Santa’s Little Thief? [FICTION]

I did not give in. I did not invite that little terror to live in my house and torture my kids or me. I did not make more work for me every day leading up to Christmas. I had enough to do with finding and wrapping presents and baking cookies and planning parties and putting up the tree and getting my husband to string up the lights and the garland. You know the lists that await us if we want our children to have the perfect holiday season. No wonder our mothers were so exhausted by the time the new year rolled in.

Yet here I sit, staring at Elvis, the elf on the shelf. Grandma bought him and grandma named him. And he does look a little lonesome tonight, hanging out on his shelf in blue-suede shoes I made myself because why wouldn’t I? But I have a feeling our little friend has been up to more than just sitting on the shelf and not because I am planning to plop him into a giant mug for a faux cocoa bath before the kids get up. Something just isn’t right about his cheerful blue eyes. Is there a hint of mischief? A taint of guilt?

I shake my head. This is ridiculous. No matter what yarns I spin for the children, that elf does not move. He also has nothing to do with my current dilemma. This is the second day in a row that I have opened my wallet to find it is short a twenty dollar bill. What on earth would an elf do with twenty dollars, especially a stuffed one? But it couldn’t be my toddlers. I didn’t take them anywhere to buy anything and my feet are painfully familiar with every toy cluttering up our house, so where did the money go.

I open my wallet again, shuffling through its contents one more time to be sure that it has gone from five twenties down to two in the past three days. “That’s so odd.” I mutter to myself, glancing at Elvis as I set my wallet back down on the counter.

Did his lips just twist into a smirk for a fraction of a second? I shudder and shake my head. I don’t dare ask my husband if he borrowed the money. I don’t want him to think I am losing my mind. Of course, I might be, since my plans this evening involve sneaking downstairs to spy on an inanimate object. For the moment, however, I must return to the task at hand.

I select a giant blue mug shaped like a grinning penguin and gently place Elvis inside. I sprinkle a little cocoa powder around the rim and carefully place a few cotton ball marshmallows in his lap. I pat him on the head.

“Enjoy your bath.”

No response from my tiny friend. “I really am losing it.”

“Yes, you are.” 

I jump. 

“Calm down. It’s just me.” My husband says from behind me as he steps in to kiss me on the top of my head. 

“Sorry. I was just focused on making this perfect.” I assure him.

“I know, honey, but the kids don’t care if it is perfect. You could just put him on a different piece of furniture every day and their imaginations would fill in the rest.”

“Says you.” I turn around to stick my tongue out at him.

“Can we go to bed now?” He asks.

“Of course.” I follow him up the stairs, taking one last peek over my shoulder before Elvis is out of sight. He smiles back at me unflinchingly from his fake cup of cocoa.

I wait until my husband’s even breathing morphs into light snores and slowly slip out of bed. I tiptoe to the top of the stairs and listen. No noises interrupt the evening calm. I tiptoe down the stairs, hugging the wall to avoid any creaky steps giving me away.

A voice in my head nags me the whole way down. “This is ridiculous. You are sneaking up on a toy. You are going to end up in the mental hospital.”

That voice disappears instantly as I reach the bottom of the stairs and peek into the kitchen. On the counter, Elvis sits with his legs dangling over the edge. He has a tiny cell phone pressed to his ear. My face wrinkles in distaste as I give a moment’s thought to where he might have been hiding such a thing. Then a frown takes its place I realize he has tossed his blue suede shoes aside.

I hear soft shushing sound that must be his voice, but I can’t make out any of the words. They stop and he closes the cell phone, hopping lightly down from the counter and taking long hopping strides toward the living room. I fully expect him to disappear up the chimney, but he waves his hands while mumbling something and the cat door flap opens for him. He slips through and out onto the street.

Should I follow him?

More importantly, did anyone think I wouldn’t? I peer out the long skinny window next to the door to see what he is doing. He bops his head up and down.

“Huh?” I clap my hand to my mouth to squash the sound.

Elvis doesn’t notice. He looks up and down the street quickly to reassure himself that all the good boys and girls have retired to their beds. He doesn’t look around again after that first glance. As he passes in front of my neighbors’ house, I open the door as narrowly as I can and still squeeze through. I send up a silent prayer of thanks that I dressed in navy blue jeans and a dark sweater.

While Elvis struts down the sidewalk as if nothing terrible could happen if anyone saw him, I slink through the shadows. I even appreciate the overgrown bushes at the intersection that normally make me fear for my safety since no one can see around them. He never turns around. He never stops bopping to whatever tunes he has chosen for this late night meander.

Eventually, the residential neighborhoods give way to a city street. I stop just under the last row of trees and observe him. He stops dancing and pulls the tiny cell phone out of the little pocket on his plush red coat. He squares his tiny little shoulders and marches boldly into an establishment called Carl’s Karaoke. I cross the street slowly and stand outside the door. 

I let a couple more minutes elapse before I muster up the gumption to open the door and step inside. A fog machine works overtime giving the room a smoky ambiance. As the door closes behind me, I peer into the darkened interior, hoping I haven’t already been spotted. After playing “Where’s Elvis?” for a few minutes, I finally spot him. He stands on a table at the front of the room, peering into an open binder as a portly gentleman in a white t-shirt and sagging khakis turns the pages and points at a line on the page. After a few page turns and brief arguments, they finally agree. The portly gentleman steps to the microphone.

“He’s back again, ladies and gentlemen, the king of karaoke, Elf-is. And he says he has a new Christmas classic for you.” His voice is deep and resonates through the room, waking up a woman who was dozing in the corner.

He leans down to lift Elvis, Elf-is, to his shoulder and raises the microphone to his tiny toy mouth. He motions to a pimply-faced college student hunched over a laptop and the first strains of “Jailhouse Rock” pour out of the speakers. I take a seat in the back and watch mesmerized as Elvis begins to sing in a disturbingly reedy voice.

“Santa threw a party on the workshop floor
The reindeer band was there and they began to wail
The band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing
You should've heard them merry toy makers sing
Let's rock everybody, let's rock
Everybody on the North Pole block
Was dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Elfie Gumdrop played the tenor saxophone
Little Joe was blowin' on the slide trombone
The drummer boy from train-carving went crash, boom, bang
The whole rhythm section was the Candy Cane Gang
Let's rock everybody, let's rock
Everybody on the North Pole block
Was dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Gingersnap said to Cranberry
"You're the cutest little elf I ever did see
I sure would be delighted with your company
Come on and do the Workshop Rock with me"
Let's rock…
Misty Toes was sittin' on a block of stone
Way over in the corner sippin’ cocoa alone
Santa Claus said, "hey, shorty, don't you be no square
If you can't find a partner, whittle one over there"
Let's rock everybody, let's rock
Everybody on the North Pole block
Was dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Fizzle Cake said to Hugs, "For Heaven's sake
No one's lookin' now's our chance to take a shake"
Hugsy turned to Fizzle and he said, "Nix, Nix
I want to stick around a while and get my kicks"
Let's rock everybody, let's rock
Everybody on the North Pole block
Was dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Dancin' to the Workshop Rock”

He finished the song to a smattering of applause and one drunken request for an encore. As he stepped down from the stage, his eyes rested on me and his triumphant smile faded. He slowly turned his head all the way around, sending a shudder up my spine. But he didn’t run. That bold little sack of cloth hopped down from the stage and came to greet me.

“I see you found me out, mom.” He calls out to be heard from the floor.

“Don’t call me that.” I pick him up so we can be face to face.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t resist. “What would you like me to call you?” He grins.

“Um… I don’t know.” I say. “But I do want you to stop stealing from me.”

