Laughter

Poetry deserves another try with prompt 28 which is to write about a sound. Maybe you woke up from a sound. Maybe it is a sound of music, or an annoying noise. Click HERE for the rest of the prompts and posts.

Laughter fills the air

Is there any better sound?

Happiness rises

I love a good joke

one that makes my belly shake

turns giggles to roars

Laughter of a child

should be my morning wake up

my ears filled with smiles

On the worst of days

hearing a good laugh can purge

my ill tempered mind 

Laugh with me, I say

don't laugh at my quirkiness

rather, join your own

Laughter is music

sound of life, hope, happiness,

friends, family, peace.

Sand Castle

Prompt 27 is to write about sand. Imagine touching it with your hands. What does it feel like? Write about a sandcastle you built as a kid or as an adult with your kids. Or about construction sand. Write whatever comes to mind. I'm continuing to build on my character, Kara, from my short story Calm in the Storm, so I guess this is an exert from a not yet written book.  Visit Out of the Writers Closet Rise and Write for other posts and prompts.

 

Sand Castle

Tomorrow Kara and her two younger children would start the drive back, taking at least three days, visiting a friend form college on the way.  She wanted to take full advantage of lake today, so had thought ahead  when she got up and prepared salads, sandwiches,  snacks, and all things necessary to picnic water side. They planned a big meal for dinner with steaks and corn for the grill, so this casual fare worked for the teens as well, who much preferred casual take and eat lunches tot he sit down affairs their grandmother liked to host.  Her mother had lunch plans in town with a lake neighbor, and her brother and his wife needed to be back in their home town to settle more business.  Her niece and nephew stayed at the lake to hang with their cousins.  

The boys were throwing a football around in the water, the girls sunning on the raft, and Kota lay by her side.  A boat went by very fast and created a pretty strong wake, causing rippling waves to force the water farther onto the beach area than it had been.  The sand soaked in the water, hungry and thirsty.  Kara was reminded of how when she was younger, perhaps about the age of her nephew Jack, and was caring for Jim, then already a boisterous six year old, and she convinced him to just stay and play calmly around her by promising to build a sand castle with him.  Jim had gathered up old cool whip containers buckets, toy shovels, sticks and anything else Kara suggested would be good tools.  She knew if she stretched this out, she could keep him busy at leat an hour, and possibly even tire him out enough that he might let her linger with a book instant of the constant vigil she needed to keep on his every move. 

Kara remembered how the sand felt, eyes closed thinking about the sand castle building. The sand, hot and cold at the same time, scooping firms mounds into the bucket, then patting the wet grains down firm. There were others over the years, but this one was particularly grand. they had used the large bucket to create a base, and smaller ones to build the castle higher.  She helped Jim create a mote, and then a wall around the moat using cups of sand. strategically placed sticks out of spires of sand were flags.  Jim didn't have any medieval knights but he had army men that he brought down from the cabin.  Not only did Kara get an hour of busy building, Jim played with his guys for  most of the afternoon, pausing only to swim every so often when his body got hot. It had been a good day.

 

The grown Kara needed some action now.  She got off her lunge chair and went over to the waters edge and  plopped down on the wet sand. She didn't have any buckets or old food containers, but she began to sculpt the sand with her hands.  She made little mounds, and then started to try and mold them bigger. When she got hot, she walked into the lake, doused herself, and then leaned over to get handfuls of very wet sand.  She rubbed the sand between her hands, on her shoulders and arms, feet.  The course sand felt refreshing as it  sloughed  a thin layer of peeling skin, remnant from a sun burn the week earlier. one more dunk to get the sand off and back to her building. She fund she had help; Jack had found a bucket and a red solo cup, and was helping to create real sand castle shapes. Kyle, at 16, couldn't resit getting in on it, and brought some sticks over, using a larger one to start digging moat. The girls form their raft looked up to see what was going on. Each waved, but laid back down again. Kara was content. It was a good day.

 

 

Trains

26

Write about a train. Did you ever travel by train? If not, what do you think it would feel like? Write about a character who’s traveling by train if you prefer. For all the Rise and Write prompts use the link.

