~ written for Sunday Scribblings
Everyone says hindsight is 20/20, oh wait that is too cliché for an opening sentence. Well my youth was cliché so perhaps it works in it’s own way. I was angst ridden in my youth, not popular but not unpopular. While I may have been worrisome to my folks it was not what you think. Sure I may have frazzled them to death my endless questions and anxiety and need for reassurance – this lasted well into my 20’s and the anxiety part….well let’s just say we are still aquaintences.
I never had a curfew because I was never out late. I never really got grounded because well…I was never out late. I did have a “sassy mouth” on me and a persistent demand to get the last word in always. Drove my mother NUTS.
I didn’t drink at all until sometime around 17-18. Didn’t lost my virginity till I was 20. My biggest mis-spentness in my youth was my “sassy mouth” my insecurities, and my love of spending. I am still working on all three to some point I suppose, only now I prefer to call it dry wit or sarcasm.
I guess if you stretch “youth” into my twenties then there were plenty of mis-spent moments. Maybe I just came into pushing my boundaries, and whooping it up until then. Still what I consider my “wild days” were tame in comparison to most others I know. Still there are a few numbers I would like to turn back the clock and lower!
Am I the adult I thought I would be when I was a kid? In some ways…I am married and I have a dog. I fell short of being a pediatric oncologist or a Peter Jennings-esque journalist living in a huge loft in NYC, but that is OK with me. I am glad to not live in NYC. I don’t think I ever could have envisioned doing what I do for a living now simply because technology was not where it is at now.
Some things never change – I loved to read and write then and I still do now. I still like to shop and still manage my money with less finesse than I would like. I still and always will love; ice cream, pasta, risotto, cheese, pizza, my mom’s homemade sauce, and the ocean. My desires now are simpler though.
I can honestly say though that if I could turn back time there is only one thing I would change – and that stays with me.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Writer's Island - Friendship
~ written for Writer's Island
So the leader of Writer's Island tosses out "Friendship" as the word of the week. Does he realize that novels, I mean EPIC novels could be written on this topic and that there are at least a dozen different paths I could take with this prompt? First let me say this, ironically enough I too just finished reading "The Kite Runner" this week. I was blown away by it. It wasn't just good in my opinion it was fantastic. OK that said, back to Friendship.
Ask any one of my friends I am a social person. I can talk to anyone anytime and it is IMPOSSIBLE for me to be in an elevator with someone and not say something to them. That said sociability does not necessarily equal a lot of friendships.
I have not maintained contact with a single person from elementary, high school, or college. WOW right. That is not to say I did not have friends during those times. I had a best friend from early in elementary school through high school we were inseparable. I was not in the popular crowd and that was OK with me, or at least that is what I told myself at the time, WE were friends. College led us separate ways and well I know she lives a few towns over but I have no desire to revisit the old days.
College was a mash of various groups of friends, some of who did not get along with each other and in hindsight I often found myself feeling more tense at times than necessary. My first major friendship heartache did not come until my senior year of college when my roommate broke up with her long distance boyfriend and my (male) friend who I had a major crush on and she started dating behind my back. I lived with her and would pour my heart out to her over this guy and they end up dating. They are happily married now with at least one child, and yes I was in their wedding.
After college my friends consisted of the people I went out with, lived with and shared good times with. It wasn't until I was in grad school that I met someone I would call my best friend (since my elementary school friend). Kate and I were inseparable. Both out of college both trying to figure out who the hell we were and both in on again off again relationships that were usually less than stellar. We could spend days doing nothing together. We worked together waitressing and went out late into the night. I still consider her a good friend and I know if I called her at 2AM and said "I need you right now" she would come, her son in tow perhaps but she would come - even though we have not spoken in almost a year - we aren't mad at each other - life, babies, houses, jobs, and everything else just eats up our time. We are at different points in our paths. We will reconnect someday.
Where does all this leave me? It leaves me with the very best friend I have in my husband...but I can't talk girl talk with him. It leaves me with my mom who I am so incredibly happy to have a good friend now that I am grown...but there are still things you can't share there, and it leaves me with a small circle of good friends that I could tally on one hand - people I know I can count on for anything and this is OK with me. Like I said before I know a lot of people, I socialize a lot but I often think that the word friendship is applied too easily sometimes, but categorizing and leveling friendships is an entirely different post for another time.
I believe that real friendships are like reading good books, you hate to but you can stop and pause and go and do something else for awhile, and they will always be there ready to pick up right where you left off without missing a beat.
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
So the leader of Writer's Island tosses out "Friendship" as the word of the week. Does he realize that novels, I mean EPIC novels could be written on this topic and that there are at least a dozen different paths I could take with this prompt? First let me say this, ironically enough I too just finished reading "The Kite Runner" this week. I was blown away by it. It wasn't just good in my opinion it was fantastic. OK that said, back to Friendship.
Ask any one of my friends I am a social person. I can talk to anyone anytime and it is IMPOSSIBLE for me to be in an elevator with someone and not say something to them. That said sociability does not necessarily equal a lot of friendships.
I have not maintained contact with a single person from elementary, high school, or college. WOW right. That is not to say I did not have friends during those times. I had a best friend from early in elementary school through high school we were inseparable. I was not in the popular crowd and that was OK with me, or at least that is what I told myself at the time, WE were friends. College led us separate ways and well I know she lives a few towns over but I have no desire to revisit the old days.
College was a mash of various groups of friends, some of who did not get along with each other and in hindsight I often found myself feeling more tense at times than necessary. My first major friendship heartache did not come until my senior year of college when my roommate broke up with her long distance boyfriend and my (male) friend who I had a major crush on and she started dating behind my back. I lived with her and would pour my heart out to her over this guy and they end up dating. They are happily married now with at least one child, and yes I was in their wedding.
After college my friends consisted of the people I went out with, lived with and shared good times with. It wasn't until I was in grad school that I met someone I would call my best friend (since my elementary school friend). Kate and I were inseparable. Both out of college both trying to figure out who the hell we were and both in on again off again relationships that were usually less than stellar. We could spend days doing nothing together. We worked together waitressing and went out late into the night. I still consider her a good friend and I know if I called her at 2AM and said "I need you right now" she would come, her son in tow perhaps but she would come - even though we have not spoken in almost a year - we aren't mad at each other - life, babies, houses, jobs, and everything else just eats up our time. We are at different points in our paths. We will reconnect someday.
Where does all this leave me? It leaves me with the very best friend I have in my husband...but I can't talk girl talk with him. It leaves me with my mom who I am so incredibly happy to have a good friend now that I am grown...but there are still things you can't share there, and it leaves me with a small circle of good friends that I could tally on one hand - people I know I can count on for anything and this is OK with me. Like I said before I know a lot of people, I socialize a lot but I often think that the word friendship is applied too easily sometimes, but categorizing and leveling friendships is an entirely different post for another time.
