Saturday Centus - Happy Anniversary, Man!

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

This is week fifty-two of Saturday Centus.

That's just crazy, isn't it?

In honor of the date, I thought I'd tell you the story of where my idea for this meme came from.

Okay?

I hope you said 'YES', but I'm going to tell you anyway, regardless of your answer.

So there!

So...

It was a dark and stormy night...

Okay, it really wasn't.

But it was a sad morning.

About a year after one of my dear friends had passed away, I was talking to her daughter on the phone...a sweet, broken-hearted woman, who had previously found comfort in her life through her wonderful writing skills.

The daughter's sorrow was profound, and I had been encouraging her to start writing again as a means of expressing her emotions. When I asked her if putting her feelings on paper helped, in a very small voice she had told me, "I don't know. I can't. I just can't write anymore. I open a notebook and the whole page just stares back at me. I am frozen by the emptiness of the paper."

The next day I bought a pretty notebook and wrote a prompt on the top of 52 pages. Silly prompts. Serious prompts. Crazy prompts.

And I wrapped the notebook up and sent it to her.

After I mailed it, I realized that I would like to have a notebook like that, too. I would like to have a starting point for those days when words were difficult to transfer from brain to paper...a way to stretch myself in writing with different prompts and writing styles.

And I decided to try the concept on my blog. In this meme.

Cuz, yeah, it's always cool to go totally public with an idea you're not totally sure will work at all.

Sigh...

I was pretty sure that it was a dumb idea. That no-one would like to do it. And I would end up looking like a moron.

But!

You liked it! And you participated!

And every single week I would come out here and laugh or cry, be astonished or amazed and always feel like I had just opened the most amazing gifts. Because you all just dived in with no looking back and no complaining (okay, that's a total lie, but I'm trying to be nice here!)

And for some cheesy reason, it almost makes me cry. It's hard to believe it's been a year. I am honored to have gotten to know so many of you so well through the tremendous word crafting you share every week.

Thank you.

Thank you for not making me do this alone. Thank you for liking it! Thank you for participating.

And...

Happy Anniversary, Man!

Let me raise a glass to each one of you!



And here's this weeks prompt.

"Although the traditional gift for a first anniversary is paper..."

And as a special gift to you...not only do you get your usual 100 words...YOU CAN ALSO USE A PICTURE THIS WEEK IF YOU WANT!

I'm not kidding! Woo hoo! Let the partying begin!

And the rest of the blah, blah, in case you've forgotten is:

Please display link button or just a hyper-link back to Saturday Centus. Be careful to link your SC URL to the Linky and not just link to your main blog. Keep your post PG AND no more than 100 words.

Feel free to link up anytime between now and next Saturday!

Hi me! Nice to meet me!

So...

Yesterday I was having a conversation with a guy I know fairly well.

He's made some bad choices in his life.

Choices that have put him in harms way and taken away his personal freedoms...

...more than once.

And he said to me, "Yeah, what's the point in trying to be different. I'm just screwed up."

I had to think about that for a second.

It bothered me...because that's not really the person I see when I look at him.

I see a guy who made some bad choices, but who then worked diligently to change his life. I see determination...and humor and kindness and intelligence and thoughtfulness.

But, of course, it doesn't matter what I see...it only matters how he sees himself.

So...

I told him, "Imagine that you were just meeting yourself, what would think of yourself?"

And he said, "Huh?"

I was not deterred. People often say, "Huh?" to me. I'm thinking that's a good thing. Right?

Right!

So I continued, "Yeah, so imagine that you were meeting yourself for coffee...after you talked to yourself for awhile what would you think of yourself?"


And he said, "Well...I guess I would think... ... hey, are you trying to trick me?"

I replied, "No, but I'm just curious if you would like yourself."

He thought for a minute or so. His voice was quiet when he finally continued, "Yeah, I think I would."

So I pushed harder. "How could you like yourself? Wouldn't you know all the mistakes you made, and how you screwed up different things in your life?"

"No, I wouldn't feel like that...everybody screws up, and...hey, you tricked me."

But I could tell he was really thinking about our conversation.

On my drive home, I thought about our conversation, too.

And I decided to trying 'meeting myself' in my mind as well.


I tend to be really hard on myself, sometimes. Perhaps the standards I hold myself to are really unrealistic, though, because after I thought it through I realized that I probably would like myself if I didn't know it was me.

Don't say, "Huh?"

You know what I mean.

Seriously.

I will be going through a rough time in my life and I will think, "Girl, you are such a whiner."

Someone will compliment something I do and I will think, "Yeah, yeah, I stink, they are just being polite."

It's silly, really, because I would never be so hyper-critical of anyone else I met.

So...

Why do I choose to focus on the qualities I DON'T like about myself, instead of the qualities I DO like about myself?

I think that I am much, much harder on myself than I would ever be towards anyone else.

Sure, the first time I met me I might think, "Holy Cow! Does this woman ever quit talking?" But I'm sure I would make myself laugh and think and have a conversation!

I suspect I would hug myself goodbye and think to myself on the way home, "That was fun! I hope I get to hang out with her again!"

