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Well Done

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on February 14, 2014| 8 Comments »

Oh dear. My 150th post and I screwed it up. I knew you guys were discerning readers, but never did I think you’d shy from one slightly rare serving!

Where do I go from here? Is it too late to say I’m sorry? To promise I won’t do it again?

No, it’s not too late. Yes, you’re discerning, but I’m pretty sure tolerance, compassion and forgiveness are in there somewhere too. That has to be true or we’d have parted long ago.

And it’s a good thing, because I’m trying desperately to be a writer. And to quote Thomas Mann; “A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.”

 

Make no mistake – we’re friends because you’re particular.

 

It could be argued that what I did the other day wasn’t writing, but I stand firm that all writing is writing. I started this blog to bolster my commitment. I hoped knew it would hold me accountable for producing something on regular basis. I wanted it to make me think.

I dreamed of it making you think.

I spent years writing in journals. They didn’t suddenly stop selling them in the stores. I didn’t run out of pocket money to buy one. I chose to display my trials and tribulations on a public forum. I decided I wanted you to witness my stabs and my stumbles.

Some things I write to reflect and some things I write to connect, so neither of us should be surprised by the odd, rare roast post.

It’s how I get to know you.

It’s how I hope you’ll get to know me.

It is how we’ll get to well-done.

Heart shaped meat

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On Waiting

Posted in Blogging, Fiction, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Relationships, Thoughts, Writer's Block, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on February 8, 2014| 18 Comments »

Some time back I held an “appreciation” for the growing audience my blog was accumulating. I had hit 400 followers and in my euphoria I offered Stephen King’s book “On Writing” to the first person to like and comment on that particular post.

A man named Jim over at “Life Choice” won, but when I contacted him for an address, he, very generously, asked if I could please donate the book to someone who may not be able to buy it for themselves. He also asked that I name him and myself, and include the story of how the book found its home.

I was thrilled. And then…

I waited.

Why? I don’t know. Procrastination, had a headache, needed coffee, had to go buy gum.

It took me way too long a while, but with the help of a friend, I decided to gift it to our local library. The way I see it, many, many people will then have access to a wonderful book they otherwise might have never come across.

February 2nd, 2014 Dear Reader, This book was gifted to you by a man named Jim. We both have blogs on WordPress and a while back, I held a contest of sorts ~ the prize being this book. Well, Jim was the winner, but when I contacted him for an address, he, very generously, asked that I give this book to someone who may not be able to buy it for themselves. The library was decided upon as it may now fall into the hands of many who might otherwise have never come across it. It’s one of my favorite books on writing and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Happy reading from: Jim http://jimlifechoice.wordpress.com/ and Hazy www.hazyshadesofme.com

February 2nd, 2014
Dear Reader,
This book was gifted to you by a man named Jim. We both have blogs on WordPress and a while back, I held a contest of sorts ~ the prize being this book. Well, Jim was the winner, but when I contacted him for an address, he, very generously, asked that I give this book to someone who may not be able to buy it for themselves.
The library was decided upon as it may now fall into the hands of many who might otherwise have never come across it.
It’s one of my favorite books on writing and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Happy reading from:
Jim http://jimlifechoice.wordpress.com/
and
Hazy http://www.hazyshadesofme.com

I’m happy with this and I hope Jim is too.

The air is cold and crisp, the sun is bright and I literally woke to birds singing. It’s a stunning day. The kind of day that shouldn’t be taken for granted because tomorrow there is a Celebration for a life that ended far too soon.

Appreciate today. Don’t live to wait.

 

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Courage, Candour, Class and Unfortunately, Cancer

Posted in Blogging, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on February 4, 2014| 33 Comments »

I tiptoe ‘round this post like the exhausted mother of an at long-last sleeping baby. Afraid to wake what lies before me…fearful I won’t be able to give what it needs.

Death, after all, is a needy subject. Never far away. Never a maybe. Never forgotten. And somehow, it still manages to leave us reeling. To rip us out of that place where we believed we were safe. Sometimes with nothing more than what seems a moment’s notice.

