100 Words, Again

I honestly hope that all three of my readers take a few minutes to listen, read or, perhaps, write something for what is quickly becoming one of my favorite contests.....FOUND HERE.

Dragon Strikes in Park
Early Monday afternoon newly formed Boyscout Troop 714, from Detroit Michigan, was planning a simple Fourth of July party, Mexican style. A quick meeting in the park suddenly turned to tragedy when the dragon struck yet again.
Volunteer parent, Janet Turner, was the only survivor of the attack. Troop leader, Melinda Cox, was heralded as a hero for using a pinata costume and distracting the dragon long enough for Janet to escape by building an airplane, according to directions found in the boyscout handbook, and flying away. The plane crashed, killing the other sixteen parents onboard.

Teacher

He was washing his hands. A simple act, one done millions of times, water, soap, scrub, wring, pool, rinse, rinse some more, turn water off, dry hands...

The simple things, the quiet times...that is when he finds himself, on occasion, thinking of her. The acts done thousands of times, the lessons he now gives, what he teaches his own.

“You butter the bread, not the pan.” or “The way a bed is made is the way the maker sleeps.” even “Floss before you brush, but only at night.”

With his hands dry, towel still in hand, he sits at the kitchen table lost in memory. Twenty two years without her, those years have gone by in the blink of an eye. So many lessons learned, remembered and passed on without conscience thought given to the source.

“This is what remains.” he thinks and smiles looking around the kitchen. Allowing himself to remember many of those lessons about food, about books, about babies, about life. Much was learned, more was forgotten.

Go, vote........think of it as practice

Just click here......

100 Words, its like the plague or something!

So, I was over at Ellison's site looking for tales of adventure. What I found was this little contest. Intrigued, I decided to give it a try...... a try is what we (I) ended up with....... will someone please tell me how to make a flipping MP3? GOSH! I have a story, pretty good story telling voice and no way to understand the technology to put the two together! I made a sound file.. ends with wav, not MP3.

Oh well, you can read my story below:

“Rode hard and put up wet.”

She heard it very clearly, chose to ignore. What good would come of confrontation? “Hell,” she thinks to herself with a chuckle “that weekend in New Orleans, 85, rode hard and put up was exactly what we were, and damn proud of it.” Her smile fades with the expression of remembrance, that was a long time ago, so long ago.

Years of the chase made her somber, not sober, somber yes. Head in hands now, red dreadlocks brushing the table, sagging bosom heaving with sobs. Another smoke, another shot, another night. Whiskey & me.

Drunk Painting

A sport that I highly recommend! Depending on the results seen in the morning, this opinion is subject to change!

Now, off to cook dinner . . .

A Chair

"Have you ever been inspired by a chair?" She asks with that twinkle in her eyes, telling him more, all, and nothing without uttering a word.

"Perhaps I have, who knows?"

"How do you know?" She whispers. "What truly inspires and what is merely muddying up the water?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" He says now with understanding, his lips do not form the smile lingering in his tone.

"Why do you give so few answers?"

He knows these are the words uttered, if only for his ears. Swelling with joy and sorrow, mingling within his blood, consuming his being.

"A study in contradictions." isn't that what she always said he was to her? Perhaps this proves her right, yet again?

His sun is setting. His sun.

Here is the proof,
of something more
of something less
of metamorphosis.

Little things

There is something inside my mind that is scratching to escape, to see the world a new, possibly it will change my world, possibly is will just be. But for now, it crawls, creaks, bangs and itches, just around the edges, looking for that escape valve that moves from the mind through the neck, into the arms, around the elbow, past my wrists, into my fingers, and, at last, onto the paper.

As soon as that happens, you will be some of the first to know.

New Purchase

I'm so excited!

Auditions for Carroll County Community Theatre’s Production of Death of a Salesman, written by Arthur Miller, directed by Michelle will be held on July 21 and 22 in the Choral Rehearsal Room of the Carrollton Cultural Arts Center at 7 p.m. Parts are available for 8 men and 5 women.

