Flash Fiction: Welcome Home

Continuing with the back-to-school theme, please enjoy the following piece of flash fiction:

WELCOME HOME

The slow drip in the kitchen sink went ting for the thousandth time.  She sat by the window, waiting for her boy.  Snapshots of summer flashed in her memory:  riding in the car with the windows down, throwing a ball in the back yard, running on the beach, and falling asleep together to the crickets’ song.  She closed her eyes for a moment and just missed him.

At the sound of the school bus, her white, long-haired tail thumped the floor rhythmically.  Then came the boy’s footsteps on the gravel outside.  She stood up and danced, her claws clacking on the floorboards.  

Master Bedroom

Andrew  Wyeth

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The Pros and Cons of "Back to School"

The smell of fresh school supplies.  The new clothes lined up in the closet, waiting to be worn for the first time.  The quiet solitude in the house with no one driving you crazy 24/7.  Yes, a new school year is a blessed time.

But it comes with its cons, too.  My son and I woke up many summer mornings asking, “What are we going to do today?”  We would then proceed to make an adventure of the day, whether it was a field trip, a project, movie day, or whatever.  I’m going to miss that for the next few months.  What a sweet, fun time it was.

There are other cons, too, though.  No more staying in pajamas until 2pm.  Okay, I only did that twice all summer, and it grossed me out both times.  But seriously, that early morning rush is a price to pay.  You have to get up and make sure the lunchboxes are packed and the homework folders are squared away.  Making breakfast brings its own challenges, too, when your child easily tires of eating the same things over and over.  The mad dash is on, folks.

And as I nearly ran out the door the other morning without brushing my hair, I was reminded of a friend who, last year, accidentally left home without shoes.  She drove her son to school barefoot, walked him in barefoot, and returned home barefoot.  So, in the spirit of the back to school rush, I am reposting the following link about a friend who wore two different shoes to work one day. 

Mismatched shoes

What absent-minded thing have you done when in a rush?

I did it.

Rowan Oak Was the...
Stephen  Alvarez
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I finally did it.  I wrote a novel.  There is still plenty to be done.  I have to revise – probably more than I realize.  In fact, I’m fairly certain “revise” is an understatement.  And I still have to find an agent – haven’t even started looking yet.  I’ve published my other two books in the new-fangled DIY fashion, but I’d rather like to try the traditional route this time.  I started another novel about four or five years ago, and I never got beyond about thirty-five thousand words.  Just couldn’t figure out what to do with it, I guess.  Then, in between moving twice and changing computers, I *lost* what I had written.  Ugh.  So I started over with a new story, new characters, new everything on November 1, 2012, and I finished on July 11, 2013.  Not too bad.

In the early evening, I knew how close I was to finishing.  I received my latest copy of Garden & Gun magazine and was reading a book review written by none other than the master of the pen himself, Clyde Edgerton.  I began reflecting on my own style and how far short it falls of my opinion of Edgerton’s work.  He offered a quote from the book he was reviewing.  It was so poetic, so esoteric, so like something I would have been assigned to read in college.  The author was pictured wearing a wool suit and looking very Faulkner-esque and intimidating.  I hung my head even farther down.  Could I ever attain this type of literary greatness?  Shaking my head, I opened the lid of my laptop an hour later and wrote from my heart.  The last chapter, the last words.

I hardly realized what I had done, though, until this morning.  I had a warm, fuzzy sense of accomplishment when I typed the words, saved, and shut down the computer last night.  But it didn’t hit me that I had actually come to the end of “banging out the first draft” for the first time in my life.  Fast forward to this morning. I was getting a new watch battery at the jewelry store and found a bracelet I was tempted to buy.  I thought, Oh, that’s ridiculous.  Impulsive.  I can’t buy that.  Maybe if I were celebrating some accomplishment.  First, it occurred to me that the new trolley tour project in which I have been involved finally launched its inaugural tours last week.  I could have celebrated that, but decided that wasn't exactly worthy of jewelry.  Then, as I walked away from the counter, I remembered that I had finished writing the first draft last night.  Well, that’s something.