What is not to love about a train?  Passenger trains taking families cross country to visit relatives, complete with dining cars for snacking are my favorites.You can stretch your legs going from car to car, an exhilarating feeling.  Commuter trains taking suburban city workers from their  bedroom communities into the crowded city, and back home again. I picture men in business suits with a newspaper under their arm, and women sporting up do's with their hair and high heels, straight out of Mad Men. The subways and light rail trains are a wonder to me. I wrote a post about them on my other blog These were my mode of transportation when I used to travel to Washington DC for work on a regular basis and how we got around, and never lost, on a London vacation.  We now have light rail in my community, though it isn't expansive enough to work for my needs. Though inconvenient when you get stopped at a crossing, the cargo trains, moving freight from each end of a train track, brings out the kid in me.  I can't help but find myself counting the cars.  As children, and with my own, we would try and guess how long the train would be. On highways that run parallel to a train track, I  still like "racing" a train in my car.

Besides the work trips however, trains have not been a regular part of my travel experience. Perhaps this is part of my appreciation. I might get tired of all the stops if I was taking a light rail daily to work, or had to travel for days to reach my destination as opposed to hours by plane. I'm drawn to train's in movies and books. The movie and television shows that are inspired by the book  Murder on the Orient Express, regardless of how camp they are, become a must see.  Did anyone see the Doctor Who, episode  with the mummy on the space age train?  Yeah, I loved that one. A favorite book, The Train Home, by Susan Shreve, has been read at least 1/2 dozen times, and on a train in fact. I intentionally packed it for a business trip as it seemed fitting. Then there are the action adventure movies with the chase scenes on top of the train, always a train tunnel involved. Ridiculous, yes, but fun to watch, I can't not mention one of my favorite movies, The Station Agent, and learning about "walking the rails". Now that I have trains on the brain, driving to work in my Chevy Malibu is going to be a let down this morning.

Feast

25 Write about a feast – a family gathering, a company banquet, or maybe you treated yourself after fasting. Now here is a prompt for me! I will  give this one a true  stop watch and write for no more than 10 minutes and see where I end up. 

Christmas dinner in my extended family moved from the big sit down turkey dinner on Christmas Eve to a buffet of organized potluck.  We had  sort of sketched out menu- a few meats, some sides,  appetizers, but nothing was written in stone, and we switched up year to year.  This  was started about twenty five years ago, when the last of my parents children, my younger sister, got married and moved out of the house.  It was just so much easier on my mother, since she lost her last set of extra hands to help.  There was never a shortage of food before, but this newer buffet way of serving was gluttony at its finest. Not only did each  extended family household bring the equivalent amount to feed their whole family, usually the amount was doubled. We typically had twice as much food as people to eat.  No worries, Christmas buffet makes for great leftovers and "pickings" when you have kids from school the rest of the break.

A few new family favorites have emerged and are part of the tradition, as the buffet has now become. My sister makes an incredible beer cheese soup, complete with popcorn to crunch on top. My brother in law is the chicken wing king and usually has several varieties. I am the maker of "puffy things"  little  popovers made with crescent dough and filled with cheese and herbs.  These were my dad's favorite appetizer and  no matter how many I make this is the appetizer that gets downed in full. As we have moved away from presents as each of us has our own exchanges in our immediate families, the lingering over the buffet, the chatting, the  communal coming together, is he heart of our Christmas now.  It is special in terms of using nice dishes, ad crystal serving pieces, but casual enough that extra guests blend into the fold easily. My sister hosts now and she ever gets a true head count. If we need  more dishes, a couple of us just quickly hand wash, as it takes a while for fifty plus people to go through so that first groups through the buffet are usually done eating before the last have come.  Besides, we will all graze and nibble throughout th evening. The Christmas Eve buffets are truly a feast.


Link to Rise and Write is HERE.

First Love, First Pain

24  Write about pain – either physical or emotional. Or write about how it feels to live without pain. For all the Rise and Link visit the page.Pain is on my mind-too much in fact.  Each morning as I coax my muscles back to work, Each shift of my knee, the movements of my wrists, and the sharp, stabbing feeling in my lower back are the physical pain that will be with me for life, managed better some days than others.  To me it is getting dull, and while have mentioned it here, I don;t want to consume my prompt with it. I will explore the emotional  interpretation of pain, and try again as a poem.  Thank you for the feedback Justin and Natalia.

News arrived today

the letter in the mailbox

sealed life without you

No phone call would do

your letter started to say

to share your new life

You would not be back-

new life over the ocean-

you could not come back

You said, "This is home.

