Toes

50

Write about fingers (or toes). Do they belong to your character? Are they lean and long “artistic” fingers, or short and chubby? All of them in place? What are they good at?  I am back and will try and keep my end of the bargain, even if I only write 5 minutes a day.  Here is the rest oft the Rise and Write prompts at Out of the Writers Closet.

Toes

Toes are the most wonderful and the most silly of all body parts.  To look good poking out of a great pair of sandals, they need to be trimmed, buffed, and manicured, and ideally painted a fantastic shade  of color.  I have no patience for any of that nonsense, so my toes always look  unkept, and dry.  I was born with a partial web between my toes, just plain odd. I got them form my mom's side of the family and passed this lovelye trait to my son and youngest daughter. 

But, the opposite of weird grown up toes, are sweet and adorable baby and toddler toes.  What is better than seeing those first little toes on a newborn baby? I love to see the foot print of baby's, and see the toe print uniquely tied to that precious new human.  No two will be alike.  How fantastic is  seeing the curling toes as the toddler uses his toes, in a chimpanzee  like manner, to help grasp the floor as he steadies himself learning to walk. 

As the weather gets colder, I'll see fewer toes in my Midwestern home. I can guarantee you though there will be those hold outs that will wear open toed shoes until snow is on the ground. Not me.  I want my toes to be nice and snug.  Unless of course, I can slip away to a nice southern beach. 

8 minutes

Long Overdue Sorry

49 (Sept 21)
Write about being wrong. Is it easy for you to say "I am sorry, I was wrong"? Is it something you do or try to avoid doing? Write about someone else being wrong, or about your character being wrong. For the link to Rise and Write click Here.

I was so wrong and I knew it.  The minutes the word's came out of my mouth, I knew it was mean and cruel. "Stay out of my life!" These were the last words I said to him, as he walked away. I could not take them back, and went on about my night and the next day.  Weeks passed, and I never made that phone call, never asked about him at all. Months passed, and then it was over a year. I had moved on, met someone else. Years later and I saw him at the same New Year's eve party.  I was now newly married, happy starting a life with someone else.  He had a date, with though, I learned nothing serious.  We exchanged polite hello's, nothing more.  My husband looked at him a little suspiciously, out only for a second, confident in our own relationship.  A decade went by, and we were at a reunion.  Both of us were without our spouses.  Both of us, me more than him, had more than our share of the beer included with our reunion ticket. We talked.  

Suddenly, it all came out.  I finally apologized. I didn't  apologize for us breaking up.  I didn't apologize that I met and married someone else, I apologized for cutting him out in such a cruel an immature way, more than just that final blowup.  It was so evident that we were not in the same place mentally and emotionally.  It was evident that we wanted other things in life at that time. My way of handling it had been passive aggressive for months on end, until finally, I cut the cord with those five words. He laughed at me a bit, but also said he understood.  He too knew we were not the right long term fit, and that  he was just prolonging the inevitable, but showing up in the middle of the night that last time was a last effort to see if things could be salvaged. We both wish we could turn back the clock thirteen years and have the heart to heart we should have had at the time.  While we can't do that, we can move forward.  Our wounds have heeled, and we can see each other, our spouses, our children, and not feel that pain of the past lingering over our heads.  

Laugh Lines

48 (Sept 20)
Write about wrinkles - yours or on someone's face, or maybe your character's. What stories wrinkles can tell?
OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share. Out of the Writers Closet Rise and Write is an on line writing community hosted by the talented Natalia Lialina.  Visit to learn ore and join in  It has been incredibly fun and a great learning experience.  I''m continuing to work on my short story, or potentially building it out to a book.  Here was the last excerpt: 

