An Easy Life...

Marion was old. There was really no way around it. She was just old. And she hated it when people tried to jolly her about it. “Oh look, it’s Marion, she’s 98 years young!” Oh just stop it. There is nothing young about 98. She hated hearing 98 years young. Really hated it. And they always said it so brightly, and slowly, and loudly. Like she was a simple child. Ninety eight years young. Idiots. She was old. And she was grateful for every year she had had on this earth, and grateful that they were dwindling.

 She knew it seemed wrong to be looking forward to her last breath, but she was tired. She was 98 after all, and today she was sitting in an uncomfortable lawn chair at a massive family reunion where she was expected to be happy to see each and every generation that came to talk to her. And to remember all of their names. And their ages. And that one time 40 years ago when they came to visit. It was exhausting.

That is what she was thinking about when one of her great granddaughters sat down next to her. She was a pleasant enough girl. Self-absorbed, but everyone is at that age. No matter how much people try to talk about “these kids today” Marion had watched enough generations growing up and aging that she knew they were really all alike. The styles changed, the slang shifted, but the stages of the ages remained the same. The stages of the ages, she liked that. She would have to write that one down at home. Words of wisdom for people to find after she was gone. Lord knows they don’t really want to listen to her now, but something about dying makes people an expert. 

“HELLO, GRANDMA MARION, HOW ARE YOU DOING TODAY?”

“Well, I’m just fine. And unless your volume button is stuck you can stop yelling at me as well. I’m not deaf, I’m just old.”

“HA! HA! HA! OH, GRANDMA, YOU AREN’T OLD!”

“Child, I’m old, I’m tired, I’m a little cranky, and I am serious about you not yelling at me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just used to Kurt’s grandmother. She’s completely deaf in one ear and mostly deaf in the other. She refuses to turn on her hearing aids so if we want her to listen to us we have to shout.”

“Well, all of us old people are the same you know.”

“I didn’t mean that, I just…”

Marion smiled and reached out to pat (Cassidy? Julie? Britany?) on the hand. At least she had the good manners to look embarrassed about lumping all old people in the same bag. That should be rewarded. And if she let her off the hook maybe she would go away and stop yelling at her.

“Are you enjoying yourself? Can I get you anything?”

“I am just fine, thank you, dear.” Marion felt proud of herself for not correcting the child’s grammar, though at her age she wasn’t really a child anymore, and should know the difference between may and can.  But Marion really just wanted her to move along so the next one could do their duty and eventually enough of them would have stopped by that Marion wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving. Maybe three more grandchildren and two more greats. That would be plenty for her today. Not that she didn’t love each and every one of them, but they were a large group and honestly so tiring.

“Grandma?”

“Yes, dear?”

Marion watched the struggle on the girl’s face. She wanted to say something to her but couldn’t decide if she should. Oh, lord, this wasn’t going to be a quick conversation after all. Might as well accept it.

“Oh never mind. I was just going to complain and nobody likes a complainer.”

Marion nodded in what she hoped was a sympathetic way, but all she could think was, “Never seems to stop anybody though.”

Britany (Marion had settled that this one was Britany) twirled her wedding ring, “Would you be mad if I wasn’t married anymore?”

“Well I can’t say as that’s any of my business.”

“Mom said that you would be disappointed in me. That a strong marriage is important to you.”

Yes, this one was definitely Britney then. Her mother Nancy was always a bit of a snot. She was the oldest daughter of her middle boy, and truth be told he had been a bit of a snot as well, may he rest in peace. But shame on her, trying to use an old lady to bully her child into doing her bidding. “Well you wouldn’t be the first to get a divorce, not even in this family, and you wouldn’t be the last either. Your marriage is your business, not your mother’s, not mine. It’s strictly between you and your young man.”

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“Do you love him?”

Britany pursed her lips, “I thought I did.”

“But you don’t think so anymore?”

“No, I mean, I still think I love him. I just…I just wish it was as easy with Kurt as it was for you and Grandpa Pete.”

“You do, do you?”

