This Is Why I Care [RANT]

Some people may have read my last post and are now waiting for my breakdown and the reign of terror. But bad experiences, terrible decisions, and the cruelty of others aren’t all life taught me.

I don’t remember my grandmother very well since she passed away the year I turned four. Yet I have always feel loved when I think of her. My mother assured me that though my grandmother’s cancer had spread to her bones, she refused to miss a moment with me. She relayed that even the intense pain of trying to hold me wasn’t a deterrent. My grandmother wouldn’t let my mother take me from her, even when she heard a snap that sounded like weakened bones giving way. Sometimes, love overrides the pain. 

While many of the people who claimed to try to help me as a child probably did more harm than good by making promises and never following through, a couple of educators truly saw and celebrated me. For some, they showed this by writing a letter requesting I be put in a reading class that would challenge me. One worded it more as an admonition for my enthusiasm making less motivated readers feel bad about themselves and I still got placed back in redial reading the next year. Others gave me outdated reading textbooks from higher grade levels. I devoured all of these words ravenously. 

One teacher in particular took it upon herself to champion me. She didn’t limit the encouragement to just her class. She encouraged my interest in other areas of learning, pointing our with excitement how those interests related to each other. She may have also clothed me for a couple of years. I had a hobo not-chic hand-me-down style that no one else bothered to try to correct politely. (You know other kids weren’t kind—most of the time). 

And she wasn’t the only bonus mom who tried to fill in where my own exhausted mother couldn’t find the time. If you really know me, you know I was the least needy of her children. Some have observed that I essentially raised myself in some areas. In other arenas, I may have been raised more like a boy. Thus you get treated to the weirdness that I call personality.

So despite all my complaints, I have to confess, that I want to be kind. I want to care. I will not randomly decide I hate you because your beliefs or appearance different than mine. And I state certain things all the time, but I shall try to summarize a few here:

I don’t care who you love as long as you respect my assurances that I want to be your friend but I don’t need to be just like you or make out with you to do that.

I am not staring because I am judging you. Sometimes, I am just looking your way because your smile or your eyes are beautiful. At other times, I am looking at the art that someone painstakingly applied to your skin while you exhibited the patience of a saint. 

On a similar note, I may be counting your piercings or contemplating how one tiny hole became large enough to stick a finger through. I am socially awkward not judging you.

If I am asking you questions about your beliefs, I am not about to attack. I want to understand. Honestly, I have bolstered my own faith on more than one occasion where I asked awkward questions about another’s faith. Not because I found their faith wanting but because what they said about their faith sparked a testimony of my own. 

In short, this world we live in needs more love. Let’s assume the best of each other. Sometimes, the person who cut you off just wasn’t paying attention. And even if they were darting in and out of traffic like they mistake the highway for a racetrack, maybe it is best to try to avoid that particular person instead of deciding to drag race them… 

10: Nature [NOVEL]

I know, dear readers, I owe you so much more than this, but my daughter was sick all last week. In fact, she is on her last dose of antibiotics this week. Needless to say, this doting mom got a little behind. Hope this offering finds you well and preparing for fun and family and feasting in the upcoming weeks.

Chapter 1: Nature
Chapter 2: Nurture
Chapter 3: Nurture
Chapter 4: Nurture
Chapter 5: Nature

Chapter 6: Nurture

Chapter 7: Nurture

Chapter 8: Nurture

Chapter 9: Nurture

“She’s really started talking, hasn’t she?” Nona Bea asked as she nibbled on her second piece of cake and watched me conversing with the stuffed bears she brought for my birthday.

I named them Maggie and Sissy. The names fit them perfectly. My bears were sisters who loved each other very much and fought off bad dreams together. Mom shook her head at her mother’s comment as I chattered on with my new friends.

“Oh. She has been talking since she was born. Of course, we didn’t understand her at first and then she was shy around everyone but me and her daddy.” She smiled down at me. “So I guess you are officially family now.”