Later in the morning, I whizzed into the Beaner’s drive-through for a cinnamon chai tea.  I shook my head at myself once again, wondering how I could justify blowing nearly $5 on a tall cup of tea, no matter how delicious.  But as I drove away, the weight of my accomplishment fell on me like a boulder.  This is a first in my lifetime.  I laid down perfectionism, pushed through, and I finished!  I did it.  I became misty-eyed.  I thanked God, and I asked for His help with the rest of the project.  And I sipped that $5 cinnamon chai tea, without guilt, all the way home.  I deserved it.

People-Listening

"Party Line,"...
Lawrence  Toney
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I love people-watching.  Even more, though, I love people-listening.  No, not eavesdropping.  Eavesdropping is when you are listening to someone secretly, when you shouldn’t be listening, like in the poster above.  But people-listening is the stuff of which great short stories are made.  Made, I tell you!

Now, I believe wholeheartedly that when people are having an audible conversation in a doctor’s waiting room, it’s because I’m invited to listen.  If they didn’t want anyone to hear, they would go outside.  And if I went to the door to listen to them secretly, that would be eavesdropping.

So, bearing all of that in mind, I share with you the following gem that I overheard in the waiting room of a doctor’s office this morning.  These ladies were sitting less than 10 feet from me.  They obviously wanted me to enjoy their lively conversation, and I did.  The very first sentence, which is pure poetry, drew me in.

Teenaged girl:  Some nasty boy put his fat foot in my flip flop and stretched it out.

Mama:  Tell that nasty boy he owes you $50.

Teenaged girl:  He don’t have $50.

Mama:  Send him to me.

Teenaged girl:  For real?

Mama:  Yep.  I’ll take that $50 outta his skin.  Who is he?

Teenaged girl:  Robert *****.  You know Betty *****?

Mama:  Yes.  She’s no longer living, though, is she?

Teenaged girl (laughing):  Yes, she is.  She’s Robert’s mother.

You’re welcome.  Have a nice day.

I love the south.

Hope in the Rubble

Oklahoma, Shirley...

18 in. x 24 in.
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There are few movies that give me as much joy and entertainment as this one.  I can't help but keep thinking of this movie as the pictures, videos, and stories come rolling in from yesterday's tornado in Moore, Oklahoma.  The destruction is unfathomable.  Those folks had no warning, no time to evacuate, as we do with hurricanes around these parts.

But in the rubble, hope rises.  The link below takes you to a video of a tornado survivor being interviewed on CBS.  It's is the first miracle I have seen to come out of this horrendous tragedy, and I’m sure there are thousands more.  It’s a miracle that this woman lived . . . and her dog, too!

Click here to be elated.

Want to help?  This is a wonderful organization that is already there, helping and healing.

Click here to help.

Write (or say) it the right way.

 

Button by MosquitoCreekGifts
Look at Grammar Buttons online at Zazzle.com

I'm not perfect.  I'm far from it, in fact.  However, I do have this passion for correct grammar, punctuation, and spelling.  Again, I'm not even perfect in these areas.

I strive.  I try.  I'm fairly diligent in this area.  Sometimes, I fail.  But communication is so very, very important.  And sometimes, the snob in me comes out a bit.  I read an e-mail or a comment on Facebook, and I want to reply, "Do you speak English?"  I don't, of course.  I'm not that mean (usually).  But the deterioration of our language is destroying part of our culture.  When communication is compromised, errors are made.  Misunderstandings abound.  The decay of society becomes imminent.  In the confusing case of the difference between "bring" and "take," the solution appears to be the elimination of the word "take."  No matter whether someone is actually bringing or taking, they use "bring."  I hear some of the high school aged children talking to each other in public, and I'm concerned.

Just the other day, I was reading a comment thread on Facebook about a missing girl.  It turns out that she had run away from home.  One of her friends knew this, and wrote a comment indicating where she was and with whom she was staying.  