I believe that real friendships are like reading good books, you hate to but you can stop and pause and go and do something else for awhile, and they will always be there ready to pick up right where you left off without missing a beat.
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
Friday, November 9, 2007
Leaving Left and Accepting Right
~ written for Sunday Scribblings 11/9/2007 ~ check it out and come join!
It wasn't the first time in her life that she felt this way. Out of place, out of sorts, as if she was running out of auntenticity and time. She spent her entire life into her thirties trying to fit in, trying to be someone she thought she should be. The problem was the person that she was striving to be was fluid, never defined and therefore never achieveable.
There was no defining moment but at somepoint in the middle of her thirtieth decade she decidid that now would be a good time to start being authentic. To start listening to her heart instead of her silly head that was more concerned with fitting in, being liked and seeming accomplished than with being comfortable in her own skin and satisfying her spirit. Catching up to where others were no longer seemed important, she finally wanted to stop being concerned with if she was left out and instead recognize the happieness she had right where she was.
Don't forget to go check out the other Sunday Scribblers!
It wasn't the first time in her life that she felt this way. Out of place, out of sorts, as if she was running out of auntenticity and time. She spent her entire life into her thirties trying to fit in, trying to be someone she thought she should be. The problem was the person that she was striving to be was fluid, never defined and therefore never achieveable.
There was no defining moment but at somepoint in the middle of her thirtieth decade she decidid that now would be a good time to start being authentic. To start listening to her heart instead of her silly head that was more concerned with fitting in, being liked and seeming accomplished than with being comfortable in her own skin and satisfying her spirit. Catching up to where others were no longer seemed important, she finally wanted to stop being concerned with if she was left out and instead recognize the happieness she had right where she was.
Don't forget to go check out the other Sunday Scribblers!
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Unforgettable
~ written for Writer's Island
There are many amazing things that have happened to me in my life, some remembered readily and thought of often, other remembered only when my memory is jogged by a scent, a comment or a photo.
Recently what has been most unforgettable to me are the smaller things. Maybe one or two of them standing along are not unforgettable, but when collectively the small things keep occurring, they become unforgettable.
What do I mean? I mean the person in your office who you are not really friendly with but who is in on many of your meetings remembering your birthday two years in a row. The neighbor next door who takes out both his and your trash every week. The mailman that is smart enough to carry milk bones instead of mace in his pocket but who is nice enough to feed 5 of them to your dog (after asking of course!). Unforgettable moments and people do not have to be grand or elaborate - although those can be nice as well.
The wise older co-worker who helps guide you through the ins and outs of mortgages, without ever touching on the subject of you financial status. The co-worker who one day becomes a friend and you never realized the transition happened. I could go on and on. You know what I mean.
Treasure the little things in life. Those are the things that we need to remember that we need to cultivate as unforgettable, they are the things that occur day in and day out - not just as a once in a lifetime moment. Both have their place but to find joy every day...find the unforgettable moments in your day.
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. I know there are several areas. All constructive feedback is welcome.
There are many amazing things that have happened to me in my life, some remembered readily and thought of often, other remembered only when my memory is jogged by a scent, a comment or a photo.
Recently what has been most unforgettable to me are the smaller things. Maybe one or two of them standing along are not unforgettable, but when collectively the small things keep occurring, they become unforgettable.
What do I mean? I mean the person in your office who you are not really friendly with but who is in on many of your meetings remembering your birthday two years in a row. The neighbor next door who takes out both his and your trash every week. The mailman that is smart enough to carry milk bones instead of mace in his pocket but who is nice enough to feed 5 of them to your dog (after asking of course!). Unforgettable moments and people do not have to be grand or elaborate - although those can be nice as well.
The wise older co-worker who helps guide you through the ins and outs of mortgages, without ever touching on the subject of you financial status. The co-worker who one day becomes a friend and you never realized the transition happened. I could go on and on. You know what I mean.
Treasure the little things in life. Those are the things that we need to remember that we need to cultivate as unforgettable, they are the things that occur day in and day out - not just as a once in a lifetime moment. Both have their place but to find joy every day...find the unforgettable moments in your day.
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. I know there are several areas. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Writer's Island - "The Problem of Time"
~ written for Writer's Island
Writer's Island, Blog Friday, my personal blog, this writing blog, my current job, my new job, my husband, my dog, my friends, my life, my I-can't-wait-to-start-taking-a-night-class-in writing, the holidays are coming (oh yes they are my dear friends), and keeping in touch with everyone I want to, while balancing my very real need for alone time and creative time and veg out time and seeing my niece time.
So what's the problem. Time. That's it. I don't have enough time. How do people who work full time, and write find the time? A class will help believe it or not because I will have assignments to produce. I am hoping that something I produce in one of the 4 classes I take before I can apply to the Master in Liberal Arts Degree in Creative Writing can be used for my application - we need to submit two pieces. Deadlines and directives help me. Creative writing however is not so geared toward starting with a directive - hence the creative part.
Problem or not I keep doing what I can to write, and I need to revise some of what I have done at some point but for now - it's just keep writing. If I can do that, the problem where I find the time is 1/2 overcome, or at least ignored.
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. I know there are several areas. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Writer's Island, Blog Friday, my personal blog, this writing blog, my current job, my new job, my husband, my dog, my friends, my life, my I-can't-wait-to-start-taking-a-night-class-in writing, the holidays are coming (oh yes they are my dear friends), and keeping in touch with everyone I want to, while balancing my very real need for alone time and creative time and veg out time and seeing my niece time.
So what's the problem. Time. That's it. I don't have enough time. How do people who work full time, and write find the time? A class will help believe it or not because I will have assignments to produce. I am hoping that something I produce in one of the 4 classes I take before I can apply to the Master in Liberal Arts Degree in Creative Writing can be used for my application - we need to submit two pieces. Deadlines and directives help me. Creative writing however is not so geared toward starting with a directive - hence the creative part.
Problem or not I keep doing what I can to write, and I need to revise some of what I have done at some point but for now - it's just keep writing. If I can do that, the problem where I find the time is 1/2 overcome, or at least ignored.
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. I know there are several areas. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Disbelief ~ Homer
~ written for BlogFriday come on over and check it out
Fiction
Before she even woke up Gwen felt the sadness in her chest. She had spent a week preparing for this day and yet as she slowly opened her eyes she felt the overwhelming urge to cry come over her. Homer, being Homer, jumped onto the bed and began pressing his wet nose against her face as he did every morning - getting antsy for his morning walk. She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow and began to sob without restraint. Almost as if understanding something was different, Homer burrowed under the covers next to her, making her sobs come even harder.
