Old dying man said,
“Life is but a Model T,
to thrive…crank’er up!”
The Daily Post: Crank
The Daily Post: Crank
Amy looked around the room, and for the tenth time wished the floor would open and swallow her whole. Being an introvert, she hated parties because she always felt awkward, and never knew what to say. After the basic niceties of “hello…and, how are you…, she drew a blank, and usually stood looking at the individual like soon-to-be roadkill caught in the light.
“Ugh…why had she come?” She wondered.
But Amy knew why she had come. She had promised Rose, and she didn’t want to let her down. Rose, her best friend, and fellow colleague from the university, had worked hard the set up this party. In fact, for the last two months that’s all she had talked about on their morning runs.
While jogging in place at one stop light, Amy learned there would be tiny finger sandwiches filled with chicken salad and pimento cheese, and the platter of these would rest upon a daffodil table-cloth that had once belonged to her grandmother.
Then the light turned green and they would run quietly until stopped at the next light, at which time Rose picked up the conversation where she had left it at the last stoplight. “…and of course there’ll be crystal vases of freshly cut daffodils on every table…” Another green light and off they’d go. Amy couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s chatter.
Amy looked around the large room, and saw the mental image she had imagined for the last two months. She knew it well and felt she could navigate the room blind, without a seeing-eye-dog.
The thought of the dog caused her to smile. She liked dogs. In fact, she liked them better than people. They were loyal and you could always…always be yourself around them. They never told you, you stink…even if it had been three days gone since the last shower. Amy giggled. On the other hand, most people were happy say, “…you stink”…but she supposed that could be a good thing. Amy giggled, again.
In her 32 years, Amy had also found people to be far less accepting. At least not the ones in her life, save for Rose, of course. Rose was different, she had listened to Amy’s story without judgement, and for that Amy had been grateful. Other than her family, she had shared her “secret” with no one but Rose. Rose was the first person to cry with her, and the first person to love her unconditionally…no strings attached. Her family…not so much.
“Amy!” “Look at you!” “Oh my God, you’re beautiful!”
Amy looked up from her reverie, and saw her best friend coming towards her with a gigantic smile, and arms wide open. In that moment Amy was glad she had come.
Amy returned the smile, and barely got out “Rose” before she was engulfed within Rose’s warm embrace. Rose always gave the best hugs. She held you tight like she’d not seen you in years, you could actually feel her heart quicken, so there was no doubt of her happiness to see you. Amy felt blessed to have Rose in her life…a life that had once been drab and lonely.
The two loosened their embrace, but still clung to one another. Rose surveyed Amy, and Amy surveyed Rose.
Rose’s orange hair, usually in a pony-tail, hung loose around her pale shoulders. The freckles splashed across her nose were practically invisible, but Amy knew they were there. It was only yesterday the two had run four miles under a bright sun, and the baseball cap on Rose’s head had helped to protect her delicate skin, but the freckles on her nose had been angry, and protested against the sun’s hot rays. Rose always hid them with makeup while teaching at the university, but by the end of the day, the coat of foundation she had bathed them in faded, so that they were visible for all to see.
Amy loved Rose’s freckles because they so aptly fit her green eyes, and bubbly personality.
Rose pulled Amy close again, and kissed her cheek.
“I’m so glad you came,” she whispered.
Amy lied, and said, “Me too.”
“C’mon I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
Rose took her hand and led her deeper into the crowded room. Amy inwardly sighed. She knew the real torture was about to begin.
Almost everyone called out to Rose as they passed.
“Great party Rose!”
“Hey Rose, you got to see this…”
“Rose, who catered? The food is…”
“What’s the DJ’s name…DAMN he’s cute!”
Rose smiled at each, and held up a number one with the pointer finger of her right hand. Everyone knew it meant, “in a minute,” and so they drank more wine and waited patiently for their turn.
Rose and Amy stopped abruptly, just short of the bar. A rowdy raucous between a big burly man, and a slender blonde was playing out in front of them.
The woman’s frame was small, but very athletic. Both were sitting on the bar stools, and both were holding a filled shot glass in the air. The bartender slapped the bar and said, “go!” The woman downed hers first, and started on the next one, of the four set before her. She finished the second as the burly man was turning his first shot glass upside-down, and reaching for his second. The woman wasted no time in downing number three, and paused for only a second to burp. After the burp, she threw down the contents of the last shot glass, and slammed it down hard upon the bar. By the time the woman yelled, “DONE!,” the man was just reaching for his fourth glass. He cursed and set the filled glass back on the bar, spilling some of its contents. Disgusted, he walked away. The woman smiled. She reached for his last shot glass and wasted no time tossing its contents down her throat. Again, she burped and then said, “Who’s next?”
