Progression (for Cafe Writing)

Written in response to Prompt Three,  Cafe Writing for February:  Pick at least three of the following eight words, and write a paragraph, scene, flash-fic, essay, blog entry or poem using them. It’s fine to change tenses, or pluralize if you want to, but please bold the words you choose.

astonished, conclusion, drown, gilded, hands, magnify, snow, time,

"Are you having fun?" Stephen asked, his lean angular body framed in the doorway between the garage and the house.  He gazed somewhat longingly at the winter white landscape before him.

Tara weariliy raised her head and peered intently at him, her eyebrows raised in astonishment.  "Does it look like I"m having fun?" she asked, straightening her aching back and leaning wearily against the snow shovel.  "I'm drowning in this stuff!"

Shaking her head, she turned back to her task, lifting a thick wedge of snow and tossing it laboriously onto the growing mound beside the path.

Stephen concluded that if he couldn't help it behooved him to remain out of sight, so he retreated to his desk.  He placed his hands before him on the smooth surface, and focused his thoughts on them, envisioning a thick palatte of glue holding them firmly in place.

"One, one thousand...two, one thousand," he counted, hoping to suprass yesterday's record.  It was at "Seven, one thousand," that he felt the first inkling of a tremor in the ring finger of his left hand, and before he could say "eight..." the thin gold wedding band he wore was beating a rapid tatoo on the polished oak.

"Damn!" he hissed, slamming his right hand viciously over top of the left, now in full spasm. Horrified, he watched his left hand trembling violently underneath it's captor, like a bird caught in a trap.

  "Time is running out!" he thought as he always did when the tremors increased, aware of the relentless progress of his disease.  He was afraid to tell Tara, knew immediately what she would say.  "Call Dr. Wheatley," was always her first response.  What would that mean except more tests, more drugs, more bad news?

Meanwhile, he became less of a man every day- in every way.

Stephen stared in contempt at his hand, finally still, and splayed out before him, exhausted. Memories rushed in -the leathery grip of his ski poles, held tightly in preparation for pushoff,  the velvety softness of baby Mariah's cheek, the slender fragility of Tara's fingers, cupped protectively within his palm.  He grabbed his lower lip between his teeth, hoping to stop the tears which threatened to spill from his eyes.

"Hey," she said softly, coming to stand behind him, an aura of cold air clinging to her body, casting its chill reflection on his shoulders.

"Hey," he replied, not daring to look at her.

He felt rather than heard her sigh, a familiar, deep exhalation of breath signaling resignation.

"It'll be allright," Tara said, unconvincingly.

"It won't," he replied, "and you know it."

Another sigh, this time audible, as she placed her own steady hand on his arm.  

"This is a process," she said, "part of our progression through life.  We will both tire at times, but we will weather this together."

Stephen turned to look at her now, her cheeks flushed from cold and emotion.  For a moment, the steady progression of their past whirled across his mind - their courtship, early marriage, raising Mariah, and now this, this illness that had him in it's deathgrip.  He couldn't bear it to end this way, to become dependent on her for everything, to lose his ability to be her partner in all ways.

He opened his mouth to speak, not knowing what words could possibly come.

"Stop," Tara said, touching her fingertips to his lips. "Let it go, Stephen."

She held his gaze until he lifted his hands, holding them upright in the traditional posture of surrender.  Smiling, she matched her palms to his, extending her fingers until they aligned with his, drawing his hand toward hers with an invisible line of strength.

"One, one thousand..." she began counting quietly. 

This time, Stephen felt sure they would make it to ten.

What a Week

Ah, Friday.  You can't possibly know how delighted I am to see the end of this week. I'm sure you've had weeks like this - we all have.  A week where every possible thing that could go wrong, does go wrong.  A week where nothing conspires in your favor.  A week which, by the end of it, you're almost fearful of getting up in the morning because who knows what could happen next. 

Well, if the meteorologists are correct, when I get up we'll apparently be in the midst of a blizzard.

So much for Friday being the end of this.

I should be grateful, I know.  None of the irritating, annoying, disrupting things that happened were life threatening to me or anyone I love. 

But still...major new projects at work completely destroyed my plans to work ahead in anticipation of being away next week, so now I'm behind the eight ball big time.  Our mail order prescription drug company completely erased all our records, just in time to renew all the prescriptions.  The postman hasn't delivered our mail since we returned from Florida, so apparently I'll have to make a trip to the post office and pick it up (since they won't answer the phone!!)  And now this huge snowstorm is coming, foiling my plans for Friday, which included going back to the office, getting the dogs haircuts, and rehearsing with students for a music competition on Saturday.

Yeesh.

Which one of the cosmic entities have I offended?  Did I enjoy myself  a little too much last week in Florida?  Is that not allowed in this universe?

