Theme week 5: narrative, story

My Father's Fall
My stepmother was dead for only three months, before we all heard about the new woman in my father's life. We had gathered for a family Easter dinner; my father sat at the head of the table, the grand patriarch, with his children, step-children and grand-children gathered around. As the meal came to a close and the grandchildren went off to lay, he reached for a cigarette. " So, let me tell you about Susan. I met her while in line at the Super G. I noticed her melons (not the fruit we all decided) and commented on her groceries. We got to talking, and then I invited her to go for a cup of coffee. She said yes, and we went. She told me all about her life; she's divorced and is trying to raise two kids all by herself" Not at all unlike his daughter, me, I noticed, but he didn't. He looked over at me, "her son is about Ben's age, but he gets in trouble all the time, maybe you could talk to her." I didn't think I wanted to. Her story was a hard luck-let me cry on your shoulder mister sugar daddy-story. She'd been abused, her ex-husband beat her, and she was working real hard at beating a cocaine habit. She went daily to the methadone clinic in Willimantic. Oh boy, we all thought, she sure had our father raked in. How could we get him to realize that she was not the kind of woman that had love on her mind, but rather, "what can I get out of this man?"

It was another three months before any of us met her. I had brought my children down fro a long weekend. On Sunday morning my father said "Let's have breakfast with Susan and her kids." I tried backing out, but he said he had already told her we were coming. I should have known he would choose me as the envoy into the family. After all, I was the youngest, had been the one to do the token Father weekends after my parents divorced and the first to meet his ex-secretary in her new role as wide, and stepmother to us.

We drove to Susan's trailer park home. She had us wait on the deck; when they came out, I was taken aback. Her children were the same age as mine, but they were city tough. The boy had dark hair, a pierced ear and wore those baggy pants that had just become the rage; the ones where you could hide a shotgun if you needed to. The girl had lusterless black hair, and wore gothic attire with some chains for added effect. I don't think either one spoke the entire time. My blond country bumpkin children were no match for those two, and I certainly wasn't going to encourage any conversation. Susan had hair the texture of an unkempt horse mane, stiff and bristly from too many dyings and permings. Though my father said she was ten years younger than me she looked older and hard. I immediately saw my father's attraction; her bust was at least a quadruple D. I wished I had brought my own car, I would not have continued with the charade if I had been able to run. Off to the restaurant, in silence. Well, my father did try to keep a conversation going.

We arrived just as the after church rush was on, and there were no tables available for seven, so we waited. Susan grew impatient, thrust her chest out and demanded that the hostess push tow tables together. The hostess did, begrudgingly. I flashed a humble apology and the hostess registered a smile. While we were eating, my father elaborated on all the wonderful plans he had for his "new family". "I bought a house on Coventry Lake, that I am fixing up for Susan and the kids. I'm going to get another sailboat too and teach Brian to sail. Every boy should learn how to sail." At that I ranted, "Oh really Dad. When are you going to teach your grandson how to sail? You could come up and teach him anytime." He didn't notice the incongruity, was I totally off the mark?

During the conversation, I couldn't help noticing Brian bending the silverware in two. He eventually made a holder out of the spoon, poured packets of sugar into it and began to stick his finger into the sugar to eat it. I wondered if he had watched some drug use at home. The girl just sulked. My children talked between themselves and snuck some apprehensive glances at the scene ate the table. Breakfast wasn't over fast enough for me.

That night, after my children went to bed, I attempted to talk to my father. "Dad, that woman is using you. She probably has a boyfriend somewhere that you don't know about. She's getting whatever she wants from you." Since when did a daughter have to tell her father who to date?

During the course of the summer, she crashed and wrecked two cars. He bought her new ones. Her children were always needing to go to the doctor or needing prescriptions filled an midnight, and she always got money out of him. We kept trying to tell him he was being used, but he was too bewitched.

