Day One

You hear the best conversations in New York.

After a semi delayed flight out of Vegas yesterday, via Virgin (an amazing airline), I finally set down at JFK, and, like the now seasoned traveler I have become, I found my way to the wrong place, and had to phone to find my transportation. Being redirected into the airport, I did find the driver, and discovered I was sharing my ride with, surprisingly, two women from the next town down from me in the Land O'Utes and a woman who was, shall we say, in the entertainment business.

How do I know this? She was on the phone for most of the trip making, um, appointments. Expensive appointments. Very expensive appointments. Appointments so expensive, I considered throwing my morals and values to the wind, and lying on my back to think of England.

How expensive? $800 an hour is what she was quoting. That is when I realised I am in the wrong business.. and sadly, would giggle madly at the idea.

The other two women tried to pretend they weren't listening. Me? I leaned into her space, to catch every word. She drummed her extra long nails on the armrest, adjusted her belly shirt, and flicked the charm in her navel. It was like watching some exotic animal... I was <-> close to a pro.. it was heady.

She flipped her long hair over her shoulder, as she manipulated her phone and a date book... fending calls from back in L.A., chiding one of her, um, friends, for booking the wrong night for a car to pick her up. "Just call one number, and you'll have enough money to pay for a decent hotel until you can catch the right flight tomorrow, girl! We've got that party we are booked for on Friday, and I need you there. Just call a regular, okay?"

I decided it was best not to ask if it was an open invitation party... We did, however, fall into chatting... she told me how she'd raised her daughters in South Carolina, away from her work, and such... she flew to LA and New York when she needed to, and made enough to keep them in private schools and provide what they needed and wanted. She never openly said what she did, but, she did allude to her being 'busy' a lot... and now, she had her own business. I didn't ask for details.

She wiggled her fingers at me when she left the car, mouthing, "Bye!". All that was left were me and the two shocked women, who looked askance when I smiled and said, "Now, THAT was a conversation, wasn't it?"

Twenty minutes later, I was ensconced at K's, the sofa converted to my new bedroom, and yawning, ready for sleep.

It was the perfect first encounter during this trip.

Another Trip

So many things I should be doing right now.

Cleaning the bathroom, changing sheets, sweeping my floor....oh, and packing to leave tomorrow. Yeah, I have that whole, "Going out of town for a bit, need to pack" thing going on. I've totally decided to only bring a carry on as my luggage, with jeans and tshirts. If I need more, I'll buy it, after all, I'm in New York!

I'm looking forward to the sights, the sounds, the energy that is New York... I'm looking forward to seeing K, to working on the film, to seeing a show or two... lets face it, I'm looking forward to being in the city.

Yes, I love my children being here... to being able to see them at any time...but, there is nothing here that I can pull energy from, to find to thrive.

I'm excited to be going...

Sunday Scribblings~ Flash Fiction

Prompt was 'language'.

K1,P2

The house is quiet, no clock ticks, the cat sleeps silently on the back of the sofa she sits on, focused on learning her new hobby. At her feet is a bag of varied colour yarns, with a few sets of different sized knitting needles extending from the middle of the rainbow maze. She glances to her right, to the "Expert" pattern she's creating, moving her lips over phrases that are new to her, the words contained within presenting as gibberish to her brain. This still new process has become the language of her life.

Scarves are created when her mind is occupied with complex ideas, thoughts, emotions.... the easy casting on and following rows of simple stitches, no pattern...the size of the needles and the weight of the yarn determining the beauty of the product. It allows her to have a sense of accomplishment--far more than just sitting would do. She works out the issues found in those ideas, the thoughts and release the emotions, letting her continue her life without being overwhelmed. She gives these to loved ones, smoothing over the finished work, pleased the weave will keep warmth in and let the owner's breath out, doing the job they were meant to do.

It is later, when she moves on to patterns that read like Hebrew, containing stitches with complicated names like Andalusian and Brioche and Lily of the Valley Cable--beneath the name are complex instructions--P2to, SSK, PFB,Mbob, M1p--each abbreviation relates to what seems to be a complex move to be made with two pieces of bamboo...Pearl 2, toggle over? Make a bobble, K1,P1,K1,P1 to create a bobble. Here is where she creates what she calls her knitting wrinkle, between her eyebrows. Concentrating on the instructions, watching for the dreaded Double Point Needle to appear, all of the jumbled phrases slowly working their way into her memory, into her fingers...slowly they make sense. When they do, she moves on to another complex pattern, so that she has to focus entirely on the work.

These are the pieces she makes when she can't bear to think, when life wraps itself around her soul and mind and memory, knitting it's own complex pattern, not allowing warmth to enter nor her breath to be let out... it is then she bends all of herself to the language contained in those patterns, focusing on what is being made, each stitch, no matter now perfect it becomes...reminders of the days she is swallowed up by the main language of her life. These pieces are given away to charities and shelters and to people she doesn't know very well.

In doing so, she gives away those hours of supressed pain and sorrow, allowing her to re-focus, and to open up the bag, take the needles, and again make a simple scarf.