Just something to think about.

You know.

If you have nothing else special to think about today.

It might feel strange, but trying saying to yourself, "Hi me! It's nice to meet you!"

...and see if you like what you find.

B is for Books

Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested.

Bacon, Essays: Of Studies

This post is linked to Letter B of Alphabe-Thursday. To see other links, just click here.

Alphabe-Thursday's Letter B

Good morning class. Welcome to round three of Alphabe-Thursday!

Today we will be bantering about the beautiful letter:



Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by the following Thursday morning, please let me know!

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and try to visit the 5 students before and after your post at minimum. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please begin your beguine of B by linking now:

Poppies will put them to sleep...or make them drunk...

So...

The poppies are blooming in my garden.

Profusely.

And a few days ago I ran inside and told Mr. Jenny he had to come and see the bees.

I told him how they would fly up to the flower really slowly and circle it...

...and then they would dive into the center of the flower and after awhile roll around until their little bodies would be coated totally yellow with the pollen. After they looked like little yellow pollen balls, they would fly off slowly, bobbing and weaving and intoxicated by pollen! It was so cool.

Yeah.

He didn't believe me.

I guess he thinks I get all dramatic about stuff or something.

Geez.

As if!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But...

The next day he went out there with the camera and he captured the bees UP TO the rolling around and drunk with pollen part!

"There were bees flying all around my head out there," he told me later after I downloaded the pictures to find he had only captured half of the drunken bee/pollen orgy thing.

"D'oh," I replied, "You mean a big, strong guy like you was afraid of a teensy, weensy pollen drunk bee?"

I think he was annoyed.

I think I caught him googling 'surviving marriage with an overly dramatic and sarcastic wife', but I'm not totally sure about that.

However.

In the interest of showing you some cool pictures, I'm gonna share what he captured.








Cool, right?

What's that you say?

Why didn't I take the pictures?

Are you crazy!

There's all kinds of bees out there!

Sigh...

Story-Time Tuesday - Writing Fiction

If you missed where this story started just click here to read it or simply click on the Story-Time Tuesday link at the top of my blog to take you to previous chapters.

Writing Fiction - Chapter 33

Here's where Chapter 32 left you.

A lot of the nasty words I directed at my husband had been concerning our son. “He’ll think we don’t love him,” I’d argue, “‘Oh, great father you are, can’t even support your son when he needs your help!” Recalling these words, I felt an odd sense of familiarity. Hadn’t Jay’s wife said something like that? Darn, maybe I was as bad as Jay’s EX-wife.

I thought about stopping at a friend’s house to talk this whole confusing mess over, but I realized I didn’t have any friends left. I’d spent so much time pushing them all away, I think they’d finally given up on me. I thought about calling my daughter, but I’d been pretending that everything was just fine, thank you very much, for so long now I wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to start. Maybe I should go knock on Millie’s door.

I drove into my driveway feeling alone and lonely and miserable from my tender calf muscle, hangover, and damp butt. I was so busy immersing myself in a giant flare-up of ‘oh poor me’, that I almost hit the two people standing in front of the garage.

If I didn’t know it was biologically impossible, I would have thought that Millie and my daughter were related because the “O’s” their mouths made in surprise were totally identical.

AND NOW WE CONTINUE WITH CHAPTER 33

Darn! Darn, darn, darn! Obviously they’d seen me. There was no way to back out of the driveway now, and, to be completely honest with you, I think I was too exhausted to even try to put the car into reverse.

I tried to work up a happy, ‘everything is just great’ smile, but it was impossible. Opening the car door was another difficult task that eluded me.

Instead, I just sat in my car and leaned my head against the cool glass of the window.

Jessie came striding across the driveway. That girl has legs up to her armpits. I never understood what particular genetic pool that trait came from. It was obviously not the stubby-legged one that had contributed to mine.

Millie tottered behind Jessie on another pair of her ridiculous high-heeled, feather-trimmed slippers. Today’s pair was turquoise blue. I’m sure they’d been chosen to accent the skin-tight blue and black cheetah printed sweater. Princess was accessorized with blue nail polish and a blue bow with black polka dots on it.

Millie looked surprisingly energetic. Obviously she was able to hold her liquor a whole lot better than me.

In the last micro-second before their small tsunami of concerned humanity reached my car, I glanced down and wondered how bad I actually looked.

I think my body was still frozen from sitting on the damp grass in the cemetery, because I almost fell out of the car when Jessie yanked open the door. I had only to watch her smile morph into worry, to realize I looked bad. Very bad. Very, very bad.

“Mom, are you okay?” Darn that big-mouth Millie! She’d obviously blabbed. She must have told Jessie everything about my little journey into ‘beer can emptying and stacking.’ That woman! I have never, ever liked THAT woman!

“It’s not a big deal, Jessie, it’s not like I’m not a minor or anything…” I started to explain.

Jessie looked puzzled. Behind her back Millie shook her head silently, “No, no, NO!” and pantomimed for me to keep quiet by placing her finger in front of her toxic orange lips.