Nona Bea laughed, “Honey, I will always be family. No matter what.”

Feeling her eyes upon me, I scooped up my bears and brought them over for a group hug. She giggled as she enfolded all of us in her arms.

“Can’t argue with that,” mom replied.

~~~

Something woke me up. I closed my eyes against the darkness and listened intently. Some part of me expected to hear my parents arguing though I had never seen or heard them do more than disagree and then talk it through. Only silence greeted me. I strained to hear for a while, but my eyes eventually closed again and pulled me back into the dream.

When I woke again, sunlight streamed through my window. My mom sat in the rocking chair in the corner of my room, watching me over the top of her book. I often woke to find her like this. It comforted me to know she watched over me while I slept. And waking up to her smile lighting up the world because of me made my heart happy.

“Mama?” I asked softly.

“Yes, dear?”

“Were you and daddy fighting last night?”

Her brow furrowed and her lips turned downward as she rose slowly and stepped toward me, “Of course not, darling. Did you have a bad dream?”

“Maybe?”  My lower lip disappeared into my mouth.

“Don’t worry, honey. Daddy and I are fine,” she smiled and scooped me into her arms. “All we have to argue about is who loves you more.”

After a shower of kisses, she assured me, “It’s me though.”

 I giggled.

Chapter 11: Nature

No Objection [FICTION]

Did I just become a cliché? Standing in front of the altar, decked out in the most perfect white dress, I smile at my fiancé, my groom, my Barney. He smiles back. Then the preacher offers up those words that require no response.

"Should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."

In that moment, a scuffle erupts from the back of the room. The doors bang open and a familiar voice declares. “I object.”

My smile morphs into a snarl as I turn to face the intruder. Dressed in his version of formal wear—wrinkled slacks and an equally wrinkled polo, Tom smiles at me. His toothy grin and desperately hopeful gaze reminds me why our relationship only lasted a week. He holds out his lanky arms toward me as if I will run into them and allow him to whisk me away.

“You can’t marry anyone but me, Jennie. No one loves you like I do.” He calls out as every eye in the room turns from him to me.

After a quick glance at my face, my brothers drop the arms of their respective bridesmaids and start down the aisle toward him. Built like linebackers, they make the aisle appear narrow as they calmly approach their quarry. Tom peers between them to meet my eyes. I frown at him but know any verbal response from me will only encourage him. 

Barney reaches over to take my hand. As my attention turns to him, he mouths “Who is that?”

“A guy dated for a week, years ago,” I whisper.

My best friend snickers from her place of honor at my side. The sound gets drowned out by continued assertions that my husband doesn’t deserve me and that I will never be happy without my ex. The more Tom talks, the tighter Barney holds my hand.

Tom breaks off pleading with me to greet my brothers as they reach him. Trying to maintain some semblance of decorum, they whisper to him. He shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something more, but he swallows his words as my brothers each grab an arm and heft him back out the door.

“Jennie, I will always be waiting for you. You’ll come back to me. You’ll see.”

Silence falls as the doors close behind the trio. The rest of the congregation remains fixed on them, waiting for Tom to return and offer another free show. After what seems an eternity, my brothers return without their cargo. They smile at each pew on their way past, offering a thumbs up of reassurance to all our guests. When they reach us in front of the altar, they lean between Barney and I to address the minister.

“Don’t worry, Father, we’re good to go here.” My oldest brother winks as he delivers this reassurance.

The minister regards him with skeptical eyes before whispering timidly. “No one ever objects. What do I do when they object?”

My oldest brother shrugs, “I don’t think it matters in this case…”

My other brother clears his throat and stage whispers, “In case you are wondering how we got rid of Tom so quickly, some nice men from his psychiatric hospital were looking for him. A man who isn’t in his right mind has no right to object.”

Those closest to the altar giggle and then the news washes in a wave of whispered voices until the people in the back know what was said. Then silence reigns again and the minister calls our attention back to him. He acknowledges that an objection was raised but found invalid. Then he picks up the pace and our vows fly by. We kiss briefly before he turns us toward our friends and families and introduces us as husband and wife.

“Husband and wife.” I whisper excitedly as we grab hands and rush down the aisle.

“I lucked out. I gather I had some competition.” He whispers into my ear as our chauffeur opens the door of the limo.

“No one could compete with you.” I lean in to kiss him.

The chauffeur clears his throat to separate us long enough to help us into the car and whisk us away.