After five years of wet noses every morning and long walks before work, today there would be no walk. Homer had terminal cancer before he was barely out of puppyhood. Homer had been a present from her husband Elliot nine months after Gwen found our she was infertile. She was a strong woman but finding out she would never be able to have children tossed her into a depression. Together she and Elliot had talked through it all. The both agreed that they did not want to adopt and that they would find other ways to share their love with children and animals through nieces and nephews and her volunteer work at the animal rescue.
Fiction
Before she even woke up Gwen felt the sadness in her chest. She had spent a week preparing for this day and yet as she slowly opened her eyes she felt the overwhelming urge to cry come over her. Homer, being Homer, jumped onto the bed and began pressing his wet nose against her face as he did every morning - getting antsy for his morning walk. She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow and began to sob without restraint. Almost as if understanding something was different, Homer burrowed under the covers next to her, making her sobs come even harder.
After five years of wet noses every morning and long walks before work, today there would be no walk. Homer had terminal cancer before he was barely out of puppyhood. Homer had been a present from her husband Elliot nine months after Gwen found our she was infertile. She was a strong woman but finding out she would never be able to have children tossed her into a depression. Together she and Elliot had talked through it all. The both agreed that they did not want to adopt and that they would find other ways to share their love with children and animals through nieces and nephews and her volunteer work at the animal rescue.
~
It was a rainy Sunday afternoon that Elliot had brought home this awkward, gangly very wet puppy. As they stumbled in the door, Gwen thought, "I wonder how long this one will be staying with us." As they often took in dogs from the shelter on a temporary basis for various reasons. Elliot let go of the leash and ran back out to the car. He returned with enough dog gear for a year. "What?!? What is going on?" Gwen asked, then she looked up at Elliot and knew this was not just another temporary resident and her heart melted.
~
You'd never know that Homer had a thing wrong with him judging by his behavior this morning, which made getting out of bed and starting the day all that much harder. The vet had assured her that he was not going to get better and that the medication was the driver of his renewed energy but cautioned her that it was only temporary. Only temporary bought her another 2 weeks with Homer but every day was sadder, heavier. Today was the day she would have to say goodbye to her best friend and confidant. To the one creature in the world who had listened to all her grief, even that which she couldn't share with her husband. Where she was going to find the strength to get through today she did not know. But it had to start with a cup of coffee and a shower.
Driving to the vet's office she had to pull over twice from nausea and she even threw up once from the disbelief of the reality of her day today. She had not felt this lousy since the days following the news that she was infertile. She had felt like this ever since she had gotten the news that Homer's time was limited. Pulling herself together she walked into the vet's office and immediately started to cry. Everyone was very compassionate and she was walking out the door, tissues in hand an hour later when she passed out.
Waking up in the emergency room with the vet assistant by her side, the sadness overwhelmed her again before she even wondered why she was at the hospital. A few moments later her husband walked in and rushed to her side, "I am so sorry I didn't go with you this morning, you kept telling me it was something you wanted to do on your own and I shouldn't have listened, this whole ordeal with the dog has taken it's toll on you and I am sorry, he said".
"I am sorry to hear about Homer" the doctor said entering the room, "but that is not the reason you passed out." Puzzled and immediately scared for her own health she looked at her husband and grabbed his hands as she waited for the doctors next words.
I see that your record indicates that you are infertile. "Yes, yes" Gwen said. I have been for about 6 years. Well then this might come as a surprise but, "You're pregnant, with twins." Gwen almost threw up for the second time that day from disbelief. Her husband had to sit down. Six years ago Gwen was told she was infertile and could not not have children. She had been told this with "100% certainty" although thinking back she never was really told why, or maybe she had been and just did not remember through her depression. She had stopped taking the pill and had a healthy sex life with her husband. No babies for 6 years...she was infertile. But wait, now here was this man telling her she was pregnant with twins, and showing her an ultrasound that showed her two, twelve week old images of what were to be her boys.
"Everything looks fine the doctor said, but I suggest you get some rest, you at least 18 busy years ahead of you..." As the doctor walked out of the door and her husband went to bring the car around she sat in the dimly lit room and couldn't help but wonder what to believe about the power of death and life and the intertwined relationship that existed. On a day that one of the saddest things happened with Homer's passing, she couldn't help but wonder about the wonder in the world. She sat sitting in utter disbelief at the day and wondered how she might get away with naming one of the twin boys Homer.
(c)Michelle S. 2007.
All Rights Reserved
**I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Driving to the vet's office she had to pull over twice from nausea and she even threw up once from the disbelief of the reality of her day today. She had not felt this lousy since the days following the news that she was infertile. She had felt like this ever since she had gotten the news that Homer's time was limited. Pulling herself together she walked into the vet's office and immediately started to cry. Everyone was very compassionate and she was walking out the door, tissues in hand an hour later when she passed out.
Waking up in the emergency room with the vet assistant by her side, the sadness overwhelmed her again before she even wondered why she was at the hospital. A few moments later her husband walked in and rushed to her side, "I am so sorry I didn't go with you this morning, you kept telling me it was something you wanted to do on your own and I shouldn't have listened, this whole ordeal with the dog has taken it's toll on you and I am sorry, he said".
"I am sorry to hear about Homer" the doctor said entering the room, "but that is not the reason you passed out." Puzzled and immediately scared for her own health she looked at her husband and grabbed his hands as she waited for the doctors next words.
I see that your record indicates that you are infertile. "Yes, yes" Gwen said. I have been for about 6 years. Well then this might come as a surprise but, "You're pregnant, with twins." Gwen almost threw up for the second time that day from disbelief. Her husband had to sit down. Six years ago Gwen was told she was infertile and could not not have children. She had been told this with "100% certainty" although thinking back she never was really told why, or maybe she had been and just did not remember through her depression. She had stopped taking the pill and had a healthy sex life with her husband. No babies for 6 years...she was infertile. But wait, now here was this man telling her she was pregnant with twins, and showing her an ultrasound that showed her two, twelve week old images of what were to be her boys.
"Everything looks fine the doctor said, but I suggest you get some rest, you at least 18 busy years ahead of you..." As the doctor walked out of the door and her husband went to bring the car around she sat in the dimly lit room and couldn't help but wonder what to believe about the power of death and life and the intertwined relationship that existed. On a day that one of the saddest things happened with Homer's passing, she couldn't help but wonder about the wonder in the world. She sat sitting in utter disbelief at the day and wondered how she might get away with naming one of the twin boys Homer.
(c)Michelle S. 2007.
All Rights Reserved
**I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Writer's Island - Message in a Bottle
~ poetry
~ written for Writer's Island
Message in a bottle, take me away;
Float me to an island and another day.
A day where I can find sunshine and ocean sounds;
A day where I don't have to make 100 technology rounds.
Peace, and slowness I seek to survive;
All of this frenzy, it's a wonder I am alive.