I was confused.

Poor Jessie looked even more confused than she had a few seconds ago.

And then I got it. Millie, God bless her soul, hadn’t blabbed at all!

“What do you mean, minor? What are you talking about?” my daughter asked. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched up in question. Her sweet little nose wrinkled up in concern.

I started to get out of the car. Think, Pearl! Think!! Experience has taught me the best defense is an onslaught of diversionary questions, so I opted for the tried and true: “Jessie, are you pale? Are you okay? Is everything all right? What are you doing here? Are you taking your vitamins? Did you ever get those new sheets you told me about? How’s work? What’re you…”

During the barrage, I extricated myself from the car, trying not to wince from my sore calf muscle. I pulled my coat closely around me and made sure to keep my damp butt away from my daughter’s scrutiny. I continued, “Did that girl you told me about at the gym find out if she was pregnant? Did you try that recipe I sent you for your Grandmother’s, God rest her soul, tapioca pudding? Have you…”

It was working! Jessie’s eyes started to glaze over. I breezed by her, “Why are you standing out here in the cold? Did you lose your key? How long have you been here? Did Millie…”

I took advantage of her temporary ‘question onslaught paralysis’ to gimp by her to the back door, Still talking, I unlocked it, told her, “I need to run to the potty really badly…don’t just stand there, come in!” and limped through the door as quickly as I could.

One glance at Millie’s wide-eyed stare behind those rhinestone studded glasses, reassured me that my diversionary plan had worked well. I almost laughed out loud again, as I realized how much Jessie and Millie resembled one another. I knew it was biologically impossible, but honestly, the stunned looks on both their faces were one and the same.

Leaving the door wide open behind me, I hobbled up the stairs to my bedroom as quickly as I could. I closed the door firmly behind me and locked it. I needed a minute to pull myself together before the inquisition began.

I threw my coat onto the chair by the window and got a good whiff of myself. Yikes. I definitely needed to take care of my eau du throw-up perfume before I went back downstairs. I started the shower running, stripped, and threw the smelly clothes in the hamper. I washed my hair and the stench off my tired, old body. The steamy water warmed me up, and for the first time all day I felt almost human. I rummaged futilely for aspirin, then slathered on cookie-scented lotion and dressed in clean, cozy sweat pants and an old flannel shirt of my husband’s.

I dawdled. I pretended my daughter was not waiting downstairs for me. I slowly brushed my teeth. And my hair. I was just getting ready to fire up the blow dryer when she knocked on the bedroom door.

I ignored the plaintive, “Mom? Mom, can I come in?” for a second, and then my instinct to protect my baby kicked in.

“Jessie, I’ll be right there,” I shouted toward the closed door, “Hold on, I’m coming.”

Taking one last glance in the steamed-over bathroom mirror, I reassured myself that I didn’t look too frightening. I leaned against the door frame for a few brief seconds gathering my courage, and then I turned the knob and opened the door.

“Mom? What’s going on?” I saw her eyes sharpen as she noticed my still wet hair. “Was that your shower running? Did you take a shower?”

Darn! That girl is as sharp as a tack. Before her dad had ‘gotten his wings’, he and I used to converse about that very thing. We’d always discussed her becoming one of those tweed-suit wearing lawyers like you see on TV. I think we’d always imagined her steely gaze cross-examining jay walkers and murderers. But now that steely gaze was fixed on me, I wasn’t sure I liked it very much.

I stopped thinking for a moment and just took in my sweet daughter’s presence. Oh, I love that girl! I just love her! I pulled her into a hug and resisted the urge to tell her she felt too skinny. I took her cold, thin hand in mine and started leading her downstairs. “I’m really glad to see you, sweetie. Let me make some lunch and a pot of coffee, then we can visit.”

“Lunch, Mom? Don’t you mean dinner? What’s wrong with you?” I told you, that girl is as sharp as a tack. “Sssshhh…” I said, “I have a wicked headache. Let me find some aspirin and something for us to eat, and then you can ask me all the questions you want.”

To be continued, Tuesday, May 3.

(c) 2010 Jennifer R. Matlock
This publication is the exclusive property of Jennifer R. Matlock and is protected
under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Jennifer R. Matlock. All rights reserved.

NOT the next Food Network Star!

For the love of all things buttery and corn-flaked topped...

...I need to find a way to calm Mr. Jenny down.

Yesterday the man assembled two cheesy potato casseroles and baked them. He wrapped them carefully in foil, and placed them lovingly in the trunk to keep warm on the way to my parent's house.

The men sat outside and ate. And admired his casseroles. "Wow, these are the best ever," they cried in astonishment. Mr. Jenny told them about 43 times, "Yeah, I made these...Jenny just picked up the stuff from the store."



For the love of Cream of Chicken soup, calm down everyone.

It was just cheesy potato casseroles...

And frozen hash browns, sour cream, shredded cheddar cheese and melted butter does NOT mean you are a chef.


No.

I'm not bitter.

Why do you ask?

I'm not offended at all that no-one got nearly as excited over the devilled eggs and homemade sugar cookies with scratch butter cream icing.