I've found my place in the sun.

My life will be here."

"I know we had plans,

of love and home and children.

That image scares me.

"I am still to young.

Time is now to laugh and learn

my true place on earth."

"I'll love you always.

Keep holding my heart in your heart.

As I do as well.

"You are my first love,

but we both need to see more.

experience more."

Tear drops smeared the print.

The letter closed with these words,

"Come visit sometime."

She would not visit.

Her heart holding his was breaking

pain spreading through veins.

He left her alone

to sweep their life plans to trash.

Her life was over.

Soft arms around her,

a gentle hand soothing hair,

her moms love was there.

" I know you're hurting,

the pain you're feeling is real."

her mother told her.

"Let the pain fill you.

sometimes you need to be full,

then pour out, start new."

Mom had a first love,

she still holds his heart in hers,

but found a new life.

A life with her child

who she now held so closely,

a life with such love.

She hurt for her child,

though knew it would fade in time,

if not go away.

Pain is part of love.

But life is like a garden.

More love can be grown.

Head of Hair

The 23rd prompt is to write about hair, mine, or my characters. For all the Rise and Write prompts and to read other sketches, link HERE.

As a very young child, my hair was very blond.  It gradually darkened to what was commonly referred to as dishwater blond.  I couldn't imagine  a less attractive word to describe a hair color.  My son and second daughter followed my pattern, but daughter number one got her fathers rich dark brown coloring, though with a tiny touch of auburn.  It is of a color that hairstylists have been trying to master since hair dying became popular.

What my hair lacked in color appeal was made up for with strength and fast growth.  As a teen, I never worried too much about a bad hair cut as it would grow out in short order.  In each of my pregnancies, with addition of prenatal vitamins and hormonal changes, my hair grew even faster.  I never grew my hair out long until after my first daughter was born.  then I grew it so long that when I had it cut in nice little cropped bob, I donated 15 inches of hair to Locks of Love, to be used for making wigs for cancer patients. I have done that extreme growth three times in all, for donation.  It seemed there should be some purpose in growing long hair beyond my own vanity.

My hair still grows fast, but last year, a month before my 30th high school class reunion, I started noticing the gray I was starting to sport no longer just looked like a blond highlight.  My hair was not graying elegantly, but rather coarse and unmanageably. I began to color my hair.  I thought I was selecting a color that was very natural, back to my original hair color.  I did though go just a smidge lighter, and between that smidge, and having my entire head one color, called champagne, my hair had a shine and prettiness to it that I couldn't remember since childhood. Locks of Love needs pure hair-no dies or chemicals, so my donating days are done.

My friend, who's hair started graying in her 30"s, has lovely long gray locks.  She twirls them around her head, throws them back in a rugged pony tail, and sometimes just throws a head band on and lets them hang long.  She and her hair are beautiful.  She has had more to face than most people I know, having lived most of her married life with a cloud of stress from her husband, living with a brain tumor, and nearly two decades of surgeries, and waiting, until last fall, the waiting was done.  As a mom now raising the teen daughter still at home alone, she has always had more to think about than the right shade of hair color or right style, and let her head select on its own behalf.

I want women, and men for that matter, to feel confident and happy with themselves.  I appreciate that some want and can pull off natural.  I just wasn't feeling it myself.  I didn't feel like me as I was going gray.  I may feel differently in a year or five or ten, but for now, the champagne bottle will be used 1/2 dozen times a year.

Let it Rain

On to week four of Out of the Writers Closet Rise and Link.  Today is to write about rain. I love a good rain, and we are slated for one later this afternoon-evening.Natalia suggests we think about whether it is a warm summer rain or a heavy downpour, and whether or not I or perhaps a character are looking at it from inside. I am going to break out of my comfort zone and give poetry a whirl with this one. 

Rain hits my face hard,

blurring my vision to see

the wondrous new growth.

Drops roll from my cheek.

Glasses are an impairment

to see the fresh green.

Puddles fill my shoes

with the icy cold water,

but my heart is warm

April showers fall.

I walk when others will run.

I drink up the rain.

All snow has melted.

The dirty remains washed clear,

Spring has now arrived.

Let the rain fall down.

It does its April job well,

preparing for May

Rain hits my face hard.

My toes are curling from cold.

Yet, I walk and think.