He sighs and pulls my most recent missing twenty out of his shirt and hands it to me. “It was good while it lasted. At least I have a ride home after this, my final performance.”

I sigh. “Maybe it won’t have to be your final performance.” I offer as I head toward the door. “The kids would love to hear your songs, I’m sure.”

“Leaving without buying an elf a drink?” He asks, turning to gaze longingly at the bar.

“You shouldn’t be drinking.” I turn my head to frown at him.

“But their cocoa is so good…”

“Because they put a shot of something in it?”

“Oh, yes, cream?”

“Do you mean crème de menthe.”

“No. Crème de vache.” Now he is looking at me like I am crazy. “Or as you would call it, milk.”

I am carrying on a conversation with a doll, so he isn’t wrong. “Oh. I can make you that.”

“Would you?”

“To keep you from stealing from me, sure.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

I step out onto the sidewalk and as the door closes, he announces dramatically, “Elf-is has left the building.”

~~This is due on Friday, which is actually Christmas Day. It occurs to me that my dear readers might be buried under piles of cookies and wrapping paper after spending the day doing exciting things, with family even if only virtually. On a side note, I claim no ownership of the fine musical works of the non-Elf Elvis. Feel free to buy an album with the song or movie of the same name that was mentioned within this fun story from a legally licensed seller. If I weren’t worried about copyright law and people suing me for traumatizing them for life, I could make a video of my rendition of this Christmassy version of the song though. Maybe I should stop and wish you a Merry Christmas before you flee this page.~~

Christmas Off the Ward [FICTION]

I look up as the sound of wheels squeaking across the carpet alerts me to an incoming interruption. Moments later, Dale slides into my cubicle, barely stopping before running over my toes.

“Were you coming to see me?” He asks, peering down at my toes with a hint of relief.

“Nope. Just heard the early warning system.”

“Oh. Good. Good.” He nods his head with each word, obviously pondering something else.

“What’s up, Dale?” I ask finally.

“Joel…” he pauses.

“Oh. You called him already this morning?” I ask, turning back toward my computer.

We never look each other in the eyes when we discuss Joel. He has been in the hospital for a week, receiving treatments for cystic fibrosis. He has another week to go and the company Christmas party is tonight. We both know it won’t be nearly as fun without Joel. Last year, he initiated the Noel Limbo contest. The year before, he dumped tiny foam elves into the punch bowl after he realized someone spiked it. It kept the numbers of drunken coworkers down but didn’t deter the more determined revelers. I was looking forward to whatever hijinks we would be getting into this evening and don’t want to be reminded.

“He called me,” Dale says, jerking me from my sad thoughts.

“Oh.” A sad silence stretches between us again, so I add. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s feeling pretty good. Just bummed we are going to have so much fun without him.”

“He knows he brings the fun, right?”

“I told him that. He denied it.”

“So what are we going to do about it?” I ask.

“I was thinking we should go see him before the party.”

“I’ll grab some of those chocolates he likes.”

“I was thinking a little bigger than that.” He grins at me.

“How big?” I can feel my brow furrowing so deep that I must resemble a Klingon.

“A great escape…”

“But he needs to be in the hospital…”

“Okay, we will plan the escape and if he doesn’t think it is a good idea, we will scrap it and just try to smuggle in some cake after visiting hours.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Since this morning, after he hung up the phone. If you had heard how sad he was…”

“Okay. I’m in.” I jump up from my chair.

“Calm down. We can’t do anything until after work. Just be ready.” He changes the pitch of his voice for the last three words, so he sounds like he has just informed me of an important top secret mission.

“Sir, yes, sir!” I salute and return to entering data.

~~

“I wondered when you two moles would scuttle in.” Joel greets us cheerfully from his hospital bed.

We grin back. Though pale and drawn, he still brings a smile to our faces. He has attired himself in a festive cardigan and pajama pants speckled with tiny candy canes. He motions toward a padded bench on the far side of the room. 

“Have a seat and tell me what the plans for tonight are.”

“Well, how would you feel about hitting the holiday party?”

“I’d love to, guys, but I wouldn’t be much fun…”

“We just need your charm.” Dale steps into the hallway and rolls in an old-fashioned wheelchair. “I found my grandpa’s old wheelchair and we can wheel you wherever we go.”

“And whoever isn’t pushing will be in charge of any gear you need.” My eyes wander around the room, taking in monitors and tubes, and various other items I have no name for.

He pauses, frowning in deep thought before offering us a slow grin. “Where is the holiday party again?”

“The Nature Center.” Dale answers quickly.

“That close, eh?” Joel leans back against his pillow and takes a deep breath.

I step closer to Dale, waiting silently. 

Joel nods his head and reaches for a button on the side of his bed, “Let me just ask the nurse a few questions. When she gets here, could you step out.” His cheeks flush as he makes his request.

“Of course.” I say, wondering what he doesn’t want to discuss in front of us, since he is always willing to educate us about his condition. 

Dale nods his head. A few minutes later we are waiting in the hall. I don’t know what to say and Dale is always most content to stand in silence, so we lean against the wall and watch nurses and doctors hurrying past with more important things to do than notice us.

Quicker than I anticipated, the nurse steps into the hallway, pushing the empty wheelchair. “My patient isn’t going anywhere in this rickety museum piece.” She frowns at us.

“Oh.” I try to hide my disappointment. “I guess we better get going?”

“Not so fast. I am going to loan you one of the hospital wheelchairs, but no monkey business or I will make you volunteer your veins for aspiring phlebotomists to practice on.” She grins in a way that leaves no question that she is serious.

Soon we are on our way to the holiday party. Due to a little sneaky texting by Dale, our coworkers greet Joel with all the aplomb due to the jolly red-suited man himself. He stands briefly to make a dramatic bow then spends an hour being wheeled around and catered to before we sneak him back into the hospital where a new nurse frowns at us as she helps him out of the wheelchair. She puts a stethoscope to his chest and back and then shoos us after she has reassured herself and us that we have not returned him in worse condition than we found him.

“Thanks, guys, can’t wait to see you at work again.” He calls out, adding a slightly breathless “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

The nurse pulls the curtain closed with the harsh sound of metal running along metal. That sound haunts me as we return to catch the tail end of the party. We left the Christmas spirit back in his hospital bed, fighting for his life day after day and somehow enjoying every minute of it.

~~I think I have Cystic Fibrosis on my mind because I recently listened to a podcast about two sisters living with it. . Of course, my quick research to write this piece didn’t make me feel competent to describe all that goes into caring for yourself when your lungs aren’t working with you, but if you want to help, you can always donate and/or educate yourself. 

And now I am really wishing I had the forethought to get this posted for giving Tuesday. I actually remembered to donate a little to the cause on Giving Tuesday, but it is never a bad time to show love and support to those who are struggling, so think about it, will you?~~

Not A Christmas Story

“And the worst job ever is…”

“Having to trim the holly.” My sister finishes for me as she hands me the shears handle first.

I take them gingerly, frowning at her. “You act like you are giving me a gift by letting me do your chores.”

“Carol, if you didn’t want to do my chores, you would get a job.”

“I had a job…” I protest as I step out onto the porch, peering at the prickly leaves of the holly bush warily.

“And you decided going for a sleigh ride with your boyfriend was more important.” She scoffs.

“It wasn’t a sleigh. It was the middle of summer. We went jet skiing.”

My sister shudders. I love how the thought of anything that moves with great speed terrifies her so much. It actually makes me feel a little merry. She always notices when joy enters my heart and tries to squash it. Her hand slides into her pocket to make her lucky coins jingle. Her thin lips pull back from her teeth.

