Promises not kept...

The service was lovely. The music was just right. The speeches were well done. Just emotional enough to mark it as what it was, but not so much as to get maudlin. The last service she had been to the best friend was well in to his cups before it began and wept so hard he couldn't get through his speech. She shook her head. It didn't seem like it was too long ago that she was comparing weddings of friends, and then weddings of their children. Now it was funerals.

She was waiting for the chapel to clear before she left. She wasn't as quick as she used to be and hated to feel as though people were waiting on her. It had taken time to get used to her new slower pace of life, but now that she had she found she actually liked it. It gave her time to observe those around her. And in cases like today to spend a few extra minutes quietly remembering a friend.

"Excuse me? Are you Grace?"

She looked up in to the face of, which daughter would it be? Autumn?

"Graciella actually. Only your father ever called me Grace. He said the ella on the end was unnecessary."

"That sounds like Dad. I'm Autumn."

"I am so sorry for your loss. I would ask how you are doing but that always seems like such a horrible question at a time like this."

"Thank you. And yes, it's hard. It wasn't unexpected. He had been sick for a few months, but it still isn't any easier."

Autumn stopped and looked closely at the face of the woman seated in front of her, trying to imagine what she had looked like 40 years earlier. She would have been younger than Autumn was now. Grace. Graciella. She hadn't asked Autumn how she knew her name. Hadn't seemed surprised that she did. Had she expected to be recognized?

"He asked for you at the end."

"Excuse me?"

"The last week. He started asking for you. 'Is Grace coming? Is Grace here?' He said he had so much to talk to you about. He couldn't wait to tell you about the next adventures."

Graciella smiled, "We always did have so many things to talk about. If I had known I would have come. I only found out about his passing through the obituaries. When you reach my age you will find they are weekly reading."

"You don't seem surprised that he asked for you."

"I find that as we age we think more and more about the friends of our youth. Your father and I were great friends a long time ago. We talked about everything. Every challenge you could imagine. Even you and your sister and your brother.

I remember when your appendix burst. You had a fever for a few days but hadn't complained at all of any pain. When you went in to the hospital they did a blood test and discovered your white blood cell count was off the charts. When they finally narrowed it down to an infected appendix and got you on the table it burst right there in the operating room. If you had gone another day who knows what might have happened. Your father and I spent many hours talking about how as a parent you worry so much about everything and then if you miss something as big as that, what does that mean? How can you protect your children from the world if you cannot even protect them from their own bodies?"

Autumn's hand had subconsciously moved to the scar she had had for as long as she could remember. Her parents had told her the story but she had only been 3 when it happened so had no real memory of any of it. This woman, Grace, Graciella, knew as much about her operation as she did.

She wanted to talk to her more. This mystery out of her father's past that she had only found out about the week before when her father started asking for her. All her father had told her was her name and how long it had been since he had last seen her. And now here she was. "Will you be coming to the graveside service as well?"

Graciella put her hand on her cane, "No, I don't think so. It's very hard to manage hills with this."

"How did you know it was on a hill?"

"I assumed he would be buried in the family plot at Westview. Your brother is there. And your grandparents. I know he would want to be there as well. There is a lovely view of the river, I would imagine it's still quite peaceful."

Autumn wondered if there were friends she had 40 years ago that she would still know this much about?

"Aren't you curious how I knew who you were?"

"You saw an old woman sitting in the back row of the church that you did not recognize. Your father had been asking for a stranger in the end. I assumed you guessed."

Autumn shook her head, "A little of that maybe. But it was your eyes that gave you away."

Graciella waited.

"You have the bluest eyes I've ever seen. My father would always say he was a sucker for blue eyes and a smile. Which made my brown-eyed mother furious."

"I imagine it did."

"Did you know my mother?"

"I did. We talked a few times. We weren't as close as your father and I were, but we socialized some."

Graciella could see the struggle on Autumn's face. The question she wanted to ask. The one she was sure she knew the answer to. "Did you love my father?"

That had not been the question she was expecting. But she supposed it was the more important one. "Very much."

"I believe he must have loved you as well."

"I believe he did."

Autumn squared her shoulders and held out her hand to Graciella, "Thank you for coming. I know it would have meant a lot to Dad."

