The Lady in the Mirror

 The third writing assignment of the year in the Deadlines for Writers short story group is due today. The prompt is "Lady" and the word count is 2500! My first draft was 800 words short of that goal; I thought there was no way to write that much fiction. But here it is - exactly 2500 words. (I've been assured that this is the longest assignment of the year, whew!) 

The Lady in the Mirror

“It’s gonna be a good day,” I told the lady in the bathroom mirror.

She seemed to believe me. Why not, after all? I was up early. I should have plenty of time to get ready for work. I had already made the bed, had a hot shower and washed my hair. Alright, so the hot water in the shower (who am I kidding here? The WARM water in the shower) lasted just BARELY long enough to wash my hair. The rest of me got the cold water treatment. Oh well! Cold showers speed up the metabolism, right? So, maybe the cold water was a karmic gift! One more blessing! 

Still it’s gonna be a good day!

Hurrying to get dressed, my clothes laid out last night, I found that the pants I had planned to wear were too snug on my hips (dadgumit!), so I had to rummage for a looser pair and a blouse to match. The new color outfit dictated that I also change purses. That little complication cost me five precious minutes as I hastily transferred essentials from one purse to the other. The unexpected clothes-selection process added several minutes to my allotted get-ready time.

I glanced at the dressmaker’s mirror standing in the corner to check my outfit. The lady there assured me that I could make up those lost minutes by taking my coffee on the go this smorning. Maybe I could even make up some time on the road -- if I could get out the door before the worst traffic hour started.

I haven’t lost it yet, I told myself.  It’s still gonna be a great day!

Back in the bathroom to finish my toilette, I smiled widely at the lady in the mirror. Psychologists assert that the muscle memory of a wide smile will transfer from the cheeks into the brain and tell the brain to turn on the happy chemicals. Come on, brain synapses, do your job! I need that joy juice!

“It’s gonna to be a good day,” I whispered to the mirror lady although my cheeks were aching from the prolonged smiling.

Make-up all finished, I reached for the hair dryer to begin drying my short hair and styling it to best advantage. Since it had begun thinning last year due to low thyroid levels, it takes more time and effort to get sufficient volume for a youthful and flattering look. Working with the heated air and a round brush, my less than voluminous mane was styled in record time!  And just like I wanted it! Yes!

It’s gonna be a good-hair day for this girl today!

I was out the door only a few minutes behind schedule; the sun was shining, and the birds were chirping. It looked like the perfect Spring day. Sure, I’d burned my tongue on that first sip of coffee, and those minutes I had lost finding a better-fitting outfit will put me on the freeway at the start of the worst traffic hour, and that means a slower commute; but maybe all the crazies who usually share the road with me will take another route to work today. Not likely, but it could happen!

I can still do this! It’s gonna be a good day. Let’s roll!

“No. no. no!” I groaned through gritted teeth as a sudden line of brake lights ahead foretold the future.  I had been breezing along at the speed limit and feeling optimistic, but now traffic had slowed to a crawl. 

Wig-wag lights in all colors flashed as I approached the accident scene. Cop cars flashed blue on one side of the lines of cars; wrecker trucks flashed yellow on the other side; firetrucks and ambulances flashed red both ahead and behind. Damaged vehicles were scattered willy-nilly across the lanes, and dazed passengers stood on the shoulder talking to each other or the officers attempting to manage the scene. One older couple sat on the grassy bank a few feet off the shoulder of the roadway looking forlorn and worried. 

A few of the more aggressive crazies in the cars ahead of me, who unfortunately did NOT choose a different route today, switched lanes repeatedly, slowing the traffic with each whim. Others slowed to a near stop so they could gape at the damaged vehicles and the first responders working the scene. As I inched past the chaos, I sent up a quick prayer for the people involved in the accident, knowing that this day was really off to a bad start for them. I was still hopeful, though, that the traffic would thin now and I could still salvage MY day and get to work just slightly late.