“Yes. Marriage is so hard now. Things were simpler when you were first married. There’s just so much now that can make a marriage go bad.”

Marion shook her head. Every generation thinks they invented the world and everyone before them just coasted along in bliss.

“I am going to give you advice. You can take it or leave it, but since you came to me I am assuming you want it. Marriage has always been hard. And it’s always been easy. But you never know what someone’s relationship is really like. You never know what challenges they face. Do not judge their public face against your private one. Your worst days against their best. Your challenges against their success. You don’t know what is happening there. Yes, in my day there were fewer divorces. But that doesn’t mean there were better marriages. There were a lot of people that should not have been together but they stayed for their own reasons. Do not make your choices based on their old reasons.

Now, do not misunderstand me, I think that the past few generations have thrown away perfectly good marriages because it got a little rough. They weren’t willing to do the work to make them last. But some of them should have never happened and shouldn’t last. Some of them were good at the start but not salvageable by the end. Only you know where your marriage lies on that line.

If you do believe that you and Kurt are not meant for the long run get out now before you bring children in to the situation. If you believe that you and Kurt can save your marriage do it, and make it solid before you bring children in to the situation. Children will bring their own challenges and you don’t need to already be on shaky ground when that happens.

 But whatever you decide. You decide it. You get his input as well. You went in together you can go out together. But it’s not my business. It’s not your mother’s business. If he were still alive it would not have been your grandfather’s business. Or your great grandfather’s for that matter, though he would have smiled to think you cared about his opinion. He did like to feel important in decisions.”

Marion looked at her great granddaughter. She wasn’t sure if any of that sunk in or not. It was probably the most she had said at one time to her in her entire life. People don’t really want to listen to old people talk. Especially young people. But maybe she really listened. Maybe she would think about what she was doing and make her own choices. That’s really all any of us can hope for in life. Making our own choices.

“Thank you, Grandma Marion. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but thank you for listening to me and for the advice.” She gave Marion a hug and wandered off to join the rest of the family.

Marion sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. Easy. Child, you think you invented hard. 

The vision was as clear today as it was back in 1945. Driving the Packard down a street that wasn’t hers. Knocking on the door. Knocking again.

The woman answered the door in a dressing gown. Her mouth forming a perfect O of shock when she saw who was there.

“You know who I am and you know why I’m here.  The baby is asleep in the car so don’t make me come knocking again.” Then Marion had turned around and walked back to the car to wait. When Pete came out of the house five minutes later the woman stood in the doorway watching him go. Marion waved at her then shooed her away.

“This is the last time. Do you hear me? If it happens again I will leave. You’ll never see me or the babies again.”

“Babies?”

“Yes, babies. I will take them and you will never see them again. You know that I will. You have a choice to make, and you better make it by the morning. I will not put up with a runaround man. Will not.”

He did make his choice and they worked very hard to put things back together.  And more babies followed, then grand babies and now great grandbabies. Ten years ago when Pete lay dying in the hospital he wanted her to know that he had never strayed again. And that he had never forgiven himself for doing it at all. She told him that she knew he hadn’t. And at that moment she forgave him, put down the stone she had carried in her heart for 62 years and she wept over the loss.

These kids today think they invented the world. They had no idea.

Ugh...

I really need to work on a fiction piece for Dana this week. It's my turn to submit and I really should be working on something. I started a couple different pieces last week but they didn't go anywhere. I have the bones of a story within a longer story I've been telling bouncing around in my head, and I'm sure that's what I am going to send her. But every time I sit down to write it out I get stuck. I can see the scene, I can hear some of the dialog. I am just missing some joining pieces and well missing the actual WORDS to TRANSLATE the VISION.

Using capital letters there to show my frustration with WORDING lately.

But I am not giving up, I will have something done by Friday. Or Sunday. One of those...even if it's not what I think I'm going to send, I will find a writing cue and send something else if I have to. BUT I REALLY WANT THIS PIECE TO FALL OUT OF MY HEAD.