Heavens.

Those are just minute offerings to the great gustatory God's of Easter celebration food.


Seriously.


It's all about the crunched up cornflake topping, I guess.

Sigh...

Sundays with Steve

It is Easter weekend, and Mrs. Steve and I wish you all a fun and joy filled day.

I'm glad you've been enjoying Great Aunt Barbara Jane’s tale of the wagon train from Missouri to the Washington Territory for the last the 10 weeks -- it was a little bit longer than I had planned, but there was lots of room on the blog and lots of time to tell the tale. Before I jump back into my weekly story-telling of small town life from the 50s, 60s and 70s, I wanted to share some photos from around the house this weekend.

Coming in future weeks are some tales of blizzards in the Idaho mountains, stories of other relative’s migrations to the Northwest (but nothing like the wagon train!), a story about 300 of us teenagers taking a train across the continent in 1964 that included an encounter with President Johnson, and more stories of life in small-town America.

I thought I was about out of weekly stories for you, but Mrs. Steve plied me with a glass of wine or two for a trip down memory lane, and she’s right, there’s a lot more to pass along. It may take another year or more to get through them all.

One thing I’ve been meaning to mention: These weekly stories are actually a compilation for our families to enjoy, or at least learn from, in the years ahead. A year ago, Mrs. Steve interviewed her father for his 80th birthday, and published a short book of his stories and memories for the family to enjoy. I was so impressed, I decided, with Mrs. Jenny’s encouragement, to tell stories that generally focus on my developmental years growing up and coming of age in Idaho. So if these stories seem a bit odd or off on occasion, that’s the reason -- the primary audience is the family who might peek at these in 20 or 50 or 100 years, and say ‘What the hell was he talking about????”

And I'm glad I can share these stories with you, too. Especially because you're all too polite to come right out and say, 'What the hell is he talking about???!!!"

Easter weekend around the house:

Saturday Centus - Picture challenge

I hate this nursing home. They have lumpy jello here. They give us disgusting protein drinks and tell us they’re milkshakes. Yeah, right. I was born at night, but it wasn’t LAST night.

At Easter they wear bunny ears and make us do an egg hunt.

I think they’re just sadistic. They like to see old people fighting over plastic eggs filled with one jelly bean. Usually a black one.

This year they added to the festivities. They made an aide dress up in a scary, weird bunny suit.


It was not EGG-cellent!

Yeah. I really hate this nursing home.

This post is linked to Saturday Centus Week 51. To see other little stories written around the same picture, just click here!

Here's wishing you have no weird, blue velvet bunny suits happening this Easter weekend. Instead I'm wishing you joy, beauty, laughter and lots of devilled eggs.

PS. I actually love the black jelly beans! I hope my kids put me in that imaginary nursing home when it's time!

Saturday Centus - A picture challenge

Welcome to week fifty-one of Saturday Centus.

After the stress I caused you for week 50, I decided to be gentle and sweet this week...in honor of Springtime and just because I'm afraid you have forgotten I have a softer, gentler side.

This week we are going to write from a lovely picture prompt.

As usual, please display link button or just a hyper-link back to Saturday Centus. Be careful to link your SC URL to the Linky and not just link to your main blog. Keep your post PG AND no more than 100 words.

With no further ado, here is your picture prompt.




I told you I was feeling all kind. I feel so much better now.

Feel free to link up anytime between now and next Saturday!

...

...

I'm sorry. Even though you have to write from the blue bunny guy, I want to leave you with a little Easter sweet before I go.


Awwww....awwww... see? I'm not really all dark and twisted lately.

And, BTW, Hoppy Easter! You are all just egg-cellent people!

Is that you, baby?

Or just a brilliant disguise?

I love Bruce Springsteen.


In a totally platonic, non-lust filled sort of way, of course. (Please disregard this remark if you are not Mr. Jenny.)

I do not, however, love my computer.

In any fashion.

Because...

My computer has decided it does not recognize me.

It thinks I am an imposter.

Seriously.

I try to go onto my blog and it tells me I am an 'unauthorized user'.

I say, "Huh? Me? Look computer...you know me! Please let me in!"

It doesn't answer me.

It just keeps telling me that I'm not allowed to be on my own blog.

So I have to come up with these elaborate and crazy excuses to get Mr. Jenny off his work computer.

His work computer is much nicer than my computer. It lets me get onto my blog dashboard.

The problem is, though, that Mr. Jenny is not a dumb man. He is only going to fall for, "I think I set the kitchen on fire!" so many times.

He rushes out to see the flames, and I rush into his office and get onto my blog. In fact, I had to do it again just now so I could get on here and write this post.

Which explains, perhaps, why this is such a strange post and not up to my usual intellectual standards.

Cough.

Sputter.

Cough.

I think maybe if I actually come up with a disguise, it will trick my computer which will then recognize that it doesn't recognize the me that's not me, and I will be able to get into my dashboard.

That made sense, right?

Kinda?

So, keep your fingers crossed. Tomorrow morning I'm going to get up, put on this brilliant disguise...