	.

My Boy

Today is The Investment's 23rd birthday.

I made him his favourite shepherds pie and he had cupcakes. We went to a really horrible film he picked out, along with his J and HRH and the SIL .... then, after supper, he and his friends all went out bowling.

I declined to join them.

I wrote this for him some time ago... a story about my birthday, on his.

Stary, Stary Night

It's 2AM...he wakes me, showing me a town covered in a dark as rich as my slumber.

How easily we shed being mature mother, 20 year old son—we are children, lying wrapped in down comfort, the gently sloped roof our bed, our high mountain Utah town stretched out in the valley beyond, again enveloped in pioneer pre-Edison night.

Orion marches in stately majesty across the crisp skies, with his attending court moving in astral dignity, swirling in colours bold; red, gold, blue, green, white stark against the thick black.

My hand rests in his, reversed from what was, this lanky child who is like me, struggling in a world of stimuli when we long for routine and quiet.

Our breathing is so soft, the sound blends into the movement of the leaves and the smell of my roses and lavender moves upwards in that cold summer air and I wonder if he's drifted off to sleep when his long arm moves languidly to point out a star in what normally would be a vast dark area, it’s blue white light shimmering there.

I can hear his love, so hard for him to voice, wrapping around the words, “I can’t put it in one of those gift bags, but, it’s there, just for you….Happy Birthday, Mom.”




Happy Birthday, my dear son. I love you forever.

Playing Nonni

I've been babysitting the last few days.

I thought I was beyond this point in my life, dealing with brushing teeth and doing chores and all the stuff that goes along with watching two children while their parents are out of town. HRH and the Husband are on a short road trip, and I was asked to live up to the moniker, "Nonni". Apparently, this title means more than just bringing over supersized kites and candy and then leaving the parents to deal with the fall-out.

Sometimes, you have to be responsible.

The kids are easy to get along with, and listen, and are well behaved. I simply don't know what to do with them. We can't go outside because it's cold and it's been snowing, and I hate both of those things. You can go over the alphabet (Ry's work) and the 6 times tables (Lani's) for only so long. We've got videos (I'm an expert on Goosebumps videos now) and they each get one hour of X-Box time a day... still, that leaves me hours to fill in.

I've discovered Nick cartoons, and board games. I find myself asked questions about everything from Ry, they discuss the Goosebumps with great seriousness, and I've developed a way to cheat at board games.

Now, here's the tough part... I am very competetive... very. With a little one, though, you have to let them win on occasion. So, I send Ry to the bathroom to get tissue for me to blow my nose, and while he's gone, I stack the Sorry cards to allow him to win. Otherwise, we'd be there for hours... this way, 20 minutes and we are done.

Then, I'm stuck for another event. We build highways out of books, I make Ry huge books so he can draw in them, and I listen to his jokes:

"What is purple and blind?
"An eggplant?"
"Is it purple?"
"Yes."
"Does it have eyes?"
"No."
"That's it then!"
(peals of 5 year old laughter)

I won't even get into the responses he has for the dinosaur joke book he has. I read out the joke question, and he comes up with convoluted replies.

You can't help but laugh.

Along with Ry and Lani, I have Loki, the massive dog HRH swears is a Lab mix... I know a pit bull mix when I see one! However, since HRH rescued poor starving Loki, fed and nursed her to health, this dog thinks the sun rises and sets in my daughter... and, she passes on that love to anyone who is in the house. Her way of loving you is to lean... watching her slobber over Ry when he gets home from pre-school is a hoot.

So, here I sit, watching "Wolfman of the Swamp" and answering questions.... "Why do werewolves like the moon?" ... lunch is next, then games, Lani home, more games, homework, dinner and bed.

I'll be glad to go back to kites and candy... it's easier.

Three Word Wednesday~Flash Fiction

This week's word prompts are: allure, perch and vivid.

Spillway

For her family, the allure of the open space of water had been the chance to catch sunfish; a pretty fish with a yellow spot near it's tail that made for excellent fish fry. They'd pile into the station wagon, and follow the neighbors to the spit of land that extended into the expanse of run-off from the lake, an area that allowed the fish to settle and grow large. It was there she learned to bait, cast so it dropped without a splash, and give a quick jerk to set the hook before she reeled in her fish. In spite of her present aversion to the Great Outdoors, the memory of these trips held laughter, picnics, and both parents in a genial mood. The heat of the Southern sun, the cool breeze from the lake and the excitement when you caught a large perch stayed vivid in her mind, allowing the dark stretches of her family's usual existence to fade, reminding her hope is always there.

Curse You Sale

Who has the smart idea to reduce Easter candy prices?

My freezer is no longer a place to store chicken breasticles or bags of broccoli... oh, no! Now it contains bags of M&M's in all flavours, malted milk eggs, jelly beans (nothing is as tasty as frozen jelly beans)... a plethora of sweet goodies that will expand both my ass and my dental bill.

Yes, I know it's all about my self control...but, please! When faced with boxes of bags of M&M's in ALL flavours...


...my self control was smart enough to keep it's mouth shut.