Nature has rhythm.

Patterns no need to question.

Let the rain soak in.

So Hot!

Day 21 is to write about feeling hot – your sensations, thoughts, desires. For this one, I'll  stay to the sketch element, so am planning on only writing for 15 minutes, and see where I land for a post. It is hard to believe that after this post I will have done 21 Rise and Writes.  Not all were done religiously each morning, and not all at the moment of first rising, but most have and I am finding the process to be challenging and rewarding.  I need to go back now and do a fair amount of editing, but that might be for another day.  To read more, visit Natalia's Out of the Writers Closet Rise and Write. 

So Hot!

 

"It's not he heat, it's the humidity."  How many times did I hear that growing up by my mother.  She hated to be hot. She thought you could always put on another sweater, but you couldn't decently take off enough to ever be cool when the hot stickiness set in. I am fortunate in that unless the humidity goes on for days and days, I am not overly bothered by it.  I like the feeling of being very warm, and resist turning on the air conditioner in my car  and home. It is a battle with me and my husband, who hates the heat.  If it could be no warmer than 75, he would be happy.  To me there is nothing like the sensation of being so hot and then having the cooling effect of water.  Whether that water impact is a jump in the lake or pool, a cooling shower, or even being spritzed by a water bottle, it is instant pleasure and gratification. 

 

Lately though, and apologies in advance to male readers for any lack of resonance, the onset of years has made my internal thermostat go haywire. I can have chills on the hottest of days, and when others are cool, I can feel like my body is on fire. There is no relief for this kind of heat; the heat that comes from inside, and not from the sun. Perhaps it is "just rewards" for having benefited for decades with a heat tolerance that exceeds most. I find ice water is my friend, the colder the better.  The two luxuries we have at my office are an ice maker that kicks out an endless supply of clean cubes, and a filtered water cooler.  I drink no less than three 20 ounce bottles of water a day. Perhaps there is some master plan in my psyche doing this to force me to drink more water, and consume less caffeine? 

As I write this, I am sitting in a Caribou Coffee, sipping the light roast of the day.  Yes, coffee and not ice water. It is overly air conditioned, but I can see the sun outside. Today is supposed to be 75 and full of sun and low humidity.  My daughter is running with her cross country team and will meet me here when she is done. I am not a runner, but she was excited for perfect running conditions.  It is my flex day off, and I was hoping for heat.  The natural kind that only the bright sun of summer can satisfy.

First Light

Day 20 and here is my task for the Rise and Write daily prompt.  I am a day late and will be doing two today and getting caught up. I'm going to try another fiction take, building on my last short story. Here is the prompt: Write about a summer day – a particular one or a fictional one. Where are you (or where is your character)? What’s the weather is like? What are you doing or wanting to do? Are there people around you, or are you alone? Write about your thoughts and feelings on that summer day.

Kara and her family had another week left to spend at her mother's cabin in Minnesota.  Actually Paul, her husband ,and Brent her son would be leaving in three days to prepare for college.  Paul had a new crew of teaching assistants and PhD candidates to acclimate, and Brent would be starting his senior year on the other side of the state.  He had friends he still wanted to see, so he and Paul would be flying home, where Kara would take her time, stopping at a different friend's home on the way back. As was normal, Kara was up early, with first light, not wanting to miss a moment of the solitude the early morning lake brings before the boats and motor toys come out.  This particular morning was an incredibly glorious gift.  At 6:30, it was already warm, and she knew the day would get steamy.  Later she would find a spot in the shade, surround herself with a magazine or two, the Susan Shreve book she was reading, and a small cooler that held provisions to refuel her ice tea cravings.  

Now, she through on her swim suit under a pair of khaki cargo shorts, a tank top and a baseball cap, grabbed an apple for herself and a couple doggie treats for Kota, and headed to the canoe rack.  Kota, their eight year old German Shepherd, was not fond of swimming particularly, but he loved riding along in the canoe.  He would settle in for the first ten minutes of paddling, but as he acclimated his water legs, he would shift to the front of the canoe, and assume the positron of crew leader, while Kara paddled sleekly and elegantly, gilding the  small canoe through the water. At the far end of the small lake, out of view form her mother's cabin and in a spot where the incline up to the main road was too steep for cabins on the shoreline, she paused to eat her apple, and enjoy the wooded view.  Kota sat don again, expecting his first treat.  He wouldn't get the other until they were back home. 