I suppose it's the control freak in me, but these kinds of events, especially coming head over heels on top of one another, just send me screaming for the nearest exit. 

So perhaps it's good that tomorrow might find me snowed in.  A day of enforced peace and quiet, a day to sit in the easy chair, wrapped in a snuggly blanket, watching the snow come down.  A day to relinquish my white knuckle grip on life and all its vagaries and just breath easily for a while.

I could certainly use that.

Because it's been quite a week.

How about you? What kind of week did you have?

A Special Day

Do you know my blogger friend Patry Francis?  She keeps a lovely blog called Simply Wait.  Click over to Bookstack to read more about why today is special for Patry and all her friends.

(There's a giveaway involved too.)

See you there.

Ta Dah!

As you can see, the Byline has been given a major makeover.  New address, new look.  I'm excited! And I'm probably the luckiest person in blogdom, having a professional webmaster at my beck and call (well, sort of- I try not to take advantage of his talents, even though he is my kid).   So, merci beaucoup, Brian. 

If only he were as talented with hair and makeup...

Seriously, it's good to shake things up every once in a while, isn't it?  A fresh coat of paint is invigorating, a new outfit or hairstyle lifts the spirits, and a new template sets the creative juices bubbling (at least I hope so!)

But the Byline is still my space to share my visions of Life in General and my own in particular.   Hopefully, those things that are meaningful to me might also speak to you in some way.  I feel priveleged to have met so many talented writers, artists, poets, crafters, and generally wonderful women through blogging.  I hope to continue our relationship in words and thoughts for a long time to come.

Sunday Scribblings-Miscellaneous

Helloooo....anybody out there? Oh, there you are! How kind of you to stick around after I've rudely ignored you all for the entire week. I do apologize for neglecting this space - in all honesty, I've been a bit consumed with that new blog of mine. You know how it is with fresh toys, they're new and exciting, and ever so much fun. That's how it is with Bookstack, and if you haven't been there yet, you should go! Really, you should.

But I promised myself I would not neglect the Byline. If Bookstack is my place to blog about all things bookish, well the Byline is for blogging about...well, everything else! All the miscellaneous and sundry things that happen in an American woman's Life in General. So thanks Sunday Scribblings, for giving my muse a well needed push in the proper direction.

A couple of my regular blog buddies have written about their efforts to incorporate exercise into their lives, and so I've been thinking a bit about "healthy lifestyles." We're on a bit of a health makeover at our house these days too, instigated largely by elevated cholesterol levels (both of us) and a recent diagnosis of pre-diabetes (just Jim).

I've had varying degrees of success with weight loss programs. Probably my most successful initiative was just after my son's birth, when I lost about 45 pounds, and then managed to drop an additional 15 over the next several years. But after midlife, I've found weight is much harder to lose. I get frustrated very easily at the lack of progress.

So, I'm approaching this a different way, trying to adopt better eating habits and an exercise program as part of an overall plan to improve general health and well being. (And who knows, perhaps I can trick my body into thinking I really don't care if it tones up or not.)

Yesterday morning, I went walking, and it felt wonderful! The air was cool and crisp, I was all alone so I could clip along at a good pace, swinging my arms merrily, watching the herons tiptoe around the edge of the ponds. Great stuff!

Along my route, I pass the community's fitness center, where stationary bikes and treadmills are arranged around the perimeter of a large bay window overlooking the main lake, providing a view of the sparkling water as you pedal or trudge away. From the corner of my eye, I can see legs busily pumping, arms swinging, wires from headphones trailing along in rhythm.

I've been one of those people on occasion. But you know, I sometimes think about the absurdity of the whole concept of "working out." Perhaps it's because I'm only one generation removed from farmer's, people who walked miles every day in the regular course of their daily life, who got plenty of upper body toning in scything and hoeing, and did their riding on horseback, actually going somewhere in the process. How they would stare in disbelief, my grandfathers, at these automatons in their shiny workout clothes!

And I think the only way an "exercise program" can work for me is if it comes naturally, is almost intrinsic, like walking or dancing. Bike riding is great, because it involves forward movement, and I like that-gives me the sensation that I'm doing a lot more than I really am. I have trouble with exercise equipment that just "stands still." I guess I'm not a stationary kind of girl.

I hope to keep up my walking and biking, although it's much more difficult in the frozen waste wonderland-that is Michigan in winter. Harder yet is keeping my husband on a lean diet. Who would have believed a grown man could react so childishly to mashed potatoes and Oreo cookies (or more precisely, the lack thereof).

There, I think I've effectively taken a broom to the stray thoughts that have been circling in my mind, and gathered them up into a neat little pile for you to read.

Hope you enjoyed the miscellaney!