Message in a bottle take me where you might.
Follow the ocean's waves let our destination take flight.
I am open to change whatever it may be.
It's from the rigors of life that I wish to be free.
Free to explore what possibilities might be there
Message in a bottle please take me anywhere.
I will follow you blindly, safe inside your core
Message in a bottle please offer me something more.
(c)Michelle S. 2007.
All Rights Reserved ~
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. I know there are several areas. All constructive feedback is welcome.
~ written for Writer's Island
Message in a bottle, take me away;
Float me to an island and another day.
A day where I can find sunshine and ocean sounds;
A day where I don't have to make 100 technology rounds.
Peace, and slowness I seek to survive;
All of this frenzy, it's a wonder I am alive.
Message in a bottle take me where you might.
Follow the ocean's waves let our destination take flight.
I am open to change whatever it may be.
It's from the rigors of life that I wish to be free.
Free to explore what possibilities might be there
Message in a bottle please take me anywhere.
I will follow you blindly, safe inside your core
Message in a bottle please offer me something more.
(c)Michelle S. 2007.
All Rights Reserved ~
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. I know there are several areas. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Blog Friday - Achievement
~ written for BlogFriday
Achievement
She sat in her bosses office wondering how she got here. How it was that as a grown woman her job could reduce her to tears and panic attacks.
How?
She learned, and then admitted years ago that she had a problem with work, and setting boundaries. She would rather work till she dropped, or ended up here in a heap of tears, barely able to breath, than admit that she could not handle it. She worked at creating a better balance in her life and for about 2 years she succeeded. That is she succeeded until "the next great project came along."
Achievement was too tied up in the opposing concepts of success OR failure. As it has been quoted, "failure is not an option." What then was where she sat now Crying and trying to explain why she "just can't work 12+ hour days for another day". Was admitting she couldn't do it succees; she was asking for help, or was asking for help a failure?
It was a failure on two levels, one she had asked before and before and before and the light at the end of the tunnel always lost it's glow within days of her asking, and two it was a failure because, well, she should be able to handle it.
She should? Says who? Says her that's who.
Her own worst critic, she didn't fear letting herself down, hell she was still figuring out what she wanted in the way of happiness nevermind achievement. She just knew she didn't want to, couldn't, fail, but most importanly she couldn't let others down or let others think she had failed. She would go down trying. The thing is, no one other than her ever said they were anything but proud of her. What the hell is she trying to prove and how could she get over trying to prove it?
Slowly, I have started to realize that "The Jones'" don't matter. Choosing to be child free is my choice. Owning my own home will come at the right time for me. It is an ongoing process. When it comes to work I still get sucked in. Can't say no, will work late until I practically collapse and then almost stop completely. Another pattern I am working on changing. It's strange this thing called "Achievement" which to me equals "Success". I don't have a great ending for this one. I have to ponder it more. It is almost a philosopical question for me. Are Achievements little things along the way and Success the overall accumulation of the smaller Achievements? Even more important - how do we get the perceptions of the importance of Achievement that we do?
Thoughts are very welcome.
(c)Michelle S. 2007.
All Rights Reserved
**I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Achievement
She sat in her bosses office wondering how she got here. How it was that as a grown woman her job could reduce her to tears and panic attacks.
How?
She learned, and then admitted years ago that she had a problem with work, and setting boundaries. She would rather work till she dropped, or ended up here in a heap of tears, barely able to breath, than admit that she could not handle it. She worked at creating a better balance in her life and for about 2 years she succeeded. That is she succeeded until "the next great project came along."
Achievement was too tied up in the opposing concepts of success OR failure. As it has been quoted, "failure is not an option." What then was where she sat now Crying and trying to explain why she "just can't work 12+ hour days for another day". Was admitting she couldn't do it succees; she was asking for help, or was asking for help a failure?
It was a failure on two levels, one she had asked before and before and before and the light at the end of the tunnel always lost it's glow within days of her asking, and two it was a failure because, well, she should be able to handle it.
She should? Says who? Says her that's who.
Her own worst critic, she didn't fear letting herself down, hell she was still figuring out what she wanted in the way of happiness nevermind achievement. She just knew she didn't want to, couldn't, fail, but most importanly she couldn't let others down or let others think she had failed. She would go down trying. The thing is, no one other than her ever said they were anything but proud of her. What the hell is she trying to prove and how could she get over trying to prove it?
Slowly, I have started to realize that "The Jones'" don't matter. Choosing to be child free is my choice. Owning my own home will come at the right time for me. It is an ongoing process. When it comes to work I still get sucked in. Can't say no, will work late until I practically collapse and then almost stop completely. Another pattern I am working on changing. It's strange this thing called "Achievement" which to me equals "Success". I don't have a great ending for this one. I have to ponder it more. It is almost a philosopical question for me. Are Achievements little things along the way and Success the overall accumulation of the smaller Achievements? Even more important - how do we get the perceptions of the importance of Achievement that we do?
Thoughts are very welcome.
(c)Michelle S. 2007.
All Rights Reserved
**I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Spider Story in 100
A big, creepy, crawly, icky, sticky, leggy bug loomed over our bed, freaking me out majorly, leaving breathing air not an option. Loud shrillness started screaming inside wanting to be heard but neither sound nor air, could force beyond my lips.
Husband sits quietly half asleep in the dark, cozy den watching sports television, specifically baseball and I was frozen still.
Brooms, mops, newspapers, even clothes, all mentally meandered about as options of escape. Insurance plans' coverage won't cover death from spider phobia. Finally it retreated away from any nearness.
Running, leaving fears behind, one bathtub provided safe retreat.
~ this piece was written at the challenge of a fellow blogger who asked that we write a 100 word piece on something scary or Halloween-ish. We had to use 100 words exactly and not repeat a single word. It certainly does not flow like I would like it too - but it was an interesting exercise. Thanks to Janet for her word counting and word duplication checking skills.
Husband sits quietly half asleep in the dark, cozy den watching sports television, specifically baseball and I was frozen still.
Brooms, mops, newspapers, even clothes, all mentally meandered about as options of escape. Insurance plans' coverage won't cover death from spider phobia. Finally it retreated away from any nearness.
Running, leaving fears behind, one bathtub provided safe retreat.
~ this piece was written at the challenge of a fellow blogger who asked that we write a 100 word piece on something scary or Halloween-ish. We had to use 100 words exactly and not repeat a single word. It certainly does not flow like I would like it too - but it was an interesting exercise. Thanks to Janet for her word counting and word duplication checking skills.
Crayons and Leaves
Abby always loved crayons. They were here favorite "toy" growing up. Even now at 37 years old she always made sure there was a box in the house, with a coloring book and sketch pad. It didn't matter that she did not have any children, nor that she chose not to have any, in her mind coloring was not a juvenile activity. Instead coloring was her way to escape anxiety on any given day. All you really have to do is stay within the lines. An activity that is much simpler than most things in life.