And honestly? It's kind of nice that it's not the dry desert of no ideas up there block it's the how do I say this to describe what I'm seeing sort of block. Those are much more comforting. Those are the blocks that feel more like log jams, like if I get one piece to wiggle loose it will all come flooding out. The other type of blocks feel like failure. And who needs that?

Okay, Just wanted to actually get the satisfaction of seeing the black letters march across the white space so this is what you get.

Thanks for listening to me whine.

Ghost Writer...

"She was born in poverty and died the same but what came in between was richness beyond belief..."

"Stop it. Just stop right there."

"I know it's rough but bear with me for..."

"Rough? It's not just rough, it's cliched. I imagine you also going to talk about fighting for every step and the seemingly endless doors slammed along the way."

"Well, yes. I thought I would. People like a story that shows overcoming the odds. And especially if there is a tragic ending. I mean, isn't that why I was hired?"

"I'm actually not entirely sure why you were hired to tell the truth."

"Need I show you my resume again? Or those," and with that the author waved her hand toward a stack of bestsellers. "It's not like this is my first rodeo."

"Yes, I see that. And it shows with the cliched way you are approaching the story."

The author closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Trust me. Please. This is the way the story should start.

"Fine, skip to the marriage."

"The beginning or the end?"

"The middle."

"I haven't really written about the middle. I wrote about the courtship and then the divorce. Those were the interesting parts."

"Not the 15 years in the middle? You think the only interesting parts are the very beginning and the very end? Why do you think those are interesting? It's because of the middle. We see and don't see a thousand people in our lifetimes, starts and stops, it's only the ones that have middles that mean anything. Tell me what you are writing about the middle."

"There is nothing about the middle. Well, not nothing I guess, there is mention of the years together and the number of children."

"The children being nothing as well?"

"No, I wrote about the relationships with the children. How they all left."

"Left? They didn't leave, they grew up. That's what children do. They grow up. Left. They didn't abandon anyone, they grew up. My god. You are a hack."

"But they didn't just grow up and move out, they left town. The lost touch. They moved on."

"It was a different time. Before everyone had e-mail and texting and cell phones. There were letters. There were visits."

"The only record for visits I have is for funerals."

"Can you think of a more important time for a visit?"

"But that's really more about obligation isn't it? Not..."

"Not what? Not love? Not family togetherness?"

"It just doesn't seem like it's, well, it doesn't seem like there was a lot of companionship."

"Maybe they just weren't so co-dependent in those days. People grew up and became adults. Not like now. Where adults ride bicycles to work and go to amusement parks and wear t-shirts with comic book characters on them." She sniffed with disgust.

The author looked at her Wonder Woman t-shirt and pursed her lips, "I am only sharing the draft with you out of kindness. It would be nice if you would show me the same respect."

"I thought you were sharing the story with me for feedback. If everyone tells you you are brilliant you never get a chance to be better. And you need to be better. This is cliched tripe."

"Aside from the stylistic choices that you don't approve of, have I gotten any of the facts wrong?"

"No, but..."

"So you would say that this is all true, correct?"

"Yes, but..."

"And it does include the highlights right?"

"Well...I would..."

The author held up her hand, "I know we are talking about 92 years of life. I understand there are a lot of stories in there that weren't told, but would you say the frame work is essentially correct?"

"Yes. I would say the framework is essentially correct."

"Okay. Thank you. That's what I need. I will, of course, let you have one more chance to see the book before I send it to the publisher. But for now I have what I need."

"Oh no, please, wait, don't you have more questions? I have a few more stories I could share that I think you will find very entertaining..."

This was the first time the haughty tone had been dropped. It almost made the author feel badly for ending the session. Almost.

"I will get back to you if I feel I need to add more."

"No, please! Let me stay. Please, it's just so lonely and nobody else wants to talk about my life and..."

"I'm sorry. This is all for today."

And with that she drew a line through the salt circle and blew out the candle sending her away, listening to the spirit scream and curse her as she faded away.

Ghost writing a biography was not for the faint of heart.

POETRY MONTH!