Amy stood, stunned. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the woman at the bar.
Her athletic build was clothed in a white Oxford shirt, faded jeans, and black boots. Tanned arms escaping the rolled-up sleeves were lean, each muscle well-defined. Her short blonde hair was spiked on top, not in a “Mad-Max” kind of way, but just enough to command attention. Amy noticed the woman smiled and laughed easily, and her blue eyes sparkled, not the least bit dulled by all the booze she had downed.
“Who in the hell is that?” Amy whispered.
“That’s who I want you to meet,” said Rose.
As if she overheard, the woman at the bar turned to catch Amy staring.
The woman smiled at Amy, and Amy felt as if she would fall to the floor. They held each other’s eyes for what seemed forever, before she stood, and walked towards Amy and Rose.
“Rosie!” The woman gave Rose a quick kiss on the lips.
“How the hell are you?” The woman hugged Rose and added, “It’s been too damn long!”
“And whose fault is that?” asked Rose.
“The road’s fault of course.” the woman said without hesitation. “Mid May to mid August the damn thing has a habit of taking me all over the states! But…I guess I could have called…sorry…” she tilted her head and asked, “still friends?”
Rose pursed her lips as if she were trying to decide.
“C’mon Rosie…Pleeeeeeeeeeeese,” the woman begged with a million-dollar smile spread across her face.
Rose burst out laughing.
“Sky…how the hell can I stay mad at you?”
Amy thought it impossible, but the woman’s smile grew more radiant.
Rose noticed as well and said sternly, “…wipe that damn smile off your face!”
They both laughed and gave each other another hug.
Amy stood watching, feeling a bit like a third wheel. As if Rose had read Amy’s mind, she turned to Amy, put an arm around her, and pulled her close.
“Sky, I’d like you to meet a dear friend of mine.”
Sky looked at Amy and winked. “I thought I’d already met all of your dearest friends…?”
“Seeeeeeee what can happen in only a few months…” Rose chided.
Sky looked chagrined for only a moment, then stepped closer to Amy and gently took her hands.
“Forgive me, I’m Skylar Shannon, and I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Amy stared into the blue eyes looking at her. No words came to her mind, so she just stood… staring.
After a brief moment of awkwardness, Rose came to Amy’s rescue,
“This is Amy! Amy Merrigan! We only met a few of months ago, but I feel as if I’ve known her all my life. She’s an artist extraordinaire, a damn good running partner, and a very VERY special woman!”
Amy flushed, and heard her heartbeat echoing within her chest. She wondered if they could hear it as well.
Still holding Amy’s hands, Sky smiled into the brown eyes staring back at her.
After long awkward pause, Amy finally found her voice and said,
“Uh…I’m Amelia Merrigan, and I teach at the university with Rose.”
He watched the two women laughing in the luminescent light. He couldn’t watch them without gritting his teeth. For a moment he feared someone would hear his teeth grinding, but a quick look around assured him he was alone in his dark corner of the room.
“Amy…you know better…” he muttered through clinched teeth.
“You were raised better than this,” he added, and then cursed under his breath.
He heard the women laughing, and saw the blonde reach over to take Amy’s hands in hers. Hot anger flowed through his body like lava, and for a moment the thought of spontaneous combustion entered his psyche. At that, he almost laughed, but a quick hand clamped over his mouth and snuffed it out.
“…probably not a bad way to go,” he pondered, “…talk about going out in a blaze of glory…” Again, the hand covered his mouth… but, oh…how he laughed inside…heartily and robust he laughed and laughed. The hilarity was so deafening he thought his head would explode.
All the while he sat quietly in his dark corner, gritting his teeth, and plotting his evil plan.
My morning reading was all about the golden rule. You know, “…do to others as you want others to do to you.”
I ask, “Why is such a simple concept, so hard to achieve?”
If I had to guess as to why this can be such a difficult task, I would credit the blame to greed and selfishness. This world it seems is fueled by greed and selfishness, and sad to say, America does her part well. We have a leader who is all about greed and selfishness. His very logo, “Make America Great Again,” reeks of selfishness. And when it comes to greed I dare say, his whole life and empire has been built upon it.