Less than a year later, my sister got a call from our father. He was crying; Susan had left him. My sister and I arranged to go see him that weekend. We found him in that beautiful home he bought all alone. Somehow, Susan had gotten an antique dealer to come buy some of his antiques. All he had left was one broken dresser, a few paintings, and the broken rocker that he was sitting in. The worst of it was he was so immobilized: while she had sun off with his savings, he was unable to look beyond the humiliation of losing his girlfriend.

journal entry #7

I said I might do some more journal entries along the line, and here one is.
This is an update on my owl story, from prompt #15. The owl hung around for about a week and then was gone. I continue to wake up every morning and look out my bedroom window to see if he has returned. This morning he was out there again, I was excited to see him. Yesterday, my partner finally put out the rat traps in the chicken coop. I did not relish that idea, but knew I needed to get rid of the rat (or 2). Upon feeding the chickens and checking the traps I saw that one held a dead rat. Argh, ugh, gross! Sooooo...I gathered what guts I had, poked it four or five times to be sure it was dead, then found a garden tool to open the trap up. I was not about to put my fingers anywhere near that rat head, who knows it still could have tried to bite me--one last impulse from the dead! I lifted the spring off the rat and grabbed it by the tail, with a paper towel, and tossed it out to the garden saying "here, take that please." The owl swooped down onto my offering and carried it away. So, I am relieved that a rat is gone, and the owl is pleased to have some food. Let's hope that I don't have to add another update like this one. I so hope there was only one rat.

Theme week #4: Truth…or not.

1. Truth
We were salvaging old boards from a chicken barn to use them to build a shed. The boards had old chicken poop on them and were full of rusty nails. I was scraping them clean with a wire brush, and then I leaned them against the floor joists of the shed, with the nail side down.

My four year old daughter was playing in the yard nearby. She came over toward me. I told her to be careful. She sat on the end of one of the boards, as if it was a see-saw. The weight of her body took her down and drove one of the nails into the back of her ankle. She screamed. Ed, my husband, came running and got the nail out. I took Rachel inside to clean up the wound. It looked bad to me, so we drove to the ER.
There wasn’t a long wait, and soon the Doctor on duty was taking care of us. She looked at us and at Rachel’s ankle and asked us what happened.

I explained that we were taking the nails out of old lumber. I’d been careful to keep all the nails pointing down, but Rachel sat on the boards and drove the nail in through the top of her ankle.

The Doctor furrowed her eyebrows and looked at us for a second. She cleaned and bandaged the wound and sent us home.

2. Gussied up
It was a hot summer day. We were cleaning up some salvaged lumber from an old chicken barn. The boards were covered with chicken poop and were full of rusty nails. It was my job to clean them. After scraped them off, I leaned them against the floor joists to the shed with the nail side down. The stench was bad and the dust was clinging to my sweaty body “Why did we want to use these boards, anyway?” I thought, “Oh yeah, we needed a shed, and we had no extra money and they were free. It was just our time that we were wasting.”

My four year old daughter was playing in the grass nearby. She was getting hot and bored and came over to me. “Mommy, can I have a drink?”
“In a minute honey, let me finish this. Be careful there are nails in these boards.”
Rachel watched for awhile, and then she climbed up onto the floor joist of the shed and sat on the top end of one of the boards. Suddenly she was screaming. I looked up, when she sat down the board fell to her leg just like a seesaw and pushed one of those dirty rusty nails into the back of her heel. Ed came running and got her off the board and the nail out. I took Rachel inside to clean the wound and all I could think of was that chicken poop inside her body. The wound looked gross, and I decided I wanted to take her to the ER. We piled into the car and drove as fast as we could.

There was no wait and soon the Doctor on duty was taking care of us. She looked at Rachel’s foot and at us “What happened here?”
“I was trying to make sure that the kids didn’t step on the nails, so I set them against the floor with the nail side down. She sat on the board and the nail went through the back of her foot.” I said in a rather hysterical voice. I did not like seeing my daughter hurt, and I had tried so hard to make sure she wouldn’t be.
The Doctor asked again, not quite believing the story. “Tell me how that happened again.” This time I think she decided it was too strange not to be the truth. She cleaned the wound and wrapped it up. She told Rachel she was a brave little girl and gave her a sticker.

3. Fiction
It was a hot summer day. We were cleaning up old boards from a chicken barn to build a shed. I was so hot that I had had a beer. I was cleaning old chicken shit off the boards and pulling nails. As I finished a board, I put it against the shed floor with the nail side down.

My four year old daughter was playing near by, she was bored and she wandered over. “Mommy, can I have a drink, when will you play with me, I’m hungry.”
“Not now honey, let me finish this last board.” My husband Ed went in for another beer. “I’ll get her a drink.” He offered.