“I don’t care if a reindeer starts singing you a song, you don’t leave your workplace when you agreed to be at work.”

“What song?” I decide to poke the bear.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, if the reindeer was singing ‘Snowman' by the Clarks, I would have to leave. Otherwise, they would probably fire me for singing along.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just trim the holly and then come help me make lunch.”

“Cheer up, sis. I’ve got this.” 

“Good.” She slams the screen door and disappears back into the house.

I go to work. I make it halfway through carefully removing offending branches without incident. Then I let my mind wander for a second to that fabulous trip to go jet skiing. The next thing I know, a drop of blood wells up to ornament my fingertip with its painful crimson reminder to pay attention to what I am doing. I mutter under my breath and carry on.

That first injury leads to more. By the time I finish up, my hand throbs uncontrollably. Deep down, I wanted to give up, but I knew my sister wouldn’t accept anything short of me passing out from blood loss as an excuse for failing to finish this task. I step through the door to find her on her knees before the coffee table. Shoes are strewed out on its surface. She has one in her hand, peering at it like an elf whose one true love is cobbling shoes. The glare she offers me somehow intensifies the impression. I stifle a giggle and show her my hands.

“I finished,” I declare proudly on my way to the kitchen.

“You are a bigger mess than Chevy Chase.” My sister informs me as she stands up and joins me.

“Who?” I ask, gently massaging the soap into my skin to get the blood off.

“You know. That actor who was in all those movies where ridiculous things happened to him and his family.”

I shrug. “You know I never got into mom’s movies.”

“You really are hopeless, aren’t you?”

“Yep.” I smile as I dry my hands. “I left all the hope for you…”

She rolls her eyes and returns to her shoes. I don’t bother to ask as I take my aching hands upstairs to ponder where to get my sister a lump of coal. I should always have one on hand for her when he holidays come around.

~~I know you were expecting the title to be a lie, but this really wasn’t a story about Christmas until I tacked that last bit onto the end because even a Grinch like me has to get into the holiday spirit eventually. Hope you have found some joy and cheer already in these questionable times. I am hoping to awaken mine more fully with some holiday baking with my tiny humans tomorrow. Anyone who knows me realizes this a dangerous proposition. I am probably going to end up using some green garland as a lasso to get the little clones down from the ceiling…~~

Chance Meetings [FICTION]

 “Buffet style pizza? Really? Do you ever grow up?” I roll my eyes at my brother as I step out of his car and survey his new favorite eating establishment.

“You know how Mark and Jim are. This way everyone gets what they want and it just keeps coming.”

“What about Sally?” I reference our health fanatic of a sister.

“They have a salad bar, so she can eat like a rabbit.” He wrinkles up his nose and nibbles delicately at the air.

We both giggle. I turn toward the door, looking for my sister and brothers. My eyes light on a familiar face. I pause trying to place it. 

“Hey, Eli.” My brother makes a salute at the newcomer as he steps closer to me and puts a bracing hand on my shoulder.

I shake him off and picture dark curls spilling over the now bald pate of the man before me. He offers me a slow grin and opens his mouth. Before he can offer whatever insult or back-handed threat is about to cross his lips I step forward and unload emotions that have been pent up for the past couple of years following graduation.

“Eli Smith, I can’t believe you are still around. Shouldn’t you be in prison somewhere? Or at least hiding from the law and other decent folks. But since you are, I think you owe me about a thousand dollars after inflation…” I finish lamely, feeling my cheeks flush as the anger dissipates and I question the wisdom of verbally attacking a hulking man who used to torture me when we were children so he could steal my lunch money.

“Oh, Ellen, I knew I’d see you again someday.” He grins and leans down to wrap his arms around my waist and lift me easily from the ground.

I squeal and begin batting his broad shoulders with my clenched fists as he swings me around like an over-sized rag doll. “Put me down. What do you think you’re doing?”

He laughs. “I want to apologize for how I treated you as a kid, but I didn’t think you’d stand still for it, so here we are.”

I stop squirming, lifting a questioning eyebrow. “Apologize?”

“Of course. I don’t have a thousand dollars on me though.”

“We can revisit that after the apology…” I stretch out the last word as he gently lowers me to the ground.

He raises his hand up to anxiously brush his shiny dome. He sees my eyes trace the movement and grins again, lowering his eyes to the ground as he begins to speak. “Maybe nature is punishing me a little for a what a turd I was when we were kids.”

I open my mouth to make a comment but my brother grabs my elbow and pulls me back a step, so Eli’s words flow uninterrupted, “I really am sorry for how I treated you, Ellen. I tried to get your phone number, but no one would give it to me.” He raises his hand as I open my mouth again, “And I completely agree with their decision not to. I mean, I really was horrible to you.”

“I agree.”

“And though I can’t go back in time and be a better person, I hope that if you ever need anything, you know that I owe you and I’d be honored to pay off that debt.”

My heart softens as I notice tears welling in his eyes. “At least a thousand dollars.” I allow my lips to quirk upward in an awkward smile.

“If that is what you need,” he opens his wallet and starts counting the bills inside, “I can make a down payment.”

“How about if you just be a good person from now on?” I say.

“That’s the goal.” He grins at me. “Would you like to join me for worship services tonight?”

I blink and look at my brother who shrugs, so I say, “Maybe next time. Let’s take this slow.”

He blushes. “Sorry. I just wanted you to see how I have changed.”

“I believe you. It’s just…”

“Sudden. Yeah. Got that.” He holds up his hands appeasingly as he backs away from me. “I better just grab my pizza and head home. Nice to see you, Ellen. John.” He nods to my brother. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do.” John says as he takes my arm and leans in to whisper in my ear. “While you process, let’s find a table, alright?”

I nod numbly, watching my nemesis walk away.

~Isn’t this the perfect season to forget old grudges. I doubt many of us will get an apology from people who hurt us. Honestly, they probably didn’t realize how their choices or jokes or even malicious actions hurt us. But isn’t it better to forgive and move on than to let them keep dragging you through the mud. Who needs mud when you could have hot cocoa?~

Gratitude Journal: Week Five [PREACHY]

I decided to hold off until the last day of the month to play catch up on my gratitude. I hope you find reasons to be grateful every day, not just every day of November.

Reading Gratitude

While the scriptures contain the books that most affect my life and I love reading them and learning from them, I also love reading a wide variety of books. Cozy mysteries are fun when I don’t feel like really focusing. In depth fantasy and science fiction novels tend to give my brain a workout. And who doesn’t love a book that teaches them things.  My husband can vouch for my love of books, since I keep suggesting he build me more bookshelves and he knows I am not really joking. Also, some of those children’s books bring me just as much joy as they bring the children…

~~

Teach Me to Give Thanks

I tried to write out a quick homage to all the teachers I appreciated as a child, which just made me realize I was a teacher's pet, probably much to their surprise since one brother was a class clown and the other I refer to as a discipline problem, so I shall try to be brief as I list teachers/principals/professors who encouraged me.

I have had many teachers who saw my potential and encouraged me to reach for the stars even when other people told me I would never reach them. My first first grade teacher, Mrs. Knotts, saw that I wasn’t learning much from her and transferred me to another class for the remainder of the year, so my mind could be challenged. I had a teacher named Miss Bryan in grade school who always made me feel respected and loved (and introduced me to peanut butter blossoms). And of course, my grade school librarian Mrs. Royce and her assistant Mrs. Sylva made my day by letting me help shelve books before school started each day. In grade school, I was such a good teacher’s pet that both the principal and vice principal took notice of my extreme nerdiness. One of them let me have some retired English books and the other specifically asked for me when one of my classes arranged for children to shadow important people in the community (seven years later). He was the mayor at the time.

