Perennially a Challenge: Yeah Write Micro-story (49 words)

“Seven seconds of utter confusion because I answered, ‘Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don’t.’ Would this be any clearer? ‘You do you, homie.’ It’s what originally drew you in, you know, and then you couldn’t help but have me.” 

She smiles. Sassy even after thirty years.

Because He Would Do It: Yeah Write Micro-Story

Blurred movements kept jerking my gaze to the balustrades above though no one else was home.

“What is it?”

“I think it’s Andrew.”

Desperate to believe, she hugged me tighter than I’ve ever been held because he was the kind of kid who knew exactly how to comfort her.

Last Day of NaBloPoMo and Other Stuff

I am pretty relieved today is the last day of NaBloPoMo. Did you know I have participated for three years in a row?

The first year I was a grand success writing every day, and sometimes more than that! Writing came so easily. Back then.

The second year, I failed fairly miserably by blogging almost well the first two weeks then a major fallout happened. I got lazy. My writing suffered. It was hard to get the words back.

This year, I was a little better than halfway between the two. Glancing back over this month, I posted twenty-two entries in thirty days. Not bad, right? I do know that the more often I practiced writing, the easier the words flowed.

NaBloPoMo is a great exercise in writing. For me.

I'm sure most of us can admit that much of the time there a “hanging over my head” feeling. Some of us kind of felt like [UGH!!!!!]. Am I alone here? I am comfortable in discomfort and tried not to get  too stressed about missing a few days.

And we got here. To the last day.

Last days of one thing are often the first days of something else. When a door closes, a window opens.

What’s up next for me? 

It is time to get ready for Christmas. 

"Christmas is coming; the goose is getting fat. 

Please put a penny in the old man's hat. 

If you haven't got a penny, a ha' penny will do. 

If you haven't got a ha' penny, then God bless you." 

Do you know this song? My daughter used to sing it when she was in early elementary school.

Florida, we are (hopefully) coming for ya in a few weeks!!!

And not one morsel or rivulet of unhealthy food or beverage will pass these lips for one entire week (possibly two). 

Regarding the last thing, you may be thinking, “All work (or entirely healthy things) and no play makes Gina a dull girl.” You’d probably be correct. I am hoping daily yoga smooths over the rough edges of what will probably lead to an exceedingly grumpy demeanor. Doesn’t this make you want to come live with me?!?!?

Time to wrap this baby up!

Congratulations to all who wrote every day in the month of November. I am so happy to have read your words! You inspired and motivated me to push on!

Clear eyes, 

Full hearts, 

Can’t lose.

“Friday Night Lights”

Yeah Write Micro-stories: Weekend Warriors

generationaljustice.net

Tipping his Stetson to a final sunset, Doc turned Betty towards Lost Valley to pack.

He slapped a tip envelope on the desk.

“Gotta fix some teeth so I can return.” [Wink]

Shouldering his duffel, he walked out to the waiting taxi.

Four Generations of Pasta Makers

(This post first appeared here three years ago today on my daughter's 22nd birthday. You do the math. (I have a baby who is a quarter century old! Okay, I did it for you. I was a Math major for a while, after all!))

There are a few threads of tradition that weave through four generations of women in my family. A few skipped a generation, like baking for instance, but my Grandma Theresa and my daughter held tightly to each of them.

My great grandmother taught my grandma to make pasta, which everyone in the Italian neighborhood did on Sundays. While my grandma didn’t carry on the tradition in exactly the same way, she shared her talent for pasta making with my mom and me.

As I crawled the floors of a Cicero three flat, Grandma Theresa and her daughter made ravioli for Easter or Christmas and sometimes just because “we had a taste for them”. When I was old enough, my job was the “forker” or sealing those pillow y bundles of delicate deliciousness. Mom was always surprised because grandma never let her in the kitchen to help.

My grandma had the world’s best Italian arms seemingly made for kneading dough. You know the kind... the big, jiggly ones. It wasn’t until I was in high school that grandma determined I had the stamina to partake in the kneading. It seemed like it took hours but in reality was probably only 30 minutes. It was extremely tiring.