Rachel sat down on the top of one of the boards. Like a see-saw it came down on the back of her foot. A nail went right into her ankle, and she screamed.
Quickly I pulled her up off the board, as I did the nail tore her flesh even more. It looked awful. Ed came out when he heard the scream. We carried her inside and tried to clean the wound. We decided that we should go to the ER. When we got there the Doctor on duty saw us immediately. “Tell me what how this happened!” She looked at us and noted that we had been drinking.

I was so worried and nervous about Rachel that it took me a few tries to get the story out, and even then it didn’t seem to make much sense. I said “we were pulling nails out of boards, and Rachel sat on one. The nail went through her foot.” The Doctor looked at both my husband and I and at Rachel, she wasn’t buying the story. She went to the nurse’s desk and talked to the nurse. The nurse started looking through old ER records. Of course, it was the same Doctor who took care of my son when he was jumping on the couch and fell of breaking his collar-bone. She came back cleaned up the wound and said we would need to wait here for a case-worker from DHHS to come question us. “What!” my husband yelled. He almost went nuts. I wasn’t much better, I was pretty hysterical myself. We were not neglectful of our children, nor were we abusing them. Accidents happen, even ones that seem really far-fetched. By that time a policeman had arrived and escorted us into a small room to wait for the case-worker.

Theme week #3

Theme Week #3: Set the scene, create dialogue

She climbed aboard the Amtrak train heading north out of Baltimore. It was four in the afternoon, and she wouldn’t be in Hartford until close to midnight. She was burdened with too much luggage, because she was trying to save shipping costs by carrying most of her dorm room belongings home with her. The conductor looked at her with a disgusted look, “You really shouldn’t be trying to bring this much stuff with you.”
“I know,” she said “I’m heading home from college.”
She found a seat, and began to put the bag, box guitar and back-pack in the overhead compartments. She was having trouble with the back-pack; it was just a little too heavy. The man behind her said, “Here let me help.” He gave it a little shove and up it went. “Thank you.” She said as she sat down. She slid into the seat by the window and watched as people wandered around the boarding platform. She saw some lovers hug and kiss. The young man pulled away, picked up his luggage and headed into the train. The man that had helped her with her pack sat across the aisle form her. She looked at him too. He was about her father’s age, and wore a business suit with a red tie. “Ugh, I have Mr. Corporation sitting next to me.” She thought.
The man looked at her and asked. “So where are you going?”
“I’m going to Hartford. I just finished spring semester.” The last thing she wanted to do was have a conversation with this man. She tried to cut the conversation short and looked out the window again. Finally everyone is on board. Neither of their two seats was taken. She pulled out a book and the man across the aisle took out a magazine.
The rails managed to lull everyone into a quiet frame of mind. Wilmington and Philadelphia went by. It was dark, and the little light overhead was making her eyes tired. She put down her book. The man across from her closed his magazine and asked her “What are you studying in school?”
“Anthropology.” She replied, thinking that if she kept her answers short he would give up. But he didn’t.
“Anthropology! What will you do with that?”
“I don’t know; that’s actually why I decided to take some time off. I think I will work for a year or two and maybe then I will know what I want.”
“That sounds like a good idea, but make sure you still finish school. I have a daughter almost your age; she doesn’t know what she wants to do yet either, but she still has time.”
As the train was pulling out of Newark and picking up speed, there was a violent lurch. The train came to an abrupt stop. She was a bit frightened, and a child a few seats in front began to cry. She could hear his mom saying “Sshh, its ok.”
The man across the aisle said “It feels like a wheel derailed, I’ve had that happen before. Good thing we were still going slowly, it was probably just one car. Now we will have to wait until they can get the car back on the track.”
Sure enough, soon a conductor came through to explain just that. “We expect about a two hour delay. We are calling the stations ahead to let them know. We will still have a half hour hold-over in New York when we get there, you can get off the train and make any phone calls if you want."
“Is anyone waiting for you in Hartford?” the man asked me.
“Yes, my mom.”
“Well, when we get to New York, I am going to call my wife, and you can use my credit card to call your mother. If you were my daughter I would want to know that you were alright. I doubt the station master will quell her worries.”
“Thanks.”
Finally, the train was repaired, they arrived in New York. The man made his call and she made hers. Her mom didn’t answer though, and she figured she was already at the station waiting. While she had been listening to the phone ring, the man bought them some sandwiches and drinks. It was then that she decided Mr. Corporation wasn’t such a bad guy after all. He was a parent and knew what it was like to worry about family.