It’s ok, I reassured the anxious lady in the rearview mirror when I caught her eye, it’s ok. The traffic ahead is beginning to pick up speed. It’s still gonna be a good day!

The mirror-lady puffed out her cheeks and blew frustration out as she looked back at me. Something about her tight expression spoke to me, “Are we sure about this stuff we keep spouting?  Are we sure it is not just delusion? If these positive affirmations of ours work so well, then why is so much negative stuff happening this morning? When’s this good day we foretold going to start?”

I looked away from her gaze, left her questions unanswered, and concentrated on the road ahead. Good day! Good day! I kept reminding myself.

I arrived at my office building six minutes late and swung into the closest parking place I could find. Sadly, that space was in the far back corner of the lot, a good 3-minute walk to the employee entrance. Grabbing my workbag and purse, I quickly locked the car and began the trek, affirming myself with each step. You are here safely; all is well; it’s gonna be a good day!

Once inside the building, I tried to slip past Scott Hudgins’s cubicle without notice. Things had been awkward between us since our one ill-fated date. He had not been happy at the end of the long evening when he leaned in for a goodnight kiss at my doorway and I offered my cheek. And now I had run out of ways to turn down a second date with him. He’s a good guy, but I’d just don’t see anything in our future beyond friendship and collegiality.

But avoiding Scott was not in the cards for me this morning. “Oh, hi, Scott.” I made my voice breathless as I rushed past his outstretched hand in the hallway. “I can’t stop to chat this morning. I’m running late again, and I need to get checked in and speak to Nancy.” I didn’t look back to see the effect of my brush-off.

By noon, the migraine, which had begun in traffic and built up as I clocked in and explained my late arrival to the boss, was flaunting her most flamboyant persona – not only cranking out grinding pain but also producing zigzag lights mimicking those at the morning’s accident scene. She displayed lines and dots in all colors. These visual distractions paraded across the world my eyes tried to focus on; and dark spots in my vision made it tricky to even SEE the computer screen much less interpret the data on it. I knew that my pounding head wouldn’t let me work through lunch to make up the minutes I’d lost at the beginning of the work day. These visual disturbances, I knew from experience, would not go away until I rested in quiet darkness for at least 20 minutes.

A lump of anxiety grew in my throat as I left my desk and went into the plush and more softly-lit employee lounge. I sank thankfully into one of the of the upholstered chairs there and closed my eyes. My earlier search for cash to buy some lunch had revealed that when I changed purses this morning I had neglected to transfer my money clip and had no money for lunch; so I carried with me a granola bar of indeterminate age that I had unearthed from the back of my bottom desk drawer.

Still determined to be positive, I reminded myself that the granola bar was a good thing. If I hadn’t thought ahead and built up an emergency snack stash, I wouldn’t have had anything for lunch.

See. It’s all okay. You have lunch, I told myself. It is high protein and fiber with an acceptable number of calories. Remember those tight pants this morning? See, a light lunch is a good thing!

I reminded my determined-to-be-positive self, it’s gonna be a good day.

Eyes closed, I was dimly aware of someone entering the lounge and inserting money into the vending machine.

“Wow! Look at that!” a male voice exclaimed. “I got two apples instead of one!” he continued.

I opened my eyes in response to the enthusiastic and unfamiliar voice. I looked up to see two startling green eyes focused on my face. Those eyes were at home on an angular face sporting a fashionably scruffy chin and strong jawline. My eyes took in the good-looking stranger with the close-cropped light brown hair. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“A-are you okay?” the stranger asked, a little uncertainly. No doubt my pain-distorted visage had alerted him to my unwell state. Instead of hurriedly finessing a quick exit to avoid engaging, he looked at me with concern and inquired again, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I began, “I had a migraine, but it’s easing up now.” I covered my face, blocking out the light, the man, and the embarrassment. First new man I’d met in months, and I was certainly not making a favorable impression! And how nice that he seems concerned for the welfare of a stranger! Who was this man anyway? I just hoped he’d leave without getting a good look at me. If he didn’t recognize me later, I might get another chance to make a good first impression.