The debut of Death of a Salesman was greeted with enthusiastic reviews, received the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1949, the 1949 Tony Award for Best Play, and the New York Drama Critics Circle Award for Best Play. Death of a Salesman is the first play in history to win all three major awards. Produced worldwide, the searing drama confirmed Miller as an internationally-known playwright.

Production dates are September 25-27 at 7:30 and Sunday September 28 at 2:00 p.m. Tickets are $10.

Feel free to contact Michelle to request more information.

Postcards From Paraguay

DoDo Does Hong Kong

Run and Hide!

Get off of the road, the Eldest is driving now!

Remember to remind me, please.

I rented Kite Runner and must say that I was terribly impressed. Some things were changed from what was in the book, but the essence, the feel of the story was there and wonderfully acted, for the most part. So, if you get the chance, rent it. Better yet, read the book!

Honestly, I nearly cried...at the end ... something that never happens with me and movies. OK, not never, Steel Magnolias can still make me cry like a baby, no matter how many times I see it. When Sally Fields is in the cemetery, my goodness!

I think that part of what was reaffirmed to me, tonight, watching that movie, the thing that I loved so much about the book and could never put my finger on. The main character was not a bad man, he was just a man. He made some mistakes, terrible mistakes that, I feel, he tried to forget/erase his entire life. He failed someone he loved, honestly who among us has not? We can not forget or erase those mistakes. We must learn to live with them, not to allow them to haunt us but to learn the lesson necessary and behave differently next time. He had to learn that he was more than the sum of his mistakes. Wouldn't that be wonderful, to know that we are all more than the sum of our mistakes? Not better, no one is better than their mistakes. But if we are changed by them, if something is learned, no matter how small, we are better because of them.

I am more than the sum of my mistakes, more than the sum of my past, more than the sum of what I have done or said, and more than the sum of the things that have been done or said to me. It is easy for a person to say that, and a much different thing to believe such is so. Right this minute, I believe what I write. Perhaps in eight hours I will need to be reminded of that belief and learn to have more faith in my own abilities.

Did you notice that I changed from first person, to second person to third person all in one post? Talented I is.

Yesterday

I took several pictures yesterday of the Youngest and the Daughter. The Eldest was at the motocross track for his birthday, happy birthday kiddo!

This is only one of two that survived my virgin voyage of transferring pictures from new camera to computer. There was one of her and her father that was breathtaking, would have made a nice gift for her.

Needless to say I was incredibly disappointed with my self for flubbing up and loosing all of those pictures.

Until, because I had nothing else to look at I really looked at this photo. A thousand stories could be launched by this one image. Nothing is certain, nothing is clear. Not the time period, not the horse, age, sex, disposition, nothing to tell the viewer where we were or what we were doing.

If you look closely at her face you know the daughter is not old, what is she thinking, just beyond our view? Imagine the thing capturing her attention. Is she alone or surrounded by Indians? Spring or fall? Georgia, Australia, England, where are they?

I like it now, and will keep it and treasure it for the rest of my days.

Now, relax and take a deep breath . . .

Shit, fuck & Damn....

We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming.

For three weeks . . .

I lived the dream:

I could see her,
the woman of dreams,
almost touching,
She and I.

Now she is gone.
I want her back!

Is it genetic?

These words came out of the daughters mouth Friday night. Hey, at least she knows the definition and how to use it in a sentence!

So, I've been having some health problems that lead to a bit of surgery this last week. Some of you may have noticed the lack of posting in these last few months.....

I really don't want to go too in detail, as those things do not matter, but could not resist posting about my daughter's first question when informed of the situation. The last thing that I wanted was for my children to worry unnecessarily about any of this, so I did not tell them until after surgery and an almost clean bill of health. It was easy with the eldest and the daughter, they stay with their father during the week, so I just rearranged a couple of weekends with their father, using Easter and JJ's visit as a excuse. The youngest found out while I was having surgery, and did a really nice job of keeping himself centered and positive, it helped to hang out in bed with me for about an hour when I came home.