Graciella watched Autumn walk from the church. Then she took a deep breath and composed herself. She wondered if she should have told Autumn that she and her father had never been unfaithful to her mother. But was that true? She and Andrew had never had an affair. Not a proper one anyway. They had shared one kiss, one time. And that was the last time they had seen each other. She had loved him very much and she believed he had loved her as well. But they had never had sex. At the time that seemed very important to her. She had held that in her heart, she had never been unfaithful to Eddie. Never cheated on him. Years later she realized that sex had never been what made an affair.

The final time she and Andrew had seen each other he had made her promise if anything ever happened between her and Eddie she would find him. No matter what. She had promised. Eighteen years ago when Eddie had died at his desk from an aneurysm she remembered the promise. By this time Andrew and his first wife, Autumn's mother, had divorced. As well as Andrew and his second wife. He was engaged to the woman that would become wife number three. Graciella decided to let the ghosts of the past haunt themselves. What would she have said to him, "Remember me?" What would she have expected him to do? Drop everything and run away with her? Some promises seemed better not kept.

She walked slowly out of the chapel. Feeling the sun on her face she heard Autumn's voice in her head, "He asked for you at the end." As the tears made their way down her cheeks she thought, "But there is still so much to talk about."

People are stupid...

I have a son. Online I refer to him as C. This started when he was younger and I realized I was talking about him and blogging about him a lot but I was still being protective of him. You will see in older blogs I referred to him by his name, not the initial and then I switched. It made me more comfortable. I figured anyone who already knew him knew his name but this way I wasn't putting it out there more than it needed to be. Even though he is an adult now it stuck because it's just easier to type C than it is to type his full name. I've used it for so long now that there are times I actually call him C when I'm talking to him and not just about him. Not often, but sometimes.

And that's not the only different name I call him. Not just nicknames, though he has a ton of those. But his name. Christopher. Family and family friends are the only ones who call him that. He goes by Chris otherwise. Has since he started school. See when your last name has 11 letters in it you really don't want to spell out that plus Christopher on every paper so he shortened it to Chris. All of his teachers called him Chris. Every friend he made in school calls him Chris. He is Chris to everyone but us. But even though that's what he went by in school he has never been Chris at home. It's Christopher. That's the name we use here. 

Doesn't change who he is. Doesn't change how people interact with him. It's just a different name. One the school used. And just because it was a school thing didn't make it a home thing. (we asked, he was fine with us using his full name) Because the school had its way and we had ours.

And here is where we turn.

Just because the school doesn't lead a prayer before class doesn't mean your kid can't pray in school.

Just because the teacher doesn't open a bible and read a bible verse in class doesn't mean your kid can't take his bible to school and read from it during his own free time.

Just because the school has winter break doesn't mean your kid can't say Merry Christmas. 

Don't be stupid.

Just don't.

There is a story making the rounds right now about a Sikh child who has been granted permission to wear his kirpan at school. Don't worry, I had to Google it too. Anyway in the article there are two things that stuck out to me. The person who made a big deal out of the story doesn't even volunteer at his school but felt the need to bring it to the press. And there have been Sikhs wearing their kirpans for YEARS without incident. YEARS people. It's small. It's under the clothing. If Big Mouth McScardey Butt hadn't run to the press nobody would have even known. It would have been a private thing between the school and this family. A religious exception to a rule. You know how we like to point out that we should have religious exceptions to rules right, Hobby Lobby?

Anyway...people are freaking the fuck out and there are recurring themes. First off people do not know that Sikhs and Muslims follow two different religions. Which then shows the level of absolute hate and fear there is out there about people who are different than they are. Then there is the "kids get suspended for bringing toy guns" and the joining argument, "I worship guns so I will bring mine now". Which is also idiotic. One the gun suspensions for toys and drawings and poptarts and whatever else you want to bring up are stupid. You do not fight stupid rules by allowing more stupid rules. And then the whole worship thing? Are you trying to be offensive? Because when I quote Harry Potter books at religious fanatics who are quoting bible verses at me I fully understand I'm being offensive. That's the point. So saying that your religion says you should carry a gun (and heads up guns weren't invented during the start of most religions so probably not) you are being obtuse and offensive.