There, Kara's mind pondered the events of the last 10 days.  They had packed the jeep with stuff for five people, and a dog, and made an ambitious two day drive, stopping midway at a camp site in Indiana where they met friends for one night, before finishing the trip and arriving late.  most slept in the next morning, but not Kara.  She allowed herself naps in the summer as the nights around the fire got late, and she wasn't going to sleep away the morning solitude. Since learning her brother and his family were going to be moving into the cabin. at least for the short term, while he attempted to get his finances in order, she wondered if coming home to the cabin would remain the same.  It sounded like her brother was not only starting from scratch repairing the damage he caused his own finances with his failed business deal, but he had potentially jeopardized his mother's financial security, since their father had invested heavily before he passed away in the venture. She would probably really know very little; her mother never confided in her in such things, having put Kara in a lifelong box of being a child.No, it was Jim her mother had turned to to help sort all the financial details after her father died while  Kara was to play hostess and personal secretary for the social side of her mothers life. 

Kara was one to have multiple plans and solutions going on in her head at all times.  While the family she grew up in thought of her as simple, unambitious, and not worldly, her own family, and Paul's saw her as the problem solver. It was part of her calm demeanor to never fall apart in the the face of adversity, real or potential, but to visualize scenarios and actions and outcomes. She knew she would have several  options developed by the end of her canoe ride should the bottom fall out for her mother, if anyone would care to ask her. 

Kara looked at the wooded area above the lake, seeing the first hints of fall color, even though it was only early August. As much as she loved the fall colors of her family lake home and her home in New England, she wasn't ready for fall yet. She let the rising sun heat up her face, her legs, and her arms.  She soaked it all in. She started her paddling again, seeing the  lake community slowly coming awake as she paddled by each cabin.  There were a few fishing boats out, still and silent, their masters lazily holding rods draped over the sides of the boat. She said a silent prayer that all would work out for her brother and his family, and more so that this feeling of peace and serenity would last. 

Not My House

19

Write about a disappointment. Were you the one who felt it, or someone you cared about was disappointed? How did it make you feel?

Haven't we all had many disappointments in our life?  Promotions or jobs passed over or maybe missing out on a special event because of illness,  are part of life. One disappointment though I think about from time to time is our failed bid on my then dream home.  We were late to get an offer in, and another families was accepted just moments before the seller saw ours.

I sometimes imagine that we would still be living there, twenty eight years later, though more than likely after three kids it would have been thought to be too small.  It was a small dutch colonial, barn looking house with  built in cabinets int he dining room, old plumbing, and creeky stairs.  It was cute and charming and no doubt would have been a money pit.  It was also a house I had imagined living in, raising my children, with a dog curled up by the fire place.  It had a single bathroom upstairs, and an old kitchen, ready to have paint and  cute curtains. The whole house was hard wood, as house built at the turn of the 20th century were.  It was in our price range, and I would have spent the summer before we got married making it our own.  

 We ended up buying another quaint, even tinier house.  It too was old and a fixer upper, and provided a an affordable, if not cramped space to live for three years.  We sold it for a tidy profit, which allowed us to buy the house we are still in today.  While it was cute, it did not have the custom features of my dutch colonial.  I didn't feel too nostalgic moving on.  it was a house.  It was a good house, and we made it our home for those brief years, but I didn't have a heart longing affinity for it as I would have with the one we lost. 

Years later the Dutch Colonial was featured in the little local paper in a segment, "I've always wondered about...".  Here the couple that had won the bid before ours was interviewed, showing all their efforts in maintaining the home, and keeping it true to it's origins.  I was happy to learn that the house found owners that lived it and cared for it as I imagined I would have. I still think,if they ever sold it, I would take another look.  the house would be impractical now.  I sometimes drive by it, as it is near a friend of my daughters house.  I smile and say hello, and silently wish the owners well. 

Rise and Write link up holds all the prompts and other writers creations.

What a Couple Trees

18

Write about a pine tree – any pine tree, a real one which grows in your yard or in the woods where you go for a walk, or a pine tree you saw on your vacation, or a pine tree painted by an artist. What it looks like, smells like, how does it feel to touch? Where to start wit this prompt!  Visit the rest of the Rise and Write link ups here. This was a true prompt-11 minutes. 

