Cafe Writing

For this month's Cafe Writing, Option Two: Pick ThreePick 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. breathless, change, elusive, pensive, reflect, surge, tide, vibrant Breathless, Sarah dropped her arm, resting it for a moment on the edge of the granite counter top. For longer than she cared to think, the muscles in her upper arms had done nothing more strenuous than hold a magazine, and this morning’s relentless motion had set them screaming in protest.

She summoned a final surge of energy and tightened her grip on the utensil in her hand. One, two, three, she counted, scooping the dense batter and swirling it in a circular motion around the circumference of the bowl. Eggs, butter, sugar and flour – she had forgotten just how resistant this combination of ingredients could be.

How long had it been since she baked? Closing her eyes, she fought the tide of sorrow which threatened her precarious emotional equilibrium. That last time, the batter had been pure dark chocolate, flourless and rich, Scott’s favorite cake to honor him on his birthday. And now the day that marked Scott’s birth was forever defaced by the tragedy of his death. A whole year had passed, and her pain was as fresh as if it had been yesterday.

Sarah continued to whip the rich yellow batter, determined to put these painful reflections aside and finish this project. As it began to froth creamily under her capable hands, she felt her arm settling into the familiar motion, finding the rhythm of long practice.

Sarah’s cakes were legendary among her family and friends. “You should own a bakery!” people would exclaim, forking bites of her latest sweet concoction into their mouths. No one had loved her cakes more than Scott, and from the time he was very small her son had “assisted” her in the kitchen, his pudgy hands measuring and adding ingredients with remarkable deftness.

She had once allowed herself to daydream about the possibility of a small shop, her confections arrayed in sparkling glass fronted display cases. She had even imagined that Scott might be her partner, and they could work side by side in their labor of love.

What she had never imagined was the way grief would change her life, alter her very perception of herself and the world around her. For months, she had been able to do little more than cry and wander aimlessly from room to room. She had avoided her kitchen assiduously, entering only long enough to brew tea or make toast, her staple diet for weeks on end. Scott’s death had sent her once vibrant dreams trailing elusively over the horizon, like wisps of clouds blown across the sky.

Sarah stopped whipping her cake batter, and stared into the bowl. It was the perfect consistency, she could tell just by looking. Smooth and very pale yellow, nary a bubble or froth marring its creamy complexion. What had convinced her to bake again, today of all days? Could this gruesome anniversary herald a new beginning? Hesitantly, she touched the tip of her little finger to a peaked mound, bringing the dot of batter to her lips. Placing it on her tongue, the heady sweetness of fresh butter and sugar melted into her taste buds, and her eyes filled with tears.

It was good, she thought, letting the mellow aftertaste linger on her tongue, good to create once again.

Brrr-acing!

"Brrr" is not a sound I usually make when I'm in southwest Florida, but today's weather can best be described as "bracing." It's a brisk 47 degrees here this morning, with a very respectable 20 mile per hour wind. As I said, brrrrr. Anyway, the dogs like it - they much prefer cool weather-and it wasn't terribly unpleasant on our morning walk, since the sun continues to sparkle brightly on the lakes. I'm bracing myself for the trip home tomorrow, for leaving this quiet paradise and returning to life in the "real" world. The aspect was complicated yesterday morning, by a phone call from the director of my mother in law's assisted living facility, informing us they were taking her to the ER. We had already heard she was ill with a gastrointestinal flu sweeping the rounds of the place, and she had become severely dehydrated. After talking to a nurse at the hospital later in the day, it appears she may also have pneumonia.

Although my mother in law is 87 and severely demented, she's also in generally good physical health. It would not surprise me one bit to see her rally from this and return to her post on the sofa in the "family room" at Chestnut Village. And while I certainly don't wish her any harm, it occurs to me that perhaps easing out of life at this point would not be the worst that could happen. In previous centuries, pneumonia was euphemistically termed the "old person's friend," a fairly quick and painless exit when life was at its nadir. In modern times, a few rounds of IV antibiotics often performs the "miracle cure" that was impossible 100 years ago.

So we will be mindful of her condition as we travel northward. I feel badly that she's alone in the hospital now with no one there to speak to her or for her. I can't help but project myself into that possible future, for one day I too will be old, and "depending on the kindness of strangers."

Life is always surprising isn't it, whether it's the chill of an unexpected wind, or the telephone call bringing disturbing news.

You just have to be braced and ready.

Clean Slate-2008

Today, of course, is the traditional Day of Resolution- promises we make to ourselves, things we aim to do in the coming year. It's hard to resist the allure of all those blank calendar pages, those 365 empty squares waiting expectantly to be filled. They represent a fresh start, an opportunity to be reborn, to live life differently. I've had my fill of resolutions though - they always disappoint me. Or, more precisely, I always disappoint myself with my inability to keep them. Were I to make resolutions today (which I'm not mind you, I'm just saying...) they would likely include things like this~

*Be healthier~I feel stagnant in my body, in a way that I haven't experienced for a long time. I crave more movement, more walking, stretching, dancing. I crave eating less food, and eating better quality food, meaning I'll be jumping on the organic band wagon. I may declare a vegetarian day once each week (the meat and potato lover in my house will have to live with it, or go out to eat!) I feel the need to take better care of this physical plant I'm living in.

*Make better use of my time ~author Laraine Herring, in her book Writing Begins with the Breath, wrote this : "Despite all our time-saving devices, many of us feel like we have less time than ever before. That's not true. We have the same time as we've always had. It's our perception of that time that has gotten off balance. We haven't shortened the day or the hour; we have increased what we're filling that time with, and for many of us, what we fill our hours with are distractions from the very thing we say we want more of - a present moment." She advises, "re-evaluate your relationship to time." Be aware of the way you spend your time, and fill the hours "consciously." As this year progresses, I hope to become more conscious of the fruitful, fulfilling ways I spend time, thus appreciating the things I do accomplish. Conversely, this means less dwelling on all the things I didn't get done, an activity I engage in far too often.