And then there is the one I referenced earlier the whole no prayer, no bibles, no Christmas argument. Sorry, gang, but that's bullshit. There is an old saying, "As long as there are tests, there will be prayer in school." Just because it's not out loud, just because it's not teacher led, just because it's private doesn't mean it's not allowed. And while we are on the subject, the bible itself talks about prayers and shows a really healthy level of disdain and contempt for big showy public prayer. Go home and pray in private because if you are praying loudly in the public square it's most likely not for God's glorification but your own. Look it up.

Public schools do not push one religion over another. They shouldn't. But just because they aren't leading bible studies, or prayer groups doesn't mean they aren't happening. There are clubs. There are kids who quietly read their bibles during passing periods. There are prayers happening. And there are people wishing each other Merry Christmas. So get over it. Stop saying it doesn't happen. Or that it's not allowed. It just makes you look uninformed and unintelligent. 

As does your irrational hatred of Muslims.

And not knowing that Sikhs aren't Muslim.

And pretty much any hate fueled rant you post on a news site about poptart guns.

Seriously. Just stop being so fucking stupid.

She's got that magic touch...

Janet drained the last sip from her coffee before heading in to the store. This was the final inspection of the day. Which made it the final inspection of the week. The final inspection of this two week road trip. Thank god. One more store, one more night in a hotel and then flying home tomorrow to spend the rest of the weekend in her yoga pants and a sweater, curled up on the couch with a book. She closed her eyes and gave a contented sigh just thinking about it. But for now one more inspection.

Her territory covered Alaska, Washington, Oregon, Northern California and Idaho. Pretty far reaching which meant some serious travel at times. But it was fine. Except in the winter. Alaska inspections in the winter months could be truly dreary. But for the most part it was easy. Not like some of her co-workers. The woman who covered New Orleans, for instance, was constantly being called out for site visits. Not a lot of travel for her since she pretty much just covered the local parishes, but a lot more emergency calls.

Shaking out her hands she took a centering breath and entered the store. The overwhelming smell of incense hit her almost like a physical blow. Why did they all burn so much incense? So unnecessary. The woman behind the counter smiled at her, "Goddess blessings to you. May I help you find anything?"

Janet smiled back, "No thank you. I'm just looking around."

She walked past the rows of books, trailing her fingers along the spines. Basic things here. Nothing you couldn't find on Amazon. That's good. There were shelves of crystals. Pretty to look at, but not really special. Passing her hand over a carved box she got a small spark. Holding the box in her hand she felt the power of the previous owner. It was soothing. This had been much loved and would be safe to pass along to a new generation.

Even finding something with a little power like the box was rare in most of these shops. Most everything was mass produced junk. Tourist traps and stores for teenage girls trying to shock their parents. It was the older used items, like the box, that she was really looking for.

She looked over the collection of dried herbs and teas. No unusual ingredients, though she would make note to let them know storing their peppermint next to their wolfsbane was just going to make both go bad quicker. Ingredients were just ingredients though. No worries here.

She moved on to the next display shelf. More tiny fairy sculptures. Why people felt the need to buy such trinkets was beyond her. She reached out and picked one up off the shelf. Janet tilted her head. Something odd here. Just a slight buzz. She looked a little closer and deeper at the sculpture and then whispered, "Oh I am so sorry."

The woman from the counter came over, "Aren't these lovely? We just got them in from a local artisan. She casts the metal herself. Such great details. Sometimes when the light is just right from that window I swear they are moving. She is truly gifted."

"Yes, they are lovely. How long have you been carrying them?"

"Not long at all. This is our first shipment actually. It's amazing isn't it? She brought in a sample last month," a hand waved toward the window where Janet saw another sculpture on the ledge, "and we liked it so much that we ordered a dozen more."

Janet counted the figurines, an even dozen. "I will take them all. As well as that one on the shelf."

"Oh, I don't think that one is for sale. She's kind of our shop guardian angel now."

Janet smiled again and reached in her bag pulling out her badge, "I'm sorry, you are misunderstanding me. I will take them all. As well as the one on the shelf. I'm also going to need the name of the woman you bought them from."

The woman's face fell. "I didn't recognize you as an Inspector. I see. Let me box them up. I'm assuming you will want to continue looking around?"

"I think that's best. I will also want full access to your storerooms. And when you box them, please be careful. We don't want to damage them any more than they already have been."

"Damage?"