We have four pine trees in our back yard.  For a brief time there were six, quickly dwindled to five due to the one unhealthy spot in the yard.  Two summers ago, number five dried up and died and now is waiting it's fate in logs under the deck with the river birch we lost a few years ago.  Little by little, log by log, the trees will be part of weekend fire and lazy relaxing around the fire pit. Two of the four left were purchased with the other two that died, part of our first summer landscaping.  The were all about 6 feet tall when they went in the ground, but without girth.  The last two though were bought on a whim. Two little pines in pots, smaller than our then three year old, and about the size of the one year old.We found these and bought one for each kid at a Menards store, not a garden store. Humble beginnings, but have these two ever grown and thrived.  They are fuller and taller than the remaining two landscape trees, reaching more than a dozen feet to the sky.  

I love these trees.  For a few years, I tried to get pictures with my squirming and growing kids, but being a poor photographer, I couldn't find anything decent to try and scan for this post.  Perhaps when I go back and edit, i'll find something suitable.  As the trees have grown, they've morphed into creating a hideaway, a barrier between the neighbors and the park.  This was a perfect spot for my now blown away and smashed up chaise lounge chairs.  I am on the hunt for more.  They leave me gifts of pine cones to put in bowls each Christmas, and block out the too bright morning sun when I am trying to have my Saturday morning coffee on the deck. 

Some day, another family will live in our house, and our now haphazard tree assortment of trees will be cut down and cleared for a more cultivated landscaping.  I won't worry about that now.  It will be a few years before we move on, so until then, I'll continue to think of these two trees in association with my two oldest children. May my children reach the heights that their conifer siblings have.

Money...

Write about the first money you earned. Was it for a chore you did for your family, or you got a job outside of home? Was it for something you enjoyed doing? Remember the moment when you held money (or a check) in your hands for the first time. How did it make you feel? It is day 17 of Rise and Write, though for me, it is crash on the couch after a head spinning day and write.  Click HERE for the Link Up.

Once I had my first "gig", it seems I had an endless supply of them for the next five years.  I'm talking about my babysitting jobs. First, for family, watching nieces and nephews, for long nights and very little pay, less than the going rate would have been had they hired non family. In those days $1.00 an hour was pretty typical, but often, more for families that had more kids, or required you to feed the kids. Not in my faily, and a few conveniently nver seemed ot have cash when they got home, so would pay me next time. I picked up jobs for neighbor families, and took jobs passed on by my friends who had to turn down for either another scheduled job, or a family commitment. Those were usually the best paying jobs because I was helping out in a pinch. 

For family though, and I am ashamed to admit it, I did not like to babysit in my junior high years, even though I  did so much of it. I found the kids annoying, and the parents, my siblings, even ore so,  regularly switching up the rules on me. I had multiple plans cancelled because without prior notice, the end time changed by several hours. I started to resent both parents and kids as I felt like I didn't even get a say in babysitting for family members. It was just assumed that if one of them needed a baby sitter, their life was more important than mine, so I was expected to buck it up and say yes.  I had multiple Saturdays, intending to enjoy a quiet day, when suddenly, the kids would be dropped off, and I was now expected to watch them.  It was always unpaid when at my mom and dads. 

In families, we often feel under appreciated as I often did, and was passive aggressive about it, never speaking my mind. It showed when I was with the kids instead. I had been the babysitter the kids didn't want, but were stuck with, their misbehavior a response. As I moved into high school, I matured in my own human development besides age. Looking back, there was a lot of mental health  and destructive issues circling my extended family. As an adolescent, I was too young and immature to understand, and only could see how I thought I was being dumped on. Then slowly, over time, as I was getting out of the awkward, cranky, antagonistic early teen years, I started to appreciate the little beings as something more than mess makers.  A few hard situations in my family where I became the comforting aunt, helped me see the caring and compassion I really had for kids. 

While babysitting was my first money earned, I never made the big bucks a couple of my friends made with their regular clients.  In hind sight, though, I and my nieces and nephews, many who later baby sat for me, earned our battle scars being stuck with each other. 

School Friend

Good morning Day 15 of the Rise and Write series of prompts, impromptus, and sketches based on a common theme.  This morning I am going third person again, my tool I use when an event or a story is based on real events or people, but morphed with creative license and varied details, plus a bit of anonymity by using fictitious names. Today's prompt, write about a friend from your school years, fits this way of writing well.  