Didn’t happen. “Here,” he said, “I’ll bet an apple would help that headache. The machine gave me two!”

I looked up to see a shiny red apple in his extended hand and kindness and concern in those amazing green eyes.

“Here,” the man said again, his voice much lower now, as he leaned down and gazed at me with interest. “I’ve had such a great morning – and now an extra apple!”

The apple lay in the palm of the broad masculine hand he extended toward me. I couldn’t help noticing that there was no ring on his nicely-manicured ring finger as I reached out to accept the apple and his concern. “Thank you!”

“May I sit?” He asked gesturing to the chair beside mine. “Can I get you an aspirin or something for the headache? I’m Mason Hardy, by the way. Today’s my first day in accounting. I’m Mr. Madison’s new executive assistant.”

I finally found my voice. “Nice to meet you, Mason from accounting. No thanks on the aspirin; the headache is already abating. I’m Sarah Eliott from payroll.”

He was handsome. Incredibly so. I couldn’t even bear to think about how I must look to him. I knew my hair was mussed from the temple massages I’d given myself in an effort to reduce the pain. I knew my morning make-up was long gone. Tears threatened behind my eyes again, choking my throat. I thought about turning away. I wanted to explain, to tell him that I wasn’t normally this big a mess, but I clenched my teeth and held my tongue.

I focused on the light blue fabric of his suit coat and reminded myself that he was a kind stranger who had offered to help. I had said thank you for the apple, and that’s enough. I didn’t need to thank him again, or apologize, or explain myself.

All of these thoughts cascaded through my blood in a matter of seconds Then I remembered the promise I’d made myself to stop avoiding social interactions for fear of rejection. Besides, this man seemed to be actually flirting mildly with me. Maybe I didn’t look as frazzled as I thought.

So I smiled at him - that easy warm kind of smile that I’d been practicing in the mirror this morning. I had etched it into my psyche. I made all the lines of my face tilt upwards, as his had when he smiled at me. I watched his green eyes turn more golden as the sunlight coming in the window behind me struck his face. I took a bite of the apple and consciously relaxed the tension in my neck muscles. 

I finally found my voice. “So, Mason, tell me about this great morning you’ve had.”

As Mason talked about the easy working rapport he’s already established with his new boss, I found myself relaxing into the friendly conversation as if we had not just met. He told me a little about his previous job; and we discovered that we had both played golf in college, although neither of us has played much since graduation. He was easy to be with. There seemed to be a kinship there as we jumped from subject to subject, discovering several shared interests. As we sat, eating our apples and maintaining frequent eye contact in conversation, he smiled often, and those green eyes sparkled.

He asked about the company gym, and I told him I usually worked out immediately after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I didn’t mention that I’d only started this routine about six weeks ago.

“Will you think I’m a stalker if I join you there tomorrow?” he asked with a smile.

“That’d be great,” I said. “Don’t worry. If it turns into stalking, I know your boss, and I can send him a memo!” I joked.

He stood. “Well, speaking of my boss, I’d better get back to work. I’m glad I met you, Sarah from Payroll. I hope your migraine goes away soon. See you tomorrow!”

I stood too and held out my hand, “Thanks for the apple and the conversation, Mason from Accounting. See you in the gym tomorrow.”

As he disappeared, I suddenly realized that my migraine seemed to be gone. Maybe all I had needed was a little food and some pleasant conversation. I tucked the uneaten granola bar into my pocket as I walked into the washroom and took care of business, preparing to go back to my desk. As I washed my hands and repaired my hair and make up, the lady in the mirror kept smiling at me.

“What are you grinning about?” I asked, with a smile of my own.

And we stood there – the lady and me – both just smiling these big ol’ smiles.

Feeling a little sheepish, I reached out and bumped fists with her.

“We said it first thing this morning, right?!’ she winked.

“Today is a good day,” we chorused.

Little Pieces

The last assignment for the Keep Writing Challenge is to write a 180-word story using the prompt "glue."

