A Moment of Peace

She stood at the edge of the deck,
   gradually feeling the weight of the week - all of the new changes and decisions in her life,
slowly melt away.  It was early evening,
   yet she could still feel the warmth of the sun shining down between the trees.
Charlie stood beside her,
     happy to have his companion home, and at his side.
                                             
I should mow the grass, she thought to herself.

It had not been mowed since last Autumn,
     and with the Spring rains and warmer temperatures
had come new growth.  She laughed, as she surveyed the lawn.
     There were large patches of grass that had grown at a faster rate
than the rest, looking like giant Chia pets had invaded the yard.  
Another day of rain, and the lawn mower was likely to choke over the long, hairy blades.

Still standing at the edge of the deck, she thought. . .
                                         though, I can easily be talked out of it.

She lay down on the deck's hard surface,
     with her knees pointed upward; her face, soaking in the sun.   
Even with its rough edges, the warm boards felt good against her back,
     as she allowed herself to surrender to the moment,
only noticing that which she could see, feel, and hear.

Like a protective covering, long branches stretched across the periwinkle sky,
     their once bare tips showing the first signs of new life.
They danced and swayed in the light wind, as wispy, white clouds slowly drifted by.

On the ground, in the comfort of her favorite long-sleeve t-shirt, cotton shorts, 
     and bare feet, she could feel the warmth of the sun on her left cheek; the cool breeze across her right, and the nearby road noise sounding more like the surf of the ocean.

From time to time, a wet, black nose would rub up against her face, and she would smile,
     as she would run her fingers through Charlie's soft, white fur.   

And, in that moment, there was no doubt in her mind -

she felt at peace. 

  



 
  

Hiking Shoes

So, I received the e-mail.   

Almost exactly three months from the date that I submitted my story,
     I received REJECTION LETTER #2.

Disappointed?  OF COURSE.

Discouraged?  NO WAY.

I will proudly display the letter on my bulletin board next to REJECTION LETTER #1,
     as a reminder that I am on my path to becoming a published children's book author.

I believe in myself, and I will continue to pursue my dream.

Next step?

Finding an agent, which can be as difficult as getting a publisher to notice a story.    

No one said this was going to be an easy path,
     and I have REALLY GOOD HIKING SHOES. 









  

What Do Four Gay Men and Windex Have In Common?

I had a dream last night.  

Four gay men were sitting on the couch, across from me, and said,

     "GIRL!  Do you know you have a GIANT ZIT on your face?
                         What is UP with that?"

As I awoke, just before reaching full consciousness,
   I was thinking . . . Windex.

Remember the movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding?

Sure enough, when I looked in the mirror . . .
   there was a BIG FAT FREAK (of a) ZIT above my upper lip.

Where IS that WINdex?




 

Something Worth Clapping About

I had an appointment for a job interview this morning,
     and when I walked into the front lobby of the office,
there was an adorable little girl sitting on an older woman's lap.

When I sat down across from them, the little girl smiled a big smile, and began to clap.
She had tiny little features, and tiny little hands, and was dressed in tiny pink clothing.    

     "That is the nicest greeting I have had in a long time!"  I said.

     "How old is she?" I asked.

     "One years old," the woman responded, who had a face full of spirit. 

There was a warmth and a comfort - an understanding between the two,
     that gave me the impression that the woman was the little girl's grandmother. 

     "None of the adults in my life act that excited to see me when I walk in the room,
and my children are all practically teenagers (self-explanatory)," I said.

The attractive and wise looking woman smiled and nodded, with a look of validation.

Soon after, the parents of the little girl came out, and the four of them left together.

As I sat there waiting, I thought about what I had said earlier.

I remembered when my kids were small - how their little faces would light up
     the moment that I walked into a room,
and they would ...........................................clap.

Yes! 

They would clap.

What WOULD it be like, I thought, if every time I walked into a room,
     all of the people who knew me would clap?

What would it be like, if every time YOU walked into a room,
     all of the people who knew YOU. . . . . .  would clap?

I guess it would seem strange, at first,
     as if someone were playing some sort of practical joke.

But, after a while, I think one could get used to it.

One could also get tired of it,
     as I suppose it could lose its lackluster,
just like anything else that becomes part of a routine.  

Still.  I think it would be worth an experiment.  

Can you hear my applause???


  





























 

My Left Thumb

I don't know what I was doing when it happened.   

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Something normal, like washing the breakfast dishes, or making someone's lunch.

The shooting pain came out of nowhere - enough to make me stop what I was doing and take notice.

     "OW!" I said. "WHAT was THAT?!"

The pain went away, as quickly as it came. 

But, then it came back.

I never realized how much I use my left thumb.

I discovered that if I kept it attached to my left pointer finger
     (with invisible tape ),
I was less likely to cause the pain to reappear.


What could have caused this?




There was no pain when I went to bed, the night before.


Did I sleep on it funny?  

I recently heard a story on television about a guy who dreamed
     that he dove into the water without using his arms. 

He woke up on the floor with a sprained neck.

Maybe I dove into the shallow end . . . . . .

and landed on my thumb.  

Rain - The Indoor Carwash ( When You Leave the Sun Roof Open )

Yesterday, after an interrupted night of sleep, due to a stream of violent thunderstorms that rolled through the area,
     my morning started out with . . . . . .

     "Mom, do you know that you left your sun roof open?"

My entire demeanor immediately changed.

UGH.   

I threw on some shoes, and went outside to survey the damage. 
It wasn't as bad as I had expected.  
I think the high winds saved me from having to scoop the car out with a bucket.

I dried the front seats off with a towel, removed the water-filled cup holders,
     and dumped them out onto the pavement. 

I carefully rolled the sides of the floor mats up, creating a funnel shape that allowed the water to 
     spill out onto the driveway.

Fortunately, other than a few water-logged receipts sitting in the center console,
     I had not left anything valuable in the car. 

It was 7:00 a.m., a balmy 60 degrees, and the sun was breaking through the clouds, so
     I left the sun roof as it was, and opened the windows, to allow the interior to dry out. 

Forty-five minutes later . . . . . .

     It seems awfully dark in the house, I thought to myself.

     "Oh, shit!"

It was raining again. 

Like the movie, Goundhog's Day, I started the process all over again,
     with the exception of one thing -

This time, I closed the sun roof and windows. 

About an hour later, I noticed a text on my cell phone, from my son. 

He had sent it earlier that morning (about 7:30),

     when he was on his way to school.

It read: 

     "You might want to close the sun roof and windows.  It is raining again." 

When there are no words, take pictures . . .