Today Abby walked her dog Cody through the fall leaves, stopping every few feet so that he could take a good sniff of the crisp air or some other scent that was probably only pleasant to a dog. She relished these walks as they gave her time to think. Today her thoughts were on fall and the new box of crayons she had purchased earlier in the day. What used to be a simple venture - one box of 64 Crayola crayons in a box with a sharpener in the back had become more complex over the years; as had most everything else. It took her 20 minutes looking at the array of washable crayons, twistable crayons, special crayons and even erasable crayons before she settled on a box of 96 crayons with a sharpener in the back. As she made her purchase she sighed, even crayons had become complicated.
Coming out of her thoughts and back to her surroundings Abby realized she was further from home than she thought. She turned Cody around and headed for home. Now, paying more attention to the nature around her, she could hear the newly fallen leaves crunch under her feet. She was happy for the crispness in the air and sound of the town football game off in the distance. This was her home. She grew up in this town and felt comfortable here.
Nearing home now, Abby wondered if she felt a connection to fall because that was when she was born. "Who knows," she thought, "I just like it". As she started up her walkway she noticed the slightly frostbitten summer flowers she had yet to take out of the garden, and the patio chairs that needed to be put away.
"Not now" she thought, "now I am going to go inside, make a cup of tea, and color"
As she walked, she stated thinking about the seasons and how fall was her favorite time of year. It always seemed to be a time of gathering for her and renewal for her -- a time to get back to things of the home and the heart after a summer of frivolity and dashing around. She needed to make sure that she was prepared for the winter ahead. Just last week she was pulling out her winter clothes, making sure her crafts were lined up for the winter and that she had a long list of books waiting to be read. For Abby fall was like spring was for many, a time of renewal. It was a starting place, and why not? For so many years something new started every September. The ends always came in June when school let out. The beginnings were always in the fall.
Why then did all of this feel in such opposition to the world around her Abby wondered? Just when everything seemed to be scattering; summer friends heading home; leaves falling, gardens being dismantled, she was feeling more gathered together than any other time of the year? Even more than springtime, fall was the time for newness in her life. Abby always bought her new box of crayons in the fall.
Today Abby walked her dog Cody through the fall leaves, stopping every few feet so that he could take a good sniff of the crisp air or some other scent that was probably only pleasant to a dog. She relished these walks as they gave her time to think. Today her thoughts were on fall and the new box of crayons she had purchased earlier in the day. What used to be a simple venture - one box of 64 Crayola crayons in a box with a sharpener in the back had become more complex over the years; as had most everything else. It took her 20 minutes looking at the array of washable crayons, twistable crayons, special crayons and even erasable crayons before she settled on a box of 96 crayons with a sharpener in the back. As she made her purchase she sighed, even crayons had become complicated.
Coming out of her thoughts and back to her surroundings Abby realized she was further from home than she thought. She turned Cody around and headed for home. Now, paying more attention to the nature around her, she could hear the newly fallen leaves crunch under her feet. She was happy for the crispness in the air and sound of the town football game off in the distance. This was her home. She grew up in this town and felt comfortable here.
Nearing home now, Abby wondered if she felt a connection to fall because that was when she was born. "Who knows," she thought, "I just like it". As she started up her walkway she noticed the slightly frostbitten summer flowers she had yet to take out of the garden, and the patio chairs that needed to be put away.
"Not now" she thought, "now I am going to go inside, make a cup of tea, and color"
As she walked, she stated thinking about the seasons and how fall was her favorite time of year. It always seemed to be a time of gathering for her and renewal for her -- a time to get back to things of the home and the heart after a summer of frivolity and dashing around. She needed to make sure that she was prepared for the winter ahead. Just last week she was pulling out her winter clothes, making sure her crafts were lined up for the winter and that she had a long list of books waiting to be read. For Abby fall was like spring was for many, a time of renewal. It was a starting place, and why not? For so many years something new started every September. The ends always came in June when school let out. The beginnings were always in the fall.
Why then did all of this feel in such opposition to the world around her Abby wondered? Just when everything seemed to be scattering; summer friends heading home; leaves falling, gardens being dismantled, she was feeling more gathered together than any other time of the year? Even more than springtime, fall was the time for newness in her life. Abby always bought her new box of crayons in the fall.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
A lot of thoughts - only a little development
I have had a lot of thoughts since I started actively writing again. A lot of one liners that sound great, a lot of quotes that I could write about, and many drafts of blurbs of things that are good but need globs of development.
I guess right now I am doing writing superficially. I am exploring it all over again. I think I need to give myself time and space to sit and breathe with that. I have to accept that I will have many undeveloped pieces - that's OK.
But I wonder when I should flip the switch, start thinking about revising some of what I have written. When should I take it beyond a blog prompt response and into a short memoir/narrative. I am not sure of what my goal is with my writing. I don't see myself writing a full novel - but one never knows. I think I prefer the short story route. Some memoir or memoir like columns.
All food for thought for now I am just writing.
I guess right now I am doing writing superficially. I am exploring it all over again. I think I need to give myself time and space to sit and breathe with that. I have to accept that I will have many undeveloped pieces - that's OK.
But I wonder when I should flip the switch, start thinking about revising some of what I have written. When should I take it beyond a blog prompt response and into a short memoir/narrative. I am not sure of what my goal is with my writing. I don't see myself writing a full novel - but one never knows. I think I prefer the short story route. Some memoir or memoir like columns.
All food for thought for now I am just writing.
Difference
~ written for BlogFriday
Different
What is different between then and now?
How do I know I have come so far?
I know I am older, wiser I hope,
but how do I know I am different now?
Different physically the world can see,
I am doing OK the outside of me.
The inside, my mind, takes more work.
Growth has evolved - the difference is there,
but only after hours in a therapist's chair!
My strength is my beauty, my desire for serenity abounds.
The strength of the ocean, the peace of the bay,
all remind me how I have grown into today.
The then and the now always will be.
Self-acceptance and self are the forces I've found.
The difference is now. The difference is me.
(c)Michelle S. 2007.
All Rights Reserved
* Poetry is not my strong genre for me at all. Aside from never knowing the best way to punctuate it I always feel as if it is sophomoric and too sing song-y.
**I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Different
What is different between then and now?
How do I know I have come so far?
I know I am older, wiser I hope,
but how do I know I am different now?
Different physically the world can see,
I am doing OK the outside of me.
The inside, my mind, takes more work.
Growth has evolved - the difference is there,
but only after hours in a therapist's chair!
My strength is my beauty, my desire for serenity abounds.
The strength of the ocean, the peace of the bay,
all remind me how I have grown into today.