Little Pieces

“How are you?” mumbles the tight-lipped clerk as I unload groceries onto the conveyor belt.

“Fine.” I recite my line and follow it with the obligatory, “And you?”

Later, loading my groceries into the backseat of my pickup truck I imagine how differently that encounter could have gone.

“Oh, thank you for asking, Ms Grocery-store-checkout-lady.  I noticed how rudely that last customer treated you, and I am sorry for that. I hope you can forget it and enjoy the rest of your day. And, since you asked, I’m not feeling very well. The arthritis in my left hand has made it almost useless this week. My Mother’s dementia has made a dramatic turn for the worse, too, and I am afraid I shouldn’t have left her alone to shop for groceries. My daughter’s family is really struggling to pay bills since the pandemic ended their second income...”

I start the truck and pull carefully out into traffic. Life breaks us all into little pieces. We pile the pieces up and exist until we are able to glue them back together and live.

The Shutdown Sultan

The penultimate Keep Writing Challenge assignment is to write a 300-word story using the prompt "hex."

The Shutdown Sultan

The Shutdown Sultan surveys the landscape of Mindy’s mind. He has feasted and controlled here. For thirteen weeks he has reigned here. The once-lush valley surely lies spent and exhausted in the wake of the Sultan’s invasion. Surely the spark of creativity he forced from her is extinguished!

The Sultan’s eye lingers on the myriad colorful canvases littering the atelier of Mindy’s home. Landscapes, seascapes, field flowers (relics of the remembered Outside) dominate the room. Giant roses, tulips, lilies-of-the-valley, and poppies grow in abundance. Flowers of indeterminate origin, many cultivated only in Mindy’s mind, threaten to burst the walls. Colorful splotches and splatters mar the floor; half-finished and hideous abstracts dare the timid to enter. 

He sighs. A small doubt has pushed into his consciousness. Has the isolation borne fruit? Has the enforced creativity devastated as he intended, or has its hex turned on him?

Turning his back on the offending atelier, the Shutdown Sultan strides into the study. Surely here he will find affirmation of damage from Mindy’s hex-induced creativity. His attention centers on Mindy’s laptop, and hope reignites in his heart. The device languishes beside the reading chair, exhausted but maintaining a tight hold on the 70 little stories that bear witness to Mindy’s dogged adherence to the Keep Writing Challenge.

The Sultan scrolls through the vagaries of Mindy’s mind as shown in her fiction. She has visited far-off lands, enjoyed the company of family and imaginary creatures, found adventure, made friends, honed skills. She has lived in her words, her scenes, her stories. Mindy’s creativity has taken the Sultan’s restrictions and pushed her to write, compelled her to paint, forced her to pound the ivories.

My fortress was so strong!  He thinks. How can it be that a simple creature like Creativity subverted the power of the Shutdown Sultan?!

Kids, Komputers, and Kolleagues

The Keep Writing Challenge for today is to write a 150-word story using the prompt "plunge."

Kids, Komputers, and Kolleagues

It had seemed so easy last month when I’d agreed to this! Now I was standing in front of my son’s first grade class and found myself unaccountably nervous.

This is crazy. I am a successful computer analyst. The state police trust me with their computer systems. I know this stuff backward and forward. These kids are 6 years old, for cryin’ out loud!

I had worked to simplify terminology to make my job understandable to children, so, smiling at the teacher, sitting all ears in the back of the room, I plunged in.

“I work at the police station, but I am not a police officer. My colleagues and I…..”

I continued, telling the children about how we study people’s computers to help the police punish the “bad guys.”

“Anybody have a question?” the teacher asked.

I quickly conceded abject failure when I heard the one question proffered, “What is a colleague?”

The Masters

The Keep Writing Challenge for today is to write a 250-word story using the prompt "tripod."

The Masters

Frances and Tom held hands and prepared to see the results. They had been disappointed so often! Could their marriage survive another?