I even had a math teacher in middle school who surprised me by realizing how bored I was in his class (because I was in the wrong the class) and made sure I got into the correct class the following year. Mr. Rollyson may have been influenced by the time he made me redo a problem so many times that erasing wore a hole through the page before realizing he had the wrong answer himself. And Mrs. Curry introduced me to the joys of sentence diagraming…

Mrs. Colebank gave me a deeper understanding of how to diagram sentences the following year and put up my my constant questions. I also got encouragement from my creative writing teacher and my high school French teacher, Mademoiselle Mays. And pretty much every language and linguistic teacher I had in college inspired me in some way. I even had a professor, who started curving the class grades to the second highest scores because my nerdy little heart and brain excelled in that particular class and it didn’t reflect well on a fair number of my classmates. In another class, the professor and I seemed to be having a book club because we were the only two who always read the material before class started. One girl even commented that she was taking notes on what we were discussing. I could detail how awesome a lot more teachers and professors were, but I know you have leftover pie to eat.

~~

Body of Gratitude

We should all be grateful for these amazing bodies we have been blessed with. In particular, I am grateful my body cooperated in making two beautiful little girls. It may have tried to kill me a couple of times along the way, but my girls are healthy and beautiful and extremely sassy. I think I have myself to blame for that last one.

~~

Achieving Gratitude

I am not sure I have achieved anything notable this year. As a stay at home mom of two adorable toddlers, I achieve the same goals over and over. I wash the laundry, fold it, and put it away. I cook the food, make sure everyone gets some, and then clean the dishes and put away the leftovers. Tiny but meaningful achievements.

~~

Talent of Gratitude

My top three talents, at least as far as my brain is concerned today are:

1. Baking. If you really know me, I have probably offered you baked goods. If you were lucky, they featured flavors you like. Apparently, not everyone likes coconut. Who knew?

2. Making people smile. Honestly, I question this one, but I have had more than one friend tell me how I brightened their day or how calming my voice is (not what you want to hear when you friend is driving you through downtown Baltimore).

3. Staying entertained. I once had a boss comment gratefully that he loved how he could assign me any tedious task and I would be excited about it. Apparently, having a brain wired like mine has its advantages.

~~

Finally Grateful

I was challenged to ponder what goals the gratitude challenge has caused me to set for myself, and I came up with this:

Apparently, I need to work on finding inner peace, making more time for me, and probably thinning out my interests, so I can focus on the important things in life...like pie...

Always Thankful [PREACHY]

 I know l have expressed a lot of gratitude over the last few weeks, but this should not be a new theme to any of us. We should be grateful every day for every good thing we are blessed with. I hope you bear with me for a couple more posts and be grateful that turkey and pie, oh my, have finally become fair game unless they all disappeared yesterday or this morning at breakfast. Pie for breakfast is a very good idea in times like these. (Truth be told, I had a friend egg and a homemade donut filled with raspberry cream, but I had pie with lunch.)

So today and every day, I’m thankful for my ability to create something out of nothing because I know I can make most of what I need if I can scrounge up the materials. I can turn scrap paper into a book. I can create a warm comfy quilt or clothing from the right number of scraps of cloth. And as most people who really know me have become aware, the right combination of ingredients can be turned into a meal or a sweet treat, depending on my mood. Granted, I have sweet little toddlers who don’t always enjoy mommy’s kamikaze food creations. That just means there is more for me, so that is something else for which to be grateful.

What is one thing you are grateful for even in your turkey and pie-induced haze?

And what is the one leftover you can’t wait to sink your teeth into today?

A Thanksgiving Poem

We’re all thankful for something. At least, we should be. I am thankful for themes. Not just the age old theme from “A Christmas Story” about what you want for Christmas, but all those themes or prompts our teachers offered us from “what I did on my summer vacation” to the “describe Thanksgiving at your house”, which once heralded this joyous poem that I thought my dear readers would enjoy.

THANKSGIVING

Sitting down at the table to eat

Turkey and ham, the other white meat

Saying grace over our Bounty

It's the best paper towel in the county

My brother has swallowed the turkey

And his eyes look kind of murky,

But he still has room for pie

Lemon, chocolate, and pumpkin, oh my.

We all stand up in joy to sing

Hoping my brother doesn't eat anything

Because odds are he'll explode 

And scatter himself across the road.

Finally, he's ready to go

Which we're all happy to know

So we give him a push out the door

Because he can't squeeze through like before.

Gratitude Journal: Week Four [PREACHY]

Showing Gratitude for Who? You?

Today, my friend asked how I practice self-care. I admit with shame that I don’t do much of that. As a mom, most of my self-care is keeping my children happy because their sadness is my sadness or taking a half hour to tidy and clean some of my craft mess because clutter apparently increases stress. Little steps to big rewards, right?

~~

Grateful for the Laughs

Honestly, I laugh a lot at random things. Usually, it is a memory that no one else would find amusing. When I realize that, I laugh harder. Sorry if you are one of the people I have disrupted with my own perceptions of my hilarity. I also enjoy a good sitcom, even the older cheesy ones like “Green Acres”, “Bewitched”, and the “Munsters” that started repeating the same basic story just throwing different characters in and hoping we wouldn’t notice. We noticed, but we just didn’t care.

~~

Gift of Gratitude

Maybe all this talk of gratitude had me ready for to share what gifts have brought me joy. I have been thinking a lot about gifts I have received lately. In particular, I was thinking about an angel statue my mother painted for me using nail polish. I am sure any discerning art critic would tell me to throw it out, but it was made with love, so it is priceless to me. I also have a giant red coat that was keeping me warm this morning. It has always been too large for me, but my friend that gave it to me wanted me to stay warm when the temperatures dropped. Of course, that was over twenty years ago and she has passed on, but the coat still keeps me warm. 

Another friend answered this question in a way I wish I had thought of first. She commented that she is so grateful for true friends, the ones you can count on no matter what, who don’t judge you but also don’t shy away from telling you when you are being stupid. Sometimes, we need it. We don’t like it, but we need it.

~~

Sweet Safety

What makes you feel safe? Is it returning home after a long day? A police officer? Knowing you are loved?

I feel safe when I am cuddled up with my daughters. This proves ironic since they have a tendency to throw wild arms and legs in every direction, but they are just so sweet and snuggly. Maybe keeping them safe makes me feel safe? Whatever it is, I love their sweet snuggles.

~~

Shoutout to All the Heroes

I think we all need a lot of heroes. Some of my heroes are my friends who persevere no matter how hard life gets, particularly those who make having a half dozen kids look easy. I also am a hero of the people working retail who keep smiling even when some of the customers take out their bad day on them, and the nurses who often deal with the same bad behavior, not to mention bodily fluids and increased risk of getting sick. And people who keep on moving forward even when life gives them a bad hand. Those are some of my heroes. If you are struggling and still get up every morning and do what needs to get done, let yourself be your own hero.

~~

Bring on Those Smiles

A lot of things make me smile. Some even make me laugh until I cry. Should I admit that some of my favorite stories are not flattering to my oldest brother and my former roommate? Only my brother could get out a ticket because his truck smelled so bad the officer wouldn’t get within three feet of the tailgate…and I have other such gems to make me smile when life is bleak. Of course, my children can always make me smile. Smiles are addictive especially when they are that adorable.