Just kidding...

I'm not doing that this year.

Of all of the little writing challenges I've set up for myself that one might have been the hardest. Or I should say, the ones that are within my control. Setting up the challenge to get something published a few years ago was the absolute hardest because it was out of my control. But the things that were in my control? That one was tough. Part of it is that it's not my strength. There is a reason I always tag poems with "bad poetry." Part of it was because it's not my strength so just thinking in that way was challenging. Basically it's not my strength is what I am saying.

But it was fun in it's own way. And now it's fun to torment Skippy with the thought that I might do it again.

It was also a real creative drought last year. I was going to submit things for publishing last year as a goal (see how I've realized that the sending it in should be the goal, not the part they are in control of?) and I had to give it up when I couldn't even find the juice to put words on paper. This year has been like starting an engine that stalled. A few backfires, not real smooth action, chugging along, but words have been written. Threads have been started. It's better.

I haven't set any additional goals, I just went back and checked on my January goal posting post and I said "I'd get back to it" well it's April 1st and I haven't set a firm goal. Hmm...Let's see. I've been doing an exchange with Dana. She sees the stuff that I'm not really sure is anything just yet and I get a feel from her reaction what it is or isn't. And just sending it to someone else can tell me what I think.

There are a lot of things because of the way that I write that go no where. I write short stories. I am not a book person. I am not a novella person. I don't outline. I don't have plots sketched out. I just sit down at the keyboard and write. It's not a very disciplined way to do it, I know, but the times I've tried to be more organized and writerly the well has gone dry.

So, anyway, there is that, but it's not really a concrete goal type thing. I haven't posted a ton on the blog. That could be where I need to step up. With sabbatical this summer there will be stretches where I am away from my routine and writing for long stretches but I think I'm going to aim for 115 blogs this year. I did a complex math formula to figure that out. Don't ask. It will make your brain hurt to see how mine works.

So more blogs. Keeping up the work exchange with Dana. And no poetry month.


But there is part of me that wants to do it again. Just to mess with Skippy. I'm a writer. Making my readers cry fills me with joy...


The scream from Australia could be heard
Was it some strange tropical bird?
No..it was a giant roo
Yelling "that's not what you do!"
And for once the writer concurred...

Surreal...

Last night we were at a hockey game. Part way through the second period I looked over to a little area they have set up with a bar and tables at glass level and saw Portland Fire and Rescue working on someone. I pointed it out to Brent and the guy next to me said they had been working on him since part way through the first intermission. They were across from us and at ice level and I hadn't noticed it at all.

From that point on I split my attention between the game on the ice and drama right off of it. When they took the man out of the arena on a stretcher they were still bagging him so it was very serious. My guess from his size, the bagging and the fact that his shirt had been opened that he had a heart attack while watching the game. It was a very exciting first period, with us tying it up at the end after being down 2-0. And I know that sounds really disrespectful and that's the point of this blog.

How surreal must it have been for the team working on him, any love ones he had with him, and, if he was conscious, for him as well. It's a playoff game. We were down 2 games to one going in to last night. If we lost that one that was pretty much it. We were blown out the night before. And started down 2-0, fought back to 2-2, then briefly took the lead in the 2nd to lose it and then to get it back, the crowd was loud.

Now, do not misunderstand me at all, I hope that the man is okay. That he makes a full recovery, that he suffers no real permanent damage.

But...I am a writer.

While it was happening, when the boys would make a great play and everyone would cheer, when the goal song played, when the announcer yelled, when the bumper music played...all I could think was...how surreal would it be to die in this environment?

We all have ideas of how we would like to go. Mostly they are peaceful. Go to bed one night and that's it. Or quick. I want it just to be a flash and I'm done. But I don't think anyone thinks, I want to die while the crowd cheers and sings along to TNT.

And how many people in the arena had no idea what was going on? We were in a battle for our play off lives while a man was in an actual battle for his life? I mean, the area he was in is right across from me and I didn't notice it right away because I was focused on the game. Anyone not in the line of sight for the bar area would have had no clue. And anyone in the line of sight who never left the ice viewing would have had no clue.