"Oh yes, you've actually bought an iron bound fairy collection. Your truly gifted sculptress is a slaver. As soon as you get me the information we will free who ever else she has trapped in her circle and she will be delivered to the authorities."

"Oh! We didn't know! How horrible. We would have never...."

Janet cut her off, "That's why you are supposed to clear all new suppliers through us. We really aren't doing it to be petty, or to restrict your profits, or to keep you from 'the good stuff', there are rules for a reason. Now, the contact information please?"

Janet called in a rescue team for the slaver's workshop as well as a team of smithologists who would be able to free the iron bound ones with minimal damage to them. Depending on how long they had been held there would need to be a recovery period but Janet was confident everyone would heal.

It was times like this that all of the travel, the endless paperwork and even the oppressive smell of incense was worth it.

Well maybe not the incense. So unnecessary.

Ugh...

I've written about how I really wish I could write a good scary story. I've shared some of my mediocre (to put it kindly) poetry efforts with you. I've done the write and dump with very little polish so you can see how a story starts and then come back with a different version to show how it can take a turn and end very differently. I've shared a variety of genres. Everything I put out there is all me the good and the not so good and the downright awful.

I'm usually pretty aware if something isn't my best work. I post it anyway. But I'm usually aware. I've explained that this is my space for writing. Just writing. Put it up, put it out, get it done. I have files and stories and ideas that sit and percolate without ever seeing the light of day. I have pieces that have been polished and shined and submitted, never to see the light of day. And then I have here. Where all the rest goes.

So what does that all mean for today?

Frustration.

This morning on the drive in to work Brent and I heard a story about Fall TV and the shows that were succeeding and the shows that were failing. And one show that is succeeding is doing so because of a highly successful show it follows. And that's where the rant started. The highly successful show is awful. The writing is trite. It's schlocky. It's a soap opera disguised as a police procedural. And the very worst of all of the soapy tropes. Just awful. So much so that C and I have made it the punch line for a variety of situations.

But it's hugely popular.

Now normally with books and movies and music I just take the "it's not for me" stance when I don't like something. Because really that's all it is. I don't like the same things as someone else. And even if a lot of people really like it it can still not be for me. Normally it doesn't make me that angry. Well, sometimes. If it's a book that is just truly awful and it happens to cross my path on a day I've just heard nothing from a contest or a publisher I might get a little testy, but usually I bitch a little to people who either understand or have to listen because they love me and then I let it go.

But there are times when it's just so bad that you wonder what the hell does everyone do when they watch/read/listen to this crap? Do they shut their brains down? Do they really believe in a world where evil twins eat their siblings in utero? And honestly even that wouldn't bother me so much if they just admitted it is a soap. I watch Nashville for god's sake. It's a soap with music! But it knows it's a soap. It's not trying to be serious.

And I guess that's where I ended up with the real question. Do you think the writers for bad shows know it's bad writing? That it's just a chance to write. And writing just to write is fun. Writing and getting paid for it would be awesome. So maybe they get that what they are writing is pure drivel and because that's what they are being paid to write that's what they write. And maybe I am just telling myself that to feel better about people getting paid to write pure crap.

Or maybe I'm jealous. Maybe I just wish I was that successful and I have blinders on because of my failures and it's making me bitter?

Nah...it's really just crap.

Here come t-r-o-u-b-l-e...

This morning while I was warming up on the treadmill I looked down at the machines below and could see someone using one of the machines I work out on, not to workout on but as a chair. He was watching the alpha male racquetball group play. Now there are two of these machines but the other one had the wrong attachment hooked up. I can replace it but it's a pain in the butt because I'm short. So anyway, I spent my 10 minute warm up getting a little ticked at this guy just sitting there at the lat machine watching the game.

Then when I actually hit the floor he had moved on to play his round in the game. Oh well that worked out fine. Except then when I started in on the machine that I alternate with the lat pull down machine someone else started to use the lat machine. Dang it. I was going to have to switch out the bar after all and I hate to do....oh never mind here comes someone else who is doing it instead of me...and by the time I was done with my hamstring curls they were both done with their sets and now both machines were free and had the right attachment. Guess I was starting to stress for nothing.