Theme, week #2: write about yourself in history

She lived in a blue house. The house had two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom. The house leaned toward the ground and where the floorboards touched the earth they rotted. She was Sherrie, and my best friend.

I lived across the street in the yellow house up high on the knoll. It was a Gothic antique. It had five bedrooms, a living room, a family room, a dining room a kitchen and two bathrooms.l The house stood there a long time,it had secrets. Behind a panel under the stairs; runaway slaves hid for the day on their way up north along the Mississippi. My parents belonged in that house.

They lived next door and along the cul-de-sac in single story bungalows. Their houses had enough bedrooms, big televisions and kitchens filled with gadgets, cigarette smoke and empty coke bottles. They were the neighbors.

It was the mid 1960's, and the civil rights movement was going strong. Tensions and hatred between blacks and whites were fierce. I was unaware, I was seven and the outside world was not in. I had my friend, she was Sherrie and we played whenever we could, mostly at my house because her mom's boyfriend worked nights and slept all day. Sometimes I would play with them, the neighbor kids, but they were tough and yelled and sometimes swore.

My mom took my brother, sister and I to see a movie at a church. We sat on folding chairs, uncomfortable and tired. I jumped when Boo Radley saved Scout. The movie was To Kill a Mockingbird, and I didn't get it.

One summer day, Sherrie was in the city at her grandma's and I played with them. The sun had come out after a rain shower, or maybe we had used the sprinkler. The mud on my feet turned my flip-flops brown. They pointed and yelled, "Nigger lover, even your skin is turning black". I yelled back, "I am NOT" and ran inside. The outside world was creeping in.

Sometimes, Sherrie's mom would call us up, "Can one of you walk Sherrie to the store?" I'd put on my cowboy boots before I left the house. On those hot sultry days of summer, when everyone is bored and cranky, they would taunt us and throw rocks. My boots gave me courage and were weapon material. They had power, and I could yell "Go away or I'll kick you!" We'd reach the store, buy the milk or bread or can of beans, and walk the long way home. The outside world crept in.

I'd do anything for Sherrie, even though I was scared. She was my friend, and she was black.

Journal Entry #6

Monday,
A very long day at work. I was there from 6am to 6pm. My boss was out for a workshop and I filled in extra hours for her. Then the other staff person's daughter got sick and she had to leave. We did manage to find someone to come in and cover for her. The kids --oops, I am always told to say children-- were great today. At one point the entire group was sitting contentedly at the table using that play-dough we used last week. Then they wanted to hear a coffee-can story (instead of reading from a book, we tell the story using little props). So I did two of them. By then the day was half over. Lunch and naps followed, then the after-school children showed up and played board games. It was pretty quiet considering the teacher's weren't the usual ones.
The rain is really pelting against the windows, here. Some branches were down in my driveway and I had to get out and move one of them. It's a miserable night.
I hear my sump-pump running pretty steadily . I should go look and see how much water is in the cellar, but i can almost guess how much by the frequency of cycles of the pump turning on. I would rather be in denial, I think. I will look if it stops!
A call from my son yesterday. Sometimes he barely talks, but he was in a very talkative mood yesterday and we spent about 45 minutes on the phone, until his room-mate yelled that the game was on.
My daughter called today. While I plug away at an associate's degree, she is working on her master's in education. She needed some lesson ideas and some songs for preschoolers so asked me . We sang together and then wrote new words with the information she wanted to teach, which was winter animals.

