Excitement! + a little fear + anticipation + pre-occupation = countdown to NaNo
How will I find time to write when I can’t seem to find the time to cut my toenails?
We shall see….
AND woot! Only missed one day for NaBloWriMo. Much better than last year!
Onward!
Photo by ali seifert
Mike watched his setter out of the corner of his eye while he ordered two hot dogs from the vendor. One with sauerkraut, onions and mustard and the other plain. He silently wished Cinnamon would stick his head back inside the vehicle, be a little less visible. He imagined explaining to his boss why his dog had to accompany him on today’s delivery run. Maybe he would understand.
Probably he wouldn’t.
It was so hot. Mike wiped his forehead with his sleeve before reaching out to drop the cash into the vendor’s hand in exchange for the hot dogs. If he were a dog, he’d have as much as he could fit outside the window, too. He caught the canine’s eye as he made his way to the van. Thankfully all the setter did was get to his feet and wag his tail. Mike could see the plume swaying in the shadows inside the van. Cinnamon wasn’t one to bark much.
“Scoot over, Mutt and let me in.” Cinnamon scrambled over to the passenger seat and faced the front as though he were ready to be moving.
“Lunch first,” Mike said in response. “Here you go, Boy.” He pulled the hot dogs out of the sack and put them up on the dash, tore the bag open and spread it like a placemat on the seat between them, and then unwrapped the plain hot dog and placed it before Cinammon. The dog looked at him with huge dark eyes begging for permission, and Mike couldn’t help but smile.
“Go for it!” he said, and the dog did just that. In the back of his mind, Mike wondered if he should have gotten Cinnamon two. Then he wondered how he’d get him water. Later. He’d think about that later. Along with all those other things he couldn’t think about just now.
After folding the paper down around his own lunch, Mike started the van and eased away from the curb. He heard the wet flap of the dog licking his chops and glanced down at the paper bag, which was being thoroughly sniffed for a stray morsel. “We’re almost through, Buddy. Then we’ll figure out what we’re going to do next.”
Then Mike started thinking about her, and found himself caught in that whirlpool that dragged his mind down a deep and bottomless hole every time. How could she be like this? How could a person change so utterly, so completely? And so fast. Almost overnight it seemed.
They had been married for five years. No, they weren’t the match-made-in-heaven couple that seemed to fill the movie screens. They had married too quickly and had put a lot of work into adjusting to one another over those first couple years. Still, they had built a life together. Mutual respect had been cultivated, as well as tolerance for each other’s quirks. They had their weekly pizza night and full-blown date evenings a couple times a month. Mike recalled long conversations they’d had over Saturday breakfast, often arguing good-naturedly over the op-ed column, and long easy walks through the park with Cinnamon in tow. He had been honestly happy. And thought she had been as well.
Now she wanted out. Not only that, she wanted to take everything with her. Even the dog.
Mike reached out and buried his fingers in the dog’s coat just below his collar and rubbed. Cinammon turned his big, grateful eyes on him for a moment, and then went back to watching the world go by out the passenger side window. Why on earth was she so adamant about the dog? It wasn’t like they had kids who would miss him. It wasn’t like she was the one who got up in the mornings and walked him. Lately she hadn’t even been taking him to the park in the evenings either. She had been working round the clock, only now Mike couldn’t help but wonder exactly what it was that she had been working at during those long hours.
The house was negotiable. As was the car, the furniture, the wedding pictures. He was ready to give her whatever she wanted as long as he wasn’t left destitute.
Without Cinnamon, he was destitute.
At the moment the company of the animal meant more than money or things. There was one living, breathing being on the earth that hadn’t turned on him, that gave him unconditional support and companionship, and of all the things she wanted, this was the one he would not even discuss.
When he saw her this morning, ready to back out of the drive with the animal in her shiny BMW, and Mike had nearly gone berserk. Probably stitched up every thread needed in a case for divorce due to insanity. He stood directly in her path as she began to back down the driveway, and she stopped with just inches between him and her rear bumper. After which he pounded forcefully on her trunk and saw her lower the window.
She was just taking him for a walk, she screamed. They had to get used to sharing these things, she said. But nothing could stop him from yanking the passenger door open, calmly calling the dog out and then putting him in the Wentworth’s Uniforms van at the curb, which was sorely in need of a wash he had noted in that odd way that had overtaken him. Details that meant nothing caught his attention like bait.
“The dog is not going to be shared,” he said, sharply and clearly when she paused at the end of the drive to say something else. “Non-negotiable.”