...and attempt to trick my computer.

In the meantime...perhaps it would be wise if you pray for me.

I might be going even further off on a tangent than usual.

Sigh...

Saturday Centus - critique

So...my brilliant idea to do critiques last week doesn't seem to have gone over too well.

But, hey, I have a short attention span and I like to keep things stirred up. Ask my Mom. Or my husband. They'll confirm this.

I decided I would critique my Saturday Centus idea, since it seemed to be such a bomb.

Ahem...

Jenny Matlock, once again, tries to impress us with her wit and creativity and falls somewhat short of the mark. While her concept for week 50 of Saturday Centus was unusual it offered more frustration than entertainment value.

Jenny, please stick with what you know best. We'll get back to you as soon as we figure out what that actually is.

To read the links of the few brave souls who took on this difficult assignment, just click here.

A is for Age

As a white candle in a holy place,


So the beauty of an aged face.


Joseph Campbell

This post is linked to the letter A for Alphabe-Thursday. To see other links, just click here.

Alphabe-Thursday Letter A

Good morning class. Welcome to round three of Alphabe-Thursday!

Today we will be observing all aspects of the letter:


Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by the following Thursday morning, please let me know!

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and try to visit the 5 students before and after your post at minimum. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please advise us what your A post is, by linking now:

Can we talk about Cheerios for a second?

Cheerios are important. Not only are they an important primary food group of toddlers, we wouldn't have donuts without them.


Cheerios might also be important to a lot of you bloggers who are amazing writers.

Many of you know Terra from Sitting on an Oak and she has a cool Cheerios giveaway going on, BUT more importantly she has information about a ridiculously cool writing contest from Cheerios as well.

If you could take a second and click here to go visit Terra and enter her giveaway that would be mighty sweet of you!

As for me, as soon as I finish writing my winning entry for this contest, I'm going to find someone to plow up my front yard. I'm thinking a doughnut farm could be a big money maker! I can envision the signs now..."Pick your own doughnuts...FREE coffee or cold milk with each 25 pound purchase!"

And...

Please don't let my weird post scare you from visiting Terra and entering her giveaway.

She had absolutely no literary input into post and I'm sure she would just pretend she doesn't know me if she actually read this.

But even if she pretended she didn't know me, I would still like her...and because of that I really, really want you to visit her and leave her a comment.

To reward you for doing this, I am going to share a hilarious doughnut joke with you.

Ahem...


Knock, Knock!

Who's there?

Doughnut!

Doughnut who?

Knock, Knock!

Who's there?

Doughnut!

Doughnut who?

Knock, Knock!

Who's there?

Doughnut!

Doughnut who?

Doughnut ask me that stupid question again.

Ahem...

Okay!

Allrighty then!

Cute joke! Right? Right?

Oh, geez, quit sighing at me and go and visit Miss Terra.

Please!

Pretty please with a doughnut on top?

And just to encourage you to run over there a little bit faster, I leave you with this final joke...

But before I share it, I just have to tell you in advance that I'm sorry. This isn't meant to be offensive because, seriously, I have never met your mother and I'm sure she is really, really smart. It's just that my doughnut / cheerio joke repertoire was pretty limited...

Ahem...

Yo' Mama is so stupid, she poured a bowl of Cheerios and said, "Look, my alphabet soup spells 'Ooooo.

Okay. I'm slinking off now in shame. But please don't forget to visit Terra by clicking here.

Story-Time Tuesday - Writing Fiction

If you missed where this story started just click here to read it or simply click on the Story-Time Tuesday link at the top of my blog to take you to previous chapters.

Writing Fiction - Chapter 32

Here's where Chapter 31 left you.

Jay looked at me in shock. His eyes widened. He jumped to his feet.

I put my hand over my mouth to hold back another scream.

“Great,” he gritted out, “Just fucking great. You women always side together, don’t you? All the absolute, total and complete bullshit I put up with from her every day and I get mad one frickin’ time and I’m the evil one? Well you know what, Pearl? Fuck you! Fuck you and your little ‘oh, let me help you and listen to you attitude’! You are a big, fat, FAKE nice person!”

And then he stomped off.

That darned cramp had me so hard that I couldn’t even get up to chase after him. I kept bending my toes back toward my shin while I watched him slam into his SUV. I kept trying to flex the cramp out of the muscle while I watched him peel out on the gravel of the narrow driveway.

By the time the cramp finally dissipated, Jay was long gone, and I was left sitting on the damp grass wondering how in the world I was going to get to my feet.

AND NOW WE CONTINUE WITH CHAPTER 32

You know those medical alert things that you see on TV where an old person has fallen on their back like a turtle and it sends notice to some big, burly medical guys who know that you have ‘fallen and you can’t get up’? Yeah. I don’t have one of those. I need to buy one, I think, because that’s pretty much how I felt when I struggled to get up. Finally I rolled onto my side and kind of grunted and groaned into an inverted ‘V’ shape. Back in elementary school they called it ‘doing the bear crawl’. Now I just called it ‘embarrassing’. You kind of have to stick your butt up in the air and…well, never mind. You probably don’t ever have to get up like that anyway.