I lost a friend on Saturday. It was someone I hadn’t seen since high school. Someone who, before the last seven years, I’d only thought of maybe a handful of times. But, because of present day oddities, we were somehow very connected. Through social media, such as facebook, we were, what classifies as friends, before she passed.

We’d sent each other several private messages upon our initial encounter, reminiscing about our high school days and catching up on what was, at the time, our current lives. She told me that she was the happiest she’d ever been, having overcome some tough times and being in love with, what she deemed was, “…the best guy that ever walked this earth.”

And admittedly, that’s probably where it would have ended for us. Much like many, we both had hundreds of facebook “friends” and the extent of our relationship would have existed on the wings of a fluttering like or comment here and there.

Except Gina turned out to be one of the most positive posters I’d ever come across. Everything she wrote happened to be the silver lining in a grey cloud, should you find yourself fogged in. Her energy was addictive and I’d roll over and rub my eyes just to start the day with her perspective.

This didn’t change when she was diagnosed with brain cancer on June 1st, 2012.

She was generous enough to share what was the privacy of her fight with people – many I’m sure like me – not even a part of her inner circle. Her positivity not only continued, but was bolstered by an exasperating battle and her commitment, not to simply beat the disease, but to remain optimistic and inspirational to all those around her, never faltered.

Not once.

A post from Gina 7 months into her diagnosis

A post from Gina 7 months into her diagnosis

 

As I mentioned, I’m on tiptoes, terrified not to do justice to the power of death. To fail to give proper credit to Gina and what she so selflessly sacrificed so that we could learn.

There’s certain valor in accepting what eventually becomes an inevitable destination, but the real courage lies in how you walk the road. True wisdom is knowing you’ve trudged long enough, but the maturity to say good-bye is the bravest thing of all.

Gina Covey

March 26th, 1970 ~ February 1st, 2014

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The Skinny Of It

Posted in Blogging, Fiction, Inspiration, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Thoughts, Travel, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged on January 29, 2014| 8 Comments »

“Fifteen hundred calories? Oh, I can’t do that.”

“Huh?” I murmur barely looking up from my menu.

I drove my daughter, Ava, down to the States a couple of weekends ago to visit family friends. As previously mentioned, Ava had just turned thirteen and one of her wishes was to head down to Everett to visit close friends that moved down there a couple of years ago.

Our family is lucky enough to live just a ten-minute drive to the US border and are able to cross frequently to get cheap gas and the odd, umm, bottle of wine. We can be there and back within 20 minutes, give or take.

Thankfully, Everett is also a short drive. What’s two hours between friends?

Being that this visit, or anytime we get to visit them, is cause for celebration, we headed out for some afternoon delight. In this case, that refers to shops, eats and admittedly, drinks.

So there we sat, at a glazed wooden table inside The Cheesecake Factory, where we were promptly handed a library. A library? (I sense confusion from behind my lit screen) Yes, maybe not a literal library, but it was definitely a full array of reading material, sporting page upon page of, what proved to be, very valuable information.

My friend and I have both been on somewhat of a health kick since the start of the New Year. No resolutions mind you, just a few minor cutbacks and cutouts.

On that note, we were both thinking greens, of course.

My nose buried in the menu, I was perusing the oodles of scrumptious components that miraculously constituted a salad when I heard her repeat,

“I can’t do fifteen hundred calories for one meal…one item. I just can’t.”

“I thought we were talking salad, crazy girl. I’m having the…”

“That is a salad. Fifteen hundred calories for one salad.”

I tut. “Well, I’m going to have the Asian. It sounds nice and light.” I don’t even ask her what kind of crazy ‘salad’ she’s considering.

“Oh my God, the Asian is eighteen hundred!” She proceeds to release that guttural cackle I miss out on having to communicate with her mainly over text and email now.

I grab her menu, even though it’s the same as mine and squint even though I’m wearing my glasses.

“Good Lord, you are right. It does say that. Is that even legal?”