As a young adult working and always trying to make ends meet, grandma would call and ask me to take her to the market. I knew what that meant. She was inviting me over to make a pasta feast for two. We always made cavatelli, meatballs, and a big salad. Dessert was inevitably orange or raspberry Jello and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I took leftovers in Tupperware home to my apartment which would last me days.

Twenty-two years ago today, another woman came into our world and it wasn’t too long before my daughter crawled on the floor of her great grandma’s apartment as three older generations kneaded, filled and forked ravioli. Homemade pasta was among the first solid foods my daughter ate.

Grandma Theresa passed away when Amanda was 3 1/2 years old but says she remembers her.

Today, three generations of women continue to make ravioli together several times a year. Not only because “we have a taste for it” but it’s a way to keep the spirit of a mother, grandmother, and great grandmother alive. 

So when my daughter invited her college friends to spend the night at our home yesterday to celebrate her 21^st +1 birthday (a day early), she asked if they could make ravioli. She thought it would be fun and said she had a taste for it.

I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that someday I’ll be making pasta with my granddaughter (not too soon though, Amanda). And I hope for at least a few years, she’ll crawl on the floor while a great grandmother, grandmother and mother knead, fill and fork ravioli.

Happy birthday darling daughter.

You have grown into an exceptionally beautiful, intelligent, passionate, fun and kind woman of whom I am exceedingly proud.

(Who'd have known she'd be attending this university many years later and making awesome friends)

*******************************

It’s open grid week over at Yeah Write. Please come over and join us for Thanksgiving week! You won’t be disappointed with anything you read over there, I promise!

Yeah Write Micro-stories: Attrition

opentable.com

To the forwarded reservation confirmation she replied, 

“PENNED IN!!!”.

“Me, too. So excited.”

(Note: Exclamation marks missing from my response.)

The rub? A date is a date. Knowing this, she’ll make me explain why I’ve been avoiding her. That’s a tough one.

You Made an Ass Out of Me: Yeah Write Microstories

devianart.com

I heaved it effortlessly; 

children playing catch. 

You turned it around lackadaisically 

while I looked away. Seeing us.

Trusting, happily distracted, and assuming 

you had it. But you were reckless.

Together, we watched it shatter.

I’m right where I started.

Fooled and

Erehwon.

Relax : Yeah Write Microstory

[lingering kiss]
"Going to the corner for eggs unless you'd prefer donuts. Don't you dare move one perfect muscle.  Here's the remote. Books are under the nightstand. Relax! Oh, there're cameras to dissuade snooping, but, really, make yourself completely at home!" 

[wink]

I Enjoy Thinking Time

Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted. John Lennon

My cerebral balance 

craves 

long stretches 

of time 

where it seems

nothing is happening,

not at all unlike 

doing 

nothing.

Sitting

still

completely, 

horizontally meditating 

eyes 

closed, 

standing in line,

icy blue, 

almost glazed over, 

faraway look.

Though I am 

fully engaged 

in my mind,

maybe.

Believe 

if you want;

I care not.

Conceivably,

I am even thinking of you. 

Holiday Served Cold

Smiling, I push through the door calling,

“Kids, I’m home!”

His filthy boots greet me instead.

With exhausted nonchalance, I transfer Chase’s bat from the coat closet to our bedroom.

“So glad you’re here for the holiday, Honey.”

This time I'm prepared.

When You Have No Idea What Will Actually Come Out of Your Mouth Until You're Finished

Hey! Did you notice I posted twice yesterday? I didn’t think so, but I know I did, and it almost feels like I have immunity today from post writing. In the spirit of NaBloPoMo, that wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

So here I am with a handful of spaghetti to throw against the proverbial wall because I have no idea where this post is headed, and they can’t all be masterpieces, at least not for me, which segues me into the creative piece I wrote yesterday. 