~~

Grateful In Every Season

Being asked to pick a favorite season reminds me of being asked to pick just one ice cream flavor for the rest of my life. I can not do it. I love the crunchy leaves in autumn. Cooler weather.  And Halloween. And Thanksgiving. I love snow in winter and the excuse to bake a million delicious treats. And Christmas, of course. Who doesn’t love presents and carols and sugar cookies? And don’t forget that this is the season when we celebrate the birth of our Savior.  Then we find our way into Spring and the warmth comes back, flowers bloom, color returns, and the birds return to sing to us. Which just leaves summer with popsicles, swimming, my birthday, and all sorts of other wonderful things.

First Turkey Day [FICTION]

“My first Thanksgiving. My first Thanksgiving.” I sing happily under my breath as I pull the turkey out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter.

My husband laughs. “This isn’t your first Thanksgiving.”

“But it is the first one I am going to host.” I smile at him. “And it is going to be perfect.”

“I don’t know about that.” He looks at my turkey skeptically.

“What exactly do you mean?” I put down the kitchen scissors I was using to snip the bird free of its form-fitting plastic casing

“It’s just that I don’t remember seeing that bird in the fridge until yesterday morning…”

“And…”

“That looks like a good-sized bird. It should have probably been in there starting what Saturday, maybe Sunday at the latest.”

My mouth drops open. I pick the scissors back up, pretending to decide how best to free the bird from its protective barrier. Instead, I lean in to peer at the tiny print telling me how much the bird weighs. I rap on the turkey, frowning at both sound it makes and how hard and cold it feels against my knuckles as I search for the chart. Reading the chart confirms the sad news that my husband is correct. I sigh heavily and put the scissors down again as I turn to face my husband.

“Looks like we won’t be eating this bird until Monday.” I fight back tears.

“Don’t worry! I’ve got this.” My husband gives me a quick hug before turning toward the living room.

I lean against the counter and fight back tears of shame as hushed voices make a soft hum from the living room. The hum ends with enthusiastic cheering from my nephews and a boisterous “boo-yah” from my brother-in-law.

“We’ve got cake. We’ve got pie. We’ve got green beans…” I begin listing off the important meal-makers that we do have.

By the time I finish my mental list, my husband has returned with my brother. They beam at me.

“We took a vote, but I need to know one thing.”

“And what is that?” I ask, holding my breath.

“Did you make the mashed potato yet?”

“No. Why?”

“Yes, fries.” My brother pumps his arm in celebration, adding another “boo-yah.”

“Don’t bother with the mashed potatoes. We will grab some burgers and fries to go with all of our other goodies. Sound good?”

“Doesn’t sound like Thanksgiving,” I mumble.

“But who isn’t grateful for burgers?” My husband asks, offering me another hug.

“And fries?” My brother grins as he shakes his head up and down excitedly.

I laugh as he begins to do his patented gratitude dance, reserved for any time he gets to eat like a glutton, particularly Thanksgiving Day. “Alright. Let’s show our gratitude with burgers and fries, but who is open on Thanksgiving?”

“It’s the funniest thing,” my husband releases me from the hug but leaves one arm draped over my shoulder, “but my favorite hole-in-the-wall burger joint happens to be run by Canadians…”

I stare at him uncomprehendingly.

“They celebrated Thanksgiving in October…”

I nod understanding and give him a big hug. “Well, let’s give thanks for Canada then. And your love of a random burger joint.”

And that is how we all celebrated how grateful we are with hamburgers and fries. And let’s be honest, my husband probably wants this to be a yearly tradition though I will take my turkey 

~Don’t be caught off-guard, my friends. Check to see how many days your bird needs to thaw in the fridge and give it that many days (plus one if you seem to have my luck with half-frozen turkeys.) I already have my bird in my fridge. This year I will not find the neck still frozen to the inside of my bird. Oh who am I kidding, the turkey is my husband’s Thanksgiving task, so all future commentary on the bird should be attributed to his skills. I shall focus on planning a small feast for myself and my three housemates, who are picky. If you could send positive waves that this will be the year tiny hobbits like pie, I would appreciate it so much.~

Gratitude Journal: Week 3 [PREACHY]

Welcome to this week’s accumulation of smaller posts on gratitude and other uplifting thoughts. Hopefully, it inspires all of us to greater degrees of gratitude and an increased desire to do good in this world. I hope you allotted some extra time to read today. I felt particularly grateful and full of words this week.

~~

Famous Last Words?

One of the podcasts that I listen to, which is called Sunday on Monday and is basically three friends discussing the scriptures we are reading this week, challenged listeners to write our final words in six sentences. This challenge occurred the week before last, of course. I have been mulling it over, looking for perfection in my words though I know I won’t find that in myself. My self esteem isn’t that good or you would have so much more to read from me each week.

Maybe I am influenced by the season we are in, but shouldn’t those final words be about gratitude? Final words are our last chance to leave the world better than we found it after all. So here we go, my final words should they be needed anytime soon.

1. No matter what happens, don’t forget that you are loved by me, by our Savior Jesus Christ, and by your Father in Heaven.

2. Keep striving to be the good in this world. 

3. Furthermore, try to be grateful for all that you have, both blessings and trials.

4. You need both the good and the bad times to make you into the best possible version of yourself.

5. And remember that you are never alone because Heavenly Father sent us here to care for and strengthen each other.

6. When you doubt any of this, be strong and turn to Heavenly Father in prayer because he will answer you even if it isn’t the answer you want.

~~

Challenges Inspire Grateful Hearts

What challenges have you experienced that you are grateful for?

Not sure this particular question is going to be a mood booster if I am not careful how I interpret it, so I shall tread lightly. Challenges beyond my control have given me a perspective on life that reminds me to look deeper before I judge, try to be kind, and keep on swimming even when the current wants to pull me under. In other news, accepting the challenge to write a novel in a month has been keeping me extra busy, but hopefully, it will help me be ahead on a couple of personal goals into the new year. (Yes, one of those goals is to post more of bits of writing for my faithful fans. Shout out to my moral support squad.)

~~

Clothed in Gratitude

Whenever I think of an article of clothing that I am grateful for, I think of a pair of vintage, pink, polyester bell bottoms. My mother wandered into my room when I was a teenager and tossed them at me. I was horrified at first, but they grew on me. They have featured in crazy antics with a friend who wore all black (imagine that contrast, we blended well), paying homage to them in a voicemail message that no one listened to because it also featured most of "I Will Survive", and a guy who was at least a foot taller than me asking to borrow them in my psychology class (he wanted to wear them--before your minds go to a bad place and I am pretty sure he was still drunk from the previous night. Also, I said “NO”.)

Another memorable piece of clothing is a cloak that a roommate had in her closet when I moved in. I started wearing it and didn’t stop. In fact, I wore it so much that people started calling me the “chick in the cloak”, and I swear it faded from green (her color) to blue (my color). I would meet when not attired in said cloak and people would stare at me and insist we had met before. Usually, it would bug them for a while until they excitedly circled back to me to declare, “You’re the chick in the cloak.” Yes, yes, that is me. Other memorable responses to my fashion choice include greetings such as “I am Batman” and “Aren’t you a little late/early for Halloween?” Said cloak and its many friends still reside in my closet and cloak weather is upon us. Maybe it is time to introduce my new neighbors to the chick in the cloak?

~~

Thanks for All the Memories

How do we keep track of the memories we are grateful for?