Journal entry #5

Sunday afternoon,
This morning, I swapped the snow shoes for the X-country skis and took the loop to the waterfall. I discovered a set of coyote tracks--at least I think they were because of the determination of their course (dogs tend to meander). It followed my old trail and then went lopping off toward a marshy area near the stream. I did not follow, but kept to my already beaten trail. Somewhere I lost a mitten! I may decide to go back out and look for it in a bit. When I got home the laundry was ready to hang, I fixed the broken toilet seat, and cleaned the house. Really, I just thought about cleaning the house. Then I decided to work on assignments. Got some of them done. I have to figure what kind of BS will work for my other class. (Please don't anyone tell! It feels like another creative writing course, with a different agenda--how to dazzle the instructor!)
I called my sister again. This time I wanted to ask her some questions about our childhood, for the assignment. She helped to clarify a few of my thoughts and get things in chronological order, and get name places correct. I suppose I could have used those little white lies, and may still, to get the emphasis just right.
I feel the sun dipping closer to the horizon and the house is cooling. If I want to look for mitten now is the time.
Goodbye for now.

journal entry #4

I missed yesterday due to computer disfunction, and the disfunction of the operator. I turned on my computer yesterday morning to hear its motor rev up and then stop. I tried again, same thing. At that moment my significant other, who is a jack of all trades, (for this blog I will call him JAT) called. I told him what was going on. He said "put it somewhere really cold and I will bring my tools over tonight". I put it on the porch for the day. He spent the evening doing computer voodoo, and also backed up all my files. This morning we realized that the switch was sticking, so a little vaseline and I am all set again! When it comes to computers I am like a deer caught in the headlights, I stop moving, I stop thinking and I stop breathing. I might have been able to figure that out, but I panic and think the solution is way above me.

Yesterday was "one of those days". At work, I had to deal with fighting and arguments, and children biting and parents thinking they needed to continue the "punishment" at home. It doesn't matter how often we say, we have dealt with the issue, you don't need to again. We do appreciate support and consistency, but to be yipped at again for something that happened 5 hours ago doesn't do all that much good, especially for a three year old, who lives in the moment anyway.

At least Friday night is sauna night and my boss and i let off a lot of steam while we are steaming! Then I came home to my JAT and supper waiting, and a hero fixing my computer. It was a perfect ending for the day.

Beautiful morning this morning. I don't know where you all are, but here there was a glistening hoarfrost on the trees, vapor from the river. And on my drive into Belfast the west branch of the Marsh River wore a ribbon of hoarfrost along its edges. The bay also was shrouded. I am reminded of scenes from Dr Zhivago and other Russian literature, when I see that. I am often overwhelmed by the colors and textures of the natural world.

I did my usual Saturday morning routine, well....what I am trying as a new year's resolution. I go into work, and do the paper work that I haven't been able to do during the week when children are pulling on my sleeve, sneezing on my sleeve, or biting their peers. Or I am just having fun with them. I can't multi-task when people are around. So I got most of that done, I still have a bit to do, but I forgot those papers at the house, ugh.

I guess that is it for now, I would like to get outside to enjoy a little of the day before the sun goes down.

journal entry #3

Thursday: It actually was rather busy, but pleasant at work today. As I mentioned before, I work in child care. Every day is a new adventure, and you never know what is in store for you, even if you plan something. I got a group of children to help make play-dough, we got covered in flour, which was fun. For a while I tried to keep them from playing with it, but then thought, this is what they need, so.... Later, I got on all fours for a game of crab-soccer. We play two on two in one of the rooms. I have to say, I got a bit competitive.

Then home to feed the cat,fill the wood stove, eat supper, answer the phone and get assignments done. The moon was gorgeous when I pulled in my drive and stopped to get the mail. I contemplated turning the car lights off for the ride down the driveway, but then decided not to. But I did stand outside and lean against the car to look at it and the stars. I feel so small when I am looking at the stars. I find it a great way to slap the ego in the face when it gets too full of itself.

I have a funny incident to relate that happened yesterday afternoon. I was raking snow off the roof, when a small chunk of ice came flying toward my face. It hit me on the cheek, knocked one of the lenses out of my glasses that went sailing into the air (or so I imagined since by then I couldn't see), and landed in the snow! There I was, with only one good eye. I closed the lense-less eye and looked around. There in the new-fallen snow was a cut in the shape and curvature of an eyeglass lens. I took off my gloves and managed to find it, thank goodness. Guess that's it for today.

journal entry #2

First thought of the moment, DON'T PUSH ENTER WHEN YOU MEAN TO PUSH TAB! Luckily I could correct that mistake. I read a few of the classmate's journals this morning and can truely relate to the person who remarked about entering the computer age. I feel at a loss most of the time. Not only do I have this course and a blog, I have my first Blackboard class. Last night a classmate and I went to EMCC for our first ECE233 class and I had my first introduction to blackboard. Luckily M. was sitting next to me and helped me navigate the field. I was more confused navigating that then I was navigating the roads during the snow storm. She said I can e-mail her anytime that I need help.