 And yet, there he was. In what might have been the most important moments of his life. Portland Fire and Rescue working on him. Getting him stable enough to take to the hospital. All the while the crowd goes wild...

Too Small...

The summer before my 13th birthday my parents and I went back to Iowa to collect a few antiques that belonged to my mother. My grandfather had recently died and my grandmother moved in with my aunt and uncle when the farm sold. So we were going to get the pieces that belonged to mom now and bring them home. It was a massive road trip and ended up being a bit of a disaster for the antiques when the closed trailer that was supposed to be waiting to rent was an open trailer with a tarp. But that's another story.

This is a story about a stop on the way. 

My father's middle brother was living in a small town (I think it was call Pierson) with his current wife and her kids and we stopped to visit with them for a day on the way to Osceola. My cousin Dulce was about my age and we hit it off right away. So as kids did in those days we took off on our own. We went to the local playground to hang out and do what ever it is we were going to do. I think pretty much just swap stories. 

We were swinging and gossiping when a loud whistle blew. Dulce stopped and said, "Let's go."

"Let's go where?" If I had been older I might have panicked thinking it was a tornado siren, but I honestly had no idea what it was, aside from loud.

"It's time for lunch."

Seems the whistle let everyone know it was lunch time. Hunh.

We headed back to the house, "Does that blow everyday?"

"Yeah, lunch and dinner."

"You all eat your meals at the same time? Like everyone in the whole town?"

Dulce looked at me like I was crazy, "Yeah..."

Hunh.

We got back to Uncle Robert's house and sure enough lunch was spread out on the table. I told my parents, "They blow the whistle for lunch every day."

My parents just smiled and nodded like this was something totally normal.

After lunch we headed back out again. This time with a shouted, "Wait for me!" from Dulce's little brother. On our way back to the park his friend joined the group. 

To say that this kid was a brat would be to insult bratty kids everywhere. He was the worst. He tried to butt in to every conversation, he tossed pine cones at us as we swang, he shouted and yelled so we couldn't hear each other talk. I suggested to Dulce's brother that they both go play somewhere else. Then THE EVENT happened.

The friend asked why I wanted them to go away. And I told him. "Because you are annoying."

"I'm not annoying, YOU are annoying!"

"Then go away."

"No. I don't have to. I live here. YOU go away."

"I will. Soon. But right now you are annoying me and I wish you would go play somewhere else where your annoyingness stops bothering me."

"NO!"

"Fine."

So I told Dulce we should go back to her house and play in her room where annoying people couldn't join us. And so we left. With him following along the whole way saying we couldn't do that. But of course we could and we did. 

When the whistle blew for dinner we headed over to the only restaurant in town.  Which with my mom, dad, me, aunt, uncle and two cousins and then the family that owned the restaurant eating with us we shut the place down apparently. Which boggled my brain a bit. It seemed like if they were joining us for dinner it wasn't so much of a restaurant as just going to someone's house for dinner and then paying them for the invite. But what did I know right?

Anyway we get there and my cousin's annoying friend is the youngest son of the restaurant owners. Oh great. We have to eat with the punk. As we are getting situated at the table he is smirking. Hmm...

His mother looks over at me and Dulce, "Did you girls need to say something before we start?"

I'm thinking she means grace, and usually dad handles that so I say, "I don't think so, no."

"I think you need to apologize for the event this afternoon."

Now I'm confused. "What event?"

"Didn't you call (cannot remember his name for the life of me) annoying?"

"I did."

"And?"

"He was being annoying."

"I think you should apologize."

"Why?"

"I just told you why."

"No. You just said what I said. I wasn't wrong. He was being annoying."

"Well I don't know what it's like where you are from but around here we raise our children not to call names."

I look over at my parents because even at 12 going on 13 I realize that she's just insulted them and questioned their parenting and I'm sort of waiting for them to step in. Now looking back I realize that they probably thought the worst thing they could do to her is let me keep going on my own.