Kara studied her face in the mirror in the hospital bathroom.  Not to be for her age.  Even with the years she spent in the summer sun, she was adamant about sunscreen well before anyone was preaching the gospel of it.  She also liked to read outside, so found that a shaded reading spot, thanks to the benefits of a beach umbrella, didn't give her headaches lie the sunshine, so she could experience the best of all summer worlds. heat, sun, and endless days for reading.The only signs of wrinkles were a single crease when she looked sternly at her face, furrowing her brows, and a touch as she smiled-laugh lines. Her own mother looked older than her years all the while Kara was growing up, though she never thought so herself.  She held onto her youth, wearing swimming suits in the summer meant for younger women, and .was more apt to buy her clothes at the Gap than at Chico's. Kara laughed in her head at that, as it wasn't entirely true, but her mother was always quick to jump on the clothing trend, even now as the grandmother of grown and near grown grand children.  Even this morning, as Kara was frantically trying to help get her mother dressed, her mother insisted on wearing one of her new long maxi  skirts, very impractical for a woman with balance issues and prone to tripping. 

Kara didn't try to argue.  Her mom being insistent on what she would wear was a sign that her mom was still her mom inside.  She was stubborn, and inappropriately dressed, as Kara had always thought of her mother, and in that she was comforted.  There had been many times in the week that Kara was shocked at how quickly the memory loss and the personality changes were coming on.One day she was insisting on waiting for their father to join them for lunch, even though her had been dead for nearly a year. When Allison came with groceries, her mother through a fit about the strange lady in the kitchen stealing food from her cupboard.  She hadn't recognized her daughter in law, and thought she was taking groceries out, not putting groceries away. 

There had been rough nights as well with the heart disease. Fluid was continuing to build up, and the discomfort her mother felt was painful and confusing. In her moments of clarity, she talked with both Kara and her brother about her  wishes for when she passed.  When she was struggling with memories, she cried for her own mother to help make the pain go away.  It was heart wrenching to watch, and Kara though particularly cruel to have her mothers body and mind being attacked so viciously at the same time. Kara didn't know if it was wrong or not, but she prayed for relief, prayed for her mother's suffering to end. 

When Kara went back to her mother's room,she was now in a hospital gown, her  skirt and top folded and placed in a plastic patients bag..  Kara went over to her mother and squeezed her had.  "alright mom?" she said, with a small smile."You look pretty comfy in that fancy gown."   Her mother laughed a little bit, through a grimace of pain. "I don't understand why they can't make these things look a little better  I feel like an old woman." She laughed then, and KAra could see her mom's laugh lines, and suddenly, she looked younger, more vulnerable than Kara had remembered her. 

Cinderella-NOT!

I had a much needed break from writing daily prompts, or much of any blogging.  My last two blog posts on my other site were a bit naggy then preachy.  I knew the change in fall and school routine was catching up.  I am back now, and hope to have a good bubble or to of thought.  Rather than catch up with the prompts I missed, I'll pick up with today, day 46 (Sept 18) prompt. For more, visit Out of the Writers Closet Rise and Link page.,Write about housework chores, such as vacuum cleaning or mowing the grass. Who did it in your childhood home? When you were introduced to this work first? Is it something you enjoyed doing or tried to avoid at any coast?

I am not a fan of housework of any kind.  In fact, the main thing I like about staying in hotels is that someone else does the  housework.  It is not that I a lazy, it is that it just seems to be a never ending chore, and no matter how much we say we are going to stay neat and tidy after a major house overhaul, within two weeks, (despite doing the daily maintenance) the housework piles up.  To  be honest, this is probably rooted form childhood.  I don't ever remember not being part of  the house cleaning crew.  My own bedroom might have remained a mess, but the "public places" were always cleaned weekly, top to bottom, by my sisters and I.  Granted, my mom worked a full time job, and did a lot o car hauling us around, so doing our share should not have been a burden.  I remember it hen though as well.  The house would be clean, and then the next moment, not. 

The single most chore I hate more than any other has to be scrubbing the floors.  Scrubbing the floor screams Cinderella to me.  I hate the smell of the cleaning fluid in the water.  I hate the tip toeing around the wet floor afterwards until it dries.  I really hate when it is clean, and then that first sticky mess gets made, and it is as if it had not been cleaned at all. I never hear any chirping birds or cute little rodents singing me songs of motivation.  I just seem to find dirt in the crevices between floor and baseboard, so inevitably, I am on my hands and knees as the mop won't really reach those spots.  