Tom put out a restraining hand, “Honey, remember, if it’s not positive, we can always try again. And I will always love you whether or not we have a baby.” They prepared themselves for the possibility of another disappointment.

They looked at the stick – and then at each other - in disbelief. “It’s positive!”

Frances threw her arms around her husband.

The pregnancy was a dream, even through the long quarantine, and Tom treated Frances like a queen. Soon it was only three weeks until their Thanksgiving baby would be here.

The Covid-19 virus had caused the postponement of Augusta’s famous Masters Golf Tournament, usually held in April. Their hometown’s big event had been rescheduled for early November.

Tom left home early on the morning of November 9, a full three weeks before the baby was due, to watch the scheduled practice rounds with his friend, Gary. Suddenly Tom’s cellphone rang and lit up.

“Fran’s mother?!  What could she want?” Tom exclaimed.

“Tom! Frances is in labor!  Meet us at Augusta Hospital. I hate for you to miss the Masters, but you’ll just have to ask Gary to video it for you. Hurry!”

Frances was resting between contractions when the door opened. “Oh Tom! Thank God, you made it!” she cried.

Fran was flummoxed to see Gary entering the labor room carrying Tom's video camera and tripod!

A Gift for My Mother

The Keep Writing Challenge for today is to write a 90-word story using the prompt "listen."

A Gift for My Mother

I concentrate on holding eye contact as my Mother talks. I’ve heard this family story – in these very same words – at least twice today – hundreds of times in total.

“Do you remember that?” she asks, expectantly.

I will myself to feel her enthusiasm. “Oh yes, he was such a prankster!”

I squeeze out a chuckle, light my face, and follow my script, “And, what was it Grace said then?”

Fire ignites in eyes often dull with diminished interest in life. There are so few gifts I can still give my aging mother.

I listen.

Steadfast Love

The Keep Writing Challenge for today is to write a 150-word (exactly) story using the prompt "font."

Baptismal Font at Cathedral Magdeburg, Germany 

Steadfast Love 

As their son’s wedding rehearsal ended and the wedding party filed out, Allison and Jim remained at the altar. Their eyes met. “Remember? Right here – seems like only yesterday!”

Allison stands at the baptismal font holding her baby son, Christopher.  Jim, standing tall beside her, rests one hand lightly on his wife’s waist while the other reaches around to tenderly cradle their son’s head.  Jim and Allison, forming a circle of arms around their child, present him to God and their faith community.

Christopher wears a tiny white cap that his father wore 30 years ago at his own baptism and a long white baptismal gown trimmed with lace from his grandmother’s wedding dress. He sleeps unaware that, for one breathless moment, the world has stopped to honor and offer thanks for his life. He sleeps as his community solemnly vows to surround his family with steadfast love.

Steadfast love.

The Decoy

The Keep Writing Challenge for the day is to write a 70-word story using the prompt "palm."

The Decoy

Wylena focused on the deputy detailing her part in the strategy. She rubbed her palms against her thighs. The walls inched closer, and the air supply in the room dwindled. She dug her fingertips into her palms and thought of Casey.

Fear would not stop her from doing her part to save her sister. Time to “put up or shut up.”

Legs trembling, Wylena stood.

Deep inhale. “Okay, let’s do it!”

Life Goes On

The Keep Writing Challenge for today is to write a 100-word story using the prompt "huff." 

Inspiration: “Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” – Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Life Goes On

“Are you serious, Mac?!” Fran huffs, gaping at her husband.  “You quit your job?!”

Only a half-hour before, Fran, the first home from work, lay semi-dozing on the couch, contentedly musing Mac will be home soon…dinner’s in the slowcooker…good jobs…happy marriage…soon a house and kids… life is good…

Now a towering blackness obscures Fran’s tranquil daydream. The frightening storm intensifies; deafening cracks of panic rock her hopes; sizzling bolts of fear streak the dark sky of her vision, and a driving rain pelts her dreams, rolls down her face, and soaks her strength.

She breathes. 

She extends her hand.