Most of my memories are locked away in my head. Every now and then, I jot something down in a journal or the memoire I should never write. I have tried to make digital copies of as many photos as I can, but I keep finding ones that need digitized, so that just gets added to the infinite list of things to do. I also have some photo books I made for the girls. I need to catch up on those. I think I got the first quarter of 2020, so that is another thing to be grateful for.

~~~

Extra Thanks for our Veterans

I come from a small town that celebrates our veterans as much as possible. We are famous for Memorial Day I have seen hometown posts about how to celebrate our veterans without the traditional parade this year. I remember how excited I was to receive a cloth poppy from an older gentleman in uniform when my mom donated a few coins. My mom explained to me that the man who gave it to me had fought for our freedom. We know that our country has been made better on the shoulders of men and women who have sacrificed “to defend their religion, freedom, peace, and families.” (If that causes a stirring in you, I can’t wait to see you in church again when all the craziness has subsided.) So if you see a veteran today, or any day, stand up a little taller and say “hello” or “thank you”. And as always, be kind, some veterans can’t forget the things they have seen and a little kindness goes a long way.

Don’t worry. My hometown managed to show their appreciation. I saw a photo of a parade of pickup trucks decked out with flags making a slow procession down Main Street to show that we have not forgotten the debt we owe to those who defend freedom.

~~

Love for the Rainbow

My friend asked us what our favorite color is. A difficult question as I appreciate most of the colors depending on my mood. My favorites are shades of pink and blue. Some shades and products sporting them are preferable to others. I have had comments from people about the limited range of colors I wear, usually black and blue. Red makes for lovely roses and delicious apples. Orange is perfect for pumpkins and the fruit of the same name. Yellow makes bananas and lemons stand out. And who doesn’t love green that makes the grass and trees more beautiful and vibrant. Shades of blue give depth to  the ocean and the sky. But what about purples from royal to grape? I love it and how happy it makes my daughter, but if you see my mother-in-law, please tell her how grateful I am for the other colors, so she can mix it up this year at Christmas. If I list all the shades in between, you will run away because no one pops over here to read about puce and chartreuse and maroon and gold, so I will let you go to enjoy the rainbow of colors around you.

~~

Grateful for Me

Picking just three qualities one likes about oneself should not be a challenge, but it is for some us. Think about your top three qualities. I hope so many leap to your mind that you can’t decide on fewer than a dozen. I carefully selected the following three qualities of me:

1. I love my eyes. They change colors. If you haven’t seen it, you are missing out. I have had people, even ones not romantically interested in me, stare into them in the hopes of catching them at that moment they change. Of course, the day my irises turned red, I was banished to my room. Probably not a bad idea since I felt super icky that day, which happened to be my birthday. The gold and the green are a nice change from the brown. I am pretty sure the gold appears when I am most contented.

2. I love my brain. Where else would all these wonderful blog posts come from? Admit it, you think my brain is amusing and funny and maybe a little sexy?

3. I love my ability to truly love. 2 Corinthians 6 speaks of “love unfeigned”. That phrase always catches my attention. That is what the world needs right now. It needs pure, sweet, innocent love that doesn’t see our differences and just recognizes that we are all humans, children of God, if you will. We all deserve love and respect, even if we are a little grumpy today or our hair color or eye color seems odd to someone else. So I am grateful that I have an innate ability to feel love toward my fellow beings.

~~

Make Gratitude a Holiday Tradition

I am not sure what our favorite family traditions are yet. Thus far the only thing my girls demand we keep doing from year to year is putting on costumes and going trick or treating, which is fine by me. I hold out hope that this is the year they fall for pie, so I can justify making one without committing to eating a whole pie or two solo (just because it is fun and delicious doesn't make it wise of healthy). I am also thinking that I need to involve the girls more in the process, but they like to touch everything in sight between washing their hands and helping me cook. Needless to say, anything they help cook, they eat pretty much by themselves. Ah, to be young with a phenomenal immune system.

I should also work in more traditions that help us really feel the spirit of the holidays. I like the idea of making a paper turkey and putting feathers on each day that have what we are thankful for written on them, but would I remember to add to the turkey’s gratitude every day? I also like the idea of a reverse advent calendar though I feel like doing it for Thanksgiving would have just as much impact as it does for Christmas. After all, you could put a box of cereal into the advent box while explaining, “We are so grateful for cereal. Whoever receives this will be too.”

~~

Knowledge of Gratitude

Think of five things things you have learned that you are grateful for, regardless of your skill level in applying that learning.

1. How to sew, so no costume is completely out of my grasp.

2. How to bake because if I frequented a bakery or went to a therapist every time I needed the therapy only a fresh baked cookie, cake, or other random delight brings, I would be very, very poor indeed.

3. How to read and write because I can keep learning and sharing what I learn, or just discover new friends with phenomenal powers or interesting things happening around them every day.

4. How to drive so I can visit people outside of the range my legs are willing to let me walk.

5. How to take care of my possessions, such as washing laundry and doing little home repairs.

Just Another Friday Night [FICTION]

I remind myself again that I am not scared. This is a normal night, with an often maligned number associated with it. The day of the week on which a number falls does not imbue it with evil. Sometimes Friday will fall on the thirteenth day of the month. That doesn’t mean I will be attacked by a murderer wielding a machete. It doesn’t mean I should just crawl back under the covers and stay there all day. But the clock summons me out from under my cozy blankets and into a cold, dark day full of danger.

I decide to skip shaving my legs though I am sure I am now at risk of attracting Yeti and Bigfoot and all their fuzzy bipedal monster friends. I just can’t risk it on today of all days. I make what feels like a million extra cautious decisions before my work day ends, and then I am finally free to seek refuge in my own home. I close the door behind me with a final click, making sure I slip the deadbolt into place to keep the malignancy of the world out of my safe space.

As I flip on the overhead light, a light breeze ruffles my hair. I shudder and glance around the room. The curtains over the kitchen window blow outward toward me. I race forward and slam it closed, surprising myself with the loud report of wood coming home against wood. As I lock the window, I stare at it suspiciously. I know I locked that window.

I pass by a mirror in a gilded frame, frowning at the fear and worry emanating from the dark eyes of my reflection. I give myself a mental pep talk to try to calm the racing of my heart.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of your own shadow, especially not in your own house. How can one day have so much power over everyone’s baseless fears?”

It doesn’t help. Something still feels off. I turn slowly, looking carefully at everything in my cluttered living room. Nothing seems out of place, at first. But then my eyes make the circuit again and notice that a seashell now sits in the middle of my coffee table. Was it there when I first looked? I know I didn’t put it there.

I take a step forward, reaching out toward it. Then I reconsider and take a step back. Did it just move? 

I turn my head, looking at my own reflection again. I can see the coffee table over my shoulder. As I watch its newly acquired ornament, the shell does begin to move. A claw slowly creeps out of the shell and raps on the table. I turn around to get a better look, since it clearly no longer wishes to hide from me.

My heart races as a tiny crab emerges from the shell. I get a moment to relax before the feeling of wrongness takes over again. I watch with my mouth agape as the crab doubles in size then doubles again. It skitters to the edge of the table and grows even more. Soon it towers over me and walks sideways toward me, watching me with those creepy eyestalks as I find my mind again and begin to back away.

I reach the door and realize that all my attempts to keep myself safe may have backfired on me. I struggle with the locks. A high-pitched hum resonates around me as I pull the deadbolt back. I don’t realize the origins of the sound until it stops when a claw closes around my ankle just tightly enough to arrest my movement. I scream and the crab pulls on my ankle, knocking me to the floor.