I've been working on a story in my head for a friend of mine. It was one of those; "This funny thing happened to someone, you should make a story out of it" moments. Amazingly, that happens more often than you would think...anyway... I had a few of the bare facts and was starting down the path of the story. I had asked for more details and originally had planned to get all of them before I started. I should have. I was missing a pretty big piece of information that changes everything I had planned. It's obviously not a big deal in the grand scheme of life, but it does change where I can go with the story.

There's a Bible verse that tells you not to worry about tomorrow because tomorrow will worry about itself. You also see a take on it sometimes as don't borrow trouble from tomorrow because each day has trouble of its own. That's such a good thing to keep in mind and such a hard thing to always practice. It's part of living mindfully as well, right? Be in the moment. Each moment is its own moment. Stop thinking so much about the past or the future or you miss now.

Now, I get it, there is a fine line between planning for tomorrow and worrying about it. I'm not saying you shouldn't save money, or have an insurance policy or stock up on toilet paper, I'm just saying pay attention to where your mind wanders. Are you planning for things that are going to happen, or panicking about things that probably aren't. Or even if they do you have no control over anyway so why bother thinking about them. Why worry about something that might or might not happen. If it doesn't happen you've wasted your time worrying about it, if it does happen worrying about it did no good anyway. Good guideline, are you planning or panicking. (just a quick hint, if you are thinking about what you are going to do when you catch Ebola, you're panicking.)

Pay attention to what is going on right now and stop worrying about the things that are out of your control. Enjoy your life right now. Not in 10 less pounds. Not after the next raise. Not during your next vacation. Right now. Worry isn't going to make it better. Getting pissed off at what might happen is pretty much guaranteed to make it worse.

Even if someone is using a weight machine as a couch....

I would never...

A few months ago I was driving down Bethany and reached the overpass for Highway 26 as I crossed over the bridge I thought to myself, "Hmm...I wonder where I would have ended up going?" Because I should have turned left on Laidlaw over a mile earlier. But I hadn't. I was driving on autopilot. Not sure where I was going because I realized I was not where I wanted to be before I got there.

At the beginning of the summer when C was still home we were headed to the gym one Tuesday morning. I pulled out of the neighborhood and turned right on Springville and headed in the opposite direction of where I wanted to be. Because for the past month on Tuesdays at that time I had gone to PT. I normally go to the gym right after I drop Brent off at work, not later in the morning. But with C home we were going together so it was later in the morning. But I still turned right instead of left. Habit.

Once in Florida after working close one night and then having to get Brent to work by 6 AM the next morning I remember being almost all the way home and having no memory of the drive from the time I left base to where I was. About 15 minutes worth of driving. Just not there. Habitual driving. I learned years later about how the brain forms habits and patterns and that we do a lot of things like that without ever being completely conscious of them. It's a great system actually. Keeps us running efficiently. Except when it fails.

When C was a newborn I woke up one night to the sound of him fretting (he didn't cry when he was hungry or needed changed, he fretted, he was an amazing baby). Anyway...I reached over to pick him up and he was gone. Not lying between Brent and I. I patted down the bed and couldn't find him. The panic started to hit as I realized I had lost the baby. Where was he? Then I realized he was in his own room in his crib. He wasn't in the bed with us. But I will never forget that moment of panic as I had no idea where he was.

Last Thursday Brent left work early. Well early for him, he got off at five. As we were driving home an ambulance passed us. We watched people who had no clue how to get out of the way and just stopped in the road instead of even attempting to pull over. Because we had the discussion about it the ambulance stuck in both of our heads. Later that night the news reported the tragic story that someone at Intel had left their baby in their car while they were at work. That's who the ambulance was for. The baby did not survive.

As I watch people react the first thing you normally see is the "How could that ever happen? How could you ever forget the baby?" Well, if you aren't the parent that normally has the baby, if it's not your habit to drop the baby off, if the baby is sound asleep and you never look in the back seat...if you are tired, if you are thinking about something else, if you get distracted...

And then people will say, "There is NO WAY I would ever do that." And it's true there might not be anyway you ever would. Most people never do. But is that as much luck as anything else? And then there were people who were shocked that not one person noticed the child all day. And I thought, I was in that parking lot right about the time the dad was discovering his life was now completely destroyed. And I had no idea. I don't make the habit of driving up and down the rows of cars looking in their backseats. Does anyone?