He takes it.

“What now?” they ask in unison.

Lessons in the Park

The Keep Writing Challenge assignment for today is to write a 250-word (exactly) story using the prompt "following."

Lessons in the Park

The man leaned against a tree only twenty feet away from Claire, giving her a full view of his face. His tawny hair gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the pines. Even from this distance, Claire could see the intense expression on his ruggedly-handsome face.

“He was here last week – and before that,” Maria nodded in the direction of Clair’s gaze. “He was watching you.” 

The man was attractive in an earthy way that appealed to Claire, and she oddly felt little unease at the thought that he might be following her.

As the friends worked on Maria’s English, Claire ‘s attention drifted occasionally to the stranger, who had used a few peanuts to entice a squirrel , and was now feeding it from his hand. He looked up, as if aware of Claire’s scrutiny, and tossed her a smile before pushing off the tree and sauntering to the banks of the nearby pond. He pulled out a bag of bread and crouched down to feed the loudly-squawking ducks then threw his head back and laughed as they swarmed him for the food.

“Nice man, I think,” Maria said. “Animals like him. And he likes YOU.” She waggled her eyebrows. “That boyfriend of yours could use some competition. He takes you for granted.”

As Claire dressed for her date that night, she thought of Maria’s comments about the attractive stranger. She pictured him, his head thrown back in laughter, and wondered if he really was attracted to her.

She smiled. Maria was right. Fletcher needs some competition!

Tribute to a Graduate

The Keep Writing Challenge for today is to write a 300-word (exactly) story based on the prompt "excellence."

Tribute to a Graduate

My baby girl stood before me in a flowing blue graduation robe and mortarboard, bopping gently to make the tassel swing.

“What?  Why are you staring at me like that? Are you disappointed that I didn’t quality to wear a high honors sash?”

“Oh, Baby, absolutely not! There is no way I could be prouder, and you look amazing!”  I stood there trying to capture words to explain where my mind had flown, and my daughter rushed back into the kitchen to model for her Dad.

Unsettled by the aborted conversation, knowing I’d let a golden opportunity escape, I sat at my computer and began to tell my daughter what was in my mind when she thought she saw disappointment on my face.

My darling Arden,

You asked why I had no words for you as you modeled your graduation robe? This. A slide show of your life (past, present, and future) was playing in my head. My mother always said that you never lose all the ages you have been, and I was assembling all of YOU into one cohesive image.

You are a baby - bubbly, responsive, eager to learn and master new skills.

You are a toddler - inquisitive, usually successful on first tries but willing to learn from failures and try again.

You are a child - unbroken when faced with setbacks, knowing her own intelligence and importance while acknowledging the strengths of others as well.

You are a teen who knows who she is and what she believes in, who utilizes her strengths, who dares to dream.

You are a young woman blazing trails and setting examples, responsible, in charge of her own life and future.

I saw, standing before me today, a young woman of elegance and excellence, ready to take on the world.

The Power of Love

The Keep Writing Challenge for today is to write a 150-word (exactly) story using the prompt "tick."

The Power of Love

I recline in the comfy treatment chair and watch the solution drip into the tubes and begin its journey into my veins. This is my last infusion in a long course of treatment for recurring cancer. Remembering the shock of the unexpected diagnosis and dire prognosis that had rocked my world five years ago and the stress of the myriad doctors’ visits since, I relax into this familiar routine.

My mother, wandering now in aging dementia, is unaware and needy – and loving.

My husband loves and needs his partner.

My children love and need their counselor.

My grandchildren, almost grown, still love and need their second line of defense.

I am loved.

I am needed.

Drip. Drip.

Drip is what my ears hear, but my mind hears Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock. 

I don’t count the seconds of borrowed time that are dripping steadily into my life’s blood.

The Partnership

The Keep Writing Challenge assignment for today is to write a 250-word (exactly) story using the prompt "running."

The Partnership

Al flashed a quick smile. She’d caught him staring just a little too long.