“We’ll see about that!” she yelled in return. She sped away. He climbed into the van and put it in reverse, trembling in relief.
Mike wondered now what, if anything, she had been up to. Honestly she’d have no reason to kidnap the dog. He wasn’t registered, trained or worth any money, which seemed to be her sole interest these days.
But the sight of her with Cinnamon raised all the jealousy that would have surfaced had she had her lover in the seat beside her. Maybe that’s what he’d seen. Or had been afraid of–that his dog’s affections could be swayed away from him. That he could be utterly and completely alone.
And so here they were, side by side, Mike and Cinnamon, delivering uniforms across Cleveland, both of them wondering exactly what came next. Cinnamon just seemed a bit more eager to know than Mike was at present.
———————————
Today’s prompt: (March 25, 2004) A cinnamon-colored Irish setter stares out the driver’s side window of a dirty white cargo van. Who owns him?
Posted in Writing
Tagged family, fiction, irish setter, old blog, prompt, prompt work
Fall is here! Well, in the US, fall is here. 🙂 I forget the global connection we have these days. Isn’t it interesting how we tend to think the way things are were we live is the way they are everywhere. Now there’s a blog topic.
Anywho, the air is a bit sharper and it is definitely time to fill your apartment with warmth and yummy smells. Here is a recipe for one of my favorite soups. My family loves it, too.
Photo by Bev
Sausage & Tortellini Soup
1 lb bulk Italian sausage
1 cup chopped onion
3 garlic cloves, minced
5 cups beef broth
2 cups chopped tomatoes
1 (8 ounce) cans tomato sauce
1 large carrot, sliced
1/2 cup dry red wine
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon dried oregano
10 ounces cheese tortellini
salt and pepper
fresh grated parmesan cheese
I heard another interesting tidbit about a very common butterfly the other day. It’s worth sharing, just to prove there are still things out there to discover, right on our own planet.
Photo by Andrea Kratzenberg
The painted lady butterfly (Vanessa cardui) is very common and perhaps the most widespread butterfly on the planet. Wikipedia says that it is commonly used in classrooms to demonstrate for children the life cycle of a butterfly and shows up frequently in science fair projects.
So what makes this little run-of-the-mill butterfly discovery-worthy?
First, here are some fast facts about the Painted Lady:
Secondly, until about four years ago, it was thought that the European Painted Lady simply died out when the weather got cold because no one witnessed the southern migration. However, scientists at Rothamsted Research used entomological radar, while Butterfly Conservation encouraged volunteers to report sightings, and it was discovered that these butterflies migrate at an altitude of more than 1,600 feet, for the most part invisible to humans, to their African destination.
What amazing tiny travellers!
We still have so much to learn about the world around us.
For further reading:
Posted in Writing
Tagged butterfly, discovery, learn, learning, Magnificent Monday, migration, non-fiction, Painted Lady, Vanessa cardui, write
In anticipation of NaNo:
“Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.” Calvin Coolidge
Photo by Claudia Cristina Mesa P
Photo by quil
You may feel strongly that a person’s opinion is provably wrong–in the realm of fact rather than opinion. That still doesn’t grant license to be disrespectful, whether or not s/he wants to change.
It’s never wrong to be kind and considerate.
In my opinion.
Here is my surprise for today from my hubby:
It’s been a good year, though I didn’t plant a wide variety of things. Some carrots and Thai Dragon peppers came up of their own accord, and my chives and Swiss chard never died last winter, but you sure can’t see much of the chard now for the overgrowth of tomato plants.
But I’m not sure who gets the greatest delight from those little patches of red shining through a mound a green tomato vines–me or my husband. He comes in and tells me they are there, but he’ll leave them for me to harvest. Unless he thinks I can’t reach them, which happens. Or unless I take too long to get out there and do it myself. Then he’s kind enough to take the job on himself. 😉
My tomatoes don’t seem to know it’s almost time to quit. They went crazy this year. Not only my Juliet (which variety for the second time has proved to be a vigorous producer) but also my Amish Paste, Big Beef, Better Bush, Jet Star and another that by the time it landed at my house was only labeled “Container Tomato” have all done amazingly well this year. I haven’t made much salsa, but I sure did make a bodacious batch of marinara. And the little ones I have been known to pop like candy as I pass by the bowl full.