~~~

Clearly, I am on a June weddings kick. Pondering whether next year’s posts should all be teaser parts of a whole culminating in a chance to purchase the entire story. What say ye, noble readers, could I earn a few extra dollars for Christmas with my groovy writing? Or does my use of the word groovy prove that can’t happen?

Always the Baby [FICTION]

My nose wrinkles as the sound of a tongue slapping against moist lips breaks into the twilight haze before wakefulness. Then I stop clinging to hopes of slipping back into my dream as that same slobbery tongue finds my face and begins avidly running up and down my face. I squeal in protest, raising my hands up to protect my face. 

“Jacque, we know you love the baby but let her sleep.” 

If my eyes weren’t already wide open, they would be at the sound of my mother’s voice. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby. Mama’s here. Did Jacque wake you up?” Then she is lifting me into her arms and smothering me with kisses.

But I am too big to be lifted by anyone but a bodybuilder and too old to be called baby. On top of that, it has been years since my mother tried to kiss me and decades since Jacque crossed the Rainbow Bridge. While I am still trying to wrap my mind around what must be the wildest dream ever, my father comes into the room.

“There’s my pink pumpkin and her lovely mother.” 

He leans in to kiss my mom, and I know my eyes are bulging out of my head. They divorced before I turned six. And I have zero memories of seeing them kiss. My therapist assures me that is for the best because those kinds of memories would have only given me hope that my parents would end up together. In this moment, I understand why she said that because my heart flutters a little as they linger with their lips locked together. Then they return to cooing over me.

I realize why when I reach out a hand to put a halt to all the kissing. My hands are tiny and adorable. And my tongue won’t form the right sounds to say stop. The sound that does come out just elicits more cooing and kisses, so I decide to accept my fate. 

I sigh internally as I try to figure out how I ended up back in my tiny baby body. Before I come up with a valid hypothesis or figure out how to take advantage of the situation, my tiny body demands rest so it can grow into the adult body I remember so fondly.

When I wake, my cell phone demands attention. The ringtone I reserve for my mother blares on and on until I finally accept the call.

“Hey, mom,” I say more kindly than normal, still wrapped up in the memory of how she loved me at three.

“Hey, baby, I was wondering if you would want to come over for dinner tonight?” Her tone implies she has more to ask.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What else is happening at dinner tonight?”

She sighs. “I can’t fool you. Your father and I want to talk to you about something.”

“Dad? You’re talking to dad?” I squeak out as an image of their affectionate kiss dances through my mind.

“Yes, dear, we have been talking for a while.”

“About what?”

“Will you come to dinner?”

I release my own sigh. “I guess. If I have to…”

“That’s my good girl. Love you. See you tonight.”

She doesn’t give me time to back out. I roll my eyes as I set the phone down and get ready for a day that culminates in dinner with both my parents.

~

When I get to my mother’s house, I park in the empty driveway. I peek through the garage windows to see my mother’s car parked next to a muscle car that can only belong to my dad. As I slowly approach the front door, it opens and both parents stare out at me with trepidation on their faces.

“Come on, you guys, what is going on? Is grandma sick or something?”

They exchange glances and my mother speaks for them with a grin, “Something.”

“You’ll have to wait until after dinner. We haven’t got together in a while,” my dad’s words trail off.