With her sun-bronzed, lightly freckled complexion and her brown pageboy haircut, his new tennis partner possessed, if not movie actress glamour, certainly the good looks of a girl-next-door prom queen. Nice to look at, sure; but would this girl be tough enough to compete in their league? Could this partnership work?

“Okay, then, let’s give this a shot. We’ve got two weeks to get used to each other before the tournament. Let’s go,” he suggested smoothly.

“Thanks for being willing to take on the newbie as your doubles partner,” Megan replied. “Coach said he thought you’d be able to adapt to the change better than anybody else on the boys team. I’ve played since I was a kid and played singles at my old school, but I’ve never played mixed doubles; I hope I won’t hold you back.”  

Al and Megan took the court to warm up opposite Janet and Jason, who’d played together since 9^th grade.

Soon Coach called out, “Okay, let’s pick up the pace and see what you got!” and the foursome squared up.

Al began to relax as Megan delivered strong serves and made solid returns. He could see it now. She was supple and muscular without appearing masculine, always alert and running hard to be in position to make powerful returns. She met his eyes in affirmation when he made a good shot.

Oh yes! Coach was right. Good partnership!

On the Hardware Aisle

The Creative Writing Challenge for today is to write a 100-word (exactly) story using the prompt "screwdriver."

On the Hardware Aisle

My life begins!  I’ve never belonged before. I’ve always been different. But…

Finally! An end to long days of tedium observing life and watching friends find their niche, leaving me to wonder if I ever would. Gone are the brief moments of wild exhilaration and hope (“Will this one choose me? He’s smiling and studying me from all angles. Will I finally be taken home?”) and the sudden drop to despair (“Oh, his gaze is wandering!  He’s picking another!”)

But this one picked me!  He wanted a Phillips! A toolbox of my own! My very own carpenter!

Kindergarten Couple

The Keep Writing Challenge for today was to write a 200-word (exactly) story using the prompt "prompted." I adapted a true story that came from a conversation between my daughter and her son.

Kindergarten Couple

"How was your day?" I asked my 5-year-old son on the way home from school.

He sounded exasperated, "It was OK, but Maddie and I had to have a SERIOUS talk."

All year Maddie and Eli have been “boyfriend/girlfriend” – a relationship Maddie takes very seriously. My classroom is just down the hall from their kindergarten, and each time I see Maddie in the hallway, she yells, "Hey, Eli's mom! I'm Eli's girlfriend!"

Questions filled my mind now as I waited in the quiet car for Eli to continue. Had his teacher made them sit and talk because they'd interrupted class?  What had happened to warrant a SERIOUS talk?  What IS a serious talk to two 5-year-olds?!

I asked, "Who said you had to have a serious talk."

"Maddie," he replied.

"Really! Why?" I prompted.

"Well, I played with Ryder (a MALE friend of his) on the playground at recess, and she said I have to play with HER the most because she’s my girlfriend. I told her that I still have other friends and I AM going to go play with the boys sometimes!"

“Was that okay with Maddie?”

“She said she’ll still be my girlfriend.”

The training starts early!

Poetry in My Heart

The Keep Writing Challenge of the day is to write a 150-word (exactly) story using prompt "the lawn."

Poetry in My Heart 

I sat at the front window with my laptop, clarifying my thoughts by writing them. Glancing outside, I saw a pickup truck, pulling a trailer full of lawn-care equipment, park at the curb. Brian and his helper quickly unloaded and began their noisy work.

“Ugh! So much for concentration,” I thought! “Who can think while lawnmowers, weed whackers, shrub trimmers, and driveway edgers violate the tranquility of a perfect Spring day?”

As my eyes went back to the screen, though, I found myself returning to my inner self. The thoughts chasing each other around inside my head and running out my fingers onto the keyboard also chased away the world outside.

I listened, instead, to the beauty of a pink morning sky peeking through tall pine trees and heard the babbling music of a brook winding its long, slow, rocky journey to the ocean.

I wrote the poem in my heart.  