Luckily we eventually found, amongst the documentation laid out in front of us, a menu entitled – Skinnylicious.

It included listings of the regular menu items, complete with alterations, and grouped into uncluttered calorie categories such as: Salads Under 590.”

Dreamy, right?

This meant we were able to happily order our respective salads and the non-Skinnylicious item, Pineapple Upside-Down Cheesecake.

Knowledge is power, my friends. It’s also delicious.

Pineapple Upside Down Cheesecake

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Duplexity

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on January 22, 2014| 10 Comments »

Breaking glass cuts the thin walls and fighting ensues but it isn’t the shattered shards of Champagne flute that’s caused it.

They’ve been struggling since I can remember. There is no beginning or end.

It just is.

Always.

A jukebox full of themes seamlessly moving to a new genre even before the last pick comes to a quiet.

I slice red peppers, add them to the oil and onion in the pan…let them sizzle over the crescendo next door. Leaning, one elbow on the counter, I stir slowly, splashing red wine into the mix and a little extra into my glass. My mouth waters as garlic rushes the air. Even the diced Romas seem particularly fragrant tonight. I scrape them off the board and into the fusion – juice, seeds, skin and all.

The bellowing gathers into a twisted tornado of assault and injury. Another glass breaks. Something’s thrown against our shared wall. Sounds like a book. Could be a shoulder.

Once the water is on to boil and the bread in the oven, I kick off my shoes and flop. My wine is spicy, my feet sore and my mind roaming, but soon the muffled throbs of next door subside, as much as they ever do, and I laze through a magazine, alternating page flips with sips of Syrah.

I text, I flip, I wait and sip. I relax.

Just as the smell of my sauce seduces me off the couch, the doorbell rings.

“Anna! Thank you so much for inviting us. Um, we hope you like Champagne…?”

I take in her slightly smudged liner, their entwined fingers, his insane grin and their green bottle of bubbly with the shiny pink label.

I smile.

“C’mon in, guys. It’s lovely to have you.”

Duplex 3

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Kryptonite

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on January 11, 2014| 21 Comments »

“Do you think your feet still smell when you’re dead?” All I can see is the top of his little head, hair glowing like raging fire under the warm lights above us.

My voice strangled, I half scold him; “What a thing to ask, Sam. Now is not the time.”

I instantly regret my reaction as his blue eyes turn to watery seas and his chin, a dollop of Jello. Peter’s mother stands to the side shuddering like a blanket being shaken. It’s hard to watch. Hard to comprehend. Hard to believe. It’s all just plain hard.

Peter’s skin is powdery and I can see they’ve tried to blend blush across his cheeks and up over his ears. A little of it has reached the soft, blond hair framing his face and turned it pinkish. Carmex sits thick on top of his slack lips.

He is not in a suit, but dressed in one of his favorite blue Superman shirts, the bright yellow “KA-POW!” on the front, making quite an impact on the guests. His hands are folded across his tummy, the left one, sporting a fat, wobbly, Superman style “S” had been placed on top of his right. I’d heard his mother had specifically asked them not to remove the black ink.

I grab Sam’s hand and although I’m trying not to let him see me cry, a tear darkens the red carpet as I look down to lift his chin.

“I don’t want to go any closer.” He says. “He wouldn’t want me to.”

I kneel down so we’re face to face. “You’ll regret not saying a proper good-bye, son. C’mon. I’ll be right beside you.”

He looks down again and this time, his tears make the carpet change color.

“But I already made his mom so sad. If she sees me…” His voice trails into silence but his tears get louder.

“No Sam, it’s not like that. Best friends fight. C’mon. Trust me. It’ll be alright.”

And even though I’m doing my best to sound reassuring, I am shaking inside. I have no idea how Pauline will react to us and the last thing I want is to cause more upset.

I steer him towards the coffin, but at the last minute he leaves me. I watch as he heads over to Pauline and tugs on the back of her flowered dress. She turns slowly and immediately drops to her knees.

I rush over to help her but she grabs on to Sam. Hugs him so tight I think he’ll pop open right there.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kerry. I didn’t meant to…” He chokes.