Another teen asked, "Isn't harvesting a runaway a felony?"  Um, no.  Now, harboring a runaway may, perhaps, be a felony.  I'm unaware of any laws related to harvesting one, though.  I've said flighty things like that before.  It can happen to anyone.  That's just a funny example of incorrect word usage.  It could have even been the fault of our new friend, Autocorrect.  Mm.  What a tricky fellow that one is.

What's not as funny to me is the blatant carelessness exhibited by Hollywood.  Children's television shows that are supposed to be educational often have a character who uses "realistic" but incorrect grammar.  While it may be the way a child already speaks, it's not something to be perpetuated or emulated when a cartoon character on a science show says, "Me and my mom went to the zoo."  aaarrgghhh!

A song sometimes played between shows on the Disney Channel talks about naptime.  In a dreamy voice, the lady sings, "It's time to lay down."  Is she a chicken?  Lay down the what?  The nap mat?  The knife?  It's not clear.  As a tiny toddler, my son knew the correct usage of "lie" and "lay."  The world has tried to confuse him.  Another Disney error:  a popular show about trains refers to a pack of diesel trains as "chuggers," and uses the catch phrase "Chugga chugga choo choo," which is a sound associated with steam engines.  I can't take credit for noticing that, though - my preschooler caught it.  Nice, Disney.  You're being corrected by a preschooler.  Get it together. I won't even address Mater from the Cars movies.

Thank goodness, my child has become increasingly bored with television.  But the rest of the world is insistent on "sloppifying" our beautiful language.  To borrow a few words from the poet Dylan Thomas, I will rage against the dying of the light.  I won't let the laziness of the world take me down without a fight.

Back Home on the Water

I grew up around salt water.  Fishing, crabbing, throwing a cast net, and feeling the salty spray in the bow of a boat were all part of my upbringing.  My family has been without a boat that we could all enjoy for nearly twenty years.  During these decades, life has interfered with its mandates and diversions, some joyful and some onerous.  While visions, smells, and sensations of brackish rivers were distant, they could be encouraged in my memory during quiet times of solitude and longing.  But now there is a new boat in the family, and I will no longer be reliant on that quiet longing.

This weekend, I returned to a home deep within myself.  This home is a hidden place that is only revealed when I am in the element of salt water, afloat and aware of God’s creation around me.  I was reminded of a teenage girl who was comfortable with adventure, who was cautious but unafraid.  Yeah.  I’m that girl.  I’m that girl who came face-to-face with a small shark attacking the bait on the end of my crab line.  I shook him off of the white piece of string and roared at him to find his chicken somewhere else.  I’m that girl who knew how to find schools of bait fish and fan a cast net out over them like nobody’s business.  I knew how to clean a crab, what the dead man’s fingers were, and what was good to eat.  I had a fierce step dancing contest with a feisty live crab on the kitchen floor once, too.  He did not want to go in that pot!  But he did, and we ate him.  I also navigated deep waters offshore with lines trolling behind, dodging sharks that competed for our dinner.  That girl was me.  I had lost touch with that girl over the years, like a childhood friend who moved away and never wrote.

My son got so excited when we saw porpoises in the water on Saturday.  This is only the beginning, I thought.  There are so many more amazing things to see.  This is my home, and now it is his.  When I pointed to the marsh to describe something in the pluff mud, he asked, “Mommy, what’s pluff mud?”  How could any child of mine not know what pluff mud is?  I used to jump out of the boat and squish into this stuff so I could catch fiddler crabs with my bare hands.  At least he’s learning now.

I re-enter an experience long forgotten but so much a part of who I am.  Heart wide open, face turned to the sky, and arms outstretched to praise God from whom all blessings flow, I thank Him for the beauty of His salt marshes and the profound solemnity teeming with life that is the ocean.  And I thank my dad, for bringing me up to love and respect this part of creation.  Now, I only pray that I can instill the same or greater appreciation in my son.

He told me that going on the boat was the “best thing that ever happened” to him, so we are off to a good start.

"Cool Change" by Little River Band