As a nation, this is not who God calls us to be.
A nation is made up of individuals…you and me, and for it to change, we must change. This is why Jesus stresses the concept of loving your neighbor.
Who is your neighbor?
I dare say, it is the person closest to you. It’s the cashier who takes your money at Kroger…the mail person who brings your bills…the police officer who pulls you over for speeding…the homeless person with their hand out…the person driving the car that just swerved into your lane…the one who hands you an ice cream cone on a hot summer day…it’s the bill collector knocking at your door…the telemarketer on the phone…the next door neighbor who drives you crazy…the other next door neighbor who brings you pie…the person across the street who lets their dogs run rampant…the elderly lady down the road who never fails to smile when you meet…the old man down the road who curses you on sight…and on and on and on…. My point is, most of the time, we cannot choose our neighbor, and we certainly cannot choose what they will say or do.
We can, however, choose what we say or do.
People mistakenly think love to be a feeling, when it fact it is an action. Feelings are fickle, and change with the wind, but love weathers the wind, and continues to act accordingly in spite of discomfort.
Corinne and I celebrated our 12th anniversary on April 2. I remember our “commitment ceremony” well. (I say “commitment ceremony” because gay marriage was illegal at that time) We decided to come up with our own vows to one another, and I fashioned mine from I Corinthians chapter 13…
“Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. Love does not demand its own way. Love is not irritable, and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged. It is never glad about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance. Love will last forever…”
In the past 12 years, I can’t say I’ve totally lived up the this statute, but it is, and always will be what I strive toward. Love is a verb…it is what we do.
Instead of saying “I love you,” show “I love you.”
Major change begins with one small act of kindness, and kindness is contagious.
Let’s do our part to spread it.
Blushing is no stranger to me. It has been my companion since as far back as I can remember. Sometimes I think I am the queen of blushing. In school I was always the awkward kid who blushed far too easily. I even blushed about blushing. It became a vicious cycle, and being shy and introverted only added to the pain.
Shame became a part of my life early on. I remember the very first time I felt shame. Perhaps, around the age of 3, give or take a year, I found myself lying on a table looking up at the big man standing over me. The big man, our family doctor, opened my legs and examined my “private” area. As he pulled apart every tiny fold, I was consumed with guilt, shame and humiliation. Of course, my mom was in the room, but for some reason her presence caused me even greater embarrassment. In that moment my life-long battle with body-shaming began…and sometimes the battle rages on.
I’ve wasted years of my life thinking myself too ugly, too fat, and never-ever good enough. It has taken most of my life to get to the point to where I love my body. Through a lot of mental health work, I’ve finally arrived at this stage in my life where I accept, celebrate, and enjoy pampering my body.
I’ve accepted I’ll never have a barbie-doll appearance. Who the hell does anyway? Look around…not many. There may be a lucky few, but, more often than not, the desired appearance is reached only through abuse and starvation. I make a point to daily accept my body where it is at this moment in my life’s journey.
I’ve learned to celebrate my body, after all, it is amazingly and wonderfully made. Our bodies are nothing less than walking miracles upon the earth. They are complex, and each intricate part does its own special task to move, breath, and exist as a whole. Even God celebrates our bodies, and who are we to argue with God? The Genesis’s record sums His appraisal of us, “…God created people in his own image; God patterned them after himself…Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was excellent in every way.” Learn to celebrate your body, because your creator does in spades!
I pamper my body everyday. I’ve stopped dieting, and instead I eat more of the foods that keep my body healthy. I learned to taste and enjoy new foods…new recipes. I exercise more, and add new activities to my regime to keep it interesting. I’ve found the more active I am, the more my body craves activity, and so I pamper it with fun things to do. While in the shower I make a point to pause and to really feel the warm water, and the frothy lather from a bar of Dove soap. I’ve tried and discovered new lotions and perfumes for my body. I’ve found that if I love my body, it will love me back.
I encourage you…make a decision to accept, celebrate, and pamper your body. At times the old shame will rear it’s ugly head, and when it does love your body all the more.
You are fearfully and wonderfully made!
(I should apologize for the following blog as it is raw and unedited… as are my emotions. Therefore it seemed ridiculous to go through and make corrections…this is how feel unedited and raw…) (forgive me)
I was floored this morning from a text.
Just as usual I got up to get my coffee going. I looked at my phone fully charged on the kitchen counter, and saw I had a text. Curious, of course, I picked it up and touched the green logo with the white cloud.