The then and the now always will be.
Self-acceptance and self are the forces I've found.
The difference is now. The difference is me.
(c)Michelle S. 2007.
All Rights Reserved
* Poetry is not my strong genre for me at all. Aside from never knowing the best way to punctuate it I always feel as if it is sophomoric and too sing song-y.
**I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Monday, October 1, 2007
The Journey
- personal reflection
~ written for Writer's Island & BlogFriday (Both had the same prompt this week)
All Rights Reserved
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.
~ written for Writer's Island & BlogFriday (Both had the same prompt this week)
I never knew holding my Nana's hand as she took her last breath would lead me where it has. Somehow during the last 2 hours of her life I found a serenity and Grace. I had been looking for serenity for a long time. Learning Grace was just a bonus. It was as if a peacefulness enveloped me. I knew it was going to be OK. Even now 8 months later when I see a bird fly by I know it is going to be OK.
She was a mother, a daughter, a sister, a grandmother and a great grandmother. She was a friend, a believer in God, a member of the parish, she was a Podiatrist. She loved to swim in the icy waters of Cape Cod well into late October, she was the most positive and most stoic person I have even known. Strength is silence, power in presence. All of these things describe by grandmother. She was many things to many people and multi faceted in her own being, but nothing describes her more than this one word. Grace.
She was Grace. Grace under pressure. She had the grace of eternal beauty. She had the gracefulness of a blue bird on the thinnest of branches. Grace in her words, and in the purity of her thoughts. She never said a negative word about anyone.
My Nana taught me more than I could ever clearly articulate in words while she was alive but it is what she taught me in the final hours of her death that will stay with me forever. She taught me that it is OK to let go. When the time is right and all of the details have been taken care of, when you have said goodbye, and set your sights on the future it is OK to let go.
For her, at 93, 2 weeks after falling and breaking her hip, she waited until her family was around her and she said goodbye. Two hours later with just me by her side, she gracefully said goodbye to this world and moved onto her her next journey. Being the religious person that she was I have no doubt that her next journey has just begun.
Life is a journey, a trip filled with hellos and goodbyes, all too often we say hello too readily and goodbye not readily enough. We are always looking for more, yet often never discarding what we are done with. As I held my Nana's hand at 9:14 on January 31, 2007 I realized that I need to say goodbye not only to my Nana but to my own internal struggles with myself, accept more, fight less, be graceful about it - all the way my Nana did with death.
This one's for you Nana. Thank you for giving me the strength to accept grace.
(c)Michelle S. 2007.All Rights Reserved
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
blogFriday "Start"
I like to participate in Writer's Island and Friday Fill-Ins. I keep a regular personal blog SMOOCHDOG and I have this writing blog. I have pretty much stopped participating in Thursday Thirteen because it is a list and no so much creative, at least for me. I have now started one more creative writing journey each week and it is...
The newly created blogFriday. Go on an check it out. A new word prompt each Friday and the first word is.....
START
I am starting blogFriday for the same reason I started Writer's Island and the same reason I became a member of writing.com because I want to write creatively. I want to learn how to be a better writer not to be famous or even to be paid (although that would be nice) but because I enjoy it.
I wish I had more time in my day for writing. I feel like I get up early to write before work, I write on my lunch hour and down time at work (shhhh) and I try to write or read other's writing for an hour in the evenings. Still I feel there is just not enough time.
Part of me wonders if starting another blog group/weekly prompt is a good idea. In addition to writing a post for these prompts and groups I also inevitably feel compelled to READ what others write. It is a great way to learn and a great way to get feedback as well as learn about other blogs. Some days I just wonder how many blogs I can handle knowing about. I love so many of them but because I am who I am I often feel compelled to "keep up" with all my blog reading. Yes, slightly obsessive compulsive.
Anyway for now, I am starting blogFriday.
The newly created blogFriday. Go on an check it out. A new word prompt each Friday and the first word is.....
START
I am starting blogFriday for the same reason I started Writer's Island and the same reason I became a member of writing.com because I want to write creatively. I want to learn how to be a better writer not to be famous or even to be paid (although that would be nice) but because I enjoy it.
I wish I had more time in my day for writing. I feel like I get up early to write before work, I write on my lunch hour and down time at work (shhhh) and I try to write or read other's writing for an hour in the evenings. Still I feel there is just not enough time.
Part of me wonders if starting another blog group/weekly prompt is a good idea. In addition to writing a post for these prompts and groups I also inevitably feel compelled to READ what others write. It is a great way to learn and a great way to get feedback as well as learn about other blogs. Some days I just wonder how many blogs I can handle knowing about. I love so many of them but because I am who I am I often feel compelled to "keep up" with all my blog reading. Yes, slightly obsessive compulsive.
Anyway for now, I am starting blogFriday.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Labrador Love (Contest entry)
~ written for a 55 word story contest at my online writing group ~ Update: I won 1st place for this!
Her feet were warm for the first time in days. The diabetes had finally affected the circulation in her lower body and she was scared. Luckily for her the warmth on her feet not only deferred the cold but her loneliness as well.
Her twelve year old Labrador sighed contentedly as he snuggled into her.
Her feet were warm for the first time in days. The diabetes had finally affected the circulation in her lower body and she was scared. Luckily for her the warmth on her feet not only deferred the cold but her loneliness as well.
Her twelve year old Labrador sighed contentedly as he snuggled into her.
Monday, September 17, 2007
The Gift
- personal reflection
~ written for Writer's Island
Haven't we all been given a gift at one time or another in our lives that we accepted politely and casually tossed aside not immediately recognizing its value? Maybe when we were kids it was the clothes that were given to us. More interested in the bells and whistles of toys, we never saw the value in the clothes; but we wore them until they were thread bare, which was usually long after the trendy toy was gone.
For me The Gift that I am continually given is The Gift of the here and now. The Gift of the Moment, and man oh man do I flitter that gift away without even appreciating it or realizing it. An afternoon off from work? I fill it with errands to run and chores to tend to. A rainy Sunday morning...well something must need to be done. I often wonder what would happen if I took those moments that are"given" to me and enjoyed them, enveloped myself in the power of free time. What if I went to the park across from my office and laid on my back and played the game where you guess what shape, animal or figure the clouds make. What would happen to me?
Truth be told I have no idea what would happen. I guess I would feel relaxed and enjoy myself but I have created myself into a Human-doing too often, instead of a Human-being. I will admit I am a Type A, slightly neurotic, increasingly chaotic person. I try, really I do, to sit, to be, to reflect. I guess as my Nana used to say, I just have "ants in my pants" so cliche I know. I run until I drop and then I sleep harder than a rock. There is no in between for me. I am either "here" or waiting to get "there" thus never cherishing and enjoying The Gift, the many gifts that come from the here and now.