As he skitters closer and clambers up onto my chest, I begin to cry, “What are you? Why me?”

“Because you dreamed up this nightmare. Your fear breathed life into me and made me real. And now I will devour your fear.”

I scream as his free claw comes for my face…

~Thought I would throw in an extra for Friday the 13th since my dear Carlotta didn’t let her creepy flag fly in the piece I composed for yesterday. Anyone up for crab cakes?~

A Farcical Life [FICTION ESSAY]

In college, I read “The Fall” by Albert Camus. I wish college wasn’t so far in the past because I was asked (challenged, if you got a chance to read last week’s piece of fiction) to celebrate his birthday, which fell on the 7th of November, by reflecting on whether or not there is meaning and reason to life. Or is life just a bunch of poppycock and nonsense with no real conclusion except to end?

If I reflect back on my own life, I fear this journal might take a turn away from the gratitude and love that the world needs right now, so let me give you a brief introduction to a beloved character of mine named Carlotta Asterom. She came to life in a creative writing class I took in high school, long before you were born, since I maintain that I have lived for centuries. I won’t tell you much about her, but I will let you make your own assumptions from her underachieving “essay”.

~

You want me to tell you about life? Life is a farce. A million things happen to you and it is all beyond your control. You can choose your friends, and I hope you choose well, but you can’t change who they are at their core. More importantly, people will judge you for who your friends are. Is that fair? No, it really isn’t.

So what if I have a friend who acts like she escaped from the 60s and wanders around with her head in the clouds. That doesn’t mean I will just let people walk over me like they do her. That also doesn’t mean I buy their false smiles. I know what they think of me, too. 

A vampire? Really? Just because I have dark hair and line my eyes with dark liner and paint my lips crimson red doesn’t make me a vampire. I just like being a little dark and earthy. There is nothing wrong with that. I would say don’t be ridiculous, but as I have been trying to make clear: I think the whole world is ridiculous.

Luckily for us all, it has highs and lows. And those highs are so much more satisfying when they are a little bit ridiculous. So how do we find happiness?


Keep aiming for those ridiculous goals. If you want to save every penny you have and live in hovel with a leaky roof, I support your decision. If you want to keep chasing someone who is already married and doesn’t know you are alive, good luck with that. If you do the bare minimum at homework and still think you are going to graduate at the top of your class, keep aiming big. 

As for me, I will find my own happiness by keeping my ridiculous friend close at hand in case she wants to weave one of her twisted little tales of sunshine and joy for me. Even a vampire needs a little sunshine and joy. 

Ridiculous. I know. That’s my point.

Gratitude Journal: Week 2 [PREACHY]

 In case you didn’t catch last Sunday’s post or the excitement, terror, and continuing business of the past week has made you forget about it, these Sunday posts in November are inspired by a challenge to be grateful every day for our many blessing. My friend poses a question each day about what brings gratitude to our hearts and these are my responses.

Grateful, Naturally

What in nature are you grateful for?

I am grateful for everything in nature. I love the shade of the trees and their fruits. I love the peaceful calm of a gently flowing stream, but I also love shooting out over the rapids when I am floating along. And, of course, I love cute little animals. I was actually contentedly watching a fox watch me on my walk one morning until a rumbly car came along and broke our silent reflections on each other.

Now if I could only bring some of that peace and calm into my house. Keep in mind that letting a little fresh air wash through your house is strongly encouraged right now to let your own germs be vanquished on the winds.

~~

Gratitude Starts at Home

I am grateful for my mom’s patience as I trundled around under her feet in the kitchen and watched her cook. Despite their complaints that I made them fat, I know my roommates always appreciated the skills I learned at her feet.

I am grateful for those few times my brothers and I were all getting along and playing a board game or watching “Fraggle Rock”. Otherwise, we would probably never talk to each other. A few good memories are better than none after all.

I am grateful for warm blankets made of fuzzy cats. You can never feel unloved when the felines are hungry or cold. 

I am also grateful having “the cart before the horse” because the pie was always ready before the turkey.

~~

Friends Fill Our Hearts With Gratitude

I can’t pick just one friend that I am grateful for, but I can narrow it down to about six. Without naming names, I am grateful to them for many reasons including: no matter how long we go without talking, we end up dissolving in giggles over topics that mystify others; no matter how many times I call to complain about crappy people, those friends still pick up and listen no matter what is going on in their lives; they are willing to drive hundred or thousands of miles to help me eat birthday cake, even if life won’t actually let them; and of course, they never judge me for being the weirdo that I am, in fact, they love me for it.

~~

Music of Thanks

I am grateful for most music, particularly what one roommate referred to as whiny chick music, which includes Sarah McLachlan, Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, and Jewel. I also love hits from the 80s, as long as I don’t ponder the lyrics too closely.

During quarantine though, I have been appreciating a coupe of bands that have taken the time to perform live shows online. With two toddlers, I wouldn’t be able to see them at all in person, but I can listen to them with my toddlers in my living room when they livestream to Facebook. If you are friends with me, you may have noted that I have shared the musical stylings of The Clarks (a Pittsburgh band), Bill Deasy (another Pittsburgh crooner,) and my friend Greg. We creative types need to stick together and produce some joy in these tough times. (Still hoping this blog is helping to keep the blues at bay for my loyal readers.)

~~

Keep Dreaming

When I heard the description of the television show “The Pretender”, I thought that sounded like the perfect life for me. I have been interested in a variety of professions, but I always bounce back to writer, where one can at least write about being anyone or anything, though research is often required to make that believable. The image of Louisa May Alcott’s Jo from “Little Women” comes to my mind quite often. I wish I could disappear into a tiny room up in the gables of an old house and sit at my desk in my special writing clothes. I wish I could get down all these wild and crazy thoughts that flow through my head. But I don’t have time for that, so here I sit in November, adding word after hard fought word to my project of the month for National Novel Writing Month. So today, a little gratitude for words, those who employ them to wonderful ends, and those who encourage the creative spirits to share word after word no matter what form they take.

~~

Be Thankful to Be Employed

I am grateful that my little bosses are as cute as they are bossy. Being a stay at home mom can often be a thankless jobs, but those tiny hugs are totally worth it. And I never at a loss for tasks to perform, so I can’t be bored. Being bored in times like these can give one a little bit too much time for reflection and introspection. Be kind to yourselves and stay busy, friends.

~~

Thanks for All the Knowledge

I am thankful for things I know to be true, including that I am a child of a Heavenly Father who loves me, that my best is more than good enough, and that families can be together forever, even if some of them are driving us a little crazy right now.

Just so you know, Heavenly Father loves you, too. Whether you believe he exists or think you are worthy of divine love, you are loved.

And you are definitely good enough. Sometimes we let ourselves get bummed out because we wish we could do more. Ad long as you are doing your best, you are more than enough. Keep pushing forward and leave the world better than you found it.

~~

Dear loved ones,

As Thanksgiving approaches in the wild rollercoaster ride that is 2020, I write to you from the bottom of a grateful heart. I want you to know that I am grateful for you. I love your smiles and your hugs. I love learning from you and occasionally teaching you something new.

But most of all, in this time of COVID and isolation, I am grateful for my true friends. I am grateful for people I can call despite having not speaking to them for months and talk to them as if we are sitting across from each other with a glass of milk at one hand and a fork in the other—a fork loaded down with chocolate cake or pie, which is more appropriate for the season we are in. I am grateful for the friends who truly listen and truly care. They don’t judge me. They don’t tell me I need fixed, unless, of course, I have just asked them to share their expertise about subjects at which I struggle.