Someone who had helped me through one of the most difficult times of my life had been murdered.
My heart sank, and I think I went into a mode of disbelief. I didn’t cry, but I felt so sick to my stomach. I felt like a zombie as I pulled up information from the internet of this dear lady’s last moments of life. Corinne, my wife, got up and walked down the hallway, peeped her head in the doorway, and asked me what I was working on.
I told her the horrible news, and she cried like a baby.
What the hell was wrong with me????
I couldn’t cry.
I felt like a clueless zombie…I sat like an idiot, and watched my wife cry.
All day I sat, and my mind couldn’t stop thinking of the horrific news. The news sat and incubated within my mind. I just could not believe it.
Finally at about 5 pm it smacked me between the eyes…and I cried…
Dear Dr Alford, I’m so sorry for what you went through. I wish I could take it back…I wish I could kill the son-of-a-bitches that did this to you, before hand. If I had only known I would have, it would have felt so damn good.
I guess it’s foolish to think in such terms. No one can turn back the hands of time.
If only I could.
Thank you, dear lady for helping Corinne and I during one of the most horrific times of our lives. When the community wanted chase us out of town…when I had death threats upon my life…when Corinne lost the practice she loved dearly…you were our anchor.
You opened your arms, and gave us a safe place to be. You opened your arms and you celebrated the love Corinne and I had for each other, when everyone else despised it.
I’m not sure if I told you just how much your counsel meant, but dear lady…it was everything…it kept me from committing suicide…as well as Corinne.
I love you, Dr Alford.
I hope you are at rest with Jesus.
I look forward to the day when I can tell you, how much you mean to me… face to face.
It seems I see a new wrinkle each day. Ok…maybe I’m dramatizing a bit, but isn’t that a writer’s prerogative…?
But, seriously, now that I’m over 50 I’m seeing things in my face that certainly were not there yesterday… Well, it seems like yesterday…
I see other people’s wrinkles, but fail to acknowledge mine, until I look into a mirror, and see my mother. For a brief second, I’m filled with joy at the sight of her, and then, I realize it’s only me.
Once, God told Joshua, “You are growing old…,” BUT… He didn’t stop with those four words, He continues with “and much land remains to be conquered!”
Now as a writer, I paraphrase God (remember…writer’s prerogative…) to be saying…
“So whaaaaaaaat, you’re getting old. What’s the big deal? Get over it, there’s still a lot to do!”
Hopefully, the next time I look in the mirror, and see a new wrinkle, I’ll hear God saying, “So whaaaaaat…it’s only a wrinkle, and there’s still a lot of doing to do!”
Then I think He’ll remind me of all the things that need doing: (God is cool that way)
Reading new things…
Walking and Running…
Tasting craft beers…
Spending time with friends, and tasting craft beers…
Playing with dogs…
Eating pizza…can’t forget the pizza!
Every time I ponder all these, my favorite things, my heart is comforted.
So, my friends (who look older than me), take heart!
Enjoy life…there is much left to do!
This week, show the same thing — an object, place, or person — presented in several different ways.
Earlier this month I was fortunate enough to escape my normal, daily routine, and take a road trip to Orlando, Florida. The place, Bonnet Creek, was absolutely breathtaking! Right outside my door was this lake filled with amazing water dwellers…alligators, water fowl, and Koi fish, to name a few. A half mile trail skirted the lake, upon which I was able to get in my daily 4 mile run/walk. These beautiful Koi beckoned as I passed by, and I couldn’t help but stop to enjoy their many colors. A couple of female Mallards paddled by to check out the excitement. I look at these photos, and I feel peace.
Today’s two word-prompt combination:
[WordPress: Candid] + [Writer’s Block: Virus] =
The Cabin in the Woods
The cabin appeared innocent enough, but to be candid, it too was infested by the same demonic virus that ran rampant in the woods.
What’s the old idiom.. “…looks can be deceiving…” ?
Yes, that was the one.
The cabin was just like any other cabin with its walls, doors, windows and rooms, but that’s where the similarity ended. This cabin was old…ancient, and it held many secrets…many bad secrets…
No one could attest to the cabin’s origin.
The old mountain folk claimed it had always been…there. There had never been a time before the cabin. The horror of the cabin seemed to be inborn within each child birthed into the area. There was never a need to say, “…stay away…” No, somehow they…well, somehow they just…knew.