I really liked it. It felt good. I felt something. 

I was a teensy bit proud of it, too, so thank you from the bottom of my heart to the fifty-eight of you who have read it so far, and those who commented. Comments, while not completely necessary, help me feel excited about my efforts. Of course, stats tell you one thing, but comments, well, they’re the bomb!

Unfortunately for me, this creative piece was in violation of a rule at Yeah Write so it was disqualified from the competition grid. Here I thought I was headed for a blue ribbon (of course, I did not think this!). For you curious sorts, like me, I added a thirteen word shout out to Yeah Write in order to encourage those unfamiliar with this creative writing group to take a peek. The editors added my enthusiastic directions to their website to my piece (55 words instead of the 42 allowed). Technicalities, schmechnicalities!!! I was slightly disgruntled and intensely disappointed, and, frankly, I actually cried a few tears. I am not a dumbass (I can’t tell you how many times autocorrect would not let me use this swear word!). I understand the rules. I just didn’t think the way I used them was in violation. Well, it was, and the rules are the rules.

I paused for like an hour (okay, ten minutes) to think about how I felt, and why. Then I threw some perspective at my pity party’s wall. 

You know what I decided (it’s not rock science)? This shit doesn’t matter in my life! 

Sure, I wanted this piece to get to the voting round of the competition, BUT  whether it does or doesn’t, (which it didn’t)……

My husband is still going to walk through our front door after work, and kiss me (probably proposition me, too). 

My kids are still safe and sound.

Parents still love me.

Everyone I love and care about, still loves and cares about me.

I am still reading a good book, with many more from where it came.

I was still going to Trivia Night with some good girlfriends.

I was hurt. BFD (short for Big Fucking Deal, but you knew that already). I spilled some tears over it. BFD. I vowed to never participate again. Yeah, right. But, BFD.

It just doesn’t matter. 

Did I mention I am doing the Positivity Challenge on Facebook this week?

So much good stuff happens in my life that I can’t/won’t let things that don’t really, really matter get under my skin, bring me down, or turn me into a negative Nellie. I am a glass half full person, first and foremost. I am constantly searching for every good little thing in my minuscule corner of the world. Not only so I can post events this week on Facebook, but for the way these beautifully positive things make me feel inside. How they help me interact with those around me in a more serene, and happy way.

So go on over to Yeah Write. Read some of the awesome creative endeavors the brave writers (minus me) are serving up for you. I did first thing this morning because life goes on, and I move with it.

One more thing...

SMILE! 

Right now.

Yeah Write: They Didn't Know You

boats.desktopnexus.com

They wondered why we didn’t bury you, 

or mark your terrestrial spot with granite

so they could make plans they wouldn’t keep.

They should’ve known

You belonged in the water’s waves 

hearing the wind’s whispers,

untamed halyards,

and

children's laughter, 

not silence.

Yeah Write Micro-Stories: When Your Wife Might Really Be A Zombie

Honey, don't forget to lock the balcony door!

The thing about being married to a “ripe” woman who sleepwalks is my darling bridegroom can't discern where I’m headed post-midnight. I believe he’s secretly relieved when I hit a bedroom wall because then he doesn’t have to search far for me.

Yeah Write Micro-stories: Kissing Someone New

boredpanda.com

Laughing nervously, my eyes squeeze tightly anticipating where I’ll first feel his breath, or anything. I await his lips, or something.

My stomach pitches. 

That deep, aching warmth spreads across nether places sweeping up universes within its centripetal force. 

A gasp slips.

Yeah Write Garbleblaster: Say Something, Anything

research.fuseink.com

Pink netted tutus,

Prom dresses, 

and sneaky boyfriends

passed before her.

School Halloween parties,

track meets,

and blatantly blown curfews

became invisible memories.

Statuesquely she sat in the same chair,

never moving, looking up, or uttering 

anything

except

“Darling, fill my wine.”