[Author's Note: Here I find a quandary I started writing about The Gift of "the here and now" and then at this point I see that perhaps The Real Gift, or a secondary gift for me would be "finding the in between" but that feels more like a "goal" than a gift so I will leave this as is for now....but I am interested in thoughts......]
(c)Michelle S. 2007.
All Rights Reserved ~
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. I know there are several areas. All constructive feedback is welcome.
~ written for Writer's Island
Haven't we all been given a gift at one time or another in our lives that we accepted politely and casually tossed aside not immediately recognizing its value? Maybe when we were kids it was the clothes that were given to us. More interested in the bells and whistles of toys, we never saw the value in the clothes; but we wore them until they were thread bare, which was usually long after the trendy toy was gone.
For me The Gift that I am continually given is The Gift of the here and now. The Gift of the Moment, and man oh man do I flitter that gift away without even appreciating it or realizing it. An afternoon off from work? I fill it with errands to run and chores to tend to. A rainy Sunday morning...well something must need to be done. I often wonder what would happen if I took those moments that are"given" to me and enjoyed them, enveloped myself in the power of free time. What if I went to the park across from my office and laid on my back and played the game where you guess what shape, animal or figure the clouds make. What would happen to me?
Truth be told I have no idea what would happen. I guess I would feel relaxed and enjoy myself but I have created myself into a Human-doing too often, instead of a Human-being. I will admit I am a Type A, slightly neurotic, increasingly chaotic person. I try, really I do, to sit, to be, to reflect. I guess as my Nana used to say, I just have "ants in my pants" so cliche I know. I run until I drop and then I sleep harder than a rock. There is no in between for me. I am either "here" or waiting to get "there" thus never cherishing and enjoying The Gift, the many gifts that come from the here and now.
[Author's Note: Here I find a quandary I started writing about The Gift of "the here and now" and then at this point I see that perhaps The Real Gift, or a secondary gift for me would be "finding the in between" but that feels more like a "goal" than a gift so I will leave this as is for now....but I am interested in thoughts......]
(c)Michelle S. 2007.
All Rights Reserved ~
Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!
* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. I know there are several areas. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Prompt: Red Wine
- fiction; this prompt came to me as I watched my sister-in-law have her first glass of wine a month after giving birth to her daughter, my niece.
I was glad for the rain. Initial plans cancelled; new ones in their place and I much preferred the coziness of this restaurant to the cold chilly stands of Fenway Park. It was nice to be out with my brother and sister-in-law for the first time since they became parents and we became "auntie" and "uncle".
The ambiance was perfect for wine, much better in fact than it was for my signature vodka tonic, or my husband's beer. She and my brother ordered Chianti and I watched them. Listening more than talking. She lifted the glass of red wine to her lips and immediately her face relaxed. She truly enjoyed this; the taste I imagine, but also the sense of something equivalent to a contented sigh, a reminder of the "before". The now was very different - the how of different not for me to describe as it is not my life.
It has been 10 months since she tasted the sharpness of the Chianti on her lips - an amazing 10 months. Together they had created life, nurtured and nourished a child inside of her and given birth. They worked well together on this new venture of parenthood but tonight they shared in the relaxation of the wine. Knowing the precious one was carefully being doted on by grandma.
They will now and forever always be mom and dad; but tonight they just enjoyed the red wine.
Copyright (c) 2007 Michelle S. - All Rights Reserved
I was glad for the rain. Initial plans cancelled; new ones in their place and I much preferred the coziness of this restaurant to the cold chilly stands of Fenway Park. It was nice to be out with my brother and sister-in-law for the first time since they became parents and we became "auntie" and "uncle".
The ambiance was perfect for wine, much better in fact than it was for my signature vodka tonic, or my husband's beer. She and my brother ordered Chianti and I watched them. Listening more than talking. She lifted the glass of red wine to her lips and immediately her face relaxed. She truly enjoyed this; the taste I imagine, but also the sense of something equivalent to a contented sigh, a reminder of the "before". The now was very different - the how of different not for me to describe as it is not my life.
It has been 10 months since she tasted the sharpness of the Chianti on her lips - an amazing 10 months. Together they had created life, nurtured and nourished a child inside of her and given birth. They worked well together on this new venture of parenthood but tonight they shared in the relaxation of the wine. Knowing the precious one was carefully being doted on by grandma.
They will now and forever always be mom and dad; but tonight they just enjoyed the red wine.
Copyright (c) 2007 Michelle S. - All Rights Reserved
Monday, September 10, 2007
My Imaginary Life
- fiction
Samantha dug her toes deeper into the sand and sipped again from the too hot cup of coffee she had poured moments before. She couldn't decide what smelled better, the fragrant aroma of the flavored coffee or the ocean. Maybe it was a combination of both.
In a million years she never thought she would have ever ended up here. It had been dream many times on the days when everything just seemed against her. "I just want to run away and open a coffee shop/bookstore on a beach where people can bring their dogs sit and read and have something to drink." The owner of the building was still waiting for the approval on the liquor license she had convinced him to get so they could stay open a later and have later night reading groups meet with wine and cheese, but for now the islanders seemed happy with the new addition. Many mornings they were sitting on the beach in front of her stoop before she even opened and many staying for hours, seemingly with no jobs to get to.
She was often reminded of the reality that she left back home whenever she looked at her dog Booker, a fitting name for someone who loved books with the passion she did. He was one of the few belonging that she fought long and hard for in the divorce. It was supposed to be easier - after all she had worked the many years that he was in school, but in the end it cumulated as many divorces do in a debate over who gets what,
"I want the new living room set and the oriental in the bedroom."
"Well you can have those things but I get the dog no question there."
"The dog?" he had shouted, "what the hell are you going to do with a dog on an ISLAND?"
"It doesn't matter Samantha shouted, I GET THE DOG."
In the end, Samantha got the dog. The dog and her books were all she ever really wanted, and her journals. To remind her that it wasn't all bad. To highlight to herself that she should have done this years ago but was too afraid, scared to leave the closeness of what she knew. Even though things never felt "quite right" it felt better than being alone and being close to her family was so comforting even though in some respects it made it harder to walk out the door.
Samantha and her husband set up some "non-negotaibles" for their marriage, things that once done would be the end of the marriage. While she thought silly to even need to mention at the time something nagged at her that it was necessary so they were verbalized. So when one day, ten years into their marriage Samantha came home to a flood of words trying to negotiate one of the non-negotiables, it was with extreme reserve and calm that she went upstairs packed a bag, leashed the dog and walked out the door. Her last words to her husband were, "Non-negotiable means you cannot negotiate, my love."