“Oh Sammy. Peter loved you so much. I’m so sorry you had to see what you did and I’m…” she takes a breath, “I’m so very sorry he’s gone.”

Pauline held Sam for a smidge longer, patted his eyes with her hanky and then her own and told him to go say his good-bye.

Sam and I had spent many hours since Peter’s death, discussing why it wasn’t his fault. How kids tease each other and tricking Peter into letting him draw that “S” on his hand was just a joke among friends. I’d often heard Sam tease Peter about his smelly feet and told him many times to stop even though I could tell it was all in good fun. But when Sam had drawn the “S” and then teased Peter that it stood for stinky, Sam could never have known what would happen next.

Peter had chased him out into the street, but as Sam made it to the other side, he’d turned to see his best friend being dragged along the pavement by a silver Chevy pick-up truck.

This time, as we approach the coffin, he stays on course, a determined look in his eye. We stand a moment and I stroke his hair and rub his back. I do all the things mommies do in an attempt to make-believe things better.

Having held it in for so long, I lose my battle as I watch Sammy take a black marker out of his pocket and carefully write “uperman” on Peter’s right hand.

Kapow 1

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Bird of Paradise

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Our Moments, Relationships, Short Stories, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on November 28, 2013| 17 Comments »

Although I’d told him not to get me anything, I am secretly buzzing inside. Right there, on the dining room table, in the middle of two beautiful place settings and a chilling bottle of bubbly is a small black leather box, encircled in a bright red, glossy ribbon.

Engaged. Am I ready? Oh hell ya, I think. Four years together and I’ve been waiting at least three of those for this day.

“Honey?” Brett calls from upstairs. “Are you home? Do not go in the dining room!”

I tiptoe out of the room I’m not supposed to be in and call out; “I’m starving! When’s dinner?”

There’s a familiar creak from that fourth stair and there he is, curled lip, white teeth and a shock of chocolate locks. The smell of fresh laundry mixed with his cologne tickles my nose.

I shiver.

He still makes me shiver. I am so ready for that ring.

He crosses the floor in two strides and his tanned arms circle me like the ribbon around the box.

“Hey, babe. I’ve been waiting for you. Dinner’s ready.”

He twirls me around to face the dining room and guides me from behind, a hand on each of my hips.

“Sit,” he commands. “Dinner in a minute, but first…”

I close my eyes. Here it comes, I think. Oh my God, I am about to be proposed to. I am about to be a fiancé!

The pop of the cork makes me jump and my eyes fly open.

“Oh, I thought we’d do that after.” I say, confused.

“Absolutely not!” He says, seemingly appalled. “Champagne with dinner is a must.”

We feast.

Brett is head chef at the local Indian Fusion and we bask in Vindaloo smothered Basmati, crispy meat-filled Samosas and crunchy vegetable Pakoras dripping in Tamarind.

I eat a lot more than I should and drink a little more than I mean to. My eyes keep veering over to the box. I cover my impatience by pulling out the card I bought him from the back pocket of my jeans.

Hi rips through my leisurely scrawl and pulls out the content of the envelope.

“Nice.” He says from behind the big red heart on the front of the card. “I love you too, sweetheart. Which is why…” He finally hands me the box. “I got you this.”

As I open it, I can’t help but think it’s weird that I am the one doing this while he just sits and stares, rather than being down on one knee, but I put that out of my mind. I quickly realize it’s not what I want to be thinking while I ponder an impending lifelong commitment.

I’m blinded by the glint created as the light from our chandelier bounces off the large jewel in the box. It takes my breath away.

“Do you like it?” He asks hopefully. “There’s a card too. Here, open it. It’ll all make more sense.”

I put the box down, tears welling, and read the card he’s handed to me.

“I don’t get it.” I say, my voice strangled with emotion.

“It’s white gold and a real diamond, but if you don’t like it there were lots to choose from. We can go in together…”

I’m stunned.

“Like it? We’ve had this conversation a thousand times. No, I don’t like it. I…”

“Babe, it’ll look good. I know it will.”