I decide not to point out that I don’t remember us ever being together except when they traded custody of me, usually with unspoken animosity making the air around us crackle. I follow them into the house and find that my mother prepared all my favorite things. Conversation over dinner focuses on safe topics like the weather and what I am up to now. I try to broach the subject of this sudden interest in family time a couple of times, but they take turns diverting the conversation to other topics. I swear I see them exchange smoldering looks a couple of times but try to ignore it so I can keep my meal down.

Finally, huge slices of chocolate cake adorn the table. As I raise my first bite to my lips, I give my mother a pointed look. She sets her fork down. Dad reaches for her hand. Then they exchange another maddening look.

“Out with it, so I can eat my cake,” I set my own fork down, cake untasted.

“We’ve decided to get remarried,” my mother’s eyes widen imploringly.

“Pardon?” I scoop a larger bite of cake into my mouth, afraid that an unfull mouth might express too many of my initial responses.

“Your mother has agreed to give me a second chance.” My dad adds, his eyes softening like they had for my mother in the dream.

I hide behind another bite of chocolate cake, allowing its rich flavor to sooth my addled mind.

“Your dad found some pictures from when you were a baby and brought them over for me to see,” my mom continues, “And it reminded us both of what we had…”

“And I promise that this time I won’t mess it up.”

As they stare at me with imploring eyes, that kiss replays in my mind again. I sigh and set down my fork.

“You are adults. You don’t need my permission.” I finally mutter.

“So you’ll give me away?” My mother asks.