"I didn't call names. He was being annoying and I told him so. I described his behavior. He asked why we didn't want to play with him. Should I have lied to him?"

"You should have played with him."

"Why?"

"Because that is the right thing to do."

"Screaming at us and throwing pine cones at us doesn't seem like a fun game to me. It seems more annoying. Where I'm from people raise their children not to be annoying." 

Looking back I also realize that at that point that was probably not true at all because she was clearly annoyed.

"He was trying to engage with you girls and you were ignoring him."

"We were ignoring him because he was being annoying."

"Did you ask him what he wanted to do?"

"No. I wasn't visiting with him. I was visiting with my cousin. He just tagged along. I didn't care what he wanted to do. He's 8."

"Nine!" annoying kid yelled.

"Fine, you're nine. I don't want to play with a nine year old. I wasn't there to play games with a nine year old. I wasn't there to be yelled at or had things thrown at me."

"If he was throwing things at you, you should have told me about it instead of calling him names."

"I don't know you. You weren't there. And why? You didn't need to know he was being annoying, only he did. You weren't involved with any of this. It wasn't your business."

Which of course made her really mad!

"Not my business! You called him a name of course that was my business!"

"Why?"

"Because he is my son and I have a right to know."

Then I saw the line, looked at the line, and vaulted over the line, "Then I guess you should get used to people telling you he's annoying."

At this point my Uncle Robert clapped his hands and said something to the effect of we should probably eat before the food got cold. 

I never apologized. 

I also didn't eat dinner there that night. I might have been raised in a place where kids aren't taught right, but at least we were taught not to touch the food if you've pissed off the kitchen staff. 

When we got back to my aunt and uncle's house my aunt made me a sandwich. She also said, "You're right, he's pretty annoying." Which made my cousin laugh so hard she peed a little. 

It was on that visit that I decided there was such a thing as a town too small. And one where the whistle blows to tell you when to eat, is too small. 

Prompted to write...

I mentioned before that I was going to use writing prompts on days that I didn't have any ideas about what to write to make sure that I was writing more days than not.

Today was one of those no real ideas but haven't written since Friday so really need to sit down and crank something out sort of days. I thought a little about a political tirade but, honestly, I am so tired right now of all of that. I am tired of watching people make excuses for the inexcusable so I'm skipping that for a moment. But that means looking for a prompt. I decided that there must be some sort of daily writing prompt thing out there. I mean I have daily prompts for my picture of the day so there must be something for writing, right?

I found a ton aimed at teachers to get kids to write. I don't think a story about the great Alaskan earthquake that happened on this date in history is really in my wheelhouse and I don't have access to library resources #1-4 to complete the assignment. I'm not even sure what those are which increases the level of difficulty quite a bit. Then there were these three aimed at adult writers:

Use the following sentences as the opening lines of a short story:
He did not know what to do. They had never had contact with this race before.

Ummm...okay.

How about this one?

If your hero's love interest could invite three famous people to dinner, who would he or she choose?

And then this jewel from a list that is formatted pretty much the same way as my Picture of the Day prompts:

Destroy it.

Unless you write science fiction the first one isn't really going to grab you. And as I don't write science fiction I am ungrabbed (back to political writing? hmmm...) The second one is one of those things that is supposed to help you write your great american novel. It's more a cue to dive deeper in to your characters and flesh them out. Who are they? What are their deep thoughts? Well, I don't have current hero right now I just have my standard stable of characters who when asked questions like that roll their eyes at the very cliched thought of such a thing. "I'd invite Mario Batali, Michael Symon, and Duff Goldman. And not so much to dinner as to make me dinner." And then there is the last one: destroy it. What the fuck does that even mean? That's not a prompt for writing. That's just lazy. Though not as lazy as tomorrow's which is iPhone. THESE ARE NOT PROMPTS! THESE ARE JUST RANDOM WORDS!

So yeah, I need to find a good book of prompts and not rely on the interwebs it seems...

Though I did get a short blog out of it, so maybe all is not lost.