It felt like hours had elapsed by the time I got up from the ‘bear crawl’ and hobbled to my car. My sweat pants were uncomfortably damp especially because the fabric had seemed to ‘wick’ the moisture in all directions, so I felt cold and miserable and really, really mad at my calf muscle. It still felt tender. I was so disgusted with myself for the horrible timing. Why did I have to scream, “Oh my God, oh my God, OH NO, OH NO, OH NO!” And why did Jay have to be so sensitive and take it that I was screaming at him?

First of all, I’d been actually feeling sorry for him during the conversation AND second of all, I guess he didn’t know me well enough to know that I was a master of restraint in hiding my emotions. Well…mostly. Okay, sometimes…but still.

And what was that last comment anyway? Big, fat, FAKE, nice person? Big, FAT, fake, nice person? So much for the slimming stripe down the side of my sweat pants. So much for trying to help another human being in need.

I figured after my outburst, I would never find out the rest of the story. I wondered if it would be wrong to call Jay up and try to explain about the cramp. In a way, though, I was grateful for that cramp, because it would have been humiliating trying to get up from the ground with my big, FAT butt up in the air while he watched.

I sat in the car for a few moments, trying to decide if I should stop by my husband’s …ummm… ‘place of interment’. I was already feeling miserable, what was a little more sadness on top of an already lousy day? Driving carefully up the little gravel driveway, I turned toward the more familiar area of the cemetery. Should I? Shouldn’t I? I drove up over the small hill where I usually parked. Should I? Shouldn’t I? When I saw three cars pulled over into the parking area, I let ‘shouldn’t I’ win. I wasn’t up to letting strangers gawk at my big, FAT, fake, nice person self.

I looked straight ahead and drove past the cars and my husband.

Pulling out onto the main road I realized I was cold, tired, hungry, and I felt lousy. I was also a big, FAT, fake, nice person. Darn! Darn, darn, darn! Why is it when someone says something lousy to you, it’s all you remember? I tried to chant the bad words away…’sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can never hurt you’. I repeated it several times and then, recognizing it for the rubbish it was, just decided to wallow in my self-pity.

Of course words can hurt you. Word wounds never heal. You can never, ever un-say things said in anger or out of pettiness. You can never un-hear things that were said to you. ‘I’m sorry’ is not a magic eraser that makes you forget the pain of the poisoned words someone shot into your heart.

Before my husband had taken up residence at ‘Permanent Slumber Acres’, we’d exchanged a few ugly words between us. Okay, technically, I’d exchanged a few ugly words between us. I hadn’t called him fat or anything, but I had accused him, yet again, about not caring about us. I don’t think I was as bad as Jay’s wife…I mean EX-wife, but I had told him he could never retire because he was already driving me crazy. I’d nagged him a lot…I mean sometimes…about the things he didn’t do instead of thanking him for the things he did do. Maybe I had brushed him off and not listened when he wanted to talk. But I was a good wife. I’d never been a big, FAT, fake wife.

I shook my head at myself in disgust. Why was I obsessing over Jay’s words? Why couldn’t I get that ‘big, FAT, fake’ comment out of my head?

Continuing my drive, I rummaged through the inventory of mean words people had said to me over the years. It was good keeping an inventory like that. It helped justify when I wanted to feel sorry for myself. Some of the files in my inventory were thick and filled with heavy black ugliness. I wondered now why I had continued to associate with the people who’d been so cruel. Why had I given them a chance to accumulate such a big pile of nastiness? Why had I let a feeling of obligation to family members and ‘friends’ allow them to talk to me that way? My husband, God rest his soul, had always told me, “Pearl, you don’t have to take that. Stand up for yourself. Walk away. Ask them why they’re saying such horrible things to you.” I think I’d felt that if I had been forceful defending ME, the people saying mean stuff wouldn’t think I was nice. I think I worried that they wouldn’t love me anymore if I said ‘no’ and ‘don’t’ instead of smiling and putting a happy face on the bullying.

It’s funny, isn’t it, how you get into a habit of doing things that are destructive to your sanity and you just allow those things to happen over and over again? After my husband told me for the millionth time to toughen up, I actually started to try. I’m not sure if anybody ever actually noticed but me. I could never, ever bring myself to toughen up against our son. ‘Don’t fix his mistakes, Pearl, let him fail. Don’t bail him out. You have to let him live with the consequences of his actions.’ I remembered all that advice, and now I wondered why I’d so rarely taken it. Okay, I’ll be honest here. I didn’t really wonder. I knew for certain it was because I had let my heart, my imagination, and my fears run my actions.

A lot of the nasty words I directed at my husband had been concerning our son. “He’ll think we don’t love him,” I’d argue, “‘Oh, great father you are, can’t even support your son when he needs your help!” Recalling these words, I felt an odd sense of familiarity. Hadn’t Jay’s wife said something like that? Darn, maybe I was as bad as Jay’s EX-wife.