I lost C. In that moment between sleep and awake I had no idea where he was. Now it worked out just fine that he was in his own bed. But what if it had been the other way around? If I had thought he was in his crib and he was in our bed instead and I has rolled over on him not remembering he was there? What if I had gotten out of bed and tossed the blanket on him when I got out? None of that happened, but what if?

I cannot imagine what that family is going through. To lose a child, and to know it was at your own hand? Unimaginable. How does the marriage survive? And they have another child. How do you trust yourself again? How do you ever start to forgive yourself? And to know that almost everyone you meet has judged you. That there are people who assume the worst of you, not just that you made a tragic mistake with unimaginable consequences but that you obviously must have done it on purpose because there is no way THEY would have done it.

I can't take that stance. No, I never forgot C in a car. I never forgot I had him. But that's because when he was a baby I was a stay at home mom. Of course I had him. I always had him. And by the time we were switching on and off who took him to day care and school he was old enough to let you know he was in the car so there was no chance to forget him. But there were times where we had to check with each other, "Are you picking up today or am I?" He is the most important thing in our lives. Brent and I were extraordinarily doting parents. And we didn't always remember who was supposed to be on pick up duty that night. It happens. Thankfully we never had any sort of tragic results because of autopilot or forgetfulness.

Now maybe because I know what it's like to absolutely forget something important to you and have someone tell you "If it was important you wouldn't have forgotten" and knowing that's not true I have more understanding. Maybe because of that moment of losing C when he was a baby and I was exhausted I understand that it can happen. Maybe because of the moments where I am driving on autopilot I understand that habits can take over. Or maybe it's because I cannot imagine adding my own judgement on a family that has to be devastated that I cannot see jumping on the "hang them high" bandwagon.

Or maybe it's just because as I age I realize more and more that "I would NEVER!" most often really translates to "I have never..." Because you don't really know what you would never do, you just know what you have not yet been faced with.

Our local news gave some really good tips to make sure you "would never" and I'm going to pass them along here along with my condolences to that entire family. I cannot imagine what they are going through and I am so sorry for their loss.

1. Always leave something needed for your day (purse, phone, briefcase, computer, etc.) on the floor of the back seat so that you are reminded that the child is back there esp. if the youngin' is asleep.

2. Always arrange with the daycare center, babysitter, etc., to call the parents if the baby is absent (much like our schools do)

Thanks, Sherri, for sharing these tips.

Scary Stories...

How do you feel about scary stories?

I don't read a lot of them. Pretty much just Stephen King and Joe Hill. Mostly because I like the characters. King writes in such a way that I feel like I know the people in the story. Even if they are going through something completely out of the realm of reality he grounds his characters so much that you feel it; like it could really happen. His son writes in a similar fashion. So much so that I am sort of waiting for the day it's revealed he doesn't really have a son and Joe Hill is just a new Bachman.

I don't watch them. Scary movies just aren't for me. At least not for the most part. I don't like the jump out and boo moments. So the slasher films are out. The torture porn is for sure off the list. I think they are disturbing in a bad way. Not disturbing in a good way like a good suspense story. Though I did watch The Strain on TV and that sort of counts I guess. But it's more creepy than scary. And The Walking Dead, I've read and watched those. Though they don't really fall in to scary stories for me. Horror, sure. But not really truly scary.

Absolutely don't do haunted houses. They take the worst parts of scary movies for me and condense them in to one event. It's all jump out and go boo moments. When I was growing up our church had a harvest festival every year on Halloween night. You know to keep us all from going out and celebrating the devil's holiday. Well when my sister was in high school they somehow convinced the church to let them do a haunted house every year. I wouldn't go through it. Hated them. Wouldn't do it. Couldn't make me. Until the year she decided to make me. And when Jeff Wenchel popped out of the trap door and grabbed my ankle and I kicked him in the face I never had to do it again. I don't care for being scared.

So what does it say about me that I still wish I could write a really solid scary story?

One that creeps you out.

Like look over your shoulder because you can feel someone behind you creeps you out?

Turn out the light and then have to turn it back on again creeps you out?

I know I can write a story that makes you cry. It's okay, you can admit it.

And I've written plenty that made you laugh. I'm fucking hilarious.

Now I want to write one that gives you the shivers.

So what does that say about me?

Don't scare me, I'll scare you.