In 2008 I would like to forge a deeper connection with the people I love, engage my creative spirit in new ways, and enhance my abilities in the creative pursuits I already practice.

Not resolutions, really, just my hopes and dreams for all those brand new days ahead.

~Wishing you godspeed in this New Year, and may all your hopes and dreams become realities!~

Outside the Oasis

There are a plethora of gated communities here in Florida, man made villages of homes tucked behind lush landscaping and pastel colored stucco walls. Many of them are associated with golf courses, and the astronomical maintenance fees that go with all that. Our community is not such a one, but, in my estimation, the lack of golf greens is more than assuaged by the miles of inland lakes and arched bridges. Within easy walking distance are tennis courts, fitness center, and a large, sparkling pool. Also a cafe to grab lunch, and a salon for hair and nails. Add to that a bank, post office, gas station, and life is nearly complete within the confines of these five square miles. Real estate advertising often refers to Island Walk as "resort style living," and that isn't hyperbole. So we find ourselves rarely venturing outside this oasis. It's our personal paradise, quiet, calm, and lovely. The city of Naples is a continual bustle of beautiful people enjoying their very riche lifestyle, and I certainly don't fit into that mold. It's fun to watch (for a while) but it's not me. The outside world intruded on us yesterday morning when we awoke to find egg splattered on the screen of our lanai and on the slider door outside the master bedroom. This happens occasionally in our suburban Detroit neighborhood, and we shake out heads but aren't terribly surprised. We were surprised that it happened here, and aparently we've developed a false sense of security. Island Walk is obviously not as insulated from "the real world" as we liked to believe. And while an occasional egg tossing/toilet papering spree isn't the harbinger of doom, it serves to remind me that perfection is simply not possible-even in "paradise." So I'll adjust my expectations a bit. After living on planet earth for 50-plus years, I'm accustomed to doing that. We cleaned off the screens without too much fuss, and used the opportunity to hose down the lanai floor (which needed doing anyway). The dogs had great fun playing in the water, and now everything is clean and shiny once more. Except my image of our oasis, which is just slightly tarnished.

Sunday Scribblings-Now and Then

It was an odd feeling, Terry thought, this sensation of standing outside her life looking in. It happened now and then when she was particularly harried. Like this morning, stuffing baby Jack into his quilted snowsuit while Jessica danced around the room frantically singing "Have to go potty, Mommy! Have to go right now!" In her mind's eye, an image of herself appeared, dressed for work in her favorite Donna Karan suit, her Coach bag neatly packed with her laptop and ideas for the next issue. This sleek, put-together version peered disapprovingly at this morning's Terry-black knit pants bagging at the knees, and tattered Eddie Bauer thermal t-shirt with a suspicious looking stain just below her breast. She sighed, and abandoned Jack in favor of Jessica, whose need seemed the most pressing. She wondered how long it would take the six month old to realize he had been ditched - left lolling in his crib while his mother hustled his older sister toward the bathroom and her pottychair.

"Wahhhh!" Terry heard, before she and the wiggling Jessica even reached the bathroom door.

Obviously, not long at all.

How long had it been, Terry wondered, since she felt even nominally in charge of her life? Back then, in her PTP (prior to parenthood) days, she had managed a successful monthly magazine, kept writers, photographers, and a slew of assistant editors in line, while maintaining a creative presence in each department. Now, she was exhausted before 9:00 in the morning, trying to satisfy the demands of two individuals whose combined weight was less than 30 pounds.

Terry blinked rapidly to dispel the image of her former self with pure disappointment etched across her face, observing the fumbling inefficiency of this current, clearly inept, version. With renewed energy, she hustled her daughter through her morning ablutions, and back into Pull-Ups. Hurrying back to the nursery, she went to work on baby Jack, who seemed startled by her grim purposefulness and stopped screaming long enough for her to work his sturdy legs into the snowsuit and snap it up to the apex of his chubby chin.

Twenty minutes later (a new record!) Terry was on line at Starbucks, Jack nestled happily in the Baby Bjorn, Jessica tucked into her stroller, content to arrange her Cheerios's in neat lines on the tray. The usual morning crowd stood desultorily ahead of her - college students, bleary eyed and toting grungy overfull tote packs, young executives in pressed suits and overcoats. Terry took a deep breath, sending a silent prayer heavenward that her two children would remain calm until she had her mocha latte firmly in hand.

The middle aged woman standing in front of Terry snapped her cell phone firmly shut and turned briskly. Terry recognized the rigid set of her shoulders and felt the aura of intense concentration - she's had a call from the office, Terry thought, remembering those panicked phone calls requiring her instant attention on some seemingly earth shattering dilemma. The woman's face softened when she noticed the sleeping baby, and a smile brightened her face as she looked down at Jessica's tousled blond curls.

"So precious," she said wistfully, looking at Terry with obvious envy. "God, I remember those days when mine were small. Life seemed so much simpler then." She stuffed the sleek cell phone back into her Coach tote and pulled on black leather gloves. "Now I can't even take time for a decent cup of coffee," she muttered. Sighing, she pulled out of line and headed for the door.

"Enjoy!" she said, barking the word like a command.

A mental image emerged in Terry's mind, this time of her power suited self 20 years into the future, rushing to catch the train into the city and carrying nothing but a cold leather briefcase. She wrapped her left arm tightly around Jack's solid torso, snuggling him closer to her heart. Perhaps her life was pretty good right now after all.

"Mommy," Jessica suddenly cried out. "Have to go potty! Have to go right now!"

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