I am also grateful for people I can connect with virtually. The ones who read the excessive number of words I use to describe a given situation and remind me to look on the bright side. They respond when they can, not six weeks later after having posted at least a half dozen times a day in response to their true friends. (Honestly, if I didn’t think it was petty, I would thin my friends lists down to only the people I feel think of me as a friend. But that is ungrateful.) 

I am grateful for my friends who read and write and sing and play and create beauty through a variety of physical formats. I am trying to be better, friends, at reminding you that you are amazing instead of just asking for reassurance that someone besides me cares about my words. Thanks, dear readers, for taking the time to read my words and give me honest feedback on how they touched you. I am hoping to connect and exchange better with my fellow creators in the new year, but trying to work that out will have to wait until after I finish 50,000 words for Nanowrimo and probably until after Christmas. ’Tis the season to be perpetually busy, isn’t it?

I am thankful for those few moments of down time I manage to snag. I have to get up early and sneak out into the pre-dawn chill to do it some days, but it is needed in this time when I am blessed with so much time with my family. I am grateful for the fact that they like me enough to vote me off the island on days when I am not the queen of happy and joyful.

And, of course, I am grateful for those who came before me. From time to time, I climb my family tree and find a little bit of me in the stories I find carved on the branches. I love the newspaper story about a great great great uncle who still mowed his own lawn at 101. I love hearing about ancestors who loved to create because it helps me feel a connection with them. And any time I hear about a relative that likes to bake or tame animals, I nod my head and think how great it is that those attributes are clearly genetic.

Feel free to share what you are grateful for with me, your family, and other loved ones.

The Week After Halloween [FICTION]

I wander in a cold dark shuffle through my house. I am too afraid to turn on any of the lights. The smallest glimmer of light hurts my eyes so much, which causes the throbbing in my head to go back to beating a nasty beat inside my skull. I shouldn’t have accepted the challenge. I should never accept dares from my best friend Erica, but I always do. 

This year, she challenged me to dress up for Halloween and hit the swankiest neighborhood in town. Bless my mother for giving me genes that make me barely top five feet at twenty years old. In the right costume, no one even questions if I am too old to go trick-or-treating. But that was only the start of her plans for me this year.

As I stepped down from the expansive porch of the final house in the neighborhood, Erica rushed forward to take my hand. “Good job, sweetie. You were so polite to all these nice people who gave you treats.” Her words dripped more sugar than my king size pillowcase though the later overflowed with enough full-size candy bars to make my thin arms struggle to keep it aloft.

“Just like you taught me, mommy,” I replied in my best little girl voice as I rolled my eyes at her.

“You got so much candy, we should talk about when you get to eat it.”

“Just one candy bar a day, mom?”

“I was thinking something far more challenging.” She grinned at me, squeezing my hand tighter as she began to giggle.

I groaned. “But I just completed your challenge.”

“You completed part one of my challenge…”

“How many parts are there?”

“Oh, I haven’t decided yet.”

“And what is part two?”

“You need to finish this bag of candy this week, except for,” she reached into my bag to extract a king size Reese’s and its king size cousin, Twix. “I will help you with these two.”

I felt my eyes widen until they must look like sunny side up eggs with brown yolks. “You want me to eat all of this…” I lost the ability to speak as I hefted the heavy bag up to eye level and peered inside at shiny wrappers promising sweet sugary delight and chocolate contentment.

“You can do it.” She reassured me, looking over her shoulder before letting go of my hand and clapping me on the back. “I know you can.”

“This has to be at least fifteen pounds of chocolate.”

She peeked into the bag, “Indeed. And who knows how much all the nuts and candy and nougat weigh.”

I groaned. I am certain my face had already begun to turn a vivid green despite the heavy coating of costume paint making my face a lustrous white. I clutched the overloaded bag to my chest, feeling my heart rate ramping up in anticipation of the ill-advised week ahead.

Sunday went well. As the first day of my quest to down way more sugar than any sane person should eat in the course of a year, it still held a sense of excitement. Erica’s challenge and assurance that I could succeed bolstered my will to get started. 

And start I did by sorting the candy to see how much I had of each variety. Then I started making piles for each day of the week. As I watched each pile grow larger, I took a deep breath and centered myself. Only a miracle would find me alive and not climbing up the walls of a stranger’s house on the other side of the city by the end of the week. I could even picture them dialing 9-1-1 in terror. 

I took another deep breath and went to work. I picked up a Zero bar, bracing myself since I had never had one before and took a big bite. The mix of flavors sounded good on the package but my tongue did not enjoy them. I shrugged and wolfed down a Reese’s cup to wash away the flavor. The lingering flavor of peanut butter and chocolate soothed away my trepidation for an hour. Then I came back for my next installment.

By Wednesday, I was hurting. The world spun around me. My mouth felt like it was coated in chocolate-flavored taffy. My stomach had begun expressing its displeasure with grumbles and displeased gurgles every time I even looked at the day’s pile of candy. I soldiered on.

Thursday evening, my stomach sent its distress to my intestines. You know that didn’t go well.

Friday, I had to call off work, due to extreme intestinal distress. They were wise not to ask more questions or impugn the truth of my words. Otherwise, they might have heard things they couldn’t unhear. 

Trying to combat the war in my belly, I started eating a healthy protein with each candy bar and then taking a walk. Every walk was punctuated with discomfort and interrupted by a mad dash to the bathroom, but I persevered. And I was down to my last six candy bars. 

Only six more candy bars. 

I glanced at the clock. I also had only six hours. My feet hurt. I had mastered ignoring my stomach though I knew I would be sorely punished for ignoring its complaints. I slowly chewed on a KitKat as I staggered around my living room, touching walls and furniture as much as possible for reassurance that I wasn’t falling. Would I make it? Would I win this challenge? Would this even be the end of the challenge?

That’s when I turned the light off, so here I am stumbling around in the dark.

Erica assured me she would arrive at 11:59 on Saturday night to see how I fared. She lied. The doorbell rings at 11:30 while I am staring despondently at one regular size Twix and one Take Five. I had saved the best for last in the hopes that I could power through, but apparently my plan isn’t working.

I grab the Take Five and take a hefty bite as I open the door and greet Erica, “See what you have done to me?”

She grins and steps closer, peering at my face so closely I am mildly worried she is about to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Oh, girl, you are breaking out.”

“More than you know,” I grumble as a loud roar rumbles through my intestines.

She peeks past me at the coffee table, where one last pack of Reese’s rests atop the crumpled pillowcase. “Really, just one left? What are you complaining about?”

“One and a half,” I mumble around another mouthful or five fantastic flavors.

“I guess I am going to lose this challenge,” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

I stuff the last bite of candy in my mouth. The action makes my knees weak and my head spin, so I lurch toward the living room with Erica at my heels.

“Gosh, Erica, I think I gained fifty pounds. You win the challenge, I can’t eat one more candy bar.” I collapse onto the couch and whimper as my hand bounces off the wall and the wrapper drops from my now limp hand to flutter to the floor.

My other arm falls over my eyes. I close them and breath deeply, contemplating how long I will need to fast before I dare to put any kind of food on the path to my stomach, particularly candy. I sit there like that in silence, waiting for Erica to crow her win over me. She keeps her silence, too, waiting for it to be official.

After what seems like longer than the handful of minutes left until midnight, I slowly lift my arm from my eyes. It takes me another minute to convince my eyes to flutter open. They scan the room, resting on Erica’s smug face.

“How exactly did I win?” I gesture toward the coffee table.

“Because there is nothing left in the bag,” Erica grins at me.

“Don’t mock me,” I sit up, “It’s right…”

“Yes, the pillowcase is right there.” She winks at me and pats her pocket.

Her pocket crinkles. Then she smiles wide at me, showing teeth stained with chocolate. I look down at the table, which now holds only a crumpled pillowcase and a few magazines. I have never been so grateful to see the last candy bar disappear in all my life.

~~So how many of you are feeling that candy collapse this week?~~