That tiny seed of hope I had during my episode the previous evening prompts me to agree.

~~~

Ever had a weird dream that seemed to somehow tie right into an unexpected announcement? It has happened to me a couple of times, but I never got to give anyone away. I do have two brothers though, who might be single. I don’t dare ask, but I could if you want to take them and get them to shape up. I know. I make it so tempting.

Being Thankful Every Year (Should Be Every Day)

I know. Two weeks without a fiction break might be too much, but this is the time of year when most of us allow ourselves to think about our gratitude. We are grateful for the big things like our homes and the little things like our tiny humans blowing us kisses. So let tell you about a number of things I am grateful for.

1. Heavenly Father. He loves me and He loves you. You don’t have to believe it, but I do, so be kind and don’t assume the worst of me. By the same token, I am grateful for Jesus Christ. For those who need reminded of one of the most memorized scriptures ever, John 3:16: “For God so loved the world, that He gave His Only Begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."

2. Faith. It sounds like a repeat, but it isn’t. Faith in the Lord keeps me pointed in the right direction spiritually. Faith in myself helps me accomplish more than should honestly be expected of one human being.

3. Family. Whether we share blood or we have adopted each other, family makes life better. They offer moral support, provide amusing stories to share (if you have met my real or adopted brothers, you know what I speak of—my adopted sisters are all beautiful angels, so they provide sweet uplifting anecdotes), and they remind us of the best qualities in ourselves and others.

4. Food. I love most food. I know that is obvious. I like discovering new flavors, enjoying flavors I already know I love, and sharing comfort foods with others.

5. Muses. Without inspiration, this blog would never have any posts. Keep encouraging my muses and me. We like chocolate, amazon gift cards, and words of appreciation…among other things.

6. Words. Okay, so I complain about them a lot and burst into song (rewatch “My Fair Lady” and you will know what I mean), but words can be so useful. They help us communicate. For book lovers, they help us escape to far away lands whether we are escaping housework or boredom. 

7. Readers. That’s right. Anyone who stumbles on my writing and appreciates it brightens my day. Of course, until I buckle down and self-publish something, I may never know if I have more than three true blue lovers of my words.

8. Animals. Though I currently live in a pet free environment, I could write a whole book about animals I have loved. In fact, even after a decade sans kitties, people still have to patiently pretend to listen when I tell tales of purrs I have loved and lost.

9. Children. Yes, they drive me crazy, since I made little hobbits who are always hungry, but you really can learn a lot from children. I love watching my children root for every sports team with their friends or father, show concern for friends who are hurt or upset, and be willing to talk to everyone and anyone without having to point out their differences. (Though that last one can be terrifying to a mama who reads too many thrillers.) 

10. Friends. With me, this one kind of merges into number three most of them time, but it is always good to have people to rely on and vent to about how terrible other drivers are, etc. (Quick diversion: Also, it is nice when they giggle because you claim you want to go back into a store and buy more of an item simply because the cashier tried to discourage you yesterday because he would have to enter it manually since it isn’t in the system. It is also good when they don’t encourage you to do so since you don’t need said items but really don’t get people not wanting to do their job.)

11. Music. When I can’t find my own words to express my feelings, the right song can really hammer the point home. Honestly wish the lyrics of Sarah McLachlan’s “Good Enough” and Tori Amos’ “Leather” didn’t seem to punctuate my interactions with people, but sometimes Sarah McLachlan’s “Loving You Is Easy” winds its way into my mind as well. If you have seen my girls, you know and you already feel sorry the boys they meet. (Maybe I should spend more time listing to The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square.)

12. Pie. Even though it gives me pie brain (my new definition of this inability to remember important things like putting on a coat when it is in the 30s outside., I love pie. I love to think about it. I love to smell it baking. I love to make it. I love to eat it. I love to smother it in yummy vanilla ice cream. I love to share it with friends. (Or you can find the song from the movie “Michael” and get the same general idea. I decided to link all these fabulous side notes. The librarian in my soul rejoices.)

13. Libraries. You know I love libraries. They have free books, movies, music, programs for everyone, friendly (or at least very interesting) employees, and so much more. 

I had to stop my list somewhere or I would go all day. Thanks for bearing with me. Your patience will be rewarded with a fun story next Friday, so stay posted and stay warm.

Love Lost

“I never meant to fall in love with you. I knew your heart belonged to another. Yet knowing that our time together would quickly pass, I couldn’t resist being near you. And now, you are staring at me over my favorite meal, and I know this is the last goodbye. Don’t turn that page. Don’t go into that next chapter of your life without me.”

“What do you mean?” She giggled softly as she turned her attention to cutting her chicken.

“I know Edgar has returned.”

Her fork clattered to her plate as she finally met his eyes. “I’m sorry, George. I do love you…”

“I knew this would happen…”

“Could happen…”

“You told me you feared you would always love him.”

“I did, but he wasn’t supposed to come back.”

“Don’t pretend you wished he would die over there. Even I tried not to wish that.”

She gasped. “Of course not.”

“I finally just wished he’d come back married. Maybe then you be able to love me with your whole heart.”