She and her former classmates were near religious in following the reunion cycle of every 5 years.  Up until the twentieth, the reunion had been planned by the three class officers and anyone they could get to help.  With the adage of Facebook and other social media, by the time the 25th and 30th reunions was being planned, fatigue had set in by those three, and planning became an open invitation for anyone who wanted to help.  The reunion events were casual from that point on, and besides the every 5 year one, impromptu gatherings became the norm. This is how Lisa reconnected with a former friend from elementary school.  

Thirty-nine and a half years earlier, Debbie and her family moved to town.  When you grow up in a small town with generations of families, having fresh faces is a big deal.  At first, everyone wanted to be the new girls friend. Then over time, as 3rd grade friendships were solidified, the glamour wore off, and Debbie melded into normal. But not to Lisa.  To Lisa, she thought Debbie was unique to all the other friends she had. Lisa and her friends were the quiet, background kids, who spent more effort trying to stay out of attentions way than trying to stand out.  They did their own things, and let the vibrant, pretty children capture the teachers attention. In these days, organized sports for girls younger than 12 were rare.  Phy Ed was the only form of sports for girls, until finally there was an after school option for 5th and 6th grade girls. In athletics, Lisa naturally stood out from most girls. Until Debbie came along. 

Debbie came from a family of athletes.  All were tall and muscular for their ages, and lived and breathed sports. Where in Lisa's family they might play a game of PIG or HORSE outside on the hoop hanging on the garage, at Debbie's house they had three on three games, with no mercy on Debbie or her younger brother. They went for family runs and had weights and sit up benches that were actually used in their basement. Elementary  years closed out with Track and Field Day, Debbie winning first place ribbons in just about all her events, Lisa with a small collection of second and third place finishes. 

 In the mile, a track event that Lisa normally finished first, even after Debbie was in the school,  Lisa felt a sharp pain going into the last lap. She knew she was slowing down, but her body just wouldn't let her go faster as the pain increased. Debbie, as well as two other girls passed her by and she didn't even get a ribbon in the event. Lisa was crying huge wet tears by the time she completed the race.  Her ankle was in real pain.  Debbie was the first one over to her. "What happened?  Are you OK." she asked her.  Debbie waved a couple teachers over to show them Lisa's ankle.  It was discolored and swollen. Lisa''s parents were called, and she was taken to the doctor.

It turned out that not only had Lisa sprained her ankle, there was also a small fracture in the bone. She returned for the last two days before summer vacation, in a walking cast, using crutches the first day as the plaster hadn't fully set. She would be spending the first half of summer in that cast. As the kids were finishing packing up the class room, cleaning book shelves, stacking books on carts, and cleaning their desks as was the last day of school ritual, Debbie came over to Lisa with something in her hand.  It was the 1st place mile ribbon.  "You should have won.  This is really yours." Debbie was competitive, but more so, kind. 

The two stayed friendly in middle school and high school, but had different circles.  Debbie continued to grow in her athleticism, while Lisa had peaked at 12, never more than a bench player. Debbie was featured periodically in the local paper for her college sports successes. Lisa went to college, married young, and started a family, exposing her children to a variety of sports and opportunities.  At each of the reunions since graduation, Lisa and Debbie found a few moments for a catch-up. Debbie too became a wife and mother, with her daughter taking after her in athleticism, but her son, a different path. Not surprisingly, Debbie's career took her in the sports medicine direction, so fitting after she rushed to her friends aid when they were 12. 

Road Trip and Thunderstorms

15 and Week number three of Rise and Write.  Pop over to visit Natalia at Out of the Writers Closet to learn more.  The prompt for today is to write about a thunderstorm.

The Midwest hosts regular thunderstorms each summer, leaving n shortage of events to think about.  I love a good loud rolling thunder and a cracking of lightning in the sky. I am fortunate that none of my children were frightened by them, just the opposite.  On the severe ones that trigger the sirens going off, each would like to still , if we would have let them, stand by the back double windowed door and watch the show in all its majesty. 