I thought about stopping at a friend’s house to talk this whole confusing mess over, but I realized I didn’t have any friends left. I’d spent so much time pushing them all away, I think they’d finally given up on me. I thought about calling my daughter, but I’d been pretending that everything was just fine, thank you very much, for so long now I wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to start. Maybe I should go knock on Millie’s door.

I drove into my driveway feeling alone and lonely and miserable from my tender calf muscle, hangover, and damp butt. I was so busy immersing myself in a giant flare-up of ‘oh poor me’, that I almost hit the two people standing in front of the garage.

If I didn’t know it was biologically impossible, I would have thought that Millie and my daughter were related because the “O’s” their mouths made in surprise were totally identical.

To be continued, Tuesday, April 26.

(c) 2010 Jennifer R. Matlock
This publication is the exclusive property of Jennifer R. Matlock and is protected
under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Jennifer R. Matlock. All rights reserved.

A movie review to start your week!

So...yeah.

I think I saw 'HOP' over the weekend.


I'm not totally, completely sure.

I went there with four little girls ages 4 1/2 to 8.

This is what I remember about the whole experience.

"Grandma, I spilled my drink!"

"Grandma, I spilled my popcorn!"

"Grandma, can I sit in your lap?"

"Grandma, she spilled her drink on me!"

"Grandma, can I sit by you?"

"Grandma, I can't find my shoe."

"Grandma, I don't want to sit here, can I trade seats?"

"Grandma, I dropped my Junior Mints!"

"Grandma, did you see that? Did you see THAT?"

"Grandma, is it my turn to sit on your lap now?"

Etc.

Etc.

and when it was over...

"Grandma, did you like the part when...?"

"Grandma, did you see me spill my Sprite?"

"Grandma, why didn't I get to sit on your lap longer?"

"Grandma, wasn't that funny how you couldn't find my shoe?"

"Grandma, did you like the movie?"

...

...

Huh?

Movie?

Movie?

Was there a movie?

So, yeah, I think I kinda/sorta saw the movie 'HOP' this weekend.

And I think it was pretty cute.

Sigh.

Sundays with Steve - Crossing the Plains

These Sunday's segments are written by my husband, Mr. Jenny. Here's what he has to say about his posts:

Since I’ve started writing “Sundays with Steve”, I’ve been thinking about vignettes of my life growing up in North Idaho. I realize the town where I grew up and the life I lived with my family is really a classic, all-American story. Perhaps you will recognize some of your childhood in these writings. And perhaps you will recognize the town you grew up in along with some of the characters you knew. Mrs. Steve has encouraged me to write these attempts of “creative writing” as opposed to the more factual journalistic style I was trained in and practiced in my early career many years ago. So my apologies if I stumble a bit here and there trying to blend the two styles together.

This is the last installment of “Crossing the Plains”, a tale of a covered wagon trip from Missouri to the Washington Territory in the post-Civil War period when the U.S. population poured into the West. It was written by a distant great great aunt, Barbara Jane Matlock McRae in 1939 when she was 81. The trip occurred mostly in 1875 when she was a girl of 16, the oldest of ten children in the family. The story is reprinted in original form of spelling and punctuation.

Part 12 - Final Installment


While living on the stock ranch in Washington territory, I had a greate many experiences. In those days there were no roads out in the hills on the prarie, just stock trails and Indian trails. Along the river the ranchers had built fences around the botom land so they could raise hay and gardens. The river made so many bends that when going on the dim wagon road we had to cross the river so many times it took us through their fields, so we had to open gates and let down bars.

One warm day in August I was riding my pony up the river when I came to some bars that had been left down to about too feet from the ground. I had trained my pony to jump low fences , small streams and narrow ditches. I road up to the bars and the pony began to shy. He stood up on his hind feet. I thought to jump but a sudden he whirled and ran back with me as fast as he could, and gave a loud snort. I tried to rein him back but he was too freightened. He was all in a tremble. I got down off him and turned the reins over his head, and left him standing. I went back to investigate.

When I got up near enough to see, there was a great big rattlesnake just under the bars all coiled up with his big black diamond spots glitning in the sun. His head was up in the regular position for strike, his eyes shineing like too black beads and his tongue darting in and out like streaks of lightning. His rattles were singing in a loud tone, it was plain enough he was on the strike.

I backed off afraid to tackle him, but I found a stout stick and gathered an arm full of stones just the right sise to throw good at him. I approached about ten feet from him, he still had his head in the air and it was plain he dident intend to run. I could throw stones pretty straight in those days. The first one I throwed hit him low on the neck which seamed to infurieate him more. The next, the second throw, I missed. The third throw I hit him on the side of the head which seamed to dase him a little. The fourth throw I hit him square on the head and knocked him over. He writhered his body and tried to rise, but I threw rocks so fast and furious I dident give him a chance to get up. Then I grabed my stick and beat his head on a big flat rock till he was dead. He was at least four feet long and big as round as my arm. He had seventeen rattles and a button that I pulled from his tail. I think he was the largest rattlesnake I ever ran across, and I have seen many of them. My pony wouldent go near the spot. I had to go around about way to finish my journey.
***
Well, there is nothing more to say, onley that all that big family is gone but four of us are left, my twin brothers and my youngest sister, and my self. I am the oldest except for too brothers who were older than I. I am now 81 years old and have writen all this manuscript alone.
***
This is Steve. I have found most of this journal a wonderful story, and from your comments, many of you have as well. I’m not clear, but I believe Barbara Jane died in the 1940s on the family farm just south of Colfax, Washington. I would have loved to have met her, she sounds like a “pistol”, and I would have loved to interviewed her in much more depth, digging for many more details, of the Crossing the Plains.