The plants took over the walkway between my pyramid bed and the fence bed, even though I tried to contain them in cages this year. It’s sort of hidden behind the pepper plants here, but hubby ended up sliding an old chain-link gate underneath the entwined plants and getting them up off the ground so that the bugs wouldn’t get to the tomatoes before we did. We didn’t seem to have trouble with birds this year.
Tomatoes Gone Wild!
Obviously the peppers didn’t do too badly either (serrano, chili, jalepeno, and mucho nacho stuffers). My cayenne had a close encounter with a weed whacker. (No, it wasn’t me doing the whacking…) and I’ve left the onions sort of take over that one spot because frankly, I love the flowers.
The surprise sign is the mark of a successful growing season and a loving hubby. Win-win!
Photo by Zsuzsanna Kilian
First and foremost I want to give a shout-out to my amazing and brilliant son and his equally brilliant and adorable wife on the occasion of their 4th wedding anniversary. They have supported and uplifted each other through what I’m sure they would classify as the most stressful year yet. So here’s to year #5. May the strength and endurance and the deepened love and commitment you “grew” during year 4 make this upcoming one full of wonderful gifts. You are both a gift in my life.
Photo by Odan Jaeger
Subject Number Two
I WANT MY ROUTINE BACK!
I need it. I am slowly but oh, so surely coming unglued. I can’t find things, I’m forgetting to pay bills, I lose my phone constantly (subconsciously I don’t want it. No consciously….I sorta don’t). My refrigerator is a mess. Laundry is clean and folded but not put away. Mostly because I need to put the summer clothes in storage, drag out winter stuff, if I can ever get to it.
I can remember when I hated routine. I lived heart and soul for the unstructured spontaneity of summer. People who did the same thing at the same time day after day after day were fuddy-duddies.
Oh how I want to be a fuddy-duddy.
Because you know what? Having a routine lets me accomplish what I need to and still have time in the course of the day to fill the well. That’s where the unraveling begins.
I can’t seem to convey this concept to my dear hubby. I don’t think it is because he refuses to understand; I think it is because he can’t. He handles his day as it comes at him. That is all well and good until his day coming at him starts crashing into mine. An example this evening: he has a receiver in his garage that he cannot operate fully. He bought it at a thrift store. Tonight he wanted to adjust the bass. I don’t know how long he fussed with it before he asked me to find a manual and then research how to tune the bass.
Mind you, I was almost finished cleaning the kitchen when I stopped because he thought this quest for perfect bass in the garage audio would only take a couple minutes.
It never takes a couple minutes.
But I found out the answer: you can’t adjust the bass without the remote. Which we do not have.
Photo by Paulo Oliveira Santos
So now I have choices. Clean the kitchen or blog, read and sleep. I suppose I can do both, but my problem–which lies with me and no one else–is that I seem to be always opting to clean the kitchen and never opting to do what brings me joy and peace.
We all need to be building joy and peace into our lives. No one is going to do it for us.
I didn’t get to watch much of the news yesterday. Slept through the 7:00 hour and was well into conquering the day when I later overheard a group of news anchors on TV talking about the latest school shooting and the fear that we are becoming too accustomed to stories of this nature, only with more casualties and therefore more media attention. Consequently, these “small” incidents pass almost unnoticed.
So when I was browsing through my old blog for today’s trek into the past, I was struck by this little piece from almost 10 years ago (December 21, 2003).
I get the paper on the weekends but I confess, I don’t read much that’s in it. I scan the headlines and the front page to see what’s inside. Then I skim the first section to see if anything catches my eye. I work my way through the pains, problems and situations plaguing people, countries and the globe, and then I dive into the editorials, where my head will spin with replies to just about every letter. It’s good practice in organizing thoughts, even writing letters that I never seem to get sent in. Then it’s on to the funnies, toss the sports section to the guys and the classifieds to my eldest who is looking for work, and I’m finished.
The trouble with this approach, I have learned, is that I’m not seeing real people behind the headlines.
For example, here’s a little blip on the front page of the paper that I didn’t even bother investigating:
STATE:
Robberies Linked
LATEST NEWS: FBI officials think the man who robbed a northwest Oklahoma City bank Monday also struck Thursday.
BACKGROUND: There have been 50 metro area bank robberies this year, compared with 15 last year.
WHAT’S NEXT: A reward is offered. Page 6A
Long before you get to robbery #49, you just kinda tune out.
Until you go to a Bible study group and learn that the teller who was held up was one of your friends.
Then you start to really think about it.