I fight with the lump in my throat and somehow manage to swallow it down. I watch as he takes the gem out of the box and then dangles it in front of me.

“Just try it, honey. For me. C’mon, I don’t ask much.”

I look down at the piece of paper in my hand and see he’s booked me in for tomorrow morning. No time to waste. No opportunity to change his mind. No chance to stick to my guns.

I close my eyes again. The red place mats he’s bought especially for tonight, the way he’s folded our napkins into Birds of Paradise, the meal he cooked, the music he played, the champagne I drank. All of them gang up to make me slightly lightheaded.

“Alright,” I tell him. “Tomorrow it is. Tomorrow, I guess I will officially be one of those girls with bling in her button.” I try to smile. He grins.

I take another long sip of my now warm, sour champagne and wonder if this is the first or the last time I will pretend to be something I’m not.

And, I shiver.

Bird of Paradise 1

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A Duck Is Just A Duck

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Our Moments, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on November 21, 2013| 6 Comments »

Bev’s tea is always so much hotter. It’s because she boils her water in a stainless steel kettle over a big gas range. As she slices carrots through the floral veil drifting up from my mug, I half listen while she chirps and chops.

“As for Dan, well I mean, he’s an idiot. That’s all there is to it.”

I contemplate responding, but before I have time to decide it would be useless, she’s talking again.

“I mean, ‘where’s my green shirt’ like I’m supposed to know where every damn thing in this house is. So, I say; Listen Dan, the key word in that question is my. Not green, not shirt, but my. It’s your damn shirt, Dan. You find it.”

I could suggest that perhaps Dan thought she’d taken it to the cleaners or folded it into a drawer instead of hanging it up, but I know Bev too well. It won’t matter what I say. She wants to be angry. She wants to rant. God knows I love her, but she hasn’t changed since we were kids.

Two clicks and a flame ignites under the pot she’s scraped chunks of bloody beef into. There is an immediate sizzle.

“So, what about you?” You and Ducky okay?”

There is a quick flash of Ryan, his chubby legs tangled in a hooded towel, his wet skin slick in the light of the lamp. “Ducky, ducky!” He’d shouted, madly crawling towards the yellow plastic duck he’d thrown out of the bath moments before.

“His first word!” Bev had squealed! “And I witnessed it!”

“Bev, he’s fifteen now. He hates Ducky. It’s Ryan. Besides, for the millionth time, you know that was not his first word.

“Well, it was the first one I heard.”

She slides the carrots, onions and potatoes from the thick cutting board into the pot, then mixes the jumble with a large stainless spoon.

“We’re alright, I suppose. “Ryan’s never home, really. It’s like I live alone.” I instantly bite the inside of my cheek, cursing myself for unleashing what will undoubtedly become a lashing.

Her head’s sealed in an envelope of steam but I can see her hands spritzing dashes of oregano and thyme, basil and pepper. The salty fusion wafts through the air and just about has me rethinking vegetarianism.

“And you will be soon enough. Alone, that is.”

I know what’s coming and to stall, I take a sip of my still scalding tea.

“Hmm?” I murmur deep into the cup.

“You need to find someone, Beth. You need help, someone to be a father figure to Ducky. Fifteen? No Dad? You’re asking for trouble.

I think about Ryan. Him telling me that he once again wouldn’t be home for dinner because he’d be working the late shift after school. Him explaining the horrifying reasons he didn’t want to go to any of the house parties he was invited to. The little list of chores he kept taped to the back of his computer monitor; a secret reminder of what he could do to help me out around the house. And, I think of why I’ve come to Bev’s today.

“Beth. Bethany! Are you even listening to me?” Bev’s hand is on her hip, the other still stirring the brew now bubbling on the stove. “I was just saying that Dan, when he can find the time, could have a chat with Duck.”

“It’s Ryan,” I interrupt. “He’d like to be called Ryan.”