Of course many ghost stories were spun, down through the years. They were told by the light of a campfire, and always…always told barely above a whisper. They feared the trees around them would steal their voice and carry it upon the winds of the haunted forest and deliver it to the cabin.
One such story whispered in the night, tells of a father who is filled with grief over his son who has caught “the fever.” Knowing there was no cure, the father plans to take his dying son to an old hag that slept in the cave located on the other side of the mountain.
The old woman of the cave, spent her days foraging for plants, that others tossed into the fire, to be burned as weeds. The sanctimonious, and “good people” of the village shunned the old woman. They called her a witch by day, but at night, in the cover of darkness, the very same took their sick, and begged old Molly to heal them with her powers.
The father held his son close to his chest, and began his journey to see the old woman. The path led to the outer reaches of the cabin, and when the father realized this he stopped abruptly. He could go around the cabin and its god-awful forest, but there was no time as his son was near to death.
It is said the father fell to his knees and cried for old mad Molly to come and save his dying son. His cries echoed long into the night. No one knew if mad Molly had heard his cries, but everyone knew the hag never came to help.
The father looked down at the son he cradled in his arms, and listened to a tiny voice plead…
“…papa…please…I don’t want to…to die.”
But the father was too afraid to go any further, and so he held, and rocked his boy until the cries for help ceased. Like a zombie, the father rose, and took his son’s lifeless body home.
He laid the pale form down upon some old cloth. The boy’s eyes were open in death, and they stared at his father as he was rolled into a sarcophagus of burlap.
Then he laid him inside the earth, and began to cover him with the freshly dug dirt. With each shovel full, the father thought he heard his son’s pitiful cry…
“…papa…papa please…it’s cold …papa…papa please…”
When the last shovel of dirt was emptied, the father went home and hung himself.
Now, the old folk, claim that sometimes at night, when the air is just so… the cries of the boy can be heard riding the upon the winds of the haunted forest…. “…papa…papa…please…I don’t want to die…”
Today, the cabin was hungry. It had been long since it had eaten the bones, and drank the blood of a fresh kill. The hardwood floor, dry and cracked like the sands of a desert, ached of thirst.
The cabin…like Bram Stoker’s Dracula, was in desperate need of its own Renfied. Renfield had been the vampire’s insane but loyal servant, who guarded the coffins at day, and at night was ever faithful to prepare for his master tasty meals.
The cabin was confident it had finally found its Renfied within the body of Thomas Cain.
Thomas, also the loyal servant, had worked hard to prepare the cabin. Today he completed the finishing touches, by polishing a bag of silver “tools” and laying them neatly beside the chair he had bolted to the floor. The leather straps at the chair’s arms and legs were crisp and new. They were stiff, Thomas thought…they needed “breaking-in.” He thought of Amy, and smiled.
He walked slowly to the bathroom, and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Thomas pulled the mask over his face. He watched, as the sinews of burlap snaked their way over, and around the contours of his face, taking care to etch out the jagged openings needed for his eyes, nose and mouth. The burlap was old, and so it stitched its tattered places with the hide of a pig that had been slaughtered many years ago.
Thomas smiled, again. He was happy with his new face.
Another pair of eyes, hidden behind dusty rafters, had watched the transformation. It blinked, and refocused its black eyes upon Thomas, and then a rotted smile split its face.
Soon, the fun would begin.
This week’s photo challenge is simply…Silence.
I took the photograph above on one of my silent get-a-ways.
Forever an introvert, I am drawn to silence.
These are just a few of my favorite sounds of silence…
Quiet mornings with coffee in hand…
In my hammock, all is silent, save the cicada and birds overhead…
Lying down under a blanket of stars…summer’s breath upon my skin…
A long Winter’s walk…brown leaves scattering…
My feet in sand and the ocean nearby…
and so much more…
A loophole…peace…hope to gain…
A place to hide…to escape the pain?
Yes, this has happened…and that has too…
Regret…of all these things I do.
Where is this place…of which I search?
Standing…bleeding…covered in dirt,
My face ashamed…I am a disgrace.
I guess this loophole…an imagined place….?
I look…your eyes…and find it not there…
Just anger…judgment…devoid of care.
My head in my hands…I beg of your face…
Show some concern…if only a trace…
Afraid…I look…but only once more…
Your back fades…you close the door.
Wretched…alone…this heart cries…
The hope within…silently dies…