I like a nice clean home, but I so rarely have one.  I cam home yesterday for work, and the first rooms you walk into had bin spiffed up.  I have my husband to thank for that.  When I walked around the corner to the kitchen, unfortunately, The floor was as I had left it when I left for work.  I will not be able to put it off any longer, so scrubbing the kitchen floor just rose to the top of my weekend plan. 

Just a Note-On a Little Writing Break

The start of the school year, a research project and launch of a new competitive grant at work, and the absolutely wonderful second summer weather has kept me off the computer and to in a mind set for anything creative.  I will revisit Natalia's prompts shortly, once I get caught up with the new routines in my house and develop a normal sleep patter.  In the meantime, check out Rise and Write at Out of the Writers Closet for those that are still going strong! 

We're talking Baseball

37

Write about a stadium – either a real one from your childhood, or the one next to your home now, or a grand one you once visited, or write how you’ve never even been to a stadium. We'll give poetry a try. I don't technically use a stadium, but rather a major league ball park, but I hope you can picture a wonderful stadium/ball park on a perfect summer night.  Rise and Write

The starting line-up
boys of summer take the field
pumping fists in gloves.

Batter one to the plate'
catcher signals his pitcher.
The pitcher nods yes.

Batter licks his lips
he clenches the bat tighter
the ball sails, strike one

Batter is ready;
he knows the ball his bat wants.
He waits patiently.

The ball is released
It looks like a perfect pitch
he swings the bat hard

Crack! The ball takes flight
sailing over the infielders heads
Past third base it goes

Little boy with arms out
oversize glove on his hand
the ball lands softly

Memories for life
he falls asleep with his ball
on the long drive home.

 

Age is Just a Number

38 Write about the age you are now. How does it feel? Better or worse than you expected? Rise and Link

I will turn 50 by the end of the year.  Where did these years go?  Both my parents and my in-laws were grandparents well before they turned 50, but I can't imagine that  experience happening for many years. While I am reaching that milestone year, I am not bothered about it all in terms of age. I am dealing with chronic arthritis pain, but most days I just push forward and function the same way every elses does. I have more blessings that bothers in the big sense, and genuinely believe I have a good life. Over the last decades, as I have developed friendships with people both older and younger  than me, I have learned not to have expectations about what life should or will be like at certain ages. For instance, my friend K, a confirmed bachelor for most of her life. She never met anyone in her younger years, though she had several proposals, that she wanted to build a life with. Then, about ten years ago she met J, a single parent of two grown children, and grandfather of three. K and J just celebrated their 7  anniversary, and K's 60th birthday.  Life just is. 

Age really is just a number in my head, but using my age as a point of tracking time, I sometimes get completely overwhelmed.  While I didn't put expectation on myself  and my life-married by 22, children by 25, promotion by 30, grandparent by 55, and so on, I do feel like the years are going by faster than I have time to experience everything I want to. I want to be there for my kids milestone events-their plays, their concerts their film debuts, their nesting in new homes, their day to day life.  I want to be there for my friends and family and experience their highs with them, and support them in their lows. I want to make sure I have time to hang out and just play with my friends! I want to volunteer more and help make a difference  in the world. I want to have the time to travel, and not just travel to new places, go back to the places I really loved and dive into the culture, the atmosphere, the day to day happenings as more than a tourist. 

I don't aspire to be rich, but I realize that to do all the things I want to accomplish, all the things I want to experience with regularity, money is a necessity.  To those ends, I get overwhelmed at times in prioritizing where to spend my money and where to spend my time. Fifty as an age is fine by me.  Fifty as a marker that my life is probably more than half over, is a bit daunting.  Yet, the saying Every Day is a Gift, is so true.