Baseball Is Life

The Keep Writing Challenge for 05-15-2020 is to write a 150-word (exactly) story using the prompt "contrary." 

Baseball Is Life

I usually “go along to get along.” Nevertheless, here I was - the lone contrary voice in the baseball parents’ meeting.

“I get that, Harry,” I said. “The team needs some wins. They’re discouraged; they’re walking off the field with heads hanging. We all feel for them and want to make it better for our sons, but I wonder… Is moving them down to a lower level really a good idea?”

“Shouldn’t we teach our children to succeed by setting goals and working toward them – dreaming, focusing, persevering, working? None of us wants them to think it’s okay to abandon goals when the going gets hard.”

Marty nodded. “Yeah, I want my boy to know he can improve and succeed by working harder, that failure is not final. It’s a hard call, but nobody ever said that being a dad is easy, right? We gotta help these boys grow up.”

Another Throwaway Evening

The assignment in the Keep Writing Challenge is to write a 250-word (exactly) story using the prompt "jack." 

Another Throwaway Evening

Typical, Melvin thought. Another throwaway evening. Nothing to do; nowhere to go. He grew sleepy as he half-listened to the game show on TV and scrolled through Facebook. Finding nothing of interest on either device, he closed his laptop and stretched out on the couch.

Melvin caught a word here and there from the TV and realized that the game show had given way to a newscast while he’d dozed.

“Breaking News…. under the bridge…Cobb County … Roger Edwards.”

Melvin’s eyes popped open at the name of his former boss. He sat up abruptly. It had been almost 20 years. Had they found the body? Fully awake now, he listened closely.

“Edwards, owner and CEO of Astrid Industries, disappeared in 1999, during a Federal investigation of his company. Tune in at 10 for our interview with his wife and business partner, Colleen Edwards.”

Melvin pulled himself together. The cops had questioned him back then, but they’d seemed satisfied with his answers. They’d had plenty of better suspects to look at -- a jack like Roger collected enemies like magnets collect pins. And Colleen – plenty of motive there. And any of her lovers….Still…

Resolutely, Melvin began preparing. Regretfully, he shaved the dark wavy hair that attracted the ladies and his much-loved soul patch. The ten grand he’d stashed in a sugar canister years ago was now stuffed into his go-bag and waited by the door.

Melvin glanced back once and then closed the door. He’d have no more “throwaway evenings” anytime soon!

One Marble

The Keep Writing Challenge prompt for today, May 13, 2020, is "marble." The assignment is to write a story using 100 (exactly) words. 

One Marble

The stunning young woman descending the stairs took my breath away. Glancing at the young man beside me I knew, by his shining eyes and sudden breath intake, that he, too, was transfixed. My daughter was off to her Senior Prom.

As the door closed behind them, a cocktail of emotions compelled me to the sideboard where a large apothecary jar sat. In it was one lonely marble.

One marble. Only one. 

Eighteen years ago it held 936 – one for each week we would have to raise our baby – our baby who will celebrate her 18^th birthday next week. 936 weeks! Now only one.

At Day's End

The Keep Writing Challenge for 05-12-2020 is the write a 150-word (exactly) story using the prompt "clock."

At Day's End

The sun hovers near the horizon, and twilight descends. End-of-day approaches.

Throughout the morning I strove – meeting challenges, reaching for concrete goals, testing, expanding then shrinking back, rethinking, adjusting, serving, achieving.

Well into the afternoon I toiled. “You can do it! Make it happen! Do your part! Look to the future!”

Now, as the clock slowly ticks toward the dark, my time for striving and serving is done. I evaluate, affirm choices, and find satisfaction in past achievements. I cherish the interactions of morning and relationships of afternoon, and I breathe a grateful prayer, rejoicing in the future and adventures of my precious ones.

Even as my energy wanes, I paint in sunshine, travel the world in the words of a novel, and watch the sun’s face darken as a breeze cools my skin.  My bed of rest awaits, and, until day’s end, I will fill each moment with love.