Gargleblaster! Thursdays at the minibar

lakeview-bars.com

The bass starts floor bumping earnestly around 11:00, climaxing at 2:00, then waning. Flipping on the fan, I roll over. The gyrating guys in blue silk speedos beckoning from the first floor window should have been a clue to another sleepless night. 

Yeah Write Garbleblaster: Scorched Earth

sochealth.co.uk

“If I actually did do it, we’d still be in this carbon-copy place. Interesting. I could have, but I didn’t. If it comes down to believing a slut over me, only scorched earth remains here. And that sucks. Because I loved you.”

Head over to Yeah Write by clicking on the badge above to check out all the micro-fiction going on at that place. It's where all the fun it!!!

Drain the Tub I'm Drowning

The last drop drips down the drain,

finally giving you what you’ve wanted; 

me leaving you alone, 

forever.

(Hope I can do this
forever thing.

So infinite, it is.)

Because anything one-sided is always less 

interesting, enjoyable, or satisfying.

And I’m tired.

People Who Spoil All the Fun: Yeah Write

Ever looked forward to an adventure, something really cool and fun, then someone has to spoil your carefree feeling and excitement by mentioning the pitfalls, and scary parts, of actually doing it? Yeah, me, too.

I work at the aquarium in Chicago as a volunteer diver (all 86 divers are volunteers except for the dolphin and Beluga whale trainers, who may or may not be divers. They are probably just trainers, which is so cool.). While doing pre-dive preparations yesterday, the Aquarist of the Amazon Rising exhibit, asked me for a favor. He’s never before probably because I’m low man on the proverbial totem pole. Yep, a peon!

“Have you noticed the difference between the turtle shells?”

(I love turtles!)

“Yes.” (which really meant I sort of noticed.)

“Will you grab one of the two bigger ones (approximately 2.5' long, 18"wide) with the curved shell? I need to do a procedure. Doesn’t matter which one. See it halfway under that stump.”

I stuck my head underwater.

“Yes, I see it.”

[I was so excited because I have many years of experience catching turtles at the lake with my kids.  We’d mark their shells with red nail polish, put them in a homemade turtle terrarium (read tub), and feed them fishy food and bugs for a few days, if they didn’t crawl out sooner, or failed to survive evening (bloody) raccoon raids. (Imagine explaining to young ones why it is suddenly important to keep the terrarium inside at night, without, of course, any mention of the covert task of massacre clean up, but including a tall tale about turtles needing to be with their mommies, too.)]

“The little ones are friendly. These big guys will bite.”

“Did you have to tell me that?”

“They’re more aggressive. Don’t get your face or hands anywhere near their mouths. (I WON’T) They have very long, sharp claws, too, that can slice skin wide open. You have gloves on. You should be fine. Just be careful. Here’s the net.”

Well, that spoiled the whole freaking turtle catching adventure because now I was nervous, tentative, a little scared, which is not how I wanted to feel when trying to exude bravery and secure the turtle. Plus they aren’t the only creatures in these tanks. There are three giant Arapaimas the size of 300-pound men, 5-foot long, butt-ugly catfish, and Stingrays with barbs scattering underfoot.

I swear that turtle knew I was coming because when I got back in the water, it was long gone. I had to go looking while wading amongst every other animal in my way. Did you know it’s possible to break into a full-on, fearful sweat underwater? I found that sneaky thing wedged into a corner, adjacent to the sand-colored stingray sucking face with the glass. Her head and claws (temporarily) drawn into her shell.

She fought me some as I gingerly carried her up for her procedure. I did it. I was sweaty and scared, but I did it.

On my way home, I thought a lot about the ways other people sometimes, purposely, spoil our excitement about adventures, and things we look forward to doing. I don’t believe he was purposely trying to do so, or ruin anything, even though I do believe he was testing me (Did I mention he’s the same guy who, a few weeks back, purposely sprinkled turtle food above my unknowing head, and I couldn’t figure out why the turtles wouldn’t leave me alone?). I don’t always understand when it happens at other times, with other people. I also wonder why I let them.