Nine months later Samantha finds herself absorbing the warm sun on her face, even though it was still chilly enough for a light sweater. She thinks back through the last nine months and realizes she is at peace with herself - perhaps for the first time ever. Her parents would be arriving in a few days to stay a week, and she was glad, leaving her family behind was so much harder than leaving her husband, but she needed to be away. She needed to prove to herself that she could do this in her way and so far she has.
In the past nine months she has found a place to live a small, garden apartment about 1/2 mile from the beach where the cafe is. At first the cafe was just looking for waitresses and she gladly took the position happy for the pay and the socialization it brought. Over the months she began bringing more and more of her books into the cafe and shelving them on the walls for people to read as they enjoyed their coffee. The books stayed at the cafe and many had 4 or 5 different bookmarks in them marking the spots of several different readers.
It wasn't until the third month that Edgar agreed to let her bring her dog to work "as long as he stays OUT OUT OUTside." It was a perfect arrangement. Two months later dogs were fully welcome and happily roamed about both inside and out while their owners relaxed and enjoyed themselves. Not one canine squabble had broken out in the entire time she had been there; it was almost as if the dogs were as relaxed in this haven as the humans were.
Some tourists stopped by now and again but mostly it was locals, many of them transplants like herself from another place and another time. She enjoyed the company of the natives and the simplicity of life on the island. She often wondered what the future would bring. At 36 she was pretty sure she was beyond meeting someone in time to have children but she had never been sure about that anyway. It was always either a financial impossibility or just as likely it was a chore she didn't want to take on, despite her love of children in general.
She worked hard at the cafe and by the seventh month Edgar had made her full time Manager of everything, and he was around only when he wanted to be or on her days off. He was fair to her and treated her well. Life was simple, she was content and she was peaceful. She was happy.
(c)Michelle S. 2007. All Rights Reserved
~ written for Writer's Island
* I consider this very much a work in progress. I know there are several areas I could develop more and make some smoother transitions. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Samantha dug her toes deeper into the sand and sipped again from the too hot cup of coffee she had poured moments before. She couldn't decide what smelled better, the fragrant aroma of the flavored coffee or the ocean. Maybe it was a combination of both.
In a million years she never thought she would have ever ended up here. It had been dream many times on the days when everything just seemed against her. "I just want to run away and open a coffee shop/bookstore on a beach where people can bring their dogs sit and read and have something to drink." The owner of the building was still waiting for the approval on the liquor license she had convinced him to get so they could stay open a later and have later night reading groups meet with wine and cheese, but for now the islanders seemed happy with the new addition. Many mornings they were sitting on the beach in front of her stoop before she even opened and many staying for hours, seemingly with no jobs to get to.
She was often reminded of the reality that she left back home whenever she looked at her dog Booker, a fitting name for someone who loved books with the passion she did. He was one of the few belonging that she fought long and hard for in the divorce. It was supposed to be easier - after all she had worked the many years that he was in school, but in the end it cumulated as many divorces do in a debate over who gets what,
"I want the new living room set and the oriental in the bedroom."
"Well you can have those things but I get the dog no question there."
"The dog?" he had shouted, "what the hell are you going to do with a dog on an ISLAND?"
"It doesn't matter Samantha shouted, I GET THE DOG."
In the end, Samantha got the dog. The dog and her books were all she ever really wanted, and her journals. To remind her that it wasn't all bad. To highlight to herself that she should have done this years ago but was too afraid, scared to leave the closeness of what she knew. Even though things never felt "quite right" it felt better than being alone and being close to her family was so comforting even though in some respects it made it harder to walk out the door.
Samantha and her husband set up some "non-negotaibles" for their marriage, things that once done would be the end of the marriage. While she thought silly to even need to mention at the time something nagged at her that it was necessary so they were verbalized. So when one day, ten years into their marriage Samantha came home to a flood of words trying to negotiate one of the non-negotiables, it was with extreme reserve and calm that she went upstairs packed a bag, leashed the dog and walked out the door. Her last words to her husband were, "Non-negotiable means you cannot negotiate, my love."
Nine months later Samantha finds herself absorbing the warm sun on her face, even though it was still chilly enough for a light sweater. She thinks back through the last nine months and realizes she is at peace with herself - perhaps for the first time ever. Her parents would be arriving in a few days to stay a week, and she was glad, leaving her family behind was so much harder than leaving her husband, but she needed to be away. She needed to prove to herself that she could do this in her way and so far she has.
In the past nine months she has found a place to live a small, garden apartment about 1/2 mile from the beach where the cafe is. At first the cafe was just looking for waitresses and she gladly took the position happy for the pay and the socialization it brought. Over the months she began bringing more and more of her books into the cafe and shelving them on the walls for people to read as they enjoyed their coffee. The books stayed at the cafe and many had 4 or 5 different bookmarks in them marking the spots of several different readers.
It wasn't until the third month that Edgar agreed to let her bring her dog to work "as long as he stays OUT OUT OUTside." It was a perfect arrangement. Two months later dogs were fully welcome and happily roamed about both inside and out while their owners relaxed and enjoyed themselves. Not one canine squabble had broken out in the entire time she had been there; it was almost as if the dogs were as relaxed in this haven as the humans were.
Some tourists stopped by now and again but mostly it was locals, many of them transplants like herself from another place and another time. She enjoyed the company of the natives and the simplicity of life on the island. She often wondered what the future would bring. At 36 she was pretty sure she was beyond meeting someone in time to have children but she had never been sure about that anyway. It was always either a financial impossibility or just as likely it was a chore she didn't want to take on, despite her love of children in general.
She worked hard at the cafe and by the seventh month Edgar had made her full time Manager of everything, and he was around only when he wanted to be or on her days off. He was fair to her and treated her well. Life was simple, she was content and she was peaceful. She was happy.
(c)Michelle S. 2007. All Rights Reserved
~ written for Writer's Island
* I consider this very much a work in progress. I know there are several areas I could develop more and make some smoother transitions. All constructive feedback is welcome.
Meaning in the Details
To feel security in another's arms.
To know one's independence.
To limit oneself for the betterment of another.
Two become one? One becomes part of another?
My sacrifices make me stronger.
Your acceptances make you smarter.
Together we will grow into a stronger smarter whole.
To focus on one thing with all that you know.
To maintain many things so the focus can occur.
The details are what make up life.
The details are what must be maintained.
The challenge is finding meaning in the details when the focus is not mine.
(c) Michelle S. 2007. All Rights Reserved
To know one's independence.
To limit oneself for the betterment of another.
Two become one? One becomes part of another?
My sacrifices make me stronger.
Your acceptances make you smarter.
Together we will grow into a stronger smarter whole.
To focus on one thing with all that you know.
To maintain many things so the focus can occur.
The details are what make up life.
The details are what must be maintained.
The challenge is finding meaning in the details when the focus is not mine.
(c) Michelle S. 2007. All Rights Reserved
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