete two, write a few more, stare some more. The cat hops up on the desk knocking things about (she’s a little overweight) and proceeds to rub her
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face against the corner of my laptop, shoving it a bit with each rub. I get the message. I let the cat out. Since I’m up, I move the laundry to the dryer.
     I wonder, have I showered today? A quick shower revives me. I wear my daily uniform of yoga pants and a t-shirt. Since I must leave the house to run errands, I even wear a bra. I walk the dog, let the cats in, and spend the next hour jetting about completing mini-quests assigned by various family members.
     While out, I run into an old co-worker. “Are you still writing that book?” She asks.
     I resist the urge to flip her the finger and smile. “I’m working on it.”
     Back at home, I let the cats out and feed the dog. It is now nearly three o’clock. Hubby will get home at five. I spend the next hour and a half frantically doing research. (Modern serial killers, sword making, body disposal, medieval weaving, carrot cake recipes) At 4:30, Hubby arrives home.
     “Guess who got off early?” He asks. (Like I didn’t know) “I know you’re working. I won’t bother you.” He acknowledges that I am a serious author. He even closes my office door so that the television doesn’t distract me. I stare at the screen, hands poised above the keyboard, reaching for just the right phrase. I write two sentences before Hubby peeks into my office. “You won’t believe this.” He simply must show me a tweet by one of his favorite soap actors. (He’s secretly a soap fan.)
     “I love him”, I keep telling myself. He retreats from my scowl. Over the next twenty minutes, I manage to pound out a few paragraphs. Hubby’s excited visage again appears in my doorway.
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“You gotta see this double play.” I take a few deep breaths, trying not to think about how much lye it would take to dissolve his body. He’s not a big guy.
     “Seriously?” Something about my demeanor sends him scurrying back to the living room. I try to concentrate on the words in front of me but the muse has fled. It’s almost six anyway. I throw a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner. After a few mind-numbing hours of television, I do the dishes. Because I am a serious writer, my mind is always on my work.  Standing at the sink, elbow deep in suds, I have a great idea. Leaving my half-finished task, I retreat to my office to scribble down my ideas in a notebook. Three hours later, I can barely keep my eyes open. I’ve written almost one thousand words. Unfortunately, tomorrow I will delete nine-hundred-fifty of them. But for now, at least I’ve accomplished something. 
     If you’re reading this, you are a writer. You understand. Seriously.