I actually only told a hand full of people, really I could count them on one hand! Why, because it felt like mine and I knew how frightening those three words can be, cancer, specialist, rare. Come on, it took me weeks just to wrap my mind around. That first one is the most difficult to come to terms with. I know two people in the last couple of years who have died from cancer and more who are undergoing the roughest of treatments. It scared the hell out of me and I did not want to spread that fear too far. So, five people knew, if you are one of those five then your fit into one of two categories, I love you and needed your support or I work for you and swore you to silence.

So, all is well and, unless the doctors are keeping me totally in the dark, all will remain well as well.

Is it genetic?

I was really worried about telling the older two, not knowing how they would take having been in the dark for so long:

Their father brings them to my house for the weekend, which is rare, as we usually meet somewhere, I was just too tired to drive and, well, sitting for too long is incredibly uncomfortable at this point.

They come in and I hobble around a bit showing them this or that bit of improvement around the house (JJ could not stay still during his three week visit), I give the Eldest his birthday present, I will post about that at a later time, and we look at some pictures taken the last time we went hiking together, then we sit down...... I need to talk to you two about something. Stares and casual "OK, sure."

"A few months ago the Doctors found some cancer which necessitated that I have some surgery last week." I say with complete calm and much care. "What, Where, When, How, Why"... all of this from the Eldest, he has always been the need to know kind of guy. So I explain as much as I feel they need to know, tell them that we are basically out of the woods physically, and inform them that we will not be going bowling, or hiking, or any of our usual activities this weekend. Which makes them smile and giggle because they wanted to see a movie instead.

Then the silent one speaks, with a bit of a squeak in her voice, "Is it genetic?" How could I not love a 13 year old with that type of perspective on life?

One positive that came out of the situation: I haven't smoked in about a month. This was helped along by a visit to a hypnotist, believe it or not.

Today, tonight.

So, lots going on in the life of Michelle, so much so that I just truly don' t know what to think, feel, believe or, mostly, say. And it is thus that I explain my silence.

The play is done, finished, oh not completed, just without inspiration and therefore now being relegated to the drawer once more, to be pulled out, dusted off, and revised, once again, in the hope of a complete project. Shit, I hate that!

The munchkins? Wonderful, amazing, awe inspiring, frustrating and just in general perfect.

The eldest qualified for the State wrestling competition! Yes, this is his first year wrestling, yes it was a fluke of the numbers, and HELL YES it was cool. I have video of his second bout, the kid almost made it the first two minutes. I was truly proud...because he is my son, because he is amazing but more so because of the pride that his accomplishment instilled in his little sister. The daughter was in charge of the video for the event, she did a wonderful job:

The eldest walks out onto the mat, doing that little jump to pump himself up, the competitor walks out, this kid is built, shorter than the eldest, but built. All of a sudden the video shakes and we are now looking at the top of a seat and hear "Come on, your bigger than he is." The daughter, giving her encouragement.

The match begins with much dancing, the entire area around us is screaming the boys name, because they too know what an honor it is to make it to this competition for a freshman. So, they dance, for what seems like forever, a slap here, a grab there, nothing too aggressive, nothing too physical, these gentlemen are sizing each other up. All of a sudden, like a lightning bolt this boy is on my son, bending, or trying to bend, his body in directions in which the body was not designed to bend. Then he flips the eldest, not into the air, just onto his back.......things are starting to look rough for the eldest, the video shows the beginnings of a pin, and then a miraculous recovery by the eldest, he is out of danger, if only for a minute, everyone is on their feet, chanting, screaming and yelling: "Look at that! Did you see that! Go!" Most of all you hear the eldest's name being belted out by this high pitched squeal of a sound. The camera is jumping up and down, around and over, as it it has a mind of its own. She is yelling so loudly that hardly a word is understood, but the sentiment, oh yes, we hear that and its meaning loud and clear.

It is just a moment, gone and done in a flash, focused once again on the match at hand ........... which only lasted a few more seconds. But in that amount of time....I was proud, proud of my children for, once again, showing me that hard work and determination does pay off in the long run.

