Lose Weight and Gain Brain Cells in 30 Days

By ZedZap

Are you nuts? my friend asked.

I’d just told her I signed up for National Write A Novel in a Month (NaNoWriMo).  The entire month of November was to be dedcated to writing a 51,000 word novel.

Well, it did seem kind of crazy since it was Nov 6 on the day I signed up.

It didn’t help that I took off 12 days to fly around the midwest and pester relatives.

When the clock struck midnight on Nov 30, I’d only logged 35,000 words, but I was goofy-glad with some discoveries.

1. The #1 being:  When you have an overwhelming job, just jump in and start.
2. For heaven’s sake, don’t stop and look around. You’ll discover you’re in a big freakin’ pile of work, so just keep going.
3. Decide that there are more important things than projects and enjoy people.

What I ended up with is a raucous, bawdyl romp through the classics that we were forced to read in high school. The Hulk. Dr Phil, and Nancy Drew were happy to join this great adventure, too.

So,  while I didn’t reach 51,000 words in 30 days, I’ll fininsh the last chapter this week.

Too bad I’ll still be nuts.

Bared to the Soul

I visited my mother.

On the first day, my mother didn’t know me when she saw me.

That was okay.  She’s collected a whole lot of birthdays.  She’s had a stroke. I’d prepared myself for such a possibility.

But then, sometime during the second day…she knew me.

I knew the moment it happened.

It wasn’t the “aha” moment I have with friends when I spot them in the grocery store. It was the quiet, solid locking of eyes when two people have shared the same experience. In that deep gaze, images came at me–rapid fire and plush with emotions: teenage arguments; late night talks, sewing lessons; snotty things I’d said…

In no particular order, wordless visions of our lives twined around each other as we stared.

She looked into my eyes and read the depths of my soul, asking me to understand all the words she  wasn’t  able to speak anymore.

“I know you,” was all the vocabulary she was able to say. All my courage and bravado crumbled.

I had prepared for my mother not knowing me.  I was unprepared for the depth at which she knew me.

I’m not for sure who my tears are for….her or me.

Front Row Seats If You Answer the Call

The phone rang at 12:30 am.

Two rings. It jolted me upright. But when I picked it up, there was only a dial tone.

Probably a wrong number.  Maybe someone grabbed the caller’s phone and shut it off, exclaiming, “Good heavens. Don’t call them at this hour!” Maybe.

Possibly,  it was bad news. A heart attack. An accident. My mind flits to a friend. When her uncle died at 3 am, her husband took the phone away from her, saying her uncle would be just as dead at 9 am; why make folks fret about it in the middle of the night. Let everybody get some sleep.

I rooted back down in my covers, making a nest out of sheets and pillows, getting it tucked in just so at the sides.

The phone rang again.

My arm shot toward the receiver like a yo-yo.

The raucaus laughter of teenagers sounded from the other end.  Then “shh’s” and giggles. I hung up without  saying a word.

My sleep is a fragile thing, like a shadow that I can’t catch. My mind spiraled to my juvie phone pranks.  Like calling the National Gambling Association and telling them, “I bet 50 bucks I can end my gambling problem by the start of next week.”  I was glad I wasn’t 16 and hilarious anymore. Half and hour passed.

I could hear a barking dog. I wondered how far away he was. What was he grousing about?  Images of skunks and  raccoons on night raids filled my mind. An hour winked away.

I got up and padded outside, wrapped in a blanket.

A full moon reigned over the sky. The earth like a stage, lay waiting in silvery-blue light.  The faintest breeze carried star song from the passing constellations.   Fine white crystals spider-webbed across pumpkins and leaves. The first frost of fall.

I smile. Maybe it wasn’t a prank call. Perhaps it was the signal to let me know intermission was over. The second act of the seasons had begun.

When You’re Not in Kansas Anymore, Dorothy

A Great Photo by PixieSticks23

It’s the garden’s fault.

First it was the raspberries. Millions of them, dangling like red jewels in the bushes.

Then a heat wave rolled into the valley, and like a Smucker employee, I was picking, jellying, and making cordial for days until…. well…often until morning broke the nightsky.

Then came blueberries, blackberries, peas, and the blessings kept sprouting out of the ground along with a few epiphanies.

Last night I was under the shade tree in the back yard snapping green beans. The thought came to me that this wasn’t as much fun as it used to be and I wondered why.

I have little-girl memories of sitting under the big ol’ elm, and everyone snapping  beans, slapping an occasional mosquito, and sharing their day.  Of course, we didn’t have air-conditioning, so sitting outside, hoping for a breeze to stir the baked air, was a nightly ritual.  We also put fireflies in jars, flipped june-bugs on their backs and watched them spin, and waited for the shift-change in insect hunting go from starlings to bats.

Now, I was under the tree with only the yard cat for company. Everyone else was inside, in airconditioning, watching TV, or in front of a computer.

I realized that the only reason I was sitting under the tree in the twilight was because that was how I had always snapped green beans as I grew up.  I hadn’t thought it through. I guess I thought everyone would drift outside to see what I was doing…in the heat…in the semi-darkness.

I felt kind of stupid.

Life changes. At least the bats still come out.