This guy waited in a lengthy line on Thursday, which means he might have very well cased out which teller he would approach. My friend would seem an easy target. She’s my height or perhaps just a little shorter, and on some of the windy days we’ve had lately you might be tempted to hold on to her for fear she’d blow away. There she is–at the window, doing her job, being warm and friendly as I know her to be even on a bad day, and inch by inch he’s patiently moving toward her. Then instead of getting a greeting in return, she watches him pull something from a leather bag, and put it on the counter in front of her. Checks? Rolls of coins? No. She finds herself chest-to-barrel with a semi-automatic pistol.
I can’t say I would not have fainted. I can’t say at all what I would have done, but I know my heart would have dropped to my feet, at the very least. Now, instead of checking to see if she has the proper ID or the endorsements she needs for the transaction she expected, she’s struck by the idea that the bank is very full, and if she does something stupid, a lot of people could get hurt, not to mention how close the barrel of the pistol is to her heart. She can’t get to help without raising suspicion and so she does as she’s been trained–do what you feel safe doing. The money and the pistol go back into the bag.
And then he walks out.
What is left behind?
My friend is okay. And she’ll be more okay as the days go by, because she has a sure hope and a firm faith, and knows that this kind of thing happens in the world we live in. But how does she look down a long line of customers and not wonder just who may be in that line?
But what about the other 49? What if those tellers didn’t have the support system to see them through? The experience could be haunting every second that passed since it happened.
And how do I read the next newstory without wondering how long the woman in this bit of news, desperately afraid, tearfully pleaded for her life before her estranged husband shot her, and where was her daughter hiding through all of it and how can that little girl ever have a normal life? Or is the woman with Hepititis C, thanks to a careless health “professional” re-using needles, past tears now, and just resigned to the illness? Or does she cry into her pillow every night, wondering how much longer she has to hold her grandbaby and watch him grow?
I know that in a few days, I too will be fine. I need to be, because delving into every newspaper article on an emotional level is crazy–much too draining. But, I do hope I can remember to be compassionate. When I meet the next person at a door who wants to snap at me, I want the presence of mind to consider that maybe she’s spent the night tossing and turning, thinking about “what if it were me or mine?” Or maybe it was her or hers, and that’s all the more reason for me to be kind and offer a word of comfort.
As I mentioned recently, this is one of the reasons I write. History–my history, Chistina’s history–unrecorded gets forgotten. While the bad memories are rightfully erased by the joyous occasions in life, like better jobs and beautiful babies, the lessons that troublesome times can teach remain important.
It’s nice to be reminded of what’s important.
Photo by kslyesmith
So yes, you are all moved in. The worst of it is over anyway. However, home sweet apartment is suffering from clutter because the closets are small, there’s hardly any cabinet space in the kitchen, the linen cabinet barely holds a wash cloth and, and, and…
Storage–or lack thereof–is a mess.
Photo by Tracy Syperski
The good news is that you are not alone. It is simply time to borrow the creative ideas of those who came before you, then get creative yourself.
Here are three basic principles that will help you create the storage space you need:
Please Remember…
If you want to attach shelves or organizers to walls or doors, guess what you need to do? Yep. Check your lease.
Our lease specifies what types of nails can be used to fasten things to the walls, and that no holes can be put in wood trim or doors. (We had a tenant who thoroughly nailed curtains over the window in his back door.) We also specify that if the tenant purchases the rods on which to hang window treatments, we will install them for free. That way we know that they are properly attached and won’t fall down, pulling chunks of drywall with it and potentially injuring someone.
Regardless of what your lease does or doesn’t say, it pays to remember that you have to be able to take things down with minimal change to the surface you affix it to. A nail hole here and there in a wall is normal wear and tear. Gouges in wood or large nail holes that are not easily filled and made to disappear with a bit of touch-up paint are damage. You could possibly end up paying to repaint an entire room.
Even if the lease doesn’t specifically mention cabinet installation or closet door removal and such, these are things your landlord would probably like to be made aware of before you do it. When in doubt, check it out. This is definitely an area in which it is better to ask for permission than for forgiveness. You don’t get to simply ask for forgiveness. You pay for it.
Many leases will specify anything that structurally becomes part of the house you must leave behind when you move. If the landlord doesn’t like the “improvement” s/he has the right to demand that you have the structure returned to the condition it was in when you moved in and if you can’t or don’t, can hire someone to do that work and charge you for it.
Need some ideas to get your creative storage juices flowing? Here are a few websites devoted to making the most of small spaces:
Posted in Property Management
Tagged Savvy Tenant, small spaces, storage, tenant responsibilities
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