Driving in a thunderstorms is another matter. The most memorable experience was in the summer of 2002.  We had all been at my nephews graduation party for the day, but were set to leave early the next morning for a 11 hour road trip to Branson, Missouri for vacation.  DH and the older kids went home earlier to do a final packing, and preload the car.  The plan was to be on the road by 5:00.  I was staying longer to help my sister clean up, and keep DD#2, then an 18 month old toddler, out of his way.  Before the party ended, the first of what was going to be a series of storms came through. By the time I was about to go home, there were already several streets  impassable due to flash flooding.  The storms continued, giving  DH little sleep.  finally about 2:00, and a break in the storms, he decided it would behoove us to just get on the road.  He was wide awake and figured the kids would sleep more and after driving 3-4 hours, we could stop for breakfast and a stretch, and he could get a 30 minute nap.  

We weren't prepared for the storm to follow our route south.  Within an hour outside of town, the rains picked up again.  They continued to be heavier with each mile until eventually it was so hard by the time we reached the Iowa border, he couldn't see and we were forced to pull over. It was still very early morning and no hint of sun, making vision even poorer.  The kids slept on, the little one in her car seat, and the older two locked in with seat belts, but each stretching out as best they could making makeshift beds with their pillows and blankets. We just sat on the side of the highway, along with all the other cars, waiting until it seemed like conditions were improved. After 30 minutes or so, the rain was slowing down, sight improved, and DH gently coaxed the van back on the road.  once more we had to pull over, and a second time, we were rerouted off the highway via an exit ramp, and back onto it via he entrance ramp. Apparently the section of highway in between had standing water so deep, cars were getting stalled. Slowly the rain stopped and by the time the sun was coming up, the storm seemed to be winding down.   The kids groggily woke up, asking when we were stopping for food. We stopped at probably a fast food place off the highway where I took the kids in to eat.  DH stayed in the van and slept hard. It was sunshine and blue sky's for the remainder of our trip.

Wake and Think

We are at day 14 of the Rise and Write challenge.  I don't know if ore are in store, but I have enjoyed the process.  Here is the final prompt of week two. 

What was the first thing you thought about this morning? Did you think about your dream and wondered what it meant? Did you think about the list of things you have to do today? Did you think of breakfast? Of a work situation? Of your parents, partner, your child or your pet? Was it a creative idea you want to work on? Was it an unusual thought, or something you typically think in the morning?

I went to bed last night, in a drunken state, not from alcohol, but of trying to watch a couple episodes of a Neflix drama. I fell asleep 15 minutes into the first episode and woke up with about 10 minutes left in the second.  A woman was being chased through the streets of London until she made it to the underground, and managed to get on a train before her pursuer made it to the platform. Now I'll need to back track and watch both.  I slept rough last night. I hate falling asleep watching shows. The screen images blurry with my own thoughts, and I get very odd dreams. I woke still thinking about the odd dream I had. I wasn't being chased in my dream,  but I recall there was a heated conversation, and it was with the man that was chasing the women in the program, or at least with similar looks.  I just kept repeating, "No, we have to get there.  We have to get there tonight." He had hold of my sleeve and was holding tight as I was trying to pull away. In most of my dreams, I'm always how I remember looking at age 20.  Even dreams that have my kids surfacing in, I am 20.  What is my brain trying to tell me there? 

Dreams fascinate me.  How the images and and words that seem so real, yet often have nothing to do with anything you can connect to reality, form in the subconscious is both exciting and a bit scary  I am a pretty devout Christian, believing in God, Jesus, the resurrection,and heaven and hell.  Still, I am open to thinking there could be even more to life and the after life than what previous Christians of old chose to capture in the bible and what theologians teach and preach about today.  Are lives recycled and reincarnated, and what we get in dreams is bits and pieces of our own life? Are these images of future life to come? Here is a weird thought I have sometimes when I first wake up after a particularly  intense dream. Are the dreams real, and is my day to day existence the dream?  I have actually pinched myself in the morning to assure myself I am awake and not dreaming any longer. I'll think off and on today in little blips of day dreaming, about this dream, trying to decipher some meaning. By the time I go to ed, all image of it will be gone though, my brain prepped for new visuals. 

My dream from last night was my first thought this morning.  I didn't think long as I needed to push my body up and out from under the sheets and get both  day 13 and 14 Rise and Write prompts completed. Yesterday was a rare sleep in, and I didn't get out of bed until after 6:00.  I didn't even take time for my morning "think", the usual first task of the day.  This will have to suffice.