I don't want to leave the wrong impression........had this been any type of competition between the two of these, eyes would have been scratched out and no dirty trick would be left untried. But, when it matters, when everything else is taken away........my children stand for each other and everything that we have taught them, sooner or later, all of those good things, well, they do shine through, if only for a few seconds.

They left the competition with almost matching t-shirts. The difference? The daughters was personalized with this statement on the back "___________'s Little Sister, be afraid!

Is that cool or what?

From JJ, I wanted a story about the color blue.

He was looking at him trying to remember what it was that led him into this place. Nothing that he could remember. The big blank in his mind, although he was certain that he has seen such thing before, he could not organize any meaningful thought around it. Why every part of his body was aching like he has been through the toughest time of his life trying to fight alone against an army? Was he too old already? Was he getting sick against all odd? Yesterday still he was feeling in a good shape. But was it really yesterday? Try to catch a detail something significant enough to use it as a starting point to organize his thoughts, restart his mind. In front of his eyes was passing pieces of details, memories, like those little pieces of paper that the fire did not destroy completely; big enough to guess what they were before but not enough to be sure.
He felt like he was a painful piece of flesh. What was he suppose to do with it? Who was he? Human or something else? It may sound like a kind of stupid question but imagine having a virgin brain only able to feel, what for now seamed pain only.
Try again! Something must have stick somewhere in a remote corner of his memory. Give it a little bit of time, try to relax and not push himself into more stress. What was he looking for again? Oh yes a detail, to help him remember why this pieces of images kept coming in front of his eyes. How long has he been here? What was it looking like? Impossible to say it was dark like in an oven. Oven? Where does that was coming from? There! That has to be an important detail. That must mean something to him. So oven and dark goes well together then. Do they really? It is time to stop doubting all the time. He has to stick with some thought process. The noise! He can hear it again! Something was shaking this place, he could feel it clearly now. It was rocking now! Voices? Could it be voices? Light! A ray of light was now entering this box! Wake up! Someone was screaming wake up. Lets go! I am going to be late! Late? Late for what? It was the last of his preoccupation at the moment! he was more concern about escaping this place. One more effort he must be close now. JJ? Someone was calling like a name! We have to go! The light finally enter completely the place and what he saw was amazingly captivating.
A big circle that was looking like it was moving and changing size, right there in front of his eyes! Besides the spooky shape the color was, no were, because it was such a beautiful mix of grays and blues that it would have been a life work to try to describe it. the voice again was screaming. But what was it saying? JJ we have to go! Why I heard myself saying? I am going to be late for my soccer game! Soccer game? The light was there and the image was focused now. So close in front of me, was this boy staring at me. Soccer game, The Youngest, the name of Michelle's boy. Then suddenly everything went back in place. What a night! I thought to myself looking at the room around me. But it was more than time to go, a boy wanted to play soccer. Life is all about priorities.

Isalakys Perfoulion. . . .

“Tell me your thoughts maman.” says the child as he continues to stir.

The bowl is of a material new to the child. It is not glass, you can not see through it, nor is it some type of metal, it is not as smooth as either metal or glass. How could an object be fragile and strong, beautiful and substantial, dense and heavy while at the same time exquisite and ethereal?

“Why, child, would the thoughts of one change the being of the other?” A playful lilt to her tone tells the child that he is being tested.

“Must you always answer a question with another?”

Looking up from the task at hand, eyes sparkling with mischief or intent, the child can not tell, Me‘re replies emotionless. “No, but with you it is more fun.”

“As compared to with who?”, the child asks with a sudden ferocity that startles Me’re to the core. “You are all that I know, I am all that you know, how could you say with me it is more fun? There is no one BUT me.” In a large sweeping motion the child grabs the bowl intent on slamming it to the floor, where he will pound and stomp on it with his feet until every piece is shattered to oblivion.

In a single wave, almost unseen by the child, that is brutal and precise Maman replaces the bowl to the table without it touching the floor and grabs the child, bringing him into her strong, and yet frail, embrace. Maman cradles the child with a tenderness and strength that is at once comforting and disturbing. Here the child knows he will remain until his fury passes. That is how it always is.