As for last night in the storm. I found out this morning that the car accident that I grumbled about because it created a huge detour to get to Bangor caused the death of one of the people involved. What a selfish bitch I was. Somebody died, two people are in the hospital and who knows about the family and friends that are affected.

I did get that snow day that I wished for, I work at a child-care center and we close when public school closes. So this morning after breakfast and feeding my two remaining chickens,I read, did some writing and went for a snowshoe. It's a beautiful day out there. I worked up a sweat breaking a trail.

I have a constant battle with my 19 year old cat. He doesn't hear anymore, but he always knows when my lap gets horizontal and tries to climb up. I don't mind most of the time, but when the keyboard sits in my lap there isn't enough room. Someday my journal will say: "hfkjwqpofjvb,nvuihf", if it does you'll know it was my cat.

rc

Journal Entry #1
Tuesday: I just got home from a long drive from Belfast to Bangor and back again and then to my own home in Monroe. The roads were a mess and there were three accidents that we were aware of, or saw. My head aches from following the flashing orange lights of a plow for half an hour, and I want some supper. So why did I go? To class, what else. Thank gawd it is the only time I HAVE to go up this semester.

Work today was pretty quiet. Many of the children were not in, I think because of transportation and the snow. In the yoga class we paired the children up and did partner poses. It was fun, and it was so neat to see some of the less willing participants actually participate with a peer.

The other day I found a copy of one of my favorite books from my childhood at the local Goodwill. I finished reading it this morning before I went to work. It is the story of Miss Bianca, a mouse, that rescues people. Reading it will the eyes of an adult was rather interesting. There seemed to be a bit of hidden sexual innuendo, and unrequited love. I am not sure that I would choose to read it aloud to a child now, but maybe they wouldn't get it, like I hadn't when I was 10.

I'm tired and I think the supper I have warming up is ready. Hoping for a snow day tomorrow!

writer's autobigraphy, in 3 voices

#1.
Over the years, I have kept journals and written some poetry, and even a few articles for newsletters. Mainly though, I use writing as a means to process the events in my life, especially the turmoils. Writing helped me through the angst of teenage confusion and hormones. It helped me keep moving during an unsuccessful marriage, and other relationships. I admit, at one point after rereading my journals, I realized I was stuck in a never-ending spiral. I stopped writing except for a garden journal, where I kept track of seeds planted, the weather and the harvest (if I kept it going that long into the season), and I keep a journal when I go on an annual canoe trip with friends.
This course is the first course in my return to school that I actually look forward to. I am a returning student who is fulfilling the requirement to get a degree in ECE , as if my 28 years of experience has no meaning.

#2
You pull out a spiral-bound notebook and you write. You're hormones are raging and you know you love that boy down the street. He doesn't see you, you write of the agony, and sadness of the unrequitted love. Years later you buy another notebook and begin the story of the birth of your first child. You record a few months worth of motherhood and baby mlestones, then you go back to work and time and energy are lost. Your second child doesn't get a baby journal. The children grow, your marriage falls apart. You begin to write again, process your sorrows and questions. Your book shares your loneliness and gets you through the next year, the divorce and the next relationship. You feel insurmountably stuck and you stop writing, you do slowly move forward. You miss writing and you try a new tactic, a new book records only your vacations, an annual canoe trip with friends, you write about the challenges of weather and paddling. You also begin a garden journal to expand upon the little plot plan that you have always used. You write about the seeds planted, the weather, the harvest. It's a circle of events, a cycle. Do you ever move frorward?

#3
She felt lonely and misunderstood. She had noone to share the angst of adolescence. She bought a small spiral notebook and began to write, disjointed poems of love and hurt and pain. Writing became her solace and her friend. She grew older and away from that confusion. She got married, had children. As the children grew and needed her less and less, she discovered an empty place in her being. She bagan to write again to fill that space, to feel complete and whole, and to process the marriage that no longer filled her up. The words helped her move from that life to a new one where she began to feel strong and was able to move forward. When she no longer needed the words she stopped. Life moved on.

Did this really work?

I've read through the directions and done things twice, back-tracked and jumped forward. I hope I am on board here. The next post should be our first assignment.

RC