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled through tears as she rose from her seat.

He watched her silently, holding back his own sobs until she disappeared from view. Only then did he release the lump in his throat and allow salty streams to flow from down his cheeks.

~~Sometimes I am not sure where these writing prompts will take me. This felt like a stand alone story that tells itself in the dialogue. What say ye, critics of the inter webs?~

A Day of Celebration and Love [RANT]

Approximately two centuries ago, a young girl awaited the birth of her first child. Due to a census being taken, she and her new husband found themselves traveling hundred of miles away to be included in their ancestral home. As they got to Bethlehem, they began looking for a place to spend the night. All the inns were full. One innkeeper finally offered them the use of his humble stable to rest their weary bodies. Anyone who has ever traveled while pregnant in our gloriously plush automobiles knows how grateful Mary was to have a place to put her feet up and just be still. She didn’t get to rest long because soon our Savior made his entrance into the world. 

Many will argue whether he was born in December or April. They may argue whether he was born in winter or summer. They may argue if he was ever born at all, but most people still celebrate the holidays. Whether you are celebrating the birth of a savior or salvation from oppression or the warmth light brings to the shortest days of the year, I just want to remind you that it isn’t all the lights and carefully wrapped presents and platters of food that bring true joy to this season.

Love is the true light of the holidays, so even if you didn’t get the tech gadget or shiny bauble that you wanted, put on a happy face because someone loves you. Some of you may be asking, “why?” Someone somewhere loves you because:

You are their child.

You are the answer to their prayers.

You smiled at them when they were at their lowest.

You are their sibling.

You share their interests.

You shared your chocolate with them.

You are their parent.

You are their aunt or uncle or god parent.

You always listen when they talk.

Even if you don’t know it, or believe it, you are deeply loved. I believe in a Father in Heaven who sent His son to be our Savior. I believe that He is the reason we celebrate Christmas even though I clearly love a good story about Santa and his reindeer.

Future Problems Now [FICTION]

I take a deep breath, savoring every nuance of aroma that speaks of fall and the county fair. My mouth waters as the scents of candied apples, cotton candy, and deep-fried dreams mingle in the crisp air. I turn my head from side to side, trying to see everything at once. As Artie pulls me toward one of the tents, I focus on our direction. I let out as derisive snort as I read the name attached to the tent: “Oracles Den.”

“Really? You want to know our future?” I laugh.

“Don’t you?” He looks slightly offended that I am not falling all over myself with joy to have a charlatan take a wild guess at what my future holds.

Artie lifts the flap for me and I step into a sweetly perfumed circle filled with vibrant colors, sparkling sequins, and a haze induced by incense. A tiny woman with silvery grey hair and dark, penetrating eyes smiles up at us from a cushion.

“You wish to know your future. You wish to know your dreams. You wish to know they shall become one.” She waves a tiny hand toward two round cushions in a dark orange fabric that sit just inside the door. “Please sit. I will tell what you need to know.”

I struggle to hold my face neutral to avoid offending the believers in the tent with me. She glances at Artie as we sit before focusing those eyes on me.

“You don’t believe I can see your future, child?” The grin widens as she places her hands in the middle of the table and slowly raises them, revealing a crystal ball. “Let us see what your future holds.”

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply of the murky air. She waves her hands over the magic ball. Words pour from her mouth, an almost imperceptible song in a language I do not know. Soon the crystal ball goes from clear to murky. Then images appear. I lean forward to peer at them as they come into crisp focus. A young woman in her early twenties smiles back at me from within the arms of a broad-shouldered man 

“That looks like you,” Artie smiles, “I bet those are my shoulders.”

The image scrolls, revealing the face of the man wrapping me in his arms. He has the same blue eyes as Artie, but rich dark curls spill down his cheeks and the right one dimples as he smiles back at me.

“I’ve never seen that man before.” I say, unable to take my eyes off of the unfamiliar face.

I look at Artie to gage his reaction, surprised to see how pale he is as he mutters. “That looks like my cousin Chip?”

“Seriously, aren’t we supposed to meet him here?”

“Not anymore,” Artie mumbles.


“What?” I jump up from the cushion. “Because of some digital image she conjured up somehow.”

The woman laughs and I turn to see that the crystal has returned to a clear ball again. The woman grins at me, pointing at me with one of her surprisingly long fingers with an even longer nail stretching out toward me.

“I did conjure up an image, but it is not digital, it is yet to come.” She turns her freakish finger and dark eyes to Artie. “And you can not stop the future from happening. Trying to do so will bring it to pass sooner and with a lot more heartache for you.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I reach for Artie’s hand.

He doesn’t take it. Instead, he grudgingly puts a few tens in the open palm of the fortune teller. I shake my head and step outside right into the arms of the younger version of the man from the crystal ball. He laughs as he places a hand on each shoulder to keep me from falling to the ground. And that is how Artie finds us, me gazing into Chip’s face mystified while he smiles down at me in a pleasantly surprised kind of way.

~~Ah. The romance of pumpkin spice season. I know many of my friends are so excited to drink and eat their way through hundreds of servings of pumpkin spice before peppermint season starts. Since I made a delightful amount of apple butter yesterday, I have to wonder where apple season is in all this.~~