We tried to attach a partial family tree to show you how Barbara and I fit into the family structure, but it could not be attached. If you are curious to see it, please e-mail me at: smatlock at email dot com

(c) 2010 Stephen J. Matlock
This publication is the exclusive property of Stephen J. Matlock and is protected
under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Stephen J. Matlock. All rights reserved.

Saturday Centus - Shake 'em up, up, up!

Welcome to week fifty of Saturday Centus.

I think that makes this something like our golden anniversary or something. So, in honor of that momentuous milestone, I can't just let your minds go unchallenged. That would be just wrong, on so many levels. Right?

So...

The April Showers bring May flowers prompt last week was quite interesting and I thought it would be a different writing exercise if we all played 'literary critics' this week.

Pick any of the links from week 49 (you can review them by simply clicking here) and then write a 100 word or less 'review' of it.

It can be your own link or anyone elses!

Please cut and paste the April showers SC you are 'reviewing' at the top of your entry, and then have fun !

If you have any questions, please e-mail me at: jennymatlock at cox dot net with the words "Are you losing your marbles on this SC prompt" as the subject line, and I will get back to you as soon as I can sometime between soccer and basketball games!

As usual, please display link button or just a hyper-link back to Saturday Centus. Be careful to link your SC URL to the Linky and not just link to your main blog.
Keep your post PG AND no more than 100 words.

Feel free to link up anytime between now and next Saturday!

Will work for toys...

Sure.

She looks sweet.


But underneath that cute, crinkly blonde hair lurks the brain of a seasoned negotiator.

Seriously.

When this Grandlittle gets home from pre-school, I usually let her watch a little TV...ummm...educational of course...ummm... yeah... and on those educational TV channels they have a lot of advertisements for toys.

Every day we go through the standard four year old litany, "Gwamma, will you buy me that? For my birthday?"

And every day I repeat about 36 times, "Probably not, you already have a lot of toys."

This week I came up with a brilliant idea of making her work for a toy. You know, start building a healthy relationship with money, teach her young that hard work = benefits, and, oh yeah...hopefully quit the request for every new thing that flits onto the TV screen.

I made up a handy dandy little chart and explained the concept to her. She seemed suitable intriqued.


First we went outside and planted some mint. That went pretty well. She carried the bucket of compost, kinda/sorta dug the hole with her little purple hoe, and was even willing to get her hands dirty in the process.

Next we headed inside, where we washed our hands and I told her she was going to help me organize some cupboards.

The cabinets we were straightening were the tupperware and storage container ones, so I told her to separate all the glass and all the plastic and then we would group them.

That worked just perfectly.

It was when we went to start putting them back that things started falling apart.

She did NOT like my idea of stacking things and putting the lids by them. I told her we had to stack things or they would never fit back into the cabinet. She told me, and I quote, "That is not a very good way of organizing Gwamma. Let me show you how to do this."

Hmmm...

"Okay, smarty pants," I inquired, "If we do it your way, where am I going to put all the extra containers?" With hands on her little hips, she opened all the subsequent cabinets filled with baking pans and dishes and told me she would just empty them, too, and then there would be plenty of room.

Hmmm...

I asked her where we would put all the pans then.

She thought and thought.

"I'm just a worker person, Gwamma," she said, "If you want me to figure that out I'm going to need TWO toys."

...

...
Sigh...

Alphabet Soup

Ahem...

She made Alphabet Soup for supper tonight,

I’m just a dumb kid, but it doesn’t seem right,

It gives me the squiggles, it gives me the quease,

To eat all the A's and the B’s and C’s.


She says, “Oh what fun! You can eat what you spell!"

But when I spell the word liver, I don’t feel very well,

My brother spelled puke and then gobbled it quickly

My sister spelled spinach and and made me feel sickly.


I tell ya, Alphabet Soup makes me just want to flee.

I’ll go to bed hungry, May I be excused please?

This silly little poem is linked to Alphabe-Thursday's Alphabet Soup. To read the other entries, just click here.

Alphabe-Thursday Alphabet Soup

Good morning class.

I hope you read the schedule last week on the Letter Z!

If you did, you know that this week is Alphabet Soup week. Which means, you can post anything about any letter OR re-post one of your favorite letters from this round of links.

Next week we will start Round Three of Alphabe-Thursday with the letter "A" for those that want to play along.

And now, let's stir up this pot of alphabet soup:


Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by Wednesday evening, please let me know!

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and visit the 5 students before and after your post at minimum. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please open up your can of soup and link now. Class is dismissed.