She tsks and continues. “He could use a little guidance and Dan, despite the jackass he is when it comes to, well, most things, would at least be a male to talk to. I mean, it’s mostly me parenting, but I have to admit Dan has managed not to screw Stephen up. He’s such a great kid.”

I realize my hands are scorched and I loosen my tight grip on the mug. Stephen is Ryan’s eighteen-year-old cousin. He’d tried to sell Ryan some pills yesterday. Said he was trying to make money to get out of the house. He told him he kept his stash in a compartment under the steering wheel of his car in case Ryan ever changed his mind.

“Ryan and I are just fine on our own,” I tell her. “Listen, I gotta get going, but you should really take Steve’s car into the mechanic. Ryan said the steering wheel was shaking yesterday. He worries.”

“It’s Stephen!” She calls as I gently close the door behind me.

Rubber Ducky

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Give A Little, Get A Lot

Posted in Blogging, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on November 8, 2013| 8 Comments »

It should be no surprise when I tell you that my good friend Jim won the little contest I held the other day. Actually, I’ve never met Jim, nor had any kind of interaction with him until my post (and his comment) on my last entry, but I’m hoping, as I am with many of you, that we will now share a bond through writing (and reading) and the hike we are all on towards our own personal summits, wherever we wish to end up.

The deal was, the first person to like and comment on that post would win a highly acclaimed book that I have read, enjoyed and learned from, called; “On Writing” by Stephen King.

On Writing Stephen King

As soon as there was a winner, off to Amazon I skipped to order a brand-spankin’ new copy. Mine is hi-lited and marked up the yazoo and although I’m sure I’ve picked only the utmost important snippets, I was positive Jim would prefer a shiny new one. Generous of me, huh?

Well, Jim one-upped me with this:

“What I would appreciate you doing is donate it to a group or agency that you think would really enjoy it and put my name inside it along with how it got there. That would be great. it’s not that I don’t appreciate the gift but I would like to give it to those who are less likely to be able to obtain a copy. When you find a home for it could you let me know where it went.”

I know, right? I’m a schmuck! I knew that most writer’s would already own a copy of this book (duh) but figured that would be the case with most any writing book I picked and I was particularly entertained by this one, so I figured, meh – he’ll gift it to a friend or simply accept the fact that he now has two copies and move on…as I often do when I accidentally by a book that I already have. (Oops, was that my outside voice?)

But no, not Mr. Jim. He came up with a much better, much more grand-hearted idea than mine and it’s not because he already owns it. In fact, I don’t think he even clicked the link to find out what he’d won. (In his email he also admitted to being a tad challenged technically) He just genuinely wanted to give the book to someone with less resource and I am grateful for his outside the box thinking.

The giveaway thing was exhilarating and I will be doing it again, but my eyes are now open to a fresh myriad of modes. How cool is that? It’s proof there are benefits of connecting, gathering and collecting here other than to tout our own trips. At the risk of a little cheese, we can also learn from one another beyond a writing aspect. Now, if only Jim would follow me back…

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From The Bottom of My Heart

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on November 4, 2013| 14 Comments »

This is the second of two quick posts in a row, neither of them are worth any more of your time than what I’ve put into them…which totals mere minutes…but today is a day I’d like to mark despite having to steal the time do it, and you never know, maybe you have a few minutes to spare.

I started my blog on March 30, 2012. So far, I am enjoying it immensely and as of today, I have organically grown exactly 400 hundred followers. I am not including facebook or twitter peeps – simply the people that I have, post by WordPress post, managed to entice into my lair as magically as the Pied Piper. Okay – there’s been nothing magical about it. It’s all been blood,sweat and tears, nevertheless, I maintain that I’ve performed a miraculous miracle. At least, it feels that way to me.

Hazy's 400

So, to mark the occasion and include you in what I feel is something to celebrate, I’d like to send the very first person to both like and comment on this post, a book that USA Today refers to as; “A fascinating look at the evolution and redemption of one of the hardest-working storytellers today.” 

Take it and....GO!

Take it and….GO!

 Relatives and employees of Hazy Shades of Me prohibited from winning.  ;0)

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